I Can See For Miles Part 2 (End)

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Part 2- I Can See For Miles

Fourth Story in the Angelverse

By Tyrone Slothrop

The story winds to it's conclusion

Chapter 14: To The Mattresses: High Sierras, Northern California- September

Cool air moved over his face, small particles of dead vegetation touched his skin and bounced off, leaving minute traces of the forest. The natural world covers and claims us as part of it’s own whenever humans venture outside of their concrete canyons. The senses invoked stretch back ages, intertwined in the very cells of the body. The world relates to us as species, not individuals, a state which can be refreshing, allowing the fears and concerns tied to identity to become meaningless.

Angel felt the need for such abandon now. Frank was dead. Bob was reported dead. Carolyn was wounded. Someone was after his family.

Lady Jean Thomas had asserted a motherly command once the crisis had calmed.

Carolyn was out of danger but still in serious condition. She would heal and no internal organs were damaged. She had suffered a large blood loss.

The police investigation was being controlled, a task made easier by the presence of so many off duty officers and agents of city and state police forces. Officially, two assassins were dead and one had escaped. All participants were licensed for concealed carry or were off duty police.

Frank had been buried five days later, his ashes scattered on the river he so loved. The security was at extreme levels, since most of the mourners were Group members.

Jean Thomas, with the help of a deeply grieving George Romany, had pulled Angel and Carolyn under her protection at the lodge. George had taken temporary command of the Group and had effectively pulled all members into defensive mode. Operations which could be stopped were halted, and agents undercover were extracted where possible.

The lodge’s normal medical facility had shifted from a well equipped emergency room facility with a part time doctor to a round the clock care facility with an illustrious staff of physicians.

Doctor Karen Peters had been with Jean for years, and had tended the needs of her girls on a part time basis. She was now joined by her sister, Doctor Janice Peters, the respected endocrinologist, Frank’s companion. Doc Schlange, a researcher into obscure hormonal imbalances and decorated Navy Doctor who now lived in the town of Filler down the mountain, was a friend of Jean’s since their war years together in Southeast Asia. George Romany was a MD in Psychiatry who specialized in victim recovery and transgender issues.

Carolyn had the best possible care, with a team of doctors watching every move the surgeons made and reviewing every step of her post op care. The bullet had passed through and major infection seemed to have been prevented, but the musculature had been damaged and her lower intestine nicked.

George approached the silent Angel on the outside deck.

“Angel, we need you to step up and bring the Group back to life. I’m not an operations guy, I don’t have the temperament. Point me in a direction, give me a script, I’m fine. But we need to go after these guys. And that means you. They will follow you.”

Angel did not answer George for ten minutes. George knew he was not being ignored.

Angel saw Carol, the Lodge Junior Mistress as he called her, slim with her long black hair waving in the breeze, walking with Jill, one of the girls Jean had brought here for shelter.

The two were enjoying the scenery in front of the lodge, with the ground cover of pine needles and grasses. You were in one step surrounded by tall trees and sheltered and in the next step looking out on a vista of snow capped mountains and deep valleys.

“I think we need to compare notes with some others. Call a meeting for two days from now. Ask Jean and Steve. I want that Sean Taylor and her partner who I hear is back in the country. I also want the team following the lead from that hit man we captured to give me their report, if they are back from New Jersey. Have the Group Captains stand by; we’re having a war council. “ Angel said, the wrinkles around his eyes getting deeper, his gray gaze getting colder.

His peace with the rage of his past melted in his soul. All of the pain, the anger, the humiliation, flared once again.

Somebody had attacked his family. Somebody was going to die.

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Chapter 15: Walls And Prisons — High Sierras, Northern California - September

The slim, pretty man up on the deck looked so sad to Jill. He knew the man had suffered a terrible loss and was just beginning to understand why he should care about the suffering of strangers.

The twitchy feeling he got when he allowed himself to feel pain, emotional or physical, was the residue of the drugs. Jill had been clean and straight for eight weeks now, but the memories of detox brought waking nightmares. Johnnie told him it would go on for some time.

Johnnie was still locked away, safe in his beach house in Jill’s head. Johnnie had told Jill that Jill was to be what these people wanted him to be, and keep Johnnie safe.

Eight Weeks Earlier

Doctor Karen Peters watched the writhing collection of pains and needs twisting on the cot in the secure room. This was not the first drug or alcohol addicted child they had rescued. The other girl, Marla, seemed to be less addicted to the potent opiates their captors had used, opiates which were absorbed by the soft tissues of the mouth and sinuses. The one who called himself Jill, however, was going to have a rough time.

Lady Jean approached her.

“Any idea on what we are dealing with here, Karen?”

Karen paused, watching the poor creature inside the room rolling back and forth..

“Lady Jean, whoever did this needs to pay. That boy was conditioned to become something which should drive him into deep psychosis. Instead, he absorbed it and erected a barrier personality. George was the one who found it, since none of his answers made any sense for his situation. We hope that he is hiding deep inside. “

“Steve, even with working with the law enforcement contacts of George’s Group, has not been able to identify him from fingerprints or facial characteristics. And he won’t or can’t tell us who he is. The girl we went to rescue was only there for two months and he had been there for some time before that. We know they blasted him with hormones and even did facial surgery and those breast implants. And we know they made him the object of regular humiliation and had him perform fellatio on that thing Steve brought back, just to get his drugs. We also know they used very sophisticated conditioning methods to re-orient his self image.” Lady Jean examined the list of crimes.

Karen motioned George Romany to join the discussion, making him break away from his mayonnaise soaked BLT.

“George has a recommended course of treatment which I think has merit, Jean.” Karen said, deferring to the Psychiatrist who was trying to swallow a large mouthful before he spoke.

“We are in pretty unknown territory here, since Jill is clearly a personality constructed by the original inhabitant of that body, not a classic multiple personality disorder. Our problem is Jill is a drug addicted, cocksucking, shallow self centered bitch, who only cares about surviving the day and getting the most pleasure out of it.” George said, watching for the reaction.

Jean gave him a puzzled look and Karen was blinking. They both knew George loved to use words to shock as a mechanism for opening minds to his discussion.

Dissatisfied that his ploy seemed to have fallen flat, he continued.

“Jean, we need to make Jill a lady. A mannered, caring, loving girl who can make the complex moral decision to free her interior captive despite what that person inside wants or is afraid to do. We need to grow her up, and grow her up nice.”

Jean pondered the thought. George was a brilliant practitioner who was the first to admit his unorthodox approach was not always right.

“How can you be sure there is an ’interior personality’, George? Maybe he is what he has become?” Jean said.

“Because while you can withhold the truth, even the strongest will cannot hold a mask while going through that kind of detox. There is a smart and scared person inside there, I saw him. And we need to get him out.” The passion and fire was evident in George’s reply.

“Very well. Karen, what about the hormones they fed him?” Jean switched topics deftly.

“Walter and I agree, his male genitalia have been damaged, and he will need to be watched for damage to kidneys and liver and hundreds of other problems. I wish we had a better idea of dosages and duration, but the records Steve got out of that place were spotty. The other girl had no information at all about that. He has had skeletal change and probably his height is topped out. For all intents and purposes, he is physically a classic pre op transsexual. When we get his system clear of drugs, we need to decide what to do with his direction on hormone therapy.” Karen stopped, realizing she had begun a lecture.

Johnnie finished the operating system he had thought out for the PleasureJac. All in his mind, he devised mnemonic memory tricks to remember the modules, tricks used by scholars in the middle ages. He stared out at the Atlantic, the unchanging view he remembered from childhood. He wished he could come out, and write things down, but was afraid. Jill would protect him. These new people were not to be trusted.

Weeks passed. Jill was allowed out now, but only with a companion. These miserable bitches would not let him even smoke, he thought. He had offered sexual favors for a chance to escape and found they just ignored him. He had once gotten out the front door and found two large, military looking guys who just gently restrained him. It seemed they were impervious to his offer of a blowjob for freedom.

Everybody kept referring to him as a real girl. He assumed the doctor was sloppy and had not looked carefully, like those doctors who had come in and hacked at his face and given him the huge boobs.

Jill was enjoying eating whatever she wanted. Eating was part of the drug rehab, and his hips and rear began to show the effect. No one made mention of it, they just supplied larger clothing. Very definite girl’s clothing.

Jill had a room now, and shared a bathroom with the other girls. Carol had cut his hair, since he had never cared for it other than to tuck it into wigs while in captivity. Jill rather liked the resulting chin length bob.

Carol was the house mother, the warden, the shoulder to cry on, the enforcer, and the one the other girls placed their trust in. Jill could see why. She was fair and she was patient. She had her own little boy, who turned out to be her brother, not her son, but she treated him like her own child.

Part of Jill wanted to like Carol, part wanted to rebel and shock her. Jill liked the other girls, especially Marla, who simply worshipped Carol. Eve was fourteen, and Cassie and Prissy were sixteen. Cassie and Eve had babies which required constant care. Prissy was struggling with schoolwork, determined to get her life on track. They all welcomed Jill as a sister.

Lady Jean spent long patient hours with Jill, talking about her life, her opinions and what she hoped her girls would become. At first, Jill was bored and distracted, but her whole personality was to never confront, just passively go along with minimal effort. Jill found that the discussions were entertaining and began to enter into shy debate with Lady Jean.

The security guys began to change in Jill’s perception from guards and oppressors to protectors and older brothers. They treated him with respect, and never reacted to his outrageous outbursts designed to provoke them. He was treated like their little sister who occasionally got out of control.

Carol noticed Jill working with Prissy on her homework. Jill was not doing any schoolwork yet, since he was only a few weeks into his recovery from the forced addiction. What fascinated Carol was how patiently Jill was explaining algebra to Prissy, working her through examples, laughing with her, making the struggle to master quadratic equations a team effort. Jill, or Jill plus whoever else was in his head was clearly mathematically gifted.

The important thing was the patience. Many brilliant people have no capacity to teach. Jill clearly was showing concern for another person in the way he was approaching Prissy’s challenge. Carol made a note in her head to talk to George about this.

The dreaded spot in Jill’s existence was what she and the other girls referred to as the “ladylike hour”. Once each day during the week, Lady Jean would instruct them unforgivingly in some particular set of the skills of a refined woman. Etiquette, planning a formal dinner, sewing, art appreciation, the history of fashion. Jean’s list seemed endless.

Jill and the other girls were required to dress for the sessions, appropriate to the season of course. Accessories were mandatory, including gloves, an appropriate purse and tasteful makeup. Carol was happy to watch the children during this period, having survived several years of ‘ladylike hours”.

Other skills, like cooking and cleaning were simply part of their assigned duties at the lodge. Jill found she did not mind cleaning or cooking or laundry or any of the roster of jobs she inherited. Lady Jean had first rate equipment and believed in smart work, not hard work. The vacuum was the best and easy to use. The kitchen equipment all worked, and Marguerite, the cook was a good instructor in the culinary arts. Every surface which needed regular cleaning had the best product available and was designed to be low maintenance.

Jill loved the self defense classes. Despite his captivity, his tormentors had forced him to treadmill several miles daily, so he was in decent physical condition. Once he was free of the opiates and no longer subjected to massive estrogen doses he found the challenge and the discipline of martial arts to be soothing to his jangled nerve endings. Marguerite and Steve or one of his security guys usually ran the session , three times a week.

Jill was surprised that firearms skills were deemed essential by Lady Jean. He had never even seen an actual gun, and neither had Johnnie. But he had now. He could put holes in a target, and knew how to handle handguns, rifles and shotguns safely.

Lady Jean had a policy: her graduates were never to be passive victims again.

Jill found himself becoming a sister. In bits and pieces, he learned the pain that Eve, Cassie and Prissy carried with them. They told him parts of their stories. Marla was not ready to share her past but had seen his. He cried with them, he held them when they needed holding.

George Romany watched Jill grow, adding facets to his persona. Compassion. Concern for others. Self respect.

What made George the most curious was Jill’s excitement the first time he was issued pen and a ream of paper. Jill spent her few spare hours furiously filling the blank spaces. Carol asked to see her writing and Jill reluctantly shared.

Poetry. Stories. Equations. C++ code. Random thoughts. Jokes. All seemingly just dumped onto the page. No clue to the hidden personality except that it was very bright.

George made another move. He gave Jill a standalone personal computer. No network connection, no internet. Just a C++ compiler and a word processor. It was like throwing a starving otter a fresh fish. Jill’s fingers flew over the keyboard for his allowed hour a day, and George noticed that instead of transcribing memories, the flow of material seemed fresh, with the revisions and rewrites which occur before a work is polished.

His next step was to link the computer to his own. He could then initiate conversation through the operating system, in a chat like messaging environment.

GEORGE> HELLO JILL

JILL> HELLO GEORGE.

GEORGE> WHO AM I TALKING TO NOW?

JILL> ME

GEORGE> DO U HAVE A NAME?

JILL> YES

GEORGE> WILL YOU TELL ME?

JILL> NOT NOW

GEORGE> OK. TAKE YOUR TIME. WE WANT TO HELP YOU

JILL> THAT’S WHAT JILL SAYS. SHE LIKES EVERYBODY HERE

GEORGE> WE CAN TALK MORE TOMORROW. WE ALL LIKE JILL. AND WE ALL WILL LIKE YOU

JILL> I AM A FREAK NOW

GEORGE> WE ARE ALL FREAKS. TIME FOR SLEEP. WE CAN TALK TOMORROW

George asked Carol to describe her past to Jill over the next week or so, but not until he and Lady Jean got back from the wedding they were attending in Malibu.

There was some delay due to the commotion and excitement of Angel and Carolyn showing up, along with a number of heavily armed guards and medical gear. Carol took Jill for a walk outside while Angel and George were on the deck looking down at them.

