Zodiac Coin: Scorpio
By Ellie Dauber (c) 2006

Unprincipled legal gun for hire, Sam Ralston, is forced/brined to take on a charity case, a woman accused of threatening an urban drug lord who is one of Sam’s regular clients. The bribe is the Scorpio Coin, and Sam uses it in ways he never would have imagined. The result… read for yourself. The tale also contains the conclusion of the background tale of how the coins came to be.

Zodiac Coin: Scorpio
By Ellie Dauber (c) 2006

Between 2002 and 2005, a writer named JRD wrote a series of stories about the Zodiac Coins. The coins were created by an unspecified pantheon of gods over 4000 years ago. Each coin was linked to a different sign of the Zodiac. A coin could grant three wishes of limited extent (no wishing for something like “World Peace), with the wisher gradually taking on character traits associated with that Zodiacal sign. Also, by the end of the tale, someone – the wisher, a friend, lover significant other, whoever would become trapped as a sexy she-male.

JRD was a good writer and his (her?) ninety stories on FictionMania are worth reading. Unfortunately, JRD’s last story was “Zodiac Coin: Cancer”, the eleventh story in the series. I was asked to complete the series, and this story is the result. Let me know what you think.

* * * * *

2234 YEARS AGO...

The merchant knew high magic when he saw it and he was wise enough to know that it was more than he could deal with. He set off to the city to seek help, but was lost in a violent mountain storm and never seen again.

His family mourned him. They feared that they would be left destitute, until an old woman no one had ever seen stopped in the village. "Dig a new well," she urged them, pointing to a place in their field. When they did, they found a chest full of jewels that provided comfort for the rest of their days. "Payment," the old woman said and passed from their sight.

Those who knew of the coins all agreed that they must now be in the hands of the gods.

In the hands of the gods? No, because no god could bear the touch of the metal of these coins. A grand council was called. Time moves differently in the godrealm, but, even here, the council lasted far longer than any had expected. Or desired.

After long study, the god of all workers in metal finally declared that he could shift the magic within the metal so that it was focused on the symbol borne on that coin and harmless to the gods. Each coin would grant three wishes for its bearer, and those wishes would pass some attribute of the zodiacal symbol on to the wisher. Since the wishes would be linked to a positive attribute of the symbol, they could not be used to harm another.

The magic could be redirected, yes, but only by the combined power of all of the gods. Yet, as dangerous as the coins were to them all, the war god could not bear to destroy so strong and so subtle a weapon. His refusal meant that there was not enough power to redirect the magic of the coins.

There was enough power for other things.

The next morning, the war god awoke to discover that he was much changed. His body, a mass of muscles honed by centuries of combat was now smaller, rounded into feminine curves of bust, hip and leg. His rough military tunic was a sheer linen chemise, and his arms, so soft and white, no longer had the strength to lift a sword. All that remained of his true body were those parts that still let him call himself male.

As he tried to understand what had happened to him, his delicate ears were filled with the laughter of the other gods.

* * * * *

The jury foreman was a heavyset man in a brown jacket and a pair of jeans. He looked nervous when Judge Kaiser had him stand. Kaiser was a tall, barrel-chested man with piercing brown eyes and slate gray hair, a judge straight out of central casting.

"How does the jury find on the first count, burglary?" the judge asked

The foreman swallowed. "We... that is, the jury find Mr. Baldini... not guilty." He didn't look very happy. The judge went through the other four counts. The answer was the same.

"This jury having somehow found Emil Baldini not guilty of all counts," Kaiser finally said, "I have no choice but to declare this trial at an end." He looked like he was sucking a lemon. "Your client is free to go, Mr. Ralston and I would like to see you in my chambers in a half hour."

Sam Ralston looked at the judge in surprise. "Does this concern my client, Your Honor?" Ralston was a tall man, impeccably dressed in a light gray suit. Every blonde hair was in place, and he spoke in a pleasant baritone that radiated truthful authority.

"Only in the sense that his acquittal is the latest in a long list of very sorry accomplishments," the judge told him. "It is that list, rather than any single case on it, that I would like to discuss."

"In that case, I'll be happy to meet with you, Your Honor."

"Fine. There being no further business before this court, I declare it..." he pounded his gavel twice. "...adjourned." The judge rose, as did everyone else. He nodded to the crowd and left through a door just to the left of his bench.

* * * * *

"What the fuck was that all about," Emil Baldini asked his lawyer. They were alone in a small room reserved for lawyers and their clients that was down the hall from Criminal Court. Baldini was a short, wiry man with slicked back hair. "Why's he wanna with meet you?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Emil, but he said that it didn't concern you. You're free to go, so why don't you? Just pay me first."

"You said an extra five grand if I got off, right?" When the lawyer nodded, Baldini took a thick envelop out of his jacket and handed it to Ralston. "You think you're so smart, don't you?"

Ralston nodded. "I do. And so do you, or you wouldn't have paid me so much to defend you against those charges." He lowered his voice to a whisper, though the room was soundproof. "And, since we both know you that you really did steal those jewels, it was a good thing that you did hire me, isn't it?"

"Damn straight. I guess putting up with a little lip from you is better than looking at ten to twenty years hard time."

"Fine. Now that we've settled how smart I am, I'll head to T.R.'s... to Judge Kaiser's chambers and see what he wants. Try to stay out of trouble for a while -- or, at least, don't get caught, okay." He turned and headed for the door before the other man could answer him.

* * * * *

"Thump-thump-a-thump-thump."

Without looking up from the paperwork on his desk at the sound of the knock, the Honorable Judge Theodore Roosevelt Kaiser called out, "Two bits... come in Sam."

"Hi, T.R.," Sam greeted the judge. Like his namesake, Judge Kaiser preferred his initials to "Ted" or "Teddy."

The chambers were small, but well furnished; shelves full of law books lined three walls. The fourth was a mostly single, large window with an excellent view of the city. The judge was behind an oversized oak desk with three comfortable looking chairs in front of it. Sam picked one and sat down. "What'd you want to see me about?"

