I Can See For Miles

By Tyrone Slothrop- Fourth Story in the Angelverse

Author’s Note: This is the fourth Angel story and he needed lots of help for this mission. Even when I threw in characters from my previous work into the mix, we still needed more. I then reached out to other authors who had created heroic figures with a similar purpose. You will see a series of works attached to this story, all launching off the same assignment detailed in chapter 20. I can tell you we had fun doing it- Tyrone Slothrop

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Opening Scene: You Only Hurt The One You Love - Cyberspace and points in reality- May

“WELCOME BACK! LollyPop: Member Class=Voyeur, SELECTION=JOHNNIE TO JILL” scrolled across the all black screen of the laptop.

LollyPop bulged in anticipation, a thin stream of saliva slowly dripping from the corner of his mouth until it was stopped by colliding with the PgDn key. He had made sure his account was paid up at TransTalent website since he did not want to be cut off in the middle of the action.

The video window popped up, quickly resolving into clarity over the broadband connection. LollyPop could see the ‘Domme’ level chat level members select the next humiliation from the script options. The girl in leather towered over the quivering victim. The boy on screen broke into tears when she demanded he wear the offered petticoat.

Lollypop guessed that the ‘Domme’ level members had chosen the little girl dress up theme.

The time was perfect for LollyPop with his parents sound asleep and no school tomorrow. The credit card charges had been buried in his father’s voluminous bill. Dad never checked any item under $100.

The money to move to the next level of membership was beyond his means, so he had to live with the passive observer status his $50 per hour purchased. It was so much more exciting than just reading erotic fiction. They guaranteed that the humiliation was genuine and it sure looked like it.

The message board at the erotic fiction site had led him to an email exchange with someone known as Red_Velvet_Usher. They had recommended he try TransTalent and gave him the passcodes after he had paid $10 for a guest membership.

The borrowed lingerie from Mom’s drawer tight in his grip, LollyPop watched and listened to the pleas of the boy on screen as he whined and complained about the curly wig being settled on his head, the exaggerated blush applied to his cheeks and the patent leather shoes he was told to put on over his tights.

The girl began stroking the boy’s crotch under the petticoats and the boy began to respond despite the hormones he had been administered for the last month. LollyPop could not contain himself anymore. His eyes closed and his hands left the keyboard.

LollyPop would be back as soon as he could. He did not want to miss a week of Johnnie’s relentless feminization and submission. As soon as he could hide the next charge on the credit card.

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Chapter 1: Angel Accepts The Inevitable- Group Facility, Los Angeles, California- June

The buzz of background conversation died a quick death in the locker room. The figure in black leather and jeans slowly made his entrance.

“Is that him?” the cop said, flipping his blonde hair back over his shoulder and having it fall smoothly down his back, right to the bottom edge of his halter top.

“That’s him. They said he nearly died from his last job. He’s been out for most of a year now.” The second agent replied while he applied mascara to his lashes.

Angel, the man in black, walked haltingly past the vanity tables, the hair dryers and changing areas. He saw reflections of reflections in the multitude of mirrors around the room. He was determined not to stumble as he made his way to the lecture hall.

Primary colors are the source of vision. Some people have the ability to detect fine gradations and shades and others were immune to the differences. Angel felt his senses becoming less discriminating as he aged and wondered if it was the distraction of the mind which comes with increased responsibility or a physical loss.

As he approached thirty, he appeared to have aged little, even to those who knew him well. Five foot seven inches, lean frame and delicate hands with brown hair now covering his shoulder blades.

When they looked closer, his eyes had become colder, harder and more distant, and the skin around them had taken on a grayish pallor. A network of fine lines was apparent, the result of many layers of pain endured and observed.

Frank, his adoptive father, had always said of him. “Angel has the face of a beautiful boy and a pretty girl coupled with the eyes of a Marine Corps sniper on a long mission.”

Angel entered the empty lecture hall, empty save for Bob Angelo, former State Attorney General and now special advisor to the Governor. His impeccable Italian suit contrasted with Angel’s black leather blazer, black tee shirt and jeans.

Bob ran to the edge of the platform to provide a steadying grip as he saw Angel struggling up the stairs.

“Dammit, Angel, Carolyn’s going to kill me! I should have known not to trust you when you said you were well enough to come here today!” Bob said, concern evident in his tone.

“I’m fine Bob, and I need to get out and move. I promise I won’t die on you now.”

“I like the hair, kid. You trying to match your Dad?” Bob smiled, changing the subject. Frank was known for his waist length style.

“Carolyn wanted me to grow it out for the wedding. She said one of us needs to have a real elaborate style for the ceremony.” Angel smiled in reflex at Bob’s expression.

Bob shifted topics again to the matter at hand. “They are all here to see the legend today. We’ve got seven in this group and they all have been on at least one solo operation. Two are city cops, three are state agents, one is a fed and one is an Aussie. They have all passed the trust test. And all are on leave for the next week just to attend your seminar.”

“I assume you are getting out before they show up, right?”

“Of course. Need to know and all that. I just wanted to see you in the flesh. I’ll be watching some from the video feed, but then duty calls. It’s good to have you back, Angel. Give my love to Carolyn and Frank.” Bob broke character for a minute and Roberta emerged to kiss Angel on the cheek, followed by Bob hugging him.

A tear made its way down Angel’s face as he watched the man leave. He remembered looking up at the blue uniform and then Bob’s face as he was rescued from his living hell almost twenty years ago. Bob had gone on to become the Operations Chief for the Group, the role he still held .

Seeing Bob let the Face out. The beautiful face of his tormentor that was normally locked away in his memories. He was twelve again and strapped to a wall. She was taunting him but her voice was silenced. Angel summoned the will and she went away.

The students filed in, wearing outfits ranging from teen pop star to classic cocktail dresses. They broke up into the expected groups, local cops, state guys, with the Fed and the Aussie sort of together. The class structure of law enforcement looked very similar to high school girl’s cliques.

A slow scan of the audience proved to be enlightening. Angel smiled and was impressed by how the agents had responded to his first assignment.

The Group was composed of extremes, not averages. It intentionally set out to find the extraordinary not the ordinary. Many crossdressers (CDs) are not driven by pain and abuse. Many victims of pain and abuse are not CDs. A small percentage of CDs can pass effectively as women and boys. Still fewer are skilled and lethal undercover operatives. But from across the planet, they had found the operatives they needed, never large in number, usually less than the fingers on two hands, backed by others less gifted in beauty but no less committed to the mission.

“Welcome, gentlemen. I am glad to see you all got into the spirit of the opening exercise. I asked you to show yourself as your ‘dream’ persona, the one you enjoy the most. I did that because this may be the last time for a while where you get the freedom to pick your appearance. “ Angel opened the session unexpectedly, speaking in a soft voice which somehow carried over and cut through the chatter.

Angel recognized Britney, Christine, Nicole, the two blondes from the CSI shows, Mariah and one gothic type he could not place but was clearly outstandingly beautiful. The guys were obviously very accomplished at their dressing. They had taken their targets as templates for their appearance and had adapted them to their own features and flaws, creating not a clumsy attempt at an impersonation but a very effective and believable presentation.

All were able to pass as women. All were able to pass as young teen age boys. All were extremely lethal. And all were giggling in character.

Angel walked up to the gothic one with long black hair.

“You’ve got me on this one. It’s very good, but I don’t know the reference.”

“It’s Tarja, she sings for a Finnish metal band, mate” said the diminutive man in the long red coat , black boots with heels and very pale face.

Angel assumed he had found the Aussie. “I like it, Mr. Olsen.”

The man smiled and flipped his hair back in a practiced manner.

Angel painfully moved to the podium, grabbing the sides for support.

“You all have arrived here, in those seats, in this room, at this time because you all have some things in common.

“First- you are the victim of abuse

“Second- you are involved in law enforcement

‘Third — you are known to be capable of applying deadly force

“Last- you are able to withstand a lot of humiliation in undercover work” Angel looked slowly at each of the seven, his gray eyes piercing their poker faces.

“Oh, and it seems that some of us who do this work have the same proclivity in our expanded wardrobes.” Angel said dryly. The tension broke and the group laughed in a distinctly unladylike manner.

“You all know the Group targets predators, the ones who remove innocence, the ones who take joy in using people like us for their entertainment. The ones who create people like us. We work in the realm of justice and recovery, which occasionally departs from the boundaries of the law.” An eerie coldness entered Angel’s voice and infected the recruits like a virus.

“For the next week, I will be sharing my case histories with you, in the hope that some of it might be useful as you lead operations either solo or as a team member. Because of your skills and ability to appear as prey to our target predators, you will frequently be working right in the middle of the action. I managed to stay lucky in that role for eight years, but I should not have to tell you how dangerous it can be every time.”

Angel picked up a remote control, dimmed the lights and started his slides on the room screen.

“Girls, this was one of the more challenging ones….”

Every eye in the room was drawn to the body of the small boy shown in large format. Every one of the agents renewed his motivation for their calling.

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Chapter 2: High Roller Home Entertainment — Cyberspace and points in reality- June

“Oh my, you’re a big one, Matador: Member Class=Super Stud, SELECT=JOHNNIE TO JILL” scrolled across the wall size projection screen. The man known as the Matador looked out at the city lights of Sao Paolo as he pulled on the shiny black plastic sleeve, mindful of the cables connecting it to his USB port and the separate power supply.

The sensuous woman’s voice soothed him as he closed the Velcro seal around his anticipating member. He always loved hearing her personal touch and was happy he had purchased the most expensive service from TransTalent.

Marge Foley, a grandmother of ten spoke into the microphone in her trademark voice, dripping with bedroom allure. She shifted her two hundred and fifty pounds, creating a cacophony of squeaks from her cheap office chair while she reviewed the account file of “Matador”. Telephone customer service is often a difficult and low paying way to make a living. She was happy to find this job, which paid almost fifty percent more than other ones in the area. The customers were sleazy, but very cooperative.

Matador’s profile showed he liked to reserve ‘private’ sessions, where he alone issued the script commands. As an investor in the parent company he had the distinction of being one of the twenty people in the world with the new PleasureJac units. There was a notation he had taken a particular interest in one young boy but always preceded it with a session with a regular girl before his special time with “Johnnie”. There was also a second notation that he had tried to deviate from the script on several occasions.

Green status bars appeared under the Matador Icon on the control screen, indicating he was physically attached to the PleasureJac and ready for his fun. Marge switched him into the general session.

Darla, the first girl in the rotation, appeared in a provocative pose on Matador’s wall screen. The scripts in these sessions were straightforward and most clients dispensed with any verbal interaction.

Darla began the rituals of admiring the PleasureJac unit in front of her. From the customer’s point of view, the camera panned down on her face and the PleasureJac interface appeared where his own member would be if he were present in the room with her.
Matador remained silent as Darla cooed and began to get serious. With every touch of her tongue on the unit in front of her kneeling body, Matador felt a corresponding pressure and moistness inside his device. As he expanded , so did Darla’s unit.

Time suspended until he achieved release. He opened his eyes and saw Darla’s smiling face, her tongue licking the sides of her mouth.

Matador touched the key sequence which signaled customer satisfaction. He was now ready for tonight’s real entertainment, his evening with Johnnie. There, the full hour of precious inflicted humiliation and release would be his.

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

I group these culmination points under titles of my own romantic whimsy. I have no recollection of their significance at the time -GR

“Spring Is The Season of Recovery”-

We see Angel as a shadowy undercover operative, a cop of a State Agency , but also working for our shadowy organization called “The Group”. He is expert at passing as a vulnerable teenager, although he is in his early 20s. When on certain missions to penetrate “forced fem” sadists operations, he kills without mercy.

He is very much a hollow man, driven by revenge and desire to inflict pain on oppressors. The opposite of Stockholm syndrome. If you ever saw Exodus, the movie, the Sal Mineo character, the concentration camp survivor, reminds me of him.

His history is his mother abused him, with a distinct leaning to feminization and sexual abuse, and then sold him to a Domme type woman who planned to make him a sex toy for sale. She used a cattle prod on him as part of the ‘petticoat discipline’, coupled with an unending stream of ‘men are evil, vile creatures’.

At age 12 he was rescued by a street cop, Bob Angelo, who turned him over to Frank and Samantha to raise outside the foster care system. Bob and Frank are the founding members of the Group, and this was their first rescue. All members of the group are related to law enforcement and are victims of abuse, usually feminization. Angel finds unconditional love in the Group. He regards Frank as his Father. (Frank is a committed crossdresser, as are about forty percent of Group members)

“Winter is the Season of Endings”

We now see Angel on an operation, taking out a Judge and Madam J, a woman so ridiculous yet vile she is a real life parody of extreme TG fiction.
Angel is 25, and in his prime. He tries showing mercy for the first time as he sets up Madam J in her New England mansion for kidnap charges and lets the justice system have her committed. He is still a bit sociopathic when confronting oppressors.

We also observe Angel as adopting roles in his life, male or female, and never caring about who he really is. He appears as either sex as required or on a whim. And given his size and build, is very effective.

“Lamb And Lion”

Angel in his late 20s. He defuses a classic “dominate the poor CD, take his money and have him raped” badger game. He has evolved his mentality to a search for redemption in his targets. He hopes they give up their villainy before he has to kill them. He seems to begin enjoying dressing as a woman, in fact, he resembles “Carrie” from “Sex and the City” rather much. He is leaning towards his softer side. At the end of this story, he meets his future wife by chance on the plane home. Angel is getting tired of hate and wants some peace, love and companionship, like Frank and Samantha, his adoptive parents had.

Today-

He now has something to lose, people he loves, which is the kiss of death for a stone cold undercover operative who needs to do anything to achieve his goal. He needs to retire, but circumstances and the threat of many real and potential victims ‘drags him back in”

Who is Angel?

Angel is a series of masks. One day he may find one that does not come off. Undercover people end up with variable identities, and occasionally end up with no core persona, just a series of masks. If you had lost your base personality, or hated it, and had the build and facial features to be whichever sex you would chose, the choice becomes fascinating. Why wouldn't you appear as a woman? It's so much more fun than putting on a male mask. Especially since the victims of sexual abuse occasionally are not very active sexually as compensation. They have lost the ability to trust.

Imagine Carrie of the TV show Sex and City who is really male, can look female at will, is deadly with any weapon , skilled in martial arts, has no fear of humiliation, no compunction about causing pain or death, and believes in Justice as more important than the Law.

He can only find relief from his own pain by rescuing others like himself in pain. He has no fear of his own death. He has a high moral code, and is uncompromising. A beautiful samurai who reveres his saviors.

End Journal entry- GR

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Chapter 3 : The Love Of A Good Woman —Beach House, Malibu, California- June

The surf crashed quietly on the beach, the sounds removed by the mural sized glass overlooking the Pacific. The house had belonged to Carolyn’s family since the nineteen thirties, and looked very unprepossessing, almost ramshackle from the Pacific Coast Highway north of Santa Monica. The interior was thoroughly modern and was probably the fourth or fifth total tear down and rebuild. The value of real estate right on the beach this near Los Angeles tended to make the exterior appearance irrelevant.

The kitchen was magnificent, one of the best Angel had seen. Simple yet well laid out, with top notch equipment, restaurant grade. Dinner preparations consumed his immediate attention, his tactical awareness was always on, scanning the room for any minute change, while his mind was roaming his life for the last year.

Angel knew he had succumbed. He was in desperately in love. It scared him beyond words. He saw himself as a twelve year old boy again, enduring the pain. And the Face.

