Fsog empicirl son 20

Shadow puppets

The air is quiet tonight, the woods nearby are shadows after the rains. Sitting here in the Adirondack chairs; I build years ago. Sipping a nice hard cider fermented last week. Watching the birds flirt about before the dusk runs away too nights moonless abode. I should be in Seatle, or Portland. Hyde the scum made bail and disappeared. Even, the vaulted Welch has lost the scum. I have several feelers out and about, with the pocket 45 in the Binocular case.

I have wondered over the years, how my life would have been better or worse if my first wife had not died, or the daughter we had? Would she have been like Annie. Would Annie have been like her. I miss them and still would not change a thing to have my daughter Annie. Strange how life here in the border of suburbia, where once just five years ago was farm and wildlands; Backing up to the national forest and park. Now, the house creep closer every year, the closed boxes, self-imposed prison cells people hide in; whether sheep of wolf, monster, or saint no one knows until the light shines down in the aftermath. But here on my porch in the Monsanto woods; The shadows grow long as the monsters in the woods' creep towards me.

I miss Annie's father, Frank. My executive officer on my new team, my last team, karma is a bitch; They were young horse bracing the bridles to run free. I can remember my early days the thrills, the pride in being the best. The miseries and pains of failures, being passed over. That mission into the 'Colombian highlands,' benched. Then the rebuild of the fox after only three returned. Visions of Franks goofy smile that even the mask could not hide, as we walked to the end of the ramp. The high-five off the ramp. The horror of his chute failing, the plunging chase, I and Jose could not win. Seeing Carla lost and whoring with Annie in the car. I took them in, got her clean and sober and thought we could make it. Carla proved me wrong and a fool. But in the end, I got my daughter back.

The glass is empty. The night sensor on the bug zapper is humming, and I did not get my wish that the scum did not creep out of the shadows so I could kill him. Maybe tomorrow. I pet my new dogs that Annie got from Amelia Grey. I like the girl, but still feel she has malice against my girl buried in those eyes. Tomorrow, Tomorrow I will see if any nibbles on the bait or lures. Here or in Seattle.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Anna-pov: Tuesday:

I flipped a coin and started my doctrinal at Oxford, the first two class are remote, a good thing. I have two remote classes from Harvard, one with a certain unhappy billionaire; Symbolism in American Literature, anthropological and sociological. And one remote class from UC Berkeley and one in person class at U of W near Elliot and Mad's house. She is in the remote from Berkeley, Advanced Hermetism and Rosicrucianism in Literature. I will have to balance next semester because I need three in person classes at Oxford.

Roz and Gwen are already teasing Chris about remodeling the office and headquarters; Although I think the pastel floral patterned business suite was a little too much; blowing the whole prank and joke betting pool. I lost fifty bucks because Christian signed off on the leather SM business suite to spite them. Andrea was heartbroken when the peeing cupid statues for the lobby was nixed; she had a hundred, the max allowed bet, that Roz would approve.

But I must think about the problems at hand. Senior and Ray are hunting Hyde with everyone else. I have two CPO, including a woman. Welch and Jason are taking my movements like I'm the president or the Queen in Catholic Ulster. The money outflow is staggering. Taken with the threats from Christian business in Asia. The linger malice from the India company, and the brutal interference in the Baltic Sea. Already three countries hostile to the USA are bitching about the mussel and clam seed farms in Sweden, Finland, and Estonia. They have not been in operation thirty days and already the bad actors are claiming decades of pollution and back taxes. The Russia's filed a patent infringement case in the World Court for a patent that was free a century ago on how to grow mussel seeds.

I finish unloading the PR statements, and educational market plans to stop the idiots, abuse the bad actors and destroy the enemies of Christian and myself. Top everything else off, Grace is still a pain in the ass and Amelia is not helping, even from Paris. The little twit just threw lighter fluid on smoldering problem of the Grandparent's anniversary party, next month. The October party has bloomed from fifty close friends to four hundred to eight hundred people charity events for the grandparents' farm to school charity and Amelia rare dog and Graces hospital Cancer ward. The whole thing is going to be at the Museum of Pop Culture. The security budget just went to four million. Amelia sent me dress designs to have custom created, like I do not have a closet full of dress already.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The road is long and harken bleakly into the dawn. The sky is hazy in low clouds about to storm. Wild beast in their lair, dare not stir for fear the rains will pour and torrents unleash in the arroyos and canyons about. The wings dip and bob with the unsettled air. As we buzz across the Great Basin's fare; rising to clear telephone poles and fenced pastures lands. The rocky outcrops, and barren peaks.

Our escape is nearly complete, I wish it was true. We sail forth on the jet fumes rocketing out of the dark into the dawn. As My lady snores next to me, in some wordless song. I snicker in glean as I execute a barrel roll watching my lady. She screams "Christian!"

"Yes, My lady fair?" In bored calm mono tones.

"You did realize I has the cold tea in cup holder?"

"Did you now? How now is it in your hand?"

"Because my idiotic boyfriend rolled the dam plane!"

"Me Roll the plane? I don't believe I did. I inferred the world rotated, and dumped the tea in a plot to expiry the world your artful song in snore major." I laugh, mistake as the cold dredges of tea splash my face and dripple down my chest. I do what any self-respecting cad of a boyfriend and mindless fiancée would do. I barrel roll the aircraft four consecutive times.

