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Cruel Summer
copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.
comments to
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/
// 18: Cased
What irony. Angela had spent the previous night crying, crushed at
the mess she'd made at Ricky's, her self-respect and good reputation
stripped away just as she'd stripped away her clothing in that
humiliating display of mindless sexuality. Her gems had reduced her
from powerful superheroine to powerless slave of her own desires.
Disabling her emotionally and physically, rendering her unable to
perform her self-appointed duties as the city's protector.
And on that very night, the agent of her collapse, Mr. Aquino --
Police Detective Noel Aquino -- stopped a robbery at the very QuickMart
where Sapphire had made her debut. A professional, doing his job. Doing
her "job" as well as she ever did, without the benefit of super powers.
She was obviously a failure. An amateur. A joke. A cartoon. It was as
if Mr. Aquino had in one evening erased Sapphire's existence and
destroyed Angela's hope for a normal life.
No, Mr. Aquino didn't do it, Angela chided herself. It was those
stupid sapphires. They did this to me. They're a curse. They've messed
up everything. They've ruined my life. I wish I could just get rid of
them.
But she couldn't.
It wasn't that she was afraid that someone might come looking for
them -- and want to do more than just take them back. Since getting her
shoes back from Josh, she hadn't even gone online again -- why should
she, when there was no one she wanted to hear from? Paranoid fears
faded as she settled back into a routine and the uneventfulness of life
made Scott's world seem distant and unimportant. And as the sapphire's
promise as a tool to accomplish good became more difficult to fulfill,
with day after boring day fading into night after encounterless night,
only the addictive super endorphin rush of using the stones remained.
And it compelled her.
Even as her emotions turned more to shame and despair, something
inside her begged for the Sapphire high. To take to the air and float
above the endless sea of blinking lights, to feel the warm embrace of
the magical blue crystalline orbs, to defy the very Earth that would
hold her down, to feel the changing energy licking at her most
sensitive places... each day she awoke in shame, cursing herself for
succumbing to the salacious song of the sapphires; each day she swore
the previous night had been her last. And each night she donned as
little clothing as her innate modesty allowed and strapped on the
seductive stones for another hit of ecstacy.
It was a cycle broken for the first time in over a week last night.
And as she prepared to head home after a depressingly-dull day at the
fabric store, she wanted nothing more than to feel her sapphires'
embrace once more. As Sapphire she always felt good, at least for a
while.
Angela began to wonder if whoever had the gems before her would even
want them back. Maybe the blue stones had proven too destructive, too
seductive, and they'd cast them off to save themselves. Maybe the
previous owner had possessed a strength Angela herself lacked, and they
were glad to be rid of them.
Or maybe the sapphires had consumed them, and Angela was the next
victim.
But how could something so terrible make her feel so good? So strong?
So *alive*? She only wished it could last, that she could feel the rush
always, that she never had to take them off or cover them up to let
them recharge. But truth be told it was the cycle of power and
powerlessness that was the real drug. As much as the feelings of
strength and control thrilled her, she was addicted to the mind-blowing
orgasms had under the influence of the sapphires' nightly meltdown and
accompanying fantasies of being overpowered and taken by the imaginary
villains she hunted.
She didn't need Ricky. Ricky couldn't make her feel the way her
sapphires made her feel. The way Sapphire made her feel.
A little voice inside her head spoke: The sapphires don't make you
feel the way Ricky does, either.
Angela shook her head clear. Maybe when Mr. Aquino cooled off a bit
she could see Ricky again. For now, she was on her own. For now, she
had only her sapphires to comfort her.
Besides, she told herself, it wasn't all about her. Sure, Mr. Aquino
had stopped that robbery at the QuickMart -- *her* QuickMart. But Azmid
had been shot in the process. It was just a flesh wound, true, but had
Sapphire been there things would have been different. Maybe all the
sapphires were supposed to do was to make her feel good; shouldn't she
get credit for trying to make it something more? For making the most of
what she was given? It would be selfish to retire the gems. Somebody
out there needed her help, even if it was a little hard to find them
right now.
Angela slipped the shiny tiara into her hair. A gasp of pleasure
escaped her lips as the Sapphire energy embraced her.
Sapphire leaped into the warm night air, anxious to begin another
adventure.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey, Aquino, you're wanted in there." The senior detective jerked
his thumb back toward the doorway he'd just come from.
