Sam Trump, Ace Detective free porn video

Sam Trump, Ace Detective By Ron Dow75 Louise King thought that the place she had her appointment was very appropriate. It was a five-story brick building built in the 1910's or 20's in a rundown section of the city that was now being renewed. In fact, when she entered the building she saw that the lobby opened up into a large atrium with large, sun-admitting skylights stories overhead. Scaffolding, materials, tools and workmen vied for space with those still using the building. She was glad they had an elevator working, since her job was on fourth floor. On it, she quickly opened her black shoulder bag and checked with her compact mirror. She maintaining a good appearance was always important, she would tell her foster kids. Her makeup was conventional, with just foundation and powder, eyebrow pencil, a little mascara, blush and lipstick (on an impulse she'd put on a redder hue than she usually wore). Her permed (and dyed) chestnut hair was all it in place. (It was cut a little longer than most women her age wore theirs, though. Again she thought about having it cut.) Her pearl jewelry set was all there. The ring was the only one she was wearing besides her engagement and wedding rings. Everything about her basic navy dress suit was in place. She had allowed herself to wear a light yellow blouse with a ruffle down the front. She liked the outfit because it helped hide that she was a bit overweight. But at almost 5'5" she was strong. She had to be. When the elevator stopped, Louise took the card from her side pocket, and looked at it again. "#409." = = = The door was right out of the Classic Movie Channel. The frosted glass with the chicken wire behind it actually did say "Sam Trump, Ace Detective". And people accused her of being a cornball. Entering, she announced herself, "Mr. Trump?! Mr. Trump! I'm from the temp agency!" Besides the silence, what she found was just what she expected to find, an outer reception office. Putting her bag beside the coat rack and her jacket on it, she went to report to work. On the way to the frosted- glass-and-wood door to the inner office was a large pine filing cabinet. Well, the first thing she had to do was take care his records. She was told her temp job was to help Mr. Trump move. What with the gentrification of this building and area, the rent was now out of his reach. She tested it to see if the pine wooden cabinet was locked. It wasn't. She sighed at how clich? Mr. Trump was. He didn't even have a computer. This was the 21st century! How did he do research without it, go to a cyber cafe? The first files were "Hors Fish", "George Cross", and "Roslyn, Alaska". Grunting, Louise lifted a bunch between both hands, and carried them over to the old-fashioned wooden desk, and began sorting even as she glanced about for places to spread things out. That's when she thought she heard something... There! She did hear something. It came from the inner office. Was Mr. Trump here, after all? "Mr. Trump?" she asked, rapping softly as she opened the door. A hand reached up and tipped over another of the mostly empty (and most whiskey) liquor bottles. Then knocked them over, as the hand wouldn't support its owner. The girl groaned, and fell back onto the floor. Louise King rushed to her, "You're hurt!" The reek of alcohol (and other liquids) pervading the room got stronger. Her foster mother instincts took over, "Did Mr. Trump get you drunk!?!" Trying to push herself up from the floor, the very young girl in the very baggy slacks, a man's tie for a belt, as well as suspenders, and a wrinkled man's shirt with the cuffs pinned up still (the top unbuttoned enough to show a man's tank top undershirt) told the stranger, "I wish he had." Louise thought she understood, "Oh, so you've been waiting for Mr. Trump?" Again, the long-and-matted-honey-blonde used the wooden desk to try and pull herself up (She wasn't wearing a bra); "I wish to hell he was coming back. It doesn't look like he is." Louise's first thought was if he doesn't, I'm not going to get a full paycheck. But it wasn't in her nature to say it out loud. "What's happened to him? He is going to be all right, isn't he?" With both slender forearms holding her up on the desktop, the pretty but wretched-looking youngster said, "He's never going to be all right again. He'd be better off dead." She took one of the toppled bottles, and brought it towards her mouth, "Join me in the wake." Louise took the bottle from her, "Drugs are never the answer. They only make the bad worse." The small girl protested, "Hey!! Give me, it back!" It was encouraging that her young body wasn't used to alcohol. Louise King slipped from of her grasp, and gathered up two more bottles that still had a good portion of booze in them. With them in hand, she headed for a large potted fern that had somehow managed to survive in the dark office. The slovenly cutie growled from the wobbly feet she'd been able to get to, "You're wasting good booze, lady." As she