Black Market

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I gave her the box with the lamp in it and left before she could open it. I had a great weekend, thinking about that Friday night. I got one of the team shirts on the internet. On Saturday, one of my boys called me and told me he had something. He said that they had been working on a government contract to develop some software and he had written the code. It was a program that could sort through social media, phone calls, texts, financial and health records, that sort of thing. It looked for certain words, numbers and key phrases. It was top-secret stuff the government didn't want people knowing about. He felt like we could get big money for it if we shopped it around.

I thought it sounded dangerous. This is the kind of thing I hate. It's bad enough that they can track you through your cell phone, internet connection and GPS. Having all this capability just means there isn't anything private anymore. There's no area of life where we can just say, "That isn't any of your business." Fifty dollars will get you most people's life history. This sounded like a horror story. I thought about just telling him to give the story to a paper but the thought of all that money made me greedy. The last thing I wanted was for a bunch of spooks to be prying around in my business, but how would they know I sold it?

I agreed to meet him Monday morning and we'd talk about it. His name is Wilbur Parsons and he's one of those guys that sit around typing on a black screen all the time. He was pasty white and I told him he needed to get some sun. I had met him four years ago when we were both sophomores at USC and you could tell he was going to invent artificial intelligence. He was a dedicated anarchist when I met him and he hated the idea of the government spying on people's private stuff.

He was paranoid, skulking around like he was being followed. I told him that he looked suspicious just doing that. If he wanted to escape attention, the thing to do was act normal, not sneak around. He had a copy of the software but it needed more horsepower to run than any computer I had. I had access to a mainframe at USC and we drove over and checked it out. It did everything he said it did. They called it Mako, after the shark, and it ate through data like one. I agreed that it was quite a piece of work and that I would put out some feelers. This was going to have to be on the very down low.

I went to Thatcher's house on Tuesday evening and they rode with me to the game. Her dad loved the Chevy, too, but he was a Ford man from way back. She kissed me at the door in front of her parents. They didn't seem to mind. She had to get there early, and she sat by me during the JV game. She looked amazing in that little cheer outfit and they did some routines that made me cringe. It looked like they might drop her twice, but her mom told me they did stuff like that all the time. She was the smallest cheerleader and so she was the top of the pyramid, the one that got shot five feet into the air on some of their tricks and it looked terrifying. She was obviously very flexible and strong. The team didn't play that well, but the opponents didn't seem to have a clue. Their offense seemed to consist of passing the ball around until they turned it over. Thatcher's team won, but it was an ugly game. She came up and stood very close to me after the game and I sensed that she wanted me to put my arm around her. I was happy to oblige, and she introduced me to several of her friends. I saw several of them whisper together after introductions and a couple said something to her I didn't catch.

"What was that about?" I asked her.

"Well, I don't know what the whispering was about but those two told me how hot you are."

"Please, spare my blushes."

"I think so, too," she whispered. "They're all jelly."

I took them out for frozen custard afterward, and we made an early night of it. She had school the next day and I had business to get done. I asked her out again for Friday but she had an away ballgame. She suggested Saturday and I was good with that.

Several years earlier I had got to know a Lithuanian kid that was going to USC. His dad was some kind of big deal with the government over there and I gave him a call. I told him what I had and offered to sell it if he knew anyone in the Government who might be interested. He promised to talk to his father and it was a waiting game. My boy Wilbur was nervous about holding on to the software, so I had him put it in a locker at the airport. They check them for drugs and explosives, but this was neither and it was safe. He felt a lot better and left me alone after that.

It was a usual week except for Saturday. Thatcher spent the day with me and I took her to an auction. She was fun to hang with, and we had a blast. I bought two storage units, and we had a good time poking around in them. She found a safe in one. We eventually found the key in a dresser drawer and it turned out to be full of jewelry. It was real and she squeaked with delight going through it. There was a platinum necklace with a big sapphire and several little diamonds in it. I made her stand up with her back to me and I lifted her hair and fastened it around her neck. I blew on the little wispy curls on the back of her neck and she shivered. I had to nibble on it then and she was ticklish. I turned her around so I could look at her and the necklace went perfectly with those eyes and that blonde hair.

