Chapter 329: Lioness Fight

Hmm. This event looks interesting.

I hadn’t seen Alex’s armor, so I had no idea which of the “knights” she was. Hinata, on the other hand, had gone off to make an outfit change I hadn’t expected. She walked out onto the battlefield dressed in middle-ages period clothing for an Onna-Musha, a Japanese woman warrior like the legendary Tomoe Gozen.

“Wow! Today is turning out to be a historical event for our Renaissance Fair this year. We had two women swordsmiths competing against their male counterparts to show their skills at the forge. Now we have one entering out competition dressed as a female warrior from the middle ages to prove how well her sword performs,” the announcer said.

Alex pulled off her helmet to show that she, too, is on the battlefield.

The girls and women in the stands went wild.

I bet the guys who saw them yesterday are groaning to see both women on the battlefield.

The announcer stopped briefly before then, saying, “My event coordinator just informed me that both women refused only to fight each other. Both are going to be in the main battle to test their metal.”

Bad pun, even if true.

The guys who started off taking it easy against the women found themselves staggering back for their mistake. It was a free-for-all type battle. Each woman did hold back when striking the other swords. They didn’t want to do something to shatter the men’s swords right at the start. I could see both were enjoying the workout. As the time for the competition wore down, the men did start getting more aggressive with their strike. I watched the biggest of them take a mighty swing at Hinata’s sword. She moved to block with one hand on her sword’s hilt and the other on the back of the blade. His sword broke where it contacted hers. He just looked in amazement at the remainder of the sword he held in hand. Hinata twisted away to challenge one of the others. When the announcer called for the sword fighters to stop, only Hinata and Alex remained with intact swords. The others were bent or broken.

“It seems we have a tie. Both women made great swords scrounging together what they could with the materials provided by the event’s sponsor. When you inspect each sword, notice that both women’s swords have some minor nicks and damage. The others are missing chunks of metal, if not broken entirely,” the announcer said.

I was soon dispatched to translate for the women. In essence, the grand prize in the competition amounted to a year’s worth of their sports drink, swag, and a small cash prize. They didn’t want to offend the sponsor but didn’t want any of it. They were proud to show that women can make swords, and armor for that matter, as well, or better, than men. When they asked me to figure something out to do with the stuff, I asked the sponsor if they were willing to spread out the cash and sports drink between the Girl Scout troops here. There were scouting troops with girls or boys here too. The sponsor was ecstatic with my suggestion.

Why not do it? Sponsoring them gets you into a market you hadn’t have much success with before. Most are in middle school and run on sugar most of the time.

Elena had me ask the two women if they wanted to make it an early night. They had been up early and worked hard all day long. Both looked at her like she was crazy. A shower is all they needed before we went out to enjoy the evening.

While the girls showered, Elena found us the perfect movie theater. The movies all came out this year, but where over six months old. What made the place perfect is how they offered some glasses that would give them subtitles in their mother tongue, well at least close enough for them to get the gist. Another option was to wear headphones that replaced the audio with their language. Each decided on the headphones. They wanted to kick back to enjoy the movie as our food came directly to our seats.

It was a joy watching the two girl’s reactions to seeing a movie in the US where they got to feel the thundering bass while the headphones let them not need to get distracted.

Back at the hotel, Hinata and Alex did their best to wear me out but didn’t succeed. Neither got any live swimmers tonight, but Hinata was getting close to being fertile.

In the morning, Elena, her dad, Alex, and Andy headed out together. It was clear that Elena’s dad was enjoying having someone who could keep up with him, even if she was in her sixties. Since I could speak their language, Hinata and her grandfather asked me to be their tour guide for the next week. I enjoyed answering their questions or giving them answers from someone else, as they didn’t think about sword-making as we traveled. Since they had taken me into their home when I was there, I made sure we stayed in one of my mansions, if I happened to have in the town. Otherwise, we stayed in one of my hotels.

It is freaking amazing how a quick text to the “service” arranges to have cooks, maid, and such, waiting when we arrived.

