
===============================================================================
  LEGAL DISCLAIMER
===============================================================================

The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements
may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal
events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this
fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure
coincidence.

Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993)
and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards
the aforementioned for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man,
and to stretch one's imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the
countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets
you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was
intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.

This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and
descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local
laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene
material. Thank you.

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      I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.

                                   -- Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison, 1947)

===============================================================================
  AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
===============================================================================

  You can see us, but you do not know where we are.

  You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.

  You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.

  We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.

                                 =======
  -----------
  PREVIOUSLY:
  -----------

  Stanley recollects what the older telepath Tseng reveals about the invisible
empire. Tseng later introduces Stanley to "the agency" (the United States'
National Security Agency, or NSA). Thus begins Stanley's involvement in agency
operations, illegal "odd jobs" to bolster his mettle, and his working
relationships with Tseng and the teleporter, David.

  After graduating college, Stanley goes to Hong Kong for a family vacation.
While there, he meets and seduces his first cousin Aurora Kwong. They have a
brief, incestuous affair. Once they return home, they keep in touch only
through electronic correspondence.

  On more personal level, Stanley and Rachelle have a lovers' quarrel and
break-up over Janet's involvement. He meets her a few years later at Faraz's
engagement party, only to find that she had found someone else. Sensing
Stanley's depression, Viktoriya instigates a menage-a-trois with Shawn to
cheer up her lover.

  Stanley makes plans to create a place where he and his darlings may live
together in harmony. Eschewing Mormon and Islamic beliefs, he falls back on
his own family's history of polygamy as well as literary sources for
inspiration.

  As the year 2000 begins, Stanley has secured a promising job and received
pledges from four girls: Janet Kam-Ling Wu, Shawn Ellen Horten, Melanie
Yu-Ching Chen, and Viktoriya Lychenko to be his wives.

===============================================================================
  A LIFE IN FOCUS 
===============================================================================

  When I was younger, I thought that building a house was easy as 1-2-3. Had I
known that the actual business was such a monumental task, I would've gone
into a different profession, or killed myself. Fuck architecture.

  Architects -- the ones portrayed glamorously in the media, or tragically in
Ayn Rand's Fountainhead -- are the one in a million. More often than not,
they're mostly unhappy, under great pressure, and at the end of the day, they
say, "Fuck it," pull out the latest copy of Graphics Standard and cobble
together the best design they can come up with.

  I was a shade above that, but I suspected it would not take much to drag me
down. I had asked the girls to vote on their favorite site. I was fairly sure
I could persuade either of the owners to sell their property, and I could get
all the tenants to move before I started building (although Viktoriya was
egging me to kick the tenants out with a little 'persuasion').

  Janet favored the site on 6th Avenue, since it cut her commute time down
considerably; however, it was a little too close to the Golden Gate Park for
Shawn's comfort. Having lived apart from her parents in San Jose, my pudgy
pumpkin wanted to be as far away from them as possible. She favored the other
place.

  Viktoriya didn't put in her preference. She had graduated from her institute
in 1999 (hers being a four plus two program -- four years of undergraduate
study, two more in graduate school) and had partnered with an older man that
same year. She had flown to England for a week to compete in competition, and
along those lines, she maintained she wanted to stay in New York for a little
longer. They had some overseas competitions they wished to enter.

  'It will be fun, kisa.' Viktoriya blew a kiss into the mirror so I could see
her. 'I will meet many skilled dancers!'

  I cracked my knuckles in frustration while I thought-spoke on my bus ride to
work. I hadn't experienced jealousy of this intensity before. The idea of
Viktoriya twirling nearly nude in another man's arms thousands of miles away
rankled me. It reminded me of how I had lost Rachelle. I couldn't hide my envy
fast enough.

  'Don't think like that Stanislav.' Viktoriya scolded. 'It is the last thing
on my mind when I am on the floor.'

  'It better be.' I buried my envy and let my humor mask my emotions. 'And I
guess I can't complain about the opportunity. Just let me into the ladies'
dressing room and I'll call it even.'

  Viktoriya grinned roguishly, extended her middle finger, and gestured with it
in the most perverse way possible by fingering her cunt before licking it. I
was grinning stupidly at antics occurring on the other side of the continent
and hardly noticed people were staring at me on the bus. They probably thought
I was retarded.

  Melanie, sensitive to both Janet's and Shawn's feelings, also didn't put in
her vote. Privately, she told me she didn't want to move. Wouldn't it be
better, she suggested, to buy a second house, move my parents and Andrew out,
and have things the way they were? As much nostalgia as my old room held, I
knew I needed a place of my own. I wanted to expand my horizons and didn't
need to live under my family's roof any more. By now, my life was a little
more rough and tumble, and I wasn't sure if they'd agree.

  From my weapon seizures, I had picked up some interest in gunsmithing. Having
gotten my masters in architecture, I found myself spending my newly acquired
spare weekends at a gun shop in San Bruno (just south of South San Francisco).
The owner and the namesake of the place was an old coot by the name of Barnes.
We traded ammunition from the weapons I took from dead Mexican banditos and
gang-banging thugs.

  The few pieces I had that could pass for legal I'd bring in and learn a few
tricks about maintenance and gunsmithing. Heck, I picked up Barnes' entire
experience after a few weeks; gunsmithing is nothing fancy once you figure out
how all the parts interacted with one another.

  Although I didn't have a private license or agency authorization to carry a
gun, I knew enough about them through my tinkering to disable them quickly. I
didn't sell the guns (since many were illegally obtained anyway) -- just
stockpiled ammunition and spare parts (springs, firing pins, and barrels
mostly) for the ones I kept -- but I found the (legal looking) handguns handy.
After buying state-approved magazines (California limited civilians like
myself to magazines holding ten rounds or less at the time) I occasionally
went shooting with some of my new co-workers.

  I haven't gotten to that part yet have I? I finally found a day job that
didn't involve drugs, crime cartels, or cold-blooded murder in the middle of a
sun-parched desert. Let me walk you through the process though.

  After I returned from New York, I took the architecture practitioner's
license exam. At the time, California was engaged in heated debate whether or
not to standardize their licensing with more than a score of other states. I
had to admit that California was slightly unique: the state had a shit-ton of
people living on the fault line. After the 1989 Loma Prieta Quake, seismic
awareness (if not engineering) was a requisite for all design students.

  I passed my exam by the flimsiest of margins. It consisted of a two day
design studio then a day of presentation. If you missed anything at any time,
you were screwed. I couldn't use my gift of gab for the presentation since it
was reviewed without you; if the reviewers understood your presentation, you
passed. If they did not, then that was it.

  The worst of it was yet to come. The last part was a personal interview
conducted by three licensed architects. Miss a question and you failed,
regardless how well you did earlier (or how tired you were from it).

  The project was something only a sick mind could concoct: some fool wanted to
create a facility to serve under-privileged and disadvantaged youth (read:
potential gang-bangers) by day as well as house disadvantaged seniors day and
night. Simply pushing it through just to accommodate both parties wasn't
enough, I had to "hybridize" the project -- we're talking an ideal fusion of
opposing objectives that only an academic, or a day-dreamer, could love. I met
the bare physical requirements (which demanded a physical scale model) by
drafting only the facade of the facility.

  I exceeded in presentation. My use of CAD allowed me to draft in roughly half
the time (having the money to splurge on a hefty desktop didn't hurt either).
This left me with the ability to draw on my own skills at visual presentation.
I drew on youth-involved community programs and my own culture's stereotypical
filial piety. People are suckers for Asians, especially if they think you're
"traditional."

  When it came time for my interview, my gift let me pass it with greater ease
than normal. A few quick scans and I knew what those fools were looking for.
By the time Lunar New Year came around, I was a licensed architect in the
state of California.

  Despite my success, I didn't let it all go to my head. I interviewed and got
a job as a computer assisted drafter (not an architect) with Ferguson Design &
Graphics in a cushy office downtown. Since I could bring projects home, I
would meet Janet (her office was on Sacramento Street). This renewed contact
cemented a decade long relationship. Janet and I rediscovered why we hung out
so much (despite our occasional differences).

  Janet's firm (Friedman, Hoch, Brenner, & Glasser) was one that specialized in
defending businesses from class action suits. Since her graduation, she was
working on mounds of briefs, paperwork, and meetings for well over a year. The
only vacation she got was for New Years. With Viktoriya in New York, Shawn
busy at Berkeley, and Melanie splitting her time between high school and the
culinary program at City, Janet and I found time again to re-connect.

  I invited her to stay over for a few days and she agreed, packing a few
overnight items. It would also be a chance for her to take a look at the
offers the owners were making for their buildings, as well as some of the
drawings Shawn had done to "eco-friendly" the building.

  "Stanley?" Janet came in with her set of keys, "Stanley, where are you?"

  I heard her hollering a bit and cracked open the door to my studio in the
outer room with a little telekinesis.

  "The usual, honey."

  I was putting the final touches on some construction drawings and I had to be
careful. Unlike those glitzy plans you'd see at town hall meetings or in the
movies, construction drawings were the actual "blueprints". Various
contractors would use them to actually build the damn thing, so if I missed an
important detail -- say, forgetting to note that there should be five screws
at all the T-joints instead of three -- my company would get their ass handed
to them on a plate in the civil suit, then I'd get fired for incompetence.
Janet came in and put her arms around me.

  "Kiss me you big handsome guy you. It's Friday."

  "They asked me to have these ready Sunday morning," I reached up absently and
pinched her arm. "Just so they can avoid paying me overtime."

  "Animals," Janet sniffed. "That's illegal."

  I shrugged. "I don't mind. Keeps me in practice."

  "Well," my lovely lawyer stood up in a huff, "I'm going to take a shower.
What're we having for dinner?"

  "Considering we just let our parents know what we've been doing," I turned
towards her, "I was thinking cheun-gaa-hui-xicfan*." [* Cantonese: Let's have 
a nice family dinner.]

  Janet hid her smile but I heard the giggle. I didn't know if it was from the
incident from a few days ago, or if it just struck her as funny. This was how
it started: ever since Rachelle, my parents hadn't seen me hang out with
anyone (officially) save Melanie and -- on rare occasions -- Shawn and
Viktoriya. Janet was one of my most well kept secrets (save the empire). We
started seeing each other so furtively that it became second nature to us.

  When I finally introduced Janet to my parents, I had to deal with a sudden
barrage of questions that came up. Even Andrew, my normally supportive little
brother, was curious as to what was going on. Luckily, my mother remembered
Janet, although only dimly. It didn't take her long to suspect something. She
wondered how serendipitous it was for me to meet her again after all these
years.

  Mother finally took me aside and asked her most pressing question: "Kgam
yeung Yu-Ching hai lei-ge bien-ge*?" [* Cantonese: Then who is Yu-Ching to
you?]

  When I put on my straightest face and answered, she fainted. Thankfully, I
had been practicing my telekinesis so I could gently let her hit the ground
without serious injury. When my mother got back up and told my dad, that was
when things really got interesting (insert sarcasm here). My father was
furious at my temerity, but I stuck to my guns. I suppose I could've done
more, like brain-zapping his ass, but I didn't.

  Discipline and control were what I had to go on. Besides, I had a better
weapon. An ally more potent than what I had for this problem: my devoted Lady
Wu. Janet told them that she knew already. Part of it was her choice as well,
and she didn't mind.

  "I made this decision Chen-sang*," [* Cantonese: Mr. Chen / authoritative]
Janet used a gentle version of her court voice, "And I agreed to it because I
love Stanley and I know he loves me."

  And that was it. Oh, we heard them arguing from my room below and their
voices sometimes kicked up a storm. So much so in fact, that Andrew actually
came down and asked to stay with us for a while until things quieted down.
Once things did, he headed back upstairs. Janet didn't mind his company
though, and made an effort to know him better.

  "Sorry Janet," Andrew shrugged apologetically, "You should've seen our dad's
face when ah-guo* [* Cantonese: Big Brother (casual)] brought home Rachelle." 

  "Oh, I'm sure it was something." Janet smiled thinly. Andrew saw me scowl
past her.

  "Uh sorry," my little brother laughed nervously, "I didn't mean it that way."

  "That's all right," Janet said, "It's in the past right?"

  "It looks that way," I lied.

  Actually, I didn't know. My last meeting with Rachelle was brief and it was
one of the most confusing and painful moments I had. She had gotten engaged
without even telling me. But now and then, I would see her emails and I would
answer them as I did before, only with a little more attention. I learned a
valuable lesson in communication. I left my responses open to more dialogue.
Rachelle would write back and we'd exchange messages once a week or so.

  I shook off Rachelle's memory and focused on the task at hand. I finished
checking through the project drawings a third (and by most standards, final)
time while Janet was still in the shower. I saved the project, backed a copy
to a Jazz disk then stood up for some exercise.

  While Janet was still occupied, I juggled several paperweights, my chair,
wastebasket, and pillow to stay in practice. When I heard the shower's hiss go
silent, I quietly set all the items back down and headed to the kitchenette.
Janet came out, her body hidden only by a towel before her; her back was bared
for all to see.

  "Water dear?" I looked up with a smile.

  "No thanks," she was hardly surprised to see me but she kept her towel, "Um,
could you turn around?"

  "Why you beautiful girl you," I stepped close and slid my arm around her
waist, "Give your fiance a kiss. It's Friday."

  A slow grin came to Janet's face as I pulled her towel and draped it over the
back of the chair.

  "Why Stanley," she murmured, "Aren't we going to dinner?"

  "In a little bit," I picked her up easily despite the fact she had gained a
few pounds. "I just want to give you a few swimmers first."

  "That's not appetizing," Janet wrinkled her nose at me. "At least have the
decency to shower first, you big stinky lug."

  "Who said anything about appetizers?" I kissed her. "I'm making this the main
course."

  Janet's eyes widened like saucers. "You're serious?"

  "Course I am," I nodded.

  "I don't know sweetie," Janet squirmed a little. "I mean I just did start at
the firm last year."

  "Probation's over," I lay her down gently on the sofa. "I thought you wanted
this?"

  Janet said nothing but I sensed her nervousness.

  "The house hasn't been built yet you know," she lectured me while in the most
ridiculous pose: her legs and feet pointed high into the air.

  "So by the time he or she pops out, it'll be done." I sounded more sure of
myself than I really was.

  "C'mon," Janet stroked my arms and face, "Let's talk about this afterwards,
okay?"

  "Fine," I sighed and got up. My hard-on made it a little difficult.

  As I stepped towards my studio to get dressed, I looked back at Janet, who
still lay there with her legs splayed apart.

  "You coming?" I asked.

  "Oh, I will be, Stanley," Janet rubbed her pussy deliciously. "Have you
forgotten what saran wrap is for?"

  I grinned and headed back to the kitchenette. I pulled out a thin piece and
whipped out my stiffening cock. I dripped a little vegetable cooking oil and
knelt between Janet's legs.

  "Stick me baby," Janet cooed. "Fuck me like old times."

  She was nearly twice her age from when we first fucked. Janet had grown
older, her body a little softer and a little less firm. I wasn't yet 25 (not
until September of 2000) and Janet wouldn't be 29 until June. Janet's
sedentary lifestyle made her a little flabby, though not much so that she was
unattractive. If I was inclined to be so shallow, I wouldn't have paid girls
like Shawn much attention.

  No, Janet, like my other darlings, had beauty that was more than skin deep.
Oh, I'm sure I'd bone a pretty hot chick if the chance arose. I did exactly
that with my cousin Aurora, but I didn't grow more fond of her. We remained
pen pals over email and we didn't exactly click.

  Janet groaned as I slid into her. The saran wrap stretched but didn't break
as I began to pump her slowly. I looked deep into her eyes and smiled. She
grinned back and scraped my stomach lightly with her nails. I shivered as she
did so, eliciting a saucy grin from her lips. Janet took my arms and stroked
them lazily. The rhythm she wanted me to fuck her with, she reproduced by
stroking my palm.

  "Easy Stanley," Janet guided me, "Easy there. That's it. That's right. Ooohh
..."

  She was my tutor and my first love. She taught me manners and showed me a
world a little bit past what I could see as a stupid kid. All these memories I
had came back and nearly overwhelmed me, but I kept them in check; I knew I
was able to hurt her easily with a stray thought.

  I had grown, and so had she. I didn't want to do anything to hurt Janet. I
would do anything to protect her. I loved her and she loved me. I leaned
forward and kissed her. She held me tightly as I came with a jerk. The two of
us were bright, happy and gay as we went out to dinner with her parents and
mine.

===============================================================================
  BONER-IFFIC 
===============================================================================

  That night, Janet and I talked a little about our future, about everyone's
future, while we lay nude under the bed covers. We had flashlights underneath
and it felt like an old-style slumber party; a naked slumber party.

  "It'll be just a bit longer," Janet tapped her finger on a small calendar.

  "You sure?" I asked her, "You're how old now?"

  "28 and-a-half. I think I can wait a little longer."

  "I guess so." I didn't feel as old as she did. But time did seem to fly by. I
did some quick math. We'd known one another nearly twelve years. I knew
Melanie and Shawn for about eleven, and Rachelle -- had she remained intimate
-- for about the same. Only Viktoriya was lacking in the length of time; I met
her later, giving us only six years. However, she more than made up for it in
effort and telepathy. Janet, in the meantime, had been talking a little more,
but I only listened with half an ear.

  "... Stanley," she growled, "Are you even listening? If you can't keep track
of our birthdays, there's going to be hell to pay."

  "Tell me about it darling," I pushed Janet's calendar off the bed and rolled
her onto her back.

  "What do you think you're doing mister?" she sounded annoyed, but I saw a
trace of mischief in her eyes.

  "We're going to play house," I chuckled, "And the scenario is 'daddy's home
and he's horny'."

  "Li-xieng-xshie*," the bob-haired beauty slapped me playfully and laughed. [*
Cantonese: literally, Do you want to die? colloquial slang meaning 'Yeah
right!' or 'You wouldn't dare!']

  "Laopo-lum-hei-di-xie-mun-jai*," I whispered into her ear, "Think of the
children." [* Cantonese: Wife (said in this fashion, it may be construed as
'little wifey') think of the children.]

  Janet let out a muffled groan as I pressed against her. She played with my
ears and mimed Reverend Lovejoy's wife's (Helen) whiny screech, "Won't someone
PLEASE think of the children?!"

  We both laughed. Janet had enjoyed a few of The Simpsons with me. Might as
well, since Rachelle was no longer around. I bit her lips gently and then
nuzzled her neck. Janet sucked in her breath as she held me.

  "You're crushing me Stanley," she murmured, "Can I get on top?"

  "Sure thing dear," I rolled her atop me and she sat up, throwing off the
covers.

  It was strange. Almost like that night so long ago when we had our first
bare-backed night of love. Janet's hips swayed as she straddled me. My already
hardened prick was working slowly into her depths as she gyrated. I let her
work slowly. We hadn't done much foreplay so she would be a little drier.

  "Ung--gawd," Janet shuddered as I entered her.

  She leaned forwards so she could be with me. Her soft tits pressed against me
as I savored the taste of her lips and skin. Janet's warm breath was tinged
with a touch of mint from our toothpaste and felt wonderful as she kissed my
face and neck. I stroked her back gently as she began to move ever faster.

  Janet let out a pleasurable gasp as I reached out slowly with my mind and
stroked her mentally. Her pussy was getting wetter as her hips moved in a
strong rhythm. In the dim light of my room, I could see her most prominent
features contort as she approached orgasm.

  I heard her thoughts clearly as she held my head and locked eyes with me:
'God I want this.' 'I need this.' 'This is it.' 'I'm taking the plunge.' 'I'm
going to be a mommy.'

  I seized her hips tightly as I shot my load deep into my first love. Janet's
mouth hung open as she felt the warm spread of my baby butter inside her. All
she could make were incoherent sounds as I ground myself against her body. She
collapsed in a heap atop me panting, her pussy quivering, her body shivering.

  I used the darkness to cover my telekinesis. I drew the covers over her as
she stretched herself over me, my cock still inside her. After a few moments
of silence, I heard her rustling and I moved a little so she could sleep by my
side.

  "Stanley?" she whispered. "Are you asleep?"

  "Not yet," I touched her. "What's up?"

  I was earnestly too tired to read her thoughts by then; still, some of it
floated through: faceless children, an uncertain future, and the other girls
would occasionally pop up. I get it: she was wondering when the others would
go preggers.

  "What should we name him or her?" Janet draped an arm and leg over me.

  "Anything you want," I murmured. "I'm sure our parents will give you
pointers."

  "I know," she said drowsily. "Imagine that Stanley. We'll be like them in a
few years."

  Her words jolted me unlike anything I had felt. Of the things I've
experienced. The lethal take-downs during my "odd jobs", the fall-out with
Rachelle, David's matter displacement, Tseng's destructive potential, all of
that seemed moot.

  All that paled in comparison to our mortality in the face of ever-marching
time. Eventually, we'd all be relegated to dust. Suddenly, it seemed like I'd
never have enough time. Not with myself, not with my girls, not with all that
I worked for.

  I listened to Janet's steady breathing and realized how unfair it all was. To
have worked so diligently, only to enjoy it for a few years. It was unfair, I
thought as my eyelids drooped. Suddenly, things didn't seem all that fun
anymore. I just had more things to worry about and less time to do so with.

===============================================================================
  THREE COUNT TECHNICALITY 
===============================================================================

  Lunar New Year (a fifteen day celebration here -- it lasts a month in China)
was generally a good time for me. Being Chinese and part of an extended family
of Chens in the United States, one gets a load of lucky money (of course,
one's parents' bleeds out a similar amount, so the exchange is usually even).
A few days after the city's Miss Chinatown parade, the most frugal of us would
generally deposit the cash right to the bank.

  Of course, having done several "odd jobs" with Tseng in Mexico, I had nearly
two million dollars in drug money stashed in my house. Then things got even
more interesting. I took four-day weekend to do another "odd job" with Tseng
-- this time an accidental loss of shipment -- a few miles past Ojinga and
became nine million dollars richer after the even split.

  Technically, Tseng and I weren't supposed to do any more "odd jobs" but then
again, the agency wasn't exactly knocking on our door with assignments. I
could barely deposit one-percent of the stuff since I wouldn't have receipts
for it if I was audited. While I would've gladly paid the taxes on it, Tseng
wised me up that I could practically write off a large chunk of my house
payments (a mortgage on real-estate). If I played my cards right, he informed
me, I could be taxed in a way that would let me keep most of the money I
earned, have a place for my girls, and live comfortably for the rest of our
days.

  'Either that, or buy into industrial commodities like gold, bauxite, silica,
or lithium.' Tseng advised.

  I wasn't a financial whiz and stocks smelled fishy to me. It wasn't something
I felt was tangible, like a house or real-estate. In any case, the place I
wanted to build for me and my lovelies was still in (my then) future. And
until I had a method of financing a purchase on paper, I couldn't start the
project.

  So, being the frugal little Chinese bastard I was, I lived like a hermit and
sought a way to launder the money I had in a different way. With the Lunar New
Year envelopes, I figured I could sneak in at least a thousand dollars into
one of my accounts. The IRS wouldn't find it odd if I did that on an annual
basis (they would if it was a monthly occurrence).

  Still, a thousand dollars was nothing in relation to the project I wanted to
do. I was standing in line wondering how to launder more money without being
caught, when the robbers came in.

  In my defence, I was preoccupied. I mean, really preoccupied. I was busy
mulling over: money-laundering schemes. Tseng and I had collected so much, it
was nearly impossible to launder it without professional help (or undergoing a
RICO investigation).

  Next, there were the project's two possible sites: one of the owners got cold
feet and wasn't sure if she wanted to sell, while in the other the tenants
were willing to relocate if I could allow them to live in the new building
(not an option for me) or get them a similar rent in another building (also
impossible). Then there were my latest set of drawings at my company (Ferguson
Design and Graphics), which were pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. Tedious, but
manageable.

  Also on my mind were several things that hit closer to home: Viktoriya's
parents had moved. They had bought a house in Eckhart, Indiana (of all places)
after they became empty-nesters; both she and I had pitched in to help them
move. This meant that Viktoriya would be staying in New York City unless I
could give her a reason (and a home) to come back here.

  There was Melanie's graduation in June (and I had promised to bring her to a
something or other concert -- N-Sync I think it was -- for her graduation
present), along with my brother Andrew (they were the same age). Additionally,
my parents were pestering me to get my own place so my old room could be
rented out. That meant Melanie would have to stop her frequent visits until I
got the new place. We were in the midst of working something out (so I could
go to her place) although I was sure her parents weren't terribly thrilled at
the prospect.

  Shawn meanwhile, suddenly found herself going to Japan to study at the
technical institute in Tokyo. The timing of it was curious. I thought she had
been accepted into the Berkeley program. It was then when I knew Shawn
possessed a craftiness that belied her roly-poly appearance. Instead of
continuing with landscape architecture, she changed her major to environmental
engineering. This gave her an academic advantage during her undergraduate
years; her high GPA and relative ease of landscape architecture courses
allowed her to brush up on the skill set she'd need for her graduate studies.

  My plump pumpkin was a smart woman indeed! Still she was not smart enough to
outwit her protective parents. I suspected they packed her off to another
country to keep me away from her (although sending her off to a country full
of horny Japanese guys wouldn't have been my ideal solution). I wondered how
Shawn would get by without being able to read or speak Japanese, but I found
out that she had taken back-to-back introductory and intermediate Japanese in
college.

  "Don't worry Stanley!" she beamed brightly, "There's enough signs in English
to tell me what's what, so ko-nichi-wa*!!" [* Japanese: Good afternoon /
colloquial equivalent to good day.]

  "Well 'good day' to you too," I said with a grin.

  "Wait, what?" Shawn frowned. "I meant 'good-bye'."

  Having been to Japantown's boutiques a few times, I knew some Japanese.

  "Um muffin," I looked at her with worry, "I'm quite sure that was 'good day'
or at least 'good afternoon'."

  "Oh yeah. I guess you're right," Shawn thumbed through a small pocket
dictionary. "I meant to say sai-o-nara*." [* Japanese: Good-bye.]

  "Honey, you worry me." I regarded her with such distress, my plump angel
hugged me tightly as if to comfort me. I wanted to get her a good electronic
dictionary and translator before she left in fall.

  Next, Faraz's and Ghandia's wedding was going to be in August; I hadn't heard
a thing about Rachelle and Craig since that disastrous dinner last year. About
the only two constants seemed to be my cousin Aurora's constant emails (the
earliest form of 'sexting') and Janet's promotion to full-fledged attorney. My
darling First and I simply planned for a quiet evening out with her close
co-workers and some friends at a sushi place she frequented.

  I barely had time to keep myself in practice, or even attempt to learn new
things. Mind-reading made learning new skills a snap although depending on
what was required, I may not have had the physical ability to carry it out.
While I picked up some kung-fu and self-defence moves, I wasn't physically
strong enough to deliver such blows.

  Thankfully, I was able to fortify my lack-luster physical side with my mind.
Despite having Viktoriya 3000 miles away, I was learning to develop my
telekinesis. I was able to focus it to the point where I could duplicate the
technique Tseng demonstrated to me years ago.

  By focusing my gift into a very narrow point, I could bore metal and stone.
This new trick I used to dig out the required 1.83 millimeters of metal where
most serial numbers are stamped on gun barrels and slides. I spent several
weeks testing myself and "cleaning" the guns at the Masonic Street storage
room into "ghost guns".

  So, where was I? Oh right. The bank robbers.

  Since I was so preoccupied, I didn't notice when the three masked assholes
stepped into the bank. I should've felt something amiss, but their intentions
escaped me until the last minute. They moved quickly once they were in
position. One of them clubbed the old security guard across the face while the
other two vaulted over the counter to take the cash in the drawers.

  One of the cashiers let out a hoarse scream but was roughly kicked by one of
the men at the counter until I could hear her sobbing quietly. The third thug
kept his back against the side of the door, waiting to ambush anyone stupid
enough to enter.

  "Hey you," robber number three yelled at me, "Hands out of your pockets. Put
them on the counter over there."

  I was still standing in line in a daze and didn't understand what was
happening until I was being talked to. People walking by the bank could see
in, but they didn't. It was a busy work day, but I had called in a half-day
vacation to deposit my lucky money and then have lunch with Janet before
heading to work. I sauntered to the counter in the middle of the bank lobby
and placed my hands palms down on the counter-top. The two masked men behind
the cashiers' counter moved out quickly. One of them rifled through my pockets
and found my packet of money.

  "Stupid Chinese shit," he muttered, "Guess this isn't your lucky day huh?"

  I didn't know if it was bravado, stupidity, or me just being cross. Maybe it
was one, two, or a mix of the three. Tseng had warned me not to engage in any
stupid ploys that would reveal the existence of the invisible empire. Until I
met the "jumper" called David, I thought the "invisible empire" were comprised
mostly of telepaths like myself.

  But having met him, I wondered what the "invisible empire" really was? A
power struggle or some conflict of interest among our kind? That was doubtful.
Tseng was shady about the whole thing. He seemed content to gorge me on money
and extra-curricular activities to keep me occupied. Well, the agency already
knew about Tseng, me and David. So, why didn't I have a little fun?

  The robber regarded my sudden smile like I was crazy. I was smiling because I
was thinking how Viktoriya was so brazen at times. We had shared so much
during our time together that I wondered if some of her brazenness became
nestled into the bosom of my mind. Gun safeties are easy to find and activate.
Never attack a psychokineticist who knows the intricate mechanisms of gun
safeties. Magazine releases are a little harder, but they generally fall near
where a person's hands will clutch their handheld boomsticks and pea-shooters.

  In the blink of an eye, the three thugs' guns were leveled into the SAFE
position. I lashed out and punched the thug -- number two I guess -- in the
side of his neck as I shifted focus and depressed the magazine release on thug
number one's handgun. Someone past the counter screamed.

  CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK

  The two thugs pointed their weapons at me, but nothing came out. Thug number
two was jerking spasmodically on the ground, the back of my hand had made
contact with the skin at his neck. His brain was fried with the imagery of
dead and dying Mexican banditos and SoCal gang-bangers, as well as the
astonished faces of Katherine Heeber's kidnappers as they died.

  I quickly knelt, using telekinesis to snatch the fallen thug's handgun, a
Taurus 9x19 that had been "ghosted" (no serial number), into my hand, flicked
it back into UNSAFE and fired twice.

  A 'normal' like you would be amazed how accurate a handgun can be when
telekinesis is properly applied in just the right amounts. With it, the recoil
was next to zero (because one focused on keeping the body of the whole weapon
'locked' and immobile when it fired; it took training to release one's grip on
the weapon then secure it again once it was aimed at the next target) and the
bullet pretty much went where you aimed at.

  Still, this did not mean I could hit something I didn't deliberately (and
carefully) aimed at; however, at the range those two thugs were, it was quite
easy for me to pop their tops. The two other robbers' blood and brains
decorated the walls, floors and windows behind them. Pink mist indeed.

  I brought my gun back down as if it were the most natural thing in the world,
and stood up once more. I looked down at the thug I had felled with my gift. I
deliberated if I needed to kill him. Unlike that one fight at the pizzeria
years ago, I was sure Tseng -- or others of his ilk -- wouldn't be able to
cover up two dead bodies. That plus a witness who was privy to memories of
illegal activities on the US-Mexico border would be "problematic".

  I regretted my decision, but discovery meant death anyway. I aimed the thug's
handgun at his head. I saw his eyes blink as he slowly regained his faculties.
He stared at the gun, and then at me. I thought about taunting him, but that
ultimately served no purpose. My face was the last thing he saw as his
thoughts went dark.

  This time, I couldn't avoid the fallout as I did from the pizzeria years ago.
The two men I shot in "self-defence" were justifiable. However, the slaying of
the third perpetrator as he lay there on the ground was considered "something
to look into". So much for 'normal' justice.

  Despite the third thug being "technically murder", I was cause celebre in the
local neighborhood. The police identified the three as members of an off-shoot
of a Latino gang which had expanded out from the Mission District. So much for
'normal' criminal expansion too.

  Almost too late, I realized that this might be a problem if the gangs decided
to retaliate. San Francisco might run slick with blood if that occurred.
Unlike Baja California Norte, my girls would also be in the line of fire. The
president of the Richmond Business District and the bank wanted to hold a
party in my honor, but I demurred with feigned modesty. My family certainly
didn't feel the same way as the businessmen did.

  If there was one thing good about the incident, it allowed Janet and my
mother to share their concerns over my well-being. Both were in hysterics when
they learned about the shooting at the bank. My mother needed to sedate
herself and lie down. My father wasn't too proud either; in fact, he was
suspicious; he'd never seen me get physical with anyone growing up, let alone
shoot firearms of any kind except those rare weekends when he'd take me to the
range.

  "What were you thinking?!" he roared in my face, "You want to get yourself
killed?"

  I had no answer, so I stayed silent as he stormed back upstairs in face of my
mute expression. Once Janet and I were alone, she held me tightly and sobbed
while I cradled her in my arms. Unlike David, my family was more or less
normal. That meant my parents gave a crap about what I did and my well-being.
Sure, there'd been scoldings and spankings when Andrew and I were younger
(Andrew was better behaved), but nothing close to the abuse that dumb bastard
suffered through.

  My father had worked the swing shift at a Federal job for nearly three
decades (he retired a few years later under the Civil Service Retirement
program, not Social Security) so he was absent most of the time when I was
growing up. Apart from our annual summer vacations and the occasional weekend
together, I had grown up myself.

  Well, until Tseng came along. Apart from suspecting his deep personal
involvement in the disappearance of Viktoriya's brother, I began to suspect
something else as well. Had he an ulterior motive for taking so much interest
in me? By now, Tseng and I shared similar gifts only because he was teaching
and guiding me how to use them.

  My body got an uncontrollable shudder when I thought about Tseng. Sometimes I
had wondered if he was my real father. The age would fit more or less. He was
about my parents' age. I remembered that pretty blonde waitress at the coffee
house a few years back. I saw him use his hand to touch her skin-to-skin.
Tseng showed that he too, could do what I did if he wanted to.

  Discipline and control my ass, I soured. I pushed that unpleasant possibility
out of my mind. If it came up again, I'll ask; somehow, I was sure I wouldn't
like the answer.

  It was a long day, answering questions for the police. In the immediate
aftermath of the bank shooting, I knew I pretty much was caught. So, I had
disassembled the gun I'd fired and sat down to wait. By nightfall, things were
pretty much quiet, save for an under-current of tension that ran through my
house. Janet retired to the outer room and no doubt heard my father bellowing
upstairs at what he perceived as my rash behavior.

  Oh, if he only knew about all those other incidents along the border. I was
tempted to confess them all right there, even if it meant Tseng showing up. It
would've been fun. My dad probably would've keeled over with a brain aneurysm
or a heart attack. I didn't need THAT on my conscience (or my mother's) so I
let it be and hopped into the shower.

  After I dried and dressed, I found on Janet in the studio. She was lying
uncomfortably on the spare sofa-bed plush I kept there when I wanted to nod
off and was too lazy to sleep in the inner room. I picked her up and carried
her gently with my arms to the bed and tucked her in. I held her hand for a
bit then slipped next to her under the covers.

  Saturday was a little better. Melanie knew nothing of the incident, and both
Janet and I decided to avoid mentioning it unless asked. The police had
questioned but not detained me, so I figured the next step was up to them. I
didn't feel like celebrating, but I did take the unusual step of taking Janet
and Melanie to Chinatown. We had dim-sum at the teahouse where my two regal
darlings met, did some shopping on Kearny and Clay then wandered back to the
parking lot on Portsmouth.

  Walking with them in the old district gave me a strange nostalgia. I had done
something similar with my parents when they first started out in the
mid-seventies. I had walked hand-in-hand with my mother as my father bought
groceries. How things remained so similar after all these years!

  On the way home, I made one unscheduled stop at Japan Town. Fifteen minutes
and $300 poorer, I had the perfect going-away present (electronic dictionary
with voice) for my plump dumpling's stay in Japan.

===============================================================================
  NICE SHOOTIN' TEX 
===============================================================================

  Monday started off pretty normal, at least in the morning. I headed into work
and, because I was running a little behind a project (the machine was slow to
render for some reason or another), I bought a hefty sandwich and headed back
to the Ferguson office.

  "Hey Stanley?" I heard a knock. It was Franky, my cubicle neighbor.

  "What's up?"

  "You did something over the weekend?" he asked. "The police are in Mr.
Ferguson's office, asking about you."

  "Fuck," I stood and knew there was no real place to go. "Can you cover for
me?"

  "I guess so," Franky shrugged. "But you owe me. That lawyer girlfriend of
yours have any friends?"

  "She might," I replied absently. "I'll ask."

  "Yeah sure," he didn't sound convinced. "Well, I guess you're going to need
her anyway; sounds like they want you bad."

  "Whatever," I dismissed Franky.

