Chapter 4

"E'veen! What on earth? It stinks here."

"It's worse outside, Bill. I'm so glad we have to work this morning."

"Well, what is it?"

"The weed control people were here this morning. They submerged three five gallon carboys along the lake shore, opened the stoppers and left. That's the stench of dying fish."

"That quick?"

"That's what the guy wearing the Hazmat suit said."

"That's gawd awful."

"It's going to top out about noon. They'll be out with a big suction dredge to clean out the fish and start filtering the water."

Bill's phone rang ... it was Smith.

"Oh yes, they've been here."

"You better believe it."

"Worse than a fish cannery."

"Oh, yeah. That bad."

"They will? Just a sec." Bill clutched the phone to his chest.

"E'veen, Smith says the ivy crew will be here in an hour. We need to leave the gate open."

"I told her."

"They're what?"

"Wetbacks?"

"Oh, you mean illegal aliens."

"As long as I didn't hire them and I'm not here it's fine."

"They'll probably finish tomorrow?"

"You want me to call Immigration?"

"Why?"

"You won't have to pay if they're deported."

"That's a crock of shit, Smith ... you call. Otherwise pay up."

"No kidding? That many?" Bill slapped the phone to his chest again.

"Evie? He's turning five hundred Mexicans loose to clean out the poison ivy. They're going to bag it and haul it off. We need to stay out of the woods for a week."

"Why?" asked E'veen.

"They're pouring some kind of acid on the roots."

He listened again.

"Yes sir ... stay away from home. We'll do that."

Bill and E'veen went to work. John called them into the office. There were three cups, a coffee pot and a box of Dunkin Donuts on a side table. They put them to work.

"You get your clothing allowance checks yet?"

"Nope."

"Not me."

"Alice!! Where's the clothing allowance for Sutherland and O'Riada?"

"Morning Alice," from three people sitting and sipping and a return greeting from Alice, standing in the door with a clipboard, two checks and an empty cup. She handed one check to E'veen and the other to Bill, poured her coffee and sat. She proffered the clipboard.

"Forty-five hundred ... sign here. You get the day off with pay to get your clothes."

"See you in the morning," John said ... shooing them out the door.

"New clothes," sighed E'veen, swallowing the last of some pretty icky coffee. 'I'll have to do something about that.' she thought.

"Shopping," grouched Bill. "Where to?"

"I have no idea ... I shop at Walmart. I don't think that is the kind of clothes we need."

"Nope ... hold on ... I have an idea." There was a directory in the middle drawer in his desk. He ran his finger down the front page. He punched in the result and hit 'send'.

"Tampa Marshals?"

"Is the Men's Discount clothing store in Ybor still open?"

"It is?" Bill was still wondering if... "Same great deals?"

"Even better for Law Enforcement?"

"Great. Thanks."

"Bill Sutherland, new Deputy."

"Tyler, Texas."

"I'm bringing her with me."

"Flying."

"A charter flying empty from Denver ... we can ride?"

"Thirty minutes ... yes sir."

"Women's Clothes too?"

"Great..."

"E'veen, we need to get to Pounds. A Lear is picking us up."

E'veen's mouth popped open,

"No time for that and none for that either ... scoot."

E'veen closed her mouth.

They made it. The attendant was a tiny girl the color of heavily creamed coffee. S/he was wearing a vintage Virgin Atlantic stewardess uniform ... the cap was so cute.

Bill was never so appreciative of deluxe seating. At six ten, he could stretch. E'veen was stopped just inside the door. A few words and she disappeared behind the cockpit door. Pretty quick a man with a limp came out and sat down across from Bill. He buckled up. The girl checked Bill's belt and sat down in a seat and buckled up. In minutes they were in the air. The limper unbuckled and stretched out on the sole couch. Lo and behold, the couch had couch belts, he buckled in and went to sleep.

"He's had a trying night," as she tucked a blanket around. The attendant asked, "Coffee?"

Bill suddenly smelled really good coffee ... he pavloved. "Yes please. It smells wonderful."

"How do you take it?"

"If you can match the color of your skin? Just like that."

She flashed a genuine smile, "Mr. Sutherland. I believe you're flirting with me."

"I never flirt."

The lump on the couch snorted.

She dimpled, jumped up and fetched a cup for the pilot, one for the copilot, one for Bill and another for herself. "First time charter?"

"Yes ... I guess we were in a hurry."

"Ever been to Tampa?"

"Nope."

She looked the question.

"Clothes shopping."

"Ooo ... I'll bet she's excited."

"Speaking of shopping ... Where is E'veen?"

"Flying the plane." She noticed his look of alarm. "Right seat. Holly is flying left. Don't look so relieved, it's Holly's solo."

"Oh."

"E'veen? Is that right? Pretty name ... how do you spell it?"

"It's pronounced Ih- v--en. Hold on to your seat ... it's spelled, A-O-I-B-H-E-A-N-N."

"You're kidding." Straight faced and solemn, she gave Bill that look. The 'mother' look.

From the couch a muffled voice said, "He's not ... that's how E'veen is spelled. Irish."

"Gaelic," Bill corrected.

Tiny girl said," she's got lovely hair ... I wonder... ?"

The man on the couch said, "No you don't ... I love you just the way you are."

Bill looked closer, "I don't know ... with that clear creamy complexion and those expressive black eyes ... she'd be a stunner as a deep dark redhead. None of that fake flashy crap."

"You are! ... you are! ... You ARE flirting with me." She dimpled again, "No florescent hair extensions? No corn-rows?"

"Nope. Just you and your natural beauty. Cover Girl quality."

The lump on the couch turned over inside the belts.

"Tina, I believe you're right. He IS flirting with you."