Carol was born Bobby Dunbar, Steve Dunbar’s first son. His mother, despondent and unfaithful along with being an alcoholic, frequently abused Bobby. She also was neglectful of Toby, the baby she had thirteen years after Bobby. When Steve went missing in the South China Sea off an oil rig, Bobby’s mother and her friends in a biker gang had tried to get rid of Toby and Bobby.

Bobby had his testicles crushed while escaping with Toby. Guided to Lady Jean by the kindness of neighbors, he began a year long masquerade as a mother of the infant Toby. He made his decision to become Carol at age fifteen, with the support of Lady Jean. Steve returned and in the process of searching for his family, was able to rescue Carol from the gang members trying to kill her.

Jill was wide eyed at the story. Since Carol defined the picture of a mature young woman for Jill, it rocked his perception that she was once in his position.

Jill stared up at the man on the deck. He had a story too.

And he seemed so sad.

Johnnie opened the door to his imaginary room and walked outside for the first time in almost a year.

“Carol, my name is Johnnie Tunturo. I used to be him, anyway.”

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Chapter 16: War Council- Town of Filler, Northern California. Late September

The banquet room at the Highway Inn was bustling with activity. Charlene and Joelle were dashing around, making sure their guests were well accommodated. Located right off the Interstate, at the gateway to the Sierras Resort and Spa, Filler had blossomed from it’s sleepy origins years ago. With excellent food prepared by chefs shared with the five star resort twenty miles down the road, the Highway Inn had acquired a reputation for the best food of any exit service in five hundred miles.

Carol had come down to pick up her brother Toby, a bundle of motion at age seven, who stayed with Joelle and Terri, both hostesses and managers at the Inn while he went to school in town. Steve was playing with his son while Terri, hair in rollers , wearing a nightgown and robe was yawning and getting ready for the next shift at the café.

“Carol, he gets livelier every day. And Flora says he’s doing so well at school. You are forcing Joelle and I into having one of our own.” Terri said, sipping a coffee cup.

Carol smiled. “I miss him when he’s down here, but he seems to love it. Plus there are more kids for him to play with then up on the mountain.”

Steve came in and handed control over to Carol, who was driving back. He was headed for the meeting.

Four senior Group agents came, three of which were State level and one was Homeland Security. Casual clothes and formal demeanors.

Larry Elger and Sean Taylor were already there. Spider Robertson sat in a corner, next to Steve Dunbar. Lady Jean sat next to Angel and George Romany. Bill and Jim were at the end of the main table.

Security eyes and weapons surrounded the site.

“This is in many ways a recap and sharing of what we all know, and an affirmation of our plan to eliminate the mutual threat we have all somehow encountered. Many of us have been involved in discussions for the last several days and our collective pool of information is eye opening. I would like to especially recognize Larry Elger and Sean Taylor, who managed to use their sources, combined with some of ours to effectively layout a picture of the opposition. “ Angel said. The room went silent and followed his every word. He saw Spider and Steve Dunbar shake hands in the corner. He took it as an omen.

“You have a dossier in front of you , which lays out the Promisense — TransTalent operation. Larry has located their manufacturing location for the PleasureJacs, and the distribution channels they have set up. Apparently , they are not ready to go into production yet. It seems a key supplier is having ‘production difficulties’ with a key component.” Larry and Sean smiled. Marissa had been threatened again by thugs from TransTalent, but the thugs found it to be a losing proposition. AB Enterprises was informed that there were delays in the ship dates for the Impolecs. And they were also informed if any more characters showed up, the delays would become terminal.

“Sean Taylor has been able to find nine franchises operational, in the following locations. We have exact coordinates on seven of them and are close on the remaining two.

“Bill and Jim had followed the trail from the hitman we captured, who, by the way is now in custody of the police. A New Jersey mid level mob guy took the contract and hired it out to the two who were trying to kill me. He was very reluctant to talk. We disagreed. He did eventually lead us to the head of Security for TransTalent, Lester Quarrel. Quarrel is the long time sidekick of the man in the dossier, Adrian Beimbeau, the President of TransTalent.

“We have also confirmed he tried to muscle Larry and Sean’s employer, including threats to her son.

“The two teams of hitmen at the wedding were a puzzle, but we recently got a break. The victim rescued from the Oregon desert franchise described a sadist we have run across before, known as Madam J. I once showed her mercy and let the system handle her. My mistake. The victim was the heir to a half a billion dollar estate, with only one person who could possibly contest it. My wife, Carolyn. It turns out Johnnie Tunturo is the step brother she never met. Their father and his mother met an accident the same day as the attempt on Carolyn. Psychological feminization and dependence was a trademark of Madam J’s old operation which we shut down years ago. I’m sure she planned to establish her hooks once he was released and ‘rescued’, and the sole heir to millions.

“The interior of the Oregon franchise was fairly well documented by Steve Dunbar and his team, but unfortunately, we lost the site due to it’s self destruct. We need more intelligence on franchise operations. We want to get the victims out without killing them in the process.

“We also know that ‘spoiled talent’ as these bastards call them, have been shipped to Mexico in a trial operation, and sold as prostitute-slaves.

“So here the situation stands. Beimbeau is at an impasse. He needs the material to expand. We need to understand the franchise defenses and operation. He will get more desperate. So one of us with a reputation will approach him to solve his supply problems.”

Angel laid out the plan. With few questions, the members of the conference agreed.

“We will need some more help if we want to take out everything at once. I have some recruits in mind. You all have your assignments. It will be a very interesting Halloween for Mr. Beimbeau.”

The meeting broke up after a spirited question session, leaving Lady Jean, Steve and Angel sitting around a pot of coffee.

“You know you can’t stop this technology, Angel. It will be developed somewhere else.” Lady Jean said softly.

“I don’t oppose the technology, it’s inevitable. It’s probably a better life than regular prostitution. But we can stop these particular scum from pioneering it, and maybe set a precedent that there is a cost to taking the innocent.” Angel whispered.

“Now that’s the Angel I know.” A voice boomed from the doorway.

“Bob?” Angel was stunned.

“Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Bob Angelo strode into the room.

“Care to explain?” Angel asked.

“I watched my long time friend and assistant, along with my driver go up in flames meant for me. I got tied up and he needed to be in San Francisco, so I told him to take my car, I was flying. After realizing I was a target, I decided to play dead. And I found out some things, but clearly not as much as you. Angel, I’m glad Carolyn’s ok, and I am sorry about Frank.”

“In some ways, Frank got to go out better than he expected. He saved Carolyn and went quick.” Angel said with a twinge of pain weaving through the words.

Bob nodded and hugged Angel. After some time, he broke the embrace.

“You know you are right about the technology. Porn has played a role in civilization since it’s inception, and as far as pay for sex, this technology might be better for public health. Promisense is onto the wave of the future. But Ord Stonewell will never see the day it breaks. For what he’s done, that miserable piece of shit is going down. And I know a real good way to do it.” Bob grinned his winning grin, the one that had gotten him elected twice to state wide office.

Bob grabbed a cup of coffee and gave them his thoughts.

High Sierras, Northern California

Up in the mountains, Carolyn sat with Johnnie. Her hospital style bed was raised to afford her a gorgeous view of the valley and clouds shrouding the snow caps. The pain from her wound was receding, replaced by the emotion of the moment.

They both now knew their father was dead, and Johnnie joined her in the loss of a mother.

Johnnie was in a pastel blue skirted suit, with white gloves. Lady Jean had instructed him to dress nicely for meeting someone special, and Marguerite had released him from the ‘ladylike hour’ to meet his sister. Jill faded from sight, yet Johnnie seemed to have incorporated much of Jill into Johnnie. He loved being a sister to the girls, and was giggling with joy to find he had a real sister, right here in his new home.

They hugged each other in silence. Johnnie felt his heart beating and found it deafening.

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Chapter 17: South of the Border, Down Mexico Way- October

Clarence Posey felt the sweat pour down the back of his neck. He could see the Saguaro cactus across the street, if you could call the rutted baked mud a street. The beer bottle felt cool and wet in his huge grip. He did not even know the name of this place, seventy miles south of Nogales. The GPS had taken him here from Spider’s coordinates.

“Spider sent you to find these people, Si? “ Carlos El Oso said impassively. Clarence felt like he was in the beginning of every Clint Eastwood or Anthony Banderas western, sitting in a broken down saloon, talking to a guy named ‘The Bear’.

Like almost everyone in Southern California, Clarence harbored dreams of the movie business. In other places, people wanted to be action heroes and starlets, but the truly addicted fantasized about producing, deal making, or if feeling especially low, screenwriting. He did have a Masters in Modern Literature, earned painstakingly over the years when he was not banging heads for Spider.

Clarence looked at El Oso and felt the incongruity of the name. To Clarence, names were destiny. When you grow up poor and white with a name like Posey, you either learn to fight or suffer immensely. Clarence learned to fight. Now, El Oso might qualify for his namesake if Christopher Robin was his sidekick and he carried a honey jar.

The man was playing a role. Clarence expected him to break out into a chorus of “Badges? We Don’ Need No Stinkin’ Badges!” at any moment.

“Stop fucking with me, Carlos. I know you speak English fluently and without a cheesy accent, I know you normally wear clean clothes and making me come to this shithole so you can re-enact some fantasy really pisses me off.” Clarence said, calmly and quietly. The four men watching his back broke into grins.

Carlos sat up straight, the ‘impassive and dangerous Jefe’ act clearly over.

“Ok, ok. I dig those old movies. Now you’re here, well go to my house and talk by the pool. It’s only ten minutes away.” Carlos said quickly, sounding much more like the money man intermediary he really was.

Clarence and his crew clambered back into their white Chevrolet Suburbans and followed Carlos the Pooh (as he was now nicknamed) in his 1961 Cadillac convertible, it’s massive tailfins cutting a wake in the heat haze bouncing off the ground.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a large ranch house set against a row of low rises, with a quarter acre of perfect green lawn in front, a feat which was a monument to the insanity of man’s need to recreate his childhood environment. Carlos grew up in a middle class suburban home in New Jersey, and had transplanted a piece of Saddlebrook into the hostile and arid Sonoran desert.

Settled in by the pool, a better beer in his grip, Clarence listened to Carlos the Pooh brief him.

“The brothel owners were approached by this Lester Quarrel months ago, who offered them a good price on what he called top talent she males and some girls, all very young, all clean, and all American.

“I don’t want to insult you, but a lot of people want to fuck an American these days, it’s like having a brand name for a brothel. They really like to fuck an American shemale; we get a whole tourist trade over here for that. Something to do with your country’s foreign policy.” Carlos paused, looking to see if he had offended his audience.

Clarence was impassive. One of his guards grunted, and Clarence glanced at him, indicating to shut up.

“Go on Carlos.” Clarence said.

“So far, only four boys and two girls have been sent. Apparently the first shipment met with an accident. Oh, yes, and one old lady. She was thrown in for free. She was resold to the interior, and I doubt she will survive. Anyway, she is beyond recovery. The children are spread across three establishments. Sadly, one boy died. He took his own life.” Carlos crossed himself.

“And have you negotiated a price?”

“They were very attached to them, Mr. Posey. It was a painful negotiation.” Carlos began to shiver. He always hated this part. Gangsters were so unpredictable when it came to money.

“Do you have a number?” Clarence was impassive.

Carlos slid a single document across the patio table. Clarence looked at it without touching it.

“Half of that, the kids get out now, you get them to us at the location we arranged, with whatever immediate medical needs they have covered, and nobody tips off this Quarrel guy what happened. “ Clarence countered.

They settled on 65% of the original. Honor satisfied, Clarence snapped his fingers and one of his guards showed photographs of Lester Quarrel, Ord Stonewell, Adrian Beimbeau and Madam J to Carlos.

“The Quarrel man, that’s him. I don’t know the other two. The woman could be the one who came later and was sold south. Trust me, she is gone. They said she was crazy and needed many drugs to just shut up.”

Clarence sent the text message to Spider and Angel. “Recovery South underway”

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Chapter 18: Land Down Under — Cairns, Queensland, Australia, October

“Do you have her location?” Angel; said, attempting keep the Paseo squarely down the left side of the road. Off to his left, Trevor Olsen grinned, waiting for the Yank to make a driving faux paus. Larry Elger sat in the back seat and slept.

Rolling north of Cairns, the major town in the north of Queensland, the Mitsubishi four wheeler was headed for the beach resorts in rain forest country. Angel had never driven right hand before and Larry and Trevor had indulged him.

The Captain Cook Highway winds past the shore of the Coral Sea, past beaches with tree cover, into the shift from open fields to hills and denser vegetation.

“Yes, we do. We’ve kept an eye on her ever since you asked us to. She’s been doing small con, wealthy shithead marks, nobody gets hurt. Greedy sods who out to know better. And this part’s rich, mate. She married one of us. A CD. The guy’s really good, too. Looks just like Sigourney Weaver when he wants to. They use it in the con, saves them having another split.

“They are staying up in Port Douglas, and expect to meet their mark tomorrow on the Kurunda sky tram. A Middle Eastern type. Looks like you can do a passable Arab gentleman, Mr. Elger.” Trevor said, knowing full well Larry was awake enough to follow along.

Angel pulled into the entrance for the Beach Lodge.

Breakfast arrived in the open air pavilion, soft sun lighting azure and turquoise water. Out there lay the Great Barrier Reef, then the deep deep water beyond. Trevor was delighted.

“You Yanks certainly have the expense accounts. Remind me to entertain you more often.”

“Remind me to let AFP pay for the next dinner in LA, Trevor.” Larry said, eating his soft boiled egg.

“Never happen, mate. Very stingy.”

The Sky Tram is one of those semi practical things which all tourists must do, complete with a town as the terminus whose sole purpose is to separate money from people in a pleasant fashion. Kurunda sit smack in the middle of the rain forest, along a genuine crocodile infested river, and is rife with small shops and restaurants.

