Thank you for your reviews. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 9

Tank was waiting as Lula stepped through the door. She was free. Her clothes that had been stored for her hung on her now much smaller frame.

She walked to Tank and putting her arms around his neck, gave him a kiss that had even the prison staff whistling and chuckling.

He escorted her, waiting as she stopped at the door to freedom and looked up at the sky. It really did look different from this side.

Lula walked to the vehicle that Tank pointed out and waited for him to unlock the door. He opened it with a flourish and she slid onto the seat, marveling at how soft the leather felt after so long. She put on her seatbelt and shook herself with excitement. She was going home, home to Tank, and cats, and a life where she was not being ordered around to do everything. She could walk to a door and turn the handle and it would open, and close and open again. She could walk into a room and not be afraid that someone was lying in wait to attack her or degrade her.

Tank took the scenic road home and watched as her eyes lit up at things that he took for granted each day.

He chuckled and reminded himself that while he had tried to remain cool and aloof when he too had been released from juvie, he had done much the same thing. He had walked a mile in her shoes and knew what she was feeling.

Lula turned to Tank and she smiled that special smile that could only mean that it was going to be a great night.

"Are you off-line or just picking me up?"

She waited with baited breath for his answer. If he had to go back to work for a few hours she could cope, like taking a bath without prying eyes. In her bag was a special purchase she had ordered for tonight. Deep down, she hoped that she would not be wearing it for very long. Tank liked to hunt down his prey and while she was pretty fast for a big woman, she knew when she was ready to give up. It was the thrill of the hunt, but the activity later was the best.

Tank smiled.

"I'm off-line for three days, Lula Belle."

He looked at her and his eyes got a bit larger and hungrier.

"Got any special plans?"

She put her hand on his knee and smiled. Yes, that children's poem would be very, very appropriate here. although she had no idea what the meaning was and really didn't care at this moment. 'Tiger, tiger burning bright, in the forest, in the night.' And tomorrow, and tomorrow night. Oh boy, was she going to be sore, but in a very good way.

~~~o0o~~~

Bobby slammed the door shut on his infirmary. He was in no mood right now to look at anyone or anything.

He had seen men so depressed they had taken their own weapons and killed themselves out in the field. He had stopped other men just in time and watched as they were brought back from the bowels of despair to once again lead productive lives.

Hell, one of those soldiers had gone on to a steller career in the Army and then had come back home, found a wonderful girl to marry and began a great career in computers. They had just given birth to a son with a daughter who was now approaching two.

Bobby looked at the folder sitting on his desk with all the research on possibilities for Stephanie neatly documented. He picked up the file and flung it against the wall, watching as papers flew around and landed on the bed, the cabinet, between the glass jars and on the floor.

She had fooled him with her attitude while healing that she was back to normal. He just knew that the thing with the Slayers and June had brought out depressive tendencies and he had not acted on it. Now, here she was ready to take her own life by not looking after herself and accepting help.

Bobby had tears running down his own cheeks. He felt like he had failed her and he couldn't help her.

He knew that he'd put out his Do Not Disturb sign, and had locked the door, but the knob turned and the door opened to Ranger standing in the entranceway. Bobby laughed to himself and remembered that the Bomber had wondered why there were locks on the doors in Rangeman since everyone but her knew how to pick the locks anyway.

Ranger stepped in and closed the door behind him, locking it.

He looked around at the mess.

He sighed and walked over to the rolling stool and sank down putting his head down into his hands that were on his knees. Nothing needed to be said, absolutely nothing.

The knob turned and once again the door opened.

Tank stepped in and once again the door was closed and locked.

He walked over to the examining table and hopped up, sitting on the edge.

Nobody said a word. Really, what was there to say.

Bobby looked at Tank and he grimaced.

~~~o0o~~~

Joe stopped in at the Plum house. He had heard from a number of sources that Stephanie was now living at home. His heart sped up at the thought. Maybe she had come to her senses and was willing to let them be friends again. He could only hope.

Both Helen and Edna met him at the door and if he was surprised to see them, he hid it well. They stepped back and motioned for him to enter the house.

It smelled the same. Soup cooking on the back burner, simmering away. Freshly baked cookie smells hung in the air; chocolate chip today. He could smell the room freshener and the cleaning products from the area of the bathroom. What he did not smell was Stephanie's unique perfume. If she was living at home, the house should have given off a slight fragrance.

