Taos, New Mexico
10:07 p.m.; April 1, 2005

Maximus

Unleash Hell? These rejected remnants of supposed men couldn't even unleash my dog. I had every full intention of leaving them to their staggering and futile efforts ... but then I realized that someone had to take charge if we were to ever accomplish our mission.

As I am a General, I will not shirk my duty. I shall lead.

Terry

Christ, what a bunch of idiots. This is why I'd learned long ago to rely only on myself. They could fuck up in more ways than I knew had been invented.

Jacko's holding his liquor but he's not making sense. Who the fuck does he think is going to form a boarding party? You got a fly boy who keeps stripping to prove his point that he's nowhere near as inhibited and conventional as his girl apparently thinks; a washed up hockey schmuck worried about his love handles; a seriously pissed up Hitler wannabe who might be speaking German for all the sense he's making; a couple of swishes we're gonna have to turn the fire hoses on soon as they're hopped up on their girlfriend's libidinous tea; a religious nut I had hoped we'd at least be able to count on for fast hands but is now so wasted I doubt he even knows he owns hands ...

The psycho cop from hell who we might have to cuff and leave behind because Christ knows he'll kill the first person he gets his hands on; a hyper kid whooping about handcuffs and cucumbers he'll show her how to use; a sloppy stockman who's so drunk he veers between being proud he's dragging his knuckles on the ground or angry she's noticed; a horseman whose greatest claim to fame is whether it was a shadow or not and who insists he hates anything to do with metal and we still haven't figured that out ...

A sad and almost catatonic dishwasher cum cook who keeps begging us to nag him about putting the seat down; my partner, the red devil himself, who's gone so far inside himself that he's gotten to the scary as fuck stage that could either mean he's about to kill someone or about to burst out crying and singing some fucked up Irish song about death and potatoes ... and then we have the Generalissimo. Max must be crazy to think I'd follow him anywhere after the shit he's pulled us into here in Bumfuck, New Mexico.

Time for me to take charge.

Jack

All it ever takes is an able-bodied crew with stout hearts that know their duty. But as I study this ragtag assortment of mankind, I am left to wonder what kind of men I count as friends and brothers-in-arms.

This should be the simplest of operations. A quick strike at the gate, going right at them, over it and on to an easy victory. What mere muscle-bound and inexperienced riffraff should have been able to stand in our way? None.

However, I have seriously miscalculated on these men's abilities. Maximus refuses to acknowledge the wisdom of my strategy; he questions my every pronouncement until I am left with a throat so parched from gaining his attention that at this moment, all I want is a solid quaff of ale. And Thorne ... what unknown animosity forces this pulchritude of antipodean spawn to challenge my superior ability to plan and mount successful assaults?

We have but one real chance. If I can but rally the less head-strong men and form them into an obedient fighting force, then we might still be victorious.

"For the prizes!" I cry out, hoping to incite fervor and a sense of shared mission. I am gratified to the depths of my soul to hear the rambunctious, if slurred, answering cheer from all but two of my friends.

Maximus

Prizes? Who does this waterlogged fool think he is? What cheap trickery he engages in. Does Jack honestly believe he is fit to lead an assault on land? I am a General. I am the General of the Armies of the North, to be exact. And we are in Northern New Mexico, are we not? Therefore, it follows as surely as day follows night.

I am in charge of this military operation. I am the only one who can lead this ... this ... these drunken misfits to victory.

Taking charge as is my duty, I give the men a few well-chosen words to invoke in them the will to lay down whatever must be laid down in this night in order to successfully screw over Chili Palmer's plans. I know the words to give to fire these men to a fine semblance of military order that we may best Palmer's barbarian horde and take our women from under their Roman noses.

"Men, fellow Pub crawlers, I call upon you ... hear me," I begin, dropping my voice to its deepest register as I know this is the voice that all fighting men recognize as coming from the Alpha Male whom they shall follow.

"Oi, Maxie. No need to shout, mate. Don't get yer knickers in a twist."

I whirl around, incensed to have been interrupted. It is Hando. The cur.

Terry

Good old Hando. He's got a bullshit detector that's never wrong.

"Fuck off, Maximo," I grunt out and I don't even try to hide the smirk when Lachlan apes me and Hando tosses Max a finger and Jeff giggles obscenely.

And then Johnny tosses up a cucumber that John sends flying past the General's shoulder like it's a puck headed for the goal ... and all hell breaks loose. Max wants to unleash hell? This is how I do it.

Dino mumbles something about the sugar bowl or daddy long-legs or something ... I'm not actually hearing all that well anymore. Is it possible I've drunk enough that it's more than my words slurring? Dino knows I hate spiders ... why's he got to bring them up?

Egan says something about the General of the Armies of the North not cutting it on the Southern Cross ... and now it's Aussies against the rest, which makes me stand as tall as it's possible when I can barely stand without wobbling ...

