Bad Girl Pt. 01

My wife giggles, "Oh dear, you're such a child at times. Yet I can't resist you even to this day. The dishes can wait until tomorrow."

My doorbell rings. Fuck. My wife answers the door.

Four men from the FBI are at my door, showing my wife their badges. What does she say?

My ever-loving wife says with a straight face to the FBI, "Isn't it a little early for you boys to be trick-or-treating?"

I laugh my ass off as I walk to the front door and have them come in. I would bet anything; this has to do with Bill. His family is worth too much money.

Agent Johnson says, "You called a phone today at about 3:30 PM local time."

I counter, "Why do you have his phone, and why can't you answer it? You don't know where he is either."

Agent Johnson asks, "Either? As in you're looking for him?"

I ask, "What case are you guys working on?"

Agent Johnson replies, "A young woman was found unconscious today. Her mother is a high-profile target that's been getting death threats. The place looks like a war zone, and his wallet and phone were found at the scene. We obviously want to know what happened; we just want to talk."

I chuckle; that makes them all nervous.

I tell him, "You're working for Vickie's mother. I'm working for Bill's mother. Vickie's mother has her daughter; my client doesn't know where her son is. I can't get shit on him; his file is closed, and I have better access than you do. I know they were both at NSA, Natalie's Sexual Adventure. It appears she did not explain how the night was going to go down.

"This is a good kid. He passed up sex with several women because he was in love. We know that his being under-informed caused her to get a permanent ban which likely made her mad. I'm going with the theory that he is heartbroken and doesn't want to be found so he can wallow in self-pity.

"The kid is huge, six foot six inches, with a huge, ripped body and good looks. Women throw themselves at him, and yet, nobody has seen him. That tells me everyone loves him, and they won't rat him out, or he is hiding somewhere and doesn't want to be found. A kid that big stands out. People remember him. I gave you a lot; how can you help me?"

Agent Wilson shakes his head, "You're far ahead of me. What can I do to help you? We're chasing the same guy."

I suggest, "Weekly, show posters to all the food kitchens and shelters. When it gets cold, he may come in. Check on the daughter. Something is off here. He's a great guy that's in love by all accounts. I mean, he passes up a group of women because he's dedicated to Vickie. Maybe both parents can flood the TV with missing person ads. Put up a reward."

With firm resolve, "If you catch him, be VERY careful. He is a killer. I feel it in my gut. His mother's sister saw him bend a non-bendable bar and break chains. She saw the scars of battle on his naked body. He flew into a rage and took out two guys while his hands were chained to a small steel bar. This dude is dangerous. Use women."

Agent Johnson raises an eyebrow.

I continue, "The sister says he knocked one guy out and disabled a second guy with just his feet. The owner walks up to him, and they walk off hand in hand. He is a gentleman. That's what leads me to believe there is something hidden with Vickie. Do your homework, and let's talk in two days unless something big happens. Here's my card."

As soon as the FBI leaves, my wife asks me, "Are you over your head on this? Is he going to take you out?"

I ease her fears, "He is a gentle man. You push him, and his hammer is ten times anything else that exists. My plan is to use no weapons; I will only talk to him. If I threaten him, you will never see me again. My grand plan ... I will call his mother."

We both cackle as we walk upstairs to fuck.

Chapter 4 -- Combined Forces

Connie's point of view:

It's Wednesday, and still no word about my son. I am a nervous wreck; I can't stop crying. I hear a new message on my phone. An update! My hands are trembling; it takes three attempts to unlock my phone. I check, and it's an appointment for 7:00 PM at Tony's Steak House. The only text is, "I can help." I press "accept." Because it came as a calendar invitation, I don't know how to trace the number.

It's a fantastic restaurant, in public, during peak hours. I will be there. Do I bring anyone? Spencer? No, they want to help. I don't want to scare them off. Finally! Progress.

+++++

6:40 PM, Tony's Steakhouse

My driver dropped me off at the front door.

The doorman from Tony's helps me out, "Good evening, Miss Shoemaker. Welcome back."

The ambiance feels like a small social gathering at home. There's a steady noise from the various conversations going on, and I don't say anything. The sweet young hostess takes me by my hand and leads me to a table with another woman my age. I see her back; she is dressed well.