Pulling out to climb into the sky; before attack radar from the good or bad people along ET highway start shooting at us. We are bound for a little island south of Fidel and east of tax cheats Cay. After a brief refueling at Corpus Christi with a side of clearing customs. A changing plane at Sala B Aeropuerto Internacional de Mérida. Then a lazy blitz across the blue Caribbean to Henry E. Rohlsen Airport on St. Croix then a friend's house on Sprat Hall Beach.

The gang of Seattle and Bellevue are going to be very pissed we supposed to be flying to Portland. The vehicle convoy was rolling to meet us. Then a supposed hop to Aspen. Instead, we are winging across the hemisphere to a blue-sky holiday from the gloom and doom of family and friends. Or at least that was my pitch to the coed beside me. I don know if that sold her or the fact we have a week of sun, beach, and no friends or family or anything but sun, sand, sex and maybe the occasional forage for other homo-sapiens. As the house on the beach comes without staff, owners. And only very hidden discreet security.

We are going to try very hard to be without others for at least a week, maybe even ten days. If I win the bet, we get to go to a business conference in Altice Arena, Lisbon, Portugal. With the reclusive little miss as my PA and sex slave. If my better half wins, God forbid. We spent a week at The Frankfurt Book Fair (aka Buchmesse) on profession tickets. The world's largest trade fair, Anna teased we would cover about a quarter or the stalls and events. She smirked that I might want to invest in a hotel or house since she may plan on bi yearly visit during her post grad days in Oxford. I dread being her personal PA and gopher without my staff aid carrying books. She already has a postal and tax schedule for Germany to Seattle posted on her to do page; the starting weight is one thousand pounds with top weight at twenty-five tons. If it was anything but books? I would bet she was bluffing me. She already sent bookcase dimensions to Ray, and queried the building engineer about her library expansion; In Seattle, New York, and London. That unlimited Amex is starting to feel like a nightmare about to be unleashed.

But that is then this is now, as we float into Corpus Christi for fuel and customs. We should be airborne in thirty minutes. With lucky the natives are still looking. My flight plan for this plane is for Costa Rican.

The beach is tumble of trees and warren of trails. The other people we have seen are distance. Not friendly but just others searching for a bit of private time and space. Tomorrow if thing go well, Lisbon we will be bound for. Next year the Buchmesse. I pour some sun screen on my ladies back and rub the fluid in, lounging in the shade of the trees and hidden by a wind break.

"Christian honey bear. I should tell you something important?"

"Sure" nibbling her ear "Tell me all your secrets?"

"Not a secret, but I think you should shave your legs for lederhosen." She giggles.

"What?"

"Hi Gail, Hi Jason! Christian kidnapped me, I swear!" She laughs as I look up. Great the adults are here. Jumping up, I splash into the surf to cool off. Seven days, that is the best I could hide from my staff. Looking up? Jason is in the water. "Couldn't have held back till tomorrow!"

"Why tomorrow?"

"Because I would have won the bet an we would be in Lisbon for the trade show. NOW! We are going to Frankfurt for the world largest book fair. An if I must wear Lederhosen, every swing dick and chick on security will be in them. Including you! Arghh. Kraken were are you when I need a mercifully death." Falling backward into the surf.

We swim a bit before returning to the house. The Girls have us packed and ready to abandon here for return to the land of rain and insane kin and staff. Roz starts video conference, damn my flintstones for making this possible, as soon as the plane launches into the sunny mid-day over the blue waves of the Caribbean. We will just make the grandparents party, Damn my staff!

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Seattle: mad pov

I wash the truck, the ugly, beast of a truck. I wash the damn truck because I lied and was caught. How was I to know that Welsh and company bugged my phone, my computer, and the payphone inside the Supermarket in Lynwood. The only one in the five square miles. When, they crow to Anna, I'm dead meat. That how they found her.

I had to call the emergency burner phone about doctors' appointment. I look at my ugly brute of a Neanderthal husband; lounging looking at me in my lace underwear: WASHING THE DAMN TRUCK. At least the punishment has a negative for him. IF he wanks even a quarter stroke; he is shaved, waxed, and going to the charity benefit gala at Carrick and Grace country club. He didn't think of that bet when he crowed this punishment. At least I'm pretty sure he didn't? I suds up the sponge and full bend over to do the bumper. OH, my loo-roo-laa. Looking between my knees at him sprung and squirming.

Smiling I squeeze the sponge dry. As he loses his mind and the bet. "OH Baby that looks painful. Not as painful as the full Brazilian for the gala." As the mind catches up with the act. He groans and falls sideway to the grass. Walk over to him, above him. As the dogs pile about. "SO, Elliott. Can we in the morning take the breast to the carwash, my treat. Or do I continue and you sleep downstairs?"

"I surrender." He rolls up and toss me over his shoulder. Headed to bed. The dogs bark and chase us. Hope the bean in the oven is happy; because her daddy is damn happy; or at least when I spill the bean in his lap. Must remember to have Andrea photobomb him for the baby book. OH! That wicked tongue is good for something other than laughing at me.