Chapter 2

Other than as a pleasant memory I pretty much forgot the whole thing. I went back to the Katherine, crashed and later got up and went to Bennie's for something to eat and see if any of the boys would show up. A couple did and we sat around jawing for a while. I told them about Tinker Bell and we all had a good laugh about the whole thing. I don't know if Sue was interested that night or not. I didn't ask since I was still dog tired. I called it an early night and went home to crash again. Getting old is a real bitch!

The next few days were pretty much routine: boat maintenance, interviewing suppliers and contractors, workouts and pulling Mike's ass out of jail, again. Mike ― that's Sergeant Michelle Darlington UN-Specfor (retired) to you, buckaroo ― is one of the Lost Boys and as such will have my love and support for the rest of our natural lives, but she can be one mean drunk and without a doubt is one of the biggest pains in my ass I have.

She always was a troublemaker and it hasn't gotten any better since all of us retired. All of us have been in scrapes once or twice since our service days ― high spirits and all that ― but Mike, also known as Nibs, has been in more trouble than all the rest of us combined. I wish she'd find some guy with a horse-cock that could keep her stupefied for more than a day or two. What she really needs is someone to slap her over his knee and wale the tar out of her ass. By the way, I wouldn't recommend trying it since she knows just about every way possible to kill a man and likes the ways that are most painful. Of course if someone did succeed in this highly dubious venture he'd have to contend with the rest of the LBs. To tell the truth I'm not sure which is the most dangerous prospect: six highly trained and heavily armed killers after your ass or just her. It's a toss-up. Dead is dead and all of us will eventually find our way into that long night, but how you get there makes a difference, at least it does to me. Just a word to the wise, don't piss her off. Post-script: she gets pissed off easily when she drinks. Post-post-script: She drinks a lot.

Maybe I'm what they used to call an enabler but I have a difficult time faulting her for her self-medication. I don't think any of us that came back from the war ― doesn't matter if it was the jungle or the sandbox ― made it back completely undamaged; we all have our personal demons we wrestle with every night. I can remember waking up every so often screaming. If I hadn't had Kathy I probably would have slipped into the bottom of a bottle myself. Who am I to say those who ended up there or tranked out on recreational pharmaceuticals don't have the right? Most handle it better than Mike does but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be there for her no matter what she does. She saved my bacon so many times I can't even begin to count; what's that against holding her hair out of her face while she tries to puke her guts out in the gutter or bail her ass out of the brig when she beats the crap out of five more-or-less innocent longshoremen. Everybody has their burdens to bear and I guess she's one of mine. Hopefully I'll never let her down, but damn-it, she can be one hell of an aggravation!

"Daniel," Sara interrupted me while I was reviewing one of the millions of stupid reports our benevolent government demands from the few actually productive people in our great land. I don't know why I bother. Crystal hasn't let a mistake show up in any of our reports or correspondence since that time I caught her purposefully inserting a typo or two in some reports when she first came to work for me. She admitted she did it because she'd had bosses that just wouldn't release a report until they found something wrong; I guess it made them feel they weren't doing their job unless they found something to piss about. I pointed out that my job was finished when I found someone who could do it correctly and that my ego was more than sufficient to withstand the realization that she was much better at this kind of nonsense than I was. She still wants me to look them over before they're submitted, something about the fact that I'm legally responsible for them or some crap like that. Personally I think it's just to share the aggravation of these time-wasters with me; whatever, most of the time I'm a good boy and do it.

"What?" I muttered trying to tear myself away from the fascinating accounting of how many protected transsexuals I hired that quarter, (the number was zero but for the life of me I couldn't figure out why anyone would want to know or care for that matter, I know I didn't.)

"Ms. Delmar will be here in approximately 17 minutes."

"Who?" I asked still befuddled by the seemingly endless categories the government came up with to describe the part-time and contract employees I've had.

"Ms. Delmar," she repeated. "Tinker Bell." Most people think a machine can't sound aggravated at somebody; let me tell you, they can.

