Текст книги "Defending Pacer"

Автор книги: T. J. Hamilton

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Déjà vu.

I’m sitting in the foyer of honeybee’s office once again, waiting for her to escort me inside. Except this time, I’ve just spent twelve hours fucking you until my dick went limp.

The wooden door swings open and there she is, boring suit, boring hair … but I know what lies beneath. She’s late again, but I didn’t expect anything else.

“Thanks for seeing me, Pacer.” I’m certain she’s saying it for the benefit of listening ears.

“It must be important.” I follow in the act, and try not to laugh at my joke.

I had to see her again. She knows damn well that I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I feel them all watching—lenses, whether they’re a camera or the naked eye. They’re all the same and I pay little attention to any of it.

I know I’m being watched when I’m in public, so I stay out of it as much as possible. It’s been my motto for years, and so far it’s helped. I’ve spent less than a year in prison when I’ve faced a combined one hundred and forty years’ worth of charges against my name. They can’t get me, and she can’t work out why. She will never know, no matter how far she digs.

My hands stay in my pockets as I walk, and feeling the packet of cigarettes within them just makes me want to light another …  right now. I can’t help it—I’m an addict.

Honeybee’s ass waving at me from her skirt gives me a flashback of that same ass bouncing against my cock when I had her on all fours. Lifting my leather glove to my top lip, I rub it past my nostrils, catching the scent of her. It’s still there. Fuck you smell good, honeybee.

She waves at the open door to her office. “Take a seat, Mr Fratelli.”

I stroll through the doorway and do as I’m told. “Make sure the blinds are shut,” I say, not looking at her when I speak.

The door closes behind me, and I hear her footsteps against the plush carpet. The brush of her fingertips against the back of my neck makes my smile impossible to hide. You are a firecracker, my honeybee.

I take hold of her hand, and pull her around to my lap. She fits perfectly in my arms. I want to rescue her from all the troubles she’s about to walk into. If only I could just pick her up and carry her out of this office, like they did in the shitty romance movies of the 70s. But it’s not that simple. There are debts to be paid, so I have to stick around until they’re settled.

Looking into her deep blue eyes, I wish I could tell her everything so that it stops her going on the wild goose chase that she’s about to head down. But right now, I want to spread her gorgeous body across her desk, and have her begging me not to make her moan.

From the angle that she’s in on my lap, my thumb slides up her thigh with ease. Her skirt has enough stretch to let my hand travel towards her sexy little honey pot. She doesn’t stop me either. Her lips crash onto mine, as if she never wished us apart in the first place. Her kiss makes my worries dissolve; her tongue makes my control disintegrate.

I hold her under her ass and tilt her hips towards me. My other finger slides her panties aside and slips into her sweet spot. Her body winces. I forgot how tender she must feel. My cock has been on fire all day, so I can only imagine what she must feel like.

She chuckles and holds my face in her hands as she kisses me hard. I love the feeling of her palms against my cheeks.

My gloved finger works into her slit with gentle strokes. I feel her relax, and she rocks onto my invading finger. Her head tilts back in pure bliss. It’s something about my gloves that really sets her off. Whatever it is, I love it.

I keep working her until My cock starts to swell, now sitting uncomfortably in my pants.

There’s a jolting knock at her door and she flies off my lap.

Adjusting her skirt, she leans into the door and speaks. “This had better be good.”

It’s a younger girl’s voice. Must be that cute secretary I’ve seen a couple of times. “Brad just said he saw your Dad down stairs. He thinks he’s on his way up here. I have told him all morning that you were in meetings, but I guess he’s just not taking no for an answer.”

“Fuck.” Her blue eyes flash back to me. “Lets get out of here before shit hits the fan.”

She grabs her folder from her desk, and coat from the hat stand beside the door.

I follow her. “We’ll leave through the stairwell. Thanks, Sienna. I’m going to my next appointment with Mr Fratelli.”

Sienna doesn’t raise her eyes to me before Chelsea leads me down a series of narrow hallways. Wood panelling is on each side, broken up by the occasional glass window that peeks into someone’s office. We reach the emergency exit at the end of the hallway and Chelsea pushes down on the handle. The door swings open. Thank fuck it’s not alarmed.

“You do this often?” I joke.

She glances back at me with a look that’s less than impressed. Why is she being so touchy? It’s not my fault her father is hell-bent on seeing her. Is she that insecure about us being together? Surely it can’t be that bad?

