The Princess and the Fool Ch. 01

"I'd really rather forget the entire incident," I suggested. "She's the client's daughter and that definitely wasn't a service he requested." Abby laughed at that. "Is there a Mr. Miller?"

"He's been dead seven years now – drunk driver." This is not a complication I need right now. She's a nice looking lady, but Cheyenne is already going to bust my balls for Melinda raping me, unless she dies laughing first.

"I'm sorry," I replied. I wince when she works my shirt off to get at my wound.

"It is a through and through," she assess. "You aren't bleeding like as stuck pig, so you are one lucky bastard." She pushed some antiseptic on the wound – I'm a big boy so I don't bawl my eyes out.

"I don't really consider being shot to be lucky," I tell her.

"Stop being a baby. You'll have a nice new scar to tell all your girlfriends about," she teases me. She could tell I was already crisscrossed with other, older scars.

"It's the girlfriends I'm worried about," I sigh.

"Girl –friends?"

"Long story – not relevant to my current dilemma," I reply. "I need to use the phone please."

"Okay, but then I'm calling the Sheriff next," she insisted. I was getting too tired to argue. I go to the phone and make the call to the only person who might help me. I can't call my boss. In situations like this, he calls me. I am reduced to calling an old friend.

"Joe," I said, "Taylor here. I need a favor."

"Long time, no hear, you Ass. What have you done wrong?" Joe replied.

"I'm in a fucked up situation. Ted got out and I got tangled up. If I give you an address can you get to me?"

"Where are you?" I told her. She whistled. "How soon are you screwed?"

"An hour on the outside; do you have something 'heavy'? Ted brought three friends."

"I said you should have killed him," Joe reminded me.

"Who is Joe?" Melinda demanded as she came back into the room. I see she's wiped some of the dirt off her face.

"An old friend," I frowned. What's up with this bitch? I thought. She improves my mood by stealing the phone from my hands. I began thinking about what happens to me if I bring this bitch in unconscious.

"Who is this?" Melinda demanded. Abby looked totally bemused. I reached for the phone, but Melinda stabbed a finger into my wound and I gasped.

"Joe," my friend told her.

"You're a girl," Melinda accused Joe. She glared at me and then I knew this bitch was psycho. One fuck did not make me her property. No wonder she disappeared for a whole day before anyone missed her.

"Joe = Josephine, and I'm a woman, not a girl. You are?"

"Melinda," she snapped as if by some psychic link Joe should know who she was. "Have you fucked him?" I heard Joe's laughter coming loud over the connection. Melinda scowled.

"That would be like fucking my brother. Besides, I'm chubby chaser. My husband is a Samoan, and not a little one. Frankly, Taylor doesn't do anything for me – he's too short and skinny. Now put him back on the phone or when I come down there I'll spank your boney ass." Melinda handed me the phone.

"Hurry up Joe. I've never lost somebody and I don't want to start now," I asked her.

"You are one sentimental fuck. I'm on my way," Joe said before the connection went dead. I handed Abby the phone. She dialed a number (I guess she didn't believe in 911).

"Hey Charles ..." Abby looked confused. "The line went dead," she told me. It took me about a seventh of a seconds to go,

"Oh crap. I suggest you get on your cell," I told Abby.

"I don't have one," she responded. Both Melinda and I look at her with the same astonished expression. How does someone survive without a mobile phone?

"I used my husbands, and when he died I never got a new one," she confessed. I completely understood why this had happened. God hated me. If I was Buddhist, I would have begun to suspect I was Joe Stalin in a previous incarnation.

"Do you have any more guns?" I ask her.

"Yes, I have two other shotguns."

"No pistols?" I inquire.

"If I had a pistol I would have told you," Abby quipped.

"Can I have a knife?"

"Sure," she nods. "I'll get you one."

"Do I get a shotgun?" Melinda asked.

"No," Abby and I said simultaneously.

"Why?" Melinda pouted. Abby rolled her eyes and left the room.

"Melinda, have you ever used any kind of firearm, much less a shotgun before?" I questioned. Melinda looked contrite.

"I want to be able to defend myself?"

"Melinda, you are as likely to kill me, or Abby, as you are to kill one of them. You don't know what you are doing, and trust me, firing a gun isn't as easy as movies make it out to be," I inform her.

"What do I do if you are killed?"

