Author's Note: This is the fourth Angel story and he needed lots of help for this mission. Even when I threw in characters from my previous work into the mix, we still needed more. I then reached out to other authors who had created heroic figures with a similar purpose. You will see a series of works attached to this story, all launching off the same assignment detailed in chapter 20. I can tell you we had fun doing it- Tyrone Slothrop

 

I Can See For Miles

By Tyrone Slothrop

 

Chapter 14: To The Mattresses: High Sierras, Northern California- September

Cool air moved over his face, small particles of dead vegetation touched his skin and bounced off, leaving minute traces of the forest. The natural world covers and claims us as part of it's own whenever humans venture outside of their concrete canyons. The senses invoked stretch back ages, intertwined in the very cells of the body. The world relates to us as species, not individuals, a state which can be refreshing, allowing the fears and concerns tied to identity to become meaningless.

Angel felt the need for such abandon now. Frank was dead. Bob was reported dead. Carolyn was wounded. Someone was after his family.

Lady Jean Thomas had asserted a motherly command once the crisis had calmed.

 

Carolyn was out of danger but still in serious condition. She would heal and no internal organs were damaged. She had suffered a large blood loss.

The police investigation was being controlled, a task made easier by the presence of so many off duty officers and agents of city and state police forces. Officially, two assassins were dead and one had escaped. All participants were licensed for concealed carry or were off duty police.

Frank had been buried five days later, his ashes scattered on the river he so loved. The security was at extreme levels, since most of the mourners were Group members.

Jean Thomas, with the help of a deeply grieving George Romany, had pulled Angel and Carolyn under her protection at the lodge. George had taken temporary command of the Group and had effectively pulled all members into defensive mode. Operations which could be stopped were halted, and agents undercover were extracted where possible.

The lodge's normal medical facility had shifted from a well equipped emergency room facility with a part time doctor to a round the clock care facility with an illustrious staff of physicians.

Doctor Karen Peters had been with Jean for years, and had tended the needs of her girls on a part time basis. She was now joined by her sister, Doctor Janice Peters, the respected endocrinologist, Frank's companion. Doc Schlange, a researcher into obscure hormonal imbalances and decorated Navy Doctor who now lived in the town of Filler down the mountain, was a friend of Jean's since their war years together in Southeast Asia. George Romany was a MD in Psychiatry who specialized in victim recovery and transgender issues.

Carolyn had the best possible care, with a team of doctors watching every move the surgeons made and reviewing every step of her post op care. The bullet had passed through and major infection seemed to have been prevented, but the musculature had been damaged and her lower intestine nicked.

George approached the silent Angel on the outside deck.

"Angel, we need you to step up and bring the Group back to life. I'm not an operations guy, I don't have the temperament. Point me in a direction, give me a script, I'm fine. But we need to go after these guys. And that means you. They will follow you."

Angel did not answer George for ten minutes. George knew he was not being ignored.

Angel saw Carol, the Lodge Junior Mistress as he called her, slim with her long black hair waving in the breeze, walking with Jill, one of the girls Jean had brought here for shelter.

The two were enjoying the scenery in front of the lodge, with the ground cover of pine needles and grasses. You were in one step surrounded by tall trees and sheltered and in the next step looking out on a vista of snow capped mountains and deep valleys.

"I think we need to compare notes with some others. Call a meeting for two days from now. Ask Jean and Steve. I want that Sean Taylor and her partner who I hear is back in the country. I also want the team following the lead from that hit man we captured to give me their report, if they are back from New Jersey. Have the Group Captains stand by; we're having a war council. " Angel said, the wrinkles around his eyes getting deeper, his gray gaze getting colder.

His peace with the rage of his past melted in his soul. All of the pain, the anger, the humiliation, flared once again.

Somebody had attacked his family. Somebody was going to die.

 

Chapter 15: Walls And Prisons – High Sierras, Northern California - September

The slim, pretty man up on the deck looked so sad to Jill. He knew the man had suffered a terrible loss and was just beginning to understand why he should care about the suffering of strangers.

The twitchy feeling he got when he allowed himself to feel pain, emotional or physical, was the residue of the drugs. Jill had been clean and straight for eight weeks now, but the memories of detox brought waking nightmares. Johnnie told him it would go on for some time.

Johnnie was still locked away, safe in his beach house in Jill's head. Johnnie had told Jill that Jill was to be what these people wanted him to be, and keep Johnnie safe.

