The Twilight of the Gods: A Story of Mantra, Chapter 11

 

The TWILIGHT OF THE GODS -- Chap. 11

A story of Mantra and Black September

By Aladdin and Christopher Leeson 

CHAPTER 11

I was amazed by how grown up she appeared to be. She looked about seventeen and was the image of Eden Blake. To think that the last time I’d seen her she was only seven years old and a second grader.

I checked first to see if she looked underfed. Everyone else I’d seen in this tortured land had appeared hungry.

But my daughter's clone had not arrived alone; an excited Jamie stood beside her. Warstrike was looking at them. I wondered how he felt about his little girl breaking her promise so quickly.

"Evie, Jamie, come in," Brandon said. Evie now saw me and was apparently struck speechless.

Tark drew his daughter away from her – sister. It was still hard for me to put my mind around the idea that the family I knew had been expanded. "Jamie," he asked, "have you dreamed about the Flaming Woman again lately?"

She nodded. "Yes, Daddy. I wanted to tell you, but when I met Aunt Jennie I forgot about it."

"That's okay,"Tark said. "But it's important that you tell us what you dreamed. Mantra thinks that maybe a real-life Flaming Woman is coming. We have to learn as much possible about her before she gets here."

The little girl glanced back my way. "Have you met the Flaming Woman, Mantra? Is she coming to hurt us?"

"I do believe she's coming," I said, "but I don't know why. I'm hoping we can all make friends with her. I have a big favor to ask of her."

Jamie frowned confusedly. "But she's bad, isn't she?"

I tried to reassure her with a smile. "I'm guessing the Flaming Woman's not so much bad as mixed up. When she was back home, there was a big explosion where all her friends died. She hasn't been acting herself since that bad thing happened."

Jamie smiled uneasily as if her child's mind was trying to reconcile the idea of someone being both good and evil at the same time. When her age, I had mulled over things like that myself.

"B-Brandon," stammered Evie. “Our mother didn’t have any sister named Jennie. Didn’t you know that?”

"Aunt Jennie has explained quite a few things to me," said Warsrike, "but you ought to talk to her yourself. But first, Jamie has to tell us about the Flaming Woman."

"But this person can't really be Mantra!" Evie insisted.

"Speak to her. Decide for yourself," Brandon told her.

The father and his young daughter left then, and the guards shut the door to give Evie and me privacy.

"I refuse to believe that you're my mother," Evie said, her chin high and expression determined.

"My name is Eden Blake, but I'm not your mother. I come from an alternate dimension."

She blinked perplexedly. "An alternate dimension? Like in the science fiction books?"

"Yes. Your stepfather believes me, and I'd like you to believe me, too."

“Why are you here?”

"I have a job to do. When I left my own Evie and Gus at home a day or so ago, they were still in elementary school. To me, that was only hours ago, but when I look at you, I know what my daughter will look like when she's almost grown up."

“There aren’t any alternate dimensions!” she declared.

“Maybe if we talk for a while, the idea won't seem so strange."

She grimaced. "Whoever you are, you look exactly like I remember you – her."

She looked so full of hurt, but I thought it was too soon to take her into my arms.

"I dreamed a thousand times about my mother not being dead, that she would be coming back. But if you're not my real mom, nothing at all has changed."

"I'm sorry. I thought you might feel that way, so I decided not to meet with you. I knew that even if I could make you feel better for a moment, the hurt would come back even worse than before when I had to go away again."

She pulled back and broke eye contact.

“If you come from another place, why are you in this world?" she asked.

"I'm looking for the Flaming Woman, the one Jamie keeps dreaming about?"

"But they're only dreams, aren't they?"

"No. The woman is real, and she's an ultra with a unique power – a power that can save untold billions of lives."

Evie suddenly looked hopeful. "Will she save our world, too?"

I decided to hedge that question. "I'm not sure. I hope so."

“Was there any volcano in the world where you came from?”

"No, not yet. Maybe there won't ever be. As soon as I get home, I intend to do my best to stop it from happening." I might have to kill a few dozen Deep Staters to do the job, but I was game for that!

"I wish I could believe you."

"I know this is hard, and I think you've had too much hardship already. How badly have things gone for you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I think the rebels are going to attack the castle soon. They want to kill Warstrike and Necromantra. Maybe they'll kill the rest of us, too. I don't know."

"Do you think that your – stepdad – is can win the war?"

She bit her lip. "No, I don't."

Reaching out, I took her by the shoulders. When my daughter reached her age, I wanted her to be enjoying a happy life. This world was a bizarre parody of my own; too many ghastly things had gone wrong here.

"I'm going to try to talk to the rebels and see if that helps," I said. "But the first thing I want to know is how has Warstrike been treating you?"

"He's been all right. He's good with our sister, too. He’s done some bad things, but I can't forget how he loved our mother so much. I can guess how much it must hurt him to look at you knowing you're not the person we both loved."

"I wish things could have worked better for you, Evie, but please tell me about yourself. Have you been keeping up with your studies?"

She stared into my face. "How can that matter to you?"

I forced a smile. "Because I'd feel better if you could have all the things I want her to have."

The teen girl shrugged. "I can read and write and do arithmetic," she said. “Brandon has made sure that we know about the world, at least how it used to be. I don't know why that's important. That world is gone, and what's left so terrible."

"What kind of a king has he been?" I asked.

Instead of answering, she glanced back at the door.

"Do you think someone out there is listening to us?"

"I – I don't know," she replied haltingly. "People are always spying. Stepdad has executed a lot of rebel spies, but he spies, too. And Necromantra spies on both sides."

Just the sound of that witch’s name sank my more tender feelings.

"Yes, I’ve been wondering about Necromantra. How has seen been treating you?"

Evie gave a shudder. "I hate her! She killed my mother."

"She killed Mantra? Are you certain of that?"

"Maybe she did, but I know for sure that she killed my first mother."

I nodded. "Has she tried to harm you?"

"She keeps her distance," said Evie. "She showed up right after Mother – Mantra – was killed. She ignores us, mostly. It's horrible that my first mother's murderer is living in the same house with us."

"Why does your stepdad put up with her?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. She's powerful, and Brandon needs power on his side. But it makes me crazy that they decided to get married."

“It makes me pretty crazy, too. Do they get along personally?"

Evie glanced to the floor, frowning. "I don't think he trusts her, but she has a way with people, even Dad." Evie lowered her voice. "There's all kinds of stories about her. Some people say she used to be a man. Does that make any sense?"

"Does she act like a man?" I replied evasively. I thought that Evie already had enough weirdness in her life.

"Not that I can see."

I smiled. "Well, then, maybe those rumors aren't true."

"Mom – Mantra, I mean. Are you just like my mother?”

“In what way?”

"She once told me that she had the ghost of a man inside her." Evie was watching my expression as if to see my reaction to the bomb she'd just thrown.

I sighed. When Necromantra attacked, Eden had been in her own body, and I was in the body of a male clone. Having no magic of my own, I was no match for the witch's sorcery. Eden, wounded and dying, urged me to reenter her body. I had to do it to defeat Necromantra, but Evie had been watching it all and knew something wasn't right. She asked me if I was really her mother. Rightly or wrongly, I very briefly explained what had really happened. After that, I was surprised that she hadn't asked for more information.

