Severance Pay (Chapters 67 Through 72 Of 78) free porn video

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN I wake up to the ringing of my phone. Picking it up off the bedside table, I notice that it says it 9:38 a.m. I've been sleeping in too much lately. "Yes, Walter?" "Daniel?" "Who else would it be, Walter?" "Just wanted to make certain it was you. We've received some reports that there was some kind of fight or something at Hobbes' compound last week." "When?" "Three days ago, the night of that big storm, with all the power outages." "I remember. Why are you just getting this information now?" "Because it was investigated, if you can call it that, by the local police. Hobbes wanted everything hushed up and you know what that means." "It was hushed up." "Exactly. A couple of the beat cops talked to one of the FBI liaison reps, who passed it on to us." "So what happened?" "It's not clear. Apparently someone broke in by jumping the wall with a motorcycle, if you can believe that." Unfortunately, I can. "Was she killed?" "Was who killed?" "The woman who jumped the wall with the motorcycle." "Who said it was a woman?" Fuck. "Didn't you say it was a woman?" "No. We don't know one way or another." "I'm sorry, you're call woke me up, I thought you said it was a woman. Go on, what happened next?" There's a pause before Walter returns to the story. "As I said, we don't know much. There was a lot of gunfire, though there was also a lot of thunder and lightning so many of the neighbors didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. At least that's what they told the cops. Anyway, two people were killed, one outside the house and one inside. Neither one was Hobbes, he survived, darn the luck." "Yes. What a shame. Do we know who actually died?" "Yeah, let me check my notes ... Tony Escaban and Enrique Cardoza. Neither one rings a bell with the Drug Taskforce, though Escaban has some old gang convictions. I called to give you a heads up and see if you recognized any of the names." "Sorry, not off the top of my head, though I will check my records and get back to you if I discover anything. Did the killer get away?" "Unclear. Hobbes may have taken care of it himself and not want us to know. I've seen pictures of his place. Hard to think someone could break in let alone get out alive. It's an urban fortress. If someone did, they'd have to be very, very good ... man or woman." She is. "Thanks for the warning, Walter. Is there anything else?" "Yes, though not sure if it's related. A day or so after the firefight, there was a lot of chatter about a summit meeting of some kind between the big three cartels. It floated back and forth for about twelve hours and then nothing since, not a peep. Must have fallen apart or it was just a rumor that burned out." Or it's happening and someone working for Hobbes took charge of security, making it disappear from the radar. "You're likely correct Walter, not important and not related. Any further news on the arson investigation?" "No. They've gone through everything with a fine tooth comb and found no evidence of a third person, though the experts say it's not definitive. Not finding something doesn't mean she wasn't there." Since I put a bullet in her head, I know she was. I should have been less efficient with the fire, left some kind of remains for them to find. "Alright, thanks again Walter. With this incident at Hobbes' compound, I may need to speed up my plans for temporarily leaving the area, maybe leaving the country." "Hobbes has connections everywhere. I can better protect you in the US than in France or Germany or Tahiti. Keep that in mind. I'll be in touch. You can go back to sleep." Very funny. When I get established, I should use Hobbes' connections to get him fired. That would be fun to see. For now, I need to start making plans. * * * *** * * * *** * * * It's one hell of a view from the window of the conference room. The bay, the beaches, the swaying trees, the rising hillsides that eventually become mountains. A picture post card come to life. Of course, you can't see the slums from here but that's part of the price people pay to stay at a place like this. You pay the big money to see some things and not be bothered with other things ... or people. Conner put this together faster than I thought was possible. Waiving Hobbes' name and money around helped a lot but getting the space was the easy part. Getting the Potosis and the TJs to show up, that was a miracle. Don't know what she told them or threatened them with, but it worked. Hobbes has got the top floor of the hotel. The Potosi Cartel has the next one down and the Tijuana Cartel has the next one down. The helipad is neutral territory so everyone can come and go. All three of us have security there but Hobbes is first among equals so we've actually taken charge. The other guys are just sitting around and watching. And swaggering. And bitching. Conner has been everywhere, though she doesn't look a thing like the little girl I know. Or knew. Officially, she's Hobbes' new assistant. She dyed her hair this reddish brown, auburn color and is wearing brown contacts. She's got all these professional suits with tight skirts that are below her knees but have slits that reach about half way up her thigh. The suit coats are all one or two button, the blouses white or cream color and show just enough of her breasts to make a man stare and wish for just a little bit more ... or a lot more. Her hair and makeup are styled to make her look more like she's in her twenties instead of seventeen. Or maybe it's just her attitude. Or that she speaks Spanish fluently. And Portuguese. And French. Or maybe it's those high heels she wears and the way her ass gyrates and boobs bounce when she walks. You can hardly hold a conversation with another guy when she hurries by. Everything gets put on hold until she's cleared the room, though the subtle smell of her perfume still lingers but just for a few seconds because every guy in the room is snorting it like coke. Hobbes has pretty much stayed on his floor but Conner has been his representative, dealing with the other Cartels, the hotel, the staff, whoever. You got a problem, Conner is Johnny on the spot, soothing and charming until the problem is solved or doesn't seem like it's that big a deal. And not only the men but the women too. Some of the other Cartels brought wives or girlfriends or both and she arranged all these activities to keep them busy and out of my hair. And the kids also. That's what's more amazing than anything else. Watching her with a bunch of little kids. She's a natural. She wriggles into the room a complete stranger and a half hour later, two or three will be crying because she has to leave. Must be those boobs. I'd cry too if that potential meal walked away. She never screams, never snaps, is always pleasant and makes you feel ashamed for causing her a problem. And then she smiles. Or giggles. Or double teams you with both. I've seen her completely disarm total bastard killers with a few words then that smile and giggle combo. Thank God I'm immune. I'm pretty sure everyone outside our group assumes Hobbes is fucking her. I would if I was them. He'd be crazy not to ... if things actually were as they seemed. This probably gives her protection from the guys who might try to make a move on her. Or the psychos who might try to rape her. They may be crazy but not crazy enough to take a shot at Hobbes' bitch. Of course, if they did, they'd discover fast enough that Conner don't need anyone's protection. From anything. It's taken almost two weeks but the big meeting is finally about ready to start. Every group has scanned the room for bugs individually and now all together to make sure no one planted something while scanning for someone else's bugs. The tech guys have just left, leaving me in the conference room with one security man from each of the other two