Victory Tour (Part 269)

"What have you gotten yourself into now, young man?" Miss Carla demanded as she came our way. "Marvin was in a panic when he found out you just took off like that. And you've been warned about getting too close to certain locations around here."

Mrs. Johnson was dressed professionally in a skirt-blouse-jacket combo that would have fit in almost anywhere, from educator to a law, medical or corporate office to a government agency. It was a look I thought suited her much better than her lunch lady guise. The absence of a hairnet made a big difference.

I got the feeling Arlene may have given her some fashion tips.

"Just having lunch with Mr. Scroggins, here," I said, noticing how Walter seemed to automatically come to attention in the presence of an officer even while seated. "Coach Tucker told me to take the rest of the day off, so I decided to look at a house I thought might suit my needs. Turned out to be Mr. Scroggins' house and he alerted me to a situation I think The 320 Foundation might be able to help with. We haven't gotten down to talking business yet.

"Would you like a cup of coffee? I think there might be some cherry pie or chocolate cake left if you'd care to join us."

Miss Carla just stared at me like I was trying to feed her a line of bull. She should know by now I wasn't smooth enough to put one over on her and smart enough not to try. She knew too many ways to kill me. Besides, Grandpa had me blocked in. My only escape route would require the ability to fly or levitate.

"You should hear ’im out," Grandpa said. "I haven't heard any details, but the basic premise sounds interesting."

"That cake any good?" Miss Carla asked with a quick glance at Grandpa's plate.

"Dang near as good as Millie's," Grandpa said.

"Cake and coffee," she said, returning her gaze to me. "And not a word of this to my husband, boy. He'd throw a fit if he knew I was sneaking an extra dessert after the way I got onto him about that cobbler."

Better brush your teeth before you kiss him, then, I thought. God, I better not've said that out loud. I don't think I did, though. I was still alive.

"Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am," I mumbled.

"May I join you, Mr. Scroggins?" Miss Carla asked, turning on the charm with a brilliant smile as Grandpa flagged the waitress down to add to our tab. "Carla Johnson, Tri-Star Security."

"Walter Scroggins, ma'am," he said after swallowing a bite.

Walter, still at attention, was only too happy to slide over to give her a place to sit. He'd better behave himself, though. I wouldn't be any help if Marv thought someone was trying to put the moves on his wife.

"So, let's hear this idea, young man," Miss Carla commanded after being served her cake and coffee.

"I was looking at Mr. Scroggins' house and he mentioned there's some folks camping out in shipping containers on that lot a block or so down the road," I said. "His house is a couple blocks farther down. I thought The 320 Foundation could set up some kind of homeless shelter, kinda like what you're doing with the women's shelter.

"I noticed that lot's for sale, but I have no idea what it's zoned for. I figure most stuff around here is zoned industrial or at least commercial. The block Mr. Scroggins lives on appears to be the only residential one around here."

"And just why were you looking at Mr. Scroggins' house?" she asked.

"I was thinkin' of buyin' a place so I can hide on days like this," I said. "Figured a detached house would be better from a security standpoint than an apartment block."

"Are you going to buy this house?" Miss Carla asked as the waitress came around to refill our drinks.

"If I do, it won't be for me," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Mr. Scroggins is selling because he can't afford the property taxes on his pension," I said as Walter gave me a "shut up, boy" look. "My first thought, which he'd probably object to, was for The 320 Foundation to buy it and give him a lifetime deed. My second, and probably more acceptable, thought was The 320 Foundation might could hire him at a rate that'd allow him to keep the house, but I don't want to cause problems with his government benefits."

"I don't need yo charity, boy," Walter growled, sounding a little peeved.

"It won't be charity," I said. "You'll be earning your pay."

"Doin' what?" he demanded.

"Serving as a liaison with the homeless folks," I said. "Find out how many are at that lot, if they're transient or permanent. Are there any more camps like that around the area or in nearby towns? I realize some homeless people prefer their independence if they can get enough to eat, but what about the ones who don't? Get a demographic breakdown — adults, teens, young children; male versus female; ethnicities, black, white, Hispanic and so on.

"Find out what they need and how The 320 Foundation can help. I'd think sanitation would be a big issue. They could probably at least use a few portajohns, but I bet they'd like to be able to get a hot shower once in a while. You've seen what the weather's been like the last few mornings. I sure wouldn't want to be living rough when it really gets cold."

"Why'd you do all that?" Walter asked.

"Because it needs to be done and I can help make it happen," I said firmly.

My tablemates just stared at me while Sarge and Buck took turns visiting the men's room.

"Guess I'd better call George and see about buyin' that lot," Grandpa muttered.

"Have The 320 Foundation listed as owner, not the corporation," I said. "It'll need to have a physical address one of these days."

I hurried to finish my lunch. I noticed Walter left about half on his plate.

"You'd better eat up, sir," I said before starting in on my cake.

