Although the microphone transmitter was working quite well, and reception of the bug's transmission on the far block in the Ford Explorer was also excellent, Frank could only make out fragments of conversation as talkers traveled room to room. "Stay put! Damn it!" he cursed. Then he heard this.

"He can't just let her..."

Her who? Shannon? Were they plotting something against her, too?

"Why hasn't Mick called yet? If Mick couldn't get in, they were supposed..." fading off.

"To what? Damn. Stay put." Sumner grimaced at every extraneous noise in the building and outside.

Another voice, very hard to hear, "Mick's always a problem. When you guys gonna listen to me? He never calls or keeps to our plans, any plans for that matter," getting louder and nearer, "What the fuck is THIS?"

"It's a television. What the hell does it look like?"

"For what?"

"Your buddy, Price. Sent some ding-a-ling here, fucking deformed retard. Dumb ass carried it all the way from Price's office for ten bucks." Laughter was heard. "His tongue was hanging down to here. Coulda licked his own dick," more laughing, as another voice came in.

"Why a TV? He think we're actually going to fix his fucking TV sets?"

"I'm sure we'll find out. Leave it for now, we got business. Anyway, he's still got cops buggin his ass."

From the conversation, it seemed that the police had many questions to anybody who had any connection to someone called B.J. There was layered conversation about the wife of a Mr. Johnson reporting him missing. The missing part was not as much a concern to them as the young woman's gaffe, attracting the attention and proximity of the police. It was clear, though, this Johnson fellow was important. 

Frank did not understand any of this. He did discern that the missing fellow was nicknamed Big Johnson by these guys. Variations on "should have called us first" were heard. Was this impromptu TV delivery related somehow? Evidently Price had to show some concern at the enquiries but also promote police skepticism as to there being any foul play. Maybe the TV was to cover any links to Venture that might pop up in the process. They agreed on this, as illogical as that was. Any way, Johnson wasn't really missing, "Investments. He travels all the time." You don't think he would tell people where he was going? That sort of thing. And wait until he learns that his wife involved the police, will he ever pimp slap that bitch. It seemed, also, though hard to get the exactly that the "bitch" was also Mr. Price's daughter. What do you do with a dangerous lady who is closely tied to two powerful men? Both Bosses? Frank was intrigued. Maybe that confusion could be exploited. Still though, no real plan came to mind. Need resources, he thought almost aloud but also knew he could never drag his friends into this mess. No plan. His dwelling on a plan was almost interfering with his listening as possibilities drifted in all directions.

Yet there was a recurring curiosity, Frank he was hearing from various voices. He tried to get a count of the number of distinct voices. "Where do you think BJ went? He wouldn't just split altogether, I don't think," one of the more assertive speakers repeated. For sure he was OK because his, what sounded like body guards, though referred to by off color sounding Spanish nicknames, well, they were not around either. From some distance you could hear it mused that even Mick wouldn't cross Carlo. Others chimed in definitely thinking otherwise. This dialog was overrun by a closer and louder, "Hey. We gonna dump the bodies or do a love triangle set up, or what? Do we wait for BJ?"

Frank heard enough. Plan or not, time to turn on the gas. He hurried down the far alley from his Explorer to the propane tank, looking in all directions, for anybody or anything. He eased the valve, so as not to pop off the make shift connectors, then returned to the car to wait. And think. Don't need to get them all. Can't really. Just a diversion. An loud explosion in the basement will bring all kinds of attention. They won't be able to run so free when it is clear that an explosion in their basement was an attack by an intruder. They are careful with their garbage but who knows what shit will turn up inside that building when the authorities inspect the place? A whole bunch of unsavory fellows will be asked plenty of difficult questions. A diversion? Maybe a good plan. Flush'em out. Expose them to the light. Vampires melt in the light.