"By the time you grew up, I hoped you'd have forgotten what I'd said," I told her softly.

"I almost did. I didn’t want to know about something so strange. Whenever I thought about it, it worried me. I wanted you to be the Mantra I had always thought you were -- an incredibly special woman. I could never understand why you behaved so much like my mom when you were a completely different person. After a while, I didn’t think about what you'd said at all."

"I did my best to act like Eden Blake whenever I could. But I truly did like having a family after living alone for such a long time."

“Did you live a life just like the real Mantra’s?” Evie suddenly asked.

I smiled. "I've always thought of myself as being the real Mantra. I never knew your mother existed until today."

"Being with you makes me feel like Mantra has come back. Do you have to leave?" she asked with a hint of urgency. The poor kid was hoping for a redo of a life that had gone so haywire.

"Yes, I do. I don't have any choice about that. Many people on many worlds will die if I don't get help from the Flaming Woman."

"Then please tell me that you're a bad person so I won't miss you."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"If I hate you, I won't miss you when you’re gone."

"It's all right if you hate me if it will make you feel better."

"If you were really a man?" she asked. "What kind of a man were you?"

I could have told her many disgraceful things about myself. I had lived a very long time, and in trying to do good in crazy circumstances, I had gone into some dark places.

"Evie, I've made mistakes, and maybe your mother made those same mistakes. I'm far from perfect, but I'm not a monster either. Evie is my daughter now, and I do my best to make her happy. I only wish that you could have known a much better life than the one you've had."

"I still want to know if you were really a man?"

I sighed. "If I said yes, would that make you want me to go?"

"It would be strange and hard to understand. What kind of a man were you?"

I glanced away. "I was a soldier. Your mother and I met, fell in love, and wanted to be married."

She stood in front of me quietly before saying, "I'm not surprised you were a soldier, not after all the times I've seen you fight."

I very much wanted to change the subject. "What happened to your father, to Gus Blake?"  

She shivered; I'd touched a sore spot. "We never found out. He was away on a business trip when the volcano exploded. There was hardly any communication at all. Mobs, mostly illegals, started breaking into homes, stealing, and killing. Mantra took us to Brandon's house. The only thing I could take with me was Mr. Paws."

You saved Mr. Paws?"

"You know about Mr. Paws? How could you?"

"My Evie has a Mr. Paws, too."

"I still have Mr. Paws. He's about the only thing left to remind Gus and me about how life used to be. I love Jamie, but I didn’t let her play with Paws until she was big enough to take good care of her toys."

"Did you ever go back to your old home?"

Evie shook her head. "There was nothing to go back to. The looters didn't just steal and murder, they seemed to want to burn down the whole Los Angeles area."

I straightened. "Time is running out, and I have a lot to do. As bad as things are, be strong, be wise, Evie. Take care of your brother and sister. Also, let Brandon know how much you like him."

Evie nodded, wiping her eyes. "I will. Goodbye...Mom."

Carrying an ache with me, I started for the door. Before I could touch the knob, I heard Gabriel's voice:

"I decided to join you, Mantra."

I looked back and saw Gabriel, but that was all I saw. The room I'd shared with Evie wasn't there! The two of us occupied a misty, insubstantial place. "Where have you snatched me away to this time?" I asked.

"This is a location in zero-time where we can talk," he explained.

"Did you fix what was wrong with your communications system?"

"There wasn’t much to do. The psionic blast the ultra attacker gave you damaged your nano-receptors, but they're self-repairing. Though you couldn't hear me, I could hear and keep track of you."

"I messed up and involved myself with the folks here. It's hard to keep focused when I'm surrounded by people I think I know."

"You've proceeded splendidly. Your task was to contact the local leadership and get assistance with subduing Amber Hunt.  Warstrike has already agreed to help, and you are preparing to meet with the opposing faction. I commend you, Mantra; you have a natural instinct for time agent work."

"Spare me the flattery.  When is Hunt coming?"

"From all indications, she will arrive within several hours. We need to use our available time to establish friendly channels with both sides."

"What's going to happen to all the people here?"

Gabriel gave back a glum look. "If Amber Hunt takes the Time Gem away from this world, the local reality will be eliminated."

"That's it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Gabriel, I have a request to make."

"Yes?"

"We can't rescue everybody, but can't we take a few people away with us? I mean, take away Evie and her family?"

"It's possible. Do your best. I'll leave the details to you."

"I’ll do what I can! What now?"

"You should go talk to the rebel leaders, as Warstrike has asked you to do."

"I'll do that as soon as you start time again."

An instant later, Gabriel was gone, and I was back in the room with Evie. I heard her gasp.

"What's wrong, dear?" I asked.

"You blinked out of that spot and reappeared where you are now?" she said incredulously.

"What happened to me is one of those crazy ultra things. They're always hard to explain, Button."

Evie gave me an odd look. "Nobody has called me Button since – Mantra – died."

"That's probably because it's not a nickname that fits a grownup girl like you."

"Maybe not, but hearing you say it makes you sound just like my mother."
 
"I've got good news," I said. "When I vanished, I went to talk to a super-scientist ally I have. He says you and your whole family can come with us when we're ready to leave."

"Are we going to live together?"

"Not forever. I have to go back to my own family. But I promise we won't part until I find you a safe and happy home."

She smiled the kind of careful smile that children smile when they've already had their hopes shattered too many times to count.

"Can't we go now?"

"We could, but there won't be a happy ending for anybody unless we do some major league world-saving. In the meantime, find out whether Gus will be willing to leave with us. Do you want me to ask your stepdad to come along, too?"

"Yes, please!" she said.

I kissed her cheek and then made another attempt at leaving the room. My knock summoned a guard who unlatched the door in about five seconds flat.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER TWELVE

The Twilight of the Gods: A Story of Mantra, Chapter 10

 

The TWILIGHT OF THE GODS -- Chap. 10

A story of Mantra and Black September

By Aladdin and Christopher Leeson 

 

 CHAPTER 10

"Just what do you expect to accomplish by coming here?" Tark asked suddenly.

"I'm here to find someone. We have reason to believe that a very powerful ultra is going to stop here soon."

"Are you working alone?"

I didn't want to tell "King Warstrike" too much. I had to be on guard. This wasn't the Tark I knew and wasn't sure if he was a good egg or a rotten one. Tyrants are notorious for double-dealing. "I'm working with a group from the Godwheel. A kind of super-scientific race of geniuses. They have information that the woman can help us, but it will be tricky handling her since she's been a loose cannon and has trouble accepting discipline and teamwork."

"I don't care about her. I have enough crazy ultra-women right here in L.A. to worry about. By the way, if this disaster didn't happen in your reality, what's going on in the America you know?"

"Where I am, Brandon is president."

"Brandon!" he exclaimed. "In this world, he's dead. But is there any chance that Yellowstone will go off back where you come from!"

"Anything's possible, I suppose. We've got a dirty Deep State back home, too. But now that I know the danger, I'm going to be doing my best to prevent it.

