*

Joe had picked us up and we were driving home. For the longest time no one spoke. Joe was never one to be gregarious with strangers, I was fucking tired and bleeding, and ... I don't know why Melinda held her tongue; maybe Joe scared her. Joe does look like one tough dyke. She's not a dyke, but she is tough.

"So, how long have you known Taylor?" said Melinda, breaking the ice.

"Wow ... it's going on fourteen years now," Joe answered.

"Has he always been such a badass?" Melinda asked. Joe laughs uproariously.

"Taylor? A badass? What gave you that delusion?" Joe chuckled. "I've heard the words 'bad' and 'ass' used to describe him, but never together."

"He killed six men today," Melinda protested.

"Taylor killed six guys ... by himself? I don't believe it. Tell me what happened," Joe said.

"Well, there were these six guys -- they kidnapped me and Taylor killed them."

"No, tell me exactly what happened," Joe repeated.

"Okay," Melinda grumbled. "At the meeting he killed this one guy ... but the kidnappers shot that other guy ... and Taylor got shot."

"And?"

"Well," Melinda bit her lower lip, "the third guy blew himself up. Abby shot that other guy and wounded their leader, but Taylor killed that fourth man then killed the leader in the end."

"So basically, Taylor killed one and a half men plus another man in another encounter, and got shot once in the process," Joe pointed out.

"Oh," Melinda said in a small voice. "Why didn't Daddy send someone better to get me?"

"Don't you say that," Joe said heatedly. "Don't confuse body count with competence, Melinda. If Taylor Eden says he is going to get you out alive, he is going to get you out alive. Case in point: you are sitting talking to me right now instead of lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

"But," Melinda stuttered.

"If Taylor could have gotten you out without a shot being fired, he would have. He wasn't paid to kill those guys. He doesn't do run around killing people for fun. He was paid to bring you out in one piece and when bullets start flying around that reduces your chances of staying alive."

"But he killed those people."

"He doesn't like to kill people. That doesn't mean he can't," Joe explained. "Listen, Taylor is claim to fame is that he's a cockroach. I've seen him shot, stabbed, beaten to unconsciousness, run over, and once, a bomb was dropped on him. The bastard won't die and he won't quit. If he says he'll do something, he does it. It may take forever and day and be messy about it, but he does what he says he'll do. That is why we're friends."

"So is he good or isn't he?" inquired Melinda.

"It depends what you want to do; if you want to snipe someone at 500 meters, he sucks. I've seen him empty a clip at eight guys, all fewer than ten meters away and only hit one -- and he only wounded that guy," Joe snickered.

"We were in the jungle," Taylor said weakly. Joe laughed.

"How come I dropped two guys with six shots? Melinda, Taylor isn't Special Forces, or a SEAL, or even a paratrooper. Hell, he failed to qualify for Ranger School. He didn't know crap when I first met him, but he learned. He's good at that too. He'll never be the best at anything, but he does know a bit of everything."

"He's certainly good with his tongue," Melinda stated. My friend sighed.

"That's not for me to talk about," Joe commented.

"I was asleep for most of it," Taylor coughed.

"Taylor, have you been fucking women in your sleep again?" Joe teased him out of my funk. Joe was one of his best friends, but she could be a real ass at times. She was also now a housewife in the suburbs, with two kids and a successful husband who was an executive at some insurance company.

"I was drugged," Taylor bitched, "not asleep. Won't you ever let me live that down?" Taylor said concerning an earlier episode in me and Joe's lives.

"No, it is too fun watching you squirm. So, do you have a woman in your life?" she asked.

"Her name is Cheyenne. He says her name in his sleep," Melinda volunteered.

"Really?" Joe arched an eyebrow and peeked in my direction. "How long have you to been together?"

"Six weeks. We live together with another woman," Taylor replied.

"A three-way or a pyramid?" Joe inquired.

"A pyramid."

"What's a pyramid?" Melinda asked.

"He loves Cheyenne, Girl two loves Cheyenne and they all agree to get along," Joe explained.

"Her name is Sierra," Taylor grumbled.

"You must be sleeping with her too," Joe teased.

"Do you really think I'm that shallow?" Taylor said.

"Yes. You don't open up to anyone, Taylor. If you know a girl's name it is because you've screwed her." Taylor didn't have a good answer to that so Taylor kept his mouth shut.

"You seem like such a tight-ass, Taylor. It seems you have a wild side," Melinda teased. "Say my name." Taylor glared back at her.

"Melinda -- happy now?" Taylor seethed.

"So, this is the longest relationship you've had, isn't it?" Joe means since Rosalita. Joe has always acted like his nosy older sister. Of course, when Taylor was lying in some homestead with a bullet wound, there are very few other people Taylor would consider calling.

"Looks that way," Taylor confessed.

"He likes to be ridden," Melinda jokes carefully. Taylor sighed. Taylor might as well play along.

"I insist that was rape," Taylor griped. "Hell woman, I was unconscious the first time and pinned under another woman the second time."

