My Only Talent Ch. 32

But her scores came back fine and she was ecstatic. Suzanne began to rib her about being "Legally Blonde", but Lara gave it right back to her. "Suzanne, please. I am much taller, have much better hair, and much bigger boobs! You may kiss them now to make up for your insult!" Suzanne did, worshipfully. So did I, just for luck.

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I was to meet Nora at an early morning SXSW financial subconference presentation she wanted to see before we left for San Antonio. The freaking bad traffic during SouthBy would normally make that horrible plan, but since my car was parked at Lara's building, which was only about 12 blocks from the hotel where the presentation was taking place, it was actually pretty easy. Walking was by far the fastest way to get around downtown, despite the claims of the Pedi cab peddlers.

I left the dorm early, carrying my small carry-on bag plus a hanging bag that together contained three days' worth of hopefully unrumpled clothes and stuff for the SA trip. I was hoping I would only need clothes for 1 day with the remainder of the trip spent behind closed doors in bed with Nora. The anticipation was palpable. Visions of the amazing Nora Upton in various stages of undress and arousal appeared in my mind like pop up ads on the web. I dropped my stuff off at my car, and then made my way to the conference venue.

Nora had left a pass and badge for me at the sign-in desk, and suddenly I felt underdressed, even in my slacks and blazer best. It was definitely a financial crowd, happily overdressed for Austin in the spring. Most of the guys had on ties that cost more than my entire wardrobe. The AC was cranked up to meat locker levels so they could wear their finest wool, politically incorrect as that was. I found the room for the seminar 'track' Nora was interested in, and slipped into the back door about five minutes before the scheduled start.

Nora's shining platinum hair made her easy to spot, not to mention the milling parade of guys trying to take the seat she was saving for me and simultaneously hitting on her. I slipped into the chair and enjoyed some withering looks from the obviously older, better looking and richer guys she had previously sent packing. I just had to rub it in with a brief kiss on her cheek. But Nora then rubbed it in so much better with a brief but magical kiss on the lips. Damn girl. Rub it in some more, please.

The presenter walked up to the podium and began fiddling with the laser pointer and laptop. He reminded me of uber-nerd Alexis T Quandry - thin and hyperactive, in a white on navy Brooks Brothers pinstripe but with long prematurely grey hair in a ponytail. Nora explained that this guy was a 'quaint quant' - a behind the scenes modeling and numbers guy rather than a 'bold' and 'potentially indictable' trader. But well paid - he was 28 and made $2M per year. Wow. I can see why Nora might prefer working on the street to being a professor. Knowing her, she would probably end up doing both.

He actually had pretty good bullshit, at least to my unsophisticated ear. He presented a new trading system based on a 'systole and diastole' market model - with 'dynamic sector inhibition coefficients' and a 'Pascal's triangle payoff matrix'. Jargon city, but it sounded cool. Thanks to my physiologist super trainer Saskia, I knew what systole and diastole were, at least in the cardiac function sense, and he apparently was saying that commodities and equites markets had similar repeating patterns of high and low pressure events that could be predicted and therefore exploited. The sector inhibition coefficients allowed adjusting the model to a particular investor's risk preferences and desired returns and time horizon, and the payoff matrix decided when it was time to cash in a particular position and plan another investment.

I was ready to sign up, but then Nora whispered a few insider insights into my ear. "Most of that is just cover story. It generates a massive paper trail on almost any position a trader could take, and a rational for getting in or out of any position on any given day." Her hot breath in my ear was rapidly depleting the blood supply to the brain between my ears, but I tried to follow her logic.

"Is that good?" I asked, with my blood pressure rising, both systolic and diastolic.

Nora's wonderful warm breath once again fell on my happy right ear. "It is if you have inside information that you want to trade on. You can get in and out and even if the SEC picks up an anomalous trading pattern, and you have a plausible, technical reason for the trade. You might say that his system's primary purpose is a 'reasonable doubt generator.' My cock was now straining against my pants, and my effective IQ had been reduced at least 50% due to blood supply diversion to my dick.

She went on. "If you have a really big portfolio like the major hedgies do, you can even generate ongoing previous and seemingly non-random trades in any equity that will reinforce the idea that you are following the stock and have a rationale for trading other than the significant event you now have inside data on." She had by now noticed my penile predicament and was smiling and gently rubbing my right leg.

