by Chuck Rogers
Dez and I had exchanged some stories but she listened with huge eyes.
Everyone hung on my every word.
I told them about drifting across America and finally becoming a fixer in LA. The only lie was about being up north when the beam hit and where the bear fight had happened.
I leaned back and finished my beer. "And that's the story of Frame."
Dickie stared at me in open hero worship. "Fuckin ay, Frame. You were groomed for our world."
Thank you, Dickie.
And he wasn't wrong.
Fact was I belonged in this new world more than I ever did in the old one. A terrible, dark part of myself knew that Lalli was right. It wouldn't take much. If I had left Malibu the first day and run into the SOG I'd probably still be sitting here today, and I'd be home.
Going all the way over to the Sons of Ged still remained the terrible, final option.
Hell, I had a feeling if I confessed everything to Ged right now he'd just nod knowingly and tell me to go burn Malibu to the ground.
Ged nodded. "Thank you for sharing, Frame."
"Thanks for listening." I glanced around the table. "All of you."
"I wish a few words with Frame."
My crew shot to their feet and disappeared.
Ged, Marrs, Dez and I remained.
"I have been thinking of a new patch and you have cemented it in my mind."
"Oh?"
"Yes, praetorian. Do you know what that means?"
In ancient Rome the Praetorian Guard were the emperor's personal soldiers, personal ass-kickers, assassins and shock troops. Not loyal to Rome or the Republic. Loyal only to Caesar.
"I know exactly what that means."
"I thought you might. As you know, we are expanding rapidly. At a certain point I will have to start handing out territories. I will need a cadre to keep order and keep them in line. Dez will get the first patch because she has earned it, but with your experience, if you come back from the recon successful I will make you praetorian, and captain of praetorians. Horse and Franco are your sponsors and you will owe them for the rest of your life, but you will answer only to Marrs and myself. Will you accept this responsibility?"
I told the truth.
"I told you, I'm not officer material, I flunked out. But captain of the guard? Sword behind the throne? Don't make me let Frame off the leash?" I nodded. "Head of an investigative body? Yeah I can do all that."
"I thought you might."
I grinned through the meat mask. "So all I gotta do is hand you Malibu on a platter?"
"That would be an excellent first step."
I told the truth again.
"I was heading towards LA with no clue. Marshal Miles and his boys were going to hang me. I had nothing until you took me in. I want to do this. I want to impress the hell out of you." I gave Dez a lopsided grin. "I want to impress the hell out of Dez."
I looked Ged dead in the eye.
"Dickie was right. My whole life has brought me to this point. Let's take Malibu. Let's take LA, California and the whole planet. I don't need much, a full belly and Dez and I'm good."
Dez stared.
"I haven't seen any kids, and I know you're consolidating your power. But later, I might want to be in that house in Agoura Dez claimed, and if she's willing? The SOG is going to need a next generation."
Dez's eyes were huge and shiny.
She was in love.
I was a son of bitch.
Ged cocked his head. "The SOG?"
Oh, fuck me.
I shrugged. "Has ring to it?"
"Actually, it does." Ged favored me with a smile. "Go to A-Camp tomorrow. Make peace with Ron. Get healthy, go to Malibu, scout it and Trojan horse it if you can. Come back alive."
"Can do."
"I wish to speak with Marrs."
Dez pulled me and my wheelchair out of the pub.
I intended to spend the next week learning every corner of this place when I wasn't shooting, eating and getting stronger.
She pushed me towards the gigantic Air Force One Pavilion wall of windows. Southern California was setting up another spectacular sunset over the Santa Monica Mountains with the light show to follow.
We held hands and watched the sky go all Crayola crayon colors.
"What's the deal with you and Belinda?"
"Del and I had some fun with her when she was provisional." Dez squeezed my hand. "Baby, I wish I was going with you."
"Me too."