"Good for you," Joe congratulated him. "If you let yourself get raped by beautiful women more often I wouldn't worry about you ending up cold and lonely. Worse, you might end up living in my basement like some forty year old failure."

"I'm saving money," Taylor countered. "Moe taught me well. I'm going to retire somewhere in the Developing World and live a life of leisure."

"Who is Moe?" Melinda asked.

"He's the reason you are alive, Melinda. Moe trained Eden to do something more than being a thug. He was Taylor's mentor," Joe told her.

"Where is he? Why wasn't he hired instead?" Melinda asked.

"Girl, give it a rest. Taylor did his job. You are alive and going home to Daddy, so cut him some slack. That bullet that passed through him could have been in you instead," Joe growled.

"Sorry," Melinda sighed sarcastically.

"Moe is retired," Taylor told her. "He trained me as his replacement, but there is no real replacing of Moe. He was one of a kind. He was one tough son of a bitch; probably still is. I get a card on my birthday and at Christmas. It is hard for me to imagine him actually dying."

"Everyone dies," Melinda pronounced. Joe laughed.

"There are some bastards that I wouldn't believe were dead if I cut out their hearts and scattered their ashes," Joe responded. "You don't hang around with the right crowd."

"Melinda, try to believe that not all people are created equal. You are too rich and Moe is too mean to die," Taylor tried to explain. "Moe would have killed them and have had you home by now. I'm not him. Comparing me to him doesn't piss me off. I know I'm not him. I've never thought otherwise."

"You are taking being average awful well," Melinda taunted.

"Bitch, don't make me smack you," Joe warned.

"It's okay Joe. Melinda, there are only two things I care about. Doing my job and going home: in that order. If you are trying to piss me off, you will have to do better than that," Taylor sighed.

"I'm not trying to piss you off," Melinda said petulantly.

"Fair enough," Taylor responded. They rode in silence for more than ten minutes before Melinda cracked.

"Do you resent fucking me too," she sounded hurt.

"No. I enjoyed it. You're quite good, and I had a good time. I also know that we are from different worlds, and we will probably never meet again," Taylor explained. That robbed Melinda of both her speech and her anger.

"I don't get you. Do you like me, or don't you?" Melinda snapped. Joe chuckled.

"To be honest, it doesn't matter what I feel, Melinda," Taylor told her. "We are not likely to see each other again."

"That's a dumb way of looking at things," Melinda grumbled.

"That's our Taylor," Joe interjected, "dumb as a stump, and half as personable." For some reason Melinda found that hilarious and she couldn't stop giggling.

"Joe, some time we need to discuss exactly why I saved you in Mozambique," Taylor griped.

"I'm still six life-savings ahead of you, you bastard," Joe grinned back at me through in the rear view mirror.

"You save each other's lives?" Melinda asked.

"With me it was a moment of weakness; with him it was a rare moment of good sense," Joe teased Melinda and Taylor. Taylor didn't say anything right away. The trip was over.

"Joe, I'll be right back. Melinda, it is time to meet your father. He'll be happy to see you," Taylor told her. Taylor handed Melinda one of the cases full of money, while he took the other one.

"I ... okay," Melinda was tense. They both got out of the car and headed into my boss's office. Taylor took her through reception.

"Katie, here is the money back. Count it. It is twenty-five thousand dollars short. I ran into a barn and felt obliged to pay for it." The boss's reception took the nearly two million without comment. Stuff like this was part of working with the Man.

As Taylor walked through the firm, people recognized me, but they didn't say anything. They almost never did. Taylor wasn't part of normal business life. They knew of him but this was the first time they'd seen him with a bullet wound. They got to his door, Taylor stopped and that brought Melinda up short.

"What is it?" she asked.

"This is where I leave you," Taylor responded. "Have a good time, and try to be safer when you go out. Good-bye." Melinda gawked at him. Taylor turned to go and she reached out and took his arm on the wounded side. Taylor winced.

"I ... thank you," she mumbled. I believed she meant it.

"You are welcome Melinda," Taylor nodded before finishing his turn and leaving. Taylor didn't look back, but several seconds passed before he heard her open the door. Taylor figured for the next few days he would be party-talk, but he would be forgotten in a week. Taylor wasn't the kind of guy the princess wants to see later, and he was okay with that.

(Later in the day)

Joe helped Taylor up to his apartment. Taylor was woozy from the morphine the 'underground' doctor had given him. She'd also given him enough blood to replace much of what he'd bled out. Taylor had called ahead to give a vague warning that he'd been okay, but in an accident. Joe knocked on the door (door bells bothered her). There was a short wait then the door swung open and a small, busty woman stood in the doorway.

"Taylor!" shouted the woman, "What ... Oh hell, you've been shot." She stepped back.

"Taylor," gasped another woman, this one taller, better looking and a lot more frightened. She bounded off the sofa and ran closer to Taylor.

"Here, help me get this guy to bed," Joe told them, "you must be Sierra," Joe said to Sierra, "and that makes you Cheyenne." Sierra nodded. Cheyenne moved to Taylor's hurt side and was about to grab him.

