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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 33 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Wed, 20 Apr 2005 16:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 33.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mff, voy, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 33 :: Bad Portents, Good Omens

Wanda woke me up the next morning talking to Pammie.   "Pammie,
that's a real bad idea, sleeping with Davey."

"I told you, sex isn't going to happen again.  I promised.  But
damn it, I never said anything about not wanting to have a warm
body next to me.  I'm so scared about Karen..."

Wanda hugged her, then turned and started to leave.

I could tell from the amount of light coming in the window that
the sun was up, probably well up.  "I want to thank you, Wanda,
for defending my honor.  But I wish you hadn't unplugged my
clock."

Wanda laughed, picked up the cord, twirled it, and then plugged
it in.  The clock started flashing 12:00:00, which it would do
until someone set it.  Wanda was out the door before I could say
anything.

Pammie looked at me.  "First dibs on the shower."  Instead of
dashing off, she took a second to set the clock, using her watch,
and then off she went, still nude.  I hadn't awakened with a
morning erection; I had one watching her go.

I patiently waited until she was out, then rinsed quickly and
before going outside.  It was 60 degrees or so, the water was
chill and I was chilled.  It took two laps to get warm enough not
to think about how cold it was.  I finished and got out and came
back towards the house.  Pammie was standing at the sliding glass
door; evidently she'd been watching me.

"You're freezing your ass off out there," she told me bluntly.

"It is a little chilly."

"Far be it from me to offer a suggestion, but have you ever
considered swimming in the late afternoon or evening?"

I contemplated that because I really was freezing.  I smiled and
said thanks, then hustled for the shower and warmth.

Dad walked into the kitchen while the three girls and I were
fixing breakfast.  My contribution was to fetch stuff from the
cupboard or fridge and otherwise stay out of the way.

He smiled at me.  "Shortly, as in as soon as you've eaten, I need
your help.  All of you."

"What, Daddy?" Wanda asked.

"I bought Davey an early birthday present," he told her.

He turned to me.  "I need to get the bus back before any of my
fellow Lions find out I snuck off with it last night."

"Why didn't you just take the car?" I asked.

He laughed.  "You'll see!"

Wanda and Pammie were making crepes, with Emily watching in awe.
"Naw," Wanda told Emily after Emily expressed surprise that
someone could make a crepe at home.  "It's just a fancy name for
a thin pancake.  You can wrap a crepe around just about anything
you want.  In this case, we're scrambling eggs, frying bacon and
slicing up some veggies.  You mix the filling, than wrap the
filling up in little blankies and bake for a couple of minutes."

Whatever they were, they were yummie!

Then Dad led us outside to the bus that he'd backed into the
driveway.  When Mom had said he'd gotten a large aquarium, I
thought she was talking about something a few feet on a side. 
This was six feet long, two and a half feet tall and two feet
wide.

"We're going to take it around back and put it up against the
house for now," Dad said.  "It took four of us to get it
loaded... it's heavier than it looks.  And yes, it's glass.  Drop
it and you will go to jail and I'll collect the two hundred
dollars."

I was on the front end with Wanda; Dad, Emily and Pammie on the
end in the bus.  We unloaded it out the back door and carried it
around behind the house and placed it carefully on the ground. 
It weighed, I thought, a couple hundred pounds.  Then we went
back and carried a half-dozen boxes and put them  on the table in
the pool pump house.

Pammie nudged me when we were putting down our boxes.  "Your bed
is a lot more comfortable than that table!"

Wanda laughed.  "Pammie, it's a good thing Davey is who he is
because that's where the pool chemicals are kept during the
winter.  If you'd started to sweat -- well, I bet that would have
smarted!"

Pammie glanced at Wanda, a fond grin on her face.  "I wasn't very
smart that day, I know.  I'm trying to work on it."  She leaned
close and brushed her cheek against mine; it wasn't even a kiss.

"You're a good guy, Davey.  I suppose it's mean to make you sleep
with a naked girl and expect you to keep your hands to yourself.
But it's so nice having a warm body next to me in bed...  it's
addictive as all get out!"

"Isn't your dad going to go crazy when he finds out where you
are?"

"He knows where I am.  I told my mother and she hasn't kept
anything from him, ever.  I told him exactly why I was coming
here... I did leave out a few details about the sleeping
arrangements."

"Thanks," I told her, "I suppose."

"Just remember, Davey, I was there first, with Mercedes," Pammie
said.

Wanda exploded.  "Damn it, Pammie!  What are you thinking!  You
didn't have to say it!"

"It's okay," I told Wanda.  "Pammie, you were there once.  It
wasn't exactly the highest compliment to you that she never
wanted to go back."

Pammie looked at me and chuckled.  "For that, I'm tempted to make
you sleep on the couch.  Okay, I'm a self-centered, egotistical
brat.  This isn't even old news.  It was a mean thing to say,
Davey, and I'm sorry.  I told Mercedes a long time ago, well,
after the morning the other day that what happened then was a
once-in-a-lifetime thing.  That I like you and I was going to
leave you alone."

"And I told you, I'd be happy to sleep on the couch."

"Davey, it's your house.  Besides, tonight's poker night.  No
offense, I'm not going to put on my jammies and try to sleep
while you guys talk and carry on over cards."

"Explaining why you're in my bed is going to be tough," I told
her.

"But it won't hurt your reputation a bit," she told me.  "In any
case, just don't mention whose in your bed."

I hustled out to the bus where Dad was about to take off.  "How
are you getting back?"

He smiled.  "Oddly enough, the plant offers the Lions Club a
rent-free parking spot for it, plus any work that it needs.  Your
mom will come by a little after ten, and we'll be there for your
scrimmage.  Expect Ruy and Camilla as well.  Do try to be polite
to them, Davey."

"Dad, I was serious about what I said in the letter, that I
understand why he doesn't want Mercedes around me."

"Then you can make his day: tell him the two of you are breaking
up."

I swallowed.  I couldn't do that.  Was I a total, self-centered
asshole?  One who put Pammie to shame?  I shook my head.  Nope! 
I just couldn't live my life, day-to-day, afraid of what was
going to happen next.  Or live without my friends.

"Poker tonight?" I asked.

"You bet.  Vic and the Judge are still out of the rotation.  The
usual three from the base.  I tried to get Camilla, but Ruy said
that if he couldn't afford more than once a month, his wife
couldn't afford it either.  I suggested she might turn out to be
a better player than he was, but I'm afraid he was rude.  So our
two other players will be the sisters Amalthea and Amalaswentha,
the Amaling twins."

"Who are they?"

"Interesting people, Davey.  Interesting people.  Patience."

Later Wanda took me to practice, saying she'd be back later with
company, for the scrimmage... but that was an hour or more away.

There was a team meeting called, first thing.  I was afraid we
were going to discuss Desmond again, but this one was with the
coaches.  Coach Wells stood in front of us and grinned.

"I want to thank all of you for your participation this year.

"For personal reasons, I've decided to hang up my whistle and
retire.  I want to thank you all for your hard work and
cooperation.  Now, I'll turn the meeting over to Coach Delgado,
who is taking over until the district decides what it's going to
do about my replacement."

He turned and walked out of the room.

Surely, I thought, that had to be his personal choice.  Surely I
couldn't have had anything to do with it, except maybe make his
life a little harder.  I considered the things I'd said to him
and found I didn't regret one of them.

Coach Delgado looked towards someone in the back of the room.  I
turned and saw one of the assistant coaches coming back.  "He's
gone?" Coach Delgado asked and the assistant nodded.

"I am not Coach Wells," Coach Delgado started.  "He did things I
didn't like.  But this was his team, and he got to call the
shots.  Now, however temporarily, it's mine.  I'm going to call
things differently, the way I see things.  That said, men, let's
get out there and start warming up!"

Like everyone else, I rose and started out.  Coach Delgado
pointed to me.  "Harper!  See me first!"

If my dad knew what I'd said in Coach Wells' office, would Coach
Delgado?  It seemed logical.

I stopped when I got to the office.  Principal Ruiz was there,
standing by the desk.  He waved me to a seat and then sat on the
front of what had been most recently Coach Wells' desk.

Coach Delgado came in behind me and shut the door.