What if they DON'T report it? Geez. No. Not a plan. Just a tactical diversion. They could just simply not report it. Wasn't that exactly what they were saying about BJ's wife? The bitch? Pimp slap her for reporting to the police, rather than to them? They could clean up themselves. Clean up - oh God - after who? They'll know. And it was NOT Price's television. They'll learn that quick enough. So, who WAS the dork who brought it there? And if the cops don't come, then what? What? Jesus. Have to call them. Report a fire? A basement gas leak? No, not cops, fire department. Can't use a cell phone. Pay phone. Didn't notice any. Will have to look. Do they record phone calls? Frank was concerned about how well or poorly he could disguise his identity, unconsciously doing strange voices. "Did you, doctor Sumner, carry a television set into Venture Electronics?", he thought. Atropine could defeat a lie detector. The pharmacology and physiology of lying was twisting through his distracted concentration. Dilated eyes. No good. Eye drops. Mask the pupillary response. Diversion. This is just a diversion. Need time. Time. For what? The plan. Plan. What plan? Damn it! Planning deceit did not come easy, so he obsessed on the great killer and life giver - time. Time. Tick tick tick, he hadn't noticed that his own wrist watch ticked, let alone so loudly. Time to think of a plan. A plan that could fail. Think. Can't fail. Think. Can't.

It will take a while for them to get back to messing with Macaluso. Hell, they probably won't even make the connection. Would they assume that he could do this? Then again, the three men now landfilling his old well would probably be linked to Macaluso. How big is this organization, anyway? Maybe the papers will reveal that when the basement gas explosion is reported. But would they even know about it? Frank wondered about telling the papers? There's big money being spent here, that 's for sure. What do you say to the papers without getting dragged in? Who could you trust? Not the Bethdale Chronicle ... they could be toadies... probably... well, who knows. Would the County Citizen even care? Hell, nobody cares about Bethdale. Martians could land here and nobody would notice.

Redundant and mostly unproductive thoughts just kept churning. Time grinds to a halt waiting on gas. What if they smell it first? What if somebody goes down into the basement and finds the hose? There were better choices than propane. Yes. But this was easy and fast. What if it doesn't blow? He would be easy to identify. No question, they'll find that bug in the TV, sooner or later. No backup plan. There was no time. This is not good surgery. It's not enough to just attack, he thought too late, need contingencies. His hand felt for the guns stuffed under the front seat.

Gas takes long. He fondled the guns. Ever wait on boiling water? Nice piece. Registration marks gone. Or a block of ice melting? He purposely layered the gas flow by getting the hose down to the floor. Maybe that wasn't a good idea, not just spray it in there. Letting it build slowly into a big pocket in a quiet room. Air conditioning! He remembered seeing window units in several windows. Bad or good? "Maybe that'll help hide the odor." Many thoughts were climbing one over the other.

Gas takes long. Autumn leaves turn faster. Let's listen, he said to himself. This time he heard, "How did she get her hands on these pictures? Think about it. Gotta be a connection. Mail threat, my ass. She is pure bull shit. Should we whack her here?" Someone else was shouting, " Shut that bitch up! Put the rag back in her mouth!" Her voice was unmistakable, and although he couldn't hear her exact words Frank Sumner jolted, "HOLY SHIT ! !  SHANNON!  SHE'S IN THERE ! " He grabbed his screw driver and put two guns in his belt and a third gripped in his hand wrapped in his shirt which he soaked with his Coke. He hurriedly walked backward into Venture, pushing the door open with his behind. Turning as if carrying another large load. His head was devoid of thought.

The big guy bellowed "Now what have you.." but the screw driver was pounded through his eye into his head in a single chop. There was barely a sniff of gas, maybe it was his apprehension that he was smelling. Following the voices into the back, snorting at the air as he went, he entered a room. No odor, but four supprised sets of eyes - piff piff piff . The coke wet shirt deadened the sound. Three more, dead men. Shannon gagged and tied to a cane back chair was nearly standing on tippy toes bug eyed, landing back with a loud clump. 

"Shhhhhh. Gotta boogie. Be quiet," he whispered, picking her up, as is, over his shoulder, chair an all, as if she were a rug.

She was trying to say, "Untie me, I can help," but that went nowhere with the sock still in her mouth.

"What the fuck!" was clearly came clearly from behind, but Frank didn't look back as he hurried to get away with his prize - a strangely occupied seat downside up over his shoulder. The television was lighter. Stairs! Damn. The way out was blocked. The way up was not. So it was up. Running up stairs he turned and pointed his gun stopping the hand that was just about to end his retreat. "BANG!" he yelled. "BANG!" That, a kick and a pisser of a startle and his pursuer went headlong down the stairs toppling two others.

