Phantoms, Insults, Morals, and Technology

"I think we can still deal with this," I told her, "But I really would like a vanilla malt." I fished a twenty out of my pocket, handed it to the clerk who was brave enough to take it and begin making a replacement for me. "If not, I'll at least make sure he knows you were completely uninvolved." Her lips were compressed into a line that did nothing to take away from her beauty. I looked down, saw for the first time her nametag, 'Natasha.' Which meant I was looking at her breasts.

Embarrassed at the fact that I was staring at her, I busied myself with patting Dante down. A shit .22 pistol and a rusty folding knife, as well as an FN in 5.7 that I tucked into my pocket along with the extra magazines for both weapons.

Lee had just returned from bringing my malt to a position behind the counter at her boss' instruction to 'clean-up for close,' when the glass door pulled open. I had pulled the ruined bit of nylon out of the sling buckle, re connecting it without the slack Dante had left The rifle was pointed in the right direction, safety off, round in the chamber, so I left my hands folded on the table in as non-threatening a pose as I could muster.

After a whispered discussion, Fez swept into the room. He was armed, too, the stock of his AR jutting above his right shoulder. He was also wearing body armor, I noticed, with his FN strapped in a chest holster over his upper left chest. He did a credible job of looking the part of a warlord, considering we were in Seattle rather than Somalia, thick Dreads and tribal necklaces mixed with heavy gold chains. Her wore a full beard, with braids creating 'corners' which had gold ruby and emerald bead skulls.

"May I?" he asked after stepping over Dante. I nodded and he sat across from me. One of his security team started to move Dante, but I kicked a foot out, pinning Dane's left foot in place and he moaned at the movement. Fez waved his hand and the man backed off.

I saw that the women were watching and motioned, pointing at my half empty malt and holding up 2 fingers.

"Vanilla all right?"

"Ah, the Madagascar seed everyone loves," Fez nodded. "I am..."

"Fez Simon," I finished, "Quite the little stir you have created here."

"I could say that about you," Fez said, smiling broadly. He was enjoying this. "My counsel says I should make an example of you."

"No one would know who I was," I shrugged, "And it would make it more likely someone will HAVE to come in and end this," I answered. "I was thinking you should make an example of him," I kicked Dante's foot again lightly, "You cannot tolerate theft and intimidation and sexual misconduct by the men you have protecting CHOP."

"That depends upon what happened. Santos says you attacked Dante."

"Of course he does. Did he also say they were preying upon the young girl and her manager, trying to coerce them into sex? OR that they stole my malt and threatened me with this," my hand patted the rifle—a test, which Fez passed or failed, depending upon your point of view, by not reacting." He looked at the man still standing a ways off, close enough to hear everything. The man shrugged. He turned, looking at the women.

"Is this true?" Lee looked down but nodded. Natasha answered.

"It is."

"In the line before you?"

"No," Natasha pointed, "He was in the booth."

"This man attacked Dante while he was in the booth?"

"No, your man attacked this man while he was in the booth."

"Impossible, he's..." he managed not to say gang member. He looked back to me. "Can you tell me how?"

"Simple enough, Dante was waving his AR around. He had lots of slack in the sling so he could hold it up like Saddam, you know, be intimidating. When I was on his left, I could see that he had the safety on. So when he decided to threaten me with it, the moment it was close enough to grab..." I tapped the magazine, "At least he was smart enough to have a round in the chamber. But with the safety on, and his finger on the trigger, it really was not a big thing."

"And why did you intervene?"

"I hate watching bullies win. I hate anyone bullying women. I'm just passing through, but if not acting meant something bad happened to these women, who are just here... long after they're supposed to be closed... taking care of the people you have said you will protect? If I could have protected them and didn't, it would haunt me."

"That may be, but for me and for CHOP?"

"Right now it's Woodstock. It's Burning Man urban edition. It's a music festival without the music. But if CNN starts reporting on rapes and murders, they won't let it continue, will they?"

"But we can protect ourselves," he gestured at the AR on the table between us.

"Having them is not the same thing as using them. Or knowing small unit tactics. Or more than a few days supplies. This is your ticket to another couple weeks if you play it right?" He did not speak but gestured.