"Mr. Harper," the principal started.  I sat up straight, unsure
what he wanted.

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to know that it isn't the policy of this school or
the athletic department at this school to permit boxing between
individuals of different weight classes."

"All's well that ends well," I told him.  "Desmond and I have
worked out our issues.  He's a better boxer, and I'm a better
arm-wrestler.  Other personal issues have been resolved as
well."

"Are you thinking about suing the district?  Any of the employees
of the district?"

I shook my head.  "Why?"

"Because you were knocked silly in the ring last Tuesday," Coach
Delgado said.  "Because Bud was way out of line."

I saw the look the principal gave Coach Delgado; at a guess, he
wasn't likely to continue in the coaching job if he spoke up like
that again.

"I was asked to fight.  I could have said no.  I surely thought
about it when I saw who I had to fight.  I wish I hadn't had to
fight, but I have no complaints about the outcome."

"And your father, what does he think?"

I realized what their real fear was: not Davey Harper!

"Sir, if my father was unhappy with you, you'd have heard it from
him, almost as soon as you'd done whatever it was that upset him.
 Dad believes that punishment delayed is punishment wasted."  I'd
made a point over the years to be sure I stayed out of the
punishment category.

"You're sure?" Principal Ruiz asked.

"It's not something we've talked about.  As a family, right now
we're concerned about the safety of Karen Grissom.  Dad drove
some kids from the hospital to the football game last night. 
Those are his concerns."  I couldn't help it; I was feeling a
little contemptuous.  "I don't think you've made his list of
concerns."

"Get out there with the team, Harper," Coach Delgado said.

I dutifully was up and out the door without hesitation and
without bothering to look back.

I joined the warm-ups, already in progress.  When we finished
with those, we did some movement drills, then a couple of laps
around the field.  Mercedes fell in next to me.  "What was the
meeting about?  Was it about me?"

I realized that Mercedes hadn't been there.

"No sweat.  Coach Wells has retired, then Coach Delgado wanted me
to talk to the principal.  He wanted to know if Dad was going to
sue the school over the fight with Desmond."

"You should stick it to them!"

I smiled.  "You don't know my dad!  The plant gets sued all the
time, little things and big things.  Literally, people have sued
over a paper cut, when they were careless handling a sheet of
instructions!  It's crazy.  He told Wanda and me once that if we
ever sued anyone while he was alive, he'd never speak to us
again.  He was serious."

"The Coach was stupid."

"He was stupid," I agreed.  "But people make stupid mistakes and
do stupid things all the time.  You can't sue them all."

We finished the run in silence.

Then Coach Delgado had Trace and me off to one side.  "Work on
your curveball, Davey.  There's not much you need to learn about
a fastball.  After a bit, some batting practice.  Coach Wells
didn't emphasize enough the ability to hit in situations where a
long ball hit isn't the best choice."

I personally didn't see that; I mean, I'd heard the term on TV: a
contact hitter.  I almost always made contact with the ball. 
Most of the time, it soared.  If you wanted to play the odds, why
not go with the best shot?  There was, though, one thing I wanted
to bring up.

"Yes, sir.  Sir, I know it's not my place to talk, but Mercedes
missed the meeting with Coach Wells."

He looked at me forthrightly.  "My mistake.  Too many years with
just guys on the team.  We'll do something about that."

Trace and I did work on my curve.  A couple times Trace would
trot over and we'd talk about what I was doing; he had a lot of
good hints.  Unlike Josh, he didn't seem to go apeshit if I
ignored him... as long as I could bring home the bacon.

Then batting practice where once again I found it very difficult
not to hit the ball hard.  It really seemed pointless to me.

The bleachers now had a scattering of people in them.  Coach
Delgado called us all in.

"We're going to do something different today for scrimmage. 
Harper, you're the visiting team captain for today.  D'Silva,
you're the home team captain.  Visitors pick first.  Choose your
own teams."  He grinned at the other players.  "From now on, each
week the captains will pick who will be captain next week.  You
can't pick on someone who has already had a shot."

Not being a total idiot, I pointed to Trace first.  Sure, if
Mercedes had been available, I'd have taken her, but she wasn't.
I didn't want to take any chances on getting stuck with Josh
again, not if I could avoid it.

Mercedes took Jack, and we set to it.  Very quickly I realized
that Mercedes was picking hitters and I was picking players who
did well at their positions -- which was why I picked Rob second.
 Mercedes taking Chuck was what clued me in on what she was
doing.

I was smugly pleased that Josh went last, to Mercedes.

As visitors, we got to bat first.  I went out on the on-deck
circle, waiting for Stewart Flint, Mercedes' first pitcher, who
was warming up.  I looked around the stands, and picked out Dad
and Mom and the rest of the group.  It was easily the biggest
clump of people in the bleachers.   I was a little surprised to
see Ellie sitting next to Shellie.  That girl was persistent!

I started to think about what it would be like to have Ellie as a
fourth partner and nearly messed up.  An erection underneath a
crotch cup would have been painful -- not to mention embarrassing
if anyone noticed.

The first pitch to me was in the dirt.  The second pitch to me
was in the dirt.  Guess where the next two pitches went?  I
hustled down to first base and stuck my tongue out at Mercedes. 
She laughed, "Davey, when I'm playing against you, I'm happy to
see you standing next to me, rather than trotting past Josh, a
shit-eating grin on your face."

Two outs later, I was watching Stewart pick apart his third
batter in a row.  I'd taken a long lead off for his first pitch
after my at bat, intending on running if it was in the dirt.  It
wasn't, nor had any of the others been.  And now it was a ball
and two strikes against my first baseman, who wasn't nearly as
good as Mercedes.  I looked at the first base coach and saw no
signs.  Then it hit me like a hammer.  Dummy, you're the manager!
 He wasn't giving me a sign because the manager hadn't asked him
too!

Sure, running on two strikes isn't the most common time to try to
steal.  But if it was a strike, it wasn't going to matter, and if
it was a ball, I had a shot.

Stewart wound up... and threw towards Mercedes; his first ever
throw to first.  The throw seemed a little high to me, so I
headed for second.  I'd taken a half dozen steps when I saw the
ball flash past the corner of my eye, headed for second.  I was
toast.

I saw the fielder's arm start to move inside, and then he moved
inside too.  I swerved a bit, and decided to slide headfirst, my
hand aiming for the bag.  I saw his hand with the ball in it
swing around towards me... it was like everything was in slow
motion.

Then I had my hand on the bag, clutching it firmly so as not to
come loose.  Oh gosh!  Did I feel the tag on my forearm!

Faintly, from home plate, I heard the umpire call, "Safe!"

I called as strongly as I could, "Time!" and heard the umpire
call it.

I was a mess.  My left hand was scraped and raw; I'd slid on my
lower chest for five or six feet and it felt like the skin there
had been dipped in hot oil.  On top of that, I could feel dirt
and dust trickling down my skin, headed for the waistband of my
shirt.  I was really uncomfortable.

I shook it off as best I could, beat the dust, undid my shirttail
and shook more dirt out... but that let some trickle down towards
my shorts.  Finally I nodded to the umpire and he called, "Play
ball!"

The batter was at the plate, doing the swings to get set, Stewart
was facing away from me, his hands obscured by his body.  I
glanced at the second baseman, standing next to the bag, on the
first base side, hardly an arm's reach away.

I was a fraction of a second from stepping off the bag to take my
leadoff.  I looked at the second baseman again.  No!  That was
stupid!  Something you did in third grade!  I couldn't see the
ball, though!

I decided that prudence meant I was going to wait and see the
ball fly towards the plate before I budged.  After a few more
seconds, the pitcher was still standing there, not going into his
windup.  Ah!  That would be a balk, wouldn't it?  I smiled at the
guy and stood still, not moving.

The second baseman laughed, loud enough for everyone to hear. 
"What, you don't trust me?"

"Not enough to step off the bag until I see the ball," I told
him.

The pitcher turned, and the second baseman reached behind his
back with his right hand and tossed the ball to the pitcher. 
"Tricky!" I told him.

"It was worth a shot."

I was keeping an eye on the pitcher, who was still facing our
way.  Was I supposed to step off the bag, assuming that he would
never throw back to second right now?  I stayed put until Stewart
turned around and started his windup.

