Chapter 7

When they got back to the house, someone said, "I've got to pee," and that set off the rest of the women. Shortly, Jeff was by himself. Laughing, he backed the truck into the right corner of the garage where he was going to stack the ammunition. By the time he had the tarp off and the tailgate down, everyone came running back. Jennie and Arlene got in the truck bed and began struggling with the cases of ammo.

"Hey, ladies. Just slide it onto the tailgate. I'll unload it. This stuff is far too heavy for you to lift."

Diana smiled at him and nodded to Laura. They paired up on a case that the girls had moved to the tailgate and carried the ammo to the corner where Jeff was stacking his. The others paired up, with Jennie and Arlene continuing to slide the boxes to the back of the truck. The women wound up managing to carry a few more cases than Jeff did. He griped a little, and said they shouldn't hurt themselves. But everyone could tell he was proud of them. Among the eight people, the truck was quickly unloaded, the ammo sorted by caliber, and the rifles and Jeff's original guns were stored near the ammo.

Jeff put a case of 9 mm, a case of .45, and half dozen boxes of 9 mm dummy rounds on the handtrucks along with all the magazines the gun store had for the Glocks and Colt.

"Where are you going with that, Husband?" Jennie asked, as she took over the handtrucks.

"Inside the house," Jeff said. "But I think that's a bit much for you."

Arlene grabbed hold to help, and the two started toward the house. Jeff just gave up and watched. They had probably never pushed a two-wheel hand truck before, but they soon figured out the balance, and their teamwork. Before they were halfway, they had it rolling smoothly. When they got to the house and began trying to get the trucks up the steps, Jeff called out, "Wait up," as he jogged over to help.

Once they got up the steps and through the door, they stopped, "Where do you want this stuff?" Arlene asked.

Jeff thought for a second. "I want a box of 9 mm and a box of .45, paired and hidden around the first and second floors, along with two loaded magazines for each type weapon." Before anyone could say anything, he continued, "If we should get into a confrontation, I want weapons, extra loaded magazines and ammunition hidden throughout the house. We can't go around wearing guns all the time, but I want them handy until this thing is settled."

Nodding to Arlene, "Since you two have started with it, hide a box of each, everywhere you can think of, then load the magazines and put them with the extra ammo. Write down where you put each cache, so we can all memorize the locations."

Arlene looked at him and grinned, "Okay, Dad." Bracing her foot against the bottom of the handtrucks, she pulled back on the handle as Jennie helped her get the load balanced, then they were off again.

"I'll get something to write on," Ann volunteered as she took off for the kitchen.

"Drop the dummy rounds off in the conference room where we had our class," Jeff yelled after them.

"We knew that," Jennie yelled back as they rounded the corner.

"Well, I guess that was a bit condescending on my part," Jeff muttered to himself, as Diana poked him in the ribs.

Melissa pulled the truck out while Helen closed and locked the garage doors. Melissa parked the vehicle where Jeff usually kept it, then ran on into the house to catch up with the other girls.

Laura and Diana got the boxes of 19's out of the Escalade. Jeff started to tell Diana to put the pistols in the conference room, but thought better of it at the last moment. Grinning, he followed them into the house. Amid the bustle, Jeff thought, I hope someone remembers to fix dinner.

When everything was inside, Jeff walked out to the range to see what the contractor had gotten done.

When he got there, it was obvious that the crew had a busy day. All the "T" frames were set in concrete, although it was still wet. They had put wooden braces to hold the frames in place while the cement set. Apparently, Dave had wound up moving a lot more dirt than he had first thought. Looking around, Jeff realized that the contractor had moved the target line down about twenty-five yards. Apparently, he had decided to make it a fifty yard range. He had removed dirt for the seven-yard line, and had marked off the others.

I told him to use his own judgment and do what he thought was best. I almost told him to make it a fifty yard range to begin with. I was just trying to get by with something quick. I'm glad he took me at my word and is doing it the right way.

Jeff stood by one of the frames and sighted across the others. They're perfectly lined up. If this is a rush job, I wonder what it would look like if he took his time, Jeff mused. This guy is class.

Later, Jeff had just sat down in the living room when Helen walked in with a Coke for him. After handing him the glass and drink, she leaned over and kissed him hard, though for only a couple of seconds. When their lips parted, "Thank you for what you did, Jeff."

