Gregory was so exhausted that Richland was actually moving him around like a chess piece. He could talk his way through a meet-and-greet, a contract signing, massaging egos. But, their little hidden spider, Wraith, was keeping everything moving —and him out of the field. Everyone wanted to meet the man who pulled off a movie-type of move, shooting an assassin while on a bike. The constant handshaking was making him simultaneously exhausted and nervous. He had children at home, a wife driven to wake him up in the middle of the night to mount him due to pregnancy hormones, back-to-back meetings, and teaching evasion three times a week. He was ready to fall down. So, he did the only thing he could. He punted.

“Wraith,” he said.

“Go,” said Wraith.

“Send me into the field or I’m going to go insane,” said Gregory.

“On it,” said Wraith. She hung up.

When did she start sounding like an ops commander? Gregory wondered. He found Bannon, Richland, and Choi staring at pictures of the teen Choi had taken on, one of their clients. “And she’s in band now,” said Choi. “Decided she wanted to play the saxophone, of all things.”

Gregory pulled up a picture of Elena, in full soccer regalia, pounding a ball. He held it up for Choi to see. “Mine plays soccer. She’s good at passing and defending, sucks at scoring.”

Jaime Choi laughed. “Let’s get together, have dinner, with the daughters. Sort of a father-father-father-mother-daughter thing.”

Bannon groaned. “Only if you like little ones. Their boys eat like seven, not two.”

Their phones all buzzed. They all touched their earphones, to get an earful from Wraith. “Playtime’s over. Bannon, you’ve got Rocky Georgiano —I kid you not about the name, he owns twenty-four Italian restaurants. And Gregory, you’ve got Rennie, another one of the Nayan Music, young female artists. This girl can dance and sing, and needs a good songwriter, a choreographer, and a lot of protecting. She’s got some asswipe from high school after her, and the boy in question’s daddy taught him to shoot little cute bunny rabbits for fun.” Bannon and Gregory grunted their disdain. “Choi, you and Richland have point. Get those contracts signed, people! And, Jaime and Gregory, you have dinner next Thursday, spouses and kids, at a pizza/fun time parlor. Sorry about the noise level, but both girls like hitting baseballs and winning tickets for stuffed animals. Wolfpack will watch the twins, wives get an early ride home, gentlemen and young women will then catch a ball game. Got it?”

“Yes, Gunny,” said Richland. Wraith had not, and had never been a gunnery sergeant, but she acted like one. “Gunny” was her High Desert Security handle. She loved it. They all squared their shoulders and went to go do some business.

After their initial morning contract-signings, they met for lunch and a debrief. “Got the Georgiano account,” said Bannon, piling his sandwich high with turkey, provolone, and mustard. “Man wants protection for her daughter. Seems she started dating a ‘questionable’ person, and he’s checking things out. He’s also being intelligent about it.”

“I’ve got Rennie,” said Gregory. “She’s alone; hired herself a lawyer and got herself declared an emancipated minor. Proved in court that Mommy violated the Jackie Cougan law and pilfered her daughter’s account.”

“That’s just cold,” said Richland, going for ham and cheddar. She threw a cola at Gregory, who caught it. She took one for herself, too.

“Talk about assholery,” said Bannon. “What’s going on now?”

“Rennie heard about what we did with Sarah, wants us to guard herself and her assets. Set her up in a protected townhome, get two accountants to watch each other, hire a songwriter and choreographer, and be the best she can be. Dani Everson showed Rennie some awards show, found two that fizzled afterward with no contracts. Rennie sang both their songs, right then and there, and picked Trey Halloran. Boy’s got amazing talent, and he can do duets with her if they want to go that route. He lives in LA. We’re flying him up for a meet, see if he wants to do it. Choreographer was harder. Got a wonderful, talented woman named Kris, sidelined by a back injury to take a look. And she’ll go for strong, not sexual. Since Kris sports side braids, we suggested her rather strongly to Rennie, our singer.”

“Oh ho,” said Bannon. “A Valkyrie, so she can protect our girl even when pushing her to dance her heart out.”

“Two for the price of one,” agreed Gregory.

“I opened the door to let Kris in,” said Richland. “They sized each other up like bantam roosters, then Kris jutted out her jaw. Rennie nodded once, and that was that. Kris has a four-bedroom that overlooks the city, believe it or not. She showed a video of her place to Rennie. Kris built a double-suite thing to accommodate dancers she’s working with. Rennie loved it, and that was that.”

“I love it when a plan comes together,” said Wraith, in their ears. “Your second half of your day is Choi holding out with the Ronden team for more money. They want upgrades, they’ve got to pay for them. None of this ‘But we’re so special!’ crap. Then Bannon, you swoop in and act all military, and they’ll definitely sign. Maybe with less upgrades, but they’ll sign. Get rid of some of that backlog while you wait.”

“Email or paperwork?” asked Bannon.

“I’ve got you at ninety-four percent no paper, except for signed documents,” said Wraith, snorting.

“And me?” asked Gregory, reheating a chicken, bacon and cheddar sandwich in the microwave.

“Violet Amato. Smart, funny, and fifteen years old,” said Wraith.

“She was the runner-up in that show,” said Choi, slathering guacamole on his veggie burger.

“She was,” said Wraith. “And she can sing the blues like no other. Think Norah Jones with some kick.”

“I know just where to book her,” said Gregory. “But that’s not my job. I’ll get her signed. Mama?”

“Raita. Was raised on the blues herself, knows the business, already predisposed to going indie since her label dropped her for getting pregnant with Violet,” said Wraith, a disapproval for the music company clear in her voice.

“That’s just… nasty,” said Richland. “Let’s get a mama-daughter singing team going on.” She snagged another bag of chips.

“Good idea,” said Gregory. “Let’s eat and do this. Bye, Gunny.”

“Buh-bye,” she said, and hung up.

“Great name for her,” said Bannon.

“You have no idea,” said Gregory.

* * *

Thandie escorted Raita and Violet to dinner with Gregory, and then there was Kris the choreographer, Rennie, and the entertainment lawyer and front for Nayan Music, Dani Everson. Sayan was the driver for the limo, and he kept an eye on the street. The girls were immediately in sync with each other, having seen each other’s shows.

“So, they had the makeup person poking at my eyes six minutes before going on,” said Rennie. She was a tiny young woman, with long brown hair, a wide nose, and sharp little teeth. She looked like a cute ferret. “Never happy with my look.”

“They kept changing mine,” said Violet. “First strong colors, then muted, then black. Couldn’t make up their minds.” Violet’s mother was Raita was from Bangalore, and it showed from the tilt of her eyes to the cinnamon of her skin, being exactly like her mother’s. Both mother and daughter carried themselves with a grace and a quiet courage that was beautiful to behold.

Kris smiled at the byplay. “Saw lots of that when I was onstage,” she said.

Raita was confused. “You’re not security?”

Kris nodded. “Good guess, and sort of. No, I’m a choreographer. Rennie there can really move. Your daughter’s more of a torch singer who needs to own a stage. She does, mostly, just needs a bit more oomph.”

Raita nodded. “A ding to the self-confidence, not coming in first. She was a wreck for days.”

“Chew you up, spit you out,” said Kris. “Then the follow up shows for a year that lead to… nothing.”

“They led us here,” said Raita.

“Yes,” said Gregory. “They did.” He smiled. “Profits are guppy-sized at first, then we go after bigger fish. Social marketing is key. We’ve got a great studio for both recording video and audio. It’s going to suck at first, hearing crickets, even with all the work. It’s quantity, it’s quality, it’s having fun. It’s being real, while still having a direction.”

“We’re not dictators,” said Dani. “We’re enablers. Going to have to pick a style and a direction. But, the ladies over there will make the choices, and as long as they’re consistent and part of a natural evolution of style and maturity, it will be beautiful.”

“They’re kids. Let them be that way for a while,” said Raita.

Violet glanced over at her mother. “Neither one of us are kids, Mom,” she said. “We’re young women. But, we want to be fun. Happy.”

“Joy,” said Rennie. “Without the lemon yellow.” The women laughed.