The Sky Tram leaves from a spot along the Coral Sea coast, a continuous cable of suspended four place cars, up from the flatland to the canopy of the jungle, up in the treetops. At the apex, it connects to another continuous loop down into the jungle, over the rivers and falls on into Kurunda. A great way to spend a few hours.

That morning the queue waiting to board the tramcars at the coastal terminus turned out to be sparse. Larry, wearing an expensive sports jacket and slacks with an open collar silk shirt, a mustache adorning his olive tinted face, his black hair combed straight back from his forehead, gold pendant around his neck looked the part of Abdul Aziz. He made a show of playing with his Serengeti sunglasses and studying the brochure while he waited in queue.

Angel was hanging on his arm, hair in a Trevor inspired upsweep, emerald earrings dangling, very large breasts straining at his silk blouse, silk pants billowing around his sandals. He made sure to wear flats to avoid being taller than Abdul, like any good woman hanging onto a rich man. Angel’s face was obscured by large sunglasses and very tasteful but expressive makeup. He carried the typical large carryall women do on holiday, and had a sweater slung over his arm. His nails were red, well shaped but not very long. He wanted full dexterity for the foreseeable future.

Angel saw Victoria Prentille stride towards Abdul. Five foot ten, she was statuesque, beautiful in face and figure, and wore one of her trademark white pant suits. Her red hair was even longer now than the last time Angel had seen her almost three years ago, falling over her shoulders and caressing her ample breasts.

Trailing behind her was a very handsome man, slender and matching Victoria in height. Dark hair, cut short, with painfully pretty movie star features. He was dressed similarly to Larry, and carried the clothes with the assurance of a fashion model.

“Abdul Aziz? Are you Abdul?” Vicky asked in a melodic voice.

Larry nodded, with a dismissive hand wave to accent his apparent boredom.

“I’m Lady Prentice. Your agent said we should meet. This is my friend, Jean Claude Reneau. “ Vicky put enough hesitation before the word ‘friend’ to indicate that Jean Claude was to be considered her play toy, not to taken seriously. She knew that needed to be established quickly with people from the Middle East.

Larry went through the motion of limp handshakes in deference to Western custom, but not firm since Abdul would not accord much respect to a woman, even one with a title, and less to a consort. He then looked over to Angel.

“Oh yes, this is my special ‘friend’….” He emphasized the pause as much as possible, as if struggling for a name “ Bambi, yes Bambi.”

Angel made a mental note to give Larry a large ration of insults for the name, but admired how well he was playing the role. He had also asked Larry to avoid requiring him to talk if possible. He did not want Vickie to have a clue until they were suspended in the air.

Angel giggled and extended a hand to Vicky. After a brief touch, Jean Claude took the hand and gave it a tongue tipped kiss.

“So pleased to meet you, Bambi.” Jean Claude bowed, a hint of a wink in his right eye.

Angel cooed. He was very proud of his airhead bimbo presentation.

Their meeting interrupted by the arrival of their turn to board the tramcar, they awkwardly entered the swinging car, holding on for balance.. Larry and Angel sat facing towards the sea, touching knees with Vicky and Jean Claude across from them.

The fantastic view once they ascended up the mountainside spread before them. The 767 jetliner appeared below their altitude as it made its approach into Cairns airport miles away. The sun lit billowy clouds stark white against the deep blue sky. The sea stretched forever, a limitless horizon, disappearing into a vague haze.

Even to jaded agents and con artists, the gentle swaying of the tram, the stark display of sea , field, mountain and rain forest, the visage of floating over it all was a sight to absorb. Nothing was said for the first ten minutes.

“Lady Prentiss? My factor said you had a spot of trouble which I could profitably assist you with?” Larry said in flawless Arabic accented English.

“Oh my yes, Abdul. It is Prince Abdul, is it not? Let us dispense with titles. I’m Vicky, and I was told you prefer Abdul. Is that acceptable?”

Angel admired Vicky. She had been a formidable adversary when he, with the help of Spider had turned her badger game back on her. Distraught from the dissolution of her marriage, she had begun to prey on crossdressers in San Diego, ending with them losing all their money and being forcibly raped. Because of the latter, her operation had come to the Group’s attention. Angel had twisted it back on her, recovering her accumulated cash and letting her go with a warning. She had been watched by the Australian chapter of the Group since she fled the USA, and had clearly shifted to a more traditional and non violent form of crime.

He also knew he would have not met Carolyn had it not been for his mission with Vicky. He owed her that.

She spoke flawless English English, with not trace of her Chicago roots. A perfect presentation of very minor royalty.

Trevor had set up the introduction of Larry as Abdul into Vicky’s confidence game. Some kind of ‘you swap your liquid assets so I can free up my frozen ones and repay you twofold’ scam, with elaborate hooks and switcheroos. Angel regretted he would not get to see the whole scam play out, he was sure it would be masterful.

“So Abdul, it is really so simple. I need to move that property in New South Wales but that silly codicil to the will is in the way.” Vicky began.

Angel removed his sunglasses, letting Vicky see his face, especially his eyes.

“You are looking well, Vicky. And Prentiss is so close to Prentille. I’m sure your pitch is wonderful, but Larry and I have another topic.” Angel spoke in a tone he knew she would remember. People he had promised to personally kill never forgot his voice.

Vicky did a quick glance and calculated she would probably not survive a jump from the car. Jean Claude looked perplexed.

“You! Why are you here! We made a deal and I’ve lived up to it!” Vicky said coldly, indicating a temporary surrender. Larry was pointing a Sig Sauer 7.62mm directly at Jean Claude.

“Yes you have, dear. I’m proud of you. Many of my missions have not kept their bargains. I have a favor to ask of you. A significant favor.” Angel said, clearly enjoying the interplay.

“You took all my money and you want a favor?”

“You can have it back if you are successful. And it’s more than you’ll make off Larry here as a mark. He’s nowhere near as rich as you thought Abdul was. “

“You’ll give it back?”

“Less the long term care of the victims. You need to fund that. It’s still a good chunk of change left over, enough for you and Jean Claude here to take it easy. Live like a real Lady for a while, or live comfortably for a long time.”

“What do I have to do? And why me?” Vicky asked. She respected Angel, and trusted him to keep his word. She hated him, but she did trust him.

“Why is easy. The people we need to learn about have already tried to recruit you. So we are willing to pay well for very specific information. Which I will spell out over lunch in Kurunda. I am famished.” Angel smiled at the sight of Vicky working the angles.

“You mean that weird scam about internet sex? The one they want me to pony up cash and attend some seminar on some island? That one? It smells. Plus it looked like the kind of thing you’d consider breaking our deal.” Vicky said, watching Angel’s face, now mostly hidden behind the sunglasses. Angel smiled and nodded.

As they rode down to the village, the pistol was put away and an almost detached, sightseer discussion kept them occupied.

Walking to a restaurant, Jean Claude approached Angel.

“You are fabulous, dear. I’ve never seen better.” Jean Claude said, trying very hard to make it sound honest instead of his highly practiced delivery. Angel assumed it was a genuine compliment.

“I have my fun. I’m sure you’re very good yourself. I hear you pass for Sigourney Weaver.” Angel smiled a high wattage smile. He could see that Jean Claude, or Gene as his real name was reported to be, was a natural. He had the face and build to carry off an effective presentation as a woman, and was clearly gifted in the slightest touches of the image. A true compliment from a fellow hobbyist.

“፠have my fun too. My height requires compensation, though.” Jean Claude answered wistfully. He continued “I want to thank you. Vicky may never admit it, but she has changed. She’s been in therapy for a year, and is confronting her demons. I think you were the cause.”

Angel nodded. He was beginning to think some of the lines around his eyes may have been worth the price.

Lunch in Kurunda melted in their mouths. Grilled barramundi with a salad. Vicky found it somewhat comical that she ate more food than any of the men. They were all so figure conscious it made her smile.

“Angel, I will do it. I have one problem though…” Vicky began.

“We will provide the 20,000 AUD you require. Call it a gift from Abdul Aziz over there. He seems quite under your spell. I would recommend you avoid his girlfriend though.” Angel said quietly, sipping his bottled water gingerly. He set it down and began to examine his makeup in his compact mirror.

Larry smiled and passed an envelope over to Vicky. “I would recommend you use this for it’s designated purpose, Ms. Prentille. We understand you must reply by tonight. Do you need anything to cover your outstanding bills? We want you to leave the mainland clean of people chasing you. Except us , of course.”

Vicky looked at Jean Claude. She had a puzzled look on her face.

“If you could advance us 2000 AUD to cover our needs, it would be an interesting experience to actually pay our bills on the way out of town.” Jean Claude laughed. Larry began to understand that he was far from the passive partner in his team. Larry opened his wallet and handed Jean Claude the cash.

“We found out you were recruited based on rumors of your past Vicky. All we want you to do is learn everything you can about operating a franchise for them, especially the control mechanisms. We will give you a locator beacon to trigger only if you need an emergency extraction. Don’t use it unless there is no other way out. Go there, play on the beach, dive on the reef, have fun and pay close attention. And remember, they have already killed a number of people who have gotten in their way.” Angel said casually, his hands fluttering, looking as if he were discussing hairstyles or the waiter’s biceps to any casual observer.

“You’d do that for us? Blow the whole thing to get us out?” Vicky was shocked for a second, but maintained the image of light girl talk by smiling widely and touching Angel’s hand.

“When you work for the good guys, there are some benefits. We don’t abandon people.”

Ten Days Later, Cairns, Queensland, Australia

Vicky felt underdressed. Sitting at the restaurant table with four stunningly beautiful men, all dressed for a celebratory dinner was unnerving. The tall dark hair Jean Claude wore a low cut sheath dress with jacket, hair falling provocatively over his ample bosom. Larry was Linda tonight, a curly pageboy complimenting a classic evening knee length dress. Angel was Bambi again, now in a floor length skirt with a full slit on the side.

Trevor was stealing the show. The diminutive body and the alabaster face with long shining raven hair caught everyone’s attention, including the entire wait staff. His red sequined cocktail dress was amply curved, proportional to his five foot height.

Vicky loved what the afternoon at Trevor’s uncle’s salon had done for her, after eight days in the sun and water out on the reef. Trevor had seen her off the plane and demanded he make up the crimes that had been done to her red tresses. Angel made the trio which had spent the afternoon debriefing while being pampered by the salon staff.

“It was like one of those personal product sales seminars, the ones where you sell junk and recruit your neighbors to sell? The pyramid scheme?” Vicky mused while chewing on her steak. She had been eating seafood for a solid week and was concerned that gills would appear soon. Her audience nodded.

“It was a great place, a resort that they purchased just for their needs. The island is about seventy miles out, and sits right on the inner reef. The snorkeling and diving was fabulous. I believe they make money as a straight business on top of using it for a training base.” Jean Claude smiled, nibbling on his prawn.

“After they got the money, they put us to work for eight hours a day, with presentations during dinner and into the evening. Technology, operations, the financing terms, security, talent acquisition, talent ‘spoilage’, how to link with central customer service, how to develop a unique entertainment proposition, making the operation hard to locate, all made for a full day.” Vicky said with tired look to her face.

“Are you sure about the self destruct sequence? We need that one.” Larry inquired with a melodic giggle to his voice, an eyebrow arching smile painted on his face.

“Yes. Jean Claude has the kill commands which disable it. There is also a master switch under lock which does it manually, located under the control console. You know, this PleasureJac thing will be a big business. And it’s not so bad considering the alternatives.” Vicky mused.

“We agree. But the players now would get it off on a very wrong foot. We need to redirect it a bit. And there are scores to settle. Maybe, when the dust settles, you two can open a franchise. Vicky, Jean Claude, thank you for your efforts. Vicky, I’m glad we could work together. We may meet again. I will be leaving tomorrow, to do some recruiting of my own. We need some more friends to help.” Angel said earnestly.

Vicky stared at Angel, and was surprised to find herself choked up with emotion. She gazed at Jean Claude, who had stood by her though dark depression and wild temper. She looked at Trevor and Larry, both chatting to each other.

“I know our deal is still in force, Angel, but I’m better now. I hated you for a long time, and it’s still natural to hate you, but right now, I think I want to thank you.” Vicky whispered, tears running slowly down her cheek.

Angel held her. To the restaurant patrons it looked for all the world like two close women friends having an emotional moment.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 19: Red Clay Mirage- late October

TransTalent Headquarters, Reno, Nevada

Panic was hovering behind Adrian Beimbeau. Adrian was on a first name basis with it, and it had settled into his waking and sleeping hours like an uninvited houseguest.

He feared few people, but Ord Stonewell was on that short list. Lester Quarrel hid a grin as he watched Adrian’s normal calm and efficient demeanor show cracks.

“That bitch at Junecellular still tells us they are having ‘production problems’ with the Impolecs. No one else can even figure out how it works, and those who might with time have been warned off by their patent attorneys. She has us royally fucked.” Adrian moaned.

“I told you not to try and kill her, Adrian. It tends to piss people off. They have really good security, almost military grade. They fooled us good when they pretended to cave early when we did the threat on the kid.” Lester mumbled.

“Stonewell has promised his ‘seed money’ investors we would be up by now with PleasureJac going on the market. He is pissing himself right now. And we are standing underneath him.” Adrian was actually whining. Lester had never seen such weakness in him before. He began to worry for the first time.

“There is a guy who says he can get our ‘supply problem’ fixed. He wants to meet you face to face and I have him waiting outside. He’s the real deal, does rackets on the coast, got quite a rep. I suggest you listen to him.”

