"hey sugar, you up early?"

"not really pork pie, i was sleeping like a baby."

he laughed. "i've been up fo' two hours, playin' football."

"football! why in the hell are you doing that?"

"why, you got to be a football hero to git along with the beautiful gals."

"you've never had any problems along those lines, you old cuss, are there other problems?"

"no baby, a few loose ends, no problems, none that i can't handle, how's life on the mississippi?"

"the green, and it's fine pork, couldn't be better."

"i bet you wear a bikini most of the time and swim and lay in the sun all day, ain't i right carlee?"

"what's going on pork pie?" i asked seriously.

"you're needed mrs. peel," he answered.

my heart turned heavy. "for a day, a week, how long?"

"can you come?"

"why, sure pork, if you need me, always can." pork pie was silent. "pork?"

"a week at least," he answered. my god in heaven. what could be wrong?

"i'll pack, where will i meet you?"

"15601 eastern parkway, it's my safe house, four storeys, i'm in the attic."

"it'll take me a while pork pie."

"take your time angel, and don't you read the goddamn papers? and don't worry darlin', i'm hunky dory."

hunky dory, living in a safe house and i shouldn't worry. excuse me. i quickly put on a gym bra and my pink tee that had my e-mail address across the front, a pair of short white shorts, made a cup of coffee and worried. pork pie was right though, i had become so wrapped up in the net and tech tv, i hadn't read a paper in months, neither had i watched any non-tech news. god, i was becoming a mouse potato. i suddenly heard a tap tap tapping out back. what in the hell was this? i put on my white mocassins and with my coffee, headed out my back door. "and what in the hell are you doing?" i snapped.

"mornin' cat, oh jus' building you a new deck, jus' like you demanded." if my situation wasn't bad enough, lester crabb and a friend, with a truck load of lumber.

"you could have let me know you were coming mr. crabb."

"nonsense cat, and spoil a great surprise. got some coffee fer me and meat?"

"meat?"

"ma helper cat." meat was a knock out, prettier than harlen. wonder why he's called meat? no, i didn't want to wonder, probably another crisis in louisville, i was rapidly becoming a hermitess and i felt like spider webs were growing between my legs, it had been so long. "bad winter, huh cat?" mr. crabb stated, as they walked into my kitchen.

"terrible mr. crabb, seventeen inches of snow and temps in the single digits." meat looked me over, up and down and even through me. he was fascinating in his tight torn jeans and no shirt.

"meat, meet cat mccord."

"carlee," i said.

"jason," he replied.

"meat's my summer time college help, cat, he took deck building 101 last year."

"is there really such a course?" i asked.

"sure there is, why in the fuck do you think he's here?"

"there really is miss mccord, i think building is a real art."

"there, see," mr. crabb said, as he guzzled his coffee.

"mr. crabb's speciality is total destruction," i said to meat, to jason, smiling at him.

"he's doing a good job on me, miss carlee," he was sweet, a little dumb, but sweet. he did well at undressing a girl with his mind too.

"come on boy, back to work, hot tub heaven don't pay you to flirt with pretty girls." lester crabb didn't miss a trick. well, at least mr. crabb said i was pretty, i was long under the assumption that he hated my guts. i got packed and went to check on the boys, especially jason.

"you guys are moving right along." i smiled. jason was sweating profusely, the sun glared off of him, he looked wonderful. crabb was wearing a work shirt, it was only wet and smelly. "hey, what kind of wood are you using?" i asked.

"birch." jason replied.

"birch!! my deck was made of oak! i hollared.

"your ass, cat, that shit wasn't oak or even near it. hell, it busted into a million pieces when that tub came up."

"i was told it was an oak deck," i explained.

"well, someone was fuckin' you, cat."

"it's very good birch, miss carlee, heavily treated, sturdy, will last for years."

"i don't care, i want oak, like the last one."

"goddamnit cat, they don't make decks out of fuckin' oak, now jason here graduated from deck school, he knows that there ain't no oak decks. ain't that right meat? anyone who told you the old deck was oak is a lying muthafucker!"

"i saw one in school," jason said.

"the hell you did!" mr. crabb shouted.

"no, really, it belonged to a princess, somewhere in europe."

"see, mr. crabb," i chided.

"well cat, you ain't no princess, and my work order says birch, and today, so i'll thank you to git back to your business and let us do ours."

"i need to make a phone call," i said.

"make a fuckin' hundred of 'em if you've a mind to, but by god we're building a deck, hand me that big nail meat."

oooh, the nerve of him, i really didn't have time to fight with mr. crabb, i needed to lock up and get my bags in the car. i knew by history that it was only a matter of time before mr. crabb would tell me that this was an administrative problem and not his. i walked into the house, grabbed my things and headed to the car.

"well shit, cat, didn't mean to make you leave home."

"you don't care anything about me mr. crabb, my feelings or my deck."

"now wait," he said.

"no, i'll not wait, i'm in a hurry."

"guess you're on your way to your fuckin' lawyer's office."

"we're sorry miss carlee, but the work order does say birch," jason added. i simply ignored them, locked the house, then headed for my car.

"lots of shit just to see your lawyer cat," mr. crabb snarled. "gonna shack up with him for a week or so?"

