https://www.literotica.com/s/learning-the-smugglers-blues "So. Just what am I supposed to do with you, Sergeant?" 2 I stood rigidly at attention and didn't even really consider responding. It was clearly a rhetorical question. Nobody had actually wanted to hear what I had to say anyway. I was pretty certain some Colonel who I'd never even seen before didn't want to hear it. I was also almost convinced I'd been sent over to him because every other Field Grade officer in the Division had worn themselves out berating me. 3 The grim, bald Colonel looked up at the tall, lanky, white-haired Sergeant Major half-standing and half leaning against the peeling office wall. "What do you think Sergeant Major?" 4 The Sergeant Major looked down at the papers in his hands. "Let's see... Article 118, Attempted Murder, two counts... Article 128, Assault, multiple counts... Article 120, attempted Sexual Assault, two counts... Article 89, Disrespect... at least eight counts." He flipped the paper over. "The list goes on, it's pretty impressive. We can pretty much state that you have effectively ended your career progression permanently at three and a half years in service." 5 The Colonel closed his eyes for a second. Probably hoping I'd simply fall dead before he opened his eyes back up. I'd been getting a lot of that lately. 6 "Do you feel any remorse for this at all?" 7 That was a real question, but I had to be honest. "Sir. No, Sir." 8 "Major General Faulkner just wants all of this to go away. More specifically, he wants you to go away. So he's asked me to be your zookeeper for the rest of your time in the Army. You work for me, do what I tell you to do. You will never set one foot on main Post again and will adhere to the..." He paused, looking down at the papers in front of him. "...no less than nine protective orders levied against you. A couple more are pending, so let's just assume they will be in effect as well. You will then leave the Army at your scheduled ETS date. The charges go away. Other than a particularly nasty General Letter of Reprimand, you escape the consequences of your actions. Do you understand, Sergeant?" 9 It was a far better outcome than I'd been expecting. "Sir. Yes, Sir." 10 The Colonel suddenly smiled - a tiny smile, but weirdly out of character. "At ease, Sergeant." 11 I shifted my position and relaxed a hair. Just a hair. I caught a glimpse of the Sergeant Major struggling not to laugh. 12 He just had to ask. "You hospitalized your husband and your Company Commander with a fish? How the hell do you give concussions, break arms and fracture ribs with a fish?" 13 "It was a frozen fish, Sergeant Major, I'd just come home from the Commissary when I caught them." 14 "And the attempted forceful-Sodomy-with-a-foreign-object charges?" 15 "Same fish, Sergeant Major." 16 "Maybe it was a good thing the MPs arrived when they did." 17 "I needed just a couple more minutes, Sergeant Major." 18 The Colonel was trying not to laugh now. "Were you not aware that your Company Commander was Senator Shirling's daughter?" 19 "I was aware, Sir. She very much made a point of mentioning that to everyone. But that fact was not my main concern. The fact that she was screwing my husband in my own bed, was." 20 "A point you made to nearly every officer in your chain of command, the Chaplain and a couple of MPs. Apparently violently at times." He flipped a page over. "Which accounts for most of the protective orders." 21 "Sir, they kept asking me to be reasonable about this. My response seems perfectly reasonable to me, given the provocation." 22 "Ironically, that fact that she is the Senator's daughter is saving you a great deal of heartache. While the Senator would actually like to have you keelhauled, he is in the middle of an election campaign and his daughter's proclivities towards this kind of thing have caused him some problems before." 23 The Sergeant Major's jester-like grin widened further. "Keelhauling is much more of a Navy tradition anyway." 24 The Colonel nodded sagely. "Damn straight. The official story on your husband and the Good Senator's daughter's injuries will be that they are the result of hand to hand combat training." 25 I tried to swallow my temper. "Rob is my soon to be ex-husband. And that was not just her hand. Sir." 26 "And you, Sergeant, are not a proctologist. Be glad that they haven't charged you with practicing medicine without a license." 27 "Sir. Yes, Sir." 28 "Dismissed, Sergeant." 29 I did my best to snap to attention and salute properly. This was pretty much the first discussion I'd had with an officer in the last month that didn't involve words like "confinement" and "dishonorable discharge." 30 I started to turn and froze. "Sir? Dismissed to where?" 31 As far as I could tell, there was no unit here; the Brigade driver had dropped me off at an old hanger on an out-of-use runway, with an office that the Colonel had obviously co-opted for the discussion. It was in a remote part of the training ranges, far from main base. 32 He glanced over at the Sergeant Major. "I was wondering when you were going to ask that. Actually, this is your new office right here. Welcome to the 16th Training and Readiness Group. The Sergeant Major will give you the tour. She's all yours, Pogo." 33 I watched, stunned, as he got up and walked out past me. 34 I looked back over at the Sergeant Major. "What am I doing here, Sergeant Major?" 35 "Your job, Sergeant. You're a Cargo Handler, you load and unload planes. You'll be doing that and a bit of Transportation Management Coordinator stuff." He walked out of the office into the main hanger as I trailed behind him. "Computer and phone lines should be in already, the geeks will be bringing a couple computers by tomorrow and get them set up in your office. Phone in the office is already hooked up, contact list is on it. The guys will be bringing the forklifts, pallets, dollies and all that crap over on Friday morning." 36 A horn sounded outside the hanger. "That will be your stuff from your barracks room. I had your room mate pack it all up." 37 I'd been rather hastily kicked out of my own house after "the incident," and stuck in a temporary barracks room. 38 He gestured towards the back of the hanger. "Your new quarters are back there. Bedroom, kitchenette and bathroom. Sometimes we need lift on short notice in the middle of the night, so it's best to have you here." 39 "Is this some kind of solitary confinement thing?" 40 "You have a problem with it?" His easy demeanor dropped and his focus sharpened rather suddenly. His affable nature suddenly seemed to be a mask for something much more dangerous, a cold predator of some kind. A tiny, rather terrified, voice in the back of my head warned me that a dishonorable discharge and confinement might just be the least of my worries if I crossed him. 41 "No, Sergeant Major. My roommate snored. Loudly. I just want to know where I stand." 42 He relaxed a bit. "You're not a prisoner. Follow the rules Colonel Howard laid out and everything will be fine. We're busy as hell, that's why we're bringing this airfield on line. You'll be busting your ass here, probably do three times the work of anyone else in your specialty. But you'll be treated fairly and get anything you need to do your job. You take care of the unit, we'll take care of you." 43 The horn honked again and he nodded toward the hanger door. "You might want to go ahead and let them in." 44 I walked over and threw the switch to open the door. It made an odd grinding noise, but slowly opened to let in a grey crew cab F150. When it stopped, mountains of testosterone and muscle poured out. Actually it was three guys in khaki cargo pants, desert boots and an array of somewhat suggestive bar t-shirts, but it was pretty much the same thing. 45 A big blonde guy with a close cropped beard slid out of the driver's seat, an even bigger redheaded guy with a full brush of a beard and huge slabs of muscle, slid out on the passenger side, while a slender dark-haired clean shaven guy came out of the back. 46 The big blonde guy nodded toward the Sergeant Major, then looked over at me. 47 "Alright Sergeant, where do you want it?" 48 I pointed towards the back room. "I'll be living in there." 49 The guy with the dark hair slid towards me. Damn, he was good looking, in that sort of tall, dark and smoldering, Italian way. His voice sounded like liquid sex. "Hello, I'm..." 50 "Hollywood." The Sergeant Major glared at him. "What part of 'NO' do you not understand?" Even though he didn't raise his voice one bit, I could suddenly hear cold sharp steel in it. 51 The appropriately-named Hollywood stiffened. "Got it, Sergeant Major." 52 The blonde guy rolled his eyes. "Get the bags out of the back seat. Dumbass." 53 Hollywood gave a brilliant apologetic smile, then winked and turned back to the truck. 54 The blonde guy walked over. "I'm Kurt. You already met Hollywood. The big guy over there is Amos." 55 The red haired guy grumbled something. Hollywood grinned. "Don't mind old Amos here, raised in a swamp, speaks more alligator than English." 56 Amos shook his head and lifted a chair one-handed out of the back of the truck like it was a scrap of paper. 57 I looked at them and a light dawned. "I'm guessing I'm the lowest ranking person here, aren't I?" 58 The Sergeant Major grinned like a jackal. "Lowest ranking person in the unit, actually. Glad you picked up on that. Still, this hanger is yours; you're the only one with loadmaster certification, so your word here is law." As he said that, he made sure the three guys were listening. 59 All three locked eyes with him and each gave a single curt nod. For all the bullshit and quasi-civilian clothes, they were obviously disciplined as hell. 60 It took them about ten minutes to unload the truck and carry everything into the back room. Some time in that ten minutes the Sergeant Major disappeared. 61 As soon as they finished, Kurt looked at me. "Interested in lunch?" 62 "Yes... what the hell do I call you?" 63 "Just call me Kurt. Outside the Compound, the ready room, this hanger and a couple other places, we go by first name or nicknames for security reasons. Same reason we usually dress like civilian range maintenance crews out here. If they're in civilian clothes, the Colonel goes by 'Howard', the Sergeant Major goes by 'Pogo', just remember who they really are. You'll want to go get into civilian clothes to go eat." 64 I got the feeling making them wait was a bad idea, so I jumped into jeans and a t-shirt and ran back out to the truck. Amos and Hollywood were sitting in the back, leaving the "shotgun" seat for me. 65 Lunch was at a local barbeque joint and I got to watch in horror as Amos consumed what looked like an entire hog on a bun while the rest of us ate normal meals. 66 After Kurt finished, he pushed his plate away and leaned back. "You're probably starting to realize that you aren't in Kansas anymore." 67 "Yeah, I'm under that impression." 68 "We conduct special, short notice training events for units all over the world." 69 I furiously rubbed my forehead and all three stared at me. "Sorry. I'm just trying to scrub the word 'STUPID' off my forehead." 70 Amos gave a low rumbling chuckle and Hollywood smirked. 71 Kurt shrugged, but smiled a little. "Okay, but you don't need to know the details." 72 "I get it. I don't have the 'need-to-know,' but I'm not an idiot." 73 "Sergeant Major wanted me to make sure you know the rules. Mission first. All the feel-good shit stops at the door." 74 "I kind of picked up on that." 75 "No slacking on PT, and you'll start working on weapons training and qualification as soon as I can set up a schedule." 76 "I just qualified two months ago." 77 "Yeah. That doesn't wash here. Hollywood will train you on rifles, I'll train you on handguns and shotguns. You'll burn more ammo in a month here than you've burned in your whole life." 78 "You know, I'm just a Cargo Handler." 79 "Doesn't matter. Unit rules. Speaking of which, there are six operational teams; standard red, amber, green rotation. Right now, Team One, that's mine, and Team Two are on Amber, so that's why we're helping you out." 80 He watched Amos finish the last of his plate. "You have a car?" 81 "I used to. My 'husband' took our car. I can't go get it, it's on main post." 82 "Is your name on the title?" 83 "Both our names are on it." 84 "You got keys to it?" 85 I fumbled in my purse and handed them to him. He had me write down the make, model and license plate for it. He handed my note and keys to Amos without a word. Then we loaded up and headed back. Kurt stopped at a grocery store so I could pick up some food to eat at the hangar. 86 When we got back to the hangar, Kurt got out of the truck with me. 87 "A couple more things. The Colonel doesn't tolerate any bullshit drama inside the unit. You're off limits to the guys, they are off limits to you. Even after your divorce is final." 88 "Not exactly my priority." 89 "I'm sure it isn't right now. Things change. But you are on permanent 'little sister' status." A smile ticked at the corner of his mouth. "But it'd be funny as hell to see Hollywood get a frozen trout shoved up his ass." 90 "It was a black sea bass." 91 "Ouch." He winced. "Lots more spines and fins." 92 "They're a lot bigger, too." I couldn't help smile a little at that. 93 After they left, I went back in to my new room and began to set it up, wondering what I'd gotten myself into. 94 ### 95 I got up early the next morning to go running along the tarmac and runway; Kurt had been pretty straightforward about the PT thing and I was under the impression that the Colonel and the Sergeant Major were pretty serious bastards. 96 As I finished and came up to the hangar, I found my car was parked outside, windows down and keys on the seat. Rob's keys were there too. I smirked, picturing Rob coming face to face, or rather face to over-muscled chest with Amos. Served the asshole right. 97 When Kurt brought the rest of his team to deliver the equipment, they were staggeringly efficient - and it was also very obvious that the Colonel's warning had gone out to everyone. I may not be Miss America, but I usually get a least a few glances from guys, and Kurt's team was basically a tidal wave of male hormones. The forklift got more eye contact than I did. 98 The next few weeks were chaos as I settled into my new job. I didn't have much time to worry about anything but the job. We started operations almost immediately. Flights in and out were managed by three Air Force Combat Controllers, who invariably showed up on jet black dirt bikes in time to set up, and made a point of not asking questions. I just handled the cargo and passengers, most of which went in and out of the Pacific region. I got the impression that there were other, equally secretive units that handled Europe and Africa, although nobody ever really explained it to me. 99 Most of my smaller shipments included "contact on receipt" instructions to carriers, receiving cargo handlers and warehouse managers. Except the contact information wasn't me and I didn't give them their final instructions. 100 It did seem like asking questions was a bad idea, especially when Kurt's team suddenly flew out and I noticed that none of the names on the manifest matched the real names, and none of the passports were American. 101 It just got weirder from there. I tried not to think about it a whole lot, and spent my free time either exercising or watching old movies. I really started to get into the old black and white movies. I must have watched "Double Indemnity" a hundred times. Barbara Stanwyk was epic. 102 One morning, Hollywood was waiting, sitting on the hood of a blue SUV, when I finished my run. 103 "Morning, Wendy, today's a good day. It's a range day, and range days are always good days." He was acting like a completely different person - he'd completely turned off the "ladies man" vibe. The mere idea of getting out on the firing range had him totally focused. 104 I learned quickly that it wasn't an act for my benefit. He was totally different out on a range. The idea of going to the range with him had made me a little nervous - Hollywood was a walking, talking sexual harassment complaint waiting to happen - if he hadn't been so damn good looking, anyway. And it was just the two of us on an empty range, every morning for weeks. 105 I didn't know it, but I didn't need to worry. 106 For all his obviously wolfish tendencies, if a Playboy Playmate walked up to him holding an M40 or M82, he probably wouldn't even notice if she was naked. I'd been taught the basics of how to use rifles, but Hollywood taught me to be part of one. It was an obsession for him. He re-taught me everything about rifles over the next several weeks. Breath control, cheek weld, fingertip placement, grip - or, as he put it, the grip of no-grip. The fact that muscles will tire and shake, but bones never do. And on and on. 107 The Sergeant Major just showed up one day, about the time I was beginning to think the smell of gunpowder was going to be permanently burned into my nose. We'd finished shooting and were packing up. We'd given the rifles a rough cleaning, but Hollywood preferred to do the thorough cleaning himself. 108 He walked over, looking at Hollywood. 109 "Well?" 110 "She's okay. Doesn't have the knack to be great, but if she added another thirty pounds or so to stabilize her skinny ass, she'd be pretty decent with another year of practice." 111 The Sergeant Major glanced over at me. "I knew a female counter-sniper in Sarajevo; not bad, but when she was pregnant with her second kid, maybe seven months in and later, she got really, really good. She said it was that built-in sandbag. She was the terror of Sniper Alley for a while, the Serbs hated her, called her 'Mother Death.'" He stared off into space for a second. "I think she and her husband own a couple restaurants now. They have three or four kids." He blinked. "Anyway, I don't need you to be a sniper. Just don't want you to be helpless. On Monday, you start learning about Monsters." 112 He turned and walked off without another word. Hollywood continued packing up. 113 "What did he mean by 'monsters?'" 114 "Close combat specialists. Handguns, submachine guns, shotguns. That'll be Kurt, mostly." 115 Hollywood gave me directions to a battered old structure that turned out to be a combination indoor range and shoot house. When I walked in, I realized the range was in far better shape than it looked from the outside. 116 Kurt was standing next to a table with handguns lined up on it. "We're going to cover shotgun and handgun basics. The Sergeant Major wants me to make sure you can defend yourself." 117 I'd thought the rifle range had been a lot of shooting, but Kurt seemed determined to have me fire every handgun and shotgun known to man until my head was ringing despite the "Mickey Mouse ears." After a couple weeks, I started to feel naked if I wasn't holding a handgun. Every single handgun run started with a draw, and Kurt made me draw over and over until it was smooth and clean. I used back and belly draws for every gun, and ankle draws if the gun was even remotely small enough to work that way. 118 Then the real fun began. Kurt set up the shoot house and I had to walk through it, over and over, until I took down every target fast enough for him. 119 Chapter 1.2 He even had me use the "team-standard" weapon until it was second nature. The strange metallic cough of the MP5SD echoed in my dreams for weeks. 121 I'd probably have gotten pretty cocky about my skills, but Kurt gave me a demonstration that cut that short. Even using a revolver, his shots sounded like a machine gun. He never hesitated, never seemed to have to aim, and never missed. I couldn't even say I'd really seen him draw, despite watching him every second. 122 I just stared at him after he called "clear." 123 He gave a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry. Look, you're doing pretty good for someone just picking it up, and you'll get better with more practice. But some of us are wired differently, our nerves fire faster, our situational awareness is a lot better. It's just the way we are." 124 I shrugged, trying to hide my disappointment. "So when are you going to put good guys in the shoot house?" 125 He shook his head. "If you get sucked into something, there are no good guys, just shoot anything remotely threatening until you run out of targets or ammo." 126 He pulled a locked case out of his truck and opened it. 127 "This is the gun Pogo wants you to use." 128 I stared at an odd little revolver with almost no barrel. "Where's the hammer?" 129 "Inside the shroud, this a Smith & Wesson Model 38 Airweight Bodyguard. It's made for concealed carry, the hammer is shrouded so it won't catch on clothes or anything else. It's tough and reliable. Not much good for shooting at any distance, but the Sergeant Major and Colonel are concerned with close in self-defense for you." 130 "Kind of small." 131 "It won't feel like it. Snub guns like this make a lot of noise, a lot of flame and they kick like hell. And you're going to use some special ammo that will make it worse. Opens up like a flower and does massive damage. You'll keep drawing from belly, back and ankle holster." 132 He was right, the damn thing kicked like a mule and roared like a dragon, even though he started me with low powered loads and worked me up slowly. My hands hurt, my wrists hurt, and my shoulders ached. I spent weeks and weeks listening to Kurt bark, "Draw, Fire," over and over until I was hearing it in my sleep. I swear I woke up trying to draw the pistol whenever there was a loud noise outside the hanger. At some point, I stopped really noticing the wrenching kick and the deafening blast, and the aches and pains disappeared. It wasn't long after that Kurt somewhat grudgingly declared me "trained." 133 After that, I settled into a dull existence for a while, with one very uncomfortable extra duty. I was appointed the "Spouse Liaison." I was supposed to work with the wives; give them support when they needed it, help them with other issues. Unfortunately, they hated me. At least it felt like it. The unit was stressful enough for wives; I never had the answers they wanted. I couldn't even help with normal administrative stuff, since I couldn't go on Main post. Neither the Colonel nor Sergeant Major were married, so Kurt's wife, Katie, was kind of in the lead of all the wives. I was always convinced she was just about half a heartbeat from just slapping me whenever I couldn't answer a question. I got the impression she wasn't really a bad person, just tired of bullshit, and I couldn't really give her anything but bullshit. 134 I hated going to the Spouse Support Group meetings, trying to help when I rarely could, and pretending I couldn't hear them refer to me as "The Wendy" in that condescending and disgusted tone. 135 The only one that gave me any slack was Amos' wife, Veronica - "Ronni." She was a pear-shaped blonde with dark brown roots and enough loud, obnoxious "Southern Redneck Girl" attitude for a hundred hours of beer commercials. She didn't give a "hot holy damn" what anybody thought of her except Amos. They flat out adored each other. I saw them out in town once at the mall; they were holding hands and watching their four kids pick out ice cream. If she wasn't holding his hand, his hand was on her ass - and if it wasn't she reached over and put it there. Unfortunately, she rarely bothered to put in an appearance at the Spouse Support Group so I usually only saw her at the monthly unit barbeques where everybody but her pretty much ignored me. I always felt like a tag-along little sister with the guys and the wives always managed to make it clear I wasn't welcome in their little circle. Except Ronni. 136 She always sat and talked to me for at least a few minutes; it was pretty much the only part of the barbeques I liked. 137 One time she saw me looking at the wives. "Don't worry about them none, Wendy. They don' mean anything by it." She stared at them for a moment, with a touch of sadness. "They're just all in the same lifeboat, clinging to each other 'cause they don't know what else to do." 138 She cocked her head a bit, studying them, then went on. "The guys... our guys... we know what's going on, probably a lot more than anyone wants us to know. Especially us. They're the best of the best, but that doesn't mean they're bulletproof. Sometimes there are 'training accidents' and they get hurt, end up in the hospital. Sometimes they don't come home at all. It happens. We pretend we don't know, they pretend we can't read their medal racks and count the purple hearts." She paused. "But the other wives, they got it wrong. They let their fear take over and steal their time with their man." 139 She suddenly focused on me. "You can't let that happen. You gotta hold on tight, take every moment. You gotta do whatever you can. Be what you should be." A sudden smile lit her face. Her voice shifted oddly, from the crackle of redneck bonfires and beer, to the sound of money, magnolias, and cotillions. "Maybe you change. Maybe you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and raised a debutante, but the only man for you is a swamp-born Cajun who'd never fit in your world. Maybe you change to fit in his." 140 She lifted her glass of beer in a toast to me, as refined as any Duchess ever could, took a gentle sip, winked at me and walked off with practiced grace and elegance. 141 I was still sitting open-mouth staring after her when she walked up behind Amos, gave him a brutal slap across his butt, took a slug of her beer and then offered the rest to him. 142 ### 143 I'd probably have continued that way until I got out except for Senator Shirling. My divorce was proceeding as planned and I'd pretty much pushed Captain Brandi Shirling's husband-poaching ass into a dark corner of my memory. I'd seen her over and over on the television during the campaign. She wasn't allowed to be in uniform in her Daddy's campaign ads, but it was amazing how often Daddy's Little Angel with her giant silicone tits and collagen-filled lips ended up doing television interviews about patriotism, honor and integrity. Her arm spent the entire campaign season in a sling. That was total bullshit. I'd done it; I knew it wasn't that bad. Her arm had only been fractured, not shattered. I could feel steam coming out of my ears every time she gave her little self-deprecating smile and explained that her arm had been broken in training and that "The harder you sweat in training, the less you bleed in war." 144 She made me want to hurl. Disgusting bitch. It did make me smile to see her wince when she sat her fat ass down on a chair during one interview. She'd remember me for a long time. 145 Still, I decided to put it all behind me. She stayed on main Post, I stayed at my hanger. After meeting Amos, Rob mostly kept his head down and signed papers whenever they were sent to him. But the one person who didn't play along was Daddy Shirling. I'd stopped worrying about him because he'd made it clear he didn't want trouble. He had a campaign to win, after all. 146 I'd just finished reviewing cargo manifests on a Saturday afternoon, when Pogo, in civilian clothes, pulled up with Team Three. 147 "Pack up Wendy! Time to go." 148 The team brushed past me and began throwing my stuff into pelican cases with abandon. "Go where?" 149 Pogo flipped the contents of a drawer from my nightstand, including my battery-operated-boyfriend into a container without so much as blinking. "Anywhere you can oversee the cargo. Outside the United States. Where can you do that from?" 150 "Thailand. The majority of our stuff goes through there." 151 He nodded. "That will work. We have a safe house near U-Tapao" He suddenly glanced back at the container where he'd thrown my vibrator, then obviously decided not to say anything. "We need to get you out of here. You're going into exile on the next thing burning." 152 That didn't sound good at all. "Exile? What did I do?" 153 "Nothing new. Senator Shirling appears to have suddenly remembered you exist now that the campaign is over. He isn't a 'forgive and forget' kind of guy. The Senator informed General Faulkner that he wants to see you brought up on Courts Martial charges as quickly as possible." 154 "Oh shit." The words "dishonorable discharge" and "sentenced to confinement" suddenly loomed very large in my mind. I started helping stuff things into the cases as fast as I could. 155 "'Oh shit' is right. That asshole is talking 20 years, and he's on the damned Armed Services Committee. Colonel Howard told General Faulkner that you're on covert assignment and are currently out of contact, mission end date undetermined." He tossed me a passport. "Had the Documents guys make that up for you along with a dozen other ones. We'll get you the rest in Thailand." 156 I felt a wave of hopelessness. "I have to come back sooner or later." 157 "You've still got eighteen months, we can pretty much keep you out of his hands for that whole time. A lot can happen in eighteen months, the Senator could get distracted." 158 Less than forty hours later, I was sitting in a go-go bar in the red light district of Soi Cowboy in Bangkok, overly conscious of the weight of my .38 in the belly holster. 159 I was getting a drink before heading back to the hotel, with a schedule to head south to Pattaya the next day. Most of our cargo into Asia was initially in and out through U-Tapao, a civil-military airport near there. It usually got trucked up to Bangkok or other airports and cross loaded to smaller, civilian carriers. Pogo had told me the bar was popular with the pilots and owners of the small cargo carriers we usually used, and thought it was a good idea for me to get an idea of what kind of people we dealt with. I figured he was testing me to see if I could handle myself. Go-go bars aren't usually places single women hang out. 160 It was kind of a rush though. It was so unreal; I could feel the little revolver against my stomach every time I moved. I was going to have to get used to that. Pogo had made that clear when he'd given me an official Thai military license to carry it. 161 A scruffy looking guy wearing a loud-red-and-white tourist-style aloha shirt, with two buttons missing, over his slightly faded blue T-shirt sat on the next stool over. A crunched, used-to-be-white straw trilby hat with a frayed brim sat on the bar next to him. He'd probably shaved couple days ago and looked a little soft, like the Bangkok heat had melted him around the edges just a bit. I got a vague impression of a well-worn teddy bear. 162 He glanced me over, but it was pretty benign. "New here?" I'm sure someone with more experience would have some idea where he was from in Australia, but I couldn't. His accent had obviously been softened by years living outside Australia. 163 "First time. My boss thought it'd be a good idea for me to drop by here." 164 "Strange fella, your boss. This is the pilot's bar. Tourist bars are down that way..." he pointed up the street, "... and the military bars are down that way." He gestured the other way. 165 "I manage cargo, so I'm probably in the right place. Had to come out here to manage things a bit more directly." 166 He nodded slowly. "Makes sense then. I'm 'Chip' Woodley. My real name is Mel, but nobody calls me that. Except my mum." 167 "Wendy." 168 He reached across and shook my hand somberly, then called for a couple more drinks, and I was a bit surprised that his was just a Coca-Cola. 169 "I'm flying tomorrow. Woodley Air. I usually carry, uh, pharmaceuticals, I have a crate of my own, an old AN-24." 170 I smiled, but it was totally plastic. Less than six hours in country and I was drinking with a drug runner. I reflected that I'd actually, somehow, someway, gotten worse at picking guys. 171 He took my silence as a queue to keep talking. "At least it's interesting here. Jack over there..." he nodded towards a tall, good looking guy down the bar. "...flies a Squirrel helicopter for Lao Green Mountain Development. Good guy, but a bit of a root rat, so watch your knickers." 172 He glanced around, then nodded towards a central table where two tall slender Asian men in stylish suits sat with a half dozen mostly undressed women. "The Chopsticks over there who have decided to grace us with their presence are David and Jonathan Huang. They're not really regulars, they just show up here about every six months or so and throw a lot of money around. Both of them are right bastards. Hong Kong Chinese twins, illegitimate sons of a British Duke or Earl or something. Stay clear of them, they're an evil pair of budgies." 173 "Budgies?" 174 "They're smugglers. We've got a few of them around here. Jack and I call them budgies - it's a bit of an in-joke. Down in Oz we call men's Speedos swim trunks 'budgie smugglers' because it looks like..." he trailed off weakly and looked embarrassed. 175 "I got it." I fought to keep from smiling too wide. Maybe it was my rum and coke, but his embarrassment was kind of cute. 176 He fumbled on for a second before getting his rhythm back. "Bad characters, the both of them. They're pretty much royalty in the 'discreet transportation' business." He smiled. "They don't think anyone can tell them apart, but David has a scar under his left eye where he got cut a couple years ago in a car accident in Malaysia. The women are there for Jonathan, David has a taste for the kathoey." 177 "Kat-what?" 178 "kathoey. Lady boys. They're the prettier ones." 179 I stared. Seriously, I couldn't tell. "Wow." 180 He laughed. "It's kind of a thing here. The word kathoey is a little rude, they usually call themselves phuying, but everyone else uses kathoey. The surgeons do a pretty good job with the ti... boobs, breasts, I mean." He flushed red again; it really was awkwardly cute. 181 I eyed the brothers cautiously. We moved a number of shipments all over Asia through a company named Huang Brothers at fairly high prices. 182 "Smugglers?" 183 He shrugged. "Yes. They have an air freight business, but they also have contacts in every custom house in Asia. I heard them say they pay their 'cousins' about 2500 Hong Kong dollars per shipment to clear them through customs, then they charge the customers about four times that." 184 That certainly explained some surcharges I'd been seeing. 185 He moved on to other bar patrons; pilots, company owners, and some shiftless types. We talked for almost two more hours, eating skewers of grilled chicken with really tasty peanut sauce. At least I hoped it was chicken. It was good anyway. Even if it hadn't been, I learned more about what was actually going on with my cargo than I'd ever dreamed. 186 My "contact on receipt" shipments were nearly all being carried by shadowy people at best. Mercenaries, smugglers and worse. Their delivery points were a list of every unstable place in the region. Not that I hadn't expected something of the sort, but I'd been doing my job blindfolded. 