index


Message-ID: <50900asstr$1112879402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 31 {Gina Marie Wylie} {teen, mff, cons)
Lines: 1262
Date: Thu,  7 Apr 2005 09:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d




_________________________________________________________________
Express yourself instantly with MSN Messenger! Download today - it's FREE! 
http://messenger.msn.click-url.com/go/onm00200471ave/direct/01/

<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 31.doc" begin>


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 31 :: Dear Ed

Dear Ed,

My name is David Harper; I'm a freshman at San Angelo High.  You
don't know me, but it's likely that current events have brought
my name to your attention.

Not too long ago, a friend and I were leaving a movie when
someone deliberately tried to run us down in the parking lot. 
When someone tries to kill you and a friend, it's an intensely
humbling and above all, very scary thing.  I have the highest
regard for Police Chief Victor Ortega and his officers and
detectives, but they were unable to ascertain who it was who
tried to hurt us, why they wanted to do so or apprehend the
individual or individuals who might have been involved.

When I sat down to write this, I planned on telling you about the
two attacks on my life; thinking about what I was going to say
has changed my mind.  You see someone trying to kill you once
isn't a happy thing.  And today the count stands at four times
people have tried.

The second time someone tried to hurt me and my friends was an
attack from someone I've known most of my life and who has
bullied me almost from the first day we met.  I was upset that
day, and instead of reacting as usual (running away) I reacted in
fear and anger, striking two of the three young men who were
verbally harassing me at that point.  Afterwards I was so
grateful that a gun, knives and other weapons were found on the
bullies, and that I was going to skate on the fact that I started
the fight, that I forgot to ask the one important question:  why
the gun, knives and other weapons?  What was their true intent? 
I don't know; I think only the three young men might know.

The third time I was sitting with friends of my father, Phil
Harper, playing cards in our family room.  Someone started
shooting into the room from outside.  One my father's friends was
shot in the arm, and I lost part of my earlobe.  A short
investigation led the police to a particular individual, but on
further investigation that individual was released because there
wasn't sufficient evidence to either hold him or charge him with
any crimes.

Like I said, I have a great deal of respect for Chief Ortega.  I
didn't know it at the time, but he had assigned officers to
follow the suspect and others to watch over me.  That turned out
to be a gift that can't be repaid: the suspect eluded the tail
and showed up at my parent's house during a party my sister,
Wanda, and I were having for friends.  The suspect was heavily
armed and was promptly arrested by the police and is, I'm
assured, unlikely to be roaming the streets anytime soon.

I have done nothing that I know of to earn these acts against me.
 One common theme to these attacks is that they happened when I
was with friends.  Now, some of those friends have been told by
their parents they don't want them to associate with me anymore.

I've come to agree with those parents.  Being selfish, though, I
have to say it's been my family and friends who have cheered me
up and helped me get over each event.  I'm not sure I could have
done it without them.  I don't have so many friends that I can
afford to lose even one.

Another very positive thing that happened to me this year is that
I have some incredibly gifted and talented teachers.  My algebra
teacher is the best teacher I've ever had; none come close.  Her
understanding of the subject and her ability to get and maintain
the interest of her students is unmatched.  My biology and
geography teachers are easily head and shoulders better teachers
than any others I've had.  My Spanish teacher is patient with
someone who is not only learning a foreign language, but someone
who is learning his own language's grammar at the same time.

Now I come to something nearly as unpleasant as having someone
out to physically injure me.  I refer to the stand of a local
member of the clergy, who has named me from the pulpit as the
embodyment of all that's wrong in the world.  Good grief!  I'm
thirteen years old!  I mean, it's rich!  A man who has threatened
his own daughter and a niece with confinement in a mental
institution if they don't do what he tells them to!  This is a
man who thinks I'm evil!  I'm not; I'm thirteen!

I think the city of San Angelo is facing a crisis.  I think it is
time for the adults of this city to turn off their TVs, get off
their sofas and start looking into what's going on.  They might
want to find out who is going around town trying to hurt me --
and totally unconcerned about bystanders.  They need to see what
makes a man make morally repugnant threats to those given into
his care -- threats so severe that one of the two threatened has
even now vanished.  Can you imagine it?  Her friends are hoping
she has run away to live on the streets, because they are afraid
the girl will throw herself off a bridge instead!

David Harper



I sat back at the computer and looked over the letter and grinned
in satisfaction.  I went over it a couple of times, then sent
copies to Dad at work, Wanda, Mercedes and Shellie.  I glanced at
the time.  Odds were, I'd have to tell everyone to look for it. 
But tomorrow, first thing, come what may, I was going to send it
to the newspaper's email address.

About five minutes later the phone rang and I picked it up.  My
dad was blunt, "You really want to send that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you misspelled embodiment."  Then he hung up.

I grimaced and went back and fixed the spelling.

The phone rang again and it was Mercedes.  "I'm calling from
Shellie's.  We came over here because at least there's a computer
and a phone.  How are you?  Wanda stopped by this morning and
said you were okay, just bruised."

"Bruised and sore," I agreed.  "The doctor said I should rest
today, but I can go back to school tomorrow."

"We could come over," she told me.

"No," I told her.  "Tomorrow we can go over to your sister's
again, if that's okay."

"Sure, it'll be fine.  Here's Shellie."

"How are you, Davey?" Shellie asked.