He followed the women into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. A cup of coffee materialized in front of him and a plate of cookies soon followed.

He watched as both ladies settled in 'their' chairs. He could sense that there was something troubling them both and let them set themselves and divulge what was going on if they chose. That was one of his best strengths, when he wasn't upset. The ability to wait out a suspect or a victim until they wanted to talk had served him in good stead and he was now on the negotiating team for drawing out suspects.

Joe sipped his coffee and took a cookie, smiling at how soft and flavorful it was. He would never, never, ever admit to his mother that Mrs. Plum was a better cook in some aspects. He knew where she still kept the wooden spoon!

Edna looked at Helen and spoke.

"Someone needs to know, Helen. It can't go on too much longer or we're going to lose her, literally and figuratively."

Helen grudgingly nodded her head and looked at Joe.

"Stephanie found out at her six week specialist appointment that her condition was still quite precarious and her life would need to change radically for the rest of her life. Consequently, she broke up with that Ranger man who has been so good to her, walked out of Rangeman and moved home. She has refused to leave the house and now refuses to come out of her room except to use the bathroom. She hardly eats anything and will not allow anyone to visit.

We take her a tray three times a day and I don't think she's eating enough to feed a bird. That nice medic man, Bobby, came over with a choice of things that are good for her but she balked at that and rather than let her starve we make her her favorite things. The little we see of her is certainly concerning. Her color is bad and she has started to cough. I phoned that Bobby person again and he said that if she is not moving around she might be catching pneumonia, which is not good at all. Her heart can't handle a lung infection and without eating and moving, everything is just building up in there."

She stood up suddenly from the table and headed to the stove, turning her back on Joe and Edna with the purpose of stirring the soup.

They both could see her take the corner of her apron and gently wipe one eye then another.

Silence fell in the room.

Edna spoke.

"She's given up hope and is literally laying there waiting to die. I've seen it too much in the care facilities. She's too young to do this, but if we can't stop her..., " and she fell silent.

It was so quiet in the kitchen except for the monotonous stirring of the soup pot. They all were thinking their own thoughts and none of it was positive.

Joe spoke.

"Do you think she would see me if I went up there?"

Helen turned around and there was a very slight glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"If you would, I would be very grateful, Joe. She counts you as one of her best friends and maybe you can at least get in the room and see for yourself."

Joe put down his cup in the saucer and stood up. He picked up a couple of cookies and looking at the two forlorn ladies, turned and headed out the door.

They could hear him climbing the stairs and heard as he softly knocked on the door.

