and the rain came down.

I sat around all day watching Sara sit around. A few people came by to have their books signed. A few even chatted with Sara for a few minutes. Sara's expression would change often. She was fully engaged in the task at hand. She didn't seem to think herself above her readers, I liked that about her. Even though we spoke very little, I took a liking to her.

Her manager was a different thing all together. The woman seemed to have an angle on everything. Even lunch was a photo op for her. The delivery boy wore a pizza restaurant uniform, you know one of those red striped shirts. He handed Sara a pizza and she handed him a book. Of course there was a photographer right there to capture the memory. It was all so cornball, I spent a lot of time biting off laughter.

The whole day was a total bore. As a matter of fact all ten days were. There were no crowds to hold back, except at a couple of talk shows. At those times the show's security people handled everything. Just like most real jobs, in the real world, it was a boring way to make a living.

The one interesting thing that happened took place on the last day. If it had not been the last day, I would never have done what I did. I take my responsibilities seriously, but it was late afternoon on the last the last day, so it just happened.

It was cold and rainy in New York. I stood just inside the doorway of the bookstore looking out into the dark miserable day. I saw the Hispanic kid and his dog as they passed. Since the book store was beside an upscale department store, I was a bit surprised when the kid tied the dog to a signpost. He almost made it to the door of the department store before I made a move.

"Hey, you aren't going to leave that dog out in the rain are you?"

"Why?" the kids asked.

"Because it cold as hell and the dog shouldn't be out in the rain. Take him in, or take him home, but get him out of the rain."

The kid wasn't as young as I thought. He walked toward me before he answered. "You mind your own fucking business."

"I'm making this my business. You either take care of that dog, or I'm going to take care of him for you."

"You touch my dog and I'll kill you," he said with pure malice in his voice. "You don't know who I am do you?"

"Nope, and I don't give a crap. You heard what I said, get that creature out of the rain and do it now." I tried to sound just as menacing as he had. I seriously doubted that I made it.

"The kid took two steps back and came out with a flip blade knife. Back off man or I'm gonna cut your balls off." People who stop in the middle of a potential fight to give a warning are complete idiots. Once he pulled that knife, he should have moved toward me not away.

He gave me the time and space to raise the cane forcefully. I could have tried to break his arm with the first strike, but frankly his testicles were an easier target. I heard the pop as the weighted cane struck his tight jeans. Then he got very pale and went to his knees.

He was no threat on his knees trying to decide whether to scream, cry, or barf but I broke his arm anyway. No sense wasting a chance to make damn sure there was no more fight left in him. Of course, being able to punish him a little was a nice little bonus. I looked around and noticed for the first time that a small crowd had gathered.

"Somebody should have told him not to screw around with the handicapped." The people began to laugh. I'm taking his dog into that bookstore. If anybody feels the need to call a cop, I'll be in there drying this guy off."

"What about him," a women holding red umbrella asked. "Shouldn't you call him an ambulance or something."

"Hey," I said touching him with my foot. He looked up pretty miserable. I know I should have felt sorry for him, but I didn't. After all he did pull a knife on me. I spoke in a whisper. "The lady thought I should call you an ambulance. So you're a fucking ambulance." I know it was evil, but I had always wanted to do that. Sometimes you have to stop, even in the rain, to smell the roses. Not to mention kick an ass hole when he is down.


The dog was a pit bull. Even with his scars he came along peacefully. He was happy to be out of the rain. Sara had seen at least part of the commotion from the door of the book store. When I stepped inside, she took the leash from my hand without asking. She and the dog disappeared into the ladies room. She had absolutely no fear of the dog, even though his face was covered with scars.

I stood shivering in the bookstore while dripping water all over the hardwood floor. I would have expected the manager to complain, but instead he brought me a roll of paper towels. The teenager from the coffee counter brought me a bar towel. I never did get warm but at least I got my skin as dray as possible.

"What are you going to do with him? You can't take him on the plane." Sara asked upon her return.

