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Message-ID: <47414asstr$1081739405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 34 {Imagineer} (MF nc viol ScFi)
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Date: Sun, 11 Apr 2004 23:10:05 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 34: Compromised


  Taggert looked toward the warehouse office door at the sound of the
bell. They weren't supposed to be relieved for hours. Was there a
change in plans, or was Ginger just coming to check their work?

  When he recognized agents Johnson and Johnson, his mood darkened.

  "Oh, great, it's Band-Aid and Tylenol," Taggert huffed.
  "More like o.b. and StayFree," Rosewood one-upped.
  "Or Motrin and Massengill."
  "Massengill isn't one of their products," Rosewood corrected.
  "How do you know?"
  "They're in my portfolio."
  "*You* invest?"
  "If you don't plan your future, who will?"

  Johnson and Johnson stood before them. "Shut up, you two. We're here
to relieve you. Ginger wants you back at the datacenter."
  "I'd rather have Ginger 'relieve' me, if you know what I mean."
Rosewood elbowed his elder partner.
  "Talk like that'll get you killed," Taggert warned.
  "What?" Rosewood shrugged. "They don't look so tough."
  "I didn't mean by them."
  Rosewood's eyes suddenly went wide. "Ohhh...."

  Agent Johnson jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Beat it, boys. Day
shift is here."
  "But it's almost five o'clock," Rosewood answered, brow furrowed.
  "That was an insult, Rosewood," Taggert explained. "Come on. Ms.
Hartwick doesn't like to be kept waiting."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Ginger was surprised at Rosewood and Taggert's arrival. "What the
fuck are you doing here?"
  "The Johnsons said you wanted us here."
  Ginger's face cooled as she understood the Johnsons' motive. "Oh. No,
but whatever. If they want to put in the extra time, fine."

  Cooper was alarmed. He knew exactly what the Johnsons were up to. He
and Burnett had ogled the two Barrett women plenty while on
surveillance, but Johnson and Johnson had an ugly history of going way
beyond that. Cooper remembered the last time they'd worked surveillance
on the same job... looking for some leverage against a high-ranking
official in the Canadian Mint, they'd been monitoring his daughter's
activities at band camp...

  "Johnson & Johnson are animals. They would have broken into that
house and raped the two of them every night if they thought they could
get away with it. Now you're leaving them alone with the mom? That's
just sick. I don't know why you even have them around."

  Ginger was dismissive; their extra-curricular activies were none of
her concern, so long as the mission was accomplished. 

  "Because they're very good at what they do," she said.
  "Which is what, exactly?" 

  "Whatever I tell them."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  "Ohhhh..." Gladys heard herself moan. It had been so long since she'd
been touched that way. Since she'd been treated like a woman.

  Her eyes opened to find Mel leaning over her, his rugged face cracked
in a tender smile.

  Gladys felt the gentle but insistent stroking again, big meaty
fingers so unlike her own... god, she was so horny. This wasn't like
her. It wasn't like Mel, either. Gladys had assumed it would never
happen, that the big beefy cook just couldn't open up to anyone.

  But here he was, in her bed at last...

  ...just as she'd imagined him. The coarse salt-and-pepper chest hair,
that little scar on his right side she'd seen when she'd accidentally
barged in on him in the back room as he was changing. Those strong arms.

  She must have had too much to drink. Way too much. She couldn't even
remember where they'd gone out... Her whole body felt warm and gooey
beneath him, sweetly sleepy and exhilerated all at once. He looked down
at her with a look of caring and possession that made her melt.

  Gladys gasped in surprise when he entered her in one swift thrust.
"Ohh!"


  "Why'd you have to dope her up? You know I like it when they resist."
Agent Johnson noted with disappointed satisfaction the way his engorged
prick slid easily in and out of the waitress, slick with her juices.
She was still pretty tight for an old broad who'd had a kid, but all
syrupy and out-of-it like this it was almost wasted. Almost.

  "Remember Montreal?" the other Agent Johnson said, sitting in the
chair next to the couch, flipping channels. "That bitch almost ripped
my balls off. After seeing what this whore's daughter can do, I'm not
taking any chances." 