She keeps running down the stairs. She’s quick for a chick in heels. Is she seriously going to run down all twelve flights of stairs? I stop at the next landing and go to open the door to the right.

“What are you doing? Not this level.” She snaps out with both voice and hand.

“Are we going down all twelve flights by stairs? I’m not trying to be funny here, but I haven’t exactly dressed for this.” I watch her eyes take in my well-chosen suit by Hugo Boss. “What’s the sudden rush to get away from your father? I know he’s not going to be happy, but we do have business to attend to, together.”

She sighs and nods. “You’re right. It’s just this whole newspaper exposé has got me all wound up. This thing between you and I—I thought we were going to get a chance to work out what we were before we had to share it with everyone else.”

Her half-smile is gorgeous. Is that embarrassment? I move in and hold her, pulling her into me. Taking a deep breath and searching her eyes, I try to find the answers I need.

“And what do you want us to be?” I ask with a low voice.

She shrugs. “I don’t know … and I’m sure you don’t know either. We’ve spent all of a night together. How does anyone know what they feel after twenty-four hours?”

“I know.” I don’t care anymore. I know exactly how I feel. I’ve known from the moment I met her.

“You do?” Her eyes rake across my entire face.

Smiling to give her reassurance, I hold onto her tight. My gloved hand palms her face.

See it in my eyes, honeybee. See how much you mean to me.

She kisses me again. Our mouths really have a hard time leaving each other. I don’t need to say any more, and neither does she. We both might not say it, but there’s definitely something between us. Fuck, I feel like a soft-cock for just thinking it. But with her, it’s different. I want to love her. I need to love her, and I’m going to love her. Right here, on the stairwell.

Loosening my belt, and unbuttoning my pants, I sit against the steps and pull her with me. She wrenches up her skirt and I slide her panties off. I take them and put them in my pocket. She watches me, and smiles. With a quick wink, she gets it—I’m keeping them.

Popping open two of the buttons on her blouse, I get better access to her perfect tits. Freeing just one of them, I take it between my teeth just as she sinks down onto my hardened cock.

The risk of getting caught only seems to add to the moment. Right now we both need this. Our actions shout everything that we can’t say to each other. We don’t need the words just yet. The words are more frightening than having sex in the stairwell. But this is not just sex; I want to make love to her.

She grinds slowly into me in the direction my hands make her move as I hold onto her ass. Her arms hold around me, tight.

Don’t let me go honeybee. Don’t ever let me go.

She breathes heavy, but we daren’t make a sound louder than that. Not here. Her pulsing pussy quickens. I look her in the eye as I feel my build-up about to peak.

I almost feel embarrassed that I’m so close to coming already, but we both knew this was just a quickie. Even still, I try to hold back.

“Come with me, Pacer,” she whispers.

Those words alone leave me little choice in the matter. Even though we’ve already had unprotected sex, I’ve still haven’t come inside her yet. Until this moment, I’ve loved watching my seed explode all over her belly and tits. Until now, it hasn’t been more than us fucking. But now, it’s …

The sensation within me is unexplainable, but rife.

Her lips on mine, her pussy all over me, my heart is for her.

***

The same group of paparazzo that got me on the way into Chelsea’s office still wait as we pass by in a taxi. They don’t see us, so I guess the twelve flights of stairs wasn’t the worst idea in the world after all. It gave us more time alone, which was actually enjoyable after our moment of lovemaking on the stairwell, and meant we exited the building in the side street, away from prying lenses.

The taxi driver keeps glancing back in his rear-vision mirror as he drives. He catches my stare with his next glance. Go ahead, fucker, stare again … I dare you.

He gets the warning and fidgets with the steering wheel. Stopping just outside the Metro police station, I throw the cabbie twenty dollars. “Keep the change.” You piece of shit.

Chelsea takes my hand when I offer, to help her out of the taxi, but quickly lets go when she’s standing. It makes me smile. I get it—I’m the city’s most hated crook, and she’s pretty much its favourite daughter.

Luckily, the media hasn’t been tipped off about our appointment here this morning, and Chelsea holds her head high as we enter the police station. That-a-way, my girl. They all love to stare. Go ahead, assholes. I hang back and let Chelsea do her thing. The cop leaves the desk the moment Chelsea is finished talking. She rolls her eyes when she turns to me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all the judging eyes.” She sighs.