As he spotted and jolted through an emergency exit to a fire escape, he could hear even as the door was closing, "Bang?" Three guys were arguing as they regained themselves, "You fucking fall down to a guy yelling Bang?" Frank was already to the ladder which glided easily enough down to the pavement. Shannon was face down with her eyes bumping up against the two belted guns. She too was saying "Bang?" though through her nose, it sounded like "hnnanhnn?"

"No. .. time .. he ran back across the front of the building past the very door he had entered thinking they'd guess the opposite. They did but hadn't gotten far arguing over being dropped by a nutcase yelling bang. All this might have been interesting but gas takes long, "Thank God!", he panted, Shannon had no idea what he was thank God-ing about. He was more afraid of how long the gas had been flowing than whoever said, What the fuck. She was hrummmmfffing to get his attention. "Not yet," he panted over and over running full out with his shouldered prize round into that alley way alongside the building "gotta boogie..." not even allowing the thought of who was behind him, praying that they wouldn't dare shooting guns in public. Could be wrong. This area had nearly no pedestrians.

"Pleeeeeese, not yet," a mental prayer in full out sprint down the alley, past the propane tank and the dumpsters, into the far alley alongside the buildings which faced the opposite street where the Explorer was waiting. The back hatch was tossed up, and Shannon thrown in sideways, chair and all. Frank almost limped back toward the alley and fired one shot at two armed men dangerously close in pursuit forcing their retreat to the nearest dumpster. He could see, even though it was not visible from here, that they were crouching just to the other side of where the propane tank was hidden. Hidden, but not for long, as Sumner spun to get back to the car, a most horrendous explosion. Debris rocketed past him from the alley way. Big stuff, cement, metal, a gush of cinder. "Really gotta boogie." He sped away. Heading toward the highway, he worried briefly that the roar was a bit much for windows being blown out of a basement. Big chunks of concrete didn't help settle that worry.

"Here," he called to Shannon who was just now using the floor hooks of the rear compartment to pull the rag from her mouth. "What was that explosion?" was her first intelligible sentence.

"Propane."

"Jesus."

Flipping a scissors into the back, but not losing any time in getting away, "Use that to cut your tape. Can you do it?"

"I think so. Give me a little help.."

"Can't. Got to put some distance.."

"Never mind, chair's breaking, uggggg unnnnnnnh" It cracked. "Now I can reach... unnnnnh"

"Hurry, Irish. I think we've got company."

Shannon was mostly free and climbed over the rear divider onto the back seat. "Got a car phone?"

"Here. 911?"

She was furiously pressing buttons. "Come-on. Come-on, Mac!"

"Mac?" Frank asked, "Why Mac?"

"They're gonna kill him! Gotta warn him."

"He already knows! That's how I found you!"

"Marcus? MARCUS! We're on highway.. what.."

"137 east"

"137 east. We're being chased by killers... Frank Sumner. Yeah. Frank." Then turning to Sumner, she shouted, "Marcus says go north toward Patterstown on 156."

"Coming up! There it is," they veered suddenly tossing Shannon upside down into the seat well. "Sorry. Nearly missed it. Tell him to send help they're closing fast. Looks like a Beemer. Wish I had the Jag! Shit!"

"Did you hear that?" She screamed into the phone, looking backward at the nasty black BMW bearing down.

"Frank! They're getting very close!"

"Shannon, here," passing her one of the pistols, "Lie down. Crack the door and shoot at their tire. It will be at about fifteen degrees off of dead backward on the driver side. OK? Not until I tell you when. Stay down until I tell you. On three."

"OK."

"One, two, three, now!"

Lying across the rear bench seat, Shannon opened the rear door with her left hand and had a very short shot at the tire, pulling off fast rounds."

"SAVE BULLETS!" Frank yelled! Then he hollered, "EEEEEEEEEHA. You did it."

Shannon scurried up to see them spinning all over the road. "Don't fuck with a green girl!", she taunted to the car falling fast into the distance.

"You know I'm Presbyterian," Frank politely chided.

"Frank," she replied, kissing him from behind on his cheek, "you're not orange or green or anything but true blue. Colors, it's ..It's not the people, but the banners they wave."

"I guess," he allowed, still with his foot to the floor.

"Why we going so fast?"

"We have a long way to go and I'll bet they have a spare tire."

"We could just leave the road."

"They know where we live. It ends today or we lose."

"Jesus, is Mac still on the phone? Let's see? No. It's out. I'll call again."

