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Message-ID: <51106asstr$1115323803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 35 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Thu,  5 May 2005 16:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 35.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, 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 35 -- Models and Sex and Cuts of All Sorts

I froze the next morning as I swam.  As I was doing my laps I
remembered Pammie's suggestion about swimming in the evening. 
Things weren't that simple.  It wasn't going to happen on Monday
evenings, that much I was sure!

On one of my trips down the pool, I saw Dad come out of the house
and sit at one of the tables.  I decided that since I didn't have
any goal in particular each morning, I'd swum enough.  I got out,
ignoring the chill, using my own inner fires to stoke my warmth.

I plopped my dripping self down on one of the chairs, trying to
ignore my shivers.

"You're going to say something about Pammie, aren't you?" he
asked.

"And you're here because you have a clear conscience.  You always
come out to talk to me, first thing in the morning, right after
I've had my swim."

"I'm at an age where girls Pammie's age don't often have much, if
any, interest in me.  I did not, however, go where I wasn't
wanted."

"Dad, did you pay any attention to what Pammie said to her father
Saturday night?"

"The naked thing?  She was jerking his chain."

"Dad, Pammie was also telling the truth.  She wants to hit out at
her father and she's not particular how she does it.  Ask Wanda,
Dad.  Pammie frequently took big risks when she was with Karen,
risks of being discovered.  Karen was pissed about it; I'm sure
that's a large part of the reason Pammie hasn't heard from her."

"So you're saying what?"

"I'm saying that she can now use you as one more thing to throw,
'Splat!' against the stone wall that her father represents.  She
might not be jail bait, but that doesn't mean that you wouldn't
be screwed if it came out."

I never had a warning.  Dad's poker face was perfect.  One second
I was sitting in the chair, the next second I was laying on the
ground, dazed, looking up at Pammie.  The next thing I saw was
her foot coming, connecting solidly with my ribs.

"What kind of a person do you think I am!" she screamed.  "What
kind of sick bastard are you, Davey Harper?"  She hauled off to
kick me again, but Dad got between us.

"Davey was making a point, Pammie," Dad said firmly.  "One I find
I'd like to think you're right to be upset about.  Rather than me
being upset that he's right."

"Is that what you think?  I go to bed with a guy, then hop out
and tell my father?"

"You were a little candid Saturday night," I said from my spot on
the ground.  "Tell me true, Pammie.  Do you have a death wish? 
Do you do things in the hope your father catches you?  So it will
all explode?  Do you care what happens to those who are going to
get well and truly fucked if you do that?"

Wanda stuck her head out the door from the family room and saw
Dad with his arms around Pammie.  "Jeez, you two!  Cool it!  The
sun's up!  You don't want to scandalize the neighbors!"

Pammie jerked herself away from Dad, and took two steps towards
Wanda.  "Do you think I have a death wish?  That I really, deep
down, want my father to catch me doing something he'll flip out
over?"

Wanda looked at her friend.  "Pammie, if you don't know the
answer to that question yourself, there's nothing I can tell you,
nothing anyone can tell you.  I heard Davey, Pammie.  Karen
walked away from all of us.  If she trusted you, she'd have
talked to you.  But she didn't trust any of us, because we all
talk too damn much."

Pammie stood still, her chest heaving as if she'd run a mile. 
"I'm not like that," she eventually said.  Even she didn't sound
convinced.

"Pammie," Wanda told her, "I know, I understand."

Pammie looked her in the eye.  "Tell me, Wanda, what's more
scandalous?  Me being with your mom or your dad?"

Wanda's face fell.

I wanted to drum my head on the concrete of the pool deck.  Oh
shit!

"Look," Pammie said, trying to regain her composure.  "I'm
screwed up, okay?  I know that.  I'm not certifiable, no matter
what my pompous asshole of a father thinks.  Karen might think I
like living dangerously, but I know my mother and her schedule. 
She goes to the Club every afternoon and gets wasted.  They call
a cab for her, every day at five, on the dot, to send her home. 
She comes home, drinks a couple of cups of coffee, and then makes
dinner for my father.  She hasn't been sober after two in the
afternoon since I was a baby; she can't see straight, she has
trouble walking straight.  I might also add that my father is
late most nights because he can't stand my mother.

"So please.  I'm sorry about Saturday night, that was stupid.  I
swear to God, I'll never say anything like that again.  Okay?"

Dad walked over to Pammie, tilted her chin up -- and then kissed
her on the forehead.  "Pammie, it was good.  And I believe you,
okay?"

"Okay," she said, looking at him.  "I guess I don't deserve a
second chance."

Dad laughed.  "Pammie, girl, I won't survive a second chance!"

I picked myself up, watching Pammie carefully.  I wasn't quite to
the point where I believed her.

"I'm sorry, Davey," she said, sounding contrite.  "I can
understand if you'll want to sleep on the couch for the next
couple of days."

I stuck my tongue out at her, and the crisis was pretty much
over.

We went inside, me for my shower, the others to get ready for
breakfast.

I was a little surprised not to see Emily at breakfast.  "Where's
Emily?"

Mom sighed.  "Morning sickness varies from woman to woman,
pregnancy to pregnancy.  Emily thought she was going to miss it,
but... no."

Wanda laughed.  "Emily's sick, Davey's still got some spectacular
bruises... and I'm healthy as a horse.  Cool!"

Mom gave Wanda a withering stare.  "Someday you might find
yourself pregnant.  When you're tossing your cookies, you might
want someone to care about you, Wanda.  An attitude like yours
practically guarantees that you won't.  Even if you just have a
cold and want someone to step-and-fetch-it for you."

Wanda met her eyes.  "I was going to say I don't intend to ever
get pregnant, but then I remembered that shit happens, doesn't
it?"

"It does," Mom told her.

"Does it ever!" Pammie echoed her.

"Breakfast!" Mom said.  "The most important meal of the day!"

It sort of reminded me of Hammer, thumping the table, asking us
to play poker.  Cool!



Later, at school, I was a little surprised to see Shellie already
there talking to Mercedes.  Shellie usually arrived relatively
late and her biology class was in the main building.  I think
they wanted to make it clear it wasn't a lab class.

She smiled when I came over.  Emily was a little slower, still
pale, as she followed me.  Usually Emily sat a ways away from
Mercedes and me... not enough to be far away, but she was, I
thought, trying to give us a little space.  Today she stayed
standing, looking very pale.

Mercedes looked at her, concerned.

"Morning sickness," Emily said.

Mercedes nodded in sympathy.  "My mother said there's just three
problems with getting pregnant.  Morning sickness, birth... and
when the kid grows up."

Shellie was getting impatient, so I led the three of us a ways
away.

"Ellie wants to come over this afternoon," Shellie said.  "I
swear, I didn't tell her what we study."