"It's so nice to know that you are looking forward to our trip, Robbie." Her tongue just barely touched my ear. I could not speak as this point. The presenter went on with his pitch, and Nora continued rubbing my leg. I bet I was having a lot more fun than he was.

When he finally finished, I had to wait until Nora went up to talk to him and then count to 200 before my erection subsided enough to stand. I then had to push my way through the crowd around Nora to suggest to her that we head for SA before traffic on IH35 got too crowded. She tossed her hair and laughed. Ten guys gave me a dirty look. Tough beans, hombres. I'm outa here.

The drive was relatively uneventful, but the traffic was much thicker than normal. Nora, ever thorough, had arranged her own private tour guide for the Alamo. We were to arrive about thirty minutes after the 'normal' tour kicked off, and then meet our own little decadent docent at the entrance for the extended and footnoted tour that Nora desired. But the late arrival meant all of the decent parking spaces were long gone, and I began a circle search for the alternatives. San Antonio did not have the app that was being tested west of the ESU campus in Austin that made finding nearby parking places a breeze.

All of the parking meter spots were taken and the nearby surface lots were chock-a-block full. Nora got on her phone map app and found an obscure parking garage about three blocks away near the interstate, next to an old hotel that looked ready for immediate demolition. Pretty sketchy neighborhood, but it was daylight and we were in a hurry. Even at this less than prime lot, we had to descend several levels below ground and to the very back of the lowest sublevel to find a spot. Most of the lights were out, too, so daylight didn't much matter.

I locked the car and waited for my eyes to adjust, having just come from the bright sunshine outside. I joined Nora, put my arm in the small of her back, and looked around for the nearest ramp of stairway. We finally figured the way out and went up to the street level and walked over to the Alamo.

Nora texted her chosen guide, who waved to us and we met her at the entrance. She had the admissions covered, and everyone seemed to know her. We began our own little battle re-enactment, walking through the battle sites interspersed with present day San Antonio, a bustling city competing continuously with Dallas for the second place population in Texas, with Houston at a solid number one. Having taken all the required Texas history courses in middle school and high school, along with multiple tours here before, I was pretty well caught up. But Nora was fascinated, and she fascinated me, so it was all good.

While most other tourists listened to the machine based audio tour, we got the up close and personal story from our tour guide - a 65- year resident of San Antonio, retired history professor, and a veritable font of Alamo lore and trivia. Nora laughed when she learned that many of the 'Texana' objects in the collection here and at some Texas museums had been donated from the personal collection of a British pop star Alamo buff. She was also aghast to learn that Ozzy Osborne, another British rocker, had once been banned from Texas for life for pissing on the Alamo. The guide explained that he had actually urinated on a statue on the grounds of the Alamo, not the battle shrine itself, but she still recommended that Ozzy stay well away if he wanted to keep all his teeth.

The tour was very good, but by now both Nora and I were hiding our wanting glances and/or yawns to keep from insulting our guide. We finally made our goodbyes and went back toward the parking garage, enjoying the bright sunlight and cool but not cold temperatures of the Texas spring. We made our way downward, and walked toward my car, tucked in the back corner of the lowest level. Once again our eyes took some time to adjust to the dark.

There were three of them, emerging from behind a big dark van parked closer to the entrance than my car, trapping us. All about 5' 9" and wearing frayed jeans and black shirts, and all with the same big tattoo on their necks. That is never a good sign. They spread out to flank us. The middle one had a long weapon somewhere between a big Bowie knife and small machete', and the other two had smaller but still wicked looking knives.

I made a brief calculation and did not like our chances. "OK, fellas, you can have our money, although we don't have much."

The one in the middle smiled. Very bad teeth, and a very vacant look in his eyes. "We gonna cut you up anyway, bitch!"

Time suddenly slowed way down, my flight or fight reflex kicking in with fight being the only option. Thanks to the habits that Bigun and Mai Ling had drilled into me, I had my key fob in my hand with three keys plus a couple of strong and sharpened aluminum spikes emerging radially from between my fingers. I hoped Nora's Krav Maga training was not just talk. I thumbed the panic button on the key fob. Even though I knew what was going to happen, it still disoriented me.

