Well seasoned

Author's note: As I wrote this I wondered....is this actually everything I had wanted to do? Be? Is this my escape from a glacial upbringing, caned daily before we dined? Is this the bad boy/man that I always thought it would be interesting to be? Well, hell yeah. In places. Being too good, too wealthy, too intelligent too...everything can be a bore. I wish I'd had as much fun, or it seems amusing to me, as these guys do. I admire their stealth, their craftiness, their sneakiness, their criminal intent but, in the end, I really wish I'd had a friend like one of them as opposed to when I looked up either handed me a scalpel or papers to be signed, notarized then used to whatever purpose.

I wish I'd remembered more clearly what my grandfather taught me. "Kid, just like me, yer a bastard, best thing to be cuz you don't owe nobody nothin'. Make 'em kiss yer ass even if they have to get on their knees to do it.:" I loved that old bastard, I really did, do to this moment.

The Dean made it pretty clear, well, he had legal papers, that I was being thrown out of school on a permanent basis. Good thing I didn’t live on campus as he gave me exactly ten minutes to “Get the fuck off”. Strong language for a Dean. Oh, and to make sure I did , he had a large, matching pair of Security Officer s ‘escort’ me to my car then stand there until I pulled away. As I timed it, from the door being slammed behind me until I ‘accidentally’ hit a sign with the uni name on it with my heavy duty jeep by the entrance to school, eight minutes. My days of learning were over. Well, my days of learning the shit they were teaching were over...what I’d found out was that I already knew how to read, write as well as add up (“ One and One is Two, Two and Two is Four and Five will get you Ten if you Know how to work it.” Mae West) which was about what anyone needed to know; It was what you learned to doafter that which would have any meaning. Looked at one way, I now knew how to get thrown out of college….The original grounds, ‘Moral Turpitude’ were supplanted by some sort of mumbo jumbo form of conduct that added up to OUT. I wasn’t altogether sorry; Charges that I’d corrupted a frat house (almost impossible to do) were never entirely proved...except for the few photographs that happened to be found-a even got published in a magazine that did NOT have any connection to academia….O-U-T.

I gotta say, selling those pictures, not only to the mags but to those who were photographed, added up to some nice walking around money. Hey, those guys, in fifty years, will look back, wish they still had copies….just to prove they once could do something like that. Oh, who knew you could make coin selling silence? Not everything was pictured, audio tape was another good mover, especially when...there was first something on it then nothing on it. A buddy told me how to make a ‘master copy’ against some sort of loss or welching on a sale. But...I didn’t learn that in college. Also, I never ratted a couple of guys who lived at the ‘animal house’ with the jocks; Gotta wonder how many Alums were disappointed when a ‘game they couldn’t lose’ and bet heavily on was lost. As one of them said as I paid him, “Fuck I don’t want to play pro ball, they can hurt you.” That’s the sort of man you kept track of….just because it’s real good idea. Also, he was a primo fuck; Really well trained ass. He said it was coach making them do squats. Also, so I was told, ‘coach’ was a prime piece of beef for his better players. Wondered how, even if you weren’t a player, but had pictures of the team or..whatever you happened to have, if you could drop by, get a clearer view of the head of the coaching squad…..O.U.T.

Being over 21, I celebrated by dropping into my favorite tavern, got shit faced then drove down the sidewalk.

My first full day as a ‘ former college man’ started in the drunk tank, courtesy a hot looking officer who found me taking a leak on a sign pole but got really pissed off when I fondled his balls. Or I think I did, there are some holes in my memory. Anyway, I had a social engagement, called ‘court’ early in the morning where I found something to do for the next 90 days, or that’s what the Judge said. Weird, they didn’t mention the car, the sidewalk or pissing on the sign but grabbing the cops nuts was ruled a punishable misdemeanor. (So were what I clutched. Thinking back, what really set him off was when I laughed in court where I told His Honor he had a sock where Officer Pig’s cojones should be.) At least they found safe parking for the Jeep.

You want to see it one way, and I did, doing county time is one step above the sort of fraternities known as animal houses. No beer, lousy food, stinks, not many opportunities to shower and your fellow members are older than the nice young men expected to be in a fraternity. Didn’t take me long to decide I preferred the lock up to school; Nothing was expected of you which was about what I wanted to do. Oh, and you could make a new set of buddies none of whom would even have bothered to enroll. My cellie was called Joe...although, as he explained, that was his legal handle, always best to use an alias. That was just one of many, many things he taught me some of which I paid for by offering my ass as tuition. I graduated on day 89, held passing out ceremonies on day 90 then hung around for a couple more until the car as well as Joe got sprung.

In conversation that first day with him he gave me more real good advice; Under the circumstances going home was a sicko idea. He was pretty sure, and I knew, not only had the Dean given my parents the news of my exit from school but my last stand had let them in on what it would cost to bail me out. That was a waste of someone’s time, I knew how that would end. Good thing the car was in my name or while I stayed in they would have removed it.

When you get out of jail there are a couple of things you want to do the first being get cleaned up. Good thing I had credit cards-plus a little money stuffed some place my unindulgent family couldn’t get it-so we found one of the better motels then fucked each other in the shower. Or maybe we started with sucking, got both done by the time we hit the bed for a good rest. Yay! 69.

Guess I forgot to mention this but if you haven’t picked it up, I like men, I like to do things with men, having sex with them being a highlight of my preference for men; Playing Texas Stud Poker is another but it’s way down the list of things I’ll do with men-I’ll also play Golf but that’s A. In an emergency or B. I can screw the pro (who isn’t) on two out of eighteen holes. Get a grasp on that, like I had on Officer Good Guy’s gonads or quit reading here as the rest of it won’t make much sense or you’ll be either A. Pissed off or B. Offended. Either way, you won’t learn much and, Oh, maroon, that terrible language!

Are we clear on that one? Good. Now….where was I? Oh, in bed with Joe maybe fucking or being fucked, doesn’t make much difference.

Since neither of us had any place to go, we spent a few days just doing nothing, getting some tan by the pool, some more fucking, agreeing that until we got separated by the law again, we’d partner up. He knew more than I did but could spot a fast learner even if college had not. When we weren’t getting fricasseed by the pool, Joe was holding an informal series of lectures on how be the basic sort of person who was generally thought of as “no good”. Great logic...you get away with hell if no one expected anything of you-just can’t argue with that. Also, he had a casual sort of list of things men who were no good did, or could do or had already done. Although he would have preferred it if I’d done some ‘hard time’ in Federal Lock Down, minimum three to five, he’d seen how I got along in jail which told him when I did finally get nailed, then sent away-he just assumed one or both of us eventually would-I’d do alright until I got my final ‘finishing’ behind bars; Felt every man should either do time or get a dis-honorable discharge from the army. (He was specific about it being the Army... that would have been his Service of choice but when he got out of that stretch, they didn’t take felons. His reason was that you had to REALLY fuck up big time before they, first, put you in Army jail then threw you out. His opinion, Army lock up made real prison look simple, you’d already done most of what you’d thought of doing so, prison just proved you hadn’t learned to do it as well as you should have. Also, it provided, which the Army hoosegows did not, a better class of educators for the novice criminal.)

Fact was...although we’d partnered, if he were ten years younger, he’d have enlisted us just to see how far into basic training we got before we were tossed out. Or whatever the military term for OUT is. The Service, or some of the men in it, taught you things you weren’t likely to learn elsewhere in addition to access to things neither Walmart nor Amazon were selling. Also, Joe was big on this point, doing time provided social ‘experiences’ plus new friends that were destined to be useful even if at the time they may not seem so….that information was paid for by a spanking, the sort that left me bleeding. Periodically, just for the hell of it, we’d drop by one of the recruiters where a he played the role of a Dad with a recalcitrant son; He showed them the papers from both University and jail as proof. When the story of my cracking the cop’s nuts came out, a whole lot of them said, “Hell yes, we’ll take him”...while burping laughter. Couple of them said we needed to go out after their recruiting day was done and….talk things over. They paid for the pleasure of our company by getting double fucked; To one of them this was not a new experience as he kept screaming “Oh fuck yeah, Sir, Deeper.” (Joe made a note about him for ‘future reference’ or a quick screw if we had nothing else to do. Also….same man provided us with some sets of used uniforms which were….useful on a couple of occasions. If nothing else, showing up clad like a service man, was almost always good for a discount at restaurants...)

After an evening that got out of hand- we were entertaining some of his buddies from ‘the good old days in prison,- when a table went through the window, it was time to move on. Management made a deal: Pay for the window or they’d call the cops. We took option A. Three in the morning, half bagged, almost naked-we’d been encouraged to ‘pack up and get out fast’ so it was leave as you are. Okay. Pulled around the corner, sat on the seat, jerked each other off-the dash was getting an interesting patina that Earl Scheib couldn’t duplicate but we liked it.

Folloiwng a bit of wandering around in the dark Joe found a driveway for a house that had a ‘For Sale’ sign, stuck in the overgrown lawn, pulled toward the back, parked, and I got a lesson; Joe showed me how to know if the place was occupied, (the uncut lawn) if not, park quiet, maybe in a garage, making that your home for a bit. Good thing about ‘For Sale’s, they kept the pool, if they had one one, clean to attract buyers. Next lesson; Where to cut the electrical lines which made entry easier. (Somewhere he’d taught me how to ‘lift’ keys, preferable a skeleton one...)He was disappointed; The seller had moved out meaning no groceries but the water worked and, goddam, even left the hot water heater running-probably to keep the pool warm. Again, being up for sale, it was furnished to ‘show’ so pretty much guaranteed a good, comfortable rest of the night. I paid Joe for that lesson by fucking him.

My next lesson was in the morning when he broke into the unlocked half of the garage, found an old reel type mower, got it out, then had me mow the lawn. This man did not have balls, or so I thought, he had ten pound ball bearings. Soon as the lawn was mowed he got on his phone to the number of the Realtor on the sign. When he finished we knew a lot more, all of it helpful. A. The owners had moved out of state so no one was likely to drop in. B. This property had been slow moving, no showings or open houses scheduled, besides, C. He and his wife were taking the kids to someplace, wouldn’t be back for a week. D. Forgot (what he never knew) that whoever wasn’t here had hired someone, us, to keep an eye on the place. Joe said, yep, he sure had, but forgot one detail, the two hundred he’d promised. Drop by, he’d like to meet him, he could check us out, I was mentioned as ‘his kid’ before they left town. E. Oh...some damn fool cut the electrical lines...needed them repaired.

Paid for that lesson with a fist way up my ass while we soaked in the pool making plans to lose the tan line accumulated at the motel.

Around three there was company; Realtor came by, we were in our shorts fresh out of the pool, did the ‘howdy’s’ gave him our current name: Bill and his son Phil Jackman (Joe had the red hots for Hugh). Guys name was ‘Biff’, said he was pleased to meet us, handed ‘Dad’ an envelope with four hundred, hoped we could do this for two weeks. ‘Dad’ said he’d check our work schedule, probably could get it in. Offered to let him check around, hell take pictures if he wanted, so when he got back he’d know that what was here when he left still was. F. Oh, and would ‘Biff’ mind writing out just something, attach his card, with our names, saying he knew we were here, where he could be reached if there were any questions, we didn’t know the neighbors, neither did he, but if they called the cops or got nosy, that’d quiet them down.

Got into his Realtor’s bag, pulled out a piece of paper with his name and all the shit about where he worked, wrote out what Joe suggested...G. Hey, just to make it real good, how about a picture of the three of us on the property? Great idea. Screw the wife and kiddies, I know it went through both our minds that ‘Biff’ looked and acted like a piece of candy ass that could profit from a good working over...maybe ending in the pool….when he got back because, by then, we’d probably need some sort of shit that he could easily do. Also there was that idea about wondering if he’d like to play ‘horsey’ just no mare?

Our new friend, the salesman, left saying he had no idea how the lines got cut-vandalism on ‘For Sale” homes was just a liability Realtors accepted, the lawn looked swell, he felt better about knowing the house was in good hands and the electric people promised to get it done before 7pm. Said we hoped he had a good time...he started off...then came back. I gulped. Up the walk, big smile on his face, shaking his head, “Sorry, I just forgot, here’s the spare set of keys to the Corvette that was the pride and joy of the owner... left it behind until he could make arrangements to have it transported. Biff winked, punched Joe in the shoulder, “Guess it wouldn’t hurt if it was taken out now and then, make sure the tires weren’t getting flat, kick the carbon out….” We promised we would. He left again. Good thing he didn’t come back this time, he’d have found us rolling on the floor laughing. “A Corvette, a fucking vintage Corvette…..Jesus, did they leave a safe with gold in it?...” I think one of us peed…..

Helluva lesson, just a helluva lesson. As I got down on my knees while he pushed his shorts down he said, “Nice guy, there should be more dildos like him around, he believes the obvious because he has no reason not to….but we got lucky, him going out of town….Okay, partner, I’m feeling past blue balled, I got purple puke in there for you to empty.” He got comfortable leaning against the wall, door still open. “Hope someone goes by, doesn’t believe what they’re seeing cuz in a nice place like this, couldn’t happen. An audience helps me.

As usual, there was a lesson; Always make ‘em trust the obvious, you saw….oh yeah, work on those nuts...before we hit the pool, gonna get down we get us sheared”….With one foot, still balancing, he shoved the door shut. “Ya know, I’m feeling two loads….”

Not much to do until the electric people made us light up so, naturally, we opened the garage to check out the promised ‘Vette’.

“Jesus, I don’t know much about cars but this one….I think is a classic. Sell this in Mexico for pile of cash. Give it a spin tomorrow…. Smells like the original leather.” He opened the passenger door, fumbled in the glove box, hauled out a blue folder, opened it.

“Holy Shit…..when we get that laptop of yours up and telling tales, we’re gonna find out what a 1976 Corvette is going for….and I’ll bet it’s a lot more than when it was new.” He paused, “Wonder if we could get in touch with Leno? Got to be this guys pride and joy, probably rather fuck this than his wife.” (Lesson) Good thing we don’t have to worry about finger prints, it won’t be here the next time someone looks for it.

Made me think. “Okay but….if we stay in the house...prints there, car’s missing, our prints, one and one is we hooked it.” He looked at me like I was half witted...someone comes looking for it, you heard the man, it was just left here waiting to be loaded and sent on. Sides, we might have but….what’s his name gave us permission to live here, even got his picture with ours. Sure they can trace ‘em but all they’ll find is we gave phony names…..”

“But the car...”

“You mean the car we’re gonna report as collected for delivery to the owner...elsewhere? The day before we head out? That car?”

I was puzzled, looked it.

He got a dirty smile, “Gonna cost you to find out how it’s done.”

Looked at him? “Just sucked you….twice.”

“You don’t know everything I like to do but you’re about to find out another….C’mon back in our new home. I’ll let you pay up.”

It was our first ‘tour of the residence’ -while he three finger fucked me laying on the kitchen table he looked around-which revealed that while it was set up to ‘show’ as the saying goes, beauty is only skin deep or, in this case, the things you need to live weren’t all where they would normally be. The oh-so-popular stainless steel kitchen had...nothing on the shelves. Okay if there’s no dishes, you can eat with your fingers but...you need food to eat. We were to find out that the television was there for show only, ditto the telephones. Under the attractive bedspreads, no sheets as well as wadded paper that doubled as pillows-at least there was a mattress, clearly not the one the absent family had used as it was stained...badly;(“Stupid fuckers, shoulda known they took the good one with them left this piece of shit to hold up the quilt”. The best equipped thing on the property, apart from the Corvette, was the swimming pool. Even the pool house was empty.

“Time to pay up? Told you there was a price so….peel, stark naked...then get over here.”

Shorts and a T shirt come off quickly but...looking at his face, his eyes there was something glittering. He was getting naked as well, stood there waiting for me to come to him-he was, for now, the master and I was the slave about to be punished for continued learning.

He sat on a kitchen chair, far enough forward so his cock and bag hunk down then gestured for me to come to him. I didn’t think I was that close but...he grabbed an arm then swung me onto his lap, making sure his suddenly closed thighs were clutching my cock which...cooperated by getting hard making easier for him to grasp tightly which just made my pole get harder.

“Know what’s coming?”

“I can guess.”

“There’s a saying you need to learn, ‘Bad boys get spanked, bad men get whipped’...which do you think you are.

He couldn’t see it but I was grinning. “Bad man” It was a no brainer.

“Yeah, that’s how I see it. My Bad Man and you’re in for a walloping….probably the first but not the last...you need to get what’s coming to you from someone who wants to who’ll enjoy making sure you get it…”

I could see his hand reach down to his pants on the floor then pull the heavy brass buckled thick, black leather belt from its loops. He doubled it, snapped it together, did it again….felt my butt… “Guess it’s about time to deflate that bubble….”.

They say the first strike is the most painful but not the way he did it. Clever fucker, just as the leather would have struck me he hesitated meaning I just got kissed but shuddered as if I’d taken the whole blow...which came about two seconds later. Jesus Mary and Christ did that smart. I lost track of the times but for the strength of the blows, it got the job done.

He stopped, wetted his finger, put it on my ass...thought I’d hear it sizzle...then picked me up so that I was sandwiched between his legs, my hard cock almost stuck in his navel. “Wait’ll you get to the pen, having ass already hardened up will do you good.” His casual assumption that I was destined to ‘do time’ was and was not concerning. As he said, look at him, he didn’t turn out too bad, what did he learn I never could have in school? Had a point.

“Unless, of course someone else is gonna steal it…..” I was puzzled but eager to learn. Joe could see that…. “Once we find out what that thing is worth, it gets clipped right out of the unlocked garage. Guys who have that sort of toy make it known they’ve got it, sort of a trophy wife, just having it is enough. I bet if we looked, that thing doesn’t have fifteen thousand miles on it. Like I said, it’s a toy, he may go out and fuck it….but all we are interested in is the ‘turn value’ that is, how much cash can we get for turning it over to another owner?”

I wasn’t comfortable about calling the cops using a phony name to report a stolen car from a place that, if the issue got pushed, we had no legal reason to be. Without the vroom in the garage, probably okay but to get rid of it?

“Look, that thing, as far as we’re concerned, is just a cash cow. Whatever we can get out of it is pure profit, don’t really have to do much more than a couple of phone calls,, to make it legit, put an ad in the paper.”

He held up the blue folder. “In here, title, insurance, AAA membership….all we need and you can stop with the title-easy enough to sign that. (I wondered when, not if, I’d get a lesson in forgery?) Someone wants to chase it down after it’s gone, fine, like it, we’ll be gone. It all kinda depends on the value...which I’m hoping isn’t too much. One thing to sell a cherried out Ford but another to get rid of a hot, new Rolls. The more something is worth, the more attraction it gets when sold….”

I saw his point.

“Hey, before they come to light us up, need to find a dry cleaner, one that does tailoring...”

Again, I was confused.

“The uniforms. Two guys on leave or meet the neighbors or...in those uniforms, we’re automatic good guys, wouldn’t do anything wrong….C’mon, lets change, put some ice on your ass...then start looking around our new Neighborhood.

Couldn’t resist it. “Okay Mr. Rogers….”

I could see him grin, popped me anyway.

With nothing to do ‘at home’ we cruised around, spotted what we might need, what we would need and what nobody needs. Did find a cleaner but, next door, a nice Vietnamese lady who did everything from making full dresses to sewing up ripped garments that were brought to the cleaners. Looking in her mirror, even without a shirt or tie, we looked just like what we were supposed to be. Joe had Master Sergeants stripes while I was, of course, your basic issue dog face. We looked real good, anyone would believe who we said we were and, the guy who gave them to us must have figured something out as there were holes for name tags just no names. Joe, who on the run could figure out anything, asked the lady if she knew where we could get some and, of course, she did. Now all we had to do was decide on a name. Seemed best to match the one on the paper Biff had written out so we were now the “Jackman Two”, Phil and his son...uh...tried to remember if we’d used a name….Joe settled on ‘Hugh’-told you he had a thing for him. While we were there, since she would know, we go the name of the best Chinese restaurant, the worst Chinese restaurant, the better of two grocery stores, which gas ‘n go was robbed least often as well as an ‘Asian Massage Parlor’ about which..she had no comments.

One other thing, as he said, ‘To compliment the uniforms”, there was a barber college which is where we each got a version of an Army crew cut. Mine was almost ‘down to the wood’ while he got a flat top….wondered who could teach us how to salute ‘the Army way”?

Until the electric people showed up, we had some time, scouted around to find some sort of charity store where we could get pillows, sheets and, looking at that mattress something to not just cover it but seal it. However, until to hustle those places, we hit the local Walmart.

Lacking food but needing to be ‘home’ when the juice people showed up, we headed that way assuming after they’d left, we could finish out our shopping. Joe explained he was not fan of ‘big box’ stores but for now, and for what we wanted, it was the easiest, quickest place. Other than that, thrift shops, consignment places….get about anything you needed and, as he, correctly, pointed out (no lesson) what ‘our home’ lacked was just some of the bits and pieces, not a complete top to bottom.

Without saying it, Joe could spot cons, sometimes by their prison ink, sometimes, if they were newly sprung, their oh so polite attitude, as well as his instinct. The guy from the electric company had the ink, Joe had the instinct and….we had a buddy. He was genuinely a craftsman, could have wired Las Vegas, but once their ‘past’ communal history was established, I went out for beer while the two of them shot the shit, fixed the wiring and then quite a bit more. Coming home I found the television was on while Carl, our new buddy, looked around for the cable going to the neighbors to hook us into the telephone line. Even had a gadget that told us what our new number was.

Joe had leveled with him about why we were living in our ‘residence’ which he thought was hilarious. Wondered if we took in boarders as he was just ‘off paper’ and now could move wherever he wanted without anyone approving it. I liked the guy so why not? Joe liked him too but added that our new buddy had all sorts of electrical uses that we might find handy. For example, the TV and the phone….not only did that save us money but, according to Carl, we could get a private line as well as he knew where to ‘pick up’ some I phones...if Joe could loan me out for a few hours.

We had come to a juncture where Carl was either going to decide he could fuck guys or, fine with us, he was free to get his jollies however he preferred. I think when he recreated my scene with the cop, putting his paw over Joe’s cojones, answered the question. Only deal, he’d have to sleep in his own room….usually. He winked, said that was fine with him only….for the phones, he looked at me, looked at Joe….who laughed. Told him I was real well broken in, whatever he wanted to do, I didn’t have a curfew…

One thing...didn’t know what the guest room was like but….he showed him the mattress.

Seems Carl had a buddy in the pick up and delivery service. Thought we’d all go through the house, see what was needed then he’d call in an order for his friend to ‘pick up’ then deliver. No charge, the guy owed him big time. That was great but...he didn’t feel quite right not ponying up something as a way of saying ‘Thanks’. Carl looked at me, back at Joe, back at me. “He’ll do…..hey, how about we call him, ‘Butch’, like his haircut….”

Oh hohoho, they almost fell over each other, that one was so HI larious. Carl was not through with suggestions for my...betterment. “Any guy, first time out on leave, gets three things, drunk, laid and tattooed. Fuck I guess you’ve taken care of drunk and laid...get him some ink, whattya want, Butch? Your name on your bicep?” He stopped, looked at Joe….smirked. “How about the matched revolvers, right above his crotch? Makes all kind of comments...still put Butch on his arm…. Find something for the other side…..”

Joe put his arm around me. “Fuck, we’ll have him ready for the joint before he gets locked up. Wish someone had done that for me.” They did a high five,. “Brother, you just said a mouthful, absofuckinglutely. I went in grass green…..” He paused, whether remember good times, bad times or just the first time...hard to know. One lesson I was teaching myself, live in the here and now, don’t look back, just take what’s in front of you then figure out how much it’s worth.

Joe shifted gears. “Fuck, we got power, Butch fire up your machine, see what that thing that doesn’t even have a place to fuck in is worth.”

One thing I did know was that with old cars, I’d seen this on the auction shows on TV, one little thing can alter the value. A missing hood ornament, wrong tires, no original spare...thousands of dollars down for each thing not there. Told Joe to get the title, probably some info there that could pin down what this machine could sell for.

While Joe did that, Carl wandered around, figured what we needed not only for our comfort but...this was something I hadn’t thought about, what sort of stuff would be scattered in a house where people really lived? Like I said, when we walked in, looked alright but...so does a display room in a furniture window. Looked like we had at least two weeks, no reason to think anyone would come in but, if they did….somewhere in my mind a group Joe had casually dismissed, the neighbors, were people to be dealt with and, immediately, calmed them...if they were going to need calming. When the two guys came in, I mentioned all that.

First thing Joe said was that….if we got too many people living here with no connection, looked suspicious. Did not matter what the Realtor wrote out, none of us wanted to answer more than very basic questions. Some things I did learn.

“Well, Joe and me, father and son, I’m just home from college, while I’ve been gone, ‘Uncle’ Carl has lived here.”

“Won’t work for the neighbors, they fucking know who lived here.”

“Yeah but...that gives us maybe two, three house fulls of suckers to deal with. The ones on either side...worked right, hell, they’ll tell us anything we need to know.”

Joe worked the one problem out. “Hell, we are out of the service, found an ad for house sitters, you,” He meant Carl. “...are on the ass end of a divorce, you’re my brother so who ya gonna call?”

Somethings just creep into society. We all yelled, “Ghost Busters”.

Coming up: domesticity and crime