When Max tries to restore order again by telling us to "Stay with me," I make some guttural noise that sends Cort and East into their imitation of stallions in heat ... so I know I'm being chosen by the men to lead this group even if that means challenging the only other two in here who might stand a chance in leading this kind of assault on the spa.

And I react instantly when Max gets right in my face.

So my reaction is to fall on my ass. Tough shit. I've been drinking non-stop since seeing Gaia letting some beefy dark-haired fuck touch her and touch her and ...

And when that fuck Palmer said the women weren't exactly pining for us in there at that spa and that even if we wanted to get in, we weren't stupid enough to really face down mob muscle... Fuck him. Fuck the mob. We weren't taking this shit lying down.

Well, actually, looks like I am. I still can't quite get up off the floor. Course, it doesn't help that I can't stop laughing, does it?

Jack

Ah, the follies of men who haven't the fortitude for demon rum and yet insist on getting rat-arsed. I am most assuredly uninspired with the heretofore conventional wisdom among our friends that Thorne is a smart, cunning and skilled professional in the art of covert operations.

I step over him, giving him a glare that sends him shuddering into another fit. I wonder if I should call upon the services of Stephen? Might this be a form of madness from which Thorne suffers? Would that Stephen were here with us! Surely he would prescribe an enema to bring Thorne to his senses again.

"General Maximus!" I address him sternly, knowing the affect this will surely have. "Will you step down, man? Allow me to outline the appropriate tactics we must employ if we are to be successful. Surely the most expedient ..."

Maximus

I have to give it to Jack. He just might know what he's talking about.

Not.

I can't help the laughter that comes unbidden from me. He's such a fool if he thinks I would ever follow any man into a battle. Generals do not follow. They lead.

Terry

Ah, fuck. Too funny. Even Max is laughing now. When did the colors get so bright in here?

I roll over and pull my wallet out. Pull out a picture I tucked inside a few days earlier. There she is. Gaia. She looks like she's moving in this picture. Hey! She is moving. I swear. It's some kind of magic. She's just bobbing and weaving and I can't even ... Oh. Wait. No, that's just my hand-eye coordination going all sucky on me.

It makes me laugh again. If she could see me ...

And just at that moment, I sober up. A bit.

"No way are we letting Palmer get one over on us," I growl out at no particular target. But someone hears me. It's Bud.

"No fucking way is no fucking wop bastard keeping me from my girl one fucking minute longer," he says.

Even drunk, Bud's blood is up. However un-politically correct, he may have said the most eloquent words of the day.

Jack

It becomes our battle cry. We all take it up. It becomes the defining moment.

I pray to the good Lord above that no one hears the nearly insane mutterings of the drunken fools around me.

"No fucking way! No fucking way! No fucking way!"

They refuse to stop chanting. They are now yelling it out. I am sure they must hear us at the spa and for a bitter moment, I consider if it is possible to find any semblance of honor in defecting to the enemy side.

Maximus

It is a battle cry that feels good coming off the tongue. It also reminds us of that for which we are fighting. The right to go in there that night and be able to touch the women we love.

Gods. Imagine her thinking I have grown so petty and cold as to have not regretted my actions in the throes of an argument? Imagine if it's the last she remembers of me? Imagine if I were to never touch her again? I feel as if I could weep at the notion.

I look at my friends, comrades. We are one. We are united. I wish to hug them and let them know of my deep affection for each of them. I approach Terry, to whom my bond has always seemed so strong.

Terry

Ah, fuck! Fuck! Max kisses me!

Quick! Soap! Water! More alcohol! Anything to get the taste of him out of my mouth! Ah, Christ! He kissed me, the pervert. I'd slug him but I don't know which of the three Max's to aim at.

Jack

I pull Maximus from Terry. My brother Thorne is so grateful that he immediately agrees to follow my orders in the assault.

Very good. Excellent. They are all with me now. Even Maximus concedes. He does it with a manly sobbing, but at least he does it.

Who would have guessed that Maximus would be a sentimental drunk?

However, that is beside the point. I must now strike while I may. I gather the men around me. Actually, I gather the men around Terry for several of them are having trouble standing so we all sit together in the middle of the den. With my index finger, I draw a map of the spa compound in the detritus that has somehow come to reside most stubbornly on the ranch house's wood floor in the wake of our day of oafish and obsessive carousing. I sweep away beer cans to complete my map's sweep upon the floor.

Then I get the brilliant idea of using the beer cans to demonstrate how we will move and where I believe the enemy forces are aligned.

It is so simple. Even an idiot cannot help but understand it.

Maximus

I am not entirely sure I get it. I look at the beer cans and I look at the lines Jack has inscribed on the floor's plankings.

"Which can am I again?" I hear Cort mutter. 

