Chapter 9

Frieda was all over me as soon as I walked in the door. "So? What happened?"

I shrugged. "We went to Antoine's."

"Come on -- there was more to it than that!"

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "There were eight or ten other people there. We had a private dining room at the back and I sat with Jack while the muckedy-mucks talked about this and that for like three solid hours, then Jack took me home."

"Eww! That's it?" Frieda looked disgusted, and I knew I had her.

"Okay, well, that's not everything," I admitted, "but not out here, you know? Not on the floor..."

"Oh. Okay." Frieda got it. "On break?"

"Sure."

So we worked through to the two o'clock break, then went out to my car for some privacy. Once we were settled, Frieda said, "Okay, I've been good -- gimme!"

"Well, as far as it went, I told you the whole front end," I told her, "more or less as it happened. Jack DID take me home afterward, but I brought him in with me."

"No way!" Frieda's eyes bugged.

"Way!" I insisted. "Momma had waited up, too!"

"Omigod!" Frieda gasped, "How did THAT go?"

"Really strange," I told her. "Momma was... subdued. She asked Jack a couple of questions and then she announced that she was going to bed!"

"NO FUCKIN' WAY!" Frieda erupted. She nearly broke my eardrums -- which is why we were NOT having this conversation in the store!

"Way!" I insisted again. "That's how it happened!"

Frieda considered this. "Well, I DID let your momma have it for crawling all over the first guy ever to pay any attention to you. That was fucked up..."

"Well, it worked, I guess," I grinned. "Thanks! We were expecting World War Three!"

"So then what happened? Did you make out on the couch?"

"No," I replied, preening, "I took him upstairs to my room and we had sex!"

Frieda stopped and looked surprised -- and saddened. "Wow! You had me going there for a minute."

"Huh?"

"Sweetie, I love you and I would love to believe that, but there's NO WAY you took Jack upstairs to your room and fucked him! No fuckin' way!"

"But I DID!" I insisted. "We started out banging the headboard on the wall and Momma came in to stop us -- but we'd changed around already -- and Momma stood there watching us and MASTURBATED!"

Frieda looked miffed. "THAT's supposed to convince me? That's even more outlandish than your first tale! Come on, Sweetie, tell me the truth -- I can take it! He just dropped you at the door, then?"

"Frieda, it's TRUE!" I insisted, "Swear to God! Think about it! It's too wild NOT to be true!"

"It's too wild, all right!" Frieda groused.

"No, look!" I reached in the back seat and grabbed a bag. "Would I buy THIS if we weren't doing anything?" I tipped the bag out in her lap and a black baby-doll nightie and matching panties fell out of it.

"HOLY SHIT!" Frieda's eyes bugged out. "Does your momma know you bought that?"

"She was WITH ME!" I retorted. "She bought one, too!"

Frieda looked lost. "Something about this doesn't add up..."

I nodded. Fighting a sour stomach, I admitted, "There IS more to it -- but this isn't the place, either. I want you to meet Jack -- REALLY meet him. Then, maybe, I can make you understand everything..." The nausea let up as I got a little more vague about the whole thing.

Frieda's face twisted as she considered this. "When?"

"Tonight?"

"Well..."

"PLEEEZE! It'll be worth it -- I promise!" I begged.

"Well, okay." She held up the nightie. "How does it look?"

I sighed. "I look like a hippo in a tutu -- but at least there IS a tutu!"

Frieda snorted a giggle.

Jack called just after seven; he sounded... aggravated. I was pretty diffident when I asked, "About Frieda..." but he said, "Let's go out to eat --- somewhere that we can get food, instead of a crowd." I agreed and collected Frieda and we decided to go to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant/bar that Frieda and I went to when we just wanted to do girl talk and maybe scope guys. He looked pretty fresh, though, when he showed up in his car...

Jack:

I figured that I sounded like I had a mild case of rabies when I called Beth, so I deliberately pulled her in for a big kiss on arrival. Beth smiled big for me -- and for the benefit of Checkout Chickie -- Frieda, that is. I kept things neutral while I looked her over...

She really wasn't big in any department -- probably 'A' cups, or maybe 'B' -- firm, though, I guessed. She didn't slim any at the waist -- she was more straight, vertically, rather than having any curves. The hair was blonde -- probably bleached, but at least streaked or something, curly, and shoulder-length. The nose kept her from looking like a pixie, it was one of those longish jobs with a kind of diamond-shaped ridge and a slight bulb at the end -- not Karl Malden, but a distant female relative. Buck teeth. Despite a fairly narrow frame, she had a bit of a pot-belly and looked a little pudgy. It's an odd kind of build that you see nowadays on a lot of stick-legged boys -- probably because instead of playing outside while they were young, they were inside building up their thumb muscles with a game console. At first glance, I wondered why on Earth I should bother. She looked a lot like an eleven-year-old baby-fat kid who had been advanced a few years.

