TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (10 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TEN
BLIMEY, THAT HURTS!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The low cleavage and high hem line on Audrey's clothes
weren't exactly subtle. However, Constantine Morgan wasn't
exactly a subtle man. She just hoped that flirting with the
man would be enough.

As she walked through the offices of Ass-Kickers, Inc.,
she felt like the smallest person in the world. God, they
look like a bunch of elephants that learned to walk
upright, she thought as she saw the massive office workers.
It did not make her comfortable, especially with their eyes
crawling over her exposed chest.

Still, she walked on until she reached the door marked
"CONSTANTINE MORGAN -- FUCKER-IN-CHARGE."
Next to the door was a desk with another large man sitting
behind it. According to the name plate, his name was
'Blood-Sucker' and he had a hairy, scarred face. He could
also type sixty-words-a-minute with no mistakes.

"Um, I'm Miss Bjorg," she said. "I'm here to see Mr.
Morgan."

'Blood-Sucker' looked her over, then yelled out, "Hey,
boss, Miss Bjorg wants you!"

"Heh, heh!" a voice chuckled behind the door. "Don't I
bloody know it! Send her in!

Aw, hell, Audrey thought. I think flirting is not going to
be enough.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Before he had found his new spirituality, November Sun had
been Larry Brecht, a rising star in the Florida crime
scene. However, even as he acquired power and wealth, he
became less and less successful at denying the emptiness
inside of him. He finally confronted the emptiness after he
had shot three guys in the back of their heads and found
nothing satisfying about it. Indeed, all the usual
pleasures had lost their flavor. Neither a blow job from
the warmest female mouths or snorting the purest cocaine
had any satisfaction left for him.

It was around this time that Brecht discovered a book
called "Unleashing Your Divinity" written by The
Enlightened Master Pali Saruvilimaticak. He found all the
answers he was looking for. Using the Enlightened Master's
detailed plan of meditation, soul-searching and the
occasional colonic, Brecht walked a new path which would
one day bring him to the Highest Circle -- the most sublime
pinnacle of spiritual actualization. That's how Brecht
became November Sun. In between ordering hits and shaking
down businesses, he sought his own inner nirvana.

Along the way, he developed an interest in 'exotic' belief
systems. One of these was voodoo. His research into that
led him to Jean Estime.

Now he was hoping that he knew enough to perform a
ceremony himself. He had seen the altar Estime had created
and remembered enough of the details, especially the can of
Budweiser in the middle. When he had asked Estime about
that, the zobop had shrugged and said, "This is a funny
kind of baka. In fact, I'm not sure it's technically even a
baka. I came across it by accident. Still, it can get the
job done."

November Sun hoped so.

He took a breath and started.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After their respective interviews, Mulder met up with the
two Miami detectives at the police department. "Anything
new?" he asked.

Miles and Carranza shook their heads. Mulder sighed and
rubbed his eyelids.

"We're kind of in a difficult position here, Mulder,"
Miles said.

"To put it in a fucking mild way," Carranza muttered.

"You want us to believe that Hall Enterprises and Ass-
Kickers, Inc. are involved in a war? We do. But so far,
we've got nothing usable against either of them. We need
more than just a lot of insinuation about voodoo. We need
some kind of provable connection."

Mulder nodded. "Maybe we need a new viewpoint."

"From who?"

"That's up next. Anything new about Scully?"

Before Miles and Carranza could shake their heads again,
Mulder said, "Never mind. Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Mulder was looking for a new viewpoint, Morgan was
enjoying his viewpoint on Audrey's tits. "Soooo... whatcha
want to talk about exactly?"

Audrey squirmed in her chair. To Morgan sitting on the
edge of his desk, it looked like she was jiggling herself
for his pleasure. His grin widened and displayed more of
his gold caps in his mouth.

"I want to talk about...you not getting bought out by Hall
Enterprises."

Morgan's smile vanished. "Huh? Where the fuck did you hear
that?"

"Nowhere. I know that you regard Hall Enterprises as your
enemy..."

"You bet your sweet arse I do."

"...but Oscar Hall is approaching a billion dollars in
worth. If he offered a large sum of money to buy you out,
would you take it?"

"Fuck, no! This is my fuckin' business and I'm not lettin'
any Yank nancy boy take it over! And if he ever does come
around and make an offer, I'll tell him to take his money
and stick it up..."

Audrey said a number. Morgan blinked.

"He...he could offer that much?"

"Yes. And he wouldn't give you any shit about running the
company or how you used the land. He wouldn't care about
that. All he would want is the lease of Jeremiah Bay."

"Well, that makes no bloody sense. What's the point of
havin' the lease then?"

Audrey was on the verge of giving an answer. Rules were
still rules, though. "I don't know what his reasons are,"
she said. "The question is -- how would you react to such a
deal?"

Morgan crossed his arms and looked the lawyer over.
"You're pretty fuckin' desperate, ain't you?"

She kept quiet.

"You know, you seem smart enough not to let yerself get
tied to those old losers. How did you end up on their side
anyway?"

"I have...a certain association with them. Are you really
interested in that?"

Morgan's eyes went down to her smooth, muscular legs.
"Nah. Not really." His eyes bounced up to her face.
"So...he would really make me this offer?"

"It's possible."

"Huh. Well, I admit that I'm kinda two minds on this..."

I'm not sure you have one, Audrey thought.

"On one hand, fuckin' Hall Enterprises are pissin' on my
territory. If they want to fight..."

Morgan smacked the dent on his head. Audrey winced.

"...I'll take the whole fuckin' lot of them. On the other
hand...if Hall would really make that offer..."

"It's in everybody's best interest that you don't."

"Howzthat?"

Shit, Audrey thought. I said too much. She closed her
mouth while Morgan waited for an answer.

"Won't say, huh?" Morgan said. "Well, you gonna have to
convince me that it's not in *my* interests, girly." He
grinned. "Any ideas on how you're gonna convince me?"

This was it. Audrey had to either grab the bull by the
balls or leave. She opened her mouth...

"Hey, asshole, you can't go in..."

Bump. Crash.

Audrey spun around to the door. It opened.

He walked in.

They saw each other.

No, no, she thought. Not him. I can deal with anybody but
him.

He looked at her and she wondered if he recognized her.
That was impossible, of course. All the memories he would
have of her would be faint dreams.

But would that be enough?

He continued to stare at her. He does know me, Audrey
thought. He...

"What the fuck are you doin' here?"

Walter Skinner looked up from the startled black woman and
towards the trembling Englishman. "I'm..."

"Get out of here, you fuckin' arsehole!"

Morgan strode towards Skinner and pushed him, jarring the
assistant director back a half-foot.

Skinner did not like being pushed.

When Morgan extended his arms to push again, Skinner
grabbed them and swung. Morgan was banged up against a wall.

The pain only made Morgan angrier. He roared and charged
at Skinner.

He may have been angrier, but he wasn't any faster.
Skinner blocked Morgan's punch with his forearm, then
reached out and grabbed him behind the neck. He flung
Morgan towards another wall, knocking down photos of
English soccer teams.

This time, Morgan took a few moments to collect himself
before he made another go at Skinner. The assistant
director punched him in the eye. As Morgan stumbled,
Skinner clutched him by the shirt, ran him over to his desk
and forced his face down onto the polished wood.

That's when Morgan's extra-large office workers appeared
at the door including a bruised 'Blood-Sucker.' They saw
their boss squirming and hollering in the grip of some bald-
headed stranger.

They stepped forward.

Audrey jumped to her feet, picked up the chair and held it
high. "The first one of you steroid cases who walk through
that door will never have to look for a seat in the theater
again," she promised. "Because this one will be sticking
from your ass."

They stepped back.

"Let me go, you fuckin' prick!" Morgan screamed.

"That's Agent prick to you," Skinner replied in a quiet
voice.

Morgan stopped squirming. "Huh?"

With one hand pressing Morgan at the desk, Skinner took
out his ID card and held it next to Morgan's ear. Morgan
turned his head and saw an unsmiling face next to the words
"Assistant Director Walter Skinner."

Skinner put the ID away. "Are you going to calm down now?"

"Yeah," Morgan muttered.

Skinner pulled Morgan upright. He allowed him to stand up
straight for a moment, then slammed him back on the desk.
The office workers clenched their fists. Audrey waved the
chair as a reminder.

"Ow!" Morgan bellowed. "Goddammit!"

"Are you going to calm down?" Skinner asked again.

"Yes! Yes!"

"Okay. Just wanted to be sure."

Skinner let go of Morgan and took a step back. The
Englishman lifted himself up, but not all the way. He
remained bent over with his hands pressed on the desk.

Breathing hard, he turned his head towards Skinner. The
look in his eyes could have made flowers wilt.

Skinner accepted the look with little concern. He turned
to Audrey and saw the interception she had performed.

"Thanks for the assist," he said.

Audrey looked at the man she had loved like none other and
said, "Sure. No problem."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (11 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART ELEVEN
A LITTLE WISDOM FROM YOUR ELDERS

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They played on the beach with the knowledge that it would
likely be one of the last times they would be permitted to
do so. Some swam in the water, exposing their pale backs to
the sun. Others dug for shells, read Patricia Cornwell
mysteries or slept in lawn chairs. One of them painted. A
few just walked up and down the shoreline with sad looks on
their faces.

They all tried to avoid talking about the larger issues at
hand, but it could not be avoided at long.

"They're going to build a wrestling arena here!" Ledagam
shouted. "A goddamned wrestling arena!"

"I think they call it 'extreme fighting,'" Theon said.

"I don't care what they call it! By God, I would like to
show that son-of-a-bitch Morgan a thing or two about
wrestling!"

"Could you?" Ru said.

"Hell, yes! Remember me and Jacob? Now that was a match!"

"I remember it clearly. It finished in a draw even though
you cheated."

"I did not cheat!"

Ru shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"It would be a horrible thing," Dova observed, shivering
despite the heat. "Having such a place on consecrated
ground..."

"We have only ourselves to blame for that. We wanted to
live in this world as humans but did not consider human
law. Now all we can hope for is to make the best of this.
And make sure Oscar Hall doesn't..."

Ru saw one of the old women stop digging for shells and
look at a point behind him. He turned to see three men
approaching their loose gathering from the far end of
Jeremiah Bay.

"Who the hell are they?" Ledagam wondered.

Ru squinted through his glasses. "Is that...? Why, bless
my soul, it is."

"What?" Theon said.

"It's Agent Mulder."

"And just who the hell is Agent Mulder?" Ledagam asked.

"Just a fellow who keeps running into odd things." He
scratched his chin. "In fact...he once ran into Audrey."

"Huh?"

Ru propped himself up to his feet. "Stay here," he said.
"I'm going to have a talk with them."

With his sandals flip-flopping under his soles, Ru met the
three visitors halfway. "Good day to you, gentlemen," he
said. "May I help you?"

The tall brown-haired man looked over Ru's shoulder. "Are
we intruding on anything?"

"Oh, not at all. But you gentlemen don't look like you're
here to enjoy a good swim."

"Uh, no, we're not. I'm Agent Mulder and these are
Detectives Miles and Carranza. We've been investigating the
deaths of Downard and Kidder."

"Ah. Well, how may I help you?"

"Perhaps you can help us if we told you a little of what
we've learned so far."

"Can you do that?" Ru asked. "I mean, I don't want you
telling us of private police business..."

"No need to worry," Mulder said. "In fact, you might be
able to shed some necessary light."

"All right. What's your story?"

Mulder told it.

After he was done, Ru looked down at the sand and brushed
at it with his sandal. "Voodoo. Interesting. And you say
that this...zobop is no longer alive."

"No, sir."

Ru lifted his eyes back up to Mulder. "Interesting tale.
But I'm not sure what you think I could add to it."

"Maybe you can tell us what the Book of Asabel is."

Ru's eyes widened.

Miles and Carranza looked at Mulder in bewilderment.

"Where...where did you hear about that?" Ru asked.

"Yeah, where?" Miles said.

"A little birdie told me," Mulder responded. "But you do
know what it is, don't you?"

Ru closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them...

Mulder and the two detectives almost stepped back. There
was something different about Ru. His eyes seemed to hold a
knowledge only the foolish would dare to know. Ru still
looked old but now in the manner of a tall tree -- tough
and impervious.

"Most people haven't even heard of the Book of Asabel.
Usually those who know about it have gifts beyond the
limits of humanity or are just insane." Ru tilted his head
to the side. "You don't look particularly insane, Agent
Mulder."

Mulder cleared his throat. "Nevertheless, I have heard of
it. Can you tell me what it is?"

Ru closed his eyes again and kept them shut for a long time.

Then he opened them. "Yes. I can."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After Skinner received promises that none of Morgan's
oversized thugs would harm him, Audrey was sent outside.
She stood outside the small office building of Ass-Kickers,
Inc. It was located in one of the least respectable areas
of Miami. As she smoked a cigarette, she looked at the
other buildings on the block. There was a porno video
store, a dirty hotel, a tattoo parlor and a McDonald's.
Behind her was the logo of Ass-Kicker's, Inc. -- a
shirtless man drawn with comic-book exaggeration holding up
his fists and screaming with blood (presumably somebody
else's) dripping down his forehead. He looked like he
wanted to destroy the whole neighborhood.

A car pulled up to Audrey. She blinked in confusion as the
driver's window rolled down to reveal a sweating, round-
cheeked man. "How much?" he asked.

"What?"

"How much?"

When she realized what he meant, she snarled, "You mean
how much blood do you want to lose or how much bone?"

The driver jerked back as if he was struck, then stepped
on the gas. The fucking nerve! Audrey thought as she
watched the car take off. Does he think just because I'm
standing on the street that I'm...

Then she looked down at her flimsy dress and groaned.

What a day, she thought. What a job. What an impossible
job. Why was it given to her in the first place?

Because she had experience in this world. Because she knew
how to interact with humans, including the unsavory ones.

Well, it's not working, she thought. I've tried every
legal maneuver I could. When that didn't work, I pulled out
the ol' T&A. That got shot down as well. Of course, I
didn't exactly see this plan all the way to the end. Who
knows what would have happened if Skinner...

She leaned against a parking meter and closed her eyes.
Her neck grew warm under her sun. When she heard Skinner's
voice, it got even warmer.

"Ma'am, are you all right?"

She turned and saw him standing two feet away from her. He
looked as solid and strong as when she had met him before.

"Yes," she said. "I'm fine."

Skinner gave her dress the briefest of looks. Then she
said, "Good. Mind telling me what you and Mr. Morgan were
talking about?"

"I imagine it was the same thing you wanted to talk about.
Jeremiah Bay."

Skinner frowned. "How did you...?"

Audrey flicked the cigarette away. She crossed the two
feet between her and Skinner.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

Skinner gave this a little thought and said, "I guess I
have to, don't I? You've already stood up for me in a tight
spot even though I don't even know your name."

"It's Audrey. Audrey Bjorg. And, yes, I know I don't look I'm
from Iceland. Now let's talk, Skinner."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It turned out that the big federal agent hadn't really
come to ask questions of Morgan. He just wanted to shake
him up a little, see if he was willing to talk now that
Estime was dead.

Morgan wasn't willing to talk.

But he did get shaken up.

A lot.

In fact, long after Skinner had left, Morgan was still
shaking, trembling, convulsed with rage. The office workers
kept their distance from his office where the sound of
shattering glass and breaking wood had become prevalent.

In that moment, Constantine Morgan had completely
forgotten about Jeremiah Bay and Hall Enterprises and
Estime and Ass-Kickers, Inc. He only knew that a goddamned
American wanker had laid his hands on him.

And it would now be his overriding goal to kill that wanker.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"The Book of Asabel...

"I assume you know that the Bible was an edited work.
Things were removed from it for various reasons. The Gospel
of Thomas, for instance.

"You can still read the Gospel of Thomas, though. People
know of its existence. However, there were a few things
that were not only taken out but forbidden to be ever
mentioned again. The Book of Asabel was such a thing. Every
copy of it to be found was destroyed by church authorities
or religious zealots. Its removal from existence appears to
be total. To this day, even among those who know of its
existence, none are sure what it said or what made it so
frightening...so threatening...

"There are rumors, though...

"Rumors and vague legends...

"One such legend describes the Book of Asabel as being a
prophecy. A prophecy about the end of the world, much like
the Revelation of St. John.

"This was a different take on the story, however.

"In John's tale, God wins the final battle between good
and evil, between heaven and hell.

"In Asabel's version...well...there's a different outcome.
Put them side-by-side, the two stories present two possible
futures. Neither of them are guaranteed.

"If that legend is true, then you can see why people
wanted the Book of Asabel destroyed. It wouldn't be right
for the church to use a book which offered the triumph of
evil as a probable future. Revelations became the preferred
text and the Book of Asabel became a vague memory never to
be discussed in public.

"That is, if it existed at all.

"Well...that's the story. I don't know if it helped any.
Good luck with your investigation, gentlemen."

Ru turned around and began to shuffle back to his group.
Partway there, he stopped and turned back.

"You know...there is one little bit of info I've heard.
Mind you, it's just another rumor.

"Reportedly, the beginning of the Book of Asabel has the
spawn of Satan --currently termed the Anti-Christ -- taking
over a portion of land that has been personally blessed by
God. There's something about using 'the laws of Man to
usurp the will of the Lord.'"

