Ebb Tide Ch. 01

The other girl? She went out and rounded up some friends - nine of them, both genders. Well, those four saw an ass-whooping coming their way and ran...right past me, Eric, Sammi and Anna (my sort of date aka no sex for me that night) as we were exiting the cinema. Kristoff's and my eye's met. Any hope I had of sitting this event out went away with his holler for help. He stopped, his buddies rushed into him and the fight was on.

Eric was the kind of friend that never asked why you were being a moron even when helping guaranteed pain. He jumped in. Sammi was violently inclined, so she jumped in. Anna would have sat it out had the pursuers not gone after her. I was pretty sure Ford would have kept running if one of the other guys hadn't tackled him.

Between saving Reagan's butt from being shanked (earning me a cut to the back of my right forearm) and breaking Ford free of a wrestling hold, I got pretty banged up. That way we got to hang around for the grand melee which was ended by four of Clark County's Finest and a half-dozen security guards.

Eric, Kristoff and Reagan got tasered, as did three from the other side. We were all so engrossed in kicking each other's asses we ignored the warnings. Four of our opponents escaped as did Anna. It was a first time for all of us in the paddy wagon. The rich four insisted we poor three, and the other enemy six (who all turned out to be middle class gangster wannabes) had experienced this before.

The kids on the other side were getting RPC's (Released into Parent's Custody), as did Charli and Sammi. Due to a pending vandalism charge, Eric and I got to stick around. Kristoff, Ford and Reagan had their parents tell them to 'suck it up', so Reagan got to go play with the Junior Miss Lesbians Cotillion while we four guys got acquainted with the Las Vegas 'on the fast track to earning their prison tattoos' Youth League.

Ford was in full-on panic attack mode. Some black gentleman misread the situation. He was under the impression that Ford was having a bad drug reaction and thought he was easy prey for a shakedown. Out of nowhere, Ford clocked the guy. His victim toppled over, catching himself from landing on his ass. It was on for the second time that night.

Ford was already scared. Faced with what he thought was a gang assault/prelude to being somebody's butt-bitch, Ford jumped on the bigger guy like a crazed animal. Kristoff, Eric and I made sure no one else was going to come to the black guy's rescue then separated them. Kristoff got Ford; Eric and I got the black kid. Had the fight gone on for ten more seconds, the black kid would have started whaling back, so we saved Ford from a second round of punishment.

In the post-skirmish phase, we kept hold of the black guy until I was sure he'd calmed down. Kristoff did the same with Ford. Then the whole common room acted like nothing had happened when the jailors showed up. Ford was barely coherent and the black guy wasn't going to tell them that some smaller, pampered rich brat had smacked him around.

When the jailors left, Ford became suddenly giddy. His fear-addled mind had altered his perceptions of the bout until he'd convinced himself he fought like a titan. In his mind, only Kristoff had stopped him from killing the creep. Kristoff saw that as progress. Next morning at court, Mr. Pharris was there representing the five of us (Reagan had done okay with the ladies).

"Hey Dad, I beat up some punk in prison," were the first, proud words out of Ford's mouth.

Lloyd wasn't happy with any of us. I had little doubt that his plan was for Ford to be traumatized by the experience, not exultant. Ford was in danger of becoming a man. From that day forth, Lloyd decided I was worth picking on. In subtle ways, he threatened my father's employment, he had law enforcement shake me down on the way home from work and would withhold my pay from time to time. That was okay; G would slip me the money later.

To top it all off, at the end of the year, he had me 'randomly' audited by the IRS.I was looking at some stiff fines and penalties ~ I was a seventeen year old (by that time) roughneck, paid in cash. Of course I didn't file any tax returns, damn it. Kristoff bailed me out all on his own initiative and Lloyd never figured out how I'd pulled it off...though I had about a dozen equally random drug screenings at school over the next two months.

{Flash forward fifteen years}

I was hanging up my shingle back in my hometown after a long absence. I was converting twelve years of military service and three years working for Certified Infrastructure Agronomics into what I hoped would be a meaningful career with less likelihood of death. I had all my certifications completed and updated. I even had a position lined up with a local ambulance company.

