Burkie sighed heavily and looked at his watch. Again. "How long does it take to find a pint of Ben and Jerry's and check out?" he grumbled.
"Well, you let them con you into going to Super Target for an ice cream run. That was your first mistake," CarCar chided. "Never agree to Super Target when 7-11 will suffice..."
"Yeah yeah yeah..." Burkie groaned, rolling his eyes. "I just didn't want them to start whining if the ice cream selection at the local convenience store was lacking. I hate whining!"
"Point taken... but you also let them go into the store unsupervised," she pointed out. "Without you in there with them to make sure they stay on task, who knows how long it'll take?"
"I certainly wasn't going to volunteer to go in there with them!" Burkie retorted. "I hate shopping! And that place is massive! And swarming with people! I hate people..." Burkie grumbled some more, shifting in his seat. "I swear, this is worse than herding cats..."
"Let's see..." CarCar said, her tone all-business. "Activating GPS on their cellphones and overlaying that with a map of the store... It looks like Jen is in the fitting room, Mira is in Accessories and Handbags, Shannon is in Small Appliances, probably eyeballing the cappuccino makers, Meiling is in the Sporting Goods section, and Candy is in the snack aisle..."
"Well," Burkie started, "at least it sounds like Candy is on task."
"I said she's in the snack aisle, not frozen desserts," CarCar pointed out. "She's probably distracted by the array of potato chips right now, and I would bet she's no closer to picking up the ice cream than Jen, who is on the opposite end of the store."
Burkie sighed and slouched further into his seat.
"Maybe you'd enjoy some entertainment?" CarCar suggested as a 15-inch monitor flipped down from the ceiling in front of Burkie's face.
His face lit up. "Do you have first-run movies, like say, The Avengers?" he perked up.
"Not unless a bootleg version is on YouTube," CarCar answered. "You're just going to have to pay the $15 to see it in the theater. Hmmm, let me check my archives... One of the girls uploaded Iron Man 2. Would that suffice?"
"Sure! Robert Downey Junior is brilliant as Tony Stark," Burkie said as the screen in front of him lit up. "Wait," he said with a frown. "What is this?" He watched a tall skinny guy with poofy red hair dance awkwardly to a pop melody. Burkie watched, mouth open in a mixture of disgust and fascination as the man began singing. "We're no strangers to love, you know the rules and so do I..."
CarCar busted out laughing. "Ha! I wish you could see your face right now!"
"But..." Burkie trailed off. "I'm so confused..."
"You were just rickrolled!" CarCar laughed.
"But what about Iron Man 2?" Burkie asked.
"Oh jeez," CarCar sighed. "Rickrolling. Google it. It's a thing... Maybe I need to school you on modern pop culture references while we wait. It's like you're fresh off the boat..."
"The FOB school was MY idea..." Burkie muttered, opening the passenger door. "I'm going to stretch my legs."
"You have at least half an hour," CarCar called after him as he shut the door.
"Duped by a bunch of girls," he shook his head just as his cellphone rang. He looked at the caller I.D. briefly before answering. "Hello Mr. Charles."
"Hello John," Mr. Charles said tiredly. "I hope the girls aren't giving you too much trouble."
"Nothing I can't handle, sir. They are just girls," Burkie said, hoping that Mr. Charles didn't detect the frustration in his own voice.
"I would be lying if I didn't say that they wear me out sometimes," Mr. Charles said with a small smile. "I hope you all are relatively rested though. I am flying back late tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow afternoon. The situation out here... it's more dire than I thought. I'll need all of the girls up and fully functioning bright and early tomorrow morning. Can you see to it that they're all present and accounted for at 0700 in the kitchen?"
"Of course, Mr. Charles. Have a safe flight back and I'll take care of the rest" Burkie said, hanging up. He was already dreading the idea of dragging all of the girls out of bed in the morning. Meiling was the only morning person out of the whole bunch. "Worse than herding cats," he muttered, shaking his head.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 10 -- A Situation
"Burkie, we have a problem," Candy said, taking a seat next to him at the kitchen table before stopping short. "WHAT are you wearing?"
Burkie paused with a spoonful of Kyle's special chorizo stew halfway to his mouth. "What? This is my western shirt. It has snaps!" he said defensively.
"It's PAISLEY," Mira pointed out, making a snoodly face.
"I get comments on this shirt every time I wear it," Burkie said with a pout. "Anyway, what's the problem?"
"Problem?" Candy asked in a daze.
"Yes," Burkie said, exasperated. "You said you have a problem?"
"Sorry," Candy said. "Your shirt is very... distracting..." she trailed off.
"Our problem is Lauren," Meiling started. "It's a... difficult time for her right now... Wow, that shirt really is distracting."
"What she means to say," Shannon said, sitting down across from him, "is that Lauren is hormonal."
Burkie dropped his spoon and started coughing. Jen clapped him hard on the back. "Sorry, some chorizo went down the wrong pipe... uh, how is this a problem?" he asked. "Doesn't this happen, uh... monthly?"
"Well, yeah," Mira said. "But we have a situation taking shape. Lauren has very specific cravings, and we have no way to satisfy them. Her emergency pint of ice cream is gone and everyone with access to a car is out of town right now. Things are going to start getting ugly really quickly."
"Can't Kyle make her something?" Burkie asked.
"Nope," Jen said. "He's teaching advanced hand-to-hand combat to law enforcement as we speak, and from there, he's hopping on a flight to L.A. He's got a DJ gig tonight, some movie premiere after-party..."
"Oh," Burkie said, his face brightening. "Is it 'The Avengers?' I really hope it is. If it is, can he get me RDJ's autograph? He is BRILLIANT as Tony Stark..."
"BURKIE! FOCUS!" Mira pounded the table.
"Sorry," Burkie said sheepishly. "What about James?"
"Charlie gave him leave to visit his family," Candy replied. "I think he's supposed to be back in two days when Charlie is back from... wherever he's at..."
"But," Shannon interjected, "that doesn't help us right now. Do you want to be the one to tell Lauren that we don't have any Chubby Hubby ice cream? Cuz I don't... She gets mean."
"Okay," Burkie said. "What about... what's his Native American name? 'Struts in Onesies?' The guy with the creative facial hair? The weapons specialist?"
"Oh," Meiling said. "Most of us just call him Briggs. He's in Texas on a mission."
"Same kind a mission you were just on?" Burkie asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Nope," Jen said. "He's sniffing out fire ants in Texas. Some mission to save, like... endangered horny toads, or something?"
"Well darn!" Burkie said, slumping in his seat. "He and I were going to work on carving a new bow for me to try at the range out back." He frowned, remembering the situation at hand. "Well can't Lauren or one of you just take the car and go to the store?"
"No," Mira said. "There's only one vehicle right now, and we're not allowed to take it out by ourselves after last time..."
"I feel a story coming on," Burkie said expectantly.
"Well," Candy started, "it started innocently enough, with nachos..."
"Nachos turned into fishbowl margaritas," Shannon continued. "By the way, I think your shirt is snazzy..."
"Thank you," Burkie said with a smile. "So... how did you all manage to convince the bartenders to serve you when you're all underage?" Burkie asked.
"Not all of us, just Lauren. She can be persuasive, and she REALLY wanted to eat the gummy Swedish fish at the bottom of the bowls..." Mira trailed off.
"So, yeah. We all got in trouble by association, and now we aren't allowed to take the car out by ourselves," Meiling finished. "That leaves you. You're the only thing protecting us from Lauren getting upset over some trivial thing and hulking out on us. ('The Avengers,' in theaters Friday!) Ice cream is the only thing that will pacify her."
Burkie gulped. "But we only have access to the... one vehicle." He trailed off.
"What's wrong?" Jen asked. "She's beautiful and sleek and stocked with awesome tunes..."
"Most guys would give their right arm to take her for a spin," Candy smiled encouragingly.
"She's a very... intimidating vehicle," Burkie faltered. "But... I guess I am more afraid of what might happen if we don't have a pint of Chubby Hubby on hand for Lauren..." Burkie's shoulders sagged visibly. "Okay, someone fetch me the keys."
Jen and Shannon high-fived.
"Good choice, Burkie," Mira said with a smile. "Trust us. You don't want to see Lauren angry. You wouldn't like her when she's angry..."
Burkie paused with a spoonful of Kyle's special chorizo stew halfway to his mouth. "What? This is my western shirt. It has snaps!" he said defensively.
"It's PAISLEY," Mira pointed out, making a snoodly face.
"I get comments on this shirt every time I wear it," Burkie said with a pout. "Anyway, what's the problem?"
"Problem?" Candy asked in a daze.
"Yes," Burkie said, exasperated. "You said you have a problem?"
"Sorry," Candy said. "Your shirt is very... distracting..." she trailed off.
"Our problem is Lauren," Meiling started. "It's a... difficult time for her right now... Wow, that shirt really is distracting."
"What she means to say," Shannon said, sitting down across from him, "is that Lauren is hormonal."
Burkie dropped his spoon and started coughing. Jen clapped him hard on the back. "Sorry, some chorizo went down the wrong pipe... uh, how is this a problem?" he asked. "Doesn't this happen, uh... monthly?"
"Well, yeah," Mira said. "But we have a situation taking shape. Lauren has very specific cravings, and we have no way to satisfy them. Her emergency pint of ice cream is gone and everyone with access to a car is out of town right now. Things are going to start getting ugly really quickly."
"Can't Kyle make her something?" Burkie asked.
"Nope," Jen said. "He's teaching advanced hand-to-hand combat to law enforcement as we speak, and from there, he's hopping on a flight to L.A. He's got a DJ gig tonight, some movie premiere after-party..."
"Oh," Burkie said, his face brightening. "Is it 'The Avengers?' I really hope it is. If it is, can he get me RDJ's autograph? He is BRILLIANT as Tony Stark..."
"BURKIE! FOCUS!" Mira pounded the table.
"Sorry," Burkie said sheepishly. "What about James?"
"Charlie gave him leave to visit his family," Candy replied. "I think he's supposed to be back in two days when Charlie is back from... wherever he's at..."
"But," Shannon interjected, "that doesn't help us right now. Do you want to be the one to tell Lauren that we don't have any Chubby Hubby ice cream? Cuz I don't... She gets mean."
"Okay," Burkie said. "What about... what's his Native American name? 'Struts in Onesies?' The guy with the creative facial hair? The weapons specialist?"
"Oh," Meiling said. "Most of us just call him Briggs. He's in Texas on a mission."
"Same kind a mission you were just on?" Burkie asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Nope," Jen said. "He's sniffing out fire ants in Texas. Some mission to save, like... endangered horny toads, or something?"
"Well darn!" Burkie said, slumping in his seat. "He and I were going to work on carving a new bow for me to try at the range out back." He frowned, remembering the situation at hand. "Well can't Lauren or one of you just take the car and go to the store?"
"No," Mira said. "There's only one vehicle right now, and we're not allowed to take it out by ourselves after last time..."
"I feel a story coming on," Burkie said expectantly.
"Well," Candy started, "it started innocently enough, with nachos..."
"Nachos turned into fishbowl margaritas," Shannon continued. "By the way, I think your shirt is snazzy..."
"Thank you," Burkie said with a smile. "So... how did you all manage to convince the bartenders to serve you when you're all underage?" Burkie asked.
