Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

a short bridge, and looky here ma! no trolls underneath! Hope there is someone out there still enjoying this epic monstrosity…C.)

Chapter 21

When I reached my front door I realized it was ajar. CRIPES! What a time for someone to break in. I was so distraught earlier that I had run out before packing a gun. SHIT! Well, I suppose this mug is the only thing left to me, weapon wise. I wrinkled my nose. HELL, I'd avoid it, if I were a burglar. But I know it isn't a burglar. That would be too easy. I crossed myself and prepared for ambush. Here goes nothing…

I slid with my back down the hallway wall and tried to concoct a plan of action. After a solid two minutes of nada, I sighed. Okay, I sucked at this stuff, so sue me. Think, Stephanie! What would Rockford do? Besides quip a funny to the bad guys tossing his place and not losing control over his lower body functions. (What can I say, ya gotta respect a man who relies on his wit and not the gun kept in his cookie jar.) I smirked, lowered my center of gravity and leapt through my front door head first. I flung the mug, baseball style, and rolled to a stop once I hit the wall opposite my entryway. I waited and nothing happened. Well, nothing if you don't count making an ass out of myself by performing my sonic the hedgehog impersonation.

I stood up cautiously and surveyed the room. Well, shit. No one to be seen here, no one to be seen there. Dammit! I crept around the apartment and looked under everything. I even looked in my closet. No easy feat due to the unstable mountain of shoes wedged against the door. No intruder and no missing stuff. I shrugged. So I was wrong, wouldn't be the first time. I should have been happy that I didn't have some psycho performing some B&E on my humble abode. I rubbed my forearms trying to warm my suddenly chilled skin. Then how come I feel like this? Steph, shut up. You are overreacting. I groaned and resisted the urge to leave a palm imprint on my head. I hate my logical inner voice. It's probably right though. Morelli just didn't shut the door when he went downstairs. I'll have to call and chew him out. I destroyed a perfectly good mug because of him and… Shit!

I whimpered and lumbered over to the ceramic carnage on my living room floor. As I picked up the pieces and threw them away, a solitary tear slid down my face. Damn Morelli! If he had just shut the freakin' door! Damn Bobby! If he hadn't tossed my mug in the first place, I wouldn't be holding an impromptu memorial over a trash can right now! Hell, why stop there when all men could be on my shit list? I stomped to my bedroom and threw off my robe. Then I stomped to the bathroom to shower and groom in record time. In all that stomping I somehow managed, a mere half hour later, to be laced up in skin tight leather pants, halter top sans bra, and low heeled, knee high kick-ass boots. I smirked at the shadowed head-to-toe image reflected back to me in my mirror, and snatched up my leather biker jacket and bounty hunter paraphernalia. Once replete with lethal instruments, I grabbed a cardboard box from the kitchen pantry and gathered up the assorted mire coating my apartment floors. I ran down the stairs toting the box on one hip and made it to parking lot.

Several productive minutes later, as I surveyed my work, the guilt started to assault me. I mean, what if someone tried to steal this stuff? Damn. I turned on a heel and ran inside to borrow a permanent marker from Dillion. I returned to the parking lot at breakneck speed, grinning the entire way. When I finished my task, I handed the thick black Sharpie back to Dillion who stood dumbstruck at my side, and giggled the giggle of the insane.

"You know, Stephanie," Dillion snorted in disbelief, "This may be the last time we talk, 'cause he's gonna kill you."

I Cheshire grinned.

"It's worth the risk, Dillion, my friend; it's definitely worth the risk."

After some meaningless chatter and discussion of the Ranger's promising upcoming season, I was motoring off; determined to put some distance between me and the crime scene.

Thirty minutes later I sat outside the home of one Jimmy 'No Neck' Picarra, my most recent skip. With a criminal record as long as my arm this two-bit scam artist, good ol' Piccy, was not a bright guy. This can be evidenced by the man's latest crime. I scanned through his file sitting in my lap and couldn't help but laugh. Dear Mr. No Neck evidently had seen one too many Ron Poppeil infomercials, because he thought he was just as slick.

With teeth glowing and hair puffed to an inch of it's greasy bouffant life, Jimmy boy had gone about his day selling his wares from the back of his '87 Oldsmobile Buick. Not strictly a crime in and of itself in Trenton, the city where even cops shop at the local backdoor boudoir. No, Jimmy's crime was stupidity. Piccy had evidently 'acquired' several sets of top of the line car radios and was selling them on Hamilton Ave. Hamilton was a mere two streets over from Stark, so needless to say no one in his right mind would normally question his methods. Things might have been okay if Piccy had stuck to his regular M.O. Unfortunately he saw a financial opportunity that couldn't be turned away and had followed a pair of gentlemen down a side street to sell them on his hot item of the week: a luxury SUV radio system. Everything went down like gangbusters until one of his 'customers', a pharmaceutical entrepreneur, recognized the speakers as his, recently relieved from his Durango. The outcome was unfortunate if not amusing.