Flashback- earlier that day

The dinner celebrated Angel’s recovery from the grenade blast that had almost killed him. The seminar for the Group, his first venture outside this house alone in six months had finished at noontime on Friday, to allow most of the agents to catch flights home. He planned to go shopping on his way home.

Trevor Olsen, the Australian, came up beside him after class.

“So a romantic dinner with your Sheila tonight, Angel?” asked the small agent, now dressed in sports jacket and jeans for his long flight home tonight, his black hair pulled back and clasped at his neck. At five feet tall, he made Angel feel like a giant.

“I think I may be as much Sheila as she is tonight, Trevor. We are both celebrating in a way.” Angel said with a sly smile.

“In that case, mate, I have some time and you have all the facilities here, let me help.”

Trevor had grown up in a family of hairdressers, father, mother and four sisters and he had kept his skills current. Angel realized that no matter how he was dressed, he was going to the fish market and then home en femme. When Trevor pulled out the foot long rods, long, soft spiral curls fell past Angel’s shoulders. Angel decided to add some light makeup and just gave in to the overall look.

After dropping Trevor off at LAX, he pointed the black H2 north and headed back to Malibu. Standing in line at the fish market while Nguyen selected a fillet of Hawaiian Ono, he could feel the looks from the men in the crowd. Nguyen gave him a wide smile as he exchanged cash for the packaged fish. Angel shifted his responsive smile and adjusted his hand mannerisms to full girl mode. He wished he had his breast prostheses on, but knew he could carry it off without them.

Ever since he was very young, people had viewed Angel and made assumptions about his gender, and were usually wrong. His painful history created a person quite flexible in what image he chose to present to the world.

A quick stop at the jewelers came before he pulled the SUV into the garage of the beach house. Angel threw himself in preparing his appearance and the food for the perfect evening.

Treating his new curls with extreme care, he washed and shaved his body. The red puckering in nine areas on his stomach and left side showed the remnants of his encounter with the explosive fragments, and the pain from twisting his torso offered constant evidence that the muscles were still knitting.

The long convalescence had not managed to add more than a thin, soft layer of fat to his abdomen, not enough to increase his dress size. While he was applying the adhesive for his breasts, he thought back to his first encounter with Carolyn, over two years ago.

Flashback- two years ago

They had met on a plane to Denver, and Angel had been in his Carrie mood, looking like he had just stepped off the set of Sex And The City. Carolyn had been attracted to the brunette, which was unusual for her, since she preferred men.

Angel had made an appearance at her condo a month later, in his best English tailored suit. After some incredulity and despite all her instincts, Carolyn let him in, thinking the story was insane. Looking at Angel, in his most handsome male persona, she could see the face and mostly the eyes were indeed the same as the ones she had asked to visit.

The attraction she felt from their first meeting endured, and Carolyn partially opened herself to him. They dated warily at first, since neither wanted to reveal their lives completely, more from long habit than mistrust of the other.

There were frequent absences. Angel’s accumulated leave from the State Attorney’s office expired and he had to return to California. Carolyn’s law practice had many confidential clients and she made house calls.

Carolyn was a committed fighter for women’s issues, specifically focused on abuse and child support. Living off trust funds from her mother who had died before Carolyn finished law school, she was estranged from her remarried father, whose neglect she believed had led to her mother’s death in a car accident. She had a step brother she had never seen. She was an orphan by choice.

Carolyn was mystified by the dangerous man who appeared so confident, so distant as a male yet so vulnerable and attentive as a female. She sensed a reserve, a series of layers shielding him, yet also a desire to peel them away for her and only her.

Carolyn knew Angel was a senior agent for the state, and was a trained police officer. She also knew he was an undercover specialist and frequently took extreme risks. He had not told her about his extra role for the Group, but planned to reveal it at the right time.

Flashback- one year ago

Carolyn met and was immediately adopted by Frank, Angel’s father. Frank , his body weakened by his battle with a rare endocrine disorder, welcomed her with unconditional love.

Carolyn, often ill at ease with father figures, found Frank’s waist length hair, casual housedress and feminine curves quite a change from her expectations. Janice Peters, his doctor and companion explained the side effects of the therapy she had used to hold his disease at bay, as well as Frank’s relationship with Angel.

The two women had been on the lower deck which overlooked the Frank’s beloved river, watching the windsurfer’s sails colorfully moving across the water. Angel and Frank were inside the house making dinner, having banished the females from the kitchen. Janice poured a glass of wine for Carolyn and told her the story of Angel’s years of abuse, his sale by his mother to a woman who specialized in sadistic feminization of young boys, his rescue by a policeman who asked Frank and his then still living wife Samantha to take him in.

“He just told me he had a difficult childhood and did not know where his parents were.” Carolyn said, tears running down her cheeks as she grasped Janice’s outstretched hand.

“Carolyn, they may look pretty and act like a woman at times, but underneath it all, Angel and Frank are men. They hold it together by not discussing the painful past, even with themselves. Angel knew I would fill you in and felt it was better this way. I have known him since he was twelve and he has never discussed this with anyone. Take it as a positive thing that he would even allow you to know, even if he cannot tell you himself.” Janice said, her eyes following Carolyn’s shifting expressions of horror and sadness.

Present

Angel’s mind came back to the present. Carolyn was due home in two hours, and he wanted to have most of the dinner prepared. He put on his bra and padded panties, threw on a robe and went into the kitchen. Busying himself with the details of the meal, he attempted to avoid the overwhelming emotions which coursed through him.

The menu of mesquite butter dripped grilled Hawaiian Ono, a firm and flavorful whitefish, thinly sliced zucchini and butternut squash with garlic and herbs, oven roasted, and garlic mashed potatoes with a cold gazpacho soup required some preparation so he could just grill, bake and heat when Carolyn came home. He selected a vintage Chassagne Montrachet for chilling.

Satisfied all the food was ready, he began to get dressed. While he was doing his face for the evening, he smiled at Carolyn’s ready acceptance of his dressing habits. It was so rare and precious, to be accepted unconditionally. He was forced to redo his eyes once the tears ended their flow.

Carolyn worked with many organizations allied with her causes, and many of the players were antithetical to men, a few with some justification, many with none. For Carol to have attached herself to a traditional boyfriend would have resulted in strains in those key relationships, which she felt would have prevented her from helping those in need. It had caused her to avoid getting close to several men in the past.

She found herself attracted to Angel in any persona, easing the way for him to create the subtle pretense that she was dating a woman. The sheer delight in her expression when the rumor spread that she was a lesbian, especially since her father despised the idea, was enough incentive for Angel to embrace the role.

He blinked and his mind switched back again. Dinner. Getting Dressed. A loose fitting slip slid over his scars. Garter belt and stockings. He grinned as he found his black cocktail dress still fit. Sandals with heels. He surveyed the effect in the mirror and was pleased. Dressing for another was a new experience. He could not categorize the feeling that followed the thought, it was new and of strange composition.

Opening one of the cases from the jeweler, he winced in pain as he reached behind his neck to fasten the pearl necklace. He inserted the matching earrings and applied a musky scent.

As he held up the three unopened jeweler’s boxes, he roamed back to his last mission.

Flashback-six months ago

It was a State mission , but the Group was interested. There was a sting going down at a crossroads just across from the Mexican border. People were smuggling hookers into Mexico, or rather selling them to people running empty trucks back from bringing illegals into the US. The tip indicated that the cargo was a mixture of a few women and several young boys.

He was supposed to observe the Feds take the truck down. Just as the ten federal agents were approaching on the van, another truck came up and began firing at them. A grenade was thrown at the observer position. Angel pushed the other agent to safety, taking the blast himself, only partially shielded by a car door. He saw the van carrying the human cargo explode before he lost consciousness.

Rescue was slow and his gut was lacerated by fragments from the grenade and the car door. He spent months undergoing several surgeries. Janice and Frank had come down and taken over his care, along with Bob, George and other Group members. Spider Robertson, who ran rackets on the waterfront in several coastal towns, and his sister Clementine, sat vigils along with many other friends.

Carolyn surprised herself by literally shutting down her practice and turning it over to colleagues. She moved to her family home in Malibu and never left Angel’s side. A line of demarcation, one of reserved intimacy was abandoned, defenses scattered. Surrender to her feelings for him was unconditional.

Angel had proposed from his hospital bed after his last surgery looked to be successful, using a ring he had Spider acquire for him. His mind was crystal clear from the brush with death, and he reacted to it by grasping for her. Carolyn held him so tightly he had several stitches pop, but he never felt it. She had said yes.

The Malibu beach house became his new quarters with Carolyn nursing him, relieved by any number of Angel’s friends. They agreed to postpone the wedding plans until Angel was back on his feet.

Mending came slowly but still Angel gradually took over the care of the house while urging Carolyn back to work He took comfort in the simple pleasures of supporting her life, keeping her house, bringing her joy.

Carolyn enjoyed the pampering and attention. She still felt the reserve, the hidden person was yet to be revealed, but love flowed through the layers.

He knew he had been postponing a painful decision. Bob Angelo’s asking him to run the seminar had triggered Angel’s choice. Five days of dredging through his case histories with the new agents had clinched the call. He was done with field work. The ledger was balanced and for the first time in his life he believed he could move beyond the pain and revenge.

Present

Once more, Angel snapped back to the present as he heard the garage door opening. He checked his appearance and poured a glass of the Chassagne Montrachet.

The kitchen door from the garage opened and Carolyn breezed in.

“Angel! My God! You look great!” Carolyn dropped her briefcase, took the offered wineglass and set it down, grabbing Angel gently into her arms and kissing him fully and deeply. She was normally an inch taller than Angel, but his heels evened up the height difference.

“I love your hair! It’s been so long since I saw you this way!” Carolyn was attempting not to hurt her lover by squeezing him too tightly.

Angel backed up, absentmindedly arranging his long spiral curls.

“I love those pearls babe. Are they new?” Carolyn’s eye honed in to the necklace and then the earrings.

Angel smiled and handed Carolyn two jeweler’s gift boxes. He sat Carolyn down as she opened the matching necklace and earring set. Taking the necklace, he kissed her just below her ear, his warm tongue meeting her skin softly, rhythmically. After time began to flow once more, he slowly drew the string of milky white orbs around her, bringing the apex to it’s perfect resting place just above her slowly rising cleavage.

“I have a dinner to prepare, my dear lady. Please come back in twenty minutes.” Angel stood back from the entranced Carolyn, who appeared to have partially melted in her chair.

The Ono was superb, flaky and delicate, and garlic mashed potatoes were Carolyn’s favorite. Angel had removed his apron and sat watching the woman he loved enjoy his food. The relationship forced learning on him, the sharing of small pleasures, the joy of giving, that not all sacrifices need be done with blood.

After nibbling at his food, he waited for Carolyn to finish. He placed the last wrapped jeweler’s box on the table in front of her.

Angel’s eyes were uncharacteristically full of tears, and had lost their penetrating gaze. Carolyn had never seen him trembling before. The sight of fierce emotional control fighting a losing battle in the person she loved was physically painful.

Angel finally gave in to sobbing, cradling himself with his own arms. He did not resist Carolyn’s rush from her chair and embrace. The two became one, emotions diffusing between them, strength and comfort joining together.

Some time later, sitting on the couch, staring at the black surf crashing on the gray beach, Angel spoke.

“I have to tell you things about myself, Carolyn. And I am afraid I will lose you. I have never felt fear like this before.”

Carolyn shook and looked at Angel carefully. “Angel, Janice told me…”

Angel shook his head and Carolyn became quiet.

“Janice told you the truth, but not everything. I’m going to tell you something that puts a lot of people at risk. You need to know it. If you still want me after you hear this, I will be happy to present you this ring all over again. “

Angel explained the Group, and his role in it. He explained his use of deadly force, his going beyond the law and why he did it.

Carolyn’s face shaded ashen as he described the victims he had rescued and the ones he had failed to help in time.

“Angel, you have done things I’ve wanted to do with the scum who hurt my women. Give me the damn ring you fool! Did you think I would possibly think less of you for saving those kids? Yes I still want to marry you, now more than ever.”

Carolyn began slowly disrobing Angel while he looked into her eyes with relief mixed with equal parts of sadness and passion. He held her face and kneaded the tension from her neck with the touch of his fingertips. He began to work his hands into her very short hair’s gentle little curls while cooperating one arm at a time in her slow removal of his cocktail dress.

Much later Angel was holding the sleeping Carolyn. For the first time in his life he felt the pain of his past recede to a state of memory without feeling. He was overcome by the simple fact that he now had something to keep, to hold.

“Thank you” came from his mouth, barely audible. Carolyn shifted in her sleep, a smile on her lips.

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Chapter 4: Boy In The Iron Bra — Location Unknown- June

The room was oddly furnished, all soft cushions and wall coverings. There was no furniture other than pillows of differing degrees of firmness. The television screen was in a corner and a speaker grill was embedded in the wall. Magazines lay scattered in the corner. The door to the bathroom remained locked unless he asked permission in a particular way, which seemed to change randomly. He had no control over the images on the screen or the audio. He knew he was being watched.

He sat cross legged in a yoga position, eyes closed to the barrage of pornographic visuals and sounds of animal pleasure. Johnnie Tunturo retreated into his imaginary sanctuary, the memory of his summer at his family’s house on Chincoteague Island, Virginia.

He estimated he had been here for three months, but had no way of telling. They had subjected him to drugs and varying day and night cycles to disorient him as soon as he was captured. That was the easy part, when they were breaking him.

Precocious, brilliant and fifteen years old, Johnnie cursed the day he had entered the transgendered chat room. His boarding school environment had isolated him socially, causing him to explore the on line world. The stories had been interesting, at least the ones which were not written just for the sake of masturbation. He had met many people on line who were friendly and some even sent him stories to review.

Trojan horses. Those files, once safely past his firewall, had one purpose. Find out who and where he resided from the data on his computer and send it out through the chat software.

Johnnie fled from the world he was in. The world where he was now addicted to morphine or heroin or some kind of derivative. The world where he was being fed a significant dosage of female hormones, enough so he now had breasts and hips and frequent bouts of tears and emotional swings. The world where all he ever saw was his face electronically overlaid on women in porno movies which showed almost non stop in his room. A world where he was an expert in giving performances of being humiliated by feminization. A world where he sucked a cock-like appliance, the PleasureJac, on demand, just to get his supply of narcotics when the ‘customer’ ejaculated on their end of the electronic linkage.

Johnnie retreated and turned himself over to Jill. Jill was his protector, his savior. He took over and sucked, squealed, whined and begged through all the performances required of him. Jill had begun to emerge during the early days, his days of deepest depression, when he realized there was no escape. Jill loved being feminized. Jill loved the new breasts and was ecstatic when they gave him implants for a D cup. He loved the drugs the PleasureJac delivered, and the release and numbness they brought.

Jill especially loved the ‘humiliation sessions’. It was like being on stage. He had lines, the girl who commanded him had lines, all displayed on disguised teleprompters the netcams could not see. Each session was a script, with menu options. He was always the poor boy, being feminized against his will. The girls were captives, or just willing participants who assumed this was just another porn operation.

Johnnie, before he had just ceded the process to his alter ego, recognized the scripts and even the writing style of the several sessions. He had read the stories on the site. The dialogue was awful and quite repetitive. And the scenes all had a terrible sameness to them. Whether it was petticoats or girdles, tittering over his new ‘boobies’, telling him what a great little cocksucker he would be, making him wear ridiculous wigs, it was all the same. He whined and cried and always ended up giving oral gratification to someone on the other side of the network linked PleasureJac.

