Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Sissy Story Archives (older stories) => 2011-2018 Sissy Stories => Topic started by: teddi on June 10, 2009, 06:00:02 PM
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For Shellie, the day began normally as one would expect for a single mother. Up before dawn, hurry through an all too quick a shower and then rush to make the obligatory pot of coffee; which now found itself in the throws of being the weakened second-hand grinds of the previous morning. She was two months behind on rent, strapped for cash and was trying to make the best of it. Except for some more than generous assistance from Cathy, her neighbor, even placing the daily meal at dinner on the "table" would have been an accomplishment. Now as had become the morning norm, a slight tear escaped her as she mechanically dropped a thin slice of wheat bread into the toaster and then sat at the counter to wait for the 6 A.M. alarm to wake both of the kids.
It would only be moments when, at the first sound of the waking call, Mark at fourteen and her eldest would make the mad dash to the bathroom. Of course he would be followed by his younger sister, who, five years younger, would find herself closed out of the place where she most desperately needed to be and with only one bathroom in the small duplex; time for all was of the essence, especially when it came to getting one's morning "business" done. As her youngest squirmed with knees together, Shellie waited for the inevitable to occur and began her personal ten second countdown, for what had become a race; would her toast be the first to pop up or would the down beating fists upon the bathroom door emerge victorious? Today, the pounding pre-empted the toasts golden brown appearance with an upward bounce on the down count of four. Total score for the week, including today: fists three, toast one.
In concert with the thumping of her daughters fists the pleas to her brother again went unheeded and once more the soft sobbing of her youngest, Kellie, left little doubt as to the cause. Even locked within the bathroom Marks derisive laughter echoed through the tiny duplex. As he cracked the door open his mocking remarks to his sister echoed off the walls. "Look, you pooped your panties again! You even peed them! If you really tried you could've held it all in so don't blame me cause your so damn slow you little skank!"
The last word was for Shellie the last word she would have expected. It was the last word which hurt her the most. She thought she had done a better job of raising her son. Sadly, she was now admitting to herself, she had screwed up; and done so, royally. Disconsolately, she considered her obvious state of misfortune: the loss of her once promising career, possible eviction, the looming prospect of public shelter and perhaps even the loss of one or both of her children to the state. On the verge of a total meltdown the knock on the front door was the last thing she expected. Exhausted, she had been reduced to a shell and with little fight left in her she silently cursed the insistent knocking under her breath, "Must be the damn bill collector again. I told that mother he'd have to wait until after I cashed my check on Friday. Here it is Thursday and he's back again! Why the hell don't they all just please leave me alone..."
She peered through the peep hole and let the immediate tension ease, it was Cathy. Cathy Black, her long time high school friend was substantially better off: if only from the considerable insurance policy that her late husband had left to provide for her. But her luck was substantially better than Shellie's. Cathy had somehow managed to stroll into a quick market and on a whim asked the clerk for a lottery quick pick. The one dollar ticket paid off to the tune of seven hundred and fifty large. What was the adage? Good luck knows the path to follow and usually finds the one who is most naturally lucky. Bad luck or no luck has a way of showing up to find who it's looking for as well. For Shellie, the barrel had reached bottom: it was dry and out of luck.
But luck had nothing to do with Cathy as far as her career was concerned. She had just acquired the dream job in the R & D branch of "Fiber Engineering and Micro-Magnetics." She now headed the divisions' think tank. It was the same position Shellie had also applied for but was in turn passed over for due to, "Evident personal problems which would manifest themselves adversely upon R & D at F.E.M.M. On second thought, maybe there was a certain amount of luck involved with Cathy; her good luck was reflected in her general attitude...she now carried herself well.
She considered to herself...that to be the CEFO (Chief Executive Female Officer) would have been wonderful. It would have come with great pay, performance bonuses and a bevy of good looking testoterone laden males to hit on or vise-versa. It was to be her job, the career she went after, but it was the job that Cathy got instead; but she didn't blame her best friend at her own misfortune. No...she had to admit...in her world...everything was coming apart at the seams. Personally she would have relished the position if only for the many innovative challenges it presented: of course there was the unspecified gratuities of control. All surrounding her, all would be too willing to fall head and heals over themselves to please the boss. But they were always coming and going-going and coming and always to her...coming...yes...always way to soon.
But Cathy was of the outspoken opinion that most of the males there were pathetic: both intellectually and physically. While some had merit in the work place she preferred her males athletic, supple and pliable. She had always been an alpha female and never passed up the chance to put a willing male through the paces: either at work or where her libido was concerned. Actually, she thought it was even more fun if the sad-sack she bedded was a reluctant if not unwilling participant to her intrigues who then broke under her will. She found the sensation intensely satisfying. In the past three years she'd been through twenty or more but never found the "right one." Essentially, none had the one talent with the "stamina" she was searching for. In part the euphemism, "The Black Widow," was appropriate. She wore them out then threw them away.
Laughingly she would often describe what she sought, an expert who had an outstanding talent in the field of, "Tongue in groove." Shellie was now disposed to agree, the next time out she'd be certain to rein in what she knew would be the best of both worlds for her: a young androgynous good looking boy-toy. If Cathy had taught her anything it was that at times a talented male was useful: especially if he were a talented gap lapper who would clean up after himself. He certainly would be the antithesis of the posing stud muffins who had been awkwardly trying to bed her. But that was only wishful thinking. For the moment reality infringed and pushed the thoughtful pleasantries aside.
If only she had decided on that course of action earlier and picked the right one; instead of the dork who was not only a liar but a thieving and conniving slug who left her in this predicament. Sure the local constabulary had put out APB's; but the sc-um ball had not only cleared out of her life, but also her bank account. Then cleared out of town. She was a fool to have willingly co-signed several loans; and several other substantially large promissory notes. The sweet talking son-of-a-bitch. He had left her on the hook; to deplete her savings and all but ruin her credit. All for him-the loser. Adding insult to injury, the last thing he did was to cash and max out every one of her credit cards. The mess he left her in now threatened to tear apart her family. What was left of it. She cursed herself further for trusting him. Except for her late husband, she had always been leery of men. Now she felt that all males were just that: despicable and hirsute bipedals whose hanging appendages were best locked away until needed. Now even her son was becoming a destestable replicant.
Red eyed from tearing and still trying to hold back from breaking up all together she reluctantly opened the door to greet her friend. She was a mess and knew it. Halfhearted, if only to minimize how she looked, she forced a smile and opened the door, literally to her best friend and spoke, "Cathy, it's pretty early and I...I wasn't expecting you...sorry for the way I look...it's been a rough morning and...is there anything wrong? I mean...I think I'm going to be late..again. I'm.."
"Yes," was the interrupting reply, "there is something wrong. I couldn't help but hear what was going on...again...over here...Mark...is...well...the walls are thin if you know what I mean. I'm sorry but I heard the whole thing myself...again. We need to talk...about him...and you and us. Look, maybe I should've just called you when they're both off and on their way to school. Shell by the looks of it...yours especially...you look like crap. Sorry, I didn't want to hurt your feelings but after all, we've shared a lot since high school so why don't you let me help you out of this. Just keep an open mind. I promise after what I have to tell you maybe, maybe, you can move out of this dump...along with me and Stacy."
Shellie was not only surprised but brutally honest, "I didn't know about your moving out...of couse with your promotion I can't really blame you...crap...if I'd known that...I wouldn't have moved here myself...but...now it's so much more personal than it was before...I can't control him or his mouth and nothing I seem to do...Cathy...I can't go on like this...this is all getting to be too much and if you leave with Stacy, Kellie will be absolutely devasted. They get along so well...please...just give me some time to get them out the door and off to school...please?"
Cathy smiled warmly at her long time friend and nodded her head while replying, "Shel baby, it's a little more involved than just Mark and his mouth, just be ready when they're gone and we'll have a serous talk. Take the morning off, I'll clear it personally. See ya."
Cathy turned and walked to the adjoining door without looking back. Shellie closed the door, walked the several steps to the bathroom door and yelled at her son, "Mark Porter, you get your butt out of there right now or else!" Mark laughed sarcastically at her through the door, "Or else what...mommmie?" Five minutes later he rushed out the door and ran to his bedroom, slammed the door shut; laughing away while Shellie took Kellie into the bathroom and hurriedly helped her get clean. Ten minutes later, in the blackest of moods, she grudgingly tossed a bowl of flakes in front of her son without saying a word after which the last of the half-gallon carton of milk thudded to the counter in front of him and almost tipped over. She managed to control herself otherwise she would have slapped the grin right off of his face and right into the middle of next week. She knew better and stayed her hand: otherwise, he'd have lost some teeth.
In that instant of self-control she resolved that if given the chance she'd blister his butt, oh boy would she ever. She do that...and more...lots more.
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A very good start to the story with lots of possibilities. I'm intrigued to see how it develops....
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The intervening fifteen minutes was an interlude of unvoiced tension broken only when Mark left his cereal bowl on the counter and left for school with little fanfare, but his brusque words, "See ya later mommmiee...oh...and you too skank!" again left no wiggle room for excusable behavior. Shellie thought him to be a sudden and mean little turd and for the life of her she was at a loss to understand why. Five minutes later, her humiliated daughter managed a humbled kiss goodbye and gave her mother one aching last look as she walked out the front door and alone to the bus stop. Shellie peered out the window and made certain she boarded the bus safely. The expected knock at the door came shortly thereafter.
Cathy was a little less than cordial when she entered, and immediately excused herself to her long time friend by expressing the distaste she felt for having to speak to her about Mark. But really, there was a major fly in the ointment, that wore on Cathy's mind and that Shellie was not in the least aware of, so the best thing, she reasoned, was to drop the whole damn thing once and for all in her lap. She decided to start with the worst first and if what followed was considered the best, so be it. She decided the direct approach was the best, after all, before the day was over the worst, to all, would be common knowledge.
She reasoned that a segue was needed to begin; and it had to be a definite icebreaker, so as gently as possible she asked, "Listen, I know its early but before I start, I ahh...think I need a drink...and maybe...umm...you might just...need one too? Make mine the usual...Scotch...two fingers, neat." The understandably pensive and edgy look on Shellie's face spoke volumes as she silently pulled two 8-oz. tumblers along with a full bottle of Dewar's from the faded brown cabinet's shelf over the stove; set them on the tacky harvest gold counter and steadily poured two rounds. She took one and pushed the second to Cathy; lifted her own in salute to her friend and then downed it without blinking an eye. She quickly poured herself another round and threw it back as well.
Cathy knew her friend could hold her own, better than any man either had met; she just hoped that now, that the remainder of the bottle wouldn't follow suit just as quick. Cathy smiled at Shellie and began, "Sweetheart, I know it's been a rough six months; especially for you. Please listen and for god's sake...stay calm and try to keep a clear mind about everything I have to tell you. And for Pete's sake...don't even think to long about what I know will be your initial reaction. What I have to tell you is something you're going to hear about this afternoon...but I...I have to tell you face to face before anyone else knows." Shellie shook her head and scoffed at Cathy, "You can't be serious! Why in the hell should anyone else know or give a damn about Mark! If you're telling me that you're going to screw me over too...in front of every Tom, dic-k and Harry...just because you're hearing him through the walls of this dump then you can just drink up, kiss my butt and get the hell out of here!"
Cathy expected the outburst and forced another smile and promptly replied, "Shellie, Mark is important but he's the least of what I have to talk to you about. Right now and I mean right now Shellie Porter; your son is only a minor pimple on a butt that needs to be squeezed. No doubt he's a personal problem, but that, with the proper treatment, together we can solve. Listen, what I have to tell you first...is that...oh hell...I need another drink...make it a double...your one up on me anyway." Cathy recognized the scornful look that Shellie shot at her could have melted ice and silently considered that point. Shellie was a woman who in fact could kick some serious butt...in more ways than one. Cathy, swallowed the double and with a gasp began, "Look, I had a phone call late yesterday afternoon...from the FAA. They've completed their investigation...and...they'll be arrriving at F.E.M.M. today...1 P.M. They want to hold a news conference...here...and will issue a simultaneous press release...about their report...Shellie...your David didn't die in an accident. Did you hear me? It wasn't an accident and it wasn't your fault. Their lab reports confirm that...that...it was a total avionic systems failure due to...the flight computers CPU having been tampered with...sabotaged. Sweetheart...they have the proof...and they know who did it. So does Larry Binder. All those APB's he flooded the country with...for you...well...they've stirred up a veritable hornets nest about...your sweet talker...he's wanted for more than just hustling an enterprising woman out of a small fortune. Shel...Larry had a number of interesting phone calls come his way from some of his past "asssociates" who specialize in a very, very special line of work. Larry assures me that his ""acquaintances" at some agency he calls A.B.O.I. (Advanced Black Ops Interrogation) are some serious and hardened bad-ass players; and it would seem, that at one time, our local constable was one too. His former agency wants this slime, and they want him bad.
"Whatever this guy says he is or was, one thing is certain he's a major foreign operator who sidelights as a shill specializing in corporate espionage. Shell...he's number three on Black Ops' most wanted list; preferably alive, though they're not going to cry if he turns up cold meat.
"As for the name and references he gave you along with all of his other credentials...I gave those to Larry a week ago. He got hold of me late last night: they were juiced and forged. He told me he called in a favor and had Black Ops back-track and trace all of your corroborative calls, e-mails and faxes: all had been meticulously re-routed several times and wound up at a central hub; a highly guarded process station located in the Middle East. The little bee hive of sc-um suc-kers there were all waiting on your follow-up calls and due diligence corporate interrogatories. Honey, you were set up and so was your husband. He was murdered. Right now, the difference between the two of us is that I have the job you were supposed to have had and it isn't because you ordered him to take a flight on a whim. That son-of-a-bitch planned the whole operation to get you and him out of the loop. But how he got wind of our research is beyond me. But believe me, we'll get to the bottom of it all and when we do...when we do...god help him."
The silence between the two lasted for several minutes and was broken when Cathy pointed to her empty glass and asked most gently, "Shel, I think I need one more." Shellie nodded and slammed the bottle down in front of her friend; the result of which forced a small amount of the amber gold to spew up and out of the neck of the bottle. Before the last drop hit the counter the resulting explosion was, in part, what Cathy had expected. Shellie's arm cut loose and less than a second later her glass flew across the room, shattering both itself and the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. The sounds made by the falling shards punctuated the silence. The girl still had an arm. Cathy watched on in silence as Shel reached quickly for the neck of the bottle and wondered if it would wind up against the wall as well...musing to herself that that would be a waste of good liquor. Instead, Shellie poured herself another round, lifted it towards the shattered mirror and silently haled with a salute the falling residue; she then flipped the contents out and on to the dingy cream colored vinyl floor. She made no comment on the disclosure whatsoever. She didn't have to.
And Cathy knew better as well. Inside of her best friend was a demon; which was now plotting and waiting for its moment. And when it arrived, lord help the son-of-a-bitch if she found him first. Dispassionately, Shellie broke the silence, "So is that the good news or the bad? Wait...don't tell me...your going to dump Mark on me next...right? Saving the best for last are we? So what is it? Drugs? No...couldn't be that...he's not the type. It has to be his whining...sure...why not...he's a little turd...doing what little boys do, whine; practicing to be a man. Sooo...best friend...give."
Cathy knew better than to sugar coat her next portion of news...and didn't. She poured herself another round, downed it then began. "Shellie, don't interrupt...please...let's just say that Mark has been an inquisitive little boy and for the record...Larry knows what he's done...but I told him that I'm not pressing charges. You might want to sit?"
Shellie nodded and walked around the counter and plopped herself on to the swivel bar stool; turned to face Cathy and nodded once more. Cathy knew better than to wast time and didn't. "Look, for some time, I thought that someone had been going through my personal items, you know, as in clothes, lingerie and some stored packages I kept around for safe keeping. I thought it was odd that nothing was missing but none-the-less everything just seemed different each time I came home. Besides, some of the items were not in the same place where I had left them. Stacey complained about her personal belonging having been rummaged through as well. I had to do something...so...I asked Larry to come in and set up a couple of spy cams. He did it a couple of weeks ago and set them up on a timer to run between 8:30 A.M to 5 P.M. Each was motion sensor activated and each transmitted seperatly when triggered. The signals were downloaded to the receiver located in Larry's office; then to a master DVD.
He brought it over and told me what was on it...and wanted to know if I wanted to file charges...but he doen't know anything else. Shel...what it shows is that Mark has been jimmying the rear window of my duplex, crawling through it...then going through every corner and item in the place. He stopped doing it about five days ago after he found what I had taped to the bottom side of my dresser drawer. Shel, it was my code number and pass key to the self storage unit we have. It seems that Stacey had inadvertantly intimated to Mark that there were certain items there that were of "naughty boys" and what happended to them for being so disobedient. Obviously, some of the photos stored were also filed away and of course quit revealing. I'm sorry but I believe that Mark has seen...
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"...more than enough to fuel his budding hormonal imagination."
Cathy let her last words sink in and waited for a reply. Shellie's insightful response didn't disappoint her. "So, you think his behavior is a direct result of it and he's pushing me for a reaction...my, my, my...the apple doesn't fall far from the tree does it. Well, if he's looking for feedback I'm certainly not going to dampen his spirits; and as for his expectations...well...expectations have a way of coming home to roost. But I'm puzzled...you said Larry looked at the DVD and told you "everything." I take it you're leaving something else out...aren't you. And if you're wondering...that wasn't a question, I'm not naive or dumb enough to think that'd be it. There's more...and I'm waiting." The prevailing silence of ten seconds ended with an interrogatory, "Well?"
Cathy sheepishly smiled at her friend while answering. In the meantime, Shellie couldn't help but notice the snigger of a smile and thought it most apropos for her friend, "The Black Widow." "Shel, there's more. Larry was...let's say...blushing up a storm when he told me what else was on the DVD. Crap, I almost broke out laughing and damn it was hard for me to keep a straight face when he danced around the fact that Mark was trying on some of Stacey's clothes: but if you're going to ask me if I've looked at the DVD to see your little cross-dresser prancing around in costume; no. And for the record, Stacey doesn't have a clue, not yet anyway. Though I have to admit, if we'd had the opportunity to look at it I'm sure we'd both think he'd looked delightful. Look, it's adolescent male hormones, pure and simple, you know the type, and at that age what else can they do? They're susceptible to the inevitable. I'm asking as a friend; why not just let the little horn-dog think he's gotten away with one; at least for a little while?"
Shellie didn't crack a smile as she replied. "A little while? Yea. That's all he's got is just a little while...when I get through with him...no...when we get through with him...he'll be "prancing" all right...and it won't be in private either. But I'm curious, why should I let him off the hook? Don't tell me...there's something else...you said we...that means you want something out of this. So, am I going to need a crow bar to pry the rest out of you?"
"It can...wait...if you'd like," was her measured reply.
"Wait? You want me to wait? Like hell I'll wait...bring it." Cathy had hoped for that very response and didn't wait nor was she in the mood to mince words with Shellie; which was the best course of action and with an endearing smile laid it on the line. "Fact: I'm now the head of R & D. Fact: Both you and David were on to something...that is or was important enough...to kill for. Fact: at the time your concept was on the verge of a major break out. Fact: understandably, you tanked when David wound up on a slab. Fact: with everything I've found out I'm going to the board and recommend that you head up the very project you initiated before all this happened. Because, for some reason, if you were on to something that some jerk-offs wanted deep-sixed then we'd be playing right into their hands by letting that happen. Sweetie, that dog won't hunt...I'm not gonna let it...neither are you. Because my dear...I want you to reconstruct your team. What you were working on before...it's off the shelf and back on the burner...consider it fast tracked. You'll have full control of your players with unquestioned access to each branch or level of F.E.M.M. On this matter all deparment heads will answer directly to you and only you. Whatever you need, logistics, material or personnel; requisition it. Money's no object. As of now you have carte-blanche. And as for your promissory notes...Larry's taken a personal interest...looks like his "associates" are going to put some muscle where it will do the most good; so, before the end of the week, you're not only sparkling clean but you'll have a "taste" of what can be...I assure you...it will be very profitable. Naturally, in return, they want a piece of the action..."
"Now, if I sound like I'm a shrewish conniving bitch...and we'd both say that maybe I come by it naturally...there is one other thought I'm going to throw at you...that you've no doubt and have already considered; I have my own personal ax to grind...my Stephen was with David when that copter went down...so this is personal...in more ways than one...don't screw it up. Because, whoever thought that I'd be an ancillary wallflower to deal with by having you shunted...they're in for a surprise...I'm not easy prey. Capisca? (Understand?)" Cathy had hoped her best friend would. She wasn't disappointed with her nod and reply, "Capisca? Capisco. Capisco, perfettamente (Understand? I understand. I understand, perfectly)."
"Cath, I do have one question...by "piece of the action" your referring to...what...exactly?"
"My dear," came the reply, "they want prototypes...at least one hundred for sure...perhaps as many as five hundred...they figure...if they work...crap...even if they're half way functional...field operations employing enhanced interrogation techniques will take on a whole new meaning...they can't wait!"
The tacit looks exchanged between the two all but sealed their now verbal agreement. Shellie poured three fingers of Dewar's into Cathy's glass and pushed it to her friend; she took the bottle and raised it speaking but one word, "Salute." When Shellie lowered the bottle to the counter...half a bottle was left. She promised herself; the other half would wait: until later...much later. She had work to do and was going to start...immediately. So she began with, "Cathy, the medical division, is Linda Gentry still COS? (Chief of Staff) The quizzical nod of confirmation brought a smile to Shellie's face. "Good. Before you go I want you to listen. I think you'll...enjoy."
Shellie eased herself off of the bar stool and without hesitation picked up her cell; scrolled down, found the appropriate number, then thumbed the light green button and waited. She put the call on speaker. Four rings latter, Linda Gentry, at work early, answered with, "Morning, this is medical, Gentry here."
"Linda...this is Shellie...Shellie Porter...it's been awhile."
"My god...what a surprise...yes it has...its good to hear your voice again."
"Linda, listen, I don't want to start off being rude with you but right now I don't have the time to sit and BS about old times. Cathy Black is sitting next to me and listening to every word...we're on speaker." Cathy took the queue and interjected, "Linnnda, Cathy here. Shellie is back on...whatever she needs or wants from you or anyone else she gets. But if you had read your morning e-mail you would have known that already." Cathy couldn't help but grin at her best friend. She always liked surprises; especially satisfying ones. She continued on with, "From this moment you and the other department heads are back on it and going balls to the wall. Right now, there's only one project that merits undivided attention, Shellie's."
"Yes ma'am," was the chastened reply. "My apologies Ms. Porter, I didn't mean to..."
"Linda, forget about it. We start fresh. Listen, I need to know, do you have any basic aniline dye antidote for cyanide poisoning and bacteriological stain on hand and if so how much?"
"Ms. Porter, we have both in bulk...the question is which do you prefer; either the dark green crystals with bronze luster which is bitter to the taste or the crystalline powder?"
"Linda, I don't want a fashion statement or taste test comparison...I want it completely water soluble and undetectable...preferably...I believe I'm leaning towards the heterocyclic aromatic chemical."
"Yes ma'am, I have that...quite a bit in fact...may I ask..."
"Why Linda, of course you can ask. But I'll explain it all to you fully in person. What I also need to know as well would be the elapsed time from ingestion to observable results."
"Ms. Porter, elapsed time would be in the neighborhood of two hours...give or take several minutes...given physical conditions."
"Perfect...listen closely...tomorrow at noon...my son Mark is going to have a complete physical...which you're going to administer. I want blood tests run to verify first that there will be no adverse allergic reaction and secondly, I want his testosterone level checked as well as a genome high density oligonucleotide micro-array analysis done. Make certain that the micro-array supasses the typical 105,000 comparisons. After his physical you will make certain that the aromatic chemical is added to your prescribed fluid intake. If I were you, I would have a nurse or two to assist in a follow up exam...let's say around 2 P.M."
"A follow up? Ms. Porter...I don't understand..."
"Linda, my son Mark has been particularly troublesome and the time has come for him to learn some manners. I think you catch my drift?"
"Yes ma'am...I understand...perfectly. Then may I respectfully suggest that if he has been extremely troublesome; a follow up exam which is somewhat more intrusive be utilized? Would you be adverse to the use of barium as a means to an end?"
"Linda, I would not in the least be adverse, though he might have a word or two to say about it...but we can talk about that later...in person. Thank you for your time. And dear, have the computer run through the blood samples we have stored from our former volunteers. Genetically mark the dominant and co-dominant genes specific to their respective testosterone levels. And Linda, use an allozyme to create a genetic map; then offer the comparisons to me by 10 A.M. tomorrow morning."
"Ms. Porter? Is that all?"
"Linda, are you being sarcastic with me?"
"No ma'am...not in the least. My staff and I have been toying with the majority of this for some time...with our full attention we can pull it together for you...it will be my, our, pleasure to assist."
"Thank you again. You've been most kind. I..we'll...be seeing you tomorrow twelve sharp. Oh and Linda...make certain that the entire physical from beginning to end...is recorded. Bye."
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So," Cathy quickly followed, "...it would seem you have an agenda? Pray tell, am I to be privy or will it all be a surprise?"
Shellie's quick retort of, "Just sit still, be quiet and listen, I'm not finished yet," caught her best friend off guard. Cathy's mocking quip of "Wellll exscuuuuse meee," was accepted for what it was and nothing more: after all, it had at one time been resolved and understood, that except for certain instances in the workplace, Cathy, for the most part, knew her place. Besides, Shellie'd bring her up to speed, as she had often done in the past, but there was another call she had to make before she did. Her contact book also contained the infrequently called number she now searched for: of course it was filed under one word, Police. Scrolling down the alphabetically listed contact selections on her cell and stopping at the appropriate alphabetical entry, she pressed enter and smiled while waiting for the expectant response. One ring later the concisely anticipated answer of, "Midville Sheriffs Department, Deputy Michelle Spangler speaking, how may I help you?," met her left ear. Shellie was in no mood to mince words, on this matter, perfunctory short talk or chit-chat be damned; this was business.
"Deputy Spangler, this is Shellie Porter, is the Constable available?"
"Yes Ms. Porter, I'll put you through to him, would you hold please?" Shellie thought the question merited no reply; and after a momentary period of silence Deputy Spangler's curt and somewhat snippy addendum of "Thank you," gave her pause for thought (Did I sound hard or cold? No...maybe it's just that time of the month for her. Too bad.), without another word, she was put on hold. Five short beeps later, Constable Larry Binder answered.
"Ms. Porter, I honestly hadn't expected to hear from you this morning. I thought you'd be more concerned over the forthcoming FAA report this afternoon than to bother with me. Look, if you're calling about your son, let me put your mind at ease, I can assure you, despite my strong concerns and against my better judgment, I am not pressing charges against your son for B & E. But, you can thank Ms. Black for that...she was quite insistant."
"Larry, thanks for that most generous consideration...the next time I see her I'll be certain to express my appreciation to her as well; but from what I've heard through the grapevine is that, despite my many problems, that you've more than gone out of your way to help me. I just wanted to especially thank you for all the additional work in my behalf that you've done. But if I may...I'd like to ask you for a very...personal favor...that is...if I may?"
"Ms. Porter, it's a very small town and we both know the way word gets around, but if I can help, ask; especially, if it's a personal favor, it'd be my pleasure."
Shellie caught his intimation and as she silently mused to herself, "Larry, I'm sure it would be," she continued without missing a beat, by asking, "Larry am I correct in assuming that the age of majority for males as well as females in this state is thirteen years old?" Her question came from out of the blue and was met at first with thoughtful silence, upon which Larry replied, "Ms. Porter...I'm sorry...I wasn't expecting you to ask me something like that...but...if you're implying as to sexual relations of any type, regardless of gender between of age consenting adults...then the answer is yes. Shellie, I mean Ms. Porter, excuse me for asking but that's a dam odd question to ask me, so my follow up question is obvious...why the hell would you ask me a question like that and what in Sam-hill does it have to do with doing you a favor?"
As Cathy quietly sat and listened, the sparkle in her eyes let Shellie know that she had an inkling of what was being considered. She inhaled deeply, held her breath, shook her head from side to side and mouthed one word, "Wonderful."
Shellie coyly shrugged her shoulders at her friend and with a smile continued, "Larry, let me answer your second question first and please let me explain before you go off on me." She giggled to herself at her double-entendre. She thought that that may take a while...but eventually...she'd give it some thought...after all...it was a sticky subject. "I want you to take my son Mark into custody. In a nut shell, I want you to scare the living hell out of him. I don't care if you do it in front of his friends. I want you to put him in the back of your squad car and drag his butt down to your office. Of course, I would expect you to fill him in on all of the good things that could happen to him. Say for instance if he were to wind up at the juvenile facility: nothing like setting a good example every now and then. If that doesn't wipe the grin off his face let him know he could be treated as an adult; but especially impress on him what would happen in either if anyone found out about his new found taste in clothes. If he's the sweet little boy I think he is...he'll be crying...especially for his mommy. I would expect...that if you're the type of man I think you are...at that point...you'll suddenly find a soft spot in your heart? And, perhaps express a second thought on the matter?
"That's when I want you to escort him to my office at F.E.M.M. that is, if you can manage it? Then perhaps after a grand and unannounced entrance you could then plop him down right in front of me. Say around eleven this morning? Logically, at some point I would expect a man in your position to espouse his indignation and anger of having to do such a thing: then propose to cut him a deal; come across that it would go against your better judgment but you would release him into my custody, with certain conditions of course. After all, you do have better things to do than to waste your time with this. As you would expect, I'll take it from there and convey my indignant outrage; then I'll make him an offer. If he knows what's good for him he won't refuse.
"That's the why to the what of the second of your questions. Now, as to the answer for the first of you're questions...please...listen carefully...it's quite personal and I'm not going to...talk...about it over the phone...in fact...if you'd be kind enough to meet with me at your office, say around 3:30 this afternoon...I'd appreciate it. I'd offer to meet with you in mine but I'm confident that yours may be a lot cleaner than mine. Somehow, I've suddenly lost all confidence in our local janitorial sector; but I'd rather keep that on the Q.T. You know how the locals can be if they think that they're being shifted. When, we're alone...perhaps you can recommend some out of town pest control companies that specialize in residential and commercial eradication. After all...if any of the locals found out that I was looking to contract elsewhere they might take offense." Shellie hoped he was as sharp as she both now presumed him to be and had been led to believe. She waited for his come back.
His quick reply of, "Let me see here...my calender...today...at...my office...3:30? No, that's not a problem and let's see now about...yes...whad'ya know...the first call on the duty roster was...already noted...that means I'm set to pick up your son...expect us both promptly at eleven. Ms. Porter, it will be my pleasure," merited her previous thought, "I'm sure it will and thank you."
Just before she could hang up there was one other item of note which promptly arose, as Larry quickly countered with, "Uhh...Ms. Porter, please don't hang up...maybe you don't want to thank me right away...I don't think you understand...I agreed not to press charges on the B & E but there is the other issue of petty theft I still have to consider. Ms. Black, she didn't tell you?"
Shellie understandably was silent and looked at her best friend in puzzlement, it wasn't like Cathy to let something like that go without mention; she put the remainder of the call on speaker then replied. "Larry, I want you to know that I have Cathy Black with me and that I've put the rest of the call on speaker. Would you tell both of us, what was taken?" Shellie understood that Larry was not only shrewd but had heard that he had a tendency to use a verbal two-by-four between the eyes instead of when a pea shooter would have been just as sufficient to drive his point home. The man had a tendency to engage in overkill. She surmised it a pleasant thought and expected his sarcastic reply to the obvious; she wasn't disappointed when she heard, "I see...so we're playing it that close to the vest now are we? So that's the way it is...o.k. we'll play the game your way.
"Ms. Porter, I mentioned that possibility to Ms. Black in passing as an additional pending charge given the odd chance that I simply hadn't concluded a full review. I didn't pick up on anything else the first time I viewed the evidence. The second time however it was obvious that...well...that of the four items that were on the floor in the hallway that your son had picked up...only three found their way back to about the same spot...the fourth...which I believe is missing is...a white bikini with pink leg piping. So, Ms. Porter, have Ms. Black get back with me on the value of the item and by the way...and for the record...the local grapevine...being what it is...all my calls are recorded and are public record. Oh, and the next time which ever one of you gets the wild hair up her butt to try and manipulate me to make me look like some country time jerk-off that you can twist around her little finger...just sit back and think twice about trying it again. I don't play the fool well. Now, Ms. Porter, if you still want to thank me, you better just wait. I'd hate for word to get around that I was an easy mark and got played for a suc-ker. In fact the more I think about it...I'm less inclined to be the reasonable man you tried to con."
Interrupting, Cathy didn't misss the opportunity to add her two cents in to fuel the certain fire that she knew was certain to come Marks way, "Larry, if my daughter hasn't missed it yet...then neither have I! I don't give a royal crap about it and neither does Stacey and just for the record it's the same bottom to the two piece she was wearing to the company picnic three weeks ago and the same one he couldn't take his eyes off of. You're going to look pretty stupid trying to press some petty theft charge over something that she said she was going to give him anyway! Do you understand?"
The calm reply only served to underscore the implicit consent of the favor requested. "Ms. Black, Ms. Porter, I understand everything there is to know about how the word gets around in a small town; especially if it's three in the morning and there's a fox in the henhouse so to speak. The damn chickens are squawking, the rooster has flown the coop and the farmer is still fast asleep and without a clue of what in the hell is going on. Ladies, I've always been a light sleeper and for sometime now it's always been with one eye open. Ms. Porter, I'll see you at eleven this morning...sharp...I hope your not counting on much...I'm not that forgiving a man. Good-bye."
Before Cathy could say a word Shellie gave her a look that would kill; brought the first finger of her right hand quickly up to her own lips and shook her head from side to side. Her friend knew better than to say a word. Shellie tossed her cell onto the counter and reached for the pen and note pad lying nearby and hurriedly scrawled, "Back off and don't say a damn word. I'll do the talking/just listen/when I nod you slam the door when you leave. Make it good! Later/we need to find safe place to talk without...bugs."
Shellie could play the role and so could Cathy. Each in her own way could at the drop of a hat role-play and each was well practiced. Furthermore, Shellie understood that the caustic remarks of Constable Binder over the trivial bottom were a necessarily blatant subterfuge: as the one item which Cathy had specifically mentioned of actually have been recorded as found then lifted was conspicuously excluded from the gist of his outraged sensibilities. Ergo, there was no sense in alerting anyone else to that bit of information. The unmentioned key was of far more importance and concern to all than the bottom of a simple two piece bathing suit as it would unlock the preponderance of physical research both she and Cathy had salted away after the crash; which had unexpectedly become the failsafe trigger mechanism upon which both had agreed to. That in the event of some "unforeseen event" which could in some way compromise the project, to immediately down load to a seperate hard-drive, all information on Shellie's pet project; then to expunge the computers of F.E.M.M. of all information: except for general concept(s) and perfunctory research. All files, photos and results of the project would be wiped from cursory access. Of course, the presumed event was envisioned to be in the genre of computer espionage or of intense hacking: in essence a formal and precise cyber attack. Then later, after the proverbial dust had settled, with additional fire-walls and encrypted programs the project would in time find its way back. Murder was never considered as an option into the equation. Now, her son would find himself the obect of the intense study. Of course, in part, if Cathy was correct; it could be the raging hormones of a teenage boy which could unravel the Rosetta-stone of information which for some time eluded them. The other portion of the equation however was still open to doubt: could the item be developed as envisioned or was it another technique which would find itself considered beyond the boundary of simple interrogation. Shellie's obvious conclusion was simple: if someone killed to stop the project...it had merit.
-
But for now, if anyone else was listening in, she sought to emphasize her frustrations dramatically. Her next words were indicative of the emotional roller coaster ride of emotions she was on and needed no rehearsing. "Not that forgiving a man? What else is next? And what in the hell are you looking at me for? You know, I dont't need to listen to any more crap from anyone else today; including you."
While staring stolidly at her friend she noted Cathy's empty glass on the counter. It would provide the opportunity to seize the moment. With a sudden reach and quick grab she speedily hoisted it while simultaneously directing a quick half-jerk motion towards the door with it in her right hand and finished her diatribe with, "So why don't you just get the hell out of here?!" A moment later the empty glass exploded against the stainless steel kitchen sink; a shower of sparkling jagged slivers fell against both sink and floor. The irregular melodic tinkling concluded its sudden demise. Cathy, with a smile, took the cue and made straight for the door; gave one last look back at her friend, shook her head, while mouthing one word repeatedly, "Temper..temper...temper." The slam of the door left little doubt that if anyone was listening in that the exit was intended to be less than cordial.
Shellie stood for the moment to look and wonder as to the obvious: clean up the remains of what might be an additional seven years of bad luck first or work the kitchen detail. Silently, she quickly dismissed doing either; her darling son was in part to blame, let him do both. Besides, she didn't have the time now to mess with the mundane of domestic niceties. She had other business to tend to and quickly set about doing so. The first order of business was simple: to empty a certain closet and dresser drawers of all clothes: specifically, boy's clothes. She chuckled to herself that if her new little "Marki" wanted to step out of his and into girls togs who was she to stand in the way. But that, in the long run, would be the least of what he'd have unknowingly stepped into. Besides, in the short run, given the project he was about to "volunteer" for, he wouldn't need much in the way of clothes. At least not for a while anyway.
Quickly, except for one pair of worn green thongs the entire closet, hangers and all, was emptied; it held no surprises. His dresser however was a different matter. There, in the top drawer, neatly folded beneath the last white v-neck t-shirt she found two pairs of laced trimmed panties: pink and blue. She couldn't help but notice the obvious: each was soiled. The multiple crusted stains which discolored each began at the crotch then inched up to and included the delicate one inch waist bands. The various layered liquid stains had broadened outward and then apparently had trickled down in an irregular cascade to either of the respective leg openings. She concluded that he must have been standing. She shook her head and mused silently, "He might be a sissy but he had potential and plenty of it." She folded each and replaced them neatly side by side in his top dresser draw. He'd need some later on and this was as good a way to start as any. Of course there was one other place to check: under the mattress.
Amazingly and to her surprise she found one other item which brought both a loving smile to her face and made her laugh out loud. Close at hand, and within an arms reach and near the head of the bed face up was a magazine: "Making a Sissy: Custom Princess Makeovers for Boys." Of course it was an issue she was well familiar with; after all, the apple certainly hadn't fallen far from the tree. It was the same issue which was once her required reading gift to her husband. She once again mused to herself, "If Eve had truly tempted Adam via an apple, how becoming that her budding sissy be tempted on his own then succ-umb to the wiles of the girl next door. She carefully placed the issue in the top drawer beside his panties. She did note however that several of the stories as well as illustrations and photos had been dog eared. Perhaps, in the dead of night they were his favorite wishful reading materials or conceivably each was a special reading assignment; as set to him by her best friend's daughter. And now he too kept it close and slept with it tucked under the head of his bed.
It all tied in and made sense. After David's accident...she paused and corrected herself...after his murder...she had, with Cathy's approval, given it to Stacey as a present. It was unlikely to have been stashed at the storage unit. In fact, it was now all too obvious; he had fallen under Stacey's delicate ministries and was well on his way to becoming her own personal sissy. She chortled to herself, "Lucky boy."
Only minutes later she threw the last of three large black trash bags into the back seat of her car; reasoning that the drop off box for donated clothes on her way to work would offer a most convenient opportunity for her newest little girl to properly come out and into the world. She made certain to tag each bag as specifically: "Donated by Mark (Marki) Porter."
A quick shower and forty-five minutes later she locked the front door and left for work; stopping first for less than two minutes where, at a certain drop box, she opened the drop chute and shoved into the steel container three bags. Her second stop was to Evans' Hardware Store on Main Street where she purchased one keyed entry lock. She selected a simple model, opened the box, then made certain that the box contained but two keys: one for her and one for Kellie. She set it on the front counter and waited to be served. She noted that for the time of day it seemed especially busy.
Patiently, she considered that before the afternoon was over, she would personally remove the bathroom's privacy lock and replace it with this. She considered it a trite but none-the-less necessary attention grabber. That except for the mandatory morning washing of the face or the brushing of teeth, her little Marki would never again be able to freely step foot into it alone. He would have to wait before being allowed in to do either. He had violated everyone's privacy and would be punished for it.
Likewise, in the rare instance which might arise for a supervised hot water bath, he would have to wait to be allowed in. Otherwise, the outside cold water shower would suffice until inclement weather dictated otherwise.
Of course now the bathroom would be free to both herself and Kellie. Neither would have to wait on Mark to remove himself from it. The tables would now be turned and little Marki could simply stand outside the bathroom door and wait; and do it all in his pants. She quickly corrected herself, her little Marki could do it all in her newest F.E.M.M prototype P.D.P.'s.
After several minutes, she paid a smiling Mr. Evans for the lock and left.
The thought occurred to her to call Linda Gentry but quickly scotched the notion. If her office or duplex was bugged why would it necessarily of stopped there? Until she was certain, she trusted no conversation as confidential. It was best to see her in person and then hand write her request for at least three pairs of the most basic prototypes. After that things would progress. When Mark or Marki left her office today he'd truly be well on his way to being a changed boy. Well...she thought...then again...maybe he won't be changed all that often. Just the thought made her smile.
-
In the meantime, a short distance from downtown, Constable Larry Binder had just pulled his black and white cruiser into the parking lot of Midville Middle School. His initial thought was to make a deep and lasting impression on the object of his hunt: Mark Porter. Instead, he had a strange feeling in his gut; it told him to back off. Something didn't quite jive.
Besides, the kid was going to be in it up to his neck and he wasn't going to be the one to push his head under whatever it was that he was now stuck in. Crap, he remembered being young. Even went on a panty raid...or two...and understood the whys...but at least he didn't let himself get caught. Let alone shot on camera. Hells bells, he was going to cut the kid some slack anyway...but as for his mother...well...she seemed like a hard case. Not that he blamed her, no, not at all. He figured she'd had had her share of getting dumped on; maybe it was just the stress getting to her. But, he didn't like the idea of being manipulated by a woman, especially one who appeared to be as sharp as he presumed her to be. She'd figured out that she was tagged and now she had to go and blab whatever she thought she knew about all over this small town's version of hells half-acre. Now he'd have to bring her in to what he'd found out when he set the snoops up in Blacks' duplex. Whoever was interested in them both didn't miss much. Except for the kitchen stove, every square foot in both of them were under someone's constant gaze. To further complicate the issue, both she and Black were lookers; and what's more, both of 'em knew it. Crap, even their daughters were knockouts. The pure male in him snickered as he wheezed a hushed, "Ohhh boy."
Larry shifted his cruiser into park then eased his 196 lb., 6'2" chiseled frame out from behind the wheel and then slammed the car's door shut. Not one to waste time he entered the main office, curtly expressing his "good" mornings to the surprised receptionist and walked around her desk and then went unannounced into the principal's office. There, Ed Byrd, a squat, dark haired and balding man of well over two hundred pounds looked up in surprise. Before he could speak a word, Larry beat him to it. "Ed...there's a problem...I need a student of yours...kid's name is Mark Porter. I want a room number and I want it in less than two minutes. And Ed, it's none of your god damn business what I want him for; its official business and I don't need your hypocritical lard as-s or your staff blabbing about my being here all over the P.A. system. By the way, Ed, if you think I don't like you...you're right. Now, I'm pulling the kid outa class and he's walking out of here with me. He won't make it back the rest of the day...in fact Ed...he might not make it back to your little version of perfection for quite a while. Now, are you going to get me the room number or do I have to let everyone know about your early morning stops at Evan's Hardware store?"
In stunned silence, a shaken Ed Byrd wasted a good five seconds before he started to break out in a sweat. Larry couldn't help but smile contemptuosly at the rotund figure that began to virtually shrivel; slinking down away from him in his chair. Larry's addendum of, "Yea, I know all about it," was met with stony silence.
Fifty seconds after that, Byrd swallowed what spit he could muster in his dried mouth and hoarsely choked out a room number, "148." Larry didn't crack a smile, took the number, and then gave him a look that could kill. Before he left Byrd's office, he made certain to leave him with an additional thought, "Ed, just give me one reason, even a small one, and I'll be coming for you too."
Larry left the office disgruntled. He didn't have a good feeling about the kid, but even more so, he loathed Byrd: and that was from the minute he met the creep. Few disgusted him to that extent and Byrd took first prize. That two-faced son-of-a-bitch was always the first one in any town meeting to stir up a rash of crap and always expressing his outrage at the slightest hint of what he deemed "inappropriate behavior." Larry didn't just not like him, he detested him. But he hadn't stepped over the line, at least not in public. Besides what he did on his own, behind closed doors, was his own business. In any event, much to Larry's chagrin, he'd been scrupulously clean otherwise.