In the movies, our first baseman would then punch the ball into
the outfield and I'd motor home and score.  Instead, he swung and
missed at a low and outside pitch.  We took the field, while
Mercedes' crew hustled to the bench.

I was a little surprised to see Jack step up to the plate first,
with Mercedes on deck; that's not how I'd have done it.  I
decided that until the game was over, I wasn't going to criticize
her choices... if nothing else, to avoid eating humble pie if
worst came to worst.

Trace called for a curve low and in, and I gave him one low and
on the inside corner of the plate.  Jack let it go by, and I was
content.

He swung at the next two curveballs, ticking the second, but
missing the third altogether.

Trace wanted waist-high fastballs for Mercedes.  She got her bat
on the third pitch, and it went sailing foul, down the first base
line.

Then she hit a pop up, just past the plate, and Trace caught it
neatly.

I decided blowing her a kiss might be taken wrong, so I just
nodded to her.  Then it was Chuck, someone else who could hit
well.  I nodded to myself; Mercedes' choices made a little more
sense.

Back to curveballs again, low and away, this time.  Chuck hit the
second pitch fair, down the first baseline.  I headed over to
first, but the first baseman had no trouble fielding it and then
colliding with Chuck to get the tag.

In the second inning, Trace got a single, but he too ended up
stranded.  Coach Delgado had already told all the pitchers that
we were going to pitch just one inning, even if it was three
pitches.  Thus I watched our number two pitcher allow two hits...
but then he got a strike out, and the next batter hit into a
double play.

In the third inning I got to bat second.  And Mercedes called for
an intentional walk, and once again I went down the line towards
first.

This time they worked me hard; the first three throws were to
first.  And remembering I was the manager meant at least I wasn't
looking to the first base coach to see what I was supposed to do.
 So I stood there and watched.  Evidently the pitcher was tiring,
because he thumped the batter in the ribs with the next pitch.

So I was on second, and since I was the manager and there was
only one out, I put on the bunt sign.  It would have been a great
plan if the batter hadn't bunted successfully -- down the third
baseline.  I had no choice, I had to run.  The third baseman
charged the ball, whirled... and held the ball, because the
shortstop had moved five or six feet behind third, and the
pitcher was still on the mound, scratching his stomach.

When the runners had stopped, all safe, the pitcher finally woke
up to the fact that the catcalls were coming from his teammates
and were directed at him.  Mercedes trotted over to the mound,
said about six words, and went back to her base.

Unfortunately, that was that, because the hitters were all
standing out on the field, playing for Mercedes.

Worse, they had the top of their lineup coming to the plate in
the last inning.  It wasn't looking good, I thought, for the
visitors.

Jack hit the first pitch hard... and Rob went up on his ladder
and snagged it, as it went by.  Like everyone else, I was stunned
that he'd managed to sneak one out there on the field.  How else
could he have caught Jack's line drive?

Mercedes came to the plate and from the look of determination, I
knew she really wanted to win.  The problem with that was she
swung at each pitch, and after the first, Trace was calling for
low and away.  Three pitches, three strikes.

Then Chuck came up to bat and I crossed my fingers.  He ripped
the first pitch, bouncing it six feet from the plate, right into
the shortstop's hands.  The shortstop came up with it and threw
Chuck out easily.

Then we had our handshakes and Coach Delgado gathered us together
in the middle of the field.  He turned to Mercedes.  "Miss
d'Silva, in times gone past, we held a team meeting in the locker
room and it was no big deal.  It's a nuisance not having a
meeting place; I'm not at all comfortable standing out here and
shooting the breeze.

"So, would you object to joining us in the men's locker room, for
a short meeting?"

"No, Coach Delgado."

He spoke to the rest of us.  "That means the rest of you will
tone down your language, and wait to change or to take a shower
until after the meeting is over.  Mr. Harper, you are Miss
d'Silva's designated watchdog.  You will be responsible for
seeing that after the meeting is over, she leaves before you,
young men, start behaving like young men."

"Yes, sir," I told him promptly.

"Let's do it, then!"

So we all trooped into the locker room, including Mercedes.

Coach Delgado turned to me.  "Mr. Harper, what did you take away
from scrimmage today?"

That was easy!  "Mercedes' team..."

"The home team," he interrupted with the correction.

"The home team," I went on, "had a lot of offense, but while they
could play defense reasonably well, they made some mistakes that
cost them.  And while we had plenty of defense, offense wasn't
doing its job.  To win, we need both."

"Miss d'Silva?"

"What Davey said... that and there's a time and place to lose
your temper, but it's not out there on the field.  I lost it a
couple of times just now."

Coach Delgado pointed to Trace.  "Anything positive?"

"It was wicked, the way they shut down Davey.  We had too few
good hitters, the rest of us need to work on our hitting."

"Positive, I said," the coach admonished him.

Jack spoke up.  "We played more like a team, today.  People
worked together."

Coach Delgado nodded.  "That's exactly right.  You worked
together.  The home team was clever, that was right on, too.  You
took away the visitor's biggest bat, made it not a factor.  Above
all, pay attention to what Davey Harper said: out there, you were
two halves of a whole.  That's one reason we're going to be
choosing up sides from here on out.  You work with what you have,
but you have to remember what you can do together!

"Mr. Harper, who will lead the visitors next week?"

"Jack," I replied.

"Ms. d'Silva, who leads the home team next week?"

"I was going to say Jack," Mercedes said, sounding disgusted. 
"So, Rob."

"Now, Miss d'Silva, you may go your way and the rest of you can
wait for the all-clear."

Gosh!  Was I ever happy when I could get rid of all that dirt in
places where I didn't need wear and tear!

I met Mercedes outside and we started walking towards the
bleachers and our parents.

She put her hand on my arm when we got close.  "It's Reverend
Grissom."

I looked and sure enough, the Reverend was having a shouting
match with Pammie.  Pammie's mother was standing a few feet away,
shredding a Kleenex in her fingers while her husband yelled at
Pammie.  Standing a few feet away from the Reverend was another
couple, also about my parent's age; Karen's mother and father, I
realized.

I started forward again, wanting to face the bastard and look him
in the eye.  I stopped a few feet from my dad's side, folded my
arms and stared stonily at the Reverend.  Mercedes stood next to
me, her arms also folded.

"One last time, young lady!  You will come home at once, or I
will send the police to drag you home!"

Dad chuckled.  "I've heard that you threaten to have her
committed.  Sounds like abuse to me!  Do you really think the
police would help a child abuser abuse a young woman?"

"Pamela is my daughter, and she will do what I tell her to!"

Pammie laughed.  "Daddy dear, I stopped listening to you when I
was eight and you told me to stop wearing jeans because they gave
boys ideas."

"Reverend Grissom," Mercedes' mom said quietly, "my husband had
some hard words for our daughter not so long ago.  He nearly lost
her; it took a decent, wonderful man to admit he was wrong.  But
he did, and now we have our daughter back.  Reverend, when my
daughter walked out of church last week, I thought she was wrong.
 Now, I'm sorry I didn't go with her."

"I don't think either of us will be going to your church any
more," Ruy d'Silva confirmed.

"I know a dozen places Pamela can stay," my mom interjected. 
"None of them with us, if that's your wish.  For instance, the
Chief of Police and his daughter have agreed to put her up.  I've
known Juanita Ortega since she was ten and Victorio for nearly
twenty years.  Just one set of volunteers from many."

The Reverend Grissom ignored them all, returning to shouting at
Pammie to "return to the fold" and "seek true righteousness" and
things like that.  It wasn't so much impressive as creepy,
scary.

Dad looked at me, his voice mild and very much unlike the way he
normally sounded.  "I'm getting a little peckish, what say since
we're all here, we go get something to eat?"

Dad linked his arm in Pammie's and the two of them turned their
backs on the Reverend and started away.  Mom, Wanda and Emily
turned away a second later.

I turned, only to feel a hand on my arm.  "What have you done
with our daughter?"

I turned back, wishing I was Blade, who I was sure could stare
someone down.  Or Hammer, who probably didn't have many people
laying hands on him in the first place.

"Are you Karen's father?" I asked, trying to be cool and not lose
my temper.