Eight Weeks Earlier

Doctor Karen Peters watched the writhing collection of pains and needs twisting on the cot in the secure room. This was not the first drug or alcohol addicted child they had rescued. The other girl, Marla, seemed to be less addicted to the potent opiates their captors had used, opiates which were absorbed by the soft tissues of the mouth and sinuses. The one who called himself Jill, however, was going to have a rough time.

Lady Jean approached her.

"Any idea on what we are dealing with here, Karen?"

Karen paused, watching the poor creature inside the room rolling back and forth..

"Lady Jean, whoever did this needs to pay. That boy was conditioned to become something which should drive him into deep psychosis. Instead, he absorbed it and erected a barrier personality. George was the one who found it, since none of his answers made any sense for his situation. We hope that he is hiding deep inside. "

"Steve, even with working with the law enforcement contacts of George's Group, has not been able to identify him from fingerprints or facial characteristics. And he won't or can't tell us who he is. The girl we went to rescue was only there for two months and he had been there for some time before that. We know they blasted him with hormones and even did facial surgery and those breast implants. And we know they made him the object of regular humiliation and had him perform fellatio on that thing Steve brought back, just to get his drugs. We also know they used very sophisticated conditioning methods to re-orient his self image." Lady Jean examined the list of crimes.

Karen motioned George Romany to join the discussion, making him break away from his mayonnaise soaked BLT.

"George has a recommended course of treatment which I think has merit, Jean." Karen said, deferring to the Psychiatrist who was trying to swallow a large mouthful before he spoke.

"We are in pretty unknown territory here, since Jill is clearly a personality constructed by the original inhabitant of that body, not a classic multiple personality disorder. Our problem is Jill is a drug addicted, cocksucking, shallow self centered bitch, who only cares about surviving the day and getting the most pleasure out of it." George said, watching for the reaction.

Jean gave him a puzzled look and Karen was blinking. They both knew George loved to use words to shock as a mechanism for opening minds to his discussion.

Dissatisfied that his ploy seemed to have fallen flat, he continued.

"Jean, we need to make Jill a lady. A mannered, caring, loving girl who can make the complex moral decision to free her interior captive despite what that person inside wants or is afraid to do. We need to grow her up, and grow her up nice."

Jean pondered the thought. George was a brilliant practitioner who was the first to admit his unorthodox approach was not always right.

"How can you be sure there is an 'interior personality', George? Maybe he is what he has become?" Jean said.

"Because while you can withhold the truth, even the strongest will cannot hold a mask while going through that kind of detox. There is a smart and scared person inside there, I saw him. And we need to get him out." The passion and fire was evident in George's reply.

"Very well. Karen, what about the hormones they fed him?" Jean switched topics deftly.

"Walter and I agree, his male genitalia have been damaged, and he will need to be watched for damage to kidneys and liver and hundreds of other problems. I wish we had a better idea of dosages and duration, but the records Steve got out of that place were spotty. The other girl had no information at all about that. He has had skeletal change and probably his height is topped out. For all intents and purposes, he is physically a classic pre op transsexual. When we get his system clear of drugs, we need to decide what to do with his direction on hormone therapy." Karen stopped, realizing she had begun a lecture.

Johnnie finished the operating system he had thought out for the PleasureJac. All in his mind, he devised mnemonic memory tricks to remember the modules, tricks used by scholars in the middle ages. He stared out at the Atlantic, the unchanging view he remembered from childhood. He wished he could come out, and write things down, but was afraid. Jill would protect him. These new people were not to be trusted.

Weeks passed. Jill was allowed out now, but only with a companion. These miserable bitches would not let him even smoke, he thought. He had offered sexual favors for a chance to escape and found they just ignored him. He had once gotten out the front door and found two large, military looking guys who just gently restrained him. It seemed they were impervious to his offer of a blowjob for freedom.

Everybody kept referring to him as a real girl. He assumed the doctor was sloppy and had not looked carefully, like those doctors who had come in and hacked at his face and given him the huge boobs.

Jill was enjoying eating whatever she wanted. Eating was part of the drug rehab, and his hips and rear began to show the effect. No one made mention of it, they just supplied larger clothing. Very definite girl's clothing.

Jill had a room now, and shared a bathroom with the other girls. Carol had cut his hair, since he had never cared for it other than to tuck it into wigs while in captivity. Jill rather liked the resulting chin length bob.

