SquidgeWorld Archive

The Transporter
by Sue2

Frank Martin couldn't get her out of his mind. Why in this psycho world would he want to? She was fine, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, a `right stunner,' and he had laid his eyes on a respectable number of good-looking women in his time. This lovely took any cake baked. She...yeah, her name...she'd told him her name, Darcy, Darcy Richiri. He didn't know her well enough, yet, to use it as though he did.

But give him time. Plainly, she was the stuff of his fantasies, with plenty left over to spill into idle daydreaming. He'd only met her several nights ago, and already he was thinking about her nearly
constantly, far too much to do him any good, especially in his line of work. This much distraction could get him killed if he wasn't careful. What rule, though, covered putting an end to his complete and utter absorption?

He was disciplined, tough-minded, a man who made it a rule to hand somebody his or her butt if the person deserved it being soundly kicked before it being handed off, and he was in the throes of falling head over heels...

She delivered pizzas; she'd delivered his, the one he'd been waiting over an hour for. Audrey Billings had finished sweetly kissing him on the cheek goodnight and had gone on her merry, slightly inebriated way, or has he had thought at the time, she'd been somewhat `tooled.' He'd begun heading up his driveway when this cherubic-faced, raven-haired looker pulled up, a screeching halt broadcasting her long- anticipated arrival.

Lying on his bed, his hands cradling his head, he waited for the sun to come up. Frank had to smile again when thinking back. "You're the guy who ordered the pizza?" had been voiced huskily with soft-spoken overtones through the open window on the passenger side. Big wide eyes had taken him in.

He hadn't answered right away. Looking like a deer caught in headlights might have had something to do with it. "Yeah, that's right," had been his pithy reply he'd forced along a dry throat and out a mouth to match. He smiled the identical smile he'd worn then as he'd watched her slip out of the delivery car with the unwieldy pizza box in tow, quite deftly for that matter, as he recalled. Her hair
had been a shiny thick tangle that brushed her waist. She'd moved as if she had already known thathe was just the one who fully appreciated hair-trigger, well-timed execution and follow through.

The logical question that should have flowed next snagged, having trouble being framed. Sensuality, when it wasn't overblown, had a sneaky way of drubbing him every time. In a word, she'd fractured him.

"It's eleven ninety-five." She had smiled at him and what a smile! His heart had forgotten how to beat. Eyes that sparkled, courtesy of streetlights, as turquoise as hers, should be registered with the cops.

Gradually, he'd recovered enough and had heard himself say, "Yeah, right. It's got the olives and anchovies, minus the mozzarella?" He'd let her lodge the somewhat warm box in his hands before having had a chance to remember that he'd gone over that with the guy who'd taken his order several times.

"If you ordered it like that, it's what you've got, guy."

`What I've got is a bad case of the hots,' had popped into his mind like some haphazard delayed reaction. Following his lazy nod, he'd said, "The money's in the house."

"That's cool." She'd waited, looking quizzical, those eyes bedazzling him. He recalled his swallowing too much and his inability to remember the last time anyone had made him that hot and bothered. Some of what Audrey had brought with her had definitely rubbed off.

"Wait, I'll get it." He had stumbled off, stumbling, he thought, and grimaced. `Twinkle toes, that was me, anyway you slice it.'

"Or I can wait here with the pizza while you go get." She had moved to retrieve the box from his sagging hands.

The skin around his eyes crinkled the way it had when she'd actually implied she didn't trust him. The corners of his mouth curved up much the same way they had, having had his trustworthiness cheekily questioned.

He thought again what he'd told her, repeating it aloud for his benefit. "Afraid I'll do a runner?"

"A what?"

"Pizza's getting cold. Follow me in then."

Sluggishly, with a reluctance he had wanted to run his forefinger up and down her cheek for, to assure her she had nothing to fear from him, she had walked with him up to the house. He was the one in trouble, certainly not she.

"Is that your car?" she had asked, giving his gleaming Audi which was as black as her hair an appreciative glance.

"Almost."

"Almost? What does that mean?"

"It's a long story."

"Usually, most of them are."

Another of his goofy smiles settled itself with a sigh this time. "If she only knew," Frank whispered in the dark that was gradually giving way to the first intrusive shafts of sunlight filtering through slatted blinds.

On the porch, she'd hesitated as he had held the door open for her with the side of his body acting as doorstop. Cautiously, while she crossed the threshold he had thought, `Darling, you have no worries from me. If I wanted to give you something to worry about, you'd be in BIG trouble...'

"Won't take a minute," he'd promised, setting the pizza box down on the countertop and had headed in the direction of loose cash and change.

"Nice place," she had remarked, having sounded offhanded, but there had been something in her tone that suggested she had genuinely meant it. "Have you lived here long?"

Having quickly come back into her view, he had responded, "Long enough to get used to the zip code." He had handed her a twenty. "Keep the change." It had been worth it to see those gorgeous eyes round wider in authentic surprise.

"Wow. Just when I think I can spot a big tipper, you blow that right out the water."

"Credit it to the friendly service with a smile." He had gone to the fridge and opened it, had takenout one beer then made it two. "Want one?"

Her frown had lasted only a moment. "Sure," she'd accepted andtaken the bottle after he'd opened it. "You're my last delivery and..." she took a long drag on the bottle. "This hits the spot."

He'd gone to the pizza box and opened it. "Hungry?" He'd looked from the delicious smelling pie to her eyes, and had wondered would she really accept his half-cocked invitation. The words, `You have no idea,' which had ignited the smolder in Audrey's eyes, had insinuated itself into his thoughts again.

"As a matter of fact..." She'd helped herself, neatly dislodging a slice, and had herself seated at the table, chewing with a sated look on her face. He had barely had time to move out of the way. "Thanks, hope you don't mind if I do. I've been so busy all day, haven't had a chance to eat a thing."

