Money Well Spent

They collected their luggage and were soon in my library. Jasmine had printed out the hottest of the information. It took them two hours to read, and when they sat back they couldn't even speak. Jen and Linds made them a late dinner, and we showed them to their room. We had put both sets of luggage in the biggest guest room. They looked at me.

"What? Unless things have changed, one or the other would sneak into a bedroom as soon as you think we're asleep. You're safe here. We'll call you at eight for breakfast. Oh, and if you hear something go bump in the night, ignore it. It's just Miss Agnes. She watches over the place. Sweet dreams."

I shut the door before they could talk, and Jen giggled all the way down the hall.

Chapter 14

Once she got over being nervous, Jasmine told them everything, and gave them the rest of what she had. I thought they were going to pass out. Later, after they waded through everything, they sat with me in the library, sipping my scotch. I hated scotch, it was a taste I never acquired. I rarely drank anything, but when I drank whiskey it was always straight rye, on the rocks. I would sip slowly, letting the ice melt and dilute the whiskey. Usually two was all I had.

"You have no idea what you stumbled on to here, Dean. This is going to spread like a computer virus, and get just as ugly. You don't get away with this level of shit for as long as these guys have unless you've got a protector who is WAY up the food chain. Eventually, Homeland, ATF, hell every alphabet agency in the country is going to be involved, including the CIA. They might get to turn a few, and gather good intel for years. As long as we remain in charge, you get full access. And your friend should end up a very wealthy girl, if things play out like we expect."

Christy grinned. "On a personal note, we can't tell you what being able to stay here, get into the same bed and sleep the whole night together, means to us. It's almost like a honeymoon. I hope we didn't make too much noise. I heard somebody giggle just as we finished a marathon last night."

"I'm sure no one will say anything," I said. Mentally I said "MOM! Stop perving, these people are our guests, and I like them." I felt her fingers on my cheek, and could almost see her grin. Just my luck to buy a house that's haunted by a ghost that's also a voyeur.

Jasmine had to go back to work, but as luck would have it, just before they boarded the plane her 'uncle' showed up, saying her grandmother had passed, and she was needed at home. Her boss tried to talk her into going, but Jasmine, her nerves so frayed the tears she shed were real, refused. He finally relented if she promised to be on the next plane after the funeral. Of course, both her grandmothers were alive and well, and Uncle Jim escorted her straight to a safe house, under heavy guard.

They had bugged the suite in Paris, state of the art stuff that beat the detectors his guests used to sweep the room twice daily with. Jim and Christy were there as guests while Interpol and French police listened. Christy dug her fingernails into Jim's arm so hard the bruises and scratches were still there when they got home as the name of a senior Senator and a mid-level Congressman were mentioned, the bad guys debating over how much they deserved for keeping them in the shadows. Jim instinctively pulled away from her when two Cabinet heads were mentioned, or Christy would have broken his arm.

In the end they let everyone go back to their respective countries, tracking every movement, listening to every phone call and conversation. Jasmine called her boss and told him she had inherited her grandmother's house and estate, and would not be returning. The Feds had it all set up when he checked it out, and they had copies of everything from the death certificate to the will available to 'hack'. Mr. Moody tired to talk her into coming back, citing their deep connection and feelings for each other, and Jasmine actually seemed sad when she refused.

Jen and I were outside a home three states away before daylight on a February morning, filming as they arrested a man, and taking a short but dynamic statement from the FBI. We had done this deliberately, leaving a false trail to where the leak originated, to protect Jasmine. Agent LaMond looked every bit the professional she was in her severe suit, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, as she issued the statement. We were streaming it live, and soon it got picked up by every network and cable news outlet in the country. We were featured on the national nightly news, with every installment we filmed of the story. The Congressman and the Senator sang like canaries, hoping for reduced sentences, but there is no reduction for treason. They both got thirty years to life, as well as the two Cabinet heads, various undersecretaries, and a few lower level flunkies. The treason insured most of them got to spend their sentence at Fort Leavenworth, and not a camp cupcake. They had to move all of them in less than six months. Even if the inmates were all convicted of crimes, they were all still soldiers, and they took a really dim view of anyone betraying the country and their brothers in arms. The wardens finally figured out the prisoners were all suffering from a malady that caused them to become clumsy and fall down a lot. They fell so many times they stayed bruised constantly.

