Dear God, He's Gone and Done It: Chapter 9
Barbary gave it another five minutes before going to her door, opening it and checking the hallway. Apparently, Sherlock really had left. Immediately she ran and jumped into the shower; she felt as though she had to get the funk of the last few days off of her, never mind the fact that she had vomited earlier….she really, really needed a nice hot shower and a good shampooing.
After scrubbing down as diligently as possible, she dried off and walked completely naked through her apartment. This wasn't something she would ordinarily do; but there was nobody there to see, so why not? She raided her closet pulling out a pair of wide-leg, boot-cut jeans. Before jumping into them she pulled on some warm socks; she was still chilled to the bone after those days on the rooftop in the rain. Next, she put on her lingerie. Then she grabbed a bright blue Oxford style, button front blouse. While her hair was still damp, she pulled it back into a high and tight pony-tail, combing it out once it was up to ensure that every tangle was out and the hair was as smooth as possible. Next, she grabbed a pair of boots that she liked….they were leather, matte finish, with a slight heel (she hated heels, although most people of a shorter stature liked wearing heels to feel as though they were at least as tall as their counterparts…she hated the things). Then she took out her 'tool belt' and fastened it around her waist. On this belt were an assortment of small blades, four handguns (glocks; each gun had one extra clip), a small container of lighter fluid, a lighter…..after seeing that her belt was in place she grabbed her screaming red military style tweed jacket that had a hood; this coat came just slightly past her hips.
Yes, it might seem strange to wear something of such an alarming color when one was trying to blend in, especially considering the rest of her outfit was black. But, over the years, Barbary had found that this worked for her. In the event that the locals were asked by police to give a description of her, all they would likely be able to tell the cops is that it was a small woman wearing a red coat. Most of them would never be able to give a description of her face….they would only see a red coat and an hour-glass figure.
She walked out of her flat into the lift and made her way down to Edward and Phillip's concierge desk.
"Poppet?"
"Yes?"
"Do you feel up to recon work?"
"It's not whether I feel up to it. I don't really. But, it must be done if I am to know exactly what I am up against."
Truth be told, her head was still pounding; the concussion had faded some, but the headache left in its wake was a killer. And she couldn't get warm; she still had a bit of a fever that she couldn't shake. But this was the job. Yes, other people could be sent to gather the information she needed; but, their interpretation of the information could be different from hers. They might miss a detail that could be important, or they may give details that mean nothing. If she was to learn anything of substance and come out ahead, she had to do her own dirty work.
"Besides, I have already called Tarek, he will be accompanying me." She let out a confident, if not deviant giggle, as she walked towards the door of the building. She pulled up the hood on her jacket as she made her way toward the car waiting just beyond; Tarek waiting in the driver's seat.
"Mama, where would you like to go?"
"The bridge, baby boy. We need to ask around about any activities near the river."
"Of course, as you wish."
Tarek put the car in gear and began making his way through the London streets to the first bridge over the Thames that he would come to. Barbary wasn't sure that traffickers were behind this, but if the man stalking her all over London was who she expected him to be, it was a fair assumption. It was the only lead she had right now. And, where should you look for information about traffickers? The river, the docks, the old abandoned warehouses in that area.
Homeless people and those who worked the docks would be her best assets right now. Tarek with a pocket full of cash and an imposing size would grease the wheels of information quite nicely. She could not involve the police; they would only muck things up for her. They would want to do their little investigations. The fellows at Scotland Yard were noble enough…she knew quite a few nice detectives there. But, if those that were responsible for the threats made to Sherlock and her own attack were traffickers, they would smell law enforcement a block away. If they knew she was coming for them, all they would be able to smell was the stench of death.
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Sherlock was frustrated; John could tell as much when he arrived back at Baker Street. He and Mary had decided to check on Sherlock after their dinner. They could tell by the strains of….it couldn't be called music exactly….coming from the violin.
"Oh no."
Mary giggled, 'Barbary must have thrown him a curve ball."
"I don't think I like curve balls Mary. Curve balls….a bit not good for Sherlock."
"I don't know. I think it's nice that somebody can finally keep him on his toes for a change."
"You don't have to deal with the world's largest 2 year old on a daily basis."
Upon opening the door to the flat John and Mary saw Sherlock punishing that poor violin. Without breaking stride, Sherlock turned on them, dropping that poor Strad into his leather chair with the bow.
