Malachi

****

   'ISN'T it hard for your mother, being a single parent?'

   'Is it hard?' I repeated Cherry's question. On the witness stand of West Civil Court, I looked at mom before I could answer, 'I-I don't know'.

   'But you should know, because you're the one affected by it', Cherry reproached my answer.

   Cherry was hot.

   Like a hypnotising compass, her body distracted my every stutter when I tried to answer her questions. 'Okay', she continued, 'let me put it this way; in the space of five years you've transferred from high school to high school, living in six different apartments; this is your sixth, correct?'

   'Yes'.

   'Poor man. That must be tiring for you -'

'Objection! Counsel is testifying', shouted Arian Soro, mom's lawyer. Each time Adrian made a good point, mom looked at dad. Dad returned a grumpy face. They mimed and made faces at each other. Voices of the councils, audience and everyone around me became but a mute blur. I couldn't follow the law. It confused me. Even something as simple as divorce.

   'When your mom lived with your father, were you ever moving around this much?' Cherry asked.

    'No'.

   'Because you were stable, more comfortable, never had to keep making new friends in new schools?'

  'Erm', I looked at mom, 'right'.

   'And now that your mother works, you find that she is always absent from the house, therefore can't fully attend to all your needs?'

   'No-err', mom had that scary look on her face, and I didn't know what she wanted me to say anymore, 'a-actually that's not true'.

   'So, she doesn't always come home late at night?'

   'No. Actually, sometimes she brings all her work friends over to our house. They always stay late -'

   'So instead of working late in her office with her detectives, she brings work home, to you? How many days a week does she do that?' Cherry asked, eyeing mom.

   'A lot - like, five days a week, or everyday', I replied.

   'And that doesn't get isolating? Lack of privacy in your own apartment? No space to do your homework, or even bring your friends over -'

   'Objection', Adrian shouted. People chatted, 'relevance?' Mom's eagle-eyes examined Cherry. They resented each other.

   'Your honour', Cherry addressed, 'the plaintiff's motion for a divorce must always consider the child's wellbeing -'

   'Okay, erm - sustained', judge Curtis yelled impatiently. Adrian grinned. Caught by surprise, Cherry lost her flow.

   'Alright', Cherry took a deep breath, then grinned at dad. Not good. When mom saw them scheming, it was never good. 'Malachi?'

   'Yes!' my attention dived directly into Cherry's eyes.

   'Do you consider your mom a responsible parent?'

   'More responsible than dad? Yeah', I replied. Mom smiled, 'why?'

   'Would you care to identify the people in this photograph?' she asked, projecting a photograph on the TV.

   'Objection!' Adrian shouted again, 'how did you get this photo? It's an infringement of my client's privacy, so should be inadmissible!'

   'Posted on the website: Gossip Island?' Cherry added, 'it's a public photo'.

   'But it's inside my client's home, where privacy is expected - and it's obviously an illegal photo taken by one of Rhonda Height's P. I's!' No matter how hard Adrian tried to fight, the publicity's sympathy had turned. Cherry and Adrian's voices overlapped as they argued.

   Mom looked paralysed.

   Deathly silence endured in the courtroom. It was a picture of mom half-naked, leaning over and kissing a man who wasn't dad. Mom was easy to identify, but the man wasn't.

   He was black, but his head was turned.

   'Do you call this, responsible? If Sky wishes to divorce on the grounds of infidelity and wants alimony, shouldn't she first consider her own infidelity?' Cherry articulated, 'therefore your honour, we ask that my client be granted an APL'. Mom knew if dad applied for an APL, it would stall the divorce and mom's alimony.

   'Objection! Inaccuracy!'

   'How do you mean, Mr. Soro?' Judge Curtis asked.

   'The original photo could've been taken at any point before my client signed a prenuptial agreement with Nigel', Adrian argued, 'therefore on the grounds of infidelity, after eleven years of being married and unemployed to take care of her husband and raise her children, a divorce with alimony is my client's full right'. Cherry reproached.