"You run and don't stop running. You stay alive," I said as I stroked her cheek. "In the end, that is all that matters to me; you making it home."

"I don't get you," she told me. "How much is Dad paying you?"

"Not all that much. Melinda, this is my job – my livelihood. I solve difficult problems. Today it meant getting you back. Tomorrow I may be kidnapping someone."

"You could have taken the two million and run away. When you saw all those men, you could have run," she wondered. "Why didn't you?"

"They would have surely killed you," I answered as if my response was the only one possible.

"You don't know me."

"It isn't necessary that I know you. You are a job, nothing more," I reply. She studied me.

"I don't get you at all," she shrugged. She turned and made to leave.

"Does she love you?" she asked. I assumed she meant Cheyenne.

"I'd like to think so."

"She's a fool if she doesn't," she told me. I laughed.

"It's complicated," was the only defense I could muster.

Abby got back to me with two knives; one she hooked to my belt and one she handed me.

"You paid two million dollars for her?" she snickered, "You should get your money back."

"Is it so hard to believe that I only want to do my job and go back home to my girl and a nice night eating and watching TV?" I asked sounding exasperated.

"Boy, when I have a bad day, the tractor doesn't start. My tractor doesn't try to get me killed," she grinned.

"I know it may not look like it right now," I responded, "but I'm actually quite good at my job. I don't even carry a gun."

"That is kind of stupid," she mocked me.

"No," I countered. "You beat someone up, who cares? You plug somebody, and it's a police matter. I'm in a business that prizes discretion. Now, do you have an outbuilding we can hide out in?"

"What's wrong with my house?" she inquired.

"It is too big to defend and I don't think you want your home to be the scene of a gunfight. It is hell on windows, and furniture, and just about everything else." That got a laugh out of her.

"Sure," she chuckled. "We can go to my art house. It is back up the hill a bit, right inside the wood line.

"That sounds good to me. Let's go." I stepped into the hallway and found Melinda looking at the family pictures on the wall. At a quick glance the family farm went back four generations. I hoped it didn't make this the last one. "Melinda, we are going to find a place to hide until our ride arrives."

"In the movies they make a heroic last stand, coming through in the end," she said, looking to me for reassurance.

"You're the princess, Melinda. I'm guard number three. Last stands don't always work out for guard number three. Anyway, I prefer to be an old coward over being a dead hero. Now, let's go."

"I do not get you," she repeated. She followed me when Abby and I went out the backdoor and up the hill. When I got to the top of the path there was a large shed, maybe twenty-five by twelve. It was made of large slats of wood. It looked pretty thick. Inside I was immediately drawn to the large gas containers and their hazardous material labels.

"Abby, what is your art?"

"I weld sculpture," she answered.

"Are those tanks full?"

"Pretty much, yes," she informed me.

'Thank you God' I thought sarcastically, 'my hideout was filled with high explosives.'

Abby rapidly followed my reasoning.

"Oh damn," she muttered. "Maybe I should have mentioned this before we came up here."

"I think I see someone in the house," Melinda whispered. They must have run. I looked down, and sure enough, there was someone at one of the windows. I thought he saw us too. Well, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gives you explosive gas canisters, you make a bomb.

"Abby, go in your shed, knock off the safeties and open all those tanks. I'm sorry about your shed," I added.

"Eh," she shrugged, "I was getting tired of this place anyway." That was her polite way of saying she would rather blow up her shed than die.

"Why don't we run?" Melinda asked.

"I'll never make it, Melinda. I'm bleeding. I'll slow you down. If they catch the two of you, you'll both die. We may die anyway, but this may be our best chance."

"What do you want me to do?" Melinda said.

"Find a good place upslope and hide. Don't come out unless you hear my voice. Do you understand?"

"Let me fight," Melinda argued. "It's my life too. Let me do something."

"Melinda, if you die all of this means nothing. You have to live," I reassured her.

"What about Abby?" she asked me. She looked to Abby, "Why?"

"Child, I'm fifty-four, my husband is dead, I have no children of my own, and if I have to go out, I'll never get another chance like this, will I? Now don't worry. We are going to kill those bastards and get you home." Melinda began crying. I pushed her uphill.

"What's the plan, Taylor? I get the gas tanks, but how do you plan to set it off?" Abby asked.

"Simple. I get one of them to shoot at me," I beamed. We walked into the shed, Abby shaking her head.