Kaiser sighed and looked up at him. "I wanted to tell you how disappointed I am in you, Sam. When you joined my firm, just out of law school, you wanted to be the next Clarence Darrow, protecting the little people from oppressive laws. Now... now you're a hired gun, for sale to the worst scum in the city."

"Didn't you always say that every person was entitled to a defense? After all, Gideon v. U.S. found that --"

"I know what it found, and I still believe in it. But there's a difference between trying to keep folks out of jail for something they didn't do and working for crooks who'll pay you big money to help them get away with what they did do."

"The point, T.R., is that juries found them all 'not guilty.' That makes them innocent -- at least in the eyes of the law."

"It makes them 'not guilty.' We both know that there's a vast difference between the two."

"A half vast difference, anyway." Sam tried to make a joke. He and the judge weren't as close as they had been, but he still respected the man. That was why he hadn't objected to his being Emil's judge. Still, this line of conversation was making him uncomfortable. "Isn't there anything else we can talk about?"

T.R. sighed again. "Yes. Yes, there is. We were friends once, Sam. Maybe we still are. In light of that, I'd like to say a few things, to ask a favor..." He shrugged. "...and offer you a bribe to agree to it."

"I'm not agreeing to anything, mind you, but, for old time's sake, I'll listen."

"I sit on the state bar association's review board, and I happen to know that you're going to be brought up on ethics charges. One of the points being raised is that you haven't come anywhere close to the canon's recommended minimums on pro bono work."

Sam was furious. "Who says I'm not doing any pro bono?" He stopped. Had it really been that long since he'd taken a charity case?

"I won't tell you that. I'll just say that there was more than one name on the letter. I brought you in here today to give you an out."

"What do you mean, T.R.?"

"You're a damn fine lawyer, Sam. I know you well enough that I'd have to recuse myself if there was a hearing, so I'm trying to avoid that by asking you to take a pro bono case. After all, they can't say that you take such cases if you're in the middle of one." The judge smiled. "Especially one that you took before the question was formally raised."

Sam nodded. "Still the master of bending the law. We aren't as different as you make us out to be."

"Yes, we are. I'm doing this for your benefit, not my own."

"Have it your way. Now... about this bribe you mentioned?"

Kaiser reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick folder of papers. When he put it down, a large, old looking coin fell out and onto his desk. "That's your bribe."

"Doesn't look like it's worth much." He picked it up. "Too light to be gold." It was a metallic yellow color, about the size of a quarter, blank on one side with a very nice, embossed image of a scorpion set to strike or the other.

"It isn't, though I couldn't tell you what it is. I will tell you what it does. It grants wishes."

Sam made an odd face. "It does what?"

"It grants wishes; three wishes to be exact."

"Your Honor is kidding, right?"

"Never been more serious. And, no, I haven't used it myself. My... uh, father did. That's how I got the money for law school, among other things."

Sam nodded. His maternal grandfather had paid for his education, including law school. He caught himself wondering what the old man, whom he remembered as a strong believer in the letter of the law, would think of him now.

"It grants wishes," he said, returning to the conversation. "And you're just giving it to me?"

"I don't need it. I'm very happy with my life. A wish will only work on one or two persons, so I can't use it to end crime or cure cancer."

"Still sounds too good to be true."

"Well, there is one catch. You see that scorpion on it?" Sam nodded, and the judge continued. "In ancient Greece, the scorpion was the symbol of the vengeful seeker of justice and the protector of the innocent, the one who went after anybody who'd done them or anybody else wrong. As you use the wishes, you'll take on that role. You'll also find that you can't use the coin to make a wish that would harm someone."

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'm already making my living defending innocent people. I'll take the case. And the bribe." He put the coin in a jacket pocket.

"How you can call your current client list innocents with a straight face is something I truly cannot comprehend."

"The law says they're innocent, at least till a jury says otherwise." Sam answered him. "So what's this big case I'm taking?"

"Jorge Ruiz is a client of yours, isn't he?" Sam nodded. He'd kept Ruiz out of prison on drug charges several times. If rumors were true, the man controlled half the dealers in the city and was trying to get control of the other half. Sam never looked too closely at what his clients did.

The judge handed Sam the folder. The younger man opened it and began to look at the material.

"Your client is a Mrs. Alita Thompson," Kaiser told him. "She and her husband, Jamal, lived across the street from a drug house over in the Flats. They kept calling the cops, taking pictures of people, writing down license plates, that sort of thing. They got a lot of anonymous threats, garbage dumped on their lawn... minor harassment, mostly. They didn't stop. About a week ago, somebody did a drive-by. She was at church. Jamal was killed. She'd seen Ruiz at the place, acting like the big boss they say he is. She stormed into Ruiz' office with a pistol the day after the funeral yelling that she was going to blow him away."

"Let me guess. He called the cops and had them throw the book at her, trespass, attempted assault, attempted murder, and on and on."

"Concealed weapons charge, too... and she didn't have a permit."

"Mr. Ruiz is an honest businessman," Sam said without much conviction. "Maybe we can get him to drop the charges if she agrees to psychiatric --"

"That's the old Sam Ralston talking," T.R. replied firmly. "The new Sam Ralston is going to get those charges dropped or, better yet, get a jury to let her go."

Sam smiled wryly. "Do I get any points for making a good try?"

* * * * *

Sam recognized Alita Thompson from her picture in T.R.'s file. She was a short Black woman in her late fifties, her gray hair done up in a braid. Even in a prison uniform, she had a special air of dignity about her. It almost made the large uniformed man with her seem more like an escort or retainer, rather than the guard bringing a prisoner to him in the visitors' room of the city jail. She sat down and picked up the phone that allowed them to talk in spite of the thick pain of glass between them.

"Do I know you, sir?" she asked.

"Not yet, Ms. Thompson."

"Mrs. Thompson, thank you."