"I's gonna see if Miss Effie'd box this up for me to take home fo' supper," he grumbled.

"Miss Effie," I called out, getting the woman's attention, "y'all got any more specials left?"

"I bet we got ’nough fo' one mo,'" she said, coming over to see what was up.

"Would you please bag it up for Mr. Scroggins to take with him?" I asked. "I like my employees to be well-fed. He can consider it an advance on his first paycheck.

"Mr. Scroggins, do you have anything pressing tomorrow?"

"Jus' gonna take that load o' cans to the recyclin' center," he said. "That usually gets ’nough fo' some groceries."

"Mrs. Johnson, do you have enough assets available to help Mr. Scroggins with that?" I asked.

"I can probably find someone," she said with a look that hinted she wanted to see where I was going with this.

"Mr. Scroggins, when you get your errands taken care of, I'd like you to visit that lot with the shipping containers and get to work," I said. "I'll see about gettin' ya lunch here if y'all can make it before Miss Effie closes. I'm supposed to meet the realtor sellin' your house at 8:30 Saturday. Think ya can have me some information by then?"

"I'll get right on it," he grinned, taking another bite.

Grandpa took advantage of the lull in conversation to visit the men's room in the far corner. Time to unload some of that tea.

Then the crazy shit started happening again.

First, Miss Carla got a look on her face similar to some I'd seen on Arlene's in recent weeks.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me," she gasped, putting a hand over her mouth and racing toward the ladies room, which, fortunately, was on the side we were sitting.

Before any of us could ask if anything was wrong, the front door swung open and four young black men in sagging jeans and matching black hoodies strode in.

"Who got dat Black Man's Wish outside?" one of them demanded.

"Who wants to know?" I called back, standing up, thinking I could dive into the ladies room if things went sideways, as Buck and Sarge readied themselves to take action.

"Gimme de keys, muthafucka," he sneered, stepping my way and holding out a hand. "Black Reign be lookin' fly as a muthafucka in a ride like dat! Rest o' you boys see how much Miss Effie got in de cash register."

That was the signal for action to be taken. I punched the doofus in the throat with a quick left jab, causing him to drop to his knees, coughing and gagging. Sarge and Buck dropped two with tasers as the fourth looked like he couldn't believe this shit was really happening.

Just to make sure, I followed up with a knee to the chin, putting the guy out, while Sarge collared the fourth. If you didn't know any better, you'd think we practiced such a response. Well, two of us did.

"I AM GETTING FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF THIS SHIT!" I roared, kicking the apparent lead fucktard in the crotch and causing him to piss himself as my frustration boiled over for the second time in a matter of hours.

"Calm down, kid," Buck ordered as he pulled a fistful of zip ties out of a pocket. "We got this. Miss Effie, would you call the police?"

"Don't bother," I countermanded. "I've got a better idea. Send ’em to Manaus."

"Kid," Sarge growled warningly, maintaining his hold.

"What's Manaus?" the dipshit who hadn't been rendered unconscious asked.

"A city in Brazil," I snarled, stepping over my victim to get in his face as Buck secured the others hand and foot.

Son of a bitch if it wasn't one of the dumb fucks who'd caused trouble at Morton's a few weeks ago! Darnell, I thought. Tyreece should still be in the clink after pulling a gun. The other one, Nigel, I remembered, had been shot in the ass. It was all I could do not to kick this one in the nuts, too.

"It's way up the Amazon," I continued. "No roads. Only way in's by boat or plane. They put on a show so they can gamble. Strap a guy face-down on a metal grate, pull his dick through a hole and start lowerin' it into the river."

"Why they do that?" the dipshit asked nervously.

"Piranhas live in the Amazon, fuckhead," I grinned evilly, flicking his forehead. "You know what piranhas are, doncha, dipshit? Mean little fish. Sharp teeth. Eat anything in the water. Anyway, they lower the grate until the tip of the guy's dick is just barely touching the surface. Then they start makin' bets on how long it'll take the little fishies to come take a bite!"

"Call the po-lice!" the kid screamed, suddenly smelling like he'd just shit himself. "This muthafucka crazy! I don' even speak Brazilian!"

"Wanna know why I'm crazy?" I growled. "BECAUSE FUCKIN' RETARDS LIKE YOU KEEP FUCKIN' WITH ME!"

"That's enough, young man," Miss Carla said from behind me, having apparently dealt with her bout of indelicacy. "I think you've made your point."

"Make sure this one," I snapped, jerking a thumb at Darnell, "gets the book thrown at ’im. He's one of the ones from Morton's."

"Hell, ya didn't even get to the best part, boy," Grandpa laughed from the other side of the pile of bodies.

"What's that?" Walter asked.

"The ones who survive gettin' dipped in the river get sold off to a queer whorehouse and assraped ’til they die."

"SOMEBODY CALL THE FUCKIN' PO-LICE!!!" Darnell screamed shrilly.

