-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE----- Tuck Season, Wabbit Season, Tuck Season! Part 09 -*- Copyright 1999, 2010 by either Joel Lawrence or Ellen Hayes Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when used for satirical purposes. This work contains adult situations, adult language, adult concepts, and possibly sex. If you are legally not allowed to read materials containing such things, then you will be breaking the law by reading this. I am not responsible. Continuing to read this document, or storing it or reproducing it in any format means that you explicitly affirm that you are legally allowed to possess and read such materials in your city, county/parish, state, and country. All rights reserved. See the bottom for distribution rights. *** *Shit, I HURT,* Sandy realized as she woke up. *Hah, feels like this cold is LITERALLY kicking my ass...* *Keep it moving, Tucker,* he thought to himself. He hated moving on streets, and he hated it more in daylight, but he had no other choice; and while he'd seen people go past in cars or a couple sitting outside, none of them had set his 'caught' flag. Yet. And he was quite aware that the fact that none of them had noticeably reacted to seeing him DIDN'T mean they didn't see him, nor that they wouldn't remember him if questioned later, nor that they weren't calling Jane as soon as he was past. He just had to keep moving, expanding the search circle faster than she and her unknown allies could react. Luckily, the surplus place wasn't far away. By car, anyway. *Then again, it's Rhode Island; EVERYTHING's not far away.* He hoped the jogging pace he'd been using didn't look too suspicious, but at least so far, nobody had yelled at him and he hadn't seen any cops, much less a cop 'pinging' him or chasing him. He was sweating a lot, partially because of the screaming pain, which was also why he wasn't jogging faster, but he thought that a sweaty jogging girl was fairly unremarkable. *Just as long as I don't scream... Don't think about that.* *Though that blonde ID is gonna come in handy.* He thought the hair wasn't too far off the picture- *Except my eyebrows. Why the fuck did the bitch do my eyebrows? Is that even legal?* He thought he remembered something about it being a real bad idea to use hair bleach anywhere else on your body. *I think this is the corner...* He turned it, and he still semi- sort-of recognized where he was. Memory was better when he turned around and looked where he'd jogged from. *Yeah. So, go past, parallel it... it's not on this block, is it?* After looking, he decided it was a couple of blocks further down. "I don't KNOW what happened!" Sandy protested, still holding her head. "Just, I was done, I had her stand up..." "Well where IS she?" Jane demanded, furious with Sandy and herself but most of all with Valerie. "She has to be in the shop someplace," Caro stated. Charlie was getting the impression that something was wrong, and he was betting with himself whether Valerie had disappeared again - though he couldn't imagine how she'd gotten away from Sandy - when Jane appeared from someplace, stomped toward him and demanded, "Have you seen Valerie?" Charlie wondered what Sandy had done to Valerie, and why whatever- it-was had made Jane so angry. "I am JUST about to send her back to-" Jane managed to cut herself off before she said 'jail', but it hurt. "You wouldn't BELIEVE what she's been doing!" "I'd believe it," Sandy growled, and adjusted the ice pack against her face. Caroline found herself nearly running around in a literal circle, and forced herself to stop and think. *He was at Sandy's station... he couldn't go into the break room, it's locked. He didn't go past Jane. Maryellen,* the receptionist, *said he didn't go out the front door. He COULDN'T get through one of the windows... could he? No, he'd have kicked stuff over.* The only windows in Marisha that didn't have metal frames around eight-inch panes were the stylists', and all of those had tools and supplies stacked in front of them. *Did I really check all the stations, though?* *Oh, finally, score some DRUUUUUUGZ!* Tucker needed sugar and he needed caffeine, and the six-pack of Mountain Dew would provide generous amounts of both. And some sunscreen; his arms already hurt. "Eight thirty-nine," the cashier said, and he almost protested before he remembered how expensive small towns were, and how expensive sunscreen was. The Mountain Dew wasn't cheap either, but he HAD to have it. "Is her purse here?" Jane asked; she couldn't see it. "It was a white fabric handbag, about book sized-" "Where the hell is MINE?!" Sandy blurted. "I put it right..." Jane found herself staring at the flat spot where Sandy was pointing, where Sandy's purse wasn't. Tucker was glad he had a memory for numbers, because he had to use a lot of them to dial long distance from here. *Jesus, finally.* Mike's phone rang and rang and rang. *Guess he's not home. Or maybe he's boffing Kim with the ringer off,* which he thought was unlikely, but he hoped it anyway. For Mike's sake. "You have reached the Strategic Air Command," Mike's answering machine said, and the familiar message made Tucker grin, though he missed Mike and summers and everything. After the scramble horn and siren had finished, Tucker said, "Break! Priority four from two, break, 'the guilty man'," because he hadn't detected any pursuit yet, "breakout box required, destination Kingston Rhode Island, got money, mobile, no contact available. Two out, clear," he finished and hung up. "Think I'll go see what's in that toy store." He took his opened Dew, which he hadn't quite finished, and started across the parking lot. He'd more than finished the first Dew by the time he got to the surplus place. *Oh, goodie, it's open.* Just on the off chance - and Charlie remembered hiding under the kitchen sink once, during one of the bad fights when he couldn't get to his room - he'd been looking in all the cabinets. The women hadn't said anything to him, and it felt like doing SOMETHING, which was more than any of them seemed to be managing at that point. Unless they were hoping to make Valerie start laughing, at their arguing, and find her that w- "Uh oh." He grabbed the bundle and pulled it out and shook it loose, and it was the dress Valerie had been wearing to and from Franson's place. And, it looked like, her lingerie. "What the-" *Hell?!* he finished inside his head where it was safe. "Oh fucking AWESOME." Not only did they have socks - Tucker had already picked up three pairs - they also had a pair of jungle boots in a size seven. *Try 'em on...* "Nobody saw anything," Carolyn announced. "Sandy, when did you finish with her?" "Two forty! I SAID that already!" "All I need now is a sidearm," Tucker thought, but that was NOT gonna happen; even if they sold them here, which he doubted, they weren't gonna sell one to a teener girl. *Not like I have the money for one either. Plus there's that whole 'naked scout' thing.* Heinlein had suggested, in his survivalist novel, that scouts should go naked, as in no clothes, as it made 'em more alert. *In a world without poison ivy, sure. Or waitaminute vines, malarial mosquitos, gravel, and other joys of the outdoors.