Well, they didn't lose him, but it was doubtful as to how much help he was going to be, after they went through all that trouble. The men they had wanted had just disappeared into thin air. All James could tell them about that was that there had been some sort of escape plan in place. There had been documents, and fake IDs of excellent quality. There had been secret bank accounts somewhere in Switzerland, or the Caribbean.

There was an extensive support network that would hide and aid the fugitives, and these people would die, or kill, before betraying them. None of this was anything that the authorities wanted to hear.

But they had struck a deal with James in haste, and they were stuck with it now. He was immune from prosecution for any part he might have played in the abduction and imprisonment of Scribe Mozelle, and they knew he had not participated in the robbery. He had to be released once he was discharged from the hospital.

Several of the agents, especially Bonita Madeiras, who had become acquainted with James, expressed the hope that either he'd slip up and revert to his former slimy ways, or something he had done in the past would rise up and bite him in the ass.

As it was, it seemed that his posterior was being nibbled a bit anyway. He was finally deemed healthy enough to be allowed out of the hospital. He had regarded Bonita Madeiras with astonishment. "But where am I gonna go?"

"Anywhere but out of state, James. Just keep us and the locals appraised of where you are at all times. If we catch either Ron or Jerry Bellewood, we'll want you available."

"But I don't have any place to go. I can't go back up the mountain."

"No, you can't. That's considered a crime scene now."

"And you can't just cut me loose. What about the Bellewoods."

"I told you. Everything seems to indicate that they've left the country. They'd hardly be stupid enough to show themselves now that we're looking for them specifically."

"Yeah? You don't know how stupid Jerry was over that knocked-up bitch of his." He ignored the woman's frown. "Never mind them. What about the other Bellewoods?"

"I hardly think you have cause to worry about them, James. Even though I believe their attorneys are close to getting them released, at least on bail, I doubt that they'd come after you."

James rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Not them! I ain't worried about a couple of cunts. I meant the other Bellewoods."

Really? James, you can seriously underestimate us cunts. God, what a master of tact. "Others? What others? You haven't mentioned this before, why now?"

"I don't have details. They never would tell me. Bastards didn't trust me."

"Gee, I wonder why?" "So, you figured that since you couldn't use them to deal, no point in bothering, eh?"

"Something like that. But you gotta trust me on this: they're out there. Hell, I got the impression that the US was thick with 'em. Could be a couple of hundred, but they don't all go by the Bellewood name."

"Fascinating. We'll set up a system for you to check in on a regular basis."

"That's all? What about witness protection?" "You haven't acted as a witness yet, you don't qualify."

"How the hell am I supposed to support myself?"

"How did you support yourself before you hooked up with the Bellewoods?" James was silent. His previous methods of livelihood might not be as easy, with a bum shoulder. "You might qualify for disability, with that shoulder. In the meantime, why not try welfare?"

The hospital had an indigent care system in place, and James spoke with a facilitator before he was released. They set him up with free medical care, scheduled therapy, pain medication, and a small, temporary income, till his status could be decided on the disability issue. They even helped him locate a tiny apartment in a seedy part of town that was close to a medical center where he could get treatment. Once again, he was being supported by someone.

And he wasn't any more pleased with it than he had been with the Bellewood situation. The salary was a pittance. He could have made more money selling the dope they gave him for pain, but he needed that. In fact, he needed a hell of a lot more of it. He ran through the prescriptions in about half the time he was supposed to, and the bastards wouldn't refill them without a shitload of trouble. The fucking doctor tried to tell him he was going to get addicted. On those little things? Crap. He could buy better on the street, and he did, when he had the money.

When he couldn't get legal or illegal pills, he drank. He hadn't drank much up on the mountain because the booze just wasn't readily available. The good thing about down here, though, was that he could usually get free drinks, because now he had bar stories to tell.

Everyone was interested in the Mozelle kidnaping case, everyone wanted to know what had gone on. James had been kind of disappointed that the big magazines, like People and Time, hadn't bothered with him. He had sold his story, several different versions of it, to a slew of tabloids, though. In one of them he had spent the time as Scribe's secret lover, and fathered her child. He wished he could see Jerry's face when he read that one. Old Studly would probably swallow his tongue.

Scribe. Piss. He never had gotten any of that, and now she was all the way back down in Texas, and there was no chance. The only way he might see her again was if they actually caught her old man, and she came to the trial. Boy, he'd love that. He tried to remember if they had the death penalty for kidnaping in the course of a felony. Oh, hell, they were bound to. After all, it had happened in Texas, for God's sake.

