Earlier: As Bulma recovers from her horrific ordeal with Josh Marley, decisions have to be made.

Vegeta knocked on the bedroom door. Soft light glowed from under the threshold. Classical violin music played inside.

"Come in."

Dressed in grey loungewear, Bulma was in a fetal position on their bed. Her frizzy hair was scattered like dandelion pappus across the pillows. Vegeta chose a brush from a chest of drawers, bringing wife's head onto his lap. Bulma cried silently as he groomed her. Her husband's heart of gold kept her from sinking.

"I haven't asked myself why he did it, Vegeta. Lots… of women go through this."

Vegeta held his breath, stifling his protective impulse to disagree. He didn't want Bulma to downplay her trauma by comparing herself to others, and yet she spoke the truth about the violence inflicted.

"You can question anything you want, bumblebee. This is your experience."

Bulma held his hand across her chest. "I told… the therapist that I felt like dying."

"Felt like or want to now?"

"It's been difficult to tell the difference, Vegeta."

"That's understandable."

Bulma looked up. "You're not mad at me?"

"After what you've been through? Of course not. You continuously hope for the best in others, even when you can't stand them. Marley tried to damage your ability to trust and expectations for people to unite and think beyond their self-interest. I'm just sorry I couldn't be there to help you. I'm… so sorry."

"You are the best partner any person could have. I feel completely loved and understood."

Vegeta pushed his shoes off, laying them both down on the bed. He held Bulma from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "So the therapist is suggesting residential treatment for your depression."

"Yeah. What do you all think?"

"Ultimately, it's your decision, Bulma. I'd rather have you at home in familiar surroundings, but I also don't want you pressuring yourself to heal faster than your body can take."

"I want to finish my term in office, honey. I know it's almost over, but I've made promises to people. I've worked hard to push for good policies, and now some of the same people I've struggled against could reverse everything. I've promised to help other campaigns. Everyone knows I –"

"Bulma, you just said you felt like dying. You do what you can. All the promises in the world mean nothing if your will to live vanishes little by little – and have more faith in the voters."

Bulma faced him, greeted by her husband's understated flirtation. "You almost sound like Ambrose. What's behind that sly smile of yours?"

"He was happy to show me the opposition research after I asked," Vegeta replied, kissing her. "Several of those legislators who pledged fealty to Josh are getting their asses handed to them in the polls."

Bulma laughed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you checked the numbers."

"Only for you, bumblebee."

Bulma stepped down from office a week later, holding no interviews. Ambrose read a statement to reporters at the state capitol, asking for privacy and thanking her many supporters and well-wishers, and those voters who believed that she cared about their needs. Pain and solemnity were evident in Ambrose's constrained delivery, but also optimism and love. Through solemn tears, he said Bulma made him a better person. No one in the ocean of reporters asked questions as he left the microphones – a rare occurrence.

Later, a well-known millionaire entrepreneur called Ambrose to offer two gifts: an open pledge to help finance a Senate campaign - encouraging Bulma to run for office again - and money for any community mental health program of the former governor's choosing. The donor, who asked to remain anonymous, said she gave to women who fought to improve health care for everyone.

Ambrose relayed the donor's proposition to the Rutledges without offering an opinion. No noticeable ambivalence showed but he indeed had mixed feelings. Bulma would face brutal questions from competitors and the public about her stability and commitment to a new political role. Voters expected congressional lawmakers to confront some of the country's and world's most demanding challenges with nearly unshakable bravery and determination. At that level, women with integrity also carried the burden of showing more grace, at times, when they deserved to throw etiquette out the window and tell everyone to go fuck themselves. Bulma and others like her had proven their mettle, pushing back on those conventions and speaking their truths. Ambrose steadfastly believed that his friend's vitality would bounce back stronger, especially with Vegeta by her side, but she also had other ways to serve.

"How well did you get him, boy?"

"Mmm…"

"So it could've been better. That's OK. Whether that son of a bitch lives or dies doesn't matter that much. He's not so big and bad, thinking he's better than the rest of us. Now trash his piece-of-shit store and get the hell out of there."

As fragments of Vegeta's memory fell back into place, it became clearer that the perpetrator carefully stalked him before the shooting, but police investigators determined that the criminal got lucky in some ways: Vegeta denied being tired to Bulla before leaving for work that day, but he surely was. Hearing Bulma's voice on the radio while driving distracted him more than usual. After entering the store, he took a new drug to prevent headaches without eating more food, slowing his body's reaction time. Ultimately, his mind was on everyone else except him.

Months after his brother's engagement breakup, Tarble agreed that the upgraded security systems at Vegeta's home and store had more usefulness instead of hired help. Also, Vegeta's neighbors had arranged a stronger "watch circle," as their properties had wider distances between them. None knew of the earlier barrage of dirty tricks the Rutledges endured but concerns about Bulma's connection with the family remained. Vegeta didn't take offense, understanding that everyone had a right to feel safe and free from excessive disturbances. Making an enemy of him wouldn't have helped their cause anyway. He didn't disturb anyone. Having caring support for Bulla helped, and single parenting had distinctive challenges.