I am so grateful that it is another man who has spoken up and saved me the embarrassment of having to admit that I was wondering the same thing, that I lean over to kiss him.

Terry

Cort does have fast hands. I am amazed at how quickly he shoves Max's face away from his. 

It takes Jack two more renderings of the battle plan before we all get it. Maximus still looks a bit puzzled but he's probably just thinking ahead to what he'll be doing with Ann when we get our women back.

Jack

Finally, we are ready.

We each know our roles. I have each man blacken his face to make our movements in this night impossible to detect. We use ashes from Miss Michele's fireplace for this purpose. It is an unfortunate casualty that in the wake of it, the lovely woman's home will have at least 217 black hand prints, 146 black foot prints and two very well-defined arse prints as evidence of the presence of this force of drunken fools who could not follow instructions on exactly what was to be blackened.

We leave as a force. No man is left behind. That we have to drag Lachlan with us is not an indication of his reluctance to face the force that awaits us. However, looking at him gives me the brilliant idea of who shall be used as diversionary bait in this maneuver that will combine raw courage and cunning deceit.

At the first obstacle, I am better able to gauge my troops. What they lack in functioning brainpower, they make up for in determination. Unfortunately for us all, they seem most determined to make noise.

"Hush." I must repeat the warning in each man's ear until the party is treading as noiselessly as a herd of debauched sloths through the underbrush.

As we near the gates, I put up my hand to draw the party to a stop. I hear Bud's muttered oaths as he plows into me. I would kill him for possibly giving our position away, but I remember that I will need him in the main assault.

I huddle quickly with Maximus, John and Bud. It is John's lot to whisper suggestions into Lachlan's ear to get him to do our bidding without knowing ... it is not that we are sacrificing him so much as we are sacrificing him. John follows the battle plan. He convinces Lachlan that he has but one chance to prove Miss Cassie is wrong in her assessment of him.

They prop him up at the corner of the fence closest to the main building of the spa. Our plan is for him to draw attention to himself. All night, he has annoyed us with his repeated attempts to strip to demonstrate that Miss Cassie knows not of which she is speaking ... Lachlan has been intent on showing us that he indeed is wild and risqué and capable of aberrant behavior. We had preferred, on several occasions, to not be convinced but he insisted.

Now, however, we can use this odd desire of his to our benefit. All we need him to do is set up the same sort of caterwauling he was doing at the ranch earlier ... John has pointed out a lit window to Lachlan's blurry eyes and told him this was where Miss Cassie was ... that she would be able to look down and see his display of wild stripping.

As a force, we hide in the brush down from this area. We wait ... certain we will soon hear Lachlan raising cane ... and drawing the main force of our enemy to his position, leaving the rest of us free for the maneuver I have designed.

We wait.

Our skins prickle with excitement.

East flicks about as if he is a horse with a tail when Paul draws feathers from a flame bush down his cheek ... Cort complains roughly about the sand fleas ... I don't dare tell him this is all Paul's little joke on them. I do tell them to be quiet or I will clap them in irons.

And still we wait.

Finally, I dispatch John and Bud to determine what the hold up is with Lachlan. They report back, sans the pilot. It turns out, Lachlan has simply passed out. The only thing he'd stripped was one shoe.

Dino steps up to and places his mouth at my ear. I shake him off; it's my bad ear and I cannot hear his slurred whispers. Quickly, he changes to my good ear.

If we need a diversion, he says in a dark voice that does my heart a soaring good, use Johnny. I peer into the darkness at young Johnny.

"He stole Biebe's handcuffs," Dino says.

"Handcuffs?" Maximus says.

"The Brazilian Love Lock," Dino says without one chuckle. I grin into the night as he explains to Maximus the joke we have had at Johnny's expense over an exotic love maneuver ... or is it at his fair Erycina's expense? Dino points over to where Johnny is crouched, wavering quite unsteadily. "Notice the brown stuff running down his jeans? Chocolate ice cream. It's melting. Too stupid to think about that."

"Too rat-arsed drunk," I say.

"He's got a cucumber in his pocket," Dino says

"Ah! I wondered why Jeff and Paul were paying such attention to his jeans," Max says.

And so it is agreed. Dino and Maximus take Johnny in hand ... not like that, you dirty buggers ... and lead him carefully to the spot where Lachlan has slid into a coma against the fence. Dino points to a lit window. There, he tells Johnny, is Miss Erycina.

Before Dino and Maximus can even make it to us, we hear Johnny's voice ... even barely intelligible, we think we can make out that he is yelling out to Erycina, telling her to just come out there so he can show her that he can be as kinky as she wants him to be and then some.

"And then some?" Zack says. "What else you think he's got in mind? Maybe I'll go watch ..."

"Focus, mate," Andy tells him. "Who wants to watch when you can do?"

"Too right," Hando slurs.