* * *

Thandie and Sayan finished off their shift once they dropped off their charges; swing and grave shifts had the next part. They went to the Doghouse to meet the Soldier Pack for dinner. They had six tables pushed together, and they had so many appetizers down that the tables looked ready to collapse. Thandie and Sayan stole a table that was dirty, and a server ran over to pick up the tip and clean it off. Pomp grabbed a plate, put two tiny fish tacos on a plate, some taquitos drowned in cheese, sour cream, and salsa, wings in three different flavors, fries loaded with cheese, bacon, and sour cream, chicken bacon potato bites, jalapeno cheese poppers, and tiny strips of chicken. They got their plates, ordered two Cokes, and chilled out.

Mike was gesturing with a fry. “Triesta and Robert’s suggestion for a Route 66 trip is in play. Anyone have an objection?”

“Not from us,” said Thandie. “Love the concept.” She stuffed three fries in her mouth.

“When?” asked Pomp. “Kind of hard for us all to take off at once.”

“We can do it in segments,” said Tori. “Each group gets one.”

“Since it’s a straight line, don’t see how that can work,” said Sayan. He ate two chicken pieces simultaneously.

“There’s an LA part, can go to Huntington Beach. Can go from Vegas through Arizona into Missouri, all the way to Chicago and back down,” said Tori.

“Hit up Branson, Missouri, see some shows,” said Pomp.

“That wouldn’t take that long,” said Sayan. “Couple of days and back, with a stop in St. Louis, see the arch, go back down through Texas on the way back.”

“We’ll have to talk to Wraith,” said Thandie. Everyone looked at her. “What? She’s not opposed to bike trips.”

“We can’t all get off at once,” said Sayan. Thandie snorted, took a pic of everyone at the table, and texted the request to Wraith.

They received a reply nearly immediately. “She sent three, ten-day time frames,” said Thandie, stunned. “Seems that she was expecting this. And we all can go.” A cheer went up from everyone, and they clinked glasses.

Mike stood up. “I may suck at making bikes, but I love riding them. To us!”

“Ooh-rah!” they clinked again.

Triesta said, “Are we just bringing us, or are we bringing the boys?”

“Nantan and Chayton’s boys?” asked Mike. “Good question. They’re great kids, no question. But…”

“Just us,” said Sayan. “We’ve found new lives. Want to celebrate them. Don’t want to guard my speech.”

“If I have a nightmare, don’t want to scare the fuck out of them,” said Mike. They all looked at him. “What? I live in the main house. Ryder likes me, doesn’t seem scared of me.” He grinned. “But then, she wakes up screaming, too.”

“Let’s do a special trip with them,” said Robert. “One closer by.”

“With hiking. They like hiking,” said Mike.

“What about Damia?” asked Sayan.

“She’s autistic, and doesn’t like being away from the ranch,” said Robert.

“She’s very high functioning, then,” said Sayan. “I’ve heard her laugh, and she dotes on you, Robert.”

“No kidding,” said Triesta. “That yellow wolf knows where he is at all times.”

Robert looked sheepish. “We fell asleep. She only knocked on one door… hers. Where we were.” There was some whistling and back-slapping.

Triesta laughed. “We told her we were dating. She said, ‘I know. Like Mom and Mama, and Henry and David, and Vu and Jake.’”

“What?” said Mike. “I live in the same house, and I didn’t know. Vu and Jake? Really?”

“What do you think? Old people quit having those… feelings?” said Triesta. “And, I knew. He looks at her out of the corner of his eyes, brings her jasmine tea, makes sure her chair is positioned correctly so the glare doesn’t harm her eyes while she’s looking at her tablet. He’s careful with her, thinks things through.”

“Women notice these things,” said Robert. “I guessed, but I didn’t know.”

Pomp smiled. “It gives me hope for my old age. Jake helps with the businesses, right?”

“He helps run the Owl Pack website. Helps sell the stuff they make online —David’s beading, and now mine, Vu’s books, the sweaters, caps, hooked and woven rugs, all of it.” Robert smiled. “Man used to run a candy shop, years ago. Says art is a little harder, but the same principles apply. Great product, great price, easily accessible.”

“Kind of like us,” said Pomp. They all laughed.

* * *

Robert and Triesta went home, high on cola, appetizers, and friends who were doing really, really well. They stopped off at the paddock, where Damia was standing with Inola, and leaned on the fence. Grace came over, and they all looked out.

“What we looking at?” asked Grace.

“The light,” said Inola. “It is a hard white during the day, but then it softens to yellow, then the sky at the edges turns purple.”

“Then the purple goes to indigo, which is a nearly black purple,” said Damia. All the adults fought not to do a double take.

“Then the moon shines down, and a million stars come out,” said Robert.

“That happens every night,” said Grace.

“It does,” said Inola. “Do you ever stop and listen to the night? The wind skittering the sand, the voice of the owl in the treetop?” They listened. A faint “hoo-oo” could be heard.

“His name is Einstein,” said Damia. “He’s small but smart.”

“He’s gonna get bigger,” said Inola. “He’s a baby Great Horned Owl.” The “hoo-oo” came from the far right, from the other side of the fence. “There,” said Inola. She pointed. They could barely see the outline in the tree, and the pointed ears.

“Wow,” said Grace. They watched, and eventually the owl took off into the darkening sky.

“Mom and Mama want to see if you want to play cards with us,” said Grace. “We have popcorn and those little peanut butter candies you like. We know you can only stay for a game or two.”

Damia turned toward her sister. “Babies are sleeping?”

“Yes, the babies are sleeping,” said Grace.

“Good,” she said. “After, we’ll see Orion. In the sky.”

“Good,” said Grace. “Need astronomy for school anyway.”

“Bring Hu?” asked Damia, striding off, making her sister keep up.

“I’ll text her,” said Grace.

“Good,” said Damia. The two girls went to the house. Inola nodded at the couple, then shadowed them to be sure the girls got home over the little hill safely.

“That went well,” said Robert, breathing out.

“Why is Grace so hesitant around our yellow wolf?” asked Triesta.

“Ah,” said Robert. “You missed those bombs. I missed a lot of them too. Situation was building for a long time. Grace has ADD, and can’t focus, and is really loud. She is smart, but she didn’t listen to what anyone was telling her about her behavior toward her sister. First, Damia moved out here, to the barn, breaking her mothers’ hearts. Then, gentle Hu moved out. She was tired of Grace being so controlling, dominating, and rude to everyone. Grace finally got the news that pushing people away can get really permanent, even within a family. And that her parents weren’t trying to control her, but actually trying to help her. She’s trying to make it back.”

“Hmm,” said Triesta. “Gives me hope that my mother can change. Maybe she won’t, but maybe she will get it together. Maybe she will see how closed off she is.”

“Do you talk to her?” asked Robert.

“After her last listing about her angel boy’s wonder and beauty, no. I told her that she has two children, and praising one and running down the other is not a good life strategy. That it would help her to have some idea of who her children actually were, and that loving parents don’t judge their children, one way or the other. That went over like a lead balloon, but it is possible she actually listened. Or not.” She smiled up at Robert. “Then I got on a bike and chased you down. Shipped my stuff here without even knowing if you’d want me here.”

“I want you,” he said. “I wanted you when you were running on the track team, hair flying behind you, jumping hurdles. I wanted you when you stood up to the tribal council and demanded more input from young ones. I wanted you when you got your aunt to speak at your graduation. You only had two friends, but you were loyal to them, protected them. You were so far above me, smart and strong. I was running around like a chicken, trying to get jobs to get to college. When Tarcher stole what little I had, I had to do the army thing.”

He sighed, looked away. “Your stepdad,” said Triesta. “Didn’t know about that.”

He shrugged. “You were away at college. And your brother probably did the same thing.”

She shrugged. “I had really good hiding places. He hit me once, demanding money, and I cleaned his clock. He never touched me again. Never really looked at me again, either. He’s in Arizona somewhere, I think. Haven’t seen him since my second year of college.”

“Braydon is an idiot,” said Robert. “We called him Bray. Or Donkey.”

“He is,” she said. “He’s three years older than me. He made fun of me going out for track. He ended up behind the bleachers smoking in the eighth grade, graduated to drugs and drinking by ninth grade. I’d like to meet him if he got sober.”

They watched the stars come out, first singly, then in great strips. They walked to the Big House and sat down in the glider. Henry came out, with bottles of the spiced apple cider in hand, and passed them out. David came out too, and leaned on the railing, holding hands with Henry. Jake came out, with a cider in hand, with Vu. Robert and Triesta rose, held hands, and ran laughing up their stairs.

