Chapter 3

While dating Mandy, Scott had begun to visit the strip club more and more often during his off hours, generally when Mandy was on duty. The girls gradually began to bring small problems to him, finding that he was relatively handy with household repairs. Soon he found himself fixing the washing machine in the back room. He took a quick look at the dryer and made a mental note to clean the vents before a fire started. He was just washing his hands when Mandy appeared in the doorway. "Hi sweetie," she said kissing him on the cheek. "I'm about to go on. Do you want your usual table?"

"Are you sure that Bernie doesn't mind my hanging around here?" Scott replied, scrubbing his hands dry. "I mean, I'm trying to make myself useful."

Mandy laughed. "Scott, adding up your beer tab and the various repairs you've made already, Bernie has nothing to complain about. You've already saved him at least a thousand bucks on small repairs. Come on out front and make yourself comfortable. We have some new German lager that just arrived from a microbrewery in Palo Alto. I know you want to try it."

Scott tossed his paper towel into the trashcan and willingly followed her into the show area. He took his accustomed seat at the table in the VIP area. Everyone in the place knew that Mandy was Scott's girl and since Scott had begun frequenting the club, Mandy had found that she was harassed by customers much less, especially after Scott had physically thrown one out the front door. Mandy took her place next to the pole in the VIP section and waited for the music to start. She smiled when she saw Scott sip his beer and smiled broadly, giving her a thumbs up. Who knew he would turn out to be a connoisseur of fine beers? Still smiling she began to dance.

TRACY ONE

"Earth to Scott Tracy," A voice intoned in his ear. Scott jerked out of his reverie to find Gordon hovering over him with a grin. "Wake up, bro. John says we're almost home. Dad'll be waiting for us at the runway. Says he wants to talk to you, especially."

Scott's face fell. Great. Dad wanted to talk to him. He kept his face impassive; it didn't do to show distress to the younger brothers. Especially Gordon.

"Okay," Scott answered quietly. "I'll be ready to see him." To his well-hidden amusement, Gordon's face fell.

"Aw, c'mon Scott," his younger brother whined. "Everybody knows about your tabloid adventure but me. Tell me about it, wouldja?"

Scott smiled grimly. "Virgil and John know. You and Alan don't. And I'm going to keep it that way." He sniffed. "Whew! What's that smell? It isn't me, is it?"

"You bet it is, Scott," Gordon replied. "Mixed in with Virgil's barf and a whole lotta liquor," he stared at Scott's feet. "And whatever you stepped in at the jail."

Scott crouched down further in his seat, tucking his feet underneath him. He'd left his shoes and his favorite leather jacket behind in the bar. His socks had disappeared somewhere in booking and had been barefoot ever since. He didn't like to think about what he might have walked through during his stay in jail. Of course, Virgil didn't have it any better. All he was wearing were those shorts with the rockets on them. They wouldn't allow shoes in the wrestling pit.

They heard a thump and looked up to see Virgil propping himself up in the bathroom doorway. "He's going to kill us," Virgil moaned and tugged up his sagging shorts. The silk was soaked in oil and had been gradually getting looser over time.

"Prepare for approach," John's cheerful voice came over the intercom. "Buckle up for landing."

Scott, Gordon and Virgil all groaned but buckled themselves into their seats.

The jet landed, as it inevitably must. John got off first, casting a snarky grin at his odiferous brothers. "Good luck," he said, before running down the flight of steps to the tarmac, where Jeff Tracy waited.

"Uh oh," Virgil said, looking out the doorway. "Father doesn't look happy."

"Nope," Gordon agreed. "Reminds me of when we did something wrong when we were kids. Dad never punished us, he always..."

Scott picked it up. "...talked to us. Made us go away and...and.."

"Think about what you did," the three chorused together.

"Man, I always wished he'd just hit me or something," Virgil murmured. "Then it would be all over with." Gordon and Scott nodded in sympathy.

Scott straightened up, taking a deep breath. "Well, I might as well go first. I'm the Field Commander, so it's all my responsibility."

"Too bad Alan wasn't on this expedition," Gordon said glumly. "We used to send him in first to soften the old man up."

"Yeah," Virgil nodded his head. "His sheer cuteness usually mellowed Dad out. Something about the blue eyes." They all sighed.

"Okay, looks like I'm up," Scott said. "Wish me luck."

Gordon encouragingly clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, then thought better of it and tried to wipe the vegetable oil off his hand, finally resorting to a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom.

Scott took a breath and shambled down the steps to the tarmac.

Seeing his eldest son after this fiasco, Jeff's face twitched, but no smile crossed his stony countenance. Barefoot and battered, Scott's clothing was torn almost to shreds and sodden with rancid vegetable oil.

Scott came to a stop in front of his father, standing at attention. Jeff eyed the black eye, split lip and various bruises. "In my office. Now," he said grimly.

Scott gulped. "Yessir," he said and hurried to obey.

Jeff raised his voice. "Virgil and Gordon?"

The two poked their head reluctantly through the door of the jet. "Yes sir?" Virgil asked.

"Go take showers, the both of you. Then come to my office when you're in clean clothes!" he barked.

"Yessir!" the both shouted and sprinted from the jet into the house.

Only when he was sure that he was alone and unobserved did Jeff Tracy begin to laugh.