Maximus

Johnny was beside himself and I simply wanted to offer him comfort and encouragement. Despite what Dino accuses me of, I was not trying to do more than whisper words of strength and honor in Johnny's ear.

I would slug Dino but I am uncertain which of the two Dino's I should attempt to kill. I decide to let them both live.

At Jack's signal, we leave our young comrade. We can hear his youthful boasts in the night as we reach the main body of our contingent. I want to return to offer him more words of wisdom, but Jack thrumps me across the chest and hauls me behind him. I do not miss Dino's giggling. Again, I am uncertain which Dino to slap so I must let it stand. I will tend to them both in the morning. I will kill them both and let the Gods sort out which Dino has offended me once too often.

Terry

By the time we make it to the section of the fence that Jack has selected as our main assault point, Johnny's screaming at the top of his lungs for his girl. And then we hear the unmistakable sound of men rushing toward him and Johnny realizing he may not be about to demonstrate the Brazilian Love Lock on Erycina but may instead be about to have it demonstrated on him by Chili's goons.

He sounds scared. Poor bastard. Imagine what'll happen to him ... and, even worse, what if the women hear him? They'll come streaming out of the spa, rush up to him, beat the goons off him. They'll gather round him to see he's all right, start cooing, cover him with kisses as they tenderly lead him away from the goons. They'll stroke his body, whatever they can reach, as they lead him into the spa. Erycina will shove the rest off him and take him to her bed and ...

Fuck!

Johnny's gonna get lucky tonight.

This is when it dawns on me. It should have been me used as bait! I'd be holding Gaia right about now.

I try to grab Jack to bitch at him for not letting me be the bait but I grab the wrong Jack and end up falling flat on my face.

Jack

In Terry's enthusiasm for the mission, he lurches forward. I admire him a bit more as I realize he is trying to help me instill confidence in the staggering crew.

When he falls, I simply reach down and drag him back to his feet. I do nothing more. I would not dishonor a man who has shown such courage and selflessness.

We have reached the section of the fencing I have identified as the weakest point. There is a sturdy branch of a tree that arches over this section. It is an easy climb up and then by walking out onto the branch, we will get harmlessly over the barbed wire. We will drop carefully from the end of the branch onto the soft grass of the spa grounds on the other side of the fence. They will never even know we have breached their perimeter.

I call the crew to a halt and we all listen carefully to the sounds in the night.

"Pull my finger," I hear Hando whisper. He fools no one with such an obvious ploy. Once his bodily noise ceases, we all move away from his vicinity. Just a few steps are all that's needed to find relief.

Again, I listen to the sounds in the night. And then I hear what sounds like ...

Cooing.

It rings through to us. And we smile at each other. Our ruse has worked! The defending forces have been diverted by subterfuge and they are now concentrated at the main gate. They will be detained and diverted there for a long while as they deal with the women's anger over their mistreatment of the young Johnny. Ah, yes. My plan is working. There is nothing so good as a phasmid. Nothing so satisfying. Well ... except a woman's soft breast, of course. But perhaps that goes without saying.

However, if a thing goes without saying, then what if it is said? At one time, it must have been said, for if not, why the saying about it going without saying? And truly, if one ponders that in logical fashion, if it is said and it goes without saying, then when it is said, does it not go?

I must ask Stephen when next I see him.

In the meantime, I must concentrate on the action at hand. These hands. Yes, now that the enemy force's attention is diverted, we are about to launch our main assault too far away for them to counter. We clap each other on the backs. In his zeal, Maximus reaches to kiss John but John's hockey stick makes an excellent weapon of defense.

I pick Maximus up and he tries to kiss me. However, he finds I have some level of experience with such unwelcome advances from shipmates. He finds himself nearly halfway up the tree before he realizes he is being pushed up.

As Maximus hoists himself up onto the branch, I help Cort up next. He grasps the General's hand and is pulled up onto the branch. Zack is hoisted up next. Then Andy. And in quick order, Dino, Egan, East, Terry ... and all others including Paul who seems quite light on his feet for all that can be said, but perhaps that goes without saying?

God's teeth! I must not ponder such sayings that go without saying again!

Instead, I look up as Bud reaches a helping hand for me. And I see that in this fashion, we have moved our entire force up onto the branch. Excellent! We are in position to board the spa! We pause and take a careful look around from our vantage point.

"For the prizes!" I whisper and hear the answering whispers from my crew as we move forward as a unit, edging over the branch's length until we are over the spa's inner grounds. In this moment, I look at my crew and am proud of these men. It is a good crew.

A good, stout crew.

If only the branch had been as stout.

Maximus

I do remember hearing the crack. It sounds like thunder. And then I hear assorted voices around me as I feel myself suddenly weightless and floating in the air.

"Ah, Fuck!"

"Wha' th' fuck?"

"Fuck is this fuck?"

