Keywords: M/F anal, oral
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: Sam14: Where have all the Rabbits Gone?

  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

	Sam 14: Where have all the Rabbits Gone? - (Sam14.txt) - A
mysterious stranger, a perplexing puzzle, Sam falls down a rabbit hole
in more ways than one. In a Wonderland where the eerily familiar is
also strangely warped, Sam faces choices that will have more impact on
his own life than the case he is working. M/F oral, anal, lite BDSM.


			Where have all the Rabbits Gone?

	He looked for all the world like the sea captain that delivers
the Maltese Falcon to Sam Spade's office. The identification was made
all the stronger by the way he moved stiffly, as if he had been shot.
	His name was Mikos and the fires burning in his eyes were more
explicit than his halting English. His babies were gone. Where had his
babies gone?
	Staci gave Sam a questioning look. Should we humor him and try to
get him out of here? Sam narrowed his eyes in refusal. He was looking
into the glowing coals. There was more to Mikos' story than he had the
words to say. He felt it in his bones. More than a fox or a coyote had
brought this farmer into town seeking Sam's aid.
	He had gone to feed them. Hutch upon hutch, row upon row, he 
had said goodnight. The next morning they were gone. Doors left open,
not a rabbit in sight. Foxes didn't open cages. Mikos wanted Sam to
find out why his rabbits were gone.
	The sheriff had better things to do. It was a few dozen rabbits.
They filed a report so the old man could collect insurance- if he had
any, but there was nothing to investigate. Someone let the rabbits out.
It wasn't a big deal in a world of robbery, rape and murder.

	"Are you that bored or are you going soft?" Staci asked when
Mikos left. "It sounds like someone doesn't want Mikos to raise
rabbits."
	"You mean an evil shrew of a woman that found out her immigrant
husband wasn't so easy to manipulate after all?" Sam asked.
	He wasn't Staci, but he had learned to follow her thinking. The
obvious was usually true. Even he had sensed discord between Mikos and
his wife. But he said it to mock her. Particularly the shrew part. He
also sensed something more than outrage in Mikos. There was a horror 
that couldn't be explained if the farmer suspected his wife.
	"Or a neighbor who doesn't think livestock belongs in an
exclusive neighborhood," Staci conjectured. "I think you're bored if
you want to spend a day unraveling this. It's hardly your kind of 
case."
	"Okay, give," Sam said suddenly. "What's your real problem with
the rabbit mystery? Why are you trying to talk me out of it?"
	It was Staci's turn to look away. She should know better. He was,
after all, Sam Hill, detective. She should know she couldn't lead him.
	"It's weird," she said finally, "I just get a bad feeling. I
don't think you should bother with it."
	They were of a kind. Sam had felt it too. Sam had a feeling he
was looking into eyes that had seen the fires of hell when he looked in
Mikos' eyes. There was more here than appeared on the surface. Mikos
knew, or sensed, more than he was able to express. And Sam felt the
horror call to him.
	There was some connection. Sam felt that in his bones too. It
was important that he be the one to find where the rabbits had gone.
	"I know what you mean, doll," Sam called Staci 'doll' for the
first time in a long time. "But creepy feelings or not, I feel that 
Mikos didn't happen into my office by accident."
	-----
	Gumby was getting used to the rich and famous. He knocked on 
Mitzy Manning's door without even checking his tie. He was no longer
adopting the deference of a servant.
	He straddled the worlds in an interesting way. On the level of an
interviewer he was still an errand boy, but on the level of a human
being he was, if not equal, then measured with a different scale.
	"Hola?" said the maid who opened the door.
	"Senorita Manning, por favor," Gumby headed off any attempt by 
the maid to feign misunderstanding.
	"Una momento," she replied.
	"You come this way," she said when she returned.
	When he saw her, Gumby wished he was his uncle Sam. Mitzy Manning
was the definitive argument for mixing business and pleasure. She was
every bit as beautiful as her on-screen appearance and if she seemed
a bit softer, it only made her look warmer and more inviting.
	But it would be even more wrong for him because of it. He knew
what she was and what she represented. It would be a conscious choice
to turn a promise into a lie.
	It was going pretty good at the moment. All was forgiven and he
and Amy had been like lovebirds for weeks. He loved Amy. It wasn't such
a temptation after all.
	"Miss Manning, Howard Hill," Gumby introduced himself, "I'm the
investigator from Carlyle, Simpson & Dillon."
	"Are you the one they call Gumby?" she asked.
	His uncle pretended it was normal, or perhaps he didn't notice.
For Gumby the notoriety was jarring. Staci had made him sound earnest
and gallant, but there were things that no amount of gallant could
make less embarrassing.
	"I'm surprised you would know that," Gumby said.
	"It's research for a script," Mitzy said. "I'm considering the 
part of the dead doll in the film of the same name."
	Gumby stared at her.
	"It's a much bigger part in the movie," she said. "You actually 
get to see her wheeling and dealing before she gets shot."
	"And entertaining too..." Mitzy said in a husky drawl as she let
her dressing gown slip off a generous expanse of thigh.
	Notoriety had sharpened Gumby's temper as well. His first thought
was that she might pass for Marilyn Chester, but she was no Staci.
That thought insulated him from her charm.
	"I'd like to see it, I know the author," Gumby said.
	"Does she still work for your uncle?" Mitzy asked and then
answered herself. "I suppose she must. The stories are still coming
out, aren't they?"
	"The ninth one's due any time," Gumby said brightly.
	For a moment her eyes glazed over and Gumby knew she was thinking
about all those sequels. She got control quickly and returned to her
breathy and increasingly irritating self.
	"So I suppose you're here to ask questions about Stanley?" she 
shifted to a business-like tone, although her demeanor remained 
seductive.
	-----
	Fantasy is too strong a word and makes Gumby too silly. It was
more than a mistaken impression but fueled by paranoia. Mitzy Manning
was not interested in him. She was interested in him being interested
in her. It was her job. She was good at her job.
	In any case it tweaked Gumby where he was the most vulnerable. It
might not be Mitzy Manning, but there were women out there who meant
the invitation. There were P.I. groupies. Worse, as he had just had
thrust in his face, he was connected to a famous one. What could he do?
	Even when he was resolute, remembering Mrs. Velledino, sometimes
saying 'no' wasn't enough. He didn't need the pressure. Amy wasn't
Staci. She had said and proved that. He didn't want to fuck it up.
	"So how was she? Cool I bet," Amy enthused as he walked in.
	Gumby shivered at her first words, feeling the accusation that
wasn't there. He had to say something.
	"She's just as good-looking in person," Gumby admitted.
	No thunderclap. Amy wasn't concerned if he found a beautiful
woman beautiful. Gumby's tension came down a notch.
	"Well, gosh, she'd have to be to tempt Evan Bright to betray his
country," Amy said. "I mean so you'd believe it. I'm not a dope that
thinks it's real or anything."
	"She has less luck in real life," Gumby allowed. "According to
the interview, her husband of the moment was as tempted by ugly fat
women as by her."
	"All other women are ugly and fat," Amy said wisely, "They're
always nasty little homewreckers to the wife. But I never saw what she
saw in that snake anyway."
	Test passed. Gumby sought the refuge of his office to prepare his
report and to escape his own guilty feelings. Sam's entrance was like
the intervention of a loving god sending him succor in his need.
	"How do you deal with being so famous?" Gumby asked.
	"I let people think what they want and get on with it," Sam said.
"Why? The movie star hot for you?"
	Sam was kidding. Gumby took it as another proof that his uncle
was omniscient. Sam knew women like Mitzy Manning were out of his
league- unless they were guilty or really on the rocks. With a 50 mil
opening week-end of her last film, Mitzy wasn't on the rocks.
	"I think she was coming on to me," Gumby confessed.
	Sam choked down derision at that. There was something serious
here, and Sam accurately assessed it as Gumby's fear of seduction. He
understood a certain guilt after fucking them, but Gumby's guilt at
being asked mystified him. Still, he didn't want to hurt his feelings.
	"You can't help being attractive- you're my nephew," Sam joked.
	"That's part of it," Gumby said, taking him seriously. "You're
the famous Sam Hill and I'm caught in your reflected glory. I don't
know what to do."
	Sam didn't know what he should do either. Sam fucked them. It was
his idiom. He imagined there were other ways to handle it, but he had
never given them much thought. He tried to think back.
	Nope. His lack of an alternate plan had led to the break-up of
two of his three marriages. He fucked them. 
	"Well, I'm not going to be much help. I never found my way around
that one," Sam said. "Why don't you talk to Amy about it?"
	Gumby looked like the guilty party faced with damning evidence.
Ask Amy? Honey, girls come onto me- what should I do? It seemed to him
like whacking the bear with a stick before climbing into its cage.
	Sam rolled his eyes. This was chick stuff. It made him feel
funny. It made him roll his eyes. He couldn't see how Amy could object
to Gumby's desire to be faithful. He imagined she'd welcome the chance
of participation and be glad of the impulse. He also knew it would take
a woman to explain it.
	-----
	"Mikos Nickloff, immigrated after the wall came down. Married the
former Sonja Grimulkin three years ago," Staci was reading off the
report.
	"Until recently raised rabbits," Sam interrupted her. "He got a
job?"
	"Old country: stevedore, presently drives a delivery truck,"
Staci found the information on her sheet.
	"And can afford a high-priced guy like Sam Hill because?" Sam was
self-mocking.
	"Thrifty?" Staci ventured. "It just says he's in good standing,
no debts of any consequence and a good credit rating."
	"So- Next stop Sonja Nickloff. See if she's wearing a rabbit-
skin," Sam said.
	There were storm clouds in Staci's eyes, but Sam didn't feel the
lightning coming at him. Something about the case had her in a dark
mood.
	"Be careful, Sam," she said. "I..."
	"I know, you've got a bad feeling," Sam cut her off. "I've got a
feeling too, but I think it's better to head it off than wait for it to
come get us."
	He hadn't meant to match her gloom. The exchange hung for a
moment before Sam dispelled it by going to the door.
	"Oh- tell Gumby that wanting to be faithful is a good thing in
most women's eyes when you get a chance," Sam said as an exit line.
	-----
	Nothing had materially changed. Gumby could excuse Amy for being
in awe of his uncle. He knew this stuff and it had happened well before
he or Amy knew the other existed.
	"What are you doing wasting time with trash like that?"
	Gumby's head snapped up at the loud snarl. The interruption of
his reverie prevented him from identifying Staci's voice. He looked up
from the copy of "The Two Faces of Greed" and saw she was smiling.
	"Geez, don't you know better than to bust in here like that? A
guy could have a hard-on or somthin'," Gumby parried.
	"Are you saying my book is pornographic?" Staci asked.
	"Well, this one is," Gumby said.
	"The dick and the spa girl, huh?" Staci nodding knowingly. "I
can see how that would seem real to you."
	She got her first hint of Gumby's turmoil from the dog eyes he
made at her comment. At least she had personal experience in this
arena. The Amy-Sam relationship had its spiky edges for her too.
	"That was a long time ago. Amy is your girl now," she tried to
soothe.
	"Oh, I know that. We didn't even know each other existed," Gumby
said quickly. "It isn't that. It's just that them getting together was
so cool, so exciting, so..."
	"So Sam," Staci finished for him. "But I don't see Amy casting
side-long glances. As far as I can tell, she's only got eyes for you."
	Gumby didn't need re-assuring. Staci didn't understand and he
didn't know how to explain it. He wasn't even sure what he wanted. He
really- really, didn't want to have women dropping their pants for him
left and right. He wasn't interested in the adventure or conquest. He
just wanted... a past. That was it, a past where those things happened
and now he could give them up happily for the ONE WOMAN that was the
ONLY woman for him.