He had gotten plates. "You're more than welcome." He'd seated himself down, angled off to her left with the pizza box sandwiched between them. He could have eaten every last piece of the pie solo, it had only been a medium after all, but passing on sharing it with such lovely company was unthinkable. He'd made the loner in him take a back seat for a change.

"Down for some company on a Friday night, are you?" she had boldly broached, giving his digs another once over as she chewed. She had come off as careful, as though not wishing to appear critical.

She was being nice, he'd judged. Nice was good. It was better than being a stone cold fish. Somehow he already knew she was hardly that, too down to earth. "Shows that bad, does it?" he'd gamely bantered.

"No, not that bad, just a little around the edges." She had measured off a pinch with thumb and forefinger.

He'd liked her and it had already begun to show from the moment he'd told her to keep the change and offered her that Heineken. "What about you? Were you busy for yourself, or for a significant other?" he had fished, sounding just as brash. "Others?"

"Significant other? Others?" She had stopped bringing the lip of the bottle to her lips to graze his expectant face with eyes that had filled with thoughtful amusement, then outlandish afterthought. "Well, I guess Horace counts."

"Horace?" Frank had echoed, and had tried his hardest not to sound as though she was married with three kids, which she probably was. What was going on? Was every and any woman who'd caught his eye lately bound fast in holy matrimony? Well, the rule was the rule. If she had beenmarried, he would have backed off, wasting no time doing so.

"My ever-faithful clown fish. I spent the not so better part of the day riding around trying to find him a friend of the female persuasion. No dice though, at least not today, anyway. I come on delivery at two in the afternoon. Bright and early, I'll keep searching again, tomorrow. He doesn't say anything, but Horace's lonely. I can tell."

`Horace, is it? Well, he's not the only one...' Frank had given her a predatory look. He'd thought what business did a looker like her have fitting his description. Lately it had begun to matter.

"What about you?" He'd decided that taking the gloves off felt right. She hadn't been wearing a ring, but what hadthat ever proven? She'd left her wedding band on the window sill that morning to wash dishes? A woman as mouth-watering as she was either involved, or she wasn't. He had thought that if she wasn't, andwilling to give him a shot, he'd go for it, a man of decisive action as he unquestionably was. He hadexchanged his usual MO of guarded posturing for getting information he'd badly wanted to have. "Married?"

If she had been taken a touch aback, she had not shown it. "Nope. Hoping for Mister Right but only acquainted with nothing but Wrongs. Miami's chock full of pretty boys all right, deeply in love with
themselves."

"Seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment. What about you?"

"Not at the moment..."

"Seems we're even, then." She'd leveled those impudent eyes of hers that had had him by the throat and upped the ante. "Want the job?"

"Got an application?" He'd drained the Heineken from his bottle long before starting on his third slice of pizza. He had eyed her bottle and he'd eased it from her hand to finish off the little beer that
remained. "Weird day. Sorry."

"Why sorry?"

He had set the bottle down and had known he'd better apologize for sounding like something straight out of a B minus movie. "Leave it out, love, I'm not quite myself tonight. The olives and the
anchovies..." Not to mention Audrey's wanting to jump my bones...he had thought. "In league with the Heineken have got me talking out of my a..." He had smiled like the species of cat his tiny circle of those he chose to call friends accused him of being capable of smiling like, and had decided to say instead, "Hat."

Audrey had said she'd felt so lost and confused, and he'd told her, "Who isn't?" At the time she'd spoken those words, he had easily included himself in the pity party. Who was he to give advice on romantic relationships? Where was his?

"And maybe one too many nights spent eating a pizza all by yourself too, huh?" Darcy had gently suggested.

Truth or snare, truth was what he preferred as long as he could keep himself from losing life or limb. "One too many, but complaining about it isn't conducive to good mental health." "Can't argue with that...but neither is brooding." "Who says I'm brooding?" he'd challenged.

Again she'd used her fingers to indicate how little it showed, and positively added, "Something tells me you're a champ when it comes to sucking it up..."

`You have no idea,' had rocketed through his mind a second time. She was golden, that he already knew...

It was high time he got a solid move on if he was going to meet the perspective client at South Beach this morning. The job sounded dodgy over the phone; the man had already given his full name despite Frank's heated protests. If it still sounded that way when he met this Lionel Bridges, he'd nix his involvement. The expected time of arrival was nine o'clock on the dot.

He could easily continue going over these reverie nuggets in the shower. With hot, but on second thought, maybe cold water was a better idea, and Irish Spring lather dripping down his face, he would do further musings about Darcy, `the dimpled darling' true, lusty justice. Beginning to roll himself into a seated position, Frank cut hard eyes at the phone that chose to interrupt his thoughts at that very moment.

Cutting his eyes at one of his newer bruises, no thanks to Gianni Celleni, the psycho who had doubled for a human antidote receptacle, he seized the phone and barked into it, "Who's this?"
The voice at the other end sounded tight, its owner having been thrown off guard. "H-hi, Frank, it's me...Audrey..."

"Oh, Audrey. Hello...sorry. Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Frank, just fine. Can I ask a favor?" she engagingly asked.

"What's the favor?"

"Tony just called. He can't return until Monday. An unexpected visit from an aunt he hasn't seen in ages is why. Jack still needs a driver. I was hoping, that is, if you wouldn't mind...a few more days...of...driving him?"

The transporter thought it over, stuck between a rock and a hard place, and seeing he had less than an hour to make it to South Beach on time. The kid had to be to school by nine, so driving him there today was out. "Audrey, I've got another appointment at nine this morning..."

"Oh...I see."

"But I can pick Jack up at three."

"That's great, Frank, really great. And thanks, you're a lifesaver." Taking her time about saying so, she said, "In more ways than one."

"Happy to oblige."

"You're really something, you know that."

He'd been called worse, far, far worse, over these volatile years, hearing the effusion of girlishness clearly in the attractive young mother's voice. This woman who was now largely high profile due to her husband's rise to greater prominence had indeed made an impression, more than he would ever let her know. If she weren't married... His life had had its share of `what ifs.'