"Bruised.  My dad is real big on telling me that this is how he
looked after every football game he played.  Then he suggests
that I should go out for football.  Not!"

"We read your letter," Shellie said.  "You misspelled
embodiment."

"Why gosh, thanks!" I told her.

"You have the spell checker turned off, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted.  It kept changing words on me when I didn't
want it to.

"You might want to spell check it again."

"I will."

"Davey..." her voice faded away for a second, then she came back
stronger.  "My parents read the newspaper.  I don't think they
read the editorial page, but I don't know."

"I just can't sit still and let things go the way they've been. 
Karen's missing..."

"We know," Shellie said.

"And I know the police and all think they are doing a good job. 
They did a good job with Fesselhof, at least the second time. 
But I'm scared, Shellie.  It's never when I'm alone, it's always
when I'm with friends.  I couldn't stand it if someone got
hurt."

"Davey, we love you, okay?  Mercedes and I both love you.  Now
and forever.  We are your friends, no matter what."  She giggled.
 "And you should watch some anime, Davey!  A lot of the heroes
are girls.  They kick butt!  Sailor Moon!"

"Thanks," I said.  "Who is Sailor Moon?"

"I'll explain later, now, we have to study," Shellie told me. 
"Mercedes has to baby-sit tonight."

"Give her a hug and a kiss from me," I told her.  "And tell
Mercedes to do the same for you."

Shellie really giggled.  "Mercedes is cruel, Davey.  She's
sitting here next to me, making me smile.  As soon as I hang up,
I'm going to make her smile as well!"

"That's my girls!" I told her, and then wished I could be there
with them instead of home by myself, feeling like shit.

It felt like the aspirin was wearing off, so I got up and took
another.

The doorbell rang, so I went and peeked again before opening it.
Ellie.

Surprised, I opened the door.  "Hi, Davey."

"Hello, Ellie."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," I told her, opened the door wider and let her in.

"I heard you weren't in school today."

"No.  I was really tired yesterday; I didn't sleep well the night
before.  Then Desmond..."  I spread my hands.  Not too far,
because my ribs reminded me of Desmond when I did.

"Are you okay?"

I smiled at her.  "Bruised.  Everyone says I'm lucky to be
alive."  I met her eyes.  "Desmond came over a while ago.  We
have, I think, officially buried the hatchet."

She looked relieved.  "He's not a bad guy, he just loses his
temper and then his brain shuts off."

"Ellie, Desmond isn't the only person around here like that. 
I've lost my temper a time or two lately."

"Well, I'm glad you're not mad at him."

"I was never mad at him.  I was mad at me for doing something
without even thinking about it.  I'm sorr..."

She reached up and put her index finger against my lips.  "If you
plan on telling me that you're sorry we were together Saturday,
you gotta know I have a worse temper than Desmond."

"I'm sorry I didn't ask about protection.  Yours and mine."

"Well, Davey, if you haven't heard from your friends before, I'll
clue you in: girls have to be sure, because it's them that pay."

I nodded.  "Yeah, I've been told.  Still, it wouldn't have hurt
to ask."

"Might have spoiled the moment," she said with a grin.

"Might have," I agreed.  "But then again, maybe the moment should
be spoiled if something like that takes your mind off things."

She laughed.  "I think you're right.  You are, Davey, a pretty
nice guy.  I see why you have two girlfriends."

"After the party Saturday, I have limited visitation rights," I
told her.  "Mercedes had to move out.  Shellie isn't supposed to
come over any more."

She nodded.  "Can I ask you a personal question, Davey?"

"Sure." I was curious what she wanted to know.

"The three of you do it?  Together?"

I contemplated whether or not I wanted to answer.  The simple
answer was sometimes.  But that led places I wasn't sure I wanted
to go.

"Yes," I replied, deciding to keep to the minimalist truth.

"I was just curious how a threesome worked," she told me.  "I
wasn't sure."  She looked at me.  "And they were cool with
Saturday?  I mean, you couldn't exactly hide it from Mercedes."

"At the end of the day, we love each other.  We all understand
that fooling around with someone isn't the same thing with being
in love forever with them.  As long as it's just fooling around,
we don't have a problem with it."

Ellie was nodding, and then suddenly she stopped.  For a second I
couldn't read the emotions on her face.  "You were cool with
Mercedes and Annie?"

I met her eyes again.  "Yes."

She smiled slightly.  "No wonder I never heard of another
boyfriend!"

I realized my mouth was open entirely too much.  "This is going
to a place I don't want to go."

Now she had a contemplative look on her face.  "I always wondered
what it was like," her voice was soft, almost a whisper.  She
looked at me intently.  "So, if I were to hit on one of them, she
wouldn't be surprised and the rest of you wouldn't be offended?"

"No," I told her, "I don't imagine anyone would get offended. 
The person might be a little surprised, though."

"Shellie is really cute," Ellie whispered.  "Might be cool to
find out what it's like, so many people keep trying to make it a
big deal."

I didn't say anything, just stood there watching her.

She laughed at my expression. "In a way, Mercedes was really nice
Saturday.  A whole lot of us wanted to try it, I was surprised. 
And now there's a lot of meaningful glances going on in the
locker room after a practice."

I smiled, thinking this had come a couple years late for Wanda. 
Then again, maybe not, because she and Pammie had a thing going
on for years.  If any rumors ever got back to her father, it
would have been curtains for Pammie, just like it had been for
Karen.