  "That's just the sapphires, man. This one's harmless." Agent Johnson
reached forward to cup the woman's tit. He pinched the nipple just hard
enough to elicit a gasp -- and a pleasant contraction around his dick.
He didn't normally like them over thirty, but this wasn't the average
teenager's mom. There was no middle-age spread here. This woman had a
great body, just soft enough to be squeezable. If she'd actually been
aware she was being raped she'd probably be quite the handful. It was
too bad he probably wasn't going to get another chance at her. Oh well,
her daughter could make up for it. He'd make sure she was stone-cold
sober when he took her...

  "Hey, we don't know *what* it is. Besides, don't you like it when
they enjoy it?" 
  "She's barely even here. A good blowjob requires more interactivity."
Fucking was one thing, but nothing showed absolute power over a stupid
cunt like a forced blowjob. Johnson's member twitched at the mere
thought of it.

  "Like the girl in Cancun? Did that ever heal right?" What a shitty
cable system. They didn't even have Playboy TV.

  "Her sister made up for it." 
  "Her sister didn't clean the splattered brains off my shoes." 

  "Maybe you shouldn't spend so much on your shoes." 
  "Maybe you shouldn't engage in high-risk sex." 
  "If you're not livin' on the edge, you're just takin' up space." 
  "Quit talking and finish fucking." 

  Johnson slowed and pulled out, backing up off the couch. The woman's
brow furrowed; he heard her whimper. "I've had enough. She's too out of
it. What'd you give her?" 
  "Failed agency psychoactive from the 80s. Subjects got too loopy for
interrogation, but as you can see the program isn't a total loss. She
probably thinks she's home fucking her husband." 
  "She's a widow." 
  "She wasn't always." 

  Agent Johnson retreated to the bathroom. The other Agent Johnson
snapped off the TV, stroking his dick through his underwear until it
stood at attention. The black Calvin Kleins pooled on the floor. He
stepped between the semi-conscious Barrett woman's legs, flopped lewdly
apart on the couch. Hands grabbed her thighs, pulling her toward the
edge of the couch and onto his shaft. He lifted her pelvis up off the
couch slightly, fairly pumping her up and down on his cock, little more
than a sex doll to be used for his pleasure.


  Concern broke through Gladys' sexual high. It felt good, but... No...
this wasn't right. Mel wasn't like this. He had a tough exterior, but
inside he was a teddy bear. They'd never gotten past a few hesitant and
uncomfortable dates. If anything, Gladys had scared him off by being
too aggressive. Mel wouldn't be like this... so selfish. So... rough. 

  "No..." she said weakly. He only drove into her more harshly; his
free hand dug into her breast. She tried to push him off, but her arms
wouldn't move...


  Johnson came out of the bathroom, grabbing his pants off the back of
a chair in the corner. He noticed the unwilling look on the woman's
face, eyes clamped tight, brow furrowed, head shaking slowly back and
forth, "No, no, no..."

  "Figures she'd start putting out for you," he said with mild disgust.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Gladys woke up to voices. She felt groggy, but the memory of her
abduction brought her mind into sharp focus. She was sitting. Her
wrists and ankles hurt; something stiff and sharp-edged bound them to
the chair. She expected to be blindfolded but was not. She opened her
eyes cautiously. She was in a small room, like an office; in front of
her was an open door with sickly flourescent light streaming in from an
open area beyond. A round table sat in the middle of the next room. A
man walked by; she quickly closed her eyes and feigned unconsciousness.
If they thought she was still out of it, maybe she could learn
something about her captors.

  Voices. She opened her eyes slowly. Two men sat at the table, one
with his back to her, the other to one side. A woman leaned up against
the far wall, just within Gladys' view. Her clothes were expensive, if
a little tarty. Her arms were crossed. She was pissed.

  "Cooper, you want Chinese?"
  "Yeah. Gimme some Ginger Beef."
  Everyone snickered. The woman, clearly in charge, shot them a look.
Her name must be Ginger.

  "Hey, boss, you want some Chinese?"
  "Cantonese, Mandarin, Schezuan, or Hunan?" The question was phrased
as if being asked of a lazy child.
  "I don't know, Chinese."
  The woman rolled her eyes. "Well, is it *good* Chinese?"
  "Well, yeah. They even print stuff on the little boxes."
  "Thank You."
  "You're welcome."
  "No, they print 'Thank You.'"
  "How'd you know?"
  "Because every little shit Chinese restaurant buys the same fucking
boxes, you moron."
  "Well I never really had Chinese much. All those weird vegetables and
spices. But Taggert turned me on to some stuff that I liked."
  "Lemme guess, sweet and sour pork."
  "Yeah; you like it too?"
  "Rosewood, you are the dumbest, most backwater motherfucker in the
entire agency. How the fuck did you ever get hired?"