"See you later, then."

"Right."

"Good-bye, Frank."

"'Bye..." He hesitated, and she understood why, hearing reluctance in his voice.

Sounding a tad disappointed, she was quick to supply , "Audrey." Wasn't it she who had said what good were rules if they couldn't be bent a little once and awhile? "Audrey..." He was certain his sigh
had been inaudible. Jefferson Billings was a very fortunate man who might have finally woken up in light of recent, disturbing events.

"'Bye..." She ended the call.

Frank sprang into action, making something of a mad dash for the bathroom. No matter what an appointment was, being late for it was never an option, one of his strictest rules. Making it just in the nick of time would most likely be the order of this day. His mind kept slipping back though...

The car that Darcy had delivered the pizza in had turned out to be hers, and it had decided to breakdown as the way of things will often have it. He had promised and he'd seen to it. It had been the alternator, as he'd suspected and he told her he would work on the car that very night, after taking her home. She could come by whenever to pick it up.

Her five-year old Honda Civic, with over a hundred twenty-five thousand miles on it, was still in pretty good shape. He loved working on cars, any make or model. He'd labored until nearly two-thirty in the morning, getting the engine to purr, the way he had hoped she would when she thanked him. He'd left her car key beneath the welcome mat. He would call first chance he got since she'd given him her home and cell phones numbers.

He'd committed to that appointment early Saturday morning which of course had entailed driving Jack Billings to the doctor's office as he'd promised earlier.

The rest, or more accurately put, the mayhem that had ensued, was, as they say, history, which he hadn't counted on being such a matter of life or death...his and so many others. Thankfully, all had gone right. The Columbian Cocaine Cartel had lost their bid for eradicating key governmental drug law enforcement officials. All credit went to one unstoppable force, really an army of one, they hadn't reckoned with, teamed with a great cop and personable Frenchman who gave being tongue in cheek new meaning. Tarconi's vacation had turned out to be a working one, straight down the line.

Frank was smiling for as many times as he made quick work of divesting himself of his tightly-woven pajama bottom while tearinginto the shower stall. When he'd offered to drive Darcy home, she'd nearly fallen down. Home had proven to be a house that was much like his, two blocks from Southside Park in Little Havana. During the drive, while telling him one or two personal things, like her mother was Cuban and her father, Italian, which accounted for the delicious high-toned olive color of her skin so ripe for fondling, she'd kept running her hand over the Audi's plush interior.

"Are your parents still together?"

"Very much so."

"Where do they live?"

"In Venice."

"Venice, as in Venice Beach, California?"

"No, Venice, as in Venice, Italy. I know, strange. I have neither accent, nor Euro hallmarks; I was born and raised here. Daddy's firm wanted him back in Italy. Mom was cool with it, but my brother, he's three years older, and I had other ideas. We were way old enough to live on our own, so we stayed put. Well...least I did." Her whistle had been soft and low, and had rendered him boneless. "Man, now this is rich." Her hand had pushed down hard into the plush seat. "Lexis, Mercedes, Lamborghini, Testarossa, Porsche, Rolls Royce, Jaguar, Cadillac, Alpha Romeo, Ferrari, Maserati, Aston Martin, particularly the D-B-Nine, rich. You care for this car, Frank, and you care very well."

`Woman after my own heart,' he thought, again, as he stood with eyes closed, his hands fisted, he being reborn beneath the fierce pulsations of precisely-striking water. He brought his hands to the sides of his head and squeezed. `Along with my mind, body and soul. She knows her cars, all the ones that make their marks...' Crossing over Biscayne Bay via the Venetian causeway, he'd asked,  "Do you model?"

"I'll take that as a compliment and say, `thank you.'"

"So you model."

"Do you?"  She had paused, just looking at him.

He had taken it to mean that if she were modeling, why in the world would she be delivering pizzas in and around town. "Not very swift of me." She had laughed and had lit him right up. "If you model, we'd have never met..."

"Not necessarily. You look like a guy who gets around quite a bit."

That had deserved a meaningful wink, which he'd given her, and she'd smiled generously.

"I used to, but not anymore. I did for nearly two years, but that world isn't for me."

"Why isn't it? You had to have been a natural." Again, he'd given her the appreciative once over with eyes that never tired of looking at her. Leaving the causeway, he had proceeded along to Brickell Avenue.

"Fake, all fake. Candyland and Disney World rolled into a big phony one." Darcy had made a wheezing sound deep within her throat. With eyes trained on Frank, she'd replied, "A natural, true that. For being naïve, and easily taken advantage of. I got out for good after a particularly stupid photo session. I was modeling lingerie. We'd finished shooting and the photographer who's no stranger to notoriety invited me to stay after the shoot so he could show me the prints."

"And did he show you the prints?"

"He showed me how fast he could ditch his trousers and tried forcing himself on me."

"He..." With a sick look on his face, Frank had struggled with putting it as delicately as possible. "He didn't..."

"No. I kneed him so hard, he crashed to the floor holding himself like I'd castrated him. Momma taught me a thing or two about preserving my honor." Darcy had made the sound again, sounding even more sarcastic. "Yeah, that was some revelation, all right. It showed me how shallow and vulgar those who pride themselves on stipulating what the right circles are can be."

`Dangerous beauty,' Frank had thought with a sardonic twist of his lips. `If she knows anything, anything at all about a roundhouse kick, it could be love.'

"So you deliver pizzas."

"Part of the time. I babysit and do a number of things here and there. Sometimes I even walk dogs in the park nearby early mornings. What I'm really trying to do is get my first story for young adolescents published."

"You're a writer." He had sounded truly impressed, stealing his eyes away from the road to give her an admiring eye. He was an avid reader and there he was, driving a real, live author home, a drop-dead gorgeous one at that.

