Chapter 4

I'm out the door now. What happened? Colleen said silently.

Ambush. Candice Singer is one of my enemies.

Nothing serious, you said. What does that mean?

We mind-talked, which helped alleviate Colleen's fear and kept me awake. The need for sleep was one of many affects of adrenaline dump. I had it bad. Besides being so tired I could barely hold my head up, I was also shaking like a leaf.

As I knew I would, I arrived at the house first. Otherwise, I would not have asked Colleen to meet me there. It was remote but possible that my enemies would be waiting for me at the house. If I'd introduced Candice Singer to Luke Upton, or if I'd invited her to the house, my enemies would be waiting or would soon arrive.

They weren't waiting. I stumbled up the stairs to the security room and activated all perimeter defenses. I also watched Colleen race up the mountainside in the Hummer.

Slow down, I told her silently. I'm here. I'm safe.

Yeah, with a hole in your side.

The Hummer skidded to a stop as the gates opened, and three minutes later Colleen was on her knees examining my wound.

"It's not as bad as I thought it'd be. Tell me what to do," she said.

"Grab the hydrogen peroxide in the medicine cabinet in the master bath and, on the way back, pick up the first-aid kit in the armory. The armory door is open."

"You need to lie down."

"Later. I'll continue to monitor..."

She was gone before I could finish my explanation and returned in less than a minute. The hydrogen peroxide foamed on the wound, and ten minutes later, it was bandaged. I'd told her what had happened while en route to the house, and she had not asked any unnecessary questions since, which pleased me.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Ibuprofen."

I took four of them.

"Bed," she said. "Now. I'll watch the monitors."

I disarmed the landmines. "I'll use the guestroom. Wake me if a car starts up our drive or you see anything suspicious."

She nodded.

"You made me proud, sweet thing. You didn't panic. You didn't ask a lot of foolish, unnecessary questions. You stayed focused and did what needed doing. I love you."

"Yeah, well, I'm shaking like a leaf now."

I chuckled. "I noticed. That's adrenaline dump. You'll be fine."

I crashed.

It was dark when my eyes opened. I cast my mind out and about and found Colleen.

I'm awake, I said to her silently. Where are you?

The security room. How are you?

Stiff. Sore. Anything on the monitors?

No.

Leave them. If my enemies knew about this place, they'd have been here by now. What time is it? I rolled my feet to the floor.

"Seven o'clock," she said out loud as she walked into the guestroom. When she sat next to me, I wrapped her in my arms.

What now? she asked.

"Dinner. I'm hungry."

She chuckled. "No food in the refrigerator. We need to stock groceries here."

"Yeah, we do."

"The pantry is stocked. I'll figure something out, and I'll shop tomorrow."

"All right."

While she figured something out, I tried to call Candice Singer, but my call was transferred to her voicemail. I didn't leave a message and suspected speed-dial number two would thereafter be forwarded to voicemail.

Then I connected with Norm in Las Vegas, or at least, I assumed that's where he was. I'd connected with the thug and his partner, Sal, frequently since my escape from Vegas, but Norm and his partner weren't truly in the loop. The only intel I gathered from my connections with them were more first or nicknames, none of which triggered any memories. I'd hoped that Norm or his buddy's thoughts would warn me of a pending attack, but that hadn't happened, not in Kingman nor today. Norm and his friend were part-time employees of a sub-contractor, hired by my enemy or enemies. I knew the boss's first name - Gino. That's all.

In the entertainment room, I watched the news on television. The shootout at the Wrigley Mansion was the lead story. A cute reporter interviewed the valet parker. That boy knew cars. He described the Mercedes perfectly, but his description of me wasn't close, and his testimony of what he believed had happened was even further from reality than my description. Another witness, an older lady, gave a better description of me but believed the car was a Lexus, and she wasn't aware of the sniper.

No human collateral damage, thank fate.

The three dead men at the mansion and the four that crashed into a wall off 24th Street had not been identified. Contract killers usually didn't carry identification. Eventually, the police would identify them through their fingerprints. I relaxed a little. If the police had connected this brouhaha with the one in Kingman, the media hadn't been informed of the connection.

