Getting Hammared

Story notes.

Coronavirus does not exist in my universe.

Another one of my 100% standard fall and rise stories. Yes, it's too long. Yes, it's too detailed in some areas for some readers. Yes, I know several people will comment that it should have been in the Romance Category. Not a huge amount of sex and not a huge amount of surprises. New things in the Loving Wives category are rare and this is not one of them.

I hope after you read this you nod and smile thinking you enjoyed my story.

There is a POV shift which I clearly marked with *******. Hopefully you enjoy that little bit with quite a bit of relish.

Getting Hammared

Friday, November 13, 2020

Sitting there in the office of my wife's lawyer, I was thinking about how my life is just like some internet story written by a crackpot amateur author. She didn't start off with, "Honey, we need to talk", but really!? You want to spend the weekend with my shithead boss? Fuck you.

Of course today was Friday, the 13th. I mean come on! We need the most tropes possible! Let's add I lived in Rockland County. I mean all tropes need to be in the New York City area. Big mean boss; big cold city.

So how did this start? Well two weeks ago...

It was one long long week of being shit on at work. My boss, Dominic Moretti, was being an asshole all week... Well, even more than the usual. Slicked-back dark hair on a dark Italian. Commutes on an ultra customized orange Harley when it's nice outside. If it's winter, it's a Lamborghini Your Anus, er, I mean Urus... douchebagmobile; Obnoxious orange, of course. I mean shouldn't every arrogant asswipe drive an expensive pumpkin on wheels?

So... My week got to be so much fun starting on Wednesday. One of the robotic steel laser cutters that cut the stainless steel was out of commission, and somehow, my inability to get a replacement in two days meant I was a moron. Well if you hit a precision machine with a damn fork truck... yeah, they tend to break. Maybe we could demonstrate that on Dominic to see what breaks if we hit HIM with a fork truck.

Laser cutters are not items you pick up at Walgreens. I did locate a nice used one in Providence, Rhode Island at an as is/ where is sale, and it was being broken down for shipment that day. It was going to be onsite the following Wednesday and up by next Friday. Of course big Dom - ass bitched about the overtime to run three shifts to get it going. That's not actually that fucking bad when you are looking for precision machine tooling that runs around $350,000 used.

So after two and a half days of playing Dominic's pinata, I got home, slumped into a chair, nursing a Baja Blast Mountain Dew. My vice is not alcohol, it's sugar water with an overdose of caffeine. I was trying to push down various ideas involving my boss and medieval siege weapons. Launching him from a trebuchet would be very cool!

Wood creaking... air whistling... aaaaaahhhhh! SPLAT!

Good thoughts!

My wife came in and her expression... just odd... and cold.

"I'm spending the weekend with Dominic Moretti."

This is that moment when your overtired brain asks, 'What did she just say?'

I shook my head. I'm crazy, but not that crazy. Still, maybe I misheard something that seems like... well... one big bag of crazy. Dumbfounded, I asked, "Could you repeat that?"

"I'm spending the weekend with Dominic Moretti."

"And you think I won't have a problem with this?"

Now at this point, of course you are expecting her to say that it's just going to be just one time, she loves me, she'll be back on Sunday and be the best wife in the whole fucking universe... Maybe offer to be my sex slave or two blowjobs every day until I die!!!

NOPE.

She gave me a look like I was the crazy one, "Of course not. I'm not stupid. I just don't care."

Score one for crazy. Score two for cold.

You think I was going to get on my knees and beg her? Maybe ask if I could follow and sit in a chair and whack my wiener in the corner while my boss plows my slutty soon-to-be ex-wife. Maybe she could put me in a cock cage or maybe I could sit in the chair and whack off. Also NOPE.

Ya'll read too many internet stories.

"I will divorce you."

"I know."

"I'm not kidding."

She rolled her eyes, "I know."

I sat there trying to process. Sex had slowed down seven months ago and weird shit started shortly after my company Christmas party. FUCK! I really am a character in a shitty internet story. I missed all the signs RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! Damn I am a giant dumbass!

Oh fuck, right, hi, I'm Michael Talon and the walking-bag-of-shitty-tropes bitch is my cheating wife, Brittany. We met in college and married right at the end. To complete the list of cheater's handbook, she's runway-model-gorgeous, aged twenty-seven, and has a pair of double D cans that should be on the internet. Yes, all men are horny pigs and like tits. Deal with it, and there isn't a wife or girlfriend in the country that doesn't know this little fact. I just admit it.

I grew up in Prairie Landing, Iowa, a small town of ten thousand in the far southeast corner of Iowa. It was a good place to grow up in and being one of the 'almost' cool kids gave me a good time on the football team. Go Hawks!

Why did Brittany marry me? Well, yeah, she's one pay grade above me, but understand, I'm not dogshit. I'm six foot one, decent enough looking girls always flirted. Usually not the top tier gorgeous girls like Brittany, but the pretty ones gave me attention. I played the bench very well in high school football and sat at the far end at the Football player table at lunch with the kicker and the others who kept the bench nice and warm.

I met Brittany at a football team party Freshman year in college. I had a partial scholarship for football at Easton University where I warmed their bench with just as much skill as I had in high school. Division II schools, yeah, we were not Notre Dame in football rankings. They are the number twenty-five ranked college as far as academic prestige, one right ahead of Georgetown. Four thousand nine hundred students; of course you never heard of them.

Easton is private and full of rich kids... the place where a bunch of those kids whose families 'summer in the Hamptons' and look down on mere millionaires.. That senator's son who couldn't buy his way into Harvard because his GPA was 'only' 4.2... Lazy useless scum! Yep! They go to Easton. Football took care of roughly a third and the rest of the 45 thousand dollar tuition was no problem for my family. My grampa had no problem paying, my family is not poor... well... relatively. At Easton, I was the poor kid.

I double majored in Business and Mechanical Engineering. Yeah, I'm that guy that entered with the maximum allowable 32 credit hours of AP credit and two summer classes already passed at my county college. Technically, I entered college as a sophomore.

Brittany and I clicked. We became exclusive. We fucked. We fucked a lot! She was nice, rarely acting better than her lessers at stores or restaurants... Perhaps it was all just a show but this makes me wonder if I am not good enough at judging character. How did I miss... THIS!?

I met her parents. They were not all that impressed with me. I mean, my Grampa was only worth... Uh... somewhere around forty or fifty million. Most of that was his company so it wasn't just laying around some bank somewhere so you know... grandpa wasn't around naked on a bed full of benjamins.

I wasn't from her world though, you know; Hamptons and all that shit. It could have been worse, I mean I could have been a poor kid; you know, dirt poor like the son of a teacher and an electrician or something. I mean, a hundred twenty thousand per year; thank heavens I'm not some worthless fucking peasant!

Enough boring ass history for now, so... moving on...

She looked at her phone, "I have a half hour to get ready and finish packing."

The bitch is cold.

Right on cue in this story of internet level whacko, she comes down with a suitcase and a caution, "Don't wreck my things and don't change the locks."

And with that, she turned and walked right the fuck out the door. I called my backup plan. No, I do not own an attack helicopter and no, I don't know any mafia guys to beat Dominic and crush his tiny balls... though that WOULD BE FUN!

If you could find his balls without a microscope.

Anyway, it aint worth a prison sentence and even Barney Fife would figure that one out in a minute or less.

AHHH! My backup plan arrived! My pizza from Vito's arrived a half hour later while I did internet research on lawyers. It was one of the rare 'New York Thin' pizzas that did not taste like shitty 1985 mall pizza. Fresh Mozzarella melted down from those nugget sized dollops. Pepperoni from some place they would never tell me, but damn it was good. It was Friday night so good luck on talking to a lawyer. No, there was not some miracle lawyer waiting on a Friday night for my call.

I did not wreck her stuff, plan violence, or lock her out. No, there was not a secret account in the Caymans. Wanna make the judge hearing your divorce hate you and make it his mission to fuck you in the ass with a sixteen inch long five inch diameter black strap on... with nails sticking out? On fire!? Do that stuff.

My family were mere millionaires and Brittany, maiden name Fitzgerald, was the daughter of Charles Fitzgerald III, Founder and now mostly retired CEO of Burnham & Fitzgerald Pharmaceuticals... She had old money trusts. Net worth. One shitload and two fucktons. Of course there was a prenup and yes, it went both ways.

Yeah, that is how I got my job. Once they had accepted me as the inevitable peasant despoiling their precious princess, my future father-in-law leaned on Dominic. I mean, at least I wasn't some peasant son of a tradesman or teacher or other useless and worthless scum. FUCK THAT SHIT!

For those thinking that I am shitting on tradesmen and teachers. Turn your damn sarcasm detector on.

Sue me, I wanted a job. I did well and even got promoted. That was until my boss went from careful neutral arrogance to full out impression of Buddy Ackerman from Swimming With Sharks. I started as the junior production manager and worked up to Ops manager by age twenty-seven.

I am the great grandson of Harris Talon... no numbers after his name, just Harris. Founder of Talon industries which he started in a barn in 1944 after getting his left hand shot off in Italy. Old factory, massive demand for industrial and farm tractors for domestic and lend-lease. You do the math. The company took off, diversified into heavy equipment and was a good medium sized company by 1950.

He sold the Talon Heavy Equipment part of the company to Caterpillar in 1972 and kept Talon Tractors which his son, my grandfather inherited and ran. That is when they moved from the hopeless brick monstrosity of a factory to the current site. When my mom was born, part of the proceeds of the 1972 sale went in trust to my mom and that trust passed to me when my mom took a dirtnap when I was five. This is why I am not panicking. I don't think eight million is considered rich anymore, but I sure as fuck wasn't going to be living in a box.

Shit. Forgot. The other piece of this awesome trope-athon. My mom was named Donna. Donna... er... mom, was... born 1974 and drunk most of the time by 1991. She liked bad boys. Hint: Bad boys are actually... well... bad.

By some minor miracle she didn't get knocked up by some random biker until giving birth to me in 1993. NO idea who dad is. Just some random biker. By 1998, she was dead, murdered by another wonderful biker who ended up on death row in Texas for another killing. My first five years were unstable to say the least. The state of Iowa took forever to take me away from my drunken drugged up biker plaything mom. Bitter? ME!? Guess where I got my sarcasm.

I grew up in Grampa's place. He tried to get custody from the get-go, but the state dragged its feet until my mom kind of 'forced' the issue by being room temperature. Grampa owned a nice place south of Prairie Landing on a ridge overlooking the Mississippi. Grandma died two years before I was born. Semi driven by some drunk guy versus a minivan. Don't think long about who wins that contest. There was a picture of her every night at her place at the dinner table.

They were bonded in love until her death. Call me envious, but not angry that he found 'The one'.

Fuck. Why not me?

Grampa had a very nice house. Not huge, but not small either. Nice Queen Anne style home built in the 1980s. IE fake-Victorian but gorgeous. Nice turret in the corner and big front porch overlooking the Mississippi. And a damn nice place to live.

Grampa. God bless that man who turned me into who I turned into. Once at Grampa's, life turned fucking awesome! I'm a man with a degree and a future. I will recover! You want wallowing? Fuck that.

Anyway... What I did do was find the local self-storage companies and head to Home Depot for boxes. Time to box up my shit as I'm getting the fuck out as soon as I get the legal all-clear from whoever the fuck my lawyer is.

I guess one of the good things of working for an asshole is when bad things happen, you react and don't cry. Was I hurt? Duh! Sad? Duh again. I blocked it out and pushed ahead.

Monday, November 16, 2020

You didn't want a play by play of me packing shit did you? Brittany got home Sunday night, looking well fucked. We both know she was baiting me. She's still not worth prison time. Once past that initial 'I spent the weekend fucking your boss' smirk, she ignored me and I ignored her. Honestly... It kinda worked.

I arrived at work and, shock of shocks, the head of HR was there along with a walking mountain for backup. My shit from my office was already packed and in boxes. I kind of figured. I had boxes and tape in my trunk just in case.

Dominic came to the lobby smug with an extra helping of asshole. Yeah, on cue, the villain shows up to gloat about using my wife as his cum dumpster, "As you can see, your time at Moretti and Thorne Biotechnology Equipment has come to an end. Do not expect good references as we have noted your failures to maintain production."

He smirked, "Oh, and remember that non-compete portion of your employment contract? We intend to enforce it across industries and across the entire country. I have my legal team poised to enforce it to the maximum effect."

He gave a faux pity, "I hear the French Foreign Legion is hiring... or perhaps you can practice, 'Do you want fries with that?'.

His smile... his face. So punchable.

I started to walk out after politely asking Man Mountain if he could help carry my boxes. He nodded. Irony: The most human person there with me was the designated ass-kicker... or so they hoped. Honestly if you looked at him, he looked more like a giant teddy bear. Just one you don't take a swing at.

Dominic did not like me turning away, "I'm not done, you..."

I turned back and held up my hand, "Are you going to fire me twice?"

He spluttered, "You..."

"Got it. Fired. You're a movie villain, but I have things to do and I need to go."

He spluttered again, "I'm not done!"

I walked away mid sentence. Man Mountain thought it was funny and we put the boxes in my back seat. Once done, he stuck his hand out to shake, "I'm James. Thanks for making my job easy."

I shrugged, "I'm not into kamikaze missions. Just how tall are you!?"

James laughed then paused. He had a brain as big as his size, "Six foot six. College football story and a wrecked knee. I went from dreaming of the NFL to a security guy no one wants to mess with." He paused for a second wanting to be careful then just said it, "He fucked your wife or something."

I nodded my head ruefully at how sharp he was as he explained, "He implied it when he was talking to the HR guy. They laughed. Fuck, I hate working for assholes."

I half smiled at him, I get it, "Gotta pay the bills."

He nodded, "Have a two year old and a wife that hugs me like a returning war hero every night."

Yeah, I was jealous, "You are richer than you realize."

He smiled then walked back toward the building.

I had no idea who to call for a lawyer. Dominic isn't dumb... well telling me his strategy WAS dumb, but that was more of a case of arrogance and ego overcoming intelligence. I went to the library to research just in case Brittany had played games and was spying on my phone. Mental note: Get a burner phone for now.

I knew Dominic's usual law firm was Edward Cheatham Associates; yes really, Cheatham. No, not Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe. Being part of the true elite does not mean what it used to, no need to be WASP. Italian Catholics were considered acceptable now. Irony: In 1920... it WASN'T!

Mostly Dominic won. Lots of lawsuits. Moretti was a giant dick who won most of the time through burying his opponents in court costs.

Brittany was now with a man of proper station for a Fitzgerald. Money talks and everything else walks and Greasebag Guido Italian is perfectly permissible as long as there are enough digits in his bank account. Dominic was elite so none other than Edward Cheatham was going to be his lawyer. I figured to research who actually beat Edward in court cases.

Five hours of frustration later, no one consistently beat Edward Cheatham. You want a miracle here? It ain't here. Yes, we know most of his blathering over a non-compete was mostly bullshit. The problem is they could drain me legally for-fucking-ever in a drawn out courtroom hell.

Several firms were clear peers, but there was no magic antidote here. I would have to head back out to the library tomorrow to look into those peers. This shit takes too much damn time.

Things were cold in the house. It took me a week to pack completely, making sure I did not leave the bitch any of my stuff. Unsure of my future, but not poor, I signed a lease on a one bedroom place in Upper Nyack with a nice view of a city park.

You can hire moving help at the U-Haul site and unlike the thoughtless fuckwads at most in-city moving companies, they live and die by their star ratings and actually try to be useful.

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

I'll boil the day down for you. Three were clear peers to Cheatham. Andrew North and Associates, Bartholomew Berthold Partners and the odd one, Romy Levinson. No associates or partners though it was clear she had staff.

Andrew North did not even return my call. Most of his clients had nine or more digits in their net worth. My mere seven digits was play money and I was an unworthy peasant. Even the admin who answered the phone sounded like a stuck up twat.

I scheduled a half hour 'free' consultation with one of the associate lawyers at Berthold and a half hour with Romy herself. Small problem: Nobody wants to do anything during Thanksgiving so getting things actually done... Yeah right.

Friday, November 20, 2020

One of those moments of stark clear memory... I was in the office of our too large Montebello, New York Mcmansion. Montebello, New York, street after street of Mcmansions. The final pickup of the last of my items. Brittany wasn't home. Probably with Dominic drinking his cum for dessert.

My life packed away in a U-Haul truck. That last moment in the one room that had been mine. I know the house was 'ours', but that one room was the one that looked like me.

I left my keys on the kitchen island counter and walked out that door for the last time.

Thursday, November 26, 2020

Ya know what sucks? Thanksgiving alone sucks. It's not news that Thanksgiving alone in a one-bedroom apartment is kind of depressing. I'll spare you the play by play. As usual, Detroit lost their Thanksgiving day game. Dallas got killed in a game I barely paid attention to. Divorcing big money can be distracting.

High end sauces like Carbone and Rao really do make better alfredo sauce so my Chicken Alfredo was quite excellent. No, I did not want turkey.