Cartels. That's the rules. Each Cartel has one security man and two representatives. That's it. Nine people total. The first one in is Arturo Carrillo, head of the Tijuana Cartel, the TJs. Everyone man here is mean as a snake but Carrillo is a snake that eats snakes, a bastards' bastard if ever there was one. Fifty years old, plus or minus, with a pot gut and graying hair. They say he's not the smartest guy on the block but he's smart enough to still be alive after leading the TJs for over fourteen years. Luis Moreno is right behind him. Moreno is the next guy in the TJs, maybe a little smarter than Carrillo but still a damn tough nut. He's younger than Carrillo, thinks he's a ladies man. He actually took a shot at Conner but she blew him off, politely but blew him off. With his money, he's probably not used to that. Moreno goes back to the bar and gets a couple of drinks while Carrillo sits down at their side of the triangular conference table. Conner's idea. The Beltran brothers are next, Vincente and Hector. They're not twins, Vincente is older, but they damn well act like twins. Both dark haired with full moustaches and beards. Hector's a little taller but other than that, you could mistake them for twins. They've been running the Potosi Cartel for the last five years, since their old man died in a car explosion. Most people in the know say the brothers did it themselves, though, publicly, they blame the Zetas. Either one is a good theory. They go straight to their side of the table, with the security guys sliding in behind their respective employers. Both of them are young and buff, probably work out and shit. No weapons are permitted in the room but no one would submit to a search so they're both likely packing. I know I am. Conner doesn't need to. Hobbes doesn't wait long to make his entrance. He hurries in, smiling, immediately followed by Conner, who's using a different name -- Brooklyn Grey, Brooke for short. She's wearing her usual all business suit and blouse but this time she's got a small diamond pendant on a fine gold chain with matching earrings, the pendant sitting smack in the middle of her cleavage. If you had a hot secretary fetish, your dick would be an iron rod right now. Neither Hobbes nor Conner ... I mean Brooke ... sit, but he gets right to business. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice, though I doubt anyone objects to being in Acapulco this time of the year." "Get on with it, Hobbes," grouses Carrillo. "As you wish, Arturo. Does anyone need a drink before we start? Ms. Grey makes an outstanding Manhattan." No takers. "Very well. For those who have not met her, this is my personal assistant, Miss Brooklyn Grey. She will be taking notes, if no one objects." Notes are a lot safer than electronics. There was no lack of smiles and smirking in the room when Hobbes said "PERSONAL assistant". "I don't care what you have her do, Hobbes," says Vincente. "What I want to know is, where is Cardoza?" Hobbes smiles tightly. "Enrique decided to take an early retirement. It will be difficult to replace him. If you will all turn your attention to the screen on your left, I will begin. Ms. Grey, if you please." "Yes, Mr. Hobbes." She presses a couple of buttons sitting on the table next to her. The curtains slide shut and the lights dim while a large screen drops from the ceiling, as does a projector. She flips up the screen of a laptop computer and a test pattern is immediately displayed on the screen. "Ready, Sir." "Thank you, Brooke. First slide, please." A big graphic appears on the screen, a kind of bar chart. "Gentlemen. This would be our losses in the last several weeks due to seizures by the US government. Tijuana; four Billion, Potosi; five Billion. Myself, I lost two billion and change." "Where did you get these numbers?" demands Carrillo. "Mostly the newspapers and cable news plus my contacts with the US Department of Justice. Are they wrong, Arturo?" "Not exactly," he grumbles. "Though I do notice that we have been hurt much more that you." "Luck of the draw, I assure you. Besides, I was hit first and the most seized in one single day is my record. I have hardly remained undamaged. The end result of all this is skyrocketing prices due to the same demand and lower supplies. Am I correct?" There's a general nodding of heads in the room. "What we have is worth more but we don't have enough," says Hector. "None of us do," adds Moreno. "I do," says Hobbes. "Brooke." Another image appears on the screen. "Gentlemen. This is my current inventory inside the US border, ready for distribution." They all stare at the screen for a few seconds before reacting. "How .." "Impossible!" "Lies!" "All true, I assure you. Six billion at today's prices, though when I release it, today's prices will be a thing of the past. What was our estimate concerning prices, Brooke?" "A minimum of a seventy five percent reduction, Mr. Hobbes. A maximum of ninety percent." "Very good, Brooke. And this is just what I have ready to distribute. There is more waiting to move across the border and my transportation network is fully functioning." "As is ours!" shouts Carrillo. Hobbes chuckles. "Arturo, you lost two tunnels last week alone. This has been going on for almost two months. First Tijuana then Potosi, the Zetas and the Pacific Cartel, a new seizure in the news every other day. It's become so common that the papers hardly bother to cover it anymore. And why is it happening? Each of you are turning the others in to hurt the competition. You are cutting your own throats to cut someone else's throat deeper. It is madness!" "And how have you avoided this 'madness', Hobbes?" demands Arturo. "I was the first one injured. The others saw what happened to the prices and decided to do the same to their competitors with the idea of being the only one left standing. You all concentrated on each other, assuming I was fatally wounded. I wasn't but didn't feel the need to brag to the world. I kept my head down and rebuilt my supplies. I've had more time to recover than the rest of you and the higher prices have kept my profits intact." Hobbes looks around the room. "I have more than enough inventory to supply my dealers ... and yours." They all realize what that would mean. "You know that would mean war!" cries Hector, jumping to his feet. "We will wipe you out!" Moreno joins in. "As will we!" "Now, now Luis, I don't think our good friend Raymond really plans on doing that," soothes Carrillo. "There would be no reason for this meeting if that was his plan. He would simply do it, wouldn't you, Raymond?" "Yes, I would. You are correct Arturo, I have something else in mind. I've come to believe that there is too much competition in our business. Too many people trying to take slices from the pie. Worse than that, they treat the drug trade as a way to glory or fame by the gratuitous use of violence for the sake of violence. Narco music, narco books, narco telenovelas, what's next, narco Disneyland?" "You do not understand the Mexican culture, Hobbes. You are Argentinean," says Vincente. "And I thank God I am," answers Hobbes. "Multiculturalism is all well and good as long as it doesn't hurt profits. We cannot afford to indulge in this macho foolishness any longer. Someone must take charge!" It's clear that they don't like that 'macho foolishness' crack. They look back and forth at each other before Carrillo speaks. "What are you proposing, Hobbes?" "Our three organizations control almost sixty percent of the world's drug trade. Sixty percent. The remaining forty percent is divided among, what, eight, ten cartels?" "The Zetas are almost twenty percent themselves. Why aren't they here?" asks Hector. "Because they are the worst of the worst," replies Hobbes. "Utter mad men! No sane human being could work with them! You, on the other hand, are reasonable men. You can read the handwriting on the wall." "And what does this handwriting say?" asks