"Mrs. Thompson, then. My name is Sam Ralston. I'm your attorney."

She studied him for a moment. "They must pay you legal aid people a lot if you can dress like that."

"I don't work for legal aid. I'm in private practice. I took your case pro bono. That means 'for good', as a charity case, if you will."

"I don't like being charity, but I ain't got the money to hire a lawyer on my own. You must be a pretty good lawyer, if you can charge enough to be wearing a suit like that."

"I am, and I'll be working as hard to defend you as I would any other client. I want you to know that."

"Thank you, Mr. Ralston. I figures I can use all the help I can get."

Sam took out a legal pad. "Now, tell me what happened."

Mrs. Thompson told him about the drug house and what she and her husband had seen. The evidence was pretty good. They'd also seen Ruiz - - her description of him was dead on -- and they'd seen the other men defer to him. Then she told him about the threats, vandalism, phone calls in the middle of the night, and, finally, how she'd come back from church and...

"My Jamal, he was sitting on the porch. I thought he was sleeping, and I went to wake him. That's... that's when I seen the... the blood on his shirt, the one he-he put on clean that morning."

Her voice cracked, but she continued. "I got a phone call about a hour after I got back from the funeral. The voice said if I made any more trouble for them, I'd be seeing my Jamal again real soon."

"I was scared, more scared than I ever been, but I wanted them scared, too. I got out that pistol, the one Jamal brought back from 'Nam, and I went to see that devil, Ruiz."

"And he had you arrested." Sam interrupted her. He had a plan; he just had to trick -- to get her to go along.

"He did. I'm here in jail, now, and I may be for a long, long, time, but I'd do it again in a minute, if it'd stop him selling that poison."

"It won't, Mrs. Thompson. I'm sorry to tell you that. Even the pictures you took, did that stop them?"

"No, sir. The police, they come out and arrest the whole lot of them, but they was back the next day..." She sighed. "Doing the Devil's work again."

"So you didn't accomplish very much, even with all it cost you, did it?" He took a breath. "I think the best way to go in this case is your state of mind. You were... distraught over your husband's death, and somehow you fixated on Mr. Ruiz --"

"Fixated! That sinner, he... he runs that drug house; he had my Jamal killed. I just know it"

"Can you prove that, prove any of it?"

"No." Her voice was soft, low, and she was looking down at the floor, not at him.

"Then I think we have to say that you were too upset to know what you were doing. It's our best chance."

"To say I'm crazy."

"No, to say that you were upset. After all, you'd just lost your husband. It's... it's understandable. Mr. Ruiz may be willing to drop the charges. If not, well, I'm fairly certain that I can get a jury to go lightly -- maybe even acquit you."

"And Ruiz, what happens to him?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid. You were the one who threatened him, after all."

"So, I'm crazy and he's innocent. I'm not sure I likes that." She looked at him for a moment as if studying him. "I'm not sure I likes you neither, but you're my lawyer. I'll think about it."

* * * * *

"Samuel, my friend, what brings you to my office?" Jorge Ruiz rose and offered his manicured hand, as Sam walked into his office. Ruiz was a tall, muscular man in a dark blue silk shirt and olive tie. His hand- tailored jacket was draped over the back of his chair.

Sam shook Ruiz' hand and took a seat. "I hear you had some trouble last week, Jorge, a Mrs. Thompson."

"Si. That crazy woman came to my office -- to my office -- with a gun. She said that she was going to pop me, but mi hermano -- my man Carlos took the gun away." He laughed. "Then we called the police. She will be away for a long time for what she tried to do."

"Maybe not," Sam replied. "Not if she has a good lawyer."

"She does not have the money for a good lawyer."

"I know; she's asked legal aide for help."

"Even better. If those lawyers were worth anything, they have their own practices and not have to work for the city."

"Actually, some of them are fairly good lawyers, but the matter is moot anyway. I've taken her case as a pro bono. That means I'm doing it for free."

Ruiz stiffened. "What the hell are you doing? If you're trying to pull something on me, I'll..." He let the threat go unsaid.

"Actually, I'm trying to do something for you."

"For me? She is the one who is in trouble."

"Right, and you're just a poor businessman trying to make an honest living. Jorge, at a trial, she can tell them why she wanted you dead: the drug house, the threats, her husband's death. A jury that hears what she has to say might not only acquit her, it could indite you."

"And how are you going to keep that from happening?"

"I'm her lawyer. Her defense is what I say it is. This poor woman, so distraught over her husband's accidental death, somehow fixates on a local businessman. I don't know; maybe she thinks killing you will bring him back, the poor woman."

"Am I going to have to testify?"

"No, and you should keep away from the court, your men, too. Anybody asks, you tell them you... ah, sympathize with Mrs. Thompson, but you don't want to set her off again because it might hurt her case. In fact, I've let it slip to a few people that I'm defending her because you asked me to."

Ruiz let loose a hearty laugh. He put his hand on his heart and looked upward. "I am truly a saint."

"Then you understand what I'm doing? You don't have any problem with it?"

"No problem. You're looking after my interests in a fancy bit of CYA."

"Exactly."

"Fine, then, Samuel. You cover my ass." Ruiz' eyes narrowed to slits. "Get the bitch off. You just make damned sure she understands that I only let you do it because she is not worth the trouble of killing. Make sure, also, of one other thing."

"Sure, Jorge. What?"

Ruiz grinned, showing a line of gleaming white teeth. "You make sure she knows that if she ever makes trouble for my operation again -- let alone dares to personally threaten me -- I will make her wish that I had let them put her in jail." He chuckled. "Not that I could not have her popped in the joint if I wanted to."