Johnnie, as he sat in his mental refuge, working on problems in analytical geometry, writing poetry, and other things he could do without touching the real world, sat and stared at the memory of the Atlantic Ocean beyond the inlet which his imaginary refuge viewed. He had a list of names of TG fiction authors, and people who ran sites and people in chat rooms. If he ever got out, he would find them. And they would know his name and it would be their last new thought.

His captors had been quite open with him once they determined he was ‘broken’ sufficiently. He was a performer. The better he did , the more he would avoid punishment. They did not care if he liked it or not, just how well the audience loved him. If he attracted and kept a following, he would get fed and his dosage of narcotics would be maintained. All communication was through a disembodied voice.

They had him perform for three or four hours a day and just ignored him the rest of the time. He was required to exercise on a treadmill, he was fed. He never saw a male image the entire time. The only people he saw were the girls who performed with him, and then only when they opened his cell and took him to the ‘studio’.

Johnnie knew the hormones would thoroughly feminize him past the point of being a good ‘humiliation’ victim. Then he would be an inadequate girl, and there were plenty of real girls available for that kind of ‘show’. His career here had definite limits.

Marla came through the door.

“Jillie! We have a show in fifteen minutes! You want a ciggie?” Marla asked. She was somewhat plain, but dressed provocatively and heavily made up. Her black hair fell to her waist.

Johnnie receded almost completely. Jill opened his eyes and smiled at Marla.

“Thank God! Gimme one now or I’ll have fit!” Jill smiled and rose. Marla handed him the starting wardrobe for the evening’s performance. Jill was only allowed a bra and panties in his cell.

Lighting up the Marlboro, Jill asked “What’s the plot tonight? Cheerleader masquerade again?”

“Substitute Prom Queen. The gown is gorgeous. I get to be the doting mother. We have three shows, all sold out. You are one of the most popular recurring attractions on the circuit, I’m told.” Marla exhaled, emitting a cloud of bluish smoke.

“You got the shakes yet, sweetie?” Marla asked, surveying Jill. She knew how the drug worked from personal experience.

“No. But I can feel them coming. By the end of the first show I’ll be sucking that Jac for all I can. I guess that’s what they want.” Jill answered, neutral to the situation. He just didn’t care. Johnnie was safe inside his head.

“The owner told me to tell you something. She thinks you are enjoying it too much. She wants you to be more humiliated. That’s what she’s selling.” Marla said, a pleading look in her eyes.

“All this to make me a good little cocksucker and she wants me to feel humiliation . All I can feel is the dope. And that’s all I care about. Ok, I’ll do more whining. How convincing can it be with these fucking hooters they gave me?” Jill said wearily.

Marla led him out to the studio area. The show would begin soon.

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Chapter 5: Wedding Belle Blues — Malibu, California- June

“Splendid!” was a trademark, a sign, a claiming essence that she left drilled into anybody’s forebrain who had encountered her. The platinum blonde hair did not merely fall to her mid back, it flowed in waves, caressing the hot pink suit which in turn gave clear display to her pronounced curves. When she entered a room, her presence demanded recognition. Her five foot height was of no consequence in her natural ability to be the center of attention.

The click of her heels, the movements of her skirted hips, the thrust of her breasts were a sideshow to her vocal dominance of whatever area she chose to inhabit.

“This is Splendid!, simply Splendid! This place is going to be very Splendid!” Miss T, who Angel knew as Tommie and everyone else knew as her Ladyship Maria Teresa Tomasina Windsor-Hockney insisted everyone call her Tess or Miss T in her professional capacity. She glided up to Angel and Carolyn inside the chapel of the prestigious university. The view of the ocean and green grass covered cliffs contained no roads, cars or buildings, just a large stylized cross.

“Tommie! I’m so glad you’re here!” Angel rushed up to the pink package of energy and picked her up, letting her legs dangle off the floor. She responded by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips.

“I wouldn’t miss your wedding if I had to crawl through broken glass, Angel. And to be your wedding planner is Splendid! Now introduce me to your lady, you doofus.” Miss T lit a 3000 watt smile as Angel gently set her down.

Carolyn was conscious of towering over the diminutive impish woman. After introductions Miss T shooed Angel away and took Carolyn outside.

“Call me Tess, Carolyn, or I’ll get very upset. The Miss T thing is for the tabloids and the gossip sections. I am going to tell you all about me because I know the big lug you’re marrying wouldn’t say an extra word if you were pulling his hair out.” Miss T held Carolyn’s hand as they sat on the outdoor bench, a clear windless sky with just a few puffy white clouds far away setting the scene.

“Now I know all about you from when ‘Gel called me out of the blue the other night. So let me even things up. He calls me Tommie because that’s was my name when I was a boy. We were both the property of that viscous bitch when we were kids. Bob Angelo got us both out of there, but I was too injured from her ‘persuasion’ methods. Cattle prods do nasty things to tender parts. So I’ve been a girl since then.

“The rest you know about if you read the trashier papers, Lord Herman, who was so fascinated with me being transsexual, he became one himself, made our marriage a bit awkward, since there couldn’t be two Lady Windsor-Hockneys in the same place. Now the tabs never did find out about my little conversion, so they focused all of their shots at poor Hermoine, the dear. She gained so much weight from the stress, it’s a shame.

“So here I am, and I have my happy new life and boyfriend and I can’t believe you let the groom pick a wedding planner! So, between us girls, I will understand completely if you want to use someone you know. I’m only here because I love that man of yours more than I can say. He saved my life when things were very dark.”

Fire hoses could learn from Miss T’s normal volume of word flow. Carolyn blinked several times and found it impossible to dislike this pink bundle of motion.

“Tess, it would be wonderful to have your help. I have no family and only a few friends to come, and I think Angel is in the same position. So we were thinking of a small ceremony and reception.” Carolyn smiled widely and clasped both of Tess’s hands.

“I have been having visions of that lovely man in a wedding gown since he called, I must admit. Have you considered dual ceremonies? Maybe at the party after the main rehearsal? I’ll buy him one just for my own fun.” Miss T said.

Carolyn laughed. “I’ve been having the same thought. I know Angel assumes we will do a traditional ceremony, but I did make him grow out his hair just in case I could twist his arm on this. This is great! I get my big day and still get to see him as a blushing bride a few days before. I’ll even slick back my hair and wear a tuxedo for that.”

“But a tuxedo with a skirt, if I know Angel. He will want to see those legs, dear. Have you discussed who’s what when in terms of bride, groom, vows and things dear?” Miss T asked with a coy look on her face.

“He loves the idea of marriage, but struggles with what it means to him. I asked him about vows and he looked at me with a puzzled face as if it had never occurred to him. When I showed him some bridal gowns, I knew he was looking at them for himself, mentally trying them on, just like I was. I love the man but he is maddening.” Carolyn shocks herself at sharing this concern.

“That’s ‘Gel. He carries a lot of pain and hides it from himself. When we were together as captives, he took so much pain for me and just stuck it inside, it must be buried in there still.

“You’ve got a treasure there, Carolyn, but he’s like one of those Russian dolls, the ones that nest inside each other? He cannot open to you because he has lost himself I think. And a vow requires he either find it or pick one of his faces to make that vow. But he’s worth it!” Miss T exclaimed.

“You must meet my boyfriend Turk, he runs a restaurant and catering service. We’ll have you two over for dinner.” Tess said.

Carolyn and Tess spent the afternoon chattering away about the wedding, life , love and men. Angel looked on and smiled.

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Chapter 6: River Deep Mountain High — Northern California, Somewhere in the High Sierras -June

The cool air blew across the pine needle covering in front of the lodge. The air in the high Sierras had a clean, dry flavor. Lady Jean Thomas loved afternoons like this one. Steve Dunbar walked alongside, his huge mass dwarfing the Mistress of the Lodge. His tattoos were plainly visible on his thick forearms sticking out from his black tee shirt.

“It is not coincidence Jean. I don’t believe we can miss pickups for three girls in the last two months. Someone knew we were coming and got to them first.” Steve rumbled quietly. He had acquired the utmost respect for and loyalty to Lady Jean Thomas in the last five years. The former biker, gang member, ex con, and oil rigger had settled into her employ as head of ‘Security Services” since Jean had sheltered his children when they were in danger.

Since then, he had aided her in her mission of providing shelter for abuse victims, usually young girls who had nowhere else to go. Lady Jean used her wealth to run a series of shelters, but the ‘extreme cases’ she kept at her home in the remote Sierra Nevada Mountains. Now, there were three girls in residence, two with small children.

“Could their parents or husbands have taken them away?” Jean asked, holding her sweater against the chill which had entered the breeze.

“Let’s just say we had a spirited discussion with them. And , yes they are intact, mostly. My best read is that they had nothing to do with the girls’ disappearance. “

“Do you have anything to go on?”

“We have a neighbor who said she saw a Cable TV truck just sitting around the house the day before and the day of the disappearance, I have some friends checking it out. I know the parents have not notified the police she is missing. That’s it for now.” Steve said, a determined tone threading through his voice.

Lady Jean looked up at the deck and saw a young woman playing with a pair of toddlers. Her long black hair fluttered in the breeze, and Jean could see the smile on her face from quite a distance.

“I see Carol is doing the day care shift again. She always changes the rotation so she gets to play with the children.” Jean laughed pleasantly.

Steve smiled. Carol was his daughter, now the senior staffer running the lodge. A very accomplished eighteen year old. His son Toby was seven now, and attended Flora’s Fundamental School two hours away down the mountain in Filler. He stayed with a couple there when Carol or Steve could not break away to bring him back to the lodge. The whole little town adopted him on those nights when he stayed over, and Terri and Joelle had become his favorite Aunts. It had been a good five years for the Dunbar family.

“Steve, I am going to attend a wedding down in Malibu in two months. A good friend has found a most amazing young man. She has done a lot of legal work for our organization in the past. I will be gone for four or five days.” Lady Jean announced.

“Then I am coming with you. Something is funny and I want you covered. I’ll leave Pablo in charge here.” Steve announced back.

Jean Thomas knew she would not win this argument, and really did not want to. Steve was good company and she had made her share of enemies.

“Meanwhile, there are no ‘extreme cases’ on the horizon for now, and I am comfortable that Pablo is quite capable to keep the shelters secure and react to any problems that come up. And this place is more secure than ever, especially since we got those SAMs.” Steve continued.

Jean looked at the rocks and could still see the remnants of bullet impacts from a gun battle five years ago. They had also used helicopters that day and she always learned from her mistakes. There would be no undefended aerial assault again. She also knew that there were at least four very formidable security men somewhere around the lodge, rotating from their assignments guarding her shelters and providing escort to her charges.

She had made quite certain that every man in her employ was a father or a brother of a girl, and exuded a natural protectiveness. It was just one last thing to make sure they understood her mission. Steve had heartily concurred.

“Steve, find those girls. I don’t care how much you have to spend to track them down. I have a very bad feeling about this.” Jean said as Steve ushered her inside.

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Chapter 7: Bored Room Meeting — Promisense Headquarters, Lake Tahoe, Nevada- June

If you have never worked in a major corporation there is no effective way to describe the feeling of the major executive review. Imagine huge bundles of ego and insecurity, driven by power and winning all gathered in a place where the rules are boredom, sameness, predictability and ritual. All gains or losses can only come by clever and subtle reaction, never overt action.
No decisions will be made, they are either already made and merely being revealed or are to be formally declared deferred. Briefings contain no new information, they merely serve to condemn everyone to mutual knowledge, so that when things go wrong, all are equally culpable, hence no one is culpable.

The greatest faux pas, the biggest indiscretion is to surprise. It has been done, but is a risky gambit. To deviate from the Agenda is to move the group to uncharted territory, where career moves and gaming the outcomes have not been carefully plotted.

Springing a surprise immediately makes the springer the active enemy of the entire room. Adrenaline flows, glances fly to search for allies, papers get shuffled.

Adrian Beimbeau had just performed a coup. The surprise which was not a surprise. Ord Stonewell, the CEO of Promisense had agreed privately to his breach of etiquette by bringing his report to the meeting. Adrian assumed Stonewell wanted to send a signal to the others that change was imminent. Change in personal power, the only currency which mattered.

Adrian had just told them their entire foundation was in peril.

It was not in peril from the competition. It was not in peril from the police or the courts or even the government.

Promisense was in the entertainment business. Headquartered in Lake Tahoe, Nevada, Ord Stonewell had built an empire based upon quality adult entertainment. Magazines, movies, internet sites and legal prostitution. Stonewell and his company had withstood several federal and state attempts to prove linkages with illegal activity, which he had survived by taking extreme care to keep Promisense firmly in the gray zone of the law, right up to the edge but never over it.

He also made sure no one climbed the corporate ladder without leaving a trail of incriminating evidence he alone possessed. Ord’s favorite movie was the Godfather. “It’s not personal, just business” was the operative mantra.

All of the executives at the table were unmistakably normal people. They coached sports teams for their children, they ran scout troops, were active in the PTA and the Red Cross. Normal suburban dads and moms. Most were experienced at business operations and were heavily credentialed with MBAs, MS in Finance, consulting pedigrees and solid resumes. Promisense was a business like any other business, with multiple markets, channels of distribution, product development and financing issues. They did not view themselves as evil, just delivering a product to meet demand. A legal product. Of course, the laws in some countries were somewhat fluid, which was convenient. They all knew about crossing into the gray area.

All the executives were normal, except Adrian. Ord Stonewell had seen something in him, something he found close to himself. Adrian loved the business, he loved the process, the excitement and he hated the gray line between legal and illegal. Adrian had been assigned to ‘special projects’ last year and the others had assumed he had fallen from favor.

His sudden appearance electrified the room. His presentation was staggering.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. The early results of Project FutureCon are quite promising. They show that revenues for most of your divisions will be substantially reduced, or rather subsumed into the new marketspace created by PleasureJac and it’s offspring.”

Adrian drew energy from the palpable fear and loathing emanating from the seven other Senior Vice Presidents. The Chief Financial Officer looked as if she had swallowed a lemon flavored sponge. Ord Stonewell had an enigmatic and humorless expression on his face.

“The technology is quite simple and yet only very recent advances in bioelectronics and emerging nanotechnology embedded in modern polymers has truly enabled us to create a viable alternative to the vaginal environment. The PleasureJac works under the control of local software on a moderately powered home computer, and we are close to a model which requires little tech support and sustains an acceptable operational life between failures. It does require a broadband internet connection for the master unit at the entertainment node to drive the action at the customer’s home.

“And before you can ask, Cynthia, yes, the women’s model is under development. It seems the female focus groups are much ‘pickier’ about how it performs. We have gone to eliminating the male at the master control entirely and are using pure computer control for the best effect. The male is out of the control loop and serves as eye candy only. It allows us to select performers on looks alone, not performance. We are about six months away from getting the perfect sequence, my test team tells me. Of course, I should examine their incentive scheme; they may be having too much fun in development.” Adrian paused, allowing the audience to laugh at the joke.

“We are building a world where a man can go to a prostitute on line, get a blowjob and eventually with the next generation, have intercourse, all in the privacy of his home or office, and all he has to do is dispose of the plastic insert to his PleasureJac unit. No AIDS, no SARS, no clap, no catching a cold. No cops. No pimps. No missing wallet. He can even record the file and replay it. And she or he will do what he wants, as long as he stays within the script. If he wants a Brazilian girl with a mustache, I’m sure somebody will have a site which will deliver her.”

“My God, Beimbeau, how do we control this?” one of the VP’s asked, sweat beads on his upper lip.