187 He finally asked where I was going to be working. 188 "My... company maintains a suite in a hotel here because we have people pass through all the time, but apparently, I have an office between Pattaya and U-Tapao, so I head down to Pattaya tomorrow." 189 He looked a little puzzled, but shrugged. "Pattaya is a bit of zoo." He glanced around. "Kind of like this. But if you're in town for a few hours, hit Wee Andy's, at bottom of Soi 2, on the beach road end. His Missus makes great food." 190 I ended up heading back to my hotel a little later than I'd planned, and I really shocked myself when I told Chip it was nice meeting him and I'd had a good time. Shocked because I meant it. If he'd have been in a different line of work, I'd have tried to stay in touch with him somehow. A girl has to have some standards and not dating drug smugglers was probably a good start. He did tell the truth about Wee Andy's Missus and her cooking, though. 191 ### 192 It was three weeks before Pogo and Howard passed through the safe house. Until they got there, I was the only one staying in the safe house, although a couple of local guards and a driver were permanently on call. I managed some shipments, using the equipment at the house. I also learned a lot. I traveled to the U-Tapao airfield and watched our shipments get re-palleted and relabeled. None of it stayed in Thailand. 193 I spent some evenings in Pattaya to get out of the safe house. I managed to learn a few words in Thai, mostly names of food. Much to my eternal regret, I learned that the insanity of the go-go clubs on the ground floor isn't even close to the insanity on the upper floors. After wandering upstairs at the Marilynn A-Go-Go, I mostly stuck to restaurants and the occasional beer bar. I also spent a considerable amount of time re-thinking how anatomy and physics worked and trying to figure out how to clean my brain with bleach and steel wool. 194 I was also pondering the meaning of what I'd learned from Chip, so when Howard and Pogo arrived, I simply sat down and brought it up. 195 "When am I going to be allowed to really do my job?" 196 Neither man looked particularly surprised by that. Howard fixed me with his ice-chip eyes. "Explain." 197 In for a penny, in for a pound. "I've been doing the simple stuff. Moving the shipments to where they really start going places. We're moving a helluva lot more than just small team stuff, and I knew that. Somebody else is managing the final leg of the shipments. It's damn slow and not being managed right. We're losing time and money, and probably shipments. I can fix that." 198 Pogo glanced over at Howard. "Told you she'd figure it out. Just a little quicker than I expected." Then back to me. "You sure you want involved in this?" 199 "I already am. I signed those manifests on the back end. If something goes wrong, my name is already on it." 200 Howard nodded slowly. "The military gear in CONEXes is mostly ours, it's all mission specific. When the op is fully sanctioned and overt, we use the Mil-Air. When it isn't..." He shrugged. "We use small carriers, using cover identities. That isn't that often. But since we already move stuff covertly, there are other agencies using us to move cargo, and to protect it if necessary." 201 "CIA?" 202 "Sometimes. Sometimes other organizations. There are more of them than you think. Most of them have very narrow mission sets, and they don't have our capabilities. It helps pay the bills, and we get a lot of favors in return." 203 "I'm not even sure how to ask this. I'm sure there isn't a book or anything, that'd be insanely stupid. But do we have some kind of directory with a listing of the smugglers and mercenary pilots?" 204 The two exchanged glances, Pogo grinned like a crocodile, then Howard gave a grimace. "Give her the damn book, Pogo." 205 It wasn't quite as stupid as it sounded, the book Pogo gave me was only part of a three part code; each part of the code was useless without the other two. We also had a program that allowed us to schedule flights, cargo, and passengers as if the schedules were coming from the Royal Thai National Intelligence Agency. I didn't know if it was a hacking program, or some kind of quid-pro-quo agreement with the Thai government. I really, really didn't want to know. 206 Chapter 1.3 The only instructions I got from Howard was to "clean it up by any means necessary," and not to screw it up. 208 Clearly Howard was willing to let me take on whatever duties I was willing to. 209 After they left, I had the keys to the kingdom. I knew what was being shipped, through who and to where. The more I learned the more I realized how serious it was. Secrets on secrets on secrets. I remembered an old saw about secrets - "they could kill you for knowing that." 210 These secrets were important enough that they really could, and I had no doubt Howard and Pogo would if they thought I was a risk. 211 Whenever one of the teams was passing through, the safe house buzzed with activity. The guys were great to be around - I liked Kurt's team best, but they were all amazing - it was like having a bunch of big brothers in the house. 212 The single guys, like Hollywood, spent a lot of time in Pattaya, staying there in the hotels with bar girls they'd "bar-fined." The married guys, like Kurt and Amos, followed Howard's rules to the letter. 213 Kurt and Amos actually laughed when I commented that the married guys only rarely went into Pattaya and never stayed the night. 214 Amos chuckled in a tone so deep I could feel it through my boots rather than hear it. "Ronni would go full Jerry Springer if I ever touched any of that. And then there's Needles." 215 Kurt gave a wry grin. "Even if the Colonel wasn't a hard-ass about it, it wouldn't be worth it. Hollywood can double wrap it if he wants, but it isn't worth the risk. We had a damn good medic, Needles. He left right before you came over to us. The Colonel recruited him from an ODA - a Special Forces Alpha team. His wife divorced him, left him for a lawyer she'd been seeing for years whenever he was gone. He had no idea anything was wrong, she moved away with the kids, and got their heads all turned around about him so they wouldn't even talk to him anymore. Needles kind of came apart. He pretty much kept to himself out here, but one night he headed into Pattaya alone, just to get a drink." He took a sip of his beer. 216 Amos picked up the story. "I rode up with the driver the next morning to see if there were any new kinds of beer for the house. We swung by the Twins to pick up some of the guys who stayed overnight. So I'm waiting by the front desk when Needles comes out of the elevator with a girl. She was beautiful, an absolute hammer. Probably the only girl in Thailand with a real ass." He paused looking like he knew he should be embarrassed by that, but wasn't sure why. That made me grin - they were just treating me like one of the guys. "...anyway, Needles looks embarrassed as hell, and he has a kind of sick smile on his face. She's just bouncy as a puppy. He sees me, starts to shuffle away from her. She grabs him, gives him a big kiss and then flounces out the door. After that, he just walked around like a zombie for weeks." 217 Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head. "It took us a month to get the story out of him. It was a really slow night, Needles was pretty much the only guy in the bar and Ratana - that was the girl's name - was bored out of her skull. So she sees him moping in the corner and sits down to talk, got the whole story of his divorce out of him, even though her English isn't all that great. She paid off her own bar fine and took him to the hotel. She decided she was going to put a smile on his face if it took her all night. So the next morning, she finally asks him what he does for a living and he tells her he's a paramedic. 218 "She asks him. 'What's that?' 219 "So Needles tells her: 'It's kind of like a doctor.' 220 "She squealed and held both arms out to him: 'Oh! Can you test me for AIDS?'" 221 At that point both Kurt and Amos began laughing softly, but it built quickly until they were roaring with laughter. 222 I was horrified. "Did she have AIDS?" 223 Kurt shook his head. "We caught up to Ratana, she was fine. She was actually a good kid. Ended up marrying a high ranking Thai Foreign Service officer. I think he's an ambassador now. But Needles was practically a hermit after that." 224 "Whatever happened to him?" 225 "His divorce had him more screwed up than anyone thought. He was hooked on valium and oxy, finally got caught. The Colonel let him retire; lost the paperwork, 'accidently' screwed up the chain of custody on the evidence. Needles had always done right by the team, so the Colonel did right by him. Made him go into a rehab program first though." 226 The teams weren't around near often enough though, and I spent a lot of time watching old movies they brought in for me. Twice-weekly trips to Bangkok to manage our shipments there and drop by Soi Cowboy were pretty much the norm. I managed to run into Chip on a regular basis and let him catch me up on business gossip. I justified the fact that I was hanging out with a drug smuggler by telling myself he was a "source." 227 It became sort of a regular thing. Chip was a great remedy to the regular overdoses of muscle and masculinity that surged through the safe house. Lord knew I liked having the teams pass through, but the sheer testosterone overload was mind-numbing. The bills for steak and beer when they came through were enormous. Chip's easy-going attitude was almost soothing. I found out he'd been Flight Lieutenant in the Australian Air Force before he'd cashed in an inheritance for his AN-24. He wasn't weak, he was just much more normal than "my" guys. 228 I started building on the gossip to get a handle on what was really going on. 229 I called in one of the favors the unit was owed from one of the "three letter agencies," and had the travel itineraries of all our principal connections tracked and relayed to me - the information arrived in an anonymous daily email on the single heavily encrypted computer in the house. I started tracking our shipments more carefully and managed to fix a lot of accidental inefficiencies in our system. 230 I noticed a pattern in the Huang brothers' shipments. Every sixty days or so, a shipment would suddenly become hung up in customs, costing us several thousand dollars extra in "special fees" to get them moving again. I hadn't seen it before because I didn't have all the information. 231 I wanted to talk to Howard and Pogo about it, but they didn't drop by before the next "hang up" in Macau happened. And my morning email showed the Huang brothers were both in Macau as well. I hesitated, but I remembered Howard's instructions - "by any means necessary." I sent a note outlining my plans, grabbed a stack of travel cash out of the safe. With a certain nervous trepidation, I took five gold Krugerrands from the "don't touch this" emergency cash. 232 I was on the next flight to Macau. Some of the stories I'd heard in Bangkok had been about the "Eight Golden Lotus" the Huang brothers-owned nightclub in Macao. I decided that would be where I would start. 233 It was an early morning flight so I spent much of the day resting at the hotel and trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing. Wendy O'Connell, Sergeant, US Army, Cargo Handler, was preparing to have it out with a pair of international smugglers, who, according to all the rumors, were "murderous bastards." 234 I put off actually going to the club until late, telling myself I was waiting until I was sure they were there. Eventually I had to choose between going or putting it off until the next day, when I couldn't be sure they'd be there since I didn't have access to my secure email. 235 I eventually put on the understated black skirt suit I'd had made on a whim in Bangkok, grabbed my fake Hermes crocodile bag with my little stack of gold coins and called the front desk for a limousine to the club. I hesitated a bit, but slid my noisy little gun in its pancake holster onto the back of my skirt at the small of my back. I certainly didn't plan on shooting the Huang brothers in their own club, but I felt undressed without my gun now. 236 Once we reached the club, I slid out of the limo, telling the driver to wait. I knew I'd be out soon, or not at all. 237 While my impression of the Huang brothers had been one of fine silk suits and expensive Italian shoes, "The Eight Golden Lotus" was anything but tasteful; it'd have stood out as obnoxious and crass in Las Vegas. It had to cover half a city block and had more brilliant pink neon and gold leaf than I thought could legally be in the same country, much less on and in one building. 238 I paused at the bottom of the broad staircase before heading up, trying to channel Rita Hayworth's "The Lady from Shanghai" and Barbara Stanwyck in "Double Indemnity." Then I set my jaw and headed up the stairs. 239 The club was all flashing lights, with a group of professionally bored-looking, Chinese "Robert Palmer Girls" playing "Addicted to Love" on the main stage, backing up a guy who was actually doing a pretty convincing imitation, though with a slight Russian accent. 240 From the stories and gossip I'd collected in Bangkok, I knew the brothers had a slightly raised room to the rear of the club, so I began to work my way through the massive crowd to get there. I could see the room, with double doors standing open to allow the brothers to look down on their little kingdom. Then I noticed something very disturbing - Pogo had appeared on my right side without a word, without eye contact, but keeping in perfect pace with me. He must have gotten my note. I wondered if he was waiting for me to succeed or fail. 241 I caught a glimpse of Kurt coming up on my other side. I wasn't sure how I felt about that; I didn't want him to see me screw up. 242 I finally spotted the brothers' table and watched as a supplicant who'd been seated across from the pair of them left, leaving his empty chair. 243 Perfect timing. I swept up the steps, pausing to touch their personal waitress on the shoulder. "A Cuba Libre, if you please." Then I slid into the chair. The tiny scar under David's eye was obvious in the light. 244 "Jonathon. David." I nodded to each in turn with a slightly plastic smile. 245 They were obviously shocked and had no idea who I was. 246 I paused for a long moment, glancing down at my nails, essentially ignoring the brothers for a few seconds. It's what Barbara Stanwyk would've done. "I do apologize. I just feel like we've been working together so long we know each other. I'm Wendy." 247 I saw confusion rather than recognition. Of course. David's mouth worked a bit, but nothing came out. 248 "You're holding one of my employers' shipments for ransom here in Macau, as you've done on a regular basis. They no longer find it amusing. It would really be best for everyone if it were released immediately." 249 A flash of anger crossed Jonathon's face and he started to turn to one of his bodyguards to snarl something. Anticipating it, the bodyguard began to reach into his jacket. 250 Everybody froze quite suddenly. Nobody was even breathing. The bodyguard was trying not to even blink, the muzzle of Pogo's gun stuck firmly in his ear. Kurt had produced an automatic in either hand, one pointed at David's head, one at Jonathon's. Pogo and Kurt were stone faced, impassive as statues. They'd moved so quickly that their movements weren't even a blur. Even having seen Kurt and the other team Monsters at the range, it was unbelievable. I couldn't imagine what it must have seemed like to everyone else. 251 My heart was pounding, but I forced myself to relax. What would Barbara Stanwyk do? 252 I opened my purse, pulled out my compact and checked my makeup in its mirror, pretending to touch up the lipstick on the corner of my lip. 253 "My heavens. Isn't this exciting." I made it a statement, rather than a question, carefully keeping an air of detached disinterest in my voice. 254 I closed the compact and slid it into my purse. "Excitement is bad for business. However entertaining it might be." 255 I gave a slight, dismissive wave of my hand. Kurt and Pogo made their weapons disappear. The threat wasn't gone, though, now that everyone knew that the Huang's bodyguards were completely out of their league. 256 A moment later, while they all calmed down, the waitress returned with my drink, utterly oblivious as she placed my drink in front of me. 257 I took a slow sip. "Excellent." I casually dropped one of the gold Krugerrands onto her tray. 258 Jonathon wore down first. "Who are you and who do you work for?" 259 "I'm Wendy and I do whatever needs to be done to keep my employers happy. Jonathon, to your second question; wise men do not ask questions they do not really want to know the answer to." 260 He resigned himself. "What do you want?" 261 "It's not about what I want. It's about what my employers want. They want their shipments to be trouble free. Your cousin can easily do that for his normal fee." 262 Both of them nodded. Very slowly. 263 I gave them a fake-warm smile. "See? We're friends now. Almost family. I think a little gesture on your part would be nice. Maybe a family discount. Say, ten percent?" I took another sip of my drink. 264 They both nodded again, obviously numb. 265 I let my smile slip just a bit. "Then we're agreed. No more games. My employers have a very limited supply of patience." Raising one eyebrow, I glanced around. "I'd hate to lose a club that can actually make a decent Cuba Libre." 266 I cocked my head just a bit, nodded once, then stood up and stalked, maybe just a bit imperiously, out of the Eight Golden Lotus. I didn't look back, even though I could feel every eye on me. I trusted Pogo and Kurt to get me out of there alive. 267 The limo was waiting, but the driver was gone. Pogo politely opened the back door for me while Kurt went around and got into the driver's seat. 268 Pogo slid into the seat opposite me. As Kurt pulled away, I waited for Pogo to rip into me for taking the chance I did. Instead, his jester's grin spread across his face. 269 "That was perfect. Where the hell did you come up with that shtick?" 270 I almost gasped in relief. "Old detective movies. I know it's cheesy..." 271 "But it worked. And it worked well. I never even thought of it. Instead of hiding, just be something nobody wants to look at. Right now, they're trying to figure out if you work for the Triads, the Russian Mafia, the Chechens, the Yakuza or..." He paused. 272 I cut in. "...or somebody worse." 273 He chuckled. "...or somebody worse. Like us. Your note said there are other organizations that need straightened out?" 274 "Kuala Lumpur, Taipei, Djakarta, Kabukicho, Vladivostok, a few more." 275 "I think, maybe 'The Wendy' needs to introduce herself to the community." 276 Over the next several months, we did the tour, timing the visits for maximum impact. I mostly bounced in and out of Bangkok, popping over to see Chip when I could. He was reliable as clockwork. That struck me as a little bizarre. A drug smuggler with a steady schedule. 277 Pogo and Howard swapped out my 'bodyguards' to give the impression of a huge organization. Howard even went on a couple of my "Friendship visits." 278 He chuckled all the way to the airport afterwards, commenting that I had a flair for the dramatic that was perfect. He actually insisted that I use operational funds to buy a full wardrobe of black skirt suits in silk, fine wool, and cashmere, with shoes to match, and a couple real Hermes alligator bags. He didn't want me to be caught out because of a cheap imitation. I just figured it was a sacrifice I had to make for my country. 279 The rumors spread through the underworld like wildfire. To add to the effect, a sumo doorman in Kabukicho - the giant red light district in Tokyo - found himself dragged through the street by his queue of hair as if he were a toddler; Amos felt - or at least pretended to feel - that the doorman hadn't shown enough respect when I arrived. I deliberately ignored the whole thing, acting as if it were beneath my notice. By the time I reached Russia and stepped in the front door of the Club Troika in Vlad, an obviously terrified white-blonde waitress was already waiting wide-eyed with my Cuba Libre. She'd been sent over as soon as I'd been sighted at the curb. To say the negotiations went smoothly was a massive understatement. 280 That's how I was reborn as "The Wendy" again. This time, though, instead of contempt, the name inspired fear and respect. I had to admit to myself that I loved it; the drama, the infamous reputation, most of all, the respect of the guys in the unit. Instead of being the "little sister," I was an equal. Maybe not a gunman, like them, but still an equal. 281 There was one unpleasant side effect I hadn't anticipated. 282 After several months, I dropped by the bar to say "hi" to Chip, but I only caught a glimpse of his crumpled hat as he slipped out the door at the back. At first I assumed I it was a weird happenstance, but it happened two more times and I realized he was avoiding me. 283 I had a sick feeling I knew what was going on. Chip was too wired into the rumor mills to miss it forever, but it took me a few weeks back at the safe house and a kick in the gut to decide what to do. 284 None of the teams were in, so I was pretty much by myself when a formal looking envelope arrived in the dispatch bag for me. It was my final divorce decree. In a lot of ways it didn't mean anything. I hadn't seen Rob since the day I'd caught him with Captain Silicone. I'd sort of vaguely heard that he'd been transferred to Fort Benning at some point. Probably Daddy Shirling's efforts to keep the whole mess quiet. Still, it hurt a lot, like I'd done something wrong. 285 Maybe under other circumstances, I'd have cried it out on a girlfriends shoulder. If Kurt's team had been in, they'd have poured rum and coke into me until I couldn't see straight, then have Amos and me singing the Team version of "Family Tradition" on the Karaoke machine. All twenty versus, even the three original, printable, ones. That's what they'd done when I was upset at being stranded in the safe house alone over Christmas. It actually worked pretty damn well. 286 But they weren't in and I didn't have any girlfriends to speak of. So instead, I convinced myself that I needed to check on cargo in Bangkok. Never mind the fact that there wasn't actually anything worth checking on coming down the chute. 287 I didn't even try to lie to myself very convincingly. 288 I got into the bar early, wearing a sundress for a change, and found a table in the corner to lie in wait for my prey. Of course that lasted about five minutes before Jack wandered over. It was probably the dress that really caught his attention. 289 "You're Chip's friend, eh?" 290 I nodded. "You know where he's at? Is he in town?" 291 "He's about somewhere, probably come in a little later." Jack pulled the other chair our and sat down. "I'll keep ya company till he gets here." 292 Jack spent the next twenty minutes telling me stories about his adventures across Asia, framed to make him manly and heroic. Maybe, before Rob, before hanging out with the guys on the teams, I'd have been more impressed, maybe it would have worked better. As it was, he didn't have Hollywood's smoky charm, and he simply didn't measure up against the guys on the teams. 293 He droned on and on until I stopped listening completely. Chip had come in and was drifting our way. He couldn't quite see me in the dark, and he seemed fixed on talking to Jack. Right up until he stepped to the table and saw me sitting there. 294 I was going to grab his arm, but he stepped back too quickly, like he'd seen a cobra on the floor. 295 He looked over at Jack, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You're playing with fire there, Mate." 296 Jack held up his hand. "I wasn't moving in on her, Chip. Just keeping her company." 297 Total bullshit, of course. Guys like Jack were always on the prowl and they were too shallow to care if they hurt a friend. If they actually had any friends. 298 Chapter 1.4 Chip looked at me then back at Jack, I could see anger. "That's not what I meant, Jack. That's "The Wendy" we've all been hearing about." He said it just a little too loudly and heads swiveled to look. 300 "Bloody Hell." Jack's chair hit the ground as he stood up and backed away, hand up defensively. "Didn't know." 301 Chip spun on his heel and all but sprinted towards the back door. 302 Ignoring Jack's sputtered apologies, I headed after Chip. The Wendy's reputation was working in my favor - Chip had to fight his way through the crowd, but they parted like the Red Sea for me as whispers of "The Wendy" raced through the mob. 303 I could have grabbed his shirt before he got out the door, but I let him get into the alley before I did. I wanted privacy. 304 "Chip." 305 He froze and held his hands up a bit, then slowly turned to face me as I relaxed my grip. "What do you want?" 306 "Chip, it's me." 307 "I know it's you, I just didn't know what you were. It took me a while to put it together, then I had to convince myself it was you. Hell, here I was warning you about the Huang brothers and I should have been warning them about you." 308 I scowled at him. "Just what do you think I am?" 309 "Who the fuck knows? Why don't you tell me? Triads? Russians? I've heard rumors you're Irish Provo wanted for a bunch of murders, doing mercenary work for... someone. Heard rumors you're the daughter of an American Mafia Don. All anybody knows for sure is that you're sure as fuck connected and dangerous as hell." He looked up and down the alley. "And you have a shit ton of bodyguards that come out of nowhere." 310 "They're not here. I'm not working Chip. I've had a shitty week and I'm just trying to relax." I looked back at the door to the club and rolled my eyes. "And that's sure as hell not going to happen here tonight." 311 He had a twitch of smile that disappeared almost instantly. "I'm not apologizing. I don't like being used." 312 I almost denied using him, but caught myself. "I get that. I wasn't planning on actually liking you." 313 My honesty brought him up short. "I don't want to be in the middle of this, I stay out of the bad shit. That's how people get killed." 314 I stared at him. "Chip, you smuggle drugs. I don't think you're on any kind of high moral ground here." 315 "Pharmaceuticals, Wendy. I move expired pharmaceuticals to places, people, that can't afford anything better. They still work, the big drug companies put expiration dates on a lot of stuff just so people can't store it up. What I'm doing may not be technically legal but it isn't heroin." 316 That caught me totally off guard. "You make money doing that?" 317 His mouth twisted. "Not much, but it's a living." 318 "Really? Moving meds to people who can't afford better doesn't exactly sound lucrative. Sounds like a pretty shitty business plan." 319 He started to argue, then slumped a bit. "Yeah. It's pretty much shit. I'm barely making it. Anything serious goes wrong with the plane and it's all over. But nobody else wants the cargo or the route, so I'm not likely to get killed over it, and it's still a decent thing to do." 320 "Sorry about misunderstanding what you do." I gestured down the alley to the blazing neon lights of the main drag. "Our surroundings kind of point in a different direction. This isn't Mother Theresa Boulevard. Although I think that some of the girls at the Lucky Seven dress as nuns on Saturdays." 321 He gave a twisted half smile. "You make it all sound so sleazy." 322 I couldn't stop a giggle. "It IS sleazy, Chip. Really, really, really, tremendously, unbelievably sleazy." 323 He threw his hands up. "That's depressing. True, but depressing." 324 "Sounds like you could use a drink." 325 He glanced at the door. "Not in there. If you go back in there now the place will be empty in ten seconds." 326 "That's kind of your fault you know. I've got to find a different place to hang out now. Probably have to find a place in Patpong or Nana Plaza, I'm sure the story is all over here now." 327 He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "Why would I drink with you anyway?" 328 "Because you're my friend." 329 He started to object, but stopped. He couldn't deny we were friends. 330 I grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the alley. "There's a bar in the Imperial." 331 "The Bangkok Imperial?" 332 I nodded. 333 "They won't let anyone in there unless they're with a guest. Even if they did let us in, I couldn't afford a glass of water there." When I didn't say anything and only raised one eyebrow, his voice trailed off and he closed his eyes. "Shit. That's where you're staying isn't it?" 334 "There are some perks to being a femme fatale." 335 The doorman did give him a jaundiced look - the Imperial was snooty enough that even the hookers had to be properly dressed and well behaved. We weren't seated at the bar for thirty seconds before one of the staff brought Chip a burgundy loaner jacket and took his hat and aloha shirt. 336 After a few drinks, Chip realized I was still the same Wendy he knew and he relaxed a bit, but was still a touch concerned. 337 "Seriously Wendy, How much trouble am I in?" 338 "None. Not with me anyway. The other stuff is just business." 339 "Can I ask what the business is?" 340 "Just getting cargo where it needs to go." I could see curiosity in his eyes. "That's all, Chip. You don't want to know more." 341 He did, but he'd been on the fringes of the smuggling world long enough to know a serious warning when he heard one. He changed the subject. "You don't suppose any of these lot know where my hat and shirt's gone off to? Hate to lose it." 342 I poked his ribs. "Knowing the staff here, they may have taken them to have a proper burial. That'd cut your wardrobe in half." 343 "I'd take offense at that if it wasn't true." 344 I waved the bartender over. He had that perfectly calm mannerism you only see in the most experienced hotel staff. "Yes, Madame?" 345 "May I ask where Mr. Woodley's overshirt and hat have gone off to?" 346 He didn't miss a beat or change expression at all. "They've been... properly treated... and delivered to your room, of course." 347 "Thank you." The bartender walked off while I tried desperately not to bust out in laughter. 348 I looked at Chip, trying to keep from losing it. "He... he thinks you're a..." The shock on his face was too much; I doubled over trying not to fall off the stool, laughing almost hysterically. "Chip Woodley, International Gigolo." 349 Fortunately, Chip started to laugh right along with me. "He thinks you're paying me so you can take me up to your hotel room and have your way with me? So wait, that makes me..." 350 "Julia Roberts."I really did damn near fall off the stool at that point, only Chip's steadying hand kept me up. It was very late, and we were the only ones left at the bar, but the staff still managed to radiate disapproval at my lack of decorum without saying or doing anything. 351 He managed to get me back upright. "Maybe we should get out of here. I'm not sure I want to see what would happen if they try to throw you out. If half the rumors are true, your giant bodyguards will appear in a flash of lightning and kill everyone." 352 I tried to stop giggling, but it wasn't succeeding particularly well. "Only one of them is actually giant. And they don't make any noise when they show up." 353 I managed to get on my feet and grabbed his hand. "C'mon, let's go get your shirt." 354 "And hat. I'm not leaving without my hat." 355 We padded through the extra lush carpet in the Colonial-style pink marble halls until we got to a waiting elevator. I stabbed the top floor button. 356 Chip shook his head. "The penthouse? Of course." 357 "Perks, Chip, perks." 358 Of course he never had a chance of getting out of the suite that night. The staff of the hotel obviously had it figured out before I admitted it to myself. 359 ### 360 The next morning, we were sitting at the little breakfast table with coffee and breakfast, in robes so thick and fluffy I wasn't even sure they were legal in most countries. 361 Chip sipped the outrageously good coffee that room service had delivered. "I wasn't expecting that." He smiled, a real smile. "I'm not sorry it happened though." 362 "Me either. But you'll probably regret it. Not only do you have to do the 'Walk of Shame' out of the hotel, but I think the staff ruined your outfit." I pointed up at the cleaned and pressed aloha shirt. "They even put on all new buttons." 363 Chip shook his head mournfully. "Bloody embarrassing. They have no respect for tradition. And my poor hat." The hat, perched on the shelf above the shirt, had been blocked and cleaned to the point where it was nearly blindingly white. Even the frayed edges had been skillfully repaired. 364 I smiled. I couldn't help it, I'd been smiling from ear to ear all morning. "I've got one more night in Bangkok." 365 "Let me take you out for dinner." He looked around the opulent room. "Maybe someplace a bit more in my price range. You ever eat at the Royal Dragon?" 366 "Is that the one where the waiters wear roller skates?" 367 "Supposed to be the largest restaurant in the world." 368 "I haven't been there." 369 That evening I ended up sitting in a giant walkway-filled restaurant, eating all kinds of strange seafood, wearing Chip's hat and aloha shirt. I didn't have to drag him back to my hotel, it was more of a race. 370 That became our thing whenever we were both in town. The Royal Dragon for Dinner followed by breakfast in my room at the Imperial. I couldn't go back to the bars or go-go clubs on Soi Cowboy, so we kind of formalized our schedule a bit. I thought the only problems with it were how close my "end term service" was getting and how likely it was that Daddy Shirling was still gunning for me. Of course I completely missed the real danger. 371 ### 372 Chip had been right. It's dangerous to be caught in the middle. 373 I was only a month from being "out" of the Army, and really starting to worry about what to do when I got a report from the Bangkok police. An Australian in a red flowered shirt and white hat had been dragged out of a bar on Soi Cowboy by Chinese gunmen the night before. 374 I frantically pulled up the morning email that told me where all the smugglers were at. The Huang brothers were in Macau, and one of their planes had left Bangkok just a few minutes before, headed there with a single stop on the way. 375 I was lucky in one thing: a Thai military flight to Macao was lifting out of U-Tapao in just two hours, and, unlike the Huang brother's plane, it was on a direct route. That would get it there less than thirty minutes after their plane. I might just make it. I used our program to put myself on the manifest as VIP cargo. 