"San Angelo isn't exactly a hotbed of tolerance," I warned her.

"Oh, like you have to tell me that?" she scoffed.  "I've noticed
a time or two."

"And what if Desmond hears about it?" I asked.

"Desmond is going to have to learn to behave about the bus.  I'm
inclined to give him a second chance, but he has to learn what it
means to be on the bus."

"I'm not sure what it means on the bus," I told her.  "I thought
one thing, then found out it could be more.  I'm still a little
curious how come I wasn't so embarrassed Saturday that I could
still get it up.  I mean, there were forty people on the bus!  We
did it in front of all of them!"

"Yep!  And Davey, let me tell you, that's why it's there for all
to see.  You keep your mouth shut once, and you're just as guilty
in the bigots' minds as the ones doing it.  And at some point or
another, everyone on the bus gets rewarded, and all the
cheerleaders give rewards... at least the ones who ride on the
bus."

It was certainly something to think about, anyway.

"Well, Davey, one last thing.  I wanted to do a little something
to make up, a little, for the ribs."

I swallowed.  She laughed at my expression.

"Davey, show me your bedroom."

I shook my head.

"Like I said, it's the least I can do.  For the ribs, and because
starting tomorrow I'm going to be trying to get to home plate
with one of your girlfriends."

"Ellie, you tell me how we square this with all of the talk about
what's on the bus stays on the bus?  Tell me why Desmond wouldn't
want to rip my head off again?"

"I told him it was over between us.  I'm sorry he blew it, but he
blew it.  And if I'm not going with him, I'm free to be with
whoever I want."

"Ellie, I could probably survive another blow job.  Anything
else, I just couldn't.  It hurts to move.  And you know what? 
Every time I move I'm going to think about why it hurts.  I'm
going to be reminded about the fact that what I consider a normal
state of things isn't like that for most people."

"And what is your idea of the 'normal state of things?'"

"Ellie, there are two people in the world I love very much. 
There are some others I like quite a lot.  There are a lot of
girls I wouldn't kick out of bed.  We've agreed, the three of us.
 There's love and playing around.  We don't have a problem with
someone playing around.

"But that's us, Ellie.  It's what we've decided works for us. 
Will it work forever?  I don't know.  It could all fall apart
tomorrow.  We're like anyone else; sometimes we do something
unintentional that pisses someone we care about off.  We're
learning to work through things like that.  And right now, I have
a whole lot on my plate."

I waved at the family room.  "Come here, Ellie."

I led the way and stopped in the middle of the room.  "You can't
see it unless you look close, but look here."  I pointed to a
place on the wall across from the window.  "That's a bullet hole.
 There are others.  We have new glass in the window, because
there were so many holes in it."

She looked at the mark on the wall where the drywall guy had
patched it.  It really was hard to see, and I suspected that in a
year or two it would be hard to find.

I touched my ear.  The band-aid had long since gone.  "You have
to look close, but the tip of my earlobe is missing.  Another guy
was hit in the arm."

"But the bastard's in jail, right?"

I sighed.  "He is.  Worse, though, they're investigating
Desmond."

"Desmond?  That's crazy!  He's stupid, but he's not that
stupid!"

I walked over to the printer and handed her a copy of the letter.
 She read it over, and then looked at me.  "Four times?"

"Yeah."

"You don't mention Desmond."

"No.  I'm sure it's personal.  But the people investigating this
are thorough.  They're going to check him out.  Which means,
they'll probably check you out as well."

"Me?" Her eyes went round in astonishment.

I nodded.  "Three of my father's friends here the night of the
shooting are Federal agents.  The big heavy-set Hispanic guy at
the assembly Monday, he was the one shot in the arm.  The other
young guy... he was here earlier when Desmond came over.  He just
stood there and listened while Desmond laid it all out, including
the reason why we fought."

"He talked in front of a federal agent?" Her eyes were round
again.

"Yeah.  They don't exactly wear signs," I told her.

She walked over to the couch and sat down.  "You're right.  It
kind of ruins the mood.  They could be watching now?"

I shrugged.  "I don't think so, but yeah."

I'd never thought about bugs and cameras, not in my own house. 
How could I know?

"The Reverend Grissom started something the other day, he's going
on with it.  There are a couple of gay teachers at school.  He's
going to go after them.  His niece has run away.  Right now my
mother and sister are out looking for her."

"I heard about that.  That sucks rocks."

"Yeah.  But as long as people keep coming after me, it sucks even
more than that.  Mercedes and Shellie can't come over here
anymore.  Like I said in my letter, if I was their parents, I'd
tell them the same thing."

"And now you have another problem."

"Yeah.  This isn't a really good time for me."

"Davey," she stood up.  She walked close, leaned over and kissed
me lightly on the lips.  "I don't know what I can do to help, but
if you need anything, call me.  I'll talk to Desmond, he's not
going to bother you again, I promise."

"Thanks."

She left and I went and stood in front of the hole in the wall,
contemplating it.  Getting a handle on things was getting harder
and harder.  It was hard to even begin to tell where things began
and stopped, what was connected and what wasn't.

I heard a sound and turned and saw Dad standing in the door
between the family room and living room.  "Didn't hear you come
in," I told him.