dumped the contents into the dirt, Louise told her, "To make bad better, you start by talking. What exactly do you think your problem is, err... What is your name, young lady?" Defiantly, the small teenager dressed in an adult man's clothes had found a bottle that still had a shot in it. She said, just before she put it to her nearly full lips, "Well, it hell isn't 'Young Lady'. I'd rather people call be Sam Trump than that." (A lock freed itself to go across her face.) Assuming the best, Louise asked, "Oh, is Mr. Trump your father, Samantha?" The bottle of booze was now empty. "As in 'the guy who gave rise to me'? Father is as good a way to describe him as anything else." She toss the bottle back, "Simpler, anyway." Dropping the last bottle onto the wet dirt, Mrs. King asked, "Does your mother know, yet, Samantha?" The old-fashioned wooden swivel chair was on the floor from when she fell from it. Not feeling she could bend over, Sam sort of crawled with her small hands, and put her girlish hips up on the desk, "It's gonna be kinda hard for her to know anything. She's been dead for ten years." (Another lock and strands fell in front of her.) Turning to face her fully, Louise said, "So it's just been your father who's taken care of you?" The drunken teen could barely hold herself up off the desk, "That's right. Sam Trump takes care of himself."' Mrs. King exclaimed, "He only looked out for himself! What a terrible way to raise a child!" She looked again at the condition of Samantha, "Well, that would explain things about you." Samantha struggled keep herself from spreading herself out on the desktop, "If you want to make yourself useful, go get me more booze." (She pressed the loose hair in front of her face to the damp side.) Mrs. King told him, "I will not! Just what do you think that will get you?" On the brink of unconsciousness, the young girl said, "Oblivion..." Louise King stormed over to the girl, "No! I won't let you become like my big sister! As long as there's life-" A gravelly voice behind her said, "There is hope." Mrs. King swung around. There was a tall, gray man on the portly side in a seersucker suit. Beside him, holding a gun on them was a small, pockmarked man in pastels. "See, Mauser? It takes somebody living in the past to find a relic." The small, ugly brunette, self-accusingly said, "It is all my fault, Doctor! I didn't want to tell the detective we hired to follow Trump what could happen!" The old but definitely unkindly looking Doctor assured him, "It is quiet all right, my associate. The less people know, for the moment, the better." Her hands half-raised, the scared Mrs. King said, "Mr. Trump isn't here. And I'm just a temp. I, and my daughter, don't know anything about his business." The Doctor chuckled, "'Her daughter'." (He didn't seem to know much about dental hygiene.) Mauser said, "It is funny," and almost laughed. (He had very white teeth, and had on a tinted lip balm.) Mrs. King explained, "My foster daughter! I take care of-" The spunky small teen said, "Leave the woman out of this. It's me you came to see." (Something made Louise think, Shouldn't that have been "girl"?) Mauser smiled for the first time, but the amusement was not from anything pleasant. He stopped moving the gun between the two of them, and fixed it on Louise. The Doctor said, "And seeing, as they say, is believing." The girl took a defiant tone, "I wouldn't know; I'm from Memphis, myself." (Mrs. King heard and felt the girl behind her sit up straight.) Mauser said, "No more smart remarks, or the pretty lady gets it." (Despite her danger, Louise was pleased to be called "pretty".) The Doctor stepped forward, examining the young, soiled but still pretty girl with his eyes. "Assuming you did not rob cradles, it looks like you were a might advanced." Surly, the youngster said, "We were both thirteen." The Doctor nodded, "Ah, yes... a stability factor... A little unfortunate for me, my first time happened when she was 17 and I was..." Then he made a move to make a more direct examination. Mrs. King stepped in, "Unless you plan on acting like a doctor, I suggest you-" Again the 14-year-old interrupted her, "I can assure you, Doctor, everything's there you would think is there, and nothing that should be there." Mrs. King noted her young body was trying to shake off the alcohol. The Doctor withdrew his hand, and smiled. "Then you've 'taken inventory'?" Samantha nodded to the floor as she slipped towards the chair side of the desk, "Why do you think I've been drinking. It takes the edge off." The Doctor chuckled, "That is for men, My 'Dear'." Samantha looked at him hard as she stood, now, with hands using the desk to support her, "There you go and spoil our relationship. You know you could've gone a lifetime without saying that." The Doctor said, "Enough of this idle chit-chat. You obviously found what we paid you to find." The youngest of teenagers nodded, "Yeah, I found it. But before I give it to you, I want something else other than the