   Everyone argued.

   'Okay', judge Curtis interrupted, scratching his old grey afro, 'here's an idea: unless the defence council can proof date-and-time of the original photograph of Mrs. Cordero and - this other man, your motion to an APL is denied'.

   'But your honour -'

   'I don't want buts, I want evidence', Curtis interrupted Cherry, 'so tell me when your photo was taken, then we'll think about Nigel's APL. How about a recess?' BANG went his gavel to the desk. Cherry and her council rushed like pigeons out of the courtroom. Why fight so hard for a murderous brute?

   'Yeah! You better hurry up and get that evidence, Cherry!' mom shouted sarcastically, 'bitch!'

   I sighed.

****

   WEBBYS High School was about an hour from home, and it was my latest school. Being new to every school in Chicago had become a common thing to me; I was used to it. Averill Amane was the only thing original, the school's famous blogger, and a singer. Naturally, Webbys rich and popular girl was a priceless commodity to the school. Cherry was right.

   It got tiring.

   However, out of all the schools I attended ever since dad left, this school was the poshest, noblest in architect design, flamboyant in deco-vintage pillar patterns, and roasted with paths of stone. We didn't have uniform (phew), but we did have a dress code: smart. My rule was: stay out of jeans. I tried that one day, and the same day I was sent home for my shoes: Jordans. Then, it took me an hour from school just to find out I was locked out of home!

   Home?

   Home was more like a detective bureau for mom. It was the nicest place we could afford ever since mom sold our old house, with a nice wall-window, marble-surfaced kitchen tables and a balcony. But it was supposed to be a home. Sometimes, I still couldn't believe the world's greatest hacker was sitting in my living room: JigSaw. Although I expected him to be a little taller, JigSaw was cool. He was skinny, and his grey leather jacket was zipped always.

   'Why do they call you JigSaw?' I asked him, leaning over to his side as squeezed my remote. We played Criminal Cop.

   'That's a long story', he replied.

   'Long? Mmmh, really?' I sneered, trying to be tricky, 'so what? Does it go back to your childhood? Or was it just a name you picked from a horror film?' I looked directly at the game.

JigSaw laughed, 'you seem like a smart kid', violently smashing buttons on his remote. Along the way he showed me impossible cheat codes, 'like, someone who is brave and - protective'.

   'Protective?' I froze. As soon as he said protective, I flashbacked to Mori, my little sister, being yanked out of the house by dad, and how I failed to save her. Her tears... spilling on my t-shirt... "Malachi? What's going on?" Watching him come upstairs... I knew he was gonna take one of us, but... 'no. you're wrong'.

   'What do you mean, kid?'

   'I'm not protective', I mumbled, putting down my remote; I was losing anyway. I couldn't stop him. I made a promise to Mori that I would always protect her, even if it was from the malice in our own family... but when he grabbed her tiny feet, as she screamed, I became powerless, 'I'm anything but protective'.

   'Are we wallowing in self-pity?' JigSaw scorned, nudging my shoulder playfully.

   'I had a sister once', I said. He froze, turned away, then gazed at the carpet ground, 'if I was protective, she'd still be alive'. The more I thought about Mori's death, the more violent my heart became...

   BANG - The front door opened.

   'You did this, Rengi! You wrecked my life!' mom stormed into the house, 'the photographs? Really?!'

   'Sky, what are you talking about?' JigSaw defended himself. Mom switched of the TV.

   'I'm sending your ass back to jail!' mom continued, 'we made a deal that you wouldn't use the emails you hacked, so you use photos?!' The contortions on JigSaw's face grew tight. Mom put JigSaw on house arrest to monitor him so he wouldn't just escape, and if he was out, she would have primary supervision of him. She needed to make sure he stuck to some deal they made.

   'Photos? What photos?' he squirmed, clueless.