"She is confounding me."
"So this is about Barbary then."
"Of course it is John, please keep up. It takes too much energy to stop and explain myself every time."
John just glared at him before turning away from him to head into the kitchen to make some tea.
"What has she done now?" Mary was doing her best to stifle a shit eating grin.
"I blame you for this you know. Mary, she is your friend. You need to talk some sense into her."
"Answer the question Sherlock. What has she done now?" John came back into the room carrying the tray with all the things needed to make a wonderful cup of tea.
Sherlock was pacing.
"This must be good. He can't seem to come up with a satisfactory answer." Mary still couldn't help but snicker.
Sherlock shot her a look that would have killed a lesser woman.
"Sherlock…."
"I offered to stay with her." Seeing the look that John and Mary gave him, 'she's still sick. I didn't think she should be by herself; she did suffer a concussion after all. And it seems, at least in part, to be my fault somehow. Staying was the least I could do. But she said 'NO'. What exactly have you told her about me Mary?"
"Nothing."
"Mary..."
"Nothing. Much."
Grabbing his cell phone, Sherlock began to fire off a text to Mycroft. Before he could hit send, the man himself appeared at the door to the flat.
"I see that you have decided to have a quiet evening in tonight then, eh brother dear."
"What have you done Mycroft?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You have said or done something to Barbary?"
"I had heard that her attack was in some way connected to someone that is after you. I stopped by the hospital to see to her well-being; as I am here now to see to yours."
"She works for you; John has helped me establish that fact. Thank you John, by the way. Tonight she looked sad, possibly angry. What have you said to her?"
"She's concerned for your safety. You are an acquaintance of hers." Mycroft said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"No. I don't believe you. I mean, I believe you, but there is something that you are not telling me."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Mycroft couldn't help the grimace that accompanied his words.
"If you've done something to hurt her Mycroft….' Mary started in a tone that brooked no arguments.
"You are not exactly in a position to issue threats, are you Mrs. Watson?"
"You leave my wife out of this!"
"She fairly well involved herself, didn't she? And really John, what could you possibly do to me?"
"I can take quite good care of myself as things go, thank you John darling. Mycroft, you know what this will do to her." That last bit, Mary shot through gritted teeth.
"I haven't the time or the inclination to continue this little discussion. I have to be on my way. Pressing matters of national importance and all. Sherlock, will you be there for father's birthday?"
Sherlock never answered, just stared icily at his brother. Without another word, the elder Holmes brother made his grand exit.
No sooner than the front door of 221-B had shut than Sherlock had turned on Mary.
"What. Do. You. Know?"
"Nothing."
"How do you really know Barbary?"
"The thea…."
"And if you say that bloody theatre…." Sherlock's voice began rising slightly.
"If she hasn't told you herself maybe she has a reason to keep it to herself."
"I AM NOT a child. I wish that when it comes to matters dealing with my own life and personal safety people would stop treating me as such and hiding information from me."
"You mean like when someone dives off of the rooftop of a building to keep his friends from being killed by a sniper and plays dead for two years?" John tilted his head and looked at Sherlock with an arched eyebrow.
"Are we still on that?"
"I don't know Sherlock, are we? It doesn't feel so great when the shoe is on the other foot does it?"
"Suddenly, I know what an aneurism must feel like. I don't ultimately care who or why they are after me. But, in the process of coming after me, they have attacked her. And it is apparent that she works for my brother in some capacity, what that is…I don't know. But, if they come after me, attacking her in the process, then it stands to reason that an attack on Mycroft and therefore the British government could possibly follow. And, even if that doesn't take place…it is evident that your wife; yes you Mrs. Watson, apparently know Barbary from some place other than the theatre. Since you have a past as an assassin, I have to assume that your paths crossed back during that time. And, if that is the case, who is to say that they won't target you? We have to look at all possible angles."
Sherlock walked brusquely across the room, walking on top of the coffee table, and then standing on the sofa as he took down some of the pictures that were currently hanging on the wall and beginning to replace them with pictures of Barbary that some of the people on his 'Homeless Network' had sent him through text messages (or delivered to him by hand) as well as a picture of Mycroft (that he promptly drew a Hitler style mustache on). To this he added a picture of himself, one of John and Mary together…
Backing up he began to look at the pictures and connect them with his strings across the enormous map of London behind them all. After prepping his map, he stepped down from the sofa and made his way back over to the fireplace, glaring.
