Uncle Bob Ch. 15

"Best I don't hug you, sweetie. I think we need to come up with a story."

"What -- what story?" Barbie was clearly a little dazed.

I'd been thinking about the implications of my rather rash act. Once the press arrived, they'd want to know if I knew Barbie. If I said no, then someone in the crowd would remember that she'd come up to me in the coffee line -- I mean, who could forget a girl like Barbie? -- and that I'd had two coffees, and suddenly questions would start being asked. If I said I'd met her at her workplace -- as I had done -- then that might make the evening news. They could maybe interview the grouchy guy there and it would come out that I'd been in a sex shop with a sweet little teen -- my niece. Then more questions would be asked about my relationship with said niece and why I'd taken her into such an establishment. And Barbie already knew that Stacey really was my niece, and that we were fucking. You see where this might be headed? You see where I might be headed as a result?

"Look, if anyone asks you how we first met, just say -- just say your car wouldn't start and I came to your rescue. Tell them I worked on it while you and Stacey chatted. And if you tell them it happened the same day we really met, we won't get confused. No-one knows we've met since, so you just saw me in the coffee line and were coming to say 'thank you' again. Keep it low key and try to get anyone who's asking to focus on Dean. The less they ask about me -- and Stacey, if you understand where this is going -- the better."

"Oh. Oh, I see. But Bob -- thank you so much. If you hadn't stepped in, I really think Dean would've killed me."

A siren announced the arrival of the cops. They headed straight for Barbie -- and, like I say, who wouldn't -- and were directed to the 'asshole on the ground'. They laughed at the pink, fluffy handcuffs. These were still in place, despite Dean's struggles, though the cuff was cutting into his ankle. I handed one of the officers the key.

"Leave it on for a while. Let the son of a bitch suffer. I can't stand guys who attack women," said the officer, pulling his shoulders back and clearly trying to impress the injured mega-babe in front of him. The paramedics had strapped-up Dean's hand and treated the scalds on his face and arm. When the cops -- helped by the paramedics -- hauled him rather roughly to his feet, Dean looked at me with pure hatred.

"Don't think I'll forget this, asshole. When this is over I'm coming for you!"

"Officers, I hope you heard that. It sounds like a death threat to me. I think this guy needs to be taken out of circulation for a long time."

One of the cops squeezed Dean's hand unnecessarily hard as he slapped the cuffs on him, and then quite deliberately stood on his injured foot. Dean pulled an agonized face and swore at the cop, before he was bundled unceremoniously into the car. One of the officers said "hey, buddy. Can you come to the station later to give a statement? We've just had another call."

"Sure," I replied. Thank fuck for that. I didn't want to hang around until the news crews arrived.

I turned to Barbie. "You'd better go with the paramedics now. I'll call later to see how you are."

"Thanks, Bob. Thank you so much," she replied, and hugged me with her uninjured arm. "I'll remember what you said. I don't want you to get into any trouble."

As soon as she was taken to the paramedics' vehicle, I grabbed my bag and headed quickly into the mall and out another door, trying to make sure no-one followed. I guessed the videos that those people had been taking would be circulating pretty soon, the local news channels would want to run them, and I'd be a very reluctant celebrity. The fewer people who saw where I'd gone and could connect me to the incident, the better.

Back home, I collected a bunch of things into a couple of bags, including some computers, while I worked out where to go. As soon as the media found out who I was, I guessed I'd have reporters on my doorstep. If I could avoid that, it would be better all round. I was planning to head for the motel on Lincoln and stay there a few nights, but as I was switching stuff off and locking up, I realized I still had a key to Dolores's place. I called Stacey.

"Uncle Bob! I was just about to call you. We're having an awesome time in Chicago. It's so cool. Me and Hannah are..."

"Stacey. Stacey, please listen. This is important. Is your mom with you?"

"Sure. We're having fun..."

"Look, baby, there's been a -- an incident. Nothing serious, but I need to not be at my house for a few days. Could you please ask your mom if I can stay at her place? Tell her -- tell her there's been a major water leak and I have to have somewhere to stay until it can be repaired. I still have a key."

"Uncle Bob, what's up? You're not -- you're not hiding from the cops, are you?" she asked in whispered tones.

"No, no -- not really. It's pretty complicated, but I could have the media camped outside my place and I don't want that right now. Please ask her now if it's OK."