"Not all of us, just Lauren. She can be persuasive, and she REALLY wanted to eat the gummy Swedish fish at the bottom of the bowls..." Mira trailed off.
"So, yeah. We all got in trouble by association, and now we aren't allowed to take the car out by ourselves," Meiling finished. "That leaves you. You're the only thing protecting us from Lauren getting upset over some trivial thing and hulking out on us. ('The Avengers,' in theaters Friday!) Ice cream is the only thing that will pacify her."
Burkie gulped. "But we only have access to the... one vehicle." He trailed off.
"What's wrong?" Jen asked. "She's beautiful and sleek and stocked with awesome tunes..."
"Most guys would give their right arm to take her for a spin," Candy smiled encouragingly.
"She's a very... intimidating vehicle," Burkie faltered. "But... I guess I am more afraid of what might happen if we don't have a pint of Chubby Hubby on hand for Lauren..." Burkie's shoulders sagged visibly. "Okay, someone fetch me the keys."
Jen and Shannon high-fived.
"Good choice, Burkie," Mira said with a smile. "Trust us. You don't want to see Lauren angry. You wouldn't like her when she's angry..."
* * * * * * *
"So," Burkie said nervously, "how does this work?"
"You just click the button on the electric key fob like so," Candy demonstrated, and then handed the key back to Burkie.
"But I thought everything was voice activated," he said with confusion.
"Yeah, once you're in!" Mira said flippantly. "How is she going to hear you when she's still in the garage?"
The shiny black Suburban known as "CarCar" zoomed up towards them and then screeched to a halt, swinging around to stop inches from their feet in a stunt move pulled right from those crappy "Fast and the Furious" movies.
"What up, kids?" CarCar said as she popped her doors open. Everyone filed in except Burkie, who circled the vehicle with is mouth open.
CarCar was named by Mira when she was little, didn't know the difference between a car and an SUV, and wasn't extremely creative when it came to naming things. Despite all that, CarCar never seemed to mind and had been driving the girls to jobs (or the mall) faithfully for several years, no operator necessary. The only thing CarCar *did* mind was being compared to that snooty hunk of junk from that '80s show starring The Hoff... which was what usually happened the first time someone new rode in her.
"No British accent?" Burkie asked.
"CarCar" Jen piped in quickly. "I'm dying for some tunes. Maybe some... Foxy Shazam. Can you hook us up?"
"I don't know if I'm feeling Foxy today, Jen. The Darkness, perhaps? They're fun and upbeat." CarCar paused. "Who's the n00b in the western wear?"
"These days I answer to Burkie. Wait... You can see me?" Burkie asked in disbelief.
"Uh, YEAH," CarCar replied mockingly. "I can see objects in a 100-foot radius. That's how I manage to get these girls safely to their jobs (or the mall)."
Burkie finally stopped gawking and climbed into the driver's seat. "I suppose that makes sense... It's just so... cool!" he said with a stupid grin on his face.
"Yeah, I am pretty amazing," CarCar said, her tone softening. "So... where to?"
"Grocery store," Shannon chimed in, "before Lauren hulks out."
"Ah yes," CarCar replied. "We don't want to see her angry... By the way, Burkie," CarCar started. "I don't like your shirt...
Burkie's face fell.
"I LOVE IT!" CarCar yelled, peeling out as she roared down the driveway.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 9 -- Very Important Business
"What TOOK you so long?" Mira asked Lauren as she shuffled into the kitchen and slumped in one of the chairs. "It feels like we've been waiting for you for WEEKS!"
"Patience," Lauren yawned. "You can't rush greatness."
Kyle, one of Mr. Charles's all-purpose minions who knew how to do just about everything, started serving breakfast. "I'm pretty sure I figured out Blue Moon's recipe. Tell me what you guys think..."
"Cap'n Crunch french toast!" Candy said gleefully. "Meiling is going to be upset she missed this!"
Just then, Lauren noticed the man sitting next to Candy at the table. "Who's the new guy?"
"The new guy's name is John Burkhard, and I suppose I'm like your new... handler? Or something? Mr. Charles had to go away to investigate a possible new case so I'll be helping out around here" John said. "I've already met everyone else, minus Meiling, a.k.a. the bionic woman... She apparently decided to visit a friend in some little town in Tennessee last night... And you're Lauren..."
"You know an awful lot about us," Shannon said, narrowing her eyes. "And we know nothing about you."
"Except for the fact that you definitely need a codename. 'John' is just so... blah," Mira said, scrunching her face.
"Well," John said thoughtfully, "some of my friends call me 'JB.' Let me see here..." John pulled a bunch of business cards out of his pocket. "Huh... Nope, just plain old John or JB on all of these."
"Wait a second," Jen said. "Let me see those!" She snatched the cards out of his hands. "International Man of Mystery? Gangster of love? These are AWESOME!"
"Hmmm... you still need a codename though. We all have them," Candy said. "Mine's Sierra..."
"Actually, it's Sierra Charlie, which is just code for 'Super Cute,' but that's wordy and not very cryptic," Mira said. "Mine is Snood..."
"After the computer game of the same name, mainly because she makes very snoodly faces," Lauren smiled. Mira stuck her tongue out. "Case in point," Lauren said stepping out of range just in time to avoid a roundhouse kick to her butt.
"I've got a bunch, but people seem to like 'Big Guns' the best, probably because I've got chicken arms," Jen said, pulling her sleeve up to reveal... well... chicken arms.
"I don't know," Candy said, looking at John thoughtfully. She turned to Mira. "Any ideas? John Burkhard, JB... You don't look like a John... You're kind of like a Bosley..."
Their eyes met. "Burkie!" Candy and Mira said simultaneously.
Shannon and Lauren looked at each other and shrugged. "Burkie it is," Lauren said.
"What's a Burkie?" Meiling asked, walking through the doorway. Kyle, always prepared, slid a plate of french toast into her vacant seat at the table.
"Not 'what,' but 'who!'" Jen said, gesturing to the dapper gent now known as 'Burkie.'
"OH. MY. GOD..." Shannon said, eyes glued to her iPhone. "Just got a notification from my celebrity news feed... Courtney, that bitchy finalist on the Bachelor, was found dead this morning!"
All eyes turned toward Meiling.
"WHAT?" she said, eyes wide. She quickly turned her focus to her french toast.
Shannon continued reading. "Authorities were called to her condo in Tennessee..." she paused and looked at Meiling pointedly. "... after neighbors heard her screaming. Police on the scene wouldn't comment on the circumstances surrounding Courtney's untimely death and would only say that the investigation was ongoing, but witnesses on the scene said that Courtney's head had been 'crushed like a grape.'"
Everyone stared at Meiling, but she refused to look up from her breakfast. "I don't know what you're looking at me for," she said around a mouthful of french toast. "I was visiting my friend... Jill... We were catching up."
"You didn't stay very long," Candy observed.
"We don't have a lot in common anymore, so it didn't take long," Meiling said, matter-of-factly.
"Charlie always says, we're supposed to use our powers for good, not for evil," Mira said in a hushed voice.
"I doubt many people acquainted with that harpy will think this was a bad thing," Lauren said with a quiet smirk.
Meiling tried to hide a smile as she forked another bite into her mouth and all shocked gazes and gaping mouths shifted to Lauren.
"Just sayin'..." she muttered.
Burkie turned to Meiling and Lauren. "May I make a suggestion? Have you considered the Kardashians?"
"Patience," Lauren yawned. "You can't rush greatness."
Kyle, one of Mr. Charles's all-purpose minions who knew how to do just about everything, started serving breakfast. "I'm pretty sure I figured out Blue Moon's recipe. Tell me what you guys think..."
"Cap'n Crunch french toast!" Candy said gleefully. "Meiling is going to be upset she missed this!"
Just then, Lauren noticed the man sitting next to Candy at the table. "Who's the new guy?"
"The new guy's name is John Burkhard, and I suppose I'm like your new... handler? Or something? Mr. Charles had to go away to investigate a possible new case so I'll be helping out around here" John said. "I've already met everyone else, minus Meiling, a.k.a. the bionic woman... She apparently decided to visit a friend in some little town in Tennessee last night... And you're Lauren..."
"You know an awful lot about us," Shannon said, narrowing her eyes. "And we know nothing about you."
"Except for the fact that you definitely need a codename. 'John' is just so... blah," Mira said, scrunching her face.
"Well," John said thoughtfully, "some of my friends call me 'JB.' Let me see here..." John pulled a bunch of business cards out of his pocket. "Huh... Nope, just plain old John or JB on all of these."
"Wait a second," Jen said. "Let me see those!" She snatched the cards out of his hands. "International Man of Mystery? Gangster of love? These are AWESOME!"
"Hmmm... you still need a codename though. We all have them," Candy said. "Mine's Sierra..."
"Actually, it's Sierra Charlie, which is just code for 'Super Cute,' but that's wordy and not very cryptic," Mira said. "Mine is Snood..."
"After the computer game of the same name, mainly because she makes very snoodly faces," Lauren smiled. Mira stuck her tongue out. "Case in point," Lauren said stepping out of range just in time to avoid a roundhouse kick to her butt.
"I've got a bunch, but people seem to like 'Big Guns' the best, probably because I've got chicken arms," Jen said, pulling her sleeve up to reveal... well... chicken arms.
"I don't know," Candy said, looking at John thoughtfully. She turned to Mira. "Any ideas? John Burkhard, JB... You don't look like a John... You're kind of like a Bosley..."
Their eyes met. "Burkie!" Candy and Mira said simultaneously.
Shannon and Lauren looked at each other and shrugged. "Burkie it is," Lauren said.
"What's a Burkie?" Meiling asked, walking through the doorway. Kyle, always prepared, slid a plate of french toast into her vacant seat at the table.
"Not 'what,' but 'who!'" Jen said, gesturing to the dapper gent now known as 'Burkie.'
"OH. MY. GOD..." Shannon said, eyes glued to her iPhone. "Just got a notification from my celebrity news feed... Courtney, that bitchy finalist on the Bachelor, was found dead this morning!"
All eyes turned toward Meiling.
"WHAT?" she said, eyes wide. She quickly turned her focus to her french toast.
Shannon continued reading. "Authorities were called to her condo in Tennessee..." she paused and looked at Meiling pointedly. "... after neighbors heard her screaming. Police on the scene wouldn't comment on the circumstances surrounding Courtney's untimely death and would only say that the investigation was ongoing, but witnesses on the scene said that Courtney's head had been 'crushed like a grape.'"
Everyone stared at Meiling, but she refused to look up from her breakfast. "I don't know what you're looking at me for," she said around a mouthful of french toast. "I was visiting my friend... Jill... We were catching up."
"You didn't stay very long," Candy observed.
"We don't have a lot in common anymore, so it didn't take long," Meiling said, matter-of-factly.
"Charlie always says, we're supposed to use our powers for good, not for evil," Mira said in a hushed voice.
"I doubt many people acquainted with that harpy will think this was a bad thing," Lauren said with a quiet smirk.
Meiling tried to hide a smile as she forked another bite into her mouth and all shocked gazes and gaping mouths shifted to Lauren.
"Just sayin'..." she muttered.
Burkie turned to Meiling and Lauren. "May I make a suggestion? Have you considered the Kardashians?"
