Team Spirit: The Second Half Ch 16-19 free porn video

TEAM SPIRIT: THE SECOND HALF By Meps98 CHAPTER SIXTEEN I've been here two days, recovering from the "interrogation", as Hanson calls it. There's a meal on the folding table next to the cot but I can't eat. I failed. I failed Bob ... I failed myself. I couldn't hold out any longer. The pain was so bad. I knew I was going to die! After betraying Bob, I think Hanson gave me a shot of something because I don't remember anything until the next morning. She came in and started asking me all sorts of questions about him. Whatever she gave me, the symptoms were gone and I initially tried to go back to my old story, but then she reminded me that in less than a day I could be right back in that chair. That did it. I couldn't get back in that chair, never again. It was the worst thing I'd ever been through, worse than the Super Bowl parties. At least with them, there was the constant sex that kept the worse symptoms away until I got what I needed from Anthony. Those hours, days, whatever in that room was the most horrible experience in my life. I told her everything I could about Bob, which wasn't much, but she seemed to believe me this time. Why couldn't I convince her that I didn't know anything? It was that damn machine! I don't think it was a lie detector, at least not like one I've ever seen before. Whatever it was, I couldn't get anything past it. Bob will understand. Oh GOD, I hope he'll understand! I spent most of the first day crying uncontrollably. My one chance to escape, gone! And now Bob was being drug into the mess too. Kind, gentle, sick Bob. He won't stand a chance against Hanson or Anthony. They both are pretty pissed at him, pissed at me too, of course, but I think they plan on dealing with him first before getting to me, which is a whole other reason to be crying. Can't hardly bring myself to sit up on my cot, I mean, what's the use? I had several weeks with a few days of something resembling a normal life, at least as normal as possible, and now it's all gone. It was gone as soon as Hanson found out about it, but I could have saved Bob by just keeping my mouth shut. I wasn't strong enough, brave enough ... man enough. I'm just a worthless, spineless, whore! * * ** * ** * ** * * I stopped by to see Honey on my way to Hanson's office. She looks a lot better but her attitude sucked, seems depressed or something. I guess that's not surprising, given what she went through. I didn't say much to her and she wouldn't even look at me. Of course, she's not the immediate problem, Bob James is. Hanson called me, asked me to come over to discuss "our mutual problem". Apparently she's got some new information. The receptionist passed me through and I headed straight for her office, except for that short detour. Hanson was reading some kinda report when I walked in. "Shut the door Anthony and have a seat." I took the chair across from hers at the desk. "What's that you got?" I nod towards the papers in her hands. "It is a report from my sources in the police department, everything that is available on Bob James." She closes the folder and pushes it across her desk towards me. "It appears that Honey told us the truth ... eventually, at least as much as she knew. Mr. James did not share much information with her, though his life appears to be so bland and uninteresting that I can understand why he would be ashamed to talk about it. A perfect example of a drone. An entire working life selling shoes. At least he traveled a bit ... actually quite a bit. Some of the countries were rather unstable, politically speaking. Syria, Pakistan, Lebanon, Columbia, Northern Ireland. I can't imagine there is much of a shoe market in Somalia. Regardless, he is here in Dallas now and we have to deal with him." "What do you have in mind?" "Unlike Honey, we do not have biology on our side this time." "He's sick right? What info do you have on that?" "Nothing beyond what Honey told me, which was practically useless. The symptoms she described could be any one of a hundred illnesses, injuries or genetic defects or a combination thereof. No, I am afraid that this time we will have to rely on your expertise Anthony." Good. Finally something I can sink my teeth into. "Do you think you can handle him?" she asks. "Are you kidding? You ever seen the guy? Piece of cake. I'll have to be careful not to hurt him too much right off the bat. The guy uses a cane for God's sake!" "I would prefer to try and persuade him that Honey was lying to him concerning her situation. If we can do that, it should put an end to our problem." "How you gonna try to pull that off?" "Play up the evidence of mental problems. The actual truth sounds crazy. Would you believe that she was once a professional football player? She would be unable to provide any physical evidence supporting her story so we just need to provide enough evidence of mental instability to cast sufficient doubt on her truthfulness. That should not be too difficult." "And what if he doesn't buy that story?" "Well then it will be necessary to apply sufficient force to compel him to tell us what he knows, make sure that it matches up with what Honey told me and find out who he may have told." "You mean that there could be other people out there we'll have to track down?" "I believe that you are now realizing why this little venture of yours was such a bad idea." "Hey, how was I to know it would get out of hand." "The possibility was clear from the start and that should have been enough to keep you from pursuing Mr. James' offer." "It's too late now to worry about that." "Indeed it is, though this incident may cause me to reevaluate our current arrangement ... after this problem is dealt with." Wonderful. "Let's say I have to rough him up a bit and he spills his guts. What do we do with him afterwards?" She leans back in her chair, hands resting in her lap, fingers interlocked. "Assuming that the leak ends with him and no others have any incriminating information, the safest course is for Mr. James to disappear. According to my reports, he has no family of any kind. No wife, current or past, no children, no surviving parents, no siblings. With my contacts in the police department, any investigation could be either stopped or become perfunctory. I am not happy about it, but it seems to be the most effective course of action." "Which means you expect me to take care of him." "That particular skill set is one of the reasons you were involved in this affair from the start. It is time for you to pull your weight. Besides, your greed and stupidity created the situation in the first place. I think it is hardly unfair for you to be required to assist in solving the problem. Do you disagree Anthony?" I'd like to tell the bitch where to stuff it but she's got a point. I did go along with the deal from Bob. He's the one who violated it by trying to take Honey away from us. Well, that was his mistake and so it may cost him, plenty. "When we going to do this?" "I suggest Monday evening at your usual drop off time. I do not want to give Mr. James any advance notice so I want Honey to stay with me until then. She could use the time to fully recover from her ordeal. In addition, I have been giving her anti-depressants to make sure she recovers mentally." "I thought you wanted to break her spirit." "I do, but not to the point of suicide. I want her dancing on a fine wire but not falling on the wrong side of that wire. Once I get her past this trauma, I plan to wean her off the medication and let guilt, shame and despair do their jobs." I'm not happy about losing the money from Honey's dancing and fucking until Monday but I can tell Hanson's not gonna give on this one. She may actually be right about getting Honey straightened out before putting her back in the club. She still isn't acting right and I don't think smacking her around is the answer this time. "Fine, I'll be