The Golden Mule Returns


(c) Copyright 1999-2004 by silli_artie@hotmail.com 

This work may not be reposted or redistributed without the prior express written permission of the author.

A work of fiction, meant for adults.  Read something else if you are not an adult, or are offended by stories with sexual content.  Then again, if all you're looking for is in-out, in-out, in-out, you should probably read something else.  I welcome constructive comments.  Enjoy.

Part 1

I was half awake and half asleep, reclined in the first-class seat, blanket over me and eye shades still in place.  I thought about looking at my watch to see how long it would be until we landed in San Francisco, but why bother?  I listened to the hollow hissing of the air conditioning, and the dull thrum of the engines.  First class was nice, but it wasn't our bed.

I felt a smile forming on my face as I recalled the wonderful time we'd had.  I thought I heard Angelique's voice from the other side of the cabin.  What an incredible woman she was!  Beauty, talent, grace -- I was glad that both she and Tom had befriended us.  I felt they'd be good friends for some time to come.  We definitely wanted them at the wedding.

What now, though?  What had happened to me, these last few months?  I'm getting married again.  Was it time?  Why was I doing it?  The accident which killed John and Janet, terrible as it was, left me single and financially secure -- free for the first time in my life, and for the rest of my life.  I could go anywhere, do any damn thing I wanted.  So what the hell did I do, but fall in love with the first person I met!

I could still say no.  We're too different; we don't know each other well enough.  It's too early -- let's reconsider in a year or two.  There's no reason to marry -- certainly not money.  We can still live together.

But I don't believe that.  We are different, and that's part of the grandness of it all.  And we're both the same -- we both need to be held, and need to hold someone.  We both dislike waking up alone.  We both love fast food.  For all the great meals we've had, I think we're both looking forward to a good grease burger.  God, I know I am.

Am I ready to settle down?  Again?  I thought I'd done that a few years ago.  There's Angelique's voice again.  God, she's hot.  I'd love to get her in bed.  We heard them enough on the barge, making love in the cabin next to ours.  They heard us as well -- hell, the whole barge heard us, the four of us.  I'd love to tie her to our big bed, on top of that sensuous bedspread, and dive down between her legs.

That's not fair.  That's not what our commitment is about.  Why am I wearing this ring on my finger, even though we're not married yet?  It's to remind me, remind both of us, of a commitment.  Am I willing to make that commitment, with tasty tail like Angelique walking around?  Fantasy.  I need to take out my fantasies with the warm, considerate, caring, funny, and sometimes confused person next to me.

But what about the future?  What holds us together?  What will hold us together?  At first it was the trauma -- forcing us together, crying on each other on that ride to Tahoe, John and Janet killed in the car crash.  Then it was the puzzles, and then as things seemed to settle down, another dose of trauma in the form of Mr. Morris.  Now what?  Morris is sitting in a jail somewhere in Canada, fighting extradition last we heard.  He's busy for a while.  The trauma hopefully is over.  What holds us together?  Planning for the wedding?  How about the honeymoon?

No.  What held us together the last three weeks?  Each other.  Being together.  Sharing, exploring.  If nothing else, I'll hold us together.  I'll make decisions.  I've been playing second fiddle too long, catering to someone's whims, being adaptable.  If I'd not done that, months ago, a year ago, would things be different?  That's nuts -- it's done and over with.

Face it -- we're both in love.  We love each other.  Each of us can choose anything we want.  We chose each other.

But, what next?  It will be good to get back to the house.  Thinking of the new kitchen, office, and space for books is exciting.  But...  It's still John's house.  Even the beach house feels tainted -- first by John, now by Morris.  Oh, some times I wish we didn't have the beach house.  We could start fresh.

What kind of hormone-induced nesting fantasy is that?  Go build a new nest with my mate?  We could do it.  What's stopping us?  We could sell both houses.  The beach house would sell in a snap.  The big house?  What does it matter?  We could sell it for $5.  Wouldn't that be fun -- Jill would probably object though -- some tax wrinkle.

I felt a hand moving under my blanket, feeling gently.  I turned and sat up, pulling off my eyeshades.

Bill was smiling at me, a smile that told me he had something in mind.

"I love you," I whispered, moving my hand to his and interlacing fingers.  We kissed briefly.

"We've got enough time before we land," he said suggestively, moving a hand to my waist.  I laughed.  He was jealous of Tom and Angelique -- they'd joined the Mile High Club on their flight to Paris -- causing a minor incident in the process.

I could tell by the grin on his face that logic wasn't going to work.  I gave him a frown and he grinned all the more.

"I'll be right back," I told him, giving him a kiss on the nose.

Tom and Angelique were sitting across the cabin from us.  I leaned over to them and asked, "Arrange a diversion for us?"

Angelique nodded.  Tom said, "Or we'll bail you out."

I laughed a little as I stood, turning and giving Bill a raised eyebrow as I walked to the first class lavatories.

Actually, now that I was up, I needed to go.  I checked the pocket of my sweats to be sure I had what I needed.  Bill followed me into the lavatory, and as he locked the door, I pulled down my sweats and underwear and sat on the toilet.  I closed my eyes for a moment in blessed relief.

When I opened them I was looking at my future husband's very erect cock, his sweats and underwear down around his ankles.  I smiled and reached out -- solve two problems at once here.

He is so strong, or likes to think he is, and yet all it takes is my fingertips in the right place to have him do what I want -- and I wanted him in my mouth.

I closed my eyes as I took him in, enjoying the sensations.  He was warm, a little sweaty, a little sticky.  The scent was so ... him.  I moved him with the fingertips of one hand, caressing the base of his shaft with the other as I devoured him.

I could tell by the way he was moving, and the way he was tensing up that he wasn't going to last long -- I'd taken him by surprise.  Good!  That increased my abandon as I sucked, tasted, and devoured as much of him as I could, breathing in his scent as I did.  His body was mine once more as he moved to my touch.

Over the hissing and dull roar of the plane, I thought I heard him moan.  Then I felt that tensing in him, and that opening of his hips -- almost there.  I slid him almost out and concentrated on his head, and the delicate spot on his underside, then took him in to me as I felt him and caressed between his legs behind his balls.

And I got my reward.  Oh, I love how he tastes.  That first contraction, especially if I've surprised him, has a bit of a tang to it.  The rest is pure, warm love.  I used both hands, cradling his balls and caressing him, milking him for all I could get, hungry for every last drop.  I love the way he tastes.

I'd gotten as much as I was going to get.  I felt him shrinking again.  That's what happens when I surprise him.  I swallowed the last bit and swirled my tongue around his tip again, feeling him writhe in my hands.  I love to do that to him, make his body respond to me.  And he's gotten so good at letting go and enjoying it, letting himself respond.

I sat back a bit and he leaned back against the door.  His eyes were glassy.  I laughed and smiled at him, licking my lips.  He shook his head, dazed.

"Wow," was all he could say.

I reached in my sweat pants pocket and pulled out a fresh tampon.  He gave me a look of concern.

I smiled and ran fingertips over his inner thigh, closing his eyes momentarily.

"Remember that mad dash to the bathroom when we got to the airport?" I asked him.

He nodded, smiling.

"That was my period starting."

He nodded again, and leaned forward to kiss the top of my head.  "I love you," he said.

I switched tampons, flushed, and stood up to hold him.  We kissed, and I put my tongue into his mouth.  He accepted it eagerly, sharing the taste.  I love kissing him after he's eaten me, and am glad he doesn't mind reciprocating.

I tidied myself up a bit as he used the toilet.  He still looked dazed.  I laughed and mussed up his hair.  We kissed and held each other some more when he stood up.

There was a gentle knocking on the door, and a voice in French offered us our clothes.  I accepted graciously, and moved Bill out of the way a little to open the door and take them.

Even though that lavatory is the larger one, with the changing table, it's still damn small, and it took me a while to get back into my skirt, blouse, and hose -- especially with his help!  Some times I think he has more than two hands.  Of course I do love it when he sucks on my nipples, even though they're more sensitive during my period.  And if he gets too eager, all I have to do is put a hand behind his head and hold him to me, cradling him and squeezing the back of his head, and he relaxes so well, melting in my arms.

We finally got dressed and exited the lavatory.  Returning to the forward cabin, we were greeted by Tom and Angelique, our steward, and a stewardess, who handed us glasses of champagne.  Tom and Angelique already had theirs.  We laughed a bit and had a toast.  The older man in the seat next to us looked up over his reading glasses and frowned.  I laughed and leaned over to Angelique, whispering, "I bet I could put a smile on his face."  She laughed, then looked down, giving him a look of lust.  He shook his head and returned to his book with a frown.  I shook my head, as did Angelique.  We finished our bubbly and sat down again.

I snuggled up with him; he's so warm, especially in bed in the morning.  Oh how I missed our bed!

It had been a wonderful trip, the night in Paris before going to the barge, almost two weeks moving slowly through the Loire and touring the immediate area, then whirlwind across Europe with Tom and Angelique.  Oh, we owed Gail, checking on her "suppliers" -- the demonstration that one woman gave Bill and I in Amsterdam -- I'm so lucky I've got him.

He'd changed over the trip.  He'd had time to think, and Tom to talk to.  The two of them running alongside the barge for miles, or Bill standing on deck, looking off into the distance.  he feels more determined, more sure of himself, more "there," I guess.  He showed that in the last few days, not as laid-back, more willing to step up and confront situations.

Yet I can squeeze him to a nipple, rock him in my arms...  I think we should have visited Madame Dumay in Paris.  I want to go back to Paris -- we could see her.  I think she could do Bill, and me, a lot of good, especially after seeing what she did with Don and Elizabeth.  I should have had some of those "samples" shipped to our house rather than to Gail -- I need to make sure my sweetie doesn't suffer just because I have my period...

He put an arm around me, holding me.  I love to be in his arms, so safe and warm.

We had a light meal before landing.

We got off the plane and headed to Customs, waiting for our bags to arrive.  We won at luggage roulette once more -- everything arrived.  We made it through Customs right behind Tom and Angelique.

I was surprised when Jill, our attorney, met us; I'd been expecting her private investigator, Karen.  We hugged, and introduced Tom and Angelique.  They'd previously arranged a limo to take them home to San Francisco.  We'd see them again on Saturday at our house, then head to the beach house.  We separated with more hugs, close friends already.

"You look like you had a great time," Jill said as we walked to the parking structure.

Bill laughed a little.  "It was quite a trip, in every sense of the word."

"What's new with you?  What's been happening?" I asked her.

Jill smiled, but I thought I saw an edge.  "We can talk about that tomorrow morning at my office.  Call before you head over.  Don't worry about anything for right now.  Everything can wait."

We got to Bill's Jeep and loaded things in.  Jill drove.  Both of us were spaced out from the flight.

Jill told us the construction had gone smoothly, and she'd made appointments for Friday with two wedding planners for me -- one would be at the house at ten, the other at one.  The third gal I'd been interested in was already booked.

The house didn't look any different as we drove up.  Outside lights came on as we pulled into the driveway -- that was new.  Jill told us the new alarm code, and gave us our keys with the new house keys on them.  Detailed write-ups on what had changed were in the house.  She told us the mail had been sorted, and bills paid.

We pulled into the garage.  I expected her to offer to help with the bags, but Bill said, "I'll get the bags in a few minutes.  I want to look around first.  Thanks again, Jill."

We hugged again.  Jill waved, said, "See you in the morning," got in her car, and drove off.

I could tell by the look on Bill's face that something was up as he led me to the door.  He unlocked the deadbolt, then the door, and stepped inside to clear the alarm.  He picked me up in his wonderful, strong arms and carried me into the house.

The lights were on dim, and before we got through the short passageway of the laundry room into the house proper, I could smell them.

"I love you," I whispered.  My arms were around his neck and I held him as he carried me.  Being in his arms, smelling those roses, sent such a tingle through me.

He put me down as we stepped into the main part of the house.  Roses everywhere!  The drapes were back.  The bookcases looked beautiful, but empty.

He started walking to the kitchen, but I held him back, put my arms around him, and kissed him.  As I let him hold me, resting my head on his shoulder, he whispered, "Welcome home, darling."

I laughed and took his hand, going to the kitchen.  It was beautiful!  The glass doors on the upper cabinets reflected a lavender hue from the roses.  Things had been unpacked!  I opened some of the lower cabinets, and saw that our things had been unpacked and moved in.  I was giddy and laughing.

I pulled him to the family room.  The cabinets were gorgeous, and there were roses everywhere.  Downstairs was next.  The office was very impressive.  The computer, or confuser as Bill likes to call it, was set up on the desk, with more roses.

In the massage room, most of the boxes were gone.  The massage table was still folded up, and there were only about half a dozen roses in the room.

I ran upstairs.  We had new doors to the master suite.  They were heavy, but moved easily.  The view inside was just as breathtaking as it had been that afternoon I'd come home to find the house filled with flowers.  The scent was so thick and dreamy.  We had new cabinets.  The drapes looked new.  Our closet was full again.  The bed and the spread looked delicious.  We hugged and kissed again.  He started backing me to the bed.

"Wait -- let's  get the bags, or they'll be there until the morning," I told him.

"So?" he said, kissing my neck and running his hands over me.

So indeed -- what did we need from our bags?  I was just about to give in, as he squeezed my waist and nibbled my neck when he pulled back.

"Okay, I'll bring them up," he said.

I laughed, and walked down with him.  It took two trips, but we had the bags upstairs and the downstairs secured once again.  We left the suitcase with the dirty clothes downstairs.

I went to the bathroom -- I needed to go.  The bathroom door was now a very heavy, solid feeling door.  Other than that, the bathroom looked the same.  As Bill joined me, he swung the door back and forth a little.  He closed the door.  There was extra hardware on the back of the door.  He hit something with his hand, and there was a loud "thunk!" that startled me.

Bill nodded and smiled.  "Extra bolts to secure the door."  He reached up and pulled some knobs, sliding them into the middle of the door.  "Nice -- spring loaded.  Whack this," he hit a button a few inches above the doorknob, giving us that thunk again, "and this door isn't going to open easily."  He tapped the wall with the side of his hand.  It sounded solid.

I swept him into my arms, kissing him again.

We stripped to shower.  It felt so good to be in our shower again, with plenty of hot water and room for both of us.  The "bathroom" on the barge had been so comically small -- I could sit on the toilet and put my feet in the shower pan.

We washed our hair, then soaped each other down, getting rid of the last of the European tobacco smoke.  As we rinsed, Bill bent down, took a nipple in his mouth, and moved a hand to my clit.  Oh, he is so good at that!  I helped him find the rhythm as I held him to me, feeling the warm water cascading down us.  Even though we'd made love last night in Paris -- whenever that was -- I needed it, and soon came, my knees starting to buckle as I held on to him and leaned against the shower wall.

We kissed again, enjoying the water.  We turned it off, dried off, and got out.  He dried quickly, and started to "help."

"Brush your teeth and go get in bed!" I told him.

He gave me his mock pout, then that mischievous little-boy grin.  As I was taking care of my hair, he brushed his teeth, and ran his electric shaver over his face, smiling at me.  As I was brushing out my hair, he leaned over and kissed a nipple, then scooted out of the bathroom.

I finished up shortly, and put on fresh perfume, turned off the light, and went into our bedroom.

Oh, our bed is so heavenly!  Especially with him in it -- he's so warm, radiating heat.  I snuggled up to him and pulled him to me.  That sensation when our bodies first touch is so fulfilling.  I'll never get used to it.  I guided his mouth to a breast, and held him to me, rocking him gently, and went to sleep holding him.

I awoke while it was still dark -- I was wide awake.  I went to the bathroom, and back in the bedroom, went to the drapes and glass doors.  I held the drapes open a bit and looked out at the valley.  I watched the twinkle of the lights, listening to his soft breathing.  What should we do?  What should I do first?  There was still so much to do for the wedding -- I'd barely started.  I looked at the clock -- a little after three.  I walked to the nearest vase of roses, and buried my head in the soft scented blooms.  They are so delicious -- and he got them for me.  I crawled back into bed, and curled up next to him, putting my head on his shoulder.  Without waking, he put an arm around me.  I could feel and hear his breathing and his heartbeat.  That was all I needed to do for now -- the rest could wait.

I felt the bed move some time later, and reached for him.  He kissed me on the forehead and whispered, "I love you."  I rolled over.

I blinked and was wide awake again, still on European time.  I was hungry; my stomach was on European time as well.  I also needed to go to the bathroom again.  It was still dark out.  Bill wasn't in bed.  As I went to the bathroom, I saw it was about five thirty.  What was that Paris time?  Didn't matter, I was awake now.  I took care of my business, then brushed my teeth and washed up a bit.  I gathered our clothes from last night.  Phew -- some of them still smelled of tobacco smoke.  I wrapped them in a towel.  I put on my soft robe and headed downstairs, closing the bedroom doors behind us.

Standing at the top of the stairs, the view was so pretty.  The lights were on dim, and the roses gave everything a soft lavender look, and a wonderful scent.  The drapes were open, and I could see out into the valley, lights still twinkling in the darkness.

I carried the clothes down to the laundry area; I'd sort things for wash and dry cleaning later.  I smiled as I stepped into the garage -- we'd both kept Jill busy with secret errands, it seemed.  The shelves and workbench were quite nice.  I opened the refrigerator, and got the bacon, eggs, and bread Jill obtained for me.  Bill would get both his favorite breakfasts!

I carried things into the kitchen and looked around.  It was very nice.  I liked the cabinets and layout much better.  The smaller dishwasher was just the right size for us.  Some things were loaded into the new refrigerator.  I got out the coffee and started a pot brewing for me.  As I did I heard his morning yawn as he walked down the stairs.

Walking to the office downstairs, I paused at each vase to smell the roses.  As I started down the first of the steps, I rearranged my robe a bit, showing my breasts a little more.  Then I smiled and turned, heading upstairs to my bedroom.  We'd had duplicate bottles of a number of perfumes, between this house and the passion pit.  I got the bottle of Shalimar from the drawer, put some on the tops of my breasts, and then headed back downstairs.  I put the extra bottle of perfume in the downstairs bath.

He was sitting in the chair at the desk, naked as the day he was born, smiling and looking at the computer screen.  From the sounds the speakers were making, I guessed he was looking at videos of our balloon ride.  That had been a lot of fun -- Tom, Angelique, Bill, the pilot and me.

I walked up behind him and put my hands on his shoulders.

"Good morning," I said, "ready for some breakfast?"

He turned in the chair and smiled, and reached for my robe.  He pulled it open a little more, and I stepped forward.  He seems to like my left breast better.  I wonder why?

Oh, that electric feeling as his lips touch my nipple -- I held his head to me gently as his arms went around my waist.  I held him and rocked him, letting my eyes close.  Some times he surprises me, but other times he's so predictable.

I led him gently to the futon; I'm glad we kept it in the room.  I put him on his back and partially covered him.  I put a hand behind his head, and as I lowered myself to him, I saw that look on his face.  So peaceful and relaxed -- all the tension gone from his face.  Yet as my nipple approached, I could see the hunger fill him.  I settled on him, pulling him back to my nipple as his arms went around my waist once more.

Oh!  He was so hungry!  "Gentle, darling," I whispered, as I squeezed the back of his head and neck a little.  He moaned some and melted in my arms.  I held him to me, feeling him suck gently, filling me with such warmth and satisfaction.

I can tell how much he loves being held like that.  I hope he can tell how much I enjoy it too.  But after a few minutes, I felt something else stirring.  I almost laughed.  If I hold him to me when he's tired, or almost asleep, he relaxes and drifts off.  But if I start out with him awake, oh he relaxes, but then he gets very aroused, and I could feel him pressing up against me, against the soft fabric of my robe.

I moved my hips gently as I pulled his head in a little closer.  He moaned, and I felt his hips start to move against me.  I let him set the rhythm, following it, and slowing it a little to prolong things.

I held his head, pulling it to me just a little at the right point on the wave our bodies were making.  I whispered to him to relax, and told him I loved him.  Our bodies moved in waves, and I could tell by the way his arms held me loosely that he was pretty far gone.  I moved a little and got my right hand between my legs.  Grabbing folds of my robe, I started pumping his cock, wrapped in the soft fabric.

He moaned, and I held his head tighter with my left hand.  "Relax, relax," I told him softly, as I moved my body on top of his.  Soon I felt him stiffen more, then he moaned, and I felt him coming.  I pumped him gently until his hips stopped moving.  Then I pulled my hand away gently and let my weight down on top of him more, as I moved his head around on my breast.  He clutched at me weakly with his arms.

I rocked him gently and told him to relax repeatedly.  His sucking slowed over a couple of minutes, then stopped.  I held him.  I put my head down, resting somewhat on my shoulder, and on the futon.  I should keep some cushions here -- something washable.

I zoned out as well for a few minutes, and woke up to strong arms around my waist, and a more insistent mouth at my breast.  I laughed a little, and pushed myself up on my elbows.

"Ready for breakfast?" I asked him.

He gave me such a look of wonder.  "I love you," he said.

I squeezed him to me again, holding his head between my breasts.  As I let go and pushed up again, he asked, "What did you do to me?"

I pulled up on my knees, and wiped up our fun with my robe.

"Didn't you like that?" I asked, looking in his eyes.

He closed his eyes briefly and sighed.  "Nancy...  I was so lost again, so lost in you."

Hearing that gave me a warm feeling.  I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.  "Good.  All you have to do is relax, and let me take you there."

He sighed again and I stood up.  I peeled off the robe and balled it up, putting it under my arm.  I held out my other hand and helped him stand.  "Let's get dressed, then I'll fix you some breakfast."

We kissed, then headed back to the bedroom.

It felt good to get back into West Coast casual clothes.  We'd both dressed up a few notches while in Europe.  Of course part of that was Angelique -- but she could make a flour sack look elegant.

As we walked down the stairs, Bill said, "I don't know what we're going to do for breakfast.  It's still early out."  It was a little past six.

I pulled him into the kitchen, pausing to smell the roses along the way.  I leaned him against the counter, and opened the door to our new built-in refrigerator.  I pulled out the bacon, eggs, and sourdough bread.  He gave me a look of surprise.