  My colleague was pleasant but balding, a loner, and (from my private
readings) a man who was addicted to well-hung she-males. I headed to
Ferguson's office and found the door ajar. I pushed it open and found the same
cop who had responded to the bank on Friday there along with a plainclothes
detective talking with Mr. Ferguson.

  "That's him," Ferguson nodded towards me. "You want to tell me what this is
all about, Stanley?"

  "It's nothing," I said plainly.

  "Nothing means cops aren't in my office asking about a guy I just hired fresh
from college, sonny," the old man replied. "I heard a bank customer shot three
robbers Friday. Was that you?"

  "Sounds like it," I was sick of the hero bullshit, "Which bank was it?"

  "Wells Fargo," the detective was not impressed by my cocksure attitude.
"Please, come with us."

  The cops lead me out, my lunch sandwich in hand. I didn't even have time to
bring my coat! I ate my lunch while I rode with them to the station near where
the bank was. Once there, I was lead into a conference room and I sat facing a
one-way mirror. It was pointless to keep me in there, because I could sense
the presence of witnesses past the mirrored glass.

  The detective asked me some more questions, like my training (architecture),
background (normal kid), and how I was able to dismantle a handgun like a
seasoned professional (read about it online).

  "Hey man," the detective, one Jacob Waters, started his spiel. "Witnesses
said you shot the third suspect when he was down and plainly unarmed. You
could be booked for murder or man-one."

  I shrugged and kept my mouth shut.

  "Look you got a clean record," Waters sat back, "Why muck it up with a
felony?"

  "You think," I picked my words carefully, "That I will be charged with
something?"

  "I think so," the detective said under his breath, "So c'mon man. Who are you
really? Your records didn't show any military training, so are you in a gang?"

  "No." I was starting to dislike his method of questioning.

  "No, of course not." Waters gave me a fake smile. "But if you want
protection, you'll need to come clean with us."

  "Why would I want protection?" I asked.

  "You know those three you killed?" Waters rummaged through something in a
vanilla folder and pulled out some mug-shots. "Members of Sin Titulo, a street
offshoot of some Tijuana cartels."

  "The Nameless?" I asked. In the excitement of being attacked so close to
home, I only scanned enough to know the robbers were Latino or Hispanic. I
didn't even get their names and addresses.

  "Odd name," I remarked.

  "Yeah-yeah," Waters tried not to sound frustrated, "Odd until you find out
why they call themselves that; they've killed some people. Skinned their faces
off so they can't be identified."

  Interesting I thought. It would've come up had I done some deeper digging on
the last fellow I shot, but I was in a hurry to finish the job before the
police arrived. I did know some of the Tecate-Mexicali cartels would do that
face-carving bullshit so their victims' families couldn't give them an open
casket burial. It was that, or something to do with terrorizing them. I'll
need to look into the that with Tseng later.

  "You my friend, will be their new target if this ever surfaces," Waters slid
a photo on the table.

  Shit, I cursed inwardly. It was a still shot of a bank security camera
showing me firing the gun at the last thug on the desk. My face was clearly
showing in profile and in the front. I looked at the picture with a wooden
expression.

  If it ever surfaces, I'd be in trouble. My mood grew dark. That's if the
picture surfaces.

  Shit, I brooded silently. Tseng probably won't care, but Cox was likely going
to flip if I needed to silence a cop.

  "So, unless you want to cooperate," Waters droned on, "You'll be on your
own."

  "That's not something to joke about detective," a deep baritone sang out. We
both looked up and saw a burly man in a dark suit enter the room, along with
another older man and a slim woman holding a briefcase.

  "Captain?" Waters stood up, "What's with the suits?"

  "Cut the crap Waters," the older man said. "This man, uh--?"

  "Champion," Cox said and gave me dour look, "Nicholas Champion."

  "Right. He's a United States Marshal," the precinct captain said. "Mr. Chen
here is a deep cover agent building a cover as a draftsman. Something to do
with --?"

  "Illegal contracting with migrant workers," Cox said. "Some who may be
involved with Central or South American drug cartels."

  I sensed Cox was lying. I bet he knew I knew too.

  "We're working with Immigration as well as the D.E.A.," the big agent
gestured airily. "We'd like the case and any charges you are planning to press
to be dropped so we can continue the operation."

  "But--?" Waters mouth dropped.

  "We'll take that," Cox scooped up the photograph. "The bank is cooperating as
well. The security tapes in regards to the incident are being scrubbed as we
speak."

  "That's evidence!" the detective protested uselessly.

  "I'm with the city attorney's office," the slim woman with the briefcase shot
back. "You can make the arrest detective, but my office won't prosecute."

  So that was that. A nice ride back to downtown and I thought I was finished,
but Cox apparently had other plans.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Don't think it was a favor," Cox said gruffly, "We need you again.
Otherwise, we would've let them throw the book at you."

  "Gee," I scratched my cheek. "I take that back then. You guys are assholes
anyway."

  "I thought we agreed to keep this crap under wraps," Cox was next to me in
the back seat of the big sedan.

  "I was defending myself. If you had been there, you'd do the same."

  "If I'd been there," the big man lectured, "I'd have done exactly as they
said. There were innocents in there."

  "Okay." I didn't want to argue. Just because he couldn't stop bullets with
his mind, didn't mean I couldn't. Fuckin' 'normal'.

  "You might think we're like that other agency," Cox said, "The one called
that starts with a 'C' and ends with 'A'; 'Christians In Action'. Let me tell
you right now, we're not. You're not. You, like us, are interested only in
surveillance. Look but don't touch. Understand?"

  "All right Brian," I called him by his first name just to mix things up.
"Jesus. Give it a rest."

  "Those cowboy operations you and Tseng go on?" Cox ignored me and continued
his lecture. "Those we track sonny. Don't think we'll forget about them if we
need to compromise your ass to renew NAFTA."

  "Is that a threat?" I eyed him unkindly.

  "No, it's not a threat," he said, but I knew he was lying. Perhaps he knew I
would read him and know that he was and he was answering just the way I'd
expected him to as if he didn't know. Damn, this was getting heady and
confusing.

  "But consider this," Cox went on. "Like that shit-headed detective said, if
the cartels knew you and Tseng did all those jobs back then, do you think
they'd let you live?"

  I shrugged, because I honestly didn't know. Perhaps more importantly, I
didn't care. For me and Tseng, the cartels were targets to be taken down,
their possessions to be taken, and if they raised any opposition, they were to
be crushed.

  "Tseng probably has a plan," Cox admitted, "But unless you guys can predict
the future, which you can't, since we've not seen you pull any lottery stunts
yet, there's no telling what will happen with those gangs. They're animals
mister. Feral animals."

  "Well, thanks for the advice," I said, "I'll think about it. Honest."

  "Well you can do that while you're on the plane," Cox said.

  "Er, what?" I blinked. I was so distracted by the sudden change of my
schedule that I didn't see that coming.

  "We're heading for the airport; like I said, we need you."

  "You mean like right the hell now?" I was annoyed. "You couldn't give me a
few hours notice?"

  "Consider this a favor," Cox growled. "We think Ghost Light's gone rogue."

  "The hell did you just say?"

  I danced through Cox's mind and knew he was telling the truth; or at least he
thought he was. David Reese, ex-asset, was now considered a serious liability
and a possible danger to the country. My mind reeled from the accusation.

  "You read my mind didn't you?" Cox looked at me accusingly.

  "Only because you're pouring it out," I grew apprehensive but faked a
migraine. "My head hurts."

  "Interesting," the big man sounded smug. "Well, it doesn't hurt for you to
know."

  "I guess not," I looked at him evenly. "So, you think David's gone rogue?
How?"

  "I'll brief you enroute."

  "What about Tseng?" I asked.

  The brawny agent knitted his brow, "He'll meet us at Sherwood."

  "And where's that?" I glanced at him.

  "Upstate New York," Cox replied.

  That might work out, I thought. Maybe I could see Viktoriya afterwards.

  "In the meantime," he went on, "We took care of your work thing."

  "Uh, how?" I asked and realized that the only things I had brought with me
were my mobile phone, my house keys, wallet (and identification), and whatever
money I had.

  "Bethany will cover for you," Cox leveled me a grin I couldn't imagine him
wearing.

  "Who the hell is Bethany?" I asked. I'd never known Cox to use first names
with anyone; not even me.

  "She'll handle work for you."

  "Is she a draftsman?" I asked.

  "No. I don't think so."

  "Uh, people use our drawings to build things," I pointed out. "Things built
wrong get people killed. Then they get me fired. If I get fired, I might find
some more work down Mexico way."

  "Okay, fine," Cox dialed his phone. "This is Champion. Make sure Masquerade
--" Bethany's code-name "-- has ..."

  The burly agent looked at me and I shouted into the mouth-piece,
"Architectural, structural, and construction drafting and modeling. I have the
specs on my machine."

  "You got that?" Cox rolled his eyes. "Good. Won't be long I hope."

  Better not be you asshole, I thought.

  "It's done." He shut off his cell phone and settled in for the ride.

  "It better be," I muttered as the car accelerated southbound towards the
Peninsula airport.

===============================================================================
  MONUMENTAL MISSION -- BRIEFING 
===============================================================================

  As it turned out, David Reese (referred to as Ghost Light) wasn't rogue. It
was all a big case of misunderstanding and mistaken identity. But first, let
me relate to you some sordid history.

  This case dated back to 1989, before Tseng and Cox made one another's
acquaintance (it wasn't mutual). In October of that year, two big incidents
had occurred in the same town of Sherwood, New York: a deadly school fire
where more than three score students and teachers were burned alive, and an
unsolved explosion at the local DOW chemical plant that killed and injured
nearly 100 workers.

  Tseng and another agent were was sent to investigate. In addition to being
Tseng's liaison, the agent was also there to monitor the new "asset". Once
Tseng got there, the spree of accidents and break-ins virtually disappeared or
were subdued (my mentor's case notes are not clear on this; he merely mentions
the reduction in 'unexplainable incidents').

  After three days of investigation, Tseng determined there was nothing more to
the case and left. The unnamed agent was left holding the bag. There was a
witness though, who claimed to have seen a teenager vanish into thin air just
outside the chemical plant before the explosion. Nonetheless, the disturbances
in Sherwood had become nil, so the agent reported back and was duly assigned
to be Tseng's "official" unofficial liaison.

  Until David disappeared on global television during the hostage crises in
Greece (I was too into Rachelle at the time to notice), the agency didn't have
much to do with Tseng. Most of the time, he was off their grid, and escaped
their notice. The agency's attempts to "handle" David were clumsy, resulting
in some humorous (if expensive) accidents. After Cox was returned by David to
the agency, Tseng's liaison thought it was ripe enough time to "use a freak to
catch a freak".

  Since Tseng's liaison saw what David could do, he thought it was David who
had been the Sherwood perpetrator. To the untrained eye, David's gift for
displacement did make him vanish into thin air. That plus the fact that Tseng
had acted as if he knew what to expect, gave the liaison his suspicions. It
was around this time that Tseng amputated David's foot.

  Once David learned (from Cox) who had set the snare for him, one of the
conditions he demanded to continue with the NSA was to have that agent
confined to a desk job. Cox handled it as best he could. The agency was
clearly not going to let Tseng depart, so they shuffled Tseng's liaison
elsewhere and Cox became the new liaison officer. But that wasn't all of it.
Before he left for his new posting, the liaison added notes detailing the 1989
Sherwood incident to Ghost Light's file that would come back and bite David on
the ass.

  It was these same notes that lead Cox to believe that David was up to no
good. So, a new trap (a more gentle one) was set. This time, it wasn't to
detain David, but to determine the truth. As soon as David appeared with a
POP I concentrated and cleared his ungrateful ass of criminal activity. Of
course, David hit the roof when Tseng restrained him. It took some harsh
reasoning, and some clever persuasion on part from me and Cox to keep Ghost
Light from displacing a micro-nuke (or the President) to some place where it
(or he) needn't be.

  Okay. Got all that? Good. Now let's rewind a little back to 1989 again. As it
turned out, Tseng left Sherwood once he found out the source of the
unexplainable incidents. He had contacted a woman named Susan Roget through
her publisher friend (Meredith Martin). A series of fictional novels authored
by the woman's late relative had piqued his interest.

  Over the course of several days and interviews (I'm sure he fucked her
rotten) Tseng concluded from Susan's story about her cousin (and famous
author) Paul that there was something amiss; another phenomenon that was
responsible for the Sherwood incident. He wasn't sure how to put it once
things were down on the level and the incident was closed by the agency, so he
kept checking back. Every so often, he'd drop in on Sherwood and the
surrounding areas for suspicious activity. Susan Roget would occasionally do
the same.

  So when something strange finally did occur on the second March 2000, Susan
contacted Tseng, who then immediately got Cox and the agency on the horn. Of
course, with Ghost Light's notes, Cox thought David had gone nuts (which, to
someone at the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Group, didn't fit any known sane
profile, and David was quite sane).

  All that of course, lead to me being tapped on the shoulder in San Francisco
on Monday, which all lead to the four of us (and some supporting agents who
weren't privy to the meeting) sitting in conference at a bed and breakfast at
the edge of Sherwood. It was the largest room we could find on such short
notice.

  "So you're saying it's an invisible man?" David was incredulous, "How the
hell are we supposed to find an invisible man?"

  "Several ways," Cox counted off on his hand. "One: thermographic and
low-light technology has come a long way since 1989. Unless this unknown
talent is a zombie or ecto-thermic, he'll show up."

  "Unless of course," Tseng corrected, "The talent has learned to be invisible
to the infrared bands as well."

  "That assumes the worst," Cox said. "Two: if the unknown talent isn't a
zombie or lacks a brain, Talisman and Snake Charmer can find him."

  "Hopefully," I added, "I can't find squat if I don't know someone's there."

  "I'm sure he, or she ..."

  "It will be a 'he'," Tseng interrupted Cox. "Read my interviews with Susan."

  "You're sure of that because you were so fucking charming with women?" David
said with a snarl.

  "Woke up on the wrong side of the desert sun didn't you?" Tseng's voice was
verging on dangerous.

  I suspected he was hinting (strongly) at the possibility of revealing David's
desert residence in West Texas. His wife Millie's Stillwater address was the
"official" address where the couple received their mail (and pornography).
David was positively livid as he glared between me and Tseng.

  "Guys enough of this shit," I said sternly. "I want to get this crap over
with so I can get back to a day job while I still have one, all right?"

  "Fine." David vanished with a POP.

  "Damn it," Cox turned to Tseng, "You were supposed to safely hold him so we
can finish briefing him."

  "If I did as you asked," the old Chinese said coldly, "You'd have found him
in another hospital."

  "Goddammit Tseng," Cox was exasperated.

  "He just went to get a soda," I said. "He'll back."

  David reappeared in the same spot with a POP and a can of Dr. Pepper in
hand.

  "See? Told you so." I jerked a thumb at him. "Although it'd have been nice of
him to get one for everyone."

  "Buy your own goddamn soft-drinks," David popped the tab, "I'm not Mr.
Moneybags."

  "Of course you're not," I said and glanced at Cox to continue.

  "Moving on," the big agent frowned, "Method one has Ghost Light supporting
the assets we already have on the ground. You can cover a lot more ground, and
you'll also be in contact with all my men. They see something unusual or you
do, get on the horn and you get our men there to find him."

  "So what are we here for?" I asked, "If you're just going to beat about the
bush."

  "Ah, there's the beauty of the plan," Cox rubbed his hands together. "Let's
assume this guy is invisible. Technically, he can be anywhere but we may not
even notice; even with thermals on, we may not be able to tell one silhouette
from another unless we compare what we see through the scopes with our own
eyes."

  "Go on." I was getting impatient.

  "So, lets say this talent wises up," Cox continued, "And he sees suspicious
people using special gear in town."

  "He'd skip town."

  "A likely scenario, Snake Charmer," Tseng nodded, "And it could explain why
the incidents slowed, and then finally stopped back in '89."

  "Sounds like we're dealing with a vagrant," David had settled down a bit, and
joined the discussion. "Maybe he finally wandered home."

  "That's possible," my mentor begrudgingly acknowledged the other man. "Snake
Charmer and I will have to ascertain that."

  Tseng emphasized "ascertain" and both David and I grimaced slightly for
different reasons. David had just been "ascertained" as to not be a threat by
me. I on the other hand, needed to learn some self-control to defuse dangerous
internal security situations without racking up a body count.

  "So what happened again?" David turned to Cox. I sensed, he'd do almost
anything to avoid talking to Tseng.

  "It wasn't a chemical plant this time," the burly agent pointed on a map
spread on the wall. "This time it was a rented house."

  "A women's sorority," Tseng added. "Wells College is a few miles
west-south-west of Sherwood. I believe this guy wants to sow some oats as it
were."

  "Jesus." I shut my mind to the scene. And to think Shawn would be alone in
Japan. Viktoriya was too (in Brooklyn) but I trusted she could take care of
herself.

  'Think again Stanley; Viktoriya wouldn't be able to do anything if she was
unconscious. Listen to the rest of the report.' Tseng thought-spoke to me as
Cox continued.

  "The evidence was that four of the six girls showed visible signs of
pregnancy all within a week," the burly agent took up the briefing. "The other
two committed suicide before tests were conclusive, but the autopsies showed
they were also pregnant."

  The matter-of-fact delivery struck a chill in me. If it had been any of my
girls, I would've told him to shut it. Still, I swallowed and thought lovingly
of my darlings, we needed information. And it wasn't like I hadn't done great
things before on the US-Mex border. The only difference though, was that I
rarely hassled women or young children.

  I chanced a glance at David; he looked sick. His hand was gripping his soda
can so tightly, he nearly squished the contents out over the top. Agent Cox
only permitted himself to show mild discomfort as he briefed us, but I sensed
he felt a mix of outrage and discomfort. Only Tseng, in his impenetrable
mental mask, wore an equally impassive expression and displayed not a whit of
empathy.

  "The newspaper made light of this unusual story but it was only local," Cox
droned on. "The story from the sorority members are similar: they drank from
the same water tap, and they felt pretty sleepy once they got to bed. It
happened over the span of three weeks until they started feeling morning
sickness."

  "Wait-a-minute. They felt sleepy?" David contended, "You mean they were
hypnotized?"

  "Nothing like that," Cox shook his head. "Autopsy of the two suicides showed
trace amounts of a very pure mixture of GHB and GBL; gamma hydroxbutyric acid
and gamma butyrolactone."

  I scratched my head and hazarded a guess. "Sleeping pills?"

  "One of a few date-rape drugs," David said stiffly. "Millie's had to deal
with a few victims who were tricked into ingesting that crap."

  "So the guy drugged their whole house?" I pressed, "How'd you know it was one
guy anyway?"

  "Aside from the tests? One of the girls was a senior," Cox explained, "Had a
security camera set-up to catch the other girls coming into her room to make
sure they weren't stealing from her. Tseng pulled some interesting footage."

  He rifled through a few folders on his laptop and pulled up a video. It
showed a time elapsed snapshot of the girl's room. Around forty or fifty
seconds in, the door seemed to open ajar. Something, a fuzz of light or a
nimbus, seemed to have entered the room. It was like watching a ghost come
into the room. The video stopped short as the ghostly figure began moving
towards the girl at the bottom edge.

  "So, the theory," I tried to get my mind around all this, "is that this guy
rigs the house so the girls nod off then he rapes them?"

  "On the ball Snake Charmer," Tseng said.

  "Gentlemen," Cox opened a metal trunk on the bed; it was tightly packed with
various high-tech gear. "Let's get to work."

===============================================================================
  MONUMENTAL MISSION -- TASKING 
===============================================================================

  Sherwood was a depressing place. It was rural, bug infested, empty, and worse
of all, chilly, although not snowbound. The snow-melt had started and I was
just getting used to my new shoes. Since I had brought along nearly nothing, I
went into a local mall (basically a depressing grouping of stores on main
street) and outfitted myself like a New England gent.

  I had taken off so suddenly, my parents and the girls would no doubt be
worried sick, especially Janet. She was supposed to stay only a weekend, but
the incident at the bank persuaded her to stay with me (drawing Melanie's ire
in the process) for at least a couple days more. So, I made my call quickly
from a small pay phone booth (one of the few still around in 2000). I didn't
use the payphone, but my mobile phone. The booth was to keep my call private,
in case that invisible asshole was around to eavesdrop.

  The first was to my parents, not that they needed to know anything apart from
that I wouldn't be having supper with them for a few days. The second was to
Janet, and it pretty much killed the rest of my phone's battery. She was
concerned at first, and then she suspicious when Melanie and Shawn didn't know
that I was out of town. She would most likely call Viktoriya next, so I needed
a cover story. I couldn't call out anymore, but I had other ways to
communicate.

  'Vika? Sweetheart?' I thought-spoke. 'Have a minute?'

  'A minute Stanislav. But no more.' Viktoriya pinged back. Her mind-sight
cleared up and showed her sitting in a make-up chair before a dressing mirror.
Her hair was wound into a tight bun, her face heavily painted, and a towel was
draped over her shoulders, covering her bare teats.

  'Listen, I need you to lie to Janet.' I thought. 'Tell her I'm indisposed and
with you in New York.'

  'Tell her yourself.' Viktoriya bunched her brow. 'Wait. Where are you?'

  'New York.' I saw Viktoriya brighten and sit up immediately in her
reflection. 'It's not a social call sweetie. I'm on business near Rochester.'

  'That is near the border.' My dusky Russkie was confused. 'Stanislav, what's
going on?'

  'Trust me Vika.' I gave a little mental sigh. 'I promise I'll explain to you
later. Just make sure Jan doesn't go off half-cocked and file a missing
persons report.'

  'Are you in trouble?' Viktoriya's mind went into overdrive. 'Or are you
screwing around on us already?'

  'No, nothing like that.' That much was at least true. 'Look, I'll get you
something nice before I go back to San Francisco. Just be sure to say I'm in
the tub, or shower, or sleeping, or out when Jan calls. Got it?'

  'Whatever it is, you come back safely, kisa.' From her reflection, Viktoriya
had a worried look on her face. 'Or I won't forgive you.'

  'I'll haunt you from the grave if I don't, babushka.' I joked, but she threw
back a mean little mental hiss.

  'Don't joke about that, Stanislav!' Viktoriya scowled angrily at me in the
mirror and tuned me out.

  Well, at least she's still got pep, I thought and stepped out of the phone
booth. I walked down the street, the small, narrow store fronts to my right.
As I wandered the nearly empty streets, I could get a sense of the quaint
decay in the area. Like the life was being sucked right out of the place.

  Shit, I wanted to laugh. No wonder that guy tried to blow the place up years
ago.

  The town's gloom only deepened the more I walked around; I wanted to finish
my task so I could leave as quickly as possible. Apart from Cox's plan to
"stay alert" and Tseng's suggestion to "take a look around", I hadn't been
given much more instructions apart from finding the Invisible Man and making a
grab. That's when I headed to the clothing store, bought some clothing and
then went and ate a late dinner at a diner. Afterwards I decided to have a
look around the town.

  "Yo Snake Charmer," a familiar voice rasped.

  "Hey Ghost Light." I turned and found the thin man coming out of a narrow
alley, "Any luck?"

  "Nope," he held up his thermal goggles, "I have a better pair, but since the
agency insisted on giving me these, I'm going to wrap it and give it to Millie
for our anniversary."

  "You sure you want to do that?" I wanted to play on his paranoia, "Could be
chipped and tracked."

  David looked thoughtful. "You're right. And that's two for two. I owe you."

  "What?" I asked as we continued down the street.

  "What you said about Millie last time," he sighed, "You're right. I got trust
issues. Didn't trust my dad after my mom left. Didn't trust you, but worse of
all, I didn't trust Millie."

  "Uh huh," I wasn't the least bit interested, but feigned attention. "Right."

  "She's my wife goddammit," David was frustrated mentally and physically, "And
I had the nerve to spy on her. She wasn't happy about it."

  "How'd she find out?" I disgorged an autonomous response. I needed to stay
alert for any mental presences or thoughts that someone unseen was around.

  "I told her," he laughed bitterly and hastily added, "Yeah, yeah, and you'd
tell me that I was stupid; you read my mind."

  He was over-estimating my abilities, which was could be a good thing, or a
bad thing. Over-estimating sometimes lead to instances of overkill by those
who gave the other side the benefit of the doubt. David rattled on as if I was
his goddamned shrink.

  "Look man, I'm sorry I went back to your place," he confessed, "But it
reminded me of my home."

  "Which one?" I asked, "Your desert house, your wife's in Stillwater, or some
other places you bought with that robbery money?"

  "My old home," David said, "With my mom and dad. It was like the Twilight
Zone when I went into your kitchen. If it means anything, I didn't go back,
but you know that right?"

  I didn't say anything but I knew he was telling the truth. But bad enough
that he trespassed into my house. Like Tseng said, this asshole didn't set any
limits on physical privacy.

  "Ahem," he coughed nervously, "And well, I appreciate it that you haven't
said anything. About the Chemical Bank thing."

  "I don't need to," I toyed with his paranoia some more, "Talisman knows too.
If he wanted to spill it to the boss, I'm sure he would've."

  "Sounds like blackmail," David said dourly. "You sure went to a lot of
trouble clearing me. Why?"

  "I don't know," I said nonchalantly. "It was orders. Don't take it
personally."

  "I won't," he said, "But I'm grateful. I'm tired of running."

  "Maybe you should emigrate," I suggested, "I mean it's obvious you don't
really like this country."

  "And have Millie leave her family and friends?" he complained, "She'd kill
me."

  "Like you can't just zap back in an eyeblink," I snapped.

  He was about to respond when I felt something on the fringe of my presence.
David stopped when I held up my hand. It was the weirdest feeling. It was a
presence, but at the same time, there was a lot of pain mixed in with the
pleasure. It certainly didn't feel like anything I sensed before. I grabbed
David gently by the arm and pointed the opposite direction.

  "There?" David asked.

  "Yes," I said and then quickly switched to thought-speak: 'He's behind us.
Could be spying on us. Displace to the church I'm pointing at. I want him to
see you do it. Maybe get a reaction so I can narrow him down. Keep an eye on
things in case there's trouble you think I don't know about.'

  "Go," I said audibly, "And contact Champion."

  If David was impressed by how fast I conveyed my instructions, he didn't show
it. He stepped back, saluted deliberately and visibly. Then he suddenly
displaced with a POP. Instantly, a torrent of thoughts came through: 'Holy
shit!' 'He just vanished like me!' 'They're looking for me.' 'Have to stay
clear.' 'Got to stay quiet.'

  You're a dead man, I thought as I walked towards the direction of the mental
blip. I wondered if I would be able to contain myself if I found the target.
Mischief resulting in property damage was one thing, but rape. That was
something else entirely. I shuddered, for I had come close to doing that
myself.

  While I became intimate with all of my girls, I had one minor regret: that
being Rachelle. I accidentally mind-blasted the pretty mulatto, and then more
or less had my way with her physically. Deep down, I knew it was wrong but I
worked hard to make amends. I treated her respectfully and graciously while we
dated. But as I dwelled on the thought, I grew uneasy; perhaps I did do
something to irreversibly scar her. Maybe that's why she was so complacent in
some matters. Nonetheless, Rachelle was irrelevant right now. Instead, I
focused on the task at hand.

  'Talisman this is Snake Charmer.' I thought-spoke. 'Making way to my position
on corner of Main Street and Abernathy Way.'

  'Understood.' And that was it. I was likely on my own.

  I walked down the street slowly, my mind trying to feel out the people around
me. It was weird. The blip with the mix of elation and fear had subsided. Now,
only 'normal' thoughts were around. I couldn't quite locate the psychic
disturbance I sensed before, but I there was definitely someone around.

  All this time, David had moved from the church. He was now shadowing me on
the rooftops, using his displacement to move from one spot to another.
Although I never heard him displace with audible cue, the POP that came with
his sudden reappearance was chiefly his mental presence brimming suddenly in
my mind due to his physical proximity.

  Tseng, I could barely feel. He felt close, but I wasn't all too sure.
Suddenly, there were one -- Wait, two -- No wait, three? They all seemed to be
normal presences. I spun around and nearly got caught by a blow to the head.
Luckily, I had been keeping up with my "repelling force" exercises and I
focused my gift in that manner. It probably saved my life (thank you
Viktoriya!). The bat went towards my head but my mind was able to push it up
towards the sky as it closed in.

  "The fuck --!?" a voice came from nowhere.

  I looked around and saw (with my own eyes) nothing. Nothing save a wooden
baseball bat hovering in mid-air. At first, I thought it was Tseng or
Viktoriya playing a trick on me (Viktoriya had some explaining to do if she
did!), but the bat was held in an all too-natural angle, and the stick swayed
in an all too-humanistic fashion to be telekinetically controlled. Besides,
why would a psychokineticist spend effort to twirl a bat when all he or she
needed to do was drive it straight (any angle will do) right into my face?

  "Hit him again Patch!" Again the same voice from nowhere.

  A different voice, a more feminine one cried out, "No! Let's just get outta
here!"

  I shifted my focus. I didn't want to see the bat, although it was a dangerous
tool. I needed to see what was around me. As the bat swung again, I heard a
yell of surprise; David had displaced himself and brought a sturdy lead pipe
down on the offending weapon, cracking it in the middle and saving me the
trouble of shoving it up someone's ass. The bat quickly went limp, as if
someone had let go of it.

  Ghost Light's surprise appearance was enough to startle our mysterious guests
and allow me to fix their locations. Two of them, whoever or whatever the hell
they were, were near me and David. One more was standing a little off so he
wouldn't be hit in the melee.

  It made a sort of sense, I thought. If you can't see your body or others
around you, then it'd be wise to step away. I suddenly realized that I was
picking up a mixed jumble of thoughts from not one, but three invisible
assailants. David and I needed help, like right the fuck now.

  'Three people.' My mind chattered. 'Talisman, do you read?'

  "Champion," I clicked my throat mike, "We have three contacts. All invisible.
Gimme back-up or you'll have three corpses."

  Hearing their situation reported seemed to throw the three invisible people
into a panic.

  "You ain't gonna find us." The first voice snarled. "Scram!"

  I heard a patter of footsteps followed by more determined footsteps. Tseng
and a few dark suited men wearing thermal goggles were running towards us. It
didn't matter though. By the time they got to securing the area, the invisible
people had escaped.

===============================================================================
  MONUMENTAL MISSION -- RE-TASKING 
===============================================================================

  "Why didn't you call for back-up?" Cox fumed. "It took Talisman a minute to
get us on the horn."

  "I was under surveillance," I said simply. "I thought David was going to tell
you."

  "I was going to," David jumped in, "When I was shadowing Stanley on the roof.
Then, I saw the bat and I knew he was in trouble."

  "Did it look like he needed help?" Tseng spoke up.

  "No one asked you," the thin displacer snapped.

  "Hold on now," Cox looked at me, "Did you ask for help?"

  "Well kinda," I said. "I told him to keep an eye out for trouble. But that
was it." I was sure I would've been able to repel anything I could see away
from me.

  "See? I told you," David folded his arms, satisfied. "It was three against
one. I just evened up the odds."

  "We lost the element of surprise," Tseng registered distaste.

  "Look," Cox held up a hand, "I know you don't like working for us, David.
That's fine. But Stanley has undergone some training at FLETC (Federal Law
Enforcement Training Center); I'm sure he could've taken care of himself. All
you needed to do was report in."

  FLETC my ass, I thought dourly. I only spent maybe three days tops at some
lecture courses, like the hostage rescue class. All the rest of my "training"
was on the border. Since Cox already knew about my excursions, I said nothing
and kept my mouth shut. He could lie to David all he wanted. It took some
convincing for David not to teleport back home. I could hardly blame him. He
really didn't need to be there, but because he was the fastest method of
transport, he was asked to remain available. In any case, David didn't need to
get his hands dirty. Tseng and I were doing the real footwork.

  By now, it was nearly 4 A.M. Eastern Standard Time and we were all running on
fumes. The only reason I was this active was because I was used to staying up
late for studio and sleeping odd hours; that plus I was on West Coast time, so
it was only 1 A.M. for me. Still, I was feeling like man twice my age as I
mutely stirred a cup of black tea.

  The crap from a teabag tasted awful. How I missed Yu-Ching's hand-brewed
teas, her delicate fingers holding the porcelain kettle, her soft brown eyes
full of mirth and mischief. Shit. I was getting horny thinking about that
tight, legal, eighteen-year old ass of hers.

  "Stanley? Snake Charmer!"

  I nearly spilled my tea as Cox snapped his fingers before me.

  "Uh, sorry," I mumbled. "Must've dozed off."

  "For a good minute," he said, "Were you able to pull anything from them when
they escaped? Thoughts about where they were going?"

  "I have nothing," Tseng said as I peered at him.

  "And you?" Cox looked at me.

  "No," I said, "Not really."

  The burly agent never appeared more disappointed than when he threw his hands
in the air. We were pretty much lost. Well maybe not. I sat and recalled a
little of the encounter. At the moment the old gravelly voice said "Scram!"
some visual memories popped up. Farms and picaresque farmland near an expanse
of water. Well, not exactly. It looked like a waterway of some sort. There was
a sign, a blurry one. I could barely make it out if I focused a little more
...

  "Where's Saint Anicet?" I suddenly asked.

  "That's in Canada," Cox looked at me curiously, "In Quebec, near
Salaberry-del-Valleyfield."

  "Hmm," Tseng thumbed through some files, "Ah here it is. Susan said her
grandfather's grandfather was from around there. The Rogets are
French-Canadian. Very rural area."

  "The Rogets?" David asked, "We're tracking down a family of invisible
people?"

  "It's all explained here," Tseng held up a paperback bearing the title:
"Monument Of New England" authored by Susan Roget.

  Cox whispered to one of his men as David asked, "Wait, are these the same
guys whose name is on that thesaurus?"

  Funny. I grinned like an idiot and felt like laughing. Holy fuck. I was
tired.

  "So what next?" I asked numbly. I wanted to sleep.

  "Isn't it obvious?" Tseng said, "They're headed for the border."

  "We have to beat them before they cross into Canada," Cox said with finality.
"We leave now."

===============================================================================
  MONUMENTAL MISSION -- CONFLICT AND RESOLUTION 
===============================================================================

  David displaced from the room for a while then later returned before we left.
As I predicted, he pretty much as was able to commute back and forth as he
needed. I assumed that if we had emailed him a picture of our next
destination, he could've met us there. But we were all clearly on the breaking
point. I had been up for nearly 20 straight hours and I was feeling less than
stellar. No wonder I was so sluggish when the three invisibles jumped me. My
mind felt like molasses.

  Our choppers came from Birmingham, along with thermal and low-light detection
gear. The craft were not designed to catch the three invisibles, but rather to
herd them. Pinning them against Cayuga Lake on the west, the choppers were to
funnel them into a more manageable search area for me and Tseng to tackle. It
was also to drive home the point that those invisible fugitives were now the
hunted.

  Listen, look, but don't touch was the motto of the NSA. However, because
Tseng, David, and I were on board as "specialists" to track the invisible
runners, exceptions had to be made. An actual U.S. marshal appeared and swore
my ass in as a "special deputy" of the United States Marshal service,
"effective immediately and to be rescinded upon sun-down the next day" before
I climbed aboard my ride.

  I certainly hoped that would be all the time I needed. I just wanted to go
home, take a hot shower, and then head straight to bed. Still, my weariness
was the least of my worries once the choppers neared Seward's Mansion. My
mental switchboard lit up in the presence of the three targets near there.
Tseng and I consulted over the wireless with Champion and confirmed that we
had three pings.

  They were definitely fleeing from the choppers, so it lent a little more
credence that the presences were what we were looking for. Two of them were
pinned against our group moving north and the New York State Thruway. A third
was making way east to the Onondaga Indian Reservation.

  "Plan of action," Champion radioed in. "Talisman take the two near the
thruway; Snake Charmer, grab the one going east. Ghost Light will channel
communications through Champion HQ and provide transportation support as
required. Less than lethal now. We want to detain, not destroy."

  Whether that was meant for me, Tseng, or all of us, I didn't know. We were
unarmed saved for our gifts, although each of our choppers was accompanied by
a second chopper with marksmen armed with compressed rifles and tranquilizers.
Our armed escorts would not fly low for fear of being attacked by an invisible
assailant; they can however, cover us decently from the air. Cox was
coordinating from a temporary base in Auburn and I was assaulted with radio
chatter in my ear and crazed thoughts of the invisibles in my mind.

  "Roger that." I clicked my throat mike. I was riding in an east-bound chopper
towards the Indian Reservation. It was planned that I drop off early and
intercept the fleeing talent. Over the drone of the craft's engine, I heard
other conversations in my ear piece.

  "Got it." David wasn't going to play with fire and displace whilst in a
moving vehicle. He tried that once and it nearly got him killed. He was
following me several hundred feet back in another chopper. He needed to see
where I was going so he could displace there. I assumed Tseng likely didn't
need any back-up, but David should be able to blink himself to his position in
a few minutes.

