Chapter 30

Amy played the Oscar worthy part of the morning alarmist at 7:00 AM Tuesday Freaking Morning.

<Get up. Get Up. Get Up. Get Up.>

"Amy. You are going to make my eyes melt. Not so loud. What's the panic?"

"Boss. We have a situation outside. A mob of reporters won't let anyone pass. About a thousand of what appear to be tourist gawkers are clogging the street. There is a twenty-two foot delivery truck trying to get through. It has your stuff on it. The embroiderers left a voice mail. They want to bring the uniforms early. Traffic is backed up to Riverside Drive and down West Drive to the 65th Street Transverse in the Park."

"Crap-o-matic! When did it start?" Pete moaned, not in a good way. "Wait, my favorite AI. Girls, time to rise, shine and dread the day. Listen to Amy."

"The reporters arrived just after you all went to bed. The gawkers began trickling in at 4-ish. They became a traffic hazard at the beginning of rush hour. Now the story is the traffic jam and the Fishmarket Massacre. Their name, not mine. And then there are the helicopters. Traffic choppers, police copters, news crews, and tour guides. Air Traffic Control at Teterboro is dedicated to keeping them from raining on the City."

"Can we kill them all and let Albany sort it out?"

"Easily, but the paperwork would be eternal."

"OK. OK. I'll get dressed and call Capt. Connor at the Twentieth. Maybe we can figure something out. Amy. Tell the Pixies to dress in their Aurora exploring gear with the body armor, if you can wake them. Ask Allison to deal with the uniform delivery."

Pete dressed and called Mark from his office. "Good Morning, Captain. A gigantic birdie told me to have speaks."

"This a great huge cluster fuck, Pete. You're the reason but it isn't your fault. We're giving it the 'Presidential Visit' treatment. Traffic is being diverted to side streets and around your block. ATC is trying to sort the skies out now. The voyeurs, both news and crime-junkie, will be cleared as soon as we can get barricades in place."

"Damn-o-rama. Tell me what to do."

"Short of moving to Idaho, there's nothing you can do. On the other hand, having you guys around is better than the best disaster training we have." Mark commented. "We can handle Times Square on New Year's Eve. You're less trouble than a subway strike or a black out."

"Thanks, Mark. That's faint praise for sure." Pete laughed. "All I wanted was a couple of fried scallops. Next time I'll order in."

"Let the riot squad do their jobs. I'm more afraid of what your girls will do. Keep them indoors for a while." Mark chuckled, "Give us a few hours."

"After the brouhaha last night messed up their clothes, I was informed, not so delicately, that I needed to take them shopping." Pete advised, "Teenagers. Shopping. Mob Scene. Do the math. You think the Massacre was bad? This could get really ugly."

Next he called the computer supplier and asked her to have the deliverymen be patient for an hour or so until the police cleared the block. "Have your people call me when they get to the building. I'll open the garage door so they can back in to unload in the alley."

"Some days you're the statue. Some days you're the pigeon. We'll get the delivery done sometime. We came early once the guys saw the news and hoped to beat the crowds." Charlotte said, "The best laid plans, you know the rest."

The owner/supervisor was more cheerful than she should have been. Pete asked her why she wasn't more annoyed.

"I saw the internet feeds. You folks have been busier than ever. I'd rather have the streets full of reporters than gangsters any day. Our other customers are cool, too. Buying a mainframe from the people who supply the Tiny Terrors has gained a certain cachet." She admitted, "You've made us a geek-nerd status symbol overnight."

"So some techno-mole leaked the delivery manifest?"

Charlotte began to get a little contrite. "It's not like it was top secret. Everybody in the company knows the customer base. Now it's too late to clam up. Look at it from our driver's point of view. CBS calls for the delivery time. 'I have a load for O'Neal Systems. Next is Lincoln Center, and then The Black Rock.' You're a big player in the IT world. They know where you are. The driver is just giving an explanation for the time: 72nd at Columbus, 65th and Broadway, then 52nd at 6th. Nobody calls it Avenue of the Americas, except on letterhead."

"Sorry, Charlotte, if I sounded brusque. I didn't mean it like that, really. Normally I would be happy to be included on that list. We've been under stress lately and maybe I'm getting a little snippy. People keep shooting at me." Pete said. "Wait a minute. My little one man operation is in that league?"

