What Feats He Did That Day Pt. 05

Lash would be ashamed of me.

Ken, on the other hand, thought it was hysterical.

"Don't worry, kid," he said between whoops of laughter. "You'll get better."

Disgusted at my own performance, I flicked my wrist to try to free the whip from the pole. It had exactly the opposite effect. The whip tightened around the pole, neatly slicing through the wood just above the steel. As we watched, the pole flipped end over end and dropped to the ground. The balloon burst with a loud pop.

I turned off the whip and blew on the end of the cylinder before I slid it into my belt. I smiled at Wizen and then at Ken and Slisken. They were all rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. Still, it was better than being laughed at.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Shawn and I finally had our second date on Friday night. I was stunned to find Shawn more nervous than I was. The idea of any woman being more nervous than me was odd enough. The idea of Shawn Michaels being nervous at all was astonishing.

Maybe I was just being oversensitive. Maybe Shawn Michaels had the same insecurities and fears as everyone else. Although the look on the face of Sam Weathers as he sat in his taxi and watched us exit Shawn's apartment building suggested otherwise. His jaw dropped as soon as he saw us. Then he actually got out of the taxi and opened the door for her.

"Thank you, sir," she said, drawing her long legs into the interior so he could close the door.

"You've never helped me in, Sam" I grumbled as we both moved to the driver's side of the taxi.

"You ain't ever showed up in anything like that," he explained.

Shawn was wearing a black dress that had caused my jaw to drop as well when she first answered the door.

"I show up in a wheelchair!"

I opened the door and lifted myself into the seat behind Sam's.

"And I always take care of your chair, don't I?" he asked, taking it to the back of his van and storing it there. "You don't want me opening the door for you, Rick. You like your independence."

"Shawn likes her independence too," I said.

"Shawn likes to have doors opened," Shawn said sweetly. "Thank you again, Sam."

"My pleasure, miss. Where may I take you two fine people?"

"Antolini's," I said.

"Italian," Shawn said, grabbing my arm and pressing herself against me. "The food of love."

"Um, yes."

Shawn giggled all the way to the restaurant. When the wine arrived, she offered a toast.

"To Rick Handley, the scourge of Charleston!"

"To Shawn Michaels," I said. "The co-scourge."

Our article was set to appear in Monday morning's paper. Rachel had killed the story I had written on Wednesday night. She had just smiled when I reminded her that every other paper in the state was going to have the story after the morning's press conference."

"They have his failure to deny your questions. And that's it. They don't have your e-mail, do they?"

"As far as I know they don't," I said. "They didn't get it from me."

"So they have no idea what your questions even meant. I bet that if you show Simpson the whole thing in private, you might be able to get him to admit that they did bring women on the trip. Just to limit the damage from this. Then you'll have a story. We can print the whole of the message as a sidebar. Okay?"

"Okay!"

I was pumped. Partly it was the upcoming article. But the delay also meant that I now had the rest of Wednesday night free. I eagerly picked up the phone to arrange a late dinner with Shawn. I got the machine. I called again half an hour later and got the machine again. Damn and damn again.

Shawn showed up late at the next day's press conference. Pete was just about finished with his formal statement when she slid into the seat beside me. She gave me a squeeze of my hand and a smile that said she was happy to see me.

When he asked for questions, Shawn was the first to raise her hand. Pete smiled as he called on her.

"One question, Pete." Shawn said. "How did you do with your hunting?"

"My hunting?" he asked.

"The doves," Shawn said with a smile. "How'd you do?"

"I'm West Virginia born and bred, Shawn. I don't have blank days hunting. Who's next?"

Shawn sat back in her chair and turned to me.

"At least now we know the diary wasn't his," she whispered to me.

"True."

"What happened to your article, anyway?"

"I'll tell you later."

After the press conference had ended, we talked over coffee at the Java Cava.

"Rachel really shocked me," I explained. "She thinks that the diary is credible enough to run with it. She suggested I give Pete a chance to comment on the whole thing this afternoon and then spend tomorrow writing a real analysis."

"So what are you doing with the, um, sex thing?"

I shrugged.

"Rachel wants to print what's in the e-mail," I said. "Other than that, it depends on what Pete has to say."