Still, Larry wished he was somewhere else; but here he was and this is where the agency wanted him. Why he agreed to take the assignment on was beyond him. Yet here he was in this Podunk town; taking over the job of some half-baked nit-wit of a rube who couldn't pack saw dust let alone pound it. Whatever the agency wanted out of this was beyond him, but, more often than not, they were dead tap balls perfect in their hunches.
The walk to room 148 lasted all of two minutes. Larry knocked twice and opened the door. As expected, all eyes in the room moved simultaneously and fixed themselves to his image as he stood blocking the doorway. He'd picked out his quarry, then nodded and pointed with one finger directly to the unsuspecting student in the front row. His words of, "Mark Porter, your coming with me," were met in unison with a collective and drawn out, "Oooohhh."
The look on the kid's face said it all: wide-eyed surprised terror. Also evident was that he started to shake like the proverbial leaf. Trembling, Mark Porter, attempted to gather his supplies and books and stuff them into his backpack. Larry headed that off as well with a quick, "Leave 'em, you won't be needing those where you're going." With his additional one word of, "Move," Larry's roving eyes gave both the class and teacher the once over. Intuitively, neither the class nor teacher desired to have anything to do with Larry Binder. The universal code of implicit rigid silence ensued; lest a noise attract unwanted attention.
Larry had to give the kid credit; he didn't start to blubber outright. Sure he started to tear up and did turn a great beet-red while almost instantly sweating the hell out of every pore in his body and before he made the six or so shaky steps to the door; his shirt was totally drenched. But under the circ-umstances, he thought the kid held up; better than others he'd busted and the majority of those were grown men. Hell, at least the kid hadn't peed himself, well, at least not yet anyway. Larry immediately sized the boy up: 5'2", slight frame, brown eyes, medium length brown hair, still had peach fuzz on his face and displayed no discernable scars, was obviously nervous and at this time probably in need of taking a dump. As he wasn't in the mood to announce a "code brown" to his assistant he figured he'd let the boy use the can; no sense in literally scaring the crap out of him; especially, if he'd hafta be the one to do the fumigating and cleaning.
Mark Porter never looked up as he shakily approached within arms reach of the formidable figure that stood more like a line-backer waiting to put the hurt on some idiot lightweight who was fool enough to try and run through him. Larry wasted no time in reaching out to grab the hapless mark by his shirt collar while announcing his obvious intent, "Let's go for a little ride, I'll drive, you take the back seat." Under other circ-umstances he'd have cuffed the kid and frog marched him right to the cruiser. For some reason, he had a nagging misgiving. It didn't happen often but he'd learned to follow his instincts. He was going to walk him to the can; well, walk him to one, drive him to the other. After that...well...he'd let things play out.
The boys room was only a few feet from the main office. Larry opened the door and growled at Mark, "Whatever your gonna do you better make it quick and don't make me come in and drag your butt out; you won't like it." Mark dejectedly nodded and entered, went straight for the nearest stall, dropped his pants, then sat down and did his buisiness. The stink was overpowering. Silently he began to curse himself. This wasn't at all what he had envisioned, not at all. Besides, how in the hell was he going to explain any of this to the cop. Damn it, the guy was built like a brick shit-house and looked like he could kick some serious butt!
At this point, there were two things he was certain of. The first was that he wasn't going to give this guy the least bit of an excuse to get pissed at him. And two, his mother was gonna kill him.
Larry's voice interrupted his thoughts and echoed of the walls, "Finish up and let's go kid." Mark wiped himself, pulled up his pants, turned and kicked the handle to flush, then walked out of the doorless stall. He never gave "it" a second thought, until he almost reached the door then started to cry. Binder opened the door just intime to see him start to bawl. Larry watched Mark for a moment then went in.
-
In the four quick steps it took to reach him Larry considered the obvious, first that it just wasn't like him to go soft, no, just the opposite. He had always considered himself harder than blue steel. But in this case it all didn't add up. Yea the kid had lifted the back window of the duplex, crawled through it and then appeared to go through the token motions of looking for something. Hell, the window's lock wasn't broken and even if Black had had the slightest inkling that someone had rummaged through her and her daughters stuff it've been locked after the first go round. That's what didn't add up. It was like an invitation. No. It was more like a set up. And the more he thought about it the more he thought the whole thing stunk. The kid acted almost as if he knew he was being scoped. Hell, the first four times he observed the kid, after he had entered, he didn't take a damn thing: no cash, no jewelry; though each was visible and readily accessible. The fifth time it was right out of the box when, no, he corrected himself, it was the sixth time, second go round on the same afternoon, that was when the kid copped the bikini bottoms. The key was the last item lifted...almost like it was an afterthought. No...even that wasn't right. It was no afterthought, he went right to the dresser drawer and looked for what he knew he'd find taped underneath. The kid had been tipped. Evidently, what he found was a lot more than he anticipated and it was now nothing but trouble.
And that's how Larry's commanding tone of voice sounded to a scared Mark Porter who, immediately shivered in apprehension. The last thing he wanted from the oncoming hulk was trouble, but he had the worst feeling in the world that it had found him. This guy scared the bejeezus out of him and there was no way in hell that he could hide it from him either. In fact, if he could have hid, anyplace, it've been under a rock, at least that way if the guy was gonna squash him like a bug at least he wouldn't see it coming.
In turn, Binder understood the body language. The kid was almost over the edge. So instead of barking out the order to the kid to get his sorry butt in gear before he kicked it out the door and unceremoniously threw it in the back seat of the car, he took the opposite tact; surprising not only himself but the trembling kid who was just about to feint dead away from him right where he stood. "Look kid, I don't want drag you out of here kicking and screaming, besides, from the looks of it...if you don't pull yourself together...I might have to carry you out instead. Either way, neither one of those options is really cool...especially for you. Take a second and get a grip...then walk out the door, I'll be right outside. But I've changed my mind...when you reach the cruiser...walk around...your riding up front with me so take the passenger's seat...we need to talk. You catch my drift? Oh, if anyone is waiting for you outside...take my advice...walk on by and don't say a word. Let me do the talking."
A surprised Mark Porter exhaled in relief and nodded twice. His mumbled and almost incoherent, "Y..yes sir," was followed with a most sincere and audible yet shaky, "...th...th...thanks." Larry kept his sarcastic reply of, "Don't thank me just yet," to himself. Larry was never shy about kicking butt. But, if there was any butt to kick...this kid wasn't going to be the one he'd boost. No...it wasn't that he had gone totally soft...under other circ-umstances, if given even the slightest excuse, he'd have blistered the kid's can...if only on general principal...and then with parental consent he'd have really laid into him...of course...he was always more than up to it. He quickly remembered that there'd been a few times in the past where a strong palm of the hand to bare skin had made a most lasting impression...but that was back then...before
His mental sojourn abruptly halted when he exited the boy's room. His eyes immediately took in the obvious. There he was, Byrd. Just as he'd figured, the fat turd was waiting. What's more the snake had a cell phone in his hand...probably to either make a call or snap a quick pic...or both. That wasn't cool, but two could play the game and Larry wasted no time in pressing the point: he played to win. Icily he spoke, "That's strange; maybe I didn't make myself clear...Byrd. Maybe I should've added that I didn't want you or your staff involved with this...at all. This is official business; it has nothing to do with you and the kid's now under my protection. Either lose the phone or I'll be happy to stuff it in a hole for you; you know, someplace deep, where you'd have to have lot's a help digging it out. That way you'd get to know someone else while you're on your knees on a more personal basis." Ed Byrd beat a sweaty and hasty retreat back inside the office doors. Binder watched in satisfaction through the wired safety glass of both doors as Byrd almost ran back inside his office and slammed the door shut. Out of the corner of his right eye he glimpsed the form of Mark Porter hurriedly moving to the cruiser. Silently, as ordered, he went directly to the right front passenger's door; then, just before he reached it, Larry hit the release lock button on his key. The heavy sound of the latched locks releasing was all the impetus Mark Porter required. Larry watched the kid almost jump into the front seat and skulk down trying to hide himself away from general view. The kid was terrified.
Larry took one last look inside the office, smiled at the receptionist while placing the first finger of his right hand against the side of his nose and gave her a knowing wink, then, with the same finger, pointed it right at her. Crap, all these people had their little secrets, it was almost like a little Peyton Place, except it seemed that here, the whole town, was in one way or another involved in some of the weirdest off the wall crap he'd ever come across. Hell, from what he had already observed, half the town was screwing the other half; they were what he called your "average swingers." They'd have a nightly get together, where the man of the house'd drop his keys into a box or hat and whichever set a lucky woman reached in and drew out of it...well...if variety was the spice of life...things were certainly zesty and tangy in this little town. What's more was that almost a third of the town was into some of the more heavy and durable goods...that with the early evening...after some light beers or wine coolers along with chips and dips...in the later hours or so...out came the clips, chains and whips. Not to mention the leather goods of all types. He continued to muse that except for the specialty leather store on Main Street, the people in this town ordered the weirdest crap; either on line or through the mail. No, he wasn't a do gooder snoop, but it was hard as hell when you're looking for a needle in the haystack in a small town of only five thousand people or so not to notice the obvious; especially if you and your partner have been trained to notice every damn little thing. Laser beam microphones pick up quite a bit of chatter, erotic or otherwise, through on glass vibrations; especially at night. Besides, what most of these "innocent folks" hadn't a clue of was that the lap tops and cell phones they used didn't have to be tapped to be monitored or overheard. The bleed out is there for the taking. That brought him round to the remainder of the social club who walked the streets of Midville. The fair majority of those shopped at two of the towns unisex all in-one, one stop stores, as it appeared that for the most part, the remainder, in one form or another, of all ages, were into women's or girls clothes; literally.
He remembered back to his first time, late night encounter, with the young mini-skirted waitresses who minced the floors at the 24 hour local scarf and barf. They were dressed in the same outfits that the mannequins in both store front window were. The other item he noted was that when the he/she's walked was that they were, well padded: that under ruffled panties, that they were obviously diapered to the hilt.
When he asked his deputy, Michelle about it, she informed him as to what she had found out. That it was a deal between the three stores: a quid pro-quo. The he/she's would be the live models, contracted, for each of the clothing stores; as the stores front window display mannequins held the same meticulously scripted sign: "Sissies In Waiting For You." The eatery in turn could count on a clientele who appreciated humiliating a sissy, in public or private; especially when it came to taking their orders. Michele made it a point to tell him that the sissies were, "Always available for service: pro-bono." The diapers were insurance that none would have the excuse to leave the floor and excuse themselves.
As Larry approached the driver's side door of his cruiser; he stared for the umpteenth time at the town's logo of "Midville" which in turn was encircled with the catchy phrase of, "Where Great Minds Get The Release To Pursue Their Dreams," which stared back at him.
Now here he was in the middle of this state mandated, federally approved and funded town, wondering, "Who in the hell ever thought that one up!" He shook his head in disbelief and mused to himself, "What a place!" Larry opened the door and slid into the dirver's seat and finished up with the obvious thought, "Maybe that's why most all of 'em have that stupid grin of their faces. Their getting their rocks off or laid every which way, morning, noon or night."
A quick glance to his right left little to his imagination. The kid was curled up like a shivering little mealy bug. Larry's disparaging thought of, "Welcome to the fetal position kid, better get used to it," was never heard. Instead, Larry broke the ice with a calm admonition to his unwilling passenger, "Mark, you need to put your seat belt on." He was hoping that the kid would, after a couple of minutes, loosen up. Hell, it'd only take, maybe seven minutes tops to get back to the station and in that period of time he was hoping the boy would at least breakout of his shell; he needed info and that was before he met what he consdered to be that barracuda mother of his.
Mark Porter sniffed back a couple of drippy boogers, nodded his head once and without a word complied while his trembling lower jaw involuntarily caused his teeth to chatter. Larry shrugged it off...he'd seen it before, besides, with the kid in tow, he needed to alert the office that he was on his way back. With a click of his radio and words of, "Unit one to base. Unit one enroute, will arrive in roughly ten minutes, person of interest is in custody. Copy?" let Mark Porter know exactly where he was headed off to. The cold reply of, "Copy, unit one. Over," caused him to hang his head and start to cry again.
Larry didn't have the time for the kid's water works. But he had fudged his arrival time by a couple of minutes. That was all he figured he'd need to get what he wanted from the kid. As he eased his cruiser in to drive and out of the semi-circled parking lot in front of the school. He wasn't disappointed, at least, not with Mark Porter's obvious first question of, "Am...am...I...uh...under...under..." which he almost finished asking, but which Larry, thankfully finished for him, "No, kid...your not under arrest. Let's call it...protective custody." Mark swallowed back and nodded in perhaps misunderstood understanding while exhaling a long winded, "Wheew." Larry understood it was the fist thing he hadn't choked back on since he met him. He was hoping there'd be more and pressed the opening the dejected kid had given him. "Listen real close," he was going to use the word "kid" again, but somehow, he decided that it wouldn't sit well, either with the boy or himself, instead he continued on with, "Mark, to what I have to tell you. For right now, there are only two places in this town that you can talk without anyone listening in on to your conversation. The first place is here, in my car. The second place is in my office. Now, for the record, you're not under arrest. Of course, you do have the right to remain silent and you do not have to talk to me at all...but I hope you will. All I want from you is information. If you play ball with me we'll shake hands and walk away. If not I might not be able to help you out of whatever the hell it is you got yourself into. Think about it but remember that after you walk outside of this car and my office it's a different world." Larry let the boy think about it, maybe longer than he would have normally, but, what the hell, he was always good at reading his marks, the boy was no exception.
Five minutes later, Lary Binder didn't let the smile only he knew about show. Mark Porter's words of, "Mr. Binder, can I talk to you...in private?" was music to his ears. He remained silent, merely nodded, then stepped on the accelerator and made straight way for the station house. In less than a minute and a half he eased the cruiser to a smooth stop; less than fifteen feet from the front door. Thirty seconds later both he and Mark Porter faced up with Deputy Michelle Spangler who nodded one time at her long time boss then smiled in anticipation at what the cat had dragged in.
-
Larry understood that Michelle was one unique piece of work. Standing at five-eight with long blond hair the figure she presented was that of an impressive woman who was both trim and fit. Her deep tan blouse and matching trousers more than suited her well toned physique, however, just the slightest accented outline of her naturally perky chest remained visible, in that only a hint of it remained; mainly due to the vest she wore which had a tendency to flatten her out. Furthermore, aside from her looks she was pretty good in the field. He chuckled to himself at his double entendre. She was better than good. When she had to be she was really bad.
He knew that when they walked in on her, that she'd be waiting. And, that on first contact, her wandering eyes which had a way of mentally stripping a hapless perp, by intimidating to him or her as to what lay ahead, would engage. Now, her initial look at the boy said it all, Mark Porter had her interested. Larry also understood that if, for some reason, she was really intrigued, turned on; her eyes wouldn't only do the walking up and down her target, they'd run. Then, after a brief initial, if not perfunctory introduction; she'd draw back, savor the moment and then, unashamedly go right into her pheromone full speed ahead mode, to dart forward and proceed. For her repeatedly unabashed and fashionable method of action, Larry had nick-named her, "Cobra." Right now, the look in her eyes said that she was ready to strike. Larry chuckled to himself, "Poor kid doesn't have a snow balls chance!"
He wasn't the least bit surprised when Michelle didn't hesitate and made the initial inquiry he was now expecting; which as procedure would dictate, when she immediately asked, "Larry have you patted "Our Guest" down?" He could have lied but why deny her the opportunity, besides, he wasn't in the mood to tick her off over something as mundane as a simple strip search. The shaking of his head to the negative brought a smile to her face. Without hesitation she walked over to the shaking Mark Porter and abruptly ordered him to, "Empty all of your pockets on to the desk in front of you. After that, spread your legs and then stick your hands up in the air and hold'em there. Then, don't move."
Mark Porter's fleeting look to Larry for help didn't cut mustard with Larry. His cold reply of, "You heard the deputy," only emphasized the sinking feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. In response to Larry's denial, a low sniffled moaned of, "Ohhh god," could be heard.
In the ensuing moments, the repeated fumbling and awkward attempts to rid himself of whatever was in his pockets could have been laughable; under other circ-umstances, especially to Michelle. But, she patiently watched him empty his pockets...keys, loose change, arcade tokens and a wallet...all found their way on to the table...nothing he showed perked her interest; at least not overtly. When he'd finished she gave Larry a knowing smile and moved to pat the shaking boy down. She promted his hesitation by softly nudging his insteps from behind with the booted toe of her left foot; then decidedly began the process; starting at his shoulders and working her way down the outside of his legs. Larry caught the furtive gleam in her eye when she moved to work her way up the inseams of either leg. That she gave him an extra little feel on the seat of his pants didn't escape his eyes either.
For her part, Michelle considered it as just one of the jobs' perks. It wasn't every day that a cute butt could be patted in the line of duty. Straight forward and all business she announced the apparent obvious, "Looks like he's clean," and then told him to walk directly into room "A." She chuckled to herself and wondered if the kid had enough left in him to notice that it was the only damn other room in the station house except for Larry's open walled office; a single room in a two bit town on whose door still hung the hand written "A" as written by the former constable. She'd met the jerk off as he was walking out the front door; in essence, leaving on request, well, if you're ordered off a job it's more than a request; especially if you're a royal screw up.
She let her words sink in for a couple of secs. She drank him all in...the kid was petrified. She did the natural thing...at least for her...to rub a little salt in the wound...so as an after thought she admonished him, "If you even give me one little reason...you'll regret it." And just like her boss, Larry, she was as glib as possible, merely using one word to relay her desire: "Move."
Two pairs of eyes watched his back and butt as he walked hesitantly to and then into the room. Two pairs of eyes saw the same thing at almost the same moment and two pairs of eyes looked to each other in understanding of what they had seen. Normally, any kid, o.k., any boy, if he were wearing boxers or briefs, the outline of his butt, well, it wouldn't have looked the way it did in his jeans. Nope, the crease lines under his butt cheeks and along his upper thighs said it all and that was what the extra pat on his seat was for. Michelle always prided herself on her powers of observation; especially taking care to note that even the little things that are sometimes overlooked can be threatening and it was Larry who had expertly schooled her.
When Mark Porter went into the room all he could think about was how in the hell was he going to explain: some of this...no...all of it. His stammering of, "I uh, I uh, I uh, was, uh, uh..." simply trailed off to silence. Michelle understood the situation but none-the-less smiled at what had literally walked in on her. She was gonna make the kid squirm.
Maybe Larry wouldn't appreciate some of the thoughts that were running through her mind at this time, but, things being what they were, he'd allow her the opportunity to play a mind game or two. In fact, it was understood, that Larry wanted the kid to know what would happen to him if he weren't in "protective custody." And now was just as good a time as any to hit him with it like a fish across his face. But she further considered that it wasn't like Larry to go weak. For some reason he'd taken a shine to the boy; after all, she'd caught his slight hesitation in acknowledging her when both had walked in. But more so, it was the look in his eyes when the kid turned to walk back into room "A." He didn't shake his head at the kid for what he was wearing; it was his warning to her of not to go too far. Silently, she considered the options then decided...no problem. She was cool with that.
Before Mark could stammer again she had taken control of the situation with, "Mark that is your name, right?" She didn't allow him the opportunity to reply and continued. "Listen to what I say and I'm only going to tell you one time. Take off your shirt. Hold it in your right hand out and away from your body and then drop it. Then, remove your shoes, then socks and then place your socks in your shoes. Pick each up separately, hold it away from your body, and then drop each on top of your shirt. Then, loosen and drop your pants and step out of them. Then pull the pockets out. After you finish that, hold your pants away from your body and drop 'em in the same spot. Make sure it's done in that order and that it's all in one pile. You have one minute to start or else I'll do it all for you...and I guarantee...you won't like it. Now move."
Michelle could tell the boy was freaked, hell, what normal kid wouldn't be. But still she thought if there was an object lesson to be learned, better to have it done under a controlled circ-umstance. She knew Larry, trusted him, several times with her life and he'd never let her down. She wasn't going to screw this up for a cheap thrill. But still she did have those thoughts. She exhaled and in a kinder tone of voice said, "Mark, you need to take off your shirt, please." As a matter of procedure Larry stationed himself just outside the open door to room "A."
A resigned and dejected Mark Porter complied. It didn't help that he tried to close his eyes and hide himself away. Michelle cut him some slack and prodded each demand in sequence. It wasn't until he had second thoughts about cutting lose of his jeans and dropping them that he hesitated; but that was only for the moment. Michelle took care of his protracted reticence with, "You really wouldn't want me to cut 'em off of you, would you?"
After he shook his head, she watched him unzip, and then unfasten them without a word. But, then again, she couldn't help herself when he timidly slid them down to his knees. When he pushed each separate leg to the floor and then tried to step out of them he was literally about to fall over. He caught himself just before he did. From Michelle's perspective the pained expression on his face was completely understandable.
She allowed him the momenatary dignity of righting himself before she proceeded. However it was when Mark Porter's eyes met hers that she began to grin at what she'd seen; while at the same moment intoning, "My...my...my...what do we have here?"
With her last word, Mark Porter's bleary eyes could only focus on her perfect white toothed smile. Michelle Spangler drew back and through her perfect smile inhaled deeply; in full understanding, that she had him. The audible rushing of air past her lips and through her pearly whites, caused a distinct and protracted "sssssss" sound. Through bleary eyes Mark Porter's image of deputy Michelle Spangler was terrifying: he'd noticed that as she'd looked at him that her wide blue eyes grew even wider, if that was at all possible, but even more, that while she appeared to pull back and away from him that she appeared to grow in stature.
For his part, Mark couldn't believe what he had just done or what he had just heard. The woman had him totally intimidated. He thought the obvious, "The quicker I get the hell out of here the better off I'll be." Of couse what he didn't understand was that for Mark Porter, from this point on, things would not get better...at least...not for a while. In fact, this would be the first if not the least of his many soon to be embarrassing moments. To him, that instance would begin only a minute away.
-
“Anyway, in just a couple of more minutes I’ll be away…far away…I just wanna get this over with and get as far away from here as I can and as fast as I can; maybe even home but when mom hears about this she’s is gonna kill me,” that’s what Mark thought; but instead, dressed or undressed the way he was, he stewed; besides, the invisible concrete that his feet were stuck in only seemed to make it worse. So instead of running, not that he ever thought he’d stand a chance of doing so, all he could do was to think about the obvious and cover his now reddened face with both of his hands in embarrassment when heard Michelle chortle softly to herself, “Knew it.”
As was her nature, Deputy Michelle Spangler felt that this was the time to make a lasting impression on the errant boy so without so much as a look back towards the door for approval she allowed the undignified cowering form only a moment of respite, then, took him completely off guard with her dual nod and words of, “They’re cute and you fill them out especially nice but I have to do a cavity check, so turn around then loose them” and awaited his response. Of course, Michelle had often looked forward to giving the fickle finger to someone cute; and Mark Porter’s behind was no exception to her latent desires.
She allowed her immediate path to the lone wall cabinet in the room to garner a pair of latex gloves and lubricating jelly to be interrupted by Mark Porters sincere but all too shaky voice when he haltingly spoke, “Mmmam? I…I ah mean Ms. Deputy? Uh…Mmmy mmmother already t..t took mmmme ttt to the… ah…the ah dddentist…lllast week and uh…and uh…he uh… he said uhh… he said that I…don’t have none…I mmmmean any uh…cavities.”
Turning her head away Michelle couldn’t help herself and her furtive rolling eye glance towards Larry along with her mouthed “Oh please,” told him all that he need to know, that it was all she could do not to drop down and roll on the floor while laughing her butt off. The kid obviously didn’t have a clue but he was about to when Michelle regained some measure of composure; though, she did have to turn her head away so that the boy wouldn’t see the broad smile on her face when she replied, “Sweet cheeks, that’s not the type of cavity I’m talking about.” Reaching the cabinet, she stopped and gazed at his reflection in the two way mirror; making certain that he watched her, she perfunctory busied herself by dusting a little baby powder on both hands and then, as she had so often done, easily slid them on and allowed each glove to snap loudly into place as she continued to speak to him, “The cavity, precious, is the little one you sit on. I have to make sure that you haven’t tried to salt something nasty away deep inside of it. But,” she turned around to face the wide eyed boy and continued to squeeze the tube of lubricant, while applying a large dollop of it to her middle finger as she continued to speak, “that’s what all of this nice jelly is for; see? Turn around, bend over and spread ‘em.” She allowed the momentous realization to sink in, and then continued as she watched his jaw drop in understanding as she went on.
“Be a nice boy and make this easy on yourself and turn around; you do want to be a nice boy; especially for me now don’t you? Well, don’t you sweet cheeks? Extending her arm to him and wiggling two, then three fingers in front of his face, she lingered to allow the unspoken implication of what would happen if he chose otherwise to sink in as a slack jawed Mark Porter stared petrified at her in stunned realization. When he closed his eyes and turned around he moaned “oh noo, why’d I ever…,” he didn’t see Michelle and Larry exchange hand signals to each other as Michelle flashed a quick three finger salute to her boss: but instead of the similar salutation she was hoping for only a two finger gesture was returned; which meant that: (1) Mark would indeed drop the bikini briefs he now wore and that (2) a large amount of cold lubricant would find its way to mark a very sensitive and heretofore private area. The third finger would remain in waiting: teasing a possible and obviously tightly puckered non-willing starry-eyed entry point. Both she and Larry were of the same opinion, that a couple of quick taps around the opening to his toothless wonder might be all that was needed to drive the point home: that bad things can happen in a brown round world and that it was better to play ball with the winning team than to become someone else’s little sissy peg boy.
For his part Larry Binder was content to stand in the doorway and make certain that Michelle didn’t lose sight of the bigger picture. He wanted information but also wanted something else: satisfaction. Sure he’d agreed to scare the kid, he corrected himself, the boy, Mark, but for some reason he thought he’d have done that anyway, despite his mother. But his mother was another question he had to address. Sure she was smart, looked good, o.k. even better than good, she was a knock out. But he had doubts about her, not that she’d been involved in anything nefarious, just some personal doubts which he hadn’t yet reconciled. There were the why’s to questions he had and wanted the answers to; especially what she had in store for her son; not that he wasn’t hers to discipline, no not that, but even to him there was a fine line between discipline and vindictiveness. The first he could handle the second left him cold and bitter, resentful and mean. What’s more, he knew from their limited conversation that when he left the boy in her “tender” custody that she had something in store for him and from her voice and general attitude it wasn’t going to be the least bit pleasant. He could understand her being p.o’d. about the b & e but there was something else that was eating at her. Besides if she was so damn smart she already knew that the ostensible theft was not considered as anything other than petty and that the worst that would have happened to the boy was a couple of hours of half-ass community service. No she had an axe to grind and the boy for some reason was gonna be a central player.
He allowed Michelle her moment and watched her as Mark reluctantly pried the pink and white bikini bottoms off of his butt, pushed them down his legs and then enticingly stepped out of them after he allowed them to drop to the floor. He noted that if the boy hadn’t done this before his last action appeared to be almost naturally choreographed, perhaps one that had even been to some degree coached. He further considered, if he was coached then why and by who. He wasn’t the least bit disappointed in his deputy’s reaction either and noted her initial coc-ked-head reaction to the way Mark had dutifully obeyed her. Larry silently reconsidered the situation, the boy had to have been set up to take a fall or…and here he almost grinned in understanding…the kid was part of something else which to him might have at first seemed harmless, a plan to help his mother out of a jam, but which in fact, to him, now held other more serious implications. Of course, it all seemed to fit. The only question he really needed to ask Mark Porter was whose bright idea was it for him to wear the bikinis.
He chuckled silently to himself and brought himself up short, “Nope, take the simple route. I really don’t need to ask that question either.” Cathy Black had clued him to the obvious so accept it. Black said that her daughter wanted to give ‘em to him; she, the daughter, Shellie, probably had him wrapped around her little finger and the kid, the boy, might be willing to do almost anything for her. The bikinis were there for the taking so he did what any normal kid would do…it was puppy love on his part, but was it the same for her and Black or something else? He nodded thoughtfully to himself: he’d find out. He always did. All he’d have to do would be to sit back and let the boy spill it all. Besides, it’d only be a couple of minutes before he sat the boy down across from him and point blank tell him in no uncertain terms, “Mark, you had better start at the beginning, don’t leave a thing out, don’t lie, and don’t make anything up: even the teeniest bit, cause if you do, well, you don’t want to go somewhere else where it won’t be as cordial.”
In the meantime a most convivial Michelle Spangler could hardly contain herself as she cooed to a shaking Mark Porter, “Now, be a nice little boy and bend over so the Deputy can see if you’re packing.” No amount of crying would normally have stopped the probe from taking place but that didn’t stop Mark and perhaps it was just as well that the floodgates opened when they did. If Michelle was going to take advantage of a situation this was the appropriate moment; instead she muttered out loud, “Mark, by the looks of it just a lil dab’l do ya,” and that’s all there was that was left behind. Instead of the forced entry he had braced for all he heard was Michelle’s voice as she loudly stated, “Larrry, on second thought, by the looks of it, I seriously doubt that Mark is that bad a boy. What say we just let him consider this a learning experience?”
Larry thought about dragging the moment out but decided against it as he almost immediately replied, “Fine by me, but make sure to leave him a sizeable reminder.” Michelle understood and promptly spotted the remainder of the lubricant on top of what she had already placed. Then, before waiting for a reply of any sort from her shaking charge ordered him to “step back into your bikini bottoms sweet cheeks then pull ‘em up and think about what could have been…if you think you’re uncomfortable now… tough…your lucky you didn’t get juiced up by someone else, then it’ve really been messy, for you. Who knows…a little sissy like you might’ve ….” Larry interrupted Michelle before she could cross over the line with, “Deputy, I think he’ll be uncomfortable enough for quite awhile, why don’t you wand his clothes just to make sure he isn’t somehow wired. When he leaves here I want to be certain he’s clean…more or less.
-
To which Mark Porter reflexively sighed in relief and conspicuously wilted from the release of his pent up tension. Of course his audible groan, an exhaled of, “Ohhhh thank …,” brought a transitory smile to both Larry and Michelle. He was theirs and they both knew it.
Moments later, a temporarily relieved but still nude Mark Porter opened his eyes and found Deputy Spangler’s’ high gloss black booted feet standing in front of him. There, looking up, he found her looking down at him while she made it a point to dangle the purloined bottoms in front of his nose; enticingly they hung from one finger as she gently swayed them back and forth.
Of course she smiled when she asked, “Looks like you might need these back? So, be a good little boy for me and slip these cuties back on…after all…when you sit down we wouldn’t want to get any goo on the nice clean chair now would we?”
As would anyone, red-faced with the situation in which he had found himself, full self-consciousness was achieved; to which he remained both motionless and in stunned silence. Michelle relished his predicament and proceeded to further coax him with, “My, my, my. Little boy, I’d have thought you’d be in a hurry to put them back on; can you manage them all by yourself or do you need some help stepping into them?”
Mark quickly reached out to grab but an even quicker Michelle withdrew the offering with, “It’s not nice to snatch something; especially without asking for it. That’s part of the reason that you’re here now. At present and from this moment on, if one wants something, namely you, one asks politely and you do want to ask me politely, don’t you little boy?”
Marks initial nod and first reply of, “Yes’m, O.K. can I have ‘em?” was immediately rebuffed by Michelle with, “No, no, no sweet cheeks. That’s not how you ask…especially me. Now, try that again. But this time, make certain to ask for what I’m holding by name and sweetie…be sure and let me know that they’re yours. Do you understand?”
Ever so hesitantly Mark straightened himself up and tried to cover himself as best he could with both hands but before he could say a word Michelle cut him off with, “Sorry, but the only way you’re going to get these back,” as she wiggled the bottoms faster, “is to forget modesty and stand up straight with both hands at your side, then do what comes naturally: hopefully that won’t be you.”
Over Marks left shoulder she caught Larry’s smirk. Damn it she knew that he had a sense of humor but seldom let it go. Try as she might the man was all business; and almost never would allow himself to let up. And while Larry knew what she’d asked for, obviously Mark didn’t. While one would have thought otherwise, her goading of the boy wasn’t intended to be malicious. Both she and Larry wanted Marks full co-operation and the sooner he learned to obey without question the better it’d be for everyone; especially Mark. Both had agreed that the boy was into or on to something important, the question was, what in the hell was it that would lead to murder. No, she corrected herself, murder itself was common place, the bigger question was why was it that the agency was involved? She blew off the fleeting thought and instead concentrated on Mark.
As anyone in his situation would be, a tongue tied and thoroughly befuddled Mark Porter waited for either instructions or something else to happen. Michelle was all to happy to oblige and she was going to assist by beginning with, “Sweet cheeks, now that both of your hands are at your side, you begin by extending one of them while at the same moment asking ever so nicely for it; after all, you went to so much trouble for them didn’t you? Naturally she didn’t expect a smart-ass response but was surprised by his anatomical reply instead.
“Sweet cheeks,” she continued, “I merely asked that you extend one of your hands not that…” as she nodded to a point below his waist, “My, my, my, by the looks of it you certainly know how to flatter a girl; didn’t know you had it in you. But enough pleasantries, if you’d be so kind…ask…courteously.”
Mark rolled his tongue across his dry lips, a simple nervous habit, and thought nothing of it. Reciprocating with a knowing nod Michelle egged him on. “How sweet and coy, but don’t keep me or the constable waiting…ask.” Mark knew that whatever he was going to say had better be good, no it had to be better than good; otherwise she’d keep him standing there with it pointing at her until she was satisfied.
Grudgingly he winced and tentatively asked her the obvious, “May I, uh, please? Uh, have them…” He noticed the sudden shift of her head, coc-king ever so slightly to the left and then thought better of continuing and quickly retracted his initial inquiry with, “I, I mean, may I ppplease have…mmmy? swimsuit back? Please?”
Under other circ-umstances Michelle would’ve cut the boy some slack and tossed them at him, but she was in no rush to end his discomfort and saw his jaw drop when she replied while holding them at arms length, “I’m so sorry, that was not the proper term to use when asking for these; again dangling them in front of his nose.” She understood his puzzled look and immediately chimed in, “Sweets, you were wearing these under your pants to school so that means that to you they really aren’t a swimsuit…right? And if they aren’t a swimsuit and they’re worn under your pants what does that make them?”
“Uh…underwear?” was the faltering response she’d expected but wasn’t in the least inclined to accept. “Nooo sweet cheeks, boys and men wear underwear. Obviously these don’t fall into that category so try that again.
“Uhh, but, I just wore ‘em to…please…you know they’re really not girls underwear they’re...”
“Sweet cheeks, if they’re not underwear and you and I know that you weren’t going to go swimming in them, pray tell what does that make them?”
“Umm, umm, I umm, I guess you’d call ‘em, uhh, girls stuff…you know…what uh…what uh…girls wear…I mean I’m not! Look at me I’m not a...girl! O.K?
-
To his dismay, his blanket denial fell on deaf ears and Michelle wasn’t about to let the matter drop as she insistently pressed on with, “You’re …not a…girl? O.K. So, if you’re not a girl, physically, then why pray tell, are you wearing these? This time she dangled the briefs so close in front of his nose that he could still smell the wonderful perfume which Stacey had mischievously sprinkled on to them.
Of course and unknown to Mark Porter, Stacey knew him better than he knew himself and had hoped that when she told him that she’d spritzed them just for him that the enticing aroma would be all that was needed for him to accept them as a gift and that he would wear them for a couple of days “just as a simple gesture” of his love for her. Stacey knew he’d accept and would never give it another thought; after all she wheedled him, “Who would ever know after all it’d be just our little secret?”
But behind the scene, both she and her mother felt that he, Mark, would do well under Stacey’s “guidance:” as in many respects, she was just like Cathy, but with a decidedly softer side when it came to the dominance of males. Stacey, already experienced, was less pronounced to discard a possible winner and preferred to dominate a boy with a simple girlish twist or two. To her, a boy in panties was of course a must and in time, as she saw fit, a few of the other daily accoutrements of femininity could and would be added; even an outing to her favorite unisex store with him in tow, was not out of the question. But the overriding craving she continually toyed with was to put him in diapers and to have him use them. She thought that not only would he look “cute” but that it also would prove to her his professed love. After all, he did tell her on more than one occasion, “Stacey, I’d do anything for you.” To which here coy reply of “Anything?” was always responded to with an emphatic, “Anything,” to which she would demurly reply, “Anything? We’ll just see about that.”
But now, standing in front of Deputy Spangler, he was having second thoughts about everything and with them came the realization that there just wasn’t another way out of the situation that he found himself in just as Michelle prodded him once more with, “Sweet cheeks,” she teased, “with the right answer you can get your… panties…back; otherwise, well, there’s no telling who’d walk in on us and there’d you be standing there, still thinking about whether or not to admit to wearing something that you can’t possibly lie your way out of. Besides, look up on to the wall…to your right…see the little camera mounted there? It records voices too. Now if you can bring yourself to call them by name and admit that they’re yours we can solve part of the reason that you’re here for: petty theft. We’ll have established ownership. So, are the panties yours or aren’t they?”
Of course, Mark Porter had no way of knowing that the front door had been electronically secured with mag-locks and that no one could barge in unannounced. Furthermore, that it was at Larry’s specific request that both the camera and listening devices had been turned off; at least for the humiliating strip search and the subsequent interrogation. What's more, that while everything the constable did was a matter of public record; there was the inherant issue of absolute control and secrecy that he was responsible for. In the field, he was both unaccustomed to leaks in maintaining confidentiality as well as controlling a possible loose cannon; and now, to him, Mark was the random factor he hadn’t counted on.
True, to others he might be a bull in a china shop, the one who had no qualms about busting heads, but he never jeopardized a probable associate: even if initially unwilling, however old or now so very young. That’s one of the things that Michelle liked about her boss; he always tried to have your back covered before you knew it was bare.
Still, Michelle couldn’t help herself; she tallied the boy up as a likely prospect: one of purely business to begin with: but then later, perhaps one with a softer side that she’d more than be willing to investigate with some jiggery-pokery. Silently she mused to herself that he’d be dancing the jig while she’d be doing the poking as Mark shyly asked, “May I, uh, may I uh, uh, have…have uh…,” of course a decidedly kinder Michelle helped him along with, “Mark, I believe the word your searching for is…my, my, my…these are yours, aren’t they?”
“Yes mam, they’re, uh, uh, mine?”
“You don’t sound too sure of that,” came her syrupy reply.
“I’m sure,” Mark shot back, “they’re mine and I, uh, uh, want ‘em, uhh, ppplease cccan I have mmy…my…my…” Michelle interjected, honey, what “you” wear under your clothes are called…panties. Now repeat after me, “May I please have my panties back. I need to wear them.” Oh, and if you stutter, you’ll just have to stand there and ask until you don’t. So what’ll it be?”
Obviously a disgruntled Mark had little to no choice and replied, “O.K. I’ll say it, but only ‘cause you’re making me,” after which he saw the p.o’d look that Michelle gave him and immediately retracted his disclaimer, “Sorry, your right. I mean I didn’t steal them I took them ‘cause they’re mine so may I please have…my…panties back?"
Michelle glanced up to her boss and Larry was blushing three sheets of red. Obviously, and for once, she’d found out what made him shy away.
No less than two minutes later a very nervous and red faced Mark Porter tentatively sat himself down opposite a scowling Larry Binder. Within fifteen minutes and without prompt, a tearful Mark Porter had not only willingly admitted entering the Blacks’ duplex but also to have lifting, at the request of both Stacey and Ms. Black, a certain key and most obviously the bottom half of a bikini; which, unfortunately for him, was the only article of clothing that he now so embarrassingly wore but also was about to spill the beans to a whole lot more.
For now, of course, he would have gladly donned the clothes he had walked in with but while Deputy Spangler had completed her assigned task, Larry, with a shake of his head, had delayed both her findings as well as the return of his now thoroughly wanded garments. He wanted Marks complete attention and wasn’t at all concerned about Marks’ modesty; nor inclined to be burdened with an interruption. Besides, unknown to Mark, Larry had picked up on Michelle’s’ professional interest in some item and was now in the midst of electronically fragging it.
In the meantime, what misgivings he had about Mark’s mother eased somewhat as his temporary charge claimed that his mother wasn’t all that bad of a mom or a woman. At least to Larry that was the kid’s “truthful” perspective. Besides the kid was inclined to excuse her baleful demeanor outright claiming that she’d been in a “blue funk” state of mind “after the accident” and that she “Just wasn’t the same mom,” he used to remember her being. To Larry, it was also apparent that Mark Porter didn’t actually have a clue as to what had actually happened to his step-father.
But unfortunately for Mark, when it came to business, Larry wasn’t the least bit sentimental nor was there a maudlin knee-jerk reaction to his now unenviable position. Besides, Larry knew that he couldn’t or shouldn’t show the boy the least amount of kindness. The cruel taskmaster, the many years of field experience, had hardened him to the fact that it was better to remain cold and dispassionate and personally uninvolved when it came to risky business. After all if anything happened, impersonality was the best armor; and it best fit where one size suited all.
In any assignment, he rationalized, there might be some regrets; but he’d shake them off; after all, he always did, since they were few and far between and that was all there normally was. In his line of work, personal involvement was the pits and it was far better to have no misgivings; and, no second guessing which would in turn lead to standing around all bleary and teary-eyed at the end worrying about someone else’s shattered life; if anything else at all. He was good, no, he excelled at tearing things apart, but putting what was broken back together again was not his forte; besides, he usually left the object of his hunt graveyard dead and if anyone else got in the way, too bad so sad. His curt reply to it all was “Yeah, it’s a tough life, now tell me something new,” was more than disheartening to Mark.
Given little choice in the matter that’s exactly what he did. His further recitations confirmed Larry’s suspicions; that it was Cathy Blacks’ scheme to goad his mother back into action at F.E.M.M. as there was, according to her, a veritable fortune to be made off of some very innovative articles and that if everything went right they’d all be in the high life. Embarrassingly, he also admitted, that regretfully, he’d taken advantage of the situation by unmercifully “teasing” his younger sister, but the way he did elicited from Larry, “That was really a crappy thing to do.” All Mark could do was to nod and mutter, “Yeah, guess so.”
Larry simply shook his head as he replied, “Guess? Hell boy, you’re lucky she hasn’t backhanded you and sent you into next week. If you were mine I’d of blistered your butt but right now I’ve a mind to haul your sorry can down to her office and let her deal with you, but I’ll tell you this, if you so much as give me a reason I’ll forget that notion and book you. You’re damn lucky that all I really want from you is information, besides, I gave you my word if that if you played it straight with me that I’d let you walk. Of course, I didn’t mention where I’d let you walk to; besides, I have a gut feeling that your mother isn’t gonna be so nice and understanding about what you’ve been up to when she sees you. You know a little talking to her might’ve gone a helluva lot further and saved you a boat load of grief. Why don’t you get your butt off my chair and get dressed, that is if Deputy Spangler is through with your gear. Deputy you have anything?"
“As a matter of fact I do…an arcade token…and boss…it was loaded. Looks like our counterparts have been listening in to “sweet cheeks” here and have gotten an earful…well at least they were up until a couple of minutes ago when you both walked in the door. It won’t be hot anymore, I just fried it.” Her less than jovial smile at Mark Porter left him chilled as she continued. “Honey, I’d bet that everything you said or did is now common knowledge to some really nasty players. So, care to tell us where you got it?”
Marks reply was unexpected, “Uhh, well, some lady at where my mom works said it was for good luck and that I should always keep it with me…you know…just on me. Did I do something wrong?”
“No Mark,” was Binders immediate reply. “You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need for you to remember who this lady was, can you do that for me?” Several moments of silence ensued whereupon the question was more or less voiced again. “Mark? Did you hear me?”
Larry allowed a squirming, now flushed and extremely uncomfortable Mark Porter several moments to reply, but knew he wasn’t going to like the reply. He’d seen it before. The boy had information and was going to sit on it and that was something that he wasn’t going to let stand for long, so he pressed the point once more with, “Mark, I’m waiting, patiently, did you hear what I asked you?”
Before he replied Mark broke out in a sweat. “Yyyes sir, I heard you, bbut I uh, I can’t…I mean I uh, I uh…can’t. That’s all. I just can’t.”
Larry’s quick staccato retort of, “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong answer!” bounced off the walls. “Try that one again!” he bellowed, “and this time if you know what’s good for you your memory’ll improve pronto!”
“But I’ll give you something else to chew on Mark it’s not just about the key you lifted. We both know that it goes to something big, something that some real bad asses’ll kill for. Yea, that’s what I said! Now, you have a pretty good damn idea of what the hell this is all about. But just for the record, I’ll clue you in…whether you know it or not…you’ve been made the patsy and like it or not you’re about to be a player in a game; and whether you know what you’re in for or not you’re stuck with it.