Carol was the house mother, the warden, the shoulder to cry on, the enforcer, and the one the other girls placed their trust in. Jill could see why. She was fair and she was patient. She had her own little boy, who turned out to be her brother, not her son, but she treated him like her own child.

Part of Jill wanted to like Carol, part wanted to rebel and shock her. Jill liked the other girls, especially Marla, who simply worshipped Carol. Eve was fourteen, and Cassie and Prissy were sixteen. Cassie and Eve had babies which required constant care. Prissy was struggling with schoolwork, determined to get her life on track. They all welcomed Jill as a sister.

Lady Jean spent long patient hours with Jill, talking about her life, her opinions and what she hoped her girls would become. At first, Jill was bored and distracted, but her whole personality was to never confront, just passively go along with minimal effort. Jill found that the discussions were entertaining and began to enter into shy debate with Lady Jean.

The security guys began to change in Jill's perception from guards and oppressors to protectors and older brothers. They treated him with respect, and never reacted to his outrageous outbursts designed to provoke them. He was treated like their little sister who occasionally got out of control.

Carol noticed Jill working with Prissy on her homework. Jill was not doing any schoolwork yet, since he was only a few weeks into his recovery from the forced addiction. What fascinated Carol was how patiently Jill was explaining algebra to Prissy, working her through examples, laughing with her, making the struggle to master quadratic equations a team effort. Jill, or Jill plus whoever else was in his head was clearly mathematically gifted.

The important thing was the patience. Many brilliant people have no capacity to teach. Jill clearly was showing concern for another person in the way he was approaching Prissy's challenge. Carol made a note in her head to talk to George about this.

The dreaded spot in Jill's existence was what she and the other girls referred to as the "ladylike hour". Once each day during the week, Lady Jean would instruct them unforgivingly in some particular set of the skills of a refined woman. Etiquette, planning a formal dinner, sewing, art appreciation, the history of fashion. Jean's list seemed endless.

Jill and the other girls were required to dress for the sessions, appropriate to the season of course. Accessories were mandatory, including gloves, an appropriate purse and tasteful makeup. Carol was happy to watch the children during this period, having survived several years of 'ladylike hours".

Other skills, like cooking and cleaning were simply part of their assigned duties at the lodge. Jill found she did not mind cleaning or cooking or laundry or any of the roster of jobs she inherited. Lady Jean had first rate equipment and believed in smart work, not hard work. The vacuum was the best and easy to use. The kitchen equipment all worked, and Marguerite, the cook was a good instructor in the culinary arts. Every surface which needed regular cleaning had the best product available and was designed to be low maintenance.

Jill loved the self defense classes. Despite his captivity, his tormentors had forced him to treadmill several miles daily, so he was in decent physical condition. Once he was free of the opiates and no longer subjected to massive estrogen doses he found the challenge and the discipline of martial arts to be soothing to his jangled nerve endings. Marguerite and Steve or one of his security guys usually ran the session , three times a week.

Jill was surprised that firearms skills were deemed essential by Lady Jean. He had never even seen an actual gun, and neither had Johnnie. But he had now. He could put holes in a target, and knew how to handle handguns, rifles and shotguns safely.

Lady Jean had a policy: her graduates were never to be passive victims again.

Jill found himself becoming a sister. In bits and pieces, he learned the pain that Eve, Cassie and Prissy carried with them. They told him parts of their stories. Marla was not ready to share her past but had seen his. He cried with them, he held them when they needed holding.

George Romany watched Jill grow, adding facets to his persona. Compassion. Concern for others. Self respect.

What made George the most curious was Jill's excitement the first time he was issued pen and a ream of paper. Jill spent her few spare hours furiously filling the blank spaces. Carol asked to see her writing and Jill reluctantly shared.

Poetry. Stories. Equations. C++ code. Random thoughts. Jokes. All seemingly just dumped onto the page. No clue to the hidden personality except that it was very bright.

George made another move. He gave Jill a standalone personal computer. No network connection, no internet. Just a C++ compiler and a word processor. It was like throwing a starving otter a fresh fish. Jill's fingers flew over the keyboard for his allowed hour a day, and George noticed that instead of transcribing memories, the flow of material seemed fresh, with the revisions and rewrites which occur before a work is polished.

His next step was to link the computer to his own. He could then initiate conversation through the operating system, in a chat like messaging environment.

GEORGE> HELLO JILL

JILL> HELLO GEORGE.

