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Message-ID: <51449asstr$1119467401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 40 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Wed, 22 Jun 2005 15:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 40.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/

I am no longer affiliated in any way with Electronic Wilderness
Publishing, aka EWP.

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

Chapter 40 :: Groping and Rewards

Sunday morning I spent writing my life story for whoever was
going to read it.  It was too bad, of course, that I'd organized
it first, but I didn't care that much about whether or not some
unnamed "expert" would be able to see more in it than I could
remember.

I spent a little time writing down what I'd had to eat during the
week.  I'd created an Excel spreadsheet with dates down the page,
breakfast, lunch and dinner across the top.  It didn't take very
long at all and I was pleased that I remembered everything.

Around eleven I was surfing the net, learning how to set up a
saltwater aquarium.  None of the steps seemed to be that
difficult; what seemed difficult was that there were so many of
them.  Plus, there were more water tests to make sure it was the
right temperature, pH and salinity.  Maybe I had a future as a
manager of a water plant?

Just before noon I swam for a while, alone.  No one else wanted
to come in, even though the temperature was over eighty. 
Afterwards I had lunch, then went back to the computer to look at
more on octopi and their requirements.  I sent Mercedes an email
message asking her if she'd gotten any names to talk to at the
Texas Aquarium at Corpus Christi.

Her reply came back a few seconds later and at first I was
confused.  AIM?  YIM?  ICQ?

Out in the family room I heard someone talking, and then I heard
the sound of pool balls breaking.  I got up and found Wanda and
Jack at the pool table.  I grinned, because Wanda was leaning
over to make a shot, while Jack was staring at her jeans-covered
bottom.

Wanda had said she and Jack were headed towards being good
friends.  I had a feeling that Jack's intention was to keep his
hat in the ring, one way or the other.  Wanda sank her target and
the cue ball was in good position for her next shot.  I wondered
if Jack had bet anything important on the game.  There had been
days, when we were growing up, where one or the other of us --
and sometimes both -- lived at the pool table, ten, twelve hours
a day.  For weeks at a time.  I might be able to tickle Wanda
into submission, but I was never going to be the pool player she
was.

"Wanda," I said as she stood back up, a half smile on her face.

"Yes, Davey?"

"I have a stupid question.  What is AIM?  YIM?  ICQ?"

Jack laughed and Wanda looked at me, shaking her head.  "Davey,
you don't get out much, do you?"

"I take it I was right.  It was a stupid question."

"Pretty much," she agreed.

"I don't get out much.  Not until recently."

"Well, it's an excuse," she said.  "AIM is AOL Instant Messenger.
 YIM is Yahoo Instant Messenger and ICQ is just what the letters
say."

"Pardon?"

"I seek you," she said.

"Oh."

"Messaging programs on computers," Jack added helpfully.

I kicked myself.  Yep, I'd heard of them, but had never used one.
 "Which is best?  Which is easiest?" I asked.

"I like Yahoo myself," Wanda said.  "You can get some interesting
conversations going, particularly with people with web cams." 
The expression on her face could only be described as a leer. 
"AIM is the most used, I suppose, and you don't need AOL.  The
geeks seem to like ICQ a lot."

I looked at the clock.  There was about twenty minutes until
Mercedes and Shellie were supposed to arrive.  Could I set up
something like that before then?  I doubted it.  Better, I
thought to take my time and do it right."

"How'd you do at poker last night, Davey?" Jack asked.

"I won prettily steadily but there weren't any big hands."

"Who did you play with?"

I listed the names and Jack shook his head and whistled.  "You
beat the Chief of Police?  A Texas Ranger?"

"It was luck," I told him.  "The cards were cold."

"Yeah, like the night Chuck and I got handed our asses."

"No," I said laughing, "that night the cards ran just fine."

"How can you say you won, but the cards were cold?" Wanda asked.

"Most nights, someone gets caught bluffing.  Not last night. 
There weren't any hands worth bluffing on."

"Chuck and I asked around the football team, seeing if there was
anyone who wanted to take you guys on," Jack told me.  "That's
kind of a famous local poker game.  No one wanted to play."

"Too bad," I said.  "Dad and I will be out next weekend."

Wanda waved at the pool table.  "Let me finish beating the pants
off Jack, Davey.  Then we're going to crash the movie party."

"No problem."

Two months before, if my sister had invited herself and her
boyfriend along on what amounted to a date, I'd have been pissed.
 As it was, I barely thought about it.  A lot can happen in six
weeks!

I went back to the computer, brought up Google and found that you
go to Yahoo to get Yahoo Instant Messenger.  What a surprise!  I
downloaded it and installed it on my computer.  It was a little
scary how easy it was to install.  I ended up with a screen name
of Davey76903, the last digits being our zip code.

Then Mercedes and Shellie arrived and I happily turned off the
computer and went out to join them.

I was doubly pleased: they had both put their hair up in braids!
I hugged and kissed them both!

Emily and Rob elected to go in his car, which was about as
surprising as the butter side landing down.

We'd hardly gotten seated in the back of Wanda's car, me in the
middle, when Mercedes planted a kiss on my cheek.  I turned
towards her, hoping for more, but she shook her head.  "I want to
thank you for introducing Chris to Shellie.  And, of course, I've
already thanked Shellie for introducing the two of us.  That's
one interesting girl, Davey!"

"Ah..." I was still concerned about her age; even if we were
rapidly approaching the day we'd be the same age.

"We had a very nice visit," Shellie agreed.

"Plus, you have no idea how pleasant it is to have someone who
looks up to a high school freshman, rather than down their nose,"
Mercedes added.

"And you know what else?" Shellie said, her voice almost a
whisper.  Then she dropped it another notch so she was
whispering.  "She was peeking down Mercedes' blouse when we
smooched her goodbye."

I hugged the two of them.  Shellie had made no secret that the
two of them had their own lines of communication and talked to
each other more than I talked to either of them.  I needed to do
something about that.

"I set up a Yahoo Messenger account this afternoon," I told them
and then told them my ID.

"Now that's easy enough to remember!" Mercedes said.  "Is that
because you're being practical or you don't want to forget it?"

"It was the first thing that came to my mind," I told her.

I watched the movie yet another time.  I still liked it, but I
really didn't need the crap, so to speak, in the hotel room.  I'd
have been far more content to just watch them riding the waves.

Mercedes had taken my hand even before the movie started and
Shellie as soon as the lights went down.  We were all sitting in
a line, with Wanda and Jack, then Rob and Emily, then Shellie,
Mercedes and me sitting between my two loves.  I made a quick
check as the lights were going down -- so far as I could tell, we
were the only ones in the theater.

Finally it was over and we started to walk outside, stopping in
the lobby, everyone talking about the movie.  Rob, I think, was
almost in the same heaven I was, but in his case it was the
camera work, not braids or waves.  Jack was silent, but nodded
when Wanda asked him if he liked the movie.  He said something
quietly to her and she grinned, but didn't say anything.

Finally Wanda waved at the door.  "We should go.  Promise me
you'll look this time before we cross the street, Davey?"

Until that moment I'd not thought about the last time.  I felt
Mercedes' grip tighten on my arm and after a second, Shellie did
the same thing.

"Come along," I said, stepping boldly forward.

I did stop at the curb, and like I'd learned before first grade,
looked left first.  Sitting about a hundred yards away in the
fire zone was a police car with two people in it.  I looked the
other way and didn't see anyone coming, so I stepped off, my eyes
going back to the police car.

It could have been a coincidence, I thought.  But I doubted it. 
Nope, that car was there because of me.  The afternoon was
pleasantly warm; I hoped their air conditioning worked.

We got to the cars and Shellie pulled up and looked at Rob.  "How
hard would it be to do a film of what's happened to Davey?"

Rob laughed.  "Impossible, Shellie.  Everyone knows who is
suspected.  Do you have any idea what the legal hassles would be,
even if we just changed the names?  Awesome!  Simply awesome. 
Now, action-adventure stories -- that's what Rodriquez started
with, you know.  There's always a market for that.  Do another
story, maybe a mystery or film noir -- that would be a winning
idea."