Then there came a tapping at the door.

"It's open!" Warstrike yelled.

A uniformed man entered with a little girl. I saw at a glance that it wasn't Evie.

"Daddy?" she said, looking at Warstrike.

"Shut the door behind you, Maverick," he told the guard. Then, to the girl, he said, "Come here, Jamie."

Jamie?"

The tyke approached the king without fear, and then she noticed me.

This lady," the child began, "she's dressed like pictures of …"

"She's your aunt, Jennifer," her father told her, lying. "She's your mother's twin sister."

Jennifer? For some reason, I'd never like that name. If this Brandon knew that, it went to show that he had a rotten sense of humor.

The brown-haired youngster stood looking at me as if I were something marvelous. "I didn't know that Mommy had a twin."

"Ah, yes she did," Brandon said. "She was vacationing in Mexico and when she didn't come home, your mom and I thought she must have died. I never mentioned that you had an aunt Jennifer so the bad news wouldn't make you sad. But she's here now, so why don't you give your auntie a nice big hug?"

I knelt to make things easier for her. She came up and gave me a long, strong hug before easing a step back and looking into my face with wonder.

"Can I see what you look like without a mask?" Jamie asked.

I obliged.

"You look just like my mommy! And you also look like my sister Evie!"

"I never met your sister, Evie," I said. "But she can't be as pretty as you are!"

I couldn't help but wonder what, truly, was my relationship with this child. If her mother was my temporal clone, one could consider us identical twins That circumstance would truly have made me Jamie's aunt. I kind of liked the idea; since it made us close, but not so close as to create a messy relationship.

At that point, I looked to Warstrike. "Brandon, we've got to talk about serious things. Maybe Jamie shouldn't listen to them."

He nodded. "Maybe not. Jamie, I'm going to have the guard take you back to your room."

"Can I tell Evie and Gus about seeing Aunt Jennifer?" she asked.

Tark sent me a questioning look.

I said to the tyke, "Why not hold off for a little bit? I’d like give them the same kind of a fun surprise that I gave to you. What do you think?"

Jamie laughed and continued looking back at me while her dad led her to the door.

When Tark and I were alone again, I said, "Your Mantra must have been very different from me if she decided to marry you.

"Why? Am I so bad a catch?"

"Let's just say I'm still I'm a long way to go before I catch up with the Mantra you had."

Had? Damn, I hadn't put that right!

At least Warstrike wasn't smirking. "Even may lady had problems with the idea at first, but it was a forced decision. There was a baby coming."

"Perfect," I said sarcastically.

"Those were terrible times," he said. "We were becoming the de facto leaders of a city with a lot of very powerful and very traumatized people in it -- probably because we both had military experience. It was a lonely job. We had no choice but to shut people out emotionally so that no one would realize that the two of us were just about as messed up as everyone else. We didn't have anyone to turn to for support, except for each other."

"I get the picture," I said, not wanting to get into the subject of love and marriage.

"We lost so much when Mantra died. Nothing seemed to go right once we lost her."

"If she was like me, she was a great person. But just keep in mind that that other Mantra and I were two different people."

"How different are you?" he asked.

"Well, I’m the version who isn't going to jump into bed with you. No offense, but that's not where my head is at. Brandon Tark and I were just friends. Very good friends."

Tark and I had gotten along so well because he reminded me of my fellow knights of Archimage, whom I had worked with for so long. Now I could see that our relationship was one that I had to be very careful with.
 

The version of Tark in front of  me changed the subject. "Once Jamie talks to the other kids, I'm pretty sure you'll be seeing Evie. Of Gus, I'm not so certain. He's a hard kid to predict. What are you going to say to them if they drop in? They’re never going to buy into the auntie idea."

"It's best that I don't see them. I have a job to do. If I fail at it, history is going to change so much that the whole Big Bang might as well have never happened."

"Bing Bang? You come from the Dark Ages. When did you start believing in the Big Bang?"

"Not until the Twentieth Century, actually."

"Well, I used to believe in that scientific nonsense, too, but a lot of polluted water has flowed under the bridge since then."

"Ain’t that the truth?

"I just had a thought," Warstrike said. "Is there a possibility that you could go back in time and stop the Yellowstone thing?"

"Possibly, but it wouldn’t help my world and it wouldn’t help your world either."

"Why not?"

"Because changing past events doesn't change what's already happened. Meddling with past events will only create a clone timeline that will follow from any historical change. But the events that have already happened in other timelines are going to stay the same."

He scowled. "Well, aren’t you the good news kid!” He paused almost imperceptibly and then asked, “What about that woman you’re looking for? Have I ever heard of her, or does she come from outer space?"

"I don’t know if she ever existed in your world, but in my world she’s called Amber Hunt."

"Whoa! Amber Hunt? I know that name. She almost burned this planet to a cinder with gamma rays. How can an out of control nutcase save the Multiverse -- if there really is a Multiverse?"

"The people I'm working with think that she's salvageable. Horrible things happened to her and made her what she is. From all I can tell, she didn't start out bad. If there’s any part of her mind that isn’t crazy, we have find it and tap it."

"Well, horrible things happen to all of us," he said with a wry grin.

Then he stopped smiling.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I remember that converting energy is her big ultra power. Is it possible to describe Amber Hunt as a 'Flaming Woman'?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

"My daughter keeps dreaming about somebody she calls the Flaming Woman."

My brow furrowed. "Tell me more."

"Lately, Jamie's been saying things that make me think that she may have inherited my power of precognition."

"If she can predict the arrival of a 'Flaming Woman,' why haven't you done so, too?"

"You know how quirky my power can be." Then he looked up. "Or is your Tark different?"

"No, he's not different."

He shrugged. "Anyway, Jamie has been dreaming that a Flaming Woman will come and she's going to “take me away."

"What would Amber Hunt want with you?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Did she have some sort of relationship with Brandon Tark back where you come from?"

"None at all, as far as I know."

"If she shows up, doesn't it make sense that I should kill her before she kills me?"

I shook my head. "No! If you kill her, the whole universe is going to be lost. She’s the only ultra we know of who has the right ultra power to stop a creature as powerful as the one called Nemesis. As things stand, the future timelines tell us that she will partially impede Nemesis, but she'll arrive too late to stop the Multiverse from collapsing in a couple of centuries. Our hope is that we can capture Hunt and give her information that will make her more effective in battle."

"And you’ve seen all this by time-traveling?"

"Yes! I've seen that final battle. If it plays out the same way again, we're all doomed. Here’s the deal. My allies’ information tells us that the Amber Hunt who will be coming here will be the Main Branch version of Amber Hunt out of her proper place, just like I’m the Main Branch version of Mantra."

"This is hard for me to put my mind around it.”

You?” I said. “How do you think I feel?’

“Well, excuse me if I leave that problems I don't understand to you. What I need to ask is whether you can do anything to help us out here.”

"I wish I could help. As far as I understand the situation, a lot of good people on both sides have been acting wrongheadedly. I have no clue how to fix an implosion that’s been going on for years during a stopover that's only about an hour long! If you’re taking suggestions, would it help if you relinquished power?"