"I guess I'll rent a car and drive home." I kept Sara and the dog between me and the door, so I was the first to see them enter. Two guys with tattoos and biker jackets would tend to make any upscale bookstore customer nervous. Even I was thinking seriously of the knife in my sock.

"Is that your dog?" It was the biggest of them who asked.

"He is now," I replied.

"Well, if you are from around here, you should be careful. Guys like his last owner don't like to lose face."

"Then you're telling me I should have just killed him."

"It might have been easier. Now if you want, we can take care of the dog and find him a good home." He said it as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

Instead of coming out with a gun or knife, it was a business card. According to the card, he and his friend were part of a hard core biker animal rescue group. I laughed at the image his card created in my frost bitten brain. Yeah it was a nervous laugh, but still a laugh. "If you can find him a good home, he's yours."

The smaller, greasier one took the leash from Sara. She smiled timidly at him.

"I can tell by the drawl you're from down south. If you are going to stay around a while, I'd like to buy you a drink." It was the big one speaking again.

"I wish I could, but I have to escort the ladies to the airport, then get on a plane myself."

"Too bad," he said.

I never did see a cop. I found it encouraging that a crowd of fifty people saw it all, and no one felt as though a cop was needed. If it had not been a helpless dog, I wonder if they would have acted differently. People tend to take animal abuse pretty damn serious. Well unless the abuser plays football.

prep work

I had this strange feeling that I was being used. What I was being used for I had no idea, but most likely it had to do with selling more books. Since Sara Marlow wasn't some kind of political hack, like most of the recent best sellers, she would have to come up with another angle to sell her books. It was possible that I was going to be the angle. I didn't like it, but since I wasn't breaking any conditions of my parole. I went along for the ride. I called my P.O. for permission because this one just didn't smell right.

I explained to her that I had been asked to provide some security consulting for a book tour. I also explained that I would not carrying a firearm. All I was going to do was to make recommendations to keep the writer safe. She didn't need to know that I would be more directly involved. Since gainful employment was one of the markers used to measure my progress, she was thrilled. She didn't need to know the details of how I got the gig. I doubted that she would approve of even a splinter offshoot of swamp thing being involved in my life again. Liberals really hated swamp thing and all it stood for. Me, I just liked to get paid.

After the author's manager headed off to her room, I got a cab at the curb. "Take me to the closest Walmart," I demanded. He didn't seem to approve of my destination, but I just didn't care. Since I had to fly commercial in order to meet the time restraint, I couldn't bring any of my toys.

I moved a buggy through the aisles of Walmart as efficiently as possible. I actually knew what I wanted, it was just a matter of finding everything. First I bought a hollow metal cane from one of the aisles near the pharmacy. Then I bought a couple of bags of aquarium sand and gravel. Two large candles also found their way into my buggy. A couple of rolls of black tape, along with a set of heavy weight steak knives joined the cane and sand. In the hardware department I found their smallest dremel set. I made sure that it had the set of tiny implements before I put it in the buggy.

In the sporting goods section I found a target master sling shot. I'm not real sure slingshot is technically the right name for it, but it said that on the box. I added a large box of marbles to the buggy. After all a slingshot needs ammunition. My purchases came to less than the cab ride. It didn't matter I was just glad thats I could find everything with just one stop. I could have bought more things, but my few purchases were likely be more than enough.

It was very late when I finished changing the Walmart items into weapons of self defense. With the addition of the aquarium sand and gravel to the hollow cane, I had added a couple of pounds of weight . I used the candle wax to plug the ends. That and the return of the plastic caps to their places at the ends of the cane left nothing to indicate that any changes had been made.

The steak knives were still suitable for carving, but I didn't have T-bone in mind. None of the knives maintained their handles. I used the black electrical tape to cover the metal shank, which had once been encased in plastic. The knives were easier to conceal without the thick plastic handles.

