Phantom Drone Ends

After my arrest, I spent a long time face down on the parking lot with my hands handcuffed behind me. The pavement was wet from all the rain, but I was so thoroughly soaked I could feel only the hardness, not more water. Despite the season, the wind blew cold.

Seattle cops, leaving only two of their number to watch me, huddled up at the far end of the church parking lot to discuss… something. The rain had slacked off considerably and the clouds rolled back to open the pinkening sky. Water pooling in the poorly drained lot caused a large puddle to mirror the picturesque Seattle skyline; it was lit up against a rapidly darkening night, the iconic, graceful Space Needle, and distant, snow-capped Mount Rainer prominent among towers of glass and steel.

I don’t know what the cops were talking about, but it took approximately three days before they broke their huddle and began scattering back to their cruisers. By that time, the clouds had returned, and rain began to hammer from the sky again, as if the Good Lord had sensed my misery and then decided that I wasn’t quite miserable enough.

In crushing frustration, I saw them load my precious Phantom Drone into an armored car and then drive away while I lay helpless on the pavement. My heart went with it. I had flown the drone for so long, I thought of it as my own personal property, and not something I had totally stolen from my employer.

Finally, two uniformed members of Seattle’s Finest hauled me to my feet, shoved me in the back of a Police cruiser, and we were on our way.

“I thought that would suck!” exclaimed the driver, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Yeah?” goes his partner in the passenger seat.

“I was dreading having to sing that song on camera, but it was actually kind of fun!”

“My kid’s a Psychology Major. She says group singing strengthens social bonds.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yep. Not that I would have cared either way. For what that guy was paying, I would have gotten on camera to do the hokey pokey and turn myself around!”

“That’s what it’s all about,” the driver rejoined, and they both had a good laugh.

“Let me guess,” I hissed, trying in vain to find a comfortable sitting position with my wrists handcuffed behind me. “You had to sing the song on camera as proof so you could get paid?”

“Sure thing, flying man!” crowed Passenger Seat. “And we’ll get even more money once they sort out the reward for recovering the Phantom Drone.”

“Sort out?” I asked.

“Why do you think we agreed to serenade you?” Driver added. “That guy promised to send money to an account we set up within an hour after he received the video. Chief said sorting out the reward for the drone is going to take the better part of a month.”

“You don’t find that suspicious? I mean, what’s taking so long?”

“Well, there’s 42 cops on the task force,” Passenger detailed. “Make that 43, because the Chief gets a cut. Then the city and county are going to take a combined 30% right off the top.”

“Greedy politicians!” his partner growled, shaking his head.

Passenger continued, “30% of a million is three hundred thousand, a million minus 300K is seven hundred thousand. Divide that 700 grand 43 ways, and you get a little over sixteen thousand dollars a person. Not too shabby!”

“What about the other million for bringing me in?”

“We are sworn officers of the law,” explained the Driver. “We're not permitted to collect bounties for arresting people.”

“Too bad,” his buddy added.

The SERE Manual said to keep them talking, but I didn’t feel like making conversation. Barring a miracle, I was off to Federal Prison for decades, if not life. At least Leticia and the kid were okay.

I was mulling over opportunities for escape when I noticed we were leaving the city.

“Hey!” I barked.

“Yeah?” Driver asked, slightly turning his head.

“Where are we going? I know for a fact that your headquarters and precincts are in Seattle. So is the King County Correctional Facility. Where are you going to process me?”

“We’re taking you to Washington State Penitentiary, Mr. Johnson,” Passenger announced. “That’s a four hour ride all the way to Walla Walla, so you might as well get comfortable back there.”

“Um… no.” I stated, emphatically. “You can’t… this does not compute.”

“You telling us how to do our jobs, convict?” Driver growled.

“You're supposed to hold me in city or county detention until my bail hearing.”

“Ha!” crowed Passenger. “You’re Dante the Flying Chinese Spy Johnson! You think you’re gonna get bail? Seriously?”

“First, I’m no traitor. Second, you don’t get to put me in the freaking state penitentiary till I’ve been convicted of some crime. That’s not how any of this works!”

“Actually, “ Driver continued, “the law says the State can hold you until trial. Where they hold you is a different matter.”

“I don’t think the State Pen is an option for pretrial detention.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think, Bird Boy! And just so we’re clear, the Feds are totally on board with this.”