"Ummm, sure, Jorge. I'll --"

A cell phone's ring interrupted. Jorge grabbed the phone from the charger on his desk. "Ruiz. Who -- si, si, mi hermano. Momento." He turned to Sam. "Anything else?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll leave you alone for the call." He stood and quickly walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

* * * * *

Sam stood in Ruiz' outer office, trying to catch his breath. "That man is creepy." He whispered to himself, feeling a bit guilty at all the help he'd been to Ruiz in the past. "Still, if it wasn't me, it would've been some other lawyer. For now, I think my best bet is to go along with him. I just hope I can convince Mrs. Thompson to go along, too. She is one stubborn lady. I wish I could hang around here without anybody getting suspicious till I could find some real evidence on Jorge, something that would convince her to keep a low --"

He stopped. He suddenly felt... dizzy... disoriented. He started to bring his hand to his forehead and stopped. He... he could see through his hand. "Great," he whispered, "I'm turning invisible. I'll be able to stand there and see where they hide the evidence."

In moments, his body was gone. He couldn't see himself. But he couldn't feel himself either. It was more like his body had evaporated. He was a wisp, a spirit. As he tried to understand what he had become, he felt himself being pulled off his feet and across the room towards the desk where Ruiz' secretary was working at her desktop.

He felt a sort of "thoomp", as if he fallen into something, something soft that flowed up and around him. His body shifted into a sitting position. Everything seemed... different, very different.

Sam looked down at himself. His suit jacket was gone, and his white shirt had become a low-cut pale yellow blouse, a blouse did little to hide the pair of C-cup breasts inside it. He wore a small silver cross on a chain long enough that dipped almost to his cleavage. His skin was darker, too, far past his usual deep tan. "What the --" His voice was higher now, a woman's voice with a slight trace of Spanish accent.

Sam felt shaky and shifted in the chair. As he did, the intercom on the desk buzzed. He somehow knew which button to press. "Si."

"Marissa." It was Jorge. "I am going out for a bit. Have Manuel bring the car around."

Sam -- no, Marissa -- pressed a second button and heard an auto dial. When a gruff voice answered, she repeated Ruiz' instructions. The voice mumbled something and hung up. She looked up to see Ruiz hurry past her desk.

Her desk? "That was my first wish," she realized. "I... I've become Marissa deLuna, Mr. Ruiz' secretary."

She looked down at herself again. Marissa had a good figure: large breasts, narrow waist and wide hips encased in a short brown skirt, and now it was hers. Her pantyhose covered legs were well curved. She crossed them, and the empty feeling at her crotch proved that she was totally female.

She reached into the bottom drawer of the desk, where she kept her purse -- how the hell had she known that? -- and pulled out a small compact. She looked in the mirror to see a Latina in her early twenties. Her dark skin, aquiline nose, and high cheekbones hinted at a Native American or two in her ancestry. She had a round face with full lips and long straight brown hair done up in a ponytail that reached well down her back. 'Not bad,' she thought.

'I'm not sure that I like being a woman,' she thought, 'even one as pretty as this, but it's the perfect way to get access to this office.' She chuckled to herself. 'I can really search this place and find the evidence I need to get Mrs. Thompson off by proving that she was right and that Jorge did have her husband killed.'

The thought struck her as odd. She had just wanted enough evidence to scare Mrs. Thompson into cooperating. Now she wanted to put the man away for what he'd done to her client. "The wish," she said aloud. "T.R. told me it would make some kind of avenging angeL out of me. I guess he was right about that."

She looked down at the pile of papers on her desk. She had some typing to do for Ruiz' legitimate businesses. Then she'd take a look at his files and see what sort of interesting stuff she could come up with.

* * * * *

The judge was sitting in a corner booth at the back of the pizzeria. Marissa walked over slowly, trying not to be noticed. In the four-inch heels and brown leather mini-dress she wore, that wasn't easy.

"You are Señor Kaiser?" she asked quietly. When T.R. nodded and politely stood up, she slipped into the booth opposite him.

"Now, just a minute young woman." He stepped out of the booth. There were people who would like nothing more than to get an incriminating picture of him. Was somebody trying to set him up?

"It is all right. I have a message from Señor Ralston." She was still getting used to her slight accent.

T.R. frowned. "He sends me an e-mail asking to meet him here like something out of a spy movie, and now he can't be bothered to show up." He sighed and sat back down. "Okay, what's the message?"

"The message is..." Marissa paused for a moment. This was it. "...hey, T.R. How're they hanging, you old codfish?"

"Codfish." It was a private nickname Sam had given him after a weekend of fishing about five years before. They were the only two who knew about it. The judge studied the young girl for a moment. "Sam, is that you in there?"

"I'm afraid so, T.R. That coin of yours really works."

"So it would seem. I never figured you for someone who wanted to... ah, change that way."

"I'm not. I wished I could hang around Ruiz' offices and search for evidence without anybody getting suspicious. The coin somehow stuck me in his secretary's body."

"Smart coin. Any luck?"

"Yeah, and it has been all bad. I haven't found anything, and the case comes up in a few days. I'm not sure how to proceed, and, worse, I am not sure how I can try the case looking like this."

"Hmm. I can help you with the latter. As I told you, I'm on the review board. I can get the documents... ummm, what name are you using?"

"I'm Marissa deLuna, now, but I don't think I should use that name in court. Ruiz may be snooping."

"I agree. How does... Maria... Maria deMoneda sound?"

"Maria of the coin?" She shrugged, not noticing that she had understood the Spanish the judge had used to make up the name. "Well, it fits."

"Fine, and now that we've settled that, how about I buy you lunch?"

"Why, Your Honor, are you trying to get fresh?"

* * * * *

Marissa looked at her watch. It was almost 9 PM. Her... Sam's office would be empty. It was better to leave a voicemail message on her office manager's phone than to call during the day and have to answer a lot of questions. The office manager, Elaine Vassle, would take care of everything that needed to be done.

Marissa picked up the small, white cordless phone and quickly dialed the number. She was sitting in the living room section of her -- of the real Marissa's -- efficiency apartment. The woman didn't seem to have much money, but she did have good taste. The place was nicely decorated in a welcoming but not overly feminine style that made her feel at home. She made a mental note to look up the real Marissa once she... he was back in his own body.