Friday, March 23, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 8 -- Help Wanted
Charles sat at his desk looking at the resume in his hand for a good five minutes before he set it down and looked at the man on the other side of his desk: brown hair with a slightly graying beard that gave him a distinguished look, inquisitive eyes that were subtly noting his surroundings, serious for the moment, but he looked like a guy with a good sense of humor... the type that you'd want to sit down with and exchange stories over a couple of pints. Charles leaned back in his chair and smiled an easy smile. The man across from him relaxed visibly.
"So, Mr. Burkhard," Charles began, "your work history is very... varied. Door-to-door bible salesman, food blogger, corn-cob pipe carver... What made you decide to answer our ad?"
"How could I not?" the man said with a slight Texas drawl. "It was the weirdest help wanted ad I've ever seen. I figured you weren't looking for an ACTUAL cat herder, so I had to respond and see what this was all about."
"You're right, this position does not require you to, literally, herd cats. But... sometimes it will probably feel that way. Tell me, Mr. Burkhard, how well do you relate to teenagers?"
The man shifted in his seat uneasily. "Please, call me John... I... am not really a fan of kids. I do better with teens once they get a little older, and I am better at dealing with teenage girls than boys. Boys do such stupid things at that age... I should know, I was one of them. At least you can talk and reason with girls though. There's a slightly better chance they'll listen."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Charles smiled. "Well, John, I pride myself on my ability to judge a person's character. I can tell by your resume that you need variety in your job. Perhaps you get bored if the work becomes too routine and you're no longer challenged? I can also tell by the types of jobs you've held and the variety that you're a free spirit. I promise as long as you are working for me, you will never be bored. I also appreciate your candor regarding your feelings about children. I am not looking for a yes man. I have spent the past 16 years devoting my time and energy to finding young women with unique talents who were, in some cases, misguided and misunderstood. I have raised them in my home, some of them since they were barely able to walk, and they are all like daughters to me. They are all very gifted in their own ways, and I have spared no expense in helping them develop their gifts and realize their highest potential. It goes without saying that their happiness and safety are my highest priorities. I hope you are the man for the job."
"So..." John thought carefully about how to ask his next question. "You mentioned that you've been nurturing their 'unique' talents. What kinds of talents are we talking about? Are you a patron of the arts? And what is your end goal?"
"Well..." Charles began, thinking carefully how to answer John's carefully thought out questions. "I suppose I am appreciative of talents that manifest in many different forms." He looked at his watch. "It would probably be easiest for me to show you, and then I will share my mission statement..."
Charles swiveled around in his chair and pressed a button that raised a 50 inch flat screen monitor from its hiding place in a long mahogany cabinet against the wall. The screen flickered to life, split into six separate video feeds showing six different girls engaged in six different activities. Charles motioned for John to come closer.
"Here," Charles pointed to the top left frame, "is Mira, the first one I brought into the fold. She's 16 now, but I adopted her when she was just a toddler..."
John watched with fascination as the sweet-faced teen with the rosy cheeks engaged in a full-on sparring match with an instructor, weapons included. His mouth dropped open when he saw the instructor whiff a katana blade past Mira's ear that sent a thick lock of hair floating to the ground. "Oh my... Those aren't training weapons! Aren't you afraid she's going to get hurt?" John gripped the arms of his chair anxiously.
"Not at all," Charles said calmly. "In fact, I give the instructor about 30 seconds before Mira strikes the decisive blow in this match. She'll not take kindly to the impromptu haircut. She's been trying to grow it out for months."
Sure enough, Mira's eyes narrow in fury, and her movements only became faster, sharper, and more precise. The instructor was backed into a corner in less than 15 seconds. John shuddered.
"Mira's very attached to her hair..." Charles turned his attention to the next frame. "This is Candy, 18 years of age. We discovered her when... well, actually, to be completely honest, she discovered us." The slim Chinese girl was grappling with a burly opponent three times her size... and winning. In a flash she had him immobilized on the ground. She got up to grab her water bottle and take a swig, but the large guy on the ground didn't move.
"Is he... dead?" John asked quietly.
"No," Charles said. "Just out for few minutes. Napping. Candy just took him down by activating a series of pressure points. Have you heard of Dim Mak? I know she looks like a quiet, conservative Asian girl, but don't be fooled. She knows 214 ways to kill a man with her bare hands, and an additional 37 ways to do it with her feet."
"Her feet?" John pondered this for a moment, but Charles was already moving on to the next frame, in which a vaguely familiar-looking girl appeared to be doing vocal drills with a piano accompaniest. John relaxed.
"Voice lessons? At least that's not dangerous," John said mildly.
"Oh, yes. Jen, 17 years old, came to us 6 years ago, fortunately at a young enough age that her vocal chords were not yet finished developing. We tailored her training to continually expand her range both higher and lower. Lucky for us, she had a spectacular range to begin with. Are you familiar with acoustic weapons?" John's eyes grew wider. "Anyway, she's just warming up right now, so there's not much to see there," Charles continued. "Moving on..."
"This is Meiling, 19 years old, a Texan like yourself," Charles began, motioning to the slightly built girl of ambiguous ethnicity. "She was quite the athlete before a career-ending injury. My team of surgeons fixed her up, and now? Well, it's not really fair for her to participate in athletic events anymore, as you can see..." The slim young women was landing punches and kicks against a thick wall in front her that crumbled before John's eyes.
"She's punching holes in it like it's swiss cheese!" John said in amazement.
"Reinforced concrete," Charles replied. "I guess you could say that Meiling is... a bionic version of her former self." He smiled. "In a way, it's sad though. She does love participating in rodeos, but she had to stop because she was injuring the bulls..."
"Next up," Charles continued, "Shannon, 17 years old. Our mad scientist." They watched the pretty young women concentrate as she expertly milled a fine powder under the bio-containment hood, even with thick gloves covering her arms, which were, in turn, attached to a thick sheet of plexiglass separating her from her work.
"What is she making?" John asked in a hushed voice.
"I'm not sure what she's working on at the moment," Charles replied. "Weaponizing something, obviously. Smallpox? Ebola?"
The color drained out of John's face.
"Don't worry," Charles chuckled. "I had a BSL-4 built specifically so she could conduct her research without having to worry about anything nasty escaping."
"Oh..." John said, not sounding completely convinced. "That's... good."
"And lastly," Charles motioned to the frame in the bottom corner, "Lauren, 20 years old. She's a bit different from the others."
"It looks like she's... just listening to her iPod and reading a book," John said, confused. After noting how all of the other girls were trained killers of some sort or another, he didn't know what to make of this girl that looked like she was a regular college student.
"That," Charles said, turning to face John, "is precisely what she's doing. Only thing is, she's listening to mp3s in Chinese while studying up on string theory."
John still looked perplexed. "Well, as impressive as that is... it's still... not what I was expecting after hearing all the ways in which the other young women are all uniquely... deadly."
Charles smiled and nodded in agreement. "I can understand your confusion. Lauren is like... our mole. She has been able to quickly pick up languages, and given a week or so of prep time, she can study up on just about any subject and talk intelligently about it with experts in the field. Her talent is her ability to blend into any scenario and obtain information to enable the rest of the team's mission... And don't get me wrong. It's not always studying for her, all day, everyday. Other skills that she's picked up in order to enable some of our more bizarre missions have included flying trapeze, automobile repair, poledancing... and she knows a couple lethal moves she can pull out if she was ever in trouble and needed to diffuse a situation. Her value for this team, though, lies in her ability to obtain information and facilitate the mission for everyone else. It's not the exciting part of the job, but it is vitally important for our success."
"And..." John shook his head. "Sorry, I'm still processing all of this," he said with his Texas drawl. "What kinds of missions do you do? Who are you working on behalf of, and what are you fighting against?"
"Let me ask you something, John," Charles started out. "Have you ever tried to bring about some major change that will benefit everyone tremendously only to get monumentally frustrated by the amount of bureaucratic red tape you have to get through to make ANYTHING happen? We... operate outside of the red tape. Very few people know about us, but when people in high places need to make something happen QUICKLY, and don't have time to wait for some congressional committee to agree on a course of action... Well, that's when they call us. We take the jobs that we want to. Some big ones, like assisting special forces in neutralizing terrorist cells, and some smaller ones, like neutralizing no-talent, fame-seeking reality TV personalities."
Charles studied John's facial expression and body language. "So, my turn to ask you a question: are you interested?"
"Sign me up," John said without hesitation.
"So, Mr. Burkhard," Charles began, "your work history is very... varied. Door-to-door bible salesman, food blogger, corn-cob pipe carver... What made you decide to answer our ad?"
"How could I not?" the man said with a slight Texas drawl. "It was the weirdest help wanted ad I've ever seen. I figured you weren't looking for an ACTUAL cat herder, so I had to respond and see what this was all about."
"You're right, this position does not require you to, literally, herd cats. But... sometimes it will probably feel that way. Tell me, Mr. Burkhard, how well do you relate to teenagers?"
The man shifted in his seat uneasily. "Please, call me John... I... am not really a fan of kids. I do better with teens once they get a little older, and I am better at dealing with teenage girls than boys. Boys do such stupid things at that age... I should know, I was one of them. At least you can talk and reason with girls though. There's a slightly better chance they'll listen."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Charles smiled. "Well, John, I pride myself on my ability to judge a person's character. I can tell by your resume that you need variety in your job. Perhaps you get bored if the work becomes too routine and you're no longer challenged? I can also tell by the types of jobs you've held and the variety that you're a free spirit. I promise as long as you are working for me, you will never be bored. I also appreciate your candor regarding your feelings about children. I am not looking for a yes man. I have spent the past 16 years devoting my time and energy to finding young women with unique talents who were, in some cases, misguided and misunderstood. I have raised them in my home, some of them since they were barely able to walk, and they are all like daughters to me. They are all very gifted in their own ways, and I have spared no expense in helping them develop their gifts and realize their highest potential. It goes without saying that their happiness and safety are my highest priorities. I hope you are the man for the job."
"So..." John thought carefully about how to ask his next question. "You mentioned that you've been nurturing their 'unique' talents. What kinds of talents are we talking about? Are you a patron of the arts? And what is your end goal?"
"Well..." Charles began, thinking carefully how to answer John's carefully thought out questions. "I suppose I am appreciative of talents that manifest in many different forms." He looked at his watch. "It would probably be easiest for me to show you, and then I will share my mission statement..."
Charles swiveled around in his chair and pressed a button that raised a 50 inch flat screen monitor from its hiding place in a long mahogany cabinet against the wall. The screen flickered to life, split into six separate video feeds showing six different girls engaged in six different activities. Charles motioned for John to come closer.
"Here," Charles pointed to the top left frame, "is Mira, the first one I brought into the fold. She's 16 now, but I adopted her when she was just a toddler..."
John watched with fascination as the sweet-faced teen with the rosy cheeks engaged in a full-on sparring match with an instructor, weapons included. His mouth dropped open when he saw the instructor whiff a katana blade past Mira's ear that sent a thick lock of hair floating to the ground. "Oh my... Those aren't training weapons! Aren't you afraid she's going to get hurt?" John gripped the arms of his chair anxiously.
"Not at all," Charles said calmly. "In fact, I give the instructor about 30 seconds before Mira strikes the decisive blow in this match. She'll not take kindly to the impromptu haircut. She's been trying to grow it out for months."