"Careful Dynamite, he's going to be sore there for a few days, so be careful. Lead me to the bedroom."

"Hey Cheyenne," Taylor told her. "I'm okay; just a bit woozy. I'll be right as rain in a few hours. Sierra, you are looking nice tonight." He was unsure what to say next. Normally Taylor would tease Sierra first thing when she got in. He looked high. She stood around uselessly as Cheyenne and Joe moved Taylor into the main bedroom and laid him out. Joe propped his upper body up and tucked him in.

"What can I do to help?" Cheyenne asked. Joe looked over from where she was sitting on the bed beside Taylor.

"Is this the first time you've seen him bloody?" Joe asked. Taylor had already fallen off to sleep.

"Yes. He's normally so careful. Taylor said he didn't like guns," Cheyenne nearly sobbed. Joe rose and took Cheyenne by the shoulders and led her out of the room. "Let him get some rest."

Cheyenne didn't reply, but she looked over her shoulder at the closed door to her and Taylor's room.

"Taylor's pretty tough Cheyenne, I've seen him come through with much worse. Let's sit down. I'll stay here until I know he's okay. That should take an hours or so."

"Oh," Cheyenne said. She left Joe and sat down. Sierra went to Cheyenne's side. Joe went straight to the kitchen, opened a few of the lower drawers.

"Here we go," Joe declared, "He always hides his scotch under the sink, right next to the drain cleaner." She went to the glass shelf unerringly and took out three glasses. She then ambled over to the chair closest to the sofa sat and poured out three third-full glasses. She slid one each to Sierra and Cheyenne.

"I need a shot and I hate to drink alone," Joe announced. Sierra took her glass. Cheyenne glanced at her glass then back to the Joe.

"Who are you lady?" Sierra inquired.

"I'm Joe Mamacoua, short for Josephine, but no one calls me Josephine anymore."

"How do you know Taylor?" Cheyenne asked. Sierra was paying attention.

"Taylor and I go back fourteen years, from the time he was a wet-behind-the-ears beginner."

"Beginner?" said Cheyenne.

"Did you sleep with him?" Sierra asked.

"Hell no," chuckled Joe to Sierra, "Why do bitches keep asking me that? Taylor is like my annoying little brother. Besides, I like my men big. My husband is a Samoan, three hundred lovely pounds: every hard muscled bit of him. Taylor's a stick. He doesn't do anything for me."

"As for what he was; hasn't he told you anything about his past?" The women shook their heads. "Close-mouth bastard," Joe muttered. "Joe and I were mercenaries -- soldiers of fortune."

"You two were mercenaries? That's so weird; Taylor doesn't look the type," Sierra pointed. "Okay, he's built solid, but he's short and wiry. Don't mercenaries have a height requirement?"

Joe laughed at that.

"Being a soldier of fortune requires a passing familiarity with a firearm, a willingness to risk your life for a pathetic amount of money, and luck."

"Was he any good? He keeps talking about the cache of money he's put aside. Did he make it that way?" Cheyenne asked.

"Taylor was a lousy mercenary," Joe chuckled. "The only person I know who was a worse shot than him was me, and I at least had epic vehicle skills."

"How long was he in that business?" Sierra asked.

"Nine years. We had a lot of fun, which means we got shot at, run out of countries, and partied like animals. Taylor really used to go all out. He was generous to a fault. That's why it's so funny to hear you ladies talk about him stashing away money. Taylor wasn't much for making plans over even a week ahead."

"Are we talking about the same man?" Cheyenne wondered. "Taylor is so ..."

"Closed off," Joe completed for her. "Yeah, he got that way right there at the end."

"Why did he quit?" Sierra pressed.

"A woman," Joe said rather tight lipped.

"Who?" Cheyenne asked with ill-disguised interest.

"He's not told either of you about this? I'm not sure I should. It's his business."

"Please," Cheyenne begged. Joe seemed to think it over.

"Okay, but if either one of you skanks hurt him, you are going to wish someone ran you over with a dump truck, because he's my Brother. He's watched my kids for me, and I wouldn't have trusted must of my buddies with that responsibility. Taylor is a good guy, despite the number of people he's killed. He would never hurt either of you, but trust me, I would do it with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart," Joe threatened. Sierra reddened. Cheyenne paled.

"You think you're that tough, old lady?" Sierra challenged. The thing was Joe was clearly of mixed race heritage, but mainly Amerindian and African American. She had short cropped hair and was built solidly. Her t-shirt highlighted her strong chest and biceps. She was well-endowed, but not overly so. Her stomach was flat and her thighs thick, as were her calves. In essence, Joe looked like she could lift Sierra over her head and break the younger woman like a twig. Joe didn't rise to the challenge. She shook her head and chuckled.

"You're a funny girl, and as for old, I'm forty-five, I have two wonderful kids, five and two, and a wonderful husband who keeps me in a lifestyle that means I never have to work a day again in my life. I still take one or two contracts a year."

"Why?" Cheyenne said.

"Keeps me in shape and on the ball; not doing the job would be like asking a doctor to stop being a doctor. If it swims, crawls, or flies, I've either driven it, or read a manual on how to drive it. People like me are in demand."