Adrian smiled. Ord Stonewell’s face let out a small grin.

“We don’t, Steadwell. We may have gotten there first, but it is inevitable. We intend to ride the wave.

“First, we will manufacture. We have a site which is remote and unknown. The PleasureJac units will arrive into local markets from a dozen overseas locations, all of them dummy distributors. Some governments will try to ban them, or worse, tax them. By having the product lead, we can define the release cycle. And stay ahead of the inevitable imitators.

“Second, the traditional male-female prostitution business will become a commodity, Blowjobs online will be subject to everybody setting up a site and cutting the price. Some will even offer it for free to hype other services. Our version will take on a McDonald’s model, consistency in a commodity market. But margins will be under a lot of pressure.

“Third, there will be substantial revenue in selling fantasies. Using the technology in role play and more complex entertainments. We’ve know for years a woman in fishnet hose sells more than a naked woman. That will be our home. The provider of locally legal, pay-for-play internet fantasies. And obviously, we will leave the legal exposure, if any, to our franchises, who we merely help set up but have no operational control over. We will have no ownership or get any revenues. They will merely pay off loans which we arrange to start them up and buy our equipment. So if they get into trouble, we are merely a supplier, like the company that sells them paper clips.

“Fourth, we need to re-position our current brothels to emphasize the ‘live’ nature of the product, for the inevitable ‘natural’ backlash that some of the public will have. Of course, we will be happy to sell them a recording of their experience for their home machines.

“The progress summary key points:

“We have the manufacturing pilot plant established in the Australian Northern Territories, with supply chains to Europe, South America, Pacific Rim and of course, North America.

“The franchisee training facility is an island in the Coral Sea with power and comm cables laid into Queensland.

“Twenty ‘early investors’ have PleasureJac beta units installed. They are pioneering our premium services.

“We have ten franchises operating for ‘special fantasies’. Several consultants, writers of bondage and sadism, transgender fantasy and various role play fiction are on retainer to provide menu driven scripts.

“We have a recruiting process underway using chat rooms to find both talent as well as solicit for customers. We feed the prospects to our franchisees through anonymous sources.

“The pipeline for disposing of ‘spoiled talent’ to the traditional brothel trade cross borders is being established.

“The PleasureJac division will be moving to full operation within three months. I suggest you all begin revising your business plans for the inevitable negative impacts.”

The murmuring was muted but seemed to linger on for a long time.

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Chapter 8: The Strange Case of Impolecs- Junecellular Inc, Pleasanton, California- June

Blonde hair is a California curse for a professional woman. Marissa Dupre was holder of two doctorates, microbiology and chemistry, and held several patents with her business partner, John Carter, in the field of bioelectronics and nanotechnology. As the co-founder of Junecellular, Inc. she could review any transaction or contract she wished. Despite all her credentials, her power and position, her appearance often set the tone every time she met a new person, male or female.

Marissa at forty four was a widow, a wonderful mother of a fifteen year old boy, a lousy cook and an absolute knockout, with dimensions approaching a life size Barbie Doll. Despite her conservative fitted suits, her image was hard for anyone to get past.

The man from the customer procurement department was clearly flustered. Normally, a customer visit meant he asked the questions, and he was taken to dinner treated like royalty. Today, he felt he was on the wrong end of the questions. He also was having trouble looking Marissa in the face since his eyes naturally wandered to points south of that.

“Mr. Clymer, we agreed to produce a handful of complex nano-driven polymers which simulated artificial tissue for you. When the project was undertaken, we were led to believe these would be part of tissue replacement research, yet your organization seems to have not answered any of our requests for information of where or when this research is taking place. “ Marissa said calmly. She watched the sweat beads form on the upper lip of Morgan Clymer, and wondered to herself why all procurement people preferred polyester pants.

“We are under no obligation to release that information, Ms. Dupre. We are now requesting you move to the next phase and deliver the increased quantities.” Clymer said weakly, his eyes still drawn to Marissa’s bosom.

“Given the nature of the materials and the technology involved, we are sensitive to where and when this material goes, Mr. Clymer. If you examine the contract, you will find we can walk away if we feel you are in breach of restricted usage.”

“You can’t do that! If you don’t know what we are doing with it, how can you determine we are in breach of restriction? No other supplier ever pulls this shit!” Clymer turned purple. He began to realize this was not a simple debate, but an issue his employers would view as potentially terminal to his own health.

“We are not just any supplier, Mr. Clymer. We view refusal to disclose as issue enough. And we checked. There are legal precedents. The courts are concerned with illegal export of high technology ever since 911, Mr. Clymer. And so are we. Until I get some confirmation of use, phase two is on hold. We have put your progress payment in escrow, as per the payment clause. Good day, sir.” Marissa dismissed the sputtering man with a gentle wave.

Morgan Clymer got up and turned, showering Marissa with a cold glance and emanating abject fear. Marissa was disturbed by that. Contract disputes were not usually life and death contests, and Clymer was acting as if she had just signed his execution order.

Marissa picked up her phone and hit speed dial 1.

John Carter was watching his wife swim laps while he reviewed his email. The sun was putting a golden glow on the atrium of his Santa Barbara home. He saw the incoming call from Marissa and answered it immediately.

“Issa! You should be here, the weather is glorious! What’s the crisis?” he said, knowing it was always a crisis during business hours.

“John, you told me to alert you to anything out of kilter after we had that hacking problem with the FDA trial two years ago. “ Marissa said. She then outlined the strange reaction and behavior of the customer.

“What do you think, Mar? We had hoped to make some money on that product line.” John said, probing the depth of Marissa’s concern.

“It just stinks, John. Why would anybody be so damn mysterious about a polymer which mimics a mucous membrane? I have all these weird scenarios in my head, like a trigger for a bioweapon or some such wild stuff. But none of them make sense. “ Marissa sounded exasperated.

“I keep thinking of the name chosen for the material, Issa. Impolecs was a joke taken from a Pynchon novel. An ‘erectile’ plastic. I think our joke may be on us.” John said, the gravity of the situation sinking in on him.

Marissa’s mind began modeling the possibilities implicit in John’s comment.

“I think you should call Larry and Sean. There are on retainer and this sounds like something they should handle.” John said.

Marissa agreed.

Larry Elger housed a lot of formers. Former Israeli military, former undercover Israeli Consular Protection agent, former terrorist hunter-killer. Today he was a co-owner in a special security service firm. His partner, Sean Taylor, was retired Army, a helicopter pilot whom Larry had rescued from a shooting caused crash in Somalia. Latching onto her as the first positive thing in his life for a long time, driving him stay with her through years of rehab and recovery.

Sean was a six foot tall daughter of the marriage of a black Alabama preacher and a white civil rights lawyer. She had sought escape from their untimely deaths in the Army. Stunningly beautiful, Sean hid her massive body burn scarring and the loss of her left breast from the world.

John Carter had retained them as ‘security consultants’ for Junecellular since they had assisted in protecting his children several years ago. He found their long list of contacts and highly intelligent open minds were useful in dealing with the threats his company faced, which were unusual and subtle. Dealing with competitors, foreign governments and bribed regulators the emerging field of bioelectronics and nanotech was crossing many boundaries. John also knew Larry and Sean were amazingly deadly when necessary, and he wanted them between the threats he faced and his family.

The next day, after flying into Oakland on the Junecellular jet, Larry and Sean were enjoying dinner at Marissa’s home in Pleasanton.

“Marissa, what you’ve told us is a little thin. What are the uses for this Impolecs material outside medical research? Weapons? Industrial processes?” Sean asked as she settled her six foot frame into the overstuffed chair.

Larry was pacing about, a habit that drove Sean daffy at times. At five eight, he was slim and had the ability to look like any one of a number of Mediterranean ethnics, from Arab to Italian, with olive tinted skin and fine, delicate Semitic features.

“Sean, everything I come up with has cheaper and more reliable methods already in existence. Impolecs was designed to become the crude early model of what we might do someday to build artificial organs. It was an attempt to be a functioning mucous membrane which reacts to stimuli of pressure, pheromones, friction and irritants.” Marissa explained.

In Sean’s mind, Larry began to morph into his alter ego, Linda, the character he had played when he had done extensive duty as a decoy and body double for a senior Israeli trade official. That woman official was Larry’s first lover and her ego was such that she initiated Larry sexually while he was her own duplicate. After Larry broke through Sean’s shell of despair at her damaged physical condition during her long rehabilitation and recovery phase, Sean had found Larry as Linda was the way Larry expressed tenderness and vulnerability. The thought of it made her physically aroused.

A thought crossed Sean’s mind and turned into words. “What are the sexual implications of the material, Marissa? It sounds like the stuff could get aroused almost like people do.” Sean knew her preacher father would swat her a good one for that remark if he were here. And Momma would be right behind him.

“Funny you should ask, Sean. The research team that developed it called it Impolecs because an old novel from the 1970s had a mysterious material called Impolex G as a plot macguffin. It was supposed to be an erectile plastic with strange powers. The joke at the time was how close the new material came to simulating the inside of a vagina. We had more hope it could serve as an intelligent bandage for extensive burns.” Marissa said and regretted it immediately. Sean lived with a constant level of pain from the burns sustained by her helo crash. They had been made worse by the diluted chemical weapon discharge she had been trying to avoid. She usually wore gloves and long sleeved blouses to hide the scars which ranged from the back of her hand to much of her left side above the pelvis.

Sean showed no anguish from Marissa’s comment. Burns were just part of her life, something she conquered every day.

“Ok, Marissa. We’ll get on Mr. Morgan Clymer and his company. Are there any additional records of any kind about the contract, shipments, payments, money transfers, letters of credit, phone logs, emails and so forth? The dossier you gave us is pretty full.” Larry stopped pacing and turned his warm face and cold eyes on the statuesque blonde.

“All we could find, Larry. If there is anything else, well get it to you.”

“Okay. One of us will need to interview everybody who has ever interacted with anybody from Clymer, his office and this AB Enterprises he represents. We’ll just be fishing for any leads buried in their memories, little stuff, like weather complaints, or anything personal the other side let out which could let us know more about them. Your initial check for credit and contract work pointed to Melbourne, so we will start a parallel track down there. Thanks for dinner, and we’re sorry to have to leave, but we need to get started.” Larry glanced at Sean, who was nodding in concurrence.

Driving down the 580 to their hotel in the rented Lincoln, Sean mused at the wheel about her plan for tomorrow. Larry was in a deep discussion with his contact in the AFP (Australian Federal Police) who had just finished tomorrows breakfast. Sean listened in on half the conversation.

“Trevor, if I’d known you were just in the States, I would have at least made you buy me that dinner you owe me.” Larry said an amused tone.

“Yes, fine, Sean’s fine. And, no she’s not tired of me yet. I told you she doesn’t have a ‘thing’ for short guys. Yes, I showed her your photos, but I explained how much make up you use.”

Larry got down to actually asking for help. Sean nodded her head, never quite understanding how men always felt a need to insult each other. She slowed down and pulled into the Hyatt.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 9: Everyone Needs A Sideline- June

Scene: Promisense HQ, Parking Lot, Lake Tahoe

“Adrian, is this a problem or not?” Ord Stonewell was standing at the side of his Lexus. He needed to be at a dinner engagement and was not happy with Adrian’s latest explanations.

“Ord, I mean Mr. Stonewell, we are just having a small problem with some self important little person at the supplier. It is being handled. She will see the light within forty eight hours. A single mother is very attached to her children.” Beimbeau responded.

Stonewell glared at him. “I don’t want to hear anything about this. Just make it go away. And don’t turn this into some national news story. Have you straightened out those scriptwriters too?”

“Yes, they are happy as clams. We found out they are all beyond naíve since they are turning out more and we offered them less. The threat of having an editor look over their shoulder spurred them on.” Adrian smiled.

“And that rumor we had, that “Group” thing? Is there anything to that? Should we worry about vigilantes?”

“We are tracking it, Mr. Stonewell. So far, it appears to be an urban legend, a street myth. The source was that woman we retained. She’s good at what she does, but I would say they released her from treatment a bit early. She seems almost delusional about the point.”

Stonewell grunted and sped away, spraying gravel at Beimbeau. Adrian opened his phone.

“You know who this is. Fix that Dupre bitch fast. I want her full cooperation within forty eight hours.” He hung up, not waiting for an answer.

Scene: Cyberspace: Promisense Author Chat
NICKIE SEABIRD> WELL, WE SEEM TO HAVE SETTLED THAT EDITOR THING

DIABLA MALLEY> I WONT HAVE SOME ONE NOT TG LOOK OVER MY SHOULDER. I DON’T CARE IF WE HAD TO SETTLE FOR LESS MONEY

POOH-THING> FORGET IT NOW. WE HAVE A PAYING GIG FOR OUR WORK. SO WHO GOES FIRST? WE NEED A NEW MENU SCRIPT FOR JOHNNIE TO JILL

NICKIE SEABIRD> I WAS GOING TO HAVE THE GIRLFRIEND MAKE JOHNNIE INTO HER LOVE SLAVE

DIABLA MALLEY> HOW FRIGGIN ORIGINAL NICKIE

POOH-THING> THEY SAID THEY WANTED YOUNGER. YOUNG TEEN STUFF. MAKE IT A MOTHER SON THING. AND MAKE HIM DO BAD BOY THINGS

DIABLA MALLEY> WOW-EVEN MORE ORIGINAL

POOH-THING> LIKE YOUR STUFF IS SO NEW

DIABLA MALLEY> WE NEED JOHNNIE TO REGRESS IN AGE

NICKIE SEABIRD> HE ALREADY HAS D CUP TITS. HOW DOES HE REGRESS IN AGE? WE NEED TO TAKE HIM TO THE NEXT LEVEL IN HUMILIATION

POOH-THING> AGREE. WE NEED A DOMESTIC THEME. THE STEPFORD WIFE THING.

DIABLA MALLEY> YES! DRESS HIM LIKE DONNA REED! MAKE HIM VACUUM!

NICKIE SEABIRD> OR JUNE CLEAVER. AND I’LL MAKE HIM VACUUM ALL RIGHT. LOTS OF SUCTION.

Scene: TransTalent Franchise, Central Oregon near Nevada Border-

The high desert, sun drenched and sharp colors washed out in the haze rising off the Oregon ground, depressed her. The stately woman missed her elegant Victorian manor house in New England, the trees with leaves. She had a facial tic which she blamed on the Thorazine they had administered during her ‘treatment’ and she blamed the dry, parched air for making it worse. She hated the landscape and the landscape was indifferent to her in return.

She closed her eyes and saw his face. She heard his taunting voice. She remembered the rage when she found he was no ordinary fifteen year old boy to be dominated, bullied and treated to a round of her specialty, ‘petticoat punishment’. He turned out to be not a victim to have control over and blackmail when he ascended to a position of wealth through inheritance. He was the devil incarnate.

He had stopped her best martial arts skill with the disdain of a man removing an insect from his shoe. He had drugged her, framed her for kidnapping and exposed her lifelong mission. He forced all her ‘students’ to go public with their shame. He had arranged for her assets to be seized by the Federal Government. He had arranged for one of the wealthiest families in the world, the Delacourts, to make it a point of personal vendetta to destroy her financially and socially, just because she had undertaken to discipline their son.

But the most egregious crime of all, was when he told her he was showing pity. She had been found clinically insane. She had been ‘treated’. She had to subject herself to the ‘discipline’ and behavior modification of other, lesser beings. She was bright enough to appreciate the irony.

