Severance Pay (Chapters 31 Through 36 Of 78) free porn video

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE We went back to Gretchen's room after delivering the cookies all around the compound, even the Security Center. When I was a cop, I maintained that a person could get into any special event if they carried a bag of ice on their shoulder. If you carried two, they'd open the doors for you. If you wanted to get into an office building, a hard hat and clipboard would usually do the trick. Those scams have nothing over two cute girls and a bunch of hot cookies. Or maybe that's two hot girls and a bunch of cute cookies. Guess it depends on your audience. Either way, I got a second look at everything I saw before and managed to pick up some things I missed the first time, like multiple emergency back up generators. The more I see, the more impossible the job seems. There's just no way to sneak around this place without being observed. Even if I could, everything is completely locked down. We're sitting together on Gretchen's bed, looking through some "Style" magazines I'd brought with me. I'm not actually reading anything, I'm mentally reviewing that image, making sure I don't forget part of it. I can't afford to write anything down now, I'll have to wait until I get home ... which needs to be sooner than later, but I can't just bolt. "Patty ... are you okay?" asks Gretchen. "Sure, why not?" "Well, you haven't said much in awhile." "I've just been thinking about all the stuff I've got to get done at home before school on Monday. I probably should split pretty soon." "You're not bored are you?" "No, are you?" She puts down her magazine and takes my hands in hers. "I've never had a better weekend in my life." "Come on Gretch, we just hung out, did a little baking, nothing special." "It may not seem special to you, but it was to me. Other girls may get to do stuff like this all the time, but I don't. I've dreamed about having a friend come over ... and it finally happened. It's been everything I hoped it would be." "Jeez Gretch, pressure much? We'll get more chances, don't worry. I think it all went well. Your dad didn't seem to have any problems with me being here." "I think he actually enjoyed it, which really surprised me." "What, I'm not likable?" "NO! I mean yes, you're likable ... you're very likeable ... maybe even ... lovable?" "I wouldn't go that far." "I would." She lets go of my hands and then hugs me, her elbows pressing into the sides of my chest, her arms running up my back, hands on my shoulder blades, pulling me into her chest, hanging on to me as if she was afraid I was about to disappear. I think she may be crying. I return her hug but not nearly as intensely, patting her back. "Hey ... hey ... Gretchen ... it's okay ... it's okay. We had a lot of fun. I had a lot of fun. We'll have more fun next weekend when we kick ass on the basketball court, right?" She sighs deeply. "Yeah, we will." I gently pull away from her hug. "Good. Now, I really need to book. Mom's got to review my homework and I've got to get supper started." She reluctantly lets go, then rubs the tears from her eyes. "How do you find the time to do all the stuff you do? I never seem to have time to get my schoolwork done and I don't have to do a tenth you do." I slide off the bed and scoop up my bag. "It's just what I'm used to doing. All in the scheduling. When you get to come to my house, you'll see for yourself." I wink at her. "You may not want me as a friend after that." She smiles, then laughs. "You don't think I can do it, do you?" "We'll see, real soon." "I sure as hell hope so." I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Gotta go. See you tomorrow morning." She jumps off the bed and grabs my arm. "I'll see you out, okay?" "Sure. It's a big place ... I may get lost." We walk down the hall, bumping up against each other while she keeps a death grip on my arm, giggling the entire time. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, Hobbes is waiting for us and Henry's manning the front door. Someone must have been listening and gave him a heads up. This place is security to the max. Bet the only place not monitored is his office ... and the top floor of the Security Center. "Ahh, Ms. Conner, all packed I see." "Yes, Sir. I appreciate you letting me visit this weekend. It was a lot of fun but I've got to get home and get to work." "We enjoyed having you here. Perhaps you could come again next weekend? I would like for you to meet Enrique." The mysterious Enrique. Yes, I'd definitely like to meet him. "I'll ask my Mom. I don't know of anything we're supposed to do but I can't do this every weekend. I usually get a lot of stuff done around the house on Saturdays and Sundays. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, things that I can't get done during the week." "I understand, Patricia." I walk over to the scanner and drop my bag on the belt. Henry starts to reach for it but Hobbes calls him off. "That won't be necessary, Henry" "I'd prefer that he did" I say. "There is no reason." "Could we talk for a moment ... in private?" Hobbes looks confused. "Certainly" he says and leads me back to his office. He shuts the door but neither of us sit down. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but I really think it's in my best interest that I get scanned coming AND going." "And why is that, Patricia?" "No offense, Mr. Hobbes, but we both know what you do for a living." He starts to say something then stops. I continue. "People who do what you do, they don't normally retire like average people do. Sooner or later, it ends ... badly." I pause, waiting for his reaction. He seems to be tense but under control. "Go on," he says. "If something bad happens while I'm around ... let's face it, I'm gonna be suspect number one. Everybody else is either family or a partner or a long time employee or a person you've known for years. I'm the new girl, the unknown, and I'm the one who's getting blamed. That's the risk that I'm taking when I come here to visit Gretchen, that's why I'd rather do this at my house, why my mom's so afraid. The best protection I've got is for me to be scanned and watched as closely as possible. That's why I don't care about all the cameras and the bugs, they'll help protect me when all hell breaks lose ... and we both know that, sooner or later, all hell will break lose. No matter what you do, eventually, their gonna get you, they always do." "Maybe I'm the exception to the rule." "Maybe you are, and more power to you, but the odds aren't good. Either the cops get you or one of your competitors do. In order to avoid trouble, you've got to win all the time. They win once ... you're in deep doo doo. Nobody wins all the time. Like I said, sooner or later. I just don't want to be caught up in the mess. So you'll be doing me a big favor be letting Henry do his job." I step closer to him and drop my voice. "I didn't want to say any of this in front of Gretchen because I didn't want to worry her. It's not something she should have to deal with." To Hobbes' credit, he doesn't react right away. It's clear he didn't like what I had to say, but he's thinking about it. Eventually he walks past me, reaching for the door knob. "A very sensible argument Ms. Conner. You're request will be granted." He opens the door and steps aside to let me leave. As I walk by him, he reaches out, gently touching my left shoulder. I stop and look up at him. He still appears to be upset. "I appreciate your honesty, Patricia. It is a rare commodity." "You're welcome, Mr. Hobbes." * * * *** * * * *** * * * I keep reviewing the image as I ride home. It still feels clear in my mind, whatever the heck it is. Mom's car is in the driveway as I pull up to the house. I sprint to the back door, unlock it, and burst into the kitchen. Mom's there, stirring a pot. "Patricia! My God, you scared me to death! Are you okay?! I've been worrying ever since