back here Monday at 12:30 a.m. to pick you both up and then drive to Bob's unless something changes." "I suggest that you bring a handgun." "Won't need it. I can take this guy with one arm and both legs tied behind my back." "I'm sure that you can, but better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it." "Huh?" "Bring the gun Anthony." I stand up and wave my hand dismissively. "Fine. Whatever. See you Monday. Call if there's any new info or the plan changes." Walking through the clinic towards the front door, I resist the urge to check on Honey one last time before leaving. She's not my problem right now, Bob is. I better concentrate on him CHAPTER SEVENTEEN I had lost track of the days while at the clinic. That happens a lot when I'm here, probably the drugs she keeps giving me. Whatever they are, I'm feeling a little better. I haven't been crying as much at least. It surprised me when Anthony showed up with an outfit for me to wear. It was one of his favorites, bright red with a scoop neck and tight as hell. Even thought the skirt is short, it's so tight across my thighs that I still can't walk normally, I have to take short steps, particularly with the 5" heels he brought. "Get dressed Honey, we're going to visit your boyfriend tonight and have a little talk." "We are, Sir?" "Yep. You, I and the Doc. Just a friendly little talk about the weather, the Cubs, the price of oil and how he was planning to help you leave your good friends at the club and the clinic." So, this was it. They were going to take him out tonight. I'd tried to figure out in the last few days what they might do to him. None of it was good. The best case I could come up with was they'd beat the shit out of him, warn him to keep his mouth shut and let him go. That was also the least likely one. Everything else was much worse, usually he'd end up dead. His only chance was to play dumb, deny everything, call me a liar and then get away as fast as he could. I'm completely screwed, but there's a slim chance he might escape if he's a good enough liar. Anthony stepped out of the cell and I got dressed, combed my hair and used the makeup he brought. They were the wrong colors to go with this dress. Men never get this right. In the end, I was presentable, but just barely. It was 1:00 a.m. before we got to Bob's house. I rode in the back with Hanson while Anthony drove. Hanson said that they brought me along so that I could learn a lesson about what happens when people try to take her property. After parking the car in the street, all three of us approached Bob's front door. Anthony rang the doorbell. Bob opened the door and greeted as all with a smile, like he was expecting this. "Come in, come in. I'm so glad to see all of you." Bob stepped back away from the front door indicating with his arm that we should all come in. He was dressed in jeans and a big, loose fleece zippered top I'd never seen before. He limped back into the house using his cane for support. Hanson seemed surprised by this greeting. I certainly was. She hesitated before stepping through the front door. We all entered Bob's living room, Hanson first, then myself, with Anthony bringing up the rear. "Anthony, have a seat. You have a seat also Honey ... It is so good to finally meet you Dr. Hanson." Bob moved into the living room. He sat down in a hard back wooden chair, leaving the couch and love seat open. I sat down on the love seat and Hanson sat on the couch but Anthony remained standing. Everyone one just looked at each other, the silence growing more uncomfortable by the second. Bob broke the ice. "Would anyone care for a drink? I don't keep much alcohol in the house normally but I did buy a bottle of wine for this occasion. If you're not interested in wine, I have Coke and bottled water." Hanson took all this in without any obvious reaction but I could tell that she was both angry and confused. This was not going the way she anticipated. She cleared her throat. "Unfortunately, we're not here for a social visit. After speaking with Honey, I have determined that she has been filling your head with a series of fantastic stories and lies. I thought it would be best for everyone if we met so that we could set the record straight." Bob had a slightly amused look on his face, along with that annoying smirk. He slowly shook his head side to side. "Now Doctor, I would imagine that you did much more than simply speak with Honey. I would guess that you used some extraordinary persuasive techniques on her before you got the information you were looking for. I had to push her rather hard myself to get the truth the first time and, deep down, she wanted to tell me. In your case, she would have been trying to hide the truth at all cost. My guess is that she put up a pretty good fight before finally giving in. Of course, you created her, so you would know the best buttons to push." "This is exactly what we need to talk about. I am Honey's psychiatrist and I have been treating her for years concerning her delusional beliefs. She has been telling these fantastic stories since she was nine years old." Bob's smile grew wider. "So your position is that her story about once being a Wrangler Girl and appearing in the Super Bowl four years ago is a complete fabrication?" "That is correct, no doubt about it." Bob pushed himself up off his chair, using the cane for leverage. Anthony took a small step back, giving him a clear path to Bob, who was slowly walking to the coffee table in front of Hanson. He bent down and picked up the universal remote, returned to his chair and carefully sat down. Holding the remote in his right hand, he pointed it at the TV and DVD player, switching them both on. As the DVD loaded, he turned towards Hanson. "The league issues a Super Bowl DVD each year, one of their many promotional endeavors. I purchased this one on Ebay at a substantial discount." Just then, the main menu popped up. "I spent several hours reviewing it and made some interesting discoveries. Let me show you." He used the remote to enter a particular time code and hit "Enter". The DVD went right to the opening ceremonies where the players ran through an inflatable tunnel onto the field. When the Wranglers ran on, the Wrangler girls lined both sides of the runway, jumping and smiling.......always smiling. Bob hit "Pause" and then "Zoom". "If I am not mistaken, that is Ms. Honey Sweet-Lay in all her glory." There, on the TV, was a perfectly framed picture of me from four years ago, a bright, empty practiced smile on my face, caught in mid jump, my boobs barely restrained by the skimpy top. Hanson leans forward. "That could be any one of a number of girls, they all dress alike on those squads you know." "Do you really think so? Under normal circumstances, I might defer to your expertise, you were a cheerleader in high school after all." Hanson stiffens when Bob says this. Those are unpleasant memories for a lot of reasons. Bob either doesn't notice or care. "I had an old friend run the data through a facial recognition program. It was a 99.672% match." He points the remote at the DVD player again and enters some more numbers. This time, the scene is a sideline shot of the Wrangler's bench. He pauses and zooms a second time. "The picture is not as clear this time, but there is an 86.75% chance that is you standing next to an 89.06% Anthony." He's right; the picture is a little fuzzy on the details but most anybody would say that is Hanson and Anthony standing side by side on the forty yard line. He switches the TV off and sets the remote on the ground next to his chair. "Doctor Hanson, You have checked me out and I've checked you out so let's cut the crap. You are many things, but not a psychiatrist. You are Nobel Prize winning molecular biologist and geneticist. You have a worldwide reputation for extraordinary work. You are forty two years old, but would appear to be closer to twenty one years old. You have