	Staci saw the conflict without a clue. That is to say she saw so
many possibles that she couldn't sort them out. She decided to get back
to her purpose for the visit.
	"Sam told me to tell you that women like men that want to be
faithful," she said. "I don't know what the hell he meant, but I can
attest that it's generally true."
	"Oh," Gumby said, finding ground that was familiar, "He told me
I should ask Amy what to do when women come on to me."
	It struck her as Gumby-speak. Sam had said something beyond
Gumby's experience in Sam's usual skip-the-detail delivery and it came
back garbled.
	"You mean like a polite no thank you or a firm no?" Staci asked.
	"He said we should talk about it," Gumby said.
	"Oh, I see, honesty and openness. What could he be thinking?"
Staci jabbed him.
	"But I don't want to upset her. Things are going good right now
and... and I don't want to ruin it," Gumby stumbled.
	Kids, Staci thought.
	-----
	Sonja Nickloff was a shock. Sam expected a somewhat solid blond
with a big ass. What he got was a slender brunette that looked as if
she had been dipped in diamonds and rolled in gold dust.
	As she was his personal chief suspect, he expected her to feign
little English and bring forth, painfully, some heavily accented bad
English. She spoke with an east-coast accent- Sam couldn't pin it down,
and was very clear.
	"I don't know anything about Mickey's damn rabbits," she said.
	No- she didn't like them. It was embarrassing to have her husband
acting like a poor immigrant. There was no money in rabbits and they
didn't need money anyway. They were dirty, smelled and it looked bad
to have a barn full of livestock in the city.
	Mickey? Yes- she liked him. He was a good provider and a gentle
man. Sure, the stink of the Old world still stuck to him, but that was
only him. He didn't insist that she be an old babushka and when you
got him next to a bottle of Wodka- well, then that married stuff was
right damn fine.
	Sam was not impressed with her sincerity. Her leer as she
rushed to tell him how fine their bedroom maneuvers were seemed
calculated. If he had been polite, it might have shocked him into
pulling back. 
	And it didn't fit. As heroic as Mikos might be satisfying his
wife, which Sam did not need to question, there was still the question
of their different worlds. Sonja was American down to her appliqued
fingernails. Mikos looked fresh from a Russian trawler. Sam didn't
think a few rounds of hide the pickle was enough to bridge that gap.
	Still, that was some distance from ripping the poor guy's heart
out. She was his wife. She had to know what the rabbits meant to him.
Even Annabella, well, Annabella might, but no human woman would
casually torment him that way. At least not without him knowing exactly
who was to blame.
	-----
	Somewhere in the mix it was different. It just was.
	Staci knew who Sam was and took the whole package. The package
included his adoring fans. And the occasional secretary. And women who
were using wiles to mislead him...
	Amy popped out of her chair and began to stalk as that reasoning
broke down. The good part was worth the bad? No, it wasn't bad to
Staci. She had a real sense of humor about the women Sam laid.
	Amy could not get to that place. Maybe Staci was confident that
Sam would never find a better. Staci might be able to afford that
gamble, but Amy wasn't that sure of herself.
	She had no reason for her quandary- hence, quandary. She couldn't
very well explain to Howard that she couldn't figure out why she
wanted him to herself when his dearest intention was to be true.
	It just wasn't that way for her. Even if it was just sex, it was
Howard choosing someone else for sex. She wasn't strong enough for
that. It was scary.
	Howard had been so cute telling her his problem. In so many ways 
he was every inch the anti-Sam. For all her worship of the great man
Amy found the differences all the more compelling. He was, as Sam had
conjured up way back when, the Sam that should have been- at least the
Sam that was made for her.
	She only had to reassure Howard that he was over-reacting. He was
smart. He could handle those situations even if he didn't have a clue
what to do before they came up. She was glad it was important to him
and because it was important to him he'd find a way.
	She had carefully avoided giving him a safety net. She hadn't
said how she felt about it at all. She talked about him, not herself.
She could have soothed his fear with a hint of forgiveness, but she
didn't.
	She couldn't. She felt she should. She thought she should. But 
she let it play without saying anything. She didn't underline the 
necessity. She let it hang as a given.
	When he left, calmer, but with no answer, she began to wonder why
she couldn't have reassured him better. We'll always be there for each
other. Whatever it is, we can work it out. Those were the things real
lovers said. They did not include a license for failing, but she was 
unable to go even that far.
	She stood facing the wall at the end of one of her pacings. The
problems were always so large. It was so hard to figure out where you
were when you were dealing with things imagined.
	-----
	Sam's next stop was the sheriff's office. Nickloff's land was in
county jurisdiction. That's where the report would be filed.
	"Why, Sam Hill!" Sheriff Medina greeted him, "Don't you keep
turning up like a bad penny."
	Sam wasn't amused. The last time he talked to Medina, the sheriff
had vouched for Stan Harrow, who turned out to be as straight as a
dog's hind leg. But that wasn't the reason and Sam knew it.
	Medina hadn't given Harrow a glowing reference. It wasn't his
fault Harrow turned out to be a rat. Sam was insulating himself. He
didn't want a new best buddy in law enforcement. The pain of losing the
last one was still too fresh.
	"Can't help it," Sam softened a little- after all, he still had
to pump this guy for details, "I've got a case that's lost somewhere in
your files."
	"Any sense asking you what you're working on?" Medina asked, and
then answered himself, "Oh no, you guys can't tell us that."
	Sam gave him a pitying look.
	"We want it all and we never give anything back. We take, take
take and never give," Sam said in a treble tremolo, "You sound like a
woman. I want to know what you've got on Mikos Nickloff and his rabbits."
	"I thought you guys never gave up your clients," Medina said,
amused.
	"Pretty damn hard to ask for a report without you figuring it
out," Sam said. "Anyway, I'm not trying to keep anything from you.
Mikos figured you're not going to do anything. That's why I'm on this."
	"Mikos is pretty smart for a guy 'don't speak much English',"
Medina replied. "We figure he knows who did it. We just can't figure
why he wanted to bring it to our attention. Your involvement makes that
even curiouser."
	Sam could hear Staci warning him of doom. It was an echo of the
chill that went down his own spine. It was that feeling again.
	"So- who did it?" Sam asked trying to sound tougher than he felt.
	"Come on," Medina pleaded, "Tell me you didn't notice. Fresh off
the boat- okay, three years, but covered in those tattoos? Someone was
getting a warning."
	"He was wearing a suit," Sam said, but he got it.
	Russian. Tattoos. Worked loading ships. Even now delivered
things. Not eager to embrace the ways of his new country. Almost like
he was on a foreign assignment which he could not refuse.
	"Okay, so why does he report it?" Sam asked.
	"Who knows how these guys think?" Medina snorted. "Maybe he's
used to reporting everything. Maybe he thought there was a law he had
to. Yeah, it's weird, but I'm not breaking a sweat to chase down
rabbits for some gangster."
	-----
	Sam didn't think any of those excuses held water. From what he 
knew about gangsters, he didn't think any warning would be so friendly.
And Mikos wasn't likely to go to the cops no matter how many laws there
were if he knew it was a message.
	NKVD, KGB, they were likely to be even less friendly than Medina
about stuff like this- as least those that hadn't joined the mob when 
the climate changed. No, it wasn't that simple- or it was simpler.
	Then Sam spotted the long black car in the rear view mirror. Just
when it seemed so clear, it all got muddy again.
	For all he knew they had been following him for days, but that
was over now. This wasn't a screw-up. He was meant to see them. He
didn't think it through. That might have resulted in some un-manly
shuddering and an attempt to talk himself out it. He pulled to the
shoulder and got out.
	Like clockwork, the black car slid in behind his sedan. Sam made
sure his hands were out in the open so no one got jumpy. He got a look
at the driver and the sudden memory of breathing garlic. He felt 
himself relax a hair.
	"I know I was supposed to see you because you guys aren't that
sloppy," Sam said approaching the car. "Why was I supposed to see you?"
	"Someone wants you to know he's interested in you being 
interested," the old acquaintance from a friendly hi-jack said.
	"Do I tell you or do I tell- him?" Sam paused as he noticeably 
left out Gino's name.
	The driver shrugged.
	"You want to come, come. ...He likes you," the man threw the 
omission right back at Sam.
	"I drive or is someone bringing me back?" Sam asked.
	The guy broke into gales of laughter.
	"Gino's right. You got balls," he chortled, dropping the
pretense.
	He didn't. Sam just felt better facing the threat than letting it
slip up behind him. He wasn't assuming Gino would let him live. He just
knew that they wouldn't leave his abandoned car by the road like a
sign if he was about to disappear. They might have the mistaken 
impression Sam was smart enough to leave an incriminating note in a
pre-arranged hiding place in the car.
	Sam didn't drive. The other man got out and took his keys. Sam
got in with garlic breath and rode.
	"Sam Hill! How did I know you'd come to face me down." 
	It wasn't a question from Gino. It was his way of saying Sam had
these balls he was always talking about.
	"Well, Gino, we've always had pretty cordial relations and I
thought it'd be rude to ignore your invitation," Sam said.
	"Aww, I just didn't want you to get in trouble," Gino smiled.
	"Then we've both got the same idea," Sam said. "I don't want 
trouble. I'm no more curious than I ever was and I don't intend to get
curious."
	Gino looked at him as if expecting more.
	"Look, can we play pretend?" Sam asked, "Just hypothetically talk
about stuff that I don't know and will never find out?"
	"Hypothetically. That's a lawyer word," Gino said. "You're no
lawyer. Spill."
	Sam was mildly surprised that Gino grasped the concept. It didn't
give him much comfort as he began to admit things Gino wouldn't admit.
	"This Mikos guy hired me to find his rabbits. I didn't see tats.
I just found out this possible connection. I'm not going there. I don't
want to go there. I don't want to know anything," Sam spilled.
	"Nothing to do with me," Gino blandly lied. "I wouldn't work with
those guys no matter what cut I got."
	So Sam knew the Russians and Gino had a deal. It didn't mean a
thing to him. This was far too penny-ante for either mob. 
	"Never thought you would," Sam lied back. "Rabbits? No way."
	There was almost a connection between them as they uttered the
bald-faced lies to each other. Obviously, entering into this admission
by denial touched Gino. Or it was just his quirky appreciation of Sam.
	"The interesting thing is the Missus' first husband in Jersey,"
Gino said out of the blue. "I think that's the way you want to go."
	Sam didn't have time to shake until he was back on the highway
and then he didn't feel the need. By then he knew Gino hadn't had him
killed and he was working on the nugget Gino threw him.
	He kept sticking on why Gino wanted him in Jersey- and reminding
himself he didn't want to know. Could it be legitimate? The reason Gino
might throw him a clue was something he knew he didn't want to know. 
	-----
	"The Russian Mob? Like in the movies?" Gumby was more impressed
by that than Sam's visit to Gino.
	"That's the gist of what everyone wasn't saying," Sam said.
	"I know Gino likes you and all, but why give you this tip about
New Jersey?" Staci wanted to know. "Strictly speaking, you guys are on
opposite sides."
	"Strictly speaking, I'm not even a spectator," Sam responded.
"It's Gino and the Russians that are on opposite sides."
	It was a confab of three. The door was open, but Amy had not left
her desk to join in. Sam looked at the door and then at Staci. Staci
shook her head.
	"So this case is about a gang war?" Gumby asked excitedly.
	"But you said you got the idea the Russians were sub-contracting
or at least paying for operating on Gino's turf," Staci said to cover
the confidence that she had passed to Sam.
