Not Quite a White Knight Vol. 04.2

-

I called on Monday, the second date listed, at 1:37 in the afternoon. Tony answered right away.

His first words, before I identified myself were, "I want to come in. We need to talk."

I did not bother to ask if it was safe to talk, since he would give me the same answer no matter what. I also did not ask what this was about, since he could easily lie.

Instead I asked about his wheels, they said a lot about a person and his situation. Plus, any cop or fed or bad person listening to the talk would think it was some sort of code or trick question when, in fact, it was quite direct.

"What is your ride?" I asked.

"Ducati. A few years old, naked like a work-in-progress but mechanically 110%."

"Snaps, Hombre."

It was hard to think of a better choice for solo work, there are no slow Ducati's. It would not be stolen if it looked kind of ratty with parts exposed and wires hanging out, and it looked a lot less valuable than a new sleek version with all the sleek shiny bits. If he was in canyon territory, which seemed possible, a Ducati had a LOT more passing zones available then even my Porsche, so he could get away from anybody except a helicopter. Also, dressing in full cycle gear, he could be sitting at a stop light next to his witch bitch wife and she would not have a clue.

The only issue was the the Ducati was a peg-scraper, well suited to make speed on LA's paved roads but compromised on any rough ground - which is where I needed to move him.

"How long to get to Needles on something less showy, more trail-worthy, with no speeding?" I needed to know more about where he was based, and everybody in LA knew where Needles was. He could be in Montana for all I knew, it would be a smart move, healthier for him. I didn't care except I needed to set a time frame.

"I could switch to a pickup or a BMW dirt bike. Four hours to swap wheels, then four hours to Needles."

That told me a lot. The reply was too long if anybody had him, so that was not an issue. It also told me he was not sleeping in LA, he was camped out a few hours north or south. (West is ocean, east would be less time to Needles.) I bet North, to get further away from the random shit of the border. But I bet he had a base of some sort in LA, a safe house like my fort, maybe in the Valley. The BMW was a great bike on the highway or off-road, it was designed by Germans for driving across Australia or the US or India with or without roads. If you ordered the right parts you could even motor through water a couple of feet deep. Sort of like the child of a German sub married to a motorcycle.

"Recording? I got a tune to blast at ya." In this case "blast" was a code-word based on a simple code we made up years ago. We were killing time keeping the peace at a local music festival. Music and coded signals were a natural common subject.

"I am now."

I played him a song, the tones were made by hitting particular keys on a phone keypad. If you track the right numbers, and shifted them based on the day of the week (Monday so +2), they translated to a pair of GPS co-ordinates that were off-road in the middle of nowhere, a place with a whole lot of empty that was closer to Needles. Track the wrong numbers and you get a spot on the coast, along PCH. Or someplace around the world. In case any friends were listening. "The Beemer is the good choice if it is reliable. Be there by ten in the morning the day after tomorrow. It will be hot. You know how I am about bugs... we will burn all your grubby clothes so wear throwaways. Good luck till then, Hombre."

His response was heartfelt. "Gracias Amigo." We both hung up and pulled batteries. He was cool and made no demands so I figured he was in touch with Tonto and had not been taken. Still, I am the type who has to be sure.

During the ride Irene and I made plans. She could gear up for a trip with specialized weapons. I switched vehicles then went to the apartment building to talk to a man about drones. My drone guys had proved their worth, I would deploy three small units.

I had to admit a BMW on/off road bike is a damn fine idea for the Zombie uprising. On the highway it could lose any cop car and it worked well off-road. I put one on my shopping list to keep at the Fort. Even with an M-113 in the garage, you can never be sure.

-

Chapter 11. Welcome Amigo

Wednesday July 30, 2008

At 9:40 on the appointed day, I watched the screen as the sturdy BMW cycle pulled up to a purple spot - dyed sand - in the dessert. The land was pretty flat and barren for miles around and there were no other dust clouds on the horizon, so he wasn't being followed. Irene was in a foxhole a couple of hundred yards away from the spot with a one-person Stinger missile and a hand-held military radar/thermal gizmo from her old military outfit, making sure there were no aircraft in the area, hiding in the sun or the clouds. Cynthia was with her, holding a hammer while watching for pesky snakes and scorpions. Cynthia was trying to be brave for her man plus she knew what Tony looked like. I really could not keep her away from the meet so I put her to use. It was better for everyone that way.