"It would be nice to help Davey," Emily volunteered.

"Yeah, but trust me, Emily, that wouldn't help him.  Probably
sink him and his family big time.  Lawyers would line up to give
that woman and Fuck-hoff legal help.  No, it has to be something
very different.  No similar names, no characters with the same
general appearance, no similar backgrounds, everything has to be
different."

They started talking more details, and after a second I nudged
Rob.  "Hey, you know we're keeping those cops sitting in the
sun."

He glanced at them and said, "So?"

"So, cops like them were at the pool party.  They put themselves
between Fuck-hoff and us.  He didn't bring all those guns to make
loud noises and entertain the party," I told him.

Rob looked at me and shrugged.  "I guess.  I'm just not a big fan
of the police."

Wanda reached out and touched Rob's arm.  "I hope you never need
them, then.  Trust me, there are times when I look back and cry
for joy when they came to help me."

"Me too," Emily said.

"Hey, Rob," Jack said, piling on.  "I heard my father say once
that a conservative is a liberal who was mugged."

Rob shook his head.  "I didn't mean any offense.  You're right;
I've never needed one.  I hope I never need one."

Mercedes turned to Wanda.  "I know you were planning on taking us
home, but I'd like to make a detour to the hospital, so we can
all say 'hi' to Chris.  My parents will pick us up there and run
Davey home."

"Sure, no problem.  You don't mind if we don't go in?"  Wanda
replied.

We were getting into the car at that point, and I decided to ask
Jack about a helmet party.  "Say, Jack, I talked to Rob the other
day, now I'd like to ask you.  What would the football team say
to a little all-you-can-eat pizza party some Saturday
afternoon?"

"If you invite the whole team, you have to go through the Coach,"
Jack told me.  "There are rules on gifts and stuff."

"Oh, this isn't a party for you guys, it's for someone else.  I
was hoping I could get you to wear your helmets."

"Why would we want to do that?"

"Chris, the girl we're going to see, had brain surgery."

"I heard about that."

"Yeah, well, for a couple of weeks after she gets out of the
hospital they're going to make her wear a football helmet.  She's
embarrassed at being seen in public wearing one."

Jack laughed.  "Davey, all of us feel embarrassed showing up off
the field in a helmet.  It's why we use it to haze... er, harass
the freshmen."

"Free pizza, all you can eat.  Soft drinks, too."  I realized
something that might work and decided to use it.  "Actually, you
and Chuck will have paid for a good part of it."

He flipped me a bird, but was laughing.  "Go to the coach, Davey,
talk to him.  Next week PE is football practice, you'll be seeing
a lot of him."

"It'll be after she gets out of the hospital, maybe around
Halloween," I told him.

Then we were at the hospital and the three of us went up to visit
Chris.

She was looking much better, and the first thing she did when we
arrived was hand Shellie a couple books.  "I'm done with these."

"Do you want to read more books by the same author?" Shellie
asked.

"Oh, please!  She is so nice!  Girls as knight protectors, just
as plain knights!  That is so cool!"

"I'll bring some more," Shellie told her, tucking the books into
her purse.  "I have a bunch.  A dozen, I think."

It was nice to see Chris's eyes light up.  I could see that it
made Shellie feel good too.

We talked about the movie we'd been to, and I found myself
promising to have a party at the house when it came out on DVD so
that Chris could watch it.  A couple times I saw Chris staring at
the braids, and then she'd smile shyly at me.

Mercedes eventually turned to me.  "Can I borrow your cell phone,
Davey, so I can call my mom to come pick us up?"

"Sure," I told her.

Mercedes took it and headed into the hall.  I was a little
surprised when she was gone for a while, but she smiled at me
when she came back and I didn't care after that.

Finally, it was time to go and Shellie hugged and "smooched"
Chris on the cheek.  Mercedes was hanging back, so I simply
hugged Chris.  Mercedes went and hugged her last.

It was cute, really.  I saw Chris' eyes widen in surprise, and I
saw where she was looking.  Mercedes straightened back up and
turned to us.  "I told my mother we'd meet her out front."

Mercedes, who'd been wearing a bra earlier, wasn't, and the top
two buttons of her blouse were undone.  When we were out in the
hall Mercedes grinned at us.  "Back in a flash!"

She went in a women's bathroom and was back a few seconds later,
her blouse buttoned and wearing her bra.  She patted my arm. 
"Tomorrow is Monday, Davey.  You'll have to survive another day,
and as far as I'm concerned, until the weekend."

We all laughed and we went arm-in-arm outside, getting there just
before Mrs. d'Silva drove up.  The three of us talked about the
movie and we agreed to meet online.

Later, I tried out the instant messaging thing, just hanging
around.  An hour later Shellie sent me a message asking if she
could be on my friends list and I agreed.  She was Chibisama,
which wasn't much of a surprise.  "I'm a little busy," she told
me.  "It's Monday morning already in Tokyo."

I remembered she said she talked to a lot of people in Japan, so
I asked her what she was doing.  "I'm talking with two people who
are helping me with a translation.  You'd like one of them."

"Why would I like her?"

"She likes to work in the nude -- and she runs a web cam."

"I don't have a web cam and I don't think I'd strip nude in front
of it."

"Me, either," she replied.  "Here," she sent me a name.  "Tell
her you want to add her to your friends list.  When that's done,
push the web cam button and hook up to her.  She has to approve
you separately for that."

It took a few minutes but eventually there was another window
open.  The picture wasn't very big, but then neither were her
breasts, which were clearly visible.  The girl on the other end
leaned close to the camera and smiled.

"You like?" she typed on her end.

"Yes!" I replied.

I couldn't see what they were saying back and forth to each
other, but the Japanese girl was doing a lot of typing, and
Shellie wasn't saying much.  Mercedes asked if she could join my
friends list and I accepted.  The two of us started talking about
the aquarium visit.

She'd set up an appointment with two people at the Texas
Aquarium.  One was a biologist, who was willing to talk about the
care and feeding of octopi, the other was one of the zoo
curators, who knew a lot about starting and keeping marine
aquariums and not just the huge ones they had.

We had a late dinner and afterwards talked at the table for much
longer than we usually did.  Dad poured himself a glass of beer
and Mom had some wine, while the rest of us stuck with whatever
we'd had for dinner.  Ice tea for me, milk for Emily and Wanda
was sipping lemonade.  The topics were all over the place -- with
the exceptions of Karen, Pammie and people lurking in the shadows
trying to hurt me.

By the time I was back at the computer, Shellie was gone, as was
the Japanese girl.  I chatted with Mercedes for a while until
Mercedes told me to bag it.  "Chatting online," she told me, "is
like a black hole that sucks up time.  We could say ten times as
much on the phone... and you wouldn't be able to see my spelling
mistakes."

"I'd rather see your breasts," I typed.  "And I'd have a tough
time seeing them on the phone."

"Well, you're going to have to be happy with my giving you a blow
job, because I'm still out of it.  I'm feeling okay, but anything
else would be a little gross."

"I understand."

"Well, develop patience, Davey, because according to Shellie,
she's regular as clockwork -- and due to start next Sunday
afternoon."

"Oh."  I giggled to myself at that.  "We'll just have to
improvise."

"Exactly.  Now, this girl's off to bed with sweet dreams and my
oldest lover."

"Pardon?" I asked.

"My fingers.  Sleep good, Davey."

I glanced at the clock.  It was past ten thirty and tomorrow was
a school day.  It wouldn't hurt, I thought, to get to bed a
little early.

I undressed, turned off the light, and crawled into bed.  I
tossed and turned for a few minutes, and then I realized I was
horny.  I laughed at myself.  Until recently, that had been
something I'd dealt with pretty much like Mercedes: my hand.