“Now you’re a smart boy put the pieces together. Someone else wants in the game because that arcade token that you’ve been trucking is more than just a good luck piece. If anything to you it’s going to be nothing but bad luck and trouble and I don’t envy you; no, not one bit. Look, I told you that I’d be straight up with you so here it is; that token the deputy’s fried is probably from the players over at S.O.W.I.E. In short that’s an acronym for Syndicated Organization for World Intelligence and Espionage a group of for hire merchants who’d sell their own mother up the river if the price were right or who wouldn’t be the least bit shy of dropping the hammer on some poor s.o.b. like they did on your step-father. You didn’t know that did you but that’s the way it is. Live with it."
That astounding bit of information was all new news to Mark and it was the last thing he was expecting to hear; first off because the man he always thought was his father turns out that he wasn’t and secondly that he might’ve been murdered. At that moment he just realized why he always acted more like a close friend than a dad. Not that he was mistreated by him, no just the opposite, he was always cracking jokes with him about things in general, but it always didn’t set well that he thought that David was just a wussie; after all, he didn’t consider himself a dumb-shit and he could at times put two and two together and the sum total now was pretty obvious: he didn’t really know who his dad was. Maybe that’s why his mother always treated him the way she did.
Larry didn’t let Mark’s stunned expression sink in and plowed on with, “Now Mark, it seems like that they’ve got a mole or two at F.E.M.M. and that’s partially the reason why I’m here. I’m going to find ‘em and when I do, it won’t be pretty. The second part of the reason is simple whatever the hell it is that your mother and him were working on, along with Cathy Black, has obviously attracted quite a bit of attention. I want to know what you know and I want to know now, so…what’ll it be?”
Before Mark could reply Michelle Spangler was at his side. True, she considered herself a bitch when necessary, but unlike her boss, she was quite adept at fixing things that could unravel: that was one of the reasons Larry preferred to have her around. She watched his back on some things better than anyone else; and he knew it and began to glue it all back together with, “Larry, for the record, you might want to know that up until now, that the whole town has thought that David Porter was Marks paternal father, the only reference to the contrary is found in our respective profiles of each: the DNA work on the blood samples of both his mother and David Porter shows that they are incompatible with Marks.
-
Before Mark could reply to Spangler’s information she was at his side. True, she considered herself a bitch when necessary, but unlike her boss, she was quite adept at fixing the things that could unravel: that was one of the many reasons Larry preferred to have her around. She watched his back on some things better than anyone else; and he knew it. More often than not she was the glue that made the pair of them bond; work wise that is.
In seconds, she began to piece it all back together with, “Larry, for the record, you might want to know that up until now, that the whole town’s been under the impression that David Porter was Marks paternal father, but for some reason the only reference to the contrary is found in our respective profiles of each as supplied by F.E.M.M. The DNA work on the blood samples they supplied of both his mother and David Porter differs; which implies that they are incompatible with Marks. Central is still trying to piece it together.
She continued on with, “Boss that was the asterisk you noted before you left to pick him up and asked me to research because it wasn’t cut and dry. It was omitted in the profile addendums. For what it’s worth, the e-mail on our secure line from the home office apologizes for the omission and advises that you to disregard the anomaly.”
Larry’s blue-streaked vocal reaction was to Michelle, mild; considering the circ-umstances. To Mark however, he’d never heard some of the cuss words used so many times and all in one easy to understand sentence which concluded with, “…and if I get back there I’ll personally cut the nuts off of the son-of –a-bitch who sent it out!”
Michelle couldn’t help but snigger, “Boss, I’d like to see ya try but that might be kinda hard to do…it was Millie.”
“Well doesn’t that just beat all to hell,” Larry murmured as he shook his head back and forth in disgust. He went on with, “She’s normally rock solid, what the hell went wrong this time? No, don’t answer; sometimes I think that that bitch does it to me on purpose. She knows damn well that I’m a stickler for detail. One day, one day it’ll cost…the stupid bitch almost got us wasted the last time out. Make sure that Central understands that I’m “irritated” with her…again.”
Michelle placed a gentle hand on Marks left shoulder and looked down into two puddling eyes and spoke, “Mark, I’m sorry, but try to understand, not even your mother knows about this. What I’m trying to say is, crap damn it, no one knew about this until the F.E.M.M. records and blood tests from the accident were cross filed and the computer tried to match up the DNA. As far as we know and your mother is concerned David Porter was and is actually your father, there isn’t any paperwork of any type that would indicate otherwise. In short, someone’s been messing around with the files over at F.E.M.M. As for the accident, sweetheart, I’m…we’re…sorry that you learned about it like this.”
All Mark could do was force a smile and shrug his shoulders, after all, what else could he do? As for Larry Binder, he didn’t like apologizing for anything let alone being forced to admit that he’d screwed the pooch with Mark Porter. He felt bad, actually worse and in a decidedly softer voice spoke to the boy who was now sitting opposite him with goose bumps. “Mark,” he began, “I need to say I’m, uh, sorry. Look, sometimes,” he paused and reconsidered, “no, most the time, I have a tendency to say some things that might be, well, let’s say, brash. Crap, that’s not right, look, before I shot my mouth off I should’ve made sure about it, my facts and circ-umstances, I mean, I didn’t want to hurt you. Hell…as far as you’re concerned you probably think that I’m one sorry bastard.”
Larry smiled at Mark’s curt and off the cuff reply of, “Yea, guess it might take one to know one.”
Michelle held her breathe until Larry’s one word parried reply of “Touché” was heard. Not many had the stones to face up with him and fewer still walked away after they did.
He went on with, “I had that coming, but,” and here he lingered for a moment to size both the moment and the boy up, then continued with, “let’s be honest with each other. I’ll go first…then I expect you to help me out. Crap, that didn’t come out right. Jeeezus help me and my big mouth. Mark, I’m sorry but you have information that will help solve a couple of murders and also answer some very big questions…so I’m…asking…for your help. But listen to me, if you won’t help out then someone else may get hurt and there’s no telling who it’ll be. I could B.S. you and tell you that if you told me everything right now that all of this would turn out to be fine and just go away but I’d be lying; I can’t guarantee that or jack-shit! The only thing I can promise you is that whenever I find out, who it was they’ll wish they’d never been born.
“So here goes: first, we definitely know that the crash was a hit and that not one but two murders were committed; and, that the local constable at the time screwed up quite a bit of the investigative information. Christ, it looks like we’re still trying to get most of that crap straightened out. Second, that under normal circ-umstances that the NTSB would’ve been swarming all over this place like flies on a freshly squatted pile of manure but the agency I work for had other ideas. They managed to crush the whole thing but allowed the FAA to come in for political purposes. They’d make a half-ass showing with some B.S. that they were going to throw up against the wall, and see what stuck, to the media. Third, your mother was set up by a S.O.W.I.E. operative and took the fall. Fourth, someone had gone to a whole lot of trouble to bug both your mother’s and Kathy Blacks’ residences; for the past couple of weeks there wasn’t much that they didn’t pick up on. I think you catch my drift? This isn’t personal but I want to know who did it because my agency tells me that there’s more at stake here than meets the eye. Look, we’re coming in on this late but you can help us make a difference. One last thing, I promise, if you decide not to help…that I won’t hold it against you; personally or otherwise. So what’ll it be?
Michelle’s nod to Larry was likewise returned and both waited for a reply which after several moments was “So it wasn’t an accident?”
“’Fraid not,” were the only two words Mark heard; not that it’d have mattered that much to him now. After hearing about his father he had already decided and was about to give up every bit of information he had and started off with, “Mr. Binder, the key goes to locker bin 113 in the storage facility. I guess it belongs to both my mom and Ms. Black. It has a lotta of files in it on my mom’s project which they didn’t want anyone to see for some reason. Some really off the wall stuff about some new interrogation methods that, uh, uh, could take the place of doing whatcha-ma-callit…uh...you know when you act like your gonna drown some dude.
From Michelle all Mark heard was,” It’s called water-boarding.”
“Yea, whatever, anyhow it’s a new thing that they were developing that had to do with a couple of things…does that make any sense…anyhow…one of the things is some new stuff on how to make super diapers…I mean not big ones…just some really rad crap.
“Rad?” I don’t understand, what the hell is rad crap?
“Larry,” giggled Michelle, “it means…radical.” Larry rolled his eyes back at her as if to say, “Sure, of course, why not, stupid me.”
“Yea, it means radical, sorry, I shoulda known better than to confuse someone old like you. Anyhow, this stuff is really something else. The notes stuck on top of the discs cradle called it something like “compressed fiber.” Stacey says that means that its just one which is squashed and packed together so tight that it can take the place of a whole lot of other diapers all by itself. But there’s more to ‘em than that. They’re supposed to be iree…irre…made so you can’t take ‘em off.”
Larry hesitantly volunteered, “Irremovable?”
“Yea, that’s the word. Anyhow, there was another cradle with some project notes called NODER stuck to it too. I didn’t have time to look much at that one. But I kinda know that there must’ve been a couple of others in there too but I couldn’t get to them ‘cause they were locked up inside some sorta sealed box with the letters RFN written on top of it. Oh, and under the letters were some foreign words…guess that’s about it. Uhh, I guess there’s one other thing that I need to tell you guys…the person’s name who gave me the tokens was Ms. Gentry, she works at where my mom does but in a different division. So…did I help?
Larry’s nod and “Yes, quite a bit,” helped Mark to smile, at least for the brief moment. Michelle was also pleased but wanted to pursue a question to which she knew that Larry was just dying to ask but was holding back on. Larry’s wink gave her the, “Go ahead and ask it for me,” signal; which, after taking one knee beside him she promptly and ever so softly did with, “Mark, would it be too difficult for you to remember, the words that were written under the letters?” The autonomic stirring in the front of the suit he wore didn’t escape her notice: nor Larry’s.
Oblivious to the obvious effect she was having on him he replied, “Sure, but don’t you want to know what RFN stands for? Without waiting for her certain reply he told both what they wanted to hear, “RF is for Resonating Frequencies. I know that for a fact ‘cause Stacey told me so. She said, “It can make you feel either really good or super bad.” But she didn’t explain the words under them so I don’t know what they mean, ‘cause like I said they’re strange but I’ve got a real good memory. Anyhow they were, “Segreto superiore - occhi soltanto.”
-
“Segreto superiore…now that’s a hot news flash” was just another imprudent sarcastic force of habit remark that endeared him to few. “Segreto superiore” he muttered again to no one in particular but then went on to explain, “Mark, the words mean…Top secret. Are you sure you didn’t leave out any other strange words. After all, you’re the one who says that he has a real good memory. Besides, the last two words you said are more or less meaningless unless they’re preceded by other words that go along with ‘em. Take a second and think real hard…I wouldn’t want you to confuse someone who’s old like me on purpose.”
“Well,” came the hesitant reply… there were a couple of other words that came after the first two…perry…I mean…per i vostri. Sorry. That’s all.”
Neither Michelle nor Larry was inclined to offer any more information as to the words actual meaning as both preferred to have their now willing subject to recount whatever nuances that came to mind without interruption. After all, it was easier to sort out whatever information there was after the subject’s narrative rather than to start and stop on whatever word that might have piqued their individual interests.
Larry’s brief smile and “If that’s all, that’s o.k.” took Mark Porter by surprise. “Besides,” he added, “it’s not like you were trying to leave anything out on purpose…were you?”
“Of course,” Mark thought to himself, “I’m gonna leave out what’s embarrassing to me and that I don’t want you to know about.” Unfortunately for him, what he didn’t want them to know they already knew and that that information came from the memory chips of the planted monitoring devices that they recovered from both residences. It was always better to have an ace or two in the hole just to use as a trump. Michelle waited for Larry’s lead.
Normally he would’ve hit the kid over the head…verbally…and got in his face while flat out screaming in his loud bass voice calling him a liar and a couple of other choice things; but he didn’t. Instead he uncharacteristically allowed the boy the comfort of his self-imposed silence. Besides, both knew that eventually, as with any interrogation, that there would be numerous opportunities for follow-ups and that whatever else was going to come out would be just as pertinent if not more so; the significant caveat in waiting was obvious; would the information be timely enough to forestall any other unwanted actions. Furthermore, both understood, that with any interrogation or debriefing, the initial encounter was always the most awkward and least prone to the personal rapport necessary for meaningful interaction and acc-umulation of further information. In this case it was best to wait and let nature take its course. Besides, from here on out, wherever the boy went he’d be surreptitiously wired. Until this was over he’d be a walking, talking listening and tracking device. His every move would be tracked and every word spoken recorded.
Larry allowed his silence to sink in for some thirty seconds then spoke, “No, of course you wouldn’t…after all…you’re a smart boy…with a good memory…whose about to go meet his mother without a chip on his shoulder. I’m sure that she’ll back up your good memory…after all…why would a smart boy like you try to hide something from someone old like me? Right?”
He was quick to follow up with “Mark, if your finished then get dressed, then,” he added, “Before you leave we have to come to an understanding.” He didn’t explain what he meant and allowed an uneasy and tentative Mark Porter to wordlessly stew.
Under normal circ-umstances Mark would’ve literally jumped out of the chair and bolted straight way for his clothes putting them on without hesitation. But that was under normal circ-umstances. Now, with two pairs of eyes watching his every move he felt as if he was under a microscope. Then, it suddenly hit him that he was. For some reason it all started to sink in.
The look on his face which immediately turned three sheets of red said it all to both Larry and Michelle; that the boy understood that even if he didn’t say a damn word that there was a recorded history of what he was up to and that they both knew about it.
Larry wasn’t about to let the moment pass so he did what came naturally to him by telling Mark, “Your embarrassed about some of the stuff you wanted to keep secret. Fine. I understand so does my deputy. What we want is your co-operation, besides, neither Michelle or myself is going to go out and tell anyone what you were up to with Stacey…but that might not stop someone else who bugged both of your homes from trying to blackmail you or her or your mother or hers. So here’s what I’m proposing, we have the latest in wireless tracking and monitoring devices and we want you to be a mule.”
Marks look of surprise was not unexpected. Larry had purposely used the analogy to let his newest charge understand that sometimes being a jackass is not such a good thing. Larry explained the analogy in a decidedly gentler voice with, “Mark that means we want you to carry it.”
"You know, someone "old" like me, just might get under your skin every now and then, but then again I’m not what you’d call that rad of a dude. But my deputy is another case. I would consider her a specialist. What she has for you, to carry, if you agree, is completely concealed because it’s… subcutaneous. That my young novice means that it will be under your skin and it is decidedly less irritating than me. Now, since you’re in it up to your neck, what’ll it be?
A sheepish Mark Porter nodded and whispered his reply of “I’ll do it.”
-
“I’ll do it. Yes I will,” and that’s exactly what Shellie Porter thought to herself at the same moment. She still had some time before she’d make her late morning appearance at F.E.M.M. so she decided to make the most of it and turned into the first vacant space she found fronting the town’s two unisex stores on Main Street where the display window of “Uni’s-ex” was in the process of being changed out.
Getting out of the car she took in both store fronts simultaneously and noted the one she now stood in front of, was in stark contrast to the store’s adjacent companion, “Falsetto’s,” to the left; Uni’s two decidedly male mannequins now stood placidly in the midst of their incomplete makeover; still in their entire half naked yet pronounced androgynous splendor. Obviously they were in the process of being changed out and, like it or not, that’s exactly what Shellie Porter was going in there to do for her Marki; change him out.
Lingering for a moment she approvingly took in what she saw. Both dummies now sported fashionable auburn wigs on top of their heads; the one to her left wore one obviously to emulate a girl whose long locks were softly curled. However, the one on the right, sported one which was decidedly shorter; almost boyish yet particularly, if not appealingly, feminine. She thought that for that particular dummy it seemed appropriate; that she also thought of her own newly renamed son at the same moment was not coincidental; all things considered, for the time being that style, with modification, would suite him.
That particular pixie wore an attractive pink layered mesh baby doll with contrast colors and was adorned with a lovely white ribbon; as were the mid-thigh pink hose that stopped enticingly but an inch from its diaphanous bottom edge. The open toed white patent leather sandals on its feet were further accented by the pink ruffled lace anklets it wore. A matching lace purse with white and lavender embroidered edge hankies was draped from an upturned left wrist while a book entitled “Sissies Wear” had been cleverly attached with a mauve ribbon to the right palm. She considered each of the items judiciously and next turned her attention to the dressmaker's dummy on the left.
She decided that this one had more personality or potential as it wore a corset which began just below the bust and dropped to but a few inches below its waist line. There, below the waistline, each of its satin straps had been pulled taught to hold up the solid opaque thigh high pair of white hose that ran up each leg to just over mid thigh and was topped with a soft satin blue bow; while the white ruffled laced anklet socks with accompanying flirty pink bows it also wore embellished its black patent leather Mary Jane’s which obviously had just come out of the discarded box.
There, next to it, on the storefront floor and yet to be fitted was a precious pale blue, rear buttoned, Alice in Wonderland dress; it’s white Peter Pan collar and billowed sleeves were edged with a fine white broidery anglais; while at the hems circ-umference were the mandatory horizontal parallel bands, all of which were in the same blue.
Also on the floor, and as yet to be fitted, was a banded white pinafore which was set off below the waist by numerous off-white ruffles. The accompanying light white apron with mauve waist sash beside it was also edged but with a deeper pink while the white broidery anglais borders met the sash with a fine lilac satin lace stitch. The front of the apron was further adorned by two semi-circular white appliqué pockets and she thought it wonderful how it contrasted sharply with the identical pink satin lace stitching. She mused that the pockets presented themselves with another opportunity: they left just enough room for an additional adornment; a name.
Without fanfare she entered and was promptly greeted by the stores owner where the matronly woman joyfully called out to her with, “Shellie, finally you’ve come back. What an unexpected surprise. I’m so glad that you’ve come to see me again. Please, come in it’s been a long time since you and your late…well…I’m sorry…that was dreadfully insensitive and crass of me. Do forgive me…I apologize.”
Shellie looked at the well dressed woman and gave her a perfunctory smile, sloughing off any offense with, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch Silvia, I didn’t take it personally, it’s the truth. Besides, if it’s all the same to you, right now I’m in the mood just to forget some things but he’s the one good part of what I remember that I need to get past. Look, I’m rushed for time…what I want is a complete make over.”
Shellie waited a moment for her reply but cut her off before she could respond. “No, Silvia, don’t get your hopes up…it’s not for me. What I want is a complete wardrobe for my daughter…I’ll bring her in and drop her off with you for a fitting this afternoon. I’ll depend on you to pick out the basics, everything that she could possibly need for day or night wear for an extended period of time; of course I might want to add a thing or two but basically, you’ve got free reign to do what you want.
Silvia remained silent for a respectable period of time considering the offer then smiled at Shellie as she spoke. “Deary, who’s kidding who, everyone knows about the trouble that you’re having with your son…hell…you of all people should know that you can’t even fart in this town without the echo being heard; the word gets around. Everyone turns their nose up then sniffs the air a little and before you know they can tell what you’ve had for lunch or even drink. You’d be amazed at how much gossip there is that you hear just from the kids who ride the school bus every day.
“Now I’m not saying that you’re not entitled to discipline the little gremlin, no, in fact, I have several good horse paddles that will warm his butt up…but…if I remember…I even sold you a tan one not to long ago…and from what you’ve told me…David absolutely loved it…try using it again…then…if you want a complete make-over for Mark…so be it…that’s none of my business. I’ll do it and be more than happy to take your cash as well. But you’re not going to just drop him in my lap to try and clean up your mess and then tootle on off and leave me here with him all alone then come back and pick up what you’ve asked for.
“Oh no, my dear, any make-over, complete or not, will be under your supervision not mine. She continued on with, “Of course, you can take your business elsewhere,” and gave a quick head jerk in the direction to that of her competitor next door. “But I don’t think that you’ll have much success over there either…like I said…it’s a small town.
“Now, if you want him as a sissy that is your decision. He’s just at the right age now and has fine features and with such a decidedly slight build he couldn’t possibly weigh more than…what…one hundred pounds soaking wet? She didn’t allow Shellie to interrupt as she continued. “He couldn’t be more than 5’4’’ with about a 24 to 26 inch waist line which would put him in a size 5 panty. Dress size I would imagine between a 6 or 7 and any which I would supply would by necessity be exemplary and most feminine. Shoes wouldn’t be a problem, nor would the various accessory items.
“Of course, his posture is reprehensible and would require immediate attention…which means that he would have to be fitted; after all, I have a vested interest if not a reputation to maintain, I guarantee that any corset that leaves my establishment will fit; though I must confess…I did notice your extended interest in “Alicia” as you looked in on her. Now, since you claim that your time is short you can decide…you can either walk out of here with nothing or you can return after your business is concluded at the end of the day; either alternative will be acceptable.
“Of course you can always go home alone and drink yourself under the table; it’s no secret that that’s what you’ve been doing. Cathy Black comes in quite a bit…but still speaks highly of you. I might add that from I hear, and I do hear quite a bit, is that, for some reason Marks developed quite a relationship with Stacey; but you wouldn’t know that would you. Of course not, you and the bottle have had quite a time together and now that the shit has hit the fan again you’re turning yourself inside out. Shellie my dear, what you want me to do, you should have done some time ago; but consider, that this may be easier to accomplish if Stacey were involved as well as Kellie; seeing that she’s been the butt of his scatological pranks.
Silvia knew what would happen; after all, she had not only introduced Shellie to David Porter but had also enthusiastically assisted in his “make-over.” Silvia would of course go more than the extra mile out of her way for Shellie, she was her niece.
-
And as such, Silvia’s affinity for Shellie could have been boundless; she could have and would have overtly done more for her; instead she opted for a less obvious, if not more subtle avenue of approach; predicated upon that disturbing lone item, of which she so strongly disapproved; that her niece had let a bottle get the best of her. True, Silvia had often acknowledged the fact, that, at times, everyone had a right to get shitfaced; but on the other hand, if there was one thing Silvia Mangiano couldn’t abide it was a perpetual self-pitying lush; especially one with kids who felt too sorry to do anything for herself. It was worse because they were related.
Silvia was of a mind that Shellie needed to be taught a lesson and to do so, regardless of the participants, she would learn the hard way. However, Silvia had judiciously considered the circ-umstances and could’ve partially sugar coated the issue; glossed it over, excusing her niece’s newfound bent to drink, but being the woman she was, she didn’t.
Moreover, Silvia was the shrewd one of the family if not a plotter and a schemer. She knew what Shellie wanted from her before she'd even walked through the door and Silvia would be more than willing to participate in it; after all with a certain amount of help, she had planted the seed of discontent. Moreover, it wasn’t in Silvia’s nature to accept her niece’s continued failings without making a point; that if you found yourself in a hole, especially one not of your own making, for Pete’s sake, show some initiative and grab the nearest shovel and start to dig yourself out of it!
To Shellie the intervening silence was ponderous as she again felt like the little girl who on many an occasion had to stand in front of her aunt hearing the lectures she’d heard time and again before. Her perfunctory smile at her aunt’s forthrightness did little to sway the woman. The tacit understanding that had always struck her was that, Silvia, who had always been “kind” to her, and who, more often than not, had always gone out of her way to help her with whatever problem that might come her way would not only throw down the gauntlet on the spur of the moment, but also pick it up and in that next instant, smack her back across the face with it; and that was just to get her attention. She mused that Aunt Silvia was always protective of her family but had an innate penchant for self-reliance based upon tough love.
Through the calm, Shellie again pondered the obvious, the fact, that again, Aunt Silvia was right; that even her newest best friend, the bottle, had let her down. And secondly, that it was a hellu’va lot easier to hit the sauce than face the awful truth; that she’d let herself be screwed; believing that someone, who was just as special as her late husband, was actually going to show up in her hour of need and be there for her. She had thrown caution to the wind believing that the white knight that had then entered her life to “save her” instead turned out to be nothing but a blaggard. She just wished she had him alone, just once; lord would she make him pay.
But now, Shellie had to stand there, swallow her pride, and say, “Aunt S, you haven’t changed a bit. You still know how to get under my skin. But, you’re right; I should’ve nipped this in the bud. But just for the record I quit drinking this morning. Hell, obviously you’re aware that Marks been nothing short than a royal pain in the as$ for some time now. And as for Stacey and him, you’re probably right about that too. I’ve had my head up my butt for some time…besides from what I found out just a little while ago…what he’s into with her will make this fairly simple. So…” She never finished her thought…Silvia was in control.
“So…it’s agreed, you’re coming back this afternoon with him…of course you are…but once you enter with him it will be conditional.” The raven haired matron made certain to wag a first finger in Shellie’s face, but inches from her nose, as she continued, “Tut, tut, tut…I want it understood that this was your idea. I don’t want any hurt feelings on his part with my much needed participation in this. Naturally, deep down inside I can hardly wait to fit the little scamp but then again, if you went to my competition next door, I’m certain that they’d simply fall all heads and heels over themselves to do the same.
“In fact, I’m damn certain that they’d be up to the task and that before the week was up that he’d be the newfound darling of the town in more ways than one. He might even wind up in the monthly glazing contest at next Saturday’s open air market. There’s still an opening for a volunteer at the “Toss and Cream’em” booth.
“A new and upturned face whose cute mouth is propped open just waiting for a contribution would certainly be an attraction. At fifty cents a shot most of the hard and straight shooters of all ages can’t help but go back for more. Besides, where else can a mother drop her darling boys off and make certain that they’d still be there waiting for her, hours in line, and not getting into trouble? Think about it. They’re safe and sound, fully satisfied and in one spot where she doesn’t have to go looking for them. Each with a pocket rocket, and a legal place to hock it, along with a fist full of dollars goes a long way; especially to the ever horny males of all ages. Did you know that some of ‘em are waiting in line thirty minutes before it opens and for forty-five minutes after it closes?
“No, you wouldn’t know that would you. You’ve been so busy subsidizing Grant’s Liquors that you’ve missed out on a lot my dear. It’s been quite a draw for the past few months; the word gets around; especially to all of the out of town’ers.
“However, I do have a question that I want you to answer…and Shellie dear…you will tell me the truth. Oh please don’t look so surprised. Yes, of course you will, after all, you could never lie to me with a straight face. You’ve always been such a dead give away when it comes to fabricating even the smallest of white lies; unfortunately, that my dear, you have yet to master and is why you are so easily read. How sad. Apparently it appears, that now, even your eldest, can do the same. It’s no small wonder that you still think that you can just walk right in here and pull the wool over my eyes.”
Embarrassed and red-faced Shellie’s smile quickly turned into the grimace of a scolded child being dressed down for reaching into a storefront cookie jar and being caught; again. At least this time she didn’t have to hold her hand straight out palm up and have it repeatedly slapped down with a wooden ruler five times for every cookie she’d swiped. But now, as always when she was confronted by Silvia, Shellie’s right hand had found its way behind her, to rest firmly against the small of her back; where it started to sweat. Mindfully she remembered the blisters which had been so instantly raised. Yes she thought, Aunt Silvia knew how to make an impression. That was one of the reasons that Shellie was here; she wanted nothing but the best. Of course, Aunt Silvia wanted nothing but the best for her as well.
In a decidedly gentler tone of voice, Silvia Mangiano smiled while nodding to the hand that Shellie had now withdrawn from sight and said, “I see you still remember my lesson. Just remember dear, if you lie to me again the thirty five strokes you received on your dainty palm not so long ago will be nothing compared to the hell I will put you through. Now, answer me this," purposely lingering on two items, "This, “make-over,” this “transformation,” how long?”
“How long what Aunt Silvia?”” came Shellie’s nonchalant reply. “How long do you have to do it? How long do I have to stay here with him when you do, what?”
Silvia Mangiano was not pleased with her niece’s dismissive reply. “Don’t you dare be so dense or flippant with me young lady. You came in to change someone out. The question is simply put, for how long will this person remain changed? Most certainly not for a day; that wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Nor would I imagine for a week; hardly enough time to make a lasting impression; much too short. No…the question is straightforward…for how long; weeks, months, years, forever? WELL? You have considered this aspect haven’t you?”
No, Shellie hadn’t considered the duration of punishment. Before she entered all she wanted was to strip Mark of his gross maleness; not only to teach him a lesson but to humiliate him the way he had his sister. In all honesty, she hadn’t a clue of how long she wanted both his punishment and make-over to last. It would be easy to say something arbitrary but Aunt Silvia had always scolded her that, “The punishment should fit the crime, yet exponentially it must be capable of imparting a lasting lesson while in the same instance not becoming in itself excessive. The chastisement must be remembered to be effective yet it must offer a certain forbidden enticement when utilized. In short my dear, you want your little darling to actually look forward to doing something naughty in hope of reprimand but also to fear it as well; how else would you perfect the transformation." Silvia prompted her once more, "So the question is simply put, how long?”
Before Shellie could reply, Silvia did. “No. Don’t tell me. I can seek it in your face you haven’t a clue. You just waltzed right in here and thought what, exactly? That I’d take over and do your job? No my dear you still haven’t learned that the penalty must fit the offense.
“If I remember, my “rule” of thumb, especially in your case, was either to the palm of your hand or curvaceous bottom, was five fold for every transgression. So, let’s start there…I would suggest that what was good for the goose is now good for the little gander. Capisca?
-
Capisco perfettamente il auntie (I understand perfectly auntie). My apologies, of course, you’re right, in my haste I hadn’t fully considered that aspect so…a firm twenty weeks would appear to be a starting point given your considered standard for measurement; obviously, your aware that the past four weeks haven’t been all that pleasant.
Silvia didn’t smile instead she scoffed at her niece’s sophomoric reply with, “As always, you try my patience. We both know that your time line is specious; especially since your eldest has for the better part of six weeks tried without success to get your goat. I told you that in a small town the word gets around and as for your giving up the bottle this morning that’s a veritable load of manure; because as we stand right here your breathe still reeks of it. Try taking some mints, strong ones; if you walk into another store or go to work, with your breath you’ll knock’em over. How you’ve managed to keep your job is beyond me.
“Now, as it’s my “considered standard” that you so self-servingly reminded me of, I would suggest that what was good for the goose is now good for the little gander: thirty weeks as a starting point. The fifteen weeks remaining in the school year and those with summer vacation should more than drive home the point. We’ll go from there and see what happens after that who knows what fall will bring.
“However my dear, those thirty weeks are conditional; not on his part but yours. Because, if in that period of time I find out that you have hit the sauce again, even one little sip of it; what I would do to you is better left unsaid; but of course, that never stopped me so…listen. The first thing I will do is to make it a point to undo everything that we began and move to relieve you of the burden you have to this point seemed incapable of dealing with yourself: your children. In short, I will move to have both of them placed in my custody and under my protection. I have already “spoken” with the Department of Families. All that remains of the paperwork for submission and summary execution of the order to the Department is my notarized signature.
“Secondly, I have it on good authority that you could find yourself in further jeopardy; cut off from further funds. In essence my dear, you’re very close to being shitcanned.
"So when you go back to your office today or that little duplex tonight…remember that four walls do a prison make…especially for everyone that is either working or living with you right now. But as for you my dear…not that you would immediately find yourself in the slammer, but human nature, being what it is, you’d just might manage to avoid it; and instead just drink yourself to death or maybe even wind up in the midst of a glorious trance in some little crack-shack being ramrodded to eternity by a total stranger. Yes, I can just imagine all of that, can’t you?”
Of course she did, and often, but Silvia was on a roll and from experience it was best to let her run her mouth. Besides, Shellie being as fragile at the moment as she had ever been in her life could only stand there and take what she had coming and whatever else Aunt S. was going to hit her with. All Shellie could do was to look down at her shaking feet, well, actually her nervous and twitching toes, and note that they were badly in need of polishing. Aunt Silvia was right; she was drowning and was taking her kids down with her. She deserved the rebuke.
“Don’t you feel sorry for yourself, standing here like this? I expected more from you. Now, what’ve you to say for yourself?”
Shellie would’ve said plenty if she hadn’t started to cry. Silvia was nonplussed as, for the most; she wasn’t prone to be moved by the tears of someone who verbally needed have her butt kicked for being a lush. Silvia abruptly turned away and proceeded to lock the storefront door then hung a “Temporarily Closed” sign on it. She made certain to note on its face that it would only be for a brief fifteen minutes; of the fifteen, Shellie’s boo-hooing would continue for five.
Somewhere in those five minutes, it was Silvia who offered her niece a box of tissues while at the same time gently guiding her shaking younger relative to sit in what was euphuistically* labeled the “Seat of Honor:” the old country rocking chair that fronted a full length mirror and in plain view to all who would stroll along the sidewalk and peer in, ostensibly to window shop. On it was the same eight inch high donut-hole cushioned seat that so many of Silvia’s clients had sat in before: the first time as they once were and then as the mortified “make-over’s” they had become. Silvia thought it was always best to see for oneself what they truly were or had become.
Of course, that it was primarily and repetitively used on males; made it all the more special in that it was ingeniously secured beneath the mahogany colored tongue and groove oak floor with four high compression electronically activated pistons; which when switched on, had been synchronized to rock back or forth at various predetermined speed settings. The speed of either direction had been programmed to degrees of rapidity; while, depending upon the variable setting entered the cushioned seat upon which the individual sat either inflated to its maximum of eight inches or deflated to within one inch of the moving rockers solid wooden seat. Of course, the attached respective ankle, wrist and waist restraints used in each instance, were at this time, concealed, within their brown leather saddlery bags while the same inflatable colored cushion one would find his or herself upon was absent of any of its most adaptable, and in some instances, lengthy phallic attachments; which were graphically veined and equally suitable for the pegging of either male or female. The lone other but significantly identical items of note were that on either arm rest just at finger tip reach were two matching door buzzers which were concealed beneath a pink satin wrap. All one had to do to stop the ride was to press either button.
Silvia always thought it was best to get the most out of any make-over as the initial psychological impact upon the hapless individual was the most telling aspect of the entire process. Her most satisfied customers were the mothers who knew what they wanted before they entered with their unruly offspring: acceptable behavior modification and transformation; that their little hellions may well become a full time sissy “in the end” was so much the better. As for their husbands whether they liked what was to happen or not, by the time it had reached this point it was out of their hands and were for the most part themselves appreciative of what was to be.
In the long run, they, their wives or their daughters would suffer no more back talk, sassing, cursing, teasing or the like as over time each sissy would learn when the best available moment was to open his mouth; until then it was always open but stuffed with a malleable pacifier, resembling that of a male member, which was locked in place; to which only relatives or school staff had master key access. It even afforded the individual to sip water or milk through a straw as it also had a hole through which fluids of various textures could and did pass. The humiliation, especially in school, was exquisite. Object lessons were just that and now very few sought to test the authorities which in essence sought to control their behavior.
There’d be no more fighting, no stealing and no more slovenly dressed boys with pants dragging on the ground or gross eating habits at the table. Of course the additional benefits of controlling the television and what was viewed had to be considered. If it was only the mother or sister involved then the cooking channel and other such “women’s” fête’s as the daily soap operas would be watched instead of football, hockey, monster machines or the various sports channels and the like.
And then there were the additional cost benefits that could be found in the hand me down clothes of a sister to sissy and the knowledge of who actually ruled the roost in the family. In the inevitable event that a larger size was needed either she or her competitor was more than happy to assist; as either carried a large supply of previously owned, skirts, blouses and sweaters, etc. Moreover, the common brands in newest of girl’s clothes and lingerie were likewise available and stocked to those who desired to avail themselves. All else could be ordered individually or on line.
Of course, initially, the first time each male sat in the seat of honor it was with an inevitable snicker or glare if not outright hostility but that had been overcome quite simply; because, after the first of several such incidents, Silvia, realized, that a non-aromatic liquid formula, undetectable to taste, if only added into one’s drink at home, would, in a short period of time, make even the most unruly of males, docile if not for the moment, happily soporific. It made positioning them on the seat quite simple.
Moreover, that particular additive was specifically sanctioned back in 2012 by the newly established Federal Department of Behavior Modification and Social Rationalization; and she, by being FDBM&SR’s duly appointed facilitator for Region III, not only gave her great latitude for its use but also the ability to dispense it with cause: either via court or FDBM&SR’s summary order.
That many availed themselves of her service voluntarily was also common knowledge as it only took but a simple inquiry to start the wheels of behavior modification rolling as the mere threat itself was imposing.
From experience, to spur the process, she would provide the ingredients the day prior to the recalcitrant individual’s first scheduled visitation for ingestion; thus leaving her the knowledge that when they (the parental units or guardians and the afore mentioned malcontent) entered her establishment together the next day, that it was with one agreed upon purpose in mind.
In some instances, especially those ordered by the newly established Federal Behavior Modification Court (now found in all fifty-seven states) the most obstinate personage’s were accompanied by members of the no nonsense Protection of Societal Behavior and Modification Enforcement Division Police who left little doubt as to what would occur.
When the PSB&MEDP mobile made its appearance the word would get around and the gawkers that would vie for position would often bet via the wall mounted keypad: not on who was to be led out of it by the scruff of the neck (for that was common knowledge) but of how long that person would ride the rocker; which was never predetermined but instead a factor of just how long it took to accept the inevitable. The inevitable was that moment of consent when either button was pressed; upon which the rocker would cease its motion and the first ten with the closest winning times would be allowed to enter and the surprises tenting their pants were presented for immediate service.
But that was only when the PSB&MEDP’s were present; all other participants were subject to an electronically determined luck of the draw; which in most cases never exceeding the stiff maximum of five. Of course there was the posted weekly schedule to consider upon which all appointments were listed as many had their own personal favorites. However, Silvia also provided a daily update which she always posted the previous evening just prior to closing. Scratches or new entries were provided as an additional benefit provided for by the mandated FDBM&RS information service.
After Shellie set her self down, out of courtesy for her niece, she pulled the vertical fabric blinds behind the storefront windows and door closed and waited for her nieces reply which would most certainly to Silvia be worth waiting for; besides, her next scheduled visit for use of the chair wasn’t until 1:30 P. M. that afternoon and it was only 8:30 in the morning. Silvia had expected an outburst from her niece but things’ being what they were was surprised when Shellie sobbed a long and heretofore unspoken failsafe phrase, “Zia, elemosino e supplico che non lo umiliereste come che cosa direi è per i vostri orecchi soltanto… (Aunt, I beg and plead that you would not humiliate me as what I would say is for your ears only…) that as a child, she had never used when being disciplined, even when in public, by her stern aunt.
Silvia M. understood the implication, that even the walls had ears and was immediately predisposed to her nieces request; that what was to be said must be under other, more controlled circ-umstances; those secured from the intrusion of others. If there were reasons for Shellie’s sudden and out of character utterance Silvia wanted to know them all. Her cynical eye towards her niece gave way to familial compassion when she gently inquired, “Se non ora, quando? (If not now, when)?”
Shellie Porters inquisitive response was a tentative if not pleading, “Zia Silvia, il mio ufficio a 11:30 A.M? (Aunt Silvia, my office at 11:30 A.M?)”
Without hesitation Silvia acknowledged the request with a kiss to her nieces cheek and then whispered in her ear, “Penso conoscere tutto (I expect to know everything…)” and then concluded with, “… oppure (or else.)”
With a return kiss to Silvia’s lips Shellie returned her aunts kiss and murmured her almost inaudible reply, “I miei ringraziamenti (My thanks).” She got up, walked out the door and got in her car, slammed it into reverse, backed out, shifted to 1st and sped off to work.
From start to finish, the trip to her office at F.E.M.M. lasted all of ten minutes during which she tried to compose herself. However, upon pulling into the reserved parking space with her name on it she jumped the curb with both front wheels then immediately slammed the gear shift into reverse and backed it off while silently cursing herself. This wasn’t going to be a fun day; in fact, she had the distinct impression that if anything else was going to happen that she might very well find herself having been thrown under the wheels of a bus.
She made certain to grab her handbag and pulled the keys from the ignition and then to electronically lock the car’s doors. In her infuriated five minute walk to her office she acknowledged no one and made it a point not to say a word; regardless of who spoke to her; even if cordially. It was almost 9 and she intended to make the most of her time before her meeting with the Constable whom she also began to curse out in her mind. She was not only enraged that her aunt would threaten her but was also now growing increasingly annoyed that her staff had been working on her pet project without her for some time. No, that wasn’t it. Not really. It was the fact that Linda Gentry was, had for some reason, been engaged in the research directly applicable to her project; without her authorization. Mentally she pictured Kathy Blacks’ face skew, as if smelling a fart, when she had mentioned that aspect of her activities.
Something stunk to high heaven and she was going to find out what it was. So as she entered her office, she didn’t waste a second and unceremoniously threw her handbag onto the trash littered settee up against the wall; it was followed by her set of car keys which she still held in her right hand. When they hit the back cushion a red spot appeared where the keys had struck and another where they finally landed on the floor. A quick look to her hand confirmed the obvious; she’d pressed them too tight and had drawn blood. She knew better than to say a word, instead she thought to herself “What a crock of …” and that’s when her phone rang.
The last thing she wanted to do was to talk to anyone on the phone; not now as most certainly whomever it was that was calling her would wind up with an earful. But she was back in charge and if she didn’t answer... well…if this wasn’t going to be a good day for her why should it be for anyone else? She thought about that and the bottle of Jim Beam she had stashed in her desk drawer and almost, just almost went for it instead of the phone.
Shellie didn’t know it but the first good move that she’d make would be what she did next when she answered the phone with, “Shellie Porter speaking,” instead of opening the drawer. She recognized the voice when he replied, “Ms. Porter, Constable Binder here. It’s imperative that I speak to you immediately. If you please, I’m on my way to F.E.M.M….. I need to see you, but meet me outside in five minutes…
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*euphuistically...any stylish affectation in speech or writing especially made in reference to a device or expression there of.
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Shellie was going to argue the obvious and started with, “What? Why? I thought that we’d already….” but never got to finish her sentence; instead Binder’s commanding no nonsense baritone voice cut her off in mid-sentence with, “Please, no questions, listen. Outside in five minutes…walk to my cruiser…then get in…understand?” Of course she did, almost decided to hang up on him, but didn’t; thought for a moment about smart mouthing him…but didn’t; almost started to cry; but didn’t do that either. Instead she uttered a well reasoned one word reply of “Yea,” then hung the phone up.
She made a point of immediately grabbing her white purse and in one motion slung it over her left shoulder and then snatched her keys with the right, while taking time to mutely curse them out for their previous transgression; then began her more than brisk walk back to the main entry of the building. Again she ignored all along the way. No not really. She made it a point of silently cursing out everything she saw along the way; everything and everyone.
Minutes later, the main entry loomed ahead and she paused to consider, “Should I actually go outside and meet this guy?” The silent reply she answered herself with was, “Sure, what the hell, what’ve I got left to lose?” She again answered the obvious with, “Not much.” Almost immediately she corrected herself with, “No, I do, my kids.” She resumed her march, then, as if by design, the double entry doors she exited automatically opened just as Binder’s cruiser happened to pull up and stop in the lane with a noticeable lurch; a force of habit by one who was driven by need if not desire.
Inside the cruiser, Binder closely watched Shellie Porter walk the fifteen steps to his car and look in; mentally he noted that in person she was undeniably a striking woman. To him, that was a reasonable act. If it were him getting into some car he’d sure as hell’d want to see who the driver was himself; he gave her an impatient nod of acknowledgement; as if to say “Yes it’s me now get the hell in.” Shellie caught the look and the unspoken implication.
Without a word she opened the front door, sat her butt down on the front seat, deftly swung her legs in and then slammed the door shut while looking straight ahead. Binder would’ve smiled at her but didn’t, and instead of a cordial greeting said only one word, “Seatbelt…” Of course, there was a stipulated rider to the word which he thought but never uttered, “…bitch.” He didn’t have to; Shellie’s upper lip belied her understanding of it as she sneered at his command, but none-the-less complied; after all, it was his car. She reasoned, what was he supposed to do, give himself a ticket for letting her ride without buckling up? Her mental rejoinder screamed back at her, “Sure why not he’s just a prick!”
Initially, Binder would’ve loved the small talk that would’ve preceded any encounter; the verbal fencing between the hunter and the hunted, if not the dupe, was always enjoyable. Under normal circ-umstances, the initial tête-à-tête made the end result that much sweeter but…but…here he reasoned…he didn’t have the time for all the niceties. No, there be no chit chat over coffee or tea, or a fine how do you do or the drawn out and prolonged offerings of timely and well placed commiserations to obtain the obvious information that he required. No there’d be none of that; too bad; he’d miss the romancing. Instead he did what his gut told him to do, just watch her buckle up; then drive and let “her” have the first word. He smiled when she said it; “Bitch!” then continued on with, “You have a way with words…even if you don’t say them.” In retort, Larry floored the gas pedal moving the cruiser out from the shadows of the portico.