Their eyes locked with her still leaning over with her face close to his, "My pleasure, m'e Lady," he answered with an atrocious Old English accent.

Helen turned and pranced out of the room, putting a little extra sway to her hips, her nipples popped and leading the way.

When she entered the kitchen to help with dinner, Arlene looked up from setting the table. Grinning, "Been around Dad, lately?" she teased, nodding toward Doctor Boswell's headlights.

Boswell's face turned crimson. Knowing that everyone must have been told about the orgasm Jeff had given her, she bolstered her courage and grinned back at Arlene. "I took him a glass of ice and a Coke. And told him thank you for this morning."

Diana broke in, "I told you not to let these girls get your goat..."

"And... I pecked him on the lips. That's all it took to pop my nipples. How about you?" she finished, blushing more, if it were possible.

Arlene laughed out loud. "Sometimes, all it takes for me is to be in the same room with him. Particularly if he looks at me that special way, or tells me what he's going to do to me."

Arlene hugged Boswell. "I'm sorry. I guess I do tease too much, sometimes."

"That's okay," Doctor Boswell said straight-faced, "A little extra homework never hurt anyone." Turning, she went to help Diana before Arlene could figure out if she were kidding or not. She wasn't. She had already bluffed Arlene with this before. She thought she would add a reading assignment, just to let Arlene think she had pissed her off, and to keep Arlene guessing. Teenagers were hard to keep ahead of, but she had a lot of experience. Now what can I assign her that will really be boring? Of course, as fast as she reads, it will be a minor irritant, at best. But I've got to see the look on Arlene's face when she realizes that I wasn't bluffing this time. Huumm, maybe a research assignment on how a woman's nipples expand. Yes, I think that would be appropriate!

Jeff had made his turn the next morning and was about halfway back to the house when the contractor beeped his horn as he passed, this time driving a bigger dump truck and pulling the biggest portable concrete mixer Jeff had ever seen. He couldn't see what was in the truck. A few seconds later, another dump truck passed with about half a load of gravel. Before he reached the top of the drive, another passed carrying sand. Well, I guess Dave figures he's ready to pour the sidewalks. We've progressed from a few temporary shooting stations using Quikrete, to poured sidewalks. No telling where this will end. I had hoped we would be able to do a little shooting on the range this afternoon. But I guess that's out. Oh, well, we can dry fire some more.

Back at the house, he went to the suite, quietly walked through the bedroom so he wouldn't wake anyone, then into the shower. After showering and drying off, he put on casual clothes and went back to the kitchen. Boswell said, "Hi," but didn't look up, just continued typing on her laptop at a rapid rate.

Jeff leaned over, took her by the back of her neck, and kissed her. She tried to talk into his mouth as he lightly trailed a fingertip up the inside of her thigh. Reaching her shorts-clad pussy, he cupped it as he had yesterday, then worked his thumb in circles where he thought her clit should be. She moaned, then a minute or so later, put a hand behind his head and pulled his mouth hard against hers. Her groin bucked against his hand, she sucked in air through her nose, then shivered for a prolonged period of time. Finally, she slumped, her mouth pulling away from his.

"Good morning," he quietly said, as he kissed her cheek.

"Good morning," she weakly answered, laughter in her voice.

After getting a cup of coffee, he sat down at the other end of the table. Seeing her bright red face, he had second thoughts. "Helen, I, uh, guess I was out of line. I'm..."

Taking a sip of coffee, she looked over at him. "Someone once told me that you could be depressed before and orgasm, and you could be depressed after an orgasm, but never depressed during an orgasm. I guess you could substitute 'mad at someone' for depressed. When Jeff's expression became even more serious, she giggled. "But who in the world could be mad at you for doing that to them. "Thank you, Jeff," she quietly said. "But please don't get your wives mad at you or me for doing that."

"Not a chance," Jeff replied, a relieved expression now on his face. "Diana told me to do it last night just before she went to sleep. The boss bitch has spoken, so no one else will dare to think about being jealous," he teased. "Now, what are you working on so industriously this morning?"

Helen turned the laptop to show him, her body tingling just being near him.

Just before nine, they parked and were walking toward the front doors of the Sheriff's Department when a deputy drove from the back. As he turned onto the street, he almost sideswiped a parked car while trying to look at the women and drive, too.