The ride took forever and three days, but we finally arrived at the State Pen, driving through the imposing gates of a compound surrounded by layers of fencing all topped with formidable coils of razor wire. My two escorts handed me off to a couple of rough looking prison guards, who led me to an office to help a clerk fill out paperwork. That’s where I was finally granted the heavenly pleasure of having my wrists handcuffed in front of me, so I could sign papers. So many papers.

They removed my handcuffs, finally. Then they took my soaking wet winter gear, along with everything else I was carrying, hosed me down, and then dressed me in a prison jumpsuit. At length, I was following a single guard down a corridor with blankets, a sheet, and pillow in my hands. Suddenly, the guard turned to a special door and tapped in a code on the keypad beside said door. It beeped, clicked, and opened.

“You need to be initiated,” he explained. “Get in there!”

I obeyed, entering the mostly bare room to find three men waiting, seated on a wooden bench at the far end. The three wore prison jumpsuits, and they all stood up from the bench at my entry.

The man in the middle was considerably shorter and older than me, plus overweight, with streaks of grey in his otherwise black hair and mustache. Despite his large weight, small stature, and advanced age, he carried himself with a confident air of authority. He was also chomping away on a smoking cigar, the acrid stench of which filled the room. Last I heard, cigars were hardly standard prison issue.

Flanking the old fat guy were two massive towers of muscle, the one on the left my size and the one on the right an inch or two taller. They must have been brothers, because they looked very much alike. They also had two large shivs – crude handmade knives – in sheaths on their left forearms.

I remember thinking that a prisoner is supposed to keep his shiv hidden so the guards don’t confiscate it, and other prisoners don’t know you have one till you’re ready to shank some fool. Here were these two guys proudly displaying illegal weaponry in the very presence of a Corrections Officer.

“Wait here,” commanded the prison guard, then he closed the door, and I heard it lock behind me with a pronounced click. The dirty, freezing pond water chilled me to the bone. Khan.

The man in the middle casually removed the cigar from his mouth to declare, “Fresh fish!” And then, gesturing with the cigar, he asked, “Why don’t you set your bedlinen down on the floor there and take your jumpsuit off?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that,” I insisted. I did drop the linen though, but to free my hands, not because he told me.

The man sighed and shook his head, taking another opportunity to get a good, long pull on his cigar while his two flunkies laughed derisively.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Smoker resumed, “This ain’t the movies, and this ain’t TV. You can’t beat three guys by yourself, and you know it. Especially when two of them got shivs and you got nuthin’. You’re getting naked, fish. Now.”

“No.”

The flunkies bellowed another vicious laugh. Fatty took another, good smoke and blew out a white cloud.

“I like you,” the Smoker reported, again gesturing with the cigar. “Not only are you all big and mean and tough-looking, but you’re crazy enough to try and fight all three of us. Tell you what. One of my best boys took a shiv to the gut this morning, and now he ain’t much use to me no more. You can be one of my Enforcers!”

At this, the two flunkies groaned miserably. Like kids told they couldn’t have dessert. In this case, chocolate cake. Ice cream? Yeah, I’m more chocolate ice cream.

“What are they whining about?” I demanded.

“Normally all three of us get to initiate ya, me first,” Smoker calmly reported, a small, mischievous smile on his weathered face. “But when I recruit an Enforcer, the only man who gets to mess with you is me. Just so you know who’s in charge.”

“Look here, pal! I just flew through a thunderhead spitting lightning bolts close enough for me to touch, and you think I’m afraid of you?”

“Hey!” cried one of the Flunkies, pointing. He was the one to the left of the Smoker as I faced him. “Holy… I knew you looked familiar! Chief, that’s Dante Johnson, the Phantom Drone Guy!”

“Hell yeah!” Right Flunky echoed. “Dude, you’re a hero around here!”

The Chief’s face brightened, and his small, wicked grin became a broad, genuine smile.

“So, you are!” he hailed. “Dante Johnson! You stole a top-secret weapon right out from under the noses of the Federal Government! Cops couldn’t touch you for a week, the Feds either, till your own brother stabbed you in the back. Even then, it took a hundred pigs to take you down! I got to admit it boy, I’m impressed.”

The Chief’s recounting of my adventures was off, but it’s not like it was in my interest to correct him.

