Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Chapter 1

   Three hours worth of driving of the very worst sort.  My trip was mixed
in with the evacuation of parts of two states in the face of a hurricane
barreling down on the Gulf Coast, and after white-knuckling a mere hundred
miles, I pulled onto a secondary road thinking that maybe, just maybe, the
traffic would be less than the main highways.  I was only partially
correct, and I finally heeded my stomach's growling and pulled my rig into
a roadside diner in a small town in north Louisiana.

   I asked for, and got, a seat at a table in the corner, my back to the
wall, so I could relax without dodging other clientele and also watch what
was going on.  Evacuations were sort of like kicking over the rotten log of
civilization.  You never knew what was going to scurry out into the
sunlight.

   I was entertaining a breakfast of steak and eggs, pretty nicely done,
actually, and noticing the activity at a nearby booth.  The occupants
looked to be some bozo in maybe his early forties, around my age, a woman
maybe five or so years younger, and a teen girl, I'm estimating maybe
sixteen or seventeen at this point.  They're just a little too far away for
me to make out the conversation, but it doesn't appear to be too cordial,
from the expressions of the participants.

   I heard "mumble mumble mumble" from the guy, mumble mumble mumble" from
the older female, and then "mumble mumble mumble" from the teen girl,
except her voice had a tone of hurt and a bit of fright.  Not my business.
I forked another load of steak and eggs into my mouth.

   The conversation changed.  The guy's voice got loud, as in "MUMBLE
MUMBLE" pause "MUMBLE MUMBLE MUMBLE" apparently directed at the teen who
replied with a shake of chestnut hair, "mumble mumble".

   The loudness put me on alert.  I mean, country diner and all, you didn't
expect to see people acting like this, and heads were turning in the
direction of this one booth.

   The guy got loud enough to understand.  His actions made it even easier
to understand.  "YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BITCH!!!!" and he reached across the
booth table and grabbed the front of her blouse, yanking her up as he rose.
His free hand was coming back.  It didn't take a lot of analysis to see
what was coming next.

   Me.

   I stood up and pushed around my table.  "HOLD!" I said, in my best
command voice.

   The dude dropped his free hand, shoved the girl backward against the
back of the booth and turned towards me.  "Boy!" he hissed.  "You need to
mind YOUR own fuckin' business!" I outweighed him and out-reached him and
was a good six inches taller.  Bad odds.  His right hand started into his
pocket.  The situation had just escalated.

   My own right hand went across my midsection under my shirt-tail and came
out with a compact 9mm pistol.

   "Bud," I said, "if that hand doesn't come out of that pocket VERY slowly
and VERY empty, you're gonna have a big hole in you."

   His hand came out, slowly.  The girl had slid down in the booth and was
trying to get herself up from halfway on the floor.  The older woman was
screaming, "He's got a gun!" I didn't parse that very well.  My own gun was
obvious.  Was she talking about her companion?  The poor waitress was back
behind the counter.

   "Call 9-1-1," I said.  "We need some law here.  Fast!"

   "They're on the way.  I called when he raised his voice."

   Indeed they were fast.  Scarcely a minute and half passed, me holding
the guy at gunpoint, when I saw the flashing lights and a deputy sheriff
pushed through the door, gun drawn.

   Three people said at the same time, "NOT HIM!" as I two-fingered the gun
delicately onto the table and stepped back.  A second car pulled into the
parking lot, lights blinking mad blue.  A second deputy was in the place in
a few seconds.

   "Hurley!" screamed the waitress.  "It's not the big guy!" I was the big
guy.  6' 2", 200 pounds.  I locked my fingers on top of my head, frozen.  I
mean, you never know with the small town cops, who's trigger happy, who's
scared shitless, and any bad move, well...

   "Hurley" was apparently the deputy who was first on the scene.  He kept
that damned pistol of his at eye level, midway between me and the bozo who
started the mess.  He addressed me.  "Sir!  Do you have any other weapons
on you?"

   "Yessir," I said.  "I've got a folding knife hanging in my right pants
pocket."

   "Carefully remove the knife and put it on the table and step back."

   I think that Deputy Hurley's thinking isn't really good if he lets me
step close to the table with the gun laying on it, but I drop my right hand
very slowly and remove the knife clipped in my pocket with a thumb and
index finger and drop it softly on the table.  And I step back.  Hurley
steps up and sticks my pistol and knife in his thigh pocket.  He's looking
at his partner.

   "Jim," Hurley says, "That guy clean?"

   "Jim" answers, "I haven't checked."