Piccy was delivered to the station house bundled up, naked as the day he was born, with a list of serial numbers tattooed over every inch of visible skin, a VHS cassette masking taped over his forehead, and pieces of his product shoved in various orifices. That last bit of info I got off the record when I took it upon myself to get more details and called the Cop Shop. All I managed to get out of Lou, the docket lieutenant on duty that night, was that the tape was very explicit in documenting the crime being perpetrated. I couldn't decide if Lou meant the crime Piccy was guilty of or his 'victim's' crime. I just knew that Lou was pissed because he had to retrieve the 'evidence' from Picarra's person and catalogue it. I shut the file and tossed it into my back seat. These were the times I was glad I was a bounty hunter and not a cop. I didn't have to 'retrieve' anything against my will. This takedown would be too easy. As long as Picarra didn't excessively dabble with the Brill cream today, I was assured an easy hundred dollars.

I cracked my knuckles, reached over and grabbed an assortment of Little Debbie's best from my glove compartment. As I settled in with my Swiss Cake Rolls, I reflected on my life. Might as well; the radio was broken and not even a cat had twitched a whisker over at the Picarra homestead since I had arrived. I tried to be valiantly productive and mentally catalogue my bills against my seriously waning checking account. When that didn't work I made a list of items in my apartment that I should clean behind in case I died in the near future and my mother had to pack up my belongings. God only knows what names she'd curse her newly deceased daughter upon finding the new pet, Peter Cottontail, under her bed. Well, that and the pack of unopened edible undies in the nightstand my Granny gave me after the last trip to the 'fun' boutique she had discovered. I should have known anyplace nicknamed by it's patrons as Joe's Crab Shack, that wasn't a restaurant, was trouble.

When none of these topics kept my mind monopolized, I finally gave in to the wandering thoughts that kept creeping in on me. The thoughts centered on a single day in the not so distant past. I snorted violently. Why was I not surprised that I was obsessing over this subconsciously? It's not like I have ever dealt with what happened that day, not really. I was living in the aftermath of the decisions made then and I still hadn't admitted it, not even to myself. I went to grab another Swiss Cake Roll and realized the package was completely empty. Damn. I had unknowingly inhaled two packs of them! Cripes, might as well go for broke. I can always unbutton my pants for the short term remedy and for the long term, add another mile to my torturous run with Bobby tomorrow morning. I reopened the glove compartment and snatched a pack of Donut Stix. As I tore into the cellophane with my incisors, I felt my inner eye drift back unfettered to those dreaded events…

To be continued in chapter 22…

Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

Okay, Here it is...better late than never. You wouldn't believe what cartoon events transpired for me to recover the 'lost' disk containing this chapter. The humanity! ahem Never again will I rush out of a room without my laptop due to fear of extreme tardiness or intense embarrassment. Needless to say the tale is one if vaudevillian proportions. But I digress…please forgive me and I hope someone out there is staying tuned into the 'Wacky 'Steen Show' C.)

p.s. - special thanks to Karen for making my Spanish translations more realistic and less Sesame Street.

Chapter 22

When none of these topics kept my mind monopolized, I finally gave in to the wandering thoughts that kept centering on a single day in the not so distant past. I snorted violently. Why was I not surprised that I was obsessing over this subconsciously? It's not like I have ever dealt with what happened that day, not really. I was living in the aftermath of the decisions made then and I still hadn't admitted it, not even to myself. I went to grab another Swiss cake roll and realized the package was completely empty. Damn. I had unknowingly inhaled two packs of Swiss Cake Rolls! Cripes, might as well go for broke. I reopened the glove compartment and snatched a pack of Donut Stix. As I tore into the cellophane with my incisors, I felt my inner eye drift back to those dreaded events.

I knew as soon as I woke up from Oz that things had gone from bad to worse. The guys had evidently moved me from the cold floor of the War Room to a bedroom upstairs. At first when I came to I thought they had put me in Stone/Ranger's bed, and I wanted to hyperventilate. As I lurched to an upright position and glanced around the room, I came to divine realization that this was not the case. Thank the Lord, no purple sheets. I sighed and flopped back down on my back on the bed. My first clue that I wasn't out of the woods, was when I rolled on my side and found a bunkmate sleeping beside me. I prodded the Latino man tentatively with an elbow, and he grumbled menacingly. I employed a different tactic and got the desired results. My visitor jerked awake and sprung to a sitting position.

"Chica, that better be you laying lips on me. I do not want any other lady doing it besides you."

"Yeah, yeah. Girl cooties, I know, Hector. I realize you don't like me like that." I rasped and blushed at the memory.

"I thought it was a good idea to check. I know the last time you thought I…"

"Oh Shaddup!" I growled and scrambled to perch on the edge of the huge bed.

"One time! It was one time! It didn't mean anything! I thought you were someone else when I kissed you."

Hector sobered from his jovial mood and his eyes grew sad as they studied my face intently. Hector was one of the people of whom I suspected knew more about the relationship between Ranger and I. Except I knew for fact he was aware there had been a physical one. I practically attacked him one night as he leaned over my bed while I 'slept'. I closed my eyes briefly in remembered mortification. To say the man was surprised when I locked lips on him that night would have been an understatement. Several months ago all Hector had been trying to do one late night was test my new alarm's effectiveness, and secondly my awareness, by breaking in to my apartment. The poor man got more than he bargained for and was the victim of mistaken identity. At least I knew for fact after I pulled him down into bed, pressed against me, that Hector was definitely a gay man.