	"So I suppose that's why it has to come from the outside," Sam
said. "What do you think?"
	Sam had been waiting to throw it over to Staci. He wanted to be
the one that asked her why Gino was tipping him off, but she beat him
to the question. He found he had made his pitch one toss too late.
	"I think Sam Hill stays in town- in case this is an attempt by
Gino to get you out of the way," Staci said.
	He was about to ask if she was sure it was a blind lead when she
hit him with her plan.
	"I'll go check it out," she said.
	"I should be the one to go," Gumby protested. "I'm next in line-
aren't I?"
	Gumby was right. In this case he was right and timely. Sam saw
Staci's angle and figured Gumby was the perfect one to cut it off.
Staci was ahead of the curve.
	"Yes, and we've got bosses that still have work for us while your
uncle is chasing phantoms," Staci said. "I'm sure they'd be happier
with Howard Hill on the case than me."
	Sam needed a new hire. It was pointless, he knew. Staci would
find some way to always find the extra thread to pull. Still, of all
the times she threatened, and, yes, the disastrous time she did go in
the field, this was the least worrisome. Perhaps it was better this 
way. Staci was a civilian and a woman. There'd be less reason to panic
or get tough. And he knew he trusted Staci's cool assessment over
Gumby's over-anxious need to solve it all and bring in bad guys.
	"But what will I do without you?" Sam tried an appeal from left
field. "I've gotten used to having you around all the time."
	"Then I expect you'll be double appreciative when I get back. In
fact, I'll count on it," Staci said with the smug expression of victory.
	-----
	The stinking bitch was right downstairs. But at the moment Amy
had more sympathy for her than for the rat bastard upstairs. He'd
called her in to do his dirty work. He was a squirming rat bastard.
	There wasn't much in "Wedding, Bloody Wedding" to shock her. She
was remotely perturbed Howard was playing the ignorant dork when it was
clear he knew more tricks than he was willing to show her. She didn't
care about Passion or Darla. Even nights of fun with Anita and 
friend(s) were water under a bridge she hadn't crossed at that time.
	 She could be irritated that Howard was treating her like a baby 
with routine and vanilla when he knew better, but it was the stinking
bitch downstairs that burned her. All the rest was past, over and gone.
Anita Emery was the handy spare waiting at a minute's notice in the
present. And maybe being treated like a child- or at least someone too
delicate to lead into the darker corners of passion- was its own
reason, gnawing at her discontent as she thought about the woman
downstairs- the emergency plan, the easy choice, the respite in a
storm or, probably, a light wind.
	Just when things seemed so fine. Howard, of course, had no 
answers. All he could do was gulp and squawk at her observations. Maybe
he hadn't been paying attention. Maybe the things he had done were a
mystery and he hadn't retained them. She could believe that. But the
bitch downstairs didn't have an answer.
	She had chased her away herself. She had heard Anita leave the 
open invitation. Yes, Howard wanted to be true- now. But what about
when he felt as scorned as she did at that moment?
	Amy took a deep breath and blew it out. She flounced onto the bed
and crossed her arms sternly across her chest.
	Yes, it would pass. He was still Howard. He hadn't cheated on
her. And though she would never confess it to him, even if he had, he
was still Howard. They both would unbend until they found the perfect
matching contour.
	But she needed to hang onto her anger, her terror. The big 
changes, the changes for the better mostly, came at the end of large
emotions. She'd do something for herself. She'd feel better and then
they could approach the whole thing again.
	-----
	Staci didn't need to go to New Jersey. They had found out all 
about Morris Denelbach from records on the web. He and Sonja had 
divorced a few months before Mikos made country. He had been her
sponsor, and after three years of marriage Sonja had become a citizen.
Then he dumped her. He was shocked- shocked to find out she was a
prostitute.
	"So, you see the reason Gino was hinting at in that?" Staci
was asking.
	Sam had to admit he didn't. She had married a citizen to get 
into the country. She played the game and got what she wanted. Sam
didn't see what interest that held for him or Gino.
	"So I have to interview him and see what I can pick out of his
story," Staci maintained.
	All in all, Sam was putting up a fight for show. He didn't want
Staci to get the idea it was easy. There was nothing in criminal files
on Denelbach and it seemed to him this trail led away from danger. Who
knew? Staci might come up with something important. And if anyone was
going to pick the meat out of the gristle, Sam trusted Staci most.
	It was most strange coming home from the airport. Sam knew he
would miss her, but he had not figured that it would affect him
physically. It was like a missing limb. He was vibrantly aware of 
the absence, preying on him from the back of his mind that something
was wrong.
	That was on top of the things he anticipated- forgetting she was
away and calling out a question. Looking for her in the apartment when
he forgot she was off. And when he remembered she was off having her 
adventure the apartment was a lonely place. He couldn't remember how
he passed the time before when he slept in the office and not Staci's
bed.
	Amy changed his focus. Her face when he opened the door gave him
a chill. Who was dead, hurt, maimed?
	"Can I come in?" she asked unnecessarily.
	"Howard and I are taking a break," she said gloomily and Sam
relaxed.
	Strictly, it was Staci's place to counsel Amy, but Sam felt glad
of the distraction and qualified to dispense an 'oh poor baby'. If it
was nothing more than the off again of off again-on again, it hardly
qualified as a crisis.
	"Is this about the temptations of women and private
investigators?" Sam asked sagely.
	"No." she said fiercely. "It's about Amy having something Amy
wants for once."
	"And what does Amy want?"
	It was the natural response and brought the most unnatural of
revelations.
	"I want you, Sam Hill," she said.
	Her look was more suited for a women with a gun pointed at his 
heart. She was fierce, daring him to brush her off with a jest.
	"You've had me, Amy," Sam pointed out. "And this kind of thing
always turns out for the worst."
	"Don't give me fatherly wisdom. I don't want a father. I want
cock- your cock," Amy said forcefully.
	She wasn't his little girl any more. She wasn't anyone's little
girl. There was an intensity he had only glimpsed once- in hatred 
toward Stan Harrow- and now it was turned full force on him. It was as
startling when fueling desire as it had been fueling anger.
	Hatred might have been easier to take. Her gaze was burning with
intent and touched Sam where he was most vulnerable. He could see the
truth of her lust and it left him with no place to hide. He might shrug
off hate as a momentary glitch. This left him frightened at what she
meant and with few defenses.
	"Don't you think we should talk about this?" Sam asked with the
delay defense.
	"Sam Hill! You are the one man that has no excuse," Amy deflected
his offer, "You're the one with a free pass. Staci isn't here and 
doesn't care whose pants you get in. Now I want you to fuck me and I'm
not going to be distracted."
	"But what about Howard? He cares. I know he cares," Sam asked.
	"Fuck Gumby!" Amy said with uncharacteristic venom, and the 
uncharacteristic use of Howard's nickname. "I want you, Sam Hill, and
you're going to fuck me."
	From three feet away it was comical. Amy's attempt to get in
Sam's face brought her upturned face to about his breastbone. From
Sam's point of view it was startling. She brought the force of her will
to near the level of a physical threat. Sam was responding that way,
nerves tingling, heart pounding.

	She was right in a way. With Staci he had a free ride. Even with
Amy, the most dangerous of liaisons, it was an unfounded fear that
Sam's loyalty would ever fade. He already proved that Staci was as much
a part of him as an arm.
	Sam lay in the cradling warm of the sheets re-assuring himself he
was in the clear. As to Gumby... Sam closed his eyes and let memory
rub out that thought.
	Amy had pushed him on the bed and straddled him. He lay back like
a helpless child as she undressed him. He was caught between the marvel
of Amy turned hellcat and his own loss for an alternative.
	Her own clothes were the work of a moment, thrown hither and 
thither in her haste to join him. Then she was familiar and yet so new.
	Her mouth fastened to his chest as her hand found his cock, tiny
fingers struggling to wrap around the shaft. She came up to kiss him
when his cock had begun its rise.
	"Please, Sam. Fuck me," she said as his eyes met hers. "Be the 
real man and the idol for me. Let me have this. Please?"
	He gave up his mock cowardice at her determination. Sam felt her
plea as a tug in his chest. He heard her pain and felt compelled to 
soothe it.
	He rolled over onto her and pushed himself up high so he could
look down at her as his cock moved into her. Yes, welcome with no 
bottom, Sam had passed the point of worry. Now she was a live,
squirming channel, warm and eager for him to enter and possess.
	"Fuck me, Sam. Really fuck me," Amy implored him as he thrust
into her. "Take me like some woman, any woman, every woman."
	Sam didn't sort out the need her in her words. He responded by
trying to find the bottom of her bottomless vault with hard, ever
accelerating thrusts. She moaned and twisted as an accessory as they
reached the level of non-verbal, letting the slaps and moans of their
frenzied coupling be the soundtrack for their fuck.
	When he thrust hard in cumming, she wrapped him in her legs and
arched up as if to follow him and he thrust forward, pumping out a most
satisfying orgasm into her still writhing body. Then she had pulled him
down, forcing him to cover her tiny body so completely with his own.

	Now she was there again, her head rubbing at the corner of his
arm as the hand thrown carelessly across his chest found a nipple to
tweak. For a second Sam thought it was a reflex and Amy still asleep,
then she raised her head and smiled.
	"This time I want to be on top," she said softly.
	It was much more satisfying to be covered, however inadequately,
by Amy's little body than to smother hers under his own. There was the
somewhat disturbing echo of a child laying on daddy's chest as she
crawled on top of him. Still slightly lethargic, she rocked a little 
as she pressed her body to his before sitting up on him.
	She moved back and reached back so she could lift his cock and
rest it against the crack of her ass. She held it there and rocked to
move him between the sweet little roundnesses of her ass.
	"It would be my perfect fantasy for you to fuck me up the butt
this time," Amy revealed as Sam began to warm to the treatment, "But
I'm not perfect enough to do it. You're just too big and I'll just
have to pretend."
	Sam despaired very little at this pronouncement. He was too big.
She was too small and he remembered the guilt he felt fucking her in
the ass the first time. It wasn't necessary. Looking at her sitting
on him, almost as if she was perched on his dick was fine.
	He reached up to hold her, marveling at the way his fingers
could wrap around her sides to her back and still be able to toy with
the nubs of her nipples with his thumbs.
	"Oh God yes!" Amy agreed, "Make love to me back. It's... Ahhh."
	Whatever it was, it was making her happy. Sam could feel the
moisture matting his pubic hair as she rode her ass against his firm
and rapidly becoming stiff cock. She was ready and he was ready enough.
	Sam decided he had missed a treat when he hadn't looked down
sliding into Amy. She came up full onto her knees to position herself
over his cock and it was an erotic sight to watch this tiny fairy-woman
lower herself down his pole. That she opened for him with relative ease
did nothing to dispel the charge of seeing his cock spread her lips and
disappear that estimable distance inside her as she slowly let herself
down on him.
	"Yes! I've got Sam Hill right up to my belly button," Amy
enthused as she settled down on him.
	It spoiled nothing that she was so good. Sam had no need for her
to be virginal or an innocent. It was, rather, a pleasant surprise that
Amy was better versed in the bending of her spine and the wriggle of
her ass than he expected. She built on his impression that his cock was
thrust through her to the core by giving it a stroking going in and out
and while clasped in the meaty grip of her sheath.
	"Help me, Sam," she begged and he slid his hands to her waist to
lift and drop her to the rhythm her hips implied.
	Her hands went to his chest between his helping arms as she 
pumped her cute little butt furiously on his cock. Her mouth was pulled
back in rictus, her eyes squeezed so tight she looked Asian as she 
struggled to accelerate even at her top speed. Then she broke.