GEORGE> WHO AM I TALKING TO NOW?

JILL> ME

GEORGE> DO U HAVE A NAME?

JILL> YES

GEORGE> WILL YOU TELL ME?

JILL> NOT NOW

GEORGE> OK. TAKE YOUR TIME. WE WANT TO HELP YOU

JILL> THAT'S WHAT JILL SAYS. SHE LIKES EVERYBODY HERE

GEORGE> WE CAN TALK MORE TOMORROW. WE ALL LIKE JILL. AND WE ALL WILL LIKE YOU

JILL> I AM A FREAK NOW

GEORGE> WE ARE ALL FREAKS. TIME FOR SLEEP. WE CAN TALK TOMORROW

George asked Carol to describe her past to Jill over the next week or so, but not until he and Lady Jean got back from the wedding they were attending in Malibu.

There was some delay due to the commotion and excitement of Angel and Carolyn showing up, along with a number of heavily armed guards and medical gear. Carol took Jill for a walk outside while Angel and George were on the deck looking down at them.

Carol was born Bobby Dunbar, Steve Dunbar's first son. His mother, despondent and unfaithful along with being an alcoholic, frequently abused Bobby. She also was neglectful of Toby, the baby she had thirteen years after Bobby. When Steve went missing in the South China Sea off an oil rig, Bobby's mother and her friends in a biker gang had tried to get rid of Toby and Bobby.

Bobby had his testicles crushed while escaping with Toby. Guided to Lady Jean by the kindness of neighbors, he began a year long masquerade as a mother of the infant Toby. He made his decision to become Carol at age fifteen, with the support of Lady Jean. Steve returned and in the process of searching for his family, was able to rescue Carol from the gang members trying to kill her.

Jill was wide eyed at the story. Since Carol defined the picture of a mature young woman for Jill, it rocked his perception that she was once in his position.

Jill stared up at the man on the deck. He had a story too.

And he seemed so sad.

Johnnie opened the door to his imaginary room and walked outside for the first time in almost a year.

"Carol, my name is Johnnie Tunturo. I used to be him, anyway."

 

 

Chapter 16: War Council- Town of Filler, Northern California. Late September

The banquet room at the Highway Inn was bustling with activity. Charlene and Joelle were dashing around, making sure their guests were well accommodated. Located right off the Interstate, at the gateway to the Sierras Resort and Spa, Filler had blossomed from it's sleepy origins years ago. With excellent food prepared by chefs shared with the five star resort twenty miles down the road, the Highway Inn had acquired a reputation for the best food of any exit service in five hundred miles.

Carol had come down to pick up her brother Toby, a bundle of motion at age seven, who stayed with Joelle and Terri, both hostesses and managers at the Inn while he went to school in town. Steve was playing with his son while Terri, hair in rollers , wearing a nightgown and robe was yawning and getting ready for the next shift at the café.

"Carol, he gets livelier every day. And Flora says he's doing so well at school. You are forcing Joelle and I into having one of our own." Terri said, sipping a coffee cup.

Carol smiled. "I miss him when he's down here, but he seems to love it. Plus there are more kids for him to play with then up on the mountain."

Steve came in and handed control over to Carol, who was driving back. He was headed for the meeting.

Four senior Group agents came, three of which were State level and one was Homeland Security. Casual clothes and formal demeanors.

Larry Elger and Sean Taylor were already there. Spider Robertson sat in a corner, next to Steve Dunbar. Lady Jean sat next to Angel and George Romany. Bill and Jim were at the end of the main table.

Security eyes and weapons surrounded the site.

"This is in many ways a recap and sharing of what we all know, and an affirmation of our plan to eliminate the mutual threat we have all somehow encountered. Many of us have been involved in discussions for the last several days and our collective pool of information is eye opening. I would like to especially recognize Larry Elger and Sean Taylor, who managed to use their sources, combined with some of ours to effectively layout a picture of the opposition. " Angel said. The room went silent and followed his every word. He saw Spider and Steve Dunbar shake hands in the corner. He took it as an omen.

"You have a dossier in front of you , which lays out the Promisense – TransTalent operation. Larry has located their manufacturing location for the PleasureJacs, and the distribution channels they have set up. Apparently , they are not ready to go into production yet. It seems a key supplier is having 'production difficulties' with a key component." Larry and Sean smiled. Marissa had been threatened again by thugs from TransTalent, but the thugs found it to be a losing proposition. AB Enterprises was informed that there were delays in the ship dates for the Impolecs. And they were also informed if any more characters showed up, the delays would become terminal.