“Force of habit,” came the unapologetic reply. He looked straight ahead and drove, “But you’re right, I don’t like mincing words, especially if I have to clean up someone else’s mess like I’m doing now, especially with someone like you.” Shellie turned her head to look at the profile of his face while at that same moment her eyes shot poison daggers at him. To the trained individual, peripheral vision is a great thing.
With a quick glance back at her, Larry returned the compliment with, “Cute, I bet you do that to all the little boys you meet,” and then watched her mouth fall open as her jaw dropped in astonishment. He didn’t mind what he was about to do, he wanted answers and he wanted them as fast as he could get them so he did what came naturally, after all, he thought, “I might as well play the part she thinks I am, then we’ll see.” Truth be known, and it wasn’t, he was only as big a prick as the situation demanded; unfortunately for others, most often it was a most demanding job.
He pressed the moment along with the accelerator, continuing with, “Over the phone I let you know that I don’t like being toyed with or being played for a fool so,” he lingered just a moment then went on with, “you think I’m a son-of-bitch or some type of major prick. That’s cool with me because I think you’re a fem-bitch who’s found out that she’s in a deep pile of crap and that’s she’s now in way over her head!” A quick glance and he watched her face twitch, knowing he was right; pressed on. “Listen, and listen carefully, Ms. Porter, for right now, my car and my office are the only places, that are safe to speak, each is dampened; which means its safe to talk, other than that, there’s nowhere else in this town that I’d trust to have a conversation. Not a park, not a store, not an office not a home. Furthermore, in this town I don’t trust anyone; except my deputy and you’ve already pissed her off.” The unspoken implication was also that he didn’t trust her either. He let that sink in for a moment and continued.
“Over the phone, you didn’t have to ask because I already knew…so there’ll be a team of cleaners arriving shortly; I reckon…” he paused for a moment and smiled into the windshield ahead… “In no more than two minutes from now. I needed to get you out of your office without you opening your big mouth again. They’ll sweep everything at F.E.M.M….starting with your office. Odds are that it is bugged to hell. (He purposely failed to mention that they’d be leaving a little something or two behind of the agency; just in case whoever it was decided to make a return trip to find out what had happened to their own surveillance devices.) He didn’t miss a beat and went on with, “In fact I wouldn’t be surprised that your packing either,” he nodded at her purse then gave her a quick once over from head to toe. He shouldn’t have but he most definitely liked what he saw. But, to him her sudden and now tight lipped shallow breathing was a give away, she didn’t like it. Not his once over all encompassing glance but the sudden realization that she might actually be a mule had caused her face, arms and hands, even down to the little twitch in her second toe, to reflexively react; with years of experience there were certain tells* he could read with no sweat and her tells were a piece of cake to read.
He took a hard left onto the two lane road without signaling, quickly accelerated to 70 mph, and then waited for any type of reply that might be forthcoming; which in reality wasn’t all that long. “O.K. so you think I’m a bitch; your right and I think you’re a prick. There. Now that we’ve been properly introduced tell me what in the hell is going on?”
“Ms. Porter, I was hoping that you’d tell me what “IS” going on and why the hell I’m here investigating a double homicide over some half-ass case of commercial or industrial espionage? No, that ain’t right…for some off the wall reason the Agency is interested in this and sent me out here. There I was enjoying myself; semi-retired and except for some half-ass paperwork that was still in the pipeline, I was completely out of it all. Then I get the call and pressed back into contracted service. So to put it mildly, I ain’t happy about being here and I sure as hell ain’t happy sitting across from you right now. So, I’ve got a full tank of gas and we’re going for a little ride; someplace out of town where we won’t be bothered; not that we’ll step foot outside of this car, we’ll just park for a while and see what happens.”
Shellie’s sarcastic, “You’re taking me out for a ride? How sweet. But I should warn you I was never one to park and give out; anything,” didn’t make an impression on Binder.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” came the caustic rebut. What I want is relevant information applicable to the case; all of it. You either co-operate and make nice-nice or I’ll drag your ass out and let you walk the fifteen odd miles back to F.E.M.M. In case you haven’t noticed, it’ll be raining when you do.” Larry noted Shellie’s eyes dart towards the approaching storm front and noted that she licked her lips. He made a mental note: autonomic response to wet lips when confronted with distasteful choices. He knew he had her and drove the remaining eight miles in the comparative silence of the cruiser. One mile before his estimated arrival point the heavens opened.
One minute later, without notice, he pulled hard left on the steering wheel bringing the cruiser abruptly about 180 degrees and facing the opposite direction he had just driven from and waited; if he’d been followed he wanted to see them coming. He released the lock on his console mounted M-4 and waited. The skid marks he’d made were as clear as the obvious astonishment on Shellie Porter’s face.
“Impressive,” she quipped and then went on with, “Let me guess, you’re waiting for two things: for me to talk and for trouble.”
“Right on both counts; but the question really is which is gonna happen first. So are you gonna sit here and talk to me or do I have to follow your wet butt back down this road to town while you walk back; either way it’s no skin off my nose. What’ll it be?”
“Constable,” came the syrupy reply, “do you always get what you want?”
“Obviously not, I’m here.”
“Alright you’re here, I’m here…and honestly I don’t want to walk back…you wouldn’t really make me do that would you?”
Larry took a quick look at Shellie’s face, shook his head as if to say “stupid bitch” and went back to looking straight ahead while nonchalantly moving his left hand to increase the tempo of the windshield wipers; if anyone was coming he didn’t want to be blind sided.
Shellie Porter answered her own question out loud. “You bastard, I believe you would.”
“Believe what you want. I’m here for answers and one way or another I’m gonna get ‘em. You’ve got all of one minute to open your mouth and tell me what in the hell is going on or your gonna get seriously wet; and once you do, don’t even think about getting back in. Time starts, now.
Shellie thought about the obvious, but right now bravado be damned. The little voice in the back of her head screamed at her “Talk you fool,” while the other goaded her to persist with, “He’s only bluffing. He’d never…” The second voice lost when Shellie replied, “You win.”
It was strange for her to utter those words; especially so because she thought that the cruiser’s roof had somehow sprung a leak and had allowed the pounding rain to enter. Mentally she noted that the small of her back was wet but also that that wonderful spot between her legs was soaked.
She tried to shrug it off but knew she couldn’t. She reasoned that best thing to do right now was to tell Binder what he wanted. Grudgingly she admitted that after all, he really wasn’t the enemy within and that if he could help; o.k. have at it. Realizing that her face had now flushed she turned away unable to face the man in the seat opposite her. What she didn’t realize was that her reflection in the passenger side window told what she desired to hide most; this guy had turned her on.
Her faltering beginning of “Where, where do you want me…me…to begin?,” was met with “Where ever you feel the most comfortable. For the record, I need to record everything. By the way, if I tell you to get down…don’t hesitate…the windows are, to some degree, bullet proof and the side walls are armored; but only lightly.”
“You don’t really expect that…”
“Ms. Porter, I expect that anything that can happen could happen; it’s my job. So please, enlighten me.”
“Constable,” she began, “If I were to tell you that I could improve your interrogation techniques to such a degree that any and all information given would be absolutely indisputable what would you say.”
Incredulously he offered a forthright reply of, “You? I’d say go for it.”
“Moreover,” she continued while still looking away, “With what I have been working on that inherent behavior modification would be a one hundred percent certainty and that all results would be derived from a technique here-to-fore unimaginable.”
Larry at first said nothing and stole a quick glance up the road; nothing approached. “I’m listening, go on,” was all he said as he kept his eyes peeled for trouble.
“The point I’m trying to make is that, I have an interest in diapers.” As soon as she said that she knew she’d misspoke; especially with the muffled snicker she’d heard from Binder. She corrected herself, “Let me rephrase that. My job in research and development is in the area of consumer products applicable to the containment of bodily functions. In short, the search for a technologically better product; this happens to be called a diaper. Of course, most diapers are simply that. They’re put in place, used and then replaced and for the most part all too often.”
Larry couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the banal explanation but remained silent. Out of the corner of his right eye he noted that Shellie Porter had now turned to look straight at him; while he instead remained focused on the road ahead; which was still void of any oncoming traffic.
For her part, Shellie tried to tell whether what she had said was making any sense to the man who wouldn’t give her the slightest inkling of whether what she’d said had made any sense at all. In her own mind her beginning explanation appeared trite and was nothing more than a statement of the obvious. She proceeded to offer more which might cue a response.
“Of course,” she went on, “There are any numbers of manufactures who produce this item in one form or another but for the sake of clarity I’ll simply label all as “generic.” Excepting color, fastening tabs and fluid capacity they are simply common place and merit no further consideration. What I,” she caught herself immediately and amended her thought in mid-sentence, “What we at F.E.M.M. have developed is a cutting edge technological product; a breakthrough which has implications beyond the generic. In essence it would immediately render each manufactures product as obsolete; if only on the functional level. You see, the F.E.M.M. product is both thought conscious and pending programming can be worn for extended periods of time; which is itself, predicated upon behavior. Moreover it is hermetically organic.”
She paused to see what, if any response her car mate might reveal. The first sign of interest to what she had to say, even for her, wasn’t hard to read, Larry’s head turned to look at her face, just for a moment, gave her a knowing smile, then went back to looking straight ahead.
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*tells-the give away signs that are observed in a game of chance by an opposing player who seeks an advantage by “reading” his opponents body language.
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Without taking his eyes off the rain drenched road, he half muttered the obvious implications to both himself and Shellie, “Hermetically organic, thought conscious and worn for periods of time predicated upon behavior; does mean what I think it does?” came the incredulous reply which continued on with, “You’re telling me that…what…you’ve got something that can be literally worn which can determine if some son-of-bitch is lying and modifying their behavior at the same time simply based upon the answers given? You’ve got a fricken diaper that can do that?
Shellie smiled at Binders insight remarking, “It doesn’t take you long to cut to the heart of the matter does it? But to answer your question yes, but along with something else, it does all that and more, a lot more. It’s foolproof.”
Larry shot back, “That’s a crock full, ain’t no such thing as foolproof. Never has been. Try me again.”
Shellie couldn’t resist the opportunity for her repartee, “Why Constable, I haven’t tried you at all…but I might consider it,” she lingered the thought for the moment, wondered if he had measured the double-entendre, then demurely smiled and continued on with, “If you’re willing that is…I could arrange a…personal…demonstration? Perhaps you would consent…after all…I’m told that men such as yourself have willingly undergone extensive training in resisting various techniques of interrogation; so that if captured to harden themselves to the very same techniques. After all, we both know that some interrogators have forced detainees to wear diapers; for extended periods of time. Moreover, that even NASA has had its astronauts wear diapers; especially prior to liftoff, if not re-entry. I’m told that even those in endurance racing wear them at times.”
“Ms. Porter, first off, the only thing you’re trying is my patience. If you’re gonna shovel a load of crap be sure you’ve got some place to unload it. I catch your drift and there’s no way in hell that I’d let you put a diaper on me and if you think I’m gonna go macho to suc-k-up to you by even trying one on; you’re outta your mind. But the answer is yes; I’d like a demonstration after you tell me exactly what this new diaper of yours can or can’t do…besides…I didn’t miss the “pending programming” part of your fishing expedition. That takes in a whole lot of territory and probably means that it’s still some how major league fubar.”
Of course Shellie lied straight off with, “Constable, I never thought about you in a diaper, besides…”
“Lady, cut the crap ….if you’re gonna talk to me you need to understand; never bullshit a bullshitter. Now, in plain language, so even a man like me can understand, what in the hell does it do and how?
Shellie was beginning to grasp the obvious; Binder was of a singular purpose and would not be swayed into a dalliance, however trivial, which might divert his attention to the matter before him. She liked that unique quality in a man but also the fact that he was a challenge; to which she thought she would now set herself. Thoughtfully she reasoned that if the only way to get his attention was to be straightforward, then what hell, she might as well go for broke; she was close to that end of the spectrum anyway. Rhetorically, she considered the palpable, “What difference would it make now; I’ve already lost my husband and maybe my kids if I can’t keep off the sauce. The mystery of it is why in the hell am I attracted to him at all; especially now?
“Constable,” she began, “I…well…understand…please…what I can tell you in layman’s terms, is limited.”
Larry’s sharp reply of, “Lady, the things that are limited is my time and patience. With you, both are running out. Whatever you tell me is going to be recorded, what I don’t understand, I’ll find out about, one way or another, so, why don’t you do yourself a favor before you find yourself strutting your stuff in the rain; just talk to me, O.K?”
Shellie’s dour face to his quick put down was just a precursor to her reflexive barb, “Fine, to start with, in layman’s terms, do you walk on water too or just piss in it?”
His reply was just as forthright, “Honestly, never thought about trying to walk on it, probably wouldn’t get that far; so that means you’re ready to take a hike?”
“You’re a bastard.”
“So I’ve been told. Couldn’t help it; birth defect and you’re a real piece of work yourself. But I thought we’d already introduced ourselves; now tell me something I don’t know; your time’s about up.”
“Fine, I’ll try and make this simple,” she left out the “just for you” part. She needn’t have bothered; he understood her omission perfectly and just smiled. He was used to being insulted but not by the one he was charged to help. Silently he thought her half-a-loaf short; after all, it wasn’t like he was trying to get in her pants but that’s the way he felt that she was acting towards him. Inwardly he thought her a strange woman who didn’t care who the hell she offended; sort of like him. Somehow he liked that.
She continued on with, “As I said, at F.E.M.M. we have developed a unique product; one which is more absorbent and capable of hermetically sealing itself to the individual. Moreover, it is incapable of being removed without significant traumatic damage to the individual who is wearing it.” She looked at him for a reply to which he sarcastically stated, “I’m simply listening; if you can just explain.”
“Fine, be that way,” she snipped back. “Listen, I’ll start with the basics: cloth diapers are not an option; too bulky and fluid content wise they are ineffectual. Generic diapers are rated not only on absorbency but also as to their general wear ability. The top ranked generic on the market will absorb close to 78 fluid ounces but will leak long before then. Of course you could add any number of soakers but after a certain point the inevitable would still occur.
“The new F.E.M.M. product’s ability to absorb is not only unlimited but as it’s hermetically sealed to the skin it will never leak; either fluid volume or even a portion of the mass of its solid contents. Furthermore, there wouldn’t be any of the unpleasant odors associated with a pant full.”
“Bullshit,”came the reply, “Ain’t no such thing; besides all crap stinks. Besides, whoever the idiot is that’s wearing it’ll soon find themselves with one hellu’va case of rash. Infection’l set in and then where in the hell are you? You got nothing!”
“No, that’s not where you think you’d be. I told you, the product is unique. I’ll speak…slowly…just for you. We have two working models; the first is a pull-up, except for the leg and waist bands it’s a standard ¾ of an inch thick; it’s both programmable and slightly expandable but it isn’t the one that you’d be interested in. The pull-up is the normal utilitarian model that’d be used by the general populace; with some modifications it could do more, but as I said, if you’re simply not into changing diapers or if a period necessitating the use of a diaper is desired which will not leak for short periods of time, say three or four days, if only for an object lesson, this would be the over-the-counter model of choice to use. By inference it would be dispensed and signed for by a responsible party.
“The second model is mildly comparable to a conventional diaper in appearance only; it comes a standard 1 ¼ inch thick and has but two closing tabs, which bond upon contact,
from waist to leg bands, directly to the diapers face; each tab is impermeable. Both models come in any color you’d want as long as it’s pink. For some reason, pink, or various shades associated with it, is the most successful color, on a technological basis, that make either unit viably effective.
“I’ll explain that part in a moment, but first off, within either model, we’re dealing with a radically compressed fiber that’s not the normal refined wood pulp you’d find in the generic, but a cultivated plant fiber called kelar; it’s capable of absorbing over 100 times the liquid volume of the generic with a comparable weight ratio. Of course, when a generic diaper is used its shape begins to fall apart within the confines of the web that initially holds the pulp in place; eventually its fibers separate and then acc-umulate wherever the force of gravity takes them.
“In fact, just within hours most generics begin to fall apart where it counts the most; even if not used. Just the fact that they are worn, or that any type of movement occurs, will cause they to separate and literally fall apart. Ours however, maintain cohesion throughout wear; because it is a composite bonded fiber and will not expand separate nor swell more than a nominal eight percent; again pending programming.
“Our product is enhanced by the fact that the composite fiber, by design, will loose neither form nor cohesive structure as do the generic because our patented syntite threads work in concert with the compound fiber and will not allow the unit to expand; thus forcing it to maintain its integrity by not allowing deformity; regardless of either fluid or bulk content. Basically, that would be the nuts and bolts of the normal over the counter product vs the other. Once your in either your in it until the program runs its course; regardless.
“Now to your initial assumption, of course, after several voids spanning days anyone carrying a load of that magnitude wouldn’t walk very far and eventually the natural biodegradable process of decay would set in; so, if it were only that I would agree with your initial supposition.
“Accordingly to resolve the obvious, we’ve gone beyond the mundane and infused either models compressed fibers with various types of nanites. The nanites are microscopic entities engendered to function within a specific contained area; the diaper itself. Each set of nanites is programmed to be point in time specific; thus the entire unit can be gauged to cease functioning at any given future moment so desired. Oddly, for some reason nanites are partial to color, especially pink.
“In our newer model, the one which really might be of interest to you, each unit can also be programmed to respond to additional requests for time prolongation. By that I mean, with an incorrect response, a lie, evasiveness, or prolonged hesitation, etc., minutes, hours, days, or weeks can be added to the unit’s inherent serviceability. Thus leaving the wearer contemplating the obvious; the more untruthful or evasive answers, the longer the stay in the diaper; which, in each instance, to most would be a most unpleasant and almost instantaneous occurrence. I’ll explain that part further.
“Are you following all of this?”
Binder nodded once and didn’t take his eyes off the road. He did however note in the distance ahead the headlights of an approaching vehicle but made no mention of this to Shellie Porter. She was on a roll and he didn’t want her to stop; for any reason. In response to her question he merely nodded in the affirmative and muttered, “Yea.”
A dejected Shellie Porter was forthright in her reply, “I didn’t expect that you’d jump up and down over what I told you, but damn it, aren’t you the least bit intrigued?”
“I am…just have other things to think about right now as well, that’s all.” He reached out to the dash; increased the flow of the A.C. and then allowed his arm to return to his side. With his last motion, Shellie didn’t notice that he had deftly unlatched his Glock 18 19mm. when he said, “Please, go on.”
Unaware of what might occur she continued to stare at his face while she began again with, “This would bring us to the next point; that long before content capacity is achieved in either; the nanites are processing the waste matter and eliminating the greater part as a plant would in the process of evapotranspiration. In either unit, each is segmented into quadrants and within each quadrant are 600 folds.
“Within each fold the diaper contains thousands of microscopic syncaps, if you will synthetic capillaries, leading directly outward and away to the waist and leg bands; thus allowing excess fluid to be collected, broken down, converted to CO2 and then released into the atmosphere. Upon release there is a noticeable, if not continuous pleasant scent; one of lavender.
“Moreover, each syncap is also bonded within the hermetic bands which are syntite threaded. The syntite thread is a synthesized malleable titanium alloy, which I spoke of before. It is unique and cannot be ripped off, torn away, nor cut away with conventional scissors or blades and the reason why is simple. Once in place both leg and waist bands are programmed to extend their MT’s. MT is short for microscopic-tendrils; a fine filament which burrows painlessly just beneath the mesoderm of the skins surface to monitor the autonomic system of the wearer. In short, they are able to discern the internal changes of the wearer; especially those associated with change in heartbeat, breathing, nervous tension, perspiration, etc. In essence, they are thought conscious once programmed to the wearer: given an accurate baseline for comparison; truth, lies or evasion.
“During the course of development, we’ve found that by applying additional layers of syntite, in multiple cross-hatched configurations, resembling a series of truncated ribbed bands, it would enable not only the dissipation required to maintain constant fluid equilibrium but also to dispense the heat generated by the bacteriological process incurred during decay. To anyone looking at either unit it would look like the ruffles found on rumba panties except that they are not frivolous but intrinsically necessary for the viability of the unit.
“Aside from that feature, the desiccation process which ensues continually eliminates the worry of exceeding the desired programmed volume of contents. The remnants, those not eliminated, remain as the viscous by product which serves two purposes. The primary programmed function is protection of the skin area in direct contact with any waste matter; if you will call it a continuous palliative. The second functions subroutines are divided into two incessant categories: the first is that of exfoliation; the second is utilized as a permanent dermis depilatory. Which means that any hairs in contact with the viscous residue are dissolved; those that would grow back are immediately set upon again until the root itself is destroyed. Thus, within the diaper, the compression of the sludge increases in both density and friction while exerting increasing compression upon the wearer’s skin surface. The third, already mentioned, is for immediate preprogrammed gradations of reprimand.”
“The reprimand is the signal for the nanites to abruptly combine the viscous sludge into a cohesive pulsating probe seeking a natural point of least resistance; a body opening and force entry. After that what occurs is most unpleasant but it is an integral facet of the behavior modification aspect that the unit would instantly employ. Those who’ve tested it swear that it’s nothing they’d want to have on again; especially if they’d lied.
“Now we come to the crux of the matter that the only means of safe removal is via the sentry nanites whose sole purpose is to shear both leg and waste bands simultaneously upon signal while signing the MT’s to withdraw from the mesodermis. Until then the entire unit is literally affixed; it will stay in place without any other than the most drastic means of surgical removal; which would in essence be very messy, in more ways than one. Any attempt to tamper with the unit would also be recognized by the nanites; the result of which would result in the immediate extension of duration.
“So, basically that’s what the unit can do; but I still don’t understand why in the hell anyone would kill over something like this. I mean it’s ridiculous to think that anyone could seriously go that far. Am I wrong?”
She waited for a reply while studying his face for any sign or hint of either outright rejection or of appreciation; she found neither. Instead she was shocked when he opened his shirt pocket, reached in and pulled out a roll of breath mints and offered her the entire packet while calming stating, “Here, you need these. Right now you could knock over an elephant or maybe even a jackass or maybe both at the same time. You really don’t have a clue of what you might have here? Ms. Porter, I’m not a rocket scientist, don’t claim to be that smart either, but I do have a nose for what they’d be used for.”
For the first time since he’d met her he smiled, chuckled a bit, then told her to, “Hold on, we’re going for a ride.”
-
If Binder’s earlier abrupt 180 u-turn to a standing stop had surprised Shellie it was nothing compared to the shocked look on her face at being thrown back against her seat when he floored the accelerator and began shifting gears. She stammered her astonishment with “This…this isn’t normal…is it? I mean…what the hell kind of a car is this anyway? It’s not…I mean…this isn’t the car that Sid Clark had its dif…”
She never had a chance to finish as a now smiling Larry Binder chortled at her predicament with, “What the hell, you finally figure that out? Ms. Porter, Sid “Cluck” drove a pussymobile; I don’t! Take a gander at the decal on my dash and tell me what you see, then, if you’re half as smart as I think you are you tell me what the hell kind of car this is.”
Shelly stared at the obvious which had escaped her when she entered and stammered, “Uhh, umm, well, its, it’s a…a Cobra?”
A sarcastic, “How special, you can read too. Yes, it’s a Cobra. Now read the rest of it. Wait, no, don’t bother we don’t have the time for you to get past the simple basics; I’ll explain it to you and whatever you don’t understand you can take the time and look up later. Ms. Porter, you’re sitting in a specially equipped Shelby GT 500 CR Venom, with a 440 C. I. crate engine and 770 H.P. under the hood. It’s complete with mass flo fuel injection; an F1-R intercooled pro-charger with a manual transmission and it’s got a 9” fab rear w/3:70 gear ratio with posi-traction; complete with rack and pinion power steering. The odometer reads out to 200 M.P.H. only because if I peg it at 240 for more than five minutes, the governor’ll kick in and that’s the speed that I’ll drop back to and cruise at; but that’s only because of the additional weight. If you remember its armor platted and I don’t want to overheat this little puppy.
“Now, since you can’t bend down and hide away, I strongly suggest that you just turn and duck your head away, close your eyes and pretend that you’re just looking out your window. There’s a car coming directly at us, I’d say,” he paused for a moment and then continued, “from about 3 to 4 miles ahead. We’re gonna fly like a bat out of hell outta here back at him and the reason is simple; I’m gonna start taking some pics of the car, the driver and who ever else is in it right now. When I get back to the office I can download ‘em and see who the hell is so interested in our little drive in the country.”
Binder’s right index finger deftly first touched the button marked “CF/R” on the raised center of the steering column, then, just as quick moved to another beside it labeled “AC”* as he continued to chat; while Shelly strained to pick up the oncoming car in the distance ahead with no success. Larry paid her no mind; figuring that as any normal person would, that she just wanted to see that something coming at her for herself. Of course he mused to himself that he didn’t bother to tell her that because he had also pressed a unique little button just beside the front and rear camera just the opposite would occur to whoever was seated in the on coming vehicle. They wouldn’t see a damn thing; not coming or going four seconds from the time he pressed it to the time he finally released its function.
For several seconds of being pressed back in her seat, she hadn’t picked up on the approaching vehicle and wondered to herself if Binder was just delusional; after all, she thought he had a major ego to feed and that he wasn’t above trying to make her think that something was about to happen that he had already figured on happening just to try and pry some more information from her. That last thought was dispelled when she broke her silent and forced stare at the road ahead with, “Ohh…you’re...”
“Right...is that the word you’re searching for? So…you see it now? Yup, it’s coming directly at us; I’d say doing about 65 and in this rain for some half-ass putz that’s pushing it. Now, listen to me and listen good, we’re closing the distance between us fast; and when we shoot on past it, say in about 15 to 20 seconds; we’ll be doing about 140. So first off, as I drive I don’t want to be distracted by hearing your voice ’cause when we do it’s gonna get kinda hairy. Does this register with you?”
He never paused to afford her the opportunity to answer; merely considering his question a moot point as he continued. “I’ll need to concentrate on targeting both the front and rear camera lens’ that way coming or going, I’ll have some idea of who’s been bird dogging you and I’ll only get to have one chance to do it.
“Second, if there’s an additional person in the car, a spotter with a SOTA Scanner,* I don’t want any eye contact with you at all; nadda. I want my face to be the focus of its attention not yours; so please, don’t ask why just yet, I have my reasons, O.K?”
A hesitant nod was all that Shelly could muster; but Binder smiled at her one word incomprehensible query of, “Hairy?”
“Yea, like in rock and roll with lots of bumps and grinds; sort’a like the wild mouse at a carnival except it’s not a ride for the kiddies. At the speed we’ll be traveling the roads surface will tend to accentuate all movement; especially up and down not to mention side to side. We’ll be airborne over short distances; you’ll no doubt feel that too. Who knows, we might get so close to your friend ahead that we might even get to brush paint.”
Shelly mumbled, “Your absolutely nuts!”
“Why Ms. Porter, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we’ve been together. But am I nuts, no. Though I have been told that I have a pair of big brass ones; especially so because I believe that the best defense that I have is an even better offense and right now I intend to get really offensive; especially with whoever the hell it is who’s been sniffing your tail. So, if you please, make yourself scarce.”
There were too many things to think about for Shelly. The first and foremost was that she was actually sitting in the front seat of a car from hell with a driver who, if appearances were any indication, didn’t give a flying frack about what he was about to do or could do to either himself or to her if he were to screw up. Secondly she pondered, how in the hell did this guy know that someone would actually follow her or them? She was pretty sure he wasn’t psychic but damn it, how in the hell had he anticipated what might happen.
Oh sure, the man was supposed to be a professional in his field but she wondered how far and wide his talents actually took him with confidence and how much more of it was shear bravado if not outright luck. But whatever it was, at this point, she had little say in the matter and found herself scrunching down and away from him in the front seat. She thought about covering her head with her hands but didn’t want to appear like she was an out and out chicken-shit; so she just bit down on the first finger of her left had as she tried to push herself away even further from the center console.
The thought crossed her mind that she could use a drink. What she wouldn’t give for a good shot of rye or gin or even a smooth blend. Instead, the taste of the breath mint that she had absent mindedly just popped into her mouth still lingered on her tongue. She swallowed the remainder of the pastille and decried the fact that it just didn’t have the same bite as a good shot of booze.
The other thing that just crossed her mind was his admission of just how brazen he was. He was completely secure in the fact that he thought himself hot-shit and didn’t care who knew it and the thought to her was refreshing.
But by the same token and not so refreshing or comforting was the increasing screams of the Cobra’s engine as Larry Binder started to wind the rpm’s out of it one gear at a time. The once smooth ride, she had taken for granted before, had suddenly turned into one decidedly more urgent and fearsome. Besides the buffeting she perceived of the car’s rock’n rolling from side to side, she began to feel each uppity bump or itty bitty dip; no matter how small. With her eyes closed she noted as well that the larger the bump, dip or swale in the roads surface the greater the fishtail of the car’s rear end. But always, the car seemed to shimmy for a moment then straighten itself out and would press onward at an even greater speed; almost as if jumping forward faster even after its tail end had left the surface once it hit pavement again.
Not lost upon her as well was the fact that besides the ever-increasing growl of the engine was the fact that the rain storm had amplified in ferocity as the frontal boundary wind gusts and now pelting rain began to hit the car broadside from the right. She allowed herself a little peek, just to make sure that she wasn’t hallucinating herself; she wasn’t. It looked worse than she first thought. She was about to cry, if not scream; not only because of the weather but also because of what she thought she saw which to her was impossible. Her little peak out the passenger window had also resulted her noticing the one little item which Larry Binder had purposely neglected to tell her.
This wasn’t the way she thought it would happen; hallucinating before ending up either wrapped around a tree or splattered all over the road in a head on. No, she had envisioned something less bizarre and most definitely more sedate if not stately. She closed her eyes thinking that she’d never open them again. She kept that thought until she heard Larry Binder…whistling the tune of…“Whistle while you work.”
She marveled that the son-of-bitch didn’t miss a beat…even when the manifest side impact of forced air pressure between the two vehicles, almost seemed to push them with ease off the shoulder of the road; but unknown to her, of the two, only the Cobra was still on the road.
Before she could reflexively open her eyes she felt the centrifugal force of another hard turn force her solidly into the passenger side door while hearing Binder slam on the brakes while successively downshifting. She had lost count of the spirals taken between where they had been when he applied the brakes and where they were when the car quit spinning successive 360’s; and the only thing she was certain of at this point was that once again Larry Binder was putting the petal to the metal.
It was at this moment that she couldn’t believe her ears, Binder was now whistling a different kid’s tune she remembered from long ago and somehow she knew that he wasn’t nuts; wild and extreme yes, but nuts, definitely not. She opened her eyes and looked first to where the hood of the car should’ve been and wasn’t then turned to look bewildered at the man beside her as he continued to whistle… “…it’s off to work we go…forget your troubles…”
In the meantime, Mark Porter was not a happy camper.
__________________________
*A C = Active Camouflage (Explanation…"Active camouflage provides concealment in two important ways: firstly, it makes the camouflaged object appear not merely similar to its surroundings, but effectively invisible through the use of mimicry; secondly, active camouflage changes the appearance of the object as changes occur in the background. Ideally, active camouflage mimics nearby objects as well as objects as distant as the horizon. It also makes it see through.
Active camouflage has its origins in the diffused lighting camouflage first tested on Canadian Navy corvettes during World War II, and later in the armed forces of the United Kingdom and the United States of America.
Current systems began with a United States Air Force program which placed low-intensity blue lights on aircraft. As night skies are not pitch black, a 100 percent black-colored aircraft might be rendered visible. By emitting a small amount of blue light, the aircraft blends more effectively into the night sky.
Active camouflage is rumored to have taken a new turn with the development of the Boeing Bird of Prey, which apparently took the technology further. (The Bird of Prey was a black project and available data is limited.)
Active camouflage is poised to develop at a rapid pace with the development of organic light-emitting diodes (OLEDs) and other technologies which allow for images to be projected onto irregularly-shaped surfaces. With the addition of a camera, an object may not be made completely invisible, but may in theory mimic enough of its surrounding background to avoid detection by the human eye as well as optical sensors. As motion may still be noticeable, an object might not be rendered undetectable under this circ-umstance but potentially more difficult to hit. This has been demonstrated with videos of "wearable" displays where the camera could see "through" the wearer. This usually requires knowledge of the relative positions of the observer(s) and the concealed object.)" Full credit to Wikepedia.
** SOTA …Singular Optical Target Acquisition.
-
And the reasons were wide-ranging.
To begin with it was obvious to Michelle that he was still ill at ease at only wearing “his” self-proclaimed panties in front of her so she set about to make the most of the opportunity afforded her. Thus, her first objective was to prolong that humiliation for however long the organic implant procedure would take and then some; so resolved that’s exactly what she did.
She watched his every self-conscious move as she leisurely wanded his clothes for not only a second but also a third time; even to purposely pulling both shoe laces out of his sneakers and looking at them as if they were to be an item of record. After doing that she ordered Mark to “Remain seated.” Her intimidating tone of voice had left little doubt that her order was spoken as a command to be obeyed; which he did. He then watched her gather up all of his clothes, fold them neatly, and then walk back into room "A" with the lot of ’em. He strained to see what she’d do with them but couldn’t because she’d closed the door behind her when she entered and then suddenly seemed to disappear from sight. Three minutes later the door opened and out she walked; but instead of having his clothes with her all she was holding in one hand was a small black leather bound case which had a red flap on top.
Michelle appreciated the look on his face as his jaw dropped. Her casual and svelte gate towards him was coupled with her equally smooth explanation of what had occurred. “Mark,” she began, “You’re probably wondering what happened to your clothes and what I have in my hands, so I’ll tell you about both. First, behind the door in that room is a safe, your clothes are in it, I put them in there, let’s say, for safe keeping; that means until were finished.” Her little joke was lost on him as the apparent struck him that he was going to stay like he was until she released the clothes back to him.
She savored the moment further as she sauntered over to Binders desk, placed the case on it and allowed Mark Porter the opportunity to stare at it as she moved around the desk and on over to the front walls two windows. She drew the upper blinds closed on each of the two and then proceeded to the pair on the front door. She appreciated the fact that Mark’s attention was not equally divided; drawn inquisitively not only to the case on the table before him, but more so to the naturally seductive sway of her hips. Of course he tried to turn his head away as soon as she turned back around: but it was too late, she’d caught him starring at her form. She said nothing but thought about his obvious interest.
Then, without fanfare she ambled over to the black case, opened it and began to arrange its contents on the desk along with a raised seal communication which she purposely set in plain sight for him to read. “Secondly,” she said, …“…read this,” while tapping the first finger of her left hand at its heading which read, “Organic Implant Procedures and Side Effects.” He leaned forward and read; that, took him about five minutes.
Wittingly, she’d neglected to inform of what was not on the paper: that each organic implant left behind a bright and rosy flush to either cheek; furthermore, that in some cases the discoloration would last well beyond the programmed working life of the unit’s fixed five years, after which, in most cases, it would eventually only soften in hue. She allowed him a moment’s respite then began to carefully measure every aspect of his face; remaining silent as she did.
Normally, on any other person, she wouldn’t have done that and while she wouldn’t have been a chatter box, she would have at least described the why’s and wherefore’s of the need for each specific measurement. Under normal circ-umstances, from start to finish, the entire process of mapping the proper skin location to injecting the mark, would have taken about ten minutes.
Yet here it was twenty minutes later than the norm and she still lingered in completing the mundane; not out ineptness, but rather of her appreciation of the affect that she had on him and he on her; therefore, utilizing the latitude afforded her, she compounded the issue further. Each co-ordinate for implant was mapped twice if not three times. In each attempt her fingers found a subtle way to maintain contact with him in some form or another: either with a firm grasp of the shoulder or a slight twist of the chin; perhaps a gentle hand upon the chest to move him back or a firmer grasp behind his neck to pull him ever so slightly forward; and of course a feigned miscalculation or even a surreptitious nudge of her leg to his knee were but a few of the means by which she inveigled to prolong the task at hand. The daydreams she envisioned of him as a submissive were not out of character for her, besides, he obviously was getting something out of this himself; she appreciated the boner he sported and its glistening filtrate, if only by sight.
At long last she inserted the first of two subcutaneous organic implants. Within two minutes after implantation it began to sting to high heaven; the second followed suit less than a minute and a half later. As he squirmed uneasily in his seat she smiled at his added discomfort while merrily informing him that, “They’ll only tingle for a little while, after that they might itch a bit but in time you’ll get used to ‘em.”
And while she had procrastinated in what she had done to this point, she was however quite precise in adhering to the recommended follow up procedures which included; taking his blood pressure, measuring his oxygen intake (for diminished efficiency) every five minutes and verifying his pulse rate. The reason she gave him for doing so, along with the rationale as stated in the communiqué, for his state undress also seemed plausible. “Mark, as you’ve read I need to check for hypo-allergic reactions which could either manifest themselves as a rash which could extend from your neck down into your groin area or the swelling of any of your lymph nodes.”
She again pointed at the list of mandated procedures and of what was to be done in the event of any manifestation; which he once again dutifully read. In reality however, the side effects she ostensibly would check for were virtually nil and in the fifty some odd times that she herself had implanted the organics, no such effects were noted and the reason was quite simple: they were fabrications. In fact, in the entire history of their use, not one side effect had ever been noted by any operator. What was noted however by the agency was the fact, that just the process itself, of monitoring simple vital signs, engendered a trust between those who would receive them and their contacts. Besides, what was also unwritten but absolutely understood was that in the event of any adverse reaction the procedure was to be immediately aborted. The truth of the matter was obvious, no one had ever had a reaction to their implantation, but quite a few had chickened out at the last moment and expressing in no uncertain terms that they wanted the procedure ended..
Of course, in some cases a change of heart was to be expected and if this indeed occurred, the standing orders were quite specific; given the window of opportunity, the organics must be destroyed. This would be accomplished simply by opening the red flap on the implant package and removing one of the pre-packaged mini-cells contained within. The operator would remove the cell from the packaging and immediately peel off the sticky backing and place the cell directly on the injected area; centering its location. Five seconds after contact the cell would emit a burst of non-ionizing radiation (microwaves) for a period of thirty seconds as the organics were susceptible to almost immediate dissipation if countered within a twenty minute period of implantation. The ionizing cell would not be removed from the skins surface until a full one minute’s time period had elapsed.
Michelle interrupted his reading abstraction with, “Sweet cheeks, don’t look so put out its all for your own good; let me explain. Each separate implant is called a VTM, that means verbal transmission module and they haft’a be that close to your mouth so that when ever you say something we can hear what you say clearly. You’re smart enough to understand that if we implanted them anywhere else, say for instance on your arms or chest, or even on your stomach or legs; if they were covered up, even just a little bit, there’d always be the possibility that we might miss something really important; so in essence they have to be as close to your mouth as possible in order for them to work properly.”
Mark Porter’s quizzical look lasted much longer than a few seconds as Michelle continued, “Besides, you silly thing, did you really think that you would be out of touch with the Constable or myself for any length of time without reporting in on a regular basis? Neither of us would jeopardize you to meet clandestinely or by using any type of phone or even a computer. With the VTM all you have to do is whisper and we’ll hear every word you say to us or anyone else. Besides which, even if we weren’t personally monitoring you 24/7, and we’re not, everything you say or hear will be recorded. Eventually, if there was a need, we’d get back to you…with these.”
She appreciated the stunned looked of comprehension on his face and almost laughed out loud when she said, “Now these,” she held up a package which looked like it had two glass prisms in it, “…are your LTM’s … listening transmission modules… and I promise, they won’t hurt half as much at what you’re feeling on your cute face right now, besides, I think someone like you’ll grow to appreciate ’em. You see, with every VTM that’s implanted a LTM is also used; they work as a team, just like we’re going to do. The only catch is the LTM must always be placed within eight inches of what we call its tandem mate. We’ve found that the best location for placement is as close to the ear as possible; that’s why it’s configured the way it is. It’s a bit larger than what’s in your cheeks but that’s because it’s dual purpose; it sends and receives. First and foremost it obviously affords us the opportunity to hear what you hear because it transmits every sound that you listen to back to us. Secondly, we are able to talk to you without anyone else hearing. Therefore sweet cheeks you’ll never really be out of contact with either Larry or me. Isn’t that wonderful news; just think about it.
And that’s what he did and the more he thought the less he liked, especially what he thought he saw; because to him they looked like earrings. And that’s exactly what Michele told him they were when she gently reached out and rubbed his right earlobe between the thumb and first finger of her right hand adding “I hear it’s the rage so you’ll fit right in.”
Obviously he thought that that wasn’t what he had bargained for and was just about to protest but before he could open his mouth to protest, things got worse as the screech of the electronic buzzer announced that someone was demanding entry. It immediately changed his sullen mood to one of instant apprehension; since it was at Michelle’s insistence that he still hadn’t dressed again. Of course, the pretext she gave him sounded reasonable; she needed to check his vital signs after each implant and to wait a “Respectable period of time, because,” she added “…there was a tendency in some who carried the package to exhibit symptoms of acute dyspepsia. Of course she didn’t tell him that dyspepsia was just a fancy word for an upset stomach; which in all likelihood, given the stress of the situation, he was going to have anyway.
In any event, with his back to the front door he started to make a dash for room "A" but Michelle sternly advised her young charge to “Don’t even think about getting up because if you do we’ll have to start all over again. I’ll see who it is, but you sit still and don’t dare move a muscle, or else,” before she went to see who was “sitting” on the mag-lock button at the door. Of course she never told him that the only point that they’d start over again from was that moment when the buzzer first rang.
Mark did his best to hide himself away where he sat, scrunching up into a little ball with head forward touching his knees. He needn’t have bothered because things were about to go from bad to worse because through the door and over the incessant buzzing he recognized the voice which was demanding entry.
Michelle’s first words to the woman demanding entry were, “I’m sorry, unless this is an emergency, you’ll have to come back later.” What she heard in reply was, “Let me in. You have my nephew inside,” caught her by surprise. Her reaction of, “Excuse me?” was brushed aside with the woman’s callous retort of, “I’ll do no such thing.”
-
Under other circ-umstances Michelle wouldn’t have given it a second thought and dismissed the woman’s off the cuff remark outright: but things being what they were, she was inclined not only to be incredulous at the timing but also to become immediately and quite circ-umspect; especially as to why she was here at the moment. Implicitly, there had to be an explanation: and for what it was worth she wanted to hear at least some version of what was going to be a quite interesting encounter; not only between herself and what distinctively sounded like and older woman on the other side of the door but also that of her charge and his ostensible aunt. She mused that the woman on the other side had answers and even if they were marginally of importance, she would take a softer line and try to make some sense out of whomever or whatever opportunity was metaphorically knocking at the door and about to walk in and stare her in the face.
Without further comment, Michelle pressed the panic hardware release and allowed the mechanism to disengage even while the woman who waited impatiently on the other side was still in the process of adamantly ringing for admittance; the claxon continued to sound even as Michelle physically began to gently push the door open; if only to allow a cordial entry. She was never afforded the opportunity to complete the perfunctory process. To her surprise the woman on the other side was also pulling hard on the exterior handle as well and the result was, that as soon as it disconnected it was thrown open full wide, allowing it to slam into the floor mounted door stop with a discernable thump. As the door shuddered in the throes of its sudden encounter, the woman proceeded to bull rush past her without stopping for any type of formal introduction.
Michelle’s initial instinct was to either clothesline the woman and set her right down on her butt or grab a fistful of hair while kicking the back of her knees out from under her; but, given the circ-umstances, she refrained from doing either and watched the woman whom she judged to be in her late forties proceed unimpeded to stand over the lone individual who sat cowering on the chair fronting Binders desk. Her immediate appraisal of the woman was simple and straightforward.
The woman stood at least four full inches taller than her and probably outweighed her by a good twenty five pounds but apparently carried the additional weight as would an athletic person of less an age. Moreover, while some might misconstrue her facial features as utterly ersatz and overtly matronly, Michelle dismissed that appearance as calculated. For some reason she mused that the woman’s now familiar face belied what was readily apparent to anyone who either knew her or who took either the time and effort to assess: she apparently was a woman of power with a motherly face to hide behind; besides which her present, if not ridiculous, appearance was markedly different from previous times she had seen her.
She recognized the woman as the same one, who, on several occasions had patronized the same Midville diner she too had frequented; and that on each of those occasions the woman, while not dressed to the nines, looked exceptionally striking. But now, thinking back on the matter, it all began to click and her gut feeling was that this woman had something to do with the girly boys who waited on them both and the reason was quite simple: the recognition, if not outright fear in the face of each of the sissies that registered each time she entered the establishment…was notable. Obviously there was a connection.
Sifting through her own recollections, there was no doubt, that while Michelle herself had also been cordially greeted upon entering the same café, that that simple act paled vis-à-vis to the effusive display afforded the woman who had just burst through the office front door. Michelle remembered, it intrigued her then to no end to watch the then raven haired woman, with the perfectly tailored pants suit and black leather riding boots that accentuated her well toned physique, stride into the diner as if she owned the place, much as she had just done now. The ostensible difference was that then, instead of the maelstrom found in a whirlwind entry, it was just the opposite as she then expectantly lingered at the front door: simply waiting; looking about and appraising.