After a few moments, in which I distinctly heard Stacey say "oh, please Mom," she came back and said "sure, it's fine. You can sleep in my room if you like."

"OK, sweetie, call me this evening -- maybe on your house phone would be best -- and I'll tell you all about it."

On the way to Dolores's house, I bought a burner phone. My mind had been working overtime since the incident, and I was trying to cover all eventualities. (Maybe software design helps give you the skills to think this way. You have to imagine all the dumbass things people might do and then find ways to prevent them from wrecking your app or game.) The media probably wouldn't find me until after I'd given my statement to the police. I could, of course, choose not to give the statement -- but then they may think that was suspicious. They'd put out an APB for me, and if Dean got himself a smart lawyer, I could be facing an assault charge. Maybe I'd be called as a witness when Dean was brought to trial. Whatever happened, the media would eventually find me, and when they did, the sooner they lost interest in me, the better.

But I knew they'd sure as hell find out where I lived and my cell number, so I pulled the SIM and switched to using the burner. As soon as I was at Dolores's place, I emailed all my business contacts and told them that my mobile was temporarily out of action and to call the burner number or email if they needed me. Over coffee I drew up a plan and a story to make myself as uninteresting as possible. (In the past, this would've been easy, but now...)

I called Barbie's phone. A male voice answered.

"Hi, I guess that's Craig? It's Bob. We spoke earlier. How's Barbie?"

"Oh, hey man. She's good, thanks. The doctors say the cut on her cheek should heal without a scar, although the ones on her arm might not. When she tried to block the chair, it looks like it may have chipped a bone in her forearm, so they've x-rayed and they may have to operate to get the fragments out. Still, if you hadn't been there, it would've been a lot worse. We both owe you, man."

"You don't owe me anything, my friend. No-one deserves to be beaten up by a pumped-up moron like Dean, least of all a nice girl like Barbie."

"Thanks. But Bob..." His voice softened, and it sounded as though he was walking. "Just so's you know, Barbie told me all about you and her, weeks ago, when she first left Dean. And that's all cool. You don't need to be secretive with me; I'm not jealous. After all, why the fuck should I -- I'm with Barbie now, and she's special."

I decided that I liked Craig. He seemed to be everything Dean wasn't. "She sure is special. But please send her my best wishes for a full and quick recovery. And if anyone asks, please tell them I'm just a random guy who helped Barbie when her car wouldn't start, and then just happened to be there when Dean attacked her. Otherwise, things could get a little complicated for me."

"You can rely on me, Bob. And whatever you say, Barbie and me owe you big time. We won't forget it."

Later, I printed out a prepared statement and took it to the police station. "Oh, you're the guy who beat the shit out of that pumped-up asshole. Hey, that was a great job you did on him. He's been nothing but trouble since we brought him in -- so full of fucking attitude. I think he'll be sent down if the boys here have anything to do with it. He's been getting us really pissed. The lady he tried to beat up -- she seems quite a babe. I just hope the cuts don't scar. She's gorgeous."

"Yeah, I guess she is. I called her and spoke with her boyfriend. She's gonna be OK, but the new guy is another bodybuilder, so I don't think anyone else has a chance with her. He seems to be a lot nicer than the asshole who beat her up. But buddy, please don't let my details get into the media. I'm really a very private person and I don't want the hassle."

I'd installed security cameras outside my house a year or two earlier, when I'd increased the amount of IT equipment I'd bought for my work. I checked the cameras online, and sure enough, about two hours after I'd given my statement, the first TV truck arrived outside my place. Finding nobody home, the assholes even went around the back to peer in. I felt like calling the cops. But then they went back to their truck and waited. They would be waiting for quite a while. Thirty minutes later, two other cars pulled up, and people with microphones and cameras headed to my front door. "Fuck 'em", I thought, "they'll get bored soon enough."

The local TV news covered the incident, with (predictably) a cellphone video. Fortunately, it was blurry enough that my face wasn't clear, but they still named me. A reporter had retrieved one of my coffee cups with the word 'Bob' written on it from the trash can. Even if the cops hadn't told them my name, I guessed someone in Starbucks had been persuaded to give them the name off my credit card. Shit!