Carrillo. Hobbes sits down next to Conner. "Brooke." A picture of a coca farm is projected, then a marijuana farm, then a marijuana processing plant. Hobbes starts to talk while more pictures come and go. "My organization is vertically integrated. I control every step of the process from the plants to the street. Production, processing, transportation, storage and distribution." Now the pictures are of his planes, ships, and subs. Then the tunnels and warehouses. I'd never thought about how big the total operation was. When you put it all on one long slideshow, it's pretty damn impressive. Hobbes lets a few more pictures go by then starts again. "I have no middle men so the profits are all mine. My business is the most efficient drug cartel in history." The last picture is of stacks of cash in a bank vault. As it fades away, the lights come up, the screen and projector return to their spots in the ceiling and the curtains open, restoring the stunning, distracting view. Vincente slowly, sarcastically applauds. "Wonderful, very impressive. Next meeting, I'll bring my vacation photos. My children are extremely cute." Hector enjoys the humor, slapping his brother on the back. Carrillo is more serious. "I believe our good friend Raymond is making the case that his cartel is superior to ours, Vincente. Yes, very impressive, but we also make a great deal of money. We have taken a different approach but we are also successful. Who is to say which is the best way? But, I assume that we do not have to all follow the same business model to join together. That is what this is all about, is it not? You wish to create some kind of super cartel alliance with you in charge." "Of course he does," snorts Vincente. "It was obvious from the start." Hobbes smiles broadly, looking at Carrillo then the Beltran brothers, savoring the moment. "No, my friends, not at all. My business is for sale, lock, stock and barrels of meth. The first one who pays me twelve billion dollars gets everything. Except my home." Conner touches her left ear with her left index finger then taps Hobbes lightly on the forearm. He leans down and she whispers something in his ear. He quickly nods then sits up. "I am also offering my people a generous severance package, should they not wish to work for whoever purchases my business." "We're buying your equipment but there's no one to run it? How does that make any sense?" "Arturo, if you were to buy me out, would you want people in your organization who weren't loyal to you? Of course not! This way, we quickly find out which of my people would become security risks for you and remove them from the business. Frankly, I expect most of them to remain in their jobs but it is best we take care of the potential problem now. The cost will be my expense." Carrillo nods his head in agreement. "I see ... reasonable ... but twelve billion dollars! We don't have that kind of money! No one does." "You ask too much, Hobbes," says Vincente. "Carrillo is right, no one can afford that price." "I know that each of you have almost one third of that in cash stored in the US that you're trying to get back across the border. I'll take it and credit it at face value, not a discounted laundered price. As for the rest ... you have banks across Mexico that you control. A loan against the future profits is hardly unreasonable. Careful management of the inventory could practically pay the entire purchase price itself, the other assts would be nearly free!" The other cartels are in shock. Whatever they thought was going to happen here today, a garage sale wasn't one of 'em. "What happens if neither of us buys you out?" asks Hector. "I will have no choice but to release my inventory on to the market and keep doing so until the price is driven into the toilet and I control the American drug market. Yes, there will be an expensive, destructive war, but in the end, economics wins and there will be peace and prosperity. My peace, my prosperity. Or it can be your peace and your prosperity. All for only twelve billion dollars." "Only!" Hector snorts. "Raymond," says Carrillo, "You know that none of us here can make such a decision on our own. You may have sole control of your organization but neither of us does. We have others we must consult." Conner again touches her left ear then touches Hobbes' arm. After a brief, quiet consult, Hobbes looks up, smiling. "I understand. I had forgotten how difficult it is to be a member of a group. Would an hour break be adequate?" "Yes, certainly for me," answers Carrillo. "An hour is fine," adds Vincente. "Then it is agreed, gentlemen. We will reconvene in an hour. Remember to tell your associates, this is a rare opportunity to acquire enormous market share without spilling one drop of blood. Such an opportunity is a once in a lifetime event." The others file out followed by their guards. Hobbes turns to Conner. "How do you think things are going ... Ms. Grey?" She picks up her note pad. "Let's talk upstairs." I follow them to the elevator and we ride together up to the top floor. Riley and Jackson meet us as the door opens, both armed with AR-15s. Conner marches off with Hobbes following closely behind. I can tell the guys have questions but I can't say anything. I just shrug and have a seat. * * * *** * * * *** * * * Patricia thought it was best if I came with her to Acapulco, particularly since I was supposed to be dead. We had imposed on Randi's goodwill long enough. Hobbes had put us up at a swanky hotel while he and Patricia planned this conference. I tried to stay away from Hobbes as much as possible but some contact was inevitable. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable, at best. He knew who I really was and why I did what I did. My head is still bandaged where Lipscomb shot me, though my burns are healing. Patricia goes out of her way to keep me informed as to what's going on and she spends her free time with me. It's unfortunate that Gretchen can't be told the truth. She still believes we're missing. Naturally, she's still very worried about what happened to us but Patricia is convinced that she needs to be kept in the dark, at least for now. She says that there are too many loose ends that need to be tied up before she's ready to go back to being Patricia Conner, though she won't say what kind of life she's talking about. What's going to happen to us? Lipscomb's still out there and who knows what he's told the police about us, other than I'm dead. I don't know what Patricia and I are going to do after this thing with Hobbes is finished. She's clearly changed and can't go back to the way things were. Thomas is dead and he was the only one who knew how to take care of Patricia's body. Ignoring the changes in her brain, how much longer can she physically continue? But I can't ignore what's happened to her brain. She still seems to act the way she did before the nanites rewired everything but it's just that ... an act. Sometimes, when she doesn't know I'm around, she relaxes. The difference is subtle but it's there. I think she does it so I won't worry. Like we don't have too many things to worry about already. I'm in the atrium, enjoying the sun, when Patricia comes in, followed closely by Hobbes. "How'd it go, honey?" "As best as could be expected. Mr. Hobbes did a good job of selling it." He bows in appreciation. "Your slide show helped a lot, Jessica. I was impressed and I'd seen it twice before." They'd asked for my help in crafting their presentation, wanted my professional opinion as to what images and sequence created the greatest impression of power and success. It wasn't that difficult and kept me busy. Patricia likely could have done it herself. I'm afraid that there's little she couldn't do now ... for good or ill. "What's the next step, Patricia?" "They're consulting with their other members. Neither group can afford for the other to buy out Mr. Hobbes; the buyer becomes the