She's in two-year-old Prada while I have this year's design. Her jewelry screams wealth, as does mine. I am seated in front of this worried-looking woman, who has a problem as big as mine. We are interrupted by Tony, the owner.

We both say, "Good evening, Tony," simultaneously. Damn, that sounded sexy as hell. Tony must pause and collect himself. Together, we giggle.

In his Italian New York mix of English, Tony says, "Miss Shoemaker, it's my pleasure to introduce you to Sophia Simmons. Together, the two of you could buy half of New York. I know why you're both here. Tonight, dinner is on me. I have something special for both of you. I will give you a few minutes to talk, then your first course will arrive. I see your drinks coming now. I will be back later."

A glass of outstanding wine is served, better than I typically purchase.

Before we speak, Sophia reaches into her purse, pulls out a cell phone and wallet, then places them on the table in front of me. They are my son's phone and wallet. The wallet is a ten-year-old Christmas present from me. He still uses it. I bust out in tears. I quickly grab the items and bring them to my chest, where I hold them close to me. I can still smell him.

I am never asked a question; Sophia just starts talking, "My daughter is a nymphomaniac. She uses a sex club to ease her needs. Six months ago, she started dating your son. Hell, every woman wants your son." I smile at that. It's true. "She stopped going to the club. My hopes were high. She was in love. I thought she finally found a man to tame her. After four months, she started up at the club again. Saturday, she takes your son there. He left early; it seems he wanted no part of that.

"Monday, we open up my daughter's apartment and find her passed out and almost everything broken in the living room. They took her club membership back and blackballed her. We don't believe your son did anything; this was all my daughter. I know this because there isn't a bruise on her body. If he was mad, she would be dead."

She takes a deep breath, and tears are running down her cheeks, as is mine, "My daughter is in a drug educed coma to prevent her from harming herself. It's also helping her survive the sexual withdrawal she was going through. Your son's knowledge will help the doctors. He's also the only one that has ever lasted with her; I am positive my daughter loves him. However, he doesn't want to be found. A kid that big sticks out. He has people hiding him, or he is in a forest. How much do you know about your son?"

Wow, that's quite the question.

She can see my alarm, "What I meant to ask is, what do you know about his military years?"

Relieved, I replied, "Nothing. He absolutely refuses to talk about it. All I know is something bad happened and it haunts him to this day."

Sophia uses a knowing smile, "In the first weeks they dated, he got drunk; she was the designated driver. Your son is so decent; he made sure only one of them drank, or they took an Uber home. He led a crack team of Navy Seals that did all kinds of wild shit worldwide. He would NOT discuss the actual missions or people. Nothing cracks his security, even drunk.

"He did explain every gunshot or minor injury. That boy should have died three times. A lesser man may have. It seems things slowdown in the battle for him, and he is as deadly a man as there is in the world. He is a trained commando that can live off the land for months. He can kill with his hands or weapons. They call him The Beast. Then a mission called "Tidal wave" happened. He saved his men and the mission, but two of his men died. It broke him. One of the men was his best friend; his wife was pregnant.

"She works for me now. Easy work, flexible hours, and tremendous pay. She's an incredible woman. He couldn't lead men anymore. That was his last mission, and he didn't re-enlist when it came time again. I met him twice. I could instantly tell he was incredible. Hell, I want him for myself. So, now to the grit. Why are we here?"

As much as I love hearing about my son, YES! Finally! WHY ARE WE HERE!

Sophia is less confident now, "I think your son is the most decent man I have ever met. I think he loves my daughter. I think she loves him. If anyone can save my daughter, it's your son. I will do anything for my daughter. You understand this; you want your son back. Therefore, I want to leave here with two things. Number one, I want to help you find your son."

What the hell. Why does she care?

Sophia continues, "He can't help my daughter if he kills himself or lives in a forest. I want him safe and back with you. Second, I want us to get them back together. Yeah, yeah, I see the alarm in your eyes. It will take time. Probably a long time. But I saw them three months in. I was convinced they were getting married. They both are good for each other. You will see it once he's back. No woman will satisfy him like Vickie did."