(Stingers, by the way, are hellacious effective and really hard to get. They can drop a jetliner or a helicopter in range near 100% of the time and are very portable for one person to use. The only country in South America that the US allows to deploy the weapons is Chile, and with the help of the CIA they keep a real close track of the little darlings because, as a terrorist weapon, Stingers rank just below nukes and are way more useful than, say, an Abrams tank, which kind of sticks out. However, I must say from personal experience that the system Chile uses to validate enlistees, train soldiers and keep track of the weapons involves humans who are less than perfect. There are so many vices. Also, the CIA has better uses for their top people than Chile. I mean, if you say you are "the CIA's #3 file clerk checker in Chile" who is going to take you seriously? The guy who now has a Stinger.)

Also unseen, a trio of drones were on the ground staged near the spot. Tony was early but that didn't matter, as soon as we saw him I put a drone up and took a good look around just to be sure. His trail was clear. The biggest concern - unlikely but possible - was the sneaky Feds with a bug. But it looked clear.

Next I had to clear any tracking device.

At the purple spot was a box with a letter and a trio of cameras. The sign said, "Sorry Old Sport but I need to check for wires. Please strip to the skin and do a slow 360. Smile for the ladies in the audience. If positions were reversed you would do the same. Then open the box." He did as asked, put his clothes in a bag, and put his pocket stuff - which included a small pistol as well as a collection of knives - all held up for the camera - in a second bag.

Irene admired his knife collection. "Handy," she said. It was high praise.

He was okay about giving up the gun, if I was going to kill him quick he would be dead already. If I was going to use slower methods, he knew the gun would not help. Also, he saw the black box so he knew he was being scanned electronically for a wire he might have swallowed. I don't take chances.

On the other hand, cops or feds were VERY unlikely to let him have a live firearm. It was a "goodbye pension" type of mistake.

The box had new coveralls and a military com unit - a top Brazilian unit - one of a group reported lost-at-sea by their people during a rescue training exercise. He figured out the Portuguese and in moments we were talking with no cell phones towers needed and no NSA bandwidth wasted. The com unit was low-powered, frequency agile and scrambled, so it was secure as possible without employing alien tech. I explained some of that.

"Cool. A few of these would be handy."

"Having one is useless. You and I are holding the only two north of Panama and they have to be synched by a tech. They are a bitch to get, and the techs are even harder. If I use it in LA, eventually somebody living in a basement with no life and a big antenna will spot the freq on his illegal custom-built radio-scanning-computer, gets a chub and starts diddling with his equipment. Then the curious cops and the feds get nosy and it is no better than a cell phone. But as long as we stay under the nerd-radar, it is golden."

That was not true, they were frequency-agile and scrambled so listening was impossible, they sounded like random static, and tracking was a waste of time. But jamming? That was dead easy. An amateur with a big enough antenna and a computer could do it, killing all of LA for these units until the feds shut him down.

I explained what was next. He was going to walk a thousand paces in any direction, it was heart-heathy exercise. "Look for vermin, then take a seat." He should take the gun for security, some vermin are nasty. He would watch as one of my guys (in another foxhole) drove off on his bike. It, and his stuff, were going into a cave with a Faraday cage five miles away. After the bike was safely out of sight my people would pick him up. "You will be in a signal-blocking cage, tight but secure. Cynthia will be along, she is anxious to chatter at you, but keep it light. We don't want to worry her pretty civilian head." That meant no gang stuff. He understood and was cool.

"Cynthia for company! SCORE! I can't say I'd be so considerate," he replied. "Wait, was she watching when I...?"

"Of course she was watching. She found the biggest set of "Panzer Korps" war surplus field glasses she could lay her hands on. I needed someone who knew you... so now she knows you and the cut of your jib better. It was the princely thing to do. You would if you could but your gang does not have a babe who is close to Cynthia in hotness." He had heard the term "Prince" before.

