You're Worth Dying For Ch. 05

The photo on the front cover showed a hurdler in New Zealand colors completing at the Olympic Games. The photo was repeated inside the cover along with another photo of the hurdler, as a child, in a heavy plaster cast with a metal bar between the lower legs, being the treatment in those days to remedy a condition in those growing bones that which have left the child partly disabled had it been left untreated. The caption was short, but the message was immensely moving.

* * *

Ryan de Lacey’s recollection of acting heroically would forever remain a hazy memory though he possessed a film record of the shooting and events before and after it. A bullet smacking through your chest is not a memorable moment, though he still woke up at night, less frequently now, with the vision of a Pluto mask in his mind.

The prospect of appearing the District Court for the preliminary hearings and then to the High Court for more weeks of presentation of evidence, including his own, but at least Maggie would be at his side. He understood the defense had advised the two defendants to plead not guilty but quite sensationally George Arthur Bates (Mickey Mouse) and Bryce Ian Cox (Pluto) dismissed their State-funded legal team and pleaded guilty, speeding up the process considerably and easing the distress for Ryan and Maggie who to their relief were no longer being dubbed hero and heroine.

Bates turned out to have a brain, having negotiated beforehand with the prosecution to have the charges of kidnapping dropped and attempted murder changed to accidental shooting but accepted a charge of attempted manslaughter. They both were sentenced on several charges to which they pleaded guilty; Bates who fired the shot received a total of eleven years imprisonment and Cox nine years.

Maggie and Ryan walked from the Court feeling free and straight into a barrage of Press and TV cameras. Ryan read a short statement Maggie had prepared for him and then she was asked if she had anything to say.

“Only this, I thank my husband Ryan for extending my life. That’s all.”

Spectators clapped and a van came down the roadway to the Courthouse, speakers mounted on the roof booming out, ‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’.

The crowd cheered and unaware they were being filmed by TV cameras Ryan said, “Oh shyte, here comes that greasy friend of yours.”

“Oh darling,” Maggie now deeply in guilt hearing that song and seeing both men at the same moment, as Indiana Dick was walking towards them with a microphone, “He’s a real character, the younger folk adore him. Please be nice to him and let him interview us. He’ll allow me to make a free plug for our Children’s Wing appeal.”

“Okay, but you be especially nice to me in bed tonight.”

“It will be my pleasure, big boy.”

“Hi guys, this is Indiana Dick outside the Courthouse, only one street away from the bank shooting four months ago. I’m talking to Maggie and husband Ryan who took a bullet through the chest walking to deal with that bastard who had his wife as a hostage, holding a gun ready to shoot her brains out her other ear.”

“Hi, Indiana. Nice day.”

“That’s Maggie, folk, as usually talking as if it’s all just a walk in the park.”

“Ryan, my old hero, do you like the song we had written for you feat?”

“No I fucking well don’t. Maggie plays it every night and every morning; it’s driving me bonkers.”

“Watch your language mate, we’re live on air.”

“Oh Christ. I’m sorry.”

“Do you use profanity a lot, Ryan?”

“No he doesn’t Dickhead,” flared Maggie. “He’s a real gentleman and because of him people who see us together assume I’m a sweet lady. He rarely swears or utters profanities. The rare occasions are when he’d provoked.”

“Heh-heh-heh, Indiana Dickhead, that’s a new one.”

“Oh God, I did say that, didn’t I.”

“You did baby, but not to worry; I still think you are terribly, terribly cute. Tell me, why don’t you think you’re a lady?”

“Oh God, we’re on air, aren’t we? Yeah, and on TV by the looks.”

Maggie and Ryan swung around on their jaws dropped. Ryan placed a hand over his eyes and groaned, smiled and waved weakly at the cameras.

“Hey, back to me guys; not a great moment for you, huh.”

“If I have children and they learn about this day I’ll be a little embarrassed.”

“Only a little embarrassed?”

“Yes Indiana, as you suggested, I’m no lady. I swear a bit, I talk with my mouth full, I wear tight clothes and I’m making it very clear I don’t like men being rude to women – any woman.”

“So you rather like women; sexually?”

“Do you wish to be kicked where it hurts?”

“Great answer, I’ll take that as a no Maggie. Currently who’s your favorite woman? Our Prime Minister – heh-heh-heh.”