I reached over and opened the top drawer of my nightstand.  How
many guys had secrets like me?  How many girls, although I wasn't
sure what they'd be hiding?  Me, I kept plain white t-shirts
folded up in the top drawer.  I grinned to myself.  No one had
ever noticed that the t-shirt on top was one I'd had since I was
six or seven, and which had, for years, been lost behind my
dresser.  I'd found it one day when I was cleaning and I realized
it was perfect for jacking off into.  I'd take it out, use it to
clean up, and dump it on the floor.  I'd get up early in the
morning and fold it back up and put it back.  If I really wanted
a t-shirt, I took the second from the top.  And when the stains
got too bad, it went in the laundry and got zapped with bleach
and came out spiffy white.  Mom made me do my own stuff, so it
was cool.

I was feeling really good, about then, stroking away.  Shellie
and Mercedes had been cute today!  The girl in the movie was
cute!  Chris, for someone whose head was swathed in bandages, was
cute.  For a moment I thought of Irene Feeney.  She was someone I
was never, ever going to forget.  I compared Chris and Irene in
my mind.

Irene, I thought, if I'd groped her in public, even that first
day, would have been more interested in fucking, and unconcerned
about someone playing with her breasts in public.  Chris, I was
sure, would die of embarrassment.  So would Shellie.  Mercedes
wouldn't be so much embarrassed as pissed.  She wouldn't die from
anything; she'd beat your head in!  Wanda would be, I thought,
the same way, unless she was on the bus.  Emily was, I thought,
with Shellie and Chris.  The Japanese girl on the computer
earlier?  I filed her with Wanda and Mercedes.  She'd made a
couple of comments that hinted that she was gay.

My mind focused for a bright, clear second on Chris, just as I
came.  She was the same age today as Irene was, but, I was sure,
far more mature.  Maybe mature wasn't the right word, although I
thought it wasn't far off.  My last thought before I went to
sleep was to wonder what Chris looked like nude.



I was up early, of course.  The sin of going to bed early coming
home to roost.  Wanda was sitting in the den, reading a
schoolbook and looked up when I came through.  "Another few
minutes, Davey."

"No problem," I told her.

She grinned at me.  "I could start your day off right, if you
want."

I raised an eyebrow.  "Hey!" she said, laughing hard.  "According
to Clinton, it's not sex.  You should hear some of the things
I've heard about life in the big city."

"What about life in the big city?" I asked.

"They have something called 'Rainbow Parties,'" she told me. 
"Marjorie Gold told me, and she's not one given to telling wild
stories.  You have a co-ed sleepover.  The girls all put on
different shades of lipstick, so when they go down on a guy, they
leave their mark, so to speak."

I swallowed.

My sister giggled.  "Davey, the guy with the most colorful
equipment, come the next morning, gets a prize."

"He needs a prize?" I said, trying to keep from doubling over
with laughter.

"Well -- guys always think they need a prize.  Except you."

"Wanda, I have family and friends.  I don't need much more than
that."

I glanced at the clock; it was almost time.

Wanda started giggling.  "What's funny?"

"Oh, I remember something I heard Saturday.  Someone who was
speculating on how much fun it would be to make your day, Davey.
Trust me on this, Davey.  There's someone out there that if you
asked her, would be only too happy to go down on you.  Not
someone you'd at all suspect!"

"You guys talk too much," I told her.

She grinned.  "Yep, that's true.  So, in this case, I'm going to
leave it at the fact you have a secret admirer.  Someone you'd
never suspect in a million years.  Someone who surprised even
me!"  She waved at the door.  "Go get wet!  Freeze your balls
off!"  She started laughing again.

So, I got wet.  And all that other morning routine stuff.

I sank down next to Mercedes when I got to school and she grinned
at me.  I grinned back, because she was still wearing her braids.
 A few minutes later, Shellie appeared, still wearing hers.

She handed Mercedes a couple sheets of paper, then handed me some
as well.  "Gotta run, I think I know where I can find Rob.  I
want his opinion on this, too."

My first thought was it was bizarre.  I'd seen enough stuff like
what she'd given to me on Dad's desk over the years.  Microsoft
Project.  Then his company had spent a huge amount of money and
bought something else, something Dad had been really pissed off
about because it didn't do half the stuff as well as Project.  On
the other hand, he told me, it wasn't Microsoft Project, it was
something some consultant or other had sold the company, saying
it wasn't good to concentrate software purchases on one vendor.

What Shellie had produced was a Project printout that was really
a story outline, covering a period of a week.  It was a little
hard to follow, unless you read the Word explanation she'd
printed on the back.

A locked-room murder mystery, at a country house.   It wasn't
very original, but it looked very well thought out.

The day progressed and Shellie and I walked to the Office class
together.  "What did you think of my story?" she asked.

"Well, Shellie, I thought it was a cool way to do an outline. 
But, that story is as old as the hills."

"I used all kinds of tricks!" she said, a little defensively.

"Well, what do you think Agatha Christie and all those detective
stories are about?  Stories as old as the hills, with some clever
tricks!"

She spent the period hunched over her keyboard.  No clever
messages, no interesting drawings.  It was easily the worst
Office class to date; I was starting to hate it really bad.

At lunch, it wasn't any better.  Mercedes shrugged, "Not my kind
of story, sorry Shellie," she said.

Rob wasn't any help either, going the same place as I had, only
more authoritatively and eloquently.  "Shellie, this is a good
story, but it's been done so many times, it's hard to get any
traction.  You need something dramatic and different, like
finding out at the end that Michelle is really Michael, the
cross-dressing transvestite who had it in for the butler all the
time."

Shellie smiled at that, but shook her head.  "Well, I don't think
I could write that story.  I'll think of something!

"Davey," she went on to say, "are you ready for the snap quiz in
Geography next period?"

"I hope so.  I'm not entirely sure what to expect from a teacher
like Colonel Terrell."

"Expect the unexpected," Rob suggested.  "That's what soldiers
are always saying."

Well, it turned out Rob hit it right on the money.  Still I
thought I did okay, and Shellie gave me a thumbs up as we headed
to PE.

Jock track PE is something I'd never given a thought to, now I
found myself listening to the football coach discussing how
things were going to work.

I'd thought the way the Coach Delgado made up scrimmage teams was
kind of cool.  In football, it wasn't intended to be cool; it was
intended to be brutal.  It was the varsity football team against
anyone who wanted to play against them.  Did I say brutal?  Of
course not, don't be silly.  We weren't wearing any equipment
except flag belts.

Flag football or not, there was a notable lack of enthusiasm for
any position on scrub offense, and simply because I was willing
to tell people what I wanted, I found myself as quarterback and
ersatz captain.  I'm sure my father was going to be thrilled, but
I was more concerned about the lean and hungry looks on the
varsity's faces.

By kickoff time -- and there was never a coin toss or anything
like fairness involved -- I was ticked off at everyone on both
sides.  The ghoulish glee among the varsity players, the pale
faces and eyes cast downwards on our side.

The guy who kicked off for us was pretty good, I guess.  At least
it got the ball to midfield.  I went running towards Chuck who'd
caught the ball and was headed towards the other goal post.

Memory problems!  I had memory problems!  One second I was headed
Chuck's way, the next I was laying on my back, my entire body,
right down to my teeth, aching.  I had no memory at all of going
from running forward to flat on my back.

I got up, though, just in time to see Mercedes handing a flag
back to Chuck.  I guess that was good news; the bad news was she
was awfully close to the other end of the practice field.

In books or movies, I organize the scrubs into a fantastic team
and we would stop the varsity cold.  What a crock!  Jack kept the
ball after the snap and just blew through us.  At one point he
had three people on him, trying to get one of his flags.  One
after another, he knocked them away and ran the ball in.

When we went back to take the kickoff, Mercedes and I met for a
second.  "I find I'm not so eager to get the ball.  I'm even less
eager to start forward.  If it comes to me, Davey, I'm calling
for a fair catch, even if no one's close!"

I sighed, but this wasn't even close to fair.  And Rob, good ol'
Rob, kicked it right to me.  He had to have done it on purpose.

I simply grit my teeth, just like I'd done in the ring and
started running.  I had about two seconds of glory when I danced
to one side to miss a tackler, but I lost my forward momentum and
a second later three guys grabbed me at once.  Two held me tight,
while Jack ripped off my flags.  All of them.