   I know what comes next.  "Sir," says Hurley, "turn around and put your
hands behind your back."

   And there I am, in the dining room of a Louisiana restaurant, in
handcuffs.  They perform a similar operation on the doofus and have a lot
more fun with him, retrieving a little black automatic pistol from his
pants pocket.  Yeah.  The pocket he was reaching into.  Now he's in cuffs,
too, and they're marching all four of us, me, the doofus, the middle-aged
chick, and the teen girl, all of us, out into the parking lot.  Now comes
the fun part, where they try to unravel the story.

   The waitress is out there too.  And half the clientele, apparently
regulars.  And if you're a regular at a small town diner, you also get
pretty familiar with the cops, so nobody was getting run off.  They were
the witnesses.

   They started with the girl.  Deputy Hurley asked, "Miss, do you have
some ID?"

   "I-in my purse," she sniffled.  "It's at the table."

   Hurley spoke to one old guy standing nearby.  "Unka Bob, can you get
this young lady's purse?" The old guy left and Hurley turned his attention
back to the teen.  "What's your name?"

   "Tina.  Christina Johnson," she sobbed, still shaken by the rush of
events.

   "How old are you?"

   "Seventeen."

   "Now, very carefully, tell me what happened." He reached in his shirt
pocket and pulled out a little recorder and punched a button.

   "I- We were having breakfast, and had an argument, and Mister Jeff
grabbed me and started to slap me." Sob.  "And that guy stood up and told
'im to stop.  An' Mister Jeff was pissed and threw me down and started to
go for that pistol, 'cept that guy (me) was faster.  Mister Jeff put his
hands up an' you came in."

   Hurley looked at me, then the doofus.  "What was the argument about?"

   Tina took a deep breath.  "He said they didn't have enough money for
breakfast an' cigarettes, and I was eatin' too much an' to give him my
money so he could buy cigarettes.  An' I told 'im "no" an' he called me an
ungrateful little bitch an' grabbed me."

   By that time Unka Bob was back with Tina's purse.  He handed it to the
deputy.  The deputy eyed Tina.  "Is there anything in there I need to worry
about?"

   Tina took another breath, trying to control her sobs.  She shook her
head.  "No sir.  My wallet.  Tampons.  Pictures.  Little notebook.  A pen."

   He handed her the purse.  "Show me your ID." She complied.  He examined
it and handed it back to her.

   I was next.  He stood in front of me, six feet away.  "And you're?"

   "Alan Dean Addison.  Forty-one.  From..." I named my home town.

   "You heard what Miss Tina said?"

   "Yessir," I said.  Damned straight I called him 'sir', despite him being
at least a decade my junior.  The guy was small town law enforcement and I
was, in my own mind, 100% legal in my actions, but also 100% at his mercy
as far as resolving the situation with the least pain to me.

   "Is that pretty much what you saw go down?"

   "Yessir," I said.  "Except I didn't hear any of the conversation before
he yelled "You ungrateful little bitch" and grabbed her.  He was hauling
his right hand back to slap her when I told him to stop.  He threw her
down, turned at me and said mind my own business and started reaching into
his pocket.  That's when I drew."

   "Uh, Mister Addison, I'm gonna undo your cuffs.  I want to see your ID.
Don't move fast."

   Freed, I very gingerly removed my wallet and retrieved two pieces of ID,
a state drivers' license and a permit that allowed me to legally carry a
concealed handgun.  Hurley looked them both over and handed them back to
me.

   "So, you're carrying legally.  That's one for you."

   "Hurley.  Son!" Unka Bob was interrupting.

   Hurley turned.  "Yessir?"

   Unka Bob smiled at me.  "This feller," he said, pointing to me, "saved
that little girl a butt-kickin'"

   The waitress intruded on the scene and joined in, "Yeah, I called your
cell when that bunch started gettin' loud.  Before he grabbed her.  This
guy stepped in just in time."

   Things were lining up for me.  Hurley looked at me.  "Mister Addison,
can you wait here?  I need to get back with you."

   Deputy #2 was going through the purse of the adult woman, and there were
some curious artifacts laid out on the hood of his squad car, many of them
involving tiny plastic bags.  The guy was already sitting in the back seat,
behind a closed door.  The woman ended up in the other police unit, still
in cuffs.  Their car was an older Japanese import and by the time the
deputies started going through it, a state police crime lab unit was on the
way.  Drugs.

   Deputy Hurley approached me.  "What are you driving?"

   "That rig over there," I said, pointing to my "on the road" rig, a big
silver diesel pickup truck towing a thirty-five foot travel trailer.