Stacey phoned that evening, and I gave her the full story. "So you get why I'm worried? I just want to lie low until there's a bigger story out there. Barbie and Craig know to keep their mouths shut about anything we may have done together, but if the grouchy guy from the sex shop sees the video, he's gonna want a piece of the action and he'll start to blab about how I was in the shop with you. Now why would a guy my age take a sweet little teen into a sex shop? Especially as she selected a bunch of interesting toys and he paid for them."

"Oh my God, Uncle Bob. Now I see why you're worried."

"So I need to keep off the news for as long as possible and pray nothing gets out. He wasn't in the store when I went in for the handcuffs, but I don't want to go anywhere near in case the media are hanging around. It's a little worrying, to say the least."

Around nine, Barbie called me. "Hey Bob, how are you?"

"I'm good, though I'm kinda hiding from the media right now. More importantly, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm OK. They took a bone fragment from my arm, and they said I may have a slight scar there, but apparently the cut on my face should heal fully, so that's good. We had a couple of reporters around, and they wanted to know about you, but we kinda steered them away from the subject and onto Dean. Craig was really good with them. He tried to shield me as much as possible, but they just seemed to want to keep taking photos."

"Barbie, I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to take pictures of you. It's not like you're beautiful or anything."

She giggled. "Bob, you're such a sweet guy."

"A sweet guy who's fucked you up the ass? But Craig told me he knows about us."

"Craig's so different from Dean. I think he really loves me, and he wants to protect me instead of wanting to own me. You'd like him. He has a great sense of humor."

"Barbie, I've spoken to him on the phone and I liked what I heard. Anyone who treats you like a princess is my kind of guy, even if he gets to fuck you and I don't. So how much did you tell him?"

"Everything. We have no secrets. He told me about all the women he's fucked -- and there have been quite a few. He's a very good-looking guy, but he cares, Bob. He really cares for me."

"So is that 'everything' as in 'Bob and Barbie and Stacey too?' Only that could be a little, er, difficult."

"I told him about our little threesome, and he was intrigued. Oh, and the Sybian incident. Only I didn't mention the thing about you and Stacey that you wouldn't want anyone else to know."

Phew! Thank fuck for that! "Thanks, Barbie. Well, if I ever meet him, I won't have to tell him any lies or hide anything about you and me."

"Bob, it turns him on when I talk about it. See, he's too big for anal, but when I told him about me taking it up the ass while riding the Sybian, he got hard immediately and we had a fantastic fuck. He can be wild and he can be gentle, and -- you know, Bob, I think I'm properly in love for the first time ever."

I was conflicted. I wanted Barbie to be happy, but given that I could never settle down with my slut-angel, I guess that I still maintained a faint hope that I could someday find happiness with Barbie. It seemed it was not to be. But then I got to the thing that was most bugging me.

"Hey Barbie, I'm worried about something. That grouchy guy in the sex shop. If he sees the video on the news, he's gonna put two and two together and he may well tell the media all about me and that cute teen who came into the shop with me and had me buy her sex toys. That wouldn't be good."

"Bob, hey, relax. Lloyd got transferred, around three weeks ago. He now runs another shop in the same chain up in Wisconsin. He's been brown-nosing with the management for a while, and they promoted him. Seems there's also a girlfriend in Milwaukee -- though I was surprised that anyone would be interested in Lloyd. He always seemed creepy to me."

I think my sigh of relief could have been heard as far away as Honolulu.

"So is Stacey helping you with your stress?" There was a slight giggle in her voice that started to make my cock hard again.

"No, she's with her mom on a trip to Chicago."

"Oh dear! So no pussy for Bob? It's a shame I'm not in a position to help out at the moment. I'd gladly give you some ass as a thank-you present, but I'm on painkillers, my arm's strapped up and my face looks like a war zone. Oh, and Craig might object -- although he might not."

"Barbie, save the gift for another time -- if Craig really doesn't object. In the meantime, if you have any hot friends who are holding out for a local hero with blue balls, give them my number."

Barbie laughed, but was unable to furnish any names or numbers. I thought about heading for Rocky's but guessed I might be recognized. As a long shot, I tried calling the number Jenna, the air hostess, had given me weeks earlier, but it went to voicemail. Another check of my security cameras confirmed that the fucking reporters were still camped outside my place, so I settled down with a beer and a delivered pizza (paid in cash) and watched some of the home-made porn; scenes from the Big Apple and my session with Barbie in my bedroom featured significantly. And I jerked off into a tissue after about twenty minutes. In a way, it was a little similar to how this whole, weird story started.