dominant cartel in the world. Likewise, neither can afford twelve billion dollars, not cash on the barrel head. They haven't got it and it wouldn't be easy to raise. When we reconvene, they'll try to talk the price down." "But we won't budge, will we ... Ms. Grey." "Just a little, Mr. Hobbes. To prove we aren't unreasonable, but the price will still be too high for one cartel. If they haven't figured it out for themselves by then, we'll suggest that they join forces. Carrillo is a cagey one; he may beat us to the punch. If they do decide to join forces, that's when it gets tricky. Now, there's no bidding war. All we have is the threat to destroy the market and drive them both out of business." "That seems to be a powerful argument on your side, honey." "It is. We'll just have to squeeze as much money out of them as possible. If you don't have anything else you need from me Mr. Hobbes, I'd like to get some rest." "No! Not at all! By all means." "Thank you. I'll be in my room if anyone needs me." Patricia strides out of the atrium, vigorous and purposeful, not appearing tired at all but I know how hard she's worked these past few weeks. Both Hobbes and I watch as she goes. "Remarkable" Hobbes mutters. "How so?" I know why I think it; I want to know why he does. "All the work that she has done, all the planning. Never once has she asked me to pay her. If this works, I become a multi-billionaire, one of the richest men on the planet. And yet, she has asked for nothing." "Don't remind me. Have you offered her anything?" He looks away. "No. I haven't." "Maybe she thinks you'll be fair with her." "She has not discussed it with you?" "Not once. I'm more interested in putting you all out of business, one way or another. What she's interested in is hard to say." CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT "Hobbes, you must be reasonable! Eleven billion dollars is just impossible. You could not raise that kind of money and you are supposed to be bigger and more successful than either of us!" "I have already reduced my asking price, Carrillo, though it is worth every cent of twelve billion. My inventory alone ..." "So YOU say!" cries Hector. "Why should we trust you?" Hobbes sighes. "We have already covered this Beltran. The winning bidder will have a chance to inspect whatever he wishes, do whatever inventory check he wants before I am paid. The money will be in escrow in the Bahamas. Your satisfaction guaranteed." "Well, we are not satisfied. Four and a half billion is our final offer," says Vincente. "It does not matter what it is worth, we can raise no more money." "Nor can we, Raymond," said Carrillo, regretfully. Hobbes smiles. "If I did not know better, I would suspect collusion. Are you willing to risk your futures on a coin flip, gentlemen? Assuming I would even accept such pitiful offers, if neither of you can do any better, then it would be random chance as to who wins the day. Are you ready to accept that fate? If I were you, I would ..." Conner touches her ear again and taps Hobbes arm. They've done this dance at least four times since the start of the second meeting twenty minutes ago. The other two guards are looking bored. They huddle and whisper back and forth for over a minute before Hobbes straightens up. "It has been suggested ... by Ms. Grey, of course," Hobbes gestures towards Conner with an open palm, "That there is perhaps a compromise position that may solve all our problems. The winning bidder will control the major share of the world drug trade but not all of it. The losing bidder remains a formidable opponent, not to mention the lunatic Zetas and all the small fry. What if the winning bidder could control nearly seventy percent of the world market? Such a near monopoly could soon become a complete monopoly with a little work and clear planning. Eleven billion for a monopoly is a fair price." "What are you saying?" askes Carrillo. "The Potosi and Tijuana cartels should join forces. Combine your money and resources, pay me my eleven billion dollars, use the inventory to destroy the competition and rule the world," answered Hobbes. Carrillo lookes towards the Beltran brothers, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "That is something I had not considered." "Neither had we," addes Vincente, a little too quickly and eagerly. "It never crossed our minds, did it Hector?" "Never! I swear!" Hector chimes. Yeah. Of course. "Then we should all thank Ms. Grey for thinking of it, shouldn't we?" says Hobbes. "Yes, certainly," says Carrillo. "A brilliant suggestion from such a lovely young woman." "Agreed!" enthuses Vincente. "Wonderful! Would you both consider it?" They others look at each other for a few seconds before Carrillo speaks. "I, for one, would be willing to discuss it, if you are willing, Vincente." "There is no harm in talking, Aurturo." Hobbes claps his hands together. "Excellent! We will leave the room, to give you an opportunity to talk, a neutral ground, so to speak. There are secure phones next to the bar if you need to talk with your compatriots." He reaches into his pants pocket, fishes around for a couple of seconds, then pulls out a small device that looks something like a garage door opener. "This is a pager. Push the large button and I will return. I'll be on my floor until you call." Hobbes sits the pager in the middle of the conference table and then we leave. Just as the door closes behind us, Conner stops, pulls a small rectangular box from her suit coat pocket that matched the one Hobbes left on the table. She pressed a button. It squawks for a moment, then I could clearly hear voices. "Did you see what the girl does? Every time, she touches her ear, like there's an ear piece, then she touches Hobbes and they talk." "What are you suggesting, Hector?" "I don't think Cardoza has taken any kind of retirement. He's using the girl to talk with Hobbes. They think that if we believe he's no longer around, we'll all relax. You know he has been the power behind the throne for years." "Perhaps you're right, Hector. How does that change anything?" "Cardoza would not think twice about putting our prices into the toilet." That's one way to bug a room. * * * *** * * * *** * * * The Potosi and Tijuana Cartels had already decided to work together, splitting Hobbes' business between them, hence the agreed upon price of four and a half billion dollars. It doesn't appear to be a complete merger but close enough for my purposes. The real question is how hard can I push them on price? In theory, they each had about four billion to start so doubling that gets me eight billion. Can I realistically get more for Hobbes? Maybe not directly. And not without some help. * * * *** * * * *** * * * They buzzed Hobbes five minutes ago and everyone is back in the conference room. "Raymond," says Carrillo. "We have taken Brooke's suggestion to heart and agreed to an alliance between the cartels. Unfortunately, together, we can only offer seven billion dollars. Take it or leave it." Hobbes looks left and right, then at Conner, who nods her head once. "My friends, this is my final offer. It is not a negotiating ploy or a game of some kind. This is my bottom line. Ten billion dollars in two installments. Eight billion now and Two billion in a year. Plus interest at four percent. If that is not agreed to, then we will let the market declare the winners. Do you wish to discuss it among yourselves?" Carrillo stares at Hobbes with narrowed eyes, then glances at the Beltrans, who nod their heads in unison. "We will discuss it." Hobbes returns his "pager" to the center of the table and we troop out again. Conner has the receiver out as soon as we turn the corner. "We can't afford ten billion." "We won't have to. We pay the eight now and nothing in a year." "What do you mean, Arturo?" "What can he do about it? We will control his troops, his empire. He has nothing to force us to pay. What will he do, sue