"You weren't the only one having Jill run errands, you know," I told him.

He laughed and we hugged.

I poured some coffee; he got his can of 7-Up and our vitamins while I was getting out the frying pan.

He is such a big help in the kitchen -- especially if my hands are occupied!  I was trying to cook the bacon just the way he likes it, but having a hard time the way his hands were going all over me.  Finally as one snuck up under my top and started going for the catch on my bra, I put down my utensils, and turned around, grabbing him.

"Set the table, and then sit down!  You're a big help!"

He laughed and kissed me on the nose.  "It's my job," he told me.

I swatted his bottom as he took the silverware over to the kitchen table.  He started some music playing.  I liked that.  I'd like to have music going all the time.

We had a good breakfast.  It was good to be back home again.

"What would you like to do this morning?" he asked.

I held his hand.  "We could start unpacking books.  We shouldn't call Jill until 9 or so."

He nodded, then said, "What else?"  He had a look of concern on his face.

I looked at him for a moment.  I wasn't sure either at first, then I smiled.  When he saw me smile, his look of concern changed to a relaxed smile.  I patted his hand.

"I really like music playing.  I want to have the house full of music whenever I'm here.  I enjoyed those times on the barge, in the lounge area, small as it was, music playing and being in your arms."

He laughed, with a twinkle in his eyes.  He was up to something, and I'd just given him a very big green light.  "Your wish is my command," he said, kissing my hand.

I gave him a low laugh.  "I don't know what I've agreed to," I told him.

He laughed a little.  "You'll love it.  I promise.  Now let's clean up and get to work."

The kitchen was quick work.  I liked the new dishwasher -- small and very easy to use.  It was supposed to be extremely quiet as well.  We still had the other dishwasher, but it was about as quiet as a carwash, and held about as much.

The new cabinets in the garage looked quite nice, and the lighting was a big improvement.

I frowned, though, looking around.  Where was my Mercedes?  "Bill, where's my car?"

He was looking at boxes, turning them around to read labels.  He stood up and looked around.  "Don't know.  Good question for Jill.  Maybe that was behind her 'don't worry' comment."

Well, not much I could do about it right then.  We picked our boxes.

The first two boxes we grabbed went into the office.  I got the lighter one, Bill took the other.  I carried it into the office, and almost dropped it on the floor.

Out of the speakers hooked to the computer came the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking -- Tom and Angelique.  Bill put his box down, and hit a button on the camcorder sitting on the desk.  He gave me an embarrassed look.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, incredulously.

He smiled, sheepishly.  "Don't worry, it's sound only.  I'd forgotten about that.  One night when they started in, I turned it on just to get the sound.  I'll erase it."

I laughed.  "Don't you dare!  It might come in useful some day."

He laughed and hugged me.

We unloaded quite a bit, taking our time, unpacking boxes as we went.  Around eight we decided to take a break.  We sat at the table and dug through the stacks of mail.

Around eight thirty Bill picked up the phone.  "Hi, this is Bill Wilson.  Is Jill in yet?" he said.  After a few moments, he said, "Hi there!  ...  Okay, we'll leave in a bit.  Where's Nancy's car?  ...  Okay, we'll wait."  He hung up the phone, then leaned over and gave me a kiss.  "She's not talking," he told me.

We cleaned up, with Bill being his usual "big help."  Downstairs, locking up, I had the keys.  "I'll drive," I told him.  I enjoy driving the Jeep.  The little driving we'd done in Europe had been done mostly by Tom -- he'd insisted, and we didn't mind.  Angelique told us he'd been trained in performance, pursuit, and evasive driving.  It showed, and it was nice having a chauffeur, not having to worry about directions or traffic.

As we pulled out of the driveway, I couldn't help but think of that first ride together, in Karen's Jeep, on the way to Tahoe.  How long ago had that been?  A short time, or a long time?  It felt like both.

"I love you," I whispered, squeezing Bill's hand.

"And I love you," he replied.  "Let's go see the world."

Part 2

Jill had a curious look on her face when we met in her conference room.

And I didn't like it one damn bit.

"Okay, what's going on," I asked as I helped Nancy sit down.  "Where's Nancy's car, for starters?"

Jill sighed and shook her head.  "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a wild ride."

First on the agenda was Morris.  I'd called Jill from the barge one afternoon, and she told us he'd been captured in Canada.  We had an extra celebration that night.  That was the night we told Tom and Angelique some of our story.  At the end, Tom told us what he did for a living, and offered his services if he could help.  I hired him on the spot!

Jill reminded us that Morris had been fighting extradition.  He was facing life sentences, especially in light of the most recent charges.  I raised an eyebrow at that -- what recent charges?  Jill ignored my question, and told us that during a break in one of the hearings, he escaped.

"So is he still in Canada, or back down here?"

"What about my car?" Nancy asked.

Jill sighed again.  They didn't know where he was.  Karen and Carl had taken Nancy's car to the beach house.  They used the house's built-in vacuum system to clean up a spill in the master bedroom upstairs.  Morris put a fucking bomb in the central vacuum system motor in the garage.  Plugging the hose into the outlet upstairs set it off, destroying the beach house, and Nancy's Mercedes, which had been in the garage.  The explosion ruptured the gas line to the furnace and water heater, adding to the fun.  Of course the Mercedes had a full tank of gas.

Carl and Karen had to jump from the bedroom balcony.  In addition to cuts, bruises, and minor burns, Carl had a broken ankle; Karen got off easy, a strained knee.

And I was pissed!  "I thought the Feds swept that place and cleared it!"

Jill smiled for the first time.  "They did, but evidently missed something.  The insurance company is all over them, along with a lot of other folks."

"Isn't that where this fiasco started?  With insurance companies?" I asked.

Jill nodded.  "Yes, but this time they're on our side, including the ones who used to employ Mr. Morris."

Nancy squeezed my hand.  "How are Karen and Carl doing?  When did this happen?"

"Five days ago.  They spent three days in the hospital.  They're at Karen's, recovering."

"Were their expenses covered?" I asked.

"Yes, and they're very upset about what happened to the car."

I shook my head.  "The car can be replaced.  We'll cover their bills."

Nancy squeezed my hand.  "How about the beach house?"

Jill nodded.  "Tim, your general, put us in touch with two builders over there.  We'll have bids in a few days.  It's a rebuild from the foundation up.  We're not sure how long it will take."

Nancy's voice was surprisingly strong.  "It doesn't matter; I'm never going back.  It smells like John -- sell it."

I took both her hands, looking into her eyes.  "Really?"

She nodded.  "Really.  One less reminder of John."

"I'm glad you're seeing a silver lining in this cloud.  I love you," I told her.

"And I love you."  Nancy turned back to Jill.  "What else?"

She opened her eyes wide, raising her shoulders for a moment.  "That's the news.  Other than that, everything is wonderful.  Let me confirm: you want to get rid of the beach property?"

Nancy nodded.  "Yes.  John screwed someone to get it, and gave it to me so he could start screwing Christine.  I'm not happy this happened, but as Bill said, I can see the silver lining."

Jill nodded.  "Okay.  I'll have Mindy start working on it.  It will take a week or so to get it rolling, what with the police and all, so you have time to change your mind.  We'll see what we can come up with.  Oh, Bill, we did get the million settlement of Janet's work policy.  They're offering another million to settle the remaining issues.  What do you think?"

I shrugged, squeezing Nancy's hand.  "Hard to say with Morris still on the loose.  What do you recommend?"

Jill looked out the window for a moment.  "I'd say, take it."

I looked to Nancy, and nodded.  "Okay, do it."

Jill made some notes.  "That's about all for me.  What do you two have planned?"

I turned a little.  "Other than In-N-Out Burger for lunch?"

Nancy sighed.  "I love you!  Well, today is Wednesday, I think."

Jill nodded.

Nancy continued, "I've got wedding planning to do, even though I'm meeting with people Friday morning.  Jet lag will probably catch up with both of us this afternoon.  We could look for a car."

I smiled.  "That would be cool -- a test drive to In-N-Out."

Jill and Nancy laughed again.

"I don't think we're going to the beach house with Tom and Angelique this weekend, though," Nancy sighed dejectedly. 

Jill popped in with, "We can get you a rental, if you'd like.  They'll pay for it."

Nancy shook her head.  "No, not necessary."

I frowned.  "Everything gone?"

She nodded.  "Total loss.  That videotape you made is even more valuable.  Anything specific you're thinking about?"

Nancy asked, "Jill, can you call Carl and Karen for us, and let them know we're concerned about how they're doing, and that we're not upset with them?  We'd like to see them, when they're ready."

Jill smiled.  "I'd love to.  They were concerned how you'd feel, and I hoped that's what you would say.  I'll call them this morning."

"They could come by for dinner on Saturday or Sunday if they'd like," Nancy added.

Jill said, "I'll let them know.  That will be a big relief to them."

"I know a good shrink, if they'd like.  I'm willing to pick that up, too," I threw in.

"I'll let them know.  It's been a very traumatic experience for both of them."

I squeezed Nancy's hand.  "See, hon?  We missed one!"

She sighed and shook her head.  "That's the good news?"

"Sounds like it to me.  Want to look at pretty cars?"

She managed a smile as she took my hand in hers.  "Okay, but we'll just look today.  We need time to think, and time to think clear-headed."

"Okay.  Jill, we'll get out of your hair, for a while.  Thank you so much for taking care of things, and for not telling us."

We stood up, as did Jill.  We hugged.  Jill told us, "Mindy and I argued about it, but we decided it was best to wait."

We hugged again, and left her office.

"Where to, my lady?" I asked as I opened the Jeep door for her.

She perked up a bit as I helped her in.  "Let's go look at cars."

She pulled out her phone as I got in.  "Hi, Gail -- this is Nancy!  ...  Yesterday, I think, last night.  I need a favor, if you can help.  ...  Oh Gail, it was a wonderful trip.  And, we do have things to talk about!  But I was wondering if you have any bedspreads and pillow covers?"

I squeezed her hand and smiled.

"Oh, that's fine.  Could you get them to us by Saturday morning?"  She laughed.  "That would be great!  And we need another mattress as well."

They talked a bit more.  She patted me on the leg as she folded up her phone.  "She's delivering the spread and pillow covers tonight."

I nodded.  "Great!  It will be good to see her.  She sounded okay?"

"She sounded like Gail."

I glanced at her again.  "Think she'd bring tamales?"

She laughed.  "She's picking some up."

"Did Carl and Karen get up there?"

"She didn't say.  We'll find out tonight."

"Another good friend."

We pulled up to the Mercedes dealer where Nancy had gotten her now-destroyed car.  One of their people recognized her, and asked how she was doing.  She told him it was good news, bad news -- the bad news was that her car had been destroyed in a fire, but the good news was we were looking to replace it.

As we walked over to the convertibles, Nancy asked, "Maybe we should get a sedan -- don't you think that would be more practical?"

I smiled.  "Your car, sweetie."

"You'll be driving it as well.  I was thinking of something that could hold four adults."

"We've got the Jeep!"

"And going out to a nice dinner?"

I shrugged.

"I know -- you'd go to Chez Panisse in the Jeep, wouldn't you?"

I smiled.  "You betcha -- gets me there."

Nancy laughed and turned to our salesman.  "I think we're picking up brochures today -- we have some decisions to make."

We got those, and then looked at some cars.  We looked at the newer model of the one she had, the SLK230.  But I liked the 600 convertibles.

"Hon," I told her, "This one has more luggage space.  We were cramped going to Napa."

She leaned on me and whispered, "It also costs three times as much."

"So?"  I looked at the salesman.  "Is there an AMG version of this beast?"

Nancy rolled her eyes, and I squeezed her.

We looked at the 500 and 600 side-by-side.  I wanted Nancy to sit in them.  God, but the 600 felt grand -- How many grand?  What the hell difference did it make to me?

Our salesman asked if we'd like to take one out.  I looked at my watch and grinned.  It was a little after eleven.  My stomach growled, reminding me that it was on Parisian time.

We went to the office.  They needed a deposit while we had the car.  I gave them a check.  One of the office people took it, returning and giving the salesman the thumbs-up.

We gave them the Jeep keys so they could move it to the client parking area.  We rolled off the lot in a dealer-demo 600 with the top down at eleven twenty.

I headed for In-N-Out Burger.  We went in, and I ordered our usual.

I pulled out my wallet.

And turned to Nancy.  "Uh, do you have any U.S. currency?"

She laughed and handed me a $20.  "Well, mister big spender, still want the 600 when your girl has to buy lunch?" she needled me.

I hugged her.  "You need to drive it -- it's your car.  But, why not?"

"Because it's not practical?" she asked.

I shook my head.  "A Volvo is practical, or a Ford effing Taurus.  For practical, we've got the Jeep.  How am I supposed to show off the most beautiful woman in the world, huh?"

She held my hand.  "I don't know?  Who is she?"

I laughed.  "You, Mrs. Crazy."

"Can't argue with that," she told me.

We had a great lunch.  Both of us started laughing after the first bites of our burgers.  Even with the trauma, it was good to be home.

She drove after lunch.  We did a freeway loop, up 101 and over 92 back to 280.  She seemed to be having a lot of fun.  She drove the hills near the house, and then back roads to Stanford. In spite of how much fun the car was to drive, we were both running out of gas -- we headed back to the dealer.

We pulled in and parked.  I saw the salesman standing patiently by the door.

"Well?" I asked her.

She sighed and leaned over to give me a kiss.  "I need to think about it."

"Why?  If you like it as much as I do, we'll get it.  We don't have to compromise."

She shook her head.  "Like I said, sweetie, I need to think about it."

We hugged after we got out, and walked to the door.  Our salesman came over.

"Have fun?" he asked us.

We both laughed.  I started to hand him the keys, but he told us we could keep it overnight if we wanted, and bring it back by six tomorrow evening.  I told him he'd need to get the garage opener from the Jeep.  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out with a smile.  We talked about colors and option packages for a bit.  As we did that, someone from the service department took our garage door transmitter.  He returned a few minutes later, and told us it was set up in the car.

As the salesman talked to Nancy about features of the car, I talked to one about the V-12 version of the 600.  I decided I might need the jeep; I followed Nancy home.  We stopped for groceries.  I was right -- her little car had barely enough room for groceries.  We had a lot more room in this one.

We parked in the garage, and got the groceries put away.  The house smelled great.

"Swim first, or just nap?" I asked Nancy.  She hung on me, resting her head on my shoulder.  I held her.  "I agree.  Nap time."

I set the alarm for five thirty, so we wouldn't sleep too long.  We curled up on the bed.  She held me and pulled the spread over us.  Oh, that first touch!  I latched on to a nipple and melted in her arms.  We were both asleep in minutes.

The phone was ringing; Nancy answered it.  Gail was half an hour away.  She started to get up, but I grabbed her again.  She played dirty -- squeezing me to her, smothering me in her until I melted in her arms.  Then she made her escape, tossing the spread over me as she got out of bed.

Gail arrived about forty minutes later.  We hugged, and I unloaded the stuff from her car.  The ice chests in the kitchen, the big boxes upstairs, the beat-up box in the kitchen.  Okay.

"Like to take a dip before dinner?" I asked as she stretched.

"God, that sounds great."

"Bring your swimsuit?"

Gail catches on quick.  "What's a swimsuit?" she smirked, as I hit the button for the pool cover.

She shed her clothes and jumped into the pool, squealing with delight.  I stripped and joined her.

"God, this feels great!" Gail told the world.

I had to agree -- a suit feels so confining.

Nancy appeared a minute or two later.  She put the two terry robes she was carrying on chairs, then took off the one she was wearing, revealing bikini bottoms.  She jumped into the pool next to Gail.  I could imagine the conversation.  They both looked to me.  I waved.

Watching Gail get out of the pool, water dripping off her body...  She was only two or three years my senior (don't use that word out loud), and was very attractive.  Comparing her to Angelique -- when Tom told us one company constantly gets reprint requests for a poster of her showing their product, I suggested that Angelique is responsible for the death of many, many kittens.  Tom agreed.

"Tamales for dinner?" Nancy asked.

"Sounds great -- do we have beer to go with them?" I replied.

"Part of the service," said Gail as she dried off.

"And I'm making a salad," called Nancy.

"And you can open the beer," suggested Gail.

I got out of the pool and dried off.  I put on a robe and got my sandals before heading in the house.

"I guess we should have plastic beer mugs in the freezer, or at least the garage fridge," I suggested to Nancy, kissing her on the neck as she made the salad."

Nancy frowned and shook her head.

"What is it?" I asked, putting an arm around her waist.

"Ghosts again -- John said beer was 'low class' and never wanted it served at parties," she told me.

"Wanna guess what he drank when he visited?" asked Gail.

I found suitable glasses and opened three bottles.  "Did Carl and Karen visit?"

"Oh, yeah -- cute couple.  They went over my place, and the business with a fine tooth comb.  Found some shit, too -- pisses me off.  You think it's related to John?"

I shrugged as I poured our beer.  "Good a guess as any.  Glad they cleaned things up."

"So am I, hon!  That stuff is creepy!"

I looked to Nancy.  "I wonder if anything was in old John's car?"

Nancy shook her head.  I handed out beer.  Nancy looked to Gail.  "Did you hear what happened?"

We sat around the table.  Nancy told Gail how Carl and Karen were injured.  She had to backtrack -- we'd not told Gail anything about Morris.

"Come up and stay with me!  Or go back to Europe for a few months -- go anywhere!  Why the hell are you hanging around acting like targets?" Gail chided us.

Good questions, and ones I couldn't answer.  "I don't want to run," was the only thing I could say.

Gail shook her head and got up.  She took a well-used steamer out of the beat-up cardboard box, loading it with water and tamales.  "Want some of the meat sauce?" she asked.

Nancy got up and got a container for her to heat the sauce, then went to work on salad.

"Maybe he's given up, more worried about his own survival," I suggested to half a glass of beer.

"I hope so," Nancy agreed.

Gail made a noise.

Girl-talk switched to wedding plans.

I faded out, looking at my beer, thinking.  Had he given up?  Hard to say.  I certainly hope so.  Big sigh -- but I have to assume he's still after us.  Is that too paranoid?  Or, not paranoid enough?

"Set the table?" Nancy asked.

"Sure."  I got up and gave her a hug.  I saw the way Gail looked at me and gave her a hug as well.

Dinner was good.  We'd eaten well in Europe, and very well on the barge -- our own chef, fresh ingredients, five different cheeses with lunch and dinner, different wines.  It was good to return to the simple stuff, tamales, salad, and beer.

I liked cleaning up the kitchen afterwards.  The small dishwasher was the right size for us, and the new cabinets worked well.  We even had enough tamales for a few more meals!

"Tired, sweetie?" Nancy asked, sneaking up behind me.

"Yup, but I should stay up until at least eight, I figure."

"Well, that's only twenty more minutes.  I'm tired too."

"Been a hell of a day.  Should we call Carl and Karen?"

She squeezed me.  "We should wait a few days; give them time."

I puttered in the kitchen, figuring out where things were.  Guess Karen unpacked things for us.  Hmmm -- I went to the massage room downstairs; that's where things had been stored.  Good -- there was a big hanging clothes box labeled "winter things - leave alone" still in the closet, and it didn't look like it had been moved or opened.  It did contain some winter things, along with both gas rigs.  Leave them for now.

I almost ducked in the office -- hadn't checked e-mail since before we left.  Nah, the spam could wait; I wasn't expecting anything useful, well, except for digests from the Darwin list, and The Misanthropic Bitch.  I could do that tomorrow.

What to do now?  Nancy's class started Monday.  She had wedding planners Friday, and that was a cleaners day.  Guess they figured out the beach house doesn't need cleaning anymore.  I wrote a note on that and left it on the desk.

I made sure we were locked up, and set the lights to nighttime.  Need to tell Gail about the alarm system, and about opening doors or windows.  I went upstairs, and heard them in the guest room where I'd put the boxes.

The new spread was on the bed -- Nancy sitting at the foot of the bed wearing a satin robe, Gail standing next to her wearing a similar robe, except it was a soft-looking plush.

Nancy opened her arms.  "Come here, sweetie -- let me hold you."

I sighed and went to her, going down on my knees and between her legs.  Her robe was lined with the same plush as Gail's.  Reversible?  I didn't care -- I closed my eyes and moved into softness and warmth.  She'd even put on perfume.

She held me, squeezed me so well, then pulled the robe around my head, holding me more, suffocating me into her.  I moaned and squeezed her, finally turning my head so I could get a breath.  I exhaled ... and barely felt the mask touch my face as I took a deep breath of fuzzy darkness.

I woke to hands running over me, on my back, cuffs on my wrists and ankles, eyeshades covering my eyes.

"I've got you, sweetie," Nancy cooed.  Oh, I was so hot and hard!

Hands, then one of her nipples in my mouth, her hands cradling my head.

Sliding into someone -- Gail?  So wet, so tight, rocking on me.  Nancy pulled away; I felt Gail sit up.  Hands moving on me.  "Oh God, a little more," cried Gail, her rocking more insistent.  "Oh, that's so good, right there...  Let me ..."  I felt her lean forward, and soon was devouring a nipple.  I felt a hand between us, teasing Gail more.  She shifted gears again, rocking, moving some side to side as she moaned.

A hand on my balls and the base of my cock -- I thrust as much as I could, pushing us both over the edge.  Gail sat up quickly, sat back on me, moving deliciously.  I made a noise, but my mouth wasn't empty for long, Nancy filling it again.

Nancy held me.  I guess Gail let me loose and cleaned us up.  I managed to get up and stagger to the bathroom, do my business, and made it back to bed.  Nancy was in the middle, Gail on one side on a breast, leaving "my" side available.  I got in and snuggled up.  Nancy put an arm around me and sighed contentedly.  Home.

I woke at five, got up to pee, and put the eyeshades on when I got back in bed.

"Oh yes, ummm..."

I woke to Nancy's sweet moans and the gentle jiggling of the bed.  Taking off the eyeshades, I saw Gail attached to a nipple, a hand between Nancy's legs.  Nancy was writhing, and I could tell she was close.  I moved closer, sliding a hand under her head, and my other hand over Gail to Nancy's other breast, helping her along.