"This is Frieda," Beth said, and Frieda came forward, smiling hesitantly, to take my hand. I nodded and muttered, "Jack," as I gently squeezed her clammy hand. Kid had a nice smile, anyway...

"We're going to Ray's tonight," Beth announced, "It's quieter."

It was. The place was small, and dark, and out of the way; there were tables and a bar and a small dance floor. The music wasn't ungodly loud, and came from a jukebox. Oh, yeah, I forgot the pool tables. We sat at a table in the bar area; there was a restaurant area to the right as you came through the door, but it was a separate room. I got the idea that the girls used the table we settled in regularly. The menu had a lot of barbeque on it, but the girls swore by it -- and the ribs WERE good. I noticed right away that Frieda tended to be highly animated -- and that Beth got loose and comfortable and just as loud. They made comments about the couple of young toughs playing pool and some of the older guys at the bar, Frieda's somewhat risqué guesses at their sexual prowess provoking Beth's snorting giggle on multiple occasions. Our own conversation was a bit more cautious...

"So, what do you do, Jack?" Frieda asked.

I considered this one, berating myself for being unprepared to answer it. "I'm, uh, in the military." It was a stupid answer -- there were no bases nearby. Frieda knew this as well as I did -- and so did Beth. Instant discomfort.

Beth found an answer. "He's a recruiter!"

Frieda nodded, "Oh, yeah -- they're everywhere..." I could see in her eyes the corollary, 'and they're all silver-tongued liars!' Of course, I was doing a TERRIBLE job...

"I, uh, don't recruit, myself," I stammered. "I'm, you know, with the administration people..."

"Um hum," Frieda nodded, measuring me with her eyes -- and I KNEW I wasn't measuring up. The thing was, her protective instincts regarding Beth were actually improving her scores with me! She flicked a glance at Beth and said, "Beth told me this wild story about what you guys did last night. What's YOUR side of things?"

Helpless, I turned a startled gaze on Beth. After a moment's thought, I said, "Well, a gentleman doesn't tell."

Frieda wasn't satisfied, I could tell. "Well, this is kinda above and beyond, you know? The tale she gave me requires corroboration..."

I frowned. What the Hell had Beth told her? With the blocks in place, it shouldn't have been much... "We had dinner at Antoine's..."

"And?" Frieda prompted.

"I took her home..."

Frieda flicked a glance at Beth, who coughed and said, "What happened after that is what Frieda wants to know about."

I pursed my lips. "Several things happened after that." Had Beth gotten around the inhibitions? "How far did you go?"

"Where did you sleep last night, Jack?" Frieda asked.

I eyed Beth who was popping her eyes and waving her hands for me to go ahead. "With Beth."

Frieda blinked. "Where was that?"

"Her bedroom?" It was a question. Maybe it shouldn't have been.

Frieda flicked a glance at Beth. "Could you describe her bedroom, please?"

I turned to Beth. "Are we wide open here?"

Beth looked embarrassed. "Well, for the basics, anyway."

"Okay." I turned to Frieda. "I'd never slept in a canopy bed before. She has a lot of stuffed animals -- bears mostly. And a mirror chest that faces the bedroom door."

Frieda got a little feral. "Why did that make an impression?"

I turned to Beth. "You went THAT far?"

"Um, yeth. That wath part of it." Embarrassment REALLY steps up that lisp...

"Because we caught her mother peeping in it while we were having sex," I told Frieda, surrendering. "Anything else?"

Frieda's eyes were saucers. "REALLY? HOLY SHIT! You WEREN'T lying!" she howled at Beth. Whirling back to me, she asked, "Was Mrs. H really jilling off?"

I turned to Beth. "Your mother will be horrified!" To Frieda, I said, "I didn't witness that, but her nightgown was suspiciously bunched at the waist when we discovered her."

"Oh... My... GOD!" Frieda took a slug of beer. "I'm sorry Sweetie -- it was just SOOO out there..." Frieda turned back to me. "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

I put on my best poker face. "Why would you say that?"

"Because wild stuff like that doesn't just happen," Frieda replied. "There have to be extenuating circumstances. I mean, I talked to Mrs. H. last night and tried to put some sense in her head, but I don't see her just telling you to make yourself at home." She flicked a glance at Beth. "Besides, Beth hinted that there was more."