"You know, it's good you have a big dick because you are an idiot," she laughed. "How do you plan to make them shoot at you?"

"I was planning to jump up and down, screaming my head off. Then I duck down as he fires, ride out the blast wave and then we run downslope and kill them all before they recover."

"You are an idiot," she observed. "I don't see another option though. I wish you luck. Remind me if we survive, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Lady, if we both survive, you'll have saved both our lives; just name it," I promised. She gave me an odd look that I filed away for analysis later. We were hearing voices from the back of the house. "Let's go upslope and find something sturdy for us to hide behind."

"I'll pick that large oak over there," she pointed. She swung her gaze farther up the hill, "that fallen tree should do you. It has a clear shot into that rear window."

"Yeah, they can't miss seeing me," I grinned ironically. Abby stepped up and kissed me on the cheek.

"Remember Honey, duck down or you'll go flying," she said as she trotted over to her large tree. The dam thing was huge. I couldn't wrap two sets of my arms around it. I hoped it had deep roots. If it fell on Abby, it would be her grave. I looked around and spotted Melinda peeking around another tree another ten meters farther up. I waved at her to return to cover. I wished I had the time to get her about twenty more meters away. Things became quiet, with only the normal forest noises to cut the sound of four pairs of legs coming up the trail.

"Gus, you circle around that way," Ted said quietly. I barely heard him. These guys with him were definitely kidnappers, not mercenaries. People don't tend to shoot back at kidnappers so they never learn good fire discipline. Besides mercs understood hand signals. "Aaron, go that way."

"James, get to the door, I'll cover you." Good old Ted, exposing his buddies to fire. It was highly likely that the two million was going to be split in less than four ways. I snuck a look toward Abby, but I couldn't see her. I couldn't see Melinda either. I was crouching down behind that dead tree. It was maybe two feet in diameter. It would be a snug fit once I got behind it, or so I hoped.

"This place stinks," James called out when he kicked the door. "Something died in here."

"Check it out. That cocksucker could be hiding anywhere," Ted said.

"He could have a knife," James sounded shaky.

"You have a gun, asshole. Check it out," Ted ordered sternly. I think I heard James go in. "Aaron, circle around and find out if anyone is hiding behind this shack." I heard more movement. I couldn't worry about him. He might shoot me, but I had to hope that James fired first. There was James in the window, but he was looking around inside.

"Okay God," I prayed, "I know I don't pray enough, but you've given me a real shithole of a day, so please, please help me help that man kill himself." James turned around and looked right at me. I raised a branch that looked like a rifle as if to shoot. James brought his gun up and I dove into the ground with all my might.

I didn't really hear what happened next because my eardrums popped and my ears were bleeding. I felt it though. It was like a giant glove surrounded my body and first slammed me into the ground and then tried to rip me up in the air and toss me into the trees behind me. Somehow the tree saved my life. I couldn't tell you how long I lay there fighting to breathe again, but I began hearing things burning. I looked up. There was a metal shard of something unrecognizable embedded in the log right where my head would have been. I immediately took back every bad thing I'd said about God.

I got up and began running back toward the shed. I was angling toward the side Gus was on, knife in my hand. There was something remaining of the shed, which was a minor miracle. I guess most of the blast must have been focused up. The roof was nowhere in evidence. I saw Gus struggling to stand. He even had his pistol, but he was looking down and his free hand was trying to get something out of his eyes.

I think at the last second he heard the leaves crunching underneath my feet because he looked up. I stabbed him beneath his ribs, pushing up into the chest cavity. I missed his heart, but hit a major blood vessel and penetrated his lung. I twisted then left the knife in him. He was still falling down as I ran past him. I had to find Ted. Gus could bleed out without me.

I heard a shotgun go off. Abby was still alive and kicking. Seconds later, I heard a shotgun and a pistol go off at the same time.

"Mother-fucker!" Ted screamed. I heard the 'cha-chunck' of a pump action shotgun chambering a round. Abby was okay. I hadn't gotten her killed. I came around the shattered shell of a shed and saw Ted turning to run in my direction. He had to get away from Abby's arc of fire and the shed was the closest cover. I saw that his right hand and forearm was a mess. It had taken that second shotgun blast which explained no pistol. My knife came out and I closed.

