They were up early, Ivy staring stonily into the distance as Callie fed her two breakfast sandwiches, one sausage, one bacon, and gave her orange juice to drink. She sighed, and gave her the magic can of caffeine-free Coke.

“I swear, you’re as bad as Grace.”

“Mmfh,” said Ivy, and waddled to the bathroom. Callie cleaned up, took out a medium-sized cooler, threw in two blue frozen packs, put in four bottles of water, two cans of caffeine-free Coke, and two bento boxes of healthy snacks of fruit, veggies, and nuts. She also packed stadium cushions, and tennis balls in a sock. Then, she added two more icy blue packs. She loaded up her little car, now a much safer, used Honda Civic with a rear-view camera. She looked sadly at the bike garage, missing her Harley. She took a bathroom break, and found Ivy slumped over a kitchen chair.

She half-dragged Ivy to the car, waved goodbye to the girls who were giggling in Bao’s window, and drove away. She put on a parenting podcast that had her screaming with laughter at the antics of a woman’s toddler, as Ivy slept. She awoke for a water and a bathroom break, and snacked on a bento box while Callie switched to Ivy’s rock. Ivy was awake enough to feed Callie some cheese and crackers and grapes as well.

The wind was up, so they both waddled into the courthouse as quickly as possible. Callie carried in the cooler, which was dutifully scanned and let through.

The guard, a black female with short hair and a huge smile said, “Ya’ll keep hydrated, you hear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Callie.

They took the elevator to the second floor. Nye County Sheriff Xenia Poloulakis met them at the door to the courtroom.

“You ladies sit at the back,” she said. “I’ve explained to the judge, and she understands you’ll be slipping out a lot.”

Ivy nodded. “I’ll go one more time, but I gotta see this.”

“Me too,” said Callie. “This guy sounds like someone who needs to understand what he did.”

“I doubt he understands a damn thing,” said Xenia. “Thinks we have a vendetta.” Her face was closed. Callie knew she was truly angry.

Pahrump Sheriff, Robin “Bob” Hunter came around the corner. He was strong, an obvious bodybuilder, with arms that showed clear definition under his uniform. He liked kickboxing, as evidenced by his twice-broken nose and a bruised hand. He had whiskey-brown hair and eyes, and his look was sad compared to Xenia’s thunder.

“Bob,” said Xenia.

“Xenia,” he said. “Ladies.”

Ivy waddled up to join them. “Xenia!” They did the Valkyrie hand clasp.

“Still want you for the Valkyries,” said Xenia.

“Screw you,” said Ivy. “Nighthawks all the way.”

“Still cranky,” said Callie. “A long car ride did not improve her disposition.”

“Ladies,” said Bob, and he opened the door for them.

They sat behind the deceased beagle’s owner, Jeremy Bear. He was seventy-one years old, with a shock of white hair, and piercing brown eyes. His daughter, Amelia Bear, was sitting next to him, hands folded in her lap. She looked beat down by life. She wore a shapeless dress, unlike her father, who dressed in jeans and a crisp shirt, a leather jacket on the seat beside him.

“Thanks for coming,” Jeremy said. “Surprised that boy hasn’t killed a human yet.”

“I was pregnant when he drew a gun on me in a hospital hallway,” said Ivy.

“I can see that,” said Jeremy. “Congratulations.” He looked down at Callie’s protruding belly. “Both of you.”

“Due at the same time,” said Ivy, rubbing her back. Callie took two cushions out of the bag, and put them on the hard seats of the courtroom gallery.

“I should have thought of that,” said Jeremy.

“Have mine,” said Callie.

“No,” he said. “I testify first.”

Callie gave Ivy a sock with two tennis balls in it, and Ivy put it in the small of her back, and groaned. Callie took out one for herself, handed Ivy a caffeine-free Coke and took a water, to sip. She settled back for the show.

“All rise,” said the bailiff. “Court is in session, come forth to be heard. The Honorable Sheila Stone is presiding.”

“Sit down,” said Sheila, waving her hand. “Ivy, Callie, you are released from having to stand up and sit down when I enter or leave a room, you hear?” she said.

“Yes Ma’am,” they both said, in unison.”

“Are the attorneys present?” asked the judge.

“Ignatious Fowler for the defense,” said a reedy man, wearing a blue, three-piece suit, accentuated by gold, wire-rimmed glasses that made his blue eyes look huge.

“Eduardo Flores for the prosecution,” said a tall, thin man, with jet-back hair and shrewd eyes, wearing a sharp suit.

“Are you ready to proceed?” asked the judge.

Fowler stood. “Motion to dismiss, your honor. This is obviously a vendetta from the Pahrump and Nye County Sheriff’s Department against my client.”

“Denied,” said the judge. “Are you certain you want a judge and not a jury?” asked the judge.

“We do,” said Fowler. “We are certain you can see through frothy emotional appeal, your honor.”

Judge Stone sighed. “Proceed. Mr. Flores, you may call your first witness.”

Jeremy testified that his forty-nine-year-old daughter, fleeing an abusive marriage, had moved in with him. She had run up parking tickets she didn’t have the money to pay, and Jeremy was not aware of them.

“Would have paid them,” he said, “and found her somewhere else to park. She needed to park by the clothing store, though. Too dangerous at night not to.”

“Did you have any idea there was a bench warrant out for her arrest?”

“No,” he said. “Like I said, I would have paid them myself.”

“Please, tell us what happened the evening of September third.”

“Of course,” he said. “We were both watchin’ TV, with Primmie, our dog. She was thirteen when she died, a beagle. Gettin’ hard for her to walk too far. There was some awful hammering at the door, ‘round ten at night. Rosie started barking. I got up to answer the door. Primmie was barkin’ too, and she went out the door and stood on the porch, and barked some more.”

“Who was at the door?” asked Mr. Flores.

Jeremy pointed. “That guy at the table. I later found out his name was Officer Marcel Avery.”

“Was he in uniform?”

“Yes,” said Jeremy.

“Can you describe the uniform?”

“He was wearing the brown uniform, covered by a bulletproof vest, and a black cap pulled low, and lots of things around his waist, and sunglasses! At ten o’clock at night! Mirrored ones. And black, steel-toed boots. And he had this big gun, and he had it out.”

“What did he do next?” asked Mr. Flores.

“He shot my dog. He shot Primmie. Before I could even get a word out, ask who he was, ask why he was there. He shot my dog.” Tears streamed down his face. Mr. Flores handed him a box of tissues, and he took one.

“You didn’t have time to ask Primmie to stop barking, or get her into the house?”

“No,” said Jeremy.

“Did Primmie ever bite anyone?”

“She did when I brought her home, at eight weeks, after Myrna died. To keep me company. I taught her to chew toys, not people or shoes. She hadn’t even been chewing toys for… about two years now.”

“Did he identify himself as a police officer?” asked Mr. Flores.

“No, he did not,” said Jeremy.

Mr. Flores entered pictures into evidence of the dead dog, the gun, and several pictures of what Avery was wearing that night.

Mr. Fowler was not kind to Jeremy. He tried to get him to say the dog was dangerous, and that he was lying about Avery not identifying himself, but Jeremy was unshakable. Fowler was nearly held in contempt for badgering the witness.

“Move along,” said the judge, several times. Finally, Mr. Fowler ran out of steam.

Amelia Bear came up next. In a tired voice, she laid out exactly the same story. She had come up behind her father to see what was going on, and had seen and heard the whole thing. She sobbed piteously. Mr. Fowler tried to shake her, but she kept saying the same thing over and over in her small, sad voice.

Sheriff Hunter was next on the stand. Mr. Flores walked him through his time in the army, his training in the military police, and his training to become an officer, then as sheriff when the previous one retired.

“Did you train Officer Avery?” he asked.

“I did, once it became clear he wasn’t listening to his training officer, Lydia Kan.”

“How did you know he wasn’t listening to her?” asked Mr. Flores.

“She told me so, so I observed the dashcam, which also records conversation inside the car. He was rude, disrespectful, and refused to do as she asked. So, I took over his training.”

“How did you get him to listen?”

“I made him repeat what I said, verbatim. I gave him tests on what he learned that day, which he often failed, both written and verbal. I explained to him about community policing, and about listening to the needs of the community.”

“Can you give an example of this community policing?”

“Well, Myrna Hofsteder (and I did get her permission to tell this story) was getting drunk and causing a disturbance about once a week at the casino, gambling what little she got from Social Security. She was about to be kicked out of her apartment. So, I got with a social worker, and the high school, and the church ladies. The high school started a coding class for seniors at the library. Some rich guy from California heard about it and donated some cheap computers from Wal-Mart. So, now Myrna and lots of the ladies and gents code for non-profits that work with seniors. They all get paid, too, one dollar less than what Social Security says they can make. No more senior gambling problem, and lots of nice organizations for seniors get the help they need.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. Now, did you teach Officer Avery to serve warrants at ten at night?”