The pay sucked for someone living in Vegas, but money wasn't really my concern. I'd closed on a worn down, 1950's style bungalow on the edge of Vegas and North Vegas (sometimes we dropped the 'Las'). On the plus side, it was all mine, bought and paid for with carefully laundered money.

I didn't have a lawn, or a garden - I had nice, crunchy pebbles with strategically placed larger foot-stones all around - all on top of a poly-fiber cover with pressure sensors; so no yard work - ever. The back and sides had tacky, eight-foot high concrete block walls the previous owners had painted pink roughly 20 years ago.

I was finishing the process of moving in when I noticed a commotion across the street. Two of my old buddies in Khaki &Brown - LVMPD (Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department) officers - and two county privatized housing specialists were putting one of the resident of the duplex across the street out on her ass. They had been towing her car away when I arrived. She looked past caring, sitting on her former stoop, totally forlorn. She was sitting on her ass, arms folded one over the other. Her forehead was pressed down on her folded arms.

My current life plan included keeping my private life private, my social life distant, and not doing anything that involved attention from law enforcement. I didn't have any Wants, Warrants, or outstanding convictions, nor was I a bail jumper. My juvenile history was history. It was gone, gone, gone. I had a former business acquaintance do that for me. Supposedly even the hard copies had been eliminated.

I just didn't like cops. Mind you, I didn't mind the concept of law enforcement. I simply didn't enjoy people not in my chain of command telling me what to do. Over the years, I'd gotten really good at skating the law and only listening to people I trusted with my life.

I figured the guys across the street were doing their job. It was past foreclosure time and that was that. Besides, her furniture looked shitty. At least I bought the real deal - hardwood, steel and stone were my preference. Then, life threw me two curveballs at once.

The first -

"And Ma'am, we are also going to have to cite you for littering if you don't get that furniture to a storage locker, or a landfill in the next thirty minutes," Officer Black - he was a black guy - told the distraught woman. She began to sob. To add insult to injury, the two moving guys dumped her clothes unceremoniously on top of her curbside furniture.

They were being mean and the cops were being jerks. So, I tossed out my game plan and crossed the road. Officer Latino - because he was Hispanic - saw me coming and moved to intercept me on her side of street.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" I inquired. We both had sunglasses on, so no eye contact. It was September in the Southwestern desert with 5% cloud cover, bright and sunny. It was also pretty freaking warm at ten in the morning.

"Mister, you need to go back across the street," he tried to look tough. I've had a fanatic telling me that I was about to meet Allah by means of beheading. This guy needed to seriously step up his game. "This is none of your business, so move along." Fuck him.

"I'm here to help her move into my place across the street, Officer L. Hernandez (his name tag)," I lied. I also memorized his badge number and about fifty other extraneous tidbits of information.

That caught him by surprise. It took him a few seconds to counter which I used to move toward the lady in question. Hernandez looked to his partner, Officer T. Ilger (the black guy).

"Is this man with you, Ms. Norquist?" Officer Ilger asked the woman. She looked up through tear-stained eyes at me.

The second -

"V?" she gulped. When I started calling her 'G', she had retaliated by calling me 'V'. Yeah, it was ole Lloyd's wife, - most likely ex-wife as evidenced by her current circumstances - Ford's and Wynn's stepmom and a total mess. I had seen people at the end of their tether before and she qualified.

"Hey, Ms. G," I smiled. "If we wait much longer, the Sun is going to cook us. Let's get your stuff inside."

"Ummm..." Officer Ilger grumbled.

"Yes...yeah, sure V," Ms. G hurriedly ran back into her old place. "Let me get the last of my things."

If it was a yappy dog, I was going to make it 'disappear'. It wasn't. It was her CD/DVD collection. Her life was still in shambles. My prospects of remaining a hermit were bleak.

"Make it quick," Ilger harried her.

"Can I see some ID?" Hernandez asked me. I gave him the twice over.

"No," I answered then walked past him. I needed to start moving G in.

"What?" he put a hand on my elbow. It wasn't a grab, merely a 'hold up there buddy'.

"What crime do you suspect me of?" I replied. "I'm not driving a vehicle, or onboard commercial transit, so I don't have to show you my ID. It is in the law books; look it up some time."

