Ian tossed the rejected box of condoms in a trash bin on the street. He knew it would be found by some homeless person and traded for something more useful, like cigarettes.

He managed to get two blocks clear of Sara's apartment when his cell phone rang. He was so distracted that he answered "Yes, Sir" before remembering that nowadays he talked to Irons in muddy puddles and large flower vases, not on cell phones.

At first there was silence on the phone - perhaps technology was incapable of transmitting high pitched screams of Witchblade wielders? Finally he heard a voice, or rather hysterical laughter.

"Nott . . . Nott . . . Nottingham!!" Sara's voice was strangled with laughter. "You forgot the D cells!!" More laughter. "Damn, I wet myself!" Then the connection was broken.

Ian was a bit confused - he had provided an ample supply of AA and C batteries. He was sure nothing required D's.

Just to be sure he picked up a package of twelve D batteries and took them to Sara's door later in the evening. He didn't yet feel safe facing her so he left them at the door, rang the doorbell, and ran.

Then in the dark of the night, he went around to his usual perch overlooking Sara's apartment. He told himself he was just checking on her safety. No, not anything else. Not expecting to see anything. Nope. And he didn't see anything. Blankets were hanging on all the windows except one - that one faced the kitchen table.

Suddenly the kitchen light came on. On the table was the assortment of toys - orange, blue, and purple blobs of latex and plastic were vibrating, gyrating, and thrusting with wild abandon, until one-by-one they fell off the table. Then the light went out. He could hear her laughing behind the closed windows.

Ian left, assuming the entertainment was done for that night. But when he thought back on what was on the table he remembered 5 toys and he had purchased six - one was not accounted for! He racked his brain to remember all of them so he would know which one she had kept aside - for personal use?

..........................

Two days later, Ian was in the Vorschlag office learning to handle the reins of corporate power when he received a phone call from Security.

"Mr. Nottingham, we have a package that was delivered here addressed to you and marked 'Personal'."

"Yes, have you screened it?"

"It fits the profile of suspicious mail so we x-rayed it - there's isn't anything metal in it."

"And?"

"Well," the security guard said nervously "someone recognized the sender; it is a legitimate business."

"What kind of business?"

"It's . . . ah . . . a dealer of erotic paraphernalia. And there's a card."

"What does the card say?"

"'Had any dreams lately?'"