Sure enough, Mira's eyes narrow in fury, and her movements only became faster, sharper, and more precise. The instructor was backed into a corner in less than 15 seconds. John shuddered.
"Mira's very attached to her hair..." Charles turned his attention to the next frame. "This is Candy, 18 years of age. We discovered her when... well, actually, to be completely honest, she discovered us." The slim Chinese girl was grappling with a burly opponent three times her size... and winning. In a flash she had him immobilized on the ground. She got up to grab her water bottle and take a swig, but the large guy on the ground didn't move.
"Is he... dead?" John asked quietly.
"No," Charles said. "Just out for few minutes. Napping. Candy just took him down by activating a series of pressure points. Have you heard of Dim Mak? I know she looks like a quiet, conservative Asian girl, but don't be fooled. She knows 214 ways to kill a man with her bare hands, and an additional 37 ways to do it with her feet."
"Her feet?" John pondered this for a moment, but Charles was already moving on to the next frame, in which a vaguely familiar-looking girl appeared to be doing vocal drills with a piano accompaniest. John relaxed.
"Voice lessons? At least that's not dangerous," John said mildly.
"Oh, yes. Jen, 17 years old, came to us 6 years ago, fortunately at a young enough age that her vocal chords were not yet finished developing. We tailored her training to continually expand her range both higher and lower. Lucky for us, she had a spectacular range to begin with. Are you familiar with acoustic weapons?" John's eyes grew wider. "Anyway, she's just warming up right now, so there's not much to see there," Charles continued. "Moving on..."
"This is Meiling, 19 years old, a Texan like yourself," Charles began, motioning to the slightly built girl of ambiguous ethnicity. "She was quite the athlete before a career-ending injury. My team of surgeons fixed her up, and now? Well, it's not really fair for her to participate in athletic events anymore, as you can see..." The slim young women was landing punches and kicks against a thick wall in front her that crumbled before John's eyes.
"She's punching holes in it like it's swiss cheese!" John said in amazement.
"Reinforced concrete," Charles replied. "I guess you could say that Meiling is... a bionic version of her former self." He smiled. "In a way, it's sad though. She does love participating in rodeos, but she had to stop because she was injuring the bulls..."
"Next up," Charles continued, "Shannon, 17 years old. Our mad scientist." They watched the pretty young women concentrate as she expertly milled a fine powder under the bio-containment hood, even with thick gloves covering her arms, which were, in turn, attached to a thick sheet of plexiglass separating her from her work.
"What is she making?" John asked in a hushed voice.
"I'm not sure what she's working on at the moment," Charles replied. "Weaponizing something, obviously. Smallpox? Ebola?"
The color drained out of John's face.
"Don't worry," Charles chuckled. "I had a BSL-4 built specifically so she could conduct her research without having to worry about anything nasty escaping."
"Oh..." John said, not sounding completely convinced. "That's... good."
"And lastly," Charles motioned to the frame in the bottom corner, "Lauren, 20 years old. She's a bit different from the others."
"It looks like she's... just listening to her iPod and reading a book," John said, confused. After noting how all of the other girls were trained killers of some sort or another, he didn't know what to make of this girl that looked like she was a regular college student.
"That," Charles said, turning to face John, "is precisely what she's doing. Only thing is, she's listening to mp3s in Chinese while studying up on string theory."
John still looked perplexed. "Well, as impressive as that is... it's still... not what I was expecting after hearing all the ways in which the other young women are all uniquely... deadly."
Charles smiled and nodded in agreement. "I can understand your confusion. Lauren is like... our mole. She has been able to quickly pick up languages, and given a week or so of prep time, she can study up on just about any subject and talk intelligently about it with experts in the field. Her talent is her ability to blend into any scenario and obtain information to enable the rest of the team's mission... And don't get me wrong. It's not always studying for her, all day, everyday. Other skills that she's picked up in order to enable some of our more bizarre missions have included flying trapeze, automobile repair, poledancing... and she knows a couple lethal moves she can pull out if she was ever in trouble and needed to diffuse a situation. Her value for this team, though, lies in her ability to obtain information and facilitate the mission for everyone else. It's not the exciting part of the job, but it is vitally important for our success."
"And..." John shook his head. "Sorry, I'm still processing all of this," he said with his Texas drawl. "What kinds of missions do you do? Who are you working on behalf of, and what are you fighting against?"
"Let me ask you something, John," Charles started out. "Have you ever tried to bring about some major change that will benefit everyone tremendously only to get monumentally frustrated by the amount of bureaucratic red tape you have to get through to make ANYTHING happen? We... operate outside of the red tape. Very few people know about us, but when people in high places need to make something happen QUICKLY, and don't have time to wait for some congressional committee to agree on a course of action... Well, that's when they call us. We take the jobs that we want to. Some big ones, like assisting special forces in neutralizing terrorist cells, and some smaller ones, like neutralizing no-talent, fame-seeking reality TV personalities."
Charles studied John's facial expression and body language. "So, my turn to ask you a question: are you interested?"
"Sign me up," John said without hesitation.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 7 -- Birthday Girl
“What is this place?” Lauren asked as she gawked at the scenery passing by her outside the car window.
“This is Mr. Charles’s estate,” James said with a smile as he looked in the rearview mirror at Charles’s latest addition to his unique group of young women. Her eyes looked around her in wide-eyed wonder, trying to take everything in at once without missing any details. ‘Just like the others,’ he thought to himself with amusement.
“I wouldn’t mind having a place like this when I grow up,” Lauren said wistfully. “He could use some animals though… With this much open land, he should definitely have some llamas… a mini donkey or two… a herd of fainting goats… something…”
"You should suggest that to Mr. Charles when you meet him," James said with a smile, imagining a pack of llamas raiding the vegetable garden.
Lauren's eyes drifted to the enormous mylar balloon she had buckled into the seat next to her: a 4-foot smiley face wearing a party hat. Her face fell. It would figure that she happened to be meeting the rest of the girls when one of them was celebrating a birthday. Not only was she going to feel like an outsider because everyone already knew each other, but she was basically crashing the party.
Lauren had racked her brain for hours trying to think of a way to make the whole situation less awkward. A gift of some kind would smooth the way, right? But what do you give another girl you've never even met? A balloon seemed like a safe option. If only she had read the dimensions on the bag before she paid for it... The thing was ginormous. She shook her head as she looked at it. It was over the top, positively screamed that she was trying too hard to fit in, but she didn't have a back up plan. Was it better to go in there empty handed? She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling the other girls were going to laugh at her.
She rode in silence for several more minutes until James pulled the car in front of a large, stately mansion and stopped. He turned to face her in the back seat. “We’re here.”
She fumbled to unfasten the seat belt restraining herself and then the balloon. It could always float out the car door and escape when James was grabbing her luggage... Then she could just tell the girl that she had at least made the gesture. It was the thought that counts, right?
Before she got a chance to "accidentally" let go of the balloon, five girls between the ages of 12 and 14 descended on her, introducing themselves, shaking her hand, taking her bags, and chattering with excitement.
"Hi, I'm Mira!" said the angelic-looking, rosy-cheeked Korean girl as she reached back into the car to grab another bag. "I know it's weird being away from home, but we are going to have SO much fun!"
Mira leaned further into the car and squealed. "OH MY GOD! Is that for me?"
Lauren smiled weakly. "Happy Birthday... I heard today was your birthday, and I wanted to do something to acknowledge it, but wasn't sure what to do since I'd never met you before... I'm sorry, I had no idea how large the balloon was going to be until they inflated it. It's kind of ridiculous..."
Mira popped back out of the car hugging the balloon. It hid most of her body. "No, don't be silly! This is exactly what I've been looking for. I love it!!!"
Lauren raised an eyebrow and looked at the girls who had introduced themselves as Candy and Shannon. They smiled knowingly as they carried her bags into the foyer.
"She's not kidding," the one named Meiling said.
"I think this calls for a demonstration," the girl named Jen said with smile. Lauren did a double take. Jen looked strangely familiar...
"I'd love to!" Mira said, skipping into the hallway while clutching her balloon. "Downstairs?" she asked.
"That's probably advisable," said James as he brought in Lauren's last suitcase.
The girls scrambled down a flight of stairs, pulling Lauren with them as they went, and entered an expansive rec room containing a 70-inch TV, several overstuffed couches, a ping-pong table, a pool table, air hockey, and a wall of board games stacked to the ceiling. The girls started pushing couches to the side to clear a large space for Mira.
Mira tied the balloon to the handle of her knitting basket and adjusted the length of its string so the balloon's height was level with her. Satisfied with the set up, she grabbed her two knitting needles and immediately began using the balloon as a sparring partner, executing a dizzying array of kicks, punches and flips around the moving target. Lauren watched with her mouth gaping open as Mira effortlessly lunged to stab the balloon with her knitting needles over and over, always drawing back just in time to avoid popping it. After several minutes, Mira stopped, bowed to the balloon, and thrust her knitting needles back into a ball of yarn in the basket.
"Awesome," Mira said to Lauren with a big smile. "Let's eat some cake!"
"That was a perfect gift," Candy whispered to Lauren with a smile as the girls started upstairs.
"I'm glad," Lauren said. "But... can you all do that? What is this place?"
"Nah," Shannon said. "That's just Mira's thing. I am more into biological weapons, myself."
"Oh," Lauren said, her eyes getting larger. "That's... reassuring."
“This is Mr. Charles’s estate,” James said with a smile as he looked in the rearview mirror at Charles’s latest addition to his unique group of young women. Her eyes looked around her in wide-eyed wonder, trying to take everything in at once without missing any details. ‘Just like the others,’ he thought to himself with amusement.
“I wouldn’t mind having a place like this when I grow up,” Lauren said wistfully. “He could use some animals though… With this much open land, he should definitely have some llamas… a mini donkey or two… a herd of fainting goats… something…”
"You should suggest that to Mr. Charles when you meet him," James said with a smile, imagining a pack of llamas raiding the vegetable garden.
Lauren's eyes drifted to the enormous mylar balloon she had buckled into the seat next to her: a 4-foot smiley face wearing a party hat. Her face fell. It would figure that she happened to be meeting the rest of the girls when one of them was celebrating a birthday. Not only was she going to feel like an outsider because everyone already knew each other, but she was basically crashing the party.
Lauren had racked her brain for hours trying to think of a way to make the whole situation less awkward. A gift of some kind would smooth the way, right? But what do you give another girl you've never even met? A balloon seemed like a safe option. If only she had read the dimensions on the bag before she paid for it... The thing was ginormous. She shook her head as she looked at it. It was over the top, positively screamed that she was trying too hard to fit in, but she didn't have a back up plan. Was it better to go in there empty handed? She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling the other girls were going to laugh at her.
She rode in silence for several more minutes until James pulled the car in front of a large, stately mansion and stopped. He turned to face her in the back seat. “We’re here.”
She fumbled to unfasten the seat belt restraining herself and then the balloon. It could always float out the car door and escape when James was grabbing her luggage... Then she could just tell the girl that she had at least made the gesture. It was the thought that counts, right?
Before she got a chance to "accidentally" let go of the balloon, five girls between the ages of 12 and 14 descended on her, introducing themselves, shaking her hand, taking her bags, and chattering with excitement.
"Hi, I'm Mira!" said the angelic-looking, rosy-cheeked Korean girl as she reached back into the car to grab another bag. "I know it's weird being away from home, but we are going to have SO much fun!"
