Disclaimers … they all apply as per usual. No fame, no fortune, no money, but hot and cold running Merry Men … not a bad exchange

Note … Thanks for bearing with me last week … I highly recommend against dropping laptops, they no longer make them sturdy. Kevan sends her undying appreciation and gratitude! This is a shortie, hope you enjoy anyway.

07 If Handcuffs Could Talk

A Marilyn (Ranger Hunters) and Kevan collaboration

Uploaded by Alfonsina.d

The Game Concludes (Lester)

"Oooh, yum! I love me some category five."

"Classic."

"Perfect."

The guys all looked at me.

"Do not look at me! I told you it doesn't make any sense!" I protested.

"Lester, what the hell is category five?"

I threw up my hands. "I don't know, Az! That's the problem. They're talking about all of us, using our names anyway, but it doesn't make any sense. That's why I called you all in. Maybe one of you can decode what the hell is going on."

"Doesn't sound like they're in trouble."

"Not unless you count being drunk as trouble."

"Yep! Look up category five in a dictionary and that man's picture is beside it."

"Both hands big."

Giggles.

"I wouldn't mind getting both my hands around those category five."

"Girl! Not if I get my hands on those category five first!"

"Any other contenders?"

"Others got good category five but ain't none as good."

"Tank's category fives are yummy but I'm voting for Breeze. His category fives are gonna star in my dreams."

I looked at Tank. What the hell could they be talking about? What about him was so definitively better than the rest of us? And what the hell was a category five?

"A toast to Tank—the finest two-handed category five alive."

There was the sound of clinking glasses, a beat of silence, then a few gasps and wheezes.

We continued listening as they began talking about category six. There were pauses, arguments over who got control of the remote, commands to zoom in closer, and lots of giggles. Why do women giggle so much when they drink? And there was no doubt they were drinking. No, judging from the slurring of their words and the number of times they lost track of what they were saying, they were drunk. What the hell was going on?

"Category six goes to Bobby!"

Cheers and giggles.

"To Bobby, his category six is so sexy it's banned in some countries."

There was the sound of clinking glasses, a beat of silence, then a few gasps and wheezes.

"Kat, girlfriend, 'member that ice cube thing you said 'bout when you had wild monkey sex with Bobby all night and he…"

I missed the rest of that question, the answer, and the next few. My attention was riveted on Bobby as was all the other guys'. Bobby had his arms crossed over his chest, and his head down, studying the toes of his boots. His body posture clearly indicated he had no intention of looking up and making eye contact with anyone in the foreseeable future. The guy's stares ranged from speculative to angry to pissed—the latter being Mal. Well, Kat was his sister. I guess he was entitled.

Bobby had apparently broken the rule about family being off limits. Wild monkey sex…all night. Correction: Bobby had shattered the rule. Bobby was dead meat.

But damn! Kat was hot—and Bobby had wild monkey sex with her. I felt a grudging admiration even as I wanted to rip his balls off.

"Anything you want to share, Bobby?" Mal sounded calm but that meant nothing. We all did the blank face and calm voice when we were really pissed.

Bobby shook his head, a single side-to-side movement, and continued to study his boots.

Well, in his position, I wouldn't be volunteering any information either. I'd be mentally constructing an immediate, get-out-of-town-and-hide-for-a-decade strategy.

"Damn skippy! That man has finest kind of category, uh, seven."

Laughter.

"Lula, you said that about Tank too."

"Well, it be true. Tank's category seven is finest kind just this finest kind is a little finer finest kind of fine."

"Az is finest kind of fine too."

"Damn! You are so right. Az's category seven is awesome. Problem is they all are."

What in the hell are they talking about?" Az voiced the frustration for all of us.

"Five drunk women talking about men, it's got to be about sex," I offered.

"No shit, Sherlock," Tank snapped.

"Yeah, but it's us they're talking about." Breeze sounded frustrated. He wasn't alone.

"Vote."

"Breeze."

"Breeze."

"Tank."

"Az."

"Breeze."

Another several clinks of glass on glass.