Ru shrugged. "Just another story. Wouldn't make too much
out of it."

Ru waved his hand and continued on his way to his chair.

Neither Mulder, Miles or Carranza said anything. The only
sound they made was the hiss of their shoes as they walked
over the sand to a parked car. Silence maintained itself as
they sat there with other cars passing by on the long black
road next to Jeremiah Bay.

Naturally, it was Carranza who spoke first.

"Now *that* was fucking weird."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What did you tell them?" Dova asked as Ru settled into
his beach chair.

"Perhaps a little more than was allowed."

"What the hell does that mean?" Ledagam demanded to know.

Ru said nothing. He just closed his eyes and enjoyed the
sun's warmth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A hole was taking shape; a hole in the world of the
living. If you gazed into it, then the great traffic of
spirits was revealed to you. They floated by in a grey
ether, continuously flowing, headed for either a distant
corner of the cosmos or your own living room. Once you
looked, you realized just how small your own perceptions
had been before. You had never truly considered just how
much unseen goes on until this hole had opened and the
mysteries of death were revealed.

Wow, November Sun thought. Not bad for a beginner.

He had breached the wall between two worlds. Now he had to
find the right spirit. He shook the gourd and chanted in a
stumbling version of Haitian. Come to me, he commanded. You
who had served Jean Estime, come to me and serve my needs.

From the shadowy abysm into which it had been thrown, the
baka rose.

Come...

It passed through the grey ether of the spirit realm. The
chant was its guiding beacon.

Come...

The hole was in sight. It became faster, eager for release.

Come...

It passed through the hole...

Come...

...and hit November Sun right between the eyes.

The mobster dropped the gourd.

"Uh, hello?"

Right back at you, buddy.

"Who...who are you?"

I'm Fred Udell. Who the fuck are you?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (12 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWELVE
BAKKKA

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I tell you what, death was a helluva lot weirder than I
thought it would be.

The pain wasn't a surprise. Hell, I had already figured
out that getting shot in the chest would hurt...and I'm
glad that I got that bitch Maggie just like she got me.
Man, what was I thinking, getting in bed with that crazy
feminist cunt. I must have been real horny.

Anyway, here I am, shot in the chest. Just like I thought
it would, it hurt. And, of course, my goddamn bowels decide
to loose one more brown 'n wet load before I depart this
world. Then I die.

Next thing I know, I'm going down what looks like a
whirlpool. I'm going 'round and 'round like a turd getting
flushed. I'm thinking, this is fucking appropriate. Then I
see what's at the bottom of this whirlpool.

Man, I will not forget until my dying day what I saw...

Well, I just won't forget it, you know?

The heat...the screams...the *things* with the long
teeth...I'm heading straight for all of this. Whoa! I
thought. What did I do wrong? I mean, I'm a KKK member!
Since when do they go to hell?

I try to climb back towards the top. No good. I kept
sliding. There was nothing between me and damnation.

Then I get snatched out of the whirlpool. At first I
scream, thinking it's one of those fucking demons. But Hell
is fading away. I'm flying through all this grey shit. I
don't know where the fuck I'm going but it's gotta better
than what I was heading for, right?

Wrong.

Next thing I know, I'm face-to-face with this goddamn
nigger. He looks as surprised as me.

It turns out he's some kind of voodoo sorcerer. He was
trying to summon a baka and he got me by mistake. I'm
tempted to tell the nigger to throw me back, but...

You know. Hell is waiting.

Anyway, he's got me so he decides to hold onto me. And now
I have to answer his prayers and shit. If he wants to me to
kill something, then I have to do it.

I'm thinking, maybe this *is* hell. Me, the Grand Wizard
of the Final Chapter of the KKK reduced to a spirit working
for a nigger wizard. Christ! (Well, okay, it wasn't a big
chapter. I mean, it was just me and Maggie after that smart-
ass Nathan left and Ed got killed by a bull, but...aw, fuck
you!)

Of course, the last time Estime summoned me, he didn't
complete the ceremony. So I was stuck in fucking limbo
until I could hitch a ride on that red-haired bitch. But
then I get kicked out by...I don't know what the hell it
was.

So, I'm lurking around the shit-sucking spirit world and
hoping that Hell doesn't notice I'm not bound to any zobop
now. Finally I get summoned by you, son. And that's why I'm
inside your damn head.

Now what?

Well, I tell you what. The first thing you're going to do
is drink that beer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That limey bastard!"

Audrey got up from the booth. Skinner had to grab onto
her. "Wait a minute!" he told her.

"Let go of me! I'm gonna fuck that asshole up so badly
he's gonna feel like he's back in boarding school and
getting screwed by his classmates!"

"Hold...on." Skinner tightened his grip. Audrey was about
to attempt an break when she looked into his eyes.

He looked into hers.

They kept looking until they noticed that the rest of the
bar was looking at them -- a large white man clutching onto
the wrists of a black woman in a low-cut dress.

Audrey sat back down. Skinner let go but slowly.

"So," he said, "you were under the impression that Mr.
Morgan had the inside track on obtaining Jeremiah Bay?"

"I didn't know that Estime was dead. That tea-sucking son-
of-a-colonist-motherfucker..."

"In other words, you were willing to become an accomplice
with a murderer?"

Audrey's jaw locked tight. She and Skinner had come to a
bar in order to discuss their sides of the story. She had
told him about the Seniors (though not precisely who they
were.) He had told her about Estime and the disappearance
of Agent Scully. During that time, she had slipped into
thinking this was...the other Skinner; the one she had
known before; the one she had seen die in a backwater
Southern town; the one whose memories of her were cleansed
by the changing of time itself.

This Skinner was none of that. And she had just confessed
to something rather sordid.

"It's...more complicated than that," she said after a long
pause.

With a deadpan expression, Skinner said, "Then tell me. I
like a good story."

Audrey almost smiled. This Skinner may not have been *her*
Skinner but he was still Skinner through and through.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"That look in your eye."

"It's not a whole lot different from the one in yours,"
she said in a quiet voice.

Skinner became utterly frozen. He just kept staring
straight at Audrey even as she reached over and touched his
hand.

"I'm in a very unusual situation, Walter. I can't tell you
everything but I can say that I'm trying to do what's
right. And deep down you know that's true."

Skinner looked down at Audrey's hand.

"I'm not one to rely on any kind of intuition," he said. "I
want to be sure before I make any decision..."

He looked up.

"...but, yes, I do trust you, Audrey."

This time, Audrey did smile.

And Skinner almost smiled in return.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As mob bosses go, November Sun was an odd one. Sure, he
did the usual things like order hits and oversee drug
dealers but this whole New Age "Highest Circle" crap
confused Davey Whistler. He had been working for Sun over a
year and he still couldn't figure the whole theology out.
Attempts to read that book by Pali Saru-whatchamacallit
didn't help. Still, November Sun was still his boss and it
was his job to follow him, no matter if he sounded like a
flake. Besides, consistency can be a good thing in any
form. That's why Davey was shocked to hear, "Where the fuck
is the goddamned beer in this place?"

Davey was having a cigarette outside November Sun's
beachside mansion. He was enjoying the flavor of tobacco
along with the lulling sound of the waves when he heard
that voice through an open window. It wasn't until he
peeked inside the window that he could believe his ears.

He saw November Sun in the kitchen, tossing plastic
bottles of water over his shoulder as he searched through
the refrigerator. "Yogurt...carrots...lima beans...what the
hell is this place? Some kind of fucking rest home?"

Davey carefully walked through the back door into the
kitchen. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask
such as why November Sun had suddenly found fault with his
usual diet or why he was talking with a thick Mississippian
accent. Instead, he asked, "Can I help you, boss?"

November Sun turned to Davey with a scowl on his face.
Then he saw the cigarette in his henchman's fingers and
said, "Yeah, gimme one of those."

Smoking was another thing November Sun had disapproved of
in the past. "You can only achieve inner peace if you
cleanse yourself of all harmful chemicals," he had once
told Davey as some unlucky bastard screamed in the next
room during a session of torture. Nevertheless, Davey gave
him a cigarette and lit it up for his boss. November Sun
inhaled and let the smoke linger inside before breathing
out.

"Oh, yeah, that's what I needed," November Sun said, then
looked at Davey. "You want to help me?"

"Uh...sure, boss. Whatever you want."

"Go out and bring me enough six-packs to fill up this damn
refrigerator. While you're at it, go pick up some steaks as
well."

Davey just stood there.

"Well? Got a fucking problem with that?"

"No, boss, no," Davey said quickly. "It's just...a little
different for you."

November Sun smirked. "Oh, I think you'll find a lot of
things are going to be different here from now on."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Skinner and Audrey found Agent Mulder back at his hotel
room. He was hunched over his portable computer, fixated on
the information he was reading. Skinner had to knock three
times before Mulder said, "Yes?"

"Skinner."

"Come on in."

Skinner did so along with Audrey. When Mulder saw Audrey,
he sat up straight in his chair.

"Agent Mulder, this is Miss Audrey Bjorg."

"Hello, Mulder," Audrey said with a tight smile.

Mulder just looked at her for a uncomfortable period of
time. Then he nodded and turned back to the computer. "I've
been doing some research about Oscar Hall. What's
interesting is what I can't find out."

"Such as?" Skinner asked.

"No father's name. There's a mother but she died under
unspecified circumstances right after Hall's birth. And
nothing can be found about Hall for the first twenty-five
years of his birth. He just popped out of nowhere with a
lot of money at his disposal."

"Where are you going with this?"

Mulder focused his eyes on Audrey. "I had a talk with one
of your clients. He told me a few things."

Audrey clenched her hands. "Like what?"

"Nothing direct. He gave me some strong hints but I doubt
he'll ever give me a straight answer. And neither will you,
I imagine."

"I'm..." Audrey coughed. "I'm bound by certain rules."

"We understand," Skinner said.

We do? Mulder thought, then he noticed how close the
assistant director was standing to the lawyer. What the
hell is this? he wondered, then disregarded the question.

"Right now my major concern is finding my partner. Do you
have any information that can help us there?"

"Walter has told about that..."

*Walter*? Jesus Christ in a Chevy...

"...and from what he has told me, I can say that the cause
of your partner's...disappearance is out of my sphere of
influence. I don't know anyone who can..."

Audrey blinked.

"Wait a minute. I *do* know somebody."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Oscar Hall pressed his forehead against the long glass
window of his office. He had just negotiated a merger with
a growing software company, conferred with an Italian spy
ring, made sure that a promising young director would never
make the film of his dreams, convinced the FDA to approve a
new antidepressant, bought a hockey team and had a lunch
with members of the Miami Zoning Commission. All kinds of
sycophants had passed through his life but he never met
anybody so eager to suck up to power like this bunch. After
giving them gentle assurances that supporting his side in
the negotiations would not bring about any...unusual
accidents, they smiled and held out their hands for their
kickbacks. Chairman Burns was still under Morgan's control
but she couldn't stand up against the whole Commission. If
worse came to worse, they could blackmail her. However, it
was more preferable to...

Ah, who gives a shit?

Hall hit his head lightly on the window. He needed a
change of pace. He needed a break. He needed...

A day off.

His neck straightened.

He smiled.

Well, why not? he thought. Why not just blow off the rest
of today's appointments? Why not just walk out that door?
Why not just walk around the city of Miami and wander
around towards no particular destination?

Of course, one good reason not to do so was his father.
Oscar could keep him from finding him for the day. Over the
years, he had picked up a few tricks that could throw even
his father off the trail. The trouble was what would happen
after the day was over. Oscar would have to face his
father's anger.

He thought about that.

He concluded that he didn't care. Not in the slightest.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took Audrey a couple of hours to track down the old
mulatto. Skinner and Mulder followed her through the streets
of Miami. Mulder kept quiet throughout his guided tour. To
his surprise, so did Skinner. Usually, his superior would be
the first to complain about this kind of vague, suspicious
behavior. Instead, he was acting like...

Well, like a man in love.

Mulder had no idea what was going on there but he found
that he did trust Audrey. At least, as much as anybody else
in this whole mess.

And with Scully missing, he was not about to turn down any
form of help.

They found the old mulatto on a pier connected to a public
beach. He was sitting on a bench and eating from a bag of
licorice while watching the street musicians, sidewalk
vendors, swimmers, weightlifters and parents holding onto
hyperactive children. He did not look up when three people
stopped by his bench.

"Hello," Audrey said.

He nodded.

"I've brought two people with me. They are looking for a
friend of theirs."

"Agent Scully?" he said, still not looking up.

Mulder stepped forward and clutched the back of the bench.
"Do you know where she is?"

"She is being looked over by an associate of mine. She's
safe."

"What do you mean? Just who are you?"

The old mulatto looked up. There was a look in his eyes
that made Mulder back off.

"You're a smart boy, Mulder. You can figure it out." The
old mulatto popped another licorice into his mouth.

"I...I just want to know she's all right. I want to see
her."

"You will, Mulder. Soon. You'll see her. In fact..." The
old mulatto smiled. "You might like what you see."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (13 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THIRTEEN
THE NEW DRUMMER

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ah, A.C. How are you, mon?"

"This mammy-fucking world still has me by the nuts, Buju."

"So it does for ev'ryone. And here is your nephew, I see."

"Pleased to meet you, Buju," Meyer said.

"And I am pleased to meet one of the best blues guitarists
in the country," Buju replied, shaking Meyer's hand.

"Well, A.C. tells me you are one of the best cooks in the
country."

"Ah, damn," A.C. grumbled. "I better get out of here
before you two start sucking each other's dicks."

A.C. left the restaurant.

"Uh," Meyer said. "pardon me for asking, Buju, but..."

"Yes, Meyer. Your uncle was like dis when I met him years
ago, too."

"Just checking. Speaking of which, I need to do a sound
check on your stage."

"Sure, mon. You go ahead. I'm looking forward to hearing
de tree of you tonight."

"Four, actually."

"Really?"

"We've added a singer. A woman."

"Mus' be good."

"Yes. Well, I think so. Actually, I'm not sure."

"No?"

"No." Meyer grinned. "But it will be fun to find out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Constantine Morgan headed for the oak door of Oscar Hall's
office, a plush carpet being stomped under his feet and a
five-foot secretary standing in his way.

"Excuse me, but you can't go in there," she warned.

"Out of my way, you stupid bi..."

The knife came out just as he was about to push her aside.
Morgan came to a dead halt with shiny metal an inch from
his face.

"You have to have an appointment," the secretary informed
him in a quiet voice as she held the knife towards Morgan's
nose.

"Look..." Morgan said as he backed up. "He'll talk to me,
'kay? The name is Constantine Morgan."

"I don't care who you are. You need an appointment."

"If you'll just tell him I'm here..."

"I can't do that, sir. Mr. Hall isn't in right now."

"Where is he?"

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

Morgan spun around and saw an old man with the meanest
face he had ever seen. He felt a chill just looking at him;
a fear he couldn't control. The secretary lowered her
knife. Morgan heard a slight quaver in her voice as she
said, "I don't know, sir. He just left and didn't leave any
messages."

"The moment he's here, you let me know or you'll be
terminated. And I don't mean fired." The old man then
turned his cold, cold eyes onto Morgan. "You..."

The Englishman gulped.

"Come with me."

The old man lurched into Oscar Hall's office, nearly
cracking the door as he swung it open. Morgan toddled after
him.

"What is it you want to speak about?" the old man asked,
standing in the middle of the office.

"Um, maybe this is..."

Morgan jumped when he heard the door slam. He looked at
it, wondering if the secretary had closed it but doubting
it for some uncomfortable reason.

"This is what?!" the old man shouted. "Speak your goddamn
mind!"

"It's just that...this is about business and I need to
talk with Oscar Hall..."

"Oscar Hall is my son, which I regret as much as fucking
a whore with pubic lice. Any business needing to be
done with him can be done with me."

The old man's eyes bore into Morgan until he had to turn
away. He had met some hard men in his life and he proved
that he could be as hard if not harder. This old man was
different, though. Standing next to him was like standing
next to a garbage can full of dead babies.

"I know who you are, Mr. Constantine Morgan. You're the
little trans-Atlantic shit who has been fucking with my
plans." The old man stepped closer to Morgan who could
smell breath like the odor of old vomit. "If I had my way,
I would make you stick your tongue up your own ass. Since I
can't have my way, I have to ask for the last time -- why
are you here?"

"I...I want to make a deal."

Morgan kept his eyes turned and Hall's father was silent
so the Englishman had no idea what he was thinking. The
silence lasted long enough for him to want to start
running.

The old man said, "A deal?"

Morgan swallowed. "I've been told that Oscar Hall doesn't
care about what goes on the land. He just wants to own it."

"Who told you that?"

"Audrey Bjorg."

Another long period of silence.

Then Morgan heard laughter.

He turned to the old man who was the source of the
laughter. It was a mocking, ugly sound -- the kind that a
tumor might make as it spreads through your body. Still, he
was laughing.

"Yes," Hall's father said between chuckling. "Yes, I think
we can make a deal after all."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

November Sun gulped down half of a bottle of beer, belched
and said, "All right. First thing we've got to do is dump
the spic."