"Cupcake, it's Joe. Can I come in?"

~~~o0o~~~

Les returned to the plantation with the empty trucks. He was tired, dirty and hungry. Unfortunately leaving so fast the women hadn't sent enough food for them all and he had chosen to let the workers have his portion. They worked so very hard and he had survived for periods of time without food before and could do it again, if need be.

The convoy drove into the yard and waiting for them were the supervisors left behind. One was sporting a bandage wrapped around his head and covering one eye and the other had a sling supporting his right arm.

Les could feel his heart clench. What had happened while they were away?

The workers shuffled off to their sleeping pallets and Les nodded his head toward his office. He watched as the two men limped or made their way gingerly into the office and sat in the offered seats.

Les spoke more forcefully than what was probably necessary but he needed answers.

"What happened?"

Jim spoke up.

"Boss, it's almost as if they were watching you drive away. All of a sudden a bunch of trucks raced into the fields and at least ten men jumped out with rifles. We tried to defend ourselves but they took all the strongest men working in field E and loaded them in the trucks and sped off. By my count, and I need to confirm now that you're back with the others, but it looks like they took fifteen men."

He looked at Les with concerned eyes.

"They shot Raoul when he tried to protect his men. He's in the infirmary right now but I don't know if he'll make it."

The other supervisor spoke.

"I recognized a couple of them, Boss. I was only eight or so when they came the last time but instead of taking fifty, they took only the really strong ones."

He leaned back into the chair even though he was in the presence of authority. Les saw that there was a red stain now beginning to seep through his shirt and drip onto his pants.

"Johnny, were you shot?"

He nodded and slumped over, almost sliding out of the chair.

Les leaped to his feet and raced around his desk to grab him before he slid toward the floor. He pushed him back into the chair and reaching over, he ripped the shirt open. Les could quite plainly see a bullet hole.

He looked at Jim who was almost unconscious himself and took it upon himself to get Johnny to the infirmary.

Les carefully lifted him out of the chair and putting his arm around his own shoulder he slowly walked the man out the door. Jim followed behind him like an obedient puppy as they headed for the small building.

At the door, one of the orderlies took over and assisted the wounded man to a table where he helped him to lay down. There was a table with a number of medical instruments sitting out in the open.

Les looked at the tools sitting on the small table. Flies were buzzing around and some had landed.

Les put his hand over the man's hand and stopped him from picking up a pair of scissors.

"These are not sterilized. Did you use these on the other men?"

The man nodded his head and shrank back at the growl that came from Les's throat.

"Boil these and any other medical instruments for ten minutes in water. Do not even think of touching these men until you glove up too. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a quick bobbing of heads and a chorus of 'Yes, Boss'.

Les stepped into another room. He saw a man laying in a bed and an attendant standing by. Les walked toward the bed and looked at Raoul laying in the bed, then he glanced at the man standing by. His eyebrow raised and the man in scrubs shook his head sadly.

He walked back out after confirming that the instruments were now sitting in a big pot of boiling water. He had been aware that before arriving that there had been a young doctor who had spent a year on the plantation. He had asked and received permission to fulfill his missionary requirement to work on the plantation and be there for the neighbouring farms as well.

He had since returned to his home country leaving no trained medical personnel in case of injury or medical needs. There had been a concerted effort to obtain a retired trained medic, but so far trying to entice someone with at least rudimentary skills was proving difficult. Les was missing Bobby's skills right about now and he wondered how he was doing.

Les stepped outside the infirmary. He had more to do before he could head to his own quarters and rest. That is, if he even had the time to go back and rest. He figured that it would be a long night trying to take roll call and getting someone from the local police force out to take down the information on the missing men. Well, he could phone all he wanted but that didn't mean that they would put it as any kind of a priority. They were only slaves in the eyes of the police; free workers at best. Regardless, human life and especially black human life was pretty cheap in this part of the world. It was not like they were really worth anything, right?

Les fell into bed. After a head count he made a note that there were instead 18 men missing. Three had been snatched from an unsupervised field. This would make completing harvest very, very difficult and with a number of his supervisors down, it was looking pretty grim.

He lay in bed with his hands clasped behind his head. The intel he had been receiving had mentioned that they were continuing to grab men and he now had documented proof that was so. His own place had been targeted and Les was wondering if someone was feeding inside information to someone when a plantation was being left unprotected. It might be a lead and worth checking out.

He wondered if this was one of Stephanie's needle in a haystack moments.

~~~o0o~~~

Joe was at Pino's with Sophia and they were in a booth at the very back, sitting very, very close to each other. They had grown closer and closer as the weeks had drifted by and Joe was almost ready to ask a very important question. He took her hand in his and squeezed it.

Sophia was from a very strict Italian family and her father was rather old-fashioned. He had pulled Joe aside one evening after supper and invited him into his study. Sophia had shrugged her shoulders as Joe looked back. She knew that there would be serious questions being asked by her father and she hoped that Joe would stand up to the scrutiny. Unfortunately she was not attached or married for a very good reason and Joe was about to find out why.

Her father had pointed to a club chair by the fireplace and he strode over with a box of cigars in one hand and a cutter in the other. Joe selected one and waited while the end was cut and then a light was flicked allowing him to begin the process of getting the cigar to light.

It was a very good quality cigar and Joe began to relax in the chair. He was well versed in a fatherly talk and was prepared to be questioned. As a police officer he recognized the signs. Make them comfortable then hit them with something unexpected.

Her father shot straight from the hip.

"What are your intentions with my daughter, Mr. Morelli?" Uh oh, proper name here.

Joe sat up and took the cigar out of his mouth, thinking of his answer before speaking.

"Sir, my intentions are honorable. I like your daughter and I think she likes me. I would like to pursue a relationship with her if that's OK. I have my own house with a dog and she has her own house. We are both very busy people with our careers and our schedules do not always allow us to see each other as much as we would like to."