Mira leaned further into the car and squealed. "OH MY GOD! Is that for me?"
Lauren smiled weakly. "Happy Birthday... I heard today was your birthday, and I wanted to do something to acknowledge it, but wasn't sure what to do since I'd never met you before... I'm sorry, I had no idea how large the balloon was going to be until they inflated it. It's kind of ridiculous..."
Mira popped back out of the car hugging the balloon. It hid most of her body. "No, don't be silly! This is exactly what I've been looking for. I love it!!!"
Lauren raised an eyebrow and looked at the girls who had introduced themselves as Candy and Shannon. They smiled knowingly as they carried her bags into the foyer.
"She's not kidding," the one named Meiling said.
"I think this calls for a demonstration," the girl named Jen said with smile. Lauren did a double take. Jen looked strangely familiar...
"I'd love to!" Mira said, skipping into the hallway while clutching her balloon. "Downstairs?" she asked.
"That's probably advisable," said James as he brought in Lauren's last suitcase.
The girls scrambled down a flight of stairs, pulling Lauren with them as they went, and entered an expansive rec room containing a 70-inch TV, several overstuffed couches, a ping-pong table, a pool table, air hockey, and a wall of board games stacked to the ceiling. The girls started pushing couches to the side to clear a large space for Mira.
Mira tied the balloon to the handle of her knitting basket and adjusted the length of its string so the balloon's height was level with her. Satisfied with the set up, she grabbed her two knitting needles and immediately began using the balloon as a sparring partner, executing a dizzying array of kicks, punches and flips around the moving target. Lauren watched with her mouth gaping open as Mira effortlessly lunged to stab the balloon with her knitting needles over and over, always drawing back just in time to avoid popping it. After several minutes, Mira stopped, bowed to the balloon, and thrust her knitting needles back into a ball of yarn in the basket.
"Awesome," Mira said to Lauren with a big smile. "Let's eat some cake!"
"That was a perfect gift," Candy whispered to Lauren with a smile as the girls started upstairs.
"I'm glad," Lauren said. "But... can you all do that? What is this place?"
"Nah," Shannon said. "That's just Mira's thing. I am more into biological weapons, myself."
"Oh," Lauren said, her eyes getting larger. "That's... reassuring."
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 6 -- The Girl Who Would Have a Phoenix Tattoo
Alison Hannigan, a psychologist employed by the county school board, could not believe her eyes. Part of her job was to keep dangerous, emotionally disturbed, or otherwise undesirable children out of the county public schools, and in doing so, she often subjected questionable children and teens to a standard battery of testing, but in the four years that she had also secretly been on Mr. Charles’s payroll, she had never come across a teen who came so close to fitting the profile Mr. Charles was looking for. She had never expected to find such a case, but she had signed an agreement promising to keep a constant watch anyway, and she happily looked forward to the deposits wired into her checking account each month. Working for the education system didn’t pay much.
She opened her desk drawer and rifled through its contents until she found his business card. Her hand shook slightly as she dialed the number. As she waited for someone to pick up, she wondered if the number had changed in the last four years. He had never contacted her after their initial meeting, but something made her feel sure that he kept tabs on her nonetheless. She shivered. He was a mystery.
Someone answered on the other end. Alison took a deep breath.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Charles, please. This is Alison Hannigan calling from the Arundel County school board.”
“One moment please,” said a stern female voice.
After almost five minutes on hold, Charles finally picked up.
“Hello? Mr. Charles? I think I’ve found a girl that you may be interested in,” she said with excitement in her voice.
“Wonderful, Ms. Hannigan. Does she fit the criteria?” Charles asked.
“Almost to a T. She is easy-going, smart and has diverse interests. She has plenty of friends at school, and is well-liked by all of her teachers,” Alison continued.
“Then how did her file come across your desk?”
“Well…” she paused, wondering how to further explain. “She is persuasive, and has an overdeveloped sense of… ridiculousness. I’m not sure how else to put it. The most recent incident started when she convinced a group of 17 fellow students to help her kidnap 11 fainting goats from a nearby petting zoo…”
“Fainting goats?”
“Yes, Mr. Charles, fainting goats. Look it up on YouTube. Anyway, she and her cronies released the goats on the school’s football field during the marching band’s homecoming half-time show. The band was right in the middle of the 1812 Overture… All of those clashing symbols, and banging drums, and the ROTC was firing their guns… Those poor animals were loose on the field, running around in a panic when they could, wouldn’t let a soul get near them, and then fainting at each gunshot or clash of a symbol, but it only takes them a few seconds to get back up and by then they were off again. No one could catch them… It took almost 40 minutes to round them all up again. Marching band members ended up having to surround them individually, scare them with a sudden blare of a horn or beating of a drum, and then pounce on them when they keeled over…” Alison took a breath.
“That must have been very… traumatic… for the goats,” Charles said in a muffled voice.
“Wait!” Alison said, angrily. “Are you laughing?”
“NO! I mean… no, Ms. Hannigan, of course not,” Charles said, in a voice he hoped sounded very stern. “I am not laughing, because this incident was not funny in the least. I’m sure it was a very difficult situation for everyone involved.”
“Well, the owners of the petting zoo were certainly livid. They’re suing the county school board for $1.1 million, that’s $100,000 per goat, for the goats’ pain and suffering. They’ve claimed that now the female goats won’t let the males get anywhere near them to mate, and even if they would, the males have all become impotent. They’re claiming all of the goats are suffering from PTSD, and they’re looking for an animal psychologist to back up their claims in court,” she continued seriously.
“Post traumatic stress disorder?” he asked.
“Yes. They claim that animals can suffer from it just like people. Anyway, $1.1 million is nothing to sneeze at and the school board is FURIOUS. That’s how this file came across my desk. They want her out of Arundel county for good.”
“I see,” said Charles. “So at the beginning of our conversation, you said before that she ‘almost’ fit my criteria to a T…”
“Yes, I did. Lauren Milles is personable, smart, a jack of all trades… Interesting results on the psych evaluation. Comfortable with moral ambiguity. The only trait that doesn’t quite fit your criteria is her age. She’s 16 years old, and I know the upper age limit you specified was 14...”
“Yes, ideally, the girls just take to the new environment much easier if they’re a bit younger. By the time they’re 16, they’ve already got quite a mind of their own. I’m not sure how much influence an old man such as myself can have on a 16 year old girl who already sounds like she’s quite willful…”
“Well, sir, the reason why I wanted to bring her to your attention anyway is her natural curiosity about… well, EVERYTHING. And she’s very… open to suggestion. I think if you can appeal to her curiosity, and make her think that attaining the goals you set for her will be fun, you can mold her into whatever you want.”
“Interesting point, Ms. Hannigan. On second thought, please make a copy of her file and overnight it to my office. I will definitely give this further consideration based on your recommendation.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Charles. I hope you can reach out to Miss Milles and be a positive role model in her life. My theory is that she turned out this way because her parents were absent during her formative years. I…”
“I’m sure you’re on to something, Ms. Hannigan,” Charles cut her off. “Please send the file as soon as possible. And oh look! If you leave right now, you can get to the post office before it closes for the day! Good-bye,” he said, and hung up before she had a chance to say anything else.
“Good-bye,” she said and looked at the receiver in her hand. “I hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me,” she said to herself quietly. “Strange man…”
In his home office, Charles leaned back in his office chair and smiled, looking very relaxed. He turned his head to look at a monitor whose screen was broken up into five different views. Mira had her Tae Kwon Do instructor pinned to the ground in the gym. Candy was outside flipping off of the roof of the guesthouse while practicing parkour. Jen was warming up her vocal cords in one of the laboratories while her vocal coach watched from a window in the next room. Meiling was in the gym, adding more 45 lb plates to the Smith machine. Shannon was in the bio-lab working along side a former scientist from Dugway Proving Grounds. And now he had one that could be molded into whatever the group needed… as long as he appealed to her overdeveloped sense of ridiculousness.
She opened her desk drawer and rifled through its contents until she found his business card. Her hand shook slightly as she dialed the number. As she waited for someone to pick up, she wondered if the number had changed in the last four years. He had never contacted her after their initial meeting, but something made her feel sure that he kept tabs on her nonetheless. She shivered. He was a mystery.
Someone answered on the other end. Alison took a deep breath.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Charles, please. This is Alison Hannigan calling from the Arundel County school board.”
“One moment please,” said a stern female voice.
After almost five minutes on hold, Charles finally picked up.
“Hello? Mr. Charles? I think I’ve found a girl that you may be interested in,” she said with excitement in her voice.
“Wonderful, Ms. Hannigan. Does she fit the criteria?” Charles asked.
“Almost to a T. She is easy-going, smart and has diverse interests. She has plenty of friends at school, and is well-liked by all of her teachers,” Alison continued.
“Then how did her file come across your desk?”
“Well…” she paused, wondering how to further explain. “She is persuasive, and has an overdeveloped sense of… ridiculousness. I’m not sure how else to put it. The most recent incident started when she convinced a group of 17 fellow students to help her kidnap 11 fainting goats from a nearby petting zoo…”
“Fainting goats?”
“Yes, Mr. Charles, fainting goats. Look it up on YouTube. Anyway, she and her cronies released the goats on the school’s football field during the marching band’s homecoming half-time show. The band was right in the middle of the 1812 Overture… All of those clashing symbols, and banging drums, and the ROTC was firing their guns… Those poor animals were loose on the field, running around in a panic when they could, wouldn’t let a soul get near them, and then fainting at each gunshot or clash of a symbol, but it only takes them a few seconds to get back up and by then they were off again. No one could catch them… It took almost 40 minutes to round them all up again. Marching band members ended up having to surround them individually, scare them with a sudden blare of a horn or beating of a drum, and then pounce on them when they keeled over…” Alison took a breath.
“That must have been very… traumatic… for the goats,” Charles said in a muffled voice.
“Wait!” Alison said, angrily. “Are you laughing?”
“NO! I mean… no, Ms. Hannigan, of course not,” Charles said, in a voice he hoped sounded very stern. “I am not laughing, because this incident was not funny in the least. I’m sure it was a very difficult situation for everyone involved.”
“Well, the owners of the petting zoo were certainly livid. They’re suing the county school board for $1.1 million, that’s $100,000 per goat, for the goats’ pain and suffering. They’ve claimed that now the female goats won’t let the males get anywhere near them to mate, and even if they would, the males have all become impotent. They’re claiming all of the goats are suffering from PTSD, and they’re looking for an animal psychologist to back up their claims in court,” she continued seriously.
“Post traumatic stress disorder?” he asked.
“Yes. They claim that animals can suffer from it just like people. Anyway, $1.1 million is nothing to sneeze at and the school board is FURIOUS. That’s how this file came across my desk. They want her out of Arundel county for good.”
“I see,” said Charles. “So at the beginning of our conversation, you said before that she ‘almost’ fit my criteria to a T…”
“Yes, I did. Lauren Milles is personable, smart, a jack of all trades… Interesting results on the psych evaluation. Comfortable with moral ambiguity. The only trait that doesn’t quite fit your criteria is her age. She’s 16 years old, and I know the upper age limit you specified was 14...”