Noel Aquino let out a resigned sigh as he got out of his chair.
"By the way, nice job on the QuickMart bust a couple nights ago."
"Thanks."
"Close the door, Aquino. Sit down."
"Yes, sir."
Captain Ramirez leaned forward in his chair, adjusting the framed
photo on his desk. Noel knew the photo was of the captain's family.
"Everything all right at home?" Ramirez continued staring at the
photo.
"Sir?"
Noel's boss looked up suddenly, straight at Noel. "How's Ricky? He
doing all right?"
"Um, yeah, I guess so. Yeah, he's doing fine." Noel was
uncomfortable; Captain Ramirez didn't usually make small talk. He
didn't usually have the door closed, either. Noel was acutely aware of
the lack of noise in the room; the muffled din of the detectives
cubicles outside the office leaked through the inside wall just enough
to emphasize the silence between the two men.
"Did he get his grades up?" The last time Ramirez had talked to Noel
on a personal level was a year ago. At that time Ricky had just
finished his freshman year inauspiciously. Being of slight build the
boy hadn't made the transition to high school well. An A student all
through middle school, he'd nearly flunked his first semester in high
school and drew only a C average by the end of the school year. Already
shy and reserved, when older kids picked on him he'd retreated into his
own world, spending his evenings reading comic books and his class time
drawing. That summer Noel sat down and had a serious talk with Ricky.
They'd made a deal: Noel bought him a drafting table and supplies and
let him enroll in Art as an elective. In exchange, Ricky promised to
stop drawing in class and to maintain at least B's in every academic
subject and at least a C in P.E. Ricky kept up his end of the bargain
and then some, getting almost all A's his whole sophomore year. The
elder Aquino's only concern was that his son spent too much time
indoors at the drawing table, but was willing to accept the boy's
habits as long as he was happy. That changed when summer came and
Angela started coming around...
"Um, yes sir. Ended the year with a 3.92 grade point average."
"He still drawing comic books?" Noel was surprised and impressed that
Ramirez remembered so much; the captain was friendly with some of the
other detectives but had always seemed cool towards Noel. Except for
that time a year ago. And now.
"I- I guess so." The truth was Noel hadn't really talked to or even
seen much of his son since catching Angela in his room... barely
dressed Angela, stretched out on his son's bed, running her hands
through her dark hair, her back arched, her firm young breasts
presented so seductively... her lithe form gently flexing with each
deep breath, calling to any red-blooded male within a hundred yards to
come running to her, to touch her, to worship her, to take her...
"Noel?"
"Um, sorry, sir. Yes sir, he's still drawing. Though the subject
matter seems to have changed lately."
"I thought I'd lost you for a second there. Different subjects? How
so?"
"He started drawing women."
"Only natural, a boy his age. He's what, fifteen, sixteen now?"
"This one woman -- girl -- in particular. I told him to stop. I was
afraid it was becoming an obsession."
"What, the girl wasn't interested?"
"Huh? No, she was *too* interested. I caught her throwing herself at
him. He said he just needed a model for his drawing, and I believe him,
but she was practically naked on his bed and had this... look... I
dunno, it freaked me out. I found out she'd been seeing him a lot,
making excuses like needing him to fix her computer, she even took him
out, at least twice that I know of."
"You're getting old, Noel, you don't recognize infatuation when you
see it. You've had The Talk with Ricky, right? He sounds like he's got
a good head on his shoulders. Relax, you worry too much. I'd kill to
have a cute girl interested in me. If I were Ricky's age, I mean." Noel
shuddered at the thought of what he'd do to have a particular cute girl
interested in him...
"But he's at that age when... well, he's so reserved, and this girl
was throwing herself at him, she's two years older than him, graduated
this year... I think she's obsessed." And now so am I...
"So you've been checking her out."
Noel was surprised. How did Ramirez know?
"So what did you find out?" Was Ramirez humoring him?
"Nothing really."
"How far did you go?"
"Sir?"
"Did you find out where she works? Where she hangs out? Who else she
hangs out with? Does she do drugs? Go to wild parties? Is she going
away to college? Did you check out her parents? Look for anything
suggestive in the family history? Did you have Keri in Records hack the
school district and pull her records?"
Noel felt numb. Ramirez knew everything. What could he say?
"Well?"
"H-how did you...?" Noel felt on the edge of an abyss.