"Dante goes out and you tell the press he was assaulting women. You tell your people he let an unarmed old man take his rifle and beat his ass. You assure them on live TV you'll do the same to anyone else found abusing their authority. You'll be the next Che. CNN will fall over themselves getting you air-time." He barely needed time to consider it.

As he began to nod, I held up a finger.

"I'm seriously, I won't be here more than another day or two. But these women are off limits. If Santos or one of Dante's buddies do anything to them I will make it my goal in life to ruin you. Not CHOP. You." He glared. Fought the urge to look to his security. I sat back, bringing my hands up, "But we know you are a man of your word, so I don't need to worry about that, and neither do you." He nodded again, pointing at the AR.

"And my rifle?"

"Daniel Defense makes great equipment," I nodded, "You must really be the man to have appointed so many of these guards with top tier gear. But let's just say Dante's is spoils to the victor. I will feel much safer having such gear, and respect your recognizing that."

So it was really settled before the malts arrived. I drank my second, laughing at the hyperbole and absurdity of the stories Fez told. I remembered something about his having been a rapper, and the man is an amazing storyteller. I think that was the latest any ice cream store I have ever seen was open, because it was after 2 when Fez shook my hand and his entourage left.

I waited, finishing the water Natasha had brought at some point. I know Lee had left before Fez and his crew were out the door.

"Are you going to leave now?" I smiled at her question.

"Of course, what kind of monster would I be if I turned around and did exactly what Dante was doing when I arrived?"

"It's different if there is... an invitation..." I rocked back, feeling real terror, had all of this been some deranged flirting? She had slipped into the booth across from me and put a hand on mine.

"Are you really Abel?"

"Wha... how did you?"

"Frank," she smiled obviously pleased at having gotten that over on me, "He called when Fez's people began to converge. He is a good man."

"That was my impression," I managed.

"He said the same of you," she smiled, "I apologize for earlier."

"No need," I offered my own crooked smile, "I would worry if you were not skeptical given what is going on around here." She nodded, suddenly looking drawn and vulnerable.

"This is horrible," she paused, "I left home to escape such craziness."

"I'm guessing eastern Europe," I did not want to insult her with Polish or Czech, my best guesses. In my experience people can be... prickly if you mistakenly guess their ancestry. Never confuse Indian and Pakistani, by the way.

"Ukraine," she paused, "I have worked very hard to lose my accent."

"It was not the accent," I assured her, "And I am impressed. But your bone structure and..."

"My implants?" she pursed her lips, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Uhm, no. Your steel." Her brow furrowed. "Your resolve. You were so calm while that idiot was waving the rifle around." She scoffed.

"You think only you see his rifle safe?" I laughed, and her brow arched—offended.

"Your accent was stronger there." That earned an eye roll, and the acute realization that we were flirting. Or at least that I was.

"I am tired." I nodded.

"I'm sorry I've kept you so late. I should go." I started to slide out of the booth, but paused, "Do you feel safe after the visit by Fez?" She barked a laugh.

"He is..." and did not ask 'how you say,' "Playing at being warlord. I have seen real thing." Now I was professionally curious. But I was patient. Or tired. Or scared of flirting more... maybe all three. "He is sincere, where warlords are not. But that also means he will not have real control of his men." I nodded because that was essentially my take, too. I withdrew Dante's FN and fished around for the extra magazines.

"Do you know how to use a..." she snatched the pistol from my hand, dropping the magazine into her free hand as she pulled it out of my reach. She ran the slide with practiced ease, not quite managing to catch the slightly elongated round that spun out of the ejection port. I did. Held out my hand. Smiling—an honest smile—she handed me the magazine. I wiped the round with my fingers and slipped it back into the magazine, looked up at her pointed attention, and shrugged.

"I could lie about finger oils and the action, but my experience is there are enough police who will try to frame you for what you didn't do, there's no reason to make their job easier." And handed her the magazine. She set it down, worked the slide, ran the gun out in both hands, aimed at a point on the wall to my left, her right, and pulled the trigger. Nodded and without looking swept the magazine up, slapped it into the grip, and chambered a round. A manicured nail flicked the safety on. She leaned forward in the booth and slipped the pistol into place beneath her left kidney, pocketing the magazines in the apron.