A little careful work with the dremel tool and I had reshaped two of the knives. I added a good point and thinned out the blades a bit. They weren't exactly competition quality throwing knives, but I knew from experience that they would do in a pinch. Two of the others had no point, but were much sharper once I finished with them. They would do quite well for slashing away at an enemy, if it came to that. I figured anything over four knives was overkill, so I stopped there. It was late, and I was tired, so I turned it. There were the usual dreams but they weren't any worse than most nights, so I slept pretty well.

When I woke at seven the next morning, the message light was lit on my phone I had slept almost an hour longer then I would have managed at home. I didn't have to try to revive a fire in the motel, so I was able to sleep in. The message informed me that my little group would assemble at 9am for breakfast in the motel restaurant. I showed up half an hour early and the rest of the group showed up a half hour late. It was not a good beginning.

Sara Marlow looked very different in real life. She was not so professionally made up. Her face looked almost faded as did the rest of her. Her hair was washed out blonde but obviously colored by someone who was good at their job. Her body, as I had guessed from the photographs, was several pounds over weight. Not so much as to be unattractive just enough to be noticeable.

The manager made the introductions. "Sara this is Richard Ames. Mr, Ames, Sara Marlow."

"Hello Miss Marlow," I said extending my hand to her.

She shivered when she took my hand. "Is anything wrong?" I asked that more as a courtesy, than from any real concern."

"Nothing," she said self consciously.

"So, what is the plan for today?" I asked it of the manager.

"Sara will be signing books and talking to fans at the Barnes and Noble in their downtown store."

"What are the times?"

"Noon until 7PM," Sara replied.

"Very well, I'm going to head on down to the store. I want to look around before you arrive. I should know more when I have a chance to talk to the manager." Since there had been no specific threat, I felt just fine leaving them to make their way to the store on their own. I was pretty confident that I was no more than window dressing. I felt that the whole thing was no more than a huge publicity stunt. Somewhere along the line there would be a TV interview or something like it.

nuts and bolts

"Ricky it's me Betty Jo." She was very cheerful for a Monday morning. That meant she had bad news to deliver to me.

"You sound mighty chipper did someone die?"

"I don't know, have you been out and about?" The insinuation was in her voice.

"You know I don't kill people any more."

"It's the, any more, part that keeps your parole officer up nights."

"So what on your mind BJ?"

"You know I hate when you call me that. You only do it when you don't need money."

"Not true, I do it whenever you have that all full of yourself tone of voice. So what is it that your Ivy league security people can't do?"

"You ever heard of Sara Marlow?"

"No, should I have?"

"Don't you ever watch TV?"

"They don't have cable this far out. They barely have electricity. I catch the news and a few old TV shows or a movie on line.?"

"Sara is making the talk show rounds. She is a big deal psychic."

"Sorry, I never heard of her."

"Well she has heard of you. Of course maybe it is just her manager who has heard of you."

"What the hell is that all about?"

"Beats me, but they want to hire us to guard Sara during a book tour, but only if you are the bodyguard."

"Why me?"

"I don't know, but they are willing to pay the rate times two for you."

"That makes no sense."

"None at all, but the boss said to offer it to you. The decision is yours. The boss is afraid that it is some kind of scam."

"Sure does sound like it."

"If you want it, drop me an email before lunch. I have to give her an answer. I will email you the details, if you want it."

"Is she for real?"

"Who knows, I do know she is making big bucks at it. She has been for some times, so it isn't just a media hard sell. They have a hold on the tail and are chasing the dog."

"How long is the book tour?"

"About two weeks," Betty Jo said.

"Oh hell, send me the info. Tell her she has a body guard."

"Ricky, When you get there, if this looks hinky just say no and leave."

"You can count on it. When does the gig start?"

"Not till Wednesday. You have to meet them Wednesday night at the hotel in DC. The book tour starts there with a couple of days of book signings. Then there is a book TV show over the weekend. There might be some sight seeing involved."

"Right," I replied pushing the disconnect button immediately.