* But the old perv had had a point; the more equipment you had, the slower you moved; and the more weapons you had, the more likely you were to fight instead of hide and evade. *Problem is, sometimes you need to fight...* But he'd have to do it without a pistol; he'd be lucky if he could get a knife. *She's gone... But where the hell could she be?* Charlie was getting tired of Valerie doing her magician act and getting Jane all pissed off, because that seemed to come back and fall on him way too often; but he had a little bit of admiration for Valerie all the same. But on the OTHER hand, he wouldn't mind finding out just where she was hiding THIS time. *Kind of like a thriller movie; "We have to find the girl/bomb before she blows up!"* He managed to stop the snigger before anyone heard it; he KNEW Jane wouldn't appreciate the humor. Tucker complained, "Well, they still haven't even figured out WHERE they sent my luggage yet, much less brought it back, and I'm supposed to go hiking like TOMORROW. I can get SOME stuff from their old stuff, loaners and stuff, like a decent backpack," he improvised, glad he'd thought of that to explain why he wasn't buying an entire backpacking set. "But I need SOME stuff of my own. Come on, it's not like I'm gonna run amok with it!" He WANTED that Cold Steel Thrower. The guy who apparently wasn't an employee - surplus shops usually had at least one of those hanging around; maybe it was a legal requirement, or they were OMB spies to make sure dealers weren't selling tanks - chuckled at him. "You know where that phrase comes from?" "Well, yah," Tucker replied irritatedly, "Filipino rebellion the Marines put down after the Spanish-American War and we got the Phillipines. S'why the .45 Colt was invented, 'cause the little .38 revolvers they were issued at the time couldn't stop a Filipino who was actually running amok," he added. "Look," he said, trying to Debbie the clerk or owner or whatever he was, "if I can't get that one, can I get an Air Force survival knife? I need SOMETHING decent, and I can't afford a Victorinox. ANOTHER Victorinox," he grumbled, thinking of the one hidden in 'his' bedroom in Jane's house. "What about a Ka-Bar?" the other guy asked. "No, that's way bigger than what I need. I don't need a bayonet either," not like he could afford one. Modern, M9, bayonets, were insanely overpriced and overlarge; someone at the Pentagon had watched Rambo too many times. An M7 would work, especially if it came with the trick sheath, but they were more than twice the little thrower blade. "I just need a- something I can use as a utility knife, single-edged, either with a sheath or something I can improvise really easy." The tanto was really calling to him, but he needed everything else a lot more than he needed one knife, even one really good knife. He was deliberately repressing how he could leverage the One Really Good Knife into the money to buy the Everything Else. "She couldn't have come out here, the door's locked!" Sandy repeated, and Caroline sighed; they'd searched the entire salon and hadn't found her, and she HAD to be SOMEWHERE- Caro noticed the fence that Sandy had parked facing, and asked, "Did you leave your lights on?" "I got here at noon!" Sandy protested. "Why would I turn my lights... Aw SHIT!" Caro hurried to the other side of Sandy's SUV, as Sandy cursed and yanked at the door handle, and found Sandy's bag, or at least the contents of her bag, spilled all over the passenger seat. Then she looked at the steering wheel. "Oh there's your keys," she blurted, then REALLY wished she hadn't. "Hoooooof." That was a lot. "More'n you expected, huh," the owner - he was the owner - stated. He hadn't asked. "Oh, it always is," Tucker sighed as he dug the money out of his purse. "I'm just glad they didn't get my cards, or I'd be really..." "Yeah, did you have any credit cards or anything like that in there? Or jewelry? 'Cause if you did..." "Jewelry? On a BACKPACKING trip?" He was starting to believe his own story, which had its good and bad points, but the idea of taking jewelry on a backpacking flog was just insane. "No," he said, and added truthfully, "my dad won't let me have a credit card. And I had to memorize the phone calling card, all the important numbers, things like that." Tucker wasn't sure just how much semi-random data he had permanently embedded in his brain, but it was a lot. He could still remember phone numbers from Rochester. "Anyway, I always keep the cards ON me, if I can." As he got change back he asked, "I can just wear all this out, now that I've paid for it, right?" The owner shrugged and drawled, "Sure, if you want to." "Thanks a lot," Tucker said, and remembered to smile for him like Debbie would've done. "Back in a bit!" Although the purchases had eaten more than half his cash - which itself was an uncomfortable percentage of his savings - he needed all of it. *One first-aid dressing pouch, which I gotta remove the clips; one small canvas pack, possibly older than I am; canvas gas mask carrier and strap; two-liter canteen, holder, and strap; NON-surplus iodine purifier tabs, because the surplus ones were possibly worse than useless; one pack of mess kit 'tableware'; three pairs of crappy GI socks; jungle boots; US BDU fatigue pants and shirt; a German class B uniform shirt with green epaulets, which made him look almost respectable; web belt which he needed to hold the pants up; one why-do-they-even-have-this- here black tank top that said 'GRRLZ R KEWL' and was his size, and certainly was uncharacteristic enough; poncho but no liner, since ponchos were kind of dubiously effective anyway and a liner didn't help enough to be worth the weight; a hank of 550 cord; the precious Cold Steel Tru-Flight Thrower, which would have to be sheathed somewhere on his body; a cheap pair of aviator shades; a bandanna which he hoped he could remember how to tie over his hair; and lastly, a black beret. Normally black meant that he was unsanctioned - which was a bad thing to be advertising, though he didn't think anyone but his folks and his homeboys would get it - and it did cost money, but he couldn't NOT get the beret. Which he knew was stupid, but- *Fuck it, morale counts for something.* The small bathroom had a mirror in it, and he had to look at himself again. Totally fucking blonde. Again. Still. Aryan breed-more-pure-children-for-the-Vaterland blonde. She'd really done a number on his eyebrows, too; not only were they so light they might as well have been from Kim or Kathy's head hair, but she'd plucked at least half of them. *Oh, Debbie is gonna LOVE this...* He had to admit that it looked elegant, and maybe even made him look a little older, or at least more sophisticated, but- *Never the fuck MIND, stupid! Get changed, tie the do-rag on your head, and get back to the grocery store.* He'd thought of some other things he needed besides Dew and SPF 45 sunblock, like food. *Food would be nice...* He placed the beret on his head and snapped it into proper shape and place, like his dad had taught him. *Back in the saddle again.