Jeff flinched, and several of the others oohed at the near miss. "That would not be a good start with the Sheriff," Jeff said, as he held the door open for his wives and Doctor Boswell.

Inside, Jeff told the deputy at the counter that he would like to speak with the Sheriff.

"Sir, he's in a conference. Can someone else help you?"

"No. I guess I should have called. Do you know how long he will be?"

"No Sir, I don't. I think one of the captains is in there for a meeting. I'm certain someone else can help you. Did you want to file a report, or something?"

"No, Jeff said," frowning. "I want to make a substantial donation to the department, and I want to make sure it's something that the deputies need."

"Well Sir, there's a box over by the wall there," he said, pointing. "Our vests are old, and we're trying to get up enough money to buy new ones. They're almost four hundred dollars apiece." Jeff, having already noticed the vest donation box, said, "You get me in there to see him, and I'll buy a level III-A vest, and a cool shirt to go under it for everyone in the department."

The deputy stuck out his hand. "I'm deputy Kenneth Adams. You stand right there Sir, and I'll get you in to see him. I'll be right back," he added looking over his shoulder as he walked rapidly away, worried that Jeff would leave before he could tell the Sheriff.

Jeff turned back to the women, his face set. "It's always the same. When everything is spent in the county or city, then the politicians look at what the cops need. Yet the politicians drive a new car every year. I'll bet the car that deputy pulled out in had two hundred thousand miles on it. The politicians wouldn't even drive that thing around the block. Shit!"

The hallway door opened and deputy Adams beckoned to them. "Last door on the right," he said, grinning. "Thank you, Sir."

As soon as Jeff and the troop of women walked through the door, the Sheriff's secretary stood up, but before she could speak, Jeff said, "I'm Jeff Matthews. Could we talk with the Sheriff, please?"

"Yes Sir. He's expecting you. Right this way," she said, opening the door to the Sheriff's office.

The man behind the desk stood as the secretary said, "Mr. Matthews, this is Sheriff Tate. Sheriff, this is Mr. Matthews. I haven't been introduced to the ladies, yet."

Sheriff Tate was tall, with well-defined biceps straining at his short-sleeve uniform shirt. He appeared to be in his late forties with black hair beginning to show signs of gray. His uniform trousers had a knife-edge crease, and his shoes and duty belt were clean and well kept. His posture and bearing spoke of a military background. Jeff suspected that his good looks to go along with his immaculate uniform probably didn't hurt when reelection time came around.

After shaking hands, Jeff turned to the women, "Sheriff, this is my wife, Diana, and our daughter, Arlene. This is my assistant Laura, and her daughter, Ann. These young ladies are Melissa and Jennie; they are living with us and are my legal charges. This lady is Doctor Boswell, our teacher."

"My secretary, Brigette," Tate responded, nodding toward the lady that had let them in. Brigette greeted everyone, then left.

The Sheriff, ever a politician, shook hands with everyone, calling each by name, and getting it right. Jeff was impressed. Brigette brought in extra chairs, and when everyone was seated, she left again.

After the pleasantries, and a refusal of refreshments, Jeff began.

"Sheriff, I'm an engineer and inventor. To help with college expenses, and then to supplement our income when I began working full time, I sold weapons and other equipment both to the public and a fairly large number of police and Sheriff departments. I was asked to join the reserves for one of the smaller police departments in Georgia, where we had lived all our lives. My wife says that the main reason they wanted me to be a reserve was so they could get me on their shooting team. Be that as it may, I got to know a lot of the officers.

"I was lucky enough to sell one of my inventions, and we moved out here. Deputy Adams pointed out the vest donation box. Up front, I'll tell you that we came here to get Diana and Laura's carry permits transferred out here, or get them new ones, whichever is appropriate. And I know that I could take care of that without seeing you. But we want to buy body armor for your deputies while we're here."

"Mr. Matthews, do you have any idea of how much... ?"

"Deputy Adams said there were about one hundred and sixty deputies that worked in patrol and the jail. A while back, I saw some level III-A vests on the net for four hundred dollars each. Another hundred for a couple cool shirts to go under the vest, makes it about five hundred dollars apiece. One hundred and sixty times five hundred is eighty thousand dollars.

The Sheriff sat up straighter. "Uh, the cool shirt is only about forty bucks, maybe a little less..."