"I'm giving you that," I told her.

"No, Riggins, it's too expensive. How much do you think it's worth?"

"It's worth whatever I say it is. If you were buying it at a jewelry store, probably 3500 dollars. I paid 950 for this locker. I've already made ten times that. Are you my girlfriend, Thatcher?"

She looked up at me and blushed. "I want to be."

"Okay, then, I get to give you stuff. Those are the rules. Just kiss me and tell me you like it."

She practically jumped on me. "I love it, Riggins," she whispered against my lips. "What are we going to do with all this stuff?"

"We'll lock the doors, I'll call the guys that work for me and they'll come, pack it up and take it back to the store. They'll go through it, price it and put it out on the shelves."

"Do you find a lot of jewelry?" she asked.

"Some. I buy some from people who come in and need cash, too."

"Are you like a pawn shop?"

"I guess; I don't have a license, but people know I buy things. The government likes to make you get a license to do anything. They charge a lot for the license and they get to poke their nose into your business. The idea that someone might make a buck without them getting a cut gets their panties in a bunch. Do you know that you have to get a license to be a barber?"'

"I guess I never really thought about it. If you didn't and people got bad haircuts, how would you control that?"

"I wouldn't. People run around with bad haircuts all the time. There were a lot of them here today. If you get a bad one, don't go back. Why does that need a license?"

"I guess it's just the government getting their cut," she laughed. "You have a different way of looking at things, Riggins. I like it."

"I was taken away from my parents when I was twelve years old. They were farmers and very poor. My dad got a gig driving moonshine from Tennessee to Georgia. I was in the car when they were arrested. I never saw them again. That gives you a little different outlook."

"I'm sorry, Riggins. I didn't know. Did you love them a lot?"

"No way you could know. To tell you the truth, I was glad to get away. My dad was a mean son of a bitch. He beat my mother and me on a regular basis. Mom sampled too much of what they were smuggling. They put me in a foster home. The man was a Church of Christ preacher and his wife was a psychologist. They were very kind to me and tried to raise me right. There were no more beatings and they were teetotalers. They treated me like I was their kid. I try to follow most of what they taught me, but some of it is too hard for me. I was lucky that they took me in."

"That's quite a story, Riggins. That explains a lot about you that I've been wondering about."

"Like what?"

"Well, you're a perfect gentleman; you have good manners, you like my parents and you're a smuggler."

I laughed. "I guess that does seem like an odd combination."

I took her to the pier in Santa Monica. I would have liked to take her to a club and dance with her, but she wasn't old enough. The way she looked, I knew they would card her. I knew a few places I could get her in, but I wouldn't take this beautiful kid there. She needed to stay innocent and I wasn't about to take her off the rails.

We sat on a bench, ate ice cream and talked for a while and I asked her if she would go to my place. She was a little hesitant. I assured her I didn't have any plans other than to talk, listen to some music and maybe dance a little.

"I'm sorry, Riggins," she told me. "It isn't that I don't trust you, but this is all new to me. It's a little bit scary. I need you to go very slow with me, okay?"

"I'm crawling," I told her. "No pressure, baby. You run the show and decide what you want to do. If it makes you uncomfortable, let's go to your place. We can hang out with your parents."

"No, it's okay. I know this must seem weird to you. The other girls you date probably can't wait to get you in bed."

"Thatcher, I'm not dating any other girls. I have, but not since I met you. I won't until you tell me we're done."

"Thanks, I won't either." She took my hand and pulled me up for a hug. "I can't wait to get you in bed either," she whispered. "It may take me a while, though."

"Good," I said. "I'm in no hurry. I've never had a girlfriend like you before. Most women I meet are like most guys you meet. They aren't much interested in romance, just the bottom line. Not that I don't want to get to the bottom line with you, but the journey has been pretty amazing so far and I'm happy with that."