———

It took a while for the cops to get there. I think that was mainly because Miss Effie delayed making that call. Long enough for Sarge to run Walter and his supper home and get back.

The security folks agreed he didn't need to be caught up in this mess. Grandpa thought I shouldn't be, either, which I thought was a fantabulous idea. I was told to go directly to the Osborne house. My evening detail was en route and would pick me up along the way. Grandpa would catch a ride with Sarge and Buck.

It was decided the Tri-Star personnel, all former Marines, would take credit for subduing the four culprits. Grandpa ensured Miss Effie's cooperation by dropping a couple of Franklins on the counter.

She'd been back in the kitchen getting Walter's order ready, anyway. Didn't see a damn thing.

"But them boys been causin' ’nough trouble ’round here," she sniffed as the bills disappeared.

Sounds like we're all as full of shit as a Christmas goose.

I dropped a couple of Jacksons on the table, which should be enough to cover most of the food, and prepared to leave. I noticed the chunk of cake that'd been on my plate when the fun started had also disappeared.

Damnit, Walter! So what if there was only a bite or two left? I've got enough people eating my lunch for me!

Figuring I'd better get moving before the adrenaline crash hit, I stepped gingerly over the prone bodies — Miss Carla had tased Darnell to shut him up before we started making plans — and headed to the Beemer. I was almost a block away when a string of police cruisers, lights flashing and sirens wailing, raced past. I didn't even make it another block when a black SUV pulled up behind me.

I guess I should be grateful both my grandparents had been parked in the driveway when I arrived earlier. There was just enough room to squeeze past Grandpa's Caddy and pull into the garage. He would've parked smack in the middle if there hadn't been another vehicle. The black SUV continued on down the street as the garage door closed.

I went to grab my backpack off the dining table. Grandma had attached a sticky note to it saying she'd be back around 5 and I'd better have some work to show her. A look at my phone showed it was after 3, almost time to start getting ready for the walkthrough I wouldn't be attending.

With a sigh, I hefted the bag and turned toward the office. An express mail envelope addressed to Garrett Robinson was sitting in the middle of the desk when I got there. The return address was for the Office of the Governor.

The adrenaline crash was forgotten as I set the backpack down and ripped open the envelope. I extracted a page embossed with the state seal and a notary stamp. From the Office of the Governor of the Great State of yada-yada-yada ... be it henceforth known that one Garrett Douglas Robinson is to be accorded the rights and privileges of a legal adult except those explicitly restricted by age. Signed this day by The Honorable yada-yada-yada.

My day suddenly got much better. If I understood things correctly, I still couldn't buy booze or tobacco, which I don't use anyway. Or vote. But, since there weren't that many elections scheduled for between now and my birthday, voting wasn't that big a deal at the moment.

Bill Richards could explain things in detail if I needed advice. Jed might be able to afford a private dorm room at this rate.

I looked back in the envelope to find an identical document. There were also two sheaves of stapled pages that further outlined my rights and privileges as well as my responsibilities and liabilities. I was to keep one copy on my person at all times until I turned 18. Better go buy a box of envelopes.

I was just glad the letter jacket and a couple of my windbreakers had inside pockets. Might look kinda funny if I started wearing a sport coat or blazer to school.

Returning everything to the envelope, I stashed it in the middle drawer of the desk. That should be secure enough for the moment. Better find out who had the key for that filing cabinet, though. The backup copy would be locked away.

The letter jacket was draped on the back of the chair, the laptop was pulled out, plugged in and booted up. Time to write Katya's backstory before Grandma showed up. Probably helped that I'd been in a bad mood most of the afternoon. It was pretty dark.

Katya Mikhailovna Kyrylenkova had been born into privilege late in the Soviet Era. Her father, Mikhail Borisovich Kyrylenko, had been a career diplomat. Her mother, Irina Nikolaevna Topolova, had danced with the Bolshoi Ballet before marrying.

And, yes, Irina was related to Ivan and Vasily Topolov. It was just another reason for Katya to reject Vasily. She wasn't from whatever the Russian equivalent of Alabama would be. She'd been born in Petrograd.

The first tragedy of young Katya's life occurred when she was 6. Irina died of ovarian cancer while Mikhail was stationed in Prague.

Even following the fall of the Soviet Union, a grief-stricken Mikhail carried on stoically as the Russian Federation emerged. He represented the new regime in places like Kiev, Minsk, Vilnius, Riga and Tallinn with Katya tagging along. She proved to be an excellent student and seemed destined for a prestigious university in Moscow.

Her studies were augmented by physical training with female members of the embassy staffs, who all were either active-duty or retired military. A few had even competed internationally. As she grew, she found she could hold her own in hand-to-hand combat and showed a certain aptitude in knife fighting, using rubber truncheons in practice. But her favorite memories were of her time spent on the gun range. She was soon a crack shot. Whether with pistol or rifle, she could produce groupings that rivaled the best marksmen.