Mercedes sighed.  "Shellie, this has to be your choice.  We can't
tell you what to do."

Shellie looked harried and frustrated.  "I don't know what I
want.  Mom and Dad would kill me if they even found out I talked
to a black girl."

"This is the twenty-first century," Mercedes told her.  "We're
past that."

"They're not," Shellie told her.

I looked at Shellie and smiled.  "Did you tell Ellie we study
together?"

She nodded.

"Then, it really does have to be up to you, Shellie.  Invite her
if you want.  We can really study, if we need to.  You don't have
to do this for either of us, I promise."

Shellie grinned.  "You have a new girlfriend."

"Not that kind of girlfriend."  I remembered where my hand had
resided while Chris was reading.   I thought it was innocent,
Chris probably had too.  Who else would?  "Think of me as a
candy-striper without the dress."

"Ooooh!" Mercedes said, drawing out the word.  "I've never
thought of you in a dress!  That would be cool!"

We all cracked up.

Then, I added, "Not ever going to happen, though."

"Not ever?" Mercedes asked.

"Never," I replied, firm and confident.

"Shellie is my witness, then.  I bet you will.  And right after
that, you will stake me to a poker night with you and the guys."

"Last Saturday we played with two women," I said, remembering...
and forgetting.

"You played poker with a woman again?" Mercedes asked.  "Isn't
that asking for trouble?"

"Imagine," I told her, "two women a little taller than my dad. 
Imagine them to be about sixty-five or seventy years old.  They
said they were witches, they also said they used to be nuns. 
They terrified my father at poker, he was sure they were going to
clean him out."

"Did they?"

"We got that phone call," I told her, not wanting to get into
details.  "The game ended early... I think, just as they were
about to make their move."

"Is Karen really okay?" Shellie asked, her voice very subdued.

"I think so," I told her.  "But I don't know for a fact.  And
considering everything, I'm not sure I want to know for a fact."

The first bell rang and Shellie jumped.  "Oh gosh!  Late again!"
she giggled and hurried off.

"Love that girl," Mercedes said quietly.

"Oh yeah!"  We traded grins.

I watched Ms. Weaver carefully during our biology class.  There
wasn't any sign at all that she was hiding anything, much less
hiding Karen.  Not much later I watched Ms. Churchwood; again she
stuck to math and nothing but math.  I contemplated the two women
in my brain.  Could I see Karen going to them for advice and
help?  Sure.  Karen was as impressed by them, particularly Ms.
Churchwood, as the rest of us.  But the Amalings had said they
were armed.

I frowned to myself.  I thought most women weren't that
interested in guns, and most lesbians less interested than that.
I was sure I was missing something.

Once again during the Microsoft Office class, Shellie bombarded
me with pictures from what she was working on.  Each one was a
reminder of what a good artist she was.  They were all the
quality you'd see in the movies.  I'd seen Final Fantasy the
movie, which I'd thought was a pretty dumb movie, but the idea of
making it all by computer was pretty neat.  There was no doubt in
my mind that Shellie could do the same thing.

When we were walking to lunch, I told her what I thought.

She smiled at me.  "Davey, do you know how many pictures it takes
to do one second of a movie?"

I contemplated that.  "Twenty?" I guessed; I thought I remembered
something about that from something I'd read about video games.

"Thirty," she informed me.  "You draw the pictures in what's
called 'wire frame' or a model.  I'll show you one, one of these
days.  The computer fills in the details.  Davey, it takes about
six hours to do one on my computer.  Whenever I'm not home or
when I'm asleep, that's what my computer is doing.  I have the
monitor turned off so no one can tell what is running."

We sat down at our table and I looked at her as she continued
explaining.  "You do the math, Davey.  A minute is sixty seconds,
30 frames a second means 1800 frames per minute.  Anime episodes
are twenty-five minutes or so, 45,000 frames.  At six hours each,
roughly the age of the universe."  She giggled.  "Actually, about
thirty years of 24/7 computer time."

"How did they do that movie then, Final Fantasy?"  I asked.

She smiled.  "They had a thousand computers, Davey, that did
nothing else for two years.  Nicer computers than mine.  Davey,
this is something I read about all the time.  I talk about it
with people online.  Davey, that movie was one of the most
expensive movies ever made.  A quarter billion dollars.  Not
million, billion."

Mercedes spoke for the first time since we'd sat down.  "Sweetie,
why would you start a project that will take decades?"

She grinned.  "Why did Michelangelo paint the ceiling?  That took
years.  Because Davey's computer could do a frame in a half hour
or so, because it's newer and faster.  When I get a little better
at modeling, I can cut that time down some, maybe so it would
take ten minutes for each on Davey's machine.  That brings the
time down to less than a year for an episode."

"Even still..." Mercedes said.  "That's a long time for a
project."

Project was the word that linked things for me.  "Mercedes, we're
going to spend how long on the science fair project?  And we have
a project to get to Hawaii.  How long is that going to take,
Mercedes?"

She blinked and then turned back to Shellie.  "Being the crass
commercial person I am, currently entirely money-centric, just
what could you sell an anime episode for?

Shellie shrugged.  "It depends on how much the people like it. 
The better it is, the more you can get.  Two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, maybe."

Mercedes beamed.  "I don't suppose I could rent you time on my
computer, money to be paid after you sell your show?"

I turned and looked at Mercedes, stunned.  Shellie was sitting,
with the Shellie smile I liked the best.  What had I said about
Pammie?  That it was nice to know someone bluffed worse than me?
Shellie had wanted Mercedes to say what she'd just said.  Which
meant that the idea wasn't far from Shellie's thinking, but right
on target.

"Shellie, we can load the program on my computer, and it too can
work night and day," I told her.

"Oh yeah!" Mercedes told her.  "Did I mention we'd be happy to
have you on the Hawaii trip?"

"To have and to hold," I said, laughing.

"Over and over again," Mercedes quipped.

We were all laughing and chuckling.

Emily and Rob had been listening.  "Umm, I have a computer, I
wouldn't mind using it like that.  I also have cameras and that
editing program Davey's friend gave him.  We can convert what
Shellie does, edit it and put it on tape."

"You're pretty good with sound, too," Emily told him.  "If
Shellie wants us to do the voices, she'll want someone good with
sound."

She turned to me.  "I've watched Rob interview people.  Just
using the camera microphone isn't very good.  If the person isn't
talking right into it, and loud enough for the microphone to pick
up, the quality is poor.  And the microphone in a camera isn't
very good either."

I looked at Mercedes who looked deep in thought.  "Mercedes?" I
asked.

"I'm back to being cynical," she said.  "My father would flip
right out if he found out I was spending much, if any time on
what amounts to a cartoon.  I've seen some of Shellie's pictures,
too.  Not all of her characters are dressed.  Even Mom would flip
over that."

"Not to mention it will draw out the octopi project," I told
her.