Since I had a couple of days, and it was squirrel season, I decided to go stake out a spot. Finding squirrels around the shack was nothing more than walking into the woods out back. Fifty paces then sit on a fallen log and wait. That was all it took. Killing one of them was a different story entirely.

It was a condition of my parole that I not own a firearm. I had absolutely no desire to go back inside, so I avoided the possibility that some game warden would bust me. I did my hunting without firearms. It actually was more challenging to hunt with a crossbow.

Yes I had a collection of crossbows. Some I made myself, some I bought new, and some I bought to restore. It was as good a hobby as any. On that Monday morning I chose a fiberglass bow with a light action. Light meaning the draw weight was around 150lbs thus it released the bolt at a slower speed. One of the high draw weight bows, about 400 lbs, would embed even a blunted bolt into a tree. I tried not to fill the trees around my house with alum bolts. I sure as hell had no desire to climb a tree in order to recover a piece of alum tubing.

The low tension bow fired a ten inch bolt. The bolts from that light in the ass crossbow traveled at only about twenty miles per second. About half the speed of a normal crossbow, if there were such a thing. The bolt would hold it's trajectory for about twenty yards before it dropped much.

I packed the bow and five bolts into the woods. Once in place I spanned the bow,inserted the bolt and waited. The crossbow was a replica of an 11th century bow. It was made with modern materials. As a replica it had no safety. The nut could be tickled accidentally so I kept it pointed downrange at all times.

Since I had painted the bolts fire engine red, they were fairly easy to find, unless they got tangled in a tree. I fired three bolts, all of them missed their marks. Since I recovered them all, even though I didn't kill anything, I considered it a successful hunt.

Later that day I got the details of the job. It was just as Betty Jo said, I was to baby sit the psychic. Betty Jo sent along a few publicity pictures for me. I suppose it was so that I could recognize the client without a lot of hoop or la. The client was attractive enough but not gorgeous. She really seemed to be more pleasant looking than anything else. From the pictures she seemed to be around my age. At the time I was thirty three so give or take a couple of years she was around thirty five.

I was met in the lobby of the Airport Hilton, located just outside the Ronald Regan International Airport, by Sara's business manager. Since I didn't have his picture, he had to recognize me. I thought I might have to wear a rose in my lapel but obviously he had seen a picture of me.

"Mr Ames," The thin man said as he approached me. "I'm Edward Wilson. You can call me Eddie."

"Alright Eddie, before we waste any time let me advise you that I do not carry firearms. I also am not a marshal arts expert. That being said, I'm not quite sure why you asked for me."

"Sara would agree to a bodyguard only if he was not armed. She has a thing about men with guns."

"What kind of thing?"

"She thinks that she will be killed on this trip by a man with a gun."

"If I felt that way, I would want a man with a cannon." I meant it.

"I agree, but she is convinced that it is fate. She agreed to have you with us on the tour just to make sure no one else gets hurt. I chose you, because I have been told that you are competent even without a firearm."

"Well I am still alive." I gave it some thought before I went on. "Does Ms Marlow have any reason to feel that she is in danger?"

"She is a psychic. She doesn't need any evidence. She says that she just knows this trip is going to be the end of her."

"If she feels that strongly, why do it?"

"She is on a mission. A mission to have her book read by as many people as possible. She does not want to leave her daughter the legacy of a fraud, but of a woman who can see things others can't. She will go anywhere and do anything to further that goal. "

"To be honest she sounds a little out in left field, but I will do what I can to make sure she is wrong about this trip."

"That's all I can ask," Eddie said with an inappropriately wide smile.

I just hate when people send inappropriate signals.

trees and hot dogs

On that Monday morning I was at my shack in the woods where I spent my time fishing, hunting, and doing just as little real work as possible. One of the things I had to do was to cut wood for the winter. It was simple, do that amount of work or freeze to death in my bed.

So first thing that morning, I was off to cut down a tree. The tree was on a piece of property owned by an old family friend. He had been sort of a drop in caretaker of the shack while I was away. Away being two years in a country where they still killed people for fun, then five years in a U. S. federal prison for shooting one of the locals in the back. At least they had the decency to put me in a country club prison. I should have gotten a medal, but I got ten to twenty for murder.