	"Oh God I can't! Please! Oh please!" she garbled as weight fell
heavily on Sam's hands and she seemed to lose all control. 
	He could feel the turmoil inside her as he took over as best he
could. Her breath came out in a whining cry like a dying animal as he
tried to co-ordinate lifting and dropping her with heroic lunges into
her from beneath. Her hands were hard on his chest as her hips began
to jerk.
	"Down now... Don't stop" she gasped.
	It was easy enough even for an old man. He dropped her to her
side and kicked one leg away so he could awkwardly drive into her on an
angle with her top leg draped over his hip and flopping with the force
of his thrusts. Amy stiffened and in a moment was moving with him 
again.
	It wasn't even an idea. The crisis past, Sam opted for a better
path for his stroke. He rolled toward her, moving her obstructing leg 
over and out of his way. He didn't find the spot until his knees spread
to the widest base, straddling one leg with the other again around his
waist, only from the other side. He held her at the joint of the 
thigh as he surged into her sideways.
	One perfect round cheek bumped at him from the side as he drove
deep into Amy and found bottom. 
	"Get off, Sam," Amy encouraged. "Fuck me like Sam Hill. Do it for
yourself."
	Her words had minimal impact. Sam had been on or near the verge
since he settled into the straight path to her deepest regions. They
only freed his mind to wander as he fucked her hard and deep.
	When he came, Amy reacted in concert. Her spine stiffened like
his own. He felt her thigh quiver as if she too was convulsing out
streams of cum. There was even a shudder running through her as the
spasms quivered to a stop.

	Amy was furtively quiet in the morning. Sam took her lead and
waited for her to go first. She finally realized that he wasn't going
to take the burden himself and burst out.
	"I wanted something for myself, Mr. Hill," she started.
	"I was Sam Hill last night. What happened?" Sam asked.
	"Well, that was it," Amy gathered herself to spill.
	"You know how you always kid me about worshipping you. And it's
true- but, gosh, a girl has to have something, doesn't she? And you,
the real you, isn't so bad in a real way, so what the heck? So I
decided that's what I wanted. I wanted something for me and you Sam
Hills were the thing I wanted," Amy reverted to her Amy-speak in her
nervousness.
	"I could have the dream guy and the real guy and they're both 
great and there's really just the one of you so I could have both in
just the one package," Amy wound down. "You see?"
	Sam always wondered, but her snarl of emotion and skelter words
were always completely intelligible to him. He nodded, but he had a
different question.
	"What made you feel the need for something for Amy? That's the
real question," Sam said.
	He was aware of the Gumby problem again. Evidently, it had been
eating at his mind while he slept the sleep of the well-fucked. In one
sense, he had dibs- he had been there first. But he couldn't make 
himself swallow that one whole. It was up to Amy was only slightly
better and didn't make him feel much better.
	Amy finally stopped her prowling and sat down. Sam got up and
turned out the burner under the eggs she had been flitting over,
pretending to tend. When he turned back she was looking at him with
caution.
	"I know you think we're great and I know you like me and all,
but Howard is your nephew," she started. "Can I tell you stuff that
you can't tell him and not put you in a bad position?"
	Sam looked down at his dick. He looked at Amy.
	"I'd say 'bad position' is a done deal," he said. "But I don't
think loyalty to one or the other of you is the issue here. You tell
me what you've got to say and I'll tell you what I think."
	This time Sam got lost. Her scrambled narrative still translated,
but he couldn't make sense of the translation. If she was Staci things
would be jake, but she wasn't. Howard didn't want to fuck her like a 
hot babe, just some kind of prude and there was a woman waiting in the
wings so Amy would always be nervous and it wasn't fair.
	Sam got the wasn't fair part. Nothing was fair. He had it damn
good and that wasn't fair because he didn't deserve it. 
	"So you think Gumby is banging the landlady?" Sam asked.
	"No..." Amy said quietly, "But he could."
	"Dismissing for the moment the argument that bumping groins isn't
love, do you think Gum... Howard loves you?" Sam asked.
	"He's never said that," Amy answered.
	But Sam had hit the mark. He was Howard. He was the face she saw
when she saw forever. He was sometimes like a puppy and never an
untarnished knight, but he was good and kind and gentle and solid and
every other adjective that meant those things. She remembered he was
too good for her, that she wasn't enough woman for him.
	"I think you've got things out of order," Sam said gently. "You
can always think up disasters. Why not wait for one before you react?"
	Sam saw that hit home. Amy began to fidget.
	"So which part don't I tell Gumby?" he said to break her mood.
	Amy was staring into the void, but her heart was still working.
She couldn't feel bad about last night. She shut off the reasons as
they came too close to sleeping with Daddy. Only she didn't think
Howard would feel the same way.
	"Did I do a bad thing with you last night?" she asked.
	"Well, I don't think Gumby would understand- or, worse, he'd 
understand the wrong thing, but no. I'd call it a poor series of
judgments on both our parts," Sam said.
	Amy looked dismayed.
	"Look," Sam said as damage control, "I'm the old guy here. I
should know better, but I like you too much and that clouds my
thinking. We probably should have had this talk before. On the other
hand, I have no regrets."
	Amy wasn't convinced.
	"I thought with my dick," Sam tried the direct approach.
	He was better with the direct approach.
	"I always do. Lucky there's a Staci that can accept that. With
the feelings I have for you, you think I can turn you down? You know I
wish I was Gumby and not this cynical old bastard, but that's too bad
for me. You know it was a whim, perhaps a sprinkling of revenge. I
still say it isn't the end of the world because people fuck up. You
gotta expect that and you gotta go on living," Sam nearly snarled.
	Amy jumped up and kissed him. It wasn't the 'I'm the only woman
in the world' kiss. It was that something deeper than thank you that
takes a kiss to say. Somehow it made Sam's head spin just as much.
	"You think good with your dick," Amy said. "And you know? I wish
I was Staci, but there's Howard so it's not bad for me."
	-----
	Gumby got it. He didn't understand, but he was in too good a mood
to ask hard questions.
	When Amy appeared, slicked down from a fresh cry, he didn't
expect to be bull-rushed to bed and ravished. She had taken the lead
before, but never quite so violently. When her pleas for forgiveness
and apologies came on the crest of her orgasm, he felt inclined to
grant and accept them without knowing what she was talking about.
	"I just can't help being jumpy," Amy said and Gumby saw how tense
she held herself even in the aftermath of climax. "You make me so 
nervous."
	Gumby was still in the state of ignorance in which Amy found him.
He felt like the bystander to a whirlwind. He hadn't understood her 
anger at him in the first place, excepting her concern about Anita.
He didn't understand the reconciliation any better.
	"But you believe I only want you?" Gumby asked.
	"Oh, I never thought you were lying," Amy said. "But how do you
know how you'll feel later? What if I get irritating and someone better
comes along? I just don't see what you see in me, Howard."
	Fishing was near the bottom of the list of Amy's intentions. She
was sharing her fears, but Gumby heard another request.
	"Amy, didn't you know when we first saw each other?" Gumby asked,
"Don't you feel like it was meant to be? I always have. I'm only trying
to be good enough for you."
	His words felt mocking to her, fresh from his uncle's bed, and
still demanding a higher standard from him. But wrong or evil, it was
the way she felt. She couldn't stand the thought of it another way.
That was a fact like her deepest wish that Howard would stay forever.
	"You're too good for me, Howard," Amy said.
	The words came too easily even being true. It was a simple 
response to a complicated concept. It was an evasion of the truth all
the more for being true while holding back essential facts. Amy felt
distant even as Howard moved to kiss her. Their perfect joining was
tarnished by her deceit.
	The distance melted as he touched her. She was there with him.
Her Howard was desirous and eager to be with her. She felt his 
sincerity poke persistently into her thigh. She would have him and for
those moments no doubt or fear would apply.
	"Now come over here," Gumby interrupted her thoughts.
	He backed off the bed and pulled her to the edge. His estimation
was off by several inches and his hard cock jutted uselessly high above
its target. Amy saw his cock as a promise presented as proof of his
intention. She tried to catch Howard with her legs to make good on the
promise.
	It was a simple thing and what she wanted. Howard grabbed her 
ankles with both purpose and calculation. If she wanted tricks, perhaps
this would qualify. He lifted her and stabbed forward. Amy curved up to
him with a rubber grace that seemed foreign to human anatomy.
	She felt light as a feather with part of her weight on her 
shoulders, arching to accommodate the angle of Howard's thrusts. Gumby
held her feet in the air effortlessly as he drove into her. This was
fucking, plain fucking. She was receptacle to satisfy his urge and a
damn eager one at that.
	Perversely, Amy was reminded of Sam pulling her off a table and
fucking her in mid-air. That too was pure sex, a coupling to gratify
the most selfish wants of pleasure. That she and Howard had reached
that level of purity, even of selfishness, brought new energy to her
participation.
	"Was that one of your tricks?" Amy asked while they lolled in
aftermath.
	"I hope so," Gumby answered. "I mean, I never meant to make you
think I was treating you... some way that was bad. I didn't know."
	Amy had understood that Howard wasn't conscious of his choices. 
She had even been dimly aware that he didn't understand them and was
only confused when she tried to explain. Now she settled into the haven
of his arms understanding that there were things like that about her.
	Her pursuit of Sam had nothing to do with Sam and only dealt with
her having Sam. And it had been great. There was complete disconnection
even in his arms. She was pursuing her craving and wasn't interested in
what Sam received. Only this time, this most recent time, even as the
stage had been set and she had demanded that fictional character be his
legend, they had reached another place. She tried to take what she
wanted for herself, and took plenty, but there was collusion between
them that came of familiarity.
	She understood what Sam pulled back to avoid, before and that 
morning. It was different when it meant something. Not different enough
to shake the supports of the world, but still somehow wrong and leading
to no good end if it went anywhere at all.
	She was still no nearer to obtaining that clarity in regards to
Howard.
	-----
	Sam was going over his facts, looking for another angle and
trying avoid his dilemma. On the 'ins' or on the 'outs', he was still 
a vulture picking off the wounded regarding Gumby.
	Sam had no debate over that. She was, or had been, Gumby's girl 
and he shouldn't be in line for her at all, much less first. The debate
was over telling Gumby.
	'Fessing up was the straightforward act. He owed it to Gumby to
face him and allow him his rage. Yet who would that serve?
	Betty Jean did not appreciate his honesty. His first wife, in
response to his confession and his contrition, packed and moved out.
There was no chance to pay his penance. There was not, as he supposed
in choosing her, no other option for the shy, pudgy girl.
	In other ways, it had been going as well as could be expected
between the mis-matched pair. He was dutiful and she allowed him his
rights as husband to no great effect, but no detriment either. They
were quiet in their own parts and it was a working, if not blessed,
partnership.
	Where it might have gone, what might have passed, was forever
unknown after his transgression. Sam wondered that the quiet boredom
might have come to pass for content and spared them both pain. Perhaps 
it would have been better, on the whole. He would never know.
	But again, there was no good in deception. Secrets always came
to light, for Sam most certainly. At some point Gumby would know and
then see that secret withheld. Sam groped for the answer.
	-----
	"What a fucking disgusting excuse for an excuse," Staci was
fuming.
	Sam was taken aback by her vehemence.
	"She wanted to be my wife, so I took advantage of the 
opportunities," Staci quoted Denelbach.
	Strictly, Sam supposed, it didn't qualify as a fraudulent
marriage. They had lived under the letter if not the spirit of the law
for the required time. The intent, as obvious as it seemed, would be
hard to prove in light of the three years Denelbach kept Sonja in his
house and for his use.
	"He was happy how innocent she seemed," Staci reported. "Not 
unused, but in no way ready for the use he put her to."