"If I did that, the whole city would be out for my throat. History tells us what happens to most fallen kings."

"Sad but true."

"Listen, I'll make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I'll let everyone know that some kind of Flaming Woman is coming very soon and she is to be subdued and captured, but not harmed. The trouble is that the rebels control most of the city. The rebels might get her, so you'll have to negotiate with the rebels before she shows up. It might help a little if you inform them that Hunt is going to be sent away with you, and that I’m not planning on using her as any sort of a weapon."

"That last part might help. There’s a lot of dug-in hatred around this city that can mess up everything. But we've been skipping around the crucial question," I said.

"What question?"

"Am I a prisoner here, or what? If you want me to talk to your enemies, you’ll have to give me freedom of movement. I've got a lot of loose threads to tie together and I can't do that from an interrogation cell, not even a convivial one."

"I see your point," he said forlornly. "But if I let you go, what will you do to...well, help my regime?"

"You shouldn't assume that I can do anything at all. All I can promise is to act as an honest broker. But the time that I can spend in this crazy place is limited. I still have plenty of ducks to get into a row."

The sad thing was that I was snowing him. The hour of failure for the Time Gem coming fast and there was nothing I could do about that. If I told Tark the hideous truth, it was just possible that he would throw off all restraint and do something that was apocalyptic and really stupid. Crazy in, crazy out.

"Mantra was the only person who never let me down," he declared resignedly. "It's torture looking at you. It's devilishly hard to remember that you're not the wife that I loved and cherished."

More than most people, I know how much the loss of a beloved mate hurts, but what could I do about it? “I appreciate the sentiment. But for now, what's next?"

"You're free to go. What do you need to get started?"

"First --"

My intent to speak was interrupted by another tapping on the door. I could feel a familiar bio-signature looming on the other side of it. A shiver ran through me. Was I up for this sort of poignant encounter?"

Warstrike went over and checked the security slot. Without saying anything, he opened portal.

Standing on the threshold was this universe’s version of Evie Blake.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 11

THE BIG SWITCH by Christopher Leeson Chapter 23

 

02-10-24 

THE BIG SWITCH

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 23

 

The Narrative of D.C. Callahan, continued

Martin suddenly changed the subject. "In the office, you said you loved me. I was so shocked that I didn’t realize that I should have told you that I loved you, too."

"You told me. In your Honda. Yesterday morning. But I didn't believe you."

"Why not?"

"I thought you were only looking at my body. If I was a fella, and I saw this bonanza of booty, I'd go bonkers, too."

He laughed. "I knew you were beautiful from the first day I set eyes on you. But it never grabbed me as being anything important until I found out what a brave and wonderful person you are, especially on the inside."

I looked away. Would I always have to put up with guys telling me mushy, embarrassing things?

His fingers closed around my wrist. "Too often folks don't level with the people that they care until it's too late. I’m not going to happen with us. Not this time; it's too important."

I shrugged off what he was saying. Who wouldn’t say that to a girl as gorgeous as me?

Just then, Martin put his fingers under my chin and turned my face his way. Suddenly his lips were coming in like a Mustang fighter and I tried to shove him away. "No! You don't know what that smoochy stuff does to me!"

"What I know is that you're a warm and responsive person, and I know that  you’re going to do the right thing."

"Maybe, but it's not nice to exploit a guy's weaknesses," I complained.

"So, do you want me to leave?"

"No," I heard myself saying.

That “No” was the most important two-letter word I’d ever spoken before or since. My dad had always told me that a gentleman has to accept a lady's "no" for an answer. And that is exactly what Gentleman Martin did with my no. The next thing I knew he was under the sheet with me.

I sat bolt upright. "Martin, listen . . . !"

"Listen to what?" he murmured, shimmying closer.

"To what I’m saying. This is high risk. I think you should get a box of condoms."

My God! I should have asked him to get just one condom, not a whole case of them! Now I’d given him the wrong impression about me. Oh, blush!

"Don't sweat it, Princess. It’s not like I need a billfold to carry the little money I have around. I’ll go get my wallet."

Before I could offer an opinion, he was off to the living room. A minute later, he came back carrying his wallet. When he pushed down his shorts and started preparing for action, I rolled over, to stare at the wall with eyes as large as saucers.

If felt the mattress sink under Martin’s weight and in a wink he had me in his arms with his hands sliding down to my waist. He must have been an amateur magician, considering how quickly the lech managed to make my briefs disappear!

“Yipes!” I cried out when those fingers of his made contact with my guy-magnet!

"Sheila," he whispered, "is this your first time? I don’t want to be coming on too strong."

This was the moment when I had to either exit by the window or man up and take the medicine. I’d never done the deed as a girl been before, but I was no wimp. I was a man about town who knew how the sausage was made. "You talk too much," I answered. "I can take anything you can dish out!"

Had I really said that, or it is just something that I wished I'd have said?

In a flash, he was lip-nibbling my nipples; I felt his hands riding ‘home on the range” all over over my body. Just when my boobs were beginning to feel extremely well loved, he shifted his weight and pinned my shoulders to the mat, making me sink down into the mattress. I was very curious about finding out what a girl feels, but asphyxiation was something that I could do without.

Though startled at having his weight on top of me, instinct told me to lie still and let things happen. And what happened next was that something long, warm, and hard skittered across my thigh.

I couldn't help but lurch. This was getting fast and furious awfully quick!

Martin used a ton of foreplay to calm me down and he soon had me purring like a kitten. His hands were still doing their thing all over my body. It was like they could talk. I mean, they were telling me to relax and spread my thighs. My whole life seemed to flash before my eyes just then. What a sensation! Without my yet being brought to the proper mental state, a well aimed thrust let me know that I wasn't in Kansas anymore!

"Ay-yi-yi!" I yelped.

"You feel good, Sheila," he was whispering into my year."

"Yeah, ooooh." That was all I could say. Two words. One slang, one not even in the dictionary. Those were two words that were telling Martin Dewitt deed that he had just received title to my body and soul.

Like the pioneer he was, he began to develop his property. He started going up and down like a windmill with a big job ahead of it.

My dad had told me that if you find something you like to take more than you think you need, because a person always needs more than he thinks. I was doing that on pure instinct because I capable of putting me need into a coherent thought.

What I did know was that this was no Romeo and Juliet thing; this was an Operation Barbarossa! What Martin was doing to me was making my mind spun like a quarter on its edge. I'd lost all control and was running on automatic.

For about a quarter hour, we did everything that could be done with two bodies -- biting and clawing, kissing, licking.  When that woman thing, that rush of pleasure, came, my brain went totally blank. What a man feels only in his Johnson, was was feeling all through my body. My hips jerked repeatedly and my nipples felt as hard as pen points. My mouth, wide open, gulped for air; my tears were in competition with Angel Falls. I must have swooned before the sea stopped surging, but when I got my wits back the two of us were wrapped in one another's arms. I snuggled up to Martin's fantastic hard body, feeling tingly all over . . . .



THE BIG SWITCH, Chapter 24

The General Narrative Continued….

Martin and Sheila had to do a lot of shucking and jiving for the next few days, but once the alien affair had finally been put to rest, the two of them got a needed rest and set their minds to making a new start on the rest of their lives.