376 Kurt's team was in, but nobody had a chance to stop me as I rushed out the door of the safe house. I grabbed my gun, cash, and a stack of kruggerands. 377 The flight to Macao was surreal. The Thai flight crew was professional and experienced enough to have a complete lack of curiosity as to why a farang would be on the flight under National Intelligence authority. Smart men. They could probably sense my rage and barely-suppressed-panic, even though I was carefully trying to maintain my "femme fatale" cool. 378 I stopped on the way out of the airport to call back to the safehouse. I expected Kurt to answer, but the line clicked over and it was Pogo. 379 "I'm in Macao." 380 "We figured that. Kurt found the reports right after you left the house." His voice was clipped. Maybe angry. The idea of Pogo or Howard actually angry was beyond terrifying. 381 "This was my fault, I got careless. It's my fault he's in danger. I don't have a choice." 382 "We all have choices, Wendy. It's not about having choices, it's all about consequences. There are consequences for everything. Is your... 'friend' worth those consequences?" 383 I stood for a second, trying to say something, say anything; but there really was nothing to say. "I'm sorry." I hung up. 384 An airport limousine took me directly to the Huang brothers' club. Everything I'd ever heard, every story, every rumor made it clear that there was only one place the Huang brothers could be. The Eight Golden Lotus looked sad and cheap in broad daylight; a scattering of trash at the curb seemed to be appropriate garnish. 385 The single doorman stared at me wide-eyed as I strode up the steps. He looked at me, then down at several spots of blood on the doorsill. 386 When you are out of options, bluff. I gave him a steady stare. "Run." 387 In the back of my mind, I heard Ronni's words about becoming what you need to be. Maybe I wasn't bluffing after all. 388 He didn't have to be told twice. I opened the door and walked into the mostly empty club. A few scattered workers were preparing the place, cleaning the bar, polishing tables. Not paying much attention. I headed straight for the back room. I was almost to it before chaos erupted. One of the bartenders had seen me and was yelling frantically into a telephone; the girls immediately ran for the door with a more than a little panic. 389 I saw one of the bartenders pulling a shotgun out just as I pushed my way into the door of the Huang's private room. 390 My stomach lurched when I saw the familiar red-and-white shirt on the figure slumped in the chair up against the table. One hand was strapped flat down on a cutting board and two fingers from it were laying in the middle of the table. There was a large pool of blood and a piece of my mind tried to distract me by questioning whether they just planned to change out the table or if they had a way of cleaning it all up. 391 Jonathon stood over him, pinning the arm still with one hand, clutching a bloody cleaver with the other. David had been trying to slap the unfortunate man awake. Both stared at me in shock. 392 Even more so when I started laughing. 393 "You grabbed the wrong man." 394 Jack's eyes were swollen shut, and his nose was obviously broken. But it was definitely Jack, not Chip. A wave of relief swept over me. 395 Jonathon raised the cleaver a bit. "If you move, he dies." 396 "Oh, Jonathon, I really do mean you grabbed the wrong man. This one isn't mine. Go ahead, kill him." 397 A buzzing sound started behind me and David smiled a sick, sneering smile as the buzzing suddenly cut off. "Our men are here. And if he's the wrong man maybe we should discuss..." 398 I looked at him, thinking through my options, I could try to take Jack and leave, but that wouldn't solve anything. "It doesn't matter, David. You may have actually taken the wrong man, but you meant to take my man." 399 I think Jonathon actually understood first, but it didn't matter. In the back of my head I could hear Kurt bark "draw," and burned-in reflex took over. 400 The little revolver was only a few inches from Jonathon's chin when it went off, kicking his head back a little with a spray of gore. David was reaching for me, and scrambling for something under his coat, but whatever it was didn't matter. The table was in his way, and my gun roared again, blasting up through the roof of his mouth as he tried to yell something. 401 I spun towards the door and snapped the lock. 402 Jack managed to open one eye a bit, the deafening sound of the pistol doing what David's slaps hadn't. 403 "You here to rescue me?" 404 "No. I was here to rescue Chip." 405 His voice was slurred and thick. "Stupid joke. Told Chip if he could land a piece like you I was going to try the same bait. Ran off with 'is hat and shirt. Stupid fucking joke." He laughed weakly while I used the cleaver to cut the blood soaked leather straps from the cutting board. 406 He managed to pull himself to sitting, then pulled the shirt off and wadded it up around his hand. 407 I stared at him coldly. "You're paying to have that shirt cleaned. I like that shirt." 408 He looked at me in disbelief, then nodded slowly. "Now what?" 409 I paused, thinking. I had three bullets and they probably had a small army out in the club now. I wondered if I just pushed their bodies out the door, what would happen. 410 A sudden storm of gunfire started; normal at first, but the normal gunshots were quickly overwhelmed by a familiar, oddly metallic stuttering. It didn't last long. The only sounds I could hear were my heartbeat and Jack's ragged breathing. 411 Jack started forward, but I stopped him. "Stay here." He watched incredulously as I put the revolver back in its holster and opened the door slowly. 412 I stepped out with my heart in my throat, holding my hands up and open, just a bit. "Clear." 413 Twelve of Kurt's team were fanned out across the club, fully awake, fully alive, fully aware. Every possible avenue of approach always covered by at least one set of eyes. The blunt muzzles of their MP5SDs never quite stopped moving, questing for targets as if the guns themselves were alive like hungry wolves. I didn't count the bodies on the floor of the club, but there seemed to be a lot of them. 414 My question of how they'd gotten here so quickly was answered by a single forlorn figure in a tattered Australian military flight suit. Looking at me for answers, answers to questions he didn't even know how to ask. 415 "Chip. I thought they'd gotten you." 416 I stepped over a body and wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back then leaned back and looked at me. "You've got something on you." He pointed to the side of his face. 417 "Oh, that's Jonathon. Maybe a little David, but mostly Jonathon." 418 He turned a bit green, but tried to smile. "Bit possessive, are you?" 419 "I'm not big on sharing. It's been a problem before." 420 "I'll remember that." 421 "You'd better." 422 Kurt suddenly loomed over us. "You made a choice here, Wendy. We broke a bunch of rules; pulled a lot of strings, cashed in a lot of favors, to get to Chip and to have him get us here in time. We can plead ignorance and say we didn't understand what was going on. Howard will buy that from us, even if he doesn't really believe us. You can't. I don't think you want to be here when the bosses get here." 423 Kurt shook his head and looked at me. "There's a van downstairs, take it back to the airport. Go somewhere, anywhere. We'll get the other guy back to Thailand." 424 I narrowed my eyes at him. "Alive, okay? He's an idiot, but if it wasn't for him, they'd probably have grabbed Chip." 425 Kurt smiled and shrugged. "He'll be okay. Maybe a bit shaken up. Just to make sure he keeps his mouth shut." 426 "Yeah, he probably needs that." 427 Chip sighed. "Where do we go?" 428 "I have some ideas." 429 I started for the door and a low rumbling voice caught my attention. "Make sure you take the suitcase, boss lady." Amos gave me a wink. 430 As we stepped out the door I could see Hollywood on one knee scanning up and down the street, holding a scoped rifle that looked like it might be a heavily modified M25, if I was remembering right. I could see three bodies crumpled in the street. He glanced up. "You're a lucky man, Chip. Take care of her." 431 Chip looked at the sniper rifle, then down the street at the bodies. "I will, Mate." 432 We scurried down the steps, to a white van. Chip hopped in the driver's seat while I climbed in, hitting my foot on a suitcase jammed between the seats. "Drive fast, Chip. We really, really, need to get out of here." 433 "Who are they, Wendy? The Triads?" 434 "Worse." 435 "The Russians?" 436 "Worse." 437 "Christ. What could be worse?" 438 "Chip, you really don't want to know. Drive faster." 439 I pulled the suitcase up into my lap. It was so heavy it took both hands. I flipped it open and looked inside. 440 It must have been all the operational cash from the safe house, along with every last Krugerrand. 441 "Drive faster, Chip. Seriously. Drive. Faster." 442 ### 443 Six Months Later 444 Pochentong Airfield, outside Phnom Penh, Cambodia. 445 It was my own fault I didn't hear them come in, I had all three fans on high. Our office air conditioner had died again, so the fan was necessary to prevent suffocation in the mid-day heat. 446 Chapter 1.5 The guest chair scraping as it was pulled out in front of my desk was my first warning. 448 "They grow up so quickly, don't they, Pogo?" 449 "They never call. They never write. Sad, isn't it, Colonel?" 450 I looked up slowly with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Howard was seated in the chair across my desk and the tall, lean form of Pogo rested lazily against the doorframe. 451 Maybe I could convince them to just kill me and leave Chip alone. "Chip doesn't know anything. I've never told him anything." 452 Howard studied me with his cold blue eyes. "Didn't figure you would." 453 Well, at least that was something, I squared my shoulders. "What can C&W Shipping do for you?" 454 Pogo chuckled and talked directly to Howard. "I believe the word you used was 'chutzpah,' wasn't it?" 455 Howard nodded, still studying me. "Only word for it. It's something you're born with. You either have it or you don't." 456 I waited. Either they were toying with me or not, I was pretty sure I wouldn't have a chance of getting my revolver out of my desk. Pogo was too damn fast, and I was pretty sure Howard was faster than I was too. 457 Howard put a folder on my desk. "Your discharge papers. You've been out for months." 458 I opened them and stared at the papers. "This is real?" 459 Pogo smiled his too-wide smile. "You even got a Meritorious Service Medal, pretty good for a terminal Buck Sergeant. Obviously nobody in the Division would sign it, but we have connections at SOCOM. Couldn't do anything about a Good Conduct Medal though, what with the General Letter of Reprimand in your file." 460 I smiled. I'm sure it was a bit crazed looking. "I don't mind. That was worth losing a Good Conduct Medal over." 461 "We also have your stuff in the truck outside. Even all your suits and shoes." Pogo looked thoughtful. "That's a lot of shoes." 462 Howard gave a grim smile. "Now, on to business." 463 "Business?" 464 "Business. We, and some of our... brethren, are running into problems moving shipments efficiently lately." 465 "Really?" I tried not to grin. They still needed me. I was sure he could see my interest though. 466 Howard nodded sagely. "Really. Since the unfortunate demise of the Huang brothers, there's been infighting in their organization, and that has had side effects. Nobody has managed to take it over because all their chief lieutenants are quite dead." 467 "How can I help you with that?" 468 "The Huang brothers' companies have, of course legally fallen into the hands of their nearest relative." 469 "Maybe you're speaking to the wrong person. You should be talking to him." 470 "Her. Seems they had a sister." He slid another folder to me and waited while I opened it. 471 A passport. I opened it. Wendy Huang, a British national, born in Hong Kong. My own picture stared back at me. 472 Pogo looked up at the ceiling. "Educated at Vassar with a Master's in Business Administration. She has a reputation for being rather ruthless. Rumor has it she shot her brothers in the middle of their own nightclub, then had her bodyguards shoot all their lieutenants." 473 "I don't look Chinese." 474 "Half Chinese. Do you really think anyone wants to look that close?" 475 I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. "At least that would take care of the Senator Shirling issue. I could visit the states." 476 Howard tossed another folder on the desk. "I forgot about that. The good senator is trying desperately to keep his daughter out of any further news stories." Pogo was laughing softly. 477 I flipped the folder open and stared at the front page of the Sun newspaper from a month or so before. 478 BIPARTISAN SPIRIT! SENATOR'S DAUGHTER REACHES ACROSS THE AISLE! 479 Brandi Shirling was on the front page, with her naughty bits blurred, obviously wearing nothing but thigh high boots and a strap-on that looked like it doubled as a door breaching ram. A man older than her father was tied up naked on the bed. Head down, butt up. 480 "Is that...? " 481 "Yes, that's Dennis Velman, the Democrat challenger to Senator Shirling in the last election." 482 I snickered. "I guess he's getting used to being screwed over by the Shirlings." 483 Howard stared at the picture for a bit. "She is being asked to quietly resign her commission 'for the good of the Army.' Needless to say, the good Senator has lost interest in pursuing anything that could cause any further press interest in his daughter at this juncture." 484 "I'd guess not. And the camera does add thirty pounds, doesn't it?" 485 "Isn't that supposed to be ten?" 486 "Maybe she just got fat. How did this happen?" 487 "It's a long story, but Pogo has contacts." 488 We just sat for a few moments. 489 Howard finally sat back. "So we have an agreement? You take over the Huang network for us and keep it running for us." 490 I summoned my inner femme fatale. "For the right price, of course." 491 Pogo looked amused. "That's only fair, but I'd think, given that you disappeared with nearly half a million dollars in operational cash, that you'd offer us a family discount. Say ten percent?" 492 I couldn't stop the grin that time. 493 ### 494 Post Production Notes: 495 The MP5SD is a silenced 9mm submachine gun used by spec ops all over the world. 496 The M25 is a essentially a sniper version of the venerable M14. 497 Wendy's Smith and Wesson Model 38 Airweight Bodyguard is a nod to fictional counter-spy Matt Helm. "The Toughest Spy to Ever Crush a Kidney with a Crowbar." 498 The "Needles story" is very much a true story. It happened to our Team Medic. Scared the living hell out him. He fortunately did not pick up any diseases, but we gave him a pretty rough time about it for a damn long time. 499 https://www.literotica.com/s/gun-gun-teddy-bear Katie looked drawn and pale, not the buoyant cheerful girl I'd married ten years ago. She'd lost a few pounds lately. She'd always carried a few extra and I never had a problem with it. It suited her bubbly cheerful personality. I hadn't seen that Katie in a while. 501 "When, Kurt? When?" 502 "I don't know, Babe. I can't just walk out, it's too important." 503 I saw a whole series of angry expressions flash over her face. "Don't 'Babe' me Kurt. This is bullshit. You promised them four years and it's been six. Six damn years of this..." she gestured at my A bag sitting next to the door, a black velcro'd strip hanging off it, staring at us with blood red eyes "... this shit." 504 "Katie, look, as soon as I can get out of it, I will. I'd be doing deployments almost anywhere we went anyway..." 505 Her expression changed to shocked disbelief. 506 "Seriously? You're going to compare this to a normal unit? One where they schedule deployments months in advance instead of hours, and one where I can at least know where you're going or at least find out where it was after you get back?" 507 The unspoken word was "if". Katie wasn't as naïve as some of the wives - she knew that many of the "training missions" weren't really training missions. Her best friend, Tina with the ever changing hair, was a nurse at the facility where some of ours got patched up when things went wrong. 508 The van out front in our cul de sac revved its engine; two more team members were waiting for pick up at the Bachelors Quarters. Where she was threatening to send me, if something didn't change. 509 "It'll just be a few days, maybe a couple weeks, Katie. We'll talk as soon as I get back." 510 Her anger was palpable, as real and solid as the handle of my A bag as I hefted it up. In some ways I was surprised she even let me kiss her and the little girl in her arms - our little girl - goodbye. 511 I felt trapped and bitter on the ride to the airfield. Hell, I couldn't tell her where we were headed; I didn't even know. The unit "Spouse Liaison", Sergeant Wendy O'Connell would let them know periodically that we were fine. 512 But none of the wives liked or trusted her. She was young, cute, and earnest and all too obviously didn't know much, if anything, more than they did. 513 I needed to find some way to calm her when I got back or I'd be the next on "the block". The divorce rate in the unit was over 60 percent, which, given the stress, the long absences and near constant training seemed low. 514 Katie, like most of the wives, just didn't understand how important this was. That it was bigger than us. 515 She was close to done. She'd been sending all the signals that the life was too stressful, that I wasn't around enough to even qualify as a Dad to our little girl. 516 But letting go of the job... well, it was hard. Giving up the most important thing you'd ever seen or done, or even heard of? It's so damn hard. I was sure we'd get through it. 517 I was the best - the absolute best. I was the close quarters specialist - the Monster. I led the Stack through the target zone. Nobody, nothing was faster or deadlier than I was. 518 I had talent. 519 We named that talent, called it by the old warning from the training shoot house: Gun. Gun. Teddy Bear. 520 Enter a room with a dozen potential threats - some were hostages, some were gunmen. And you had to eliminate the bad guys without killing hostages. As you entered, they moved, ducked and screamed. 521 Some were holding guns or grenades, and those were the ones you had to eliminate. 522 In one scenario, a woman would pull a small dark object from their coat. She was almost invariably shot. And as she fell, the object would bounce free. A small, dark blue Teddy Bear. 523 The hard part was pulling the trigger during the next scenario. 524 That teddy bear was legendary. 525 I didn't have a problem pulling the trigger the next time, because I was the reason for the 'almost' in almost invariably. I'd identified the bear as harmless and moved on to the next target. And in the next scenario, when she pulled a gun, I shot her without hesitation. 526 I kept that Teddy Bear on my desk. 527 I was that damn good and proud of it. 528 *** 529 The mission was in Asia - we'd been loaned to an international police effort against "white slavery" - what would later be called human trafficking. Girls, teenage and younger, sold across international boundaries as part of the sex trade. An FBI agent investigating the murder of three young girls in Texas had made it a personal crusade, found the links and found a local government official who was clean enough and ambitious enough to trust. He'd arranged to invite us in on a "training exercise". So we could do what he didn't trust his own police to do. 530 Break the back of the largest Chinese organized crime slave trade ring in the world. 531 We'd brought the full complement, enough operators for two full teams. That way we'd have back up for everyone, and could increase the team size as necessary. Even the backup Monster was with us. He was new, but he was fast as hell and endlessly aggressive - he'd passed the "Gun Gun Teddy Bear" test just like I had. He didn't have the experience I did, but that would come with time. 532 He'd run on a couple of relatively low threat missions, and done just fine, even when things had gone sideways on one of them. 533 Maybe he was the reason I really didn't want to quit - professional jealousy, the desire not to be replaced. 534 The FBI agent met us in a side room of the hanger. She wasn't what we expected. 535 The tall, slender, brown-haired woman had her back to us as we filed in and sat down, sketching out building diagrams on the board. 536 Of course the first things we noticed were her long legs in that skirt. There was, to be honest, a not-too-subtle murmur of appreciation rippling through the team, and Hollywood - our Team One sniper and resident lady's man - made a show of slicking his hair back, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. 537 She turned around and glanced over us with a piercing gaze. 538 "If you're all done staring at my ass, we'll get this briefing started." 539 The "don't fuck with this one" light kicked on in my brain. She was serious as hell. The rest of the team - even Hollywood - settled in at once. They'd all registered the same warning light. 540 "I'm Special Agent Hawthorne. And this mission rolls in less than three hours, a full day early, so we don't have time to screw around here. You all read the briefing packets on the plane, I assume. I'll cover what we've learned since they were sent." 541 She covered the changes and updates in detail. There were twice as many potential gunmen as had been there previously, and nearly four times as many hostages. 542 And four times as much area to cover, forcing us to use both teams. I guess we'd find out how the new kid would do as the Monster for team two in a real potential goat fuck. 543 *** 544 I have no idea what triggered the early launch; she never explained it and I'm a hammer, not the carpenter, so it didn't even really matter to me, except the ways it'd impacted the tactical situation. 545 It went smoothly, flawlessly, a textbook example of what operations should look like. 546 The Special Agent had, with unspoken words, made it clear that we weren't there to capture criminals. Our only priority was to rescue as many of the girls as we could. Any resistance - any effort to slow us down from achieving that objective - was to be eliminated immediately. 547 We waited in two unmarked panel vans. We relaxed as best we could in the heat and confinement - I pulled the velcro-backed patch from a cargo pocket and centered the blood red demon eyes on my chest. It was my ritual, my transition from Kurt to the Monster. 548 One hour after nightfall, her man killed the power to the entire block, blanketing it with blackness. We clicked on our night vision goggles and moved in through rows of the gold painted cars favored by the gunmen of this organization. 549 The entry on our end was soundless - the lock on the door didn't resist at all. The gunmen did. As I think the Special Agent both hoped and expected they would. 550 They didn't have a chance in the darkness and chaos. Most of them never even really identified the odd mechanical stuttering cough of the silenced MP5SDs as gunfire. 551 There wasn't time for hesitation in the race to the holding cells; every man who came into my sight with a gun in hand took two rounds center mass. 552 And I kept moving through the tangled rat warren, the rest of the stack followed, finishing any who continued to show resistance. Resistance included breathing. We wouldn't risk getting attacked from the rear, even by a wounded man. When we eventually saw the state of the girls in the holding cell, it was clear there'd be no lost sleep over any of those men. 553 We certainly missed some in the tangle of rooms - but if they fled armed, Hollywood and his counterpart were waiting outside for them. 554 In the back of my mind, I wondered if Team Two had encountered the same level of resistance. 555 We broke into the entry room to the holding area, at almost exactly the same moment as the lead element from Team Two. 556 The guys in the room were a bit more prepared for us - a lantern was on, and they at least already had their guns in their hands. Not that it helped. One got off a shot - but it was up into the ceiling. 557 An old lady huddled in the corner of the room watching almost expressionless as we swept the area and began extracting the badly abused girls from filthy cramped cells that were built more like dog kennels than anything else. 558 The Team Two Monster and I stood in the entry way staring outward in case anything went sideways. I'd met him at a barbeque a couple months ago. The Sergeant Major made sure we had a barbeque every month or so if we weren't on a training cycle, he really loved firing up the grill. The new guy seemed okay. A little too eager, a little too young - we all ran a bit older than usual for the Army, but for us he was pretty young. I hadn't met his wife, but Katie had, and she said his wife seemed nice enough - a bit naïve, but pleasant. 559 I shot a sideway look at him, but didn't say anything. It felt like a million years ago that I'd joined the unit. I could barely remember it anymore. 560 So we stood. The old lady sat stone-faced in the corner watching us, a distant look in her eyes, as if she was really miles away. 561 She suddenly smiled a bit, and began to pull something from her jacket. 562 The new kid raised his hand toward her to tell her to freeze. 563 My MP5 coughed twice, both rounds entering just above the bridge of her nose. 564 He looked at me in shock as she slumped sideways. Her hand fell free showing that she hadn't had a chance to pull the pin on the grenade. 565 His expression changed from shock to awe. 566 He might have even said something, but I couldn't hear anything. The hollow roaring in my head was too loud. 567 I was the best. But that hadn't been why I'd shot her. I hadn't even seen what was in her hand. 568 I'm sure somebody could make the case that I'd detected something in her manner, but that'd be bullshit. How the hell could a farm boy from Iowa have any understanding of what a woman from halfway around the world, a completely different culture, would do from her smile? 569 No. I'd shot her because I was afraid the new kid would beat me to it. 570 That hit me like an electric shock. My life was one long game of "Gun. Gun. Teddy Bear." 571 And I wasn't even looking anymore. 572 The crowd outside was immense by the time we finished bringing the girls out. Hawthorne had had her own problems. While the operation was going on, the district police chief had shown up with a hastily assembled force and every intention of attempting to arrest us all. He was in on the take, and had gotten a panicky phone call from somebody in the hellish prison. 573 She'd listened to him screaming at her, checked her card, found his name and picture, then simply shot him in the face, while calling for the snipers to pin down his men. She then called every international news organization, NGO and Embassy on the planet. The fact that she had the phone numbers on her probably meant something. 574 So we emerged into a sea of reporters, Red Cross personnel and embassy officials from nearly every embassy in the city. 575 The girls were terrified of us, apparently believing we were some kind of robots, so, against all wisdom we'd pulled our masks off to show we were human. That helped a little - nobody would ever mistake us for Chinese, and that was at least some comfort for them. We herded the girls on to busses with embassy representatives from every major embassy. 576 Special Agent Hawthorne was ecstatic to find out about the old lady. Turned out she'd been one of the top leaders for this particular crime family. Nobody knew where she was hiding, and she was on more "most wanted" lists than they could count. They were still trying to figure out how many counts of murder, torture and kidnapping she was wanted for. Why that mattered anymore was beyond me. She must have known her identity would be discovered and decided to take a few of us with her. 577 That didn't help. I still knew. 578 Maybe Katie should run. 579 We were back at home in less than a week. I called the house, but there was no answer. Not surprising in the middle of the day. Katie spent a lot of time at the community center at the usual "Mommy and Me" activities. That's where I usually found them. I'd head over there after I got my gear in the house. 580 The van dropped me off and I trudged up the steps under an iron grey sky, past our minivan. 581 The community center was just a couple blocks away, so Katie usually pulled the little toy red wagon over there instead of driving. 582 I felt like an invader in my own home. It was dark and lifeless without Katie and our little girl. Nothing really seemed important in the house - just... stuff. 583 And none of it really felt like it was mine. Maybe my place was somewhere else. 584 I was still putting my gear in the closet in the spare bedroom we'd made into our home office when the phone rang from the desk. 585 A jarring, hateful sound in the empty house. 586 "Kurt?" 587 "Sergeant Major." 588 "Need you back here in the briefing room immediately. We have a problem." 589 He said other stuff and I told him I'd be there, but my attention was riveted to a rumpled set of papers that'd been lying next to the phone. 590 I'd picked it up so I'd have something to write on if I needed it. It was upside down when I picked it up, so I checked to make sure it wasn't critical before I wrote on the back. 591 A form for a petition for divorce. 592 Lawyers have them - it's that impersonal. Here fill out this form and we'll get right back to you with the petition. 593 This one was half filled out, in at least a half dozen inks. Odd little round marks dotted the surface and the ink had blurred and run in a couple places. 594 Where tears had fallen. 595 Every time I left, she was filling out a few more blanks, a few more lines. Crying the whole God damn time. 596 This was killing her. 597 My life was a game of "Gun. Gun. Teddy Bear." And I wasn't even fucking looking. 598 I left the papers where they were, upside down. 599 Scrawled a note on a blissfully blank piece of paper and left it on the kitchen table. 600 I walked out to the van, found the old license plates on the driver's seat with a heavy cross tip screwdriver. That put me off for a second until I remembered Katie asking me to change them a couple days before I ended up leaving. Another failure. I threw them into the passenger seat, cranked the van and headed back to the unit briefing room, where I found myself staring at me. 601 Standing next to Agent Hawthorne, helping a ten- year- old girl into a bus. The press had been everywhere, there was no way to avoid photos. Most of them would be harmless, and even in this one, I was simply called an "unnamed FBI agent". Gotta love those ubiquitous black tactical uniforms. 602 Still, the security goons had to figure out what it meant and how careful I needed to be. The consensus was that I was pretty safe, but to warn Katie to keep an eye out for a while. Maybe eight months. 603 She'd fucking love that. 604 It took hours. And by the time I headed back, it was dark grey and raining steadily, matching my mood. 605 I almost missed them. Just as I pulled into our cul de sac, a car left the curb where it been parked and crept in behind me. Only the parking lights on. As he followed behind me under the corner streetlight, I could see it was a gold Jeep Eagle. A convertible. 606 By the time that registered I was pulling into the parking place. 607 Gold. 608 How the fuck did they find me so fast? 609 Must have had people in the area. 610 The jeep slid behind me, blocking my exit. 611 I could run, but if they knew about me and the van, odds were too high they knew about Katie and... 612 The door on the passenger side opened. The dome light hadn't' come on. Classic tactics. I could just glimpse the top of a head with straight black hair as the gunman got out. Kind of short, but that was to be expected I suppose. 613 The gunman would have a short exposure - he'd have to cross the back of the van to get to my door. 614 I snatched the screwdriver out of the seat as the plan formed. 615 I had about a 30 percent chance of pulling this off. 616 Wait until the gunman was behind the van, drop it into reverse, and floor it. Pin the gunman between the jeep and the van; push the jeep into the cars on the other side of the cul de sac. That would pin the jeep doors shut. 617 Exit the van, go up over the back of the jeep and drive the heavy screwdriver into the top of the driver's head, through the rag top. 618 That was the weak point of the plan. 619 Why it was only 30 percent. I had no idea how tall the driver was, where his head would be. 620 I gripped the screwdriver in my shift hand and hovered my foot over the gas, ready to stomp. 621 He moved toward the kill zone... 3... 2... 622 Just before he entered the zone, the gunman turned his head. 623 I froze in horror. 624 And placed the screwdriver on the seat by my thigh. 625 I managed to roll down the door window, grabbed the wheel with both hands to stop them from shaking. 626 Tina looked at me as she rounded the van. 627 "Is Katie home?" 628 I nodded forcing as much calm into my voice as I could. "I think so." 629 She looked back. "Car is at the damn dealership again and they give us the Redneck Pimp loaner. The kids love it." 630 She rolled her eyes, then waved at her kids who were staring at us from the back seat. Jesus Christ. 631 "I have to drop off her Mary Kay order with her." 632 I smiled. Weakly, I'm sure. 633 "Are you going in?" 634 "I'll be just a minute. The van has something that sounds wrong in it." 635 She walked on up to the house. I leaned my head forward to rest on the steering wheel. 636 Gun. Gun. Teddy Bear. 637 I didn't think I'd ever get to the house and had to look back twice to make sure I'd rolled the damned window up. Then I realized I didn't give a shit anymore. Let it rain. 638 I walked woodenly past the kitchen where Tina and Katie were talking - Katie started to say something but it died as I pushed on past to our little girl's room. 639 Chapter 2.2 She was sitting on the floor arranging her blocks. I flopped down in front of her and got a sloppy, berry-flavored smooch. 641 We started arranging her blocks. It's a game we play. She puts her blocks in an exact order and I mess them up, rearrange them in a crazy nonsense way. She gives me a mock angry scowl and puts them back. 642 Kimmi is just at that stage. 