"I hope she liked the show."

"You can ask her yourself. Knowing her sense of fairness she might even flash something back at you."

"Wow!... Hey! I'm a married man you know." He had to sound indignant. He was sincere and that was when I relaxed.

"I know your wife's divorce lawyer, she did not pick him because he was good. Somebody will be dead before you are divorced."

"Any chance I get to pick who gets the funeral?"

"I will leave that up to you two lovebirds."

After taking his clothes and his bike my last concern was that he might have swallowed or been implanted with a tracking device. Hence the signal-blocking cage in the truck. The meth-heads taking over his gang were nowhere near that sophisticated, but I knew one or two gangs who could and would. Plus the feds.

All went as planned. He and Cynthia had a nice talk during the drive. Which is to say she chattered non-stop about nothing important and he was well pleased listening to a friendly female voice. His current lifestyle did not usually allow that luxury. Right off she flashed her nipples for him - they were up and attentive - but Irene said it looked more clumsy than deliberate. Either way, he saw her pair of niblets and gave praise. Which was her point, actually.

He also praised what Irene was showing.

About two months ago, the night Cynthia gave me her ass for me to sodomize for the first time while her parents watched, I sent her to another bedroom and told her a man would come to spend the night in her bed. Sex was new to her, the scene reminded her more of of "The Story Of O" (actually it was more like the sequel) than she expected. But then so were most other things between us. She did not like me giving her body away, especially without naming the lucky guy and giving her a chance to complain, but she realized that sort of thing happened in my life. She thought it was a test, and she was right. She was barely willing, but that was enough. As she waited she convinced herself that I would send Tony to her for a night; Tony's son Tonto was in the house - she suspected that Tonto and Pammie might be in bed together having too much fun - and she knew I had invited Tonto's dad. She was not sure about how she would feel about him. He might be her sister's father-in-law some day. He wasn't pretty, and he was older than I was. But he was fit and charming and important so she was kind of pre-disposed towards him.

But the point was that I got Cynthia focused on him and he stayed on her mind even since as possible "family with benefits."

I actually sent Cynthia's father Ernie to Cynthia's bed. He asked (at his wife's suggestion) if we might swap women for a night. He knew his wife had a long-time dream of spreading her legs for me. This way the wife got her fairy tale while Father and Daughter could choose between sexual frustration or the special joys of incest. There was little drama as Cynthia discovered she really liked having her loving, energized father between her legs with good feelings and intentions. Once they got over the incest thing (he was snipped so knocking her up was not on the agenda) they made each other very happy. They really loved each other, as an occasional and conventional thing. It was easy taking that love to the physical level.

For myself I had always admired Ernie's wife Belen. Cynthia's mother was a decade older than me but still sexy and fun. I am not afflicted with the usual American male's aversion to older females, in the Tribe such things are no big deal. I pleased her. Ernie loved his wife enough that he appreciated that too. The fact that I was screwing the pussy that gave us Cynthia was a nice bonus for all concerned. Being with my grandfather was Belen's lifelong #1 fantasy, having my handsome self was her #2 fantasy. Everyone had a very good night with wonderful feelings and little sleep.

That was all history. But as a hangover of her intense feelings that night while she waited for "somebody" Cynthia still wondered about spreading her legs for Tony. Now after seeing him in the buff with the giant binoculars she got to know him by letting him listen to her while she took her time looking at him. That makes sense, right? She is still such a teenager.

When he hinted about her "reciprocating the whole show" she didn't answer because she knew what was coming.

At present, her sister's plan to marry Tonto was still on track. But Tony's current marriage looked to end in a bad way so both of them could be without a date at the wedding. I would probably be with at least one of my wives, so Cynthia wondered about being on Tony's arm, and maybe being happy on something else later after the party, when they celebrated the wedding night. Now the idea of bedding him almost tickled her. She knew my general rule was not to share my toys, but she also knew there were exceptions for family, like her Dad. She was open to this idea. Somehow, between her words the gist of those feelings was communicated between them.