“You get used to it. Trust me.”

There’s that fucking smile again. Fuck it! My cock can’t take much more of this torture, honeybee.

“Come through, Miss Tanner.” I hear a voice past Chelsea’s shoulder.

Funny, they never address me. That’s right; I waste all their resources. As long as things keep sailing the way they are, they’ll always be wasting resources with their investigations on me.

The young cop escorts us into the elevator. He doesn’t look me in the eye when it’s just the three of us. They’re all tough until we’re alone. Flexing my interlocked hands out, they crack inside my gloves. I watch the young cop’s eyes glance sideways and can’t help my smirk.

We exit the elevator. I know my way around the station. I know the codes on all the elevators, and could get my hands on an access card if I needed, but none of these fuckers are worth my bother. There are bigger pieces of shit in the city to worry about than these pissy little excuses of humanity.

“Mr Fratelli.” My name is said with exaggeration. “I didn’t expect to see you in here so soon. Miss Tanner’s commitment to her client is obviously paying off.” Inspector Cunt-face makes my hackles stand on end, mentioning Chelsea in that tone.

Chelsea glares at me as a warning to calm, but I’m not going to let the sour-faced bitch get the better of me. My glory is in getting off all of these charges as soon as Reed is dealt with.

“I believe Judge Nolan had the orders delivered to you this morning,” Chelsea fires off before the bitch can say another word.

“Yes, I received them, along with the delivery of today’s newspaper.” Her snide smile makes me wild.

I will rip your fucking face off, cunt, and skull-fuck you with scissors.

“We’re not here to discuss tabloid stories, Karen. Remove Mr Fratelli’s monitor. I’m sure you have better things to do than attempt to intimidate my client.”

Thank fuck you’re here, Chelsea.

Soon-to-be-faceless cunt laughs so audaciously at Chelsea’s demand. It makes my nostrils flare. Make this quick, Chelsea. I’m quickly losing my shit.

Stomping my foot up on the cunt’s desk, I lift my trouser leg and glare at her. Chelsea takes out the documents from her leather document holder and places them down. She signs them then pushes the paperwork over to the other side of the desk. The smart-ass inspector unlocks the cabinet. She makes her way over to my leg and slowly unlocks the monitor. From this angle, I could easily smash her face into her pot of pens, but that would just be too easy.

I clench my fists; the leather of my gloves makes a squeaking sound. It’s the type of sound that makes you think of something cinching around your neck. Or at least that’s what it reminds me of.

Inspector Cunt-face glances up at me and shakes her head. Don’t even test me today, cunt. The monitor loosens and she steps away with the device in her hands. Taking a seat, she signs the paperwork in front of her.

“Are we done now?” I look at Chelsea, and she nods in reply. “Good. Say hi to Michael and the kids for me, Karen,” I add as I open her door and walk out.

I hear Chelsea scrambling with the paperwork before she follows quickly behind.

Pressing the elevator button, the lift dings open.

“You’ll need the code …” Inspector calls out.

I snigger at her, take Chelsea by the hand and enter the elevator. Dialling the code to access the ground floor, the elevator doors shut.

Chelsea looks at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck was that all about, Pacer?”

“Shut the fuck up, right now. Got it?” Doesn’t she fucking understand she’s being monitored in here?

I don’t look at her, but I can feel her heart breaking from here. It makes me fucking wild that I just spoke to her like that. I don’t want to hurt her, but fuck me! Maybe it’s not such a good idea if we’re together. I can deal with whatever they throw at me, but I can’t control what it does to me when any of these pricks talk to Chelsea like that. What if I really lose my shit one day, and there aren’t any more debts to be paid? I pull my phone out of my pocket and find Giorgie’s number.

“The front of Metro police, now!” I bark as soon as he picks up.

I hang up the phone. My temper is reaching breaking point.

We get out of the lift, and the fuckwit cops stop in their tracks as I stomp my way out of the station. If any of them utter a single comment, I don’t know what I’ll do. I keep my eyes ahead and reach for the front door. I don’t know where Chelsea is, but I hope she’s right behind me. I don’t trust myself at all, right now.

The cameras are waiting outside the station. Fuck the cops! They would’ve loved letting the media know we were here. I look back and find Chelsea covering her head with her leather folder as she leaves the station. My heart twists. Keep your fucking cool, Pacer.