So James was released from the hospital. He spent his days hanging around the bars, and his nights hanging around the clubs. With his fifteen minutes of fame as the hero of the Mozelle kidnaping case, he managed to do pretty well in the nookie department.

The barflies were suckers for a noble rescuer. He'd just have to talk about protecting the poor bitch from being ravaged by his two beastly brothers-in-law, then rub his wounded shoulder, looking soulful. Bam. Panty droppin' time.

At least for a while. After about a month, it started to wear thin. As Ron and Jerry were not caught, and were not caught, other crimes happened to take the spotlight. After all, no one had actually gotten killed, had they? James figured that he was due for at least one more spurt of fame, even if the Bellewoods were never captured. When Scribe dropped her brat, that should make the papers again, and he'd be right there.

He was musing about that a month after he got out of the hospital, sitting at the bar of a loud, smoky club, nursing a beer. He had to nurse it. They didn't like single guys just hanging out. Single girls? Fine. They attracted the guys.

James was sulking, drawing patterns in the condensation his beer was leaving on the bar. He hated having to drink it slow: it got tepid before he was done. He was horny and pissed off, and in pain. Pissed off and in pain because he had gone to a therapy session this morning, after his social worker threatened to cut off his dole if he didn't try to get physically rehabilitated. The nerve of some people. Horny because, well, he was always horny. Getting shot hadn't affected how his dick worked, when he got a chance to work it.

But the club cunts had been ignoring him for the last couple of nights. Attitudes, every one of 'em. James was about ready to slap some respect into one of them, didn't much matter who, but he was hesitant. With his bum shoulder, most women now were a match for him, and he didn't like almost even odds.

Then she came over and climbed up on the stool next to him. Climbed up, literally. She probably wasn't any more than 4'11". He had to look twice to be sure that some pre-teen hadn't slipped into the club. The bartender looked closely, too. He asked for, and got ID, and held it up under the light for a good, long squint. Finally he was grudgingly satisfied, and drew a beer for the girl.

James slanted a look at her. Not girl, woman. A little woman, but those boobs didn't belong to a little girl. As tiny as she was, you'd think she'd lean forward all the time with that chest. That's about all there was to her; tits and hair, lots of shiny blonde hair. James liked that. Now, if she just had a hole or two, and could keep her fucking lip buttoned, she'd be just about perfect.

James's POV

I was trying to figure out the best way to approach her when she turned wide blue eyes on me and said, "Hey, you're that guy what rescued that kidnaped woman, right?"

Gotcha. "Oh, I wouldn't say I rescued her," I said modestly. If I did, anyone who knew a lick but what the media put out would laugh themselves spitless. "No, the brave federal agents did the actual rescuing. I just reported it and went for help." Here I gave a strategic wince, and rubbed my shoulder.

Those eyes got even bigger, and a mouth coated with Bubblegum Pink lipstick dropped open. "That's right! They cut you, and they shot you! Man, you nearly died." I made it was nothing motions. "No, really, I heard you lost 'most all your blood."

Really? This is news to me. Aloud I said, "Only about half of it."

"Geez, my old man wouldn't even kill a bug for me, an' he acts like a fuckin' infant if he gets a hangnail." There was clear admiration in her voice. "Lemme buy you a beer."

I protested. A little. I was pretty easy to persuade. So we sat, and we talked, and she bought me a few more beers. She stuck with the one, though I tried to urge more on her. Might have been easier if I was buying. I like it when they get drunk. They're a lot easier to deal with.

It got late, and she slid off her stool. "Well, I guess I better head home. My old man might try to call later on, an' I ought to be there." She giggled. "He'd beat my ass if he knew I was out in the bars, 'specially if he knew I was talkin' to a cute guy."

"You walking this late?" I hope, I hope.

"Some. I had to park pretty far."

Funny, I hadn't thought it was that busy tonight. Gives me a good excuse, though. "A little bitty thing like you shouldn't be walking those dark streets alone. Why don't you let me escort you to your car?"

"Weeellll..." She was playing coy. "I don't really know you."

I gave her my most sincere smile. "Sure you do. I'm the hero."

She laughed at that. "Sure, why not? I'll feel safer. C'mon."

The floor was just a little unsteady when I got up. Seems like I drank more than I thought I had. That was all right, though. I watched the sway of her hips as she preceded me to the door. I was plenty sober enough to handle a little bit like her.