Monday, November 30, 2020

I still had not had my first talks with either of my prospects for my legal representation when I opened the garage door, a car drove up and across my driveway as I backed out. A huge and I mean giant guy, kind of looked Samoan of all things, knocked on my window. No he did not punch my window. He showed me the infamous yellow envelope and gave me the look of, 'just open the damn window and take the envelope and don't make me smash your window to do it.'

I was holding the envelope when I posed for the picture of being served. I wonder if anyone noticed only my middle finger was in front of the envelope with the rest of the fingers behind. Fun news, they were going to argue I had comingled my inheritance so it was a marital asset. Of course, her trusts had never been tarnished.

FUUUUUUCK!

Tuesday, Dec 1, 2020

My morning was at Berthold. I got a junior associate, that was bad. She was smart as fuck and scrupulous about taking down all the details and asking pertinent questions. That was good. She pointed out they would only handle the non-compete parts and the divorce itself would have to be handled by a separate legal team. She would get back to me after consulting a senior lawyer about the probabilities.

Lunch was at The Burger Loft. Fucking excellent and nice inside. I played a bit of Sudoku while waiting to leave for my appointment with Romy Levinson.

Romy Levinson's office was a four person office. Romy handled the harder part of the cases. The boilerplate went to her junior associate, Sandra Clarke, one paralegal and one receptionist. The office was kind of high end, not some TV trope low end 60 year old desk in a dingy neon lit shithole.

Romy. Let's be direct and not PC. Butch lesbian with spiky brown hair, a gravelly voice and a picture of her wife on her desk. I told her the details and provided documentation. She nodded and said, "I think I can get this modified." Note she did not say win. Just modified. She told me she would also only handle the corporate end and non-compete. I would need a separate divorce lawyer and... hey I get a trope in my favor, her wife, Naomi Gold, had her own family law practice across the hall.

Out one set of doors and into the other, another four person office. The trope ends there. Naomi was also very butch; no lipstick lesbian here. I got better news. She looked at the prenup and shrugged, "No judge is going to mess with the prenup that says what is yours is yours, especially when she has more than one hundred times your assets. I actually hope they try so I can shred them. Comingling... even one small mistake when she is worth a hundred times what you have. The judges here are not morons." Her look was absolutely feral. That look of 'Oh please, fuck with me.'

Winner winner STEAK dinner!

Twenty thousand dollars later, JUST to start... FUCK, that's a lot! I had a legal team.

Tuesday, January 5, 2021

Ya know what does not happen over the Christmas Holiday season? Legal shit. Five thousand dollars more and this was the first hearing on the divorce.

The bailiff called, "All rise. Rockland County Judge Letitia Washington presiding."

Letitia, a large black woman who resembled Judy from 'Everybody Loves Raymond', sat down at her bench and reread the petition, "Brittany Talon Plaintiff versus Michael Talon. Complaint for Dissolution of Marriage. Grounds: Irreconcilable Differences. Date of Separation: November twentieth, two thousand twenty."

The usual boilerplate. No one was fighting to save the marriage. There were a few pointed questions about why Brittany was seeking to claim my inheritance had been commingled. Judge Washington was carefully neutral. Back and forth, back and forth. Why are Brittany's lawyers asking the same questions with slight variations!?

And that was it. Things would be continued until some time in early February.

Lots of NOTHING! Lots of EXPENSIVE nothing! Brittany and Dickface Dominic's team kept asking for delays, but they were careful in not asking for egregious changes.

Naomi looked disappointed. Kind of like a piranha that was two seconds too slow as a Capybara walked out of the Amazon River JUST in time.

Thursday, February 4, 2021

The bailiff called, "All rise. Rockland County Judge Letitia Washington presiding."

Letitia sat down at her bench and reread the petition, "Brittany Talon Plaintiff versus Michael Talon. Complaint for Dissolution of Marriage. Grounds: Irreconcilable Differences. Date of Separation: November twentieth, two thousand twenty."

Things went back and forth. Brittany's team brought up a point. Naomi shot it down. Point two. Shot down. Point three...

Judge Washington cracked first of all things, looking at Brittany's team, "Just stop. You're fishing and you keep missing. My patience is wearing thin. Do you have ANYTHING that a junior associate couldn't shoot down?"

"Do I need to start handing out sanctions for wasting this court's time?"

They asked for a ten minute recess and came back...

They stopped and it was a draw. Thirty thousand dollars later. It was a draw. I kept mine. She kept hers. Alimony does not go to women with nine digit net worth figures. No kids. Divorce effective on April first. I'm an April fool.

I had dinner celebrating the 'win' with two butch lesbians. No, sicko, they did not invite me home for a threesome. You DO read too much internet bullshit.

Thursday March 18, 2021

The first hearing on the non-compete portion of my employment contract. Having failed the whole 'let's make Michael live in a refrigerator box' angle, Dominic went full dickface, delaying all he could until someone in the courthouse told them to stop playing games

Deju Vu all over again.

The bailiff called, "All rise. Rockland County Judge Harrison Harris presiding."

Harrison Harris!? Damn his parents were mean. First using a surname as a forename then making it damn near the same? I bet he got his ass kicked in school a bunch. Weird thought, I know, and no, I did not bring it up.

Judge Harris sat down at his bench and reread the petition, "Moretti and Thorne Biotechnology Equipment versus Michael Talon. Complaint for enforcing a non-compete portion of an employment contract."

The usual boilerplate early stuff. Here is the contract. I'll give credit, vague on enough terms to allow a hostile judge to let Dominic fuck me in the ass with a sixteen inch strapon with nails and NO lube. No real arguments on that part.

The net result was lots of nothing and of course, they needed time to react. You see the game they are playing right? Bleed me dry as I was twenty-five thousand dollars down and just went through a court day of pretty much nothing. Actually bleeding me dry would take years. Years in court? FUCK I DON'T WANT THAT.

Monday, May 17, 2021

Honest to fucking pete. Our April court date was delayed. Late in March, Judge Harris wanted to do some spring skiing in Colorado and did his kamikaze imitation of skiing into a tree. No shock, the tree won.

They wheeled our wannabe kamikaze pilot into the courtroom and with help he was transferred to his bench. One leg in a big cast with a stick thingy holding it in place against the top of the cast which covered his pelvis. Damn I hope he is by some miracle wearing underwear. If that robe gaps open and his pecker shows, we are all going to need counseling for the most severe PTSD ever.

Taking a shit with that pelvis cast must be a ton of fun.

Adding to our haute couture ensemble of fashion was a big ass neck brace making him look like a black robed snapping turtle. This was good news for exactly no one

The bailiff called, "All rise, Rockland County Judge Harrison Harris presiding."

I'll have to thank the tree. Dominic's delaying games were not playing well and the judge was not in a good mood. There were good questions and bad. Judge Harris looked to be losing patience with the bad. They asked for a two month delay for some bullshit thing. Judge Harris looked at them darkly and told them they had two weeks.

Friday, June 4, 2021.

Fuck me in the ass. Ya know what was exactly two weeks later was? Memorial Day. ya know what doesn't happen on Memorial Day? Court shit. It was damn near three weeks.

They wheeled in the judge. The neck brace was gone. Damn, I was going to make another turtle joke here.

Back and forth. Back and forth

They asked for a month's delay.

WRONG ANSWER.

If looks could kill, Dominic's lawyers ANCESTORS would be dead.

He roared "You're fishing and I'm not biting. We finish this on MONDAY! No excuses!"

Monday, June 7, 2021

They wheeled in our judge and after the usual bailiff stuff he said, "Work it out. We are going into my chambers to work this out."

Is this even legal? Fuck if I know. I wasn't going to argue with a judge deciding my fate.

I saw the real reason. His chambers had a special chair in it for his pelvis cast. Sitting in it instead of the normal seat at his bench made him an almost happy camper. They wheeled him over and sat him down. He looked relieved.

He looked at all of us sharply. "Fix it!"

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

"We will take a ten minute recess to.."

I looked at my phone after it chimed, 'Southeast Iowa Regional Medical Center' I gasped.

Judge Harris looked at me sourly, "This better be VERY DAMN GOOD."

I nodded, stunned, "I promise."

He nodded, probably seeing I looked like I got whacked with the same tree he did.

They wheeled him out, probably to take an oh so fun, shit as I listened to the voicemail, "This is Susan Blake, nurse at Southeast Iowa Regional Medical Center in Burlington, Iowa. Your grandfather has had a serious heart attack. I can be reached at...'

When it rains, it fucking pours. I needed to get going and fast.

They wheeled in the judge who really did look relieved like he had taken a giant shit. He glared at me, "It better be good."

I nodded and slid my phone across the table. The cool thing about current voicemail is it does transcriptions. He read it, looked at me and nodded. I said, "I really have to get going. My grampa is in a hospital and I'm headed to Iowa."

Judge Harris really was a human. He looked at us sharply, "The contract is overly broad, BUT, Michael, you were effectively upper management and thus it is valid. One year of enforcing the non competition portion. Biomedical machinery companies only. Nationwide."

"Agreed?"

I nodded. He looked sharply at Dominic's team, "AGREED!?"

They looked at Dominic who scowled. He really did want this to go on for years.

Judge Harris roared, "AGREED!?"

I swear judge Harris was about to bust out of his cast to beat Dominic to death with his cast stick thingy when Dominic nodded, looking at me sourly.

Months and months... and fifty thousand dollars to get another draw. I could not work for one of his competitors, but that was a narrow field.

Judge Harris looked at me with surprising humanity at that point, "Family is everything. Go to your grandfather, son."

Romy promised to get the paperwork done and we would meet as soon as I could arrange to get to Iowa... and back. No matter what you do, getting to Southeast Iowa is not quick... EVER.

My flight took off on time at noon. Yes, really, the plane actually took off on time out of LaGuardia. We landed at Des Moines at three; you gain an hour going to Iowa. Driving through Iowa. People laugh at us Hawkeyes. Dumb hicks from flyover country. Honestly, the people are nicer. Just... more down to earth. The girl at Enterprise Rent-a-Car was very nice and even smiled at me. Iowa is not actually flat. Gently rolling hills... Field, forest, field, forest. It's not all fields. I got to Grampa's room at ten after six that evening.

Two doctors, two nurses, a whole bunch of beeping machines, and some guy in a suit. Fuck this is NOT good. The heart beeping thing was not making normal noises like you hear in the movies.

He looked so frail... and scared, I greeted him as gently as I could, "Grampa?"

"MICHAEL!"

"Grampa?"

"Michael. Promise me you will fix it. Please. Promise me!"

"What Grampa? Fix what?"

His mind was racing and quite frankly, he was a mess, "Talon is dying. Fix it! Please. Our legacy. I messed up so badly! It's all my fault!!!"

"Our name? You wrecked our name?"

"Not our name! Talon is dying. Promise me! If Talon goes, it all goes. PROMISE ME!"

He was crying and begging.

"What Grampa? What do I need to fix?"

The beeping sound... yeah it got worse.

He was begging, "PLEASE!"

"Okay Grampa. I promise. What am I fixing?"

He sighed. Relief? The sounds went crazy then the tone just went flat.

They had a crash cart ready, but everyone knew... Damn that hurt.

I looked around, helpless. I figured the suit guy knew the details so I asked, "What am I fixing?"

The man in a suit shook his head, "Son. He meant Talon Tractor is dying. He summoned me... He was kind of okay an hour ago. He had some kind of meeting today, with whom, I do not know. Stress was killing him. If he wasn't a friend I wouldn't be here after six in the evening, I'm Sol Rosenberg, his counsel."

It was all too much to take in at once, "What?"

He handed me papers. Upon Grampa's passing, I was the sole owner of Talon Tractors. Yes, probate would take longer, but I was the executor and there were documents naming me as having all managerial power. As the sole heir, it was a done deal.

Is every male Jewish Lawyer named Sol Rosenberg?

Tuesday June 8, 2021

Once back in New York, I sat at the kitchen table and began to process the small pile of papers in front of me.

I was mostly a production guy, and the business half of my double degree included three semesters of accounting. Talon Tractor was going to crash and crash hard. Rough numbers: By some miracle, there was ten million in working capital left but the company was losing 1.4 million a month. If I hadn't made a vow to the man who rescued me... who made me the man I am, I would have run away fast. It was bad enough to stress my grandfather to the point... you get the idea.

How the fuck do I fix something that is going to crash and burn hard in just over seven months?

I have no idea. It's just numbers with no fucking context. The factory is not some ancient brick monstrosity. When Caterpillar bought the heavy equipment end, they insisted they kept the ancient brick monstrosity of a factory, and that turned out to be a huge blessing. The site that Talon Tractor moved to was... I think around a half a million square feet. One of those metal rectangular boxes they made in the early 1970s, not some hopeless brick maze from 1920.

Caterpillar kept that building until they moved the whole works to some place near Peoria in the mid eighties. By 1990 all that was left of the original building were the cement foundations along the shores of the Mississippi River. That hurt my hometown pretty badly, but we came back thanks to my grampa and Talon Tractor. A 'lucky' tornado killed no one but took out the northern quarter of the town. People moved to the remaining parts, and oddly, it worked in an ironically tragic sense of the word. The empty homes got filled by those remaining.

SHIT! Prairie Landing was not going to dodge this second bullet if it came.

I started making plans to move to Iowa, arranging for a car transporter to pick up my Lexus GS350 on Thursday and rented a car to fill the gap. Yes, a Lexus. Toyota makes a damn nice luxury car and as a bonus, the dashboard doesn't look like a Christmas Tree after a hundred thousand miles. Beemers are the ultimate driving machine... that lives at the dealer service center after seven years. Mine had a buck twenty on the odometer and drove like the day I bought it.

Moving from state to state takes time, having to pack more carefully and quite frankly, cull and sell carefully.

The following weekend was a fly in Friday night- fly out on Sunday morning early. Grandpa's funeral. Two hundred attended, some out of respect and some out of gratitude. Charlie Wilkinson spoke at the funeral about how Grampa helped him and his family after a house fire. Grandpa was a beloved pillar of the town.

Friday, June 25, 2021

Upper Nyack. Part endless suburban NYC hell... and not. Older homes in some areas, new mini mansions in others. Sometimes a nice place though... people are cold. People had their circles of friends. Pretty... gorgeous even... trees... some streets overlooking the Hudson. Some towns nearby were not so nice.

And in my rear view mirror as I passed through Nyack then onto I-287. Near New Jersey, it changes. People land in Newark and think New Jersey all looks like the airport. Nope. I-287 is a boundary from suburbia to... trees. Well mostly. It's hilly too, not what most people think.

Trees-suburbia-trees-suburbia... and hilly. I-80 West. Trees-suburbia-trees-suburbia... and hilly... fifteen miles onto I-80... mostly trees and hills. It stays that way through Pennsylvania and well into Ohio. You hit the Cleveland- Akron area to change to suburbia but on the other side... trees and farms. The true midwest begins.

I did a lot of thinking, and the bitterness had faded. If Brittany did not want me... Imagine just how much harder the divorce would have been with kids. I knew it could work. The dynamic was odd to me, but Romy and Naomi were very hard women... until their eyes met. Grampa damn near worshipped the ground my grandma had walked on. Her picture on the dinner table. Her loss faded, but the scar remained.

Why can't I have had that?

Saturday, June 26, 2021

After a night at a Holiday Inn Express near South Bend, Indiana, I continued my journey west. Chicago's endless suburbia faded back into farms and forests. It takes a while to get places driving a truck versus a car. I-80 and onto I-280... across the bridge from Illinois into Iowa.

A new chapter begins. Iowa.

HOME! The midwest... comforting. Boring to people from the coasts. For me... comfort.

I stopped at a place called The Machine Shed. The pork tenderloin sandwich was amazing... and... home.

Sunday, June 27, 2021

I know, I know, you are all laughing at this born and bred Hawkeye. Flyover country and all that... we all fuck sheep and want to swim in the cement pond. Perhaps it's just an unchangeable fact that most from either region cannot understand the other.

There's a Super 8 in Fort Madison, about twelve miles from Prairie Landing. Yes, a Super Eight is fine, I'm not an arrogant dick. Sol met me that morning, handing me the keys to Grampa's place... and brought out a dog. Yep, Grampa's dog and yes, Sol took good care of him until he could hand Silo over to me. This one was a three year old Golden Retriever named Silo. Silo was the replacement for Plow, the dog he had during my high school years. Plow was the replacement for Tiller who helped fill my childhood. Before Tiller... I THINK, was named Tractor.

You can't go wrong with happiness on four legs. Goldies are awesome... and certainly more loyal than my ex.

Walking into the house. Picture perfect. He had it built in the mid 1980's. Queen Anne but modern built on a stunning one hundred twelve acre piece on a short hill overlooking the Mississippi. He would sit out on that porch, that photo of his beloved wife always at his side as he drank his Mountain Dew. He had healed, mostly, but always that faded scar of his wife's death shone in his eyes.

Still, Grandpa's ghosts. The mail sitting unopened on the table. The Mountain Dew 24 pack in the corner. Where else did you think I got my great taste?