"Yes!  Where is she!  What have you done to her?"

"Look in the mirror and ask yourself that question.  It wasn't me
the police arrested for abusing and neglecting Karen -- it was
your brother.  He pulled her out of the honors classes she
belonged in, he told her to not see any of her friends, he told
her he'd put her in a mental hospital if she didn't do what he
told her to.  What rational person wouldn't leave a situation
like that?"

"Karen is a profoundly disturbed young woman!"

I laughed in his face.  "I've read a book or two, you know. 
That's what they used to do in Russia, when you disagreed with
the Communists.  They put you in an asylum because if you didn't
agree with them, you had to be crazy.  People got tired of that
sort of tyranny and ended it.  You'd better hope that Karen
didn't decide to end it.  She surely did leave."

"You really are the pied-piper of sin!" Karen's mother said,
spitting at me.  I mean literally, she hawked and spit.

I looked at the blob on my shirt and looked back at her.  "I'm
sorry for you, truly I am.  I understand now why Karen left.  Do
you know that when I was six or seven, my mother saw me spit? 
Let's just say she doesn't much like that habit and taught me to
be more polite.  It's too bad you didn't learn anything like that
from your mother."

I turned and walked away, Mercedes on my arm.  After a few steps,
Shellie took my other arm.  "I was all set to spit on her,"
Shellie said, "until you spoke up, Davey.  Thanks.  I don't even
want to be a little bit like them."

She said it loud enough for them to hear, too!

"Did you see Jack, Chuck and Rob?" Mercedes asked as we walked
out towards the parking lot.

I shook my head.

"They were standing there, watching and listening.  After your
dad left, they started talking... when we turned away, they
turned their backs on them, too."

I shrugged.  The Grissoms, with the exception of Pammie and
Karen, were nutcases.  All of them.

Having a baker's dozen customers at once in a pizza restaurant
makes their day...  Evidently Wanda had telegraphed lunch plans
to Jack and Company, and they showed up at the same time we did.
I dashed into the bathroom to clean the mess off my shirt, then
joined the rest.

After lunch, the group fissioned.  Wanda, Pammie and Emily going
with Jack, Chuck and Rob.  Shellie went with Mercedes and her
family and I went home with Mom and Dad.  I sat down on the couch
in the family room with Don Quixote, and read for a few minutes
until I got bored.  So I picked up "The Godfather" to read.

That wasn't boring, but it didn't keep me awake, either.

Dad woke me up around six as he was putting up the poker table. 
I got up and helped him with that, and as we were putting the
finishing touches on the room, Mercedes and her dad arrived.

Ostensibly they had come over because Dad had called Ruy about
the aquarium, and they had come to check it out.  To be honest,
in spite of being long intent on doing a research project on
octopi, I hadn't said anything to Mercedes about the tank.

I swear, it was faster love-at-first-sight than when I saw
Mercedes the first time.  In a few seconds Mercedes was down on
her hands and knees, looking it over, then she was tearing into
the boxes, looking at what was in them.

"It was a lobster tank in a restaurant," Dad told us.  "The guy
decided to remodel and go Chinese.  It's not hard to keep up, but
you do have to work at it."

"You really shouldn't have spent so much, Phil," Ruy told Dad.

Dad laughed.  "I don't know about you, but all of Davey's and
Mercedes' talk about becoming research oceanographers, or
something like that, got my interest.  One day I'm going to
retire from the plant.  Think how cool it would be if I decided
to open a seafood restaurant close to them, and I already had a
lobster tank?  Call it a down payment on retirement!"

I don't know if Ruy bought the idea; personally, it was all I
could do to keep a straight face.

Our fathers went inside, leaving the two of us alone together. 
"You heard about the Corpus Christi trip?" she asked.

I nodded and apologized.  "I get so focused on what I'm doing, I
forget anything else.  I'm sorry, I should have mentioned this
earlier."

She hugged me and I hugged her back, and we ended up kissing for
a few minutes.

She finally broke away and smiled.  "Did you see who was sitting
with Shellie this morning?"

"I did."

"You and I have our 'other' friends.  It's only fair she has one,
too.  Even if Ellie never joins the rest of us."

I nodded.

"Now, we need to do some down and dirty planning.  I'm going to
get the email address of the aquarium in Corpus Christi.  They
are bound to have someone on staff who knows something about the
care and feeding of cephalopods.  I'll try to set up a time to
meet with them."

"That would be cool."

"On the other hand, we need to find out if we need to grab some
sea water while we're there, or if we can make it at home." She
pulled a calculator out of her purse and started punching
numbers.

"Thirty cubic feet, a cubic foot of water weighs about sixty-four
pounds, roughly a ton of sea water.  A gallon is eight pounds, so
two hundred fifty gallons of sea water."

"I have a feeling we're going to have a hard time bringing back
that much sea water," I said.  I contemplated the tank again.  I
decided then and there that I was going to spend poker money on
what was needed for the tank.  "Tell you what," I said, trying to
sound casual, "why don't you look into finding, caring for and
feeding an octopus of our own.  I'll take care of getting the
tank ready."

She nodded, her eyes bright.

Dad stuck his head out the door.  "You two come along, I've
talked Ruy into going out for steaks.  He's hoping, I think, that
if you two eat enough onion rings, your smooching urges will be
restrained for a while."

"Fat chance," I told him.

At the restaurant Mercedes goggled at the size of the onion ring
platter.  "You two eat that yourselves?" she asked.

"Well, once," I told her.

Dad laughed.  "We can always order another if we run out."

Then the size of the steaks impressed her, too.  "Good thing I
didn't order the Texas Cowboy steak," she muttered.

Dad laughed.  "I have to admit that one Davey and I could share
and still have enough left over to make sandwiches tomorrow."  He
looked at me.  "I tried to get some more takers, specifically
Willy, Blade or Hammer for tomorrow.  Willy says you pissed off
Blade."

"He pissed me off first," I told him.  "What's tomorrow?"

Dad smiled.  "Drat!  I was going to surprise you!  Be up and
dressed at four am.  We're going to shoot some doves and some
clay pigeons.  In that order."

"Is that legal?" Mercedes asked.

"It's dove season," Dad told her.  "I got Davey a hunting
license, you don't need a tag to shoot dove."  He turned back to
me.  "Jack and Chuck, for sure.  Vic said he'd try to get loose,
but it's been busy lately."

"I can imagine," I said sourly.

After dinner, Ruy took Mercedes home.  I was torn because I would
much rather have taken her home with me, begged off from poker
and...  On the other hand, Mercedes was living back home, and her
father was talking civilly to me.  He wasn't even bringing up the
risk to his daughter by being around me.  Did he understand that
the only way anything was going to happen to Mercedes was over my
dead body?

I fetched a coke from the fridge and contemplated the books on my
desk.  The Godfather won out over Don Quixote again.

I sat at the poker table, munching the occasional potato chip,
sipping my coke and reading, waiting for the guests to arrive.

The first to arrive were Mom, Wanda, Emily and Pammie.  Pammie
stormed through the family room, glowered at me and said, "I
don't want to talk about it!"  She took a few more steps, went to
my room and slammed the door shut.

Dad looked at Mom.  "Still nothing?"

"Not a trace.  Phil, I tell you true.  At first I was sure she
ran away.  Now..."

Wanda burst into tears and ran towards her room, Emily a few
steps behind her.

"Are you okay?" Dad asked Mom.

"No.  But I'll live.  You play poker, skin them all!"

Dad chuckled.  "I think I probably didn't mention it.  I invited
the Amaling twins."

Mom laughed.  "I thought you had learned your lesson?"

"I want Davey to learn early!"

Mom laughed again and turned to me.  "Let me make one thing
perfectly clear: the most dangerous card player on planet Earth
is a blue-haired, little old lady.  Playing against two little
old ladies is something you will remember on your dying day.  And
the Amaling twins?  People have been known to swear off poker
after playing with them!"

"Jack and Chuck swore off after playing with us," I said smugly.

Mom was serious, I realized.  "Bring just fifty dollars to the
table, tonight, Davey," she told me.

She turned and headed towards the other end of the house.