   'Don't act dumb - you know what photos!'

   'No, I really don't'.

   'You don't? So how did they get on Gossip Island?' mom whinged.

   'If Cherry found photos of you and Adrian, then decided to use it in court against you, then she obviously did her own digging. Really. Pictures are not my style. I don't stalk people'.

   'But you hack them!' mom nagged. I always wondered where his title "JigSaw" came from, and if it was something to do with his skill. Mom was like a lion when she argued. JigSaw couldn't even get a word out.

   Frustration.

   The solitary place of discomfort never ended for me whenever mom brought over her issues. I switched the TV back on. Enjoying the time when it was just mom and I at home was no longer possible. I had to use distractions, like the TV, to diffuse myself from the heat of the atmosphere, arguments. The news. Maybe that would clear my mind from thinking about Mori.

    Simultaneously, mom and JigSaw froze.

    'Mom?' I looked back at her and JigSaw. The news. I looked at mom again, then the news... 'oh'.

    'Hello, Chief Commissioner Colan', mom received a call from one of her work friends, 'yes, I am seeing the news'. The news stated that four specific women, all wives, had gone missing two days ago, 'no sir, don't you worry sir. We are doing the best we can to - yes, I know your wife is among them - yes sir, but I can't... no sir, you don't understand. We are trying... hello?'

    ...The channel switched to one of mom's usual conference channels, Chrome casted from her cell phone. A videocall. This was no conference. Mom could see directly on her phone what JigSaw and I were seeing on TV. Four women, bound hands and feet, mouths sealed. All four women wore time-bomb-vests, counting down. All trapped in a soiled tower building, soon to be knocked down, sweat drenched their skin, and dust brushed over their bodies.

   'Th-this is how you treated us', one of them on the TV squirmed with fear, 'this is how you treated us...' she repeated. This was how who treated who? Her words... were scripted, like she was being forced to say them.

   I stood.

   'Mom, who called you?' I asked, but she just stood there... paralysed, a symptom of her trauma, 'mom?'

   Post-traumatic-stress-disorder...

   The fashion in which all four women were tied, confided... it must've reminded her of something of the past. Strangely, JigSaw's reaction was identical to mom's, his face just as rigid. Mom dropped her phone, just as it began ringing. I picked it up, but my attention reverted to the TV.

   'If you're witnessing these four gorgeous women being tortured, wondering why I'm using them today...' the TV started speaking, 'it's because I want to fuck them', said the man on the TV. His voice was heard, but his face was not seen. Again, mom's phone started ringing.

   I answered it.

   'Sky! Are you seeing this?!' said a loud man over the receiver, 'this guy is psychotic! Sky?'

   'Erm... thi-this is - erm', I glanced at mom. Mom didn't look like she would talk anytime soon, 'Sky's not available right now -'

   'Who is this?' the loud man asked.

   'Malachi'.

   'Malachi? What - the kid?' the man grumbled with urgency, 'tell your mom, Tye Rosen needs to speak to her'. Mom's friends were currently viewing the hostage women as we saw it, 'kid, hello?'

   'Mom, this is important!' I whispered, but she didn't respond. Those women had to be saved. Again, I eyed the TV.

   'Just kidding!' the man joked, 'I'm not going to fuck them. Ha! These old hags?! Nah, I have something better in plan'. Gross. He squeezed one of the women's cheeks, tears smudged all over her face. I didn't know what to be angrier at: Nigel drowning Mori, or the hostage women used as leverage.

   'Hunter's gone commando', JigSaw murmured beside me. Mom snatched her phone away from me and walked to the kitchen. By the look on her face I could tell; mom's life was going to hell.

   'Hunter?' I asked JigSaw, 'who's Hunter?' but he didn't say anything, just kept watching.