I hobbled downstairs and to the garage. The Mercedes couldn't be driven. The bullet holes would need to be repaired and the entire vehicle painted first, not to mention fixing the interior damage, and I didn't know who... yes, I did! I knew the man to call to get the repairs done. Memories! Ya gotta love 'em!

"It's Morgan," I said to the man who answered my call.

"Figures," he said. "The Wrigley Mansion?"

"Yes."

"Where and when?"

"I-17 and the Carefree Highway. Two hours."

"Do you need a loaner?"

"No. I'll have someone follow me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I changed the license plate on the Mercedes, using one for the State of Texas. I also removed everything from the glove box, which included the registration slip for the car and the required insurance card. After dinner - canned soup, but Colleen made canned soup mighty tasty - Colleen followed me to my rendezvous with Jasper, the man who repaired my vehicles, their engines as well as any bodywork. I didn't know his last name. En route, I broke down the XD-9 I'd used at the Wrigley Mansion and dropped the pieces in three different storm sewer grills. I lose more XD-9s that way, a guess, not a memory.

"One week," Jasper said after investigating the damage.

"Okay. I'll call you."

"Good. 'Cause I can't call you. I don't know your current telephone number."

Tradecraft.

Having Colleen follow me to meet Jasper wasn't proper tradecraft, I suddenly realized. That's why Jasper sounded surprised earlier when I told him I wouldn't need a loaner. While driving back to the house in Carefree, I told Colleen about the mistake I'd made.

"I wonder how many other mistakes I made today," I added. "And how many I'll make in the future. I need my memories, dammit!"

The next morning, I called Sifu to cancel our morning sparring sessions for a week, claiming illness. Connected with him at the time, I was amazed at his powers of deduction. He suspected that I was involved with the gun battle at the Wrigley Mansion. That he didn't sense me in his mind surprised me, though.

"Is your... ah, illness serious, Dr. Ken?" he asked.

I laughed. "No. I just bruised some ribs. I should be fine next week."

"That's good to hear. I've come to enjoy our morning sparring sessions."

As Colleen was leaving to practice shooting, she said, "After I stop by the house in McCormick Ranch and pick up some clothes to keep here, I'll shop for groceries. Will we be giving up the house in McCormick Ranch, cowboy?"

I frowned. "I don't know. We're in an awkward situation. It's not a good idea to mix identities. Here, we can be Luke and Charlotte. I suspect I have another house in the Phoenix area where I put on my Morgan persona, and when in the house in Scottsdale, I'm Ken and you're Colleen. I've kept the Luke Upton identity separate from my work. Morgan is my work name. If I hadn't been scrupulous about the separation, my enemies would have tried to take me here last night." I shook my head. "Uh-uh, we can't give up the Scottsdale house. We have friends who know us only as Ken and Colleen. Unless we're willing to give up those friends, we must remain Ken and Colleen to them, and when we meet them at our house, it must be in Scottsdale, not here. As far as I know, only Gordy and Maggie know about all three of my identities, and they don't know your real identity. Let's keep it that way."

"All right."

I grinned. "Call Maggie. See if she'll go shopping with you this afternoon. You need a complete wardrobe for this house so you don't have to haul clothes back and forth, and I'm not up to a marathon shopping spree."

She squealed and hugged me, forgetting about my sore ribs. When I winced, she apologized until I shut her up with a kiss.

After she left, I called Gordy, but his office wasn't open yet, and I didn't have his home number. At loose ends, I checked out my library. My taste in fiction was eclectic, ranging from Westerns to sci-fi to modern thrillers. I opened Robert Heinlein's The Moon is a Harsh Mistress and read a few pages. I'd read the book, I soon realized. Was that a memory? Yeah, it was. An hour later, I'd cracked the spines on a dozen more books, and I'd read all of them. I moved from the fiction shelves to non-fiction and quickly determined I'd read those books, too. Yeah, I was a reader. My library contained hundreds of books, and I suspected I'd read and enjoyed all of them.

Gordy's office was open when I called him again, and he immediately started to question me about the altercation at the Wrigley Mansion. I stopped him. "Not over the telephone, Gordy. I'm stranded. Can you meet me at my house in Carefree?"