you left Friday! Thank God, you're home! How are ..." "I'm fine, Mom. I need a big piece of paper ... right now." "Paper? Why do you need paper? What happened at that terrible place?" "I'll explain later. Right now, I need to write something down while it's clear in my mind. Do we have any big sheets of paper?" "How big?" "Two feet by two feet maybe, something like that?" She looks around the kitchen and picks up a roll of wax paper. "How about this?" "Good size put wrong surface." "Of course, you're right." She looks around again, smiles, and hurries back to the utility room returning with a large white paper shopping bag from the recycling tub. Opening a drawer, she pulls out a pair of scissors and starts to cut the seams of the bag. In seconds, she has a large, irregular sheet of heavy white paper with several creases in it but it'll do. "Great! Perfect! You're a genius, Mom!" I open another drawer and grab a handful of pens and pencils. Sorting through them until I find a good sharp pencil. Laying the paper on the kitchen table, I sit down, smooth out the creases and start drawing. I can feel Mom hovering over my shoulder. "What is it? Some kind of blue print or lay out of the house?" "No, it's the reflected image off Hobbes' computer screen. I only saw it for a few seconds before he switched it off. It may be a spread sheet but it could be something else. I just need an hour or so to recreate it and we'll see what it is." She leans down, her head practically resting on my shoulder as I return to work. "Do you think it's important?" "I don't know, Mom. It could be nothing. His security's so tight, I'll take scraps. Give me a little time." "Sure, honey." She stands up and moves away. I hear her rattling around in the cupboards and then the gurgle of liquid pouring. She's back hanging onto my shoulder in seconds accompanied by the distracting smell of coffee. I didn't have any while at Gretchen's and I missed it ... a lot. She reaches down and points to a block of backward numbers. "Are those supposed to be account numbers?" "Mother! Please! Let me do this! I don't want to start interpreting until I'm finished. If I start guessing while I'm drawing, it my influence what I draw. I just want to recreate what I saw as best I can." She backs off. "Sorry ... Patricia." Great. I've upset her. I'll deal with it later. Right now, I'm going to do my best imitation of a human Xerox machine. Ultimately, it takes longer than I hoped. After two hours and several pencils, I'm getting close to the end. Mom had walked out of the room after I snapped at her but she couldn't stay away for long. At least she was quiet when she came back. A few final strokes to complete the crosshatch shading of the header and I lay down the pencil, taking a deep breath and rubbing my fingers, working out the stiffness. Mom returns to her spot behind me. "May I look?" "Sure. Knock yourself out." She says nothing for a few seconds, then reaches down to rub my neck. "I have no idea what it says, Patricia." I reach up, covering her hand with mine. "Neither do I. Let's take it to the bathroom mirror." Carefully grasping the upper corners, I stand up and lift the paper off the table, keeping it stretched out. It probably wouldn't smear but I'm not taking any chances. Mom leads the way, opening doors and holding them for me as I walk through. When we finally reach the bathroom, the picture is facing me, not the mirror. I hold one edge out. "You take this edge, Mom, then I'll walk around in front of you, switching it around. Don't stretch it until I get in place." "Okay, sweetheart." She takes the corner from me and I edge past her, it's a small bathroom but a big mirror behind side by side sinks. Once I get past her, I turn to face the mirror. "Ready?" she asks. "Let's do it." We lift the picture up and slowly pull in opposite directions until it's straight and flat. This is what I saw, but now I can read it. Oh. My. GAWD!!! * * * *** * * * *** * * * "EVERYTHING?" "I can't be sure. Certainly it's the majority of the U.S." Patricia's legs actually buckled when she first looked at the picture. All I saw was a big spreadsheet with lots of numbers but she must have known what it was almost instantly. She fell back against the wall behind her, almost dropping her corner, but she caught herself. We ended up taping the picture to the wall behind us and then leaning into the mirror to read it. "Why just the U.S.?" I ask "I don't know. There might have been a page two. Or three. My Gawd, what if there was a page three?" "What are you saying?" "Well ... there's going to be product in the pipeline, plus at the manufacturing sites. Plus, he's also in Europe." "How do you know that?" "Because Raul has specialty meats you can't get in the U.S. shipped back after deliveries in Europe." "Who is Raul?" "Hobbes' chef, a really nice guy. He showed me how to make this roux, it was HEAVENLY! And so simple! It'll be great with chicken and ..." "Patricia ... the drugs." "Right, sorry. So, this is just what's ready for distribution here in the United States." I point to a column of figures. "Are these pounds?" "You're off by a factor of three." "Thousands of pounds?! Then this means ..." Patricia reaches out with a toothbrush, touching different areas of the mirror. "Cocaine. Meth. Marijuana, though that may be tons. Heroin. I'm not sure about this row, it might by Oxy." "How many locations?" She quickly runs the toothbrush across the mirror. "Eleven." "So this is worth ... " "Over nine hundred million, maybe closer to a billion." "And we know where it all is?" "Pretty much. There aren't any actual addresses but it has cities and business names. Assuming there's only one facility in each town, we can locate it." I feel a bit faint myself, almost falling back into the picture, forgetting for a moment it's actually behind me. Patty grabs me before I make contact. "Are you okay, Mom?" "Oh heavens yes my baby! We're finally finished! We've got him! Well, you got him and I couldn't be prouder! We get this information to Daniel and we can go home!" "I'm not so sure about that, Mom." "What do you mean? This is exactly what we need. The police raid the buildings, arrest all the gang members, some of them take deals, testify against Hobbes and he goes to jail for the rest of his life. If we're lucky, maybe some one will know about what happened to my Robert and darling Alisha, then Hobbes can go to the gas chamber. We've won!" Patricia steps away from me, turns and walks out of the bathroom. "What's wrong?" I ask as I follow her back to the kitchen. "What's wrong?" She sits down, putting her head in her hands for a moment, then looks up at me, her hands trailing down either side of her face. "Look Mom, it's like this. I've been thinking about it for some time. I don't see how Lipscomb can use anything I find. I'm never gonna be able to testify in court. He can't explain to a judge about me, so how can I be a reliable source to justify a search warrant? Even if he's got a tame federal judge out there, without my testimony, the evidence gets tossed at trial. I just don't see how he's gonna do it." I sit down at the table opposite her. "That's not our problem Patty ... it's his. He's the lawyer, he's the expert. We've done our job, now it's his turn to do his." "I've been doing some reading about that and the rules are pretty clear about what it takes to make the evidence admissible. There's just no way. There's also all the damage this is going to do. What about Gretchen? She hasn't done anything wrong ... this'll destroy her, particularly when she finds out I did it." "I'm sorry, but I don't care about Hobbes' daughter. He obviously didn't care or he wouldn't have gotten into this business in the first place. What about my daughter? Killed by his hoodlums, they go free and she's dead! Dead! I vowed to make him pay one day and that day is now!" "Let me think about this for a little bit, okay? Don't tell Lipscomb right away. I need to find addresses for all the locations anyway." "We're going to met him Tuesday after work at Matthews' office. What are you planning to tell him then?" "I don't know yet; just let me think about it. There maybe another way to do this. We can afford to take our time and get this right. Please, Mom, give me a chance to think of something." The look on her face is heartbreaking, how can I say no? She's gone through so much, I guess she's entitled to a little time. However, I will not let this opportunity get away. "Okay, Patricia. You can have a week, then I tell Daniel about this." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Mom's not going to give me one second more than a week. She wants Hobbes bad and doesn't care who else gets hurt. Obviously, there was going to be some fall out if we caught Hobbes but this whole thing was a fluke. You don't get this kind of intel the first shot out of the box. I'd hoped that I'd have the time to figure out a way to safely use any information I discovered but now I'm out of time. Well, I've got a week. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO Patty's waiting for me on the court Monday right after lunch. She told me to eat light. I hope we aren't doing a bunch of running. Terri's also with her. As soon as she sees me, she waves me in, so I hurry over to where they're standing under the basket. She passes the ball to me when I get close. "Hey, Gretch. I asked Terri to help us, she's on the school team. We're gonna keep this simple. Basketball is all about physics. Once you figure out the physics, it's a piece of cake. For example." She pulls a laser pointer from the pocket of her shorts and shines it on the backboard, making a small red dot appear on the left corner of the box painted on the backboard right above the rim. "You hit that spot with the ball, it's going in the basket." She shoots the ball, squarely hitting the spot she had pointed out. The ball bounces off the backboard and crisply through the net. "It doesn't have any choice, physics dictates the outcome every time. You hit that spot, it's two points. Simple. We don't have time to teach a whole lot but if you can learn to hit a lay up and catch a bounce pass, we can beat those guys." "Don't we have to have a bunch of plays or something?" "We'll need just one play, the pick and roll. John Stockton and Karl Malone are in the Hall of Fame because of that single play. They knew every variation there was. We just need to practice a couple. Nobody in those games have organized plays anyway, it's alley ball. An actual, honest to God play is as common as Haley's Comet." "What about defense?" "We'll need to work on that too, but if you get the ball and score, you get the ball back. As long as we keep scoring, we never play defense." "Yeah, but Riley's like 6' 6", he block's shots all the time. I can't shoot over him, and if I can't, you sure as heck can't." "Don't worry about it Gretch, physics will win out. Issac Newton would have made a great ball player. When you get open, I'll put the ball right in your hands. All you have to worry about is hitting lay ups, wide open lay ups." She tosses me the ball. "Let's start on that now. Just stand there and hit the spot on the backboard. Terri and I'll rebound." I felt kinda stupid, just standing three feet from the basket, shooting the ball at a point on the backboard, though Patty was right, if I hit the spot, the ball went right in the basket. I must have shot a hundred times, Patty and Terri chasing down the ones I missed, though I didn't miss many toward the end. Then Patty had me take a couple of steps and jump as I shot the ball. This was harder, but I got the hang of it pretty quickly and managed to hit twenty in a row, though my legs got a little tired towards the end. "Okay" Patty said. "That's enough for today. Tomorrow, we work on you catching a pass as you get to the basket and then the pick and roll. By the end of Friday, we'll be ready, I promise. Go change clothes and I'll be right behind you." As I trot off to the locker room, I'm feeling more confident than I did at the start. We may be able to do this. * * * *** * * * *** * * * "What do you think, Terri?" "She learns quick enough. I didn't realize she was so athletic, I'd never seen her do much in gym." "I know, she just needed a little prodding and some coaching. She'll be okay as long as she doesn't panic." "I don't know, a 6' 6" guy, is he any good?" "Yeah, he is." "Good looking?" "A blonde babe magnet." "Ooooo ... sure you don't want to play three on three? I can make the time." "You're a bit of a slut Terri, you know that?" "Am not. I've just got ... healthy appetites, that's all." "You've got appetites, that's for sure. She won't have to worry about his defense too much. The guy plays on her father's team. He may push around the other guys, but he'll be too afraid to knock Gretchen around, daddy may not like." "And her daddy may do something about it." "Exactly. He'll be too worried about his own his own skin, at least at first, to play rough. They may switch off and Gretchen's dad covers her, which is fine by me." "A 6' 6" guy guarding you?" "I'll run him into the ground." "Oh, I just thought of something. Do they play shirts and skins?" "Yeah?" "So what's his abs ..." "Like iron plates." "You know, three on three is a much more interesting game. I could ..." "Down girl." * * * *** * * * *** * * * I've decided what I'm going to tell Lipscomb about the Hobbes compound, but am still up in the air about the spreadsheet. It's a break that's not likely to be duplicated, but the storage sites aren't going to change any time soon, he's got too much invested in the locations. I went online and came up with addresses and pictures, both street level and overhead. Each one is an active warehouse with a customs section, all near the coasts or the Mexican border, some within a mile or two of the border. The particular inventory in each place will move out and get sold, but there's always more drugs coming in. They can raid them anytime and get hundreds of millions of dollars of drugs, so we don't really lose anything by waiting. There's got to be an ideal way to use this information, one that causes the least amount of harm to innocent people. I'm really tired of destroying everybody's lives when we finally bust the bad guys. I need to find a better way. When we walk into Dr. Matthews' office, Lipscomb is already there, as usual, drinking a cup of coffee. "Hail the conquering heroine! I hope you have good news for me." Mom and I sit down. "What do you want to hear first, the bad news ... or the terrible news?" I ask. Lipscomb frowns. "Shouldn't that be bad news and good news?" "Sorry, not a lot of good news, mostly just bad and terrible." "Then I'll take the little good news." "I'm invited back for next weekend." "That's it?" "Pretty much. The bad news is the place is a security fortress. Cameras, sensors, biomechanical security on all physical file cabinets, all computers and files encrypted. Lots of guards who know their stuff. Weekly bug sweeps. Everything and everyone who enters the place gets scanned. The White House could learn a thing or two from these guys." "And the terrible news?" "Their head of security wasn't even there, he'd been gone for at least two weeks dealing with some problem in Los Angeles, so they had probably gotten a little lax. He's back tomorrow. Things should get back to normal real soon. Oh, by the way, does the name Enrique Cardoza ring a bell?" "No, can't say it does." "He's the security guy and second in command. My briefing didn't mention him at all. I'll probably be meeting him next weekend. It would have been nice to know something about him ... anything at all." "Peter, I told you up front that there were gaps in our knowledge about Hobbes' operation. I had no reason to hide anything from you, we all want success here." He looked over at Mother. "We all have our reasons for