   'Can I just shout out to my favourite friend, Skyler Mitchel, Chief of the MPD? She knows exactly what this tie is', he said, demonstrating the way he tied the women to poles, as if they were to be flogged in a sexual session of S&M. Mom held her phone to her ear, while watching the man on the TV. The man on the TV... was Hunter?! But how did he know mom?!

   I didn't get it.

   'Hunter?' mom shuddered, with a very delicate voice.

   'It's been a while Skyler. Nice to hear from you. How's your kid?' Hunter replied casually on the TV, 'you know, the one who's still alive?'

   'What do you want?' mom asked.

   'I want you to join me', he replied. What the - Mom become a criminal?! I laughed... but was I the only one who found that amusing?

   'No!' mom yelled, 'what do you want in return for those women free? They are innocent! They have nothing to do with this!'

   'But their husbands' may...' he countered, 'all four of them. And you know what's even more coincidental about their husbands? They all used to work in Martial's office'. The District Attorney was involved?

   'But those women are innocent! So, let them go!' Mom demanded.

   'Since you're being stubborn as usual, fine', Hunter complied, 'I'll settle for eight-point-nine billion'.

   'Eight-point-nine billion?!' mom repeated. In distress, she coned her forehead.

   'How much are your women worth?' Hunter challenged mom, speaking indirectly, 'if you don't want to see them die...'

   'Give me a time and place', mom demanded.

   Hunter laughed, 'time and place? This isn't a drop. We did those back in the days. This is a transfer', he explained. 'Each bomb is set for eight hours. If you don't want to see these lovely ladies explode, eight-point-nine-billion must be transferred into my account before then'.

   Those women were going to be tied in that position for eight hours?

   'Where are the women?' mom asked. Behind the hostages, Chicago's cityscape was exposed, meaning they were at least ten storeys or higher above ground level. No glass windows, no walls, 'where are they?!'

   'The sooner you send me the money, the sooner their bombs will be deactivated', said Hunter, 'the sooner I'll send you to them'.

   'We can't raise eight-point-nine billion in eight hours!' mom grunted.

   'Then prepare to see these ladies die'.

   'Hunter!' mom screamed, 'son-of-a -'

   'Mom!' I shouted, finally realizing something, 'they're in the scaffoldings!'

   'What?!' mom snapped.

   'The scaffoldings - behind Covington where dad used to work, the old tower buildings that are going to be knocked down - that's where they are!' I could tell from the A&C brand in the background. After three more circles of thought, mom paused. She'd finally decided something.

   'Rengi!' she called, 'you come with me. Malachi, stay home'.

   'What?!' I grumbled, 'but that's not fair!' Mom always thought just because she was chief, she could handle all the action by herself. A scenario from the past. A flashback. When she chased after dad, the idiot who killed Mori, she said the exact same thing! It was always, "Malachi, stay home". 'But mom - you don't know where the building is! You won't get there fast enough without me!'

   'I said stay home!' she concluded.

   'But please - I can help!'

   'Malachi!' Her command was final. I grumbled inwardly.

   'Do your homework, or something', JigSaw added, heading out the door with mom.

   'But mom!' I challenged her again, 'don't you think leaving me alone is dangerous? Hunter knows you. What if he comes after me next?!' They froze. Then JigSaw and mom looked at each other.

   It was a good point, and they knew it!

****

   FIFTEEN minutes later, I remained home alone, until one of mom's entourage detectives appeared at the front door.

   'Who are you?'

   'I'm Bertha', she replied, 'your bodyguard'. Bertha was a gigantic, black lady who looked like she could kill a man just by sitting on them, taller than mom, and younger. She wore a navy-blue suit and tie, over it a long coat with a badge on it.

   'My bodyguard?' I repeated, 'I don't need a bodyguard -'

   'Hey!' she yelled, making my heart jump, 'my orders come from my chief, Sky, and if Sky says I'm your bodyguard, I'm your bodyguard'.

   Perfect.

