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Sam's voice was stern, but preoccupied. He might have been speaking to Cosmo or Bobby.
Sam: Beth, stop it. That had been fifteen minutes before and the floor was still littered with the spitwads Beth had been flinging at him. Now a fax was coming in and, as usual, the cover sheet was emblazoned with the USMS shield. Beth made a sour face at it as she pulled it out of the receiving tray. Detroit, again. Beth: Sam! Fax! Seemed like that was all she did any more, yell to somebody that a fax was in or the phone was for them. There was certainly no time or space for her own work in her own office. Roy had appropriated her computer, the fax was smokin', the phones were continually tied up. She would have shuddered at the thought of the phone bill if it hadn't been Sam's federally funded line. Your tax dollars at work. Sam limped in briskly, picked up the first page of the actual fax and began reading it while page two came off the machine. Beth picked up a pad of tiny postits and began gently sticking them to his back. She spelled STUD across his broad shoulders before he took the first two pages of a seven page fax out into the command post. At one time it had been her dining room. Sam: Beth! Where's the rest of it? Beth: Rest of what? Rest of me? Wasn't that what Ronald Reagan called his autobiography? Where's the rest of me? Sam: Where's the rest of this fax? Beth: Digitally encoded, being transported over fibre optic lines from Detroit to Lubbock at the speed of one page every minute... Sam: Where. Is the rest of it? Beth sighed hopelessly. Beth: Just about done transmitting. Sam returned, began reading pages three, four and five while six came in and seven was received. Quietly, Beth added BIG DOG under STUD, ending with DOG across his narrow hips. There was no more room, even on that fabulous back, so Beth went to the kitchen to boil water for tea. Passing through the command post, which was being fouled with cigar smoke, Beth caught sight of Angelo. The poor kid looked about wrung out. His bravado had long since petered out and he looked drained, and scared. Beth decided she would make a cup of tea for him as well. Somebody needed to be gentle with him. Beth: Here, Angelo...this might make you feel better. Angelo: Thanks, Beth. Beth: Don't you let these big goons push you around, now. Angelo: They're fine. I'm fine... Beth laid a soft hand on Angelo's shoulder, glared at Sam and Roy, then bore her own tea off to the office. She knew she was persona non grata in the dining room for the duration. The fax cover sheet still lay on her desk, Sam not having felt the need to collect it. She made a face at it as she set her teacup down. USMS...what might that stand for, besides United States Marshal's Service? U Suck More ...no, that was crude. Uncle Sam Might...no, that wasn't fair. Beth picked up a pen, doodled idly on the paper. She answered a sudden urge, slashed a pair of horns onto the shield. She rather liked the effect. There was a badge number imperfectly shown on the shield...she darkened it in to read 666. She picked up the sheet and her pen...and began poking holes in it. Sam: Beth? Beth looked up, her face wreathed in grins. The USMS cover sheet bore a strong resemblance to one of the snowflakes kids in first and second grade cut out of paper and pasted to their classroom windows. Her voice was sweetly innocent. Beth: Yes, honey? Sam: Beth, baby...what's this postit doing on my ass? Beth: Goes with the one on your shoulder? Beth was treated to the sight of a one-legged cop hopping around the room, trying to peel her handiwork off his back. After a couple of close calls, Beth took pity on him. She scraped the rest of the postits off of him and wadded them up in her hand. Sadly, she tossed them up in the air like confetti. Sam: What the hell you want, girl? I don't have time for this. Beth made no effort to answer him and, as Roy set up a howling from the dining room, Sam turned on his good heel and limped away. Beth muttered rebelliously after him... Beth: You haven't got time for anything anymore! Sam showed up in the office door again. Sam: What? Beth: Nothing. Sam: You want me to take you someplace for a while? You need to go have another heart to heart? Beth sighed hugely. It reminded her of Hewey. Beth: No. Roy: Sam...! Sam: Hold on, hold