"You're fucking kidding me."

"God's teeth."

"Mate, this is fucked."

"Ah, fuck, man."

"Holy Father, pray for us ..."

And then I am no longer floating. I am in a sea of arms and legs and ... I am much too heavy to fly.

Terry

This is going to fucking hurt.

Jack

The moment has been lost!

Maximus

When I realize I am alive, it is only because my head feels much too fuzzy for me to be in Elysium. Surely the Gods would not force me to suffer this discomfiture for eternity? Elysium is supposed to be a nice place. No one would want to come here if it was this dizzy.

Would they?

My eyes snap open and I realize I have been unconscious. I survey my surroundings. I am in a meeting room with strangely lit green walls that look like sick clover. I still feel as if I am floating a bit. The air is heavily scented ... is this incense or some strange intoxicating essence?

Voices are speaking in hushed tones. I focus upon them I hear Jack telling someone that we must face our defeat with nobility.

Thorne is seated next to me; I discover this as I shift and fall against him. He mutters to me to get the fuck off him. He is down to two Thorne's but still I must choose which of the two I shall pound into the ground ...

But before I can, a door opens. I turn to look as a phalanx of black-clothed Praetorians enter. They file in, circling the perimeter of the room. My eyes narrow and I study them as carefully as I can, given that I cannot focus quite as well as I believe I usually can.

And then a familiar form strides in the room. He stands just inside the door as two of his guardians of hell shut it firmly. I narrow my eyes further but it is not to stare at Chili Palmer so much as it is to shut out some of the light for it seems to still be swimming about most alarmingly.

Andy sits at my other side. He curses mildly under his breath about all the petals of some flower he has borne with him this entire way ... it is a flower he means for Uma ... it has lost all its petals. I am overwhelmed with grief at the loss of Andy's petals. I feel tears come to my eyes; I am not ashamed to weep for Andy's loss. I put my arm around him, seeking to comfort him ...

Palmer tells me to quit blubbering.

My head swings in his direction as he strides in his normal confident manner to the front of the room. I would jump him and kill him in one second but there are two of him, which makes it difficult to know which to kill.

Thorne giggles next to me and calls me a sissy boy. I place a hand on his knee and squeeze. He growls. Places a hand on my knee and squeezes. I growl. We are now both squeezing and growling.

Before us, Jeff and Paul turn to watch us. They mutter to us about whether we wish to be left alone.

Thorne and I quit squeezing and growling.

We listen as Chili says, "Look at me."

Terry

Look at him?

Who the fuck he think he is? I got a much worse scary face than he does. Dino does, too. So does Max. Maybe not tonight, but usually.

Fucking Chili Palmer.

My head is beginning to un-fuzz. The headache's not far behind. Something about the rudeness of being snared up by these Mafioso misfits has begun to squash my high. We seriously fucked up. And all I can do is sit there and stew.

I am a professional. I have years of military and covert training. This may be the ultimate humiliation.

We got so pissed up, so fired up, so insane today. And we seriously mounted an assault on the spa in that condition? Christ, we deserve what happened. If we hadn't been so rat-faced drunk, we never would have all been up on that branch together. We would have gone one at a time and dropped over nice and easy onto the grounds of the spa. From there, even drunk we would have been able to steal our women from the spa right under the noses of Chili's mobster mob.

Instead, the branch cracked and we fell in this ... heap. Christ.

Max had been out for the count. Hando started laughing his ass off. Jack roared at us.

And then it got worse. We couldn't even get untangled from each other before the hired goons were on us. Not a woman in sight to save our sorry arses, either. They had us rounded up and marching in a duck walk until they could check us for weapons.

Weapons? Christ. We hadn't even thought to bring real weapons.

They made Bud, John and Zack carry Max's lard arse as they took us prisoner. Cort said all the prayers in the world weren't going to help us keep from looking like total arseheads before our women now. Jesus. Dino was right ... we are a bunch of fucked up idiots.

Jack

Ah, good. The General is awake and seems relatively alert. I had hoped he was only suffering from the effects of magnificent quantities of alcohol, so I am relieved to see him stirring. We may be in need of his stoic example if they decide to torture us. Bud has been muttering about cement overshoes and the difficulty of swimming whilst one is forced to wear those.

Ever since we were dumped into this hellhole of a room with its odd green walls and strange stone-colored chairs, I have been forced to think about the errors of my tactics in the assault. I must admit to being grievously overconfident and criminally unwise to have pitted a group of drunken lubbers against a taut force of young, ruthless professional hitmen.

At first, I thought I would never forgive Palmer for his betrayal. What kind of friend, drinking partner even, aids others in the capture of a particular friend? But as he enters the room, I realize there is some hope that more may be going on here than any of us had seen.