"To the winner—Mr. blowin'-down-the-road Breeze with the finest kind of fine category seven."

"Cheers!"

"Hear, hear!"

A few seconds of silence, then the sound of glasses being thunked onto a table.

Category seven. Damn! How many shots had these women done?

"Category, hic, eight."

"We gots to vote?"

They were all sounding seriously drunk by this point.

"Nuh-uh. This one's no, uh, no content. No, no contest. That's it."

"Votes?"

"Ranger."

"Ranger."

"Ranger."

"Batman."

"Ranger."

"Then it's unamo…unanimo…oh, shit we all agree. Category eight is Ranger."

A bottle clinked against glass and there was silence for a moment.

"Who's toast to burn, uh turn to toast?"

"Batman be your man, white girl. You toast."

There was a pause.

"To Batman, best category eight in Trenton. In New Jersey! In the world!"

"Damn skippy!"

After a few seconds we heard the sound of shot glasses hitting the table. They were really getting the art of slamming the glass down after a shot.

Lula giggled—a scary sound to any man in his right mind.

"You know, Tank told me Batman gots a special bedroom that's a playroom just for sex with a toy chest full of whips and chains and weird butt stuff. It's like a sexroom!"

More giggles.

"Wanna tell us about that Steph?"

"Yeah, Steph, is he like really talented with his handcuffs, like these?"

"And his other toys?"

More giggles.

"Well, if you really wanna know, he—"

A hand reached over my shoulder and turned the speakers off. Ranger's hand.

Crap. We needed to put a bell on him, like a cat, so we could hear him coming.

"Report."

Ranger had a rule about unauthorized monitoring. Listening in on Steph's apartment when she wasn't in danger definitely fell into that category. He'd had Mal install the microphone when her last stalker was chasing her and had never ordered it removed, probably in case there was ever another crazy after her. Stephanie attracted trouble like flowers attract bees. But she was on the scan occasionally list, not the monitor and listen to every word list. We were so screwed.

I scrambled to try and justify all of us sitting around listening to what was happening in Steph's apartment. "Ah, when I scanned the mic at twenty hundred, there was nothing. The twenty-two hundred check, I heard her singing but it sounded like she was alone. But when I did the twenty-four hundred check, I heard screaming." Screaming with laughter, but I wasn't going to admit that. Never include details in a report unless you have no other option but a slow, painful death—which is often the result of including details in a report. "I was afraid she was in trouble, so I called Bobby over."

I'd also started recording, but I wasn't going to mention that either. Ranger still hadn't found out about the video I had of Steph in the shower, and I was hoping my luck would hold. I glanced up to gauge Ranger's expression and his mood, but he wasn't looking at me, he was glaring at Tank.

Tank was mimicking Bobby's position and showed no more sign of looking up. Damn those guys must have interesting boots.

Oh yeah, Tank had told Lula about Ranger's 'playroom' and 'toy chest'. Looks like Ranger is not amused. Maybe Bobby wasn't the only Dead Man Walking in the room.

"Az," Ranger ordered. "You and Rav get over there. Make sure none of them leave tonight—not even in a cab. Don't upset their party. Don't invade their privacy. Stay outside and out of sight, but make sure they're safe."

Rav. Yes! I resisted the urge to cheer. There was no way Rav wouldn't break in and find out what those damn categories were about. Rav was the only one other than me that wouldn't follow Ranger's orders to stay outside. He was too curious. He would have to find out. And then I'd find out.

"Tank, mats at o-five hundred. Need to review the definition of confidential information. Lester, mats at eleven hundred. We'll discuss unauthorized eavesdropping."

Mats. Fuck me. I was going to get my ass kicked. At least Ranger hadn't said anything about another 'time out'.

"Malware, I want that mic out of her place as soon as she leaves tomorrow."

Mal was looking at Bobby like he already had plans for tomorrow and they had nothing to do with removing the mic from Steph's apartment, but he nodded.

As Ranger walked out of the room, he said, "And Lester? If that audio recording doesn't disappear, there'll be another time out in your future."

Shit.

X0x0x

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