commission." The Doctor said, "The Pope Joan Cross was a curse. The elder religions wanted to change the destiny of the Church." Samantha said, "Still-" Incensed, Mauser said, "There are millions, billions of people who want what you've gotten for free!" Mrs. King thought it sounded like Mr. Mauser put himself at the front of that line. The Doctor suggested, "Perhaps, with research..." Samantha nodded like one who was failing a class, "Science." She reached for the top drawer of the- Wrapped around its handle was a shoulder holster- Mauser instinctively brought his aim at the one with the gun. The Doctor had the sense to try and get his bulk out of the way. Mrs. King's first reaction was to protect the girl. Too late: The bullet from Samantha's gun just missed her. The bullet from Mauser's went through the long honey blonde hair and broke the shaded window behind her. Blood spurted from his left-handed man's shoulder. But rather than drop it, the mad man took it with his good band right. The large Doctor cried, "I will not be cheated of my fountain of youth!!" as he rushed for the small 14-year- old. Mrs. King used a bottle to strike the man with all of her strength. The Doctor fell towards the floor. Still the girl fired. Her bullet hit Mauser's right forearm, maybe breaking the bone. She cursed, "My aim is off!" Before anything else could happen, Mrs. King stepped with her pumps over the man in the seersucker suit lying on the floor, and grabbed hold of the gun-toting girl. "Come on!!" she ordered, yanking the costumed up youngster with her. Stumbling over the Doctor in her bare feet, the smaller girl looked down. Pointing the gun at him, she said, "They'll just hunt us down, if we don't-" Kneeling, and bloody, Mauser screamed from a pain that was more than physical, "I will not stay an ugly man!!" Mrs. King told the very young girl as she pulled her past him, "I will not let you become a murderer! You may think you won't be punished as harshly because you're a juvenile, but, believe me: My foster kids have told me what the system's really like!" From behind them, the Doctor was struggling to recover enough from the blow to his head to raise, "Come back! You're throwing away millions-Billions!! For the sake of humanity!" The girl stopped pointing through the inner office door, "'Humanity' my perfect little ass." She tried to put her gun in her breast pocket. "Killing them will only stop their suffering." Her tone had more than a tinge of revenge in it. Gun in hand; it was the girl who took the lead now, as they headed out the main. "I guess I'm never going to get the cleaning deposit back," she said ironically. Suddenly, the slight girl was jarred to a stop by the older woman. The girl tried to pull her hand free as she cried, "What do you think you're doing?!" And she waved the gun. The woman told her, "I'm getting my bag and coat." = = = They had to wait for the elevator. It gave Mrs. King a chance to catch her breath. "What was that about?!" Her gun holstered in her thigh pocket, the 14-year-old told her, "It's about opening another Wal-Mart's. And the world's already too screwed up from the way I'd like to see it." Mrs. King cried, "Look out!" Down the hall, the Doctor had come out of Mr. Trump's office with Mauser's gun. Samantha got in front of Mrs. King, pulling her own gun. Her soprano voice rang out, "Doctor! Kill us, and the 40 years won't be cheated by your death, if you get that 'Secret to Youth' you're after!" The Doctor took careful though unsteady aim. "Once I know the secret, I'll get a hero's suspended sentence!" Samantha scoffed, "I doubt that." Behind the girl, Mrs. King said, "It looks like he's aiming over your head!" The youngster informed her, "He's a lousy shot. He'll probably get me." Thankfully there was a ding. "There's a comforting thought," Mrs. King said, pulling the small girl in after her. She pushed the button, trying to get it closed before the man with the gun could- the door closed. The girl put her gun back in her pocket, "Well, I'm surprised he had enough sense not to shoot us in public." (The cuffs of her slacks were also safety pinned up, Louise could finally note.) On the ride down, Louise King asked, "Tell me, now, what almost killed me!" The girl thumped her narrow shoulders against a wall and leaned, tired. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. You'd be a sap if you did. At least, I would've said you were yesterday." Mrs. King told the cynic, "This isn't yesterday! I have a right to know!" The costumed girl played her part, telling her, casually, "You're a bystander, nothing more. The less you know, the better." Mrs. King thought she had enough experience with cases like this. "I'm not a bystander. I'm your getaway car!" The young toughie grunted, unimpressed, "I don't need your help." Louise King said, "No? Look at you! Better, smell yourself! Before you try to live on the streets, you need to at least look like you haven't. For weeks!" The small girl hated to see other people's logic. But she had to say, "Drop me off at my apartment. Then you can wash your hands of me." = = = On their way to the parking lot, no matter how much Mrs. King tried, the young teenager wouldn't really say anything about what had happened. "I remember it has something to do with a, a relic-He called it the Pope John Cross!" The girl found it rough going walking the pavement in bare feet. Her tender soles found every pebble and edgy litter. "Close enough." (For some reason that helped cement the idea in Louise's head that she was 14, not any older.) Mrs. King pressed on in her reasoning, "That man said, 'trying to change the Destiny of the Church...' What does 'elder religions' mean?" Then she got an idea, "Does he mean witches?!" The youngster showed what she thought of that simple-minded idea. "There were other religions, you know. Druids, and the mystery cults; not to mention every pagan deity in the Mediterranean world." Mrs. King smiled. "You are well-read, after all." Hiding behind her tough-girl image, she said, "Only detective stories." Mrs. King thought she understood, "You want to take after you father." The blonde's frown grew lower. She said, very sourly, "Not likely. Even if I grow up, who's going to take a small dame seriously?" Mrs. King said, "'If' you grow up?" But preaching against suicide probably wouldn't do any good in the mood this girl was in. "Listen, besides the fact that women can do anything, if they set their minds on it, you might not be a small, uh, 'dame'." The girl snorted, just as she had to flinch went she stepped on something particularly knobby. "Her whole family was short." = = = Sam was somewhat surprised by her car. It was a Chrysler Grand Diplomat she had probably picked up at a police auction. She must have six in her family. Once in the car (Mrs. King wouldn't start the car until the girl buckled up), and heading out the lot, Samantha spoke again, "I live at the Sanford Arms. It's in the other direction." The driver told her, "I'm not taking you there. They probably have somebody waiting. I'm taking you to my home." The girl pulled out the gun. But she waited until they came to a red light. "Stop the car, and let me out." Mrs. King told her, "I'm not unlocking the doors." The girl, now, pointed the gun at her, "I said I want out." (A golden tress had come over an eye.) Mrs. King, na?ve and brave, said, "You wouldn't really shoot." Samantha put the gun up to her head, "They say those are the most common last words of people threatened with a gun." Mrs. King was nervous, but still not convinced, "Well, they would be their last words, if they got shot. Did 'they' count the people who said it and didn't get shot?" Keeping the gun on the woman, the small girl reached past her for the door-locking button. Mrs. King put her foot on the accelerator. The car lurched into the cross traffic. She stepped on the brake. The hand that was reaching for the door, reached for the wheel. The headlights of a Mercury dented her front right fender. Louise King whined, "Oh... I can't afford to get that fixed, right now." Samantha told her, "You should've thought of that before you tried the stupid stunt!" (Now more than one tress was across her face.) Mrs. King told the girl back, "Well, I always thought it was stupid to drive yourself for a ride!" Samantha said, angry, "You're the one taking me for the ride, remember?" (She pushed back the tresses with her free hand.) Mrs. King tried to match the girl's anger level, "Who has the gun?" Without thinking, the girl's mind on her beef with the stupid dame, she had lowered the gun. The traffic around them was starting to get in a noisy mess. Now was the time to get out! Mrs. King accelerated again, and drove recklessly around the corner, and into the leftmost lane. "I could cross over into the on-coming lane." Samantha scoffed her, "You wouldn't." Mrs. King said, "How does that rank on your list of 'last words'?" = = = Mrs. Louise King managed to make it to the freeway before the tough girl had a chance to unlock the doors and jump. (There, she also opened the windows a crack to do something able the stink.) The child effectively trapped for a while, Mrs. King pressed her. "Those men hired your father to find this 'Pope John's Cross'. Something happened to him." She took her eyes off the road to glance at the young girl who'd taken the seat belt off. "It sounds like that something was pretty bad. Is he in the hospital?" The young blonde glared out the windshield. "If I say he is, will you take me there?" The woman said, "No." She picked up her reasoning, "It also sounds like your father told you all about it. Why not give those men what they want, and have them stop chasing you?" Her pretty face barely controlled the spasm. "I can't. I destroyed it." Mrs. King momentary crossed a lane. When she could speak: "It sounds like it was worth a fortune." The soprano grunted. "At what cost? What chance would there be of this ever being a man's world, again?" A tress had fallen between