They had a playbook; we had nothing.  I looked at Mercedes when
we got to the huddle and she shook her head, emphatically no.   I
pointed to someone else.  "Run with the ball.  Stand next to me
and I'll hand it to you."

"Not me!" he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, you.  Shut up and line up.  Who is the center?"

A guy who was very fat and very black raised his hand.  "Ah's
does it."

"Good.  I'm going to go hut!  That's when you give me the ball. 
No count, nothing.  I say hut, and I get the ball."

"Okey dokey."

Ah yes!  An elegantly simple plan.  I said "Hut" and got the
ball.  I started to turn and two of the defensive linemen hit the
center low, knocking him back into me.  I didn't even get
completely turned around, before I was being piled on.  And since
our huge center was there first, it was quite a pile.

In the huddle I looked at the center and asked him if he could do
a long toss instead of a short pass.  He said he could, so I
tried the same play, only this time standing six feet back.

It didn't work any better, although I got to see them coming.  I
did manage to get rid of the ball though, making a short pass to
someone just beyond the line of scrimmage.  He never touched the
ball, because it was high -- but neither did anyone else.

"This time," Mercedes said, "give it to me.  I can't believe what
a bunch of wusses we're playing with."  She said it loud enough
for everyone to hear, but I think they were deliberately ignoring
her.

I told the guy who'd lined up next to me before to stay where
he'd been placed.

So, this time I had two people lined up next to me.  Handing it
off to my right, I found was a lot better than going left, across
my body.  It didn't save but a fraction of a second, but since
the varsity was coming at light speed, the fraction of a second
was useful.

Mercedes ran parallel to the line of scrimmage, and then turned
downfield.  I'd already noticed she didn't much run like a girl,
and when she made the turn, I realized she didn't turn like a
girl, either.  It was a square corner, with no hint it was
coming.

It was cool!  Two guys missed her flags and she went past another
who wasn't in position to stop her.  I blinked.  Not only was I
still standing, Mercedes had only one guy left between her and
the goal line.

Someone came from the other side, blazing fast, and grabbed her,
throwing her to the ground, where they rolled around for a few
seconds.  That had looked suspiciously like a tackle to me.

Mercedes got up, turned and stomped hard on his crotch.  "Don't
you ever try to tackle me by the tits again, you fuckin' moron!"

There were a couple of whistles and the next thing the coach was
in Mercedes' face, telling her to take a couple of laps and then
sit on the bench.

I tell you, there's nothing like Mercedes when she gets going!

"What planet are you from, anyway?  This here is Texas,
numbskull!"

He was yelling at her to shut up and do as she was told, but she
was just getting warmed up.  "In Texas, when a guy grabs a girl
by the tits and wrestles her to the ground and then keeps playing
with those titties, why, we call that attempted rape.  I'm not
doing laps!  I'm going to get to a phone and call 911!  You want
me to do laps, while that fucker has a shit-eating grin on his
face, 'cause you don't give a damn.  Well, I know the sorry
fucker, and I got news for him and you both: he's sixteen.  He'll
be a couple of years in the Farm.  I hope you like what they'll
say about you at the next school board meeting!  My mother's the
secretary!"

The guy Mercedes had kicked stopped laughing; the football coach
had stopped yelling.

"Girlie, you're out here by your own choice," he started, trying
to sound conciliatory.  Oh boy, if you want to talk to Mercedes,
don't ever make the mistake of having the first word that comes
out of your mouth be "girlie!"

"I came out for baseball, you stupid moron!  Not to play tackling
dummy for the football team!  You bet your ass I'm going to sit
on the bench!  You won't be the first coach out of here this
year, but maybe the next stupid fuck coach'll figure it out."

Well, after that, there was a lot of this and that, back and
forth.  Mercedes and the guy, one of the baseball right fielders
who invariably got picked last, went to the office with the
coach.

The rest of us got to do laps, which didn't exactly make Mercedes
popular, but I didn't care a bit.

In the showers Jack laughed.  "Davey, that's a real spitfire you
got there!"

"Jack, football is your thing, I respect that.  Football isn't
ours.  Anyone can do a half-assed job of playing baseball or golf
or tennis, or whatever else the coaches want to teach us.  But
not football.  Football isn't something you can play with one
side going all out and the other side trying to find a hole to
hide in."

"Davey, it's just a learning experience," Jack was still
laughing.  "You need to lighten up."

"Oh, like you guys lightened up out there?  And just what do you
think anyone is learning?  The scrubs were doing a good job of
learning how to dog it when it looks like things aren't going in
their favor.  Is that a good thing for guys who play baseball,
basketball or who run track to be learning?  Do you think?

"And what the fuck is the football team learning?  That you can
crush the scrubs?  Like this is something you need to learn? 
Football, Jack, you know football.  You need a good deal of skill
and experience to play well.  So what were you guys learning? 
Were you using playbook plays out there?  Or were you just
laughing your asses off?  You guys get any blocking or tackling
practice out there?  Eh?  How about practice against a pass rush,
you learn anything about that?  How about special teams stuff?  I
hear that's important shit.  You guys learn anything about
special teams today?"

Jack looked at me thoughtfully.  "Sometimes, Harper, you're full
of shit.  This was fun."

"Right, fun.  Tell me, Jack, what would your reaction have been
if it had been Wanda out there being knocked down and groped?"

"Someone would be looking at a world of hurt!"

"Yeah, well, I don't know the asshole's name, but I know the
face.  You tell him for me, this is a good week to go on
vacation.  I swing a mean bat, and if I see his face anytime
soon, why, I'll just be trying a few practice cuts to see how far
I can hit something that big and fat."

I turned my back on him, just rinsed under the shower and changed
clothes.  There wasn't much joy in Mudville, nor at San Angelo
High, that afternoon.

It got worse, though.  Much worse.

I was halfway to Spanish when my phone buzzed.  I stopped and
picked up.  My dad said simply, "I tried, Davey.  I swear I
tried, but there was nothing I could do."

"Do about what?"

"Wanda will bring you, Emily, Mercedes and Shellie to the house,
right after school.  Come straight home."

"What for?"  I knew what I wanted to go home with them for, but I
had a feeling it wasn't to be.

"That guy we met a couple of weeks ago, John Fox.  He's back.  He
wants to meet with everyone to talk about -- issues."

"What do you mean, everyone?"  My spine hadn't melted only
because I was now leaning against the wall of the hall.

"Everyone, everyone.  Chief Ortega, Willy Coy, Hammer, Blade,
your mom and me.  Mercedes' parents."  He paused.  "Davey, I'm
sorry.  Your mother and I did everything we could to stop this. 
It didn't matter.  Shellie's parents will be there, Karen's
parents are still in town, and so they'll be there with the
Reverend Grissom and Pammie's mother.  Pammie.  Karen will be
there with Colonel Terrell and his daughter.  There will be a
couple of people from Children's Services.  That Texas Ranger."

"We should rent the football stadium," I said, angry beyond
words.  I was scared for Shellie, I really was.  This could mess
up her life as bad as Karen's or Pammie's lives were messed up.

"Yeah.  I know.  I don't know what this is about, Davey, but Vic
says it's beyond important.  Those were his words.  Beyond
important."

I found myself sitting down on the floor, out of the way of
people going by.  I got a few strange looks, but I'm sure they
were seeing one on my face as well.

How was I ever going to look Shellie in the eyes again?  I was
risking everything she'd ever done in her life.  The things that
I found wonderful and remarkable about her, and which I knew in
my heart-of-hearts made her life worth living.  I was too happy
to forget all my problems and simply enjoy what she had to
offer.

Sure, Shellie was a deep and complex person, with a lot to give.
Beyond sex, beyond braids and conversation.  Mercedes was like a
top, spinning on a tabletop, whirling and twirling, a riot of
color.  But Shellie was that cubed.  She hid it, covered it up...
and it would hurt her terribly if her mask was lifted for even
one second.

Finally the hallways were quiet.  I was late for Spanish.  I
sighed and got up, walking towards the front of the school where
eventually Wanda would pick us up.

I sat down on one of the concrete benches, staring emptily,
focused on nothing.