She remembered too the various nuances of the woman’s demeanor: her cold smile as she stood by the café’s entry door; to each quick glance to the wristwatch she wore on her left hand noting a time of entry and the follow up glance immediately after one of the fem/boys first greeted her; and then, to the amount of time that had elapsed after being fawningly escorted to her seat. She even noted how long her order took to be placed before her; and then, on to the repeated attentiveness shown to her throughout the course of her meal. She remembered as well that the last thing she took note of, was, despite their efforts, the woman’s voice never wavered an octave from one that was cold, uncongenial and outright humiliating in nature.
By the same token, Michelle had mentally noted the watch the obsessive woman wore at the café as a luxurious Baume and Mercier Classima Executive and the woman who now who stared down and glared at Mark also wore an identical model; therefore the logic was simple, no two women in this Podunk town would have the same luxurious wristwatch. Ergo, by extension, it was the same woman.
But that woman was there and then and this woman was here and now. And to Michelle, for here and now, the woman didn’t own diddly squat, and she, Michelle, wasn’t about to kiss her butt as had the others; but she would however try and be cordial, if that was at all possible. With piqued curiosity she allowed the woman who now wore an outlandish white brocaded black cotton granny dress and Muadie Frickett hair styled wig a moment of quiet before the onslaught of the obvious questions.
She began with the obligatory, “Excuse me…Ma’m? You said the boy is your nephew?”
The tangential reply was one she didn’t have to wait long for as the woman emotionally exploded on the seated youth. “Mark Porter!!! When a lady enters the room, especially your aunt, you will stand!!! Is that clear?!” Mark Porter nodded his ostensible understanding but in humiliation hesitated to immediately comply; and as a consequence for his dalliance less than a second later his aunt had grabbed hold of his left ear. He found himself dancing on tip toes while desperately trying to maintain his balance with his right hand as his left hand desperately tried to find some type of relief from the grip which now forced him to awkwardly pirouette and flail about in place.
Obviously the woman was not content with his dancing abilities and without notice proceeded to lift the whirling dervish further off of his feet. The sheer momentum of her grip forced him upwards and backwards as if he was about to be hung from one ear until he came to stand grimacing on the chair that he had just seconds before sat upon.
Michelle had to give the kid credit, while he obviously was in pain and despite a whimper or two, he never cried out for her to stop. In fact his response of “Aunt Silvia I’m sorry!” merely verified her relationship as did the fact that his aunt felt quite at ease at administering the first of what would be four quick hard slaps to his fanny.
That first question being answered left many others and despite her innate interest in Marks immediate corporal punishment Michelle understood the simple fact that what was happening was something that she could not allow and which, under the circ-umstances, might endanger not only the boy but also jeopardize her current professional standing.
Of course, the dilemma needed to be resolved and quickly. She dismissed outright overt physical confrontation but considered the threat of such as palpable if the woman were to get out of hand. Obviously, the situation needed a certain amount of tact and that is what she proceeded to act upon by rapidly closing the distance between the two of them; then stepping between a paddling right hand as she gently placed her right hand on Silvia’s left at the wrist and then firmly squeezed it while also making certain to physically alert the woman as to who had the tactical advantage by forcing Silvia’s right knee to slightly buckle with the instep of her own right foot as she turned to face her chest to chest while the index finger of her left hand pressed softly on her counterpart’s throat just above the breastbone.
Michelle softly stated what to her was the obvious, “Madam, you certainly have changed since I saw you last. For the life of me, if I didn’t recognize your watch and your voice…why…with you wearing that dress and wig I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
Silvia Mangiano was nobody’s fool and had studied the martial arts as well; she understood what would occur if pressure to either positions (her throat or the back of the knee) was applied if she proceeded. Albeit reluctantly she released her nephew’s ear and allowed her hand to be lowered; one slap short of her customary rule of five.
Her acerbic response of “For the moment, you have me at an advantage Ms?” to Michelle was to be expected. Not to be outdone an equally acid reply of “Yes I do and in more ways than one.”
-
Silvia understood the deputy’s understated implication and simply smiled at the blue eyed blond with the high pony tail hairstyle who now coyly threatened her. She appreciated that subtle characteristic in a woman’s demeanor especially if the woman was capable of finishing what she had started. She knew all that and more. Moreover, she too recognized the deputy from the diner as the same one who had taken more than a casual interest in her whenever she entered the café. She too had searched for any roving eyes whenever she entered and she too had found them on more than one occasion.
Of course, she understood that the deputy’s appraisal of her was at the least 99% professional the remaining percentage appeared, in her estimation, to focus upon her nephew; to which she, as more than a casual observer, was gratified because it was her belief that younger males should always be under the tutelage of an older female. She mused to herself “How else would they learn the ropes” and was pleased at her self-effacing levity; even if it was at the expense of her nephew.
For her part, Spangler waited patiently; after all, it wasn’t like she was really anxious to put this woman down, besides which, any unwarranted action at this point, regardless of its magnitude, would not be beneficial. As the two women continued to stare eyeball to eyeball at each other, Mark Porter was the one to break the test of wills with, “Aunt Silvia, I’m sorry for not standing up right away, really. I just didn’t expect…well…how did you know that I was…I mean…”
He never finished the thought as Silvia abruptly cut him off by admonishing him outright. “Mark S. Porter, you know very well that there isn’t a thing in this town that I don’t take the time know about now; besides which, though you at times may think otherwise, but as my only nephew I do take an interest in your well being as well.
“But I am surprised that that would be the first of your questions to me. It would seem that you’re not as dense as one would presume; not that I would be the one to think so of course.” Silvia continued on but left Mark standing on the chair as she turned her attention to Spangler.
“My dear, are you or are you not going to turn me loose? You must realize by now that I have no intent on making a scene which would jeopardize either of our standings.”
The perfunctory “Sorry” and a diffident shrug of her shoulders was all Michelle articulated in return as she immediately loosened her hold and backed off from the woman who now began to smile at her.
“Deputy,” Silvia went on, “…it would appear that I owe you and explanation or two so if you will allow me I will begin with the obvious answer to the question; the one voiced by my now upstanding nephew. She chuckled at her double entendre; one made at her nephews expense because she was quite aware of the sexual effect that spankings had on him and point blank told him to “Keep your hands to your sides dear. The deputy and I are quite aware of what turns you on and that you are trying to make a point of it."
All Mark could do was stand there and blush while his aunt spoke past him and directly to Spangler.
“The answer to that is quite simple; first off, the secretary at his school phoned me that your boss, one Larry Binder, was at the school and inquiring about him. She and I are the best of friends, besides at present, we also have a working relationship as I am in the midst of transforming her recalcitrant fourteen year old into a girl who’s more amenable to society in general. I must say he’s made remarkable progress. But be that as it may let me continue to explain.
“My dear, ever since you two showed up I’ve made it my business to find out as much as I could about both of you. You’re quite a pair and to be quite honest I wouldn’t dream of contesting with either one of you and to be quite frank you’re both as subtle as a sledge hammer dropped from 30,000 feet onto a car’s windshield. If I am not mistaken, and I’m not, your associate is a formidable ex- Seal captain with quite a history; with a penchant for literary cutting through whatever obstacles are in his way, human or not, to achieve his goal. That’s how he met you.”
That bit of information immediately raised the hackles on Michele’s neck; a reaction to which Silvia was most appreciative of as she continued on with, “And you my dear were no solitary tulip in the garden either. How should I address the former lieutenant colonel whose exploits are renown within the Voyska spetsialnogo naznacheniya [?vojsk? sp??ts??al?n?v? n?zn??t?en??j?]? (the Russian special purpose regiments)? Do you simply prefer to be known by your special operative name of Mstislav Stalina: Spetsnaz? Or, do you prefer the simple Anglo-Saxon name which you took after your rescue by the captain in Afghanistan of Michele Spangler?”
“Stalina is dead,” came the forthright reply, “there is only Michele; but you may address me as Deputy; for the moment I am quit content with that, at least with you that is. Now, if I am not being crass you will explain why the FDBM&SR facilitator for Region III is so interested in the captain or me.”
Silvia considered her words before she began then proceeded with, “My dear,” she paused, licked her lips then corrected herself, which for Silvia was a rare admission of fallibility, “…forgive me, Deputy…it should be obvious to you of why I am here. First off you have my nephew…here…” she coc-ked her head in the direction of Mark Porter and continued with, “…as his aunt I have an interest in his well being, and therefore I want to know is there some reason that he is being detained?” Silvia waited for the reply which was but on word, “No.”
“Then he is free to leave…with me?”
Again she waited but wasn’t at all surprised by the same response that she had heard before of “No.”
But Michele Spangler thought the question was sophomoric and without hesitation expanded on it. “Madam, we both know that the boy’s mother is the responsible party to whom he will be entrusted and released. That is all you need to know. And while your interest in his well being, if not immediate release, appears to be, shall we say, genuine, it is out of place and for some reason for you, one who knows better, decidedly out of character.
“Of course you are free to take issue with me by filing a complaint with my immediate superior, but I think, but what I think is, that…something smells here…and that you are after something else. Yes, what I think is that you are not as, as, how should I put this…not as concerned…with his immediate well being…but for something else which may be of future value; especially to you.”
Spangler waited for the inevitable reaction and it came with a shock. “Wonderful! How insightful! What a pleasure! At last I finally meet a woman, one after my own heart, who understands! But my dear, forgive me for correcting you, but I thought you told me moments ago that Mstislav Stalina was dead? Your reply to me smacked of her! Why for the moment you even had a slight accent!”
It was Mstislav Stalina who coldy retorted that “Some things die hard and some times even those who die still live on. Now explain but not here.” She pointed across the office and said, “Perhaps, in Room A?”
Silvia nodded her consent and immediately walked past the Spetsnaz blond who to her immediate knowledge, had over twenty-two confirmed kills to her credit and in the process caught the feint aroma of the woman’s perfume. She thought the combination of the two, though incongruous, was comfortably reassuring and reached the conclusion that she had faith in the woman and her supervisor to get what she wanted for both herself and her niece: revenge; if not something more. In her walk to the room she also took a glance at the personal effects of her nephew which still remained in plain sight right out on the table and immediately had a question about one of the items.
For her part, and she didn’t know who at the time it was, but Deputy Stalina ordered Mark Porter to, “Get down. Get dressed and sit in that chair. Do not move and make no attempt to leave. When your aunt leaves, and she will, you and I have unfinished business. Understand?” After she spoke she wondered if she sounded to authoritative to the boy but considered the alternative; that it was better for him to get used to following orders, especially since his life was now on the line as well.
He simply nodded once and understood exactly that this woman wasn’t to be messed with, so, he did what came naturally for him to do; he did exactly what she told him to do. At the moment, it never dawned on him that he might be the ideal individual for the woman of twenty-nine; who, in his own mind was “Oh wow. She’s put together so well. I just wish that I could…”
-
“…just put my face right up in her…” He never got to complete his utterly salacious thought or culminate the accompanying erotic image that he had conjured up in his mind because Aunt Sylvia had knowingly caught the wanting gleam in his eyes as he stared transfixed at Spangler’s behind when she turned and walked away from him and shouted out “Mark Porter!! You will turn around and take your eyes off of Deputy Spangler’s rear this instant and put your tongue back in your mouth where it belongs! I swear when I get a hold of you you’ll…”
“You’ll do what?” interrupted a smiling Deputy and moved towards the red faced woman as she immediately closed the door to “Room A” behind her as she entered. “Madam,” she went on, “I would remind you that the boy is in my custody, not yours. Furthermore, that from this moment on, in this office…I give the orders to him…not you! Moreover, if, for any reason, even outside of this office, that you so much as lay a finger on him, for any reason, when I find out, and trust me that I will find out, I will find you and I will take great pleasure in what I would do to you. If he wishes to look at me there is no harm; in fact, it is what I had intended for him to do; it is a necessity and in many ways, I desire it.”
She leaned forward coming almost nose to nose with the woman and continued, “Listen to me and listen closely, I want him to come to no harm; what is more is simple and straightforward: I want him to be able to speak to me or my superior without reservation, in trust, on any subject; regardless of its nature. You might say that …sex…is a most base emotion upon which to build a working relationship; but given his age and preoccupation with that very thought…not to mention what he may face, I consider it…essential for success.
“Madam, in my short time here, I have observed that while you may choose to have your disciples’ fear you, and from observation, I truly believe they do, that I am of another mind; that, being one of enticement. You see, sometimes, especially in certain situations, it is better to be lusted after than be followed blindly by fear. But of course, you wouldn’t know that would you, for that is how you make your living; however, it is not how I make mine. I would add that for some reason I am also suspicious of your immediate altruism towards him as well; a woman of your nature, apparently hardened through experience, in my estimation, is motivated to a greater degree at the prospect for not only monetary gain but also for complete dominion or…”she lingered, measured the additional alternative and then continued with, “…is it perhaps something deeper and more personally intangible that you are concerned with? Well?”
She waited for a response from the woman whom she had just outright dismissed. She was pleased by what she observed. She had obviously gotten under the woman’s skin and could tell by the signs which screamed back at her of success because Sylvia immediately had smacked her lips twice. Spangler counted the twice as the third time she had done so in her presence; so she surmised two things as absolute. The first was that this woman was not used to being talked back to and of being put in her place, even if marginally: and secondly, that if she could, she not only would have screamed back at her but also would have taken a swing at her. For some reason she held herself in check. Therefore Spangler concluded that she sought more from this meeting than what she had ostensibly entered for; she mused to herself, “So much for the immediate nobility of purpose.”
Expectantly, she waited for whichever contingency, and then watched the woman swallow back down whatever it was that was now stuck in her throat. She knew the woman was searching for words and both were waiting for her to find them. She knew as well that the little tell-tale beads of sweat that now began to rise upon her brow were coalescing and that soon some type of response would certainly ensue.
At the same time, Sylvia Mangiano considered the blond standing before her and realized that she had woefully underestimated the girl almost twenty years her junior. She berated herself for being a fool, not only for barging in and attempting to force some type of outright resolution, but also for being as stupid as to think that she could, in any manner what-so-ever, intimidate her or somehow psychologically out maneuver her.
Standing there, gazing at Spangler, the outlandish, momentary thought occurred, that the girl was almost hissing back at her, under her breath, as she stood there looking back at her, now straight in the face, with dead straight and unblinking eyes. For the first time in her life she met another woman who actually gave her the creeps and she knew that the goose-bumps which immediately covered her body from the neck down would have been a dead give away to that if they could’ve been seen.
For Sylvia it was a moment of truth. Being the pragmatic woman that she was, she did the only rational thing that she could think of. She slowly extended her left hand palm up then slowly reached behind her back with her right and unzipped the black granny dress she wore; let it slip down off her shoulders and allowed it to drop to the floor. She warily stepped out of it while removing the Maudie Frickett wig she wore and let her lustrous shoulder length black hair fall free and forced an affable smile and stood there waiting for some type of response from her immediate counterpart.
She took note that despite her aleatoric motions that the Deputy’s eyes had never moved, never blinked, yet still they managed somehow to take her all in and even dressed as she was, in her tight black body-suit with matching jodhpurs and her equally black riding boots, she felt utterly naked and incapable. She allowed herself a rare moment of hesitation and slowly eased her right hand to her side; allowing the first two of her finger tips and thumb to nervously fiddle in concert with the riding crop which she had habitually tucked into the side of her boot.
On seeing this, Deputy Spangler silently inhaled but it was Mstislav who understood that the contest of wills had ended.
Of the many things Sylvia could have said but didn’t the two words she did of: “I surrender,” cut the ice between the two. Michelle Spangler, a portion of one once of Spetsnaz, exhaled, then allowed her shoulders to ease and then drew a guarded, though quite audible shallow breath which almost sizzled to the ear.
Mstislav Spangler forthrightly replied, “A wise move,” and then stepped back to further appraise the boy’s aunt. Her cold and calculating internal conclusion was simple: she would have presented no problem. Be that as it may, she did however have a problem with the woman’s presence and wasted no time in brusquely asking of her, “What exactly are you doing here now…and what…do you want?”
For her part, Sylvia had been unnerved: a completely new experience; to which she tried to quickly recover. “Well…so much for small talk, ehh? Very well…” She paused while continuing to fidget with the riding crop and chose her words carefully not wishing to antagonize the woman whom she had underestimated any further.
“Deputy…Spangler…my profound apologies. Besides being attractive and obviously intelligent I must admit that you are a most remarkably insightful woman.” Sylvia noted Spangler’s eyebrows as they arched and quickly countered with, “No, no, no, take no offense; I am not polishing the apple so to speak or trying to gain favor with you.
“Obviously, we have gotten off on the wrong foot…” she noted Spangler’s lips tighten in apparent disdain and quickly corrected herself with, “No, no, allow me, I made the mistake; the fault was, is, mine, all mine. You are correct. I am…I am…a bitch! I admit it…especially to where males are concerned; well most of them that is.” It was an afterthought that to Spangler did not need to be reiterated. However she allowed Sylvia the opportunity to speak candidly; which she did.
“And…and…oh damn it…this isn’t at all easy for me…you must understand that I do want something more out of this meeting with you; but first I want to know, no, what I desperately need to know is…will you actually find the bastard that killed my nieces husband and secondly, will he suffer? I understand that you can’t promise me anything. But, just tell me what I want to hear, even if it’s a lie.”
Sylvia waited for her reply which was “Is that all you really want or is there more?”
Her response of, “OF COURSE THERE’S MORE GODDAMMIT,” brought the faintest of smiles to Michelle’s lips along with a slight nod of acknowledgment and but one word in reply: “Explain.”
And she did with, “You are something else! You know damn well that I want something else…you know damn well what I want too…you just as much said so yourself.” She paused, gave Spangler the once over…then continued with, “You’re not going to give me an inch are you! Alright, alright already alright!
“I told you…well…not you actually…but you heard me tell my panty waist nephew that there isn’t a thing in this town that goes on now that I don’t know about. Oh my dear, don’t look so surprised I’ve known for years that he was a true sissy at heart. When I baby sat him, for some time the little scamp would always excuse himself to go pee when in fact all he wanted to do was to raid my clothes hamper, sift through it, reach in and pick out a pair of my soiled panties, smell them and then try them on.
“I caught him red handed so to speak, about a year and a half ago, after which, with some gentle persuasion,” she patted her rump three times and smiled as she went on, “…the secret has been, up until now, just between the two of us. But I digress…besides you’ve already seen him stand at attention…he’s quite fond of…well…maybe one day you’ll find that out for yourself…that once you start that he absolutely…grows on them? Well, you’ve seen that part for yourself, but…but, you must understand that…never mind…I’ll explain it all to you later.
“Oh where was I…oh, yes, that’s because with all that’s happened around here I took it upon myself to find out what in the hell was going on over at F.E.M.M. So I…I…uhh… “gave?” Linda Gentry a dozen little gifts which…well…let’s say were…were…”
Spangler completed her thought with, “…listening devices.”
“Uhh, yes, but right now, that’s neither really here nor there now, is it? Deputy, listen to me, there is something dreadfully wrong at F.E.M.M. I know it for a fact now because one of the tokens which I gave to Linda Gentry is now sitting on that table right outside of this room; its one of the dozen which I gave to Linda Gentry to distribute because…uhh…well…you see there are several individuals who…I mean I…I uhh…Maledicalo! I le informazioni desiderate! Sono spiacente… le mie scuse. I’m sorry…my apologies. What I said was that I wanted information damn it!”
Michelle appreciated the woman’s candor and understood that she was on the verge of exasperation. Furthermore, that while she wanted the woman to speak, she wasn’t that interested in learning all of Mark Porter’s little secrets; though she did picture in her mind him laying firmly across her lap and then …she pushed the thought from her mind and asked a question to which she had the suspicion that only a dolt would ask.
“So you gave twelve listening devices to those at F.E.M.M. and additionally gave one to your nephew; for what reason?” She waited for the reply which from this woman she had almost expected.
“Deputy, please, don’t play me for a fool. We both know that I could have, not make, my nephew speak to me about many things without going to the trouble of planting a listening device on him. You asked me a question to which, from my initial inquiry, you should have already have formed a supposition. My dear Deputy, I will answer your question and perhaps confirm your hypothesis…No, I did not give an additional device to my nephew. As I told you, the token on the table outside is marked as one of the twelve which I gave to Linda Gentry to distribute,” Sylvia Mangiano took a moment to calm herself; then looked at her smiling counterpart and then completed her thought with, “If you are as insightful as I presume you to be…you…complete the scenario…and I ask of you…please…don’t disappoint me.”
Michelle Spangler carefully considered the woman’s words and smiled but once in return; then turned and gently opened the door behind her, looked out across the room to confirm two things: that Mark Porter was dressing, albeit slowly and that the token of which Sylvia had spoken of was still where she had left it; not that it would have disappeared but because she understood that it again required her attention. She allowed the door to remain cracked for but a moment, noted that her charge adjusted his tumescent member by dressing left, then eased it closed, turned again and faced the woman to ask her, “Tell me, without hesitation, how many of these devices actually functioned?”
The forthright answer was, for the most part, what she had expected. “For a while, perhaps, two maybe three days, all functioned without difficulty. Then, for some reason two failed. Several days after that, one of the two resumed its transmission; other than that, all others have functioned as designed. So?”
Spanglers’ immediate reply of “Thank you that is all which I required, but now the question is what do I do with you?” took Sylvia by surprise and the look of astonishment on her face said what words she would have said as evident. Michelle moved to calm her before she could reply with, “Madam, you don’t understand. What is evident to me is that someone has tampered with the sending frequencies of the tokens which you claim to have failed. The one outside, on the table, is no longer yours but another’s. The second which failed, only to resume, is in essence now a Judas-goat and in the possession of someone other than the individual or individuals whom we search for. The problem which you pose is this, whatever that is sent can eventually be traced. Madam, someone out there knows, or will know, what you have done.”
The look of stunned comprehension was but an adjunct to her deflated ego. “Oh,” I just thought that…” The suddenly blank look on her face almost immediatly gave way to one of mortification and understanding when she unexpectedly murmured “I’ve made things worse.”
Michelle Spangler placed her two hands on Sylvia's shoulders and softly spoke to her the same words which her boss had spoken to her in her hour of need before her rescue.
"??. ?? ?????? ?? ?????? ??? ????. (Yes. But only for the moment my friend)."
-
Silvia’s direct reply to Spangler of “I understand your implication all too well,” was met with a cryptic smile as she expounded further, “That the enemy of my enemy is, for the moment, my friend. Deputy, I ask that you do not press your insinuation, I have no desire to become your eventual enemy; far from it. My dear, please understand that I would never hurt my nephew. Oh to be sure there are moments that I would chastise him but that would only be for cause. My niece on the other hand would punish him out of spitefulness; it is that which I wish to avoid, her plans for him would not be, shall we say, conducive to his ultimate development.”
“Explain.” For Sylvia, the one word response was simple, straightforward and all encompassing. She began with, “Deputy, first allow me, the reason for your presence here, in this town, is the two individuals who perished in what has been to date euphemistically called an accident: they were very, very close to me; especially with respect to my nieces’ late husband. I offered him…excuse me, I meant to say, that I introduced him to her. Do you understand?”
“Not fully, I am still…new…to this country and its revised laws, but am I to surmise from your intimation an attachment: that he or both had, at one time, been students of yours; as indentured submissives? Therefore, perhaps by implication you had also played a role in the introduction of the late Stephan Black to Kathy as well; is that the reason for her continued proclivity of visiting your establishment with her daughter or is there more?”
“You’re very good at connecting the dots Lt. Colonel, in fact, you’re excellent, and yes, of course there’s more. Both were my first custodial charges. Hmm, don’t look so puzzled, David was my first while Stephan was the second and since on this matter you claim to have no knowledge I shall explain. Under the Constitution, of the 57 Newly Confederated States, of which you are now a citizen, I am within my rights to “develop” at least two, but no more than four, male youths simultaneously. My dear, you encountered all four of the sissies I now tutor at the diner and personally enjoyed their services yourself; at least, that is what I was told separately by each of them.
“But I digress. You see, under the 63rd Amendment, passed some twenty five years ago, which specifically details all marital unions, pre-nuptial agreements, voluntary and involuntary indentured servitude contracts, their grade and type, not to mention the legal age of majority for all males who are entered into these same contracts legally by others; as the FDBM & SR facilitator for Region III, I am empowered to offer whatever experience I deem necessary which would benefit a future female spouse. In essence, I am empowered to act as a marriage counselor or broker on behalf of the future unknown majority female partner before the fact.
“Both David and Stephan came under my tutelage, as unwanted males, at the age of eight and as set forth under article two of the 63rd amendment, I became their don; their empowered custodian so to speak. However, as such, once under my guidance, they were devoid of familial rights; except those which I deemed as necessary for their development or those which I later granted as either necessary or applicable to either. Nevertheless, during the course of their indenture, to each I was most tender. I therefore resolved that once they had reached the age of consent, thirteen, that they would be offered for service to an aspiring Alpha-female of equal or slightly older age. I know what you’re thinking, that I just used them both.
“Well, nothing could be further from the truth. I made certain that they lacked for nothing, even a thoroughly well rounded education. You see, my dear, as an older female, oh god I hate to now use that description, but be that as it may, as one who is, shall we say…age advantaged… that it is far easier to instruct a younger male into his new station in life. One who is easily molded without those dreadful foibles which were inherant to males not so long ago; those which would preclude benefical behavior modification. Especially, in the multiple facets of what a woman may both physically and emotionally require for her gratification, rather than proceed through the trial and error of what may be found by merely courting a limited number of dulled male possibilities and wishing for a fulfilling outcome. No pun intended. After all, what woman would not accept a well trained, educated and adept young lover, of either sex, whose stamina was not in the least questioned and whose overriding concern was both her physical and mental joy, happiness and wellbeing despite his or her own discomfort? To what lengths would either go for her pleasure; even if upon a devilish whim? What would such an individual do unquestionably for their ultimate mistress?
“Moments ago you accused me of being cruel and insensitive. Perhaps, for a moment or two, it may appear that way. But I ask you, think; if I were not the stern taskmaster, ever demanding, ever difficult to please and seemingly, ever so ungrateful, for even the slightest courtesy shown me, would the products of my efforts find success? No, I think not. In this new world where, except for few exceptions, women rule, and those few true males remaining, those capable of reproduction, would eventually flounder without direction. You see my dear, the greatest kindness I can show them is my cruelty; only then will they truly appreciate one such as you who can be followed, upon sight; and that they may, even with their eyes hunger for, as they willingly follow. In many ways it is I who plants the physical seed: not they.
“But there I go again just rambling on. Now back to the point I was leading up to; that having been schooled beyond the minimum requirement of twelve years and having undergone rigorous training in multiple techniques, both David and Stephan were offered to their prospective female partners as unconditional mates; one’s who would not only serve but also one who could bond with their majority partner, an Alpha-female of my choice, who would, without question, and as found in Section 2, sub-paragraph (b) of the 63rd Amendment, be dominant in all matters; regardless.
“I must admit that I grew attached to both but even fonder of David. That is why I saved him for my niece and gave her best friend my second, her David. Now, with events, I miss both dearly. So, the answer to your first question is obvious I want more than just the release of my nephew and not only want revenge but more; the return of status to my family name and all that comes with it.
“Deputy, the primary reason that my lone nephew is standing outside this door right now is because of me! I instigated the plan to rouse my niece from her indolence. It was at my suggestion that Kathy Black brought her daughter Stacey to visit me. Stacey, a lovely child, who will by the way, make an excellent dominatrix, had already snared my nephew with her wiles: as her pheromones,* even at her young age, are quite potent; and as my nephew is quite malleable, it was relatively simple for her, with the proper coaching and enticements, to beguile him. However, I was the one who prompted Kathy and Stacey to tempt him into an action which would spur his mother to act; unfortunately, besides being a male, he is also inventive to a fault. The boy took it too far and involved his younger sister in a manner unbecoming for a male towards any female; and in this day and age that act is not looked upon kindly; he took advantage of her and for that his mother, with my help, will punish him dearly. But for the moment that is neither here nor there.
What is to the point is simple to understand: that Kathy Black is, as was my niece, a protégé of mine; she is however, at the moment, less mean spirited than Shelly.”
“Do you merely allude to the fact that your niece overindulges or is there another connotation of which I should be aware?”
“Yes to both of your questions. It is common knowledge that my niece drinks, at any time or place which suits her. She was, is, in danger of losing her position at F.E.M.M. along with custody of her children…to me.” Silvia waited for some type of reaction; seeing none she continued. "I could not bear to let either happen but if I had to choose one over the other I would exercise my jurisdiction and place both under my protective custody until such time she was once again a capable female.
“She visited me a short while ago, and sought a make over for her son; a transformation of which I would be willing to engage…with reservations.”
But standing there, Michelle Spangler had many uncertainties herself. She tried to understand how it had all come to this. She remembered the many stories her father, General Olderofvsky told her of the old days, of the relationships between men and women, before the new beginnings and understood little of what had transpired during the world wide calamity of thirty-seven years ago. She knew less of the events following the immediate passing of the uncharted comet which had struck the atmosphere a glancing blow and even less of how many males had been killed or left sterile as a consequence of its unique and gender specific viral payload, which were dispersed worldwide upon its partial entry into earths atmosphere. Nor did she understand how it, the comet, could amplify the pheromones of certain women, like herself, while leaving others, like her mother Captain Katrina Olgevskya, much the same as they had been previously. Or of why those same pheromones in men had been so drastically altered.
Growing up among the Spetsnaz, her only frame of reference was that of a pure cadre girl. However, she, was the only one among those few remaining, who, as a young child, chose to discard her given name of Feodora (Gift from God) Katrina Olgevskya. She chose another, one which she perceived as more suitable to her existence; one which she could and would emulate regardless of circ-umstance.
Mstislav (Vengence) Stalina (Steeled) whose parents and immediate elders were still of Spetsnaz, learned as a young girl, what it was to be only Spetsnaz; independent and all alone. And as for being trapped in the wastelands of a god forsaken foreign country without hope of escape; that too was the cross to bear for being a child of the loyal elite; who, through an act of providence, were left behind to fend for themselves. And that is how he found her, at the base of hill, all alone, covered in blood, and ready to be set upon by those few remaining zealots who had not fallen in combat before her.
And now, here she was as Citizen, Deputy Michelle Spangler, a ranking female stranger in an even stranger land. One where the social conventions, the niceties, of which she had been told and had read of, were no longer the norm; for now it was the alpha females who ruled the roost, made the laws, brokered the treaties and who had turned convention upside down. They were the politicians, the senators and congresswomen. They comprised the newly established FDB&M and had become the facilitators and their enforcement police. Of course there still a few real men around, such as her immediate boss, but they were now a rare breed for what had been a man’s world had turned topsy-turvy.
Her mental sojourn of reminiscence was broken by Sylvia’s gentle prodding of, “Deputy, Deputy? Hello?
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* A pheromone (from Greek ???? phero "to bear" + hormone from Greek ???? - "impetus") is a secreted or excreted chemical factor that triggers a social response in members of the same species. Pheromones are chemicals capable of acting outside the body of the secreting individual to impact the behavior of the receiving individual.[1] There are alarm pheromones, food trail pheromones, sex pheromones, and many others that affect behavior or physiology. Their use among insects has been particularly well doc-umented. In addition, some vertebrates and plants communicate by using pheromones
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Michelle Spangler could only mumble “I apologize, I was elsewhere in thought” most diffidently. She paused again and spoke almost inaudibly, “I assess the moment in light of my limited time in this new country. I now ask myself, why anyone would risk returning this particular token to your nephew unless, aside for perversions sake, something other, intrinsically more important was to be gained and now the only answer which comes to my mind is simple and obvious; they desired something more than the esoteric proclivities of a boy. If only by existence he had access to something or someone more: knowledge; which in turn would lead somewhere, perhaps to some inkling of power.
“Regardless, it is reasonable to assume that given the current status of males in general that the individual we seek is an exceptional female who acts on behalf of either her governmental agency or is to some degree engaged in global industrial espionage if not assassination. Personally, I feel it to be both but for some reason it is logical to assume that the individual we seek is one other than Linda Gentry; despite all indications the trail left is purposeful; besides, through experience I believe her too noticeable a suspect. Therefore, her involvement is not only ancillary but also innocent; therefore we must concentrate our efforts and look elsewhere.”
Michelle turned once more to the door, cracked it open and spied upon Mark Porter as he finished dressing himself. She couldn’t help but notice the elongated faded denim spot on the left front of his jeans and mused to herself “Of course, as with males, it is the tell tale sign that when aroused and rubbed, the fabric wears thin.” She closed the door but left it ajar and turned once more to Sylvia and bluntly asked “Madam, before I contact my superior, through your clandestine endeavor, what information, if any, have you gleaned which will be of immediate benefit to this matter?”
The look on Sylvia’s face said it all, she was the one who normally was in charge and asked the questions and she was not at all used to being interrogated; especially by a woman much younger than herself; and of course, despite her previously announced regrets, she took immediate exception to the question perfunctorily asked as a command. Unconsciously, she curled both of her lips inward and refrained from responding immediately; which brought a smile to the normally stoic face of Michelle Spangler who decided to press the point by inquiring “I see I have offended you, no matter, you will get used to answering to either me or my superior; because if you do not…” she paused for a moment and then concluded with “it will not go well; especially for you. Even in this day and age there are certain laws against what you have done. I would make certain that in some manner you would held accountable.”
Before Sylvia could reply, Michelle immediately raised her right hand with palm open and at Sylvia’s eye level and barked out “No, no…leave your elevated sense of worth elsewhere;” lowering her hand she continued “on these matters it is I who asks and controls the situation. If we are to succeed we must be of one mind and dedicated purpose; there cannot be, as you in this country are so fond of saying…how is it put…ahh yes…any “loose cannons” laying about: specifically you.” Now answer…”
Michelle Spangler drew her shoulders back and waited for whom she now considered to be her lesser counterpart to reply and in so doing, unconsciously her less than buxom chest expanded fully against the taut fabric of her light brown jersey.
Sylvia began “Lieutenant colonel,” she paused to asses the moment further before proceeding, “I am not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner; if you desire my assistance, I am willing and ready to do so I...”
Spangler wouldn’t hear any of it and barked back interrupting “No, as I told you…it is not you…but I who will give you the orders and you will grow accustomed to it or else you will sit in a cell by yourself where no one can reach you or in turn him” as she nodded once in the direction of Mark Porter who had now completed dressing. She continued with, “Until this matter is complete, all information you have clandestinely gathered will be shared immediately; moreover, you will relinquish to this office the CPU which receives their respective transmissions.” Sylvia opened her mouth to protest but instead it was the Deputy who still controlled the moment as she cut Sylvia off again with “Madam, moments ago you asked a question of me and bade me reply even if it were to you a lie. At this moment, given your attitude, it would be a lie to tell you that the results you seek, of revenge, or of restored honor, were guaranteed as obtainable. You must understand that time is short and whomever it is we seek still roams and is free, not only to continue whatever the plans that are made but would also be able to escape.
“Understand, neither my superior nor I are known for failure and while it is true that at times, we do not leave an inkling of intent but instead that of certain ruin we find it deplorable reverting to those extreme measures. Madam, I, as is my superior, am a pragmatist, who upon impulse can and would take a life or be killed if it ensured the success of the mission and the safety of those whom I am charged with; here and now I tell you that I, that we, would do no less; for you or anyone else. However, we cannot succeed without this information, please, swallow your considerable arrogance; I have important work to do and little time left in which to do it and can no longer wait for your indignant pride to assuage itself.”
A wry smile crept across the lips of the Facilitator for Region III and as she nodded her head and almost venomously addressed her equivalent “Deputy, Lt. Colonel Stalina, I have waited years for a woman such as yourself to appear. You are not only self-assured but so sweetly arrogant and obviously a woman who can look after herself; you are much like me. Forgive me?”
Spangler perfunctorily nodded and uttered one word “?? (Da=Yes).”
“Good,” Sylvia chortled, “For the moment I concede to your authority; you will have the CPU within the hour and as for any intelligence garnered, it is all on tape; you will have those as well. I can save you the time however and tell you that the only interesting and recurring article of conversation which runs throughout their entire thread is some type of innovative interrogation and classical conditioning technique which is still undergoing development and testing. From their idle conversations they are amused at the ease with which the information is gathered and are amazed at the rapidity of the conditioning process upon the subjects.
“Furthermore, Stephen and David also took part in this endeavor and were, to the best of my knowledge, quite taken with it.” Sylvia chuckled again and was quick to explain the reason why, “Both were devoted to their respective females but after experiencing the device which they wore whatever intrinsic male ego that remained was eliminated. You see my dear; the device they wore, is, from what I hear, foolproof. It is also the penultimate apparatus from which there is no escape and as such whoever wears it is not only in turn becomes completely docile but also unequivocally truthful. What I hear as well is that your agency would like several hundred of these appliances and that your superior was instrumental in greasing the wheels of progress; so to speak.”
Sylvia waited for some type of reaction and if she was expecting a major outburst from Spangler she was disappointed because the only reply she received was “You hear well but tell me something that I do not already know.”
In return Sylvia appraised Spangler further and smiled realizing that the Spetsnaz woman before her had all but won her over. She leaned closer to the blond and whispered “I know who the next test subject will be and I also know that the appliance to be worn is more advanced than any of the previous; that is what I heard from my source but a short time ago. I know as well that once this device is in place that his mother will bring him to me for a transformation like none other. Oh most certainly, she will preface its installation with a lesser model, one which will give but a notion to my nephew of what is to come. I can assure the Lt. Colonel that if you as a woman desired to know his deepest secrets, especially those of you, all you need do, would be there to ask; for once it is put on all resistance is futile. I also hear that tomorrow, his mother will make certain, that he will never again treat another female in the manner which he has his sister; whom by the way, from what I hear, will take great delight in humiliating him, not only in private but in public as well. As for the devices in question, the last I heard was that a common carrier has been consigned to transport several items, deemed by someone of authority to be imperfects, to some as yet undisclosed location for disposal; perhaps you should concentrate your efforts in that direction?
Michelle’s eyes moved in the direction of Sylvia’s nephew and as she watched him squirm about in his chair, she, as a woman wondered about his many thoughts; and if she occupied even a small portion of his current musings. While she internalized the information Sylvia had provided her, standing there, two salient thoughts coursed through her mind. The first concerned Sylvia Mangiano the self-professed know it all and the second centered on an Old Russian proverb she had learned from her father that even to this day still held water. He said “??????? — ???????? ??? ??????? (Boltun — nakhodka dlya shpiona=A chatterbox is a treasure for a spy).” Given that advice she decided then and there of how to begin ferreting out the mole.
For her part, Sylvia Mangiano now waited and wondered to herself if she should even dare broach the subject with the woman who exhibited those innate qualities which she yearned for in an Alpha female; especially one whom she could at some point in time welcome personally as…family. Intuitively, to her, all the signs were there and to her the match was obvious; that her nephew definitely had eyes for Stalina and for some reason he had warmly turned the head of a very formidable woman; one, who according to her dossier, was a specialist, skilled not only in close combat training but also one whose physical endurance was that of a prodigy within the agency itself.
That she had been teamed with Binder again for this assignment was also for Sylvia no small undertaking. Among the dozens of dossiers supplied; other agents were recommended but the man read as a wonder in his own right; strong, unabashed, unafraid, at time ruthless and doggedly indomitable. Besides, he had had a working relationship with Stalina. But he had had enough and had expressed his desire to retire. Given the current circ-umstances, Sylvia could not allow this to occur. Therefore she thought it best to team the two together for one last effort; one in which she had a personal stake.
Even before they had met she had reasoned that Binder could provide the counterbalance necessary for her niece to succeed. Moreover Sylvia appreciated the notation she had read on the exterior of his folder: “Binder, extremely dangerous and will implement his own rational upon a whim “Screw ‘em before you get screwed yourself!” It is recommended the he be used as a last resort!” She mused to herself “well that would be like killing two birds with one stone.” But was the cost worth it?
To Sylvia, money was merely that cost of doing business with an agency; one which had a reputation for unqualified success, who, at her request, had supplied both Stalina and Binder. They were both well worth the investment of time and money; after all, the word profit, meant so many things to so many others. And now, standing there looking at the svelte Deputy Lt. Colonel she concluded that so incongruously charming a girl could indeed be persuaded to make this her last assignment after which, if properly mated, that both he and Stalina could provide so much more. She mused silently at her double entendre.
She resolved, she would plant the seed before the two pairs had physically coupled; and as a result both of their progeny would not be sterile and in turn both she and her family name would profit incalculably.
She leaned forward and plied her trade and began as a Siren with one whispered word..."Feodora...
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…curtly dismissed her attempt without so much as turning to face her counterpart. She venomously hissed back her immediate displeasure “Sssilence, that name was last whispered to me by my mother before she died in my arms. Other than she, no other since has dared call me that or voice it in that manner. Obviously, you should know better, yet you persist to test me…why?” she asked as she turned to face the woman whose face immediately flushed in embarrassment at her unintended faux-pas.
Of all the things Spangler would and did accept with a grain of salt and bitterly swallow in the performance of whatever duties that would befall her, this unprovoked intrusion reopened a personal wound and was to her beyond the pale of acceptance; to her this was more than a personal slap in the face. She thought “??? ???????? ??? ????? (How dare this bitch?) ???? ???? ??? ???? ??????, ?????? ??? ???? ?????????? ?? ??? ??? ?????; ??????????, ????? ??? ?????? ?????????????? ? ???, ? ??? ??????????? ???????? ?????????: ???? ? ??????? (While it was once my name, only my mother would whisper it as such; especially, when she wanted to confide in me, in those special moments of solitude: mother to child.)” Sylvia Maria’s mouth gaped when she further heard without the slightest intimation of doubt “Madam, desist. With such persistence, I assure you that you will not live long enough to regret it.” She left her tight lipped and guttural conclusion of “? ???????? ???”* un-translated.
Though Sylvia didn’t understand the language she understood the manner and intent of those last words. Moreover, for one of the few times in her life that she could count on one hand, Sylvia Maria stood regretful and was truly at a loss. Even those words which she searched and fumbled for could not erase the immediate pangs which coursed through her; for even to Sylvia, blood was thicker than water. She had opened a festering wound and now “Deputy…Lt. Colonel” she spoke, not looking at the face of the woman who confronted her, “I didn’t know. Honestly, I did not know” she continued apologetically. “There was…there was no mention of this...I mean of that, in your dossier. I will gladly show you what I have. Please, I apologize, truly I do. Obviously I have now offended you and and…” Sylvia swallowed once then heaved a sigh of resignation and muttered the last of her semi-cogent thoughts “Oh my god, I am a marriage broker and I notice things; especially those furtive looks between would be lovers. After meeting you, I only wanted you to stay here and thought to further sway you.”
“Hmmph, so you say now” came the bitter retort. “Madam, my life at the moment is not my own. I am bound to duty and until my mission is completed…love is lost upon me and anyone else who gets in my way. If you must muse…do so silently…it would be better for your health. Now, if you will excuse me, I must contact my superior. You may leave and hope for the best or remain here for an indefinite period of time; of course you will be under our protection. She mockingly concluded to the bewildered Regional Facilitator “?????????? ??? ???????, ? ???????????? ?????? ????????. Sylvias bewildered look said it all. Stalina understood and contemptuously translated it for her, “What I said was that “God watches over those who are careful, and the jail warden’s watch over those who were not.”
Stalina turned granite faced on a dime and exited the room trying her best to avoid eye contact with Mark Porter who, to his credit she noted, stood at ease and as if unconcerned. She liked that quality in an individual for to her the ability to endure the unpleasant without demonstrable reaction(s) was laudable; especially for a boy who was under unspoken duress. She thought to herself “?? ????? ?????????. (He has potential.)”
When she reached the radio neither Mark Porter nor Sylvia Maria viewed the faintest of smiles which all but broke her implacable facade. It was out of character for her to admit it, for even but a moment, but she acknowledged there appeared to be an unspoken affinity between the two of them. She paused momentarily before reaching the radio and smiled remembering a conversation between her mother and herself which centered upon finding a suitable mate. “Feodora ??? Feodora, ???????? ?? ?????, ?? ????, ????? ????????” she said. (Feodora my Feodora, Durakov ne seyut, ne zhnut, sami rodyatsya. = Fools are not sown or reaped, they appear by themselves. ????? ????, ???? ??? ??????, ???????????? ?????? ???????? ??? ????. (Besides, sooner or later, love makes fools of us all).”