Adrian and Lester entered the conference room where an annoyed Spider Robertson waited. Despite having traded his leathers and denim for Italian silk, he still looked formidable. The two men with him were even larger and more lethal looking. The three of them could successfully replace most offensive front lines in the NFL.

“I don’t waste time. Are you Beimbeau?” Spider said.

Adrian nodded, offering his hand. Spider looked at it and after a suitable pause, decided to shake. Adrian regretted it immediately, feeling the joints and cartilage in his hand compress to the point of extreme pain. Spider relaxed his grip just as Adrian was about to scream.

“I have been made aware that some people may have the kid. The one you tried to fuck with. He’s safe, and the Junecellular people are talking ransom. I understand this could be worth something to you.” Spider coldly intoned. He was dispassionate. This was business.

“I potentially have an interest. What would you consider fair for helping me?” Adrian, seeing a glimmer of light at the end of the long dark tunnel he had been living in, began to regain his composure.

“Equity. I want a piece of this place.” Spider dropped the verbal bomb and waited.

Adrian blustered, bluffed, counter offered and used every trick he knew. Spider was unmoved.

They settled for a five percent ownership of TransTalent, coming directly from Adrian’s own thirty percent. Contingent on performance of Spider’s ‘people’, of course.

“One more thing, Adrian. I’m having a Halloween Party, and these toys of ours look to be fun. I want to bring a few friends here to get some playtime. Any problem with that?” Spider mentioned as he was preparing to leave.

“Sure, sure, whatever you want.” Adrian wanted to get his new partner out of his sight. Wheels were turning already on how there might be an ‘accident’ on Halloween.

The next day, Adrian reported to Stonewell that production had resumed, and shipments were going out on October 29th. Stonewell grunted assent. Adrian had dodged a bullet.

“Do you really intend to transfer that much stock to that guy?” Lester asked. He only had three percent himself.

“He will never leave here on Halloween. We choose Trick for Spider Robertson. After his Treat.” Adrian smiled.

San Francisco, California, October 23

Jezebel Clarkson surveyed the lobby bar of the famous hotel. Right off the California Street cable car line, at the top of Nob Hill, she had seen the exterior in countless movies.

She thought Alfred Hitchcock must be directing this scene in her life, and wished she looked as good as Grace Kelly. The mysterious email, the words which should not be known, the need to meet in a glamorous location all added to the curiosity she possessed.

Approaching forty, Jezzie was not far from Grace Kelly in looks, a little more angular, slightly taller , but she could be a classic Hitchcock blonde. She watched the handsome man approach. He too fit the scene somehow. Expensive suit, tall, dark hair with hints of gray at the temples, muscular but graceful, like a dancer, with fine features and a chiseled chin.

“Hello, Jezzie. I heard they called you Jezzie and you look like a Jezzie.” The man charmed, offering his hand.

Jezzie felt a distinct warming sensation, starting somewhere low and working it’s way up to her face. This man was very attractive, and oddly familiar. She took his hand.

“Bob, call me Bob for now. I was so happy to find the CFO of Promisense so very pleasing to the eye. Can I order you a drink?” Bob Angelo sat next to her, not releasing her hand. She did not resist his gentle touch.

“You’re Bob Angelo! I heard you were…” Jezzie began, stopping as Bob put a single finger to her lips.

“I didn’t get the memo, I’m afraid. I have some things to reveal to you, and some things to discuss. I guarantee you will find it in your best interest to listen. Some wine? “

“Single malt scotch, if you please.” Jezzie said, still holding his hand.

“A woman after my own heart.” Bob waved for service.

Western Desert, Northern Territories, Australia, October 27

The late spring in the Outback delivered blistering heat on the red clay surfaces. Trevor’s fair skin was suffering badly while he talked to the stakeout team. The dust clogged his pores and every inch of his skin. He knew he had to see this place but sincerely wished he could have held this session at the Ayres Rock resort he had left eight hours ago in the Land Rover, somewhere southeast of his current position.

It has been said you could detonate a nuclear weapon or build an alien city in the western desert and the rest of the world would never know. Trevor now knew that to be entirely true. Miles and miles of rock, sand and sparse vegetation went on from horizon to horizon. The works of man were nowhere to be found. Dingoes, kangaroos, bats and various species adapted to the unforgiving conditions, along with the native tribes of men, dating back possibly 30,000 years.

A team of ten had positioned themselves within a mile of the target. The small facility had been airlifted in in pieces, a road blasted to allow supply trucks. AB Enterprises had arranged a murky deal with tribal representatives and some government officials to lease a piece of land.

Trevor tried to work out why it was so remote, and finally came to the conclusion that it’s main purpose was isolation of the knowledge workers. Also, disappearing ‘troublemakers’ was fairly easy out here. The PleasureJac units were easy to transport by air and the place only needed water, fuel and food. All the high technology was done on the components at the suppliers, so this was primarily assembly and software. The satellite dishes indicated a serious uplink to low earth orbit.

“You have the latest code to insert once you control the facility?” Trevor asked the team leader.

The team was all former SAS, the Australian Special Forces. Desert living and warfare was their particular specialty, as exhibited in several campaigns in the deserts of the Middle East and Central Asia. The team captain grinned hugely and laughed.

“Quit fussing Trevor. We’ve got this one ‘dialed in’ as the Yanks say. Go back and enjoy the pool. I hear you’ve got some action in Adelaide coming up. Besides, we got Johnnie with us, and that kid is a bloody wizard.”

Angel and Carolyn had generated a terrible fuss, but Johnnie, still recovering from his ordeal, still more girl than boy on the outside had shown that he surpassed any programming expert they could find. He had deduced the control systems for the PleasureJac and had been able to crack the drivers and software which drove it. What they needed done had to be done on the fly, and if a last minute change was needed, he was the best equipped. Angel had extracted a solemn pledge from Trevor that the boy would be totally safe.

Deferring the concerns about his future, Johnnie had settled into an existence as gender confused. He looked like a girl, dressed like a girl and seemed to adapt to the external trappings of being female. He had never surrendered his mind. Inside his head, he was a boy, a very mad and vengeful boy.

Johnnie was having the time of his life, learning survival skills from world class experts. The sheer fun of flying halfway around the world, seeing one of the most remote and strangely beautiful places and the fact that the entire mission depended on him had revitalized him. The lingering addiction was gone, easily shaken off. Watching him in the camp were two men Lady Jean had sent to make sure Johnnie arrived safely, and would have medical care ready at hand.

Doc Schlange’s war had been in jungles and humidity, thirty plus years ago, but he was an experienced outdoorsman and possessed combat medical skills along with his specialty. Bobby Filler served in the same jungles, but was a denizen of the high desert, a rodeo cowboy, a marine and gas station owner. He had been a volunteer helper to Lady Jean, helping to rescue abused women for years until Steve Dunbar came along.

The two men, both in their middle fifties were leather tough. Johnnie thought of them as two grandfathers who would guard him with their lives. He had been adopted by a large family of fascinating people who did interesting and definitely weird things.

Striking back. Personally. That was the point that had convinced Angel, and then, eventually and with reluctance, Carolyn to let him be part of the plan. Angel knew how important that was to a victim.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 20: A Little Help From Friends, October 31

Beach House, Malibu, California

“You look like a total slut!” Carolyn said disapprovingly. “No husband of mine is going out looking like that!”

Angel smiled at Clementine, now busy with a blusher brush. She had perfected the ‘expensive trashy’ look he wanted.

“Honey, it is Halloween, you know. Just think of this as my costume.” Angel laughed.

His hair pinned up under a banged, long blonde wig, his eyes a garish silver and purple, ‘DD’ size boobs exposed top and bottom in a ruffled black sequined dress with a deep neckline to his navel, a hem line which occasionally exposed the tops of his fishnet stockings and matching five inch ‘fuck me’ pumps, Angel had to admit he looked cheap.

Cheap, but not inexpensive.

“Are you sure you don’t want this outfit when I’m done with it, Honey?” Angel asked sweetly, dodging the throw pillow aimed at his head.

Carolyn flopped down on the futon and started laughing.

“Well, when you say ‘trick or treat’, I know which one you really mean. What’s your name this time? “

Angel looked thoughtful. “Robin, I think. Spider’s little bimbo. We should be getting word from the Australian team soon, babe. Let’s hope Johnnie can do some magic. As soon as that word comes in, we’re off to Reno on the jet.”

Angel’s phone rang. After a brief conversation, he looked up.

“We got all the kids out of Mexico. Jean has set up a temporary shelter in Nogales for them. Some are in pretty bad shape. Still no word on the Ayres Rock group.”

Western Desert, Northern Territories, Australia

It all came down to rolling the dice. Assuming no ultra devious self destruct mechanism or security they could not see, the Group team of former SAS made their best plans based on observation of movement and what all their sensors could tell them.

Nine men moved on the compound in the desert. Darkness was used for full effect. Team Captain’s best guess was thirty workers, most of whom were in the barracks building where the mess hall and entertainment facilities resided. The assembly area and computer center was in the main building, barely occupied at this early hour in the morning.

Chains and locks were slipped on all the exterior doors to the barracks. The team did not want to kill everyone, just keep them occupied while they did their mission.

At the prearranged signal, the main building assault began. Soft thud like noises indicated blown locks and agents entered from several angles.

Surprise is the best weapon. Five of those on duty offered no resistance, raising their hands at their posts. One guard decided to go down shooting. He never got the chance as several bullets crushed his frontal lobes and heart.

Team Captain found thousands of components for PleasureJacs all lined up for assembly. They found the main server room and consoles.

“Cap Here. Are they quiet next door, Nine?” He spoke into his comm.

“We announced we were from the National Control Unit and they were to stay inside or we couldn’t guarantee their safety. They’re quiet for now. We have gas if they get rowdy.” Team Nine. They always made up official sounding organizations for their operations.

“Screw it. Gas ‘em. It should buy us the time we need. Cap out”

Johnnie was a brilliant computer programmer, but unlike the silliness you see in movies, a brilliant kid cannot crack a modern system of unfamiliar type. That takes experience with many generations of software and hardware , painstakingly acquired over years of work. Two agents, having found and disconnected the manual self destruct, were now penetrating the computer which housed the PleasureJac software.

Working from the information gathered by Vicky and Jean Claude, they had the clues to find the local destruct mechanism in the software and kill it. Now, peeling away the layers of security, they motioned to the Team Captain.

“Cap here. Bring him in. The senior citizens too.”

Bobby Filler and Doc Schlange flanked Johnnie. They wore Kevlar vests over their camo fatigues. Johnnie’s fit even with his large breasts, courtesy of a friendly policewoman who knew Trevor.

Team Seven, a piratical looking man with an earring and beard patted the chair next to him.

“Sit down, Johnnie. We’ve blown a hole you can waltz right through. I’ve isolated all the modules for updating the Jac drivers and found the control programs. Do your magic and when you’re ready, Five over there, the little cobber, will blow your updates out to all the units as soon as they log into the system. Five, what’s the status of testing this shit?”

Five stood up to his mere six foot height, six inches shorter than Seven. Clean shaven, he looked more like a geek, except for the combat vest, the extra magazines, the H&K MP-5 submachine gun attached to him through the magic of clips, clamps and Velcro.

“I’ve found a master Jac and a remote, which gives new meaning to the phrase ‘male and female connectors’ mate. After talking to Johnnie, I’m not putting Mr. Five into it for a test of his voodoo.”

“I don’t need a volunteer to test it, just one of you to observe and report. I’m loading the new drivers now. Is the local mode the icon on the bottom right?” Johnnie’s fingers flew on the keyboard as he loaded a CD rom into the reader.

“Testing mode 1. What’s the remote doing?” Johnnie asked.

“Just pulsing a bit.”

“Now?”

“Expanding consistent with the master. Major erection.”

“The safeties are now disabled. Now?”

“Oh Lord! That’s Nasty! Bent 90 degrees down!”

“Hit the master with something, hard”

“Ouch! Those poor sods are going to regret this!.”

“Good. Upload it. Did you set up the kill instructions for the self destructs at the franchises?” Johnnie asked.

“In and….. Up the link. We’re done, Cap!” Team Five reported.

Team Captain sent the all go signal to Angel.

The franchises self destructs were disabled one by one as they received the updates to their control software.

Gulfstream G5 Central California Airspace, Destination Reno Nevada

Spider wore denim, as did four other select members of his gang. The three agents of the Group chose leather jackets and jeans. Angel, despite having half of his tits showing in the sequined dress, still had the air of command.

“We just got the go signal from Team Outback. Successful insert. I’ve signaled the ground teams to take out the franchises. We land in twenty minutes and let’s get there before they know they are under attack.” Angel announced.

Angel worried the franchise assaults. Every one was different, with unique problems. And he had made alliances with a number of others since the Group manpower, even with help from Spider and Lady Jean, was spent. He had spent a lot of resources in assaulting the manufacturing site in the Australian desert and had a lot riding on this one, taking out the TransTalent headquarters. Those allies were key to saving those victims.

It all had to be done before anyone knew it was happening. If word got out that the headquarters or a franchise was gone, the victims would be killed, probably by the self destruct mechanisms, or maybe just by a bullet.

The franchise teams had cased their targets and some had the best guess on who was there, the level of firepower and how many victims were there. Some were just blanks, only a location. But somebody had to try and save those kids. They deserved that much.

One thing was key. They had to disable the manual self destruct switch under the main console, before they did anything else.

“Angel, I will say, you’re the sluttiest looking broad I taken out in a long time.” Spider joked.

Angel pretended to take offense. “I’m the hottest thing you’re getting tonight, honey!”

Spider laughed. “You know that bastard Beimbeau is going to try and kill us tonight, don’t you?”

“I would be disappointed any other way. You better not lose my piece and get it to me when it hits the fan. I feel a bit exposed in this outfit.” Angel replied.

Spider looked him up and down.