"You're too kind. I'm aspiring to be one. My folks help out with monetary care packages from time to time. Helps make ends meet in a pinch, and I've been in lots of them. I've got to be paying the most expensive rent in all of greater Miami."

"Tell me about it. The real movers and shakers in this town are realtors."

"No doubt. How many luxury condos does one block need?"

"Apparently, braces of them." He had decided to shift the conversation back to her parents. "So, your folks are okay with your being way over here in the States."

"They're cool, but I'd be lying if I said Mom likes me so far away. Venice is okay if the idea of being surrounded by so much water is your thing."

"I gather it's not yours."

"Nail on the head. When I feel like being tourist I take the flight."

"What does your father do?"

"Dad works for Bella Catalonia, makers of fine china. He used to be in real estate before he married Mom. Minos, my brother, used to work for the company for a little while in New York. He moved back with the folks a year ago."

Frank ripped himself out of the shower stall and dressed as though the wind werehis outfitter. He had half an hour to get to where he needed to be. He splashed lukewarm coffee down his throat and bolted out his front door.

Making the meet on time kept hammering in his mind. He'd decide whether or not he wanted the job on the spot. If he gave it the green light, the time frame the client stipulated might be crucial. Factoring in several contingencies would be necessary. Transporting young Jack Billings today might prove to be spreading himself far too thin.

Frank slid into the Audi, tugged on his gloves, adjusted his mirrors, locked in the code and sped down the driveway thinking as he backed out, `Would saying no once and a while be such a bad thing?'

A split second before the car was fully on the street, his cell phone jangled him out of supplying an answer to that rhetorical question. "Yeah? I'm listening."

"Frank."

His heart skipped a beat and with the one hand that gripped the steering wheel he held it tighter, white-knuckled underneath his leather glove. "Darcy, hi. Look, I'm sorry I haven't been able to call. Something huge loomed that ate up my time." He knew he sounded sorry, but he wasn't about to tell her what had really gone down. She would never believe it; he wondered if he did, and he'd battled, tooth and nail, his way through it.

"Why are you making amends for something that isn't a problem?"

"Well, I thought..."

"I wondered if you'd call again, but just as easily I could have phoned you, but I didn't, up until now, that is. The way I figure, we're still even. Real life happens, ya know?"

"To be sure." He didn't really know what to say next, so he asked, "Where are you?"

"Standing in a pet shop on West Flagler trying to decide which playmate for Horace is cuter. Maybe he'd like to have two playmates. It's back in the car and I head for Calle Ocho once I finish here, with fishies or no fishies. What are you doing now?" Frank wished he was with her, seeing what sort of taste she had in picking out mates for clown fish. Just hearing her voice made him feel happy for no apparent reason. She was quality and he liked quality; that always made a difference with him. "On my way to an appointment, which..." His voice took on a touch of irritability. "I'm about to be late for."

"Oh, then I won't keep you."

"You can, if you want..." he teased. He caught himself. He, Frank Martin, flirting, making no apologies for it, while on business. What had come over him?

"Keep hope alive. On that note, how does dinner at my house tonight sound? My way of thanking you for my ride running better than new. You're a miracle worker."

"I'm mad for cars; they're my pash."

"Just cars?" Darcy teased back, the brashness to his liking.

"Amongst other things..." He left off, starting to get very hot under the color. "What time?" Frank asked as he adjusted the rearview mirror a second time while waiting for the light to change.

"Time?"

"Dinner," Frank gently tweaked, savoring her reaction, how distracted she had suddenly sounded.

"Oh, sure," she said, snapping out of her momentary lapse. "You tell me. That way it'll jell better."

"I'm all for jelling that goes well. Say around eight-thirty?" "Cool."

"If for some reason I can't make it, I'll let you know way ahead of time."

"Thoughtful."

"I try."

"I hope nothing comes up."

"Well, if something does, would you give me a second chance?"

"Of course," she said in no uncertain terms.

"Splendid."

"But I hope tonight's good for you."

"Yeah, me too. Here's hoping until tonight then, cheers."

"Here's hoping, Frank...`bye."

He heard silence on the other end and didn't react when the light changed until he got honked at. Blinking, in an effort to regroup with reality, he started off, not entirely clueless about what the implications of this latest development in his life purported to mean.

Was it even conceivable? He, settling down? Is it what he really wanted? Okay, maybe thinking along these lines was fancifully premature, getting way ahead of everything. Still and all, it wasn't as  if he'd never thought about having a family with someone, someone special like Darcy, before. With  his mind all over the place with these kinds of thoughts bouncing around, it was solid relief that wacko Lola hadn't blown his bid for having kids clean away.

He chided himself as he made a right off Collins Avenue. Was this why he had accepted being temporary chauffeur, aside from doing Tony Thomas a favor, to get a taste of what a life less colorful was like? Of course, the events that had exploded as they had, had been out of his hands.

Awash in thoughts that were a far cry from transporting items unknown, Frank dared to conjure up a life that included his having a wife and kids. They would have to be good kids, like Jack was. Frank
liked Jack a lot, so much so that if he were going to have children, it was a must they take after the little boy who thought he was `cool' despite his being a grownup.

"Easy, old son, one step at a time," Frank muttered to himself. "Don't scare her. She's her own woman, and you're a man with too many secrets." He reminded himself that Darcy had said she was looking for Mr. Right, but in the same turn of thought, he admonished himself, "And what inspires the notion that it's you?" Was being a Transporter, and his praise was considerable in numerous circles, the sum total of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life? He'd been at this for several years now, and his nest egg was anything but. It soared like the eagle he had toiled long and hard to achieve such means. Thinking of himself as being well off was no mere pat on the back. He was a self-made man and was more than capable of supporting those he chose to.

His bottom line was liking what he did, being the professional driver who stayed just the hair on the side of the law to make it interesting. Could he give it all up for the sake of a wife and any little ones they might have?
 
So much conjecture before meeting a client was not good. It went against a rule that forbade his catering to an unfocused mind, so Frank ordered that he stop giving himself a headache.