on...got somethin' goin' here. Beth... Beth: Go on...go save the world for democracy, create order and decency in an indecent and disorderly world. Sam: Well...call your mother, do somethin'... Deputy Sam had definitely come in from the Dawghouse. Beth heard Eddie and Hewey letting themselves in the back door. It didn't take Hewey long to come check on her, and Eddie was right behind him. The big man had looked especially troubled since Deb's...incident...and Beth wondered what his involvement was, or if she would ever find out. Beth: You okay, Eddie? Eddie: I'll do. How's Deb? Beth: She's doing a lot better than I'd have thought, Eddie. A lot of it has to do with Bill...and the fact that she started talking about it right away. Eddie: Glad to hear it. I... Beth: Eddie? Eddie smiled, that sad and tired smile of his, then excused himself. Hewey followed Eddie, leaving Beth alone. She glanced at her watch, and was stunned to see that it was only seven o'clock. She had a whole night of this excitement stretched out ahead of her. She sighed heavily...and picked up the phone. I slammed the dishwasher much harder than necessary and tried to block out the sound of the Bail Jumpers rehearsing in the basement. They had been down there for the last three days, oiling themselves up for their gig as houseband at the Corner. The number they had been rehearsing, ad nauseam, was their magnum opus...Rap Mama Goose. It had been prominently featured in the movie and in their not-at-all humble opinion, it was the best number they did. I had never liked it in the first place, and now, having heard it nonstop since two o'clock in the afternoon, I actively despised it. Deb: Strannix! No answer. A rimshot, a bluesy guitar lick, but no answer. Deb: STRANNIX!!! Still no answer. A bass run, the clash of a cymbal...but nothing from the mouth. Just as I was ready to head down the stairs amd do some serious asskicking despite my aching hip, the phone rang. Beth: Suicide hotline. That made no sense. SHE was the one calling ME! Deb: You need to get out of there. Wanna go to the mall? I need to get out of here. Beth: What kind of shape are you in? Deb: 'Bout the same, but who gives a damn? Beth's voice was bored. Beth: And which bodyguards will we be stuck with this evening? Deb: I had considered not learning from past mistakes and just taking off. Beth: Why not? Live fast. Die young. Deb: No chance I'll leave a good looking corpse. We're goin' to the mall, for cryin' out loud, Cole can't possibly be everywhere. Beth: Actually, I think Cole would be scared to go to the mall. Too many twelve year old gangbangers. Want me to meet you there? Deb: Naah, I'll pick you up. Need to see if I can drive. Beth: I'll be looking out the window. When I see you pull up, I'll just leave. Deb: I get the distinct impression you don't think you'll be missed. Not good. Beth: I could pop out of a cake wearing a 'Miss July' sash and nothing else and I STILL wouldn't be missed. Deb: Definitely not good. Be ready to run, then... Beth rang off, and I turned to the business at hand. Despite my brave words, I felt it necessary that Billy know where I was going. As I headed into the basement, I was greeted with a blast of Rap Mama Goose that drove me up a step or two. All of the irritation came storming back and I clattered down the stairs, ignoring the pain in my hip. Deb: Dammit!!! Strannix, I'm talkin' to you! I roared on into the basement, which had been turned into some surreal version of the Partridge Family garage. Billy was facing the rest of the Bail Jumpers, really wailing away. The harmonica emitted an enraged squawk when I kicked him in the ass to get his attention. Billy: Woman, what the hell you want! Deb: You to lose this miserable song for one. What a piece of shit! Billy: I wrote this song! Deb: I repeat, what a piece of shit! Buncha damn noise! All I've heard for five damn hours! Rap Mama-freaking-Goose, already! Billy: You wanna watch that mouth. It might get your ass in trouble. Deb: It did the minute I told you I loved you. What the hell! I came down here to tell you something...I need to go out. Billy's face went still, and he tucked the harmonica in his pocket, forgotten. Billy: I can't spare anybody to go with you. Deb: I don't need anyone... Billy made an aggravated face, reached down and touched the hip. Deb: I'm not going