“No, Ma’am. He was also supposed to have another officer with him, at all times.”

“Did you tell him to wear sunglasses at night and steel-toed boots?”

“No, Sir, I did not.”

Mr. Flores showed him a blowup picture of Officer Avery that night. “Can you show us what he was supposed to be wearing on his duty belt?” The sheriff pointed out the baton, flashlight, cuffs, taser, gun, radio pouch, keys, window punch, pen and pencil, and pepper spray on the belt.

“Was he supposed to be wearing a sap?”

“No, Sir.”

“What about the bulletproof vest?”

“We rarely have call to use them. There are registered medical cannabis patients; pot farmers who grow over the legal limit, which is up to twelve plants per household if they live over twenty-five miles from a legal cannabis shop. The amount of power and water needed to grow pot in the desert is staggering, so that isn’t too much of a problem. Raiding a meth house, or dealing with a distraught person with a gun, then yes. Going to serve a warrant for a parking ticket, no.”

“How should he have approached this situation, the way that you taught him?”

“Objection!” said Mr. Fowler. “Speculation.”

“Overruled,” said the judge. “As the man’s training officer, the sheriff here should be able to tell us what he taught Officer Avery.”

“He should have had someone with him. He should have gone during daylight hours. He should have not been wearing glasses at night that would impede vision. He should have identified himself, and asked if the person on the warrant was there. He had no business being there that late. During the day, the woman could have been given the opportunity and gone down and paid the tickets. This, rather than spending a wasteful night in jail that costs the city money, unnecessarily. He should have asked the dog owner to restrain the dog. If the dog actually ran at him, he had pepper spray and a baton. Neither one would have killed the dog. Since the dog was low to the ground and elderly, and since Officer Avery was wearing steel-toed boots, there was no way the dog could have harmed Officer Avery. He may have had his hand on his gun, but pulling it out of its holster was neither indicated nor warranted.”

“So, he had multiple opportunities to do things differently,” asked Mr. Flores.

“Very differently,” said the sheriff.

Cross-examination was equally fruitless. Mr. Fowler tried to impugn Officer Avery’s training. Finally, in frustration, he asked, “If you were so unhappy with his performance, why didn’t you just fire him?”

“I was in the process of doing so,” said Sheriff Hunter. “I was afraid he would harm himself, or others.”

Mr. Fowler was clearly upset that he had opened the door on Avery’s poor performance. On redirect, Mr. Flores showed the sheaf of papers Sheriff Hunter filed to get rid of Avery, and he walked the sheriff step-by-step through the process.

After a short recess, when Ivy and Callie made tracks to the bathroom and stuffed their faces with carrots and grapes, Ivy came up to testify. The full tape was shown with her moving her smaller gun to her pocket, and the carry permit she had for it, as well as her leaning against the wall. She’d been waiting to find out if her friends, Ace and Lily, would live or die.

“Why did you move your gun?” he asked.

“I had been shot at twice that day. Lily’s brother was dead, her husband Ace, my best friend other than my wife, shot. Lily had just been shot. I feared for my friend’s life and my own. I knew I would have to give up the gun I used to shoot the cartel shooter as soon as the police showed up.”

“And why didn’t you stay in the emergency room where you were shot?”

“My friend Lily was shot in the belly, and she was pregnant at the time. I carried her to the operating room.”

“So, you were leaning against the wall, waiting on the police to take one of your guns.”

“Yes.”

“Did Officer Avery introduce himself?”

“No.”

“Did he ask for the gun?”

“No.”

“Did he ask you to tell him what happened in the emergency room?”

“No.”

“You had blood on your clothes from carrying Lily down the hall. Did Officer Avery ask if you were injured?”

“No.”

“Did he take out his pepper spray or baton?”

“No.”

“Did you have a medical condition at the time?”

“I was pregnant.”

“Objection!” shouted Mr. Fowler. “Officer Avery had no way of ascertaining that.”

“Overruled,” said Judge Stone. “Sit down, Mr. Fowler.” He sat down, fuming. “The point has been made to this court that he could have ascertained that,” said Judge Stone. “He could have asked.”

On redirect, Mr. Fowler tried to make her tie in the Nighthawks seem like she was a drug-dealing, gun-running psychopath.

“That would surprise all the Iron Knights we work with all the time.”

“Who are the Iron Knights? Another gang?”

“Another motorcycle club, mostly populated by those in law enforcement, ex-military, firefighters, EMTs, and the like. They’re the adrenaline junkies,” she said, grinning.

On redirect again, Mr. Flores asked Ivy about the times the Nighthawks members had helped law enforcement people do their jobs. Ivy was dismissed. She headed to the bathroom, then came back and chugged water.

Sheriff Xenia testified that she told Officer Avery repeatedly to holster his weapon, and that he had been pointing it at both Ivy and herself when she was getting the weapon used in the shooting and bagging it.

“Why didn’t you draw your gun on him?” asked Mr. Flores.

“I was in a hospital corridor, with medical personnel and patients in the hallway, and doctors and nurses clearly operating on patients behind closed doors. I was terrified of losing civilians. I also did not want to be in the position of having to shoot a fellow officer, even an incompetent one.”

“Objection! Argumentative!”

“Overruled,” said Judge Stone. “Sheriff Poloulakis is also in the position of judging whether or not an officer is competent. Since he pulled a gun on someone not pointing a gun at him in a hospital corridor, and repeatedly ignored orders by another Nye County superior official, he did demonstrate incompetence. And a willful disregard for human life. The fact that he pulled a gun on the victim of a crime who was guarding her friend, and who was also pregnant, and he made no move to ascertain these facts, also points to incompetence.” She turned to the other attorney. “Mr. Flores, you may proceed.” He asked a few more questions, then Mr. Flores said, “The prosecution rests, your honor.”

The judge called a lunch recess, and they all filed out of the courtroom. “Let me treat all of you to lunch,” said Xenia. “I know a great waffle place.”

“Lead me to the food,” said Ivy. Everyone laughed.

After a huge lunch of waffles, bacon, sausages, eggs, pancakes, and waffles, they all filed into the courtroom.

Officer Avery came up to testify in his defense. He talked at length about the vendetta against him by both Nye County sheriffs, Sheriff Hunter based in Pahrump, and Sheriff Poloulakis in the surrounding county. He offered up the numerous complaints in his jacket as proof, and that he was working with his union rep to be reinstated. He refuted that he was incompetent.

On cross-examination, Mr. Flores walked him through each action. He lied on the stand about identifying himself. Mr. Flores showed where, on the tape, he should have identified himself, and he clearly did not.

“Want to change your answer?” Avery spluttered, but refused to backtrack or change his statement. Finally, he sucker-punched him. “Do you play video games, Officer Avery?”

“Objection! Relevance!”

Mr. Flores said, “If the court will give me a few minutes, I will demonstrate relevance.”

“The witness may answer the question,” said the judge.

“Yes, it helps me relax.”

“And which ones help you relax? Card games, casino games, Sonic the Hedgehog?”

He laughed, and mentioned several of the bloodiest games on the market, including ones in which police officers were encouraged, by the game’s point system, to kill bystanders, pets, and even other officers. He brought stills of the games into evidence.

“Do these games have you identify yourself as a police officer?”

“No, Sir,” he said.

“What equipment does your character wear?”

Officer Avery described a getup eerily similar to the one he wore to knock on Mr. Bear’s door.

“How many hours a day do you play these games?” asked Mr. Flores.

“A few hours,” he said.

“People’s Exibit 35,” said Ms. Balsac. “We subpoenaed Officer Avery’s online gaming account. Can you read the number on the bottom under ‘number of hours’ for July, Officer Avery?”

“61” he read.

On redirect, he repeated the conspiracy theory, that everyone was against him. The defense rested.

They all trooped back to the waffle house for an hour while the judge wrote out her opinion. They came back, full of hot fudge sundaes.

Court reconvened. “It is the opinion of this court that Officer Avery was fired with ample cause. It is also the opinion of this court that Officer Avery ignored his training, and, instead, acted out the violent video games he subjected himself to. He exhibited willful disregard for life, both in killing Mr. Bear’s elderly pet, who was no threat to anyone, and in pulling a gun on a victim of a crime in a hospital corridor filled with civilians. One woman had already been hit with a ricochet that day; tragedy was narrowly averted when Sheriff Xenia came along to defuse the situation. Officer Avery cannot seem to understand reality, and made no effort in either situation to discover the facts. Ex-Officer Avery shall pay all court costs, including attorney’s fees. He shall pay Mr. Bear five thousand dollars for murdering his dog, and shall pay Ms. Ivy Delacourt the sum of fifty thousand dollars for pain and suffering. The loss of life from Mr. Avery’s reckless decisions could have been staggering, including to Ms. Delacourt and her unborn baby.