   "Wow!" he exclaimed.  "Can you follow us to the station?  I'm gonna need
a statement."

   "Sure," I said.  "I hope you have room for me to pull in.  That's a
bitch to back up."

   He laughed.  "We'll fix you up." And there was forgotten participant. 
Miss Tina.  Hurley looked at her.  She'd regained composure.  Was standing
there, all five-foot seven or eight (tall girl) of her, hips a little wider
than a bikini model, the tiniest bit of a muffin top over her tight jean
shorts, her blue cotton blouse knotted just above the beltline of the
shorts.  Auburn hair.  Blue eyes.  And pissed.

   "What about me?" she asked.  Hurley's eyes darted back and forth between
his car and his partner's, each with a handcuffed suspect in the back seat.
Hurley opened his passenger side door for her and the doofus in the back
began screaming and cursing her.  He took her to the other car, and got
much the same treatment from the woman.

   He looked at me.  At her.  At me.  "You saved 'er.  Got any problem with
giving her a ride?  Miss Tina?  "Is that okay?"

   Tina looked at me.  "I suppose."

   "Wait a second," I said.  I spotted the waitress and pulled out a twenty
and a five dollar bill.  Handing it to her, I said, "This'll cover my
breakfast.  And that little lady's.  And your tip." I turned back to the
deputy.  "Let's go, then." I turned to the second deputy.  "How about some
flashy light stuff so I can get this thing out of the parking lot?"

   "Sure," he said.  "You just gave her like a six dollar tip.  You gonna
ruin 'er for the rest of us."

   "Yeah," I said.  "But her day went all to hell.  Figure she could use a
boost."

   Lights flashing, I followed as we crossed the steady stream of hurricane
evacuees and I followed him to the sheriff's office.  True to their word,
they led me around in a big parking lot so I didn't have to fight that long
trailer.  Tina didn't say a word the whole trip.  It wasn't a long trip. 
Just awfully silent.

   We followed the deputy into the building.  He motioned to a set of
chairs.  "Ya'll can wait here.  Wanna coke?  Coffee?"

   "Coffee would be nice," I said.  I looked at Tina.  "You want
something?"

   "Coffee, I guess," she said.

   "Coffee pot's in here," the deputy motioned, looked, then said "I'll get
somebody to make a fresh pot."

   About that time, the entry door opened and the waitress from the
restaurant walked in.  She immediately went to Tina's side.  "Hon," she
cooed, "Are you okay?"

   Tina nodded.  "He saved me."

   "Uh-huh," said the waitress.  "That man was getting ready to knock the
crap out of you."

   Tina shook her head.  "He was." She looked at me.  "Uh, mister, I don't
remember your name."

   "Alan" I said.  "Alan Addison.  And you're..."

   "Tina.  Christina Johnson.  Thank you.  For stopping him."

   "It's okay, Tina.  I'm glad I could help."

   The deputy stuck his head in the door.  "Folks..." and then he saw the
waitress.  "Hi, Debbie," he said.  "Uh, folks, the coffee's ready."

   Debbie laughed.  "I can do without another sniff of coffee today.  You
got some paper for me to write my statement on?"

   "Sure," he said.  "Just a sec." He ducked away, then back, handing
Debbie a few forms.  "Just write it out in your own words.  I'll come by
the restaurant in the morning and get 'em." He turned to us.  "Come help
yourself."

   We stood, and I let Tina go first.  She fixed herself a cup of coffee,
then I fixed mine as she watched.  I took a sip, savoring the aroma of the
steam.

   "Gah ...  I still have the jitters, Mister Alan," she said.

   "I'm kinda the same way."

   "You pulled your gun on 'im."

   "I didn't have much choice, Tina.  He was ...  well, I didn't know what
he was going to do.  Gun.  Knife.  Whatever.  And I wasn't going to stand
there and watch him slap you around.  Did I hear correctly?  He wanted your
money to buy cigarettes?"

   "Yeah.  Cigarettes.  And Mom was mad because I didn't give it to him.  I
babysitted for that money.  It was all I had."

   "That was you dad?"

   "God, no!  Mom's current boyfriend.  I hate 'im.  He hates me.  Doesn't
want me around.  We evacuated an' he's got friends in Arkansas.  I honestly
don't think I'd've come home alive.  Really."

   We walked back into the waiting room.  "So now what do you do?"

   "I don't know.  Mom was all I had.  I've been living with her for nine
months since Grandma died.  I was living with Grandma for the past five
years while Mom did her thing ...  uh, make that THINGS.  Like that guy."