  "Understood." Tseng was about twelve miles west of me. His plan of action was
to confront the two blips against the thru-way and see how'd they react.

  Capture, not kill, was the directive. Oh well. Can't say I didn't try. We
followed the blip I focused on. My quarry was the girl who had uttered
restraint when I was beset by her accomplices. I sensed she was traveling as
fast as a vehicle could carry her. My chopper easily outpaced her ride. I
relayed audible instructions to my pilot.

  "Pick a place and head off that red truck!" I yelled.

  "Got it," the pilot crackled back.

  It was past 7 A.M. Eastern Time and highway east 20 was starting to see a
little more traffic. I'd been operating for over 24 hours. I was verging on
mental collapse, I knew. Get her or lose her. That, or the truck she was in
would speed up, and she'd kill someone.

  "Force the bitch off the road," I rasped over the mike, "I'll get off and
grab her."

  The pilot didn't answer but I knew he understood when the craft dived and
dipped towards the road. My stomach lurched; thankfully, I had nothing to eat
so I didn't feel nausea. The chopper's skids bared themselves dangerously low
to the target pick-up truck, but it was the ample wash from the rotor and
constant thumping of the rotors that caused the driver to swerve off the road.
The red truck skidded off the road and into the surrounding slush-covered
brush. I quickly clicked on David's channel.

  "Going down Ghost Light," I stood near the doorway, my hands ready to unclick
my safety harness, "She can't go far. Head back and help Talisman with the
other two."

  "Roger that," David sounded unhappy, but he acknowledged my request.

  I sensed the usual POP and knew he had displaced himself back a ways to
leave this end of the chase to me for a little bit. The marksman assigned to
cover me could only talk to Cox back at HQ. How Cox could monitor our
activities and keep control of the situation that changed so quickly was
beyond me. Almost immediately, I reacted almost autonomously; which was
exactly as how Tseng and I worked on the Mexican border. Now I appreciated
those excursions to Mexico.

  Shit. I was being trained and didn't even know it. Still, no time for that
now. My chopper dove steeply and hovered a few feet above the ground, I knew
the pilot wouldn't risk landing in the knee high grass. A stray boulder could
tip the whole thing and cause a deadly crash. I unbuckled my restraining
harness and jumped from the deck.

  Telekinetics allowed me to land, cat-like, on my own two feet. I didn't care
if the pilots or anyone else saw me. I was in a way, glad to be after the
target. Through a low-light lens, my squarish silhouette should be a definite
contrast to the curved, bosomy shadow of a girl. Even if I was caught by
friendly-fire, tranquilizers were much easier for me than real bullets, unless
they were loaded with poison.

  I cursed inwardly as I approached the truck. My chopper took off and veered
away, buzzing around me along with the escort (sniper) chopper like constant
shadows. I saw nothing as I neared it. The driver's door was open, but no one
had been seen getting out.

  Of course not, I thought. She's invisible. And if they couldn't see her ...

  I caught the presence at the last possible second. I whirled and caught the
branch across my forearms. Despite putting up my "repelling force", the blow
(and the presence) came out so last second I barely worked up a defence. My
arms felt a little numb as I rolled over the ground. The heavy branch that hit
me was now on the ground. I felt nothing of the presence save that it was
receding.

  She's fleeing. I gritted my teeth, stood up and gave chase. The runner
might've been invisible, but she could only mask so much of herself. I had my
target in mental range and began to zone in on her. I picked myself up and
"TK-skated" after my quarry. She was running -- running scared.

  Silly little bitch, I thought. Then I remembered what had happened at the
sorority house and I hardened my heart. Viktoriya had taught me women could
sometimes be as crude and vicious as men when it came to other women.

  I flew past some ramshackle sheds, dirty snow piled against their sides. Even
with her invisibility, I was able to follow through the panic I sensed. The
choppers' detection equipment were becoming useless as the sun rose. It was
very hard to track shoeprints through snowmelt once the sun began to warm
things up. I was on point and the choppers had to follow.

  "This is Talisman," I heard Tseng's tinny voice crackle over my earbud,
"Targets are attempting to stop passing motorists and steal their vehicles
while maintaining natural camouflage..."

  Good God, I thought. Invisible car-jackers on a state Thruway? We'll make the
news tonight!

  "... Talisman intercepting with allotted force."

  Allotted force my ass, I thought. Knowing Tseng's personal motives, he was
going to exterminate if necessary. Keep the empire hidden. Keep all this under
wraps. The dead told no tales. David was lucky; he only lost a foot. I
suspected those two see-through toughs at the highway were not likely going to
be captured alive, despite Cox's orders or their best efforts at escaping.

  So what now? Save her! Get to the invisible girl. Get to her before Tseng
does and rips her a fourth hole. But how? She's scared and she's running. I
had passed several fields of corn or wheat by now. Assuming that invisibility
was all she had, she was covering ground at a good clip. Maybe she had another
gifts as well? I popped out of a field and saw a barn in the distance.

  'I'll hide there.' I caught wind of her thoughts. 'Hide until dark.' 'Get
back together with Patch.' 'Tell him to ditch Uncle Pauly.' 'God, he's a
monster.' 'What he did to those girls.' 'I can get Patch.' 'Turn him back on
the good path.'

  So, I thought. This was more complex than I thought. Maybe not everyone in
the bunch was a bad apple. I needed a distraction and a stealthy approach. I
stopped and the choppers did likewise. While they circled endlessly around me
in that field of crop, I clicked my throat mike and radioed Cox.

  "Champion," I said, "Pull those choppers back to base. Anywhere out of
earshot. I'm going alone."

  "You sure about that?" Cox asked.

  "Yes," I replied. "It'll make her drop her guard. She's looking to hide.
Champion, she didn't have anything to do with the sorority house. It's not her
fault."

  "You read her?" Cox's voice crackled back.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I didn't know you could read at range," Cox sounded suspicious.

  "She tried to floor me with a club," I half-lied, "She was pretty worked up
then and it simply popped into my head when I threw her off. She thinks we're
after her for that."

  "Acknowledged," Cox said. "Talisman is in pursuit."

  I acknowledged his transmission as I heard the choppers heavy whup-whup-whup
dim in the distance. I was alone now. How I proceeded was up to me. I ducked
into the grass and duck-walked towards the barn, all while my mind gingerly
probing, sensing, and feeling the intense relief in the girl.

  'They're gone.' I heard her. 'I'm safe!'

  I didn't use mind-sight; I wasn't sure how much my presence would be made
known. Still, I could sense she was tired. She's likely to fall asleep. I
lifted myself slightly and pushed myself quickly to the side of the barn. The
place was empty save for the invisible fugitive. There were no signs of
animals. I turned up my focus and sensed the girl in the corner of one of the
pens.

  I suppose I could call it in to Cox, but that would be overkill. There was no
telling what'd the agency would do. Besides, I've handled stuff like this
before. I made my decision and stepped in, my focus working overtime. I
shifted my focus and concentrated it to the immediate area.

  "Anyone here?" I called out. Nothing. She's trying to hide from me, I
realized.

  Picking up more of her thoughts, I called to her by name, "Phillipa Roget?"

  Almost immediately, I saw a plume of dust as the invisible girl scrambled to
her feet.

  "H--how do you know my name?!" her voice came from the corner, allowing me to
zero in on her position.

  It was a pretty, melodious voice. The English wasn't perfect. It bore a minor
accent I couldn't identify, but sounded innocent and sweet all the same.

  "My name is Stanley," I put out my hands to show I was unarmed. "Stanley
Chen."

  My eyes settled on the corner where the dust had swirled. Thin streams of
sunlight came through the cracks in the dilapidated barn's planks. There was
something there; an invisible humanoid form. I focused a little more and began
to "sense" the physicality of the invisible mass. It was a girl, and a very
shapely girl!

  "I am --" I decided to leave the agency out in my introduction, "-- a
mind-reader. You know, I can tell you if your lucky number if you think about
it, or what your favorite color or food is."

  I sensed the invisible Phillipa was weighing her options. I could not see her
eyes, but she had cast her gaze about, looking for a weapon. She gasped
though, when I revealed her intentions aloud.

  "I'm not looking to hurt you. You know that. You saved me back there last
night. In Sherwood."

  "Y--you saw us?" her voice was unbelieving.

  "Not exactly," I shook my head for emphasis. "I sense people. What they think
or feel becomes very clear to me. I sensed you Phillipa. I sensed the others."

  "Don't hurt Patch!" she cried. "It was Uncle Pauly's idea! It's his fault
with those girls!"

  "I know, I know," I tried to calm her as I inched closer. If I could just
grab her, it'll be over, and we could all go home. "You didn't know about your
uncle. I sense it from you Phillipa. You tried to help them. But you were
afraid."

  "I was," there was a strangled sob. "It's all Uncle Pauly's fault! He got
Patch to do what he says. He got me to do things too."

  "It's okay."

  I was near her now. I could smell the sweat on her body and her hair. I could
hear the soft mewing as if it was right next to me. Phillipa reappeared so
suddenly, I nearly jumped back. One moment there was nothing, the next minute,
there she was. It was like someone had put an invisible blanket over her then
whipped it off, just like in a magic show. Unlike David's displacement (which
required a conscious thought from him) I didn't get any forewarning of her
intention. It was like physical reflex instead of a mental one.

  The girl sitting on the ground was attractive, but only as so much an
extraordinarily tall lanky teenager could be. She appeared to be about
thirteen or fourteen, dressed in plain clothing that was a little bit smaller
for a growing girl. Her T-shirt was ragged and there were sizable holes in her
jeans. I saw she had chalky white skin and bright scraggly red hair. Phillipa
looked at me, wiped her eyes, and cracked a small smile.

  Good lord, I thought, she still wore braces.

  "Are you all right?" I asked.

  She was about to answer when she suddenly backed against the wall. I heard a
buzzing of thoughts, very dim ones, as I heard shouting and cries of the dead
and dying erupt behind me. I turned around in surprise. It was the most
unusual thing, to see a humanoid shaped "hole" in spatial reality. Through
this window in reality, I could see a dark underpass and Tseng. He was holding
something, or someone, in his black gloved hands. He jerked his hand and I
heard a familiar rattle in the empty air. It was familiar because the banditos
died with a similar sound down in Tecate.

  Tseng released his grip on the invisible dead weight and I saw the same
un-vanishing act again. Only this time, the magic blanket revealed the body of
a withered old man. What startled me wasn't the fact that he suddenly appeared
from thin air but rather from the stark fear emanating from his mind. It was
as if the man's death would precipitate some awful calamity in the future, and
somehow I was a mute witness to the doom that would come. As the final few
thoughts drifted towards the edge of my consciousness, my insides turned cold:
my mind was filled with fear, panic, and terror.

  Still, I was rooted in the now of the moment. Something was happening and I
had a job to do. I studied the silhouette of the portal and finally recognized
who it was. It was Ghost Light. From the fey haircut and the way he was
standing, there was no doubt it was David. Exactly what he was doing that
was beyond me.

  'Stanley, Stanley, Stanley.' It was David's thoughts. 'If you can pick this
up, Christ, come quick. That bastard's going to kill --'

  At that moment, Tseng looked towards me. No doubt if I could see him, he
could see me. Me, and with Phillipa behind me. He was only able to take one
step towards us when --

  POP

  David displaced and stood where the portal was. Phillipa opened her mouth,
but no scream came forth. I knew then that Tseng was capable of anything. Even
during an agency operation, he was like a smart-weapon gone haywire. If there
was any doubt in my mind about who likely killed Viktoriya's brother, it had
vanished after that particular demonstration.

  "What the fuck just happened?" It was Cox, me, and David all shouting at
once. I tore off my ear bud; most of the chatter being utter chaos. I couldn't
sort through it even if I wanted to.

  "It's Talisman," David coughed then stood up woozily, "He's gone nuts. He
killed the two disappearing guys at the Thruway."

  "What?!" I stood as Phillipa earnestly began wailing and screaming.

  "I couldn't stop him," David shuddered and looked at me, his heart sick, "Not
that I could if I wanted to. I told Champion."

  "Snake Charmer?" my ear bud sizzled with activity, "Ghost Light?! Answer
goddammit!!"

  "Champion this is Snake Charmer," I snapped. "Someone tell me what the fuck
just happened? Where's Talisman?"

  "Talisman reported his targets had to be neutralized," Cox said with some
disappointment, "What's your status?"

  "My targ--" I glanced at the hysteric teen with sympathy. "The package is
alive. Shaken but alive."

  "Alive? Alive!! That means you killed them! My family! My family!!" the girl
vanished in an eyeblink. "I'll kill you!!"

  To his credit, David didn't displace to escape. That would've left me to deal
with things alone. Despite not being able to physically see Phillipa, her
torrent of thoughts came through quite clear: she was going to use the nearest
sharp thing to stab me and David until she sated her bloodlust. As she charged
us headlong without regard to her safety, I caught her gently by the arm and
let her have it.

===============================================================================
  IN NEW YORK WITH VIKTORIYA 
===============================================================================

  It was mess. For an operation that was supposed to capture, it wound up being
as bloody as the "odd jobs" on the border. The boy (Patch) was nudged by
speeding car that didn't see him as he fled across the freeway. Patch was
fearful of Tseng's steady advance; he may have been invisible, but if Tseng
wanted something, he got what he wanted. Dazed, the boy didn't see the truck
that smashed him like a human pinata.

  Seeing his nephew die so horribly, the older man attempted to attack Tseng.
It was the last mistake he ever made. From what I could piece together, Tseng
acted in self-defence and, I suppose, he did keep that portion of the
invisible empire from being too visible.

  There was irony in this decision. The fugitives vanished as they wanted.
Unlike my gift, Phillipa's gift wasn't rooted in the mental realm. It was
physical (although I've since learned my gift is also grounded in my
physiological make-up) hence, the reason why it was so hard for Tseng, me, and
others like us to locate them. If Phillipa wanted to vanish, she'd just
vanish. No thought needed. It was an automatic reflex, like yawning or
blinking.

  Maybe that was the reason, I thought grimly. Pare down the number of
potential threats. Unless we were aware of one of them was around, we'd likely
not even give the area another glance. Knowing Tseng, I'd probably never get a
straight answer from him. Ultimately, it was a decision we all had to live
with. Cox debriefed us the next day after we managed a few hours of sleep. I
was both relieved and sad about Phillipa.

  After I zapped her unconscious, David displaced her and me back to the
agency's temporary forward HQ. We drove to Syracuse next. From there, we took
a plane to New York City then she was wheeled to a secured wing of a hospital
for VIP patients. Once there, Phillipa was shackled with a GPS tracker. A
second, more insidious tracker was injected into her skin, just behind her
shoulder. Tseng came back with the bodies of the other two. Despite Cox's
normal business-like demeanor, even he had to question Tseng's motives.

  "I thought the orders were clear," Cox railed, "Capture. Not kill."

  The old man with thinning hair held up a single, dangerous finger and halted
Cox's tirade. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but I was too tired
to do anything save watch the two men argue.

  "Capture," Tseng cocked his head, "If possible. One fled into traffic; the
other attacked me. I defended myself."

  "In a pig's ass," David muttered but Tseng ignored him.

  "Fine," Cox drummed his fingers lightly on the table. "So you had no choice,
or thought you didn't. What about Snake Charmer? How'd he --?"

  "I just gave her a nerve pinch when she was distracted," I cut him off.
"She'll be fine."

  Yeah, I thought glumly. Fine until she wakes up.

  "I see," Cox was humorless.

  I glanced at him and knew he didn't believe me. But for the sake of
appearances, he didn't show it. He already suspected Tseng had his agenda. Now
he suspected me as well. Still, the big agent wasn't 100 percent sure. After
all, I had followed my orders and nabbed the package.

  "Well, since you all have busy lives gentlemen," Cox rose, "Payment will be
arranged. There's no need to stay."

  "Great. You have my routing number." The sandy haired teleporter blinked out
without another word. Tseng nodded to me once then walked out the door like a
'normal' person. I remained seated though, my hands curled around an empty
Dixie Cup and my mind awhirl with thought.

  "Don't you have a job and a girlfriend to go back to?" Cox asked.

  "Kinda," I said slowly. I wondered if the agency tracked my goings-ons with
my girls. Agent Cox's face revealed nothing about any surveillance against me,
but somehow, I suspected that he suspected that there was. Clearly Cox wasn't
the person pulling the strings; he was just a face for my benefit.

  "I'd like to stay a bit," I crushed my cup, "At least until Phillipa wakes
up."

  Cox shot me a cautious glance, "Masquerade and her blanket team can only
cover you so long. It costs us resources to keep her out there. She's needed
elsewhere."

  "I've had a lousy Monday," I said, "The least you could do is give me the
rest of the week off. Have her cover for me. Can you do that?"

  Cox eyed me warily then nodded, "We might be able to arrange that, since you
asked. Maybe you can --?"

  "I'll talk with Phillipa and do what I can," I said, "But I won't mind-scan
--" a lie; if I did it, it will be for my own benefit, "-- she's been through
enough in one night."

  "Great," Cox nodded and showed me out. "Thanks."

  I headed out to the gift shop and did a little shopping. Tseng used that
opportunity to debrief me with his version, and in his way. It didn't matter
he wasn't anywhere near me, he spoke to me through mind-sight.

  'Whatever did Reese say.' Tseng pinged me as I ambled to the magazine rack.
'That you'd think I'd try to kill the girl?'

  'Tell me what the hell was that all about at the Thruway.' I thought-spoke as
I picked through a sports magazine. 'Why'd you opt to neutralize? They're no
more a danger apart from being common ne'er-do-wells.'

  'They were a danger.' I saw Tseng's reflection in a window. 'That is the
truth. The older one was a career criminal. Imagine an invisible gunman you
couldn't see. Couldn't sense. Imagine that in Tecate or Mexicali or Tijuana
and shudder.'

  'They couldn't make their weapons invisible.' I countered. 'You knew that
from the encounter back at Sherwood.'

  'The boy couldn't.' I could see Tseng's eyes narrow in the window reflection.
'But the older one could. That's how he was able to taint the sorority house's
water with sleeping pills. He was trying to teach it to the others. Make them
into him.'

  'Like you're doing with me?' I dared to broadcast the thought.

  My mentor ignored me and kept on lecturing. 'Susan was curious how her family
was cursed with this. I should warn you that the girl ...'

  'Her name is Phillipa.' I interrupted him.

  '... she is the first in her family to do that.' Tseng continued. 'All the
others have been men in the past.'

  I blinked. That could explain Patch.

  'Her cousin I think.' Tseng mentally shrugged.

  'How would this be different?' I thought. 'Man or woman, invisibility is
invisibility.'

  'It is a matter that is a little more complex than you realize.' He
thought-spoke. 'In any case, I have an old friend to visit. Tell her the
news.'

  'That you killed some of her family?' I felt a wave of disgust.

  'If I told you that this was all Susan's idea, would you believe me?' Tseng
thought to me.

  'Not unless I could determine it for myself.' I thought back. 'And even then,
I wouldn't be sure it wasn't you pulling her strings.'

  'Fair enough.' His presence became fainter. 'I'll be around Stanley.'

  And that was that. If I wanted more answers, I needed to find them for
myself. Phillipa regained consciousness before I headed back into the
hospital. She wouldn't talk to the agent liaison put to secure her room, nor
would she talk to Cox or anyone else (even the doctors and nurses). She did
however, speak briefly to me.

  Having rooted through parts of her mind when I zapped, I knew some of
Phillipa's most conscious likes and dislikes. I bought a bag of soft candy
from the gift shop and gave it to her.

  "Look I'm sorry about what happened," I said, "But honestly, I didn't know
anything save what I was told."

  Phillipa squeezed the bag of candy like a stress toy. "And I'm supposed to
believe that? I should call the police."

  "And tell them what?" I regarded her with a mixture of pity and mirth. "That
you turned invisible to do what you can, then got caught by a mind-reader?"

  She cast a baleful glare at me then went back to torturing her bag of candy.

  "I've read the report," I said softly, "You and Patch were orphans?"

  "And cousins," the gangly girl murmured, "Our parents died in the plant fire
in '89."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "How old are you?"

  Phillipa sniffed. "I'm fourteen."

  Jesus Christ, I thought. So, she was three years old tops when that happened.
Awful luck.

  As we got to talking, she opened up a little more, relating how she spent a
lot of time at the orphanage. There, she met Patch. She didn't know they were
cousins until a man calling himself Uncle Pauly came around. Said he was
family. Long lost family. Uncle Pauly took them in, took care of them with his
spare dough (that'd explain Phillipa's orthodontic work and some mysterious
robberies in the 90s). Then one day in the middle of last year, he showed them
what made them special.

  Interesting. I only wore rear braces up until I was fifteen or so (my teeth
weren't too fucked up) so I knew there was a significant cost to them. I guess
Uncle Pauly wasn't all that bad. Actually, I probably should withhold
judgment. The autopsies of the invisibles hadn't even come back, so it wasn't
clear who had done the dirty deed with those girls.

  I chanced a glance at the room's corners and vertices. I was 100% positive
the agency was recording our conversation. Probably running checks with local
law enforcement on open cases of robberies and such in the tri-state area. I
managed to worm one more fact from her (later corroborated by autopsies):
Patch was the likely rapist at the sorority house.

  Phillipa said that Uncle Pauly and Patch had been doing some sneaking around
with her on Patch's birthday and a few weeks after. When they'd come back,
Patch would be both happy and agitated. From what I could conclude, it must've
been a demented "birthday gift" from Uncle Pauly.

  Good god, I thought with disgust. I steered the conversation away and spoke
amicably with Phillipa about my own experiences (the positive ones and without
revealing anything compromising). Since my own cousin Aurora pretty much
compromised my e-mail with all those nude images of herself, I decided there'd
be no harm in letting Phillipa keep in touch with me through that address. I
filched out my Ferguson Graphics business card and inked my info on it.

  "Look, I gotta go," I handed my card to her, "But if you just want to talk or
ask questions or whatever, just hit me up okay?"

  "Okay."

  She took my card gingerly, as if she'd half expect it to fly away on its own
accord. I gave her hand a heartfelt and reassuring squeeze. Phillipa grinned
shyly at me, showing me her braces. I grinned back and left the hospital wing.
I wouldn't see her again until after September 11th. Since I had the rest of
the week off in New York City, I did the one logical thing that night -- I
took a cab to Brooklyn to visit my special Slavic siren.

  "Stanislav!" Viktoriya was so delighted she actually greeted me aloud.

  "Hallo Vika," I kissed her.

  'Oh , kisa you are safe!' She hugged me so tightly, I struggled for breath.

  "Of course," I gave her a confident smile, "What'd Jan say?"

  "She is mad at you," Viktoriya was curious, "But she hasn't called since.
What happened? Why were you in Rochester?"

  At that moment, I hated myself for taking up with the NSA. The agency was
something I didn't want the girls to know. If Tseng's activities didn't
warrant danger then there was no telling what the agency would do to keep
things quiet. How much was safe? I didn't know so I doled it out in small
doses. I'd figure if anyone would eventually catch me, it'd be Viktoriya. I
could hide some thoughts, but not everything, from my curious Cossack cutie.
Besides, there was a connection that was more than simply mind-reading. We'd
been together for nearly five years.

  'Six.' Viktoriya corrected me immediately. 'We had English in fall of '93.'

  'Of course sweetheart.' I set my overnight bag on her sofa.

  I had left the hospital where Phillipa was staying a few hours before. It
taken that long for my cab to weave through New York City traffic to get to
Brooklyn. I had arrived at Viktoriya's apartment just in time for dinner.
Fulfilling her role as host, my Russian rumba-queen decided to show me some of
the Big Apple's more tender slices.

  She and I were at an East Village restaurant, a Turkish place that served
great meze. It was there, over the dim glow of candlelight when I finally told
her a sanitized version of the truth. I included my suspicions about Tseng but
omitted the empire. Viktoriya sat quietly in her chair as she weighed my
words.

  "Sweetheart, I'm sorry." I swallowed hard. I hadn't noticed that my throat
was dry from all the talking I did. I took a quick sip of water and waited
nervously for an answer.

  "So you are saying you help in reading people?" she finally asked. Living
alone in a city of millions had improved her social skills. "Like
interrogation?"

  "More or less," I said.

  "Nothing more?" she asked. "You don't --?"

  Kill. That was what she wanted to know. I quickly dispersed the thought. Oh
sweetheart, how could I explain all this now?

  "Only in self-defence and as a last ditch effort," I replied quietly. My
thoughts were fully masked now as I spoke in monotone. "That's what the muscle
is for."

  "I see," Viktoriya was pensive. I watched her and tried to anticipate her
next move.

  "That's what Tseng would be," I explained as simply as I could, "Muscle. What
do you think? Is he the one?"

  "I do not know who killed Pyotr," Viktoriya sighed, "Just that it was one
of us. Can you be sure it was he?"

  I shook my head, "I can't read him sweetie. His mind's a blank wall to me."

  "Well then," she seemed both relieved and disappointed, "There's no point in
guessing, yes? But if you think this 'Sang' is so dangerous, why do you
continue to associate with him?"

  "It's out of convenience," I put my hand on hers. "He's got some things I can
learn. I could teach you too. But just say the word Vika, and I'll tell him to
piss off and never bug me again."

  "No, it's okay Stanislav." The brunette beauty smiled, but the worry in her
lovely eyes was unmistakable. "I can feel you've changed, that's all. You
don't know it, but you're different now."

  "I am?" I asked.

  "Yes," Viktoriya squeezed my hands, "You've gotten a little more --" she said
something in Russian that I got as "aggressive" or "ruthless" mixed with
"self-centeredness".

  I felt her hands trembling but there was little more I could do or say to
comfort her.

  "I think you're going to continue this regardless what I think," she said
finally.

  It felt weird. I had confessed something I was sure to have caused Viktoriya
no small measure of grief, but she simply took it more or less in stride. We
finished our meal in silence then took a cab home. Viktoriya didn't have
practice the next day but we were content to just sleep. After such a long
absence, it felt great to be in each other's physical presence. When I awoke
the next morning, I found her stretching in the other room.

  'Good morning.' I thought-spoke.

  "Good morning, kisa," she didn't break her routine as she spoke aloud.

  I grinned despite my disheveled appearance. Someone from logistics support in
the agency had grabbed a travel pack with toilet amenities and towelettes. I
had bought a pack of underwear (expensive ones) when Viktoriya took me out
last night. I showered, cleaned up, and felt a hundred times better.

  "So, what do you do for fun around here?" I asked.

  "Oh, you're done?" she rose in a most peculiar fashion, as if she was in
weightless space. Her telekinesis practically let her levitate.

  "How about breakfast?" I stood in the narrow hall. Those old apartments were
really something; despite my height, the top of my head grazed the upper jamb
of the doorway.

  "Hungry?" Viktoriya grinned and stepped close. I tried hard to keep my eyes
on her face, but it was difficult. She wore a sports bikini and some ankle
high socks. Her tits glistened a little with sweat from her workout. The aroma
drove me nuts and I felt myself slowly rise to the occasion.

  "You bet," I tried being nonchalant, "I'm starved."

  'So am I.' She smiled wolfishly and grabbed my cock.

  "Christ Vika," I laughed, then proceeded to thought-speech: 'I meant food.'

  'After.' Viktoriya pulled me and my cock towards the fold-down sofa-bed in
her room.

  Despite having porked Janet just a few days ago, the strenuous activity in
up-state New York really got my juices flowing. Absence (and abstinence) made
Viktoriya frisky as well. She had flirted with a few of the girls at the
institute, but hadn't dared to do anything during competition. As usual,
Viktoriya was more cautious than I.

  "Mmmngh," she groaned with delight as she gagged herself on my stiff
fuckstick.

  She sat on the fold-down, her head at the perfect height to gorge her fill on
man-sausage. Maybe it was all those times I did have great bare-back sex, or
maybe it was just disliking the chill of saliva as it evaporated from my skin,
but I never really enjoyed getting oral. Still, it turned Viktoriya on, so I
let her enjoy herself.

  The full-length mirror Viktoriya used when we communicated with mind-sight
was next to the bed. I saw myself: a skinny, average looking Chinese guy
standing in a small New York apartment getting a blowjob from a cute Russian
dancing queen. I brushed her hair aside so I could see Viktoriya's face in the
mirror as she face-fucked my pole.

  'Oooh, kisa.' She thought-spoke after I sent her a mental snapshot of us in a
mirror. 'This looks like porn!'

  'Yeah.' I gritted my teeth.

  Despite my personal dislike of blowjobs, they were still blowjobs. My body
reacted the only way it could by threatening to spurt. I pulled Viktoriya away
and pushed her down on her back. She was already so turned on and my cock so
slick with her spit, I pushed into her without difficulty.

  "Ungh," she grunted once as she opened herself to me.

  I held her long legs apart by her ankles and began thrusting her slowly. I
grinned as Viktoriya turned her head to the side and sneezed. Then she propped
herself up on her elbows and watched me as I stick my dick into her body. She
glanced at me and thought-spoke: 'I want to see it go in. Just like in porn.'

  Ah, I thought. A neat little problem. But nothing that required too much
work. I picked up Viktoriya then sat her on top of me as I lay back down.

  'So I do all the work now?' She seemed displeased. 'What am I? Your whore?'

  'Hush sweetheart.' I pinched her playfully. 'You wanted to see this.' I spun
Viktoriya around so she was now in reverse cow-girl.

  'Oh.' Viktoriya caught on to what I was trying to do. 'Oh god yes!' She could
now view herself in the mirror, getting fucked like she was with that huge
dildo of hers. Using mind-sight, I could see her reflection in the mirror and
wow; it was like a porn film, except I was the actual dude slamming the shit
out of the babe.

  My telekinesis formed an invisible "surface" that let Viktoriya sit quite
comfortably as I thrust against her pussy. It was quite easy. After more
minutes of furious fucking, my brunette beauty threw her head back, her
shoulder length hair touching my face. She emitted a muffled squeal as I cried
out and shot my load.

  The one thing Viktoriya and I shared (apart from our gifts) was skin-to-skin
bare back sex. My dusky Russkie could manipulate fluids far better than I, and
each time I'd inject her tank with infant formula, she'd be able to force it
back out using a mix of telekinesis and modified Kegel exercises. It often
meant we'd have a light post-coital "snack" afterwards. This time though, she
simply collapsed atop me (I had relinquished focus on the telekinetic seat she
was on), breathless and tired. It was a little out of character, but it
could've been Vika was simply tired.

  "Stanislav?" she whispered.

  "Yeah?" I tweaked her nipples lightly between my thumb and fingers.

  "Would you consider moving to New York? At least part of the year?"

  "So I'd split my time between cities?" I patted her taut stomach. "I dunno. I
guess."

  Viktoriya glared at me with her dark eyes. 'You guess?!'

  "Well yeah," I stroked her lazily. "What's in it for me?"

  'I knew it.' She lay back and stared blankly at the ceiling. 'You've become
bored with me.'

  "Bored my ass," I glanced at her, "What gave you that idea?"

  "Stay with me." Her audible 'normal' answer was plain and to the point.

  "I've got to get back Monday," I nuzzled her. "Let's just enjoy ourselves,
alright?"

  When Viktoriya didn't reply, I kissed her on the forehead. She turned her
head and remained silent.

  "What would you have me do?" I asked softly, "I'm not leaving the others, and
you know that."

  'I like it here Stanislav.' Viktoriya thought-spoke. 'New York is
interesting. I want you here to share it with me.'

  "I can't blame you," I whispered, "But c'mon, let's get my stuff out of you
before ..."

  'No.' She put her hands on her belly. 'It will be all right.'

  "Now hold on a minute," I sat up, realizing what this meant. "You're sure
about this?"

  "If I can't see you," Viktoriya's hands balled into fists as she spoke aloud,
"Then I'd rather have a part of you with me every day. I miss you Stanislav.
More than you know!"

  'But we talk.' I thought-spoke. 'Daily.'

  'It's not the same.' Her eyes were closed and she was trembling. I suddenly
sensed she was trying very hard not to cry.

  "Vika don't cry. If it makes you happy," I measured my words carefully, "I'll
find a place here, but it's going to take a little time."

  "Nonsense." Viktoriya sniffed. "You'll go back and stay in Fog Town with
Janna and the others. I know it. You cannot lie to me."

  Perhaps not, I thought. But neither could she. Her emotional state made her a
little more open,  and I could dimly read her. Viktoriya was a mixture of
anger, self-loathing, and jealousy. Her dance partner had belittled her
inexperience at the last competition then proceeded to question her dedication
to the craft. While they'd done well in the show dance, they lost the
competition, placing next to last place.

  I knew Viktoriya had been elated going to England but she had gotten
progressively more frustrated and depressed afterwards. I hadn't noticed when
I saw her three months ago. Now, without the buzz of my other darlings around
me, I found I could focus on Viktoriya singly and I sensed her wants more
clearly.

  How blind I was, I rued. She was more soft-hearted than I realized. Had it
something to do with that mind-fuck with Melanie? Or was it when I brought the
girls together for New Years? Perhaps it was earlier. Maybe I did something to
her; the effects of my gifts weren't an exact science. Even we, its
practitioners, weren't sure what the long term side-effects would be. Or had
it always been like that with Viktoriya, and had I simply dismissed her a
"tough cookie" so I thought she could take care of herself?

  I couldn't put a finger on it exactly, but I suspected it was her new
surroundings. New York was also a markedly different place than San Francisco.
The place was big, interesting and all built up, but there was a pervasive
atmosphere of hard-assed-ness and a pace of lifestyle that I didn't care for.
Now, I suspected Viktoriya may not be either. But whatever it was, she made me
feel enormously guilty. So much so, I spent the remainder of my time in New
York satisfying Vika's every whim.

  We went around Manhattan, poking our heads into shops and sights that struck
her fancy. I even went for that one cliche: a carriage ride in Central Park.
When she had practice at the institute, I accompanied her to studio and spent
some time talking to her classmates and friends from the institute. I played
my part of supportive boyfriend instead of touring other parts of city. I even
skipped out on visiting Aurora (she lived in Newark).

  It was Thursday evening and we had just found neat little place in West
Village (this time, Greek and Mediterranean). I was certainly glad to see
Viktoriya coming out of her slump. That evening was marred by two things:
David and his fat wife interrupting an otherwise romantic dinner, and Janet
going on the warpath.

  First, the Reeses. David and Millie occasionally came and went to restaurants
across Manhattan; they had, after all, met in New York (somewhere, I didn't
care; I just wanted them to leave us alone).

  "Fancy meeting you here," David said when he caught sight of me in the
restaurant.

  Despite the intrusion (it wasn't anything but), I was amicable enough to
share a table with them. I introduced Viktoriya and made some light
conversation. My Baltic beauty shuffled around Millie's questions with curt,
but polite, answers about herself. Only when it pertained to the studio or
dance did she open up a wee bit more.

  'Good heavens.' Viktoriya mentally gagged. 'This cow wants to learn how to
dance?'

  'Be polite.' I thought back. 'Otherwise she'll crush you when you try to lift
her.'

  The mental image I sent nearly made my Baltic beauty spew her drink. She
coughed and sputtered, but kept her laughter at bay.

  "Good heavens!" Millie offered her a napkin. "Are you okay?"

  Viktoriya nodded and managed to catch her breath in between coughs. 'You
stupid Yankee clown!'

  'Guilty as charged.' I patted her gently on her back. 'It would be a funny
sight though.'

  Her dark wet eyes regarded me humorlessly as I excused myself to the
washroom. I actually had no urge to pee, but David had excused himself earlier
to make a call to his lawyer. I instantly caught the thought of 'Stanley and I
need to talk about Sherwood,' and 'Boy, I hope he picks up on this.'

  Yes I did. And of course, so could Viktoriya.

  'I'll talk to his wife.' My Cossack cutie thought-spoke. 'Just don't be long,
kisa, or I might have to shut her up myself.'

  'Spasee baa, sweetheart.' I bumped into David in the telephone hallway near
the washrooms, and immediately asked him, "So you want to tell me what was it
you did back up-state?"

  "You picked up my thoughts?" he made a face. "You didn't even lay a hand on
me."

  "You were sitting pretty damn close, and that was all you were thinking
about," I gave him an impartial shrug. "What'd you expect?"

  "Well fair enough." David rubbed the side of his nose lightly with his
finger. "Look, about that. I don't know what to call it but it started a
little after you came to the desert house."

  "Ah," I reflected.

  "They said --" there was no need for him to refer to Cox and Tseng by name
"-- good guessing was all you could do. Then I saw you do that trick with the
water glass. Thought I should try experimenting more with what I could do."

  "I see."

  David explained his technique of how by having two different locations in
mind, he was able to project a "portal" of himself and thus allow matter and
energy go from one spot to another. After a bit of experimentation, he'd learn
to cascade himself into two simultaneous locations, and interact with the
world in a limited degree.