"class actions take time mr. crabb, i'll stay until hot tub heaven is history."

"that's an administrative pro......"

"i know, mr. crabb, just finish your last day of work."

"no sense being a bitch, cat."

"life's a bitch, so am i." i said, as i started my car. i knew damn well that i hadn't scared mr. crabb, i didn't think he was afraid of anything, jason looked a little cowed though, gosh, i'd sure like to see him again. as i drove past chuckles lane, i saw three bull dozers working. they were digging around my house. since mikey and my dad had been on hiatus for six months, i was really surprised, a little frightened. i stopped and spoke to a man who looked like a supervisor.

"morning miss, what can i do for you?"

"i was just wondering, has this property been sold recently?"

"yes'um, it was bought by caldwell-mccord enterprises last month, we're clearing and rebuilding. i'm mike olsen, ma'me, this project was assigned to my division." mike olsen was a handsome man, probably in his late thirties, early forties, his skin was leathery, like outdoor workers were suppose to be, he seemed very nice.

"i'm carlee mccord, i think this is going to be my house."

"indeed it is ms. mccord, and you are going to love it, the specs are terrific, it's going to be beautiful, here, let me show you." mr. olsen showed me the plans. gosh, the building looked exactly what it must have looked like in the 1800's.

"i love it mr. olsen. mind the graveyard in the back."

"oh, give it no thought miss, tomorrow we'll put a tracer around it."

i smiled. "thank you very much mr. olsen, i can hardly wait."

"you're lt. colonel caldwell's daughter?"

"ah, no, mikey's just my friend, general mccord's my dad," i replied.

"oh, i thought you might be married ms. mccord."

"not today," i smiled. he stared at me with intense brown eyes.

"pity," he said.

"sir?"

"pity you're not married."

i smiled again. "may i take that as a compliment?"

"no, yes, oh, i was just thinking out loud carlee forgive me." he smiled.

"when can i move in mr. olsen?"

"it will be a while pretty one, but i will speed up production now that i know who's going to live here." i kissed him on the cheek, and told him that i was running late. he gave me a big sexy smile.

"i'll be back," i promised.

louisville traffic. i had been away too long. i got in the wrong lane at the eastern parkway exit, and had to drive ten miles out of my way. 15603 was a huge old building, probably been there since the beginning of louisville. there was off street parking in front, but i couldn't find a place to park. i double parked beside a honda civic. an island separated the two lanes of traffic, there was enough room for another car to get through, but not a truck. i walked up to the steps out front. i looked up. every window was closed and either painted black or was covered by dark shades. it was creepy looking. i walked up and opened the front door. nothing. a carpeted staircase led upward. i looked for an elevator. "anybody home!" i shouted, and my words were echoed. there were some rooms in the entrance, all unoccupied. i started to leave, then i though, how silly, this is pork pie's safe house, why should i expect anyone being here. i again looked for an elevator, still none. climbing up to the next level, i noticed my legs were trembling. out of shape, i thought. many rooms on this level. the silence was deafening. i looked for a placard on the doors, but found none. pork pie could rent these rooms and make a fortune, they could be efficiency apartments, a couple a hundred a month, god, there had to be at least ten on this floor. i suddenly heard it thunder outside. it had looked like rain all morning, the storm wasn't too surprising. the air was comfortable, artifically cooled, it must cost a mint to heat and cool. i climbed to the next level. the appearance was completely different here. it looked like a suite of offices. i stepped into one. a large mahogony desk was covered with dust, filing cabinets stood in three of the four corners. i thought about looking through them, decided i would. a loud clap of thunder came about the time i opened the first drawer, it made me jump. i slowly opened the drawer, legal stuff, old legal stuff, zoning regulations, i pulled out an ancient newspaper, brown with age. it crumbled in my hands.

"may i help you miss?" startled, i looked up. my god in heaven, i thought as another clap of thunder sounded and i looked at a man who had to be seven foot tall. "i'm simpson," he announced. simpson was as thin as a rail, he was dressed in a black suit and a white shirt and black tie. if he wasn't an undertaker, he had missed his calling. he skin was pasty white, and he had to be seventy.

"i, i, i'm here to see mr. anderson, pork pie, laverne." i stuttered.

"you won't find him in those drawers miss," simpson sternly quipped. he put his hands in his front pockets as another clap of thunder occurred. he had a holstered gun on his right hip. "perhaps you'd better leave ma'me."

"please, i was invited here, mr. anderson said that he would be in the attic."

"that's a long walk miss, there's an elevator."

"where?"

"follow me, we'll go up together." i could hear the rain beating against the windows. simpson towered over me, and he was so scary. the elevator was in the very back. it was so old that i didn't trust it to make it to the attic. when we entered, simpson pressed a button that said fifth, and a wheel housing a cable began to turn, the elevator crept upward. "i will need your car keys, and i must search you miss." i hardly had anything on, where would i hide a weapon?

"why my keys?"

"you are illegally parked, miss." simpson searched me, even beneath my socks, he was unable to get off the floor of the elevator.

"may i help?" i asked. simpson held out his hand, and i helped him up. his face was red, and he just nodded.

"thank you," he said.