that." All this time, she hadn't said a word, not even "Hello". She doesn't look particularly comfortable right now. I hope she's not changed her mind. "It's not completely hopeless Lipscomb. I think I made a good impression and most of them either like or tolerate me. If I can get past Cardoza, there's a chance I can find out some stuff that can be useful. It may be a long shot but ..." "We know where he keeps all his drugs" Mom blurts out. "WHAT?!" Daniel shouts. I stare at her. Betrayed by my own mother. We had a deal. She looks back at me, pleadingly. "I'm sorry Patricia; I can't miss this chance to take Hobbes down. He destroyed my life, he's got to pay for that. If things are as bad as you say they are, this may be our only opportunity. It's a gift from God." "Will someone tell me what is going on?" asks Lipscomb. Mom looks at me but it's her show now. "You wanted to tell him, go on then, tell him." "Patricia, don't be like that. It's what's best for all of us." I'm not buying that, not now. She's on her own. I sit there, arms crossed, gazing at the wall next to me. "Very well. Patricia happened to get a look at a picture from a computer monitor reflected in the glass of a photo. She quickly memorized it and, when she got home, recreated it. We looked at it using the bathroom mirror to turn the image back around and discovered it was a list of Hobbes' inventory in the United State, including locations. Patricia thinks there may be a billion dollars worth of drugs, adding it all together. It's all there, waiting for you to pick it up." "Where's this picture?" "Back home, hidden." I'm not looking at him, but I feel Lipscomb getting closer to me. "And when were you going to tell me about this, Peter?" "Probably ... never." "Why not?" "Because you can't use it. And if you try, we're all dead." "How's that?" I turn towards him. "You can't get a warrant because I'm not 'a reliable source', I'm a freak, whose existence must stay a closely guarded secret or we all go to jail. Even if you could manage to get a warrant, the drugs would eventually be tossed at trial as fruit of the poisonous tree and Hobbes goes free." "Let me deal with the legal issues, that's what I'm trained to do." "Fine. Explain to me how you plan to do this ... legally." He looks a little nervous, which is unusual. He never looks nervous. "I'd rather not reveal those plans at this time, but I assure you, I have it under control." "I don't think you do, Lipscomb, but let's assume I'm wrong. Let's assume you manage to talk your bosses into going ahead with this, your office makes a request for search warrants, the judge grants the eleven warrants for searches over six states, you contact the necessary agencies, the FBI, DEA, local police, get everything organized and raid the warehouses ... you know what you'll find?" "What will I find, Peter?" "Nooothinnngg. Hobbes has got people on his payroll at each and every step along that process. He's got people in the DOJ, the Judge's office, the FBI, the DEA, the local cops, everywhere. By the time the last guy informs Hobbes what's going down, he'll be politely told that the problem's already been taken care of. Every place will be empty of drugs, cleaned up spic and span. And after this all blows up in your face, Hobbes will come looking for the leak. We ALL end up dead, probably tortured first, then killed, our bodies never found." Lipscomb appears to at least be thinking about what I said. He's looking down at the table, slowly tapping his fingers on its surface. He finally looks up. "Peter makes some valid points, Jessica." "NO! YOU CAN"T BE SERIOUS?! Daniel, this is our chance! We've got to strike NOW! We may never ..." Lipscomb raises his hand and Mom falls silent but seething with anger. "Hear me out, Jessica. Peter is quite correct about the corruption within the system. I raised the same points with my superiors in putting this team together. Bribery is rampant; you have no idea who you can trust. An operation that large would surely get back to Hobbes at its earliest stages. We could never move fast enough. Odd as it may be, this information is too big to move on." "Then go after only a few places! Do SOMETHING Daniel!" "To what end, Jessica? We make a few, possibly spectacular, busts but we don't substantially hurt his operation. Hobbes' involvement is likely shielded by a convoluted ownership history and we've revealed the existence of a leak, bringing unwanted attention to bear on Peter. This information is too great to safely pursue but too small to provide a killing blow to Hobbes and his organization. We're stymied." Mom looks completely defeated. I almost feel sorry for her but she's the one who broke our deal. However, there may be a bone I can throw her. "Lipscomb ... about that killing blow. Hobbes has an advanced computer system, totally up to date security wise, both physically and electronically. He keeps everything on it, and I do mean everything. It probably has records concerning pay offs, his total inventories across the world, manufacturing records, the works. If I could get to that, you'd have all the evidence you'd need. I still can't see how you're getting it in front of a jury, but, at least you'd know who you can and can't deal with, probably give you names of guys who you can flip to testify against him. It may take me a while to figure out a way to do it, but it's worth a shot. I mean, I'm already inside, no reason not to try, right?" His eyes light up. "Now, that's what I'm talking about! I don't recall computer hacking as a skill listed on your resume, Peter." "Peter Harris didn't know squat about hacking, but Patricia Conner knows quite a bit and plans to learn a whole lot more." He rubs his hands together rapidly. "Very good. The computer system is our new objective. Contact me if you need assistance or equipment ... and please keep me informed of progress. While I agree with your opinion about the usefulness of the inventory information, I insist on being told about this type of intelligence in the future. I have people I must answer to and both my life and career are on the line here as well as yours. I will not be kept in the dark. Do you understand, Peter?" "Yeah, I got it, but let's keep these meetings to a minimum. Every one is a potential security breach. I can't afford to be linked with you in any way." "Fair enough. We can continue to use the dead drop system. Is that acceptable Jessica?" She just nods dully, all the fight sucked out of her. Serves her right. I stand up. "If there's nothing else, I've got homework to do." Lipscomb also stands. "One last thing. I want that computer image." I'm instantly suspicious. "Why? We both agreed we can't use it. What can you do with it?" "Likely nothing, but I may be able to pull additional information from it, you never know." I don't trust him, not at all. My gut is screaming at me to keep it away from him ... and I don't know why. It's a reasonable request, he's part of the team after all. "You know, if this gets out, Lipscomb, I could end up dead real quick." He smiles. "But not before telling Hobbes all about me, right?" "Absolutely." "Then I better take very good care of it." He's got me. "You can have a copy, I'm keeping the original." "That's a reasonable compromise." I walk out the door, heading directly for the car. I hear the office door open and close behind me, so Mom is probably following, but I'm not going to look back. The lock on the car door clicks, so I open it and sit in the front passenger seat, eyes forward. The drivers' side door opens and closes. It's Mom, I smell her perfume. "Patricia ... I was just doing what I thought was best for all ..." I keep my eyes straight ahead. "Mother. I'm not talking to you now. I don't know when I will." * * * *** * * * *** * * * It took me much longer to resolve the disputes in Los Angeles but it was time well spent. My personal relationships with both gangs are stronger. Right now, as far as