Charlotte was OK again. "Clients call you. How long has it been since you had to solicit business? Geeks gossip. You're famous for fixing broken systems and not taking guff from managers causing problems and trying to blame the IT guys. Your code doesn't crash. If I tell the geeks at the insurance company they're next after you, it's not an issue."

"One day your biggest worry is patent infringement. The next day you're worried about snipers. What can I say? Maybe we'll make the cover of 'Wired' and 'Guns & Ammo' the same month."

"You described the nerd's fantasy. Kicking ass. Taking names. Writing code. I'll tell my guys to hang on a while. Don't be shocked if they ask for an autograph."

"Thanks, Charlotte. I gotta check on the people who got wounded last night. A family Court Judge and the Assistant District Attorney took lead sitting at our table."

"I saw that part on Youtube. That judge was not sitting. She and a little tiny girl were going to town on some hulk when he pulled a gun and shot her. The wisp of a girl snatched it away and shot him in the face. And, as they say, she acquired more targets. You weren't so bad, yourself."

"I still have to see how they're doing. Talk to you later."

Allison came down to report that the vendor would walk in the uniforms at 10:00. "The director thinks it will be better than trying to drive the truck through the craziness."

"She's right. Capt. Connor is doing the best he can, but the size of the crowd is huge." Pete asked, "Are the other Pixies up and about yet?"

"Star and the four twins are making breakfast. The others are cleaning the sidearms in the rec room. We're bringing the shields down to the lobby before the deliveries get here."

"I'll be up as soon as I send some messages. One each to Marsha Carter, Ben Washburn and Zeno Bowling. Probably feeling a bit fragile this morning. We'll touch base with Simone and Franco later. Then I want to know what Olivia, Bonnie, Norm and Dave think of the PTA meeting from hell."

"One thing for certain, if the kids at Theodore Roosevelt High see the videos on the Internet, student discipline is not going to be an issue ever again."

She went back to the kitchen with a tablet comp and Pete typed the text messages to the courthouse folks. Then the same sort of notes went to the faculty at the school. "Amy. Can you send these to their personal phones? Main switchboards are a security risk."

"Sure, Boss. I spent a few milliseconds this morning collecting all the smart phone uploads I could find on the Internet. It makes quite the epic. You want me to make them go away?"

"Don't bother. It was too late ten seconds into the fight. What's done is done. Can you edit out the reposts and put it all on the big screen in the rec room after breakfast?"

"It's ready now, Boss. Your favorite disembodied voice is always on the job."

Twenty minutes later he was in the kitchen, munching bacon, waffles and scrambled eggs with the Pixies.

"Charlotte at the computer supply house told me you girls are known as the 'Tiny Terrors' this morning. We're famous."

Athena harrumphed. "It's like talking to the wall. How many times do I have to tell these Philistines that Spring and Star are the tiny ones. The rest of us tower a full inch over them."

Star said, "It's a good name for a rock band. 'The Grim Reaper and the Tiny Terrors', playing at a riot near you. Top Ten hits with a bullet."

"Speaking of bullets, I need a carry permit and a heater." Phoebe stated.

"You can have the Colt I used back at Lake Champlain." Spring offered. "I like the smaller Glock 29. But whoever uses the Colt can't share ammo. It's chambered in .45 calibre and everybody else shoots 10mm."

"Common ammo is a good tactical choice. We'll get more Glock 20s and 29s. I'm leaning toward a SIG P229, chambered for .357. I can go shopping, but we should see what Kris, Franco or our friends in high places can find. No matter what, anything we use has to be brand new." Pete told them. "Except Spring's Colt. It's clean, crime wise."

They continued to eat, while discussing melee tactics and weaponry. Athena wanted a 12 gauge with solid slugs. "I could kill a truck. You never know."

"The kick would knock you on your tush, too, sis. You'd look like a cartoon."

"When the new company clothes get here, lets dress, wear the shield packs and holsters and take a class picture. Our demure schoolgirl cover is blown already so we might as well take ownership of our image." Kim suggested. "And another pose without the hardware. One for "Business Week' and one for 'Gun Digest'.

"And one totally naked with the weapons. Real, honest gun porn." This was Jenny's idea. "If Mom could see us now."

"We'll think about that one later. Lets clean the breakfast dishes and clear the lobby for the deliveries. We have real work to do. That reminds me. I have to talk to the Department of Labor about getting work permits for everyone but Rani and Allison. I need to get you guys on the payroll."