Yeah...I had an attitude problem with police. I was a hell of a good sailor though. Military orders I could follow - no problem. I even liked NCIS and SP (Shore Patrol) people.

There was just something about civilian law enforcement...I now had Ilger's attention as well.

"Is there a problem with you identifying yourself?" Hernandez pressed.

"Nope and I'm pretty sure you can't fine someone for littering thirty minutes after evicting them either," I kept a positive outlook.

"Okay, wise guy," Hernandez got feisty. "Lie down, hands out to your sides, face on the ground then cross your ankles." I complied.

There was a huge gulf between detaining someone and suspecting them of a crime. His pat down ended up with a plain black slip of plastic in the shape of a credit card, a pair of nail clippers and my house key. I didn't like key chains. They made noise.

"What's this?" Hernandez waved the card in front of my face. At the same time...

"V? What's going on?" G sounded worried.

"Ma'am, do you know who this man is?" Ilger turned back on her.

"Ah...yes. He's V.I knew...met him years ago. He was the friend of my stepson," she responded nervously.

"Is V part of his last name, first name, or a gang name?" Ilger pressed. As for Hernandez's question;

"It is a memento from a friend," I told him. It wasn't a complete lie. I'd liked the guy, but we weren't really friends.

"Don't worry, Ms. G," I called out. "This whole take-down is going to look great on my home security system." All three people looked over to my house. Sure enough, I had four visible cameras - one over the detached garage door, one facing to the front left, one to the front and one to the front-right. I had others on the sides and back as well.

They weren't my real security system. They were functional, but I didn't rely on them. They were just decoys for the true security system I'd installed. Call me paranoid if you wish, but I'd had a hand in killing some evil, dangerous, mean, fucking people over the past 15 years and some of their relatives, co-religionists and business partners held grudges. My identity was safeguarded by the Department of Defense.

To me, that meant some obnoxious Senator, or WikiLeaks freak, with an axe to grind over the violation of the civil rights of deceased murders, rapists, drug kingpins and thieves would eventually dredge it up then leak it to Amnesty International, or some Human Rights Commission to prove what a great humanitarian he/she was.

Then some truly brave people in some really dark places around the globe would get killed and I'd have to contemplate snuffing out the life of an elected US official. Canceling the life of a hacker/information peddler was another matter...tough to find, easy to kill, but still considered a crime by people who thought holding their guardians to high moral standards stopped evil shit from happening.

I didn't want to go down that road. My second employer, the CIA, told me they had taken care of those records...except that they were in the 'hold something back for a rainy day' business. There were also some unanswered questions about the tidy little fortune I had retired with.

If pressed, I would swear on the Bible, the Koran and the Anarchist Cook Book it had been the monetary funds of people who no longer had need of them. It wasn't like I'd dirtied the hands of the CIA by handing it over. If that happened they might have had to explain what me and a few associates were doing, receiving those bank codes, talking to the very influential / connected / protected criminal, scumbag money-men moments before their demise.

To be fair, they also gave us the information we were sent to get along with the money. We didn't murder their families because we had promised to spare them if they cooperated. We were professionals and kept our integrity, if not our word. We also wanted to make damn sure those cock-suckers paid for the sins the financial services made possible ~ and to impress upon their associates that they weren't as 'untouchable' as they'd been led to believe.

My team leader thought this alteration to our assignment would be more effective. We all agreed. I was the only one who decided to retire after that. It did impress upon me that my current career would only go downhill from that point. I was also the only one with marketable skills that didn't trace back to my former livelihood. I really was a paramedic. My official records with the US Navy showed each and every training course that elevated me to the status of official life-saver.

"I don't know. I've always called him 'V'," G had most likely forgotten my real name in the intervening years. "As I said, he was my stepson's friend." Hernandez tried something new.

"Come on, V.A little cooperation will clear this up," he pretended to be nice. I was watching this ant scurrying toward my nose as I lay on my stomach, face pointed down.

"A little of you guys getting in your patrol car and driving away would also resolve the matter," I countered. "If a crime has been committed and you have reasonable cause to suspect me, then Nevada law requires me to show you some ID and identify myself. So, what crime has been committed, or are you illegally detaining me?"

"Are you a Libertarian?" Hernandez pressed his knee to my back. I pretended it hurt.