	"You didn't kill him or anything, did you?" Sam over-estimated 
her reaction, hoping it was exaggeration in light of Staci's mood.
	"I acted like it was just fucking normal," Staci raged.
	Sam sympathized with Staci's self-recrimination. He understood
how hard it must have been for her to feign complicity while raging to,
at least, kick Denelbach in the balls. She had assigned herself a task
that didn't give her the freedom he exercised with Raylene.
	It was as if those types never progressed, never branched out. 
Sonja's treatment echoed so exactly the abuse of Raylene in those days
so long past. Humiliation, subjection and when that became ordinary,
branching into spreading the degradation to a larger audience.
	"What's your problem, shit stick?" Sam had been asked. "She's a
cunt and she deserves it. You want a turn or not?"
	There were echoes that had nothing to do with Sam identifying 
with the down-trodden, semen-spattered girl's fate. It was the lie of
promises. It was the falsehood of hope. Thoughts that the outcast might
be allowed one pace toward the inner circle were cruel jests at Sam's
expense.
	He could be grateful that he was invited to participate and
swallow his feelings. Women, and girls, were cunts. Sam subscribed to
the characterization after ridicule and rejection. That he was being
offered, not full membership, but a one-time pass based on his
endowment wasn't the point.
	The point, brought to despairing sharpness, was that he was
doomed to be the outsider, the butt of all jokes, forever. He knew and 
could not suppress, even for personal gain, it was a line he could not
cross. To be with them he was required to become them, become the 
tormentor of those like himself. Acceptance hinged on cruelty. Setting
yourself above was simply pushing others down.
	And there was nothing he could do without pushing himself farther
into the darkness. There were not so much familiar echoes as screams
when Sam punched him. The violence he unleashed, frightening and
scattering the assembled gang-fuckers, was pure Father. It was a line
he flinched in crossing, but it burst out of him without control.
	He found he had rightly suppressed the rage inside himself. It
was indiscriminate and explosive when released. He took no joy at all
in proving formidable and superior to those that thought themselves
invincible. He felt sick at becoming what he hated.
	"You didn't have to do that for me," Raylene said. "It isn't
going to help. I don't see I can expect anything different."
	Sam couldn't explain he hadn't done it for her. As little as he
wanted to be her tormentor, he had less interest in being her
protector. Her case was sad, but Sam had little room for any but self-
pity. He shook off her offers of sex without thought of his aching
desire.
	Yes, he wanted her, yes, oh god, but he felt a contradictory
revulsion to her pitiable state. Though he couldn't put words to it 
then, he knew it was not an offer of passion, or even gratitude, but
despair. He did not wish to be her tormentor even if she did not
understand it as such or even though it would make no difference to her
sad state. 
	She felt it as a rejection and Sam was blessed with crushing more
spirit from the spiritless girl even as he tried to do the right thing.
	"You're a sorry piece of shit!" Raylene cursed him in the most
familiar 'tendernesses' of his father and Sam was left to brood over a
world in which nothing made a difference and there was no winning.
	"Well, if you want to kick someone in the balls, I fucked Amy
while you were gone," Sam said.
	Staci moved quickly past stunned on her way from raging to
concerned.
	"What about Gumby?" she asked.
	"Since my balls seem unkicked, I think that's the question," Sam
granted. "And I don't know the answer."
	"Well, for Christ's sake, don't tell him," Staci said
immediately. "You haven't, have you?"
	"No. But you know how these things come out," Sam said, "He's
going to find out if he doesn't read about it first."
	"I understand the need and get why it was you," Staci said after
Sam had explained and answered her questions. "I have no idea why in
general. Amy doesn't always move in a straight line and I've never had
more than a general grasp of her thinking."
	"And when Gumby finds out- not just the trash, but the keeping it
from him?" Sam asked.
	"Then he'll find out the reasoning why," Staci said. "He knows
you too well to think it was cowardice and he'll understand you had the
best intentions."
	"You know, doll, I did miss you real bad," Sam finally got to the
mushy stuff.
	"Then I hope you changed the sheets after consoling yourself in
my absence because I'm holding you to that double dose of
appreciation." Staci countered.
	-----
	For a moment, Sam thought he was going to find out the strange
pleasure of being cuffed to the bed. So far Staci had done everything
but tie him down and fuck him.
	"Is this what you missed while you were fucking your girlfriend?"
Staci hurled at him as she rode him.
	Sam could hardly answer. He was being buffeted rather roughly and
very effectively by Staci's flying tits as she drove on his prick. As 
much as he knew Staci would have kicked him in the nuts if she was 
really upset at his adventure, her constant reminders still tweaked him
with a sense of danger and sin.
	He didn't think the reversal was complete enough for him to find
excitement in degradation and helplessness, but he had to admit he was
in no position to protest if Staci was going to test him. It was the 
second time in as many nights that he had been ravished by unlikely
partners and that, he found, did have a charm.
	In fairness, Amy's aggressive dominance did bring a naughty
thrill of reversal, but Staci, for so many reasons and in so many ways,
was riding the twist with a true virtuosity. She was so different from
the handcuffed butt of his abuse that it brought new appreciation along
with awakening his old desire that she be more of a participant.
	Maybe she was woman, roaring. Sam understood the need to re-claim
manhood after feigning the opposite. He could understand if Staci
wanted to wash away the filth of her encounter with Denelbach by
proving she was no victim.
	And she was wet, sopping, Staci slapping his face with her tits.
 It would have to be very strange to make that anything other than a
good thing. His dick didn't seem to care. He was ready to shoot off
again, knowing that happy torture was going to continue. Staci had 
assured him most firmly on that point.
	"Now do what she wouldn't," Staci said after she had rolled off
and regained her breath. "Get it up and stick it in my ass."
	She accompanied her demand with a poking prod to his dick. Sam
winced as the prod felt too serious. He was developing an explanation.
So far they had re-created his bouts with Amy, but with Staci's firmer
control.
	"You don't have to prove anything to me," Sam said. "And you know
how great proving something to yourself works out."
	Staci looked up at him with an appraising eye.
	"It sounds to me like a man without any pop in his pecker 
talking," she said.
	"So we can talk until the pop comes back," Sam pursued. "I want
to know that I haven't worried you in some way."
	Staci responded by grabbing his cock and shoving it into her 
mouth. Since the conversation was closed, Sam lay back and let her suck
his cock. He would let her play it out if that was what she wanted. He
referred back to not being kicked in the nuts as a comfort.
	Once relaxed, Sam needed no more distraction than Staci was
giving with her head lolling in his lap. It was pointless and a trifle
irritating for her to send twinges and flashes through him as she
played his cock with her tongue. It was still going to be a while
before Sam responded, but Staci gave him no peace as she teased and
prodded all those places she knew made Sam jump.
	"All right," Staci bobbed up after her pestering had begun the
desired effect, "I'll just tell you that I'm not upset since you can't
stand the fucking suspense. I missed you, all right? I thought a little
drama might spark up the welcome back."
	Oooops. What a pussy. Sam considered how much of a wuss he
sounded like with appropriate distaste, but he had no regret for his
concern for Staci's mood.
	"So you like to get buttfucked?" Sam asked brightly. "You know 
it's mostly whores and the like that get buttfucked."
	"I only buttfuck guys with little dicks," Staci returned, "So get
ready."
	He was her Sam. Not that she doubted that. It was only a case of
the jitters and it was only the choice of straight talk over banter
that had changed. His concern was sweet and she felt safe in it. The
jitters  were composed less of unlikely fears about Sam than memories
of the glee with which Denelbach told her about: "fucked her mouth,
fucked her pussy and didn't she squeal when I rolled her over and
fucked her ass".
	She was glad Sam had perked up enough to play along. At a
distance she was sympathetic to the terrorized woman, but this was in
the private world of lust and it was a much more exciting role to play
than to live for real.
	Sam knew it wasn't her favorite, but he knew that wasn't always
important. With his number of hard edges, he had no room to question an
angle or two for Staci. And it was fucking tight. His cock was doing a
slow motion impression of rising as he reached across Staci for the lube.
	On an impulse, Sam pushed his middle finger right up Staci's ass
as he greased the rubbery ring. Staci grunted and seemingly 
instinctively bent a bit to open the way for his finger. Bending
forward was yes; clamping down was no. That was universal sexual body
language. Sam expanded his impulse to slide a second finger in with 
the first.
	Staci grunted each time the fingers went in her. At the same time
her ass tipped up almost imperceptibly. Sam gave her ass the two-finger
version of a stern ass-fucking. She kept grunting and moving to take 
his fingers.
	Sam was warm and far too sweaty to be explained by the motion of
his arm. His cock was up. The sexual part- the connection of two bodies
had been going on even before the sex parts came into intersection. He
slapped Staci on the ass to move to the sex parts stage.
	"Haul that big butt up here. I'm going to give it the real thing
now," Sam drawled.
	Staci rolled from her side onto her knees and waited. This was
going to be the topper. Sam had fulfilled her identification with 
Sonja's ordeal with his fingers. Now she was going to go the extra
measure and burst through all imaginings with a reality that would
overwhelm her and, as she thought, send her to lofty heights.
	"Please, don't be rough with a poor girl her first time," Staci
mewed to tweak Sam as she felt his cock press her sphincter.
	It was an illusion caused by her own imaginings or the recoil of
restrained emotions released, but Staci felt a surge, both good and
bad, like she never recalled as Sam caught the precise moment his cock
began to slide into her ass and shoved it rudely into her. The entry
broke something loose as it contrarily pinned her, split her, fixed her
and stuffed her. The latter gave voice to a loud yowl.
	"Just the way you women like it," Sam growled, considering for
the unknown-th time whether it was the irony or the uniqueness that
made Staci prefer the showy thrust.
	Ass always very tight, Staci always cursing while her ass danced
a different tune, Sam stuck to his business and didn't question the 
process. It was tight and never quite adjusted. He didn't have to feel
guilty enjoying it because, for whatever reason, it was his purpose.
	Here was one thing that gave them both perverse thrills without
one accommodating the other. Staci took it and didn't like it. Took it,
demanded it, needed not to like it. Sam needed her to take it and the
rigidity of her asshole assured his every rough thrust that it was
unwilling and yet not retreating.
	"Tiny little pecker... Can't you get it in?" Staci gasped out as
Sam drilled her ass hard and deep.
	"No- but I will soon!" Sam grunted back as his thighs made loud
smacks against Staci's haunches.
	There was something primitive, animal, primal driving Sam's ass
forward to stab his cock in vicious thrusts into Staci's. It was pure
phallus penetrator and orifice acceptor. Motive, human reason had no
place. Sam fucked ass with no thought, only energy and the drive to
follow his urges however they led him.
	 "Fucking animal!" Staci spat out, followed by whines scaling
up the register. 
	Sam was oblivious except to the tight grip and hot reception
and his need to jam his cock faster into it. Good. Fuck more. Good.
	When he came, Sam showed a strength he rarely displayed as he
lifted Staci by the hips to jam her more tightly onto his cock. She
was not light, but for some seconds Sam had her knees lifted from the
bed and her bottom portion hung from his tight grip as he pressed his
cock to its limit in her ass and pumped out his cum.
	"For his next act, Mr. Strongman is going to fuck a woman while
carrying her around the room," Staci jibed as they recovered.
	She could not be truly miffed because she had given into her
excitement too soon. Putting off cumming with a dick in your ass was
a recipe for not cumming, certainly for Staci. In fact, Sam's jungle
finish had been an addition like an encore that sent echoing shivers
up her spine as he skewered her. But if she had known...