She nodded.  "Volcanic explosion if I drop the science fair
project."  She reached out and laid her hand on top of Shellie's.
 "On the other hand, it's only sleep, right?"

Everyone laughed.

It was Rob who finally rained on the parade.

"I heard on the news about Karen," he said.  "I hope she's
okay."

I realized he was taking a backhand swipe at our laughter. 
Everyone else just looked at their hands, while I kept looking at
him.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Blade's
number.  Everyone at the table was looking at me.

"Blade, Davey Harper," I told him.

"I thought we weren't talking?"

"That was last week.  This is a new week.  Do you know anything
more about what happened?"

"I don't think the Texas Rangers are going to make it to the
play-offs this year."

I stifled my anger.  "If you can't or won't tell me, could you at
least tell me to my face?"

"Davey, I'm having lunch.  I'm not about to run over there and
tell you anything.  But, if you'll accept the news over the
phone, the highway patrol officer definitely identified Hannelore
Kimmel.  We have some bad videotape from the station security
cameras that a half-dozen agencies are working to enhance.  The
consensus is that the girl with Hannelore is too short and too
young to be Karen Grissom."

He paused and then came back.  "Willy says to tell you that both
women at the gas station were aware of the security cameras and
made sure to never look at them directly.  That's about all the
new information we have."

"Thanks."

He laughed, "To protect and serve, Davey.  No matter what you
think, that's the bottom line for what we do."

"Sometimes people forget," I told him.

"Sometimes people do.  If it's okay with you, I'm going back to
finish my Polish dog."

I put my cell phone back and looked at Rob.  "They're pretty sure
it was the German teacher.  They're reasonably sure the girl
wasn't Karen."

"Thank God!" Emily said, her voice quiet.  I wanted to laugh. 
And Mom had thought Emily didn't have a dishonest bone in her
body!  She sure convinced me.  Then I realized, she'd convinced
herself too.  Maybe she hadn't been as positive about Karen as
Dad?

"Just like that," Rob asked.  "You can pick up the phone and
call?"

"Rob, after four times, don't you think the authorities owe Davey
a little something?" Mercedes said, her voice sarcastic.  "Just a
little?"

He nodded.  "I guess so!  That's still hard to believe, Davey!"

"Believe it," Mercedes told him.  "I was there once.  Plenty for
me!"

Rob suddenly jerked his head, indicating someone behind me.  I
looked around and saw Mr. Two Crows, the vice principal, headed
in our direction.

"Mr. Harper, could you please come to the office for a few
minutes?"

"He hasn't done anything!" Mercedes said, very angry.

Mr. Two Crows smiled at her.  "I never said he did.  Mr. Harper
has a visitor who wants to talk to him, and he thought the office
would be best."

Mystified, I got up and followed him towards the school office.

There were a thousand people in the cafeteria at the time.  Maybe
two of them weren't watching us by the time we left the room.

We entered the school office and the people there looked away; it
was a little unnerving.  I braced myself.  Someone I knew had
been hurt, something terrible had happened...

Mr. Two Crows opened his office door and ushered me forward, then
closed it behind me.

I looked at Chief Ortega, scared out of my mind.

"Davey," he handed me a piece of paper, a photograph.  "Do you
recognize this person?"

I looked.  Friday had been hard, very hard.  Mom had helped, but
I still felt guilty.  Now...

"Irene Feeney," I told him.  I couldn't help it; I started to
cry.  "It's not a very good picture, but it's her."  A picture of
a girl wearing dark pants, a dark top and standing next to a gas
pump.  Not hard to add up where the picture was taken or who
Irene was with.

I took a few steps and sat down on a chair, burying my face in my
hands.

"Are you okay, Davey?"

"No."

"I'm sorry about this, Davey, but I'm going to have to ask you a
few questions.  I wasn't planning on it, but Linda said you would
recognize if the girl in the picture is Irene.  How do you know
her?"

"When Emily first came to us, Mom brought a lawyer home, Mrs.
Feeney.  Mrs. Feeney brought her daughter Irene with her, because
she didn't want to leave Irene home alone.  I've only seen her
once since, Friday night at the football game.  She was with
Terry Toohey and his friends."

"And who might those friends of Mr. Toohey be?"

I gave him the names.

"This was last Friday, at the game?" he asked.  "Did anyone else
see him?"

"Yes, I was with Mercedes and Shellie; they saw him.  Someone
else made a comment to Terry, to take his hand off Irene's
breast.  Terry just groped her more.  I told him he wasn't
supposed to be there and he said he had bought a ticket.  I told
him that meant he should be on the other side of the field.  They
all left, I didn't see them after that."

"What's upset you, Davey?  Is Irene Feeney someone special to
you?"

"Yes and no."  I didn't know what to say.  I didn't want to lie
to Chief Ortega; he was nice.  A friend of my father's, and for
that matter, me.  It had been his officers who'd nabbed Fesselhof
outside my house.

"We had sex."  I looked up at him.  "The first time I met her, we
had sex.  She said she was curious about sex and I..."  I wanted
to jump off a tall bridge.  "So we had sex.  Then she kept
wanting more and more.  Friday, Terry told me how lucky it was
that he and his friends had met a woman who could keep three guys
satisfied.  Irene didn't look like she was being held against her
will; she didn't say anything."

"She's a year behind you in school?"  I nodded, expecting to see
handcuffs and to listen to my Miranda rights.

"Can I ask you not to talk to anyone about this, Davey?"

I nodded.

"Yesterday Margaret Feeney reported her daughter missing.  She
hadn't been seen since she left for school Friday.  The school
said Irene never got there Friday, but her attendance has been
poor for the last few weeks.  This morning, one of my detectives,
without consulting anyone, took it upon himself to check his
personal theory that Irene might have been the girl in San
Antonio.

"He asked Irene's mother to identify the picture, and she did. 
When the detective told her the context... Irene's mother had to
be sedated.  She's in the hospital, now."

I wanted to hide again, I couldn't help leaking some tears.  I've
never felt lower in my life.  Never.

I felt him move; he crouched down next to me and put his hand on
my shoulder.  "Davey, I don't want to pretend that I like the
idea of a high school student making love to a junior high
student, even if they are the same age.  On the other hand, I'm
not stupid.  It happens.   You say the sex was consensual?"

"Yes, sir."  I felt lost and alone.  Adrift.

"I like to think I'm a good judge of character, Davey.  There
aren't many teenage young men who are going to say no to a girl
saying yes.  And that's what happened, right?"

"Yes, sir.  It was her first time."  And second, third and
fourth.

"And right now you feel responsible, personally responsible?"

"Aren't I?"

"Davey, you made a choice and she made a choice.  Most of our
choices are forgotten in a day or two.  Some of them are with us
to the end of days.  Davey, the only person who is going to beat
you up over what happened with Irene is yourself."