I tremble at the thought of what awaits us if what Palmer is really up to is exposing our drunken foibles to the ridicule of the women whom we love and desire. What man could bear up under such shame? Put me in the locks! Flog me around the fleet! Anything but tell the women what fools we've been.

And then I remember the goading force in driving our rash actions.

Our concern for our women. Angel! Mother-to-be of my child!

My eyes narrow and I look over my friends, my true friends, my brother in arms ... I shall win this night yet! I shall again rouse them through passionate voice of our cause ... I address the man I hold responsible, the man I know we each hold responsible for what has happened, for driving us to this point of drunken idiocy.

"Chili Palmer, you must pay for your unspeakable insults to my friends," I pronounce. My voice rings across the odd room in which we are. I see Cort and Johnny hold their ears. Ah. My young cousin Johnny has been incarcerated with us! And slouched near him, is the prostrate form of Lachlan. So ... we are all in this together.

"They don't know about the date," Johnny says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Chili, tell them what day it is."

Day? It is not day! It is night!

Poor Johnny! He is so far gone ... he has forgotten that Chili is the cause of this misery, that Chili is the reason he is not already hearing from Miss Erycina that there is no such thing as the Brazilian Love Lock, and that, as surely as night follows day, it is night that has followed day and it surely is not day any longer. Nay, no longer day.

Hey! That rhymes. I quite like the sound of that. I cannot wait to tell Stephen! Surely there is something amusing in that rhyme if I but think on it a bit ...

Maximus

I smile at Johnny's confused words.

He has obviously been wounded severely if he thinks it is daytime.

Ann will never forgive Chili now. She would have been hard-pressed and upset with him if he had harmed me, for sure, but she will be merciless with him for having hurt Johnny to this point where his brain is addled.

She will flay his skin from his bones. She will rip him another channel for excrement. She will dance after she emasculates him.

I cannot wait. I pray I may witness it.

Terry

Well, fuck.

I look at Dino.

He looks at me.

I see the same thing in his eyes that I know are in mine.

We are so fucked.

Fucking Chili Palmer.

He fucking got us.

He got us so fucking good.

Palmer's looking between us now, that smug smile on his face. He knows we've got it now.

Maximus rises from beside me. He wavers a bit and then growls out that he's going to shred Palmer's skin from his bones because he's taking mercy on him lest Chili face the wrath of Ann.

I start giggling and yank Max back down into his seat.

"It's the date, Max, mate." Max tries to focus on me. "It's April 1st."

"And this date means something?" Max says.

Zack groans and rubs his head. Cort shakes his head and laughs. Jack gets it, too. He's up, charging Chili, slapping him on the back.

"April Fool's, Max. April Fool's," I say to Max. When he tilts his head and looks like he's thinking way too hard, I take pity on him. "It was a joke. Elaborate as all fuck, I give you that. But it was a set up from the beginning. It was an April Fool's joke on us. And Chili did it ... sweet as a biscuit."

"All of it part of a damned masterful plan," Dino says, weaving near us and plopping down between Jeff and Paul, much to Paul's delight. "The girls never said those things. He just wanted us to fall for it and come out here. And them having to give up their cell phones? All part of it."

"A set up?"

"April 1st is a day of tradition. A most fine tradition. And if I'd not been so otherwise occupied, I would have been setting off my own April Fool's prank on Dino," I said. "We have something of a tradition."

"Have we ever done one this good, though?" Dino mused, running his fingers through his hair.

"There was that time in Bangkok."

"Well ... yeah. But what haven't we done to each other in Bangkok?"

"Not much."

Men are funny this way. Five minutes ago, we'd all been ready to kill Palmer ... and I mean that quite literally. But now? Ah, fuck, an April Fool's Day joke this clever, this good ... brought about with this level of deviousness and daring ... Well, damn.

Only a friend goes to that much trouble for ya.

So as Dino was filling Zack, Paul, Jeff and Andy on a few of our April Fool's Day pranks on each other, I wound my way up to where Palmer was standing. Held my hand out. He held his out. No words. None needed. Just a smile, just an acknowledgment that he'd bested me. Hell, he'd bested us all. But it was me and Dino he was aiming this one at.

As I wandered back to the couch I'd been sharing with Max, I thought about where we were.

We were inside.

Inside the spa.

The women were close at hand.

Gaia was close.

It was time to face her. Time to settle things. If I could.

Palmer was saying to the group that his mob buddies ... who, as it turned out, were actually some guys he knew from some gym he went to ... were going to escort us to the rooms of our choosing. To be reunited with our women, if we so wished.

And ... he announced ... that as this was surely the last big fling this group would ever have with all of us still single and without babies at our ankles, he'd arranged for a very nice evening of festive food, drink and music on the next night.

Which gave us plenty of time to recover before the festivities.

And plenty of time to be alone with our partner first, if we so chose.