“No, I don’t like her but you are on dangerous ground, boyo; you are being rude about her laughing in that mocking way.”

“Sorry. Then who is your current favorite?”

“Maria Pilpovic, former freedom fighter from Bosnia who was kneeling by me in the bank during the robbery. I knew she was somebody. I had rather fancied somebody dubbing me a Lara Croft. Well, we were unaware we were looking at a real life Lara Croft that day, only her age and arthritic state denying her the chance of taking those bank robbers on. And don’t you dare bad-mouth her.”

“I won’t, promise. I read that story, awesome. But why did you write it for your newspaper, you’re not a journalist?”

“Because she wouldn’t talk to anyone from the media but me.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re on air, Indiana Dickhead.”

“Ryan, I’ll remove myself from danger and talk to you. Is your wife really not a refined lady?”

“Correct, but on the other hand she’s the most complete feminine package I’ve ever met but could we move on from this personal stuff?”

“Okay, you’re right – taking so long here we’re building up on ads. You’re come away from Court with those two…er…Dickheads sent down on long stretches. How do you feel about that right now, Maggie?”

“Free.”

“Ryan?”

“Free and this is my last…er…damn interview about the robbery and Maggie’s also.”

“Maggie?”

“Yeah, right.”

“What’s your favorite tune Maggie?”

“Just hit the button you lovely man. People who buy this single are donating a large proportion of their payment to the Southgate Children’s Wing appeal. Doesn’t that give you a lovely feeling? Have a nice day everyone.”

‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’ boomed out through the speakers. Maggie turning to wipe her eyes was caught full on by the TV cameras. She told Ryan when watching it on TV that night she planned that move.

Horrified, he turned her over on the sofa and paddled her ass. She squealed and that excited him...

Later, over dinner on the deck, looking across the city at the lights Maggie said, “It’s great isn’t it – the best view at evening is this way and during the day the superior view is on the other side out to the west across the river and to the rolling forest lands.”

“That’s pretty mundane conversation for you. Is there a vacuum?”

“You’re sharp tonight; usually after sex you are sleepy.”

“Look, you’re not born to sit on your ass and you’re not having much luck trying to have a kid…”

Maggie burst into tears. Ryan jumped up to comfort her, pulling her close and she buried her head into the right hand side of his chest, instinctively knowing it was still his strongest side.

“I’m doing my best honey,” she sobbed in a childlike voice.

“Look,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s not your fault. Milly and Alex will be here with the McCallums on Saturday night – you duck away with Milly and discuss your problem; ask her to refer you to a specialist at the main hospital – you are more or less an honorary staff member.”

“I think I should ask my own doctor – go through property channels.”

“Am I hearing right; is that Maggie de Lacey speaking?”

“Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not; I want my positive thinking risk-taker back.”

Maggie hesitated and Ryan waited patiently. “I’m a little worried. These are just suspicions but over the past three months I’ve had a couple of usual things happen – just bleeds but not periods if you know what I mean. I wondered if they were tiny abortions then thought about cancer but after a couple of days I was my usual self so didn’t think any more of it.”

“Maggie, if you tell me after our dinner visitors go on Saturday night you didn’t discuss this matter with Milly Carruthers I will haul you along to her on Monday, understand.”

“Yes; I’d like to finish my dinner now.”

Ryan said she needed a new challenge. “Why don’t you sell out of the company and use that released capital to do something else.”

“Funny you should suggest that. I’ve chatted to one of the consultants we’re using for our fund-raising preparations – it’s far cheaper doing it with consultants than employing a professional fund-raiser. Don’t get mad it I tell you his opinion.”

“No, of course not.”

“Instead of me attempting to sell my shares as a single parcel it was be far better for us to appoint a new chairman – he suggested Ron Talbot, president of our bank – and with the agreement of all stockholders to restructure the company, have the company valued by three different firms, issue double or even treble the number of shares and turn the company into a public listed company on the Stock Exchange. We then use the capital raised to buy out our largest competitor in commercial printing and merge that operation by expanding our new printing works – we have plenty of land there.”

“This sounds interesting,” Ryan said. “That acquisition would almost double the size of our commercial printing division.”

The next day Ryan and Maggie engaged a firm of business brokers to open negotiations on behalf of unnamed clients with the directors of Alphas Print Limited.