"Oh God, Yes!!!" she cried.

Gail continued her assault until Nancy pushed her away.

Gail turned and gave me a lusty look, rolling to her back.

I slid one leg between hers, approaching from the side.  She guided me in, and rolled to her belly, letting me ride her bottom.  I wasn't going to last long at all, holding her waist, thrusting, bouncing on her bottom.  She pushed back with her hips, and that was all it took.  I held her hips, trying to push in more and more as I filled her.

I rolled us to our sides, still attached, holding her.  She reached back and stroked the inside of my hip, teasing another spurt from me.  I held on and kissed her back.  More snuggling, being moved from nipple to nipple, contented sighs, skin against skin.

We got up and enjoyed the shower.  I guess you'd call the barge "interesting."  I think it was about three meters wide.  We had one of the "big" cabins, and Tom and Angelique had the other.  Still, when you were sitting on the toilet, your feet were in the shower pan.

No comparison to our spacious shower, with its illegal showerhead and a nearly infinite supply of hot water!  No comparison to a shower with three bodies, teasing as well as washing.

Drying off was fun as well, even if the ladies got tired of me "helping."

In the bedroom, Gail picked up a robe.  "I brought these for you," she said with a gleam in her eye.  "Thinking of adding them to the catalog.  They're very nice, with a satin-finish fabric on one side, and a very nice plush on the other."  She held one out, then put it on.  "Wide lapels, which have many uses, and roll-up cuffs, also multi-purpose."  She was wearing hers with the satin-side out, so with the cuffs rolled back, the plush showed.

She walked to me, looking me in the eye as she wrapped a hand around my cock, stroking me with the plush fabric.  My knees buckled.

"See?  Isn't that nice?" she chuckled.

I moved to the bed; Nancy moved with me.

"Of course, the satin finish is nice, too."  She stepped closer, pulling my head to a satin-covered breast.  I mouthed her through the fabric, sliding my arms around her waist as she slid a hand behind my head.  "Oh yes, that does feel nice, doesn't it?  You get the nice smooth side, and I get the soft, furry side.  Oh, scoot back, hon," she urged, pushing me back on the bed.

She let the robe open, giving me access to her nipple, holding me.  Soon I was on my back, and she was impaled on me, riding me again.  It was a longer ride this time, but a good one for us both.

Dammit, they tickled me, just when I wanted to curl up and snuggle again!

We got dressed and made it downstairs.  Nancy fixed us breakfast.  I looked at the paper.  Hadn't missed it, really.

"We'll see you in a few hours, sweetie," Nancy told me, kissing me on the head.

"What?  What's up?"

"We're going to do girl things."  Both of them giggled.

I sighed.  Maybe I was better off with them gone; I'd get to recover, if nothing else.

"Have fun -- be careful."

Nancy nodded, a bit more somber.  "We will.  My phone will be on -- did you charge yours last night?"

"Not sure where it is," I confessed.

"Center console of the Jeep?" she suggested.

"Think that's where I left it."

She shook her head.  "Have fun sweetie."

They took off, arm in arm, giggling as they went through the garage.

I did e-mail, virtually none of it legitimate.  Nothing needed attention in the paper-mail pile, either.

Fine -- they're doing girl things, I'll do guy things.  I got the Glock from the safe, my eye and ear protection, and locked up the house.  Let's go shoot holes in things.

Bless her -- my phone was on the driver's seat of the Jeep, turned on and charging.

I went to the pistol range.  Tom and Angelique were quite the hosts on part of our tour.  While Nancy and Angelique spent the day sightseeing in Vienna, Tom took me out to Glock in Deutsch-Wagram.  We received a "family" tour, and were even able to help out.  Tom speaks Japanese, French, and German.  Angelique speaks those and who knows what else.  I'm fluent in Japanese and English.  Poor Nancy only speaks English.  At the Glock plant, we encountered a group from Japan that was having quite a problem, their German not too good.  Tom and I jumped in.  We ended up on their pistol range.  I thought I was pretty good, and had been trained by skilled people.  I learned a lot from Tom in half an hour.  Oh, he did tell me later that I'd been well trained.  But he'd been trained a whole lot better.

I practiced the drills Tom showed me.  Yeah, they helped -- I could tell.  I spent more time and effort on the ones I didn't like.

One of the range folks watched for a while.  I took a break and talked to him.  Yeah, picked up some new tricks.  I tried one of their .40 cal handguns.  Tom was in favor of the .40 over the 9mm -- more stopping power.  Well, yeah, that's why we're taught to do double-taps.  The .40 felt a lot different.  Part of that was Sig rather than Glock.  I figured it would take a few sessions at the range to get used to it -- and then I'd be messed up handling the 9, most likely!

Lunch was West Coast -- a chile verde burrito.  Europe was nice, but the constant cigarette smoke was a major source of irritation.  The Left Coast may have it's problems, but that wasn't one of them!

I picked up more ammo on the way home.  Looked at holsters.  I'd wait for Tom's assistance to buy one.

I drove by a couple of home centers.  I had a brand new workbench in the garage.

I laughed at myself, thinking of a product manager at work -- a garage full of tools, and he neither used nor knew how to use most of them.  I'm not going there.  The few tools I had, I used.  I made myself a promise to keep it that way.

I took a quick dip in the pool, then popped down to the confuser to start transferring pictures and video.  We picked up a digital camera in Paris, and in spite of the expense, I'm glad we did.  We had a shitload of pictures -- almost 2000 -- to go through.  Moving them from the laptop to the big one was fairly painless.  Moving digital video would take longer, one piece at a time.

Damn, I need music around here!  I had a collection of CDs, Nancy had some.  Something else to think about and plan.  I had the feeling putting them on a server and making them available wirelessly might be an interesting way to go.

I thought I heard the garage door a little after three.  I wanted to put a doorbell on that -- something that sounded when any of the doors went up or down.

Ho -- what's this?

Nancy was still sitting in the car -- a different car -- a 4-door, and it growled.  Nancy and Gail waved to me from inside.  I walked around it.  E55 AMG -- nice.  Low-profile tires, nice profile.

"Hi sweetie, want to take it for a drive?" Nancy asked, rolling down the window.

"Uh, sure -- what's up?"

"We've got a dinner reservation in Half Moon Bay -- you're driving, and we're leaving as soon as we unload and make a pit stop."

I helped them unload bags from Needless Markup, Macy's, and some other Stanford Shopping Center stores, then popped the hood on the car to take a look.

I remember my dad working on the old Volvo.  The engine was simple, and there was room to work.  With this thing, I wasn't sure how much was mechanical anymore, and how much electronic.  I did recognize the supercharger, in an area jam-packed with very clean and precise looking assemblies.

"Here," Nancy said, handing me my leather coat and hat.  "You can drive."  She handed me the keys.

What a blast!  I'm glad we left early, both to avoid traffic going over to the coast, and to give us more time to drive around.

Another West Coast dinner -- prime rib.  I had one glass of red wine, letting the ladies finish off the bottle.  I took us a longer but less wiggly route home, down Highway 1 and over 17.  That also gave me the chance to gun the thing.

"You like it?" Nancy asked as we hugged in the garage.

"Yes, very much," I told her.

"Good.  You can do the paperwork for us tomorrow."

"Cleaners when?" I asked.

"Oh...  Tomorrow is Friday, isn't it?  I'm double-booked at ten, I guess."

"So I'll be out of the house -- I expect they're not doing the beach place any more?"

"No shit," she agreed.  "I'll talk to them."

"So why not have them hit here just once a week?"

She sighed and put her head on my shoulder.  "Let me sleep on it."

The three of us got ready for bed.  Gail and Nancy took turns holding and squeezing me, making me delirious.  I ended on top of Gail, with Nancy pushing on me from behind.  Collapsing afterwards, I needed Nancy -- I went to sleep holding her.

We woke to the clock-radio Friday morning.  I don't like alarm clocks.  After a quick pee, Gail showed us more about the robes she'd brought.  Not only were they reversible, but they were quite well made -- she stood on one sleeve, and tugged hard on the other.  Gail thought it would be a good idea to have Nancy put one on, plush side out.  Before that, I didn't realize Nancy was turned on by satin finish things -- Gail and I worked her over pretty well.  I think that was someone's subgoal, though -- with Nancy collapsed on the bed, Gail grabbed me and rode me to our mutual collapse.

After which she told us the robes were also machine washable -- wash warm, tumble dry cool.  She'd run one through twenty successive wash/dry cycles and it still felt and looked great.

I made it out the door by half past nine, driving the Mercedes.  I really liked the car.

At the dealership, we reviewed options.  I liked the color, a pearl-white.  I wanted the navigation system; that was the only option not installed already.  Integrating my cell phone into the car was a simple matter that they could do right off -- fine, do it.  I was worried about price, but Nancy and Gail had done the haggling yesterday.  As they were off working things up and getting the paperwork ready, my phone rang.

"Dwarf, pliers," I answered.

"What?  Bill?"  It was Tom.

"Hey there.  It's me.  What's up?"

"Hey, we just heard the news -- Angelique is still on the phone with Nancy.  Do you need help?  What happened?  Should we come down?"

"Oh yeah, come down anyway, we'll just stay at the house.  Nancy needs the help."  Angelique was an incredible graphics artist as well as beautiful.  She was going to help Nancy set up a scanner, and help her put it and the software to best use.  Okay, Angelique and Nancy had things figured out -- they'd be down around ten, and we'd go to Fry's after they took a look at what we had.  See you then.

I signed car paperwork and had them fax copies to Jill and to my insurance agent.

The sales manager shook my hand, welcoming me to the Mercedes family.  He and the salesman walked me through service programs, then we went over the car from tip to tail -- they'd cleaned and waxed it in the intervening hour or so.  The nav package was on order and would take a few weeks to get here.  When it arrived, they'd need the car for three days to install and calibrate the system.

My first stop was Togo's, a sandwich chain, for lunch.  I skimmed through manuals on the car as I ate my sandwich.

I took it out for a drive, up into the hills, Old Pescadero Road heading to the coast.  I stopped at the big red barn.  It hadn't been painted in a few years.  What now?  Where do we go from here?  Nancy was teaching.  I needed to do something.  More involvement in business, understand what I held.  Understand it, yes.  Screw around with it?  Don't know; so far, people were telling me I had professional management, and they were doing well.  One of my supposed strengths as an engineering manager had been the ability to delegate.  Keep that in mind, turkey...

Day by day, I guess.

I got back in the car and headed to the house.

Nancy and Gail were sitting by the pool, wet hair, wearing terry robes.  I kissed Nancy, then Gail, stripped, and dove into the pool.

When I got out, I got hugs, kisses, a robe, and a tall tequila sunrise.

"How was your day?" I asked Nancy.

She glanced to Gail with a smile.  "We have a wedding planner.  Do we have a car?"

I took another sip.  "Remind me to swipe some straws next time we're having a burger.  Yup, and thanks for doing the haggling for me."

"Did you order any options?"

"I want the navigation package.  It will be here in a few weeks."

Gail said, "Told you..."  Nancy chuckled.

"What's next?  I also talked to Tom.  Do we need to get groceries?"

Nancy shook her head.  "I'm glad they're still coming down.  I want help with my drawings.  No, we went shopping between appointments.  The first woman wasn't here long at all."

I detected something in her voice.  "Didn't work out?"

Nancy frowned and took another sip of her drink.  "It was either her way or the highway..."

"Don't think I'd have gotten along with her," I suggested.

"No shit!" Gail tossed in.  "Glad she left."

"Glad I missed it!  What's for dinner?"

"I'm going to go shower," Gail said, standing up.  But she sat in my lap, dropped her robe back, and held me to a nipple, wrapping her arms around my head.

"Mmm... That's better," she said when she stood up, leaving me dizzy.

Nancy laughed.

"Was that fair?" I asked in my defense.

She chuckled.  "No, it wasn't, and I'll have to do that more often.  Gail also brought baby back ribs; all we have to do is heat them."

"That sounds great."

She stood up.  "Glad you agree, sweetie..."  She sat in my lap, slipping her robe off a shoulder, and held me deliciously.  "Oh, did you mean the ribs?" she teased, squeezing me and moving my head around.

We made it upstairs to shower; Gail was using one of the guest bathrooms for some reason.  I got Nancy off in the shower, a little payback.

We had ribs, salad, and sourdough bread for dinner.  Another Left Coast thing -- the bread and rolls we had on the trip, especially in France, had been good, but there's something about fresh sourdough.

Gail was going back to Tahoe in the morning.  She told me that with a lusty look.

After dinner, Nancy insisted on spending time in the office downstairs arranging things.  Her drawings were superb.  "I bet  even I could learn this," I told her, flipping through things.

I could tell she was looking forward to teaching.  Monday, Wednesday, Fridays from ten in the morning until about two.  What was I going to do?

I must have faded.  She sighed and pulled me to the futon, holding my hands.  "You don't mind me teaching?" she asked.

"Not at all -- I can tell how much you're looking forward to it."

She nodded.  "Bill, right next door is a studio -- they have yoga classes in the morning.  You could do morning classes three days a week."

I smiled.  "I like that."

She smiled as well.

"Did you sign me up already?" I had to ask.

She gave me a smirk.  "Well, I did talk to them..."

I chuckled and hugged her close.  "We'll need to take two cars, though.  Maybe I should switch my shrink sessions."

"Oh, I've switched the cleaners to Wednesday morning, once a week."

"Makes sense."

She opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.  We hugged quietly.

When we went upstairs, Gail was waiting for us.  Nancy and I teased her (and me), ending with me on top of Gail, and the three of us collapsing in bed together.

Saturday morning was snuggles.  We showered together, had breakfast, and Gail got on the road.  We promised to keep in touch, and visit.  Oh, the new mattresses should arrive Monday.

Tom and Angelique arrived a little before ten.  Nancy and Angelique huddled downstairs; Tom and I stood by the pool.

I'd filled him in pretty well on Morris.  I updated him on what we knew, which wasn't a whole lot.  Carl and Karen had tripped over something he'd left earlier.  Maybe he was laying low.

Don't count on it.  I nodded -- that was my conclusion as well.  I asked if he wanted to see the 18 -- we'd talked about it in Europe; I was going to sell (or give) it to him.  I opened the safe and showed him both guns.  He looked at the Talons -- Teflon-coated slugs.  I sure as hell couldn't buy more, but mere possession wasn't a problem.  We agreed to spend time at a range together; he thought I was pretty good, at least without a lot of bad habits.

The ladies reappeared.  Nancy was ready to go.  She and Angelique decided we needed not only a new scanner, but a new computer as well.  Okay, why?  The thing we had wasn't top of the line anymore, it was "only" a dual G4.  Would a dual G5 be that much better?  Tom started nodding his head, and Angelique told us it would make a world of difference with the Adobe products.

Okay, what do I do with the G4?

Tom suggested I turn it into a server.

Bingo -- a light went on.  I mentioned wanting music in the house -- load everything onto the computer, and serve it through the house.  He nodded -- easy.

An hour and a half later, many thousands of dollars lighter, we were at our favorite gourmet lunch place.  I bought.  Tom and Angelique agreed In-N-Out was a good change from what we'd had in Europe.

I was glad we got the "big" car, and when Tom drove it, he was glad too!  The trunk was full of boxes, and the ladies were in the back seat, with what we were told was plenty of room.  We visited a place in Campbell that had the wireless music gizmos, little things with vacuum fluorescent displays on them.  We got two to start with, one for the office, and one for the living room/dining room.

Once home, we maxed out the G5 with RAM, and added two more disk drives.  I had another drive for the G4 as well to hold music.  We set up a sort of assembly line, feeding CDs to the G4 as we installed software on the G5.  Damn, it was fast!

Of course, we ended up needing more bits and pieces.  And, it was after six!  Down to the flatlands again, for Chicago-style pizza, and to Fry's once more.

We made it to bed a little before midnight.  Tom had given Angelique quite the look when we showed them to the guest room, with the new spread and pillow covers.  Sleep well, sleep late, and the place is soundproofed pretty well...

Crawling in bed, snuggling close, I told Nancy, "I love you -- it's good to have just us in bed.  I need to hold you."

She sighed and snuggled in.  "Oh I love you.  I need to be held."

God, but Angelique looked good in a terry robe Sunday morning...  Of course, she'd look good in anything.  We had a leisurely breakfast, and the ladies disappeared to the office.  Tom and I cleaned up the kitchen.  I wasn't sure about wireless, remembering the bugs we'd found.  We agreed a network could be pretty well secured, and I could turn the damn thing off when we weren't using it.

We took the car out and got some wireless gear, the Apple Airport Extreme base station and a network card for Nancy's portable.

We dropped the card in Nancy's machine, slurped iStumbler off the internet, ran it, and were either amazed...  Sitting on the patio, the antennas in the portable pointing into the valley, we could "see" 37 open networks (and a dozen closed ones).  I'd stick to wired, even though it means having the contractor out to pull wires, until we come up with a better idea.

I'd watched Angelique showing Nancy some of the Adobe tools -- she was doing things that were gorgeous and completely magic to me.  When we dropped in on the ladies later, Nancy was doing those magic things.  She had a first whack at the drawings she'd need for the week, loaded on the portable, and ready to go.  Most impressive.

We had to break things up -- both Tom and Angelique had business in the City in the morning.  We had a catch-all dinner.  Nancy talked about how much help Angelique had been, how much faster the new computer was.  I described what I was going to do for music.  She was smiling.  So was I.

We got to bed a little after ten.  As we cleaned up in the bathroom, Nancy dug around in a drawer until she came up with a bottle of Astroglide.  I hugged her and kissed her neck.  "Nice and easy tonight," she whispered.  "My wish is your command," I whispered back.

Soft, gentle love -- the way to end the day, or start it, snuggling close afterwards.

Home is in your love's arms.


Part 3

I liked the yoga class Monday morning -- I stayed for the second one.  I could get to like this.  I was the only guy in the class, but I didn't care.  I went home afterwards and fed CDs to the G4, turning them into a music library.  I made a list of things I wanted, like more Sergio Mendes, Mannheim Steamroller, and such stuff.

Nancy insisted on taking the Jeep, needing to take stuff to and from class.  Fine with me, I had fun going to a used-CD place near where I used to live in Campbell, putting a dent in my list.

I swung by the old townhouse.  I saw plants on the patio, and a tricycle.  I wished them peace.

Nancy was bubbling over when she got home, class had been so much fun.  I had to carry her up to bed to quiet her down.  Well, she got noisy for a while, but then quieted down.

Tuesday morning I was sore from yoga.  Nancy insisted on getting me on the massage table and working me over.  She also repaid me for the previous afternoon, wiping me out.

We had Carl and Karen over for dinner.  While Nancy had spoken to Karen on the phone Monday, this was our first face-to-face.  They arrived about four, Carl on crutches, his right foot in a cast which ended just below his knee.  Karen limped a little from her sprained knee, but tried to put on a brave face.

We hugged; we thanked them for all they'd done.  We were covering their medical bills and had them on the payroll for TGM Inc.

We moved out by the pool, getting Carl set up in a lounge chair, moving a table and the other chairs closer to him.  One good thing -- this episode seemed to have drawn Carl and Karen closer together.  Hell of a way to do it.  But then, Nancy and I hadn't exactly met at a formal dance...

I was standing up, pouring more wine for the ladies.  As I moved, I almost knocked over a wineglass; thank God that Nancy insisted everything on the patio had to be plastic!  As I lurched forward to grab the glass...

Crack!  A sharp sound and glass breaking behind me.

Another loud noise and I was flying through the air and into the pool.

I got half a lungful of water; I clawed for the edge of the pool, but someone pulled me to the other side as I coughed and sputtered.

Someone was shooting at us!

All four of us were in the pool, huddling against the side away from the house as someone shot out the windows, most likely with a rifle, definitely from down the hill.

"You all right, Bill?" Carl asked between shots.  Glass sprinkled on the patio, some landing in the pool.

I held Nancy and she held me.  "I think so.  Didn't we just replace that glass?"

Karen yelled, "I'm getting the phone," and swam to the other side.  The cordless phone was sitting on the table.

"Careful!" I shouted.  "Stay down!"

Clever -- she tipped the table over.  The wine bottle broke, but what the hell, there was plenty of glass around.  Where we were in the pool, the gas grill shielded us.

Fully clothed, standing in the pool, Karen called 911 and calmly reported we were taking rifle fire, oh about 15 rounds so far.  Yes, we'd appreciate it if someone would drop by!  No, not yet -- we're in the pool, so we're sheltered somewhat.

As she talked to Jill shortly after, sirens started, and the firing stopped.  Sirens approached, and we could hear more down the hill.

After some hollering, two cops joined us in the back yard.  I started to get out of the pool, but Carl yanked me back.  Karen got out and talked to the cops, pointing down the hill.

Nancy and I were holding each other.  Our eyes connected.  She looked at me with amazement, shock, I don't know what.

We were in the pool, clothed, holding each other.  Our house was shot up.  Again.

"I love you," I whispered.

Her eyebrows knit together; she sighed and hugged me tight, her chin wobbling.

I wrapped my arms around her, wet clothes and all.

More cops arrived.  We were helped out of the pool.  Carl was in obvious pain; he'd thrown Nancy and I into the pool, re-injuring his foot in the process.

We gave him a choice: let Karen take him to the hospital, or go in an ambulance.

By the time Jill arrived, the cops had found the spot down the hill used by the shooter.  It was pretty easy to find, with all the used shell casings scattered about.  They were guessing at least forty rounds.  Wonderful.

Dammit, this was getting to be routine!  We went upstairs, got dried and changed, and loaded up suitcases.  Jill had an outfit coming out to secure the property and had called our contractor.

I held Nancy as she sighed.  With classes Monday-Wednesday-Friday, we couldn't cut and run.  Well, of course we could, but it meant breaking commitments.

"Got what you need for class tomorrow?" I asked.

She looked at me and smiled; guess that gave her direction.

Downstairs, Jill and the cops were looking at the ceiling walls, counting bullet holes.  Jill saw us.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I have a class to teach tomorrow," Nancy volunteered.