Jack

I am exceedingly famished. I could use Killick at this moment. He would know exactly what food to bring me. Chops. I think I could eat at least four at this moment. And he would bring me fresh eggs. And bacon. Oh, and fried tomatoes. Ah, and he would have pots and pots of coffee for my headache.

But alas, poor Killick. He is not here.

I console myself by picturing my sweet Angel. I picture her just now ... wrapped in crisp, freshly-scented sheets. Her hair mussed. Her slumber deep. I am looking forward to disturbing that very slumber.

I do feel a yawning sense of apprehension, however. In the deepness of this night's quiet, I pause to consider what I have seen, heard and wondered over these past few days.

Perhaps nothing did happen that should be of concern to me.

I will know soon enough.

Maximus

How have I failed to notice how perceptive Thorne can be? The man is a marvel at deductive reasoning.

With nothing more than the word of an inebriated boy, he has figured out the elaborate ruse of one Chili Palmer.

It takes at least a few moments for my blood to settle a bit. To force my blood lust down to the point where I am not willing to take the life of Palmer. Before we leave the room, I am able to shake his hand.

But as I am escorted down the hall, with two men helping me maintain a more or less straight path, I see again the face of the woman I love as I saw her that morning. Deep in some meditation. And tears were on her cheeks.

I felt their weight upon my own heart. My sweet cara. I have handled things so poorly. Where I should have accommodated her desires to be with her women friends, I let my own insecurities and petty wishes come to the fore. Surely, I should have known that forcing her to do my bidding was not the wisest course of action.

And comparing her to those I've known here ... to say to her that I had hoped this time would be different. Wasn't it me who so recently as our trip to Tuscany had told her that I felt no one compared to her?

I thought of her voice on the phone message. She takes these things so to heart.

It is only the quick reaction of the man to my right that keeps me upright when I try to follow the man to my left as he turns down a corridor. I have a grip on the man's shoulder. Our eyes meet. In the briefness of that glance, I feel the desire to be forgiven by the woman I love.

To hold her. To cherish her. To ... to ... to ... We have stopped before a room door and I have stopped thinking because, the door is open and she stands there before me ...

Terry

When did it get so hard to walk a straight line? I wish these arseholes would fucking slow down ...

Jack

I stand before her door.

"Courage, lad," I mutter.

EPILOGUE
Ann

It has to be close to midnight when I am roused from a rather deep slumber. I hear noises in the hall; men's voices and scuffling of feet. I sit up in bed, rub my eyes and try to wake up.

The noises get louder. I hear voices that sound somehow familiar if off just somehow. I creep to the door and listen. But I can't really make sense of anything. So I open the door slowly.

The first thing I see is a guy I don't know, dressed in black, walking past my door. I narrow my eyes and think ... must be one of Chili's security guys. And then, he yanks on another man's arm and it is ... Biebe!

My mouth drops open. I open the door fully just in time to see the guy in black prod Biebe around the corner ... Clarity's bedroom is that way. But there are others making their way down the hall ... I look across the way at Heather. She is as confused as me.

Before us, accompanied by more men in black come a little parade of men we know: Lachlan ... and Johnny ... and Jeff and Paul ... and then Dino ... then Terry ...

Whoops! As soon as Heather sees Dino, she starts chuckling and he kind of lurches toward her.

But my view of the hallway is cut off forever when Max is suddenly right there. Before me.

For a moment, it's like we're both stunned to see each other.

And then he drags in this big breath and I see this tear come sliding out of his eye and his lips tremble and he's calling me my pet name ... and I'm wrapping him up in my arms at the same time he's wrapping his body around mine.

I pull him inside. He pushes me in. Someone closes the door behind him ...

And it's just us.

And I don't care how he got there, why he's there ... all I care is that he is here ... and he's not fighting with me.

He mumbles something against my neck and then I think I feel more tears.

But before I can even ask him what he's saying, he's got his hands on my face and his mouth is on mine ... and he is kissing me through tears that I can taste on his tongue ...

Oh!

But I can taste something else ... something much, much, much more pungent than his tears ...

I pry his lips from mine ... shove him away just a tiny bit ... take a sniff even though I know I'd been ignoring his odor in the moment of simply touching him ...

"You're drunk!" I gasp to him, amazed at this.

"You're so beautiful," he mumbles in some odd slur. I can't help but giggle at his sincerity.

"And you're sexy as all fuck but you're totally wasted! I've never once seen you like this!"

"I love you ... let me show you ... I want to kiss you forever ... always ..."

"Max!" I yelp out at him as he stumbles hard into me ... I know he thinks he's going to pick me up like some white knight and carry me to the bed ... but he can barely walk on his own power ... he's stinking drunk!

And he's ... ugh ... rather dirty and sweaty.