alone, I'm going with Beth. We're going to the mall. If you give me the keys, I'll drive the Suburban so he'll think it's you. We'll be fine. I rested a hand on his chest, feeling the thump of his steadfast heart beneath my palm. Deb: You have to rehearse this miserable song if you're ever gonna do it and you're driving me bugshit with it. Oh...I got this from a friend. I thought you might want to learn it for Cosmo and Cole. Even if they don't show up, you can dedicate it to them just the same. I reached into my pocket, pulled out an email I had printed out, and stuffed it into his front pocket. Billy: The mall. With the Shrimp. In the Suburban. Deb: Yes. Billy: You're damn sure. Deb: Yes, baby. Billy: And you'll go whether I say yes or not, so I might as well...dammit, woman! Billy fished in his pocket, handed over the keys to the Suburban. I kissed his cheek and he swung at my bottom...but pulled the slap at the last second so that it felt more like a caress. I was limping badly when I headed back up the stairs, but I had the keys. Beth had posted herself in front of the office window, her light jacket in her lap and her shoes on. She had about fifteen dollars in her pocket, which wouldn't buy much, but Deb would have hit either the vault or the stash in Billy's sock drawer. There would be money for a beer or two. Eddie: Beth? Got a second? Beth: Sure...what's up? Eddie: Need to talk for a minute...about the other night. Beth made a face. Finding Deb looking like hamburger was something she wanted to forget. What could Eddie possibly need to know about it, he had been the one to call her. Eddie: Beth, she...she asked me to... to take her to bed. She was afraid of sex, because of Cole, and she didn't want Bill to know what had happened. She said she thought I'd be the guy to be able to settle her. Sounded as goofy then as it does now...I said no, couldn't do it. That was when she left, got in the cab. She was drunk as hell... Beth: You're not feeling guilty, are you? She gets some damn weird ideas, sometimes. All you can do to stop her is be blunt. She's usually okay with that. Eddie: But I don't...I just wonder...if I'd gone ahead, maybe that wouldn't have happened... Beth: And maybe you'd have had Bad Bill kicking your ass around the block if he found out. You did what you had to do, Eddie. She won't hold it against you. Eddie: Don't think so? Beth: Nah. I'm slappin' her in the nose all the time to get her to shut her mouth...she just laughs. Don't worry about it, Eddie. Eddie: Hope you're right. I felt sorry for her. Beth: She creates a lot of that herself. She's the first one to admit it. She likes you, Eddie. If I know her, she wants to mother you. She wants to mother everybody...Sam, Elmore...Bill, especially. You watch. Oh... there she is. Gotta go. Beth blew past Eddie, but not before taking a minute to touch his shoulder and smile reassuringly into those tired eyes. Within minutes, she was installed in the passenger seat of the Suburban, moping again. Deb: You ready? Got some money? Beth: Ten, fifteen bucks. I need to get to the bank. I don't wanna spend his damn money. I sat back in the seat, stared at her. Billy had provided me with a pocketful of cash and he wouldn't grudge Beth a cent of the money, but it was the principle of the thing. What the principle was I couldn't say... but there was one there and Sam was violating it, of that I was sure. Deb: Hang on a minute. I jumped out of the truck and marched into the house. My hip was killing me and I was pretty sure I would need to get back to the doctor with it, but I ignored it. My objective was in the house someplace. I found him in the dining room, sitting bent over in the middle of a cloud of cigar smoke. Angelo looked about ready to fall asleep in his seat and Eddie was stretched out on the couch, with a glass of neat scotch balanced on his belly. Hewey jumped up to greet me and I staggered backward, almost landing on Eddie. Deb: Whoa, big puppy...I love you, too, you big ox...Sam! SAM!! DAMN SAM!!! Sam: Huh? I might as well have been in San Antonio. I decided to capitalize on this. Deb: Come on, come on, we need some money for a bus ticket to El Paso and some primo Bolivian Marching Powder. Hurry up! Sam was so completely wrapped up in what he was doing that he didn't even hear what I said. He tweezed his wallet out of his back pocket