"What is it now?"
"Too many variables."
"What?"
"I know that Mycroft is involved; Barbary and myself of course. You and Mary are involved by default, maybe…maybe more than default. But there are players that I don't know of yet. I have my network looking into the finer details that might escape us. A couple of them have a lead on an identity of the person who attacked Barbary, but nothing solid yet. I don't like not knowing."
"What lead seems to be so promising?"
"Something about a mercenary that has been tracking her. I knew he was following her. She said they were likely following me. I wonder if she really thought that or if…"
"Don't be daft. She was trying to get you to back off the trail."
"Precisely. Wiggins tells me that this man's path crossed with Barbary around ten years ago in Macedonia…."
"Macedonia? That's an odd place. You'd expect strange things to happen in Russia, Serbia, places like that….you're always hearing about the things they are up to in the news. But, Macedonia?"
"Yes John. Macedonia. Apparently the criminals are getting hip to the fact that Russia, Serbia, and places like that are becoming hot spots for criminal activity. And, depending on the sort of crime that you are into, low key is the way to go."
"Yeah, I suppose. Macedonia. Hmm."
Sherlock's phone went off, he answered it.
"What! We'll be there in…' Sherlock looked at his watch, 'give us twenty minutes."
"What's going on?"
"That was Lestrade. There's been a fire down by the docks, a taxi cab; body in the trunk."
Mary tossed John the coat that he had thrown into his favorite chair with a whispered, 'Go."
John raced behind Sherlock as they left Baker Street, hailing another cab and giving him the address of the crime scene. Upon arrival, Sherlock recognized the cab immediately; he could just make out the call numbers of the car near the fender, they hadn't been completely destroyed yet.
"The body?" Sherlock coldly asked of Lestrade.
"There's not much left. We'll have to get him down to Bart's and let Molly have a go at it. At this rate, dental records will likely be our best bet."
"I knew this man. Briefly. I sat in this cab not more than an hour ago. It took me from the Academy Buildings, off the N1 back to Baker Street."
"The Academy Buildings? What's that got to do with anything?"
"Les…"
"Sherlock's new….girlfriend…lives there." John chanced.
"She is not my girlfriend…"
"Sherlock doesn't 'do' relationships."
"Yeah, well this girl already has him pretty turned around; so I wouldn't be too sure about things." John grinned. He knew he'd pay for this later, Sherlock would find a devious way to pay him back; this time it might be something worse than sawing on that poor violin at 2:45 in the morning like a complete novice. It wasn't totally out of the question to expect to wake up to various body parts scattered in his bed or around his room as payback. This was Sherlock after all. Be that as it may, John had to take his shots when he could.
"What's she like? If she has Sherlock in such a twist, I have to meet her. She deserves a medal."
"She's lovely. She's a young lady that Mary met through the theatre…" Sherlock audibly balked at this statement. "She's just a mite though, a tiny thing. Quite attractive. When Sherlock first met her I thought for a moment that he might rip the arms off of one of the men that were on stage with her during rehearsals; and that was before they had even been introduced properly."
"Back to important matters. Gavin, who called in the fire?"
Lestrade closed his eyes and shook his head, determined not to let Sherlock's attitude get the best of him. "There were a few anonymous tips. According to our understanding, there was a caller with a thick Middle-Eastern accent; definitely male, quite deep voice. By virtue of it being anonymous there was no name or anything left that could identify the caller. But we have techs trying to trace the number that the call was placed from. So far they've come up with practically nothing. I'm not sure if the caller stayed on the line long enough for it to be possible to trace its location."
Sherlock whirled around quickly, almost manically, checking his surroundings.
"John. Barbary."
"What about her?"
"Her flat isn't far from here, maybe a ten minute drive, fifteen at the most, depending on traffic of course."
"Yes. But what has she got to do with a burned out taxi cab with a body in the trunk?"
"I don't know. But it's interesting, don't you think. She gets attacked to send me a message, then, we find a burned out taxi almost within sight of her flat and one of the phone calls placed to the Yard about this particular fire was from an anonymous source."
"People call in anonymous tips all the time Sherlock, that doesn't mean tha…."