“Yo Chief,” gushed Right Flunky, “This dude is totally banging this smokin’ hot billionaire’s daughter!”

“What’s she like man?” Left Flunky added, “I bet she’s down for anything and everything just to spite her stuck-up folks!”

“Shut up!” Chief demanded. “Mr. Johnson, I’m going to do something for you I’ve never done for any new fish once I took over this place. Me and these two must have initiated over a hundred guys by now, but for the first time, you will not be one of them. Welcome to being an Enforcer at the Double U Ess Pee!”

And he stuck his cigar in his mouth and extended his hand, though I would have to cross the room to shake it.

“You’re gonna love being an Enforcer,” Right Flunky rambled, “All the food you can eat plus your pick of all the contraband, including the drugs.”

“Especially the drugs!” Left Flunky chimed. “Plus o ’l Chief here even manages to get us the occasional woman.”

“I’ll admit they ain’t much to look at,” Chief admitted, having taken the cigar out to talk, “But at least they got lady parts, and once you’ve been in here a while, you’re gonna really appreciate that. Trust me.”

Again, he put the cigar back in his mouth and extended his hand for a shake.

“Sorry, can’t shake your hand,” I told him. “Don’t want to catch any diseases.”

Chief and his flunkies looked perplexed.

“What did you say to me?” Chief asked, except he flavored the question with strong profanity and a dire threat in his voice.

“I said I didn’t want to catch any of the nasty diseases a disgusting prison rat like you must be carrying.

“What?!”

“See that, dude can’t even hear. Yo, Tweedledee and Tweedledum! Why do you guys follow this loser? He’s retarded!”

“Hey!” Chief roared. “Are you insane? Do you understand this gift I am giving you? You get to help me run this place, and I won’t let anyone make a woman out of you! So, what’s going on here? Are you testing me? Is this a joke? I want to be your friend Mr. Johnson, but you need to understand who’s in charge!”

“Does your mom like it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Does your mother like it when you show her who’s in charge? I mean, your homies already told me you sneak women in here, so I figure she must be one of them. What’s your mom like in the sack, Chief? I mean, you would know, right?”

Silence like thunder hammered off the walls. Chief’s face bloomed with unmitigated shock. His flunkies settled into fighting stances, but they looked utterly confused, their eyes darting back and forth between me and their boss with a rapidity that would be humorous under different circumstances. Finally, the Chief’s face faded from shock to anger, then twisted from anger to wrath.

“Kill him,” he spat.

“What?” Right Flunky asked, “We’re just gonna cut him up some, right, Chief?”

“Chief!” Left Flunky whined. “My Parole Hearing is next month, man!"

“I said kill him!” Chief roared. “Gut dat nigga like a fish!”

Right Flunky’s face hardened from confusion to determination, so he drew his gleaming shiv from his prominent forearm sheath and came on. His buddy followed begrudgingly; I could tell on his face that he didn’t like it. Poor guy had probably set all his hopes and dreams on that Parole Hearing…

I sprinted toward Right and made a move to his left, my right. He raised his shiv above his head to stab down in a move telegraphed from the day before. College football skills resurfaced, and I juked from my supposed route, snapping left instead of right. Right Flunky stabbed right down through the space he’d thought I’d be. Utterly committed to the blow, he was bent over, overextended, off balance. I raised my right knee and kicked down, committed to stomping through the side of his right knee to the concrete floor. With a sickeningly wet crunch!, he went down on his right knee, with his lower leg on the floor under my foot at a wicked right angle to the rest of him. He shrieked like a man set on fire.

“Frank!” Left howled in despair.

If he had come on with that shiv, Left might have given me a proper fight. But he'd stopped dead, staring in shock at what had just happened to his buddy. Lack of training and discipline. Since he was just standing there, I slammed a Pincer Hand Strike up at an angle into his trachea and watched him gag sharply, sinking to the floor with both hands on his throat. That’s why you keep your chin down, buddy. I looked down on his struggles and couldn’t help but pity the man. Hey, I’ve been hit by that same strike. My throat had spasmed, and all I could think about was, "Will I ever breathe again or am I dying?"

In the meantime, I casually bent and picked up the shiv he’d dropped.

“For the record, I think if you had helped your buddies, I’d be dead now,” I explained as I sauntered up to the Chief, the room ringing with the pitiful sobs of the man whose knee I’d destroyed. “But you just had to hang back and let your two lackeys do all the work.”