I’m not sure what Elena or her father may have told them, via Giggle Translate, but they didn’t question our lavish accommodations. The time we traveled flew by. Hinata was sure that if she was going to get pregnant by me that it had happened. I didn’t complain. Her years of working long hours in the forge made her a demon in bed. I knew she liked being able to feel skin-on-skin contact with me that she hadn’t been able to enjoy with any others. I arranged, via god knows who, to get all the things they amassed while here shipped back to their home. Nothing would go through customs or be touched except by those couriering it there. I didn’t know if it was via the man-in-the-machine or the people who send me the silent aircraft.

My Treasury hat and jacket allowed me to bypass the security lines at the airport, without my having a plane ticket or boarding pass. I pushed my luck to escort Hinata and her grandfather through the hallway used by specific federal agencies. No one questioned us. They did do a quick x-ray of their bags and waved a wand over them, but that was it. We were waiting on their flight to start boarding when a man in a dark suit, and earwig, came over to me.

“Mr. Jones, sir,” he said as if I was someone important. “Your guest’s flight met some harsh weather, delaying it by four hours. The airline is refunding their return trip ticket price as we speak. Their luggage is already in transit to the private jet that will return them home. Do you wish to accompany them?”

I told him that I would make other arrangements home.

Hinata and her grandfather were delighted to have a direct flight from here to Japan. Using the place in my head, I checked that the plane was what it seemed, a private jet. I found it to be a bit larger than many private jets, but it held enough fuel to fly halfway around the world and circle for an hour if needed.

So how am I getting home?

Dad texted me, “The babies are back home now. Not sure where in the world you are, but be back here by Tuesday morning, or you can move into one of your mansions. This year we have a lot to be thankful. Your mom decided to rent out a large commercial kitchen to spend Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, cooking Thanksgiving lunch and dinner for the homeless shelter and battered women’s shelter. Tuesday and Wednesday, you are babysitting, but she won’t tell me who. All I know is that little birdies told us about the many great things you did on your travels. Time to go out and use your driving skills or get your butt on a plane if you aren’t in the US.”

Glad to see that some of the stacks of money are being used to help those who need it. How did it get to be Thanksgiving already? This year is flying by!

I found it funny how no one would rent me a car, of any form, even with my gold or black credit cards. The guy at the rental place for high-end luxury and performance cars dismissed me entirely.

“Kid,” he started saying. “You can’t handle any of the cars we have here. I don’t care if you bought it outright.”

Fishing out my performance driving school cards and business card for the owner, with his cell phone number, I told the guy back, “Not to sound like a dick, but of the two of us, you aren’t the one who can handle these cars. I’ve been driving cars with this much horsepower and performance since I was fifteen. I got my license a year early because I proved I could handle them.”

“Kid? People are printing money on laser printers that fool banks. Anyone could make those cards, and who’s ever heard of that driving school anyway?” he asked.

I smiled, “Would you please get me the manager or owner? I want to run this past them just to see if they might be willing to rent me something. Can’t hurt, and your butt will be covered.”

“Yeah, whatever. Slow day. I can use the entertainment,” he told me.

He called someone on his cell, said a kid was in here trying to rent one of their cars, and wouldn’t go away when he told me no.

When the older man came into the rental office, I introduced myself and asked if he knew of the performance driving school, where I learned to drive. There were only four in the US. He knew it well since they would purchase some of his cars from time to time, especially wrecked ones to use for parts. I handed him my driving school certificate cards and business card for the owner. He didn’t need the number since he had in his contacts list already.

“Yeah. That is what the kid’s driver’s license says,” the man here said. “This isn’t some skinny kid, either. He looks like he would scare the professional football team’s offensive and defensive lines if he faced off against them. Sure. I will wait.”

My phone rang a few seconds later.

“Don’t you let my wife find out where you bulked up. I don’t need that kind of pressure,” he joked. “Why aren’t you driving the Maserati?”

“The Maserati is perfect. I was traveling with some friends who went back to Japan today,” I explained. “I could catch a flight home, but why get stuffed into a tiny coach seat when I can rent a car to drive home in style. Plus, I need something I can open up before I’m sleeping in the shed, that we don’t have, in my back yard. My dad wants me home by Tuesday morning. Sure. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The manager said into his phone, “That Ferrari you wanted to buy is getting detailed right now. If you want, I can put the kid in that with a temp tag. You say this kid has the skills, so if he wrecks it or gets pulled over, it is on you.”

They talked a bit longer before the manager told me they would have the Ferrari that the performance school was buying, ready to go in thirty minutes. If I wanted, there is the right place to get some food next door. He would come over when the car is ready.