The businesses had their assets seized by the government, and all the CEO's were arrested. Most of them got life, and most were divorced as they fought it in court, the women trying to secure a future for their children before the money ran out. The Inspectors who falsified reports were set to a supermax prison, and all but two died the first year. The President ended up firing several of his aides, three department heads besides the ones who were charged, assorted undersecretaries, his press secretary, and his lawyer. Faith in his ability to lead fell to a record low for a sitting President. The next year was an election year, and his campaign had been cranking out the ads, fueled by big business. The ads stopped when the big companies stopped funneling money to him, hurting because of the economic shortfalls the crisis had created, and he soon announced his plans to retire after this term. Jim told me much later that he had come within millimeters of having impeachment proceedings being started.

What happened to Jasmine? Well, Jasmine ended up smelling like a rose, pun intended. Unofficially, Jim recommended a lawyer, a super eagle, who swooped down and protected her interests like she was his only child. She really hadn't done anything worse than having an affair with a married man, and she had turned everything over when she found it, contacted the FBI, and co-operated fully, so they never pressed charges.

Her blown whistle saved the government almost a billion dollars. Her cut would have been staggering, and the feds were dragging their heels, when Jasmine, through her lawyer, said she would consider a smaller percentage, and her lawyer fees. It was a limited time offer, and they jumped all over it. I asked Jim once how much she got, and he grinned. "Usually in cases like this, lawyers get at least a third, and her lawyer was thrilled to receive eleven million dollars. You do the math." Wow.

There was a downside. Jasmine would be a tempting target before the trial. Kill the only witness and things will be simpler to defend. Jim thought it a stupid idea. "We already got enough to hang them several times over, and we're finding more every day. Even if they were to kill her, they would still go to jail. Killing her would change things, and it would be hard to get parole on death row. She's probably safe, but we're going to keep an eye on her, at least for a while. The first whiff of danger and we'll make her disappear.

She ended up staying with us for four months before the first trial date got close, then they moved her to a safe house. I had moved Lindsey into the house, because I didn't want her to be away from us if something did happen. We liked it so much she was still in her bedroom nine months later.

I didn't worry too much about something happening because I had a foolproof security system. I had Miss Agnes. Apparently a ghost doesn't need a lot of sleep. One thing you never do is mess with a woman's daughter, especially if mom happens to be a supernatural spirit who is intensely protective.

Linds was dating a new guy. He was handsome, he was charming, he said the right words. Jen and I couldn't stand him. "He reminds me of a male version of Simone." Jen gritted her teeth, for some reason she still held resentment over her.

I'd tried to love her out of Jen's mind, but it wasn't working until I accidentally said something that set her off. "You know, she was trying to rob the bank. You ended up owning the keys to the vault, or in my case heart. Why try to steal something you already own?" She just grinned and we pretty much forgot about her.

Lindsey had a little money, thanks to Jasmine and the documentary we had finally finished. The boyfriend was sniffing around, trying to find out more. After a couple of weeks she finally grew tired of him, and told us she was breaking up with him. He was coming over for a barbeque, along with a few more couples, some neigbors, some from the station, and she was going to tell him afterwards. We mingled, ate, laughed, played some couples games guaranteed to bring laughter. When one contest about how well you knew your partner was over, the numbers were tallied and Linds and her date came in dead last. He was a little peeved, and drank more, getting surly towards the end. He ended up passed out on a lounger. We left him, and the evening wound down.

I looked over at him when the other guests left, and told the girls it looked like I needed to clean up. Linds said to let her handle it, so we watched, at a distance, as she woke him up, making him drink several cups of coffee. She came over to us. "I can handle it from here. You guys look beat. Go to bed. I'll give you the post relationship analysis over breakfast."

They were talking quietly as we left them. Forty minutes later we were snuggled together, asleep. It had been a long day and we were spent.