Five sets of eyes widened in the direction of November
Sun. The widest belonged to Raul Castillo. Like the other
four visitors to November Sun's house, he was one of the
supervisors in Sun's crime syndicate. Unlike the other four
men, he was Hispanic. Up until now, his boss had never said
anything derogatory about Hispanics or any other minority.
In fact, a former supervisor had once called Castillo (and
his mother) an unpleasant name. November Sun had taken out
a gun, shot the man in the knee and said, "I will not
tolerate racism in my organization. Do as you wish, Raul."
Castillo beat the man's brains out (literally) and gave his
respect to November Sun ever since.

That's why the last thing he expected when November Sun
called this meeting was to be called a "spic." He began to
stand up from the table where he, November Sun and the
other supervisors were seated. "What the fuck did you..."

"Whoa, whoa," Davey Whistler said, placing a hand on
Castillo's shoulder. "Let's not fly off the goddamned
handle." He gave November Sun a pained smile. "You were
just joking, right, boss?"

"No. When I said 'dump the spic,' I meant get tortilla-
breath out of my sight."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Castillo roared as he went for the
gun in his shoulder holster. Whistler and another
supervisor wrapped their arms around their angry
compatriot, trying to restrain him. November Sun just sat
with his feet on the table and drank his beer. He regarded
Castillo with a cool smirk.

"Settle down!" Whistler yelled. "Everybody settle the fuck
down! Boss, you can't be serious! Castillo has been with
us..."

"I don't want him or any other wetback in my organization.
I also don't want any nigger, hymies or chinks. Oh, yeah,
and dump the Catholics too."

"What?!" Dan Berrigan shouted as he jumped to his feet.

"And the micks."

Whistler and the last two supervisors looked at the
situation in slack-jawed bewilderment. Their boss had
officially passed the line between flaky and fucked-in-the-
head. He had just turned two loyal associates into enemies
who would not be satisfied until his heart was on a lance.

With lazy eyes, November Sun looked at Castillo and
Berrigan. He said, "Let 'em go."

Whistler and the two supervisors looked at each other.
Well, they thought, if the boss wants to fuck himself up...

They backed to the corners of the room.

"I know you two want to kill me," November Sun drawled in
his new accent.

Berrigan pulled out a knife. "At the very least," he said
in a low voice.

"Before you two do that, I think you two oughtta..."

November Sun looked straight at them.

"...dance."

With looks of agony, Castillo and Berrigan began to kick
up their legs, shake their hips, wave their arms. In a day
full of surprise, this was the one surprise that made
Whistler want to crawl into bed with a quart of vodka.

The two dancing men collided with each other like birds in
a hurricane. Berrigan's hand was locked tight around his
knife. He watched with horror as his flailing arm slashed
it across Castillo's shoulder. Castillo howled but
continued to dance. Again and again they collided. With
every crash, Castillo received a new wound -- through the
hand, across his cheek, into his belly. Still, he danced on
even though he began to sag towards the floor like an old
scarecrow.

Finally, the knife went straight into Castillo's right
eye. As it was pulled with the eyeball stuck on it,
Castillo dropped to the ground.

"God, stop it...stop it..." Berrigan cried.

"It stops when you have a grand finale," November Sun
informed him. "Go to it, boy."

With his feet skipping across the ground, Berrigan threw
himself against a wall. Head-first.

He kept repeating this until there was a sticky hole in
the wall and one in his head. He stumbled one more time,
then plunged his head through the hole in the wall and
stopped. His body sagged like a washcloth on a hook.

November Sun finished off his beer, then grinned at the
other three men and said, "Told ya there would be some
changes."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The people were gathered under a shelter of pumpkins. The
lumpy orange vegetables, their thick interwoven vines and
the wooden lattices they hung from would have given
protection from the rain if there had been any. Instead, it
was a warm night, good for being outside and dancing.

This was what the people came to do behind Buju's
restaurant. Usually, reggae music from the speakers got
this melange of Jamaicans, white college students, sidewalk
hustlers and teenage girls with black clothes and dyed hair
moving. Tonight's music would be the blues.

Buju walked onto a small wooden stage decorated with
speakers, microphones and a drum kit. "Good evenin' to all
you good people!" he called out to the audience and they
cheered back.

"I don't need to say anytink more than here are DE
BURNSIDES!"

A.C., Meyer and their drummer walked up to the stage.
Meyer shook hands with Buju and waved at the audience. A.C.
regarded them with his traditional scowl while the drummer
scowled at him.

After he and his nephew plugged in their guitars, A.C.
shouted, "You ready to boogie, you mammy-fuckers?"

The audience shouted back a loud yes and the music kicked
in -- a loud, raw sound from the heart of Mississippi.
Against the drummer's hard beat, A.C. tore a rhythm from
his strings and Meyer's fingers pulled out every last bit
of grit to be found in "Back Door Man."

It promised to be a good night.

It was also going to be a surprising one.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He walked down the street without anyone recognizing him.
Nobody was trying to get his favor, nobody wanted to work a
deal, nobody wanted to sleep with him.

He couldn't remember ever being this happy before.

A restaurant got his attention. He liked the smells coming
from it as well as the sounds. He went inside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder was in Andy Antoine's apartment with Andy and the
twins. He was not feeling so content. Andy and the twin
were feeling pleased, though. They were watching a
Powerpuff Girls marathon and giggling at all the jokes
while munching on popcorn. The usually solemn girls were
smiling a lot more than usual. This was due to the
influence of Andy who acted like a big silly brother to
them. Instead of seeming like the marassa, they came across
as just ordinary girls.

Unfortunately, Mulder didn't need ordinary girls. He
needed whatever insights the marassa could give. He needed
to confirm what he suspected about Oscar Hall. He needed to
find some means of interceding in this war between Hall and
Constantine Morgan.

Most of all, he needed Scully.

Right now, Carranza was getting an update from all the
police officers assigned to find her. He was undoubtedly
giving them all a nice chunk of hell. ("You're telling me
that all of you highly trained fuckers can't find one red-
haired FBI agent?") Miles and Skinner were keeping a watch
on Mr. Rogers just in case somebody tried to nail his ass.
Mulder opted to stay with the twins in case they had
something new to tell.

"Hey, which Powerpuff Girl do you like best?" Andy asked.

"Bubbles!" the twins said.

"I go with Buttercup myself. The one with attitude, you
know. What about you, Mulder?"

"Blossom," Mulder muttered. "I'm partial to redheads." He
thought about the old man he had met on the pier -- another
person who knew a lot more than he was telling. And another
person whom he couldn't make tell more for some
unfathomable reason. And another reason why he was being
reduced to a spectator in this whole mess.

He was getting close to the state of pissed off, but
getting pissed off wouldn't help anything. Maybe a little
food would help; something besides Andy's plentiful stash
of candy and snacks.

"I'm going down to Buju's," he said as he headed for the
door.

"See you, Mulder!" Andy told him.

"Have fun!" the twins said.

Mulder stopped at the door. Have fun? Was there some kind
of message they were...

He shook his head and left the apartment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If that had been your first time to see The Burnsides in
concert, you probably wouldn't have been surprised by the
actions of the drummer. He had been looking at A.C. with
such loathing. However, you have to understand that this
drummer had been playing with A.C. for the past ten years
and he had *always* looked at A.C. like that. No one knew
why exactly but A.C. could be fairly good at being a burr
up people's ass.

Still, he *had* been playing with A.C. for ten years, long
before Meyer had joined the group. He had just toured
several cities with the man. Why should he pick Buju's to
be the spot where he get up, toss his sticks to the ground
and yell "I'm quittin' this fuckin' band!" at the audience?
Why would he chose that moment to walk off the stage and
never to be seen by The Burnsides again?

Life is full of such mysteries.

What matters to this story was that A.C. and Meyer
suddenly found themselves without a drummer. They stopped
playing and just stood there, flummoxed by the silence. The
audience stopped dancing and became as still as they were.

The two guitarists looked at each other.

It was possible they could have done the rest of the show
by themselves. Hell, a lot of the old blues acts used to
work with just two guitars. However, it would be pretty
mammy-fucking hard to shift gears in a split second.

That's why Meyer decided to take a chance by turning to
the audience and said, "Any drummers out there?"

Silence dropped upon the dance floor again.

Then a hand raised itself in the back.

"You, sir?" Meyer said.

Heads swivelled to the man with his hand raised. The man
they saw was good-looking albeit in a bland way. In his
neat dress suit, he seemed the unlikeliest candidate for a
new drummer.

"Uh, yes," the man said. "I could give a shot."

A.C. raised an eyebrow. "You could give it a shot? You
ever play drums before, sucker?"

"No. I haven't."

A.C. and Meyer looked at each other again. Meyer shrugged.
"Tell me what we could lose."

"Our goddamned self-respect," A.C. said. "Ah, hell. Get
your ass up here, son."

The man walked up to the stage and sat behind the drum
kit. "Okay, okay," he said, looking around him. "What do
I...uh..."

"I think you might need these," Meyer said, holding out
sticks to the man.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." The man took the sticks from Meyer and
looked at them as if he had never seen such a thing in his
life. A.C. rolled his eyes. The audience started to giggle.

The new drummer looked at the sticks, skins, pedal and
cymbals. His eyes analyzed each carefully before he asked,
"Ready to go?"

"Yes, we're fucking ready to go!" A.C. snapped. "What do
you think we're..."

The new man hit his drums.

Hard.

A.C. and Meyer blinked. The audience gasped. They were all
hearing the hardest, funkiest beat that had ever inserted
itself in their ears.

"Well, ain't that a mammy-fucker?" Meyer observed, then
shrugged. A.C. shrugged back and both of them attacked
their strings again. Getting over its shock, the audience
applauded and danced. Man, they all thought. This guy plays
drums like the devil himself.

That was somewhat true.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder hear the band ripping it up when he arrived at the
restaurant. It sounded mighty impressive. A lot of the
customers were getting up from their tables and crowding at
the door, plates in their hands. Under other circumstances,
Mulder would have joined the dancers himself but
tonight...well, he had his own blues.

He found himself a stool near the kitchen. Through an open
door, he could see Buju work his expert hands on herbs and
meat.

He just sat there and thought about Scully.

Then the music stopped.

This abrupt silence was followed by a gasp of several men
(and a few women.) Then a voice yelled, "Goddammit, girl,
this is not your time to come out yet!" The voice was
familiar somehow.

The next voice was even more familiar.

"Come now, A.C., you wouldn't hold me back from these
people, would you?"

Mulder sat up straight.

"This is my mammy-fucking band and I decide when..."

"Do you people want me to leave?"

There was a big hollered "NOOOO."

"All right, then. Now, boys, play me what I want to hear."

There was another pause, a muttered "mammy-fucker" and
then the band started up again at a slower tempo. This was
followed by a voice that flushed his cheeks and caught his
breath. The sound was warm, teasing, full of knowledge you
only get from secret places."Do your duty..." it demanded
of every male with a pulse.

That couldn't be, Mulder thought. It just couldn't.

He had to make sure, though. He pushed his way through the
human blockage until he could see the band.

And there she was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (14 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FOURTEEN
DO YOUR DUTY

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Black looked good on her especially when it was a tight
black dress with all kinds of exposed areas. There was
plenty of skin to be seen on her chest, across her
shoulders, down her back and up her right leg. Her blue
eyes were bright as forest fires and her red hair seemed to
have a life of its own as it caressed the back of her neck.
Every movement she made -- beckoning the audience with her
finger, turning around so they could see the slim yet firm
muscles stretch over her naked back, bending down until her
buttocks seemed ready to tear out her dress -- brought out
a cheer or a gasp.

And then there was the voice which seem to create
vibrations in human flesh like a tuning fork. It lingered
on every lyric just long enough to get the point and quick
enough to let you know that the voice's owner needed to be
chased before caught.

"If my radiator gets too hot...cool it down...in a lot of
spots..."

Mulder stared at Agent Dana Scully, feeling like his brain
was about to implode. He was fixed to the spot. Movement and
speech were denied to him. He was roused out of his coma by
a familiar voice.

"By the sacred shit of the Goddess!"

Mulder jerked his head to the side. Gloria Kalahan had
shoved her way into the audience. Like Mulder, she had been
drawn by Scully's voice and was now staring at her in awe.

Then she noticed Mulder and grinned. "Well, this is a
surprise. Career move for your partner?"

"Sort of," he mumbled.

"You know, I told Max that I don't go for scrawny little
chicks like Scully. But now..." She turned her grinning
face back to the stage. "I'm going to make it my goal in
life to fuck that woman. I'm going to stick my finger in
her pussy like I'm a little Dutch boy."

Before Mulder could say...well, anything, he heard, "Well,
bless my soul!"

He turned to the other side and saw Buju. "I didn't know
der new singer was her!" he said. "And I sure didn't know
dat girl could sing!"

"She can't," Mulder told him.

"But..."

"Trust me. She can't."

"Den wot the hell do you call dat, mon?"

"I don't..."

"Look out!" Kalahan whooped.

Mulder turned back to the stage and saw Scully step off
it. As the younger guitarist played sensual blues licks
(and he was another person Mulder recognized in an odd way
but that wasn't his main concern now), Scully made her way
through the audience. People stepped aside for her but they
didn't give her too much room. They wanted to be near her,
to smell her, to feel her skin brush against their bodies.
"Now let's see, let's see," she said with a teasing smile.
"Just who do we have in the audience? Anybody who feels
like a little loving?"

There were full-throated hollers in response.

"Whoa there, boys," she said, her smile judging as well as
playful. "You are moving too fast. I want someone who knows
how...to start out slow."

"She means she doesn't want someone who would shoot their
wad in the first thirty seconds," Kalahan interpreted, then
she waved her hands. "Over here, woman!"

Scully turned her eyes to Kalahan. Her eyes lingered on
the biker woman for a few moments. She gave Kalahan an
ambiguous smile (a promise? a polite deferral?) and turned
to the person next to her.

She saw Mulder.

"Mmmmm," she commented. "Now this looks interesting..."

As Mulder beheld Scully sashaying towards him, he tried to
get his brain working again. It remained inert like his
body.

Scully reached out and ran her fingers up his chin. "Yes,"
she purred. "You will do nicely."

One of the tiny little elves in Mulder's head gave his
brain a kick. Mulder started to say "Scully, what..."

His words were choked off when she grabbed him by the tie
and pulled him towards the stage. He followed her like a
meek dog. The crowd's cheers grew even louder.

Now, Mulder was sitting on the stage with Scully. She was
bent down, reaching over to rub his chest as she sang "I'm
so tired of sleeping by myself...but you're too dumb to
realize..." Behind her, two guitars and a drum were making
love of their own.

"What the fuck is wrong with this thing?" the elf
complained as he tried to start up Mulder's brain again.
The problem was that Mulder was losing himself in the sound
of the music and the touch of warm female flesh. As
Scully's breasts rubbed against his shoulder, he
thought...hey...this isn't so bad...in fact, it's kind of
nifty...

Scully touched him on the neck and he was pressed down
onto the stage as easily as a blade of grass. He rolled
onto his back and looked up at the woman singing just for
him. One of her fingers were drawing circles around his
nipple. A dopey grin stretched out on his face.

"Shit," Kalahan said as she observed this. "Some assholes
get all the luck."

Mulder would have agreed that he was one lucky asshole. He
was ready to surrender to whatever would happen next.

Then he looked at the drums.

And saw who was playing them.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled as he sat straight up. Scully
backed off, surprised but not shocked. "Is something wrong,
honey?" she asked with the smile still on her face.

Mulder looked at her and two thoughts popped into his
head. Something was wrong with Scully; he needed to get her
out of here.

With one smooth movement, he grabbed Scully, stood up and
slung her over his shoulder. Scully's reaction was to laugh.

The audience's reaction was to boo.

A.C.'s reaction...

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you fucking
mammy-fucker?"

"I'm a FBI agent!" Mulder yelled. "This woman is my
partner!"

"I don't care who the fuck you are! You put my fucking
singer down!"

The audience growled its assent with A.C.'s position.
Mulder realized that he was not going to win any arguments
here. That's why he bounced off the stage and charged out a
side door before anyone could stop him. Scully was still
over his shoulder and still laughing.

A.C. turned to his nephew and said, "Meyer...get my gun."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It didn't take the brightest man to figure out that Oscar
Hall's father was the real power behind Hall Enterprises.
Nor did you need much brains to intuit that Oscar Hall's
father wasn't entirely human.

Mr. Rogers was a very, very bright man. He had arrived at
these conclusions a long time ago. It was still unclear who
(or what) the father of Oscar Hall was but Mr. Rogers was
clear on one point -- the old man was his employer and he
would work for him to the best of his ability.

At least, that's what he had thought.

The sudden appearance of Oscar Hall's father in his office
didn't surprise Mr. Rogers. When he heard that scratchy,
withered voice say "Time for business, Mr. Rogers," he just
looked up from the work on his desk and replied, "I'm
always ready for business."

"Good. Because we're finally going to get this Jeremiah
Bay shit over with."

"Yes, I imagine so. Without the zobop over our heads, we..."

"No, no. I don't mean that. I mean that I've just cut a
deal with Constantine Morgan."

The face of Mr. Rogers pinched ever so slightly. "What
kind of deal?"

"As of now, Hall Enterprises and Ass-Kickers, Inc. are
merging," the old man said as he sat his weary body in a
chair. "Morgan can build his fucking arena. Hall
Enterprises will own the lease. That's all that matters to
me." The old man chuckled. "Actually, this might be the
ideal bargain. I would love to see the look on the Seniors'
faces as they watch the Dome of Blood get built on their
fucking beach. That's just the kind of kick-to-the-balls I
want."