	"So that's it for tonight, folks," Sam announced in the same
tone. "Go home. No one but her can sleep here."
	"So you two didn't sleep?" Staci returned to the present with
a jarring abruptness.
	"Yes, my dear, like a sick father and child," Sam said, slowly
taking out the carnival barker to return to his normal voice. "We
fucked, we slept, we fucked some more."
	"You know I don't care," Staci said turning and looking at Sam.
"I mean, I trust you. I don't care, but I'm interested. I mean, you 
know Amy brings me as close as I get to worry, but it's something else,
some- like you said, perversity, that gives me a curiosity, even 
excitement about envisioning every detail."
	"I can't quite put my finger on what a sick fuck I am, either,"
Sam made a bewildered face, "But somehow it doesn't feel wrong, just
complicated and hard to figure."
	"Yeah-" Staci agreed and rolled her head onto Sam's chest, "So
I'm not getting my piggy ride, am I?"
	-----
	As far as Sam was concerned, Staci's visit to Denelbach was like
a visit in the new era of Sam Hill Investigations; she had asked the 
questions to use deposing the witness. He had more than suspicions and
was looking for more than reactions talking to Sonja.
	"I'll understand if you're uncomfortable with some of my
questions," Sam prefaced.
	"About Morris?" Sonja scoffed. "What would make me uncomfortable
about that greasy fuck?"
	Again the hard edge and again Sam sensed sham. Sonja Grimulkin
Denelbach Nickloff was a study. She'd earned the right to weary
cynicism on the road that lead to her ever-lengthening string of
surnames, yet she seemed too fragile to support that attitude.
	Sam reluctantly decided to bring down her house of cards.
	"His attitude was that you were fresh meat and he was going to 
take a bite whenever and wherever he wanted," Sam said flatly.
	"Oh dear! Did he fuck me? Being his wife and all, that is simply
shocking," Sonja snorted.
	"Fucked her mouth, fucked her pussy and didn't she squeal when I 
rolled her over and fucked her ass," Sam quoted from his pad.
	Sonja was unperturbed. She gave Sam a tired look.
	"That was six years ago. Now tell me, do I look 19?" Sonja asked.
	She looked about 30, give or take. Sam shook his head.
	"Well, I'd have to be to be like Morris thought," she said. "I
was 13 the first time someone rolled me over and fucked my ass. I
didn't squeal then; I cried. If I squealed with Morrie, it was because
the rude bastard didn't know what a lubricant was and certainly didn't
have the equipment or skill to get me wet so there was some
substitute."
	Thirty- give her the benefit, 28, minus the six was 22. Even if
she was 26 it meant seven years of experience before she got to
'Morrie'. Her fragility- at least regarding the case- didn't come from
that abuse.
	"Denelbach divorced you claiming adultery by alleged
prostitution," Sam switched gears. "Only he had no evidence because you
don't have a record. Why didn't you fight back?"
	"If you're looking for a confession, I'd suggest a hard chair and
a bright light in my eyes," Sonja stiffened. "Otherwise my answer is
that I don't want to stay with a man that doesn't want me."
	There was a nerve. Sam was willing to see where it lead.
	"This isn't about a fake marriage to get into this country," Sam
said bluntly. "You played the game according to every rule as far as I 
can see and I don't care. But there's something you aren't saying and I
think it has to do with Mikos and maybe his rabbits."
	"Those damn rabbits!" Sonja exploded. "I don't want to hear about
those damn rabbits. I'm glad they're gone! Oh no! The detective made me
say it. So what do you know now?"
	Sam knew it wasn't the rabbits that were on the nerve. But they
were something and what Sam knew was that he was exactly in the same
place he had been forming his suspicions at the first sit-down with 
Mikos.
	"I know you're tired of me missing the point and I think you half
wish I'd stumble onto the truth," Sam said. "Only you're afraid your
tattooed friends night fuck you in the ass in a fatal way if you gave
me a clue."
	Sonja took refuge in tears. At least that was what Sam thought.
She looked up at him from behind her hanky and then launched herself
onto him.
	"Okay, okay, tough usually works," she bawled, "But I'm a woman.
Morrie was an asshole, so what, but how much can you bounce around? It
gets to you."
	It was too sudden and fake. Yet Sam sensed he was closer to the
truth at that moment than he had been. It wasn't Sonja becoming soft
and vulnerable. That was as staged as her impulse to lock her lips on
his and kiss him. It was the emotion that seemed to flow naturally.
	"Now wait! Hold it," Sam broke away to protest. "I get the poor,
lost damsel stuff, but I'm not going to fold because you fuck me."
	 It was a break with tradition and it was not. She was hot enough
and from what he had just learned, well experienced. But she was trying
to distract him because he was onto her, not to keep him from
suspecting her. Sonja had her own spin.
	"What man does?" she asked. "Can't you fuck me anyway? I want to.
I think I'd like it."
	Sam could partly believe that. As to liking, he couldn't say, but
he believed she'd feel safer and did want him to fuck her. Maybe she 
thought he would fold.
	It was a toss-up. There could be an angle he hadn't discovered,
but what better way to uncover it? Danger aside, it might clear his
head after the confusing incestuous fucking that had engulfed him
recently.
	First, he'd have to get her off him. He wrapped an arm around her
as he stood up and then lay her on the couch. Sonja looked up
cautiously as he unbuckled his belt. Satisfied he was going to fuck her
and not beat her, Sonja reached under her robe, hooked her thumbs in
her panties and yanked them off without ceremony.
	She got the gist. Sam was going to fuck her and there wasn't
going to be a ceremony. If she was a whore, she'd be used to it. Sam
saw no sign she wasn't used to it. He dropped his pants around his
ankles and she reached for his cock.
	She grabbed his cock as he got over her and began yanking, not
too hard, yet with purpose.
	"I'll squeal when you roll me over if you want that," she said,
levelly looking in his eyes.
	"Maybe," Sam said. "If I've got the equipment to get you wet,
maybe I'll do that."
	Her eyes were hard again and it was a genuine hard. They were on
her playing field and she felt at home. Sam was hard in the other place
that counted. She guided him and he pushed his cock into her.
	"This might get me wet," she granted as the two nearly dressed
people coupled.
	Sam humped her dutifully. Like their bodies, which were covered
except at the point of insertion, he was non-committal except where his
cock plunged into cunt. It was unemotional urge being loosed to satisfy
the animal desire.
	"Roll over," Sam said.
	She was wet enough. Sam didn't think she was any more affected by
emotion than he was, but her twat had responded to his cock. He found
evidence of his feeling in the bland way she turned under him.
	"Oof!" was all that came from her as Sam pressed his cock into 
her ass.
	If he was taking some pleasure, wasn't that the point? He loved
Staci, but sometimes he wished she'd suffer the hard invasion in
stages. The maleness of conquering was suited by both approaches, but,
as he had had a steady diet of the single thrust, he jabbed into
Sonja's ass in two-inch increments.
	She took it with low growls, never flinching when Sam heaved more
cock in her ass. It was pleasurable. It was pleasurable to the point of
interrupting his intentions.
	Sam never hit bottom before his urge broke into enthusiastic, but
not particularly deep thrusts. He fucked Sonja's ass with delight, but
at the call of his prick. He was never disappointed giving in to his
cock in its area of expertise.
	He wondered how it would ruin the experience for Staci to submit 
to a different suffering as he pulled his cock out of Sonja. But then,
he reasoned, it wouldn't be so new and that was probably the thrill.
	-----
	"Took it like no one else, even you, even if you relaxed," Sam
said in response to Staci's query.
	"So Denelbach is full of shit," Staci assessed.
	"Maybe just compensating," Sam countered, "He's told himself the
lie so many times he believes it himself."
	"But she wasn't a scared virgin," Staci said, thinking more of a
wasted trip and the drama it allowed.
	"No- she only plays one on TV," Sam quipped. "And I still don't
see where any of it fits."
	"You mean Gino?" Staci asked.
	"I mean my case, but yes, why Gino wanted us to have that bit of
information," Sam agreed.
	"You don't think Gino's amusement terrorizing you extends to
giving you tips, do you," Staci shot Sam a pitying look.
	"I think Gino hasn't had me killed. That's as far as I think
about Gino," Sam said. "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy he hasn't, but I
don't want any other involvement."
	"Sam..." Staci kept pitying him.
	"Don't question my cowardice," he warned, "I want to know why
Gino will continue his not killing me if I don't get the hint."
	"And- regarding this cowardice- you're not about to ask," Staci
finished for him.
	"Only you," Sam said, "I think I can take you."
	Sam wasn't about to seek out Russians to get their side either.
He didn't think any of them had even an amused interest in watching him
sweat. They were too likely to be amused by watching him die.
	-----
	Sam had been spinning his wheels for six weeks. Now he had too
many threads, but threads that all seemed to lead the wrong direction.
He had to boil it down to what he knew about the major players- Mikos,
Sonja and the rabbits.
	Denelbach was a monster. He kept Sonja for the required time and
then cut her loose. By that time she was used to being raped, sodomized
and paraded for profit, possibly the only change being the American 
venue. She was lucky not to have a rap sheet. From there, in a matter
of months, she found herself married to a man from the old world that
couldn't be more her opposite.
	It explained only her brazen disclosure of her sex life. She was
jaded and perhaps used to using graphic frankness to repel questions
she didn't want to answer.
	Sam still didn't see the mob connection, the Gino connection or 
what any of it had to do with rabbits. It looked like Staci had gone on
a wild goose chase.
	"So- rabbits," Sam began conversationally, "If we drop our
misgivings and don't trivialize our client's concern, what do we know
about rabbits?"
	Everyone was invited to the confab. They were four with Amy back
on the 'ins' with Gumby. No one wanted to start.
	"People eat 'em. Fur for clothes. Feet for a novelty," Sam gave
them a start.
	"Pets," Staci added, knowing Sam's initial caveat was directed at
her.
	"People shove diamonds up their ass to smuggle them? Hop across
borders with contraband tied to their tails?" Sam phrased as questions.
	Heads shook. They all seemed to be trying and Sam had to admit he
was asking stumpers- particularly to this crowd.
	They had a client who knew. Sam saw they had not asked all the
questions they needed in talking to Mikos.
	"They're- like a joke," Gumby burst out. "Rabbit died- like a 
code for getting a girl pregnant."
	Sam saw Amy cringe.
	"It's all right, little girl," he said soothingly, "They don't
have to kill the fluffy little critters anymore. They don't even use
frogs, which replaced them."
	Amy stuck her tongue out at him. It struck an unusual note for a
child's gesture. It was Sam's turn to shrink as it gave him a funny
feeling in his stomach. He was a sick bastard, he thought to himself.
	They were getting nowhere. Mikos was the expert here. Sam would
talk to him once he had a clue what to ask.
	-----
	There was a hurried straightening of sleeves when Mikos saw Sam
approach. The opening of Mikos's collar gave only a hint of ink, not a
clue to the design. Sam wondered if he'd noticed if he didn't know.
	"I find I don't know enough about rabbits," Sam started. "Since
I've been hitting dead ends on everything else, I've decided that 
there's something about rabbits I'm missing."
	"Rabbits?" Mikos parroted.
	"Yes," Sam spoke slower, "What are rabbits for?"
	"Rabbits. My babies," Mikos said.
	"Why do you raise rabbits?" Sam asked, restraining himself from
adding sign language.
	Mikos collapsed. He slumped first and then backed a step to a 
crate in the warehouse and dropped down. He looked up with sad eyes.
The ghosts in them were no longer visions of hell, but of pain.
	"My son. I have son," Mikos said. "He die in Afghanistan. We have
rabbits. My babies. My son."