He was five foot seven and slender. His face was beautiful, a girls face, a pretty boy’s face. Except for his eyes. Those eyes haunted her. When he had promised to kill her without hesitation if she began her hobby again, she knew those eyes would find her. Those eyes were a thousand years old. They illuminated her soul, and found it shriveled and twisted.

Ms. Josephina Talleyrand, formerly known as Madam J, was back in business. During her incarceration, things had changed. High technology was everywhere. The day after she was released to a halfway house, she had been recruited for the TransTalent operation. Whisked across the country, given an identity, funded to do a startup for the ‘specialty’ entertainment industry, she felt some of her old confidence coming back. It had been five long years, but she was back now.

Running a TransTalent franchise meant recruiting talent, housing them, training them and operating the studio for the ‘shows’. It was a startup, and the first operators had to make up the rules as they went along. She knew there were others, about seven to twelve she guessed, some of which just did girls, some just gay boys, and a few were like hers, the “specialty” items. Johnnie To Jill was her trademark production.

The TransTalent management had been clearly unclear. They wanted to sell genuine humiliation, and people wanted young talent, thirteen to fifteen. They had said that of course, to use actual children would be violating the legal boundaries of adult entertainment, but the franchisees were encouraged to ‘acquire’ talent which could project that image. TransTalent management would provide a ‘relocation and retraining’ service when the talent became ‘spoiled’, and would split the ‘placement fee’ with the franchisee.

Ms. Talleyrand knew she would be years before real wealth came her way, given the heavy debt payments she owed the parent company. She had other plans. Her ‘recruits’, abducted based on prospect information provided by the parent company, were the ones that fit her profile. She would mold them into a total dependency state and then arrange for them to ‘inherit’ their families fortune early by some well planned accidents. Indirect control of wealth would be just fine; it was a mode of operation she had pioneered.

Johnnie, the now curvaceous and busty star of Johnnie To Jill , was the sole heir to at least a $500 million dollar estate. He would not be sent to a Mexican brothel as a shemale hooker slave, which the ‘placement’ service the company provided did for their efforts. He would be the poor, confused, drug addicted almost transsexual who would inherit millions. And he would be hers, from the top of his mind to the bottom of his psyche.

His parents just needed their little accident. They were so distraught over their missing son, and such people were prone to accidents. And there was one other loose end. A step sister. From what Ms. Josephina could find out, she was not in the will, but that could change. And she could contest it. She needed an accident too, just to be fair.
________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 10: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished- Pleasanton, California-July

As Larry Elger started the investigation into the odd Mr. Clymer and AB Enterprises, he set some things in motion entirely based on instinct. One of these was to contact Joe Bean, the new head of Junecellular security.

Joe Bean looked like an accountant, down to the wire rim glasses and slightly padded abdomen. Larry knew him to have a dry, biting wit and a natural cynicism which made him a perfect candidate for the professional paranoia required for a security chief. He also knew Joe had exhibited bravery under fire and was partially responsible for Larry’s continued breathing. Joe had been recommended for the position by Larry, who had earned the respect of the founder of the company.

“Joe, I think Marissa and her son need an extra screen around them. She asked me to look into something and I am afraid it might get personal. When I know anything I can share, Sean or I will get it to you. And if you tip onto some surveillance, call one of us ASAP. It could be a lead we need. I’ll send you the info by usual secure method and the details stay with you. Be in touch.” Larry’s voice was always an alert signal to Joe. He replayed the voicemail several times before he deleted it.

Joe opened his special email account, the one with shifting addresses and a decent encryption scheme. Larry’s briefing was short and to the point. The supplier issue, the strange behavior. The potential threat to Marissa, and by extension, Brian, her son.

Text messages went out to selected individuals on his tactical squad, authorizing expenditures for round the clock coverage in depth for Marissa and Brian, and the need to preserve any live suspects they found, preferably without tipping their hand.

Four hours after Joe Bean had put things in motion, the security teams got a nibble. Brian, Marissa’s son, a lanky blonde fifteen year old was playing basketball at the middle school court a half mile from his house. On this sunny Saturday afternoon he was happily sweating and trash talking with several friends while occasionally getting the ball through the hoop.

“Red One this is Red Two. We have confirmed a licensed PI in watcher mode. Blue Crown Vic. Reed Fernando. Rep as small time gray player.”

“Red One to all Red Units. Watch for grab attempt.”

Larry and Sean had set up a working office in a suite at the Hyatt, not ten minutes away. When Joe Bean alerted him, Larry shut down his laptop and tapped a concentrating Sean on the shoulder.

“They got a nibble. I think we may learn more on the scene.” Larry said. Sean moved quickly yet with smooth practice, checking her weapon, grabbing her leather jacket and shoulder bag and locking down any secure material. They were in their car within seven minutes, three of which were due to a slow elevator.

While Sean drove, Larry turned a radio transceiver to the channel used by Junecellular security tac team.

“So far, it looks like one of us is headed down under soon, Larry. Everything I have points to several places in Australia.” Sean said while she navigated the interstate.

“I have gotten farther into some of the initial shipments of the replacement material, the ‘sleeves’ to some addresses around the world. They were all one time orders and then all material flowed into a bonded location in Melbourne. Half of them are in the US.” Larry responded, and then broke off as he listened to the radio in his earpiece.

Brian and his friends were standing by the parking lot when a car pulled up.

“Red Two to all units: It’s ok; they are teenagers from the local high school. They know the subject. Move closer and have vehicles hot just in case.” Larry heard on the TAC frequency.

“Red Three: PI has a telephoto lens and what appears to be a camera targeted at subject. Moving to intercept.”

“Red Two Mayday, weapon in car! Aimed at subject! Take him out!”

Brian was shocked when Chuck, the school asshole, pulled up in his car and started acting friendly. Chuck never traveled alone, and was accompanied by three toadies all jammed into his Corolla. Brian saw the paintball gun being pulled out and held in firing position outside the car window from the backseat. That move probably save the kid’s life, since the first shot shattered the gun, spraying red paint balls all over the car.

Reed Fernando was very surprised when a pistol appeared in his face. He slowly set down the camera and got out of his car, hands clasped behind his neck with fingers interlocked.

Chuck knew he was in serious trouble when three armed men converged on his car, pointing handguns directly at him. His bladder chose this time to release, and he sensed someone in the back seat was in similar straits.

Larry and Sean drove up just as the security team had locked down the area. The kid who held the paintball gun was fortunate that the marksmanship of Red Three was superb. He only suffered minor scratches from shattered plastic. If he had been outside the car and tried to use the gun, he would have been dropped with at least five shots in his torso. Brian and his friends were secure in the back seat of an SUV, covered by two team members.

“I assume this was something more than a High School prank.” Larry said, after being briefed by Red One. Sean was talking to Reed Fernando.

“The driver is babbling about being given fifty bucks to pull a gag on Brian here. He’s already fingered the PI with the camera. “ Red One smiled.

“I know that kid! He was hassling Brian and the Carter kid two years ago. Still an asshole, I guess. Let me talk to him. I think I can guess what this was all about.”

Chuck was standing against his car with his hands placed on the hood. He had been told if he moved a hand, he would lose it and the men with guns were not the joking kind. Suddenly, he saw Larry Elger approaching and the nightmare from two years ago came flooding back.

Chuck and his followers had been bothering Brian and his friend Alan Carter from Santa Barbara at a restaurant after a basketball game. When Chuck was testing one of them in the men’s room, Larry, who had been assigned to protect Alan Carter, burst in. He had convinced Chuck he would have to testify as a solicitor of gay sex and proceeded to ‘arrest’ Alan Carter. Chuck had lived in fear he would see Larry again.

Larry looked Chuck in the eye.

“Well, if it isn’t Chuck? This the new way to solicit oral sex, Chuck? It seems you never pick the right victims, do you, Chuck? And that incontinence problem is embarrassing, isn’t it Chuck?” Larry said mercilessly.

After twenty minutes, Sean returned from her discussion with Reed Fernando. Red One, Larry and Sean held a quick conference,

“How confident are you there is no backup to Fernando, watching him?” Sean asked.

“Pretty confident, Ms Taylor. We’ve done an area sweep, physically and electronically. It seems this was slapped together quickly. Fernando hired the punks to pull a prank which he would photograph and send to Mrs. Dupre. If I got that and it was one of my kids, I’d be pretty worried. He was hired by a guy we know as a local thug and we can now walk back the trail, quietly.

“My guess is he has to send a signal when the photo is delivered and Mrs. Dupre will get a threatening call. Since it was a harmless prank, there’s no crime, and Reed here looks like a good citizen showing her how her poor son is getting bullied. Of course, the signal they are sending is unmistakable- do what we want or we can get to your kid.“ Red One began to let the adrenaline crash show in his face as he eased down from the situation.

“I think we re-enact the shoot, let the PI take his photo and deliver it. Let him send the signal. We’ll plan a follow the chain investigation. Marissa may even agree to their demands, just to keep this trail hot.” Larry said.

Red One and Sean nodded in agreement.

“One recommendation, Mr. Elger. Let my guys do the camera work and the paintball shot. I want it done right.” Red One smiled to Larry and Sean’s grinning assent.

Brian found himself standing on the curb, having been coached to not overplay the surprise of getting a shot. Chuck, sweating profusely, drove up with Larry in the front passenger seat and Red Three in the back with a new paintball gun. They got it in one take, with red splatter all through Brian’s shoulder length blonde hair, his face and chest. He emerged smiling when Sean told him he could get up; they had the pictures they needed.

That evening, Marissa was furious with everybody. Joe Bean accompanied Larry and Sean to her house, which was covered with several layers of electronic and human protection.

It was Joe’s unpleasant job to inform Marissa that if she wanted a protection level against a random shooting then Brian would in effect live in a bubble, like the President. And so would she. Security was a trade off of probability of threat versus intrusion into personal life. They had been fully prepared for a kidnapping or a threat, but an assassination was not probable. And the actual event showed they had been right. Joe was a patient man, and a parent himself. He knew the anger was emotionally driven, a normal response to a threat to a child.

Marissa apologized to them all after a few minutes, and felt no embarrassment at the tears she shed while calming down.

“Larry, you really want me to agree to their threat?” Marissa asked.

“I want Brian out of the line of fire until this is resolved. If you agree, Sean will escort him down to stay with the Carters in a suitable disguise for the trip. Schools out for the summer and I know he likes the Carter kids.

“Then, if you will play along without legal jeopardy for Junecellular, let them think you will not delay the shipments. You have four months before you lose that clause you invoked. Get them to place advance orders so we know where it will be shipped. I want them to think you have been scared out of your wits when the call comes. Don’t volunteer any information; just agree to move towards phase two. Well be tracking the trail from several angles. “ Larry explained.

“Mrs. Dupre, I will be adding layers to your security and also for your housekeeper. If you play along, I don’t see why they would threaten you again, but it will be there. Just make sure you plan your movements with your team leader for the duration of this. “ Joe Bean said as soothingly as he could.

Marissa nodded. “Thanks Joe. I’m sorry I got upset. Were those teenagers hurt?”

“Just scared enough to need a laundry, ma’m. They will be better behaved, for a while at least.”

The picture was delivered. Reed Fernando gave his signal, a call to a voicemail box. Red One was already stationed outside the house in Oakland where the man who hired Fernando waited. Red One watched the man dial his cell phone.

Marissa took the call, with Larry on an extension. She let anger show in her voice when asked to cooperate with her contractual obligations. She was holding the picture of Brian staring at the red blotch on his chest, a shocked look frozen in time.

Larry gave some credit to the caller. He never made threats, and indeed two packages of pictures arrived by separate couriers. One held Brian’s photos, and one was innocuous pictures of the product samples. The caller could always claim he was referring to the other pictures if arrested. His tone was sufficiently ominous. Marissa agreed to proceed with the set up for phase two. The caller coldly hung up.

The man in Oakland called a number in Cairns, Australia, another voicemail box. Red One listened in with an extra-legal radio scanner. The message was short and seemed to signal mission accomplished. Payment was requested. He made sure he had the number and conversation recorded, and sent the files to the Junecellular network. The man in Oakland would have a shadow for some time to come.

Larry knew he was headed for a long flight.

Brian was amazingly cooperative, finding all the secret agent stuff pretty exciting, until he was told he was riding to Santa Barbara as Sean’s sister. Sean was coffee and cream colored, with short curly black hair crowning her finely featured face. Brian was a fair skinned blonde. And a boy.

“Dammit, Brian, how many guys get a chance to be as cool as a black chick, even for half a day? You think we hand out invitations? You got to be special to even try!” Sean gave him a look while Larry hid a smirk and Marissa could not stop grinning.

Brian reluctantly agreed. Black rinse in his hair, skin tone now just a bit lighter than Sean’s, dark soft lenses and a well padded bra later, he stood there in his running suit and gave his Mom a hug as he climbed up into the front seat of the SUV. Sean told him he looked good and pulled away, headed for the freeway.

“If we stop to eat, try not to talk. Especially to black people. There is no way you are going to pass if you open your mouth. And for God’s sake, remember to use the girl’s room. Now let’s hear some music.” Sean said, grinning at her new little ‘sister’.

Brian was a fan of rap and hip hop, and was clearly expecting something contemporary to come out of the speakers. He shot a glance at Sean when Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony began it’s first movement.

Black Like She- Monterrey California

Brian was getting more uncomfortable by the second. Mitzi Diamond was a strange presence, and he felt like the human in an alien abduction story.

“Can you do it Mitzi?” Sean asked, her voice carrying a level of amusement. Brian assumed it was at his expense.

Mitzi had named himself after Mitzi Gaynor, and shared the circumference of his wrist with her waist size. Polished bald black head, in that ageless zone middle aged black men get, he could be anywhere from forty to sixty. Huge at six foot six, with hands twice the size of Brian’s, well muscled without an ounce of fat detectable, Mitzi was the most overtly gay man Brian had ever met.

“Of course, sugar. If I can make those skanky anorexic witches look like street ho’s for the rap and hip hop videos, I can take a pretty white boy and make him look good. I assume this is involuntary on his part? He looks like I might skin him alive or something.” Mitzi said in a deep, barrel echoed voice which somehow sounded like music.

Sean had explained to Brian that his current disguise was a ‘field improvisation’ and she needed to give him something better before they began their journey. She had a friend who helped Larry and her on such things.

Sean also explained that while their destination was the Carter house in Santa Barbara, which Larry had secure with trusted teams in place, they were not going to risk the Carters by heading right there. They were going to meander a bit and then arrive four or five days later, when the chance of a panic reaction by the bad guys had subsided.

“You can be sure they are watching that house by now, and if anyone suddenly arrives, they’ll figure it out, no matter what you look like. So you, young lady, arrive at a decent interval removed from the action. Larry and your Mom are going to really piss off the bad guys and it may get ugly.” Sean had explained. Brian almost stopped listening after the ‘young lady’. He was still not used to being a girl, having been one for five hours now.

So, the alien abduction was underway and Brian had no idea what would happen when it was done.

Over the next two days it became apparent. They stayed in rooms in the back of the large loft Mitzi kept over a warehouse. Food was take out but gourmet take out. He was dying for a burger.

Mitzi was actually very funny once you stopped shaking when he talked. Brian got the condensed version of Mitzi’s life.

“If you Google on Black Fairy Queen, I’m the first ten entries, sweetheart! Just a big old fag who used to be a chemist for a cosmetics company back east. I got tired of them stealing my patents, so I headed out here. I found big scary black men are usually not hired as cosmetics consultants, even when they are as sweet as I am, so I starved for a while. After a few breaks where I won’t admit what I had to do to get, I got work on the first rap videos. I had a whole bag of tricks on makeup and padding and things, and I made girls look like ‘street’ like Playboy made white chicks look like hookers that live next door.