a small private research clinic here locally, funded primarily by grants and consultation fees, the fees are mostly from the Dallas Wranglers, which have increased greatly in the last two years. Your clinic is staffed exclusively by women, which is fairly unusual for the field you're involved in. Even more unusual, no one on the staff would appear to be older than thirty years when records indicate the oldest is eighty two. Obviously, they do not give Nobel prizes to just anyone, but what you have accomplished with Honey is beyond belief. Or it would be beyond belief if I hadn't checked her story out and found it to be one hundred percent true. " Dr. Hanson was clearly straining to keep her temper in check. "As you said Mr. James, I've had you checked out also. You seem to know quite a bit for a retired shoe salesman." Bob leaned back in his chair. "I'm sure your contacts with the local police were very thorough but they don't have the resources to really check out my background. If necessary, I'll explain all of this later." "What do mean 'if necessary'? " said Dr. Hanson. The volume of her voice was beginning to rise. "Who are you to decide what is necessary? You have yet to provide me with any evidence of any kind to justify why you believe what Honey has told you, beyond your little trick with that DVD. Right now, all you have is a story worthy of a cheap science fiction novel. Unless you have some evidence, no one will believe either you or her." "Dr. Hanson, I have no intention of telling anyone about this, at least at this time. There's no benefit to me to spread this story. Unfortunately for you, the facts are likely to be exposed in the next few months anyway, regardless of what I do. It may take up to eighteen months for this story to get out, but it will get out." Dr. Hanson and Anthony exchanged glances. Both were clearly not happy about what they were hearing. Anthony moved a couple steps closer to Bob but he remained sitting in his chair with that infuriating smirk on his face. "Exactly what facts are you referring to Mr. James?" asked Hanson. "Well let's start at the beginning. Honey is really Josh Thomas, the missing quarterback for the Dallas Wranglers. You are responsible for changing him into the young girl that we see before us today. I'm not sure exactly how you accomplish this, but it would appear to be some form of genetic manipulation. Your reason for this was revenge for a rape that occurred during your senior year in high school. Josh Thomas raped you after the homecoming game that year. You never reported this to the police but decided to take matters into your own hands. It took years of preparation and research but you were finally ready. You persuaded the Dallas Wrangler management that you could improve the health of their players, giving them an edge over their competition. Your treatments did exactly that, at least for everyone except Josh. From the standpoint of the Wranglers, his treatment was a total failure. Of course for you it was an unimaginable success. Team management was already planning to replace Josh in the next year or two with Billy Joe Coleson, so Josh's failing health and ultimate disappearance did not upset them in any way. In fact, they were quite happy about it because it saved them his rather enormous salary. Since no one else suffered the same ill effects from your treatments, there was no reason to investigate the situation very closely. Ultimately, Honey went to work for Anthony here as a part-time dancer and a full- time whore. About the only time Honey leaves the club is to be the party favor at the Wranglers' Super Bowl victory celebration. I believe they have won the Super Bowl the last three consecutive years, going undefeated two of those three years. Oh, I failed to mention that you grew a penis and raped Honey." Bob paused and looked Dr. Hanson squarely in the eyes. "I've been able to confirm aspects of Honey's story by making some discreet inquiries with certain friends of mine, ex-coworkers if you will. But my primary source of information is Billy Joe Coleson" "Billy Joe Coleson would not dare tell you anything. Even an idiot football player would be smarter than that." Bob's smirk got slightly larger. "Thank you for that confirmation Dr. Hanson. Billy Joe did tell me the story but he was under the influence of alcohol and certain special drugs when doing so. You can't really place the blame on him. Over the years, I have found that if more than two people know a secret it's not a secret. Sooner or later, it comes out. Unfortunately, many more than two people know your secret or at least parts of it and more than a few of them are starting to talk. No one other than myself has put the whole story together and I had Honey's help, so quite possibly no one else ever will, but the parts that are being talked about could lead to investigations which will cause you quite a bit of grief." I thought Bob was smarter than this. I had told him all about Amy Hanson and he should have known that you can't talk to her like this. Either she would do something or she would have Anthony do something. Right now, my money would be on Anthony. I was trying to get Bob's attention by making small hand gestures to warn him but he either didn't see them or he was ignoring me. I couldn't risk doing anything more. I was already in enough trouble. Hanson again looked at Anthony but spoke to Bob. "Who is saying what and why should it cause me any trouble?" Amy was really pissed now. It was that damn smirk on Bob's face. I swear, he could make Gandhi take a swing at him. Whatever he said next was going to be the game breaker. "Doctor, I am under no obligation to answer your questions. You are a guest in my house and I decide what happens here. Our little conversation today is just a courtesy to you and Anthony. I am inclined to let you pay the price for your foolish mistakes, let nature take its' course so to speak." I physically cringe when I hear this. Why don't you just call her a stupid bitch and get it over with? The shit has really hit the fan now. Amy is visibly shaking, barely holding back her rage. "Anthony, would you please give Mr. James a lesson in respect." Anthony starts to move towards Bob, who struggles to stand up, leaning heavily on his cane. He gets upright and raises his cane above his head, holding it in his right hand. Anthony towers over Bob, who steps away from his chair, giving him room to maneuver. "Anthony, I have nothing against you. I promise that I will do my best not to seriously injure you." "I really appreciate that Bob" said Anthony with a laugh. He then lunged at Bob, who brought the cane down, aiming at Anthony's head. Anthony reached up and caught the shaft of the cane with both hands, easily ripping it from Bob's grip. Then Bob was gone. Not really gone, but one second he was in front of Anthony and the next second he was behind him. He had spun on his left foot about two hundred seventy degrees as Anthony went by him. Bob shot his right arm straight down and a thin black cylinder about ten inches long dropped from the sleeve of the top into the palm of his hand. He flicked his wrist as he completed his turn and the cylinder extended out to about thirty inches in length. It was one of those collapsing metal batons. Anthony still held the cane in both hands and it looked like he was trying to drop it yet he couldn't let go. With a low sweeping backhand motion, Bob struck Anthony in the back of both knees, which reflexively collapsed. Anthony fell to his knees and then pitched forward flat on his face because he still couldn't let go of the cane. He started to push himself up off the floor on his elbows but Bob stepped to his right and, using the baton, sharply struck Anthony on the side of his head with a glancing blow. Anthony crashed to the ground face first with a loud grunt and lay there motionless. Bob remained poised over him with the