us?" We can hear the laughter without the receiver. Conner turns it off. * * * *** * * * *** * * * "Then it is agreed," says Hobbes. "Eight billion paid into an escrow account in a mutually agreed bank, to be released after an inspection of my assets to make certain they are as advertised. After one year, an additional two billion plus four percent interest is to be paid direct to an account of my choosing." "Yes, Raymond. That is our agreement," answers Carrillo. Conner touchs her ear and taps Hobbes' arm. Everyone else in the room froze. After consulting, Hobbes sits up. "Thank you, Brooke. A very good point. Gentlemen, Ms. Grey has raised a minor but I believe important issue. If you were paying one payment and we were done, it wouldn't matter, but since I am relying on the future success of your business for the payment of the balance of the ten billion dollars, it is only fair that I also inspect your assets, to assess your credit worthiness, as it were." "Are you saying you don't trust us?!" Moreno yells. "If I did not trust you, Luis, we would not have reached this agreement but you demand an inspection of what you are buying before you pay for it and that is a reasonable demand. Likewise, I am, in essence, a silent partner with all of you until the balance is paid in a year. It is hardly unreasonable that I know who I am getting in bed with. It is you who need that year to raise the money. I am entitled to an inspection and an opportunity to determine if I believe you will actually be able to pay me." "Let him see what he wants," says Hector. "It means nothing!" "I agree," says Vincente. Hobbes turns towards Carrillo. "Arturo?" Carrillo looks at Hobbes but he's watching Conner, who's just sitting there with a completely bland, if not slightly bored, expression on her face. Something is worrying him but he can't put his finger on it. Finally, he shakes it off and answers. "You are right, Raymond, it is a minor thing." "NO! Arturo! How can you allow ..." "Quiet Luis! It is only fair. We are all laying our cards on the table. There shall be no secrets, eh Raymond?" "Yes, Arturo, no secrets." There was some final haggling over how long each side had to do the inspections. They finally settle on ten days and exchanged contact numbers. Hobbes produces some champagne from behind the bar and there's a lot of toasting and handshakes before Conner breaks it up, reminding everyone that the wives' daytrip is about to end and they will all be back to the Hotel in a few minutes. Spas and shopping. The men need to find out the damages. Hobbes is the last to leave and he's all smiles and back slaps. He even grabs my hand and wallops me on the back in the elevator, thanking me for all I have done and that my loyalty will not be forgotten. When the door opens on our floor, he positively dances out the door. I had to know. "Conner, can I talk with you. Just a sec." "Sure. Mr. Hobbes, I'll be with you in a few." "No rush, Patricia. I am retired. Plenty of time on my hands." I lead Conner to a secluded room on a back hallway and close the door. "I don't get it." "Get what, Henry?" "Hobbes knows he's not getting that second payment. He's getting screwed out of two billion dollars and doesn't seem to care!" "They didn't have ten billion. They barely had eight. This way, we get to see everything they both have, their factories, their farms, their planes, ships, subs and tunnels. Their warehouses and distribution networks. We already know what Hobbes is selling them and where that is. Once we're all done, I will know practically every major drug production and delivery asset in the world." "And what'll you do with that information?" "Hand it over to the Feds and Hobbes collects ten percent for helping destroy the drug trade across the world. Hobbes' cut will probably be a couple billion after all ... if they're smart." She's got all the angles figured out. They won't know what hit 'em. Amazing. "What's this severance pay thing?" "This is everybody's second chance. You want out? You get three years salary, up front. You have to leave the drug trade to qualify but this gives you enough money to escape, if that's what you want to do." "Does that apply to ..." "Guards? Yeah, it does. Though, with Hobbes out of the business, technically, so are the guards, if they decide to stay on. Here's your chance, Henry, to start a new life, if that's what you want." "What do you get out of all this?" "Redemption." * * * *** * * * *** * * * We didn't stay in Acapulco for very long after the meeting. Flying home on Hobbes' private jet, we're in Miami the next day, using the new IDs provided by Hobbes. I'm now Jessica Grey and Patricia is Brooklyn Grey. We're still mother and daughter, though Patricia is twenty two instead of seventeen. She's been dressing and acting older. I assume she still remembers most everything from her life as Peter Harris so that shouldn't be very difficult for her. Hobbes has put us up in a small, secluded office building he owns and Patricia starts work on finalizing the sale. She spends her days contacting Hobbes' people all around the world and scheduling the required inspections. Hobbes wants to handle the money transfer himself. Patricia doesn't object, she wants the information from the inspections. I don't have anything to do so I spend my time making the space a little more home like. Patricia doesn't think we should come in from the cold until after we've dealt with Lipscomb. She hasn't said exactly what she plans to do but I made her promise that I would be there when she does. Six days after we got back, Patricia walks into the office I set up as a living room. I was watching a movie online. She drops into a chair and tosses a DVD case onto my lap. "That's it." I pick it up and open it. There's an unlabeled DVD+R disc in the case. "That's everything?" "Absolutely everything, even their list of bribed officials and cops." "How did you get that?" "They got Hobbes' list. We agreed to an equal swap. I'll deliver this to Hobbes later today and he can collect his money." "Eight. Billion. Dollars. It doesn't seem fair that he walks away with that kind of money, scot-free." "You're right, it isn't, but we both know that life isn't fair. It takes him out of the game though, along with Gretchen, Henry, Lou and the rest of the guys. What he does with his second chance is up to him." "He doesn't deserve a second chance." "Maybe not, but it's for the greater good. That disc in your hand could lead to the total disruption of the world-wide drug trade in a year. And we wouldn't have it without the deal Hobbes got. If we're lucky, Potosi and Tijuana will wipe out the smaller cartels before their deal falls apart and they start fighting among themselves." "Do you really think that will happen?" "Potosi and Tijuana fighting each other? There's no doubt about it. Carrillo might be able to take control of Potosi but I doubt it. The two of them should decimate the competition before they try to kill each other though. If the timing's right, the Feds should be able to take both of them out of business before things get too bad. The real question is, how long can they prevent the next super cartel from developing?" "You don't sound optimistic, Patricia." "I'm not. As long as there's a demand, there will always be a supplier. The only question is at what price. If the world's governments are motivated, coordinated, united and smart, they may be able to delay the inevitable ten or fifteen years. If they aren't ..." "Which is the reality as of today." "Then it'll be less than five years. Five bloody years." "So ... what have we accomplished here?" "The same as for everyone, a second chance to get it right. With the current get tough policies, no one will even consider demand reduction until there's supply reduction. We'll give them their supply reduction. The next move is theirs." Patricia pulls her legs up and pulls off the heels she's been