   I grunted, knowing I shouldn't have opened my big mouth and made such a stupid suggestion like, "leaving me alone is dangerous". Now, I had a babysitter. For the whole time, she walked in a panicky mood around our kitchen, making important phone calls like mom usually would. Also, on her laptop, she kept an eye on the hostage women that Hunter had tied bombs to, anticipating his next moves.

   The kitchen. A place of thrills and action.

   'Hey', she glanced at me, whilst on the phone, 'you alright son? Want some Chinese or sut'm?'

   'No thanks', I mumbled, sitting and contemplating ways in which I could help mom. An opportunity. That's all I sought. DING-DONG. 'Someone's-at-the-door-can-I-get-it?' I rushed.

   'No! Hang on', said Bertha. She pulled out a gun. I rolled my eyes.

   'Who is it?' I asked. As I peered through my hole, I noticed the back of someone's head; a girl, with long black hair and wearing a pink jacket. She turned around. It was only then, that I recognized... 'oh my god'.

   Bertha clicked her gun.

   'What?' she snapped. Miss Amane. The rich, popular girl from Webbys? Raptured by her beauty and swag, I would stare at her from secret distances, imagining movie frames of her, close-ups, zoom-ins, like she was a reality TV show. Although she wasn't very nice to me the first time I met her, I still felt some sort of urge to say I watched her blogs. I opened the door.

   'Averill Amane?'

   'Hello-oh. Eurgh. It's you', she replied, peering curiously into my house, 'I thought the chief of the MPD lived here'. Curtesy was not her virtue.

   'She does', I replied. In fact, Averill was just as stuck-up and as arrogant as any rich kid in Webbys would be. The only difference was, she was the whitest black girl I'd ever seen.

   'Then where is she?' she flicked her hair, and titled her palm out as if she were Princess Peach, 'and why are you here?'

   'Uh... she's my mom'.

   'What?' she snapped, 'the chief of MPD... is your mom? No way!' She waltzed right in, 'but you're just the school's basic-boy'. Well, thank you for the compliment, 'I need to speak to the chief immediately'.

   'Who's this? Your girlfriend?' Bertha asked, leaning on the wall.

   'Who is that?' miss Amane retorted, pointing at Bertha. Awkward.

   'I'm his bodyguard. And you are...?'

   'Averill Amane. My parent's own half of Covington. My grandfather is a Senator of Illinois', she articulated, 'I came on behalf of Senator Julius, to speak to the chief of the MPD personally'.

   'And why do you need to speak to the chief personally?' Bertha intruded.

   'Eurgh. Never mind. I don't want to spill confidential information to the basic-boy's buffalo bodyguard. I'm leaving'.

   'Who you callin' a buffalo, Pocahontas?' Bertha rowed. Averill raised an eyebrow at the phrase "Pocahontas". I didn't like where this was going.

   'No - Averill, wait!' I called, following her out the door. Firmly, I grabbed her palm. She turned around. Crap! I just grabbed Averill Amane's hand! 'Erm - sorry', immediately, I let go. Her eyes looked pleadingly into mine. I swelled like it was stage fright, 'I could-err, take a message?'

   'My grandmother, Senator Julius' wife, is one of the captives that terrorist took! I need to save my grandmother, and I am willing to contribute five-billion to the request of the terrorist to save her'.

   'Five bill -' In shock, I took a breath, then rephrased, 'five-billion?'

   'Yes?' Averill shook her head, 'is it not enough? Do you need more?'

   'No-no... that's...' Eight-point-nine billion was the cap Hunter requested. Five-billion was already over half the amount. First thing was first: Where did Averill find out about my mother's case and Hunter's demand? Second, why specifically were they the wives of men who used to work in the State? Third, how did Averill Amane's grandmother ever get involved?

'What?' said Averill, eyes watering. For about thirty seconds, I gazed at her.

   'I want to help you', I blurted. So stupid. That was the dumbest thing I'd said all day, but I said it, 'I'm going to help you'.