Pretty well focused, I realized a while later when I realized Mr.
Two Crows was sitting next to me.  I hadn't even noticed him sit
down!

"I skipped Spanish," I told him.

He smiled slightly.  "And I'm supposed to writing a report on a
ruckus during PE sixth period.  I decided it could wait, since I
was pretty sure I was going to hear from Ruy and Camilla d'Silva.
 Then I got called to a meeting to be held at your house.  Quite
a lot of attendees.  The Principal isn't happy; he thinks things
are spinning out of control."

"I keep trying to pretend it's not true.  None of it's true.  I'm
going to get someone killed."

He snorted.  "Davey, I grew up in a big family.  Not only did I
have a lot of brothers and sisters, my parents had lots of
brothers and sisters.  I have nearly thirty cousins, nearly that
many nieces and nephews.

"Stands to reason, some were close to me in age.  Tilly, her name
was.  She lived next door, the youngest daughter of my mother's
oldest sister.  She was older than me by three days.  We grew up
together, went to school together, we were best friends.  Tilly
and I were the pride of our families.  I got a big scholarship to
Texas A & M and two days later Tilly got the real plum: a full
scholarship to UT Austin.

"The families got together to celebrate.  Our fathers, Davey, got
rip-roaring drunk.  Indians have never learned to deal with
firewater.  Nor, thankfully, has my father ever learned how to
deal with my mother.  She took the keys from him and drove us
home.

"Tilly's old man hit her mother, and proceeded to drive head on
into another drunken Indian's pickup.  Fourteen dead, Davey,
including Tilly."

He looked at me and shook his head.  "She was going to be a
lawyer, she was going to work to help our people as best she
could.  It was her dream."

He sat silent for a few minutes.  "Things happen, Davey.   They
aren't fair, they are... things.  All we can do is live our lives
as best we can, knowing that any minute of any day, it can fall
apart.

"I had a roommate at A & M, Davey.  He was black, from Houston. 
He went home for Christmas; he never came back.  His mother sent
him to the corner market for a loaf of bread and a gallon of
milk.  He was shot from a passing car.  He wanted to be an
engineer."

We were silent, then.

A few minutes later, Mercedes walked out, looked at Mr. Two Crows
and grimaced.  "News travels fast," she said.

"What news?" I asked.

"My mother arrived a while ago.  Imagine my surprise to find out
she'd been on her way before they called her about my fight."

"Forget it," he told her.  "No harm, no foul."

Mercedes looked at him.  "I bet if I grabbed your balls and
twisted, you might have a different opinion."

"Hey, I can't take sides until the district decides what side I
take.  In a week or two."

"What's this meeting about?" Mercedes asked.

I was surprised.  A moment before, he'd been forthcoming about a
lot of personal stuff.  Now he shrugged.  "My understanding is
that it's about current events."

Mercedes pretty much ignored him.  "Davey, Shellie and I are
going to ride with my parents."

I thought about it for about a half second.  "I'm not sure when
we're going to get a chance to study this afternoon."

"We'll make time," she told me.  "If not today, then tomorrow or
Wednesday."

We all lapsed into silence then, lost in our own thoughts.

In no time, Shellie joined us.  Mercedes just gathered her up
with a glance and they went off a few feet away to talk.

I saw the look on Shellie's face; I wanted to die.  I wanted to
do anything I could do to make it right.  When she finally looked
at me she smiled the Shellie-smile.  If, right then, Willy Coy or
any of them had been close, I'd have gone for their throats.

There was silence in the car on the way home.  Wanda had politely
told Rob he couldn't come.  Emily's expression was odd: not
exactly relieved, but not particularly heart-broken either.

There were quite a few cars parked in front of the house.  A lot
of dark SUVs with tinted windows, festooned with antennas.  Not a
one of them had any markings; none of them had government license
plates.  What a joke!  They all looked like government vehicles!

I didn't exactly get to meet Shellie's parents.  They were
present, but for the first time I understood just how she could
do all the things she did under their noses, while they didn't
notice.  Neither one of them was blonde, but both were totally
clueless.

Shellie smiled at them and sat on the floor a few feet in front
of her father.  Mercedes and her parents were sitting on a couch.
 I did something I wasn't supposed to do, which was walk over and
sat down on the pool table.  Not even Wanda was willing to go
that far off the reservation, and ended up pulling dining room
chairs and some folding metal chairs from the storeroom.

I sat on the pool table, not interested in helping a bit.  If it
had been raining hard outside, I'd have gladly pushed all the
"law enforcement" people out into it, hoping they would drown.

Mr. Two Crows was the last to arrive.  He walked over and stood
next to me, which was a mild surprise.  My parents, Wanda and
Emily were sitting on a couch, although Dad was perched on one of
the end pieces.  That was normally another no-no.

John Fox, Willy Coy and their minions were standing at one end of
the room.  Both Chief Ortega and the Texas Ranger sat at a
distance.

"There has been some movement in the matter of Hannelore Kimmel,"
John Fox said, starting things off.

I swear Blade snickered audibly; earning a wicked glare from John
Fox.

"Shortly before noon today, a Border Patrol officer was in the
process of apprehending some border crossers just north of
Laredo, near Interstate 35.  It was an unusual group of border
crossers, mostly from Chiapas to the south.  None of them have
ever, so far as we can determine at this point, tried to cross
into the US before.  The crossing they attempted to use is under
continual surveillance and the Border Patrol promptly responded.

"As the Border Patrol officer was detaining the subjects, there
was an explosion along I-35.  Someone used several hundred yards
of primacord to blow a hole in the chain link fence.  A car
appeared in the dust from the explosion, headed towards Mexico.

"When the vehicle approached the US side, another explosion
cleared that fence.  A single woman with black hair appeared from
the vehicle and sprinted into the river.  At this time of the
year, the Rio Grande isn't at its heaviest flow.  She made it
across easily and was met by a half dozen men waiting for her.

"The Border Patrol officer said that at one point the woman's
hairpiece appeared to go askew.  He wasn't positive, but says he
thinks she might have had blonde hair.  She was wearing
sunglasses.  We are fairly confident that the woman was Hannelore
Kimmel.  The vehicle turned around and headed north on I-35.

"Because of the use of explosives, because of the direction of
the crossing, the FBI and Rangers were alerted and the area is
being sealed off.  All vehicles attempting to leave the area will
be stopped and searched."

Shellie's father spoke up.  "And the Mexican authorities?  Did
they stop the woman?"

I won't say that the police and Fox and Company laughed, but
there were some smiles.

"Sir, the fact is that the Mexicans don't patrol their side of
the border.  Plus, that's Nuevo Laredo.  The two most lawless
towns on the Mexican border are Nuevo Laredo and Tijuana.  To all
intents and purposes the drug cartels own Nuevo Laredo.  The
police, the government, you name it, are in the pocket of the
criminals," John Fox told him.

"So why this meeting?" my father asked mildly.  "It seems to me
that if that woman left the country, that's to the good."

"It's been announced today, there'll be more on the matter
shortly, but tomorrow the President goes on national TV to take
his case for a War Resolution from Congress to the people.  The
voting on that will go quickly in the House of Representatives;
the President will have that vote in his pocket Wednesday
afternoon.  The Senate is a more deliberative body.  Friday, I
suspect, at the latest."

He laughed bitterly.  "Early on Friday, I suspect, so the
lawmakers can get an early start on the weekend."

"And what does that have to do with this crazy woman fleeing to
Mexico?" the Reverend Grissom asked.

"Sir, a classic military tactic is to create a diversion before
your attack.  We know Hannelore Kimmel has at least one adult
accomplice and is associated with at least four young people. 
That's here in San Angelo.  If that was indeed Hannelore Kimmel
leaving the country, she has a half dozen confederates in Mexico.
 Sir, the nature and extent of her activities are unknown."

"Why would you think it's a diversion?" the good Reverend
persisted.

I was surprised when Karen's father spoke up, and at the tone and
content of his words.  "Dwight, the woman left in broad daylight
in a place that was being watched.  Brother, thousands of
illegals enter this country every day along that border
undetected.  Why would she do something like this?  To be seen. 
Why be seen?  Because she wants the attention focused on Mexico
and not San Angelo."