wearing, rubbing her feet with both hands, eyes closed. After several minutes, she brings her knees up to her chest, hugging them, slowly rocking forward and back in her chair. "Sweetie ... is there something wrong?" "No mom ... I'm fine ... I'm ..." She pauses for almost half a minute. "Mom?" "Yes, honey?" "What am I?" I've been waiting for this. Still don't know what to do about it. "Why do you ask?" "Why do I ask? I put that DVD together. I can tell you exactly what is on there ... word for word. Is that normal?" "Some people have abnormally good memories ..." "Do some people have the memories of two different people in their heads, plus about a pound of silicon? Oh, don't forget the little robots circulating through my body. They were originally just in my brain but a few escaped after one of my concussions and they've replicated. Now they're everywhere." "My GOD! Patricia, are you alright?!" "Probably. I still have a certain amount of control over them. They mostly just do routine maintenance. How many people can say that?" "None that I know." "Which means that I'm not people." "What?" "People. A person ... human." "Honey, you can't think that." "Why not? There's no one like me out there, nothing like me. I'm totally unique. How could I possibly be human?" She rubs tears from her eyes with the back of her hand but they don't stop. I jump up and hurry to her side, sitting on the arm of the chair while I reach out and hug her. "Patricia ... of course you're human. You're as human as I am. People for centuries have used technology to improve or save their lives. Eyeglasses, contacts, hearing aids, all just simple tools." "My brain isn't just a tool. I can't take it off and sit it on the nightstand next to the bed." "Alright, alright ... what about pacemakers or insulin pumps? They don't come out at night. You remove them and the person dies. Are they not human? What about artificial hearts?" "There aren't any permanent artificial hearts yet." "But there will be ... someday. Does the first recipient of a permanent heart replacement cease to be human when they switch the heart on?" The tears slow. "No ... I guess not." "Of course they're still human. And so are you. You're just the first person to get the technology. Who knows, ten years from now, nanites and brain implants could be as common as nose jobs and breast implants." She laughs softly then gets serious again. "What about Peter Harris, Jenny Jo Hamilton and Patricia the computer program? All three of us put in a blender and frapped." I caress her cheek with the back of my right hand. "What happened to you, sweetie, was a terrible accident. No one wanted it to happen. You have an extraordinary will to survive. It all might have killed you, but it didn't ... you wouldn't let it. I can't tell you how happy I am that you're here. As you're so fond of pointing out, life is choices. You made your choice. The end result was a beautiful, talented, intelligent, young woman. A human woman ... who's sometimes a big pain in the ass. You can't be anymore human than that, Patricia." She sighs, looks up at me and smiles. "Thanks, Mom ... I needed that." "Anytime." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Something is up. No one will talk to me about it but I know when something big is happening around here. Father is scarce, the guards are on the alert, you can feel the tension in everyone. Normally I wouldn't care but anything that takes attention away from looking for Patty is not acceptable. Father knows something but he's not telling. Lately, whenever I ask about what he's doing to find her, he says everything that he can but that I shouldn't worry, that she's a smart girl and can take care of herself. Of course she's a smart girl! Everyone knows that! But bad things can happen to any girl, smart or dumb. Nobody else has had any luck either. Nothing in the daily police reports, no tips from the website that Cassie and Debbie put together, zip from the Facebook page, other than a lot of sympathy messages ... and a few really crappy anonymous ones. If I could prove who sent those, I'd track them down and have a talk with whoever the hell did it. Sick bastards. Through it all, Gary's been my rock. He's probably tired of me talking about Patty all the time but he's soooo understanding. He and some of his teammates have even gone around to different stores and other places putting up flyers, "Have you seen this girl" type things. He couldn't be more supportive. Terri keeps telling me that he's a good catch. I can't think about things like that, not until I find out what happened to Patty -- good or bad. CHAPTER SIXTY NINE Hobbes was paid yesterday. I was at the house when the confirmation came in from the bank. Gretchen was at school. I've hated keeping her in the dark but too many people know I'm missing and I can't afford for the world to know I'm back just yet. There are a couple of loose ends that need to be tied up before I can officially return. Until then, Gretchen can't know anything. Hobbes was absolutely giddy, making all sorts of plans. First thing he said he's going to do is visit the old ranch owned by his great uncle. He wanted Gretchen to see it and meet that side of the family. He planned to invest in the ranch, restore it to its former glory. He'll settle down in a few weeks. Freedom can be intoxicating. I'm far from free yet. * * * *** * * * *** * * * I promised Mom that she could be there when I confronted Lipscomb. I didn't promise that she'd actually be in the room when I did it. I know she's got just as much a beef with him as I do, maybe more, but she's got no experience with this kinda thing. She might freeze at a crucial moment or balk at doing what needed to be done. Mom's just a regular person. There's no reason that she should have to get her hands dirty cleaning up this mess. It's amazing what I can "remember" about Lipscomb's plans now. If I had this recall from the start, we'd be talking about a totally different situation. Matthews would still be alive for one thing. So would Peter Harris. And Hobbes would still be a drug dealer. Just because I was able to make lemonade out of lemons doesn't mean Danny Boy gets away with it. I'd been casing his condo for the last two days, making sure he was there and that he was alone. He didn't go out much so I'm just going to have to force my way in and take him at gun point. I'm really going to miss this little .22. It is very sweet, but I can't afford to keep a gun with two recent killings attached to it. They might not find his body in the Everglades but I can't count on it. Mom drove the van. It's a rental in her "Jessica Grey" identity. We won't need the aliases in a couple weeks, if we're lucky. We've been sitting outside Lipscomb's place for the last half-hour. Mom yawns and I check my watch. 