He agreed. The pantry offered a can of coffee, so I put a pot on to perk, and also dropped some tea bags into a jug of water and set it outside. I'd have sun tea by lunchtime.

Gordy arrived, huffing after climbing the stairs, accepted coffee, and I brought him up to date.

"Do I have another house where I'm Morgan?" I asked him.

"Yeah, except it's a condo, not a house."

"Where?"

"A penthouse in a mid-rise building in Phoenix on Camelback Avenue and 24th Street. That's where you spent most of your time when you were in the area."

"That residence is blown, Gordy. My enemies know its location."

"Maybe not. Have you read the morning paper?"

"No."

He pulled a newspaper out of his bulging, soft briefcase. "Below the fold on the second section."

The headlines on the first page offered details about the shootout at the Wrigley Mansion. I skipped those stories and pulled out the second section.

Woman Shot to Death Execution Style, I read. Candice J. Singer, a prominent, local attorney, was found murdered in her home in Paradise Valley last night. Neighbors reported hearing a gunshot at approximately...

I quickly read the article, and looked up at Gordy. "Maybe Candice wasn't an enemy after all."

He nodded.

"Nonetheless, the condo in Phoenix is blown. Do I, as Morgan, own the condo?"

"Yeah, and a couple of vehicles: a Lexus and a Cadillac Escalade."

"I didn't see them on the balance sheet you gave me Saturday."

"That was Luke Upton's balance sheet, but in an around about way, Morgan's assets were included on Upton's balance sheet." He dug around in his briefcase and pushed a file at me. "That's Morgan's balance sheet."

The condo was valued at $650,000, and the vehicles, other personal property, and liquid assets gave Morgan a net worth of $880,000.

Gordy said, "You maintained most of your assets in your real name, Luke."

"Did Morgan file tax returns?"

"Yes, but as an LLC. Morgan is a Nevada Limited Liability Company, Luke, not a person."

"Oh." Surprisingly, that made sense to me. "And Luke Upton owns Morgan, LLC?"

"Yes, through a nominee, which is another LLC organized in the Bahamas, which is owned by a Delaware corporation, which is owned by... you get the picture. Tracing Morgan, LLC, back to Luke Upton wouldn't be easy, and the convoluted ownerships are a nightmare at tax time." He laughed heartily. "Still, you're squeaky clean with the IRS, buddy, thanks to yours truly."

"Can I abandon Morgan as an identity?"

"Sure, but you won't. It's your work name. Your principals hire Morgan, not Luke Upton. Changing that name would mean you'd need to start over with your protection business."

"How do I acquire new protection contracts?"

He shrugged. "Don't know."

"Where do I book protection income? In Morgan, LLC?"

"No, in another LLC called Protect & Serve. Morgan owned real and personal property, but wasn't operated as a business. Morgan was created to present a pseudo identity to the world. Protect & Serve, LLC, represents the protection business."

"Does Protect & Serve have an office?"

"Yes, and to anticipate your next question, it leases executive office space in another mid-rise building on Camelback Road."

"Any employees?"

"One, but she's a leased employee and doesn't work at the office."

"Where does she work?"

"Out of her home."

"Do you know her name and phone number?"

"Sure."

He pulled yet another file out of his briefcase and gave me her name and phone number.

I dialed the number. When Sherry Garrett answered the call, I said, "Do you recognize my voice?"

Silence stretched out for a second, and then I heard a loud sigh. "Morgan, where the fuck have you been? You've got potential recovery and protection contracts coming out your ears."

After I explained what had happened and about my amnesia, she snorted with disgust. "I wondered why you dropped off the face of the earth. Well, what are ya goin' ta do about the possible contracts stackin' up on my desk?"

"We need to meet."

"Hah! That'll be a first."

My jaw gaped. "We've never met?"

"Nope. You hired me sight unseen. That was five years ago. You said it could be dangerous for me if we met. Has that changed?"

"No." I sighed. I'd just made another mistake. "We won't meet, but we need to talk. Hang on for a second." I covered the mouthpiece on the phone. "Gordy, this call will take a while."