This ought to be good, I hadn't done any hunting for a long time.

I hoped she wasn't driving one of those damn compact cars. I had plans for the back seat.

Overview

Out on the sidewalk, James crooked his elbow, offering his arm to the little blonde. She tittered fuckin' air head and accepted it.

The top of her head didn't even reach his chin. She was wearing a thin, scoop necked blouse, and he had a perfect view right down her cleavage. Damn! She's wearing a red bra! Must be one of those Victoria's Secret things. I've half a mind to leave it on her while I fuck her.

As they strolled, he said, "You're a sweet thing. How about spending a little time tonight with a poor, lonely fella?" It's just a formality, bitch. You're gonna get screwed, but there's no harm in offering you a chance to say yes.

She slanted a look up at him. "I thought you were married."

Fuck. He made his expression sorrowful. "We're getting a divorce. She turned out to be just as big a crook as the rest of her family. Woman sure had me fooled." Here's another chance to win sympathy points. He sighed, dropping his head (which also gave him another peek at the Wonder Valley). "I'll probably never get my little boy and baby girl back. It's so hard for a man alone."

"It does my heart good to hear that you're so concerned about family. Family is so important. It's the most important thing in the world."

They'd turned off into a side street. Shit, she wasn't fooling about having to park away from the bar. "Yeah, family is what I cherish the most. It's just killin' me, not bein' with my babies." She laughed.

He was being all tragic and poetic, and the bitch laughed. "Yeah, James? Hardly seems like your attitude at all. I mean, you pretty much burned up the fuckin' road high-tailing into town to give up your in-laws."

"I just did what any good citizen would do," he growled. Damn. I think I'll take that bra off with my knife, and maybe a few scraps of skin along with it.

"Well, hoo-fuckin'-ray. Let's give ya the Good Citizenship badge, 'cause they're holdin' back on that reward, ain't they?"

"How did you know that?" He'd stopped now, staring at her. She didn't look quite so pretty anymore. There was a nasty, hard edge to her smile.

"Ya know, James, when ya fucked with Jerry an' Ron Bellewood, you was fuckin' with a hell of a lot of people by association."

"Listen, cunt..." He started to reach for her.

She swung, hitting him squarely on his damaged shoulder, which was already tender from the day's therapy. Also, he had been out of pain medication for two days, and he hadn't had NEARLY enough beer to deaden anything. It was like being pounded with a red-hot hammer.

James howled, clutching at his injury. "Oh, you're gonna pay for that, bitch! I wasn't gonna hurt, you much, but now..."

As he reached for her again, she drove a small, hard fist into his ribs, right over where Joshua had cut him. Again there was an explosion of pain. Through the agony he heard her say, "My name ain't bitch or cunt neither, you asshole! It's Molly. I'm Lally's little sister, an' you put her in jail, you bastard! It's taken us this long just to get her an' Justine out on bail. Now they've gotta run, thanks to you."

"I'm gonna kill you!"

As he reached for her again there was the ominous sound of boot steps on the pavement. He never knew where they came from: an alley, from behind cars, out of doorways, but there were four of them, and they were all big, and there was no doubt in his panic-stricken mind that they were all somehow Bellewoods.

Molly skipped out of the fast closing circle, and propped herself comfortably against a car to watch the show.

James managed one yell before someone smashed him in the mouth, but one yell wasn't going to do much good in this part of town. The four men took their time, trading off so that no one got too tired, or did too much of the dirty work. Face, gut, sides, back... Everything got worked over.

His nose was broken more than once. He was pretty sure that a cheekbone was cracked, and his jaw was dislocated. Teeth scattered. When he couldn't stand up any more, they started using their feet. Ribs went. A kneecap.

Just when James was certain that they were going to beat him to death, it stopped. Someone squatted next to him. "James? You still hear me, asshole?" James moaned. "Good. For a minute there we were afraid we killed you. Didn't want to do that. Jerry gave us specific instructions we weren't to do that."

Hallelujah. He just wanted me fucked up. Well, now I got another charge to lay on him, 'cause I sure as hell ain't gonna tell the cops he said not to kill me. Ordering murder is a sure capital crime, Jerry boy. Got your ass, now.

The man, whoever he was, was continuing. "No, he didn't want you beaten to death by strangers. He wanted to do it himself, but he just couldn't risk coming back into the country this soon. He wasn't willing to have you running around loose while his wife and baby were here, though. So..."

James felt something cold nudge his forehead. "Jerry said to tell you that he loaded the gun himself."