"I know because I've been there. Because your co-workers noticed
you've been distracted lately. Because Keri still brags too much in the
break room about what a hot shit she is with a computer. Look, Noel, I
understand what you're going through -- I have a daughter, and when she
was Ricky's age my wife had to constantly remind me to back off. And I
almost went too far -- no, I did go too far -- the first time she got
serious with a guy. A police officer is always protective of his
family. Sometimes a little too protective."
Noel was silent.
"So what do you know about her? Did you find anything?" Ramirez
seemed genuinely concerned. Noel spilled his facts.
"She works at a fabric store." Noel recalled following her bike to
work, her coltish legs flexing, her heart-shaped ass rocking back and
forth like a pendulum in those tight teal bike shorts... "Father died
when she was six, still lives with her mother." Noel remembered
standing outside her bedroom window at three in the morning, mesmerized
by the rise and fall of her chest, only to duck behind a shrub when her
mother's Corolla pulled up... "She's a homebody, doesn't seem to hang
out with anybody or go anywhere." Except that time he saw her wave to
him outside that house in Glenwood Estates, dressed like a Hong Kong
hooker... "No obvious drug activity. She was a B-minus student in
college prep classes. Only A was in drama. Not much on activities."
Except slithering around on an impressionable young man's bed like she
was in a music video...
"So?"
"So I can see how she could become obsessed."
"Or she could just be a shy girl who's attracted to a shy boy. Did
they have any classes in common?"
"No, but I think he tutored her in ancient history last semester."
"There you go. So naturally there's an attraction. Let it run its
course."
"I don't want Ricky to get hurt. Anyway, it may be too late for that.
I told them they couldn't see each other anymore."
"Did that ever stop you when you were his age?" Ramirez grinned.
"I never went through that. My father and I had a good relationship."
"Well, your son's gonna do what he's gonna do. And eventually he's
gonna get hurt. You know it. You can't stop it. You can't let being a
police officer take up slack for being a father. So quit trying. Just
talk with him, be around, know what he's up to, set reasonable limits,
all that good-parenting stuff. Relax. Be honest. You just weren't ready
to walk in on your son when he was with a young woman."
"It wasn't like that, sir."
"All right, Aquino, look. In the end it doesn't really matter 'what
it was like.' What does matter is that somebody called yesterday to
report suspicious activity, and a black-and-white rolls up to find your
car parked down the street from this girl's house. Listen," Ramirez
continued, "you've gotta back off. This kind of thing can get you in
trouble. If the girl finds out, or if her parents find out, it could
cost you your badge."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now," Ramirez reached for a file on his desk and pushed it
across to Noel, "since you're so motivated to find and follow women
around, I'm assigning you the Avenging Angel case."
Noel wasn't actually slapped across the face, but he might as well
have been. "Sir, you don't mean the thing in the World News Weekly, do
you?"
"I didn't know you read it." Ramirez almost laughed.
"But sir, I've got real cases to work on. That case is closed. The
QuickMart perps are already caught, confessed, and in court. They'll be
in prison by the end of the week." Indignation rose in Noel's voice as
he protested. "They're three-strikes scum, who cares if they were so
doped up they imagined an angel came down from heaven and knocked them
around? I don't care if Bozo the Clown made the bust, they're busted."
"I know, Aquino, but as ridiculous as it sounds I have to open a
case. You know about the Library Park Rapist?"
Noel's face scrunched in confusion. "Yeah, Milton Spinner, found in
the park all busted up after picking on the wrong woman. What's that
got to do with the QuickMart job?"
"Spinner's lawyer is making noise about him being an innocent victim,
some kind of mistaken-identity revenge thing."
"What a crock. The DNA evidence is a conclusive match to the semen
found in all of his victims, and they all identified him in a photo
lineup."
"True enough, but Councilman Trimble's picked up on it and is crowing
about 'Selective Justice.'"
"Okay, so you have to try to find his attacker. I still don't see-"
Noel paused as it hit him. "You're not trying to tell me his phantom
attacker is the Angel from the QuickMart, are you?"
"Hell, Aquino, I don't know. But we've got enough shit going on here
without *two* stupid distractions. The physical descriptions are a
close enough match; hell, both of 'em talk about their attacker
*flying* and throwing things without touching them. So I'm killing a
few birds with one stone."