Ted rocked back and set himself. We were both down to one arm, but my wound was to my off-hand. I also had a knife. Ted was stronger and taller. I was quicker. He wanted to kill me. I wanted to save Melinda. I lunged and slashed. He took a half-step back and chopped down with his left. I got my arm out of the way. A quick series of blows, blocks and counterblows came and went.

I finally got my knife slashing deep across his leg, but he put an elbow into my right shoulder and the knife slipped out of my grip. I kicked his wounded leg and Ted tumbled. He tried to catch himself and roll, but I grabbed his wounded right arm, turned it sharply and twisted it down into an arm bar. I had him pinned to the ground. Any second now, he would lash out with his good leg and sweep me, but right now the pain was too much.

"Ted, I could have accepted you trying to kill me. That is personal stuff, but you tried to kill the girl for no good reason. Sorry." I twisted his arm and smashed my boot onto his neck. It snapped like a dry branch. I held my foot down until he suffocated. I looked up and Abby was staring at me.

"Abby, is this going to be a problem?" I sighed.

"Nah, he tried to kill all of us. He had it coming. Let's go get the girl. I can make us a fresh pot of coffee while you wait for your friend to come get you." Man that lady was tough.

"Thank you," I smiled.

"I'll ride out and get the Sheriff about an hour after you are gone," she added.

"Works for me."

"Taylor?" Abby said quietly.

"Yes?"

"I was wrong about you. You really are good at your job."

"We aren't home yet," I cautioned her. "Is Aaron dead?"

"As a doornail; I put one into his center mass at less than ten yards. He was dead before he hit the ground," Abby answered.

I retrieved my knife near Ted and trotted back to see if Gus was indeed dead. He wasn't, but he was unconscious and bleeding out. I cleaned my current knife on his pants leg, put it in its sheath, and retrieved the knife from his chest. I cleaned that on him too. No sense in giving Abby a dirty knife.

I kicked his gun away to be on the safe side. "Melinda! Come on down." I turned and began stumbling back down to Abby. As my adrenalin rush subsided, the effect of my blood loss began to be felt. Right as I got to Abby, Melinda crashed into me. She wrapped me in and embraced from behind. That really didn't do my left shoulder any good.

"You did it!" she declared jubilantly. "You killed them. I saw it all. It was magnificent." I turned to say something but she buried my mouth in lips and tongue. She broke free and gave me a salacious smile. "God, I'm so horny. Let's fuck." I felt like punching her out.

"Let's get back to the house first, young' ens," Abby intervened. I nodded. I handed Abby the kitchen knife and then the sheath knife. I was done with them. She took the knives without comment. On the way back to the house, Melinda wouldn't let go of me. I've had this happen before, but never with someone this bitchy. My only consolation is that she'll forget about me in a month. I really can't handle the ones who want to be my friend, or feel they owe. Seriously, how many times do I have to say it – it's my job.

When we get inside, Abby runs Melinda into the shower, because she was going to be seeing Daddy soon. I could smell the coffee percolating. When Abby walked back in, I got up from the sofa and offered her my hand. She looked at it and smiled. Absently I noted she'd taken off her boots.

"Anytime you need anything Abby; give me a call. I always pay my debts."

"Actually there is something you can do for me right now," she continued to smile.

"Sure; name it," I responded.

"Come with me," she told me and turned and walked down the hall to the very end. She opened the door and inside was a big bed, a chest of drawers, and a wardrobe. I kept looking back at the bed. I didn't like were this was going. "Take off your clothes, and lie down on the bed, Taylor. I'll take care of everything." She began unbuttoning her shirt. I felt like a whore. This definitely wasn't going into my report.

Abby was pretty damn attractive. Her breasts sagged, but fifty plus years will do that. The rest of her body was well muscled with just enough softness to be sensual. She took her pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. Nice damn thighs. As she turned to put her pants on the bed, I realized she had a nice rounded butt too, with only a little sag.

This woman worked hard. By the time she had her sox off I was down to my shirt, and I was working that free even then. I was already semi-rigid when she stepped over to me and took my balls into one callused hand, and rolled them about playfully. Explaining this to Cheyenne ... I got nothing.

I was in the doghouse, maybe for a week. Her other hand took my penis and pumped it slowly. It was rapidly reaching its full potential. I was beginning to feel woozy.

"You do realize I may pass out – blood loss and all," I warned her.

"That's okay Honey. I've seen you perform passed out and that's good enough for my needs. I've never been one for much conversation anyway," she purred. I was such a whore.