"I wish I could think that's true."

"Davey, fourteen years ago I was a patrolman here, up for
sergeant.  I'd met my wife years before, singing in the church
choir.  She liked to go out for coffee afterwards with her
friends.  That's where I got to know her and love her, singing in
the choir and going out for coffee afterwards.  One night I had a
midnight shift, so when she went out for coffee, I went to get
ready for work.

"When I showed up, the chief pulled me aside and said that he'd
just gotten the call.  A drunk driver had hit my wife's car; she
died instantly.  Simple choices, Davey.  Hers and mine.  Simple
everyday choices.  I could have gone out for coffee, too; she
could have dropped me off at the station on the way home.  I
could have done more than smile at her, the last time I saw her
alive.

"Life comes at you, Davey.  It's not nice sometimes, but
sometimes it is.  You have to deal with it, Davey."

I looked up at him.  "Sir, I told my mother that night about
Irene.  I could have kept my mouth shut, but I told her.  And Mom
told Irene's mother and now they aren't talking.  They've been
friends for years and I ruined that.  Friday at the game...  I
nearly cried then, too.  Terry Toohey was bad, really bad.  But
Hannelore Kimmel?"  I nearly choked.

"Davey, just remember you have family and friends who'll stand by
you, come whatever.  Focus on that.  Lean on them, Davey.  Don't
push them away."

He gripped my shoulder strongly and then stood up.  "I'll ask Mr.
Two Crows to give you some time, okay?"

I nodded.  I don't think I could have gotten a word out past the
huge lump in my throat.

The bell rang to end lunch, and I realized that I'd left my
friends in the cafeteria and I was going to have to hurry to make
Geography.

I did spare a second to thank Mr. Two Crows.  He nodded.  I don't
know if he knew what was going on, but I was a wreck; he had to
have noticed.

I sat down in Geography, and smiled at Shellie.  I could see the
concern on her face, but I shook my head.  Later!

I got seated and Colonel Terrell pointed at me.  "Mr. Harper!"  I
really didn't want to get into it just then, but what could I
do?

"Sir?"

He waved to someone in the back of the room.  A woman was
standing at a computer.  As I watched, she hit the keys and I saw
a map of the world appear on the blackboard.

I turned around to look at the woman because she was interesting.
 She had really short hair; I mean my dad has longer hair.  It
looked like those movie stars with day-old stubble beards.  Yet
even with my first glance I knew she was a woman; it was the way
she stood as much as her breasts.  She definitely had breasts! 
Say on a par with Pammie...

"Mr. Harper, if you'd stop ogling my assistant and return your
attention to the board?"

Well, if you want to stop feeling sorry for yourself, nothing
works faster than humiliation of a different sort.  I blushed and
turned to face him.

"Mr. Harper, you are an intelligent young man.  Please, name a
country in the world where there has been a guerilla war that has
taken place since World War II?"

Well, that was easy enough.  "Vietnam."

"Ah yes!  Vietnam!  A two-fer, once upon a time, and now
unified."

On the map, Vietnam turned red, both North and South.

He pointed to the person in the front row, on the far left of the
room.  "Please, another country that's experienced a guerilla war
since 1945."

The girl there promptly said, "Cuba!"

Cuba turned red.  One after another, each student was asked the
question.  At one point, someone was stumped, and even gentle
clues didn't help.  Finally the Colonel laughed, "I'll give you a
big clue.  Name an African country."

"South Africa."

South Africa lit up.

The next time someone was stumped, and couldn't dredge the name
of an African country out of their brain, he changed the
question.  "Okay, then name me a country that hasn't had a
guerilla war since 1945?"

"The US."

The US promptly turned blue.

The interesting thing was that he skipped Shellie when it was her
turn.  Shellie promptly turned red and raised her hand.  He kept
ignoring her, until he'd called on everyone.  I was sure Shellie
was going to lose it, but all she did was look angry and keep her
hand up.

"So, Miss, name a few countries the others left out."

Shellie ran of a list of country names at a gallop.  Maybe
thirty, maybe more.

He held up his hand.  "Whoa!  My assistant can only click the
mouse so fast!  Slow down!"

Over the next two minutes, Shellie named names.  The map at that
point had about a third blue and the rest of the countries filled
in with red.  Now, the map bled.

She stopped, but kept looking at the map.  She was, I thought,
waiting to name a few blue countries.

But the Colonel started naming blue countries, and his assistant
marked them.  Pretty soon, everything was filled in.  The western
democracies, blue.  The rest of the world, mostly red.  The only
exceptions were Chile and Argentina, which stayed white.

"Now, two special cases," the Colonel said.  "I've spent time in
Argentina.  That was during the Falklands War and I commanded the
Embassy Marine guard detail.  Does anyone know where the Falkland
Islands are?"

Shellie's hand went up in a millisecond.  There were a couple of
other hands up as well, and one of those was chosen.  I resolved
to suggest to Shellie that she hesitate a second when the Colonel
asked a question.  I doubted if he was going to pick her unless
she was the only one with her hand up.

"One way dictators stay in power is start a war and appeal to
their people's nationalism.  Argentina and Chile were both
dictatorships.  Both initially declared war on the insurgencies
in their own country.   The problem with that was, until they
started arresting and killing 'insurgents'" he made air quotes,
"there really weren't any insurgencies.  Moreover, most of the
people arrested weren't insurgents, but opposition in general.

"In Argentina they called them, 'the vanished ones.'   Argentina
has a large navy, and the navy was the lead in what went on.  The
main naval school was a prison and torture chamber.  When they
would decide to kill someone, they'd load them up on a cargo
aircraft, fly them out to sea and toss them out the door.  Maybe
thirty thousand people vanished in Argentina.  The soldiers
developed a sideline, selling babies to the families of senior
people in the government.  They'd kidnap pregnant women, kill the
women and take the babies by caesarean section.

"Rumors about all of this caused a lot of unrest in both
countries.  Chile did it a little differently than Argentina, but
not much -- not up until Argentina decided to whip up a little
war.  Argentina had an issue with England, and the Argentinean
Navy decided they wanted a war.  They were sure the English would
never fight, and if they did fight it would be a token gesture.

"To make the story of a short brutal war shorter, the British did
fight and they won easily.  The Argentines responded by ending
the dictatorship; they are a thriving democracy now.  But thirty
thousand people vanished in the country, and several thousand
more soldiers, airmen and sailors were killed in the war.  Chile
was a dictatorship for a long time; many thousands vanished there
as well.  Both countries declared that they were fighting the
Communists: they thought that way the US wouldn't intervene. 
History says that's the one thing they were right about."

Then the class was over and Shellie rushed to me.  "Are you okay,
Davey?"

"Maybe I'll talk about it later," I told her, "but I feel
terrible."