and simply opened it up. Deb: Two-hundred oughta cover it, Sammy-boy. Move, move, move, the hot latin studs are waiting... Sam counted out the requested sum and slowly handed it over. Eddie chuckled softly over on the couch, and as I took possession of the stack of tens and fives that Sam gave me, I turned to him. Deb: Eddie...get 'em out of here. Please? Just for the night? Eddie nodded slightly and as I pocketed the money and headed out, I touched his cheek briefly. Deb: Dear Eddie... I raised my voice from the front door, for Sam's benefit. Deb: Thank you so much. We'll be sure to visit the free clinic before we come home. As the Shakespeare so often says, exeunt. Beth was scrunched down in the passenger seat and she accepted the bills without even bothering to see how much he'd given her. She crammed them in her purse and resumed staring out the window as I began to drive. Beth: Whatever. Deb: This is bad. I told him we needed money for cocaine and male prostitutes and not only does he not look up, you don't even bother to see how much fun money he came up with. Suddenly there was a square of yellow light in the dark outline of the house, and there was a violently gesturing figure silhouetted in it. I waved brightly and continued to back out of the long driveway. Deb: Big bastard'll probably try and call Billy...too bad...he already knows. Beth: Life sucks and then... Deb: It blows. let's get you to Victoria's Secret...or Frederick's of Hollywood. Beth: Puh-leaze. If I want him to see me I'll need to wrap myself in office faxes. Deb: Beth...you knew he was like this. You had ample warning. Beth: Since when are you on the Gerard Defense Team? Deb: Never said I was. But you told me what Billy was like and, damn!, that's what he's like. He hasn't really changed...just his methods have, a little. Did you expect Sam to change? Beth: Don't fucking lecture me. Deb: Sorry...but...oh, never mind. Come on, let's go see if we can find something that'll remind him you're here. The trip to the mall was successful, but very difficult for me, personally. About halfway along, I thought I was going to fall down. The doctors at the emergency room had told me the joint had been affected, but not broken and I should stay off the leg, but how could I when there was a houseful of men and the Corner and...well, I couldn't stay off it, really. I was grateful when we finally made Victoria's Secret and there was one of the little gilt chairs to sit in. I stayed in one place while Beth prowled the store, gathering up what seemed to me to be tiny bits and pieces of silk to try on. Deb: Those don't look big enough to wrap a sandwich in. Beth: It's what they don't wrap. Haven't you got anything like this at home? Deb: I'd feel stupid. Beth: Trust me...I feel like a total imposter, but Mr. Visually Stimulated goes right through the roof. I never wear 'em more than once. If that. Sometimes it's just the idea that I might that gets him goin'. Deb: Wild Bill doesn't need any more ideas. Think I'll pass. The salesgirl came to tell Beth that there was an open dressing room, and Beth took her armload of bright silks and began the endless ritual of trying on and rejecting or accepting the various pieces. She stepped out into the door which led into the changing rooms, and I offered my not-so-helpful opinions. We finally narrowed her choices to two ,one being a black satin merry widow with matching stockings, thong panty and high-heeled slippers. The other was of white silk, draped low in the front and lower in back, cut simply but short, and slit up the side even higher. Beth: I like the silk thingy. Deb: So do I, but that other hummer would bloody well get his attention. Beth: But it's not me. Beth's decision carried the engagement, and the little girl bagged up the forty dollar silk thingy. At the last minute, Beth got stubborn, so I ended up paying for the nightie. I asked the girl if they were charging by the square inch and Beth nudged me quiet. I drove her home and watched her into the house. Thigs were surprisingly quiet when Beth let herself in at ten. Lately there had been midnight oil burned by the gallon, but now all the lights were out excepting the one in the office. When she glanced in, Sam was bent over thick files at his desk, and poking in his two-fingered fashion at the computer keyboard. Beth: Didn't use any of