Chapter 7

Autumn comes early to the Upper Peninsula and the cool air felt great in the lungs. By this time, we had practically moved into Angela's bedroom and my nights were filled with three-way orgies. Sometimes it was confusing and other times it was exhausting. The contrast between the two women was so startling despite the familiarity with both, I would often find myself at my destination not remembering how I walked there because my thoughts were fixated on the two of them.

Angela had a woman's body, with its flaws and experience embedded into her skin and her person. Kristy was flawless, young, and little I said or did could make an impression upon her. I could hurt Angela's feelings, but not Kristy's. Angela got tired or could decide that she wasn't in the mood while Kristy,... well, you know. Kristy taught me how to seduce and enflame, Angela showed me just how well I learned. Angela fought back, debated, and probed; Kristy mostly answered questions.

As I approached the back porch deep in thought, Angela launched herself from the screen door. She waved frantically at me to come in while peering out in both directions. "Get inside!" she hissed at me.

"What's up?" I asked with wary skepticism.

"The FBI was here looking for you."

I blinked, "how do you know it was us they were looking to find?"

Angela looked put out that I didn't accept her judgment right away. "They had composite sketches of both of you. It was definitely you and Kristy in those pictures."

I was trying to think furiously, while Angela continued.

"They said that you were dangerous. That you attacked a man, beat him and tore off his ear as a souvenir."

"That's not true," I spat out with some suspicion, "no souvenirs. Something's wrong, really wrong because there's no reason to lie. Kristy attacked the guy. Can you describe the agents to me?"

"Oh my God!" Angela gasped. "They were oriental, I mean Asian. Do you think they were assassins? In my house? Oh my God!"

Angela was devolving into hysterics. I told her to find Kristy, who was upstairs, and get her packing. Angela ran and I scanned the kitchen for a weapon. The kitchen knives were too big or awkward, but her skinning knife was flat and came with a sheath and strap that I secured to my forearm. Angela bolted down with the first of bags. Taking the blue bags from her, I ran out the back to the barn where we stored the car. As I reached the doors and swung them open, I saw movement just to my right. I turned.

"Don't move!" came the command in perfect English, "F.B.I."

I looked the man up and down in his black suit and white shirt. His Asian face was emotionless. He was my height with a trim build, but the suit stood out because it fit him so well. His suits fit better than my suits ever did and I paid decent money in department stores. The incongruity clicked in my head.

I dropped the bags beside me and calmly challenged, "You're not the F.B.I."

He smiled and then went into an attack stance. He ran at me and shot out his right foot, almost as fast as Kristy, but only 'almost.' I blocked it and prepared for the other foot and sure enough it came and I dodged it but it pulled me closer to my attacker.

In that instant time slowed; my drill instructor had called it "being in the zone" and it had been such a fucking rush in Caracas, stepping into the zone and blasting foreign fucks to little bits.

One chance, I had bought myself one chance to survive this. I yanked the skinning knife out of the sheath on my right arm, because I'm a member of that 10% that is left-handed. I saw the punch coming towards my neck as I dived forward and shoved the blade between his ribs. His open palm strike hit me just above my ear forcing my shifting momentum to push my arm and the knife over and up. We both went down.

My head was ringing like mad but I believe my attacker won for the most surprised look on a face. The knife was buried to the hilt in his chest and deep red blood, almost black, was straining through his white shirt.