"And if he says the whole thing is a fake?"

I smiled at her.

"First of all, he had his chance to deny the cripple remark yesterday and again today, after everyone else's article came out. So we know that's true. And second, he's not really in that good a position to call anything a forgery, you know?"

She gave me a half-hearted smile and I invited her to come with me when I met with Pete that afternoon.

Pete was unusually calm when we arrived. When I handed over the e-mail, without the address of course, his face registered surprise but not shock. He read it slowly and sighed before he addressed us.

"All right. Were there women on the plane and on the trip? Yes, there were. Will I tell you which of the Amalgamated executives brought female friends? No. Will I tell you any of the names of those executives? No. Did the Governor bring a companion? No, of course not. Did I? No."

"So this is a diary of the trip?" I asked.

"I think we both know the answer to that," he answered.

Shawn and I both waited him out.

"All right. Yes. I'm sure it is a diary kept by someone who accompanied us on the trip."

"It ends the same day you returned," Shawn observed.

"So it does," Pete said softly. "I imagine the party was pretty much over after everyone learned of your article. But as you note, Shawn, I wasn't there."

"And the BDSM?" I asked.

"Neither the Governor nor I have any recollection of any unusual behavior on the plane," he said. "But it was a fair-sized aircraft."

"So it's possible?"

He gave me a rueful look.

"Anything is possible."

**********

"Did you save room for dessert?" the waitress asked us when we had finished our meals. "Some tiramisu, perhaps?"

"Some what?" I asked her.

"Tiramisu," she said more slowly. "Lady fingers in cream."

"Mmmm, that's just what I had in mind." Shawn said. She was looking directly at me, her eyes sparkling.

The waitress probably thought Shawn was interested in ordering something more. I knew better.

"Just the check, please." I said.

"No dessert?"

Shawn gave her a look that spoke volumes.

"I'll get the check," the waitress said.

"I'll call Sam," I said.

"This is what I like," Shawn said as she sat back with a smile. "Service."

We started kissing in the taxi on the way back from the restaurant. Sam had asked whether we wanted him to wait after we stopped at the Prince Arms to drop Shawn off. Shawn had simply suggested that if he took that stop out of his itinerary, he could call it a night. Sam got it before I did. Of course, he didn't have Shawn Michaels' lips distracting him.

She sat on my lap and we kissed on the elevator. We kissed in the hallway. We kept kissing all the way to the bedroom.

"I want to make love," Shawn moaned into my ear.

"Me too," I said.

"Take off those clothes and get in bed, Rick," she said, climbing off the chair. "I'll be right back."

I pulled myself into bed and undressed down to my shorts as she walked into the living room. I heard the door to the refrigerator close and then heard her walking back. She appeared in the doorway and leaned against the doorjamb, inviting me to study the outfit that she had chosen for our date. Her little black dress was an updated version of the classic. The straps riding on her upper arms rather than her shoulders revealed a beautiful expanse of her tanned torso. The fabric hugged her generously curved figure, exposing a sexy six inches of her thigh when it ended. The effect, particularly with her carefully styled blonde hair and devastating smile, was overwhelming.

"Somebody likes," she said, nodding at the obvious bulge in my crotch.

I managed a greedy smile.

"Excellent," Shawn purred.

She had hidden one hand behind her back, and she pulled it out to reveal an odd sort of prop, a plastic cup with the WV logo of the "U" on it that I had bought at the one football game I had attended. Her choice made more sense when she reached inside it and pulled out an ice cube, holding it between her pursed lips and gently sucking.

"Hot in here, isn't it?" she asked. She had taken the ice cube out and was rubbing it slowly across her cheek, down her neck, and back across her chest. I stared as little drops of water tricked down her skin and disappeared beneath the dress's low neckline.

"I'm afraid that's still not enough," she said, dropping her voice even lower. She put the nearly melted ice back in the cup and reached behind her back. I could hear the zipper opening. She returned her hands to her sides and stepped toward me. With a little shimmy of her shoulders the dress dropped to the floor.

She took another step forward. She was probably stepping out of the dress, but my eyes were much higher up. They were flicking between the black lace demi-cups that held Shawn's breasts and the thin black thong that matched her garter belt and stockings.