  Neat, I thought. I work with a goddamned self-contained talking wormhole who
was also the world's biggest bore. Stephen Mother-fucking Hawking made better
conversation than this guy.

  "Do they know?" I asked the most obvious question. The agency had eyes and
ears everywhere.

  "No," David said simply, "And if I keep outta sight, they probably will never
know. But he saw me."

  There was no question who "he" was: we both knew it was Tseng.

  "So why're you telling me this?" I looked around, if just to show we needed
to keep this conversation short and furtive.

  "Because I have you to thank for inspiration."

  "Okay," I accepted his appreciation at face value, but I could've cared less.

  Afterwards, Viktoriya and I hailed a cab for home. She asked the Reeses' if
they had a ride.

  "They live within walking distance," I mind-pricked her gently with what I
knew. "They'll be fine."

  Of course, the four of us knew that was a lie. While Reese had an apartment
in the rougher parts of the Bronx some years before, he had since given that
up. After he and Millie married, David had moved to her Stillwater condo. On
paper, and officially, that's where they lived. I sensed Ghost Light had no
intention of letting the night end so early; I picked up the thought that he
and his wife were going to displace back to West Texas and spend the rest of
the night abusing his dick. David and Millie shared a grin between themselves
as I smiled placidly.

  Dumb asses, I thought. You think you're the only couple in the world with
dark secrets?

  "Okay then," Viktoriya waved, "Well, good night."

  "Good night." David and Millie both waved then walked around the corner. Both
Viktoriya and I sensed their presences diminish with a POP.

  'So which one of them can teleport again?' She thought-spoke as she flagged
down a cab.

  'The man, David.' I thought. 'Did you pick-up anything interesting from the
wife?'

  Viktoriya looked at me curiously. 'Should I have?'

  'He's linked to the agency. And his wife knows about my point of contact.'
The cab came and I ushered her in. 'Information can sometimes be ... handy.'

  'Stop it, dorogoi.' She put a hand on my knee. 'You are not at work. You are
with me.'

  "Sorry," I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. In the theme of things,
Viktoriya had the cab stop by a pharmacy so she could pick-up a bottle of
lube.

  'Greek.' She winked slyly at me and thought-spoke so the cabbie couldn't
hear.

  After that morning of love-making, we hadn't been intimate much afterwards.
Both of us tip-toed around the bleak possibilities of our future. However,
things slowly lightened up over the past few days. Gloom and doom shouldn't
have cut into our personal time. Now this was her way of getting me to stop
thinking about my other line of work and to focus on that cute, tight ass of
hers. It all came to naught once Janet called. The phone was ringing before
Viktoriya's key hit the lock.

  "Hallo?" my lithe lovely scowled as a noisy racket came through from the
handset.

  'It's Tom-Boy.' Viktoriya wrinkled her nose. 'She sounds pissed Stanislav.'

  I nodded as she turned her attention back to the receiver.

  "Well yes, Janna I just got ba--" Viktoriya sat on the edge of her bed,
unable to get another word out as she got roto-rootered long distance. I sat
beside her and waited patiently.

  "Okay, okay. He's here," she passed the handset off to me and whispered,
"Good luck. I'll be in the shower."

  "Hey Janet," I managed my most cheerful tone. The rapid breathing on the
other end was unmistakable. Janet was pissed.

  "Don't 'HEY JANET' me!" my First's voice came through, "Where've you been?"

  "In New York with Vika," I said, "Where else?"

  "Don't lie to me Stanley Chen!!" her voice rose to a fevered pitch that made
me wince.

  "I'm not lying," I wanted to add 'per se' but that would've been going to
far.

  I heard Janet swallow and then continue, "Then explain to me mister, how you
can be at work and in New York in the span of a day?! I know you put
Viktoriya up to this! Are you on a conference call right now? Where are
you?!?!"

  "Oh, right." I realized that the agency's Masquerade was still filling in for
me at work. Fuckin' hell. I probably should've told my First not to call me at
work, or worse. Did she visit the office? What the hell was that Masquerade
doing? How exactly was she "covering for me"?

  "You saw me at work?" I took on an inquisitive tone. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course it was you!" Janet was incredulous. "Who else could it be? And you
blew me off! Said you didn't have the time. What bullshit is this Stanley!?"

  "Okay dammit," I was tired of being yelled at. "I'll come in on the red eye
tonight and I'll see you tomorrow, understand? I'll explain everything."

  Or hope I can.

  "You'd better," Janet's anger slackened a bit, "Because I think I'm
pregnant."

  I nearly dropped the phone. "What?"

  "You heard me," her voice was shaking. "Where are you when I needed my
boyfriend!? In goddamn NEW YORK?!"

  "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep okay? Good night."

  I hung up the phone, then noticed my hands were trembling. Janet's sudden
news was a surprise. I didn't know if I was to be elated or sick. I was
feeling a bit of both.

  "You're leaving tonight?" Viktoriya stood in the doorway, her body unclothed
save for her panties. Her body was dry. She hadn't hit the shower just yet.

  "I forgot I had some unfinished business in the city," I sat, dumbfounded by
the news.

  Viktoriya straddled me and stroked my neck. 'What is it Stanislav?'

  "Janet's pregnant," I felt dizzy, "Or she thinks she is."

  "Oh," was all she could say. I held Viktoriya close to me and wondered if it
would all work out.

  'It'll work out. Tom-Boy is smart.' She bumped foreheads with me. 'I'll clean
myself out. I'm sorry I pressured you, kisa.'

  "No don't," I whispered, "Don't."

  Viktoriya's breasts jiggled as she laughed out loud. "Do you think you can
take care of two mothers in two different cities silly man?"

  "I don't know," I suddenly felt old. "But there's always a first time for
everything, no?"

  Viktoriya sighed and hopped off me so I could pack. I did so quickly as she
called for a cab. The red-eye always had stand-by if one had money, and money
(at least) was not a problem. Despite the late hour, Viktoriya saw me off.
Dressed in black pumps, a loose but conservative skirt, and a fuzzy sweater,
she appeared as she did when I first met her at the library. She stayed with
me right up to the time they called for boarding.

  "You tell me," I held her hand and pressed it against her belly, "You got
that? I'll call you --" by which we knew it to be mind-sight or thought-speak
"-- and if it comes to that ..."

  'If it comes to that.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she looked down. Her mental
guard fractured from the emotional maelstrom she was in, and I caught a brief
glimpse of her innermost thoughts. I sensed her shame in using her body to get
what she wanted. Still, she didn't want to hurt me (not intentionally anyway).
The idea had come to her at the last possible moment. Janet's call just made
everything messier.

  "Vika," I tilted her head up, "We're only 24."

  'Speak for yourself.' Viktoriya pursed her lips as she replied silently. 'I'm
already 25.'

  'Okay, you cougar.' I saw her lips twitch but I kept going in regular chat,
"There'll be other chances."

  "Not likely with you across the country," she whispered sadly.

  "Hey," I kissed her lightly, "I promise you things will work out, even if I
have to move Heaven and Earth."

  "Papa and mama would balk at your impious tongue," she murmured.

  "But in the meantime," I got my thoughts got back on track, "It's only been
three days. Do you think you can?"

  "I'm not sure if I can even if I wanted to," she was glum, "I never tried it
so late before."

  "Well fine," I gave her a brave grin. "Then whatever happens will happen. But
I'll be there for you, understand?"

  "Oh Stanislav," she kissed me sweetly. "Get on board now, or you'll never
leave."

  "I wish I didn't need to Vika," I said lamely.

  "Ssh," Viktoriya rested a palm on my cheek and thought-spoke. 'Stay safe,
lyubimy. For me.'

===============================================================================
  JUST ONE OF THE GUYS 
===============================================================================

  I got back to San Francisco International around 6 A.M. Friday morning. I was
dead tired, but as soon as I stopped by my house and cleaned up, I was out
again. I hadn't notified Brian Cox about my premature departure. Although he
might've caught me booking my flight last night (which incidentally, set me
back a hefty $700; no small number back in 2000), I was almost sure I could
find this "Masquerade" character, whoever she was, before Cox called and then
wring her scrawny neck before she left.

  I wasn't sure what she did, or how, but Janet's insistence that I was at
fault while Masquerade was covering for me now meant my problem was now her
problem, at least that's how I saw it. My office at Ferguson was near Janet's
firm on Sacramento Street, so I waited on her until she showed up. She arrived
on the dot at 7:50 A.M. My proper Lady Wu was always very punctual.

  "YOU!!!" Janet stopped so suddenly when she saw me, passers-by nearly
collided with her. "You have some explaining to do mister!"

  "I know," I grabbed her by the hand. "Come with me."

  "But I'll be late!" she started to complain, but I brushed off her concern.

  I took her back to Ferguson about three blocks away, all the while explaining
myself without including Sherwood, the invisible people or my "odd jobs" on
the border. I included the agency, but only reluctantly. It was bound to come
out sooner or later.

  "Agency?" Janet sniffed as we got into the elevator, "What bullshit is this?
I'm not a teenager Stanley. You don't have to impress me with stupid spy
stories."

  "Okay, okay. But just wait all right? I can explain," I cast an eye on her
tummy, "On another topic: have you seen the doctor about it?"

  "It's not an 'it'," Janet became defensive. "It's a he or a she."

  "All right," I relented, "But the doctor?"

  "No, not yet," my First brushed back some loose hair, "But tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow's Saturday," I pointed out.

  "I got hold of a good obstetrician," Janet said. "He works weekends but has
the weekdays off."

  "Nice."

  The elevator chimed and its doors opened. I stepped out, pulling Janet with
me. Franky turned the corner and jumped at the sight of me.

  "Stanley?" he paled, "Is that you?"

  "Who else?" I said as I pulled Janet past him.

  "But you were just --!!" Franky never got to finish, because as soon as Janet
and I turned the corner, we were greeted by a shock. Well, more like greeted
by me. My doppelganger, a perfect copy of me, was sitting in my desk, clicking
away at God-knows-what. Son of a bitch! He was dressed in similar clothing,
shirt, slacks, very professional.

  The only problem: I didn't own those shirts and slacks. And I detested that
mix of colors and patterns. It was something a gay, retarded, color-blind
clown would wear to a homeless encampment's Halloween party. My doppelganger
looked up at the sudden cry of alarm; Janet's cry. It (for what else could it
be?) saw me. Its eyes went wide and it quickly ducked out of sight.

  "Janet?" I turned and found my First swooning. I caught her as she collapsed
to the floor, "Honey?!"

  "Uh, Stanley?" Franky and a few other employees had gathered around, "What's
going on?"

  "Get her some air," I handed Janet off to a nearby woman, "I got someone to
catch."

  "But what should --?"

  I took off without a backwards glance. Whoever that was, I was sure Cox knew
something about. Was that Masquerade? Mulling over the code name, I wondered
if it was deliberate. I needed to focus, and I caught thoughts of fear,
surprise, and shock. Those were the feelings I snapped from my clone just
before it vanished. There was plenty of surprise, chiefly because Janet had
fainted in the office. Shock, I got from a few of the fellows who marveled at
Janet's ethereal beauty -- and her damn skirt had ridden up when she slumped
over, showing off her silk underwear. Sorry, honey.

  But the fear ... ah, there we go. I zoned in on the emotion and ran after it.
I forced open the fire door, keeping the alarm trigger depressed to the fire
alarm wouldn't go off. The door slammed shut behind me. No problem. I knew I
could open it by applying telekinesis on the other side. I looked up and the
presence seemed to dim. I gazed down and the presence grew stronger.

  No escape for you, I thought and raced down the stairs. They opened to a busy
sidewalk. Not as busy as New York, but still pretty busy during San
Francisco's morning commute. The presence had stopped. It was hiding in plain
sight. My focus drifted over the crowd in 10 paces of me, then 20 paces, and
then 30 paces. About 40 paces away, I caught sight of the polka-dotted shirt
and pinstripe slacks.

  This -- thing -- just wrecked my carefully crafted image. Oh you may laugh,
but in my line of work, I needed to demonstrate good knowledge of color media,
congruent pattern, and essential basics of a sharp dressed man. Anything else
may out off potential clients. I stepped right behind the duplicate, focusing
my concentration. Some surface thoughts floated back to me, a jumble of
imagery and details that took me a while to sort through. I was ready to zap
it, or otherwise employ telekinesis and drag it someplace until I could get a
hold of the agency to return their meta-human toy.

  Damn discovery and damn Tseng. This thing, whatever it was, scared the living
crap out of Janet and someone owed me an explanation. I stepped right behind
her in the croissant and coffee line and gripped the thing tightly by the arm.

  "Hello," I whispered loudly. "Come with me please."

  I then thought-spoke a name I had rooted out from the jumble of thoughts:
'Bethany.' The doppelganger turned and I saw it had the appearance of a young
man, but with a different face. Caucasian and around my age. He/She appeared
shocked and surprised but "it" didn't show any as I escorted him/her out of
the line and back into my building through the side door.

  "You must have mistaken me for someone else," the young man sounded very
effeminate. "Who are you?"

  "Private security. We need to talk," I said briskly then added thought-speak:
'Don't make a scene and stay quiet until we're alone.'

  The young "man" said nothing more until I brought him into the stairwell. I
stopped short of the firedoor and block the exit with my body.

  "How'd you get past the fire door without an alarm?" I asked. The man stepped
back and sighed.

  "I guess the gig's up, eh?" His voice sounded remarkably feminine now. I
visibly jerked away as his face seemed to melt away. It wasn't horrible,
merely startling. The woman past the mask was a stern-faced beauty with sharp
cheeks.

  "Electronic circuit jammer," the man-turned-girl held a small palm-sized
circuit board. "Killed the breaker so I could slip out."

  "Agency gear," I glanced at her. "So you're the one he called on Monday."

  "Yup. But Champion called back," she said, "He said you weren't due back
until next Monday. What happened?"

  "Something came up. I had to come back early."

  "Oh," the pretty young blonde nodded. "Well just so you know, this doesn't
happen often, you know. Meeting the original I mean."

  "I suppose not," I gazed at her sternly. "Since you've been impersonating me,
what've you been telling my fiancee?"

  She broke into smiles. "Which one? The lawyer, the cook, or the engineer?"

  "Janet," I coughed and corrected myself. "The lawyer, I mean."

  "Oh yeah. Well, nothing incriminating I hope," the woman stretched, looking
remarkably alluring despite her choice of attire. "Just said 'you didn't have
time'. Very generic. She got pissed though."

  "Yeah," I nodded angrily. That was what wrecked my vacation with Viktoriya.
"Jan and I have a complicated relationship."

  "Oh sorry." She levelled a smile before she went on. "You know, you have a
very deep voice for an Asian guy."

  "I do?" I asked.

  "Yeah," she said, "I had a heckuva time just fending them off and sounding
'all man'."

  "Welcome to my world," I extended my hand. "I suppose I should introduce
myself. Stanley ..."

  "Chen," she finished and took my hand lightly. "Yeah, sorry about all this.
It was really short notice. My name is Bethany Adams. The agency calls me ..."

  "Masquerade?" I finished, "I overheard Cox. It's very apt."

  "Well pleased to meet you," Bethany sat on the stairs. "Golly, I don't know
how you manage. Those girls have all been calling you day in, day out. It got
so busy, I couldn't even forward your work to the Naval Architecture guys."

  "The U.S. Navy is drafting plans for the SoMa (South of Market) housing
project?" I stared as shock hit my body. "You sure they know what they're
doing?"

  "Oh, I'm sure it's fine." The pretty bobbed-hair blonde grinned as she
debriefed me. "Besides, nothing's due yet and they made notes for you. I filed
everything on your computer."

  "Thanks," I scratched my head, "I guess."

  "Sweet porn stash too." I could tell she was lying by the size of her
obnoxious grin.

  "Must be a computer I'm not aware of." I laughed as Bethany pouted, her
little joke falling flat. I appreciated her sarcastic smart-assed tongue. She
reminded me of me.

  "Hey no worries." Bethany recovered quickly. "It's all good."

  "Sorry if I was a little rough," I said, "You know how things at the agency
are."

  "Really?" she asked, "I never knew. I'm just support, y'know?"

  Of course, I thought. You probably never went down to Mexico with Tseng. When
Viktoriya said I had changed, she was onto something.

  "Well, I'm sorry in any case." I gave her my trademark grin.

  "Such a cad," Bethany tilted her head slightly. "You know I'd go out with
you, if just for fun."

  "Oh really?" My smile grew wider. Monster, my inner voice sang out. Just
banged Vika on the East Coast, knocked up Janet, and now trying to score in a
stairwell? Un-fucking-believable.

  "Ya really," her head bobbed, "But I'm engaged."

  "Oh," I brought myself under control. "Congratulations. Who's the lucky guy?"

  Her mouth twisted into a shy smile. "Her name is Denise."

  "Oh," I blinked. Bethany's words started to sink in. "Whoa ..."

  "That never gets old," her eyes twinkled as she laughed, "Must be my charm."

  I grinned stupidly. It hadn't occurred to me that a girl this pretty would
prefer girls to boys. Viktoriya was about the only girl I knew who did that
sort of crap, but she leaned more towards men than women when I was around. I
guess that was all that mattered.

  "So," Bethany got up, "How do you want to do this? The exit strategy I mean.
I guess quite a few people saw us both at once."

  "I can give a rat's ass about them. I can find a new job, but I'm worried
about Janet. She doesn't need to know because ..."

  "She doesn't need to know because she doesn't need to know," Bethany agreed
and rubbed her cheek like a girl half her age. "I think I got something, but
you just nod and follow along okay?"

  "Anything to get things back to normal." I was just relieved there was some
sort of solution to this mess.

  So, if anything, I have Bethany Adams to thank for saving my job and my
(future) marriage. She played the part well, taking my jacket and disguising
herself as my agency handler (she had fake credentials to back her story up).
Suddenly, instead of being a simple CAD draftsman, I was also a structural
weakness analyzer for an undisclosed agency. Mr. Ferguson arched his brow when
Bethany brought this up. If my standing wasn't up to his standards earlier, it
certainly was now.

  In Janet's case, well, things more or less worked out for the best. I was a
government "something". Since Janet was connected with law firms that may have
specialized in criminal law, Bethany didn't push her luck and just remained
nebulous about the whole matter. In regards to Bethany's impersonation act,
she had rigged up something in her hotel room just for this kinda of
demonstration. It appeared like a very well done skin mask (like the ones
Peter Graves would use in Mission: Impossible!). Janet calmed down after that
demonstration, and I felt myself going at ease too.

  Still, it was very hush-hush (although nowhere near the level Tseng and I
operated on). But things got sorted out and that's all that mattered. Bethany
even accompanied Janet back to the firm and helped explain her tardiness.

  Bethany and I remained close on a professional basis if only because we
shared the same headaches keeping our agency lives apart from our private
ones. Tseng later told me she was a nominal member of the invisible empire for
she only had the ability to conjure audio-visual illusions. Her ability to
mimic someone's appearance was often limited to the face due to the incredible
amount of detail she needed to maintain. It was this new angle (and
application) of mental illusion that let me handle some unsavory business
later on.

===============================================================================
  INTERLUDE -- NEOPOLITAN BEAUTIES 
===============================================================================

  As it turned out, Janet's morning sickness was chiefly due to an anxiety
attack that started with the aftermath of the bank robbery. Later, it got
exacerbated when she discovered I was missing Monday night. And the pregnancy
test? Janet was so nervous and rushed, she misread it (it happens). So after a
few more tests, the results were pretty much final in a week: Janet hadn't ...

  "Score the motherlode?!" Melanie greeted us when we came back.

  Janet smiled meekly, shook her head mildly then drifted off to the outer room
to be alone.

  "Yu-Ching, be polite," I scolded her gently.

  Melanie would normally make a face and try to talk back to me (she did it
more and more often as she grew older) but she saw I was serious about Janet's
despondent mood. Yu-Ching turned back to the stove without another word. I
stepped over and took a look at the dishes for tonight. I lifted a lid to peek
underneath.

  "Looks interesting."

  "Ngm-ho-deem*!" [* Cantonese: Don't touch!] she rapped my hand with the
ladle. "You'll turn them yellow and yucky."

  "Sorry."

  I withdrew and reached for a glass of water. That's what it was like around
her kitchen. Melanie only attended a half day at high school and spent the
rest of her time cooking up new dishes (or improving old ones) at the Hotel
and Restaurant vocational program at City College. Not wanting to just do
that, she also took a few computer science courses to round out her education.
Nevertheless, with only her and Shawn still in school, Janet, Viktoriya and I
seemed to have out-grown (or at least out-paced) the two.

  In an effort to keep everyone connected, I'd make an effort to have a casual
get-together when I could. Viktoriya wouldn't be able attend, but Shawn always
made the effort along with the others. It was Canton cuisine at first, but
Melanie expanded to do other things: kabobs, cheese-less pizza (what
traditional pizza should be), Turkish meze, vegan meals, and a score of other
dishes she'd pick up from restaurant menus.

  Now of course, Melanie didn't just steal them. We'd eat out too. If my little
Chen possessed a gift I didn't have, it was that she could pick out almost
every individual ingredient. Seeing my little cooking mama so focused on the
stove, I rummaged through the refrigerator and found a glass jar of dried and
cured scallops. Heavily flavored, they were used to bring out a natural
sweetness in a variety of dishes. My mother though, had spoiled Andrew and me
when we were younger by showing us how we could eat them as-is (straight from
the package).

  They were awesome (even if little bits get caught between your teeth, but
that's what dental floss was for). However, the best brands generally cost
upwards of several hundred dollars per pound, so consuming them like junk food
wasn't an option. But with so much cash from Ojinga, I earnestly didn't feel
much of a pinch, so I'd buy a bag of those preserved scallops every couple
months.

  For Chinese culinary perfectionists like my mother and Melanie, they made
great gifts. Melanie's parents were suitably impressed as well. At least they
stopped pestering my parents about how much time their daughter was spending
at my place now. I grabbed the smallest scallop from the jar and sat down at
the table. After breaking up the damn thing, I peeled off a thin strand and I
savored the unique taste in my mouth.

  "Xicdou-teem-xai li-yutjun mou-weihou*!" Melanie turned around and threatened
me with her ladle. [* Cantonese: Filling up on sweets, you'll spoil your
appetite!]

  I sat her down on my knee and offered her some. She surrendered to her
munchies and popped a few bits in her mouth.

  "Manman xic-eh*," I pinched her arm. "That's like an hour of work at the
office you're eating." [* Cantonese: Eat slow; chew your food (in the exact
same idiomatic way of Bill Murray's delivery in Ghostbusters)]

  Melanie stuck her tongue out, a mess of gold and yellow was atop it. She
snuck it back in her mouth before I could say more.

  "Li-yinggoy-tung-jiejie ..." she swallowed her snack and reverted to English.
"You should be with Janet jie-jie."

  "I'm sure she'll be fine. I mean she did misread her own test. She got her
hopes up."

  "When'd you turn into a big meanie?" Melanie elbowed me gently. Of all the
thing she could learn, she learned rough-housing from Shawn (and got quite
good at it).

  "I'm sure she'll be fine," I reached out and sensed Janet's mood of gloom
hadn't changed much. "I'll see her later. Right now, I want to spend time with
you."

  My little darling was about to reply when we heard the door to the garage
creak open.

  "Melanie? Janet? Stanley?" Shawn came in (she had a set of keys too).

  "Hi Shawn!" Melanie hopped off me.

  "Hey muffin," I greeted her with my usual "hello".

  "So guys," my plump angel took off her shoes and hugged Melanie. "So, what's
the news?"

  "False alarm," I said as pleasantly as I could. "Janet's in the studio."

  "So, go on in and be with her," Shawn nagged. "I'll help Melanie here."

  "That's what I told him," the petite girl said with a huff. "He wouldn't
listen."

  "Well with such a passionate second opinion," I held my hands out, palms
upturned, "It's much more convincing."

  "Uh-huh," Shawn helped herself to a can of Arizona iced tea. "C'mon, Stanley.
Own up. You shot blanks. So, get in there and try again."

  "You're pretty liberal about my body." I flashed her a sly grin. "Maybe I
should let you sub for me and do Janet. All you need is a tube of my stuff and
a syringe that looks like Jodie Foster's knuckles."

  "Stanley!" Shawn's face turned beet red as Melanie broke into laughter.

  Family Guy had made it into our entertainment circuit (until it went on
hiatus), and its cruder lines and quips quickly made it into our daily
vernacular. Aside from that impromptu orgy that occurred in Shawn's apartment
when she was still at San Jose State, Janet and Melanie were probably not
privy to what Shawn had also done with Viktoriya.

  According to my Baltic beauty, she and Shawn had done more than just impale
themselves on my stick after my hangover from Faraz's and Ghandia's engagement
dinner. That was probably one of the few times I could count (on one hand)
where I had lost control of my mind. Couldn't blame me though: I learned (the
hard way) that Rachelle had been engaged without even telling me. I wasn't in
the best shape to have a carefree three-some until the next morning.

  Outwardly, Shawn dismissed her experimentation simply as that. However, I
sensed my plump pumpkin was more than a little scared that she was so at ease
with it. She was earnestly afraid she was bisexual, and the fallout from her
family would compound the problems of her future with me. My constant teasing
of course, did nothing to help her situation.

  "Seriously now," Shawn took on a serious tone. "Janet's really sweet and if
you can stop being such a dick for a minute, you can make yourself useful."

  "Sounds like fun," I laughed and flicked my glance down at my crotch. "After
all I already got one."

  Shawn glared at me with her hands on her hips. Even Melanie shook her head
with disapproval.

  "All right, all right. I'm going." I had grown tired of their nagging, and
decided to concede before things got out of hand.

  I headed to the restroom to wash up. By now, my room was pretty much lived
in; when I finally handed the room to Andrew, I needed to have a professional
cleaning service go through the place. The girls left stuff when they visited:
lotions, combs, hair clips, soap, perfume, hair gel, nail lacquer, skin cream;
if you can buy it a Walgreens (or a pharmacy) I probably had it in my
bathroom.

  I picked through the forest of bottles and plastic on the sink to grab a
spool of floss. I cleaned up, rinsed my hands, and stepped back outside. Shawn
and Melanie were swapping SanDisk cards and flash drives between their MP3
players. Despite Napster's recent shutdown, my two young darlings were
web-savvy enough to find other P2P services (precursors to BitTorrent) and
continued their file-sharing.

  I rolled my eyes. These two were always up to something and they shared lots
of things. Last year, Shawn and Melanie were trading Pokemon on an almost
daily basis. I gave the two girls a wry grin as I walked past. Seeing me amble
by, Shawn threw me a kiss while Melanie stuck out her tongue. That elicited a
quick swat on her bottom from me, and a chuckle from Shawn.

  "Ow!" Melanie yelped and pouted. "He hit me Shawn Ellen! He's a big meanie!"

  "Only one thing for that," Shawn pointed towards my studio. "Go to your
room!!"

  "Yes 'mother'," I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and headed to the outer
room.

  I found Janet moping on my old drafting table (most of my work by this time
was computerized). She had taken up a well-used HB drafting pencil and
doodling on some scraps of trace paper. I needn't say anything. I put my hands
on her shoulders and she slumped them.

  "Took you long enough," she murmured.

  "I thought you wanted to be alone," my tone was apologetic. "You looked worn
out when we left."

  "I was so sure," Janet said softly, "I guess I'm just not ready huh?"

  "Naw. You're stressed."

  "Yeah," she sniffed, "And guess who's to blame?"

  "I'm touched," I remarked dryly.

  My tone was more sarcastic than sincere, but she dismissed it. Instead, Janet
turned and glared at me.

  "No, you're blessed. How many women do you know who'd put up with the crap
you've pulled off mister?"

  "Four that I know," I gave her a childish grin.

  "Quit being a smart-ass," she hissed, "And what's all this spy crap? You
never explained it all y'know."

  "I thought Bethany pretty much did," I said, "I mean, you were listening
right?"

  "Don't make fun," Janet scolded, "I was worried sick about you. I hope you're
not going to make a habit out of this."

  "Well that was an emergency," I shrugged, "Just have to hope it won't happen
again."

  "So what do you do?" she looked at me. "Honestly."

  "I'm just an analyst," I borrowed Bethany's explanation to my employer,
"Structural collapses and all that goodness."

  "But you're no engineer," she sounded suspicious, "Even Shawn would be more
qualified than you."

  At that, we both grinned stupidly. It was hard to think that the plump,
doughty girl was capable of great engineering feats. But while her appearance
was that of roly-poly young lady, her mind was pretty sharp where it counted.

  "Well, it's not all mechanical," I rubbed my nose and stretched the truth
slightly. "Besides, a fortified bunker protects against a bomb blast, but it's
not that pleasing to the eye. Clever design can make a place secure without
making a city look like Soviet Russia."

  "I suppose," Janet still sounded unconvinced.

  "Think of it as a side-job," I said.

  "Oh." She blinked and remembered how I had spent so freely during New Years
in New York.

  "Satisfied now?" I growled.

  "Getting there," Janet quickly locked the door to the studio then slinked
back towards me. "How about a little appetizer before the main course?"

  "That depends," my pants suddenly became a little tight, "What're we having?"

  "Pussy," she breathed my ear, "With a creamy stuffing."

  "Well sure I guess," I chuckled, "Since it's on the house."

  Janet smiled shyly as I picked her up and carried her to a small foldout
sofa-bed next to the bookcase. She quickly pulled off her panties and lifted
her skirt.

  "Make it a quickie Stanley," she looked nervously at the door, "I don't want
to be late for dinner."

  "For the record, honey," I kissed her, "I don't mind the orgies you've
sponsored."

  "Shut up you and do me." Her words would've scared me, had she meant them.
But there wasn't any anger behind them. In fact, Janet was smiling brightly
and giving me "come hither" looks.

  Given Melanie's obsession about being on-time, she'd probably be pissed if we
were even a minute late for dinner. So, I unzipped my pants and stuffed my
stiffy into Janet without much ceremony. She shut her eyes and grimaced as I
rammed her. She was dry but tight. It was different feeling though, like
putting myself through sticky plastic or something.

  It felt weird. It was definitely something we hadn't done before. In the
past, we had gone at it for pleasure. The sheer enjoyment of looking at each
other as orgasms took hold of our young bodies. Now, as I pumped her, I was a
man in my mid-twenties fucking a 29 year-old woman. Well not quite 29. She
would be in June. But still ...

  "Stanley?" she whispered, "C--could you stop for a minute?"

  I blinked and found Janet's face contorted in pain. I stopped and dared not
move an inch.

  "Need me to slow down?" I asked hoarsely.

  "Yeah, please," she nodded.

  I didn't move my hips but I did bend over and kissed her. My First kissed me
back, then nodded for me to continue. I did so, but after a little while, she
expressed discomfort again. I hung my head in disappointment and slowly pulled
out of her.

  "I'm sorry I ruined your fun," Janet studied me as I dressed.

  "Oh, don't worry about it baby," I kissed the back of her hand.

  "Maybe we can try later," she said, "How about after dinner?"

  "Maybe," I hushed her, "But it's likely Shawn's last night in the city. Let
her pick what we should do for fun, okay?"

  "Oh right," Janet frowned, "I forgot her parents are pushing up her
schedule."

  "I'll find the time," I winked. "Don't you worry darling."

  "I'm sure you will," she eyed me wryly, "It's free pussy after all. You don't
have to work for it anymore."

  "Hey," I growled, "I can barely type after a night with you, sister. Imagine
the news headline: Architect Liable For Building Failure. Flaws In Plans Found
To Have Been Caused By Carpal Tunnel Syndrome Because He Had To Finger Fuck
His Wife Last Night."

  "You stupid asshole!" Janet slapped me lightly on the cheek but she was
laughing.

  I kissed her and felt her tongue flick the insides of my mouth. It was
getting me hot and heavy until someone rapped against the studio door.

  "Janet jie-jie?" It was Melanie.

  "Stanley?" And Shawn. "Are you two done in there? Dinner's ready!"

  "Coitus-interruptus by the two little munchkins," Janet groaned unhappily.
"We really need to get away."

  "I'll start looking for a travel package," I grunted uncomfortably as I
stood.

  "I meant. Nevermind," my First wrinkled her nose and sighed. "Ugh. Let's eat.
I'm starved."

  Dinner was pretty good, but for a goodbye dinner, it was bittersweet. Shawn
wouldn't be away forever, but three years in Tokyo would be quite a chunk of
time. I was determined to leave a good impression on her though. When I asked
Shawn what she wanted to do, she asked if we could play some group games.

  So, I broke out some old board games (Sorry and Sugoroku/Monopoly were
all-around favorites) as well as ball-and-jacks. Things started getting
physical when Janet decided to play truth or dare and Melanie dared her to
play spin the bottle. To forestall any naughty plans Yu-Ching might've had, I
telekinetically nudged the bottle so it pointed at her three times in a row.
Instead of kisses though, Janet, Shawn and I tickled, paddled, and pinched the
unlucky Melanie until her bottom was sore.

  "No fair!!!" Yu-Ching whined and rubbed her butt.

  She pouted in such a cute way that I succumbed and gave her a consolation
kiss. I realized too late I probably shouldn't have done that. I remembered
what happened the last I did that: it was in Shawn's San Jose apartment, only
this time, Viktoriya wasn't connected to me by mind-sight. It didn't matter
though, as soon as we made contact, a psychic event occurred.

  Oh fuck, I thought. The psychic ripple emanated from Melanie and the other
two girls felt its immediate effect.

  For some damned odd reason, the whole scene struck Shawn as funny. Pretty
soon, the plump girl was laughing so hard, she fell over with tears in her
eyes. There seemed no stopping it, the event was infectious. Janet fought
desperately to keep a straight face, but eventually she succumbed and broke
into hysterical laughter.

  Embarrassed, Melanie put on an angry little grin, grabbed a cushion and began
playfully bludgeoning Shawn and Janet on their arms, legs, breasts and
buttocks. The two older girls let out brief cries and made half-hearted
attempts to fend off the diminutive teenager. Janet grabbed one pillow from my
bed, Shawn the other and hit Melanie above and below.

  "Hey not too rough now," I scolded and got whapped with a cushion for
intervening.

  So much for being a peacemaker. The three girls then decided that I made a
suitable target and I was quickly attacked and held prisoner. The night was
still young, and Janet incited further mischief all by herself.

  "Lock the door," she said to no one in particular. Melanie stood up and
turned the corner. I heard the door click shut and deadbolt slid into place.

  "Whoa hey," I stared at her, "What the heck do you think you're doing?"

  "We're gonna play a little game," Janet said saucily and winked at the
others. "It's called 'Guy Rodeo'."

  "Guy Rodeo?" Shawn wore a confused look. "I never heard of it. How's it
played?"

  My First's cheeks turned red but she quickly composed herself and explained
the game.

  "It's easy. It's like 'Hot Potato' but -- y'know -- different."

  "I know 'Hot Potato' Janet jie-jie," Melanie came back. "Is Stanley gonna be
the potato?"

  "I ain't that fat." I managed to grin at my own poor physique.

  "Oh, you're fat where it counts," Janet growled and undid my pants.

  "Janet?" Shawn's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?!"

  "It's how the game's played," my First wore a mischievous grin. "We each take
turns riding Stanley's cock. Whoever he cums in first ..."

  "Loses?" I said helpfully.

  "Kinda," she said. "We change riders if someone cums. And we play till only
one of us remains."

  "Wait, what?" my eyes went wide, "That means I have to ..."

  "Twice Stanley dearest," Janet licked her lips with anticipation. "Oh, c'mon.
It won't be as bad as last time!"

  I heard Shawn and Melanie both chortle.

  "Hold up," I became suspicious. "Where'd you learn this game?"

  "In Chicago," my First's ears burned bright red. "I read it on Playboy.com."

  "You ever play before?" I pouted. I already read her mind: 'Just with
vibrators at the sorority.' (da-yum!) 'Better say no though.' (sure, okay
sister) 'Good lord, my poor Stanley must think I'm a slut.'
(HU-HU-HUH-UHU-HUUU)

  "No, of course not," Janet made a face at me then snapped her fingers. "Mel,
gimme a wash cloth will ya?"

  Melanie grabbed a small hand towel, wetted and wrung it dry, and then handed
it to Janet. My First cleaned my cock and passed the towel back to Little
Chen.

  "Time to ride cowboy," Janet's tongue flicked out. I grimaced from pleasure,
then gasped as Janet touched a sweet spot. Shawn sat on the ground in a state
of embarrassed silence while Melanie was practically tearing off her clothes.

  "So, muffin," I stroked Shawn's hand gently, "How many three-ways have you
been in?"

  "Why Stanley," my plump petunia soured, "What a thing to ask!"

  "C'mere you big soft American cow-girl," I tugged at her.

  "Hey wait a minute," Janet glanced between me and Shawn, "I was going to go
first!"