"Is Clark County using police officials to determine the political affiliation of private citizens, or is this a voter registration drive?" I openly contemplated.

"You are a wise-ass," Hernandez observed quietly. The moving guys - job finished - drove off.

"Are you surprised that I've been told that before?" I coughed. That ant...she'd gotten close...so I ate it.

"Did you just eat an ant?" Hernandez gasped.

"Are you now suggesting I'm so starved that I can apply for Food Assistance from the county?" I snorted.

Finally, the officer figured out I was a hard case. He assumed I was an ex-con. I wasn't because stints in County Jail and the Juvenile Court Systems didn't count...not to me anyway. I had been in a prison before, just not as a prisoner, or a guard. I was there to make 'a withdrawal' which was my buddies' jargon for a jailbreak. I had thought saying we 'liberated' the person sounded better. Sadly 'liberating' was already the jargon for stealing stuff.

Hernandez got off me. I was smart enough to wait for his permission to stand before doing so. G and I began moving her into my house - most of her furniture went straight into the garage. I'd drag it off to the dump later. Half way through, they ticketed Georgianna anyway. It was on! Did I mention I have a really low tolerance for police abusing their authority?

I went into the house, selected the proper tool for the mission, waited until they were haranguing G so much she started to cry then confronted them. I acted more like an annoyance than a prick. Had I been a prick, they would have kept an eye on me. G bending over to pick up some spilled clothes was the distraction I was waiting for. I took the opportunity to use a clear epoxy to stick their AC in the 'Off' position and the windows up.

They got in. I kept them around long enough to epoxy their doors shut before they drove off. They left smugly arrogant in their victory. I watched them drive away educationally confident in American ingenuity. As I got the last of G's stuff into my house, I noted it was already ninety degrees outside and it wasn't even noon yet.

In my experience, they'd be tearing that AC nob off sometime around the tenth minute. Give it twenty more and they'd really begin to cook in their polyester and body armor. They'd call in, reporting their difficulty, pull over...and try to get out of their 'easy-bake oven'. Then the real fun would begin.

To be safe, I dropped the epoxy tube in a small crock pot of acid I keep around on the kitchen counter for such chores - like destroying evidence. No police cruisers showed up the rest of the day to question me about the event. Considering what G told me in the meantime, it all made sense.

Two years ago, G figured out the Mr. Pharris was having an affair with another, much younger woman. She preemptively sought out a divorce attorney. Lloyd found out about it, concocted all sorts of charges - including her sleeping with both Ford and Wynn - and, after an expensive legal battle on her part, it was 'discovered' that the legal battle had left Lloyd penniless.

She was saddled with a mountain of legal bills. All of the Pharris assets were owned by off-shore entities which charged him a pittance to rent. All very neat. I'd seen covert US black bag operations use the same tricks. Nothing belonged to anyone you could locate and the appropriate taxes were paid on time, so there was no great rush for any governmental agency to investigate.

When the divorce settlement was handed down, she tried to skip town. Before she could, two Detectives with the LVMPD showed up and told her what a bad idea that would be. No, she had to stick around, wandering from crummy job to crummy job. Whenever he felt like it, Lloyd would have her fired then open up another door - all down the road of degradation. There was no sane reason for him to do this to her.

Georgianna's first question after she'd calmed down a bit was what I'd done to my house. To start with I'd reinforced the entire structure so the building could support extra weight. I'd fortified it. I'd constructed blast resistant barriers along all the external walls.

No bars on the outside of the windows for me. I had folding ceramic mesh shutters on the inside. My windows were twin sheets of clear aluminum and ballistic glass that darkened unless an electric current passed through them. If the power 'suddenly' went out, I had one-way mirrors. When the shutters extended, there were three bars I could flip into place on each one. Fully deployed that equated to 4 inches of high-tech armor.

I had rebuilt the entirety of the door/sill area; front and back. One-eighth of an inch of false front followed by ballistic scales, ceramic plates, high-impact gel packs and a flexible yet durable polymer backing. The whole thing was 3 inches thick. I also had one-half inch steel mesh 'screen' doors. Both sets of doors had key locks. The main ones had a key code and a magnetic lock system for when I slept, or was out of the house.