Dad smiled at me.  "Once, a few years ago, I thought I was a
pretty hot bridge player.  Then I took up duplicate bridge, and
in a roomful of new duplicate players I did pretty darn well. 
Then I went to a duplicate tournament and every last gray- or
blue-haired little old lady there ate me alive.  It was humbling.
 Actually, it was humiliating.  As with anything, Davey,
experience counts."

Then the dynamic trio arrived: Willy Coy, Blade and Hammer.

Willy didn't waste any time.  "The question came up the other day
about who looks out best for your safety."

"I was pissed," I told him.

"So was I," Blade said.  "Which is why I'm saying I'm sorry."

"Because your boss wants you to say you're sorry," I retorted.

"Davey, when you're pissed, sometimes it takes friends -- or even
your boss sometimes -- to put you back on track.  I'm sorry, I
mean it."

"Fine," I told him.  "Wonderful."

"Davey," Willy said patiently, "did things go well last Saturday?
 Did the police do their job and intercept Nicolas Fesselhof
before he could do any injury to anyone?" 

"Yes, they did.  But they aren't you."

Willy shook his head.  "The Federal Government spends a lot of
money on a lot of things.  But we can't afford to do every last
little thing we'd like.  I wanted a tail on Fesselhof; we didn't
have the manpower to do so.  My boss got with Chief Ortega and
the Mayor and they agreed to provide the surveillance.  They
couldn't have observed the young man on the funds they had
available -- so Uncle Sam paid for it.

"None of us, Davey, want to see you or anyone else hurt.  You are
a target; I don't have a clue why.  It's like someone has taken
serious leave of their senses.  The car Fesselhof arrived here
with was stolen the day before in Houston.  There is virtually no
way he could have done it himself.  We've interviewed family and
friends; they say he couldn't have gone to Houston in the time
available.  Ergo, Fesselhof had someone helping him.

"He refuses to answer questions, his lawyer, a big league hitter
from Austin, sits next to him saying, 'Don't answer that.'  My
gut instinct says he's associated with Kimmel, but there is just
no way to prove it.

"One issue we are dealing with was what was done to the car,
prior to Fesselhof picking it up."

"Changed plates," I said, shrugging.

"That," he agreed, "but it was also sprayed, inside and out, with
a retail insecticide."

"Does that mean your bugs have stopped working?" Dad said,
laughing.

Willy shook his head.  "It wouldn't hurt that kind of bug, sorry
Phil.  It was an organophosphate, dissolved in a petroleum
carrier.  The carrier destroyed any stray fingerprints, the
chemical destroyed any DNA that might have been present."

"Professional work," Blade added.

"As opposed to amateur car theft?" I asked, trying not to smirk.

Willy ignored me.  "I was surprised Vic and the judge were
willing to come back so soon, Phil.  Particularly given the
recent kerfuffle in church and the newspaper."

Dad shook his head and said sourly, "As near as I can tell,
everyone in San Angelo keeps their Standard Times in the utility
room, ready in case they decide to adopt a puppy."

"Which rather begs the question, Phil," Willy told him.  "Who are
the Amaling sisters?"

I blinked.  It had been sort of clear before, now it was crystal
clear: they were listening to us.

"Surely," Dad said, "someone as educated as you knows who the
Amalings are."

"Educated?" Willy said, furrowing his brow.

"They were a Gothic royal family in the last days of the Roman
Empire," Blade said.  "There was an Amalaswentha, daughter of
Theodoric, a Goth Emperor of Rome.  Belisarius of the Eastern
Empire, based in Constantinople, as I recall, put paid to them."

A feminine voice spoke from the door leading to the main part of
the house.  "A little before our time, dear."

A similar voice added, "We're old, but we're not ancient."

We all turned to look.

My first thought was that Mom had messed up their hair color: it
was snow white, not blue.  The two women were easily as old as my
grandparents!  However, neither of my grandparents was six feet
plus tall!

"We're just harmless little old ladies," one of them said.  I
recognized the voice as the first one I'd heard.  The other voice
was a little higher.

"And a little psychic, Thea," the second one reminded the first.
"We wouldn't want them not to know that, not if we're going to
play poker with them."

The first woman stared at Willy, then Blade.  "You think my
sister was kidding about being psychic.  I can read your mind,
young man.  Just as plain as day.  You don't believe us."

Willy laughed.  "Ma'am, I'm sorry.  No, I don't believe in
psychics."

The woman turned to me.  "And you're Davey!"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"It's Thea, Davey, just Thea.  Tell me, Davey, did you know
there's a naked young woman in your bed, reading Don Quixote?"

I choked; Dad laughed his head off.

"Thea," the other woman said, "that's not fair.  There's no sex
there.  She couldn't very well sleep on the couch out here
tonight, now could she?  Even if she was dressed."

"Just setting the parameters, Swentha."

Willy turned to me.  "Is Pammie in your bed, Davey?"

"You should know," I said sourly.

Were we supposed to be reassured that the bugs didn't include
cameras?  Or did they?  Were the Amaling sisters privy to the
camera feed?

Thea laughed.  "No, Davey.  The government goes to a lot of
trouble with those bugs.  What they transmit are scrambled and
coded, spindled and folded but otherwise left intact."

Willy said with dignity, "You understand that there are things
we're not at liberty to talk about, ma'am."

It was the other woman, Swentha, who spoke up.  "Thea, I want to
take this one's money!  Pretty please?  He has such a short
memory, it's going to be easy!"

Thea grinned at her sister.  "Only if I get the other two!"

Hammer spoke for the first time.  "Obviously, we're talking about
diplomacy by another means: poker.  What say we stop the jaw-jaw
and get down and dirty?"

Thea grinned at him.  She was sixty!  Maybe seventy!  And she
leered at him!

"I'm ready now young man!"

Everyone started gravitating towards the poker table, taking
seats.  Once again, I was to my dad's left.  The two women were
to his right, Amalaswentha to his immediate right, then
Amalthea.

Willy Coy looked at my dad as he sat down, a grin on his face. 
"I know, Phil, I know.  You want to show us Feds just how
clueless we are, how we can't possibly understand without help,
what's going on in West Texas."

Dad smiled at him, and passed the deck to his right.

I'd seen Dad shuffle cards, wanting to impress everyone. 
Amalaswentha was an artist.  Fountains and waterfalls of cards. 
Streams of cards flying up to her hand or falling down.  Always
the ace of spades was on the bottom, even if she would then fold
it into the middle of the deck, riffle it a few times, then
another feat of legerdemain.

"We don't cheat," Amalaswentha said.  "Not unless someone else
cheats first.  Do that, and we pull out the stops."

"We here at the table," Willy said carefully, "don't cheat."

Amalaswentha did another cascade of cards and handed them to Dad
to cut.  He did, put the bottom part of the deck on top, and then
mushed them together, before spreading them facedown on the
table.

Amalaswentha smiled.  "This first one doesn't count."

She picked a card from the spread and flipped up the ace of
spaces.  "Davey, I believe you get to pick first."

I flipped up the seven of diamonds.  To my surprise, it survived.
 Dad handed the cards to me and I laughed.

"I'm intimidated, just shuffling," I said to the table.

Blade dropped a nickel on the table.  "Ante up."

"Five card draw," I announced and started dealing.

I dropped the first card in front of Willy when Amalthea asked,
"Anything wild, Davey?"

"No, ma'am."

"Davey," Amalaswentha said patiently, "we're psychics.  Some
people think we're witches.  The Reverend Grissom has been
bothering us since he was ten years old.  That said, we don't
like surprises.  So, nothing wild, eh?"

"No ma'am, not ever."

Thea giggled like a teenager.  "Davey, we're a little old. 
Sometimes we lose track of our train of thought.  Swentha was
trying to say, badly as usual..."  It's unexpected to see someone
in her sixties stick out her tongue at someone else, even if it
is her sister.

"As Swentha was trying to say, if you try a trick on us, we'll
turn you into a toad."

"Not a frog," Swentha added, "kisses won't work on toads."

"Five card draw, nothing wild," I said, trying to keep my
composure.

I assembled my five cards in front of me, then remembered the
advice from Chuck: drool.  I couldn't do that, but I certainly
had to watch where I was likely to drip.