Grampa was gone... I sat heavily on his... my couch. Silo looked at me. He knew. He whimpered a bit then dragged his bed over next to the couch and plopped down looking at me with those eyes. He knew. I patted the couch next to me. Silo knew, hopped up and did the dog head on lap thing. Goldies are the best.

It hit me again. The enormity of it. If I fail, Talon Tractor fails... if Talon Fails, Prairie Landing withers away. A whole fucking town dies if I fuck up. THAT is what Grampa meant. It's more than me... than the Talon Family... than Talon Tractor... If I fail, my hometown dies.

Suddenly, Brittany seemed like a tiny dot of shadow compared to the a wall of darkness approaching to kill my hometown in just seven months.

FUUUUUCK!

No rest for the weary. It was barely ten in the morning and I had four helpers arriving to help me at half past ten. I opened the truck. One life in one twenty-six foot U-Haul and one POD that would arrive on Saturday. I had left most of the furniture in New York. Brittany had chosen most of it. I know... duh. Women do that and hell, I accepted it.

As long as it was not pink floral everything, I was fine. Even though I was effectively a bachelor, I was not going to go all black leather furniture and a picture of Dogs Playing Poker on the walls. The pictures... It was then I noticed them. Lots of them. You never really look at them. Photos. Lots of Grampa and Gramma. Lots of them with my mom... though I noticed very few after she was say... around age fifteen.

It got me wondering how my mom turned into... the dark lost soul she became.

There were also a lot of pictures of me and Grampa. He took me places and taught me things. Because my mom had me at nineteen, he got custody of me in his late forties, not too old. Because of him, I did not turn out to be... mom.

The place was kind of empty in some rooms. I remember talking to him about some employee's house burning down, so he gave them a bedroom set. That story from the funeral makes sense now, doesn't it?

Tragedies happened a few times with differing needs and kind of worked to empty the house without making it into an empty tomb. I did not have a lot of furniture, but it would all fit in the house. Grampa's bedroom set, yeah, into a secondary bedroom. Sleeping in the same bed Grampa banged Gramma... EWW. I had a nice queen bedroom set from one of the four unused bedrooms of our oversized Greater New York City Mcmansion.

I drove into town. It hit me hard again because... Prairie Landing WAS alive. Despite all of the losses, the people kept it alive. There were only two empty storefronts and no abandoned buildings. A few of the fewer smaller two story store fronts were obviously now artist lofts... Studio on ground floor, live on the second and it kinda worked. A couple lawyers offices, yes Sol was one of them. A couple women's shoe stores. Why do women need 96830 pairs of shoes? I know, shut up Michael.

A couple Cell phone stores since the world will implode if the percentage of businesses that do cell phones falls below ten percent. Dunkin Donuts. I'm pretty sure there's a secret law somewhere that says it is illegal to drive more than eight miles on a busy road and not pass a Dunkin. A coffee place, no not Starbucks. Prairie Landing were heretics on that one. The hardware store, no town can be complete without one of those. Ours was also a lumber yard and equipment rental place.

Arbys. Roast beef sandwiches. One of the four basic food groups!

McDonalds. Papa Johns. Blah blah. Shut up Michael.

I stopped at Maid-Rite for dinner. An institution in Iowa. Their loose meat sandwich. Hawkeye legend. Bring a bottle of A1 as Maid-Rite does not carry it... Damn that was good eating.

The emotional weight of... this all dies... if I fail... my hometown dies.

I can't fail or ALL OF IT DIES.

Monday, June 28, 2021

I drove up to Talon at seven; starting time. Most were in. Some filing in late. Pro tip: Don't do that when a new boss is arriving in town.

The receptionist was at her place. Good start. The name plate sitting on the counter said Emily. She sounded courteous as she answered the phone including her name. Pretty young woman in her early twenties or so, shoulder-length dark brown hair, nice smile to greet visitors. Midwest pretty girl-next-door. Score one for Emily. Yeah, I like the whole you can get to a human by entering zero thing.

I smiled, she greeted me with a good old-fashioned Hawkeye smile. Score two for Emily. Mental note, get her a raise, even if it's just a quarter an hour... maybe a dollar? Fuck, I have no idea what anyone is being paid.

"I'm Michael Talon."

That Hawkeye smile disappeared to a distinct nervousness. She was still courteous and came around her desk to unlock the door. What the fuck? No card swipey thing. Sigh. Mental note two; get card swipey things for the doors.

I looked at her, reading that fear she was actively trying to hide from me, "I'm not a monster."

She smiled... kind of, and admitted, "We hear things... are not so good. Are you here to shut us down?"

Emily is a bright girl, the kind we need. New mental note, a dollar an hour for Emily.

I wasn't going to start with a lie, "I'm going to try to prevent that."

She paused, hearing what I said and didn't say, then nodded, "John's office... er yours is down the hall on the left."

"John?"

"Uh Mr. Talon. Your grandfather preferred his given name."

"Call me Michael, Emily, I really am not a monster."

Right outside Grampa's office is Ruth's office. Ruth was his secretary. Not admin. Fuck modern titles. Calling her admin is an invitation to being killed in the worst medieval way possible. She was a couple hundred million years old, secretary to the president and she was damn proud of it. Ruth fought dinosaurs as a girl and one hundred percent kicked their scaly asses. Piercing blue eyes that saw everything at once.

She nodded politely, "Michael". She knew me as a kid and I would always be Michael to her. I was good with it. Grampa's office, yeah lots of ghosts there.

I smiled and offered a handshake, "Hello, Ruth."

She rolled her eyes, got up, then gave me no choice about the hug. Surprisingly strong for someone in her seventies... Maybe not. She really did kill dinosaurs.

I needed a feel for the floor before word got out so I walked out of my office and onto the floor. Time to see what really goes on without warning everyone to be good little boys and girls. First impression: Where are the fucking computer controlled anything? Second impression: most worked hard with some notable exceptions. Third impression: The layout made sense... in the 1975 sense of the word. SAW CUTTING STEEL SHEET!? Where are the fucking plasma cutters? Lasers!???

ARGGHHHH! FUUUUCK!

It was all too painful to see on my first quick watch so I went back to my office. Fuck me! There isn't a damn computer in my damn office. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Why was Talon losing money? This is not a very hard fucking question now, is it?

I walked out of my office to talk to Ruth and she laughed and told me to call her from my desk phone.

Sigh. I am not Milburn Drysdale and she is not Jane Hathaway. I decided against explaining things in Beverly Hillbillies terms. Don't understand it? Grandpa lived on Antenna TV. You have enough to look it up if you care.

Looking at Ruth, an ancient face giving no clues to what she was thinking, "Uh. I have two feet and the whole 1970s vibe is already getting to me. Am I correct in that I don't even have a computer?"

I'll shorten this to no, Grandpa hated computers. I didn't have a computer and our network consisted of something from around 1990. The web page sucked donkey dick.

FUUCK!

So many things are so wrong. SO SO WRONG! I pulled up the notes app on my phone and decided to start making a list and headed to the floor again.

I walked around the floor looking to see who and who did not have computers on the floor. Well, the plant manager did. He was yelling at the maintenance manager for being out of one kind of lubricant. The maintenance manager did not have a computer. You get the idea. Pro tip 3... I think: Some random guy you never met is standing aside on the production floor as you yell at a lower level manager. Don't greet that person with, "What the fuck do you want and who the fuck are you?"

Pro tip 4: Being toxic is bad. When said random person asks the yelled at person why he did not know why we were out of said lubricant, his answer is he did not know we were out. Now we take this one step further. When said random guy on the floor asks if the maintenance manager has a computer to track this kind of random shit... Well, you need to have a good explanation. High level managers thinking lower level managers need to get their info from him. Power trips are hazardous to profits.

Pro tip 5: Copy boxes are in the copier room to take your shit home. Let's all give a round of applause to Bill Cowell for most creative career suicide as he walks out the door.

If you haven't figured it out, I hate bullies and I hate people passing the buck when the core issue is their damn fault. Even a supervisor should have access to a fucking computer.

Funny fact: I saw more than one smile as Bill the former plant manager scowled at me as he walked out the door.

Whoda thunkit?

My first big act was firing someone. AND PEOPLE LOVED IT! Shit! Maybe I am a monster.

So the maintenance man's name was Hank, yes really, no not Hank Hill. No, he was not wearing overalls. This isn't Hee Haw; look it up if you care. I told him to hightail his ass to Staples in Burlington and buy a dozen of a certain laptop they had in stock. Use the company credit card... You guessed it. What company credit card? I used Bill's no longer needed computer to head to the internet and put them on my credit card and sent Hank for a drive.

No, I am not delusional enough to think I will have a complete network in a week, but I was hoping for connectivity for the office area by the end of next week. At least get people onto the fucking internet so they can order basic shit. There was nothing and I mean nothing connecting anything. Accounting had computers. One was a fucking green screen.

No enterprise software? Of course not!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK DAMN! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

I chose Microsoft Dynamics. Yes, just a snap decision. SAP is aimed at people who laugh at companies like Talon and Quickbooks ain't big enough. I needed canned software and I needed it now... well not now, now, but soon now. Bonus is most people know how to use Excel and Word and they are integrated with MS Dynamics. Yes, I know Bill Gates eats babies, tortures puppies, and worships Satan. Yes, I am still going with the obvious easy solution I have zero more time to think about.

Blah blah computer porn blah. I blew sixty grand that day on top of the computers. A basic network, nothing all that great. The owner of Burlington IT Systems; a two man shop, near shit a brick when I asked how much; he shit out a number and I gave him a credit card number. His kids' upcoming Christmas just got a bit nicer, methinks!

HEY! Now I'm fucking Santa Claus!

There are only around fifty of us who are going to need daily access and only twenty would be heavy users. Supervisors need access from time to time. The only bright spot was oddly, we had pretty decent internet coming into the building. It just wasn't used much.

I asked for personnel and payroll records. Tomorrow, I will play Grinch.

Tuesday, June 29, 2021

It's not fun firing people. Even losers and assholes. Well... Firing Bill WAS kinda fun. Bullies need to be bullied back. It wasn't even hard to find sixty plus with unbelievably shitty work histories that they deserve it. Still. Not fun. You literally don't show one day a fucking week every damn week? You fired yourself.

I came in and dropped a list, "I need to see these people. How do I do that?"

Emily is one smart young woman, "Oh." Her shoulder slumped.

She looked at the list, fifty-two of the sixty-two were people on the production floor. As she scanned she very... almost too quietly said, "Jerry Halstead's daughter has heart issues."

I shrugged at her, "Explain please."

She was so timid, but finally Emily said, "Jerry Halstead. His daughter has heart issues. Bad ones. He isn't slacking. He's taking care of his little girl."

I looked straight into her eyes then looked at the paper and crossed off Jerry.

She got braver.

"Hannah Gerringer has some form of Leukemia. Not sure what, but she has bad days."

I crossed Hannah off then looked at Emily; time to show her that true power can flow downhill in a big way, "You get six more. Use them wisely. Write your reason next to their name."

I had to piss, I really did. I went to my office to ask Ruth to be ready to further review my list. Good catch by Emily. I never woulda known about the two she mentioned. That is my fault.

SEE! Taking the blame won't make your dick fall off.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily was doing her thing with her Hawkeye smile. Interesting. I gave her eight more. She only used four and each reason... I could not argue with. I noticed an engagement ring. Down-to-earth smart pretty women seem to be all taken. Whoever he is, he's a lucky bastard.

Fuck I'm jealous.

I dropped the list on Ruth's desk. She confirmed all of Emily's list then added four more. Turns out, Emily was making twelve dollars fifty cents an hour. I told Ruth to get with accounting and get her bumped to fifteen dollars an hour. Ruth actually smiled. I officially felt sorry for all the dinosaurs whose asses she kicked. Ruth is a force to be reckoned with. HR. Yeah we didn't have one of those. Accounting did that.

REALLY!?

Time to fire fifty odd useless people. Yay for monster me, but twenty percent absenteeism without a reason. Nope. Not fun, but I brought them in one by one, doing it myself and stating why. I wasn't going to fight the unemployment claims as I would end up fighting all of them and plus what I had to do after this first fifty plus. I got some dark looks, but some almost smiled when I told them to just file and I wasn't going to fight them on it.

Yes. FIRST fifty plus. These were the slam dunks. I needed a hundred more. I had a plan and no, it wasn't going to be fun.

Talon used to be a two shift operation. Sales had declined by roughly forty percent over the past twenty-five years, though the decline was a couple percent total in the past five years and things seemed to have bottomed out. People still bought our tractors as backups when their John Deere refused to work until they called a tech or just wanted to not mess with their super complicated and much more expensive tractors.

At half past twelve I stood on the top landing of the former Plant Manager's office and gave the entire floor the good news. There was already a lot of grumbling about the fifty odd that had been let go. I was sorry not sorry, but not showing up one day every damn week was not going to fly anymore. That killed about half the grumbling when I mentioned that someone not showing means someone else has to cover.

"So the crux of this is that Talon has seven months before it crashes hard and takes the town with it. I'm not going to bullshit you and say it's an easy fix. Even after the first fifty or so, we have nine hundred fifty people left even after the first fifty obvious dismissals and we need to get down to eight hundred fifty and fast. The production floor is a mess. People do things twice and other things not at all. I'm going to make this YOUR choice. I need one hundred volunteers to leave, for which I will pay you ten thousand dollars by bank check effective your last day. The hook is, if you leave voluntarily, you not only get the money, you get to PICK one person who will be the LAST person laid off."

I won't bore you with all the details I laid out. You get the idea. They had until the Friday of the following week to come up with a hundred or I would make more painful decisions. I got five almost immediately. Women wanting to start families whose husbands also worked for Talon. It was a slam dunk for them. They were keeping their husband's health insurance and had just made their husbands the last ones out the door. By the end of the day, I had twenty- one volunteers. Some people just wanted to head to more exciting places and ten grand to do it was an effective lure.

Hank came back shortly after the meeting ended, backing his pickup up to one of the drive-in bays. Twelve computers and not nearly enough network outlets. Wifi? Yeah right.

Sigh.

Friday, July 2, 2021

I closed the factory at two for the July Fourth Weekend. We had all been through hell and Monday was the official holiday since the fourth fell on Sunday. Delays, delays, delays. The only thing that happened fast was the IT guys at Burlington had come on site starting Wednesday, at first with just a basic 48 port switch and a firewall. I had Hank on one of them entering the maintenance supplies using a simple Excel spreadsheet and we would use the data import wizard later. Emily made the spreadsheet and Hank was good enough at it to go through his maintenance areas with his laptop and put in the items he used.

I swear I saw him kind of smiling. Making people's work lives less worse can easily pay for itself.

Emily. Pretty, smart, loyal. Why are all the good ones taken? I know don't get laid where you get paid and also. I'm NOT going to be THAT guy. We already have one too many seducing rich lotharios in my story and I'm still not a monster.

I had dinner with Silo then drove to Horton Park on the riverfront for some play time for Silo. The last time I was here... summer during college? Playing with Plow. Here I am, nearly a decade later playing with my dog as a train trundles by on the tracks that hug this bank of the Mississippi River.

There's life here too. Families; one with an infant in a stroller. Some kids who came here on bikes were throwing small rocks into the river for no reason. An older couple who probably got married when shag carpeting was a cool thing and a color TV cost as much as a nice used car. I looked across the tracks at my hometown and pictured it empty and devastated if I failed. The weight of an entire fucking town on my shoulders.

People think they want to be the guy in charge.

NO YOU DON'T.

Tuesday, July 6, 2021

I walked in and Emily gave me her patented Hawkeye smile, "Thanks for the raise!"

Two-fifty more per hour. Five thousand a year. Brittany spent that on a slow day. I spent that on a slow month. Emily had to be careful with every dime of it.

Finally, a bit of good news, every office in the office end of the building had a hardwire port. By the end of the week all supervisors offices would have a port and by mid next week, there should be wifi throughout the building. Welcome to 2005, 1985, we hardly knew ye.

Small problem; it's 2021.

After work, I had another loose meat sandwich to go and got home to Silo. Funny how four legs of golden happiness can make a day look better. Lots to do. This is my home now. Sue me. I was working to make it mine.

Lightning strikes when you don't expect it.

Ghosts in the house.

There are ghosts everywhere. Figurative ghosts, not spectres... Ghosts of my Grampa... my Grandma... even Donna... er mom.

I was going through boxes. Things to sell, to scrap, and to save. My Grampa's wedding album... save and... I'm going to buy a bookshelf to display that treasure. Family pictures. My mom at eight looked like a typical eight year old. At eighteen... I'll be polite and say not so much.

Boxes of navy blue button down Talon Tractor shirts with the company logo, T over a simple tractor over 'Talon Tractor' and 'Farmer Fixable'. I moved the right sized ones into the closet. I need to look the part.

Ghosts. Things from her childhood. Dolls long abandoned sitting on a shelf untouched for literal decades. Pictures... She seemed to do okay freshman year of high school then... not so much.

Blah blah, get to the point Michael. An unopened box among many boxes with a Des Moines return address. Large. A lot of clothes... yeah, not exactly covering much. A letter from her friend who cleaned out her room after her death and...