* Carolyn didn't know what to tell her husband either. "Well," Bill finally said, "I can keep an eye out for her, but with all the kids moving in and out for the summer, there's only so much I can do. You don't want to fill out a Missing Person's report yet, right?" Jane silently shook her head. "Do you have a picture of her?" "Not with her blonde, no. We have some photos at the developing place; they should be ready in an hour or two." "What clothing is she wearing right now?" Bill asked. "Charlene," Jane asked, "was EVERYTHING she was wearing, in that knot?" "I'm not sure what she was wearing today. There's a lot," she apologized as she started spreading it out. "Hi, Marie," Darryl said. "Ma cherie! How are you?" "Oh, good. Art did his thing, and came up with some notes for Momma-Jane, about this new student?" "Ah, she's out with them at the moment. I believe it's new hairdo time," she said, and Darryl could hear the warm smile in her voice. "Oh, un moment, call waiting." "Makeup, duh," Tucker reminded himself. A little makeup could really do a lot. Almost-nothing makeup was no help, of course, but it wouldn't take much to change his entire look. *And makeup is, uhhhh... back over there.* He turned the cart around and went back on his tracks yet again. *Shopping in a new store is a pain in the ASS.* At least he'd found some safety pins. A cheap sewing kit wasn't worth the money, he'd found. *So, mascara, liner, some REAL lipstick... something that could work both ways, maybe.* He'd already gotten two boxes of black hair dye. *What the hell do I do about my eyebrows, though? I don't want to get ANOTHER box of dye just to do my eyebrows, and mine weren't black before. Well, they'd look okay if they were black and my hair was black. So I guess go with that...* A few minutes poking around had discovered one Revlon Colorstay grease-pencil-like eyeliner in black; a minute more and he was looking at mascaras. *If that blackens those little tiny eyelash hairs, wouldn't it do the same thing to my eyeBROW hairs? Or, maybe, brown, darken 'em some? Just have to not rub my eyebrows either, but hell, touching my own face has been getting deprecated since last Halloween. Hummm...* *Wha?* A little, TINY comb, maybe the size of one of his finger joints, and he could barely see between the teeth, was bubble-packed and on a rack. "What IS tha- Eyelash comb? They make those?" *Makeup is just fucking insane,* he realized, again. *Eyelash curlers,* he remembered, which is what had really convinced him that the entire makeup industry had gone too far. "Awwwwww, shit," Mike cursed. "Was that Tuck?" Book asked. "Yeah, it sure was. Damn, I gotta go, put that box in the mail before- ASAP," he realized. "Why the fuck did he do this on a Friday afternoon?" Jane had managed to get all the women concerned, plus Charlene, locked into Caro's tiny office. Bill Beale was out looking for Valerie already. "She can't have gone far," she summarized. "Her first goal will almost certainly be to get out of the girl's clothing we think she's still wearing, or the smock she stole." There wasn't anything else missing, clothing-wise, except Sandy's gym shoes and socks. "And there are enough clotheslines in use that I don't see a way to keep her from changing, if she looks hard enough. She is probably going for the train station, as that's the way she came into town." "Bus station?" Caro mentioned. "We'll check that too, of course," Jane said. "What if she hitchhikes?" Sandy asked. Jane was about to say something when she noticed Charlene's eyes bulge. "Charlene, do you have something to say?" When nothing emerged, Jane prodded, "On the subject of hitchhiking, perhaps?" *How does she always KNOW?* Charlie complained - to himself, knowing that he was the only one in the room at all sympathetic to Charlie at this point. "Just that, Miz Thompson," he said to gain time to remember what he'd been thinking, "hitchhiking..." He found his head was shaking back and forth. "Is just... I mean, if someone tried to pick me up, or offered me a ride someplace, I'd run the other direction, because if they weren't a cop or something, they'd be... a bad person," he managed. *Juuuuuust in case,* Tucker sighed, and picked up a small box of Kotex Maxi Pads. They worked well enough for wound dressings, Doc Treble had explained, since that's why the pads had been developed originally. More than Tucker OR his siblings had wanted to know; but if anything, Dad tended to repeat that sort of thing five or six times, just so they could never get it out of their heads. *This and duct tape ought to work for- Tampons? No, I got two already in the purse. If I have more than two that-deep penetrating wounds, I'm too fucked to travel anyw-* "Oooh, dishcloths!" "Of course my fucking head hurts, the little shit punched me!" Sandy complained. "And you lost consciousness?" Caroline asked. Again. "Yessss." Sandy hated to admit that one of Jane's kids, half her age, had managed to- "Sandy," Caroline said, "you need to get checked out at the ER." "No I don't!" "Yes," Caro stated, "you do. Head injuries-" "She just-" "You lost consciousness, San-" "It was just for a-" "It MATTERS Sandy!" Caro barked. "People die because of it!" "I'm not gonna-" "You can't say that!" Pauline emphasized to Trish in ASL. Naturally, Trish ignored it, as she usually did when she didn't like what someone had signed at her. she signed, half uncaring about whether Trish had picked it up or not. *Just because Mom works doesn't mean _I_ should have to babysit The Tard AND do the chores!* And it wasn't like Pauline didn't have a job herself, either, even if it was kind of erratic at the moment. She refrained from kicking her sister, barely managing to convince herself it was too immature, too childish, too TRISH a thing to do. Instead, she wheeled the cart with the weekend's groceries away from the makeup and away from her sister and towards the checkout lanes. There were still only a few lanes open, Tucker noticed, and so there wasn't much point in trying to optimize a choice. Plus, he had a LOT of stuff, far more than ten-or-less, so it was just going to be a wait. The 'standing still near the front of the store' part bugged him, badly, but he kept telling himself, *They aren't going to be looking for me in a grocery store, and it's really unlikely that they'll want to go shopping. Plus I look different, and only one person saw me...* Though Debbie and Lisa had both demonstrated a remarkable ability to predict what someone would look like with this or that change in their appearance, and it was only safe to assume that Jane and Marie- *MISS Marie thankyouverymuch,* he self-triggered - could do the same thing. *Probably everybody in the salon as well... Was it something women could all do? Or mostly?* Jill might be pretty bad at it... then again, dealing with Debbie and the rest, she might be GOOD at it; maybe you only had to observe others doing it, rather than doing it yourself. *Come ON...* The clutch that was two ahead of him finally finished, and the girl just ahead of him dropped two candy bars and some kind of makeup on the belt, making Tucker look around to make sure he wasn't in a ten-or-less lane accidentally. Which he wasn't. He was staring past the girl, searching the store windows for any familiar and unwelcome faces or vehicles, when the girl babbled something in the atonal fucked-up-ness of a really deaf person trying to speak. *Uh? What?