Uncle Ivan was a regular visitor to wherever they were posted after Irina died, wanting to make sure little Katya had everything she needed.

Katya had dreamed of dancing like her mother and took lessons in her youth, but her dreams were dashed by puberty. By the age of 14, she was too top-heavy and too broad-hipped to be a ballerina.

And that was part of the problem.

Katya had always noticed the looks men gave pretty girls and had been on the receiving end of more than a few, herself, as she approached her teens. It only got worse as her figure developed. She got to where she didn't want to ride a city bus or tram because of strange hands getting too familiar.

Her world came crashing down the summer she turned 15. Mikhail, who'd spent too many years working way too hard and drinking even harder, perished in a fiery automobile crash. Details of the incident were hushed up, but Katya heard whispers around the embassy of a conspiracy as she packed her things and prepared to move to a new home in Moscow. Uncle Ivan was only too happy to take her in.

Things seemed to be going well enough for the first few weeks despite Vasily's clumsy attempts at seduction, which Katya brushed off. Then the bottom really fell out. She was abducted off a Moscow street while walking home from a cinema matinée one Saturday afternoon and knocked out. She awoke in a dark room with a man raping her. She tried to fight back, but there was more than one assailant. They overpowered her, one or two holding her down as the others took their turns.

She had no idea how many men took her that day, but her vagina and anus hurt terribly. She retained two memories from the horrible experience — the scent of the cologne all of Vasily's bodyguards seemed to favor and the sound of the little shit's maniacal laughter.

Katya awakened, battered and bruised, sometime (days?) later in a hospital bed with an IV in her left arm and a cast on her right. One eye was swollen shut and the tubes to evacuate waste were uncomfortable in her abused holes. To make matters worse, it felt like menstrual cramps were coming on.

That was actually a good sign, a nurse explained to the girl. She'd been administered the Russian version of Plan B just in case. The onset of her period meant she probably wasn't pregnant. She'd also received penicillin in case of STDs.

Katya faded in and out of consciousness for what seemed like days. She came to once to find Ivan and Vasily smiling at her. Ivan's smile seemed warm, paternal. Vasily's seemed evil, strangely triumphant.

Ivan visited often during her recovery. Vasily, no so much.

"Ve veel find them, dorogoy (sweetheart)," Ivan said, patting her hand, "and make them pay."

So, as Katya finished her schooling, she also began training with Ivan's elite security squad, all former KGB. In addition to her martial skills, she also learned surveillance, espionage and assassination. She made her first kill at 17. The target smelled of the cologne that had haunted her for two years.

She also learned to use her body as a weapon. While she never took a lover out of desire, more than one job had been completed in the target's bed. And more than one of them had smelled of that blasted cologne.

Things took another turn the summer she turned 21. Ivan decided to relocate operations to America, where he had connections. Those Interpol snoops were getting a little too close for comfort.

Katya had enjoyed her time in America, becoming familiar with American music, clothes and food. She especially enjoyed wearing blue jeans and eating pizza, despite what it did to her waistline.

Then Vasily showed up and tried to make another move on her.

Billy Bob heard all this during the five-hour drive to Oklahoma City. He was by turns saddened, shocked, outraged and enraged. If he ever found one of the bastards who did this to his woman, well, he had a Burdizzo clamp and knew how to use it.

Wait, back it up there. His woman? Where the hell did that come from?

My progress was stopped by the ringing of the doorbell, but I wasn't too concerned. That chunk was over 900 words, putting me within a couple thousand of my goal. I might be able to finish before the pep rally in the morning depending on how many Russian mobsters Katya had to kill.

I answered the door to find a very irate Hazel Thackeray.

"You need to do something about that vehicle parked in your driveway, young man," she snapped. "It's been there most of the day!"

I slammed the door in her face and hit the panic button on the fob attached to my lanyard. Let's see how fast the cavalry gets here, I thought as I turned toward the kitchen. I believe Grandma mentioned something about drinks in the fridge. I could use one.

Someone was pounding on the door and ringing the bell repeatedly as I looked in the fridge. My options were Coke, diet soda or tea. Better go with tea. Grandpa might show up with a bottle of Jack and want some Coke to mix. The diet sodas were obviously left over from Tuesday's meal with the girls.

I was searching the cabinet for cups when the pounding and ringing were replaced with loud screeching that soon faded, almost like the screecher was being pulled away, before I found the stack of red SOLO cups I was looking for. Bitch'd been warned about coming onto my property. Next time, my hand, her naked tushy.

Life was almost back to normal as I poured myself some tea and took a sip.

Then the doorbell rang again.

I answered to find Lanny carrying his bag of gizmos and sporting a rather snarky grin.

"I've been asked to remind you that your panic button is not a toy, kid," he said as I let him in. "You almost got that woman killed!"

"She knows she's not welcome here," I said, closing the door.