Then it was PE, and Mercedes' turn to be concerned.  Spanish was
actually a relief, and I was able to at least think well enough
to take part in the daily dialog.

I met Shellie and Mercedes after school for the walk home.  I
just told them I'd talked with Chief Ortega and I wasn't supposed
to say anything.  I don't remember exactly how I phrased it, but
I tried to gently remind Mercedes there are things we aren't
supposed to talk about.  But I did tell them about Irene.

When we reached the house, Ellie was there, waiting.  I'd
recovered a little from earlier, but not completely.  Desmond had
said he still loved Ellie.  I really, really didn't want to fight
him... but I wasn't about to be the one to tell him who Ellie had
come to see.

I unlocked the door and we all went inside.  I wanted something
to drink and asked the others if they wanted something.  Mercedes
volunteered to help.

I saw it the instant we entered the kitchen.  Sitting on the
table was a plate, with a partially eaten hot dog bun and a bit
of hot dog left as well.  For a split second, I was wondering who
in the family had gone crazy: Mom would go ballistic if she saw
food left out.

Then I remembered Blade and what he'd told me he was having for
lunch.  I helped Mercedes get the drinks for the others, and then
told her I had to call my dad.  She knew I wanted to be alone, so
she took the drinks into the family room, while I called up Dad.

"Davey," he said when he picked up.  "I'm a little busy right
now.  I'm in a meeting."

"This is doubly important.  The shooting and I think Blade was in
the house this afternoon."

"Just a second, I find I have a sudden urge to pee," he told me.

A second later he was out of wherever it was he'd been.  "What
makes you think Blade was in the house?"

I explained about my earlier call to Blade and what he said he
was having for lunch... and about the plate on the table.

"Sounds like, doesn't it?  I assume you believe him that it
wasn't Karen?"

"I know I believe him, because it wasn't Karen."  So, I explained
my conversation with Chief Ortega.  I was thinking he'd be mad,
but he wasn't.

"I imagine you feel pretty bad about that," he told me.  "Your
mother and I were talking about that the other day.  She says you
blame yourself."

"I do, and I do feel badly about it.  I'm going to call her after
I get done talking to you and tell her."

He sighed heavily.  "Normally I'd encourage you.  This time let
me do it, Davey.  She doesn't blame you for what's happened, and
I'd like to keep it that way.  Sometimes people have irrational
reactions to the bearers of bad news.  I'm not quite totally
exempt, but close enough."

He paused, "Your friends are there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, study hard!" and he hung up.

I closed my phone and it rang the instant it shut.  I picked up
and said hello, thinking it was Dad with something he'd
forgotten.

"Davey, good afternoon," Blade told me.

"Hello, Blade."

"Yes, we were there today; no, I'm not lying.  The bugs are all
gone.  You and your friends can study as hard as you want and no
one will hear anything."

"You listened just now, when I was talking to Dad!"  I was
outraged at that.

"Davey, Uncle has decided that people who talk on cell phones
have no right to privacy.  We can listen all we want."

"I thought you couldn't tap any phone without a warrant?"

"True, absolutely true.  When it comes to traditional phones, we
can't even listen in.  The Supreme Court said so.  But cell
phones are publicly broadcast; anyone with a radio receiver can
hear your conversations.  We can't use what we hear as evidence
in a court case, but we can listen to our heart's content, as in
fact, can anyone.  Anyone at all."

It seemed to me he was trying to tell me something.  Then I
realized the message: anyone could be listening to me.  Anyone at
all.

"Do you know about my conversation at lunch?" I asked.

"Yes, I do.  Which is why I'm going to hang up now and get back
to work.  Because we have some people we'd like to find and ask a
few questions."

I called Dad right back, only I had to leave a voice mail.  I
just told him we had to talk as soon as he got home.  Okay, I was
now paranoid about six times over.  Where was it going to end?

I went into the family room.  I smiled when I saw the tableau. 
Mercedes was sitting on the short couch, watching Shellie and
Ellie making out on the longer couch.  I hadn't really been in
the mood up until then, but seeing Shellie rubbing Ellie's
breasts through her blouse... that was hot.

As I sat down next to Mercedes, Ellie pulled back a little and
looked at the pair of us.  Then she looked down at Shellie's
hand; Shellie was fumbling with the buttons of Ellie's blouse.

Ellie kissed Shellie's forehead, then turned back to us.  "I
heard about you guys, but I didn't believe it.  I talked to
Shellie and she explained and still had a hard time imagining it.
 Yet here I sit.  In a way, not that much different from the
bus."

I remembered making love to her.  I don't know how many had
watched, but it could have been any or all of the others.  Except
Mercedes, who couldn't see us from where she had been.

"We love each other, Ellie," Mercedes told her.  "We love each
other a lot.  Saturday on the bus... we understand that at this
point in our lives we are all horny and curious.  So when one of
us finds someone they want to be with, the rest of us don't mind.
 We're even happy for them.  Both Davey and I are glad Shellie
has someone."

"You three make love together?" Ellie asked.

"Yes," I told her.  I sure hope Blade was telling the truth!

"Me and Shellie," Mercedes confirmed, "Davey and I... and all
three of us at once."

"I'm not sure I can deal with more than one at a time," Ellie
said soberly.  Then she laughed.  "I can't believe I'm sitting
here letting a girl undo my blouse, calmly discussing if I want
to be in a threesome or not."

"Or a foursome," Mercedes added.

Ellie's eyes rolled; I wasn't really sure if she was surprised or
upset.  "I tell myself to look on the bright side: at least I'm
used to an audience."

Shellie had Ellie's bra off now, as well as her blouse.  Shellie
bent down and started kissing those dark orbs.  I smiled to
myself.  They were nice-sized and shaped.  Good to kiss!

Ellie put her arm around Shellie, hugging her tightly to her. 
"And here I thought Shellie was shy!"

Mercedes giggled.  "There's a lot about Shellie that people don't
know.  Wait until you see some of the pictures she's drawn and
stories she's written.  Not PG.  Not NC-17."

Ellie nodded, but it was clear she was distracted.  "Excuse me,"
she murmured, a little breathless.  She bent down and kissed
Shellie's shoulder, about all she could reach.

Mercedes leaned close and whispered in my ear.  "I'll make your
day if you promise to make mine!"

Her hand was on my zipper.  "Thanks," I said, my voice also a
whisper.  "Right now, I could really use a bright spot in my
day."

I couldn't tell, after that, if Mercedes was smiling because she
was at the wrong angle... but I was the instant she took my
erection in her mouth.

I reached around her and put my hand on her breast, once again
realizing how much I hated bras.  Then I got an idea and tried
it.  Yep, it was possible to slide it up and out of the way,
without taking it off!  Mercedes gave me a quick glance -- she
was smiling!

I heard the sound jeans make sliding off, and I looked across the
room and saw Shellie crouching between Ellie's legs and then
leaning close to go down on her.  That was also seriously hot,
even if Shellie was still fully dressed.