Robert liked Triesta’s room. A third of a wall was covered with chicken wire mesh, stapled to the wall. Her jewelry hung in hooks, with earrings along the left side, necklaces and chokers in the middle, bangles and bracelets on the right side. Her work was stunning. Made of silver, glass, winks of gold, and not just turquoise, but red and golden tiger’s eye, fool’s gold, amethyst, chalcedony, rhodonite, topaz, sodalite, malachite, jasper, and jade. She loved swirls and spirals, and stamped out tiny suns, lizards, butterflies, rivers, desert flowers and plants, and more. He was stunned at the detail, and he spent the time for kicking off his boots and taking off his shirt, just staring at her wall, mesmerized. She sold pieces, and added more, making it fun to “read” her wall.

He turned, and gasped. She was completely nude, perched on the bed, her legs underneath her. She had her hands in her hair, taking out the clip, making her breasts stand out. He reached for her, and her hands went to his as he stroked her face, then her breasts. Her hands went lower, and she grabbed his jeans, unbuttoned them, and pulled them down. He stepped out of them, almost tripping as she ripped down his boxers as well.

Her eyes gleamed as she pulled him to her, demanding his touch. She put one hand on her breast, the other on her lips. She kissed his fingers, grabbed his face, and kissed his lips. She drew him on the bed, traced the muscles on his arms, his chest, his back, making him shiver. She made him gasp, moan, and whisper in her ear. She made him need her, want her. Her hair smelled like the sun, her kisses like rain. Her eyes drew him in, hot, seeking. She whispered in Zuni in his ear about his strength, and about the joy he brought to her. She brought him to the edge again and again. As he did as she demanded, she came again and again, arching her back, moaning, biting his ear as he sucked each breast, and did so as he slid his fingers inside her. Finally, he couldn’t wait any more, and he put on the condom and slid inside. She wrapped her legs around him, and bit his ear as he drove deeper, then deeper still.

He came, and she did too, both with great, juddering gasps. They laid there, unable to breathe, for what felt like forever, before she reached under her pillow and drew out a wet wipe. She tore open the packet and wiped them both down. He rolled next to her, and they laid there, unable to catch their breaths. She had her head on his shoulder, his arms embracing her, and they fell asleep, the sweat of their bodies now cooling.

Robert woke up to her climbing down his body. His eyes flew open as she coaxed him awake with her tongue, lips, and teeth. He came again, and she dragged him in for a shower in the wee hours of the morning. She dried them both, braided her hair, and kicked him out. He stumbled into his boxers and carried the rest of his clothes down the hall. He put on fresh boxers and fell into a deep sleep.

Robert woke up, heart pounding, the noise of battle in his skull. Skyler was dead, eyes staring into the desert sun. Tran was dragging a screaming Vonners to another Jeep. Someone was tying something around his leg. He woke up to absolute darkness, the whiteness of a desert sun, the grit in his mouth, still there from a year earlier, and halfway around the world.

He did all the things he was supposed to. He looked at the clock. Four am. Oh, dark thirty. He ran a hand over his face. He drank lukewarm water, hand shaking. A little hand tapped his door, and it swung open. A little yellow-haired girl went over to him and took his hand.

“Nightmare,” said Robert. “Not real. Sorry I woke you.”

He was stunned when a gossamer hug came around his neck. “Not real,” she said. She gave him a tiny pat on the cheek. “Got to sleep,” she ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. She nodded, then vanished, pulling the door shut behind her.

He laid down, and tried to do as he had been ordered. He pulled out his phone and left himself a message to call Tran; he was doing well, based in Virginia now. Vonners had shot himself in the head six months after she got out. He felt like taking his brain out, scrubbing it, and putting it back in his skull. He didn’t slide into sleep until a warm woman slipped in, climbed in the bed, and held him around the stomach. He held onto the thought that she was real, there, willing. He remembered her running track, leaping over the hurdles, a look of absolute focus and ambition on her face. He realized, as he slipped under, that he loved her, now more than ever.

Dealmaker

Sheriff Bob —Robin at home, wondered when he’d last slept. Xenia and Robin took turns with Diana. The little refrigerator and bottle warmer in their room were wonderful for storing and reheating breast milk. Xenia was still on maternity leave, but his paternity leave had ended. He had a full day of paperwork, riding around, making sure his deputies did everything by the book. He took calls from his dispatcher and kept track of some kids in the foster system he was overseeing. He had to be sure they were treated well, did their homework, and generally kept out of trouble. Tommy Parks was doing much better, and his foster mom wanted to adopt him. Chance ended up in a group home, which sucked. He was trying to get her out of there, but it was hard. He put Herja on her, and one of the Valkyries —he didn’t know which one, but one was taking parenting classes to adopt Chance. Chance now sported the Valkyries’ side braids, which gave her super-religious group home, absolute fits.

So, he went to the group home and sat Ms. Turtin down. “Ms. Turtin,” he said. “Chance says you’re harassing her about her braids.”

“She would look so pretty with a normal hairstyle,” said Ms. Turtin. She was a large woman, with large hands she tended to flutter. She also liked to wear orange, which made her look like a pumpkin.

“She looks pretty now, Ms. Turtin,” he said. “Chance is wearing this to get stronger in her heart. Do you understand the value of having a strong heart?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” said Ms. Turtin, fluttering her hands again.

“That girl’s working on avoiding people at school who are trying to sell her drugs. She wears the braids, it makes her a straight-edger. Someone who doesn’t do drugs, not even caffeine. You want her to avoid drugs, don’t you?”

“It’s a school thing?” asked Ms. Turtin. “She didn’t tell me that.” She fluttered her hands again, the golden swirls of her nail art glittering in the light that was streaming in through the window.

“I hate to tell you this, Ms. Turtin, but there are gangs at that school. Chance is trying to have a strong heart to fight against that. You can support her in that, can’t you, Ms. Turtin?”

“Yes, yes, I can,” said Ms. Turtin.

“Good,” said Sheriff Bob. He finished the woman’s execrable coffee, glad of the caffeine hit, but not the taste.

Thank you, mouthed Chance, a girl in a sky-blue T-shirt and jeans, black hair braided on one side. She was free of makeup, and Sheriff Bob knew she hated blue. He had secretly spirited the girl’s black clothes out to his car in a trash bag to give to Herja. He nodded, put down the coffee cup, and stood.

“Have to get going,” he said. He called over Chance. She stood in front of him, the fire in her eyes gleaming past the lock of hair in her face. “You stay strong,” he said.

She grinned. “Three weeks.”

“Good,” he said.

“Three weeks?” asked Ms. Turtin.

“Since she’s taken the clean and sober pledge,” said Bob. It was partly true; it was the day she met Herja. If Ms. Turtin knew about the Valkyries, she may try to block the adoption to “protect” Chance. This way, Chance would just be one of many girls cycled in and out.

Bob bumped fists with Chance and made it to his car without falling over from exhaustion. He got in, and checked in. “S-29. Heading to the speed trap,” he said. He’d take over for Deputy Carson Diaz, giving her fifty minutes for lunch.

He swung by a gas station, filled up and used the restroom, and swung out to the trap. He was halfway there when a semi crossed two lanes of traffic and skidded out into the desert, not three cars in front of him. He pulled off to the shoulder, avoiding the Audi that slammed on the brakes, then pulled over, to get out of the way of the truck. The truck clipped a little green Ford, sending the car spinning off the road. A motorcycle rider used great skills to avoid all the vehicles and leaned to curve out of the way. The motorcycle went upright, and flowed out to the spinning car, which came to rest. All the other cars had managed to avoid the accident. Bob called it in, hopped out, opened the back, put out light cones for the shattered glass and bumper in the road, grabbed his first aid kit, and ran toward the spun car.

The biker was a Valkyrie he didn’t recognize. She had dark skin, tawny lips, and a sure stance. She was wearing black from head to toe, from helmet to vented jacket, black jeans, and motorcycle boots. She had her helmet off and had taken an emergency kit out of her saddlebag before he could get there with his own.

“She’s alive,” said the woman. “Check out the truck.”

He did, and he found a man with gray skin gasping for air. He put aspirin under the man’s tongue and got him out of the truck in case he had to do chest compressions. He said into his shoulder mic, “Need two buses. Now. Have one probable heart attack.”

He saw the Valkyrie biker rotate around the car, talking simultaneously to the people inside, and to her earphone. He concentrated on the trucker. “I’ve got you,” he said, taking the man’s pulse. “A little thready, buddy, but the hospital’s not far from here.” He heard sirens. “Not long now.”