“Stankey gave you that fight,” Chief sneered. “I don’t hire men to just stand there!”

“You were right when you told me I couldn’t beat three guys by myself. But I can certainly beat one guy who doesn’t know how to knife fight, another guy frozen in shock, and a third who won't fight!”

“Quit crowing like rooster and let’s get the guard. I consider your audition a success.”

“Well, we could get the guard but… The fight is over, and I am no longer under any threat. You see, you got one guy on the floor, holding his shattered knee and bawling like a baby. You got another guy on the floor, gagging and holding his own throat. And you well… you don’t want to fight me, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, here’s the problem. My girl got arrested, I lost the Phantom Drone, they won’t even give me a bail hearing… I’m just feeling all frustrated and sad right now.

“Ain’t my problem, boy!”

“Ah Chief, but it is your problem! You see, I discovered in Afghanistan that whenever I’m feeling down, all I had to do was kill someone, and that cheered me up!”

“Are you insane?” Chief shouted. “You kill either one of my boys, and you won’t last a week in here! I’ll have you set on fire. Don’t believe me? Ask the guards if I haven’t done it before. You will burn to death!”

“...and, we have a volunteer!”

I shoved the shiv blade right under his sternum. I had to push harder than I thought, because the thing was dull; failure to properly maintain personal weapon. More lack of discipline! I saw the blood spew from Chief’s mouth and yeah, it made me feel a lot better.

*

They put me in Solitary Confinement. Little concrete room with a bed, a toilet, and two books. The Holy Bible, and “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen. Seriously. How despicably have I acted.

I was reading when four guards came and escorted me to my first visitor. I sat down at a desk, picked up a phone, and saw a young man in a three-thousand-dollar suit sitting across from me through the glass. He already had the phone on his side of the glass against his ear.

I picked up the phone on my side and asked, “Hello?”

“Mr. Johnson, I’ve been tasked to inform you that doom has come to the Boar’s Nest. Forty-two members of the Brotherhood have been arrested on various charges. Except for a certain Frederick Metzger, who was found tortured to death in his own basement. Due to lingering DNA evidence, authorities believe many others have been tortured at the same location.”

“And how did the FBI get in there?” I asked.

“FBI SWAT teams deployed directly onto the objective with ropes from helicopters just this morning.”

“Those Brotherhood fools had Chinese RPGs, you know. An RPG will do quite a number on a hovering helicopter. Ask me how I know this.”

“There were no RPGs or any other weapons fired, Mr. Johnson. For all their bluster, the Nazi cowards rolled over like trained poodles!”

“That’s good to know. Who are you, again?”

“Why, I’m your lawyer, Mr. Johnson!”

I let out a huge sigh, and added, “The other million?”

“The other million,” he admitted. “All of this is attorney-client privilege, so let’s cut to the chase. Agent Hobbes gets five hundred…”

“I think she prefers to call herself Wainwright-Hobbes.”

“Everyone's still on board despite the significantly reduced reward. Agent Wainwright-Hobbes gets five hundred thousand. The three agents get fifty thousand each, and the US Attorney for this district gets two hundred grand.”

“What about the other hundred and fifty thou… oh wait, that’s you.”

“Indeed," crowed the lawyer, with a twinkle in his eye.

I took a deep breath and leaned back in my chair, the phone chord stretching as I held it to my ear.

"When the cops arrested me, they got the reward for finding the Phantom Drone, but none of the bounty for bringing me in. I asked what was up with that, and they basically told me it was illegal for cops to collect bounties on people."

"That is accurate," the man on the other side of the glass agreed, nodding.

"Surely if the cops can't collect the bounty, then Federal agents..."

"...can't collect it either? Yeah, not legally. Technically, I'm the only one collecting the bounty. Of course, if I don't use most of the reward money to make certain... 'investments' or buy certain... 'services', I am likely to encounter some terrible misfortune."

I admired how chipper he was during that whole explanation, keeping a smile on his face the whole time.

"As for you," he continued, "I understand the residents of this facility have a unique initiation process. If you do not wish to be, um, initiated every day for the rest of your life, I suggest you play ball, Mr. Johnson!”

“You haven’t heard?” I asked him. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Let’s just say your ‘initiation’ did not go according to plan. Also, how exactly do I get out of here so I can turn myself over to the FBI?”