“I am also instituting a reverse gag order. This case shall be public record. I do not want Ex-Officer Avery to be able to get a job in law enforcement again.” She banged her gavel. “Case dismissed.”

Ex-Officer Avery was infuriated, screaming at his counsel. Mr. Fowler held up a hand to shush him. “Your mother paid me good money for this stinker of a case. I took it as a favor to her. You are an idiot, and you’re lucky the judge was reasonable. You could have been fined half a million dollars, easily.” He then turned, and walked away, Avery still screaming at his back.

They filed out, and went around the corner to talk in hushed tones. “Mama’s gonna be real mad,” said Sheriff Hunter. “Listen.” They positioned themselves so they could hear, some peering around the corner.

Sure enough, Mama Avery, who had been sitting quietly in the back of the room in her church clothes, filed out after her son. “You worthless piece of nothing,” she said. “You played that stupid video game after I told you to stop. I paid for your training, your apartment, even this court case. I thought,” she said, hitting his arm as he tried to talk. “Shut up, you idiot. I thought you were telling the truth, that you were being persecuted. What hogwash! You shot a man’s dog on his porch, and you nearly killed a pregnant woman. I will not pay,” she said, her voice tense, “one dime. One dime. They went after you, not the police department. You. They can demonstrate they were trying to fire you, and that they trained you better.”

She turned and strode down the hallway, with short, sensible heels clacking on the marble floors, her face as red as her sprayed helmet of dyed hair.

She rounded the corner, where Ivy was leaning against a wall, gasping. “Sheriff Hunter, I owe you an apology. I tried to have my son re-instated. I now see that that was a mistake.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Sheriff Hunter, politely.

Ivy turned beet-red, and water poured out onto the floor. “Oh my goodness!” said Mrs. Avery. She made tracks for the elevator.

“Hospital,” said Callie.

“I am not going to that fucking hospital where I nearly saw two friends die,” said Ivy, waddling toward the other elevator. “I’m going home.” She got in, and everyone else went in with her, Xenia carrying the cooler and the bag with the cushions and the tennis balls.

They made it to the front door, Ivy dripping all the way, to see the “perp walk” as Baby Avery had to pass a gauntlet of bikers, Nighthawks and Iron Knights and Vakyries. With their backs to him, leather jackets showing their emblems. He quailed, then swaggered, but was brought down by the glares of Valkyries surrounding his car. He got in, and drove away.

Gregory turned, and saw Ivy at the top of the courthouse stairs, dripping on them. “Mama coming through!” he said, running up the stairs, two at a time, Tito following.

They each grabbed an arm, and got her down the stairs and into the car. Xenia helped Callie down. Callie ran to the car, popped the trunk, and passed in other clothes. The Nighthawks surrounded the car, backs to it, while Callie got in and helped her change.

“I’ll take her,” said Xenia. She kissed Sheriff Hunter square on the lips.

“We’re on again?” he asked.

“We are,” she said. “See you tonight.” He whooped as she ran toward her police bike. “She wants to have the baby in Vegas!” she shouted out to the crowd. “Keep the speed down, and follow me!”

Tito tossed his keys to Nantan. “Get my truck home,” he said. He ran around to the driver’s side of Callie’s car. “You decent?” he asked.

“I’m good,” said Ivy. Tito got in, and Callie handed him the keys from the back seat. The Nighthawks took off for their bikes, the Vegas Iron Knights and Valkyries following suit, a Nighthawk taking Nantan’s bike. They mounted up, the Valkyries with Xenia in front, the Nighthawks in front and behind Tito, now driving Callie’s car.

“Shit,” said Herja. “Most excitement we’ve had in a year.”

Devastator laughed. “Exactamundo,” he said. “Now, if we can keep the Nighthawks in Vegas where they belong, we might get some peace and quiet around here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” said Herja. “Shit,” she said, “looks like I’m taking an unplanned trip to Vegas today.”

“Need a wingman?” he asked.

“Why the fuck not?” she said. “Vegas ride for anyone who wants to go!” Half of them, Valkyrie and Iron Knight, followed her out of the town, to the open road.

They stopped at a rest stop so Ivy could puke and wash up, then they were on their way again. Sheriff Xenia Poloulakis couldn’t leave the border of Nye County. An on-duty Iron Knight motorcycle cop got them through the desert to Las Vegas. A cop car got them the rest of the way.

They went straight to the primo maternity ward, because Ivy said, “I want drugs NOW!” The midwife met them there. Tito parked the car, went in to give Callie the keys, and hot-footed it out of there.

Gregory took him on his bike to retrieve his truck from his offspring, and the rest of the bikers headed for Dirty Vegas for a “birth party.” Cougar and Ace kept the drinks coming, and the band played foot-stomping music. The baby was two days early, so most took a serious hit on the betting pool.

Ace fumed at not being at the hospital, until Herja explained to him, “People are going to have their fingers in her junk. She does not want you to see that.”

Ivy walked until they got the epidural in, then she relaxed and ate ice chips. She put her rock compilation in her ears, and nodded her head to the music.

“Somehow, I feel superfluous,” Callie said to Bella.

“Been there, done that,” Bella said. “I’ve gotta go. They’ve got a rocking baby party there, and we can barely keep up.”

“Tell Ace to come in an hour.”

“Will do,” she said. She was sneaky; she waited an hour and a half. She was absolutely right; he made it there just in time for Ivy to start pushing.

Ace got on one side, and Callie the other, and they helped her hold her legs up. The baby came out in two pushes.

“This girl is healthy,” said the midwife, Katrina Tsmova. She rubbed the girl’s back, and she squalled. “Big, healthy baby, proud Ivy mama.”

“Give me my baby,” said Ivy. Katrina put the baby on her belly, and Ivy held her hand.

Callie had tears streaming down her cheeks. Ace snapped a photo and sent it to the bar. Callie cut the cord, and the baby was taken off to be cleaned and weighed. Katrina massaged Ivy’s stomach, and the afterbirth came out. They cleaned everything up, even changing the sheets under Ivy.

The baby came back. “Eight pounds, nine ounces,” said the nurse.

Callie laughed. “I won the betting pool,” she said.

Ace sent the bad news to the bar about the betting pool, but another lovely shot of Callie holding the baby, then he got to hold her. Then she went to Ivy, because she was squalling with hunger.

“Kiya Aaliya,” said Ivy, kissing her head. “Welcome to the world.”

Joining

Sheriff Xenia Poloulakis was exhausted. She’d chased two speeders, apprehended three, separate (driving while influenced) drivers, and done a mound of paperwork. The court case left a bad taste in her mouth. Avery was a fool who; refused to listen, hated women, and was too small and skinny to get picked for sports teams. He had tried to make it up to himself by holding a gun. She’d been opposed to his hiring, but Robin wanted to give the boy a chance, to raise him up right. He gave it his all, but it was far too late. Judge had it right, she thought. The boy cannot differentiate his video game from the real world. She sighed. He should be in prison. She let go of the anger as she released it from her muscles; tightening the muscles in her forehead, then releasing them, all the way down her body, as she locked up her gun, put away her duty belt and threw it in the safe for good measure too, and locked it.

She was heartsick, she knew. Robin —she was the only one allowed to call Sheriff Bob Hunter, Robin. And he’d had enough of the Batman and Robin jokes as a kid. She called him Rob in public. He was her Robin, as in Robin Hood —smart, funny, with both a wicked right and left cross. He could fight an opponent blindfolded; he’d been kickboxing for years. His body was tight, lush. He could even shoot arrows; he’d grown up surrounded, literally, by cowboys and Indians.

Robin was half Hopi, his mother a woman named Ankti, who wandered quite far off the res looking for love and poker, in whatever order she found them. Russell Hunter was half Paiute and all muscle; star quarterback for the high school. A deputy by day, casino guard by night. The two, black-haired people met when she came in to play, the woman in a black dress walking across the casino floor. He was responsible for the pit that night, but got himself transferred into the poker room.