It didn't take much to realize Shellie was horny and wanted to
make up lost time.  It was an interesting insight I had into
Shellie's mind.  She had inserted herself into Mercedes' and my
relationship, with mostly Mercedes' active cooperation.  And now,
here she was making love to someone else.  Shellie might be shy,
but she wasn't shy at all when it came time to go after something
she wanted.  Not with people, not with life.

Mercedes was going up and down rapidly, so I started to flick her
nipple just as fast.  That made her speed up, so I did as well. 
We lasted like that, I thought, almost a minute before I came.

It was a pleasant high to come down from, made more so when I saw
Shellie was back to sucking on Ellie's breasts, while driving her
finger deep into the older girl's pussy.

I moved slightly, reaching out and starting on Mercedes' jeans. 
A few seconds later I had them off, and she'd stripped off her
own blouse and bra, as I too moved between my love's legs.

I put my hands under Mercedes' firm bottom and lifted her pussy
to my lips and without hesitation started sucking and licking her
clit.  Mercedes had never been hesitant about rubbing her
breasts, and a second later she was massaging them hard.

In spite of what I was doing with Mercedes, I could hear the
rising sounds of Ellie's passion, her gasps and moans, then a
soft shriek.  And, busy as I was, I heard Ellie whisper a few
seconds later.  "I never had my pussy sucked before today.  Oh
baby!  That is the best!"  I smiled to myself.  Yep, you could
learn things at any age!

I wondered if that was why Dad had been with Pammie?  Or was it
just because he wanted to?  A curious question to think about
while making love to Mercedes!

It was getting harder to keep my grip on Mercedes' hips as she
started to move them in response to my kisses.  I shifted my
fingers so that my thumbs could spread her inner lips wide, then
I tried to put my tongue far enough inside her to tickle the
backside of her belly button.  Mercedes suddenly leaned forward
and for a few seconds pressed me so tightly into her pussy that I
had trouble breathing.  Then Mercedes slumped back, sated and
spent.

I heard a rustle of sound again behind me, and I turned and
looked.

Shellie had moved up next to Ellie and they had been kissing. 
Now Shellie stood up. "I understand this is new, Ellie.  But
right now I want to make love to Davey."

Ellie nodded.  "Maybe I understand and maybe I don't.  But I
didn't come over here to make it with either Mercedes or Davey."

"That's okay," Mercedes said, still breathing hard.  "I could use
a breather."

The next thing I knew I was undressed and Shellie was sitting on
my midsection, my erection deep inside her.  She was wet, and I
was still lubricated from earlier.  Shellie might have been wet,
but oh!  So tight!

And great vaginal muscles that clung and tried to hold me firmly
inside her.  The friction was intense, and in spite of coming in
Mercedes' mouth not that long before, it didn't take long before
I was really close.  Out of nowhere I felt a hand on my balls,
gently stroking and squeezing them.  I opened my eyes and saw
Mercedes grinning behind Shellie.

It was too much of a good thing and my balls seemed to shrink for
a second, then explode like an over-filled balloon.  I'd come
copiously before in my life, but not like this time!  In seconds
white cream was leaking down Shellie's thighs and onto my
abdomen.  I moaned as she squeezed again, then Shellie gasped and
I could see Mercedes was playing with Shellie's ear with her
tongue, while massaging both of Shellie's breasts at once.

I saw Ellie come up and tap Mercedes on the shoulder.  "I don't
suppose I could cut in, could I?"

Mercedes looked at her.  "Do you know why Shellie is where she
is?"

Ellie looked confused.  "She wanted to be with Davey."

Mercedes nodded.  "That's how it works with us, all rolled up
into a nutshell, Ellie.  She's where she wants to be.  If you
want to cut in, fine.  But girl, I'm telling you that I think you
have cute tits, and I wouldn't mind doing a little five-finger
massage on them.  Feel free to say no, but I'd sure like it if
you said yes."

Ellie giggled.  "Mercedes, after watching the two of them, it was
fifty-fifty if I was going to tap you on the shoulder or Shellie.
 I remember what it's like with Davey!  Addictive!"

Shellie looked at me.  "Are they fighting over me or you?"

We both rocked with laughter.  Let me tell you something: if you
haven't shared a belly laugh with your erection inside a woman
with a tight pussy, you haven't lived!

Ellie looked at Mercedes, then smiled.  "Watching the two of them
go at it, it was pretty sexy.  Lately, I can't seem to get enough
loving.  I was curious about what it was like with a girl; I
watched you and Anna the other day, you know.  Davey was facing
the front of the bus, but I was facing the back.  I watched you
with Anna.  I saw the smile on her face and the happy glint in
her eyes afterwards.

"It got me thinking that maybe I was missing something.  I looked
at you and thought about you.  You're the one who'd want to lead.
 You would want to take the initiative... and I didn't want that.
 Then Shellie made love to me and my heart and stomach are still
doing flip-flops.  God, I loved being putty in her hands!  Now
I'm standing here wondering what it would be like with someone
who takes charge of taking charge."

"You'll never know until you try," Mercedes told her.  Mercedes
stepped closer to Ellie.  "Like I said, you have beautiful
breasts," she rubbed her breasts against Ellie's.  Then Mercede's
hand stroked down Ellie's side and around her back and down over
her buttocks.  "Buns to die for!"

They were rubbing breasts, their midsections were glued to each
other, and that's when Mercedes kissed Ellie.  After a second
Ellie's hand came up around Mercedes' head and the kiss went
sky-high.

My view was interrupted when Shellie leaned forward and kissed
me.  "You're still hard."

"You do that to me, darling," I told her.  Me, who used to think
movie endearments were stupid, was using them more and more!

"Make love to me again.  You don't know how good it is to feel
you inside me."

"I know how nice it feels to be there," I whispered, as I began
to move inside her once again.

Shellie stayed close, lying down on top of me, kissing me.  I
kissed back and ran my hand over her, moving up and down her
smooth skin, from her shoulders to her bottom.  Once I tried to
reach her pussy from my position, but I couldn't quite touch it;
at least I knew where I was touching, and I tried to pretend it
was an accident.  I let my fingers though, trail up her bottom,
deep in the crevice.  Shellie broke off the kiss and whispered in
my ear, "Touch me there again!"

I was getting a little worked up, so I did.  She trembled and her
tongue surged into my mouth even harder, while she began to buck
on top of me, even more frantically than she'd done a few seconds
before.  It was a thought I had, just a thought, to touch her
again, and when I did she shrieked in pleasure, pressing her
belly down against mine.  I don't know why I did it; it just felt
good.  I hadn't come, I was still ready and willing, so I kept up
stroking into her.  I could tell she was headed for another
orgasm and this time I rested my fingers lightly against the spot
that brought her off so much.  No real pressure, just light
contact.  Shellie was wild, twisting and squirming against me.