"I remember trying to get you to stand in the corner when you
were little.  It was a pain in the ass, I had to stand over you
the entire time or you'd take off."

"I don't remember," I told him honestly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Bruised.  How did you deal with it?  I mean, it hurts."

He shrugged.  "Davey, the word is 'inured.'  You get inured to
it.  It's like listening to one piece of music over and over
again.  After a certain point, you can't hear it any more.  It's
why the decorator comes through the office every ninety days and
replaces the pictures.  You stop seeing them.  What's the point
of a landscape or pretty girl if you stop seeing them?"

"So you just ignored it?"

"Pretty much.  Sometimes it was worse than others.  Other times,
hardly anything.  Ask your mom.  There were times I'd make love
to her afterwards, there were other days I just nursed my ribs. 
It was different every time."

"Inured."

"Yeah."

"Will you be pissed if I said that there are some things I don't
ever plan to get inured to?  And that pain heads the list?"

"Davey, shit happens.  That's just the way of it.  You've had a
rough few weeks; I understand that.  But you don't whine, even
now, you're standing there, in my face, telling me what you're
going to do and not do.  Some one who truly wanted to avoid pain
would go along to get along."

"So consistency isn't one of my strong suits."

"Oh, you're wrong there, Davey!  You just don't see the whole
picture yet."

"Do you think that they might have bugged the house?"

He looked at me steadily for a long second.  "You have a nasty,
suspicious mind, Davey.  I don't think so."

He put his fingers to his lips, shaking his head no.  I figured
that meant change the subject.

"Have you heard from Mom?"

"No.  I did talk to Vic.  They can't take a missing persons
report from a non-family member and they can't take it until the
person has been missing for a day.  That's really stupid, because
if you read the literature about missing kids, the first twelve
hours are absolutely critical.  No wonder they find so damn few
of them!"

I swallowed.  I'd known Karen for a few weeks.  If she'd said she
was going back home, I'd have nodded, waved goodbye and wished
her well, and would have been unsurprised if I went the rest of
my life without ever seeing her again.  Why was it I had a lump
in my throat big enough to choke on?  That I wanted to cry and
rage and ruin someone's day as he'd ruined other peoples?

"What say we go eat a few steaks?" Dad asked and I nodded.

We went out and I got in the front seat of his car, and he joined
me.  It wasn't even six yet, a little early for dinner.  "I
forgot something at the plant, Davey.  You don't mind a small
detour?"

"No, of course not."

We drove to the plant and he motioned to me and I followed him
inside.  Instead of going to his office, we ended up in Johnny
Ito's.

"Johnny, what do you know about scanning for bugs?" he asked.

Johnny looked at him, then at me.  "Cheap inexpensive bugs, you
can find with a little gizmo that's just a radio receiver that
looks for weak signals from a transmitter.  The cheap ones
transmit all the time; the more sophisticated ones just when
someone is talking.  You bring a boom box, turn it up and scan a
room.

"The highly sophisticated ones are very tough to find.  They have
solid-state memory; they only transmit for a few seconds every
couple of hours.  For those you might as well just do a simple
physical search in crooks and crannies.  But even so, they'd have
been put in by someone who knows what they are doing.  Odds are
you wouldn't see one.  If it was the top drawer bugs, odds are
you wouldn't even recognize it if you did see it."

"Wonderful."

"You think you may have been bugged?"

"Davey asked the question.  I'd like to think people I know
wouldn't do such a thing.  But..." his voice trailed away.

Johnny grinned.  "You could do a little stage play.  Carefully. 
Pretend there's someone with a weapon in the house, holding you
at gunpoint.  Talk it up.  If the police come without you calling
them, then you'd know.  You'd want to be careful because they've
been known to make mistakes.  They might also be somewhat upset
to have been caught."

Dad nodded and turned to leave.  Since I was there...

"Johnny, I have a friend who backs up a lot of stuff to DVD. 
Like four disks a shot.  What's a good source for DVDs?"

He grinned at me.  "If you're asking me if I can get them for
you, no.  Company policy says we don't make purchases like that
for individuals.  I've been known to argue it wouldn't be a bad
idea, but management is opposed, thinking it would be the camel's
nose under the tent and pretty soon we'd be a branch of Office
Depot."  He smiled at me, ignoring my father.

"Further, management has been on everyone's case lately about
filching supplies.  Pens, paper, whatever.  Even when I get
freebies, which isn't often, they go into the general supply
cabinet."

"Is there a place you can get them in bulk?  Relatively
cheaply?"

"Amazon is as good a place as any.  Right now, the price in
purchases of fifty or so is about four bucks each.  The price is
coming down steadily.  Two years ago they were ten bucks a pop."

I grimaced.  Shellie had a very expensive habit!

Johnny must have sensed what I was thinking... after all, I
wasn't drooling.

"Backups are critical, particularly for graphic artists.  If
something happens to their hard drive, generally all of the work
from the last backup is gone.  Losing a week is tough.  Losing a
month... that's a bummer."

"We lose a couple drives a week," Dad said.  "But we have a
couple of hundred PC's and other computers here.  We encourage
people to back up to the network and that's backed up nightly."

"What I've done for certain critical users," Johnny told me, "is
set up multiple hard drives on their machine.  It's a technology
called RAID.  To make it short, if one drive dies, the others can
recreate what's on the other drive.  Takes a bit, but it takes a
drive failure out of the catastrophe category and puts it into
the nuisance category."