"How many other tips did you get about this fire, George?"
"Now, you're just being a dick. We got eight."
"How many of them were anonymous tips?"
"Two."
"Of those two, did they sound English?"
"No. One was the man with the Arabic accent and the other was a woman that spoke mostly French, I think."
"What are the odds that two people from two separate countries, staying in London at the same time would just so happen to come across this burning car and call in anonymous tips to the police?"
"Alright. Well, as I have said, we can run a trace on the numbers for those two calls."
"Don't bother. Likely they were both made from burner phones which have already been discarded."
"Sherlock! John?"
"We think his girlfriend works for Mycroft."
"Not my girlfriend."
"Oh, for crying out…..If Mycroft is hip deep in this my job just got 100x's bloody harder."
"But you want her to be your girlfriend."
"John. Really? 'Married to my work', 'I don't do relationships'. Have you been listening at all these past few years?"
"You see but do not observe, Sherlock."
Sherlock glowered at John. Lestrade couldn't help but snicker a bit, but he cut that short when Sherlock turned the rays of death on him.
"Well, if she works for Mycroft, and is as you say connected to this somehow, you can bet there won't be a lengthy investigation. Wait a second. If she works for…"
"Yes, Gavin, it's very likely the reason that we met is because it was arranged to happen by the great wizard himself. Ah! Here we are now."
An unknown car was pulling up to the scene; it was an electric blue color, not very subtle. Barbary got out of the passenger side, following behind a mountain of a man…an Arabic man…that was nearly three times her size. The man began to speak as they neared the grouping of three men, his accent thick.
"The name of the man in the trunk is Giles Thatcher."
"And how might you know this…" Lestrade was fishing for a name.
The mountain arched an eyebrow at Lestrade. Lestrade was not a small man, he was slightly above average height, and held his own as far as being able to defend himself. But, this man made him look like a tinker toy. He was roughly 2 meters tall and approximately 136 kg; he had dark hair…jet black as a matter of fact, that was long enough to hang just past his shoulders that he kept pulled neatly back at the base of his neck.
"He is an acquaintance of mine." Barbary stepped from behind the mountain and spoke finally.
"Ah, you must be Barbary. John said you were a…friend of Sherlock's."
"And you must be Inspector Lestrade. Mary has mentioned you a couple of times. She said you were handsome. But she didn't do you justice."
She went on buttering Lestrade up.
"And it starts…" Sherlock mumbled under his breath.
"Jealous? I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend." Lestrade managed to rib him, giving him a wink.
Turning to Barbary, 'We will have the pathologist at Bart's perform an autopsy. I mean, we know how he died sure; it's pretty cut and dry. But, it's still procedure."
"I doubt that will be necessary."
"Procedure."
"Yes, and Gary is nothing if not a stickler for procedure." Sherlock almost snarled as he glared at Lestrade.
Barbary turned to the heap of man standing next to her and spoke to him in Arabic, with a few French words thrown in to confuse everybody. When she finished, the man turned and took out a cell phone and made a call.
"I guess it's the season for it then." Sally was coming over to the group, snarky comments at the ready.
"Whatever are you talking about Donovan?" Sherlock really had no time for her today. He had a smoking body in the trunk of a car. The murderer was trying to send a message to him; said murderer had already attacked a woman he was attracted to. Let's not mention that this woman was standing mere feet away, so distracting that Sherlock could barely string two thoughts together. It was plucking his nerves.
"The season for the people around you to start dropping like flies, eh freak."
Poor Sally Donovan. She barely finished the word 'freak' before she was shoved against the burned shell of the car with a hand around her throat. Sally's eyes were huge; she had never seen it coming.
"What. Did. You. Call. Him?" Barbary was doing her dead level best to be in Donovan's face, even though the female detective was several inches taller than Barbary. Add to that the fact that Barbary kept squeezing her hand tighter around Donovan's throat. "Considering how many times he has had to do your job for you, you should be kissing the feet of Sherlock Holmes as we speak." The dangerous edge in her voice was unmistakable.
There was a part of Sherlock that felt sorry for Sally. But the larger part of him felt smug….so damned smug. John and Lestrade both had to pull the tiny woman off of Donovan; John actually had to pry each of Barbary's fingers separately from around her throat.
"Barbary, let go."
After they pulled her off, John pulled her several feet back to give Sally room to get out of the way.