1:18 in the morning. Time to move. I grab my black shoulder bag and pop the door open. "You stay right here, Mom. We talked about this. You stay in the van until I bring Lipscomb out, swing around to the front of the building, we get in and you drive away. Simple and straight forward." "What if you have trouble?" "Then you head for home. Let me deal with it." She reaches into the brown paper bag beside her and pulled out the double barrel .410 I had given her earlier. "I can't leave you if there's trouble, not now." I reach out and push the gun down and out of sight. "MOTHER! Put that away! Someone may see it! There won't be any trouble. Lipscomb's probably asleep and I've checked out the locks on some of the empty condos. I can pick them, eazy peazy. The bolt cutters will take care of any chains on the door. Once I'm in, it'll only take a few minutes for me to roust Lipscomb, hustle him downstairs and out the door." "What if he won't cooperate?" "You know Danny Boy. He'll do anything to keep talking, figures he can talk his way out of any situation if he gets enough time. Cooperating buys him that time. He'll play along until it's too late. Stay here and keep that howitzer out of sight." I jump out, closing the van door quietly behind me. Running around the front of the van, I pause to let some traffic pass. Mom drops her window as I wait. "Be careful, Patricia," she hisses. I wave and nod before sprinting across the road to the building's entrance. There should be an electric security lock that prevents just anyone off the street from walking in but it's broken. I broke it yesterday. I scoot in and pause to check out the lobby. No one around. Lipscomb's on the fifth floor. I hurry over to the stairwell and push open the door, pausing first to check for the sounds of anybody else and then to check to make sure I've got all my equipment ... the lock picks, the folding bolt cutters and the silenced .22 mag. Everything being in its place, I quietly climb the stairs, hesitating at each floor, checking for activity. There is none. I enter the fifth floor, again checking for any kind of activity. Dead silent. It only takes a moment to reach his door and unlock it. Slowly turning the doorknob, it clicks open and I swing the door into the room until pulled to a stop by a chain. The bolt cutter makes quick work of that and I close the door quietly behind me and pull my gun. The only light in the room was from the fish tank. So, he stayed with the fish tank. It's very impressive. I tap the glass side of the enormous tank twice with the barrel of my gun and then collapse to the floor, all control of my body gone. I keep breathing and can see but can't move, can't speak. I dropped the gun as I fell and my hand is only inches away but I can't make it move even a fraction of an inch. I hear footsteps approaching. "Aaaahhh, there you are. Hoped it was you. I'd thank Thomas if I could. This really worked well." I can hear Lipscomb but can't move my head to look at him. What is he talking about, what worked well? This isn't part of the Balancer, it's gone. I hear him move closer to me, then his shoes move into my line of vision. His hand reaches down and picks up the gun. "Nice. Very nice. Good workmanship. No serial numbers. Bet you had this hidden good and deep. Shame you won't be using it on me." He grabs my shoulders, pulls me upright and leans me against a couch, my butt on the ground, my shoulders resting against the seat cushion. A pillow is placed next to my head, propping it up. Lipscomb has a seat opposite me, my gun in his right hand, a small blue box with a black push button and a red flashing LED in his left and a big grin on his stupid face. "I knew that this would come in handy." He fingers the box, rocking it in the palm of his hand. "You probably want to know what it is." Of course I do, you ass! And you can't resist telling me. "Thomas called it the Neutralizer. I just told him what I wanted but he couldn't resist naming it. After my time in the Construct, I saw the potential problems if we lost control. Matthews assured me the Balancer was enough but I insisted on a failsafe. I realized that a man with your experience could exploit the situation. I couldn't risk having you in there without some kind of off switch so Thomas, reluctantly, installed an electric disrupter at the base of your skull. It has an electric pulse of some kind which disrupts the signals getting to your spinal cord. Frankly, I don't know all the details but Thomas assured me it would do the job. It appears he was right." Lipscomb chuckles quietly, sounding relieved. "I don't mind telling you that I've been pushing this button at every creak and groan I've heard in the last few days, all false alarms until tonight." He stands up, slips my gun into his pants waist at his back and walks to the door. "Now, I've got to do something with you. There's a part of me that would like to have a little fun first ... I've been cooped up in here for some time, but Cardoza made that mistake and he's dead now. That kind of thing really kills the mood. So, you just stay right there. I'll bring my car around to the elevator in the basement parking garage, bring up a body bag I've got stashed in it, stuff you in and we'll be off." He examines the cut chain for a second then opens the door. "Hello, Daniel." Lipscomb freezes, his hands away from his body at his waist. He slowly backs into the room and away from the door, mom pushing him with her sawed off shotgun against his chest. "Jessica! How ... how did you? Uhhhhh ... thank ... Thank God! You survived! It was all Hobbes' idea! He made me ..." "SHUT UP, LIPSCOMB!" she hisses, kicking the door shut behind her, then she looks down at me then back up at Lipscomb, who has his hands raised next to his shoulders. "I can explain this, Jessica," he says, smoothly. "Peter was trying to ..." "Open your mouth." "What?" "Open your God damn lying mouth, Lipscomb!" Lipscomb paused a second but she poked him in the chest with the twin barrels. He opened his mouth. She poked him in the chest again. "Wider." This time, he opened his mouth as widely as possible. She stuffed the barrels of her gun in it and he involuntarily clamped down on them. "Now, Dan, I'm going to ask you some simple questions, I want a nod yes or no as an answer. You don't answer, I pull the triggers. You got that?" He nodded yes. "Good. Did you do this to Patricia?" He nodded no. "Do you know what happened to her?" Again, no. "Can you fix her?" A third no. She raises the barrels, forcing Lipscomb up on his toes. "If that's all true, I don't have any use for you, Lipscomb. See you in Hell." He starts to nod no wildly. "Do you wish to amend your answers to the last questions?" He vigorously nods yes. Mom smiles. "I thought you might. Can you fix her?" He glances down at me but doesn't answer. Mom pulls a hammer back with her thumb. He nods yes. She eases the hammer back down. "Do it. And I don't have to remind you what happens if you try anything funny." Lipscomb slowly bends at the knees, straining to reach for the blue box, which is sitting on a coffee table where he had left it. Mom follows him down, the shotgun never budging from his mouth. He finally reaches it with the tips of his fingers on his left hand. He quickly scoops it up and pushes the button with his thumb. The red light stops flashing. Immediately, my control is restored. I lift my hands and flex my fingers, then my arms at the shoulder, then elbow. Mom glances my way. "Are you alright, honey?" I slowly stand up, testing muscles as I move. "Yeah. I think I am. Thanks, mom." "You're welcome. As for you, Daniel, do you remember the last thing you said to me before pulling the trigger was 'sorry, Jessica'?" His eyes grow wary as he barely nods yes. "Good. I'm not." She pulls both triggers and there's a muffled boom as the back of Lipscombs' head blows out, spraying blood and brains against the wall behind him just before he drops to the floor in a heap. "MOTHER!! Why did you DO that?! I told you that I'd take care of him! She wipes the bloody barrels on Daniel's shirt. "I couldn't let him get away with it. Killing Matthews, killing Peter, shooting me. You weren't there, I was. I couldn't stop him then. I had to now." "I wasn't going to let him get away with anything ... Aww CRIPE! We can't discuss this now, someone may have heard that shot and called the cops. We might not have much time. I'll find the hard drives, you collect the diamonds." "Why do we need the hard drives? We already have the information." "Yes, but we don't want the police to get them, they're our get out of jail free cards." "Aren't there supposed to be copies in the hands of someone else in case he dies?" "You just thought about that NOW?! He was bluffing. Lipscomb never planned on losing control of those drives, he never trusted anyone other than himself." "How do you know that?" "It was his plan from Day One, the details of which are still in my mind. You get the diamonds." "Where are they?" I point to the fish tank. "In