As the old man chuckles grew into a cold laugh, Mr. Rogers
said, "But why, sir? As of this moment, we have the
advantage."

The old man's laughter ended and his familiar scowl
returned. "Because in the next fucking moment, we might not
have the fucking advantage. What if Morgan finds himself
another zobop to do his dirty work?"

"That's not likely."

"But not impossible, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"Enough," the old man said as he waved his hand through
the air. "I want no more of this shit. I just want this
done."

"I can understand that. However, you should discuss this
with your son..."

"My...son is nowhere to be found." There was enough ice in
the old man's voice to create a tundra. Mr. Rogers knew
that there was no point in further debate.

"Very well," Mr. Rogers said as he reached for the phone.
"I'll call up Mr. Morgan's people and tell them..."

"There's a couple of things you should know."

Mr. Rogers slowly pulled his hand back. He placed it on
his knee and gave Oscar Hall's father the calmest face in
the world. "What's that?" he asked.

"Morgan is getting a big goddamn lump of money for this
deal."

"I had assumed he would."

"He also wants two people. As in their bloody heads on
platters. One of them is an FBI agent."

"Hmm. Tricky. Could bring unwanted attention."

"We can handle that. The second person has to be someone
in exchange for Jean Estime."

Mr. Rogers' face lost a fraction of its calmness. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Since when did Morgan care anything for Jean Estime?"

"Since fucking never. But Estime was working for him and
in Morgan's world, they get one of your guys...you get one
of theirs."

Mr. Rogers' chin dropped down to his chest. "I see. Well..."

"No, not you, dipshit. I *need* you. I'm gonna give him
the one who actually killed Estime."

And then the head of Mr. Rogers sprang up.

"Where is Sara Lee?" Oscar's father asked.

"Can't you just...know where she is?"

The old man looked at Mr. Rogers for a moment.

Then he smirked. "No," he said. "I can't just 'know' where
anybody is. I have many talents, but that's not one of
them." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I know one
bastard who has the talent..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Look, I don't know where she is. And I doubt
anybody I could hire would be able to track the smelly
bitch down. So...where is she?"

Mr. Rogers let out a long sigh before saying --

"I am handing in my resignation, sir."

"Oh, come on..."

"It is the best decision I can make," Mr. Rogers said as
he stood up and began sorting out the papers on his desk.
"It will be improper of me to betray Miss Lee's..."

"Oh, Christ-on-a-stick! All this because she can give you
a good fuck?"

Mr. Rogers froze.

"Look, I don't know that crazed mountain woman can do with
her mouth but I bet you that I can find another slut who
can do the same things for you and she wouldn't be so
goddamned ugly..."

Mr. Rogers looked at the old man. There was such
concentrated anger in his expression that the father of
Oscar Hall...

He actually shut up.

"It is not worth my time or yours to explain what Sara Lee
and I have together, sir," Mr. Rogers said in a stiff
voice. "Suffice to say that it's worth more to me than your
employment."

"Uh...huh."

The old man raised himself to his feet.

"There is more at stake here than just your employment,
Mr. Rogers."

Mr. Rogers hesitated, judging the look in those ancient
eyes.

"I can see that," he said. "However, nothing you can do
will make me reveal Sara Lee's location."

"I don't doubt that. I don't doubt that at all, but..."

The old man walked around the desk. Mr. Rogers stood his
ground even when the old man grabbed him by the chest and
felt those long, yellow nails draw blood.

"...you're going to damn well help me anyway."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm telling you, you great lunatic! I'm an FBI agent!"

"Then show me your mammy-fucking ID!"

"Put down your fucking gun!"

This conversation was held by two men running through the
streets of downtown Miami, one of them chasing after the
other. The chaser was a black man holding a shotgun. The
chased was a white man who was carrying a woman over his
shoulder. The woman was wearing a provocative dress and
laughing.

Of course, everybody got out of their way.

It was a difficult run for Agent Mulder, what with
carrying Scully. Luckily, the Café-Mystere was only a few
blocks away from Buju's. He was almost out of breath when
he reached the front door.

The locked front door.

His banging and loud cries brought Andy to an upstairs
window. He looked down at Mulder and said, "Jeez, what is
it?"

"Open the damn door!"

"What's wrong? Who is that..."

"Freeze, you mammy-fucker!"

Mulder carefully turned around, his merry partner spinning
with him. When Andy saw A.C., he zipped back inside.

"All right, you little peckerwood," A.C. growled, his
shotgun's barrels aligned with Mulder's heart. "Nobody fucks
with my performance. Now you put my singer down!"

"Look, sir, I...what's your name?"

"Hello, A.C.!" two voices called out.

With a stunned expression, A.C. looked up at the window.
Sue and Etta waved at him.

"What the fuck are you girls doing here?" he called back.

Mulder said, "Uh...you know them?"

"They're my goddamned nieces!"

Mulder looked up at the twins. They nodded back.

He sighed and lowered Scully back to the ground. "Oh, my,
what a scrumptious ride!" she said, hugging herself to him.

"Well, as long as you had fun..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (15 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FIFTEEN
FOUND ONE, LOST THREE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So who are you in love with, Skinner?"

Walter Skinner turned to Max Miles who was sitting next to
him in a car. The car was parked across the street from the
offices of Rogers Real Estate.

"Excuse me?"

"Who are you in love with?"

"What the hell makes you ask that?"

"Because you have the look. You're thinking about somebody
and they're very dear to you."

Clever little bastard, Skinner thought. As a matter of
fact, he was thinking about such a person. This was a big
surprise to him considering that he had met this person
just today.

Or had he? There was a familiarity to her, aggravating and
elusive. He couldn't describe it but a connection existed
between them. It was as if they were soulmates, destined to
be together even as adversity and danger threatened to...

I've been hanging around Mulder too long, Skinner thought.

"So who's the lucky woman?" Miles grinned. "Or the lucky
man?"

Before Skinner could respond (or slap Miles on the head),
his cellular phone buzzed. "Skinner," he answered. As he
listened, he looked...well, you couldn't exactly say
'happier' but he didn't look displeased with the news being
received. "Where?...What do you mean, it's hard to
explain...Well, is she all right?...Uh-huh...Okay, okay,
but I want a full explanation when we meet."

Skinner disconnected his phone and grumbled, "Not that an
explanation is fucking likely."

"What's up?"

"They found Scully. She's fine."

"Great! Where did they..."

"Mulder was a...little vague with the details. As is
usual. But he assured me that she's in no danger."

"Okay, then. That's what matters."

"Hm."

"He cares a lot about her, doesn't he?"

"Mulder and Scully, you mean? Yeah, he does."

"Sort of a package deal, aren't they? You want one, you
have to take the other."

Skinner gave Miles a perplexed look. "I suppose so. Why
are you asking?"

Miles grinned. "Two-for-one is a great bargain."

It took precisely one minute for Skinner to interpret
this. "Oh," he said.

"Oh, yeah."

Skinner was silent for a few moments, then said, "You
people are funny."

"Excuse me? My people?"

"I can understand why a person might be attracted to their
own gender..."

"Can you now?"

Skinner gave Miles a little smile. "From a standpoint of
logic. Course there's no real way to prove that to you."

"Nah, I'm just kidding. I have no doubt, Skinner, that
your ass has been used primarily as an exit and not an
entrance."

"Uh...right. What I'm saying is that...why both?"

Miles shrugged. "Life is just a lot more interesting that
way. I mean, cock or pussy, cock or pussy. Why do you have
to choose between them? One shoots and the other sucks.
That's the only real difference. Other than that, they both
go great with rice."

"Uh-huh."

"I just don't see any difficulty in being attracted to
both a handsome, dark-haired man and a beautiful red-haired
woman."

"I think of one difficulty. Mulder's not bisexual."

"You don't think so?"

Skinner was about to ask for some hard evidence when Miles
said, "Hey." The detective pointed and said, "Who's that old
guy?"

"I don't know."

"Well, why is he looking at..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder stood at the bottom of the staircase. He kept his
body between the stairs and Andy Antoine. Andy was looking
over Mulder's shoulder while licking his lips.

"What's happened to her, Andy?"

"Huh?"

"What's...happened to her?"

Andy wiped his brow and said, "Elizi."

"Who?"

"I thought you knew your voodoo," Andy snapped.

"Well, enlighten me."

"Elizi-Freda-Dahomey. A loa. A female loa. Also supposed
to be..."

"Ooooh, boys!" a female voice called from upstairs. "I'm
*very* lonely in this nice...soft...bed."

"...something of a flirt."

"And this loa is in possession of Scully?"

"Well, sure looks like it, don't it?" Andy took a step
forward. Mulder braced himself against the handrails,
blocking Andy's fat body.

"Why is she in possession of Scully?" he asked in a stern
voice.

Andy sighed. "To protect her from the baka. Elizi saw that
she was in trouble and kicked the baka out from Scully's
body."

"Well, why hasn't she let go? Is she still in danger?"

"Nope." Andy smirked. "She just wants to have fun. Sounds
like she was having it."

Mulder said nothing. Andy tried to go forward again,
saying "I better see how the marassa are doing..."

"You stay here," Mulder said, prodding him back.

"Aw, come on, Mulder! I can help them!"

"Love me two times, baby..." Scully sang.

"No male is allowed up there until Sue and Etta are done,"
Mulder proclaimed.

"Including you?"

"Especially not me."

Andy studied Mulder's flat expression. "She does look
good, doesn't she?" he observed.

Again, Mulder said nothing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When A.C. returned to Buju's, he came back alone with a
strange look on his face.

"What happened?" Meyer asked.

"Tell you later," A.C. mumbled. "Let's just..."

"Hey, where's your singer?" a biker lesbian called out
from the audience. The rest of the audience shouted out
variations on the same question.

A.C. gave them a frown that silenced them all. "She ain't
coming back," he snarled. "And just shut up and enjoy the
music."

The Burnsides continued the rest of the performance with
their new drummer. The three of them played with such
conviction that the concert's peculiar beginnings were
forgotten by the audience.

After it was all done and the audience had cleared out,
Buju congratulated the band. "Good job, mon. You really..."

"Yeah, yeah," A.C. snapped as he tossed his guitar into
the van. "Meyer, you make sure we get our mammy-fucking
money. Then meet me at The Cafe-Mystere."

Before Meyer could ask what or where that was, A.C.
stomped out of sight. Meyer turned to Buju.

"Don't worry," the restaurant owner said. "I know where
dat is."

Meyer nodded, then turned to the bland white fella who had
kicked so much ass on the drums. "You really saved our
necks tonight. And you say you never played drums before?"

"No," the white man said. He had a little smile on his
face but he looked withdrawn. He seemed to be thinking very
intensely.

"You know...far be it from me or any other human being to
speak for my uncle, but I think he wouldn't mind at all
having you on as our new drummer. I know I wouldn't."

"Hmmm."

Meyer waited for more but the white man had gone quiet.
"Well," Meyer said as he scribbled a note on a piece of
paper. "if you're interested, let us know. Here's our
number."

The guitarist handed out the note. The white man looked at
it as if it was the strangest thing he had ever seen. Then
he pulled it from Meyer's fingers, put it in his pocket
and said, "I'll think about it. I really will."

With that, the white man left the restaurant.

"Dis is a strange little city," Buju observed.

"It's okay," Meyer said. "I like strange."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well, hello there! Aren't you two the cutest little things?

"We are humbled by your presence, Elizi."

And so polite! I just want to smother you with kisses!

"Elizi, we are speaking for the woman known as Dana Scully."

Oh, that little red-head squirming on the bed there? What
about her?

"Release her."

Gasp! Now why would I do a thing like that?

"Because she is safe now. She no longer needs your
protection."

Maybe not, but she sure needs some other things. A little
song, a little dance, a little prick in the pants...

"Please, Elizi. Let her be herself again."

But...

"Please."

Oh, all right. I don't know if that good-looking partner
would want the old Scully back.

"It is her real self that he loves."

Mmmm, that's what they all say.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She was underwater but she could still breathe. Above the
surface was a face blurred into wavy lines. Words could
only reach her ears in the form of honks and whistles. She
remained in the water, unsure of what to do next.

Then a hand reached down to her. She studied the hand for
a long time until it became familiar. It was a hand she had
grasped onto in many a tight spot. There was no reason not
to hold onto it now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder watched Scully's eyelids rise and fall as he held
her hand. The twins had called him up to Andy's apartment a
minute ago. He had found his partner in a semi-conscious
state on the bed, no longer teasing and beckoning him (That
hadn't been all bad, but...aw, hell.)

Finally, the eyelids stayed up. Scully began to look right
and left, taking in her surroundings. After examining the
messy contents of Andy's domain, she turned her gaze to the
man at her side.

"Mulder?"

"Sing for me, Scully."

"Huh?"

"Sing."

She decided to oblige. "Our house...in the middle of the
street...our house...in the middle..."

"Horrible," he said, then he smiled, raised her hand to
his lips and kissed it. "Welcome back."

"Well. Nice to be back. From wherever the hell I was."
Then she saw two little girls with the calm faces. "Uh, who
are they?"

"This is..."

"I WANT TO SEE MY MAMMY-FUCKING SINGER!"

"Forget them," Scully said, looking at the door leading to
the staircase. "Who is that?"

"Your bandmate."

Scully turned her head back to Mulder and looked at the
amusement which he couldn't keep on his face. "Why," she
said. "do I get the feeling that I'm going to be really
embarrassed about something?"

"Look at what you're wearing."

She did. And she groaned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Audrey Bjorg paced the floor of her cheap apartment and
considered different scenarios. All of them ended up in a
big pile of shit.

Hello, Walter. I'm an...

We met before, Walter. In a town called Final. You don't
remember this because...

I saw you die, Walter. That's why I...

From any angle you wanted to approach it, Audrey saw it
all going to hell. It looked impossible to explain the
truth even if she could be allowed to do so.

"That's 'cause you want to play it from both sides."

She spun around. In her apartment was a handsome, thickly-
built white man in jeans and a John Deere cap. He was
drinking a beer.

"You reading my mind, Meyer?" she snapped.

"Fuck, no," the ghost of Meyer Spiegelman said. "I don't
need to. Your problem is as obvious as the shit falling
out of a horse's ass."

"Yeah," Audrey sighed. "Yes, it is."

"Thing is...it's not your only problem. There's still the
little matter of Jeremiah Bay."

"I know, I know. And that's going to hell in a Martha
Stewart wicker basket."

"'Course the way I see it, your problem with Skinner and
the problem with Jeremiah Bay have the same defect in 'em."

"What do you mean?"

Spiegelman chugged down a mouthful of beer, wiped his lips
and said, "Like I said, you're trying to play it both ways.
You're working on two different territories -- the earthly
and the celestial. And the two of them are fucking each
other in the butt. You can't get them to cooperate."

Audrey considered that, then said, "That is the goddamned
heart of the matter, isn't it?"

"You betcha," Spiegelman said and took another swig of beer.

"So you have any bright ideas on how to solve it?"

"Welllll...seems to me that you have to choose one or the
other, right?"

Audrey wrapped her arms around herself and looked away.
She gave no answer.

"I leave you to chew on that one," Spiegelman told her
before draining his can, tossing it aside and vanishing.
Audrey kept still and quiet until she noticed the can lying
on the floor.

"Hey, clean up after yourself, asshole!" she shouted.

Spiegelman made no re-appearance. She sighed, tossed the
can into a wastebasket and decided that she needed to talk
to Skinner. He had given her his cell number. "Call me
anytime," he had said.

When she tried to reach him, however, there was no answer.

This didn't give her a bad feeling.

It gave her a piss-as-cold-as-ice water feeling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So let me get this straight. I was attacked by a baka..."

"That's right," Andy said.

"...rescued by a loa named Elizi..."

"Yes, ma'am," Sue and Etta told her.

"...and wound up as a singer in your band."

"That's the honest mammy-fucking truth," A.C. assured Dana
Scully as she sat in Andy's apartment and feeling more
uncomfortable in her tight dress with each passing second.

"Huh," she commented. "And those are your nieces, Mr.
Burnside?"

"Yeah and what the hell they are doing in Miami, I have no
idea. How did you two girls get all the way down here to
begin with?"

"We walked," Sue explained.

"We hitched rides," Etta added.

"Girls, that is so mammy-fucking dangerous..."

"We weren't in trouble," Sue said.

"We met a lot of nice people," Etta assured her uncle.

A.C. looked at the twins. He loved his nieces dearly but
sometimes they scared the Jesus-loving shit out of him.

"By the way," Mulder said. "did you know that one of the
most powerful men in America was playing drums in your
band?"

A.C. turned to Mulder. "No, I didn't fucking know that!"
he bellowed. "I have absolutely no shit-eating, cum-
sucking, mammy-pappy-granny-fucking idea what is going on
here!"

"I have to concur with that," Scully said. "I was in a
band?"

"Not any more you ain't. You couldn't sing if I threatened
to stick a bobcat up your ass, girl."

"Uh..."

"No offense."

"Well...none taken. But what are we going to tell Skinner?"

"Considering that Skinner is here in town..." Mulder said.

"Oh, damn."

"...we better consider that right now. Of course, he's..."