"And how much does that cost?"

"Say six or seven hundred for the drives and software," he told
me.

"A cheaper way," Dad told me, "is simply to have two drives.  One
holds what you're working on, and the other you use for backups.
What I do is have a little program that runs when I go to
shutdown my machine that copies my stuff to the other drive.  For
security reasons, I don't backup to the network."

I nodded, my mind working overdrive.  Something to think about.

"And no, I don't have drives available, either.  Again, they're
not too expensive on Amazon," Johnny told me.

So complicated!

"Come along, Davey.  Let's see about dinner."

We walked out to the car and went to the steakhouse.  I saw the
steak dripping juice and realized I was starving.  I tore into it
with relish, not to mention the onion rings.

I was in the process of stuffing my face when Dad plucked his
cell phone off his belt.  He listened for a few minutes then said
simply, "Thanks, Vic."

He looked at me.  "The twenty-four hour period ended at lunch
time.  When school let out and no report had been filed, Vic
called the Reverend Grissom and asked to speak to Karen.  He told
Vic he didn't know where she was and didn't care where she was.

"Vic called in two detectives and told them to go to the
Reverend's church and ask him nicely where his niece was.  He
told the detectives he didn't know and didn't care.  They called
Vic back, and he asked them to ask the Reverend if he was Karen
Grissom's legal guardian and if he had any paperwork to prove it.
 He produced it, they asked again, were again told he didn't know
or care where Karen was.  The Reverend got a little carried away
with his descriptions of the 'harlot.'"  Dad's eyes locked on
mine.  "The detectives brought the Reverend in for questioning,
they've gotten a warrant from Judge Warren to search the pastor's
house.  They've brought in Mrs. Grissom, as well, for
questioning."

"Oh!"  I looked at him.  "But he had nothing to do with it, did
he?"

"You don't know that, I don't know that.  Your mother thinks
Karen ran away.  Pammie thinks Karen ran away.  But they don't
know."  He grinned slightly.  "The Reverend Grissom might have
gone to college, but he didn't learn any smarts there.  His
brother, Karen's father, is an attorney.  He drew up a nice
little power of attorney detailing quite specifically what the
Reverend's responsibilities were with regard to Karen.  Some of
it's a little nauseating, but it boils down to the Reverend is
responsible for her safety and she's been missing more than a
day.  At the least he's looking at child neglect charges, and
maybe something more serious if he actually did have a hand in
Karen's disappearance."

"Oh!" I repeated.

"You understand, Davey, that there's no chance he's going to be
convicted?  That he's called a lawyer and he's going to spend the
night at home?  Vic's intent was simply to terrify him into
getting off his duff."

"Sometimes I think the laws in this country aren't worth the
paper they're written on," I told him.  "What's the point of laws
if people like Fesselhof get let back out, the Reverend can allow
Karen to vanish, not give a good god-damn what happens to her,
but he's not responsible?"

"I'm not going to try to justify where we've ended up, Davey.  A
lot of good intentions have been twisted and warped until they're
not benign any more.

"One thing, though, I want you to think about.  Vic and I have
been friends since high school.  We played ball together, hell;
we've even balled together, not six feet apart.  He's a friend. 
Since he's my friend I make a point of never asking him for a
favor.  Ever.  Yet, when I get tickets for a game, like the
Spurs, or Cowboys or Rangers... you name it, I get a lot of
tickets... well, when I can, I invite Vic.  No quid pro quo, just
a friend with an extra ticket giving one to a friend.  And if the
company jet is flying me to San Antonio, Dallas or Houston, well,
why shouldn't I give a friend a lift?

"People you meet, Davey, people you become friends with can mean
a lot.  You can never tell who's going to be important later on.
Judge Warren was a pudgy little nerd who looked like he was ten
years older than he was.  He could walk into any store with fake
ID and get beer.  We made him the team mascot; we did all kinds
of favors for him, including introducing him to the woman he
married.  I've never asked him for a favor in my life.  Yet, when
Wanda was attacked... he and Vic were like a freight train. 
Unstoppable.  Friends, Davey, don't need you to draw them a map.
Friends, Davey are worth their weight in gold."

"Jack and Mercedes were in my corner for my fight," I told him. 
"Mercedes was sure I had a secret plan to beat Desmond, Jack gave
me a few hints about boxing.  It made a big difference."

Dad nodded.  "It's a start, Davey.  Personal relationships are
the key to a lot of things.  You think George W. was elected
governor because he was a wonderful guy and everyone liked him?"

"He won the election."

"He won the election because a lot of good people went out and
talked about what a great guy he is.  Why did they do that? 
Because at some point in time Bush talked to them, got to know
them and they became friends.  Maybe not the closest of bosom
buddies, but that's not really necessary.  You think it doesn't
flatter you when a candidate for governor that you've known since
college, calls you up and asks for your help?"

I contemplated that and had to nod.  Yeah, that would definitely
be exciting.