* The cashier couldn't make it out, and Tucker couldn't make it out either, so he slapped the girl a couple times on the shoulder to get her to turn around. Trish was more than a little surprised to see some strange girl - there weren't a lot of under-eighteen girls in town she hadn't met - actually signing at her. The girl frowned and signed back, Trish huffed, but spelled out, the girl signed, and then frowned again. and Trish pointed at the Covergirl mascara and eyeliner she wasn't really supposed to be getting. *Hmmm, candy would be good,* Tucker realized, and turned away from the girl to snag a pair of Snickers bars out of the side rack. As he grappled the small wrapped bits of manna, he remembered, 'Befriend the natives' from one or another book on survival he'd read; and it was HIGHLY unlikely that Jane would deal with the handicapped OR someone poor enough to be using food stamps. When he turned back, he signed, His vocabulary failed him, which annoyed him greatly, as he spelled out, Trish signed back while nodding and wondering, *What the hell?* Having a stranger buy her something was one of those things they warned you about in grade school 'Stranger Danger' lessons, but it could hardly be poisoned or drugged if Trish had picked it out before she even saw the girl... and while the girl was taller than she was, it wasn't by much, and she was really skinny. Though- Trish signed when she finally noticed what the girl was wearing underneath the gray men's shirt. *Wonder if I can convince her to go home right away, so I can dye my hair?* Tucker wondered. He felt entirely too naked, wandering around looking like this. Even if he did have his hair covered. Plus it was starting to look like rain. "And how long did you lose consciousness?" the nurse asked. "About five minutes," Sandy said. Her head ACHED, and it was rapidly filling up again with her cold, and she was sitting here in an emergency room instead of in home and in bed with some ice. "I just hate to ruin-" Darryl interrupted Art, "She NEEDS us. That's a lot more important than a vacation!" It was supposed to be a totally non-girl summer for him, before he went to college, so as to re-acclimate him to the masculine way of doing everything. Darryl had disliked the idea, fearing that something would go wrong with the new student if he wasn't there to help, but he hadn't been able to argue Jane and Art out of it. *But that was before this!* None of the students had ever managed to escape before, and if Jane had ever needed all the help she could get, it was NOW. "She needs us BOTH," he continued. "And all we're doing is wasting time we could be using to drive. You know she won't ask for the help, and she'll SAY she can handle it, but how do you think she feels right now?" "What the-" Pauline didn't recognize the blonde girl that was signing away at Trish. "Damn it!" Somehow, some way, this was going to be a pain in the ass for her. As the two of them came up - just in time to not help with loading groceries into the car, Pauline noted; she did NOT think it was coincidence - the new girl looked at her and said, "Hey, I'm Valerie. Trish said I could come over to your house?" "I guess," Pauline sighed; it would keep The Tard occupied. "And unloading'll go even faster with three people than two," she addded, smiling. Pauline snorted. *Like THAT'S gonna happen!* "No, seriously," Tucker insisted. He was willing to do just about anything to get out of this open parking lot in the center of town. Including brib- "Hey, did she get you something?" he asked. "Like a candy bar or something?" "What, like," she asked as Tucker dug and finally unearthed a Snickers. "Oh, um-" "This way we each have one," Tucker smiled at her as he handed her the candy. She eventually took it, still looking puzzled. Tucker turned towards the car like it was totally reasonable to leave immediately. "General delivery, to..." Mike had to check the note in his hand. "'Kingston, RI'," he read. "Rhode Island," he translated. "For next-day?" she asked, though he'd already said that. "Yeah... she's camping, backpacking, and needs a resupply," Mike 'explained'. "Oh, okay," said the postal clerk. "I think we can do that..." Tucker said and signed, Lying in two languages at once was much harder than in one at a time, so he was keeping things as simple as he could. And, of course, the last thing he wanted to do was make either of them suspicious. Then there was the terrifying balancing act between befriending an older and a younger sister AT THE SAME TIME. "Isn't your mom or whoever missing you?" the older sister said. Thankfully, she didn't try to sign it while she was driving, so Tucker translated semi-automatically. he replied. Which reminded him of hair, which reminded him of what that bitch had done to his hair, which vaguely reminded him of what Debbie was going to do to him when she found out - except the cloak of sanity covered that up before he could do more than shiver - which reminded him he really wanted to find a bathroom and shower so he could go from white-yellow to black. *Those bitches are going to pay for this,* he decided. "No, that's not-" "Look closer!" "I DID," Charlie almost snarled. "It's NOT HER." He was about ready to kill Valerie for putting HIM through the wringer. Jane was about out of her mind with worry, and everyone else was getting the same way, and they kept beating on HIM. All HE wanted to do was get away, hide someplace, but that was the last thing any of them were going to let happen after Valerie disappeared. *Like I'll do the same thing... Like I DIDN'T DO in six fucking months already?* And now Caro was driving around in circles trying to spot Valerie, just like Jane was doing in another car - they'd split to have one person who'd been with Valerie all week in each car - and Charlie was getting worried because she'd already come closer to an accident than he thought was safe. He thought about saying something, or at least the idea came to mind, but then he realized that at best they didn't listen to him during normal times anyway; with the way they were all stressed out NOW... *Besides, do you really think she's stupid enough to be outside someplace where you could see her?* Tucker looked around a little as he slowly got out of the car. The house was quite small but reasonably well kept, and the yard had at least been mowed within the month, though some would say it needed it now. Tucker's thought was that if you were going to have plants growing on your property, you ought to let them grow; which, apparently, the owner(s) of this place thought too. and Trish signed something he didn't get. *Makeup, maybe?* He spelled that out and she nodded and repeated the sign before he was finished. he signed at Trish, surprised that she wasn't doing it automatically. and she signed something else Tucker didn't catch. She caught his puzzlement and spelled, and repeated the sign. Tucker had to try it twice before she nodded. Then, he realized he'd spent too much time discussing this with her already, so he grabbed a handful of bags and followed the older girl's path into the house. "Oh!" the older sister said, nearly running into Tucker as she came out. "I'll just put these with the rest, right?" Tucker said as he went around her. There was a sort of bar thing with a stack of bags, so he plopped his down next to them. Then he pulled HIS bags out of the pile and, looking around, put them on a table. *Don't think they need what I bought... Hey, you! No escaping!