He turned to Karen.  "I know we don't see eye to eye on a great
many things, daughter.  But staying in this town is dangerous. 
Please, come home with us!"

Karen laughed at him.  "I'm gay, father.  A queer.  I have no
intention of changing.  Can you really live with that, or are you
just staging a diversion of your own, so I can be hauled away to
the funny farm and 'treated?'"

He smiled at her.  I'd heard at some point what he did, but I
couldn't remember.  I hoped it wasn't a used car salesman,
because he couldn't convince me of the time of day.

"You're our family, Karen.  We will pray with you through these
troubled days until once again you're bathed in the blood of the
lamb."

"No," Karen said.  "I reject that.  I reject you.  So long as I
can, I'm staying here with people who are tolerant of my
beliefs."

"They are heathen!" Pammie's father said, shaking his fist. 
"Heathen!  They will all burn in hell!  You all will burn in
hell!"

"Sir," John Fox said, "we need to focus on the matter at hand. 
We have no credible evidence at this time of any particular plot
or plan.  However, prudence says that you should be warned and
that you should take elementary precautions.

"There will be extra officers from the San Angelo Police
Department deployed," Chief Ortega added, "also, additional
assets from the Rangers, the Highway Patrol and other state and
Federal agencies will be present."

"And you know my plans," my father told him.

"Yes, we know about them.  We will make sure that you are
undisturbed."

"You can guarantee that?" Ruy d'Silva didn't sound convinced.

"As much as anyone can guarantee anything."

"I want my daughter back," Reverend Grissom said, changing the
subject once again.

"I have," a woman said, "been appointed Miss Pamela Grissom's
advocate.  At this time, sir, so long as criminal charges are
pending against you and your wife, it's not going to happen, no
matter what you want.  So long as your daughter is adamant in her
request not to return, she won't.

"Sir, I further admonish you once again about the order by
District Court Judge Gustavson that you are to stop demanding his
orders be ignored.  He specifically threatened you with fines and
imprisonment for contempt, if you continue.  You should seek
competent legal representation and let them deal with it."

I saw the glance -- really a glare -- of anger that went from
Reverend Grissom to his brother.  Oh!  I remembered now!  His
brother was a lawyer!  And that crack about 'competent' had been
an unsubtle dig at Karen's parents.

"My daughter has been asked to accompany the group this weekend,"
Shellie's father said.  "Is it safe?"

"Sir, we'd prefer it at this point for you not to mention any
particular plans you or family members might have for the coming
days.  As a precaution," Chief Ortega told him.

There was no doubt in my mind that every teenager in the room
knew about my relationship with Shellie and Mercedes.  I was
nearly equally sure that all the law enforcement people knew
about us as well.  Which meant that Chief Ortega was aiding and
abetting me to spend the weekend with Shellie and Mercedes.

I looked at the other faces.  John Fox and Willy Coy were
unreadable.  Actually, they all were, except for Blade who had a
small grin on his lips.

"I assume you want us to be alert at school," Mr. Two Crows told
John Fox.

Fox nodded.  "Exactly."

"Surely you can protect our daughter and these others," Shellie's
father said.  It didn't sound like a question.

John Fox spread his hands.  "There is a truism in this business
that we have to be right every time to stop any attacks, and they
have to be right only once to bring off an attack.  That's
actually a little simplistic, and I assure you, sir, that we are
doing as best we can.  But if they want to trade their lives for
their targets -- the only way we stop them is never to let the
attack get off the ground.  Intelligence, sir.  Intelligence."

"Just put guards on us," Karen's father said.  "We'll be safe."

"And just how many guards did Reagan have when he was gunned
down?" Colonel Terrell asked.  "How many did Kennedy have?

"Guards?  They could just pull up along side you on the way to
work in a vehicle laden with explosives and detonate it.  You
have throngs of people and cars every Sunday at your church.  All
it would take is one suicide bomber to flatten it.  Mr. Harper's
factory takes dozens of deliveries every day; he's at risk, it's
an important economic target, just like the World Trade Center
was.  The school has food deliveries, students who drive to
school, parents who drive their children to school, school busses
come and go all day long.  Terrorists like to attack schools;
they are some of the softest targets with the maximum publicity
value.  It is, in fact, an elementary exercise to insert suicide
bombers anyplace in our society."

The Colonel waved at John Fox.  "The government could flood the
area with police, agents and soldiers.  Think what it would do to
civil liberties if we and our persons and vehicles could be
stopped at any time to be searched?  Think how many people it
would take?  And what would a terrorist do in a situation like
that?  They'd go bomb a mall in San Antonio or Dallas or Houston
or Cleveland."

The Colonel pointed at me.  "Davey Harper lives his life every
day as if there were no threat.  Partly because he can't really
envision his own death, or the deaths of his friends, but also, I
think, aware that if he cowers in a corner, if he does anything
differently at all, they win.  That's simply it; they win.  They
can't win with the way things are now.  They can only win if
things change.  If we make the changes ourselves, we hand them
their victory."

The silence that followed wasn't pleasant.  I eyed Colonel
Terrell; surprised he'd held me up as an example of right
thinking.  The truth was, he'd hit the nail on the head with his
first thought: I still couldn't believe these people were
actually out to harm me, my family or friends.

"Are you finished?" Pammie asked John Fox.

"With you, yes," John Fox told her.  "While your individual risk
is low, it doesn't hurt to be careful.  The same thing goes for
Karen Grissom and Shellie Gerrold."

I saw John Fox meet Mr. Two Crow's eyes.  At a guess, that was
supposed to mean the school should still be very careful.

Pammie looked at Wanda, then Karen.  "I'm sorry," she said
simply.  Then she turned and left, trailed by two of the Children
Services people.

I was surprised when Shellie's father spoke to Chief Ortega.  "Do
you think the risk is reasonable if Shellie goes with her friends
this weekend?"

Chief Ortega looked at him and after a second shook his head. 
"You know where they are going and how they are going.  Driving
to the corner to get cigarettes can be fatal.  There are no
guarantees.  However, if she was my daughter, I'd let her go."

Shellie's father nodded.  "Shellie's never had friends before. 
She spends too much time on the computer.  My wife and I thought
that this was a grand thing for her to try.  Shellie's first time
away from home, some responsibility."  He looked at Shellie's
mother who nodded.

"Unless something else comes up, Shellie can go."

It was cool!  Mercedes grabbed Shellie and hugged her and started
talking about all the fun they were going to have, pretty much
ignoring me.

Me.  I looked around the room at the other adults in the room. 
I'd stopped believing in accidents.  These people, all of them,
had either actively helped get Shellie permission to come, or had
kept their mouths shut about why her parents might not want her
along.

"Thank you," I said quietly, but loudly enough for everyone to
hear.

Shellie's parents looked at me like I was crazy; I didn't mind. 
No one else had any expression at all.

There was a mild exodus.  The Colonel and his daughter led Karen
out, Chief Ortega left, but not the Ranger.  Mercedes left with
her mother, Shellie and her parents left.  Mr. Two Crows talked
to the one remaining official from Children Services, and then
they left.  John Fox and Willy Coy left together, Blade said
something I didn't catch to Hammer, and it was Hammer that left.

"Come along Wanda, Emily," my mother said.  "I think an early
dinner is in order."

Then it was myself, Blade, Ruy d'Silva, my father and the
Ranger.

Blade looked at Dad and Dad grinned back at him.  At first my
father's remarks were cryptic.

"Hey, it's a three-day weekend.  The union was mildly unhappy
with the prospect of no overtime, but on the other hand, there
are always disputes about who gets first cut.  Closing the plant
for the weekend was a slam dunk."

My father was, I saw, chortling.  "Come Tuesday morning, the
truckers will howl, but half the freight terminals in the country
already stop you well away from the building and check your
paperwork.  It's going to cost them about ten minutes, and the
waiting room won't be as nice, but that's the way it's going to
be.

"The only fly in the ointment is that we only managed a five year
lease on the land next door, where we're going to park the trucks
until the loads are verified.  If we can't get it for longer, the
unions will come completely unglued when we nip off a third of
the employee parking lot."