Irene was also with them. When they made the pickup Tony got a good look at her weapon (the Stinger) and it almost knocked him over. Then he took in the Uzi machine pistol at her side, the long Dessert Eagle in her shoulder holster, and the ceramic knife strapped to her leg. He also noticed her Dragunov sniper rifle on the rack, it looked very intimidating. The rifle was the only gun that was legal. Irene likes her toys. When she introduced herself he asked about the Stinger. She said that she normally played with much bigger SAMs, and that this was an older model. "Still, if a helicopter followed you, I would end it."

"You got that right, big time," Tony agreed. "I hardly feel I am worth it."

"Then you and I agree, you aren't," Irene said bluntly. "But my Prince is worth far more."

Tony had heard the term "Prince" often enough but he really had no idea what it meant. The way Irene said it he knew it meant something more important than a casual nickname. Also, having that type of weapon meant she had a story - if she though he merited her breath. She was clearly one of my solders, experienced hard people he had seen in very deadly action. What's more, the way she said it and her scars said a great deal about Irene's attitude.

Tony knew that such loyalty backed by lethal skills and confidence could not be purchased at any price, only given from conviction. Naturally he wondered at our link.

After introductions and Cynthia's nip flash he got into the cage at the back of the truck. Tony also accepted a bag to go over his head for the trip. But the bag was new, it let air pass, and despite the heat Cynthia stayed by his side chattering away like he was a worthwhile person, so it was a good trip.

-

I had set up at BAD, the secure small prison uncle Toad captured from a well-funded, over-educated frat-brother fools who formed a kidnaping ring that preyed on their own investment clients. They knew that a kidnapper who does not know what liquid assets are available can't really maximize their success. These folks knew the victims financial positions and liquidity to the penny, but as criminals they were amateurs who crossed paths with the real thing and died. I hate kidnappers with a passion, but I have to admit their plan was actually a pretty good idea until they grabbed the wrong guy. The kid they grabbed was a worthless, easy-to-snatch drug addict. But his father was a friend of Toad, who feared his precious worthwhile daughter was next. Suddenly these frat-boy amateurs were dealing with a real criminal with two experienced crews at his disposal. That never ends well.

Toad efficiently grabbed them up all at once, relocated their sorry asses to Mexico and took his time asking questions over a couple of weeks of torture and deprivation. The kidnappers - all unmarried - never knew another day without agonizing pain as Toad carefully drained every penny they had, then sold their assholes to a male brothel in Panama.

The BAD prison was over an hour from the purple spot. There was a town in between so even if somebody knew Tony's GPS numbers it was safe. The direct route was off-road.

When he removed his bag Tony gave a low whistle, he sure didn't expect a simple gang leader like me to have a serious prison in the dessert.

But then, he knew I was not just a simple gang leader when he saw the Irene and her pet Stinger.

He asked about the prison, the Stinger was a bigger surprise but he knew I would not tell him anything useful about that. I said it was a long story and I came by it third hand. Most visitors can't talk about their visits. He understood. Once he passed the final bug scan I gave him back his pocket stuff, including his loaded gun, a small S&W.38 auto. Tony was no fool, he had marked the bullets so he knew he was getting the same ones back.

Returning the gun to him made it pretty clear how things stood between us. He was visibly relieved that he would continue breathing for a time. Still, just to be sure he had to ask, "Houseguest or prisoner? Just so I know the rules."

I really did not have a simple answer. "In days of old, military officers surrendered their swords as part of parole. Let us call this something between parole and an internship for a good corporate position with a corporation that does some bad stuff. I won't stop you if you leave, but we both know that no good would come of that. Stay, and you might get a good job with the bigger international outfit. Some things, like locations, have to stay 'internal' so assume you signed... in blood... a long, boring confidentiality agreement that you could not understand."

"Cool. Better than I hoped."

Tony insisted we get right to business, which was not like him, but what he said next changed a lot of things. It was a reason good enough to make him actively betray his gang.

He spoke plainly. "I have information that the Pablo apartment building is the target for an attack by over a hundred drugged-out Aztexs with automatic weapons, on Labor day."