"So, has Taylor really quit, or does he go out and do whatever it is he does out there?" Sierra questioned.

"No, Taylor is out of the biz. I know several people who have asked him to work again, but he's turned them down," Joe answered.

"I thought you said he sucked," Sierra pointed out.

"He does. As I said earlier today, Taylor's claim to fame is that he's a cockroach. He's been shot, stabbed, beaten unconscious, garroted, blown up, and even once had a bomb dropped on him," Joe informed them. Cheyenne put her hands to her mouth as she gasped. "People want Taylor because he is reliable as the day is long. Tell him to do something, and he'll do it. It may take him a while, and it may get messy, but he'll do it or die trying. I've known him to fail twice and both times it involved me dragging him away.

"If all of those bad things happened to him, why did he stay?" Cheyenne said quietly.

"We all stayed for different reasons. I don't know why he started. He had this idea that he would be good at the trade, I guess. He wasn't. After his first mission, he was one of only three survivors out of the twelve newbies we took in. He expected to be dropped from the team. You should have seen his face when I told him to come along. I've never regretted that. I trust Taylor with me life. More important, I trust him with the lives of the people I love."

"As for why he kept at it all those years; it was a woman," Joe finished off her scotch and poured another glass. Sierra was struggling to keep up, so Joe filled her glass too. Cheyenne was only drinking in sips.

"What woman?" Cheyenne asked.

"Are you sure he's never talked about a woman before?" Joe wondered. "Damn that man is so closed off. Cheyenne, when he was hurt and delirious today, he called out for you. I haven't seen him do that in five years, since she died. Her name was Rosalita."

"What happened to her?" Sierra inquired.

"Some no-name group of rebels raped her then they mutilated her body while she was still alive. We burned her corpse up before Taylor could see it."

"Did he try to save her?" Cheyenne whispered.

"He had a gaping bullet wound to the chest when we found him. We all thought that he was dead. Apparently the rebels thought so; otherwise they would have mutilated him too. He was only ten feet from her body. We aren't sure how much of her dying he was conscious for."

"What happened?"

"The only living person who knows that is Taylor, and as far as I know he's never talked about it to anyone. He did one mission after he healed up, but it was clear to him his heart wasn't in it so he came back to the states and got some crummy job as a leg-breaker."

"What was Rosalita like," Cheyenne timidly asked.

"Not a lot like you, if that's what you're looking for. Rosalita was tall; maybe five ten, stacked, and had a real hard body. She worked out a lot to stay in shape. She had long thick wavy raven-black hair that went down to the small of her back. She always had this tilted half-smile on her face unless Taylor was around her. When they were together, she really glowed. He was the best thing to ever happen to her. Everyone could tell that. She also was a certifiable psychopath. In essence, you are not her replacement. Taylor isn't like that. He likes you for you, and for Taylor that's saying a lot. Taylor doesn't let anyone get close anymore."

"If she was so good looking, why was she with him? I'm just saying." Sierra put out there. Cheyenne stole a look to the hallway leading to the bedroom. Joe chuckled yet again.

"Oh, she was gorgeous. Guys would stab their mates just to get close to her -- that was until she told them her name. See, Rosalita was a Black Widow. Every man she became attached to died horribly and usually within a few weeks. You combine her being the best person with a knife I've ever seen, her raving insanity, and her curse; no one wanted anything to do with her. Then Taylor came along."

"She's cleared out a table in a cantina and Taylor walks over to her and sits down. He doesn't say anything he just sits down with a bowl of pretzels and two beers. When some of his buddies and I saw this insanity, we began plotting ways to get him out without pissing off the nutjob. Rosalita pulls out one of her large carving knives and slams it blade first into the table. Things got very quiet because everyone wanted to see if someone could finally kill Taylor."

"Do you know who I am? Rosalita growled."

"Sure, you are Rosalita. Do you want a beer? he stated as he passed her one of his beers. She took it and drained it in two tosses."

"Why the fuck are you here? Rosalita snapped," Joe snorts, remembering that day.

"Do you know what Taylor, that dumb bastard says? 'If I go, I don't want it to happen without me having got to know you first.' That was the nicest thing anyone had ever told her, I imagine. She grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs. She had him up half the night. She was a real screamer."

"What about the curse?" Sierra sounded truly curious.

"I'm getting there," Joe grinned. "Three days later, we are out in the bush for some God knows reason I can't remember when Taylor steps on a landmine. 'BOOM!' and Taylor goes flying out into this pond. Rosalita and I go out to get his body. Neither one of us think he's alive. Suddenly he starts swimming towards us. Rosalita pulls him onto the muddy beach and pats down his body, looking for the fatal wound. Luck bastard didn't have a mark on him. Strangest damn thing I've ever seen -- a defective mine. The only thing wrong was his knees were a bit sore."