“You’re about to get bailed out, Mr. Johnson. If you would please allow me?”

He cleared his throat, and then sang, “Yonder come Ms. Johnson…”

“Please don’t,” I begged.

“How in the world did you know?”

“Dude, stop!”

“By the way she wears stilettos, and the pearls she wore!”

“She’s wearing her pearls?”

“Slick lawyer at her shoulder…”

“She’s gonna get robbed!”

“Little black card in her hand,”

“I said knock it off!”

“She’s coming to Seattle, She want to free her man!”

Frustration! There was a time when I absolutely adored that song.

In the meantime, the well-dressed man chuckled and clarified, “Sorry Mr. Johnson, but I was specifically commanded to do that. I hope you understand.”

“Tell Gretchen Melody Wainwright-Hobbes that she has herself a deal.”

“Right away, Mr. Johnson.”

*

I had time in my Solitary Confinement cell for only one more chapter before another squad of four guards escorted me back to the Visitor’s Center. This time, the shapely Leticia sat across from me through the glass. She already had the phone at her ear. I picked up the phone on my side and joined the conversation.

“I see you’re out already,” I told her.

“They tell me you killed someone, Dante,” she claimed, accusingly. “And you put two other men in the prison infirmary. Is that true?”

I looked into those big, beautiful, brown doe-eyes of the woman I loved and explained, “It was self-defense Leticia. Those three men came at me for no reason. I had to defend myself!”

She sighed with relief, and replied, “You must have had no choice. I know you’re a good man, Dante.”

“Yeah, you’re a great judge of character.”

“What?”

“Where’s the kid, baby?”

“Jesse hired us a lawyer and paid my bail. He put me and Melody up in this gorgeous 19th-century rental home on Queen Anne Hill. He’s coming to Seattle to take us both back to his house. I mean, his actual house, where I used to live. He and his children moved out of the trailer in the woods after Darlene died, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She put her hand up on the window and moaned, “Are you okay, baby? Are they treating you right?”

I put my hand up on the window opposite hers and answered, “We can’t be together.”

Leticia spoke, but I couldn’t understand what she said, because her words drowned when she burst into tears. She kept her hand up on the window across from mine, and I let her weep for over a full minute. Finally, she got herself together enough to answer.

“I know you’re married,” she mewled. “’What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder’. I’m going to marry Jess, but part of me will always love you!”

“You deserve better than Jesse James Wainwright.”

“He’s a good man, Dante.”

“No, Leticia. He is not.”

“That’s just your jealously talking,” Leticia insisted, sniffing, and wiping her eyes. “Goodbye, Dante.”

“Goodbye, Leticia.”

*

That same day, I appeared in a King County courtroom. Six guards drove me there in an armored car; one driving, one in the passenger seat next to the driver, and four heavily armored men with three fully automatic military rifles plus one with an auto-shotgun in the back with me shackled hand and foot.

I sat in the mostly empty courtroom, shackled hand and foot between two heavily armed and armored guards. Melinda sat up front, next to a maturely beautiful Asian female lawyer. My wife looked back at me and glared; if looks could kill, I would have disintegrated.

“Dante Elijah Johnson, approach the Bench,” the lady Judge commanded.

I did so, jingling my chains as the guards accompanied me.

“Mr. Johson, as you heard, I set your bail at one million dollars and your wife is prepared to pay.”

“So,” I answered, “I can go free now?”

“Mr. Johnson, it is my understanding that two years from now, you are scheduled for a review of your Conservatorship?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The Defendant will address the Bench as, ‘Your Honor’.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Well according to my records, you broke into someone’s home, assaulted the resident and her son, and then locked her up in a backyard shed, all while being, if you forgive my language, ‘buck ass naked’?”

“Well…” I tried explaining, “Judge… Your Honor… you see… what had happened was…”

“These are not the actions of a well-adjusted, mature adult. Judge Douglas has been assigned to adjudicate your fitness to manage your own affairs. I have contacted Judge Douglas, and we both agree that a hearing to modify the Conservatorship two years hence is unnecessary.”

“Your Honor?” I asked, my throat tight as the freezing pond water poured in.

“Judge Douglas has decreed you should remain in the custody of your wife for an additional five years, which would postpone your next Conservatorship Hearing to seven years from now.”