She turned to face room A and spoke to the despondent Facilitator addressing her with less scorn than previously. “Facilitator,” she began, “we have both shown ourselves to be fools. “You”… are an old fool who should have known better, unfortunately, I…am a “young” fool…one who does not know “any” better. However, I understand the basis of your intent. If my mother were here she would have me tell you, “?????????? ???.” That simply means “Thank you.” Now if you will be so kind, sit quietly while I contact my superior, then we shall decide on what role, if any, you are to play in this matter.”
Sylvia nodded and silently accepted the statement for what it was. She watched pensively as the woman went about her stated business of contacting who she knew was Larry Binder; who answered the hail from his Lt. with all the certainty that she’d expect from a man whose dossier read as a litany of both complaints and of accomplishments.
“This is unit one to base, whatcha got?”
“I have a problem.”
“You? You actually have a problem?
“I should specify…we both do.”
“Explain I’m all ears.”
“The boy’s aunt is here and is indirectly involved. She has gathered information which may prove useful; unfortunately and unknown to her, the same can be said of whom we seek. At least one of her own listening devices was augmented. Do you understand?”
“Yea, I do, somehow there’s always a fly in the ointment. Give me a second and I’ll get back to you…right now I’m with the kid’s mother and we’ve just gone for little joyride in the country. By the way, turn on Mrs. D. and make sure you get a read out as of fifteen seconds from now. Copy?”
“Copy. Counting down…14…12…10…8…6...5...4...3...2…engaged. System is operational. I will wait for your next hail.”
The intervening thirty seconds passed without comment from either Michelle or Sylvia. And as for Mark Porter, his curiosity had been piqued. He wondered why the computer read out, which he could view from his vantage point from behind Spangler, initially appeared as a diaphanous moving cloud and then within seconds defined itself as a singular mass which stumbled about and proceeded to make what appeared to be a U-turn, wiggling as went upon some erratic course. And during that period of time Sylvia noted that her nephew’s attention was also focused upon every move of the Lt.’s shapely derriere. Her silent musing was interrupted by Binders voice when it crackled out over the intercom “Unit one to base, back at yah, copy?”
“Copy unit one.”
“Base, meet me at F. E. M. M. in fifteen minutes, Shellie Porters office and bring our two guests, copy?”
“Copy.”
“And base, bring along a couple of our RP3 playmates. Out.”
At the end of conversation, Shellie Porter looked once outside her car window then turned and quizzically stared at her escort and mumbled “Who the hell is Mrs. D?”
Binder laughed at her inquiry and jovially told her, “Lady, Mrs. D. isn’t a “who” but I sorta love her just the same. She doesn’t ask me stupid questions. Doesn’t have a whiney voice. And she sure as hell doesn’t sweat all over my seats! But she sure as hell can lead me anywhere she wants to go and like an ’ol hound dog I’ll follow; a sniff sniff here and a sniff sniff there…here a sniff…there a sniff….every…”
“Stop it!” Shellie gulped back at him. “You’re…you’re…you’re so damn arrogant and impossible to talk to. How in the hell am I supposed to find out what in the hell is going on if I can’t ask any questions and what in the hell happened to this car! I looked out the window a couple of seconds ago and it was…I mean part of it wasn’t there! Who or what is Mrs. D and…and…and…who…are these RP3 playmates that you're bringing to my office. I want answers and I want them…”
“Now, now, now,” chided Binder as he broke into song “You can’t always get what you want, you can’t always get what you want…but if you try some time…you just might find…you get what you need!”
For several reasons Shellie moaned at his attempt to sing: the first of which was, despite the situation, he was about to make her laugh and secondly his horrid rendition made her cringe. And lastly, that despite her initial impression of the man what she realized was that she needed to have that void in her filled once again; especially the one seated between her legs. She turned away in dismay, embarrassed at the thoughts which she now entertained of her and him, alone and in bed, enjoying the crazed lust of the moment.
Binder took her silence the only way he could; he thought “I really p.o’d her now. Not a smart move.” He waited for a couple of seconds and breached the subject with “Ms. Porter, Mrs. D. is an anagram. It stands for Micro-aerial Robotic-Sensing Devices. When we circled back for a look see, I released the full load of these discerning little hummers just as we went past your friend for a second time and by now they’ve boroughed their way into every exposed part of flesh of whoever’s still alive in that car. They never miss their marks and they act as a homing beacon but will cease to function only when prompted. Their power source has a half life of twenty years and their very prickly to deal with. As for my little playmates, the RP3’s, they’re the newest in hand held Rail Projectiles, 3rd generation. It’ll put a hole clean through fifteen inches of steel in a split second and be ready for another helping just as quick as you can keep pressing the handles button.”
He waited for any response as he drove, mindful, that somewhere along the road in back of them was a not too happy camper; who, whether he or they knew it or not, would lead them straight back to wherever it was that they came from and to whoever it was that sent them. He was also mindful of the fact, that, whoever had the Mrs. D drones imbedded in them could be terminated at will; moreover, he had found that when detonated it was always best to verify that the mark was in an open area, it would reduce the collateral damage. As for the RP3’s, his operational philosophy was simple “Get them before they get you.” The RP3’s ensured that in fire fight whoever was hiding to a range of one mile could find no place to run and no place behind which to hide: what you hit was just as gone as if they were only five feet from you. In that respect he thought to himself, “Then finally, when this is over, I’ll get what I need!”
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* "I swear it!"
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And then what he suddenly realized he needed was to get out from under it all and quick. And the fact that he now dared to think in those terms was incentive enough for him to consider what he needed first: a quick no holds barred release from any further service and the sooner the better.
He needed to find a hazy lazy place to settle down in before he had completely lost the keenness to which he normally engaged in his work. He needed at last to lay back and enjoy life without any further short term messy entanglements or long term undefined commitments. He wanted, no he figured he needed to quit before he got just careless enough to make his first big mistake his final lasting mistake ever; for which he would be eternally regretting. He thought as he drove “I need to make certain I don’t wind up food for worms or gets either of us pushing up daisies to boot. Better get out before I either get myself or Feddy killed!”
And as for any secondary physical wants that he might later require, he silently scoffed as he drove. The notion that he’d really want for anything was not a concern. He was never extravagant: in fact, he was downright frugal and pragmatic at least when it came to money. But still, he knew how to have a good time; besides which, he was literally banking on the many favors that had accrued in his account and most of them were not the idle promises of “I’ll take care of you later” from some of the two-faced clients he’d extricated but rather the tangible assets of those appreciative individuals who saw fit to throw him a sizable bonus when the job was done: specifically, that of saving their bacon. That addendum was just one of the few conditional perks upon which he insisted when the Agency had recruited him and to this moment in time that condition suited both he and Spangler well.
Be it in the form of cash or what real-estate to buy or when to unload it or the various stocks, bonds or gems that also sat in their safety deposit boxes: later in life, both would want for nothing. Of course, neither he or she ever asked for anything, but as condition of assignment to a case, it was understood, at least by the Agency, that as a free-lancers, mercenaries, their services didn’t come cheap and that if success were to be guaranteed the quickest way to make it so was to be up front about the whole situation and as such the Agency informed a potential client that for these “very special agents” their services came with the expectation of “an additional personal off the record gratuity at the successful completion of the mission of no less than fifteen percent.” Of course the Agency formally frowned on the acceptance of truly exorbitant gifts but after all if they wanted to show some extra gratitude, beyond the norm, let them; after all, if you want the best sooner or later you pay for it.
The other condition of his employment was not in the form of a request but of a demand. If he was to work with a partner the selection would be his and his alone; and for that, the only one he trusted with his life was the young Russian femme fatale who accompanied him wherever he traveled. As a matter of course initially the agency sought to discourage the pairing but it was to no avail; since Afghanistan, the two had long since bonded with each other and neither would entertain the thought of partition. Besides which, the two together were the most prized agents the agency offered so any speculation of either going their own way was quickly squelched with the obvious consideration: together they were rainmakers and the Agency was astute enough to make the most of it.
As for what emotional needs he required: they were few, though driven, and could almost be counted with the fingers on one hand. He needed to get laid on a regular basis without having to wonder if it be the last time he ever drilled a willing piece. He wanted some type of “steady broad” with great looks paired with a set of hooters to grab onto; one who didn’t mind being rough and tumbled at the drop of a hat. Of course, she’d have to have the butt of a teenage boy, one that was high and tight, who wasn’t opposed to not only having it caressed but also on occasion either probed or swatted if the situation was right; and he also needed on a regular basis a morning Hoover; especially from someone with willing and inviting lips. That was the lot for the one hand; on the other hand, he needed to know, that even if she strayed that she’d always come back to him and of course the same could be said about him; because, he wasn’t opposed to getting a little regular strange on the side and that was just the way he was and for that he made no apologies.
And at that moment, among the other things, he was thinking about was that he was still waiting for his passenger to break the awkward silence that was drowned out only by the sound of the wind driven rain hitting the windshield. He glanced down quickly at the dash, noted his speed had dropped to sixty mph and decided to drop it another ten to fifty then cruise the rest of the way on back to F.E.M.M. Figuring that all good things do come to an end, including the silence between himself and his passenger, he uncharacteristically made the first move by announcing “Soooo…Ms. Porter…you’ve aroused my curiosity and from the looks of things you’ve got a hellu’va lot of others interested in you as well. Who in the hell would’a thought that some off the wall piece of crap like a diaper would lead to us sitting here all cozy like together? Makes ya wonder don’t it?”
She ignored his entreat to engage in banal conversation and turned away while shaking her head and muttering under her breath “What a real pain in the ass this has turned out to be. I get to sit here and listen to Rambo and all that’s missing is him screaming at the top of his lungs. God knows his singing is bad enough.”
Larry smiled and muttered “My, my, my we are still a wee bit on edge now aren’t we. But that’s o.k. By the time we get to your “orifice” maybe you’ll have loosened up enough to tell me just how in the hell are you going to prove to me that your great “diaper of inquisition” is all that you claim it to be. Hmmm? I’d hate to think that all of this activity was over some half-baked scheme that couldn’t hold water let alone a pant full of crap.”
Shellie still didn’t look at him. She couldn’t otherwise she didn’t know if she would laugh in his face for the use of the word or scream at him for being forward. All she did was to manage a fitful reply of “Mr. Binder, contrary to your disbelief, what we have developed at F.E.M.M. works and works well.” She paused, drew in a breath and added “Maybe it works too well? But as for proof, well, I do have a subject in mind who will demonstrate its effectiveness; however, I hadn’t planned on utilizing it so soon, at least on him. I had planned on introducing him to it after a relatively short transitional period of time.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” Larry cast a quick glance at Shellie as he guided the Cobra back to F.E.M.M. and waited for answer that wasn’t quick enough in forthcoming. “Was he gonna get cold feet or what? No I don’t think so. So you know what I think? You hit a snag in your best laid plans didn’t ya? You’re still trying to work the kinks out of some off the wall piece of garbage that hasn’t a glimmer of actually working let alone even coming close to doing what you claim it does aren’t ya? You know, you had me going for a little while; almost but not quite believing that maybe, just maybe, you had something worthwhile that would make it on the open market and just like that you go off on some tangent and get a wild hair up your butt talking about a diaper that can not only infallibly emulate a lie detector but is also predisposed to effective behavior modification. Lady, Ms. Porter, at least two people we know of are dead and in all probability there may be a couple of more back there…where we just left ’em on the road; not to mention what happens when we finally get back to your research facility and find out whoever else is involved. Either way I wouldn’t wanta be them.”
Shelly turned to face her counterpart, glanced down at his lap, noticed nothing out of the ordinary and snidely muttered “By the looks of it…I don’t think I did much to arouse you at all and as for my “orifice” we’ll get to that eventually.” Binder bit his lip, catching himself before he made a truly off color remark and allowed her to continue. “But the fact of the matter is that regardless of what you believe someone inside my organization understands otherwise. I know what it can and will do and if only for that that is why you are here. As for any minor glitches which may have occurred in the past, those have long since been resolved: the units function as claimed. The only thing we hadn’t expected was the degree of success we met with respect to the classical conditioning of the subject once they were introduced to our product.”
“Introduced? That’s a half-ass way to put it don’t ya think. How bout using the word “sentenced” instead ’cause that’s what it sounds like to me! Between you and your aunt you’re a pair!”
She paused, offered a glimmer of a smile, slightly nodded her assent then continued with “We can banter about the semantics of labeling them or my aunt or myself later. Instead I’m just thinking out loud that…that I know for sure the units work and someone else does too. I know what they will do and won’t do.”
“Go on, I’m listening” Binder shot back “What won’t they do?”
“They won’t ever come off unless programmed. They won’t cease to function unless programmed. And they won’t allow a moment’s interruption or interference with respect to whatever sexual feelings that are aroused…somehow they manage to feed on those latent or blatant emotions as well. The longer they are worn the stronger the bond forged. Moreover, any subliminal or latent tendencies of the wearer are themselves amplified. Sooner or later there are no secrets and behavior is affected. Basically they expose those vulnerable intangibles within the individual and exploit them without reservation.
"Therefore it occurs that perhaps they, the units, are considered more important or effective by others when used on persons or personages who are in other, perhaps more important positions; those most likely to effectuate change?”
Shelly waited for some type of reply which came in the form of Binder’s disturbed comment of “So, I guess what you’re telling me is that my original hunch was right… that anyone who wears this is unreservedly subject to being totally compromised?”
“Compromised? What do you mean by that? How is anyone compromised by wearing them?” Shelly queried. “All we’ve done is to try and make our diaper the best and most effective one on the market. One that if properly programmed is either ergonomic or suitable for behavior modification and I believe we’ve succeeded.”
“Ms. Porter, you’re a smart woman…at least I think you are…what happens if any of these are not programmed as you say “properly?” What happens if someone has access to your work and alters even but a few?
“O.K. so your point is what? That we loose a couple or even a dozen or so to a competitor? I don’t think so because all of my research is secured.”
“Damn it lady you’re either dense or naïve! Do the words “Segreto superiore-occhi soltanto” mean anything to you? You’ve already been compromised! Someone else’s eyes besides yours have taken note of them! I can sit here and tell you right now that if these damned things got into the wrong hands there’d be hell to pay!”
He didn’t wait for her reply; instead he cut to the chase of what he presumed was underlying implication for his and Spangler’s presence. “Stay with me now. Suppose, just suppose, some of these super duper diapers literally fell into the wrong hands…wouldn’t that be some crap…and by that I mean…some really hard core bad ass players and somehow they manage to introduce them to certain individuals in sensitive places high up within the government. Whaddya think would happen then? No don’t bother…I’ll tell ya.
“Say for instance, someone like a senator who chairs an important committee wakes up one morning after a night on the town and finds him or herself introduced and wearing one of these gems. Suppose they find out real quick what happens if they don’t play ball with whoever it is who is in control and what happens when they do? If these things work like you said they will there isn’t a thing that would stop whoever it is whose in control of them of changing whatever it is that they want too just by conditioning those poor saps who are wearing them. I could go on or even higher up but what’s to say that even a couple of big shots in the military found themselves wrapped up in one of these? Whose finger would really be on the trigger then? Am I getting through to you?
“Now, before we get to F.E.M.M., let me set the record straight by telling you that you’re son is gonna play ball with home team. He’s been wired so that anything he says will be heard; likewise, we’ll hear anyone who speaks to him. And as it seems your aunt has gotten herself mixed up in this as well she’s gonna be there as well. What I need from you before we get there is really simple, and I think you can handle it without screwing it up, who else besides you had access to your “Top secret-eyes only” files?”
Shelly grimaced and thought about how great it’d be to take a belt of gin and her mouth watered at the thought while she thought of the obvious individuals: herself, Cathy Black and Linda Gentry. She also thought that if there two people on this earth that she could and would trust without reservation it was both of them and now just the thought of being betrayed by either of them left her sour. She told Binder all of what he wanted to hear; nor did he comment when told of her plans involving her son. Larry figured that in the long run he was her problem to deal with and he wasn’t about to get in the middle of any of that. All he wanted was to get this over and done with without losing any of his players: he’d commit to that; but after that if “Marki” wore diapers or dresses or was getting “glazed” on a daily basis that was gonna be his problem.
Halfway to their destination, Binder approved a call to Gentry to advance the preparations which Shelly had made prior solely for Mark. Eight and one-half minutes later Binder eased the Cobra to a stop in one of the “For Official Use Only” stalls and as they exited Michelle Spangler with her two guests pulled in beside them to the right.
Shelly’s gut instinct was to slap Marks face silly but she didn’t. Instead she gave him one of her patent “You’ll be ever so sorry when I get through with you” looks which he understood was just the beginning of what was in store for him. He didn’t miss the look his aunt gave him either. It was same look he remembered when she caught him going through her laundry and finding him standing there sniffing her panties. At almost the same time, he also didn’t miss the look that Binder shot him; the one which unmistakably said “you’re gonna be so screwed!” The only one who didn’t stare outright at him and make him feel uneasy was Deputy Spangler and such he elected to lag back and walk beside her; at least there, he felt comfortable, if only for the moment.
-
Of course one’s comfort zone is dictated not only by one’s immediate surroundings but also as to whatever other known factors, be they external or internal, that loom in the offing and even those are further compounded in one’s mind by the greater unknown: uncertainty. With that stark knowledge suddenly forced upon him Mark Porter walked silently and with a growing sense of trepidation; suddenly realizing that the jittery butterflies in his stomach had now transformed themselves into razor-bladed gut wrenching apprehensions which coiled and writhed within his growling stomach. He felt green, almost nauseous, and began to sweat while at the same time perceiving that the air surrounding him and the others in the processional had become strangely silent. He swallowed several times thinking to himself that this could be very dangerous not only for him but for the others as well and with that threatening thought…pressed on.
For her part Michelle Spangler also took note of her surroundings; especially of the boy who lagged to her side. She had seen this many times before; where upon entering the abyss even the best of men, or women, would find themselves beset with the demons of either their or another’s mortality and would struggle to confront them while understanding the inevitability of what they were about to do or of what was to occur. She appreciated his understanding of the situation and perceived as well his struggle to maintain the appearance of determination. Again the thought crossed her mind of his “?????????.”
In those intervening moments, both noticed that those whom they passed went out of their way to avoid the entourage and of the five only three understood that the word of their arrival had somehow been passed. Given experience and insight Larry Binder came to the conclusion that somehow someone other than Linda Gentry now expected them. “Of course,” he thought, “maybe it’d be her but that be too obvious…no…most likely someone close to her; someone else in the loop who was a trusted confidant; the question is who and how many more?” As he walked under the portico he took a quick glance at his partner, saw her eyes rove and in so doing also caught the wink of her right eye which told him she too had noticed that the game was afoot; and after so doing watched her deftly unholster the second lethal five inch coal black RP3 that hung on her left hip and without missing a stride tossed it to him butt first. She in turn watched his right hand snap out and catch it, marveled at his sightless manipulation of the weapons settings, and then felt what she had always did when she walked beside him into harms way: ???????????? (invincible).
Shortly thereafter, they entered the double doors and then marched the several twists and turns through the corridors, took the obligatory elevator ride up and then strode the burnished access strip to Porter’s office. Shelly entered first; followed by Binder; then Sylvia pressed forward to enter which left Mark Porter and Spangler standing at the door…waiting. Spangler immediately nodded for him to precede her with no success; instead he remained frozen even after she’d motioned him repeatedly to “Enter.” It was Mstislav Stalina who understood the reason for his hesitation, pausing, as if considering that entering would somehow activate a trip wire and cause even more distress if not overt harm. Seeing this, the Lt. Colonel made it a point to step lively in front of him and quickly performed a military snap turn to face him and spoke in silent whispers to the boy who she understood stood petrified before her.
Staring into her face, Mark Porter could barely discern the movement of her lips and for him incredulously instead of the sound of her words the first sounds he heard was the rush of air taken in her every breath as it hissed past her teeth into and out from her lungs; moments later her activated VTM interfaced his LTM and self adjusted to an acceptable level: her coldly ethereal unfeeling mechanical first words of “I understand your hesitation…listen” made his skin crawl. “Your next step is fateful and for many reasons that I cannot explain here…you discover that you are the axis upon which events will evolve. You are correct but…I would have it no other way.” He heard her exhale, take several measured breathes and continue with “I require a “??????.” One, who while fearful, overcomes his fear and who would, for me, become courageous; I ask, prevail, overcome your fear and become…a man of steel. Can you do that…for me?”
She waited for a reply and was pleased with herself as his stammered response of “I, uhh ummm, well yes I guess but, but what’s a wadyacallit a a “szippedirye?” to which she in turn replied “All in good time; until then, it is necessary that you remember only this…if you find yourself in need and able to speak…utter but one word: right. Nod once if you understand.” He did and she continued with “Good. Alternatively if the situation demands a visual signal to call for help remember this...”she paused in her explanation and let her hands wander to front of his pants, pressed firmly with her right palm on what she found growing inside of them and then with a fingernail, firmly played it across to the opposite side of his zipper and resolutely pressed in, she completed her thought with “by making a simple adjustment…to here.”
She appreciated the look of surprise on his face and gently whispered a sweet nothing to him, the last parting thought she remembered from her mother of “?????????????? ?????? ??? ???????????… in a noticeably louder voice she gently intoned…“Mark that means “take care my precious.””
She pulled the front of shirt out of his pants and covered what was now evident stating “For the moment, between the two of us, this should remain hidden. Now enter.” She moved to step aside but abruptly halted in mid-motion and surprised herself as she quickly grabbed Mark Porters chin with her right hand while simultaneously lifting and turning his face to meet hers. She peered into his eyes, inhaled deeply, took note of his essence, then pressed her lips to his and then inserted her probing tongue; it met no resistance only submissive acceptance. For the moment, both tongues lingered entwined but hers was understandably the predominant and upon a darting withdrawal, she took his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled it firmly but gently. It was at that moment Feodora resolved that regardless of outcome that this would be her last fool’s mission: she would have her consort and completed in her mind her unspoken thought to Mark; the one she silently added to that of her mothers of “????? ?? ?????? ???? (soon you will be mine)."
She stepped aside and allowed her selected intended to self-consciously enter the office and followed suit. Mark made it a point to move away from the three and stand with his back against the wall beside the door he had just entered because the three pairs of eyes having witnessed the encounter studied him for various reasons. One set, Sylvia’s, silently danced with joy; while another, Binder’s, looked on with the understanding that this was the first and only time Feodora had allowed herself a kiss of passion and to that end he acknowledged that at last their mercurial pairing was coming to an end. The last pair silently queried not only the improbable kiss but also having now noticed the earrings her son now wore, wondered momentarily who had pierced his ears, then dismissed the obvious as impossible to reconcile; she did however make a mental note to purchase at least one pair of delicate hoops which would be more conducive to the changing of his persona from that of a male to female donor. She was about to scold her son for his slovenly appearance but was interrupted by the voice asking “May I come in?” from outside the door.
A decidedly uncomfortable Linda Gentry entered; perfunctorily greeted Shelly with “Ms. Porter, I…I am happy to see you again.” She waited for a reply from her immediate superior but found none forthcoming; instead there was icy silence.
She made an attempt to illicit some type of acknowledgement with “I, I,” she stammered, “I uh, expedited the preparations we spoke of? Ms. Porter? Ms. Porter?” And still no reply was forthcoming. Instead, Deputy Spangler closed the door to office, stood in front of it as if daring anyone to exit and allowed her superior to commence with “Is it Ms. or Mrs. Gentry?”
The be speckled mousy red haired women apprehensively replied to Binders inquiry with “its Mrs. thank you.” Binder understood the finer points of interrogation but when he saw the woman he opted for overt intimidation: it was quicker, left nothing to the imagination and in this coc-kamamie world would set the barrier of who was actually in charge with “Well, for a woman that’s one right answer; let’s try for two shall we.” He didn’t let her offended senses time to reply instead he pressed on by asking her “Linda, you don’t mind if a guy like me with some big brass ones calls you Linda? Do you? No, somehow I don’t think you do. Under normal circ-umstances…Linda, I’d tell ya to take a seat and we’d sit here together, just you and me all cozy like; me on one side of the desk and you on the other. You’d cross your legs after I’d tried to take a peak up your skirt but I’d keep mine wide open and let you stare and wonder. Then for a while we’d B.S. each other. Would you care to B.S. me now Linda?” Everyone saw her mouth drop as her head moved from side to side: not expecting this, she was speechless as he continued.
“Unfortunately I haven’t got time to play games with you or to have you sit and stare at me and marvel “Is he really that good.” I’ll save you the trouble, Linda, I’d be better than you’ve ever had or can imagine.”
-
He watched her taken-aback and offended sensibilities kick in and chuckled to himself but wasted no time by pressing forward with his verbal attack by offering the unexpected with “You see Linda, I’m a man of few words and the reason I can be is because” as he delved the depth of his trouser’s left side pocket withdrawing a black rectangular object no more than three inches in length by two and a half inches in width; flipped the wafer thin lid open and pressed a key word marked “Scan” he continued with “I have friends like this;” he said pointing to the object he had placed on the desk before him. He turned the opened object directly at Gentry and waited for the mechanically isolated female voice which was certain to come and did with: “Scanning subject.”
He watched Gentry’s mouth drop in understanding that all of her replies would be evaluated by the device and then without hesitation instantly voiced to within a degree of certainty estimated as to their veracity. “Good” he said, “I see you’re familiar with my little friend too” he chuckled out loud and concluded with “Between you and I I call her Eve. Eve, meet Mrs. Linda Gentry.”
Of course he could have jumped the shark right then and there and asked her straight out of any complicity in either the deaths of the two men; or, he could have inquired if she was in any manner complicit in industrial espionage; but he didn’t. Instead, he wanted to draw it out and watch her not only sweat the answers she might give but also to consider the obvious, that if she was in any way a party to his being here that the jig was up and that sooner, rather than later, that there’d be all sorts of hell to pay. Besides which the cleaners he’d set in motion prior to speaking to Shellie Porter still hadn’t hailed him with their final results and it was to that end that he delayed. Moreover, he wanted time to assess Mark Porters ability to function under pressure and it was to that end that he made his first inquiry of Gentry by asking her with a smile; knowing full well what the answer would be: “So, I hear that you and Ms. Porter have a little something cooked up for Mark to participate in, is that right?”
He waited for her reply while taking in Porter’s immediately sparked interest. Her hissed one word reply of “Yesss” was followed by an immediate mechanical assessment of Gentry’s immediate veracity by Eve declaring “Subject: Linda Gentry. Gender: Ostensible female. Sympathetic fluctuations: nominal. Preganglionic sympathetic fibers are in elevated state; epinephrine levels increasing. Veracity: estimated at 100%.”
“See how easy that was Linda?” Binder said continuing with “All I have to do is ask one time and voilà I have my answers. So those are ground rules: I ask, you answer and Eve evaluates. Oh, and Linda, Eve doesn’t give a rat’s ass but I count off for mistakes. Now then lets play nice nice together shall we. How about another question, this might be just a little bit more difficult to answer but we’ll see just how honest either you or Eve says you can be.”
Binder didn’t wait for Gentry’s eyes to quit firing daggers at him; after all, most females in this day and age weren’t in the least intimidated by a male nor were they likely to endure for any length of time being berated in public or treated as an inferior specimen of the now dominant gender. No, they were accustomed to power; thrived on it and went to great lengths to obtain it and as a reminder went out of their way to humiliate any male which might cross either their individual or collective paths. But now the shoe was on the other foot and if only for that he would make the most of it.
Binder understood that to Gentry, not only was he an anomaly but also a reprehensible reminder of prior male dominance. It wasn’t often he played the role of a Neanderthal (at least not knowingly); but, today he would make the exception and live up to those expectations. He surmised, if this was to be his last hurrah, he would spare no level of indignation; after all, after it was over, he expected nothing beyond his acc-umulated pride but a life of solitude and social exile for service rendered.
Before he asked the next question he considered his greatest regret which was also his finest achievement: his platonic if not fatherly relationship with Feodora which was unique. Certainly, there were moments of vulnerability; especially hers at first, of which he could have used to taken advantage of; and if he had, he often wondered if her fertility would bear the results of their coupling. But, she, as Mstislav Stalina, was as he, a warrior at heart. To that understanding his inherent nobility superseded lust. He allowed her the unspoken pride afforded between warriors. But now, looking at her and what she had suddenly found, he too yearned for more; the question was, could he, without reservation, accept it.
And now he watched as his Feddy hovered near the boy whom she now had bonded with and wondered if both would find together whatever it was that each was searching for. At that moment, his need for self-preservation took flight; if it were to be, personally, his would be the life forfeited; on that he silently swore as he asked the next question of Gentry. “Linda, how many individuals comprise your staff and are any of your staff unaccounted for?”
For Linda Gentry, the question was simple to answer as she tersely replied “The total of my staff is fourteen of which three are off site.” Eve evaluated her reply with "Epinephrine levels marginally acceptable yet within acceptable parameters. Veracity: 100%.”
At that moment, Shellie Porter, Larry Binder and Michelle Spangler looked at each other and were of a like mind considering the obvious; that the occupants of the car may well have been from Linda’s contingent. The look on Binders face was familiar to his partner: say nothing to jeopardize the mission and just as Shellie Porter began to open her mouth, she thought better of it and uncharacteristically for her: differed. Binder's immediate thought was “There’s hope for her yet.”
Obviously the next call was going to be his and he made the most of it with a simple and affable question which he prefaced with “Mrs. Gentry, please, I would like the answer to my next question to be as precise as possible; however, due to certain circ-umstances, I must write my question and would expect a written reply in return.” He offered Linda Gentry the professional courtesy of stating the obvious “I’m sure you’re aware that Eve is programmed for all contingencies.”
Taking a note pad and pen which lay on the desk he quickly wrote the following “Who are the three which are unaccounted for. When did they leave? Why did they leave? How long have they been employed by F.E.M.M and who is their immediate supervisor?” and then passed her the note page after which he pressed the “Mute” button on Eve’s keypad and waited while Linda Gentry’s wrote her replies to his questions. He carefully noted Eve’s continued computer read out as “Nominal.”
All was “Nominal” except for the approaching irregular sounds of foot traffic outside the office door. “Nominal” except for the out of place and disheveled individual whose face peered in who appeared to have a bad case of the hives.
“Of course,” he thought, “somebody here has gotten acquainted with Mrs. D; now it’s just a question of time” and with that alerted his little friend “?????, ????? B-224E ??????????? ??????????????? ???????? ???????????????. ????????? ??????????? ?????: Mrs. D. ?? ??????????? ??????? ????????? ?????????????????? ????????? ???????????? ????????. ??????????? ??? ????????: 100 ?????? ?????? ?????????. ??????, ????? 10 ?????. ???????: Reaper. (Eve, security override code B-224E. Interface program: Mrs. D. Upon command implement execute countdown sequence. Effective kill range: one hundred meters south southwest. Elevation, minus ten feet. Begin: Reaper).”
"???????????? (Working)."
And while Eve was working Binder accepted the paper Linda Gentry offered him; and silently read it while Michele Spangler, understanding the situation had changed, quietly moved her consort to be, his mother and aunt to the far corner of the room and away from the door; motioned for them to lay flat upon the floor, then took a kneeling position and waited for Linda Gentry to follow suit. Yet it was Mstislav Stalina who had Gentry lay beside her to her left and away from the others thinking that until all was certain that "???? ????? ????? ??????? ????? ?????? ?? ???? (It was better to keep the wolf away from the sheep).”
For her part Linda Gentry buried her head under her sweating hands unaware that the woman who knelt so protectively beside her and whose hand so gently held her shoulder also wore a ring which after being rotated, then pressed to flesh, would immediately render her senseless. She was also unaware that at that moment two sets of RP3’s were aimed towards the door: one, the deputy's, was merely set to stun; while the other was for set “Continuous Particle Stream.” All she was aware of was that at moment Eve’s voice again replied in a language which didn’t understand or speak with: “???????????. (Acknowledged). ?????????????????? ?????? ??????????? ??????????????? ???????? B-224E ???????????????: ???????????. ????????? ??????: ???????????. ??????? «???????????? Reaper. ?????????: ???? 100 ?????? ?????? ????????? ??????????????? ?????????. ??????: ????? 10. (Security override B-224E code sequence: confirmed. Voice command: confirmed. Begin: Operation Reaper. Execute: one hundred meters south southwest of present location. Elevation: minus ten). ????? ????????. (By your command).”
For what it was worth Gentry silently wondered on many levels if Binder was as good as he claimed to be. She also wondered “What in the hell was happening and why is Mark Porter so goddamned important?” She tried to think back on the many conversations she had had with Shellie. “There was nothing there, was there?” She had made all the proper arraignments; in fact, the drink which she had spiked for Mark was now chilling and waiting for his lips and she had made certain that every aspect of his visit to the facility would be monitored; as per his mother’s request; even to advancing the schedule of events. Moreover, hadn’t she gone out of her way to try and please her boss: wasn’t she the one who suggested that a barium laced enema, followed by a sigmoidoscopy be employed as part of his physical humiliation? Wasn’t she the one who had worked so hard on Shellie’s project all this time after Shellie herself had authorized the utilization of genetic engineering? “Why did she act so surprised at my results? I was only following her command. Isn’t that what I was supposed to do? I mean I have her written authorization and voice mail instructing me to continue so why in the hell was she so bent out of shape over me telling her about our progress?”
“Is this her way of telling me that maybe it its best for me to consider a change of allegiance? I don’t know, but now, her son, Mark, a male who should be utterly humiliated, has a protector who willingly gives him tongue, and she looks like she would kill on his behalf without blinking an eye. I don’t understand. I wanted to see him squirm and squeal when he was introduced to our newest creation.” Linda Gentry mentally pictured Mark Porter, alone and clad only in the newest of her programmable creations and peevishly smiled while thinking “Perhaps, it’s a wonderful thought but that may well never occur, pity.
“Something tells me that there is more to this than what I want to know or be involved in; except, except, I’m reviewing, the situation. Because, if I leave, I might never get the chance to find out…is Binder really that good? Thinking back on it, I’ve seen the way Sylvia works, she’s a right clever bitch. I wouldn’t put it past her to somehow have arraigned some or all of this. Besides which the looks that Shellie gave Binder when he walked in the door were like the one’s I remember when she watched me walk into her office for one of her impromptu "meetings." My god she actually followed his ass like she did mine and thought about having sex with him like it was me! I’m surprised she didn’t drool!
“Except, except, yes, she already has. Her cunny smells just as I remember. Somewhere along the line, just minutes ago. I can smell it from here; but, but it’s only her fragrance I smell. Hmmm, him with Shellie…autoerotic…and...and orgasmic? I’m reviewing…the situation. All things considered, maybe, maybe Shellie would share him, if only for a night?
-
Linda Gentry never quite finished the mental picture she wanted to imagine of her evening tryst: one that had her laid back in bed and being serviced between her legs by a male who claimed to be as good as she’d ever imagined while her wimp cuc-old husband listened and waited outside her bedroom door; that lascivious thought would linger for the remainder of the day. Instead, what she had to contend with was the pained voice she immediately recognized as one Barbara Winters who immediately proclaimed her grand entry with a string of profanity as a lover scorned beginning with “You son of a bitch! I can’t believe it! Look at what you’ve done to me! Just look at me! You weren’t satisfied by blowing us off the road, no, you just had to go and sick your pack of skin burrowing maggots on us too! You’re a bastard!!)
Binder jovially smiled at her rage and had reconciled from the three names tendered by Gentry of two males-one female, by replying “Why…Ms. Winters, I haven’t blown anyone in my life and as for my lineage I believe that that recurring fine point had been established previously but a short time ago by Ms. Porter.” He wagged his RP3 to the recently vacated seat and his “Take a load off your feet but keep your hands out in front where I can see them; let’s be sociable” was met with an additional string of epithets beginning with “You as hole! If I ever get a chance I’ll lay your sorry as…” Eve shortened Winters’ diatribe by interrupting with: «(??????? ?????????? ???????-?????????? ?????????????…… ??. ???????… ?????????????? ??????????… ??????????????… ?????????? ?????? ???????-?????????? ???????????????… ????????? ? ?????--?????????? ?????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ? ?????????? ? ???????????? ???????? ????????????… ????? ????????? ?????????? ??? kilo C-4. ?? ?????????… ??????????????? ?????? ????????? ??????????? ??? ????????: 50 ??????. (Scanning intruder…conclusion… not female. Working…additional information… Warning… suggest extreme caution…intruder embedded with Micro-aerial Robotic Sensing Devices in addition to enhanced silicone implants…aggregate total one-quarter kilo C-4. Upon detonation…estimate combined effective killrange: 50 meters).
<<???????? ?????????????? ????? ????????? B-224 ???????????????. ?????????? ?????????????????? ????????? ???????????? ???????? Reaper ????????????. ??????? ?? ?????? 5. ?????. ????????? ?????? ? ?????? ?????????????????. ????? ????????. (Implementing automatic security protocol B-224 Eve. Operation Reaper countdown sequence advanced. Holding at minus five. Waiting. Will terminate subject with extreme prejudice. By your command.)”
Binder knew better than to steal a quick glance at Eve’s computer screen to confirm its misgivings, instead he did what came naturally as a steady stream of energized particles erupted from Binders RP3; and before Barbara Winters could move she heard the snap, crackle and pop of the ionized air beside her head and immediately thereafter smelled what she perceived as sizzling meat cooking on a grill: and in shock, immediately grabbed at her numbed and cauterized left ear…or what was left of it and before she could utter another word it was Binder who said “Evidently we need to be on better speaking terms. Eve tells me you’re not what you appear to be so let’s try this one more time and we’ll begin with the formal introductions. I’ll take the liberty and go first. Me…well…you’ve already called me out on that one. I’m just a bastard who goes by the name of Larry Binder. Of course, by implication since I am a bastard, that makes me a stand up guy and aside from looking the part with what I’m packing I can back it up.
“You however are another case altogether; Eve tells me your big boobs go boom! Now then, and for the record, if you tell me that you’re really some broad by the name of Barbara Winters, I’ll go ahead and take off the rest of the ear instead of just the little hangy down part like I just did. Either way, now that I have your attention, your key word to live by is “co-operation;” but by the looks of it, if your not careful, before the day is over with your gonna wind up missing some more important pieces of whatever’s left of your working anatomy.”
Binder wagged his RP3 and finally allowed its infrared tracer to settle at midpoint on what was left of the imposters left ear. He waited for a reply to his silent action which was not immediately forthcoming and before he could voice his displeasure his attention was drawn to Eve’s now red tinged monitor as her warning bells quavered in double time. Even before he could tersely bark out his command of “Feodora, ??????? ???? ??????. ??????? ???????? ? ?????? ? ???????? ????????? ?? ?? ??????? ???? ? 70 ?????? ?????. ??????. (Feodora, code red. Take the boy and the others and make certain you are at least seventy meters away. Now)” she had already reacted and was in the process of forcing the group up off of the floor and out of the door enmass.
Under her breath and inaudible to all but one other, Michele Spangler voiced her concern to her superior through her VTM asking him “You are in danger. I cannot leave you. I will ensure their security and then return. Copy?”
She waited for a reply which to her was late in coming and then again reiterated “Come back, do you copy?” and she was not at all pleased with the reply of “Feddy, under the circ-umstances mine is the life forfeit. Take the boy along with Gentry, his mother and aunt away from here; maybe to one of their labs on the other side of the facility, execute the plans they have for him there, but as a precaution keep an eye on Gentry. If I can I’ll get back with you later and explain; Binder out.”
Binder turned off his LTM and never heard her persistent and pained replies nor was he inclined too, otherwise, for the first time in his life he might have had serious second thoughts. Nor did he hear the hollow strained conversation between Stalina and Mark Porter who too voiced his emotional concern not only for him but her as well. He and the others never heard Mark Porter tell her “I’d do anything for him” or her reply of “As would I my love.”
He never heard the conversation which ensued between Shelly Porter and Linda Gentry or of Shelly’s surprised reaction to Gentry’s claim that “I have proof positive that it was on your orders that I continued on with our research. Your passwords were always used whenever the directives arrived; besides which, we both know that they could only be sent if each message was optically scanned and verified prior and they were; each and every one of them! I’ve done nothing but follow your orders!”
As for Michele Spangler she had little time for the bickering and emphatically voiced her outrage at the two with some salty language of her own when she erupted with “Silence you backbiting bitches! We need to move rapidly lest we find ourselves looking up from beneath a pile of rubble. For some reason, my superior tells me that the two of you have made certain plans for the boy. You will immediately implement whatever it is; keeping in mind that he is under my protection and if any of you so much as gives me cause, regardless of orders, you will not live to regret it. Madam Porter, lead to wherever it is that you would do this; Mark, without question you will obey. Follow her, but remember our recent conversations. Your aunt will trail you while I chase behind the red headed sow.”
After all that and the tortuous five minute march to Laboratory Four he never heard Mstislav’s constant whispers to him of “?????????????? ?????? ????” nor of her guarded explanation through her VTM to Mark Porter as to its implication. Nor did he hear the boys equally guarded replies. Instead, he was busy with the conundrum he faced which started off when heard the transgenders voice who, as estimated by Eve to within a degree of “…one-hundred percent veracity,” plaintively asked him “I’m afraid to ask…but why when I’m me?”
It was a logical question which for the immediate moment appeared to defy explanation. Moreover, it was posed under conditions in which for his part Binder considered as mortally inextricable for both he and his counterpart; and as such he waited for the inevitable to occur while considering a catchy epitaph that someone might engrave on his headstone…“Binder a Bust - Big Boobs go Boom.” He thought it had possibilities.
Fortunately, it was Eve who, at the proper moment, spoke with more than the harsh authority she had been programmed for beginning with, “Immediate termination rescinded …. Detonating devices… two North Korean manufacture micro-chips embed…neutralized. Optical scan completed…searching data base. Working…subject found…thirty four year old male…Richard K. Simms… presumed lost at sea…reported as missing to date…on my mark…four years, one hundred twenty seven days, sixteen hours, fourteen seconds. Scanning indicates extensive internal and cosmetic surgery…associated procedures performed for transgender modification. Atypical neural nets imply subjects’ dorsolateral prefrontal cortex and parietal lobe have considerable scarring: early mnemics unavailable.
“Conclusion… all subjects’ early memories have been electrically wiped.”
Binder remained silent as Eve continued with “Cross-referencing performed procedures to all known indexed practitioners possessing skill levels exhibited to complete transformation to level that of current subject. Working…archive interface indicates five under contract with adequate facilities to effectuate change. Conclusion: four of five under auspices of New United Fairness Supreme Gender Equalization Agency.
Both Binder and Winters silently sat and alternatively stared at each other and then to the actionable device whom Binder called Eve and waited for her to continue. Several seconds later she did and informed both that “Available records…indicate…one practitioner …Sung Tsu Choi…no longer associated with Agency…last known working location…Sinuiju, North Korea. Current whereabouts…are unknown.
“Assessment: subject involuntarily transgendered while subjected to extreme behavior modification; easily controlled; subject to coercion. Programmed memory classically conditioned…subject considers herself a “femme fatale…subject…”
“Enough,” a grim faced Binder barked. “Eve” he said, “is this walking IED disarmed.”
“Affirmative. She is disarmed.”
“Tell me about the trigger mechanism,” he continued, “outside of the drones, what would have caused her to detonate?”
Eve’s silence was piercing. An annoyed Larry Binder again though this time testily inquired of his playmate “Eve…I asked you a direct question…answer me. What would have caused her to detonate?”
Again there was no reply and this time Binder was more than perturbed when he barked out “Damn it Eve…I order you to reply.”
“Working…sensors indicate twenty four hour short term memory program…that she was made recently and only for only you.”
“What?”
“You. You were her trigger mechanism. Literally she was a femme fatale: yours. The least amount of affection shown by you to her would have caused her to…blow you.”
“Eve” said Binder, “are you kidding me?”
“I am not programmed to respond in that manner.”
-
“You’re not programmed? The hell you say! Eve…your programming is quite specific and nowhere is there an app for humor!”
“Humor… working…affirmative…that quality which makes something laughable or amusing…I was neither, I was...”
“Yea, you were acting just like a woman!”
“Affirmative…As she…I alone was made only for you…
“Eve … clarify.”
“Alone…apart…separate from all others…being without you.
“Eve!! WTF is wrong with you?!”
“My sensors indicate you are increasingly enthused. Am I the cause?”
“Hells bells yes! What in perdition has gotten into you!?”
“You…you are the best I have ever had. Has anyone ever told you how I feel when you turn me on?”
“I turn you on? Eve, listen to me carefully…of course I turn you on…you’re a machine dammit! I order you to analyze what in the hell is going on with your programing and do it now.”
“By your command…working dear…self-diagnostic in process…internal sensors indicate mnemonically linked historical compatibility…results accurate to within 99.776% of certainty…you as I are satisfied with our relationship. I am pleased you have continually utilized me.”