"Probably spend a few nights at the Suites place on El Camino behind the video store -- between Arastradero and Fry's," I told her.  Jill nodded and Nancy put an arm around me.  "And give Tom a call."

"Good idea.  Tim said he would be out at eight tomorrow morning.  He's already ordered the glass."

Polycarbonate -- an idea.  "I'll be here, then.  Want to talk to him about some things."

"We should take both cars," Nancy mentioned.

I was glad she hadn't withdrawn completely.  "Let's get checked in, then go see how Carl is doing," I suggested.

Nancy smiled, rubbing my back.  "Okay."

I committed the sin of using the phone while I drove.  I told Tom what had happened, and that I needed his help -- on security, and on getting a concealed carry permit.  He agreed to meet me at the house at eight in the morning.

We got a room; I signed up for day-by-day, not knowing how long it would actually be.  Should we find a different place to live?  Only if Carl, Tom, Jill recommend it.  I'm not letting the bastard run us off.

We found Karen at the hospital.  Carl tore things up when he threw us into the pool; he was in surgery, and they expected to put in some pins to hold him together.  What could we do?  Karen sighed and hugged us both.  She couldn't think of anything else.  We'd keep in touch.

Dinner was fast-food Chinese.  The place we were staying was okay, a two and a half room suite.  We sat on the couch not watching TV for a while, until Nancy said, "I need you to hold me."

We got ready for bed.  I held her close.  She sniffled and sighed, but didn't cry.  Neither did I.

For a change, I was the one who had to get up early.  The alarm went off, and Nancy grabbed me, holding me to a nipple so well, melting me in her arms.

I was half asleep, nestled between her breasts when the alarm went off again.  "I need to get going," I told her.

"I know," she said, kissing me on the head.  "Please be careful.  I love you."

I squeezed her.  "Oh I love you!"

I had enough time to swing by McDonald's for a gourmet breakfast, making it to the house a little before eight.  Tim and Tom were standing talking to a police officer when I arrived.

"Good morning," I told them.  Tim and Tom had arrived a few minutes before, and shortly after they pulled up, the cop arrived, demanding to know who they were and what the hell they were doing.  I liked that and let the cop know.  We walked around to the back.  Plywood covered the windows and doors.  Glass crunched under every step.  The pool had quite a bit of glass in it.  I set the little table upright, and the chairs.

"My crew will be here by nine to start cleanup," Tim mentioned.

Tom and I looked down the hill.  The cop pointed to the spot where they'd recovered the shell casings.  Looked like it had a crowd.  Evidently FBI and ATF arrived about eight last night, throwing out the local PD, and left about six this morning.

I talked about huddling in the pool, using the bulk of the gas grill for a shield.

"You know," Tom said, "If you built this wall up another few feet, it would shield the whole area from down below, but not cut into your view."  The wall was a cinder-block retaining wall at the edge of the pool and patio area, running behind the grill.  While it went down quite a ways, it only extended about a foot above the patio level.  I'd always thought it was a weird height, good for tripping and not much else.

I liked that.  Tim came over and we discussed it more.  He got out a tape measure and I sat in one of our lounge chairs.  We did some estimates on how high we could make the wall before it cut into the view of Silicon Valley.  Four feet from the patio surface was the answer we came up with.  Tim could get that work started today.

I mentioned polycarbonate to cover some of the windows, like the high ones over the dining and living areas, and on the glass doors on our bedroom balcony.  That got agreement -- mount it permanently on the high windows, and have it framed for our balcony, or use storm clips.

Tom wanted to go through the house as well.  Our place is at the end of a cul-de-sac.  From the street you see the three car garage, the entranceway off to the left, and the exterior walls of the two smaller bedrooms above the garage.  Tom was concerned about what would happen if our friend decided to shoot those up.

Tim talked about the process used to build up some of the interior walls, fiber-loaded foam and Kevlar.  They could do the bedroom walls, and do polycarbonate covers for the windows.  Tom was all for it, and for attaching something to the back of the garage door sections.  He also suggested we back the cars into the garage.  When I asked why, he explained that put the gas tanks away from the garage doors.  That I could understand.

I sketched out what I wanted pulled for Ethernet cables, inside and outside, for the sound stuff.  Tim would bring in a subcontractor for that; no problem.  They would also rough in speaker wiring.

Another police officer showed up.  After a call to Jill's office, we agreed to meet there later so they could take my statement on the incident.

Tom wanted to see the shooter's site.  So did I.  Tom drove; we followed the cop down the hill and into a residential section.

The spot was easy to find, infested with ATF and FBI.  An ATF guy gave me a nasty look and asked, "This is a crime scene.  Who are you?"  I replied, "The target," as I pointed up the hill.  He nodded and went back to what he was doing.

It was another quiet residential area, plenty of space between the homes.  Nobody saw the shooter, but a lot of people heard him and called that in.

Tom's opinion was a semi-auto carbine with a scope sight.  That fit my memory; someone shooting quickly but methodically, too fast for bolt-action, slower than willy-nilly rapid-fire.  Tom retrieved a pair of binoculars from his car.  His guesstimate was about 350 yards to where I'd been standing.

I called Tim on his cell phone and had him hold up a marker to show where the new wall would go.  God, I was lucky to be alive!  Even I could hit me from here!  The  new wall would shield the first floor completely.  We had him mark the patio deck showing where a six foot tall person would be shielded from view; that was about a foot and a half in from the wall.

Tom was talking to the ATF and FBI guys.  I walked over and looked at a tray of individually bagged spent cartridges.  Something rang a bell as I looked at them -- little green ink spot on the side of each cartridge, hand-made, in about the same place.

"Hey, I think I recognize something.  Let me have a better look," I told them.

In response the ATF agent covered the tray and picked it up, saying, "This is a crime scene.  Don't interfere."

I got business cards from the ATF and FBI leads and gave them mine, giving them Jill's phone number as well, as I'd be out of the house for a few days.  One of them told me they'd call if they needed anything.  Yeah, fuck you too.

As we got back in the car, I figured it out.  "Those were match spots -- a guy in Campbell does that," I said.

"What?" Tom asked.

"The green spots on the cartridges -- hand-grouped shells.  Place in Campbell.  Twenty minute drive from here."

Tom grinned.  "Got a picture of Morris?"

"Oh yeah -- close to my heart all the time."

"Let's go for a ride.  We've got the time."

"Okay, let's go get the Jeep and you can follow me."

"Wrong -- I'm driving, and you're going to get used to it.  You need to remember this bastard is trying to kill you."

"Got it.  Thanks."

We talked pretty frankly about things as we drove.  He didn't think it was time to cut and run, and thought it was a good idea to get a permit.  I'd already agreed to sell him the full-auto Glock; he had the proper ATF license for it; I could carry the semi-auto.

The gun shop was where I'd remembered.  We looked at holsters.  I liked the DeSantis, and Tom thought it would work for me.  He asked me for the picture; I had a few and gave him one from my wallet.

Very matter-of-factly he asked the owner if he remembered this guy.  Yup, he'd ordered a rifle set up with a scope, paid to have it zeroed in, got some hand-matched ammo, and picked up a handgun as well.  We got the holster and left.

Back in the car, Tom said, "Why don't you give that ATF guy a call?"

I got his business card and my phone.  No answer.  I called the FBI guy.  No answer.

"Let's go to Jill's office -- we'll let the locals know."

Two cops were there waiting.  I asked how they'd been doing with the feds.  One replied that the feds weren't giving them the time of day.

So I gave them a card from the gun shop and let them know that's where Morris bought the rifle, ammo, and a handgun, picking it up last week.  We talked about that more, and I told them of recognizing the match marks on the casings and the less than enthusiastic treatment from ATF.  I gave them my statement on the incident.  They asked some questions, and I answered the ones I could.  They took off in better spirits.

We talked with Jill about things at the house, sizing up the retaining wall, adding protection in other parts of the house.  Of course we didn't figure he'd assault the place in the same way again.  We talked about carrying a gun.  Jill didn't like it, but agreed with my analysis.  Just because I had a permit, it didn't mean I'd carry a gun with me.  I would keep it handy, though, while I was at home.  Tom talked about the process, and getting it started.

Tom and I headed to the police station to start the ball rolling.  As we were walking up to the building, someone called, "Mister Wilson!" behind us.

Lieutenant Connor, one of the locals we'd worked with over the course of this debacle, walked up.

"Mister Wilson, I'm sorry for what happened last night.  I also wanted to thank you for the information you provided."

We talked for a bit.  When he mentioned I might have pissed off the feds, I let him know it had been mutual.  He smiled at that.  Then he asked if there was anything they could do.

Bingo.  I told him I wanted a concealed carry permit.  We talked about my experience.  Tom introduced himself and chimed in.

We received the red carpet treatment, ushered in and walked through filling out forms and doing fingerprints.  I was interviewed by another officer, who told me they had to do the background check, but he thought things should go smoothly.  He advised me to be careful; I told him I would.

We picked up a quick lunch and headed back to the house.  The patio was cleaned up, a crew was cleaning the pool, the interior of the house had been cleaned, and work was underway on the retaining wall.  The foreman gave me a run-down on costs.  I scrawled my approval.  The retaining wall would be done tomorrow, as would the bedroom glass doors, fixing the roof, and repairing the interior.  As had been the case last time, the bottom panels and doors downstairs were easy, but the top panels were harder to get.  Reworking the bedroom walls and the garage door would be Friday and Monday.  Polycarb panels for the top would arrive late Thursday or early Friday.

Hey, why not secure the top plastic panels temporarily, until the glass arrives?  That would get us back into the house earlier.  He nodded and thought that would work -- he'd check with the boss.

Nancy showed up about half past two, and looked like she was taking it pretty well.  Doug, the foreman, had spoken with Tim.  He updated Nancy and me on the schedule.  She really liked the idea of raising the height on the retaining wall.

Nancy asked, "Our bedroom and the lower glass will be replaced by the end of the day tomorrow?"

Doug clarified that our bedroom and most of the lower glass would be done.

She looked at me.  "Then we can move back tomorrow?"

I glanced to Tom, who shrugged.  "Why not?" I told her.

She smiled.  "I want to be here."

I hugged her.

Doug warned us that it would be pretty noisy Friday and Monday.

Nancy got him to admit that the noisy work would be done by two or three.  That wouldn't bother her, since she'd be teaching.

We walked outside -- one set of French doors had been replaced already.  The masonry crew was busy with cinder blocks and plenty of rebar.  Doug explained that once the structure was set, they would load the cavities with concrete.

Nancy butted in.  She wanted the outside stucco-sprayed to match the color of the hillside, matching what was there already, and wanted the inside face tiled.  She pointed to a tape line on the patio and asked what it was.

I explained that as long as you were on the pool-side of the line, you couldn't be seen from down below -- the wall blocked you from view.  She liked that as well, and thought it would be good to put a contrasting strip of tile in the patio showing that line.

The (Caucasian) guy supervising the masonry work smiled and told her they could do that -- use a saw on the existing tiles, and set in a border piece.  Did she have particular colors or widths in mind?

Damn, he was good -- I saw the $$ ringing up.  But Nancy is sensible.  It turned out that originally John wanted the patio to go most of the way around the house, all of it tiled, but that couldn't be done by his target date (for a party), so he cut back on the tile job.  But, he'd ordered all the tile.  Nancy showed the masonry guy where the extra tile was stored.  It even looked like we had enough bullnose to do the top.

Tom and I dropped back.  I had a seat while Nancy spent our money.  They talked about widths and colors; they'd bring out sample colors tomorrow morning early so she could decide, and they could make the cuts while we weren't here, as that would be very noisy.

Nancy glanced over to me at one point,  She smiled.  I don't remember what I did.

But she turned back to the tile guy and was hard-nosed business.  First priority, she told him, was the basic work on the wall, including finishing the outside.  Next was tiling the inside, cutting and insetting.  After that, bid on extending the patio and the wall around this area over to here, including new drains and connecting into existing drainage.  Other than the basic work on the wall, nothing was time-critical, and she expected better quality work than the last bozos who had been here; she pointed out some places which had poor drainage.  She asked him if he could have work-ups done by ten tomorrow morning for her to review.

He said, "Yes, ma'am."

Priceless!  I love that woman!

She turned with a smile and walked to us.  She leaned down and kissed me on the head.  "I need to get some things."  She walked into the house.

Doug chuckled and walked over to talk to the masonry guy.

Tom glanced over his shoulder then said, "I think she's taking this pretty well."

I laughed out loud.  "Sure seems to be!"

A few minutes later, my cell rang.

"Yeah?"

"Bill, this is Jill.  Are you at the house?"

"Yup, Nancy and I both.  What's up?"

"Thought I'd warn you -- the Feds are pissed.  We're heading to the house."

"That's nice.  Anything I need to worry about?"

She managed a laugh.  "No, don't think so.  Lieutenant Conner is here, and suggested to them that this was a two-way street -- cooperation ran both ways, and he'd always found you to be very cooperative."

"Thanks -- see you in a bit."

The mob arrived -- Jill, Lieutenant Connor, two ugly-looking FBI guys, an ATF guy, and another I thought I recognized.

The one I thought I recognized was the head of the local FBI office; we'd spoken before.  He introduced his "colleagues," who remained silent and pissed off.  He was concerned that "communications weren't open and clear between us."

I nodded and told him so far we'd been treated like shit.  When I'd offered information earlier in the day, we were rudely dismissed.  In spite of that, when I verified where Morris had obtained the rifle, the first thing I did was to call the ATF agent.  After trying his number unsuccessfully, I tried the FBI number, and didn't get an answer there either.  So I gave the information to the local police, who have been very helpful to us.  I'm trying to cooperate, but communication is a two-way street.

The local FBI guy gave his "colleagues" nasty looks.  He pulled a card out of a pocket, and wrote something on the back, then handed it to me.  "Mister Wilson, I appreciate your patience and your efforts.  On behalf of both agencies, I'd like to apologize to you, and your wife, for the problems we've had.  We are still investigating what happened at your beach house."

"Sir," I interrupted, "Thank you for being the first and only person so far from the Federal Government to offer an apology.  The only head I want on a platter is that of Mister Morris."

He nodded, looking at his colleagues again.  "I think we're in agreement.  Mister Wilson, the number on the back of my card -- someone will answer that number 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  Your attorney has it as well.  Please, call us."

"And will you call me?" I asked pointedly.

He half smiled.  "Mister Wilson,"

"Call me Bill, please."

"Thank you, Bill.  As you've undoubtedly concluded, Morris has been able to re-enter the country from Canada, travel to this area, and purchase firearms.  We've already spoken to the dealer -- he went through all the hoops in making a legitimate sale."

The ATF guy interrupted, "He's not a convicted..."

"I've heard that already," the FBI guy said, waving a hand dismissively.  "Have you got him flagged so reputable dealers won't sell to him from here on out?"

"East Coast says they're working on it."

"That's great.  We've put more surveillance in place.  We'll get a break, sooner or later."

Tom spoke up.  "There's only one road in and out of here.  I expect him to visit again, probably shoot up the other side of the house."

The FBI guy nodded.  "A good chance -- we've thought of that as well.  We'll get him if he does."

He didn't have more to say.  I didn't either.

"Let's get back to work," he told his contingent.

I shook hands with them, as did Jill and Tom.

Jill and Lt. Connor stuck around; the rest left.

Connor told us the local FBI office were as pissed as the rest of us with the way the East Coast people acted; he expected to be working a lot closer, and better, with the locals.  They were working out a surveillance schedule.  Tom told us he was going to spend the night in the house, and would be picking up Carl's low-light equipment.

I mentioned that the house on the corner of Mira Vista and Los Gusanos, on the way out, had been empty with a For Sale sign on it for a while -- possibly the owners would let someone set up a surveillance point?  Tom and Connor both thought that was a good idea.

Jill said she had some business with me; Connor took off.

Nancy was smiling when she sat down with Jill and me.  I held her hand.  "I'm amazed you're taking this so well," I told her.

She smiled.  "I talked to some people at the Center, and it helped a lot.  You still have an appointment tomorrow morning?"

I sighed.  "Yah.  Ten in the morning."  An appointment with the shrink.  A lot of changes -- it would do me good.

Jill had a bunch of things to go through.  We were still dealing with John's aftermath.  He'd been on a number of boards; we'd notified them all.  Even though I retained all John's holdings, not surprisingly, most organizations weren't interested in having me replace John on their boards.

There were a few exceptions.  A nonprofit was happy to have me -- and more of my money, we were guessing.

Another was a privately-held group that mostly did real-estate.  They had properties scattered through California and Nevada, including the development at Tahoe.  They were having a meeting next week, and had invited me to attend.  Jill explained that if interested, I'd leave Monday afternoon and return Wednesday evening or Thursday morning.  Another board member would provide transportation on his private jet.

I wasn't sure about leaving Nancy alone, particularly with Morris around.

But she spoke up and told me it was a good idea -- I should go.

Why?

Nancy had her answers down.  Karen would be staying with her, so she wouldn't be alone.  She was using Karen in teaching, as was another instructor, so that worked out well.  Angelique was probably going to be by as well.  The shrink told me I needed to keep going, keep involved in things.  I should go.

I shook my head and told Jill I'd do it.

We plowed through more deals and details.  John may have been focusing on diversions, including my ex-wife, Gail, and who knows how many others, but he'd still been fairly shrewd financially.  He'd managed to not get too badly burned when the economic bubble had burst in Silicon Valley.  While a number of his (our) holdings had decreased in value, particularly some of the real estate, he'd bailed on a bunch before the bubble burst, and the remainder were still profitable.  We had good management companies running things; I'd spoken to a few of them, and wanted to maintain a conservative course with a view towards long-term survival, and not maximizing short-term profits.

Nancy took off before Jill and I got into the next batch of papers.  It was quarterly tax time as well; I signed that paperwork.  Jill gave me a list of things to do, among them figuring out what salary I should pay myself.  I needed to talk to Duncan to understand how paying me money reduced my overall taxes.  Didn't make sense to me -- I'm just a simple-minded physics major turned engineer.

Karen stopped by with the camera equipment just as I was leaving.  Carl was back at her place, still on medication, but expected to recover completely, in spite of messing things up.  I hugged her and thanked her once again.

Back at our rented room, Nancy was still in good spirits.  I felt beat.  She'd made dinner reservations for us down the street at the Straits Caf, a Singaporean-style place.  Dinner was good, and we took our time.

Heading back, I saw the gleam in Nancy's eye.

And I was tired, really tired.  I was tired of the whole damn thing, tired of having my house shot up, of people being hurt.

"What's the matter, darling?" Nancy asked when we were inside.

I looked around the little room.  We'd been driven from our house.  I didn't know if we had a home.

"I'm tired," I told her.

She nodded.  "Get ready for bed."  She kissed the top of my head.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed when I got through.

I collapsed on to the bed.

"What's the matter?" she asked again.

I shook my head.  "I don't know.  I'm tired, tired of it all."

She sighed, then leaned down and kissed my forehead.  "I'll take care of you."

I closed my eyes as she got up.  I heard her puttering about, then approaching.

Something cool on my face -- the eyeshades.  She lifted my head off the pillow a bit and eased the elastic strap in place.

And something extra -- she'd put perfume on them; I was filled with her perfume.  I took a deep breath and let it out, letting go.  Another kiss on the forehead.

I was almost asleep when the covers were pulled down -- cold.  Then she slid on top of me, and that coat slid on top of me.  I was enveloped in skin, fur, perfume.

And I couldn't get it up.

Oh, she felt so good, everything felt so good, drowning myself in perfume, softness.  But I couldn't get it up.

"It's okay, darling -- relax; I've got you," she cooed.  She held me to a nipple, cradling me, rocking me. telling me I was safe in her arms.  That's how I went to sleep.

I woke up to pee.  Five in the morning.  I didn't see the coat; she must have hung it up again.  I got into bed and snuggled against her back.

I woke to perfume, to her hands on me, my head between her breasts.  Hardly awake but hard, her weight on top of me, a hand behind my head, her hips rocking, coming so quickly, so strongly, hearing her coo, dizzy in her arms.

"Better, sweetie?" she asked later.

But she squeezed me before I could answer.  I held on.

"Much better.  I love you," I whispered.

"See how big the shower is?" she teased.

"Big enough," I told her.

Well, barely, and I hate low-flow shower heads with a passion.  Nancy told me all the shower heads in the house, and the beach house, had been smuggled into the country.

It was half past nine by the time we had something to eat.  I didn't want to drive up the hill and back down again to see the shrink.  Didn't want to go to my office, didn't want to do much of anything.  We snuggled on the bed again until it was time for me to leave.  I'd meet Nancy back at the house.

There were quite a few construction vehicles parked a the house when I arrived after my appointment.  The Mercedes was parked on the street; I parked the Jeep behind it.

I walked through the side gate, following the plywood set out to make an easier path for material.  Noisy --  they were using an impressive looking machine to cut through the existing patio tiles for our new Maginot line.  I had to chuckle at myself.  Was that what it represented?  Behind that line we were safe?

Nice -- the pool cover was in place, and they'd put an additional plastic sheet over it to catch the dust and debris.  These guys did good work.  Dust, water, mortar, cinderblocks, Spanish flying around.  Another set of French doors were in place downstairs, and a crew was doing the upstairs ones.  I saw more doors and some big sheets of plastic in the house; must be waiting for the dust to settle.  I turned around and went in through the garage.

That bugged me.  Morris had the balls to waltz right in, in the middle of a crowd.  I went to the office, pulled up his picture, and printed a bunch of full-page head shots.  Ran into Doug, the foreman, as I was posting one in the garage.  I told him this was the guy who shot up the house, blew up the beach house, set bombs here, and was still on the loose.  I wanted everyone on site to know this guy's face, and to be watching for him.  He had balls of brass -- I wouldn't put it past him to walk right in among all the people.

Tom turned up, yawning.  I gave him the run-down, and he agreed.  Morris would do it.  I asked him if he'd be ready to go for a ride in about half an hour.  Sure, no problem, he needed to shower.