"Rosalita jumped all over him, bawling like a baby, hugging Taylor and dancing around. She told him she loved him and would love him forever. He tells her he's loved her since he first laid eyes on her. They were never more than fifty meters apart from one another for five years; until she died. Even then, he was right at her side. As I said, that is why a troll like Taylor was with a goddess like Rosalita. He made her happy, he kept her saner, and he'd follow her into any fucked up situation she ran into, even that last time."

Cheyenne looked nervous and her hands were shaking slightly. Joe reached out and put a hand on her knee.

"Don't worry girl. When he is with you, he's with you. That should be all that matters," Joe assured Cheyenne.

"Why didn't he ever tell us this?" Sierra asked.

"What was he going to say? Hey lovers, I've killed people on four continents for money. I've seen friend tortured, buddies blown into so many bits we could never find all the pieces, or I've loved someone so much I had to quite the only job that made me feel alive to become a thug, a petty thief, a criminal. Listen, when I say he sucked as a mercenary, I don't think you understand Taylor."

"The vast majority of people in the world don't know how to fight -- if they are alone, Taylor can kill them with his hands. When I say he sucked at firearms, I mean that it took him time to aim and shoot at someone, and kill them. Taylor is never going to get over being able do that; for having done that. How is he going to explain it to two girls who've most likely never heard a gun fired in anger, much less fired at them? What can he say?" Joe asked.

"No," Joe added, "he comes home to you two and he's happy. He's deserved to feel that way for five years."

"I'm not so sure he likes me," Sierra said cautiously. Joe laughed again.

"Kid, if he didn't like you, you would know it. I believe he thinks you are hell on wheels. So, you like his girlfriend? All Taylor cares is about is that Cheyenne likes him. He's not territorial. If you make Cheyenne happy, you are fine in his book."

"You don't see a lot of men like that," Sierra admitted.

"He's not most guys," Joe answered.

"He's weird. I don't understand him," Sierra added.

"He gets that a lot. Taylor doesn't try to explain himself," Joe responded.

"Will he ever get over Rosalita?" Cheyenne asked. Joe sighed.

"Short answer: No. Long answer: Do you know why he is called Taylor Eden? It is because that is the name Rosalita gave him. Before that he was Taylor this, or Taylor that. Always Taylor, but always a new last name; it was his thing. When Rosalita took him to bed for the second time, I think he confided in her the reason he changed names like he did. I think she asked him to keep one name -- forever. She chose Eden, because when she was with him, she felt like she was in paradise. So, he is never going to forget her."

"He's also never been in a relationship that has lasted more than a week -- until you two came along. For ten years the only woman in his dreams has been Rosalita, until today. Today, Cheyenne, it was you. So, if you break his heart, I'll put you in intensive care," Joe concluded in a calm voice that was surprisingly full of menace.

"That is the same voice that Taylor talks in when he is about to do something," Cheyenne noted. Joe nodded her understanding.

"He's usually more polite," Sierra said.

"Taylor was always a charmer. Not with the ladies, but when we were talking to the cops, or getting some piece of equipment we had to have, there was Taylor being so civil and polite. It always made me wonder what growing up in his home had been like. The thing was he always tried to avoid killing if possible. He always tried to be reasonable, as long as he could fulfill the contract."

"Why was he shot today then?" Cheyenne asked.

"There was this guy we worked with in Guatemala named Ted. We were supposed to rescue some aid workers being held by some narco-terrorist. We got them out, but on the return trip, Ted decided that one of the female workers should be more 'appreciative'. When Taylor found out, he flipped."

"Did he kick the guy's ass?" Cheyenne interrupted. He had saved her ass after all.

"No, Ted was wiping the floor with him, but he forgot one cardinal rule: where there is Taylor, there is Rosalita. She cut him good, but Taylor stopped her from killing him. We turned him over to the police and he was sent to jail. Taylor was civilized that way. You didn't kill your buddies, but you didn't trample the law either. He has always been weird."

"Anyway, Ted gets out of jail, learns that Rosalita is gone, and apparently goes into the kidnapping business. It took him a while to figure out where Taylor was, most of his old friends wouldn't deal with him anymore -- not that they hate rape, but they hated him for raping a client; that is bad for business. Anyway, Ted figured out where Taylor was and kidnapped a high profile person, knowing who they would most likely turn to his boss for the rescue."

"Taylor shows up and he knows the situation is fucked, but he makes the exchange anyway. Taylor said he'd bring the girl home, so he's got to draw the situation out for the girl to get to cover. There were five of them, plus Ted. Taylor gets a drop on one of the kidnappers, holding him hostage, and tries to get out. Ted kills his own man to get at Taylor. Taylor kills one guy, shoots their ride, and Taylor gets shot in the process."

"Girl's in the driver's seat so Taylor jumps in the back. The stupid bitch doesn't slam the car in reverse and head for the freeway; no, she races up a dead end road. Bad guys pursue on foot. Stupid bitch slams car into the side of a barn and Taylor gets knocked out. Your boy wakes up, saying your name, and looking at the bitch riding him. Apparently danger gets her horny."

"He slept with her?" Cheyenne said in an angry tone.