You just can't mix politics and bullets. Unfortunately I learned that a little late in life. What would have gotten me a medal one day, got me a felony record the next. Yes I am bitter as hell about it. If I had been on a federal payroll, I would have gotten a slap on the wrist. Since I was working for an oil company, I got arrested. At the time the left wingers thought all oil company employee were part of the devil's horde.

I bring this up because I had an afternoon appointment with my parole officer. Even she knew it was all bullshit. Still the rules are the rules she had informed me on our first meeting. She had to assess whether I was likely to go shooting anyone else while still on parole. To do that I was supposed to go in once a week, but she changed it to once a month.


"Hey Rex, thought I'm come take down that tree for you," I suggested.

"Help yourself. If you are going to haul it off in the jap pickup, you are going to have to make a lot of trips."

"Yeah I know, that's one big mother of a tree."

Rex shook his head. If his long gray hair hadn't been so greasy, it would have moved like a TV commercial. Instead it stayed pretty much in place.

The tree he wanted taken down had been dead long enough so that the wood would be usable instantly. It would burn quickly, but it wouldn't soot up the chimney. It was a trade off. I had some green oak, which I could burn over night. It would burn slower and hold the fire better.

I planned to get the tree on the ground before I went to my meeting with the P.O. To accomplish it I had borrowed a chain saw from another friend. The chain saw was a large one so it made the first cut pretty quickly. After cutting the 1/4 notch on the north side of the tree, I move around to the south side and made the cut that would have brought the tree down. That is if it hadn't been so large. The saw started to choke about half way into the trunk. That left me with a pretty good sized piece of the tree I couldn't reach.

I began working the wedges into the tree. Between the wedges and a couple of cuts on the sides, the tree finally broke off. Since I didn't top it first, it was a risky trip down to the ground. If it had gotten hung in the neighboring trees, I would have been in a world of crap. I got lucky or maybe my planning was better than I thought, Either way it fell right where I had hoped that it would.

I had never cut such a large tree, but since my dad had grown up in a lumber camp, I has some idea what I was doing. It also might have been in the genes. I laughed at that thought. I spent what little time I had left stripping the tree of dead limbs. Those would make good kindling.

"So Richard, what have you been up to since our last meeting?" My P.O. was at least fifty pounds over weight. She might have been attractive without the excess weight, and if she were a few years younger. As it was she reminded me of my old main aunt.

"Oh I caught about twenty pounds of catfish last week. This morning I cut down a tree."

"Good, it sounds like you are staying out of trouble."

"Oh I am." I had never told her about Executive Security Company. She didn't need to know everything. My deal with them was a cash under the table arrangement. E.S.C was a twig of the same tree I fell from in the middle east. I suppose it was their idea of looking after their own.

"That's good to hear. So are you looking for a job yet?"

"You know the payout package from the 'Swamp Thing' got invested in their stock. It sat there growing while I was in the joint. War is a good investment it seems. I don't need to work for a while." I said it hoping she would believe that it was true. Well technically it was true.

"In the joint. I would hardly call the facility you did your time in, the joint."

"Well whenever I can't make a midnight snack, it is prison to me."

"You don't seem to have gained any weight since your release."

"No, I still can't make a snack. I keep forgetting to buy anything to snack on." I didn't mention that it was a constant struggle to keep my weight down.

"Well stay out of trouble and I'll see you on the 21st of next month."

"Yes Ma'am." She was in a hurry to move on to her next parolee, so I left the room quickly. I was in just as big a hurry to get out of the federal building.

Just like always I walked two blocks to the Dog House restaurant. I ordered three hot dogs with everything, then moved to a rear corner to eat. The Diet Coke was the only concession to my attempt to keep my weight down.