643 There's no harm in it, we're just having fun and she gets to practice her mad faces on me, knowing I won't be upset. 644 And knowing that I won't stop messing up her blocks. 645 We're like that for a long time. Hushed voices come from the kitchen and in the back of my mind I idly wonder how much Tina knows about Katie's struggle and how long Tina's husband will sit out there with his kids. I don't really care all that much. 646 They should just be thankful to be alive. 647 After a while hear two sets of steps to the door. One walking back from it. To Kimmi's doorway. 648 I give it as long as I can without pushing it. Then I look up at Katie. Her face is full of hard resolve. Absolute determination. 649 But that disappears almost immediately. 650 She falls to her knees right beside me and pulls my face to her chest. 651 Can't put anything over on Katie. Maybe it was my expression, the idiotic, block-game induced half-smile. More likely it was the tears streaming steadily down my face. 652 The rain increased against the windows, but it wasn't raindrops falling on me, it was her tears. I'd have stayed like that forever. 653 I felt Kimmi clamber up on to me, trying to see what was going on. We fell apart into a three way tickly fight that's the best thing that's happened to me in months. From Katie's expression, maybe the best thing in forever. 654 The three of us end up sleeping in Kimmi's room together. Crunched together on the floor, surrounded by a very organized wall of blocks. 655 The next day, I'm in the Colonel's office, telling him my decision. He's not happy, but he isn't particularly surprised either. 656 I explain the near-tragedy the night before. The Colonel's only response is "Good plan." 657 We'll be gone in a few weeks. Most of that will be spent out processing. The Sergeant Major pulled some strings and I'm being seconded to a counter terrorism training facility as a primary instructor and lesson plan writer. There'll be no trips, no travel for my last two years as a soldier. 658 No more "Gun. Gun. Teddy Bear." 659 Not for me. 660 There's one last Barbeque. The car is packed and we're driving out right afterwards. I wait until it's almost over. The new guy is on the grill, and he's damn good at cooking steaks perfectly to order. 661 I glance over at Katie. She's glowing and commiserating with the other wives. The longer term ones are looking at her with frank admiration, the new ones with puzzlement. The brown haired one must be the new guy's wife, Anne or something. 662 I walk to the grill. 663 "Damn good steak." 664 "Thanks," he grins, "It's a gift." 665 I pull a strip of meaningless cloth from my pocket. Palming it, I reach over and shake his hand, passing it to him. 666 He takes it and looks down at the blood red eyes. 667 "Wear it well, Monster." 668 "Thanks, Kurt. I can't imagine walking away from this." 669 I shake my head. "Had to leave." I gestured toward the strip in his palm. "I was turning into the real thing." 670 As we pull away I look in the rear view mirror and watch Kimmi playing with her new dark blue Teddy Bear. 671 Post Production Notes: 672 Not much to say here - an MP5SD is a silenced 9mm submachine gun used by spec ops all over the world. 673 Just in case: Yes, the new guy is Monster from the other stories and Anne is Ex. 674 Oh yeah one more thing... 675 Kimmi1990: You accepted the position as my Little Sister. In Public Comments. In Writing. I checked the Big Brother Handbook and gentle meta-teasing is allowed. I needed a name and a game for the little girl so... 676 If it helps, she's cute as a bug. 677 https://www.literotica.com/s/shameless-11 I stared into the soulless black void for almost a full minute before add a dollop of rum to it. 679 At least I'd waited a full five minutes. Up til recently, I'd have put rum in the coffeemaker instead of water if it would have worked. 680 Well... Okay, I actually tried that one time. The black rum gummed up the coffee maker something fierce. And it boiled nearly all the alcohol off so I had to add more rum to it anyway. The things you learn. 681 I'm Grease. 682 Everyone out here in the islands uses a name other than the one they were born with. 683 My name is Grease, short for Grease Monkey. Because I do engine work on boats. Or maybe they call me that for the grease stains on my shirts and shorts. They aren't exactly sterile. 684 Actually, I've not been too big on personal hygiene for a few years either, so maybe that's the reason for the name. 685 I used to care. 686 I really did. 687 My name used to be Thomas Knight. And I'd had it all. I wasn't born with it, we'd worked hard for it. Me and my wife, Lil. My high school sweetheart, Lily, had stood by my side through college, then law school and put up with 120 hour work weeks for years. She'd worked hard at every job she could find to keep food on the table and help pay for my schooling. And it was going to pay off in spades. We'd finally reached our time, we were on the edge of absolute financially security and ready to start our family. I'd be bringing in enough money that she'd never have to work again, and she could have her dreams of staying home and raising three children. 688 That didn't work out like we planned. 689 At first we thought Lil was just a little under the weather. She was tired all the time. Then she couldn't keep food down. It just kept getting worse. And worse. 690 Ovarian cancer. Once the words were spoken, it was gasoline on a fire. She was gone in just a few months. It took me a while to feel anything and when I did, it was loss. I felt hollow, empty, and completely directionless. Go to work. Go home. Stare at the walls remembering too much. 691 I started drinking. 692 I was sure I could quit any time I wanted. 693 I just didn't want. 694 The job. The house. The cars. Most of the bank account. Three DWIs and I was warned by the Bar. 695 I was done in Florida. Even if I got my head on straight, I'd have a hell of a time getting back on the track I'd been on. 696 So I said "Fuck it", bought a fifth hand boat and headed out to the islands. I'd grown up around boats in Florida, and worked on the docks and on fishing boats through High School and college. I'd always been pretty handy with a wrench. 697 I vaguely dreamed of getting the boat fixed up and taking on charters, maybe building a fleet of little charter boats. 698 I really should have stopped drinking so heavily. 699 After five years my boat was a mess, and I worked on engines to keep on drinking. Hadn't even been out of the slip in a year and a half. Stopped cutting my hair, or shaving, so I have a thick ratty beard, and a roughly tied back ponytail with a shitload more strands of grey than I want to think about. 700 So, yeah, I'm Grease. 701 Everyone out here in the islands uses a name other than the one they were born with. 702 There's Pogo, the owner of The Shack, which is an ex-pat beach bar and grill, pretty much for the veteran crowd. Has some kind of strange Special Forces logo on the back wall along with a bunch of faded news articles. Pogo has service flags from all the services - even the Coast Guard - hanging from the rafters. The Shack is my usual hang-out; they put up with me because I can fix their boats, even though I'm not really one of them. The Shack's got good food, the music isn't too loud, and it's full of interesting characters. 703 There's Loud Howard, a nearly permanent fixture at The Shack; he's the short guy with a classic napoleon complex. You know he's there about 100 yards out. 704 Frank Rotuma hangs out there to avoid tourists. A lot. We call him Chief. Because he's the local police chief. Kinda makes sense, doesn't it? 705 There's Monster and Ex. He's called Monster because of the massive and horrible scars on the side of his face. The whole side of his face - looks like someone skinned a demon and stretched its skin over a human skull. And the eye on that side is almost solid white - the iris is clouded over. He's friendly enough, but there's just something about him that seems off. 706 And Ex is, well, his ex. I have no idea why they are still together; they certainly don't seem to be in love - more like business associates. She always seems to be watching him. They're rarely apart when they're down here which is about half the year. 707 I heard he's some kind of teacher and she's a nurse. Really can't imagine falling asleep in his classroom. 708 There's a bunch of others; like I said, everyone has a name. 709 In the next slip over from mine, for two weeks a month, in the really nice boat there's Bobert. I think being parked next to my rust bucket pissed him off at first, but then he realize it made his mahogany decked dream look that much better by comparison. His real name is Robert Sandoval. I guess when he moved in he tried to introduce himself as "Robert-call-me-Bob", and ended up calling himself Bobert on accident and it stuck instantly, as such things are wont to do. He's rich; a slick talking high end deal-maker, wears Rolex watches and his boat that would run you a cool 2 million if not more. Pretty much a hustler in anything that will make him more money. I'd think he'd probably be more at home in New York than down here. He is sure as hell not welcome at The Shack and spends most of his time on the tourist part of the strip. I have no idea where he is when he is out of the slip. 710 Then there's his wife. The reason I've slowed down on my drinking. 711 Her name is Zascha. 712 The first time I saw her, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. A golden mane of hair, a tall, slender model's body, usually clad in tiny white shorts and blue and white striped short sleeve crop top; it's almost a uniform. On really good days she'll walk the deck in a bikini. 713 And her face? 714 Utterly angelic. Ever hear the term "bee-stung lips"? She has them in spades. True wonders of the world. Despite her beauty, she projects purity and wide-eyed innocence; her cornflower-blue eyes seem to hold an air of permanent wonder. She has "Iowa home town girl" written all over her. She's perfectly pristine. As if the corruption of the world cannot touch her. 715 But it does. 716 Again, and again, and again. Sometimes she wears a blue and white striped long sleeve shirt to hide the bruises on her arms. And sunglasses, to hide the blackened eyes. 717 Rumor has it she sleeps around. 718 Because he makes her. To seal business deals. 719 And thus her local name - whispered behind her back, by everyone but Bobert. Shameless. 720 Bobert calls her that to her face. 721 I've seen her with business men at the bars on the tourist end of the beach. And I've seen her face when she's with them. There's no joy, no anticipation, no lust. Her wide-eyed innocence is replaced by an impassive mask. Her expression never varies. 722 He watches them with a cruel smile. In some way he seems to enjoy it. 723 I couldn't imagine treating someone the way he treated Zascha. 724 Zascha was obviously a Russian "bride" - basically a mail order long-term call-girl. I shouldn't feel sorry for her, she chose this. She knew the unwritten rules as well as anyone. And she could leave whenever she wanted - Frank would escort any girl to the airport and personally put her on a plane home, with the flight paid for by the tourism board. He'd done it a number of times to get girls out, but they had to want it. 725 Whatever she was avoiding at home must have been pretty bad. 726 Still, I had a cardinal rule of non-interference. Who needs a drunk boat mechanic mucking around in their lives? 727 That all changed at the Explorer's Day party at The Reef. It's a tourist bar - all glitzy fake palm trees and hula skirted waitresses. Pogo had to close The Shack much earlier that day to attend a funeral, so I'd drifted down to tourist area and The Reef to get a drink or two. Or four. 728 I ended up at the table where Bobert was holding court with a bunch of tourists; Zascha sitting slightly off to the side. He was talking about what a great investment boats are - which is ridiculous. I've worked with boats my whole adult life. The definition of a boat is "a hole in the water that you pour money into". When he made another particularly stupid statement about boats, I kind of rolled my eyes. 729 And realized Zascha was looking dead at me. She covered a tiny smile by taking a sip of her drink. But she kept her eyes on me. I'd already had a drink too many and took a chance, by silently parodying Bobert's grand mannerisms. 730 She had to pick up a menu to hide a silly grin. Then she did the same thing. 731 And we went on like that for the next hour, trading childish expressions at Bobert's expense. We'd never even said hello to each other, but this had been the best conversation I'd had with a woman since I lost Lil. 732 From then on, though, whenever I ran into them, she caught my eye and with a wicked glint, she'd initiate the same game - we had our own secret world. It was the highlight of my existence for several months. 733 Just seeing her made me feel better about life. I don't know exactly when it happened but I began cutting back on drinking - a very slow road, admittedly. I began taking showers three or even four times a week - which forced me to fix the water system on the boat. Which forced me to clear furnishings out of the hold. And since those were new furnishings, I went ahead and replaced the old stuff. Before I knew it, the boat was gradually shaping up. 734 When his boat was in the slip, I hung out at The Reef in the off chance of seeing her. It was ridiculous, of course, a stupid infatuation with a pretty girl. She couldn't have any interest in me, any girl in her line of work had to be pretty mercenary. And Bobert had more money than I'd ever dream now. But, as silly as it sounds, she made me want to be a better person. 735 Then, in October, Bobert offered her to me. For two weeks. 736 We were sitting at the Reef late and he was eyeing tourists - looking for the next the bigger, better deal, no doubt, when he was given a message by one of the waitresses and left to use the phone. A few minutes later he came back frustrated and irritated. 737 "Hey Grease. How about taking Shameless for a spin?" 738 I saw Zascha stiffen - it was the first time I'd ever seen her react to him like that. 739 He noticed too and gave an evil smile. 740 Before I could answer he continued. "Take her back to your boat. For a couple weeks. Just use condoms. I've got to fly out to make a business deal happen." 741 I sat stunned for second. "Are you serious?" 742 He grinned nastily. "She won't fight you. Just don't mark her up too much." 743 I nodded. "Okay" 744 Zascha looked shattered. Her mask of impassivity tried to move into place, but it failed; cornflower blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. Bobert shot her a victorious look and walked out. 745 She walked quietly with me back to the boat - head down watching her own feet. She walked up the gangplank slowly, feet almost dragging against an invisible sludge. 746 When I led her down to the quarters and pulled open a hatch she looked confused. 747 "Wait a second, I have to get the boxes out of here and fold down your rack." 748 She watched warily as I readied her small cabin, pulling out sheets and a light blanket. 749 "I know it isn't really very clean, but I've been working on it, we'll finish it up tomorrow. The head is on the right and I'm in the next cabin to the left - if you need anything just knock and let me know." 750 When I stepped out of her cabin, I glanced back. The broken girl was gone and the look of wonder was back. More than enough reward for any effort or pain. 751 The next morning I was up pretty early, and had coffee going. She walked out slowly, cautiously, with a tentative, shy, smile. 752 She sat and gratefully accepted the coffee - adding enough cream and sugar to make me wince. 753 "I don't really have much in the way of food - have you ever been to The Shack?" 754 She answered, and it took a second for me to get my heart started. It was really the first time I'd heard her voice. It was perfect, slightly breathy, just a hint of a Russian accent. 755 "No. Robert never took me there." 756 "Would you like to try it?" 757 She smiled, an instant of sunrise washed over me. 758 "I would. Very much." 759 The walk down the empty beach to The Shack took just a few minutes, but I stole glimpses of her when I could. Even up close, she seemed to be a study in serene perfection. I held her hand for a moment to help her up the seawall. It was hard letting go. I'm sure it was my imagination, but her fingertips lingered for a second longer than they needed to. 760 Pogo's face darkened when I walked in with her. I sat her down at a corner table of the empty bar and went over to him to order breakfast. 761 His look boded poorly. And his words went straight to the point. 762 "Taking payment in kind from Bobert?" 763 I froze for second "What? Oh, god, no. She's just staying in my spare cabin for a couple weeks while he's out on a deal." 764 He studied my face for a second, glanced over at her and seemed to come to some conclusion. He let it go. 765 We ended up eating fruit pancakes and, after a few false starts we were talking about our favorite foods. Time flew by, and the bar filled rather quickly - Loud Howard, then Monster and Ex, came in. 766 Monster didn't seem to react, but a look of intense distaste passed over Ex - Pogo saw it and pulled her aside for a few minutes of quiet discussion and she seemed to relax. 767 Loud Howard came over and talked to me about getting a fuel line replaced on his Boston Whaler before he got it repainted. He actually had a house on the island somewhere. You don't live on a Boston Whaler. Zascha joined the conversation asking about the paint colors and the name of the boat - pretty soon we had half dozen people over. I made sure I introduced her as Zascha. And made sure everyone understood that was what she was to be called. 768 Ex drifted over and began to talk to Zascha. 769 "So, you're staying with Grease for a couple weeks?" 770 Zascha smiled - a huge, amazing smile "Yes! Two weeks. He cleared out a cabin for me last night!" 771 Ex gave me a sidelong glance to see if I had heard that. I nodded. 772 "It was kind of short notice, I was using the cabin to store some parts - had to tarp them on the deck." 773 Ex fixed me with her gunmetal grey stare. "So what's your plan" 774 I shrugged "Don't really have one - just showing her this end of the beach for now. I have a couple jobs to do and some work to do on the boat. I figured I'd show her this place so if she gets bored while I am out, she will have a place to hang out." 775 The unspoken part of that was that it was a place where she wouldn't be treated like a hooker. 776 Ex didn't say anything at the time, but caught me at the bar when I went to get a couple more cups of coffee. 777 "Her own cabin?" 778 "It's just a couple weeks - I'll move stuff back in if I haven't used it. May have the hold done by then anyway." 779 "Look, I know the deal with 'Bobert' and ... Zascha. When he loans her out, it isn't for her to sleep in a spare cabin. You afraid of catching something?" 780 I shook my head "I don't know the whole story, but I won't be yet another asshole treating her like shit. She's a great girl and she should be living a better life. He just flat offered her to me for two weeks last night with no warning because he was going out of town. I figured she could use a break." 781 Ex stared at me, searching my face, then finally, "Don't fuck this up." 782 When we got back to the table, Ex engaged Zascha more directly and quickly discovered that she didn't have any clothes for the two weeks other than what she was wearing. Before I could even say anything, Ex spirited her away, saying she'd get her back to my boat by dinner time. 783 I took the rest of the day to get the repair jobs done; when I got back to the boat, Zascha was there, looking radiant. She was cleaning up the galley, wearing blue shorts and a t-shirt. Her hair was just tied back in a ponytail and she was humming tunelessly, but happily. 784 As soon as I stepped in, she smiled brightly and immediately began talking about going with Ex. They'd picked out some clothes and talked and walked for a long time. The beach clothes on the strip weren't exactly expensive - typical tourist stuff - and Ex had covered it, telling her not to worry. Still, she did a little bit. Ex had made it clear that we were expected to be at The Shack for dinner to eat with her and Monster. I wasn't really concerned with Ex, but the idea of crossing Monster gave me pause. He was always distantly friendly, but I had the same feeling around him that I got when mako sharks were in the water with me. 785 In any case, we had to eat. So that evening, I put on a clean-ish shirt and we headed over. It was the most social evening I'd had in a very long time - and I didn't' drink much at all. I felt like if I did, I'd disappoint Zascha. We listened to music, talked and generally had a great time. Monster was a better conversationalist than I expected and even seemed to speak some Russian. When he glanced my way, though, I felt my spine crawl. 786 Walking back to the boat across the beach was wonderful. Zascha gave me an almost tearfully grateful look when she went into her cabin. 787 I vowed these would be the best weeks of her life. 788 And worked hard at it every day. She spent time with Ex, but she also helped me on the boat - on one long day we even re-finished the entire deck. It absolutely glowed. We grilled on the beach and ate at the Shack. She was a favorite at The Shack in just a couple days - like a living ray of sunshine. She was older than she looked - almost 30 years, and she had apparently studied at a university, although she always kept her life details vague. 789 I didn't have to see that broken look or impassive mask the entire time. Three days before Bobert was due back, Ex handed me a couple tickets. 790 "The Governor's Ball - dinner and dancing the day after tomorrow. We ended up with extra tickets, so maybe you and Zascha could go?" 791 I stared at the tickets. They're a rare and sought after commodity here. And you don't just "end up with a couple extra tickets." 792 "I really don't have..." 793 She cut me off "Monster has an extra suit - you're about the same size. And I have a couple dresses Zascha could wear." 794 That pretty much killed my argument right there. I nodded. Then asked why. 795 For just a second I think her eyes teared up, but it stopped instantly. "Because I had something wonderful once and I lost it forever." 796 She turned sharply and walked away. 797 I told Zascha about the invitation and she practically exploded in joy. The next day she spent hours picking out a dress with Ex. When she came back to the boat she had a beautiful light blue dress. 798 And a pair of scissors. 799 "You must look your best." 800 I grumbled, but within an hour, my hair was short and my beard was trimmed. I barely recognized the face in the mirror. The grimy warf rat was gone, replaced by a man I hadn't seen in years. 801 Zascha was unreal - she applied just enough makeup to enhance her looks, and the blue gown set off her cornflower blue eyes. An Angel come to earth, ethereal and unbelievable. 802 Chapter 3.2 The ball was obviously a fantasy come true for Zascha. The Colonial mansion with its tropical décor and plush furnishings was the perfect setting - like something out of a storybook. She clung to my arm as we entered. Photos were taken, names announced, just like in the movies. I saw Monster and Ex gliding over the dance floor - I was a bit rustier than they were, but Zascha was an adept dancer - graceful and fluid. She could have made a broom look good. I got a mix of envious and confused looks. While I was a fixture on the docks, I was virtually unrecognizable without my shaggy beard and long hair. As for Zascha, Bobert had very deliberately steered clear of this level of society. We ended up seated next to consular officers, some of whom made strong effort to pry Zascha from me. But while they were a bit younger than I, Zascha refused to relinquish her grip on my arm. 804 We stayed until the last song played then we practically floated back to the boat - we even stopped for one final, barefoot dance on the beach under the full moon, to the sound of the waves. 805 That night there was a gentle knock on my cabin door. Zascha slipped in, almost silently. In the moonlight form the porthole,, I could see she wasn't wearing anything at all. 806 "Zascha, you don't have to do this for me." 807 She giggled softly "Shhhhh. I am doing this for me." 808 She had the softest, warmest lips. What started with gentleness quickly built to a desperate urgency for both of us. There were no crazy positions. No dramatic acrobatics. Not that the bed in the cabin would have been big enough for that. But we used every inch of that bed. We drifted off to sleep clinging together. 809 She was gone the next morning. Her new clothes neatly packed into a plastic bag, sitting on a shelf, as if waiting for her to return. 810 That evening started as a horror for me. I saw her and Bobert at The Reef. As I walked by, she cringed away from me. My heart stopped beating at all. Stone frozen. 811 Bobert caught it and gave a foul grin. 812 "Taught her a lesson or two? Good for you. She needs to know her place." 813 I wanted to beat him to death right there, I think I would have. But just at that instance, I caught a look from Zascha behind him - and she sent me a sly wink. 814 I realized why she did it of course. If Bobert realized how much we'd connected, he would never have tolerated me around them. But with him thinking I made her uncomfortable, he went out of his way to keep me around. 815 For the next two months, things were the same as they'd been before; except that my heart broke every time I saw Bobert with Zascha. 816 My hatred for him was building - I just couldn't understand why she would stay with him. Every time I ran into them, it hurt. I almost stopped going out at all. I couldn't go back to The Shack, not after the first time someone asked if I was going to bring Zascha back. 817 But if I quit going out, I felt like I'd be abandoning Zascha. 818 It was like that sore tooth you can't leave alone- you know it's going to hurt, but you just can't help it. I don't know how long I could have stood it before I fled or killed Bobert. 819 Before I snapped, everything skewed sideways. 820 I was staring at a bottle of rum just at sunset, after returning from a long rebuild, when I heard an odd sound. Somebody was trying to start Bobert's boat engine. Someone who obviously did not know what they were doing. It sounded like they hadn't turned on the fuel. Cranking and cranking, but not starting. 821 Bobert was an asshole, but he knew how to start a boat, and so did Zascha. 822 I grabbed a fish billy, my boat knife, and slipped out of my boat and across to theirs. The stairs were up, but the boat was still tied up on one end. If they did manage to get it started they would have serious problems. Idiots. I jumped from the dock and pulled myself over the gunnel. If someone was stealing the boat, my price for helping Bobert would be Zascha's freedom. 823 I slid across the mahogany decking and down the stairs. I could hear the murmer of voices down in the engine room as I turned into the main cabin. 824 And froze. 825 Bobert wasn't going to be cutting any deals, now or ever again. He was wired to the closet door. I very carefully did not focus on the red ruin that used to be a man. I nearly slipped in the tacky red tide on the floor. 826 My gorge rose into my throat as much from fear for Zascha as from nausea. 827 A low voice from the next cabin caught my attention - it was deep, growling and vicious. I followed it with club raised. A huge dark haired man with a collage of tattoos on his back was dragging Zascha, clothes shredded, and was forcing her onto the bed. Her impassive mask was in place, cornflower blue eyes mostly closed. He was uttering in what I assumed was Russian. I have no idea what he was saying, but it was hateful and dark. 828 I didn't stop moving, arcing my club down just behind his ear with every ounce of strength I had. I felt his skull give. He slumped over and I pulled him off of her. Her face was bruised, eyes almost swollen shut and her lovely lips were split and bleeding. 829 As I slid him to the floor, her eyes opened and she saw me. The mask fell away as I pulled her free and she clung to me for a long second. 830 She whispered into my ear "There are three more, they have guns. We have to run." 831 And we did, not stopping to grab anything. 832 My boat was too close - the first place they'd look - so we set off across the beach toward The Shack. We were over half way there when I looked back and saw the three figures racing across the starlit beach after us. 833 I practically threw her over the seawall and we lurched into The Shack. The place was pretty crowded and everyone stared at us; Zascha was damn near naked, battered and bloody. I was shirtless and covered in blood as well. They were stunned. Except Monster who simply glanced over his shoulder at us, registered our arrival and went back to sipping his drink. 834 I dragged Zascha through the room toward the bar and Pogo. Maybe I could hide her there. 835 "They're right behind us - they killed Bobert." 836 Pogo looked past me "And they have guns." 837 He was eerily calm. 838 I spun around to face the entrance. Three short-haired men, holding handguns, had followed us right in. They had caught up a lot faster than I thought. 839 I shoved Zascha behind me as they walked toward us, grinning - the one in the lead covering me and Zascha while the others kept an eye on the rest of the bar. Everyone was watching them intently. Except Monster who sat with his back to them, practically next to us, facing Ex. He was just studying his drink meditatively. 840 "We're just here for the whore and the asshole who killed Mitri" 841 He had a thick, almost movie-villain thick, Russian accent. 842 One of the men noticed Frank Rotuma and settled his gun at him - police uniforms are police uniforms everywhere. But Frank was never armed, and he held his hands up, fingers spread. 843 I didn't move as the grinning Russian came closer. 844 Frank looked up at the asshole that was centered on him. 845 He spoke in a measured tone, as if the words were getting heavier as he said them. 846 As if he were pronouncing a death sentence. 847 "Don't worry about me, boys. I'm off duty for the next eight hours." 848 I could see part of Ex's face. A very small, icy smile appeared. 849 In a hushed, cold, tone she whispered "Monster" 850 I've seen death - guys on the docks cut in half by cables or crushed by falling cargo. I stopped to help at a bus accident once. It was horrible and chaotic. 851 This was different. 852 I could see Monster's contemplative expression change and his mask fall away. An utterly emotionless, remorseless, Thing sat there. A horrible parody of a human. 853 He spun out of his chair, and in one graceless, liquid, effortless motion, he plucked the gun from the Russian's hand, tucked the gun barrel into his throat, pointed down to his heart, and pulled the trigger. 854 The other two were dead before they even registered the muffled thud as a shot. Monster simply stepped past the falling body and put a shot in the back of each one's neck, with the same peculiar downward angle. 855 As the last body fell, I caught a glimpse of Ex's face. A shining, bitter, pride was visible for a moment. 856 Monster's face remained expressionless as he ejected the clip and cleared the gun before dropping it on the last body. 857 He spoke one word in a sepulchral tone. "Clear." 858 I desperately didn't want to know what he was thinking, and for one chilling second I wondered what he actually saw through that clouded eye. 859 Then I felt Zascha'a hands gripping me from behind. I turned and collected her into my arms. 860 The Shack was utterly silent for a moment. 861 Loud Howard spoke. "Christ, Sergeant, if I'd have known you were going to take your time like that, I'd have fixed myself a cup of coffee. Almost fell asleep waiting for you." 862 His voice carried a ring of authority I'd never heard before. 863 Monster responded in his usual friendly voice, a voice I now knew was an act. "All due apologies Colonel. Had to wait until they closed up a bit to avoid making a mess. Didn't want to be banned from The Shack." 864 That explained the odd angle of the shots - he was trying not to make a mess. 865 Ex pivoted out of her seat and began working to pry Zascha away from me, scanning her injuries. 866 "We need a real exam, but she's in better shape than I thought." 867 She looked me over. 868 "No injuries on this one." 869 Pogo reached under the bar and pulled out a logo T-shirt and handed it to me to put on Zascha. 870 As soon as she pulled it on, she looked at me pleading. "My baby. My Kisa." 871 She explained as quickly as she could. Bobert had held her daughter at his house on their tiny island with a housekeeper and a security guard. That was why Zascha had never resisted him, why she'd never left. She did everything she had to do to save her baby. 872 Frank, grim faced and angry looked at us. "I'm still off duty, but I have a visit to make to that island." 873 Ex spoke up. "We'll come along." 874 So I took my boat out for the first time in a year and a half; she seemed to understand our urgency and ran like a dream. Frank knew which of the small islands was Bobert's and found it on the charts. 875 On the boat ride over, Zascha talked. Her husband had been a police officer in Saint Petersburg who had crossed the local branch of the Russian mafia. He had been murdered and she'd been kidnapped and shipped off as part of a human trafficking deal. She was seven months pregnant at the time, not the usual target, but her husband had really angered them. She was basically sold to Bobert. Or given as part of a trade, she wasn't sure of the details. Despite everything, Bobert had let her carry her baby to term. Because Bobert realized he could use the baby to control her completely. And so began her descent into a deeper hell than she was already in. She was allowed two weeks with her baby every month, but she had to be and do whatever Bobert wanted in exchange. 876 From what she'd overheard, the killers had come because Bobert had failed to deliver on a contract. They were the same people who had delivered her to him in the first place. It's a dangerous world and gun running is a risky business. 