baton raised, ready to strike again. The whole thing took about eight seconds. I don't think I had ever seen anyone move as quickly as Bob when he did that spin move. Amy leapt from her seat and charged straight at Bob. She was only twelve feet away. As she closed on him, he swung the baton at her. I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact. There was nothing but silence. I slowly opened my eyes. Amy was standing stock still about four feet from Bob with the tip of the baton an inch from the end of her nose. Bob's arm was extended straight at her but he was still looking down at Anthony. "Doctor, I suggest that you return to your seat. You have seen what happened to Anthony and I like him." He then turned his head towards Amy. "I am not particularly fond of you." Amy slowly backed away from Bob and returned to her seat without ever taking her eyes off him. Once she sat down, Bob knelt down next to Anthony and touched his neck, checking for a pulse. He also checked his ears and mouth. I think he was looking for blood. He then quickly patted Anthony down and found his Glock .40. Why didn't Anthony go straight to the gun instead of going hand-to-hand with Bob? Because he didn't fear Bob. Hell, I thought that even I could have taken Bob if push came to shove. Live and learn. Bob chambered a round, pocketed the Glock and then flipped Anthony onto his back. He was still holding the cane in both hands. Bob picked up the cane by its handle, lifted it up a foot and dropped it. Anthony's hands never left the shaft. Bob looked at me and said one word. "Glue." He had spread some kind of glue on the cane. When Anthony grabbed it, his hands stuck. It was like he had handcuffed himself before the fight even started. "Honey, would you please lend me a hand?" Oh God, what do I do? I immediately looked at Amy. She nodded her head "Yes", giving me permission to follow Bob's directions, at least for now. "We are going to grab Anthony under the arms, lift him and place him in this chair" indicating the wooden chair Bob had originally been sitting in. "Be careful with him. I do not want to injure him anymore than I already have. Also, do not touch the cane." We struggled with Anthony, finally getting him settled in the chair. All this time, Bob was very careful to keep Amy in his line of vision. He never really looked directly at her, but she was always under his observation. I think he was trying to tell her he did not view her as a threat but he wasn't taking any unnecessary chances. "Thank you, Honey, you can have a seat next to Dr. Hanson for the moment" I went over and sat down on the couch as far from Amy as possible. Bob opened the drawer of the table next to Anthony and pulled out a metal can, a rag, and several long, thin strips of plastic. He opened the can and poured a liquid onto the rag. There was a distinct gas-like smell. Bob rubbed the rag around Anthony's right hand, which slowly released the cane. He did the same with the left hand. Once the hands were free, Bob started to tie Anthony to the chair using the plastic strips. They were heavy duty cable ties that zipped tight. All this time, Amy had said nothing. Now she spoke up. "What did you put on that cane?" Bob continued trussing Anthony up. "It is a special quick grab adhesive. Anthony would have been able to get his hands free eventually but it would have cost him some skin. The solvent works fairly quickly, as you saw." Bob said this in a conversational tone, like he was talking about home repairs. He straightened up and stepped back away from Anthony. "That should hold for now. Doctor, please come over here and take a look at him. I believe that he probably only has a concussion, but I would prefer a more professional opinion." Amy rose from the couch and strode over to Anthony. Bob stepped further back and gently rested his right hand in the pocket he had stashed the Glock. Amy had regained most of her composure since the attack. She began to examine Anthony, checking his pulse, eyes, ears, mouth and nose. She also felt the side of his head where the baton struck him. "That was a neat trick, feigning infirmity to lull Anthony into a false sense of superiority so he would not view you as a threat." "Oh I often do need the cane to get around. I just did not need it today. I took an extra dose of medication to help, which I will end up paying for later." As she straightened up, she seemed satisfied. "You are probably right about the concussion, obviously I can't be certain without a more thorough examination." Bob reached into a pocket with his left hand and removed a small box. He tossed it to Amy. "I would like Anthony to be awake for this, if possible and not too dangerous for his health." Amy opened the box and removed a large capsule. It is one of those ammonia inhalants you use on the sidelines of a game when someone gets their bell rung. She snapped the ampoule. "Let's find out". She waived it under Anthony's nose for about five seconds. He started to stir and then awoke with a snort and several coughs. He looked around with a blank stare and tried to move his arms. When he realized that he couldn't move, you could see in his face that his mind came back into focus and that he was mad as hell. He started to struggle and curse. "What the fuck is this? What happened? Where the hell is the bastard who did this to me? If I am not free in ten seconds, I am going to rip your head off and stuff it up your ass! When ..." About that time, Bob pulled the Glock from his pocket and let Anthony see it. That shut him up pretty quick. "Well, Anthony seems no worse for wear, at least for the moment. Dr. Hanson, if you will sit back down, we can finish our conversation and everyone can be on their respective ways." Amy returned to the couch and sat down. Bob backed into the kitchen, reached around the corner, picked up another wooden chair, brought it into the living room and sat down. "Dr, Hanson, it is clear that you are a genius within your fields. Your general plan of vengeance was diabolical. I mean, it really was a case of the punishment fitting the crime. However, you do not have a good grasp of how the world of professional sports works, nor the inner workings of a strip club. You have created a situation that works in the short term but is guaranteed to fail in the long term." Amy had to interrupt him. "You keep saying that but you refuse to provide any proof. Simply repeating something does not make it true." Bob thought for a moment. "It is unlikely that you would believe me, so I will let Anthony explain it." Anthony had a shocked look on his face. "Don't get me messed up with this shit! I want nothing to do with it" "Now Anthony, this will be relatively simple" Bob said. "I am just going to ask you a series of questions. You just answer them honestly and the truth will reveal itself." "Go on Anthony, answer the questions. I won't hold anything you say against you." added Amy. Anthony glanced back and forth between Amy and Bob, looking trapped, then he stopped to think, which took a few seconds. "Fine, let's get this over with" Bob seemed delighted. "Excellent. OK, first question. Do you have any personal experience with professional football?" "Yeah, I played for Baltimore for three years before my knee blew out." "What do most players think of their coaches?" "They're usually decent guys. Most are ex-players so they know the score, but some can be real bastards." "What do most players think of management, the owners, the GM and others?" "They're blood sucking mother fuckers who will cut you from the team at a drop of a hat to save twenty bucks. You can't believe a word that they say and only half of what is written in your damn contract." "So, are you saying that there is little team loyalty among the players?" "Oh players are mostly loyal to each other, as loyal as a bunch of egomaniacs can be. They're just not loyal to the owners because owners