your money, Sam. I stole everything. Proud of me? Sam: Put it here, baby. He sounded a million miles away. Beth dropped the change on his desk and turned, still carrying the little bag with the tissue wrapped silk confection in it. The hell with that, she thought...it would be a t-shirt and flannel pants for her again tonight. She flung the bag onto a chair in the bedroom and dragged into the shower. Sam felt something touching his fingers and looked to find a stack of bills next to the keyboard. Where had...then he remembered, Beth had come in. He picked up the money and counted it, not becasue he cared that she had spent any but because he wanted to know how much was going back into his pocket. There was two-hundred dollars in the pile... Sam: I thought I gave her two-hundred... Something was nagging at him, and the only way to find out the cause of it was to talk to the source. He heard the shower running, pocketed the cash, shut down the computer. It dawned on him that there was a reason why Eddie had insisted on going to a hotel along with Roy and Angelo. Maybe the reason was showering...and expecting to spend most of the night alone again. A feeling of contrition almost overcame him, and he grabbed the one crutch he was allowing himself and limped down the hall to the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the Victoria's Secret bag tossed into the chair. If she didn't spend any money, where had this come from? He opened it and the silk nightgown, seemingly no bigger than a handkerchief, slid into his hand like water. He held it up, noting among other things the drape of the fabric...and the slit...he whistled soundlessly between his teeth. She would wear this no more willingly than she'd worn the the ones he'd bought for her. He folded the little garment and tucked it in the drawer where she kept the others that had survived the experience. She would have no need for it this evening. The shower was running still, unusual for her to take so much time. When she showered alone, she was usually in and out. Sam stripped as quickly as his disability would allow, glad that the plastic cast they'd changed him to alowed him to step into the shower without the complicated ritual of bagging up his entire leg, and opened the shower door. Sam: Baby...? Beth: I don't believe we've been introduced. My name's Beth, what's yours? Sam: Low blow, honey. Come on over here. Sam drew her wet little body into his arms and laid his cheek on the damp curls. He felt her draw a deep, shuddering breath. Beth: Where are the Marx Brothers? Sam: Eddie took 'em to a hotel for the night...practically had to drag Roy. Beth: I don't know how Deb stands it. Having a houseful like that all the time. Sam: She's eatin' it up. I know this has been hard on you, baby... Sam's hands were tracing a complicated route from her hips to the base of her neck and back, taking their time, searching out tight muscles and kneading them. Beth sighed deeply, tucking her head under his chin. Beth: I've missed this. Sam: Tell you the truth, so have I. Never had to try and balance a personal life with the professional one before. It's harder than it looks. Beth: It can be done, though. Sam lifted one of her legs, wrapped it around his hip. He dragged a finger deep, and she shuddered and gasped. Sam: You'll have to teach me. Beth: Hard to teach an old Dawg new tricks. Sam: This one wants to learn. He reached behind her for the faucets, shut the water down and pushed the door open with his elbow. He was reluctant to release her, now that he had her in his arms again, so they stepped out of the cabinet locked in a tight embrace. Deputy Dawg had been sent to the Dawghouse, Sam was back and in charge. He wrapped Beth in the thick robe, counting on being up against it to dry himself off. Beth: You're soaked...hold on. She sat him on the closed lid of the toilet, took up a thick towel and went to work on Sam's broad back, wiping shoulders and torso and hips with long strokes, reaching around to do the same for his chest. He felt light, soft kisses landing on his temple and the top of his head, and he ran his hands restlessly up and down her arms. She stepped around and knelt on the floor in front of him, went through the complicated process of removing the plastic cast in order to dry the leg underneath it. Sam didn't need to wear his cast to