I came, but not nearly as strongly as she did.

I contented myself then by running my hands up and down her back.
 Shellie sighed and moved slightly.  I saw her turn slightly, and
then I felt her tense.

I turned my head towards Mercedes and Ellie.  Instead of being
hotly engaged, they were sitting a couple of feet apart... and
both dressed, both reading.

Shellie looked at me, and for a second I held her tightly.  "I
need a shower," Shellie said, and then got up.  She headed for
the bathroom, and Ellie got up from her side of the room and
followed Shellie in.

Mercedes beckoned to me, and I got up, messy as I was and sat
down next to her.  "I don't think Ellie's going to work out.  She
says she needs time to think, but I believe her cold feet will
win the argument.  She's just not comfortable with more than one
person at a time.  She's sure Shellie is going to be jealous or
you will be or I will.  I think Shakespeare had it right; the
trouble isn't in the stars, it's in her."

"Bummer," I said, feeling terribly dejected.

Ellie came out of the bathroom.  I'd had visions of her hopping
in the shower with Shellie and working things out.  She came
towards us and we both stood up.  Ellie gave Mercedes a hug, then
me.  "It's not you guys," she told us.  "I just... I need some
time to think, okay?"

"Take all the time in the world, Ellie," I told her.

Mercedes nodded.  Then I walked Ellie out to the door.  Pammie
was coming up the walk and nodded at Ellie.  "Hi, girl!"

"Hello, Pammie."

Pammie brushed past us and went in the house, ignoring my state
of undress.

"I didn't mean to rain on anyone's parade," Ellie told me at the
front door.

"You didn't rain on mine," I told her.  "Shellie sounded happy
enough, too."

"And Mercedes?" she asked quietly.

"Mercedes is Mercedes," I told her.  "The meaning of tough."

"She was soft enough and nice enough when we were kissing.  I
don't know, Davey.  I just need some time to think."

"I understand.  We all did at first."

She left and I went back to the family room.  I could hear
Shellie and Mercedes singing in the shower.  Pammie waved in that
direction.  "Do they do that very often?"

"There's a first time for everything," I replied.

They came out and started studying; I took a personal best short
shower and joined them.  Pammie was sitting in my room on the
bed, reading something.

A little after six, Dad got home.  "Anyone have any preferences
what to have for dinner?  Linda is going to be late; she's with
Margaret Feeney."

When Dad said that, I mentally cursed myself.  Why couldn't I
remember to tell my friends important information?  Even if I'd
told Chief Ortega I wasn't going to talk about it that certainly
didn't include the people involved in my problems.

"Margaret who?" Pammie asked.

"Irene Feeney's mother," I turned to Mercedes and Shellie.  "You
remember Irene from Friday night?"

They nodded.  "Well, Saturday night she was in San Antonio with
Hannelore Kimmel.  It was her, not Karen," I told them.

"Oh no!" Shellie said, and then she grabbed me.  "Oh, Davey!  No
wonder you looked the way you did this afternoon!"

Mercedes grabbed me, too.  Chief Ortega was right; with friends,
even the worst things can be endured.

I turned to Dad.  "You remember my comment earlier about the
plate?"

He nodded.

"Well, as soon as we hung up, Blade called me.  He'd been
listening to us talk on the phone."

"Ah!" Dad said, "I wondered about that."

"He says it's legal, but can't be used as evidence.  He also said
that they're looking for Terry Toohey, Alex and Sean."

"One little indian, then two little indians.  Now what is it,"
Dad said.  "Six?"

I nodded.

"And five still wandering around.  I find I'm no longer in such a
hurry to go out to eat."  He turned to Wanda and the girls. 
"Yes, I'm a male chauvinist, but I try to make allowances.  Could
you girls get together and work on something for dinner?  Stay in
the kitchen, there are some things I need to show Davey."

They went to work and he led me into the family room.  "I was
going to do this yesterday, but it never seemed like the right
time.  Come over to the cue rack."

There was a rack of pool cues against the wall between the family
room and the bathroom.  He rapped his knuckles on the wall next
to the rack.  "What's on the other side of this?"

I thought for a second.  The bathroom, obviously.  I decided he
wanted specifics.  "The linen closet in the bathroom."

He grinned at me.  "You use that how often?  A couple of times a
week?"

"Yes."

He beamed.  "Come here," he said, so I walked over to him.  "Feel
along the bottom of the rack, feel the little indentation,
centered, towards the back?"

"I feel it."

"Push it."

I did and felt and heard a click.

"Now, step back," he said, taking the right side of the rack in
his hand.  He pulled and it swung open.  Behind the rack, roughly
the same size as the rack, was another cabinet, hidden.  There
were two rifles, two shotguns and two handguns there, plus a
stack of boxes of ammunition.

"The rifles and pistols are all .44 magnum, that's so you don't
have to worry about the size of the cartridges.  There's a pump
shotgun, with the plug pulled, so it now holds six rounds.  The
other shotgun is a cheap mate to the one you used Sunday, but
you'll notice that it has a rather short barrel."

I nodded.  The second shotgun was very much shorter than the
other.

"Randy Weaver was a scofflaw, survivalist, militia member and
all-around government hater.  A government agent, pretending to
be a fellow traveler, offered to buy a sawed-off shotgun just
like this one from Weaver.  Weaver agreed, and was promptly
arrested.  Upset at the very bogus charge, Weaver and his family
holed up in a cabin in Idaho.  The FBI went in after him with
hundreds of agents.  In the ensuing fighting, an FBI marksmen
killed his fourteen-year-old son and his wife, who was standing
in the doorway of their cabin holding their infant.  A federal
agent also shot and killed the Weaver's dog, before he killed
Weaver's son.  One of Weaver's friends shot and killed the agent
who shot the boy and the dog.

"It was one of the reasons cited by McVey that led to Oklahoma
City Federal building bombing; that and the raid on Branch
Dravidians in Waco, killing 77 people, including women, children
and babies.  Oklahoma City was on the anniversary of the Waco
raid.

"Altogether, nearly three hundred people died, the proximate
cause being a firearms violation for a sawed-off shotgun, that
was tossed out as entrapment before it ever came to trial.  Idaho
never filed charges for any of the events on Ruby Ridge, except
against the FBI marksman; he was acquitted but it was a close
thing."

I listened to it all, and stared at the short weapon.  It was a
little scary, that was for sure.

He closed the rack and I heard it click.  "All of those weapons
are loaded.  There are no empty chambers; the clips and magazines
are full.  The only time a firearm comes out of that cabinet is
because it's a matter of life and death."

I nodded.

"We took the space for this from the back of the linen closet.  I
was wondering if you noticed the missing eight inches.  You
didn't."

"No, I didn't."