Bigun's specially designed alarm system channeled the output of two big and fully charged car batteries into a high speed silicon carbide switcher, that very rapidly 'chopped' the electrical energy output alternatively between four big strobe lights and two of the loudest buzzingest sirens I had ever heard in my life. In the low ceiling parking garage, it was almost paralyzing. Bigun called it an 'area denial system' but I didn't need any additional incentive to want to leave. It did seem to disorient our three 'friends' even more than it did me, thankfully.

I slashed out backhanded with the keys like Mai Ling had taught me and caught the guy on my left perfectly, slashing across both eyes and the bridge of his nose. Blood gushed out like I had thrown a water balloon filled with catchup right in his face, and he raised both hands to his head and fell to his knees, screaming. For some reason I thought of Elizabeth Ashcroft Knowles, and then resolutely front kicked him right in the face, as hard as I could, twice. I heard and felt a series of crunches, hopefully from his skull and not the bones in my foot. He was down and out.

Nora had actually reacted a little faster than I did, kicking the guy on our right in the kneecap while he was still trying to overcome the shock of the lights and sirens. He tried to put had his hands up to cover his ears or his eyes, but accomplished neither. Nora then kicked him right in the nuts and he dropped like a rock. I had heard that the idea of Krav Maga, especially for women, was to 'do some damage, then run like hell' but Nora instead turned to see if she could help me.

The guy in the middle was now reacting. He swung his 'Bowie-Machete' with two hands like a cutlass, from low to high. My time slowing lizard brain extrapolated the curve to end up right at Nora's neck! Something exploded white hot behind my eyes! Kill Kill! Die Die! He crumpled up in a heap, dropping his weapon long before it touched Nora, and fell like a puppet with its strings cut. I promptly passed out.

I'm not sure how long I was out. The first thing I saw was a paramedic, then Nora, then a lot of cops. I was shaking from the adrenaline reaction, and I had that now disturbingly familiar 'Suzie blast hangover' - the worst I had ever felt it. One of the paramedics gave me some Gatorade, and it helped right away. I almost wished Elizabeth or Dwight were here to help me sort things out. I couldn't very well deny everything - I must have that one guy's blood all over my left hand and right foot, at the very least.

How fast did the cops get here, anyway? I knew Bigun's alarm system tried to call 911 when the panic button was pressed, but did we get a signal out from way down in this garage? Luckily, Nora recovered her wits a lot faster than I did, and her English Princess shtick totally captivated the SA cops. One detective was insisting that I go to the hospital, I think so he could offer Nora a ride and try to get her number. By the time they got to question me, I mostly described passing out, after trying to stop them from hurting Nora. By then they were able to put things together pretty well from the scene. All three of our little friends had some serious recent police records, despite their tender age. Their juvenile records were sealed, for their protection.

The alarm had been so loud and obnoxious that several security guards at neighboring businesses called 911 immediately. The paramedics called another ambo and they took all three of our tattooed friends to the hospital. One guy was going to need surgery for his shattered patella (credit to Nora) and the other guy was going to need some dental surgery and some eye work. The ring leader apparently had some sort of stroke in the heat of the action, but he was well known to the police gang unit and thought to sniff a lot of glue and huff a lot of paint, which often meant a lot of brain damage, don't you know?

Nora apparently broke a toe on the guy's knee - nothing to do but stay off of it and let it heal. Both male paramedics examined it at length, also making doubly sure the rest of her leg was undamaged. What professionalism. I had hit my face when I fell down and had a big red spot that was going to mature into a big nasty bruise on my cheek, but other than that we were okay.

Once the cops were done with us, I drove carefully to the Embassy Suites and used valet parking. Seemed like a good investment at this point. Nora suggested we order room service and stay in for the evening. That was my plan exactly, even without the food!

Words could not fully describe my hopes and dreams for my first night with Nora. After I tipped the bellman, who could not keep his eyes off of her, she closed and locked the door, took my hands in hers and said, "Robbie, we have to talk."

OH NO! Not that! Not now!