"I know that is what you said before when I apologized for breaking in. I was just testing the new system, I-I did not think…"

"Its okay, Hector. I know you didn't know who I thought was breaking in and… Shit. Never mind. We already settled this. Let's move on to more interesting and recent subjects. Like what the hell happened? And where the hell am I? And whose bed am I sleeping in? I feel like friggin' Goldilocks here!"

Hector scrunched his brow and looked utterly perplexed.

"Who is this Goldilocks?"

Sometimes I overlook the thick accent and forget that Hector has not been speaking English for all that long.

"I explain it later." I sighed.

"Now answer the questions…please."

"Si, mi querida niña. Por ti soy capaz de cualquier cosa. Querida, después de conocerte lamenté no desear a las mujeres. Tal vez hubiese podido
aliviar tu dolor y hacerte olvidarlo. Por ese error, lo lamento. El tiene que ser el tonto más grande por negarte su corazón." 1

"Huh? Hector, in English, por favor."

I had long suspected Hector reverted to his native tongue when he got emotional. That thought was a bit laughable since this was Hector we were talking about here. Hector, the 'Bulldog', is what the guys called him. Somehow I had never worked up the nerve to ask if the nickname was in reference to his stocky frame or his temperament. Why chance it? Hell, would any sane person? Maybe I shouldn't consider sanity and myself in the same sentence after today's events, a little too close for comfort for me under the circumstances. But I digress…I have no idea what would have set him off on this current bender, unless a kiss from this woman had traumatized him more than I thought possible. I had to smile at that. At least no one could accuse me of turning him gay, he had started out that way.

"Si. Pero primero, que esto te quede muy claro: te ofrezco el único amor que puedo darte, y en el futuro protegeré tu corazón con todas mis fuerzas. Nuca
vuelvas a temer salir lastimada. Tu destino es el mío." 2

With those indecipherable words Hector grabbed my hand, brought it to his mouth and laid a soft kiss upon it. I blinked at him, tugged my hand free and laughed awkwardly.

"Uh, yeah. Right back at ya big guy." I rolled my eyes due to a little frustration and a lot of humor.

"You know I don't speak a lick of Spanish, Hector. Why torment me with it? Are you talking about what happened? Please, have pity and translate for me."

"I was speaking of past events, yes." His eyes twinkled with good humor.

"Okay, smart ass. So tell me already, this time in English."

"You passed out from stress, I am told. I was summoned in to take you upstairs to this bedroom to recover."

Trust Hector to leave out all the important details. I sighed in exasperation.

"And…" I prompted.

"And you woke up here with me."

I hate it when he is literal. I suspected he understood more English than he let on at times. I believe he falls back on the borough standard evasive tactic of 'no hablo inglés' when he wanted to avoid trouble, a classic Hector maneuver.

"Hector." I grabbed his arm and squinted down on him, summoning all my ire and frustration with the situation into that glance.

"Spill your guts. Don't make me hurt you."

He just laughed jovially.

"De acuerdo, tu estás a cargo chica. No lo quería de ninguna otra manera" 3

"Hector!"

"Okay, okay, mi bonita, I understand. No need to yell at poor Hector." He said while amusedly fending me off with outstretched palms.

"You want to know what happened, eh? Well, chica, Ranger and the new one fought some more after you fainted. Apparently it was over where you were to be put to recover. I gathered Ranger was not happy because he picked you up and handed you over into my arms and care. He told me to take you upstairs to my room. I think he thought you would be safest here." Hector chuckled.

"Everyone loves the gay man when it comes to point of trusting another with the care of his woman."

"I am not his woman, Hector!"

'Si, I know this." Hector looked pointedly at me before continuing.

"Some men never understand the true nature of the love of his woman."

"Hector, for the last time! I am not now nor ever have been Ranger's woman!" I emphasized my point by poking him with my fingernail in the compact and muscular pectoral muscles.

"He does not love me and I do not love him! Got it?"

I crossed my arms with a barely contained flurry of emotions rushing through my body, making me shake. Hector pulled me into a quick embrace and stroked my hair, surprising me to no end. I stood there like a limp noodle, stunned by the uncharacteristic maneuver form Hector. He was always one cool customer in the past. Why he chose this moment with me to get 'emotional' was beyond me! Why did men in general have to be so confusing? Maybe the problem wasn't with the men maybe the problem was with me. Well, shit. Great, just great! Even a gay man can tie my emotions in knots! With that lovely thought a tremendous shudder shook my spine.

"Si, I got this, mi bonita. I understand what happened. You do not need fear that I will tell anyone else. It is our secret."

I slowly let go of the angry tears that had been building in the corners of my eyes. Damn him for being so understanding. I had really wanted to lash out at someone and now I knew I would feel like a complete ass if I did anything to vent my anger. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! I cried even harder in frustration. Hector made some shushing sounds and mutters some low phrases in Spanish, but I was beyond any comprehension. I just gave into the comfort the man holding me had offered, and let the tears flow.

Several soggy minutes later I disentangled myself from Hector's embrace and looked him in the eye.

"This never happened, got it? I didn't just perform a Tammy Faye Baker on you. Understood?"