  "Bet you a hundred bucks sweetheart," I winked at my First, "That I'll
eliminate you first."

  My First grinned like a wildcat. She knew there was little chance I could
hold back if she rode me after Shawn. Janet was up for my bet, and my
challenge.

  "Oh yeah? You wish! You're on mister."

  Shawn winced as she sat on me. Melanie came to her rescue. Yu-Ching grabbed
some vegetable oil from the kitchen counter, warmed a few drops between her
slender fingers then slid them between my cock and Shawn's pussy wall. My
Anglo angel gasped. I suppose it felt like one of those Japanese tentacle-rape
animated shorts (anime). Melanie's slender fingers certainly made headway in
between the surfaces of my pole and Shawn's hole. It must've felt like
something squirming inside her orifice.

  "Like it Shawn Ellen?" Melanie giggled.

  Janet and I looked at one another and grinned wryly. Despite being the
youngest, Melanie was probably the most perverted of my darlings (with
Viktoriya and Janet pretty much competing for second place). The lithe little
teen was behind Shawn, fingering her clit and cupping her melon heavy breasts.

  "You keep doing that and she'll scuzz," Janet teased.

  No sooner than Janet's words left her mouth did Shawn suddenly seize up and
cried softly, "Uffuck!!"

  I felt my plump dumpling's quim tighten and squeeze Melanie's fingers out as
she came. Shawn's legs clamped up tight as her body shuddered involuntarily.

  "Oooh," Melanie laughed and licked her pungent, oily fingers, "Looks like my
turn."

  "Wait a minute," I said, "Isn't that cheating?"

  "That's okay, Stanley." Shawn grinned foolishly as she lay quietly beside me.
"It felt good. I don't mind."

  I glanced at my First for a rules clarification. Damn, I really could lose a
hundred bucks if I came in Melanie first.

  "Meh," Janet shrugged her shoulders. "Anything goes I guess. I mean, this
isn't the Olympics or anything."

  "Janet, please," Shawn's body glowed a healthy red from her embarrassment.

  Melanie ignored the by-play and slid her small tender body onto my prick. I
groaned concentrated on keeping her cunt walls away from my sensitive glans.
Despite the trick I could do with telekinesis, I could not avoid the feeling
of great emotional pleasure from Melanie's mind.

  "Unngh--mother--fucker," I shut my eyes and gritted my teeth, forcing myself
to think of something else as the lithe high school senior rode my cockshaft.

  "O--oohg," Melanie's hips slowed then stopped just before I thought I had hit
the point of no return. I opened one eye and glanced at her.

  "What's wrong baby girl?" I asked.

  "My butt's sore," she slid off and rubbed her ass, "You big mean dummy.
Pinching me and all that. Hmph!!"

  "Aw, I'm sorry," I reached out but Melanie strode towards the restroom,
rubbing her apple cheeked bottom.

  Janet quickly rescued me from disappointment.

  "So studly," she wriggled her hips and settled down with a sigh of
satisfaction. "We still on?"

  "It's hardly fair," I gave her sheepish grin.

  "We'll see about that."

  My regal First bent down close, kissed my neck, and began moving her hips. It
took barely a minute for Janet to lose her bet. I forgot who won that night,
because I matched my record and shot off a third (and final) time. I was just
glad I was able sleep in my own bed this time.

===============================================================================
  WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS ... 
===============================================================================

  Three million. That's what it cost me back in 2000 to buy and then rebuild
our new home. Throw in the extras for finding housing for the existing
residents and it would've been more, but a few quick deals using my gift and
the tenants left for new places without incurring much more costs (apart from
moving and stuff).

  The site that was finally settled on was on 43rd and Geary. The old Sutro
grocery had been long replaced by a neighborhood Walgreens. One block down was
a district firehouse. There was a reliable stream of public transportation
less than a block away. The neighborhood was comprised of single family homes
or small apartments. My project was an aberration of sorts, but it pretty much
held to the condo/apartment design.

  The big difference of course, was that the girls and I would have keys to
everyone else's place (though it was an unspoken rule to ring the bell or
knock when visiting someone else's quarters later on). The building was
shrouded from view using scaffolding; the contractors I hired were done
through my own connections to the business. There were some minor details I
wanted to include to make my girls' lives more palatable.

  As for signing off on the design, I prepared two plans: one for the city's
planning commission, and one for my contractors. The building inspector I
could find and fool using my gift. That wouldn't be a problem once I
accompanied him through the place.

  I suppose a brief list of my improvements wouldn't hurt: hot water in the
showers and baths was provided by electric heaters in the walls (something I
picked up from Hong Kong, the U.S. tags them as tankless water heaters today);
generous sound-proofing was applied between floors; the laundry rooms (one per
unit) were right next to the showers and bathrooms (easier for chores to be
done).

  Powerful ventilation systems (easily replaceable) sucked air from the
kitchens to minimize that oily stench from stir-frying; instead of using a
wooden frame, I had contractors replace them with light steel; the garage
(lowest floor) was a metal cage (Janet and Rachelle found something in common
in hating that garage since there was no cellphone reception); a new concrete
floor was poured around steel girders driven about ten feet underground into
the bedrock underneath; and there was a pretty good business sized elevator
(holding eight 250 lbs. adults or approximately one ton) in addition to the
interior staircase.

  That certainly helped on moving day. Moving day though, was still a year off
(most of the interior finishing wasn't completed until 2002). I was marking up
bits and pieces as individual contractors began reporting directly to me. For
my first project, I was an ambitious little s.o.b.

  Of course, financing was a nightmare. There was almost no way I would get a
good deal on a mortgage period. 15% (it was 14.48, but I might as well have
bent over and let the bank fuck my ass without lubrication) for 45 years
(fixed) was the standing offer, which resulted in a monthly payment of about
$9,500. And that was before property tax and utilities.

  Of course, I was earning about $95,000 as a CAD draftsman. No way I could (on
paper) that I could cover all that without a little financial fiddling and
revealing I was working with the NSA. My parents (had they found out then)
would've hit the roof, so I kept them in the dark until everything was done.

  That's half the story anyway. The property itself was a lot less than three
million (roughly half, say). Only because I wanted to do a rebuild was the
cost so exorbitant. Since the contractors I was working with were semi-shady,
they were under-writing some of the costs. One good thing about cash and
knowing what we were doing meant the guys were getting paid a shade less than
normal jobs (saving me money) but that also meant they were paying less to the
IRS.

  I wondered though, if Cox or someone else at the agency would catch me on a
RICO indictment and prosecute my ass. That or simply leverage it against me
down the road. Tseng likely knew what to do; if not, he'd know who to tap on
the shoulder to assist me. But I was wary. Tseng had demonstrated he was not
to be fucked with. How much information did I risk sharing with him that it
wouldn't come back to haunt me? I was so wrapped up in thought, I was barely
aware of the naked tits and asses gyrating before me.

  "Sh-tan-ley my friend," Faraz slapped me heartily on the back. "You must
enjoy the delights Allah has wisely given us men!"

  "Sorry." I shot him an apologetic grin. "My mind was elsewhere."

  "This man," my old chum roared above the din of the music, "Is what Americans
call the 'straight man'. I have learned so much from him, that's why he's now
also my, uh --"

  "Best man," I suggested.

  "Yes!!" Faraz speech was nearly slurred.

  "Here! Here!" someone yelled.

  Several of Faraz's friends from the stock exchange, some friends from
college, and I were there for his bachelor's party. I had to hand it to him --
for a guy who never drank and who was going on his first bender, Faraz sure
had tolerance for alcohol. I sipped my own drink, water with no ice, and
coolly regarded the rest of the customers in the neon lit place.

  I reserved a private room at a casino hotel, hoping things would be contained
therein. But the party soon got underway and we called up a limo (on short
notice) and headed to a nearby strip club. I knew Faraz loved Ghandia, but
having lived in the United States for so long, he had developed a taste for
some of the more unsavory aspects of living.

  While he still abstained from pork, Faraz did start screwing around and
drinking (though not necessarily in that order). Ghandia was hardly in a
position to chastise him, principally because Faraz was careful. The other
reason was I never bothered to tell her about it. Their business was strictly
their business; I wanted nothing to do with it.

  Faraz was now dancing rather closely with two nude girls at the club. From
the collective dough all of us chipped in, the club owner was kind enough to
give us a private booth, complete with a trickle of different girls. These
girls were physically pretty; they could've given Viktoriya a run for her
money, but they were all damaged goods.

  I sensed the mad desperation, the fear, and sly caution they had as they
regarded most of our party with wary, hungry looks. Most of Faraz's band were
Caucasian or something so mixed they appeared white. Faraz was probably the
only Iraqi guy there, who along with the one Indian guy (a systems analyst I
think), looked pretty much the same to the club's girls. I was the only
Mongoloid in the group.

  I was one of the few to keep my senses, but a few of them tried their charms
on me. "Wanna a lap dance?" "Buy me a drink, handsome?" "Wanna see a private
show?"

  I passed on all but the offers of buying them drinks. I suppose I could've
given them any amount of money (well, as much as I could afford at the time)
but I didn't need to get myself into more trouble. Finally, I grew annoyed
enough that I passed each girl $50 (totaling about a grand) to leave me the
fuck alone.

  "Entertain him," I pointed to Faraz, "He's the one getting married."

  So a gaggle of twenty-some girls pretty much descended on my old friend. I
sensed for a minute he thought he was in paradise, only with twenty-some odd
whores. Wouldn't Ghandia be proud? And on that note, thoughts of Ghandia
brought up other unpleasant memories. I soured as I mulled over Rachelle.

  Since my flight was going to be in the late evening tomorrow, I decided to
cut out a little early. Leaving Faraz in capable hands, I stepped out and took
a cab back to the casino. Rattling some loose change as I stepped into the
casino floor, I looked at my watch and decided to have a quick go at the
slots. The older mechanical slots were easier to manipulate (assuming one knew
what to push). This was before video slots really took off. After a few
minutes of whirling and experimentation, I amassed a small bucket of change.
Enough to cover the cab ride several times over, but definitely not what I had
spent at the strip club.

  I got up and wondered how far I could push it. I sauntered over to the
cashier and changed my bucket of winnings for a few crisp bills. I wandered
the casino floor, looking for a game of chance that I could exploit. Something
that was less mechanical and more "human". Ever play poker with a telepath? 
Here's a pro-tip: I wouldn't recommend it unless you're playing for peanuts
(if you're allergic to peanuts then M&Ms or jelly beans).

  I didn't jump into Texas Hold'em; there was too much chance that the next two
cards drawn would screw with me. My skill in biointroscopy (perception through
skin) was developed enough that I could physically "read" surfaces, but it
took a little while to get to all the cards. I was also able to use remote
viewing (I called it detached mind-sight since I simply piggybacked on a
'normal's' own vision) but to forestall someone from detecting me, I had to do
that slowly and carefully. With the dealer moving so quickly, I wouldn't have
been able to keep up.

  Blackjack was too mechanical (as was Pai-Gow), relying more on counting cards
than mind-reading. I could cheat at roulette and craps since the physical
aspects were easy to manipulate, but it would be too obvious if the ball (or
dice) came up on double-zero (or boxcars) more than six times in a row. Draw
poker though, seemed reasonably fine. I took a vacancy at a medium sized table
and started to play. About ten minutes in, I had effectively doubled my
original earnings through a mix of card-reading, mind-reading, and sensible
bets. I didn't need to see my opponents to know what they were holding.

  The pit-boss was most likely less than happy. He was probably less happy even
after the dealer was changed (twice) and my winnings hardly diminished. As the
pile around me slowly grew, I kept my mind sharp by pinging the people around
me to see if they worked for the casino. I also kept my own face wooden and
impassive, and focused my physical gaze on either the pot on the table or the
cards in my hand.

  "Free drink sir?" a pretty bar girl came up to me and placed an open glass of
something vile next to me.

  "Sure. Bottled water please."

  "We don't serve bottled water, sir," the girl's voice barely registered as I
shifted focus on my opponents.

  "Then no thanks," I waved her off and folded just in time. Another player had
the makings of a Straight Flush. So instead of losing $500, I lost only $15. I
quickly won back my bet though. My four-of-a-kind killed the competition after
several raises.

  "You play a mean game handsome," a sultry sonorous voice spoke next to me.

  "You're welcome to join in," I dared a sideways glance.

  The woman was about my height (roughly 5'-8/9" or 174 cm) but that was
probably because she was wearing high heels. Her dark black hair fell in a
loose, voluminous cascade over a bare shoulder. A thin silver necklace
sparkled on her olive skin. Her face wasn't wide but her smile was (as was her
curves). A small black beauty mark graced her cheeks, just to the side of her
lips. Her gaze was polite, but her eyes and her thoughts bespoke of a
troubling past.

  "I would, except for one thing." She gave me a smile but upturned her hand so
her palms faced up. "You cleaned me out about six hands ago."

  "Ah sorry." I muster a small grin. "I'd offer to share a ride, but I'm
staying at the hotel here."

  "Oh," her eyes dipped a bit but her gaze held firm.

  Damn, I thought. She's had practice. Probably a damn professional.

  "That's okay," she tilted her head, "Maybe next time?"

  I was about to reply when the dealer broke-in. "Hey buddy, you want in or
what?"

  I glanced at my hand and then I closed my eyes. Nevermind the pot or the
cards dealt; I had gotten my fill. I opted out.

  "I'm out. If you don't mind," I asked the dealer, "May I exchange all of my
smaller chips for one or two of the larger ones? It's a little too much to
carry to the cashier."

  The dealer's eyes flicked to the side. It was one of the casino toughs sent
out by the pit-boss. Too late now sucker. I looked around for the woman, but
she was nowhere in sight. Damn. I guess I couldn't be THAT lucky.

  "Ah sir, let me help you with that," a thin pasty fellow came up with a
nondescript opaque plastic box. The crowd stepped back as the chips were
scooped and pushed into the lidded box.

  "Here you go, sir." The fellow handed the box to me and motioned to two
toughs waiting on the side.

  "What's with them?" I jerked my thumb towards one of the toughs.

  "Security," the thin man said, "You're carrying around nearly a quarter
million dollars in chips, you know."

  "I didn't bother to count," I shrugged. Security? Bull. Shit. I knew full
well where they were escorting me: not to the cashier, but the pit-boss.

  "I know you were counting cards," the portly man growled once I was in the
office. "But goddamn, I never figured you'd be that stupid."

  "Or I played smart." I gave him a disarming grin. "Ever think of that?"

  "Where're you from kid?" the pit-boss rasped as he lit a cigar.

  "San Francisco," I replied truthfully.

  "Green queens and queer queers," he laughed, "Oh, the boss is gonna laugh at
this one."

  "May I go now?" I said pleasantly.

  "Sure, sure," the man tapped the box full of chips, "But take some sound
advice: don't ever show your face on the floor again."

  "What if I need to use the bathroom?" I quipped.

  The pit-boss scowled, "Don't be smart-ass. Now get outta here."

  "My money," I said plainly, "Cash will do."

  "You're kidding me right?" the man regarded me with smug amusement, "You were
counting cards. That's cheating in my book."

  "Have you proof I was?" I asked. I sensed the tension in the room and braced
myself. Things were going to get ugly.

  "Warren," the pit-boss gestured, "Get this guy outta here."

  "With pleasure." One of the toughs stepped towards me. When I didn't
step-back as expected, he grabbed me by the shirt.

  Big mistake. My hand was on him instantly, and I had him "help" me. The tough
named Warren quickly made a fist with his other hand and backfisted the
pit-boss across the face. The other guard was so startled, he barely had time
to reach for his weapon when I telekinetically lifted my body, using the first
tough's grip as an anchor, and kicked the side of the second tough's head with
a "telekinetically shrouded" foot -- it appeared like I'd kicked him, but it
was the blunt force of my telekinesis that struck him. My foot was simply a
point of focus for my mind. The second tough spun and fell over in a heap.

  I grabbed the big man still holding me and fried his synapses. I simply used
the current chaos of the office, plus his unexpected attack on his nominal
superior as the backdrop; with my gifts so potent now, I had to hold back to
avoid giving the man a fatal stroke. Warren the bouncer fell over like a sack
of dead weight, his look of surprise still on his face. I stepped over to
where the pit-boss lay. The old man's eyes were glazed over from the blow. I
sensed he contemplated reaching for his gun.

  "Stop," I intoned coldly, my concentration focused wholly on him. "Remain
still. Do not move until I move you."

  The broken cigar dropped from his mouth. He remained where he was until I
dragged him up and threw him roughly into his swivel chair. I placed the box
of chips on the desk before him.

  "I won this from this casino, understand?" I stared at him, "Look at me."

  "Y--yea," the man was too dazed to be persuaded in my normal tone. I had to
be a little more aggressive.

  "Look at me and listen," I said in a firmer tone. "You will give me the
combination to the safe, do you understand?"

  "Y--yea," he repeated dumbly.

  "Look at me and listen," I repeated, "You decided to cut me a deal. I will
never come back and gamble here and you let me keep my winnings, understand?"

  "Yea," the pit-boss nodded, his body swaying unsteadily.

  I didn't bother with the safe combination. I simply synchronized all the
tumblers in the safe door and it swung open (the pit-boss was facing the wall
as he recited the numbers). I counted out the winnings I had, something close
to a quarter million, and took that exact amount. Compared to the amounts
Tseng and I had dealt with on the border, this was chump change.

  So how does one walk out with more than two thousand hundred dollar bills
after having beat up a crooked pit-boss and his crew? Simple. They actually
had briefcases for this stuff in the office. There was also a bin of
rubberbands on the desk. I used telekinesis to slip the money bands off, and
wrapped the bills with rubberbands. Once I was done, I closed the briefcase,
and making sure I didn't leave prints on it (easy if you know how to mix
telekinesis with a little acting) and I headed back up to my room.

  All that of course, was after I fried the pit-boss's brain before leaving his
office. I went further on the other toughs; they were not part of my plan.
Everything that they remembered in the past four hours, all short-term memory,
I forcibly blanked out. The effect was like a concussion but a little more
severe. Only the pit-boss would remember what I told him. Hopefully, that was
all I needed to do. The only cameras I noticed were in the hallway. There were
no cameras in the pit-boss' office.

  Understandably, the management wouldn't want me to stay now. I grabbed the my
all-important carry-on travel bag and emptied the money into it. The briefcase
I left in the room. I suspected they had a tracking device in it.
Unfortunately, my DNA was everywhere in the room, but earnestly there was
little I could do apart from taking the few towels I had used; I couldn't take
the bedsheets or pillow cases. I hung a MAID REQUEST on the door knob and
hoped that room service would take care of things before someone else did. I
hustled back to the lobby and turned in my keycard.

  "You're checking out now?" the receptionist blinked.

  "Family emergency," I lied, "I have to get back home now."

  "Oh okay," the clerk typed in a few things, "Er room 2150? It'll be $457.90."

  "Here," I slipped five hundred dollar bills I had justifiably earned (or if
you prefer, taken) from the pit-boss' safe and waved off the change.

  "Keep the change," I said, "Great service."

  "Oh really?" the guy blinked, "Thanks!"

  I stepped out into the street and bumped into the woman from the poker table
again. The leggy Asian hottie was by the curbside, waiting for a cab.

  "Leaving so soon?" she asked.

  "You again!" I flashed her a smile despite my predicament. "Well, the
management didn't take it so well. I can't go back in anymore."

  "That's a shame." The sultry beauty smiled back, but kept her distance.
"Where're you going to stay?"

  "Should be vacancies somewhere," I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not worried.
If worse comes to worse, I can just take a flight home. How about you?"

  "Oh, I'm just going to hail a cab," she said. I glanced at her. Something
about her seemed oddly familiar.

  "I thought I cleaned you out," I said slowly.

  "Not everything. I always withhold betting my cab fare," she said as a slow
grin crossed her face.

  "You're a smart one." I grinned back. "At least let me get your cab ride;
it's the least I could do."

  Actually, I thought wryly, the least I could do is fuck you six days from
Sunday and then leave you in a state of embarrassing pregnancy.

  The young woman blushed, her face expressed every conceivable emotion and
reaction to the possibilities and motives I might've had. Guys don't offer
rides to girls unless they wanted something. Heh-heh-heh.

  "I can't do that," she said shyly, "I mean you did win fair and square."

  Yeah right, I felt a mild pang of guilt.

  "Yeah, but I don't mind," I said graciously, "I'm sorry I didn't catch your
name. My name's Stanley."

  "Jamie," she extended her hand. The name sounded familiar. I shook her hand
and it came back in a flash.

  "Jamie Young?" I blurted.

  The woman blinked and withdrew her hand as if she had been burned by fire.

  "How'd you --?"

  "It's me," I waved meekly, "Rubenstein's journalism class back in high
school, remember?"

  Jamie took a measured step back, her face went from surprise, to shock, and
then to joy. As quickly as that came, it left and was replaced by sadness and
gloom.

  "Oh, of course I remember now," her eyes zipped over me from head to toe.
"God, that brings back memories. You were the guy dating Rachelle, right?"

  "I was?" I laughed, "I guess we couldn't have kept a worse-kept secret."

  "Secret?" Jamie smiled showing her neat pearly white teeth. "I don't know who
told you it was a secret, it was regular gossip."

  "Oh," was all I could say. My expression must've struck her as funny, because
she smiled and laughed.

  "So, new to Vegas?" my old classmate asked.

  "Just here for a friend," I said, "He's getting married next month."

  "Not here I hope?" Jamie smiled and laughed again. "He could've done all that
in the next ten minutes!"

  "Um, no." I grinned back, admiring the glitter on her shoulders and cheeks.
"Hey, do you have someplace to go? We should catch up a bit."

  "Well maybe." She bit her lip for moment before answering. "Tomorrow is
Saturday right?"

  "Yeah," I glanced at my watch. "Well, it is Saturday ... now."

  "Oh, right," she was coy. "Okay sure. Why not?"

  We took a cab ride down the strip then over to a non-descript apartment
complex.

  "This looks interesting," I murmured as I stepped out, "Nothing flashy. But I
like it."

  "Thanks," she whispered, "I live here."

  "Whoa," I was a little surprised. "Are you sure?"

  "You're just going to crash right? It's fine."

  Jamie turned on the hall-light to reveal a small, tiny room in the complex.
It wasn't dingy, but it was small and cramped. Somehow, it reminded me of my
room, and how it too, felt small and cramped, especially when my darlings
would come by and visit.

  "Quiet, okay?" she closed the door softly behind me. "Try not to make a lot
of noise."

  "Your boyfriend home?" I asked with bravado. Jamie shook her head but put her
fingers to her lips. I acquiesced and tip-toed to the sofa. I suppose I could
crash here until my flight. I'd just be sleeping.

  "Want a drink?" she asked.

  I could see her dark head of hair from the couch. Whatever she was doing was
blocked by the countertop.

  "Thank you but no. I'm fine." I put my overnight bag to the side of the
couch. Nearly a quarter million bucks. I suppose I could use it for spare
change somewhere. The next phase in the project wouldn't be for a while.

  "Well, I like this stuff," Jamie put a small bottle on the small table in the
living room.

  White rice wine, I read the label. Great.

  "You don't drink do you?" she came back with two glasses, one filled with
water.

  "I drive a lot," I said, "And I can't really hold my liquor."

  "That's very responsible," Jamie sat next to me, "So tell me, what's been up
with you, oh for say, the last seven years?"

  So we talked. I told her about my major and my career (architecture, not the
agency) and spoke briefly about visiting places like Hong Kong, Shek-Kou (the
podunk town Aurora and I toured), New York City, Sherwood, and Tijuana. I
skipped over Mexicali and Tecate; murder wasn't a particularly romantic topic
of conversation.

  "Oh wow," she took a small sip, "So, do you travel a lot for your job?"

  "I wish, but no. Plans just get sent to me by e-mail or FTP (file transfer
protocol)." I gave her a rueful grin. "I live a pretty boring life in that
office."

  "Oh well," Jamie sighed, "At least you're doing well."

  I raised a brow. I had delicately picked through what thoughts I could about
my old school chum without rousing suspicion, but I wasn't prepared for the
next shock.

  "Mommy?"

  I swear, if I hadn't been in full possession of my mind, I probably would've
bolted right out that door.

  "Crap," the young woman quickly set down her drink. "Mommy's here."

  Mommy? Hot damn. I felt the growing presence of a small girl. Her thoughts
were a haze of confusion and blurry visuals. Was it near-sightedness? I
focused a little more. No, didn't seem like it. I stood and walked over to the
kid.

  "Hey kiddo," I squatted and smiled. "What's your name? My name is Stanley."

  Jamie smiled nervously as I shook the girl's hand. She was wearing a t-shirt
and worn pajamas, and she was carrying a small stuffed pony. The girl was so
distracted and her thoughts everywhere, I could barely get a bearing on what
she was focusing on.

  "C'mon Jill," Jamie grunted from the weight of the kid. "Back to bed."

  I headed back to the couch and sat, wondering if I should stay or go. I
unzipped the overnight bag and grabbed some loose bills, about a thousand
(give or take) and tucked it neatly in my pants pocket. If she was what I
think she was, then it would be rotten of me to take advantage of her. I
zipped the bag back up as Jamie stepped back out from the other room.

  "I didn't know you were married," I said slowly, "I promise I'll be out of
here before he comes back."

  "He's never coming back," she sat down on the couch in a huff. "I'm sorry
about Jillian. She's still young."

  "That's all right," I said softly. "How old is she? Five?"

  "You've got a good eye," Jamie wore a weak smile. "She'll be five in a
month."

  I nodded and did some math. She and I were the same year (we were in the same
graduating class). I would be 25 in September of this year. That would mean --
wow. I set my glass down and eyed her with a shit-faced grin as she started
talking.

  "For a minute," I studied her, "I thought she was your sister or a niece."

  Jamie blushed then explained her situation. She had gotten 'in trouble' (as
the saying went) and fell in with progressively more Bohemian crowd after
Howard's death. She fell in love, "Or thought I did," Jamie said with a pained
laugh, with an ass-clown nearly twice her age. He fucked her rotten all right.
Then he left when she started throwing up. Her family had disowned her for her
wayward lifestyle and she was miles away from anyone she knew. When all seemed
lost, she caught the eye of one Joseph (Joey to insiders) Pincelli.

  "He took care of me and Jill," Jamie sighed, "And I basically work the casino
floor. Hit up high-rollers. Distract them. Keep 'em from winning."

  Sure you do, I thought darkly. She was only telling part of the truth. I had
an idea of what else she did but said nothing on the subject.

  "High rollers like me?" I grinned sardonically.

  "Not like you," she blushed, "You're like that cool but geeky guy girls
love."

  "Well in my defence," I said, "I do like Star Trek."

  "The original series?" Jamie seemed to perk up.

  "Heck no," I laughed softly, "The next generation. Captain Picard rocks."

  "Me too!" Her cheeks dimpled as she grinned. "Hey, did you know there's going
to be a Deep Space Nine theme casino soon?"

  "Oh man," I flashed her a big smile, "We gotta go. You'd look great in a
uniform from any era."

  Jamie blushed. I could see her face, neck, palms and thighs reddening
slightly.

  "So, do you have kids?" she cleared the throat a bit and changed the subject.

  "Nope," I shook my head, "I'm still the kid I guess."

  "Oh, don't say that," she murmured, "We're the same age and all."

  "Yeah," I knitted my brow.

  Jamie brought up a mix of memories, both good and bad. My days back in
school, splitting my time between Rachelle and Shawn while dodging the
pedobear stigma with Melanie while juggling my lovely Janet by phone -- all
while Viktoriya was watching in the distance (and probably masturbating to the
thought). I found myself feeling guilty about contributing to Jamie's plight,
and I felt there was something I wanted to get off of my chest for a while.

  "About Howard," I started slowly. "I never got to say I'm sorry."

  "It's in the past," Jamie said quietly, "Why bring it up?"

  Because if he hadn't died, maybe you wouldn't have become a Mafia boss's
whore, I thought. But I elected to go with a more diplomatic answer.

  "I never should've touched him. I think he bled to death because of me."

  "No. No, Stanley," she closed her eyes, "Don't say that. You were the only
person there who tried to help."

  "But I couldn't," I felt her anguish and mine coming together. "It's my
fault. I'm sorry Jamie."

  "I don't to talk about it," she opened her eyes again. There were dark rings
around her eyes where her tears marred her mascara.

  "All right," I took her hand and squeezed it.

  I sensed Jamie's inner turmoil and carefully analyzed her psyche. Over the
years, I found 'normals' and 'citizens' found different ways of coping with
grief, tragedy, and anguish. The only difference was that a citizen of the
invisible empire would be able to act out his or her manifestations in ways
that would endanger more people.

  Jamie resorted to self-destructive behavior. Once she lost herself into a
binge, she'd latch onto some weak emotional bond with a male benefactor. It
would work for a little while then she'd sabotage it. She didn't consciously
know why, but I did: she blamed herself for Howard's death. Her
unconsciousness came through and punished her by having her destroy her
relationships and her life. This she willingly accepted like a well-deserved
punishment.

  Still, I felt she had a strong sense of duty to her daughter Jillian; her
relationship with Joey Pincelli was something she could live with so long as
it kept mother and child off the streets. This was getting sad.

  "Stanley?"

  "Yeah?" I blinked, my mind a little woozy from lack of sleep.

  "It's late," Jamie yawned, "I got to get up later and do some shopping before
I go to work, so I'm going to turn in okay?"

  "Sure," I let her hand slip from mine, "Good night."

  "Good night."

  She slipped back into the room. I lay on the sofa for a bit, thoughts a whirl
in my head. I fell asleep, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

===============================================================================
  FIRST CLASS SERVICE 
===============================================================================

  I'm sure many of you have been to Las Vegas. The glitz and glamor on the
strip are missing from the area where the support staff live. It's like living
in the servants' quarters of a castle. Unglamorous, and definitely requiring a
little more luster. I jerked awake and found myself staring at the dusty
ceiling of a strange apartment. The sunlight streaming into the room was a dim
red glow.

  Right, I slowly realized. Jamie's apartment. My old classmate ...

  In the light of day, the place looked a little more dumpy than I first
realized. Stains were on the carpeting and walls, and there were a small stack
of dirty dishes and bowls in the sink. The air was dusty too. It was a
chemical suspension of desert sand, dust, and god knows what else. At least
she didn't have a pet. I rose and used the restroom. My clothes were generally
clean and I used the hotel towels to dry myself. I checked my watch. Almost 4
P.M.

  Man, I thought. Must've slept in late. As I opened the door and stepped out
from the bathroom refreshed and re-dressed, the door bumped into something. I
heard a soft cry as I pulled the door back a bit.

  "Oh sorry," I peeked past the door.

  In the gloom of the apartment, I saw Jamie's daughter Jillian was on the
carpet, hands covering her forehead and whimpering.

  "You all right?" I knelt beside her.

  I gently pulled her arm away and saw a knob shaped bruise on her temple. Had
I swung the door open any more forcefully, I probably would've injured her
more. Ouch. She whimpered more as I tapped her bruise slightly. Good, I
thought with relief. There wasn't any physical nerve damage, just mild
bruising.

  I helped her up and asked, "Where's your mom?"

  "Mommy's at 'woirk'," came her reply.

  "I see." I picked her up easily and sat her on the cleanest part of the
kitchen counter I could find. Jamie at work. That meant she was probably back
at the casino or something.

  This was sad, I thought. What kind of woman leaves her own daughter home
alone (well, home alone with a strange man) and leaves for work? That was
simply a kind of desperation I'd seen on the border and in the poorer
neighborhoods of Mexico. But here? To citizens in the United States? I found
the whole situation utterly abhorrent.

  "Don' be zad mizter," Jillian spoke with a lisp and in baby English, "Mommy
zed you ken weed her letta'."

  I never tried to mind-read anyone younger than Melanie (my brother Andrew
didn't really count; all he thought about was anime, videogames, pornography,
and girls, so in a way, we were thinking alike) and she wasn't coming through
clearly despite her gift. I suspected why I couldn't get a clear stream of
thought from Jillian was because of her age. Her thought pattern hadn't
"stabilized" like that of older children. In that way, she was earnestly a
child.

  Still, Jillian had the occasional thought I could decipher: her mother was
Jamie; she'd see her in the mornings but rarely in the evenings; her mother
would come back very late and Jill would hear her crying. All in all, it was
pretty sad psychic panoramic. I found the note Jill referred to pinned to the
fridge by an old magnet. It read:

  HI STANLEY. BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS I'LL
  BE AT WORK. PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME BUT I
  WROTE DOWN YOUR NAME AND ADDRESS JUST IN
  CASE.

  IT'S JUST A PRECAUTION BECAUSE I LEAVE JILL
  HOME ALONE AND SHE IS EVERYTHING TO ME. I'M
  SORRY YOU FELT GUILTY ABOUT HOWARD BUT IT
  WAS MY FAULT NOT YOURS. I GUESS I'LL NEVER
  BE FREE OF THIS UNTIL THE DAY I DIE.

  IT WAS GOOD TO CATCH UP ON OLD TIMES. IF I
  KNEW YOU WERE SUCH A TREK NERD I WOULD'VE
  ASKED YOU OUT BACK THEN.

  IF YOU DON'T KIDNAP JILL, PLEASE WRITE TO
  ME WHEN YOU GET HOME. HAVE A SAFE FLIGHT.

  JAMIE.

  I crushed the note and tossed in the trash. I opened the fridge and found it
bare save for some plastic bowls of macaroni and what appeared to be
meatballs. There were a few of them, each labeled with a different post-it
note: Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, etc. I shot an appalled glance at
Jillian and closed the refrigerator door in disgust.

  I had a flight in about three hours but I decided there I could do something
altruistic. In hindsight, I probably should've left, but I wondered what would
have happened if I did. It's something I try not to ponder about too often
now.

  I surveyed the apartment and wondered what to do first. Jill was still
dressed like the night before: t-shirt and worn PJs. I caught the smell of
soap and shampoo on her though, so at least she was cleaned. I rummaged
through the dressers in the bedroom and found something that passed for
OshKosh overalls (they were some generic brand made in China) and some sandals
that barely fit the little girl.

  After dressing her, I unzipped my overnight bag and organized some bills. I
took what I anticipated I needed then hid the bag between the couch and the
wall. I unfolded Jamie's note and penned on its back:

  HI JAMIE. TOOK JILL TO THE MALL TO GET SOME
  THINGS. BACK IN TWO HOURS TOPS. STAY SAFE.
  STANLEY.

  I left my mobile phone number past my signature (which turned out to be a
really bad idea) and posted it to the fridge.

  "C'mon," I said to Jill, "We're going to go shopping."

  The cab ride took a little longer than I wanted, but we got to the mall an
hour or so before the stores started closing. I bought what I could anticipate
the two needed: sturdy new clothes, shoes, socks, undergarments (I guessed as
best I could), detergent and disinfectant, towels and rags, toilet paper, etc.
Stuff what most households needed.

  The second cabbie was less than thrilled he had to make a pit stop for
groceries after his vehicle was loaded to the brim, but the fat $200 tip he
got pretty much made him more enthusiastic. He even helped me carry most of
the stuff back to Jamie's place. My note to Jamie was still there, untouched
and unread, so I crumpled it and tossed it into the trash.

  That done, I tasked Jillian with some chores: "Put that there," "Bring these
things here," "Help me hold this," and all that jazz. Things that Jamie had, I
didn't touch. But where there was storage space, I stocked her larder with
some helpful goodies (after I had cleaned it with damp rags and soap).

  Jill was probably unused to the amount of activity; she went about her
initial tasks enthusiastically at first then waned as the physical exertion
took its toll. By then, between my telekinesis and demonic drive, I had pretty
much cleaned the place up. Laundry was done, there were fresh towels on the
racks, sheets on the bed, and the kitchen was cleaned and ready for business.
I stood back and admired the effort. My little Lady Chen would've been proud
if she knew I worked with this much zeal.

  "A'hm tiwerd Unco Zan'wee," Jillian slouched against the foot of the couch.

  I'd seen this before. Despite her zest for cleanliness now, Yu-Ching had
whined and goofed off around my room when she was younger. I tolerated it to a
point but as she grew older, I forbade it and encouraged her to develop a
strong work ethic. How she had grown! Now little Jillian was nearing that
impressionable age. I had no intention of sleeping with her (that'd be sick)
but I didn't want her growing up into a fuck-up. I blamed myself for starting
Jamie down that road. I knew it may be impossible to wholly rehabilitate the
mother, but her daughter still had a chance.

  "Your mother is just as tired trying to take care of you," I admonished
sternly, "Now please come here. You're going to help me cook for mommy."

  Jill whined audibly, but she tottered over to the kitchen. I found an old
footstool in the closet and set it right next to the counter. I showed the
little five year old how to wash her hands, how to clean vegetables (leaves
and stalks), what chicken bouillon was, and taught her how to manage the fire
on the stove.