That was a lie. Dez was a killer and a sadist, and she had already suggested we should pick out a pretty slave and "Have some fun with her." But that was the point. Dez and I shared a bed. I'd never murdered anyone I'd slept with. The team I was taking into Malibu?
I was going to murder every last one of them.
* * *
MILES GLARED BLOODY MURDER AT ME. "You son of a bitch."
Jaiden hopped up out of the Marshal's lap. "I'll get you your beer, Frame."
"Thanks, J. How are you doing?"
"Better. Your fight is all anyone talks about. Ron put it out that he's sweet on me yesterday. Word was he was meeting you here today. Everyone knows he's going to make member. People are being nicer to me." His coral painted lips trembled. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
I watched Jaiden walk away in a pink skirt and crop top. I couldn't help it. I smirked at Miles. I was tempted to say something about not knowing he swung that way but even I wasn't dumb enough to ignore the look on his face. I just opened my arms. "Come here, big man. Give us a cuddle."
Miles rose, and to his credit he gave me a great big hug with back slaps.
Members and prospects at nearby tables made approving noises.
I whispered.
"Jaiden's not getting raped anymore?"
"Not since yesterday, people know we're a thing."
"And you're not raping anybody?"
"No."
"So it's good."
"Fuck you, Frame."
We sat down.
Jaiden came back with a pitcher.
I frowned. "Where's his?"
Jaiden giggled and went back to the bar.
Miles was clearly uncomfortable and it wasn't just about Jaiden. "Why are we meeting?"
"I'm taking a recon team into Malibu. I'm going to murder them all and I may not be coming back. Whether I do or not, I want my people to contact yours. I know there aren't a lot of you, but you could make a huge difference. With your permission, I want to send somebody. When the SOG makes their push I want to be able to coordinate with the Santa Monica Shields. Even if you don't want to come to our defense, I think we should still be in contact."
Miles looked at me long and hard, looking for the trap and the betrayal.
"I ate human flesh to ruin these motherfuckers."
Pale-eyed bastard stayed hard. "I saw that."
Oh fuck him.
"We can betray each other anytime, Marshal. I know you don't trust me. I know you think I'm scum, but do you want contact with Malibu or not? I guarantee if your shit fails you can take all your people and resources there and they will be glad to have you. I can facilitate that or not."
"You think Malibu can stop Ged?"
"No, but what I can do is kill my team and come back telling stories that Malibu is a nightmare of heavy weapons and assholes. Maybe the Men-In-Black have claimed it. Buy time. Misdirect. By the way, if you have a better plan I'm listening."
"I don't have a better plan."
God damn it.
I keep trying to hate the guy, but the only real reasons I had were that he tried to hang me, he'd kicked my ass and he was a better person than I am.
Fuck him.
That was plenty.
"Gimme a code word."
Miles gave me his Government Service ID number.
"That could have been tortured out of you. I need something personal that it would not occur to the SOG to torture out of you and your people would know."
"Ramirez
and I still need to go fishing."
"Not bad, but I need something killer."
"Tell Jeannie I said she tastes like peaches. Down there."
"Wow. Peaches, okay."
Jaiden came back with beer.
Ron tensed for just a second as Jaiden slid into his lap.
This time I kept the smile off my face.
I smiled inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Force Recon
WE RODE OUT.
C-Camp had a substantial stable. I learned Ged was slowly instituting horse-riding lessons for all members and Gato was his horse-lord. Ged was definitely thinking ahead. Gato was a total pro and picked each of us a good pair of mounts. I swear he paired them to us by personality. I guess Gato was horse psychic because he grinned and introduced me to a pair of red roan appaloosa mares just like I'd used to ride on the rez. We saddled up, packed our bags and packed our horses. I'd been given all my stuff back and I strapped on the .45 I'd shown up with.
Dez found me an ancient tin cloth jacket so broken in it was probably better camouflage than anything the US military had ever designed. People would have paid thousands for it on eBay. Pharaoh might have been the original owner and worn it to roll a few Plagues of Egypt off his shoulders. I slid it on and I almost told Dez I loved her.