"I see." I turned to Beth. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"I got a little queasy," she admitted. "Daddy was worse."

Okay, that meant that Beth had to have been VERY vague... She was giving me big, puppydog eyes, too -- begging. Problem was, I wasn't convinced. Frieda had a good twenty points of IQ on Tina -- I could tell without even seeing a CAP card -- but that might just mean trouble with Dottie over who was in charge. Frieda's looks were okay, but not spectacular -- and I didn't have the visceral sexual heat for her that Beth produced. Basically, the only thing Frieda had going for her was Beth -- was that enough? I needed more data... "I'm going to hit the Men's Room," I told them. "Maybe we'll discuss this when I come back." 'And maybe not,' I added to myself, as I rose. Beth looked nervous and apprehensive; I gave her a little wave, but it was premature for her to draw comfort from it.

In the Men's Room, bellied up to the urinal, I subvocalized, "Okay, Frieda Hunt. CAP score?"

<Five point five,> the AI returned. <Her IQ is masked by a certain boisterous childishness that her psych profile suggests is the result of some early sexual trauma.>

'What does that mean?'

<Subconsciously, she wishes to remain pre-adolescent. She is, however, worldly -- much less innocent than Elizabeth Hopkins.>

'She LOOKS like an overgrown twelve year old...' I mused.

<That may be partially because her mental state is exerting influence on her physical maturity,> the AI reported.

'It sounds like she has... needs...' I mused.

<Concur. She is ruined for sponsorship, but would approach it in an environment providing sufficient emotional support.>

'She's been abused?'

<Yes.>

'I don't see how I could approach her without appearing to be an abuser.'

<Paradoxically, perhaps, a bona-fide offer of protection and support in return for sex would work better than an attempt to befriend her. She mistrusts males who would approach her with an attempt to engage her emotions, as she has been betrayed by men in a position of trust. Her trust must be earned, preferably by someone setting forth reasonable goals for her protection and support, then meeting or exceeding them.>

'So...'

<Present the situation baldly. Make an offer of sponsorship in return for sex and procreation, based solely upon performance and an inclination to accede to the wishes of Elizabeth Hopkins in the matter. Make no promise of future emotional commitment, although you may hold it out as a possibility. Ask for a 'test drive' -- undoubtedly, she is adept at oral and anal sex -- even if still technically a virgin.>

'How likely is that?'

<That the subject has never participated in vaginal intercourse is only probable on the order of thirty two percent. There is no hymen present, but it may not have been destroyed by penile penetration. Frieda Hunt is highly sexed and has used various devices to obtain orgasm on numerous occasions; this is clear from her psychometric analysis.>

'So you don't know whether she is really a virgin or not, but you do know she plays with toys,' I summed up.

<Precisely.>

Somewhere in there, I made up my mind. The fact that she was a broken thing did it for me, apparently. 'Any projections for the effect on the dynamic between myself and my other concubines?'

<Based upon current projections, if properly supported and nurtured, Frieda Hunt will assume a position of ascendancy in your harem within twenty-four months. Dottie will cede her position willingly to be able to travel with you on deployments and continue her work for the Support Directorate. There will be little or no conflict.>

'Children?'

<Frieda Hunt will produce excellent, potentially sponsor-class offspring, which she could raise more than adequately with her inherent skills; Elizabeth Hopkins, however, remains superior in this regard.>

'Thanks.' I zipped up, washed my hands, and headed out to the table.

The pool players were hanging over the table. One of them looked up and said, "Oh. You're back."

"That I am," I agreed.

It took him a second to understand; I wasn't surprised, since they'd sucked down at least a pitcher apiece while we were having dinner. They had that 'Born to Raise Hell' look to them, so I'd kept track. "We were asking the girls to dance -- you don't mind, do you?" His attitude said that I should give serious thought to allowing it, since there were two of them and only one of me.

"Actually, I DO mind," I replied, "since I have some claim on one of them."

Both of them were surprised that I had the temerity to argue, but the one who had been heretofore silent one seemed inclined to be gracious. "The little one? Okay, no problem; Chubby can probably take the heat a lot better. Come on, Honey," he said to Beth as he lifted her out of her chair by her upper arm, "Let's dance a slow one. Do you do the mambo? The horizontal mambo?"

I cleared my throat. "You guessed wrong, I'm afraid -- that one belongs to me."

The first contestant got aggravated and grunted, "Tough!" and then reached for Frieda.

"That one is my guest," I insisted. Prince Charming ignored me and collected Frieda's wrist. Beth turned a frightened glance on me; her captor was preparing to feel her up. "That's enough!" I insisted. "Return the lady to the table."