Sheila had started wheedling -- not quite nagging -- for Martin to start dressing like "a real detective." Martin, because he already thought of himself as a real detective, dug in his heels against the idea until Sheila had put on the table a deal that he couldn't refuse: If he'd loosen up and start dressing like a real detective, she'd start dressing like a real detective's secretary.

"I thought you were already doing that," Martin had said. "I’d say that your office style is something that can't be improved upon."

Sheila gave no reply, just flashed him a smile that seemed to say, "You ain't seen nothin' yet, big boy!"

Martin was made curious enough about that reply to experiment with the idea of dressing like Nick Baxter. He had plenty of choice items from D.C.'s old wardrobe to draw from, and accessories were plentiful at the Goodwill store. Though he still disliked ties and the hats, he really liked the outfits that Sheila was coming up with. The two of them looked like a cover painting from Spicy Detective. And the change of fashion proved to be good for business. Clients didn't mind cooling their heels in the waiting room, not with Sheila wearing a tight mini-dress and plying them with steaming hot joe.

At the moment, Martin sat watching Sheila filing documents, bent over the lowest drawer of the file cabinet. She presented a wonderful view. "Don't you feel it, sexy?" he finally asked.

"Feel what?"

"Don't you feel a sort of ... presence...around this office? I'd swear that D.C. was still in here with us. It's like he's so close that I could reach out and touch him."

And he did reach out and touch something just then -- the snug stretch of her miniskirt.

Sheila, straightening, set aside her filing and looked his way admonishingly. "You've got to let go of the past, Martin. D.C.'s gone; we both have to go on without him."

The P.I. met Sheila's gaze quizzically. "Is that what you've done? Have you let go of your own past?"

"Yeah. That's what I've done. Why not? The past was never mungo on its best day, was it?"

Martin sighed and rested back into his swivel chair. "Maybe not. But the world is still a mess! Think of it! The government is full of human-hating infiltrators, obsessed with money, sex, and power –"

His secretary laughed. "What you're describing is politics as usual, Martin."

"I wish I could be as cool about problems as you are, baby."

Sheila stepped so close their legs touched. "I think you're plenty cool, too, big guy. Maybe even as cool as – well, as Kari Lake."

"Well, that a cool dame, I admit, but I don't exactly see myself in the Kari Lake image."

"I mean that she is another person with with her head on straight," Sheila said. “But forget about that. We’ve got something important to talk about."

He regarded her keenly.

To his surprise, the girl slithered onto his lap.

"You sure know how to get my attention, sweet stuff,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?" Then a terrible thought struck him. "Oh, Christ! Don't tell me you're pregnant!"

She swatted his cologned hair with an open palm. "No way! I'm not really for kids -- at least not yet."

"Then what is it?"

"I worry about you! You've been working too hard."

"Sure I have, hon. But, if you notice, I'm making up for it by not charging very much."

"I think it's time you took on a new partner."

"And why do I need a new partner? I don't want to be sharing you with some dude off the street."

She tossed her head. "Business has picked up now  that we don't have Adam Schitz in Congress always bad-mouthing us. But more cases means that you've been working all the time. You need a back-up, you need relief."

"Are good help is hard to find."

She shook her head. "Not as hard as you think."

"What? You're not trying to push one of your cousins off on me, are you?"

Sheila was looking excited. "No, I’ve got a much better person in mind. It's somebody who knows the PI setup already."

He smiled. "Somebody like you, maybe?"

Her lips spread wide. "Sharp insight." She tousled his hair, like she thought he was a good boy.

"I'd hate to lose the best secretary that I’ve ever seen. Anyway, you haven't learned much about the gumshoe game just by filing and answering phones."

"I've learned a lot more than you give me credit for," Sheila pressed. "'Think of how it sounds: Dewitt and, uh, Coffin.'"

"More expense! I’ve already  had the door glass painted with 'The D.C. Callahan Private Investigating Agency'. A repaint job is going to cost plenty. All the sign painters are unionized."

"We can get a set of rub-on letters at the art shop. They're cheap."

"Too cheap. I'd hate to look tacky! Anyway, the closest art shops have all gone out of business because of street crime."

"Crime can be blown away like dandelion down if we get the right man into office. You just have to have faith," she said.

"He pecked her cheek. "I've got plenty of faith in you, but I'll need time to think about giving you a partnership."

“You might end up with plenty of time to think if we’re not sleeping together.”

“What? You're going into the sexual blackmail thing? I thought you were a higher class dame than that.”

“Life is a rough game.”

“It is! But if you pull a stunt like that we’ll see who'll breaks first!”

“What’s your objection to progress?” Sheila asked. “Didn't I handle myself pretty well with the aliens -- for a dame, I mean. You said that I did."

Martin puckered his cheeks. "Well, I did, didn't I? It must be true then. But the street is a mean place and I can’t stand the idea of you being in danger all the time."

"The way I look at it, danger is my business."

"That’s another habit you picked up from DC. You keep working book titles into your conversation"

"So I’m literate. Sue me. But I haven’t even mentioned the real clincher to my idea.”

“What’s that?”

“If I were your partner, you could stop paying me a salary."

He looked genuinely amazed. "You'd want that?"

"Not especially, but I'm a gambler willing to bet high on the changes of our success."

Martin sighed. "I’m telling you Sheila, you shouldn’t want to get into the P.I. dodge. It's no fun watching a dark building from a stake-out car all through the night."

"As long as we're watching together, we'll do all right."

"Says you! How can we sight all the comings and goings if we're both distracted?"

“We’ll work out a technique. Just think about it.” Sheila kissed him abruptly and went back to her filing.

 Martin Dewitt eased back, feeling relieved. He’d much rather have Sheila angling for a partnership than leveling with him on the secret that she’d been keeping for the last several weeks.

From now one, whenever the detective got too swellheaded, he only had to remember how clueless he'd been over those first couple days. It was only when Sheila had gotten up after their first night together that Martin had noticed that she seemed to act lost in her own apartment. He had watched her floundering around looking for things and he had supposed that sex and danger had left her dazzled. But when her difficulty persisted -- at finding the coffee, the cups,the dishes, the pans, and even the spatula -- he began to worry that the terror of the alien encounter had traumatized her. But then another idea started to nag at him.…

What if this woman wasn't the real Sheila? Lately, she hadn't been acting at all like the Sheila whom he had known for almost a year, neither at home nor at the office. Was she an alien? That thought sent a chill through his blood.

But, no, that couldn't be. An alien would have switched with him and/or murdered him by now. On the contrary, this girl had actually killed three aliens -- two of them to save his life. Besides, the spacemen always took with them not only the body but also the memories of their victims, making them perfect impostors. So why were there so many little things that this version of Sheila Coffin didn't seem to know?

If Sheila wasn't Sheila or an alien, could she be some ordinary person, one whom the aliens had switched into a new body for some reason?

But if that were the case, who could she be? Why was she pretending to be Sheila instead of admitting to her true identity? Martin tried to reason it out. What, exactly, might be stopping her from coming clean? Whoever this person was, she couldn't be just somebody off the street. She knew plenty about Callahan and Dewitt's everyday business.