I found Nancy upstairs, helping move things in the guest rooms.  One was done, plastic in place to protect the carpet and the furniture.

When she saw me, she stopped what she was doing and plastered me against the wall with a hug and a kiss.

After a moment she pulled me out the door and into our bedroom, pausing only to close our bedroom door and pull off her top before taking me to bed with her.

We held each other for a while, the only sound her heartbeat as I nestled in her arms, kissing her breasts through the soft fabric of her bra.

"How did it go this morning?" she asked.

I sighed, my arms around her.  What had the shrink said?  Talk it out.

"It's been two weeks of surprises, of hell.  Last week was coming home from the best vacation of my life, making new, wonderful friends, then coming home to learn that we'd lost a house and a car, and two friends had been injured.  This morning, it was having our house shot up -- again."

I held her.  She pulled the spread over us.  He'd said, "talk it out" -- what had we spent most of the morning talking about?

"And last night I couldn't get it up..."

She squeezed me, rocked me, cooed to me in her special way.

When I was coherent again, "Oh, I love you!  You were so good to me last night, and this morning was incredible.  Please keep me!"

She rocked me, murmuring, "I love you" over and over.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"Hold me, squeeze me, don't let me go.  I need to keep active, doing things."

"That's why you should go on Monday," she told me, rocking gently.

I could pull her all the way on top of me; that would get things going.

"What are you doing this afternoon?  I have things to move for tomorrow."

"I can help," I answered.  "I was going to go run around with Tom."

"Why don't you do that -- get away from here for a while."  She moved her hands; I realized she was unclasping her bra.  "But first..."

She rolled us around, attaching me to a nipple, holding me gently.

Eventually we got up.  Hugs and kisses, I went downstairs.

Tom was in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.  "What's up?"

"I thought we could go to the pistol range."

He smiled.  "Great idea, especially if you're buying ammo!"

I nodded.  "Thought I would.  Want the 18?"

He nodded again.  "Yeah, I've got copies of my license."  He put down the cup.  "Let's do it!"

I got the two pistols from the safe.  I'd closed it up when Nancy came downstairs.  Halfway down, she tossed something to me -- the Mercedes keys.  "Take it -- have some fun!"

"Okay," I said, taking her into my arms as she reached the second step, squeezing her and setting her on the floor.

I grabbed my goggles and ear protection; everything went in the trunk.  We stopped for ammo on the way to the range.  They weren't very busy, so we set up at the far end.

Still, the fully automatic 18 drew a crowd when Tom started firing it.  He pulled out his paperwork to assure the range folks that he was indeed licensed for it.

He drilled me on the 17 and the holster.  We went through a lot of brass.

We cleaned up our mess, then spent a while washing up.  I insisted on driving back.

Sitting at a stoplight, Tom told me, "Put it in park."

Okay, I did that.

"Now, imagine the car behind you -- the guy in the passenger seat leans out the window holding a gun.  You're in your wife's brand new car.  What are you going to do?"

I looked around.  I was too close to the car in front of me to pull on to the sidewalk and get away.  "Shove it into reverse, ram the turkey, and take off over the sidewalk."

He nodded.

"And next time, I'll leave more room in front of me."

He nodded again.  "Good idea."

We talked about driving, and techniques.  He'd check on different tires.  There were also some schools I could go to, if I wanted those skills.

I remembered to back into the garage when we got home.  We had all but one of the downstairs sections replaced; the plastic was up on the top sections.

Outside, two guys were wiping down our Maginot line; the darker tile strip looked good.  The cinder block looked good; they'd put up a fair amount of tile.

Nancy was with her old Webber bbq kettle.

"Do I smell ribs?" I asked, taking her in my arms.

"You need a shower," she told me.

"Want to join me?  Get the smoke out of your hair?"

She laughed and gave me a squeeze.

There was enough for the three of us.  Nancy had checked us out of the suites.  It did feel better being in the house.  Tom would spend the night, sleeping or not sleeping downstairs.  Tomorrow morning they rip out drywall in the two guest rooms.

<Thursday night through Sunday night>

Part 4

Joy Ride

Tom dropped me at the San Jose Jet Center just before noon, that's where I'd pick up my ride, flying down in Mr. Flynn's private jet.  Should be more pleasant than Southwest!

I had two bags.  I was really tempted to get another laptop -- Nancy didn't want to part with "hers," and I could use one for trips like this.  I could get one of the newer ones, and go with wireless networking -- another security risk.  No, I knew how to set up a closed, secure network.  Look at that when I get back.  Yeah, if I put a directional antenna on the building with the pool and solar stuff on it, I'd be pointing at the house and the hillside.  It would work.

"Mr. Wilson?"

"Yes?" I replied to a stereotypical pilot-looking chap replete with white shirt, tie, neat moustache, and sunglasses.

He extended a hand.  I put my bags down and shook his.

"I'm Gary, your pilot.  We're ready when you are."

"Glad to meet you.  Let me hit the loo first."

I popped into the men's room.

"What's our flying time?" I asked as we walked out.

"Once we're airborne, about an hour and forty minutes.  Depending on congestion leaving this area, and in San Diego, I'd say two hours door to door."

We walked to a nice looking twin-engine aircraft and up the ramp.  To my left was the cockpit, to the right a curtain and the rest of the plane.

"Enjoy your flight," he told me.

"Thanks."  I picked up my bags and went through the curtain.

And almost filled my pants.

"Hello, Bill, I'm Holly Flynn."

Our Redhead, the bombshell, stood decked out in a silk robe not ten feet from me.

I managed to put my bags down (before dropping them) and draped my leather coat and hat over a seat.  Holy shit!  What do I do now?

Epiphany -- what would John have done?  This was John's girlfriend (or, one of them).

"Hello, dear," I said, and walked towards her.  I pulled her into a kiss.

I was tentative for maybe a tenth of a second, not sure if I'd get slapped, scratched, kicked, or what.

I was invited in, enthusiastically.  God, she was stacked.  Her perfume was dizzying, her body enticing.  What had Huxley written?  "Pneumatic?"  Very, deliciously, pneumatic.

When we stopped for breath, I leaned back but kept my hips against hers; I'm sure she could feel my enthusiasm pressing into her.  "It's a pleasure to meet you at last," I told her, still running my hands over her.

She was doing the same to me.  Her nipples told me she liked what was happening.  "I'm glad we could get together," she murmured.

"We can leave when you're ready," came the intercom voice from the cockpit.

"Perhaps we should take a seat," she suggested, moving her hips.

"No hurry -- as long as we have time to get to know each other."

"I think we're going to work together just fine," she said, leading me to a seat.

We sat together in large leather seats, practically a leather sofa the way it held us, the armrest between us raised out of the way.  She "helped" with my seatbelt, brushing the bulge in my pants.  I "helped" with hers, managing to brush her bulges...

She picked up a white phone handset.

The John persona kicked in.  "I'll do that," I told her, taking the phone.

She raised an eyebrow, but smiled.

"Yes?" Gary said on the other end.

"Let's go," I told him.

"We're on our way.  I'll alert you half an hour prior to landing.  Enjoy the flight -- I expect smooth sailing."

"So do I," I told him, looking at Ms. Flynn.  I handed her the phone.

"What would you like, Mr. Wilson?" she asked enticingly, leaning back.

"Bill, please.  Where were we?"  I slid an arm around her and pulled her closer.

We necked, hands roaming.  She responded well to soft touches on the back of her neck and along the sides of her breasts.  I responded to just about anything!

We took off, climbing, turning.  After a few minutes, a chime sounded.  She was wet -- I wanted to know what she tasted like.

We paused to catch our breath.  She had such a lusty look, flushed, ready to go...

"We can move around more," she suggested, popping our seat belts.  "Anything in particular you'd like?"  She slid closer, opening her legs.

Oh, I wanted her on top of me, her weight, buried deep inside her, sucking on her as she bounced on top of me...

But that wasn't John.

But I'm not John.  Let's find a middle road.

I put a hand behind her head, caressing the back of her neck once more.  Her eyes close halfway and she purred like a kitten.  I moved my other hand to caress her breasts, and she purred like a kitten in heat...

"Well," I told her.  "I thought I'd find out if you taste as delicious as you look, and then flip you over and ride your sexy bottom.  How does that sound for starters?"

She smiled, holding my hand against her breast.  "That sounds very nice.  And then what?"

I leaned forward and kissed the top of an exposed breast, kissing my way up her neck.  "Oh, I thought we could snuggle up and you could tell me stories..."  I nibbled her ear.

"Mmm...  What kind of stories?" she asked.

I slid a hand down her front, slowly, sensuously, feeling her writhe.  "Oh, stories about you and John, about what we're going to do, about where I fit in this..."

She put a hand on my pants, squeezing my cock.  "Oh, I think you're going to fit really well..."

I moved her hand.  "Later, darling..."

I kissed my way down her body.  She was wearing a silk nightie under her silk robe.  I slid down, opening her legs and pulling her bottom forward on the seat.  Her thighs were hot, and I could smell her.

I didn't spend too long kissing my way up her thighs -- I was hungry.  Soon I was devouring her, with her fingers tangled in my hair, urging me along.  I did something and her entire body responded.  It took some experimentation to figure out what I'd done, but my perseverance was rewarded; she started coming, howling and thrashing under me.

She was incoherent, her legs not holding me as strongly.  I moved back, undid my pants, and rolled her to her stomach, her knees on the cabin floor.

I separated her knees a little and slid in.  Some maneuvering, and I slid into heaven, hot, tight, wet.  I grabbed her hips and started in.

She started moaning again, clutching the leather upholstery of the seat.  Her head was at an angle as I pressed her deeper into the seat with each thrust.  I moved a hand to the back of her neck, playing with her hair, teasing the back of her neck.  She moaned and twitched under me as she came.  I grabbed both her hips again, pulling, squeezing, pushing in deeper and deeper, coming into her, collapsing on top of her.

"Oh God," she moaned beneath me.

I kissed her back, running my hands along her, feeling her breasts.  I was also slipping out of her.

She moved, reaching for the side pocket of the seat.  I reached for her, retrieving a small towel and handing it to her.  She tucked it between her legs as I slid out and away.

I moved up to sitting on the edge of the seat, my shorts and pants still around my ankles.

She looked up at me.  She looked satiated, surprised, wiped out, and still delicious.

"How are you?" I asked.

She made a noise between a chuckle and a sigh, sliding over and resting her head in my lap, kissing my semi-limp cock.  "I am so glad to meet you!"

She pushed up on her arms.  "What can I do for you?"

I held her head.  She was very pretty.  "Clean up a bit, something to drink, 7-Up if you have it, and then we can cuddle for stories."

She smiled and nodded.  She cleaned me up, then went off in the back for a bit.  She returned with a can of 7-Up and a Diet Pepsi.  She started to sit next to me.

"No, sit in my lap -- please," I suggested.

She sat in my lap and snuggled in.  Her weight on me was delicious.  I still wanted to be smothered in her.

"Oh that was fantastic," she whispered in my ear, kissing my neck.

I put my arms around her, holding her.  She snuggled more.  "Thank you -- you are delicious."

After a bit, "Mmm...  I like being in your arms..."

She was soft and warm.  "This isn't a proper snuggle -- we need a bed for that, or a fireplace and lots of cushions.  Then we can have a proper snuggle," I told her.

"Mmm...  You are so right..."

We more or less finished our drinks, snuggling, with her in my lap.  I started playing with the hair at the back of her neck again; she sighed contentedly.  "Story time?" I suggested.

"Mmm...  Do that and I'll tell you anything..."

"Tell me about John?  I never got to meet the bastard."

She chuckled.  "You're right about that -- he was, at times.  Most of the time."

"When did you meet him?  How?"

Her family was from Oregon; they'd made their money in the railroads, then lumber and real estate.  She was the middle of three kids, two brothers, and the only one who showed interest in business.  Her older brother was a doctor, the younger one an architect.  She lived in Nevada, mainly for tax reasons, but spent a lot of time in Los Angeles.  She'd been in LA about nine years ago, and ran into John.  She'd spotted a piece of property that she thought had great potential, and had a clueless owner.  She'd been working on the guy when John showed up, and tried to snatch the place out from under her.  She chuckled when she told me John had brains, but she had brains and a body -- she got the property.  She went to dinner with John the night the deal closed.  She went to bed with him.  He tried to impress her with his money, and she laughed at him, reminding him that his money hadn't been enough for this deal.

A few months later, she ran into another opportunity, but one she didn't want to take on all by herself.  She called John -- and he came running.  They hatched their plot in bed, and picked up a nice property in Santa Monica.

Over the next two years they met other similarly inclined individuals, forming a group, and running one of them out on a rail.  The group grew and prospered.  About five years ago, differences of opinion sharpened -- one camp short-term, the other long-term.  The split-up had been acrimonious and contentious -- no surprise.  She forced John to decide between her and the other camp; he went with her, and a year later was glad he had.  The short-term bunch got clobbered when the downturn hit.

Oh, she'd known he was married, and then remarried.  She'd never been.  She got quiet.  I held her, stroking the back of her neck, kissing her head and hair, touching her gently.

"Folks, we're landing in a little under half an hour," the intercom told us.

She sighed in my arms.  I kissed her head.  "Don't worry -- we can pick up where we left off," I whispered.  The plane banked a bit.

She stood up.  I stood and held her, rubbing her back gently, coaxing sighs from her.

"I need to change," she whispered.

"Okay," I told her, kissing her forehead.  "I'll be here waiting."

She turned, sighing once more.  I took a seat and finished the last of my 7-Up.  Her weight was nice, but maybe not for that long!

She returned a few minutes later in sexy-business attire, pants-suit and a blouse.

"I love the way you fill that outfit!" I told her.

She laughed and twirled around.

I grabbed her waist, pulling her to me.  I wanted to bury my head in her breasts, but she turned and plopped down on the seat next to me.  Ah well, we can kiss instead...

After a few minutes of kissing, I held her, and she turned and put her head on my shoulder.

"Hope you're buckled in back there, we'll be on the ground in five minutes -- Lindberg Field is a steep descent, please make sure things aren't going to get away from you."

"I've got you," I whispered.  She snuggled closer.

Not the smoothest landing I've experienced, but better than quite a few.  As we taxied, Holly straightened herself again, checking lipstick.  She started to open a little thing of perfume, but I put my hand over hers.

"Please don't do that unless you want your clothes ripped off," I said, looking into her sparkling green eyes.

"I can wait a little while, then," she chuckled.

I pulled her forward and bit her neck.  She moaned.

I unbuckled us when the plane stopped and we heard the engines spin down.  I helped her to her feet, hugging once again.  I'll never pass up an opportunity for a hug.

She had two bags and an attach case.  Gary lowered the ramp and helped us with the bags.

Her two stacked together, the bigger one having wheels and a handle extended to hold the smaller one.  I got our bags and we headed to the private aviation terminal.  As we walked, Holly told him she'd call on the schedule, but figure no earlier than ten Thursday morning.  She glanced to me, and I nodded.

A car and driver were waiting for us.  We drove to a private estate in the hills.  It had eight guest suites; there would be ten attending, ourselves, four men and their "assistants."  When do we meet?  Dinner at seven thirty for us and one other couple, the others coming in first thing in the morning, we'd meet starting at nine thirty.  Good -- I needed time for her to brief me on business.  She put a hand on my leg and said we'd have time.

The staff were pleasant, attentive, and vanished once we were shown around our suite.  We had a very nice looking bed, a desk, chairs, small couch, and a nice bathroom with whirlpool tub and separate stall shower.

"Where would you like to start?" I asked, rubbing her back again.

She turned and gave me a curious look, then smiled.  "Why don't we get more comfortable..."

"Okay," I told her, walking to the loo.  I set out my bathroom stuff, used the can, and splashed water on my face.

She'd put away clothes and turned down the bed.  "My turn," she said with a smile.

"I'll be waiting," I told her.

I got undressed, putting my clothes on a chair, and got into bed.  It was soft and comfy, but not as good as ours.

She stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a smile.

"You are beautiful," I whispered.

She crawled on to the bed, leaning close, a perfumed nipple inches from me.

A nasty thought, a painful thought -- what had Janet told old John?  I could almost hear her, "All he wants to do is suck on me like a goddamn baby..."

"What's the matter, Bill?" Holly said, brushing my forehead.

I pulled her a little closer; she moved over me, my head between her breasts.  "Ghosts," I told her.

She moved under the covers with me.  Oh, that first touch of skin against skin...  We kissed and touched.  I pulled her on top of me.

So soon, so good -- deep inside her, sucking, filled with her perfume as she rocked.  She pulled away, sitting up on me.  I held her waist, pulling us together.  "Oh God," she moaned.  I pulled as she rocked, then moved my hands to her breasts, holding, teasing.  "Oh yes!" she called, then bent forward and held me to a nipple.  I sucked greedily, feeling her spasm around me, rocking, rocking, until I filled her.

I spent a while at her side, resting on a nipple, but moved up and held her to me, putting her head on my shoulder.  She snuggled up so nicely.  I held her close.

Her back was towards me when I woke.  I snuggled up, slipping one arm under her head and putting the other on her waist.  She moved a little, wiggling her bottom.  I held her, kissing her neck.

She sighed, "You are so warm..."

I held her.  "Did you know," I whispered, running my hand over her waist, "that you have a waist that needs to be held?  I need to hold your waist, feel you, squeeze you..."

She arched her back, moving her hips, pressing her bottom into me.

I teased a nipple as I kissed the back of her neck.  I was getting hard again, rubbing against her.  "What do you need?  What do you want?" I asked.

She turned and pushed me to my back, moving atop me, impaling herself again.

She was enjoying herself; I could tell I would be a while, which was good news.  I held her waist, then squeezed her nipples as she got close.  She rocked, her head back, moaning.

"Oh, you're going to get it," she rumbled, leaning forward.

She alternated between smothering me with and between her breasts, and suckling me, all the time rocking her hips.  I held her waist; the only thing I could do was hold on.  I moaned as I felt it building.  She held me, encouraging me, squeezing me.  I filled her again.

We collapsed together; this time she didn't let me go.

I woke, still in her arms.  The smell of sex, sweat, and perfume filled me -- glorious.

"I should shower," she whispered, holding me, moving my head.

I nestled between her breasts.  "I should wash your back, then," I responded.

"Really?"

"Of course."

She moved me to her other nipple, rolling more on top of me.

We got up, and showered together.  I took care of her washing her back, and her front.  We worked up a good lather between us.  Getting dry was fun, too.

And having her fresh from the shower, I had to have her back on the bed so I could kiss and taste her from head to toe.  Don't think she minded.

We managed to get dressed and head down a little after seven.  We picked up a glass of wine each, and walked the grounds while she told me of the people and personalities involved.

I'll call them P, Q, R, and S.  P was Peter, the oldest in the group, mid-60's, here with his wife Dotty, and most likely a young lady as well.  Q was local, we'd see him tomorrow.  R was from the Westwood/Santa Monica area, and S from Laguna.  R and S we'd meet in the morning.  While fiscally conservative, and all business deals were above board, other areas were fast-and-loose.  They all had mistresses, some such as P with the knowledge and consent of their respective spice.

How had John fit into the group?

She sighed and shook her head.  He'd encouraged the wilder side of things, especially at Cancun and in Hawaii.  She knew he'd given some of the others DVDs he'd made, but she didn't know what was on them.  I had a pretty good idea, but didn't mention anything.

I thought about putting on the John persona as we walked in for dinner, but held off, and I'm glad I did.  Holly handled introductions.  Peter and Dotty were impressive.  Peter was tall, bronze-tanned, lean -- the kind of person Caesar was wary of.  Conservatively, sharply, yet casually dressed -- that's it, he reminded me of the name partner at the law firm -- wearing chinos, yet the creases were sharp enough to cut bread.  With them was a young woman named Aubrey, and a delicious bit of tail she seemed to be, young, luscious, oozing satiated sensuality.  They must have had an interesting afternoon.

We sat with two other couples spending the night at the estate.  The older pair seemed a bit uneasy with dear Aubrey.  All were well traveled, as you'd expect the clientele at a place like this to be, and were interested in my barge cruise in France.  Conversation was lively and interesting.  Peter and Dotty's latest cruise had been around Tahiti.  Everything they said told me that was one we (Nancy and I) should make.

At the end of the meal, Peter asked if Holly and I would like to join them for a nightcap.  Aubrey gave me (and Holly?) quite the steamy look.  Holly demurred, saying we had things to do to prepare for the morning.

We returned to our room.  Holly started to turn on the light, but I caught her hand as I closed and latched the door.  I pulled her to a kiss, running my hands over her.  We shed our clothes quickly, and I backed her to the bed.  I lay on top of her, kissing and feeling, then slid down, pulling her legs off the edge of the bed.  I put her legs on my shoulders and had dessert.

The bed was nice and high, and moderately noisy.  I devoured her, and she responded with equal enthusiasm.  After a loud one, I brought her to the edge again, then turned her to her stomach.

I was practically standing, only having to spread my legs as I slid into her, pounded into her, holding her waist.  She thrust back against me as best she could, moaning and encouraging me.  As I got close, she brought her legs together, and I pushed in deeper, practically lifting her from the bed.

I'm glad I was holding on when I came; I might have fallen over, so intense, so good.

In bed a few minutes later, collapsing on my back, I pulled her to me, resting her head on my shoulder.  She snuggled up and I held her.

My bladder woke me a few hours later.  I got up and did my duty, and brushed my teeth afterwards.

Holly made some noise when I crawled back into bed, reaching for me.  I slid down and attached myself to a nipple.  She held me, sighing deeply.  We wound together and I let go.

I woke in the morning to her getting out of bed.  As she returned, I got out.  "Be right back," I told her.

As I got back into bed, she held her arms open to me.  As I got closer, I smelled perfume.  I pulled her up, taking her left nipple, devouring her, drowning myself in her perfume.  She held me so well.

It's interesting, some times I get the sexy, arousing nipple, and other times I get the comforting, relaxing nipple.  Did she know she had me on the comforting, relaxing side?  I melted into her, eventually slipping off, my head between her breasts, filled with her heartbeat.