"Enough of that," she muttered, looking at Marissa's thin, woman's watch. The office answering machine finished its instructions. She pressed "1" for record, waited for the "beep", and began speaking.

"Hello, Elaine. My name is Maria deMoneda. I'm a friend of Sam's -- no, not that kind of a friend." She added the code phrase that would tell Elaine, that this message really was from Sam Ralston -- or someone he trusted. Considering some of the clients Sam had, it sometimes necessary to use such precautions. "Sam had some person business to take care of, so he'll be unavailable for a few days. He wasn't sure just how long. He asked me to handle the Thompson case for him. He said that he was leaving the rest of things in your competent hands. Bye."

She said the last in a low, breathy voice that dripped of sexual passion, then hung up. "That'll keep her guessing," she said with a chuckle.

* * * * *

Mrs. Thompson looked suspicious as she sat down opposite Marissa in the visitors' room. "Who're you?" the older woman asked. "They said my lawyer wanted to see me. You ain't him."

She wasn't Marissa, either. At least, she didn't look like Marissa. Her hair hung free about her shoulders, and her make-up was much downplayed from what she wore in Ruiz' office. She wore considerably less jewelry, as well, just small earrings and a single bracelet on her wrist. She also wore a woman's suit that made her look like the legal professional she was claiming to be.

"No, but I am your lawyer, Mrs. Thompson, that is, if you don't mind. I work with Mr. Ralston. My name is Maria deMoneda."

"Alita Thompson. You'll excuse me if I don't shake hands." She tapped a finger on the thick sheet of reinforced Plexiglas between them."

Marissa smiled at the woman's spirit. "Perfectly all right. He felt that he'd gotten off on the wrong foot with you."

"He got that right; saying that the best way to get me outta here was to say that I was crazy."

"Anyway, he asked if I'd take over the case. Actually, I think it's a good fallback position."

"So, you think I'm crazy, too?"

"No, I don't, and, for what it's worth, I agree with your opinion of Mr. Ruiz. I want to show how you and your husband were doing your civic duty, trying to get evidence on his drug trafficking. Then your husband was murdered, and the police didn't seem to be doing anything about it --"

"That's the truth. They still ain't doing much far as I knows."

Marissa continued. She knew that she wanted this new strategy because of the effects of her first wish, but she didn't care. It felt very right to be doing it. "Yes, ma'am. So when you got that threat, you were so angry and upset that you did something foolish. It was understandable and more than a little brave considering who you went up against, but it was foolish."

"So, now I'm a fool."

"No, Mrs. Thompson. You are a muy... a very brave woman. It was foolish, but it was justified. You should not be punished for it." She took a breath. "Ruiz, he is the one who should be punished... for the drugs and for what he did to your husband... and to you." She stopped before any more of the anger she was feeling could seep into her voice.

Mrs. Thompson smiled. "Now I really wish that glass wasn't there between us."

"Ma'am, why is that?"

"So I could hug you, girl, so I could hug you."

* * * * *

"Working hard, chica?"

Marissa spun around, not bothering to close the file drawer she'd been going through. It was late in the afternoon, Ruiz was out for the rest of the day, and the place was deserted. She should have been free to search his office for the evidence she wanted. Instead, she was being confronted by... "Señor Alvarez."

"Call me Carlos, chica." Carlos Alvarez was six feet three of solid muscle -- he'd been hired as an enforcer and worked his way up. His expensive suit couldn't hide that. "Mr. Ruiz asked me to pick up... something from his office. May I ask what you are looking for? He doesn't keep drugs here in the office, and the money's in the wall safe."

"I am his secretary, Señor." She let her accent get thick. Let him think she was just some dumb secretary. "I have papers to file."

The man walked over with an animal stride, like a tiger stalking his prey. "The boss is gone for the day. Why don't you and I go out for an early dinner." His finger slid along her jaw. "And after... I know we can find... something to do together."

"I... I am flattered, Señor, but did you not say that you had to bring something to Señor Ruiz?"

He looked down at her. Her blouse was low cut, showing a lot of her "coffee with cream" breasts. "I do not think that it will take too long." He ran a finger across her left breast. "Why don't I do that and come back for you?"

"I will not be here. I... I have things to do this evening." She did. She had been planning to work on Mrs. Thompson's case. "Besides, I do not like to stay out at night when I must be at work the next day."

"Alas. Perhaps... Friday. There is always a party to go to on Friday night, and you do not have to work on Saturday." He smiled, no, leered. "We... you can stay in bed all morning if you wish."

"Friday?" Could she finish the trial and change back by then?

"Si, you think about it, and I will ask again tomorrow." His expression changed. "For now, would you mind stepping out of the office?"

Marissa nodded, trying hard not to smile. "Gladly." She didn't know what made her happier, getting away from Alvarez or knowing that whatever it was she was looking for was in Ruiz' office.

She waited until the man left, then began searching in Ruiz' office again. She didn't find anything, though, and it was close to ten PM by the time, she had cleaned up all traces of her searching and left for the apartment she had somehow gained as part of her translation into Marissa's body.

* * * * *

Mrs. Thompson was waiting with a guard, when Marissa got off the elevator at the courthouse. "Good morning, Miss deMoneda," she greeted her lawyer.

"Good morning, Mrs. Thompson," Marissa answered. She looked at the older woman, who was now dressed in a slightly out of fashion black dress for her day in court. Her hands were trembling slightly, though she was trying hard to make them stop. "Would you like to go someplace with a little more private and sit down until we have to go into court?"

"Yes, if you please."

Marissa nodded at the guard, who followed the two women to a small conference room just down the hall from where they were standing. The guard opened the door and held it for them. "I'll just wait for you ladies out here," he told them.

"Thank you, Miss deMoneda," Mrs. Thompson said as the door closed behind them.

"Maria... please."

"Maria, then, and I'm Alita." Mrs. Thompson took a breath "I got to admit, I'm more than a little nervous about what could happen today."