She cleaned out the cowboys at the table, and she’d taken his heart, too. He married her six days later, and little Robin showed up nine months after that. Jasper showed up next, the little sister. They had Ankti’s poker winnings and Russell’s two jobs, and they got both kids through college before being killed by a drunk driver. A good ole boy who thought nothing of tying one on and driving his truck down the middle of the road. He was killed too, leaving the very adult Robin, fresh out of the military police with his criminal justice degree. Jasper became a rock hound, a geology teacher at a small college in Reno, famous for taking long walks in the desert to find more rocks. Neither one of them would talk about their parents, the loss still too great.

Xenia wasn’t stupid. She knew she loved him. He loved her, too. They would take long rides into the desert, pitch a tent, and make love under the stars. He never fought her, never blamed her for losing the baby. He put the blame where it mattered, on an incompetent doctor who refused to understand that their daughter was slowly strangling on the cord on the way out.

Robin did blame her for not rushing to get married. To him, married was how it should be. It made Xenia chafe. She would mate for life, like a wolf, but she felt a paper from the state was nonsense. Important nonsense, like being able to make decisions for the other if one were incapacitated, but still, artificial. She wanted to be hand-fasted for a year, then married under starlight, in the old way. She was descended from warriors, and would be damned if she would let anyone ever forget it. She had power, and grace. She could fight Robin to a standstill in the ring, despite his longer reach, and shoot both guns and arrows, better than he could.

She finished getting undressed, and hit the shower. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object, she thought, washing her mass of curly hair. She finally worked the conditioner in, and then scrubbed herself from head to toe, getting the grit from the road off her body. She shaved her legs and under her arms, then rinsed her hair. She dried off, dried the hair, and put it in two clips to keep it off her face. She put on black yoga pants and a blue sweatshirt that said Property of US Navy.

She’d been a high desert girl, a foster child after her meth-head mother overdosed. Her mother had been a Greek beauty, brought low by addiction. She herself, had survived high school, her foster mother a bitch of the highest caliber, alternating screaming and freezing her out. Her mom had married a Norwegian by way of Wisconsin, and she finally found him, using her skills as a Navy investigator. He’d been just passing through, and was stunned to find out he had a daughter. He had two strapping boys of his own, and didn’t really want a daughter, so she left him alone.

She made herself a cup of mint tea, selected one of her law enforcement magazines, and settled into her recliner to read. They always put her to sleep. It was getting late; she knew Robin had a long day, and that he was heartsick over his little, violent, idiot of a recruit.

He knocked on her door, using his special one-two-one-two knock.

He’d gone home, showered, changed. He was wearing blue jeans, a blue shirt, his Iron Knight leather jacket. She let him in.

“Beer, soda, tea, decaf?” she said.

“Soda,” he said, although the night was chilly. She brought him a Coke. “How are you?” she asked.

He popped the top on the Coke, sat on the other recliner, facing her. “I shouldn’t have hired him. I should have listened to you. Now, I’ve cost the city money, and we ended up in civil court, and that boy can’t get a job to save his life. A huge fucking waste of time.”

“You saw something in him that wasn’t there,” she said. “Sorry, but it’s true.” She sipped her tea.

“Reality. Should have seen reality. But, I hoped I could help him, mold him. His father can’t tie his own shoes, he’s so dense, and his mother…”

“Is far more interested in looking good than being in reality with the rest of us,” she said. “Now, here’s another dose of reality. Baby Avery is still licensed to carry a gun, he still lives around here, and he thinks we have it in for him. He’s one of those that might, just might, commit workplace violence. Watch your back, Robin.”

Robin sighed, and drank his Coke. “I have a hard head,” he said.

“You kind of had to. You were army, dealing with assholes and angels all day long. Your dad was never home, and all your sister wanted to do was collect rocks, without worrying too much if there was a scorpion there ready to poke her if she got too close. Your mom was gone all night.” She held up a hand. “I know you don’t like to talk about them. I’m not knocking any of them. Your mom, quite legally, found a way to give you everything you needed, and your dad worked two jobs to get you what you wanted. Your sister is a scientist, and more power to her. The world needs its eggheads, or where would we be?”

“You want.” He stopped, got his head on straight. “You want a wedding in the old way. After Ivy popped her water right there in the courthouse, I realized my pushing a piece of paper on you is… well, just stupid. I’ve been stupid, about Baby Avery, about us. I’ve loved you for six years now, almost seven. I’ve had other women, but absolutely none of them are you. By a long shot.” He laughed bitterly. “It’s usually women that get hung up on a church wedding, a piece of paper. Guys are usually running the other way. Yet, there I am, demanding a piece of paper like some warlord. I’m a complete, total idiot.”

He reached forward, held her hands in his. “I love you, Valkyrie Xenia. I want to hand-fast you, and jump over a broom with you, and be bound by ribbons to you, under the stars like you want. Name a day and time when I’m not working, and I’m there. I’ll do it sky clad if you want, naked as the day I was born, if that pleases you.”

“That pleases me, because I love to see you naked, but sky clad isn’t for hand-fasting, or marriage. I want to love you for the rest of my life. I held my ground. I knew you wanted me, loved me, needed me.” She laughed. “We keep ending up in tents under the stars together. And,” she laughed again, “I think we can skip the hand-fasting. Our High Priestess is in Vegas, celebrating the birth of Ivy’s baby. So, either we can head there now, or we can wait until…”

He stood up. “Let’s go there, now.” He downed the rest of his Coke, and went to rinse it out and put it in the recycling.

Xenia called Herja, who said, to the entire bar, “Xenia’s coming here to get married!” There was a roar.

Xenia laughed, hung up, and went to get her black jeans laced through with silver. She placed on her silver silk top, and her circlet in its box. She finished her tea, grabbed some Cokes, and they headed out on their Harleys. They opened it up on the desert roads, and were there much faster than they should have been.

Herja and the Valkyries met them at the overlook for the city, the circle drawn, the candles lit, the broom ready, the ribbons to be wound around their hands. All the Valkyries were arranged around the circle. Herja cast the circle. They lit the two candles, his red, hers silver, and lit a white pillar, surrounded by a circle of Valkyries to honor them.

“Blessed be,” said Herja. “We meet to join two, in front of the gods, that they may stand together, fight together, seek the dawn together. That they may gain strength from each other, that they may stand together as one at dusk and dawn.” She blessed the ribbons and wound them around their wrists, binding the lovers together.

Xenia did her vows first. “I promise to love, honor, and cherish who you are, from dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawn. I promise to hold you close, and let you go, and walk the Path of Dawn with you. The gods witness us.”

Robin realized he wouldn’t remember all that, so he did the best he could. “I will love, honor, and cherish you, from dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawn. I will hold you, and love you as fiercely as I am able, and I will walk the Path of Dawn with you. The gods witness us.”

Herja said, “The gods witness you. Do you, Valkyries, witness them? And will you right for them and their love? And use their fire to light your own way to love?” The mesmerizing cry of affirmation startled Robin, but he stayed still. “Then, they walk the Path of Dawn together!” She unwrapped the ribbon, tying some to her wrist, some to his. “Now, we celebrate!”

They made it back to Dirty Vegas before it closed. Herja stood on the bar, and raised her mug of dark beer high. “To Xenia and Hawkbrother!”

Robin laughed at his new name, and raised his own glass. The cheer was deafening, and the band went into Daft Punk’s Get Lucky. Half the bar was singing, and the other half was dancing.

“Ivy is going to so hate missing this,” said Bella, pouring mugs of beer as fast as she could.

Herja was too busy singing to listen. She drained her glass, and ran on stage to sing, dragging Skuld with her. They had a disgusting amount of fun, especially when Hawkbrother went up to sing his mother’s song, Tall Cool Woman.

Their tip jar became alarmingly full; the bassist crammed some of the money in his pockets so it wouldn’t overflow. They finally finished a nine-minute song, and then, they went into one hell of a sexy rendition of Guns N’ Roses’ Rocket Queen. More than one couple were kissing. The servers swirled around with trays of beer and shots of whiskey, and the bar stayed open way past closing.

Cougar jumped up on stage. “Last call, last song, so long. Take your party somewhere hearty. Call an Uber if you need one.”

The band ended with a guitar solo. The patrons filed out to their bikes, many to Ubers, the parking lot still half-full after the last straggler left. The high desert people went home, singing in the dark to headbanger music.

Xenia went out of the club, and kissed Hawkbrother so hard his toes curled. “Follow me,” she said. She guided him to City Hall, and she brought him to his knees when she took him to get their marriage license. “Herja is licensed. We just won’t tell anyone the ceremony was after the license.”

The tears fell from his eyes. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” They packed the license in his saddlebag, and headed home.