A pile of papers. One, a photo of my mom wearing a very small bikini top and Daisy Duke shorts standing next to an older guy in a bar and no, not a nice one, looking much like a retro version of Sons of Anarchy. The rear of his motorcycle is visible in the photo. Michigan plates. He's tall. Dark hair.

'Me and David' and a heart. There was a date. August 1, 1992. That hit me like a thousand tornadoes all at once.

There was another thing. An unopened envelope marked return to sender. The earlier postmark was from December of 1992.

Finding out who your father is... Like getting hit by a hundred trucks, all at once.

David Lake

215 Ashmun Street, Apartment 2A

Sault Ste. Marie, MI 49783

I agonized all of a minute before opening it. I just found the other half of me. In it, she asked for help, telling him she was pregnant and he was the only man she had been with.

Realizing I was technically Michael Lake... you have NO IDEA how that hits you. Here was the other half of me... my history.

'Dad' had long left that apartment, but I had a name and a place.

I will always be Michael Talon to honor my Grampa. Part of me is Michael Lake... well... probably.

Friday, July 9, 2021

We got our hundred taking the ten grand to leave and the life jacket for someone they cared about, and a disappointed guy who tried to decide last minute he liked fishing more than work. Oh well. You snooze, you lose.

Friday, August 6, 2021

Half a month of not paying people helped... kind of. Dropping one hundred non-useless people had cost a cool million. With one hundred fifty less people... July was expensive... and not. 8,550,000 left but as of August 1. Our burn rate was down to a half million a month. Our runway was longer. Not gone... but not right after Christmas. Things needed to improve. On the floor. In sales. Everyfuckingwhere.

Implementing this person by person was a pain in the ass... and the technically easy part. Some areas lost no one, some lost all. Telling people they need to move into a department they may not particularly like... Skilled guys still got skilled slots, but not necessarily where you want. Same with assembly. Some areas were over and others under.

There's the door. The company is still crashing. It's just crashing slower.

Saturday, August 7, 2021

I paid a PI a lot for a phone number. David Lake was now living in Williston, North Dakota. A man who lived a transient life working the oil fields. It fits.

2 rings and, "What!?" Not a friendly voice. Well... In for a dime in for a dollar.

"Uh. This is going to be a shock. My mom was Donna Talon and I think you are my father."

"Bullshit, what do you want?"

"Nothing. You never dated a Donna?"

"I dated a lot of chicks... ohh."

He sighed as the harshness faded, "Petite. Dark hair. Nice big ti... er chest."

I guess his description should be no surprise. I told him, "I don't remember her much. She died when I was five."

He was still suspicious, "You don't want anything?"

"Only to possibly know where I come from."

"I'll think about it."

The call ended abruptly.

Monday, August 9, 2021

I had been trolling internet sites for a while. CNC... lasers... are never cheap, even when used and worn to shit. We had no fucking extra money, but sometimes... luck and a salesman actually doing his job in prospecting. A simple no bullshit email subject line: Leftovers from liquidation sale of Farnesworth Outdoors.

A simple list... No stupid pictures of everything... and on that list, one leftover seven KW fiber laser for steel cutting, complete with the storage tower. Two fucking hundred seventy five thousand dollars and the hours on the meter were not ridiculous. I did a little research on the company making the offer. Mid sized, one of those midwestern brokers who worked between Pittsburgh and Denver, avoiding the slicksters on the coasts.

I made a call, Gary Jones was a smart salesman who kept his cell on his hip.

"Hello?"

"The fiber laser. Does it work?"

"No idea, but it was working on May twenty-fourth, the last day of operations."

"I'll take it."

"Want to see it?"

"If you lied to me, you just committed fraud and I doubt a company as large as yours would allow that. Even if it doesn't quite work, at that age and with those hours, it's easily salvageable and at that price, I can get the damn thing fixed."

I got a couple waterjet cutters and a couple smaller CNC plasma tables for another hundred fifty grand. They were in Cleveland. Kind of far, but not the east fucking coast. I wired them the money and paid extra to have them rolling in the drive-in door the following Monday morning. Gary the silver tongued bastard sold me two more plasma tables he wanted to get rid of, lightening the coffers by an extra twenty-five thousand.

Monday, August 23, 2021

The waterjet cutters... one of the two worked immediately. One needed a pump part. I expected this. One was up last Wednesday, the other up Friday. Plasma cutters need a few things. Nothing major. We got the last one up by Friday. The laser... hopefully today. Yeah, it needed a few things, 'only fifteen thousand dollars worth of things... At the price I bought it, I expected this shit.

Okay. Nerd time. We had a test pattern in the system for the hoods... aka sheet metal. Once the laser cut a piece of scrap and spit it out in manual mode... In Star Trek movies they always have these scenes. The warp drive goes down and someone manages to fix it in some kind of miracle. Windup... then WARP SPEED! THAT is basically what happened. Two big bottlenecks disappeared in a whiff of laser, waterjet cutting grit, and plasma. Frames and sheet metal cutting... man hours evaporated like a glass of water in a blast furnace.

Cash burn was going to go down, but there was going to be a lag getting it all going in flow.

It's a start. Soon, most of the saw cutting will be history.

Friday, September 3, 2021

Ruth put a report on my desk with a giant smile. Honestly it shocked the shit out of me she COULD smile like that. I looked at the sheet of paper in front of me... and yeah, I smiled.

Seven million four hundred thousand left after an expensive month and a few expensive surprises... the financial burn rate dropped hard. We needed more modern tooling... Our cash burn was two hundred fifty thousand a month starting next month. Our runway was now two and a half years... except we were about to pay for the enterprise software and I was finally going to drag this company into 2021. Dynamics. Yes I know Bill Gates killed and ate both your dog and your mom. Get over it. I chose this a month ago.

Sunday, September 19, 2021

A loud motorcycle outside my window is an interesting way to wake up at six on a Sunday morning. Silo barked. Not hostile. Not nice either.

Whump whump whump. Whoever it was knocked hard enough to shake the house a bit.

I looked through the eyehole. Tall, black hair, hard eyes. I knew.

I opened the door. We looked at each other, sizing each other up. He had to be six foot four. Slightly tanned looking. His eyes... hard. He had seen it all and probably done most of it.

"You could be my kid. Tall. Looks like you played sports... far too long ago. Not a dweeb. I dunno though. You're paying for the DNA test. Tomorrow."

I nodded. "You want a room or you want to be a bum and sleep on your bike seat?"

He smiled at the dig and paid me one, "Fucking Dick!"

He smirked, "Giving some shit back to the sender. You might just be my kid."

I gestured in. Silo seemed to like him and he was gentle to dogs. Good sign both ways.

"Have something with caffeine? It was a hard ride from Williston, twelve hours."

"You rode straight through?"

He shrugged, "I got more and more curious. Call it a brain itch. It needed scratching."

"You don't want beer or whiskey, maybe pure grain alcohol with a shot of diesel?

He shook his head with a frown, "Funny one. Shithead. Liver is shot. Hell..." he paused, "a lot of me is just... shot to hell."

I gave him a Baja Blast Mountain Dew. He liked that. Score one for pops.

I handed him my mother's letter to him... the one that bounced. He was a hard man, but you could tell the letter hit him very hard, finally he said, a bit shaken, "I never knew. I went to California after Des Moines... The official home was that place in Michigan. I was doin'... labor, some legal, some not."

I didn't push him on that. I know... duh.

He looked at me, "Show me your driver's license."

I handed it to him. He looked at my birthdate and did the math on timing... then chuckled to himself mirthlessly then nodded, "I'll be fucked in the ass." Then he hardened just a bit, "We're still getting the DNA test done."

Monday, September 20, 2021

I phoned Ruth that I was going to be late to work. Who was going to argue?

Bribes work well if the person at the front desk of the lab sees a hundred dollars in your hand and you tell her there is another for her if she brings back a lab person who will get the same to jump the line. Small local lab has two tracks; legal business with tracking and 'I just wanna know'. My test was the latter.

No witnesses. Easy way to make their lives just a bit better and mine a bit easier.

Four hundred bucks and two hours later, I handed the letter over to Dave, "You want the honors?"

He rolled his eyes at me, "Just open the fucking thing."

I read it. He knew as I knew. You don't live to his age in his hard life if you can't read people. I shrugged, "Congratulations, it's a boy."

He took the papers. You could see those gears grinding. His eyes were hard as he looked at me, "Don't call me dad. That's a right no absent father deserves... just like mine. Gone... And I was gone. I'll say this once and don't expect mushy shit from me beyond this; I am proud a man like you... is my son. You had a stand-in father and didn't turn out... like me. Still, call me Dave. 'Dad' is earned and I know firsthand that I did not earn it. Your grandfather was your dad, even if you called him Grampa."

Taking your newly found father... er my newly found Dave... whatever... through the factory you own, yeah that will get the bees buzzing with gossip. I had shit to do. Dave hung out at the lunch area because he needed to get a handle on his new reality.

We went back home after two. Who was going to argue with me? Yes after another loose meat sandwich. I dare say Dave is addicted.

After a while of 'guys not talking', I asked, "So who are you? I mean... What is my history?"

He nodded, he was a hard man... then not... then hard... then he relaxed and nodded, "I'm full blood Sault tribe of the Ojibwe Nation. Chippewa is the old common term... a shitty English version of a shitty French word. Don't use it around anyone on my side. Got it?"

He pointed to a silver ring with a round shield on his right ring finger, "Our seal. Crane at the center atop a Snapping Turtle. Deer, Eagle, Bear, Rabbit around it. Each is a part of us. "

He didn't expand on it further, probably expecting me to look it up later.

He smiled... sort of, perhaps a bit of pride?, "Actually. Also your side. Being my... biological son means you are considered one of us once you jump through the right hoops. Send a copy of that DNA test to the tribe. It won't be official until you apply and go through an official test, but we know how that will turn out. They're on the internet. There are too few of us left and... we can use someone like you claiming membership. Like any 'smart Indians' we have some casinos... still... good publicity and all that. Don't be surprised if the tribe wants to do a story for their website. PR is everything nowadays and your story is perfect PR."

He smiled, again, sort of. Odd on such a hard face, "Lost son found. And he's a fucking winner." He looked me in the eye and nodded subtly.

Silence again. Dave was not a talker. It was okay a decent fall day on a chair on the porch looking over the Mississippi. A train trundled by on the tracks along the Mississippi a quarter mile distant, "You fish?"

I thought back, "Not in a long long time."

"Me neither."

I looked at him, "Wanna hit Walmart for some gear?"

Two hours later we were fishing on the banks of the Mississippi. Mental note: pick up the license ASAP for next time. Fortunately, no one came by to check. Mostly silence and we didn't catch a damn thing. It was excellent!

We only talked a little. I gave him my Brittany and Dominic story. He asked, "You beat his ass?"

I laughed, "Uh, am I in prison? They take that shit seriously there, especially if the guy with the kicked ass has a shit ton of money."

He gave me a sour look, but nodded, "Fuckheads in the east. In Williston, he would have been 'randomly mugged'.

I shrugged, "I just wanted out. I wasn't going to beg for her."

He nodded, probably not liking not having Dominic beaten, but I think he understood, perhaps firsthand, that prison is not a fun place and they would connect the dots back to me pretty readily.

He grumbled, darkness behind those eyes, "He owes us."

I did not push him on that.

He ended the night as I walked by the room he was using, "Heading back tomorrow. Lost too many days of work as it is."

I nodded. Dave was never going to not be Dave.

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

Dave was gone before I got up and I got up at six. This was not surprising. It was a Tuesday and things were getting better. Bit by bit, we made improvements to the floor. I hired a new plant manager named Matt Cunningham. Solid background and correctly answered a number of trick questions I asked about being a bully. He was ready to walk out on my trick question until I told him the question was a character test and I loathe bullies. Passing a bully check was almost as valuable as the experience. He was wary until I explained about Bill Cowell and how I fired him. He liked the firing part, too.

Monday, October 4, 2021

Ruth had an even bigger smile this month as she dropped the report on my desk. She's starting to scare me. We burned a cool hundred thousand hiring some company to import some legacy data from the green screens in accounting. Five grand a month in subscription for Dynamics is not chump change.

Bad and good. I had one of those 'aha' moments.

Bad. With much less waste, inbound steel was down by thirty thousand dollars a month and... with one more waterjet cutter and two more plasma tables... twenty thousand more a month. It also found a rat on the ship... when scrap stays the same when inbound drops hard, you look at the numbers... we were getting a thousand a month for clean crap steel going back FOREVER. Our clean scrap steel is worth FAR more than that.

Things that make you say... hmmm.

The good... or less bad? Our cash burn rate was down to two hundred thousand a month with a balance of seven million at the end of the month.

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

I started digging as soon as I saw the lead. I'm good with running data and this one wasn't hard to track. I called the police who sent the town's only detective... also the chief.

Barry O'Donnel went out in handcuffs and I made sure he walked the floor the LONG way to a police cruiser. I don't give a flying fuck how much he sues me for. I'll tolerate being a lazy loser and just fire you like the first fifty. STEAL FROM ME and IT IS WAR!

The half-a-brain didn't even hide the fact the scrap was going to Doyle O'Donnel Metals. His FUCKING BROTHER!

Iowa is pretty strong on victim complaints and I am sure as hell going for blood. Too bad this isn't medieval Europe. Look up the details on the breaking wheel on google. That's what I want. Too bad they won't do it.

Prison time and a felony record will have to do. Time to put things out to bid.

Tuesday, November 2, 2021

This whole Ruth smiling thing still scares me.

Our money burn next month with our new scrap contract and a lot of process improvement... One hundred twenty thousand loss per month with six million five hundred thousand left.

This bitch might just start flying! Incremental improvements were happening, but sales... needed a shot or this was all for naught. Sales were down a point from last year... wrong direction. Still, we had a good reputation but the storms of November...

Wednesday, November 3, 2021

The storms of November. The weather sucked. Gray. Chilly. That kind of rain that soaks you and steals all of your damn body heat. We were in the middle of laying the entire production floor out with a coherent flow. I had acquired quite a bit of machinery but things were scattered haphazard on the floor under the previous layout. Much of the networking backbone was installed though just as nodes up in the bar joists near the ceiling. We began reorganizing the machinery on the floor into a more modern layout.

With the production floor making sense, turns out the factory is actually bigger than we need, though not massively so... hmmm. Lease some out? What to do?

At a quarter past seven, a letter carried by a person who would only give me the envelope. Fuck, these are never good.

I could type the long legal bullshit but the upshot was that our contract with Callister Diesel was up in eight months and they were declining to sign again. They made diesel engines for OEM and had their own line of mid sized generators. Seems a large company with a fondness for green paint was buying them. The problem is. It's all legal and from their standpoint, smart as fuck. Consolidate a supplier and maybe knock a few nuisance competitors out of the market. Even more fun is they were immediately closing their Illinois plant and engines would now be coming from Nevada.

My week just got much longer... and worse.

Too many things to do at once. I checked progress on the new layout. Hank was up on a scissor lift zip tying cable runs for the machinery. He looked content, even possibly happy? Not shitting on someone might just make their day. I teased him, "Go team red!" He looked at his Milwaukee Electric drill and grinned back, "Big guy! Team red!"

An hour later, more 'fun' though far less of an actual catastrophe. Hank came in in a huff, "As ordered, we're organizing the data cables for the new plant layout, zip tying and cable clipping loose cables down... uh, sorry big guy, uh, we're gonna run out of both within a couple hours. I ordered a bunch over a week ago but I just got a notice that the order is going to be two weeks late and shit... I'll just run down to Hammar's and get some."

He was way too flustered. Hank is useful and I respect being useful, even if you are a little slow on the tech end. Effort counts with me and he was doing his damndest to get better at it while still being the everything guy keeping the building running. One thing Hank isn't is careless and honestly, he is the only person I will tolerate calling me 'big guy'. Just something about his honest folksiness that gives me faith that most people are basically both useful and good. It's the shitty ones that bring chaos far larger than their actual numbers.

He's just so fucking down to earth midwestern solid. He seemed... happier though way too jumpy as if I was going to suddenly turn into Bill. He was no longer Bill's personal spear catcher and the new plant manager, Matt Cunningham, knew that imitating Bill was a good way to shorten his career.

Another problem and I just needed space, "Relax Hank, I'll head down myself. Keep on your guys until they actually run out. Maybe my lazy ass needs to get out of here for an hour."

I really needed to get out of there. The engine problem was a big big problem and a trip to the hardware store was a nice low stress way of doing it. Hank gave me the list and I drove toward town. Running through radio stations, I stopped on a country station. There was a song about being humble and kind that spoke to me.

A country music station. I'm listening to country music and I'm liking it. Fucking shoot me in the head.

Half past ten in downtown Prairie Landing Iowa... not exactly bustling Manhattan. I walked into Hammar's, the electronic ding dong sound announcing someone came in."

I walked into an apparently empty store then... "Get me out of here!!!"

Okay, that was not what I was expecting.

"Hello?"

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I followed the voice to a doorway, "Hello?"