"Fuck you!" Prince Charming let go of Frieda and grabbed a beer pitcher and swung it at me, sidearm. I ducked it and when it had passed I kneed him in the solar plexus, pulling him into position with both hands on his back to ensure that he got a nice solid connection. Prince Charming stopped breathing and collapsed to the floor.

"Hey!" Beth's captor watched his buddy hit the floor with big eyes. "What did you do that for?"

"He seemed to think I would look good covered in broken glass," I replied. "I recommend that you release my woman -- NOW!"

"You don't own her!" he declared belligerently. "Come on, Honey -- I'll show you a good time..." He reached out to cop a feel of Beth's right breast.

Even I don't know how my hand got there and closed on his wrist before his hand closed on her tit -- but it did, and I pulled it away. The drunk whirled Beth out of the way and drew back to deliver a punch -- and I put his lights out with an uppercut. Holding him by the wrist kept him from hitting the floor, but may have sprained it. Someone was messing with my leg; I looked down to find Prince Charming trying to grab it and breathe at the same time. "You're kidding, right?"

"Motherfucker!' he mouthed; he couldn't breathe yet. I reached down and grabbed his neck, closing off both carotids; his eyes closed in no time and I let him slump, unconscious, to the floor.

"Nice place," I commented, collecting Beth in my arms. "You girls come here often?"

Beth was trying not to be hysterical; I held her and rubbed her back. Frieda, eyes huge, muttered, "All the time. They do, too -- and this is the first time they ever paid any attention to us!" Her voice climbing, she added, "Do you know you just levitated right over the table? That was AWESOME!"

The bartender appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. "Troy and Tony, huh? You didn't kill 'em, or anything?"

"I tried to minimize the damage," I replied.

"They like to get fired up and try to wrestle chicks from their dates," the bartender grunted. "Generally, it works. Generally, they get a little something from the girls, too. Generally, superior firepower keeps anybody from raising a fuss about it..."

"They came out on the short end of the force equation this time," I observed.

"Guess so," the barkeep agreed.

"That mean they're armed?" I asked.

"It's happened," the barkeep replied equably. One of the pair on the ground groaned.

I searched them; it seemed that I only rated a couple of knives. I confiscated them. Both of them were showing signs of life, so the barkeep moved off. Beth, shaky, had resumed her seat while I frisked the boys; I settled back into mine and asked, "Have you ever seen them play that game before?"

Beth shook her head, wide-eyed; Frieda got this look on her face. "Once, maybe. I've seen them get into it over girls with other guys, but I didn't make the connection. I saw them handing around a girl once -- there didn't seem to be another guy around." After a second, she added, "Watch the bartender; I think she gave him a blowjob."

I got up and took the other seat at the table -- the one with a view of the bar. By now, both of the party animals had crawled off, groaning; Beth's dance partner was clutching his wrist. I waved our waitress over, "Maybe we should move to a booth."

"Maybe you should leave, Mister," the waitress countered. "Those two don't have much sense when they're sober."

I thought about it. "Do you girls want dessert? Drinks?" Both shook their heads. "Check, please!" I told the waitress. She produced it on the spot. I used a standard Discover card -- on an account funded by the Confederacy Navy, not that it said so. The waitress was back in a flash. I signed, put things away, and escorted my ladies out of there.

In the parking lot, I picked up the good ol' boys rummaging around in a pickup. I got the girls into the car about the time the AI announced, <One of your assailants appears to be approaching with a weapon.> Thank God for my AI's sensor suite -- he was probably floating a drone above me somewhere.

Not wanting to make a scene, I told the girls, "Wait in the car," then fished my stinger out and palmed it. Circling the car, I told Prince Charming, "Let's not play with guns."

"Too late for that, Smartass!" he rasped, and started bringing the pistol to bear -- so I stung him. I was between him and the girls, so they didn't see it; I covered things by rushing the idiot, hoping no one noticed the 'Zap!' Even his buddy didn't see what happened; he probably figured I got to him before he could fire. I disassembled the gun and pocketed several pieces -- the cylinder, notably -- and tossed it away. Beth's dance partner just stood by the truck, wide-eyed.

"If you guys keep this kind of thing up, you could end up dead," I noted. He nodded. "I'm glad we had this little talk. Recommend that you don't bother me or my ladies -- next time, I'll be short on forgiveness. Relay that to him, will you?"

He gazed at his fallen partner. "You didn't kill him, did you?"