Suddenly, a light went on.
 

Oh, God!

Martin, saying nothing, made an excuse to get out of Sheila’s proximity so he could spend the rest of the day alone. For hours, he simply shuffled around the city park, kicking at the pop cans in the grass, trying hard to come up with some alternative theory that would cancel out the one he had. By early afternoon, he’d decided that it wasn't possible to deny the truth any longer.

D.C. Callahan was alive!

D.C. Callahan was Sheila Coffin, and she'd remain Sheila Coffin for the rest of her life!

As soon as he accepted that idea as a fact, so many more things began to make sense!

The poor guy. He was keeping mum out of sheer humiliation.

But what should Martin himself be thinking about it? And why couldn't he shake the idea that it wasn't actually that much of a tragedy after all?

No! In fact, it was something good. Very good. Callahan was still alive! On the other hand, Martin Dewitt felt bothered by his own feelings about Sheila Coffin. Even now, knowing the truth, he couldn't turn those feelings off. Part of him was actually angry with D.C. for letting him fall in love with her -- him! Why had he – she-- let him treat her the way that he'd been treating her?

Well, he thought, it might just be that she was suffering from the same loss of sexual control that had overwhelmed Adam Schitz? It might be nothing personal.

Did that mean that Sheila didn’t actually feel anything special for him?

Anguishing brought him no answers. Instead, Martin began to cheer up again. Having Callahan still alive and kicking overrode everything else. It was like the dark and terrible avenue he'd been following had turned into a street with all its light posts lit. Wasn't the truth, as he now saw it, something to cheer about?

He started walking back to Sheila’s apartment.

Although he had intended to go back to his own digs right after checking on her, that damned chemistry they’d been sharing came alive as soon as he laid eyes on her again. Soon it had the two of them under the covers again. But Dewitt was a conflicted man and it showed in his lovemaking. When Sheila asked him why he was holding back, Dewitt could only yammer something about suffering from delayed shock.

By the third night, without any real effort on his part, Martin's original passion for Sheila had revived, but a sense of awe at the situation yet clung to him. His hostess, sensing it, had asked: "Are you making love to me, Martin, or is this some kind of worship service?"

The fourth time was the charm. The dark past faded under the bright light of the future. Martin was working his way toward forgiving himself. He had never had the hots for either Callahan or for the original Sheila. This person with him now was someone totally new and she was an absolutely wonderful...girl...gutsy, knowledgeable, caring -- and she had a personality that could make him laugh without even trying.

Martin kept asking himself if it was possible to love her knowing what he knew. Was this strange, urgent, and powerful thing inside of him really love? Martin tried other terms -- happiness, completion, satisfaction, contentment, attainment -- but none of them hit the spot like the word love did. If this wasn’t love, then love a thing absolutely beyond his ability to understand.

But that was then and this is now. Martin was holding this person, the new Sheila, in his arms, able to feel her heart beating. So far, he didn’t resented her lack of candor about her true identity. In fact, if keeping the secret made things easier for her, it everything easier for Martin, also. But Dewitt didn't suppose that D.C. would want to keep him in the dark forever. Even so, it worried him that her confession might change their relationship. Would those old ghosts from their past come fluttering up to get between the two of them?

He sighed. Until the moment of reckoning arrived, he didn’t intend to obsess about it. Martin's game plan was to keep doing his level best to make D.C. -- to make Sheila -- as happy as possible. He was hoping that she would decide that running into the aliens was the happiest day of her life.

"Do you love me, pudding?" Martin's partner suddenly murmured.

"Ah-huh," he whispered, inhaling the perfume placed with feminine precision behind her ear. Simultaneously he enjoyed the tickle of her hot breath on his neck.

"How much?"

"Much, much, Princess. Now let me taste that ruby lipstick of yours again; I'm still trying to figure out whether its flavor is cherry or strawberry."

"If you like it that much, maybe I should paint my whole body with it," she offered huskily.

The two of them kept on smooching, oblivious to time, until the clock in the tower hit noon. They would take a break. A special meal at the nearby Burger King would be able to restore their energy and give them the pep necessary to pick up where they'd left off.

THE END

THE BIG SWITCH by Christopher Leeson Chapter 22

 

 

01-07-24 

THE BIG SWITCH

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 22

 

The Narrative of D.C. Callahan, continued

I had a lot of explaining to do, so I gave Martin some crapola about being victimized by alien mind-control. Telling him the truth was absolutely out of the question. I didn’t want him to find out that I was somebody weird.

"Did you mean what you said, Princess?" he suddenly asked.

"Mean what?"

"About loving me."

An awful question! I almost said I didn’t mean it, but I was tired of pretending to feel things that I didn't feel. And vice versa. "Yeah," I said, "I guess I meant it. So what?"

He showed me so what. Before I could say, "Hold your horses," he was lip-smacking me, clawing at my naked body, reducing me to a helpless, groaning victim of an unnatural, all-consuming lust. . . .

No, scratch that. That was what I was doing to him. It was more he was a hare trying to get away from a wildcat.

#

Well, that was then and this is now. Here I sit writing a letter. I've always hated to write letters with feeling, but never so much as I hate writing this one:

Dear Jack,

If you've gotten this letter, it means that I've bought the farm. By now you’ve probably heard that I’ve been neck deep into some bad stuff. That’s not exactly the straight skinny. Before I step through the last door, I want to set the record straight.

The prospect of dying isn't what scares me most. The real hurts comes from knowing that my name is going to be Mudd for a while. It'll hurt you, too, I know, but I think you’re the kind of man who can stand up and take it on the chin. I just want you to know that the stories you’ll be hearing aren't going to be true. What happened is that I have to take a bad rap so that decent people won’t be hurt. I became a detective because I wanted to be a knight in shining armor and this is my big chance to take my final bow the right way.

Things didn't work out for me because those are the breaks. Plenty's gone wrong around my gopher hole lately, but I don't think it's because I've been a bad guy. I hope that you’ll eventually believe that, too.

I'm glad that Mom and Dad aren't around these days to have to face the neighbors at church. There’s just me and your family now. I love your kids, but the way it’s turned out, I'm glad that they've never had a chance to know their uncle very well. What a stranger does can’t disappoint them very much. And I'm especially glad that your wife never liked me. That will keep her from feeling too badly about what’s going down.

Maybe you won't be all that busted up about it, either, Jack. We've grown apart lately and I've been sorry about that, but in the present situation that’s for the best. You always thought I was a chump for giving up my shoe job, but my time in Iraq helped me to understand that a man only has so much time, and while he's between stage left and stage right, he needs to move quickly if he's going to get around to doing what he really wants to do.

It’s true that my P.I. job in Washington hasn't been very remunerative, and I can't say that it's been all that exciting – except to some person who considers that dodging creditors is exciting. On the other hand, if things had stayed dull I wouldn't have to be writing a letter like this one. Excitement can carry a hefty tab. I wish I could tell you the whole story, but I can't. To say too much is to create collateral damage. When the Chinese curse you, they wish that you have "interesting times." I feel like I've been zapped by that Chinese curse.