“Yes, ideally, the girls just take to the new environment much easier if they’re a bit younger. By the time they’re 16, they’ve already got quite a mind of their own. I’m not sure how much influence an old man such as myself can have on a 16 year old girl who already sounds like she’s quite willful…”
“Well, sir, the reason why I wanted to bring her to your attention anyway is her natural curiosity about… well, EVERYTHING. And she’s very… open to suggestion. I think if you can appeal to her curiosity, and make her think that attaining the goals you set for her will be fun, you can mold her into whatever you want.”
“Interesting point, Ms. Hannigan. On second thought, please make a copy of her file and overnight it to my office. I will definitely give this further consideration based on your recommendation.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Charles. I hope you can reach out to Miss Milles and be a positive role model in her life. My theory is that she turned out this way because her parents were absent during her formative years. I…”
“I’m sure you’re on to something, Ms. Hannigan,” Charles cut her off. “Please send the file as soon as possible. And oh look! If you leave right now, you can get to the post office before it closes for the day! Good-bye,” he said, and hung up before she had a chance to say anything else.
“Good-bye,” she said and looked at the receiver in her hand. “I hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me,” she said to herself quietly. “Strange man…”
In his home office, Charles leaned back in his office chair and smiled, looking very relaxed. He turned his head to look at a monitor whose screen was broken up into five different views. Mira had her Tae Kwon Do instructor pinned to the ground in the gym. Candy was outside flipping off of the roof of the guesthouse while practicing parkour. Jen was warming up her vocal cords in one of the laboratories while her vocal coach watched from a window in the next room. Meiling was in the gym, adding more 45 lb plates to the Smith machine. Shannon was in the bio-lab working along side a former scientist from Dugway Proving Grounds. And now he had one that could be molded into whatever the group needed… as long as he appealed to her overdeveloped sense of ridiculousness.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 5 -- The Girl Was Trouble(d)
Charles looked out the window of the Bentley without expression as his driver pulled to a stop in front of the Hampstead Correctional Facility for Girls.
“This shouldn’t take long, James. Come back in 45 minutes,” Charles said.
The driver nodded his head, “Of course, Mr. Charles.”
Charles strolled up the stairs of the entrance in his long cashmere jacket, oblivious to how out of place he looked entering the dingy brick building with iron grates over the windows. He signed in at the front desk, and a guard quickly ushered him into the office of the facility’s director.
Helen Mosby stood behind her desk and gave Charles a tight-lipped smile as he came through the door. He shook her languid, outstretched hand. It was like squeezing a cold fish. He immediately disliked Ms. Mosby and knew he must do everything in his power to accomplish the objective which brought him to Hampstead in the first place.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Ms. Mosby,” Charles said respectfully.
“Not at all, Mr. Charles. To what do I owe this honor? I know you are a busy man, and I’m not sure I understand why you would take time out of your day to visit a correctional facility for girls,” Ms. Mosby said with a slight sneer.
“Well,” he began, “The case of one of your newest girls, Shannon Kelly, was brought to my attention by one of my assistants, and I thought maybe I could intervene, and propose a solution to her detainment that will be more amenable to both her and your facility.”
“Shannon Kelly is a danger to society. A mere 13 years old, and she’s already showing signs of what she will one day become: at best, a menace, and at worst, a terrorist. Why are you so interested in her?” Ms. Mosby asked, the suspicion in her voice unmistakable.
“Ma’am, she has made some questionable decisions, but scientific research has proven that a girl her age does not fully comprehend the significance of her actions, and the long-term consequences. Her frontal cortex, responsible for helping to control all of those impulses, will not be fully developed for several more years. It is inhumane for you to keep her in solitary confinement when she does not fully understand the implications of her actions.”
Ms. Mosby gasped in outrage. “How did you know she’s been in solitary?! And even if it’s true, what business is it of yours? How we deal with our girls is left to our own discretion. She’s a troublemaker!”
“Ms. Mosby, I will not pretend that her offenses are slight. Producing anthrax in her garage, milling it into a powder and sending envelopes of it through the mail endangered the lives of many, but if you look at WHO she sent it to: her ex-boyfriend, the Pittsburgh Steelers training camp, Miley Cyrus… Her choices of who to target are consistent with that of any 13 year old girl… with an interest in football… who hates bad movies and bubblegum pop music. My point is, her motivations are not those of someone who is a danger to our country or national security.”
“I would disagree with you on that,” she huffed indignantly.
“The important thing is that no one was hurt. Fortunately, her knowledge, skills and resources at age 13 were not sufficient for her to produce anything very virulent. But don’t you see that what she was able to accomplish is a sign of a brilliant mind? Only 13, with so much intelligence and curiosity. If you would let me take her as my charge and enroll her at my academy for gifted and talented young women, I could nurture her, give her an appropriate forum in which to develop her talent and express it… With such astounding talents redirected towards more appropriate avenues, don’t you see the possibilities? Shannon could cure cancer or AIDS. She could do great things. I know it,” Charles said, passionately.
“Mr. Charles, your interest in these young women… frankly, it’s suspicious… the propriety is questionable… and it’s a little creepy…” she sniffed.
Charles sighed. “Is it a matter of resources then? Money? I know Hampstead has neither. I would like to become Shannon’s legal guardian, and her parents have already agreed that if I am able to get her out of here, they will sign papers to that effect. They are acting in her best interest. I wish you would, too.”
Ms. Mosby fidgeted with the balled up tissue in her sleeve, but said nothing.
“So, it is a money thing?” Charles reached into the chest pocket of his jacket and pulled out a checkbook and a pen. “How much do you want? $100,000? A donation of that magnitude would go a long way in helping to renovate this facility…”
Ms. Mosby sat up straighter, and leaned in toward Charles. “Make it $125,000 and she can return with you to your academy by the end of the week.”
Charles smiled. He had gotten off cheaper than he had expected. He wrote the check and signed it with a flourish. He handed it to her “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Mosby, I will iron out details with you later this evening. Good day.”
And with that, he swooped out of the room, and out of the building, happy to see that his silver Bentley had never left its spot in front of the entrance. “Home please, James.”
“Of course, sir,” said James, smiling into the rearview mirror.
“This shouldn’t take long, James. Come back in 45 minutes,” Charles said.
The driver nodded his head, “Of course, Mr. Charles.”
Charles strolled up the stairs of the entrance in his long cashmere jacket, oblivious to how out of place he looked entering the dingy brick building with iron grates over the windows. He signed in at the front desk, and a guard quickly ushered him into the office of the facility’s director.
Helen Mosby stood behind her desk and gave Charles a tight-lipped smile as he came through the door. He shook her languid, outstretched hand. It was like squeezing a cold fish. He immediately disliked Ms. Mosby and knew he must do everything in his power to accomplish the objective which brought him to Hampstead in the first place.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Ms. Mosby,” Charles said respectfully.
“Not at all, Mr. Charles. To what do I owe this honor? I know you are a busy man, and I’m not sure I understand why you would take time out of your day to visit a correctional facility for girls,” Ms. Mosby said with a slight sneer.
“Well,” he began, “The case of one of your newest girls, Shannon Kelly, was brought to my attention by one of my assistants, and I thought maybe I could intervene, and propose a solution to her detainment that will be more amenable to both her and your facility.”
“Shannon Kelly is a danger to society. A mere 13 years old, and she’s already showing signs of what she will one day become: at best, a menace, and at worst, a terrorist. Why are you so interested in her?” Ms. Mosby asked, the suspicion in her voice unmistakable.
“Ma’am, she has made some questionable decisions, but scientific research has proven that a girl her age does not fully comprehend the significance of her actions, and the long-term consequences. Her frontal cortex, responsible for helping to control all of those impulses, will not be fully developed for several more years. It is inhumane for you to keep her in solitary confinement when she does not fully understand the implications of her actions.”
Ms. Mosby gasped in outrage. “How did you know she’s been in solitary?! And even if it’s true, what business is it of yours? How we deal with our girls is left to our own discretion. She’s a troublemaker!”
“Ms. Mosby, I will not pretend that her offenses are slight. Producing anthrax in her garage, milling it into a powder and sending envelopes of it through the mail endangered the lives of many, but if you look at WHO she sent it to: her ex-boyfriend, the Pittsburgh Steelers training camp, Miley Cyrus… Her choices of who to target are consistent with that of any 13 year old girl… with an interest in football… who hates bad movies and bubblegum pop music. My point is, her motivations are not those of someone who is a danger to our country or national security.”
“I would disagree with you on that,” she huffed indignantly.
“The important thing is that no one was hurt. Fortunately, her knowledge, skills and resources at age 13 were not sufficient for her to produce anything very virulent. But don’t you see that what she was able to accomplish is a sign of a brilliant mind? Only 13, with so much intelligence and curiosity. If you would let me take her as my charge and enroll her at my academy for gifted and talented young women, I could nurture her, give her an appropriate forum in which to develop her talent and express it… With such astounding talents redirected towards more appropriate avenues, don’t you see the possibilities? Shannon could cure cancer or AIDS. She could do great things. I know it,” Charles said, passionately.
“Mr. Charles, your interest in these young women… frankly, it’s suspicious… the propriety is questionable… and it’s a little creepy…” she sniffed.
Charles sighed. “Is it a matter of resources then? Money? I know Hampstead has neither. I would like to become Shannon’s legal guardian, and her parents have already agreed that if I am able to get her out of here, they will sign papers to that effect. They are acting in her best interest. I wish you would, too.”
Ms. Mosby fidgeted with the balled up tissue in her sleeve, but said nothing.
“So, it is a money thing?” Charles reached into the chest pocket of his jacket and pulled out a checkbook and a pen. “How much do you want? $100,000? A donation of that magnitude would go a long way in helping to renovate this facility…”
Ms. Mosby sat up straighter, and leaned in toward Charles. “Make it $125,000 and she can return with you to your academy by the end of the week.”
Charles smiled. He had gotten off cheaper than he had expected. He wrote the check and signed it with a flourish. He handed it to her “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Mosby, I will iron out details with you later this evening. Good day.”
And with that, he swooped out of the room, and out of the building, happy to see that his silver Bentley had never left its spot in front of the entrance. “Home please, James.”
“Of course, sir,” said James, smiling into the rearview mirror.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 4 -- The Girl With a Purpose
“Mr. and Mrs. Park,” Charles started, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here today. As I told you on the phone, I engage in philanthropy all over the country, and one of my assistants read about your daughter’s situation in an online forum. Meiling is such a promising young athlete, attracting so much attention already at the age of 12. Some predicted that she would be the youngest female to ever win a grand slam title, so I know her recent injuries must have hit your family very hard.”
Mrs. Park, a normally tough (and kind of scary) Taiwanese woman, stifled a sob in her handkerchief. Her husband, a stoic Texan, rested a hand on her shoulder and faced the man across from him squarely. “Mr. Charles, I must say that we still don’t quite understand why you’ve taken an interest in Meiling’s situation.”
“She’s a young girl from Abilene, TX. I’m a complete stranger, who had never set foot in Abilene until today, so why would I want to help your family? I can understand why you would question my motives. As a philanthropist, my favorite causes are those that help young people. In fact, I have an academy where talented young people get to live together, study with the finest professors, and train one-on-one with the best coaches, all in order to best nurture their gifts and help them achieve their highest potential.”
Mrs. Park’s sniffling quieted as she listened.