   'How?'

   'I don't know. But I can assure you - your grandmother's going to be safe'.

****

   THIRTY seconds later.

   As my bodyguard made continuous phone calls inside the kitchen of our house, I stood face-to-face in the hallway with Averill...

   'Well, come-on basic boy! Let us get going', Averill hurled, yanking my arm. Basic boy was in a dilemma. Mom's detective friend had eyes perpetually on me, because of orders. On the other hand, the stirring eagerness inside of me to help Averill didn't settle, 'I can't just stand here knowing my grandmother's wearing a bomb vest!'

   'Averill', it growled my insides to say this, 'be my girlfriend'. She blushed.

   'What?!'

   'It's the only way I can escape from my house without having my bodyguard follow us around. We're - we're on a date'.

   'Date?! Why not homework at the library, or - sports?'

   'My mom's bodyguard has police-granted authority to eavesdrop into all our conversations. If she finds out how much money you're planning to put into this, she'll report it to my mom'.

   'Yes, genius. That is what I intended', Averill moaned.

   'If you even mention your knowledge of the hostages, by law my bodyguard can arrest you! That's all confidential information! The news doesn't even know about it yet!' I explained. She gazed at me with weary eyes, 'listen! We're on a date. That way my guard will have a lesser impulse to eavesdrop'.

   'Your guard is a buffalo. Even if we ran away, she wouldn't catch us', Averill scorned.

   'You'd be surprised', I warned, looking back at my bodyguard in the kitchen. Bertha. What a typical assistant name. 'Understand this: my bodyguard is a solemn disciple of my mom, and would do anything to make sure her foremost orders are met. If I can't leave the house, I can't help you'.

   Averill flicked her long hair, and at the thought of it rolled her eyes. I was eager, 'I don't care. So long as this saves my grandmother', she agreed. Inhale. Exhale. This was the first time I'd ever schemed something with a mean girl. I nodded. Then, I confronted my bodyguard.

   'I'm taking Averill on a date', blurted, without a second's thought of rephrase. Bertha eyed me. Then, she laughed.

   'Ah-ha! I'm not so easily fooled, you rebel', Bertha replied, continuing her conversation on the phone. Adults. So rude! 'We and your mom are in a dangerous stitch. My orders are to protect you'.

   'But-but it's meant to be today - Averill and I planned it!'

'Cancel it. How about another day?' Bertha muttered.

   'No!' I proclaimed. Bertha's face dropped as she eyed me, 'it has to be today! Averill came from - so far away so that I could do this for her'. I nudged Averill forward, 'ain't that right, Averill?'

   'Yes - yes that's... right', she stage-acted, 'we arranged this, ages ago', like seconds ago, 'and it would be quite insulting -'

   'Hold on', Bertha interrupted, 'Ima see what Sky has to say, 'bout this', making an immediate call to my mom. Crap! Averill's angry eyes expanded to the point of explosion. Mom knew my intensions inside out. 'Yo chief', she begun. My stomach churned, expecting the worst, hoping for the best, 'your son's taking a girl out on a date today. Do you know about it... yeah?... uh-huh...' Gradually, as Bertha walked back into the Kitchen, her phrases diminished to stutters.

   Ambiguity.

   Stillness was hard to read, but Averill read otherwise. 'I think your scheme worked basic-boy'. Did it?

   'Are you freakin kiddin' me? Bertha moped, returning a dreary face, 'I hate this job'.

   'Let's go, basic', said Averill, tugging my arm. It worked? What did my mom even say? Just under the front door frame, Bertha stopped us.

   'You do realize I'm supervising you. I'll be surveillin' your e'rvy moves. Orders. So, no kissing'. Averill rolled her eyes. Great. My bodyguard was onto us after all. Now, Averill and I really had to go on a pretend date!