“You think those bubble butts and skinny arms are naturally occurring? Think again, chicklet. Mitzi’s got some magic things which are under development to go commercial and Mitzi’s ready to retire. Except for my dear friends like Sean and Larry.

“So now we need to go to work on you. Now I absolutely know you are not gay, right? “

Brian nodded in rapid agreement.

“Thought so! Well I am, but I promise you, work with me and when you leave here you still won’t be gay. You’ll be gorgeous and black and girl, but you won’t be gay. Are we ok?” Mitzi stuck out his huge hand.

Brian nodded and saw his hand dwarfed inside Mitzi’s. The smile was thousand watt.

Brian remembered snippets of the next two days.

Mitzi-“My Lord, Sean, you brought me a white boy that can almost dance! His dad made him take ballroom lessons! That’ll help a lot.”

Sean- “Brian, you can’t learn to be American black and girl in two days or two years, but we can do this. You are Michelle, your are just fourteen and are from Morocco. You attended a convent school on the island of Malta. You are my little sister. You speak perfect English with just a hint of French accent. Your real mom is French Canadian and I know you know some French and have heard French accented English your whole life. So you can just look bewildered at the street talk. The boys will be intrigued and the girls will hate you, which is fine, since the girls will blow your cover in a flash if they get a chance.”

Mitzi- “You are lean and muscled which is good, some black girls are pretty muscular. Two years ago I would be doing corn rows, sweetie, but straight is back in the ‘hood right now, so we dye it black and I have some stuff that will make it appear coarser and a little processed. You do have beautiful hair and I will make sure you get it back when this is over.”

Sean- “Shave all over and we will use this semi permanent skin dye. You should come out light, about my coloring, and it will last for about three weeks without smudging. By week four, you will look like a white girl who surfs a lot. By week six, you will need to use a lot of foundation because it will finally fade but get a little blotchy. By week seven, you can be Miss Scandinavia.”

Mitzi- “These tits are my specials. They stay on, they form an almost undetectable seal and are impervious to shock and swimming. Stay out of saunas over 180 degrees Fahrenheit, which might cause the seams to open. The hip and butt pads work the same way. With a little tucking, you can wear a bikini. I have a few gaffs here, which will help you tie little Michelle down, Okay mon cherie?”

Sean- “Here’s the rules. Don’t talk to boys. Don’t talk to girls. Speak when spoken too. If you have to talk, use your accent and pretend you don’t understand. Use the girls room. Avoid contact. “ Sean grinned. “Now, those rules will be impossible to keep. Just be careful around boys and real careful around girls. And assume all black girls are your disguise’s most deadly enemy.”

Brian/Michelle became proficient at makeup under Mitzi’s tutelage. Mitzi was a font of information on boys passing as girls and managed to make it entertaining.

“Michelle, love, you can actually dance! I’m impressed. Now remember honey, you are going to be a magnet for black boys with that light skin and your fine features, especially when you couple it with those ‘D’ bazooms and that big bubble butt. And your hair is fabulous. Make sure you keep doing enough to keep some body in it. And don’t dance with any black girls, they will make you in a flash. The boys will be looking down your blouse and at your rear. “ Mitzi said while doing some moves with Michelle/Brian to contemporary hip hop. Sean looked on and smiled.

Mitzi cried when they left.

“I cry whenever someone leaves, Michelle, don’t worry. You’ll be fine, sister. Just remember you’re from Morocco, not Pleasanton.” Brian got a huge hug from the huge man.

“Stay close to Sean. She and Larry are the best. They keep people like me and you safe to have the fun lives we do. Appreciate them and hope we never run out of them.” Mitzi whispered into Brian’s ear.

Brian/Michelle kissed Mitzi on the cheek, knowing it was in character. Mitzi responded with a musical basso round of laughter.

Down the road, they decided to head inland. Sacramento, Fresno. Palm Springs.

Brian/Michelle had a few adventures. One at a stop for lunch at a chain restaurant. Three black young men, well dressed and from a local college had introduced themselves to Michelle while Sean was paying the bill. Brian batted his eyes and played dumb, pretending not to understand in cute French accented English. Sean had to pry the boys away with a lot of effort as they drove away.

Twice, he almost wandered into the men’s room, and once he was accosted for money in the girl’s room. He found he got by being shy and staying close to Sean.

Sean realized she liked her little sister, even if he was a boy. They became friends while driving around the state, and Sean shared parts of her life story, which also meant she had to tell part of Larry’s.

One night, in the room they shared in Palm Springs, Brian asked Sean about the scars on her hand. Sean explained what they were and then showed Brian her stomach and upper arms, also heavily scarred.

“This is part of me, Michelle. It is who I am. I stopped feeling sorry for myself a while ago. So if you see me reluctant to display this, it’s because it upsets people.” Sean said with a hint of sadness.

Brian did not know what to say.

“My Dad used to say to look at people without your eyes.” Brian said, beginning to choke up.

“Your Dad was a smart man. I would have liked to have met him. I lost mine too and I loved him very much.” Sean said. She extended an arm around Michelle/Brian and held him for some time.

They finally approached the Carter house in Santa Barbara, right after breakfast.

“Michelle, Brian, you know what the plan is. You appear here as Michelle until the dye fades, at which time you re-emerge as Charlene, the cousin of the twins. The security people know what’s going on. The Carters will help all they can until this is over. You will be ‘home schooled’ for now.

“If you are here, your Mom can relax, we can protect you better and put more people on covering your Mom. It really helps if no one ever knows Brian is here. So can you be a girl for a while?” Sean said as they drove up.

Brian knew this, Sean was just reviewing. “Sure, Sister Sean. Please keep my Mom safe. And you too. I just got a sister and I don’t want to lose her.”

“Me too, Michelle. Anytime you need a big sister, call me. You’re a good kid, Brian. And a good sport. You really impressed Mitzi, too.” Sean said, kissing Michelle/Brian goodbye.

Inside the house, Cecilia, sweatsuit and black hair curly over her ears, and Cissy, skirt and camisole top with black hair past mid back welcomed Michelle/Brian.

“Welcome Michelle! We’re so glad you could come. And we can’t wait until Cousin Charlene shows up!” They said in unison.

Brian swallowed hard. It was going to be a long summer.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 11: On A Clear Day, You Can Cause Havoc- July

Vanished into thin air. Marla Brokken’s cry for help found it’s way to Lady Jean’s shelter service, a plea to get away from her abusive father and passive mother, a pattern that Steve Dunbar seen too many times. A live in uncle made this one even worse. Marla had not been a virgin for a while, and she was not enjoying her role as home entertainment center for blood relatives. She had learned to get them so drunk they passed out before they could actually do much to her, but she was not always successful at this ploy. She had been ready to bolt into the safety of a shelter but was gone when Steve’s agent had shown up.

Steve’s detectives had some information from the neighbors, some of whom had tried to help the girl. Today, he was in Crescent City, the northernmost coastal town in California. The cable TV van was his only lead. The cable company office had no record of any vans in the area on the days in question, but one van had been out for repair at a local car dealer.

Rolling into town in his black Ford Expedition, he saw the pattern of most coastal towns. Two major parallel streets, one usually part of the Pacific Coast Highway, a town defined by waterfront, long and narrow, recreation and tourist business on the beachside, local services inland. A drizzle, a gray sky and a vague mist in the low points completed the scene. He pulled into the service area of the Chevrolet dealership.

A man larger than Steve walked out of the large service bay, into the mist, to meet him. Similar tattoos, but where Steve was large and lean, this one was larger and thick. Few would dare call him fat. Arms like medium tree trunks, bald head and foot long beard, brown streaked with gray, he stood there in a mechanic’s one piece coverall with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, making him a gray apparition. Only the small, round wire rim glasses softened his appearance.

“Francis! You look well preserved.” Steve said, finding himself lifted off the ground as he exited his truck cab. Francis Funkerman was the son of unknown parents, who had found a home in Steve’s old motorcycle gang, the Disciples.

Like Steve, he had retired from the criminal life and moved away. He had been part owner of the Chevy dealership for at least ten years, and ran the service department with passionate efficiency.

“Steve! I heard you were back! Sorry about your old lady, man. If I’d known I’d have tried to help, but word didn’t get up here until much later. Glad those Cottrell assholes are gone.” Francis referred to events that happened five years ago, when Steve had been missing in the South China Sea and his wife was killed, his sons were on the run from the Cottrell brothers, who ran the Disciples. Through the kindness of Lady Jean and many others, they had survived and were there for him to help in their final rescue.

After ten minutes of mutual remembrances, Steve found himself in Francis’ office, a large mug of very strong coffee cutting the chill so prevalent in morning time on the Pacific coast. He explained what he was doing in town and the hunt for the mysterious Cable van.

“I remember that van. I asked one of our service writers why it was hanging around for so long. Then it left the lot and I forgot about it. Let’s have a talk with that guy.” Francis said in his normal low rumble.

Fifteen minutes later:

The service writer was shaking nervously. His boss was fearsome enough, but this other guy scared the hell out of him. These old bikers had a reputation for mean that created images in his head he wished would go away.

“It was Broken Billy. The crip who hangs out at the Rusty Nail. He got some gig in Oregon, running supplies. He wanted the van for two days.”

Francis rose out of his chair and lifted the man by his shirtfront.

“I hope he paid you good, shithead, because you’re done here and anywhere else in this area. And if we find Broken Billy has gone missing, I would suggest you say goodbye to you elbows and kneecaps. Get out now before I violate several labor laws.” Francis thundered. He dropped the man in a heap.

Four hours later:

The cabin was lived in but currently unoccupied. Steve had been watching the local dogs running back and forth through the yard since he had started the stakeout. From the SUV he had been in touch with the Lodge and Lady Jean’s staff had given him a profile of Eugene Dunderman, aka Broken Billy. A small time grifter, he had suffered an unfortunate ‘accident’ trying to scam an Indian Casino. Broken knuckles, broken elbow, broken leg. Broken dreams. It’s hard to blend in and be unrecognized, a requirement for running a con, if you have a limp, a marginal arm and partially functioning hands.

Francis was drinking coffee in the passenger seat, managing to make the normally spacious cabin seem cramped. A proud father of two girls, he was furious his business had been even an unwitting part of a girl’s suffering. Steve was glad for the company.

Broken Billy showed up a half an hour later, his pickup full of grocery bags and Federal Express boxes. They watched the man limp around his heavily dented vehicle to tie down a tarp over his cargo, struggling with the simple tasks of knots and pulling the fabric taut.

“Looks like Old Broken Billy is making a delivery. I think you may be in luck, Steve.” Francis said in a whisper.

“I hope we get an idea of where he is heading soon, I have some backup on the way north up I-5 and they can cut him off or help follow as we see fit. They’ve been rolling for three hours now and are just approaching Shasta. If Billy stops someplace without his dogs around, I’ll try to plant a locator on that pile of rust he’s driving. Then we can follow him at our leisure with the GPS signal.” Steve said, poring over the displays in his truck. He was happy Lady Jean spared no expense equipping their small fleet of vehicles. Francis was amazed at the ability to surf the internet, check his portfolio and email all from the seat of a parked truck out in the hills and marsh.

“He’s rolling now. I’ll bet he gasses up at the Chevron back at 101 if he’s going any distance.” Francis said. “Cheapest gas and good coffee. We should roll out and be there, he has to pass it going anywhere.”

Steve started the big V-8 and backed out onto the logging road. Once he was clear of the cabin view, he turned on the lights.

Francis was right. They were able to attach the locator beacon, which looked very much like a mud splatter on a rear fender, while Broken Billy was flirting with the counter girl and having his thermos filled.

“We may lose that signal in the hills and passes if he goes East.” Francis said.

“Not a chance. There’s a King Air twin engine plane in the area, and his job is to fly to that signal while staying high enough to not be heard. He will relay it to us. He is rigged for slow flight and has a ton of fuel. My boss told me to spare no expense on this one. The signal may be lost going sideways, but not straight up.” Steve grinned while Francis nodded appreciatively.

The trail led northeast into Oregon, through small towns along the Illinois River valley to Grants Pass, a sizeable town on the Rogue River and sitting along I-5. Down the interstate , then cutting east through the relative flat and wet lands which made up the gap between the Sierras and the Cascade Mountains. Past Klamath Falls onto the mixed wetlands and forested mountains, past Lakeview and onto washboard dirt, sagebrush and high desert, where Oregon blends into northern Nevada.

Wild horses roam here, and Steve had one pace his Ford for ten miles down a dirt track, until the horse looked him in the eye, reared his head and snorted. The stallion then began moving perpendicular to his track, having claimed his dominion and challenged the interloper.

The second SUV was twenty miles behind and maintaining distance, while the blip on the screen showed Broken Billy three miles ahead.

“When are you taking the bastard, Steve?” Francis asked, chewing on a protein bar and washing it down with coffee. Eating and drinking while doing thirty miles an hour on a washboard dirt road is challenging at best, but Francis seemed unfazed by the vibrations. The big SUV was a dervish rolling through the land, trailing a plume of reddish brown dust marking the only visible movement for miles.

“After he shows us where he’s going. Those groceries are for somebody, and I hope it may be the kid. It turns out the girl’s uncle hangs out with Broken Billy at the Rusty Nail, and I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. I’m hoping he delivers, takes a break and then heads out. Then we bushwhack him. And persuade him to give us intel on the target.”

“We allowed to ‘persuade’ him like the old days?” Francis grinned.

“If we have to. It’s a big desert and folks get lost out here all the time. Especially the uncooperative ones.” Steve said grimly. If Broken Billy had anything to do with Marla Brokken’s disappearance, Steve had little compassion for him.

Evening came, cold and clear with a full moon painting the landscape a grayish tint. The high desert is a land of extremes, heat and cold, bright and dark with sparse moisture the only constant. Steve examined the cluster of connected prefab buildings sitting on the raised mound of earth, greenish hued in the night vision goggles. There was no apparent movement and Steve wondered if there were motion sensors or other security measures.

Broken Billy has stayed less than an hour inside the building. The second team had arranged for his truck to blow a tire when it was several miles back up the dirt road. With Billy cursing the lug nuts frozen to his wheel with his truck jacked up, he was easily subdued by Steve’s men.

Francis and Steve, a combined five hundred pounds of tattooed muscle and mean were a convincing sight. Broken Billy needed no persuasion. He hated the job, the people and was worried about the girl he had delivered to the remote location in the desert. Steve began to change his mind about the twisted little man’s culpability in whatever scheme was underway out here under the starry sky.

“Those goddam dykes treat everyone like shit. They give me a list, and I pick up the Fed Ex packages and supplies three times a week. An old guy I knew told me there was a regular gig for me, since I can’t do the con anymore. The two dykes met me at the Nail on the coast. Big blonde bitches. They send money to my account once a week, and all I do is run supplies.

“The girl was extra. The dykes met her uncle and he told me to get a van and wait for her to run out to me. I was to tell her I was taking her away to someplace safe. So I did. Shit, it sounded good, and she told me all kinds of crap about why she was running away. Poor kid, she was desperate. She kept asking if I was taking her to see the Lady. I said yes, if you consider them dykes ladies.

“Every time I ask about her and those bitches just tell me to fuck off. I tell you, that girl was willing, I didn’t touch her. She kept thankin’ me for ‘saving’ her.”