“But how can you help her?” Mr. Park asked. “Meiling’s doctors said that injuring her left shoulder and both legs has effectively ruined her future prospects to be a tennis star, even if all of the surgeries are successful.”
“I told her the rodeo was strictly forbidden because I knew she wouldn't be content with just being a spectator. Who risks that kind of injury when they have such a promising future ahead of them in tennis?! She doesn't listen to me though, never has...” Mrs. Park wailed.
“Well,” Charles began, somewhat uncomfortably, “I’m sure the doctors here are very competent, and they probably believe that no one could recover from the injuries she incurred when that bull threw her... then trampled her... then gored her and tossed her into the bleachers... It's amazing she survived, to be completely honest... but I assure you, I have been funding medical research to repair the exact type of injuries Meiling sustained. I would love to use my team of surgeons to return Meiling’s shoulder and legs to their normal function. After they complete their procedures, Meiling will make a full recovery and no one will be able to tell the rodeo incident ever happened.”
“The doctors can do that?” Mrs. Park asked with hope in her voice.
“With the proper procedures, and some hard work on her part at my rehabilitation facility, I have no doubt that she can be that great again, if not even better. She’ll be like a bionic version of her old self,” Charles assured her with a warm smile.
“Better?” Mr. Park asked incredulously. “Could she be ready for the U.S. Open in 2013?”
“With the right care, Mr. and Mrs. Park, I have no doubt about that. She’ll be stronger than ever. My surgeons are performing procedures that are the first of their kind. So far, we’ve enjoyed tremendous success. We will provide her with the best doctors, and 24-hour care for as long as her rehabilitation takes.”
Charles reached into the expensive leather briefcase beside his chair and pulled out a folder and a pen. He handed it to Mr. Park.
“She will play tennis again. She will swim, play soccer, and even ultimate Frisbee, if she likes, and she will excel at all of these sports. She may even end up being a rodeo queen,” Charles said, sitting back as Mr. Park read over the contract.
“No, no more rodeo-ing for her.” Mrs. Park said in a serious voice. “No rich man will ever marry her if she engages in such unladylike activities.”
“I can’t speak to that, Mrs. Park. Who knows what will happen by the time she is thinking about marriage? Fortunately, she is only 12, so there is plenty of time to worry about that. Just sign on the line and I will guarantee that she is taken care of.”
Mrs. Park shook her head and sighed. “She’s going to be down the hill before we know it…”
Mrs. Park, a normally tough (and kind of scary) Taiwanese woman, stifled a sob in her handkerchief. Her husband, a stoic Texan, rested a hand on her shoulder and faced the man across from him squarely. “Mr. Charles, I must say that we still don’t quite understand why you’ve taken an interest in Meiling’s situation.”
“She’s a young girl from Abilene, TX. I’m a complete stranger, who had never set foot in Abilene until today, so why would I want to help your family? I can understand why you would question my motives. As a philanthropist, my favorite causes are those that help young people. In fact, I have an academy where talented young people get to live together, study with the finest professors, and train one-on-one with the best coaches, all in order to best nurture their gifts and help them achieve their highest potential.”
Mrs. Park’s sniffling quieted as she listened.
“But how can you help her?” Mr. Park asked. “Meiling’s doctors said that injuring her left shoulder and both legs has effectively ruined her future prospects to be a tennis star, even if all of the surgeries are successful.”
“I told her the rodeo was strictly forbidden because I knew she wouldn't be content with just being a spectator. Who risks that kind of injury when they have such a promising future ahead of them in tennis?! She doesn't listen to me though, never has...” Mrs. Park wailed.
“Well,” Charles began, somewhat uncomfortably, “I’m sure the doctors here are very competent, and they probably believe that no one could recover from the injuries she incurred when that bull threw her... then trampled her... then gored her and tossed her into the bleachers... It's amazing she survived, to be completely honest... but I assure you, I have been funding medical research to repair the exact type of injuries Meiling sustained. I would love to use my team of surgeons to return Meiling’s shoulder and legs to their normal function. After they complete their procedures, Meiling will make a full recovery and no one will be able to tell the rodeo incident ever happened.”
“The doctors can do that?” Mrs. Park asked with hope in her voice.
“With the proper procedures, and some hard work on her part at my rehabilitation facility, I have no doubt that she can be that great again, if not even better. She’ll be like a bionic version of her old self,” Charles assured her with a warm smile.
“Better?” Mr. Park asked incredulously. “Could she be ready for the U.S. Open in 2013?”
“With the right care, Mr. and Mrs. Park, I have no doubt about that. She’ll be stronger than ever. My surgeons are performing procedures that are the first of their kind. So far, we’ve enjoyed tremendous success. We will provide her with the best doctors, and 24-hour care for as long as her rehabilitation takes.”
Charles reached into the expensive leather briefcase beside his chair and pulled out a folder and a pen. He handed it to Mr. Park.
“She will play tennis again. She will swim, play soccer, and even ultimate Frisbee, if she likes, and she will excel at all of these sports. She may even end up being a rodeo queen,” Charles said, sitting back as Mr. Park read over the contract.
“No, no more rodeo-ing for her.” Mrs. Park said in a serious voice. “No rich man will ever marry her if she engages in such unladylike activities.”
“I can’t speak to that, Mrs. Park. Who knows what will happen by the time she is thinking about marriage? Fortunately, she is only 12, so there is plenty of time to worry about that. Just sign on the line and I will guarantee that she is taken care of.”
Mrs. Park shook her head and sighed. “She’s going to be down the hill before we know it…”
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 3 -- That Girl from TV
The name of the adorable eight year old with the voice of a seasoned opera star was on the lips of every American with a television: Genevieve Kotarski. Somehow, being robbed of first place in the nationally televised talent competition by a mediocre singer in his twenties with a sob story had only won Genevieve more press and publicity, and the graceful way she handled her loss won the young prodigy even more fans.
Now, several months later, people were still coming out of the woodwork to offer her scholarships to their performing arts schools, hoping the enrollment of such a brightly shining star-in-the-making would lend their institution a higher degree of prestige. Calls were continuing to pour in from agents based out of New York and Los Angeles who were clamoring to represent her. Her mother and father, stage parents of the most overbearing kind, were thrilled by all of it, but she was just plain tired.
“I’m not a performing monkey,” she told her parents.
“But sweetie,” her mother cooed, “you LOVE monkeys!” Ms. Kotarski tried to hand her daughter a sock monkey that had been sent to her by a fan.
“No, Mom, I really don’t, and I’m sorry I ever let you and Dad convince me to wear that sock monkey sweater for the audition,” she snapped. “Ever since then, it’s sock monkey hats, sock monkey t-shirts, sock monkey slippers, mittens… and that handmade sock monkey that plays the recording of me singing ‘Ave Maria’ whenever you squeeze its belly… So creepy… and now I can’t escape from all of these sock monkeys!”
“The sweater was age appropriate,” Mr. Kotarski said.
“It was not age appropriate!” Genevieve exclaimed. “You lied about my age, gave them a fake birth certificate, and told them I was eight to make my singing seem more impressive. I’m 11½! Aren’t they going to be shocked to see that, four months after all that media coverage, I’m six inches taller and I’ve got boobs!”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Mr. Kotarski mumbled. “We’re definitely going to get caught now. Everyone is going to know.”
“No, no,” Ms. Kotarski said, “we just have to be smart about this. Jen almost won because of her talent, not her age. Her talent is still impressive even for an 11½ year old. We just… miscalculated. She can still be famous. She just needs to go… underground for awhile. She can come back when she’s grown up a bit more. No one needs to know we fibbed about her age. We’ll just say she blossomed early. ”
“What?” Genevieve ask incredulously. “What are you talking about? I just want to have a normal life for a little while, be a normal pre-teen girl.”
“Jen, we found someone who wants to help you,” her father said in a calm voice. “He is a very wealthy man, and has adopted several girls with different talents.”
“You’re putting me up for adoption???” Genevieve asked with panic in her voice.
“No sweetie,” her mother assured her. “We are just going to send you to stay with him for a few years. There will be other girls around your age there, too. You’ll have classes every day with the other girls, taught by private teachers that he has brought in from the best universities. You’ll live on an estate, with a housekeeping staff, and in the afternoons, you’ll have private voice lessons with a highly respected vocal coach from the nearby performing arts academy. You’ll continue your education and your voice lessons. You’ll get to take a break from the limelight for a little while and make friends with other girls your age… Think of it as being like a cross between summer camp and a really nice boarding school.”
“Well,” Genevieve said with trepidation in her voice, “I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“And,” Ms. Kotarski added, “it’ll keep your father and I out of trouble.”
Genevieve glared at her mother.
“Not that you need to worry about that…” her mother stammered.
“Taking a break does sound nice,” Genevieve mumbled to herself. “Maybe the girls there don’t get to watch a lot of TV. Maybe they won’t know who I am. Maybe I can just be ‘Jen,’ instead of ‘Genevieve Kotarski, the opera prodigy from that talent show.’ ”
‘And maybe,’ she thought, ‘I can finally escape all these damn sock monkeys…’
Now, several months later, people were still coming out of the woodwork to offer her scholarships to their performing arts schools, hoping the enrollment of such a brightly shining star-in-the-making would lend their institution a higher degree of prestige. Calls were continuing to pour in from agents based out of New York and Los Angeles who were clamoring to represent her. Her mother and father, stage parents of the most overbearing kind, were thrilled by all of it, but she was just plain tired.
“I’m not a performing monkey,” she told her parents.
“But sweetie,” her mother cooed, “you LOVE monkeys!” Ms. Kotarski tried to hand her daughter a sock monkey that had been sent to her by a fan.
“No, Mom, I really don’t, and I’m sorry I ever let you and Dad convince me to wear that sock monkey sweater for the audition,” she snapped. “Ever since then, it’s sock monkey hats, sock monkey t-shirts, sock monkey slippers, mittens… and that handmade sock monkey that plays the recording of me singing ‘Ave Maria’ whenever you squeeze its belly… So creepy… and now I can’t escape from all of these sock monkeys!”
“The sweater was age appropriate,” Mr. Kotarski said.
“It was not age appropriate!” Genevieve exclaimed. “You lied about my age, gave them a fake birth certificate, and told them I was eight to make my singing seem more impressive. I’m 11½! Aren’t they going to be shocked to see that, four months after all that media coverage, I’m six inches taller and I’ve got boobs!”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Mr. Kotarski mumbled. “We’re definitely going to get caught now. Everyone is going to know.”
“No, no,” Ms. Kotarski said, “we just have to be smart about this. Jen almost won because of her talent, not her age. Her talent is still impressive even for an 11½ year old. We just… miscalculated. She can still be famous. She just needs to go… underground for awhile. She can come back when she’s grown up a bit more. No one needs to know we fibbed about her age. We’ll just say she blossomed early. ”
“What?” Genevieve ask incredulously. “What are you talking about? I just want to have a normal life for a little while, be a normal pre-teen girl.”
“Jen, we found someone who wants to help you,” her father said in a calm voice. “He is a very wealthy man, and has adopted several girls with different talents.”
“You’re putting me up for adoption???” Genevieve asked with panic in her voice.