Black Orchid's back door for employees sealed like a tomb but required an extra button touch to speed up the already quick closure. Unlike at home, motion detectors had yet to be arranged outside, though cameras were. Vegeta also had to balance safety and burglary protection without creating a prison atmosphere that could scare employees and shoppers - and people would talk. Video of the shooting showed a masked person – the facial features weren't clear – sprinting from an aisle as Vegeta walked to the cash register. Vegeta's eyes jumped like marbles as the first two shots tore through his chest. The third and fourth bullets knocked him back. Taking pride in his deed, the shooter ghoulishly saluted as blood bubbled from Vegeta's torso.

Every Black Orchid employee complied with police investigators. Nothing suspicious arose, and no one quit working during Vegeta's recovery. They rallied and trusted each other, mostly, despite lasting concerns about how the shooter ambushed their boss. Nappa led effectively but never let his guard down. Like Bulma, he also had mixed feelings about Vegeta's return to work. Uncharacteristically, he said nothing to the couple, though not out of apprehension. He focused on making Vegeta's comeback successful - and waited for a fracture in the store's otherwise unified battalion. He hated feeling that way, but someone knew something. Nappa reassured his wife that murdering anyone hadn't crossed his mind. Killing, perhaps. After Josh Marley's attack on Bulma scandalized the state, a jagged crack scaled Black Orchid's concrete wall.

"Come take a walk with me, Krillin. Kefla is overseeing the store. I'll buy you a coffee."

Krillin opened a bag of licorice roots, picking one to chew despite his doctor's warning that the habit raised his blood pressure. "Naw, Nappa, but thanks. Doc says I should cut back on coffee."

"How's the governor? She may be a civilian now, but that's what I'm calling her."

Krillin smiled approvingly. "Ain't nothing Bulma and Vegeta can't get through, you hear? Love brings hope. They're strong together and have even more support than they realize. That bastard Marley can't hurt anyone anymore, and the weather is beautiful today."

Nappa nodded as they walked to a church garden. A friendly pastor greeted them briefly as they sat on a concrete bench. Nappa turned off his phone, with Krillin following suit.

"I think one of our workers may be connected to the shooter, Krillin."

Krillin's voice drawled as his expressionless eyes followed a trail of ants. Others might have flown off the handle out of fear or anger, but the whole story had to come first, in his view. "Why come to me first instead of the police? You know the store is still on their watchlist for suspects."

"Because you know the links between the shooting and what happened to Bulma are undeniable now. Marley had help, and you're trusted."

"No, Nappa. I don't know if the connections are undeniable - and even if I did, then I'd be recklessly laying danger at your feet. Neither Vegeta nor the city police would want you playing amateur detective, and not everyone in the governor's world trusts me."

Nappa's moved forward, "I'm aware of that. Just listen. Shelley Brookfield has worked at the store four years now. She's had trouble with her husband Charlie."

Krilin sat up. "Charlie Brookfield?"

"You see where I'm going here?"

"I see, but as I said, you're playing with fire. Accusing a highway patrolman of this kind of wrongdoing is explosive, Nappa, and we have enough gunfire to deal with."

"A friend of my wife says Charlie is very abusive. The longer Vegeta has been back at the store, the less Shelley interacts with him, mostly going through me."

"And no one has noticed any problems in four years? Four years?"

Nappa sighed. "I feel terrible about that, but you know some people who're abused can hide what's happening better than others."

Krillin didn't disregard Nappa's theory, but the FBI's hands were in the mix regarding Marley. Anyone in law enforcement who took part would face huge federal charges. Links to Vegeta's shooting were back on everyone's radar now. Everyone had to tread carefully. The highway patrol's brick-jawed superintendent ardently protected his troops, as well as his reputation.

"Nappa, we're all aware someone stayed might've stayed overnight to get at Vegeta, but the cameras and mirrors inside the store didn't have many blind spots."

"Yeah, those city investigators didn't find the hiding place, but I believe I have."

Krillin stared at him. "But they combed the store."

"Not well enough. I found tunnels. One leads to a reinforced wall in the store's left cellar. Looks like a network. I didn't go too far down because anyone could be running through them."

"Holy shit." Krillin almost forgot where they were as more curses nearly tumbled out of his mouth. "Those must be bootlegger tunnels from the 1920s - and right under everybody's nose! Every business along that block could have an entry point."

"Don't think so," Nappa interjected, "or else everyone would know, and sewer lines aren't parallel to them. Our cameras pointed at the stairs and storage items, not that wall. Shelley often has duties down there. I changed the entire setup set up now."

"But why, of all people, would it be Charlie?"

Nappa stared at his feet. "Grudges? Jealousy? Bribery? Charlie could be the domino to bring the rest down. Who knows what else they've done?"