Xenia and Hawkbrother made it to her home alive. They stripped off their leathers in the hallway, and made it into the bedroom, dropping clothes as they went. Xenia jumped on him, driving him into the bedroom door. She kissed him hard, letting him feel her need, her love. She made him scream, and groan with need, as she used her fingers to gently claw his back. One hand grabbed the back of his head, the other grabbed his cock. She let go, dropping to the floor with the grace of a cat.

She used everything in her arsenal —teeth, claws, a flicking tongue —to make his skin burn like fire. He felt himself get harder than he’d ever been. He grabbed a condom, but she knocked it out of his hand. She climbed on him, pressing him into the door. He felt her settle on him, like she was meant to be there.

She set the pounding pace, gasping, as he held onto her ass, driving himself deeper and deeper inside her. She came, screaming in his ear. She clamped on him so tight he felt he would die, then he let go, roaring into her ear. She held on then, her arms tight around him, her legs grasping him. Then, she raised up, then slid down. She drew him toward the bed.

“Round one,” she said.

“Are you fucking crazy? I’ve been up since five thirty in the morning. We just got back from Vegas. I can’t stand up anymore.” He fell like a tree onto the bed.

She laughed, took a towelette from the nightstand, and wiped them both down. “Let’s find the dawn together.”

He held her in his arms. “Getting time off from work for our honeymoon simultaneously, is going to be a bitch.” She laughed. “My love, we didn’t talk about…”

She guided his hand to her stomach. “Remember that ride, the tents, Lake Havasu?”

He laughed. “One of our on-again times. We had sex so many times I was afraid I would never be able to walk again.”

“Remember when your condom broke?”

He looked her in the eyes, his eyes huge. “So that’s why you weren’t drinking tonight. I thought because of the ride.” He touched her belly with the palm of his hand. “Our own little rider. You were going to tell me about the baby…”

She sighed. “I just found out. I was trying to wrap my head around it. Then there was the trial… I know you were heartsick, and I was angry. So angry. That fool could have killed both Ivy and I, and you were more heartsick than enraged. I thought your reaction would be to bite his head off, not try to teach him.”

He laughed bitterly. “I was, but at myself. I hired him, over your objections, and he refused to hear anyone’s words; young, old, male, female, boss, anyone at all. He blew off every fucking thing I said. The thing with the dog made me so sad, so heartsick. Where was his heart? The fact that he couldn’t see anything wrong with his behavior made me so furious. I decided to keep my cool and follow procedure. I apologized to Jeremy, and said it was my fault for not training the kid better, but I knew, I knew he was broken, sick.”

She touched his face and kissed it softly.

He took a deep breath. “When I saw the tape, my heart stopped. He pulled a gun on a woman in a hospital hallway, and I just thought to myself, I wonder why Ivy didn’t kill him. I wished she had. Then you came down the hall, and I thought, she’ll kill him. I knew you hadn’t, of course, but that was my thinking. You kept calm and were the professional I know you are, but either you or Ivy would have been justified in taking that little piss-ant out. Then, you talked him into holstering his gun and walking away, and I’ve never been more on fire with loving you.” He kissed her deeply. “He will come for us, love, and I won’t hold back for a second.”

She kissed him back, then looked him in the eyes. “Neither will I.”

* * *

Ivy woke up in the night, Kiya coughing and whining to get her attention. She put the baby to her breast, and helped her get started. The baby latched on, and sucked. She rocked a little, and sang Billy Joel’s Lullaby to her. Ivy burped the baby, then gave her the other breast. She sucked even more hungrily.

Callie woke up, and slipped off the cot. “Hungry little daughter, isn’t she?” Callie grabbed a wipe and a diaper, unwrapped the blanket, and changed her while she was still suckling. “Piggy baby,” she said, changing the diaper quickly and efficiently. She threw away the diaper, washed her hands, and returned to burp the baby. “Kiya,” she said. “Darling.”

Ivy moaned. “Bathroom,” she said. Callie put the baby down in her bassinet, and helped her wife to the bathroom. She came back, wrapped her in her blanket, and rocked her back and forth. She put her down again, helped Ivy back to the bed, put Kiya in Ivy’s arms, scooted herself over, and held them both. Callie sang John Mayer’s Daughters, and soon all of them were asleep.

In the morning, Ace was there, tiny teddy bear in hand. Lily brought the (more practical) baby sling. “Look at tiny baby,” she said.

“Tiny?” said Ivy. “Kiya’s a moose!” Lily stole the baby, and Ivy laid in her bed, holding Ace’s hand. “All the shit we’ve been through, the hell from this year, and Kiya just made every nightmare moment vanish.” Ace nodded, unable to speak.

“What’s Katya cooking for you, boy or girl?”

“We think a girl,” he said. “She’s cute.”

Ivy snorted. “She’s arms, legs, and a head. Wait until you hold her.” Ace held her hand tightly, and Ivy held his back. He touched his forehead to hers. “I fucking almost lost you,” Ivy said. “Don’t do that again.” Tears fell from her eyes.

“’Kay,” he said. He backed up, looked her in the eyes. “You okay?”

“Fucking ow, but fine,” she said. “Kiya eats like a horse.” She smiled. “So can I, come to think of it.”

Ace laughed. “Only you would think of food at a time like this.”

“Damn right. Someone go to Micky D’s and get me a breakfast sandwich. And hash browns. Fucking need hash browns.”

Ace whipped out his phone, and texted Katya and Gregory, who were on their way. “Done,” he said. “Where’s my niece?”

“Mine,” said Lily, looking deep into Kiya’s blue eyes. “We’re bonding.”

Ace went over, and embraced his wife from behind. They both looked into the baby’s eyes. Ivy stared at them, tears streaming down her face. Just a few months ago, this moment may not have happened. Callie stood in the doorway, stopped, and stared, and tears slipped down her cheeks as well.

Katya and Gregory breezed in a few minutes later, after Ivy and Callie had wiped their tears. “Special delivery,” he said, bringing the McDonald’s bag to Ivy. She ripped into it like a kid on Christmas morning, making him laugh. “Where’s the fire?” he asked.

Katya brought two little blankets and burping cloths. “Here,” she said. “For cute baby and proud mama and papa.” She placed them in the bassinet. Everyone hugged her. Katya stole the baby, and Gregory embraced her, looking into the baby’s eyes.

“Is big baby,” she said. “Very healthy.”

“Where are yours?” asked Callie.

“They are sleeping. The babushkas are watching them.” She smiled down at Kiya. “Beautiful baby.”

Callie patted her own belly. “Little brother will come soon.”

“Usually, boys ride low,” said Lily. “Yours seems to be a smaller baby.”

“Good,” said Callie, laughing, “we don’t need two moose babies.” She reached into the bag and snagged a breakfast sandwich. “I eat like a pig, but my weight doesn’t go up much.”

“Not to worry,” said Katya. “Is best time in your life, eat anything, not get fat.” She patted her own belly, as Ace stole the baby. “I love to eat. Nursing and Lily’s baby, means I can eat like pig. Eating for four.”

“I was worried about that,” said Gregory. “Then the babushkas go crazy, cooking everything in sight, and I relax.” He kissed Katya.

“How is Elena holding up with the babies?” asked Ivy. “And didn’t she have another surgery scheduled?”

“Is last surgery,” said Katya. “She is so strong.”

“I’m stunned with the great job the doctors are doing,” said Gregory. “She is showing almost no scarring, and the scars she does have can easily be hidden by makeup.”

“I remember right after that happened,” said Ivy, grabbing a hash brown. “I remember trying to deal with that mess.”

“We survived,” said Gregory, simply. “We always do, no matter what. I almost lost my brother,” he said, putting an arm around Ace. “Ace nearly lost, then gained, a little brother. We all nearly lost Inola and Henry, and now Inola has Ryder and Henry has about a thousand teens.” Everyone laughed. “You can knock down a Nighthawk…” he said.

“But we always fly free,” said Ivy, Callie, and Ace, in unison with Gregory.

“I hear we missed the biggest party Dirty Vegas has ever had,” Ace said. “Went on ‘till almost four in the morning.”

“I heard it was a baby party for us.”

“Turned into a two-sheriffs-from-Pahrump-got-married party.”

Callie and Ivy both squealed. “Xenia and Bob got married? Yesterday? When I was squeezing a baby out of my hoo-ha?” asked Ivy.

Ace grimaced. “Never say hoo-ha again. And, yes, they got married here in some sort of Valkyrie ceremony, then went to the bar to celebrate.” He sighed. “The liquor order is unimaginable. We may actually drain Vegas dry getting the bars restocked. Damn near ran out of beer. Heard all about it from Bella.”

“What the fuck? And I missed it?”

Lily covered the baby’s ears. “Ivy, you’re going to have to clean up that mouth of yours.”