"Much better," she purred.

But still not good enough, apparently. She took another ice cube out and began sliding it down her left breast. The ice cube and her fingers disappeared inside the lace cup and her heavily lidded eyes and rounded mouth suggested that she had applied it to her nipple. She gave her right nipple the same treatment and then took yet another ice cube and held it against the skin just below the little white rosette in the center of her bra.

She stood there, breathing deeply, her breasts rising and falling. A rivulet of water trickled down her belly to her navel. She followed it with the ice cube, sliding it down, circling her navel, and then guided it into her thong. I followed her fingers beneath the thin fabric and found myself holding my breath as they went deeper and deeper.

Her fingers were empty when she pulled them back out. She raised them to her mouth and slowly licked them off one at a time.

"Think you can find it before it melts?" she asked me.

I opened my mouth and heard myself say nothing by "uh" for five seconds before I finally added "no."

"But I'd be happy to try," I added eagerly.

She gave me a brilliant smile and reached behind to unfasten her bra. She joined me on the bed and we began to make slow, delicious love. Shawn was far more skilled than Angie -- and far more practiced. But she shared the younger girl's delight and enthusiasm. She appeared to enjoy my technique and gladly shared with me a few techniques of her own. When we lay together later, her head resting on my shoulder as she snuggled under my arm, I think we were both sated.

It was not the time I would have picked for another lesson with Lash LaRue but I had never had any choice in the matter. It was a disheartening lesson and when I awoke afterwards in Wizen's room my dissatisfaction apparently showed on my face.

"You had a problem?" Francesca asked. She was sitting in Wizen's place at the end of the bed.

"No," I said. "Well, yeah. I seem to have plateaued. Where's Wizen?"

"He was summoned to Council after he brought you here. He asked me to monitor you. I sensed something was wrong so I ended your training early. Perhaps your heart wasn't in it."

"Perhaps," I said with a smile. My heart, after all, was lying next to Shawn. It was only my head that was wandering around the time-space continuum.

"It is much to ask of you."

Francesca got up and turned away but not before I caught a brief glimpse of that ineffable sadness that I had sensed when I had first met her.

"Not at all," I said as gallantly as I could.

She turned back and gave me a half-smile.

"We ask you to train for a battle you may not fight. We may ask you to fight a battle that matters not at all to the world in which you live. It is selfish."

"You did agree to give me the drug in return," I pointed out. "True," she acknowledged. "But it is a very small price. I would have given it to you regardless."

"I know. Shall we have another picnic?"

Her face brightened considerably.

"That would be delightful," she said. She moved to the food console and asked me what I would like.

"Fried chicken?" I said tentatively. "With some potato salad and lemonade."

"I will ask."

She said it as if she didn't expect it to work. But in a few seconds the room was filled with the unmistakable smell that can only be fried chicken. She turned to me with an expression of amazement and showed me the tray. Then she waved her hand and we were back in the park. She handed me some chicken and a bowl of potato salad and then poured two glasses of lemonade from a pitcher.

I looked around at the trees and the birds and the butterflies.

"I'm surprised you don't spend all your time here," I said. "You don't, do you?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"Helping father requires far too much time."

"Maybe that's why I see so few people in the corridors. They're all hanging out in parks like this.

I watched Francesca take a bite of fried chicken. She chewed it slowly, savoring the unfamiliar taste.

"Seriously, why do I see so few people in the corridors?" I asked.

"This is amazing," she said before turning her attention to my question. "There are few needs that cannot be met inside peoples' dwellings."

"That's kinda sad, you know."

"Sad? They are all content. Council provides."

"Maybe. I'm not sure I could just do 'content.' And your Council kind of freaks me out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Like the fact that nobody knows about the Morling crap. I mean, if my world could be wiped out at the end of next week, I'd like to know that."

"What could you possibly do?" Francesca asked.

"Just know it," I said. "Be scared. Be hopeful. Be worried about what would happen if Ken can't fight and some schmuck in a flychair has to take his place. I'm not saying your Council is bad, understand. Just way, way too secretive. For me. Would you rather not know about the Morling?"

She thought for a long time.

"No," she finally said, staring off into space. "I do prefer knowing. That would be father returning."