"Tammy Faye who?" Hector asked in earnest.

I snorted an amused chuckle.

"Nevermind…" I smiled and gave him a quick hug. Before pulling away I mumbled an awkward 'thanks' in Hector's ear. He followed it up with a robust 'Da nada.'

A booming chuckle emanating from the doorway had me jumping back about a foot, skittishly. Hector and I both jerked our attention to the door. If I had not have had my hand on Hector's forearm I might have missed it. Hector had tensed up as tight as a bow string immediately upon seeing the owner of the laugh. What the hell is that about? I hope I didn't just acquire another protector. Gawd, that's all I need, I thought while rolling my eyes. Another man I had to trip over and possibly maim during the course of a day. And that's during a normalday. Cripes, who knows what would happen during a crisis! I had already shot one protector. I groaned heartily in frustration.

"Boy, Venus, you sure are effective! I bet they never see it coming. Like flies to honey…" The figure in the doorway ground out tauntingly.

To be continued in chapter 23…

Loose Translations:

1: Yes, my lovely girl. Of course anything for you. I regret after meeting you that I do not lust after women, dear one. Perhaps I could have eased your pain then and made you forget him. For that failing, I am genuinely sorry. That man has to be the biggest fool ever born to deny you his heart.

2: But first, please know this: I will offer you the only love I can, and protect your heart with my brawn in the future. Never fear harm again. Your fate is mine.

3: Fine, you are the one in charge, girl. I would not want it any other way.

A/N: please excuse any errors made in the translations. They are indeed loose as stated above and as you can probably tell I am not a native speaker of this lovely language. Bear with me, please.

Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

Ah this one is big'un. I want to thank all the loyal fanatics out there who wouldn't let me forget I had yet to put out the new chapter. Keep cracking the whip. I like it. Tingly.wiggling eyebrows LOL. I wondered if I would ever get his chapter out. Phew! .C

(P.S. - a special nod to Karen for her bilingual document checking and to my new editor, Miss Moriah. May she be nimble of red pen and continue to possess her trademark humor and grace under my chicken scratch machinegun story bursts. A bazillion thanks again my dear.)

Chapter 23

A booming chuckle emanating from the doorway had me skittishly jumping back about a foot. Hector and I both jerked our attention to the door. Hector had tensed up as tight as a bow string immediately upon seeing the owner of the laugh. If I had not have had my hand on Hector's forearm I might have missed it. What the hell is that about? I hope I didn't just acquire another protector. Gawd, that's all I need, I thought while rolling my eyes. Another man I had to trip over and possibly maim during the course of a day. And that's during a normal day. Cripes, who knows what would happen during a crisis! I had already shot one protector. I groaned heartily in frustration.

"Boy, Venus, you sure are effective! I bet they never see it coming. Like flies to honey…" The figure in the doorway ground out tauntingly.

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. The devil had sent his right hand man to collect on all those broken, whispered promises I had made with myself on giving up things that were bad for me: two-day-old donuts, five-minute-rule Fritos and men included. I glared down on the source of our rude interruption like he was an oncoming Mack truck.

"Beat it, Bam-Bam."

Stone clutched his chest, pantomiming a heart attack, and arrogantly swaggered into the room with, surprisingly, Lester, who trailed behind him; the very same Lester who had nearly gone Arnold Schwarzenegger on Stone not too long ago. I narrowed my eyes trying to get a read on Lester's current disposition. Oh-kay. Dr. Phil I may not be, but from the flush in Lester's cheeks and knotted brow, I think all is not as hunky-dory as it might appear. Stone regained my attention before I had gleaned much else from Lester's body language.

"Ouch, Jersey. That really hurt. Truly, quite the comeback."

"You know what I think, Gravel-Pit? I think I don't give a tiny rat's patoot what you think is an adequate comeback or the state of your emotional health. In fact, I think I might just be beginning to tire of always seeing you around whenever the shit hits the fan! Funny how I have never been forced to physically intimidate anyone to keep the peace until you came along. Coincidence? I think not."

I had slowly advanced on Stone and away from Hector. By the end of my rant I was a few inches from Stone's chest, practically spitting my words up into his face. He responded with a chuckle and pushed me about a foot away, thereby pissing me off further. I suddenly recalled a memory when I tried to fight my older cousin Jack when I was nine. All that was missing was a straight arm to my forehead and my arms wind-milling air punches.

"Feisty. I like that, Skipper. But I have to say if you thought that was intimidation down there in that room we are gonna have to talk, Suga; especially now that we are partners. I wouldn't want you to be surprised when I show you the real meaning of applying pressure."

For a moment I reeled in forced flashback to another conversation with an equally disturbingly sexy man. The words 'apply pressure' rang through my head like the clang of a church bell. I felt the blood drain from my face before comprehending the total meaning of what Stone had said.

"Partners! How can that be? Bobby and I…" I groaned in remembrance and chagrin.

Stone grinned so wide I swear his rear molars stood up and waved hello.

"Ah, I see Swifty here has caught on finally. I was worried for a second there I was starting to become attracted to someone with the cunning of an amoeba. Yes, it is true. The Boss and I don't mean Springsteen, sent down his decree from Mt. Olympus about fifteen minutes ago after finishing his argument with Manoso."