"Well, I've done my part," he said. "I think ya need to hose off your front steps. Smells like she shit herself."'

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked.

"Nah, let's get a look at your rig," he said. "Buck said they'd bring some grub as soon as they get done cleanin' up your latest mess."

I did not cause a mess! It was those four dumb fucks who created it. I just helped put it in a pile.

I led the burly computer dude to the office, where he immediately took the big chair and began checking the specs on my laptop.

"Whaddaya use this for?" he asked, tapping a few keys.

"Just schoolwork," I said. "I'm not much of a gamer."

I mean, why waste time playing computer games that could be spent playing with pretty girls?

"It's a good setup," he said. "Fella could hack the Pentagon with this."

"I probably oughta avoid that," I snorted. "But I might want to hire someone with those kinds of skills one of these days. My corporation could probably use a cybersecurity expert."

"Maybe I can hook ya up," he said as he continued to look things over. "I know some guys who know some guys."

I heard the front door open and my grandmother call out.

"Gary, are you here, dear?"

"In the office, Grandma," I called back, going to the doorway.

"You need to do something about your front step," she said as she came my way. "Smells like some big dog took a big poop on it. I was afraid I stepped in something for a minute. Did you and your grandfather stay out of trouble?"

"I think so," I said, failing to add that trouble found us, anyway. "Grandma, have you met Lanny? He works for Tri-Star."

"I don't think I have," she said, entering the office. "Nice to meet you, Lanny. Millie Robinson."

"Lanny Preston, ma'am," he said, rising and extending a hand.

"And what do you do for the company?" she asked in her Grandma-sweet tone.

"I handle tech and communications for the teams assigned to this area," he said. "I was just taking a look at your grandson's laptop."

"He'd better've been using it for the intended purpose," she said, shooting me a look. "What've you gotten done, Gary?"

"About 900 words on a Creative Writing assignment," I said. "My teacher wants me to expand on a story I turned in last week."

"Let me see," she said, stepping around the desk.

"Here, ma'am, have a seat," Lanny said, moving out of the way.

I went to grab a couple of chairs from the dining table. I needed to get some folding chairs to keep in the office for such occasions. It seemed to attract a lot of visitors. Better add that to Grandma's shopping list.

I returned to see Lanny leaning over Grandma's shoulder as they read about Billy Bob and Katya.

"Where'd you come up with this idea?" Grandma asked.

"I guess I just have an overactive imagination," I said as Lanny shot me a look that indicated he recognized the source of my inspiration. Well, he had been there to witness the events.

"This boy sounds like he could be from Buchanan County," Grandma snorted.

Grandma's expression changed a couple of times as she read, first to a look of sorrow, then horror.

"How could you do that to that poor girl?" she demanded indignantly. "She was just 15!"

"Grandma, it's fiction!" I said. "None of it really happened! Besides, she gets her revenge. I just haven't written that part yet."

"Well, let me know when you do," she sniffed. "I want to see how it comes out. Now, where's this story Karen was telling me about? The one with the pilot and the Englishwoman."

I stepped to the desk and spun the laptop to where I could see, then called up my final edit of the team project. At least my version didn't include whatever Rhonda added about Rance and three women. But this one did have the prolog I wrote this week.

As the file opened, so did the front door.

"You in here, boy?" Grandpa called out.

"Yes, sir," I called back, stepping out to find my grandfather, Buck, Sarge and a couple of other burly dudes entering the house. "And so is your wife, so behave."

"Figured that much since her wagon's in the drive," he snorted. "What happened on your front step? Smells like a herd of yearlin's used it as a latrine."

That odor was still lingering? Hazel Thackeray might oughta change her diet.

"We brought ya some groceries," Grandpa added as Sarge and another burly dude carried pans that may have come from Cookshack to the kitchen.

The other surplus burly dude followed with sacks of what I assumed were sides and Buck brought up the rear with four gallons of tea, two in each hand. Grandpa carried a grocery sack that looked big enough to hold a couple of six-packs. I somehow doubted they were six-packs of soda.

I headed to the kitchen to pull out the stack of cups I'd found as Grandpa put his bag in the fridge. There was enough for the eight of us, but somebody better go buy another sleeve or six if this weekend was going to be anything like the last one.

"Would you like some supper, Hon?" Grandpa asked, sticking his head into the office.

I couldn't hear my grandmother's response, but she soon bustled in to take command.

"You go sit," she ordered, pushing me toward the dining table. "I'll fix plates for you and your grandfather. These other boys look like they can take care of themselves."

The implication seeming to be that Grandpa and I couldn't, but I knew better than to argue with the woman.

I turned toward the office as Grandpa took up residence in "his" recliner. Better get those chairs I dragged in there not half an hour ago so there'd be enough for all of us to sit at the table.

Ya know, I coulda sworn there'd been more than a dozen chairs around the table Saturday when we helped the Osbornes. And Sunday when so many folks showed up for the impromptu housewarming. I have no idea what could've happened to them all. Maybe Grandma knew. She'd spent more time in this house than I had.