I put my vest on over it, and not to brag?
I was BAD-ASS.
I ran a final pack check on man, woman and beast, kissed Dez and we were out of Agoura.
We rode in loose file. I let Dickie take point. It had been a while since I'd been in the saddle, but it all came back and we weren't riding hard or fast. I wasn't completely comfortable and I still wasn't 100% but the bruises were fading and I wasn't peeing pink anymore.
My advice to you is to never take a beating like the one Ron gave me.
Me?
I'd reached the point where I could never take another one.
I'd reached it years ago.
Old age wasn't going to be pretty.
Then again I'd won the love of Ged, the respect of Roman Miles and like the best gladiators, even though I'd lost the fight I'd won over the crowd.
Years off my life well spent.
Dozens of white meteor lines streaked through a cloudless blue sky towards the Pacific. I just wasn't going to worry about the future too much. I had more immediate concerns, like how I was going to murder my new friends and companions.
In their sleep would be best, but we were going to sleep in shifts of three, so I would have to beat two and get the other three before they woke up, and even if there was no screaming our weapons weren't silent. They were sound suppressed. Sound suppressors basically take the sound of an assault weapon going bang and reduce it something around the sound of a well-behaved nail gun. I mean it's awesome, in the fog of battle it makes you very hard to pinpoint, but you are not silent.
I couldn't afford a gunfight. Much less lose one. It was obvious I was the worst horseman on the team and if I had to chase even one stray SOG there was a good chance they'd lose me.
I decided to stick to the plan.
We'd get close to Malibu. The insertion team would go in. I'd take them out and then come back for the backdoor team.
Assassinations as opportunity presented itself.
Horses couldn't make it through the washed out four-wheeling trail I'd taken the last time I'd rode out of Agoura and I sure as hell wasn't going to show it to the SOG, but Dickie had found a hiking path that might go all the way through. Parts had been washed out and we had to dismount more than once to pick our way. We had to double back several times, but Dickie was Golden State country boy. Like any veteran poacher, he didn't just know his way around the woods, he knew how to blaze trail to get to his happy hunting grounds.
He got us to the summit as night was falling.
Dickie was also our chuckwagon.
You had to admire him. He was one of those outdoorsmen who put a freezer bag of carbs in their pack and then took their protein and fresh produce from the land. Dinner was beef jerky fried-rice and that was our last hot meal for the mission. We'd be keeping cold camps in the park. I don't know what kind of mammal the dried meat came from and didn't want to know, but it wasn't beef. He chopped in a few cactus fruits he pulled off a prickly pear in Agoura and a bunch of goosefoot leaves he harvested by a creek.
The pièce de résistance?
He squeezed in two packets of McDonald's Tangy Barbecue Sauce.
Between that and the real coffee brewed cowboy-style in a pan it was a peak camping food experience.
And he had Hostess Ding Dongs.
Beat the shit out of an MRE.
Dickie watched me closely as I ate. "And? And?"
"Yup, yup and yup," I reached into my pack and casually tossed him a white-phosphorus grenade. "Here you go."
"Holy shit!"
"Don't drop it in the fire, Dickie."
He nearly dropped it. "Aw shit, yeah!"
"You don't deploy that unless I give the order."
He held it like it was the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch. "Fuckin ay, Frame."
"But you can go jerk off on it in the bushes. You got first watch."
Dickie leered. "Bel, you're with me and Creek."
Bel's eyes flared wide. She was still a prospect and subject to predation.
Creek was even less subtle in his facial expression.
Just when Dickie had managed to crawl up the scale from cockroach to some nebulous, lovabley loathesome status, he had to pull this.
I sighed internally.
One? Dickey? Don't rape your teammates. It's bad for morale.
Two? Dickey? Don't rape your teammates in the middle of a mission. Great way to wake up with that grenade you're so in love with being jammed up your ass with the pin pulled and your secret agent turned double agent.