"And when he was governor, he spread the wealth.  It's more a
national scandal than anything else.  It's hard now for
incumbents to lose a reelection.  That's why so many places have
term limits these days.  Anyway, as governor, he appoints people
to jobs, boards and commissions.  He talks to people and listens
to what they need.  Sometimes he can help, and he does.  It's
never anything as crass as 'I'll give you ten thousand dollars
for your campaign if you help me get X.'  It's 'Hi, how are you.
George, I want to congratulate you on being elected.  What have I
been up to lately?  Well, my company is doing such-and-such, and
we're really excited about the prospects.  Say hello to Laura for
me...'"  Dad looked at me.  "You understand?"

"It seems... unfair."

"Of course it's unfair.  John Doe, off the street, isn't going to
be able to call the governor up and schmooze with him.  But a
good politician, when he's off campaigning, will meet a lot of
John Does, talk to them and shake their hands.  John Doe sends a
letter a couple of months later, talking about a problem he's
having, and maybe the governor can do something about it.  One
step at a time, it's like building a pyramid.  You start with a
base, work at building it up, while at the same time, expanding
the base."

A whole lot of political terms suddenly made sense, where before
they'd just been words.  "It still doesn't seem very fair."

"Like I said, it's not fair.  It's also human nature to want to
help people we've met and liked.  Do you think your mother would
be searching as frantically for someone she didn't know and had
never met?  Girls like Karen vanish all of the time.  A couple
every day across the US.  Trust me, Davey, anyone at all would
benefit by having your mother on their side."

That was certainly true.  Still... it seemed fundamentally
unfair.  How could the world run if you only did favors for
friends?

"Feeling a little stretched, Davey?"  I thought he was talking
about the fact I'd finished my steak and plowed through a good
fraction of the onion rings.  It looked to me that for the first
time the onion ring platter was going to be empty when we left.

"I still have a little room," I said, trying not to give in to
the urge to burp.  In that instant, Rob's comment about his
father being doubly rude made sense.  A lot of things were coming
together!

He laughed.  "No, I meant, you have a lot of things going on in
your life right now.  Able to deal with all of them handily?"

"No."  That wasn't a hard answer!

"That kind of stretched is what I meant.  Do you think it would
be easier or harder, without your friends?"

That wasn't even a little difficult.  "I owe them a lot."

"There are children starving in Africa, right now, this very
night.  Who would fight and claw to get our table scraps.  Davey,
life is unfair.  We're dealt cards when we're born; we play the
hand as we grow up, trying to improve it, those of us that have
any shot at it at all.  We help ourselves, our families, our
friends... people we've met and liked.  It's human nature.  Don't
fight human nature, Davey."

I started to repeat my mantra about it being unfair.  Yeah, but
Davey, you're sitting here with a stuffed stomach, bruises nearly
forgotten.  And kids are out there starving.  What's fair about
that?  I wasn't sure what it was I could do about it, but I
decided right then and there; I was going to try to be as fair as
I could be in my life.

Then I laughed at myself.  And what had my father been telling
me?  Fair is in the eyes of the beholder.  Would I help a friend
before I'd help someone else?  Most likely.  It might depend on
the need, but for certain if a friend needed help and I didn't
know about someone else's need, what was I going to do?

"Speaking of favors for friends," I said evenly.  "When we get
home, could we run my old computer over to where Mercedes is
staying?  She doesn't have a computer now."

He looked at me.  "If you want."

I had room for an ice cream sundae.  I don't recall ever being so
stuffed before, but I'd been really hungry.  And the sundae was
nice.

We went home; the house dark.  I tried to lift the box with the
computer monitor in it and had to struggle, because my bruises
hurt.  Dad picked up the other two boxes and we put them into his
trunk, and then drove to Mercedes' sister's place.  I'd been a
little nervous, since I couldn't call to see if she was there. 
But she was.  We hooked up the machine with Dad helping.  I was
getting so I wasn't surprised at how much he knew about things,
PCs were no different.

I hugged Mercedes and we kissed, then I went home.




I didn't do any chin-ups the next morning, but I did swim.  The
water stung at first, but stopped pretty quick.  I kept it mild,
not pushing myself.  Mom, Wanda and Emily were at breakfast, but
one look at them told me that they weren't in the mood to talk.

Wanda was silent on the drive to school; Emily and I sat together
in the back seat, her hand firmly in mine.  When we got out of
the car, Wanda came up to me and wrapped her arms around me and
clung tightly, still not saying a word.  I hugged her back, just
as tightly as she held onto me.  Then she smiled and started
walking towards the main building.  Emily and I headed for the
biology lab.

Mercedes was sitting cross-legged, away from the wall.  I smiled
at that.  Nothing consistent about us!

I sat down next to her.  "Hi," I said.

"How are the ribs?"

"Well done.  The barbecue sauce added a nice touch of color."

She laughed, and touched my hand.  "Thanks."

"There's enough shit going around, Mercedes.  We don't have to
let it weigh us down."

"Yeah."

"Look, I need to talk to you about something.  About Shellie."

"This isn't the place," she glanced around.  Emily was closest,
but there were a few others not far off.

I laughed.  "No, not like that.  You'd totally freak if I gave
you money."

She looked at me steadily.  "Yes."

"Shellie, though... she's directed.  She doesn't think about
things like you do.  Or even like me."

Mercedes nodded.  "Single-minded.  Oh baby!  Can she focus on
what she's doing!"

"What she's doing is... magnificent."  Mercedes nodded. "It would
be a shame if she lost some of it because of a disk crash.  I'm
going to do some things for her.  Things that cost money...
things you'd probably go apeshit over if I did for you."