The black kid came in carrying a shotgun. He was big for his age but obvious still a teenager. He was also waving the shotgun around like a character from a bad 1940 movie. I had seen a few of those over the years. He had probably picked that time of day because the place was almost empty. He demanded the contents of the register. The cashier tried to get it open but she was terrified so the register got jammed.

"Open the fucking register or I'm going to blow your head off." He said that way to loud. I didn't want to know what he was thinking, but he had told me anyway. He was scared and he just might shoot the cashier in his a panic state of mind. The odds were about fifty, fifty that she was going to die. If he did that, leaving witnesses would be stupid.

I told myself that I should sit there and do nothing. I was about thirty feet from him, so it made no sense at all for me to do anything but mind my own business. I had probably seen too many movies. I know I had seen it done in at least three or four. Yes I had practiced it for hours, so it wasn't something out of the blue that I just came up with.

I yelled, "Cops." Then I threw the heavy cut glass sugar holder at him. She swung the shotgun toward me. I had hoped to hit him square in the face with the sugar holder, but it missed. I did hit him a glancing blow, which gave me a chance to move toward him. I was much faster then his decision making ability. If he had been a trained killer, I would have been very dead.

When the shotgun went off, it was in the direction of the ceiling. I had him on the floor with the gun butt on his throat when the owner came from the kitchen. He took a slow look around and said to me, "You gonna' have to pay for that hole in my ceiling."

"In a pigs ass," I whispered.

flash fiction faux kidnapping

As usual when the call came, I was covered in grease. I wasn't always covered in grease, but Betty Jo ,seemed to know just the wrong times to call. I looked at the caller ID before I answered, so I knew who was on the line. "Hello Betty Jo, what's on the schedule now."

"You aren't going to like it," she said with a smile in her voice. Betty Jo loved to rattle my cage.

"Then I just won't do it," I suggested. I wasn't her employee, even though almost all my real income came from Executive Security Company.

"Of course you can refuse any assignment, I have just never seen you do it. You are my most trusted agent."

"Then why do I always get the crap nobody else wants?"

"Because, my dear Richard, you don't have a squeaky clean background." We both knew what she meant, so I didn't bother to ask for an explanation.

"That is true enough, but you don't seem to mind when it is a crap job."

"Only the crap jobs, as you call them, will accept you."

"Yeah I know, so what is it this time?"

"Just another brief case delivery."

"Really is it legal?"

"If it were legal, I could get one of the others to do it."

"One of these days I'm going to get jacked up, and I'm taking you all with me."

"You might be planning to try, but I doubt that you will. There are far to many perks to taking the heat all by yourself."

"Money isn't much good to a man in prison."

"Then don't get caught doing anything illegal," Betty Jo said.

"So give me the details," I demanded. There was no sense arguing with Betty Jo. She had all the answers. I was the unarmed man in the battle of wits.

"There will be a ticket to Atlanta at the airport for you. You have two hours to make it to the airport."

"How about my gear?"

"You will have to improvise. That's what you do best isn't it?"

"So you keep telling me. Is anyone going to meet my plane?"

"The client will send someone. Good luck Richard."

Betty Jo was right about one thing. I didn't like riding shotgun in a money drop. It wasn't just dangerous, it was working with a civilian. Most often it was working with someone who was in a highly agitated state of mind as well. Not only that it was someone who thought that for the five grand, they should get a nursemaid, an assassin, and someone to solve all of his or her problems.

I cleaned up as best I could, then topped off the travel bag. The quarter size black duffel bag stayed mostly packed all the time. The working gear, that could pass through airport screening, stayed in the bag. I added a couple of shirts and some underwear.

From the time I got Betty Jo's call until I left my shack in the woods less than an hour had passed. I arrived at the local airport just in time to clear security. The flight down was uneventful, and it even arrived on time.

The woman, who held the sign with my name on it, looked no more than twenty. She had to be an employee, it was obvious that she hadn't put up five grand for an escort.