"Amy, can you take a cruise through the Labor Department and get forms for the Pixies to get work permits? Tell me whom to call. I'll do the talking."

"Doing it now, Boss"

The buzzer sounded at the door. "It's either the uniforms or a reporter wasting their time." Pete said. "Wanna bet which? Anyone?"

"No takers? OK. Put on the armor and follow me." He put his on, too.

He pushed the intercom button. "Good Morning. What can we do for you?"

"Shelter Embroidery." A woman's voice answered. "We have six cases to deliver."

Pete checked the Pixie armor. It passed and he opened the door and let two women with hand trucks in, locking the door behind.

"Thanks for bringing these through the madness. We appreciate it. Can I get you something to eat or drink?" Allison asked.

"Nothing, thank you. We have our own delivery today. It was such a good month for work and donations we got seven more beds for the battered women's shelter. Goodnight Furniture gave us a great deal and the center can use all the help we can get. Just sign here and we'll be on our way." Allison signed for the cases.

"Thank you for the work. If you like the quality, please tell your friends. Every cent helps." The Pixies were opening the boxes. Pete approved the stitchery. It was clean, neat and sharp. Nothing shabby there.

After the women left, Pete looked up Goodnight Furniture on the net and called the owner. "This is Pete O'Neal at O'Neal Systems Consulting on West 72nd Street. You are making a delivery to the West Side Women's Shelter today, right?"

The man said he was. "Please add five more and charge it to my credit card." Pete gave him the number. "List it as an anonymous donation. And the next time you need company work clothes, get them to do your logos. I do and it looks sharp. Much more stylish than a silkscreen and lasts longer. Just a thought, but do get those beds over there if you possibly can."

The man said they had that many in stock and they would be on the truck.

"It says nothing nice about us guys that the shelter needs the bed so badly. Thanks for putting a rush on it. And don't use my name. Made it a donation from a friend."

Cam looked a question at him.

"Allison already made a donation in our name and placed a profitable order. Let them think another person cares, too. Might help morale and make them fell less alone. And Mr. Goodnight may make a donation himself and spread the word."

"You're a pretty nice guy for a Grim Reaper, Boss." Lisa said.

"People who can help, should." He said. "They have nothing but bruises and broken homes. I have to help. Why else are we here?"

'How about we try the new duds on?" Rani asked. "Check it out. The polo shirts and the over shirts have the scorpion logo, but the t-shirts and bags have our personal symbol and name. Very cool."

"Wear the shorts, T-shirt and over shirt combos. Shoulder holsters under and shield pack over the shirt. Sturdy sneakers and ankle socks." Pete said, "I was going to let the supply guys back into the alley, but now we'll load in through the front door. It's faster and we don't need advertise the door just yet."

They changed right there in the lobby and carried the rest back to the hall by the stairs, making room for the computer equipment.

The girls were sharp. Green and khaki, accented by the various colors of the tees, looked professional but not stuffy. Pete set up a series of photos, with and without the packs and guns. He thought the best was one without the hardware, with the over shirts open. The pixies appeared relaxed and happy, exactly the way he hoped they could live in the future.

Actually, he was saddened that a fourteen year old teenager needed to carry a gun and wear body armor just to go to the store down the block. Saddened and angry. His growing gloom was interrupted by the telephone. The delivery truck had arrived.

"Amy, put the street scene on my tablet. How's it look to you?"

"The police put blue barriers on the sidewalk, 50 feet either side of the door. The no-go zone includes the parking lane on the street."

Pete told the driver to park in front and the girls would help unload. Nathan and Ester, the delivery people were happy to have extra hands. None of the cartons were heavy, but there were a lot of them.

The two seemed to be enchanted by the Pixies. Star stayed on the truck, moving stuff to the tailgate. Spring stayed in, checking the count against bill of lading and the packlist. Pete stayed outside, helping stack the hand trucks and generally glowering at the still substantial crowd.

He wondered what the talking heads were making of the delivery. Would they think the girls were resuming a normal existence or would they think the boxes contained weapons of mass destruction? Or would they guess something in between? He stopped and called Charlotte.

"You will probably get some nosy calls soon. Inquiring minds will want to find out what you are delivering to the Tiny Terrors and their beastly mastermind. I don't mind them knowing that we do business. I do mind them knowing what we buy. I don't want my competitors knowing for obvious reasons and I know you would never tell anyway. Casual information is different from specifics."