"Here they come! Shannon, forget that. Get the gun ready!"

Shannon opened the window and took careful bead "Screw the tires, let's give them something to worry about!" propping on the glass, that only went down half way, exposing her. "Come to mama. Come to mama."

One nicely placed shot shattered the pursuer's windshield and made the BMW visibility suddenly poor as they veered. She did know that she also hit the gun toting hood sitting in the passenger seat. It went through his cheeks splintering his teeth, as he dropped his gun gurgling.

"Step on it, Frank! If help isn't coming, ..." she screamed as the beemer swerved and dropped back. That bought another ten minutes.

Shannon tried to break the tension, awkwardly though, "So... How's Nora?"

"Soft. Real soft," Frank laughed nervously, still flipping his eyes between the road ahead and the mirrors, actually she is a sweet sweet woman. Funny huh?"

Shannon questioned, "What's funny?"

"I was the only man at the table who had never heard of her. I never owned a pin up of any woman."

"Julie?"

"Yeah. I guess. We were spiritually bonded. Somehow Nora makes it different. It is a different kind of affinity. I don't think Julie would have wanted me the way I was. Every body else saw Nora as sex. I didn't see that."

"What did you see?"

"Life. She is the biologic imperative. Continuity of life force flows from her," to which Shannon gave an uneasy throat sound then, "Frank. She is female. I am female. Half the planet is female. Women are all life givers."

"Well, to quote you, it's the flag you wave. Women are very protective of their life force. It's internal. Nora radiates it. She dresses in it. It isn't crude or even unseemly worn by her. It is healing." Shannon just kissed him behind the ear. "How's those apples?" to which he answered, "Wrong help."

"What?" Frank and Shannon were not the only ones with a car phone. Help WAS on the way. Bad help.

"Damn, these guys like beemers," Frank mumbled.

Shannon spun around, "What? What? Where?"

"Coming up the ramp. Here they come."

A new batch of three cars was closing fast. They were firing even from well out of range. "We're cooked," Frank said sweetly to Shannon. "Make your peace with God. It was wonderful working with you."

"WE ARE NOT DONE YET!" she screamed. But as bullets were beginning to reach their mark she began reciting the Act of Contrition, something that she had repeated so many times without enthusiasm as a youngster in Catholic school as nuns finger flicked heads if the feeling was not appropriate to the seriousness of the prayer. "This prayer will redeem your soul if you are ever in grave danger. Say it again! Be serious children. Your soul is all you really have that's yours alone!"

"Oh my God, I am heartily sorry, for having offended Thee. I firmly ..firmly .. firmly firmly? And I .. detest? detest all of my sins because of Thy just punishment. But, most of all, because I have offended, Thee.." a bullet crashed through the back window and on out through the right side rear, "Thee my.. DAMN.. SHIT, Thee my Lord, I firmly resolve, with the help JESUS CHRIST!" Another bullet whizzed right by. "resolve resolve resolve to.." She began shooting back which only gained a few moments as Frank suddenly pitched the car leftward.

"Can't win this game. New game. New rules," veering off the road across the grassy lane divider. That road divider was steeply pitched into a steep trench serving as a water run off ditch. "Four wheels, do your thing!" The beemers tangled in the soft wet tall grass bottom and had great difficulty making the grade to the other lane. Frank stayed north now in the south bound lane, but there was very little traffic on this road anyway.

"firmly resolve, firmly resolve... Frank how do you know when you're out of bullets?"

"When nothing happens. Here, take this one."

"Yeah.. resolve with ... with... resolve what? with.. with .. this piss ass prayer's too damned long! God! Help us now! YOU HEAR ME?!!" she was shreiking and shaking both her fists at the almighty. "We're good, they're bad. What the hell else you need?!" She fired again at the first pursuing car that finally made it up to the other side.

"This is a race and we're not going to win it," Frank thought to himself. His past was tapping him on the shoulder. Memories flowed in a rush, the Grim Reaper. Yet, he laughed. Shannon didn't dare slip from her malignant vigilant panic to ask how he could be laughing in all this shit. Maybe he was coming apart.

No. Frank was reliving that glorious childhood leap of faith, the one that landed him on Karl's balls. That is as good a way to sign out as any, he thought, so he just replayed the image and laughed again. Heroes do that.