The location for the meet was coming into view; he was relieved no one waited for him. The transporter swung the Audi onto Ocean Drive at 14th Street, adjacent to Lummus Park, pulled into a spot and got out. He scouted the area, that was quiet for this time of the day, with trained eyes. He checked his watch again. Feeling keyed up served no purpose, so he made himself take a deep breath while congratulating himself on his not being the one who was late. The pleasing scent of the ocean brightened his mood somewhat. The idea of how much he hated sand re-routed his train of thought for a moment.

Five minutes later, a Lexus as sleek as midnight on the Riviera pulled up alongside Frank. He looked inside the car and saw two people, a man and a woman. She rolled down her window and Frank saw she was handing him two envelopes, one larger than the other. "The smaller one's the cash," the auburn-haired woman with a slight overbite and eyes like a lackluster doll's told him, without a hint of emotion. "The other's--"

"Don't tell me!" Frank barked, really meaning it. "There's no need for me to know." He peeked inside the packet containing the cash, saw the agreed upon denominations, then sealed it back up.  "That's right, Tris--"

"Leave it out! I already know your name," he said sharply in reprimand, "I don't want to know hers."

"He's not big on knowing names, babe."

"Convenient," the thin-lipped woman acknowledged. "At least we know his."

A lengthy silence, accompanied with an icy stare was Frank's response. The woman, who appeared just as adept at being aloof as the transporter, regarded him with equal impassivity. He was, she had to admit, prepossessing, an inviting figure.

Bridges looked properly chastened though, and gauged it was permissible to instruct, "In Atlanta by nine o'clock, sharp. Doable, yes?"

A confirmatory nod sufficed as his answer. "Where in Atlanta?" Frank needed to know; from Miami to Atlanta took ten hours, give or take. Travel time was a cinch, traveling the rate of speed he normally did.

"The address is inside the envelope."

"Rule number three, never look in the package," he insisted as though he were talking to simpletons. Wait, as a matter of fact, thinking they were wasn't an exaggeration. This exchange had all the earmarks of it being their first time.

Disliking having to jump through hoops, but compliant with the transporter's stipulation nevertheless, Bridges scrawled the drop-off point on the back of an old parking ticket. "That's the place."

Frank looked satisfied after accepting the final piece of information he required. He was rigid in his comportment, stringent about not allowing what he felt about their marked lack of professionalism to bleed through. "I'll have it there by then." He got back into the Audi and waited until they had pulled off. "Way before then, after having dinner with Darcy," he whispered, and that brought the smile back to his face. He phoned her. "Yeah, it's me..." He asked, and sounded contrite, if dinner could be at about seven, hoping it wasn't too early. Seven would not make it seem as though he had to eat and run, though that's what it would be.

"Not a problem. Seven's fine. Hope you like tamales..."

"Oh, yeah I inhale them. Homemade?"

"Only kind I know," Darcy proudly upheld.

"Brilliant."

"How do you like them?"

He pursed his lips and slyly said, "The hotter the better." Darcy laughed and Frank got lost in the sound of her voice, all high and light. Something nice, not altogether squeaky clean, went through his mind and he got very quiet. By no means was objectifying her a rule of thumb, but fair was fair. He was one hundred percent all male, only human, and she was impossibly beautiful, wearing him down by leaps and bounds.

"Frank, are you still there?"

"Hmmm, yeah. Still. I like your laugh." He almost said it was sexy, but decided not to, at least for now.

"I like yours too..."

"I don't do enough of it."

"Who said?"

"I did, that's who."

"Takes practice, and you know what's said about that."

"It makes you."

"Me?"

"Spot-on...perfect."

"Oh..." Unseen to Frank's eyes, her cheeks had flushed a lovely shade of crimson. "You sound biased," she quipped.

"If I do, I openly acknowledge my partiality. No regrets." "Partiality gratefully accepted. Till later then."

"Tah.  Cheers, love. Later." Frank reeled himself in. He was too old to be a schoolboy, yeah, so? If it was moving a bit too fast, he was a speed freak, after all. This lovely did have a way, a wonderful way about her, so rightly he concluded there was no time like the present. He wasn't getting any younger; she was twenty-six, he thirty-two. She seemed younger somehow, not in a bad sense, though. There was a genuineness about her that was glaringly refreshing.

"See ya." She grinned from ear to ear at at least one of the fishes she had decided to purchase, letting her perspective dinner guest end the call.

He was hungry, currently for some breakfast. Yes, it felt right; a light one would really do. Frank headed for a café he liked that was nearby, his mouth watering over what he intended to have. Still and all, he couldn't keep from smiling like someone wholly sold on a great new idea. Smiling felt as comfortable as breathing, wherever, whenever, he dwelled on this new interest. Love, or otherwise, Darcy Richiri was definitely one very keen interest.

There was nothing like freshly-squeezed Florida orange juice, he thought, taking another slow sip, seated outside the café at one of the tables that had festive pink pastel umbrellas sunk through their middles. Feeling unusually pleased with the world, for the moment, he donned his sunglasses and basked in the brilliant sunshine hitting his table sideways.

His Western omelet had been done to a turn, just the way he liked it. After the unobtrusive waitress had poured him another cup of coffee, he made up his mind what two things he would contribute to the young lady's table this evening.

She hadn't clued him about the rest of what she'd be preparing, only tamales. Basically, he would eat just about anything, as long as it was done well. If she wasn't a great cook, he'd cope. Her looks more than made up for any deficiency in the culinary department, and that wasn't shallow praise. Not to be overlooked was if he could eat Tarconi's fare, which was fantastic when Frank was in the mood for it, it was a safe bet he could eat anyone else's.

He still had lots of time, so he decided he'd work out for a while. There was no such thing as being too physically fit, not to his way of thinking. Being strong was good, but being stronger was even
better.