"Richard Ames," I said to her. She didn't speak just nodded. Since I always carried the small duffle bag onto the plane, we were out of the terminal in moments. We were in the Limo when she finally spoke. "Mr. Ames, I work for Mr. Richie's firm. He asked me to meet you and fill you in on the way to his office." That time I just nodded.

"Mr. Richie's son Edward has been abducted. Since Mr. Richie is a well known criminal lawyer, he fears one of his less law abiding clients in involved. We have defended some rather nasty characters over the years. He called your boss to arrange for someone to actually make the drop."

"So Mr. Richie won't be going along. is that okay with the kidnapper?"

"They were still negotiating that point when I left for the airport."

"Either way it's all the same to me." I replied. Actually I preferred to go alone.

"Mr. Ames," the just past middle-aged man in the five thousand dollar suit said as a greeting.

"Mr. Richie, I presume." It was the best I could do at being serious. Richie might be my better in some things, but we were playing on my turf. At that moment he was the rookie.

"Yes, Jay Jay filled you in I hope." He nodded to the woman as a signal for her to leave.

"She gave me the bones."

"Do you need more?"

"That depends on what you expect me to do."

"Deliver the brief case with the money and then bring my son home. Not more no less."

"Then you don't want me to make the arrangements?"

"No, the meet is set." I didn't like that at all. I would have preferred to set up the exchange myself. "I need to see the place where the exchange will be made before I walk in there."

"I'm not sure that is such a good idea. They said to play it straight or my son would die. They may be watching the site."

"If I can't see what I'm walking into, then you can take the money yourself, or maybe send in Jay Jay." I gave him a minute, When he didn't respond, I turned to the door. It wasn't a bluff. Seeing the spot in advance was the bare minimum of preparation I would accept.

"Alright, I'll have Jay Jay take you."

"In her car not the limo," I answered emphatically.

"Very well," he replied.

The car was a modern midsize piece of plastic. It wouldn't stand out at all. The exchange was to be near the car parking area of a small upscale neighborhood park. I could imagine how it would go down. The kidnapper would see the money, then he would bring the kid, and it would be done.

Of course, it stank to high Buddha. If it went down that way, I would see one of the kidnappers and their car. The car could be stolen of course, and the kidnapper could be disguised, but it still seemed very amateurish. Amateurs worry me, because they are easily spooked.

Something about it just plain reeked. No kidnapper, no matter how amateurish, would bring the kid to the meeting. Just too much chance the cops could roll them up right after the kid was delivered. Richie had to know that as well. Something about this was really ripe.

If it was a fake, why would he need someone else to deliver it. No he really thought there was some danger in the delivery. The kidnappers had to know for a fact that Richie was going to go along. How could they know that he wouldn't call the FBI?

The only answer that made sense was that it wasn't a kidnapping. It was a simple exchange. Money was going to be exchanged for something of value. Something Richie didn't want the cops to see. Something being held by a dangerous man. The kidnapping was just a ploy to prevent anyone from knowing that he was being blackmailed. He would get sympathy instead of whatever he would get, if the information got out.

The fact that it was blackmail only mattered to me, because it meant that it could be really bad guys making the exchange. It ruled out some friend of his son's trying to make a quick buck. It also meant that I could expect the blackmailer to act reasonably. That is as reasonably as blackmailers act.

After a good piece of steak at a nice restaurant, I went to the park. I sat on the concrete bench as I had been told. I also tried to read the newspaper, as I had also been instructed.

"You got something for me," the woman with the baby stroller asked.

"Yes, do you have a package for me?"

"It's in the stroller."

"You managed to get a teenager in the stroller?"

"What teenager? I have an envelope in the stroller, that's what this is all about."

"I need to call the client to be sure that is what he is paying for," I suggested.

"Okay, but do you see that man by the green car?"

"Yes, I assume that he will shoot me, if I don't hand over the money?"

"That's right," she said.

"You know that bluff would work on a lot of people. It just won't on me. But lady it's not my money. Let me call the man, if he says do it, then it's your money as far as I'm concerned."