* * *

It looked just another day at the office when a TV film crew arrived in the foyer demanding to see Ryan.

“It looks like trouble Ryan, a job for the chairman?” Cathie asked.

“Could be – where is she?”

“In com-print chatting to Pierce Muggeridge.”

“You get the media coffee Cathie, and I’ll fetch Maggie.”

The reporter Sharon Street asked, “Which one of you will talk on-camera to me?

“I will – Maggie de Lacey, company chairman.”

“Right, the crap has had the fan over the council’s proposal to change the name Main Street to de Lacey Avenue. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“That’s fine, set up out here and have me called when you’re ready; I’ll be in my office.”

“That’s very cooperative of you Maggie. I’m dreadfully sorry about doing this to you.”

“Sharon, be polite by all means. But don’t bow and scrape to people. Do your job professionally focused.”

“Yes, Mrs de Lacey.”

“Sharon!”

“I agree with you, Maggie.”

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Sharon Street, talking to Maggie de Lacey, heroine of the recent Southgate City bank robbery along with her heroic husband Ryan who combined to thwart three armed robbers, one of whom was shot dead and the other two are now in prison. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Maggie but Main Street professional and business people are up in arms about the council voting to investigate renaming Main Street de Lacey Avenue. A petition against the change is being circulated. What are your comments?”

“How many professionals have offices along Main Street and how many retailers trade on that thoroughfare Sharon?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Allow me to assist; the latest annual report of our association numbers them at 349.”

“How many have signed the petition, Sharon?”

“Twenty-three, including some very prominent people.”

“Very interesting Sharon. But the truth is my husband Ryan and I haven’t asked for the name of Main Street to be changed and you Sharon are the first person to ever discuss it with us, so please take credit for that. If the majority of people doing business on that street oppose the name change that so be it; if the majority decide otherwise then who are we to oppose a majority view. Frankly, Sharon, Ryan and I have other things to worry about. That’s all.”

“But…”

“Interview over, Sharon. Have a nice day.”

After Sharon performed her wrap-up and the film unit began packing up, Sharon said: “You were awesome, Maggie. I’ve had advanced training but you didn’t give me a chance.”

“It happens sometimes, always be prepared for the unexpected. You’re doing fine, showing some real class but you don’t quite believe in yourself, Sharon. I know nothing about being a front-line interviewer but I image the keys are self-belief, absolute poise and being absolutely familiar about the person you are about to interview and the subject to be discussed.”

“Maggie, you should be training us.”

“I have read the handbook they give to you reporters,” Maggie grinned. “Don’t worry, when you see that clip run you’ll see me appearing as an aggressive know-all and you graciously standing aside and allowing me to run the show, smiling with dignity.”

“You’re rather exaggerating, Maggie.”

“I was there; that’s how I saw it Sharon.”

Ryan asked Maggie, “Why didn’t you support the name change to de Lacey subject to my parent’s approval?”

“Darling, silly me forget to ask your opinion so I had to ad lib.”

“If you radio-head broadcasts outside the store of Foxy and Rock Music on Main Street he’d drag in support for you.”

“Us dear; if he disagrees with that petition move when he sees it on TV tonight he’ll know what to do.”

Indiana Dick began a special broadcast outside the premises of Foxy and Rock Music on Main Street at 7:00 next morning and had to teams of young women going down both sides of the street wearing blood covered t-shirts collecting signatures for a name change to de Lacey Street. Three hours later Indiana was packing up, a triumphant look on his face as the speakers on his OB van blared out ‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’, calls to the local police by some irate shopkeepers opposing the name change from Main Street about a public nuisance failing to produce any action until Indiana’s van passed the stationary police car with two grinning policemen at the entrance to Main Street.

Maggie had her gynecological examination and the hospital specialist told here she could be admitted for a through examination but in his opinion that was unwarranted; that she appeared to be perfectly normal. He advised Maggie to eat well, sleep more and keep relaxed and rest with her feet up after sexual intercourse. He wondered if perhaps she should ease back in activity but the specialist then said if her husband was as young and fit as Maggie he’s suggest an increase in activity would be in order. Maggie’s stunned reply was perhaps they lift the frequency.

“When is the best time?”

“Anytime when you feel relaxed and interested,” said the specialist who then double-checked about Maggie’s knowledge on assessing her optimum time for conception.