“Why?” she countered. “They’ll just go to school and learn the words from the other kids.”

“She has a point,” said Ace.

Ivy sucked her cola dry. “Ace, help,” she said, holding out her arm. He helped her to stand. “Nobody runs off with Kiya. I mean it.” She glared at them all, and left for the bathroom.

“Quick, take the baby,” said Lily.

“No,” said Katya. “I have two at home, Grace has surgery next week, and I have Lily’s baby on the way. No more babies.”

Lily stole Kiya, and rocked her, singing a lullaby. Ace’s eyes teared up. Callie went over to him and held him. “Dude, just a few months, and you’re taking my place in this room.”

“I wish it were now,” he whispered into her hair, and he kissed the top of her head.

“I know,” she said. “Same for me. I feel like a cow. Or a turtle. Or a turtle cow.”

He laughed. “You’re our turtle cow, and we love you.” He hugged her close.

“Hey,” said Ivy, coming out of the bathroom. “Hands off my woman.”

“I’m a turtle cow,” said Callie.

“Me too,” said Ivy. “Pushing out the baby doesn’t get rid of the turtle slowness.”

“I am beautiful goddess when I am pregnant,” said Katya, glowing. “My husband says so.”

The room got absolutely quiet. “He’s right,” said Lily, softly. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world right now.”

Gregory walked over and held Katya, and kissed her. “Hey,” he said, holding her, “you are my goddess, you know? I love you.”

“I love you,” she said, into his mouth, kissing him back.

“Get a room,” said Ivy. “Can someone get me more Micky D’s?”

Birth

Aiden Sawyer came into the world in a single exhalation. Callie came through like a champ, at home. “We don’t need no fucking hospital,” she said, despite the waves of pain.

The midwife got him out in one push, and put him on his mother’s belly, where he moved and squalled. Ivy cut the cord, kissed the baby, and helped Katrina Tsmova, the midwife, massage Callie’s belly to expel the afterbirth.

Katrina weighed Aiden. “Is five pounds eleven ounces. Stupid Americans, not use kilos like normal people.”

Gregory laughed. They cleaned off the baby, and Ivy held him, then Gregory, before he hungrily squalled. Laughing and crying, Callie took him back and put him to her breast. The afterbirth came. Katrina, cleaned up, saying lots of things under her breath in Russian that made Gregory laugh. They got both Callie and the sheets changed.

They brought over Kiya, who had been sleeping in her bassinet, and rolled over the other bassinet as well. She stared at her brother, then loudly demanded food.

“Move over,” said Ivy. Gregory and Katrina got them both situated, pillows at their back and under their knees. The midwife left, and Gregory helped her take out all the trash and medical waste to the car.

Gregory called Bao, who brought over Grace and Hu. Hu was delighted, helping to burp both babies. Bao held each of them, and Hu and Bao sang the flower song. Grace had a different response. Four days of a baby crying all night, and attention being paid to the baby, and even Bao and Hu’s attempts to cheer her up weren’t working. She was jealous.

Gregory pulled her into the hall. She sighed as if she was going to her execution. “So, you’re jealous, are you?”

Grace’s eyes flashed daggers, and she put out her lower lip. “All they do is cry, and sleep, and poop. And scream. And the moms are like turtles. Super-slow. And now Mom won’t be teaching at school.”

“So, your life changed,” said Gregory. “Did your life change when you met Hu?”

“That’s different,” said Grace. “She’s my sister.

Gregory raised his eyebrows. “That’s your sister, and your brother. And Mama and Mom have had a difficult time having them. They had them because they wanted a family with more love to share. Hu loves them. She thinks they’re wonderful.”

“They scream and poop and eat,” said Grace, arms folded across her chest.

“So did you,” said Gregory. “You were just like them. What would have happened if Mom hadn’t wanted to take care of you when you screamed and were hungry and pooped?”

“That’s her job,” said Grace.

Gregory laughed. “No, it isn’t. At least, an unpaid and unappreciated one. What do Mom and Mama do for you? Cook? Clean? Help you with your homework?”

Grace glared at him. “They’re mommies. They’re supposed to do that.”

Gregory’s voice got very serious. “No, they want to do that. They do it because they love you. Do you know about Elena’s daddy?”

“He went crazy and poured acid on her.”

“And the boyfriend your mom had before she became a Nighthawk?”

“He hit her.” She uncrossed her arms.

“Some moms do that, too. Hit their spouses, their kids. They don’t do their jobs, like feed their kids or clean up. Now, your mommies are two of the best women I know. They would never act like that. But, you are.”

“I don’t hit,” said Grace.

“Words can hurt worse,” said Gregory. “I’ve watched you sulk, and misbehave, and refuse to do chores. You’ve lost your privileges at least five times that I know of. You’ve been mean to Hu, who has been nothing but nice to you, and ugly at school, when people were trying to help educate you. All of this while your moms were pregnant, carrying babies. I put up with it because I thought when you saw the babies, you’d act like Hu, and see what beautiful miracles they are. But you’re still the selfish, stupid girl you’ve been for the past seven months.”

Grace’s face went white. She couldn’t believe his words.

“You’re a Nighthawk,” said Gregory. “You act with respect toward everyone around you at all times. You listen more than you speak. You help others that need help. You work all day or all night, whatever your shift is, work or school, without complaining. You love until you have no more love to give, and then you give a little more. You protect those smaller or weaker than you. You have been acting the opposite of all of these things. Most of all, Nighthawks are brave and fearless. What are you so afraid of, Grace? That your mommies will forget about you?”

Tears streamed down Grace’s cheeks. “My daddy left because he didn’t want a screamy, poopy baby. He told my mom. I heard him. I pooped in the toilet then! I didn’t wear a diaper!”

Gregory enfolded Grace in his arms while she sobbed. “Ivy is a Nighthawk. She wouldn’t cut and run at the first sign of trouble.” He rocked back and forth. “I’m not leaving either. Or Katya, or Inola and Bella, or Henry, or David, or Nantan. Or any of us. We love you.”

Ivy slid out of the door. “I wondered what that was all about.” She patted Grace’s back. “I’m not leaving, love bug. If I were going to do that, I would have done it when you were an angry little porcupine these past months.” Grace held out an arm, and they had a three-way hug.

Ivy slipped a packet of wet wipes out of the pocket of her yoga pants. “Wipe your face,” she said, and helped Grace clean up. “Now, put the porcupine girl away. We literally do not have time to deal with that. We have three daughters and a son to raise.”

“God help him,” said Gregory. “Five females telling him what to do.”

Ivy laughed and punched Gregory’s arm. “Go home to your wife,” she said, “After you make a Sonic run.”

Gregory looked poleaxed. “What does Bao like?”

“Cheese sticks, chicken and a strawberry shake,” said Grace, in a small voice. “I’ll go with you. The bags are heavy.”

Gregory lifted her up. “Come on. Let’s get your car seat out and blow this popsicle stand, why don’t we?”

Grace held onto his neck, and he carried her out to the cars. Ivy went in the bedroom to lay down, exhausted. Bao was rocking Aiden, and singing the most beautiful song to him. Hu was on the other side of the bed, sitting next to Callie, holding Kiya in her lap.

Ivy slipped in beside Callie, and whispered in her ear. “Grace was a porcupine because, when she was about two and a half or three, she heard either her birth father or a boyfriend yelling to you that he was leaving you because he didn’t want a screamy, poopy kid.”

Callie’s eyes misted. “It was Jerk Jason. Grace had been sick, had diarrhea for two days. He screamed at me, threw his stuff in a pile, picked it up, and nearly stepped on Grace walking out. She was three.” She put her hands over her eyes. “I had no idea she remembered that.”

“Hey,” said Ivy, rubbing her back. “He was a jerk. It’s on him, not you. Now, get some sleep.”

“Baby,” said Callie.

“Which one?” asked Ivy.

“Both,” said Callie.

Ivy asked for Bao to come back with Aiden, and Hu passed Kiya to Ivy, who put the babies in between her and Callie. “Food’s coming,” she said. “So, stay.”

Ivy sang, in her lovely voice, the chorus to Clean Bandit’s Rockabye. Bao sat on the end of the bed, holding Hu in her arms. She transitioned into Billy Joel’s Lullabye, and then she sang the chorus twice.

Grace stood in the doorway, the bags of food lowered to the floor, Gregory behind her, holding her in his arms.

Ivy transitioned into Brahm’s Lullaby, and the infants and Callie slept. Gregory picked up the bags of food, and led Grace in. Grace raised her voice, and as Ivy transitioned back to the chorus, she sang with her mama. Gregory found the trays, and set them up on the bed.