them. Again, Mrs. King thought she understood. "You like guys who can act as tough as you, hunh?" The girl was going to answer, thought of the implications, then said, sourly, "Only when I can be tougher." The awkward silence went on until Louise had to say something. "This cross, I take it, was very old." Samantha grunted, "Over a 1100 years." Louise liked to do puzzles, "It was lost in Europe, found, and brought to America, maybe by a collector." She thought she had found an answer, "He came by it illegally, and was hiding it. Keeping it a secret: That's why your father had to be hired to find it!" The young girl decided to try and stop the woman's prattling. "The reason the cross was lost was because it was no longer a cross. It had been melted down." Louise King's mouth made an, 'Oh'. After a few seconds of peace, she had to ask, "What was it made of?" Samantha stared out the side window. "The stuff that dreams are made of." = = = They were coming to Louise King's off-ramp. It would be more difficult to keep the girl in the car, let alone get her out of it and into a decent home. "Samanth-" The girl told her quite firmly, "It's Sam! Don't call me Samantha. Not ever again." Mrs. Louise King nodded. "Like your father. I'll respect that." She glanced over to the petit teen, "Even though Samantha is a perfectly wonderful for name for a-" The hard glare told the woman it was time to stop. One of the problems Sam had was she obviously wasn't comfortable being a girl. It made Louise King wonder what Sam's own clothes were like. Louise King said, as tactfully as she could, "As fine a man as your father may have, er, is, he is still a man. Before you, uh, leave (if that's what you really want to do) why not let us give you a few necessities. Besides myself, I have two foster girls who use tampons." Sam ordered, "Stop the car! It'll be a cold day in hell before I use those." Louise King thought she understood, "Then pads-" The girl brought out her gun again. Mrs. King quickly said, "Okay, I was wrong. You haven't started your periods, yet. I was just trying to help you." The 14-year-old told her, "Sam Trump takes charity from no one." Feeling na?ve and brave again, Mrs. King said, "So you plan on robbing me?" The blonde pulled the gun back. "What is that supposed to mean?" she growled. The woman told her, "How much money do you have? Do you even have enough for bus fare? And if you do, where are you going to get the money after that?" The youngster's silence answered that question. Pressing her luck, Mrs. King said, "Unless you clean yourself up, you won't even be able to 'earn' the money to get out of town." Thinking about her options, the small girl said, "Without an identity, just about everything is illegal. Not to mention disgusting." The pretty girl put the gun away. Mrs. King's wondered how long it would be before the independent-minded girl decided to take that route. But, for the moment, her hopes seemed to have won out. One step at a time... = = = The area was zoned for mixed; not far from an industrial waterfront, apartments were randomly placed between older houses. It had one of the few neighborhood watches where not only did they keep an eye out for criminals and litter, but anybody interested in raising the property values. Those were the kind of vandals they never caught. (It was also rumored that a developer had been seriously wounded.) The car pulled up in front of a house; there was no garage. The small front yard was wild with herbs. The house itself was a two-story Victorian with little of the gingerbread left. While not rundown, it had seen better days, and could've used a fresh coat of green, yellow and ochre paint. When Sam rose out of the car, suddenly the alcohol caught up to her. She had to lean against the car and hold her head. "I never had a problem with booze before." Mrs. King went around the car to help her. "I doubt whether you've had much experience with it." As she bent over so she could place the 14-year-old's arm over a shoulder, she said, "You're a girl. You'll never be able to match your father's drinking. And the smaller you are..." Deciding she'd end up being carried if she refused the woman's help and then tripped, Sam accepted the lesser indignity. "There's an argument for being a girl. You get more bang for your buck." Mrs. King started preaching on just how worse alcohol could be on girls. The teenager had to stop and retch by the side of the steps even before the part came on how bad alcohol would be for her baby. = = = A few hours later, the front door opened again. A shorthaired brunette in a school uniform and on the tall side announced in a voice that had a whine-edge, "We were attacked at school because of Cassi, again!" Still on the path to the porch, Cassi, announced louder, "Mona's such a priss. The boys were just having some fun!" Leaping up the porch stairs past her, a boy said, "Some fun! Why do I have to get into fights just because my Aunt has to have foster-" The short-yet-spiky-blonde boy in a