* He shoved the eyebrow comb's package back into the bag. "Why don't you put 'em up," Valerie said to Pauline as they went past each other. "We'll bring the rest in!" she called over her shoulder. Tucker had to spell at Trish. *ASL needs an imperative besides this,* Tucker thought as he whacked Trish on the shoulder. But it worked; she finally picked up a couple of bags and one of the jugs of milk. Tucker got the remaining bits and managed to hoist his aching arms up high enough to shut the trunk. The nurse FINALLY stopped asking Sandy questions and writing the answers on the chart the doctor wouldn't read, and stated, "It'll be about twenty minutes before-" "Awwwww..." This was one reason she hated emergency rooms; it always took forever to get anything done. And half the time when they told you something would take so long, it turned out there was someone else who needed it worse and you waited two or three times longer before you got whatever it was. And it wasn't like they would do anything for her head anyway. Trish argued. Valerie spelled. Trish repeated, deliberately not giving Valerie the sign she didn't have. Plus, she'd spent MONTHS trying to get her mom to agree to let her dye her own hair something besides her natural dishwater. Valerie signed back. "Aw, shit." "What?" Tucker looked up, and Trish's older sister had appeared. "I got two for my hair, and the second one is red, not black," he said and signed at the same time. "Why did you get two?" Trish's sister asked, as Trish brayed like a jackass. Tucker tried to ignore her. "'Cause I have so much hair?" *Duh?* Now she laughed at him too. "I did mine with one box; you don't need two!" And her hair was definitely longer than his. Then she laughed at him some more, making an ugly chorus with her sister. "Well, fuck." He didn't bother signing that. Trish stopped suddenly and signed excitedly, Tucker asked. the older sister signed as Trish indicated in her own hair where Tucker should do each color. Tucker argued. He'd seen some comic character with hair like this, somewhere... *Marvel? Wasn't one of the usual ones, it was something out of universe...* Trish signed back, and then bit her lip. But Valerie flipped a sign in reply which everyone knew, so Trish didn't feel too bad. "Don't MOVE!" Pauline insisted. "If you want it to be straight, stay STILL!" "Sorry!" Valerie complained, but at least she stopped moving. Pauline sighed, then resumed combing dye into Valerie's hair. The red was going onto the right side, in a straight line from front to back, about one-third of her hair; the rest was going to be black. If nobody screwed up. "Jesus shit," Tucker gasped. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and he'd just seen his own body naked. He was about a quarter covered in bruises. Maybe a third. "Jesus, I look like an exhibit of child abuse," he thought, twisting around to check out his backside. It WAS worse back there. *That's 'cause I fell on my ass so many times. The stairs didn't help either... Crap, I don't even REMEMBER everything that happened...* And, looking at himself, a LOT had happened. About the only part that wasn't really bruised up were his face and his arms, and the arms still hurt like hell from his pull-up to keep Charlene from doing worse to him when she'd pushed him through the second floor stair railing. "This is NOT a good summer so far," he decided. *At least I got some ibuprofen again,* he remembered as he saw the grocery bag sitting on the counter. *And Tylenol.* "But ANYTHING could be happening to her! She's just a CHILD!" Jane reiterated. Tucker watched the red and black circling around the drain before finally departing. "Dude," he realized, "this is just like 'Psycho'. "Or 'High Anxiety'," he remembered, and chortled. "'Where is that music COMING FROM?!'" Trish signed when Valerie finally came out of the bathroom. Her hair looked really good and REALLY rad. And her makeup was just awesome with it all. she signed, because she did; Valerie looked like she was in high school. Valerie replied, Pauline signed. Valerie signed, off to the side. Tucker noticed that it was a little surreal having an argument like this, that didn't have any sound, but it reminded him of Rochester and having arguments exactly the same way, though they had been about things WAY different than whether a girl could dye her own hair or not. *Probably, in ten years, I'll look back and think this argument was as stupid as those arguments were. Except this isn't my argument. Plus we already went through all this with Susan.* It had been decided that a person could do whatever they wanted with their own hair, as long as chores and school obligations were met; but screw-ups weren't a family problem or budget item either. Which had shortly led to Susan trying to bleach HIS hair, but his parents - acting sane for once - had decided that 'your own hair' was quite different from 'your sibling's hair' or, just in case, 'your other relative's hair'. *No,* he realized, *it's already a stupid argument, I don't have to wait ten years.* He'd seen something that looked rude, and he always needed to expand that part of his vocabulary. Pauline looked again at Valerie, and just wasn't sure. It sort of looked good, but it was so WEIRD, with the red over her right ear and right side of her face. "I can't believe you wanted to do it like that," she sighed. "Yeah, well, I wanted to look different," she smiled. "You do look different," Pauline agreed. With Valerie's hair so flamboyant, and her makeup done the same way, she looked NOTHING like the blonde girl she'd been at the grocery store. *I hope like hell it worked,* Tucker thought. He looked at himself in the mirror again, and it was still a shock - again - to see the inky black on MOST of his hair, and the Molly Ringwald red on the rest of it. *I don't see how anyone could... Except Debbie and them could, and so maybe could anyone else. Damnit!* "No, it looks good," Pauline said when she saw the worried look appear on Valerie's face. *Not like she can do anything about it now...* Trish asked Pauline. If she wasn't yet, then either she had to and hadn't started yet and it would be late, which made everyone yell at her; or everyone would have to wait until Mom got home and then MAYBE fixed something. About half the time, if Trish made a sandwich or something, she'd get bitched at for eating too much; about half the time when she didn't, she got bitched at for not being grown-up enough to feed herself. Pauline complained. Trish didn't want to argue or set Pauline off again. Tucker waved a hand to get the girls' attention, then asked, He was having a craving. Trish and Pauline both signed back at him. Pauline continued. they both signed at him. Trish continued. *I think I could eat about...