"Call him a freak just once more in my presence. I dare you. That was your only warning."
"You Bitch! You do understand that I am a police detective, surrounded by a great amount of some of the best police force in the entire country…and they each have access to weapons?"
"Yes. Well, let me tell you who I am. I am a highly trained assassin. I work for your freak's brother. I don't hesitate. My hands don't shake. I know a little something about hand to hand combat. It would take me less than five minutes to leave you and this half of Scotland Yard a pile of rotting corpses; although it would pain me to do so. I will say it again. Call him a freak in front of me one more time. Please. I dare you."
Apparently, whatever phone call the mountain had taken was over because he came back over to the gathering and heard Barbary issuing threats. She didn't write those checks idly.
"Mother, leave the ignorant detective alone. She wasn't raised any better." The man, apparently named Tarek even went so far as to pat her on the head as if she was the child, until she glared up to him daring him to do it again.
"Baby boy are the arrangements made then?"
"Wait. What?" Sherlock's and John's heads whipped around between Barbary and the huge man.
"What arrangements?" Lestrade was focused on the job, which was strange; Sherlock was usually the one that was too involved in the work and would have to remind everybody else to get back to work.
"If you insist on having an autopsy run on this man, then I must insist that the pathologist has someone with her at all times. This man was killed because of his proximity not only to Sherlock, but also me. And if the person who did this would kill simple taxi driver, then they would have no trouble whatsoever going after a pathologist that is trying to help you catch the criminal. Tarek has made arrangements for…associates of ours to offer this pathologist protection until further notice."
"Yasmina has said she will be there within the next twenty minutes. We were lucky she was in the city."
"No baby. She's in the city because she is going to ask you to dinner. Act surprised when she comes over. I do love Yasmina, she's such a good girl. That reminds me, I must send her father a 'thank you' note for the tea he shipped to me last week."
"You could just invite Piri to dinner; he will be in town in the next few days. You could thank him then. You haven't seen him since that last assignment that he helped us with, that was over six months ago."
"Wait a minute." John and Sherlock both shouted.
"Yes boys?" Barbary looked at Sherlock and John.
"Are the two of you…." John was the only one able to eve try to get the question out.
"Yes. Tarek is my son. He gets his height from his father, apparently." Barbary shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Oh, Donovan is it? I forgot you were there. You may go." Barbary gave the female detective an arched eyebrow in hopes it would incite another confrontation.
"Go on Sally, don't antagonize her any further." Lestrade gave the order.
Upon seeing Anderson, Barbary couldn't resist, 'That's what gets you on your knees then Sally? Oh. Well...I guess it's true what they say. There's no accounting for taste. But, then, I guess your options would be limited." Turning back to Lestrade as she saw Sally Donovan start to come after her being stopped by one of the other officers on the scene, 'Inspector Lestrade, I have some work to attend to in the city, but here is my mobile number. Contact me about the case if you must. Although, I would like to say that by the time you catch up to this killer you will need a shovel to scoop up what is left. Come boy, there is work to do. Good day Sergeant Donovan, and mind the knees."
With that Barbary back to the car that Tarek had driven to the scene. Sherlock looked smug, as though he had just won the Nobel Prize for his work…and he might have been struggling to not laugh at the whole interaction between the two women. John, himself, found it difficult not to break into fits of laughter. It was wonderful to see Sgt. Donovan finally put in her place by someone other than John or Sherlock. John would admit though, that he had to wonder what Lestrade thought of the whole display.
Poor Anderson was still staring in shock; he couldn't figure out what he had done to be dragged into this whole thing.
John couldn't help himself, 'Barbary, I thought that you were ill. You had pneumonia and a concussion."
"Oh, John, my darlin', I wasn't quite as sick as I made out. The concussion was real enough though."
Soon after Barbary's departure, Sherlock and John also left. Sherlock needed to go claim his seat in front of Molly's microscope at Bart's, John needed to sit back and watch him be brilliant as always, and Molly…Molly needed to get them coffee.
"Sherlock?"
"I need to speak to Billy and find out what he knows. He can get the word out quickly enough."
"Isn't it possible that she may have her own homeless network?"
"Don't be daft. She's been paying my homeless people to snitch for her as well, doubling whatever I have been paying to get the information she needs. The only reason I let it continue without too much argument is because the money she is spending is Mycroft's, and he deserves it."