“Not a spare place to hide it, unless you can stuff it in your tits.”

“Then I’d need two for balance. Just get it to me, Spider.”

The engines whined, signaling the approach to Reno.

________________________________________________________________________

Franchise Takedowns- October 31

New York City Team, The Hamptons, Eastern Long Island, New York, October 31

Brigit Kelly hated the beach, especially in the cold October wind off the Atlantic. She should have been enjoying the seven or eight Halloween parties she could be attending in Manhattan tonight. Instead, she was here with her brother Jessie and five off duty NYPD guys, all friends or sons of friends of their father.

Sixty miles east on the south shore of Long Island, they were in the fabled Hamptons, one of the enclaves of the rich and fabulous. But mostly the rich and their entourages were fair weather residents, and October on the thin strip of sand which sheltered the bay and shorefront from the ravages of the Atlantic surf was no place to be when the temperature dropped.

They had met the fabled Angel a week before at a restaurant in Soho. Jessie and Brigit were a former undercover cop and district attorney, respectively, who now ran a unique male escort service catering to professional women in New York. Son and daughter of a New York cop, son and daughter of New York prostitutes, white and black, part Irish, friends and business partners with a gay couple, they represented the rich cultural stew of a great city. Tough and tender, cynical and sentimental, profane and poetic.

The trade they were in was in the category of mostly legal. They performed a service and did it fairly and honestly, which meant they were not causing a problem, so they were mostly ignored by law enforcement.

It did plug them into the street and street legends. The Group intentionally wanted the myth out there, the myth of vigilantes who avenged victimization and abuse of the innocent. So when Joey, their financier told them to take a meeting with the man, they did.

Jessie bonded with him immediately. The extreme metrosexual look was their trademark and many clients preferred their escorts totally en femme. Angel was traveling incognito, which meant he was posing as a woman. Brown hair flowing down, black skirted suit, soft leather jacket, his presentation was flawless. In fact, he looked like a typical client of theirs.

The story grabbed her heart, but she saw that it had grabbed Jessie in his gut. He had seen too much victimization of young kids on the streets. They understood the problem. Waiting for warrants and then threading this through the legal system would doom many children involved to a quick death while the evidence was destroyed.

They had a mail drop in Manhattan to go on. Six days to find the franchise. Then pull off an assault on the seventh. Halloween.

In most urban centers, but especially a town like New York there is a celebrity class. Media stars, old money party throwers, artists, publishers and the occasional billionaire. Light shines brightly on these people.

There is also the scum class. The killers, the drug dealers the, the enforcers, basically violent criminals both organized and anarchist. No light illuminates these people, physically or spiritually.

Between the two are the gray people. Neither light nor dark, never truly famous, never truly unknown. They operate enterprises where the two worlds meet. Club owners, drug middlemen, a variety of ‘fixers’ populate this world. If a movie star needs cocaine right now, they provide it. If a crime boss wants to meet a movie star, they make it happen.

Brigit and Jessie operated in this world. People come in all shades and degrees of lightness. This is why they could seek help from both the street people as well as friends in the police.

Brit Woljeski was gray. He had been light gray when he produced and managed sex acts years ago, but he had shaded darker as business became difficult.

He needed something to get him noticed, back in the swing of things. TransTalent had seemed like a divine inspiration.

Ready cash being a concept Brit never truly understood, he had signed on Bruno Posero to front the cash for the franchise. Brit would use his last asset, the house in the Hamptons.

Bruno Posero walked around with the self awareness that he was a caricature of every small time mafia boss in every movie ever made. He used that, and made a point to play to it. He had been doing it for so long, he had become it.

It was not wise to owe Bruno money. Bruno ignored the wise to focus on the very much larger market of the unwise.

Brigit was still shivering in the wind, waiting for Parnello to call with the go signal. The plan tonight had two parts. Parnello, a friend of theirs who was a ‘respectable pimp’, had pulled a favor and become invited to Woljeski’s Halloween party. Brit had promised ‘the next generation of sex’ to attract the glitterati to his loft tonight, meaning he planned an demonstrating the PleasureJac. Brigit laughed. A Tupperware party for blowjob devices.

The second part was straightforward. Kick in the door and take out the two Russian thugs Woljeski had hired to run the franchise in his Hampton house. And do it before they killed the kids. They now knew there was a young boy and a girl there, both kidnapped runaways which are all too plentiful on the streets of New York.

The Russians were nasty customers, and the cops with her had no compunction about doing a permanent removal if they resisted.

New York City Team, Soho Loft Of Brit Woljeski, NYC, New York, October 31

Parnello tried to remember when Halloween had become an adult thing. He was fairly disgusted at watching grown people parade about in stupid ass costumes. Except for some of the women, they looked fine, but they would have looked fine in anything. Six foot six and three hundred pounds, he was one of those names people had heard in the city, and after they met him, never forgot him.

“It’s costume only tonight, Mr. Parnello. “ the diminutive rented servant challenged sweetly at the door to the loft. It was hard to keep a straight face when the man challenging you is dressed like a bumblebee.

A dim rented servant, thought Parnello, when the normal dismissive glare failed to move the little man. Plan B time.

“Look, white boy. This is my costume. Don’t you tight ass fruitcups know a genuine street pimp costume when you see one? It’s my multicultural heritage, you asshole. Now get the fuck out of my way before I make Bumblebee Tuna right here!”

The bee slid out of the way, thinking the job did not pay enough.

Parnello had had two of his people find the Russians who serviced the mail drop, and Brigit had turned the surveillance over to two off duty cops. Once they knew the Hampton location, finding Brit Woljeski was just leg work.

Getting the invitation was easy, Parnello was owed favors all over Manhattan. He surveyed the loft, and realized Woljeski had been taken to the cleaners on his art. Nothing notable, all stuff which was mostly sold to out of towners. Parnello shared an interest in art with Joey, the financier for Brigit and Jessie, and was a canny investor.

The guests were of the same class as the art. Garish, showy and not really even ‘B’ list. New York was a tough town.

Getting a large scotch, he wandered into the second room, which was somewhat darkened. There he saw a computer screen image projected onto wall. Bruno Posero was shouting out choices from the menu on the image, and Brit Woljeski was grinning, typing keyboard commands.

The girl and boy on screen took each command and complied. Licking boots was a favorite of the crowd.

“Bruno, hook yourself up! You’ll love it!” Brit urged.

“Clear the room. I’m not no fucking pervert. I don’t like people who watch me.” Bruno said, undoing his pants.

Parnello did not object when the other guests were escorted out, back to the main room. They were all assured they would get their chance at the new toy.

Parnello opened his cell phone and called Brigit.

New York City Team, The Hamptons, Eastern Long Island, New York, October 31

“We’re a go! Make sure you get that kill switch. Good luck, guys.” Brigit said over the roar of the wind.

Jessie grinned, looking so very different from his usual flamboyant look in the black windbreaker covering a Kevlar vest, carrying the Beretta 9mm that had been his service weapon when he was a cop.

Mickey Boyle, fourth generation NYPD, son of a captain who had been the partner of Jessie and Brigit’s dad, made his hand signals. He had promised Brigit to keep Jessie back and let the SWAT guys do the door kicking.

They had inserted a fiber optic lead into a window jamb, allowing them to watch Sergey and Ivan on a monitor. The two thugs were watching the same sex games being shown at Brit Woljeski’s loft.. They were both sitting and drinking some obscure vodka at the console outside the soundproof enclosed studio where the girl and boy were performing for Brit and Bruno.

Sergey was lifting the vodka to his lips when the door crashed and the stun grenade went off. Known as a ‘flash-bang” it was meant to buy the assault team precious seconds while the targets were disoriented from the light and sound. The bottle broke all the crowns in the front of his mouth, leaving a jagged edge where they had been glued. It gave him a vampiric look.

Ivan managed to pull an evil looking commando knife while staggering around. He growled like a bear and lunged at one of the assault team. Two shots and he went down, permanently.

Sergey furiously attempted to key the destruct sequence while trying to regain his vision. Failing that, he crawled under the console for the manual switch. A fusillade of firepower stopped his brain function and movement towards the switch.

“I knew those assholes would go down fighting. Pure mean shits. Should have been locked up long ago. Now the Suffolk County guys will have something to do when they survey the wreckage.” Mickey said over Sergey’s body, avoiding the pooling blood on the polished wood floor.

Jessie and Brigit were busy opening the door of the soundstage. The boy was kneeling before the PleasureJac, his mouth open at the intruder’s entrance. The girl stood back, confused at what was happening. No one had ever interrupted a performance before.

Jessie, holding a sixteen ounce hammer walked up and whacked the PleasureJac. He handed the hammer to the boy. Too stunned to move, the boy froze, but the girl came up, grabbed the hammer and proceeded to slam into the PleasureJac repeatedly. Johnnie’s new software had disabled all the safeties preventing personal injury.

New York City Team, Soho Loft Of Brit Woljeski, NYC, New York, October 31

The screams emanating from the other room were blood curdling. Parnello clearly identified them as coming from Bruno Posero, and began laughing as he dialed Brigit again.

“I think Brit just annoyed Bruno. It could be damaging to their long term relationship.” Parnello laughed as he exited the party.

New York City Team, The Hamptons, Eastern Long Island, New York, October 31

The boy and girl secure in the cars, Jessie watched as Woljeski’s house began to go up in flames. The four cars slowly drove away down Dune Road, towards the causeway back to Long Island. When they reached the bridge over the bay, he glanced to the side and saw the explosion down the beach. Flames reached high, whipped into a frenzy by the furious wind off the Atlantic.

He called the number Angel had given them. Mission successful.

Adelaide Team — Adelaide Airport, South Australia, Australia October 31

The props made the classic droning noise as Trevor looked out of the second seat in the King Air. Four Group agents filled the back, their gear jammed into the small cabin, adrenaline fever surrounding them like an aura.

This one should be quick, he thought. The lights of the city of Adelaide receded in the evening dimness in the side window. The mist and clouds hung over the South Ocean, hiding all aspects of their destination.

Kangaroo Island hung south of the continent, sitting as an outpost on the way to Antarctica. Filled with koalas, seals and yes, kangaroos, the sparsely populated island has some farming, some tourism and a quiet peace.

And it had a TransTalent franchise. A nasty one. Based on information gathered in the last twenty four hours, it appeared the ‘show’ involved overt sadism and torture. Nothing subtle. It seemed they burned through a victim a month and the current one was two weeks into the slow death.

Angel had been livid when Trevor informed him of the situation. Their impulse was to go in immediately, which risked the lives of all the other captives.

“Your call Trevor. You’re on the scene.” Angel had said.

Adelaide Team — Kangaroo Island, South Australia, Australia October 31

The door was off it’s hinges. The assault was done. Two Group men down with bullet holes, but clean in and out flesh wounds. Seven of the opposition lay dead and deservedly so, that being the general consensus of the team. They had defended the self destruct tenaciously, and it had been violent. One of the victims had taken a minor shrapnel fragment from a stray impact.

The three kids, ranging from twelve to fifteen, all boys, had a collection of scars, burns and suffered from severe mutilation of the genitals. They were shaking like whipped dogs.

The PleasureJac unit had never been unpacked. Apparently, the audience participation in torture was enough draw.

The medic reported to Trevor. A helo was inbound to evacuate the wounded. They needed intensive care in transport and medical attention beyond what they could provide out of a field kit.

Trevor walked outside over the corpses of his two personal kills. The South Ocean was calming and he could hear the barking of the seals off in the distance.

“Get me the names of the subscribers. We’re not done.” The diminutive agent said to his second. This kind of evil did not belong in a natural paradise.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 21: Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold, And Sometimes It’s A Buffet- General Aviation Airfield, Reno, Nevada, October 31

“Are we ready with all the families?” Angel asked George Romany, who had been coordinating preparations in Reno.

“Yes, Angel. All a go. You can go in now. And I must say, you make a really slutty bimbo. I suspect it may be the real you.” George said, attempting to break the tension.

Angel knew it was a performance, all missions were a performance. His just happened to be more dangerous than most actors encounter.

“Carolyn put you up to that, George. I think she secretly likes this look.” Angel smiled, and shook his hand. George hugged him.

“You come back to us now. We could just blow this place up, you know.”

“No collateral damage. I just want the real bastards, George.” Angel turned and joined Spider and his group, who were busily getting as much whiskey and beer smell on themselves as they could.

Angel took the pill George gave him. He began to feel slightly dizzy, but was able to shake it off after a few minutes. Spider attached a dog collar to Angel’s neck and handed the attached leather leash to one of his men.

“Remember, Angel, it’s not personal, just business. Freddy there wants you to promise him you won’t hold it against him.” Spider said. Freddy looked on with a puppy dog look on his face, a real feat since he was covered with scars and tattoos.

“Freddy, it’s ok. This was my idea. Just don’t snap my neck, alright?” Angel grinned.

Freddy smiled and gave the leash a gentle tug, jerking Angel’s head sideways, his blonde tresses snapping around.

They piled into two limousines and sped off to TransTalent. Dusk was settling in as the sun dipped behind the Sierras.

TransTalent Headquarters, Reno, Nevada, October 31

Adrian Beimbeau paced back and forth in front of Lester. Lester blew smoke rings from his cigar, broken by the draft from Adrian’s movement. It annoyed him.

“Can you take these guys, Lester? Do we have enough guys?” Adrian fretted.

“Will you fucking relax, Adrian? I have a shift and a half coming in right now. Twenty good men. You talk, they have their fun, just postpone any business until they leave. They never get out alive, Capisce?” Lester grunted in his trademark mumble.

The speaker informed them that the guests were arrived. Spider Robertson plus seven guys, and some bimbo.