aren't loyal to them." "What has Wrangler management done with their veteran players over the last three years?" "Some are still with the team. They've released, cut or traded a lot of them" "Why is that?" "Because they asked for more money after winning all those games and Super Bowls." "What have the Wrangler's done instead of paying the veterans more money?" "They've signed older players at the end of their careers with a low cost, short term contract without a big signing bonus." "How can these older, nearly washed-up players keep the team winning?" "Dr. Hanson's magic juice makes them young again so you've got the best of both worlds, experience and youth." "What happens to the players released by the Wranglers?" "Sometimes they're signed by other teams, usually a big contract, sometimes they retire." "How do the ones who stay in the League perform without access to Dr. Hanson's 'magic juice'?" "Usually not very well. I think the sportswriters are starting to call it the 'Wrangler curse'." "How many players would you say the Wranglers have let go over the last three years that now play for other teams?" "How the hell am I supposed to know that?" "I don't need an exact figure, just an approximate number." "Oh ... I'd guess ... about thirty to thirty five." "Is there any reason for these players to remain quiet about Dr. Hanson's 'magic juice'? After all, they were cut loose by the Wranglers and there is nothing illegal about it to their knowledge." Anthony remained silent for several seconds and then he answered. "No." "If one of their teammates, someone they were friends with, asked them about their time with the Wranglers, do you think they would mention a medical treatment that re-grew lost hair or restored youth or sexual vigor?" Again Anthony was silent at first, like he was just beginning to realize a horrible truth. "Yeah ... they might say something about it." "Would any of these players talk to the press about these same things, perhaps after having a bit too much to drink?" "Oh Jesus Christ, you know they would. Some idiot would want to be the big man and tell the inside story about the Wranglers." "Dallas likes to call themselves 'America's Team'. In truth, outside of the State of Texas, how do fans feel about the Wranglers?" "They hate their fucking guts." "What do other team owners think about the Wranglers?" "It's worse." "What is America's number one sport?" "Professional football." "If rumor's surfaced about some special medical treatment the Wranglers were using to keep ahead of the competition, do you think there might be an investigation by the League or even Congress?" Anthony was again slow to answer that one. "Yeah, probably." "If evidence was discovered about Dr. Hanson's 'magic juice', would the other teams rally around the Wranglers or hang them out to dry?" Anthony was sounding more and more defeated. "You know the answer to that. The Wranglers would be toast." "If the Wranglers were 'toast', would their management protect Dr. Hanson?" Anthony lowered his head to his chest. "We are so screwed." Bob turned to Amy. "There is your answer. There are actually thirty seven players still in the League who were once with the Wranglers, who received your treatments and are now playing with other teams. Most of these players are performing below expectations. When pushed to explain their poor performance, are they going to take the blame or are they going to talk about those really great shots they got from a certain Nobel Prize laureate?" Everyone was looking at Amy. I couldn't read her face and I had gotten pretty good at reading her, purely as a matter of survival. I have to admit, I was enjoying this in an "all hell is breaking lose but at least its not just happening to me" sort of way. Amy took a deep breath and then spoke. "Alright, let's say, purely for the sake of argument mind you, that this unlikely chain of events happens. There was nothing illegal about the treatments any of the players received." "Except for Josh Thomas" interjected Bob. "With the possible exception of Josh Thomas" continued Amy. "The treatments did not involve steroids, human growth hormones, blood doping or any banned substance. Even if there is an in-depth investigation, the bottom line is that no banned substances were used and none of my people will say anything about Honey." "I think it is quaint you still believe that Doctor. Billy Joe Coleson has cracked once and he will crack again. No one has put the screws to your staff yet. The hold you have over them is that they need you to continue to receive their 'youth treatments'. If those treatments end, your hold is broken. As I said before, if two people know a secret, it isn't a secret." "And why would their treatments end?" Bob's smirk had returned full force. "Your funding sources raised many questions. Most basic research is performed in Universities, funded by the government, both federal and state, and large foundations. They pay for the equipment, material and space and provide underpaid grad students as slave labor. They also perform oversight and require peer review, two things I believe that you would prefer to avoid. If you are not doing basic research, then it is usually product specific research, developing an idea into a marketable drug or treatment. This is generally funded by corporations, again with close oversight. They want regular progress reports and regular visits by the bean counters. You would likely object to so many eyes looking over your shoulder. If you eliminate those sources of funds, money gets pretty tight, even for a Nobel Laureate. That leaves private investors or paying for it out of your own pocket. You built the lab with the money from your Nobel Prize but needed additional funds to actually run it. Right now, the Wranglers pay you approximately three million a year to keep their players in tip top shape. In fact, you save them tens of millions in players' salaries. If I were you Doctor, I would hire a new agent and negotiate a better deal." "How do you know so much about my private financial affairs?" "A lot of it can be found in the public records, the Wranglers are a public corporation after all. Just because Skeeter Smith is the majority shareholder does not make it his team." "None of that proves anything." "Agreed Doctor, but what service could you be providing to the Wranglers that is worth three million dollars a year?" Amy angrily stares at him, but says nothing. "Never mind, I believe we all know the answer to that question. Your financial affairs are only circumstantial evidence of questionable activities. There is other evidence." "Such as?" "Again, as I said before Doctor, I don't know exactly how you transformed Josh Thomas into Honey Sweet-Lay, and I don't want to know, however I can make certain logical assumptions about your treatments. You are sitting on four, possibly five, of the largest commercial goldmines known to man. You could make Bill Gates and Warren Buffet look like middle income slobs." "What are you talking about?" "Doctor, you are not a fool. Let's take the least marketable use for your treatment first. One. You can turn a man into a fully functioning woman and probably the reverse. Sex Reassignment Surgery for both sexes just became obsolete. This should be worth millions on the open market. It would be worth much more if a person could safely switch back and forth. Two. You can restore youth to both men and women. Re-grow hair, restore virility, putting an end to most of the cosmetic surgery industry. Good bye Viagra, Cialis, botox, and Rogaine. This should be worth billions on the open market. Three. You grew a penis on a woman. If you can do this, then you should be able to enlarge breasts, fix noses, make people taller, thinner, blonder, pretty much change any physical feature of a person. This brings an end to the rest of the cosmetic surgery industry. Again, worth billions. A truly successful