I looked at my cards.  Two small pair.  Willy bet a dime, Blade
raised him a dime, Hammer called and Amalthea looked around the
table and folded.  Her sister did the same thing.  My father
promptly folded as well.  Two raises... I slid out a quarter,
thinking drool.

Willy folded, Blade and Hammer called.  Willy got up and headed
into the kitchen; it happened all the time, I didn't think about
it.  Blade wanted two, Hammer wanted one and I wanted one.

By the time it was Blade's bet, Willy was back and tossed a
dishtowel in my lap.  "In case," he said laconically.

I blushed, but Blade betting a quarter concentrated my
attention.

I had sevens over fours and I'd not bettered it.  Hammer called
Blade.

One of them, I was sure, had three of a kind.  I folded.

Blade put his cards on the table, face up.  A pair of aces. 
"Beats me," Hammer said and tossed his cards face down.

It was like a slap in the face: as clear a statement that I'd
just been bluffed as one could want.  The residual question in my
mind was whether or not they were playing together.

Willy also wanted to play five-card draw.  I had a jack high
nothing.  When it got to me, it would have cost a quarter to stay
in; I folded.

My first night I'd have gone and gotten a coke or something. 
Thought about Mercedes or Shellie.  Now I stayed focused on the
game.  Blade wanted two, Hammer wanted two, each of the Amaling
sisters wanted one and Dad wanted three.

A few seconds later, Dad raked in the pot.  Both of the Amaling
sisters had folded.

For an hour it went like that.  No one won a substantial pot;
everyone was being hyper-cautious and the cards were distinctly
mediocre.  When the best hand I'd seen in an hour was the two
pair I'd tossed, you know you're in a battle of boredom.

A little after nine it was my turn to deal, and this time I
elected seven-card stud.  I dealt the two down cards then the up
cards.  It was kind of funny, because each of the Amalings got
deuces up.  I had a jack, and there was a pair of aces split
between Dad and Hammer.

I lifted up my two down cards, thinking drool.  Could you tell if
the drooling turns real?  I had a pair of jacks down.  "Hammer
bets first," I said.

He promptly dropped a dime in the pot.  The two Amaling sisters
each pushed out a dime, and then Dad raised a dime.  I put twenty
cents out, and turned to Willy.  He put out twenty cents too, and
a few seconds later the pot was right.

I had a four on top of my jack; the bizarre thing was that the
two sisters now both had a pair of deuces up.  Amalthea bet a
quarter and her sister called.  Dad called and I raised a dime. 
I was still concentrating on drool for all I was worth.

Willy folded, Blade folded, Hammer called.  Amalthea didn't
hesitate, sliding out thirty-five cents, then another quarter. 
Amalaswentha called, so did Dad and I.  Hammer stayed in as
well.

I dealt the next up card and dropped myself a seven.  I decided
that instead of drooling, I think about Pammie, lying naked on my
bed.  So near, yet so far!  Hammer didn't have anything obvious
showing, although he might have a low straight, I thought.  The
two sisters had drawn a five and a four respectively, which
wasn't quite so bizarre.  Again, both had the possibility of a
low straight, and both had two cards of the same suit showing,
opening up the possibility of a flush.  The really bad news was
the jack sitting on the top of Dad's cards.

"I liked the drooling better," Blade said.

"Different kind of drool, young man," Amalthea told him and bet a
dime.

I blushed.

"Tongue's on the floor, though," Amalaswentha agreed.  Then she
raised her sister a dime.

Third time charming, I thought.  I raised a dime as well.

"Deja vu all over again," Willy said with a laugh.

"Phil told us about that hand," Amalthea said.  "It was nicely
played, Davey."

"Pity about the rest," Amalaswentha added her part.  "If there's
anything worse than a bad loser, it's a sore bad loser,
determined to even the score, however much it costs."

"If you're psychics," I said, not sure if I was going to offend
them or not, "where's Hannelore Kimmel?"

Amalthea smiled sweetly.  "And the last time you walked into a
bookstore and wanted a book... did you walk out without paying?"

"Of course not," I replied.

"Poker," Hammer said grimly.  "This isn't a good discussion to
have."

I glared at him.  "You took a bullet in the arm.  I've had a few
mishaps.  You might not be curious, but I am."  I turned back to
Amalthea.  "So, how much?"

Amalaswentha glared at her sister.  "A freebie, I think this
time.  My sister has forgotten Marketing 101, use free samples to
get people to try your product, then gradually raise the price."

She looked right at Willy Coy as she continued to speak.  "After
the Shah of Iran was installed in power, he owed a great deal to
the US for his restoration.  One of the many bits of fallout
about that was that he spent a lot of money on his air force, and
sent his pilots to be trained here.  All of them started off at
Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio.  Over time, quite a few
of them went through there, frequently accompanied by their
families.  The climate is more like the northern tier of towns in
Iran, so people remembered it favorably.

"Then the Shah was given the boot.  A lot of Iran's air force
officers promptly fled for their lives, taking their families. 
Many of them had good memories of San Antonio, and that's where
they made their homes.

"If I were to start a search, I'd start there," she concluded.

"Poker!" Hammer said, slapping his hand on the table.

"I believe," Amalthea said, "the betting is to you, young man. 
We've been waiting for you to get off the dime."

"Two dimes, dear sister," Amalaswentha chimed in.

Hammer put out his money, then the two sisters matched the bet
and the pot was right.

"Last up card," I announced, more to remind myself.

Hammer had gotten a king, the two sisters a nine and an eight,
and I too had a king.  All things considered, three of a kind
looked like a winner tonight!  I didn't think there was likely a
straight in any of the three hands.  A flush was a possibility,
though.  I coldly went over the possibilities in my mind.

Daunting, that's the word.  Daunting.  Sure, straights were out,
but so what?  Three of a kind, full houses and four of a kind
were also possible.

Amalthea bet a quarter and her sister raised her a dime.  I
raised a dime myself.  Hammer looked around the table and decided
to fold.

I dealt the last card face down, put down the deck and peeked at
my last card.  Another king.  I thought about Pammie the other
morning, waking me up.

Amalthea looked at me steadily, then reached out and flipped her
up cards down.  "Fold."

"A quarter," Amalaswentha said, sliding out her coin.

"A quarter and raise a quarter," I told her.  If she had four of
a kind, I'd eat my baseball hat.  If she had a full house with a
three of a kind higher than mine, I'd eat my hat.  She was
bluffing, pure and simple.

"I'll raise again," she said coolly.

"Ditto."

She slid the last quarter out into the middle of the table. 
"Let's see what you have, Davey."

"Full house, jacks over kings."

"Drat," she said mildly, flipping her cards face down.

Willy started dragging the cards towards himself, while I started
pulling the pot towards me.  It was a nice pile, although I'd
contributed quite a bit towards it.

Willy started shuffling, and I looked at Amalaswentha.  "I read
in a book that the way you start shearing sheep is to let the guy
win a big hand, then go for him."

"Works for us," Amalaswentha agreed.  "Doesn't it, Phil?"

"It sure did the first time.  After that, I don't expect it has."
 Dad turned to Willy Coy.  "So, Willy, you have looked in San
Antonio, right?"

"Early and often," he agreed.  "There are some nationalities that
get extra attention, Iranians, Syrians and Libyans head the
list."

"It's always good to be thorough," Amalaswentha said, nodding.

It was an odd statement, I thought.  Taken one way, faint praise.
 Taken another way, it was criticism.

Willy announced five-card draw, and had gotten four cards dealt
when his phone buzzed.

He grimaced, dealt the last cards quickly, got up and headed for
the kitchen, pulling out the phone as he went.

None of us picked up our cards, just sat still, waiting.

He was gone nearly ten minutes.  When he came back, he was
brusque.  "Mount up, troops!  Sorry, Phil."

"I understand; the first year Vic was Chief, he was called out
nearly every week."

Willy turned to me.  "A woman matching Karen Grissom's
description was seen at a gas station near San Antonio.  A
highway patrol officer went to ask her a few questions.  Another
woman emerged from the store and shot the officer twice in the
back, grabbed the girl and sped off.  The second woman matches
Hannelore's description, and the officer's partner says the woman
spoke with a German accent."

"Can you get Karen's picture there and have it identified?" Dad
asked.