"I'll admit that things could go badly, but..." Marissa smiled, "...I'll be doing my best to keep that from happening." She took Alita's hand. "It's scary, I know, but you've got to be brave... for Jamal, okay."

"I'll be brave. For Jamal and..." her voice grew soft. "...for Sammy."

Marissa cocked an eyebrow. "Sammy? Who's he?"

"I... I'd rather not say."

"Please, Alita. If it -- if he had anything to do with your actions, then I really need to know about it." She looked at the older woman's face. "And if he doesn't, then I won't mention him again. I promise."

"Since you promised; okay. Sammy's the reason me and Jamal... Sammy was my sister, Callie's youngest. He was a sweet little thing and smart as a whip. We... we all had such hopes for him till he got hisself hooked on that poison Ruiz sells. He dropped outta school, started doing things, awful things to get the money he needed."

"Crime? You mean he robbed, assaulted people... like that?"

"Worse. He... he sold hisself. Before long, he was working for some pimp, doing... things with whomever that sinful man told him to, women or... or men."

"Oh, Alita, I'm... I'm so sorry."

Eyes glistening with tears, the woman continued. "And that evil, evil man, the money Sammy was earning wasn't enough for him. Sammy was a small boy, skinny. That sinner made him take girlie pills, made him let his hair grow, even had a doctor do some things to him. Pretty soon, my poor Sammy, he looked just like a pretty girl -- 'cept where it counts."

"Is he still --"

"No, ma'am. The cops arrested him, and that Judge Kaiser, he had him put in a hospital. He's off the drugs, praise the Lord, but... but his mind ain't near what it was. He'll be in there for a long, long time. Worse yet, they ain't never gonna get him looking like a man again. That's why me and Jamal was trying to shut down that sinful place. If we can keep one child from going through that... that hell my Sammy did..."

The woman sobbed and buried her face in her hands. Maria reached quickly into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief, which she gave to Alita.

"I'll certainly try to help." Marissa felt the anger rising in her. She was going to get this woman free of the charges against her if it was the last -- no, the last thing she was going to do was to make Ruiz pay for what he and people like him had done.

* * * * *

The jury foreman was a slender man in a green work shirt and a tie that didn't quite match. "Your Honor," he began, "we're all real sorry for what happened to Mrs. Thompson, and we --"

"Please just give me your verdict, Mr. Einhardt," Judge Markovich interrupted.

Einhardt shifted nervously on his feet. "Sorry, Your Honor. We find her not guilty. What she done was more'n justified."

"Thank you, Mr. Einhardt." The Judge was about to turn back to Mrs. Thompson and Marissa, when he saw the foreman raise his hand. "Do you have a question about something, Mr. Einhardt?"

"Umm... yes, Your Honor. Seeing as what Ruiz... Mr. Ruiz done, can you charge him with anything?"

"Not really," Judge Markovich replied, "but if that's what the jury wishes, I can recommend to the District Attorney that he look deeper into the circumstances of what happened, especially regarding any connection to Jorge Ruiz."

"Damn right, that's what we want, Judge... uhh, sir." The man sat down. He looked a little embarrassed at his outburst, although he was being congratulated for it by some of the other jurors.

The Judge laughed. "I'll do as you direct, Mr. Einhardt." He turned now to face the defendant. "Mrs. Alita Thompson, this court wholeheartedly agrees with the jury in its findings and finds you 'not guilty.' I also concur with them in their sympathies over the loss of your husband. You are free to go." He hammered his gavel. "Case dismissed."

Alita Thompson's eyes glistened with tears. "Free?" She asked Marissa.

"As a bird." Marissa smiled back at her. Then her eyes went wide with surprise as the older woman hugged her tightly.

The prison guard who'd stayed in the courtroom came over. "Congratulations, Mrs. Thompson." He offered her his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Geary," Mrs. Thompson said, happily shaking hands. "Thank you."

The man continued. "Then, if you'll follow me, I'll show you where you can pick up your release and then go get your personal stuff. After that, you can head straight home."

"I'll be glad to go with you, sir." She looked at Marissa. "Are you coming, too?"

Marissa glanced over to a corner of the courtroom where she'd seen Carlos Alvarez standing, glaring at her. "I'll try to catch up. I... uhh, think that man over there wants to talk to me." She pointed to Carlos.

"Your boyfriend, Maria?" Mrs. Thompson gave her a wink. "He's one serious looking man, ain't he?"

Geary looked at the two women. "Shall we go. Mrs. Thompson?" He swept the air with his arm. "I think they're getting ready for the next case."

"So they are." She started towards the doorway, with Geary following. Marissa followed as well, with Carlos hurrying to catch up.

He did just outside the courtroom, grabbing her by the arm. "Let's go someplace and talk, Marissa."

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else, señor." She adjusted the reading glasses she'd worn as part of a disguise. Her hair, make-up, and clothes were very different from what she wore as Marissa. Maybe she could still fool him.

"Nice try, Marissa," Carlos said, his eyes running down the length of her body, "but I'd recognize that prime figure of yours however you covered it."

Marissa sighed. "All right, Carlos. I am Marissa. What are you doing here, spying on me?" She decided to brazen it out.

"I came here for the Señor. He asked me to watch the trial, to see if that lawyer of his... Ralston was gonna keep the bitch that threatened him out of jail." He frowned. "Only Ralston wasn't her lawyer; you were."

"And now you're going to tell him."

Carlos smiled, the smile of a cat playing with a mouse. "I might..." He took off her glasses and ran a finger along her jaw line. "...or I might not. You were very persuasive in that courtroom." Now he ran the finger down the side of her neck. "Perhaps you might want to... persuade me not to tell him."

"You mean that if I am... nice to you, you won't tell Ruiz that I was Mrs. Thompson's lawyer." Marissa felt the anger rise and worked to keep it under her control.

"Well, now, that would depend on how nice you were, wouldn't it?" He cupped her breast and leaned in close as if to kiss her.