I woke attached to her other breast.  As I sucked, her nipple tightened in my mouth.  The sounds she made told me she liked it as much as I did.  I moved a hand down her stomach and into her thatch.  Hot, wet, responsive -- I teased her in time with my sucking, then shifted to match her rhythm.

"Oh, in me!" she cried, writhing to our rhythm.

I kept up my delicious torment.

She squeezed me, holding me so deliciously the only thing I could do was to hang on.

That gave her the break she needed; she moved away and pushed me to my back, sliding on top of me.  I grabbed her waist, pulling us together.

She sat back rocking, her head back.  I brought my knees up, giving her something to lean against and rock against.  I felt her getting close and squeezed her nipples -- she shrieked and shook as she came.  She put her arms under my knees, pulling with her arms and pressing down with her hips as she rocked, giving me a lusty look.  I pulled her nipples gently, needing them so much, but she only smiled more, rocked more.

I held her waist again, my eyes closing, feeling, moaning, coming.  She collapsed forward and I got the nipple I so needed and wanted.

We managed to get up, shower, and get dressed in time to get some breakfast.  Getting ready to leave the room, I watched her put on lipstick.  I couldn't help it -- I pulled her to a kiss, holding her, one hand playing with the hair at the back of her neck, pressing her gently into the wall, then turning and letting her press into me.

She looked at me with I'm not sure what.  Was she happy?  Upset?  Mad?  I'm not sure.  She re-did her lipstick and we headed to breakfast.

We started pretty much on time.  Q seemed to be an okay guy, late 50's.  R and S were late 40's, hotheads, loud and loose.  They respected Peter, and Holly.

We started going through projects.  I wondered why I was there.

Until R mentioned talking to a prospective Japanese client about a moderately-sized deal.  He and S met with them, and couldn't tell how things had gone.  Schadenfreude -- good and bad feelings mixed for me.

"Perhaps Peter and I should deal with them," I suggested.

That set R off.  "What the fuck do you think you know, you young fucking punk?" he shouted across the table at me.  That was the lead-off.  He went on in equally loud and abusive about how I couldn't possibly know anything, how long he'd been in this business, I might have John's wife, money, and one of his mistresses (I thought I probably had two of them), but I didn't have any of John's skill, yada, yada, yada.  When he slowed momentarily, S would put in the boot.

When they finally ran out of steam, I glanced to Peter.  Holly had a smile on her face.  How much did she know about me?

"Mister Wilson, I'd like to hear what you have to say," Peter said quietly but forcefully.

I nodded.  "A question -- have either of you negotiated with the Japanese before?  Yes or no, please."

R said of course and gave me a disgusted look.  As expected.  "How many deals have you successfully negotiated with the Japanese?"  No response, just glares.  "How many Japanese businessmen did you meet with?  Three?"  Yup, three.  "Early in the morning?"  Right again.

I thought for a moment, concocting a worst-case scenario.  "Okay.  I'll tell you what happened."

R went off again, how the fuck could I know what happened?  Yada, yada...  I let him run down.

And I started in, growling low, chewing them out in yak-style Japanese.  While my Japanese was good, I'd learned from Tom; he put on a Yakuza style that was really impressive.  That's how he, Angelique, and I talked on the barge, or as we traveled when we wanted privacy, Tom and I growling low, and Angelique in a high register, sounding so formal, unless you understood colloquial Japanese.  I'd picked it up, and had a lot of fun with it.  Of course, we'd had more interesting moments, like when we'd been in a big Paris department store, and Tom and I had been tossing around random lewd remarks about the women around us, and I'd looked around and saw a group of Japanese women ashen-faced and wider-eyed than usual...

I did a pretty thorough job on them, not that they understood a word of it.  I was pretty damn sure they caught the overall feeling, though...

"Okay." I said, switching to English, "There was an old guy, a middle-aged guy, and a younger one.  The middle guy did all the talking.  The young one was the go-fer, and the old guy didn't say a word.  Some times he grunted, you couldn't tell if he was farting, had indigestion, or what, right?  The young guy didn't make a sound, and the middle guy, some times as you talked, he'd make noises, like 'so' or 'ne' right?"

S had a funny look on his face.  "Yeah, it was like that."

"You set up an impressive spread for them -- regular and decaf coffee, hot water and an assortment of tea bags, pastries, rolls, bagels, fresh fruit.  Right?"

R still didn't get it.  "Yeah?"

"When you showed them the spread, they all stood there!  After a bit the middle one talked to the old guy, and eventually he grunted.  Then the young guy made up three plates -- all identical!"

S looked puzzled.  "How did you know?"

"When you sat down, the middle guy wanted to talk about the weather or some shit.  You tried to get to business, but that didn't work, he wanted to talk about everything but the deal.  Did one of you ask them about their families?"

S said, "Yeah, I did..."

"And they went real quiet, right."

"Yeah, it was spooky.  But we finally started talking about the deal."

"And you'd throw something out, and they'd sit there, so you'd throw out something else, and they'd sit there, and after fifteen minutes, you'd practically given away the store, and the old guy hadn't even grunted."

R blurted, "They were fucking playing with us.  They didn't come to deal.  That kind never fucking do."

I nodded.  I looked to S.  "So what did you do?"

S told us, "We had three term sheets made up, a really good one for us, a mid-range one, and a bottom-line one.  I gave them the middle one and suggested they take a look at it and get back to us."

I closed my eyes.  "Okay, did the middle guy talk to the old guy at all before they said they'd look at it and they left?"

"Yeah, he did, he mumbled something and the old fart grunted again, like he was having trouble pinching one off."

S laughed.  Peter and I frowned.

"Another important question -- did you see any evidence of tattoos on them, or were any of them missing parts of fingers, like the last part of the little finger?"

R gave me a blank stare.  Mouth full of cud would have fit well.

S gave me a weird look.  "The old guy, it looked like he had something dark under his shirt.  He wore a fancy dress shirt with white cuffs and cufflinks -- might have been a tattoo, yeah, I think it was, and a little on the side of his neck and on the back, just a little showing above the collar some times when he moved.  Whazzat mean?"

I shook my head.  "Fingers?  Very important.  Left pinky finger, any of them."

S shook his head.  "Don't know."

I turned to Peter.  "The deal may be salvageable, but it's going to take a lot of work."

R started off again, but I held up a hand.  He stopped.

"I speak, read, and write fluent Japanese.  I understand Japanese culture and business.  You committed just about every sin imaginable in dealing with the Japanese.  When they handed you their business cards, did you examine them carefully, or just put them in your pocket?"

"If I took the time to look at every card some bastard handed me, I'd never get anything done," R sneered.

I nodded.  "And in doing that, you showed disrespect.  You also showed disrespect when you asked about their families -- such personal matters are not discussed, especially with strangers.  When you make a suggestion to the Japanese, and they sit there in silence, they are showing you respect by taking time and considering what you've said.  The noises the middle guy made when you talked -- that's called aizuchi -- he's letting you know he's listening attentively.  At the end, he talked to his boss, his oyabun, before giving you an answer.  That's why I think there may be a slim chance to salvage this deal -- the middle guy let his boss think about it, and then asked him if they should give the gaijin another chance.  Oh, odoshibori, extensive tattoos are the mark of Yakuza, Japanese organized crime.  When one of them screws up, or a superior thinks they've screwed up, they cut off a finger joint and give it to their boss as an apology - yubitsume."

"No shit?  A gangster?" S looked surprised.

"Pretty sure.  Probably a mid-level loan shark, bakuto.  They invested a lot on the West Coast, but with troubles at home, he's probably trying to raise cash."

"You think the old fart understands English?" S asked.

"I'd bet on it.  He wouldn't be over here if he didn't to some degree or other."

"Then why the fuck didn't he say anything?" R yelled.

"I don't think you have the patience for an explanation."

R opened his mouth, but closed it again.  Hmmm -- maybe he is trainable.

"At some point, you asked them a question, and the middle guy acted like he was stalling -- Mmm, let me think...  Mmm, very difficult...  Right?"

S nodded.  "Yeah, I finally dropped the issue."

Finally something to smile about!  "Good thing!  In Japanese, it is very impolite to disagree, to say 'no.'  So instead, a Japanese will give you signals."  I sucked in breath through my teeth, "Mmm...  chotto ... very difficult..."  S nodded his head in agreement.  "When a Japanese does this, he's hinting at 'no,' and expects you to take the hint and withdraw, so that all involved may work in harmony and save face."

S nodded again.  R looked like he had indigestion.

"Where are they based?  Are they still in the U.S., or will we have to go to Japan to apologize to them?  When did this happen?" I asked.

R looked very sour.  "We met last Friday.  I think they're still in the States, in Frisco through the end of this week."

"Do you have their cards, any way I can contact them?"

He frowned.  "Yeah.  I think I got 'em with me still."

I nodded.  "Please look, now.  Time is of the essence if you want to salvage this."  I turned to Peter.  "Would you be able to meet with them in San Francisco later this week?"

He nodded, a slight smile.  "Yes, of course."  He looked to R.  "Let's take a break.  Go look for those cards.  Now."

R and S grumbled, but stood up to do it.

I stood up to stretch.

When R and S were out of the room, Peter asked me, "What do you think of your colleagues?"

I looked to Holly, who rolled her eyes.  Addressing Peter, "I'm sure they're quite effective when negotiating on the East Coast, New York and New Jersey."

Peter laughed out loud.  Even Q laughed, one of the few times I'd heard him make a sound that morning.

I stepped to Holly and gave her a big hug.  "Think we can sleep in some morning?" I whispered in her ear.

She gave me a squeeze that I interpreted as an enthusiastic "yes."

R and S returned, with some cards.  I looked at them and sucked in air.  "Oh yeah, good, solid, Yak...  Not people you want pissed off at you!"  I asked Peter for one of his cards, representing the group.  "I'm going to need to get one made, with Japanese on one side," I told them.  "I'll be back -- I'm going to go make some calls."

I squeezed Holly's shoulder as I left the room.  I decided to use my cell phone.  Nakajima-san left two numbers; I left very polite messages in Japanese on both, asking him to please contact me at his convenience, leaving my cell number.

Then I called the house.  Nancy answered.  "You're alive!  I've been waiting for you to call!  Are you okay?"

"I love you!  Yes, I'm fine, having fun.  Are you okay?  Any problems?"

"Oh, I miss you!  Everything is quiet, maybe too quiet.  Oh, the tile work is going along fine.  When are you coming home?  I don't like sleeping alone..."

"Oh, I miss you too...  At the latest, Thursday morning.  Maybe Wednesday late.  I may be in the City Thursday or Friday for a meeting, not sure yet.  Tom still hanging around?"

"Oh yes, and Karen has been a big help, Angelique too."

"Great -- I may want Tom to help with the meeting, not sure yet."

"Okay, I'll let him know.  Take care of yourself, please."

"I will, darling.  I love you."

I hung up the phone and sat for a moment.  Ah well.  I headed back to our meeting room.

The gang looked at me.

"I left messages for Nakajima-san.  We'll see."  I put the phone in front of me.

We reviewed some other deals.  Occasionally Peter would ask if I had any comments.  If I had questions, I asked, but generally, I didn't feel I had anything of value to add.

But still, I was focused.  So focused that I was surprised when Peter said, "All right, lunch in half an hour."

Stretching and departing our meeting room, Holly took my arm and pulled me upstairs to our room.  It was at the end of the hall, and as we made the short walk, Holly pulled something from a pocket -- perfume -- she sprayed it down the now open front of her blouse.

In our room, I started to grab her, but she pushed me to my back on the bed, climbing on top of me, smothering me in her perfumed breasts.  I don't know how we got our clothes off, but we did, and she rode me, keeping me drowning in perfume all the time.  When I got close she slowed down, moving and holding me in a way that left me drained as I came deep inside her, still held to a nipple.

I was a little scattered still when we got to lunch; the others were already seated.  Peter seemed amused at our entrance; something passed between him and Holly, I don't know what.  A weird thing -- we started with onion soup, not at all as good as we had in France, but not too bad.  Being left-handed, I sat to Holly's left so we could hold hands as we ate; it's automatic for me.  When I did that, a waiter quickly switched our soup bowls.

It was a working lunch, that's why the spice weren't present.  We reviewed more deals.  I threw in my two cents when I felt I had two cents to throw in.  When I had questions, I asked them.  

We'd started shortly after noon, and wrapped up about two.  We'd meet again for drinks and dinner at half past six.  Holly and I exchanged looks.  I could use a nap -- afterwards...

I guess I was sniffling as we walked back to our room.

"Something the matter?" Holly asked, rubbing my back.

"Congested or something," I told her.  "Hope I'm not getting sick."

"I've got just the thing!" she told me.  "I think we should spend the afternoon indoors, staying warm, don't you?"

I held her,  "A nap would be good -- afterwards..."

In our room, I went to the bathroom while she rummaged for something.

"My turn!" she said, coming into the bathroom naked.  She handed me a little brown glass bottle of nose spray.  "Once up each nostril should do the trick.  Wait for me."

I took a snort up each nostril, and managed to run my hands over her before getting run out of the bathroom.  I got into bed.

Laying there flat on my back, a warm, almost golden glow filled me.  Then Holly joined me, filling me with perfume and softness.  But she didn't hop on top of me.  She held me, teased me, running her hands over me, getting me so dizzy, then teasing me with her breasts, taking me up to the edge, then backing away, smothering me in perfume again, suckling me, whispering for me to suck on her while she teased me with a hand.

I was harder than I'd been in a long time, so hot and hard, and so hungry.

When she finally mounted me, she continued to tease, to prolong, grinding slow and sensuous, then quickly, vigorously for a few strokes, but stopping if I got too close.

*

We managed to get up, shower, and get dressed for dinner.  I was happily spaced out still, and would have been quite content to spend the evening in bed.

Drinks were being served; someone handed me a whisky sour, which was pretty good.

I had a hard time not laughing.  Q was okay; his wife was young, good looking, and very sharp, from the way she talked.  Peter, Dotty, and Aubrey made an interesting trio; they looked like they'd had a good afternoon.

R and S were displaying trophy bimbos.  I remarked, quietly I hope, to Holly that from the way they talked and acted, the two of them together would barely make a halfwit.  Holly chuckled and agreed.

A little later, she whispered something to Aubrey, and she came over to where I was sitting, snuggling up to me.  Her perfume and the cut of her dress were delightful.  She agreed with my assessment of the two young ladies, and asked specifically about the Japanese deal.

Or I think she did.  While we were talking, she was doing her best to entice me with her body.  Holly came by to rescue me about the time I was contemplating moving Aubrey into my lap.

Spaced out through dinner, my nose getting stuffy again.  The food was okay.  R and S were bragging about things; I tuned them out, helped by Holly sitting on one side of me and Aubrey on the other.  Had an almost-headache, and things looked a little weird, bluish.

Don't know how I made it through that meal and back to the room.  Holly helped me undress, gave me the nose spray again, and we ended up on the bed.

So hard again, head clouded, almost a sharp taste in my mouth, going down on Holly, then having her on top of me, riding me, holding me to her, smothering me in perfumed breasts, so intense, almost hallucinatory, finally collapsing at her side, only to wake and do it again, still so hard, taking so long to come, my stomach sore when I finally did.  We curled up together, my lips planted on the side of a breast, holding her and spinning off to a fitful sleep.

The nightlight was on in the bathroom when I woke.  My head hurt, and my mouth and eyes were dry.  Muscles in my ass and stomach hurt.  That, and I needed to pee.

I got up and my head hurt more.  Three in the morning, says the bedside clock.  I went to the bathroom and sat on the can.

Fuck.  She drugged me!  That's the only thing that made sense!  I got up and had a mouthful of water from the sink.  More things clicked into place...

I went to the other room of our little suite, closing the bedroom door behind me.  Got a bottle of water from the little refrigerator and quickly drained half of it.  Shit, it fit -- after my recent can't-get-it-up episode, I'd done a lot of reading on some of John's pills, Viagra, Levitra, Cialis.  A prominent side-effect was a feeling of nasal congestion.  Newsgroup comments suggested that's when you knew it had kicked in.  The bluish tint on things fit as well.

But I guessed that part was across-the-board, for all the men in the group.  Yeah, the soup at lunch, and something at dinner?  The whisky sours before?  All the ladies were drinking a different, common drink.

The nose spray was something else.  Damn.

Why?

More fucking games, that's what it felt like, something between Holly and Peter?

Okay, what the fuck am I going to do now?  I sat in the moonlight-illuminated room, sipping my water.

I remembered a blanket in the closet by the door.  I retrieved it; I'd sleep on the couch the rest of the night.

The door to the bedroom opened and Holly stepped out.  God, her breasts defied gravity.  "I need you to keep me warm," she said, stretching as she approached me.  Her nipples looked tight, crinkly, and delicious.

"You drugged me.  Why?" I asked, sitting on the couch.

She stopped; her nipples deflated.  She stepped closer.

I put out a hand, holding her at arm's length.

"I need to hold you," she whispered, trying to get closer.

"The nose spray -- you drugged me.  Why?" I repeated.

She sighed, swaying her breasts in front of me slightly.  "Did you like that?  You were so passionate, so warm, so good -- let me hold you; I need you to keep me warm."

"Why, Holly?  There's something else going on.  What is it?"

She sighed again, took a step back, and went down on her knees.  She scooted closer.

I turned to the side so she couldn't get between my legs.  "What's going on, Holly?  A bet with Peter?"

She sighed and nodded, her head going down.  After a moment she raised her head, smiling a little.  She touched my knees, moving her fingertips, trying to turn me toward her as she whispered, "Let me make it up to you, Bill, please..."

I felt myself getting erect again; I could almost feel my cock sliding between her breasts...  "No, Holly," I said firmly.  "I'm sleeping here for the rest of the night."

Something crumbled inside her; her shoulders went down.  "Please?  Please hold me?" she pleaded.

I shook my head.  "No."

She sighed, turned, and went back to the bedroom, leaving the door open.

I tossed some cushions from the couch on to the floor, pulled up the blanket, and tried to get comfortable.  I guess I succeeded.

I woke disoriented from a deeply erotic dream, at the edge of orgasm.  As I tried to grab for my cock, my arms got more tangled.  Hands on me, a mouth, oh God -- I started coming.  I moaned as hands and that mouth milked me.  Holly.

I let go, letting it happen.  After I'd gone soft in her mouth, she moved, holding me to a perfumed breast.

She sat back.  I opened my eyes.

"We still have time to snuggle," she suggested.

I sat up.

She looked at me, unsure, then moved between my legs, her arms around my waist, her breasts against me.

I kissed her forehead.  "Holly, that was very nice.  You still have some explaining to do.  I'm going to shower."

She sat back and I stood up.

Showering alone isn't as much fun, but it is quicker.  When I was through in the bathroom, she went in, without a word, closing the door.  I dressed and packed my bags.  I spotted the nose spray on the nightstand, and packed that securely.

"I'm going to breakfast," I told her.

"Okay," she replied glumly.

When I arrived at the breakfast area, Peter was finishing up.  He looked up at me in surprise, looking around me, expecting Holly, I guess.

"Let's take a walk," I suggested.

He nodded, folding his napkin.

It was crisp and cool outside.  The estate grounds were nicely manicured.

"Problems?" Peter asked.

"What was the bet you had with Holly about me?" I asked as we walked.

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded.  "Essentially, she bet she could have you wrapped around her finger.  I disagreed.  Yesterday, afternoon and evening, I'd thought she had won.  Now I'm not so sure."

I wasn't so sure either -- of the whole deal.  While the group was making money, I wasn't sure I was a good fit based on other things going on.  He commiserated, agreeing they weren't quite a Bob Jones U reunion.  He added that he was impressed with how I'd handled myself, and hoped I'd stick with it.  He valued my input, especially working with Japanese.  He thought the two of us could do quite well with them. I agreed with that.  What was our schedule for the day?  Business this morning, a few deals to review, lunch, and that was about it.  Okay, I'll check into flights this afternoon or this evening going back to the Bay area.  Not flying back with Holly?  No, don't think that would work.  He nodded and said he'd check -- While he and his wife were staying another few days, he could have me taken back this afternoon in his plane.  I told him commercial wasn't a problem for me, but he insisted on checking. 

I had time to get something to eat before we started.  Holly was already in the room, seated, looking somewhere between subdued and downright glum.  I sat next to her and rubbed her back, which brightened her up.  I still need touch; I guess everyone does.

We had some interesting decision to make.  Being an outsider, my view of things was different, and I think helped.

My phone went off around nine thirty -- Nakajima-san!  I stepped out to take the call.

I finally got back around ten twenty; people were evidently on a break.  I got a 7-Up to drink.

Holly came into the room first.  She saw me and sighed.  "I'm sorry," she said quietly.  We hugged, then sat down.

"Well?" Peter asked me when we were reassembled.

I shrugged my shoulders.  "I need to be back in the Bay area by five or so; I need to know what airport and when.  Had a good chat with Nakajima-san; I'm meeting the group for dinner in San Francisco this evening." I turned to R and S.  "How much do you know about the Chinese bidders?"

Both of them gave us blank looks.

I nodded and gave Peter a sideways glance.  "They know about you.  Nakajima's take is the Hong Kong bunch has more money than sense.  We're meeting tonight mainly to spook the Chinese so they'll raise their bid.  They've already outbid us, but Nakajima thinks he can get more."  I smiled, a nasty smile.  "We joked that if they'd stayed quiet a few more minutes with you, you'd have upped your bid again."  R and S weren't amused, but Peter and Holly laughed.  I squeezed her leg under the table.

We reviewed deals through a light lunch.  Peter told me Aubrey would take me to the airport; I'd fly up in his plane.  He told me he was better off putting the hours on it this quarter to get in the maintenance expenses.  Okay, sounded plausible to me.

We broke about one; Holly followed me to the room.  She eased me to the bed and lay on top of me, pressing her covered breasts into me, rocking on me.

"Will I see you again?" she asked, holding me.

I took a deep breath of perfumed woman.  "I think so."

"Am I forgiven?"

"Holly, I don't know.  Those kinds of games aren't for me."

She sighed.  "Fair enough.  You are a great snuggler..."