   "Do you have any other relatives?  Grandparents?  Aunts?  Uncles?"

   "Not that I know of.  If I had something better, I'd be doing it.  And
it wouldn't take much to be better than Mom and her druggie friends.  I'm
seventeen.  I'd run away, but I don't know where to run."

   "Gosh."

   "Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Alan.  I don't mean to drag you down." She
sighed.

   I looked a little longer.  She was not unattractive, even under adverse
circumstances.  I mean, evacuation by car is not conducive to good hygiene
or personal care, but even with her hair in a bit of disarray (being thrown
to the floor will do that) and face tracked with dried tears, she was cute.
Maybe not a centerfold cute, but cute.

   "You're not dragging me down, Tina.  Everybody's got stories."

   She sighed.  "So what's yours?  You evacuating too?"

   I smiled.  "Oddly enough, no.  I just got caught in it.  I'm on my way
to a project in Tennessee.  New factory's being built, and I'm the guy they
chose to build the electrical part.  I'm an electrical engineer."

   "And you bring your travel trailer?"

   "Yeah.  I researched RV parks until I found one that sounds good,
willing to put up with me for a few months, off the beaten path, and I'll
park the trailer there and live out of it for the duration of the project."

   "Is that good money?"

   "Yeah, pretty nice.  They pay me a hundred and seventy five dollars a
day to live there.  My hour rate works out to seventy-five bucks an hour.
Plus I get a hefty bonus if I stay until the project completes, plus we get
bonuses if we make certain milestones on the schedules."

   "Gosh.  And you're just going there?  Today?"

   "No, I was planning on a night in a motel on the way.  About halfway. 
But right now I'm sitting in a sheriff's office in Armpit, Louisiana
instead of driving, so I don't know how far behind I'm going to be.  I
wasn't supposed to start for a week anyway."

   "Oh."

   "So what happens to Tina?"

   "I don't know," she said.  "I'm sure there's a shelter or something."

   "Or something." I was thinking.  Shouldn't be.  But was.  After all, I'd
already helped once today.

   Another deputy stuck his head in the door.  "Uh, could you folks come
back here with me?"

   Tina and I ended up in separate offices.  I imagine she was doing what I
was doing, getting another round of interviews about what happened.

   I'm good at interviews.  I interview lots of people for jobs, from
shovel-jockey to engineer, so I know how to handle myself.  And I was
having fun, once the pressure was off.  I gave them all they wanted to
know. The deputy who did the interview was sympathetic to my position. 
Asked about my holster, my gun, my carry, how often I practiced.  I took
him out and showed him my travel trailer, a heavily modified floor plan I'd
ordered special for MY requirements.  And the truck.  A nice pickup truck
is like a social event in some circles, and although it was only a tool to
me, I knew that some people liked seeing one well turned out.  They were
finished with me.  I got my pistol and my knife back.

   I was walking up the hall and I saw Tina sitting in an office.  I saw
Deputy Hurley sitting in another office.  I knocked on his door.  "Hey," I
said.  "I want to thank you for the professional job you guys did today." A
little honey catches flies, you know.  "Can I ask about the other people?
What's happening?"

   "Uh," he said, "Off the record, you know..."

   "Of course," I said.

   "The guy, your buddy?  Outstanding warrants.  A bunch.  Parole violation
with him having a gun.  And drugs.  Intent to distribute.  That puts him in
state and Federal jurisdiction.  He ain't comin' out any time soon."

   "I ain't supposed to say "he looked the type..." I started.

   Hurley finished.  "He looked the type.  And the adult woman, damn near
as bad.  Parole violation.  Probation for previous drug offenses. 
Prostitution.  And drugs in her purse.  She's gone."

   "Uh, what about Miss Tina?"

   "That's the tough part.  Best we can tell, she's never been in trouble.
Not even a traffic ticket.  Her personal possessions are clean.  I tell
you, Mister Addison, I just think she was being dragged along.  Not very
willingly."

   "So where's she go?" I asked.

   "That's the tough part.  She's seventeen.  We're trying to find
something for her.  But right now, she's kind of in limbo.  I mean, she
could walk out the door right now and we couldn't stop her.  But the sad
thing is, she says she's got nowhere to go." He looked genuinely concerned.
"She's just a little younger than my kid sister."

   "Can I talk to her?" I asked, knowing that I could be treading on thin
ice.

   "Sure.  But ...  Why?"

   "I dunno.  Offer to help.  Again."

   Hurley half-smiled.  "Might be the best chance she has right now."