Willy's eyes turned cold.  "Phil, the officer's partner is a
rookie, this was her third night on the street.  Her partner told
her he saw a girl that he thought might fit Karen Grissom's
description and that he was going to talk to her.  She was to
call it in.  She was on the radio when she saw the shooting.  She
got the officer down call out, jumped out and gave chase on foot.
 She heard the shooter shout something in a German accent to the
girl, who had already gotten into a car.  Then the shooter turned
and fired on the second highway patrol officer.  She hit the dirt
and was trying to draw her weapon when they nearly ran over her.

"When she got herself pulled together, the car was gone.  She ran
to her partner and a few minutes later he died in her arms.  The
patrol officer got a good look at the shooter, and we're already
faxing a copy of Hannelore's picture to her substation.  She did
not get a good look at the one her partner thought might be
Karen.  She's shaken, I understand, but doing well.  Sorry, we
have to run."

They were out the door a second later.

"Phil," Amalthea said quietly.

Dad looked at her, as did I.

"Don't tell your wife about what they told you, not yet.  I swear
to you, Phil, right now Karen Grissom is within thirty miles of
this room, sitting on a couch, snacking on popcorn and watching
MTV.  She is quite safe, she's with friends; she just doesn't
want to be found."

Amalaswentha laughed, "But then, you knew that already, didn't
you, Phil?  Which is why we were invited."

He smiled at her.  "Amalaswentha, I asked myself who I'd go to if
I wanted someone to vanish.  And vanish before they vanished, if
you get my drift."

"No," I said loudly.  "Not just a little no, but hell no!"

Dad and the two women looked at me.  "Look me right in the eye
and tell me that Karen is close and safe, and not in San Antonio
with Hannelore Kimmel," I told them.

"She's not in San Antonio," Amalaswentha told me.  "She is with
three special people.  I can't tell you anything about them,
because you'd figure it out in a second.  She was safe just
before we came over here; she's safe now.   Those people would do
anything to keep her safe, anything at all."

"Did we mention they are armed?" Amalthea added.

"Then, Dad, you go tell Mom and Wanda.  Swear them to secrecy,
but tell them she's safe.  I'll tell Pammie."

"We had a good plan, Davey," Amalaswentha told me.  "We're very
good at planning."

"Limited resources, though," her sister spoke.  "If you tell
them, even if you admonish them not to talk about it, not to look
for her, they still will.  And it won't take very much to figure
out.  Please, think about what you will be doing before you do
it."

"I've seen tears, I've seen fear and desolation on their faces,"
I told her.  "I'm sorry, I wouldn't put a dog through that if I
didn't have to."

"No one would, Davey," Dad said.  "We treat our dogs better,
mostly, than we do each other.  It is something you should think
about.  I'm thinking myself, because I think you're right,
Davey."

"When he was ten, Davey, Pammie's father would throw stones at
us," Amalthea said.  "He thought our black dresses meant we were
witches."

"Nuns aren't exactly well thought of among Baptists, and
ten-year-old Baptists aren't exactly worldly," her sister added.

"You're nuns?"  That was amazing!  I'd never met a nun before. 
Of course, poker-playing nuns in slacks and blouses were a little
outside my experience as well.

"We were," Amalaswentha told me.  "We came to a parting of the
ways fifteen years ago.  We couldn't stomach it any more."

"Birth control?" I asked.  "Abortion?"

She had tears in her eyes.  "Little boys, mostly.  Some girls,
but the priests mainly like little boys."

Amalthea was obviously even angrier.  "It's common knowledge now;
half the dioceses in the country are broke, from paying off
litigants, the other half are teetering."

"I don't understand," I said.

Dad spoke slowly.  "The church has been down-playing it, it has
for years, but the chickens are coming home to roost.  A lot of
priests molested a lot of boys."

"And they weren't caught?" I was dumb-founded.

"Oh, they were caught," Amalthea told me.  "But everyone knows
the church has ecclesiastical courts.  The priests were
frequently never arrested, just turned over to the church for
judgment.  Except the priests weren't judged, they were quietly
shipped across country to another parish where they continued
their abuse."

"The rot was all through the hierarchy of the church,"
Amalaswentha said.  "They even taught it at some seminaries, they
went out of their way to recruit pedophile priests, then those
men were fast-tracked for advancement, where they would do
whatever they had to, to protect their brothers.  Now the whole
rotten thing is falling apart."

"You watch," Amalthea said, her voice bitter, "in ten years,
nothing will have changed.  They'll have sacrificed a handful of
priests, but the rotten core remains.  They'll be back at it in
no time."

"I admire your stand," Dad told them, "I admire your valiant
attempt to change the subject.  Davey is still right."

"Phil, we can't stop you, but remember acts have consequences."

"I know, but failing to act can have consequences as well."

"Well, we'll take our leave," Amalthea told him.  "Don't suppose
you'd like to drag race us to the corner?  That bus against our
hearse?"

"I had to take the bus back," he told them.  He laughed, "You
drove the hearse tonight, I take it?"

"Sure, we wanted to give the neighbors something to talk about. 
Goodnight, Phil.  Goodnight, Davey, nice to meet you.  Sorry we
didn't get a chance to clean you out.  Next time!"

They left and I grinned at Dad.  "Wow!  They must have broken the
mold!"

Dad laughed.  "The Amalings aren't like regular people, Davey. 
All the kids are girls, just about.  Those two have eight younger
sisters.  They tend to run to big families and the first woman to
have a baby girl becomes the next Amaling.  Otherwise they'd have
filled up the planet by now with Amalings."

He looked at me steadily.  "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Are you sure you want to see the expression on Mom or Wanda's
face when you tell them about a killing in San Antonio that
possibly involved Karen?"

Mom emerged from the kitchen, her face ashen.  "Tell me what's
going on, Phil!"

He sighed.  "Go fetch Wanda and Emily, dear.  Davey, you get
Pammie."

I decided not to mention she wasn't dressed; I didn't have any
trouble believing that psychic prediction!

Pammie was indeed nude and reading Don Quixote.  "Could you get
dressed and come out?"

She shook her head.  "Poker's not my thing, sorry."

"Poker's over.  This is about Karen."

She shook her head.  "This is fine."

I walked over to my closet and took my robe, that I just about
never used, off a hanger and tossed it to her.  "Please, Pammie.
Trust me, okay?"

She looked at me hard for a few seconds.  "You don't act like
it's bad news."

"Whether or not it's bad news is going to depend on who you
believe," I told her.  "Please."

She put the robe on, and we went out into the family room.  "Sit
down," Dad told them.

"Phil, this is cruel," Mom told him.  "Just spit it out."

"It's complicated, and it's going to be worse than that shortly."
 He pointed at the phone.  "In a couple of hours that's going to
start to ring.  The phone has probably already rung at the
Grissom's.

"This is a tale of two stories.  The first is the worst, don't
despair when you hear it."

He related the story about the shooting near San Antonio, then
what the Amaling sisters had told us.

"And you're saying not to worry?" Wanda asked him.  She looked
really pissed.  Really pissed!

"I'm saying Amalthea and Amalaswentha had a hand in Karen's
departure from school.  Lord knows, they dislike Grissom as much
as anyone in this town.  They swore they either saw or talked to
Karen before they came here tonight.  They say she is safe and
with friends who would go to any length, including violence, to
keep her safe.

"I've known them since I was a boy," Dad went on.  "I'd sooner
believe the sun won't come up tomorrow than one of them told a
deliberate lie."

The phone rang.

Without thinking, since I was right there, I picked it up.  Dad
glared at me, telling me I should have let him.  "Hello," I
said.

"Davey, it's Mercedes."

"Hi!" I brightened.

"I am at the hospital," she told me.

I felt fear, then panic.

"Don't panic, sweetie," she said, laughing.  "It's not me.  It's
the kid I was babysitting tonight.  My dad's going to be back in
a minute.  He said if it was okay, we'd could come over and crash
your poker game."

"The game ended early," I told her.  "But you're always welcome.
Stay as long as you like!"

"If I had a choice, I would.  Dad said no later than midnight,
though."

"You're still welcome!" I told her.