  "But won' fiur-men come?" there was concern in her tone, "A'hm not s'posed to
pway wif' it. Mommy zed zo!"

  "Everything can be dangerous if not used correctly," I explained slowly, "Do
you like candy?"

  "Yea!" Jill nodded her head excitedly.

  "Well if you eat too much," I tapped her chin, "The sweet sugar can cause
your teeth to crumble. But some candy is okay."

  "W'eally?" her eyes were wide.

  "Yes, really," I measured my words. "The fire here on the stove is good for
cooking. It's how your mommy cooks macaroni for you."

  Not really, I thought. Jamie's microwave had been something from a Mr. Clean
nightmare. But for sake of simplicity, it was all I had to go on.

  "Mac n'cheez!" Jill said happily.

  I grinned, patted her head, and continued: "But you cannot leave the fire on
too long. If you do, you will burn things up and the firemen will come,
understand?"

  Jill nodded, but I sensed she was confused how long was "too long".

  "Now this," I started answering her curiosity, "Is how you tell the fire is
too long."

  I instructed her to look at the clock and the size of the fire. Every five
minutes, she was to check for "bad things" burning (stuff that shouldn't be on
fire). I lit a match then extinguished it quickly with a stream of water and
bade her to smell the sulfur. That was burning (or something close to it).
Jillian sneezed and nodded.

  After cooking, I went through and taught as much as she could take in: from
food preparation (wash it all) to cold storage (seal it or it'll dehydrate).
Don't underestimate the undying curiosity of five year-olds: they can be quite
rapacious for knowledge. She barely shut-up enough to finish her dinner, but
she finished anyway.

  By the time she was ready for bed, I was pretty exhausted myself. As Jill
brushed her teeth, I went down a mental checklist for stuff going on in my
life: None of the girls were expecting me to be back until Monday. Or Tuesday.
Since Shawn had left for Tokyo earlier than expected -- something about a
fresh lease and learning more of the language -- dinner gatherings were more
subdued and quiet.

  Janet and Melanie had few things in common due to their age gap. Where my
lovely Lady Wu was a moderate conservative, little Lady Chen was a hard-line
progressive and often took up causes just on a whim. While I could understand
it was Melanie's impassioned empathy that made her do such things, Janet
thought she did so just to spite her.

  The after-dinner conversations became more like arguments (or shouting
matches). They were rife about politics and society, two topics I personally
detested talking about publicly, let alone sharing. Despite the angry words
they'd sometimes exchange, Janet and Melanie respected one another. It's one
thing to have spirited opposition and quite another to expressly hate someone
for their political views. But that didn't mean I enjoyed being there while it
happened.

  Thus, while my two elegant ladies would argue in the inner room, I'd withdraw
to the outer room (the studio) and either get ahead of some projects at work,
or work on my own project at home. Without Shawn, I felt a little lonely while
at my station. I suspected her parents had been behind the push to get their
daughter out of the country and away from my grubby clutches as soon as
possible.

  I checked in Viktoriya on a daily basis. Between her, my at-home darlings,
emailing Rachelle, Shawn, and Aurora, I nearly forgot all about Phillipa,
whose emails I'd answer last. Seven girls. Good lord. So what the hell was I
doing at Jamie's? Eight might be enough. I snickered at the bad sit-com joke
as I took Jillian to the bedroom and put her to bed.

  Mother and daughter shared a single queen-sized bed. The sheets were clean
but they smelled of having been slept on for some time (months perhaps). I
managed to get them laundered in time for bedtime. I tucked her in just as my
mobile phone rang. I put it to silent, told Jillian good night, and then
headed outside.

  "Stanley?" Faraz buzzed, "Where did you go my friend? You missed the best
girls!"

  "Had to take off a little early," I said. "Work thing. Sorry."

  Good thing Faraz was calling my mobile number. Had he rang the casino where I
was staying, it might've been bad news.

  "Oh okay," he laughed nervously, "You sure you're not telling Ghandia about
the club, no?"

  "No, not me," I had to laugh, "Of course, if you make it big in New York, I
might hit you up for some cash or I leak the pictures: Iraqi Stock Trader
Spends Millions On Strippers!"

  Faraz and I both shared a hearty laugh. We then wound up talking about his
wedding (it was going to be in Santa Monica) for the next twenty or so
minutes. At the end of the conversation, he passed off something he had heard.

  "It's Rachelle," Faraz said in a hushed voice, "Have you written her lately?"

  "Frequently enough," I said, "Why?"

  "I think you should see her Stanley," he sounded thoughtful. "Ghandia says
she's changed a lot and wondered what happened."

  "Is she sick?"

  "I don't think so," Faraz mused. "That's why I ask. Is she well?"

  "Nothing seems of the ordinary." I mentally flipped through the last few
e-mails. Something about pets, her new job in TV production in Los Angeles,
and talking about beaches (and lack of warm ones) in Northern California. All
in all, pure Rachelle.

  "Well, okay," Faraz sighed, "I guess I will see you soon then."

  "Until August. Later friend."

  I hung up, and just in time too. As soon as I did, I sensed growing feelings
of alarm and fear just past the apartment's front door. The lights in the
apartment were off, save for the one lamp near the couch (that was towards the
back of the unit). I stood up, mentally alert, and concentrated.

  I heard muffled voices past the door. I recognized one as Jamie's, but the
other was obviously male and not known to me. The overall mental-image I got
from him was an unsavory one, and he was getting agitated. The talk was
growing louder and more heated. I sensed the violence behind the man's words.
I strode towards the door, alert and ready for anything.

  "I said I want --!"

  The talk immediately ceased when the porch light turned on and I opened the
front door. The man was certainly something. Very well built. Solid muscle.
Square chin. Sharp cheek bones and a handsome but rugged face. White? Latino?
I didn't know, or particularly care. He towered over me, but I had on the
scowl of someone who wasn't to be trifled with.

  It was my "work scowl" (Melanie coined the term and she hated it when I made
it) that I used to put off the likes of people I deal with on a professional
level. Jamie was pressed against the wall and the man was definitely standing
a little too close to her. I stood on the bottom jamb of the door and crossed
my arms.

  "Hey Jamie," I looked between them, "Tough day?"

  "Ex--excuse me."

  Jamie broke away and slipped past me into the apartment. I saw a car, no
doubt belonging to the man at the door, double-parked on the street in front.
I quickly rifled through his mind to see what I could pick-up, but his
surprise was so great, all I could see was my own face.

  What a gent, I thought sarcastically. The man backed away, hands at
shoulder-level and his palms facing me. He turned around, headed back to his
car and drove off.

  "Where's Jillian?" That was the first question that greeted me when I shut
the door.

  "Asleep."

  I pointed towards the bedroom. I watched Jamie tip-toe into the dark room as
I waited by the front door. My body may have stood at rigid attention, but my
mind wasn't. I zeroed in on the blip that was the man and "marked" him for
future convenience. I got something of a name: Marc Bruneschi; that, along
with his specific pattern of thinking, was all I needed to pull from a crowd.
I eased up as I felt his presence dim from the immediate area. I wondered
where he'd go later though.

  "You're still here," Jamie whispered as she closed the bedroom door behind
her. "What happened?"

  "I missed my flight," I gave her a wry grin.

  "I meant the shiner on her head," her voice rose defensively, "And what's
with her new pajamas?"

  "Oh sorry about that," I put on an apologetic look. "She ran into a doorknob,
so I brought her to the clinic out at the Westbrook Mall. The doctor said it
was just a minor bump. Nothing to worry about."

  "Oh," Jamie went from angry to relieved instantly. "I'm sorry Stanley. I
didn't mean to sound angry."

  "No, I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I said meekly, "Anyway, while we were
there, I got you some stuff I think you can use."

  "Oh?" She regarded me warily as I took her by the hand.

  "Here, I'll show you."

  Jamie remained quiet and reserved as I showed her what stuff I had gone out
and got. The new stuff, as I had said, I padded or added to her existing
stash. Where I needed to move things, I let her know and showed her were I
moved it.

  "Sorry if I seem a bit pushy," I ended lamely, "But I thought it was the
least I could do since you put me up at your place."

  "Oh Stanley." Jamie's cheeks dimpled as she fidgeted nervously. "It's more
than enough. You shouldn't have."

  "So you're not mad?" I managed a grin, "Oh good. Then here, you must be
hungry. Jill cooked this."

  "What?" she blinked, "She's not supposed to touch the stove."

  "She's a smart girl like her mom," Jamie reddened as I went on. "Give her a
few more lessons and she'll be manhandling a choy-dou* [* Cantonese:
meat-cleaver.] like the best of us."

  "You're honestly too much," Jamie brushed her hair back coyly, "How can I
ever thank you?"

  "Well, how about dinner?" I held a seat for her.

  The cluttered counter-top I had cleared and placed two sets of tableware. The
seats were barstools she'd been using as furniture. Jamie blushed again and
took up my offer.

===============================================================================
  BONE HER! BONE HER! BONE HER! 
===============================================================================

  "So, dare I ask who was that guy?" I took her empty plates and immersed them
in the sink.

  "Oh, he's nobody," Jamie said, "Don't worry about him. He's just someone who
offered me a ride, with strings attached."

  "That sucks," I grabbed a dish-rag and wiped the counter-top of crumbs. I
wanted to say more, like 'stop being a whore' but I found I couldn't. I didn't
dare.

  Jamie sipped her rice wine and murmured, "Thank you Stanley, for everything."

  "Don't mention it," I tossed the rag into the sink and washed my hands, "I'd
better go, see if there's a stand-by on the red-eye. I've imposed enough on
you."

  "Oh, don't worry about it." She was in such a hurry to get up, she nearly
tumbled to the floor. I reached out and caught her by her arms and saved her
from a nasty scrape. Her skin felt warm and soft between my fingers. I sensed
a spark of desire within her, and I responded the only way my kind could:
psychically.

  Oops. I felt the familiar buzz of my id slowly penetrating Jamie's mind. I
fought bravely, but it was impossible for me to completely ignore my own
feelings at the moment. She was young, attractive, and had a pleasant and
friendly demeanor. If Shawn, Rachelle, Melanie and my studies hadn't sucked up
all my time back in high school, I might've noticed Jamie and hit her up, then
tapped that ass.

  But that was then. This was now. Fearing I had pushed things too far, I
immediately let her go once she was standing. Jamie was a little wobbly and
knock-kneed, but that made her just more attractive. I couldn't keep my eyes
off her as she stumbled over and collapsed into my arms.

  "Do you find me --" hic "-- bee-you-ti-full?" she looked at me hopefully. I
could smell her breath, but I sensed she wasn't drunk. In fact, I got a pretty
clear idea what she wanted to do.

  Goddammit, I lamented. So much for self-control. If Janet ever found out, she
was going to murder me.

  "Of course," I said and helped her to the living room, "You're very
beautiful."

  "You're so sweet," her eyes seemed to well up, "I--I just want to thank you."

  Jamie pushed me on the couch and stood before me. She was wearing a strapless
cocktail dress like she did the first night, but a lighter shade of blue. With
one deft move, the young MILF slid the dress right off, revealing her firm,
stacked body. The silvery necklace on her neck matched the one going around
her waist. Her skin seemed to have been covered by sparkling dust. Parts of
her body caught light in ways I'd never would've imagined; I was bewitched.

  Where she wanted my eyes, she'd have a slim piece of silvery metal to grab my
attention. Hoop rings dangled from her ears and bits of glitter sparkled from
her eyelashes. Jamie twirled slowly around and held up her lustrous dark hair
to show off her body. Aside from Viktoriya, my other girls had pretty average
bodies (Rachelle didn't count as I hadn't seen her in a while).

  In fact, Shawn probably had "more to love" as it were. Melanie was hot by the
fact she was young; she still had a little more to go before I could
appreciate her womanly curves. I couldn't imagine how'd any of them would look
like in another few years. But Jamie ... NOW ... Holy. Shit.

  My jaw hit the floor as the leggy Asian beauty bent over while still in her
street heels. I could see aside from her obscene taste in jewelry, she also
had some tattoos. On her back, written vertically like a scroll, I made out
the characters: Tian-ha-ping-oan*. [* Cantonese: Peace/tranquility under the
heavens.] 

  The small black dragon tattoo on her calf flexed as she fought to maintain
balance. Jamie looked back, saw me panting like a dog, and smiled broadly. She
stood back up and straddled me.

  "Stanley," she whispered, "If you want me to stop, say it now."

  "Now why would I want that?" I asked.

  "Because you helped out so much today," she murmured pensively, "And because
I don't want you to think I'm doing this because I'm a ..."

  Whore! I could've easily finished the thought for her, but I hushed her with
a heart-felt embrace. She instinctively froze when I placed my hands on her
back. I sensed she had bad experiences of being embraced before. I eased up on
my grip and felt her relax. Jamie slowly became more comfortable as I caressed
her tenderly. Alternating between my fingertips and the backs of my nails, I
tickled and cajoled her sides, back, and what else I could touch.

  "Oh god," Jamie breathed, "That feels so good."

  "Want to take it further?" I asked. It was decent to ask first. Regardless, I
doubted any 'normal' could resist once they exposed so much of their skin to
me.

  "Uh-huh."

  She nodded and I lifted her easily using some clever telekinesis. Jamie's
eyes grew wide; I had just demonstrated something that she didn't expect from
my body type. I wanted to laugh. Oh, how we're slaves to what we can see (or
think we can see)! Even citizens of the empire (i.e. me) are sometimes fooled.
I suppose it was a good thing for Bethany, I mused. Her and her damn illusory
faces.

  I put Jamie down on her old couch and marveled at the bared bush before me.
None of my girls shaved there anymore. Viktoriya did a little only because she
had to kick high while dancing but she left a small triangular patch so she
could suffocate me when she sat on my face (it's always awesome when she did
that, unless she forgot to wash after peeing). And since Melanie grew up, I
hadn't seen bare bush for quite some time. Hence, this was quite a novelty for
me.

  Jamie's fingers were wet with spit as she slid her fingers up and down her
baby-smooth slice. I watched her face as she slowly worked herself open.
Physically, Jamie reminded me of Janet, if just a little prettier and with a
hotter body. None of the other girls (apart from Rachelle) had dared to ink,
pierce, or otherwise defile their bodies (apart from ear piercings).

  I kissed Jamie full on the lips then bit her nipples gently. She gasped as I
worked my way down south. I could hear her groan with pleasure, but mostly, I
could 'hear' her thoughts: 'It's been so long since I felt like this.' 'He's
so good.' 'He's probably married.' (sigh) 'I'm such fuck-up and he's such a
nice guy.' 'How can I tell him I fuck whoever Joey sends me to?'

  The last thought gave me pause, but I hesitated only briefly as I picked the
details from her mind. I ate her out as I sifted through my newly acquired
intel. Joey Pincelli owned the casino I had stayed at. Pincelli was one of the
last hold-outs of the old mob. Although young (at forty-something) he was
still used to doing things like it was the 1970s or 1980s. The old mob was on
its way out. The new mob (to use the term loosely) had come in and laundered
money for organized crime.

  The old mob often mixed money laundering with certain "problematic"
businesses like prostitution, sex-slavery, illegal drugs, and loan-sharking.
The new mob focused principally on money laundering and gambling period; the
seedier vices turned away customers who would be willing to dump money on the
tables. Jamie was part of Pincelli's business strategy.

  Cute fuckable girls would be sent out as private dates and escorts, "on the
house" to important clientele. Of course, Jamie was smart. Always packed
protection (I wasn't referring to her illegal .32ACP either) and used it too.
The guy she was with tonight though, Bruneschi, was special. A mob enforcer
from New York.

  Jamie didn't know what he was exactly (just mob) but after a quickie
hand-job, she decided she just didn't like the guy. Gave her the creeps, was
the feeling I got. While he was copacetic with giving her a ride back, she
certainly wasn't going to fuck him at her house. That was when things got
rough, I suppose. I hadn't focused and pulled enough information from
Bruneschi, but I knew the most likely reason why. It must've had something to
do with the pit-boss from the other night. Fuck ...

  "Oh stop, Stanley, stop," Jamie whispered loudly, "I think Jill might be
awake."

  Great, I thought as I pulled away. My face and mouth smelled like her muff
musk. I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm as Jamie quickly slipped on her
cocktail dress. She hesitated briefly at the bedroom door then went in. After
a minute or so, she tip-toed back out, her face filled with relief.

  "God that was scary." She smiled at me. "She was just talking in her sleep."

  "Oh?" I grinned back. "Anything you can make out?"

  "It's nothing," she shook her head, but I picked up what she wanted to hide
from me. Jillian had been calling out: 'Dad-da.'

  Cute, I thought.

  Jamie kicked off her shoes and I saw other bits of calligraphy on her body as
well. Her toenails were painted ivory but there were black characters etched
(or glued) on her nail surfaces: Lian-lian youw gumyut* and Dou-dou yuen
gumching* [* Cantonese: May you have a day like this every year (typically
used for birthdays) and Make a love connection where ever you are (closest
translation).]

  Her fingernails sported an equal amount of poetry (her thumbnails were
blank): Lungma-jingsun* and Sum-sheung-tsi-sing* [* Cantonese: May you possess
great vitality and virility like the tiger and horse and May you get what you
wish for (both typically used for Lunar New Years).]

  "Do you know what all these mean?" I took her by the hand and kissed her.

  "A little," Jamie shrugged, "I used to be able to read them when I was
little. A friend of mine helped me pick them out."

  "I've never seen such beauty before." I flashed her a grin. "And the
calligraphy is lovely, too."

  She blushed and pulled me down once more. I was more than ready despite the
brief break. Motherfucker, I thought. I was actually going to go through with
this.

  "Got condoms?" I asked her. Jamie nodded and pulled out a small box from a
stand near the couch. Her brow knitted when she picked it up. She shook it. It
was empty.

  "Goddammit," she turned to me with a look of disbelief.

  Her expression was so hilarious I had to smile. Soon enough, Jamie was
smiling too. I embraced her and sensed her disappointment and frustration.
Shit. She wasn't the only one disappointed here. I had an itch to scratch too.
Thankfully, I had learned a few tricks over the years.

  "Hey," I whispered, "If you're okay with this, I've got an idea."

  "Are you talking about pulling out?" Jamie looked at me curiously. "That
won't work. That's how I got Jill."

  "Not quite as risky," I brushed her hair aside and kissed her on the nape of
her neck.

  "O--oh God," she panted.

  Jamie reacted as I predicted she would: she hugged me then proceeded to wrap
her soft warm thighs around my waist. I carried her to the kitchen and put her
on the barstool. I pulled open a drawn and grabbed some saran wrap. Jamie's
eyes flew wide as I squirted a drop of cooking oil between my fingers and
rubbed them together.

  "This is just to get started," I wrapped my dick and left a little room to
hold my deposit.

  I oiled up and rubbed Jamie's lips with my erect dong. I kissed her deeply,
flicking my tongue lightly over her lips and gums to get her a little more
aroused. The sultry Asian beauty gasped and clutched me clumsily. I may not
have been as "professional" as she was, but I knew what I was doing. I lifted
her and carried her back to the living room.

  With Jamie still facing the kitchen, I mind-yanked my sports jacket and
spread it on the carpet, along with one of the sofa cushions. I lay her down
and placed the cushion under her head. She hardly gave it all a thought as she
fixated on me, fascinated, excited, and a little fearful. I grasped her by her
ankles and parted her legs easily. Jamie's breaths were coming in ragged as I
pushed the head of my cock into her.

  "Ugh--gawd," Jamie's mouth was wide open, her face full of pent-up lust.

  Seeing, sensing, and feeling the frustration of this desperate young mother
reinforced my own appetite. I leaned over and kissed her as I pushed into her
slowly. I savored each millimeter as my oil-covered cock forced open her baby
chute. Jamie gritted her teeth as I hilted myself. I was breathing at a pretty
good clip now. I could feel her body trembling as my member would pulse with
each beat of my heart.

  She pawed gently at my cheeks and chest as we kissed. Her desire was reaching
a point of no return, and my willpower was quickly eroding. I surrendered to
Jamie's embrace and put her legs against my chest. With her ankles next to my
neck, I began to move to and fro, eliciting a carnal sigh of relief from her
throat.

  "Ff--uu--uck," her eyes and face were frozen in beautiful agony as I pumped
her to my heart's content.

  When I tired of pumping her woman-well from above, I let one of her legs slip
off so I could drill her crotch while having her do a gorgeous dancer's split.
In that position, I could kiss one of her feet, and even suckle her primly
pedicured toes. Jamie didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was fighting the urge
to scream out and scare the shit out of her daughter, her neighbors, and
anyone else who cared to listen.

  "Uhg--mother--fugger," she gave me an angry lustful stare.

  Seeing this young mother snarling like a bitch in heat and hearing filthy
words pouring out of her sweet mouth prompted me to get a little rougher.
Jamie gave a short surprised yelp as I grasped her firmly by both ankles and
threw her legs back. She was now curled into a totally fuckable ball. I hung
her heels behind her head. This pretty much bared her sweet ass for my waiting
cock.

  I climbed on top and wrecked that ass. Our bodies were glistening with sweat
as I piledrived deep into her sopping fuckspace. My cock was wet and slick
principally from the juices she was providing. Her fetus condo was now flooded
with her warm, slick cum, and the only outlet was plugged up by my fat fucking
cock. Boo-yeah.

  As her murky odor filled my nostrils, I began thrusting her harder with each
successive stroke. Jamie's lips quivered as if she was in pain, but her eyes
said otherwise. Her body practically begged me to pummel her as long as I
humanly could. I shifted my focus a bit and found her mind in a state of
unrepenitant lust.

  I decided to experiment a little bit with my telekinesis. Viktoriya had
showed me how she could "roll" a gentle force all along the length of her
Grafenberg Spot (g-spot). It made her keep up and cum like crazy when she did
it. I wondered if I could do the same.

  I focused where my cock was while I pumped Jamie so I could get a bearing of
where I needed to focus. Once I did, I mind-pushed gently against the opposite
direction. To Jamie, it felt like my fuckstick had just fattened up a little
and was hitting her sweet spot. Her physical reaction was immediate:
uncontrollable shivers took hold of her body as she began cumming in quick
succession.

  "Don' stop you muff'fug'ger--don' you fuggin' gud'dam stop," her eyes locked
onto mine she foamed at the mouth and struggled for breath.

  Jamie was studying me like a hungry she-wolf stalking her prey. The stream of
orgasms she was experiencing zoned her out from everything save getting
ram-fucked. She was getting turned-on by watching me getting turned-on by her
getting turned-on.

  This emotional merry-go-round subsided when I began to lag behind in my
thrusting. My balls ached for release and they were getting it. Jamie felt the
familiar event coming and relinquished her self-control.

  "Gawdfuckdammit!!!!" she hissed through clenched teeth as if she was injured.
She wasn't though. It was simply the first genuine orgasm she'd had in quite
some time. I felt her nails dig deeply and painfully into my neck where she
held me tight.

  It felt good enough that I slammed her one last time and came. I uttered a
hushed cry and ejaculated, our hips hemmed together by a near constant stream
of cum flowing from my body into hers. Jamie muffled my throes by kissing,
biting, and licking my lips, my cheeks, and my chin.

  "Uhng--mother--fucker," I emptied my balls like I hadn't in some time.

  I collapsed on top of her, exhausted from the physical exertion I just went
through. Talk about burning calories and having fun doing it. The last time I
had physically exerted myself this much was helping the Lychenkos move to
Indiana. Them and their goddamned second-rate Russian furniture. Jamie rolled
on top of me, her black hair now a sweaty, jumbled mess. She was squatting on
my still semi-hard, saran wrapped cock. We held hands as her C-cup breasts
swayed to and fro. I gently reached out with my focus and tickled her erect
nipples with a pleasurable tickle.

  "Oh--god--oh-god," Jamie's tongue lolled from her gaping mouth as she worked
herself up once more.

  "Come on baby," I hurled myself against her. "Do it. Cum on me. Let me taste
you."

  My dick was nearly flaccid, but thanks to a little telekinetic "enhancement"
it was all good. Jamie hardly knew the difference. She rode my psychokinetic
penis and was loving it.

  "Ungh--fuck!!!" Jamie finally cried out, but only briefly.

  Her legs tried to snapped shut but she was so spent already, she simply
buckled and collapsed on top of me in an exhausted heap. Jamie let out a
satisfied groan as she stretched herself out. I held her and gently massaged
her naked sweat-soaked body.

  "That. Was ...," Jamie licked her lips and brushed away some of her hair,
unable to finish the sentence.

  "Yeah," I kissed her. "Good."

  I guess so much of our blood went elsewhere, our minds were starved of oxygen
to conjugate complete sentences. Jamie caught her breath then propped her chin
on my chest.

  "Stanley? Still awake?" she grazed my face lightly as she studied me.

  "Yeah, how can I not be?" I laughed softly and patted her ass.

  "I want you again," Jamie whispered fiercely, "Can you?"

  I didn't want to, but with her body on top me, it was impossible for me to
decline.

  "Yeah sure," I panted, "Just gimme a minute okay?"

  "Okay," she said, "Don't make wait too long. I'm not letting you leave Vegas
before round two."

===============================================================================
  INTERLUDE -- BUYERS REMORSE 
===============================================================================

  "Round two" lasted maybe four minutes tops, but that was just on my end. For
Jamie, I mind-frigged her while alternately tickling her clit and her nipples
until she creamed all over my crotch and groin. Exhausted, spent, and having
experienced one of the most pleasurable nights she had in a long time, the
sultry Asian siren fell asleep almost instantly.

  As I watched her snooze, I cleaned up quietly. I found her bathrobe in the
restroom. I threw that, her cocktail dress, and my sports jacket over her
sleeping form. Having done so, I sat back, dressed in my slacks and shirt, and
mentally pinged Las Vegas. Bruneschi I found in the heart of the Strip, near
the casino where I was staying (and where, I presumed, Jamie worked). I hadn't
met Pincelli, but I only assumed now it would be a matter of time.

  How should I prepare? Could I even prepare? I wondered and worried, cursing
myself for doing what I did to bed this beautiful, highly-fuckable, high-class
Asian call-girl. I had already gotten in trouble with Janet and Rachelle when
they learned I was sleeping with the other, only luck (and Melanie's undying
loyalty) saved it from being a complete disaster.

  Now that Yu-Ching had grown up, I wasn't sure if she would be so forgiving.
Besides, Jamie had a kid. That was something Janet and I were trying to have.
I probably just sent a million potential little Stanleys and Janets to the Las
Vegas sewage and septic system in one heated night of passion. Wouldn't Janet
be ecstatic?

  And what of Shawn? She was going away for the next three years, and she could
easily find another boyfriend there. She did that before with Scott from the
paper back in high school. If Shawn got wind of this, even I couldn't predict
what she'd might do.

  And Viktoriya. I cringed inwardly. Any feeling or memory of Jamie that
crossed my mind she could probably pick out in a moment of weakness. Being
able to muster enough telekinetic strength to crush cars, "Vika" could
probably worm it out of me in less time for me to say it, the pulp me with a
thought. Strange as it was, I didn't fear her gift; I just feared losing her.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I found my hands had balled into fists. Goddamned
that was dumb of me.

  I felt the urge to do violence, destroy something annoying, like I habitually
did at the border. Scorpions, spiders, snakes, and even buzzing flies and
mosquitoes made great targets for me to practice my telekinesis. But I
couldn't. There were rules. There were regulations. And they state that
revelation wasn't an option in the invisible empire. It was a death sentence.
In any case, I had made my bed; now I had to lie in it.

===============================================================================
  INSTANT FAMILY -- JUST ADD BODY FLUID 
===============================================================================

  I woke up the next morning a little sore but otherwise fine and in time for
brunch. Jamie and her daughter took me to a nearby park after a late breakfast
at Scott's Pancake House.

  "I really want to thank you again," Jamie said, "I don't get much time with
her."

  "Don't mention it," I sat on the bench beside her in the dry Vegas heat.

  The three of us had on sunglasses and sun block. Jill even had a little white
hat on as she ran from one part of the playground to the other. To an outside
observer, we appeared to be a young couple with their daughter at the park.
The only thing that would've given it away (aside from the paperwork) was that
Jill had Eurasian features.

  "No really. Thank you Stanley," Jamie went on, "You've given me a wonderful
gift."

  "You're very welcome," I sipped my cup of tepid tap water, "Hey, I think
she's calling you."

  Jillian waved from the sandbox. We both waved back, with Jamie blowing a kiss
at her. She and I would talk, but the young mother's eyes never lost sight of
her cherished daughter. It didn't earnestly matter though. I now could sense
both of their presences anywhere in the world. If some low-life did something
uncivil to Jillian or Jamie, he would've signed his death warrant.

  "She'll be fine," Jamie's voice took an odd tone, "I'm more worried about
you."

  "Really?" I tried hard not to smile, but I did anyway, "I'm a big boy now."

  She laughed and leaned against me, her eyes still locked onto her daughter
playing in the sandbox.

  "You deliberately missed your flight Saturday, didn't you?"

  "Not exactly," I half-lied.

  "I've seen this before with --" Jamie lowered her volume a bit, "-- guys I've
dated. Some of 'em just can't let go. They wreck their lives, and for what?"

  "For love?" I hazarded a guess. I already knew what the other answers were. I
felt Jamie take my hand.

  "You're married Stanley," she whispered, "I can feel it. Did you take your
ring off when you came here?"

  I kept silent and wondered if I should tell her the whole truth (which would
leave me open to bigamy charges) or part of the truth (which would no doubt
piss her off once the real truth came out). Still, it wouldn't do to lead her
on. I was still deliberating when her phone rang. Jamie cursed under her
breath and I squeezed her shoulder.

  "I'll watch her," I said. "Take your call."

  "Thanks," Jamie gave me a quick peck on the cheek and turned away to take the
call, "Hello?"

  I sat quietly and tried to pay no heed to the conversation. I found it
unsettling how people were starting to talk so readily and easily on their
mobile phones. They rarely sought out physical privacy to complete their
calls.

  In a way, I thought wryly, Viktoriya and I were also guilty when we
thought-spoke; I was more liable to talk in public though since I switched
between thought-speech and audible 'normal' speaking often. But then again,
our "mind-chats" were completely silent. Unless a someone knew what we were
thinking (say Tseng was nearby and earnestly focused on eavesdropping) there
was no chance of our chat being broadcast for the world to hear.

  That was fortunate too. Viktoriya sometimes communicated the most vile and
impolite things via thought-speak, knowing that only I could hear them. Like
this one thing she said about Faraz (after having met him at his engagement
party) about how Arab and Turkish men were pretty much ...

  "Stanley?" Jamie's voice jerked me from my thoughts, "I gotta go. Joey says
he has something for me to do." I darkened inwardly at what it could be, but
said nothing to her. "Could I impose on you one last time? Would you be able
to watch Jillian just a little longer? What time's your flight?"

  "I'm always on stand-by remember?" I grinned, enjoying my time with her. "It
could be tomorrow morning for all I know."

  "God I'm awful," she hung her head.

  I put an arm around Jamie and pulled her close. I had been mulling over an
idea since I shared that cab with her. I didn't actually need all that money
from the casino. I could simply give some of it to her. It would help her out
immensely. If anything, bigger fish were waiting for me either on the US-Mex
border (or Central and South America, although most sensible people would say
jerking around with La Corporacion might've been going just a wee bit too
far).

  "Do you have to go?" I asked.

  "What do you mean 'do I have to'?" Jamie gave a sad little laugh. "It's a
living. And besides, he'd find me if I ran. Where would I go? How could I keep
Jill safe?"

  "What if you could start over?" I pressed, "New place. New city?"

  "I don't know where I'd go," she said matter-of-factly. "My mom and dad don't
want me."

  "But they know about Jill don't they?" I squeezed her shoulder. "Surely they
can't be all that bad."

  "Then you don't know my parents," Jamie sighed. "Look Stanley, you're a great
guy and I know you're just trying to help. But, it's all too complicated right
now, okay?"

  I sensed her frustration and her increasing unwillingness to cooperate. While
I guess I could've pressured her into doing what I wanted, that wasn't my way.
It took a lot of violence and physical toll (risking seizures and stroke) when
I did do mind control. Besides, the effects wouldn't be permanent or earnestly
genuine. That crooked pit-boss is probably regretting "his" decision to let me
go after my little mind-fuck.

  So, I relented, if only reluctantly. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'll do what I
can okay?"

  Jamie smiled and kissed me. "Thank you."

  I suppose it did eventually worked itself out, but it took some doing. Jamie
called for (and left in) on a cab from her apartment after giving Jillian a
hug and instructions to "listen to Uncle Stan", at least until I needed to
leave for the airport. I was still rankling over the thought I was being
called an uncle. I was too young to be anyone's uncle. Shit. It made me feel
old.

  Jamie left around mid-afternoon (around 3:30 to the best of my recollection)
after dolling herself up. It was hard, but I did my best not to notice and
played with Jill instead. As the sun started to set, I cooked what I thought
to be the last meal for Jamie in that apartment.

  I had made my decision about the money. I found an old gym bag with Jamie's
unmentionables (hehehe) and counted out $240,000 in usable bills. Hopefully,
they weren't trackable (they didn't appear to be when I took it from the
casino's office). With a little over four thousand dollars left, I squished
the bills into my wallet and pockets. Damn, I thought. I hate small bills.

  Jillian was watching TV and eating dinner when the phone rang in the
apartment. I didn't answer and watched as Jill simply put her hands over her
ears.

  "You don't answer the phone?" I asked.

  The little girl shook her head, "Mommy zays itzsh alwayz bad people. Mommy's
woe'bot duzz'it."

  Robot? I blinked and wondered what the hell that meant. The answering machine
clicked on after six rings and Jamie's breathy sultry voice came on: 'Hello,
you've reached Jamie at 555-2368. I'm unavailable at the moment. Please leave
your name and number and I'll get back to you. Bye!'

  BEEP.

  There was a brief silence then an unknown male voice spoke up, "Pick up the
phone Chen. Stan Chen, right? I know you're there. We need to talk."

  My mind went immediately into alert as I snatched the receiver from its
cradle.

  "This is he," I kept my voice measured and controlled despite my mounting
anxiety. "Who is this?"

  "Ah, so you're the guy Mark told me about," the voice on the other end had a
Bronx-like accent.

  "Who's Mark?" I asked.

  "Don't play dumb," said the unknown caller. I glanced down at the phone and
noticed the caller ID was blocked. "You've met Mark right? He was supposed to
have had a good time in Vegas for doing a good job. Instead, I get some kid
who's balls are bigger than his brains."

  Of course, I thought. It must've been that Marc Bruneschi character. Then
this guy on the phone must be ...

  "You must be Joey," I said without aplomb. Now I was worried. Was Jamie all
right?

  "So you've heard of me," the man on the other end said. "You should know I'm
a good businessman. Come to my place. Let's have a talk. Marc's just outside."

  "Where's Jamie?" I fired off a question before the phone went dead.

  Thankfully, I knew Jamie wasn't or else that buzz of hers would've vanished
from my mind as did Howard's years ago. I dimly sensed something though. Fear.
Stark, naked fear about Jill's safety. And a collateral fear came along as
well: my safety. I nearly sighed with relief, but I didn't. I needed a clear
head now. I put the phone back into the cradle and glanced at Jill. She was
watching me with curiosity in her eyes.

  "W'ere'z mommy?" she asked, "W'en iz zhee cummin' back?"

  "Mommy's in a little trouble," I said and wondered how much help I could get
from a five year old. "Listen to me Jill, do you know what 9-1-1 is?"

  Jill thought for a moment and replied brightly, "Copz!!"

  "Good." I gave her a reassuring grin despite the situation being anything
but. "Now, cops are good people, understand? If you see anyone come in to your
room or knock on the door who isn't me or mommy, you call 9-1-1, understand?"

  The little girl nodded slowly. I sensed she knew something really big was
happening, but she lacked the ability to comprehend exactly what.

  "Mommy's going to be all right," I assured her. "I'll be back with her in a
flash."

  I knew Jill wouldn't be tall enough to secure all the locks, so I did that
for her. Telekinesis snapped shut every lock in the place. Then remembering
how fond criminals were of using fire, I found the gas-line to Jamie's stove
and closed the valve.

  Now, unless someone actually firebombed her place with a molotov, Jill would
be relatively safe for the time being. When I stepped outside, I saw Marc
Bruneschi waiting for me across the street with his car.

===============================================================================
  DECISIONS, DECISIONS 
===============================================================================

  Thankfully, Jamie was okay. Me on the other hand ... I winced from the pain.
The blow had taken me by surprise chiefly because I was so shocked by Jamie's
disheveled state. While I operated objectively on the border with Tseng, I
hadn't had to worry about anyone else during an operation save myself. Now,
not only did I have to watch for Jamie, I had Jill to worry about once that
brute Bruneschi headed back out after he delivered me to Pincelli. I only
hoped the locks would hold (or the neighbors or Jill would call the police) if
he was caught entering the place.