   I walked back up the hall and stuck my head in the door where Tina was
sitting.  "Tina," I said softly, "you got a minute?"

   When she turned there was moisture in the corners of her eyes.  "Looks
like I've got more than a minute, Mister Alan.  Why?"

   "I was talking to Deputy Hurley.  He's telling me what you're up against
right now.  I know this may sound strange, but ...  don't take this wrong.
I could make room for you for a while.  With me.  Until school."

   "School's over, Mister Alan.  I dropped out.  Mom moved us six times in
nine months.  I tried changing schools three times.  And I gave up." She
hung her head.  "Grandma'd be crying to know that."

   "I'm sorry.  But then, school.  Or no school.  I have a place for you to
stay.  No strings.  None.  I mean it.  None.  If you want.  It ain't much.
A travel trailer."

   She turned teary eyes to me.  "You'd ...  you really would..."

   "I really would," I said.  "You want to go tell Deputy Hurley?"

   She was starting to smile a bit.  For the first time since I met her. 
She knocked on Deputy Hurley's door.

   "Come in, Miss Tina," he said.

   "Deputy Hurley," she said, "Uh ...  Mister Alan has offered to give me a
place to stay for a while.  I just wanted to let you know."

   Hurley looked at me.  "Uh, Mister Addison.  A minute, please?  Excuse
us, Miss Tina."

   I knew where this one was going.  "Okay, Deputy Hurley.  I know what
you're thinking."

   "No shit," he said.  "D'you KNOW that she's still under a lot of
confusion and crap from this morning?"

   "Yes I do," I said.  "And I aim to reduce that a bit by NOT forcing her
into a temporary home or a shelter for battered women or whatever else
comes up."

   "You tell me with a straight face..." He glared.

   "Deputy Hurley." I glanced at the nameplate on his desk.  "Bill, if I
can be so bold.  I am a man of honor.  I stood up for that young lady this
morning under threat of harm to my own body.  I am not about to cart her
off somewhere to turn her into a sex slave or a play toy.  I'm just trying
to help." I reached in my wallet and pulled out a business card.  "This is
MY business card.  You can call it tomorrow or next week or next month.  I
will answer the phone.  If Tina is around, SHE will talk to you.  And like
I told you, I am going to work for six months on a project, and my name and
reputation are on the line.  I am a professional, as are you.  Give me your
trust."

   "Damn, man!  What a speech.  Okay.  Okay!  I'm sorry.  Like I said. 
Little sister.  Okay?"

   "Okay," I said.  "And like I said, I appreciate you doing your job as
conscientiously as you've done it.  Including this."

   "Okay, Mister Addison."

   "Alan," I said.

   "Alan.  Open the door and ask Tina back in."

   Tina popped back in.  "Yessir?" she asked.

   Hurley said, "Me and Alan had a discussion about you.  I understand that
he's offering to give you a place to stay.  But here's the deal.  I don't
care if you ARE in Tennessee.  If you get in trouble.  With him or anybody
else.  Here's MY card.  You call me and I will personally come up there and
get you and kick whoever's ass needs kicking."

   "I believe him, Miss Tina," I said.

   "So do I," she said.  "Thank you, Deputy Hurley.  You've been good to
me. I'll call you and tell you how things are going."

   "You do that, little sister," he said.

   We were walking out to the truck.  "What'd he mean, "little sister"?"
she asked.

   I told her, "He said you're just a few years younger than his little
sister and he didn't want anything bad to happen to you."

   She looked at me.  "You mean, like getting slapped around by Mister
Druggie this morning?"

   "Or worse..."

   "Mister Alan, there's no telling how much worse it would've been."

   She climbed in on the passenger side of the truck and I cranked up the
diesel and let it clatter at idle for a minute.

   "Nice truck," she said.

   "Tool," I said.  "Some people treat it like a status thing.  To me, it's
just a good tool for what I need.  And I take care of it.  That's why we're
sitting here for a minute, to let things get warm."

   "Oh," she said.  She clicked her seatbelt and I clicked mine and I
shifted into gear and off we went.  Considering that I was at breakfast at
eight when things went bad this morning, and it was now two-thirty, I
counted myself lucky.

   "If you're hungry," I said, "there's granola bars and stuff in the
console.  Help yourself.  And the ice chest behind the seat has cokes."

   "D'you want one?" she asked.

   "I could use a coke," I said.

   As we crawled out of town with the evacuees, she was sitting there
munching on a granola bar and sipping a coke.  I stole a glance over at
her, removing my eyes off the traffic.  She wasn't exactly smiling, but she
did have a satisfied look on her face.