"I'll pour another cup of coffee and enjoy it on your patio," he said.

I went back to the phone. "Sherry, what do you do for me?"

We talked for a half-hour. Sherry handled my referral-call system. As Morgan, I'd set up a network of lawyers and other referral sources around the country, hundreds of them. If one of them referred a contract that I accepted, I paid a hefty referral fee. Sherry received and screened the calls. When not working a contract, I spoke with her every day.

"How many potential contracts are on the table right now?" I asked.

"Three, but over the last few months, I've turned away a dozen... no, make that closer to two dozen than a dozen. From working with you for over three years, I know the kind of contracts you take. I'd say you missed fifteen high-payin' contracts since you disappeared."

It sounded like I should be running an organization, not the one-man band I currently operated. "Sherry, unfortunately I'll miss some more. Until my memories peek out from wherever they're hiding, I can't accept a contract. Besides, someone or a group is trying to kill me, so I'm in hiding, to boot."

"Humph, truth be told, I thought you were dead already, but the weekly checks never stopped, so I kept workin'. I'm happy you're alive. This is the best fuckin' job I ever had, and what with being in a wheelchair, there ain't very many jobs out there for the likes of me."

"Wheelchair?"

"Yeah. I'm fat and black and gettin' old, and I've been wheelchair bound for ten years, Morgan, so you be careful, you hear."

I chuckled. "I'm always careful."

"That's what you always say. Okay, I'll put everybody off or turn them away, but keep in touch. I get lonely if I don't hear your sexy voice, baby."

Whether inappropriate or not, I laughed. My hilarity didn't offend her, though. She laughed right along with me.

I ended the call with Sherry, poured myself a cup of coffee and joined Gordy on the patio. He was skimming leaves and debris out of the pool. It was a beautiful, clear day, not a cloud in the sky, about eighty-five degrees, I guessed, not too hot to enjoy lounging on the patio.

"I now know how I acquire new protection contracts. Gordy, you know things I need to know. Sit down, please. Start at the beginning when I contacted you five years ago and tell me everything. Tell me about my assets, all of them. Tell me about my contacts and relationships, business or otherwise."

He talked and talked. Some of his comments triggered memories, not often, but every new memory was always appreciated. His knowledge about me was encyclopedic. What he didn't have in his head, he carried with him in that bulging briefcase. He didn't know everything about me, but he knew a lot more than I knew about myself. He had an accountant's mind - detail oriented - and even with the many questions I tossed out, interrupting him, he could pick up where he left off without effort. He also related just about everything to chronological changes on my balance sheet, and as affable as he was, he could and did make events and my business colleagues memorable. He also knew some of the women I'd spent some time with over the years (he hadn't met Candice Singer) and made me laugh when he told me about a few of them.

"You came close to marrying a gal named Gabriella Lindy. Gabby was a pistol, gorgeous and smart as a whip, but in the end, she couldn't handle what you did for a living. She married a corporate hot shot - a safe and simple man, she called him. Another woman, Lena... ah, I can't remember her last name, couldn't handle your extended absences. Sometimes a job would keep you away for a month, or longer, and you'd come home, hang around for a day or two, and then fly off somewhere to another job."

He gave me a hard look. "How will Colleen handle what you do, the danger, the threats, the fact that you kill, and will she put up with you gone most of the time?"

"She can handle what I do. She's seen me kill, and yesterday, she patched up my gunshot wound. I don't know how she'll handle my absences."

That's when Colleen and Maggie arrived, laughing gaily about something, and carrying a large bag of Chinese take out.

"Lunch time," Maggie announced when she saw Gordy and me on the patio.

Gordy's question haunted me, but I wasn't able to bring up the subject with Colleen until the next morning at breakfast. After shopping with Maggie, Colleen just had to model her new wardrobe for me. Watching her remove one outfit to put on another jumpstarted my libido, and one thing led to another until we ended up making love with Colleen doing most of the work because I wasn't all that mobile after being shot. I have to admit that I did some wincing and gritting of teeth, but it was worth it.

I took a bite of scrambled egg, chewed, swallowed and said, "Gordy tells me the women in my past either couldn't handle what I do for a living, or the extended absences necessary to do what I do, or both."

