Lawyer, Lawyer Pt. 02

I left "nut jobs" unspoken, but we both knew it was there.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"I'm just the messenger," I said. I explained the situation as quickly as I could. "I think Andy was assuming you'd, uh, take care of the left-wing guys. The right-wing guys were the Pope's idea. But they are kind of in the way, aren't they?"

"You did say the Pope, didn't you?" he asked.

"Uh, huh," I said. "Pope John Paul George. Oh, and, uh, he's here kind of incognito, okay, so no perp walks down at the station house."

"You're a funny man, Mister Thompson," the colonel said with the ghost of a grin.

"It's my bread and better, Colonel," I told him. "My bread and butter."

"All right," he said. "Here's what we do."

It was a colossally stupid plan, in hindsight. I returned through the lines, explaining to the Opus Dei people that we were going to make a deal with the Opus Christe people, and to the Opus Christe people that we would bring them out their changeling and Bob, and that they could then go home. They would walk through the Opus Dei lines, where the FCC people, whom they couldn't see from their positions, would take them into custody and confiscate the changeling.

I had no intention of turning the changeling over to the federal government, though, so when Bob and I emerged from the house, it was with a Barbie doll belonging to his daughter Molly.

I still don't know who fired the first shot. Bob and I dropped to the ground and cowered in terror as a gunfight erupted around us. When it was over, with no deaths and surprisingly few wounded, the FCC people had taken both groups into custody, and were busy questioning Bob. Meanwhile, I ran back to the house.

"Oh, God, Jase." Julie was crying as she opened the door, nearly hyperventilating. "We were all on the ground, and then . . . and then she broke free."

"Molly?"

I stared in horror as Julie nodded. I pushed past her, to where Andy was kneeling next to the Pope as His Holiness was praying over the body of Molly Benton. She had run to the window when the firing started, to make sure that her Daddy was okay, just as a bullet ripped through the glass.

"Is she . . . dead?" I asked.

Andy looked up, tears in his eyes, and nodded.

It is still my proudest moment. I quickly located the doll that I had discarded when I had emptied my pockets, the real one this time. I ordered Andy to retrieve a blanket from a closet in Bob's hallway and together we wrapped the body in it.

"But she's dead." The Pope was sobbing. " I have to administer --"

"You have to get out of my way, you fucking asshole," I growled at him. "We've got about three minutes before they break in here. Take her to your car, Andy."

He nodded, and picked up Molly's body and left.

I knelt beside the Pope with the doll.

"Molly Benton," I said. "1027 Brandywine Lane. January 9, 2010. Life-size."

"Hi, master," said the five-year-old girl who appeared between us. She would be missing a day out of her life, but I wasn't planning on telling her. I imagine the Pope wasn't going to be talking much about it either.

"Mister Thompson," I said with a smile. "You can call me Mister Thompson, sweetie. Never master."

"Okay, Mister Thompson," she said. "Where's my mommy and daddy?"

"Your mommy had to go away with your brother and sisters," I said, "and you hid out here so you could see the Pope when he came to visit your daddy. Your daddy will be back soon. He's fine."

She took a long look at the Pope and then got up and ran downstairs with a giggle. The Pope just stared at me, tears running down his face.

"It's a miracle," he said.

"Yeah, maybe so," I agreed.

"Those Opus Christe scum --" he grew angry.

"I don't think so," I said, adding a belated "sir." "They would have been firing out, toward the road. The feds are too good to fire off this many bullets this wildly. You'll find that the injuries in this house come from Opus Dei guns."

He stared at me, and I stared him down.

"There are men out there, on both sides, who have shed blood because of your little spat. I just hope you never forget how you felt when you saw that little girl die. If you'll excuse me, Holiness."

I got up, gave Julie a hug, and walked down the driveway, back to my home.

**********

Later that day, Andy and I buried Molly's body in a beautiful spot on my farm overlooking the Brandywine River. He and Julie left shortly thereafter for Washington D.C.

Karen showed up the next day, blithely informing me that she didn't want to discuss anything about the last two weeks. I was stunned; we had never had any secrets from each other. But Karen was adamant. She collected the kids from Shelly's, and we tried to get on with our lives over the next three months. I was even more stunned when she refused to attend Julie and Andy's wedding in early April at Andy's house in Washington. She was heavy now with our third girl, and she had agreed to my petulant demand that we name her Molly, but our marriage was showing some strain.

After I returned from the wedding, I was sitting in my favorite easy chair, flipping aimlessly through a magazine. Danny and Beth were across the road, playing with the Bentons. I could hear Karen approach from behind. With only four months left before her due date, she wasn't quite as light on her feet as she usually was.

"Was it a nice wedding?" she asked.

I grunted, but she just stood there and waited me out.

"It was fine," I said finally. "Me and Andy and Julie. The Pope. No parents. No bridesmaids. They're moving to Arizona after the honeymoon, you know. You'll probably never see her again."

She moved off.

I read a little longer and the footsteps returned.

"So what did she wear?"

I slammed the magazine closed.

"Again with the wedding?" I demanded. "If you wanted to know so badly, why the hell didn't you go?"

"I don't think that would have been a really good idea," came the answer with a low chuckle, and I realized that it was no longer Karen who was speaking. I watched in stunned silence as a very pregnant Julie Pinsky waddled around my chair and fell backwards into the couch.

I just stared at her.

"I'm sorry, baby," she said. "We couldn't tell you. You just can't lie to people. Andy deserves the Julie Pinsky he has. Just like Sandy deserves the Andy Richardson she has."

"When?" I finally gasped. "How?"

"At the motel. In Outer Dakota. Sandy turned into me and left with Andy. Karen and I spent the next week in Washington, where we figured they had a lot more of those transmitters and we could get lost. Do you want to feel your son kicking? Little Jason Andrew Thompson?"

I did. But I was stuck.

"Come on," Karen said softly. This time I hadn't heard her come up beside me. "Let's go upstairs, Jules. They haven't yet made a man who could resist making love to two women that he's knocked up."

It turned out I wasn't actually stuck as much as I was momentarily paralyzed. I got better. Quite quickly, in fact, and took the stairs two at a time behind those two lovely women ahead of me.