"No, he woke up and she was having sex with him; not the same thing. Anyway, Farmer Lady showed up, takes them back to the house, he calls me for a rescue, bad guys cut the line, and they flee up to a shack on a hill. It seems the shack had gas tanks in it, so Taylor sets a trap. He lures a guy in and gets the kidnapper to shoot at him, exploding the shack."

"How did he get the guy to shoot at him?" Sierra asked.

"He jumped around until the guy saw him out the window. Taylor ain't too bright. Anyhow, shack goes boom and knocks down the other kidnappers. Farmer Lady, with shotgun runs down and kills one SOB and does a number on Ted's right hand with her second shot. Taylor runs down and stabs another guy with a kitchen knife, ending his career. Taylor and Ted meet. Taylor kills Ted."

"I thought you said Ted wiped the floor with Taylor?" Sierra pointed out.

"Good question Sweet-cheeks. Ted lost the use of his right arm -- his primary. Taylor lost the use of his left hand, so his primary hand was still good. Taylor also had a knife, and Taylor has also gotten better over the years. He's slow, but he learns."

"Do you want me to include how he was taken back down to the Farmer Lady's house and raped again?"

"He had sex twice?" Sierra and Cheyenne squawk simultaneously.

"Both women at the same so technically three times," Joe informed them, "but in his defense, he had been running around with a bullet wound in his shoulder for an hour. He'd lost a lot of blood, so I'm not sure how coherent he was. He almost forgot to bring along the money."

"What money?" Sierra asked.

"The two million dollar ransom, Brainiac; he was there to pay the ransom for the bitch, remember?"

"He had two million dollars?" Cheyenne stuttered.

"Cheyenne, what is it you think he does?" Joe questioned.

"He works as a security consultant," she said lamely. Joe nodded her head.

"Okay then. Let me say that while he is a security consultant, and he might have a pretty little card that says that, Taylor is someone who rich people pay to have problems go away. If it is borderline legal or flat out illegal, they hire his boss, who uses Taylor as his instrument."

"So people trust him with two million dollars?" Sierra asked.

"Sierra, they trust him with their lives," Joe explained. "After that, two million isn't so much."

"Could Taylor go to jail?" Cheyenne said in a small voice.

"Yes, he could. It is a risk that is part of the profession. Remember what I said though; he is good at what he does. That also requires him to keep secrets, because discretion is what he's hired for. When he comes home and says he can't talk about it, that's because he's told someone he would never talk about it. He's not trying to upset you; he's trying to protect you."

"He's awfully fucked up in the head, isn't he?" Sierra concluded.

"Basically, I have to agree with that assessment. He likes to think he's simple. He's not. He's pretty fucked up, but in a way that's manageable. But then, aren't we all a little fucked?" Joe pondered.

"I should go back and wake him now," Cheyenne told them as she stood. She waited for Joe to challenge her. Joe looked at her watch.

"He'd like that," Joe said instead. "He'd like to wake up and see you. It would mean a lot to him, but promise me -- no sex for twenty-four hours. The boy's half dead but he'll die fucking you if you ask him to."

"I think we can manage one whole day keeping our hands off of him," Sierra smiled. Cheyenne snorted and headed back.

"When do we take him back to the hospital?" Sierra asked. Joe chuckled and shook her head.

"Sierra, he didn't go to a hospital. They tend to ask questions about gunshot wounds. We know a doctor-friend who helps people like us out from time to time. She patched him up. Taylor can talk you two through changing his bandages; he's done it enough times -- Taylor's a cockroach, but he's not bulletproof. Also, no unprotected sex until the doctor says he's okay. Those women didn't appear to be whores, but herpes is forever, so take care."

"I think we can handle that," Sierra admitted. "This explains all his scars. He always said it was because he was clumsy."

"Technically that's the truth." Joe worked something out of her pocket and threw it to Sierra. "These are his antibiotic. Make sure he gets one twice a day," Joe informed her.

"You sound like you've done this a lot too," Sierra observed.

"What gave it away?" Joe joked. Sierra grinned.

Joes' other phone rang. Joe held up a hand for silence. "Yes, I'm listening. Oh, that is most unfortunate that Sumo is not an acceptable activity for a five years old; nor is asking a girl to shake her moneymaker on the playground for a piece of the action." Sierra looked at Joe with great curiosity.

"Okay, I'll have to take care of this as soon as I can break free. My husband will pick up the children today and I will deal with this when I get home," Joe said into the phone before hanging up and explained to Sierra, "Day Care: My boy; sometimes I think he wants me to kill him. He is already a business man like his Father."

Joe looks down into her hands and groans, "and they tell me these are the easy years."

"Wait, you have really kids? You weren't shitting us?" Sierra gawked. Joe shook her head.

"Lady, Taylor and I are people. We fuck and that means sometimes we have kids," Joe rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Sierra concluded. "Until you mentioned it I never thought ... about Cheyenne and Taylor having kids. Now ... I don't know."

"What about you and Taylor?"

"What? I'm not sure from day to day if I like the guy," Sierra explained.