She moved away. "No... no it wouldn't. You'd use me however you please, then you'd run to Jorge like the lap dog you are. The two of you would probably laugh about what a sucker I was to believe that you'd let me go."

The man walked over with an animal stride, a tiger stalking his prey. "I think you're some kind of plant, maybe from the D.A.'s office, spying on the operation." He ran a finger across his throat. "And I know what to do with spies." His hand cupped her breast again. "But it'd be a real waste."

"Bastard!" Marissa slapped his face as hard as she could.

"You just made it harder on yourself, you dumb bimbo --"

Her anger got the worst of her. "Me. I... I wish you-you were the 'dumb bimbo' you thought I was, unable to think or talk about anything but getting laid."

Alvarez froze as the wish took effect. He shrank down over a foot, his muscular frame becoming slender, soft... feminine. His jacket, shirt, and pants all merged into a frothy white Lycra skirt, one that hugged her body and showed off her now sweetly curved legs. It was low cut, as well, stopping just above the nipples of her braless 36-DD breasts. She wobbled for a few seconds, as a pair of oxford shoes became a pair of woman's pumps, growing a four-inch heel.

Her skin lightened, as razor cut black hair exploded into a mass of strawberry blonde curls. Her face was heart-shaped, now, with big, blue eyes, a peaches and cream complexion, and bee-stung lips. She was becoming the classic blonde bimbo, every teenage boy's basic wet dream.

Her whole body tingled as the final change hit, and her penis and balls sank down into her body to become a vagina, a moist, engorged vagina.

"What the hell did you --" She grabbed at her throat. A menacing baritone was now a schoolgirl soprano, high and breathy. "I'm gonna... gonna... get..." She suddenly giggled as the mental changes took hold. "Like, hi, I'm Brandy. Where am I? Who're you?"

'The second wish,' Marissa thought. She remembered what she knew about Alvarez' reputation with woman, including a couple of sexual assault charges Sam had gotten him out of at Ruiz' behest. 'Looks like you finally got what you deserved, Carlos, and then some.' Aloud, she said, "I'm a friend, Brandy. Then, out of curiosity, she asked. "Do you know who you are?"

Brandy thought for a moment. 'I, like, I used to be a guy. I was even, like, proud of being a guy. Isn't that silly? I mean, like, who would want to be a guy, when he could, like, be a babe like me and dance and drink and have, like, guys fuck them all the time?" She giggled again and ran a finger across a barely hidden nipple.

She was safe. This bimbo wouldn't tell anyone anything; now to get her out of the way. "You won't get any of that here. This is the municipal courthouse."

Brandy looked around. "Then what am I doing here?" She pouted for a moment, then brightened. "I, like, know where there's lots and lots of... mmm, hunky, horny guys. Come with me -- what's your name again?"

"Marissa."

"Hi, I'm Brandy. Oh, I already said that, didn't I?" She giggled again. "Like, come with me, Marissa. It'll be fun. I'll share the hunks, and we'll both get, like, fucked real, real good."

"I've got a bit more work to do, Brandy. I'll meet you there."

"Okay. Like, bye." She turned and walked down the hall, her hips swaying in open invitation to any man.

Marissa stood watching Brandy leave. "I'll just have to be careful with wish 3," she told herself. "Now to find the evidence to nail that bastard." The desire for vengeance was stronger than ever. Even though Alita Thompson was free, Marissa felt the backlash from the second wish and wanted to punish Ruiz as much as the older woman probably did. "Punish him," she whispered. "I want his balls to tack up on my wall."

* * * * *

Marissa went back to her apartment. The trial was over. Was she going to get her own body back? She waited three or four hours and nothing happened. "If I'm going to be stuck as Marissa," she decided, "I want the satisfaction, at least, of putting Ruiz out of business." She changed her look back from Maria to Marissa and drove over to Ruiz' office.

It was well after dark, and the lights were off when she arrived. She used her key to let herself in and crept along the darkened hall to her office. The drape over the single, small window in the outer office was closed, so she turned on the light, when she walked in.

"Hola, Marissa." Ruiz was sitting at her desk. "I've been waiting for you."

"Señor Ruiz, why... what?" What was he doing there?

"Carlos used his cell phone to send me a picture of Mrs. Thompson's lawyer." He shook his head. "I almost didn't recognize you." He stood up, and Marissa saw the pistol he was holding. "Let's continue this in my office."

Marissa nodded and walked ahead of him into his larger office. He stepped around and sat down in his own chair. "Now, who are you, and who are you working for?"

"I am Marissa deLuna, Señor Ruiz, your secretary."

"Bullshit! Carlos thought you were out of the D.A.'s office, and I agree with him." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Where is Carlos, by the way? He said he was going to... talk to you after the trial. The only reason I decided to come back here and wait for you is because I didn't hear from him?"

"I did. We talked some, and... uhh, he decided that he wanted to go party someplace instead."

"That doesn't sound like Carlos?"

"He... uhh, isn't himself at the time." She smiled at her private joke.

"He better be back to normal when he comes in tomorrow, or he is so screwed."

"Oh, he will be." She tried not to laugh. Carlos... Brandy would probably enjoyed being "so screwed" by her old boss.

Her smile only made Ruiz that much angrier. "You, on the other hand, I will deal with as soon as you tell me what you want."

"To put you away," she hadn't meant to say it, but it was too late now.

"I'm sure that you do, but you'll need hard evidence for that, won't you?" He laughed. I'm sure that you've been looking for some here in the office. Have you found anything?" He raised the pistol and pointed it right at her head. "Well, have you?"

"No..." she said bitterly. "No, I haven't seen anything I could use."

"Of course, you haven't. Nobody has... unless I want them to see it."

"And you don't want me to see it, do you?"

"Matter of fact, I do." He grinned. It reminded her somehow of a shark. "I always believed in granting a condemned man -- or woman -- her last wish."