"I'll give him this," Stone chucked merrily, "he doesn't pull punches like most men do with their 'friends.' You should have seen what he did to…"

"I think that's enough, Stone." Lester ground out and placed a warning hand on Stone's forearm.

"Tank just said to check on her, not gossip like old biddies at church bingo."

Stone shrugged off Lester's hand in the blink of an eye. He slowly swiveled his head around and gave Lester a heated glance that would shrivel most men like a six-month-old raisin.

"Watch yourself, Santos," Stone hissed out slowly.

He was completely composed except for a glitter in his eyes and I wasn't even sure that glitter meant he was angry. Too weird. How could I find myself attracted to men, again and again, who were as thick as thieves with the darker element of life and were harder to pin down than a second-hand car salesman? I groaned in frustration and in mounting trepidation of where I believed this conversation was headed.

"Oh no, he wouldn't. Tank wouldn't partner me up with you. Not even on his worst day! O… my… Gawd…" I whispered the last in numb horrification.

I stumbled away from Stone and pondered when I had fallen down the rabbit hole precisely. Was it when I exited that helicopter with Tank? I think so. That was when things went from 'normal' to wacky pharmaceutical 'wonderland' status. I still reeled with marvel as to which pill made me larger and which pill made me small. I wondered if there existed a perfect little pill that would make a certain unwanted person disappear.

"Believe it. Apparently today was his worst day." Stone chortled once more. He was really starting to get on my nerves with that.

"Oh great. This is just freakin' great!" I snorted and paced the floor.

"Let's review, shall we? I brawled for unknown reasons with a very angry, yet tiny man, calmed my evidently incredibly disturbed friend down, awakened with said friend in bed by former lover, coached a man's cajones to go north for the winter with a side show knife act, refereed a wrestling match with gunpowder, shot the man who is moving in with me in an ever-so-vital extremity and lost my partner all in one day! But wait, as if all that weren't enough, now some celestial being, presumably of demonic origin, has seen fit to saddle me with Sir Puns-Alot over here. Ugh!"

I turned and looked at the series of faces surrounding me. Stone, Les, and Hector were all quietly wearing a mask of some kind: humor, anger, and stunned bewilderment respectively. I couldn't take the silence anymore. I shuffled to the sanctuary of the bed and flopped facedown, limbs akimbo. I had given up. Why fight fate? She was always trying to bitch-slap you if you did. Clearly lying here like a side of veal in the middle of a gay man's bed was the safest and most sane option left to me. After several silent minutes filled with thoughts in this vein, Les breached the silence first.

"Uh, Steph?"

Silence reigned. I guess he laid in wait for acknowledgement of some kind on my part. Well, he could wait till the cows came home for all I cared! Oh shit. It's not totally Les' fault I was pissed off. I gave a non-committal grunt in response.

"Are you planning on staying there for the foreseeable future?"

Alright, maybe I was a little hasty with that last assessment. Les equals pig. Mystery solved.

In the spirit of my new found serenity and enlightenment, I charitably chose to answer him with a hand gesture that would send my Hungarian mother into a fit of Hail Marys. A chuckle boomed forth and I just knew that it belonged to Stone. I took the fact that I could identify it by sound alone as an omen of things to come. It figured he would be amused by my mini-breakdown. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I fated to forever fall apart in front of this guy? Les pulled me from my mental tailspin.

"As lovely as that suggestion was, Beautiful, I would prefer a verbal answer right about now."

"Fine, the answer is 'yes.' Problem with that, buddy?" I mumbled lip deep in bed linens, refusing to lift my head from its cotton cocoon.

"Uh, No, but I just thought you'd like to know that Bobby had planned to blow this joint in a few minutes, intent on setting up residence at your pad. If you know what's good for ya, I think you'd better join him."

After that I heard muffled footsteps and the bedroom door slam shut. Ah, alone at last, sweet bliss! I felt the bed dip beside me under what could only be the weight of a man and I turned my head toward it with a sigh.

"Rats."

I addressed my next comment to the pair of brown eyes that were looking back at me.

"I thought you all left."

"Bonita 1, I will not leave you here with this one." Hector growled while gesturing to the space behind me. I closed my eyes in defeat, knowing without having to look to whom Hector had referred.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere 'Bulldog.' Deal with it," the said 'one' quipped.

"It is okay, Hector. Stone's harmless. Annoying: yes. Harder to shake off than a malnourished tick on a dog: absolutely. But dangerous? No."

Hector stood but made no immediate move toward the door to leave.

"Mi tonta pequeña 2, do not mistake; this is one is very dangerous. I will stay here to guard you."

Cripes! What was it with Hector? He had backed a few feet away to lock eyes with something behind me, presumably Stone. I gave a colossal eye roll in Hector's general direction.

"Hector, relax. I'm not Cinder-freakin'-rella and Stone isn't the wicked step-mother." I paused for a moment in thought.

"Although one could argue that he is evil, but I digress…" At Hector's perplexed look I gave up on my explaining my reference.

"Uh, nevermind. Its fine, Hector. I'll yell if I need you. I'm sure Stone just wanted to speak with me about our new work routine." I briefly turned to give the evil eye to Stone.

"Isn't that right, Stone?"