*~*~*~*

Frank looked at his watch, pleased as he continued to wait. Miami was resplendent with the sun's special brand of elixir; every street sizzled and simmered, scintillation at its finest. No, it wasn't the
French Riviera, but it was close enough to be the real McCoy. The town had its own unique sense of style and appeal, and his decision to move here had been one of his better ones.

To the second it wouldn't be long now. He was prepared, knowing what would be demanded of him as soon as his giddy, giggly friend flung the car door open. From deep within the imposing building, he heard the dismissal bell sound and he anticipated the floodgates opening and gushes of frenetic bodies flow through many doors.

Several of those bodies swept past his impeccable car, as they invariably did, and sticky, grimy hands couldn't resist smudging what took painstaking care to perfect. "Hey," he complained, cutting scowling eyes at the offenders. `Kids,' he grumbled. No sooner had he curtailed his giving the exuberant pupils heated cross looks when one bubbly, heart-melting boy launched himself into the back seat of the Audi.

"Hello, Frank!"

Here was the one delightful exception to his rule about children in general.

"Hello, Jack..." `Three, two, one,' the transporter counted off mentally.

Young Billings had his seatbelt fastened in a flash and in the next beat clamored with youthful vigor for, "The game, the game, the game, the game!"

"The game..." Frank sighed contentedly, `what else?' This rapport they had, like comfortable clockwork, felt as satisfying as putting on a crisp, clean new shirt. "Brain at the ready? Not too tired is it?

"No! I got a hundred on my spelling test!"

"Good for you. Okay, then. Four points."

"Only four, Frank?"

"Only four. This one might not be as tough as the ones previously for the simple reason that I'm running out of stumpers. You're getting quite good." He turned his head around to give the boy a fleeting look, but Frank knew he was hardly fooling the child; his eyes betrayed just how fond he was of him. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Of course you are," Frank commended, pulling away from the school. "I'm only one color, but never one size. Always stuck at the bottom, yet quite easily I can fly..."

"A, uh, a...pigeon?"

"No."

"A chicken--a turkey..." Jack Billings wrinkled his little forehead. "A rooster!"

The amused chuckle caught at the back of Frank's throat which hadn't wasted any time going dry. He should have picked up a bottle of water when he'd had the chance. "Hmm, perhaps I was a bit too hasty with the point value."

"You should make it five!" Jack immediately agreed.

"Five and a half." Urban scenery was rushing by, being quickly left behind. The eye-catching Audi kept heading East, bound for the exclusive neighborhood on the vigilantly security-patrolled island
where Jack lived. Traffic wasn't as heavy as it ordinarily was at this time of day, which seemed odd to Frank. As Jack kept guessing, he opened the car up and mentally strung more clues together. He was enjoying himself in the fine tradition of his Uncle Ian, his mum's brother, used to when Frank was the young guesser. Jack wasn't as good at it as he'd been as a child, he having always taken it so seriously; young Billings had much more fun.

"Yeah!" The spirited child wildly shot both arms up like they were pillars. "A balloon."

"The moon has many of me, as does a lighted cave. Whilst inside, I'm very vague."

"A crater...a man...a... Frank, what does vague mean?"

"Indistinct, hazy."

"Fog."

From out of nowhere, a flashy blue Mustang zipped into Frank's lane without signaling. Marginally irritated, the transporter whisked hard eyes to the rearview mirror, about to curse. The sight of Jack in thoughtful contemplation took some of his edge off. He'd made it a rule never to swear in the child's presence. Frank pulled his mind back to the task at hand and said, "When it's sunny I'm present, but when it rains, I'm absent. I keep up well, even if you're the fastest..."

"A race car, a pony, a bicycle..."

They had approached the island's small causeway that branched off from the highway.

"Okay. This is for all the points." Frank had just been given clearance from the guard manning the security checkpoint and he proceeded on to the Billings' block. "I do no harm, I feel no pain, I
follow behind. I never gain." He deftly turned right onto the driveway, caught up in a little déjà vu of a few days ago. If Audrey asked him to drive Jack to another doctor's appointment, graciously, but firmly, he would have to decline. Well, no; this time, if there was one, he'd go in swinging, kicking butt first, and asking questions later.

The men stationed at the imposing front gate of the Billings' Estate granted admittance and Frank eased the customized Audi along the cobblestone path that led to the house. "Any idea, Jack?"

"I'm working on it."

The transporter smiled, and it broadened a fraction as he caught sight of Audrey Billings emerging from the regal mansion. She was wearing a summery dress, a lively shade of lime, and even from this distance he could tell she wore no make-up; she really didn't need to. She had great skin. The shoes she wore, some strappy, low-heeled numbers, matched her dress. The attractive young mother was the crowning crystallization of the type of day this one was, brilliant.

Slowly, Frank brought the Audi to a halt, looked back to Jack and charitably conceded, "It's okay for Mom to help, if you need her to. Like last time."

Mom had the door open, greeting her son while Jack thought Frank's proposal over.

"Well?" She looked at Jack expectantly. "No, `hi, Mom?' No telling me what school was like today?" Audrey eyed the transporter who gave her that almost shy little look she had begun to recognize as unconditional respect. Things were getting better with her husband, better than they had been in years. Jefferson was getting into the habit of fully hearing her out before jumping to any conclusions. Instead of work solely, he devoted himself to Jack. Nevertheless, Audrey would always reserve a special place for Frank Martin in her heart.

"The game," Frank said, cuing her in.

A knowing nod registered that she was right with them. "Ah...the game." Audrey locked gentle eyes with the transporter, clearly drawn into the mystique the guessing game engendered.

"I've green-lighted your help."

Audrey beamed at Frank. "Okay, bud, give me some clues." Audrey keyed in on her son's face that was a study in concentration.

"I'm only one color, but never one size. Always stuck at the bottom, yet quite easily I can fly. When it's sunny I'm present, when it rains, I'm absent. I keep up well, even if you're the fastest. I do no harm, I feel no pain, I follow behind. I never gain."