Callie woke up long enough to eat, and was soon asleep again. Grace climbed onto the bed, and after the meal and cleanup, she sang again. Ivy fell asleep, and Bao led Hu and Grace out of the room. Gregory silently shut the door.

“You guys stay here, and take care of them. If you need me, call me right away.”

“Yes,” said Bao.

Grace said, “I’m sorry, you guys. I was awful. I thought Mama would leave when the babies came.”

Hu hugged her. “We’re not leaving, silly. We live next door. And here.”

“We have the weirdest family,” said Grace. “Don’t see our family on TV.”

Gregory smiled. “Don’t see the Nighthawks on TV, either. Should, I guess, but don’t.” He walked the girls to their pod room. “I know there’s been a lot of excitement, but do stuff that doesn’t wake the babies or your moms.”

“Okay,” said Grace. She took Hu’s hand, and led her inside the room.

“You are good man,” said Bao. She grimaced, and corrected her English. “You are a good man. You donated.” She waved her hand. “You are their father?” She gestured toward the room with the babies.

“Yes,” said Gregory. “Ace had his hands full, being in the hospital and all.”

“I someday will find a good man like you.”

“Yes,” said Gregory. “Stick around the Nighthawks, or the Iron Knights, and you will.”

“Good,” she said, patting his arms. “I hear you have two babies at home. Go to them. Thank you, for today.” The girls giggled. “They are learning Ute, and I can’t help with that. Only Chinese.”

“And English,” said Gregory.

She bowed her head. “I am not so good yet.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said, patting her hand. “Things should be better now that Grace is better behaved.”

“I sent her home, several times,” said Bao. “Her poor mothers.”

Gregory laughed. “Hu is a diamond, Bao. You are an excellent mother.” He could see the blush under the gold of her skin. “Take care of yourself, Bao,” he said, and went to take Grace’s car seat out of his car, and to find his own wife.

Gregory texted everyone. Rota had won that pool, and split the money with Callie. Gregory helped Callie and used the money to buy groceries from Nantan and the Wolfpack for a month, all so the new mommies could concentrate on their children. Rota used it to get the carpet removed in the other house, finding lovely hardwood floors underneath. She had them refinished.

Wraith was very tired of living in boring cracker boxes. Her permanent Las Vegas transfer went through. So, she looked at Skuld and Rota’s duplex.

“Still in the works,” said Tito. “Coming along nicely, though. If you’d been later, you couldn’t have chosen paint colors or cabinet fixtures.

Rota said, “You can buy this half, or pay rent. Either way, you choose the decor.”

“Rent,” said Wraith. “Transfers don’t hold with the ATF or DEA.”

“Okay,” said Rota. She named a sum for rent. “Done,” said Wraith. “Tito, what do I get to choose?”

It was hard merging her Norwegian practicality with Saber’s Thai warrior vibe, but she did. She picked furniture that could collapse in on itself —a fold-down king-sized bed for nightly acrobatics, a breakfast table that seated two but could open to seat eight, a couch with both dual recliners and the middle folded out to a bed.

She chose showerheads that could switch from rain to pulsing, and walls of a soft gold with the occasional red one. She bought black, red, and silver plates; bowls, and cups, and bamboo chopsticks and spoons. She put down heavy mats in one of the bedrooms, hung tatami on the walls, and got a weapons rack. She exercised to Skuld’s theme music coming through the walls, her drums and guitars on the other side. He was gone, but, by damn, he’d have a home to come back to.

She had to call in Skuld again, two days later. This one called for subtlety. “I have a job. You interested?” she texted to Skuld.

“Dress code?” was the reply.

“Not the club scene,” Wraith texted. “Jeans and class.”

“Meetup?” asked Skuld.

Wraith sent an address off Boulder Highway, the parking lot of a 7-11. They met up an hour later.

“Am I dressed right?” asked Skuld. She had on expensive designer jeans, a gold sweater, an expensive gray leather jacket, silver hoops in her ears, and soft suede boots.

“Perfect,” said Wraith. She was dressed similarly, but in a red angora sweater, a matching red leather jacket, and red cowgirl boots with silver tips.

“What are we doing?” asked Skuld.

“Turns out someone’s been selling designer drugs, and we needed another lady to buy. This is pharmacy-grade stuff, Mommy’s Little Helper stuff, but to lots of upper-class women.”

“Who’s the yahoo selling drugs to anxious upper-class women? And can’t you just go to a psychiatrist for that?”

“Not in the quantities this woman is selling them, and she’ll give you any dose that doesn’t actually kill you. Lots of these women have plastic surgery, and get addicted to both the surgery and the meds.”

“Got ‘em coming and going,” said Skuld.

“Yep,” said Wraith.

“So, what’s the job? We buying?”

“Exactly,” said Wraith. “Got an appointment after hours, let’s say.” She pointed with her finger to a BMW. “Rental car. Let’s go.”

They tooled down the street to a sandy-red, four-story, plastic surgery clinic in the heart of Green Valley. They parked and entered, the wind chill on their backs. They passed the wall-to-wall fish tank in the expansive lobby and passed a security guard so bored he was watching the game on his cell phone. At the information desk was a gorgeous receptionist who had obviously been sampling the surgery. She had fake platinum hair, very big boobs, and a face so plastic it looked painted on.

“May I help you?” said the receptionist. Her nameplate said, “Trixie.”

“Trixie, dear,” said Wraith. “I’m heah to get some help from the doctor, Doctor Phillips. I’ve got an appointment. Sandy Dee Williams.” Skuld tried not to laugh. She sounded like someone on Dallas.

“And your friend?”

“Talia. Smart woman. Wants a little help, too. She just had surgery.”

Skuld mimed the stiffness and pained eyes one would have after surgery. She’d been shot before and still had twinges. Being gut-shot wasn’t fun.

Trixie buzzed the doctor, who said, “Send them up.”

“Second floor,” said Trixie, manicured hands with gold nails fluttering toward the elevator.

“Thanks, sugah,” said Wraith, and walked toward the elevator. Skuld followed more slowly.

They entered a blinding white hallway to a gorgeous hallway. The nurse there was in blue scrubs, also a blonde with perfect teeth. She took them right back to a huge glassed-in corner office. It looked like a boardroom, not a doctor’s inner chamber. Medical books lined the walls. They looked like they had never been read.

Doctor Jeremiah “Phil” Phillips looked like a distinguished gentleman, with blonde hair going white, perfect teeth, and wide hands.

“Please, ladies, sit.” He was as unctuous as a used-car salesman. Skuld already felt like she needed a shower.

They sat, Wraith delicately, Skuld much more stiffly. “My friend here, she’s Talia Van. She’s had lipo.” Skuld smiled stiffly, letting pain bleed into her eyes. “And, I had a tummy tuck in Dallas.”

“What can I do for you ladies?” he asked, his voice smooth.

“We’re kinda short. I had both our prescriptions on us, and I lost them in the car.”

“I can help you with that,” said Doctor Phil.

“Do you need to examine us?” said Wraith, a look of distaste on her lips.

“No, ladies, I can see you’re in distress and have no time to waste. I have… samples. But, the insurance, from Texas, that will be hard to deal with. Too much paperwork, take too much of everyone’s time.”

“I agree,” said Wraith. “What can I do?”

“Cash, ladies?” asked Doctor Phil.

“Oh, that,” said Wraith. “I won at blackjack.” She took out a huge stack of bills. Skuld guessed they were from an evidence locker, and were marked in some way.

Skuld could see the greed, deep in Doctor Phil’s eyes. “How much is that?” he asked.

“Six thousand and twenty-one dollars,” she said. “I held ‘bout half of it back. They comped us the hotel and food, but we’ll want to play some more.”

He reached onto the stack, and examined it. He peeled off three thousand dollars. “This would be a… large quantity?”

“We brought the girls,” said Wraith. “The two Heathers. They’re laying down. All the excitement and all. I thought we could have a little… party.”

He reached forward, peeled off another thousand. “Be right back, ladies.”

Skuld let the faint wash of relief enter her eyes, but kept the pain. Remembering being gut-shot brought it all back. Wraith rubbed her back. “Won’t be long now, sugah. Be feelin’ fine soon.”

“Mmm,” said Skuld, as Wraith took the rest of the money and made it disappear into her purse.

He came back with a Tiffany bag full of little blue boxes. Wraith sat up, clapped her hands, and opened one. Instead of diamonds and gold, there were pills in little trays. Red in one box, blue in another, green-striped in a third, round ones with little blue triangles cut out of the middle in another. Some boxes of purple. Many were hard, round, and white. Oxy, Valium. The rest she couldn’t place, and decided she didn’t want to know.