877 There was no resistance at the house - the housekeeper and security guard took one look at Frank and Monster and handed the two year old girl over with no argument. She was cute as a button and had her mother's cornflower blue eyes and golden hair. 878 Zascha scooped up Kisa and began to cry. It was the only time in all of this that I'd seen her shed a single real tear. With all the cruelty, abuse, and death, she'd never cried. Now her tears came in waves. I just stood there until Ex gave me a gentle push and I stumbled toward them. Zascha's tear streaked gaze settled on me and she was instantly in my arms with her baby. 879 By the time we got back to The Shack as the sun was coming up, I was carrying the Kisa, and Zascha was holding my arm with an iron grip. 880 Interestingly, the bodies were gone and Loud Howard and Pogo had just returned from a sudden fishing trip to the Deeps. Later we found the bodies, blood, bedding and mattresses were gone from Bobert's boat as well. 881 We couldn't be certain how much the housekeeper and guard really knew, but it didn't look like they knew much. Frank gave them 48 hours to be out of the islands forever. But they were looking at Monster when they agreed. 882 Zascha refused to leave my side. 883 Since Bobert had actually filed a marriage certificate, she now owned the boat and the little island. She promptly sold both. We were married pretty quickly - I tried to convince her to get a pre-nup, after all, she was pretty wealthy now, but she laughed in my face. She said I was too old to go out searching for a different woman, and I'd just have to live with her forever. 884 As if anyone could compete. 885 We have a small on-island house and a run a small fishing charter with three boats. Kisa is growing like a weed. Her little sister, Lily, is just starting to walk. Zascha insisted on the name. 886 Through all the hell Zascha went through, through all the humiliation and cruelty, Zascha's heart remained untouched. Because she was fighting for her daughter. She knew she could suffer any pain, any misery, for her daughter's sake. 887 For her daughter, she could be Shameless. 888 Her only moment of doubt had been when I accepted Bobert's offer to have her for two weeks, because in her own way she'd grown to trust me. 889 As broken and dysfunctional, as I was, I managed to be a better person for her. I ended up becoming the person she needed me to be. 890 Everyone here has to have a name, but people don't call her Shameless anymore. 891 They just call her what she so obviously is. 892 They call her Angel. 893 Post Production Comments: This was initially much darker. And, at least if I read it right, was kicked back for that reason. Rightfully so, I'll admit. I really, really didn't like Bobert and his end was much more graphic. And his mistreatment of Zascha was much worse. I think this version balances that much better without losing the impact. 894 https://www.literotica.com/s/monster-4 It was early evening when I arrived at the crappy little house, a three bedroom shithole with half the siding off and a sagging front porch. I could hear children crying, and a muffled, but loud voice yelling as I walked past three Harleys toward the front porch of the battered place. As I walked across dead grass and weeds, two oversize men – one with a wild head of shaggy dark hair and a matching full beard, the other bald as a cue ball - in "Purple Pranksterz Motorcycle Club" jean vests stood up to block the torn screen door. 896 Shaggy spoke "Gotta wait, man, Cooler is straightening out his old lady." 897 He was a big guy, and for a moment, I wondered if he was actually one of those big teddy bear types where the gruff exterior hid a kind heart. The small black "1%" patch on the front of his vest spoke otherwise. Cueball moved up beside him, looking bored. 898 I dropped my eyes and looked down at my feet for a second. The voice from inside the house grew louder and clearer: "I'll teach your fucking brat to mouth off to me!" 899 A child's wail grew louder. 900 At that, I raised my head, locking eyes with Shaggy and letting him see the destroyed side of my face. He paled for a second, then shifted his feet into a serious defensive posture; somebody, my oldest boy probably, must have been telling tales. 901 I kept my mask up and put on my friendly voice "Sorry big guy, she may be his old lady, but those are my children." 902 It was Cueball's fault – Shaggy looked like he wanted to at least talk for a second, maybe even come to an agreement. On his forearm he had a Ranger Regiment tattoo – maybe I could find some common ground, maybe negotiate. Cueball, though, he had to throw that chance away. Cueball was on my right; he didn't see the ragged, ruined skin, the permanent, twisted, half-grin and the cloud-filled left eye. He lunged, grabbing for my shirt. 903 "We toldya to fukkin wait, Asshole!" 904 I prayed for patience, but was granted none. As usual. Not that I expected any. I hadn't had any prayers answered for a long time. 905 Nobody was out there for me anymore. 906 The moment his hand touched me, I pinned his wrist to my chest with my left hand, twisted, pulled, and stomped. He was curled up on the ground, unconscious before Shaggy could react. When his reaction did come, it was far too slow. I tried not to do him any permanent damage – I really did think he was hoping to be reasonable, and from the look on his face he could sense how it was going to end; but he just had to try out of a sense of obligation. 907 And I knew all about obligations. They're all I have left. 908 I stepped over his unconscious body and pulled the screen door open. 909 Cooler – aka Brian – had his back to me with his fist raised threateningly. Anne, my ex-wife, with one eye swelling shut and a bleeding split lip, was standing defiantly between him and the three children. With a bit of pride I noticed my oldest son, Patrick, who was 7, had pushed the 4 year old twins, Danni and Finn, behind him. Whichever of the younger ones had been wailing stopped at my entrance. Anne was thinner after two years, a little too thin. She wore no makeup and her hair looked stringy, just tied back out of the way, a sharp difference from the carefully cared for look I remembered. All in all, she looked like hell. 910 Anne's unswollen eye widened as she saw me. While the children had seen the scars and damage to my face when my brother had brought them out, I'd simply refused to see or talk to her again after the injury. Part of that was to buy time. She had known me too well. So she got the full effect of seeing me, right along with the shock of my disfigured face. I knew what I looked like, with the ruined face and the deeply ingrained tan of years under a tropical sun. 911 I looked, more or less, like what I really was. 912 Although nobody would want to believe that. 913 "Cooler" noticed her shock and spared a glance over his shoulder at me. We'd never met, but I could see sick realization wash over him. I closed with him as he turned around and I hammered him to the ground – like most big guys he assumed being taller, heavier, and smellier was some kind of advantage. Which it could have been if any of them had any real training. 914 Once he was down, I looked at Anne – and decided to deviate from my original plan of just taking the children. She'd been taking the beating defending the children, so maybe she wasn't a complete loss. 915 "Get your ass, and the children, in the car. Now." I'd kept the mask up. With any luck, all she saw was an angry ex-husband. 916 If she argued, she could stay. 917 She chose to go. 918 As she stepped forward I stopped her with a raised hand. She tried, but failed, not to stare with horrid fascination at the ruined side of my face. 919 "Give me the vest." 920 She was wearing cut off jean shorts, a blood speckled white tank top and boots – and a miniature jean vest with a Pranksterz logo on the back with a patch that said "This Bitch is property of the Pranksterz MC. If Lost, Return to Cooler". Still unable to take her eyes off me, she pulled it off and thrust it at me like it was scalding. The children smiled at me as she herded them past. 921 I hit Brian again, hard enough to keep him down for a few minutes, then dragged Cueball and Shaggy into the house and dropped all three of them on the ratty couch. As I went out and dragged them in, I could see that Anne was sitting in the passenger seat of my car, trying to calmly talk to the children. She was now desperately avoiding eye contact with me. The children, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying the whole event. There was obviously no love lost between them and 'Cooler'. I'd brought zip strips and secured their hands carefully. 922 It took a few minutes, but all three of my guests woke up. I concentrated on keeping the mask up. When they were fully awake, I stood and very deliberately snapped the little finger on Brian's right hand, just to make sure I had their attention, then walked over and stood in front of them. 923 "She's out. You have nothing to do with her or the children anymore. You see them coming down the street, you go another direction. I see, hear of, or smell any of your pack anywhere near her or the children it's all over. If that happens, there is no stopping it. Anyone with Pranksterz affiliation disappears forever." 924 Brian glared at me, with tears of pain in his eyes, still not fully understanding his predicament. "She left you, you ain't her husband anymore." 925 Good. They were buying the "vengeful husband" act. 926 I nodded. "She shouldn't be my fucking problem. But those are my children and they need their mother. She's still acting like it. Hell, you should appreciate that; if she hadn't stopped you from hitting them, you'd be dead already." 927 On my right, Cueball shook his head "You gotta buy her out. Bitches get gangbanged in and bought out." He said it like "Bitch" was some kind of title. 928 I finally turned so he could get the full effect. And grinned – I knew the effect that had. 929 "Sure, Cueball, how many broken bones will that be? Let's start with fingers." 930 He turned an interesting shade of green. 931 They didn't negotiate that hard; Hell, they must have had at least 20 unbroken fingers between them before they agreed to my terms. I burned her vest in front of them. 932 We had a nice long talk. Long for them. 933 I grabbed an expensive pair of Oakley sunglasses off a wobbly end table as I walked out and Brian actually tried to object, albeit weakly. 934 "Hey, take the cunt, but those are mine." 935 I stopped and looked at him. "Sorry 'Cooler' – do these guys know you got the nickname because you repaired air conditioning in the Army? – I'm taking them for Anne to wear. I don't want anyone to think I'm the kind of little shit that would hit a woman. I'll send them back to you in the mail or something." 936 I paused again at the door and looked back. "I don't know if she's using, but just in case: anyone who sells her anything – grass, pills... fucking aspirin, whatever – will deal with me. Then I come for you. No warnings, no negotiation. Spread the word." 937 As I walked back to the car, I reviewed everything. That had been the longest conversation I'd had with anyone in months. It looked solid, the mask had never slipped. They thought I was human. 938 I sat down in the driver's seat of the car, handed Anne the sunglasses and headed out to the highway. Anne said nothing, she just put on the sunglasses and stared wretchedly at her feet. I listened to the children talk, but, relieved of the stress, all three of them fell asleep within a few minutes. Anne didn't even ask where we were headed, apparently just silently soaking in her own misery for the next two hours. She was holding her own arms, hunched over, seemingly trying to hide the old bruises on them. That made me a little concerned, so when she wasn't watching I looked over her arms as best I could. There were no needle tracks, so at least she hadn't fallen that far. 939 She'd left me over two years before – I was gone too often, too many late night calls and departures. Training all the time to be the best. 940 I was the best. Everybody has a role on the team. I wasn't Control. Or Demo. Or the team Sniper. I was the best at point blank work. The close combat specialist. On many teams they'd call me the Tank, an echo of the games so many of us grew up with. 941 But on my team we had a different name. A name for the thing that left no survivors. 942 Monster. 943 Anne had tried. I could see that now, but I was never home, and even when I was, my head was somewhere else. We tried counseling, but I was what I was. So after nine years of marriage, she filed. She could have waited six months and had half my Army pension, but she didn't want to be "that wife". She'd been faithful the whole time. It wasn't about some other guy, it was about us not working. She'd even tried to minimize child support. The state had a formula for that, so she couldn't do much. She picked up the children and moved back to our hometown. The Army would likely move me in the next few years anyway, so I could hardly argue about that. Besides, to be perfectly honest, while I'd loved them, they hadn't been my priority. 944 Sometime after we'd parted ways, she'd met Brian. A great guy who planned to open his own Harley Davidson shop. 945 That never happened. And it turned out he was more interested in running his own little version of Hell's Angels. Sort of a start-up OMC. Sooner or later, one of the bigger OMCs would notice them and either absorb them or smash them, but it hadn't happened yet. 946 Despite his promises, they'd never gotten married. 947 I'd managed to get myself shot and blown up about a year ago; spend enough time in combat and the law of averages will eventually find you. While the majority of the damage was cosmetic, the combination of nerve damage and lost vision put paid to my career in the Army. I figured the real reason for my discharge was the scarring on my brain; they weren't exactly sure what it meant and weren't taking chances. So after hospitalization, therapy and transition, I was out. 948 And that was wise of them. I knew more than they did – when I woke, my emotions about nearly everything were gone – no anger, sorrow, nothing. At first I thought I was still in "trigger mode", that place an operator goes mentally to suppress emotion, rely on reflex and training, and survive. But it wouldn't turn off. 949 Empathy for nearly everyone and everything had evaporated. I couldn't identify with them at all. Only my children seemed to bring out any feelings. Compared to the dead grey space all around me, the children were spotlight of color. I don't know if it's love, but it's what I have. 950 They were my obligations. 951 I'd had to invent "the mask", the pretend "me" I wore in public. Because if they ever figured out what was left of me, somebody would realize how dangerous it was. 952 I still had the training and reflexes they'd pounded into me. But little in the way of any human restraint. Basically a bundle of combat reflexes. But little else. 953 Nobody realizes how dependent humans are on emotions. How much humans use them to interact with others. Human faces reflect them constantly. I had to constantly try to figure out what a real human would do. How to hold my face. Until I perfected the mask, the doctors all thought I had residual nerve damage. I was lucky that the psychs used tests centered on family – my children – to gauge emotion response. 954 But I was out. With no direction, no goals and no meaning. Except my children. My obligations. 955 Two months ago, my child support payments had gotten screwed up when I went from active duty to medically retired, and I had had to wire money to Anne's account to make sure she got it on time. When I tried to contact her directly to get a receipt, I'd ended up talking with her grandmother instead and gotten an earful of the hell my children had been sucked in to, and how it had spiraled into freefall the last 8 months. I made a few phone calls and learned about "'Cooler'. I considered legal action, but it didn't sound like there was time for that option. 956 In any case I'd always been an ambush predator. Even before. 957 In looking for the isolation necessary to protect my secret, I'd taken a job as a history teacher at a community college about two hours away. 958 Nobody pays attention to a history teacher at a technical college. 959 I bought a three bedroom cabin with a mostly finished basement on the edge of a state forest. The cabin had been built on the walkout basement of a much larger house that had burned down, and the owner had all but finished the basement with several rooms before he had a heart attack at his desk at work. My brother had taken care of the details while I finished out-processing the Army. I stayed away from him as much as I could, though. He'd known me too well before. 960 That house gave me options now. I had decided that the boys could share one bedroom and Danni would have another for the first couple of nights, and when I got the huge basement repainted, everyone could essentially have their own room and there'd be an extra kitchen, big pantry, workshop and TV room as well. I'd initially planned on just scooping the children up and leaving Anne where she chose to be, but when it happened I realized I couldn't leave their mother, because it would send the wrong message to the children. They would want me to take her to safety. They wouldn't know her odds were better with Cooler. 961 Irony. 962 I can still appreciate irony. 963 I wasn't sure how long I was going to let Anne "stay", but the children were going to have a stable, safe life. I had obligations. 964 After we got to the cabin, I showed the boys where their room would be, and then showed Danni where her and "Momma" would be. Anne kind of hung back, but encouraged the children to settle in. That done, I announced I was going to get pizza and groceries and left them to look around. I stopped at Walmart, picked up some clothes for all of them - I knew the children' sizes, but had to guess at Anne's; I knew what her sizes used to be, but she'd lost more weight than she could really afford. I also picked up the aforementioned groceries and pizza. 965 The pizza was gone in minutes, and Anne got the children cleaned up and ready for bed. She wasn't meeting my gaze, and seemed to be fighting an urge to cringe whenever I walked too close. 966 She still hadn't said anything directly to me, she'd just returned to the table after putting the children to bed, and found that I'd already cleaned up the pizza boxes and put away the other groceries. She might have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I decided to leave it – I really hadn't planned on bringing her here, and I wasn't sure how much leeway her protection of the children had bought her. It was a variable I hadn't calculated. At least dealing with her for a long term wasn't. She knew me too well for the mask to hold for long. And if she couldn't accept what was behind the mask, I would have limited options. None of them good for her. 967 I needed time to assess the options. 968 I pointed at the bathroom. 969 "You can have that one. I'm headed down to shower in the basement." 970 She opened her mouth to say something, but it was obvious she had no idea what. I just headed down the stairs. By the time I got cleaned up and went back up to the main floor, she'd finished and was in Danni's room. 971 Even with my emotional distance, there had been a chance that seeing Anne would open up a lot of old wounds, but I'd felt nothing. No anger no sadness; she just seemed like a stranger. I could logically remember everything that happened, but the emotional impact of what had happened was simply gone. Not faded, not repressed; just gone. I knew that I had had feelings of anger and loss, but they were gone now. I couldn't even remember what anger felt like. 972 The next day was a Saturday, and I figured there was a lot to do before I started preparing for the semester on Monday. I'd already pulled the paint sprayer and cans of paint out of the barn storage room before anyone else woke up. I also had an adjustment to make on the car. 973 The boys came out quietly and were drinking tea and waiting patiently for their bacon and hash browns before Danni and Anne came out of their room, blinking sleep out of their eyes, 974 Finn, the younger of the two boys, and Danni's twin grinned. Anne and Danni's "pajamas" – loose shorts and T-shirts that I'd picked up for them to sleep in – matched. I was sure I hadn't done it on purpose, but they were both wearing pink shorts and oversize T-shirts with big grey; kitten faces on them. And both of them had the hair on the left side of their head standing almost straight up. Both Patrick and Finn began laughing, much to Anne's confusion. I just reached up and lightly patted the left side of my hair. Anne slowly reached up and felt the mess of her hair realized what was going on and dashed into the bathroom with Danni. 975 It was several minutes later when they came out, with their hair fixed and Danni giggling. I'd already put plates of bacon and hash browns down at their places at the table. I watched everyone as we ate – the children seemed to be less the worse for wear than I'd expected, and they were eating like starving wolverines. Anne, on the other hand, was still avoiding my eyes and acting cowed. She did eat though, and took over clearing the table and doing dishes before I could do anything. 976 After the dietrus from breakfast was cleared and everyone had changed, I sent the children outside. I motioned Anne over to the kitchen counter. She walked over like a condemned woman and waited for me to speak. 977 I pulled out my extra debit card, car keys and a piece of paper. 978 "I'm writing the PIN on this paper, take the children and go school clothes shopping. School here starts Thursday for them, so you will have to get them registered on Monday – I'll be stuck at the college all day, but I'll take the truck and leave you the car. Get yourself stuff to wear too. There's about two thousand in that account. I need to finish painting the basement – it should take about six hours – about four hours to tape and dropcloth everything, an hour to paint with the sprayer and the rest to clean up, so take your time, take the children to lunch or whatever. The basement should be livable by tomorrow evening, and the children can each have their own room. " 979 She looked numbly at the card and keys while I wrote the PIN on the paper. She finally spoke. 980 "So why did you take me too? You could have left me. After... everything, you might have thought that was a better idea." Sadly. 981 Chapter 4.2 "I wasn't planning on bringing you out of there. But you were protecting them. And children need a mom. Since you were still acting like it in there, it seemed like the logical choice. For now." 983 "What if... what if they say I have to come back?" 984 "They won't, you're out. For good. They wouldn't take you back if you showed up on the front step naked with 10 kilos of coke. We have a deal" 985 She looked pensive. "What kind of deal." 986 "it's a simple one: They never have anything to do with you or the children again, and in return I don't exterminate everyone wearing purple for 100 mile radius." 987 She already looked sick and off balance but I decided put the rest of the cards on the table. I had to let her think she had options, otherwise she'd play along for time. "I need to make some things clear. I don't own you, and I don't want to. If you decide to run by yourself, I won't come after you. I'll even leave the debit active, but won't put any more money into that account once you run, so once it is gone, it's gone. If you take the children, though, I will follow you to hell and back – I intend to watch over them until they can make their own decisions from now on. You really, really won't like it if I have to come after you to retrieve the children. You can stay here until they all graduate, and all I will ever ask you to do is to help take care of them. This is solely in the interest of protecting them. According to studies, children from a stable home with two parents are happier and more likely to be successful." 988 "This part is important. You need to know the truth." 989 I dropped the mask. And from her expression, she could see the change, but she didn't run. Good. Maybe she'd survive this after all. 990 I could use help to maintain the mask. 991 "After this happened" I pointed at the scarring on the side of my head "I've lost nearly all capacity for emotion. I have no feelings about you at all, good or bad, except concern for what you've put the children through. Your decision making for the last year or so has been... less than optimal." 992 I paused as she considered the meaning of that. Now to give her the choice. 993 "The only real emotions I seem to have at all now are ones directly connected to my children. I will not tolerate anything that negatively impacts their life. I could use help taking care of them." 994 That was a lot to take in and I could see her pondering her options. 995 She made her choices rather more quickly than expected. 996 Shaking her head "I don't have anywhere else to go. My parents... they don't want anything to do with me." 997 At the time she may not have realized how close she was to death. I had a handgun – a piece of shit Glock. Unlovely things, Glocks, all the feeling and warmth of a staple gun. Brutally functional though. Like me. 998 I'd taken it from Brian. Trapped scared people look toward what they believe is salvation. In his case a much abused Glock 19 in the television stand drawer. I'd made sure his prints and blood DNA were on it. Just in case. I couldn't afford for her to leave with my secret. 999 Best to change the subject. 1000 "We apparently do have to get one of your tattoos removed. According to the 'negotiators' yesterday, it is mandatory when a woman leaves their social club for any reason. Removal is customarily done with a belt sander, but unless you have your heart set on that, I think we can just get laser removal." 1001 She paled and her hand shot down to her pubic mound. The tattoo, according to my negotiation discussion, was a small Purple Pranksterz emblem located about an inch above the vagina, overlaid with the number of guys involved in "ganging" the woman in. Apparently, according to Cueball, in Anne's case, the number was 15. She started to visibly shrink in on herself as she realized I probably knew all about the meaning of the tattoo. 1002 I held my hand up. "We can set it up with a respectable tattoo parlor in town, there are a couple, including a really pleasant-looking one at the mall. Or maybe they can hide it under different kind of tattoo if you want, I really don't care. Either way it is likely to be somewhat painful, but a lot less trouble than if somebody finds out you still have it now that you are out." 1003 The conversation died out a bit after that and she headed out with my three children. I reminded her to wear the sunglasses until she found some to buy – her black eye was a glorious purple and yellow blossom over a third of her face now. The day went more or less as planned, with the repainting and clean up complete on time. 1004 I waited to see if she would run. 1005 She wouldn't get far. The gas gauge was rigged – she'd get less than 40 miles before it ran dry - and the lo-jack would tell me where she was. 1006 All I would need was a starting point. 1007 The car pulled up not long after I finished and the children spilled out bubbling with excitement over all their new 'stuff'. It seemed to take forever to unload the clothes, books and other necessities from the car, but a light supper was soon fixed, eaten and cleaned up. The children insisted on showing me their school clothes and other sundry items before heading off to bed. 1008 Anne seemed a bit down and unhappy, but tried to keep a cheerful face on for the children until she put them to bed. I was sitting paging through a book in one of the two big wingback chairs by the fireplace when she plopped herself down in the other. She all but had a black cloud hanging over her head – I vaguely remembered that as sure sign she had something she needed to talk about, but really didn't want to. I considered letting her sit there without saying anything, but decided that asking would be a good way to gauge how she was adjusting. 1009 "Something wrong?" 1010 She went off, although it wasn't aimed at me. "EVERYTHING is WRONG. I was stopped twice by police to see if I needed 'assistance getting out of a bad situation' because of my black eye!" 1011 "They were doing their job and trying to help." 1012 "Sure, but where were they YESTERDAY? Or two weeks ago when I had my last black eye? Or four months ago? Or a FUCKING YEAR AGO? Just because I was part of that club, everybody was okay with me being hurt? But today, while I am wearing regular "Mom" clothes everyone wants to help!" 1013 I didn't say anything – I was sure this wasn't over. 1014 "Then I went to the tattoo place in the mall and basically the girl there told me I would have to get permission to get it removed – like somebody owns me!" 1015 Which was pretty much what the tattoo meant, but here was no reason to really point that out, she already knew it. 1016 "Then the little bitch tells me that, even with permission, she won't touch me without a broad panel STD test from a clinic!" 1017 I thought that was probably a pretty good idea. There was no telling what she could have picked up. 1018 I let her stew for minute. "The Tattoo artist is making sure her place doesn't get burned down in retaliation. As to the... tests, I'll try to put you on my family health plan at the school. I can tell them it was part of the divorce agreement, as long as I pay for it they won't care. The children are still on my military plan." 1019 For a second, just a second, she looked at me with disbelief and a hint of anger. 1020 The answer was that a woman who had had a 15 man gangbang and has been loaned out like a library book for the last couple years should probably be tested anyway. But that seemed to be self-evident, so I sat silent. In any case, a few seconds later, she obviously came to that rather logical conclusion herself without my prompting. 1021 She actually blushed – a capability I was dimly surprised she had maintained - and looked down at the ground for a second. "I... I could probably use a checkup anyway. I haven't seen a doctor in a while." 1022 The next few days were busy as the children started school and Anne slipped in a Doctor's appointment - she didn't tell me anything, but since the results netted her a six week course of antibiotics, there obviously was a problem. We also moved the children into their separate rooms downstairs, adjacent to what I thought of as the TV room, but which Anne referred to as the family room. Anne, surprisingly, kept the room upstairs. 1023 Two weeks after I brought them to the house, I got an email message from the guy I called Shaggy; I'd left a note with a cut-out email address and told them to box Anne and the children' stuff up and I would let them know where I would meet them to pick it up. Shaggy's real nickname was "Bear", and from the email, his real name was Ed MacManus, of all things. And Cueball's given nickname appears to be "Wrench". I designated a truck stop on the edge of their little town. It was only a few boxes, so I took the pickup truck. Not being an idiot, I arrived early and made sure I had favorable ground. I needn't have concerned myself, Bear made sure everything was loaded as trouble free as possible. 1024 Before he left he talked to me a bit. "Everything I know about is in there – a lot of her stuff is gone – Cooler probably sold it a long time ago, so it's mostly the kid's stuff. " He paused "I also had a call from a woman who said she was a tattoo artist and was asked to remove a club tattoo. She described Anne, so I told her to go ahead. As far as I can tell, we're done, but if something comes up, email, I'd rather avoid personal visits." 1025 He paused for a long moment. 1026 "Cooler's still really pissed. Probably doesn't mean anything, he's scared shitless of you. But I thought I'd mention it. The rest of us don't want anything to do with you. At all." 1027 I nodded. "We should be done, if it weren't for the children, we'd never have met." 1028 I gave him "Cooler's" sunglasses back, then we parted company carefully. 1029 The boxes were actually carefully packed, and there was a note from one of the other women in the club. 1030 I shouldn't have bothered returning the sunglasses. Brian died in a not-too-tragic one-vehicle crash a couple weeks later. After I'd received an anonymous email detailing Brian's traveling schedule and route. It could have been a trap, but I had the sense that Bear wasn't stupid enough to risk that. 1031 Bear took over the club. 1032 The children, as children do, adjusted quite well; Patrick told Anne that the children and teachers treated him better at the new school. She did the mental math and figured out why, which resulted in her crying in the bathroom for almost an hour after the children went to bed. 1033 Anne and I fell into the habit of talking by the fireplace after the children were asleep for the night. It was essentially a planning meeting, originally focused entirely on making sure the children were taken care of. Anne eventually tentatively initiated some small talk about harmless subjects; I went along with it to maintain a veneer of civility. But it never went beyond that. It proved I was incapable of developing any emotional bond beyond those to my children. Anne recognized fairly quickly that it wasn't an act. 1034 About six months after I moved them to the house, Anne left a medical report on my nightstand stating that she was clear of any STDs, including HIV. That night, she silently came into my bedroom and slipped into bed with me. It wasn't love in any sense, just sex, a release of tension; she slipped back out to her bedroom. But apparently that was enough. Three times a week, Anne returned. Every week. 1035 A couple months later, she came to me with a proposal. 1036 "The children are old enough to think our living arrangement is a bit odd. If I move into your bedroom, we can maintain the fiction of a normal relationship until they graduate college. I'm not trying anything here – I know how you feel. Or rather how you don't feel about me. I'm not under any schoolgirl illusions. I know what you are. I'm here until the children graduate." 1037 I agreed – it certainly simplified everyday life. Everything indicates she was in for the long haul. 1038 My lack of interest in building a personal life at the college was assumed to be because of my "family man" status. She attended every social event and played the perfect wife. 1039 She became part of the mask. 1040 She also asked if she could take courses. She eventually earned her RN – then her RPN, and began working at a small health clinic. Run by women for women. 