"It's been a long day, I want to be cuddled.  Even if it's on a
couch with my dad glowering ten feet away."

"No problem!"

I hung up and turned to everyone else.  "Mercedes and her father
are coming over."

"So, are you going to tell her about Karen?" he asked.

That brought me up short.  I didn't have the greatest regard for
Mercedes when it came to keeping her mouth shut.

I met his eyes.  "It's a problem.  Either she overcomes it or
not.  I hope she can."

"Phil," Mom said, and everyone looked at her.

"You mean well, but it's not going to take a rocket scientist to
notice a disconnect between the first reports you say we're going
to hear, and our reactions to them.  I'm not much of an actor,
you maybe, but Davey is like an open book.  Wanda and Pammie
might be able to do it once or twice, but not for any length of
time.  I don't think Emily has a dishonest bone in her body.  We
will simply look people in the eye from this day forward and tell
them we haven't seen or heard from Karen, until such a time as we
do.  We could take a lie detector test that asked that question
and pass."

Wanda looked at me.  "Mercedes and her father are coming over? 
Mercedes said she was babysitting until past midnight tonight."

"Evidently the kid she was babysitting got sick; she was at the
hospital."

"There were all sorts of reasons I hated babysitting," Pammie
said.  "The kid getting sick was right there, near the top of the
list, second only to the little bitches and bastards you had to
sit on."

Wanda laughed, she really laughed.  "Which is why we were so good
at it, Pammie!  We put the fear of God into the kids... and their
parents!"

The phone rang again, and this time I kept my hands off.  Dad
answered it, grimaced and turned to Pammie.  "It's your father."

Pammie walked up to him and took the handset, reached down and
pushed the speaker button.  "Okay, Dad.  You're on the speaker. 
Everyone's here."

There was an angry sound, quickly suppressed on the other end. 
"I'm sorry to say we had a call a short time ago from the Texas
Highway Patrol, Pamela, with some disturbing news about
Karen..."

"I heard.  She's supposed to have been involved in the killing of
a policeman near San Antonio.  Not!"  Her voice dripped with
sarcasm.

There was a moment's silence on the other end.  "How could you
hear that?  We just got off the phone with them a few minutes
ago!"

"Unlike you, father, Phil Harper knows how to make friends."

He sputtered and then said clearly, "Well, it looks like Karen
ran off with this German woman who taught at the high school. 
Karen's obviously unbalanced.  I promise you, Pamela, when we get
her back we'll see she gets the best of care."

"Father she's not going to come anywhere near you or her parents.
 And let me repeat it, because you missed it the first time. 
That wasn't Karen."

"Pamela!  Please!  Come home!"

Pammie shrugged, and the robe dropped to the floor.  "Father, I'm
standing in Mr. Harper's family room, bare-ass, buck-naked.  I
got out of Davey Harper's bed to come in here, and when we get
done talking, that's where I'm going to return.  Go piss up a
rope!"

She hit the speaker button, disconnecting the line.

Mom motioned to Wanda, who dipped down and got the robe, and then
handed it to Pammie.

"We all trust Davey, Pammie.  Phil, however, likes to do more
than look," Mom told her.

Dad leered theatrically at Pammie.  "And you're seventeen!  No
longer jailbait!  I like 'em young!"

Pammie laughed.  "You old goat!  Your wife teaches me sewing!  Do
you know what she'd do with some needle and thread if we got
frisky?"

We all dissolved in laughter.  That's when the doorbell rang. 
Pammie grabbed the robe and sprinted for my room.

"I wish I could play poker with her," I said sadly, shaking my
head.  "It's nice to know someone bluffs worse than me."

Wanda hit me.

A second later, Dad was back, Mercedes and her dad following him.
 Without a word Mercedes lunged at me, buried her head on my
chest and started crying.

I reached out and started stroking her back and shoulders,
offering gentle kisses on her hair, whispering to her how much I
loved her.

After a bit, she pulled back.  She glanced at her father; Ruy
shrugged, unsure what to do either.

"I got there a little early.  The mother said her son wasn't
feeling well.  Colicky, she told me."

"Barfing," Wanda said with conviction.

"Yeah.  Well, a little after they left for their party, the kid
was urping and shitting himself.  God, diapers smell, but this
was in a class by itself!  I felt his forehead, but it didn't
seem like he had a fever.  He was thirsty though; he sucked a
bottle of formula down, then some juice.  Then he threw it back
up.

"Ten minutes later, he filled a second diaper.  I mean, it was
awful!  I got scared and called his parents at their party.  The
mother snapped at me and told me that I should know how to deal
with a colicky baby if I was a babysitter.  Then she hung up.

"And the kid was sick again, and so I tried to call her back. 
The bitch had turned off her phone."

"You did the reasonable, responsible thing," Mom said levelly.

"Yeah, I called 911, the kid passed out before they got there.  
The police asked for the woman's cell phone number and I gave it
to them, but it was still off.  Did you know they can track cell
phones?  It took about a half hour, but they dragged the happy
couple out of their swinger party and brought them to the
hospital.  Oh, they were pissed!"

"To make a long story short," Ruy continued, "Vic Ortega showed
up.  It seems that not only can they track cell phones, they have
a list of people who, if they get in trouble, he gets called. 
Mercedes is on the list.  He listened to the woman threaten to
sue us for every penny we have.

"Then Vic turned to one of the hospital pathologists, asking
questions about how rapid the onset of dehydration would be if a
child was suffering from giardia.  Days was the answer.

"So, Vic had his officers conduct the parents down to the station
for questioning, while doctors and Children Services debate what
to do with the baby."

Ruy met Dad's eye.  "Then, abruptly, Vic was gone.  He had a
short radio message, talked on a phone in the doctor's office,
and then he was out the door like a rocket."

I swallowed.  "Sir, there's been a killing that may involve
Hannelore Kimmel, and less likely, Karen Grissom."

"In San Antonio," Dad said hastily.

Ruy looked at me.  "Tell me, Davey, if someone came to hurt you
or Mercedes, what would you do to keep my daughter safe?"

"Sir, no one hurts her without coming through me first!"

He smiled, a little sadly, I thought.

"And do you know what Mercedes told me?"

I shook my head.

"The only way anyone will ever hurt you is over her dead body."

I felt a little angry.  "Sir, I'm not Romeo and Mercedes isn't
Juliet.  Neither one of us has a death wish.  I don't know what's
going on, a lot of good people don't know what's going on.  But
if we run away and hide..."  I stopped, unable to go on.

"If we run and hide," Mercedes took over for me, "they win.  I'm
with Davey.  I have a life to lead, dreams to fulfill.  I don't
want some crazy woman sending everything off-track."

"No mas!" he said, raising his hands, as if warding off an
attack.

Wanda came up and put her arm around both Mercedes and me.   "I
have a wicked sister suggestion.  The two of you get a blanket
and go outside on the pool deck.  Keep each other warm, or use
the blanket.

It only took a few minutes, and then the two of us were sitting
on one of the pool lounge chairs.  Mercedes was between my legs,
my arms wrapped around her waist, a blanket drawn up over us, to
keep us warm.

I snugged my arms around her stomach, high up, just below her
breasts, able to feel them pressing lightly against my arms.

"You know what I see when I look at that?"  She waved at the fish
tank.

"Something more than hundreds of gallons of sea water, I guess."

"Exactly."  She wrapped her hands around mine, and then tugged
them so that they were over her breasts.

"It is my future, Davey.  Yours too, if you're serious."

I let my fingers relax, moving away from her breasts.  "I'm
serious, darling.  Sure, I didn't think about it before I met
you, at least not much.  But I know what I want!  Braids are
nice, but the curl of a wave... that's cosmic."

"You know I'm going to be walking on air when we get to Corpus
Christi?"

"And you think I'm going to be a stick in the mud?"

She giggled.  "Well, it was you who let go of my breasts."

I slid one hand down, found the snap to her jeans and undid it. 
Then I slid my fingers inside the waistband of her panties.

Mercedes giggled.  "You know what I told myself the first time I
saw you?"

"No," I told her.

"This is a man who knows fuck-all about doing it... but a guy who
learns fast."  She pressed her hand down on mine.  "Now, make me
happy!"

That wasn't hard!

<1st attachment end>


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