I found Lanny pulling off the bottom panel of my laptop with an array of tools strewn around the desk.

"Thought I'd hook ya up with a satellite modem like I've got while I have the chance," he said before I could protest his treatment of my property. "Let ya get online pretty much anywhere in the world as long as ya got power for the laptop."

"Make sure the account's billed to GDR, Inc.," I said, grabbing the chairs. "My grandfather can give ya the details. I'd also like to talk to you about satellite phones when you have a moment. You'd better come eat. I don't trust these guys to leave anything for ya."

"They will or I'll hack their bank accounts," he smirked as he worked. "And they know that. Besides, I gotta get this done so your grandmother can read the rest of that story. She wants to at least get to the 'romantic parts' before she leaves."

I returned the chairs to the table, where the two extra burly dudes were already chowing down on brisket and sausage. I think they were my evening detail. One was about the size and shape of the guy who'd driven me back to the apartment in Arlene's Jag the night I took Morgan to Morton's. I still couldn't get a good look at his face, which was practically buried in his plate.

"Hal, come eat," Grandma said, carrying two heavily laden plates out of the kitchen. I guess she liked her employees to be well-fed, too.

Those seemed to be the magic words to get Grandpa out of the recliner and he was quickly seated at the end near the front door. I guess that made it the head of the table. At least for tonight.

I went for a refill of tea as Buck and Sarge finished filling their plates.

"Just take the jug with ya, kid," Buck said, reaching past me to grab one of the four he brought in. "Save us the trouble of coming back in here every five minutes."

Sounds like a good idea, I thought, carrying the jug out to where Grandma put my plate to Grandpa's left. I set it down between us. There looked to be enough for each of us to have a refill. Or for Grandpa to have two. I could always go back for another jug.

Having eaten lunch barely five hours ago, I wasn't necessarily all that hungry. But the thought of one of the security guys acting like an offensive lineman and eating it for me spurred me to action.

"You didn't invite Carla and Marvin?" Grandma, seated to Grandpa's right with one of the diet sodas, asked as she stole bites off her husband's plate.

"Mrs. Johnson declined on his behalf," Buck snorted. "I think she was going to take Marv to meet Mr. Scroggins this evening."

"Who's Mr. Scroggins?" she asked.

"Gary's latest rescue mission," Grandpa said.

At a look from his wife, my grandfather told the tale of our excursion to look at property and our introduction to Walter Scroggins, potential future homeless vet. If he'd stopped at that, or even at taking Walter to lunch and the idea of establishing a homeless shelter, I'd have been fine. But he had to add the bit about the four thugs visiting the diner.

"I told you two to stay out of trouble," Grandma growled with a threatening look.

"We tried," I said. "It came looking for us."

Grandpa, Buck and Sarge then took turns relating their version of events. I don't think they embellished the details. Too much.

Then Sarge had to tell how I threatened Darnell with being dipped in the Amazon "tool-first" and waiting for the piranhas to come calling. I noticed the two extra burly dudes wince at the idea.

"Sounds like something Katya ought to do to some of her attackers," Grandma muttered, giving me a look and an idea to add to the backstory. "That boy does have an overactive imagination."

"Gotcha all set up, kid," Lanny called out as he emerged from the office and headed to the kitchen to get his own plate. "Mrs. Robinson, that story file's called up whenever you're ready. Just tap the touchpad to bring it out of sleep mode."

"Thank you, dear," Grandma said, hurrying off to view more of my work.

The two extra burly dudes finished up with belches and prepared to return to work, admonishing me to avoid unnecessarily using my panic button in the future.

"When did you use your panic button?" Grandpa demanded.

"When Hazel Thackeray showed up complaining about your car being parked in the driveway all day," I said. "I think she was the source of what you smelled on the front step."

"I think she needs to check her diet," he snorted.

The rest of the guys cleaned their plates in time to watch the game, Packers at Seahawks. Turns out Buck was a Cheesehead from Oshkosh, by gosh. Grandpa returned to "his" recliner and I went to see what was left of my kitchen. All the pans and containers had been stripped clean. It was like they'd been dipped in the Amazon and attacked by piranhas.

As I was stuffing empty containers into Gladys Osborne's little trashcan — I really need to get a bigger one — Grandma came in with an enigmatic expression.

"That really is a good story," she said. "You should see about getting it published. I kept seeing Katharine Hepburn and Tyrone Power as the main characters."

"Thank you," I said, pulling the full bag out of the can.

"And that is a very nice thing you're doing for that Mr. Scroggins and those poor people," she said. "I didn't realize there were any homeless around here. Are you really going to buy that lot and build a shelter?"

"We'll just have to see," I said. "I don't know what it's zoned for or how much work it'd be to get it zoned for that kind of use. Worst case, the land alone oughta be worth the investment."