Sophia pauses for a second, waits for me to finish drinking my wine, then uses a shallow voice that makes me lean closer to hear her, "Just in case you didn't know, your son is hung well enough to make a porn star blush. My daughter has seen hundreds if not thousands of men. She has never seen it's equal or the way he uses it. He is a master. I must admit, I would try him out myself. No way he touches an old hag like me, not when he has Vickie. But ohhh, that would satisfy me for life."

After a lovely salmon and petite steak dinner, we continue talking.

I start the conversation, "I rented a facility to make a commercial, asking for information on my son. There will be a reward for any information."

Without hesitation, Sophia says, "I will triple it. I don't care how much."

My eyes are tearing. I already allocated two hundred million to start with. I want to reward all helpful information. Even sightings will get paid some. Leading to his finding that will get the grand prize.

Sophia asks me, "How do you plan to get him home?"

I hadn't thought of that, "I just assumed the police or my security would pick him up."

Sophia looks at me with sad eyes, "Dear, he doesn't want to be found. Do you think the police will say come with us? He will hold out his hand and say, ok? He probably has a death wish going from the guilt. He doesn't want to be put in a cage. The accounts from the club owner said that he scared her with his show of strength, focus, and measured actions.

"He selected not killing those men that tried to control him. He was willing to fall and possibly break his wrists, so he could get free. The owner, a beautiful woman, walks up to him, takes him by the hand, and she walks him to her office, never once in fear of him. YOU need to be there. No weapons. Hug him, kiss him, and he will do anything you ask. You need to get there fast. If you don't have a helicopter, you can borrow one of mine."

It now occurs to me that she loves my son just as much as her daughter does. She will do anything for her daughter, but she loves him as well. She cares almost as much as I do.

We stand up after dinner, both leaving a massive tip for the staff. We hug for a while as we cry again. We are partners in this. She will be with me tomorrow. She has an advertising company; they are working on scripts and a director already.

As soon as I am in the limo, "Hello? Spencer? I have some new information."

After our conversation, I sat stunned. The FBI is helping Sophia, and they are working with Sophia. No one had a clue about my son's military history, so that was a big help to them. He was thrilled with the TV ads and having a helicopter available.

+++++

Making a TV commercial is a lot of work, I find out. I cry too much or not enough. Sophia is hard on them to make this perfect and that I say every word clearly. Once the waterworks start, it's hard to speak clearly. The resulting TV spot made everyone cry. Sophia was excited and cried as well.

Almost immediately, the spots are on TV.

+++++

Location: Ballinger farm, not too far from New York

Bill's point of view:

I'm sitting here with Walter and Edith Ballinger watching the Yankees game. Three days ago, he caught me in his barn stealing food from the refrigerator. He has a rifle in hand, trained dead on me.

My exact words were, "Shoot me. Please."

He invited me inside, where his wife made me leftovers. He's a simple man, a celery farmer. His wife is intelligent. She made me recount my story. I have helped around the farm since then. I repaired his farm equipment and moved the heavy bales of straw for cleaning. Then I put them back. His equipment is old and used. I tune up the engines and clean the motors. I like clean machinery.

In the military, we clean every piece of equipment we have. It's ingrained in me. Every engine in his equipment is now working at peak efficiency. They also look damn good.

I am beat. I did a ton of heavy lifting, and my muscles are sore. I ache all over. It feels wonderful on the couch. Walter must sit in his recliner. Edith snuggles up with me, which makes Walter laugh his ass off. I have a cold beer in my left hand of a brewery I never heard of.

I've been hiding here a few days. They have been very kind to me. They never asked me to do anything, I just stepped in and started fixing all his bad or worn-down equipment.

The Yankees are up by five runs in the seventh inning; I hope our bull pen can last a few more innings. They have been suspect this year. The first commercial stopped my heart. My mother has tears streaming down her face. Walter and Edith are glued to the screen when my picture in uniform is shown, and then a picture from about a month ago is shown. It's a plea for any information on my whereabouts.

They both stare at me.

I swear my heart stopped. I like these people; they have shown my love and compassion. They stopped my self-loathing. They can't fix my Vickie issues, nobody can. They do love the work I have done on their equipment. Everything works better.

I have lost again, I tell them, "Call the number. Any number of people have seen me. I would rather you two get the money."