Two ambulances came roaring up. One headed toward the biker and backed up butt first to take the inhabitants of the first car out. The second one came barreling toward the truck. Major Orissey, his real name, did a donut and landed right next to the man.

“Major,” complained Bob, “If this gentleman wasn’t having a heart attack before, he’s having one now.”

Orissey had sandy brown hair, green/brown hazel eyes that looked like ripe olives, and a beard that made his thin lips disappear. “Don’t worry, sir,” said Major. “I’ll have you at the hospital in a jiffy.”

“Gave him a baby aspirin,” said Bob, checking the man’s pockets. He took out the wallet and read the driver’s license. “Ganub Orjics. Sir, do you want me to call anyone?” Raul Poros started the IV while Major gave the man oxygen and checked the man’s vitals.

The man slipped out his own phone, pressed 1, and handed it to Bob. He checked the label, and it said Mirsa. He said, “Is this Mirsa?” when the phone stopped ringing.

“Yes,” said a woman with a heavy Slavic accident.

“Do you know a Ganub Orjics?” asked Bob.

“Yes, is my husband,” said the woman.

“This is Sheriff Bob Hunter, Nye County Sheriff’s Department. Your husband is receiving excellent medical attention, and he is conscious. We think he had a heart attack. His truck is fine and pulled off the side of the road. We’re taking him to Desert Sunrise Medical, right now.”

“Good he is fine. Tell him to live or I will kill him. I will be there soon.” She hung up.

Bob put the phone back in the man’s pocket. “Your wife will meet you at the hospital, and she will kill you if you die.”

The man grinned under his mask. He held his thumb up, and Bob gave him a thumbs-up. He took a photo with his phone of the man’s ID, and then he put the ID back into the wallet. He slid the wallet back into the man’s pants, and Major and Raul got the man into the bus. Bob closed the door and banged on it. The ambulance took off, spitting up a rooster tail of dust.

The woman and her six-year-old daughter were fine, but very shaken up. The little girl, a girl with caramel hair in a wild pouf who was wearing a green top and shorts, was crying. “And that’s why you sit in your car seat,” said Davis Alchier, the driver paramedic of the duo, a thin beanpole of a woman who routinely won at arm-wrestling. Malachi Roasa was the other paramedic, a former football player who was still fast on his huge feet. “Your mom is super-smart for having one.”

The woman said, “Daisy hates it, but everybody knows the car won’t start without it.” She had caramel skin, hair tamed into a side braid, and huge brown eyes. You could see the family resemblance; they had the exact same nose and eyes.

“Exactly right,” said Bob. “Glad you folks are okay. You are okay?”

“Fine,” said the woman. “I’m Rissa. You’ve met Daisy. You Sheriff Hunter?”

“Yes, I am,” said Bob, and he shook her hand. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said. “Is that man okay?” She took her daughter into her arms and rocked back and forth.

“Heart attack,” said Bob. “He’s awake. I am so glad your reflexes were that good. As far as I can tell, he tried to avoid traffic when he pulled over. I don’t think he had any intent in harming anyone.” He sighed. “I’ll need your information. Insurance from the trucking company will probably pay for your vehicle to be repaired.”

She said, “License is in the purse in the car.” Bob got up, shone his flashlight in the car, and came out with a purse with her license and registration. He asked Rissa to take out her license, so he could photograph it, and he also photographed her registration. He took down an incident report, and said (after Rissa refused to go to the hospital), “I suggest you go to the hospital to be checked out. You never know if there are hidden problems.”

Rissa nodded. “I guess so.”

The biker, who had been leaning against her bike, came over and said, “Would you rather have a hassle and waste an hour or two and be fine, or have trouble getting out of bed tomorrow, and be unable to care for Daisy?”

Rissa nodded. “Yeah. And, thank you for stopping, Ms…”

“Freya,” said the Valkyrie.

“Of course… your name is Freya,” said Bob. “Are you the one working with Herja?”

“Yes,” she said. She had cobalt-black eyes, blue-black skin, and her black hair in tiny braids on one side, long enough to run down her back on the other.

“You’re a motorcycle mechanic,” said Bob. “Nice to meet you. I take it you know my wife?”

“She’s been by,” said Freya. “Your daughter is gorgeous.”

“How old?” asked Rissa.

“Less than thirty days. Twenty-nine, I think,” said Bob. “I’m too tired to count most days.”

Rissa laughed, a welcome sound. “New-father sleep deprivation. Reminds me. I’ll call Van, have him meet us. He’ll want to check us out himself.”

“EMT?” asked Bob.

“Urgent care physician’s assistant,” said Rissa.

“Take her there,” said Bob. “Then she can get a lift home from Dad.”

“Can we get Daisy’s backpack out?”

“And Mr. Purple,” said Daisy, converting from sniffles to pleading looks in hope of being the center of attention.

“Of course,” said Bob. He found the bright yellow Minions backpack and, to his surprise, a purple Minion from the movie.

“She has hair like me,” said Daisy, and took the Minion and Minions backpack. Bob refrained from informing Daisy that, as far as he knew, all the Minions were male.

“Good,” said Freya. “Go forth and prosper,” she said, and made the Vulcan sign. Bob wondered at the non sequitur, but he then saw the Star Trek necklace around Rissa’s neck.

Rissa did the Vulcan salute, and said, “Live long and prosper.” She carried her daughter into the ambulance, and Bob turned to Freya. “You’re the one adopting Chance,” he said.

“And, if all goes well, Rhodes.” Rhodes was twelve, an adorable pixie of a girl, with a foul mouth and a love of military strategy. She just didn’t fit anyone’s version of the cute little girl needing a home after she opened her mouth.

“Oh, thank the Universe,” said Bob, sagging with relief. “I was going to see her later today.”

“She wants another volume of Jane’s,” said Freya, naming the book of military hardware.

“I’m paying for diapers this week,” said Bob. “I got a paperback of Marcus Aurelius, and an article from the Journal of Roman Studies on the strategy and tactics of the Roman army.”

“Give me the name of the journal again, and I’ll get it on JSTOR,” she said. “Or a subscription.”

“Journal of Roman Studies. Cambridge, been published for over a century,” said Bob.

“Awesome,” said Freya. “She’ll love it.”

“I hate to mire you in more paperwork, but it will look good on your adoption paperwork,” said Bob.

“Let’s do this,” said Freya. Bob took her statement.

Bob was late getting to Carson Diaz for changeover. The poor man was about to pop, but he’d made quota. He zipped off before Bob actually pulled in. Bob was soon visited by Freya on her very-cool, black, Harley Low Rider, a bag of Sonic in her hand.

“Peanut butter shake, and mozzarella sticks,” said Freya. “The baby is sleeping, and so is your wife. Herja is there, running laundry. We need our own Wolfpack to do all the errands and watch the kids and stuff.”

“We need to purchase an apartment house or a house with a lot of bedrooms, then,” said Bob.

“I’ll look into it. Have to do it for the Soldier Pack anyway. I’m doing a training here in order to learn that part of the business. I want to open my own shop, not here, but a little farther out. Maybe homeschool.”

“Teachers everywhere breathe a sigh of relief,” said Bob. “Seriously, run Henry’s program here. Got to start it up sometime.”

Freya sighed. “Wasn’t planning on running a giant farm. More of a shop with an apartment over it.”

“Good enough,” said Bob. “We support you.”

“I know,” said Freya. She fist-bumped Bob and took off with a roar.

Bob made it to see Rhodes. Her foster mother had four other kids in the house, and she looked just about ready to tear her hair out. Bob walked with Rhodes down the street to McDonald’s. Freya was there, and Rhodes ran into her arms. Bob gave Rhodes her book and article, and Freya and Rhodes marveled over the article while consuming chicken burgers, fries, and chocolate shakes. They sat outside on a bench to attempt not to terrify the mothers and their children from all the f-bombs flying around. They got into arguments about tactics, and Rhodes held her own against Freya’s obvious intelligence.

Bob walked Rhodes back, and said, “Freya’s got a three-bedroom apartment. Your foster mom will have a cow, so make an attempt to behave. In three weeks, she’ll be done with her classes, then we’ve got to convince caseworkers that she’s awesome, and that you are a good fit.”