"I just feel so sorry for folks like that," she said. "It's almost Thanksgiving and it doesn't sound like they've got a thing to be thankful for."

That caused another idea to start forming.

With a hug and a kiss on the cheek, Grandma took her leave. She had to get back to the new house and make sure my cousins hadn't destroyed anything. But before she left, she had to admonish me one more time to stay out of trouble. And see that Grandpa did, too.

"Oh, and call your mother," Grandma said on her way out. "She's worried about you."

Yeah, no. I've dealt with enough shit for one day.

I thought more about my idea as I hauled the trash out to the alley. I know the local barbecue places custom smoked hams and turkeys for the holidays. If there was just a couple dozen folks, I might be able to scrounge up enough to feed them a Thanksgiving meal. Better check with Earl to see what it'd take, but I ought to wait and see what kind of info Walter could gather for me first. It wasn't like these folks could just put leftovers in the fridge.

I returned to find Grandpa and the three security guys spread out among the recliners and couch, each with a yellow can in hand. If that sack had held two sixers, three beers each over a three-hour game shouldn't impair anyone's ability to drive. I mean, Grandpa was the scrawniest of the four and I knew how well he held his liquor. Besides, they'd all just consumed mass quantities of barbecue.

Since I wasn't really interested in the game, I returned to the office and got back to work on Katya and Billy Bob. Lanny stepped in and closed the door with a conspiratorial look as I had Katya dip one of her rapists dick-first into the Amazon.

Ivan had let Katya have a long weekend to visit the famous opera house in Manaus after she tracked the man down in Brazil. She threw a bucket of chicken entrails into the river just before she started lowering the grate. The water was already frothing and her victim screaming his head off with nearly a meter to go.

Authorities found only a submerged metal grate and a human skeleton that had almost been picked clean the next morning. The only meat left was what had been lying atop the grate, but that was enough to gather a DNA sample. They might be able to identify the victim.

"Got an idea for your story kid," Lanny said. "I saw the bit about the Russian girl hacking the mobsters' bank accounts. Now, mind you, I've never seen and certainly never used one of these things, but I've heard stories about a device that'll mask wire transfers. Plug in your starting point and your destination, then the device routes the money through pretty much every bank in the world a few cents at a time. You could transfer billions in just a few minutes and the trail'd be so convoluted that experts can't follow it."

"Sounds interesting," I grinned, quickly typing the info at the bottom of the file. "Also sounds illegal as all hell. How'd she come to possess such a device? She only had the clothes she wore when Billy Bob found her."

"Maybe one was plugged into the mobsters' computer when she finally catches up to ’em," he suggested, prompting me to type another line.

"And these things really exist?" I asked.

"Like I said, I've heard stories," he smirked as I worked. "But I know some guys who know some guys."

Which I think makes me a guy who knows a guy who knows some guys who know some guys. Did I get that right?

"Might be worth looking into," I said with an evil grin. "If any of those Mexican cartels are dumb enough to use a bank connected to the Internet, a fella could just about put ’em outta business with a push of a button. For a finder's fee, of course, plus expenses. Say, 50-50 on what's left with half going to The 320 Foundation."

"I've heard you've got a unique negotiating style, kid," he snorted. "Lemme make some calls and see what I can find out."

"While I have your attention," I said, "I'd like to get some information on satellite phones. I think I'm about due for an upgrade and Buck recommended I talk to you."

"Lemme get another beer and I'll be right with ya," he said.

Lanny also got an update on the game — Buck was in a good mood with the Packers leading 14-3 at the end of the first quarter — and quickly returned with the top already popped.

We spent nearly half an hour going over the pros and cons of cellular versus satellite. Some upper-tier phones would work for either, just a matter of adjusting a few settings at the factory before shipping.

"I'd advise keeping your cell for local use," Lanny said, "but have a sat if you plan to spend time in remote locations or oversees. Also, a lot of apps don't work on sat phones. They're usually just good for talk and text, which is all we need."

Since the ranch in Utah sounded pretty remote and Little Cayman was definitely overseas, I found myself liking the idea more and more. I could probably live without the apps as long as I had the laptop.

The main difference was the pricing — a basic satellite plan made the fanciest cell plans look like Coke money. But you were paying for service anywhere on earth, even in the middle of the ocean. No roaming fees to jack up your bill.

"You can get a better deal with a bulk order," he said. "Most satellite customers are big outfits that get dozens at a whack."

That made me think. Getting one for each of my girlfriends/lovers/pets might not be a bad idea. And I could give them all the same thing for Christmas with GDR, Inc. paying the tab.

Let's see, Arlene, Jan, Marie, Jo, Karen, Chanda, Kacie, Morgan, Bethany, Staci, Sherry, Elise, Riley, Ny'Quesha. Better add Bonnie, Midori and Lupita just to cover my ass. I briefly thought of adding Kinsey and Kirsten, too, but they'd both gotten new cells for their most recent birthdays. And why the fuck was Stephanie Tucker slipping into my thoughts on this? Not without her father's approval, I decided, but maybe at some point in the future.