"UGH! BACK HERE. OW OW OW! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I followed the noise and saw...

Boobs. Well a woman was attached to them. Early twenties. Blonde. Natural, not from a bottle. Shoulder top length. Pretty. Thinnish. Cute. Petite. Smallish boobs... did I say boobs twice?

Shit.

After too long a pause, I turned, "I'm sorry"

Fun fact. Seeing boobs causes a man's IQ to drop by half. That's biology kicking in. Though a bit on the small side, they were glorious perky ones; the kind that divide the IQ by three."

"GET ME OFF THIS DAMN LADDER!"

"Uhhhh."

Yep. IQ divided by three. Maybe four at this point.

"OW!!!! Damn it!!! It really hurts and you've seen them already. Man up and help me off this ladder!"

Short version. Cute girl wearing a dress on one of those vertical stock ladders. I guess she slipped and fell down some rungs. She fell, her dress got caught and didn't. Her bra got caught somehow and she was hanging by her wrist which was caught and twisted in the ruined dress and suspending her by the wrist. Tits on full display. She was using her other hand to brace herself to keep from hanging harder.

Concentrate, Michael, you lecherous asshole.

As I approached, said boobs were at eye level. Did I mention how glorious they were? Women are right, men are pigs. CONCENTRATE. I lifted her. I lifted but one glorious perfect round areola on a perfect B-cup boob was right in front of my eyes. IQ divided by five at that point.

Sigh note to self: It's just a tit you moron.

The pressure off she worked the now ruined dress with her good hand off her wrist. She needs to hurry the fuck up and cover before I embarrass myself further.

Damn that's a beautiful boob.

"Okay. set me down."

Shit, I forgot to set her down. Finally I set her down.

She worked her wrist, "OW OW OW."

Rotated it then clenched and unclenched her fist, "Better"

FINALLY she walked out of the room. My IQ started rising back toward normal.

She came back in a Hammar's apron... well and panties. From the right angle side boob would be a thing. Shit, "Uh... take my shirt"

She giggled, teasing viciously, "Haven't seen boobs before?"

Snarky. Actually... rather cute snarky.

I gave her my company shirt. She was five foot... one. maybe. I'm over six feet.

Her smile got even more vicious, that completely adorable challenge, "Turn around... or don't, your choice."

Snarky. Damn cute snarky. Yes I turned. DAMN IT!

"Okay, turn around Boy Scout."

Woman only wearing your shirt and panties. Not quite bare boobs distracting. Still distracting in an incredibly powerful way. That smirk never disappeared. Women know the power they have over men when visuals are involved.

She had that smirk and it never left, "So, what can I do for you?"

About a half a second of blank mind. That face is ADORABLE like... shit... she was her own kind of gorgeous and not at all in the model sense of the word. Electric smile. Kind eyes. Girl-next-door cute to the ten trillionth power. Would most men rate Brittany higher? With her double D's and model face. Yep. Until they knew that back story.

"Earth to uh... what is your name?"

What the hell is my name? Fuck. I'm a dumbass.

"Uh."

She smiled, just waiting, playing me hard. Finally the brain kicked into gear, "Michael. Uh, Michael Talon."

She held out her hand, "Gently. I'll be okay thanks to you but it's sore. I'm Allie Hammar."

"I'm Michael Talon."

She smirked again, "Yes, you told me that."

Shit. I'm a double dumbass." She smiled anyway, laughing to herself. She was actually enjoying this little game.

It wasn't smooth, but I finally managed, "Cable clips and zip ties."

She nodded, "Over there."

Ten packs of zip ties, they had four of each pack, large, medium, and small.

"Have more?"

She nodded and came back with a cart and boxes then started opening them, "Uh, I'll just take the boxes. We're doing a network install and need a lot."

She smiled, "There are two hundred fifty packs per box on the ties and a thousand of the clips."

"We need them. Amazon failed and I have no idea when our lost order will arrive to sit on a shelf somewhere."

She smiled. For a place like Hammar's, a fifteen hundred and something dollar order was pretty decent.

She smiled then paused, "Well thank you! Speaking of thanks. Thank you for getting me off that ladder. My hand and wrist.... It really hurt and I couldn't pull myself up to get my wrist untwisted from the dress."

"Maybe I can thank you somehow....?

I gave her a smile, "Nah. You owe me nothing. Glad to help."

She gave me an odd smile, nodded then took my credit card.

Heading back in a jacket and no shirt... feels odd. I backed my car into the drive in door and opened the trunk. Hank had a couple guys ready to take the boxes. They gave me a VERY strange look.

We had A LOT of cables to tie down. Burlington had a small crew and I wanted them to concentrate on getting the bones of the system in place. We would follow to tie it down and make it pretty.

I parked then headed to my office and started to walk past Ruth. She looked at me strangely. Ohhhh, right. No shirt. She raised an eyebrow. Funny the power of the woman to be able to ask a question with just a single raised eyebrow. I gave her a sanitized version of the story.

She smiled at me, "You're such a good boy."

Good boy. Like a dog. Woof. Sigh.

I only took that shit from Ruth and she was not being condescending. She remembers me as a kid and she smiled approvingly.

"Maybe I should head home and get a shirt."

She laughed at me, not with me, AT ME, "Maybe you should."

I headed home, gave Silo a quick walk after putting a shirt on. Heading back... it hit me again. I have six months to find a diesel engine and not some random China shit. Something that will still be going two decades from now that someone with less than a PHD can fix... well except the pollution control shit, but all companies faced that hurdle. Still, we prided ourselves on the motto, 'Farmer Fixable'.

I drove back and parked, yes, with a shirt on. Walking into my office past Ruth... and Allie.

Allie smiled, "I brought your shirt back."

Going from diesel engines to cute girl, "Uh. Hi. Thanks."

Note to brain, do NOT start thinking about those glorious boobies.

Damn they were smallish but. Glorious.

An image filled my salacious mind. Odd thought; why does that happen? The answer came back, 'Because biology dictates it's working as nature intended.'

Forcing the mental image down took some work. What the hell is wrong with me?

Fortunately Allie talked before my brain could wander too far, "You know, I really am grateful. Anything I can do to thank you? Anything?"

"You owe me nothing. Glad to help."

She left after giving Ruth some kind of look. Not sure as she was facing away. Ruth just nodded, "I'll take care of it", as Allie left.

Once Allie was gone, I told Ruth, "I have to figure out what we are going to do for engines so..."

Ruth looked at me, piercing blue eyes that could bore through you like a laser. She ignored my mentioning engines, "She asked if you were gay."

That is one of those record scratch sound moments. From diesel engines to people thinking I'm gay.

"Eh what?"

"She asked if you were gay."

"Why would... what?"

"A pretty young woman did everything but strip off, lie on the floor naked with her legs open... and you whiffed." She frowned, "Damn that is irritating"

She sighed then said, "No matter, I handled it."

Now it was me giving strange looks, "Huh?"

"I handled it. Here is her number. I gave her yours so she will know it's you."

The brain shut down again. Ruth patiently waited for it to re-engage.

"You what!?"

"I explained that you were a good guy and a catch, just a clueless one."

"I am not."

"She gave you a home run derby pitch to ask her out and you watched the ball go right by."

"Oh great. I'm a nice guy. Maybe I can buy her a bunch of dinners while she has her nights with a billionaire or a local biker. I can be a simp. Every guy loves to be in the friend zone."

She frowned at me, "Don't make me take you over my knee Michael John Talon."

"Are you like your father? Living transient? And probably mostly criminal?"

"No."

"She likes you."

"Like a friend."

"UUUUGH! Women are just as different from each other as men. Reliable men are not exciting. Exciting men are not reliable. Most of us long figured out we only get to have one of those things. She chooses a reliable man, you clueless clueless stupid RELIABLE man."

"She literally could not have flirted harder without going into full slut mode and lying naked on your floor. That is something a quality girl like her will not do."

She was getting impatient almost to the point of angry and had to push it down. I stood around like Captain... okay, Colonel Clueless. Finally her eyes cleared and she looked at me, "I know her family and I kind of know her. She is perfect wife material. Smart, sassy, capable, the kind that has your back."

She pushed some more anger down, "And it all happens to be wrapped in a very petite and attractive package."

"Why are YOU pushing this? Is this really your business?"

Ruth's eyes went VERY dark. Oh shit. That was the WRONG thing to say. Those eyes were going to be lasers any second. The dinosaur killer was going to come after ME.

Dark furious eyes, cutting rebuke, "Because John Talon never once did the boss 'making a pass' thing when he hired me. He RESPECTED that I was married."

"Because when our house burned down, he gave me two weeks off and never docked me a vacation day. He literally showed up with a dozen floor workers to help pick through the ruins of my home."

"Because he quietly paid the demo guys when we were short of cash trying to figure out how to rebuild. Because he leaned on the bank to get me and my husband the loans we needed to restart."

"Because he never docked me a day when my husband was killed by a drunk driver and I was a broken mess."

"Because I am seventy-two years old and he never pushed me to retire because quite frankly Talon Tractor has become my life and I love it here. I need a reason to get up each morning and Talon Tractor is that reason."

Darkness intensified, "He was all about family. He was all about YOU. He wanted a legacy and I know it broke him more than you will ever know when he found out about your stupid cunt of a slut wife and what she did to you."

That language coming out of Ruth... was not expected.

"He wanted a legacy and even though he is gone, SO BE IT! I am the guardian of his legacy."

"More than one man did hit on me and I never, EVER stepped out on my Henry. I honored my vows from day one until the day he died. Let go of what happened. Allie is not Brittany. You can't let Brittany or Dominic define you!"

She stood looking at me, daring to say something.

She glared at me like a mom would. Sigh. She was right. Damn it!

Ruth pointed at my phone, "Get to it mister!"

It's just a date, right? RIGHT??

An image of Brittany flashed and my slight smile faded.

Ruth... too sharp... probably can actually read minds, shook her head softly and even managed a bit of a smile, "It's already handled. I already gave her a short version of Brittany's betrayal."

What?

"Allie knows. She isn't going to jump into your bed immediately anyway. Girls like her coming to your bed is earned not given. When it happens, it says that she thinks you are good enough to have access to something special. By the way, she was horrified when I talked about how Brittany ran off with your boss. I believe her term was 'Worst bitch in the world'."

"Allie is pure class and does not throw around epithets like bitch lightly."

She stood there and pointed her bony finger at my phone on my hip, waiting.

I'm the boss here... right? Right? No? Fuck. Sigh.

I picked my phone out of my pocket, punching in Allie's number, and she answered, "I accept."

Odd way to answer a phone, "What?"

"I accept your date offer. Where are we going?"

She giggled, "Relax. Ruth gave me an overview. I'm making it easy, okay. Honestly, guys worth actually dating are too slow and too clueless. Humans would die out, if we didn't make it obvious. I had to get your admin to run interference for me."

"Uh, maybe some place in Keokuk? You've probably been every place in town a thousand times. You like Italian?"

"I really would like a loose meat sandwich."

Stunning. Allie just hit one out of the park over the second deck.

She asked me if she could keep the shirt I gave her the day we met. It was in a pile of dirty clothes. Not hard to identify. Fortunately, it smelled like a girl and I am not a girl.

Friday, November 5, 2021

Our first date was at Maid-Rite and she wouldn't take no for an answer. Allie didn't just hit one out of the park over the second deck. She smashed one into orbit, eating that sandwich with obvious relish. No 'I'll just have a salad' bullshit. Solid family. She spoke fondly of living with her dad, Alf whose father came to the US from Denmark in the early 1960s. She loved the outdoors and hated shopping... well she admitted except for shoes.

Why does every woman have 292 pairs of shoes? Shut up Michael.

We made plans to hike Geode state park the following Saturday.

Saturday, November 6, 2021.

One amazing park, long sometimes steep hike. Not horrible, not a rail trail either. Great views. Not allowed to take any of the geodes. We had dinner at a nearby pizza place named Pete Zareya. Yes, I know, dumb pun.

I walked her to the door and she looked at me strangely then a kiss kind of happened then fully happened when she grabbed the back of my head and snuck a little tongue in.

She went in the door turning with the cutest and snarkiest smile, "Call me. Clueless Boy Scout."

Friday, November 19, 2021

Things went eerily well and... Shit. Ruth was right and you don't let the good ones go. I was going to ask Allie for exclusivity. We sat down at River Ironworks, in downtown Burlington, right off Front Street that overlooked the Mississippi River. I tipped the hostess a Benjamin for a corner booth out of the way. Allie was dressed to kill in a red dress that kept wanting to slip off her shoulder.

After ordering I looked at Allie in all seriousness to ask her to be exclusive and started to ask... about being exclusive...

She interrupted, "Yes, as long as we can agree on the details."

That threw me for a second, "What?"

She knew where I was going and wanted to get things moving, "Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend as long as we can have a serious discussion about rules. You won't have any 'platonic female friends'. That's bullshit asking for an affair. Everything will go both ways of course. That kind of thing."

She knew the question before I could ask it.

"Michael, I won't live in ambiguity.. I'm just willing and actually insistent on saying the quiet part out loud. We need to agree on how things will go. I need to know this CAN lead to marriage but not that it WILL. We need to define cheating and not like politicians do with funny word play. I need certain things and I'm sure you do too."

I'll spare you the actual conversation, but honestly, for one of 'those' kinds of conversations, I kinda liked it. She even pre- worked out some things that would work against what happened with Brittany.

Damn she's smart. Damn that is sexy as hell.

Dinner came. We smiled a lot. No room for dessert. Get the strip steak at River Ironworks. Filet is probably better, but the standard portion is only 6 ounces.

I sat back, this was just too damn good. She looked at me, smirked, then her dress fell right off her shoulder exposing her left boob completely. She pretended not to notice as she took her last bite then ended with, "Now that we are official, I am going to fuck your brains out tonight."

As I sat shocked and the waiter approached she just as casually replaced that strap before he saw anything. She laughed saying, "That strap was never going to fall accidentally... Did you see anything you like?"

She looked me in the eyes and said even more quietly, "I'm not wearing panties."

CHECK PLEASE!

Saturday, November 20, 2021

I woke up at first light. Allie was on top of me riding me for round number... I have no idea. She came out the night before gloriously naked holding a washcloth, kissed me hot then cleaned Mr. Happy. She dropped to her knees and blew me after saying, "I don't suck a dirty dick". I lasted a minute. Damn it had been a long time.

She smirked when she swallowed, then a very fake, "Yummy"

She did a courteous toothbrushing then came back and damn near gave me a tonsilectomy. The first sex was typical and awkward, but I damn near shot my dick off when I came.

I was only half back when she climbed on top and looked down, "Michael listen. For me, connection is more important than climax. I need to climax most of the time, but missing one out of three is not bad because it is very important to me that we connect physically. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

For physical connection she was damn near insatiable. She kept on with those little speeches, literally handing me the information that were the keys to her heart... What her needs were. All in glorious clarity even a stupid man can understand.

We had that uncomfortable conversation about our pasts. She had two lovers, both boyfriends, before me and of course one of them was part horse. I was dumb for bringing it up. I got a lecture from her on that one that for most women, it's more of a bucket list thing than something they want every day. Mr. not-a-horse had been much better in bed than mr. part-horse.. I had 3 before her and two were at the same time. It wasn't all it's cracked up to be. The other woman in my past was Brittany which was worse, oh so much worse.

Once done and we both realized there were no deal breakers... It actually kinda got kinda... comfy and...

I like comfy.

Monday, November 22, 2021

I came in. Ruth looked at me, smirked then nodded, "Looks like you got laid a time or a hundred. Good job. About damn time."

She smirked, teasing, "Allie will make a great wife."

She just stopped, reading me then looked at me, studying, "You just smiled. You finally turned that corner. Not all women are Brittany. Most aren't disloyal sluts. For most of us, once we have our winner, we stick with them as long as they stick with us. Trying to climb above our pay grade leads to old age with cats.

"Michael... Listen to me. You won't do better than Allie. Okay. Girls like Brittany can always climb higher... well for the short run, then they hit thirty-five and the younger pretty admin agrees to go for a tumble."

"By age fifty, it's the cats stage."

"I guarantee Dominic Moretti had side pieces, even after she was official with your ex-boss."

It made sense, and for the first time in far too long, I believed.

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Ya know what is fucking awesome? Thanksgiving with your awesome new girlfriend! It snowed and snowed!

I met her father, Alf, at his home, a nice four bedroom colonial in the most typical neighborhood in the midwest. Her mom had passed. Another drunk driver. What the hell is it with drunks killing people in my life story?

I'll spare you the play by play. As usual, Detroit lost their Thanksgiving day game. The Raiders beat the Cowboys and the Bills beat the Saints.

Dinner was outfucking standing. Allie and Alf are both kitchen wizards who spoiled the shit out of me. Peppercorn Crust Turkey; no not from Denmark. He got the recipe online and it ROCKED!

It was around half past ten when I was about to get up to head home. Alf looked at me, "There's a foot of snow out there, she spends nights at your place, and I am not a flaming moron. Just keep it down, okay? People pair up and... yech, I don't want to think about my daughter and... yech! Just be respectful and keep it down."