The one thing that I don’t regret it going out as a real life detective. My becoming a P.I. was all about job satisfaction. I've made plenty of mistakes, but putting up my private investigator shingle was the high point of my life. How can I explain to some everyday Joe what a life of crime-detection means to a guy like me? When somebody says, "I'm a plumber," does he ever feel the same sense of pride as I did when I was finally able to say, "I'm private eye"?

You’re not going to be privy to the whole story until you’re with me in Heaven. When you finally get served the full meal, you’re going to stop feeling sad. You'll feel more like giving me the hee-haw than punching me in the jaw. And it actually is a funny story when you come right down to it.

Maybe, when you read this letter, you'll just toss it in the can and say, "What a jerk!" The trouble is, Jack, I don't think you’re going to have such an easy time of it. I'm awfully sorry that the good name we share is going to be crapped by the news services. But life has its speed bumps and we just have to get over them, Bro. Feeling good and loving life is all that you need to do to keep me happy in Cloud City.

Before I check out, I'm passing this letter over to a friend. She’s a wonderful girl who loves the detective business as much as I do. I told her to send it to you if I don't make it though the next couple days. And the odds are that I won't.

That's about it. I guess this is goodbye.

Your brother,

Dennis Charles Callahan

I'd only gotten about halfway through the first paragraph before I started bawling. What is it about the way women are wired that makes them so emotional?

It almost killed me to have to sign off with Jack, but I couldn't have it both ways. I had to make a clean break with my old life before I could start living my new one. I chose to put Callahan away because his life didn't have any deep roots. Sheila, on the other hand, has a big family and there’s a lot of people who would miss her. She has a mother, dad, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents -- the works.

They're all still strangers to me, but as far as I know, none of them are bad people. I've found some really nice letters and Christmas cards in Sheila's keepsake box. I’ve never been part of a large family and having one for a change might be fun. I'm thinking about dropping in on the Coffin clan over the Holidays and getting to know them. I'm not sure how I'll pull off the impersonation, but I'll probably take Martin along and introduce him to all and sundry. That will be the clincher. If the family crowd knows that Sheila is having a love affair, it will go a long way toward explaining why their little girl suddenly is talking like she has some screws loose.

It's time for the summing up.

When the ersatz D.C. died, the alien threat to the Callahan and Dewitt Detective Agency ended. They're still a menace to the world at large, of course, but I'll be damned if I know what I can do about it. It’s a toss up whether the aliens are worse than the people who are running the country now. And if they get the reign of terror they want, it can't possibly go on for long. The aliens seem to be the same boneheaded mob that took over the old U.S.S.R. When they fouled their nest so much that they themselves couldn’t stand the smell of it, they moved west. After they’ve sucked the marrow out of the bones of the old USA, maybe they’ll pull up stakes and head out to Japan. In that case, Sayonara.

The one good gob of good news came in is this: A week after the phony Callahan bought it, I checked the mail and found a letter addressed to my "deceased boss." It turned out to be a contract offer for one of my "Nick Baxter" novels. Three thousand smackers and the promise of royalties! Wow!

Martin was less than ecstatic.

"That's nice," he said, "but the money has to go to D.C.'s brother Jack. I suppose he can use it, but wouldn't it have been great if Callahan could still be here to enjoy this? Having a book in print would have meant even more to him than money in the bank."

I must have looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"What?" Martin asked.

"It's not Jack's money."

He looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Check Callahan's will, sweetie. I happen to know what's in it -- ah, because I typed it out for D.C."

"Well, what's in it?"

"He left everything to his company, including his copyrights, and you're the company now."

"Why would he do a fool thing like that?"

I threw up my hands. "Give the guy a break, Marty! When D.C. was drawing up his will, he didn't have two sticks of gum to rub together. He had no legacy except a debt-ridden agency and a stack of manuscripts that no editor would touch! He didn't suppose that he was doing you much of a favor by leaving the whole disaster to you."

Pard lost his gloomy look and glanced up hopefully. "Do you think that the publisher would want any more of D.C.'s novels?"

I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, Callahan's success really encourages me. If he can do it, so can I. I'd like to try my hand at doing one of those Nick Baxter adventures, in fact. I guess I'll have to license the rights to the character from you."

Martin laughed.

"What's tickling your funny bone?" I asked.

"No girl in the world can write like a tough guy!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're such a chauvinist. Just watch my smoke, buddy!"

And since then I've been as good as my word. I'm pecking away at my latest N.B. adventure. Practice makes perfect and I can only get better. Anyway, what publisher wouldn't love to have my picture on the jacket of a book he's trying to sell? If it’s a full-body shot it will sell even better.

By the way, I think my recent experiences have made my female characters realistic. I mean, I’m writing less about feminists committing robberies and committing murder and featuring more likable women, such as cocktail waitresses and insatiable nymphomaniacs. Erotica is something that women writers can get away with without drawing critical scorn. I haven’t sold a second book yet, but I won't sweat it. When the publisher starts making millions off the first one, opportunities will come knocking. Both Martin and me are keeping our fingers crossed.

Now for the bad stuff.

During the inquest, Martin and I did our best to smear as much muck as possible on Callahan's coattails. According to our spiel, D.C. got involved with a bad woman from across the hall, Leigh Spielman. The two of them started killing for thrills. We told the cops that D.C. died in an attempt to murder Dewitt and me after we found out what he was up to, a fact that Latisha Jones could more or less corroborate. Unfortunately, because Latisha had such a big mouth, I had to confess that I was the one who'd hit Spielman with the snow shovel. But that was dismissed as unintentional and justifiable homicide.

As for the stiffs drawing flies in B.J.'s apartment, well, we lucked out there, too. We claimed that Blackjack's dying words accused Callahan and a blonde woman of killing the wino in the kitchen. As for B.J., the coroner decided that he'd died of natural causes. Witnesses placed Callahan and the dame at the scene of the crime not once but twice, and the dead wino had, in fact, been seen entering the building in their company.

The stiffs in the dumpster have been chalked up to the deadly duo, too. It was a big help that the false Callahan had shoved D.C.’s business cards into both of their pockets. Right on cue, the boys in blue had a new Bonny and Clyde to saddle to the with the bum killings. The papers took the thrill-killer story and ran with it, calling Callahan and Spielman the "Death Wish" assassins. The woke Fake News used the angle that they were a White Privilege couple with a vendetta against the city's poor and disadvantaged. By the time Gina and Evelyn surfaced, the whole affair was an open-and-shut case and nobody was much interested in what they had to add to the matter. Because the police had been defunded, they had too few investigators to be wasting them on closed cases, and the reporters wanted to keep pushing the racially-charged angle that they already had.

But it was Adam Schitz or -- more precisely, Latisha Jones -- who gave the crucial testimony that saved both our necks. By the way, a little research confirmed that there really had been a Latisha Jones, one with a long rap sheet for soliciting. We suppose that the real Latisha must have been the hooker who had been originally born into that knockout body of hers. The aliens must have kept her data and fed it into Schitz’s head when they brainwashed him – or is that her?

