Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Protecting Heather by Stephen Smith (C)2014

   **This is a work of fantasy and fiction.  The author does not condone
any sexual activity among persons under legal age in real life.

   †Authors Note: In the HTML formatted version of the story, the
characters thoughts are in Italic font.  Since .txt files do not have
markup or fonts, the convention I used here is to surround the characters
thoughts in parenthesis (my thoughts exactly!)

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   Ch 1.

   Janice was in a hurry.  As Heather's caseworker she knew the girl and
her mother, Amy Waters, probably as well as anyone alive.  She certainly
cared more about Heather than anyone alive.  That probably didn't count for
much on most days.  Today, though, was not any ordinary day.  Today, she
cared a lot about what happened to Heather.

   With the typical overloaded case files, budget cuts, and state
investigations coming down on her department like a hail storm, Janice had
been distracted lately.  Because of this, she didn't have much warning when
events hit their boiling point.  Worse, she had wasted two whole days
trying to get help the `Official' way.  The powers that be were otherwise
occupied with the headline grabbing fuckups within Family Protective
Services.  No-one was taking much notice of the insignificant disaster that
loomed over Amy and her daughter.  Janice's memos went unread because to
them, Heather just wasn't a headline yet.

   Janice's territory was in a neighborhood just a few blocks west from
where she herself grew up.  You wouldn't know it to look at her right off,
but there was steel in her eyes, a strength in her build that she hid under
her jacket, and a collapsible baton that she hid in her inside pocket.  She
was someone who got things done, even if it meant doing things that were
not at all in a procedural book.  As a child of the projects she still had
friends, and therefore, eyes down most streets and ears in many hallways
all over the east side.  Even in the big anonymous city, people saw things,
they overheard, and they talked.

   Word on the street was that Amy was in a world of shit.  Deep, deep
shit. She ran drugs, and occasionally turned tricks, for T-Bone.  Terrance
T-Bone Byrd, local player and tough guy, fighting for his scraps every day.
It was day by day that he earned his place near the top of the lower strata
of local crime.  He had no patience for Amy anymore.  What fun there had
been in the girl had long since been played out of her.  She was getting
less and less reliable for anything, and tended to use more and more, which
was a worrisome development.  She claimed that she had gotten rolled for
the half-kilo of blow she was holding when it went missing three weeks ago.
T-Bone's patience was reduced to zero.

   Word on the street was that T-Bone had a sweet eye for Heather, and had
already pressed Amy to turn her out to earn what Amy had lost.  The
implication hung heavy that if Amy wouldn't, then he would.  That was two
weeks ago, and Amy didn't have the heart to press her beautiful daughter
into service like that.  For a man with little patience, people were
surprised that he had stayed his hand even this log.  Things could go down
at any time.

   As for running to the cops for help, Amy was no good as a witness.  She
was too stupid to rat and run, and wasn't credible even if she did.  And if
Janice tried to place Heather out of harms way, she was sure that T-Bone
would come looking for the girl.  If he didn't the odds were that wherever
she placed her, pretty as she was, she stood a very high chance of becoming
someone's meat anyway.  The whole situation was turning quickly into a
no-win.

   As Janice drove down the unevenly lit streets, she cursed herself for
not knowing or acting sooner.  For all she knew, she would get there and
find them both gone already.  If they were there, she had an option to
present to Amy.  A nuclear option.

   What she had up her sleeve, was Oliver.  Where Janice was street smart,
Oliver was a certifiable genius.  Where she was connected to the street, he
liked to operate at thirty-thousand feet.  And where she was always
scraping by with what she had at hand, he was seriously, crazy rich.  He
could on occasion be counted on to help.

   When they first met years back, she had heard about his search to find
his younger cousin, a runaway girl from a boring middle class family. 
Janice had heard things about some new girl that had been seen in the
company of some shady characters.  Things like about how young she was, how
innocent, and how out of place she had seemed.  Janice connected the dots,
figuring this was a solid lead on the missing girl report, so she contacted
Oliver.  With his resources and her ability to navigate the streets and get
folks to talk, they soon had enough information to know for sure that the
new girl was his cousin.  They found her mixed up with some pimp who was
still in the process of mentally working her over, setting the stage for
her future career.  With the help of some of Janice's friends in the police
department they extracted the girl, minus her virginity but all told a
survivor of the ordeal.

   Oliver did not make friends as a general rule.  Yet he and Janice
remained relatively close friends after the whole painful rescue.  She got
to know him, and could understand him in some ways better than his peers.
That is, if he had peers.  She knew him as a dedicated loner.  Oliver had
his damage, starting with physical deformity and ending with the isolating
and hostile worldview that lifelong rejection can produce.

   Normally fairly even keeled and mild in mannered on the surface, over
the last year and a half his behavior had altered, taking on a sense of
deep sadness with a side of desperation.  Though she pressed him gently to
open up about his troubles, he would never tell her exactly what it was
that was eating at him.  Being the pragmatic street girl that she was, she
was not to be put off forever, but gave her friend the time he needed on
the subject.

   Then, some months back, Oliver had made a very personal, embarrassing,
and frankly immoral request of her.  It was the kind of request that was
only ever made to the most trusted of friends.  The kind that came with
provisos like "I can't believe I'm asking you this, but... "And "If you
never wanted to speak to me again, I'd understand, but..." It was the kind
of request that could end a friendship.

   And in fact, it was more than a month before she spoke to him again.  He
caught up with her one afternoon as she was walking down her street from
the local grocery.  Hopping off the front stoop of the walk-up he'd been
waiting at, he fell into step with her.  At six foot tall, sharply dressed
in a way that suggested heavily armed government hit man, and with a
bandage/mask that covered the left half of his face and neck, he looked
more than just imposing.  He was Frankenstein.  People gave them a wide
berth.