bed any more, but lately he had been having to unstrap himself, becasue she was asleep, or pretending to be. Now he felt her gentle hands on his leg, first undoing the myriad velcro fasteners and then rubbing the towel slowly up and down the length of the limb. Sam: Wish I could keep the damn cast longer, if this is what it feels like to get it off. Beth: Quit talkin' nonsense, Deputy...there, all dried off. Come on... time for bed. Sam shuddered at the intimate tone of that simple statement. He had to let her help him stand, and balance on her shoulder for the hop from the bathroom to the bed, but he took full advantage of the closeness and slipped his hand underneath the robe, to seek out her warmth. Beth: Here...stretch out, big boy. Sam grabbed his leg and swung it up onto the bed, then lay back against the mound of pillows, staring at her. She went to the chair and found the empty Victoria's Secret bag. Beth: Where's...? Sam: Stuck it in the drawer. You don't like wearin' that...you don't need to. You turn me on in sweats. Come on over here to me. Beth let the empty bag fall to the floor and walked, very slowly, back to the bedside. Sam watched her come, hypnotized at the sight of a slender leg emerging almost shyly from the thick folds of the big robe and then retreating as she walked. She stopped at the bedside, just out of reach, as he discovered when he tried to catch hold of her. Beth: Sam...look at me. Sam: I am...I am... Beth: No, baby...up here. Look me in the eye. Reluctantly Sam dragged his gaze from the pretty ankle he'd been staring hungrily at and raised it to her depthless dark eyes, as ordered. She smiled faintly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the robe falling away from her shoulders. Automatically his eyes dropped, and he swallowed heavily. Beth: Up here, Sam. I'm up here. Sam: Baby, you're killin' me here. Beth: Up here. Sam forced himself to look her in the face, denied the beauty of her body open to his gaze. A muted sound told him that the robe had hit the floor, and she stepped toward him. Beth: Hands down, Samuel. This one's mine. Sam's mouth went dry. Her voice was low, soft, full of promises. It went straight to his groin, it seemed, and lingered there, making his condition almost painful. A small hand reached out, fingertips danced over him. He gathered huge handfuls of the comforter and squeezed. Sam: Baby... The fingertips continued their dance, across his belly and chest, to his sturdy neck, down his jaw. When they reached his lips, they stopped, as though to stop his speech, and he kissed them. She leaned forward, replacing her fingers with her lips, warm and open against his. Her full breasts flattened against his chest and his hands automatically went up to find her hips, press her fully to him. Instantly she withdrew. Beth: No. Sam: I can't...touch you? Beth shook her head, that half-smile still on her face. Beth: Hands down, or...else. Sam: Jesus, girl... Beth: Tonight it's my way, or the highway. Got it? Sam: I think so. His voice was thick. She smiled more fully. Beth: You better, or you won't get any. She swung a slim leg over his hips, straddled him, fingers teasing at crisp hair and sensitive skin. Then she sat...but didn't allow him inside. She rubbed herself against him, letting him feel the heat and the warmth and nothing more. He groaned, shuddered beneath her hands and soft mouth. He had torn the ground sheet from beneath the mattress. Sam: Baby, please... Beth: Not yet. She bent over him, covering his chest with kisses, licking and biting at the flat nipples. He was soaking her pretty comforter with sweat. He felt himself between her breasts and raised his head to look into her eyes. Sam: Honey...God... She bent her head. Her tongue flicked out, found him briefly. His hips jerked upward. His jaw was clenched with the effort of controlling himself and his fingers were curled deeply in the covers. He wanted to touch her, to roll her over and possess her completely, but she had said she would stop if he tried and he had a feeling she might. But her breath was coming lightly, quickly and she was sweating herself. Beth: Sam...now. Sam: Baby? Beth: Now...now! I need it now! Sam caught her hips, rolled her over on her back and pushed up into the heat, into heaven. TO BE CONTINUED...
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