penis enlargement treatment by itself would be worth billions. Four. You should be able to cure some diseases, and control the symptoms of practically all other diseases. We are talking billions again. And lastly; Five. You are forty two calendar years old but physically nineteen to twenty three years old. How long can you keep the clock on hold? Taken to the extreme, you might be offering immortality. It is much too early to tell, but the possibility exists. How much would immortality be worth on the open market? You would be the richest person on the planet by a factor of a thousand." Bob paused, again looking straight at Amy. "You would have thought of these uses for your treatments and possibly others, yet none of these have happened yet. The logical conclusion is that there is something either illegal or unimaginably immoral about your process, either a step in the production or the raw materials or both. It isn't a question about rarity of materials or a complicated manufacturing process, that just makes each treatment more expensive and, heaven knows, there are plenty of rich people ready to pay for perpetual youth. Tell me I am wrong." Amy just glared at him, not wanting to reveal any information. "I am going to assume I am right or close to it. That means that you have something to lose if there is an investigation of your involvement with the Wranglers, ignoring what might happen if they found out about Honey." Bob shifted in his chair, stretching his legs a bit. He continued. "I still haven't dealt with Anthony's problems. For that I need to ask Honey some questions." Everyone looked at me. Up to now I had pretty much been able to hide in the corner of the couch but now had suddenly become the center of attention. Anthony perked up, seeming to recover some of his old swagger. "Honey doesn't know shit about anything." "Please, Anthony, Honey is a surprisingly observant and intelligent person." Amy snorted a laugh. Bob ignored her. "I know that you have little to no respect for athletes Doctor, but even an average professional quarterback has to have a very good memory, the ability to rapidly analyze changing situations and chose the best option available to maximize success. Josh Thomas was not an average professional quarterback but an outstanding one. He may have been a poor excuse for a human being, abusive, selfish, borderline alcoholic, and a misogynistic womanizer but he was not stupid. I have spoken at length with Honey and, despite the physical changes, the mental capabilities remain intact. If you will permit her to answer my questions honestly, without fear of punishment for speaking the truth, I believe you will find her responses interesting." Amy was looking at me with narrowed eyes, like she was reconsidering her opinion about me. "Fine. Honey, you can answer his questions honestly unless I tell you not to answer a particular question at all. I promise that neither I nor Anthony will punish you for your answers." "Wait a minute, you can't speak for me." I think Anthony was feeling a bit embarrassed, still tied to the chair and all. He had to say something. "OK. Anthony, do you agree to the same terms?" asked Bob. "Sure, as long as I can keep her from answering some questions too." "Fair enough" said Bob. "Keep in mind that she and I have been talking for weeks and I am not going to ask her a question that I don't already know the answer to. This is just to demonstrate what she knows." Bob scooted his chair closer to me. I tried to sink back into the couch. "Honey, I'll only ask you a few questions. Just answer them honestly and there will be no problems. They have promised not to punish you for your answers." "Please Bob, leave me out of this. I don't care what promises are made. Just leave me alone." "Honey, you will answer his questions or..." Bob raised a hand to silence Amy. He reached forward and gently took my hand in his. "Honey, it is important you answer these questions. You are involved in this situation and you must be part of the solution." What does he mean "solution"? Is there still some way out of this for me? I decide to cooperate. How much worse could it be? "OK, ask your questions." "How long have you worked at Anthony's club" "Over three years" "In all that time, have you and Anthony have ever been separated for more than a day?" "Not until I started spending Tuesday morning to Thursday morning with you." "What do you do at the club?" "You know what I do. Don't make me say it." "It's important, so please answer." "I dance for the customers but most of the time I'm just a whore." Amy was enjoying this. "How many other girls dance?" "On and off, about ten." "And how many of them use drugs?" Anthony started to object but Amy waived him quiet. I hadn't realized that Anthony was that frightened of her. I'd never seen them in conflict before. It occurred to me that maybe Amy's been mostly calling the shots all along. "Practically all of them use drugs, mainly coke." "Where do they get the drugs?" "I never told you who provided the drugs!" "I know. I have other sources for that information, besides everyone here already knows that Anthony provided the cocaine that was used to frame Josh Thomas." "Yeah, that's right. OK, Anthony provides the drugs most of the time but the girls also have other dealers." "Where does Anthony get the drugs?" I looked at Anthony but he made no move to object. "I think he gets most of his stuff from a guy called Ray Tombs." "Describe Mr. Tombs." "He's six foot two, two hundred ten pounds, mixed race white/Hispanic, about thirty years old, has several tattoos; tiger on the back of his neck, some kind of Chinese symbols on his bicep and a confederate flag on his ass." "How do you know about the tattoos?" "The same way I know he has a six inch cock." Bob actually blushed for a second. "Have you had uhh ... relations with many of Anthony's associates?" "I'm his primary fringe benefit. Anybody who has business with Anthony gets to fuck me for free, whenever they want. I do the beer guy, the paper supply guy, the health inspector, a couple of cops. It keeps his costs down for the reps to be able to stick their cocks in my pussy, ass or mouth for nothing." Bob was looking a little uncomfortable. I don't think he has a whole lot of experience with women like me ... wait, there are no other women like me. "So you could give a detailed description of practically anyone who does business with Anthony and describe their relationship with Anthony, legal or illegal?" "Probably." Bob released my hand and straightened up. "Honey has been with Anthony every day for over three years. She's seen and heard practically everything he has. She has seen everything that has gone on in the club and is uniquely positioned to give a detailed description of every one of his male associates." I correct him. "Some females too." "Really? You hadn't mentioned that. Either way, she knows more than enough to get Anthony put away for decades." I didn't like where this was going. "I would never say anything! Anthony, you know I would never say anything to anybody! I'd die first! You know that, don't you?" Bob looked at Anthony. "Is that true?" "Yeah, it's true. The bitch would never rat me out. She knows that I'd kill her." "You mean if Dr. Hanson would let you kill her, right?" Anthony glanced at Amy. "Yeah, yeah, if the Doc said it was OK." "That's because Honey actually belongs to Dr. Hanson, doesn't she? You are just her keeper, aren't you Anthony? Your club is her zoo cage and you are the zoo keeper, giving her a daily feeding of your semen." Anthony flexed his arms, trying to break the ties that held him in the chair but they wouldn't budge. "Yeah, that's right." "What would happen if Honey was arrested in a raid on the club and thrown in jail for, let's say, three days?" Just as before, Anthony appeared to be considering a possibility that had never entered his mind before. "She'd