Krillin rose, switching his phone on. "I can't do anything for you directly. Either tell the FBI and city investigator assigned to Vegeta's case or anonymously leave tips with both about Charlie."

Nappa eyed him. "Which one would you start with - or trust?"

"My god." Krillin blinked, gripping the bench's top edge as headlines in red boxes spilled down the phone's screen. Messages from Ambrose had piled up.

Nappa's hands spread over his broad legs. "What?"

"Marley… is dead. News says he was found strangled in bed."

Three men shared a similar sentiment upon hearing the reports. One sat alone, finishing a glass of Burgundy wine at his opulent Kansas City mansion, pleased that his deceased son did him and everyone else a favor by leaving this world.

The second – a man of stature and decency - prepared to confront a loved one about astonishing misdeeds.

The last, dressed in a uniform and mirror sunglasses, smiled with contempt for the dead – and self-righteous satisfaction. Bulma was out of the way permanently, and though the political party this "lawman" supported lacked the strongest contenders to take Josh Marley's place, it still had enough pillars to hold power by other means. Party officials throughout the state just had to show a unified front. Traitors had to be shamed and ostracized by peers. He had rolled the dice, confident that federal agents wouldn't catch any big fish among his ranks. Too much money was at stake, not only for his men, but also for Marley's father.

"Mr. Rutledge, I'd… I'd like to talk with you."

Before turning herself into the police, Shelley Ann Brookfield believed she owed Vegeta the truth in person. "Own what you did and apologize to the wronged," her mama said. After her husband almost murdered such a diligent, thoughtful man, Shelley considered suicide, but they had children. Nappa seemed to be watching her differently, increasing her anxiety. She had felt comfortable coming to him before.

"Shelley, can this wait until tomorrow? I'm on my way out."

"I'm sorry, sir, but it really can't. Please."

"Let's go into my office then. If this runs longer, we can continue tomorrow."

After speaking with Krillin, Nappa decided what he would do. Marley got what was coming to him, and the next steps were clear. He already didn't want Shelley anywhere near Vegeta after deciphering the puzzle, though as each day passed the woman's exhaustion had become more noticeable. She told Kefla, truthfully, that she wouldn't be in early because of two sick children, and possibly not show up at all. After praying in her bedroom and asking her mother to watch the kids, she left home. No logic existed for deciding to tell Vegeta at work. Cynics like Ambrose would call it an attempt to keep him from exploding publicly. Yet everyone at the store knew that Vegeta's loudest silences could belie cauldrons of anger.

Nappa entered hyper-protective mode, planning to get his boss out of the store. Afterward, he would speak in-person with FBI agents. The local police would likely be angry that he decided not to contact them first, but if all hell were to break loose, he wanted the biggest gun carriers on the block to thoroughly count their bullets. Krillin called, saying neither he nor Ambrose could reach Vegeta or Bulma to discuss Marley. Vegeta's mobile shouldn't have been off, but it happened at times. Nappa expected him to be locked away in the office, probably with the tabletop ringer muted. Only four people had direct-dial access: Bulma, Bulla, Tarble and Nappa. Anyone else who needed him could use the barely noticeable beepers all employees wore.

"Thank you, Mr. Rutledge."

"Have a seat, and grab that tissue box. What is all this with the tears now?"

"You this here prayer cloth? I've said... several prayers for your family's recovery. You may never understand, but I hope that in time you can forgive me."

Nappa called Kefla, expecting her to be roaming through the aisles. "Is the front secure?"

Kefla snorted, adjusting her headset irritably. "Dude, if I'm not around, then you damn well know that it's secure. The others are manning the desk. When are you coming back? It's time to kick Vegeta out. He's acting like his surgery isn't coming up soon."

Nappa looked at the clocktower near the capitol. "I'm not sure it will be, but we can worry about later - though he'll gripe about it."

"Oh yeah. Before I forget, Shelley's here now. Says she's resigning. I tried to ask why, but she's only speaking to Vegeta. Maybe you can rescue him. As I said, he should go. Thank dog I can finally say it, but I never liked Shelley anyway. That was all you and the boss."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Nappa's jog picked up into a full track meet. "She still in there with him?"

"Didn't you just hear a word I said, Nappa? Hey, are you running?"

"Kefla! Don't give me crap or commentary right now, OK? I'm on my way."

Perspiring and red-faced, Nappa stopped abruptly at the storefront. Composed military discipline supplanted excitement and worry. Kefla recognized that expression as he walked to Vegeta's office. She got on her headset, asking the other workers to stand by for orders. She didn't know what would break loose next, but heaven wasn't on the playbill.

"Mr. Rutledge, my husband Charlie shot you. He threatened me into helping him get into the store, but there's no excuse. There's…no excuse."

This is a shorter chapter, but I had to rethink a few things along the way. Hope you enjoyed it. Comments about the characters, plot development and themes are welcome - or just questions!