“So, you want me to not be me for a few weeks,” said Rhodes.

“No, I want you to not get into a fight at school. Walk away. Hang out in the library, your books all out. Do your homework there. Ms. Rasan’s house is noisy anyway, with four other kids.”

“Rutan stole my money until I made ghost noises all night. I set my alarm to wake up every hour on the hour to make the noises. It worked. He hasn’t touched a thing of mine since.”

Bob sighed. He mentally voted Rhodes to be an expert on psychological warfare in ten years at West Point. “And, hold back on the tactics until the move. Constraints now, constraints removed later.”

“Constraints,” said Rhodes. “I get it now. Okay, you’ve got a fucking deal.” They shook.

Bob returned Rhodes to her foster mother, then went back to the office to slam out paperwork and emails. He did a stack of one and a huge amount of the other, while listening to a podcast on community policing procedures.

Rita, his gum-popping, purple-haired assistant, popped her head in, and said, “You realize you’re married with an infant at home, right?” she said.

“I hate reality sometimes,” said Bob. “If I don’t catch up, this stuff multiplies to the point it becomes impossible. If I don’t go home, my wife will remove my balls with a rusty knife. I can’t win.”

Rita laughed. “I’ll set a twenty-five-minute alarm, order from Marciano’s, and you can pick it up on the way home. Balls will stay intact.”

“Good move,” said Bob. “Cover me, I’m going in.” Rita laughed again. He banged through more emails and slammed out almost all of his inbox. “Five minutes,” he called out. “Two more of these things.” He signed a report, then another, turned off his computer, stuffed his law enforcement journals into his soft briefcase, and turned off the light. Rita locked his door and followed him out. Deputies Dan Rydan and Tracey Maisa were in the bullpen, partway through swing shift. He said goodbye and took off.

Marciano’s son Ricky came running out, took his credit card, and ran it. Bob gave him a sizable tip, and zipped home.

Xenia had the baby in a papoose pack. Bob set out the lobster ravioli, garlic bread, and two San Pellegrino’s. He put it onto plates, and watched his wife eat like a starving woman. She guzzled her water, and so he got her some cherry water from the refrigerator. He went up to change and then he came down in shorts and a shirt. He put the papoose pack on himself, cleaned up the kitchen, and put his wife in front of the TV with a comedy. He walked Diana all around until she slept, and then he sat down with his wife. They fell asleep holding hands.

Bob took first bottle, and got Diana changed and fed without waking up Xenia, a minor miracle. He sat down to watch a late-night show, then slipped into sleep after the monologue. When Diana woke up again, he walked them all to bed while his wife breast-fed, and he stumbled to bed, hearing his wife sing to Diana. Xenia put Diana in the bassinet. He awoke to Diana’s coughs, the beginnings of her cries, and fed, burped, and changed her. He fell asleep with her in the papoose pack in the rocking chair. She woke again, and the feeding/changing/burping process began again. Diana slept again, and this time he put her in the bassinet. He slept hard and slept right through the next feeding.

When he woke up, he shook the zombie out of himself, took a moderately cold shower, and went into work. He finished off the paperwork and a dozen more emails. He did his time on the speeding-ticket circuit, right in a school zone. Fines in Nevada for speeding in school zones were set at over two hundred dollars minimum, so the met his quota quickly and kept kids safe at the same time.

He drove through a coffee shop service window, and then got two frozen coffee drinks. He consumed both at his desk until his eyes screamed. He then went to lunch, partway to Mrs. Freeson’s house. Mrs. Freeson had a nightly prowler. He suspected a neighborhood kid was deliberately frightening the woman, an eighty-two-year-old woman who had lived in the same neighborhood on the edge of town for forty-eight years. He circled the neighborhood like a shark, looking for suspects. The kids were all riding skateboards and bikes and/or walking along. He had no idea how they could play in the heat, but they did. One kid glared at him, wearing a tank top and baggy shorts, with spikes of black hair on his head.

Bob stopped and went over to him. “My name’s Bob. What’s yours?”

“You that white pig that shoots black kids?” asked the boy.

Bob struggled to keep his face impassive. Where did they get that stuff? “No,” he said. “In fact, my office has the highest number of non-white deputies in the county.” He looked at the boy’s dusky, sweaty, dusty face. He’d been in the sun awhile. “Still didn’t get your name.”

“Pig,” said the boy.

“You don’t look like a pig,” said Bob. “You’re kinda skinny.”

“No, you’re a pig! A pig cop!” said the boy.

“I don’t look like a pig, either,” said Bob. “You got parents? Grandparents? A guardian?”

“Hey!” said the boy. “White cop hassling me! Pig!”

Clarence Woodrow, street name Doughboy, walked down the street, his huge frame bouncing as he walked. He was African American, with a wide face and huge arms and legs. He wore a huge yellow T-shirt and black and blue striped shorts.

“Hey, Doughboy,” said Bob. He and Clarence bumped fists.

“What up?” asked Doughboy.

“This little man’s been calling me a pig and accused me of shooting little black boys,” said Bob. “Haven’t done that. I’d remember if I had.”

Doughboy looked down his wide nose at the boy. “Jeeter, you ‘pologize, right now. That cop be behaving. He come down here, hep wif de community center n’ stuff. Get us basketballs an’ get da potholes fixed. Got da response time ta here ‘bout six minutes. Useta be twenty.”

“He hasslin’ me!” shouted Jeeter.

Doughboy casually, and very lightly, smacked Jeeter in the back of the head. “What he as’ you? Ya name?”

“Ya!” said Jeeter.

“That ain’t hasslin,’ that just politeness. How he gonna talk to ya, he not know ya name?” Doughboy said. He turned to Bob. “There a problem?”

“Someone’s been messing with Mrs. Freeson. Been rattling her door, banging on her windows,” said Bob. “At night, usually around three in the morning.”

“That be Dawson. She usta let him crash when he was good. He be her best friend Tri’s grandson. Tri done-got killed. She tried ta take ‘im in, but he done got into da drugs. Got popped, went to juvie. She took him back two times ‘fore he killed her cat when he was high. Got outta jail two momfs ago, done blame her when she was tryin’ to do his skinny junkie ass a fava. Stole money from her, too.”

“I’m gonna have to take him back in if he keeps it up,” said Bob. “Prefer to let the man live his life.”

“I can respec’ dat,” said Doughboy. “Be havin’ a chat with the man, suggest he get his ass to some otha place.”

“I’ll give him a bus ticket if he wants a ride out of town to a new place,” said Bob. “Get a fresh start.”

“Boy could use some time in Reno,” said Doughboy. “Mebbe he be gettin’ a job, get his life back togetha.” He sighed. “Meet tha brotha at the bus station, two ovus. Get his ass a new life.”

“Will do,” said Bob. He handed out coupons for two free meals at the chicken-and-fish place right next to the train station. “You two get a meal, and I’ll put him on the bus.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a third meal ticket. “Just in case.”

Doughboy grinned at him. “Love me dem fish nuggets. Ya’ll have a good day, cop-man.”

“You too, Doughboy. See you in two hours.”

Bob went to his car. As he got in, he heard Doughboy say to Jeeter, “Dat’s how ya deal with da hood problems. Now da man ain’t comin’ back in heah, got no cause to.”

“He still a pig,” said Jeeter.

“Boy, you as dumb as a box of rocks,” said Doughboy.

Bob drove over to the house and told Mrs. Freeson about the cause of her problem. She cried. “Wish I could have helped him. But, he got mean. Killed my cat. She was sixteen years old.” She was shaking. “I didn’t tell you about that boy because I thought he was still in jail.”

“I’ve got a plan to not arrest him,” said Bob. “Get him some help.”

“You do that,” said Mrs. Freeson, tears in her ancient eyes, running down her cheeks. “Be stunned if it works, but please try. We all have. I just ain’t got no more trying in me.”

Bob met Doughboy and Dawson at the chicken place, and paid for the rail-thin, gray, shaking Dawson to get a bus to Reno. Dawson looked embarrassed. His nose was running. “Ya tell my grandma’s fren’ I’s sorry,” he said. “Mad ‘cause I cain’t get myself clean.”

Bob handed him the card with information about the NA meeting three doors down from the Reno bus station. “These people will speak your language, talk to you like you are a real man, get you some help. You go there the minute you get off the bus, you hear?”

“Yeah,” said Dawson. “Yeah.”