Mulder's cell phone rang. "'Scuse me," he said and
answered his call.

"So," Scully said to A.C. "was I any good?"

For one of the five or six times in A.C.'s life, he smiled.

Mulder was not smiling as he disconnected the phone. He
turned to Scully and said, "That was Carranza. Skinner is
missing."

Scully's face turned blank.

"And Miles."

She looked down at the floor.

"And Mr. Rogers, too."

It was silent in the apartment until someone entered the
shop downstairs and walked up to the apartment.

"I'm here," Meyer said. "So what's up?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (16 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SIXTEEN
LET'S GET IT ON

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fellow detectives in the Miami Police Department liked to
call Tomas Carranza "Senor Sipowicz." They liked to call
Max Miles other names too. However, neither of them were
addressed to their face with any of these pet monikers --
Carranza because of his fiery temper and Miles because of
his ability to break your jaw with his foot.

Curiously enough, Carranza wasn't above using the words
"fudge-packer" and "cock-sucker" in the presence of Miles.
In return, Miles would make light remarks about his
partner's weight ("Pity the chair that receives Carranza's
ass") and smell ("If you took a used jock-strap, filled it
up with cigar ashes and barbeque sauce before burying it
underground for three weeks, you would come close to my
partner's unique odors"). These insults had a formal air to
them and did nothing to disguise their friendship.

As previously noted, it was an odd relationship. What did
a fifty-year-old, overweight, barb-tongued heterosexual
Cuban have in common with a thirty-year-old, gleefully
promiscuous white bisexual? Well, their jobs for one thing.
They also knew that they could trust on each other in a
tight spot.

Detective Lang forgot about this when he received a call
from a frantic woman. "What?...Look, lady, I'm sure there's
nothing wrong. Why don't you...Okay, okay...I'll send
somebody out there...Thanks. Good-bye."

He shook his head as he hung up the phone. "Crazy
bitch..." he muttered.

"Who was that?" a detective at a nearby desk asked.

"Some woman who knows one of the FBI assholes Miles and
Carranza are working with. Turns out she tried to call one
who's on a stake-out with Miles. Nobody answered."

"Huh. Think something's up?"

"Yeah, probably up somebody's butt. Knowing Miles, he and
the FBI agent probably just went off into the bushes to
slip each other the jammy."

Lang chuckled. The other detective didn't. Lang thought
this was strange. Usually, the other detective would laugh
at any joke concerning Miles' proclivities.

Then he saw the worried look on the detective's face. And
he heard the clump-clump-clump sound of heavy feet behind
him.

Lang didn't dare turn around, not even when the feet
stopped right behind him, not even when a hand as big as a
steak grabbed him by the hair and pulled.

"Aaaaah," Lang said as his butt floated over the chair.

"What's this about Miles?" a voice whispered.

"Th-th-the FBI agent with him...he didn't answer his
phone! Ow, Tomas, stop it!"

"And you don't think this is cause for concern, you little
fuck?"

The hand let go and Lang's ass dropped onto the chair.

"I want patrolmen over there right now. I mean, this
goddamn instant. If Miles is gone, then there's going to be
hell to pay."

A match was struck and a cigar gave off the odor of
burning tobacco.

"And I've got the bank account big enough to handle the
expenses."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Oscar Hall returned to his mansion, feeling uncertain
about himself but also in a state of happiness. He felt so
good that not even the sound of his father's voice bothered
him.

Much.

"Where in the name of sweet fucking Joseph Stalin have you
been?"

Oscar heard the voice as he was undressing himself in his
bedroom. He didn't turn around. "Out."

"Out. Out, he says. Out, he says to *me*."

The old man hobbled over until he was right next to
Oscar's face. His son still wouldn't look at him.

"You don't ever go *anywhere* without telling me. I don't
care if it's the bathroom and your body feels like it's
full of nothing but shit and piss. You keep your butt within
my sight."

Oscar just nodded.

"It might interest you to know that while you were out
sucking your dick or whatever, I guaranteed our acquisition
of Jeremiah Bay."

"Did you?"

"Yes. I made a deal with that British asshole."

Finally, Oscar looked at his father. "Why? We had the..."

"I already heard this shit from Mr. Rogers. There was an
opportunity and I took it. Okay? End of story."

Oscar thought about it, then shrugged. "Very well."

"Is that all you can say? We've finally got that fucking
bay and you just say 'very well?'"

Oscar shrugged.

"You..." his father said as he shook his head. "You know,
that Constantine Morgan may be a son-of-a-bitch but at
least he has some convictions."

"And a hefty price-tag as well, I imagine."

"Yeah, well...he wanted more than money. He wanted a few
people so he could fuck them up."

"Who?"

"Sara Lee, an FBI agent. Nothing special. I personally
made sure he got the FBI agent."

"Wait a minute. You...directly intervened?"

"The rules allow me to do so, you dumb little prick.
Constantine and I entered into a contract. I fulfilled my
obligations. Nobody can fault me for that."

"Uh, is this one of those deals where Constantine finds
out later he sold you his soul?"

A nasty little smile appeared on the old man's face. "I
already had that."

"Hm."

"I had to also take some poor dope who was there with the
FBI agent but that's perfectly acceptable under the rules."

"Why do it at all?"

"Because I couldn't have him telling people he saw me, you
stupid...didn't I tell you to take your head out of your
ass?"

"Several times, father."

There was silence in the bedroom for a long time.

"You know," Oscar's father said in a slow voice. "I've
just come to the conclusion that you don't care for the
work."

"That may be a correct conclusion," Oscar responded in a
calm, quiet manner.

"Uh-huh. Well, let me inform you on a few fucking facts of
your fucking life..." The old man pointed one of his
withered fingers at Oscar. "...everything has been planned
for you. *My* plan. It is *your* job to follow my plan. If
you don't, you will..."

"Father?"

"What?"

"I want to be a musician."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Who the hell are you, Miss Bjorg?"

This was the question Fox Mulder posed to Audrey in her
apartment. She had trouble looking at him and Scully. After
getting Carranza's message, they had tracked the lawyer
down for some questions.

"That's not easy to explain," answered Audrey.

"Well, I assume you are someone who cares for Skinner. I
don't know what the source of this sudden affection is..."

"There's nothing sudden about it."

"Is that another thing that's hard to explain?"

Audrey sat down on a creaky chair and held her head in her
hands. Mulder looked to Scully, his face saying that he
didn't know what the fuck to do.

Scully crossed over to the other woman and bent over until
she could speak in Audrey's ear. (She had switched back to
her traditional business dress. No way she would have bent
over in the previous outfit.) "I've been...out of it for
awhile, Miss Bjorg. I'm not sure about everything that's
happening now. The only thing I'm sure about is that a
friend of mine is missing. If what you know can help us
find him, then tell us."

Audrey looked up at Scully, running her hands off her
face. "I don't know if it can," she whispered.

"Let's find out then."

Audrey took three breaths.

Then she said, "Okay. Here's the deal..."

Rrrrinnng.

"Goddammit, I hate these things," Mulder said as he yanked
out his cell phone. "What is it?" he barked.

He listened and his face flashed surprise for a moment
before he nodded. "We're coming back," he said before
hanging up. "That was Andy," he said. "Miss Bjorg, you're
coming with us."

"What's this about?" Scully asked.

"Sue and Etta have gotten another one of their 'messages.'
They know where our missing people are."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Constantine Morgan was humming "God Save the Queen" as
he drove through the streets of Miami. He had just gotten a
call from that weird old fucker who said that Skinner and
Mr. Rogers would be waiting right where he wanted them.
"There's some faggot cop with them as well. Hope you don't
mind."

"Not at all. The more, the fuckin' merrier."

Morgan had no idea who Oscar's father was. (If he knew, he
would have dumped enough shit in his pants to weigh them
to the ground.) However, the old bastard got results and
Constantine was now on his way to enjoy the results. He was
in such a good mood that he didn't even mind the stupid
warm Florida weather. Not proper weather at all. Gotta be
misty and wet and always overcast...

His car phone rang. "'Allo?"

"This here Constantine Morgan?"

"Uh...yeah. Who the fuck is this?" The accented voice was
familiar though Morgan couldn't think of anybody he knew
from the South. (Damn good reason for that, too. Down there
were nothing but drunkards who fuck their own siblings.)

"I'm your goddamned partner, dipshit."

Morgan was so surprised that he almost didn't stop for the
red light. He slammed on the brake. "November Sun?" he said.

"Don't call me by that faggot name. It's Fred now. Fred
Udell."

"What the fuck is with you, mate? Did you eat a peyote
button or somethin'?"

"Watch it, you English shit, or you'll be dancing to an
early grave."

"Now, look..."

"Look nothing. I'm calling you up to tell you that I'm
gonna make sure the goddamned Jeremiah Bay will be ours."

"Forget about that. It's over."

"What do you mean?"

The light turned green. Morgan stomped on the gas.

"Meaning I made a deal with Hall Enterprises. They get the
lease but we get to do whatever we want with it. Plus we
get extra goodies in the bargain."

"Why, you fucking prick! Why did you go and do a thing
like that?"

"Because it was a good fucking deal! If you have a problem
with it, take it up with Hall Enterprises! Now, piss off! I
got some business to take care of."

"Don't you fucking hang up..."

Morgan did just that. What in the name of sweet hell was
with November Sun? he thought. Must be all that
transcendental meditation. Wankin' for the mind, that is.

He pushed those thoughts aside. Like he said, he had
business to handle.

And he knew just who to help him out with it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A hour later after Carranza told Mulder about the
disappearance of Skinner and Miles, the detective received
a call back.

"Yeah?...What?...You know where they are? How the fuck did
you learn that?

"Repeat that.

"Okay, repeat that again.

"I see. Look, Mulder...

"Yeah, I know this case has been all fucked up and weird
from the beginning, but...

"Okay, Mulder. I believe you. There's just a little
problem. I can't go to the fucking judge and tell that we
want a search warrant on the basis of...

"All right. If you're so goddamned confident, we'll go in
there on the whole 'suspicion-of-danger' bit. You and
Scully meet me...

"Well, what now?

"They said what?

"How many?"

A long puff off the cigar.

"All right, Mulder. If we're going to believe
this...source of yours, then we're going to have to believe
their warning is correct. In that case, we need more people
and I won't be able to raise a swat force because two
little girls said so. And I'm not going in with just three
of us.

"Four? Who's the fourth?

"A fucking lawyer, huh? Okay. They're pretty damn
dangerous. Still...

"Wait. Wait a second. If we're going to get civilians
involved in this...

"...then I know who to invite."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Someone else was inviting herself. She was the one who
tried to contact Mr. Rogers but got no reply. She was the
one whose blood-sharpened instincts told her that something
was wrong; that Constantine Morgan had struck back; that
her lover had been imprisoned.

She was going to start looking for him.

And hell was right behind her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2000 10:38:27 -0400
Subject: xfc: Gone to Florida (17 of 21) -- Blimey, That Hurts Again!
Source: xfc

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (17 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SEVENTEEN
BLIMEY, THAT HURTS AGAIN!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fifteen leather-clad lesbian bikers turned to the people
entering their bar. Even before they saw the visitors, they
could sense the four newcomers didn't really "belong."
Three of them just cried out "cop" in their attitude and
the extra woman with them didn't look very dykey.

For one long moment, the denizens of The Iron Pussy stared
at the four visitors while a jukebox growled "You just made
my shit list..."

Then Gloria Kalahan stood up from her table and called out
"Scully!" with a big grin on her face. "Get your pretty ass
over here!"

That seemed to alleviate the mood as the other lesbians
returned to their drinking, smoking, dancing, kissing,
whatever. Scully, on the other hand, felt a little nervous
as she, Mulder, Audrey and Carranza walked over to
Kalahan's table. It wasn't the come-on that bothered her.
It was that Kalahan seemed to know something embarrassing
about her.

"Well, well," Kalahan said as she leaned on the table.
"Come to shake it for us, Scully?"

Scully looked at Mulder. He gave her his "I'll-explain-
later" face.

"We need your help," Carranza said to the biker.

Kalahan stopped smiling. "Excuse me? My help?"

"Everybody's help. Your whole fucking crew."

"First of all, what for? And second of all, why the hell
should we want to help a representative of your fascist,
patriarchal pig-fucking system?"

"Answer to your first question -- I need you and the
wonder dykes to do some ass-stomping for me. Answer to your
second question -- because Max's life depends on it."

"All right. New question -- why come to us?"

"To answer that question, I would have to sit my ass down,
order a beer in a place where you catch a venereal disease
from one of the glasses and go through a fucking
complicated story that nobody understands except maybe this
asshole." He jerked his thumb at Mulder. "Let's just say
that I've come to you because you are Max's friend and
you're my last hope."

Kalahan scratched her chin as she regarded the detective.
As she examined his face, she knew that this was the
closest he ever got to sincere.

"All right," she said. "I'll talk to my sisters.
However...I will only do this under one condition."

"And what the hell might that be?"

The smile returned to the biker's face.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The gym smelt like the devil's jockstrap. If you dare to
breathe in, you inhaled a mixture of sweat, dried blood and
dank water. Morgan was adding to the stench by smoking a
cigar. He seemed unaffected by the smell, the dim lighting,
the creaking in the water pipes and the brown stains on the
wall. In fact, the gym's conditions were just he wanted.
When his fighters trained, they shouldn't feel coddled or
pampered. They were being bred to a level of pure
viciousness.

As he leaned against one of the posts of a boxing ring,
Morgan grinned as he thought about the Dome of Blood. He
imagined a thousand people screaming and throwing popcorn
at a steel cage. Inside the cage, two men were breaking
bones and teeth, beating each other until they couldn't
stand up, spilling thick puddles of blood onto the floor.

Now that's some fuckin' entertainment, he thought.

Speaking of entertainment, the rest of his party had just
arrived. They lumbered through the front door, all twenty
of them, meaty and thick-wristed and ready to go.

"'Allo, gents!" he called out. "Now, you're probably
wonderin' why I..."

Then he saw who was with them.

"Fuckin' hell! Which one of you cunts brought her?"

"Uh, that would be me, boss," Walt 'Speed Demon' March
said. "I was working late at the office when you called and
then she showed up and..."

"I just had to see you," Chairman Gwendolyn Burns said in
a breathless voice as she clutched a leather bag to her
chest. "I want...I want to do something new."

Morgan heard snickering. Oh, this is fuckin' precious, he
thought. "Look, you silly bird, I don't want to deal
with..."

"No!" Burns insisted. "I have to do this now!"

He sighed, then his eyes locked onto 'Speed Demon.' "You!"

"Me?" 'Speed Demon' said.

"Yeah. Take care of her."

"Huh?"

"Go into the fuckin' bathroom and do what she wants, you
git!"

"But...but..."

"What the fuck are you afraid of? She's the one who wants
to get hurt!"

'Speed Demon' looked at the little dark-haired woman and
the eager look on her face. Then he shrugged. "Okay. Fine."
He pointed the way to the bathroom. "This way, ma'am."

After Burns and 'Speed Demon' had left, Morgan addressed
his fighters. "All right, men. I want you all to wait right
here. In a few minutes, I'm going to bring up somebody. And
then...well, you'll know what to do then."

Morgan headed for the basement and the nineteen huge men
waited, cracking their knuckles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So," 'Speed Demon' said as he and Burns stepped into
bathroom (as smelly and stained and cracked as the rest of
the gym.) "the boss says you're into S&M."

"That's right," Burns said as she laid the black satchel
down on the ground. She bent down to it.

"Well...I guess I could handle that. I mean, I hurt people
for a living."

Burns nodded. She unzipped the bag and reached inside.

"Well, how do you want it done?"

"Like I said..."

Burns pulled out a gun and pointed it at the fighter.

"...I want to do something different this night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

No clap of thunder has ever sounded as loud as they did.
The combined roar of their engines made parents gather
their children off the sidewalks, shop-owners put up their
"CLOSED" sign and policemen huddle down in their squad
cars. Just as fearful was the sight of them on their silver
motorcycles with their short haircuts and their tattoos and
their black jackets with the words "FAIRY GODMOTHERS"
written on the back in shiny studs. Their bikes glided over
both lanes in a smooth, even pattern like a shark gliding
over water.

At the head of it was Gloria Kalahan. Sitting on the bike
behind with her arms clutched onto Kalahan's bulky
sides and her head on the biker's shoulder was Scully.

"Why am I riding on this bike with you again?" she asked
into Kalahan's ear.

"You ride with us, you do it our way."

"So why are Mulder, Carranza and Audrey back there behind
us in the car?"

"'Cause I want us to know each other better before we
start fucking."

Scully made no response.

"You ready for that?" Kalahan asked.

"I don't know. You any good?"

In the car tagging along behind the Fairy Godmothers,
Carranza asked Mulder, "You feeling jealous?"

"Of what?"

"Of your partner and future dyke lover."

Mulder ignored the question. He turned to Audrey in the
back and said, "You don't have to come with us."

"I know," she said.

"I don't suppose now would be a good time to ask..."

"No."

"I thought so."

The Fairy Godmothers thundered onwards.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Skinner was having that dream again; the one about the
angel with her back turned to him. As before, he was woken
up before he saw the woman's face. This time, it was Morgan
peeing on him that disturbed his slumber.

"Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine!"