Thirty minutes later the covers were snatched off and I was on the floor. Wondering what had happened, I could feel Miss Agnes, and she was really agitated. I woke instantly. "What's wrong, Mom?" Lindseys picture flew off Jen's dresser, and it was glowing. The drawer to my nightstand flew open, and the pistol I kept there dropped beside me. I was up in an instance, running out of the room with the Smith .40 in my hand, racking the slide as I moved. Jen was up, huddling in the middle of the bed. "Stay here and lock the door! Where is she, Mom?"

The back door flew open and the glow went up the steps to the empty apartment. I could hear Lindsey screaming as the door swung open for me. He had her tied to the bed, her clothes looked cut off and lay in a pile at her feet. He was mauling her breasts savagely while he told her what he was going to do to her. "Tell me no, tell me we won't be together anymore? What the fuck, slut? By the time I'm done with you you'll be a good little bitch, do what I say. We're gonna take your money and move far away from here, somewhere your asshole friends can't find you, live like kings. Now stop screaming!"

He backhanded her and blood flew from a split lip. She sagged back on the bed, out cold. Something must have warned him, because he turned slightly as I got to him. He got a closeup view of my pistol as I raked it across his face, blood pouring from the gash the front sight made. Before he could move I came back across his face, spliting the othe cheek. He tried to jump up, but his jeans were around his ankles and he fell in a heap. I probably would have beaten him to death if it hadn't been for Mom. She literally dragged me off him and held me wrapped in her astral arms until the bloodlust cleared. Jen, despite my instructions, had grabbed her own .380 and had come charging after me. Linds was unconscious on the bed, and Mom, feeling me calm, let me go. I grabbed the first phone I could find, and called 911, telling them I had stopped a sexual assault in progress and had subdued the attacker. When I told them Lindsey was tied to the bed and unconscious, they instructed me not to untie her until they got there, and not to touch her if at all possible.

Mine was a pretty upscale address, and they were there in four minutes. Jen had gone down the steps to wait on them. They came in, guns drawn, relaxing only when one of them recognized us from television. One look at the bed had them summoning the EMT's who had followed them. They took about fifty photos before they allowed Jen to cover her up. A policewoman removed and bagged the restraints, a look of sympathy on her face, turning to disgust when she looked down. He was still out, but was already in handcuffs.

My official story was that I woke, worried about Lindsey because of the breakup, and went to check on her. I noticed the light on in the apartment, and knowing no one was supposed to be there went looking. I caught him trying to rape her, a struggle ensued, and I managed to knock him unconscious. My weapon had already been secured, and I felt no need to bring it up. If it had been, they would have seen the blood on it, and realized it wasn't just a fight to subdue him.

I had to admit to myself If Mom hadn't restrained me I would have beaten him to death, without a doubt. My battlelust was what kept me alive overseas, and once it's unleashed, it has to run it's course before I come back to reality.

The man was tried, convicted, and sentenced to seven to ten years in a state medium security prison, and would have to register as a sex offender when he was released. Come to find it out he was a middle school teacher, and he lost his career forever. He went to jail with two deep scars on his cheeks, something to remember me by. Lindsey didn't have to testify much, because she was unconscious early in the assault. She did tell how he dragged her up the steps, kicked the door open, and tie her to the bed. She remembered him hitting her, and the rest was a blank.

Mr. Teacher had an attorney that tried to spin it as rough sex and fantasy gone wrong and misunderstood, but no one bought it. The jury was out for a whopping twenty minutes before they were back with the verdict.

Chapter 15

We had finished our little documentary, "What's In It For Me, " and subtitled it "The Talent On Ninth Street." Shaggy, Pocahontas, Tin Cup, Boom Boom, Longfellow, Preacher, Caruso(the opera singer), Juggler, The Nun, Street Rap, finishing with Blind Melon Chitlin and Harp. Oddly enough, they had gotten together and practiced an old gospel song, the voices blending together far more smoothly than one would think, for the grand finale. When the last notes faded I focused on Jen, doing a closeup of her face, the tears obvious on her cheeks.