"And I'm the stone. Gee, thanks. What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Work it. I don't expect you to find anything, but I expect you to
act like you're looking hard. Redirect the press to me. I want an
update every day."
"What about my other cases?"
"Give the car stereo thefts to Johnson." Dammit, that was Noel's best
case. "The rest are lost-cause burglaries anyway, so they can sit
unless some new evidence falls in your lap."
"I'll get right on it, sir. You can tell the press you have your best
man on it," he said with clear sarcasm. He was lucky he wasn't
suspended, but even so, this was humiliating. He got up to leave.
"I trust this will keep you out of trouble with your son's
girlfriend." Ramirez called after him.
"Yes, sir," Noel said over his shoulder just before he closed the
office door.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hurry up, TJ. It's almost 3 o'clock."
TJ was limping as fast as he could; he still didn't quite get the
hang of walking with a cane, and his arm was starting to get sore.
"Relax, Spence. The airport'll be plenty busy till at least 7."
"Man, Valerie really fucked you up," Spence marveled.
"Yeah, getting blindsided and pushed down the fucking stairs will do
that," TJ lied.
"Chicks just don't fight fair, man."
TJ wasn't about to tell Spence the truth. Despite the flash of pain
in his hip every time he took a step and the occasional dizzy spells,
he still had trouble believing what had happened three days earlier.
Valerie was no delicate flower -- hell, she'd been on her own since 14
-- but TJ outclassed her by six inches and eighty pounds, and had
extensive gang-fight experience from his younger days. He should have
mopped the floor with her. Considering the huge way she'd tried to rip
him off -- that airborne nightclub princess had been *his* score! --
Valerie was lucky he didn't just kill her. Yeah. TJ didn't know what
she'd slipped him to knock him out like that, but it wouldn't happen
again.
"No, they don't."
It was Spence's idea to capitalize on TJ's condition. The airport was
full of easy marks. Spence would knock a mark into TJ; TJ would snatch
their wallet as he grabbed the mark to try to keep from falling; when
they weren't looking he'd pass it to Spence, who would disappear.
Spence had hoped he could get Bobby to come along, but the younger hood
declined, mumbling something about cameras.
They'd practiced a couple of times on suits in the business district
before catching the bus out to the airport. Spence now had two cell
phones he could sell to the phone cart clerk in the mall for $20 each.
TJ convinced Spence to start on the sidewalk at Arrivals.
"Everybody's getting their wallets out to get a cab or tip a porter,"
he'd argued.
Fang Manxie adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder before stepping
out of the baggage claim area and onto the sidewalk. The transition
from carpet-hushed passengers watching carousels to concrete-amplified
transportation momentarily distracted him from his thoughts.
The wall of noise carried with it an undertone of exhaustion.
Max looked up at the signs along the middle island. The city downtown
express bus stop was a hundred yards upstream. He was not here on the
company's dime and was not about to burn his cash on taxicabs or rental
cars. There was no telling how long he would have to be here.
Max slid his hand into his coat pocket, feeling the cool metal of the
amulet. He would be here as long as it took to find her.
"Hey, check him out."
Spence pointed downstream toward the last baggage claim exit.
"Who?"
"Mr. Black."
TJ scanned the crowd for a moment before seeing him. A Chinese guy,
30 to 50 years old he guessed, though he wasn't very good at guessing
their ages, black turtleneck, open black overcoat, black cargo pants,
black boots, small black duffel bag over one shoulder. He looked like
the type to carry cash, and a lot of it. 'The badass wardrobe will not
save you, my friend,' TJ thought.
"I'm on him," TJ said to Spence. "You go around to the right and get
him from behind."
TJ moved slowly, laboriously, only partly acting.
Max moved upstream through the crowd with an experienced grace. He
tried not to think about the huge throng of people here during this
peak arrival time, or the small fraction of the total arrivals and
departures that they represented, or the small fraction of the city's
population the airport's comings and goings represented. The gems and
their wearer could be anywhere in the city, or in another city
altogether. Max sought a needle in an endless field of haystacks. But
he pushed these thoughts out of his mind and remained focused on the
outcome he desired. The girl was here. The gems were here. He would
find them.
As if to encourage him, the amulet shivered briefly in his pocket.
Max stopped in his tracks. Had that been his imagination? Some
sympathetic vibration with a nearby bus or plane overhead?