We went to bed. I was scared to start anything. Allie has quite a libido and her hand was quickly on Mr. Happy making him wake up. She giggled as I rolled over and lined up. She was wet already. As I said, quite a libido.

We did keep it down.

Well I did.

Friday, November 26, 2021

We came down at nine that morning. Alf smiled at me then frowned at his daughter, "Does 'keep it down' mean anything to you!?"

Allie smirked then ignored the question, "Morning dad!"

Allie was always teasing. Even her dad.

She kissed him on the cheek, "Love you!" and his frown evaporated.

We had Maid-Rite for lunch. I see where Allie got her great taste in food.

Allie walked right out, not even pretending to hide her overnight bag.

Alf smiled at me and simply said, "Be good to her. She's all I have left of her mom."

Tuesday, November 30, 2021

My mood was good after a most excellent Thanksgiving. Allie's dad is what all fathers should aspire to. Ruth rang my phone, "Gary Smith is waiting for you on line one. Trust me, you want to take his call."

Is there any point in me even trying to come up with a reason to argue with Ruth the dinosaur exterminator?

Sigh.

"Hello, Gary. Ruth says I have to take your call. Tell me I finally get to win one and you're just full of shit."

Gary laughed, "One of those admins? Probably likes to still be called secretary? Ours is named Gertrude. Yes, really, Gertrude, not Gertie. We won D-Day in 1944 because she swam across the Atlantic to single handedly destroy a solid mile of German coastal defenses. Technically, David Clarke owns my place of employment and is the CEO. Everyone here knows Gertrude runs things."

"Okay. So put up or shut up."

Guess who cleaned out Callister Diesel in Moline two weeks ago."

It was a good thing I was sitting down; my mind rebelling at the thought and saying, 'There is no way'. Disbelief.

Gary asked, "You still there?"

"Uh... yeah."

Gary was confident. Too confident. He knew he was going to win, "A half million gets you their lower horsepower diesel production line and not a penny less. It's maybe 50 machines or so total. Most of them big, heavy, and a giant pain in your ass to move. It's not all that complicated of a line. They made other items and I'm offering only the diesel line that they sold to tractor companies like you. According to my notes, the biggest engine on that particular line is two hundred horsepower."

"Maybe I want to negotiate."

Gary laughed, "Oh hell no. You're going to get me the biggest commission check in company history. Michael, I read the business papers and that is why I am the top producer here. The big green meanie cut off half a dozen small tractor manufacturers. They came to us and since I dealt with you before, I'm giving you the first shot."

"No room for negotiating... just a bit. That is a lot of money."

"Nope, going to spoil the shit out of my kids this Christmas and you're going to fund part of it. My next call is to Markham Earth Moving for the high horsepower diesel lines. And besides, being first gets you a bonus that will make it completely worth it."

"And what is that?"

"Big green meanie only contracted us to clean out the building and we paid them for everything except the building itself. Someone in big green meanie fucked up and forgot about the office. Or... maybe Callister is old old tech and Big Green Meanie are anything but so they didn't care.

"The price includes the engineering computers and code for their pollution devices. Diesel engines are not exactly next gen. Doesn't matter why we have the office stuff, but we have the office stuff. We had to comply with the law about personal information, so the accounting and payroll computers are not included... but we have the engineering and purchasing computers... and the password list for all of them."

"Buy the line and you get those computers."

I sat there dumbfounded. Good thing I was sitting down. This was top dollar for the machines, but not having to guess any of the designs. NO reverse engineering. Priceless.

"I'll take it."

Gary laughed, "I knew you would. You have until Friday to get me my money and until midnight on December 31st to take your stuff. Be good to your riggers, you're going to need them."

I sat there. Perhaps Karma is a thing. I paid a horrific price a year ago personally then the universe decided to be my best friend.

Wednesday, December 1, 2021.

I did it at Maid-Rite. It just seemed to be appropriate. Me in some obviously too nice and too new khakis and my Talon Tractor shirt which was my everyday. Allie in a nice, weather appropriate floral dress. After our loose meat sandwiches. Allie was smiling the whole time. She's too smart, "You are going to tell me something?"

Sigh.

Too Smart.

I chuckled. She smiled, "Michael, relax okay. I love you too."

There it was. The girl stole my thunder!

"I love you Allie."

She came over and gave me one of her patented improper kisses then whispered in my ear, "I'm not wearing panties."

It's hard driving home with a throbbing boner.

Christmas, Saturday, December 25, 2021

It's still strange the second time staying at Her father's place with Allie with her father sleeping two rooms away. Yes, I know that's some kind of internet trope there, but it made me nervous.

Alf gave Allie the stink eye. I was quiet last night. Allie... wasn't

Opening presents. It's good to be where you are supposed to be on Christmas... not alone.

Friday, January 14, 2022

I invited Allie to a special day for Talon Tractor. Setting up an engine line is not easy, even when you have the machines, engineering files, and supplier list. We had sent riggers as soon as the money cleared. All of the machines had been at the factory for nearly a month as I had hired three shifts of riggers at both ends. Christmas slowed things down. Sometimes sloppy notes slowed things down.

Simple things can just slow you down.

I gave the honors to Hank. I just liked the guy. Solid. Dependable. Just... Hank.

Hank sat on one of our Prairie Falcon tractors. Our smallest. Fifty horsepower. Tractors don't race and make aggressive use of gears to produce torque, not speed.

Wind wind wind, thunk, bump bump bump bump bump bump bump almost purring. You weren't expecting Vroom were ya? Tractor, not racecar.

BIG cheers. This one was headed to our showroom. Our first ALL TALON tractor. Remember when I said we might be outgrowing the building? NOT ANY MORE!

We bought the building next door. Much smaller. One hundred thousand square feet. Gary called and offered me the information and tooling for the generator line for a pittance. No one else wanted the leftovers. Another 100 thousand gone. A relative pittance. Guess where Talon Generators are going to be located!

Allie had to work. A completely improper kiss in front of the whole plant!, "I love you Micheal."

Lots of whoops and catcalls from the floor.

Saturday, January 15, 2022.

Allie and I got back from Maid Right about eight that evening. Dave er... my dad... whatever... was at the door. He scoped out Allie closely, smiled in an odd way, not wolfish... kinda like approving. He nodded, "She's cute."

He handed me MY mail with an envelope from 'The Sault Tribe of the Chippewa Indians.'

"I called the tribe and found it was sent three days ago."

We went inside. I introduced them, "Allie this is Dave, my biological father. Dave, this is Allie, my girlfriend."

Dave was... Dave, "Good to meet you. I'm not his dad because I didn't know about him until a few months ago. Also, I would have sucked at being a dad. I want him to call me Dave because his grandfather was his father and I will NEVER take that honor I did not earn."

Allie was wary of Dave until Silo came and gave a happy wag to Dave who knelt down to give him a belly rub. He sat down, made himself at home and kept giving Silo a big rough petting which Silo LOVED. Dogs are often the best judges of humans.

"That envelope is your enrollment pack. It's official. You're a member. They love the fact you came to them respectfully and not asking for anything like so many do. Also, they want you to put 'Native American Owned' on your company website. They also want you to put the tribe seal on your website."

I looked at Dave, "I'm not into winning contracts based on anything but merit. Claiming 'Native American Owned' to milk the government is not my thing.

Dave rolled his eyes more in annoyance than anger, "There are so few of us. It's not about you claiming us, dumbass; it's about us claiming you. You don't get it. Most of the country thinks Native Americans are either some rich northeast tribe milking New Yorkers out of their money at a casino or drunken and broken people living on welfare on a reservation on the plains."

"You are the best kind of PR for the tribe there is."

"You represent the image, 'Hey, look at this Ojibwe guy. He owns a tractor company, he is a member of the Sault Tribe of the Ojibwe and he's a fucking winner'."

He scowled, "WE want to claim, YOU!"

Silo looked at me... knowing. Dave was getting animated again. Hop up next to Dave. Position about half on Dave. Head plop. Silo brings Dave back down to half human.

He was gone before I woke up the next morning to Allie guiding my hand to her nether regions.

Tuesday, February 1, 2022

We had a well placed boot at the Iowa Ag Expo. Big Green Meanie was there of course. All the giants were. Still a decent twenty by forty booth with our Prairie Falcon and Gold Eagle tractors on display. We had big signage that we had acquired Callister Diesel so people knew we weren't just making up engine tech.

'Farmer Fixable' was proudly displayed along with QR codes for our spare parts catalog which had real time inventory levels. Most farmers love their mega brand tractors and LOATHE the fact most repairs now require a tech visit for half a billion dollars.

Things can start from a simple offhand comment, "Midway through a man and his son walked into the booth and nodded, "Have a Prairie Falcon tractor from 1976. As long as I keep oil in it, I can't seem to kill it."

That's the stuff you want to hear.

I teased, "Could you say that a little louder?"

Challenge accepted. He damn near shouted, "I have a Prairie Falcon tractor from 1976. As long as I keep oil in it, I can't seem to kill it."

He smirked then looked over at the Big Green Meanie Booth, "Love the tractor, hate the maintenance costs. I wish your tractors could navigate with GPS."

I shrugged, "We don't have the ability to write that kind of code and that would mean an entire department maintaining the code."

His son, somewhere in his early twenties asked, "Why? There are a dozen GPS codebases already done on GitHub. The servo motor code is..."

"It's a matter of pulling the right pieces and writing the code to make them work together. Not done in a night or even a month, but not a year either."

Pro tip number: Hell I don't remember at this point. Farmers are some of the most resourceful people...

I'll simplify that to: It took two hundred farmers a year, but that is how our tractors now self guide on GPS. It's not OUR code. It's 'Farmers Co-Op Talon Tractor Codebase' on GitHub. Put a bunch of farmers together... and their computer programmer sons... Talon just provides physical mounting points.

Wednesday, February 9, 2022

Typical Dave. A text: Read the tribal website.

Lots of detail there so... I did it anyway.

New Enrollee Shows Ojibwe Pride

The short version, I know I blather too damn long. Michael Talon, biological son of David Lake was approved and has been enrolled as a member of The Sault Tribe of the Chippewa Indians. Yes it says Chippewa. No, most don't like the word. Yes, that's the legal name.

It mentioned that I was owner and CEO of Talon Tractor in Prairie Landing, Iowa. A picture of me, Dave, and the Google street view of the Talon Tractor building.

Saturday, February 11, 2022

WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP

That had to be Dave again, abusing my front door. I extricated myself from Allie who softly protested. I looked at my phone. A quarter to seven? Too early damnit. I went to the door wearing sweats and a T-shirt.

I looked out the peephole. Yep Dave. I opened the door, "Yeah?"

Dave raged, "What did you do with yours!?"

"My what?"

He was waving around an off white piece of paper about the size of a Christmas card.

"This!"

He wouldn't keep the damn thing still long enough for me to know what he was talking about, "You drove a motorcycle for twelve hours overnight in the cold of February to show me a Christmas card?"

He almost slapped the card into my hand then glared at me expectantly.

A wedding invitation. Fairly typical one though I note the card was heavier and the ink shinier.

'Together with their families

Brittany Madison Fitzgerald

And

Dominic Luigi Moretti

Request the honor of your company

Saturday, May 21, 2022

1 PM

4th Presbyterian Church

Nyack, New York

Reception to follow.

I shrugged, "So my ex boss and ex wife wanted a laugh by inviting us to their wedding. Fuck them. Ignore it. I'm over it. Allie is better. In every way, Allie is better."

He sighed explosively and turned the card over.

Handwritten racist shit

'Injun Dave

Bring your half breed son and his squaw.

We have fire water!

No scalping please.'

I shrugged, "Dominic does that kind of shit to get under your skin. I learned to not let him do that. That makes him happy. Let's make this a rule. Don't make Dominic Moretti happy. ANY HAPPINESS IN DOMINIC MORETTI'S LIFE IS BAD! GOT IT!?"

Dave was Dave, "How can you just stand there? We owe him! Our tribe owes him for the insult!"

I shrugged, "Still not wanting to go to prison for him."

"Where is your invitation?"

I shrugged, "Probably in yesterday's mail."

It was.

Mine said:

'Dear Half Breed.

Me marry your ex. Me better.

U bring new squaw so she also see how much better.

Maybe I like new squaw too and make her mine also!

U come, we give you beads and whiskey!

Leave tomahawks at the door please.'

It took a while to bring Dave down. Silo was a very smart dog who was always good for that, so I nodded at Silo who was good at reading me. Eerily so. Jump. Plop. head on lap. Furious rage becomes reluctant annoyance as he pets Silo. He held his gut a few times and he looked like he had a bit of a flu.

"Something wrong?"

He shrugged and frowned, "Nothing I can't handle. Enough about me. You're gonna take this racist shit from him?"

Dave and his chaotic nature were no match for four paws and happiness of a golden retriever. Silo for the win again. Sort of. He calmed down but kept giving dark looks about the bait Dominic had sent. I kept repeating that taking the bait was not worth a lifetime in prison.

A loose meat sandwich at Maid Right, at least brought him to half human. He truly seemed to like Allie so there is that.

He was gone before I woke up the next day.

Monday, April 4, 2022

Ruth came into my office smiling and set a paper on my desk, then stood by expectantly.

Twenty seven dollars. For the first time in years. Talon Tractor made a profit. Sales were UP a point, not down. Word was making its way through the agricultural world; Talon made a great simple tractor.

Farmer fixable and 'Farmers Co-Op Talon Tractor Codebase' on GitHub was making noise about their first alpha version of their self guiding software, partnering with a servo motor company from Ohio. The system? A Raspberry PI connected to a Cytron motor driver. NO CALL TO THE FACTORY FOR A TECH NEEDED! The Farmers Co-Op Talon Tractor Codebase belongs to farmers!

Orders were ticking upward. We had momentum!

I went onto the Staples website and made a poster.

April 2022

Sales +1%

And in a much bigger size

PROFIT $27.00

Our company had been through hell and good news that all that work was paying off.

I sent Hank to Staples in Burlington to fetch the poster then hang it up on the wall by the factory floor entry door.

Of course, it went well.

Friday, April 22, 2022

My phone beeped a text from Dave.

'Found out why I felt even more like shit lately.

Liver Cancer. Doc says, I'm gonna be dead in two months.

Keep up with the tribe. It's important! Ojibwe is bigger than both of us. Make sure your future kids are part of it.

PROMISE ME!'

That was it. My biological father told me he was going to die via text... Yeah, that was authentic Dave.

An easy promise to make. Kids? Allie and I are not even engaged yet... hmmm.

Anyway, Dave was right about the tribe. I like belonging to something much larger than me, so I did.

Thursday, April 28, 2022

Allie had texted me a week ago that she had a daddy daughter night with her dad so... I decided to go ring shopping! Fool me once shame on you... er maybe I'm just a giant fool. Ruth is right... Dammit! I can't let Brittany or Dominic define me.

Just to be safe, I looked up jewelers outside of Prairie Landing and drove down to Keokuk to Parson's Jewelry store. Parson's is one of those jewelry stores in an old shopping strip. Reviews said their prices were the best around with a good selection. This was going to be my first stop, figuring I would hit a couple other stores over the next week.

Walking in, two people in their fifties looked up. The woman spoke, "Welcome to Parson's, I'm Susan and this is my husband Brian. How can we help you?"

I smiled, yes nervously, "I'm here for an engagement ring."

She smiled, "Aww! We'll do our best for you! What are you thinking?"

I thought about how awesome Allie is so I said, "How big can I get for say sixty thousand? Something she can show off."

I saw that smile slip but she nodded and resumed a natural expression. Her husband disappeared to the back and came out with a small metal box, setting it on a blue velvet pad his wife had set in front of me.

He opened the box which held about a dozen small white envelopes with labels. He sorted through and selected three envelopes, opened them, then put each of the three diamonds in a small indentation in the velvet pad. He explained cut, color, clarity, carat weight and gave me a magnifying jeweler doohickey.

"Look at each stone, from left to right. The smaller is a better grade and the larger gives size while sacrificing grade. Take the jeweler's loupe, you can see more 'stuff' inside the largest stone. Those are called inclusions."

TIL a jewelers magnifying doohickey is a jeweler's loupe.

I'm blathering, I told them I had a couple more places to go but note that diamond as my favorite. They looked disappointed, but she took out a pad and took down the information on the stone.

Walking out of Parson's, I turned right and... walked right into Allie and her father who had dinner next door. She looked where I had come from, smiled... a knowing smile then looked at her father who had the biggest grin. She walked up to me, "I'm going to say yes, you know. In fact. YES!"

She kissed me completely improperly right in front of her dad!

She paused, thought, then said, "I know it's not tradition and all... but can I choose?"

She looked at me then gave the fakest pout imaginable, "Please."

How the hell could I say no? I know I should have... somehow? Her soft power is a thing and she knows I'm helpless against her little requests. And I kinda love it.

We went back in. The Parson's looked up, then at me. Then at Allie. I just shrugged. Allie asked, "May I see what he was leaning toward?"

They looked at me, I sighed, then nodded defeated. So much for the grand proposal I was trying to come up with.

