Chapter 17

The agents swarmed the front yard, taking possession of the four survivors. They wanted to begin questioning immediately, and would have, but gave it up when I handed their boss the audio tape of their confessions, and showed them ten dead bodies.

I gave him the mp3 player, and he gave me an ugly look.

The Judge arrived after his agents, in a second helicopter. He was more anxious to talk to me than to check on the prisoners. We went inside and I got him a cup of hot coffee, so he could sit in the warmth and debrief me. I was hesitant to share everything with him, so I played the mp3 of the confession of the leader, and let him decide how to approach the name he gave up.

One thing was certain, we were not going to have any trouble with the President over the aggressive questioning I put those miscreants to, because of whose name we now knew. It seemed certain that the President was going to lose his legendary cool right after hearing the shooter name his boss.

"We need to keep you somewhere safe until this," he said, holding up the mp3 recorder, "has been fully investigated, and the President decides how to proceed. I'm afraid we won't get to push ahead without his Ok, from here on out, so be ready to move and keep moving, son."

Rather than lose my life all over again, I said, "Judge. I need some stability before I go crazy. I'm going to stay between here and the place in Fort Lauderdale for the near term, and keep my eyes open in case those people keep coming.

"At some point I have to start living, and stop running. Today's the day."

He gave a hard look, and then relented. "That makes sense, but it is a lot harder to protect you when you're in one place, than if we keep you moving."

I knew that.

"It's time to take my chances. I am going to hire some first class bodyguards, and try to be normal, or as normal as possible, anyway."

He wasn't happy, but did put me in touch with the company Jack used to work with, to get me private security. They agreed to fly in immediately and find ways to limit the obstruction to my life, as much as possible. It was money well spent, and apparently to be paid by the Judge's Federal budget.

That night I reset all my safety switches, buttoned down the farm, and deliberately went to sleep without allowing myself to obsess about more shooters coming to finish me off.

The next week flew by. The new security guys were extremely professional, and very skilled at being nearby without being in my face. We got along great, especially when I hired pilots from their company, and sent the Dealer back his crew.

Over the next couple weeks the farm was transformed into a model of safety, and security, without turning it into a compound. My guards put in lots of special touches that would strongly discourage any more attacks, and inflict great harm to anyone who didn't belong.

As the weather moderated, I found myself strongly attached to the farm, and not anxious to go anywhere. It was good to have a home – for as long as it lasted – I suppose.

My guys took me into town to run some errands when I discovered an injured golden retriever hiding behind a dumpster. I never would have seen it if I hadn't heard him trying to creep under the dumpster, afraid that I would hurt him.

He captured my heart profoundly, and I scooped him up and we went in search of a veterinarian.

Sammy – that's the name that came to mind – and I found a wonderful vet, who spent hours getting him all fixed up. His injuries were superficial, but painful, so he spent a few days residing on special pillows I bought for him and scattered around the house. There was one beside my bed, one in the kitchen, one in the living room, so we could enjoy the view together, and one in the Lexus, on the seat beside me.

Sammy was small for his age, which the vet claimed was about two, and was very well trained. He needed no housebreaking, and didn't chew the furniture. In fact, other than his treats, and dinner, he never chewed anything, except when he would munch lightly on my fingers, as I ran my hands along the side of his face. It was almost as if he as teething, the way he would use my fingers to massage his gums.

We were very pleased to be buddies. "Hey, Buddy-boy. You are my little buddy, right? We are buddies, because we need each other, don't we? Yeah ... we do. You're going to be fine, little man, because I will take care of you, and keep you safe and fed ... all you have to do is keep being such a beautiful little buddy, and we'll be just perfect." He seemed to enjoy my nonsense talk, and it kept his attention until he slept ... which was all the time.

The poor dog must have been abused and abandoned, because he was totally exhausted when I got him home. For the first two days he ate, drank and slept ... and slept ... and slept.

My guards weren't prepared for the lifestyle I lived, when it came to a pet. Sammy went where I went.

Period.

Where I was, he was. That's how we rolled. The neighbors and shopkeepers became accustomed to seeing us together, and never gave it much thought, because we were so completely bonded by the time I had him a month.

I refused to teach him to be aggressive, because I wanted him to remain as loving and gentle as he was. It was my job to protect him and me, not his. He liked to chase a tennis ball, so I bought a whole bunch of them, and would sit on the front steps, tossing it down the yard, and he would run after it and bring it back.

One little personality tick of his, was his tendency to NOT want to give his ball up after chasing I down. We would play wrestle over it, until I got it free, and then I'd send it flying again.

His other personality quirk?