“NO!” I heard someone scream, only realizing afterward that the screamer was me. “Your Honor Please! Don’t do this. Don’t do this to me, please. I’m a responsible adult. I am a responsible adult!”

“Well, here’s the problem, Mr. Johnson,” the Judge continued, her eyes dancing with barely suppressed amusement, “If I find you competent, then you are to be prosecuted for Breaking and Entering, two counts of Aggravated Assault, one count of Kidnapping, and one count of Indecent Exposure. Should you be found guilty of these counts, you could spend 20 years or more in the State Penitentiary, along with any Federal time you would also be compelled to complete. Now, if your wife remains your Legal Guardian, I can make all these charges go away. But if you are a responsible adult, then you are liable for all these crimes. I will still require the one-million-dollar bond, but when you return for trial, you need only face one count of Misdemeanor Trespass. What say you, Mr. Johnson?”

I inhaled sharply but had nothing to say. I could only choke on my outrage.

“I will take that as a ‘Yes’” the Judge quipped, and lifted her gavel…

“Your Honor!” shrilled young, supermodel gorgeous Matilda. “I ask that you make him call me ‘Mommy’. Just in this courtroom please. For the record. And give me the audio and video recording, please.”

“Very well,” the Judge declared. “The Defendant will henceforth refer to his wife as ‘Mommy’ in this courtroom. Is that understood, Mr. Johnson?”

I turned toward my 12-year younger wife and said, “I’m sorry I hurt you. Mommy.”

Matilda smiled and replied, “Mommy forgives you, Dante!”

*

I walked out of that courtroom a free man… sort of. The guards took off my shackles. Outside in the parking lot, Matilda fiercely embraced me, pressing her lithe, nubile body into mine, and she bawled like a toddler.

My lawyer – the same lawyer who introduced himself to me at WSP – was also in the parking lot, and we arranged for my surrender to the FBI at noon the next day. Matilda accompanied me to the meeting.

So, the next day found me and my wife at lunch in a revolving glass-floored restaurant atop the Space Needle, which commanded an awesome view of the city. There were also three FBI agents in bright scarlet blazers at our table, along with a ton of paperwork that Matilda's lawyer was carefully reviewing. I was filling out said paperwork as directed by the lawyer when I received a call on Matilda’s phone from Gretchen.

“Well, you tried to jack it all up, didn’t you?” she chided. “But despite your incompetence, everyone still got paid. As for you, I don’t think you’ll be in Club Fed for more than five years.”

“Five years!” I protested, trying to keep my voice down, as there were other patrons in the restaurant. “What happened to total immunity?!”

Matilda gasped and clutched my upper arm with both hands, digging her claws into my flesh.

“That ship has sailed, Mr. Johnson,” Gretchen snapped.

“The hell it has! I’ve got the immunity agreement plain as day.”

“If you take another look at that agreement, you will note that it is contingent upon you turning yourself in at a certain place, date, and time. You failed to keep your end of the bargain, Dante!”

“That might have had something to do with the entire Seattle Police force jumping me!”

“Irrelevant. For your failure, you will spend a nickel in Federal Prison; one year for each one hundred thousand dollars you cheated me!”

“Sweetie, it’s okay!” Matilda whispered in my ear. “It’s only five years. I’ll wait for you, Dante. I love you!”

“Ah, so touching!” Gretchen mocked. “Later, Midnight Special," and she ended the call.

“Sir, we’re going to escort you to a holding cell now,” one of the FBI agents explained, wiping his mouth with a napkin while standing up from the table. “You’ll be there till your bail hearing.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it,” sniffed Matilda.

“Not yet,” I insisted. “I got one more card to play. Sweetie, hand me your phone again?”

Then with Matilda’s smartphone, I too stood up from the table.

“Guys,” I told the agents. “Mind if I take a private call?”

“Sure,” one of them replied. “Just don’t try any funny business.”

“Yeah, definitely stay where we can see you!” warned another.

I crossed to the large panoramic window overlooking the city toward Mount Rainier, and then called someone I thought I’d never speak to again.

“Dr. Worthington,” I greeted.

“Dante,” he hissed, his voice brimming with disgust. “The man who ruined my daughter.”

“Oh, but it feels so good to ruin her!” I crowed.