Susan brought out the box and stone then set it on the blue velvet in front of her in one of the holes.

She gasped... kinda loud, then looked at me then kissed my cheek, "So sweet and I love you for it."

She looked at Susan, "And how much is this boulder?"

She looked at me, I shrugged defeated again and nodded.

Susan said, "Sixty thousand."

Allie shook her head, "DOLLARS!?"

Susan nodded.

Allie kissed my cheek again, "Sweet. Look, I know you are wealthy, but this stone screams 'Please Mug Me'.

Allie chuckled, "And I would be terrified wearing it... anywhere. Lost. Mugged. Damaged. Michael, surely by now you know me well enough I want your time, not your money, and the thought of wearing a ring that costs as much as a nice SUV would keep me on edge long enough to put me into a psychiatric hospital."

"I want a stone to wear every day. A nice one, but I don't want that kind of attention."

She thought for a second and looked at the handy chart poster on the front of the case. It featured different size diamond engagement rings from 1/10 carat to 10 carat.

"Between half and three quarters of a carat. The best color and sparkle! A nice but practical dazzler!"

The Parson's looked defeated and brought out a bigger box with a lot more envelopes. I'll shorten this to flawless, E color, best cut, 0.59 carats.

Allie beamed, "Perfect perfect perfect!"

She typed in something on her phone then looked at Susan, "How much?"

Susan said 2500 dollars

Allie took out her phone then answered a minute later after shaking her head, "Blue Nile sells the same thing for 1200 dollars. We'll support local businesses, but he's not paying double what it's worth."

Susan grumbled "1800 dollars."

Allie beamed, "Standard solitaire 18 karat gold ring size five. Mount it. We'll wait. I want to wear it home!"

Am I just a mannequin here? 2800 bucks, mounted. Shit the ring itself was half what the stone was. I wasn't expecting that.

Once Allie inspected it, squealed in delight, handed it back and stood in front of me, hand out fingers extended. I got off the chair and did the one knee thing, "Allie Hammar, would you do the great honor of marrying me?"

"YES!"

She did the improper kiss thing again.

I guess now it's official? I dunno, I'm just a mannequin I guess.

Allie talked softly in my ear, "I need to be with you."

As we walked out, Allie said to her father, "Night daddy. I'll be at Michael's!"

He nodded. It wasn't a smile. It wasn't a frown either. He knows she's spent the night about a hundred times. We had sex. Lots. Mr Happy was down for the count by four in the morning.

Friday, April 29, 2022

It wasn't easy getting up for work. Ruth looked at me, read the room, and smiled, "About damn time!"

My brain was fuzzy, "Huh?"

Ruth brought out her phone. Allie had texted her a picture of her ring finger and 'Thanks for setting me up with him! You're the best.'

That gave me an idea. I asked Ruth to be my best man. Yeah, you are thinking Dad... er Dave. Dave won't be around any more by the time we set up a wedding.

Saturday, April 30, 2022

I woke beside Allie sitting up, a distant look in her eyes, "I think I want a combination wedding and reception; something people will actually want to attend."

She went through the usual ideas. Beach. None near us and big beaches make it an overly expensive destination wedding. In the end we settled on a September barbecue party wedding reception combination. No formal monkey suit? And she actually likes the idea? How did I get so lucky she came into my life?

*******

Saturday, May 7, 2022

Sunny and a little cool. Crystal clear... Dave saw the bikes come down the road from the Garden State Parkway exit onto NJ Route 36, stopping briefly at the light. He half smiled, then sighed, thinking 'Right on time'. Peacocks strutting around, not realizing a wolf was stalking. So kind of this 'group of gentlemen' to post their itinerary on their engagement site and invite other rich poser owners of trailer queens.

A bachelor party motorcycle run to Trautman's Oceanside Pub. Oversized fancy 'pub' on land worth tens of millions... overpriced drinks for men with overpriced egos. Six rows of two bikes across. Lead bike on the left Orange... too fucking orange and lots of it, all on custom panels. He renamed the color in his mind: Shithead Orange.

His face darkened as he thought back, "'Injun'. Fuck you. Time to take out the trash."

He was sweating and wincing as he put his leg over the bike and started it. This whole dying business sucked ass. As they passed, he switched on his phone, tapped the music icon, hit repeat and finally hit play. A sombre but strong drum beat... lyrics; "Voices... Voices..."

They passed by him, not truly seeing him as he slipped in behind unnoticed and far enough back to not register in their minds. Traffic was moderate, but the group of bikers created their own kind of presence on the road, fast enough to make passing difficult, but slow enough to annoy.

Traffic came and went, no breaks big enough to finish this little game; he followed behind, unobserved. How dare all these random people be on HIS road when he had a mission to accomplish. The road was moving okay, but the traffic meant no one was going sixty. It was all a waiting game. The song finished and repeated. A sombre but strong drum beat...

Finally, a big clearing on the oncoming side. Dave hit the throttle hard. A final thought, "My son is a civilized man; good thing I'm not. This one is for you son. Be the father neither my father nor I ever was. See you on the other side."

Left of center. The oncoming side of the road still clear. One hundred eleven miles per hour... then aim back toward the right side...

Lyrics; "carved in stone, carved in stooooooooone" echoed.

Dave felt only the briefest pain as he smashed into the rear of the custom orange Harley that was traveling at only thirty-five.

[Image and sound] A phone with a cracked screen lying on the grass now playing to no one. Lyrics: 'I'll see you on the other side.' [Ozzy Osbourne, See You On The Other Side]

*******

Sunday, May 8, 2022

WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP!

Fuck, what the hell time is it?

I disentangled from Allie, she protested a bit but fell back asleep. Sweats and a t-shirt should do to check the door. Five ten on a Sunday Morning. Honestly what the fuck? Must be Dave, only he knocks on my door like a drunk gorilla.

Down the stairs and I look out... What the fuck, an Iowa State Trooper and some other guy who looks like Lennie Briscoe.

I opened the door, "Yeah?"

The trooper spoke, "Michael Talon, son of David Lake of Williston, North Dakota?"

"Yeah."

"We need to talk to you."

I gestured they could come in.

"I need to speak to you about your father."

Really!? It's fucking early. I sighed, "What the fuck did he do? Bar fight? No, you wouldn't be here for that. He shot someone?"

The men looked at each other, "He was involved in a major accident and died at the scene."

Damn. I wasn't going to cry, but still, losing him stung, "Fuck."

They looked at each other again. I hate the mind game shit they were playing, "Look. You're up to something and it's too early on Sunday. Spit it out already."

The other guy, obviously some kind of detective, finally spoke, "He was involved in a crash with Dominic Moretti, who also died at the scene."

I smiled. Sorry. I just did, "Can't say I'm sad about that. Is he sending racist shit to him again? Why would Dominic Moretti be in North Dakota?"

They looked at each other again, "Where were you yesterday at ten in the morning?"

I wanted to say, "Fucking the shit out of my fiance", but figured that would make things worse, "I was here until eleven. Then I took my fiance to lunch at Maid-Rite."

"Do you have proof?"

I shrugged, "Is a credit card charge enough?"

"The crash happened in New Jersey."

Things fell into place quickly, "And you think I sent pops on a kamikaze run. Sorry to disappoint, but I have an amazing fiance and value not being in prison too much. I haven't talked to Dave in a couple weeks. He is... or was terminal with cancer. Other than he was complaining the cancer was doing a number on him. That is all he said... texted actually."

I showed him my texts, "He wasn't the kind of guy who wanted to die with the family around him all Hallmark Channel style. He wanted to die alone as he mostly lived his life."

They looked disappointed, almost as if they hoped I was a mastermind criminal behind killing an asshole.

The detective who never gave his name went fishing again, "Your ex-wife is beside herself with grief."

"Golly. I'm so sad."

"No, you're not.", Briscoe said accusingly.

"You caught me. Still didn't have anything to do with his trip to New Jersey."

"Your father was travelling in excess of one hundred ten miles an hour when he impacted Mr. Moretti."

I smirked, "So the funeral for Moretti is going to have a closed casket."

Briscoe looked pissed. The trooper had to stifle his laugh

I couldn't help it.

Briscoe was angry, "This is a serious situation."

Allie came down and stood beside me, playing her well fucked dreamy look to perfection. Short T-shirt... a hint of under boob, bullet nips poking the shirt hard. Panties no pants. She was playing her own game, Allie has a low partner count but is the direct opposite of innocent.

I was tired of being accused, "You're here because you clearly know my background and what happened. I promise to be a good little boy and not send my ex a copy of the song 'Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye'.

The trooper slipped and laughed. Briscoe got more pissed. The trooper saw my logic. I mean your wife cheats with your boss, you lose both the wife and your job thanks to them and you want me to cry when the shithead ex-boss takes a dirt nap? Fuck you.

Allie stretched. Under boob was now a nip slip. Men trying not to see glorious boobies is distracting.

The trooper was getting antsy, accurately figuring out I was not going to fuck up a pretty epic life here with Allie to get revenge on a shithead who seems too much like a movie villain. Briscoe was uncomfortable. Finally, the detective had enough and left with, "We may have more questions."

I nodded, "I'm getting married in September. I'll still be here."

Once gone Allie looked at me then said, "I don't like their tone so I made them uncomfortable."

I had to smile. She has my back and no, I don't get all jealous because she flashed a nip.

Peace lasted just over a week, and I'm sure Briscoe pulled my phone records.

Monday, May 15, 2022

Donnie Briscoe visited my office. He looked pissed. I was busy but I was guessing he had some kind of warrant.

"You have no class Mr. Talon."

Maybe I don't, but I didn't like it coming from him, "And why do I have the privilege of you visiting me this fine Monday."

"Don't Play innocent."

'Of what."

"You know."

"Nope."

He stood silent thinking of strategy. I was invited to the Iowa State Police barracks to answer questions. I called Sol. Whatever it was, it wasn't going away.

At the barracks, Sol was beside me but I blurted, "So what do you think I did now? Surely you figured out by now Dave Lake had his own beef with Mr. Moretti."

Briscoe looked disgusted, "Sending Oscar The Obnoxious to sing your disgusting version of Here Comes The Bride."

"Who is Oscar?"

Some guy in a suit was standing behind Briscoe. He approached as there was obvious acrimony between Briscoe and I that wasn't going away.

"I'm Captain Kirk... and if you say it, I will throw you in a cell myself."

"Tell me your name is not James."

He sighed, "it is."

I actually felt sorry for the guy, "Ouch. Uh. No Star Trek joes coming from me. Look. Whatever it is, I like my life and upcoming marriage too much to fuck it up."

He studied me, half... quarter believing. He grunted, "Show him the video."

Black bunting. A funeral at a big church. It was a short video. One guy was dressed like a pastor among several. That kind of money brings you as much clergy as you want. I guess they didn't think about an extra pastor being there.

Just as the organ stopped, the extra priest sang. LOUD!, "Here comes the bride. Oops, the groom has died. There is the groom. headed for a tomb!"

Being a Moretti and Fitzgerald thing, security caught it about two seconds after that, Rushing the guy out.

I laughed. Yes, I'm a dick. Sol was tense. Briscoe was kinda purple level angry. Captain Kirk, damn it has to suck being him, was angry, but was one of those always in control guys, "That isn't funny!"

I shrugged. Bluntly, it's funny as hell. Glad I didn't think of it cause I mighta got myself in real trouble, "You obviously know the history of Mr. Moretti and I. You want sympathy? I got none for him or my ex."

"Fact is I did not send that guy. I have a fiance that I cannot wait to marry and I am not going to fuck that up."

It hit me then, "There is no way a cold viscous piece of shit like Moretti hasn't created more enemies than me. Trace the money. Go ahead, not that I can stop you, from tracing whoever paid Oscar."

"We have. The money was sent via Western Union from a CVS in Ho-ho-kus, New Jersey."

"Never been there."

"You don't know anyone?"

"Nope. I'm a Hawkeye and my time in and around New York City wasn't in Jersey. "

"Is there a video at the CVS?"

"Terrible quality and forty feet away. Elderly female."

"I am not an old lady."

"You could have paid one."

"I didn't"

"The video went viral this morning. Your ex is humiliated and heartbroken."

He looked at me darkly, "There are a million views on Instagram. Publicity has led to... complications."

He brought up his own phone, showing me a million plus hits. Comments up the wazoo, some laughing. Some rather sympathetic actually then... it was linked to a trending video. Video from some other woman from Staten Island at a high end boutique on 5th Avenue. The thread was titled, 'Same bitch!?'

I looked at Briscoe who ignored the link a little too quickly then took back his phone. Methinks those are the complications, "What was that?"

Briscoe frowned, "Nothing!"

Uh huh.

Downloading Instagram and creating a profile is a pain in the ass. Briscoe tried to pull me back into the conversation, but I was VERY curious now. Sol was very good at reading the room and started asking Briscoe a bunch of questions. First damn two pushed links were Draft Kings and Fan Duel. No, I don't want to waste my money. Even with a title it took me a minute to find the video. Fuckers pushed Bet MGM in a last desperate attempt to induce me to give money to digital pickpockets.

Finally a woman, Gianna Rossi, with 1000 and rising rapidly followers came on, "I was with my daughter to pick out her wedding dress. My sister and mom were with us. We were in maybe ten minutes. I had my phone out taking video of my baby girl trying on dresses then this happened!"

There was a video of this woman's daughter... I guess then you heard a 'NO!' then nothing. It wasn't coming from her daughter. Then again even louder, 'No!' Then more nothing then 'How stupid are you!?'

'Are you blind?'

The lady did a few courtesy edits which said 'removed 2 minutes'

That voice is all too familiar.

'I asked if you were blind or are you just the dumbest bitch on the planet?'

Then the real tirade started. Wow. Brittany has picked up some mean vocabulary since we split and any sense of propriety and control is gone; replaced by massive entitlement.

"I'm spending big money here to be served by some stupid bitch with no sense of style!? Take it back! You!!!... After a pause and some scuffling, Brittany appeared from behind a room divider in street clothes carrying a dress which she dumped on the floor then she stopped, turned and sneered, "We're out of here you stupid blind bitch!"

Then she drifted into assault and since she landed, battery. Brittany launched a very pointy heeled shoe at some youngish twentysomething salesgirl. Of course it hit heel first. No real blood in the video but it did leave a mark when the lady zoomed in.

The video ended. It was trending hard.

I looked at him with the one eyebrow into the forehead thing, "Do you really want me to send a sympathy card? It won't go well."

"Not married yet, I guess she won't inherit and get to add Domonic's money to her mountain. Whaa."

"You're cold."

I was astounded at his words, "Me cold!? Has YOUR WIFE ever told you to your face she was going to spend the weekend fucking YOUR BOSS?"

He scowled and said nothing until grumbling, "We'll be following up."

I decided to say nothing as this was too dangerous territory and Briscoe looked to be out of ideas. Kirk gestured toward the door and I agreed. No point in poking at Briscoe. Sol and I left in silence. He seemed to like that.

On Instagram, people started piling onto both Dominic and Brittany. Dominic had made quite a few enemies; unpaid suppliers, an unpaid contractor, people he sued and delayed until they gave in, you get the idea. He apparently hated actually paying for stuff he got and burned a long line of people with shallower pockets.

Brittany apparently loved shitting on wait staff; lots of anecdotes flooded in. Being rich and untouchable, Brittany retreated into seclusion at her father's Hamptons estate. America soon went onto the next rich person scandal: Popular singer using his girlfriend as a punching bag. The stories moved on though Brittany's social world got smaller. Who wants to be seen with the latest internet bitch? Only people looking for a payday.

I was the only one linked to Dave, but Dominic and Brittany had a long list of people who did not like them, including other elites. There were probably others, but two years previous, Dominic had an affair with the wife of a local businessman, one they had met at a charity dinner. There were probably others, but that one came out only because Dominic was named in the divorce. Any one of them could have hired Oscar and that particular crime was not worth following up.

Sol let me know that Briscoe kept digging on me sending Dave angle, but he did it quietly, and it became an annoyance, not requiring more interviews.

Monday, June 6, 2022

Ruth came in smiling and set the early report for May on my desk. I guess by now her smiling should be unsurprising.

Early numbers said sales were up four percent year over year and more importantly inquiries were up thirty percent. Profits were just over fifty thousand. People were waiting on Farmers Co-Op Talon Tractor Codebase and they were interested. We would never be Green Meanie, but we were making waves.

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

Ruth emailed me a link from the Midwestern Ag News site. "Farmers Co-Op Talon Tractor Codebase starts early beta testing'

Farmers were hammering the code hard. More than one hundred fifty Talon tractors, some as old as forty years, were being retrofitted. Farmers themselves were taking older units and having mounting points installed. Excitement was building. Finally someone offering a product that isn't a monthly subscription.

Tuesday, June 14, 2022

Allie met me at my place. Well... by then she had a key. Bare as she was born making Bacon Ranch Chicken sandwiches from Deli cuts from the grocery store.

She faced me, unashamed and her smirk, "See anything you like?"