Bob put the shaking man on a bus, then went to the vet he knew, Jemma Stone. “Jemma, you know of any elderly cats that need a home?”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I’ll have Pinter at the shelter fork her over to you. Short-haired gray, named Smoke, just a love. Her owner died.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Bob. He paid for all the cat’s shots, a carrier, food, and litter, and drove the sleeping cat to Mrs. Freeson’s house.

The elderly woman was surprised, then smiled a huge smile, and petted Smoke until she purred deeply. “We’re going to get along just fine,” she said to Smoke. “Thank you.” He left the food and litter on the spotless counter, left the cat’s immunization book out so she could see when to take the cat to the vet next, and saw himself out.

Doughboy and Jeeter were across the street. “You see?” Doughboy said to Jeeter. “That white cop didn’t have to get dat grandma a cat, even brought food and litter for it. He cool, man.”

Jeeter said, “He’s still a pig.”

Doughboy shoved him. “Boy, you ain’t worth talking to.” Bob smiled and drove away.

Relocation

Ghost sat with the Ghosties, Skuld, Rota, and Tori right behind her. “Ya gotta get off da stuff,” said Ghost. “Ya pushas be gettin’ ya ta not think, put yasef in a postion ta be hurt.”

“Fuck you,” said China, a half-Chinese, half-black girl.

“Girl, ya is me,” said Ghost. “I think, anyone come in heah, trying ta ‘help’ me, be some sorry-ass white chick, feelin’ sorry fa me. Lookit dis face. I look like I feel sorry for ya? Naw. Da world, it don’ give a shit ‘bout you an’ me. Only people ya ken count on is ya sistas.”

“An’ who iz dese?” asked a tiny girl called Little Bit.

“Dese is da Valkyries. Ya see, I be makin’ a real good livin’ buildin’ dem Harleys. Da big trikes. Roarin’ down da street like thunda. Den, I make more money, havin’ other people’s babies who cain’t have none. Den, I make da little Harleys, make mo’ dat green. Now, my wifey n’ I be livin’ good. Not in no penthouse, but gotta condo. Makin’ da green ever’ day, even when I sleep.”

“Well, fuck you,” said China. “Ain’t no way for us ta get ta know stuff like dat.”

“Ain’t true,” said Ghost. “I be openin’ a sweatshop and school. Not like da school now. Dis online school let ya roll back, go at ya own pace. I still takin’ stuff. Be lookin’ fo’ da new path. New way ta make da green.”

“Sweatshop?” asked Little Bit. “Like dose places, dem girls sew da jeans, da pretty-type dresses, no air conditioning? Count me out.”

“No, be a ‘partment house. ‘Bout ten blocks from heah, neah da Popeye’s. Ya live in a dorm, two girls in a room, spaces ta cook, ta make da stuff. Da Harley stuff, and otha stuff.”

“Dat’s offa Martin Luther King,” said Blue, a tall girl with blue-black skin and narrowed eyes. “Be just outta da hood. In da Hispanic neighborhood.”

“It be a small ‘partment house,” repeated Ghost. “We show ya what ta make, how ta make it. If ya want da otha jobs, gotta be doin’ da right stuff first. No drugs, no turnin’ tricks. No datin’ for a minute o’ two. Ya kin get betta people. Ya wanna bone, fine, but use da protection. We kin take ya to a docta. Got a shot, you have no babies fo’ three months. Give ya time to see if ya like da program. If not,” Ghost gestured, “da streets ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ya wanna go back out, get high, throw it away, den go. Dis is fo’ da serious folk. Not no stupids, not see what we got goin’ on.”

“I’m in,” said Blue. “Last asshole broke my stuff, an’ two ‘o my ribs. Ya promise ta show me how ta get a condo like yours, works fa me.”

“Me too,” said Thorn, a girl with tight braids. “My mama be drunk o’ high alla time now, be bringin’ home da nasty boys. I kin bring ma baby brother?”

“Cost ya,” said Ghost. “Savin’ money sharin’ da ‘partment.”

Tori said, “Give them pods, like the Wolfpack. Can fit the boy and his sister in the same room.”

“Yeah,” said Ghost. “Ya kin learn how ta build da pods. Mebbe we kin find a way ta sell ‘em. Callie don’ have time.”

Herja laughed. “That woman’s in six places at once.”

“Dis a group home?” asked Little Bit. “Las’ one had a girl beat me up, stole my stuff.”

“Better den da street,” said Ghost, “But, no. Ya’ll old ‘nuf ta behave, not let nobody steal ya stuff. An’ ya money goin’ to rent, food, a little ta savings. Once ya ova dat, ya gotta card. Spend it on whateva ya want. Don’ care, as long as no drugs. Don’ tolerate dat shit. Ya work an’ go ta school four days a week. Ya wanna spend res’ a ya time playin’ video games, s’okay. Don’ care.”

“Which school we gon’ to?” asked Blue. “Dey kicked me outta Central and Grover.”

“Ya stay at home, do it on some tablets. We come by, help ya finish ya work, four hours a day. Den, da work, o’ mix it up. Den, ya kin do what ya want.” Ghost waved a hand.

Their eyes grew wide. “What the fuck?” asked China. “Ya high? Dey tryin’ ta lock us up eight hours a day in school, don’ teach us nothin’ but ya gotta plan we only gotta go for four?”

“Alla kids we got doin’ it now, dem da Native ‘merican kids, alla dem be goin’ to college o’ da trades, like buildin’ houses o’ Harleys. Or growin’ plants. Dey doin’ fine, and dey got worse schools den ya.” Ghost grinned.

“I gotta kid,” said Orange, the girl with an orange jacket hanging on her too-tall frame.

“Mebbe my brudda an’ ya kid kin share a room,” said Thorn. “We gotta share, but we kin mebbe mark off part ‘a da ‘partment fa playin’, you know fo’ da kids.”

“I be in,” said Orange. “Ya take me ‘n my kid, yeah.”

“We in,” said Thorn. “Sistas be helpin’ each utha.”

“Y’all’s cray-cray,” said China. “I’s gone.” She glared at Little Bit, but Little Bit pretended not to see her. China disappeared around the corner.

“Ya’ll wanna ride Harleys?” asked Ghost. “Got my trike, and some Low Riders. Tori brought da van. Dose got a kid o’ brotha, go wit’ her.”

“I’ll follow,” said Skuld. “This could get dirty.”

Tori grinned. “I hope so.”

They loaded up and took them to the apartment house. They were small, but clean, with used furniture —beds, sofas, tables, lamps. There was a flat-screen TV bolted to the wall, and basic cable TV. Little Bit and Blue explored everything, including the galley kitchen and the hot shower and bath.

“This be real-good,” said Blue, to Ghost. “When da we start work?”

Ghost grinned. “Tomorrow good enough fo’ ya?”

Meanwhile, Tori, Rota, and Skuld went with Orange and Thorn to pick up Orange’s boy. He was just getting out of school. He wore older but serviceable shorts and a shirt, and old, hand-me-down sneakers. He had a bright smile.

“This be D’Shawn,” said Orange.

“Hey,” said D’Shawn. “Who da white ladies?”

“We’ve got someplace for you and your mama to live,” said Tori. “Get in, we’ll show you.” They hopped in. “D’Shawn, you know perfectly well the car won’t start if you don’t put on your seat belt.”

He grinned. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said. He plugged in his seat belt, and so did his mama, and they dropped them off at the apartment house. Rota went up to show them to their apartment.

Tori and Skuld then went with Thorn to get Thorn’s brother. The mother was sitting on the stairwell, nodding off. They walked right past her. Inside the place was trashed, dirty clothes and dishes everywhere, and the works for drugs right out on the table.

Thorn rushed past them, and found Rudy in his room, eyes closed. “Rudy, what ya doin’ home from school?”

Rudy opened his eyes. He looked exhausted. “I tried to clean up, really I did, but she started screamin’ an’ told me to go to my room.”

“Let me see,” said Thorn. Rudy held out his hand, and Thorn, Skuld, and Tori saw the hand was cut and bruised.

Tori’s face went still. “I gotta…” She pulled out her phone and started texting.

“Who?” asked Thorn, angling her head toward the phone, making her braids clack.

“Someone we can trust,” said Skuld. “Not looking to jam you up, just getting custody away from her.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “We’ve done this before.” Her eyes went grim. “Unfortunately.” She turned to Tori. “Glove compartment.”