"Sean Taylor has been able to find nine franchises operational, in the following locations. We have exact coordinates on seven of them and are close on the remaining two.

"Bill and Jim had followed the trail from the hitman we captured, who, by the way is now in custody of the police. A New Jersey mid level mob guy took the contract and hired it out to the two who were trying to kill me. He was very reluctant to talk. We disagreed. He did eventually lead us to the head of Security for TransTalent, Lester Quarrel. Quarrel is the long time sidekick of the man in the dossier, Adrian Beimbeau, the President of TransTalent.

"We have also confirmed he tried to muscle Larry and Sean's employer, including threats to her son.

"The two teams of hitmen at the wedding were a puzzle, but we recently got a break. The victim rescued from the Oregon desert franchise described a sadist we have run across before, known as Madam J. I once showed her mercy and let the system handle her. My mistake. The victim was the heir to a half a billion dollar estate, with only one person who could possibly contest it. My wife, Carolyn. It turns out Johnnie Tunturo is the step brother she never met. Their father and his mother met an accident the same day as the attempt on Carolyn. Psychological feminization and dependence was a trademark of Madam J's old operation which we shut down years ago. I'm sure she planned to establish her hooks once he was released and 'rescued', and the sole heir to millions.

"The interior of the Oregon franchise was fairly well documented by Steve Dunbar and his team, but unfortunately, we lost the site due to it's self destruct. We need more intelligence on franchise operations. We want to get the victims out without killing them in the process.

"We also know that 'spoiled talent' as these bastards call them, have been shipped to Mexico in a trial operation, and sold as prostitute-slaves.

"So here the situation stands. Beimbeau is at an impasse. He needs the material to expand. We need to understand the franchise defenses and operation. He will get more desperate. So one of us with a reputation will approach him to solve his supply problems."

Angel laid out the plan. With few questions, the members of the conference agreed.

"We will need some more help if we want to take out everything at once. I have some recruits in mind. You all have your assignments. It will be a very interesting Halloween for Mr. Beimbeau."

The meeting broke up after a spirited question session, leaving Lady Jean, Steve and Angel sitting around a pot of coffee.

"You know you can't stop this technology, Angel. It will be developed somewhere else." Lady Jean said softly.

"I don't oppose the technology, it's inevitable. It's probably a better life than regular prostitution. But we can stop these particular scum from pioneering it, and maybe set a precedent that there is a cost to taking the innocent." Angel whispered.

"Now that's the Angel I know." A voice boomed from the doorway.

"Bob?" Angel was stunned.

"Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." Bob Angelo strode into the room.

"Care to explain?" Angel asked.

"I watched my long time friend and assistant, along with my driver go up in flames meant for me. I got tied up and he needed to be in San Francisco, so I told him to take my car, I was flying. After realizing I was a target, I decided to play dead. And I found out some things, but clearly not as much as you. Angel, I'm glad Carolyn's ok, and I am sorry about Frank."

"In some ways, Frank got to go out better than he expected. He saved Carolyn and went quick." Angel said with a twinge of pain weaving through the words.

Bob nodded and hugged Angel. After some time, he broke the embrace.

"You know you are right about the technology. Porn has played a role in civilization since it's inception, and as far as pay for sex, this technology might be better for public health. Promisense is onto the wave of the future. But Ord Stonewell will never see the day it breaks. For what he's done, that miserable piece of shit is going down. And I know a real good way to do it." Bob grinned his winning grin, the one that had gotten him elected twice to state wide office.

Bob grabbed a cup of coffee and gave them his thoughts.

High Sierras, Northern California

Up in the mountains, Carolyn sat with Johnnie. Her hospital style bed was raised to afford her a gorgeous view of the valley and clouds shrouding the snow caps. The pain from her wound was receding, replaced by the emotion of the moment.

They both now knew their father was dead, and Johnnie joined her in the loss of a mother.

Johnnie was in a pastel blue skirted suit, with white gloves. Lady Jean had instructed him to dress nicely for meeting someone special, and Marguerite had released him from the 'ladylike hour' to meet his sister. Jill faded from sight, yet Johnnie seemed to have incorporated much of Jill into Johnnie. He loved being a sister to the girls, and was giggling with joy to find he had a real sister, right here in his new home.