"Oh ya, Tink. What about her?"

"You scheduled a ride with her on your motorcycle, Daniel, 1600 hours, today."

"Oh, okay. Well, she probably forgot all about it," I said looking up at the cloudless sky. It would appear if she did show up I wouldn't have the weather to use as an excuse to back out of it.

"She called to confirm, Daniel. She will be here in approximately fifteen minutes." Shit! Well I can't say I'd rather be reading these stupid reports than taking a pretty girl for a ride on the bike so I headed down below and changed into a pair of jeans and boots. I kept the black T I was wearing and passed on the jacket or vest. I looked more "old school" biker-bad like this and besides it was much more comfortable. I was just coming back up on deck when she appeared at the railing.

I almost laughed. She looked like the archetypical "biker chick" you'd see in the old vids. Black, skintight syntho-leather pants, bike boots (the 8 cm spiked heels might have been a bit much but they did make her look sexy as hell) and a syntho-leather jacket. She had her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and was sporting a pair of self-tinting biker glasses. Like I said, she looked like she came right out of central casting and cute as hell to boot!

"Hey, Tink, ready for a ride?"

"Damn right, old man. I was sure you'd have forgotten," she replied with a grin.

"Sara wouldn't let me," I answered truthfully. I was able to avoid any further incriminating questions and soon we were rumbling down the coast road. I noticed her limo didn't follow us this time.

I really enjoy riding but I really enjoy taking a bike virgin out for a ride. There are generally two types. There are those that are scared to death as we scoot along at about a 110 kph just centimeters above the pavement and that's not so much fun. No matter what others may say of me I don't get my jollies hearing people scream in fear. Well, not most of the time anyway.

Then there are those that take to the bike like a fish to water. Tink was definitely one of these. I swear I never actually heard her squeal but I could practically feel her grin behind me the whole time we were riding. The joy she felt on the back of the machine was almost visible as we rode. It was a blast. After a couple of hours the tank was getting low so I turned us back and asked if she was getting hungry.

"What? You're going to feed me? Like a real date?" she teased. "Where ya going to take me?"

"How about the badest, nastiest, low-life biker bar in town?" I laughed.

"Icy!" she cooed. "So am I going to see some real bad-ass bikers for actual?"

"Bad as they come, around here, anyway," I admitted.

"They have chains and knives and everything?" she asked. "Maybe we'll see a fight." She must have been watching some of the old 2D flicks. Where else would she pick up that garbage. I didn't have the heart to tell her if there were any knives they would be vibo-blades and chains were unlikely since most everybody would probably be packing heat. You probably guessed already I was taking her to Bennie's and just about everybody there would be a vet. Coming in there with me she'd be safer than in one of the five-star hash-houses downtown. But why spoil her fun? For some reason most women liked the feeling of danger even if it's only the perception of danger.

"I'm sure you'll cause a riot when we get there," I chuckled. For some reason she seemed to think that was funny.

Pulling into the lot I parked next to a number of other old classics along with a few of the newer, sleeker looking two-wheelers. Bennie's looks like a real dive and I know for a fact Bennie spends a lot of time and money making sure it continues to look like one. It was dark and dingy inside and the smoke, some of it actually real, hovered like a cloud over our heads as we threaded through the mostly empty tables to my favorite booth near the back. It was still early so I didn't expect many people to be in yet but I wasn't all that surprised to find a few of my team sitting there when we finally arrived.

Slightly, Tootles and Nibs were there munching on a big plate of cheese-covered nacho chips as I shepherded Tink into the booth and plopped down beside her. Mike ― that's Nibs if you remember ― was already well on her way to getting hammered but from her sloppy grin I could tell this was one of her "happy" drunks which was a blessing. Slightly, aka "Top" or less frequently Master Sergeant William Marker, was nursing a beer while Tootles or "Weird" (his discharge papers read Sergeant Nathan Willis but I don't think anybody actually called him by his given name) sipped on some flavored water concoction. I don't think I've ever seen him actually drink alcohol, or get high for that matter.