go nuts. Hell, after one day she would be horny enough to fuck anyone. After a day and a half, she'd be begging to be fucked." "Do you think she would tell the police what they wanted to know if someone agreed to have sex with her? Isn't that pretty much the same technique you and Dr. Hanson used to get her to tell you all she knew about me?" "That will never happen. That's why I pay for protection, that's why those cops get freebies with her." "That is true now Anthony, but things do change. A little bad local publicity forces a crackdown on drugs and prostitution, particularly during an election year. If a regular working girl gets arrested, she can do a little time standing on her head, but not Honey. She is an addict and there is only one source for her 'drug' of choice ... you. The addiction guarantees that she will never leave your side by choice but terrible things happen if she is separated from you for more than thirty six hours. Unfortunately, someone can give her temporary relief just by having sex with her, but it is only temporary. Can you imagine the number of cops who would line up to fuck her to keep her talking about all the dirt she knows about you and your drug connections. They could never use her as a witness, if only because she would probably be dead in forty eight hours, but she would tell them everything she knows before dying. She is every criminal's nightmare, an informed witness that you can not keep from talking to the cops if they get their hands on her. You have taken precautions to keep her out of the hands of the police, but you can not guarantee it. God help you if you fail." Bob looked back and forth between Amy and Anthony. "Am I wrong? " Neither one said anything. Anthony started to say something but shut up. Bob began again. "So here we sit. Dr. Hanson is facing the likelihood of being outed as the source of the Wrangler's recent success by using probably illegal treatments and Anthony being forced to keep the best possible witness against him close-by twenty four hours a day, where she just keeps gathering more harmful information about him." Amy shook herself out of the funk that had fallen over her. "What about you? My sources said you are a retired shoe salesman but that is clearly crap. Who are you? Why are you here? Why are you telling me this? Why do you even care?" Bob again shifted in his chair, stretching both legs this time. I think they might be starting to cramp up. "Let's just say that I used to work for the Federal government. My services were required when they wanted a quiet, untraceable, final solution to certain problems with a particular person. I was a trouble shooter, so to speak." "Why the need for the secret identity?" "I actually have several identities. 'Bob James' is just the one I chose for this particular trip. Billy Joe knows me as 'Richard Johnson', a firearms dealer. All of these legends were useful during my working days so I kept them in retirement, just in case." "What is a 'legend'?" "Oh, I am sorry Doctor. I did not mean to confuse anyone. 'Legend' is a term of art, what my profession calls an alternate identity with a full history and records stretching back many years. It is what you tried to create for Honey after she stopped being Josh Thomas. Unfortunately for you, it was a half-assed job. A new driver's license and Social Security card? I took me about ten minutes to figure that out. Actually, that was the first thing that piqued my interest when I checked out Honey's background." Amy was starting to show some anger again. No one calls anything she does "half-assed". "And why were you checking out Honey and involving yourself in my business?" "That's an interesting story Doctor, full of coincidence and fate. You have probably noticed that I can't really stop moving in this chair." "Yes, you appear to be suffering from some involuntary muscle movements, painful I hope." Bob smiled at that comment. "Yes, Doctor, quite painful at times. I suffer from Multiple Sclerosis, MS for short. It is an incurable, crippling but not usually fatal disease. I have the relapsing-remitting form, which means good periods and then it comes back on the attack again. It is a gradual, stair-step decline in my health. Since it attacks the brain, I could lose any of my faculties at any time, sight, speech, mobility, balance, anything. MS forced me into early retirement from my government position, though to be honest, I had grown tired of the work anyway. I have no living family and never been married, so what does a man facing almost certain crippling disability alone do? I decided to look for a loyal companion to assist me as my health declined. I could just hire someone, but I was looking for a relationship beyond employee/employer. I wanted someone who would feel a certain sense of obligation to me, that they owed me something, and of course, it wouldn't hurt if that person was a young attractive woman." Amy frowned at that while Anthony smiled. Typical men. "So what you were looking for was a sex toy?" "No, Doctor. That was one of the first faculties MS stole from me. I could manage an erection on a good day, but I am pretty much impotent. It doesn't mean that I can't appreciate a beautiful woman, I just can't do much more." Well that explains a lot! Why the hell didn't he tell me this sooner? I'd have understood, we could have cuddled or something. Why are men so emotionally attached to their cocks? "I had done a lot of distasteful things in my old profession, so I decided to save some poor, unfortunate, desperate girl from a life of degradation and pain. Balance the scales a bit; get some good karma, if you will. I planned to check out the local dives and red light districts, find a girl with the skill set I needed or one who could learn those skills and then buy their freedom from their pimp/manager. I would do this with her agreement, of course and she would be paid a very good wage, but I would hope the girl would have some gratitude towards me due to the rescue from her terrible situation, with more loyalty towards me than just another employer. I have been looking for the last nine months and Honey was the best candidate, by far. I should really congratulate you Doctor, I have never seen a more desperate and distressed person before in my life." Bob paused and bowed his head slightly towards Amy. She acknowledged him with a similar bow of her head. "I contacted Anthony and made arrangements to spend two days per week with Honey at my home as a trial run. He did not know what I was planning, but was paid very handsomely for her time. He declined my offer at first, for obvious reasons, but when he came up with the idea of packaging his semen and calling it her medicine, the problem was solved, at least from his standpoint. I, on the other hand, was extremely curious as to why she needed medication. I could hardly hire someone to help me as my health worsened who had her own serious health problems. Instead of sending Honey to a medical exam, I started with having her 'medicine' analyzed. You can imagine my surprise to find out exactly what was in those bottles. I decided to bide my time and let the situation play out. Honey turned out to be a surprisingly good cook and housekeeper. She also had an amazing amount of knowledge about sports, cars and other 'male' subjects. There was nothing too unusual about that. Interests vary widely among people of the same sex. Honey, on the other hand, had very clear memories of events that happened before 'she' was ever 'born'. Honey has had no real, extended contact with any other human beings, other than Anthony, you Dr. Hanson and the other dancers at the club, since her transformation. Her interaction with the other dancers was pretty much limited to work subjects like costumes, routines, music, make-up, drugs, what bastards men are and sex, so her uncommon knowledge of older events rarely came up. She never had