She waved her hand and the illusion dissolved. We looked up to see an oddly pale Wizen walk through the door.

"Father?"

Francesca jumped to her feet.

"Is something wrong?"

He looked at her and then at me.

"Ken was hurt today. They have reattached his right arm."

"What happened?" I asked.

"It was a freak accident," Wizen said. "We were unaware that it could even occur."

"What?" I demanded.

"He missed one of his targets and the whip slammed into the sand. It turned it to glass."

"Oh, my God."

"Yes. Glass with sufficient reflectivity to send the whip back upward. It snapped back and severed his arm."

"But you can fix it, right?" I asked.

"Certainly." Wizen waved his hand as if it were nothing. "He will have full use of the arm."

"Good," I said.

"In a month. We cannot accelerate the rehabilitation of his muscles. Any more than we could speed the effect of the drug on your legs."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.

"You begin training with the light whip tomorrow, Richard. Next week you will be our champion."

It was dark again. I could feel my heart slamming against my ribcage as if I had just awakened from a nightmare. Shawn was sleeping peacefully at my side, her breaths regular and deep. And we were not alone. I could hear someone in the living room. After a moment, I could make out a small penlight, its beam shining through the door to the bedroom.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I shut my eyes as the light played across the floor toward the bed. It lingered on us for a moment and then flicked away. I heard the intruder walk toward the dresser and then toward the bed. He was uninterested in us, though. He stopped beside us and reached down. I could hear the change in my pants jingle as he picked them up.

If he wanted my wallet, I thought, he was more than welcome to it. I had maybe thirty-three dollars in there along with the usual credit cards. It was hardly enough to make it worth his while to commit robbery. When he found that that's all he was getting he was going to be royally pissed. He was willing to take that chance, though. I heard him drop the pants and then make his way back out to the living room. He opened the door to the hallway and left.

"Shawn," I whispered.

"Mmmmm," she murmured.

"Shawn. Wake up."

"Why, lover?"

"Cause I've just been robbed."

That did the trick.

"You what?"

"There was a guy," I said. "I think he stole my wallet."

"Why didn't you yell?" she asked.

"And then what? Most people aren't afraid of guys with wheelchairs," I pointed out. "Or of naked women. Come on. I've gotta call the police."

By the time the officers arrived, we were both dressed. Shawn had opted for a pair of my jeans and an old shirt, but she still looked hot enough that both policemen gave her long looks of appraisal. Then they both gave me long looks of amazement. One of them took our statements -- my statement, since Shawn had slept through the whole thing -- while the other looked around the apartment.

"No sign of a break-in," he reported back after his survey. "He must have picked the lock."

"That wouldn't get him through the deadbolt and the chain," I pointed out.

The policemen traded glances.

"There's nowhere else for him to get in, sir," the first one said. "Perhaps you neglected to fasten them."

"I always fasten them," I said.

Maybe you were a little, um . . ."

"Distracted," his partner added.

"Yeah. Maybe you were a little distracted tonight. Did you notice him throwing the deadbolt and the chain, ma'am?"

I could tell from Shawn's expression that she was not pleased. I thought she probably resented being ogled like that. It turned out, though, that she was more upset at the officers' treatment of me.

"No, officer," she said, her voice breathy. "I was far too distracted myself by his sensuous lips and soft caresses."

They both frowned. They finished up within 15 minutes and promised to send me a copy of their report.

"Are you okay?" Shawn asked after they had left and I had locked us in.

"Sure. Although it's going to be a while 'til I can sleep. Would you like some tea?"

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was one of the policemen. Standard procedure required them to look through the trash cans on their way out of the building and there, on the first floor, they had found my wallet.

"Was there anything else in your pants, sir?" he asked.

I thought for a moment and then quickly wheeled myself into the bedroom. My cell phone was missing. The officer suggested that I notify my carrier and told me that, in light of his discovery, it was unlikely that the "case" would be investigated much further.

We thanked him for his hard work and I finished making tea. It was only two-thirty and we decided to try to return to sleep. Or at least to bed. Once we were settled, though, I sat bolt upright in bed.

"Shit!"

"What now?" Shawn asked.

"My cell phone. It's got her number in it."

"Whose number?"

"My source. I gotta call her."