She held my hand all the way to my place. She was impressed. I have a four-bedroom brick house on a corner lot. I've picked up a lot of quality stuff from auctions over the last five years, and I keep the place picked up. I have a girl in once a week to clean and she does a good job. I made nachos and we watched Peaky Blinders on Netflix. Some of the nudity made her blush, but it's a good show. I love the Nick Cave song they play in the credits. I put the album on after the show and we danced a couple of times.

Thatcher felt amazing in my arms. Her little blonde head came up to my chest and it felt like she belonged there. We made out a little and I took her home. I walked her to the door and she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me.

"Thanks, Riggins, I had a great day. I have a home game again Tuesday and Thursday. Will you come?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. I don't like those guys holding you by the butt, though. I don't get to do that."

She laughed and pulled my hands down there. It was incredible, resilient and firm and round. I pulled her up against me and she kissed me again.

"Bye, Riggins; I better go inside before Dad comes out to check."

My boy from Lithuania called on Monday. He put me in touch with an actor who lived in Beverly Hills. He said the guy was a liaison with their spy agency and he was very interested. If we had what we said we did, he was willing to pay top dollar. He wanted to meet, but I wanted more cover than that. I told him I would set something up.

I really didn't want to meet with anyone on this. I couldn't figure out how to stay out of sight and still get the deal done. I talked to Wilbur and he was more nervous than I was. I know a lot about computers. I finally decided that I was going to have to spend some money if I wanted to stay out of some federal lock up. I went shopping and found a used AS 400 running Unix for sale. I bought it and rented a storage locker under an assumed name. I got the mainframe set up and Wilbur came and installed the software.

I bought a pre-paid phone at Wal-Mart and called the actor. He had an unpronounceable name so I called him Bill. I told him where to go and where he could pick up the card to get in to the storage unit. I walked him through the program over the phone and he took a bunch of screen shots. He told me to call him in a week and he should know something.

I went to Thatcher's ball game on Tuesday. They shot the lights out that game and won handily. Her parents left her with me and we went to eat with some of her friends. They asked me all sorts of questions; how old I was, where I got my car, what USC was like, how I met Thatcher and what I did.

I didn't lie about anything but I just stuck with the legit stuff. They were very impressed that I was going to be a psychologist. Thatcher sat very close to me and I think she was staking out her territory. I didn't mind being staked out at all. We gave one of her friends a ride home and she asked if I wanted to go up to a windmill farm by her house and talk.

We did talk, but she spent most of the time with her lips tight against mine. We got in the back seat and she lay with her head in my lap and her feet out the window. Her legs were bare down to those little cheer panties and they were spectacular in the moonlight. She seemed to be losing her shyness with me. She didn't mind me looking or even sliding my hand along one smooth golden thigh. I didn't push it. I figured if she wanted to do more she'd let me know.

"I wish I could be with you every day," she told me. "That's the trouble with dating someone you don't go to school with."

"I'd like that, too, but it would be difficult. I guess I could take you to school and pick you up."

"No, I don't want you to do that. It would take too much of your time. You can't drive all the way out here twice a day. I'll see you twice this week if you come to the game Thursday. I have a band contest Saturday morning. We're marching in Encino. Are you doing anything Saturday?"

"Nothing I can't put off. Can I come?"

"I can't ride there with you. The band director makes us ride the bus. If you came, I could ride home with you. Mom would have to sign me out, but I know she would."

"I'll be there, then," I said. "How late are you supposed to be out on a school night?"

She squeaked when she saw the time. I drove her home and apologized to her Dad for keeping her out so late. He was cool, but he made me feel guilty when he said it was okay, he just hoped Thatcher wouldn't be too tired at school Wednesday.

I apologized again and assured him it wouldn't happen again. "Mr. Morgan, I like Thatcher a lot. I want her to do well in school and it was irresponsible of me to keep her like that. I really didn't know what time you expected her back. She didn't tell me what time she was supposed to be home. If you let me know what time you expect her to be home I'll make sure she gets here. I'm not blaming her, I should have asked."