The food does sound good. It is going to be a long drive to get home in thirty-six hours. Glad I don’t need sleep. I’ll eat when I stop for gas.

I just finished my last hamburger when the manager came in to tell me I’m all set. I put two fifties on the table and hurried out before the waitress saw them. After checking it over from top to bottom, as well as checking all fluids, I was off. As much as I wanted to light up the tires, I drove off their lot like I was driving my mom’s van. It turned out very good for me because a cop pulled me over right as I went to turn into the gas station right before the interstate. I pulled right up to the pump.

“Can I help you, officer?” I asked while still sitting in the car. “I didn’t see a school zone anywhere, and I didn’t go more than twenty-five miles an hour since there are no speed limit signs on this stretch of road.”

“License, registration, proof of insurance, please,” he told me without answering my question.

As I handed them to him, I said, “I don’t have the insurance paperwork because the car belongs to a performance driving school across the country. I have the owner’s contact information. I can get it for you, or let you call him. His number is also on my certificate from when I passed their requirements. It is also on the dealer transfer paperwork. I know it takes a while to run all that paperwork. Would you mind if I filled it up while I wait? I will give you the keys in case you think I’m going to take off.”

He let me fill it up after I gave him both sets of transponder dongles. I didn’t know how much it held, so I went in pre-pay them with one-hundred, fifty-dollars. The car rental place gave it to me almost on empty. My total came to one-hundred, twenty-two dollars. After getting food and drinks for the drive, I went out to find two more cop cars around the Ferrari. One beside it and one pulled in front to keep me from driving away.

I could do it without the dongles, but I haven’t done anything wrong.

One was another local cop. The other a state trooper.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m David Jones,” I told them. “I happened to be in the area at the right time, so I’m doing a friend a favor by transporting the car for him. I provided the other Police Officer all the paperwork I have given to me by the rental company who just sold it to the school’s owner. I do have the performance driving school certificates that provide I have the required skills to handle an exotic car like this Ferrari. I hope everything is in order. I do have a long drive ahead of me and don’t want to speed to make it on time. If I don’t, my dad said I am sleeping out in a tent in the backyard until my mom cools off. She volunteered us to serve Thanksgiving for the homeless and battered women’s shelters.”

The state trooper said, “I have my doubts that you are who you say, sir. I attended the same performance driving school you claim to have attended. They did have pictures of David Jones, and there is no way he is you. The kid was skinny and small.”

“I had just turned fifteen when I completed the driving school. Puberty bitch-slapped me a few months later. The other officer has the contact information from the school as well,” I answered.

I knew the car was in excellent shape, but while they played their game, I went around to check the tire pressure, fluids, and clean the windshield. Even with all that done, the cop who pulled me over was only sitting in his car drinking coffee. I gave him another five minutes, and then I used my implant to connect to my phone. A minute later, the State Trooper wished me a good day and got the hell out of here. Another ping had both officer’s radios beeping and their cell phones ringing.

Paula must have been bored.

I heard sirens coming in from down the road. Soon I have the chief of police asking the officer in the car what was his “major malfunction,” causing him to keep me sitting around. The cop didn’t seem to give a shit as I heard him say he was verifying my driving history and that I am who I purported to be. He explained he was doing his job by the book. His comment about the city spending more money on directors of copy paper management instead of updating the police computer that the town last upgraded eight years ago.

After walking over, I looked at the officer and said, “Officer, it would have been nice if you let me know that you were using Morse Code back here. I have met someone who has more money than he could spend in a lifetime and keeps making truckloads more each month. I thought there was no way to do that legally, but it comes from hotels and resorts. He happens to enjoy spending a part of it helping out people where they best use it. So, here is the deal. You tell me exactly what is the top of the line gear you need, and I will make a phone call. If you are bitching to bitch about something, then please allow me to be on my way so you can waste someone else’s time. I’ve done nothing wrong, broken no laws, and yet I am still waiting.”

He mumbled about something, so the chief of police told him to put up or shut up.

I had my phone out as he rattled off a list of in-car hardware, software, citation printers, and other stuff that would speed up their processing of suspects of crimes. Their town did upgrade their back-end systems and software because it benefitted the detectives, who get the big bucks.