I made the call on my cell phone. "So this isn't your son after all, it's about saving your ass. Do you want me to make the exchange for an envelop."

"If the envelop has a pistol inside, do it," Richie demanded.

I opened the brief case and took one of the money packets. "Call this my charge for being threatened."

"The deal is off." she said angrily. She tried to remove something from her purse. I knew it was a weapon. Even though she hadn't been expecting me to lift the money, I had been expecting her to pull something. I had a very heavy, thick blade steak knife. It was a souvenir left over from lunch. I spun her around, then I held the steak knife to her throat. I also arranged her so that her body shielded me from the car park.

I carefully reached into the stroller to remove the thick manila envelop. The envelop had some large, heavy metal object inside. That was a good thing, since papers can be copied easily, hard evidence is another thing altogether. I walked backwards while dragging her along the bike path until I was out of sight of the car park. I pushed her hard and climbed aboard the Wal-mart Mountain bike. I had hidden it in the trees before I went to lunch. It's the kind of thing you can walk away from, if all goes as planned, if not you can use it as an escape vehicle. Obviously, I was riding it into the sunset. As Betty Jo said, I knew how to improvise.

"What have you done?" Richie asked.

"I saved you eighty grand, and I got your pistol."

"Those people will kill me."

"If they wanted to kill you, they wouldn't have blackmailed you. Just tell them I dropped off the pistol, and you had no idea that I stole the money. Tell the rest is between them and me. It's a total win, win for you."

When it sank in he asked, "Don't you want to know why the pistol is so important?"

"Hell no." I said.

Im going to take a break for a while

It's time for me to take a break from writing. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do next but I will probably keep the blog up as something else.

The payoff was scheduled for 7pm. Reverend Write and I sat on the front pew waiting for our blackmailer. The church door opened a few minutes after seven. I saw the women walk toward the Reverend and me. She wore a dress, either specially for the occasion, or because she was comfortable in one. I expected her to be in shorts and some kind of small top. I should have known better.

The jilted wife was about fifty pounds over weight. She had large soft breasts and a professional wrestlers body. Thick all the way from her shoulders to her knees. She did have nice hear if that was any consolation to her.

"Hello Monica," Reverend Wright said to great her. "This is my bother Thomas. I'm sure you have heard me mention him."

"Hello, Thomas your sister is a home wrecking whore," She said angrily. She was ignoring Edith. "So do you have it?"

"By it, do you mean the money?" I asked it wanting to have her say the words.

"Oh course I mean the money."

I handed her the envelope containing twenty thousand dollars. "Count it," I demanded.

"Why I trust you," Monica said belligerently.

"I want you to count it, then I want your word that you will not be back for more."

"Alright," she said opening the envelope. I watched as she counted the money. "It's all here." she said finally.

"So you have been paid and I don't expect you to threaten my sister again," I said angrily.

"No, I won't bother the husband stealing slut again."

"Good because if one word of this comes out, no matter who leaks it, you are going to jail." With those words I took the envelope.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lucy," I said in a loud voice.

Lucy stood up in the balcony. She was still taping. "Lucy has been recording our little meeting. Would you like to see the tape, or do you still trust me."

"You son of a bitch," Monica said.

"Actually my mother was not a bitch, but that is immaterial at the moment. What is material is that the sentence for blackmail is ten yeas in state prison. So go on home and try to get the money somewhere else. It's time you looked to your husband for financial aid, not my sister."

Monica turned to Edith, then said, "God will get you for what you have done." With those words said, she turned and left the church quickly.

"Will that stop her?"

"It will stop her long enough for you to find another church."

"What do you mean?" Edith asked.

"You are going to start looking for a new church home. If you don't I will play that tape for the church elders myself."

"Dear God, you are blackmailing me too?"

"Such an ugly word. I think of it more as motivating you to do the right thing. These people deserve better than you as their pastor. I hope you have learned something and that you will take the lesson to your next church. But whether you have or not, you are leaving this one. How you leave is your only choice.