Maggie rushed home with the good news, taking the surgeon’s advice to heart.

The weekend Maggie (and Ryan) became pregnant appeared to be when they went with Alex and Milly to a beach house on a wild part of the West Coast on a cliff top near Piha. The Carruther’s called it their Retreat.

They had a lovely meal, great conviviality because although the there was a 10-year age gap between the couples the intelligent, wit and common consent that age was immaterial in social discourse meant they bonded as how it should be when people free themselves of social inhibitions.

At 10:00 Milly looked at her watch and said they would be off, to just set the latch on lock and leave the key inside when the left on Sunday. “We thought you two having been through so much ought to live free for a couple of days.”

An hour or so later Maggie went to bed after cleaning up to find Ryan asleep, or so she thought. In the morning when she awoke and sleepily reached for him he jumped out of bed and said he’d fetch her a cup of tea and be off for a run.

His behavior perplexed Maggie; she could never recall Ryan having turned down an opportunity and he’d done it twice in a row. Very strange; she had the half-thought that perhaps he’d met someone but had not allowed that thought to worm into her brain. He arrived home near exhausted, showered and came out and gave her a most passionate kiss and then said he would take a nap, This environment and Ryan’s behavior was so strange that Maggie was almost beside herself. She walked into the kitchen to do something she didn’t know what and ten minutes later began to make a batch of scones – something she’s not since her mid-teens. So much for my romantic weekend, she grumbled.

Ryan reappeared just before 1:00 to a greeting, “Hello stranger” but he redeemed himself by sniffing and asking, “Have you been baking?”

“Oh, I fiddled around and produced some date scones.”

“Date scones, I love them,” he enthused, a trifle over the top she thought and then he suggested they pack a picnic and tramp along the cliff top to the track down to the beach.

Maggie dressed in old underwear she’d bought in case they went tramping or boating, old khaki shorts that were about as sexy as a Nun’s bloomers and an overly large shirt; he was not interested in sex so why bother. While she dressed he filled the basket and found a large rug.

On the beach, Maggie stretched, enjoying the slap-crash of the surf and the sun warming her bones.

“Darling, I’m ready for wine.”

“Only cranberry juice I’m afraid, but just the best.”

The best for what? Maggie gave up; she was being treated like the neighbor’s dog. Why, she had no idea; perhaps she was being punished for a misdemeanor she’d not been told about; that figured when he was in a spaced out session like this: was it the heavily salted air getting to him or was he on drugs other than aspirin? She wished she was back in the city, downing Margaritas with Beth and friends.

The beach was, well, adequate. The sand was black, rising up steeply towards the cliffs and peppered with shells but the rug gave them comfort. She knew he’d packed bread rolls, spread, ham, mustard, tomatoes and her scones and strawberry jam. But what did he do – hand her a glass of undiluted orange juice and when finished, taking the glass from her and beginning to grope her, not offering any food.

Maggie felt this was very strange’ normally she had food when she was hungry, sex when she felt sexy. Now she felt not the least bit sexy and was hungry and he appeared to be after sex. She decided it was a holiday weekend so should not groan or be critical of his behavior; she should just go along with the ride and obviously he was working up to that. He sank his teeth into her nipple – how the hell he managed to get her breast out into the open like that without her noticing was a mystery. But the pain and him cupping both breasts and puffing up between them well, she rather lost it. Suddenly sex was of interest to her.

Ryan’s idea of foreplay usually was two-minute play but this time he worried at her like a terrier; she felt as if her breasts were ballooning and when he ran a finger over her clit – she actually had noticed his pawing to get to it – she yelped like a stuck pig. She was now so horny, grabbed him and they were away grabbing and licking at everything in reach.

When both were puffing and panting, Ryan pulled away, grabbing her by the ankles and turning her so that she was now spread-eagled down the slope, head pointing towards the water and from nowhere he produced a small pillow which he placed under her lower back. This was weird, very weird; he must be after the ultimate in friction, she mused, cooperating fully.

Ryan worked on sexually exciting her until she was almost crying tears, urging him to enter her which he did, in Missionary position which they tended only to use when tired.

He was so gentle and talking or at least murmuring to her instead of the usual silence broken for the occasional groan and grunt and ultimately a triumphant bellow. On this occasion when she groaned when she was coming there were bellows from both of them actually.