to hide her true nature from either Anthony or you. In short, she had no practice being Honey Sweet-Lay. That meant that all sorts of inconsistencies popped up whenever I spoke with her for more than twenty minutes. The more time I spent with her, the clearer it became that, while she looked like a beautiful seventeen to eighteen year old girl, something was just not right. That's when I decided to question her about these inconsistencies and I'm sure that she has told you the rest. I used some mild torture techniques and you probably used some similar but much stronger techniques, all based on denying her access to Anthony's semen." Bob paused and looked around the room. "I am thirsty from all this talking. Would anyone care for a drink now?" Anthony shrugged. "Fat lot a good it would do me." "If you promise to behave Anthony, I will release you." Anthony glanced at Amy and then looked at Bob. "OK. You let me go and I won't cause any trouble. You've still got the gun." "Quite true. That is acceptable. Honey, please go into the kitchen and make a pitcher of lemonade while I cut Anthony free." I wouldn't trust Anthony as far as I could throw him, but this was Bob's show. I went into the kitchen and made a pitcher of instant lemonade. When I came out with the pitcher and three glasses, Bob had just finished freeing Anthony's hand and one arm using some blunt wire cutters to cut the ties. He gave the cutters to Anthony. "I believe you can finish the job yourself Anthony. Honey, you need one more glass. Everybody should have a drink." I went to the kitchen, picked up one more glass and returned to the living room. Anthony was just finishing with the straps. "Honey, please pour everyone a drink and have one yourself" said Bob. I poured four glasses of lemonade and then handed them around. Both Amy and Anthony eyed them suspiciously, but Bob took a big drink. I sat back on the couch. "Where was I? Oh yes, the discovery of Honey's true past. Once I found out that she was transformed by Dr. Hanson, the reason for that transformation and the unbelievably abusive treatment she has endured in the last three years, it was clear that Dr. Hanson was never going to release her to me or anybody else. She existed purely for Dr. Hanson's eternal quest for vengeance. My search would have to continue." Amy seemed confused. Angry and confused. "First, this is not vengeance, it is JUSTICE! That self-centered, egomaniacal moron RAPED ME! He walked away without punishment of any kind. And his treatment of me was no different than his treatment of practically every woman he ever encountered! Women do not have to put up with this any more. I had the power to make sure that Josh Thomas would never hurt an innocent woman again and I used that power. Thomas will never rape another woman and is learning in a direct and unique way the consequences for that kind of behavior. You are in no position to pass judgment on me! We still do not know who and what the hell you are and what you want!" Bob crossed his arms and just sat for a moment, looking at the floor. Amy was straining forward, barely staying on the couch. Bob sighed. "Doctor, we can debate the issue of the justification of your treatment of Josh Thomas and if he has suffered enough but that would be a waste of both our time so I will move on to your questions. I am never going to tell you my real name. You can accept me as 'Bob James' or not, I do not care. There is nothing you can do to me that will compel me to reveal my true identity. As for what I am, I assume you are not asking if I am male or a human, but what I did for a living before I retired. Trust me when I say that you would not believe me if I told you." "I am sick and tired of this superior attitude. I want an answer to my question NOW!" Bob's smirk returned full force. "I was an assassin." "WHAT?" "An assassin. A hit man. A killer for hire. I was one of a small group of experts employed by the US government to kill people that they decided they would prefer not to be alive." "You were no such thing!" Bob shrugged. "Told you so." "You do not look anything like an assassin! You're a complete blank, a nonentity, unremarkable in any way. Your picture should appear in the dictionary as the definition of 'average'!" "In other words, the perfect assassin. None of us look or act like 'James Bond', Doctor. An assassin wants to blend in, go unnoticed both before and after the kill. The more invisible, the better. You are mistaking an assassin for 'muscle'. Anthony is the prototypical example of 'muscle'. His mere presence conveys the threat of harm. Do what he says or else. Occasionally he will need to hurt someone in a very visible way to maintain that reputation. It may even be necessary for him to kill somebody, but everyone must know about it, or at least suspect it, so that his reputation as someone not to fuck with is enhanced. 'Muscle' is deterrence, to prevent problems from happening. You call for an assassin when you want the job done quietly, without a trace, no links back to you, no fingerprints." Amy was no longer leaning toward Bob, but sitting at the very back of the couch, creating as much space between them as possible. Anthony had also sat back as far as he could. "I find it extremely hard to believe that you are some kind of super spy. Why would you even admit to that?" "Again Doctor, you are confusing job descriptions. An assassin does need some of the skills of a spy to be successful, but my primary job was to get in, kill and get out alive, while not leaving any trace of my presence. As for my willingness to admit this to you, I said before, I do not care if you believe me. It is not my job to persuade you that I am telling the truth. You asked the question and I have answered it. You may do what you wish with the information. It really does not matter anyway because I will not be in town much longer. Which brings me to your last question, what do I want?" "Here it comes" muttered Anthony. "How much?" "Nothing." "You want something other than money?" asked Amy. "I want nothing from both you and Anthony. To be more specific, I want you both to do nothing." "What are you talking about?" "When I discovered the truth about Honey, I had two choices. I could simply disappear, leave town, close the bank accounts, pack up the house and slink off into the night without a trace. I am very good at that. However, if I did just disappear, Honey would have taken the blame for me discovering her secret. You would have none of the information produced by this meeting and would have punished her severely out of fear and anger. So I chose option number two, to meet with you and Anthony, explain what happened and to make it clear that this problem, the revelation of Honey's origins, and all the future problems that are about to hit you like a ton of bricks are of your own making due to incompetence and a lack of foresight and that Honey is not to blame for any of it. When I say I want nothing, what I mean is that I want you to do nothing to Honey, to not punish her." "And what if I decide to ignore your impertinent request and make Honey pay through the nose for the next decade? What will you do about it?" "I will do nothing." My heart actually stops. I can't breath. What has Bob done to me? He's got Amy totally pissed-off and now he is leaving with me left holding the bag. I don't know how my life could get any worse, but I know Amy will spend every waking moment making sure it does. "I don't think you have a decade Doctor. I've already explained what is likely to happen in the next eighteen to twenty four months. How you treat Honey is your business but your more immediate concern should be taking the steps to avoid the onrushing train. There are things you could do that might save both yourself and Anthony, no guarantees of course, but they could certainly improve your chances. I will be leaving town in the next day or two. I wo