With music blaring we strut our stuff around the room among about a dozen women. I'd though that Helen had overdressed with her short, tight dress and... 6" black heels but all of the women appeared to have dressed in their sexiest outfits. My wife was clapping and jeering along with the best and when one of the other bolder, (or possibly drunker) women made a grab for my ass Helen nigh on choked on her drink with laughter. After a couple of tours around the room so everyone could see the. ”“You couldn’t just blot out those things?”“I could do it intuitively, but it would fade. To do it permanently, I would have to block or uproot months of memories. I doubt it’s possible even if I were willing to spend all the time it would take.”“You could leave things as they are.”“No, it’s already too risky. It would only take one unexpected visit by the wrong person here to the farmhouse and the authorities would be on us. Besides, there is the matter of justice.”“What about justice?”“We. I heard a loud crack and an instant later the impact as the single tailed whip connected with my right shoulder. I screamed in pain and it felt as if my back had been ripped open and the bone was visible. My body went rigid and i held my breath trying to get some control over myself. Before the fire had a chance to die down i again heard the crack and the same instant explosion of pain erupted from my shoulder as this stroke landed just below the last one. Again i screamed and tried to look to. Two minutes to spend on weakness not too much to ask at times like this. Pull out Body’s wallet. Body needs name. Culprits, crooks, criminals, crankheads, call girls… all get pet names. Each gets nickname. Seperates me from them. Takes familiarity, humanity, out of equation. Easier to drop Whorehopper off overpass than Paul Jenkins. Easier to break Dope-Pusher’s neck than John Smith’s. Body’s name is Thomas Coffee. Sixteen years old. Blue eyes. Black hair. Driver’s license expires two days.