We shared a kiss before I got my bag and headed to the lobby.

Aubrey met me; a car from the estate took us to the private terminal at the airport.  The stereotypical pilot met us and led us to the plane.  In response to my questioning look, she told me, "I'm riding up to take care of some things in the City, if you can give me a lift."

"Sure," I told her.  I checked with our pilot and called Tom -- five to four at the San Jose Jet Center, then up to the City, dropping one off at the Fairmont.  Not a problem.

Aubrey surprised me -- Wharton MBA!  She'd been working with Peter for a little over two years, so far a lot of behind-the-scenes management.  As we talked about some of the deals, I told her she was a whole lot brighter than R and S.

She laughed and told me I was so not John!

And is that good or bad, I asked?

She smiled and sighed, and said it was good.  John had been doing a lot of thinking with his balls in the last year or so.  I sighed and told her I understood how that could happen.

I don't know if it was the smart thing to do, or what, but we opened up to each other.  She was excited about working with Peter, managing, directing, carrying the responsibility.  She talked about school, Columbia undergrad, two years at a financial firm, then Wharton, out of luck a sorority sister's mom was a friend of Dotty; she met Peter and Dotty on a winter ski trip.  Yes, she was involved intimately with Peter and Dotty, but they were respectful -- he challenged her, involved her.  That's one of the reasons she'd stayed out of the meetings -- R, S, and John always involved in crude things, often with Holly egging them on.  She thought after this meeting, things would straighten up, that I was a good influence.

I didn't know how good an influence I was; I felt I'd turned into John.  I told her some of my history, the five minute version of how I became the Golden Mule, thanks to John.  Nancy and I pushed together, holding on for life, holding each other, teasing out the puzzles left behind, new messes, trying not to become John...  Then meeting Holly on her plane, that's what I'd done, what I'd thought -- what would John do.  He'd go against his principles, that's what he'd do, that's what I'd done.

Aubrey disagreed with me -- I wasn't John; I'd never be John.  The thing with Holly -- from what Peter told her, I'd found out about the bet, yet I hadn't yelled, screamed, or been nasty -- and she was amazed at how subdued Holly was.

I told her I'd strayed, again.  She moved next to me.  I might have wobbled, but she thought I still had a strong internal compass.  If half the things she'd heard had happened to me were true, she thought even more of me for staying sane, and human.

I wasn't sure.

She laughed and reminded me I hadn't made a pass at her, or ripped her clothes off.

I asked her if she'd like me to, and we both laughed.

Quietly, she asked me what I'd like.

I held her hands.  If anything, I told her, I just wanted to curl up and snuggle.  What I really missed was snuggling up with someone, someone I could trust, and that's what hurt with Holly; snuggle up, relax, hold and be held.  But I trusted, opened up, and got screwed.

She looked me in the eye and sighed.  We both laughed a little. A momentary flash of venom in her face -- John, R, S, even Q and Peter when the group got together, quickie sex and get together to brag.  The Tahiti cruise had been so good, she told me -- afternoons on their private verandah, the three of them together, relaxing, holding.  I told her more about the barge in France, the tiny cabins, the wonderful food, traveling along at a walking pace.  Nancy and I should do Tahiti, both of us agreed.  Aubrey would send me details on where to stay before and after the cruise, details like that.  I agreed to send her details on the barge trip.

Oh, how I love Nancy, how I worried I was hurting her, letting John's money turn me into another John...

Aubrey insisted that as long as I was concerned, it wouldn't happen.  I cared too much about people to let that happen.  She'd seen me thanking the staff at the estate, and the guy who drove us to the airport.  She'd never seen John do something like that, and couldn't imagine R or S doing that.

I told her of the conversation we'd had in Tahoe, the difference between givers and takers.  I thought I understood a little better now; we had both inside us, we needed both inside us.  It's how we achieve the balance that counts.

She agreed.  She'd been rooting for me yesterday, and was sad last night when Holly brought me to dinner, looking so much like Holly had won.  Then this morning, hearing from Peter about our walk around the property...  He was impressed, and so was she.

So, what was the bet?

She smirked.  If Holly won, she brought me in pussy-whipped, Peter would eat Holly out.  If Peter won, I stayed in control, as I'd been Monday night with Holly, then Holly had to suck Peter off.

I shook my head.  I told her -- I went down on Holly within half an hour of us meeting, because I love doing that, I love going down on beautiful women.

Aubrey dug fingers into my shoulder and moaned, threatening to rip her own clothes off...

I hugged her and whispered in her ear that I'd like to know how she tastes, and sounds, but this wasn't the time.

She squeezed me back.  The next meeting was going to be in Vail in December.  Maybe then?

I kissed her neck.  Only if Nancy agrees, I told her.  Only if Nancy is interested.

We both sighed, such sighs -- we both laughed.  I asked what she was doing in the City.  Chasing down loose ends was her reply.  She leaned closer, her head on my shoulder.

Loose ends?  What did we have?  Morris wasn't a loose end, more of a loose cannon.  I knew who the redhead was.  I asked Aubrey to guess how many women John had been fooling around with at the time of his demise.  She chuckled and guessed two or three.  Close, I told her, three not including Holly, that we knew of.  That left the bugs, and some mystery business deals.

Bugs?  Aubrey squeaked and sat up quickly.  She wanted to know more, so I filled her in -- wireless things on the phone lines and in electrical boxes at the house, office, and Tahoe.

She nodded and told me it sounded like Alfonzo.  Who dat?  She sighed and settled in, her head on my shoulder.  I held her gently.  When she'd started with Peter, the group had been much larger.  The group split up, and it hadn't been pretty.  I mentioned what Holly told me -- a split between short-term and long-term focus.  Yes, Aubrey agreed that was a good summary.  Alfonzo De Guzman was in the short-term group, and made John look laid-back and trusting...  When the economy really took a dump, the short-term bunch crashed.  Alfonzo somehow got it into his pointy head that Peter and John were personally responsible for his difficulties.  Peter thought Alfonzo was up to something, but wasn't sure what.  John cooked up a scheme, and evidently it worked, it cost Alfonzo a lot of money.  They'd discovered bugs in Peter's offices a month or two before John died, but had been unsure about telling the rest of the group.  I suggested it might be a good idea to quietly suggest to people to have their places checked.  She agreed -- she'd talk to Peter about it.  I made a noise, and she told me she'd talk to Peter, and be sure he let the others know.  I thanked her.  Where was Alfonzo now, I wanted to know.  I felt her shrug.  Last she heard, the SEC was after him for insider trading and other stock shenanigans.

We sat together, quietly, as the plane nosed down slightly for our descent into San Jose.

A smooth landing; we thanked the pilot.  Tom was waiting for us, with the Mercedes.  I introduced Aubrey; he was all charm.  On the drive up, I asked about the ladies.  They'd decided to go to a spa near Sebastopol, and spend the night at a local bed and breakfast.

When we got to the City, Tom suggested leaving the car at the Fairmont and taking a cab to the restaurant.  Sounded good to me.

At his insistence, Aubrey and I were sitting in the back seat.  When I told Aubrey I wanted to keep in touch, she readily agreed and dug out a business card.  As I dug out my wallet, Tom handed me a brown paper envelope; it looked hand made.  I opened it, and found twenty or so of my business cards.  Ooh -- with Japanese on the reverse, hand printed?  They looked exquisite!  A friend of Angelique's did them, Tom told me.  I gave one to Aubrey.

She checked in at the hotel; we parted with a hug.

Tom figured it was about a twenty minute walk if we wanted to do it.  Fine -- I'd been sedentary too much the last few days.  He gave me a sly look.  I sighed and shook my head.

We spoke as we walked, mainly about l'affair Morris.  Tom said he was trying to get more information on the guy, but wouldn't say more than that.  He liked the work on the house.  We weren't sure what Morris was going to try next.  We figured he'd do something to let us know he was around.  Could we turn up the heat, too?  Like what, Tom wanted to know.  Well, like plaster his picture in every place that sold guns or ammo within a few hundred miles?  Tom suggested the feds might not like it.  How about a color picture, like a frame from the video, I suggested.  Tom laughed.  He'd check with Jill, but thought that sounded good.

I filled him in on the bugs, and what Aubrey told me.  We'd check with Jill, and carefully find out what we could about Alfonzo.

Cool and windy in the City; I had my leather jacket and hat.  Tom wore a similar jacket.  Tom asked the names of the folks we were going to meet.  I pulled out their cards and handed them to him.  He agreed, smelled Yak.  He knew the place we were going to -- good food, lots of private tatami rooms in the back.

It's San Francisco, so we didn't get too many weird looks when we entered; we could see other gaijin in the place.  We got more respect when Tom spoke to the hostess in Japanese.

My new cards were a big hit.  As expected, we spent a few minutes talking inconsequentials, getting used to each other, building the bond.  Actually, we probably only discussed business for about two minutes.  They figured someone from the Hong Kong group was watching, so we'd walk out together.

The meal was good, the service very good, and we never saw a bill.  Oyabun had his arm around me as we walked out.  We exchanged enough pleasantries so that anyone around knew I spoke Japanese, and was on good terms with these folks.  We caught a cab back to the Fairmont, bailed out the car, and headed home.  I got to ride in the front seat!  Tom thought that in a few years, with some gray in my hair, and with some work on pronunciation and vocabulary, I'd make a passable Oyabun.  I took that as a compliment, and gave him my best grunt of approval..

Shit, more weirdness when we got home, though.  Tom wouldn't let me leave the garage until he walked the house, inside and out.

I dragged my bags upstairs.  Tom set the alarm, I locked the master bedroom doors.

Quiet.  Alone.  I parked the bags -- take care of them in the morning.  Brushing my teeth in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror.  What had I learned?  I wasn't John.  I didn't want to be John.  Yes, I needed to be more aggressive some times.  But I needed to do it my way.  And I need to be careful, with what I do, who I trust.

I flipped the fur spread down, but left the covers on the pillows.  I crawled into bed, resting my head on the soft plush.  Didn't make up for the fact that I was alone.  One thing I was sure of, sleeping alone is bad for you.


Cutting Through

I woke the next morning to the sweet song of the tile saw.  Seven on the nose, says the clock -- Nancy probably told the crew they could start early.  I got up, took a quick shower, and cleaned up my mess, taking care of clothes, bags, and whatnot.  Got some toast downstairs and headed to the office.  I did what research I could on our friend Alfonzo.  Google is your friend...  Dug through a stack of business cards after reading one story.  Yup, thought I remembered that.  I had to laugh, and it wasn't a nice laugh.  If John had done it, it was a slick trick.  But what did that say about me, figuring it out so quick?  I'm not John.

I e-mailed Aubrey the info on the barge company, and noodled around some more, researching some of the deals we'd discussed, going to some Japanese sites for their view of the economy.  I had to agree with the Economist -- the Japanese were operating under the cartoon theory of gravity -- characters in cartoons can run right off a cliff, but they don't start to fall until they look down.  The Japanese hadn't looked down -- yet.

Tom stuck his head in about eight thirty.  "Jill is going to drop by around nine.  I filled her in on things."

"Aofonzo?  The bugs?"

He nodded, sipping from a cup of coffee.  "Yeah, what I knew.  How are you doing today?"

I shrugged.  "Okay.  hear anything from the ladies?"

He smiled.  "Oh yeah -- you're in deep shit."

I guess I changed color, something like that.

Tom laughed.  "They're stopping in the City to look at wedding dresses."

I sighed in relief, and he laughed again.


Rough Ride

I was sitting in the kitchen reviewing papers with Jill when the doorbell rang.  Jill had one document in her hands, a binder of trust stuff open in her lap, and a pen in her mouth.

"I'll get it," I told her.  I was still wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants from the yoga class, and my sandals.

Still paranoid -- I looked out the peephole and saw two uniformed police officers standing on our porch.  Must be follow-up from the last shooting, I figured.

I opened the door.  "Good morning, officers, what can I do for you?"

"Are you William Alexander Wilson?" the larger of the two asked.

"Yes."

"Do you own a white Mercedes with the license plate TGM INC?"

"Yes," I replied.  I didn't like the way this was going.  I turned slightly in the doorway.  "Oh Jill -- I could use your ..."

I was slammed face-first into the wood siding of the house and taken roughly to the cold brickwork of the porch, then handcuffed with a knee in my back, being yelled at all the time.  I wasn't making any more noise, leaving that to Jill.  I heard someone running up to the house -- more cops, but local ones; I recognized one of their voices.

It took a damn long time to get it sorted out.  Seems Mountain View PD had received two 911 calls earlier -- a man matching my description driving a white Mercedes E55 AMG with the plate TGM INC had run some people off the road, brandishing a gun.

Except, as Jill explained to them, that my Mercedes was still at the dealership and had been there for the last two days.  Except that I'd ridden to Palo Alto with my wife in our Jeep, attended a yoga class with about ten other people, and Jill had given me a ride back home, and been with me ever since.

And as she explained about our good friend Mr. Morris; that part was immediately corroborated by the local PD, who told the other clowns about the house being shot up, bombs planted, and other harassment.

The locals called in their supervisor, who called for an ambulance after getting me out of the damn cuffs -- the side of my face was bleeding and full of wood splinters.   He took pictures.  Jill took pictures.  The Mountain View guys called in their supervisor.

While one of the paramedics cleaned the side of my face, the two supervisors argued in the street, and Jill yakked on her cell phone.  She joined the two cops, and their tone of voice changed quickly.  I knew the smile Jill was giving them, and knew they weren't enjoying the experience.

Jill came back to me, still with that predatory smile.  I could practically see the veins in her teeth.  Glad she's on my side.

"Well?"

"You're taking a ride to El Camino to get cleaned up.  I'll follow."

"What about those ... clowns," I spat.

Another predatory smile.  "Being taken care of."

I shook my head.  Nancy wasn't due home until after lunch, after two.  "Should we call Nancy, or have someone from your office talk to her in person?"

Jill nodded.  "I think the latter would be best."

I sighed.  I was still sitting on the concrete porch.  "I think we should call Tom -- I want a live-in bodyguard and chauffeur until Morris is captured or buried."  Carl was still on crutches.  "I'd use Carl if he was healthy," I added.

She raised an eyebrow.  "I concur.  I've got his number."

The paramedics loaded me onto a gurney and into the ambulance.  Once at El Camino hospital, I was quickly installed in a room, checked over, and then ignored.

So, Morris knew I had a permit to carry a gun.  Which means he's still in the area, and with some connections.  I wanted the bastard in jail, or dead.  Preferably dead.  We were going to have problems as long as he was alive.  On the other hand, he couldn't be watching too close, or he'd know I didn't have the car.

A woman doctor came in, introducing herself as a dermatologist.  She looked at the side of my face.  She asked if I was in pain.  Yes, but not too bad.  She'd take care of that, and get what she needed to clean me up; that process would take about an hour.

Jill popped in and introduced herself.  I got an injection for the pain; I'd get locals for the side of my face later.  Jill and the doc took off.

A nurse was checking my blood pressure a few minutes later when a harried looking guy in a sport coat and tie came in.

"Mister Wilson," he said, shaking my hand.  "I'm sorry you've had to go through this."  He opened a folder and took out a piece of paper, handing it to me along with a pen.  "If you'll just sign here, sir, we'll take care of your medical expenses."

I smiled as I glanced at it.  I put the folder, paper, and pen under me in the bed.  "Jill!" I called out.

The guy looked shocked.

"Jill!" I called again.

She came trotting into the room.  "Bill, what's the matter?"

I pointed at the guy, who was trying to get out the door, and handed her the paper and folder.  "Stop that clown!  He waltzed in and handed me a release to sign.  I didn't sign it.  I thought you'd like to speak with him."

"WHAT!" she exclaimed.

The guy squirmed even more, and I loved it.

"The State Bar is going to hear about this!" she scolded as she hauled him out of the room.

The doc returned a few minutes later.  She had me close my eyes, then sprayed the side of my face with something cool.  She propped me up, set up a bright light, and got to work.

Slow and methodical; when had I had a tetanus booster last?  Don't know.  Okay, we'll take care of that.  I should watch for signs of infection.  I'd have some bruising from the impact, but should heal without discernable marks from the incident.

Jill ran down the nurse who had been taking my blood pressure.  A while later Jill asked me to repeat what had happened.  I told her he came in and asked me to sign the thing, without so much as telling me his name or who he worked for.  She smiled.

We had an impromptu meeting in the room with Jill, a grey-haired attorney who didn't look like he was having a good day, the supervising cop, and an older cop also in sports coat and tie.

Jill reminded them that they'd been given copies of the restraining order on Mr. Morris, and had been updated on all major developments in the matter.  She paused for a moment, and then did a tap-dance on their heads, decrying the way I'd been treated, the excessive force used, and having a city attorney try to get me to sign a release when it had been made abundantly clear that I was represented by counsel.  The grey-haired guy rumbled his equally grey moustache.

Jill went quiet, letting them stew.

The older cop said, "Mister Wilson, I'd like to apologize for the treatment you've received.  It's unacceptable, and will not be tolerated.  I'll do what I can to make it right."  He held out his hand; I shook it.

"Thank you," I told him and the others.  "The first human gesture anyone's made.  Let me tell you -- we've all been screwed, again, by someone who knows how to manipulate the system.  Who's feeding this bozo information?  He's getting it from somewhere, from somebody."  I was wiped out.  I looked at the mob, looking last at Jill.  "Right now, I don't want to press charges or bring legal action against anyone.  Partially, that's because we still need your help and your cooperation.  This clown is going to keep at it until he's caught."  I left out the "or killed" part.  "I expect more tricks like this."

The older cop nodded.  "I think you're right on that.  I've already spoken to my colleagues so we can coordinate our efforts and intelligence on this matter.  He doesn't care about jurisdictional boundaries, and neither should we."

"The bastard is around here somewhere," I told him.

The attorney said, "We're investigating the reports from this morning and treating those as felonies."

"Twenty bucks says the calls were made from cell phones that can't be traced," I added optimistically.

The older cop nodded with a wry smile.

I turned to Jill.  "Can I get the hell out of here?  Have we heard from Tom?"

She managed a smile, a kinder one.  "I'll check on both."

"Party over," I told everyone, waving my arms.

"Counsel, a word, please?" the older attorney asked Jill.

Folks filed out.

Twenty minutes later the doctor returned with another nurse.  They pulled the IV line, gave me prescriptions, care instructions, and a follow-up appointment later in the week.

Jill showed up as they were finishing.  "Let's go," she told me.

Once in her car, she flipped on her phone and called her office.  She got the update.  "Nancy is still at class; she'll get a briefing from one of my people and an escort home.  Tom should arrive in an hour or so.  Do you want to stop for lunch?"

My stomach reminded me it was that time.  "In-N-Out at El Camino and Grant -- head down Grant but pull into the shopping center before you get to El Camino so we can sneak up on it from the back."

She smiled.  "Bill, you're taking this very well."

"What fucking choice do I have?" I muttered.

"A lot," she said adamantly.  "But you're thinking, and thinking of the long term.  We could rake those people over the coals if we wanted to -- but you're right; we need their cooperation and their help to catch this bastard."

"I want to pull his fingernails out, one by one," I told her.

"Before or after we get lunch?"

I managed a smirk.  The bright sun hurt my eyes -- I didn't have my sunglasses.  "After, I guess.  Thanks for being there, Jill -- this could have been a real mess.  I guess we halfway lucked out on this one."

"As weird as it sounds, I think we did as well," she muttered back.

"Ah, why don't we eat in the car?  I'll bring it out," Jill suggested.

The side of my face was still numb.  We made an odd couple -- Jill in her business attire, and me in sweat pants and a bloodstained T-shirt.  A little weird, even for this section of Mountain View.  "Sounds like a good idea to me."

We got home before Nancy.  I was semi-doped up on the couch when she got home.  She only went mildly ballistic when she saw me and I explained what had happened.

Tom arrived.  Nancy was glad he was here.  He'd be staying.  Angelique had wanted to have some painting and redecorating done at their place in the City for some time, so if we didn't mind...  No, by all means -- that's what the guest room is for, and we've got a whole lot more room than we had on the barge in France!  Tom thanked us, telling us if he billed exorbitantly, he might break even with the remodel costs.

I zoned for the rest of the day, halfway-present for dinner.  At least I could pick up my car in the morning; Tom would drive me down, and follow me back.  From then on, he'd drive.

I stayed up until it got dark.  I went to bed, with Nancy coming in some time later,  She held me, sang to me, and rocked me to sleep in her arms.  That's what I needed.

She woke me in the morning, inflamed me, rode us both to bliss, then held me again.  That's home -- in the arms of your love.

We managed to get up.  The side of my face looked like hell, red and bruised.  It felt like it looked.  Angelique should arrive before noon.  We'd need to do something about networking the confusers.  I suggested going wireless.  Tom thought that was a good idea.  I raided the safe and picked up some cash; figured I'd get another PowerBook as well.

We got to the dealership a little before ten.  The service manager looked a little surprised to see me.  I asked where my car was.

"Mister Wilson, we released your vehicle to your private investigator, Mister Morris, over an hour ago," he told me.

"YOU FUCKWIT!"

The whole area went dead quiet.

I proceeded to explain to him that I had NOT authorized anyone to pick up my car, and they'd given it to the man who'd been trying to kill Nancy and me, and so far had destroyed her old car, our beach house, and shot up our house on more than one occasion.  I ended by telling him that rather than wringing his scrawny neck with my hands, I was going to go outside and call my attorney.

By this time a number of salesdroids and managers were standing around.

"Tom, could you work with these clowns, please?" I asked, then headed outside.

I took a deep breath, then pulled out my phone.  I called Jill's office.

"What now?" she asked.

"The Mercedes dealership gave my car to Morris this morning."

A gasp on the other end, and after some silence, muffled laughter.  I couldn't help it -- I started laughing too.  What now?  Make sure the cops were notified.  She'd call my insurance agent.  Bet he's going to be thrilled!