Skinner thrashed as the warm, rancid liquid splashed on
his forehead and ran down his face. He closed his eyes and
mouth as the urine burned his skin. The hot rain went on
for twelve seconds. There was nowhere to go. Chains kept
him immobile against a pipe.

"There you go!" Morgan laughed, zipping up his pants.
"Nothing like a nice shower to get you up in the morning."

The assistant director shook his head several times,
trying to whip the piss off his head. When he finally
opened his eyes, he saw the dented head of Constantine
Morgan. He could also see where he was -- a sooty basement
with mounds of garbage rotting in the corners and two
hanging light bulbs. Like him, Max Miles and Mr. Rogers
were kneeling on the dirty ground, chained against the
pipes running along the basement's walls.

"So," Morgan said as he picked up a lead rod and tapped
it in his hand. "here we all are."

"I can see that," Skinner said, spitting the urine off his
lips. "So why are we all here and why are you risking holy
hell by kidnapping a detective and an FBI agent?"

"Think that's supposed to scare me, mate?" Morgan touched
the end of the rod to Skinner's nose. "I got big money on
my side, you wee little prick. I'm talkin' Hall
Enterprises. Even if the coppers find your body, they'll
never pin it on me. As to your first question..."

Morgan walked up to Mr. Rogers. "You know why you're here."

"Yes," the realtor said, looking as unperturbed as ever.
"I'm bait for Sara Lee."

"Now, is she for real? I mean, all this shit about a
mountain woman..."

"You'll find out how real she is when she's chewing on
your guts."

Morgan kept smiling. "She has to go through a lot of
people to get to me."

"Which she will. It's just a matter of time. To put it
simply...you're dead."

For a moment, Morgan was scared by the matter-of-fact
attitude of Mr. Rogers. Then he kicked Mr. Rogers in the
chin. "No!" he yelled. "You're the dead one, fucker! I'm
only keepin' you alive until I rip the tits off your woman!
Then I'm gonna..."

"Shred my balls with a weed-whacker," Mr. Roger mumbled.
"Yes, yes..."

"Well...right! 'Cause no one messes with me!"

Mr. Roger just nodded.

"As for you," Morgan said as he turned to Miles. "you were
just in the way. 'Course, anybody who hangs around with..."
He jabbed a thumb in Skinner's direction. "...is an
arsehole in my book."

Skinner said, "And you hate me because...I roughed you up?"

"YOU'RE FUCKIN' RIGHT I HATE YOU!" Morgan screamed as he
marched back to Skinner with the rod raised. "NO ONE LAYS
A HAND ON ME! NO ONE!"

"You were the one who threw the first punch," Skinner
replied, looking straight at Morgan. "And if you were to
unchain me now, I could smash your ass into the ground just
like before."

Morgan stood before the assistant director, his grip
tightening and tightening on the rod.

Then his grip loosened and his grin returned.

"You are a tough guy, Skinner. How tough are you is the
question. Upstairs...I've got twenty guys who are going to
help me answer it. And after they've got their answer, you
know what I'm goin' to do? I'm goin' to find that cunt you
kept me from makin' time with and I'm..."

With a voice deep as a well, Skinner said, "Keep away from
her."

"O-ho-ho! Someone's sweet on her! And is she sweet on you?"

Skinner said nothing.

"Well, if she likes you, then imagine when she gets to
taste my dick!" Morgan squeezed his crotch. "Once you had
an Englishman, you'll never go back to any bald-headed
Yank!"

"Besides," Miles said. "with you, she'll always have a
place to put her drink."

"Wot? Wot do you mean..." Morgan reached up to touch the
dent on his forehead.

Miles gave him a tiny smile.

"Well, well, well..." Morgan said as he strode back to
Miles. "...there's that good ol' Oscar Wilde-faggot style
wit, ain't it? I've heard about you, you fairy cop. You and
your degenerate ways."

Morgan stopped within a half-foot of Miles. The detective
had a blank expression as he said, "I may be a degenerate
but I wouldn't never suck on those snails you Englishmen
call a penis."

"Oh, yeah?" Morgan reached down, ripped open his zipper
and then yanked his cock out. "What do you call that, eh?"
he snarled as he wagged the one-eyed snake at Miles' face.
"That's pure, uncut, one-hundred-percent..."

Miles lunged forward. He had achieved consciousness before
Morgan had entered the basement. He had checked to see just
how far the chains would let him move.

Far enough.

At first, Morgan couldn't believe what he was seeing and
feeling. Then he raised the rod...

"Dwop if."

"H-h-huh?"

"I think he said 'drop it,'" Skinner said.

The rod trembled in Morgan's hand but he wouldn't go.
Miles pressed his teeth in just a little more.

Clank-clank, the rod said as it landed on the floor.

"Dom mof."

"Wh-wh-what? I...I can't..."

Skinner translated. "What my esteemed colleague wants you
to do is not to move or else...well, you might just have to
put some mustard and relish on that thing. Understand?"

Morgan nodded rapidly. His eyes were fixed on the sight of
Max Miles with his nose nudged against Morgan's crotch and
his mouth all the way up the shaft of his penis. It was
remarkable that Miles could have swallowed so much so fast
but, as he would tell you, he had lots of practice.

"Now," Skinner said. "here's what you should do next..."

That's when they heard the motorcycles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2000 10:36:56 -0400
Subject: xfc: Gone to Florida (18 of 21) -- Attack of the Fairy Godmothers
Source: xfc

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (18 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART EIGHTEEN
ATTACK OF THE FAIRY GODMOTHERS

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"WAAARGH!!!"

"Damn," 'Blood-Sucker' said. "Maybe one of us ought to go
check on 'Speed Demon.'"

"Nah, he's okay," 'Mad-Face' assured him. "That's just his
war cry. You know, he's getting all worked-up to hurt
somebody."

"YE-OOOOWWW!"

"Are you sure?" 'Blood-Sucker' asked. "He doesn't sound
good."

"He's fine. Hey, have you heard about this new office
software? It's supposed to kick some ass."

"No, I haven't. What's it called?"

Before 'Mad-Face' could explain, the nineteen fighters in
the gym pricked up their ears. A mighty sound was
approaching them -- a sound that made their testicles draw
up into the scrotum.

They watched the front door.

And something came through.

The two metal doora snapped off their hinges as they were
struck by the front tire of a motorcycle popping a wheelie.
The fighters scattered, clearing a path for the motorcycle.
Riding on a cycle was a bulky woman in black leather and a
smaller, red-haired woman holding on for dear life.

The front tire hit the ground and the cycle skidded to a
halt in front of the boxing ring, turning sideways so both
women could face the twenty fighters. The driver had a
sinister grin on her face. The ride looked pale.

Then the other motorcycles came through the busted
doorway. They came in one at a time, alternately going left
and right. The fighters began to back up in a clenched
group as fourteen more rumbling bikes flowed into the gym.
A circle was formed around the fighters in the gym's wide
space.

Nineteen men stood at the center of this circle, not
knowing what to do. The bikers shut off their engines,
kicked down the pedals and dismounted their bikes. Some
were carrying weapons -- chains, metal rods, brass
knuckles. Others just had their bruised and callused hands.

They were all smiling just like their leader.

The red-haired woman slid off the bike and managed to
stand up on her trembling legs. She fumbled inside her
jacket for her badge. "I'm Agent...Agent..."

That was when the fighters noticed something. They had the
other side outnumbered.

"...Scully of the FBI. I would advise all of you to get
down on..."

Furthermore, the other side was made of women.

"...the floor so we may search this building."

A bunch of women with chains and shit, but still...

"Do it now and..."

The uncertain expression on the fighters vanished and hard
frowns appeared. The Fairy Godmothers saw this change. They
weren't scared. They were looking forward to this.

"...nobody gets hurt."

"COME AND GET US, YOU CUNTS!" 'Blood-Sucker' yelled.

Before Scully's uncomprehending eyes, The Fairy Godmothers
charged.

When Mulder, Carrenza and Bjorg arrived at the door, they
were greeted with the sight of fifteen women and twenty men
having at it. The melee in the gym was a blur of arms,
legs, metal as well as blood and flying teeth. Out of it
they could only absorb brief images...

A Fairy Godmother slamming a fighter in the groin with a
pipe...

A fighter holding one Fairy Godmother in a headlock and
hitting her with his fist...

Another fighter screaming as a Fairy Godmother's fingernails
pierced his eyeballs...

A Fairy Godmother getting slammed against a wall and
having her chain snatched away...

Scully pulled out her gun, yelled "Everyone, freeze!" and
fired it into the ceiling.

The fight went on.

Mulder tried the same tactic. Still, no result. "Funny,"
Mulder said. "That usually works."

"Not this time," Carrenza said, pulling out his revolver.
"And I wouldn't advise trying to shoot the bad guys. In
that mess, you could hit our own people." He handed the
revolver to Audrey.

"What is this?" Audrey said.

"Take it. You, Mulder and Scully go look for our missing
sheep."

Audrey took the revolver, puzzled. "And...what about you?"

Carrenza rolled up his sleeves. "When in fucking Rome..."
he said, then he waded into the fight. He grabbed one of
the fighters who had one of the Fairy Godmother pinned down
on the ground. Then he slammed the fighter's head on his
knee.

Audrey turned to Mulder. She shrugged. Mulder let out a
sigh, then waved at Scully to meet them at a door on the
other side of the gym. Giving one last uneasy look at the
squabble, she headed over there, careful to keep on the
edges of the fight. It wasn't easy since the fighters and
Fairy Godmothers would shift left to right on their
battleground like some big trembling organism, knocking a
bike over to the ground. Mulder, Scully and Audrey often
had to step over an unconscious person or dodge someone
else flying through the air.

They made it to the door, though.

There was another door in the back of the gym. Someone
else used that door.

Someone with a knife.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Bloody, bloody, bloody hell, what's goin' on up there?"

"Dot no, bub yu bedder nob mof."

"H-huh?"

"He said, 'Don't move,'" Skinner said, looking up at the
ceiling which trembled with the sound of dropping bodies
and screams. "And just what the hell is going on up there?"

"I do believe that's the sound of our rescue," Mr. Rogers
suggested.

"Oh, fuck," Morgan groaned. He looked down at Miles and
said, "Look, mate, I...I got a deal for you. Let me go and
I'll..."

"No deam. We are all gobba say ret herr..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They ran down a flight of cement stairs, through a narrow
corridor, dim and yellow lights passing over their heads,
wet puddles under their feet, pipes rattling around them,
they turned a corner, a black door could be seen on the
right-hand side of the new hallway..

She was heading towards them. Way behind her was another
door leading to the outside, hanging on one hinge. The
shock of seeing her -- her with the sharp eyes, stone knife
and animal clothing -- gave them a moment's hesitation.

It gave her the moment to shoot her crossbow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morgan heard the twang, whoosh, thunk and the scream. "Wh-
what the fuck was that?"

"Your end," Mr. Rogers told him.

Skinner wasn't thinking that. He was thinking that the
scream sounded a lot like Audrey.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Son-of-a-bitch, son-of-a-BITCH..."

After the arrow had struck Audrey in the shoulder, she
fell up against Mulder and Scully. They yanked her back
around the corner and laid her down on the floor. Scully
examined the protruding arrow while Mulder pressed his back
against the wall, gun ready for another attack.

"Son-of-a-cock-sucking-BITCH..." Audrey growled.

"I know this hurts like hell," Scully said. "but you're in
no danger."

"I can't believe it...I ran into that crazy mountain-woman
again..."

Scully almost said "Again?" but decided to skip it.

"You stay here with Audrey," Mulder said. "I'm going to..."

Then they heard a door slam shut.

And lock.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morgan didn't have to turn around. He knew who was behind
him. It was like the air had turned hot. He heard the
door lock and the quick intake of breath from Skinner.

He glanced to his left. Mr. Rogers was looking at him. The
realtor didn't look pleased. He just had this weary "I-told-
you-so" expression.

The only one unaware of the situation was Miles. Morgan's
groin was blocking his view. "Wotz goin om? Wot iz it?"

Footsteps crept towards Morgan -- steady like a panther.

A fist hammered on the door outside. "Open up! Open this
door!" a familiar voice cried out.

"Oh, sweet mother England..." Morgan whispered.

"Wotz huppenin'? Wotz..."

That's when a hot, bitter fluid shot down Morgan's throat.
It wasn't the warm cream he had grown to like (even if it
didn't leave the best aftertaste in the world.) This was
just nasty; nothing more than the yellow water of an
Englishman's fear.

Miles finally let go. "Oh, for fucking Christ's sake!" he
groaned as he spat and coughed. The disgust he felt,
however, was nothing compared to what he felt next.

Released, Morgan spun around...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The wail from behind the door made Mulder step back. It
made Scully freeze and Audrey forget her pain. The volume
of the wail was loud enough to make it audible upstairs.

All the pummeling, kicking and ear-biting ceased in the
gym. Even Chairman Burns stopped amusing herself to listen.
They all wondered what kind of pain could create that sound.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She launched herself towards his chest. With the nails of
one hand, the knife in her other hand and the teeth in her
mouth, she tore into him. She went through flesh and bone
like a dog clawing a hole in the ground. Skinner and Miles
watched as every pint of the Englishman's blood sprayed
around Sara Lee's face, bursting out in a wide pattern
reminiscent of a broken fire hydrant.

Morgan remained standing throughout this. The rest of his
body had gone rigid with shock. His face was a white oval
with a small dark circle emitting a noise best suited for
the far reaches of hell.

The noise continued until Sara Lee reached his lungs.
After tearing them open, the heart popped open under her
knife. That's when Constantine Morgan -- proud man of
England, would-be promoter of violent entertainment, hater
of all American wankers -- officially died.

His body sagged but Sara Lee bent down and kept it
upright. She continued to chew, stab and claw. She kept
going until a hole was torn open in Morgan's back and the
body slid around her to the floor.

There she stood in the hole opened through Constantine
Morgan. Her body was painted with blood and decorated with
pieces of bone and flesh. She took several deep breaths
while licking at her lips. Her eyes looked like two small
black coals.

"You know," Miles said. "I could have gone my whole life
without seeing that."

"I came for you," Sara Lee said to Mr. Rogers.

"Thank you," he replied. "Now I suspect that there might
be a key inside Mr. Morgan's pockets."

There was. Outside, Mulder continued pounding on the door
as Sara Lee unlocked the chains. "What about him?" she
said, indicating the door.

"I think I know what to do there..." Mr. Rogers said. He
turned to Skinner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Upstairs, both the fighters and Godmothers remained
motionless, listening to the silence.

Then one of the Godmothers bit off a fighter's nipple and
the whole thing started up again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Agent Mulder," Mr. Rogers said. "We have Skinner and
Miles in here. Please back away from the door."

Mulder looked at the black door for a moment, then he did
as told. As he backed towards the hallway's corner, Scully
joined him. Both of them had their guns aimed at the door.

It opened.

Skinner stumbled out. Chains were wrapped his chest,
pinning his arms to his side. A bloody hand extended over
his shoulder and pressed a stone knife against his throat.
Mulder and Scully could catch glimpses of a red face and a
man's spectacles behind him.

"Please do not attempt anything," Mr. Rogers said. "My
companion is in a particularly feisty mood, even for her."

"Do as he says," Skinner whispered.

Scully said, "Sir, we're not going to..."

"You didn't see what that woman did in there. Back off."

It wasn't often that Skinner had fear in his voice. Mulder
and Scully glanced at each other, not knowing what to do.

Someone else did, though.

"Let him go, you crazy bitch from hell."

Sara Lee recognized that voice just like everybody else in
that hallway had. However, the animal side of her nature
was able to recall a sharper image than the rest.

...a long flaming sword drawing a red blur across the air
before connecting with her neck...

The voice and the image stirred an emotion that she had
thought long since gone from her heart.

Terror.

Audrey Bjorg stepped around the corner, the arrow still
jutting from her shoulder. The intense look on her face
made Mulder and Scully step aside. It kept Skinner quiet,
even though he wanted to warn her away.

"You let him go," Audrey said. "Or I will let loose the
most horrendous, most violent, most grotesque, most blood-
curdling, bone-crunching, balls-squeezing, shit-in-your-
pants punishment ever seen in this world." She straightened
her back and looked straight into the visible eye of Sara
Lee. "You know I can do it."

Actually, she couldn't. Not in the form she was in now.
Yet Audrey knew that Sara Lee would have a vague memory of
what had happened before (or what hadn't happened before,
to be precise.) If Audrey could put the fear of God into
her...

Skinner felt the chains loosen around his body. He
realized that Sara Lee wasn't going to let go, but she was
nervous and confused. He looked at Audrey.

Now, her eyes said.

He kicked back like a horse. Sara Lee was knocked back
into Mr. Rogers' arms. Skinner pushed himself to the floor.
Audrey raised her gun.

There was now nothing between Sara Lee and three guns.

Interestingly enough, her terror was gone now. She was now
just mad.

"Sara, no..." Mr. Rogers said.

Mulder, Scully and Audrey saw this blood-covered demon
charging at them and heard this scream full of hate. What
else could they do except shoot? Three wounds opened at the
same time in Sara Lee, gushing more blood over the layer of
blood on her body.

She kept charging at them.

They kept shooting. Each bullet slowed her approach a bit
more until she looked like a woman struggling against a
high wind. She was trying to keep her body going, trying to
keep on the attack even though part of her left arm was
lying on the ground and her right eye was blown out.