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Shaniqua was used to sending and receiving lots of text messages to and from burner cell phones. Heck, that was practically her business model. But she had just switched over to this phone last night, and hadn't given the number to anyone, had she? But that wasn't nearly as disturbing as the message.

It mentioned at least three things that nobody but Shaniqua was supposed to know, including her adopted daughter's birth date, birth name and birth mother - another hard luck foster child just like Shaniqua. Maybe even harder luck - she was dead. Shaniqua couldn't help the teenage mother anymore, but she could adopt the daughter and try to get her out of the cycle.

According to the message, she was supposed to meet a new 'client' for dinner at Buck's in Woodside tomorrow night. He was going to pay double her normal hourly rate, and he would only talk, not touch. But he made it clear that she had damn sure better listen and heed his advice. Who the fuck was this "Roger Sherman" guy, anyway? There was a picture on the cell phone. He looked totally unremarkable, like some accountant or store clerk. She would go meet him, but he better watch his ass.

Roger was definitely watching hers. Plus, her phone, email, her car's GPS, her apartment security cams and her babysitter's house.

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Nora had asked for a moment to bathe and change clothes. With my luck, she had brought a nun's habit and was about to announce a major revision to her career plans. It took a lot longer than a moment, but I was pretty damn happy when she emerged from the hotel bathroom smelling wonderful and in a pale blue 'Teddy' night gown with a very proper little matching blue outer jacket.

Then she made me go shower and change too. I suppose that was a good idea given our earlier exertions, but I had to worry about gangrene. What did the commercials say about seeing a doctor if you have an erection for more than four hours? I suddenly thought of Elizabeth Ashcroft Knowles again, and remembered that fighting while being at risk of death or injury, and surviving, makes one extremely horny. I had been so ever since we shut my car door and left the cops behind at the parking garage.

I took a lot less time than she did, and I didn't have a blue Teddy with me or even any pajamas. When I opened the bathroom door, Nora took one look at me and smiled.

"Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance, don't you Mr. Roberts. I think you really are a shameless bounder! That looks like it might be painful."

It was getting that way.

"But before anything else can happen between us, I do have to know that you can satisfy me sexually!"

Say what?

"I have had some good preliminary reports from Lara and Suzanne, of course, but I need hard evidence, so to speak."

I smiled. "Ugh. Tarzan love Jane. Me fuck'em good!"

She giggled. "How romantic!"

She stood up next to the bed, and motioned for me to sit on the top sheet. Then she slowly unbuttoned her prim little Teddy cover, just as tantalizingly as she had stripped in Dallas, but with a lot fewer audience members. She had the complete and total attention of my member, though. Even though she had so far exposed less flesh than what she usually wore to campus on a warm day, I heard my pulse pounding in my ears and felt light headed. Perhaps from sustained lack of blood to the brain.

She paused to make sure I was watching, and then ever so slowly took off the little blue jacket. Her nipples were clearly defined through the gauzy fabric of the Teddy, and her breasts seemed even more wonderful than they had in the strip club in Dallas. How was that even possible? Her eyes were as big as saucers. So were mine, I am sure.

She very slowly slipped the Teddy off of her left shoulder, and paused until I made eye contact with her. It took me a while to tear my eyes away from her shoulder. Her eyes were shining, far beyond the 'little sparkling lasers' effect I had seen from other smart girls, or even from her. I looked back towards her shoulder and noticed the vein in her neck was pulsing visibly. I'm sure mine was too.

Then something extraordinary happened. Even more extraordinary, I should say. Time seemed to slow down again, and I heard a Suzie signal from her with clarity and coherence beyond anything I had even imagined before. It was specific and focused, and locked on to me. Nora was not suppressing her signal at all. If anything, she was projecting it right into my brain.

I felt myself responding automatically. The signals bounced back and forth, alternating. Somehow I thought of the communications protocols we were learning about in my embedded systems class. Was this the Suzie signal equivalence of 'Request To Send/Cleared To Send'? Were we handshaking and ACK'ing each other? Had we opened up another layer of the 'systems model' between us? I don't know if it was analog or digital or quantum, or even spooky, or whether it had stop, start, and parity bits or not, but suddenly I was plugged into Nora like she was on my local area network, or least a VPN. Was this quantum entanglement?