school uniform who was shorter than the girls stopped when a naked girl about his age (her large nipples bobbing about) stormed from the hall through the dining room, telling someone behind her, "Take my clothes off while I'm passed out? That's something I might've expected to happen to a girl." "Okay, I took a bath." The longhaired petit blonde looked straight at the strange children, and resumed. "Now, if you're not going to wash my clothes, give them back, so I can get out of here." The shorthaired brunet Mona groaned, "Not another one." Cassi crossed her arms, and studied the new girl. "But I didn't think Louise was one." She had an average height for her age, but not average measurements. Considering the height difference between her and the other one, she still looked to have the same figure. Her brunet hair was done up in a French braid. Mona told Cassi, "Keep Foster out of your dirty mind!" The angry blonde his size told the boy, "Put your eyes back in your head, or they'll get stuck that way." The young boy almost did. Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye that forced him to ("Geez, Louise!") look away: His aunt finally came out from the hall, holding her pink bathrobe with the bunnies on it out in front of her. "Don't you have any sense of decency?" The tough-sounding girl despite her voice's high notes said, "No. I've never had to have one before." (The girls did see what a great body she had.) The foster mother told her, catching up to her, "Now you have a reason. As long as you're in this house-" The short but fit girl put the back of her hand up to block the robe being placed around her shoulders. "There's a good reason not to stay. If you don't like the way I look, give me my clothes back." The buxom Cassi said, "The girl's got balls." Mona said, "Then her and you ought to be bounced out of here." Mrs. King told the new girl, "I destroyed those reeking clothes. It wasn't hard with all that alcohol in them." Both Mona and the boy said, "She drinks?" with different intonations. The girl told the boy, "I told you to stop gaping." This time her threat made her firm tits move about. Cassi said, "Don't mind Boyd. He's a sissy." Boyd piped up with, "I am not! I've been in enough fights prove that!" Mona explained, "She means he gets into our things." The pretty, youngster sneered, "Oh, a queer." Then she had a thought about herself. "I'll wear his clothes." Mrs. King forced the robe around the youngster, "They won't fit. Come on, at least put pants and a shirt on!" The girl told her, "That's what I've been wanting to do." = = = The pants and shirt were the girls'. After trying on Cassi's tight jeans, she replaced them with the softer gray slacks from the tall girl's closet. They didn't have any shirts that were very man-like (and they buttoned up the wrong side). Sam settled for a T-shirt and light blue shirt with just bit of lace around the cuffs (again from Mona's closet). Safety pins went on all of the cuffs, again. The only pair of shoes Cassi would give up was a smelly old pair of gym shoes. Even then, Sam had to stuff some paper in the toes. While she was upstairs (closely supervised by that Cassi- girl), Sam noted that it was a four-bedroom house. The master, and across the hall, the girls, the boy's, and, back across the hall, "That's May's room." Since Sam didn't plan on staying long, she didn't bother finding out why May got her own room. Probably the woman's own kid. It was a definite chill out, but she wasn't about to beg anybody for charity. Especially when that was a coat that would look like it belonged to a girl. Sam decided if she had to she would steal some coat from a jerk that acted like they deserved it. It wouldn't be hard to find a guy like that. In young girls' clothes, Sam needed something to make her feel comfortable. She hunted for that King-woman. "All right. You can tell me what you did with my gun." Immature-faced Boyd was back to gawking at the girl. "You have a gun?" The thought did make him a little green. (He had gotten out of his tie and jacket.) The woman answered from the kitchen. "You can have it. I don't want a dangerous weapon laying about the house." (Mona was confused as well as frightened, "Why would you let her have a gun? She's Cassi's age." (Cassi asked, "If she has one, why can't I?" She had changed into a neon blue with glitter backless string halter, short black skirt, hose, and high mules.) Ignoring the remarks from the peanut gallery sitting at the table (except Cassi, who was busy practicing her posing by bending a knee and arching her back casually), Sam stopped at the doorway to follow up what the woman had said. "But?" The woman was putting Pillsbury sugar cookies on a baking tray. Mrs. Louise King told him, "You give us one night and a morning. You need time to plan what you're going to do next." Pushing back the tress, Sam told her, "I find that planning too much interferes with the doing." Mrs. King told her, "Then you can do it without your gun." Feeling na?ve