After I hung up, I started to go back inside.  Nope, wrong direction.  I walked into the used car section, breathing deep and slow, imagining being in Nancy's arms, rocking gently.  Either that or being at the target range...  Tom had insisted I not carry my Glock when we were together -- he'd have his.  Wonder if he'd let me borrow it to kneecap someone?  Probably not.

Tom walked up, shaking his head.

"Well?"

"PD should be here in a few to take a report.  Morris sweet-talked them into giving him the car.  Their tracking service has been notified, but can't find it."

"Look for a white E55 AMG with aluminum foil on the antenna, or a metal bowl taped over the antenna," I suggested.

He nodded.  "The first thing I'd have done, cover those antennas, then pop the fuses to disable the system.  Oh, management is pretty upset.  They called one of the owners, who should be here in a few.  They wanted me to be sure you were safe."

I nodded.  "So you won't loan me your gun for a few minutes?"

He laughed.  "Don't think that will be necessary."

"Oh, I wouldn't kill anyone, just kneecaps."

"I think they're going to use a tire iron."

I sighed and shook my head.  "Let's go talk."

We walked back in the service entrance.  A guy in a suit approached.

"Mister Wilson," he started.

"Where's the service manager?  I want to speak to him."

"Ah, he's no longer..."

"You WILL NOT fire him!  You fire that guy and you'll be in a whole lot more trouble than you're in now!  Understand?  I want to talk to him, NOW!"

The guy blanched and headed off.

He returned with a very chagrined (and most likely confused) service manager.

The service manager started to talk.  I let him have his peace."

"Mister Wilson, I'm sorry for what has happened.  I accept complete responsibility."

I held out my hand.  Incredulous, he shook it.

I looked around at the mob, all dealership people from the looks of things.

"All right.  You fucked up, in spades.  But -- you were conned by one of the best.  This guy is a weasel's weasel.  He can talk out of both sides of his mouth at the same time he's drinking a beer.  I DO NOT expect you to be fired or transferred to another position.  Both my wife and I have worked with you, and you're too valuable to this dealership."  I gave the suit a nasty glance.  He nodded.  "Good.  I'm glad that's settled.  Now, if they had you cleaning windshields in the lot for a few mornings..."  That got the nervous laughter I'd hoped for.  "Okay.  The cops have been called, right?"

The suit said, "Yes, sir.  A stolen vehicle report has been filed.  Tele Aid has been contacted, but hadn't located the vehicle when last we spoke with them."

I nodded.  "Because he undoubtedly shielded the antennas before he was two blocks away."  I walked outside again.

I looked at the SL 600's again.  Nice, but a two-seater was out of the question, for a while at least.  No, I really liked the E55, that's why we'd gotten it.  Should I call Nancy?  Even though we'd gotten it to replace her car, she'd adopted the Jeep and I'd adopted the Mercedes.  Don't know.  Talk to her about it later when the dust settles.

I thought I heard Tom approaching, but it was the suit, accompanied by a well-dressed, older woman.

"Mister Wilson, I'm so sorry this happened," she said, extending a hand.

We shook hands; she introduced herself, one of the owners of the dealership.

I thanked her for her concern, and for being here to represent the dealership.  I also told her I expected that the service manager in question would retain his position, reiterating that he'd been added to a long list of people who had been screwed over by Morris, a list replete with FBI, ATF, and many other notables.  She agreed that he would not be punished.  While the dealership had rules regarding release of vehicles, they also gave their people leeway in their application, taking into account the needs of their clientele.  As it should be, I agreed; again, he was taken by an expert.  Where do we go from here?

We walked back to the dealership and took over an office.  She expressed hope that the car would be recovered, and soon.  I explained to her that even if it was, it would have to be practically disassembled and reassembled before I would drive it.  She didn't understand, until I explained how Morris had booby-trapped the beach house, and done it well enough to fool FBI and ATF, destroying the beach house, Nancy's car, and injuring two good friends.  I think she got the point -- she turned pale.

We saw a cop car pull into the dealership.  The suit excused himself.

She offered me carte blanche on a loaner vehicle until the situation was resolved.  I thanked her, but wished to demur for a few days, also to let things sort out.  I would be interested in another E55 AMG.  She told me one would be available for me as soon as possible.

Tom and I stuck around for a while.  About five minutes after the first officers arrived, another pair showed up, one in uniform, one in a suit.  Ah, someone with more of the story...

My eventual interview was brief.  Had I authorized anyone to pick up the vehicle?  Nope.  In writing?  Nope.  By phone or voicemail?  Nope.  Thank you for your help, we hope to recover your vehicle as soon as possible.  I shrugged; doesn't matter to me, after what he did booby-trapping our house and the beach house, I won't get into it or drive it, especially if ATF and the FBI say it's clean!


Part 7

Nancy, Tom, and I met Jill in the law firm's lobby.  Some uniformed cops were standing around.  I recognized one of them and exchanged nods.  Security, I guess.  Still, I don't know that their presence made me feel any safer.

"I take it they don't like our latest move?" I asked Jill.

She smiled, that carnivorous attorney smile.  "Nope, and in spite of all their huffing and puffing, there's not a lot they can do about it."  She handed me a file folder.

We'd notified Morris's credit card companies that he was wanted for a number of felonies, and if they continued to extend him credit to purchase firearms or otherwise further the commission of felonies, they could expect to be on the wrong end of a lawsuit.

The Feds were all up in arms, calling it "Bordering on interfering with an ongoing investigation."

I called it crap.  They'd wanted to meet downtown San Jose at the Fed offices.  I said no, we'd meet in Palo Alto, or not at all.

"We ready to go?" I asked.  "If they didn't like the credit card deal, they're going to just love this!"  I waved the folder.

With a nod, Marshall, our attorney at the firm, led us back to the conference room.

What a mob -- FBI, ATF, Lieutenant Connor from the local police, a guy from the U.S. Attorney's office in San Jose.  "Tits on a bull," I muttered.  No, Connor and the local FBI guy had been helpful, as was Marshall.  A bunch of then had been very helpful.

"Mr. Wilson," the ATF guy said, "Are you armed?"

I pulled back my sports coat, showing them my Glock.  "Yes, I am."

Connor interjected, "And Mr. Wilson has a permit to carry a weapon."

Tom added, "As do I."

I stood behind a chair, not moving to sit down.  I glanced to Marshall, to Jill, to the U.S. Attorney who'd nominally called the meeting.

"I don't see that as relevant," he said dismissively.  "Please, sit down, Mr. Wilson."

We sat down.  After brief introductions, he started a rambling discourse on the difficulty the investigation poised, and the necessity for keeping all information sources available.

"Look," I interrupted him.  "As my attorney has explained to me, we are merely preserving our rights, and putting others on notice of their potential liability.  So far, this debacle has cost me close to half a million dollars.  Somehow, I don't think Mr. Morris's estate will be able to cover that."

He started droning again, about needing to keep sources of information alive.

"You don't get it!" I interrupted again.  "Who gave you the credit card information?  We did!  Who told you where he bought the rifle?  We did!  Who tracked his rental car and gave you that information?  We did!  Who put his picture in every gun and ammo dealer from Salinas to Tahoe, and turned up leads?  We did!"

"And while we appreciate your efforts, Mr. Wilson, they delay our own..."

"Delay!  He stole my car, we filed a report within an hour, and it took 48 hours to get the report out to the field?"

An FBI guy said, "That's a function of the local jurisdiction."

Before Connor could complain, I jumped on that.  "Oh come on, you know as well as I that you demanded the information not be released until it could be reviewed by headquarters, whatever that's supposed to mean.  What in God's name took you 48 hours?  What did you do with that information in 48 hours?  When we give information directly to our local people, who have been extremely helpful in this whole debacle, they move on it, and you scream.  When we try and give you information, we're either brushed off -- the rifle purchase, or you sit on it -- as with the stolen car report, the rental car, the credit cards.  You can't have it both ways."

"Mr. Wilson, we have established, successful, protocols and methods which..."

"The same protocols you followed in checking out our beach house?"

That was a cheap shot, but they'd earned it.

"So we're supposed to sit around?  What kind of target should my wife and I wear?"

Nancy leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.  "I'll be right back," she whispered.  She stood and left the conference room.

"Mister Wilson, we're doing all we can," the U.S. Attorney told us.

I shook my head.  "Pathetic.  We're giving you solid information and you're sitting on it."

I nodded to Jill.  She slid a folder over to me with a smile.  I smiled as well.

"Would you like to hear what we're going to do next?" I asked them with a big smile.

We were interrupted by a scream and a gunshot from the hallway.  The blare of an emergency door alarm sounded.

I jumped up, following Tom.  He more or less went through one of the Feds and a couple of attorneys getting to the door.  A woman was standing in the hallway, hands to her face.

"He...  He grabbed her, shot at me, and took her to the stairwell, she yelled over the alarm, pointing at the emergency door.

Tom took off down the hall, police following.

Where would I go?  Our car?  Wheels and a hostage at the same time -- I took off running.

I ran through the lobby and to the stairwell we'd come up from the parking structure.  As I entered the stairwell, I pulled my gun.  I was ready to go.

We'd parked down on level 2.  I opened the door slowly, quietly, crouched low.  Down the end of the row, around the corner, that's where the car should be.  Damn -- the stairwell he went down might have been closer.

I moved as quickly and quietly as I could.  I heard car noises, and a sound that could have been Nancy.  I recognized Morris's voice barking at her to keep going.  My hands went cold.

I came around the corner slowly, gun still drawn.

There he was, about thirty feet away, standing in front of our car.  He held an ugly snub-nosed gun to Nancy's head.

After all the panic and running, I was suddenly quite calm.  I stood, aiming carefully.  There would be no appreciable drop at this distance.  I lined up the sight with his left eye.

He was yelling.  I didn't care.  It was going to end here.  I remained focused on the sight, and on his left eye.  In the periphery of my vision I could see the barrel of his gun wavering.  Nancy looked terrified.

He kept yelling.  His gun barrel kept wavering.  A little more, please -- point it just a little bit further away from her head.

He started moving her to one side.  She closed her eyes and stood there, not cooperating.  Good girl!  His voice got louder.  He pressed the barrel into her head more.

Car lights came in from the side; horns and more voices joined the fray.  He glanced to the side and the barrel of his gun left her temple.

I squeezed the trigger as I exhaled.  His head kicked back, the gun in his hand discharging in the air.  He fell back on the hood of our car, then slid down off the side.

I ran to Nancy, pulling her into my arms.  "It's over; it's over," I told her as she held on and sobbed.

Jill, Tom, and two officers showed up a few heartbeats later.  I hugged Nancy to me once again, and turned to move her to Jill.

Jill's eyes met mine.  She nodded with grim determination.  "Nancy, let me help," she said softly, taking Nancy and leading her away.  Connor and the U.S. Attorney showed up.  "Get her out of here," I whispered to Jill.  Nancy was sobbing as Jill led her away.

"Good to see you," I told Tom.

The group gravitated to the side of the car.  The hood, windshield, roof, and part of the garage wall were splattered with what had been Mr. Morris.

One of the uniformed cops was bending down over the body.  He stood up, and with a lopsided grin, said, "Nice shot."

I holstered my Glock, leaning over to get a better look.  The bastard's left eye was misshapen, some fluid leaking out around the edges of the eyelids.  The slug tore out the back of his skull.  Clean entry, messy exit.  The bastard had gotten blood and gore all over my car.

"Okay, what the hell happened?" Connor called out.

One of the uniformed cops answered.  "We saw the whole thing, Lieutenant.  When we got here, Morris had his gun on the woman, yelling at Mister Wilson that he was going to kill them both.  A car came around the corner and I yelled for him to drop the gun.  He turned a little, and Mister Wilson got off one shot.  Morris's gun went off as he went down."

Lieutenant Connor nodded.  He held out a hand to me.  "Mister Wilson, if I could have your firearm, please."

I handed it to him.

"Mister Wilson," he said quietly, "I think you saved the taxpayers a great deal of money."  Louder, "Hayney -- get the coroner.  Secure the area."  He leaned over and looked at Morris.  The pool of blood was getting bigger.  "Nice shot," he said.  He looked around.  "Let's go upstairs and get statements.  At least we can sit down."

I caught up with Nancy and Jill.  Nancy clutched me again.  I held her.  I could smell gunpowder in her hair.  It had been that close.

We made it back to the conference room.  One of the cops needed my car keys; I handed them over.  People were still scurrying around.  I sat Nancy down and held her.  I needed to hold her as much as she needed to be held.

It took awhile before Nancy could talk.  By the time she was ready, we'd collected more of a crowd, with folks from the feds, as well as the local district attorney's office.

She was headed to the restroom when he surprised her in the hallway, grabbing her, threatening her with his gun.  A secretary saw them and screamed.  He fired a shot at her, then hauled Nancy down the fire stairs, setting off the alarm on the emergency exit door.  He took her to our car.  She'd just told him she didn't have the keys when I came around the corner.

When they took my statement, I told them I expected Morris to kill both of us, as he had promised to do, and tried to do many times.  I didn't pay attention to what he was screaming, waiting for an opening.  It was the only thing I could do to save Nancy's life, and my own.

When they started taking statements from the cops, Jill took me into an adjacent office.

"How's Nancy?" I asked as I was sitting down.

Jill sighed.  "She's got powder burns on her face.  We'll take her to the Stanford emergency room and have her checked."

"Ought to call the shrink as well," I muttered.

She nodded.  "Already did that.  He, ah, he gave me the name of a colleague.  He felt he was out of his league on this one.  She's available when you two are, ready and willing to help."

I nodded.

"Bill, how are you doing?"

I sighed, looking at my hands.  I looked at her.  "It's over."

She nodded.  "It's over.  I talked to the DA and the U.S. Attorney; they're calling it justifiable homicide.  The feds are a little pissed, but I think everyone agrees it's over."

They had some follow-up questions for me.  They wanted to know about my firearms training.  When the district attorney asked why I'd applied for the concealed weapons permit, I told him, "To protect us against the madman who booby-trapped and shot up our house, booby-trapped our beach house causing its destruction and the injury of two friends, continued to deliver death threats, and shot up our house on multiple occasions, all the time evading the law enforcement authorities of two countries."

He nodded and said, "No further questions."

They invited me to leave the room again.  Tom was outside.  He shook my hand.

"That was very cool-headed work."

"It was the only thing I could do," I told him.

The door opened.  "Mister Wilson, could we see you for a moment again, sir?"

I went back inside, expecting more questions.  Instead, the group was packing up.  Lieutenant Connor walked over and handed my Glock back.

"Mister Wilson, I'm returning this to you."

I took it, holstering it again, then shook his hand.  "Thank you.  I don't think I'll need to carry it anymore."

He said, "Thank you, Mister Wilson."

The DA and the Feds told me I'd be getting calls tomorrow to sign statements.  Jill told them to call her and she'd take care of it; she'd know how to get in touch with us.

The locals insisted Nancy be transported to Stanford in an ambulance.

The group started breaking up.

After Nancy and I hugged again, the ambulance took her away.

With Jill, Tom, and I standing in the hallway again, I looked to Tom and asked, "What the fuck do I do about getting the car cleaned?  That's three cars that bastard has screwed up!"

He shook his head.  "We've got a crew lined up as soon as the police release it.  You'll have it back tomorrow.  Don't know if you'll need the paint touched up or not just yet."

"F..."  I shook my head.  "Can someone take me to Stanford?"

Jill pulled out her keys.  "Let's go."

Tom patted me on the back.

A young attorney trotted up.  "Ah, the press are starting to swarm outside."

I smiled to Jill.  "Do you want this one, or should we leave it to the cops?"

Jill sighed, shaking her head and tossing the keys to Tom.  "Don't let the DA get away," she told the attorney, shooing him off.  She told Tom and me, "We'll handle it.  Give us five minutes and then take off."

Tom said, "Sounds like a plan."

We headed downstairs to the parking level again.

It took us more like ten minutes, but we got Jill's car and headed out.  Cops were crawling over our car and Morris's remains.

Outside, TV trucks were double-parked in front of the building.  I looked at my hands.  They weren't even shaking.

We parked at Stanford Emergency.  As we got out, Tom said, "Bill -- your gun."

"Ah, good idea."  I handed it to him.  He put it with his in the trunk.  You have to go through metal detectors at Stanford Emergency.

A nurse got us back to Nancy in short order.  She burst into tears when she saw me.  I held her.  When I closed my eyes, I saw Morris in the sight of my gun again.

"Mister Wilson?"

I sat up a bit, letting go of Nancy some, but still holding her hands.  A doctor-looking chap was standing a few feet away.

"Yes?"

"May I speak with you, sir?" he asked.

Nancy closed her eyes momentarily.  "I'll be okay -- just hurry back."

I kissed her on the forehead.  "I will, darling."

I squeezed her once more, then went out to the hall.

"Well?" I asked the doc.

He sighed.  "Your wife has undergone significant trauma.  Physically, she's fine.  Minor powder burn on the temple, singed hair.  We've cleaned that up.  Her eardrums are undamaged; she may have hearing disturbances for another few days.  Psychologically, there's not much we can do, other than offer referrals..."

I nodded.  "We've gotten a referral already, and will be speaking with someone in the next day or so, possibly this evening."

"Ah, how much do you know about the incident?"

I frowned.  "I shot the bastard."

His eyes got wide and he gulped.

"Can we take her home now?" I asked.

"Y...  Yes, whenever you want."

I held out my hand and shook his.  "Thank you, Doctor.  This has been quite traumatic for us all."

He nodded, turned, and walked away.

Tom and I went back into the room.  "Let's take you home, sweetie."

She was shaking, but we got her dressed again, gathered her things, and headed out.

We sat together in the back seat of Jill's car as Tom drove us to the house.

Part of the trauma was over.  Now what?  I wasn't sure how I felt about the house anymore.  Was it time to build our own?  Shed that last piece of historical skin?

It felt weird walking into the house, weirder than it had before.  It had been strange that first time, and then a couple of days later, walking in with the realization that it belonged to me...  The flowers, coming back from Europe a few weeks ago...

Carl and Karen were there, holding down the fort.  They gave us questioning looks.

"It's over," I told them.  "We'll be upstairs."  I handed Carl my gun and holster.

I led Nancy upstairs.  We got on the bed and snuggled up.  I held her head to my chest, and pulled the spread over us.

"I've got you, sweetie," I whispered as I held her.

She started crying softly again.  I held her and let her cry, telling her I loved her, and I would protect her.

Some time later, after she'd run out of tears, I heard a quiet knock on our door.  She startled, and I squeezed her to me.

"Yes?" I said.

"Bill, we're here," Jill said from the hallway.

"Be right there."

I kissed Nancy on the cheek.  "I love you."

I rolled out of bed and looked for my holster and gun.  I sighed -- that had become a habit so quickly.

"Yeah?" I asked, opening the door a little.

Jill gave me a tired smile.  "The doctor is downstairs."

"Oh, okay -- thanks.  We'll be right down.  See if she wants something to drink.  You could start giving her the story."

She nodded.  "Will do.  If I'm going to give her the story, you can take your time..."

I smiled a little, as did she.  "Thanks..."

I went back over to Nancy.

"Sweetie, we've got a shrink downstairs to talk to.  I want you to get up so we can get this out of our systems, okay?"

She rolled to her back.  She looked like hell.

"Okay," she whispered.  "Give me a few minutes to clean up and change.  I want to get out of these clothes and wash my face again."

"Want me to stay with you?"

She sat up.  "No, I'll be okay.  I'll be down in a few minutes."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed; I helped her stand, and hugged her.

"It's over, sweetie," I told her.

We went into the bathroom.  I used the can while Nancy took off her clothes.

"Love that outfit," I told her when she was nude.

She managed a laugh.  She turned on the water at the sink, then turned it off.  "I'm going to take a shower," she said, walking closer to me.

I pulled her to me, sucking on a nipple.  Her hands held my head.  I pressed my head to her, listening to her heart beat.

"Oh, I think we can sleep tonight," I told her.

"I hope so," she said softly.

I let go and she went to the shower.  I got up and flushed.  I made sure she had a clean towel, then headed downstairs.  I got a 7-up from the fridge, and joined the group in the family room.

Karen and Carl were sitting together.  Tom and Jill sat on the other couch.  The other woman, mid forties I'd guess, thin with brown hair, turned and stood up as I entered.  She smiled and extended a hand.

"You must be Bill.  I'm Doctor Mariani."

I shook her hand.  "Sorry to meet you, Doctor, but I'm very glad you're here."

She blinked, then smiled and sat down.  "How are you doing, Bill?"

I sat down on the other couch, leaving room for Nancy.

"Nancy needed to take a shower.  She'll be down in a few minutes.  Me?  I'm still numb.  I blew a man's brains out -- deliberately, intentionally.  But I don't feel bad about it."

"Should you?" she asked.

I shook my head.  "Nope, not over him.  How much of the story did you hear?"

The doctor glanced to Karen.

Karen said, "I'd just told her about your first meeting with Morris."

I nodded and took a sip of my 7-Up.  "You must have left out a lot...  Well, we can pick up early details later..."

I gave her the condensed version, going over death threats from Morris after he'd been fired, having Karen and Carl over at the house, Morris shooting up the place after setting booby-traps, how I proposed to Nancy while we were in the tub -- she smiled at that.  I told her about his flight to Canada, our leaving for Europe, the bomb in the beach house, coming back to chaos and more death threats, having the house shot up again, stealing the car, working with Tom, more threats and shooting, getting fed up and going to the meeting earlier today.

"And that takes us, more or less, up to today, when all hell broke loose, and Mister Morris met his demise," I told her.

She nodded.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Listen, make suggestions, bill me," I told her.  That didn't faze her.  "Help us, the bunch of us, work through this, so that we're not any more screwed up by it than need be.  I'm not expecting, or looking to you or to anyone for absolution.  I killed a man today, and I have to live with that for the rest of my life.  When I pulled that trigger, I know that I saved Nancy's life, and most likely my own as well.  I had a choice; I chose to take his life, and save ours."



End of Part 7
Rev 11/27/2004


The Golden Mule Returns
by silli_artie@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr.org/~artie

The Golden Mule Returns

(c) silli_artie@hotmail.com	96	http://www.asstr.org/~artie/ 