there." She turns and looks at the tank. "What kind of fish are those?" "Piranha ... and he keeps them hungry." "How am I supposed to do this?" "We could just shoot out the glass but that might attract even more attention so we'll do it his way." I hurry over to the smaller tank with goldfish, scoop up two with the short net hanging there and grab a large rectangular piece of Plexiglas that was under the base holding the large tank. I drop the goldfish in the far left hand side of the tank, immediately drawing the attention of the four dozen or so piranha, which swarm the helpless goldfish. As soon as they are all concentrated at the left end of the tank, I slide the Plexiglas into two channels on either of the long sides of the tank and push it down into the water, dividing the tank into two sections, one much smaller but now holding all the piranha. Mom nods her head. "Not bad. You knew how to do that because ..." "All part of the plan. Get something from the kitchen and unload the diamonds." "I don't see anything big enough in that tank to hold fifty million dollars worth of diamonds." "It's the gravel in the bottom of the tank. Hurry! I need to find that box of hard drives and then we'll have to deal with the body, if we have time." "What are you going to do with the body?" * * * *** * * * *** * * * I got the call around 2:37 in the afternoon. Apparently there was some delay in informing my office that Lipscomb's body had been discovered. I arrived at the scene just as the Coroner's wagon was pulling away. I thought about stopping it to confirm the identity of the body but decided it wasn't necessary, at least for now. There were still a lot of local cops around, keeping the curious at bay. FBI was there too, not surprising since Daniel was a Federal Prosecutor. I had to flash my ID several times before finally reaching the apartment. There were two techs with nets, trying to catch and bag fish in a red tinted fish tank that had to be at least one hundred gallons, maybe more. There was water all over the floor. Other techs were dusting for prints and doing other crime scene stuff. I haven't been to an actual crime scene in years. I step up to the nearest plain clothes cop. "I'm Walter Tyson, head of the Federal Prosecutor's office. Who's in charge here?" He points to an average size black woman who is examining the tank. "Thanks." I walk over to her but she introduces herself before I get a chance to say anything. "Detective Robin Armstrong. Daniel Lipscomb was one of yours?" "Yes. What happened here?" "Was he working on any particularly important cases?" "Not at the moment, Detective. What happened here, if you please?" She flipped through her notebook. "Dispatch got a 911 call, anonymous naturally, about a disturbance. The officers who investigated found water outside in the hallway coming from this condo. No one responded so they entered and found Mr. Lipscomb's body half stuffed in the fish tank along with forty seven very full piranha. His body was ... wait a sec. Hillary? Bring your camera. See for yourself, Mr. Tyson." A young woman in a jumpsuit handed me her camera and pushed a few buttons until a picture was displayed on the screen in the back. Then another photo. And another. And another. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up in front of the two women. Daniel's naked body, at least I assume it was his body, was pushed halfway into the tank, bent at the waist over the short end on the right. From the waist down, he had been tied to a chair with electrical cords to raise him up enough to get the rest of him in the tank. The rest of him ... was a skeleton. Bright, white and clean, except for the bloody water it was immersed in. "Was he alive when ..." "We don't think so" answered the tech. "See the wall over there?" I look where she's pointing. "There's a lot of blood and flesh there, mostly brain. And see ... excuse me." She takes the camera from me and scrolls through some more gruesome pictures, stopping and handing it back to me. "See the missing parts at the back of the skull? First impression is that it was blown off, likely a shotgun of some kind since there's no single bullet hole, at least we haven't found it yet. Those little fish did a nice job of cleaning the bones." "Thanks, Hillary." "Sure thing, Detective. Any time." She returns to documenting the scene. "Sorry about that, Mr. Tyson. The techs are a little narrow in their perspective, if you know what I mean." "I understand. I've seen worse." But not by much. "Anybody hear or see anything?" "Not much from the neighbors. There was some kind of noise early this morning after 1:00 a.m. but no one bothered to report anything. It's that kind of neighborhood." "I get it, so the anonymous 911 was likely by the killers." "Good chance of that. What I don't understand was stuffing a dead guy in the piranha tank. It wasn't to hide his ID, his pants were right there, wallet in the back pocket, driver's license, federal ID card, the whole nine yards." "Anything taken?" "Not that we can tell. Place wasn't tossed. There was some stuff laying around. No worse than your average bachelor condo, better than most. Lipscomb wasn't gay, was he?" "Far from it." "Maybe he was just naturally neat. You have any idea why he was killed?" "Yes. A very good one." "Care to share?" "Not at this time." "One of THOSE cases." "Something like that. The FBI will be wanting everything you have. We'll be assuming jurisdiction as soon as possible. Killing a Federal Prosecutor in the line of duty is a federal offense." "You're welcome to it. Got plenty on my plate. You asked if something was missing ... I don't know ... it's odd." "What's odd, Detective?" "You have fish as a kid?" "No, bulldog. Your point?" "I had fish, Neon Tetras. Where's the gravel in that tank?" "Gravel?" "Every fish tank I can ever recall seeing had little colored pebbles in the bottom. Sometimes multicolored, sometimes one color, sometimes natural tones, but always something. Where's the gravel from that tank?" "Is it required?" "Don't know, but it's always there." "Are you suggesting my man was killed over fish tank gravel?" "All's I'm saying is that it's odd. Your FBI experts can decide if it's important." "We'll take it under advisement, Detective." CHAPTER SEVENTY I hadn't slept well the last two nights. Daniel Lipscomb's death kept replaying in my dreams. I didn't have second thoughts. The man deserved to die; several times over. He'd killed twice, attempted a third and would have killed Patricia if I hadn't given in to my desire for vengeance and been there when he opened the door to his condo. But even a righteous shooting can cause sleepless nights, at least that's what Patricia says. She wanders in to our kitchenette after I'd been there for about ten minutes, sipping store bought instant hot chocolate after waking in the dead of night. Stretching and yawning, she ambles over to the counter, grabs a packet of cocoa, tears it open, dumps it in a foam cup, adds hot water from the coffee pot and stirs it while shuffling over to the table, dropping into the seat. She takes a sip then grimaces. "Welcome to my world, mom. You should have let me do it." "I saved your life." "You did, and I've thanked you. Several times. Thanks again. But, after saving my life, you should have let me handle it. You'd be asleep right now if you had." "I'll be fine." "Eventually, but it'll take awhile. You ever want to talk about it, let me know. I've seen a lot of shrinks." "I'll think about your generous offer. Why didn't you remember the Neutralizer?" "Because it wasn't requested by Lipscomb until after he had spent his time in Patricia's head. I can't remember what wasn't there. It did remind me that I'm not untouchable." "Or infallible. What are you going to do about it?" She sips and grimaces again. "Already taken care of. I sent the nanites. It's gone. But not forgotten. Please, from now on, let me do