they are concerned, Enrique Cardoza is the face of our cartel. When it comes time for Hobbes to go, the transition should be seamless. That day may be fast approaching. I've barely dropped my bags on my bed before he calls for me. It's a polite request, on its face. "Come see me when you are available." He means I'm to make myself available right now. The man is Argentinean, through and through. When I get to his office, he is all smiles and congratulations. "Enrique!" He takes my hand, shaking it vigorously. "How are you, my old friend? Have all issues been resolved?" The man is a born politician. If he had dedicated his life to politics instead of the more lucrative drug trade, he might be President of Argentina by now. "Yes, X-ray, everything has been worked out ... for now. There is no guarantee each gang will stick with the agreed upon boundaries. Each is looking to take a bigger slice of the pie." "Fools! Why can't they see the harm they cause with these petty disputes?" "Everyone always wants more, X-ray. It is human nature." "But there is plenty of profit for all. How much is enough?" "These are young, aggressive men. They are still attempting to make their fortunes." "Not like us, eh Enrique?" You mean not like you. We have failed to take advantage of numerous opportunities over the last few years, particularly in Mexico. We could wipe many of the smaller cartels out, if Hobbes would only unleash our men. "Yes, X-ray, not at all like us." "Well, there is peace for now. It is good to have you back. I've had to deal with a number of issues with the staff while you were gone, I don't know how you keep this place running so smoothly." "A minor skill of mine, X-ray. What problems?" "Nothing serious, mostly just keeping the peace. You would think that grown men could deal with a single girl." "What girl?" "Patricia Conner, Gretchen's little friend. A truly remarkable girl, we were quite wrong about her." This can't be good. "What are you talking about?" "You remember, Patricia Conner. You had her investigated and we decided that it would be best for Gretchen to have no further contact with her. I've spoken with her several times; we could not have been more mistaken. She is an absolutely delightful girl ... intelligent, responsible, mature, relatively respectful, very accomplished and a lot of common sense. Gretchen's attitude and behavior have already improved. "When did you speak with her?" "That is an interesting story, Enrique. Apparently, two weekends ago, she did a sit in outside the gate, demanding to speak with me about Gretchen. No one told me about it until it was too late ... I had dinner with the Senator scheduled, I'm sure you remember that." "Certainly. Why was she permitted to stay outside the gate?" "Speak to your guards. If you were here, I'm certain that you would have handled it, but they seemed incapable of dealing with her, though, in their defense, she is a deceptively cunning girl. And brave too. When she first met me, she threw a collection of electronic bugs on my desk, accusing me of ordering their instillation. Can you believe that?! And she knew who I was!" "Well, it was true." "I know, but still ... the audacity, you must really appreciate the audacity. And it didn't stop there. I was basically dressed down for being a terrible father." "I see. What happened when you threw her out?" "Ahhhh ... that's the interesting part. Once we were done talking, we ended up agreeing on a number of things. I permitted her to come visit Gretchen this past weekend and it went quite well, actually surprisingly well, except for the staff problems." "What were they?" "Mr.Tippett seems to have been making inappropriate comments about the Conner girl in front of one of the guards and he took offense. Perfectly understandable but I had to remind Lou as to how valuable Tippett is to our business. He understood and that will, hopefully, be the end of it." "Did she say where she found the electronic bugs?" "Around her home, naturally. That is were your people planted them." "And how she found them?" "No." "Did you ask her?" "No, does it matter?" Damn it! I'm too late! He's already infatuated with this girl! He didn't even think to ask the obvious questions. I've seen this before with him. He has a weakness for women with strong personalities. Like his mother. And his wife. And now, apparently, this girl. "When will Ms. Conner be back?" "This weekend. How did you know she would be coming back?" "Just a good guess. I'd like to meet her." "I want you to, you'll be impressed." He's likely correct. Unfortunately. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE Cardoza ordered me to meet him at the end of my shift. I don't think I've done anything wrong, I sure as fuck hope I haven't, he's not the forgiving kind. He told me to meet him on the third floor, not his office on the first floor. I don't know anybody who's ever been up there. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, it gives me time to think and I wouldn't be trapped in elevator cab if he's waiting for me with a surprise. I raise my hand to push the buzzer on the intercom but it crackles to life. "Come in, Mr. Escaban." Huh. Same trick as Hobbes. Wonder who came up with it first. The deadbolts open so I slowly turn the doorknob and push the door, stepping back as it swings open. Nothing yet. I quickly enter and look around. There's a lot more room than furniture. If he's not going to use all this space, they ought to expand those damn cracker boxes we live in. Cardoza's in the kitchen, holding two beer bottles. "Have a seat on the couch please, Mr. Escaban." There's nothing obviously suspicious about the couch, but it's Cardoza, there wouldn't be. As I sit down, he walks out of the kitchen and sets the two beers on the low table in front of the couch. "Have one." He says, sitting in the padded chair on the other side of the table. Which one? The one near me ... the one near him? Are they poisoned? Maybe this is a test. Maybe I'm just too fucking paranoid. No, I'm not. I take the one nearest Cardoza but don't drink until he does. He smiles at me after taking a swig from his bottle. "Yours could still be poisoned, Mr. Escaban." Great. Am I being that obvious? I sniff the beer, seems okay. Well, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. Tipping the bottle back, take a couple of big gulps and return the bottle to the table. "You can only take so many precautions." "True, but I've noticed that you always appear to be aware of when to take them. For example, when ever there is an emergency call, you're never the first person to arrive, even if you are the closest to begin with. But you aren't the last to arrive either." This IS a test! "Are you saying I'm not doing my job, Mr. Cardoza?" "Not at all, Tony. I approve of your caution. Why be the first man through the door? You could get your head blown off. It is almost always best to be second or third. You may miss some profitable opportunities, but almost always survive to fight another day, eh'?" "Something like that." "I have appreciated your willingness to keep me informed as to what is going on among the staff. You've provided valuable information in the past. Which causes me to wonder why you failed to contact me about Patricia Conner." I KNEW IT! That little BITCH was going to cause trouble! I'm the one who's gonna take it in the ass! Well, I'm not going down alone. "Look, Mr. Cardoza, I wanted to contact you right away, but Henry said that we could handle it, to leave you out of it, that you were away on really important business." "Henry was right. I was away on important business and you all should have been capable of dealing with a tiny teenage girl. I have reviewed all the security tapes, she made fools of all of you." "I was on the night shift then, I had nothing to do with chasing that phony motorcyclist." "True ... but it WAS your idea to call the police to try to force her off. Very successful." The