  Gladys couldn't help but crack a smile.

  "Hey, boss, I think she's waking up."


  The woman in charge stood in front of Gladys. She was immaculately
dressed. Expensive. And slutty.

  "Relax. You're not going anywhere for a while."

  "What do you want with my daughter?"
  "This isn't Amateur Hour. I'm not some cardboard villain from a
Bruckheimer movie. You're the hostage, I don't have to tell you shit."

  "If it's money you want, we don't have any, except for the house."
For some reason that elicited a snicker from two of the men -- Cooper
and the dirty-blonde one in the retro-fashionable summer suit. Ginger
shot them a look. 
  Her reply to her captive was curt. "I'm not talking to you."

  "She has something you want." She remembered earlier that day at the
diner. "A priceless Chinese artifact." A flash of recognition crossed
Ginger's face. "Why didn't you just take it from her?"
  "You know, I could still gag you."

  Gladys raised an eyebrow. Of course. "You don't know where it is."

  A loud disembodied voice suddenly filled the room; Summer Suit had
turned on the television.

  "An explosion rocked the sleepy development of Heartwood Gardens
earlier today-"

  Ginger screamed, "turn it off! Turn it off!"

  Her scream startled Summer Suit, who dropped the remote. It clattered
to the floor, a plastic Crack! followed by a bouncing and rolling sound.

  "At shortly before 11 A.M., the home of Gladys Barrett, a waitress at
a local diner, exploded and caught fire here on Valentine Drive..."

  "Turn it off!" Ginger kept screaming. Cooper and his startled
companion both dove under the table at the same time, knocking heads.
One of them found the remote, holding it up above the table and
stabbing at buttons, to no effect.

  "Fire investigators pin the cause on a leaky valve that caused
explosive gas to accumulate in the house until a spark ignited it.
Neither Mrs. Barrett nor her daughter Angela were in the house at the
time; no bodies have been found."

  "You lost the batteries," Rosewood offered cheerfully. "I think I
heard them roll over there under the fridge."

  Summer Suit scrambled across the floor, a cream-colored cockroach
chasing down the batteries.

  "Police are investigating the claims of one witness that before the
explosion there were at least two men who attempted to enter the house
and exchanged gunfire with someone inside. Investigators refuse to
confirm or deny evidence of a shootout at this time."

  "Fuck the batteries, pull the fucking plug!" Ginger barked. She
stepped through the doorway and out of sight.

  Rosewood jumped up to comply, but his foot got tangled up in the legs
of the chair. He went straight to the floor with a loud Smack! His hand
sought something solid to help him up, and found the edge of the
makeshift tablecloth. Beer cans, playing cards, ashtrays, and old pizza
crusts went flying.

  "The witness went on to say that the wanted fugitive Sapphire, also
known as the Avenging Angel, was seen fleeing the scene, but this has
not been confirmed. Neither Barrett woman could be reached for comment,
and their whereabouts are un-"

  Twin explosions marked the television's death by handgun.

  Ginger brought the weapon to rest in front of her chest. "If you all
don't get your *shit* together the TV won't be the only fucking
casualty around here."

  All the men froze, cowering in place. Gladys could see Cooper through
the doorway, still under the table; he looked like a hunted animal,
hoping he wouldn't be found.

  A metallic click marked the ejection of Ginger's clip from her
weapon; Gladys heard rhythmic crunching glass. A moment later, Ginger
returned, pressing a round into the top of the clip,
perfectly-manicured bright-red nails at once contrast and complement to
the deadly projectile. Ginger snugged the clip behind her into the
waistband of her expensive-looking skirt.

  Gladys looked up at Ginger. These people had blown up her house. They
could have killed someone. They were clearly *willing* to kill someone
to get what they wanted. They might kill her. They might hurt her
daughter. 

  A hot flash of fury burned through her. "Listen, I don't know who you
people are, but if you do *anything* to hurt Angela, I swear to God
I'll make you pay."