"Thanks for the warning. I get to practice my 'No Comment' on the air. Cool. Tell the drivers to move out and keep their mouths closed. I told the drama geeks at Lincoln Center where the truck was. Now I'll call back and suggest that the truck might arrive with a camera crew. The folks down there will love the airtime." Charlotte said. "Got an ETA?"

"Nathan and Ester will be outta here in ten minutes or so. A u-turn on 72nd, then seven short blocks down Columbus and one long block to Amsterdam, to the loading bays. What, another ten minutes, max? Allow another ten for them to get autographs from my girls."

Pete allowed no photographs and Amy turned off the drivers' phones until they were outside the building. But the girls did sign pieces of printer paper for the folks. Pete did, too, and everybody parted as friends.

Pete cautioned them strongly not to auction the signatures on eBay. "This was for you two, not for profit. Let your children sell it. You better get a move on. The guys at Lincoln Center are waiting. And Charlotte said to tell you both to keep your mouths shut if the talking heads want to know what was in the boxes. It ain't their business."

The next few hours were spent stowing the clothes and arranging the hardware in the conference room so Pete could build the cores of the new installation due before the end of July. He planned to expand to the living room as the system took shape.

On and off during the day, they received calls from the people involved in the brouhaha downtown. The judge and DA took the mandatory day off after a shooting incident. His peers hailed Ben as a seriously hands-on prosecutor. He thought it was hilarious. "You have to take a bullet around here to get any attention. Forget my conviction ratio, blood gets the promotion!"

The judge was another, but similar story. "They want me to transfer to Criminal Court. I turned it down. Family Court is exciting enough, thank you. But be assured, when I bang the gavel, it will be heard next door. The appeal rate should drop, too."

The school faculty held class as if it was a normal day. Norm and Bonnie, previously considered slightly nerdy by the students, enjoyed a new respect today. Homework was complete and on time. Olivia and Dan were as gods to their coworkers. Neither did anything productive due to the congratulations and expressions of concern for their safety.

Both just wanted to get the Pixies grades on record with the recommendations on file. Mrs. Pulaski needed it to be officially in the system before she could get the ball rolling.

The owner of the Fishmarket Grill called last. "Dude, you have some Friends Who Will Not Be Denied. Seriously, seconds after the CSIs released the restaurant back to me, a crime scene cleanup crew arrived and steam cleaned the place, they told me there was no charge. A construction group came and patched the worst of the damage, but I had them leave a few attractive holes."

"I ordered new table service this morning and it arrived before I put down the phone. We were washing the new dishes when the Health inspector came in. She went over every inch of the place with a fine-toothed comb. We got a 99. Hell we had a 95 before and I was happy. I'm freaking delirious now."

"So you'll open on time tonight?"

"Pete, we're open now for late lunch and after work drinks. There is a line." He laughed outrageously. "First they'll come for the morbid crime scene. They'll come back for the steamed mussels marinara."

Pete began to think that people are nuts in general and totally insane individually. And said so. He was ignored.

"Who organized the recovery efforts? Things just happened out of the blue."

"You probably don't want to know. I apparently have supporters on both sides of a shadowy and moving line. Occasionally they cooperate in mysterious ways to pay back old favors. You benefited indirectly. Let it go. Really. It's best that way. If you get an invoice for materials used, pay it promptly. It will be considerably less than you could have contracted."

Pete rang off, smiling slightly. Penny had overheard the conversation. "You're right, you know. People are crazy as outhouse rats."

The girls and Pete managed to stay occupied for the rest of the afternoon. Amy kept them updated on the situation outside.

The action on the street settled in for the duration. The only change was the addition of two new groups. One wanted to lead the terrible sinners, aka the fourteen people in the house, to salvation Clearly the attacks were God's way of telling them to mend their sinful ways. They vowed to stay until the sinners came out to confess their trespasses and pray for forgiveness. The specific nature of the sins was omitted. The end times preacher insisted that God was directing the congregation in this crusade personally.

The second group was protesting their hideous disregard for the rights of the alleged assailants. Every bit of evidence clearly was obtained without a proper search warrant and could not be submitted as evidence. This pack of bozos wanted to file suit against O'Neal Systems on behalf of the families of the unjustly accused. 'The fascist corporate controlled government was behind this plot to undermine the constitutional rights of Americans and oppressed peoples everywhere.'