Mr. Eloquent snorted in a manner which I can only assume was an affirmation. I barely held back the urge to snarl at him.

"Be careful, cariño3. El Diablo wears may disguises." With that cryptic remark Hector exited swiftly. This time I paid close attention to my environment. From the lack of echoing footfalls down the hall, I assumed that Hector was true to his word and stood sentry on the other side of the door. Maybe he was appropriately nicknamed after all.

"I'd have to say I agree with Scrappy Doo, Jersey."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you how to make friends? You know it is a generally accepted theory that to exchange compliments in lieu of criticisms with a person often can lead to the beginning stages of companionship. Just thought you'd like to be aware…" I sat up to finally face my foe dead in the very amused eyes.

"Nah, she ran out on our happy home when I was a young'un, long before cotillion lessons. Besides, I believe no amount of good ol' boy charm would have helped me bond with Senor Scowl-N-Growl," Stone ended by gesturing to the closed bedroom door. He seemed to turn pensive for a few moments before he resumed.

"He's perceptive, that one."

It was said with no malice or regret, or well, any other normal emotion. Hell, for some reason I got the notion Stone was impressed with Hector's little display of junkyard dog bravado. I shook my head in disbelief.

"You're pretty fucked up, you know that right?"I stated matter of factly.

When Stone locked his tractor beam gaze on me from his former sightless introspection of the air, I reviewed my words and felt like the business end of a donkey.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I mean… uh… after the whole 'Mom' thing you just told me. Err; what I meant was … uh… it's just that sometimes I forget certain aspects of the beginning of a conversation even before it has ended. And by the time I remember I find that I'm already speaking, hence why I often make a complete ass out of myself about seventy-five percent of the time, like right now for instance. At least this isn't as bad as the time I…"

"Chill, Jersey. I get it; your mouth has a mind of its own. Besides it's not a big deal, just history. The past is only an albatross or stigma if you make it one."

I had no reasonable reply to that, so I did what I did best: total and unequivocal denial with a dash of avoidance thrown in for good measure.

"So, why did you want to stay in here with me? Is there something we need to talk about?" I said with arms crossed facing Stone and cocked my head to show my true interest in his answer, since I couldn't cock my eyebrow without having an epileptic fit.

"Oh, nothing big, Skipper." Stone shrugged in a non-committal manner and moved to lean against the nearby armoire. He continued with:

"Just wondering if you had any questions that I could answer for you after the whole debacle downstairs, since you, ya know, generally are the epitome of insatiable curiosity and can't normally hold back your Nancy Drew-like nosiness. Hell, when have you ever passed up the opportunity to snoop?"

What the hell? How could he know…?

"And before you ask 'how?' followed by a string of expletives just be aware that I just have a way with people. It must be the southern charm." He preened.

At my now customary eye roll and snort, he grinned.

"Or it could be that Les was entirely too chatty after a couple six-packs of Budweiser. Take your pick." He grinned with glee and then sobered.

"So, Nancy… have any pressing concerns or questions?"

Oh that was an understatement! If he only knew how long we would be here if I took him up on that offer.

"What was that, Jersey? Couldn't quite decipher that mumbled sub-banter…" Stone quipped with the perpetual smirk present; I was beginning to believe it was pasted on with atomic strength super glue. Damn him!

Damn my loose lips! I sprung from the bed and strode irritably across the room to the door. A hand that suddenly weighted down my shoulder halted any further progress on my part.

"And where do you think you're goin', Sparky, hmmm? I haven't even gotten to the portion of our conversation where I traditionally proposition you yet."

With narrowed eyes, I methodically picked off his fingers one by one and brusquely swept his hand away from my body. That accomplished I cracked the door only to observe it slammed shut again by a monstrously large hand that darted out over my shoulder. I whipped my head around angrily.

"Can't you take a hint?"

Stone startled me by searching his pockets thoroughly. I stared at him in bewilderment.

"What, pray tell, are you doing now?"

"Why, searching for hints obviously. Nope, none here. Your loss."

"Oh Lord. I walked right into that one, didn't I?" I sighed and rubbed my temple before I held up a hand and ground out between clenched teeth:

"No. Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question, smart-ass. I can just feel your snappy retort forming from here. So save it or shove it, your preference."

I exhaled and dropped my hand from my head. No use massaging an atrophied muscle.

"No matter. I need to leave, now."

I stared at the door and the hand had yet to budge from it. What a stubborn a…

"I can see that, Miss Brusque, Queen of Subtlety. What is so hell-fire important that you felt the need to scramble out of here like your britches were blazin'?"

"For your information, Mr. Warm-and-Fuzzy, I need to find my suitcase, change back into clothes from this decade, and confront a certain former army demolition vehicle that has apparently gone haywire and run amok."

"That has the sound of a very full day; overwhelmingly taxing would be a more accurate description. Need any help with that?"

Stone wiggled his eyebrows before he opened the door and gallantly half bowed with a superfluous flourish of Old World courtly arm gestures.

I, once more, snorted as I passed through the door by him.

"I am going to pretend you have some honor and assume you were referring to helping me find my suitcase or Tank."

"You wound me, my delightful little snapping turtle," He pouted as he staggered out in mock pain after me.

"But I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me."