	Mikos was too tough to cry. Perhaps Mikos was too beaten or had
come to think such was his lot. He eyes were red-rimmed nevertheless.
	Sam knew it wasn't something to do with rabbits. There was no use
or secret in the critters themselves. Mikos had not shown any acting
talent. His defeat was too genuine and rang too true.
	"That sucks- bad. That is bad," Sam went as simple as he knew
how, "I am sorry. Maybe someone wants to hurt Mikos?"
	Mikos shook his head. The gesture struck Sam. It recalled a bear
deciding to attack. He'd always thought the bear seemed weary and 
annoyed to be bothered in that gesture. He thought it applied to Mikos,
however wishful it might be as regarded the bear.
	So Mikos was in the mob, plodding forward, looking neither left
nor right, with a hard luck story like all hard luck stories. It wasn't
a warning for many reasons, most important to Sam being that any such
action would get him and Mikos both killed. And Mikos was bellering out
in pain such as Sam could sympathize.
	Conversely, it strengthened his first instinct. Mikos didn't
believe Sonja could do something to hurt him like that, but Sam saw no
better candidate. It was, he had felt and now knew for sure, an attack
on Mikos's heart and that was a woman's territory.
	But that was silly. Mikos, tiger in bed as he was billed, didn't
fit as an abusive wife-beater. Her sexual use, if Sonja could be 
believed, was the high point of the marriage and if she was lying,
there was the evidence pointing to sex as merely another inevitability
for her.
	He saw no grounds for the kind of passion it would take to coldly
rip out the poor man's heart.
	So, one suspect with no motive, Sam was proving to be the great
detective indeed.
	-----
	He had missed the clue. Amy clung to that like hope. It wasn't
possible for Sam Hill to miss it, but it was so important that he did.
She needed the time.
	She was fooling herself, she thought as she grumpily moved to the
kitchen and sat down. Tea might calm her stomach. She had rammed
against the alternatives like a mad person bouncing off padded walls.
	Time wasn't going to bring her answers. Time only put off making
up her mind. And time was running out, deserting her with an inevitable
passing, marching as if to doom. Staci was already throwing her 
questioning looks.
	It was hard to be perky with this weight. It might be impossible
to cover her secret in the fear of falling or her mood. With the added
weight of guilt, it was plainly impossible.
	Howard was her one haven, as fucked up as that was. He was 
oblivious, which seemed like kindness, but only twisted the knife in
her guts. Still, his doting and concern gave her comfort and brief
respite from her concerns.
	Ever since she had seen the cross appear on the test, she had
flailed against the alternatives. No reasoning would tell her what
her body knew. She could not pick out over one night's time the more
likely source of the sperm that had found its mark. She hadn't been
thinking. She hadn't been prepared.
	It was more productive to scourge herself over that. It didn't
solve problems or answer questions, but at least it was something to
the point and, if past and too late, a tangible truth in the mush of
alternatives left to her.
	But she had done enough of that. The time was past for lamenting
things that couldn't be changed. It was coming, all too quickly, up to
the last moment of deciding. A few more weeks and Staci couldn't avoid
knowing. A few weeks after that she would show enough even a man might
get the hint.
	-----
	"Staci?"
	It was a cry like an injured child and Staci could hear the sob.
	"Hold your water," Staci said unkindly as she struggled with a
description.
	Amy burst into loud tears. Staci, who had at first assumed it was
Howard being oblivious, snapped around and went soft with compassion.
	"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was serious," Staci said without
editing. "What is it?"
	Amy didn't need to bend far to fall on Staci's neck. She held on
like an injured child and made Staci's estimable bosom shake with her
sobs. Staci felt danger and pity struggle with impatience as she patted
the sobbing girl on the back.
	She couldn't help while Amy blubbered, but she sensed it was too
dire for her to demand Amy be tough. She held the small woman, trying 
to slow the advance of boredom and the tingle of curiosity.
	"I don't know what to do!" Amy finally howled.
	"Don't know what to do about what?" Staci asked carefully, seeing
that this was not a crisis to guess.
	"I'm pregnant!"
	Pregnant pause. Pregnant idea. Brown winter tangle bursting with
the green pregnancy of spring. It took a spin of denial before Staci
could bring herself to what she knew was Amy's dilemma.
	"There, there," Staci patted Amy some more, "But that's not the
problem is it?"
	Of her boredom, pity and danger, it was danger that set the cold
seed of fear in Staci's heart. Her mind clicked on in desperation. Even
if the little airhead would be satisfied with no less than legitimacy
and marriage, they could make it work. She was a child with childish
expectations. Sam could only love her as a child, she hoped as 
desperately as she thought.
	"What do I say?" Amy blubbered.
	"I'm pregnant covered it for me," Staci said. "Who are you
worried about telling?"
	"But I don't know!" Amy wailed.
	That changed things. Staci understood her meaning and thereby her
desperation. Resolving to be as fair as she could muster, Staci stepped
into the breach.
	"Sam told me about that night," Staci said, feeling Amy tremble
a little in her grasp, "No one told Gumby."
	Without sure knowledge, Staci was sure Amy hadn't. Amy wasn't 
stupid in that way. Still breathing in racked sobs, Amy looked up.
	"Don't I have to?" she asked.
	"You don't have to, do you?" Staci said with unbidden spite that
she hoped Amy didn't hear. "Isn't that what makes it so hard? You've
been asking that of yourself since you knew, haven't you? Haven't 
figured out the answer, have you?"
	Amy the supplicant looked up pleadingly.
	"Sam might suspect, but he can keep his mouth shut for the same
reasons he didn't confess before," Staci said. "I'm sorry. I can't help
you. You're the only one that can decide if you have to tell Gumby or
not."
	"But the child-" Amy gulped.
	"Has no particular stake in any of this," Staci was firm. "We're
not old Jews with some fanaticism about parentage. The only concern for
the child is that it is raised safe and with love. Do you intend to do
that?"
	Amy hadn't thought that far. Her immediate deadline was before
someone else knew. The child was far beyond that future. For her part,
Staci was probing a question that had not seemed to occur to Amy.
	"Yes," Amy said with the most firmness of any statement, "My
child. You're right. I love both of them. What does that matter? And it
isn't the baby's fault."
	She weakened then and her eyes clouded up.
	"But what if it matters to Howard?" she threatened to cry.
	Staci felt the darkness recede a bit. Howard was the obvious 
choice, the proper partner and not just because Staci wished it so. She
had feared Amy might not see so clearly. And she knew, too, that there
was no question of Amy carrying the child. She was glad she had not
been the one to mention the alternative.
	"I can't comfort you with saying he'd never know, can I?" Staci
asked. "That must have occurred to you already. I don't even know what 
I'd do, so I can't tell you. I only know that he loves you and if he 
lets something so stupid ruin that, he's losing something worth so much
more than stinking pride."
	It was more confirmation of her dilemma than an answer. Her heart
ached at the thought of maintaining a deception. She was eased only
that Staci didn't have an obvious answer and that she wasn't being 
little stupid Amy all over.
	Staci was surprised by the ferocity with which she spoke. It was
something bubbling up from inside her, certainly disturbed by her panic
over Sam slipping away. She stood by it. In a strange way it was
relieving to have it pulled out and put in words. It was true. It was
why, even when Sam was too stupid to notice, that she hung on waiting
for the one that was worth everything they had to go through.
	-----
	"Staci?"
	It was a much more comfortable, even joyous thing to hear that
from Sam.
	"What the fuck do you want?" Staci snapped. "Am I ever going to
make any progress?"
	"Why does a woman tear a man's heart out?" Sam asked.
	Staci looked up suspiciously. She was jumping at shadows. If Sam
was mad at her or anything she'd done, he'd be attacking her directly.
Guile was not in his nature. She tried to figure what he meant.
	"Because men are assholes," she said to prompt another clue.
	"Granted," Sam said easily, "So what kind of asshole is our 
client?"
	"The lawyers?" Staci was intentionally dense.
	"Mikos," Sam said. "What about him would make a wife want to
wound him as deeply as she could?"
	"You're holding out to see if I can guess," Staci said. "Tell
me what leads you to this leap of imagination."
	Sam spooled out the sad story. No sudden light came into Staci's
eyes.
	"So we've got sentimental rabbits and no one with a motive to
harm them but the wife, who has no motive," Sam finished.
	"No motive you've discovered," Staci corrected. "You're right.
Congratulations on joining the sensitive, caring masses. This isn't
business or revenge, except in the emotional sense. Unless you scare
out another lover, it's the woman."
	She waited just a beat.
	"By the way, you knocked up Amy," she said.
	"In the bathroom," she pointed sternly.
	So far Sam had gone wide eyed and increasingly pale. Staci knew
that volume might be next on the list of reactions. She had always 
intended to tell him, but now she was questioning her timing.
	"What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck!" Sam was repeating.
	Staci thought he was cute when confused.
	"It might not be you," Staci held up a warning finger to still 
him. "She left you to fuck Gumby in the same state of unpreparedness."
	Sam was cuter more confused.
	"She doesn't know who. You don't know who. We do know there's a
bun in the oven and Amy is frantic," Staci ran down. "You will not
indicate by word, deed or mistake that you're aware until Amy tells
everybody."
	"What the fuck!" Sam said once more.
	"You're a maybe daddy. Congratulations. And I am not mad at you,
only really concerned that Amy doesn't get more upset." Staci said.
	"Then why tell a fuck-up like me?" Sam asked.	
	"Shut up, Sam Hill!" Staci thundered, reaching anger now. "This
is no time to take refuge in your demons. You play the game; you take
the risks. No one needs you feeling sorry for yourself. This is
important beyond either of us and you're going to straighten up or
I'll... I'll..."
	"Break my nose?" Sam offered.
	Staci's fury seemed to have a calming effect. It wasn't about
him. He could put that aside for future ruminations. He could focus on
what Staci thought should be done.
	"Well, that's better," Staci said as she saw Sam focus again. "I
don't think I helped much, but Amy and I had a talk."
	"And what do I do?" Sam asked.
	"Keep it to yourself and act surprised when Amy announces
whatever she announces," Staci said.
	"Surely, it's a baby," Sam said. "Human, I'm supposing."
	Staci took a perturbed breath and snorted.
	"Not the time for levity, either," she said. "Amy is deciding 
whether she will tell Gumby it's his or admit her uncertainty. We await
that decision."
	Sam saw a can of, not worms but pythons, or perhaps tarantulas
opening. It didn't matter what Amy said. Everyone knew everybody's
business in this world- eventually. Deception was a slippery slope. At 
the same time, he was glad he kept Staci's counsel not to confess at
the time. Somehow he knew it would make the present situation even more
messy.
	"But he'll find out. You'll write it in a fucking book," Sam
pointed out a bit briskly.
	"Which doesn't occur to Amy yet, but then..." Staci let that hang
before saying, "We're all shaped by our decisions as much as we shape 
them. Good comes out of bad. Bad comes out of good. What happens is the
truth and that's just truth and neither good nor bad."
	"And what the fuck does that mean, Miss Philosopher?" Sam asked.
	"Miss Goodbody after nine stories and still today," Staci 
corrected. "It means Amy will do the right thing, even if I have no
clue what that is, and it will be all right."
	"That Miss Goodbody crack mean the right thing is a double
wedding and for real this time?" Sam asked.
	"Fuck you, Sam," Staci snarled. "Not marry you, Sam. Fuck you and
fight and love and be frustrated by you. What more could a girl want?"
	"Just so we're on the same page," Sam retreated grumpily. "And
no clue what Amy might do?"
	"Oh, lots of them," Staci said. "Only it's her choice and, you
know, for all the queasiness I have over her, I think she'll pick the
right one- the right one for her and Gumby and you and me. Whatever the
fuck that is."
