Mister George was a dignified older man. He was tall and thin with a long head covered with light white hair. He had a spare white beard and kind intelligent eyes and seemed to measure his every word and action. George was rich but dressed in khakis and sweater. He was educated but didn’t talk down to people. He was thoughtful and disciplined. Jay liked him.

This is the kind of man that Dad admired and Randy fears.

Jay was dressed in some of Duty’s father’s old clothes; a flannel shirt with jeans and work boots. He sat in a nice leather chair in George’s office in an old building in Charles Town. Duty had explained that George was what rich people called an ‘investment banker’, and had retired from his work in New York to live in Charles Town and collect horses. Her father had belonged to a local civic organization that Jay could not spell or pronounce, and which George still ran. Meeting a man of status in the 21st Century filled him with fear and his stomach was consequently doing flips.

Jay had called George on Amber’s phone and had asked for a meeting on the day after Christmas. George had graciously agreed to meet on the very next day and Jay had walked into town without Duty’s knowledge while she was driving Edwin to his tutor’s house.

George had just taken his seat behind his small desk after offering Jay the guest’s chair, and folded his hands together as he spoke, “Welcome Jay. You judged correctly that I was suspicious of your intentions. In fact I have already initiated a background check on you.”

He produced a thin black binder and opened it. “Have you come here to ask something of me, or to explain yourself?”

“Sir, I came here to give you my cash, there is one-eighty here—for you to put in Edwin’s trust fund. Duty is letting me stay on in exchange for doing the outdoors chores and stable work. But that little bit of work is not worth enough to even up fer what da rent would run. I was hopin’ you could help me make up a rez-a-may. I had few on-paper jobs in da pas’ en don’ truly know how ta ged one. I got no ill-intentions on dat girl Sir, en I gonna pay my way or leave ta fine work. I’m sick a wanderin’. I undastan’ she younger den me, but she smarter den me too so I figure it evens out ta no unfair avantage.”

George smiled reluctantly and then suppressed a widening grin, as he read the contents of the binder to himself, obviously material he had already read. After paging through the three sheets of paper and thoughtfully thumbing a CD—There is actually a CD about your dumbass?—that occupied the binder while Jay waited uneasily, Gorge put down the binder and re-laced his fingers, speaking with a softer voice, “Mister Bracken, there are many things about your past, and your appearance here that I do not like. Apparently you have spent your life as an itinerant laborer, prize-fighter and nightclub bouncer. Although I do not know, I suspect there are long stretches of dubious activity. However, although your older half-brother appears to be a hardened criminal and virulent social misfit, I have found no connection between your activities and his and you have no criminal record.”

By this time Jay was getting so nervous that his stomach was twisted up in knots as he squirmed in the big easy chair. George removed his glasses and looked Jay square in the eyes. “Young man life as I see it consists of finding out what people are willing to pay for and then developing a skill to address that need. From there your word is your bond and you fulfill your contracts. Although your skills are not those I would like to see in a boyfriend of a young woman under my protection your history demonstrates a certain character—and for a young woman I suppose—a certain mystique.”

The man fixed him with a piercing gaze as Jay’s stomach churned and he began to get nauseous, like that time he had swallowed two pints of his own blood losing that decision to Gonzales in Mexico City. He had been knocked down 13 times before 20,000 screaming Mexicans, who he had always been proud of disappointing by surviving the fight.

George does not like you but is going to give you a chance anyhow. You can stop sweating it hillbilly.

“I have viewed a clip of one of your fights online—a loss apparently, although I could not stomach sitting through the bloodbath in its entirety—and you do not seem the kind of man that quits or violates a contract. I will, Mister Bracken, assist you in the development of a marketable resume, and even agree to serve as your mentor. However, you must first agree to sign the waiver I am about to set before you. This stipulates that you shall accept no cash gifts from Suzanna Nelson, and will receive no financial compensation in the way of palimony or alimony upon the dissolution of your relationship...”

He was reeling in a cold sweat as he extended his hand and shook on the contract and signed the waiver in a swimming haze of nausea. George was asking him if he was well…

He heard himself say, “Don’ touch me Sir, iz dangerous.” then crying, “This can’ be happenin’”, and telling George, “No amblince”, and then saying, “Tell Duty I didn’ jus’ wander off…”

There was a moment of clarity as his body heated up and they heard thunder rumbling above. George sat with a worried look on his face like a person watching a drug overdose in a public restroom. “Jay, are you epileptic? Does Duty know about your conditi—I will call her…”

Jay heard himself groan as George reached for the phone, “She’s da…”

This was different. He had never been this sick. Events had never been this harrowing. His wrist insert was firing up like a branding iron.

The lightning struck him, the windows burst and the thunder rushed in. Then he heard a groan echoing across the land as he elongated into nothing but information racing through a crease in the Universe.