“Send them to the recreation room. Make them happy, kiss their ass, and start pouring the booze. Tell them I’ll join them in a few minutes. “

Lester opened his drawer and laid out several lines of coke for Adrian. Party time for the boss.

Sniffing the residue, Adrian motioned. “Come on, Lester, let’s go.”

Spider gave his men the go ahead to start drinking as Adrian entered the room with Lester in tow. The place was comfortably furnished, more like a hotel suite than a corporate location. Couches, stuffed chairs and a fireplace in one area, a mahogany bar with stools in another, several large screen televisions showing highlights of Promisense’s better pornography, and a large buffet laden with hot and cold dishes. A huge tub of iced beer conveniently located on the floor. Cigars, cigarettes, thick joints and snuff boxes of cocaine were laid out next to the potato salad and roast beef, along with a candy tray of Viagra.

“Spider, how good to see you again!” Adrian said with his best salesman sincerity.

Spider laughed and motioned at Freddy. The giant man stood and dragged a gasping Angel over to Adrian by the leash.

“I have a present for you, Beimbeau, to show you my good will. This is Robin. But he used to go by the name Angel. He’s the one you tried to kill and fucked up doing it. If we have a good time here, he’s yours. He’s a little more docile now.” Spider said, trying to play the magnanimous gangster. He hoped it was a good show, since he had never seen one.

Adrian looked at Angel. The eyes were dilated wide open, he was twitching and had that far away look junkies get. George’s magic pill. Angel got down and started grabbing at Freddy’s knees.

“You promised I could have another! It hurts! You promised!” Angel whined.

Spider nodded and Freddy opened his jacket and removed a small black case. Opening it revealed two hypodermics, loaded with a brownish fluid. He took one, held it up and tested it with a squirt, and then injected it into Angel’s waiting arm.

Angel relaxed and sat quietly on the floor.

“I take threats to my minority interest seriously, Adrian. Angel here also gives very good head now. That’s something for us all to look forward to.” Spider laughed.

Adrian stepped back. Lester stepped forward, his CZ Luger pulled out.

“I’ll do him here, boss.” Lester said coldly.

Adrian looked at Spider, and then looked at the drawn weapons pointed at Lester.

“Hold off Lester. Spider here said we had to show him a good time first. Let’s be gracious hosts.”

Lester reluctantly holstered his weapon. Adrian began to set up the PleasureJac master unit on the coffee table, connecting cables to the hidden network jacks in the table leg. He handed out the remote units to Spider and four of his men.

“Connect these to the network plugs around the room. Keep your eye on the screen.”

A flat 100 inch crystal rectangle came to life and in the image a girl waited, looking up at them, the protuberance of a PleasureJac phallus entering the frame of the picture right in front of her.

“Mr. Beimbeau, this is Marge in customer service. We are having trouble with some of the transmissions.” Marge’s voice came over a speaker.

Adrian picked up his phone and answered “Just holiday internet problems. I’ll end to it later. I am not to be disturbed now.”

“Problems in our business, Adrian?” Spider asked.

“Nothing unusual. The Internet is far from perfect. Now, since we are all hooked up, sit back and relax, if you can.” Adrian recovered. He keyed a sequence on the pad next to the master unit on the table.

Spider felt every tongue stroke the girl did on screen. It was strange, watching the entire room reacting to her efforts. Synchronized grunting. Adrian watched Spider while allowing his lower half to enjoy the fun.

Five minutes later, Spider removed the PleasureJac sleeve.

“Adrian, I knew this would be a good business. Let me pour you a drink before you unwrap your present.” Spider said. The crowd began to relax and laugh. Angel was holding a pillow, slowly nodding on the floor next to Freddy.

An hour later, Lester decided he needed to check on the security guards. As he got up to leave, Spider grabbed his shoulder and set him down.

“Don’t go Lester, it’s time for Adrian to get his gift. Adrian, I told you we’ve trained this little slut here to perform, and now I want to show you. Put on the Jac thing and turn on that plastic prick on the table.” Spider said.

Adrian stumbled over and set up the master unit to transmit. He slid the sleeve on and stood up over Angel.

“Give it to me, bitch. Maybe I’ll let you live a little longer. I can have the Jac give you your fix, you know, if you are real good.” Adrian bellowed.

Angel looked up. Adrian was already erect. Angel grabbed the PleasureJac unit and proceeded to stroke it with his hand, feeling Adrian’s responses by having it extend and take on solidity.

“Use your mouth, bitch!” Adrian screamed. Spider grinned.

“In your dreams, asshole.” Angel said as he squeezed the plastic phallus tight and bent it halfway.

Adrian screamed and the pain prevented him from even reacting to watching Lester’s head twisted sideways and then dangle off his body, neck snapped.

“Kill them now! Security!” Adrian squealed, assuming that Lester’s armed men were ready.

“They are not there, Adrian. One of the problems of being semi legitimate is you hire legitimate people. We explained to most of the security people and their families what was going on and they agreed to step aside when we came in. The last five diehards are probably dead by now. We own this building.

“Now that must have hurt like hell, Adrian. Does this?” Angel hit the master with a pistol butt handed to him by Freddy, who had detached the collar.

Adrian saw bright lights as the room faded.

“You are an evil piece of shit, Beimbeau. And you should be happy to know that the picture of your body will serve as a warning to future Beimbeaus.” Angel said. He took the ceramic blade which had been taped to his hip and held it up. He then surgically removed Adrian’s genitals, still wrapped in the PleasureJac sleeve. Adrian collapsed onto the floor, allowing Angel to stuff the bloody mass into Adrian’s mouth while he fired a shot into Adrian’s heart. The former president of TransTalent lay still while one of the Group members took a series of digital photographs of his last corporate pose.

George Romany entered the room.

“Show’s over, George. Tell all the employees to go home and shut off the incoming phones. Let them know they will hear from the corporate parent. Make sure no one sees any of us. I assume all security video is ours? And all the computer files?” Angel said, his pupils slowly getting back to normal.

“You got it Angel. And all the franchise teams are reporting in. We have some wounded, but it looks good on the whole. We’ll know more soon.”

Sitting on a sofa, he switched off the porn with the remote control. He removed the wig and looked down at his huge blood splattered breasts. He began trying to wipe them off with his hands, only serving to smear more red over his front. His body started to shake with a noticeable palsy.

The Face came out. The exaggerated make up, the perfect teeth, the overpowering scent. Angel heard her taunts, her rants, her destructive description of the small, bound twelve year old boy screaming as she touched him with the cattle prod. Frank was gone. Angel was alone.

“Happy Halloween, Adrian. Trick or Treat?” he spoke to the corpse on the floor, his voice high pitched and uncertain. He fell against a wall, slumping to the floor.

Spider was the first to notice Angel was nearly catatonic, not responding to any stimuli.

“Get George! Now! “ He yelled at the two men nearest the door.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 22; The Show Must Go On

Board Room Meeting — Promisense Headquarters, Lake Tahoe, Nevada- November 2

Blondes are powerful in red. Jezebel Clarkson felt powerful, more than ever before. She strode forcefully into the Board Room, where a puzzled group of board members had been hastily assembled.

Ord Stonewell, the Chairman of the Board was not there. She expected him any minute.

“Ms Clarkson, this is highly irregular. I had to cancel several things on my schedule…” began an elderly gentleman who only did his minimum duty and took full advantage of his honorarium and complimentary status at Promisense establishments.

“Mr. Muckle, and the rest of you. Let me begin. We have called this emergency session to inform you of serious violations of corporate ethics and the charter, as well as illegal activity on the part of the Chairman and another officer of the corporation, Adrian Beimbeau. The evidence is in your dossiers in front of you and I will begin the slide show to let you see the evidence in the possession of several law enforcement and regulatory agencies. “ Jezzie said as she dimmed the lights and began showing a series of pictures of the victims, the ‘disposal’ process, and the recovered children from Mexico.

She narrated a story of the runaway division, the illegal activity and Ord Stonewell’s complicity.

Ord Stonewell entered the dimly lit room.

“What is going on here! I just heard about some ‘emergency board meeting’! Clarkson, what is this shit?!” He sputtered.

A picture of Adrian Beimbeau last corporate pose lit up the wall.

“You are out as chairman , Stonewell. Your ‘investors’ are furious at you and the ones who were able to sell their shares from their hospital beds have given my consortium a majority. Your proxies were quite handy, Ord.” Jezzie smiled.

“Where would you get the financing to do this? You can’t….”

Jezzie indicated that the two security people were to grab Stonewell and escort him outside.

“I found out I have friends in high places, Ord. Angels you might say. I understand the FBI is just one of the agencies waiting for you outside. You almost brought this corporation down and we aren’t going with you. Take him to the door and throw him out if he resists.” Jezzie said with a fierceness in her tone that surprised everyone.

She continued. “Now the rest of you can tender your resignations tomorrow. There will be a new board constituted right after that.”

They all watched Ord Stonewell being frog marched out of what had just been his kingdom.

Private Office- Promisense CFO

Later, in her office, Jezzi found Bob Angelo waiting. After closing the door, she grabbed him and planted a long and sensuous kiss on his lips while grabbing his buttocks with both hands.

“I did it! It’s like the Wizard of Oz! Ding Dong!” She said, bubbling uncharacteristically.

“Yes you did. Now do we have a deal?” Bob smiled, enjoying her exuberance.

“Absolutely! With that Delacourt money you brought in, we can clean this operation up, and get it out of the sleazy stuff. And fund the activities necessary to police the PleasureJac technology to prevent the abuses. Yes, Bob, we have a deal!”

Bob returned the embrace and the kiss with passion. Jezzi began to take her shoes off.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 23: I Want To Believe- Washington DC. November 20

File Report- Federal Bureau Of Investigation

The following report has been reviewed and stands as reported and not accepted. No other report has superceded this document to date. The agents observing the scene refused to offer any explanation beyond this report, which contains excerpts of electronic surveillance placed in the vehicle of the unknown agency which took custody of the target, Mr. Ord Stonewell.
The first two agents to meet Ord Stonewell outside the building took him in their control and placed him into a waiting car. For some reason yet to be ascertained , the other agencies (FBI, IRS, Nevada Gaming Commission, Nevada State Police, Reno Police) held position at a distance of 100 meters and ceded the subject to these two unidentified agents.

As the car drove away, Stonewell was seen to be in the back seat with a tall, blonde woman in a tightly fitting red suit who strongly resembled Marilyn Monroe. The two agents occupied the front seat.

Stonewell: “Ahhhhh! My essence is shrinking!”.

Woman in back seat: “Ord, you have been a very bad boy. Bringing this kind of change here. It took us many coincidences to help the locals defeat you. Now we’re going back.”

The car is heard to stop. It is assumed it was parked and the engine shut down.

Woman in back seat: “Well done you two. It’s so good to see you two together again, Jim and Sharon! ”

Sound on tape: “Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! ”

The car was recovered by the FBI twenty minutes later. There were no traces or clues of any kind.

Ord Stonewell has never been found.

End Report- recommend designation “Anomaly”

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 24: Belles Are Ringing-

*********************************************************************

Therapist Private Journal- George Romany MD: Patient: ANGEL-Excerpts From Therapy Analysis

Necessity had blown holes in Angel’s self-image. The brutality of the final disposition of Beimbeau set off a catatonia which lasted three days.

When he did talk, he was lucid and purposed. He connected the imprinting of his childhood torturer that men are evil with his action using Beimbeau’s corpse to shut down more pain.. That awful woman haunts this poor person to this day. She has reached out from the grave and claimed him again.

He wants to make a sacrifice.. To escape her he believes he must shed a part of himself. He has spoken with Carolyn and she has offered her unconditional support.

I often struggle with the existence of an active God given the pain I see, but at times, when I see the gift of Carolyn to a soul in pain like Angel, I lose the struggle and believe again.

I can help him no more except by friendship.

End Journal

Wedding Chapel, Malibu, California- December 5

“Splendid! Simply Splendid! “ Miss T bubbled as the chapel filled up. It seemed almost every victim Angel and Carolyn had ever helped had made the ceremony. Combined with almost half of the Group agents, many from Lady Jean’s organization, Carolyn’s law practice and several organizations she supported, there were few open seats.

Angel stood at the altar, with George Romany as his best man. The black tuxedo jackets were well fitted over the black sheath dresses they wore, similar to the groom outfit Carolyn had donned months ago for the first ceremony.

Mr. Robert had done wonders with his hair, complete with embedded jewelry in the dramatic upsweep and long tendrils falling to his ample cleavage. Between the hair and his five inch heels, Angel was determined to be taller than his bride. George had donned a similar but not as stunning wig to provide symmetry. Bill and Jim were ushers in traditional formal men’s suits.

Larry Elger and Sean Taylor made a couple, next to Bob Angelo and Jezzie Clarkson. It was noted by some that Clementine had her arm wrapped around the bicep of Clarence Posey. Lady Jean was regal in bearing, accompanied by Carol and Marla. Steve Dunbar stood behind them, ruggedly handsome and broadly grinning.

Trevor Olsen lead the delegation of the nine Group special operatives, the inheritors of the role Angel had pioneered. Taking their cue from the groom, they were subdued yet stunning.

Three pretty fifteen year olds, two of them twins and one looking like a cousin were in stylish dresses. All of them had shining black hair in lengths ranging from just below the ears to mid back. They occupied the aisle right in front of Larry and Sean, with Sean shushing them on a regular basis. Next to Sean, a tall stunning blonde, Marissa Dupre added to Sean’s ministrations for quiet in a motherly manner.

The cousin turned around and said to Marissa “Can I go back to being Brian now, Mom?”

“You promised Cissy and Cecilia you would wait until the day after the wedding, Brian. A promise is a promise. Besides, you look really pretty in that dress.” Marissa and Sean smiled.