   She decided to let him do the talking first.  And talk he did.  Finally,
he opened up to her.  He told her everything.

   "...So now you know.  You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to
me.  You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn't at the end of my rope here.  I
trust your judgment.  I'll accept any answer you give me."

   "Oliver... I just don't know.  People aren't possessions like that. 
Hell, its part of what I do to stop that shit!"

   "I know.  I wouldn't treat her, whoever she is, like that.  And you know
how it'll end.  It won't go on forever.  Probably not very long at all,
really."

   Janice said nothing, just stared ahead, not even looking at him.

   "You don't have to do it.  And I won't ask anyone else or do it on my
own.  Promise.  If it never happens, then it doesn't happen.  Meanwhile,
let's just forget it and go grab a drink.  A big one."

   She looked at him, squinted at him, staring at him right into his eye.
He held her gaze, giving no ground, no apology, and no lie.

   "That is some heavy shit, my friend.  The least I can do is help you
build up a bar bill." She said.  She didn't smile.  The conversation wasn't
one for smiling about.  But now at least, she thought she understood him.

   That had been months ago, and she never would have expected a situation
would arise where she would even consider his request.  Until tonight.

   (The night time, is the right time.  ) She thought randomly, squinting
out the drizzle spattered windshield.  Pulling up outside the banged up
apartment building, she pushed down the rising adrenaline surge.

   (This is just another site visit.  Just another night of unpaid for
overtime.  Nothing unusual here.  And besides, I'm not fully committed yet.
If I can find another way, then we'll just have to do that instead.)

   She waited in her car, counting raindrops, until she was sure that she
could project her normal self-assured demeanor into the world again. 
Finally, she swung the door of the car open and hopped out, locked the car,
climbed up the stairs because the elevator was out of commission and had
been for all the months she'd been coming here.  Approaching the apartment,
she knocked on the door.

   Footsteps shuffled quietly to the door.

   "Who is it?" said a timid voice behind the door.

   "It's me, Janice.  Open up?" she called through the steel door.  Click,
click, rattle went the locks and chains.  Finally the door inched open.

   "Mom's not here." Heather said apprehensively.  Her eyes flicked to the
living room behind her.

   "I wanted to check in on you, and I wanted to talk with your mother."
Janice said.  "My God, girl, have you eaten today?  I'll bet you haven't.
Can I come in?"

   "Well... Ok, I guess" Heather replied, looking aside again with a
worried expression.

   Janice's street senses kicked up a bad feeling.  "Hey, kiddo... your
Mom's here, isn't she?"

   "Yeah.  Over on the couch.  She's having one of her really bad days. 
She's... She's been using again."

   Janice went over to the couch.  Amy looked faintly blue in the face and
lips.  When she could not rouse her, she put her hand to Amy's neck.  Her
pulse was very weak, but the skin was still warm.  She watched her chest...
felt for her breath... it was barely present.

   (Oh, shit... Shit, Shit, Shit!  This is not going the way I wanted!  )

   Any doubts she had were swept aside.  She was way out in the middle of
the big river; it was time to swim with it.

   "Heather, you've got to come with me now, ok?  I'm gonna call for some
help for your mom.  I want you to go grab some clothes and come stay with
me for the night.  Ok?  Can you do that for me?" She gave her best
reassuring _I'm in control of this_ expression.

   Heather looked from Janice to her mom, back again, her expression
worried.

   "Well, ok, but just for a night?"

   "Sure, sweetie.  Let's go, chop chop.  I'm going to call for help.  You
get your stuff." She managed to keep her voice even keeled and controlled.

   Heather ran off to the back room.  When Janice heard her open a closet
door, she went over to the phone on the kitchen wall and, using a piece of
paper towel, picked up the phone and dialed.

   "911, what is your Emergency... (pause) Hello?  Hello!?  ..." with
two-fingered deliberation, Janice fumbled the receiver, rubbed it along the
counter for a second and then dropped it to the floor behind the counter
where it banged loudly.  Faintly from the floor she heard.  "... you hear
me?  If you can hear me, can you ..." Janice walked away into the back room
to help Heather collect her few things.

   "You ready then?"

   Heather gave a deep breath, then with practiced bravado,

   "Yeah, I'm ready."

   "Ok, let's not wake your mom, she's not feeling well, and help's on its
way right now."

   Heather nodded, grabbing her schoolbag which was now loaded with spare
clothes.  Then she simply walked out of the bedroom following Janice, down
the stairs, and to the waiting car.

   An hour later, back at Janice's apartment, Heather was sprawled on the
couch.  A mostly empty mug of hot chocolate sat cooling on the coffee table
in front of her.  In the hot chocolate was a moderate dose of Rohypnol
(roofies).

   Janice paced by the window, dialing Oliver for the third time.  It being
11:00, she expected that he might be asleep.  Finally, he answered.

   His voice was thick "Janice?  Hey....  sorry, I'm a bit out of it. 
What's wrong... Is something wrong?"

   "Do you remember the girl I was talking about with you a month ago?  The
one that was in danger of being taken by her mothers... boss?  You remember
the one."

   "Yeah?" he said cautiously, quickly wide awake now.

   "Well... Something's come up.  Big time.  I hope you're ready for this."

   The sound of a deep breath came back across the airwaves.  Then "Really?
Right now?"

   "Yes.  Right now."

   "Ok... Ok.  I'm at the ranch right now.  Let's meet up along the
highway. You remember the camping grounds in the forest that's closed for
the season?"

   "Yeah, I do.  Alright.  I'll see you there." She hung up.  And just like
that, it was done.