* He carved a circle in the air about the size of a Pizza Hut medium, then cut half. Trish signed either 'half' or 'medium' at him. "Mom? It's Pauline," Pauline said hurriedly, "one of Trish's friends said she'd pay for like a pizza if we could get it delivered here?" "She what?" Mom asked, which was way better than being lectured on how she wasn't supposed to call the station unless it was important - it had been 'emergency' until the lights got cut off one time because Pauline couldn't decide if that was an emergency or not. *Oh please oh please,* Tucker begged Debbie's patron god on Pauline's behalf. He REALLY didn't want to go out into the rain, and the canned Spam and corned-beef-hash he'd bought wasn't very appetizing at the moment. Not compared to pizza, anyway. And it looked like it was going to start raining any minute. He was betting that any working mom whose children got food stamps would be more enthusiastic about a 'surprise' dinner guest and partly- paid-for pizza, than about cooking after work; but sometimes moms could be weird, on a diet, religious lunatics, or who-knew-what. The older sister's face lit up and she began nodding and smiling. *YyyYES!* Tucker crowed silently, and managed a shaky high-five with Trish without anyone getting slapped in the face. Charlie sighed, and wondered if anyone was thinking of supper. Besides him. *Or maybe it's one of those tests she likes throwing at us...* But he finally decided, *No. She's too upset to be thinking about stuff like that.* *I hope Valerie's okay, though.* It had started to rain, which seemed like it ought to be dramatic or meaningful or something but it wasn't, it was just raining. *She couldn't be wearing much, though... and it does get colder here, even in summer.* "Fix a salad," Tucker suggested. He knew they had enough green stuff to do that; he'd helped haul it inside. "Those're healthy. It- WHAT?!" he complained when someone punched his shoulder. "Oh." He signed at Trish, This was kind of a pain in the ass, but it was definitely improving his ASL vocabulary. Pauline signed at him, and he signed it back at both of them to see if he had it right. "Oh, no," Judge Ruth Walinkiewicz sighed. "If we can't find her soon, can- I mean," Jane recovered, though Ruth had caught the little hitch in her voice, "what is my legal position?" "You have the until-further-notice guardianship papers on him, right?" "Yes." "Then, unless and until those are revoked by the original parent, or possibly the other parent," Ruth warned, "he's legally a runaway, and is subject to arrest and all that, and delivery back to you." Unfortunately, Ruth knew, Jane could and likely would also be held responsible for the boy's disappearance in the first place. They finally crossed the Rhode Island state line, after an ungodly amount of traffic. *At least Darl- Darryl is taking it well,* Art thought thankfully. *Not well, but quietly,* he amended. Tucker's stomach was beginning to hurt, for some reason. *I mean, I ate like, what, five or six hours ago; I don't know what the problem is. SHUT UP YOU!* he beamed at his stomach, which - as expected - didn't help at all. Maybe it was working on the salad that was doing it. *Or waiting for the damned pizza, which is going to take fucking forever in this rain...* It was also going to be expensive as hell, which hurt all by itself. Stephanie Thomas sighed as she looked at her front door, so close and yet so far through the pouring rain. Coming home earlier than usual to beat the forecasted storm had just barely not worked. "Just run for it," suggested Stefan, who had given her a ride home. And who had likely never worn a skirt or heels in his life. "I think I'm just going to get wet," she sighed. "Thanks for the ride, Stef." She gathered her tote bag and her resolve, then opened the door and shoved the tote and herself out. And stepped into a puddle that instantly soaked her foot. *I give up.* She shut the door, waved at Stefan - it wasn't his fault, and she did appreciate the ride - and trudged up the walkway to her porch and front door. *Keys, keys, where're my damn keys...* Nearly at the bottom of her tote, of course, when she finally found them and fished them out. Eventually she got them to the door and unlocked it. More fumbling ensued before she could actually open it and get inside. "Hi mom." "Guten abend," said the unfamiliar girl, who had black and red hair. "What?" Pauline asked the girl, as the screen door banged behind Stephanie and she shut the door. "Buenas Noches? Ohiohhh?" the girl said before she bowed towards Stephanie. "Good evening yourself," Stephanie guessed from the Spanish as she gave Trish a quick one-armed hug. "Why don't you go and change, Mom?" Pauline suggested as she removed the tote from Stephanie's hand. "You look half-drowned." Stephanie mentioned. Trish asked. the new girl signed. Stephanie asked. Then the girl grinned. she introduced herself, and held out her hand. *Huh, shakes like a guy,* Stephanie noted as she shook hands with Valerie. She'd had to learn how to shake like that when she started moving up in the television business. "Mom! Change!" Pauline called from the kitchen. she told the two girls. Trish wanted to know. There was the hair dye, but there had been a lot more than just those two boxes in the bags she'd carried. And she didn't remember anything specific except the maxi-pads and the hair dye. Valerie made a face, then signed, Valerie started to sign something, but then turned towards the front door and grabbed at her pants pocket, before the doorbell flashed. *PIZZA!* Trish assumed as Valerie headed towards the door. *Jeez, thirty-five bucks,* Tucker sighed. Though it had included a healthy - for the driver, not Tucker - tip, which was sort of a waste since he wasn't likely to order pizza from here twice. Luckily, Momma Trish had guilted herself into tossing a ten into the pot. "Sandy said she turned Valerie around, and she was shocked; Sandy said something to her and Valerie hit her, a-" "HIT her?" Darryl gasped. "And that's the last thing she remembers. Don't interrupt, Darla," Jane corrected mildly, seemingly as a matter of habit because her heart definitely wasn't in it. "She has some bruises on her head, and Caro made her go to the ER to get checked out. No one's called yet, but it's probably not being treated as urgent." Jane sipped at her drink, and wearily shook her head. "She was just gone, after that. No one had seen her, no one HAS seen her..." "And Sandy bleached his hair?" Art confirmed. "That was apparently what set Valerie off," Jane amplified. "Or that was Sandy's thought." "So, there's no photographs of what he looks like now." "No." "What about the ones-" "Still at the developing place; they weren't ready when I went by earlier," Jane sighed. "And we didn't get ANY from when we weren't in the room with her; she apparently preferred to be in the dark." "Or he was worried about cameras," Art pointed out. Darryl asked, "But how would he know about cameras if no one had told him about them or showed him pictures?" "She figured out there were microphones and stuff in the house," Charlene mentioned. Everyone looked at her. "What? What was I supposed to say, 'no there aren't'? I know Jane recorded me a few times, and she's got pictures and videotape of ME," she complained. "How do I know what's bugged and what isn't?" "But how would she know? Did you tell her?" "No! She just said she couldn't be sure and so she was gonna assume-" "Charlene, the proper form is 'going to'," Jane corrected listlessly. Darryl put his hands on her shoulders, and she put one of her hands on top of his; but he was still worried about her. Valerie's disappearance was hitting her very hard. Charlene sighed, and restated, "Valerie said she was going to assume that every room was bugged. No; that she SHOULD assume that every room was bugged." "So she didn't know, for sure?" Darryl pressed. Charlene shrugged. "I don't know; she didn't tell me if she was sure or not." "Is this important?" Jane asked. Art shrugged. "It might be, Jane." Marie looked out, through the window over the sink, and in the glare of the security light she could see rain sheeting down from the heavens. *And that child is out in that... and half-clothed, from what everyone has said.