Billy spilled what he knew about the layout. There were only two women there now. The older one, a tall thin woman was not there. She was the boss, they all jumped when she said ‘frog’. There was no security, no call signs, he just drove up and knocked on the door. They acted like he was the only live body that ever came, and he had never seen but one set of tracks other than his, and those made by the Cadillac Escalade they kept in the storage bay.

The tire repaired on Broken Billy’s pickup, the tarp shielding Francis and the two men in the truck bed, Billy handcuffed to the SUVs a mile away, Steve drove the old Chevy up to the main building. Billy had whined that if they all got killed he would die. Steve had laughed and agreed, which only served to add to Billy’s distress.

As he approached the door Steve felt the tightness in his stomach, the general level of tension wash over him. Cops he knew told him they got this feeling every time they walked up to a stopped car. Counting on intel from a source like Billy was risky, but his gut told him the main protection these people had devised was the remoteness of the location.

This area was truly no mans land, with the chance of a random visitor approaching zero. He saw a microwave dish, which meant a private repeater for the communications, and he heard a generator in the background. This place was off the grid, no utility visits. There was probably a private water supply.

Billy’s battered Stetson was a poor fit, stretched tightly around his forehead. He knew he was hardly a good mimic of the crippled delivery man, but was just cutting the odds in his favor by any means possible. He stayed in shadows as he faked a limp to the front door, his Glock solidly in his grip.

The team slipped out of the truck bed one at a time, moving invisibly to their planned positions. They all knew if there was any kind of sophisticated security systems, they would be at significant risk. They all agreed to go ahead and take the chance.

Steve pushed the buzzer button next to the doorjamb. He had been told to expect a long wait. The five minutes was long enough for him to lose some high adrenaline edge, so when the door flew open and the pugil stick drove on his solar plexus he was only able to dodge some of the blow. He could feel his ribs crack.

It did not register in time that his attacker was a six foot tall woman with short blonde hair and oiled muscles under her khaki tee shirt. A veteran of close combat in gang fights, drug deals, prison cells and oil rigs Steve’s instinct was to immediately close with the attacker and neutralize the weapon. His headbutt smashed her nose bloody while he locked her arms in a futile fight for control of the pugil stick. She should have dropped it and gone for him directly.

A few disabling blows and she was subdued, bound and gagged. Her eyes tracked him as he examined the room and Francis entered through the door.

“Nasty piece of work, Steve. I think you improved her face.” Francis said as the woman wriggled furiously screaming obscenities into her gag.

Gray walls and ceiling, surfaced with some kind of composite, probably sprayed onto the metal skin made a box fifteen feet high and the size of a basketball court. Desks, chairs and odd pieces of random furniture littered the openness, and cubicle walls demarked sleeping areas. It was clear one resident was fastidious and one was your basic issue slob. Steve pegged the slob as the one in custody.

Chatter in his earpiece indicated the rest of the team had found pay dirt. Marla Brokken was alive.

The next building over revealed another blonde, tall, thin and whiney who apparently ran the production equipment. She had offered no resistance when the men entered after forcing the door. Restrained but ungagged she was talking a mile a minute, letting them know about the kids, the sex shows, the weird old bitch who hired them, and how she had nothing to do with anything. She was just a techie; she handled the internet stuff, the cameras the communications.

The place looked like a movie set. Inside the soundproof room, Steve saw two girls. One was Marla Brokken, dressed like some housewife on those old sitcoms. The other was sucking a phallic device with great enthusiasm, starting into the overhead camera. She was dressed in a schoolgirl’s outfit which barely contained her breasts.

Before Steve could shut the process down, the girl received a stream of fluid into her mouth and a satisfied look appeared on her face. The screens flashed a ‘Shows Over” title under the “Johnnie To Jill” logo.

“Good thing you let it finish. The little junkie gets her fix that way.” The bound woman said coldly.

Steve opened the closed studio and walked up to Marla.

“You asked for us, Marla. You were gone when we tried to pick you up. We’re here to give you the help you asked for.” Steve said softly.

Marla looked at the big man, the thick arms and the tattoos with kindness in his eyes.

“You’re from the Lady? My God I thought she didn’t exist anymore! “ Marla’s face mixed hope and sorrow.

“Yes. It took some doing to find you, but we’re here to take you to sanctuary.”

Marla ran up and hugged him. Steve noticed the glazed eyes of the other girl and decided the captured techie was not lying. The girl looked like a classic heroin addict after a fix.

“Can Jill come? There’s just the two of us and she’s been here for so long. Please don’t leave her here!” Marla pleaded.

“We’ll take her, Marla, and get her some help. Let’s get you both out of here. What was that device in the studio?”

“The PleasureJac, they called it. It’s better doing that thing than dealing with real people. It’s how they gave us our junk. We did it a few hours a day, and they left us alone the rest. Something about the internet.” Marla talked nervously, while Steve draped a blanket around her. The cold of the desert night was chilling the insides with the doors knocked open.

The girls fed and sleeping in the SUV, Broken Billy released and driving away with the sure knowledge he had crossed a line with Francis, Steve and Francis were waiting for a helicopter to evacuate the girls. The other men were photographing the interior and Steve was unclear about what to do with the two captive women.

Lady Jean’s organization kept a solid distance from the legal system, taking no retribution for abuse but not hesitating to use force to save their charges. Steve knew the two women were bad actors, and he could either let them go or kill them. Given the captivity and forced addiction they had performed, he was tempted to let the desert bleach their bones. He knew he would have to be content to save the two girls and let Jean bring them back to a real life.

Chatter in his ear grabbed his attention. “Remove that plastic prick and bring it along. I want to know what it is and if we’re going to see more of this crap.” He told the man inside. The other one was already carrying out a handful of cd-roms he had stripped off the computer hard drives.

“Steve, I pulled it out of the USB port and the computers all went blank. There’s a high pitched noise.” The man inside said.

“Get out now!” Steve screamed.

He watched the figure of the man in the door, running hard while carrying the black PleasureJac. Flames barely preceded a skeleton rattling explosion as the man hugged the ground. All of the buildings fractured and threw shrapnel out into the desert night.

Shielding his eyes Steve dived for the ground. He heard a side window shatter on the SUV as something propelled by the series of explosions flew into the empty driver’s seat.

It was a miracle they suffered no more than dents, some broken glass and bruises. The man who narrowly missed the close up view had some superficial burns but was already back at work.

The decision on the two blondes had been made by their former employer.

“Hell of a severance package, Francis. They did not want that place salvaged. All because of this thing.” Steve held the broken PleasureJac unit up.

The helicopter rotor could be heard in the night.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 12: This Means War!- Reno, Nevada- August

“This is intolerable! We have customers going crazy and ringing our lines off the hook! What the hell happened to the webcast?” Adrian Beimbeau screamed at the tall, implacable woman seated across from him in TransTalent headquarters in Reno, close, but not too close to Promisense in Lake Tahoe.

“The facility was compromised and they triggered the destruct mechanism. I can prove nothing more, but I know who did this to me. And mind your tone with me, Mr. Beimbeau. Yes, I know who you are. I know your links to Promisense.” Ms. Talleyrand said curtly.

“Yes, your mysterious group. The one that sent you away to that asylum. The bogeyman. And I would advise you to stop snooping into our side of this, Ms. Talleyrand. Such information is inherently dangerous.” Adrian smiled sweetly. He found this woman to be amusing, her psychoses fascinating.

“It’s not a joke. And they will come for you like they did for me.”

Adrian knew there was something to her ravings, his people had confirmed there was a solid probability of an informal collection of vigilantes who ‘took down’ abusers, especially of young boys and transgendered men. He had even had a photograph of their probable lead operative, which confirmed the sketch he had commissioned from her memory.

“Then they will find that to be a tragic mistake.” Adrian spat out through his smile.

Ms. Talleyrand stood up and turned to leave. She had to find the Tunturo boy. All her future depended on it. The rest of her plan was already underway.

“Where do you think you are going?” Adrian said calmly.

“I am done with you people. Good day to you, sir.” Ms. Talleyrand used her ‘command’ voice, which had struck fear in the hearts of her many victims.

Adrian maintained his smile. “These two gentlemen will escort you to your destination, Ms. Talleyrand.”

The woman did not speak another word as the needle sunk into her arm. The two men, wearing dark Italian suits and wrap-around sunglasses grasped her arms and moved her inert body to the private elevator.

“The usual procedure, Hoskins.” Adrian said, watching for the telltale nod of the shrouded eyes. Ms. Talleyrand was not the first active participant in the TransTalent retirement program.

Adrian walked into the office of Lester Quarrel, his security head. Lester had followed Adrian’s rise to power, through the porno industry, managing casinos, escort services, collections of gambling debts. They had started together as repo men in New York City. Lester had taken a knife for Adrian; Adrian had taken out the knifeman.

“What do we have Lester? Did those fairy lovers take out my highest rated show?” Adrian said, always in a relaxed mood around Lester.

Balding, short and vicious, Lester never showed his teeth when talking. It made following his conversation difficult, even for Adrian.

“We got a guy we think is the head shit. He’s a big thing in Sacramento, politics and crap. Angelo. And that other guy, we don’t know his name but people have seen him near LA recently. A lot of people on the street are scared of him.” Lester muttered.

“Is it them, Lester?”

“We only found two bodies in the wreckage up in Oregon and neither of them was the ‘product’. So it would be consistent with them grabbing the boy. If they have him, they may decide to come after the whole thing.” Lester wheezed.

Sometimes coincidence is taken for conspiracy. Adrian had enough information to remove the potential threat. He was feeling powerful at having resolved the Impolecs problem with a little judicious muscle. That officious bitch at Junecellular had gotten the message. So too, this “Group”, would be removed, or neutralized.

“We need another show like Johnnie To Jill . Which franchise can pull that off the best?” Lester asked. He frequently overstepped his bounds which annoyed Adrian. Lester had delusions he was part of the actual business and not just the head bonecruncher.

“Never mind the entertainment side, Lester. Get me a plan and review it with me before you do anything about this problem.” Adrian dismissed his old friend. He turned and left.

“Asshole” mumbled Lester.

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Chapter 13: Gown Of Colour — Malibu, California- Early September

September is transition. Seasons, lives, back to school, things change.

Miss T was a swarm of activity. The little chapel was ready for the Wednesday evening wedding, or ‘wedding, part one’ with the main event scheduled for Saturday.

The guests were few for this ceremony. While Carolyn had convinced Angel to be the bride for her for the first ceremony, he had extracted a promise to keep the invitees to only very close friends. She had agreed, stressing that she wanted everyone to come as their ‘best dressed’ selves.

Day Before

Angel and Carolyn were sitting and holding each other the day before, watching the surf on the beach.. They had been shedding tears off and on for hours.

Carolyn’s father had called and begged forgiveness. He wished to attend his daughter’s wedding. His son had disappeared from school months ago and he and his wife were wracked with grief. The idea of having a family again was both terrifying and comforting, especially as she approached her wedding. Carolyn knew her father was not directly responsible for her mother’s death, but had felt rage at his decision to leave the family.

Janice had called Angel and let him know Frank was losing his fight against his disease. He was not expected to last more than a few months, and they would be painful.

“Angel, maybe we should postpone….” Carolyn started.

“Frank wants to see me get married before he dies. I can’t deny him that, and I want him to see us. He’s my Dad. I asked him to give me away tomorrow and be here for Saturday where he can play mother of the groom. Carolyn, I’ve been ready for this for years. In a way, I’m glad he made it this far. And I want to meet your Dad too. Ok?” Angel said softly, stroking Carolyn’s inch long curls while slowly massaging her neck.

Carolyn began purring.

“Ohhhh my God, I can’t think when you do that. Yes, you’re right. I love you and we’re doing this. That thing about my step brother is strange, though.”

“I’ll look into it after the wedding, babe.” Angel said.

“In that case, I have to deliver you to Tess’s hairdresser first thing in the morning, sweetie. I’m sure you’ll look lovely.” Carolyn laughed.

Angel looked at her short hair and knew Carolyn’s efforts tomorrow would consist of a wash, comb and blow dry, maybe lasting about five minutes. He, however, was in for a morning of intense salon activity. Followed by Frank and Janice ‘helping’ him with his gown.

He mused over why he had agreed to be a bride. He knew Carolyn enjoyed him both ways. He knew she fully intended to have her day, her white gown, her bridesmaids, her groom, but was equally excited about him enjoying the same things.

His appearance was always a performance, a show, an act. He always was on stage, whether male or female in clothing. Every once in a while he felt a giddiness, an excitement at how he looked, like his Carrie phase. A pleasant feeling accompanied some masks more than others.

A bride should not be a mask. It could not be just a performance. He needed it to be more.

As the evening progressed, the lovers found time for each other, time away from work and wedding plans and guests and parties. Time away from bad news and heartbreak.

Hotel near LAX

Miles Stein stared at the hotel room ceiling. He hated LA. He hated working with a partner. Dunlop was good, but not very adaptable. And he snored. Miles was grateful their client paid for separate rooms. Tomorrow would be easy. Whack the broad during the ceremony and get out. Too bad it would be close in stuff. There were no good sniper positions away from even minimal security. So he would get close and bang, bang bang. Then leave in the confusion. If he screwed up, Dunlop would shoot her and then him. All he wanted to do was get back to Miami in time for his birthday.

Motel In Ventura County, CA

Duane Washington ran over his plan with June Cleaver. He knew that was not her real name, but she could call herself whatever she wanted. The motel room was covered with charts and maps. Duane was a meticulous planner. So meticulous that June was ready to blow his black ass all over the flip charts if he did not shut up.

“Washington, all I wanna know is why, with all the talent in LA, they brought us in from Jersey to hit this guy? My contacts tell me the locals won’t touch the sonofabitch.” June’s cigarette dangled and moved to punctuate her question. Duane hated smokers and June knew it.

“I heard that too, like he’s the devil or something. I hear he has a lot of street cred. Oh well, tomorrow he’s toast. You got the uniforms that fit from the florist?” Duane asked, for the third time.

“Shut the fuck up, Washington! Don’t ask me again! One more time and I’ll do you in your sleep. Now leave me alone.” June screamed and settled into her pillow, television remote flipping channels.

Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Larry found the dinner in a trolley car unusual to say the least. Trevor Olsen had told him it was a good tourist thing, dinner on wheels while slowly navigating the streets of Melbourne. His trip had been useful in following the trail on AB Enterprises. He had seen the manufacturing plant in the Northern Territories and had overflown the training facility on the Great Barrier Reef. Trevor and his friends were compiling an impressive dossier of financial and other sources of information on the operations. Larry had a lead to a company called TransTalent, and a shadow of suspicion to Promisense. All trails led to Nevada next. He had a profile of this AB, the link to TransTalent.

Instead of a sandwich and beer, Larry found a five course meal with fine wines served with exquisite care by a well trained staff. Trevor laughed.

“We’re even on the dinner thing now mate. I should have made you come as my date, but Sean would step on me.” Trevor laughed some more. Both men were dressed in suits and Trevor’s hair was back in a long braid.

“I’m too tall for you, Trev, especially in heels. And Sean would never hurt you, I think you’re my replacement if she gets tired of me.”

“That’s a fine Sheila you’ve got there, Larry. Give her my love. Now, are you going to look up the fella I told you about? He’s sort of retired now, but he’s a good sort and has some useful contacts.”

“Sean is going to see him tomorrow, right after his wedding party or something. It seems she called, gave your name and was asked to attend, so now she’s bitching at me about having to get a new dress. And all she’s been doing is working the net from our employer’s house in Santa Barbara.”

