rom sergeant Lorenzi when I file
my complaint.'

"'You'll do no such thing. You stole a car, you endangered lives, and now you
want to go sniveling to the authorities because Sony played a little rough when
they brought you in? You committed a *criminal act*, Linda. You got treated like
a criminal.'

"I wanted to smack her. I knew that this was really about not embarrassing her
in front of the Sony Family, the nosy chattery ladies with the other franchises
that Mom competed against for whuffie and bragging rights. But I'd learned
something about drawing flies with honey that afternoon. The Sergeant could have
made things very hard on me, but by giving him a little sugar, I turned it into
an almost fun afternoon.

"Mom took me home and screamed herself raw, and I played it all very contrite,
then walked over to the minimall so that I could buy some saline solution for my
eyes, which were still as red as stoplights. We never spoke of it again, and on
my sixteenth birthday, Mom gave me the keys to a Veddic Series 8, and the first
thing I did was download new firmware for the antitheft transponder that killed
it. Two months later, it was stolen. I haven't driven a Sony since."

Linda smiles and then purses her lips. "Unrehearsed enough?"

Art shakes his head. "Wow. What a story."

"Do you want to kiss me now?" Linda says, conversationally.

"I believe I do," Art says, and he does.

Linda pulls the back of his head to hers with one arm, and with the other, she
half-shrugs out of her robe. Art pulls his shirt up to his armpits, feels the
scorching softness of her chest on his, and groans. His erection grinds into her
mons through his Jockey shorts, and he groans again as she sucks his tongue into
her mouth and masticates it just shy of hard enough to hurt.

She breaks off and reaches down for the waistband of his Jockeys and his whole
body arches in anticipation.

Then his comm rings.

Again.

"Fuck!" Art says, just as Linda says, "Shit!" and they both snort a laugh. Linda
pulls his hand to her nipple again and Art shivers, sighs, and reaches for his
comm, which won't stop ringing.

"It's me," Fede says.

"Jesus, Fede. What *is it*?"

"What is it? Art, you haven't been to the office for more than four hours in a
week. It's going on noon, and you still aren't here." Fede's voice is hot and
unreasoning.

Art feels his own temper rise in response. Where the hell did Fede get off,
anyway? "So fucking *what*, Fe