* She wished Valerie hadn't run away, but even worse was the image in her head of a soaked young girl huddled against a building, shivering in the cold... "Oooh, hot!" Tucker warned those with ears, as he juggled the slice of pizza he'd cut out, until he guessed it had just barely cooled off enough to eat. Then he bit off a small piece. *Just barely cool enough,* he decided. *Oh, man, this is great!* The pizza was hot and delicious, nobody was complaining about him eating a salad, and having pizza in her hands shut Trish up quite effectively. "What, did she run off or something?" Syd asked Bill. "He, actually," Bill replied, and Syd snickered. "Well, look, if he comes through-" "You said he had blond hair now?" "Yeah." "Weird. What is he, one of those punks or something?" *He should talk,* Bill thought; Syd had not only dyed his hair black, he'd tried to dye his BEARD black; AND he'd spiked all two inches of his head hair into hedgehog quills every day, back in high school. "I don't know what was going on with that," Bill lied, "she just said he'd dyed his hair recently." "Well, if I see him, I'll call. Do you want me to stop him from getting on, or not sell him a ticket?" "If you can, without making him suspicious," Bill said. "If not, just make sure you note what bus he gets on, and tell the driver to keep an eye on him. He's pretty young, too, so we're all worried about, y'know, him being alone and traveling and so on." Syd nodded, a little more solemnly. Tucker lied. He wasn't sure if he LIKED the new colors of his hair; he was just certain it looked DIFFERENT. And hopefully he looked different ENOUGH. Ms. Thomas signed at Trish. Ms. Thomas was signing, which Tucker thought was not going to work. *At least the argument is going to be quiet.* "So what are you doing in town?" Stephanie asked Trish's new friend. Valerie put her salad fork down - she was eating rather hastily, but it WAS a delicious combination, salad and pizza - and said and signed, everyone else signed at her. she signed and sighed. Stephanie smiled; learning ASL was as hard as any foreign language, it was just easier to ask for the sign for a new word. Trish signed frantically. *Well, no, I don't, not really,* Tucker thought at her, but that had about as much effect as he'd expected it would. When everyone else had sort of wandered off to Jane's upstairs office, Charlie was left downstairs with the remnants of a hasty meal. Lots of remnants; people, except him, hadn't been eating much. Jane had hardly eaten at all, just swirled everything together. *So do I try to save it for leftovers, or throw it away?* *Throw hers away, I guess, or save it in a special thing for her; no one else could eat that... no, she wouldn't eat it either,* he decided. *Toss hers. See if we have enough Tupperware to save the rest of it...* Clearing the table and cleaning up all by himself was going to be a pain, but he decided he'd rather do that than hang around the adults and listen to them go over the same old things over and over. *Maybe I should've run away too...* He felt bad that he hadn't. *Even if it was the smart thing, to stay here and do all this girly stuff- better than living on the streets, anyway.* It still felt like he'd given up his manhood by default, though. *And Valerie, who was better than me or Joan or maybe even Darla, since she changed so fast and Darla had so long to work on it; SHE's the one that ran off.* *God, and she punched Sandy too, punched her OUT.* He had to admire Valerie for that; he'd wanted to do the same thing but hadn't dared. *Did Darla even touch this? Maybe I should just wrap the plates in plastic wrap, and use the Tupperware for what's left on the stove. Ohhhh...* There was a lot more to clean up than usual, because no one else had an appetite and Charlie couldn't eat five people's worth of food. *At least Sandy isn't here. Wasn't she sick or something? Just what we'd need, her coughing all over everything...* "Do you have his file?" Art asked Jane. She handed him a folder, but dismissed it with, "It's all fairly usual, dear; sexual harassment, vandalism, curf- official city curfew violations, underaged drinking, drug use, shoplifting, assault..." Art was scanning through the papers in the folder as she spoke. *Hmm, the sexual harassment charges seem to be minor...* While it was now in vogue in child education circles to bandy around terms and concepts like 'Zero Tolerance', there was an obvious difference between words and actions; and snapping a girl's bra strap wasn't at all the same as stalking her for half a year, nor was calling her a 'bitch' the same thing as ten minutes of screaming abuse at her. Eugene's offenses seemed to be in the former, lighter, categories, though there were a number of them. The 'assault' ones looked damning, on the surface, but again, a few bruises and a bloody nose - between BOTH combatants - wasn't the same as broken bones, holding someone down and then beating them, using weapons, or permanent damage. Art could read between the lines, having had much experience in decoding college- student recommendations. *Fairly normal for here, but not excessive... maybe even less than usual. I wonder why... Ah, one marijuana tag, and that was apparently the last straw. Kid's lucky he's not already in jail for that alone.* The authorities had really tightened up on drugs since he'd been in school. *But nothing really out of the ordinary... No warning signs, that _I_ can see.* Trish demanded. Tucker was beginning to notice that she demanded pretty much everything, only resorting to begging if the demands didn't work. *Well, no, you don't,* Tucker thought; he'd overdone his makeup to go with the radical hair, and while the combination looked good - he thought Evelyn might've approved - it wouldn't work on Trish and her semi-blonde hair. *Although she got something at the store, didn't she?* Tucker asked. Trish asked Valerie again as she put down the bags she'd gotten at the grocery store. She shrugged, and didn't show Trish what she'd gotten. "Charlene cleaned up, at least," Marie reported. "I told her she could join us, but she said she didn't have anything else to contribute. She's in her room, changing for bed, I think." "Could she have done something, like told Valerie how to escape?" Darryl asked. "But she never escaped herself, so how would she know?" Art pointed out. "She didn't show any signs of being overly rebellious during HER stay here, did she?" When Jane didn't say anything, Marie answered, "Not that I noticed. Quite the usual, hmm?" Tucker had managed to fill his canteen and repack all his stuff in travel-worthy form as he'd showed Trish what he'd gotten at the grocery and surplus stores. She'd been unusually inquisitive about the food he'd gotten, and Tucker wasn't sure if she believed him about emergency rations or not. He hoped so; he didn't want any of them really thinking 'runaway', just in case they decided to be all moralistic and call the cops on him. Tucker wasn't willing to bet that Jane DIDN'T have hooks into the local police, maybe even the state police. *Could be anyone who likes raping kids,* he'd decided, *which means just about any male, and a few females.