“No sweetie,” her mother assured her. “We are just going to send you to stay with him for a few years. There will be other girls around your age there, too. You’ll have classes every day with the other girls, taught by private teachers that he has brought in from the best universities. You’ll live on an estate, with a housekeeping staff, and in the afternoons, you’ll have private voice lessons with a highly respected vocal coach from the nearby performing arts academy. You’ll continue your education and your voice lessons. You’ll get to take a break from the limelight for a little while and make friends with other girls your age… Think of it as being like a cross between summer camp and a really nice boarding school.”
“Well,” Genevieve said with trepidation in her voice, “I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“And,” Ms. Kotarski added, “it’ll keep your father and I out of trouble.”
Genevieve glared at her mother.
“Not that you need to worry about that…” her mother stammered.
“Taking a break does sound nice,” Genevieve mumbled to herself. “Maybe the girls there don’t get to watch a lot of TV. Maybe they won’t know who I am. Maybe I can just be ‘Jen,’ instead of ‘Genevieve Kotarski, the opera prodigy from that talent show.’ ”
‘And maybe,’ she thought, ‘I can finally escape all these damn sock monkeys…’
Friday, February 10, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 2 -- The Girl Next Door
“Mr. Charles… sir…” the guard stammered. “A security situation has been brought to my attention.”
“What is it?” Charles asked calmly.
“Sir, the perimeter has been breached… several times… by a seven year old girl,” the guard said sheepishly.
“And how did she manage that?” Charles asked, with curiosity creeping into his voice.
“She climbed over the wall, sir.”
“A seven year old? Climbed over nine feet of smooth, polished stone? How?!”
“We have studied the security footage, sir, and it appears that she climbed over in bare feet. Sir, her fingers and toes… they are abnormally long, and appear to have incredible strength, dexterity and endurance. She can climb the wall like a spider monkey,” the guard said quietly.
“Has anyone questioned her?” Charles asked. “Asked her why she decided to scale a nine foot wall?”
“We have, sir. She said it’s because she had heard that a little girl lived on the premises, and she wanted to make a new friend.”
“I see…” Charles said thoughtfully. “Is she… interfering, in any of Mira’s daily routines?”
“No, sir. The tutor has said that Mira is still engaging in her daily lessons, including piano and tae kwon do.”
“What do they do together?” Charles asked.
“Mostly, they pretend to be wizards, sir. One of the landscapers gave them sticks from a tree was being pruned, and they pretend that they’re wands,” the guard said.
“Have their games… caused any problems?” Charles asked.
“Nothing major, sir. At first, they squabbled over who would be named ‘Hermione,’ until they decided they could both be ‘Hermione.’ Aside from that, the housekeeper did scold them for tossing the cat off of the roof of the guest house into the pool, sir. The neighbor girl said they were trying to make it levitate.”
“So they tossed it in the pool?”
“She implied that it was to ensure a safer landing for the cat, in case they were unable to make it levitate, sir. They said they didn’t know the cat couldn’t swim.”
“How did they get on the roof of the guest house? Weren’t they supervised? And where is the cat now?” Charles inquired.
“Sir, they snuck out when the tutor went to use the bathroom. She was gone approximately three minutes. Fortunately, the pool boy was on the scene and fished the cat out of the pool with the skimmer. When it was retrieved, it was angrier than any cat I’ve ever seen, but it was not harmed.”
“Good,” Charles said. “That is good, at least. Do we know anything else about this girl? She seems like a trouble maker. What is her name, and do her parents know she has been climbing the wall to come over here?”
“Her name is Candy Chen, sir. We have paid a contact at the girl’s elementary school to pull her file. Her teachers like her, but say her intelligence and curiosity tend to get her in trouble. Sir, her IQ is off the charts,” the guard reported. “Her parents were not aware that she was coming over here. She was supposed to be practicing piano in their living room, but she had used a computer program to record hours of herself practicing, and she simply played the recording whenever she wanted to go out and play. They had wondered why they kept hearing her make the same mistakes, and why she didn’t seem to be improving.”
“Quite resourceful…” Charles mumbled, deep in thought. “Smith?”
“Yes, sir?” asked the guard.
“Have Dr. Daniels perform a general psychological assessment on Miss Chen, but have her conduct it in a non-obtrusive way so that she doesn’t know she’s being tested,” Charles said. “I would like to know more about this girl, what her talents are, and if there is… something I can do to help nurture those talents and perhaps provide a more intellectually stimulating environment.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard.
“And Smith?” Charles paused. “Ask Miss Chen to please refrain from harassing the household animals, and instruct her to enter through the front gate from now on.”
“What is it?” Charles asked calmly.
“Sir, the perimeter has been breached… several times… by a seven year old girl,” the guard said sheepishly.
“And how did she manage that?” Charles asked, with curiosity creeping into his voice.
“She climbed over the wall, sir.”
“A seven year old? Climbed over nine feet of smooth, polished stone? How?!”
“We have studied the security footage, sir, and it appears that she climbed over in bare feet. Sir, her fingers and toes… they are abnormally long, and appear to have incredible strength, dexterity and endurance. She can climb the wall like a spider monkey,” the guard said quietly.
“Has anyone questioned her?” Charles asked. “Asked her why she decided to scale a nine foot wall?”
“We have, sir. She said it’s because she had heard that a little girl lived on the premises, and she wanted to make a new friend.”
“I see…” Charles said thoughtfully. “Is she… interfering, in any of Mira’s daily routines?”
“No, sir. The tutor has said that Mira is still engaging in her daily lessons, including piano and tae kwon do.”
“What do they do together?” Charles asked.
“Mostly, they pretend to be wizards, sir. One of the landscapers gave them sticks from a tree was being pruned, and they pretend that they’re wands,” the guard said.
“Have their games… caused any problems?” Charles asked.
“Nothing major, sir. At first, they squabbled over who would be named ‘Hermione,’ until they decided they could both be ‘Hermione.’ Aside from that, the housekeeper did scold them for tossing the cat off of the roof of the guest house into the pool, sir. The neighbor girl said they were trying to make it levitate.”
“So they tossed it in the pool?”
“She implied that it was to ensure a safer landing for the cat, in case they were unable to make it levitate, sir. They said they didn’t know the cat couldn’t swim.”
“How did they get on the roof of the guest house? Weren’t they supervised? And where is the cat now?” Charles inquired.
“Sir, they snuck out when the tutor went to use the bathroom. She was gone approximately three minutes. Fortunately, the pool boy was on the scene and fished the cat out of the pool with the skimmer. When it was retrieved, it was angrier than any cat I’ve ever seen, but it was not harmed.”
“Good,” Charles said. “That is good, at least. Do we know anything else about this girl? She seems like a trouble maker. What is her name, and do her parents know she has been climbing the wall to come over here?”
“Her name is Candy Chen, sir. We have paid a contact at the girl’s elementary school to pull her file. Her teachers like her, but say her intelligence and curiosity tend to get her in trouble. Sir, her IQ is off the charts,” the guard reported. “Her parents were not aware that she was coming over here. She was supposed to be practicing piano in their living room, but she had used a computer program to record hours of herself practicing, and she simply played the recording whenever she wanted to go out and play. They had wondered why they kept hearing her make the same mistakes, and why she didn’t seem to be improving.”
“Quite resourceful…” Charles mumbled, deep in thought. “Smith?”
“Yes, sir?” asked the guard.
“Have Dr. Daniels perform a general psychological assessment on Miss Chen, but have her conduct it in a non-obtrusive way so that she doesn’t know she’s being tested,” Charles said. “I would like to know more about this girl, what her talents are, and if there is… something I can do to help nurture those talents and perhaps provide a more intellectually stimulating environment.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard.
“And Smith?” Charles paused. “Ask Miss Chen to please refrain from harassing the household animals, and instruct her to enter through the front gate from now on.”
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Charlie's Angels... of DEATH: Chapter 1 -- A Girl Named Mira
“She’s perfect,” Charles said, watching the two year old Korean girl toddle across the worn carpet, her pigtails bouncing with each step. He glanced around him, noting the shabbiness of the orphanage director’s office. He slapped at a hummingbird-sized mosquito that landed on his bare forearm. “When can I take her home?”
“At earliest, one month to get all paperwork completed, all signatures…” the director said in heavily accented English.
“And how much is the adoption fee?” he asked.
“$10,000,” she said.
Charles placed a small briefcase on her desk.
“Would $20,000 speed up the process?”
The director’s eyes widened as he opened the case to reveal more cash than she had ever seen in one place. She cleared her throat nervously.
“We could make arrangements for you to take her home now,” she said in a low voice. “I will start the paperwork. Do you know what you will name her?”
Charles watched the little girl run back and forth across the office as new things caught her curiosity. At the moment, she had stopped her constant movement to fixate at something on the wall. He was thinking hard when one of the other orphanage workers walked into the room and screamed.
“Cuidado! Dendrobatidos! Mira!” she said, pointing furiously at the little Asian girl as she ran in the opposite direction.
Maria lunged for the girl and pulled her away just as she was about to poke the yellow and black poison dart frog that was sticking to the wall.
“Yes,” Charles said, thoughtfully. “Mira. It’s perfect…”
“No,” the director said quickly, “it’s not a…”
“It’s a good thing I was able to convince you to let me take little Mira home today,” Charles interrupted. “Who knows what could have happened to her out here in the next month? This is Guatemala. It’s wild country out here…” He turned to face the little girl. “And how did an adorable little Korean girl like you come to be here in the first place?” Charles stooped to get Mira’s attention, and the young Latina worker crouched along with him. She brushed Mira’s chubby pink cheek with a finger.
“Her roses… are red,” she said in faltering English, smiling as Mira giggled with delight.
The director rolled her eyes. “She means her cheeks… they’re rosy.”
Charles gave the young woman a rare smile. “I agree. Her roses are red.”
“At earliest, one month to get all paperwork completed, all signatures…” the director said in heavily accented English.
“And how much is the adoption fee?” he asked.
“$10,000,” she said.
Charles placed a small briefcase on her desk.
“Would $20,000 speed up the process?”
The director’s eyes widened as he opened the case to reveal more cash than she had ever seen in one place. She cleared her throat nervously.
“We could make arrangements for you to take her home now,” she said in a low voice. “I will start the paperwork. Do you know what you will name her?”
Charles watched the little girl run back and forth across the office as new things caught her curiosity. At the moment, she had stopped her constant movement to fixate at something on the wall. He was thinking hard when one of the other orphanage workers walked into the room and screamed.
“Cuidado! Dendrobatidos! Mira!” she said, pointing furiously at the little Asian girl as she ran in the opposite direction.
Maria lunged for the girl and pulled her away just as she was about to poke the yellow and black poison dart frog that was sticking to the wall.
“Yes,” Charles said, thoughtfully. “Mira. It’s perfect…”
“No,” the director said quickly, “it’s not a…”
“It’s a good thing I was able to convince you to let me take little Mira home today,” Charles interrupted. “Who knows what could have happened to her out here in the next month? This is Guatemala. It’s wild country out here…” He turned to face the little girl. “And how did an adorable little Korean girl like you come to be here in the first place?” Charles stooped to get Mira’s attention, and the young Latina worker crouched along with him. She brushed Mira’s chubby pink cheek with a finger.
“Her roses… are red,” she said in faltering English, smiling as Mira giggled with delight.
The director rolled her eyes. “She means her cheeks… they’re rosy.”
Charles gave the young woman a rare smile. “I agree. Her roses are red.”
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