"If you think you can do better, go for it. You won't find a man who will treat you better or work harder to make you happy," Joe offered.

"What makes you think he would be interested in me? He has Cheyenne. Even I know that."

"He knows your name. More importantly, he speaks your name without prompting. That's a big step for Taylor. It means he cares," Joe informed her. Sierra had to think that over. She noticed that people were 'he' or 'she'. If she told Taylor someone's name then would remember it for a day or two, but then forget it. She had previously thought it was because he was simple.

"A lot of people's names he knew are dead now, aren't they?" Sierra realized.

"Yep."

"Has forgotten their names?" Sierra asked.

"I doubt it. When you are screaming for someone to duck before they get killed, you can't be caught trying to remember what they go by," Joe pointed out. "Not being the smartest guy in the world, he forced himself to remember their names so he wouldn't let them down. The price of that for a guy like Taylor is that you don't forget."

"I never thought of him that way," Sierra admitted. "He was a little off, a little dangerous, but mostly he tries to be a nice guy. I never thought about him actually killing someone, much less getting hurt. When I first met him he seemed to be in such total control."

"Was he on a job?" Joe inquired. Sierra blushed, remembering the day.

"Yes, yes he was," Sierra admitted. "The job was against me and my boyfriend back then."

"Then you were never in any real danger. Taylor doesn't do wet work and only fucks-up people who won't be reasonable. I imagine that he was quite polite and you were quite reasonable since we are sitting here today. Likewise this must have to do with Cheyenne, because if it wasn't he wouldn't have let you within five miles of her, and by that I mean the cops would be wondering who the corpse in the morgue was," Joe clarified. Sierra lowered her gaze.

"He really loves her then," she sighed, "and she loves him. I think that is my cue to leave."

"Why?" Joe scoffed. "You are his friend and in this city that is a circle of three. There aren't ten people on the planet he'd kill for, but he'd kill for you. Don't throw that away. If you think you can be happy here, give it a shot." Joe stood up.

"I have to go now. Dinner is going to be take-out as it is. If I don't feed the kids by eight, I'll never get them to bed in time," Joe grinned before heading to the door. "Give him those pills, change his dressings each day, and cut yourself some slack. I don't know what you are feeling guilty about, but get over it. You have real friends. That is more than most people have."

Sierra went back to the bedroom and saw Cheyenne sitting on the edge of the bed looking down on Taylor. She walked over and put her hand on Cheyenne's shoulder.

"He normally never lets one of us get this close to him," Cheyenne whispered.

"Huh?"

"He always wakes up when someone comes into the room," Cheyenne explained.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Sierra shrugged. "He hides it well. He must really be tired; all that sex."

Cheyenne looked up to see that Sierra was joking with her. Until that moment she had never considered what that man meant to her, and Cheyenne. Taylor had just been ... Taylor.

He'd nearly ruined her life. He'd scared the crap out of her. Hell, he'd raped her with Cheyenne's help. In a way she'd always held that against him. But he'd also opened his home up to her and allowed her to be close to Cheyenne when Sierra needed some sort of closure in their relationship. In a way he'd shown Sierra what kind of man he could be when he handled her boyfriend. It hadn't occurred to her that she might well have been on the receiving end of one of those beatings.

That had been Taylor's gift to her -- to never let her know how much trouble she was in. She dealt with her demons in her own way and he let her. Taylor could have put her in a hospital, or on a bus out of town, and that would have been that. He'd liked her enough to give her a second chance with Cheyenne and she'd not fucked it up. He was a strange guy.

"Let's get a bite to eat and we can settle into bed with him," Sierra suggested. She took Cheyenne by the hand and led her back to the kitchen. They ate for several minutes in silence.

"I always thought he was trying to be boring," Cheyenne surprising confessed. "I was thinking of leaving him." Sierra looked at her cautiously. "It was that he'd never talk about stuff and I thought he was just uninterested in everything. I never knew that there was another woman and she died, and that something had changed inside him to make him act this way."

"He is kind of boring," Sierra grinned weakly. "He'd have told us but he didn't want our sympathy. He needed time and we -- I -- almost didn't give it to him. Now we know that we can talk to him about the places he's been and the things he's seen. I don't think that will be boring."

"I want to know about her," Cheyenne responded. "Rosalita; it explains so much about him. I always felt like he wanted to hold me close at the same time he didn't want to let me in. I figured he was a guy with commitment issues. I didn't know I was competing with a ghost."

"I don't think that is it," Sierra groped for answers. "How many people love someone so much they want to spend their entire lives with them, only to have that person die feet from you and you can't do anything about it? That kind of pain isn't something you want to go through twice. As his friend said, he was having a dream and he called for you, not of Rosalita. The guy was fucking dying and his mind was clinging to you. How many girls can claim that?"

Cheyenne sighed and nodded. There was another minute of silence. A smile crossed her face as a certain level of understanding and commitment came to her.

"He has to pay for sleeping with those two women," Cheyenne announced.

"Oh, definitely; our boy went way out of bounds," Sierra agreed.

"Tanning beds and our sheerest whites?" Cheyenne suggested for preparing and wearing around the house while he was bedridden.