He picked up a small picture in a silvered frame that stood on his desk. "Nice picture, isn't it? I caught that marlin down in Baja about three years ago. It was a great trip, but the best thing about it was this." He pushed down on the hinge connecting the picture frame to its support leg.

The bottom of the frame slid down to reveal a rectangular strip that held a CD. "There it is," he chuckled now. "The complete record of my operations. I don't keep anything but a spreadsheet program and a calendar on my PC. I can be ready to download data off this thing in 30 seconds, and I can have this CD back in its case in less than half that time."

He pushed gently on the holder, and the CD slid quickly back into the frame. He put the picture back on his desk. "Now that I've granted your last request..." he pointed the pistol back at her. "...it's time for you to suffer for your curiosity."

Marissa glared at him. "No, it's time for you to suffer. I wish... I wish you would know suffering... like Mrs. Thompson's nephew, Sammy."

"That's very fu --" Ruiz froze, a look of horror on his face. He began to shrink. No, to grow younger. He passed from buffed, muscular adult to the wiry teen he had been. As he did, his clothes changed with him. His Armani suit became a sports team jacket and jeans; his silk shirt and tie, a gray T-shirt; and his hand tooled Italian shoes, a pair of cross-trainers. He looked about fifteen.

But the changes weren't over.

His hair grew out, down to his shoulders. His face narrowed and his nose shrank even as his lips became fuller. It was a girl's face now, heart-shaped and not really recognizable as Jorge Ruiz. His eyebrows thinned as mascara and eyeshadow, lipstick and blusher were magically applied. His hair hung down in twin ponytails.

His body changed, too. His fingers were longer, with half-inch polished nails. His shoulders narrowed. Small mounds pushed out the T-shirt, growing into a lush pair of 34-D breasts. His waist was narrower, too, though his hips swelled outward, and his butt took on a teardrop shape that begged to be stroked. Underneath his tight jeans, his legs developed a set of very feminine curves. Something else showed under his jeans. Ruiz' adult-sized penis was still there, and it seemed so much bigger with his smaller feminine body.

The sports jacket changed color again, becoming a pink angora sweater with a single button closed just below his breasts. His T-shirt was a sheerer, satiny material, that showed the lines of his push-up bra. The legs on his jeans moved upwards until he wore a pair of short-shorts, shorts that still revealed the lump of his erection, the one thing that hadn't changed. The curve of his legs now looked even better in the three-inch, stiletto needle thin heels the cross-trainers had become.

He could move again. His was trembling. "Oooh, oooh, wow." It was a low, very female and very sexy moan. A junkie's moan. The new she-male giggled, her mind lost on the drugs that were suddenly coursing through her. Then, as Marissa watched, the figure vanished.

Somehow, Marissa knew that she was on the street, another whore junky offering sex for the money for another fix. "She may get help in time," she said, "but I don't think that it'll be anytime soon."

Her grin was the smile of a lioness relishing a kill. "Third wish, and very satisfactory results."

She suddenly felt a yank. Her body seemed to be pulled out of some sort of sticky mass.

Sam Ralston looked down with satisfaction at his own body. Marissa deLuna was sitting in a chair beside him, snoring gently. "Thank you, Ms. deLuna, for your cooperation." He reached over and grabbed at the picture frame. "I'll just take this and be on my way to the District Attorney."

* * * * *

The others allowed the War God to stew for a day. His body betrayed him at every turn. His voice and mannerisms were those of a woman, a sexually aroused woman. His nipples ached, and the god of metalworkers could have used his priapic erection as a hammer.

There followed a night of erotic dreams, each filled with men who used him as they pleased, even as the goddesses and nymphs who had been his former sexual partners watched and laughed. The next morning, he begged the chief of the gods to restore him.

The godchief told him that only his cooperation in the turning of the coins would convince them to give him his old form. He cooperated, but he cursed the coins as he did, by passing his she-male form into their magic. The coins affected destiny, and the destiny of most of their future users would now involve beings -- the user or another close to him or her -- who would be or would assume the same sort of form that he had been made to bear.

After that, the coins were tossed back to man's world for the gods amusement.

* * * * *

Epilog

"Thump-thump-a-thump-thump."

T.R. Kaiser answered, adding, "Come in, Sam."

"Hey, T.R., how goes it?" They were once again on good terms.

"Fine, and you?"

"Got another one today. Jorge's files had information on his enemies, too. We're closing them down, just like we closed down his operation."

"So I've heard. They say that you're the new star of the District Attorney's Office. I hear that Ben Kaplan's planning to recommend you as his successor, when he retires next year."

"That's what he told me." He paused a moment. "I'm not sure that I want it, though."

"What do you mean? That coin made you -- what'd you call it -- 'a force of vengeance.' What better way to be that than as D.A.?"

"To tell the truth, the office has to make deals now and then, plea bargain. There's no... satisfaction in that."

"You're quitting then?"

"No, and I'll probably take up Ben on his offer to succeed him as D.A., but there's... well, other things that I want to try, too."

"Like what?"

"Hard to explain. I'm moving back into grampa's old house just outside the city. I just bought it from mom. There's nobody in it now, but an old family retainer. He's nominally listed as the caretaker, but, to tell the truth, the family just wants let him live there rent free for as long as he wanted."

"And you'll take care of him. That doesn't strike me as very vengeful."

"Actually, he's pretty spry for a man in his 90s, got his full mental capacity, as well. He'll probably go on forever." He sighed. "Just like grampa would have, if he hadn't been killed.

"Your grandfather was a fine man, flying a relief copter into that storm down in Peru." He hesitated a moment. "But I don't see the connection."

"Well, there's a bunch of stuff out there that belonged to grampa, and this man's agreed to teach me how to use it."

"Still doesn't seem like much."

"It may not be. Only time will tell." He pulled a folded paper out of his jacket. "For now, I can at least show you the deed."

T.R. looked at the document, a very standard bill of sale for an old manor house. The sale was between Samuel Bruce Ralston and his mother, Helena Wayne Ralston.

The End?