With the purr of the last sentence, I felt my face glow red; boiling with the possibilities that sprung unbidden to mind in all their Technicolor glory. I increased my stride and nearly ran over Hector in my wake. Damn my Hungarian hormones! Think dead puppies, Stephanie, dead puppies. I felt rather than saw Stone's hot gaze land on my backside as I heard Hector's plea.

"I do not understand, cariño.4 What dead puppies?"

"Oh sweet Lord, help me." I groaned. Would I never gain control over my verbal incontinence?

"Go ahead and ask, Jersey. You'll need all the help you can get when the time comes."

I nearly tripped over my own feet as the baritone sound of deep masculine laughter echoed from behind, haunting me.

Flash forward two weeks to the present…

I shook the images off like a cold, wet blanket; not wanting to recall the shape of Stone's lips as they bantered with me or the feelings they aroused. Hell, at this rate I would need one if I took into consideration my body temperature. Is it possible to self-combust from sexual frustration? I licked Twinkie cream from my fingers and groaned. I gathered the empty cellophane wrappers and angrily shoved them in the now half empty glove compartment. I guess not. When you replace sex with enough baked goods to induce a sugar coma it was more likely you'd expire from that.

I leaned back against the car head rest and groaned. Well, I guess it was better to recall that hormone fest than the 'Conversation' I had soon after that with Tank. I still smarted from finding out from Tank, of all people, that Ranger had run away… again, presumably from me. 'Left town for an indeterminate amount of time' my ass! I slammed my palm against the steering wheel and growled so hard I swear I felt my rear molars rattle. Damn Ranger! It's seems like I say that a lot lately. Shit. Fine. Whatever. Like I gave a rat's ass if Batman decides to leave town…again! It's not like he owed me anything. It's not like we ever had a relationship or anything. Oh, no. Superheroes don't do commitments. Ugh.

I sighed in defeat. Well, so much for being apathetic about Ranger's return and subsequent quick departure. He made himself abundantly clear that morning with Bobby. So why did I still think, no scratch that, obsess about it? Gawd, I'm so messed up. I slumped forward and banged my head against the steering wheel a few times for good measure. Couldn't hurt at this point, it could only help. With that jaw clenching notion I returned my gaze to Picarra's house just in time to spot the weasel. Oh and see him I did. To be precise he hung bottom side sunny side up, legs flailing, out of the second story window of his row house. I barely suppressed a cackle as I lurched quietly from my Escape, handcuffs in tow. As I tucked them into my nylon utility waist belt and unholstered my gun, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell this guy was up to now. It looked like he was sneaking out of his own house for Gawd's sake! Criminal mastermind he defiantly was not. I hid in the shade of the tree beneath the aforementioned window and waited not trying to suppress my smile of amusement any longer.

As Jimmy wiggled his way down to the lowest branch, which was a good seven feet off the ground, he lost his grip, performed an ever so graceful back flip before he managed to hook his arms and legs around the trunk, koala style, and slid to the ground. As he laid there and contemplated what I can only assume would be the state of his genitals and whether or not he would ever fornicate again, I gave in, threw my head back and let loose the laugh I held back earlier. That seemed to get Piccy's attention pretty quickly. He turned to look at me, still curled in the fetal position, cupping the family jewels.

"Jesus, Lady! You almost gave me a friggin' heart attack!"

Translations:

1: beautiful

2: my foolish one

3, 4: dear one

To be continued in chapter 24…

Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; std disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts , or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

For the ladies who faithfully persisted in bea...um…'encouraging' me to continue this farce. C.)

Chapter 24

"Jesus, Lady! You almost gave me a friggin' heart attack!"

"Funny, Piccy, I never imagined a rat's heart was in his crotch," I snickered with a blatant glance at his hands, "Although it does explain a lot about the men in my past." I started to lean over to give him a hand up, but quickly rescinded the offer realizing where his had been. Instead I motioned for him to rise with a wave of my Browning.

He stood and methodically pulled Brill cream encrusted twigs from his pompadour. He stilled as he caught his first good look at my face.

"Shit. You're that pyro bounty hunter bitch, aren't you? Damn it all to hell! Can my luck get any worse this week?" he grumbled.

I just assumed that was a rhetorical question as I slapped my cuffs on him and lead him down the street to my car. Though I must admit I resented the bitch comment. It's not like I had given him a reason to earn that particular title…yet.

"That's Ms. Bitch to you," I growled as I crammed him into my backseat, locked him to the roll bar I had Al install for this very purpose and engaged the child safety locks. God bless the Ford Motor Company. I slid into the front seat and started the engine. Within minutes we were off the surface streets and on the Jersey turnpike on the way to the cop shop. After the third consecutive groan erupted from the back seat I snuck a peek at Piccy in the rear view mirror.

"Jesus, keep it down back there! It's not like this is your first trip to jail."

"Don't remind me," he uttered with chagrin.

"Sorry. Did the tattoos come off?" I deadpanned, barely containing my humor.

"Aw, man. I am so fucked. Everyone is laughing at me: the cops, my customers, and hell, even you! I crack everyone up except for my wife apparently. Can you believe she walked out on me over this shit? How was I to know that friggin' guy was who he was when I sold him that stuff! My life is a total crap shoot," he bemoaned. He locked eyes with me in the mirror's reflection; I suppose looking for sympathy.