No, there it was again. It was distinct, deliberate. Amazing -- the
amulet was trying to tell him something. He gripped it more tightly as
his eyes scanned the crowd around him. Was she here?
Max resumed walking, examining the women around him. The tourist? The
businesswoman? The college girl?
TJ saw Spence dodging and weaving to catch up to "Mr. Black" who had
stopped momentarily but was on the move again, apparently looking for
someone. TJ braced for impact . . .
Max felt himself pushed roughly from behind. His right hand stuck in
his pocket still gripping the amulet, his left instinctively reached
out to catch his balance -- and struck an injured young man in the
shoulder.
And without warning, a rush of images and feelings overwhelmed him. A
girl. Night time. Writhing. The Stones! Naked. Wet. Tight. Hard.
Triumph. A girl again. Struggling. The Stones! Pain. Submission.
Humiliation.
TJ collapsed to the ground, the Chinese man stumbling and landing on
top of him. TJ reached awkwardly for the man's pants pocket but
couldn't get to it. The man rolled off him and quickly stood, breathing
hard and holding one hand to his forehead. The other hand jammed itself
into his coat pocket. Fuck, he's a hands-on-the-wallet type. TJ made a
show of grimacing and holding his hip, which really did hurt like hell.
Maybe he could pry the wallet loose when the man helped him up. Not
surprisingly, everyone around them quickly backed away and resumed
their own courses, throwing nothing more than the occasional covert
glance at the collided couple. TJ noticed Spence behind the mark, just
standing there looking stupid and obvious. TJ could see that this
technique was going to take a little more practice.
Max's head was spinning. What had just happened? His right hand
immediately squeezed the precious amulet tightly to confirm that he
still had it. It was vibrating more regularly now. It was surely
communicating something. Something about the young man he'd just been
pushed into.
Someone spoke up from behind him. "Hey, watch where you're goin',
dude! You almost knocked me over! And you nailed that poor guy! Aren't
you gonna help him up?"
Max turned to apologize. "I am very sorry sir," he said, accidentally
bumping into this other person, also a rough-looking young man, perhaps
a street tough, who was unexpectedly very close to him. So close that
his shoulder brushed the other's chest as he turned.
And another flash of image and feeling, though not as intense as the
first. Again the girl. Night. Grabbed hand. One of the Stones!
Disorientation. Chase. Grass. Cold. Ripping. Hot. Gasping. Slick.
Squirming. Spent.
Max staggered back a half-step, trying to comprehend what he was
experiencing. It was as if contact with these two caused him to black
out. No, to see something. To experience something they'd experienced.
He noticed the amulet was warm in his clenched fingers.
The traveler turned back to the injured and fallen one. "You... you
know the one I seek."
"Huh?" He looked confused. "Could you help me up?" Max extended his
hand. The young man took it.
Again Max felt the flashes of experience. This one had felt the
stones recently. The girl was young. Short? No, now she was tall.
Angry. He couldn't quite see her face. He felt a tugging on his hand.
"Ow, ow! Leggo!" The still-prone man was trying to pull away from
him; why? He looked ill.
"Fuck, leggo, what'r'you doin' t'me? Ow, it hurts! Leggo!
F-fuuckkhh..." TJ's whole body convulsed and went numb. First he felt
like he was gonna hurl, then just kind of dizzy.
"Where is she? Show me..." the Chinese man said mysteriously,
imprisoning TJ's hand in an iron grip. "Show me..." he repeated.
"Where is who?" TJ replied weakly; he suddenly felt like he did when
he was totally blitzed, barely coherent. What was Mr. Black mumbling
about?
"The one with the stones. Where can I find her? What is her name?"
Whatever it was he was really insistent about it. For some reason TJ
found himself thinking about Valerie and the beating she'd given him,
and the strange feeling that she'd somehow fucked him afterward, but
that didn't happen, did it? What did this stranger want with Valerie?
"V-valerie?" he mumbled. Man, his head hurt. He felt so tired...
"Yes, Valerie. The one with the Stones."
TJ remembered the blue diamonds that bitch had stolen from him.
"WWaidafughenminit, them'r MY rocks... she canth havum..."
"Where is Valerie?" the man pressed. Why can't he just leave me
alone? TJ felt so awful, like he was gonna pass out... it was as if
this man's grip was sucking the life out of him... for some reason he
remembered Valerie's mailing address from that time he had to write it
on the Penthouse subscription card... and was reciting it...