He tried to relax. That little speech had been practiced more times than he cared to imagine and he firmly believed that it spoke well of him. He couldn't be more wrong.

Her father spoke.

"I ask around town and you have quite the reputation among young ladies as," and he put two fingers in each hand in the air for quotes, 'the Italian Stallion."

Joe gulped and slid a but further down the seat. His cigar hung from his mouth at a droopy angle, not the jaunty look he was going for.

He looked at the man sitting across from him. This was a father who loved his daughter and had enquired about him through the Family. He had forgotten to check with Connie, his knowledgeable Family information guide. He had made the mistake of thinking of Mr. Antonio as a retired family lawyer who had recently retired to their country estate. Sophia's mother had always been a stay-at-home mom who had raised her daughter while participating in all the usual PTA, fund-raising activities and family travel. He was beginning to believe that he had walked into a trap and he was unsure how to extricate himself right now.

He stammered.

"Mr Antonio, that nickname was from a long time ago, when I was still a very young and foolish man. I am now a police officer and I can assure you that I am not going around finding any young women and having my way with her."

He gulped as Mr. Antonio stood up and strode to a desk and pulled a piece of paper out from a pile. Glancing at it quickly he spoke.

"And who is a Stephanie Plum, or Joyce Barnhardt? I recognize the next name and I believe that if her father ever found out about you sneaking into her pants he might have something to say to you."

Joe's tie became a little tighter around his neck as he gulped. What else did this man know about him and would he make it out of the house alive tonight?

Had he told his mother lately that he loved her?

~~~o0o~~~

Lula felt gulty about feeling happy. She and Tank had moved into their new place. She had tried a quick test to see if she could indeed live with cats in the house and in her space, and so far, short periods were not giving her grief. She stoically endured the shots each week and Bobby was now giving them to her. He was so careful and good at his job that she hardly felt the needle as he gave her the injection. He would talk to her and ask her questions and once or twice she had not even noticed what he had done. He smiled and backed away. That meant that he was doing his job.

They had done some more furniture shopping and it would be delivered right to the house. Room by room it was taking shape. They both discovered that their interests in furniture were similar. Furniture that properly fit big and beautiful people. Functional yet pleasing. Definitely nothing that looked like any of the plastic pastel colored furniture popular now. They wanted bold colors to suit their bold attitudes.

She was working back with Vinnie and Connie and was merrily filing away all the accumulated material. Connie had mentoned that she had threatened Lucille come in and help and Vinnie had blanched. He had upped her wage to keep her there and had even given her some concessions, like paid holiday time.

Lula was filing away in the back room when the phone rang. She could hear Connie answer then there was a pause.

"Lula, the phone's for you. It's the main office in Clinton."

Lula heaved herself to her feet and headed to Connie's desk muttering that they needed an extension in the back room so that big and beautiful women such as she didn't have to walk so far to take a call.

She picked up the phone.

"Lula speaking."

She listened and responded.

"That file is on the second shelf third box in, under K."

She listened again and then barked.

"Well, I filed it so I should know where it should be. If you can't figure it out, it's not my fault!"

She slammed the receiver back into the cradle and stomped back into the room muttering away.

"Well, of course it's there. Anybody would have filed it that way. How was I to know that they wanted it filed it under the first initial of the last name."

Three more times during the next week, Connie received calls and three times Lula told them where she had put a file. She was becoming more and more belligerent as the days went on.

As they sat down with a coffee and a Danish, she grumbled.

"Those people have no idea how filing works. Of course you put it under the first initial."

Connie tried to keep a straight face. While Lula had been behind bars she had gone through their entire filing system looking for files that were missing. She now had a pretty good handle on Lula's thinking pattern but suspected that the prison files would be pretty messed up until someone went through them all and filed them correctly.

She looked at Lula and spoke.

"So, what's the problem out there?"

Lula harrumphed again.

"They wanted the file on Willimena Thompson. I looked at the files and found thirteen Thompsons there so I filed it under Kliptomaniacs. If they had asked me for it, I would have headed right to it. I mean really, it's not that hard to figure out, is it?"

Connie chuckled to herself. She remembered when she and Stephanie had found all the files misplaced when they were dealing with the Slayers and found Derek Ciseski's file under Slayers instead of Ciseski.

She was expecting a few more calls in the near future.