and brave again, she added, "Unless you'd like to rough me up?" Sam said, "That's not a bad idea." Mrs. King clung to her assessment of this lost child, and bravely waited to see if she was going to be roughed up. The tough teen entered the kitchen and headed for the stupid woman. "You know, after yesterday afternoon, I haven't seen how much of the old me remains, inside." Boyd groaned, and rose from the table. His aunt told him, "Stay there, Boyd." Then she went back to staring down her 'attacker'. The attacker put her hand on Louise's back, and brought it down almost to her ass. Sam withdrew her slim, small hand with, "Well, that answers that. Too bad I don't have the equipment to do anything about it." The tensions eased visibly. But not the uneasiness; Cassi told the girl, "You lay a hand on me, and I'll get a gun from Leon. Or Derek." Boyd collapsed back onto the kitchen chair, "Another gun." Mrs. King tried to ignore what had just happened. "I'm baking cookies. They'll be ready in a few minutes." Sam leaned against the closest counter. "You've got guts, Lady, I'll say that much." Then, glancing around, added, "Just look at who you put up with everyday." (Mona muttered and whined, "I'm the one who has to go to school with them, too.") Cassi announced, "I'm not having any cookies." Mrs. King said, "Yes, you are. You're too young, and too thin to go on diets." Cassi looked away, defiant, "I don't like what you give me." Her hands crossed under her bust, Sam got involved, "You'll take what you're given, and like it." Cassi turned her scorn on the new girl, "That's going to be your excuse?" Sam sneered at the snippet, "I don't do jailbait." Mona said, "Oh, great. She's worse than Cassi." Boyd asked, "She is? But I still don't understand. If she doesn't..." He thought he got it. Then, "Why can't it work that way for boys?" There was a noise on the back porch. Sam suddenly tensed, uncrossing her arms. But before she could react properly, a bullet blew the lock mechanism out, and a heavy shoulder was slamming against the door. All but Sam screamed. Sam put her short arms out in a gesture of roundup, "Everyone! Get out, now!!" The boy was the first up. Too late, the door didn't hold long. The man with the gun broke into the house. He fired through the open kitchen doorway, narrowly missing Cassi. Everyone stopped. He was large man in white coveralls and cap. Even so, it was hard to tell how much of him was blubber and how much was muscle. And he knew how to threaten a group with a gun. It wasn't hard for Sam to figure out who he was. "You're the guy the Doctor brought in from out of town to tail me." The man said, confident he had the upper hand, told the little girl, "I was paid to follow your old man. Some detective. He was sloppy." The girl said about her old man, "He wasn't looking over his shoulder. He was stupid for thinking it was a simple recovery case." The man snorted, "With the money that thing must be worth?" He trained the gun more on her, now. "Since you seem to know all about it, you can tell me where it is." The girl said, "I'll tell you. But you've got to leave these people alone." The man laughed, "And give up any hold I can have on you? Hey, maybe you're like your old man. Maybe you told one of them where that thing is." Sam told him, "I didn't tell them anything. They don't know, and won't know anything, if I can help it." The man smirked at her (there was also the way that his eyes like to stay on certain parts of her that Sam was beginning to notice). "Oh, you're going to be a lot of help. You see, I left a note some associates will find, if you're better than your old man and get the cops on me, or something." Sam looked at regret at the stupid do-gooder who had may have made her family permanent hostage candidates. She looked at the children. This guy, and probably his friends, didn't look like he was above having a little fun with jailbait. Everything that had happened to her since yesterday afternoon erupted in her. Furious, she cried, "I'd rather die than let-" A gunshot ripped past her. The screams all about were of real anguish. Mrs. King said from a deep daze, "I, I shot him." Mona continued her screaming as she ran out the backdoor. Cassi retreated into the dining room, to switch between staring and looking away. Boyd, obviously wanting to vomit, tried to keep his eyes fixed on the body on the floor. Sam went over to the mother who had protected her home... who only reacted when she saw a stranger about to get herself hurt. Only a rat would desert her now. Sam took the gun from the limp hand. Her touch now meant to assure her. "Louise, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship." The End Note: According to legend, Pope Joan reigned for a few months in 855 A.D. The reason she was found out was that she had to give birth during a procession. The audience then killed her. Now, before any pope is confirmed they must first sit in a special chair that, if anybody looks, will show if they are a man or not.