“Tough duty, that. She found things on her end?” Trevor nibbled on a semisoft cheese and washed it down with a fine Shiraz.

“She has at least city locations for their franchise network. Each one may take tracking down, since she thinks they are using drop addresses and couriers. She’s also found some very weird entertainment on the internet through chat rooms. Apparently, you folks have a local operation in Adelaide.”

“I’ll have to go; I know a fine Vietnamese place which does a great barramundi. So you are off tonight?” Trevor asked.

“Melbourne to Auckland to LA. At least I’m in first, they have the beds there. Thanks for everything Trevor.” Larry said, raising his glass.

Trevor clinked appropriately.

“Glad you tipped us to this, mate. It could get nasty, and you know it’ll be popular.”

Malibu, California

There are some things you do not really want to know in detail. Angel could see Frank and Janice waiting for him as he suffered the ministrations of Tommie’s hairdresser, Robert.

Angel knew Janice was a good friend of Frank’s wife, Samantha, the woman who had become his mother in all but name. Janice was also Frank’s doctor, treating him through the ravages of his endocrine disease. Samantha was years gone, and Janice had only moved in with Frank in the last four years. Angel did not want to know if they were lovers, it was enough that he knew they loved each other.

Frank was a victim of abuse at the hands of his aunt, and had escaped at sixteen. He had raised himself, put himself through college and then the police academy followed by business school, where he met Samantha. Frank had been a deeply closeted crossdresser and Samantha had neither minded nor encouraged him. So Frank occasionally indulged, and became involved with Bob Angelo and the Group.

When Bob had rescued Angel from his tormentor and owner, he knew the normal foster care system would not help such a tortured child. Frank and Samantha had taken in the young boy with the ancient eyes at age twelve. Somehow, they repaired and loved him enough to allow Angel to function, and even excel at things. Frank knew he could not heal the hatred and desire for revenge, so he attempted to channel it, to help others like Angel.

Full circle. Angel was getting married after a career of rescuing the innocent and those no longer innocent. He had healed enough, killed enough and saved enough so he could love someone and himself. Angel and Frank both hoped that was true.

After Samantha’s death, Frank became ill, and disabled enough to be confined to work from his home. He indulged his dressing by growing a beautiful waist length mane of brown hair and wearing dresses or jeans as he pleased. His treatment for the disease, a complex cocktail of hormones and anti virals devised by Doctor Janice Peters had a distinct feminizing effect on his increasingly frail body.

Today, Angel saw a Frank in his best male mode, wearing a sports jacket and slacks, using a cane to support his gait. His hair had the full attention of the salon personnel, with it’s shiny fall down his back and almost imperceptible traces of gray. They made a huge fuss over him and he loved it, joking with them from his perch in the waiting area. From certain angles, if you ignored the shake in his hands, and the subtle curves of his body, he was the tall and strong Frank, the vital man who had raised him, and then later in life , had raised two more victims as his ‘sons’.

Frank saw his son, never qualifying Angel as anything less than his son, preparing for a happy occasion. Having someone to hold, to love, to spend a life with. As he edged closer to the end of his days, Angel had occupied more and more of his thoughts. The fragile and wounded child he had been given had been so hurt, so damaged and full of will to survive. Frank needed to see Angel would be not alone in the world when he died. It was a charge built on love, not obligation.

Robert of Santa Monica was clearly trying to gain favor with the famous Miss T, wedding planner to the elite. Weddings in LA are royal court events, and people have them frequently. Angel had started the negotiation being firm but had to surrender eventually to Robert’s implacable pleas for a “grand style”. His hair, pulled back from his ears, pinned up with stiff curls crowning the top of the upsweep, with long spiral tendrils flowing down to his shoulders and the top of his artificial cleavage did look magnificent.

Angel knew it would fit the role he was playing in their first ceremony. A role he was beginning to accept as more than a role. He could feel himself becoming excited when he thought of the dress. His gorgeous hair style seemed a little overdone for his velvet tracksuit, but perfect for today with Carolyn.

“This will be fine, Robert. Thank you so much.” Angel shook Robert’s hand with a gentle touch. He pulled cash from his purse and paid with a generous tip. Frank and Janice rose, ready to ferry him to the beach house.

Janice gushed and Frank looked at him with deep fondness, a smile forming the small wrinkles around his mouth. Angel kissed them both.

“Thanks Dad. Thanks for coming. Are you all right? Is this too much?” Angel asked quietly from the back of the limousine.

“I hurt all the time, Angel. I’d rather hurt and be here than hurt and not be here. Carolyn’s family now, or will be by tonight. This first thing is official, isn’t it?” Frank asked.

“Yes, Tommie assures me it is, as is the one Saturday. “

Angel, sitting in the back seat next to Frank, was stricken with the return of childhood adults feel when they see their parents after an absence.

Frank, sensing the turmoil in his son, gently held Angel’s hand between his two palms. He looked into the ancient eyes and saw terror.

“Angel, are you all right?” Frank asked, quietly. Janice, seated opposite in the limousine, lean forward yet remained silent.

“Oh Dad! I’m scared! I don’t really know who I am! How can I take a vow without being myself? This has to be real.” Angel uttered, punctuated by soft sobs.

The taunting Face came out of lockup. Angel shuddered as he endured the sadistic smile in his head.

“Bride’s jitters. You have always been real to me, Son. And you are real to Carolyn. She is not fooled by your performances, kid, she sees to your core. And she loves you. You are not half the actor or actress you think you are to a few of us. Do you love Carolyn?” Frank challenged in a tone both gentle and stern.

Angel nodded, moisture running across his cheeks. He composed himself slowly as the limousine drove through Santa Monica. The Face receded with Frank’s presence, as it always had. The Face hated Frank.

“Are Bill and Jim here yet?” Angel asked, Janice dabbing at his face to remove the tears.

“They arrived a little after you left, along with your friend Spider and his sister, Clementine. Your two ushers and bridesmaids are getting dressed. “ Frank said, his smile widening.

Bill and Jim were Frank’s other two ‘sons’, Bill now a city cop and Jim a district attorney. Angel had been the key agent in their rescue from a particularly sadistic woman who made ‘petticoat slaves’ to order. They had watched Angel execute her right on the spot after killing the corrupt town police chief and deputy with his bare hands.

Frank and Janice, with the help of George Romany, the Group psychiatrist had worked to bring the boys back from the brink. Bill was still under his care, ten years later. Jim was raised to be a crossdressing sissy from an early age and had managed to recapture a balance of masculinity with Frank, Janice and George’s help.

Angel was not surprised to see Jim already in his bridesmaid dress, his five foot ten inch frame even taller with his heels. Jim made a pretty girl if you confined the view to his face. With a fairly muscular torso and his brush cut hair he looked incongruous with his carefully made up visage. Angel knew Jim must have a fabulous wig just waiting to finish his look.

Bill hugged Angel, looking ruggedly handsome in his black tuxedo jacket. Angel could feel the shoulder holster housing Bill’s Glock as he returned the hug. Jim ran up and kissed him on the cheek, followed by joining the hug. They had always viewed Angel as their big brother, and they were his closest family.

As Angel made his way into the house, he saw a huge man in a tuxedo, his normally scraggly hair and beard neatly trimmed. Spider Robertson was an old ‘collar’ of Angel’s, a bust for armed robbery. While Spider was locked away, he had asked Angel to look after his little sister, to keep her out of the rackets and safe from Spider’s acquaintances.

Clementine Robertson was a tall woman. At six foot three in her bare feet, she only looked delicate next to her brother. Where Spider was big, running over three hundred pounds with huge arms and a fierce expression, Clementine was merely muscular and lean. Angel had shepherded her away from the life her brother led and towards a positive realization of her talents. Clementine was a natural businesswoman, and a freshly minted MBA from a prestigious university very near the chapel they were using for the wedding.

Spider still ran most of the waterfront rackets in many coastal towns, but was less violent, more of a community fixture since his return from prison. He had a cooperative relationship with most police departments, since he was a force for stability and predictability in the underworld. No tourists were mugged, violent crimes were kept off the waterfront and retired people were respected. Spider had a code of conduct the cops could live with, allowing them to focus on the real bad actors.

Janice, Jim and Clementine hustled Angel into his room to get dressed.

“You will be there on time, Angel, now let’s get you together. “ Clementine giggled as she carefully began disrobing him.

Later, standing in front of his gown wearing his pettislip, his breast prostheses snugly captured in his bra, his hips and rear end padded out by his panties, his stockings translucent with a wisp of white attached to his garter belt, his face painted to the best of his capable skill, he remembered the description Tommie had given him.

“An empire waist matte satin gown accentuated with lightly beaded soft netting wrapping around the back and criss-crossing over the bodice. Then there is the applied silver corded beaded lace and crystals which accent the skirt and train. And it’s white, you virginal bitch! Splendid! Simply Splendid!”

The gown flowed, billowed out from the waist. The veil was simple and understated. The sleeves were long with scalloped lace.

“I assume you had the modifications you requested?” Jim asked, jealously running his hand along the satin fabric.

“Yes. They did a wonderful job.” Angel said as the three helped him into the gown. The A line fit him perfectly, and the V neck was showered with his spiral curls. Janice pinned the veil into place and Jim handed Angel his shoes. Angel wore a pair of diamond earrings which had belonged to Samantha, and a diamond necklace Frank and Janice had custom made to match.

Frank and Janice looked at him with tears in their eyes.

“Angel, who picked that dress? Was it you?” Frank said, crying openly.

“I sent a copy of yours and Mom’s wedding picture to Tommie. She handled the rest. I told her I wanted one just like Samantha’s. I always though she was so beautiful in that picture.”

Janice held Frank, partially for emotional support and partially to keep him from collapse.

The limousine carried the wedding party to the chapel, and Angel noted the laughter in Frank’s voice. He was truly having a wonderful time.

Miss T was there with her boyfriend Turk, who served as caterer. The weather was warm and dry and the pavilion next to the chapel was lit with gas torches for the coming dusk. Burnt orange and purple bands covered the sky, backlit by the sun an hour above setting. A perfect late afternoon in southern California.

Angel helped Frank up the steps while Jim and Clementine managed his train. Janice hovered, ready to assist Frank if he faltered.

The small chapel had plenty of capacity, just several handfuls of people seated on each side.

The Mendelssohn began and everyone stood. Sean Taylor, pleased with her sheath dress, saw a beautiful bride slowly moving down the aisle with a tall, handsome yet obviously frail man proudly doing his escort duty.

Lady Jean Thomas looked at Carolyn waiting at the altar, beautiful in her tuxedo jacket over a black dress with white scarves, her law partner similarly attired standing next to her. Steve Dunbar smiled at the display and had his attention grabbed by the presence of Spider Robertson. Mutual recognition flowed between the two, ancient disputes and issues long forgotten resurfaced.

Miss T stood in the back, murmuring “Splendid, simply splendid!”

George Romany was dressed in a peach colored fitted suit, and several Group agents were in plainclothes.

Bob Angelo was not there.

Three women, friends and professional acquaintances of Carolyn’s were there and were clearly amused at the proceedings. The concept of a male bride was fairly unique, but gender confusion and comedy gave way to Angel’s presence. There was nothing comedic or silly in his demeanor, and he was beautifully convincing as someone giving themselves in marriage.

Frank faltered on his cane when he was almost down the aisle, and Angel gripped him firmly. He sat his father down next to Janice, showing him love and respect. Frank’s eyes were moist.

The vows were said. Angel looked up into Carolyn’s eyes, veil lifted off his face. Love, honor, cherish and protect. Forever. Death was not even mentioned as a limiting factor.

Carolyn looked at the bride. She loved this man in every aspect. All of the layers. He was beautiful in spirit.

The bride was kissed and the couple made their way outside to the reception pavilion. Angel met Sean in the reception line and whispered that they would talk later. Lady Jean was gracious and said that she could not wait for the roles to reverse on Saturday.

Miss T fluttered about, a pink energy packet creating motion and buzz wherever she touched down. Turk moved his white jacketed bulk with grace, getting guests to taste the food, explaining the preparation, waving servers about like an orchestra conductor.

Carolyn and Angel were holding each other. Married. Carolyn had her height advantage back since they both wore heels, and looked down into Angel’s eyes, now curiously soft and deep.

The florist van had arrived and was setting up more displays of flowers. Duane and June began looking for their target.

Miles Stein wore a gray suit and began to just mingle with the well wishers. Dunlop hung back, staring at the event from a bench across the street.

The photographer began to pose the wedding party. Frank stood next to Carolyn, Angel with Janice. June Cleaver and Duane were haplessly moving flowers around, searching for Angel.

Miles was within ten feet of Carolyn. He drew his 9mm CZ75 Luger from his belt and began to pull the trigger.

Frank saw a glint of steel in the sun and moved his body in front of Carolyn, which saved her life. He took four hits in his torso while she took one in the right side of her abdomen.

Angel moved his hand through the Velcro slit in his gown to find the .25 Beretta Bobcat in a garter holster. Miles took three shots directly in his face while Angel moved to get to Frank and Carolyn, still in the process of falling into a heap.

June Cleaver and Duane realized that their target was the bride and chose the wrong wedding party to pull out their SIG P226 9mms and draw a bead on Angel. Sean Taylor had the first shot, fracturing June’s wrist. Jim, Bill and Spider would never agree on whose shot took Duane down. Lady Jean and Steve each put a round into June’s heart, while George and Janice raced to the fallen Frank and Carolyn, being the two MDs present. The Group agents had been a fraction of a second from adding more fire, but had the discipline to hold when they saw no remaining threats. Two chased across the street after Dunlop who had all ready started his car and was leaving at speed.

Angel’s gown was stained red with Frank’s and Carolyn’s blood. He sat silently on the grass while Janice and George gently broke his grip on the two victims.

Angel saw Frank look at him and smile. Frank nodded to him and life departed his eyes.

Janice closed the eyelids and sat silent next to Angel. An ambulance siren was heard in the air. George was holding Carolyn, her bleeding stopped for now.

Carolyn looked around her in a vague fog, all sound fading in and out. Concentration was difficult. She felt nothing other than a raw overall pain, but was curiously detached from the perception of it. She realized she was in shock. With some effort she knew she had been shot, she knew Frank was hurt. Where was Angel? There he was, moving to her, his face red with blood, his eyes cold despite the tears running down his cheeks. He held her gently and stroked her head.

Bill and Jim took charge, and the heavily armed wedding guests formed a cordon around the bride and groom. The Group agents had taken the still breathing Duane and spirited him off. A local police car was held from the scene by two Group agents with State Police ID, while the ambulance, quickly searched and medics checked out was allowed to carry Angel and Carolyn to a local hospital.

George changed to male clothing in the car on the way over to the hospital, along with Jim. Bill gave Angel a sweatsuit and sneakers to replace his blood soaked wedding dress while riding with Carolyn.

George’s phone rang while the SUV sped down the road.

“That was Ramirez from Bob Angelo’s office. Bob’s car was blown up a few hours ago while he was enroute to the ceremony. “ George intoned. The Group had been hit and hit hard today. Bill’s hands tightened into whiteness on the wheel of the Lincoln Navigator. Jim, his wig off, his make up removed, had a look of fear and resolve as he scanned the highway while pulling jeans on over his panty girdle.

Lady Jean approached Steve while they decided what they could do to help.

“Steve, I was just informed that Carolyn’s father and his wife were just killed in an explosion on their boat while it was approaching the dock of their house in Virginia. They were to come to the ceremony on Saturday.”

“This stinks.” Steve intoned. Lady Jean nodded in agreement.

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