"How can you be sure that she is using 'your' network?"
"Oh please, Mycroft has paid her to become my shadow and you don't think that she has learned about the homeless network?"
"When you put it that way, it does sound reasonable."
"Quite. Now, I just have to explain to Mrs. Hudson that the rent may be a bit late this month."
"Why don't you just wait until Barbary finds the information out that she needs to know and then deduce it like you have done everything else. It will give your brain exercises to do and keep you from getting bored."
"This is true."
"And you do like Barbary. You also like deducing her more than most, even though she denies all the facts; it seems to be what makes it so fun for you, the fact that she thinks she can hide from you."
"Yes. You have a marvelous idea; seems as though I won't be upsetting Mrs. Hudson anytime soon then." He had a grin on his face that couldn't have been erased if you tried.
"What are you planning Sherlock? That look usually lands one or both of us in jail at least over-night. How many times has Lestrade had to bail us out?"
"Oh nothing like that John, do calm down. We're going to Bart's for a couple of hours, then after dropping you back at Baker Street I will need to go out for the night."
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Down the street, a few buildings away, on the eighth floor of an office building, from an empty office that was down for remodeling, a man with a pair of high powered binoculars looked on the scene. He had a listening device employed as well. After he heard the bulk of the conversations, he cut the volume down on the machine and placed a call to his employers.
"Yes, they were both on the scene. I had a decent vantage point. The chance couldn't be taken; there were too many cops around. I thought that this should be done with some discretion. I thought it better to not draw too much attention, and having the better half of NYS within striking distance might be counter-productive to the issue at hand. Yes, Khaled, I know the objective. Obtain the girl at all costs; even if it means bringing down the elder Holmes brother as well. That I would do with great relish for free….consider it a bonus to you for the trouble of waiting so patiently. And, I may even have a way to get at the brothers Holmes, both of them, and their little dogs too. I will have to do a little more fact checking, but I may have an idea. Very well sir. Until later then."
Upon hanging up the phone, the shadowy man picked up a stack of surveillance photos; Mary, John, Mrs. Hudson…Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes…some of these photos were of the players alone or together, some had them with Barbary….His prized photos though consisted of the parents, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, as well as baby girl Watson. He could take the baby. John and Mary would fold quickly after that. He could take Mary or John and the other would fold (but either one of them were too dangerous a target without incentive to play along nicely…Mary was a former assassin/secret agent, Dr. Watson had been in the military, so he was no slouch). He could take Sherlock and Mycroft would cave at all costs. He could take Mycroft and Sherlock would likely give him an award. If he took the parents he could get Barbary, Sherlock, and Mycroft all in one. Barbary had never known what it was like to have a caring family; she would do whatever it took to keep the elders safe. The Holmes boys would come running to save the girl. If he took either Holmes brother, same results, Barbary would throw herself in front of a bus for them.
He needed to take a few days to think of the different scenarios; how he could snatch whichever person might be. He may have to call in a few extra pairs of hands. He would huff and puff and blow this house of cards down by the time he was finished.
He wanted that bitch's head on a platter. Pulling Mycroft Holmes off of his high horse was a bonus he was sure to get paid handsomely for; and IF the British government crumbled in his absence, more the better, there was always someone waiting to fill the void.
Packing up his surveillance gear, the man made his way back down to the river after the police left, dumping the bag. With it went the binoculars, the listening device, a couple of weapons….he could easily acquire others. He kept the photographs tucked carefully within a pocket on his black leather jacket and made his way across town to the abandoned building that he was using as his perch.
As he made his way through the streets of London he inserted his ear buds and pressed play on his ipod, lighting a cigarette. 'The Clash-London Calling' began blaring, bringing a smile to his face.
If he saw the homeless 'tweeker' that had watched him from around the corner; a tall young man with large blue eyes that bordered too large for his face, dark hair that was sort of disheveled, an old sweater probably salvaged from a dumpster or second-hand store. Upon watching the man with the Ipod pass buy him, this disheveled young man made his way back to his position and got comfortable; he needed to ready himself to make a call.
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Post AN: M'kay. There's chapter 9. Any ideas on who the tweeker might be? :D I make no apologies for how Barbary handles Sally Donovan. No apologies…..none. LOL. Stay tuned.