Mercedes made a motion like she was going to punch my ribs, then
held up.  "Davey, in case you haven't noticed: Shellie and I are
alike in only a few ways."

"I've noticed.  So I wanted to talk to you to make sure you
wouldn't do something dumb like tell her to give gifts back."

She laughed.  "You gave her software worth how much the other
day?  She didn't even blink!  All she could think about was what
she could do with it.  Davey, I tell you true, I wish I could let
go like that, be that focused.  I can't.  I'm me, the tough
little Chicana girl who never had anything she didn't earn.  Who
doesn't want anything she doesn't earn.  But I'm not Shellie,
Davey.  You could shower her with a million dollars and it won't
bother me.  It's just not something I want to happen to me,
okay?"

I wasn't sure I believed her, but I said, "Okay!"

I looked up just then, as a shadow passed in front of the sun and
hovered.  It was Jack and Chuck.  "Got a sec, Davey?"

I got up.  "Sure."

We went a little ways away.  "I'm led to believe," Jack said,
"that you don't want to dump on Desmond."

"I never did," I told him.

"He beat you unconscious."

"Tell me, Jack, if you get knocked out by a hard hit in a game,
do you hold it against the other guy if it was a fair hit?"

"No."

"Well, Desmond was as fair as he could be.  I hurt him, Jack. 
Not everyone is as cool with things as everyone else."

He nodded.  "It's not right.  He's not supposed to be there, if
he disagrees."

"Jack, one day you wake up and look in the mirror and things have
changed.  Maybe it's something you never wanted, can't stand and
want to change back... but it's who you are just then.  It takes
all kinds, Jack.  We made mistakes.  I made one kind, the rest of
you another, Desmond yet another, Ellie another.  We all screwed
up, Jack.  We're a little wiser than we were this time last week.
 Let's just let it go at that, and not get carried away with
assigning blame.  There's more than enough to go around."

"I heard they busted Reverend Grissom yesterday," Chuck said.

"My dad said he probably spent the night at home."

"He did," Jack told me.  "He's pissed though.  I don't think he's
going to back off.  My old man is a deacon; they had an emergency
meeting last night, another at lunchtime, trying to figure out
what to do.  Dad was more pissed at me about walking out the
other day than he was about the steroids at camp."

"I don't want people getting in trouble over me," I told him.

"Well Davey, I go to dances.  I ride the bus.  I play football
and I'm just as fond of hitting someone hard as the other guys
like doing it to me.  Maybe the bus makes me a little
uncomfortable at times.  Maybe I wish things were different.  But
I know that's just me; I'm not going to wreck things for everyone
else.  Desmond was willing to."

"He's changed his mind," I told Jack.  "Let him show it."

The first bell rang and Jack nodded.  "Thanks, Davey, see you!"

I watched them go, shaking my head.  Curious and curiouser.

The morning zipped past, the Office class before lunch a welcome
respite in the heavy thinking department.  Shellie was bombarding
me with her stealth emails, with pictures from her current work.
At least they were PG...

At lunch Shellie leaned close to me.  "An odd thing happened this
morning when I was waiting for biology."

"Yes?"

"A black girl came up and stood a few feet away, looking at me. 
Then she reached out and shook my hand.  Then she walked away. 
She never said anything.

"Ellie," I said.  I knew Rob and Emily were across the table. 
You had to trust people sometime.  Emily hadn't been on the bus,
but I was sure she was okay with things.  Rob was, I was sure.

"The girl from Saturday?" Shellie asked.

"That's the one," I agreed.  Rob looked a little surprised.

"What was it about?"

I dropped my voice almost to inaudibility.  "Ellie thinks you're
cute."

Shellie blinked.  Even Mercedes reacted with a giggle.

"She's black," Shellie said helplessly.  "I mean, I don't care,
but my parents..."

Mercedes was rough.  "And you care how much about what your
parents think?"

I knew what Shellie was worried about.  Her parents waking up. 
She was right, I thought.  Just how asleep could they be?

"She's curious," I said quietly.  "She's not sure about things."

"Who is?" Mercedes asked pragmatically.

Conversation lapsed until Mercedes started talking about how nice
her new computer was.  I liked the part where she said how she
was going to thank me the best.

Geography was a blur.  Colonel Terrell seemed to have saved up
extra questions from the day he'd asked hardly any, and was
trying to make up the lost time.  Both Shellie and I vied with
each other to answer questions, and it was fun.

Going to PE I stopped outside the locker room.  I hadn't thought
about PE since I'd stepped inside the ring with Desmond.  Was
doing something without thinking about it a good idea?

I turned and walked over and knocked on Coach Wells door.  He
smiled and waved me in.  "Bruised a little, Davey?"

"Bruised a lot.  I didn't pass out because I was swooning with
joy," I told him.

He paled slightly and I pressed on.  "Look, we don't like each
other, okay?  Not only that, I don't trust you.  You have a
choice, Coach.  Kick me off the team, bench me, in which case
I'll quit, or let me do my thing."

"You don't know enough to do your thing," he snapped angrily.

"Not completely," I agreed.  "Coach Delgado's been helpful.  I
haven't mentioned that to my dad; maybe I should.  He's expressed
some reservations about you."

Again Coach Wells tried to bluster, but the pallor was more
pronounced.  "Look, I want to play baseball.  You're the coach. 
You know what to do.  Just stop messing around," I told him.