"Let's start with 18," I said, finishing the bulk of my Christmas shopping a week before Black Friday. "Bill everything to GDR, Inc."

"Make it 20," Lanny said. "The provider we use likes to work in batches of 10."

Well, couldn't hurt to have a couple for backups, I thought. But they still weren't going to Kinsey and Kirsten. I didn't want them equating getting a phone with being one of my girlfriends.

Lanny also made sure I knew how to activate my knew modem. Just click on that new icon he'd installed on my desktop, then click connect. So easy, even a Gary could do it.

"Oh, and before I forget," he said, reaching into his bag of gadgets, "your new key fob. Maybe this'll keep Sarge from kickin' your ass next time ya go runnin' off without tellin' anybody. It's got a tracker."

"Thank you," I said, accepting the device and hoping it wasn't rigged to blow my dick off.

I spent a few minutes transferring my keys from the fob that came with the car. The one Marv gave me remained on the lanyard with my student ID. Miss Carla had advised me to keep it within easy reach, after all.

I decided to put the original fob in the middle drawer. Never know when it might come in handy. I opened the drawer far enough to see a small stack of letter-sized envelopes I hadn't noticed earlier tucked away in a corner. Grabbing one and the express mail envelope from the governor, I transferred one set of my emancipation papers and put them in the backpack.

With that out of the way, I went to the living room to find the game in the middle of the third quarter and Buck getting a little nervous after the Seahawks pulled within 21-17 at the half. I also found my two pets cleaning the kitchen and dining area. I didn't think we'd made that much of a mess, but I'm a guy. What do I know?

"Are you staying here, Daddy?" Marie asked as she put a new bag in the trashcan.

"Probably not," I said, giving her a smooch and causing her mood to brighten. "I don't know if any of the beds upstairs are made up and I don't have any clothes here."

"The apartment's ready if you need it," Jo said, claiming a smooch of her own before whispering in my ear, "and so am I, Master."

"Behave," I growled, causing both pets to blush and giggle. "I've got a game tomorrow night. Might help if I'm not all used up before the day even starts."

I figured I'd better get going, though. The day was starting to catch up to me. Too many adrenaline spikes and crashes. Besides, it was getting closer to 10 and I'm sure one of the coaches would be checking to make sure I wasn't out terrorizing the populace. I hadn't done that since leaving the diner.

Returning to the office, I loaded up my backpack and donned my latter jacket.

"I'm heading over to Arlene's apartment," I told my guests as I stepped back into the living room. "Y'all are welcome to stay as long as you want. There's even some beds upstairs if you need, but I don't think they're made up. Just make sure the thermostat's turned down and the front door's locked when you leave. I'll get the back door on my way out."

"Will do," Grandpa grunted.

"Keep your nose clean, kid," Sarge growled. "We'll see ya in the mornin.' You gonna give that cheerleader a ride?"

"She's supposed to go in early with Duchess," I said. "Cheerleaders have to set up for the pep rally. I just need to get to school by 8."

"Copy that," Buck grumped as the Packers let another opportunity to increase their lead slip away.

Marie and Jo said they'd be along just as soon as they finished up. They'd leave by the front door so I could go ahead and lock the back.

With the backpack feeling heavier with every step, I made it to the apartment by 9:30. I put the backpack in the easy chair, hung up the letter jacket and stripped to my boxers. Pockets were emptied, phone was plugged in, teeth were brushed, blankets were turned down. I'd shower in the morning.

Before I could get into bed, the phone rang. Coach Tucker again. This was a bit early for bedcheck, I thought, but we were in the playoffs. Maybe they were checking everybody tonight. Or at least everybody on the two-deep.

"This is Gary," I answered.

"Just checking, Robinson," Coach said. "You doing any better?"

"I think I worked my aggression out," I said, remembering how good it felt to kick that fuckhead in the nuts. "I'm at the apartment, just about to turn in."

"See you in the morning, then," he said.

"Uh, real quick before you go," I said, "I just want you to know my grandfather came over to the Osborne house to watch the NFL game and brought his own refreshments again. If there's any yellow cans in the fridge next time you visit, they're not mine."

"Understood," he said before disconnecting.

I killed the overhead light, leaving the bedside lamp on, and crawled under the covers. Just as I was getting settled, Jo let herself in and began stripping. Then she turned off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed with me totally nude.

"I understand you've had a rough day, Master," she cooed as she snuggled close.

"I've had better," I grunted.

"Maybe I can help," she said soothingly, pulling my head to her chest, giving me two soft pillows.

I don't know how a nipple found its way into my mouth, but I sighed contentedly and nursed as the darkness closed in. It felt so comforting, so natural.

Oh, yeah. The Seahawks beat the Packers 27-24. Buck musta been pissed.