cops should have done their damn job! "If they had been willing to do what we hire them for, the problem would have been over." "Or much worse. Ms. Conner planned her attack quite well. She benefited from some favorable circumstances that she could not have been aware of ... or at least I hope she was unaware of. If she knew of the dinner party and my absence, then we have more serious problems than a young girl. Regardless, she had an answer to every action by the guards. This is an intelligence not possessed by your average young girl, not even an extraordinary young girl. So ... what exactly is Patricia Conner?" He's looking at me, expecting an answer. Crap! "I've seen her at the pool, she's all girl, Mr. Cardoza. She's got a pair of tits that just don't stop, ya' know? And that ass? No doubt, she's a fine little bitch. Me personally, I don't fuck with jail bait, at least not in this country, she looks to be exactly what she says. You don't think she's an older woman faking it, do you?" He doesn't say anything right away, just swirls the beer in his bottle. "I am not certain. She could be, though my investigators confirmed her story. All I know is that, when I watch the security files, she seems believable, but when I just listen to the files, she does not sound like any teenager I have ever known. She sounds more mature and intelligent than many women I have known ... and most MEN. All of which concerns me. It is likely too late to do anything about it now anyway." What's he talking about? "Too late for what? You can talk Mr. Hobbes into getting rid of her. You can talk him into anything." He smiles at that. "Perhaps you are correct, but not in this case. Raymond Hobbes is an outstanding man ... loyal, charismatic, generally intelligent, well bred, all positive attributes, but he has one glaring weakness." "Which is?" "He has an unnatural infatuation with women possessing strong personalities. His mother was such a woman, which probably explains a lot. His deceased wife was also such a woman. It appears the Patricia Conner fits that description." I chuckle. The old goat is fucking that little cunt. I shoulda known. Though ... none of the guards said anything. If any of them knew something, they'd speak up. Well, a couple might keep it quiet. "Are you saying that Hobbes is screwing her?" He seems surprised. "Sex? No, you misunderstand. He puts them on pedestals, worships them, but, most importantly, he listens to their opinions. I can see it in his face when he talks about her, he is already in the process of infatuation. Opinions will not change that course, though facts might." "What kind of facts?" "Proof that she is not what she seems." "Got any of those 'facts'?" "Not now, but I have yet to speak with her. After that, we shall see. However, even if her story remains intact, she may still be useful." "How's that?" Cardoza looks at me for several seconds, remaining silent. It's like he's studying me or something. He suddenly stands up, walks back to the kitchen, picks up a file folder, returns to his chair and sits back down. "I have been working with Hobbes for many years, we built this organization together and it is very successful, very profitable. Hobbes has a good head for business and a willingness to do what is required to get ahead. When we started, he had the contacts we needed among the authorities and I had the contacts we needed among the drug suppliers. We started as simple lieutenants in the Miguel Gallardo cartel. Soon we had our own territory, then multiple territories, then a country, and finally, countries. Gallardo ... retired and we took over the largest, most profitable parts of his organization. The rest is history. Currently, we are the most successful and profitable of the cartels." "I know, that's why I wanted to work for you." "Work for me ... or Hobbes?" "Is there a difference?" "Not until now." Uh oh. "Now?" "Hobbes has become complacent, more concerned with expenses than increasing sales. He doesn't realize that we are under constant attack, directly or indirectly. Our position at the top is not guaranteed. We need to be more aggressive in Mexico, not only responding to attacks but going on the offensive, removing weaker cartels, survival of the fittest." "And Mr. Hobbes doesn't agree?" "He does not! He wants peace among the cartels. All this conflict is bad for business, according to him. While that's true in the short term, there can be long term benefits, if you are willing to fight! He has become soft and content." "So ... you plan to talk him into doing things your way? You seem to be able to do that on a regular basis." "It is interesting that you have noticed, Tony. Or did someone tell you that?" I shrug. "People talk. I haven't been here that long but I know your history with Mr. Hobbes. I know you're the power behind the throne." "I am. My question to you, Tony, is where do your loyalties lay?" SHIT! I don't need this, not now, but he's not going to give me time to think about this. "I'm kinda partial to whoever pays me, Mr. Cardoza." "You mean, who ever pays you the most?" "Exactly!" "I would hope for loyalty not contingent on a paycheck." "You're the realist, Mr. Cardoza. I'll go where ever I can do the best." "If you help me now, Tony, I can guarantee you'll be taken care of in the future." "What about the present?" "Better treatment now would only raise suspicions. I'm not ready to move yet, though it may not be long before I am. For now, you'll need to continue to monitor things here at the compound for me. That hardly seems to be too much of a burden." "What will you be doing?" "Traveling mostly, checking on the security of our far flung operations, making face to face connections with the vital people in the organization." "If I'm going to be doing all this extra work, I really think there should be some kind of pay increase." "So you won't have to steal from the kitchen anymore?" OOOHHhhh Jesus Christ! "I've got no idea what you're ..." Cardoza taps the manila file folder on the table in front of him with his right index finger. "Raul keeps his inventory records in his head. He knew what was missing almost right away. When I checked the security logs, there were a series of camera feed outages. I get the same feeds here in my quarters up here." FUCK! I didn't know that. "So, I decided to stay up a couple of nights and watch. Imagine my surprise when I discover who has been stealing Hobbes imported beef. The man is an Argentinean, they know ... and love their beef." He's just sitting back, smiling at me. Hobbes wouldn't have me killed for this, probably, but I'm gone if he finds out. Cardoza's got me. "I'll keep you posted on what happens here, but what if Hobbes doesn't stay put?" "How many times has Hobbes left his home since you've been working here?" "I don't know ... three, four I guess." "And each of those was by helicopter, straight to the airport, right onto a plane and out of the country for meetings that required he personally be there. Other than those few times, he stays right here, where I want him." "You want him stuck in this place?" "Hobbes has an enormous fear of assassination. His parents both died that way and he's been threatened a number of times. I've managed to foil several attempts over the years." "Real attempts?" He smiles. "As far as anyone can prove. His wife grew tired of the constraints and was close to persuading him to be more willing to venture out into society when she, conveniently, died." Oh my GOD! Conveniently?! Did he kill Hobbes wife? I'm not even going to ask him that, just nodding my head. "I see. So, how is it the kid goes to school instead of a tutor here at home?" "An unfortunate promise that I was unaware of. As I said, Hobbes has a number of admirable qualities. Keeping his promises is one of those. The end result of all of this is that he is not likely to be going anywhere in the near future. Raymond Hobbes remains a good manager, a charismatic figurehead and a focal point for the organization, all positive assets for out cartel. He is not an unbalanced lunatic looking for fame and glory like some of our competitors. They live their lives as if they expect to die shortly in a blaze of gunfire and publicity, lives of excess and conspicuous consumption. I plan to help them reach their goals, then pick up the pieces, building the new, dominant drug cartel of the future. If Raymond is unable to support that vision ... then we had a good run, he and I." He had as good as said that he was going to kill Hobbes when he stopped being useful, but he didn't actually say it. With what he had on me, Cardoza could get me fired and discredit anything I might say about this meeting, though it probably wouldn't come to that. He'd already told me way too much to let me go and blab to Hobbes. If I didn't accept his offer, I'd likely not make it back to my room. So, that's the test. Am I smart enough to see my options and pick the right one. I grab my beer bottle. "Okay, I'm in. Let's drink to your successful trip." I extend the neck of the bottle towards him. Cardoza clinks his bottle against mine. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Escaban." * * * *** * * * *** * * * It's been two days and Patricia has barely spoken with me, and then just one or two words at a time. I don't know where she learned it, from my programming or Peter Harris' experience with three wives or the unknown recesses of a female teenage brain, but Patricia wields the Silent Treatment like a pro. I tried to explain why I felt it necessary for Daniel to know about the warehouses but she won't let me get two words out before she's gone, headed for her room, the basement, wherever. I know it was wrong to betray her trust, but surely they both can see how this is an opportunity to finish off Hobbes and bring this dangerous, exhausting operation finally to an end. I'll try to talk with her again tonight, after work. * * * *** * * * *** * * * Gretchen's doing a footwork drill, setting practice picks, then pivoting and sprinting to the basket, looking for the ball. Patricia doesn't pass the ball, she's just checking out her form, which is way lots better than anybody on our pathetic team. Gretchen's really improved in the few days we've been practicing after lunch, she's getting the hang of it, particularly for someone who's never played ball before. Whether or not she can play against a real person in a real game and, oh bye the way, that person is a tall, strong, GUY, that's another thing. I look over at the gym clock. It's 12:50, time to wrap this up. Patricia looks my way, I wave and point to the clock. She glances at it, turns back towards me, and nods her head. "That's enough for now, Gretchen. Get changed and I'll see you sixth period." She trots gracefully over to Patricia. Gawd! A girl who looks like her, so tall and beautiful ... it makes you want to claw her eyes out. Too bad she's so damn nice. "How'm I doing, Coach," she asks brightly. "Not bad, not bad. You still hesitate when you first take off towards the basket. Don't wait, just go as soon as you pick the guy off. They'll probably try to grab you a little, maybe a lot. Just knock their arms away and GO. If you're open, I'll hit you. Don't chase the ball, it'll be there," answer's Patricia. "When do we start actually passing and shooting?" "Tomorrow, Thursday. Friday it'll be defense and Saturday we kick butt!" She puts up her hand for a high five but it's barely higher than Gretchen's head. She slaps it anyway, turns and strolls towards the locker room, wiping her face with the front of her shirt. Patricia watches her go, while I walk over to talk. "What say you, Terri?" she asks, not taking her eyes off Gretchen. "She's doing way better." "Come ready to play tomorrow. It'll be your job to push her around as hard as you can." "Can I push you around?" "You can TRY, if you can catch me." Fat chance of that. I don't know why it is, but she seems kinda ... sad. "You okay, Patty?" "Sure, fine ... why not?" "Don't know, you just don't act fine." She sighs. "Had a fight with my Mom. We're not talking right now." "Hah, wish me and my mom weren't talking. She's all over me about all kinds of shit every day. It's like hand to hand combat. What you guys fighting about?" "She just told somebody something she promised she wouldn't." "Ohhh, the old violation of trust thing, that's a toughie." "She says she thought it was the right thing to do." "That's always the way, isn't it? Like a parent ever admits she did something wrong. But you try to explain why you did what you did and she's all up in your face, no excuse is good enough, you're just an immature little kid who can't think for yourself, right?" "Uhhh ... yeah, just like that." "Don't let her push you around, Patricia, stick to your guns. Everybody around here looks up to you." She smirks. "Everybody?" "Well, a lot of girls ... the smart ones." She winks at me. "I'll try not to let em' down. Thanks for the help, Terri. I couldn't do this without you." I stand up taller, prouder. "No prob ... Da'Pee." * * * *** * * * *** * * * I haven't had a chance to check out my lap top since getting back from the weekend at Gretchen's, haven't even turned it on. I made a mirror copy of absolutely everything before giving it to Mr. Tippett and I want to check it for changes before doing anything else. I'm curios to see exactly what he did. He said it was only what was necessary for me to access the home network, but I'll believe that when I see it. After booting it up, I attach the backup USB hard drive and start comparing code, using a separate monitor, line by line. Normally, this could take weeks but I can scan this stuff at lightning speed. Setting the Balancer on Pink Forty Five, I'm just looking for changes, nothing else. I can feel the computer part of my brain smoothly shift into high gear and take off. When I catch a change, I note where it is and move on, analyses is for later. It only takes me about an hour to go over everything twice, just to be safe. Now, to see exactly what he did. At first, the subroutines appear to be what I would expect, then they take a more sinister turn. He's getting access to the modem and the wireless card. And the root drive. If I read this right, whenever I access the internet, he's going to not only know it, but be able to monitor what I do and see, along with searching my emails and reading any file on my computer. I shouldn't be surprised, I'm sure he did the same thing to Gretchen's lap top, but she's Hobbes daughter, I'm just a visitor. He had to be pretty confident of his skills to even try stuff like this. I could march right into Hobbes office, show him exactly what Tippett did and scream bloody murder. I'd likely get an apology and a new lap top, even if Hobbes had originally ordered Tippett to do it. Blame whoever you can when you get caught with your hand in the cookie jar. However ... now that I know about it, I can use it. There's absolutely nothing incriminating on my computer and, by studying what he did, I should be able to see how he thinks when programming. It could help me find some security holes in his system. Any information can help. After turning the Balancer back to Blue Fifty, I sneak back to Mom's bedroom and return it to the table by her bed. Technically, I'm not supposed to mess with it, the Balancer is her responsibility. We've not had any fights about it for months. In fact, she's insisted on Blue Fifty more often than our original deal. For quite awhile, I honestly can't say that I've noticed the particular settings between Blue Thirty Five and Pink Ten; it all feels the same to me. If I concentrate, I could probably determine the setting within a couple of points, but it hardly matters. Still, I shouldn't be changing settings on my own. I just don't want to deal with Mom right now. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR I shouted out to Mom that I was leaving for the weekend as I left the house after school on Friday, not waiting for her reply. I know, I know ... this Cold Shoulder thing has gone on long enough, but I don't know how to end it. I'm certainly not going to apologize because she was in the wrong but there's got to be a good way to stop this. It's a shame they didn't add all the old columns of "Dear Abbey" to my data base. The attitude at the gate is friendlier this time, as is my search by Henry. He actually helps me take off my back pack and everything. "You got anything special planned for us this weekend, Conner?" Actually, I thought I could do several fruit pies for Saturday dinner and chocolate chip muffins for a Sunday snack ... but I'm not telling him. "If I tell you, it won't be a surprise." "The guys have been speculating, Lou's betting on a cake of some kind." I lean in close as I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Take his money." He smiles. "Sure thing." He points to a section of the x-ray image of my bag. "What's this?" I bring the bag back off my shoulder, drop it to the floor and unzip the front pouch. Reaching in, I grab the camera and pull it out. "It's something Mr. Tippett asked me to bring for him to see. He seemed interested." Henry took it from my hand and inspected it from several angles. "Okay, as long as you take it right to him, got it?" I salute crisply. "Yes, Sir!" He hands it back to me. "Get out of here, smart ass. I'd keep an eye on Tippett, if I were you though. He's a bit of a pervert." I swing my bag over my shoulder. "Thanks. I'll be careful." "Make sure you are, Conner." As I enter the foyer, Gretchen comes hurrying down the stairs, grabbing my left arm as soon as she reaches me. She looks worried. "Enrique's here!" she urgently whispers. "So?" I whisper back. "He's gonna want to see you!" "Good, I want to meet him. I've already met everybody else." "You don't understand, he's not like the rest of the staff, he runs this place! He's in charge. Nothing happens around here that he doesn't approve." "But, he works for your dad, right? Your dad makes the important decisions." She squeezes my arm tighter. "Sometimes I wonder about that. They start off disagreeing once in awhile, then Enrique gets his way, eventually. He's a Svengali." I pat her hand, then gently pry it off my arm. "Don't worry, it'll be fine. I gotta drop this off at Mr. Tippett's office, then we can change for dinner. Is Mr. Cordoza going to be there?" "Probably, he's there about half the time, talking business with Father. I leave as soon as I can." I take her arm in mine. "C'mon, let's take this to Mr. Tippett. One job done, on to the next." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Patty just doesn't understand. Enrique's nothing like the guards, like anybody else here. He's ... scary. She acts like it's no big deal to have to talk with him, but the guards are afraid of him. I've seen it. Tippett seemed happy to get the thing Patty took to him. She showed him how it worked and he went right to taking it apart. He better be able to put it back together or I'm telling Father. Patty doesn't seem to care but he can't go breaking my friend's stuff, especially because she doesn't have that much to start with. The clothes she brought with her look like most of the same things she brought last week. We got rid of a lot of my clothes last weekend and I didn't even think about what she might have at home. I forget how much better off I am than her, at least financially. We go to my room to change and I offer to let her use the bathroom but she says we're cool, which makes me happy. I like it that we're comfortable with each other, I've never really been comfortable around girls my age, boys either for that matter. Patty's just different from anybody else I know. She puts on the same blouse and skirt she had last week, though she adds a light scarf tied loosely around her neck. She seems calm. I wish I could explain to her what kind of person Enrique is, how dangerous he is. I can't say that I've ever actually seen him do anything that bad, but I've heard the guards talking about him when they don't know I'm around. If they aren't lying, he's done or ordered some terrible things. I hope my Father's not aware of all he's done, but I'm afraid he may. What kind of person does that make him? "How do I look?" Patty asks. "Great. Ahhh ... listen. You sure you want to do this?" "Eat? Yeah, I'm famished! You may not have noticed, but I didn't eat much lunch, wanted to leave plenty of room for whatever Raul is making today. You don't know how lucky you are, he's a terrific chef." "Yeah, I'm reeaallyy lucky. I wasn't talking about supper, I meant are you sure you want to speak to Enrique. He's not the kind of person most people want to talk to ... or see ... or be around ... or breathe the same air." She pats my arm. "Don't worry. I think your Dad likes me, that should be enough." I shake my head. "I sure hope so." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Both Patty and I are sitting in the dining room, waiting for Father to arrive, when Raul comes into the room. He never comes in unless Father asks for him. It's not like he isn't allowed, he just doesn't do it. This time, he opens his arms wide. "Where's my girl?!" he shouts. Patty jumps up, runs over to him and they hug, both smiling. I've never seen Raul hug anybody before. He's so much bigger than she is, she practically disappears when he grabs her, you just see her arms around his waist. They do this for a couple of seconds, then break apart. He puts his hand on her shoulder. "You got ideas for this weekend?" he asks. She looks around quickly, just seeing me, leans in closer and quietly answers. "I'm thinking fruit pies." "Basket weave crusts?" "With egg white glaze." He smiles. "Very good! We start right after supper, get crusts ready. In morning, we go to city market and get fresh fruit. Okay?" She looks over at me. "I'll go if Gretchen can go; I'm her guest this weekend. It's only fair." Raul frowns. "I no think Mr. Hobbes like that." "But if you ask him, and we take Henry and Lou with us, it should be fine. It'd be like a school field trip, right?" Raul grins down at her, rubbing her head. "Okay, Raul ask, maybe he say yes. You enjoy meal. Lemon broiled tuna, asparagus soup, your bread, Caesar salad. Everything perfect!" "Sounds wonderful Raul! I can't wait. Haven't eaten all day!" He laughs, waves goodbye, opens the door to the kitchen hall and walks out, whistling. I've never seen him so happy. "What was that about?" I ask. "What was what about?" "All that. The hugging, the planning, all that. I didn't get a hug." "You want one?" She opens her arms. "That's not the point." She drops her arms. "Then why'd you bring it up?" I don't know why I mentioned it. "That's not important. Just what's the deal with you and Raul?" "Nothin'. We're just friends and coconspirators." "About what?" She leans in closer to me. "To get you out of this house once and awhile. You heard about the city market, right?" "Yeah, what about it?" "It's a fascinating place, plus, it gets you away from here for a little while. It's the first small step of many. Trust me, you'll enjoy it." Just then, Father and Enrique came in. They seemed to be in a good mood. Father's face lit up when he saw Patty. "Patricia! So good of you to come see us this weekend! I'd like to introduce you to Enrique Cardoza, my strong right hand. I don't know what I would do without him." Enrique gives her an oily smile and offers his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Conner. Raymond has told me so much about you, I feel as if we are already friends." She takes his hand and shakes it, returning his smile with one of her brightest. "Happy to meet you, Mr. Cardoza, though I'm afraid I don't know much about you. People here don't seem to want to talk about you." "I prefer it that way, Patricia. May I call you Patricia?" "Su