	-----
	Always the last to know. Husbands- and fathers- were always the
last to know. It took ten minutes to sweat the truth out of Sonja now
Sam knew where to attack.
	He felt like a paid assassin breaking her. The rabbits were the
least of the victims. In that regard, Sam identified with the rabbits.
	Sam had come on her packing. She put up a front. Dumb old country
assholes were so dumb. They were so stupid because they were stupid.
She hadn't been this obvious a liar in any other interview, even
pretending she was hot for Sam.
	She was torn up. Her time was up. For the rest she was down
lower than some thing that is really, really far down. Sam didn't think
it was love tearing her, but he could admit she might think it was.
	She didn't have to draw him a diagram. Certain symmetries clicked
into place as she made up story after story about why she had decided
to move on. In some of them Mikos was throwing her out. 
	"He sleeps late enough," Sonja said in the meat of the story, "I
just chucked them. I watched the truck haul them away. I showed him."
	The thought made Sam sick. It wasn't naked Sonja inexorably and
with cold efficiency taking rabbit after rabbit and slitting their
throats, tossing them in bags to be hauled to the curb. It was the 
cool exercise of that rage.
	It wasn't particularly the fearful vengeance she wrought on
Mikos. It was a calm surrounding the horrendous acts. It was draining
out the bloodstained water from her bath even as Mikos came in to
shave. No hint. No clue. No warning. 
	She could have been bright and pleasant and then walked upstairs
to blow her brains out in the tub. Like Sam's mother. No clue. No 
warning.
	Sam was too numb to worry about shaking as he wrapped up the
interview. His hell wasn't Mikos's but he was sure his eyes showed the
same reflection.
	"So, you'll tell Mikos so he can slit my throat like those damn
rabbits?" Sonja asked.
	"Is that what you hope?" Sam was merciless. "You want the easy
way out so you can see the pain while he ends yours?"
	Sonja wasn't too numb to tremble. Sam knew the urge to grab her
was so near his surface. Cold-hearted bitches should come out with it.
There should be some response if only to bare your throat to their 
fury. There should be some warning- something.
	"He threw me out!" she erupted. "No second thought. I tried. I
did. He wouldn't even say a word."
	"Well, you ripped his heart out," Sam said. "Feel even? Either of
you get back what you lost?"
	He relented only because he knew he was shouting at his mother.
He was doing the same thing to Sonja. What was he helping? Her lot was
sad and he had no cause to judge her. It was bad enough. Bullying her
was to no one's good.
	"I'll tell him later," Sam said. "When will you be gone?"
	"Today. 3 o'clock," she said.
	"No winners," Sam said. "Pain is the gift that keeps on giving. 
I'm sorry for us all."
	He left still livid, so many emotions rushing through his system
like an injection of amphetamines. He hadn't thought about her in
years. Yet she had been there, still tender, close to the surface.
	He was tired of it. It made no more sense than Sonja's spiteful
revenge for a doom she knew was coming. But more than that, he saw in
examining it again that he had mistaken his place.
	He was a battered victim to be sure; his life testified to that.
But he was the rabbits. However he felt, however he was damaged, he 
was not the lead. He was a walk-on, an extra- the rabbits.
	His menial part did not soothe him. But it brought perspective
to the burden he had carried. He was perhaps more upset by this truth
but being the truth it might someday rest.
	-----
	"Mikos took it like a man," Sam reported.
	"You mean he shrugged and put it on his back like every other 
burden he can't bear to let go?" Staci asked.
	"That's why you're my doll," Sam said and leaned over to kiss her.
	Staci stared at Sam after the uncharacteristic peck. Subdued,
she'd call it, but with warmth looking back at her. She'd fuck it out 
of him. She was owed a piggy ride.
	"And Gino?" she asked.
	"Gino who?" Sam asked and went on after Staci's scowl. "He gave
me a self-serving tip that was nothing more than motive in my case. I
told him I was keeping my nose out of it. I'm keeping my word."
	Staci gave him a sterner look.
	"Who do I tell? Call up Immigration and say: due to a feature
of your law the Ruskies are rolling over citizens every three years in
a never-ending and ever-expanding tree of new citizens marrying imports?"
Sam asked. "Then what? Find out who Sonja's off to marry and keep tabs
on Mikos for a new wife? What's it to me? And what does Gino think that
will do to help him? It sounds like making the Russians mad and they
don't know about the balls I've got."
	"Makes sense," Staci was suddenly nodding. "Maybe he was helping.
He does have a sense of honor, you know. He said something to me once
about Chester that made me realize. He doesn't have laws to keep him
in line. All he has is his word."
	"And murder," Sam added. 
	"I didn't say he was a nice guy," Staci spluttered, "Only that 
it's possible he meant well."
	"And he knew enough to tip me, but not tell me?" Sam argued. 
	"Maybe the tip was that there are new players in town," Staci
said.
	Sam thought about that.
	"And if you're going to pick one, I'd say watch Sonja," Staci
said.
	"So she can throw me some strange and take the onerous duty off
you?" Sam asked.
	"Because she's the one with hopes. Hopes that some miracle will
bring her true love and a nasty temper when reality interferes," Staci
said, "Though you do get perky when you get some strange."
	"Speaking of perky, any news on the Amy front?" Sam asked.
	"What about Amy's front?" Gumby interrupted.
	Sam tried to swallow his tongue.
	"Oh I know Sam Hill was there way before me," Gumby said
jovially, but in no sense lessening Sam's dread, "But I'm not allowed
to say it before the official announcement. I'm going nuts waiting.
It'll be a big surprise, I'm betting."
	Gumby winked. Sam moved back to let him confer with Staci and
try to fade into the scenery. Even with Gumby's blessing he didn't want
to be the father. Father was a bad word for him. It made no fucking
sense. Adoration, affection, even love was fine from both of them, if
you were going to make him say it, but it didn't fit. It did not fit.
He and Staci fit. Amy and Gumby fit.
	"You told, didn't you?" Amy wandered in, trying to play cool.
	"No, dear," Gumby said like he was already house-trained. "I
said I wasn't allowed to say."
	"Then I better hurry before you burst," she wrinkled her nose
at him. "Howard and I are going to be parents."
	For the most insipid of shockers, it caused quite a stir. News
to no one, it set off chatter and congratulations from everyone but 
Sam. His attempt at faux merriment had been staggered when Gumby
nudged him in the ribs and confided: she says it's really yours.
	The dumbstruck look of confusion served just as well. He slowly
recovered his delight, and his breath, as he saw Gumby took that as a
great joke. He was left to ponder how devious even the most open and
guiless woman could be. Men never had a chance. He was blessed to have
Staci to explain such things to him. 
	----
	"Did you see them together? Didn't they look so perfect?" Staci
was still gushing as Sam closed the door behind them and hung up his 
hat.
	"Doll, we've known that from the first time they looked at each
other," Sam tried to enter the spirit.
	"But?" Staci asked.
	"But what?" Sam wondered.
	"You've been nursing a but from the moment of the announcement,"
Staci said. "But?"
	"Not a but," Sam said, smacking Staci on hers, "More of a 'what
the fuck' or 'where the fuck'."
	He had reached the moment and, as Staci observed, had plenty of
time to organize his concept.
	"Where the fuck does Amy come up with telling Gumby the truth so
he won't believe her- at least until it's too late," Sam asked.
	"A trick worthy of Sam Hill, I agree," Staci answered, "But who
knows if it is the truth? Maybe Sam Hill shoots blanks. Ooo- ooo! I
know- a test to prove it! Maybe I should suggest that."
	Sam wrestled her to the floor.
	-----
	It hadn't gone quite like that. Amy had been quite serious. This
was too important for her to screw up. Giggling miscues were all right
in her own life. Some even turned out for the better. Even the ones
that were downright disasters only harmed her.
	There was life inside her. She was caretaker and she couldn't
screw this up. The only way to face it was honestly because that was
the only way.
	"Howard. I'm pregnant."
	Those were tough enough words to say. She waited expectantly for
the reaction. It was pretending to be a fish. Gumby opened and closed
his mouth innumerable times looking wall-eyed. His response made her 
cry.
	"Will you marry me?"
	It was as hard as anything Amy had ever done to control her tears
and not just let it rest. This is where she wanted it to stop- with a
happy ever after as a tagline. She panted trying to draw the breath
that would expel the truth.
	"It could be Sam's"
	Gumby looked up from his one-kneed stance and slowly smiled.
	"Amy, you are the bestest girl any guy could have. I love you so
much. Won't you marry me?" he asked.
	"It could be," she sobbed.
	"It's mine," he said with firmness.
	"I love you so much. I want us to be together forever," Gumby
switched back to his fawning gibbering.
	"Yes, Howard. Yes, I'll marry you," Amy sobbed.
	Gumby held her so tight and she only wished to be squeezed
tighter. He knew that she knew that he knew didn't matter. Nothing
really mattered but that Howard loved her and wanted her child. 
	Perhaps he still thought she was joking and was tired of the
joke. Maybe he heard and wanted to ignore it. Amy didn't question or
waste thought. Howard was the fit. It need never enter their minds
again. Howard would marry her. She was going to be a mother. 
	She loved Sam. She loved Sam enough to have his child and raise
it with him. She would be happy. But Sam had said it himself. He was 
damaged. Howard was the Sam unscarred. She was sure even Sam would wish
them to be together. She heard him say it. And she would never be what 
Staci was for Sam.
	"Let me tell them," Amy gasped in Howard's embrace, certain that
she had just told the last one that didn't know. "I want to see their
faces."
	-----
	"Now wait!" Staci shrilled. "What about my piggy ride? You owe me
a piggy ride, you old childfucker!"
	"You're hog-tied. Isn't that enough for you?" Sam snickered.
	Actually, it was more calf-tied with Staci's wrists and ankles in
a bound bunch. They both knew her vulnerability and where it was going,
But Staci had to keep trying.
	"I'd think an old fart that knocks up kids might be more loving
to the woman who has every right to cut off his dick in the night,"
Staci threatened.
	"Knocked-up. That's right. We don't want that now do we?" Sam
teased her.
	"I've found out a startling new fact," Sam continued as he pulled
down Staci's underwear. "They've finally discovered how women get 
pregnant."
	"That's so lame, Sam Hill," Staci shouted.
	"Okay, new one," Sam gave up too easily. "No gags. We're going
to do it differently this time."
	"You think I'll fall for another lie?" Staci asked.
	"Not lying," Sam said. "Serious now. Traditionally, you pretend
I'm horrible and I laugh while I am."
	"So I'm supposed to laugh?" Staci bellowed. "You jam that horse
pecker in my butt and I laugh?"
	"No, dear, sweetie pumpkin, honey lumps," Sam said as he kept on
preparing her. "This time I might well be horrible, but I won't laugh."
	"This is a damn funny time to come up with crap like that," Staci
protested.
	"It's only because I love you so much that I'm giving you this
chance never to do it again," Sam said. "Seriously. I'm going to and
you'll have to take it and if it is horrible I'm sorry. But I'm going
to see and you'll see right along with me."
	"Sam you're scaring me," Staci said. "You're not going to shit 
on me or something, are you?"
	"Mmmmm. And I had Mexican for lunch," Sam stopped the serious.
	Her ass was greased, Sam's cock was twanging hard in
anticipation. He hauled her onto the sofa so her head could hang over
and not bear her weight in her trussed position and got behind her.
	"Tell me when you like it," he said as he pressed his cock to her
sphincter.
	"No! No! No! NO! NO!" Staci screeched as Sam drove his cock inch
by inch up her ass.
	###