Audrey borrowed some thoughtful shading from her son. Sounding unaffected she remarked, "Wow, this one is a toughie."

Raptly, young Billings agreed. "Tell me about it. The others have been cinches compared to this one." He readily obeyed his mother who was waving him in to come closer. Jack's eyes got wider, clearly, he was awed when his mother whispered the answer into his ear. Excitedly, the child triumphantly proclaimed, "It's a shadow!"

"That it is." Frank gave them a look which substantiated that the riddle had been satisfactorily solved. "The pair of you make quite the formidable team."

The little boy had already wriggled himself out of the car's backseat. "Your riddles are the best, Frank," he touted, elated. "See you tomorrow!" he promised and on the heels of his mother's advising him of milk and cookies in the kitchen, he shot off like a jackrabbit.

Audrey propped herself upon the car, and gazed contentedly at Frank through the open passenger window. "I've said it before, but I'll say it again. You're great with kids. Are you sure you won't change your mind about staying on even after Tony comes back? You wouldn't be stepping on any toes. Trust me, we really could use two drivers. You know what it's like around here."

The transporter weighed his words, taking care not to sound as though he would never consider it in a million years. "It's a very generous offer." He paused, changing his tone. "About tomorrow... Audrey..."

"Yes?"

"I can't drive Jack to and from school. I've got to be in Atlanta by nine tomorrow morning, which means I leave tonight. I'll be back in time to drive him the day after tomorrow, if that's all right."

"Sure, that's fine. It's no problem." She gave him a look.

"Atlanta? Wow, that's far. What's happening in Atlanta--I mean if I'm not prying."

`You're not,' he thought, and was wheedled by her interest enough to say, "An appointment of a personal nature I need to keep."

His answer seemed to satisfy her piqued curiosity, or at least so he thought until she asked, "With someone special? A mystery woman you have stashed away..." Slowly, she leveled inquisitive eyes set in an equally scrutinizing face, unable to mask speculation that oozed. As though a bolt from the blue had hit her, she abruptly began shaking her head, looking the soul of apology. What was she doing? What right did she have? "No, no. It's none of my business. I'm sorry, Frank."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he tersely replied. "Relax." His quiet, unassuming manner coaxed a smile that disarmed them both.

In time, she took his advice, allowing it to infiltrate. "Yeah. Relax."  She let out her breath, and decided that what she'd felt for him that strange, balmy night, when she'd had a few too many, and she had had only one thing on her mind, at first, had been an aberration. If she had met this soft-spoken, rugged gentleman first, well...then there would be no Jack, and that was unthinkable. She loved her son more than life itself. "So, I guess that counts you out for dinner."

Frank cocked his head in her direction, but overcame any surprise that could have easily seeped into his voice. "Dinner?" he deadpanned. All this popularity might easily go to his head. "Your
invitation?"

Audrey nodded, trying not to look as disappointed as she felt. "Rack of lamb, with all the trimmings, lobster tails for an appetizer, scalloped potatoes swimming in butter, julienne string beans. Chocolate mousse for dessert."

What he'd be passing up forced him to whistle, but delectable Darcy had invited him first. "I'm afraid it does. There're a few things I've got to attend to before I'm off." He'd sounded contrite enough, he judged.

"Some other time, maybe?" Audrey asked, sounding hopeful.

"It's very kind of you, though you don't have to go to such lengths." The thought of all that rich food made him wince. His regimen in practically everything, including diet, was Spartan to the core.
However, indulging now and again wouldn't kill him, that was what guns, knives and `nunchaku,' nunchucks, to the layman, were for. Tamales, and the unknown menu, in lieu of a feast for a king... ah, decisions, decisions. Still, he held firm for the one he'd already made.

"We owe you so much, Frank. Our very lives. The least I can offer is dinner." Her face did a wonderful job of conveying her heartfelt thanks, and a good deal more. With that one look, Audrey Billings was doing a substandard job of keeping what she knew she had no business feeling for him from him.

"It turned out right, and that's all that matters," Frank responded pragmatically, though he couldn't help indulging her. He had a great idea what was going through her mind, the same going through
his...'if circumstances were different.' He paused long enough to hear himself say, "If the need ever arose again, I'd do the same."

Audrey gripped the car as though it had the power to ground her. She was thinking crazy, minus the sweet zing of being lightly smashed, as before. "I know you would, Frank. You've already said it, `it's who you are.'" Her unadulterated affection hit him full force. Why was she torturing herself? "T-that's what m-makes it so...so hard," she wistfully muttered.

"Audrey..."

Closing her eyes while shaking her head, she admitted, "I know, I know. I'm being an idiot, an idiot who has it all, and..." `Still wants you,' she intuited. Opening her eyes and pinning him with them,
she rushed through saying, "I love my husband--Jeff's a wonderful man, who loves me. Things are better with us, not perfect, but better...I still love him, very much. I'd never want to hurt him." She wasted no time to deliver the, `but.' "It's my fault. I know it, Frank, God knows how I know it, but--somewhere along the way, I've fallen in love with you." She cast woebegone eyes heavenward and they rolled something fierce. "It shouldn't have happened, but it has. I tried helping it, but I guess I didn't try hard enough, like some dizzy kid."

"Get in," was all he said.

"Huh?"

He fixed her with a steady gaze, and she saw what he had in mind. "What? I...can't...just..."

"Yes you can. Open the door and park yourself."

Obeying, she asked, "We're going somewhere?"

"Somewhere."

"Where?"

"Away from here, with me. Isn't it what you want?" The transporter gave her a look that left little doubt.

"Leaving...with you..." She mulled it over, looking as though she were miles away, until it struck her hard. "Wait!"

Reflexively, Frank stopped the car and inquired, "What?"
 
"I need Jack. I could never leave him. I couldn't live without him. He's my heart." Said heart pounded. "Let me get him, pack some of his things. Jeff isn't here now. He's out, playing golf." Then she stiffened, as though a bolt of lightning had found its true mark. "Frank..."