"Yeah, but they need at least two. It's made to soak up sweat. Mine can be washed, but not dried, so you have to hang it up for a day. I'll make the check for ninety thousand; I don't know whether the ceramic inserts are extra or not. Do it right. If this isn't enough, call me. Don't try to just 'get by.' If you need more, call me at this number," he finished, handing the Sheriff his card. "That's the old number on there, I just crossed it out and wrote the new one above it. I finally thought to order some new cards, but they haven't come in yet.

"Oh, and if you do get a price break on the vests or shirts, just spend the extra as you see fit, if there's anything left, but I suspect the inserts will be extra."

The Sheriff took the card, and Jeff started writing the check. Tate reached out and took it when Jeff completed it. He looked at it a moment, then said, "One of my deputies was shot last year. The bullet hit the vest right over his heart. I though he was still going to die, anyway. His chest was still purple a week later from the blunt trauma, and the doc said his heart was probably bruised as well. If the vest had had a trauma plate, he would have been in much better shape, but when we bought the vests, we didn't have the extra money, so we just got the best we could for the money we had.

"There's going to be some happy deputies when word gets around — and some happy spouses as well," he said, grinning at Diana.

"There is something else, while we're here," Jeff said, opening his briefcase. He handed a stack of photographs to the Sheriff. "I know that Sergeant Goodwin has contacted you about these two. I took the liberty of combining their separate pictures into the same photograph and printing a hundred of them out on a good printer. I know you said you would get a picture of them to the deputies that work my area, but I would appreciate it if you could get one in every patrol car, and put them up anywhere else you think would be appropriate."

"Mr. Matthews, I don't know where you got these pictures, and if they came from mug shots, which they obviously have, this could be violating their rights..."

"That wormy little scumbag," Jeff growled, pointing to Junior's picture, "violated Arlene's rights by trying to kidnap and rape her. The big one has already killed two people, and got off on a technicality. They were recorded on the jail camera, blatantly saying they were going to kill me and the women, after they raped them, not to mention threatening to kill the officers who arrested them. The next day, their bond was mysteriously reduced to practically nothing, and they were allowed a signature bond and allowed to leave.

"When Goodwin started raising hell, the judge revoked their bonds. When the cops got to their address, their trailer was deserted. Goodwin says that some woman (he wouldn't give me her name) allowed them to sign their bonds, but she hasn't reported for work since."

Jeff leaned over and placed his forearms on the Sheriff's desk. Looking him eye to eye, Jeff said, "You can call Goodwin and check out what I've told you. If they are fugitives, then there is not a thing wrong with passing out these photos in roll call. If I get a call from your deputies, should they see these people, I would feel very friendly toward your department. And I already like cops."

"Tell the troops like it is, just like I've told you. Let everybody know exactly what's going on. I'm scared that this idiot is going to shoot into our vehicle, or hide out in the woods near our house and start shooting when he sees us. I can't even think about him killing these women that I love. You know he has everything going for him. It's possible to kill almost anyone if you set your mind to it, particularly if you aren't concerned with the consequences. We need some help."

Jeff sighed and leaned back in the seat. "There are four underage, but exceptional intelligent young women here," he said motioning to the girls. They are mature well beyond their years. I understand that a permit can only be issued to someone twenty-one or older. I am in the process of teaching them the same course that the police and sheriffs' departments uses in Georgia — the state Minimum Standards course. When they have forty hours of firearms training behind them, and fire at least an eighty on the state course, they're going to go armed. I would like for them to have carry permits. Maybe, if that can't be done, then some type of specialty permit until the crisis is over. But legal or not, they are going to be equipped to defend themselves, and each other."

The sheriff sat back and steepled his fingers on his stomach. "Is this check contingent on the permits?"

"Hell, no. That's a gift because the deputies need it."

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Actually, the minimum age thing isn't state law. It's a rule by the Sheriff's Department, and is pretty much standard in most states, although some have nineteen as the minimum age, and some even have eighteen. Of course, there are a couple of the really high crime states that you can't even get a carry permit. They seem to be so worried about the honest folks carrying guns that they never seem to notice that with their laws, only the criminals get to carry guns. Oh, well, I don't want to get too high up on my soapbox. Back to the age rule. It's been around for many years, but there have been exceptions in the past."