1041 She also studied psychology with a passion. I knew why she was doing it, of course, but saw no reason to stop her. 1042 At the house we coordinated every day, made plans, solved problems and forged on. 1043 Time passed – we cooperated on every level. We made a perfect team. The children had no idea what was going on, just as we planned. It was easy to act. We went on vacation together, even purchasing a small vacation house in the islands for yearly visits. 1044 The Colonel and Top from my old unit were there, Top even had a bar, The Shack. They'd known the Monster side of me pretty well, and hadn't really seen me outside of 'work', so they had a hard time seeing through the mask. 1045 On reflection it was easy to see why Anne and I worked well together. She was, at best, "damaged goods" with no faith in humanity, including herself. Fortunately for her, I wasn't really human anymore. 1046 I really hadn't made plans past the last graduation – I figured Anne would move on and try to salvage what she could of her life. She'd kept her end of the bargain and supported the children with everything she had. And kept my secret. But a year before Danni graduated college, she announced her engagement to an earnest young law student. 1047 Three weeks later Anne came up to me after dinner, carrying a bundle of folders and handed them to me. 1048 There were at least a dozen studies on the importance of grandparents to the success of grandchildren. 1049 Another gleam of light in that grey void. 1050 Obligations. 1051 It appeared we would be maintaining our fiction for quite a bit longer. 1052 Anne Speaks 1053 I live every day on the edge of a precipice. Don't feel sorry for me, I don't feel sorry for myself. 1054 By most standards it's not a bad life. I live in a nice house, I have three beautiful children and I have grandchildren on the way. I'm treated well. We even have a little vacation home in the islands. 1055 I've chosen to live here and it's probably best for everyone. Maybe even for me. 1056 But I live one step from oblivion. I think it's a long step, but I can't be sure. 1057 I live with my ex-husband and the whole world sees us as a happy loving couple. 1058 But while we may be a couple – whatever that means – we aren't married, and there is no love. At least from his end. I try not to anthropomorphize him, but it's hard not to pretend to myself that he's still human in some sense. Even when I know that, whatever he is, he isn't really human anymore at all. 1059 At night, when I am sure he is asleep, I occasionally whisper "I love you" and pretend he whispers back. 1060 Sometimes I think that by helping him, I'm just maintaining a shrine to the last man I'd ever love. 1061 He is, at least as far as I can tell, an unusual type of sociopath. I've taken classes, attended lectures and read every piece of literature I can get my hands on. With one glaring exception, he has little or no emotion and no empathy. The exception is our children. And, I am sure, the grandchildren. He pretends to have emotion and empathy, pretends to be human. But I know the truth. He doesn't have impulse control issues, and he has no driving desire to torture. But he has no emotional reason not to. 1062 I didn't make him this way – it isn't some trauma or fall out from my stupid decision. 1063 He was severely injured in an explosion – fragments hit his brain just the right way. Erasing his humanity. Just spectacularly bad luck. 1064 My stupidity is why we aren't actually husband and wife. 1065 I divorced him over a year before he was injured, to chase a stupid illusion. 1066 I could go on and try justify myself – but it would all be meaningless shit. Just emotional masturbation. The reality is the same old boring tale, nothing original about it. One minute I was young and in love, the next I found I was a mom with three children and a husband in the Army who just didn't seem to be headed in the same direction anymore. He never had time for us. 1067 Counseling doesn't always work, even if you love each other. 1068 That's how it starts and next thing you know, you're divorced, and you've dragged your children into a shit life with a shit boyfriend who beats the shit out of you on a semi-regular basis. 1069 The Asshole – Brian, also called "Cooler" – had been in the Army, but had gotten out, and seemed to have a plan. He seemed great at first. But it turned out Brian was a president of a motorcycle club, one of the ones deemed OMCs. Which meant I had to be in the club, too. Like many gangs, the initiation for women is pretty misogynistic, and not exactly voluntary. I was drugged at a club meeting and screwed by every guy there. I don't remember much of it – just flashes. But the next morning I found my mound shaved and where the hair had been was a Purple Pranksterz emblem with the number "15" blazoned over the top. 1070 I'm pretty sure that by that point, Brian stopped seeing me as a girlfriend, and started to see me as a commodity. I fought it, but lost more than I won. I was used as an incentive with all that implies. When I deliberately let myself look haggard and quit trying to look pretty, he found other uses for me. 1071 Sometimes I was used as a mule to carry meth and heroin. 1072 Women come with such convenient stowage compartments. 1073 I was lucky I didn't end up in prison. 1074 At least I think I was. 1075 Things had gotten way out of hand and I was trying to figure out how to get away – or at least get my children away. Brian was resenting them more and more. None of my family was talking to me anymore, except my grandmother, and she was in a nursing home. I just didn't have anywhere to go where they wouldn't drag me back. 1076 People use the word "desperate" way too often. As if you can be "desperate" for a piece of chocolate. 1077 I know what it really means. 1078 I don't know what started that last fight; I came out of the kitchen and found Brian looming over Patrick. When I pushed between them, Brian punched me twice, screaming about Patrick talking back to him. I could only see white flashes out of my right eye, and had a mouth full of blood from a split lip. But there was no way I was going to let him beat my son. From the look in Brian's eyes, I was going to be hurt bad. Really, really bad. 1079 Then the door opened behind him and my husband walked in. 1080 Yes, I still think of him that way – I've never married anyone else and don't want to. So the title is still his by default. 1081 My mind exploded with suppressed princess fantasies. He was here to save me! He'd rescue us, carry me out to the carriage and we'd ride off into the Happily Ever After! 1082 Then he turned his head. 1083 My heart froze in mid-leap. Half his face was a horrible insanely grinning mockery of humanity; a devil's face. A smoke filled eye, a leering smile, the skin a relief map of pain – just runnels and crevices on an angry red canvas. 1084 He'd refused to see me, so, although, I'd known he'd been injured, this wasn't what I pictured. I thought Patrick had exaggerated. Kids do that. I don't know what I was expecting; maybe a limp and one pristine dramatic scar down the side of his face, like in the movies. 1085 My stomach lurched. 1086 Brian saw the expression on my face and turned to face him. He didn't stand a chance. He was down before I could even really register what happened. The Thing that had been my husband moved with a machine-like precision, no wasted effort at all. 1087 Instead of an emotional "I Love You!" I was ordered to get my ass and the children in the car. It was pretty damn clear that while my ass was optional, the children were not. His voice was flat and emotionless. He stopped me to demand my club vest and I handed it to him as fast as I could. I had to step over Bear and Wrench on the way out. They hadn't fared any better than Brian. I watched him drag them inside. He was in there for 15 minutes before he came out. Something made me watch for flames as we drove away. 1088 Chapter 4.3 I don't know whether I was disappointed or relieved that there were none But I suspected it had been a very long 15 minutes for Brian. 1090 He didn't talk to me at all in the car. Which was probably for the best. I cringed in my seat and decided to see what he had planned. He'd always been fair and I just knew he loved me. 1091 The next day I barely began to understand what I had already sensed. He made it very clear – he was completely up front about what he was. But it's really hard to grasp that someone you loved was gone, even when they sit in front of you and tell you. 1092 It was only later I realized that if I had reacted wrong, it would have been my last day on earth. He made it very clear that his only interest in me was concern for the well-being of the children. And if I had been a threat to him watching over them, then I would have been a threat to them. 1093 I don't think I really, fully accepted that my husband was truly gone for months. Only the "father" slice of him was left. When I did accept it, I mourned for the guy I'd met in high school and loved for years. But he was gone and I had to face this new reality. 1094 I couldn't have my husband back; he was dead. And this new "man" didn't – couldn't – love me. But I could be a partner in raising his children. So I chose to be a full partner. 1095 On the day I had the last laser removal treatment for the tattoo, I left a copy of my STD and HIV test results on his night stand. I visited his bed that night. Even without the emotion, there was still physical relief for both of us. I doubt if he cared about the tattoo, but I hoped he'd see the symbology of me sleeping with him after the tattoo removal. I realized I wasn't building any emotional bonds, but I hoped I was removing doubt about my commitment to our project. I wouldn't risk the illusion we were building over an office affair, by either of us. I suspect if the illusion collapsed, I would simply disappear. 1096 I eventually convinced him to let me move into his room. And that lowered the chances he would seek physical relief with one of those damn co-eds running around in their short skirts. I'd already been used in every possible way, so I had no qualms about anything he would want and made sure he knew it. Still, he had no interest in degrading me or playing power games with sex, so it became more of a form of pleasant exercise than anything else. Like aerobics with a few orgasms thrown in. 1097 I do avoid eye contact though. Its not the scars, it's the eyes. 1098 Especially the clear one. 1099 I took RN classes after ensuring he was okay with it – and used my electives to look into his condition. That led to an RPN with an emphasis on psychology. And for the first time, I really, really, looked at what he had been – he no longer felt the need to shield me, so he handed over his service records with no hesitation. What I found was pretty terrifying. 1100 He'd been on hostile fire pay for nearly our entire married life. Honest to God, I had no idea that HFP wasn't a normal part of every soldier's paycheck. He had far more medals than normal for his rank – most of them combat - and the write-ups were nearly all redacted. His tours in "Kuwait" were to units that didn't actually seem to exist. 1101 He told me a little more when I asked. Not details about missions. What he was, what he did. 1102 His nickname had been "Monster" – I'd heard it, but never realized what it meant. Now I knew. His injury hadn't really changed what he was, it had simply stripped the veneer of humanity away. The human part of him had been killed by that shrapnel. All that was left was the highly trained, very experienced Monster. No remorse, no regret. 1103 The irony of it all is that people meet him and try to do the right thing. Look past the scarred demon face to see the real him. 1104 But the demon face is the real him. The humanity is a mask. If you cross him, threaten the children, you'll find out. 1105 He really is the Thing in the closet. 1106 Or under the bed. 1107 Open and close that medicine cabinet. 1108 I dare you. 1109 There are some benefits. Gangs surged around the clinic I worked at, and a young mother was raped and beaten, I mentioned it to him. Just conversationally. There was a sudden and unexplained rush of young men admitted to the local hospitals, severely beaten. None of them was able to identify their attacker. I heard they were too terrified to talk. Some died, the rest were crippled. A house or two burned down. And the problem went away. 1110 I knew what was likely to happen when I told him about the attack; that neighborhood was too close to the children' school. 1111 And wondered if that made me a monster too. 1112 Three men attempted to rob us one night when we were walking down the riverfront to a restaurant. We dumped the bodies into the river and never discussed it again. 1113 He's not the only monster out there, but lesser monsters would do well to avoid him. 1114 There have been others. I'm not even sure how many anymore. I've been there for some. 1115 I'll admit I have a little fascination with watching him "work". It's not like the movies at all. No fancy kicks, no flurries of punches and blocks, and it never lasts very long. Just a heartbeat or two. There's an elegant, relentless, simplicity. 1116 And despite how twisted it sounds, I'm drawn to him more then than any other time. I can even look into his eyes. 1117 Maybe I'm the only Monster here. He is what he is; a finely honed sword with no conscience. But I've pointed that weapon knowingly. If it helps, I've been very, very selective. 1118 Mostly. 1119 And I always try to find other solutions to problems before he deals with them. And he allows me to do that. 1120 Mostly. 1121 I do my best to help him maintain his mask. It's important for everyone. 1122 In many ways, he's the perfect "husband"; he provides well, he is supportive of my career, he's great with children, never forgets to take out the trash or mow the lawn. He even helps with laundry. Despite my worries, I am certain he'd never stray, no matter how enticing a piece of ass gets dangled in front of him. He takes me to dinner twice a week, and even brings flowers home. He can even cook. Because that is the mask he wears. Like most sociopaths, he can be charming and engaging when he chooses. You'd most likely never know. But I do. 1123 I know, that if there ever comes a day when he sees me as a threat – or even just of no value to his offspring – that's the day I stop breathing. 1124 But as I said, don't feel sorry for me. 1125 We have grandchildren on the way. 1126 ***** 1127 Post Production Note: I've never decided whether I feel sorry for Ex (Anne) or not. She made some bad decisions that negatively impacted her children, but she tried to do the right thing all along. Monster isn't her fault, he is an unforeseen consequence of war, but she takes responsibility for him. He is, in the end, a self-aware weapon that has escaped into civilized society. 1128 Monster started as a throw-away of sorts in "Shameless"– a half-formed idea in the shadows, a mostly harmless, self-medicating TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) victim trying to drink his nightmares away in the corner of the bar. A Checkov's gun who would sacrifice himself and save Grease and Shameless, thereby achieving his own redemption. But as that story progressed, Ex showed up and sat down with him. And then he turned his head and I got a good look his face. And I'm afraid there isn't much redemption there. 1129 One of the curious things about stories where the hero turns out to be a SEAL or a Delta Operator who is crossed and then goes on a rampage, even a controlled one, is just how unlikely that is. It doesn't matter if you're talking SF, SFOD (Delta), SEALs or AF Combat Control Teams or one of the ever-shifting DoD "activities"; lack of control, lack of discipline will kill you, and likely everybody on your team. Most operators are extremely self-disciplined. That discipline is absolutely second nature to most of them, almost to a fault. It has to be. They are also very pragmatic people and would use lawyers more than violence if possible. One of the key things they learn is when a situation becomes untenable, you have to put it down and walk away. 1130 That said, with TBI a more common occurrence, who is to say what kind of brain damage could occur? Could it strip away human emotions, and leave "trigger mode" permanently on? That question is at the root of Monster. 1131 One terminology note: "Top" is the common informal form of address for a First Sergeant – the "Top Sergeant" of a Company. In this case, however, given the nature of Monster's unit, Top refers to the Sergeant Major of the "activity". 1132 https://www.literotica.com/s/pogo-and-spooky One bottle of corn oil and one can whipped cream. 1134 I stared at the open bag resting on the polished bar in front of me, reflecting that this did not likely bode particularly well. 1135 Howard was looking over at me with a raised eyebrow, while across the room, Ex was failing to contain a smirk. Monster was apparently ignoring the whole thing while sipping neat rum; I was sure he was tracking though. He doesn't miss much. 1136 The can of whipped cream was still cold, gathering moisture from the air, and the price tags were from Nomo's Market about three blocks away from the Shack. 1137 This was seriously fucked up. 1138 Only two people on earth other than me would have any idea about the oil and whipped cream. One died three years ago. And the other... well, I wasn't sure. 1139 I'm Poznac Godek, Sergeant Major, United States Army, Retired. 1140 Youngest son of a pair hardworking Polish immigrants; they'd gotten on the wrong side of the Warsaw Pact political ideology. Slipped out just ahead of the police and wended their way to the US. 1141 They're the most American people I know, even if their accents are still heavy and the food very much Polish around the holidays. Still kicking and still hanging that Flag out every single day. And still proud of me to the core. 1142 I'm not sure how proud they would be of me if they knew what I'd had to do to protect the country they love so much. But they're pretty practical people, so maybe it wouldn't bother them as much as it does me. 1143 Poznac Godek is a mouthful, so it wasn't long before I was tagged with the nickname Pogo growing up. I thought I'd be leaving that behind when I joined the Army, but about 2 minutes and thirty-three seconds into Basic Training I was renamed Pogo. Again. 1144 Just like that damn possum in the Walt Kelly comic. Since I also have a slightly round nose and a thick brush of light blonde hair - which of course went completely white when I hit thirty - I was tagged for life. 1145 Nomo had sent the package over just a few minutes earlier. He didn't take plastic and didn't take phone orders. Which meant Spooky almost had to be on the island. Three blocks away. Or less. 1146 Twelve years is pretty long time to bear a grudge, but Spooky might. 1147 *** 1148 Twelve years ago, I'd taken leave to help a friend of mine, Eugene. 1149 He'd been shot in a home invasion in Coal City, just outside Chicago. 1150 Eugene and I were pretty close to inseparable in high school before I joined the Army and he joined the Corps. We were quite a pair -- the big black guy and the big blonde Polack - we'd chased girls, drank beer and barely passed Algebra together. We weren't exactly the top of the class, but we did manage to graduate. With the economy the way it was, there weren't a lot of good options and neither of us had the money for college, so the Army and the Corps were our only choices. 1151 We'd stayed in touch, and met at least once a year to hang out, drink beer and bullshit each other. He'd left the Marine Corps Military Police after 8 years to open his own sandwich shop. 1152 He loved being a Marine and liked being a cop, but Eugene had a thing about sandwiches. Always had. He made his shop the best sandwich shop anyone could dream of. Brick floor, oak counters and tables, brass trim, with Sinatra playing. Roast beef, pastrami, and dozens more, all on fresh baked bread with about a half million different toppings -- served with thick cut fries. No hard liquor, but you could get a damn good beer. 1153 Eating there was an experience. A little pricier than Subway, but it was a destination for a real meal rather than a quick stop. Eugene really had a thing about sandwiches. 1154 He was good natured, nice to everyone, and cooperated with the robbers as much as possible. Just wanted it over with nobody getting hurt. 1155 That didn't work out. He was pistol whipped and shot through the thigh, shattering his femur. 1156 I had thirty days leave built up and headed out as soon as I'd gotten his phone call. We'd just come off a mission, so it was good time for leave anyway. 1157 Eugene was sitting up in the hospital bed when I showed up. 1158 "So, I guess the Corps forgot to teach you about those bullet things you're supposed to avoid." 1159 "Been out too long, the bullet proofing must've worn off." 1160 "So what happened?" 1161 "Got a case of stupid -- they pulled a bait-and-bitch on me. Shit, I even knew there was a problem in the area." 1162 I shook my head "Anyone could fall for that. There's a reason it's a classic." 1163 The "Bait and Bitch" or "B&B" is a pretty standard robbery tactic. Harmless-looking girl either comes to your door or waves you down on the road. Gives you the big tearful eyes with "my car broke down" or "I'm lost" or "I can't find my dog" or whatever. The Heavy hangs out of sight until the door is unlocked, the car gets stopped, or whatever. I've used it myself to gain entry on targets countless times. Used to work it with an asset named Donna; that woman could seem helpless and harmless in about twenty languages. 1164 Works a whole lot better than the pizza delivery scenario. 1165 He shook his head, looking down. "Still. I should've known better. I figured if I played along and let them take whatever, didn't make a fuss, they'd just leave, I'd file with insurance, everybody walks away and I go get myself a mastiff puppy. Lesson learned." 1166 I looked down at his leg. "So how'd that work out for you?" 1167 He rolled his eyes. "The asshole with the gun, skinny fucker, decided to crack me over the head and shoot me in the leg while I'm down. The girl was cussing him all the way out. She was pissed." 1168 "Cops have a line on them?" 1169 "Doesn't sound like it. Actually it doesn't sound like they care that much. I'm still alive and they're dealing with unsolved murders. Got the JV team on it. I've got socks older than the team lead." 1170 I got it, I really did. He was alive, the victim of a couple small-timers. The cops had their hands full with bigger fish. Until the small-timers became killers they were on the back burner. 1171 Still, it pissed me off. Eugene was one of the good guys. Your tire blows out? He'd change it for you. Short of cash? Here's a twenty, you can get me back later. Even if he knew you never would. 1172 Shit, he had a van, he would take "extra" sandwiches down to the park after the restaurant closed to hand out to the homeless. He stayed late and made those sandwiches himself. 1173 "What're you thinking, Pogo?" 1174 "You need help with the shop?" 1175 He shook his head "Nah, got a good girl managing it. I trust her. Great at keeping everything working and everyone listens to her. Just outta college but smarter than you and me put together." 1176 "Doesn't have to be too bright then." 1177 He grinned. 1178 "She's my niece, but she's still brilliant." 1179 I shrugged "Anything else?" 1180 He started to shake his head, but stopped abruptly. "Pogo, I can smell it. They're just going to keep doing this to people, it'll keep escalating until somebody gets killed. Somebody innocent." 1181 I nodded. 1182 "I think they might've picked me up at the ATM on 9th Street by the Laundromat. They knew I had cash, and that's the only place I can think of they might have known that from." 1183 He was uncomfortable telling me and it showed in his voice. Over the years, Eugene had figured out more about my career than anyone other than me would probably be comfortable with. 1184 "What am I looking for?" 1185 "Salt and Pepper. The Heavy is a skinny black kid, early to mid-twenties, almost six foot, right handed, some kind of brand on his right forearm, has a 1911, maybe a Kimber, in nine mil. The Bait is a pale little white girl, brown hair with a touch of red -- maybe 5 foot even. Eyes about the same color as her hair. Damn good at the puppy eyes, and I think she's actually running the game, even though he thinks he is. She tore his head off for actually shooting me. Even dialed 911 on the house phone and dropped it on the floor on her way out." 1186 "A softy?" 1187 He looked at me from lowered brows. "No. She has a hard streak. Got the impression she just didn't want me to bleed out and have the heat turned up with a homicide charge." 1188 "Which means she likely isn't planning on leaving the area soon." 1189 "She was a pro. Let him touch anything in the house he wanted, but even when she picked up the phone she kept her hands in her sweatshirt sleeves. Older than she looked; seems about 17 at first glance but maybe early 20s." 1190 He looked out the window for a second. "Pogo, don't kill them if you don't have to." 1191 I didn't answer that. I try not to make false promises, even implied ones. 1192 The pain pills caught up to him about then, so after a few minutes, I headed out to find a place to stay for a couple weeks or so. 1193 House hunting is a pain in the ass. Even when you are looking in a somewhat crappy neighborhood there are usually too damn many questions. 1194 I finally found a place -- a slightly run-down single home, with a dirt floor basement. The owner didn't ask too many questions, and while it didn't have any appliances, I figured I could eat out. 1195 And it wasn't too far from an all-night Laundromat. 1196 I ditched my actual luggage and ID cards in the bus station locker and picked up some worn, but not shabby, clothes from the Goodwill store. 1197 Moving in was pretty painless, what with having no furniture and all. I bought a lawn chair, a blue tarp, some tools, some screws, bolts and a little bit of assorted hardware, and a sleeping bag. A few groceries, a Styrofoam cooler, a copy of Stephen King's "It" and a deck of cards pretty much completed my efforts. 1198 Then I began to hunt. 1199 It really feels more like cane-pole fishing than hunting and it requires patience. 1200 I've got the patience for it, but it still drags. Move in as slowly as possible, become part of the pattern of life, the normal. Find the right look -- affluent enough to be worth targeting, poor enough not to be risky. Hit the ATM, pay cash for groceries. Move a little awkward, like you're getting over an accident or something. Predators and scavengers look for the sick and the injured. 1201 I almost missed her. 1202 I did miss her, to be honest. Damn, she was good. I only saw her because her accomplice had all the surveillance skills of a Fourth grader playing hide and seek. 1203 He was tense and kept shooting looks at her to make sure she was where he left her. 1204 I could feel her aggravation with him. If she'd have been alone, I wouldn't have picked her up. Maybe she had been alone the day before. Or even for the last few days. She was a fucking ghost, sank right into the background. Spooky as hell. I let myself feel a flash of admiration for her skills. Gotta give the skill level a little respect -- it helps you remember to be a little more cautious around them. 1205 I stayed on script. Hit the ATM, pulled cash, headed to the little grocery. 1206 He was still on me, although I couldn't see her -- but then I wouldn't. Damn, she was good. 1207 Pissed me off a little -- and that always makes me a little crazy. I guess I just feel like I have to prove myself or something. Some warped form of jealousy or machismo or some shit. I started to veer off script a little. 1208 I grinned inside as I picked a small bottle of corn oil off the dusty shelf and pulled a spray can of real whipped cream out of the dairy section. Even got the name brand. Extra creamy. 1209 Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. 1210 I walked home the same way as always. 1211 He was almost comically bad. It was like a watching a bad episode of "Get Smart"; I swear to God I kept expecting him to answer his damn shoe. 1212 She, on the other hand, was still nearly invisible. Effortlessly disappearing into shadows and bad angles without looking remotely suspicious. 1213 I was at the house almost too soon -- I could have happily led them down a few more streets just to see how "Spooky" handled the changes in light and shadow. Just to watch her work. She was a natural. 1214 Still, it was time to get this road on the show. 1215 I slipped into the house and blocked the door -- if I was right, she would be cautious enough to wait fifteen to twenty minutes just to let me settle in and drop my guard -- but I couldn't be certain. 1216 So I prepped everything as quickly as possible and settled back to wait for their arrival. 1217 She was even more cautious than I expected -- it was nearly thirty minutes before she knocked on the door. 1218 I took two breaths and yanked the inner door open and popped the latch on the outer door for her. I didn't wait for her to talk and I didn't make real eye contact. 1219 "Wow, you're early. Well, come on in. It'll be at least an hour before anyone else shows up." 1220 I promptly spun on my heel and started to walk toward the back of the room before the Heavy even had time to pop out of the shadows. 1221 I heard them move through the door, completely uncertain how to react. 1222 Their hesitant steps betrayed their confusion. 1223 I suppose it really is understandable. 1224 How often could they have had a stark naked man, coated in corn oil, holding a can of whipped cream, answer the door and act like they were expected? 1225 I kept talking "You can leave your clothes in the back room, there's plenty more oil back there and some towels." 1226 I heard the door close, then the heavier steps started toward my back. 1227 The Heavy was getting impatient. 1228 Bad move -- if things seem off, they are off; figure out what is going on before you commit. 1229 I spun around to my right. His right as well. It's an old gunfighter's trick. That put me on the outside of his raised arm as he prepared to strike me with the pistol. The arm is weaker and slower to the outside lateral, slower to react. It's a little thing, a small difference. But knowing those little differences is how you get to become an old gunfighter. 1230 I'm not Monster; I don't have his natural ability, his speed, his absolute precision. 1231 But I did train him. And the Monsters that came before him. 1232 I caught the upraised pistol with my left hand. Pushing it higher. He'd taken his finger off the trigger to pistol whip me and now my hand and wrist were in his way. 1233 He had other problems anyway; he couldn't twist to punch effectively and my right hand had come up and he had a face full of whipped cream. 1234 I flipped the can over my shoulder as he tried to clear his eyes and lost his focus. I got my right hand on heavy pistol and slammed it back down between his eyes with all my strength, feeling his nose crunch under it. 1235 A couple more times for luck. 1236 His eyes rolled back into his head as he tumbled backward, suddenly boneless. A mess of whipped cream and blood. 1237 Fuck him if he can't take a joke. 1238 The girl was already moving toward the door, but I'd put a spring latch at the top of the door; it'd latched automatically when she'd shut the door. 1239 A dollar twenty seven well spent. 1240 She spun back toward me. No panic in her light brown eyes. Just cold calculation. 1241 I pointed at the open door to the basement stairs. 1242 "Down the stairs, Spooky. Unless you think you can take me." 1243 She actually considered it for a second. 1244 I raised one eyebrow. "Really?" 1245 Her eyes traced over me, lingering on a few of the more dramatic scars. Flickering over to her unconscious Heavy. The math just didn't work out. She shrugged and headed toward the stairs. 1246 I grabbed the lanky kid by hood of his sweatshirt and dragged him thumping down the stairs with us. She stopped in the center of the basement, looking in disbelief at the two graves waiting patiently for them. 1247 "Why?". 1248 Her voice was older than she was. Rougher, deeper. Maybe just a touch of cigarette smoke in it. 1249 "Eugene." 1250 She stared at me, lost. "Who the fuck is Eugene?" 1251 "You didn't even bother to learn his name?" 1252 "Look, we didn't kill anyone." 1253 It was my turn to shrug. "You will. Eventually. It's just a matter of time." 1254 She was desperate -- I could see that -- but she refused to panic. I felt another flash of admiration. 1255 "I suppose Eugene is the guy Duarte shot." A statement rather than a question. 1256 She continued, stone calm, contemplating the two graves. "I knew that was bad news. He promised he wouldn't do it again." 1257 "Really? You believed him?" 1258 "Not really. I was going to dump him after this one. Move on. He wasn't listening anymore." A small, ironic smile twisted the corner of her mouth. "I was afraid he'd get us into real trouble." 1259 Her smiled skewed as she thought of something. "So, the whipped cream?" 1260 "They didn't have a banana cream pie." 1261 "We were that bad. A real joke, huh?" 1262 "Mostly him. " 1263 "You're the real thing, aren't you?" 1264 "One of them." I pulled Duarte's shoes off, dropping them in the grave. "It's too bad, Spooky. You're pretty damn good." 1265 "Really?" 1266 "Yeah, even when I knew you were there, I could only track you because knucklehead here kept looking around like a prairie dog." 1267 A little pride showed through, like a kid who'd just been praised by the teacher. "I've always been good at that. You learn to be invisible in foster homes." 1268 "You've got real talent." 1269 "Thanks." A little wistfully. 1270 She paused. "Is that why you keep calling me Spooky?" 1271 Fuck me. 1272 I know better. Damn it. As long as I've been doing this, I damn well know better. Every farm kid on the planet knows you don't name them. 1273 I glanced over at her. She was still staring at the graves. Spooky had no idea what she'd just done. 1274 I hadn't even realized I'd given her the name until she asked about it. 1275 And now all I could hear was Eugene's plea for their lives in the back of my head. That's what it had been. He didn't want to be the cause of their deaths, he just wanted them stopped. 1276 I dropped "Duarte" by the closest grave and walked back over to the stairs and sat down to go over my options. I had a tool kit there, pulled it out and dialed the combo. Something to do to cover my disconcertion. 