"Come," he said.  Once again I followed him, this time into my
bedroom and into my closet.

He waved at the shelf, which held old clothes that didn't fit,
plus some old jigsaw puzzles.  "The shelf is an obvious place to
hide a weapon.  So that's not where your pistol is."

"My pistol?"

"Yours.  Except, like the guns in the family room, it only comes
out in case of serious, imminent danger."

I had a shoe caddy on the back of the door.  It hung off one of
the metal clothes hooks on it, and that's where all my shoes
except my one pair of hiking boots were kept.  Mom purely hates
things on the floor.

Dad lifted one side of the caddy and I saw the handle of a small
pistol in a pouch on the back of the caddy.  "It's a .38 police
special, with a six inch barrel.  It's a revolver, and there are
three extra cylinders just beneath it."

He took the pistol and showed me how to work the cylinder
release, how to change cylinders.

"Now," he told me, "forget all of this unless you absolutely need
to find them again.  I don't want you to tell anyone at all, not
your friends, not Wanda, not Pammie, no one.  No hints, no subtle
heads up, nothing."

"Yes, sir."

"When one person was after you, that was bad.  I never dreamed
she would seek allies, particularly among your peers.  It is a
shame on all of us in this town that she's found such fertile
ground to recruit in."

I could only nod soberly.

It was a subdued dinner; the only person at all animated was
Mercedes, who, it seemed, had been doing a lot of research. 
After dinner Mercedes' father appeared and whisked Mercedes and
Shellie away.  I spent some time on the computer, but seeing
Pammie in my bed reading left me feeling antsy.

I got my own book and sat down on the couch where I'd made love
to Mercedes' and Shellie earlier.  Much later, I felt someone
drape a blanket over me, and I opened my eyes.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Davey," Mom said.

"That's okay.  How is Mrs. Feeney?"

"Margaret has friends, but right now she's not reaching out,
she's closing herself in.  It's not good having a daughter with
problems, serious problems... but some parents have worked
through those problems before and saved their kids.  Some don't.
Taking up with Terry Toohey was bad.  Being wanted in connection
for the murder of a police officer?  Margaret's whole life, her
whole reason for being has been ripped away from her."

"I'm sorry," I told her.

It was a close thing, a very close thing.  She swung her hand to
slap me, and I jerked back out of the way.  She stopped before
she would have hit me.

"Sorry," she said, sounding contrite.

"I don't understand.  I said that word and you were pissed.  You
say it and expect me to excuse what almost happened."

"Hypocrisy is never pretty, particularly in ourselves, Davey. 
Davey, you made love to a girl who wanted to make love to you. 
You don't make love to all who want it, or every time you could.
You exercise judgment.  All of my sisters hold that's what guys
should do.  Go where they are wanted and if a woman is having a
lapse, have the courage to understand and say no.  It took you a
while, Davey, but that's what you said.  Moreover, you did the
right thing by telling me about it.

"Don't let what happened upset you, Davey."

She pointed at her hip.  "Right after we moved into this house, I
noticed a cut on my hip.  I didn't remember getting it and it was
a couple inches long -- it looked like a cat scratch, except I'm
allergic to cats so I never stay around one long enough to get
scratched.

"Two weeks later I noticed it was still there.  Trust me on this,
Davey: a cut that doesn't heal isn't a good symptom.  Not at all.
 I put a band-aid on it, and when I took it off a week later, the
cut was gone.  A few days later, I had another one in the same
place.

"I was going crazy, trying to figure out where it came from.  It
had to be something serious; I knew it!  I went to Dr. Jacoby,
the elder, and he looked at it and said it was a minor cut,
nothing serious, nothing to worry about.  I told him it had been
there for eight weeks, but he made me admit that it had healed
once.

"To cut this story short, a few days later I was wearing just
panties in the bedroom and I walked past the bed.  We'd gotten a
really nice new bed when we'd moved in and I was happy with it. 
But my panties snagged on something.  Just the tiny end of a
nail, sticking out from the wood -- and razor sharp, sharp
enough, in fact, to cut without you feeling it.

"Usually I run around in my altogether in our room, wearing just
panties was unusual.  When I realized what was happening, I
remembered I was bumping into that post a couple of times a week,
because it was waist high, and our old bed didn't have posts.  I
told Phil; he came in with a file and zap!  Problem solved!  It
wasn't something I was doing, Davey, not really.  It wasn't my
fault.  It was just something that was happening.  What happened
to Irene is a terrible example of that.  But it wasn't your
fault."

"Everyone tells me that.  It's just a matter of believing it
myself."

She leaned down and hugged me, then kissed me on the forehead. 
"Once upon a time, I would have been sure you'd screw it up. 
Now, I'm sure you won't."

I shrugged.

"Now I have a question for you.  What are you doing tomorrow
after school?"

"Baseball practice until five.  Then we'll come back here and
study."

"There is a meeting between Chris' doctors and her parents
tomorrow at two.  I'll be hanging around, waiting to hear what's
decided.  Davey, if they decide to operate, it'll be at once. 
Most likely the day after tomorrow, probably very early morning.
I'd like you to go over tomorrow evening if she is going to have
surgery and say hello.  I wouldn't mind if you went if she's not
going to have surgery."

I sat still, trying to control my thoughts.  I was angry again,
angry at myself.  "It's odd.  Someone is out to hurt me.  She's
been recruiting people to help her.  Now the score is the police
one and the bad guys five; the ones in jail versus those still
out there.  That and I saw a guy who looked Semitic; who knows,
it might be Hannelore's Uncle Murray, not her Uncle Mohammed. 
But there maybe more than the six or seven I know of.  Four times
they've come for me and my friends or the people I've been with
at the time.

"I can deal with it.  I make jokes and I tell people around me
not to worry.  I tell Mercedes' father the only way a bad guy
will hurt Mercedes is over my dead body.  I can say and do all
those things, but going to see Chris tomorrow is going to be the
toughest thing I've ever done."

"Davey, Phil is a wonderful man.  Simply wonderful.  He told me
once that if I ever told him what happens to the kids he drives
around a couple of times a month, he'll seriously think about
leaving me.  He's not bluffing.  In this, you are your father's
son, Davey.  You and he are quite capable of taking care of
yourselves, your loved ones, your friends, no matter what you
have to do... but learning whether a kid who was smiling at you
last week lived or died isn't something you're up to.

"It's human nature, Davey.  It's part of the difference between
men and women.  Sure, it tears me up when one of them dies.  It
hurts, dear God, it hurts!  But I look at the others, the brave,
trusting faces hoping that we can work some magic... then I set
my teeth and I go back, to see what I can do to help even one
more for even one minute."

She waved at the couch.  "I'll get you a pillow.  It's getting
late and tomorrow is another day."

"It always is," I said sadly.  "It always is."

<1st attachment end>


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