They hugged each other in silence. Johnnie felt his heart beating and found it deafening.

 

Chapter 17: South of the Border, Down Mexico Way- October

Clarence Posey felt the sweat pour down the back of his neck. He could see the Saguaro cactus across the street, if you could call the rutted baked mud a street. The beer bottle felt cool and wet in his huge grip. He did not even know the name of this place, seventy miles south of Nogales. The GPS had taken him here from Spider's coordinates.

"Spider sent you to find these people, Si? " Carlos El Oso said impassively. Clarence felt like he was in the beginning of every Clint Eastwood or Anthony Banderas western, sitting in a broken down saloon, talking to a guy named 'The Bear'.

Like almost everyone in Southern California, Clarence harbored dreams of the movie business. In other places, people wanted to be action heroes and starlets, but the truly addicted fantasized about producing, deal making, or if feeling especially low, screenwriting. He did have a Masters in Modern Literature, earned painstakingly over the years when he was not banging heads for Spider.

Clarence looked at El Oso and felt the incongruity of the name. To Clarence, names were destiny. When you grow up poor and white with a name like Posey, you either learn to fight or suffer immensely. Clarence learned to fight. Now, El Oso might qualify for his namesake if Christopher Robin was his sidekick and he carried a honey jar.

The man was playing a role. Clarence expected him to break out into a chorus of "Badges? We Don' Need No Stinkin' Badges!" at any moment.

"Stop fucking with me, Carlos. I know you speak English fluently and without a cheesy accent, I know you normally wear clean clothes and making me come to this shithole so you can re-enact some fantasy really pisses me off." Clarence said, calmly and quietly. The four men watching his back broke into grins.

Carlos sat up straight, the 'impassive and dangerous Jefe' act clearly over.

"Ok, ok. I dig those old movies. Now you're here, well go to my house and talk by the pool. It's only ten minutes away." Carlos said quickly, sounding much more like the money man intermediary he really was.

Clarence and his crew clambered back into their white Chevrolet Suburbans and followed Carlos the Pooh (as he was now nicknamed) in his 1961 Cadillac convertible, it's massive tailfins cutting a wake in the heat haze bouncing off the ground.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a large ranch house set against a row of low rises, with a quarter acre of perfect green lawn in front, a feat which was a monument to the insanity of man's need to recreate his childhood environment. Carlos grew up in a middle class suburban home in New Jersey, and had transplanted a piece of Saddlebrook into the hostile and arid Sonoran desert.

Settled in by the pool, a better beer in his grip, Clarence listened to Carlos the Pooh brief him.

"The brothel owners were approached by this Lester Quarrel months ago, who offered them a good price on what he called top talent she males and some girls, all very young, all clean, and all American.

"I don't want to insult you, but a lot of people want to fuck an American these days, it's like having a brand name for a brothel. They really like to fuck an American shemale; we get a whole tourist trade over here for that. Something to do with your country's foreign policy." Carlos paused, looking to see if he had offended his audience.

Clarence was impassive. One of his guards grunted, and Clarence glanced at him, indicating to shut up.

"Go on Carlos." Clarence said.

"So far, only four boys and two girls have been sent. Apparently the first shipment met with an accident. Oh, yes, and one old lady. She was thrown in for free. She was resold to the interior, and I doubt she will survive. Anyway, she is beyond recovery. The children are spread across three establishments. Sadly, one boy died. He took his own life." Carlos crossed himself.

"And have you negotiated a price?"

"They were very attached to them, Mr. Posey. It was a painful negotiation." Carlos began to shiver. He always hated this part. Gangsters were so unpredictable when it came to money.

"Do you have a number?" Clarence was impassive.

Carlos slid a single document across the patio table. Clarence looked at it without touching it.

"Half of that, the kids get out now, you get them to us at the location we arranged, with whatever immediate medical needs they have covered, and nobody tips off this Quarrel guy what happened. " Clarence countered.

They settled on 65% of the original. Honor satisfied, Clarence snapped his fingers and one of his guards showed photographs of Lester Quarrel, Ord Stonewell, Adrian Beimbeau and Madam J to Carlos.

"The Quarrel man, that's him. I don't know the other two. The woman could be the one who came later and was sold south. Trust me, she is gone. They said she was crazy and needed many drugs to just shut up."

Clarence sent the text message to Spider and Angel. "Recovery South underway"

  

  

  

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