****

   CREAMY Dreams ice-cream parlour. That was the location Averill and I decided on, as we drove in her cherry-pink SUV. Their music was loud, their lights were dim, and their appetisers were distracting enough for the bodyguard. About three meters across from us, on the other side of the shop, Bertha folded her arms, and watched us. Also, she drank a deluxe milkshake.

   'So the five-billion -'

   'Averill, hold up!' I exclaimed, hushing her down, 'you can't just say five-billion, or hostages, or bombs out loud', I warned her. She grew angry, 'detectives in my mom's department have special eavesdropping gadgets that allow them to hear convo's from a mile away.'

   'So, what am I supposed to discuss with you?' she snapped, with attitude.

   'We use codes', I suggested, 'the five-billion you plan to invest, are the apples, the hostages are the bananas, and the bombs are oranges'. She grumbled.

   'Fine. The apples that I'm willing to give to Hunter -'

   'No-sshh! Cake'.

   'The apples that I'm willing to give to cake, to save my banana from the oranges, come from the family account. Senator Julius doesn't know, but I'm acting on my instincts'.

   'Okay, although your grandad is an Illinois Senator, you can't say Senator Julius either -'

'Oh - she's a mile away from us, basic! What kind of ridiculous vernacular is this? Apples? This is serious!'

   'I know', I whispered, 'but the possibility of you getting arrested is also serious. Senator can be the marshmallow'.

   'Why would I get arrested for helping?!'

   'You wouldn't get arrested for helping. You would get arrested for knowing too much, which brings me to my next point; how is your gr-banana connected to cake? Cake is doing this because of your marshmallow. The bananas are innocent! Cake is using this to get back at the marshmallows'. Averill knew that her grandad had some involvement in Hunter's exterior motive.

   'My dad got a videocall', Averill begun, uncomfortably, 'I picked it up. It was my grandmother on a pole, screaming with four other women'. My bodyguard grew sharp eyes on Averill, 'I don't know why he's after my gr-marshmallow! What did my marshmallow ever do to make cake angry?'

   'That's what I would like to know'.

   'But-I...' she stammered, then froze. Something. There was something she didn't want to contribute, 'have you ever heard of The Tower Homes?' Tower Homes? I leaned in. However, behind Averill sat two men in black, wearing shades. I turned. Bertha wasn't in her original place.

'No. I haven't', I said. In the corner of my eye, more suspicious men moved.

   Outside.

   'They're the mysterious towers behind Arvel Covington, very tall buildings, grey, with blocked out windows...' Behind Arvel Covington? It reminded me of the same abandoned buildings the hostages were held. No-one ever spoke of those ancient towers, those deteriorating blocks of mortar. All we knew, was that they were old buildings to be knocked down and renewed.

   'What about the towers?'

   'They were towers built for foster children, treated inadequately. After delving into one of my grandfather's old case files, I found a register of all the names of the children who lived there... Hunter came up -'

   'Averill!'

   'Sorry - I mean cake!'

   'No! Duck!' I screamed. The men from behind grabbed Averill by the neck, injecting a pink serum into her. Instinctively, I ducked and slid all the way to the corner of the chair. Who were they? What did they know?! Eavesdroppers. They weren't detectives, or the FBI, but their dress code was distinctive; secret government agents. Averill's face banged to the table.

   Was she... dead?

   'Argh!' I chocked, as one of them strangled me. The needle was sharp. It pointed at me, 'no!'

   'Not on my watch!' A voice yelled; someone fought on our behalf.

   'My bodyguard!' Eureka. One by one, as Bertha boxed them, the men toppled over. At her fighting ability and pace, I was stunned, 'that's right! The rest of you rats get lost!' she yelled as they ambushed.

   'Bertha!' I cried.

   'Yeah, me', she replied, 'sorry your date di'nt go all creamy-dreamy, but I think it's time we left...' She tossed the unconscious Averill over her shoulders as we left Creamy Dreams.

   Averill. Was she dead?

****

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