I could tell that this one wasn't going to cause any problems. "No, but he'll be out for a while. Want me to help you load him in the truck?"

"Yes, please." He was all manners now, this one. Given his wrist, it was mostly my efforts that got Prince Charming parked in the truck's passenger seat. Once he was loaded, his partner gave me a cautious nod and started the truck.

Going the car, I said, "You two are DEFINITELY going to have to find another place to eat!" But I remembered the AI's analysis of Frieda, and if we were going to be burning bridges, we might as well cross them first. "Since the troublemakers are leaving, let's go in and have another drink."

Beth, bless her timid heart, was visibly nervous, but Frieda eyed me cautiously, nodded, and got out of the car -- and buoyed by her friend's example, Beth followed when I opened her door. Once she was out I reached in the trunk and pulled out the hypnotizer and stuck it in my pocket.

The bouncer -- they were checking IDs for bar access based on the time, I guess, since earlier, the waitress had checked IDs when we ordered drinks -- gave me the eye as we came back in. "What happened to the other two?"

"They left," I said shortly, and held open the door enough that the pickup could be seen heading up the street. "We made up in the parking lot." He'd seen the earlier altercation; I watched him turn things over in his head and nod. Turning to Frieda, I asked quietly, "Where were they sitting when they handed that girl around?"

The look Frieda gave me told me I had her number; the place had become popular with her AFTER that sighting -- and Beth probably didn't know. It probably also explained the girls' habit of making comments about the male patrons. Frieda hadn't realized that part of the fun for the pair that accosted us was the power trip of making another male back down and taking his woman, so she'd made remarks -- and encouraged Beth to make remarks -- in order to get their attention. That probably was ALSO why when they finally showed up with a male escort, they attracted the bully-boys like magnets... "Over there," she said, pointing at an area against the back wall where a bench seat along the wall faced tables and chairs placed with their backs to us. The area was in full sight of the bar as a whole -- but not the dining area -- and beyond the pool tables, whose bright overhead lights would provide some cover against being seen by patrons -- and the law -- as they first entered the door. Basically, if you were doing something you shouldn't be, it was in full sight of the vast majority of the bar patrons, but not someone just entering the door and not anyone in the restaurant. Given what Frieda had said about the management, the patrons were used to getting free shows, at the very least...

"Let's sit there, then." I let her stew on the implications. Beth, of course, had no idea; you could tell from her expression that the location held no significance for her. She hadn't even put it together with Frieda's earlier comments. Frieda led us to the center of the three tables facing the bench and gave me a look. I pulled a facing chair from the table on the right and waved her into it and pulled the other chair around to the other side for Beth, then sat on the bench facing the room with Frieda on my left and Beth on my right.

The waitress arrived before we were even settled. "You're back..."

"We made up in the parking lot," I supplied. "The boys have gone home for the evening." I turned to the girls, "What do you want to drink?" The girls ordered margaritas, and I ordered a beer. The waitress, bemused, wandered off. Beth eyed me, worried, so I reached under the table and played with her leg; she smiled and relaxed.

The bartender visited us with a drink tray. "We don't want no trouble."

"That's fine," I told him, and fished in my pocket to hand him the gun parts. "One of our young friends is napping again, and the other's wrist is bothering him. The rest of this is out there in the bushes somewhere; you might want to collect it and return it -- or not..."

He looked somewhat relieved, but was still cautious. "So..."

"So don't bother us," I told him. "Nothing is going to happen here that hasn't happened before. Just do what you normally do." He nodded and wandered off.

Frieda watched me like a hawk as she sucked the straw inserted into the depths of her margarita. I tilted back my beer and sat it down, then collected the hypnotizer from my pocket. "Take a look at this," I told Frieda, "It's the latest thing. I'm thinking about getting Beth one." I watched as Frieda picked it up and gazed into it, and then flinched slightly as the needle pricked her.

Beth gazed at me. "Does this mean...?"

"Yes." I sipped my beer. "We'll make the offer, at least."

"Goody!" Beth ALMOST bounced and clapped. Actually, she DID bounce, but restrained the clap. "Thank you!"

"You owe me," I teased her, "Remember your duties..." Beth nodded, eager to please.

Two minutes later, Frieda looked up from the hypnotizer and turned it in her hands. "That's all it does?"

Beth took a long suck of her margarita and choked to keep from giggling. Poker-faced, I replied, "It's enough."

"If you say so," Frieda replied indifferently, putting it down. I picked it up and put it in my pocket while she took a slug from her margarita. "So, what now?"

"You wanted to know the rest of the story, didn't you?" I replied.

Frieda sat forward. "I'm all ears!"