"I never flirt. I mean every word I say."

The canvas curtain slid back on the rod. E'veen stood in the door. "He never flirts," she said. "He means every word ... and he's right. You are a little beauty."

"E'veen ... you made her blush. She didn't blush for me." Bill ventured.

"Sincerity is blush worthy. Fake compliments? ... not at all." E'veen looked at Tina, "you didn't think he meant it. He did. He knows better than to flirt where I can hear him."

The couch sleeper unbuckled and sat up, "E'veen, if you're not flying I should take my seat back."

"Oh." She stepped back and let the green canvas slide back.

"Shopping? Clothes? Got a place in mind?"

"Ybor City ... there's a place..."

"I know exactly where it is. So does Tina. She buys all her 'Stew' clothes there."

"And everything else too," she said.

"How did you find out about the store?"

"I read a story on line about a US deputy Marshal ... in the story, he shops there," Bill began. "It sounded like a great place so I searched it. The original building is gone but there's always a chance..." He pointed at the cockpit. "We got our clothing allowance today, so I called the Tampa station..." he shrugged, "they said it's still in Ybor."

"It is. I buy there." He leaned in close and whispered, "I don't shop ... I have group of ladies who dress me ... they seem to know what looks good and the prices are amazing." He stood and limped to the cockpit door, if a piece of green canvas an be called a door. "Holly ... flight plan change ... Tampa International. Arrange for a limo please."

He limped back to the couch. "Tina? Wanna shop?" He looked at Bill and laughed. Tina was already making a list.

Bill thought he knew what he wanted when he walked into the WearHouse. 'My God! The place is HUGE.' And it was. Redbrick, at least a hundred years old and two stories tall. The bottom floor of the three story building was all Cuban ... restaurants, bars, music stores ... but the top two floors were clothes.

Women's on the second, Men's on three.

Such clothes. If it weren't for Tina's persuading, he'd have left and gone elsewhere. The very best Italian, French, Hong Kong and South American brands, but over in one small corner, almost unnoticed, were products of the finest London tailors.

France and Italy do the best women's apparel, Bill wouldn't have E'veen dressed in another makers ... if he had anything to say about it ... he didn't. Somewhere along the way, five thirty something but absolutely gorgeous women had joined Tina, taken his clothes to task, stripped his cart and proceeded to dress him. Three men had kidnapped E'veen and dressed her from the skin out.

Thirty five hundred dollars later Bill was hauled to the register and checked out. He paid. He wasn't done. The tailors took over ... Adjustments. Dress right or left? Do you always carry? If you were to use a small of the back holster ... we have a sample. No? Shoulder only? Yes sir. A pocket carry for summer? Chalk marks abounded ... Try this ... sit please ... stand, kneel ... perfect. Have a look.

The man in the mirror had Bill's face but, somehow he didn't look six foot 10 ... Gawd ... he was beautiful. He was still tall ... but it was different ... he looked natural. Then E'veen stepped out ... Bill was astounded ... the eleven rose in salute. E'veen was more than happy to see the reaction.

She spun and grabbed each one of the men and kissed them. For men who have boyfriends, they reacted to her like they didn't ... have boyfriends.

"You forgot shoes."

"Didn't see any."

"And socks ... and ties."

Just then a sales assistant stepped up with a selection of fifty ties and black socks. The girls sorted through the ties ... looked at each other, shrugged and pitched the whole bunch in the cart.

"Bonus," commented the clerk. Bill looked ready to object. "I own the place ... the marshals saved every employees life ... to say nothing of mine. The gang that died trying to rob us killed every person in the last place they robbed. I say it's a bonus ... take it."

Just down the street was a military surplus store. It might have been smaller than the WearHouse ... if it was, it wasn't for lack of trying. Their military shoe department didn't have a single pair of suede shoes. Ten pairs were one hundred bucks ... he threw in SILK socks.

"I refuse to wear heels," said E'veen. Ever seen dress sneakers? They make them. She got ten pair. Ten pair of dress sneakers were close to a thousand bucks.

"We all done?"

"Pickup is tomorrow," said the limper.

"We have to be at work in the morning," complained Bill.

"I called, you're good," the limper said. "You have an appointment."

"We do?"

"Yup ... downtown."

The Federal Building doesn't house the Federal Court, there's not enough room. Tampa is an International Port and Trade center. There's an awful lot of federal law enforcement ... and there needs to be. The state has an equal number. Some of them are on the take. It's the job of the feds to stop that.

Tampa Tanning Station has gotten a reputation for ammunition purchases. They practice a lot. Because they practice a lot ... they haven't had to fire in the line of duty in awhile.

E'veen beat them all.

"No sir. People who practice two handed holds tend to expose themselves more than a one handed shooter. Practice is supposed to present the shooter with real life or death situations.

"No sir. People should practice one handed with both hands ... here, let me give you a demonstration." E'veen reached up and touched him on his shoulder. He dropped his pistol. "Hurts, doesn't it. Pick up your sidearm and finish the shoot.

"Practice, practice, practice ... it is total possible to hit a three inch circle at 25 yards shooting from the hip. I can do it ... and I'm a girl.

"Here's another thing ... you need to learn to shoot through the pain. Your opponent doesn't need to arrest you. Your opponent wants to get away ... it's easy to get away if the lawman is dead.

"Head shots ... there's no complaints from a bullet between the eyes.

"Compassion? What compassion is he going to show you?

"Gentlemen ... and ladies ... there is NO honor in dying. Dead is dead and in a week you will be replaced.

"If it's against the law ... and the perp is doing it, he is outside the law and should have no reason to expect you to protect him. We don't protect the outlaw. We're here to protect and defend the constitution ... period."