“You dare talk to me that way about Matilda, you disgusting…!”

“Dr. Worthington! Sir. I need your help.”

“Oh? And why would I help you?”

“Sir. I know you are a powerful billionaire with many contacts in our government.”

“Yeah? Don’t believe everything you hear, kid.”

“The FBI wants to put me in Federal Prison for five years, doctor."

"But... that sounds awesome!"

"I need your contacts to make sure I walkway free and clear. Sir.”

“Are... are you on drugs?"

Undaunted, I pressed on.

“Agent Wainwright-Hobbes and her husband control directly or indirectly various charities and businesses. So if you give to those charities and buy from those businesses…”

“Boy, are you telling me how to buy people off?” the man griped. “Because I was doing that before you were born!”

“I just… honestly, I just need your help, Dr. Worthington.”

“Really?” the man sneered. “I wouldn’t pee on you if you caught fire, but just for my amusement, let’s hear your pitch, son.”

“You divorced Matilda’s mother,” I explained. “You’ve married a much younger woman who has since given you a son. You tried to sue your daughter out of her inheritance, but she still walked away with 320 million. If Matilda gives up her inheritance, will you help me, and help my friend Molly Maguire, Doctor Worthington, sir?”

I had to wait a painfully long time. Finally, he responded, “Let me talk to that ungrateful brat!”

“Yes sir!” then I glanced across the restaurant and called my wife to my side.

“What is it?” she asked upon arrival, wide-eyed.

“It’s your father, Matilda. Would you give up your inheritance for me?”

“Dante, baby, we would have nothing!” she protested. “I am in college, and you don’t have a job!”

“What are you talking about?” I countered. “I’m still working for…”

“Seriously? They fired you and Molly Maguire for jacking the Phantom Drone! Duh!”

“Matilda, this is the only way Molly and I can avoid Federal Prison. Please!”

The young woman took a deep breath, and turned her back to me. I had to wait a minute or so before she turned around, her face streaked with tears.

“Dante Johnson, you are worth more to me than any amount of money, much less three hundred million dollars!” Matilda proclaimed, that youthful idiot.

I handed her the phone, and she declared, “Here’s the deal, Daddy. Half my inheritance now, the other half after my lawyer confirms that my husband and his friend are free of all charges. Do you understand me? Daddy?”

Long story short, I turned state’s evidence against my boss Malcolm Forbes, and while he went to Federal Prison on a life sentence, Molly Maguire and I walked away free and clear. Malcom’s young girlfriend, the Chinese college intern Haifeng, went out jogging one day and never came back; no one has seen her since.

As for my wife and I, we were instantly poor. Well, not really. I and my mother still had six-figure salaries for the jobs we had on the Board of Directors for Gamers Against Climate Change, and I graciously paid for my wife’s continuing college education and her hybrid car, for which she was quite grateful. Mom and I pooled our resources and bought a million-dollar house, which I, she, and Matilda all moved into, and we used the electric vehicles GAC-G bought as our personal transportation. For charity related expenses.

A few months later, Matilda got pregnant. With twins. Fraternal twins; a boy and a girl. I told my wife we needed an amniocentesis because I was afraid of the genetic diseases that ran in my family, but really, I wanted to know if the babies were mine. Good news, they were!

Today, I am no longer a multi-millionaire. But between the six-figure salaries of me and my mother who lives with us, my wife and our children will be well taken care of. Just so you know, my mother’s hatred of my wife has softened considerably. Indeed, the two have become downright chummy. My wife is still my Legal Guardian for six more years, but these days she is much less of a bitch about it.

Six months after my arrest in Seattle, Matilda and I both attended the Wedding of Jesse James Wainwright and Leticia Harriet Tubman-Wainwright. I was Jess’ Best Man. No, really. Jess let me know that with the Brotherhood extinguished, he had officially replaced his ailing father as King of the Mountain. Honestly, I had planned to murder him for… reasons, but when I saw how happy Leticia was with the guy, I couldn’t go through with it. As for little Melody, she proclaimed with great confidence that Jess was her third and final Daddy. So be it.

I am Dante Elijah Johnson. For seven glorious days, I soared through the heavens in the fabled Phantom Drone. Currently, my mother and I both make good money, um… saving the environment. My beautiful, devoted wife and mother of my children is studying to be a lawyer. Good times.

Dante Johnson, out.