  So now I was on the floor of a plush office in Pincelli's house, my gut still
churning from the blow. I quickly surveyed what I was facing as Pincelli
ranted and railed on. Aside from Joey and Jamie, there were three others in
the room. Interestingly, I had met them all before. They were the two toughs
and the pit-boss from the casino.

  The tough whom I had kicked across the face was the one standing over me with
a heavy magnum. I sensed he was itching to use it, but hesitated only because
it would make a very bloody mess in the room. He had a neck brace on but that
wouldn't hamper him from killing me. The other two were the pit-boss and the
giant tough who I remembered was called Warren. Warren was standing next to a
Jamie as she huddled fearfully in a swivel chair.

  "So you thought you could cheat me?" Pincelli swung a wooden croquet mallet
around like a toy, "Start messing with my business?"

  "I thought he told you," I grimaced and rubbed my aching gut. "I wouldn't
bother with your casino again."

  I tried to get back up, but the tough standing over me only permitted me to
kneel.

  "That's what I'm trying to figure out," Pincelli glanced at the pit-boss,
"Bruno here has been running the pit since before my time. He'd never get far
by paying shitbags like you off."

  I sensed Pincelli's paranoia and decided to play into it. "Maybe he's in on
it with me."

  "Bruno?" the mafioso's gaze quickly made the pit-boss nervous and Warren step
a bit from him.

  "It wasn't me Joey," the pit-boss called Bruno pointed his gnarled finger at
me, "He's one of those stage magicians or sum'thin. Hypnotized me and shit. I
swear t'God Joey; I'd never do you wrong."

  "No. No you didn't," Pincelli nodded, "Otherwise you'd be wise to get outta
town."

  "Thanks boss," the pit-boss was visibly relieved.

  "As for this sack of shit," Pincelli pointed his hammer at me, "You're going
to skip town and you'd better not show your face in my place again."

  I nodded mutely. I already had Pincelli and his goons targeted mentally but I
kept my eyes on Jamie. The girl was terrified at what might happen, but there
wasn't anything I could to comfort her without compromising our safety. I
needed all of my concentration and I hoped by simply keeping my physical gaze
on Jamie, it'd give her some measure of comfort. Unfortunately, Pincelli
caught my even gaze and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

  "You fucking whore!" he shook her in a rage, "Did he fuck your brains out?
You can't follow simple orders?!"

  "Stop! Joey stop!!" Jamie cried, "You're hurting me!!"

  "Damn straight I am!" Pincelli struck her across the face, "Just lie there
and fuck! Is that too hard?! Do I have to start fresh with your bitch
daughter?"

  I stifled the urge to rise; the tough in the neck brace would likely bring
his gun down on my head. I didn't need that. If anything, I needed my mind
intact more than ever now. It was my weapon. My best weapon. My only weapon.
Shit. I was the weapon. I realized now why Tseng didn't bother with any
hardware.

  "Don't hurt her! I'm sorry!! Don't hurt her! I'm sorry!!" Jamie repeated as
she broke down before him.

  Pincelli stood over her with a triumphant look on his sick face. Somehow, he
reminded me of one bandito boss in Tecate who loved his tequila and was always
a braggart. After each unbelievable story, he'd sit back with the same dipshit
grin of inadequacy that Joey Pincelli now wore. When Tseng and I hit that
bandito base a few days later, I had to personally chase down that lying
scumbag and kill him myself, because for all his big talk, he seldom carried a
gun (and thus was useless for the plan we used). I chuckled at the similarity,
then I started cracking up, laughing until I was short on breath. The little
mafioso and the others thought I'd gone nuts.

  "Th'hell are you laughing at?" Pincelli asked.

  It took me a bit to get under control, but I decided to push my luck. I knew
only Pincelli or I would get out of this alive. Since I had a personal
interest in living, I preferred it to be me walking out the door.

  "Nothing," I said casually, "Your face just reminded of something."

  "Oh yeah?" Pincelli's mouth twitched. I sensed he knew he wasn't a handsome
man, but he was still sensitive about his looks.

  "Yeah," I shrugged, "But nevermind that."

  "No, no, tell me," the leather-faced mafioso bent over so his face was next
to mine, "What do I remind you of?"

  "No one special." I snickered. "Just this kid I saw at your shitty buffet,
Joey."

  The room became eerily quiet as I continued. "See, most greasy Dago wops like
you know a decent meal, but judging from the crap you're serving, it's like
you really cut corners and was just serving shit from your mother's own ass.
The kid was about to throw-up." I could see the pit-boss make the sign of the
cross as I went on. "So what'd you do with your mother? Dig her up and milk
the bitch for her formaldehyde laden piss too? Your casino's coffee sure
tastes like it."

  Pincelli's expression would've been humorous had I not known that he intended
to kill me right there.

  "You fucking son of a --!" he drew back his hammer and everything happened
almost at once.

  Here's another pro-tip: never fuck with a telepath. I had planned on doing
some mayhem alone, but Jamie changed that. She suddenly lunged and grabbed
Pincelli's arm. Had I not been able to sense that mere moments before, things
probably would've wound up a lot messier. Instead, I quickly adapted and
changed my plan of attack.

  The tough with the twisted neck was key; I pushed his arm up with telekinesis
and pulled the trigger. The pit-boss's eyes were in disbelief as he was
attacked again by one his own crew. This time though, he wasn't able to mull
over it afterwards; he died instantly when the magnum bullet blew his brains
out all over the wall.

  "Fuck!" the neck-brace tough exclaimed in surprise as I stood back up.

  He found he couldn't control his arm as I swung it over to Warren, who was
initially going to restrain Jamie when the pit-boss's head suddenly exploded.
I had to admire his professionalism. His surprise only lasted a micro-second
as he reached for his own weapon. He didn't get it out in time when I had
pressed the big magnum's trigger again and blew his brains out as well.

  By now the tough with the neck-brace knew that I was somehow involved. He
reached for me with his other hand to try and choke or grapple me. I knew he
was thinking about it before he hand had covered half the distance. I dropped
my focus from the thug's gun arm and he found he could aim his weapon again.
It didn't matter though. I concentrated my telekinesis and slipped past his
face, eyes, and portions of his nasal cavity. I placed an ungodly amount of
pressure on his cervical vertebrae. He collapsed dead, leaving me, Pincelli,
and Jamie as the only ones alive in the room.

  Things had apparently happened so fast, Pincelli didn't realize what was
going on until he saw Warren's head explode. He then knew that I had either
disarmed someone or pulled out a weapon on my own. He pulled Jamie off by her
hair, and I heard her shriek in despair. Pincelli turned just in time to meet
my fist.

  Of course, there wasn't any "real" contact. I was leaving behind a pretty big
forensics trail already. Had I brass knuckles, I would've used them and
ditched them in a sewer. But I didn't need any physical implement; I shrouded
my hand with a telekinetic shroud. My "punch" threw Pincelli back with great
force. He fell back and his head slammed against the side of his desk in a wet
crunch. He wasn't dead but this was practically an invitation.

  I found where his neck was broken and brought down an invisible concentration
of telekinetic force. Joey Pincelli didn't even have time to register surprise
before I snapped his neck. I looked around at the carnage. In less time than
it took for a second hand to go 'round a clock's face, I had neutralized four
hostiles at knife-point range.

  Impressive, I scratched my ear. That's what Tseng probably would've said if
he'd been here. Too bad that this was now my mess, and I was not in a
lawless land.

===============================================================================
  LEAVING LAS VEGAS 
===============================================================================

  Jamie wouldn't stop shaking until I got her out of the house. Thankfully the
servants had all left before she was brought in. I knew Pincelli didn't want
his business advertised or witnessed. This meant I didn't have to neutralize
any more people. I was about to call the police when Jamie screamed for me to
stop.

  "Joey's with the mob!" she was terrified, "Who knows what'll happen with the
cops?! They'll take Jill away from me!"

  Although it was wrong of me, I did understand how portions of the bureaucracy
worked. While social services back then wouldn't have taken Jillian away from
Jamie's custody (as they would now) there were other issues at risk, like how
I was able to kill four armed men at close quarters without a whit of official
training.

  I held Jamie while she bawled and clawed on my jacket (I had to get it
dry-cleaned later). Her former boss and his henchmen were splayed in death all
around us. The route I went with was legally wrong at the time. Still, I
didn't feel bound my traditional 'normal' law. I was an empire citizen and I
defended myself. So I did things my way.

  I couldn't hail a cab, not with Jamie looking the way she did, so I found and
took the spare keys to one of Pincelli's cars. I packed Jamie inside a leather
lined luxury sedan, drove down about 100 feet and stopped.

  "Just wait," I said.

  "Stanley! Don't leave me!!" she grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go.

  "I've got to take care of something," I pushed her away gently. "Just stay
put. I'll be back, I promise."

  Pincelli's place was secluded enough that gunfire didn't draw attention. The
isolated location, coupled with the use sound-proofing in the office helped
dampen loud noises. Once out of Jamie's sight, I TK-skated back to his place
and sealed shut all the openings I could find, all but one. In order to create
an explosion, I needed to create a proper mixture of natural gas and air. I
felt around the place with my mind and found the gas lines; my telekinesis
easily severed them.

  I found the wire to the door chime's buzzer and frayed it. Pincelli's alarm
system had been disabled and he had no cameras (being old mafia, I think he
knew what that would've meant). I wiped down the wooden croquet mallet with
some toilet paper, threw the wipes into the toilet bowl, and flushed it by
pressing the lever with telekinesis. The place was rapidly filling with gas as
I left. I went back to the car and found her on the phone.

  "Jamie?" I hopped into the car, "Who're you calling?"

  "Home," she said. "I need to know Jill is safe."

  "I don't think that's a good idea," I cautioned. "You know that Joey's
enforcer was on his way there? And I thought Jill didn't answer the phone."

  "She does if it's me," Jamie looked at me with worry. "She was there when
Joey called, wasn't she?"

  "You call your answering machine a robot." I managed a lop-sided smile. "I
never thought of it that way."

  She let out a sad, whimpering laugh as I closed my hands over both of hers
and calmed her. I telekinetically pushed her phone's buttons and hung up her
call.

  "Nothing will happen to her," I said. "I locked the place up as best I could.
Jill knows what 9-1-1 is. She'll dial if she's in trouble."

  I mind-pinged Bruneschi and Jillian at the same time, to make sure what I
said was true. Both were alive, although both were in close proximity to one
another. He was likely just staking the place out once he figured he couldn't
break in. No wait; not exactly. I rummaged through the enforcer's conscious
thoughts. He was to watch and make sure no one went in until Pincelli called
back. That was going to be mildly annoying.

  "No police," Jamie tearful pleading brought me back to reality. "They won't
do shit against Joey's people!"

  "Easy there baby girl," I started the car. "I'll take care of it."

  "What do you mean by that?" she stared at me accusingly. "And what happened
back there?"

  "The gun from the guy behind me went off," I lied. "He fired twice at the
right people; right for me."

  "Dear God," Jamie swallowed. "Y--you know martial arts?"

  "Something like that." I wanted her to think she had contributed something
positive, so I lied a little. "Lucky you grabbed Joey's hammer and distracted
them. You saved my life."

  "Nonsense," she mumbled and slumped into her seat, tired and broken.

  Her beautiful features had been marred. She sported angry bruises on her face
and a bleeding lip from where Pincelli had hit her. She winced when I gently
grazed her face.

  "I better get you to a hospital," I turned my attention back to the road.

  "I'm not leaving Jill goddammit," Jamie's anger was apparent. "Do you
understand me?!"

  I was mildly apprehensive. I'd never shown off my abilities in telekinesis
except with Viktoriya or in secret. Jamie was literally in the room when I
started using my gift to do carnage. Of course, she was distracted at the time
so she didn't really see what happened. However, just the fact that someone
like myself walked out from a such a violent encounter unscathed and
victorious would inevitably lead to her asking some hard questions. I had to
be careful but let Jamie get her way. After all, it was her kid.

  "All right," I relented. "But you do things my way, got it? At least until
you're safe."

  "Thank you, Stanley," Jamie said finally and put her hand on my thigh.

  As we neared her place, I pinged the area. Devoting just a little more
concentration, I got more details about my subjects. Jillian was still inside
the apartment, drawing on some coloring books I had bought for her. I felt an
immediate sense of relief which quickly soured. Heck, this wasn't my kid.
Ought I be that concerned?

  Bruneschi was not across the street, but rather parked down a side street
where he could watch who pulled up to Jamie's place. I made a slight detour
and drove up to the apartment the opposite side of the street so he could only
glimpse Jamie in the passenger seat. I stopped, put the car in PARK, and
glanced at the young woman.

  "Okay girl," I patted her bare knee, "You walk across the street to your
place, got it? He'll see you and I'll take care of the rest. You go inside,
don't look back, and you start packing, okay? We leave in 30 minutes."

  Jamie nodded and about to kiss me when I shook my head.

  "Later. You're hurt," I handed her my jacket to cover her up. "Go on now."

  She slipped out of the car and walked shakily back to her apartment. Almost
as an after-thought, I undid the one lock on the apartment door I remembered
no 'normal' would be able to operate from the outside. It was the same method
I used to secure my storage space that held all those guns and ammo.

  I zeroed in on where Bruneschi was. He lit up when he saw Jamie come out of
our sedan. He had his suspicions but assumed that the job was done. As he went
to reach for his phone, I shifted my focus onto what he could see. It was very
similar to Bethany's gift, but done my way. I got out of the car and appeared
exactly like Joey Pincelli (except in my clothes) and walked towards
Bruneschi's car. I saw the enforcer blink once or twice before he gave signs
of recognition. I walked up to the side of his window, careful not to place my
bare hands on his car or person.

  I had heard Pincelli speak; I could mimic him from memory. Aside from
maintaining the "look" of Pincelli's face for Bruneschi's benefit, I devoted a
small part of my effort to fool him into "hearing" the late Joey Pincelli when
I spoke.

  "Head back to the house," I kept my words simple, afraid that any slip would
give me away.

  "You take care of things Joey?" Marc looked unhappy, "Imagine a fella like me
gettin' gypped by a slut for a shrimp that size. Bet you his prick is as small
as he was."

  I suppose I could've done something rash, but Bruneschi became part of my
plan as I plotted on how to escape with my skin (and Jamie's) unscathed and
untouched by the law.

  "Ring the doorbell when you're back," I said in my Pincelli voice. "I've got
a surprise for ya."

  Bruneschi arched a brow, saw my "Pincelli-face" smile, and he grinned.

  "Thanks Joey," the enforcer started up and drove off.

  I smiled as I caught the image in his mind; a vague, feminine shape, or maybe
two, I wasn't too sure. It took Jamie and me about 45 minutes to drive from
Pincelli's place at the posted speed limit (it's incredible what one pays
attention to when riding as a hostage). Assuming Bruneschi drove a little
faster, I hoped the 30 minutes I gave Jamie was just what we needed. I headed
into Jamie's without my illusory face and packed faster than I had ever had
before.

===============================================================================
  INTERLUDE -- THE SIXTH DARLING 
===============================================================================

  After Pincelli's "accident", the casino was bought up and refurbished by
someone in the "new" mob, a good businessman who didn't try to cheat their
customers with the rough stuff. I felt Bruneschi's mental presence dim moments
after he rang the doorbell at Pincelli's; I didn't know the details of how he
met his end until Tseng confronted me about it.

  Naturally, the FBI and Vegas police were curious as to how Pincelli and his
close acquaintances died. With the curious display of bodies and bloodshed at
the house, the police surmised that something had gone wrong between Pincelli
and someone else. Knowing the little greaseball's temper, conspiracy theories
abounded from a mob hit to some unknown rival. For a time, even Bruneschi was
suspected, and him ringing the doorbell later was a failed attempt to cover up
his tracks.

  Regardless, nothing tied back to me because I left no prints at the mobster's
house nor did I leave any large deposit of biological residue. And while Jamie
had left her prints over some parts of the room, Pincelli's office was
actually heavily trafficked by other girls as well. All in all, it was a
matter I thought I could dismiss. How wrong I was (but more on that later). In
any case, I had more important things to worry about. Jamie and Jillian needed
a place to go and I was heading back home. I took them along, if just for safe
keeping. It took half a day for us to drive to San Francisco.

  As a precaution, I had stolen a Nevada license plate from a nearby car in
Jamie's old neighborhood and fastened it to Pincelli's sedan. The old plates I
unscrewed and absconded with; they're still rusting in the Pacific (along with
the car). I altered the VIN with careful telekinetic scratches: a five becomes
an eight easily and so forth. I wasn't aiming to get stopped, of course. It
was all just a precaution.

  The initial few weeks required a little adjustment on my part; all of it
seemed surreal to a point. Despite the carnage, Jamie never brought up
Pincelli and that incident ever again in the household. Both mother and
daughter took the transition better than I expected, but I made a few changes
in my already busy schedule. While I had experience seeing girls on the side,
I wasn't used to actually keeping another woman and her kid while planning for
my own wedding to four other women.

  Even I had to admit that felt a little weird. Jamie wasn't exceptionally
furious, nor was she too accepting when she first learned about Janet. She
became more leery though, by the time I finished explaining about Melanie (I
had introduced them in order of age: Janet, Viktoriya, etc. and not by order
of how I met each).

  "How old is she again?" Jamie clutched at her evening coffee; beyond the
motel room windows, the ocean was a slash of white foam. As good a setting as
any to sort things out. I blinked and did some calculations.

  "Eighteen and a half."

  "Good god," she shook her head. "And I thought I was young when I lost my
virginity. You know I was 20 when I had Jill right?"

  "Well, Yu-Ching hasn't brought that up yet," I studied her quietly. "So,
don't go putting any ideas in her head."

  "I won't," Jamie signed a cross across her breast. "So what now? Do you want
to keep seeing me?"

  "Yes. But would you want me to?"

  I was probably being a bit too forthcoming and earnest. Personally, I didn't
mind but I knew I was playing with fire. I had known this woman for a total of
about five days (including the time we spent together at school all those
years ago). I had known Viktoriya (my last darling) for five years and we
still had our differences. What chance was there with this relationship?

  "I wouldn't mind," she gave a demure reply.

  "I'm glad then." I grinned and touched fingers with her to "nudge" that
decision along; it wasn't 100 percent fool-proof. She could still refuse me
later.

  "Now Stanley, I want to be clear on something. While I appreciate all you've
done," Jamie said slowly, "Jill still comes first. I've got to get my life
back together too."

  "Gotcha." I nodded in agreement. It was the sensible answer for her to give
me, but I felt her desire to remain in my domain. As "The Family Guy's" Glen
Quagmire would say, 'O-right!'

  I stood to refill my own glass with tap water and added, "Look Jamie, you've
got my number and enough to live on for a while. I'll find you an apartment,
and maybe you can get your parents to watch Jill so you can go back to
school."

  "I don't want them around my daughter," she sighed and gripped her warm brew.
Her hands were shrouded by the sleeves of her ivory cardigan sweater to
protect her from the city's chilly weather.

  "Are you sure about that?" I asked as I sat back down. "They are her
grandparents."

  "And what do I tell them?" Jamie looked at me sadly, "The guy who fathered
her isn't around anymore?"

  "Are you afraid they won't accept her?" I touched her hand, "I don't know
about that. You haven't asked yet have you?"

  Her gaze fell to the floor as I skimmed her mind. I guess that's a 'No', I
thought.

  "Well in any case," I gave her a gentle squeeze, "You need to get some new
papers for Jill. Just in case Joey's people are looking for you. Have you
considered Y-E-U-N-G, Y-I-A-N-G, or Y-U-N-G?"

  [** Author's Note: Jamie's last name 'Young' is a rough Anglicization of
'sheep' (the animal) which serves as her surname. With clever substitution of
English vowels, she could keep her surname (not like the mob could read
Chinese back then anyway) and can throw off records searches from private
investigators. This is the same process where by Chinese restaurants change
their Chinese names, but retain their English names; this allows them to avoid
paying extra business fees to the city.]

  "Yeah." Jamie nodded and smiled. "I've been meaning to talk to you about
that."

  "Have you now?" I grinned. "Lay it on me sister."

  "I want to change her name to Jill Chen," she murmured.

  "But that's my name."

  "I know," she said. "Would you be offended?"

  "No." I gave her hand another pat and smiled.

  "If you need a reason," she started but I hushed her with a gentle squeeze.

  She sure did have a reason, I thought. Two hundred and forty thousand of
them. I had given Jamie most of the money I had won (fine -- 'acquired') from
Pincelli's casino. I touched her cheek. She had healed from most of the
injuries sustained in Vegas, although a small cut was still on her lip. Most
of the bruising was gone as well; only a small yellow tinge was left were the
most severe bruising occurred.

  "I'm fine with it," I nodded, "But what about you?"

  "I guess Yang is fine," she said, "It's uncomplicated. Like me."

  "No, you're pretty complicated," I gave her a reassuring wink, "That's why it
took you a while to sort things out."

  "Do you always flatter with that tongue of yours?" Jamie laughed.

  "Sometimes," I gave her a sly smile. "It has other uses as well."

  "You a playa' boy!" she wore a I-know-what-you-want smirk. "I bet you're the
toast of your little women's group."

  "Speaking of," I stood to leave, "I better go. It's getting late."

  "Hey, don't be a stranger," Jamie stood up and hugged me. She whispered into
my ear, "And if you ever get bored or horny, just hit me up. I might just be
in the mood."

  "Really?" I drew back and looked at her. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah," the Asian beauty nodded quickly, "I want you fucking me from now on
Stanley. Not some goddamn vibrator."

  "You kiss Jill with that mouth?" I squeezed her ass.

  "Sometimes," she parroted me. "It has other uses as well."

  "It sure does, sister." I grinned and kissed her gently.

  Shit. I just opened up another avenue of "ying-chou". Growing up, my mother
would frequently use that phrase when ever she would have to put up with my
father's family or some other work bullshit (she worked as a clerk in a
Federal building much like my father but in a different department of the
Federal government).

  This phrase (as to the best of my knowledge, neither Janet nor Melanie have
corrected me yet) meant something along the lines of "obligation". It didn't
matter what it was (or whom you were obligated to). It covered the social and
professional settings (although in my household, it was principally used in
the social context).

  With Jamie now, we had some sort of relationship and it wasn't just going to
go away. She knew I killed those men, but it was in self-defence. In a way, I
owed her a great deal more (she could've just gone to the police). Now though,
it was like I had came out from nowhere and swept her off her feet. I felt the
delirium in our sudden passion and personally feared it wouldn't last. Still,
there were practical concerns to worry about. Unlike my cousin Aurora, Jamie
had no support apart from me.

  Speaking of support and networking, a lot of it changed for me as well. Back
in younger school days, I had socialized a a bit. In college, I had limited
engagement with others outside of my area of study. Once I started working at
Ferguson, I only fraternized with my lovelies and seldom with my colleagues.
Seeing me do that, Janet began to egg, goad, or otherwise cajole me into
stepping a little out of my comfort zone to engage socially (not sexually)
with people at her firm and their circle of friends.

  Hence, I was besieged with obligations from all sides. I didn't mind Janet's
demand on my time but my darling Lady Wu seemed to have found her own way of
monopolizing my attention. Where Melanie would pull me away from the crowd so
she could jump my bones, Janet seemed eager to engage with others, parading me
around like a trophy cock. With Shawn in Tokyo and Viktoriya in New York, I
didn't have many excuses (or friends; Faraz had moved to New York after the
wedding) to use as an excuse to be with Jamie.

  Regardless of Jamie's lenient invitation into her life, I had developed a
paternal affection for Jill. I didn't want Jamie simply for networking; I
wanted the mother for myself and help raise her daughter. In some ways, I felt
a kindred sympathy with Mr. Chen (Melanie's father, not mine); I imagined
how'd I feel if some boy around nine or ten who took Jill and did things to
her that I had with Melanie.

  Shit, I thought. I would've been pissed off too. Jillian was a fairly bright
and precocious girl. She was inquisitive (most five year olds are) and my
timing was just right; had she been raised solely by Jamie, I doubt she
would've turned out the way she did.

  A few weeks after we left Las Vegas, mother and daughter were living in an
apartment close to the 43rd Avenue site; one of the tenants of the building I
bought had suggested the new place he was at. Back in 2000, a single bedroom,
single bathroom apartment in the city went for about $1000 per month. If Jamie
stayed there for six years, she'd shell out $72,000 (assuming rent didn't go
up, which it eventually did).

  Jamie and I both knew she had to work or, as I recommended, go back to
school. Enrolling Jillian into school wasn't a problem (had Jamie done so in
Las Vegas, it would've harder to erase the paper trail). But in any case, Jill
needed a sitter or a nanny. I couldn't watch her without seriously cutting
into my own schedule (or alerting my parents that their son was becoming a
polygamist). There was only one solution (it was the one I suggested earlier):
Jamie reconciled with her parents.

  It was awkward, frustrating, and things nearly got out of hand. But thanks to
some persuasive words, I smoothed things out as much as possible and got the
ball rolling.

  The obvious question was: 'Who the hell was I?' For that, even I had no
answer but Jamie, bless her quick thinking, said I was an old boyfriend and
classmate. I was the hypothetical guy she met "after Howard but before Daniel"
(whom I guessed was Jill's biological father). Mr. and Mrs. Young (the latter
looked okay, if a little stern) were suspicious, condescending, and downright
mean.

  I didn't blame Jamie for wanting to cut them out of her life. They even
threatened to take custody of Jill, raising their voices and using some gutter
filth right from the back alleys near Victoria Harbor. They stopped as soon as
I threatened them with a little lawyer-talk.

  "Yeung-sang," I snapped. "Yi-guo hei li-ge shieun-lui. Hei-kui liang molui-ge
mien-tsin, lei teiju lei-ba jui*." [* Cantonese: Mr. Young, this is your
granddaughter; watch your mouth in her, and her mother's, presence.]

  I went on to explain that under no specific terms would they have a case:
Jamie was self-sufficient for now and she could take care of Jill on a
reasonable basis if certain things were stretched; Jamie was asking for their
support and assistance so she could get back on her feet quickly.

  "Yu-guo li-ngm hung bong-zuo butkwuo kaow-hey di-xi," I flicked out Janet's
business card smoothly. "Li-gew lige lyutxi tung woge lyutxi king-gei*." [*
Cantonese: If you're unwilling to help out and just want to cause trouble,
have your lawyer call my lawyer.]

  I had to admit, it was a gutsy (and risky) bluff on my part. Janet did not
specialize in family custody law. Not only would she not have known where to
begin (although she'd know who to contact) but she'd probably blow her top to
learn that I had been porking another girl on the side. However, the Youngs
were cowed enough by a sharp-dressed Chinese gent who spoke with clear,
concise authority. When they finally agreed to help Jamie, she nearly fainted
with relief. I helped her to a chair as I scanned them for sincerity behind
her parents' answers.

  No tricks. No lies. And most of all, no expensive custody battle. I relaxed a
bit. Well, it wasn't like they'd win their case anyway. I would've made sure
of it. Never mess with a telepath.

  We spent an hour or so at the Young's house. Jill learned how to address her
grandparents (kung-kung and por-por) and even learned a few words of Cantonese
while she was at it. I sensed Jamie's father and mother had both calmed down
as Jill made it evident she bore the two no ill will. What strain had existed
between Jamie and her parents wasn't present with little Jill and her
grandparents.

  So it was great pride that I and Jamie enrolled her daughter into the
elementary school that had been Andrew's and Melanie's so many years ago. My
Asian angel enrolled herself at the local community college, aiming to pick up
computer, networking, and information technology (IT) skills in hopes of
earning a living at a trade that didn't depend solely on her physical
appearance.

  I was more than happy to help out, buying her a new desktop and laptop. I
even took an extra step in enlisting some help. Cautiously, I introduced Jamie
to Melanie (who, despite her gravitation towards cooking, lent herself to
learning a lot more about computers than I). I dared to gamble my little
darling could help out in more ways than one.

  Thankfully, mellow little Melanie caught on quick. She gave me a disapproving
look, but went on about it as if it were none of her business. I guess my
little darling sensed something I couldn't, or that she knew I was set in
pursuing Jamie; however she'd complain, there'd be no dissuading me from going
for it. At one point, Melanie did voice her opinion about the whole thing.

  "Jamie is very sad Stanley; I really wish I could cheer her up as only Shawn
Ellen could."

  "Could you do that for me?" I asked, not expecting a sincere answer.

  "No!"

  I glanced at her with a puzzled look.

  "Her happiness, sweetie," Yu-Ching had mimicked many of Jan's endearments for
me, "is in pleasing you, you'd then take care of her daughter; I don't think
that's right."

  "Well, she is a mother," I reminded her. "Jillian comes first."

  "But Jamie has feelings too!" Melanie stood up in a huff. She and I spoke no
more about it until much later.

===============================================================================
  BALLIN' THE OLD BALL N' CHAIN 
===============================================================================

  Although she was affectionate and loving towards Melanie (and tolerated
Shawn, who demurred to my First most of the time) Janet did feel she needed
some quality "us" time. Thanksgiving provided that opportunity. Her parents
were out to Reno-Sparks again for another gambling excursion so my First
insisted that I stay at her place for a little while. With the two extra days
of Thanksgiving appended to the normal weekend, Janet had the house pretty
much to herself for four whole days.

  "Imagine that. Four whole days of 'you-know-what'," she pawed my crotch as
she passed me her spare keys.

  So it was with some reluctance that I planned an "early" Thanksgiving dinner
with Jamie and Jill on Halloween (right after taking Jill on her first
trick-or-treat). I also had to go to more "early"  Thanksgivings with my own
family, Janet's family, and Melanie's family (one a week, whatta month). Since
it was all a big ass smorgasbord, I didn't even bother cooking for the whole
of November; I could subsist on the left-overs alone.

  Janet lived in the Parkside district at El Mirasol Place. The district was on
the other side of Golden Gate Park (south of Sunset) from where Melanie and I
lived. I rode the street car (a fancy name for an urban tram) from the
financial district to West Portal (a commerce district serving snobby home
owners nearby). From there, I transferred to a motor coach which ran between
from West Portal towards the city zoo and beach; Janet's old house was
somewhere in between.

  "Honey, I'm home," I parroted the stereotypical American husband as I stepped
inside.

  "You're late." Janet was dressed only in a towel, her bare feet leaving a
soft imprint on the lush, white carpet.

  "Sorry," I apologized, "Since I'm going to be away this weekend, I wanted to
finish up some drawings for a wind-plant in Sacramento."

  "Fascinating," Janet sounded anything but as she dressed. "Whaddaya feel like
for dinner?"

  "Anything goes I guess," I yawned and headed to the washroom to scrub my
hands. "Did you want to eat in?"

  "Ugh, god no." We both chuckled at that.

  "Besides, Xieu Ching's not here to cook," my First came out dressed for a
casual night on the town. "You'll have to spoil yourself tonight Stanley."

  "Wanna go see what's still open at West Portal?" I asked.

  "Yes!" Janet grinned and pulled me towards the door.

  West Portal (if you want to visit) lies a few blocks east where U.S. Highway
101 meets Sloat Boulevard. US-101 is the highway that runs north-south from
the Golden Gate Bridge down the San Francisco Peninsula past Palo Alto (where
Stanford University is) and through San Jose at the southern tip of the Bay
Area region and from there all the way to San Diego near the US-Mex border.

  Hence, it could have become quite crowded if more travelers knew about it. It
was quite popular with some of the college crowd and the Bohemian set,
although there was enough gentrification that the place wasn't as "zsapp"* [*
Cantonese: Socially cosmopolitan and Bohemian, but with negative overtones] as
the Haight-Ashbury. The place was more like New York City's East Village than
anything else, only quiet and unassuming and filled with a large number of old
people.

  Janet and I ate at a quaint little bistro and chatted amicably (and lightly)
about work, the house, and up and coming social engagements. To me, it seemed
someone was getting married or popping out a kid every other week or so. I was
getting dizzy trying to remember all those dates. I supposed that's why Janet
used a Palm (or a Blackberry) I forget which. I was glad I hadn't bought one
myself; anything I needed to do for work was on my desktop and Jazz discs
(though I was migrating most of my crap to external hard drives around that
time). I still used Post-It notes on a wall calendar to keep appointments with
my contractors.

  My Lady Wu refrained from discussing politics and religion. She understood my
personal ambivalence about that stuff. We spoke of practical matters and stuck
with it. After dinner, we strolled over to the lone theater and watched The
Matrix. Although it had been released last year, I had been so busy I had
missed it. That, and the fact I didn't care too much for sitting on my ass,
were contributing factors for me missing a piece of American culture.

  I thought the effects were pretty neat, although the directors clearly had
little grasp of the practical effects of actual gunplay. I nearly laughed out
loud watching some of the more ridiculous scenes in movie (the rooftop battle
comes to mind). If life imitated art, I thought with amusement, I could dress
up like a wannabe Goth 'tard and sail through life mumbling cryptic,
nonsensical claptrap.

  Despite the movie being typical "guy" faire, Janet jumped several times; like
me, she had been too busy to go out, so it was her first time as well. I felt
her excitement in the darkness of the theater. I suppose the movie was
suspenseful at some times. I hadn't taken her to see horror films (I can't
abide them myself) or a good suspenseful one for some time. I suppose I had
all the excitement I needed with agency work.

  "Stanley?" I felt Janet's nails scratching my hand.

  "What is it, hun?" I whispered.

  "Movie's over," she said. "Let's get outta here."

  I blinked. I was so lost in thought I had missed the ending. I never knew
what happened to Keanu Reeves' Neo (not that I cared) until Melanie grabbed a
BitTorrent of The Matrix for me a few years later. As we stepped out of the
theater, I felt a tingling feeling. It felt almost like a premonition or a
warning. I cast out the surrounding thoughts and zeroed in on the oddity:
'Injure.' 'Hurt.' 'Kill. Shoot to kill.' 'Revenge.' 'Revenge for Sin Titulo.'

  I spotted the car and three people inside. Two were armed with guns. Their
car hadn't started moving, not yet. I wondered how long they'd been waiting
for us. For me! My heart skipped a beat. If they knew who I was, then they
must've followed me from Janet's place!

  I didn't devote time trying to solve the mystery yet. I had more pressing
concerns at the moment. I couldn't pull Janet back into the theater without
scaring her, nor did I want to push her to the ground. Instead, I pitched her
over and kissed her fully on the lips, using a parked car's engine block to
shield our bodies.

  Someone whooped in the background and Janet gave a surprised gasp; however, I
was too mentally occupied to care. I reached out with telekinesis and pulled
the spark plug wires out from the car under the hood. I quickly shifted focus
and began feeling over their weapons: a TEC-9 and a Glock. The TEC-9 was easy:
the magazine was metal, so I crimped the top flange (stopping the feed). The
Glock's magazine was polymer, which made it a little more resistant to
tampering.

  I didn't regret my decision because I didn't have much of a choice. I pushed
the arm of the TEC-9's user (he was in the back seat) to the head of their
getaway driver and pulled the trigger. The single loaded round blew the brains
out of the kid all over the windshield.

  The loud sound of the gunshot was only rivaled by the screaming of a
bystander who saw the two gang-bangers shouting and screaming, and trying (and
failing) to start their car. They ditched as soon as they realized the car
wouldn't start. As luck would have it, a passing police cruiser (it was a rich
neighborhood) immediately hit its lights and the two uniformed cops nabbed the
gang members.

  "What's going on?" Janet mumbled when she heard the loud bang, shouting, and
sirens.

  I was so fixated on the situation in my mind, I wasn't aware of our physical
stances. I glanced at her and gave her a reassuring grin.

  "I don't know," I lied and pulled her back upright.

  "Looks like a robbery gone bad," Janet said as she tugged me. "C'mon,
Stanley. Let's go."

  "Yeah. Sure."

  I knew better. The gang-bangers had gotten wind of me and my identity from a
cop. I shocked that I knew his face just from the surface memories: Detective
Jacob Waters. By the time we got back to Jan's house, I was really worked up
from the attempted assault and nearly forgot why I was staying with her that
particular weekend. It was bad enough that these gang-bangers knew who I was,
they seemed to have found Janet's address as well.

  That was unacceptable. I was so angry, I nearly crushed the showerhead in
Janet's bathroom. Cox had warned off Waters earlier and I thought that was it.
If the cop was going to play hard ball, then I was game. I began fantasizing
about the ploy I would use: hot-wire his car's ignition wires to the gas tank
(BOOM!), play tricks on his mind when he'd drive his car so he'd speed through
an intersection (messy), or simply take control of his mind and force him to
commit suicide (been there and done that in Mexico).