Mendelssohn began. A tuxedo clad Spider Robertson escorted a white bridal Carolyn down the aisle. Attended by her step sister Johnnie and her law partner Thelma as bridesmaids, she gracefully entered the vision of everyone in the chapel. One pair of eyes were fixed on her, ancient soulful eyes which conveyed a deep love for the woman in the white gown.

Once more the vows. Love, Honor, Cherish, Protect. Angel looked down from a slight height advantage into Carolyn’s eyes, his red polished fingernails glinting in the photographer’s flash as his hands gently lay on her bare shoulders. Two pretty faces locked in a long kiss.

Cyberspace- Various Points- November 15 and Ongoing

********************************************
NICKIE TERN> DID YOU SEE THAT PICTURE? IT WAS JUST LIKE THE PLEASUREJAC THING WE WERE WRITING ABOUT

POOH-THING> A DEAD GUY WITH IT IN HIS MOUTH. FREAKY

DIABLA MALLEY> HAVE YOU HEARD FROM THE SUPERVISOR?

NICKIE TERN> NOT IN TWO WEEKS

POOH-THING> THEIR SITE IS OFFLINE

********************************************************

Matador was still furious about the malfunction which had almost destroyed his manhood. The picture in his private email was frightening. He decided to shift his investments into real estate.

*********************************************************

All over the world, emails, instant messages and other forms of communication reached out and made Adrian Beimbeau a symbol of the cost of crossing lines. People high and low, venture capitalists and government bureaucrats, cops and crooks, pimps and preachers who were given up by the TransTalent databases of customers, investors and prospects were sent a simple message.

The second message quickly became one of the biggest urban legends of the Internet. The malfunction of the PleasureJacs at ‘just the wrong’ time by those unknown took on epic proportions in the re-telling. It spread wide and far from chat room to message board. The phrase “Jac Off” took on comic and tragic meaning.

Beach House, Malibu, California, February 1

“Angel, we’ve gone over the options but I have yet to hear why you are considering this. Is Carolyn supportive of this?” Janice Peters accepted the cup of tea Angel poured.

Angel straightened his full skirt as he sat down after attending to Janice’s teacup. He was wearing his hair up today and she noticed that he had clearly ‘dressed’ for her visit. Makeup, nails, jewelry, he was clearly honoring her. She felt very underdressed in her white office coat and pantsuit, having just come from the new rehab center established in Venice Beach.

“I intend to ask Carolyn’s permission before anything like this, Janice. It’s only fair, since she makes all the money. All I do is keep house and try to make her happy.” Angel said, smiling a faint smile.

Janice took a deep breath. She felt the need to bite her tongue at Angel’s words.

“Very well. You know the effects of the four recommended hormone regimens, all of which will reduce or eliminate your sexual ability. I have some things I can do to mitigate that, but it’s still a crap shoot. You know what can be done with surgical implants for breast, hips and buttocks. We’ve gone over the various voice and facial characteristics, lips, eyes and so forth. You know the trade offs and I have good referrals for you.” She said, concern creeping into her voice as she reviewed the answers she had been asked to provide. Janice Peters loved Angel, her lover’s son. She knew he had pain, deep wounding pain.

Beach House, Malibu California February 5

“I can’t help you anymore, Angel. You are going down a path where you burn all the bridges.” George Romany stated in desperation. Angel was talking but seemed to have lost the ability to listen.

Angel was fussing about the house, tidying up. His mid back length hair was up in huge rollers and he was in a halter top and short shorts outfit. He was wearing prominent ‘D’ breasts, now a seemingly permanent part of him.

“It seems like I should head that way George. I think I have been fighting it since I was a kid.” Angel said wistfully.

“Dammit kid, despite your looks, you are not a woman. I have helped people in the wrong bodies and that ain’t you. I know what we planned and you carried out brought back a lot of pain and if I was any good, I would have foreseen it, but this! You are just building another mask. “ George raised the pitch of his voice as he spoke, but forced himself to remain calm.

“I don’t want to be the man who mutilates people. And I am so tired. I just want some peace. Carolyn’s good to me, and I do what I can to make her happy.”

“Dammit, Carolyn loves you and is indulging you on this. She had plenty of opportunity to have a relationship with a woman before she met you. You might ask yourself why she didn’t.”

Angel just filled George’s coffee and checked his makeup. His eyes were moist.

Coffee Shop, Venice Beach, California February 10

Miss T was in jeans with a pink sweater, her blonde hair in a long pony tail. She had selected an indoor table since there was a wavering chill in the sea breeze. Sipping on her major vice, highly sugared cappuccino, she felt the moistness of the while residue on her upper lip, a sensation which always elicited a smile.

Her expected companion entered the shop, in a new fitted suit. Miss T’s practiced eye noticed the small increase in weight over the last few months which merely added a nice curvature to her derriere as Carolyn walked in. Her stride had lost some of it’s purpose and her face betrayed a worry and concern beyond the day to day.

“Carolyn! Your usual?” came out with an emphasis and musical lilt more than Tess’s usual effusive greetings. The two women hugged and took their seats while Tess waved at Fred the owner to bring out the beverages.

“I don’t think I’ve every seen you so casual, Tess. You carry it off well as usual.” Carolyn opened.

“My ex husband is in town, and she has managed to balloon up to 250 pounds. She wanted to cry on my shoulder. The press over in the UK are merciless and poor Hermione still thinks she can wear a bikini without getting photographed. But that’s another story.”

“I can sympathize with her. In another month I may pass her.” Carolyn patted her hips and grimaced.

“Newlywed padding. You’ll do no such thing, Carrie!” Tess giggled.

“Angel feeds me like a prize sow and he is such a good cook. I come home every night and there he is, handing me a glass of wine, dressed better than I am, and then he lays out a fabulous meal. After massaging my feet and neck, of course.” Carolyn said as tears began to form in her eyes.

“It sounds like a dream for any girl, Carolyn. So what’s wrong with this live fantasy?”

“He’s so, so submissive to my needs! He cooks and cleans and almost never leaves the house. He sews. He decorates. He has not appeared male since Halloween. He begged me to let him wear the same groom outfit at the wedding that I wore for the first one. It’s like a large part of him is gone and all I have is a shell. “ Carolyn was sobbing. Tess held her hand.

“And he is asking permission to have a boob job and begin hormones, right?” Tess said quietly.

Carolyn snapped up and looked at her.

“Janice talked to me since Angel had asked her to look into his options, since I have some knowledge and contacts about such things.” Tess continued. Carolyn nodded.

“Carrie, you know on one level what happened to Angel and me when we were kids, but I doubt anyone can really appreciate the feeling. He is retreating and the mental conditioning that miserable bitch painted in our heads is like graffiti on a wall which has been cleaned but comes back over time, like after a rain. Right now he wants to burn the bridges so he can’t go back to who he was.

“In a way, it’s a positive sign. For the first time since I’ve known Angel, he is being monstrously selfish! He is actually whining and hiding, something he has never allowed himself to do before. And he has even rationalized it by probably thinking it’s good for you. Have you had sex since this started?” Tess probed.

“No. I mean yes, I have the most fabulous lesbian lovemaking you can imagine, but have I had sex, like with the man I love? No. The few times I have hinted, he gets this look of shame and begs off. He says it doesn’t work, it’s his fault and he is deeply embarrassed. Like he is impotent or something. I know that’s crap, since he betrays himself when he is pleasuring me. I want my man back, Tess!” Carolyn stopped sobbing and focused.

“I at least want one who does not ask permission to get his boobs plumped. The old Angel would have just come home with a big rack and asked if I liked them!” Carolyn continued.

“Carolyn, we need to make him deal with his decisions. He is in a cocoon now, sitting at home and playing housewife. Bring him into your world, have him support you. Have him entertain. Let me drag him into the rehab operation. He can do charitable works like any wealthy housewife. Tell him he can do whatever he wants on the hormones, but you need him now to host a dinner party or plan an event. He can fit his ‘little problems’ in after he begins to help with your work. And then buy him jewelry and flowers regularly.

“I’ll drag him into helping with the Lady Jean rehab centers for the victims of TransTalent. He won’t refuse me and I want to connect him with the reason he is who he is.” Tess finished.

Carolyn looked at her with a new admiration. Every time she met with Miss T, she gained new respect for her pragmatic and cunning approach to life which was usually hidden underneath the persona of a socialite airhead.

Lady Jean’s Lodge, High Sierras, Northern California February 10

The eight year old ran across to the waiting arms. Carol absorbed the shock as her little brother Toby collided with her and gave her one of those earnest hugs only a child knows how to do. Carol had been gone for ten days and he viewed his sister more like his mother. She had raised him, comforted him and in his fuzzy knowledge of events, saved him when he was little.

Lady Jean laughed. As she got older she took comfort in the observation of the little things which made life worth living. Seeing these two greet each other with such love was definitely worth a hearty dose of mirth. Life is often good if you look for the things which make it so.

“He has been counting the minutes, Carol. I wish you had not bought him that watch!” Jean said with her broad smile.

Carol set the boy down, who now ran off to Marguerite, entering with a tray of fresh baked cookies.

“At least I got equal attention to the chocolate chips.”

“Tell me about the center. I want your first hand impressions.” Lady Jean asked.

Lady Jean and Bob Angelo had managed the grants from Promisense committed to the rehabilitation of the victims of TransTalent. Pooling the resources and expertise of both their organizations, they had converted a large building in Venice Beach and an old ranch north of Santa Barbara to house and care for the fifty three girls and boys who had been held captive by the franchises or repatriated from Mexico.

“We were right to not separate the centers by gender but by need. The social isolates at the ranch are able to deal with rebuilding their identities in a beautiful setting. No outside world. The one in LA almost forces the patients to interact with a city full of people. The neighbors have been great and accepting. And the local businesses are very happy we are there.

“Miss T, Tess has been immensely helpful. I think she spends more time there than any other volunteer. Her story gives her real credibility.” Carol finished her summary.

“As does yours, my dear. As does yours. I hate to say it, but the girls will have an easier recovery than the boys, not to minimize what they went through. The boys had their mind and bodies assaulted. How many will be able to return to the world as men?” Jean mused, almost rhetorically.

“About half. Some were only at the beginnings of their treatment and some were not subjected to hormones at all. But we have a lot of reluctant ‘girls’ left. And then there’s Johnnie. He scares me a bit. Nobody should embrace becoming a woman that easily. He’s hiding something.” Carol said, answering Jean’s open question.

“We all hide something, Carol. Let’s hope Johnnie knows what it is and can deal with it. In the end, we all have to deal with our terrors alone before we can ask for help.”

Beach House, Malibu, California, February 28

The two girls broke into laughter at something on the television. Since Johnnie as a step brother had been an abstract to her and Johnnie as her sister was real she had never had the discontinuity of changing the gender designation. Johnnie was a she. She had chosen to become a she and was undergoing a carefully measured regimen of hormones to prepare her body for an eventual decision on sexual reassignment surgery.

Johnnie’s decision to live at the Venice Beach rehab center was welcome to Carolyn, since it gave her time to adjust to being a sister while she dealt with her husband’s challenges.

Today, she and Marla Brokken, the co victims were two girls on leave from the ‘jail’ as they jokingly referred to the center. Angel had been feeding them an endless array of foods made on request, while hovering over the area and picking up after them.

Johnnie was really showing the therapy effects in the location of her weight gain. Hips, thighs, butt and even breasts around the implants were all showing a plumping effect of her voracious appetite. She wasn’t very fat yet, but Carolyn felt a need to intercede soon. Her friend Marla apparently was one of those blessed souls who can eat anything and never gain weight.

Johnnie was to become the inheritor of half of the Tunturo estate. Their father had changed his will before he died, making Carolyn the inheritor of the other half as well as the administrator of the various enterprises until Johnnie reached twenty one. Carolyn owed Johnnie an education and care until Johnnie became majority owner only by buying her out for a fair market price. If Johnnie elected, she could remain minority owner and receive the same fair value for her half. She had until age twenty five to decide. It was an interesting arrangement.

What was most important was that Johnnie was happy with it. She admitted to Carolyn that she would have no idea on how to deal with all that responsibility. Inheriting wealth in the form of a working enterprise is not like winning a lottery. The value only exists if you keep it running.

Carolyn had to admit that Johnnie was acting like a normal girl her age would, even to admiring the boys and men on television with a critical eye and withering humor to the delight of Marla. The reports from George and the other staff counselors were encouraging. The strange note was from Carol, Lady Jean’s staff leader.

Carol had sent a vague misgiving that Johnnie was too accepting, and might be covering something under her behavior. Carol was also the first to admit she was an amateur and probably worried about nothing. Carolyn hoped she was right about that. She had enough problems with Angel.

In the kitchen Carolyn approach her husband from behind, threading her hands around his slim waist, now slimmer due to the corset Miss T had convinced him to have custom made.

“Oohhh, that feels good but I can barely breathe in this.” Angel cooed as Carolyn nibbled his earlobe. He felt a cold sensation as she drew the necklace around his neck. Diamonds glistened in the mirrored surfaces of the kitchen appliances.

“Consider this a token for the Spring Client Event Hostess of the year. And I must say your figure is getting even more girlish, you will be stunning at the event. You’ll be the prettiest spouse who ever ran the affair for our firm. But I do want you to breathe, darling. Fainting is so old fashioned.” Carolyn had decided to treat Angel as she would any dependent girlfriend. She had showered him with a stream of flower deliveries, lingerie, surprise spa visits and jewelry on a seemingly random schedule.

Angel at first enjoyed the procession of gifts, not because he liked them but because they represented Carolyn’s love. He did not realize he had never refined the shopping gene. Clothes and accessories were what you wore to give a performance. Sometimes they made him happy as part of an overall whole.