“On it,” said Tori. She pocketed the phone and bounded out the door and down the steps.

“Where she goin’?” asked Thorn.

“Get the first aid kit,” said Herja. She arranged herself near the door. “Start packing.”

“We’ve got nothin’ ta…” said Thorn.

“Shoulda thought of that,” said Skuld. She texted Tori. “Tori will bring up the bags we use for groceries. Get your stuff in piles, ready to go. We’ll have to move fast.”

“Where we going?” asked Rudy, his face terrified.

“You work for us now,” said Skuld. “The rules are, homework gets done. You’ll have chores, like cleaning up your room and setting the table and sweeping the floor. Those’ll rotate, your sister will have hers to. Four hours school, two hours chores, four days a week. Rest of the time… well, you’ll have to work extra to get some money for an online video game subscription. Or, come up to Henry’s farm. Work with the ponies and horses.”

Thorn went through things, piling them on the bed. “Rudy, you see anything too small, you pull it out with your good hand and throw it on the floor. Can you do that for me?”

Rudy nodded, and stared wide-eyed as his sister went through his things. Tori came back up, cleaned and bandaged Rudy’s hand, and helped pack Rudy’s room. Skuld and Thorn went to the pitifully small pile of makeup and clothes on shelves near the couch. They threw them into the bags and shouldered them.

“Let’s go,” said Thorn. “Wait, we need pots or pans or…”

“All provided, including the first month of food. But, we’ll have to stop off and get more kid things, like mac n’ cheese,” said Herja. “Wait, either one of you got a birth certificate or social security card?” Tori gave her a flat stare that said Skuld was crazy. “Alrighty then,” said Skuld. She took a single step and put her head in the door. “You done?”

“Yes,” said Rudy, pulling himself up. “This a group home?”

“No, an apartment house,” said Tori. “These ain’t social workers.”

Skuld choked a laugh. “Certainly not.”

They went out to the stairs, avoiding the cockroaches. Gregory was on the stairs, a very large Bannon directly behind them. “I gotta…” said the woman nodding off on the porch.

“Sign here,” said Gregory.

Tori ran back up into the apartment and came back down with a little glassine baggie filled with a white powder. She held it in front of her mother’s nose. “Sign, and you get more goodies,” she said.

“I…” Her mother, the one with the gray skin and sunken eyes, signed. The woman snatched the glassine bag, tore it open, and put a little on her lips. “Good stuff,” she said. “That’s ma girl.”

“Not anymore,” said Thorn. “And, you should know. You just used our rent money to buy that shit.”

They ran out, toward the van. Some guys strolled up, with laid-back postures, baggy shorts falling off to expose baggy underwear, and do-rags on their heads. “Were ya goin’ wif de white folks?” said one of them, fingering the gun in his waistband.

“Razor, done goin’ to some otha group home,” said Thorn, looking sad. “Separatin’ me from my brotha again. Be back in six months, or mebbe three this time.”

“See ya,” said Razor.

Tori, Thorn, and Rudy got into the van. Skuld closed it. Gregory and Bannon got back in Bannon’s company car, a wide-eyed starlet in back, with a narrow-eyed Jamie Choi next to her. They rode off, eyes everywhere, until the ladies arrived at the apartment.

Bannon got out. “You ladies…”

“Thanks for the assist,” said Tori, getting out of the van. “And, I’m contemplating your offer. Seriously love what I’m doing, though. Think I’ll run my own garage, do some extra gigs.”

“Seriously want you full-time, but I get it,” said Bannon. “Call me.” He handed her his card. He got back in and was gone.

Thorn and Rudy dragged their way up the stairs, with Skuld and Tori behind them with the rest of their things. They burst in, and Orange came running up, to help.

D’Shawn was in the kitchen, eating cereal. “You… Rudy, you all ‘ight?”

“Yes’m,” said Rudy. “Hey, D’Shawn. Whatcha eatin’?”

“Cereal,” said the boy. D’Shawn held up a tablet. “It be charging. Yours is ova dere.” He pointed to a cabinet. Rudy ran up, and soon had a box in his hands.

“You two,” said Skuld, her voice low, to Orange and Thorn, “Type in what you need for the boys. I want sizes, from shirts to underwear, shorts to shoes. These boys are going to get what they need, right now.”

“You don’t have ta…” started Orange.

“Shut ya mouf,” said Thorn. “Dese people are pros.” She held up the paper Bannon had slipped her. “Got me custody of Rudy. Now, we be workin’ fo’ dem, pay dem back, but dey is good people. Dey wanna help, we let ‘em. For da boys, not us.”

“Done had D’Shawn when I was twelve,” said Orange. “Guess we due for a break.” They input the sizes into Herja’s phone. “We get phones, too?”

“Burners are in the cabinet. Don’t let the boys have them, and we have to pick up two more tablets for you two, now that the boys took them,” said Skuld.

“Henry’ll let them go to the Nighthawks homeschool,” said Tori. “They’re Nighthawks now.”

“What’s a Nighthawk?” asked Orange.

“A motorcycle club. We’re Valkyries. We’re here to teach you how to protect yourselves and your boys from anyone who may want to hurt you or them. The Nighthawks are Ghost’s group,” said Skuld.

“And mine, for now,” said Tori, “But, I may be a Valkyrie yet.”

“And we’re Nighthawks now?” asked Orange.

“Yes,” said Tori, slowly. “You don’t have bikes, but through Ghost, you are.”

“That big guy was scary,” said Thorn. “The one that talked to you.”

“Bannon,” said Tori. “He would kill anyone that hurt you or those kids. We don’t cause trouble,” said Tori.

“We do sure as hell end it, though,” said Skuld.

Ghost went back to work. They left Rota with the two apartments, and then went hunting for boy stuff. They hit up a Wal-Mart. Skuld called Henry. “Already heard about it from Gregory,” said Henry. “We’ll have someone pick the boys up in the morning and take them back.”

“Good,” said Skuld. “They broke into the tablets meant for the females.” She put two more tablets in the cart.

Henry laughed. “Boys will do that. Same educational software. Have the boys bring the blank ones I know you’re buying, and we’ll install it.”

“Good,” said Skuld. “Now, tell me what five and seven-year-old boys who have become little adults (way too damn fast) need, in Wal-Mart.”

“Jeans, shoes, socks, underwear, sweats, Legos, a box to put the Legos in, Legos people, metallic cars, basketballs, soccer balls, a board game like Trouble or Hungry Hippos, and Uno cards. Those foam basketballs and baskets that go on your door. We’ll get the baseballs and gloves and stuff later, bring them to school for them. Exactly the same as Ryder, actually.”

Herja laughed. “She’d eat a foam ball, and you know it.”

“Posters. Go superhero for now. Can’t go wrong with those. We’ll find out who else they like, music or sports stars, or movies, later.” He stopped talking in order to think. “You need pods.” He sighed. “Callie is gonna have a cow. Looks like I’ve got to get a plan from her, either do some babysitting or hire Nico and some Wolfpack to do it.”

Skuld pointed out things, and Tori threw them into the cart as Herja scooted around, getting the things as Henry told her to do. She came to a halt. “Good Odin, that’s a lot of Legos.”

“Go for the space set. We’ll get them into being astronauts,” said Henry. “We get them loving that, we’ll get them loving math.”

“On it,” said Skuld. “Anything else?”

“Love the hell out of them,” said Henry.

“No problem,” said Skuld.

They went to pay, a mound of things in the cart. “Wait,” said Henry, in Skuld’s ear. “You get school supplies and backpacks?”

Skuld groaned. “They need pencils and pens, notebooks, protractors and calculators?”

Henry laughed. “Calculation is done with tablets. Yes, pencils, pens, notebooks, backpacks. Go blue, or black. Maroon. Boys like dark, dramatic colors. And, a drawing tablet for each one, oh, and colored pencils.”

“Any art projects?” asked Tori, stealing the phone from Skuld. “There’s a stained-glass kit…”

“Wait a bit,” said Henry. “Those boys are traumatized. Now they’re in a brand-new home among strangers. Oh, twin bedding. Color code it, black for one boy, blue for the other. Or maroon. Keep the washing apart. Get all the bedding in one bag, save you some time.”

“Got it,” said Tori. “We’re going to need a second cart.”

Skuld took the phone back. “Anything else? Other than snacks like fruit roll-ups and stuff?”

“Think that’s it,” said Henry. “Go pay. Do you need…”

Skuld growled into the phone. “I train the best of the best. Rota and I have been talking about this for a while. Shut. Up.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Henry. “I would hire you, but I can’t figure out how to have you train people in self-defense.”

“Self-defense while sitting on a Harley,” said Skuld. “I’ll think of something.”

“Okay,” said Henry. “You need anything…”

“I’ll call, but doubtful in the next twenty-four hours.” They went to pay, pushing together. Tori ran out to bring the van around. They filled up the back and went back.

They found everyone in Orange and Thorn’s apartment. Rota was cooking up some pasta for dinner. The boys shouted and jumped up and down as they surveyed their new loot. Orange and Thorn calmed them down with fingers to lips. Orange and Thorn plugged in their new tablets to charge, and Little Bit showed the boys how to do laundry.

“Cool, don’t hafta use coins,” she said. They tried to stuff in all of their new clothes at once, but Skuld waded in, laughing, and showed them how to separate laundry into lights and darks. The room was soon filled with the smells of garlic and butter. Little Bit and Blue explained how Tori had taken them to get bread, peanut butter, and jelly for the boys, and a baguette for dinner.

“Sorry, honey,” said Skuld. “Never went near the food, except for snacks.”

“I forgot the snacks,” said Rota. “So, our two heads did the job.”

“You two… togetha-togetha?” asked Blue.

“Yeah,” said Rota. “Ghost has a lady named Killa. Calls her ‘Wifey.’”

“I’m dat way,” said Blue.

“I’m not,” said Little Bit.”

“Don’ worry,” said Blue. “You kinda like my little sister.”

“Naw,” said Little Bit. “I just don’t wanna…”

“You don’t have to,” said Tori. “I haven’t wanted to in a while.”

“Why don’t ya got legs?” asked D’Shawn.

“IED. A bomb. Blew them off.”

D’Shawn raised his eyebrows. “Got shot at. Neva got blowed up.”

“You join da military, like da Army or da Navy, it could happen,” said Blue. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout it, ta pay fo’ da school.”

“I wanna be like Bannon,” said Thorn. “He tough. I kin protec’ us that way.”

“We protec’ each otha. We a fam’ly now,” said Blue.

“Damn straight,” said Skuld. “I’ll be by twice a week for your lessons.”

“Ka-pow!” said D’Shawn, kicking out his foot.

“You’re doing it wrong,” said Skuld. “Let me show you your center.” She went over and stood in-between the two excited boys. “Now, put your thumb in your bellybutton.” They did it, laughing. “Now, go down three fingers. That’s your center.” She bent her knees and wiggled her butt. “Feel that part, that place where your gravity is? That’s your center.” They both found their centers. She stepped out and faced them. “Now, roll like you’re in a rolling chair.” She moved her butt back and forth. They did the same, laughing. She widened her feet to two shoulder lengths apart, and then had them roll around.

“What this good fa?” asked D’Shawn. Tori went up and took over for Rota. Rota came over and took a swing at Skuld’s face. Skuld wasn’t there, having moved over, feet shoulder length apart. Rota swung the other way, and Skuld wasn’t there.

“First rule,” said Skuld. “If someone tries to hit you, get the hell out of the way. Then, you have time to figure out what you want to do next. Run. If you’re defending someone else, you’ll have to fight. But, that has to be a decision you make. Not some random thing. Most people freeze and get hit. You’ve got to learn to move.”

The boys’ jaws were open. Thorn and Blue nodded. Orange and Little Bit also had their mouths open. “Tuesday n’ Thursday?” asked Thorn. “I’ll learn me whatever you wanna teach.”

“Me too,” said Blue.

“Me three,” said Little Bit.

“I’m in,” said Orange.

Steam rose from the sink as Tori poured out the pasta. She took the jar of sauce out of the microwave and sat it on the counter. She said, “D’Shawn, Rudy, wash up and set the table. The rest of you, wash up after them.” There was a chorus of “Yes, Ma’am,” and the boys rushed to comply.

The boys were picked up for Nighthawks school in the morning, and Herja and Callie came over. Callie measured the rooms, sent an e-mail to Tito, and the women all sat down at the round table. Callie had brought two chairs with padded booster seats for the boys. She then tested the women in pairs. One pair put on sweats and did the same centering exercises as the boys had learned the previous night, and the other pair were put into an online high school program.

“This is different from any other school you’ve been to,” Callie explained. “You watch videos, and read stuff, then you do what you’re asked to do to prove you understand it, like write a line of code or do a math problem, or even write a sentence. Watch the videos until you understand what the teacher is talking about. The idea is to work you into passing the Nevada End of Course Exams, so you can get a high school diploma.”

She held up a little apple timer. “This is a Pomodoro timer. Pomodoro is Italian for ‘apple.’ You work for twenty-five minutes, you stop for five to ten minutes. You take a break, stretch, go to the bathroom, put a load of laundry in or take one out. Then, sit down. Do it again. Take a longer break at two hours, get a snack, drink some water. Then, sit back down. At four hours, no more school. Read if you want; there’s a reading list you have to get through for high school, but don’t worry about that yet. Then, Ghost and someone from the Wolf Pack will show you what you’ve got to do for work.”

“What do we have to do for work?” asked Little Bit. She was with Thorn at the table.

“Making miniature Harleys. Most of the Wolfpack who do it are girls, and most just do it on the side. They’re getting super-busy with college, and they want to pass it on to you. As you get better, you’ll take more and more of the work. You’ll be melting metal and plastic, and then pouring them into molds. Then, you’ll take them out of the molds and put them in a box for Ghost. Ghost is working on 3D printing for the parts, but that tends to take time. Eventually, both apartments will have a 3D printer or two. Just set it, then come back later when it’s printed to print another one. By then, you’ll be learning how to put the miniature bikes together. Then you’ll take on other jobs, like cleaning houses or doing construction, or helping moms with babies, or carding or washing alpaca or angora wool, or spinning it to make it into soft yarn. Or maybe you want to build big Harleys. Whatever you so desire.”

“Easier to get it on your back,” said Blue, sadly.

“Nope, it isn’t,” said Callie. “I married an ex-hooker. She said it hurt her in places she is still finding. It certainly wasn’t easier. She lost so much. She did it for her daughter, who has autism. Eventually, she bought a bar, goes dancing every night and slinging drinks. Still not easy, but everything she’s done, she’s done for her family.”

Blue smiled. “Okay,” she said.

Callie looked down at her breasts, and then back up again. “Besides, you get old, and things start to sag. Not a long-term solution to your short-term problem of making enough money to live on. Most of us put together jobs, like a jigsaw puzzle, and make really good money. Bella bar backs and illustrates book covers. Ghost has the big-Harley and little-Harley businesses. Ghost builds Harleys and has babies for people who can’t have them. Katya has twins and a daughter, and is going back to school, and does the ‘baby-thing-for-other-people’ thing, too. Richard makes Harleys and works on making books in his native language, Zuni. Gregory runs the protection business with Bannon, and also does some building stuff on the side. I teach, raise four and a half kids, we share one, have a household, and make pods. It’s a lot of work, but we have time for vacations like rides and cruises, and to get our kids whatever they need.” There was a knock on the door. Nico came in with Richard, a load of melamine, and tools. “Hey, guys!” she said. The men hugged Callie and Herja, and then went in to make the pods in the bedrooms.

The women helped break down the double beds, and they moved all the stuff out of the bedrooms while the men worked. Callie tested the first two women, took a break to slip in and help the men get the beds done, and went back out to test the other two.

Callie ordered lunch for everyone, and the Ghosties went in, between testing times, setting the table for lunch, their new exercises, and watching the pods get built. Each person —boy or mom-type, got a pod in which one could sleep or sit up and read, with a shelf and a light, and a ladder down for the one on top. Everyone got twin, memory-foam beds, and Skuld went out for more sheets, as they’d forgotten that the moms would need pods, too. They got everything back together, and they ate the pulled-pork sandwiches and chips, and drank Cokes. The men took the larger beds out for storage, and Skuld washed all the sheets. The women said their goodbyes.

The Ghost Pack all sat on the couch, gasping. “Them women be tornadoes,” said Blue.

“Nicest tornadoes I evah did see,” said Little Bit. They all drank their Cokes in exhausted silence.

“Forward progress can be exhausting. Just keep moving.”