"It is illegal for me to own firearm is it not?"

"Are you a citizen?" She nodded proudly, "Then nope." I chuckled, and she frowned.

"Why you make fun?"

"You really are tired," I could not help but tease, "Besides, you're already holding," I scolded, "I should ask for that back." It was huer turn to chuckle, a delightful sound that made my groin tighten.

"Very good," she reached back, her right hand coming up with a classic, a CZ-75.

"You brought that with you?" I was impressed, not critical, and she noticed. She nodded.

"It was my father's." She was within 10 years of my age, which meant I had lots of questions now, a pre-1980 Eastern European sidearm was not available to just any Ukrainian father. She held out the smaller 9mm, butt first.

"Is more reliable. More accurate. And matches your Glock." It was my turn to be surprised. I hid it with my amusement at the derision in her voice.

"Won't help," I demurred, and she tucked the gun back into place without breaking eye contact. I slipped a spare magazine out of its pocket under my right arm. Offered it to her. Her mouth quirked.

"Oh yes, fat and slow." I laughed openly.

"It won two world wars." She shook her head but did not argue. "I'm enjoying this, Natasha," I admitted, "And normally I'd love to keep talking, trading war stories, finding out what blade you're carrying, you know, but..." Had I almost admitted what I was doing? "I have to be ready for an appointment tomorrow. She looked like she was going to ask a question then stopped, rising gracefully from her position in the middle of the bench opposite me before I could stand.

We wound up face to face, too close for strangers... too close for friends. She tilted her head, just so, welcoming.

"Natasha, I'm sorry, I..." and then we were kissing somehow. I reared back so sharply I nearly fell. There was not anger in her eyes when I managed to stop moving. It was empathy.

"I'm sorry, Natasha, that was... you're... you're amazing. But I just... I..." I bit my lip.

"When did you lose her?" I froze, willing myself not to let a damn tear fall.

"A week... Not even... 6 days." She put a hand on my chest.

"Oh, Abel, I am so sorry." I nodded once.

"Thank you, Natasha. And I'm sorry." She shook her head, then raised a finger.

"Can we still talk?" I blinked,

"Of course," I offered a faltering grin, "If Frank is vouching for you I know you're the sort of person I would be glad to have as my friend." She nodded and there was a sadness I noted, assuming it was for my loss. I was so muddled about what had happened... I could still taste her, I did not explain as I headed for the back hallway.

"Uhm, Abel?" I paused, then grinned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Natasha, I'm back this way." She scooped her coat and purse up from the glass freezer top, smiling at me.

"You are full of surprises, Abel."

"Says the woman with two pistols," I laughed, and followed her down the hall, trying not to see her ass sway. I walked her to her car, said something random about being the other way, and waved, watching until she was gone and the overhead door was closing.

Climbing the steps to the loft, my phone vibrated each time I passed through a camera/ sensor field. It was good to know they were working. I took a few minutes to change out the lock Bruce had given me a key for, lugged some fifty pound bags of concrete off of a dolly and set them strategically around the otherwise nearly empty room. I had not really considered where I was going to sleep, and I eventually settled on spreading out more of the concrete. After all, I doubted I was really going to be able to sleep, even though I was really, really tired.

I almost forgot to charge my phone, I was so tired. That persistent... mental itch whispered I was forgetting something. I did not remember it, and passed out despite the voice in my head warning that I was fucking up.

***

The sun was bright and reflected in shimmering golden diamonds on the bright azure water. It was top three or four most beautiful places I had ever been, and made the four days and myriad transfers and back tracks and false trails I demanded for our safety worth all of the hassle.

But that wasn't what I was looking at. Her arms were up, lifting her hair, multi-faceted hues from pale cornsilk yellow to a deep amber she swore were natural. Loose tendrils fell, framing her elfish face, covering one eye. She bit her lip, rocking forward as my gaze slid south, over the taut skin over her clavicles. There was sweat in the vee above her sternum. As I shook my head, trying to clear the bad dream... a living nightmare it seemed it had lasted so long... she leaned down over me, her perfect breasts, bare in the sunlight, but shaded by her torso swung close, eraser pink dime sized nipples, standing erect, begging for attention.