“Lovely!” said Wraith.

“Water,” said Skuld, biting the word out. “For the car.”

“Of course,” said Doctor Phil.

He reached back to a little refrigerator behind his lovely black desk. He took out four bottles, slipped them into a plastic bag, and handed it to Wraith. She stood, took both bags, and gently helped Skuld stand.

“Come on, sugah. Let’s get you to the cah and then we can part-tay.”

“Mmm,” said Skuld.

“Nice doin’ business with such a nice man,” said Wraith. “Ta ta, now.” She gave a little beauty-queen wave.

Skuld slipped out a water, and mimed having trouble getting the plastic wrap off as they walked toward the front door. She finally got it open. Wraith pretended to take out some Oxy, and, putting her shoulder at just the right angle so the camera couldn’t see, pretended to swallow the pills. She laid back against the elevator wall, pointless as they were only going down for a moment. Wraith reached back, and pretended to drag her out. They drove back to the 7-11 lot, where DEA agents took Wraith’s shoulder bag with the remaining money and its hidden wire and camera. The Tiffany bag, and Wraith’s fast report on the transaction.

“Why didn’t you take him down?” asked Skuld.

“Following the money up the chain.” She continued her report, so Skuld walked away toward her bike.

Skuld heard a sound near the dumpster on the side of the building, a little wail. She figured it was a cat, but she stepped closer. The wail cranked up, and Skuld ran to the pile of dirty blankets next to the dumpster. There were boxes piled inside.

She knelt, and opened the top blanket. A round, red face and blue eyes stared up at her. “Wraith!” screamed Skuld. “We need a bus!”

Wraith came running around the corner, gun drawn and pointed forward. One of the other agents was right behind her. Skuld carefully worked open the dirty blue blanket, and the scream turned into a wail. Wraith put back her gun, and called it in. Skuld picked up the baby after an initial visual examination.

“Girl,” she said. “Very new. Good set of lungs on her.” She looked down at the belly. “No cord, so not brand new.” There was no diaper. The baby was filthy. “You, Agent Guy. Go in there and buy newborn diapers and wipes.” He put away his weapon and ran into the store, the door ringing firmly. “We still got the BMW?”

“No,” said Wraith. “Bobby took it and the evidence in.”

The sirens were wailing as the agent came out with the wipes and diapers. Wraith carefully wiped the baby down. “Diaper rash. No wonder this one’s so fussy.”

She took it out of the blankets, crouched, and laid the baby on her back, gently. Wraith knelt and held the baby’s head and neck while Wraith put on a diaper. The bus pulled up, and two EMTs came rushing out.

“Baby Jane Doe, filthy, diaper rash, just cleaned her up and put a diaper on. No obvious trauma, no umbilical cord here,” said Wraith, as they ran up with blankets and stethoscopes in hand.

The EMT took her, whispering to her, “We’ll take good care of you little, one,” she said, wrapping her in a soft green blanket, while her partner did an Apgar test. “Five,” he said.

“Thank the gods,” said Skuld.

“Children’s,” said the EMT, naming the closest hospital. “Where’s the mom?”

Wraith handed over the wipes and diapers. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

The Green Valley cops showed up, and took pictures of the scene. They didn’t ask what DEA and ATF agents were doing at a 7-11 after normal business hours; it was obvious they didn’t want to know. The other agent —Wraith called him Mike, helped Wraith and Skuld with the grid search for the mom, as more sirens came to help.

“Bus!” screamed Wraith.

Skuld and Bobby went toward her at a run. Two buildings back, in an alley, was a woman. She was filthy, with matted dark hair, wearing a pink dress that barely skimmed her hips in the icy wind. She had track marks on her arms, and a needle was still in her vein. She was the mom; blood pooled between her legs over her thong underwear, and her belly had a pooch.

“Fuckin…” said Skuld, unable to complete the thought.

Wraith checked her pulse at her neck. “Still alive, but barely.”

The other cops ran up, a man and a woman. The woman spoke as fast as possible into her shoulder mic.

“Still with us?” asked the male cop.

“For now,” said Wraith.

They waited until the pictures were taken and they were patient for the bus. Someone brought a victim’s blanket and brought it over. Wraith gloved up, carefully removed the syringe, and the male cop bagged and tagged it.

“Heroin,” said Wraith.

“Probably,” the male cop said. He was Hispanic, with dark hair and even darker eyes in the gloom of night.

The female cop, an Amerasian with tilted eyes and dark hair (braided halfway down her back) finally stopped talking on her mic, as the second ambulance of the night showed up.

“What a waste,” she said.

“I’ll get the coffee,” said Skuld. “This is gonna take a while.”

Wraith and Skuld followed up on the baby first, pre-paperwork, heading to the hospital. “She’s heroin-addicted. Probably cried and went stiff, was impossible to soothe. Mom was probably overwhelmed,” said the pediatrician on call, Dr. Ng. He looked like Saber, except with an even flatter nose and much shorter hair. “Did you find her?”

“Nodding out in an alley two blocks from the baby,” said Wraith. “Don’t know if she left the baby on purpose, or wandered off high.”

“We’ll keep her in the NICU, get her off the drugs,” said Dr. Ng. “It’s heartbreaking to watch. We now have whole NICU’s devoted to the thousands of babies born addicted to drugs.”

“We’ll be back,” said Wraith. “Do what you can for her.”

“Of course,” said Dr. Ng.

They went to the adult hospital on their bikes. Neither one of them said a word. The mother went into a coma. Despite the doctors and nurses doing all they could, she slipped away just hours later, Wraith holding one hand, Skuld the other. Skuld stood, and kissed her forehead.

“Go to the Summerlands, sister,” she said. “We will care for your child.”

They went back to the NICU. A social worker was there, a portly black woman with a shock of red hair.

They introduced themselves, and she introduced herself as Gertrude Blake, “But just call me Gertie,” she said. “How’s the mother?” Wraith shook her head. “Damn shame,” she said. “Be hard to find foster parents for a hospitalized baby on such short notice. “

“Why do you say that?” said Wraith. “I know of three couples personally who are waiting on a baby, been through all of the classes. Several have medical training. Roberto Domingo is a cardiac nurse. He’s married to Georges Paul, who is an accountant. I know they’ve specifically asked for a drug-addicted baby. Then there’s Trina and Rob…”

Gertie held up her hand. “The first couple. You know them?”

“Salt of the earth,” said Wraith. “Been waiting two years. Or, is it three?”

“Give me their info,” said Gertie, whipping out her phone. “That baby needs someone here, now.” She talked into her phone as Wraith called up both Roberto and Georges’ phone numbers and last names.

“Found them,” said Gertie. “Who’s off tonight?”

“They both are,” said Wraith. “Roberto only works three nights a week.”

“I’ll get the paperwork started,” said Gertie, and punched in a number. “Is this Roberto Domingo? This is Gertie Blake with Child Services.” Wraith and Skuld grinned as they heard Roberto whoop.

Twenty minutes later, Roberto came rushing around the corner from the elevator in purple scrubs. He was a short man with a stocky chest and arms that bulged with muscles.

“You must be Gertie,” he said. “Georges is parking the car in the parking garage. Now, what do you need me to sign?” he said, handing over his ID and his foster father paperwork.

“Good thing they let me use the printer here,” said Gertie, handing him a pen.

All three women watched through the NICU window as Roberto washed up, and was introduced to his daughter. He wrapped her up papoose-style, whispering to her.

Georges flew around the same corner. He was older, just past thirty, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a slight limp. He sported the same muscles as Roberto. He wore a blue jacket, dark blue jeans, and a soft yellow shirt. Gertie wordlessly handed him a pen, and he signed.

He turned, and stared at Roberto, now holding the baby to his chest and rocking slowly back and forth. “What’s her name?” he asked, his eyes filled with wonder and tears.

“Her mom can’t tell us. She died,” said Wraith. “Why don’t you name her?”

Georges nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He washed up in the sink, put on a yellow plastic thing, and went into the NICU. He smiled, and patted her back, as she went stiff and squalled.

The two men spoke softly. “Amelia,” Georges mouthed, and waved. They waved back.

Gertie wiped away tears. “Never ceases to amaze me,” she said. “Making new families. Now, let’s give these gentlemen some privacy.”

At the bikes, Wraith and Skuld touched foreheads. “With our shield,” said Wraith.

“Or on it,” said Skuld. They smiled tearfully, hugged each other, and headed out into the icy night that was filled with stars.

“If you can’t change your own behavior, you’re destined for pain, grief, and loss, and the loss of the trust of others.”