* Still, the pizza had been more than filling, and he'd claimed a share of the leftovers, so he could eat that twice in a row. And he'd better eat it relatively quickly, before it spoiled. *Canned stuff'll keep, that's why I got it,* he reassured himself. *Plus, twelve ounces of Spam right now would knock me unconscious.* He wasn't doing that well as it was. *Gee, maybe I feel safer here in a house full of strangers than I do at Jane's, how peculiar.* Trish confirmed. Trish warned. Valerie signed. Valerie repeated. Then she grinned wickedly. *What is her sister's name anyway?* Tucker just realized she'd redyed his hair and he'd eaten dinner with the girl, and he didn't even have a clue what her name was. Before he could ask, though, Trish was signing, <-and then come around and sneak in the window,> she grinned triumphantly. Trish waved that off. Tucker looked where she was pointing, and if that chest under the window was water-resistant, she was probably right. *Hrm.* he accused, softening it with a grin. She grinned back and signed, he asked. He didn't feel like being the life of the party for much longer tonight. she informed him. *Uh oh.* <-Swimsuit,> Tucker repeated. she signed. *Ugh, Wal-Mart,* Tucker thought, but it would certainly be out of pattern for HIM, and he was certain that Jane Thompson had never been in a Wal-Mart; it wouldn't be expensive enough or exclusive enough for her. "The rain's almost stopped," Jane stated. "I think it likely we could drive around town and find her now. She's much more likely to want to come home after a few hours in the rain." Valerie grabbed Trish's head with both hands and gave a little shake and push. "STAY STILL," she said, slow enough for Trish to lipread, before letting go and picking up her eyeliner again. Trish thought about explaining that she was TRYING to stay still, but she didn't think it would make Valerie less mad. And she WAS still trying to line Trish's eyes, so maybe it was okay. *Hmmm, not bad...* Tucker thought Trish looked a fair amount better than she had, with the little makeup Tucker could contribute and about the same amount that Trish had collected. *That is so pitiful,* he thought, though probably Jill had about the same amount; he was used to his sister, who kept trying to look different, and Debbie, who sold and applied makeup semi-professionally. They had dozens or hundreds of things, in all different colors and types and brands. Trish had some leftover bits that Tucker thought might have been fished out of someone's trash, a powder compact, some Barbie makeup that was two-thirds used, and what she'd gotten tonight. *Oh, fuck, how'm I gonna get it OFF her?* If she had this little makeup, and she had to be over ten years old with those tits, then her mom had to be opposed to her wearing it. *Aw fuck.* "Charlene," Marie said, as Jane preceded her into the garage. "Yes ma'am?" "Why don't you go to bed and try to sleep, hmm? We will let you know in the morning how this turned out." Charlene nodded, looking a little sad. "I hope you find her." *I hope I find her too,* Marie thought. Trish didn't know why Valerie was so worried; it wasn't the first time she'd had to remove makeup without Mom finding out. *See? Clean.* All it took was a little soap and a little scrubbing, with the washcloth that she couldn't ever let Mom see again because it was sort of ruined with all the color streaks that would never come out. she asked. Valerie grinned. Then she stopped grinning, and signed, *I hope she's okay,* Charlie thought. There was a chill starting to seep through the windows, though at least the rain had stopped. But she couldn't be wearing half of what she'd need to stay warm. Charlie didn't think it likely that Valerie would be stealing clothing; people had dryers in their houses now, they didn't hang their wash on clothes- lines in the backyard any more. The stuffed bunny that had been placed on his bed at least every day since he'd been here, was depressingly comforting as something to hold to his body, as he looked outside and tried to hope. Tucker wasn't stupid, which was why he was waiting in a shadow, crouched down, for a count of two thousand before he tried to get into Trish's bedroom window. At least it was on the side of the house, rather than the front; and it was on the ground floor. Tucker had checked for alarms and wires, and traps under the window, of course, but there weren't any. The lack of security disturbed him on a professional level, but it certainly made the rest easier. The night was fairly quiet, with the dripping cutting his passive sonar range to about a quarter of normal. He still picked up the car turning onto their block before the headlights aligned, though. *Moving slow, that's bad.* That was a lost person, a cop, or worse- Much worse. Tucker recognized the Lincoln, and the driver's silhouette was close enough. He was a little surprised by just how warm he got, and just how angry he got; he did have enough self-control not to try chasing the car down and flinging himself through a car window to rip Jane's head off with his teeth. But it was an effort. He struggled with keeping his lips shut over the screams and growls that wanted to come out, and had to force himself to start the little finger exercises from Ashida Kim's teachings. *Ninja Boyz Rule OK, BITCH!* He really wanted to paint that on her car. *Or her house- her face,* he smiled. *Second ideogram,* Mike insisted, and Tucker twisted his fingers into the contortion and concentrated on his center of gravity, balance, chi, maat, and all the other words that meant you were withdrawing into your own body instead of radiating emotions that others might be able to pick up. *But Ninja Boyz DEFINITELY Rule OK. Bitch.* *** Distribution: No part of this work may be distributed as an original work by another person or group. Permission is given to redistribute this by electronic means, as long as the entirety of the work (from the BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE header to the END PGP SIGNATURE footer) is distributed, and credit is given to the original author, me. And no fee may be charged. Archiving is permitted provided no fee is charged for access. All rights reserved. + @>--,--'----- Ellen Hayes o===[-------- __ vicki .sig + -=[1990]=- \/ virus 12.2 + http://www.barkingduck.net/ehayes PGP key: EFC9 5D55 (1996) + -----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 2.6.2 iQCVAwUBS6yrnXYDebnvyV1VAQGqIAP/dBRrAGWtByK7CKAksO1cSArZPsnUcREj 3BtevCAXnfLn1twtjsAvydWk4/spmmqPDhrjD7454JsdFt2nQI5zDTUk+F99ut9N iOcAp5mdCJriWXSAFftJy/neMXI6fQ71rmnuafqf6xqvaijymke0b+EhHXfg3/9g sg+eLpG1lDs= =ftGN -----END PGP SIGNATURE-----