He was saying, “I will warn you though. If you turn the light on Boon will be able to see a clear silhouette so might be best to learn to dress in the twilight...I’ll promise to be aware of the same thing of course... I’ll just toss it over...Night Ash.” The concept that we might be able to see our silhouettes dressing and undressing had not occurred to me and I had to wonder for a moment if I had misjudged him. [i]He's either ridiculously chivalrous...or a total pervert.[/i] The latter of the ideas had me stifling unexpected laughter. I undressed and pulled on his shirt--feeling light and springy inside around the dark hollow parts I didn't want to look at--[i]Jesus, he even uses fabric softener...the good kind.[/i] Somehow I knew Garth was snickering from inside his cushy corner office back in California. I fell backwards and stared into the sheet-walls. I kinda wished they weren't there. Sharing a bed made sense for several tactical reasons. Numero Uno: I could keep an eye on him. Should he ever try something funny I'd be able to reach right over and---... and.... I shook my head. Number Two: In the case of home invasion there would be one less bed for me to try and maneuver around in a fight. Yeah. Sounds legit. And Number Three: We could take down the sheets that created blind spots. Not that they were too bad... They were raised high enough so that I could spot ankles and feet walking by if I needed to. Which brings me to Number Four: Should he ever try something funny I'd be able to--- wait. No... No, I've already been over that one. ------------- [b]8:00 A.M.[/b] The keys were inside the bulb of a lamp post down on 17th. I thumbed it carefully, feeling a bubble of hope build in the pit of my stomach as I entered the post office box. What would they give me this time? It was sort of like Christmas in the way that I never really knew what I was going to be given-- but I always knew that each and every single item had a purpose, even if they appeared to be utterly useless. For example, consider the following: A few years ago, my target had been one who I would remember as 'Joey The Dentist'. A terribly nervous fellow with ties to several brutal murders of young female patients. Upon arriving to the UK empty handed, so as not to seem suspicious while traveling, I phoned Garth and asked for supplies needed to make the hit... "Sure thing, pretty lady," he answered sweetly. That time all I received was a condom and two tickets to ride the London Eye. Useless, you say? Yes. Yes it was. Actually-- I had pissed off G. by skipping out on some paperwork. He screwed me over hard on that one (As for Joey, I ended up having to suffocate him with the rubber...and P.S. the Eye was not nearly as wonderful as they had made it seem in the pamphlets). As I inserted the keys and received the relatively small box, I racked my brain trying to think if there was anything I had done recently to piss him off, because let me tell ya' Hell hath no fury like a gay man's vengeance. It was smaller, maybe about the size of a shoe box, but it was also weighty. Glancing at the clock I figured it would be best to open it back at the house where I could open it before Mr. Perfect woke up and probably would offer to make breakfast. I grimaced. Had I really just referred to him as [i]Mr. Perfect[/i]? Mockingly, so. But still. "Head in the game, Deblin." -------------- [b]8:40 A.M.[/b] I had made it back into his apartment quiet enough that he didn't seem wake up. Good. Ducking behind my sheet wall palace, I changed back into the shirt he lent me and sat cross legged on the bed with my parcel, crossing my fingers for the keys to a military tank. A girl could only dream, though. Here's what I got: A cell phone (Untraceable, the standard) A credit card (Ooo, platinum...) A Glock (Thank you, Lord.) Four Bullets Keys to a Toyota Corolla (Fancy? No. Discreet? Yes.) More condoms (though I suspected by now that it was included for sentimental reasons. Fuck-you-very-much, Garth you old Queen). A wad of stripper bills (ehm, that is to say, they were all singles) And lastly, two envelopes. One labeled "Robert" and the other "Michael". I hesitated. I hadn't asked for Garth to pull up Michael's file, and I knew he wouldn't have included it simply to jerk my chain. [i]Then again... only one way to find out[/i]. I began ripping at the corners of the envelope when I heard the window slide open.... A tall, shadowy figure carrying a sack stepped into the room. I rolled my eyes. Of all things, a burglar. I shoved my box of goods into the corner, and resisted giving a small sigh. [i]You sure picked the wrong place to rob, buddy.[/i] I didn't even bother to take the Glock, I wouldn't need it. The man was clearly not a professional with the way he moved around the furniture clumsily and bumped his shin on every corner. I tapped him on the shoulder. "Helloooo" he whispered, "You must be Ashl--" [i][b]Fwump.[/b][/i] "What's in the bag you got there, slick?" "AHCK! S-Stop-- that's my thfffooaaat!" "Tell me who do you work for--" "Michael! Help! Miii--ARCK!" "Shut up." We both froze a moment as we heard Michael say somewhere from his bed: "Awww come on Boon you promised!". I tightened my sleeper hold on the man as we froze in position while Michael made his way to the bathroom and flushed a moment later. The stupid dog even missed that I was a few feet away in the shadows. [i]Boon you idiot... What if this had been an actual hitman? There goes your career as a guard dog...[/i] I felt the man's frame go slack in my arms. Fainted. But I knew not for long. "MICHAEL GET HER OFF ME!" he screamed so suddenly, for a split second I marveled his ability to fake passing out. The lights came on, but not before I could release my grip and press myself to the corner of the wall. I tried to look as innocent as possible. The sack that the burglar had been holding had spilled open on to the floor: Rocks. Or technically, fish fossils. "What the-- Ashley are you alright?!" "Ashley? What about me?" Eric protested, turning to face me for the first time, tall lanky and terrified. "You came in through the window" I stated, attempting to sound shaken with fear rather than anger, which was how I really felt. "I [i]always[/i] come in through the window. Tell her Mike." Eric holds up his hands and makes a cross with his fingers...squints at my shirt (or rather, Michael's shirt) and then takes the time to flash a thumbs-up to Micheal. He mimes the word 'Nice'.