He looked over at her, and she at him while thinking, `What the...?'

How crazy was this, ditching her husband and not giving it a second thought? An hour ago she was thinking how generous Jefferson was, his having bought her a diamond ring last week worth a mint. Lost in a maze where `what am I doing' hounded her, Audrey blinked several times. One of her favorite soaps had ended thirty minutes ago. This was real life, with all its rough, jagged edges, not `all better now in under sixty minutes, and here's a word from our sponsors,' overblown T.V.

"Frank, I'm not so sure about this..."

"By all means, bring Jack along if you like," the transporter mindfully permitted, sitting there cooler than the coolest cucumber there could've ever been. "He's a great little nipper." Plowing on, he told her, "I took an immense liking to him right off, and it's greater now than at first. I haven't much of an affinity with bin lids..." He smiled and translated, "I mean kids. But Jack's not some kid; he's aces. Oy, anyone with eyes can see he's taken to me in a big way as well. He thinks I'm cool, now doesn't he? High praise, indeed."

Frank Martin never treated Jack like a child. He spoke `in adult' to him. `Childese' was for children who would probably overstay their welcome in childhood.

Truly flustered, stewing in her conscience's unsavory juices, Audrey spoke as though she were having this conversation alone. "What do I tell him? I just can't uproot Jack like this, pull him out of school, separate him from his friends. Wreck his life? What will he think? He's got a certifiable nut for a mother?"

"A wonderful woman for a mum," Frank asserted. "Who doesn't give herself any credit where credit is rightly due."

"He'll hate me."

"You're not happy here, you've made that quite clear. Make a change, it's as decisive as that." Sticking to his guns, Frank asked with purpose, "Are you getting Jack or not?"

"I'm, I'm...I don't..."

"Well, you are in love with me, right? Regular turtledove isn't it?"

"Turtledove?"

"A bit of the rhyme in me." Frank gave a slight shrug, not any hint of his being apologetic detectable.

"I like your accent."

"I know, because it's love."

She nodded, but looked unstintingly distraught. Obviously, he must have given this some thought, and if she presented him with opportunity, which she was, this was his course of action, putting it to her pointblank, pushing the envelope to the max. Jack had him pegged, all right. He was as cool as hot jazz on Antarctic ice, pre-global warming. "Yes..."

"All right then."

What were his feelings? "Do you love me?"

The transporter noted how stricken she looked, as though with the stroke of his tongue he had the power to make or break her. Truth was truth, no sugarcoating. Here it was again, begging to be acknowledged. "Of course I do. Would I have told you to get in if it were otherwise? You and Jack, so if we're doing this, let's do it before one of us changes our minds." And he was speaking the truth; he hadn't gone through hell for them, and made it back, on the strength of `strong like.' Banking on his instincts came with his unique territory, nothing new. Knowing what he was about, who he was, he had no qualms trusting this paying off, force her to see sense. He was no home wrecker, not one up till now, wasn't about to start. He held with true love being ennobling. Whom did she love more, him, or her child who adored her?

Frank couldn't help thinking that perhaps the wisest thing Jefferson Billings could do was to double his current efforts. If ever there was a woman torn between two lovers, Audrey Billings was the femme fatale of the hour. She started to tremble as a potent malaise stole over her. The plush interior of the Audi swam before her eyes which were watering as though smelling salts had been placed under her nose. "Fr-Frank, I...I ca-can't just leave Jeff like this. I can't hurt him, I just can't. I can't rip his son away from him. It would kill him--he's a good man. Jack's a beautiful boy who loves his father very much. It's crazy!"

"Is it?"

"Certainly it's crazy."

"Why is it?"

"Jack needs his father. Jeff needs his son."

"Leave them both."

"I can't. I'd hurt Jefferson terribly. I'd die without Jack."

The crux of the matter was imminent. "Would you?"

"As sure as I'm tearing myself apart here, I would."

Frank let her talk.

"I'm being selfish, only thinking about myself. My happiness, what I want."

"But, you love me."
 
This time with his saying so, Audrey buckled. "Yes, but I can't destroy my family. I won't allow my selfishness to hurt the ones I love most.  Despite your being the finest man I've ever known."

His voice, as dry as a perfected martini imbibed in the Mohave Desert at high noon, ruled as the voice of reason. "Precisely. Which is why we won't speak of this again. Will we?"

Audrey shook her head which hung down, unable to look at the transporter, on the verge of losing it. "No, we won't, Frank. I've embarrassed you enough as it is, and myself."

"You've done no such thing."

"I have," she stubbornly insisted.

"No, you haven't," he reiterated. "You'll always have my respect, more now."

"You're just too nice, too amazing to say so." A mellowness languished in her eyes, her having said that.

"Have it your own way, then. I'd like to believe that knowing how we feel about each other suffices. Loving doesn't necessarily mean acting on it. There's a lot to be said for loving from afar." As though able to read what was going through her mind, he said, "It's for the best. If I became your lover, it'd be like exchanging dynamite for nitroglycerine."

As she hauled herself out of the Audi, then smoothed out her dress, she was compelled to say, "You're both at the same time." `You have no idea,' Frank thought jovially, smiling tightly at her.

They regarded each other in fixated earnest, trying hard not to dwell on all that might have been, if it were not for the complex here and now.

"I'll never forget you," she said, anticipating his suggestion that perhaps finishing out the stint with Jack was ill-advised. "Nor I, you. Do you still want me to drive Jack?"

That surprised her. "I'd like that, but it's up to you."

"Only if you say I should."

"I say you should."

"Done."

As Frank began pulling off, he heard Audrey bid him, "Have a safe trip. See you the day after tomorrow."

The transporter watched her wave in the right side view mirror, and he kept watching until she went back into the house. `Turtledove, like a hand without a glove,' he thought. Sighing, he moved on, because it was high time he did.

end