  I got out and toweled myself dry. I stared at myself in the mirror and was
shocked at how angry I had become. I calmed myself. This problem with the cop
can wait. The gang-bangers too. If it took them this long to find me, they
didn't have much of a network. I pinged the city. Melanie's presence was
obscured but I felt she was safe. I knew Janet was safe; I was with her. The
thoughts that I had picked from the two gangsters let me mind-spy them. They
didn't know what was up but I could see what they saw using detached
mind-sight.

  So until Monday, I fumed. The police wouldn't release them (they had a
weapons charge, a shooting, and possibly murder on hand) and I didn't believe
they'd make bail. So, Monday it was. Come Monday there'd be hell to pay. I
examined my nails and brushed them clean with a brass nail pick I'd made from
left-over model-making materials.

  "Stanley?" Janet called from the room, "You ready sweetheart?"

  "Almost," I hollered back. I refrained from doing that too much, raising my
voice wasn't really my thing unless I was earnestly excited about something,
or extremely pissed off.

  "Hurry up, baby!" She sounded annoyed. "I can feel myself ovulating."

  Great, I sighed. I dried myself thoroughly and used a little talcum powder to
make my skin dry and smooth. I dressed in my pajamas and headed to her
bedroom. I found Janet in her PJs and sitting patiently on her big bed. A soft
light illuminated the whole room.

  "You're always late Stanley," she looked at me mischievously. "Don't you know
that's impolite?"

  "Sorry," I said and glanced at her.

  She looked very cute, I thought. Janet was dressed in a pajamas shirt and
pants (similar to mine, but with the button openings on the other side; the
women's version). Her hair was bundled into two ponytails by cherry red glass
hair beads. It made her look a lot younger than her 29 years.

  "Like it?" Janet touched her hair beads.

  "Yeah." I grinned sheepishly. Despite our age gap being less noticeable as we
got older, I was still in awe of her and behaved primly when she was present.
Then I remembered tonight's shooting and I visibly darkened.

  "You don't remember do you?" she misread my expression.

  "Remember what darling?" I touched her bare feet and enjoyed the fragrant
scent of her body wash. I felt her muscles and bone through her peach skin.

  "You bought these for me," Janet sighed. "You're so forgetful."

  "I did?" I scratched my head; I honestly didn't recall too much of it.

  "Okay," I finally said, "If you say so."

  "You dumb butthole," she growled, "Remember our last night before I headed
off to Chicago?"

  "Uh, no?" I grinned nervously. "Please don't kill me."

  "You bought me these beads when I was leaving," Janet hugged her legs and
rested her chin on her knees. "You said you wanted me to wear my hair up when
I sucked you off the next time I was in town."

  "Oh yeah," I dimly remembered something like that. Man, I was a dumb kid back
then.

  "I never got a chance to use 'em," her eyes gleamed, "Because things started
happening and I forgot where I put 'em."

  "Oh, well don't worry about it." I smiled stupidly as I ogled my darling.

  "Li-mo gumching-ge li*!" Janet sniffed. [* Cantonese: You've not a shred of
affection / compassion!]

  "Ngmho-gam kgwong-a Ling-Ling*," I winked. [* Cantonese: Don't talk like that
little Ling-Ling (a repetition of the last syllable in a girl's Chinese name
often makes her the youngest). Note, this is not a reference to that one
particular panda in the Beijing zoo.]

  "Fine! Yuguo li-goudam-ge li-haeng mylai." She grinned saucily and leaned
back. "Wo-youge liy-mut beilei-eh*." [* Cantonese: If you think you're brave
enough, I got a present for ya.]

  I took her hint and tugged off her pajama bottoms. I gasped at the sight.
Janet's snatch was clipped and smooth save for a small patch of pubic hair. It
was like she was sixteen (and I was twelve) all over again.

  "Zhoung-ngzhoung-yi-ah?*" she licked her lips lewdly. [* Cantonese: Like what
you see? (in this context; literally, it would translate as 'Do you like
it?')]

  I answered by pressing my lips on hers (both sets). Janet groaned and
squealed with pleasure when I began tickling her shaved Oriental slice with my
fingers.

  "Oh hey big guy," she chuckled and grabbed me. "You're already hard."

  "You bet I am." I undid her buttons as she did mine. The shock and surprise
of seeing her nude underneath was heightened when I saw her wearing only her
cotton pajama top. It was open in the front and I could make out her
pear-shaped C-cup sweater puppies peaking out as her body swayed from our
amorous activities.

  "Lao-kgung li-lei tung wo wan-a*," she whispered as she encircled my waist
with her nude legs. [* Cantonese: Come play with me hubby (without the husband
portion, it would be a line that a whore would say to her client).]

  I obliged and kissed her face, neck and hands. I groaned as my stiff cock was
crushed between our two bodies. Janet studied my face and smiled. She teased
me with her lips and her lovely lacquered nails. I shivered with delight as
she drew a sharp hard line down my back.

  "Like it huh?" She grinned as her eyes ogled me. "You're such a pervert,
Stanley."

  "Look who's talking," I bit her nose gently.

  "Hmph." Janet sniffed but she was all smiles. Her eyes glittered with joy as
I rocked my hips against hers. My hard rod was pressing against her little nub
and she was enjoying the massage-by-cock I was giving her.

  "Oooh--oog--gawd," my mature darling's mouth hung open as she panted for
breath.

  I spat lightly into her mouth then kissed her deeply. Janet responded by
violating my mouth with her warm vibrant tongue. She had torn off all my
clothes now but she was still half-dressed. She slipped her arm out from one
sleeve and embraced me. That was all the urging I needed. I kissed her a few
more times then parted a bit so I could see what I was doing. Janet lay down
with a sigh. Her face flushed and she took in a sharp breath as I slid into
her warm, slick cooze.

  "Oh jeeziz." I gritted my teeth. No matter how many times I had done this, I
always felt the danger and excitement of putting my unsheathed wang inside a
girl's cunt.

  It wasn't simply the sheer physical joy but the possibility of what could
happen afterwards. Aurora and I were lucky she didn't get pregnant that time I
drilled her sweet tender ass back in Shek-Kou (and again in Kowloon).
Viktoriya was in-between; while we did things bare-backed, she could push it
out of her afterwards. But since she moved to New York, covered sex had become
the norm.

  So from all the sex I had been having for the past decade plus, I could
literally count (on one hand) the times I had bare-backed sex with my lovely
Janet.

  "What're you thinking about big man?" Janet's sing-song contralto pulled me
away from my thoughts.

  "Just thinking--ungh--how you never got pregnant after I've--ungh--been
fucking you for close to thirteen years," I pumped her diligently while I
replied.

  "Easy," she pawed me, "Easy there now. Don't talk. Just do me Stanley Chen --
wan-xshie-wo*!" [* Cantonese: Play me to death (literal meaning). If a wife
says that, it's pretty much open bare-backed season on her cunt for the
husband.]

  Janet let out a most unlady-like screech as I grabbed her legs and put them
against my torso. She gasped as I began pounding her furiously. I recalled my
brief tryst with Jamie with a mix of regret and 'fuck-it' 'yeah-tap-that-ass'
attitude. I thought of her daughter Jill and how great it felt to interact
with a little one. Jill wasn't my biological daughter, but with Janet, we
could have one of our own.

  I glanced at my First. Her hands were raised in a futile attempt to slow me
down. I admit I was a little too enthusiastic but at the same time, I sensed
she was enjoying this with wild abandonment. The pain she felt was vastly
outmatched by the sheer pleasure she felt.

  "Ohh--fffuuuucck--Staaaan--leee!" Janet's howl was somewhere between asking
me to stop and begging me to go on. I caught her two hands and pinned them to
the bed. Her dark eyes flashed me wanton lust. Her nails dug into my hand as
my thrusts began to slow and become more forceful.

  "Ooh that's right," she cooed, eyes were wide as saucers. "Do it. That's it.
Cum in me big boy."

  I grunted as I thrust her a few more times. Janet lay back, her eyes watching
me concentrate on my dirty deed. This was it, I thought. This definitely was
going to be it.

  Exactly what "it" was I didn't know. A lot of blood had left my thinking
brain and went elsewhere. All I knew was that I was climaxing and my first
darling was going to take it all in. Janet's eyes went wide as she felt a new
warmth invade her body. I sputtered breathless curses as I collapsed atop her.
I stayed like that for just a little bit before I rolled off her, pulling her
atop of me.

  "Shu-fook-xy-le*?" she murmured. [* Cantonese: Feel better now?]

  I was so winded I could only nod.

  "Good," Janet chuckled and slept on top of me, happy and content.

  For the rest of the weekend, I balled Janet nightly with joy and without
worry. We weren't married yet but we knew we wanted children. We figured we'd
cross that bridge (the marriage bullshit) once we came to it. We spent Friday
reliving our early days on the beach and peeking into our old campuses; Jan's
first then mine (as mentioned earlier, we had attended different schools).

  Saturday we took up horse riding near Fort Funston. I didn't really get their
thoughts, but I realized I could zap animal synapses. I had to when Janet's
horse nearly bolted from her. Thankfully, neither she or the animal were hurt.
On Sunday, we roller-bladed to the arboretum (The Simpsons: 'tree place') in
Golden Gate Park and made a running tally of how many guys and gals we'd do if
we weren't so exclusive. I was surprised her tally was nearly three times
mine.

  "Jealous?" she laughed and teased me.

  "Hardly." I grinned and gave her a sly wink. "My wish came true."

  "Hmph!" Janet made a face and took off without me.

  I chased her down and tackled her at the concert hall between the old Academy
of Sciences and the De Young Museum. I pounced her so fiercely that a mounted
patrolman thought I was attacking her. Janet was still laughing hysterically
when the cop rode up. When he realized we were just a couple clowning around,
he rode off shaking his head.

===============================================================================
  A CIVIL MATTER 
===============================================================================

  Monday, I took a longer lunch and headed down to 7th Street and Bryant. I had
no real business inside the Criminal Courthouse (and County Jail) but being
there increased my level of sensitivity to the minds within. I lounged outside
and entered a telepathic trance. I pinged the minds within, careful only to
look but not touch. I found the two gangsters in lock-up as I mind-hopped from
person to person.

  Their minds told me nothing about the crimes they were being charged with. I
could've cared less save that I wanted to know if their compatriot was alive
or simply brain dead. Since I had established no earnest psychic connection
with any of the three before I pushed things along, I wasn't aware if they
were "alive" or "dead".

  Digging a little deeper (this causes a 'normal' to reflect on memories) the
two thugs knew where I worked. Using that, they knew where Janet lived. Heck,
they even knew where Melanie was because they had followed me home. I knew
they knew that they got their assignment from someone named Carlos in the
hierarchy. He was the one who had introduced Detective Waters to them. I
didn't care too much about all that; all that mattered to me was there were
gang-bangers who knew where my darlings were (and who they were). That
knowledge sentenced them all to death.

  But how to kill them without causing suspicion, I wondered. This wasn't the
border and I couldn't simply stage an accident. Deaths in a popular American
city like this were bound to attract law enforcement. As I sat and mulled over
my problem, Tseng stepped out from the courthouse. What the fuck? The old man
stiffened, turned and saw me. He gestured for me to follow, and I did.

  'Did you incite this event?' He thought-spoke as we strode back towards my
office. We walked not together but along the same direction and in sight of
one another. Such was the secrecy of the empire.

  'That depends on whom you ask.' I tried to rub my weariness from my eyes. 'Do
you remember the days we were at Sherwood?'

  'Yes.' Tseng thought a note of confusion to me. 'What has this got to do with
it?'

  'Let me explain.' I said, and did the best I could. From the bank robbery to
Jacob Waters and the agency's intervention. I skipped over Sherwood and went
onto to explain the presence of Waters with the gang-bangers and how the thugs
tried to ambush me outside the theater. I had the feeling Waters was out to
get me.

  Tseng was silent for a while then queried. 'Are you sure it was he?'

  'Almost positive.' I formed an answer.

  'It's not Bethany or Carrie-Ann or Rick Herman?' Tseng mentioned Masquerade,
along with two other younger empire citizens who lived nearby (but were not
known to the agency).

  'Didn't seem so.' I thought. 'Someone new you think?'

  'Only one way to find out isn't there?' Tseng looked at me coolly. 'You
suspect Jacob Waters. Go ask him. You don't need my say-so.'

  'I thought I'd check around first.' I thought-spoke then added. 'Especially
since you're here.'

  'Utter nonsense.' The little old man regarded me contemptuously. 'You suspect
Waters, so follow up already.'

  'Just being careful.' I chafed at being treated like a novice.

  'As careful as you were with Joseph Pincelli?' Tseng thought-spoke casually.

  'He had it coming.' It didn't surprise me that he knew about Las Vegas. I
wondered how long I could shroud this from Viktoriya.

  'You almost got away with it. You forgot to execute the man with the twisted
neck.' My mentor's lecture was prompted more from covering up an annoyance to
the empire than from looking after my well-being.

  'How so?' I pinged my question.

  'Pincelli's cause of death was plausible, but you missed that one bodyguard.'

  'Gotcha.' Then I wondered. 'How'd you know?'

  'Coroner's report from the FBI. Shoot those you neutralize like him next
time. Or stick something in their body. Those meat doctors will think one of
their own did it.' Tseng continued. 'The agency is watching you.'

  'You mean you're watching me.' I corrected him.

  'No. Walk with me.' Tseng stopped and waited for the traffic light to change.
'You've met Masquerade; she's the nicest asset you'll meet aside from me --' I
nearly laughed out loud, prompting an annoyed glance from him '-- Ghost Light,
and Mirage.'

  'Mirage?' I thought. 'Who the hell is that?'

  'Phillipa Roget.' Tseng crossed the street and I followed him a few paces
behind. 'But never mind her for now.' A pause, then, 'For now, head back to
work. And check up on Waters.'

  I walked ahead of him and turned towards the building where Ferguson
Graphics. So the agency managed to recruit Phillipa, I thought. That explained
the recent reduction of her email.

  'Listen closely. There are other parties in the agency who are very
unpleasant.' Tseng followed me. 'Since better records are being maintained,
agency analysts have seen a marked increase in curious and unexplainable
incidents across the globe. There are elements in the agency who are onto us
Stanley. We need to be more careful than before.'

  I turned a block down and began walking on busy Market Street. 'So you're
saying the number of us haven't changed but because more records are being
kept, we could be discovered?'

  'No, but you are half correct.' Tseng interrupted. 'Both populations are
growing -- "normals" and citizens. One reason is because we are all living
longer. But there are other factors. You are correct that the more records
there are, the greater the chances of a pattern emerging.'

  I got a slight sense that my mentor was worried.

  'We need to be careful.' He thought-spoke. 'Violence incites more violence.
It should be used only against those suitably armed.'

  'In all those incidents, they were.' I reminded him.

  'And it would depend on the setting.' Tseng's mood took on an almost fatherly
concern. 'You were correct in one assessment when you acted: you are no longer
on the border. In civilized areas, you need to stay your hand.'

  I kept silent as I harkened back to Tseng's methods on the New York Thruway.
To me, that was overkill.

  'Pogroms in the past most likely occurred when those in the invisible empire
got over-confident.' The older man cautioned. 'We were nearly exterminated.'

  'I'll do that.' I thought soberly then queried. 'But what do I do about
Waters? About the gangsters?'

  'You needn't worry about the hoodlums.' Tseng thought-spoke. 'They're due to
be arraigned in court this week but I did you a favor and took care of them.
Just look into Jacob Waters. He's overstepping his bounds.'

  'Wait.' I dropped into a Jamba Juice to buy a fruit shake. 'What did you do
to those bangers?'

  'Slow clot. Should be brain damaged in about a day's time.' Tseng smiled and
spoke audibly with a pretty air-headed blonde tourist who tapped him for
directions to Fisherman's Wharf.

  'You set them up for a stroke?' I put in an order for a strawberry banana
smoothie, paid in cash, and waited.

  'Yes. Watch the news. Should be tomorrow night or so.' Tseng was giving me
the short shrift as he deftly grazed the girl's hands when he held her map. He
broadcast the two thugs' personal information (including docket numbers) and
wished me luck before he walked off with the girl in tow.

  Great, I thought with sarcasm. Thanks for keeping a low profile. But I
suppose a bespectacled forty-something Chinese fellow with thinning hair and a
slight paunch was theoretically capable of fucking hot young twenty year olds
in the privacy of a hotel room. I knew prostitutes (escorts and streetwalkers)
both in and around San Francisco certainly did.

  I headed back to the office, labored for the rest of the day, and took off.
Jacob Waters worked at the 6th Avenue** precinct. It was the closest one to
the bank robbery and it looked like a classic police precinct from a the
movies.

  [** AUTHOR'S NOTE: The City and County of San Francisco has both numbered
streets and numbered avenues. Streets run east-west and are in the city's
eastern area (old San Francisco). Avenues run north-south and are west of the
city's Western Addition, going towards the beach. That area was developed in
the years during and after the Second World War.]

  I hopped off the bus on 6th, right across from the Kaiser Permanente French
Campus (it was not a trauma hospital but an administrative and training
facility). I thought about giving Yu-Ching a call to say I was late, but I
remembered that cell phone calls were closely monitored by the
telecommunications company. The agency would probably log all my calls if they
wanted to.

  I sat at the bus station and slipped into my second telepathic trance of the
day. As I had done before, I pinged the minds within, careful only to look but
not touch. I used detached mind-sight (blurry but it works to get around) to
locate Waters' desk. I then employed remote biointroscopy and read everything
I could feel on his desk.

  The only thing interesting was a file he had started on me. Apart from my
driving, insurance, and employment records, there was little else to go on.
Suddenly the file moved; I nearly tipped over from the disorientation. I drew
back my focus and found Jacob Waters had taken it. He was moving it. I jumped
into his mind and surreptitiously followed him that way. He went from his desk
to a back room where there was a large machine.

  Ah, I realized. An industrial cross-cutting paper shredder. Waters turned the
machine on, threw my file in and lingered only long enough to see the shredder
do its work. But why?

  I dug a bit deeper and found it: the police report from the West Portal
shooting came through. Waters knew he was involved and was afraid that Carlos
or the suspects would blab. He was afraid he was going to get Internal Affairs
involved. The detective headed back to his desk, locked his computer and left
for the night. I withdrew my focus and caught the next bus in a slight daze.

  So if Waters was somehow out to get me, I thought and rode home in silence, I
had to wonder why. My mind was still juggling Waters' home address when I was
jumped back home. It wasn't anything unpleasant. I just wasn't expecting it
because I was so distracted.

  "Unca' Stanwee!" Jill skipped across the floor and nearly rammed her head
into my balls.

  Oh sweet Jesus, I blinked. What the hell --?

  "Hello Stanley," Jamie waved then motioned for her daughter to sit.

  "Stanley guo-guo," Melanie bounded up triumphantly to me.

  "Hi," I waved then whispered. "Yu-Ching, what's going on?"

  "I thought this'd cheer up everyone," she beamed brightly. "Am I right?"

  Oh my sweet Little Chen. I wanted to shake a little sense into her but
realized that she could only see the good in people. I silently thanked the
powers that be Janet had other engagements tonight. Once we sat down to a
meal, I slowly wrung the story out of Melanie and her hair brained scheme.
Yu-Ching normally had school daily with Monday, Wednesday, and Friday being
her lab (working at CCSF's cafeteria kitchen) and Tuesdays and Thursdays being
her full day lectures (general education).

  However, today was an exception. There was a drop of students needing
cafeteria food because it was the Monday following Thanksgiving. This meant
all she did was prepare some ingredients for the next day, put them in the
refrigerator and headed home to hit the books. Somehow, she had run into Jamie
and invited her over to my place. Had Janet been around, I think my head
would've exploded from a combination of my First's (possible) rage and
Melanie's extravagent naivete.

  "Are you okay?" Jamie asked.

  I sensed she wanted to touch me but held back, afraid what it might signal. I
reached out and gently patted her hand.

  "I'm fine," I said. "Just a little surprised that's all. But I'm glad you can
make it."

  The sultry Asian beauty smiled as did my little darling. Jill was too busy
popping chunks of sweet yam to notice.

  "How's class?" I looked at mother and daughter both.

  "I'm getting the hang of it," Jamie's smile grew broader. "Melanie's a big
help; I think you'd ace this networking class."

  "Meh," my youngest lovely shrugged. "I can't stand to do that all day. Makes
my head spin."

  "Of course," Jamie laughed, "You go a mile a minute about it. I can barely
keep up!"

  "And how about you Jill?" I asked. She was about to answer when Jamie tapped
her gently on the hand.

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," the young mother spoke sternly. "Finish
first. Uncle Stanley will wait."

  And wait I did. Jill swallowed with flourish and then spoke about her day:
how many crayons she broke, how many pictures she colored, how many times she
visited the water fountain, how many times she had to trace her new name, and
on and on and on. I guessed shuffling between Jamie and her grandparents meant
she wanted someone new to talk to. When Jill finished, my food had grown
lukewarm.

  "Sorry about that." Jamie wore a brave grin. "My mom says she talks her ear
off given the chance. She can't wait for me to come home and take Jill off her
hands. Jill's my new secret weapon now."

  "Aw, don't say that," I laughed then asked Jill, "Is por-por* [* Cantonese:
Grandmother/maternal] treating you well?"

  Jill nodded, her mouth stuffed full of sweet toasted yam again. I grinned and
glanced at Melanie, who was staring at me.

  "Remind you of anyone?" I asked her.

  Melanie's cheeks dimpled as blushed. Jamie caught the by-play and soured. I
caught stray thoughts: 'Wow she must've been young if Jill reminds him of
her.' 'Shit.' 'Is he still into that?' I needed to placate her fear and
quickly. I rose and headed over to the sink to grab a glass of water. As I
went past Jamie, I gently grazed her bare shoulder and calmed her. I'd deal
with her fears in private later.

  It was a Monday night -- a school night -- so after dinner, I took Jamie and
Jill home (their apartment was a mere twelve blocks away). I spent a little
time with Jill in the restroom (with the door open) reminding her about basics
of tooth care. She stood her on a stool so she could see herself in the vanity
mirror. After a few tries, Jill got most of what I wanted to get across. I
rinsed my hands and fingers once more after we were done. Jamie tucked Jillian
into bed before we headed out into her small living room. The place very much
reminded me of my place but (believe it or not) even smaller.

  "Thank you Stanley," she said. "And Melanie too. Shoot! I forgot about her."

  "That's okay," I said. "You can always catch her on campus anyway."

  Jamie nodded and stretched until her joints popped. My heart skipped a beat
as I watched her sweet mommy mounds were held up by a sports bra, making them
seem even larger than average.

  "Hey, I want to talk to you about something," I pulled her to the couch.

  "What is it?" she sat down beside me.

  "It's about Melanie," I said quietly.

  "Oh?" Jamie looked at me. "Is it some deep dark secret?"

  "Not exactly," I chuckled. "Look, I know how young she is and what it appears
to be."

  "Yeah," she lowered her eyes. I sensed she was bracing herself for the worst.

  "What happened between her and me was a long time ago," I gave her arm a
comforting squeeze. "And I hang around schoolyards only for one reason: to
pick up my own kids from school."

  "You don't have any kids," Jamie eyed me warily.

  "Jillian would count," I said and heard her inhale sharply. "I just don't
have that luxury in my schedule yet."

  "Why Stanley," she murmured. "What would the others think?"

  "I dunno," I shrugged. "I can't say what might happen."

  "Then don't," Jamie leaned against me. "I'm not worth it."

  "Some people are," I measure my words with care. "Besides, you met Melanie.
She's very cool with you."

  "How can you be so sure?" she eyed me inquisitively.

  "Trust me."

  I grinned and kissed her. Jamie tried to push me off but I pitched her into
my arms and buzzed her silly. The sexy young mother swooned as my fingers
found her snatch. Because she had shaved, waxed, and plucked her pubes so
thoroughly, only a soft fine down and a few thick orphan strands now greeted
me there. I pulled her jeans down to her ankles so I could get at her lovely
shaved snatch. My fingers slipped easily into Jamie's tight folds. She uttered
a pent-up sigh as she parted her legs to accommodate my hand. I pulled the
rest of her jeans and panties off and toss them to the other couch. I spooned
Jamie, my hands cupping her breasts and twiddling her sweet little clit.

  "Oh Stanley--you're makin' me--OH!!"

  Jamie was shivering not from the cold but from on-set of one of her fabulous,
raging orgasms. She reached back, her nails clawed my dress shirt then she dug
her fingers into my hair. Jamie gasped and made little noises as only a woman
could while I finger-fucked her shapely body. I was too lazy to get the saran
wrap and she was too lazy to pull out a condom, so I kept my pants on and
settled for her naked ass grinding my aching boner through several layers of
clothing.

  Jamie finally orgasmed but she was surprisingly quiet about it. I couldn't
blame her; Jillian was asleep in the adjacent room. Her ejaculate though,
soaked the crotch of my slacks through and through. There was no way I was
going to wear them tomorrow to work (and the dry cleaning cost me $25).
Jamie's ass bucked several times then she turned around and kissed me wetly on
the lips.

  "Feel better now?" I asked her.

  "Mnn-hmm," Jamie sighed. "Do you have to go home tonight?"

  "Imagine the talk if I don't," I chided and patted her rosy bottom.

  "But you didn't cum," she studied me. "Want me to suck you off?"

  "I should wash up first," I said.

  "Okay wait," Jamie rolled off me. "Let me do it."

  We headed into her restroom where she drew a hot pool of water in the sink. I
groaned as she applied the hot towel to my aching cock and groin. Up close, I
could see Jamie had cleaned up a lot of her body. Some of the calligraphy on
her nails were missing; I could only make out "oi" (love) and "zhjee"
(child/neutral) on her right hand's index and ring fingers and "oi" (love) and
"k'ah" (family) on her left hand's index and ring fingers.

  Jamie's toe nails were cleared of anything save simple gloss and bore no
inscriptions. However, her tattoos (the dragon on her calf and the writing on
her back) remained. The glitter that she'd applied so liberally was gone,
leaving her peach-colored skin creamy and glossy smooth. Only that beauty mark
on her cheek remained, but it made her more beautiful, not less.

  "You look like a deer caught in the headlights," she laughed as she toyed
with my cock.

  "Pretty girls always do that to me," I smacked my forehead comically. "Must
be a rare kind of disease."

  She blushed and laughed as she jerked me harder. I shivered when she kissed
the tip of my hard-on.

  "Or maybe it's just a strange venom," Jamie's tongue flicked me delicately.
"I'd better suck it out."

  I grunted as she rolled my skin back with her moist warm lips. I leaned my
arms against the sides of the bathroom's open door as the sultry Asian siren
swallowed my cock whole. I was disappointed. For all her looks, Jamie didn't
really know how to suck dick at all. I suppose the rest of the band and I had
more than our fair share of practice over the years.

  Instead of focusing on the edge of the glans (not glands but glans, look it
up) where the nerve bundles were, she contented with simply swallowing my
cock. I closed my eyes, thought back to the great fuck session Jamie and I had
only a few weeks before and remembered her sweet face. She was so full of joy
and pleasure when I rode her, I couldn't help but ...

  "Nngh," I sighed as my balls tightened up and shot a small load into her
mouth.

  Jamie clutched my buttocks as I spasmed a few times against her face. I
withdrew, my cock drawing out a silver thread of spit from her mouth. She
stood, grabbed a wash cloth and cleaned me off.

  "Better?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  "Yes, very," I kissed her. "See you soon?"

  "I hope so," Jamie stifled a burp.

  We both laughed then kissed again at the door. She had very sweet cum-breath.
When I got back home, I was fairly tired. I hit the shower and washed off the
scent of messy love-making with Jamie. As great as it was to keep that odor
around, I found I felt refreshed, and ready for more (if were physically
possible). I dried myself off and headed into the darkness that surrounded my
bed. As I neared it, something moved in the dark.

  "Li-fan-lei-na*?" It was Melanie. [* Cantonese: You're back?]

  I felt around and flicked on the night light. My eyes adjusted to the dim
green illumination. Melanie was in my bed, her small slim body curled under
the covers. I could see her bare shoulder peeking out just past the edge of
the blanket.

  "Hey," I shook her gently. "Don't you have a home to go to?"

  Melanie cast me a baleful backwards glance and whined, "Guo-guo wo dunglei
dungdou wo moon-xy-le*." [* Cantonese: Brother, I grew bored waiting for you.]

  "I had to put Jillian to bed."

  I was stretching the truth a bit. Little Chen sighed threw back the covers to
show me she wasn't wearing a damn thing at all, "Lei-xiang-chong-a-darling*."
[* Cantonese: Come to bed "darling".]

  I sucked in my breath and eyed the clock. It was nearly 10 P.M. and we both
had work and school the next day. I hesitated only for a moment as my eyes
flew over Yu-Ching's tight college girl's body. I succumbed to her wiles and
slipped into bed. As the man of the house, I sure set one heckuva bad example,
as both of us ran late the next day.

===============================================================================
  REACHING OUT 
===============================================================================

  By the end of 2000, I had finally gotten the last of the tenants out from the
building site and into new apartments. Demolition was scheduled to start but I
procrastinated on it. The place was to be cleared and construction was to
start as soon as the site was clear (the planning commission had approved my
plans in October thanks to a little mental persuasion) but I had my reasons.

  I wanted to fly Viktoriya out so she and I could do something we both wanted
to do for some time: destroy a building with telekinesis. Unfortunately, she
was out of the country on competition it was Canada. After my trip to the Big
Apple, Viktoriya had met a new dance partner by the name of Cristobel. Her
personal disappointment in not getting pregnant coupled with my long absences
were balanced by her increased activity in dance. Besides, Cristobel and Vika
were tearing it up, and she seemed happier, so I bid her my best and settled
down to do dirty work myself.

  'Show me when you do it Stanislav!' She thought-spoke to me.

  So one early December morning, I got up at 4 A.M. (7 A.M. her time) and
proceeded to do as much damage as I could on a building that didn't really
harm anyone. It took eighty solid cracks on the existing timbers to weaken the
structure, but it didn't fall. Instead, the building began leaning so
dangerously, I had to shore it up again by ripping out the existing floors and
doing some quick wire work.

  The work went a little slower than I wanted because Viktoriya was practically
screaming in my mind for me to get out before I was buried alive. I had to cut
her off to get the job done. Her final thought before our link went dark was
that she thought I'd been crushed to death. Thankfully, I did enough repairs
in time to keep the place from falling apart (and prevent any collateral
damage to the surrounding houses). However, Vika was close to a break-down
when I contacted her once I was safely out on the street.

  'You shit! You foolish shit!' She was on the verge of tears. 'You had me so
scared!'

  'Sorry, dorogoi.' I was apologetic. 'I got carried away that's all.
Everything's fine now.'

  Viktoriya angrily blocked me out her mind and we didn't speak for the rest of
that day. That was fine for I had work to do. I called in a demo crew and
trashed the place. Then, I hired contractors, and finalized the plans and
instructions. My work load at Ferguson hadn't changed, so I was able to manage
work flow well. I desperately wanted to visit Viktoriya to comfort her in
person, but I couldn't spare the time.

  My Slavic sweetheart wasn't the only one who got gypped out of motherhood.
Despite spending one of the best (and longest) weekends we've had together,
Janet hadn't gotten knocked up either. My First's insistence on paying me
house calls meant that I couldn't stop over by Jamie's apartment when ever I
wanted to spend time with my secret Sixth and to dote on her daughter.

  With so much to do, I still found the time to finish off the mess Jacob
Waters started earlier in the year. I paid him an unexpected call at his own
house, but I didn't actually "go" there. Tseng and I had done it before at
range by mentally attacking targets on the border during REM sleep. So I
waited until Waters had finished his business and had nodded off before I made
my move.

  'Hello Detective Waters.' I formed an illusory apparition in his mind. To
him, I was sitting in his lit-up bedroom pointing a silenced handgun at his
head when in fact, I was at the Java Island coffee house sitting in plain
sight of their new security camera and several customers enjoying a cup of
coffee and browsing my laptop. My screen of course, was not shown to the
camera because it was simply displaying random artwork. How's that for an
alibi?

  'The fuck?' The cop yelled out his thoughts and stood up -- or he thought he
did. Waters was asleep but it was essentially a semi-lucid dream.

  'You've been looking for me.' I asked. 'Why?'

  'Breaking and entering? Holding a cop hostage?' Waters seethed. 'You're
getting yourself quite a record there.'

  I couldn't just shoot him and have him die in his sleep (although it was
convenient). I cocked the imaginary gun in my imaginary hand. It was
convincing enough that he cringed. Not wanting to lose the initiative, I
continued with my query.

  'Getting away won't be a problem.' I said coldly. 'Agency business pre-empts
your business. My life pre-empts yours. Now answer my question: why have you
been looking for me?'

  Waters' dream-self wore a confused look (it was more like I was picking up on
his confusion) and he stared at me dully. 'That marshal boss of yours Nicholas
Champion? He called on me. Said you were involved in the bank some how. And
that I should asking the Sin Titulo if they knew anything about you.'

  'Called on you?' I asked him, 'Or called you, as in by telephone?'

  'Called on.' Detective Waters was calmer now. 'Just came into the precinct
and took me to lunch.'

  Interesting, I hid my inner thoughts from the dream-scape. So Cox was either
trying to dig up more dirt and screw with me, or someone impersonating him
was. Bethany would be the only person I'd know who could do that, but I'd not
seen her mimic someone significantly larger or smaller than her size.

  Then again, I'd not seen her do anything save imitate people's faces and
voices. Perhaps she was hiding some of her gifts as I was.

  'Well detective.' I rose. 'Your little stunt nearly killed my fiancee, not to
mention possible bystanders. You think about that?'

  I wondered if Cox's lecture to me about bystanders was just for show. Surely
he'd have guessed involving gangs would've meant collateral damage?

  'I know.' Waters was remorseful. 'That's why I shredded your file just today.
I made a mistake. I'm sorry.'

  'We're not out of the woods yet Waters.' I said.

  'What do you mean by "we"?' The detective inquired.

  'I still know of your involvement.' I said coolly. I didn't like Waters. He
reminded me of bullies I had trouble with when I was younger. 'The two
gang-bangers at county and Sin Titulo are still after me. They have some
addresses I don't want them to have.'

  'I suppose so.' Waters' dream-self was sitting on the edge of his bed now.
'What do you want me to do? I'm not going to risk my job.'

  'I'll call you.' I rose and turned off the imaginary lights. 'We'll meet up.'

  'Wait! Can't you tell me where?' Waters' sleeping consciousness protested but
I cut him off.

  'Sleep. Tomorrow we'll talk.' I flicked off the imaginary light with my
imaginary gun's muzzle in his bedroom dream-scape. The detective slipped into
a deeper REM sleep as I receded from his mind.

  So Tseng was right about the agency, I thought darkly. Well they and Brian
Cox just messed with the wrong man. I called Waters' desk the next day and
arranged a meet. We met in a bathroom at Golden Gate Park. Quite the queer
place to do so (homosexual men often met in such places for sexual encounters)
but that served its purpose. We were undisturbed as I laid out the terms of
our agreement.

  I needed Waters' help in finding the other Sin Titulo that he spoke to, as
well as any odd slips of the tongue he might've had with Brian
Cox-slash-Nicholas Champion. In return, I'd mention nothing to Internal
Affairs. We both wanted to be left alone and move on with our lives. Waters
agreed then confided that the two arrested thugs had died the night before in
county jail. Some sort of seizure. It didn't surprise me that Tseng delivered.

  The detective suspected something when their deaths were treated with a
hush-hush silence. He only knew because he was the godfather of one of the
patrolmen who made the arrest and asked off-hand about the upcoming
arraignment this morning. Still, I breathed relief. At least Tseng held up his
end of the bargain. Waters was effectively neutralized as a threat. All I
needed to do now was to clean out the rest of the Sin Titulo.

  "You do that," Waters shrugged, "and another gang just moves in. These are
street gangs Mr. Chen. A dime a dozen."

  Being called "Mr. Chen" made me old. Old like my father. Or Tseng. I shrugged
off my discomfort and spoke.

  "You let me take care of Sin Titulo," I said. "And be wary of Mr. Champion
detective. He is not a Federal marshal."

  "I gathered as much by now," Waters nodded. "So you CIA (Central Intelligence
Agency) or something?"

  "Yes, something." I held up a finger and smiled. "It's something you don't
worry about, so you can sleep well at night."

  "Yeah about that," Waters chuckled. "I checked my doors and windows and I
couldn't see how you got in."

  "It's a trade secret my son," I winked and swiped the line Sean Connery used
in "The Rock".

  Waters and I shook before we parted. It was a good thing we did too. I needed
new friendly contacts for the invisible empire, and Detective Jacob Waters was
just a start.

===============================================================================
  COPYRIGHT: 2009. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
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             FINES, INCARCERATION, OR CAPITAL OR OTHER FORMS OF PUNISHMENT.

             PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
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     AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG

    EDITORS: FERMAT and VOYER

     E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
===============================================================================