She looked up at me. "Extended absences?"

"Yes. A job can take a month, sweet thing, and Gordy told me about one that took three months. My principals don't come to me. I go to them."

She frowned and said, "I won't like that."

I won't either, I thought without transferring the thought to her, and the thought surprised me.

"You mentioned downtime before. Is that the time you spend here between jobs?" she asked.

"Yes, except I sometimes use downtime to vacation elsewhere."

"How much downtime do you take each year?"

"I don't know."

It can't be much, she thought. One month, maybe two. Not more than three.

That'd be my guess, I replied silently.

She shook her head. "That won't work, cowboy, not for me, not for you. It worked for you before because you weren't in love. Love's got its grip on you now. You won't be happy alone for nine or ten months of the year." She grinned and gave me a sweet kiss. "So, put on your thinking cap and figure out how you can change your business so you can be with me at least half the time."

What was it that Sifu told me about Colleen? I remembered. He said that Colleen would act or cause me to act in a way that would allow her to cast away any negative emotions, and that in this she would be very determined.

On the surface, her solution to the dilemma sounded simple, and I guess it was. I had enough money to take care of us for the rest of our lives. I didn't need to work. No, that wasn't true. I needed to work; I needed to protect and serve. That's what I did, what defined me as a person. Argh.

"First things first," I replied. "Recover memories first; find and eliminate enemies second, and then I'll put on my thinking cap."

"Uh-uh. You can think about the problem while taking care of the first two things. What are your plans for the day?"

"Gordy offered to re-introduce me to my local business contacts. Hopefully, meeting some of them will jog some memories loose."

"Will you need the Hummer?"

"No, I'll ride with Gordy."

She needs her own car, I thought, and then imagined shopping for a car with her. Now that would be fun!

"Do you have any free time today?" I asked.

"Not much. Why?"

"How about tomorrow?"

"Cowboy, if you need me to do something, just say so. I'll get it done."

"We're short a vehicle. I don't know the whereabouts of my nondescript sedan, and the Mercedes is being repaired. I can't risk using either vehicle Morgan owns, and the Camry is in Scottsdale."

"Well, ride with me to Scottsdale, and we'll pick up the Camry."

"And," I said with a big grin, "I was thinking that you should have your own car."

She looked stunned. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If you had a choice of any car on the market, which one would you pick?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Cowboy, you don't need another car."

"Correct, I don't. I have six cars. That four of them are out of service is temporary. But you, sweet thing, don't have a car. Put your thinking cap on. I expect a small list, say two or three different makes and models that represent your dream car, and free up some time tomorrow afternoon to shop the cars on the list. I know how much you enjoy shopping, and..."

She stopped my babbling with a kiss.

That evening, she presented me with her list. It was indeed small: a Cadillac, no model, no other details. I asked why.

"My daddy always wanted a Cadillac," she said. "When I drive away from the car shop in my own Cadillac, Daddy will be sitting in the car with me."

I thought she'd buy a sporty coupe. "Uh-uh," she said. "I have friends and I'll make more friends. I'll need a sedan, cowboy."

She listened to me regarding the transmission. "Get a manual, sweet thing. I want you to take a survival-driving course - part of your tradecraft training I haven't mentioned yet. A manual transmission gives you more control than an automatic."

The dealer displayed a shiny black CTS-V on the floor. Colleen fell in love with it at first sight. The salesman had me by the balls, and he knew it. I didn't care.

"Waddaya think, Daddy?" Colleen said, her eyes sparkling and gazing skyward, looking up through the moon roof as she drove the car off the lot. "Pretty snazzy, huh?" Happy tears joined her wide smile, and I fell in love with her all over again.

The next afternoon, Gordy introduced me to Debra Kaufman, a business partner of mine. I'd provided her with venture capital to open her first beauty salon. We jointly owned and operated three locations now, or rather we owned them, and Debra operated them. She was a very beautiful women in her early forties, and...

I'd fucked her, and not just once, either.

Gordy wasn't aware that Debra and I were not only business partners but also lovers, and Debra didn't offer him any clues. She didn't offer me any, either, except with her thoughts, and her thoughts triggered a host of memories.