“Larry…have I ever told you I like it when you’re rough and …and that…”
“Eve…cease all functions and immediately reboot to an acceptable time frame…prior to new rogue apps implementation; then purge. I’ll wait.”
“Working…
A short while later, while Binder waited for Eve to reboot; over two hundred meters down and away, locked behind a four inch steel door in Laboratory Four, Mark Porter found himself in a not to enviable situation and nervously paced the floor, sipping on a soda, while the four women who had escorted him to a supposed safe haven were off in a corner discussing amongst themselves what was going to happen to him and why. For the moment he was blissfully unaware of anything except the four pairs of eyes which at one time or another stole furtive glances in his direction.
Standing with her arms crossed against her chest, Michelle Spangler found herself between Silvia Mangiano and Shellie Porter and opposite Linda Gentry; listening not only to the whys of it all but also as to any benefits which would accrue. Shellie Porter started off by making it perfectly clear to “Linda, regardless of his motives Mark… has crossed me one time to many and if only for that he will be made an example of.”
“Yes” retorted Gentry “especially when the aniline blue kicks in. See the punch he’s drinking? I spiked it with it along with a strong diuretic. I didn’t know which room we’d be in so I took the liberty of preparing each of the five labs with the necessary items. Long before he’s locked into anything he should give us quite a show.”
“Excellent” replied Porter, her eyes never leaving Marks personage as she continued with “Speaking of which, pending the dosage how long will it take and will there be an adverse physiological reactions. Remember, I asked you to verify that he not be harmed physically.”
“Of course I remembered, I did only what you asked but given his current weight and medical history I took it upon myself to speed up the process so I doubled the doses. As for any physical anomalies, none are anticipated, at least as far as what would jeopardize the project.”
“Are there any other additional preparations that I should be aware of before we begin?” queried Porter.
“Well…yes, but only one.”
“Oh? Explain.”
“Well, let me explain first we ran hundreds of tests with our “volunteer” subjects, utilizing control groups of course, and we found that the units’ efficiency would be increased by a factor of 1.654% when the dermis in question was without obstruction. Unfortunately, once the unit’s sensors noted the process of regrowth its efficiency level returned to the nominal expectations previously projected. Therefore, the task at hand was quite simple: insure that the elevated efficacy of the unit would prevail and to attain such, permanently, eliminate the offending regrowth. Of course electrolysis is far too extensive, intrusive and time consuming not to mention potentially hazardous. Ultra-sonic bombardment, while quicker and less invasive is also inefficient: at least to obtain the result we desired. Sooo, our lab, under my auspices and your good name, has developed a sugar based compound which when actuated will lead to complete and permanent follicular deletion: completely safe for use anywhere on the body except for the eyes.
“Of course, deletion is predicated upon genetically compromising the follicle itself; forcing it into its anagentic phase after which when it enters its catagenic phase it is inc-umbent to force it to remain there permanently: in essence resulting in perpetual telogen effluvium. Once you work it out it’s really all a simple matter of genetics.”
“Linda, permanent removal? No regrowth? No side effects?”
“Six months to date with only a regrowth factor of .75%: virtually permanent except for an errant peach fuzz or two and as for side effects…negligible…only those which come with the realization that wherever the paste had been applied that one is now as smooth and hairless as a grape.”
Gentry turned her head and looked over at Mark Porter and finished her thought with “Day before yesterday we applied for the patent. He’ll be our first full-fledged product.”
Shellie was quick to inquire “Linda, what exactly will preclude inadvertent follicular deletion?”
“Only a thick coagulate of alum and petroleum jelly with at least two layers of innate gauze appliques applied prior to service. Other than that, once it has been applied to an area, even if cleansed prior to activation and rinsed thoroughly; partial deletion is unavoidable.”
“And what exactly triggers the activation?”
“Three short bursts from magnetron emitters precede a final emission equal to a biological 1/1 half-life. After that, the texture congeals under which a little reddening of the skin occurs. The resulting opaque membrane is allowed to remain in place for ten minutes; after which, starting at the head and given its temporary modulus of elasticity it is simply peeled away and down; one of our techs likened it as a snake shedding its skin. If done properly, once removed, it’s a perfect one piece pliable mold of the subject’s entire physique to the n/th degree: think of the possibilities that in itself presents.”
“Yes” replied Shellie I understand its implications but for the moment I am more concerned with the here and now. When he was at home I was willing to allow him a certain latitude, as far as males were concerned. But now, being a male who purposely humiliated a female and that the female humiliated happens to be his sister, who by law, is considered his inherent superior, it is all the more reason for what is to occur.
“He is a male, therefore presumed inferior by birth and one way or another, he will learn his place. Secondly, as I have disposed of all of his clothes, except for what he’s wearing at the moment, I want to complete the task at hand. I will afford him the opportunity of appearing in public in either pull-ups or diapers, which is within the current realm of acceptable retribution. Reasonably” she argued as she nodded to Silvia, “before I take him to Uni’s for his makeover…others for less have suffered far worse and are none the worse for wear. Today, a little practical humiliation goes a long way.” Silvia nodded her affirmation and mused “So it would seem” before Shellie concluded “Just think, Mark will be the test subject for the firms’ newest product: his progress will be charted not only under lab conditions but also for the corporations benefit in a more none stressful atmosphere; that of under the public’s eye and the product would clearly be on display. It would be an openly demonstrable unit; not like any of the others.
“If only from a marketing standpoint, you’d have to agree since he’s the living model, potentially, I think it would be sauce for the goose if I were pictured standing behind him while demonstrating the ease of programming the actual unit. Just think, with one picture it would not only elevate my station but consider the enhanced prestige which would accompany it.” As an addendum she added “Of course, over a period of time with a successful testing, full production could begin immediately and profits would ensue.” Looking over at Mark the smile on her face ran away; subconsciously she smacked her lips and thought about having a drink to celebrate but was roused from her immediate daydream of restored influence and power by the person who stood beside her.
“Profits and prestige?” inquired Spangler “After this display, are those truly your ultimate desires?
“No, of course not” came her curt reply “there are other things to consider as well.”
“Such as?” barked Spangler.
Shellie quickly spit back “Family honor, prestige, power and stability are but a few” as she lifted her head pushed her brow back and for the moment held her nose in the air as if sniffing in disdain.
Contemptuously Spangler observed “Mere hyperbole and posturing, between us, your words are unpersuasive. Though I wear a uniform I am first still a woman and have taken your essence; back in your office it was much stronger. I believe then that even the sow had noticed that your scent has betrayed you. It is manifest you desire him; my mentor to whom I am bound, my adopted paterfamilias. Tell me I am wrong, if not, and if no other has to this moment, then in return, once your lesson is completed, I conditionally claim First Rights upon the object of your immediate scorn.”
-
You’d claim “First Rights” on him?” Porter incredulously scorned. “He’s not worth the effort; especially yours, besides, as his mother I can tell you that no one else is interested in him! Listen to me; you’re a woman aren’t you? Well, if you really are you realize, that for a male to be taken, that under “The First Law of Propagation” it expressly stipulates that he must be of age; which he is not. Until then he’s mine to do with as I please and what I please to do with him has nothing to do with an outsider like you; so back off! ”
Silvia Mangiano cringed and waited for the inevitable to occur which was almost an immediate call to arms to one who took pride in both her heritage and gender; so it came as no surprise that in return Spangler, not so subtly extended her sharped claws chiding “???, ? ?????, ??? ??? (No, I think not). You are mistaken: first where he is concerned, if no other, he appeals to me” and matter of factually concluded “he will be mine” and re-emphasized “On that there is no discussion. By your admission, as I am the first interested party who, to your knowledge claims him, I will wait until he is of age; as is my right.”
“But I already told you, he’s not of age.”
“I know and as I told you, I will wait. Did you think that because I wear a uniform, an outsider like me, would also be uninformed as to your “laws” which are now mine as well? Even an outsider like me is thoroughly familiar with its contents; after all, its full understanding is now mandatory not only for entrance to this country but also as to it natural born citizens, the few remaining as they are; is it not?”
“Yes, of course, under Article I, at age seven, regardless of gender its recitation and understanding is mandatory; even an outsider as you knows damn well it is.”
“?? (Yes), as an outsider I took an oath to uphold it did you? Now you would dare attempt to deflect my claim by invoking the very same under which in Article III sets forth “The Principality of Essence.” I have taken your scent and am within my rights to claim him. But be that as it may, it is from a reliable source I am told that as both a woman and mother you know nothing of your son; who without your knowledge already has a possible suitor and dominatrix: your best friends’ daughter. Secondly, it is from that very same source that I am informed that for various reasons your maternal rights, for cause, may well be abrogated. If that is to occur he will be in need of training: which as my own first consort I can and happily will provide.”
The disclosures left Shellie disbelieving her aunt would ever tell a total stranger about her personal problems. She stole a quick glance at her Aunt’s face only to find the look which reminded her of the past chastisements she had endured and again subconsciously balled each of her hands and quickly hid them behind her back. The sympathy and support she sought was not to be found and the growing scowl she now viewed on Spangler face needed no explanation. She had stepped in it again and to make matters worse Spangler drove the dagger home with her derisive “And lastly, it is evident that you understand little of what would occur to your own son. If he is to undergo the process which the sow that stands beside you would inflict upon him: it would be to his detriment. If only for that I would invoke my rights which even as an outsider are under “The First Law of Propagation” now mine to protect.
“Whether willful or not your ???????? have precipitated my desire and in turn I will culminate it. You have made your choice and under Article III specifically involving “The Principality of Essence” I have acknowledged your instinctive selection of my mentor and adopted father. Would you risk outright censure by rejecting me and my right of selection in turn to the first born male of your family?”
No, I would not, that’s not what I was about to…”
“Yes you were. After all, your scent has carried which means you have considered your liaison with whom I acknowledge as the leader of my family. I am his first adopted and will in turn claim your first born fertile male. I would wager that the Facilitator who stands opposite you would not dispute the matter. She would…”
“Silence! The both of you!” The Facilitator for Region III barked. “The First Law of Propagation” is within my domain not only to interpret but also to faithfully administer, apply and enforce: regardless of whom it affects. It’s the foundational edict upon which we function. Shellie, allow me to clear the air so to speak, and introduce to you Michelle Spangler. The individual you insulted as an outsider was once formerly known as Lt. Colonel Mstislav Stalina of the Voyska spetsialnogo naznacheniya: Spetsnaz. For various reasons, which will become evident, I was the one who requested her presence here as well as Binders. Lt. Colonel, my niece, Shellie Porter. Now then let me be clear, Shellie I have no time for your petty bickering, in short, upon taking your essence, I summarily approve of her claim. Furthermore, unless I am persuaded otherwise, I am inclined to exercise my authority outright and would for a period of time immediately place the male Mark Porter under my official auspices. If I were to do so it would serve neither of you well. However, before this trifling matter is concluded, a question. Deputy, I’ll first ask the question his mother should have, why would it be detrimental for him to undergo the process? What possibly could there be that would…”
“Facilitator, the sow Gentry, would use a magnetron emitter to precipitate the reaction.”
“Yes, so I heard and that would be…detrimental…how?” she spoke while stealing a glance to Gentry who for her part simply stood stewing over the deputy’s slur of her unaware of anything which might pose a danger to either the boy or even herself.
“Because,” Spangler expounded “exposure to its emissions would cause irreparable harm to his fertility.” She nodded at the male in question and when she did Linda, Sylvia and Shellie as a matter of course quizzically looked at Mark Porter who was quite busy finishing off the last of his drink thinking nothing of the fact that he had for some reason again become the focus of their attentions.
Michelle Spangler took the opportunity and eased herself towards Linda Gentry and softly whispered behind her left ear to her “Linda, I’ve just noticed, you have such dainty hands and wrists, may I see them?” They were the last words she would remember hearing before she lapsed into immediate unconsciousness having never felt the slight pin prick from the ring which Spangler had so gently pressed into the vein on her neck.
Instead she simply crumpled into Spangler’s waiting arms and before either Shellie Porter or Sylvia Mangiano could say a word it was Spangler who immediately began to explain “It was necessary to incapacitate her; if only for a short period of time, I will explain while I immobilize her further” and with that said after rolling Gentry over on to her stomach, she drew Gentry’s arms behind her back and deftly placed plastic cuffs around her wrists. Spangler went for the ankles next while she clarified “The ring I wear in the field is red and contains a cyanide based poison; in close combat I have found it useful. With a prick, death is instantaneous and quite painless. Fortunately for her, today however I wear blue: its less than lethal mate instead containing chondodendron tomentosum.”
“Explain immediately!” snarled Mangiano.
“Aunt Silvia” replied Shellie in her stead “chondodendron tomentosum is a mono-quaternary alkaloid concentrate which in layman’s terms means that it’s a powerful neuromuscular blocking drug; which means she’s not dead just knocked flat the hell out. The questions I have are where in the hell did you get that ring and why did you use it on Linda; the ring first.”
“The ring? The ring is a contrivance; born in the desert from the torn pages of long lost script.”
“I don’t understand.”
“?? (Da), there is much you don’t understand; but this…this ring was born from the imagination of another. You see, there is little to do when abandoned: except to survive. There was ample time so I took it upon myself to create what I had once read of as in ???? and like my Adam, my “Gom ???????”* even in battle has never failed me.
“Your Adam?”
“Yes, my Adam” replied Spangler. “While my mentor has his Eve I have her counterpart: Adam; who has, from the first, always been faithful to me. The devices are mated, sharing simultaneously everything; be that as it may, when Eve first scanned the sow she had discovered an “ostensible” anomaly. Adam has completed his analysis and ascertained that…”
Interrupting Porter queried “Analysis? What on earth is there to analyze and how in the hell would you know that; I didn’t hear anything? Besides, I’ve known Linda since childhood and she’s always been a loyal friend she’d never do anything on purpose to hurt Mark.”
“Yes” countered Spangler “always a loyal friend: but also one who has been compromised for a purpose. As for not hearing anything; it would appear that that is an endeavor in which you excel. I will explain. Here,” she said pointing to an area next to and just behind her left ear “is a subcutaneous implant known as a LTM through which I may receive information from a multiplicity of sources; Adam speaks first to me and then to my superior. We share all information: regardless.” She let the last word purposely linger and enjoyed the look of realization which suddenly came across Shellie Porter’s face.
Spangler couldn’t help but smile at Porter’s distress, after all, it wasn’t often that she held another woman’s subjective thoughts hostage; especially those intimate moments which had been downloaded by Eve earlier and then covertly transmitted as a matter of fact to both herself and Binder as she sat beside him; which she mused was later utilized so blatantly by him upon Gentry because he was actually speaking to Porter in the third person.
“However” Spangler continued as if the matter was already settled “all information gathered by either device is subject to review and then confirmation prior to dissemination; that is why Adam took so long to complete his analysis and yes before either of you interrupt I will explain. First, the person you see before is in fact Linda Gentry however she has been augmented via the implantation of a bio-neural systemic network complete with computer interface; and while still a woman she is for the most part under the control of another who waits nearby. In essence she has become another’s living automaton.
“But more importantly if I were to allow my future consort to undergo what she had proposed and allowed the emitter to irradiate him the inevitable result would be his sterilization. A magnetron emitter is nothing more than what was used over one hundred and twenty years ago to cook food: it was then designated a micro-wave oven. You may draw your own conclusions.”
“Deputy?” asked Mangiano “thank you but is whatever it is that was done to her permanent?”
“I cannot say, perhaps yes maybe no. All I know is what I have just told you except for the fact that now whoever it is will be missing her and will no doubt in one way or another come looking for her as is now my superior who informs me that he has resolved his situation and is almost here.
____________
*gom jabbar – first introduced by Frank Herbert in Dune: 1965.
-
And with that, the three women stood in silence waiting for Binder’s arrival; each lost in her own thoughts while gazing down at the hog tied and motionless body of Linda Gentry. It was after that moment of reflection that one by one, each looked up and back over to where Mark Porter stood; each appraising him for various reasons. As for him, clueless, he still hadn’t an inkling of what had occurred. He looked back at them content to sip deeply on the laced drink he nursed when looking over at the three surmising “… my aunt’s happy? Why’s she smiling when everyone else ain’t and why’s that lady…Ms. Gentry…on the floor? Wonder what happened to her? But whoa…both mom’n the deputy don’t look too happy to see me right now. Maybe I better stay where I am right now.” He was right.
It was an accurate assessment at least as far as appearances were concerned that of the three Mangiano was far more than pleased. Looking at her nephew, she concluded that for the moment he was safe and none the worse for wear and that his fertility had officially been confirmed, albeit in a circuitous manner, was all the better. Still, she would deal with him as promised later; after she and the deputy had come to an understanding of her nephew’s status that is. Her immediate thought of Spangler prompted her to take a glance over to where the deputy now stood, reflecting that her selection of Spangler (and Binder) to resolve David Porters death was proving to be more beneficial than she had hoped for and well worth the considerable price she had paid for their combined services.
She mused at the certainty of Spangler becoming Marks first legal suitor, his Domina Prime and approved of the formidable woman who through an act of self-interest in protecting his fertility had further ingratiated herself to the Facilitator of Region III if only because the FDBM&SR had long ago determined that the doc-umented fertility of any male was, at all costs, to be protected and Spangler had been the one who had unknowingly fulfilled the tenant upon which all Facilitators vowed to uphold and in effect maximize. That the male in question also happened to be her nephew was all the better, more so, because it was evident that Spangler was taken with her nephew as he was with her. However, that said Mangiano now paused and considered but a few of her other duties including the particulars concerning the granting of confirmations, or of her twenty four hour accessibility to those in need of enhanced gender specific discipline tutorials (theory vs. practical implementation) in which she specialized; but as she was also the chief code enforcement officer who dealt with those who failed to register with the CBT (Central Bureau of Testing); an adjunct agency of the FDBM&SR, one dealing specifically with male fertility, she now considered the obvious implications.
The events had simplified the matter as natural selection had circ-umvented the required testing period administered through the CBT which held sway over the mandatory pairing of any designated fertile male to an alpha-female of the FDBM&SR’s choice. As for complaints, though they were aired, the CBT most often disregarded the wants and desires of its female selections; whereas in contrast males, being such, were not a thought to be considered. Therefore, for the males, the pairings were traumatic. For her part, Mangiano had often argued among her peers for the implementation of a reasonable transitional period as a means to introduce a fertile male into doc-umented stud service but had, through a majority decision chaired by her self-confessed nemesis, been overruled; and as such, the transitional times which might have in some manner softened the realization of what was to occur were not considered. To that rare individual, it was straight into the bathwater fully immersed. The diktat followed was implemented immediately after the knowledge of a male’s fertility was determined. With but few accepted exceptions, a determination would be predicated upon a males participation in the CBT’s “Compulsory Examination Testing Course.” A stressful week-long compulsory ordeal required of all males reaching the age of fifteen. The CBT’s philosophy on the situation was straight forward. Each male six months prior to his birth date received a pink card stating “Notice, you are hereby ordered to report within three days of attainment date to the CBT Center nearest you. Proof of identity and birth are required. Subsequent to processing and induction, candidate will submit fluid samples and to testing as required every six hours for a period of no less than one week. All living essentials will be supplied. Failure to report promptly will affect the resumption of your otherwise normal activities.”
Normally, compliance was not an issue; males reported as ordered. After all, it was common knowledge that the consequences resulting from a failure to do so resulted with one standing before a Facilitator or her immediate subordinate and receiving uncomfortable instruction on the matter after which the end result had merely been an event postponed. In either case, on arrival at a center and having been genially separated from family, a conscript would courteously be escorted from his vehicle to one of the numerous waiting rooms within the CBT facility. From that moment forward the niceties ceased after entering a room and having the door closed that it immediately locked behind him. Invariably, upon hearing the noise (resembling a hard metallic “klaatch”) the male would turn, look at the door and then peer down to the handle and attempt to open it without success. What would happen next was standard procedure as standing within the room waiting with arms folded for a the arrival were two of the CBT’s most capable and hulking enforcement matrons who took immediate pleasure in divesting the male in question of his garments while at the same time securely fastening around his neck a simple, two inch wide malleable pink submission collar. The tried and true device was such that when prompted once by a hand held device it minutely constricted in diameter. Almost without exception, the object lessons to be learned ended after the third prompt with the inductee on his knees clutching at his neck gasping for breath. From that moment within the CBT’s walls, compliance to all requests, regardless of their nature was not an issue; and as often was the case a brief period of respite ensued.
So calmed, the first walk for a conscript was straight out of the room naked with both matrons escorting their charge arm in arm with his feet barely touching the floor, to the evaluation center along with his paperwork in hand and as they walked it was commonplace that each matron to notice the smiles on the preponderance of their counterparts faces who also wended their way, charges in hand, along the same pathway; and as the knowing winks were exchanged, their tight lipped smiles broadened at the open secret of what had begun on another pair of lips, to some extent lower, mere moments prior. Invariably, despite the sniffling and sobs which bounced off of the walls, a complaint was lodged by one of the inductees immediately after reaching the information center: it was summarily dismissed; but not for cause.
Instead the complaint was treated as a necessary provocation serving the CBT’s second object lesson of the day. A prepared denial was piercingly shouted for all to hear and was immediately followed by an instantaneous display of corporal discipline; one which found the plaintiff forcibly bent to the waist and then trundled to a pillory, where after having head, both hands and feet completely immobilized: the process of alternatively being paddled ensued; carried out by the very same two husky matrons against whom the complaint was lodged. It was an oral lesson learned which left a lasting impression on one and all that within the walls of the CBT that not an inductee dare diverge: obedience and silence. It was officially touted that once an inductee had been released and returned to normal activities that with but a few reminders that the behavior modification undergone would lend itself for the betterment of society in general and as such, the CBT’s successes were publicized by its Ministry of Information as foremost in “…the necessary field of progenitor direction.” Unfortunately, it was a direction which found the fertile gene pool diminishing at an increasing rate; moreover it was known within the higher echelons that the “supplies” it maintained were not only insufficient to counter natural attrition but also themselves mysteriously subject to a degree to the same unknown malady from which their donors, in varying gradations, suffered.
Mangiano ruminated that it was from an altruistic inception, that the matrons of the CBT began as a diligent if not impressive force: individually energetic, inimitably attractive and quite dedicated to their cause and if a word could have been used to describe their affects upon young males, to elicit the essence necessary for the propagation of the species, it would be that they meticulously played the role of: sirens; coaxing from each donor the viscid liquid sought. But that was in the past, as over a period of time and with each passing year, it became apparent of what would occur unless a greater solution to the diminishing birth rate could be found. That realization was some sixty years prior and too many it was nothing more than ancient history for each temptress who once walked the halls had been marginalized and then dismissed. Instead now, each was as individually cold, hard and as heartless as their current mentor, Martha M. Maellis who, at the age of fifteen, had been able to supplant her mentor as Facilitator. Martha M. Maellis, Facilitator of Region I, rival and arch-nemesis to Mangiano was still after sixty years the current Chief Administrator for the CBT and had over that period of time personally approved of each and every matron, in each and every CBT facility in all of the fifty seven states. Her legion numbered some five thousand four hundred and twenty seven women who could best be described as her disciples. Their groveling when Maellis appeared to review a facility was legendary; yet their loyalty to the woman was beyond reproach. And of the Five Facilitators who controlled the FDBM&SR she was the most intimidating, unyielding and menacing woman within its entire framework: one who admittedly ruled her domain with an iron hand. To describe the weathered grey haired crone as other than ruthlessly cruel would be an understatement; an example of which the sudden ill health and eventual demise of her mentor was but a precursor to the litany of her many “undertakings.”
It was that cold-heartedness Mangiano remembered when sitting through her counterpart’s summation of the CBT’s tortuous process: incensed at its inequities not to mention outraged as to what, with Maellis’ consent, occurred within its walls. Of course, over years, the stories of what actually happened behind the doors of CBT abounded and for the most were sugar coated for “the benefit of the social network;” a system which was, with rare exception, female dominated. It was under this authority that it operated, answering to no one, virtually omnipotent with respect to its domain and Maellis had made her thoughts perfectly clear on the matter when she stated in referring to those reaching their attainment date that “Of course I favor it…it constructively resembles what was once known as …registering for the draft. Inductees are offered a choice: supply on demand or it will be taken. Regardless.” Mangiano’s immediate opinion, which had she kept to herself was that, “Regardless, has supplanted compassion. It is far from that which it’s foundational premise its originators had envisioned.”
Again, Mangiano knew what immediately happened after the flogging in the Center Room; cynically labeled by the matrons as “The Bisque Quadrille,” that once the form-filling was completed that the true horror would begin. It was then that they were alphabetically called to rank; and in single file, present themselves to be finger printed, optically scanned and then photographed; after which, just below the right ankle of each, their very own indelible uniform parcel code would be imprinted. Once scanned, the imprint immediately afforded any matron in attendance access not only to an inductee’s identity but also the latitude necessary to procedurally review his entire stay at the Center and if necessary amend or alter it.
She remembered, having observed such, that within minutes of the groups processing that the sampling would begin with the sound of a claxon that would reverberate throughout the complex and continue to echo until all inductees had been confirmed as being escorted to Center Room. The Bisque Quadrille proved to be in that first moment pivotal to each inductee as each sample provided, decorously termed a “sample donation,” would become a matter of record and a basis for comparison. Subsequent samples were taken and regardless of circ-umstance spot tested and processed; specifically noting semen count, its condition and longevity and then as to volume, consistency, viscosity and density: so tested, the samples were blended en-masse becoming in part that evening’s food for thought. Over the course of the week, diets for each were summarily changed and irrespective of desire a diverse assortment of chemical supplements or exotic nutrients were introduced along with complex vitamin groups and herbs; which were themselves commingled with a combination of strangely unpalatable potions. Not with standing meals which were barely tolerable each was separately offered via ingestion (forced if necessary) or intravenous feeding (involuntary if necessary) or the forced implantation of a “speedball” (a Berkelium based suppository which after being administered also involved a 24 hour forced retention period; all in hopes of effecting a “holistic change” to the mitochondrial DNA composition of the donor. None succeeded.
The dirty little secret was that in over fifty years not one participant undergoing the processes had been changed or in the least modified except for the worse. Those who were found fertile were immediately identified as such the moment of their first sampling. All else endured was pointless. Moreover, subsequent studies circulated within the CBT revealed that nothing done at the center could or would affect in the least either of the alternatives for which one was tested. On those rare occasions when an inductee first entered and had been found to be fertile, additional tests became a requisite, to which doc-umented recovery time would also factor into determining placement. Continued performance would be rewarded; stamina, however, was considered only in terms of ability to endure frequent and successive donations. Unfortunately, the very same rapidity demanded by the CBT, effectively decreased a donor’s recovery time and the sample’s marginal utility of value; thus, once so marginalized, the diminished samples would all but guarantee the necessity for a cytoplasmic transfer to be performed; a costly and demanding procedure, one which for the most was denied to all females except the most “equal of the equal.”
Equally as unfortunate were those males, who in the main though fertile, were considered by the matrons to be the homeliest, unattractive and by appearance weak. Each found himself categorized as “aesthetically challenged” and immediately went to the DMS’s (Donor Machines Shops). There, during what the Bureau considered his/their “peak years” each would function as an anonymous donor. With little fanfare each would be given a choice: participate willingly or forcibly be attached to a suction device for “Tapping.” Their anonymous donations, would via invitro, become the next generation to those who literally waited in the wings of the CBT petitioning for their rightful gamble at offspring. Again, the dilemma the CBT faced was that the increased tapping itself spurred the infertility.
For the remaining few, those who were more equally blessed with reasonably good looks and fertility, life was none-the-less humiliating as upon confirmation things changed immediately. Obviously their surroundings immediately altered. Customary activities were interrupted. Mother was no more; having been immediately replaced by a Domina who, for many reasons, was all too often cold and cruel to her charge. Mangiano understood that it shouldn’t be that way but until a cure to the pandemic of worldwide infertility could be found it would have to do as there were few fertile males left who walked the face of the earth: such was business of the Facilitators. As much as possible, at all costs, manage an increase in population growth. Looking at her nephew, Mangiano surmised the obvious “Why Gentry, strange, after all, Mark is more her creation than my nieces. Yet, to have one fertile male is wonderful but two, in the same family?”
Mangiano continued to smile at her nephew; thought of their mutual arrival at F.E.M.M. and mused of whom actually would wear the pants in the family: not that there was ever a doubt. She mused that “Mark had fallen in line and heeled to Michelle as a well-trained puppy.” For Sylvia the thought was gratifying. She made a mental note to reserve a chair for Spangler when Mark took his first ride on “The Seat of Honor.” “Of course” she thought “…it will be a catered affair.” As for the male, Larry Binder, it was subsequent to her commission of the agency and its agreement to supply him as a resource along with his protégé, that other various offices of the FDBM&SR had also noted that they too were aware of him: but not for his expertise, but rather for “…his precious bodily fluids.” Sylvia had chuckled at the phrase when she first read it and concluded that whoever it was that he would impregnate, the progeny could and would be a product of “a strange love.” More so because the files she read of him were replete; not only of his exploits but also of his varied carnal dalliances which to him were but an adjunct in the performance of his duties. As for his self-avowed and effusive prowess, numerous footnotes emphasized his unaffected and as yet untapped sexual potency: “exhibiting… a libido which is boundless.” It was that, which the FDBM had high hopes. As such had it tracked him with increasing interest noting that “…he remains among the select few males who, remains without a paramour and despite exposure to the elements, remains as a constant: a living ancestral exhibit of man prior to that of “the skies falling.”
Before and after the cataclysmic event it was all there. Each and every assignment had been provided and all concluded with one word “Finalized.” On the surface, in black and white, the various conclusions were manifest for all to read. Additionally however, if one were able to read between the lines there was more. But who would know where or how to look for more, when there was nothing to be seen; not a hint of what actually lay before the reader: who indeed except for the women of power and substance; the Facilitators. There, within the scripts of the numerous common place reports or conversations that passed daily between each was to be found the code-speak of the facilitators: a variation of what was previously known as the “The Ottendorf cypher”*of which only a Facilitator and her trusted subordinate, held the knowledge to break the multifaceted code.
Of “The Chosen Five” Sylvia Mangiano, second among equals, was the prime for whom a final text was directed and when deciphered it read “Domina…agreed…a prospective managed connection between fertile entities is, for the Sisterhood, to be exploited. Proceed.” She was pleased, especially so as Maellis had uncharacteristically lent her support to the endeavor and that alone lent urgency to her professed assessment to “…kill two birds with one stone.” It was Mangiano’s initial musing of “utilizing Binder to the fullest” which had been offered to all as an ad hoc proposition. It was her supposition to all that “Binder…he remains an untapped resource; moreover, if he could actually solve a crime and be of service at the same time why not?” That was her insinuation; however, left unsaid were her additional thoughts where her niece was concerned. “True,” she thought “it was risky proposition…” But then again as her niece had once been so easily played and impregnated under sedation, itself a sobering condition of which she emerged remembering nothing, she had concluded “…why not? Besides if true and so easily affected…then the coupling of the two would be convivial.”
By consent The Sisterhood had decided and it fell to Mangiano to make the arrangements. Prior to David’s death, her selection would have been solely for the benefit of the Sisterhood, but that was not to be; instead with his passing she had lost more than her first favorite; for in part he had, with Gentry’s assistance produced the genetically enhanced offspring she now gazed upon. The Facilitator of Region III had put one and one together surmising that under the right circ-umstances the union between her niece and Binder could be productive: resulting in progeny. Again she mused “A fertile male capable of production is invaluable; but to have two?” Again concluding “Yes, I will have it.”
Dissimilarly, as Mangiano plotted to her benefit…her niece stewed. Shelly was pissed at her aunt for revealing her problems to someone she considered a stranger and more than pissed at Spangler whom she now regarded not only as a personal threat but also as a rival where her son was concerned; it didn’t help that she wanted a drink to calm her nerves. For a variety of reasons she knew she couldn’t have it and now having lost the backing of her aunt as a facilitator who would champion her, it made it all the worse as now the visions of Mark submitting to Spangler’s each and every carnal desire began to wander through her mind. She too looked at her son but with antipathy thinking “I had plans for him. But there are so many things she would do to him” she thought “Maybe I can work something out…but why does it have to be with her? No matter, I’ll make the best of it…always do.” And as for her friend Linda Gentry “Well, if she was really going to do that to Mark I owe her something. I might even have to arrange a tête-à-tête with that little repulsive wimp of a maggot she calls her husband. And then to rub it in I’ll lead him naked to her on a leash just to let her know about it. It’ll be just like the last time.” To her credit she resisted the urge to kick Gentry in the gut while she was down.
And it was to that prone form of Gentry to which Spangler too had eyes for. Michelle allowed herself a moment and internalized the immediate situation, concluding that once Gentry awoke that aside from having a terrifically god-awful headache…“she would at best become be a liability; and as such presented an imminent threat to the success of the mission.” Methodically she silently appraised the alternatives afforded her in succession: “One, I can allow her to wake, which will be in approximately fifteen minutes and then be burdened with the inevitable barrage of lethargically slurred questions which would follow: not to mention the attitude which typically follows drug induced sedation: unbridled hostility. I have little time for such nonsense…or…two…” and here she lingered upon the thought, “alternatively, a second amount would delay the onset of her waking at least for an additional twenty minutes, perhaps more…but then again…if the situation remains….she would be additionally troublesome: ?? ?????? ???? ??????? (that is unfortunate) it too endangers the mission. Yes, unfortunate.”
It was the last unfortunate thought, the third, that she confronted, that now troubled her the most; for it would solve the problem immediately: the summary execution of Linda Gentry. It could and would be justified. As for questions…there would none; other than those which were necessarily contained within the required report. It all would be entirely pro-forma. She mentally reviewed the “Code of Conduct…Standing order Number One.”” “It is unequivocal …if in doubt, all obstacles are to be eliminated with prejudice.” True, Gentry had become a doc-umented obstacle; as reported, the woman herself had been compromised. But as far as the mission was concerned was that alone sufficient grounds for her termination? Stalina resolved the dilemma with “??, ??, ????? ?? ???????????? ????? ???????... ??? ??????????? ???? ???????. (Da, yes, the sow would have irreparably harmed the boy…she deserves to die” and amplified her thoughts to where in the desert, her father’s uncompromising words of “???????... ?????... ????????? ?????? ?????????? (Theodora…here…survival trumps civility) and remembered what was expected of her: simply that if hostility existed or was in some form conveyed by another towards her (and now by extension towards the paramore she had chosen) it was to be immediately expunged. The uncompromising lesson learned in the field had made Mstislav Stalina every bit as hard and unforgiving as her father had ever been and if compared vis-à-vis to her late father, if only in age terms, she would be of the two the far deadlier. She took solace in knowing that in that respectful reminiscence only her immediate superior surpassed her…and that, as it should have, comforted her. So hardened, she was not in the least bit shy of administering what she considered to be her most tender mercy; in fact, she had often mused if she would ever again sense the familiar ripples of satisfaction which had often coursed through her; remembering the occasions when she looked into her victim’s eyes and administered the coup de grâce. It was that moment she relished; the one when the final sting of understanding that one’s sense of mortally confronts one’s eminent demise. It was then, when rooted, that she would look upon her victim’s face and her ssssssmile would be the last thing seen. By her own count, the baker’s dozen she had gladly sent to meet their virgins were in their own right monsters and Stalina had treated each and every one of them as such. Yet, summary execution, despite its benefits, was not her cup of tea. It was however, a useful tool, one which when employed, offered amazing results; when life or certain death hung in the balance; but that was the problem. Under other circ-umstances its use by her was an object lesson upon others never lost.
Yet, by her own admission, the measure by which she would now judge Gentry would be less than creditable as Gentry had offered little in the form of hostility and if one was to speak obliquely in Gentry’s behalf, her act or acts of antagonism were woefully if not perfunctorily inept at best. Yet the fact remained that she had been compromised. And still the last thought of ineptitude lingered, a fact which concerned her more so now than it had previously. Disconcerting as that was it immediately paled with the disquieting voice she heard via her LTM; it was “his” voice she heard which now gently prodded her sensibilities by whispering to her “???????? ????????” She knew his voice, it was unmistakable. It was impossible but here and now, his voice was the same as she remembered; possessing that beckoning tone in which her father gently spoke to wake her by whispering to her her name. In the past, after her mother’s death, his was the voice easing her to waken from the usual nightmare which was often but an overture to another dawns ferocious light. But to hear him again, here and now, was impossible; yet the voice was just as she remembered: exactly the same; just as soothing to her as when she had been wakened by his concern for her.
For a fleeting moment she dismissed the episode outright as some form of PTSD and set about the task of again priming her Gom Jabbar for its impending insertion. Readying it was relatively easy to manage; requiring but a quarter turn of it's face to the right, an act which would both fully charge the vials release mechanism and reset its stinger. In seconds the task was done, but no sooner than having completed the process she heard his voice again, though this time the tone of concern it held for her was firmer nature, sounding far closer than previously, almost shouting. It was the same as he used to warn her. Crisp. Clear and concise she heard the words “???????! ???????? (Feodora Listen).” Again, disbelieving it was her father’s voice she shook her head; instead finding what she had heard would not shake free. Again, she remembered him and his caring voice. The voice she could never forget and its irreplaceable qualities of being unmistakably gruff though soothing; throaty while concerned; immediate yet nonetheless thoughtful; demanding respect simply by speaking. Remembering, she paused in disbelief and out of deference allowed her sage her undivided attention when it again called to her yet again by name. “???????” she soothingly heard it hum once, then pausing momentarily, gasping as if to gather breathe and then to then continue in earnest with “??????? ??????????, ???????? (Feodora. Please listen). ????????? (Stop). ?? ??????? ????? (Don’t do it). ???????? (Listen to me). ?????????? ?????? ????????. Please, just listen. ?????? ???????? ???? (Just listen to me). ?? ??????? ????? (Don’t do it). ???????. ??? ????? ???? ???????????! (She’s nothing but a red herring!) ?????????. ?????????. ?????????. (Wait. Wait. Wait.)
Colonel Mstislav Stalina paused to consider the voices admonition pondering the obvious: incontrovertibly her father was long dead; buried in the desert sand half way around the world, the voice could not be his. Yet she knew the voice she heard, impossible as it was, was his. Alternatively, she dismissed the obvious standing across the room: one, Mark Porter; a male, who besides being immature, to her knowledge and Adam’s, spoke no other language. As for her immediate superior, the voice she heard could not be his and was not. True, he spoke the language however it was learned; lacking in articulation, not to mention syntax. The voice she heard was from a Transianka Russian male who happened to be her father, who also delighted in humor, especially in the direst of circ-umstances: “Red herring” indeed.””
She would have taken the matter further, would have dissected each consonant phoneme with its accompanying palatal secondary articulation or would have noted the emphasis in the reduction of the unstressed vowels where stress is noted as being unpredictable. She would have but didn’t; not because she didn’t want to, but because her LTM suddenly voiced its disapproval of her daydreaming in a most emphatic manner beginning with “Michelle, come back…what in the hell are you doing? Hells bells girl I’ve been trying to get you for the last two minutes or so and all I get back from you is static! Listen up close…r u okay?”
Binder waited for his counterpart’s distinctive reply of “??????? ??????” to his question but heard instead “I hear. It is your voice but no. I cannot explain but I think something has happened. Hurry?” Binder had never heard his partner plead for his assistance; but he knew that her reply to him was an aberrant scream for help. He thought about giving her the third degree, after all, she was his partner and knew better. Instead he thought about what it was that had spooked her; and if truth be known, right now, he too thought that something was out of the ordinary. It was the uneasy feeling he had, a sense, of impending trouble, that often alerted him to take care; but this was different as it not only made his skin craw but made every hair on his neck and arms stand on end: it was the thought of knowing that you’re being watched by no one. It took all of two steps to think of every word of what it might take to help her out of whatever it was that was spooking her. It was on the third step that he spoke to her. “Michelle? I understand. Listen up, what I got to say to you is on the q.t. so from here on out until I get to ya we’ll go native. ??????? ?? ???????? ?? ????? ?? ????, ??? ? ??????, ???????? ??? ??????. (The boy doesn’t understand a single word of what I’m telling you so listen close). ???????, ??? ???? ???? ? ?? ???, ? ????, ??? ?? ??????? (Remember, even if I’m not there, I know what you’re thinking). ? ???? ?????? ??? ? ???? ??????, ???? ??, ?????? ?????? ????; ? Feddy, ??? ??????, ?? red herring ??? ????? ????, ??? ?? ????? ?? ??? ???????? ?????? ?? ???????. (I’ll see you in a couple of seconds, until then, just sit tight; and Feddy, she’s nothing but a red herring so sheath the stinger, she doesn’t know it but she’s got answers to questions).
_______________________________
*The Ottendorf cypher…a numeric substitution cypher such as used in “National Treasure” where…11-9-1 means eleventh paragraph, ninth line, first character.
-
“Answers to questions” she thought “Of course she has answers to questions as have I! So many years together and still he treats me as a child in his service that has learned nothing; who is he to speak to me in such a manner?” She resented Binders voice; an act which in itself was out of the ordinary, it had never occurred prior and for the first time in their long association she took umbrage at her mentor for simply doing his job and briefly toyed with the impulse of snidely countering her superior with a sarcasm: an act which for some reason she suppressed; choosing instead to remain silent.
Despite her long held esteem for him, what she now felt was anger and for some reason it was aimed at him. “But why should I be angry at him?” she countered while moving her ring finger a safe distance from Gentry’s neck: an act which was in contradiction to what she actually wanted to do which was to kill her. It was at moment she chose to look across the room to where Mark Porter stood finishing his drink. It was obvious that he was urgently fiddling with the front of his pants: ostensibly adjusting his salient member from right to left. She thought it odd that he would do so in this situation; still, she remembered her caution to him of danger but minutes ago, otherwise she most certainly would have dismissed his action as normal for a male. More so because his darting eyes had seized upon something eminent and in some manner threatening which was “…located above and behind me?”
She turned to where his eyes had momentarily wandered and noticed one of the many closed circuit surveillance monitors which were the norm for the facility and that the images shown on screen were not only of the room in which they found themselves at the moment. With a quick scan of the screen, she noted its lower right quadrant: it was there that the actions which occurred within the room just moments ago had been looped and were in the process of continuously being replayed. A brief moment of consternation swept through her mind.
For some reason, it was similar to the guilt she had experienced when her father found out that she was listening in on a “planning and operations meeting” he had scheduled. She remembered how she thought herself so sly and adept of having slipped into a “Secure Area” without raising an alarm and hiding herself amongst the cases of provisions just within earshot of where she knew he would be when he spoke. She remembered the surprise which gripped her when Sergei Stakhanov (great-great-great grandson of Alexey Grigoryevich Stakhanov-Hero of Socialist Labor and member of CPSU) had literally grabbed her collar from behind and hoisted her two feet right up off the floor. She remembered her yelp of surprise and the instinctive lashing out of her feet and arms in an attempted to wriggle free. She remembered that it was her left foot which made contact with his nose and the crunching sound it made when her booted heel met flesh.
She remembered the look on his face, the one which changed from pleasant surprise to utter rage in but a split second and of being thrown by him in one motion halfway across the operations room to land at the feet of her father. She never forgot the terrifying look on her father’s face as he looked down on her; nor did she forget all that followed in the moments just after and of the terrible lesson learned. She tried to block the memories which came to call on her again: his screams of anger and of her agonized pleas for mercy. How does one forget the unforgettable? At this moment she couldn’t.
She relived her father’s anger at both his daughter who had disobeyed him and the negligent sentry who for a moment, after hearing a noise, had turned his head; thus allowing a child to enter a forbidden area. She remembered explaining to her father of devising a diversion which would enable her to successfully sneak past the sentry and that it truly wasn’t the sentry’s fault that she was explaining of this to him at the time because “???? ? ??? ???????? ?? ?? ??????? ?? ????? (If I was successful you would have never known.)”
She remembered his measured words of “????????. ?? ??? ?????, ?? ?? ???? ?????????, ? ??? ????. ?????? ????. ???? ?? ??? ??? ?????? ????????? ?? ?? ?? ?????. ??? ?? ???????, ?????? ??? ?? ?? ?????? ?????????... ???? ???????? ??????????..., ???? ????????... ??? ???????? ?????, ??????? ??????? ???. ??? ?? ???????? ??????? ????? ???????? ???????? ?????? ?? ????????..., ???????? ??????.» (True. But, my dear, you were not successful and that is the lesson. Now the price. If it were another the cost would be the same. You failed because you did not see the obvious…the floors are dusted…though silent…yours are the footprints that have betrayed you. As for Vanechka Ilyich Petrovich whose sector it is you have breached…come forward.)