We ate then went to the post office to send wedding invitations out. My first list had 12 people on it, hers had one hundred. She pointed out that I should invite a whole bunch of people out of courtesy then added to my list for me.

Lots more sex that night. Not news, I know.

Thursday, June 16, 2022

Midwestern Ag Webnews headlined, '1992 Talon Tractor plows entire 400 acre field with zero navigation errors'

Web inquiries doubled. They weren't buying yet, but the agricultural community was excited. The codebase was not vaporware. More and more farmers were taking part in the beta. They wanted this and they wanted it yesterday.

Midwestern Ag Webnews called that afternoon and wanted a tour.

Can you say, "HELL YEAH!"

I knew you could.

Tuesday, June 21, 2022

Allie was waiting with a stack of returned invitations and a grocery bag when I got home. A two liter Baja Mountain Dew, strip steaks and a bag of Arby's fries. The woman has great taste I tell ya!

A bunch of people from the plant accepted, especially after hearing the dresscode was jeans and any nice shirt that wasn't a T-shirt. An early September barbecue wedding and reception is a popular idea and not making people wear neckties, goes over very well..

Allie had selected Target for our wedding registry. It updated us that 25 had already done their shopping. We had stuff for five bucks. A few small boxes arrived directly. Her cousin sent the single left over crystal goblet from their common great-grandmother. Something from the 1930s. We'll have to find a way to get that into a protective case.

We got a note from her Aunt Sandra about not being able to attend but a gift was incoming. Allie said she was from near Paterson, NJ and the distance was just too much. In the end nothing arrived from her.

Two of her cousins on the West Coast declined. One said they did the Target thing, the other didn't do anything. Ruth was in for a hundred. Front desk Emily was in for ten. Remember Emily, the one I gave the raise to? She gave more than Allie's rich uncle.

We hired Ruth's pastor, Pastor James Lurkey, formalized the paperwork on the VFW hall and sent the deposit. Emily's brother runs a barbecue trailer outfit named High Steaks. Gotta support those who support you.

Thursday, June 23, 2022

Midwestern Ag Webnews toured the factory and they published on Friday. First paragraph with a picture of Emily and her Hawkeye smile to the last paragraph talking about how determined the agricultural community was... The best publicity there was. The theme was consistent. Once you bought a Talon, they were not going to nickel dime... thousand dollars, you.

Web inquiries spiked. They waited for a full release, but thousands were now watching us.

Friday, June 24, 2022

We drew out our plans for the VFW Hall. The one in Prairie Landing was especially nice. The usual bar thing and meeting rooms inside but... the setting. 25 acres on a knoll overlooking the Mississippi and far enough away that the noise from Route 61 and the railroad that runs along the river were very much muted. Perfect for 154 people who accepted our invitation for the wedding and reception. This wedding is going to actually be fun and with barbecue... Steak! One of the four basic food groups!

Friday, June 30, 2022

More invitations arrived. I was surprised so many from the plant wanted to attend. Lots of the gifts were five dollar stuff from Target. I was good as I'm not in it for the money. Her Aunt Sandra never sent anything. Allie shrugged and said her Aunt Sandra was very old and forgetful, then rolled her eyes when one of her uncles was coming and had used the Target registry. One of the five dollar items. He owns a Bentley dealership in SoCal. Allie said he was the cheapest man who would try to dicker on items in the grocery store.

I was good. Hank sent me a three amp M18 battery for my Milwaukee tools. The man has taste. Team red over team yellow all day long.

Tuesday, September 6, 2022

Ruth and her smile. Yeah, I'm used to it now. Sales up seven percent year over year and a profit of $117,342.00. I sat back. You always have to watch and react to changes... a lesson that nearly killed Talon... We HAD truly had turned the corner.

Friday, September 9, 2022

Supervised early release of the codebase was announced for the fifteenth. It would be next spring before it was officially official, but the code was good enough that farmers could scroll their phones and ride around for the fall harvest.

Saturday, Sept 10, 2022

The big day. Allie spent the night at her father's place. By this time she had taken over half my dresser and was here six nights in seven, even during her monthly. She FIT me. When I annoyed her, she told me exactly how and it worked both ways. One amazing part; she would think about what I said and not cry. Instead she would usually ask questions. Small fights stayed SMALL!

It was a glorious sunny day, mid 70s a few puffy clouds drifted. Light wind. PERFECT. The wedding was outside. Two sets of chairs and the usual aisle between them with a nice flower arbor at the end.

Me in my khakis and navy blue Talon Tractor button down shirt complete with the company logo.

Prelude music played. Silo, carrying a basket, walked beside Ruth who stopped at the beginning of the aisle. Silo, smart dog, knew his duty, walked up the aisle and stopped at me. We had been training him for weeks. I took the rings out of the basket and handed them to Pastor Lurkey. I pointed to the second spot beside me and Silo took his place.

Silo is such a good boy!

Ruth came up the aisle next. Yes, Ruth was my best man. Who else? Not typical tradition but by far the most appropriate choice.

Allie and Alf appeared. My bride wore a long flowy skirt and the same company shirt I had handed to her the day we met.

They say you can't let the past dictate your future. I guess this is proof of that.

Allie did her walk beside her father. He kissed her cheek then stood beside her.

Typical tradition? Nope. Beside us was the truly most appropriate person standing beside them. Ruth beside me and Alf beside Allie. Lets not forget Silo!

It all seemed to go as planned then...

Pastor Lurkey got to the point of, "If anyone can show just cause why these two..."

A huge man wearing biker leathers walked up the aisle and stood in front of me. He towered, I mean huge then reached into a side pocket and pulled...

A ring then handed to me, "Put that ring on your right ring finger."

I looked. It took a second for me to figure out what it was.

Dave's tribal ring. The biker was huge, so I put the ring on my right ring finger. He looked hungry and I did not want to be his dinner, so I complied.

He shrugged, "Dave won my bike in a poker game. Said he would give it back if I did something important. I agreed then sorta deliberately 'forgot'. For some reason yesterday, I couldn't get it out of my head so I drove down straight through from Williston."

He looked at the ring on my finger, nodded, walked out, and left on his motorcycle.

Pastor Lurkey was just as shocked as I, recovered, "Well! No lasting objections! Let's begin."

You know the vows. You don't need 3 pages of vows. Then the 'I do' part. You don't need 3 pages of that. The kiss... She's not shy about inappropriate kisses!

We walked back to do the receiving line. No 3 pages here either. I'll skip most of it. Ruth, along with Silo, were the second to last, patted me on the head, "You're such a good boy."

I know. I'm such a good boy like Silo, Woof.

Alf was last, bro hugged me and called me son then stood next to his daughter again. I can see how Allie became who she is. Alf is a great father.

We hired a local band, The Robbie Hart band. He started with an intro, "Welcome to the wedding of Michael and Allie! I'm Robbie Hart. We have my friend Sammy on guitar, Rosie on Drums and George on keyboards."

The band started with "Everyday I Write The Book, by Elvis Costello and covered everything from 1970 to modern. Several times country songs came up and I occasionally found myself liking it. Just shoot me.

Barbecue set up, Emily's brother looked to be doing well. Newish F250 pulling a substantial barbecue trailer, 'High Steaks' professional decals on the door and the ends of the trailer. He was working to get things going.

Lots of congratulations. Allie just seemed happy being by my side. She's simply good company. Dinner was better than advertised, then again I wouldn't think Emily's brother would have a newish truck if he sucked at his job.

Once most were done with dinner, Ruth, to my right, stood and did the glass tinkling thing, "Attention! Time for the speeches."

Ruth smiled at me then toasted, "Your grandfather is surely here in spirit and I am sure he is extremely happy. You overcame personal tragedy and now start anew. Someone... who is a much... MUCH better choice!

She smirked at Allie, "SOOO much better!"

Now some words from our favorite and definitely most masculine Maid of Honor."

Alf stood as Ruth sat, "Alf started... in a falsetto high voice, "When Allie..." the guests laughed at the faux maid of honor female voice then he went to his normal voice, "I remember holding my tiny one hour old infant girl swaddled and praying she would meet the right person. She has."

"When Allie came home the day they met. I knew... I knew."

He looked at us, "I knew."

"When she said his name and related the story of their first date. Her eyes shone and sparkled. She smiled. THAT smile. I knew. Here we are. Allie, you met a good one! Michael, take good care of her. I see a long happy road in front of you two."

We left at nine. Some were staying, but Alf was gathering his things and Ruth looked to be ten minutes behind him. Good times.

Once home, Allie was Allie. Honeymoon NIGHT! She has quite the libido and after three, I was out of bullets.

I lay there, Mr. Happy in a coma, Allie dozing on my chest. Looking down, her ring on her finger shining. Then I realized...

FULL CIRCLE.

They say coming back from horrific betrayal is hard.

It is.

They say you can't let that define you.

You can't.

Saturday, August 29, 2026

"Your ex is marrying husband four, some hedge fund guy."

My wife was scrolling TMZ and I really didn't want to hear about it. I grunted then took the opportunity to compliment the wife, "Not interested. I married much better than her."

She smirked at me approvingly. Score one for Michael. Rich, model gorgeous and still stacked, Brittany would have men's attention for years yet. Not real marriages... 'arrangements'. Cats were for later.

We arrived at Upper Michigan near the end of summer, early enough to enjoy pleasant air and crisp sunny days. Lake Superior, the beautiful monster that gives... and takes life. I put the Rav in park in the driveway of a typical northern Michigan ranch near the university. Sault Ste. Marie was a typical northern Michigan town, some parts nice... some parts not so much. This area was rather nice.

As we parked, the door opened and a much older man walked out. Hair all silver... tall... Aged... Proud, not stooped. His eyes stood out, a piercing brown color. Full blood Ojibwe was not particularly common, but I believed it was possible in this man.

Stepping out our eyes met. His gaze was eerily like Davids... until it wasn't, his eyes sparkled a warmth my father's never had, "Welcome lost son! My heart... spirit... it dances!"

I handed him the traditional tobacco gift. He smiled even broader, "The traditional gift. Respect. I love this even more! Come in! I will help and I must hold my nephews!"

Allie looked at me and I shrugged. She put our son, David in his arms. He looked at her with an expectant empty arm, "I have two arms and you have two of my nephews. Please!"

She handed his twin, John. His face lit up and our sons seemed to like him, both immediately playing with his aged face. George Lake loved it and took no offense.

Once inside he sat and the boys got fidgety so he set them down and looked at us, "Don't worry. I have baby proofed my kitchen and living room in anticipation. The other doors are locked. Would you like iced tea or something perhaps a bit harder? His smile... wry.

Allie laughed, "Actually a cold water if you have it."

I asked for a Mountain Dew hoping for a miracle. Iced tea it is.

We sat down and he smiled again then got serious, "My brother Frank was not a good man and David, his son... the old adage about the acorn not falling from the tree is too true in this case. I am pleased to see that you indeed fell very far from David. I am also pleased you are embracing your Ojibwe heritage."

He beamed, "Today is a perfect day!"

He fished in his pocket for the tobacco gift and smiled then resigned and put it back in his pocket, "I don't touch the stuff. Lung cancer is bad. I will have it on my person, but smoking can kill you!"

He repeated the part about smoking with a little wry sarcasm, I like this guy.

He knew to answer the unasked question, "I have given them a lot of thought and I have two spirit names for them that I feel embrace what has transpired. The names celebrate the tribe and the return of one of our lines!"

I asked what was good for lunch. He suggested Andretti's, a local pizza place. Avoiding the geezer gravy diner. He explained our roles and how it would work then handed Allie and I each a note card for handy reference. He explained the tribe is happy when anyone returns to the tribe and would not be offended if we used the cards to stay on track during the ceremony.

After lunch, we followed George to the The Niigaanagiizhik Ceremonial Building. It looked a lot like a modern small community center or perhaps one of the larger nicer VFW halls. Brown wood interior, pitched roof to shed snow. Nice, but not overwhelming.

The note cards sure helped. It was quite a bit of formality that I did not want to mess up. We approached George. He smiled. Though sacred, he was clearly enjoying his role, "We are gathered in this space on this day to honor a humble request. I have been asked to offer names and spirit to these two young ones, so that they may know who they are and where they come from."

"A man..." he smiled at Allie, "And his beloved wife brought his children home to us. I am honored to stand as the bridge for this journey."

"John Harris Talon, I give you the name 'Ningaabii'ani-noodin ' which means West wind. This represents the family line heading west but the west wind returns it to us..

"David Lake Talon, I give you the name 'Ajijaak' which means crane. A bird that returns here each summer after a long winter. The line of David Lake has returned!" He mentioned no more about my father effectively being a lost drifter who headed west, leaving those ghosts alone.

George smiled at some of the tribal leaders he had asked to attend, promising them they would be happy and that we should head outside without bringing attention. I made a call to a waiting truck. Once outside and five minutes later, the truck, a flatbed appeared then stopped just short of the driveway.

George smiled, "Our returned family has a gift. My nephew owns Talon Tractor. One of ours is indeed a very successful man with a family. Michael, the floor... er... the parking lot is yours."

It took me a second, "Uh, so I thank the tribe for accepting me. History is a painful thing and I was unsure how I would be received. My experience has been nothing short of perfectly welcoming so I have a gift. Two Talon, Gold Eagle Tractors with cab and winged V plows."

"I hear it sometimes snows here."

The leaders laughed, glad they understood my little bit of snark.

My final gift was a nice and simple one, but one enjoyed by many. Two hours later we all enjoyed a catered steak barbecue. Steak is the most important of the food groups!

All too soon, it was time to leave, Allie put our sons into our Rav to give me time with George to say goodbye.

George smiled, "It gives me great joy to welcome your line back into the tribe under much more favorable circumstances. David and his father were part of us, but their... natures... were troubling. Your line has returned to us and though in Iowa, I am proud to call you not only my blood family, but Ojibwe."

He gestured to the tractors sporting the V plows... Gifts that will allow us to move snow with much better control, "Your gift... practical... wonderful. It means a lot to us.

He sighed, "A weight has been lifted. I am now very content. Our family has come full circle."

I bro-hugged George and got into my Rav. We had a good three hours and could make Escanaba if we pushed a bit. That would make our trip back to Prairie Landing that much shorter tomorrow.

I honked a friendly goodbye. Looking in the rear view mirror, George did indeed look to be at peace with the world. Allie reached for my hand across the console, taking my hand and giving a gentle loving squeeze. I was also at peace with the world.

It didn't last for long.

Twenty minutes into our ride, Allie received a text then a call. She got quiet. She sniffled a little and said simply, "I need a little time."

My final pro tip: Women process. When she says she needs time. Leave her the fuck alone.

An hour of quiet passed, finally Allie said, "My Aunt Sandra died. The one who couldn't come to our wedding because she was ill. Ho-ho-kus was too far for her to travel."

"The one who sent that odd message about she was sending a gift but nothing arrived?"

Allie looked at me... intensely, "Oh, she gave us a gift."

Her eyes. Odd. Then it hit me, "Ho-ho-kus... Wait, didn't you say she lived near Paterson?"

"Ho-Ho-Kus is a suburb near Paterson. The whole area is just the New Jersey side of suburban New York City."

Then it dawned on me... oh... shit.

I looked at her, "When that detective came back and accused me of sending that singing telegram..."

Allie's eyes. So intense, "Never doubt I have always had your back since the very moment we became a couple."

The hits kept coming as I put it together, "Wait. That detective said a CVS in Ho-ho-kus..."

Silence. Deafening silence.

She squeezed my hand as I sat there dumbfounded, "Leave sleeping dogs lie."

More silence. She kept looking at me as I tried to process. It was so unreal.

She sighed, quietly, "When those police came... I was listening more than they thought. Dominic got his payback from Dave... Brittany was just walking away unscathed..."

"Not on my watch."

"I wasn't going to kill anyone, though. Her humiliation blew up in a way I never expected... far more than I initially thought."

She looked forward, at the road ahead. Allie sometimes does the dumb blonde act with devastating consequences. "Michael John Talon, When you chose me, I chose you. From that moment, I had your back. Until my last breath, I will ALWAYS have your back."

[And fade to black]

Author's notes.

The picture at the table is inspired by Clarence Purvis. Google then read his story for a smile.

The firing twice scene... It's REAL! It was at a company I worked for. The president fired one of the guys and I forget why. He did it publicly in front of everyone and even had a company meeting to do it. Mid speech, the guy, a welder, walked away. El Presidente screamed that he was not done. The welder turned, shrugged and asked if he thought El Presidente could fire him twice, then went to get his things. This was the 1990s when you could get away with that shit.

Pastor Lurkey was a real pastor from my youth. He liked small churches and ours was growing too fast so I only knew him for a year before he moved on to a smaller church. This is a tribute to a pastor who can make a great impression on a grade schooler who remembers him fifty years later.

Robbie Hart band is an easter egg if you can't quite place it... Google is a thing... And it was a wedding...

Vito was a manager I once had. We weren't buddies, but he worked like a dog and wasn't too good to sweep up a mess. Respect! So I named a pizza place after him.

If it's unclear. The song for Dave's final exit is Ozzy Osbourne 'See You On The Other Side'