"How about those short silky Japanese robes he got for us. We could do a lot of bending over," Sierra added.

"Good idea," Cheyenne said appreciatively. "That should torture him ... say for a week?"

"No sex for a week will be good for him," Sierra smiled wickedly, "but keeping him hard all the time is going to be so much fun!"

(Elsewhere a week later)

Melinda Todd looked at the Lawyer. She was rich enough to get an appointment, but no so rich she didn't have to wait. Waiting on someone else was new to her.

"Mr. Richmond will see you now," the personal assistant said in a very neutral tone. Melinda got up and went in. She'd been in this office a week ago, but now her father wasn't here, just his 'friend', Mr. Richmond.

"Ms. Todd," the man said in a guarded manner.

"Mr. Richmond, I want you to do me a favor," Melinda began. "I want to talk to Taylor."

"I think that would be a mistake," Mr. Richmond told her. "I think your business is concluded."

"You do keep secrets, don't you Mr. Richmond," Melinda stated. He nodded. "We had sex."

To his credit, Mr. Richmond showed no outward reaction.

"And how is that relevant now?" Richmond said carefully.

"I ... it was special. No one has treated me the way he did," she confessed.

"I see ... the matter of him having sex with you will be handled by me. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

It took Melinda a second to register her miscommunication.

"I took him by force, Mr. Richmond. It wasn't his fault," Melinda blurted out.

"Exactly how did this happen?" Mr. Richmond countered with deep suspicion.

"I wrecked the car we were driving after he got shot. I dragged him out and I was ... kind of freaked out about the whole 'shooting' thing. I tried to have sex with him because sex calms me down. He was so banged up he thought I was his girlfriend. By the time he came to, it was too late."

"You raped my employee; is that what you are saying?" Mr. Richmond asked. Melina lowered her gaze and nodded. "I have two questions: consider your answers. What should I do about someone who abuses my employees? What is it you expect Mr. Eden to do about you?"

"I'm not sure," Melinda sighed. "I was hoping that if I could talk to him things would make sense somehow. He's the most honest man I've ever met." That made Richmond snort in amusement. "He is," Melinda insisted.

"Mr. Eden is paid to do many things, but he isn't paid for his honesty. He's civil. Don't confuse the two," Richmond clarified.

"I want to talk with him," Melinda repeated. "Oh, okay. I can do whatever you feel is fair, but I will get to see him, right?"

"We'll see," Richmond said. "Now what about the primary matter; what am I to do with you for harming one of my employees?"

"I ... I don't know. I can pay you," Melinda offered.

"Seriously Ms. Todd, I don't deal in money, I deal in secrets. I have more money than I need. See, you have threatened my livelihood. What would happen if it was learned that one of my employees had sex with a client, or a client's daughter? I'd be looking for a new line of work."

"I didn't think of it that way?"

"But it was okay to have unprotected sex with him, is that it?" Mr. Richmond sighed. "Ms. Todd, I can easily stand by and let you screw up the lives of your so-called friends because they really mean nothing in the larger scheme of things. Mr. Eden is different."

"Mr. Eden is a valuable tool because he does what he's told and he keeps his mouth shut. Like I will train my son the family business, I can count on Mr. Eden to train his replacement when the time comes. You don't buy men like Mr. Eden at the corner bodega. You raise and train them like you would an award winning thoroughbred," Richmond continued.

"You almost made me forcibly retire Mr. Eden, which would have meant exile, or a grave, depending on how culpable he was in what happened. It would have been five or six years replacing him, which would have cost me important business opportunities. Tell me, what is the dollar amount you would place on the damage you almost caused me?" Melinda had no good answer for that.

"Very well, I consider you a worthy the investment, so if you accept that I will come to you some time in the future and you will do what I or one of my agents require, I am willing to put our differences aside," Mr. Richmond told her. "I have a secondary condition as well. If Mr. Eden will not see you, this is the end of the matter. Do we understand each other?"

"Do you think he will see me?"

"Yes. Mr. Eden is an idiot, especially where women are concerned. I am not sure what you are looking for him to do."

"Mr. Richmond, he saved my life," Melinda explained. Richmond sighed.

"Mr. Todd, it is in his job description. He was told to save your life so he did."

"He took a bullet for me," she tried to make him understand. "No one has ever risked so much for me for so little reason."

"His reason was that he is a professional, Ms. Todd." He looked at her for several moments. "I'm not sure what you are expecting from him. He's a strange man. Please try to return him to me in working order and remember our agreement." Richmond stood up and ushered Melinda to the door.

"As soon as I feel Mr. Eden is better, I let him know of this conversation. I'm sure Mr. Eden will be in touch shortly after that," he said.

That hadn't gone quite the way Melinda had hoped, but she might actually see him anyway. She never felt more alive watching him fighting for her life. He'd killed three men for her, risking his life repeatedly. Melinda couldn't trust any of her other friends to stay sober enough to be the Designated Driver. Only when she got into her car did it dawn on her that Taylor might feel differently about her.