  Summer Suit piped up from the next room. "Hey, lady, if we were able
to hurt your daughter, we wouldn't need you, now would we?"

  Ginger's face turned red; she practically leaped for the doorway.
"Shut up! You fucking idiots!" She looked back at her captive, trying
to read from her face the damage the comment had caused.

  Gladys' eyes narrowed. "You don't know where *she* is, either." 

  She looked down in a moment of reflection before holding Ginger's
gaze again. "So what is this 'package'? And who has the rest of it?"

  Ginger's face turned red; her eyes narrowed into a scowl. She called
over her shoulder, "You were *supposed* to hang up when I started
talking!"
  "We tried, boss, but the button on the phone was sticking."

  Ginger pulled the gun out of her skirt. Gladys got a good look at it
this time. It was large and chrome and masculine, no doubt chosen more
for its intimidation than its utility. 

  "I don't think she heard the part about the stones or the super-"

  Ginger stalked to the doorway and pointed it out toward the voices
beyond. "Shut. The *Fuck*. Up. The only reason this door is open is so
you dumbshits have a clean shot in case her overachieving daughter
tries a rescue."
  "Now who's giving the hostage information?" one of her men taunted.
  Ginger retrained the weapon, singling out a target. "Just because I
need you now doesn't mean I won't kill you later," she spat.

  The pregnant silence suggested the comment might not be an
exaggeration.

  "Rosewood." Ginger waved her piece upward. "Go relieve Taggert on the
roof."

  Gladys' mental gears spun; facts began to coalesce around a fantastic
truth. 

  "Have you noticed your daughter acting strange lately?"
  Her daughter's recent taste in more revealing clothes.
  "Has she been unusually withdrawn?"
  Spending all those extra hours at work.
  "I can't tell you, mom. It's... private."
  The constant sewing. Ripped-up garments in the trash can.
  "And yet I never see you wearing anything you've made."
  "I think you know your daughter's been up to something."
  Angela out all hours of the night.
  "I wish I could tell you what's going on, but you wouldn't
understand."
  The QuickMart. "Promise me you won't go there anymore."
  The World News Weekly: GOD SENDS ANGEL TO SAVE QUICK MART
  "You'll always be my little angel."
  "You're right mom. I need to get out there and do something."
  AVENGING ANGEL STRIKES AGAIN!
  "It would just break my heart to be watching the news and see my
baby's name..."
  The morning news: "I'm standing here in front of what's left of GB's
restaurant, which witnesses claim was the site of a clash of titanic
proportions between the Black Widow and the Avenging Angel known to
some as Sapphire..."
  Angela didn't come home last night. "I had kind of a long night..."
  The house this morning: "...wanted fugitive Sapphire, also known as
the Avenging Angel, was seen fleeing the scene..."
  "Please just trust me when I say I'm all right."
  Spending so many nights out on the patio.
  "...a gaping hole in the roof of police headquarters, where
unofficial witnesses claim Sapphire broke out..."
  A guard on the roof. 
  "...in case her overachieving daughter tries a rescue."
  "If we were able to hurt your daughter..."


  Tears began to well up in Gladys Barrett's eyes.

  "Sapphire. Oh, Angela..."


  "Congratulations." Ginger's exasperated sarcasm was directed at her
co-conspirators as much as her captive.

  "My baby's a superheroine."
  "Your baby's a big pain in the ass. And if she continues to be a pain
in the ass, you'll be kissing yours goodbye."

  "Why are you doing this?"
  "Isn't it obvious? Your daughter stole something from me. I want it
back. Do you honestly think a power like that is best used stopping
suburban convenience store robberies and purse-snatchings? It's a
*gift* to humanity and some teenage bimbo is squandering it!"
  The sarcasm of Gladys' retort was palpable. "The world is *so* much
better off putting power like that in the hands of someone like *you*." 
  Ginger kneeled suddenly, her face inches from that of her hostage.
"Look, *Gladys*," Ginger said with dripping contempt, "we're on the
same side. Do you want your sweet little girl gallivanting about
half-dressed late at night with the unsavory elements of society?" She
paused, letting the disturbing image sink in. "If Angela does what
she's told, before you know it you'll have your baby back on track with
junior college and dates with nice boys. Everyone wins."

  Gladys felt crushing guilt for pressuring her daughter to share her
secret. Why didn't Angela tell her? The zip-ties digging into her
wrists and ankles were her answer. Her angel had been trying to protect
her. Protect her from this woman...