But it's ... mmmm ... actually so manly and virile and ... fuck all ... when is he going to do something I don't think is sexy? Even when he was fighting with me and then stomping out and then giving me the pout treatment ... I still thought he was sexy. Am I sick? Oh, well. I don't mind.

God, he's out of mind drunk! I never knew ... never guessed that Max got like this.

He's absolutely adorable ... he's all emotional and sentimental and romantic ... and he wants nothing so much as to be nuzzling with me and whispering to me ...

He whispers to me even as he clumsily knocks me onto my back on the mattress. I try to move quickly but it's not quickly enough. He lands next to me with a thud. He plops his leg over mine and yanks me under his groin. I moan just because I rather like this view of him with no inhibitions and all mushy.

He even whispers to me when he's trying to figure out how he gets inside me when he's both fully dressed and not at all hard ... well, he's had way too much to drink to even come close to getting it up tonight. That's okay. He just cuddles eventually. I sigh and hold him and move against him and make him sigh.

And he whispers some more as one of his hands is sweeping over my breasts and then heading down south ... but he's whispering in Latin and now I haven't a clue as to what he's saying. It sounds incredibly arousing. I file away in my brain to get on my hands and knees and beg him when he's sober so he'll whisper Latin into my ear while he's about to make love to me. I think I would die and go to heaven if he did.

Before long, he's not whispering. He's snoring. He's lying there on my shoulder, dead to the world, snoring.

He smells of a bender; he stinks of exertion and stress; he feels grimy and grungy.

And I've never found him more appealing. More man. My man.

The only thing I've understood of all his mumbling was that the men had come there to help him break into the spa ... because he needed to reach me ... because he wanted to keep me safe ... because he wanted to love me.

When the snoring turns to a rumble to wake the gods, I roll him on his back and slide out of the bed. Standing on his side of the bed, I start undressing him as best I can. He's dead weight. I get his shoes, socks, pants, underwear off. His shirt is tough and getting it off involves a lot of rolling him back and forth. But finally, he's nude.

I fill a basin with warm water and wash him off with a soapy cloth. I figure he'll feel bad enough in the morning without also being stinky and grimy from whatever mischief he's been up to that night.

So ... obviously, all the men are here ... or most of them ... or maybe it's only the ones who are crazy who came here to assault the spa. I spare a moment's thought for Chili and figure he's probably okay because his guys doing the escort duty seemed in good spirits and seemed to be finding the whole thing amusing.

It's only after I've finished cleansing Max and got him tucked under the sheet and have dumped the rinse water in the bathtub ... I'm walking back to the bed when I notice a white piece of paper has been slipped under the door.

I smile so hard and know Chili has come through again in his own inimitable style.

It's an invitation to dinner the next night. A celebration. Our last fling as a group of friends who are unencumbered by the formality of marriages and children. I understand why he's marking this ... and I agree with him.

Next week, after the marriage of Bud and Marie, everything changes. When Hando and Scarlet have their babies, it changes even more. When Cort and Bou, and Jack and Angel, have children ... God. It really changes exponentially.

I have to laugh at myself -- I've got this unbidden, instant image of a pub full of ankle biters. Oh, Jesus! I am not at all ready for that. I may not survive the onslaught of diapers and binkies and colic and baby blues.

Am I possibly the only woman in the world who never fantasizes any of that? I suppose, if I were forced to admit it, that I admire and somehow hold in awe the women who do aspire to that ... motherhood, white picket fences, marriage, PTA, car pools, day care ... It is a world so foreign to me and so far from anything I've ever aspired to. Yet, these are things normal women maybe really fantasize over. Me? I fantasize over Max. It's as far as I get. It's all I see. I don't have a clue as to what that means ... and it's also a totally foreign concept to me so who the hell knows what's in my mind?

I wonder ... by this time next year, what will the changes be for all these people I consider my friends?

And what will be the changes for me and Max, I think as I look back at him, now snoring in the middle of the mattress, sprawled out so that there's no room for me.

No room for me at his side?

Bite your tongue!

Max will make room for me. I crawl under the sheet and snuggle in close. I prod him onto his side so he's faced away from me ... I am rather pragmatic, after all. If he's going to snore, which of course he is and there's nothing worse than drunk snoring, then I want him to not be snoring in my ear.

And this is how we settle down. I'm holding him. I'm curved around his back as he snuggles into the pillow. That fight we had? Man, it sure seems like nothing, doesn't it? Although, I must admit, it seems to me that we owe each other some pretty hot make-up sex in the wake of that fight. The thought of that makes me giggle against his neck.

He responds by gripping my hands where I'm holding them around his chest. He takes my hands in his and they are safe there, as he pushes them against his ribs.

I would hold him forever, I think, as I kiss in at where his hair sweeps along his nape. He sighs in his sleep, shifts a bit, draws me with him as he does.

He has become everything to me. And I'm holding him in my arms.

Now, that's worth celebrating!