I kept having to remind myself that these people were not pros, but what Ged had scraped together from what was left that he found useful.
Creek was ex-military. He should have known better.
Belinda shot me a look. "Frame said he wanted to talk to me after supper."
I nodded. "That's right. I want to go over her act."
There was a one second pause and then the rest of the team all nodded at me and Belinda knowingly.
God damn it.
Dickie jerked his head. "Gato, with us."
Gato rose from the fire and the brasileiro fucker winked at me as he picked up his weapon.
Oh well.
Horse doused the fire and diplomatically moved to the far side of it.
I spread my bed roll in the dark. Belinda was under the blanket and attached to me like a limpet before I'd even settled. She smelled a little sweaty and horsey but nice. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." I shrugged as she snuggled against me. "Never rape your teammates. It's bad for morale."
"I am absolutely willing, right here right now."
I sighed and I'm afraid it was out loud.
More and more people seemed to think that fucking Frame was a good post apocalyptic insurance policy.
They mostly weren't wrong.
"That's not a good idea."
"What do you think Dez would do?"
"I have no idea what Dez will do, but the SOG'll probably talk about it for years. Knowing Dickie this is gonna get back to her anway. So I'm going to tell her the truth. You and I did nothing. I didn't want an intelligence asset compromised, we were bunkies and that's it."
"You think she'll believe you?"
"I give it five chances out of ten."
Belinda made a noise and pulled the blanket up around her chin. I lay with my head on my saddle and kept my hands to myself. I used the secret power of military men and women the world over and closed my eyes and instantly went to sleep.
I dreamed of Line.
It was the Surf Rider beach dream with the perfect sand and the perfect water. Her body glowing pink in the light and her hair turning into molten fire above m
e. She wept with pleasure, and with every buck of our bodies she moaned "I love you . . . I love you . . ." We thundered towards a nuclear bomb blast of mutual orgasm.
Line didn't pull out a pistol.
She didn't blow her brains out.
We had the most top-gear, near-death experience orgasm imaginable.
I awoke from the dream mid-detonation like I had been pushed out of a plane.
Belinda had woken me up in the nicest way you can wake up a man imaginable.
I lay there and shuddered. Belinda took her time making sure I was absolutely finished. She gave me a squeeze and whispered in the gloom. "It's almost time for our watch."
I had no idea what I was going to tell Dez.
I had already promised Lalli I would tell her everything no matter what happened.
The good news?
Assuming Dez didn't cut me into fish bait?
Lalli would probably shoot me long before I ever got to the part about cannibalism.
* * *
Breakfast at Dickie's was a communal bowl of gruel. Dickie poured in three kinds of parched grain, dehydrated yogurt, and turned it into stoup with a military canteen of reconstituted powdered milk.
The pièce de résistance?
He took a metal straw he had clearly sharpened for the task, expertly inserted into a vein in his pack horse and expressed about a cup of blood into the bowl. He grinned and held the bowl out to me. "Here you go, Frame!"
My Uncle Mankiller had pulled the same trick on a box of store bought granola on a hunting trip once.
I was starting to fall in love with Dickie Bell all over again.
If only his powers could have been used for good.
We passed the bowl around slurping and two-fingering the gruel into our mouths.
No one balked.
It was serious campaign food.
"Dickie, you ever fired an anti-tank rocket?"
He was so happy.
"No, Sir! I have not!"
"I'll talk to Ged when we get back. I think you're the kind of man who can understand and appreciate genuine firepower."
I owned Dickie lock, stock and barrel.
I hadn't been joking. The SOG was short on heavy weapons, but they had a couple of shoulder fired anti-tank weapons and dozens of machine guns ranging from heavy, to general purpose to light. I'd seen the Valhalla armories. The SOG was making homemade rockets and slapping hillbilly armor on anything with a heavy duty chassis to make technicals and narco tanks.