1277 She looked over, confused. She sensed something had changed, but had no idea what. She let it be and waited patiently. Like I said, she was damn good. 1278 Too good. And too feral to let go. 1279 A small part of me argued that it wasn't her fault. Another part argued that it didn't matter if it was her fault or not. If I turned her in, she'd be out in 4 or 5 years. Worse than ever. Tougher, more experienced and with more anger. 1280 I had one option. If it worked. If they were taking strays. 1281 "Give me your clothes, Spooky." 1282 A resigned look washed over her face and she began stripping. She obviously thought this was about something else, and she refused to react to it. I got the impression she'd been through something like that before. 1283 I pulled a utility knife out of the battered toolbox and began cutting her jeans into long strips. She watched warily. 1284 "I won't fight if..." 1285 "Don't flatter yourself, Spooky. You're too young for me." 1286 I checked her sweatshirt over and flipped it back over to her. 1287 "I just want to make sure you stay put while I check on something. Put the sweatshirt on, it's chilly down here." 1288 She pulled the shirt on wordlessly. 1289 For a moment as I was tying her up, I thought she was going to fight, but after that uncertain moment she stopped tensing up and let me finish without trouble. Her expression was unreadable as I lowered her into her grave. 1290 The skinny guy was still out, so I tied him carefully then dumped him into the other grave on his side. 1291 I headed up the stairs, showered and dressed, then headed out. 1292 It took three calls. Howard. Then call another number. Then wait thirty minutes by the pay phone in the Laundromat while I finished reading "It" under the raw fluorescent lighting. It rang just as I finished. 1293 Chapter 5.2 The last call was brief. A familiar, but dusty voice giving cautious approval. 1295 That was it. 1296 I headed back to the house. 1297 I paused at the top of the stairs. I could see her legs -- she'd managed to work her way out her bonds and climbed up and out of the grave, but was just sitting on the edge of it, legs dangling in. He was still lying in the bottom of his, still tied. Looking up at her in a mixture of anger, panic, and disbelief. 1298 I walked on down, and she glanced up for a moment to see if it was me, then went back to staring into the dark hole. 1299 She didn't even move as I yanked Duarte up and out onto the basement floor. 1300 I left him there and dragged a cinderblock from its place under the stairs, then grabbed the worn ball peen hammer from the toolbox and dropped it by her feet. 1301 "Now what?" 1302 "Now you save Duarte's life." 1303 She looked at me with a tiny shiver, catching, no doubt, that I hadn't mentioned anything about hers. 1304 I pulled a cinderblock out and loosened one of his hands, leaving the other tied to his belt in back. He struggled, but that didn't really matter much. 1305 "Pick up the hammer." 1306 Two trigger fingers, two kneecaps, two ankles. 1307 When I took the hammer from Spooky's hand, I was sure she understood. She really had saved him. 1308 Duarte would do time in prison, but he'd be hard put to be dangerous when he got out. And when he stopped screaming into his gag, I made sure he understood. 1309 Monsters are real. 1310 He'd been a scavenger pretending to be a monster, but he'd never be one. Ever. He just didn't have it in him. And if he ever tried again, a real Monster would come for him. I'd make sure of it. 1311 We waited for another six hours down there. Mostly staring at each other. Duarte was curled up on his side, refusing to look at Spooky or me. 1312 I heard the door open upstairs and led Spooky slowly up. Still just in her sweatshirt. 1313 Donna was standing in the center of the room, flanked by her human Dobermans. 1314 She looked over Spooky, down at the discarded can of whipped cream and smiled humorlessly. 1315 "You still know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?" 1316 She didn't wait for my response and stepped toward the girl, unrolling the black, eyeless hood in her hands. 1317 "Wait" 1318 A small voice, more timid than she'd ever used, I think. 1319 Donna cocked her head to one side slightly, eyebrow raised as Spooky turned toward me. 1320 She cautiously reached up and pulled me down a bit to kiss her. 1321 She let go slowly. And stepped toward Donna looking over her shoulder. 1322 "I'm not too young for you, you know." 1323 We looked into each other's eyes as Donna slid the hood over her head. 1324 *** 1325 I'd dropped Duarte off in the park with the now-broken Kimber in his waistband. 1326 He ended up doing four years. Eugene intervened on his behalf, got the charges reduced a bit, and even gave him a job at the sandwich shop when he got out of prison. Like I said, Eugene is one of the good guys. Duarte died of diabetes, of all things. 1327 That's probably partly my fault. I suspect exercise was more difficult for him than most. Sorry, Eugene. 1328 So that just left Spooky. 1329 I didn't miss her this time. She walked in the front of The Shack like she owned the place, a single piece of airline luggage rolling behind her. 1330 Monster actually actively tracked her -- recognizing another predator instantly. 1331 She came straight to the bar and pulled herself up onto a stool. 1332 There was a smile in her eyes -- more life than she'd had when we parted. More, maybe, than she had in her life up to that point. I recognized it. She had purpose; she had reasons to do what she did, real ones, with real meaning. 1333 It's a hard life, but for some it's the best possible one. 1334 "Took me eight years to get your name out of Donna. And four more to get your address." 1335 "So what now?" 1336 "I was wondering if we couldn't find a different use for the oil and whipped cream this time." 1337 "Couldn't find a banana cream pie?" 1338 Post Production Notes: A short one to ease some frustration. An acquaintance of mine was shot in a home invasion a couple weeks ago and I've been helping unfuck his life as much as I can. Like Eugene, he's a big guy and very capable, but fell for the B&B. Unlike the story, the cops have been on the ball and made his case a priority -- and have been very competent. But the damned mundanity of the situation is driving me up the wall. It's ops-normal these days. I almost took Monster out for a walk on this one, but that'd have been a one paragraph story. 1339 https://www.literotica.com/s/tales-from-the-shack-nobody Another Tale from the Shack. This one is after Pogo and Spooky. Really it fits right before the last paragraph of that story. You don't have to read that one to get this one, but it will make it better. There is no graphic sex in this story line. Special thanks to sbrooks103x and Crkcppr for editing and beta reading it for me. Any remaining errors are entirely mine -- probably added after their assistance. And thanks to everyone for the encouragement and support. 1341 *** 1342 I'm nobody. 1343 The woman staring across the sad, flaking grey metal table clearly knew that already. She never bothered asking my name. 1344 Just gave a dismissive glance at me as if to try to figure if I had any use at all. Just a raggedy-girl crumpled in the chair in front of her. 1345 "Fifteen years. You're mine for fifteen. If the police had rolled you up, you'd have probably been sentenced to twenty. Maybe gotten parole after six." 1346 "So why fifteen, if it's six?" I wasn't even sure I cared anymore, but I had the sense that looking weak to her would be a very, very bad idea. 1347 "Because the police didn't catch you. We did." She paused, waving her hand dismissively, "Well, he did. And you may not understand it, but that was a death sentence." 1348 I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. She was telling a cold unvarnished truth. I'd been dead. Lying in a cold grave in the basement of a house. I knew, absolutely, knew that I was dead. My life had ended and it didn't matter to anyone. The only one who would have even realized I was missing was lying in the grave next to mine. 1349 "Who is he?" 1350 "That's not really important, is it? The important part is that you were dead the second you walked into that house." 1351 There was no arguing with that either - the white-haired guy had put Duarte down so fast and smooth I still hadn't figured out how he'd done it, and I'd been looking right at him. I'd been in, and seen, plenty of fights. But nothing like this. It was more like watching a lion attack on a nature show. Or a crocodile come out of nowhere. 1352 He'd played us. The limp, the stiffness that had gotten my attention, and convinced me he was a good target had been a lure. 1353 Whenever I thought back to it, I could still feel it. 1354 That terrified, startled, feeling you get when you are just starting to drift to sleep and it suddenly feels like you're falling. 1355 Your leg kicks out. 1356 Your heart explodes. 1357 And after a fraction of a second, you calm down and try to relax. 1358 Except I hadn't calmed down. Because I wasn't in bed and I wasn't going to wake up. 1359 I was trapped in a suddenly too-small room with a real predator. 1360 I'd managed to suppress my panic just enough to try to run and found the door somehow locked to trap me in. When I turned around, he was standing stone still over Duarte's bloody form, not even breathing heavy. 1361 There wasn't any question; this was the end. I would be killed and nobody would ever know or care what happened to me. 1362 I was so stunned by how quickly everything had turned I went numb. No fear, no panic, just acceptance of my fate. 1363 But it hadn't happened. For his own reasons, he'd decided to let us live. 1364 Not unscathed, in Duarte's case. 1365 And I wasn't sure I wouldn't have been better off dead. 1366 The grimly amused woman across the table from me had made it perfectly clear without saying a word that "dead" was still an option. Maybe even the preferable one, as far as she was concerned. 1367 I only knew her as "Donna". That was all her guards called her, all anyone ever called her. It felt more like a title than a name. 1368 I waited. 1369 She glanced down at a piece of paper then back up at me, calculating. 1370 "You do what I tell you or we finish what he started. He thought you might have use as a bird dog." 1371 Seeing my confusion, she clarified herself. "He thinks you can follow people." 1372 I tried to suppress a little smile at that. He'd actually seemed impressed, and for some stupid reason that felt important to me. 1373 "Don't get too happy. You're a throwaway. You don't know anything. The important thing is that you're clean. Unknown." 1374 She paused, looking through me cold eyes. "The important thing is that you're nobody." 1375 Nobody. 1376 At least they gave me some oversized jeans and old tennis shoes to go with my sweatshirt before they took me back to a room and locked me in. I pretty much sat and rotted in what looked like an old-school room with painted over windows for an eternity, until one of the guys I was thinking of as one of "Donna's Dobermans" opened the door. Barely looking at me, he gestured me to follow and led me out to a half-rust beater car. A skinny, ragged, washed-out guy in a faded, tattered, brown crew cap and a jacket that might have started off blue about two decades ago, was sitting in the driver's seat, with a lost, spaced-out expression. 1377 The Doberman just turned and walked away toward an alley, leaving me standing by the car. He hadn't said a word. 1378 The driver looked up and gave a halfhearted smile that was missing a few teeth. "Hop in. I'm Tommy, your cruise director." 1379 I shrugged and walked around the car to the passenger seat. He seemed somewhere between thirty and fifty, colorless, brittle. Like he'd just crumble away at any second. 1380 I fumbled my way in, sweeping a couple hamburger wrappers off the battered used-to-be leather seat, and keeping an eye out for any rats that might still be alive. From the smell, I suspected they'd died of black mold. 1381 Once I was in, he looked over at me with the slightly jittery eyes of a speed addict. "What do I call you?" 1382 Not "What's your name?" I noticed. 1383 I thought for a second. "Spooky. Just call me Spooky." 1384 "Cool. S'all good, Spooky. I'm taking you to your new home, the Ritz Carlton." He paused and shrugged with a slightly crazed half smile. "Maybe not the Ritz, but the doors lock, mostly. And the toilets flush, and sometimes you can even get hot water." 1385 He scratched underneath his cap for a second, leaving a few strands of wispy light brown hair sticking out. He fumbled in his jacket and pulled out a ratty looking envelope, shoving it at me. "Your key's in there. And a cash card --there's a PIN number on the back. And an unlimited subway card. Your cash card has $500 dollars, and it will be loaded with another $500 every two weeks." 1386 Enough to live on, but not really easy to build enough to run with. 1387 We drove through a maze of streets, each one worse than the last until he pulled in front of a sleazy 1950's two story motel. The sign was broken out and unreadable. The parking lot was edged with dead weeds. 1388 He stopped in front of the main entrance. "There's never anybody on duty at the front desk. You're in room 223. Next to Amber." There was a hint of something when he said "Amber." Something, a tone, a feeling, maybe, in his voice. 1389 "How do I..." 1390 "You don't. They'll call when they need... anything." He seemed to pause heavily at that word, and for a second I really considered that maybe "dead" might have been my best option. "If they need you, they'll call between 4 and 5 in the morning. " 1391 "What if I'm not there?" 1392 He shrugged. "I don't know. But I don't think you want them to have to go looking for you." 1393 He pulled out without saying anything else. 1394 I made my way past the desk to the stairs and down the hall to my room. 1395 Faded. Stained. There were more holes than carpet, and the peeling veneer desk next to the bed was a collage of cigarette burns and coffee cup rings. The only things on it were an ancient liver-colored phone and a neat stack of maps -- Washington DC, Arlington, Rosslyn and so on. The maps might as well have had "study me" printed on them. 1396 The closet had a battered, off-kilter door and the bathroom had no door at all. A fragment of one hung from the top hinge though. 1397 At least there was toilet paper. 1398 I'd been sitting on the folding metal chair by the desk trying to make sense of the maps for an hour when somebody knocked hesitantly on the door to my new home. 1399 A watery-eyed, bone-thin bleach-blonde girl stood there. Garish makeup and gold lame shorts with a white fur-trimmed jacket made her profession pretty clear. 1400 "You must be Spooky. Tommy told me. I'm Amber." She held up a white paper bag. "Indian food. You okay with that?" Her voice was slightly nasal, the way characters in movies from New Jersey talk. 1401 I didn't even really have a chance to answer, she just walked past me and plopped her skinny butt down on the bed. 1402 As much as her skinny, 90-pound ass could "plop", anyway. 1403 She kicked off ridiculously tall heels and sighed with relief. 1404 She began to pull Styrofoam containers out, standing them precariously on the bed. "We have chicken vindaloo... and... chicken vindaloo." She looked up at me with a slightly apologetic, fragile smile. "I like chicken vindaloo and I didn't want to take the chance you'd choose it." She pulled a couple of bottles of water out. 1405 I closed the door, realizing I hadn't eaten since... since sometime before Duarte and I had run afoul of the white-haired man. I even kind of tried to smile when I picked up one of the containers and walked back to the pulled out chair. 1406 "Thanks. I'm starving." 1407 "Confusing, isn't it?" 1408 "Who are they?" 1409 "We don't ask them, it's probably not a good idea." 1410 "I can see that." 1411 "Tommy thinks it's some kind of syndicate thing. I think it's some kind of industrial spy stuff. The guys I, uh, entertain? Well, they're usually pretty flush." 1412 I had my own ideas about it, but I sure as hell wasn't going to tell anyone I'd just met. We stopped talking for a while. After not eating for so long, the spicy food tasted better than I'd even dreamed food could taste. I finally stopped when only raw Styrofoam squeaked under my plastic spoon. 1413 She put her container on the floor and laid back with her legs dangling off the edge of the bed. 1414 "I'm not asking, but you must have really, really fucked up to be here. We all did. That woman..." Amber shuddered, "she ain't playing." 1415 "I noticed." 1416 "She doesn't care what you do when she's not using you; I'm trying to build up a little money..." she hooked the strap on one of her spike heel shoes with a toe and waved it around to make it clear just how she was earning the money. "She doesn't care." 1417 I shrugged. "Thanks for the job offer, but that's not my thing." 1418 She smiled up at the ceiling without looking over. "Didn't think it was. Whatever you do though, don't get in real trouble. There was a guy -- he was a mook, did strong arm stuff, a leg-breaker. Mostly played the heavy in badger games. He got busted for robbery and assault while he was here -- he had this room, actually -- ended up hanging himself in jail." She sat up and shot a serious look at me. "Thing is, he wasn't the type to kill himself. He was a really big guy and he wasn't afraid to go to prison." 1419 It felt scripted, artificial, like she was giving a formal warning. "I got the idea." 1420 "Seriously. Tommy's worried you're gonna run. They'll find you sooner or later." 1421 "I don't have anywhere to go." 1422 She shrugged dramatically. Kind of like one of those actresses in really old black and white movies. "Story of my life. Nowhere to go. " 1423 "So how long...?" 1424 "Two years ago, I promised them ten years for getting me out of the prison sentence. I was holding a kilo of coke for my boyfriend. Got caught with it and he bailed." Her face twisted in disgust, though with her ex-boyfriend or herself I wasn't sure. "Of course. Public Defender told me I was looking at 15 years if we bargained it down. Then that woman showed up..." she trailed off for a second, maybe thinking about decisions. "She told me that all I had to do was keep doing what I'd be doing anyway, but for her. She'd make it all go away." 1425 She stopped and focused back at me. "I do what they tell me to do, wear what they tell me to wear, go where they tell me and do my best to screw whoever they tell me to screw. They don't even use me all that often -- once a month, maybe twice, usually not at all." 1426 "And?" 1427 "And nothing. They don't explain why, they don't tell me anything 'cept what I need to know to do my part." 1428 "Tommy?' 1429 "He's a good guy." I got the same strange, not-quite-right, vibe from her that I got from Tommy. "But he's a mess." 1430 "Speed?" 1431 "And a little blow sometimes. He's trying to forget." She looked down at the floor. "He used to be an emergency room nurse. His wife was a nurse too. When she had their baby, it was a blue baby. Ya' know that can only happen when the mommy and the baby have different blood types? Tommy and wifey had the same blood type." She glanced over at me. "You know what that means." I nodded. "Tommy figured out who the doctor banging his wife was and started a fight with him in right there in the emergency room." There was a hint of pride in her voice. "Ended up sentenced to five years for assault." 1432 "She got him out of it?" 1433 "Oh, no. He did three years and then got paroled. But he was already hooked when he was a nurse, and when he got caught with speed while he was still on parole, she showed up." 1434 Tommy definitely didn't look like prison would have been easy for him. "And the doctor?" 1435 "Tommy's wife divorced him while he was in prison and then married the pig. Or maybe the doctor married the pig. Whatever." A slight scowl and a hint of anger crept into her tone. "At least he made the asshole remember him. He was bigger than Tommy and beating him real good until Tommy tackled him over the edge of one of those ambulance beds with the handrail raised. 'Crack!'" She made a breaking motion with her hands and moved her head in that peculiar way only Jersey girls do. Her voice suddenly sing-songed for a second. "The Doc's in a wheelchair for life." She smiled, a lurid, too-wide smile. 1436 Maybe Tommy was a little tougher than he looked. 1437 Still, I heard it in her voice and almost bit my tongue at the irony of it. Tommy's wife was screwing another guy and it ended their marriage and put Tommy in prison. Now he obviously had a thing for an honest-to-God streetwalking whore. And she just as clearly had a thing for him. 1438 "I wasn't asking before, but since you asked me?" She let the question hang. 1439 "Me and a friend did some home invasions, and a guy got shot. Cops didn't catch us, a friend of the guy did." I stopped, remembering. "Scariest man I ever saw. He was going to kill us, but instead he hurt my friend real bad, then turned me over to her." 1440 "Somebody like maybe one of those guards of hers?" 1441 I shook my head, shivering a little. "He makes them look like toy poodles." 1442 Amber nodded once. "I know they have some real hard-cases. Before she left, Candy used to work my corner; Tommy dropped her off there, just like he does me. One of the pimps threatened her and Tommy. Some guys just kind of showed up. The pimp got hurt bad that night. Real bad. Along with about a dozen other guys. Bad busted, knees, elbows, trigger fingers all smashed with hammers." 1443 I felt that falling sickness again. "I think... that may be kind of a signature thing. That's what happened to my partner." I didn't tell her that the white-haired man had made me do it to Duarte myself. 1444 That I either did it or we both died. 1445 She studied the threadbare carpet for a second. "Yeah..." she flashed a weak smile. "Well, they made their point. I don't get hassled." 1446 "So, what happened to Candy?" 1447 "Her time was up, she just left." There was a hint of fear, a taste of desperate want-to-believe in that. 1448 But I don't think she believed herself any more than I did. Not really. 1449 I faked a smile. I know it wasn't very convincing, but it seemed to help a little. 1450 "I'm pretty tired." 1451 "Yeah, me too." She picked up the containers and dropped them back in the paper bag. "The dumpster is out front. Housekeeping is kind of slow. As in I ain't seen anyone in two years. So if you don't want any more bugs, rats, or mice than already live here, you gotta drop your own trash off." 1452 She stopped at the door. "It ain't all bad, you do your thing - whatever your thing is - and they leave you alone, mostly." 1453 "Thanks." 1454 "You get bored or just want to hang out, I'm usually right here during the day." She pointed over toward what I assumed was her room. "Just not on Sundays. Never on Sundays." 1455 She walked out in bare feet holding her shoes in one hand. Brave girl, I wasn't sure the carpet wasn't septic. And I'd slept behind more than a few dumpsters in the last few years. 1456 She'd been making sure she told me the rules -- and she seemed to think somebody was listening. It fit with what I sensed of Donna's people. 1457 *** 1458 I spent my days exploring the city. DC is nowhere near as large as Chicago, and much easier to move around in by subway. I sought out a thrift store, a discount grocery. A pawn shop. 1459 Clothes from the Salvation Army, clothes that would swallow me, make me the raggedy homeless girl. Human debris, not just something people didn't notice; I wanted to be something people avoided noticing. 1460 Every morning, waking up at four, waiting for the phone to ring. Wondering if it ever would or if this was some kind of purgatory. Sometimes I wondered if maybe I had died. If maybe I was really buried in that dirt floor basement. Sometimes during the day, I picked it up just to hear a dial tone. Make sure it was working, I told myself. 1461 Amber knocked on the door occasionally. "To talk." she said. Always with some kind of food. Indian, Thai, Cuban, Mexican. Always with the wariness of a rabbit in room full of foxes. Always trying to feel me out, to see what I was thinking of doing. Stilted. Desperate to protect herself and Tommy from the consequences of anything I might decide to do. 1462 I got the impression she didn't know if they would blame her. But she was terrified to take a chance. 1463 I was right about her and Tommy. He stayed in her room on Sundays, they walled themselves off from the world until Monday. Sometimes I could hear muffled domestic sounds. And sometimes laughter. As if they were real people. 1464 It was almost two months before the phone range. An odd clicking ring, like the phone had seen some hard days. 1465 "Out front. 8AM." 1466 The line went dead, then came the rasping croak of a busy signal. 1467 I tried to sleep more, but in the end just lay awake until it was time to go. 1468 When I walked out, Tommy sat in his rattletrap of a car waiting. 1469 He handed me a picture. 1470 "Study him, then give it back. Just follow and report." He handed me a little black notebook and a couple pens. 1471 "Report what?" 1472 "I don't know. Whatever the target does, whatever you think, maybe. They didn't say." 1473 Target. That was the word. "How long?" 1474 "All week. Until Saturday night. There's a phone number inside the notebook. Call every night at midnight and just listen. If the plan changes that's how they'll let you know." 1475 The "target" was staying at a hotel, one of the aging, less fancy ones. I picked him up less than an hour after Tommy dropped me off in a back alley. 1476 Six days of tourist shit. He seemed intent on hitting every museum, every memorial and every food cart in the city. Six nights of watching the hotel. Watching the housekeeping crew spend half the night on the loading dock and arguing loudly in Spanish and laughing raucously. 1477 Watching the night desk clerk slip out to smoke pot with his girlfriend in her car in the parking lot across the street. 1478 Six nights of dead air on the phone number. 1479 I didn't know what to write, so I wrote everything. Where he went, what he ate, what he looked at. I snagged receipts from his table. The names of the housekeepers with their schedules, the desk clerk. Even the desk guy's girlfriend. Along with her bra size, because they didn't always just smoke pot in that car and they left the front window down while they were in the back seat. 1480 Chapter 6.2 I made my last call at midnight on Saturday. 1482 "This number is not in service. If you have dialed it in error..." 1483 I made my way back to my hotel, my room. At 4 in the morning on Monday my phone rang again. I was instructed what to do with the notebook. I dropped it into a hat of a grizzled old black panhandler outside the Capital South metro station. He just glanced up with leaden eyes and went back to talking to himself. 1484 It was another three weeks before my phone rang again. Two days of following this time. Then another four weeks later. It slowly fell into a rhythm over the course of months. 1485 Sometimes it was a day or two, sometimes it was a week. Occasionally, a room key card would be included in the notebook and a midnight message might instruct me to get something out of the target's room, usually a laptop, or a briefcase - once it was a shirt. Then I took it outside to meet a van -- a plumber, a carpet cleaner, a furniture delivery van - in a specific place. I waited outside the van and was given the "whatever" to put back. None of us ever said a word. 1486 The van drivers changed as regularly as the vans. Once, I recognized the driver as the grizzled old black panhandler, neatly groomed and wearing an electrician's uniform. His nametag said "Jackson." When he handed me the laptop, he saw the recognition in my eyes and gave me a wordless wink of recognition. 1487 I could tell Amber and Tommy were still worried about me, but I'd told her the truth. I had nowhere else to go. 1488 Time went by faster than I expected; it seemed like I was always a lot busier than Amber. 1489 It was five years before I saw Donna again. 1490 *** 1491 Instead of a four in the morning phone call, it was a tap on the door. Tommy was leaning on the doorframe; head down, idly biting his lower lip. 1492 "She wants to see you." 1493 There was no need to explain who "she" was, even if we'd never said her name. He followed me in and waited. 1494 I walked back to my closet and threw a set of clothes on the bed. Tommy stood by while I stripped the giant t-shirt I slept in off, and pulled them on. 1495 Tommy didn't even seem to notice, but then he only had eyes for one girl. 1496 We walked out to the car in silence and darkness. 1497 I didn't bother asking Tommy if he knew what Donna wanted. He wouldn't know. And if he did, he wouldn't be stupid enough to say as we drove through dark streets. 1498 Another ruined building with painted over windows and the smell of urine on the steps. 1499 Tommy stayed in the car while I walked in through the gaping front door and headed toward the only light there was, a single door open in the hallway. Donna was sitting at a twin to the last desk I'd seen her at. Or maybe it was the same desk and they'd brought it for her. What light there was came from a single, cordless camping lamp on her table. 1500 "Sit." She waved toward an old wooden dining room chair in front of her. One of her bodyguards loomed in the darkness behind her. 1501 I sat. Good puppy. 1502 She pulled a sheet out of her folder. "He was right. You have talent. Your reports are detailed, you improvise well and you don't panic." She looked back down at the sheet. "And you're a ghost. When we've tested you on our own people, they don't even know you're there. Even when we tell them to keep an eye out. You may be the best we've ever had." 1503 For a fraction of a second I wondered if she'd told the white-haired man. For some reason, I really wanted her to. Realizing that shocked me into silence. I hadn't thought about him in a long time. 1504 She looked up at me with an arched eyebrow. "And you don't talk too much." 1505 I just waited, which seemed to be what she wanted. 1506 "We're going to teach you some things. Make you more useful to us." 1507 "What kinds of things?" 1508 "Security systems, locks, alarms, hotel key card systems. Room search techniques. Some techniques for copying computer and phone data." She paused. "Do you speak any Spanish?" 1509 "Maybe a few words. Mostly insults." 1510 I saw a hint of a smile flicker on the corner of her mouth. She scratched a note. "Housekeeping crews usually have a lot of Spanish speakers. So you'll learn Spanish." 1511 "You'll be off for about six months. You'll be in New York City. I don't want you training around here." 1512 My opinion or thoughts on the matter didn't appear to be necessary -- or desired. But it was better to warn her now. "I never did well in school." 1513 She didn't even look up. "I know. Dropped out in ninth grade. Shitty home life, shitty school systems. Your assessment tests from grade school and child services are pretty clear that while you were behind developmentally, it wasn't because you weren't smart enough. But you really are just about as anti-social as it's possible to be without being a sociopath." 1514 I stared, trying not to show my surprise. Whatever, whoever "They" were, I was pretty sure it wasn't a criminal enterprise. Maybe a really big corporation, but the grinding, queasy feeling in my stomach was pretty certain that was wishful thinking. 1515 She kept on without pausing. "This makes you more useful and it will have some benefits for you, if there's something you want." 1516 Want. A rush of memories, a flash of sitting in that dimly lit basement across from a man.... 1517 "I want to meet him. Talk to him." The words were out before I even knew I was going to speak. 1518 She looked up sharply. Silent. She knew I was talking about the white-haired man. And she was not happy about it. 1519 I knew I'd crossed a line. But I didn't know why it was so important to her. 1520 After a long moment. "Why?" 1521 My heart started again. "I don't know. He... he saw me. Nobody else..." I just stopped. I didn't even know what I meant by that. 1522 She blinked. Twice. "We'll see. Maybe." She seemed a little off balance. "If you see him, it will probably be the last thing you ever do." 1523 There wasn't much point in arguing that. 1524 "Don't get cocky because of this. Just remember what's important." 1525 "I know. I'm nobody." 1526 She nodded grimly and handed me a bus ticket to New York City and a hotel key card folder. 1527 "Listen for the phone." 1528 *** 1529 For the next six months, six days a week, I met with "Maria" and "Brandon." I'm sure those weren't their real names. I know Rose wasn't mine. 1530 Maria taught me Mexican style street Spanish three days each week. Within two weeks I was only allowed to speak to her in Spanish and within two months we spent nearly every "class" in places where only Spanish was spoken. Restaurant kitchens, hotel laundry companies, a slaughterhouse. We even went to seemingly endless numbers of street fairs. 1531 Brandon was clean cut and athletic. Every day we met, he brought a backpack with something in it -- a lock system, a security camera, a mockup of a sensor or whatever. We spent the day taking it apart and putting it together. He would show me how to beat it or fool it -- sometimes it took tools, sometimes electronics. Then he would leave me an address and a time we would meet and use what I learned. 1532 The scariest thing about Brandon was that I was sure he was military. The way he carried himself, the way he talked. 1533 Which meant Donna definitely knew that I knew. 1534 Tommy and Amber might be able to fool themselves, but I couldn't. I was sure I was right, and if I was, none of us would ever leave. They couldn't risk letting us go. 1535 On the other hand, at least I got laid for the first time in five years. In all the jobs I'd been on, I'd more or less worked alone, but now I was breaking and entering into hotels, businesses, and private houses with Brandon three days a week. 1536 The rush of getting away with it, of not getting caught. It's very primal, very exciting. The first time, we'd just slipped away from a house -- a very, very expensive house with a very, very expensive security system, and were crossing a very large golf course. An overpowering urge, a wave of desire struck me and I just pulled him into the trees and started tearing at his clothes. Twenty minutes later we were racing in the shadows along the edge of the greens and fairways, flashing grins at each other like a couple of teenagers. 