On any chemical or surgical procedures Carolyn had told him to do ‘whatever’ he wanted, but she needed him to help with things right now since she was so consumed with settling her father’s estate as well as her legal work. Angel threw himself into event planning, dealing with florists and invitations, caterers and locations for the annual event for Carolyn’s legal clients and benefactors. Tommie (Miss T) was invaluable in guiding him through the uncharted waters.

While Angel was an expert at planning an assault or a complex sting, dealing with the social secretaries of twelve wealthy feminists who had contributed to Carolyn’s legal foundation was different than anything he had ever seen. Tommie held his hand through the details.

Miss T’s House, Pasadena, California March 6

Looking down from the deck railing, Angel could see the Pacific and the panorama of Los Angeles laid out before him. Hair moved by the gentle breeze as he found simple amusement in the coincidence that he and Tommie were wearing the same fitted suit, his a pastel blue and hers pink. They had just been driven back here from the rehab center, looking for all the world like sisters, with the same taste in clothes, similar long flowing hair, and the easy relationship and shorthand conversation common to siblings.

In many ways, Tommie (Miss T) was Angel’s true family, perhaps the only one with whom he could ever share his inner thoughts. They had the same painful experience and had no need to hide it from each other.

“Angel, honey, you’ve really done so well at the center. The girls just adore you. They feel they can talk to you. And I have a gift for your new life.” Tommie said as she presented a gift wrapped box to him.

Angel protested and with Tommie’s urging, opened the box. He was surprised by the contents. An expensive ‘feminine pleasure device’. A vibrator. An artificial male.

Miss T spoke before he could react.

“Angel, on the path you are on, you need this. All of my girl friends who are couples swear by it, and I think Carolyn will appreciate it. Plus, if you go all the way, you will need it post op.” she said, in a sisterly tone.

Angel was stunned, still dealing with the implications. Carolyn’s needs may be more than Carolyn let on. A realization of just how self centered his thinking had been started to light up his mind.

The week he had spent just counseling the victims was having a profound effect. They all knew who he was and how he had been instrumental in their freedom. They hung on his every word. He also had seen the boys who were trying to regain masculinity and realized he needed to help them by example.

Tommie grabbed his arm and pulled him to her. They held each other like they used to, long ago when things were dark. Angel had protected her then. Now she was protecting him.

“Angel, I was there too. The bitch did it to me too, despite all your efforts. She was wrong. Men can be wonderful and women want them to be there, especially when some piece of shit like Beimbeau needs to be removed. And if one Tommie or one Angel type kid is saved from what we went through because you scared the piss out of them, then you did right.”

Angel held Tommie as the lights came on across the vista. LA at night from the hills, a scene from a thousand movies.

Hotel Ballroom, Downtown Los Angeles, March 8

Carolyn was impressed. The flowers, the invitations, the schedule, the insane dietary variations of all so twenty or so spoiled wealthy women of inherited wealth were covered. The drama of prior years had somehow been avoided, or had at least avoided her office.

Angel was perfectly turned out, his hair pulled back and in a fall down the open back of his formal gown. She was amazed at how much his waist had been compressed by the corsetry, since without it tonight, he was approaching a 24 inch size. Not wasp waisted, but for a male, definitively feminine. He seemed to have also moderated his breast size to a more demure ‘C’ cup. He looked very much the role of the junior league corporate spouse. He greeted each and every guest, some of whom were known for distinct hostility to anything male. The smile never left his lips, despite some quite rude and insulting remarks. Two of. her guests refused to address him and demanded another escort to their table. Carolyn made a mental note to remove any connection of her work with their groups. Referring to Angel as an ‘it’ was more than she was prepared to take. Angel paid no notice.

The event proceeded; the guest speaker was Miriam Sinclair, the noted psychiatrist and author. Miriam was amusing and irreverent as always, poking fun at the more extreme attitudes about gender and society, many of which were present in the room in abundant quantity.

A tall blonde woman, listed as the ‘companion’ to Imelda Martin, shadowed Angel in his fluttering about the event, keeping things moving. She was clearly a bodyguard of some type. Seated at the Martin table were two other security types, both blonde and over six feet tall.

Carolyn wondered what Imelda was up to. She normally only had on security person and two social secretaries. She was also one of those who referred to Angel as ‘it’.

Near the end of the event, dessert was being served. Carolyn watched Angel being summoned to the Martin table. A waitress serving a tray was being yelled at by one of the blonde security types.

Under the eyes of the entire room, the noise level rising enough to shut down all other conversation, Angel approached the dispute. Apparently the dessert was not satisfactory.

“Imelda cannot consume this garbage. We informed you what her requirements were..” The blonde said, towering over Angel.

Angel looked at the tray holding an excellent version of tiramisu. He moved his white gloved hand to touch the shoulder of the waitress, to offer support and calm her down.

“You have changed your mind? That will be no problem. What would you prefer different from your original order? We will see what we can do to accommodate your new request at such a late hour.” His tone was musical and yet contained a hint of steel.

The blonde was taken aback. She grabbed the tray from the bewildered waitress. Angel shifted his position slightly.

“It would figure a male thing could not handle even a simple request for acceptable food.” The blonde said, beginning a motion with the tray.

Angel saw Imelda grinning in enjoyment at the spectacle out of the corner of his eye. He saw the tray being thrown right at him, made a ninja like motion adjusting the trajectory of the blonde’s arm, too quick for any to see and then shifted his position again.

The entire room saw the blonde heave a tray of sticky syrupy dessert at Imelda Martin while Angel had a shocked expression on his face.

Looking at the spluttering Imelda, furiously swearing a blue streak, Angel snapped his fingers and motion for the staff to come and begin cleaning up the mess.

“Ms Martin, please restrain your bodyguards from having food fights until they leave the venue. Thank you so much.” He said, turning on his four inch stiletto and moving to the next task.

The room broke into applause. Carolyn ran up and hugged her husband. She then turned to Imelda and said in a loud voice “Get out now, Imelda. I don’t want to see you or your rude bullshit anymore. All relations with the foundation and your groups are severed.”

Parking Garage, Hotel, Downtown Los Angeles, March 9 1AM

Miriam Sinclair and her friend, June Carter were standing with Carolyn and Angel in the parking garage. The affair was over and viewed as a great success. Imelda had been regarded as extreme and obnoxious by almost everybody.

“Thank you Miriam. You were entertaining as usual. And nice meeting you, June.” Carolyn said as they were parting.

“I think I can’t compete on entertaining with Angel, Carolyn. Good evening and I will see you again. Angel, I will meet you at the rehab center next Tuesday. I would like to see the people there. I always learn something new, especially when the cases are so extreme.” Miriam said as she kissed Angel and Carolyn.

As the two guests were just around the corner, the three blonde security women emerged from the corner of the garage, surrounding Angel and Carolyn.

“Thought you were cute in there, man thing? Well, we’re not playing girl’s rules out here. My sister was a guard at TransTalent in Oregon. And Imelda was a friend of Madam J. I’m gonna have fun bashing your woman to a pulp while you watch.” The woman said. The rage in her voice was palpable.

The other two circled, closing in on the two in the center. One of the blondes pulled a silenced Beretta automatic and pointed it at Angel.

“Move and you die, then I get to kill her slowly. Don’t move and you get to see me hurt her.” The tall blonde advanced on Carolyn. Angel stopped moving.

A sudden gunshot froze everybody in the tableau.

“Angel! She’s down!” Sean Taylor spoke, her voice echoing around the garage walls. The blonde with the gun fell over dead.

Carolyn never knew what happened. Angel blurred into motion and suddenly there were two more dead blondes, heads twisted like a broken toy, pistols in their hands barely out of the holsters.

“Are you all right?” Angel asked as he held Carolyn. Sean Taylor, followed by Miriam and June ran up.

Angel turned to Sean and took her hand.

“Thank you. I’m not sure I could have taken all three.” He said calmly.

“Remind me never to piss you off, Angel. Larry warned me about you. I was covering June at the event and saw these bimbo’s sneaking up. I figured you needed some help with the odds.”

“Remind me never to try and spot you undercover, Sean. Thanks again. Now we have a mess for a few hours. Thank God it’s a righteous shoot.”

Carolyn, Miriam and June just stared at the two, calmly talking shop amongst the dead bodies. The police arrived within twenty minutes. Bob Angelo called his local contact in LAPD and Carolyn and Angel were released from questioning after two hours. Sean had her piece taken into custody, but was also released. Miriam and June gave eyewitness accounts. Imelda Martin was nowhere to be found.

Beach House, Malibu, California March 9 , 4 AM

The bed looked very inviting after the ordeal at the end of the evening. Carolyn had undressed and donned her negligee, ready for sleep. She crawled under the covers.

Angel entered the room, wearing a matching negligee, carrying Tommie’s gift under his arm. His hair unpinned, it fell to his bare chest.

Carolyn stared at him wide eyed.

“Which would you prefer, my dear? The height of enhanced pleasure OR..." he began to slowly lift his negligee "the all natural alternative?” Angel managed a smile which was simultaneously innocent and leering.

Carolyn laughed and lay back, spreading her legs in giggling anticipation.

Angel was back. All of him.

“All natural. I hear it’s much healthier.” She purred as Angel removed his negligee.

Beach At Sunrise, Malibu, California, March 9

Rays of lights broke through the clouds in tiny sections, illuminating pieces of the rolling surf. Bare feet chilled in the wet sand as Angel walked. Carolyn was sleeping with a large smile, and he had been unable to rest.

The Face was gone. Just a memory now. Frank’s image had replaced her.

Angel knew he would was no longer hiding. All the masks were off and he laughed over the rumble of waves breaking on the shore.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 25: Brave New World March, The Following Year

Cyberspace and points in reality

Marge Foley, now a senior customer service representative for TransWorld Productions, a division of Promisense, Inc., loved her new job. She was especially pleased with her new chair, which no longer squeaked when she shifted her three hundred pound bulk. She leaned over to her microphone and said, breathlessly-

“Hello, LollyPop, so glad you could come back to visit. All charges are approved.”

*******************************************************************

“WELCOME BACK! LollyPop: Member Class=DOMME, SELECTION=BOBBY TO BOBBI scrolled across the all black screen of the laptop.

LollyPop grinned in anticipation as the show began. His summer job and new allowance from Dad was wonderful. He could afford to buy his own panties now, and had found several pairs which fit nicely at the TransWorld online store. The rates had gone down since TransTalent had gone dark. There were many more sites now.

He missed the old one though. It was obvious that the new participants were actors. Nothing would ever touch JOHNNIE TO JILL for quality of humiliation.

PleasureJacs were becoming available, but they scared him. He had heard the stories. Worrying about a malfunction tended to ruin the mood.

Garden Apartments, Suburban Area Outside A Major City

Marla enjoyed these little ventures with Johnnie. She was not clear how her friend had tracked down this one, but she had. They rang the doorbell.

Johnnie was much better looking since Marla and Carolyn had made her diet and exercise. The fat had melted off her hips over several months, leaving pleasing curves which matched her large breasts. Johnnie had refused offers to remove the implants.

Using her generous allowance, the two seventeen year olds had flown in and with some clever strings pulled, had rented a car.

The door opened.

“Nickie Seabird? We need to talk.” Johnnie said pleasantly. Her hand rested on the Sig Sauer in the holster under her jacket.

END

Author’s Note: I had an intriguing conversation with an early reader of this work. They had expressed concern that many TG folks came to their place from very different circumstances than those in this story. She was correct. The following is an excerpt from my email reply, which may give you some idea what I was trying to do.

“Made me think again, dammit! It hurts!

Ok, here's what I came to. You are right, it is fantastical. Angel is not a reaction to real pain and suffering as he is a reaction to the fantasy pain and suffering which plays out in lousy and well written TG fiction.

Conan Doyle created Sherlock Holmes , but then had to create Moriarty, the first super criminal so Holmes would have meaning. It was fantastical.

Thinking back (and using Conan Doyle as an example- I am not anywhere fit to polish his nouns) Angel was created as an alternative to the fantastical entertainment being passed off as TG fiction.

The authors I asked to collaborate have all expressed similar sentiments.

Angel is not a commentary on TG as much as he is a commentary on TG Fiction.”

Surely if there is room for all those deliciously villainous people in the genre, there is room for Angel.

Tyrone Slothrop

Other Tyrone Slothrop Stories Featuring Characters From “I Can See For Miles” :

Angel Stories

Characters: Angel, Frank, George Romany, Carolyn, Bob Angelo, Dr, Janice Peters, Bill, Jim, Madam J, Vicky Prentille, Spider Robertson

“Spring Is The Season Of Recovery”
“Winter Is The Season Of Endings”
“Lamb And Lion”

High Sierras Stories

Characters: Lady Jean Thomas, Carol(Bobby) Dunbar, Steve Dunbar, Toby Dunbar, Bobby Filler, Charlene Filler, Terri (Terry) Singer, Joelle Singer, Marguerite, Doc Schlange, Dr. Karen Peters

“Accidental Momma”
“Roadside Attraction”

Princess Cycle (with Wanda Cunningham)

Characters: Marissa Dupre, Brian Dupre, Larry Elger, Sean Taylor, Cissy(Alan) Carter, Cecilia Carter, June Carter, John Carter, Miriam Sinclair

“The Princess Trap”

Other Stories

Characters: Brigit Kelly, Jessie Musgrove-Kelly, Parnello

“Walk On The Street”

Random Victories Series

Characters: Miss M, Jim Brunner, Sharon Brunner

Random Victories -“Legend of Hair House”
Random Victories-“You’re Gonna Carry That Weight”
Random Victories-“Mid Mountain File”
Random Victories-“Angels Of Mercy”

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Comments

and it was as good as part 1,

and it was as good as part 1, thank you.

JC

I keep expecting Tuck and the Rat Boyz to appear...

The Legendary Lost Ninja