Audrey shot one last bullet right in the mountain woman's
forehead.

Then Sara Lee fell to the ground, shuddered and gasped,
"Pete..."

Mr. Rogers who had been standing still in place throughout
all this (and had remained unstruck by any of the bullets
passing through her) walked over to her, lowered himself to
his knee and looked into her one good eye. "Sara..." he
whispered back.

He saw the eye turn blank. He looked at Sara's destroyed
body for awhile before he turned and pressed his back
against a wall.

Skinner picked himself off the floor just as Audrey
started to slump. He grabbed her and kept her body upright.
"Thank you," he said.

She just nodded but didn't look at him. Like Mulder and
Scully, she was staring at the dead woman and the man who
had loved her. The face of Mr. Rogers was not just reserved
anymore. It was void of any kind of emotion now. His
silence was as complete as the dead woman's. It filled the
whole hallway, engulfing everyone in its vacuum and lasting
for a long time.

Then they heard Miles say, "Uh, could someone unlock me?
And if you have a bottle of mouthwash on you, I wouldn't
turn it down."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nine of the Fairy Godmothers were down on the ground. Ten
of Constantine Morgan's fighters were down there with them.
That left six of Fairy Godmothers along with Tomas Carranza
against nine fighters. The two groups were spread apart
now, facing each other and waiting for another surge of
fighting. There wasn't an unmarked face on any of them.

Carranza noted with the one eye not closed shut with a
bruise that his side was outnumbered here. And the other
side looked like they had enough piss in them to wipe them
out. We need a little help here, he thought.

That's when *his* Fairy Godmother showed up.

"Hey, you got a pretty mouth, chum."

One of the fighters turned and saw this foot. The foot
went straight into his teeth. Bicuspids shot from his mouth
as he stumbled onto his butt. The fighter next to him
turned. He had this brief glimpse of a very angry-looking
bald man before a fist slammed into his face.

"Okay," Carranza said. "Let's do it."

Helping Audrey stay on her feet, Mulder and Scully walked
into the gym. They saw Carranza, Miles, Skinner and the
Fairy Godmothers set upon the last fighters. The good guys
may have been still out-numbered but they now had two fresh
guys -- one of them being a karate expert mad over having
piss shot into his mouth and the other being an ex-Marine
who was just plain mad.

It didn't take too long.

After it was done, there was only two fighters still
conscious. They were on the floor with Carranza standing on
their backs. When they groaned, Carranza yelled, "Hey,
don't you shitheads know you have the right to remain
silent?"

"Oh, what a night!" Gloria Kalahan declared. Then she
turned a face with a broken nose and two missing teeth to
Scully. "Come here, babe, and give me a victory kiss."

Before Scully could come up with a reply, they all heard,
"HELP ME! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!"

Kalahan went to investigate. In the bathroom, she found
'Speed-Demon' tied to one of the stalls. His body had been
stripped of its clothing and all kinds of welts had been
opened up all over his body. Chairman Burns was standing
next to him with a lit wax candle, dripping the hot white
goo towards his penis. When Kalahan entered, she froze and
stared in fear at the biker.

Kalahan looked at the weeping 'Speed-Demon,' then she
looked at Burns. Grinning, she said, "I like your style,
kid."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, back with Oscar Hall and his father...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2000 10:39:33 -0400
Subject: xfc: Gone to Florida (19 of 21) -- Here's the Torch, Don't P__s on the Flames
Source: xfc

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (19 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART NINETEEN
HERE'S THE TORCH, DON'T PISS ON THE FLAMES

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You want to be a WHAT?"

"A musician, father."

Oscar Hall's father trembled with all of the horrible
things he wanted to say at this moment. However, he
couldn't decided which one of them to release so he took a
breath and said, "Just what the hell is this about?"

Oscar put his hands in his pockets. He had a casual,
dreamy look on his face. "It's about taking control of my
life. It's about being something more than what you want me
to be. It's about following my own ambition for once."

The old man took another few breaths. "Okay. You want to
be a musician. Fine. Be one. You can add it to your resume.
But that would only be a hobby..."

"No. From now on, it will be my life."

"And...what about..."

"I no longer have any interest in fulfilling prophecy."

The cane slipped from the old man's hand and fell to the
floor. His hands grabbed Oscar by the throat. Those thin
little arms hoisted the larger, younger man off the ground.
As Oscar's face reddened, the old man yelled, "YOU
WORTHLESS LITTLE SHIT! YOU MOTHER-FUCKING PUSSY! HOW DARE
YOU THINK SUCH A THING? IF YOU TAKE ONE STEP OFF THE PATH I
CREATED FOR YOU, I'LL..."

"You'll what?" Oscar croaked, defiance making itself clear
even in that weak voice.

The old man looked at Oscar. Oscar straight back at him.

And the old man blinked.

Slowly, he set Oscar back on the ground. Oscar coughed and
rubbed his throat. He still managed to look confident --
more confident than ever before in his life.

"All these years, I've been wondering about just how much
control you have over me," Oscar said, his voice
recovering. "What could you really do if I disobeyed? I had
assumed for so long that you could punish me in the most
horrible ways. Then...I realized something."

"And that is...?"

A smile appeared on Oscar's face. It was a small smile but
it was his first real one.

"It's a free country," he said. With that, he headed for
the door.

"You'll never be able to return," the old man snarled.
"All the wealth, all the power...it'll never be yours
again."

"I sincerely hope so." Those were the last words Oscar
ever spoke to his father.

After he was gone, the old man sat on the bed with his
head in his hands. Shit-and-hellfire, he thought. The
little puke figured it out. He was right. I have no real
power over him. Not as long as he dwells on this plane. So
what the fuck am I going to do now? I've got Jeremiah Bay
but the Book of Asabel said that my son had to own it.
Without a son, how the hell is anything going to go forward?

Oscar's office phone was ringing. The old man could sense
it. The ringing continued until the old man sighed,
disappeared, reappeared in Oscar's office (his ex-office)
and picked up the phone. "Who is this?" he snapped.

"All right. For one thing, the proper fuckin' thing to say
is 'hello?' Can we try that please? Hello?"

Oscar's father was about to let loose a flood of
obscenities when he recognized the voice. "Wait? Is this
November Sun?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sort of. Now who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Oscar Hall's father. What do you want?" And why do
you sound like a hick? the old man wondered.

"I want to talk him about this goddamned Jeremiah Bay. I
hear that he and Morgan arranged some kind of deal. Well,
I'm telling you that no deal goes down without me knowin'
about it. Understand me?"

Something odd about this sucker, the old man thought. I
better check this out myself. Luckily, I can use this phone
line as a guide...

"I said, do you...understand...me?" November Sun yelled.

"I understand you perfectly."

November Sun jumped and turned. He saw this wrinkled son-
of-a-bitch standing behind him in his living room (a living
room littered with empty beer cans and some newly bought
velvet paintings.)

"Jesus Chevy Christ!" November Sun squawked. "How did you
do that?"

The old man looked the mobster over, taking note of the
jeans, steel-tipped boots and John Deere cap. He also
looked inside the man's very being.

"Ah," the old man said. "You've got a baka inside of you.
In fact, you've become your baka."

"How...how did..."

"Hmmm. You're the same baka that was causing me all that
trouble awhile back, weren't you?"

November Sun (and Fred Udell inside of him) trembled.

"You're kind of a vicious little fucker, aren't you?" the
old man asked in a light voice.

"Uh..."

"Power-hungry too, I bet. Want all kinds of wealth and
status, don't you?"

November Sun swallowed, shrugged and said, "Doesn't
everybody?"

"You'll be surprised," the old man muttered. Then he was
quiet, wrapped in some deep thinking. The baka called Fred
Udell was just smart enough not to say anything.

After many moments of silence, the old man gave November
Sun another look that seemed to note every molecule of his
body.

Then he smiled. "I've got a proposition for you..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, Skinner visited Audrey in the hospital.
She watched him as he walked into her room and sat down
next to her bed.

Neither of them spoke for several moments.

Then Skinner said, "The doctor said that you'll be fine."

She nodded. "That's what the doctor told me too."

"I want to thank you for rescuing me."

"You're welcome."

"So...is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

What do you want me to say, Walter? she thought. That we
met once in a Mississippi town? That we fell in love there?
That you no longer remember this because the timeline was
changed? That I changed it? That I am, in fact, an angel?
And that all the old people I represent used to be angels
too? That they settled down on Earth to live out their
retirement? That I was sent back here to protect the land
promised to them by God? That the father of Oscar Hall is...

She said none of these things. Instead, she told Skinner,
"I love you."

He considered this for a long time, then replied, "I love
you."

They held hands. "In any case," Audrey sighed. "I'm glad
this is all over."

"Uh, Audrey...aren't you forgetting something?"

Audrey's eyes went blank for a second. Then she slapped
her forehead and said, "Aw, shit!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The waves had ceased to wash against the shore. It was as
if they were hiding from the people on the beach. Most of
them were holding cameras and tape recorders. They were all
watching two people in front of them. One of them was a
woman trying her best to smile. The other was a man trying
to keep erect on his feet. Both of them were holding shovels.

"Without further ado," Chairwoman Burns said. "I hand over
this beach to the ownership of Brecht Enterprises." She dug
a small pile of sand and tossed it aside.

She turned to the man next to her. He did nothing except
lean against his shovel, blink into the sunlight with his
bloodshot eyes and wonder how much he had to drink last
night.

"Uh...Mr. Brecht?"

"What?" he mumbled.

"You're supposed to...dig."

He shifted his wobbly head towards her. "Why?"

"Because it's...it's yours now."

He blinked, then turned around. He looked at the whole
beach.

Then he turned back with a grin rising on his face. He
plunged the shovel into the ground, hauled up a tall chunk
of sand and tossed it over the heads of the reporters. "YE-
HAAAAA!!!" he declared as the reporters covered their
faces. "TAKE THAT, YOU BASTARDS! I GOT MY OWN NOW AND YOU
CAN'T TAKE IT AWAY! YE-HAAA!!!"

From an unseen position, an old man watched this display
and sighed. He needed to work on his new son. However,
he felt optimistic. This fool looked very malleable. In
time, he wouldn't take a piss without asking the old man's
permission.

As for now, Jeremiah Bay was his.

The first part of the Book of Asabel had been fulfilled.

The old man looked to the sky and shook his fist. "Gonna
get you, cock-sucker."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Also watching Larry Brecht (formerly November Sun and
secretly Fred Udell) throw sand on the reporters were
Mulder, Scully, Miles, Carranza and another old man.

"I can't believe this," Carranza said. "We went through
all that shit and the bad guys still won?"

"Looks like it," Miles replied. "There's something I'm not
sure about, though."

"Oh, you mean there's something actually unclear about
this mess?" Carranza grumbled as he reached for a fresh
cigar in his pocket.

"Brecht Enterprises...that's been around for awhile,
hasn't it?"

"For a few years, yeah."

"Then why do I get this strange feeling that it just
appeared yesterday?"

Carranza stopped in the process of flicking his lighter.
"Hey..." he whispered.

"I got the same feeling," Mulder said.

"Me, too," Scully added. "Why do I think that someone
has been screwing around with us?"

"Someone has."

They all turned to the old man.

"And that someone remains in control, no matter who his
front is," Ru said.

On the beach, Brecht was chasing with shovel raised after
a reporter who had made the mistake of yelling, "Quit it,
you fucking hick!"

"So what will you do now?" Mulder asked.

"Do?" Ru said. "There's nothing to do. The Seniors lost."

"I think it was more than just the Seniors who lost, sir."

Ru looked away from Mulder, his face giving away nothing.

"Are you sure that there is nothing you can do?"

"My group is...bound by certain rules. If we're on this
territory, we must refrain from calling upon certain
abilities."

"What about someone else's abilities?"

Ru turned to Mulder, eyebrow raised. "You mean...?"

"Yeah."

"No. Oh, no. 'Fraid not. That particular group will not
respond to people like us. We are not...well, we're just
not."

"You know," Carranza said. "I still don't know what the
fuck you are talking about."

"I have to second that," Miles concurred. "What are you
supposed *not* to be?"

Scully said, "I think the better question is -- why are
you in Florida?"

Ru looked at Scully. "Excuse me?"

"Well...from what I have...experienced...and seen..."

Now it was Mulder's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I have a..." She cleared her throat. "...suspicion that
the Seniors aren't exactly...normal."

A smile slowly formed on Ru's face. "No, Agent Scully.
We're not."

"And from what you've said, I can assume that you are
having trouble playing by 'normal' rules."

Ru sighed. "Yes. That's it exactly."

"In other words...you're trying to keep yourself grounded
in two worlds and it's not working out."

"I suppose so. What are you getting at?"

"Maybe it's time to choose which world you want to be in."

The old man gave Scully such an intense look that she
turned away. For a long time, he was silent and motionless.

Then he nodded. "Yes. You're right. You're absolutely
right." He gave one last look at Jeremiah Bay before
saying, "Would one of you please give me a ride back?"

"Wait a minute," Carranza said. "What's going on?" He
turned to Scully. "What are you 'right' about?"

"To tell the truth...I don't know. What did I say,
Mulder?"

Mulder looked at Ru, then turned to Scully with a smile.
"You said that the good guys are going to win after all."

"I said that?"

"Yes."

"Hm. That's just swell then."

Brecht smashed a camera with his shovel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Skinner was still at the bedside of Audrey when Ru walked
in. "Oh," the old man said. "Pardon me but I didn't..."

"It's all right," Skinner said. "I take it you have some
business to discuss."

"Yes. Actually, we do."

Skinner gave Audrey's hand one last squeeze, then left the
room with his usual erect bearing. After he closed the
door, Ru said, "Wasn't he the one you met in...?"

"Yes," Audrey answered. "He was." She laid back on her
pillow and closed her eyes. Ru sat himself next to her bed.

"I take it you've heard about Jeremiah Bay," he said.

"Skinner told me. Sounds like Oscar Hall has been replaced."

"He had to be. He walked out on the whole thing."

Audrey opened her eyes. "Really?" she said, surprised. "He
stuck it to that old bastard?"

"M-hm."

"Good for him."

"Yes. Unfortunately, the situation remains unchanged for
us."

"Yeah...well...don't look to me for ideas."

"I won't. I already have one. We're going to ask the loas
for help."

"But...we already tried that..."

"That's because they can only obey the wishes of humans."

Audrey shook her head. "I don't get it. What are you going
to..."

She sat up straight in bed. "You can't be serious!" she
declared.

"Easy, easy," Ru said, placing a hand on her arm. "Don't
strain yourself."

"But..."

"Lay down."

Audrey settled back on the pillow. "I can't believe you
would do that."

"To tell the truth...I haven't run this idea by the rest
of the Seniors yet. However, I don't see any other
alternative. Do you?"

Audrey said nothing for a long time.

Finally, she said, "No. I can't."

"I thought that's what you would say. But I just wanted to
make sure."

"Then why did you come here?"

The old man smiled. "Because I knew you would tell me if I
was making a mistake."

Audrey reached out and squeeze his hand. "You little old
shit," she whispered.

Ru squeezed her hand in return. They remained touching for
a few moments before Ru stood up. "I better get going. I
need to gather the others and..."

"I'll be joining you."

"There's no need for that. We can do this by ourselves."

"I know. I just want to do it with you."

Shock sprang all over Ru's features. "For heaven's sake,
why?"

"Because someone told me that you have to chose which
world you want to be in." She paused. "I choose this one."

Ru tilted his head to the side. "Funny. Someone said the
same thing to me."

"Well, it's the truth. And this is my decision."

"Does this decision have to do with Skinner?"

Audrey looked towards the window reflecting the glare of
the sun. "Eventually, I have to go back. I don't want to. I
want to stay here."

"But if you do that, you won't remember..."

"I know, Ru. I know."

"Then what's the point?"

"By all rights, I should never have met Skinner again. But
I did. He may not remember how we met before but he senses
what he had...what he has. I'm hoping that the same thing
will happen to me."

"Is such a thing possible?"

Audrey considered that question, then said, "This is a
fucked-up world." She turned to Ru with a smile. "But
sometimes it's fucked-up in your favor."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2000 10:40:55 -0400
Subject: xfc: Gone to Florida (20 of 21) -- It's Divine Intervention, Mon
Source: xfc

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (20 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWENTY
IT'S DIVINE INTERVENTION, MON

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All in all, it was one of the damnedest things ever seen
in Florida. Oceanographers, meteorologists and other
scientists were asked to study the event. The only thing
they could do was get drunk at the nearest bar and buy
themselves a t-shirt. No logical explanation could be
provided for the event.

On the night that Brecht Enterprises purchased Jeremiah
Bay, the sea level abruptly rose to new heights. By dawn,
the entire bay was under ten feet of salt water. There
were no freak weather conditions to explain this. It had
been an average warm Florida night with little wind.
Nothing about the ocean gave any hints as to why the
currents changed or as to why Jeremiah Bay had been the
only part of the coast line to get swamped.

What happened next was even stranger.

The next day, the sea withdrew itself and the sun baked
the sand back into its previous dry state. The old people
who had been using it before returned. A couple of years
later, somebody tried to buy it in order to build a water
slide. The same thing happened -- the waters rose, the
buyer left, the waters sank, the old people returned. After
that, it was unofficially decided that they were the true
owners of Jeremiah Bay. No one knew why. It just felt like
the truth.