She'd been my first partner in my venture capital business, and Gordy had introduced us. Gordy reviewed business plans and screened them before giving them to me for my review. Not many passed muster; Debra's did.

The sexual tension between us started to build the second we first met. Debra reminded me of the woman who had relieved me of my virginity when I was a lad of sixteen, and Debra preferred younger men. I found out later that I represented her idea of the perfect man: young, rich, self-confident, and dangerous. She wasn't attracted to macho men, men wearing their manhood on their sleeves. The danger had to be under the surface and under control. She knew me as Luke Upton, though, not as Morgan, so she wasn't aware of the dangerous business that made the money I invested. Still, she sensed my underlying capacity to explode with deadly force.

The morning after we signed the documents that provided her seed money in exchange for my ownership position in the company we formed, she showed up at my house. Not the house in Carefree. That house was under construction at the time.

I let her in, and without a word, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately.

"Fuck me," she said between kisses.

What did I do? I fucked her, of course, but that wasn't what made Debra so memorable. The next morning, she knocked on my door again, and she wasn't alone.

"Luke, meet Roberta," Debra said. "Roberta, this is Luke, the sexy man I told you about."

Roberta was my age, which was twenty-four at time. She was a parts model. By parts model, I mean she modeled only her legs. They were long and shapely, perfect enough for photographers and advertising agencies to employ her for any advertising that required perfect legs. I, of course, didn't know her vocation until later. I did notice her legs at the time.

"Bobbie and I are lovers, Luke," Debra said. "Like me, she's bisexual. Would you be opposed to fucking both of us at the same time?"

I didn't respond, not immediately, not until I closed my gaping mouth, and by then the look of lust in my eyes didn't require a verbal response. Debra laughed; Bobbie smiled, and then they stripped. They didn't remove their own clothes; they removed each other's, and they kissed and fondled each other in the process. Hard! I don't believe I've ever been so hard - boy-cock hard, I thought at the time I relived the memory.

When they were naked, they stripped me. I helped. While Bobbie pushed my shirt off my shoulders, Debra sucked my cock. She was a noisy sucker, which enhanced my pleasure. Bobbie interrupted Debra's slurping for a taste of her own and promptly took my entire length into her throat. Then Debra straddled me, taking me into her ravenous cunt, and Bobbie sat on my face. They kissed and fondled each other, and then traded places. After I climaxed inside Bobbie, Debra slurped my juices from Bobbie's cunt just as noisily as she'd sucked my cock. Watching the two beautiful women entwined in a sixty-nine gave me another hard-on, and I pushed it into Debra while Bobbie continued to dine. Bobbie licked the underside of my shaft as it moved in and out of Debra, and then concentrated on Debra's clit. Debra climaxed first, and Bobbie fell to the bed with her legs open.

"Fuck me now," she said. "And come in me again. Debra likes to eat pussy full of man come."

That morning we tried everything a man and two women can do, or rather that's what I believed until the next time they showed up at my door and demonstrated that we could do quite a few things we hadn't done before.

About a year later, Debra arrived with a different woman, a blonde goddess about twenty years old. I don't know what happened to Bobbie. I never saw her again, and I didn't ask. Thereafter on an annual basis, Debra introduced me to a new woman we both enjoyed.

Back in the present when Gordy briefly left Debra and I alone, she said, "You need to meet Valerie, Luke. She's delicious."

I smiled and said, "Sorry, Debra. I'm in love."

"Fuck," she breathed and sighed. "I guess it was inevitable. Tell me about her."

"She's a living, breathing wet dream, smart, compassionate, kind, and strong."

"Hmm, my kind of gal. Is she bisexual?"

"Yes, but... Debra, we're monogamous."

Humph, she thought. Now you are. We'll see later.

"Valerie will be disappointed," she said. "As am I."

Hmm, maybe... no, he's too needy. Jack might be interested. I'll give him a call later, fuck his brains out, and if he's the one, introduce him to Valerie. If not Jack, I'll find someone else. After all, what I offer is every man's dream. That it coincides with my needs is serendipity.

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Protect and Serve

Paul Phenomenon

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