Walter quickly calls the number, "I am Walter Ballinger. William is here with me now in my house. Please wait until the Yankees game is over, though."

They ask him a ton of questions. The Yankees give up three runs in the eight. We only have a two-run lead. In the distance, I see a line of cars with their flashing lights on. They're coming. Swell.

The Yankees score another run on a home run. It's weird seeing the entire front-yard full of cars with flashing lights, yet nobody rang the bell. The Yankees walk two players in a row, swap pitchers, the guy BUNTS, and gets on base. Bases loaded. I hear a helicopter outside. What the hell, too much noise!

Strike one. Strike two. The next ball is one of the most brutal balls I have ever seen hit. It hits the top of the stadium in straight away center field. The doorbell rings. Edith answers the door. Only my mother walks in. Well, color me blue. I stand up, she rushes me, and we hug and cry.

I introduce everyone. Four men come in; none have weapons. I almost laugh at that. They fear me that much. Well, I guess it's warranted. I am capable of doing some horrific things. Actually, I have.

Agent Johnson has his hands up, "We're not here to hurt you. We do need to go downtown, get your view, and then you will be free. Vickie is in a coma, so there is an investigation ongoing. Your help would be most appreciated as you're a 'Person of interest.' No handcuffs, no arrest, we just want to talk. Your mom will be with us all the time.

Mom takes me outside, and we attempt to get in the backseat of a tiny car.

Mom takes charge, "Agent Johnson, you're with us. We're taking the helicopter. They can meet us back at the station."

He didn't like that, but as mom and I were already walking to the helicopter, he followed. I see the company logo in the comfortable chopper, and it's a company Vickie's mother owns. I watch the startup procedures with interest and everything the pilots do. I can fly a helicopter; this one is different than military versions. If things don't go well, this is an exit option.

Mom is a bundle of nerves; she holds my hands tight. We don't say a word as we fly. It's noisy in the helicopter. Mom is leaning into me. I hold her close to me and can hear her purr like a kitten. I must have put her through hell. I do feel bad for that. With all my thoughts on my humiliation and pain, it never occurred to me how mom would feel.

+++++

At the FBI headquarters (NOT the police station,) Agent Johnson leads me into a prisoner interrogation room. Black chairs, brown table, white walls, white table, white ceiling. There is a single door and a large viewing window that's one-sided. No doubt that two mothers, a camera, and other agents are listening in.

I know what they want. I make them work for it.

I am commanding, "I will tell you everything. However, I want a bottle of cold water, a McDonald's #1 combo, and a French cruller. I have been too good for too long. Otherwise, I am out of here."

Agent Johnson smiles at me, "Do you know where you are?"

I spend three minutes explaining step by step, including the number of strides, stairs, and length of time to solve a barrier.

I conclude, "That's ten men dead; I get shot once, maybe twice, just because you won't get me a fucking hamburger, soda, and donut!" Screaming by the time I finish. "I thought you were the smart one!"

The water came in immediately. A voice on an overhead speaker says, "I just sent someone out. It will take a while to hit two drive-throughs."

I break open the water, drink it all, then start my story. They get just enough of my military years to know my capability. Otherwise, I tell them everything I know with a fantastic amount of detail. Every conversation, what I saw, and how much time elapsed at specific points. Neither agent Johnson nor I write anything down, and I'm not leaving writing samples or insights into how I think. Leave as little trace as possible. It's hard to deny your training.

When done, I stop talking. Agent Johnson looks sad; he understands me.

Behind the one-way glass, both mothers cry with the same pain, but for very different reasons. One has her son; one still hasn't got her daughter back and worries about losing her forever.

Chapter 5 -- Home

The drive home is quiet. Mom won't talk. I'm not sure if she is stunned at my story, sad for me, or upset with me. She does lean on me and place her head on my chest. She falls asleep on the long ride home. I guess the emotions were too much.

On reaching home, mom wakes up as the car stops. She composes herself and is assisted out of the car. My sister Jane and I guess her new boyfriend is there to greet us. Jane does her usual run and jumps on me, swinging from my neck as she hugs me. She then hugs mom like she's trying to break her.

Jane introduces me to her boyfriend, "Randy, this is my big brother William; we call him Bill."