"The price of freedom," the Ranger said with a laugh.

"So, what did you want to talk to Davey and me about?" Dad asked
Blade.

"Magic tricks, Phil.  Magic tricks.  We covered it briefly in the
discussion a while ago.  Seeing Hannelore Kimmel, if it was her,
down by the border could easily be a diversion.

"Follow the thought, though.  If it's a diversion, then that
means they have a plan.  What's the plan?"

"Something nasty," Dad told him.

"Something nasty," the Ranger agreed.  "That's what the talk
about a war resolution was about."

Dad grimaced  "You think that if Congress votes to give Bush war
powers, that might trigger something?"

"I think it's possible.  Well, we think it's possible.  Willy,
anyway.  John Fox thinks it won't happen until March or April of
next year, when we go into Iraq."

My father was silent for a second.  "I voted for Bush for
governor, I voted for him for President.  I'm not sure I like the
idea of stomping some tin-pot two-bit dictator flat.  Sure, he's
a worm, but I'm just not sure it's worth it."

Blade laughed.  "Sir, at my pay grade not only don't I get to
make policy, I don't even get to pick which pool car I drive
around town.  My job is to do what I'm told; policy is for the
bosses.  I have opinions on this, that and the other thing, but
on the job I do my level best not to let them influence me any.

"Phil, let me be blunt.  Willy Coy is a man I'd follow into hell.
 Actually, I have.  John Fox is the cleverest man I've ever met.

"The official line from the powers-that-be is that we have
flushed a terror cell out into the open and they are running for
their lives.  That it was a minor group, set to watch things out
at the air base.

"They don't want it to be anything else, because it wouldn't look
good.

"Phil, think about this for a second.  We've checked backwards
and forwards on all the people that seem to be in league with
Hannelore.  Fesselhof is the only one in custody and it is going
to take an act of God to sentence him to more than a year in
juvenile detention.  He lightly wounded two people; he brought
firearms to an area where he could have hurt people.

"I'll tell you true, Phil, that if no one had been wounded, we'd
have had a hard time keeping him in jail until the trial, much
less afterwards.  Even his arrival at the party -- his lawyer is
trying to plea bargain it down to a parole violation.

"You haven't sat in on one of his interrogations, Phil.  I have.
I'm a professional.  Nicolas Fesselhof had professional coaching
before he was arrested the first time.  Now that he has an
expensive San Antonio lawyer, he simply sits there looking at us.
 The only thing he says, outside of 'Talk to my lawyer' is to ask
for something to eat or drink."

"And your point?" Dad asked.

"Fesselhof has been trained by someone who knew what they were
doing.  Terry Toohey and his friends were in Davey's face.  It
looked separate, but almost certainly isn't.  The girl is
missing, and we are 99.99% certain she was with Hannelore in San
Antonio when the Highway Patrol officer was killed.  They have
vanished, without a trace.  After that football game, no one saw
them.  Period.  We don't have a clue what they did or where they
went.

"Phil, these are things highly indicative of professionalism.

"Yet, Hannelore Kimmel loses a few bucks at a poker game to a
high school student and throws erasers at him.  Not just once,
but twice.  The next day, someone tries to run him and a friend
down in a parking lot.  Both John and Willy are sure they weren't
trying to kill Davey.  Maybe hurt him a bit, but not kill him.

"Odds were, that Friday in the cafeteria, Davey was looking at a
beating.  Except he reacted first.  Fesselhof's attack looked
random, except it has to be taken in context with everything
else.  And his finding that car, conveniently placed. 
Coincidence, we're supposed to think.

"Tell me, Phil, what kind of professional is it who can recruit,
tracelessly, a half dozen young people, have at her beck and call
one or more local minions, has contacts with the Mexican Drug
Mafia -- and yet blows her top at a teenaged kid?"

"It doesn't make any sense," I said.  Dad echoed that.

"Willy thinks it's an elaborate razzle-dazzle, to lead us away
from the attack.  John Fox -- John's scary.  He's really scary. 
He spent a lot of time in Afghanistan, he speaks Arabic and
Pushtu.  He's memorized the Koran in Arabic, even.

"John thinks this is the same sort of op as the World Trade
Center attack was.  Only this time they want us to know they are
here.  They want us to do our best and in the end, at a time and
place of their choosing, they'll launch the real attack."

"They're baiting us, taunting us," Dad said.

"That's right," Blade told us.  "However, there is absolutely no
way that anyone up the chain is going to believe that.  They
can't believe that, because then they'd have to admit they can't
do anything to stop it."

"Which is where I come in," the Ranger said.  "We have
intelligence assets now in your school.  I wouldn't say it's
common knowledge, but it isn't a secret that you are off to
Corpus Christi this weekend."

"Yes..." my father said cautiously.

"I was wondering why you asked me to stay," Mercedes' father
interjected.

Blade nodded.  "We have a plan, we do.  Partly it's to protect
you and your families, partly it's to try and apprehend these
people.

"We are allowed to hope.  We will be watching you the entire way.
 Already, Malaquita Beach has been closed, and everyone who'd
been camping there has been moved.  Late Friday you will reach
the beach.  You were planning on spending the first night in the
RV park, before going further down the beach Saturday
afternoon."

"That's the plan," Dad said, still cautious.

"Well, the beach reopens Friday evening -- at about six pm. 
Everything south of the RV park will remain closed until Tuesday.
 The road is just fine and Friday night, you'll be able to camp
four or five miles south of the RV park.  There will be a dozen
Rangers and Highway Patrol officers close by.  They will be
undercover, pretending to be campers.  The same thing will happen
Saturday afternoon when you move further south.

"Candidly, we're going to ring you with police.  And hope they
come after you.  Because if they do, we're going to hit them with
everything, including the kitchen sink."

"You want to use my family and our friends as bait in a trap?" 
My father looked close to exploding.

Ruy d'Silva looked at Blade intently, but without revealing
much.

"Phil, cool it!" the Ranger told him.  "It was your idea to go! 
It was you who wanted to continue, even after we told you about
the risks.  Give us a break!  You already volunteered of your own
free will!"

Dad's jaw dropped; it was the first time in my life I'd ever seen
anyone get the better of him.

Dad started laughing.  "Well, I hadn't thought we'd be bait in a
trap.  I guess it all depends on your point of view."

Mercedes' father looked at Dad, a curious expression on his face.
 "Phil, I sort of assumed that this was the way it was going to
be.  It's why I agreed to let my wife and daughter come along. 
In the certain knowledge that there would be help close by."

"This is beyond top secret," Blade told us.  "We know, the four
of us at the base.  You three know, the Governor of Texas and
three of his Rangers.  Friday morning a lot of people will get
pulled off their regular assignments and will be spending an
unexpected weekend on the beach.

"There will be a few Rangers close to you, but mostly it will be
Highway Patrol.  Gentlemen, they want blood, serious blood.  They
will watch you like hawks, trust me.  Trust us.  On top of that,
we'll have a half dozen Coast Guard cutters off shore, a couple
of big Army and Marine helos sitting close by, with SWAT teams
suited up and ready to go on five minutes notice."

"So, we'll be safe?" I asked.

"Davey," Blade told me, "I personally don't think you're going to
see another soul after you leave the Texas Aquarium, except the
people in your party.  The Governor of Texas wants some scalps,
and this offers the best shot.  The guy in the White House isn't
going to deny a Texas governor much of anything."

"All you have to do," the Ranger told Dad, "is go and have a nice
weekend with your family and friends.  I'll tell you true, the
weatherman says the weather is going to be awful here, but nice
at the beach.  Enjoy yourselves."

A few seconds later they left.

Dad looked at me and I looked at him.  What could you say?  We
wanted to go.  I wanted to go.  If we went, what was wrong with
having hordes of police guards?  And if those guards were
slavering in hopes Hannelore Kimmel and all the rest of her
minions would come after us...  What's that line about different
strokes for different folks?

Mom came in from the kitchen and walked right up to Dad.  "You
brought guns into the house."

"Yes, I did."