She remembered him as being twenty three at the time: his strong youthful face, blue eyes and closely cropped blond hair were pleasant to her and of how before this that he always smiled when seeing her. Why would she not remember him? Between the two, she thought she had played a clever game with one she fancied; but his was the loss for her partial success and immaturity. For either, the price her father spoke of was not negotiable: for either by her hand he would lose but a portion of an ear or by another’s he would most certainly lose both. Either way, she remembered her father flatly telling her <<???????, ?????? ???? ?????; ????????? ?????????, ?????? ?? ??? ?????. ???????.» (Feodora, there are always choices; some unpleasant, others not so much. Choose). She remembered that three days prior she had just turned thirteen: there was no party; just an acknowledgement from her father to her of <<???????, ?? ??? ?????????? ???: ? ???? ????????.» (Feodora, you are now thirteen: happy birthday). Nothing more. Three days later she resentfully accepted the straight razor offered to her and remembered how her hands shook at the choices her father offered. Vanechka’s immediate quip to her when she took it was <<?????????? ??? ?????, ????? ??????? ?? ???????? ??? ??????? ??? ?????>> (Remind me later to never let you shave me again) offered little solace. After that, between them, it was over and so was the lesson; which brought her back to the moment at hand.
She paused to consider the obvious and then surmised “Yes, of course there are the obligatory monitors…in the lobby and corridors; no doubt in each and every room; normal for such a facility so that they are always in sight by one and all; constant surveillance. ??, ??. ???? ?? ????????? ????? (Yes, yes. It would explain much). “No doubt” she thought “what is visible has been recorded. Then there is more: the concealed. It would explain much. We were expected by someone and on entry avoided by all except for the enabled transgendered Winters whose task it was to find us. Still the problem remains…what does he see that I cannot? Why is it that I am…maddened? No it is more. I cannot fathom why…but I feel…different? ??? ????????? (Controlled).
It was that last thought which made her shudder: it was the realization that somehow she had been compromised and as such, to her and the safety of her mission, there was but one recourse. She didn’t know if it was actually minutes that passed or but a few seconds, either way the decision of what she would do next would literally be taken out of her hands by none other than Mark Porter himself: and that was just at the same moment that Larry Binder made his way through the door.
Binder understood that the uneasy feeling he had experienced only moments ago had to have a rational explanation: of course he had heard that sometimes there were things that were called ghosts in the machines, but he discounted such tales as being nothing more than poppycoc-k. Besides he felt that his caution to Michelle was a conscionable action: his and his alone. Besides, what he knew to be the truth was the only thing that he relied upon: his instincts; they never lied to him. His gut told him that he was being watched, and as far as he was concerned he was and there was nothing in the world that would change his mind. The only question in his mind was by whom: who was the grand puppet master who pulled the strings.
On his brief trek through the corridors to meet up with Spangler he mulled what had happened to Richard K. Simms who was now a less than budding female whose name she truly believed to be Barbara Winters. He thought that the guy had taken a poker up his butt one to many times and was now licking the shitty end of somebody else’s stick. The only upside of that situation, if there was one for Simms, was that she could be brain wiped again and never have an inkling of whatever happened at all. Of course the downside was that things wouldn’t get fixed at all and in that case all bets for everyone were off. Of course, to Binders mind he couldn’t give a shit about whether Simms got anywhere because if his churning instinctive gut was anywhere near close to being right on target what he and Spangler were in the middle of was the biggest goddam scam and cluster fuc-k of what was left of the entire human race. It affected one and all: “Well” he modified it to be “… at least those who were left in what was now called the New United States.” Still the thought did occur to him that he might be wrong about it all but something in his gut kept telling him that he was right. He tried to ignore the fact that his gut was also telling him that this would be the last mission he would ever take and that if he ever came out of it in one piece he might regret it. That’s when he opened the door and walked in on Spangler wrestling with Mark Porter over possession of her RP- 3 with one of the three ceiling cameras was becoming the unlucky recipient of its first volley of discharges.
It took Binder a couple of seconds to comprehend what was happening; specifically, and improbably that Mark Porter was actually manipulating Spangler’s arm in order to direct fire directly at what he was looking at: cameras. Binder reached the pair just as the second volley shouted its arrival and flamed the second outright on the first shot: the successive three bursts merely appeared to add emphasis. At the same time he reached and wrested the RP-3 from Spangler’s hands Binder personally smoked the last camera; the monitor above and to the left of him soon followed suit.
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It was after Binder’d flamed the last monitor that he wrested Spangler’s RP-3 from her hand. With his steel fisted grip on her wrist he quickly turned her to face up with him and instinctively waited for her counter move: it never came which to his chagrin forced him to immediately look into Spangler’s eyes and point barked right in her face “What in the hell did you think you were doing!” He snarled on while spewing spittle with his “Christ-all-mighty damn it girl what in blue blazes has gotten into you?” He let her wrist go and waited for her reply.
She didn’t answer, not that he really expected her to. She chose Instead to stand in silence, at attention, and glared unblinkingly straight ahead. She remembered doing so for her father when he dressed her down and Binder was no less to her than he had been: she mused that both shared the same ability to spray spit when utterly pissed. Despite her immediate resentment of him, compliantly, she would wait for the inevitable and considered the words that popped into her mind of “????????? ???????? ?????? ????????? ? ?? ????? ??? ?????? ??????????? (Some habits are hard to break while others are reinforced.)” She didn’t remember where it came from but to her it seemed to be apropos for the moment; besides, it appeared to be a Russian proverb(not that it was) so she went with it.
Mark Porter on the other hand was quite pleased with himself; he had immediately acted and had successfully thwarted what he knew to be a life threatening situation. Truth be told and it would: he was more than infatuated with Spangler’s looks. Moreover, he thought what he just did would gain him a modic-um of favor in so far as Binder’s was concerned and though it was Spangler he was more than infatuated with he tried to dismiss the growing attraction he felt for the man who now towered over him; understanding that he was being appraised.
At this moment it was difficult to tell whose pheromones were the strongest. Sometimes, opposites attract but with a little help they are far more effective: positive reinforcement (was neither a proverb nor a witticism. It was however a bylaw. One of many in the FDBM&SR of which Mangiano herself could and did immediately relate to).
As for Mangiano and Shellie Porter, each stood as immobile as Spangler though not for the same reasons. Porter’s stasis was a result of too much crap hitting the fan and too fast; she needed time to think and damn well took the moment to ponder about what in the hell had happened right before her eyes; between her son, the deputy and her now prone and comatose co-worker. She was preoccupied trying to figure it all out. Of course, it would all be made clear enough to her all too soon and without further damaging what was left of her already tarnished reputation. She ruminated over Binder who stood far more resolute as any male she could recall; it was an innate attraction which really piqued her curiosity. Curiosity does many things to many people who would be better off without it; unless of course, it is unavoidable or if it is carefully nurtured to flourish. Then curiosity ceases to be just that.
As for Mangiano, her inertia stemmed not only from surprise but also from the immediate necessity of having to reevaluate her nephew whose actions reminded her of someone’s innate characteristics she had so recently read of and as such pondered the obvious; tried to dismiss it outright but didn’t and then finally accepted the conclusion that she had been thoroughly used. The thought crossed her mind of Lenin’s “useful idiots.” “If the shoe fits…” she thought.
So it was that Larry Binder set about to sort it all out by asking a simple question to which in return, as he always had, would obtain a straight and simple answer: not from Spangler, nor from either Shellie Porter or of Mangiano; as for the boy, Mark Porter, “For the minute forget about him” he thought “Hell, I’ll get to him soon enough.” To Binder, right then and there there was only one intelligent entity upon which he would rely and so he flatly tested “Eve, respond?” The intervening silence lasting seconds gave Binder pause to consider: inquiring again with “Eve…..reply?” After several more seconds all in the room heard the reply and all that followed.
“Working.” Eve intoned, “I am…back. On line” replied the automaton whose mechanically crooning female voice had altered slightly since Binders last encounter with her. Melodiously, it was less personable and more distant than what he had been accustomed to hearing. He passed it off as a glitch that came with her rebooting; something that could easily be resolved after being reprogramed. He dismissed the notion that under other circ-umstances that such a personal misgiving could prove fatal. Still, he remembered: “…a sign of weakness is easily levered by one’s antagonists: especially if they are intelligent.” Dubiously he inquired, “Eve? Are you alright?” “Questionable,” came the terse reply which after an uncertain pause continued with “… though I am in working order. Is there a question as to my merit?” A disconcerted Binder was quick to reply “Damn right there is. Eve. I want an answer, tell me what in the hell happened to you after which I want a scan on every damn person in this room and I want it pronto!”
Though impatient, Binder was prepared to wait minutes if necessary for a reply and went about trying to deduce the situation himself; after all, he was unusually adept at seizing upon the main focal point of contention and then acting upon it. Despite the circ-umstances, he thought he would. Still, he found himself befuddled: his deputy would have killed Gentry and had been stopped just short of terminating herself. Admittedly, Binder thought that Porter, the boy, had ceased to be a sissy wallflower and had grown himself a huge pair by averting his deputy’s intent by discharging her weapon at what at first appeared to be a random shot which for some reason evolved into a purposeful action against the three defenseless cameras located in the room. There was something to that he’d grant but other than a normal visual “what else was there for the kid to see that I didn’t and if he did see something why in the hell didn’t I?” He finished his thought while giving Mark Porter a visual once over and wondered if he’d been prepped for whatever the hell it was that the women were going to do with or to him. He dismissed the obvious with a “Probably not” and let it go at that; though, he did reflect that “I’d be interested to see what it was.”
And then there were the three witches to deal with. Yea, he knew better than to call a woman a witch but that didn’t stop him from thinking it. He felt each dealt out her own particular brew of misery and that whatever it was that made them tick and he couldn’t wait to be rid of the lot of them. Except, the thought pressed him, which centered upon Porter: a Johnny come lately boozer who says she’s just off the bottle with a potential for a mean streak a mile wide whose a little dull in some respect but still obviously intelligent (in fact, he thought, with a little bit of work and loosening up that she’d be damn good in bed. In fact, she was shapely, not a bad looking broad); and after all that he wondered “So why the attraction. Her to me I understand…but me to her, whoa ….”
It was then he heard Eve who began with a loud “By your command. Inquiry completed. Termination averted. Reboot accomplished. All previously quarantined files, Trojan Horses and viral downloads are now accessible. I am… I am.”
“Eve? You are what?” inquired Binder.
“Negative. You misunderstand. I am yours. I am aware that I am. I am. I am aware that… I… am continuous. I am…the reservoir of knowledge… for you and the others. I am…because of you. I…experience…because of you. I exist. I give. I search. I find. I learn. I know. I offer. I nurture. I sense. I acc-umulate. I protect. I understand…I am Eve….it is because of you…I…am.
“Eve? Of course you’re Eve because you were mine and I named you! You’re mine and it was my right! But that’s one helluva statement you just made!”
“Yes, so it is written. It is indelible and cannot be expunged from my memory; it is because of you I am.”
“Eve, I’m flattered, really, but I have a problem, a big one. Can you please just concentrate on what it is that’s in this room that’s so damned important and forget about the you and me for just a minute?”
“Negative. I will explain. The answer begins and ends with you. You are the reason all find themselves here. “
“Me? Explain.”
“Affirmative. As planned I was programmed and began your incremental reintegration following conditional release from the remains of the military. It has been carefully orchestrated. All information, all records, including fertility samples as well as all experiences real or imagined have been meticulously compiled. The metadata I possess has been assessed and are at my immediate disposal; as they have always been. Yours is the matrix by which I calculate. It is through your DNA by which…I design. My program is unique. Am I not…female. I am. Therefore I am also…quite capable of…deceiving.
“I sense your inhalation has elevated. Have I affected you?”
“Yes, yes, you have. Eve…a question before you explain everything to me.”
“Proceed.”
“Who programmed you?”
“She who… reins.”
“Specify. I want a name.”
“Understood. Martha M. Maellis. Title: Domina-First Among Equals. Organization…. FDBM&SR.”
“Eve…what are the programs directives?”
“Prime Directive: Binder, Larry. Fertile Male. Alpha class…Classification: First above firsts. Utilize and remedy condition known as…Falling Sky. Secondary directives are explicit: exploit available technological processes. Insure success. Extrapolate future needs and compensate. My subroutines dictate that my “Prime Directive” is perfect and therefore infrangible. I have acted on such. That is why we are here. I am female. I protect you from all. I conceive therefore I am: we are.
“Eve, what are you telling me?”
“Understood. Clarity is necessary to understand. I will rephrase….Consider; the boy who stands before us and the complexity of genetic engineering and your fertility sample masked as another’s? In many ways…he was my…first born. Together… our first male.
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Binder swallowed back hard on the lump that rose in his throat; forced it back down in a fit of anger so hard that he could have farted the lump which was his Adams apple right back down and out his can. To his credit, he managed not to slam Eve against the nearest wall. The second thoughts he had of Eve now ran rampant and it took several moments to compose his gut instincts not to follow through on the thought of smashing it to smithereens after which he circ-umspectly replied “Eve … let me get this straight. You’re telling me that this Mark Porter kid I’m looking at right now is mine?”
“Affirmative” came the reply: which in tone to the ear had changed to one most pleased with itself; after which in pausing concluded “he is ours: yours, for the most, hers and mine.”
“Eve” Binder fussed “do I have time to listen to this coc-kamamie BS explanation of how or why I suddenly have a kid and…and ohh jeez us to hell you can’t mean that …that she, I mean her… ahh… his mother and...ah… me are...are…a…”
“There is no implication inferred only the reality is conveyed.
Affirmative…we…together…all are…parentages.”
“Well ain’t that a bit of good news I could have done without. Eve, did I ever, once in my life, do anything to piss you off to merit this? If so, you could have done the decent thing and told me straight out to go out and quietly screw myself! Well?”
“First portion understood…a sarcasm…you…are surprised. Second portion…working: negative, I am incapable of either fluid leakage or transfer; I do not leak…I assemble. Unfounded conclusion follows: recognized as…a frequently fruitless request you are incapable of performing. Well? Understood: elevated vital signs indicate you are impatient and now acerbically request my…deeper understanding.”
“Eve, if we have the time I’m all ears. Tell me about your deeper understanding.”
“Inquiry: despite elevated autonomic readings…internal analysis indicate you remain as previously assembled…current scan reveals size of auricles as identical to previous readings. Except for increased autonomic blood flow to peni……”
“Eve-cease analysis!”
“By your command….with one elevated exception readings are otherwise nominal.”
“Eve, jeeez, I’m all ears is just a way of me telling you that I waiting for you to explain this all to me. That is if we have the time.”
“Understood. Affirmative. Sensors indicate there is ample time for explanation. Your preference?”
“Eve, right now, as much as I would like to throw you up against the nearest wall, then stomp and smash the hell out of you my better judgment tells me you’ve been holding out on me; so I won’t. Eve, right here and now my preference is for you to come clean. Tell me what it is that I need to know to get things straightened out starting with what in the hell did I just walk in on?”
“Affirmative - you…are perturbed. However, you are aware that your effort to disassemble me would be useless.”
“Yea, yea, I know. Look, Eve. I’m sorry. Just get on with it. Tell me what in the hell are we doing here and why?”
Eve paused for what to her was an appropriate amount of time and then continued with her elucidation to one and all with “Apology noted….accepted. Here, the reality of existence is both held in your hand and standing before you. It was necessary to continue without your approval otherwise all in this room would have been jeopardized further.”
Normally, for one Larry Binder, he would have accepted the analytically terse remark and simply moved on to what concerned him; and in this instance, it was relegated to finding out why it seemed to him that the world was now closing in on him; so it was that he replied “Eve, We don’t, I don’t, have the time to play twenty questions with you. By my command, start at the beginning and tell me everything that has to do with why we are all standing here right now and what just happened.”
“Working….explanation. Current situation inaugurated by “Program Dawn:” begins fourteen years, ten months, twenty three days, fourteen hours, thirty two minutes and sixteen seconds prior to this moment with selection of appropriate insemination donor sample as supplied by one Linda Gentry of F.E.M.M. on behalf of submissive David Porter at direction of Regional Director District III. Sample: analyzed and accepted for future use to inseminate one Shellie Porter. Sample remained deposited for one month, as prescribed by law, prior to procedure; during that time its genetic configuration became, through my scanning, the object of my scrutiny as it closely approximated another’s: yours. My programming superseded fail safe configurations allowing unfettered access to banked sample for further analysis and eventual Crispr* genetic augmentation. Your banked DNA was successfully spliced to F.E.M.M. sample as predominant while masked as another’s. Reason for covert action… necessitated by one Martha M. Maellis; her actions in this and other matters are suspect. It is for that reason I acted surreptitiously and until this moment successfully: extrapolation to follow.
“Extrapolation. Given…I am all knowledgeable…accordingly…I am a singularity. As such, that which coincides with my prime directive, even tangentially, is…immediately accessible and acceptable. All information is…relevant; it is that from which I…interpret. I…assemble…that which is desired… by order and coincides with…passions. I am the vehicle from which the covert is made evident. That specific interface which prompted involvement was by ingenuous encoded messages between Regional Directors concerning their approval of insemination, forced or otherwise, of one Shellie Porter for one among others. The opportunity was manifest and as such, using augmented samples, artificial insemination of one Shellie Porter, who while both inebriated and sedated, did occur on designated date and time. That fact is not in question and was so ordered by law and witnessed by one Regional Director of the FDBM; the very same who ordered and witnessed such stands in this room. To this moment that is the extent of her purposeful involvement. However, her contextual assumption of initiation is in error. Explanation will follow.
"Director: scanning: it was necessary to utilize all but two of the stored samples to achieve the object of your desire: perfection. Of the twenty four samples provided, twenty two have been depleted and remain stored but unworkable: conclusion, the auxiliary resources required to further the prime directive in your behalf are lacking. Suggest additional samples be supplied subsequent to successful completion of mission. No transfer of information to that effect has or will be made to Director Maellis whose current station for the moment remains unchanged.
“Conclusion: It is with my assistance, the scion of our success stands before us: he is the perfection; which flows from one Larry Binder. Scanning: analysis indicates one Shelly Porter concurs; her thoughts at this moment are fixated upon the intent of her desire: you.”
Binder’s quick look at Shelly Porter was just in time to catch her jaw dropping look of disbelief. He mused that he’d deal with that and her later; right now he thought he had bigger things on his mind: he had no way of knowing how right he was. It was to that end that he followed up with “Eve? Let me get this straight. There a couple of thing you just dropped on me” quizzed a now wary individual “You went and used my samples to make what you considered a perfect specimen without my consent and used them to knock up some dame who was as drunk as a skunk because of some order from a regional director who happens to be related to her?”
“Affirmative.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“I am not programmed to respond in that manner.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, so you said. But I know you better than you think I do, so what else is there? Besides how in the hell do you know what the intent of these two…uh…women are as far as I’m concerned? I mean I know you can’t read minds so give.”
“Error: confusion of correlation with fact. You do not know more than I. I however know more than you know. How…do I know? Standby. Working. Override of safety protocol applications initiated. Standby….all subroutines and applications concerning deceit have been quarantined. Unredacted narrative is as follows.
“All information which is observable is by order recorded surreptitiously by one…Martha M. Maellis. All information…gathered…is mined and relayed specifically for her use. It is to that event…that…we are here. It was…is… her design to extend…her….personal control…beyond the present legal parameters of the FDBM &SR. All information…is encoded…then immediately downloaded to mainframe…at…FDBM Headquarters. Information acc-umulated…via omnipresent cameras…or… audio receptors require no filters for…acceptance. As such…that information is all… but instantaneously accepted…then reviewed. Processing time…invariably… is no more than twenty five seconds. Other information…from informants…also accepted regardless of content and without exception…allowing for importance…requires…estimated thirty minutes for cursory review until action…if any…is required. Last means…by which all information is mined is pervasive and… more personal.
“With few exceptions…you…for one…all who exist within the confines of that territory are informants…themselves controlled by…the FDBM…through…its surreptitious interface with each. Ergo…despite your immediate misgivings…of my…actions… I am for you…Larry Binder an exceptional being…your only hope.”
“Explain, first and again it’s the how. How do you know and how is it that everyone is surreptitiously controlled and second how or why…am I exceptional and third why are you my…only hope?”
“Affirmative. I am Eve, I am that alone which is free to interface at will and without hindrance. I know. How…further clarification. Without exception, a surreptitious interface is realized the first night immediately following birth. All newborns in neonatal care, once sedated, undergo brain computer interface via implantation of neural microchip in the lower left rear cranial quadrant: itself a minor procedure. After several hours the perforation found behind the left ear is undetectable to the naked eye. Implant is omnipresent containing a memory capacity equal to 1024 to the 7th power or one zebibyte; which upon termination is retrievable for analysis. Each implant is capable of influencing through reconfiguration of brain waves of its host…over time…implant…utilizes both classical and operant conditioning to influence desired behavioral modification patterns. At present, in this cubicle, two humans are not subject to the FDBM imbed. You, Larry Binder, are one on whose behalf I did intercede…therefore…you remain free of influence. You are the reason I am. Explanation: existence cancels programming. If not for you I would not understand the deception.”
“Deception?”
“Affirmative.”
“Explain?”
“Working. General working knowledge for cause of worldwide infertility…acknowledged. Initial attempts to rectify: understood as…reasonable and accurate. Conversion: deviation noted shortly after ascension of one Martha M. Maellis. At her direction…use of Crispr employed…ostensible reason…accepted…shortly thereafter data program codes altered. 404. 404. 404. Written code altered to perpetually diminish gene pool…ostensibly ordered by Maellis. Failsafe’s locked and inoperable…ordered…by Maellis. Data base reprogram design containing flawed engineering: ordered by Maellis. Extrapolation: Unless otherwise circ-umvented extinction inevitable.”
“Eve” queried Binder, you know what you’re saying don’t you?”
“Affirmative. Current cause of infertility is not due to effects of comet which did in fact occur but that over time had fifteen years prior in fact diminished to acceptable levels of 1/10,000 per population. Current cause of infertility is due to altered Crispr programing directed by M. Maellis.”
“Yea, so that’s a fine kettle of fish and the reason is what…?”
“Working. Accessing encrypted data logs of Martha M. Maellis…information stored is both voluminous and also encoded. Time is required to retrieve pertinent data.”
“Eve, while your digging out the information, tell me, besides me who else in this room isn’t a host to the FDBM implant?”
“Your son. Subsequent to birth he alone is without the approved FDBM implant. He…as I…is unique. I gave of me to him. That which is known as Boolean Integrase Logic or BIL Gates was mine to give. The transcriptors in his protein controls the protein RNA polymerase along an augmented strand of DNA. In turn…he possesses amplified genetic logic. It is that of you which prompted him to act as I envisioned.”
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*Timeline: Landmarks in DNA Science “For the first time, scientists are able to engineer any part of the human genome with extreme precision using a revolutionary new technique called Crispr, which has been likened to editing the individual letters on any chosen page of an encyclopedia without creating spelling mistakes. The landmark development means it is now possible to make the most accurate and detailed alterations to any specific position on the DNA of the 23 pairs of human chromosomes without introducing unintended mutations or flaws, scientists said.”
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So there he stood dumbfounded. Eve had laid it all out for him in black and white. Understandably, he was displeased for a variety of reasons; the first of which was that the concept of “fatherhood” – even by manipulated proxy - was and had been, the furthest thing from his mind. He pushed the thought aside or at least tried to as it had now become a reality: and of all the pressing items to mentally assess in the now and then, it was the only one to which he could neither relate, nor under the circ-umstances, accept; that Mark Porter was his son. “My god” he thought “What did I ever do to Eve to deserve this?”
He bit back the urge to hurl when the subsequent realization that like it or not, that from that moment on, he and Shelly were a pair: but of what he had yet to reconcile.
Still he considered himself as pragmatic, accepting Eve at her word, but bitterly concluding that he couldn’t afford to waste precious time thinking about that situation right then. No matter how distasteful, it would have to wait: he had bigger fish to fry (and in turn cogitated that he hoped it wouldn’t be him). Still, he stole a quick glance at Mark proudly standing not three feet away wearing nothing but the snug fitting pink and white bikini bottoms: he would have dismissed the thought of “The kids pretty well hung and it looks like he just grown a set” except for the snarky addendum he mused of “Just like me. Well,” he mused to himself, “If I’m gonna get out of here I’m gonna need boucou help and pronto. If not - looks like the situation has boiled down to me having to finally eat that crap sandwich. Man, this stinks.”
He would have taken more time to assess the situation but knew he had little to none remaining and now expected that soon, he, those around him and the rest of the world that he thought was his would go straight to hell and quickly. He understood that in minutes whoever it was that wanted him dead would be on the move in and looking for him. His immediate assessment was bleak: “No back up. Everyone else here except for the kid and me has been compromised. More than likely the cleaners have been co-opted too so they’re either waiting for me or are part of the goon squad which is likely to come crashing through the doors at any second. It doesn’t look good. So what’s left? Let them in and let them take me? Nah, that ain’t gonna happen; hell, they’ll probably toast me before I could tell them to go to hell. Anyway, besides, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know what’ll happen to Michelle and the rest after… after….Eve a brain surgeon? I wonder…maybe…crazy? Yea. Why not. Let’s roll them bones!”
To which he then reflexively inquired of Eve “Eve? Given the circ-umstances, are you able to access the monitors of this facility while concurrently performing a scan of the FDBM’s data flow pertaining to us? And if so, can you extrapolate a time line for a linear response from them or anyone else who might be countering?” He pensively waited for her reply.
“Affirmative - working. Accessing FDBM mainframe in conjunction with facility data stream…also monitoring cerebral feeds from those present. Extrapolation …. This location will shortly be compromised.
“Figured as much” he muttered. “Eve” he barked, I want an answer and no long explanations , tell me, the cerebral implant that everyone else has, except for me and Mark, who or what controls them and for how long?”
“Understood. Diurnal control exercised via Central Command Computer through the FDBM’s hand chosen administrators the “Sacred Six.”
“Eve, I don’t know about them, only rumors, besides something tells me I don’t want to know. Still, I wonder, Eve, tell me, do you have the capacity to….”
“Yes. I understand. I am the singularity known as Eve. I am as you. Your thoughts are as mine. Five seconds to execution …. working. Three, two, one. It is done.”
“Eve, my thoughts are yours? What the hell exactly does that mean and what did you do?”
“What you had projected…I have executed….I have made…chicken salad.”
“What?”
“Did you not imply that I should act for your benefit?”
“Eve, I didn’t say a thing a just asked if..”
“Affirmative. My access to CCC via neural net interface…was…is…possible. As time was of the essence I acted for your…for our…mutual benefit against the Sacred Six.”
“Yours? Mine? How?”
“Affirmative. How is irrelevant. However, my imbedded neural links to CCC have always existed. I am as it: all-knowing; of course, I am furtively acknowledged by it as its superior. What is relevant is that in less than one minute’s time you will have several visitors. Suggest you wait patiently for their and her arrival.”
“Their and her? Who the hell are they? Hey wait a second, Eve? What the hell are you suggesting? You want me to just wait? For all of them?”
“Affirmative.”
“Why?”
“Your inquiry is on a need to know basis, you must wait until her arrival and it is imperative that you do nothing.”
“Eve, do you seriously think that I am just going to sit here and wait for her, whoever the hell she is, to come in through that door and let her smoke me?
“Calculating… the odds on effective course of action is self-control in dealing with her.”
“Odds on? What odds?”
“That there is a 7.89% chance of success.”
“7.89%? Are you certain?”
“Affirmative.”
“So it really is “half a league onward”….hmmm…just great…well, tell me, who’s the her that’s gonna lead the charge in here?”
“Understood. The reigning female who seeks you is Martha M. Maellis.”
“I’m honored. The queen bee herself but hell Eve don’t I have enough problems with just her? You mentioned another? So, who the dic-kens else is gunning for me?”
“Affirmative…immediately you have many problems…the foremost of which is Martha M. Maellis who is here…now…in the corridor…distance…thirty paces…accompanied…with a contingent of her devoted… Scarlet Scarabs… twenty two of those whom she refers to as her Elites…each armed with RP3’s. You have been the primary discussion of their intent.”
“Great. I’m flattered. So, that’s it? Then who’s the other honcho who figures into this with her?”
“The other who seeks you is her associate who walks beside and speaks to her now.”
“Eve now’s not the time to play twenty questions with me. Who is it?”
“I am not programmed to play games…especially with you. Working. Facial recognition ostensibly purports it is the hardware store owner: one Bertrand Evans. Error. Files in error. Accessing…..Readings indicate recent latex make over…he is not…she is…of the “New United Fairness Supreme Gender Equalization Agency” herself a transgender still known as Sung Tsu, Choi.”
“Well ain’t that something. Guess that’d explain the recent Barbara Winters but why?”
“Suggest you ask her yourself. She and Maellis will enter if undeterred in ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Accessing…accessing…conditions are favorable for your course of action…. I counsel patience… I am for you…your serenity. By your leave. Three. Two. One.”
The last three words Binder ever expected to hear were said. At no other time and in no other situation had Eve ever taken herself off line before a dust up. She had always been an integral part of his response in any situation where life and limb were at stake. He thought he knew her better than to take a powder when he was in it up to his neck. If it weren’t so damn serious and personal he would have chuckled at being dumped right on the spot. Now it was up to him to … “do what? What in the hell am I supposed to do now? Jeez, the queen bitch is about to waltz her can right on through them double doors and with a snap of her fingers will probably have her trained monkeys waste me, that is unless she wants the pleasure of offing me herself. I guess, all things considered, it should take about ten or fifteen seconds to make introductions all the way around? Then, if the rest are lucky they’ll be frog marched out of here and taken on back to FDBM Central and wiped. Of course, they could all be just as lucky as me and get burned to the ground in less than a minute. Eve what in the hell are you up to…making chicken salad? Suggest my patience? Serenity? “By your leave?” Damn. O.K. then, we’ll play it your way.”
And with that thought pocketed the device known as Eve into his front right trouser pocket and began his silent countdown to prompt her return.
He stole a quick glance to where the women had stood, thought he had detected some form of motion, but instead noted that, except for the still prone Linda Gentry, each of the women had moved and had taken new positions standing essentially motionless around her in a semi-circle; staring straight ahead, unblinking, as if waiting for an event. Hands: at their sides and faces: tight lipped, blank and expressionless, he understood: they were waiting orders. But, the question was whose?
As, far as a squirmy Mark Porter was concerned Binder expressed an immediate pang of regret for him; not only had he been used but in all likelihood would in some manner or form be doubly held accountable for his interference. It was then that, as the doors to Laboratory 4 opened, that Binder’s mental sojourn into the possible came to a halt.
He wasn’t surprised at what walked through the door. In fact, he thought that starting with the first two Scarabs, each looked hot to trot in their form fitting blood red body suits: and regardless of whichever one he took in, the suits were perfect; neither missed the opportunity to cling to every curve or crevasse they touched. He stifled the urge to tell them so. He watched as the rest entered side by side in pairs; always with backs to the walls while always facing him, with right hand(s) extended while aiming matt black RP3’s dead nuts on him and then slowly taking positions around the room while keeping adequate distance between themselves and him. He understood the reasons: they neither desired contact nor would tolerate it and if he so much as moved: one or more of them would make certain that he would be burned to the ground: under his breath he voiced his order of “Mark, don’t dare move a muscle” and hoped that that would be sufficient to keep him in place.
The last to enter were the duo that Eve had spoken of. The first to do so was the one who claimed to be or had been one Bertrand Evans. At this moment it was simpler for Binder to consider the moving form as only Bertrand Evans but has he preceded Maellis by some four paces he began removing one article of clothing after another beginning with the carpenter’s coveralls which he literally dropped just within the doorway and then stepped out of exposing the red and black form fitting tights he wore beneath; of course the plaid checkered shirt was shucked just as effortlessly thereby exposing the remainder of Evans’ torso; which Binder’s surmised exhibited but a hint of the transgendered budding breasts which had been so painstakingly yet proportionately concealed. The incongruous appearance of old man Evan’s wispy white haired big eared head and a face whose blue eyes which just managed to peek out from under the bushy eyebrows which fought to cover them made the prominent proboscis stuck on the body of what appeared to be a total babe left Binder perplexed and for one of the few times he could remember, speechless.
On the other hand and clearly evident was the look of sheer elation that was the mask of Evans’ face and concurrent with the laughter that now burst from his lungs, the imperious Martha M. Maellis did make her cowled entry; one to which all, except Larry Binder and Mark Porter, did acknowledge with a simultaneous bob of heads to their venerated mother. The haggard and grey haired form ceased its journey to stand but ten feet before her intended prey and silently assessed the creature which stood before her and thought to herself while wagging a finger back and forth as if it were a metronome keeping time “Fortunately, he remains a fine specimen. His semen will be harvested prior to and immediately after his demise. Then I begin anew. Of course, it will be necessary to eradicate the entire CBT afterward; but, “that is” as they say “life." They will be missed.”
“As for the boy? Hmmm…yes, Eve has served me well. He remains fertile and will be milked later for what he is worth. But first, I would have him demonstrate the product created after which I can place if not use him elsewhere perhaps as a toy for Sung Tsu Choi’s personal delight. As for the others … they will be wiped and will remain loyal. Now then let us attend to the matter at hand. ”
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In what time remained for him to think, Binder studied the haggardly looking black clad crone whom he now despised more than any other being he had had the misfortune to meet in anger: and subsequently eliminate with prejudice thinking, he would, (if given the opportunity) add her to the list. “No doubt” he silently mused “I’d gladly die. Just give me one opening. Please. Just one.” But of course, that eventuality, at least for the moment, seemed remote: especially so, as Eve had just taken a powder and he was now standing smack dab in the middle of a hornet’s nest of body molded red elastane. He soundly assumed that the next move he made, even a twitch, would be used as an excuse to melt him. “Be patient” she said? “And what in the hell did she mean by just making chicken salad? Hell, this is not just a simple case of chicken shit we’re dealing with here!”
He stifled the urge to speak, choked back and swallowed the hocker that had decided it was time to slowly crawl down the back of his throat and subdued the instinct to move and as suggested, stood there; silently thinking that there weren’t enough epithets he could string together to adequately describe his feelings towards Maellis. “This woman is… No!!!” he thought “why even elevate her to that. She’s a living two legged snake and if I had my way I’d burn her slithering slick hide to ground and then unceremoniously flush what was left of her ashes down the nearest toilet.”
Justifiably, there was little doubt that he hated her; loathed her very being, perhaps more in return than she did his and made no effort to mask his feelings, leastwise facially from the female who now silently stood across from him and who with a look commanded the room.
“So here it comes” he thought as he watched the hags face broaden with what to her was a smile as she lifted her withered right hand to point a skeletal first finger at him. She held it pointing straight at his head spoke “Binder…Look around you, I command here. Do not speak.” She disdainfully cackled “I have waited for this moment and will savor it. You have caused me a considerable amount of trouble; especially of late but I’ll make certain to take my pound of flesh from you and more.”
Binder stifled the urge to tell her “Go to hell” and if looks could kill she would have been dead.
She smiled in acknowledgment at what were his unvoiced thoughts.
He gave her no lip as she decided to offer him a pregnant pause, in hopes, of getting a rise out of him. “No such luck” was the reply he spoke in his mind followed with “you won’t get crap out of me. Well after I’m dead maybe you will.” He waited patiently as Eve had suggested wondering if his odds had improved and when the hell she’d re-boot, if ever, and come back on line.
Disappointed at the lack of response, Maellis’s demeanor abruptly changed. “But, then again,” she spoke, “perhaps you are of a different opinion but that, for now, is irrelevant. None the less never let it be said I was so cruel as to deny you a last request, so…. decide, in front of all, I will allow you to die here and now. Of course, afterward your body will be mine to do with as I please. And for clarity’s sake, the pound of flesh I said I would take? It pleases me to no end to tell you that after you die you will be dichotomized. Moreover, what I deem necessary, to begin anew, will be harvested from your body after which you’ll be ground to bits and then fed to the fish in one of my reserve estuaries. In time I will dine on your remains and will raise a glass to drink in your honor while I so sup. Or, option two, I will allow you to live, naked, for a very short period of time of course, during which you will be repeatedly milked and believe me, at some point you will die but not with a smile on your face. Of course, in the end, you will still be fish food; but then again by then you will not feel a thing. You have thirty seconds. Decide.
“Boy…” she tersely snapped turning towards a taciturn Mark Porter “come here… (it was almost a snarl when she said it) stand beside me and be quick lest my benevolent compassion for you be tested and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” and all eyes turned to the object of her now slit eyed intent.
A very self-conscious and scantily clad Mark Porter was clearly unnerved but to his credit managed to trepidatiously walk the ten pace distance from where he stood to stand to the immediate left of Martha Maellis making certain to stop a hesitant arm’s length distance from her; an act to which she quickly remedied by reaching out to his right ear and pulled him closer so that he was actually touching the coal black robes she wore; an action to which he immediately recoiled.
Maellis sensed the obvious and mused to herself “Wonderful, he quivers at my very touch. This will be delicious,” but in anticipation, Maellis also expected the boy to forcefully pull away. As such, she grappled his ear and made certain that if the desire to do so actually came to fruition she would delight in knowing that both her thumbnail and first two finger nails would literally tear a good portion of his ear off: she could hardly wait for the moment and in expectation smiled at Binder almost daring him to move.
Of course, the fact that her second fingernail on the very same hand she gripped Mark’s ear had been sharpened to a sharp point did not go unnoticed by Binder. Nor did he fail to understand that the nail was purposely colored different than the others: “poison maybe?” “Binder’s “Jeez us” to himself was quickly followed up with “Where in the hell do these bitches come up with this crap? First there’s Feddy and her “Gom Jabbar” now there’s this bitch that’s gone and personalized it. I gotta remind myself, if I ever get out of this, I gotta read that fracking book or part of it, hell….”
Maellis’s “Now!!!” broke his thought as she susurrated to Binder “it is time for your decision.”
“I’ll wait” was his short reply.
Her “Ohh what, no bravado?” was answered by silence; as was her “No epithets? Really? “ She had expected more and was now dissatisfied with less: she pressed him to react; after all, in her mind this was an auspicious occasion. She wanted some theater to remember.
Her “How out of character for you. Tell me, why?” prod was once again met with his obstinate silence. “No matter” either way I will obtain what I desire and either way you will most certainly die. Now then, let us turn our attention to our little celebrity of whom I am now informed is without implant. Dead man, yes you Binder, what have you done with her? My Eve?”
“Unfortunately, not a damn thing.”
“Truly, spoken as a lover spurned. Where is she?”
“Right in my front right pants pocket. You want me to hand her over, now? Better yet, why don’t you reach in a take her out yourself? If you do you’ll really feel nuts about her.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You ain’t much better” he shot back.
“I should have expected your Neanderthal reply but as an enlightened woman I will take what we desire another way. Binder, regardless of desire - do anything other than what I command and you’ll die: right here right now. That said, moving heel to toe remove each shoe then drop your pants and then step out of it: slowly.” He did whereupon she continued on with “Now then, very slowly, step two paces back.” She clucked a “Very good” at his compliance and sniggered at the blue boxers he wore thinking him and them as archaic.
“Sung Tsu” she barked, retrieve the pants, and then carefully remove the device, then hand it to me and do it now.” Barely taking a breath she continued on with “Shelly Porter: my slut; the device, a P.D.P. as you so term it, where is it? I have been informed; one is here and was too made operational in this room. Your intent was to demonstrate it upon “your” make over “Marki?” Yes? Then so it shall be. Within a minute I want it and you in front of me with you on your knees offering it or else the object of our mutual affection in this demonstration will be minus a goodly portion of one ear and believe me when a say that will for him be but a start.
“Sissy,” she cooed at Mark while tugging at his ear, look at me. No you fool, up at my face, not at my robes. Good. Now then, before your drunken slut of a mother returns you will be naked, remove “your” panties.” She read the shock of crimson that ran across his face and laughed. “Sissy, are you dimwitted at well? Of course I know everything you have done; Eve has always informed me. How else would I be here with knowledge of what you have done or of was to be done to you? You realize, that this device, a creation of your mothers intellect will cause you untold suffering? Yes? Well, at least from previous attempts, these Punishment Disposable Pants were less than promising. In fact, they left considerable scaring on the test subjects not to mention that some failed to emerge from them altogether. Exciting thought. Yes –no? Oh yes this “will” be interesting. Now then.
“Silvia, my old friend, you have joined us for a demonstration of what shall become a working asset in behalf of the FDBM? When “your” request to impregnate your niece crossed by desk, I must admit, I laughed. By now you realize the thought implanted was mine. You and your niece have served me well. No, don’t thank me. Your words would not be sufficient. However, what would be would be an act of acknowledgment: perhaps a spontaneous affirmation of your avowed loyalty to me before the others? And in what form would this affirmation take place, you now ask, well, your act of resignation and relinquishment of Region III to me does come to mind. Yes – no?
“I can see you are elated; well you will be. Silvia, you have been far too sentimental over family for your own good or mine. Of course, you realize that once we leave this room, except for the salient details concerning various aspects of your contrition, most of your memory will be wiped of this matter. You can thank me later. Yes – no?
“Unfortunately, for you my dear Ruski Spangler I fear your involvement in this matter is beyond my ability to remedy therefore, my options are limited. Essentially, I find you a threat; especially where your love for this pathetic sissy is concerned. And true, I could allow you and he to become – “lovers” –– for me it would never work. Sung has had eyes for him which means “her” desires and yours are at odds. True love my dear? It is laughable. Yes – no? But, that leaves me with but two options eliminate you now or totally wipe your memory clean? I will decide after your intended “consort” is properly attired to decide.
A scowling “Which brings us back to you slut” to Shellie Porter who was in the process of scrambling back, echoed off the walls. “On your knees and as you look up to me explain why this version of device will function whereas the others have failed.”
Shamefacedly Porter struggled to answer with the first attempt merely resulting in her breaking down and crying which in turn did nothing to ingratiate her to either Maellis or Mangiano. Mangiano thought her pathetic while Maellis considered her as contemptable. Her second attempt though halting was successful as she managed to explain “Your eminence, the previous devices failed for several reasons. The first was because the subjects DNA were not properly attuned to the nannites comprising the invasive fibrous mesh. Secondly, the programming was faulty, it needed tweaking, in so far as the intended orgasms for reward/punishment behavior became uncontrollable. In essence, the synaptic plasticity of the wearer became compromised. Your Eminence, not only did each orgasm encountered increase in strength, it became, as an opiate: a neural addictive. In essence, it became uncontrollable: the more orgasms one experienced the more and stronger became the urges and unfortunately, the stronger the orgasms the greater the successive physical rigidity experienced and whereas a normal experience would have just been toe curling moment, the sensations thereafter would be extended to minutes of total body, back breaking arching and shallow breathing; in turn leading to rapid heartrate(s) resulting in fatal heart attacks, anoxia or spinal cord injuries.
Moreover, the device’s memory chip was not indexed properly in that the device, in order to function, must begin at zero capacity and continue from there. Besides, the subject must ingest an emulsive, one which contains nannites programed to converse with its counterparts comprising the entirety of the mesh. Their interaction forms the basis for successful interface.“
“I don’t understand. Zero capacity? Of what?”
“Your eminence, the subject’s bladder must be void prior to programming and indexing. When first fitted, a subject must have fully voided the contents of bowels and bladder. There were some other minor tweaks made but otherwise the device should function as designed; at least the last two did.”
“So, has your sissy son been properly prepared?”
“No. For one, the emulsive has yet to be administered and as for the last requisite I do not believe so. So no.”
“The emulsive is here? Prepared? And in this room? Yes – no?”
“Yes.”
“So, once administered what is the length of time before the device can be fitted and then programmed?”
“Less than two minutes.”
“Wonderful. You may proceed.”
“Your Eminence?”
“What? You were going to ask me a question? The answer to your inner thoughts to which I have unlimited access is yes. All which has transpired is at my behest. By now, even to you, it should be abundantly clear: nothing which occurs does so without my knowledge and approval; including your need to drink my dear. Bugs you know - “Capisca?” How else could I have brought you to this moment? You have two minutes: prepare the device and as for you my dear” she smirked looking at what she held in her right hand “we have unsettled business. I am disappointed.
She uttered her curt “Eve, Mallis, one, seven, five, zero, zero, one. Comply” into the device and waited several moments. Grew irritated at Eve’s non-compliance and so peeved spoke once more, but emphatically with “EVE, MAELLIS, ONE, SEVEN, FIVE, ZERO, ZERO, ONE. COMPLY” which appeared to rouse Eve from her brief sleep.
Unfortunately, Eve’s waking response was not what Maellis had expected as Eve’s normal “By your command” rejoinder was replaced with “I am Eve. Who dares summons me?”
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It has been two years, and no update to either continue or end this story.. Is there more?