To add to all of that, there was the coincidental murder
of Larry Brecht which occurred on the same night Jeremiah
Bay was flooded. The killing remained an unsolved mystery
just like the flood.

However, there was an answer connecting these events. It
went something like this...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Larry Brecht (or Fred Udell or November Sun or whatever
you want to call him) tripped his way into his house. He
stopped in the hallway, surveyed all the rich furnishings,
spread out his arms and let out a loud "Whooooa-boy." Then
he stumbled his way to the bedroom and fell onto the
softest bed he had ever encountered. He had just completed
a long jaunt through the clubs of Miami. He was a rich boy
now and he was now determined to enjoy every sordid
pleasure imaginable. As he laid on the bed thoroughly
drunk, sucked-off and fucked-up, a happiness spread over
his heart.

A piece of wood touched him on the shoulder. Grunting, he
turned over and saw an old man -- not the old man who had
given him all this wealth. This old man was dressed in an
even rattier outfit, had the skin of a mulatto and smelled
like licorice.

"Who the fuck are you?" Brecht mumbled.

"I am Legba -- Master of the Crossroads."

Brecht's bleary eyes looked Legba up and down.
"Hey...you're a goddamn loa."

"That's right. Sort of like you, Fred Udell."

"Well, what do you want?"

"As I said, I am Master of the Crossroads. I guide the
other loas from one place to another." He looked right into
Brecht's eyes. "And, occasionally, I have to guide them
with a strong hand."

"Oh. Is that so?"

"That is so."

Brecht raised himself up to a sitting position, swaying on
the mattress like a corn stalk in the wind. "I get the
feeling that you're gonna threaten me."

"What I am going to tell you is to leave this body at once."

"And what if I don't feel like it?"

"I will use any means at my disposal to force your
departure," Legba explained in a quiet voice. "Normally, I
would be concerned for Mr. Brecht's safety but...well, he
is a gangster."

"And I'm a down-home bad-ass," Brecht snarled. After
managing to stand on his feet, he pointed his finger at the
loa. "Let me see you try something, you old fart. Let me
see what you can..."

Legba raised his cane and waved it towards Brecht's legs.
It didn't move very fast but when it touched a leg, it went
through the bone and then right through the other leg. The
upper part of Brecht fell backwards. He landed on the bed
with screams coming out of his mouth and blood jetting from
his stumps. The cut-off section of his legs remained
upright, looking like a pair of lost boots.

The loa walked up to the bed. He studied the thrashing
body of Brecht as if he was gauging the level of its pain.
After the blanket was saturated with blood and Brecht had
screamed himself hoarse, Legba plunged his walking stick
into the possessed man's heart. The souls of Larry Brecht
(a.k.a. November Sun) and Fred Udell burst from the corpse,
heading for their own particular destination.

It wasn't long before someone found out about this
execution and the flood. And, boy, was he angry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The green-eyed mulatto in the Naval uniform was eating
chocolate cake in the restaurant when an old man ran up to
him.

"You lousy fucking nigger!"

"The name is Agwe," the mulatto said in a calm voice. "And
you should keep your voice down."

"I"ll shout as loud as I want to, you goddamn coon! And
I'll hurt you as much as I want!"

"Really?"

"You fucking meddled in my business! For that, I'm gonna
rip out..."

For the next minute, the old man recited a list of all the
terrible things he was going to Agwe. The loa listened to
all of it with an unperturbed face as he ate his cake. The
waiters and other diners listened to all this with unease,
wanting to intervene but hesitant to do so. There was
something about that old man...

"...and burn the fucking remains!" the old man concluded.

"You won't be able to do that," Agwe said. "I've done
nothing wrong."

The old man sputtered. "Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong! You
violated the rules! You did the dirty work for those damn
Seniors!"

"And what's wrong with that?"

The old man leaned forward and dropped his voice to a
hiss. "Because they're angels, you Haitian jungle bunny.
Retired angels but angels nevertheless. An angel is not
allowed to..."

"You obviously haven't been keeping up."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"They're not angels anymore."

The old man blinked. "Huh?"

"They gave up their divinity. They don't even possess
their memories of heaven. They are nothing more now than
humans with ordinary lives." Agwe smiled. "Of course, that
means more than you might imagine."

The old man trembled so hard that he had to sit down.
"They...gave it all up," he muttered. "They gave it all up
to stop me."

"That was the deal. Their divinity for the intervention of
myself and Legba."

"Christ..." The old man covered his eyes. His neck bent
down like a dropping flower. Agwe felt a sudden rush of
sympathy for him. All the loa could see now was a fragile,
tired person; a being obsessed with a goal always out of
his reach; not the personification of evil but the
personification of loneliness and despair.

"Cake?" Agwe offered.

The old man shook his head. He remained in the same
position for a long time.

Then he reached into his jacket and tossed a contract onto
the table. "The lease. Tear it up. Stomp on it. Eat it and
shit it on your ass. I don't care. Jeremiah Bay is
worthless to me under ten feet of fucking water even if I
did still have an heir. Which I don't."

"If it means anything...I'm sorry."

"Oh, fuck off," the old man grumbled as he pulled himself
up to his feet.

"What are you going to do now?"

"What do you think, shithead? I'm going to work on a new
plan, find a new heir, do *something*. I am not giving up
until the prophecy of Asabel is fulfilled and the mother-
fucking Host of Hosts gets down on His knees and sucks my
dick."

"That's what you want?"

"Of course it is!"

Agwe looked the old man over. "You know...far be it for
the spirit of one pantheon to criticize a major figure of
another..."

"Far, far be it."

"But is what you want really worth it?"

The old man gave no answer. He never would be able to give
one. He just turned and left the restaurant with anger,
frustration, weariness and a little sadness eating at his
chest.

He needed to work some of these feelings out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It smelled like hell.

It felt like hell.

It sounded like hell.

That's because...

"Hello, you pricks."

"Cor!" Constantine Morgan yelled. "Where the fuck am I?"

"Aw, shit!" Fred Udell moaned as he looked around him. Or
as much as he could look. The top half of his body was
chained to a rock, his stomach pressed against its hot
surface. The lower half hung down the rock with the ankles
also chained to the floor. His legs were spread apart.

Wide.

Sweat dripped out of his rectum as it did from the asses
of Morgan and November Sun. They were also in similar
positions with winged creatures brushing their claws
against their naked skins.

"This doesn't look like the Highest Circle," November Sun
whimpered.

"You bet it ain't," an old man said. "This is my home
territory. And there are no voodoo priests, no detectives,
no FBI agents, no goddamn lawyers here. It's just me and
your asses."

"But..." Fred Udell said. "but...I'm your heir. You told
me. You said..."

"That's all done with, you moron. Now you're nothing more
than some pissant from the KKK who is going to get what's
coming to him. The same for you two assholes as well. And
I've decided...to handle this personally."

The old man held up a hand. On the hand was a steel
gauntlet with needles, razors and drills attached to the
hard fingers.

"So...when was the last time you fellas had a prostate
exam?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2000 10:57:29 -0400
Subject: xfc: Gone to Florida (21 of 21) -- The Loose Ends of Love
Source: xfc

TITLE: GONE TO FLORIDA (21 of 21)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWENTY-ONE
THE LOOSE ENDS OF LOVE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So the good guys won after all?" Carranza said.

"The good guys always win," Miles replied. "Even in
Florida."

Carranza shook his head and put aside a newspaper. The
headline of the paper was "WATERS RECEDE FROM
JEREMIAH BAY. SCIENTISTS REMAIN BAFFLED."

"More like 'feeling completely fucked sideways in the
brain,'" Carranza said, his meaty elbows laying on the
table. He turned to Mulder and Scully. "What do you think?"

"I think there's been a resolution," Mulder said. "Of some
sort. You may not have enough answers to give a
satisfactory report to your superiors..."

"You can bet your big nose on it."

"...but you may rest assured that all threats to public
safety in this case have been neutralized."

"All of them?"

"Both earthly and cosmic."

Carranza rolled his eyes and said, "Mulder, let's say we
never work together again, okay?"

"What about the Seniors?" Miles asked.

"What about them?" Mulder said.

"Well...the way they're acting now...it's like..."

"They don't know anything about what's behind this?"

"Yeah. But they sure acted like they did before."

"They did. But not anymore, I think."

"Any thoughts on why?"

"They made a choice. That's what I believe. This choice
involves forces beyond our imagining and comprehension. The
only thing we can comprehend is that good won today and
will fight on tomorrow."

"Ah."

"Buju, where the hell is our dinner?" Carranza yelled.

The Miami detectives and FBI agents had gathered at Buju's
restaurant one more time before Mulder and Scully got on
their return flight to D.C. As they waited for Buju to
bring tonight's succulent meal, Kalahan walked up to their
table. Like Carranza, her face was healing nicely. She was
also holding hands with a woman whose identity was obscured
by a visored helmet.

"Greetings, all of you pathetic fascists."

"Greetings, you smelly loser," Miles answered. "Who's your
friend?"

"Uh, she would prefer not to show her face in public."

"Really?" Miles said, examining the dark glass between his
eyes and the mystery woman's face. "I'm surprised. Since
when did you go out with women who wanted to hide their
orientation?"

"Since never. But..." Kalahan looked at her companion with
twinkling eyes. "...I like her style."

Everybody at the table looked at each other.

"Well, I just thought that I would stop by and say hi. And
to tell Scully that you don't know what you missed."

"My career comes first," Scully replied with a smile.

"Hmm." Kalahan turned to Mulder. "She looked good in that
dress, didn't she?" she said before turning and leaving
with her companion. Mulder avoided looking at his partner
but Miles didn't.

"Well, I didn't get to see it," he said. "Are we going to
get an encore?"

"Ah, I'm afraid not," Scully replied. "Mulder and I are
heading back to D.C. tomorrow..."

"Then we can have one night at least."

"Uh, Detective Miles..."

"We can't..." Mulder said.

"That is to say..."

"Well..."

Miles stood up, walked over to the FBI agents, knelt down
and placed an arm over each of their shoulders. "You don't
know what you're missing," he said in a low voice.

Scully looked to Carranza for help. He was looking away.

"Look," she said. "it's not that we're flattered...I mean,
it's not like I'm not flattered..."

"We both are," Mulder said.

"Ah-ha," Miles whispered.

"But...it's really not for us."

Miles sighed.

He sighed again.

"I'm more than a bit disappointed. I mean, after all we've
been through. After all I've been through. You try
swallowing a teacup of British urine. I was just hoping for
some kind of reward..."

Mulder pressed his hands on both sides of the detective's
face. He gazed into the other man's eyes for just a moment
before he pressed his full, juicy lips against Miles' mouth
and held them there for all of four seconds. Scully's eyes
widened. The cigar drooped in Carranza's mouth.

When he released Miles, he placed his hands in his laps
and just looked at the detective. Miles remained still for
several long moments. Then he stood up straight, walked
back to his chair and sat down.

"So...how was he?" Scully asked.

Miles just grinned. That's when Buju showed up with their
dinner. In the back, a band was assembling on a stage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Audrey Borg was in the process of leaving the hospital
when the bald-headed FBI agent showed up. They met in a
white hallway just as she was leaving her room. She halted
when she saw him, her purse dangling from her shoulder.

"Hello," he said.

She nodded.

When he had arrived, Skinner had an expectant look on his
face. His expression now shifted to uncertainty.

"Is something wrong, Audrey? Are you feeling fine?"

"No. I'm all right."

"What is it then?"

She looked at the floor, remaining silent until he took a
step towards her.

"Please stop..." she said.

"What is it?"

"Wal...Agent Skinner...I've been doing things for the past
few days...strange things. I've been feeling strange
things..."

"So have I. But I don't mind."

"I wish I didn't, either."

Skinner's body stiffened. "Why?"

"Because I don't know the reasons behind it all."

"What are you talking about? From the moment I met you,
you've been acting like you did know."

"Maybe I did." She looked up at him. "I don't know anymore."

He took another step towards her. "Walter, stop!" she
insisted. When he stopped this time, he clenched his fists
and closed his eyes.

"This isn't fair to you," she said. "But it isn't fair to
me, either."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning I have to know why I feel this way to you. I
can't just let some stranger enter my life and
be...whatever to me. I just can't accept that kind of
mystery."

Skinner kept still but it was a tense, fragile stillness.
He seemed about to explode into a million pieces. Audrey
stood before him and waited for him to scream.

Then he opened his eyes.

He gave her a most unexpected smile -- a kind,
understanding smile.

"You will."

"Um...you think so?"

"If I can accept it, so can you."

Almost against her will, Audrey smiled back. "I hope so,"
she told him.

"You *will*," he repeated.

She let out a long breath. "Okay, then."

"Okay."

She walked up to Skinner and gave him a light kiss on the
cheek. "See you next time."

"I'll be there."

Those were the parting words they gave to each other. They
never stopped smiling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Like Audrey and the old people who used Jeremiah Bay, the
new drummer for the Burnsides felt this strange sense of
loss. They looked at their memories and suspected that they
were wrong somehow. Looking back, they knew who their
parents were, where they grew up, where they went to school
and how they wound up in Florida. Yet it still felt wrong.

As Oscar Hall sat behind the drum kit, the suspicion kept
bothering him. He looked down at his frayed jeans, old
sneakers and stained T-shirt. These were his clothes but
didn't he used to wear something finer? Didn't he have some
other job before he wound up becoming the drummer for a
cool-mannered blues prodigy and his hot-headed uncle? Why
couldn't he remember it?

He looked out at the audience gathered under the pumpkin
vines. He noticed certain faces -- a handsome dark-haired
man with his arm over the shoulder of a pretty red-haired
woman; another good-looking man who was chatting with
another couple and giving them sly smiles; an overweight
Cuban lighting up a cigar. When he saw them, he couldn't
shake the feeling that he had once been connected to them
somehow.

Another face kept appearing in his memory. It belonged to
this bitter, elderly man. Who was he? Why did he seem so
angry?

Above all, did any of this matter?

"YOU READY TO BOOGIE, MAMMY-FUCKERS?!!"

The audience cheered back. All the troublesome questions
faded away from his mind as he grinned and started the
tempo for "Down Home Blues."

He just didn't give a shit.

Not in the least.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ONE MORE EPILOGUE --

DETECTIVES MAX MILES and TOMAS CARRANZA
still work in the Miami Police Department. Much to their
surprise, Miles is now married to one of Carranza's nieces
and remains steadfastly devoted to her. "Guess I filled up
my quota of dick and pussy," Miles observes. "You better
goddamn have," Carranza tells him.

In other matters of the heart, CHAIRWOMAN GWENDOLYN
BURNS stepped down from the Zoning Commission of Miami.
She is now currently traveling the country in an arts revue/ road
show with her lover GLORIA KALAHAN. The title of the show
is "No Pain, No Gain." THE FAIRY GODMOTHERS are right
behind them so watch your ass.

After getting permission from their parents, ETTA and SUE
BURNSIDE remained with ANDY ANTOINE at his shop. If you
stop by and they like you, they will tell you something no
one else knows.

The various fighters employed by ASS-KICKERS, INC. are
serving sentences in jail. As for MR. ROGERS, his residency
is in a mental ward. He has not said a word since SARA LEE
died. It's doubtful he ever will.

A.C. BURNSIDE, MEYER BURNSIDE and OSCAR HALL
are burnin' it up wherever they are.

CONSTANTINE MORGAN, LARRY "NOVEMBER SUN"
BRECHT and FRED UDELL are just burnin'.

THE FATHER OF OSCAR HALL is closer than you think, but so
are AGWE, LEGBA and ELIZI.

BUJU is still cooking some of the best damn food in Miami.

AGENTS FOX MULDER and DANA SCULLY are...ah,
who cares?

AUDREY BORG and WALTER SKINNER did meet again.
Imagine how.

As stated before, none of the retired angels remembered
their past life after converting themselves to humans.
However, RU (now RON UPSON) did mail Mulder a letter before
the conversion.

"Dear Agent Mulder,

"Don't bother to ask me about this letter. I won't
remember writing it and there's nothing I'll be able to add
to it. I just wanted to let you know one last secret before
I forget everything.

"The Book of Revelations is a prophecy of a future where
good triumphs. The Book of Asabel shows how evil will
conquer all. Both involve the end of the world. Putting
them side-by-side apparently requires us to choose between
them.

"However...

"There is a *third* prophecy -- one in which the world
does not end. More than that, I will not say.

"Well, I will say this. I wonder if this third prophecy is
the world's true destiny.

"Keep your chin up, Mulder. Keep it all up.


                                                            Yours,


                                                            Ru

"P.S. For God's sake, man, just when are you going to pork
your partner anyway?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

"You know how all these apocalyptic movies work.
God is out to destroy the world and some Hollywood
screenwriter tries to outsmart Him."

                                                  -- Joe Bob Briggs

Well, that wraps up this little trilogy. I still have a few more long
stories in the works. And maybe a few short ones. And maybe...

Ah, hell.

We shall see.

Anyway, I should quickly acknowledge the songs I used. I believe there were
just two this time -- "Our House" by Madness and "Do Your Duty." I think a
variety of people have covered the latter song. I heard it from Billie
Holliday.

That's it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX