Things have been rather…busy lately. Trooper managed to start a bit of business that promises to bring “interesting” times. He needs to make a call or two and get that CHL pushed to the top of the pile because, laws be damned, this girl isn’t going anywhere without rather a lot of security tucked here and there.
Time to get drapes up, the solid back door installed, and all manner of other options rolling. Indeed, it frustrates me because it could have all been avoided with a bit of thought – roll that SWAT van and the disguises is what I’m sayin’. Because there are only a few of those orcas in this town and the drive-by at the office was only the first of a few, I imagine, to determine which one is which. (Of course, he managed to make a point to the fools but still…) At least the local ranger is apprised – many are looking to get a piece of this disgusting pie.
It needs to be an overt and vastly superior amount of firepower. It will demand silent and very deadly overwatch. Light sleep and maybe even another dog. And, yes, Ranger Boy won’t be staying home as much. Insurance can cure any loss there when we’re gone. But if anything happened to his dog? There’d be one hell of a reckoning.
There’s a line in the sand, like another Alamo. Except this one comes with backup from all manner of alphabet soup types. Because Trooper has friends. Very kind, very good, and very skilled friends. And there’s always a place for me to run if it gets out of hand.
I’d written in the past about how this trinket and that stack of books might one day have to be glanced at and, in a moment, relinquished. That time may come sooner than expected and from a different quarter. An ill wind blows from it. But we’ll snap one of these on. A black reminder to
Ranger the Fuck Up, indeed.
But, like any woman, I’m not going to let him hear the end of it. Goddamned ant hill…just couldn’t let it be, could he?