Saturday, August 20^th

Guy waited until the lights in the condo went off. It was late. The street was quiet.

Then he waited another hour. He figured the wifey would be asleep. He was looking forward to waking Miles. His face contorted into a nasty countenance as he thought of the fun he might have with the small, effeminate man.

But he was here on business. He had to keep that in mind. He would have a little fun. And he would kill the man, who he remembered as being defenseless. Then he would strip the house of money and anything valuable that he could sell.

This would be a pleasant night’s work.

It wasn’t difficult picking the lock to the condo’s entry door. He stepped inside and stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

Gradually the layout of the home presented itself to him. He saw the hallway to the right that no doubt led to the bedrooms. That was where he would find wifey. That’s where he would go first.

He laid the FN Herstal personal defense weapon on the kitchen counter. It was a powerful weapon. He wouldn’t need it to handle the wifey.

He had taken two steps toward the hallway when the beam of light focused on his chest. Guy knew what that meant. He stopped still.

“Put your hands on your head and get on your knees,” Miles ordered.

Guy’s mouth went dry. He obeyed. Quickly.

When Guy was kneeling, hands on his head, the lights in the room were switched on. Guy was stunned to see the small man he had called wifey standing in front of him. Miles was dressed in a long, pink tee shirt that came almost to his knees and pink fluffy slippers. His usual sleeping garments. His face shone with the overnight creams and oils he had applied. His usual bedtime ritual.

But it was the vicious shotgun pointed directly at him that got Guy’s attention. The would-be burglar looked over at the weapon he had laid on the counter. Could he reach it before Miles could fire?

Miles saw the movements of Guy’s eyes as he looked toward the weapon.

“Please, go for it,” Miles said, confidently. “I know you think I look ridiculous…that I’m a defenseless faggot. But I promise you I will blow you in half before you can touch that weapon. So by all means, go for it.”

Guy didn’t move.

“You were very brave when you had Darcey and me bound, unable to protect ourselves or each other, weren’t you? You were nothing but tough when my unarmed husband confronted you.”

Guy began to whimper.

“Scott was armed only with his love for me and you, you piece of filth, you killed him.”

“I didn’t do it. One of the others shot him.”

“You coward,” Miles voice raised a decibel level. “You know exactly what happened. You ordered your man to kill me. And my husband, the only man who ever treated me decently in my life, my husband threw himself in front of the bullet. He did it to save…what was it you called me? Oh, yes…his wifey. You most definitely killed Scott. And I should kill you.”

“Please don’t kill me,” Guy begged. “I’m sorry about your…your husband.”

He felt his bladder voiding itself involuntarily.

Miles saw the darkening stain spreading across the front of the man’s pants.

“You’re peeing your pants!” Miles exclaimed, as he walked into the kitchen.

The kneeling man started blubbering as he felt the urine running down his leg.

“You fool!” Miles shouted. “Back up. Get off the rug!”

It was awkward backing up on his knees but Guy was too frightened to disobey. He crawled backwards.

“You peed on my rug! My very expensive rug. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of urine out of a rug? I should kill you for that alone.”

Guy hardly felt the blow on the back of his head before the blackness overwhelmed him. He fell forward. Face down in his own urine.

Trent’s phone rang. It was almost midnight. It didn’t matter. He was suffering from another symptom of his disease. Insomnia. He had been unable to sleep for the past two nights. He was in the living room doing one of his favorite things when he couldn’t sleep. Watching an old black and white western movie.

Glancing at the ringing phone, he saw it was Christopher.

“Can you meet me at Miles’ condo?” Christopher asked. “Someone broke in.”

“Is Miles all right?” Trent asked, anxiously.

Christopher chuckled.

“I’d say Miles is as good as he’s ever been.”

Trent woke Darcey. He knew she would want to go with him.

Christopher and Nancy were already at the Capra Way condo when Trent and Darcey arrived. Uniformed officers had cuffed Guy and taken him away along with his personal defense weapon, which had been placed in an evidence bag.

Christopher had told them Miles would come to the precinct the next morning to give them his statement.

“And don’t let him change his pants!” Miles had shouted after them.

Now the five friends were alone in Miles’ home.

“Why didn’t you shoot him, Miles?” Christopher asked. “He broke into your home armed with one of the deadliest weapons on the market. You could have blown him away and probably received a commendation from the mayor.”

“I was tempted,” Miles answered honestly. He was posed dramatically in a chair, his legs crossed, the feathery tendrils of his slippers waving with each movement of his foot. He was caressing the shotgun that lay across his pink clad lap. “But I don’t want to kill anyone. Not really. I just want to make sure no one can ever harm me or the people I care about again.”

“So what did you hit him with?” Darcey wanted to know.

“Remember that cast iron skillet you and Trent gave us? Scott loved steaks cooked in that pan. And it’s very heavy.”

“You knocked him out with a frying pan?” Trent asked.

“It’s a fine pan, Trent,” Miles said. “And as Mr. Hickok said, shotgun shells cost money.”

Miles followed his friends to the door as they left. He watched them walking down the hall to the elevator.

“I’ll be back to work Monday morning, Darcey,” he said. “I’m ready now. It’s what Scott would want.”