He laughed it off. "She really likes you a lot, too, Riggins. It isn't a big deal. The curfew is for her, not me. We don't care what time she comes home. We trust her and we trust you. We know you aren't up to anything bad. We'll adjust it after school is out and you guys can hang out later. We really aren't worried about it. Relax, I'm not getting on you."

"I know, but I'm getting on myself. Thanks for being so cool, Mr. Morgan."

I got her home on time on Thursday. I really enjoyed going to her ball games. I love high school basketball. I was a two-guard in high school and college. I wasn't good enough to start at USC, but I was in the rotation. I could always shoot. I discovered that Thatcher was an amazing athlete. She could jump out of the gym, land in splits and do back flips down the length of the floor.

I discovered Saturday that she was a hell of a trombone player, too. Trombone looks like a tough instrument to play. I play guitar, but I know where to put my fingers because of the frets. There aren't any on a trombone, just the slide. I never heard her hit a false note and she never messed up the formation either.

She had face paint on and her hair was done up in this fantastically complex braid. That little uniform was very sexy and she blew me away. I took her home with me and we changed at my house. We went to the beach for a while. It was cool so we didn't mess around in the water. The ocean isn't ever very warm until you get down toward San Diego anyway, and so we just walked down the beach and cuddled.

I took her out to eat in the evening and we went back to my place. We sat on the sofa and watched a movie. She asked me if I would go to church with her Sunday. I hadn't been in ages so I agreed. I took her home and promised to pick her up at nine.

Church was interesting. They had a very good pastor. He talked about pride and it humbled me. I took them all out to eat at a seafood place. We talked about the service and her mom asked me if I was a believer.

"Well, yes and no," I told her. "I'll try to explain. I do believe someone made this place. I can't imagine the circumstances that would form Los Angeles out of a diffuse cloud of hydrogen without someone designing it that way. God looks like the only answer to me. I believe he's good. He's been good to me. He put me in just the right place to get parents that loved me instead of getting drunk and beating me." I told them my story.

"He put me in the right place at the right time to help Thatcher when she was in trouble. I believe there was someone named Jesus that taught people how to live the good life. I try to live by his words. Some of them are too hard for me. I try, but I can't. My problem is, I can't for the life of me figure out why he'd be interested in someone like me, Mrs. Morgan."

"Please, you don't have to call me Mrs. Morgan," she said. "My name is Rachael. I understand what you're saying. I'm glad you feel the way you do. I know you have doubts, but so do I. Anyone that doesn't hasn't thought about it. None of us keep all the words. I don't, James doesn't and I know Thatcher doesn't. I think God is interested in us for the same reason we're interested in Thatcher. We love her. When you love someone, you're interested in them."

"Yeah, I understand, but Thatcher's lovable. She's lovely. What about the creeps that were dragging her out of her car? See, that's my problem. I'm better than them, but still not as lovable as Thatcher. I think God must be annoyed with me most of the time."

Her dad laughed. "Well, Thatcher seems to think you're lovable. Rachael and I love you because of what you did for her and what you're doing for her now. I've never seen her so happy."

"Dad," she objected. "I'm right here. You are very lovable though, Riggins." She snuggled up against me.

Rachael smiled. "Keep looking, Riggins. I'm glad you're a believer. I wouldn't like Thatcher to be involved with someone that wasn't. When you figure it out, tell me how you did it."

I looked at Thatcher. "Are we involved?"

She laughed out loud at that. "I think maybe we are. How did we become involved, Mom?"

Rachael hugged her. "I don't know, baby. Just don't get too involved too fast."

"We won't," Thatcher promised.

We managed to get through dinner without any more footnotes from freshman philosophy. I took Thatcher, and Rachael and James went to the mall. We went down to Hollywood and walked around. Just walking along with her holding my hand or slipping her arm around me, made me feel like the king of the world.

We got a shake, sat on a bench and she chattered happily. She started telling me about her plans after high school. She was going to work at her Victoria's Secret job until college started. She had two scholarships that paid about half her tuition. One was academic and one was for music. Her parents were picking up the rest of her tuition and books and she was going to live with them and commute. She still wanted to save up some money so she could buy things she needed without breaking her parents' bank.