"These people are in every large town or city. You probably walk by them every day. They more than likely have a hand out. Next time they ask, ask back. What's in it for me? What return will I get on this money? Maybe, like the people here on Ninth Street, they will surprise, possibly even move you. When you hand over the dollars, ask yourself, who got more out of the exchange, you or them? If you look at it like that, you'll realize it was money well spent. And even if they look like bums and make you uneasy, remember, these are people too, and there, but for the Grace of God, could be any of us."

We slowly faded into a blank screen and ran the credits as the gospel song played again.

I knew some people in New York from my network days, and I sent them samples, to see if it was salable. In two weeks we had an agent and five firm offers. Netflix won, and they featured it in their ad campaign for coming attractions.

At my insistence, we each got thirty per cent of the profits. The other ten per cent went to Shaggy. He was stunned when we told us what we had decided, even more stunned at what ten per cent amounted to. He was listed in the credits as talent scout and associate producer, under his real name, William 'Shaggy' Peters. I was listed as director/producer, Jen was listed as executive producer, Lindsey was titled sound director and associate producer.

Shaggy said the best part was his mother calling to tell him how proud she was of him, and how she told every one at the facility he was her son. He took part of the money and upgraded her apartment, and put money in her account every month. We all went with him to the funeral when she passed the next year. He was surprised by the size of the turnout, but she had been a very popular woman. He renewed friendships with cousins he hadn't seen in twenty years. The most moving part of the service was when he got up and sang 'Itsy Bitsy Spider', looking at her coffin the whole time. Any eyes that were dry quickly watered.

Things settled down for awhile, and wedding plans were completed. We invited very few people. I flew my grandmother in, and she was very taken by Jen and Lindsey, and Jen's large family. It seemed she was lonely, forced to live in a facility because of bad investments. They had taken her house and auctioned it off, using the money to defray costs, and soon it was going to run out. None of the rest of the family were inclined to help her. She never told me any of this, not, as she said, wanting to burden me with her problems.

She tearfully confessed this to the girls and Jen's mom one night, and the women of my family, her Mom included, were on me with a vengeance the next morning. Miss Agnes seemed to be frowning as well. I guess the shocked look on my face convinced them I really didn't know, and Jen's mother got right in my face. "What are you going to do about it?"

I looked them all dead in the eye. "I don't know. The only thing I can think of is maybe find her a nice room in a big house somewhere, rent free, where all her needs are taken care of, surrounded by girls that will probably learn to love her as time passes. Know anywhere with an opening?"

Jen just grinned at the rest. "Told you so," she smirked, as she went to find Grams and give her the news. Miss Agnes brightened, and her smile was back, so I guess she approved. Maybe they would hit it off.

I think Gram and Jen's family were a little surprised with some of our guests. Shaggy had rented a large van and driven every one of the street people who wanted to come to the house. He and Jen had helped them with suits, and Pocahontas had on a very nice native costume, complete with beads and bells, her almost silver hair hanging to her waist in two thick braids.

The documentary had changed a lot of things. Ninth Street had become a tourist attraction, to the point police had to keep someone there just to move the crowds along. The Mayor wanted them to get what he called 'performance permits', and the whole thing was getting out of hand. Some could handle the pressure of being semi-famous, but many resented the loss of privacy. There were a lot of what Shaggy called 'posers and pretenders' around, people not homeless at all, but dressing the part, trying to make a few bucks and get noticed. Crime had also increased, the thought of all that cash floating around just too much of a lure to the bad guys. Tin Can and Pocahontas were roughed up pretty good before Boom Boom pricked the two guys with the tip of his knife. By pricked, I mean shoved as deep as he could get it before they ran away.

In fact, this would be the last time the Ninth Street group would all be together. Pochahontas was finally going back to the reservation to stay, and taking Boom Boom and Tin Cup with her. Preacher had gotten certified as an ordained minister by some group off the internet. He only did it so he could legally officiate at our wedding, and he had been offered a small church, independents who had lost their minister. It didn't pay much, but did come with a small house. He was excited, and we were happy for him. Shaggy, of course, had already moved on. The documentary money enabled him to get a better apartment. He was a little over three years sober now, and worked a lot with his AA group, trying to get others help. He admitted the success rate was pretty low, but if they got just one person a year sober, he said, it was worth every manhour they invested and more.