  "So you're the Black Widow."
  Once again, the peanut gallery provided wise-ass intel. "She wishes!"
  Ginger fired a warning shot, the big gun shaking the walls with the
force of its report. A meek voice answered, "Sorry."
  "The Black Widow is just a crazy bitch with a revenge complex. I
don't even need a hostage to make her give it up. She'll be dead in an
hour. That just leaves your daughter."

  "She won't give you what you want. She won't be party to creating a
monster. Not even for me."
  "She already created a monster. The Black Widow wouldn't exist if
your daughter hadn't been careless."
  "That's not true."
  "Like you'd know. You didn't even know your daughter was playing
superhero. But you do know your daughter will give that up if she
thinks it can save you."

  'If she *thinks* it can save you.' This woman wasn't going to let
Gladys go. Or Angela. Now she knew why they hadn't bothered with a
blindfold.

  "You're not going to let us go."

  Ginger sneered. "You're smarter than the average waitress. Too bad
you didn't pass it on to your daughter."
  "You monster," Gladys choked back her emotion. "Angela will figure it
out. She'll never give in. You might as well just kill me now."
  "What, and throw away my leverage? I'm not as dumb as your daughter."

  "Angela is *not* dumb!"
  "Oh come now, we both know your daughter's not smart. Not book smart,
not street smart. She's just a stupid little girl from the suburbs. She
gets all her wisdom from Britney Spears and Li'l Bow Wow."
  "She may not be book smart or street smart but she knows a rat when
she sees one."
  "A *rat*? Where's the truckstop waitress? Even now you can't let
loose with a little profanity? I'd hoped you might have toughened up
your prissy little daughter just a little bit. Don't you know good
girls don't stand a chance in this world?"

  Gladys snarled. "My prissy little daughter is gonna kick your skinny
ass."

  Ginger was taken aback; she thought Gladys would never crack. "You
think so."

  "I know so. Angela Barrett comes from a long line of tough broads."


  Ginger noticed a new glint in Gladys' eyes. There was some fire in
the Barrett family after all.

  "Well, she's gonna have to wait. I've got some ass-kicking of my own
to do." She turned and walked out.

  "Boys, sit tight while I'm gone."
  "You want us to-"
  "I want you to sit your asses down and wait. I hope you don't find a
way to fuck *that* up."

  The echo of Ginger's heels marked her departure.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Eric Lockwell pulled his weapon and released the safeties. Deep
breath...

  Crash! The deadbolt spit fractured toothpicks on the floor; Eric
stepped into the crummy apartment with frightening mechanical precision.

  "Hands off the keyboard. Off the keyboard! OFF THE FUCKING KEYBOARD!"
Eric yanked the back of the chair, sending Chuck flopping over on his
back; Mikey, hands up, stood up and backed himself against the wall.
Eric swung his weapon quickly toward Andrew, locking his sights between
his former protege's eyes. "Location of the hostage. Now."
  Mikey spoke up. "Dude, we can't tell you that. Ginger will kill us."
  Eric swung his weapon quickly, lowering and firing a single shot; the
weapon was again between Andrew's eyes before Mikey had begun to scream.
  "Ow! Fuck! Fuck! Oh, shit!"
  Eric never took his eyes off Andrew. He pointed a chiding finger in
Mikey's direction. "Shut up or the next one's between the eyes." Mikey
bit his lip; his breathing became continuous stiff grunting gasps
through clenched teeth.

  "Location of the hostage."

  There was a long moment of silence as the three datahounds mentally
grasped at straws.

  "I know you geeks've been sharing this apartment for weeks; I know
all three of you know where Ginger's got Gladys Barrett. That means two
of you should be dead already." He feinted a pivot toward Mikey, who
inhaled sharply in response; then feinted down toward the recumbant
Chuck, who flinched; then back to Andrew, who stared stone cold at Eric.

  "I know you're just data hounds. You two," he tipped his head away
from Andrew, "didn't even get field training for weapons or
interrogation, so I know you're not signed up to die for the mission. I
could explain how Ginger's gone rogue; I could explain how she's
setting *you* up to take the fall," he nodded at Andrew, "I could
explain that I'm going to kill her; I could explain that if you live
through the next two minutes you can pack up your shit and disappear
and live long, fulfilling, productive lives." Eric's eyes never left
Andrew's as he swung his pistol down toward Chuck, who squirmed feebly;
a dark stain grew over his crotch. "Or I can kill two of you before you
talk and one of you after."