After the investigation, social services tried to sequester Miss Jones inside a home for troubled women, but she was just too restless and kept running away. Martin and me found her back in the “life,” doing what she liked best. We didn't want to leave the deluded dolly working for a lousy pimp on the mean streets, so we fixed her up with one of my -- one of Callahan's -- old contacts in the West. He was managing a posh Nevada ranch, one called the Corral 69. It was a business, not a criminal operation, and the girls there were treated more or less decently. It was the best we could do, since Latisha was determined to keep on selling sex.

But the fact is that Jones stayed bunked at the Corral for only six weeks. She’d never really settled in, too much missing the exciting interplay that goes on between a ho and her pimp. Also, the wide-open spaces of the desert bored her stiff. One day, she hitched a ride into Las Vegas and never came back.

I’ve wondered since then what might happen to Latisha Jones, aka Adam Schitz, if the brainwashing ever wears off.

As for the aliens' secret war on the U.S.A., I’ve been checking the voting record of the space monkey who switched with Schitz and it's amazing. What he's been doing so far is indistinguishable from the nutty votes that the original Schitz used to make. Considering that the old Schitz was pretty much like everyone else in Congress, I wonder why the aliens think they need to take over Congress. Things seem to have been going their way ever since the New Deal.

A funny accident happened to me lately. I turned a corner and almost stepped on the high-heeled pumps of a red-haired hottie wearing dark glasses -- and not much else.

The girl sitting on the edge of a street fountain recognized me, too.

"You is that secretary from the Callahan agency!" the girl declared in liquid Black English tones. I could only stare at her. It was B.J. and he – she – had on a barely-legal black lycra-spandex, ladder-cut job with a hemline worth writing home about. I have to say that her outfit was sinful enough to keep a mega-church minister up all night praying. What exactly he’d be praying for I’d blush to say!

"Hi, Shiela gal,” she called out. “Has anyone turned y’out yet, sugah?"

I winced and replied, "Ah, no. I'm still doing the same old job."

Her moue told me that she didn't approve. "You're in a rut, gal. A real woman needs a sweet man."

"The man I already have is sweet enough for me," I let her know.

"That handsome dick in the leather coat? He'd make a good pin-up, honey pie, but for serious lovin', his sort don’t rate. He's not a player."

"I'm glad he's not," I replied stiffly. "I don't want to be played with."

She shrugged, as if she thought I was stupid.

"How -- ah -- how are Evelyn and Gina?" I asked.

She smiled. "The wife-in-laws are both fine. We're working for this new mack man, the one that Evelyn found for us -- Bogota Rico."

"I've heard of him," I said. Rico was a Columbian, a nasty up-and-comer making his way skyward on the mean street. "Is Rico one of your old friends?" I asked carefully.

A tinkly laugh floated from her pipes. "Not hardly! We always hated each other's guts and were always trying to take one another's girls away. Well, a couple days after I last saw you, Evelyn brought Rico over to our motel. He said he was taking over my operation and me with it."

"And Evelyn set that up?" I asked.

"Yeah. At first, I thought she'd double-crossed me, but it turned out that she was doing me a favor. Lordy, is that man ever good in bed!"

"Then you're making it all right as a woman?"

"As right as rain, honey. I only wish I’d had the chance to start sooner!”

I asked my next question delicately. "Do you really like -- the work?"

She frowned. “Not at first, but after a couple days of Rico giving me all his attention, I realized that there was nothing not to like about it. I’m cool."

"Cool? You’re sure?"

Her cheaters flashed the autumn sun into my eyes. "Yeah, cool. I got a sweet man taking care of me, treating me like I'm something special. The outfits are incredible and I'm taking hour-long bubble baths every day. What’s not to like?"

"I’m not in a position to say," I told her.

The air went out of the conversation about then. Hoes and non-hoes really don’t have very much to talk about. After a few minutes, B.J. stood up.

"Well, gotta rush, Baby-o. Rico is on my back for a thousand dollars a day. "At the start, he only expected five hundred dollars, but now he knows how much I can pull down when I try."

"He raised your quota? The greedy rat!"

She smiled in a superior way. "No, you still don't see! Upping my tally shows how much he respects me. To be one of his top girls is a big honor!”

“By the way,” I asked, “what do you call yourself now?”

“I’m Betty Jo." Then she added, "My friends still call me B.J."

It didn't take a genius to guess why.

"Good luck!" I said as she started away. I stood there for a long minute, watching her firm bottom swivel away into the distance, listening to that nutty song she’d started to sing:

"Some say that I'm tacky, that I wallow in sleaze,
But I'm earning a living and I do what I please.
Most wives don't respect me, them that's happily wed,
But I know all their husbands, 'cause I met them in bed!"

 
#

That being said, let’s get back to the important part of my story.

Martin and I were told not to leave town after our first police grilling, Martin drove me to my -- to Sheila's -- apartment in Falls Church and put me to bed. He stayed overnight, bunking down in the living room.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt more depressed than ever. I just lay there staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to do with myself, confused about what my life was supposed to be from now on. I had two choices. I could either mix myself a strychnine cocktail or start learning how to sing, “I Enjoy Being a Girl.”

I felt bummed out, big time.

Suddenly there came a rapping-tapping on my chamber door. It was Martin, and no one more.

"Sheila, are you all right?" he asked in that incredible baritone of his. "You sound like you're crying."

"I don't cry!" I yelled back. "I wouldn't know how to cry even if I tried. Go away, you big dumb Belgian! I don't want to talk!" Along with all my other problems, I’d been saddled with a partner who was having auditory hallucinations.

Martin opened the door carefully, as if expecting that I would throw something at him. I saw that he was wearing just his shorts and so I rolled over, refusing to look at his six-pack abs. My cheek touched a clammy wet spot on the pillow that hadn't been there before. I could only think that I must have been drooling.

"I can see that you're taking it hard, Princess. Well, I'm pretty busted up myself," he said softly. "The worst thing is, I miss Callahan."

I sniffed. "Yeah, well, you can't miss D.C. half as much as I do. He was something special to me."

"To me, too. I feel like I have to do something special for him."

"D.C. wasn't a sentimental guy,” I said. “He'd be glad to let you take over the business. You were his buddy and pal. To a manly man, that's as good as being a brother."

"Yeah? And how do you know so much about manly men?"

I extemporized. "I -- I read romance novels."

He laughed softly. "Well, that's nice. Every guy wants a girl who understands his kind of man."

I didn't answer.

"I wouldn't blame you if you feel like taking off after all we've been through, but I hope you don't. You've got grit. I think you have the makings of a good detective. I also can't imagine wanting to go back to that office without you there."

I shut my eyes, not wanting any pep talk. I'm the type who gives out the pep talks. I don't like listening to them.

"For a while it'll be just you and me," he went on.

"Yeah," I said with a snort, "it'll be hard for you to find a new partner. Most people aren’t dumb enough to take on half of an agency’s debt with no prospects of a livable income!"

"It's not that. It wouldn't feel right bringing in an outsider, not for a while anyway. I wouldn't want to make Callahan's ghost feel crowded."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, that's a pretty good description of what Callahan is right now."


To Be Continued in Chapter 23