"Thank you. I trust you will keep our exchange private." Max released
the fallen man's hand; it fell limp as he passed out. Before Max could
kneel to examine him, he felt a rough tug on his shoulder.
"Hey, asshole, what the fuck are you doin' to my friend?"
Max spun around, one hand instantly grabbing his assailant's and
spinning it around painfully behind his back; Max's other hand, still
gripping the amulet, shot to the taller man's neck, pressing his thumb
hard into the base of the jaw. This caused the man to twist to one
side, causing his pinned arm further pain. The punk was immobilized
trapped between the pain in his neck and that in his arm and shoulder.
Max was surprised at his own boldness; in such a crowded place he
would ordinarily have made a subtle lightning jab to the solar plexus
and escaped in the throng of people. But somehow the amulet and the
rush of raw data compelled him to press for more. And somehow no one
around seemed to notice the controlled violence taking place.
"You know her also, but you are not so freshly experienced as your
fallen friend. But your taste was sweeter." The images with this one
were less clear, less powerful, less... satisfying. He stared into his
captive's frightened eyes, as if looking for more.
Spence felt dizzy; this guy was a psycho! "I-I don't know how you
know Valerie, but we're just friends, honest. Sh-she doesn't mean
nothin' to me, man, nothin'. You can have her..." Spence's legs felt
wobbly. This Chinese man's eyes seemed to stare right through him . . .
The amulet had stopped vibrating. It was hot to the touch. Max
relaxed his hand, and released his captive, who collapsed to his knees
in a daze.
"Good day," Max said as he moved off. How fortuitous. Max now had a
destination. Though he knew not yet what to do when he reached it, he
was confident that the amulet would guide him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Yeah, this'z Dean." Andrew pulled into a parking lot and stopped.
"Um, Andrew Dean?"
"Yeah, this'z Dean."
"This is Walter Peck. With the Saab?"
Andrew stopped the CD player. "Yeah?"
"Um, yeah. Listen, the body shop just called me. About the car. Um,
they said they found a... nametag in the vent thingies up by the
windshield."
"Nametag?"
"Um, yes. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but I thought maybe that
might be important."
"Whose nametag?"
"I had a heck of a time explaining how it got there. I think he's
suspicious."
"Whose nametag?"
"The... the girl I hit, I presume."
No shit, Sherlock! Andrew let out an exasperated sigh. "What's the
name on the nametag?"
"Oh. Oh! Valerie. Sorry."
"Valerie Soary? How do you spell the last name?"
"Oh, no, no, I said I was sorry. The nametag just says 'Valerie.'"
"That's it? No company name, or logo?"
Pause. "You know, I don't think they mentioned it, but I didn't think
to ask. It was kind of awkward, I'm glad I didn't ask, that would have
been strange."
"Strange?"
"Well, I said it was my wife's friend's nametag. She, um, borrowed
the car and I guess lost her nametag."
"Okay, do you have the number of the body shop handy?"
"Um, yes, hold on just a second, let me go get it..."
Andrew heard the phone clatter down on a counter or table. He waited
almost half a minute before giving up and hanging up. "That's not
exactly having it handy, now is it Mr. Peck?" he said to no one. He hit
the Info button on his phone.
"Yeah, um, um, Lars Auto Body. Yeah. Thanks. [ause] Hi, can you give
me directions? Yeah, I'm on... um, you know, I can't see the street
sign, but I'm at the Oakmont Fashion Center, you know it? Yeah, okay...
okay... left on Spenser... uh-huh... yeah... yeah... got it. Thanks...
No, I'm coming to see Mr. Peck's Saab... Yeah... No, I'm with the
insurance company..."
"Can I keep this? Mr. Peck said it was okay, do you need to call him
to make sure?"
"Naw, go ahead. I just care about the car."
"Great, thanks. The estimate looks fine, by the way."
Andrew turned the plastic bag back and forth, looking at both sides
of the nametag suspended inside. It had probably been handled by every
grease monkey in the joint, but it didn't hurt to be thorough and check
the prints. Didn't hurt him, anyway.
Garden Guardians. What kind of place could that be?
Well, Valerie, whoever you are, you're about to get got.
And I ran, I ran so far away.
I just ran, I ran all night and day.
I couldn't get away.
__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! Tax Center - File online by April 15th
http://taxes.yahoo.com/filing.html
--
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