"Good morning, Sleepy-Head, she giggled, and I realized we were already fused, my erection buried in her velvet seam. She wiggled her hips side to side, holding me buried, eyes flickering half-closed as she moaned quietly, a sexy noise she sometimes used to get me to finish when she wanted to be done. None of that, this morning. I raised my hands, cupping her breasts, bringing the nipples close enough to get both in my mouth together, tongue working side to side, teasing both.

She moaned again, pressed her chest against my face and her groin against my cock. Her hands braced outside my shoulders and she rose and fell, rose and fell, working the entire length of my cock with an urgency she seldom showed at home. Her pace faltered and she rose up, pulling her breasts away, throwing her head back and crying out. Her whole body was shivering, and I felt her sex, gripping at me.

Her orgasm went on for long seconds, and then she collapsed against me, panting. I took that as my cue, catching hold of her muscular thighs and levering myself upright. She giggled at my groan,

"It's just one and a half sit ups at once." She was right, or too close to right for me to argue. And we were already seated, one of her knees beside my ass on the bed, the other hanging in thin air. She was still laughing, uncurling that long right leg, and wrapping it around me just above my ass. She shimmied her hips, reversing the curve of her spine, putting space between our abdomens, her breasts pinned against my chest as she began to ride me again. She did not have the leverage though, so I was not moving very far out, but it seemed to do the trick, because she was cumming again before I got to my feet. Her second leg hooked around, ankles cinching behind my back, and that gave her more leverage.

I looked around, but the poles at the edges of the thatch hut where we were staying looked to fragile for what I had in mind. On a whim I stepped through the open door onto the teak boardwalk style walkways that connected the various huts. I didn't bother worrying if anyone was watching, she was my only focus.

She squealed when I stepped off of the deck, letting gravity pull us the fix feet into the water below. I thought it might pull us apart, which I didn't mind because the most amazing sound is the quiet one she makes as I enter her. She was not letting go, though. We clung together, turning in the surf, until I managed to get a foot down in the white sand. A moment later we were safely out of the water from the waist up. Her ass splashed as she rode me, laughing that I was trying to kill us.

Shaking my head, I ducked, catching her right nipple in my lips and sucking, flicking the tip with my tongue which made her moan. I turned, knowing there was a pier. I reached out blindly with one hand, smacking it sharply with my knuckles, but I ignored that, pivoting until I could press her back against the salt smoothed wood and take over for her.

"Yesss!" she husked as I began to flex my knees, hammering in and out, "God yes, fuck me!" I wanted that to go on forever. It felt like it was just the two of us. She came, moaning into my ear not to stop. Whispering that she loved me. She came again in short order, and I was close, which she somehow knew. How does she always know?

"Wait!" she laughed, "Stop... Seriously, Oh!" I slowed then stopped reluctantly, letting her drop the last inch onto my throbbing cock as a pointed reminder of what we were doing.

"Kneel", she demanded, giggling when the wave action nearly separated us as she disengaged, turning to press herself against me before dropping to her knees. The water was at our necks, so a regular 'doggy style' was not going to work unless I got her a snorkel. She solved the puzzle, though, reaching back, catching hold of me, and pulling me to her sex again. She braced against the pier as I slid home, letting the movement of the water guide a slower coupling, holding myself buried for long seconds between strokes. I reached around, fingers circling then intermittently pressing directly on her clit, making her shiver.

"Don't tease," she husked, thrusting back at me hungrily, "I want you to come." I laughed, not sure I had ever gone so quickly from fully asleep and dreaming to climax.

"You... have to... wake me up... like this... more often," I panted, aware that I was going to cum in a moment regardless. She laughed, twitching her hips, still pressing back.

"So you're glad we came on vacation?"

"I am," I panted, "Work was... killing me."

"There you go," she rose up, turning her head, kissing me deeply over her shoulder. My hands found her breasts and I exploded inside of her. She bit her lip, smiling sexily at me when I was done.

"You are amazing and I love you," I told her.

"I know. And I love you, too. So when I'm gone you need to go on living. Find someone else to love."

"I, what?" the sky seemed to darken and I looked up, seeing the current had pulled us further under the elevated walk from which we had jumped. "I don't want to think about that."