"Now I gotta live with my Ma and that ain't no cake walk let me tell ya! My boxers haven't been this stiffly starched since high school. Do you believe she even locked me in my bedroom tonight without dinner?" he mumbled.

I chortled merrily before regaining control. Oh man, was this guy whipped or what?

"I take it that's why you were sneaking out?" I inquired with ill concealed mirth still dancing in my eyes.

"Yeah, I couldn't take one more minute of: 'Jimmy, why are you such a screw up? I should have known you'd never amount to anything. Why, what will the neighbors think of this latest stunt? A bad seed that's what you are, Jim Allan Picarra, a bad seed!" he finished in a gratingly high pitched voice, which I assumed was an accurate rendition of his mother's.

"Old Biddy," he grumbled.

I couldn't help but agree.

Picarra sobered with eerie despondency and whispered: "Why can't she just accept me for who I am?"

Suddenly he didn't seem quite so pathetically amusing. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. Piccy's situation struck a little too close to home for my comfort. Hell, my skin was crawling. I decided to change the subject before either of us felt compelled to emotionally bond further and weep like two sad saps on Montel.

"Well, it could be worse," I uttered witlessly.

He snorted in response.

"Well, it could!" I felt compelled to defend myself.

"How?" he growled sarcastically.

"Hell if I know. It's just one of those things you say to someone. It seemed appropriate. People are always saying it to me." I shrugged apologetically.

"And does it make you feel any better?" he asked with his head turned to blindly stare out the rear passenger window.

"Point taken," I mumbled.

Our little impromptu heart to heart over with, we drove in relative silence the rest if the trip to the police station. As I pulled off the highway exit I swore I saw in the rear view mirror a black sedan with limo tinted windows swerve across two lanes of traffic to follow us.

A tail? Nah, why would anyone want to follow me? I hadn't pissed anyone off lately, to my knowledge. No crazy geek gamers, mobsters obsessed with Risk, or sexually deviant prize fighters in sight, I swear! To be on the safe side I decided to keep a close eye on the sedan. I breathed an audible sigh when it turned off to the right at the second intersection before the police station. I was spending too much time with the guys; their X-file paranoia was rubbing off.

As I turned toward the rear police parking lot entrance, I realized the gates were closed. That's weird.

I circled the block twice to look for a parking space out front on the street. As there were none, I decided to double park about thirty yards past the TPD front entrance. I figured I'd bitch my way out of a ticket if some hard ass cop called me on it. They were the ones to shut the gate, so I aptly reasoned that the boys in blue were solely responsible for the blatant parking violation, not me; so there. Valid reasoning to be sure.

I got out, opened the rear door of the Escape, and unshackled Jimmy Picarra.

"All ashore that's going ashore."

He hesitated getting out of the car. I rolled my eyes at him. Some men could be such babies about the prospect of prison. Maybe it the man-bitch phobia. That I could understand.

"C'mon, Picarra!" I growled impatiently, "Move it or lose it." He just shot me a blank look.

"Do you feel that?" he asked with a seriously furrowed brow.

What the hell is he whining about now? I grumbled mentally in frustration. This guy was a total head case, sympathetic Mommie Dearest issues aside. I decided to placate him, thinking it was the fastest and easiest way to get his tattooed hindquarters out of my escape. Less chance of getting hair tonic stains on my upholstery, too.

"Feel what?"

"Like someone's watching us," he whispered with a trembling voice.

I started to think 'what a loon' but for some reason my mind flashed on the sedan I spotted earlier. I shuddered and yet dismissed him at the same time.

"Yeah, it's probably some cop looking out their office window that you're picking up on, Mulder. Probably wondering why we have been sitting here so long in the middle of the street, immobile, waiting for the mother ship, no doubt. Now move your ass!" I growled as I hauled him across the seat and outside the Escape.

As I slammed his door shut I realized I had left my gun in the car. Shit. I grabbed Piccy's hand unceremoniously, handcuffed it to the roof luggage rack and walked back over to the driver side door. With the door hanging open I glanced around inside and didn't spot the gun right away. Crap, I must have knocked it on the floorboards on the ride over. Way to go, Stephanie. I could just hear Bobby bitching me out in my head over my poor gun etiquette.

I was still bent over the seat, rooting around fruitlessly, as I heard the squeal of tires and one very frightened skip. I glanced up over the head rest just in time to see a familiar car take the corner at warp speed and was now racing headlong towards us. I scrambled outside thinking I still had time to get Picarra uncuffed. It's amazing what stupid things go through your head in these types of situations. I had the handcuff key in the lock when the sedan collided.

The god damned key broke, was all I could think as I sailed through the air. My back collided with something that felt like a brick wall, and very well could have been for the way my internal organs felt. I heard an eerie tearing sound. No worries, just my ligaments and spine, I'm sure. I heard a shrill pain filled scream. Gee, I hope some one helps that woman. It took me a while to realize it had emanated from me. What a time to have a Crossing Over experience. I slid with my back down the surface and fell limply forward onto my head on asphalt, settling into a mercifully black abyss.

To be continued in chapter 25…