  "Okay, okay, okay!" Chuck squealed. "Eighty-fourth and Brasco. What
else do you want to know? I'll tell you anything, just please don't
kill me."

  Eric raised an eyebrow at Andrew. "Someone understands."
  "How do you know we won't warn Ginger as soon as you leave?" Andrew
asked cynically.
  "I didn't say I'd let *you* live. I know *they* won't say a word.
Because in the next sixty seconds they're going to tell me everything
they know about the location, the personnel, and all the resources. And
after I'm gone they're going to spend ten minutes thanking whatever God
they thought they abandoned because they're still breathing. Then
they're going to realize that I'm the best-trained most-experienced
baddest motherfucker on this case with all the intel I need. Ginger's
team has a zero percent chance of killing me before I hunt down and
kill you and your entire families if you fuck with me."
  Long seconds of silence passed. A dark stain grew over Mikey's crotch.

  Chuck spoke. "Let me up and I'll give you everything on a Compact
Flash."
  Eric stepped back, keeping the weapon trained on Andrew. Chuck got up
and started typing furiously. Two minutes later he stopped typing and
started clicking. "I'm downloading now. [pause] Done." Eric heard a
mechanical click as the memory card was ejected. Chuck slid it to the
corner of the table and withdrew his hand slowly. Eric picked it up and
pocketed it.
  "Give me the executive summary," he commanded.

  "In addition to us three, Ginger's got Johnson & Johnson, Burnett &
Cooper, and Rosewood & Taggert. They've got a surveillance van, white
Econoline, magnetic logos for a bunch of local utilities and
installers. Run out of the business office and warehouse at
Eighty-fourth and Brasco. I don't know where the guys are staying.
Ginger's driving a white DeVille rental, shacked up at the airport
Holiday Inn."
  "She's slumming," Eric said dryly. "When's your next contact?"
  "Ten A.M. tomorrow."
  "Are they all at the warehouse with the hostage?"
  "I don't know; Johnson & Johnson and Rosewood & Taggert have been
trading twelve-hour shifts; if they keep to that, Johnson & Johnson
will be coming on at midnight. Ginger said she'd be back by then.
Burnett & Cooper were running errands for Ginger; I don't know what,
but they're probably back at the warehouse by now. Ginger wanted 'em
there while she was gone in case the girl tried anything."

  Eric stepped back toward the door, keeping the gun locked between
Andrew's eyes. Andrew tried to show no emotion. "Thank you," Eric said
with genuine appreciation. "You two go home."

  Eric pulled the door open behind him. He stood there, eyeing Andrew
critically for what seemed an eternity.

  "So are you going to kill me or not? The Simpsons is on in five
minutes."
  Eric cracked a smile. "I always knew you had balls." He lowered his
weapon and stepped out into the hallway. "Now show me you have brains."
With that, he was gone.


  Andrew crossed the room, passing the now-wailing Mikey to the
bathroom. He opened the cabinet and pulled out two towels, tossing them
at Mikey. "Apply direct pressure. Did it go through?" He checked the
wall. "In and out; just a flesh wound. You're lucky."

  "Lucky? He *shot* me!"
  "In the arm. You're lucky you're not both dead." Andrew turned to
Chuck. "What did you give him?"
  "You heard me."
  "I heard you spill it straight. What'd you give him on the card?"
  "Same thing, basically, plus phone numbers, Ginger's room number, all
the van's plates that I could remember."
  "No, I mean, what encryption?"
  "Encryption?"
  "Virus? Worm?"
  "Fuck you, Andy. This is Eric Lockwell. I'm not fucking with him."
  "Fuck! I knew I should have sent you two home."
  "No need. That's where I'm goin', just as soon as I can pack my shit
and get a flight. You do what you want."

  Andrew plopped down on the couch. "The Simpsons are on in four
minutes. If you're not both out of here by the time Bart hits the
chalkboard, *I'll* kill you."

  Mikey looked worriedly at the back of Andrew's head. "What are you
gonna do?"

  "I went out for beer. When I got back, you were gone. I don't know
nothin'."


   



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