1537 After that first time, it pretty much became a ritual. We never said anything about it; both of us understood that it was more a release of tension for each of us rather than anything between us. 1538 Then it was over. Maria didn't show up, Brandon didn't show up and I just got an envelope with a bus ticket back to DC in it. 1539 The first night I was back, Amber knocked on the door and walked in with a bag of chicken vindaloo as if I'd never been gone. 1540 *** 1541 In some ways, nothing changed; Amber, Tommy, 4 AM phone calls. 1542 In other ways, everything changed. I wasn't just following anymore, sometimes I was given addresses, times, things to look for. Places to break in. I wasn't always working alone anymore either. 1543 Sometimes a distraction operation was used -- a girl, never one I knew, would hook up with the target, and keep him "occupied" while I searched his room, his car, or use a device to clone his phone. The sheer number of different girls meant Donna's organization was far larger than I'd thought. Brandon had talked about this kind of thing. The girls were called "swallows." 1544 At first it was a little odd, quietly copying a laptop while listening to a couple in the next room. 1545 Talking dirty, moaning and screaming. 1546 I suppose it was inevitable. 1547 One of the "swallows" was keeping the target very loudly and vigorously occupied in the bedroom while I did my part. From the squealing and gasping, the guy must have been rougher than the usual ones and I was feeling a twinge of sympathy for the girl. 1548 I heard the target imperiously order the girl to get him a drink from the hotel room bar just as I was almost done cloning the sim card from the target's phone. She strolled out of the bedroom, stark naked. She was a wreck -- mascara, eye shadow and lipstick streaking down her face. 1549 Amber. 1550 She looked right at me but didn't say or do anything; she didn't even acknowledge me. Just quietly mixed a drink and carried it back to the bedroom. 1551 That night she knocked on my door. She was obviously freshly scrubbed, wearing a bathrobe and carrying a bag I recognized as the type that usually contained a couple slices of Tivoli's chocolate cake. 1552 "Hey, Spooks. Want some dessert?" 1553 I just stood back and let her walk in. She looked a little frailer, a little more vulnerable without her makeup. 1554 She pulled two small ribbon-tied white cardboard boxes out of the bag and handed me one before sitting on the bed. 1555 "Love Tivoli's." 1556 We sat on the bed, eating the rich cake wordlessly. 1557 As she finished, she sighed contentedly and settled over to look at me seriously. 1558 "It's all pretend. You know that, don't you?" 1559 I shrugged. 1560 She looked back in the direction of her room. "It is, Spooky. Think about it. I sell fantasies. To make it work, I have to pretend there's some kind of human connection. Something emotional. Pretend to enjoy it, pretend to be or feel whatever it is they want. That's what most of them want." 1561 She pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged, huddled under her robe. "Then there's guys like 'Morton Gallagher, Esquire,' born with more money than God. Wants to be the big tough guy, so he picks up a girl a little smaller, maybe a little scared looking. Somebody who makes him feel like a big man." 1562 I waited for her to go on. 1563 "So I look a little nervous, wear makeup that isn't waterproof, so it runs. Squeal and moan like he's too much man for me." She smiled crookedly. "Think how funny that it." She gestured down between her thighs. "We're made to push a 20 inch long, ten pound baby out through that. Do you really think Morty's 'six inches of steel' can really hurt if I use a little KY?" 1564 I smiled at that. "Maybe not." 1565 "Gallagher is all about the big man thing, makes me fix him a ginger ale highball before we start, halfway through and then at the end. " 1566 "A highball?" 1567 "I think it's a thing he got from his dad. One of those passed-down-from-father-to-son things that guys have. He always starts off tripping on something anyway. He's usually pretty out of it by the time I leave. I always roll him on his side so he doesn't choke if he throws up. I don't think she'd like that." 1568 "Probably not. " 1569 She looked at me with a kind of helpless look. "This is what I do. Tommy understands. He drives and he treats bullet holes, knife cuts and overdoses for them. Sometimes he has to get rid of the ones that didn't make it. That's what he does, and he knows what I do. He knows I can't be what he deserves. We don't have choices anymore, not 'til this is... over. All I get... all we get, is Sunday. She lets us have that. Probably because Sundays are lousy days to do this stuff. I mean, who wants to see a hooker on a Sunday?" 1570 "That makes sense." I thought about my own request. "Did she agree to it, or did it just kind happen?" 1571 "Tommy asked her for it. She didn't really answer, but neither of us has gotten a Sunday morning call since. During the rest of the week he and I just work together." 1572 It was none of my business, really, but I asked. "So how does Tommy feel about you 'earning extra money,' anyway?" 1573 She actually smiled a little. "He gets it. Like I said, what choice do we have? I have to show up on the street regular anyway, or everybody would think I'm a cop. That'd be a real bad idea, even with them knowing I'm protected. You could fake it for a while, maybe, but not day after day, year after year. Tommy understands. And I use condoms every time." 1574 "Maintaining your cover." 1575 "Yeah, that." She flicked the lid on her cake box up and down a few times, and looked sharply at me, then down at the box lid. 1576 I looked down at my own. The inside of the lid was covered with writing. 1577 She looked immensely sad for a second, then got up stuffing her box in the bag, and walking to the door. 1578 "I'm just tired today, Spooks. Thanks for listening. Sometimes I just need someone to talk to." 1579 And she was out. 1580 I stared looked at box lid while I pretended to study a map of Arlington. 1581 *** 1582 Spooks, 1583 If anything happens to me, take care of Tommy. He doesn't deserve any of this. He's not so good with money, so I need you to help him. 1584 Please. 1585 Amber 1586 The rest of the note just explained that where she'd been hiding the cash from her 'cover' nights. 1587 She couldn't tell Tommy where the money was. Addicts are addicts even if you love them. I realized I was the only choice she had. 1588 I had to ask myself: in what kind of shit-world do I become the one to trust? 1589 *** 1590 Amber never said anything about it after that. But Tommy did. Sort of. On the way back from a job, he pulled into a diner parking lot with no warning, saying he'd missed lunch and was getting the shakes from not eating. We sat in a booth and stared at each other for a few minutes. 1591 "Amber says she talked to you, about us." 1592 "Yes..." 1593 "We're not stupid Spooky, we know how this probably ends. One of us dies, both of us die, or they decide we aren't useful anymore." 1594 There just wasn't much to say to that. 1595 "I just wanted to ask you to take care of Amber if anything happens to me. She's a good kid. She got fucked over by that asshole boyfriend of hers. He put her on the street, made her carry drugs. " He gave a tilted gap-toothed smile. "Somebody has to watch out for her, she has a taste for loser boyfriends." 1596 "You think you're just another bad choice?" 1597 His smile faded a bit. "Seriously, is there any way I would ever be a good choice? The only day I'm clean is Sunday. I can do that, but I'm full-blown tweaker for fuck's sake. I'm one really bad day from an overdose. I saw enough overdoses when I worked the ER, I know where I'm headed." He shook his head in a jittery, nervous shake. "And I have a lot of bad days, Spooky." 1598 "She thinks you're a good choice." 1599 "Then you're probably smarter than me or her, just take care of her, will ya?" 1600 "I'll probably get sick of chicken vindaloo, but if anything happens I'll keep an eye on her." 1601 He smiled tightly with too-shiny red eyes. "Thanks. Don't tell her I asked, okay?" 1602 The way he said it, he didn't know she'd already asked me to take care of him. 1603 The world was maybe a tiny bit less shitty when we walked out of that diner. 1604 When I had to do a house three days later, I was supposed to make it look like a break in. Steal a laptop along with whatever I thought would look like a spur of the moment burglary. 1605 It was a spectacular house -- all marble and exotic wood. Rich people spending money to show how rich they are. 1606 I found the laptop, then took jewelry from an armoire and some small electronics. But on my way out, I saw a wine refrigerator in the kitchen and pulled a couple bottles of champagne out of it. 1607 I turned the laptop over to the ever-waiting van and dumped the electronics and jewelry in a storm drain. 1608 The next morning was Sunday, and I did something I was sure would never do. I knocked on Amber's door at ten. 1609 She answered, wearing a pair of jeans and a big flannel shirt. No makeup, hair just pulled back. This was Tommy's girl, the real girl I'd gotten only the smallest glimpses of. 1610 She was wearing a ring I'd never seen before. A little band with a small diamond. An engagement ring. 1611 Of course. She would only wear that on Sundays. 1612 She just stood there studying me, not saying a word. Face utterly impassive. I'd broken the one rule she'd asked me to keep. 1613 "I missed the party, but I just had to give you guys an engagement gift." 1614 I held out the bottle to her. 1615 She took it without looking at it, smiling a real smile. 1616 Then she stepped suddenly forward, hugged me fiercely and whispered, "Thank you." 1617 She let me go and stood back. I could see her uncertainty about what to do so I shrugged. "I have to get going, but give Tommy a hug for me." And walked away before she felt like she had to invite me in. 1618 But I was smiling as I heard the door close behind me. Not everybody gets to celebrate their engagement, even years late with 1959 Dom Pérignon Rosé. I guess that's understandable since it runs forty thousand dollars a bottle on a good day. I wondered if they would ever look at the label, but I didn't really care. It's the thought that counts. 1619 I heard giggles and laughter late into the night that night. 1620 The laptop turned up four days later at a pawn shop with classified weapons plans on it. The guy who owned the home was arrested. It was in all the newspapers. 1621 Donna wasn't even pretending to hide it from me anymore. 1622 *** 1623 You roll dice every day. Step off the curb into the crosswalk without looking, change lanes without thinking. Most of the time nothing happens, but sometimes, once in a while you roll snake eyes. 1624 Seven years, six months. 1625 It was supposed to be an easy one, another Swallow Game. Maybe I'd grown jaded about it over the last couple years, but I wasn't nervous at all. Give the distraction time to work -- maybe ten minutes, and copy the cell phone memory and sim card, like usual. 1626 It was on the third floor of the hotel, a corner suite. I glanced in the front of the hotel at the nearly empty lobby as I walked past, then around the back to the loading dock. I'd already rigged that lock earlier in the day, disconnecting the alarm and making sure my stolen punch code worked. 1627 The door was already partly open -- just half an inch, but enough that the latch hadn't caught. I felt the hair on the back of my spine stand up. My route was blown. But something kept pushing me forward through the door, glancing at the green lights of the alarm panel, just to be sure. Across the loading dock and up the maintenance stairs. 1628 Tommy was lying on the third flight of stairs -- awkwardly sprawled, feet up toward the third floor landing, head down. Eyes wide open, unblinking. A hole just above his right eye, ringed in black burn marks. Not much blood at all. He didn't look scared, or angry or anything, really. Blank. Just an upside down doll on the stairs. 1629 Chapter 6.3 I sprinted the rest of the way, the pulsing sound of blood in my ears drowning out everything. 1631 The key card worked perfectly, just as it was supposed to, and I burst in ready to swing my electronics laden backpack at anyone in the way. 1632 I was too late. And just as I somehow knew it would be, it was Amber. 1633 Slumped in a couch where she'd manage to pull herself. She hadn't even gotten undressed and her clothes were soaked with blood. I pushed her over, desperate to help, but as soon as I saw her blank eyes, I knew it was too late. 1634 No last words. Another broken doll just tossed to the side. I stood up, shaking, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar, looking past the whisky bottle and ginger ale. Pale, wide eyed, another doll waiting to be broken. 1635 I looked at my bloody hands for a minute and began to woodenly clean up. Make sure I'd left no prints. I took one last look at Amber, touching her hair. 1636 I stood slowly, straightened up and walked out. 1637 Down to a gas station where I called the number in my note pad. It was off schedule, but that had to mean something to them. There was a click on the other end, but no voice. 1638 "It went bad. Two... two dead." 1639 I hung up. I didn't know what would happen, so I headed back to my room. 1640 I'd barely sat down on the bed when the phone rang. 1641 "Out front 10 minutes." 1642 A carpet cleaning service van pulled up and the side door opened. I got in and got a glimpse of "Jackson" as he put a black cloth hood over my head. I didn't fight it. I didn't care anymore. 1643 Wherever we were, we parked in a parking garage and I was walked through several doors and sat in a chair. Nobody tied my hands or put handcuffs on me. They could sense that I'd given up. 1644 When the hood came up, it was Donna that took it off. We were in some kind of office -- a pretty nice one. 1645 "What happened?" 1646 I numbly went through the events. My voice seemed too steady, too far away. 1647 A couple minutes later a guy with a hooked mustache and a build like an MMA fighter came in. 1648 Donna looked over at him. "The op is blown. The swallow and the delivery man are both KIA." 1649 "Shit. We can use blackmail, tell him there were witnesses." 1650 "That's about it. Give him a month to stew on it, then pop it on him. Cut him a deal; a cover up in exchange for the information on the dual use tech." 1651 The guy nodded. Then looked over at me with narrowed eyes. "This is the Nobody Girl?" 1652 "That's her." 1653 He studied me for a second. "I was starting to think she wasn't real." 1654 "I'm not even sure she's real." Donna turned to me and handed me the hood. "I need you to put this on, they're going to take you back to your room. " She paused. "I would've let them go in a few months. I really would have." 1655 She said it quietly, like she needed me to believe that. Like maybe she needed to believe it. 1656 *** 1657 I sat in my room for two days. Trying to catch my breath. Trying to think. Trying to figure out why I was even doing this. Let them kill me. It didn't matter. 1658 I managed to walk over to Amber's room, let myself in. It was locked, but locks barely even slowed me down anymore. 1659 Amber's room was a little better than mine, at least her bathroom had an actual door. But she'd done things. Put up pictures, put out things that made the room more like a little home. A champagne bottle held a bunch or flowers on the a little café table with two chairs. 1660 Her closet was separated into two parts. On one side were gaudy, flashy things, with high heeled boots and shoes. On the other side were jeans, t-shirt, flannel shirts, and a couple sets of clothes set away from everything. A pretty pale blue dress and a man's suit, with a nice shirt and tie. 1661 I wondered if they ever went out like that or if they just had dinner together on Sundays dressed up. It didn't matter, I supposed. As long as it was Sunday. 1662 I touched everything, looked through everything. And I didn't find anything that helped. 1663 I went back to my room and lay awake for hours. 1664 It hurt. I'd never felt like this. I couldn't explain it, couldn't describe it. 1665 Anger, so much anger. At first it was aimed at Donna, but Donna hadn't done this to them. She'd taken advantage of it, but she'd just repurposed some ruined lives. 1666 I waited until after five in the morning, after any possible phone call, and slipped out. I left everything but some clothes and headed out to keep some promises. Amber's stash of money was in a bunch of plastic baggies in a hotel rooftop water tank. Seventeen thousand dollars. She must have saved nearly every dime of her "cover" money. 1667 I had places to go. Fuck Donna. 1668 *** 1669 I waited in the condo for hours, waiting for him to get home. Listening to him shower and fix himself a last drink before turning in. 1670 Warren Gervais, age 38. Occupation: Nightclub owner, pimp and drug supplier. Former "boyfriend" of Amber Coyle. 1671 I'd watched him for over a week. I was practically living in his condo with him. He'd kept on driving on, ruining lives and screwing people over. I looked for any sign of redemption, anything that might make him worthwhile. 1672 I didn't want to find any, but I made myself look. For Amber's sake. She'd gotten a little bit of redemption and she'd have wanted anyone to have a chance at it. She was a better person than me. 1673 It didn't matter, there just wasn't any good to find. 1674 He fell deeply asleep, courtesy of the GHB I put in his drink. Just for the irony of it, I bought it at his own nightclub from one of his own pushers. 1675 When he finally woke up, he was tied up in the middle of his own living room. 1676 As confused as he was waking up like that, it got worse when I walked over to where he could see me. 1677 "Hello, Walter." 1678 I pulled out a small photo of Amber and held it up for him -- it'd taken some looking, but I'd found an old high school yearbook picture of her. 1679 "You remember Amber? Nod if you do." 1680 He shook his head violently. 1681 "Bullshit. I know you do. You whored her out, you used her. You ruined her life." 1682 He stopped. 1683 "I just wanted you to know that she found someone and was happy. She'd probably have forgiven you." 1684 He had a look of hope, of relief in his eyes. 1685 "She probably would have. But I'm not her. I don't think I've had four real friends in my whole life and what you did to her killed her. Eventually." 1686 He started to try to squirm out of his bonds. I walked around behind him and stood on one end of the stocking that was loosely tied around his neck, then rolled the other end around my gloved hands. 1687 "Burn in hell, Walter." 1688 *** 1689 Tommy's ex and her husband were a little harder to find, I had less to go on. And I wasn't really sure what I was going to do. Tommy wouldn't have wanted the kid to suffer for something her mom did. The girl was fifteen, so she could probably survive without parents, but Tommy would have been horrified if I'd sent her down a path that would likely end up like me or Amber. 1690 Tommy's ex wasn't a nurse anymore, just another full time trophy wife to a rich doctor. She spent a lot of time doing the rich-bitch shit that trophy wives do. Charities, spa treatments, cross-fit, yoga, spin classes, "finding themselves in art" -- whatever the hell that means. 1691 The doctor spent most of his time working for a research hospital and lecturing. Most of his time. He had hobbies, too. 1692 I was waiting for her when she walked out of the shower into their bedroom. 1693 "Have a seat, Carrie." 1694 She looked at the automatic and sat. Good puppy. 1695 "Who are you?" 1696 "You know what a guardian angel is, right?" 1697 She nodded, wide eyed. 1698 "I'm the opposite, I'm here to personally fuck up your life." 1699 She started to speak before I cut her off. "Shhhh." 1700 I looked at her. Nothing special at all. Nothing to drive a man over the edge like Tommy had gone. 1701 "I don't know what the fuck Tommy saw in you." 1702 She had no idea who I was, but she could feel my anger and she thought on her feet. "We didn't want what happened. I wanted to let Tommy down gently but I didn't realize Catarina would be a blue baby. That gave it all away." 1703 "Were you even planning on telling him?" 1704 "Roger and I weren't sure what we were going to do. The whole thing... Tommy and I were on different shifts all the time. Roger and I just started as flirting, and ended up... out of control." 1705 "So you sent him to prison." 1706 "I didn't plan that. Roger was angry -- you know he's paralyzed, he'll never walk again." 1707 "He deserves it. He earned it. Was Tommy supposed to be okay with your shit?" 1708 She looked down at her feet fidgeting. "I thought we could sit down and work it out. I don't know how, but Tommy was always good at... compromise." 1709 "I just wanted you to know that Tommy died a hero. A real one. Like you see in comic books. He sacrificed himself." Maybe not on purpose, maybe he didn't really know; but I knew who we were working for. I knew what we were doing. 1710 She paled. "He's dead?" 1711 "He and his wife died together." Close enough anyway. 1712 She sucked in her breath. "I didn't know he was married again. I... we lost track of him years ago." 1713 "She was totally his, no matter how bad it got. And it was a hell of a lot harder than a few months of different shifts. A hundred of you wouldn't be worth one Amber." 1714 She at least had the grace to look guilty. 1715 "So here's the deal. You get three more years. On the day after Catarina graduates, I'm sending Roger these." 1716 I tossed pictures down in front of her. Her fucking her physical trainer. "You're a fucking cliché. You made this easy. I've seen the pre-nup. Totally one-sided and you'll get fuck-all in the divorce. And just so you know..." 1717 I tossed another set of pictures down. Roger never walked again after his encounter with Tommy, but his equipment worked just fine. These pictures had a dizzying array of nubile young med students earning extra credit in very inventive ways. Most of the med students were female, but certainly not all of them. 1718 I wasn't too surprised at what I'd found. I'd spent years following people, a lot of them rich privileged people. Faithfulness wasn't too common in their world. Hypocrisy was, though. 1719 "You two should call the CDC, start a study. Neither one of you seems to know what a condom is. How the hell you haven't caught anything is beyond me. Maybe you can use these to try to break the pre-nup. After Catarina graduates. If you do anything before that, I'll kill both you and Roger. I mean that." 1720 She looked at the pictures, trying not to hyperventilate. "But..." 1721 "Three years. That's it." 1722 I left her sitting there trying to figure out what to do. It wouldn't matter, I had video of both of them, and in three years, I'd made arrangement with a lawyer for sealed envelopes to go to everyone I could think of. University boards, hospital and charity directors, newspapers. They'd be ostracized at best. It'd all be hypocrisy, of course. Few of the indignant voices of condemnations would be from anyone who wasn't just as dirty. 1723 But that's how witch--burning works. Point at someone else -- someone who's made a mistake - and scream "heretic" so nobody does it to you. 1724 Besides, as long as I was still alive, I planned on coming back as often as necessary to make sure their lives stayed fucked up in new and interesting ways. 1725 Everybody needs a hobby. 1726 *** 1727 If I hadn't been so pissed off, I would have gone after Morton Gallagher, Esquire before the others. I hadn't forgotten the ginger ale highballs. 1728 Donna must have figured out what was going to happen. I'd been in his house before, but when I cased it this time, the security systems were state of the art. The type of systems you'd find on an Embassy. Brand new. Most of it wasn't available to the public. Even the insanely rich Gallagher's couldn't have bought it. But Donna wanted him alive. If I'd have had a few special pieces of equipment, I'd have ghosted right through it. But I didn't. 1729 I settled in to watch. For weeks he barely left the house at all. 1730 But most people can't live like that for long, especially an uber-rich asshole who was used to having everything his way. So I used a different tool, one I did have. Brandon had called it "Tactical Patience." 1731 I could almost feel "Morty" going stir crazy, losing his mind to boredom. 1732 He lasted almost another month. 1733 I waited. I wanted to make sure he wasn't bait. 1734 Patience. 1735 I knew where he was going anyway; "Morty" needed to feel like a big man. 1736 It took me a few hours to find the hotel. Always the honeymoon suite, complete with hot tub. 1737 For another month, I watched over him. Checking for surveillance teams, slipping in and out of the hotel, watching for anything out of the ordinary. 1738 Finally, I was convinced. Donna had either decided I wasn't a threat or had hung him out to dry. 1739 I waited until the 'working girl' left his room; from the way she was holding her face he needed more than a few squeals to feel like a big man now. She was skinny and wore a bleach blonde wig along with her fresh bruises. 1740 He was sitting in the hot tub, pretty buzzed when I slipped in. A lot more than a few highballs. Barely able to even focus his eyes on me when I stepped in. 1741 I held the gun on him. "Stay in the tub." 1742 "What... what are you here for?" 1743 "For Amber. And Tommy." 1744 He looked lost. "Who's Tommy?" 1745 "The guy on the stairs." 1746 "Wait... that woman, the one with the guards, she said we had a deal. She'd cover it up if I got her what she wanted." 1747 "I'm not her. Why did you do it?" 1748 He looked around desperately, looking for a way out. "I was so high, I don't even remember it very well. I remember doing it...but I don't remember why." He shook his head. "I tried to leave the back way and ran into the guy on the stairs." 1749 I didn't say anything. 1750 "Shit. You're her, aren't you? The one she warned me about." I could see panic setting in. "What does it matter, it was just a goddamn whore!" 1751 I almost shot him right then, but his leg kicked up in front of me and I grabbed it, lifting as his head ducked under the water. 1752 I shoved the gun in my jacket pocket and lifted with both hands. He fought, but he had no traction and I was standing on dry ground. He tried to kick my hand away, but that didn't last long. Too stoned, too drunk. He couldn't keep his head above water. All he could do was splash. For a while. 1753 I held his leg up until a few minutes had passed without movement. 1754 Let his leg fall back in. Turn the tub up to max heat. Drop the whisky bottle - and another - into the hot tub. 1755 I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door on my way out. 1756 *** 1757 I could have run. Mexico City maybe. Easy to hide in 9 million people. 1758 But I didn't really want to. I could have purpose here. 1759 It took months to find her, of course. Months to figure out the patterns and movements. Find the right rabbits and shadow them. 1760 Wary and vicious as they were, they were still rabbits. 1761 It was a red brick warehouse with an underground parking garage, near Georgetown with a dull blue and dark red sign that said "Calliope, LTD." 1762 No fence, just a low brick wall around the building and a bunch of concrete planters full of flowers. The kind of planters you surround buildings with to keep car bombs out. I could see dozens of things that had to be cameras or other sensors. 1763 I was calculating whether to find a way to slip in or wait until Donna left and simply follow her home, when I realized the right answer was neither. This would either work or it wouldn't. 1764 I went into Georgetown and bought a nice charcoal-grey business suit with a skirt. I'd never had anything like that before and I had to get the shop girls to help me figure out shoes and a purse and all of that. 1765 I even went and got my hair and nails done. 1766 I'd never done that before. But I figured you should always try to look nice going to a funeral. Especially if it's yours. 1767 I just walked straight up to the security guard shack at the entrance. 1768 "I'm here to see Donna." 1769 He looked at me with offhand amusement. 1770 "Is she expecting you?" 1771 "I think so." 1772 "And who should I say is here?" 1773 "Nobody." 1774 His relaxed attitude and badly-hidden contempt disappeared instantly and his eyes flickered around the parking lot. One hand lightly touched the grip of his hand gun while he keyed his mike with the other. 1775 "Central this is Gate. The Nobody Girl is here. She wants in." 1776 I couldn't hear the response because he had an earpiece in, but seconds later four more guards arrived. Two with shotguns. 1777 They gave the suit a once over; I wasn't the raggedy-girl they'd been expecting to see. 1778 One of them ran a metal detector over me before they led me in. The guy with the hooked mustache met us in a hallway and waved the guards off, raised an eyebrow at the suit and led me further in, to an outer office where a slender black woman -- obviously a very competent and professional secretary - sat and typed on a computer. 1779 The man gave a wry smile and pointed to a chair in front of the secretary. "Wait here." 1780 As soon as the inner office door closed, the secretary whispered. 1781 "Don't take any shit from her. She needs you." 1782 "Why?" 1783 "You're the Nobody Girl. They say if it can't be done, if there's no way in, Nobody can do it. Nobody sees everything. Nobody can handle it. Nobody can do everything. They've been using you for the hardest targets out there for years now. Bargain for whatever you want." 1784 "Why are you telling me this?" 1785 "Amber and Tommy were my friends a long time ago. I'm Candy." 1786 Alive. Candy was alive. Which meant that, maybe, Donna meant it when she said she planned to let them go. 1787 She kept glancing at the door to Donna's office, mouth in a grim line. "They saved me from myself, but they were willing to let the asshole that killed Amber and Tommy go. But you weren't were you?" 1788 "They were the only friends I've ever had." 1789 She smiled with a curled lip. "He pre-paid for five days at the hotel. He was pretty much stewed meat by the time they went looking for him." 1790 Before I could respond, the door opened and the guy gestured me in. 1791 I sat in the chair in front of her desk while the big guy leaned against the doorway. 1792 Donna took off her reading glasses and looked me over. She noticed the suit, a suit similar to hers, and I knew she got the message. 1793 I was done just being the raggedy-girl, except as a disguise. I might not be her equal here, but I knew I was valuable. 1794 "Why are you here?" 1795 "Because you need me and I think I need to do this. I don't know who 'we' are, but I know some of what we've been doing and I know somebody has to do it." 1796 "You go off the reservation again, I absolutely will have you killed." 1797 The guy at the door smirked and mouthed the words "If she can find you." at me. I got the instant impression he'd known her for a long time and loved pulling her chain when he could. 1798 I kept a straight face. 1799 Donna sighed. "When we learned you'd killed Gervais, we knew you'd be coming for Gallagher sooner or later. And I was pretty sure you'd get to him, no matter what we did short of putting him in Guantanamo. I don't have the manpower to cover him forever and he wouldn't take the custody deal. So we wrung him out as fast as we could." A grim smile. "Since he had the consistency of wet dog food by the time we found him, it was for the best." 1800 "Nobody wants something." 1801 Her face hardened and her eyes flickered to something on the corner of her desk. "What?" 1802 "Tommy and Amber get married." 1803 A glimmer of confusion, then understanding. "It'll be registered in Virginia, dated from when they started working for me." She smiled softly. I didn't even know she was capable of that. "They're already next to each other. I buried her in that blue dress, wearing her ring. And him in his suit. I'll have the headstones changed." 1804 We both ignored the tears that started sliding down my cheeks, but she studied me intently for a long few seconds. 1805 Chapter 6.4 "Here's a freebie." She reached out and turned a picture on that corner of her desk around. Four people standing in a line with their arms around each other, wearing Aloha shirts, flowered leis and laughing. The white-haired man had his arm draped across Donna's shoulders. "He goes by Pogo. Maybe, in a few years, if you play everything straight, I'll tell you where he lives. It'd serve him right." 1807 There was a glint of wicked humor in her eyes. 1808 Seeing his picture sent a flutter through my stomach. Something not entirely unpleasant. I pushed it away as best I could. 1809 "Do I get to ask who we are now?" 1810 "The CUMULOUS program, we're the guys in the basement." She nodded over to the guy at the door "We deliver karma. Bad guys doing bad things to bad people. He runs GREEN for me, it's the more presentable part of the program. I run the whole thing and directly oversee RED. It does the dirty work. That's you." 1811 She meant it when she said "dirty work." Honey traps, badger games, blackmail, murders in back alleys. Whatever it took to win. The targets were human versions of cancer: terrorists, arms traders, human traffickers. Cancers that had to be found and removed. 1812 Using disposable people to do it. People that went unmissed, unloved and unmourned. At least most of the time. 1813 It'd take me a long while to fully understand how dirty it had to be sometimes, but somebody had to do it. 1814 Or Nobody. 1815 *** 1816 Post Production Notes: 1817 This one has some unpleasant edges -- I really, really didn't want Tommy and Amber to die. But I couldn't save them. They were, to use an old Scottish term, "Fey." It's often translated as "doomed" but really it means "fated to die and knowing it." Tommy and Amber knew how it was all likely to end and accepted it, even as they wished it were different. 1818 People can sneer at Tommy for loving a whore, or at Amber for loving a tweaker, but in the end, as screwed up as they were, at least they had each other, even if only on Sundays. Which makes them far luckier than nearly everyone else in the story. 1819 I try not to judge Donna too harshly; she has a horrible job that she does to the best of her ability, and it certainly eats at her. She isn't there to save any of the people that she "recruits", and for most of them, they join of their own free will. Still, she tries, when she can. 1820 END