"Athletes do not come in my office and make demands," he said,
fighting on the defense.

"Maybe.  You think about things, Coach.  I told you what I want.
What do you want?  What do you think will happen if you continue
to make doubtful judgment calls?"

"Get out of my office!"

"Only too glad, Coach.  I'd just as soon never have reason to be
here again.  We both know who that's up to, right?"

I turned on my heel and walked away.

What had Dad said about friends?  I was tolerably sure Coach
Wells was never going to support my candidacy for dogcatcher,
must less Governor.  I laughed at that.  Did I really want to
walk in the footsteps of George Bush?  Not!

I wanted a beach someplace with Mercedes next to me and Shellie
close by.  I wanted to learn if octopi could think.  There were a
thousand things I could learn if I put my mind to it.  Things no
one else on earth knew.  I was just as sure of it as I was that
the sun was going to come up in the east tomorrow morning.

The biggest shock of the day was to find that after warm-ups, we
went back to the gym, where we saw half a dozen demonstrations of
boxing.  Then a couple matches between guys like Jack and Chuck,
Rob and Josh.

They weren't going at it like Desmond and I had, but I was pretty
sure that the boxing lessons and our fight were connected.

Wanda appeared to take me over to Mercedes' sister's, and we
spent two hours studying.  A little after five, there was a knock
on the door.  It was Mom, about the last person I expected to
see.

"I've come to take Davey away from you ladies," she told Mercedes
and Shellie.

Shellie stood up and looked Mom in the eye.  "Could I beg a ride
home?  I have to go soon."

"Sure, Shellie, no problem."

Shellie held my hand until we got there, then smiled and ran in
the house.

I climbed out of the backseat and sat next to Mom as she started
the car.

"It's not been a good day, Davey.  Not for me... not for you."

"I'm getting used to it," I said, thinking I was.

"The Reverend Grissom fired back a little while ago.  He held a
news conference.  He talked about you, about the negative
influence of gay teachers at school on his niece; the cause, he's
sure, of why she's fled.  All sorts of things."

"I'm going to send my letter," I told her.  "Tonight.  As soon as
we're home."

It's not every day you hear your mother giggle.  "Davey, I really
liked your letter.  I sent it in your name this morning."

"I hope you don't think I mind," I told her.

"Right now, I don't know what to think."

"Mom, I don't have much to do with Karen, Emily... or Wanda.  But
what happened to Wanda wasn't your fault.  What happened to Emily
wasn't your fault, and what happened to Karen isn't your fault."

We drove in silence until we were nearly home.  "I'm told," she
told me, "that yesterday you ate like a horse."

"I'm still a little hungry," I told her.

"Well, we'll see.  I haven't been a very good mother lately."

"Mom, please!  You've been as good as it gets!  Emily is
important, Karen is important!  We've had steaks before, but
nothing like those onion rings!"

"I told Phil he needed to tone them down or sleep on the couch."
She was laughing, though.  Not serious.

Mostly, Dad fixes steak at home.  Barbeques them or fries them in
his favorite cast iron skillet.  That night Mom made steak.  No
sauces, it was like what I got at the steakhouse, just meat. 
Nice-sized too!

Okay, so I was a pig!  But afterwards I helped Mom with dishes
and was the last one out of the kitchen after everything had been
put away.

I read some Don Quixote and then went online, back to cruising
for ideas about IQ tests for octopi.  I got sidetracked with work
done with chimpanzees, including chimps that could make sign
language gestures that were fairly sophisticated.  I sent
Mercedes an email about it, knowing she wouldn't be able to see
it until tomorrow.  What a bummer!

I was thinking about hitting the sheets when my dad showed up at
my door.  "Evening, Davey."

"Dad."

"I hear you had a little talk with Coach Wells today."

"Yeah."  Where had he heard that?  I surely hadn't said anything
about it.  The door had been closed.  It seemed incredible that
Coach Wells would have said anything to Dad.

"I told you before that this is alien to me.  Back-talking a
coach.  Telling him what you expect of him, not the other way
round."

I shrugged.  Talking, I thought, wouldn't be a good idea.

"I've decided that I've come to trust you more and more of
late... so, I'm not going to interfere.  Not with you, not with
Coach Wells.  The two of you work it out."

"Yes, sir."

He'd been carrying something under his arm, in a small bag.  He
reached up and took the package and sailed it across my room to
land on the bed a few feet from me.  "Since you're reading
something huge, I thought I'd provide a little entertainment of
my own.  Work that in when you can."

I took the bag and pulled out a black book.  "The Godfather" by
Mario Puzo.  I'd heard of it, a little, but not much.

"And this is...?"

"About making friends and asking for favors.  We've become a
little more sophisticated than they were in the days of this
story, but not much.  Not really."

I shrugged.  It had been a long time, if it had ever happened
before, that my father had suggested I read something.

"Tomorrow," he went on, "is another home game.  In retrospect,
staying home last week wasn't a wise choice.  Plan on attending
the rest of the games this year."

"And just how do I get my friends to the games?"

"Why, I'm going to lay on a special bus for you and your fan
club, Davey.  Not to worry!"

With that he turned and walked away.

A special bus?  I was tolerably sure it wasn't the kind of bus
I'd ridden on Saturday!

Weirder and weirder!

<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+