"That's why you've been teaching Davey to shoot."

"I'd teach you and Wanda to shoot if you'd let me," he said
mildly.

"Wanda can do what she wants.  I just don't want to see them, you
understand?  Not unless there's no choice."

"That's the way it will be," Dad told her.

Mom pointed at me.  "Did Davey tell you about the ruckus at
school today?"

Dad looked at me, a certain amount of dread on his face.  "No."

I chuckled.  "It wasn't me, it wasn't me!  It was Mercedes.  They
had us playing flag football and one of the varsity guys used his
hands on her.  Over and over."

"I didn't hear about that," Mom said.  "I mean the football team
stopping in after school to see their coach and reading him the
riot act about what a waste of time it was to pound scrubs to
jelly.  Rumor has it that Davey first read the riot act to
them."

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.  Let's see, I could say,
"I was standing there naked in the shower with Jack and the
subject of football came up..."  I swallowed.  Nope!  I didn't
want to go anywhere when it came to things coming up in the
showers!

"What was it this time?" Dad asked me.

"Mercedes..." I started and he cut me off.

"What did you do?"

"Listen, would you please!" I was maybe a little loud.

"This guy tackled Mercedes.  He didn't go for her flags, he went
for her chest."  I nearly said tits like she had, only stopping
myself at the last second.

"When he had her down, he kept groping her.  When she got up, she
kicked him in the balls.  Except he had a protector.

"The football coach told Mercedes to run laps, that she was
benched.  She blew her top.  She cussed out the guy, and when the
coach told her to shut up, she told him she was heading for the
phone to call the cops and complain the guy was trying to rape
her."

"Tell me Mercedes didn't make that call," Dad told me.

"They went to the office; I don't think so.  Not right away."  I
waved at the family room.  "This came up, and we didn't get a
chance to talk.  Or study."

Mom laughed.  "I told you about picking a particular day, didn't
I?"

"I learn from the advice of a master," I told her.  "There's
always tomorrow or Wednesday."

"What happened?" Dad said, turning to Mom to ask.

"The principal realized he and everyone in the athletic
department would be fired if Mercedes made that call before they
did.  So they made it."  She looked at me.  "It's a felony not to
report suspected cases of rape or abuse.

"If Mercedes had called it in, after they knew..."  Mom shook her
head.  "It wouldn't have been pretty.  But, cooler and wiser
heads prevailed in the office.  That's where Ruy and Camilla are
going to be this evening; they have a date at the police
department to file a complaint.

"Then, of course, Davey's harangue in the showers, about just
what the football team expected to learn pounding the scrubs into
chopped meat."

"We've always done that," Dad laughed.  "It builds character,
learning to play football."

"Dad, we were learning to dog it.  The reason Mercedes was
tackled was because none of the scrubs wanted to get near the
ball on offense."

I went on and explained what I'd said to Jack.

After a few seconds, though, I stopped.  My father's face was an
odd color of red and gray; nothing like what I'd ever seen on
anyone's face.

He waved at me.  "Go help with dinner.  You too, Linda."

He spun on his heel and nearly broke the plate glass window of
the sliding door when he fumbled getting it open.  Then he was
through and out on the pool deck.

I went in the kitchen.  What a surprise!  There were potatoes to
be peeled!

Without being told, I went to the sink and washed them, then
rubbed them down with oil.  "How long until dinner?" I asked
Wanda.

"Twenty minutes or so."

"You using the timer on the microwave?" I asked.

"No, just the one on the stove."

I set the microwave timer for ten minutes and went and sat on the
counter.

Mom came in and looked at the oiled potatoes.  "Baked potatoes
take too long."

"Microwaved potatoes take hardly any time at all," I told her. 
"Three shots of three minutes at a time."  I waved at the
microwave timer counting down.  "They start at the sound of the
beep."

"Your father wants to talk to you, Davey.  For Christ's sake,
Davey, for once, go easy!  I'll take care of the potatoes."

I went outside and found Dad standing at the edge of the pool,
staring morosely at the sky.

He waved at the clouds.  "That's called 'horse-tail cirrus,'" he
told me.

I decided he didn't need to know that I knew that.  I knew
twenty-five types of clouds from a year fascinated by weather. 
When I was eight.

"I'm going to retire this year," he told me.

I blinked.  "Dad?"  Didn't you have to be like sixty-five or
something like that, to retire?

"I've been running the plant for years.  It runs smoothly, and
even the crises aren't that exciting any more.  Time to move
on."

My heart lurched.  "Move on?"

He looked at me.  The smile on his face was distressingly like
Shellie's best smile.  "Career-wise, Davey."

"Aren't you a little young to retire?"

"There's an old saying that applies here.  'Youth is wasted on
the young.'  My father told me that old age was the penance for
the sins of our youth, come to revisit us."

He surprised me again.  He turned and threw something at the
pool.  A quarter, I thought.  The throw was more or less
diagonal, and the coin skipped twice, then skittered onto the
concrete on the other side and bumped the fence.

"I used to impress your mother with that.  An expensive trick in
those days, skipping quarters on the lake.  Five skips, most of
the times, often seven times.  A trick."

He faced me.  "I never questioned things when I was growing up. 
If I'd thought about questioning things, I'd have decided it was
a bad idea.  Things were the way things were.  That's just how it
was and always had been.

"Every year I played football in high school, we'd play flag
football with the scrubs.  We'd laugh at their fear and
nervousness, and yeah, sometimes we'd hit a little extra hard,
just to show them the fear was justified.

"I never understood until just now, how it came to be that there
are so many swaggering bullies on football teams.  Guys who knock
down and rape a girl, because she's a slit, a cunt, slash; that's
her place in life, right?"

"No, it's not."

"Yeah.  Your mother and I met in college, Davey.  She was
definitely a civilizing influence.  She raised my consciousness
about a lot of women's issues.  And yet, not really.  God knows
what I'd have done to a girl who wanted to play football.  But I
know this: it wouldn't have been pretty and it wouldn't have been
fair."

"Mercedes doesn't want to play football.  The Coach acted like
that was a surprise."

"For him, probably it was.  Want to place a little wager,
Davey?"

"Sir?"

"Want to wager that the school board doesn't pick up the football
coach's contract next spring?  That a recently retired factory
manager might make himself available to coach?"

I looked at him in surprise.  "Won't that be a come down?"

Dad laughed.  "The highest paid employees in most states are the
university football coaches.  Where do you think they stand in
Texas?"

"I thought you said the high school, not college."

Dad grinned.  "Davey, always have your eyes on a goal.  When you
get there, make sure you have another right to hand!"

He clapped me on the shoulder.  "The really good news for you,
personally, Davey, is that I'd never let my son on a team I
coached."

Mom called us to dinner, and I walked next to my dad, a little
numb.  What was Mom going to think?

We sat down at the dining table while Mom and Wanda fetched the
food.  When we'd had time for a few bites, Dad told everyone his
plans.

"Linda, I've decided to retire.  Effective the end of January, I
think."

"Wouldn't want to lose those November, December and January
holidays," Mom said dryly.

"No, and the next one after Martin Luther King's birthday is
Memorial Day in May."

"So," Mom went on, "you're not that big a fan of fly fishing. 
You like to hunt and shoot.  What do you plan to do to kill the
time for the next twenty or so years until your contemporaries
join you?"

"I think I want to be a football coach."

Mom started laughing, really hard.  I mean, she was really,
really laughing hard.

Dad sat still, not saying anything.  No one was bothering to eat,
more interested in the entertainment.

"I remember," Mom went on, "some stupid woman telling you on your
wedding night, actually in your marriage bed, that you were
wasted anyplace other than on a football field."

"So, I'm dumb.  That same stupid woman told me that one day I'd
come to my senses and she'd be just as willing to fuck my socks
off that night, as she was just then."

"I said that, and I meant it, too," Mom said smugly.

"Promises, promises!" Dad replied. "I'm looking forward to that
reward."

Mom grinned at him and he grinned at her.

Wanda looked at me.  "I have this feeling it's going to be a very
interesting weekend!"

<1st attachment end>


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