“Just go. I’ll contact you later,” she says as she shields her face from the flashes.

Can she see how furious I am, or is she pissed at me? My rage heightens. You’re right, Chelsea. This isn’t fucking worth it!

I light a cigar and see the SUV approaching with Giorgie behind the wheel. He never lets me down, this kid.

With a swarm of cameras surrounding me, I fling the rear door open. They ask so many questions, I can’t even distinguish a single one. As the car pulls away, I watch my honeybee hold the cameras back. She stands on the steps in front of the station, stopping to give them a statement, like a pro.

I slam my fist into the back of the passenger seat.

Why did you let them get the better of you? Pacer, you’re fucking weak asshole.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

Clear skies. The skies have been lovely and clear today. I’ve only just noticed it now, and the day is almost over. I’ve been staring out of my office window for longer than I should be. There’s been nothing in my head other than the sound of rambling radio frequencies that you hear in between changing radio stations on an old car stereo.

I’ve got to get down to police archives already. My day has been like a spinning washing cycle, twisting one direction, then back the other—my head and heart are the biggest casualties. Why did I have to let my heart get involved? What was already a really difficult situation, I’ve only just gone and made worse by falling in love with my client.

What?

Did I just think that? Really?

But how can Pacer be confessing his love for me one minute, and treat me like a piece of dirt the next? Because he’s a prick. They’re always in there; you just have to scratch the surface. I really should’ve known better.

I pick up all my documents across the desk, and slide them into my oversized handbag. My phone is face down on the desk, the same position it’s been in all day. Sitting alone and silent since lunchtime. I don’t want to turn it back on until I’m ready to deal with what’s waiting for me when I do. Pacer’s the only one I care about talking to at this point, and he hasn’t left a message with Sienna, so he’s obviously not that troubled enough to really contact me. If I check my phone now and Pacer hasn’t left a message there either, I know I’ll be disappointed, or some other stupid feeling like that. I’m better off leaving it alone, for now. That kind of self-sabotage can wait a little longer.

Shit! It’s almost six! I’ve forgotten to get to Lou’s before he closes. That’s twice in one day that I’ve forgotten about the normal things in my life, all because of Pacer. It’s a fucking washing machine day!

I dare to pick up my phone. Staring at the blackened screen, I consider all the other ways I can search for Lou’s phone number. Holding my breath, I turn it on to find Lou’s number from this morning. It’s the easiest way. Call me lazy … and possibly a self-harmer.

132 text messages

57 missed calls

Today is officially a record. Blowing out a long puff of air, I take hold of the office phone and dial in the number for Lou’s. It takes a long time before Lou picks up. I hope I haven’t missed him before he’s closed for the night.

“Lou’s …” He sounds out of breath.

“Lou. Hi. Sorry. It’s Chelsea. I’ve been held up at work. I can give you my credit card details over the phone, so you can run the breakfast rolls through the till?”

“Chelsea, Chelsea. Relax.” He laughs. “Is this what you’re worried about right now? It’s twelve dollars and I’m about to close. Fix me up tomorrow. Go and get some rest. You don’t sound yourself, love.”

I’m not myself right now. “Thanks Lou. See you in the morning.”

By the sound of Lou’s words, the evening news must be having a field day, capturing Pacer and I having our first weird moment since basically swapping oxygen for twenty-four hours straight. I think the sharing oxygen thing has made my head turn to moosh. I feel like a fool for ever doubting that this wasn’t going to be easy. This was never going to be easy. Everything was so nice when we were at Pacer’s minimalistic love nest. Now I understand why he has that place.

For all the same reasons I’ve hidden at Dolorous on the weekends. Being locked away from the world, but around a house full of staff has made being around people normal, until now. Now they suck.

Grabbing my bag and coat, I hold my breath as I open my office door. To my surprise, the office is quiet, but then it is almost six at night. It’s only ever senior barristers who stay back this late, if they have a trial on. There are three senior barristers and I’m the only junior, so my odds are good.

The quiet office gives me a moment to realise that I have used up a whole day of work because I’ve been focused on Pacer. He is paying me good money to manage his case, but I still have other clients to manage. I make a mental note to get Brad onto the other cases for me. If I didn’t have him as my lead assisting council, I would be lost. Once he’s got all the information collected that I need, I can make the assessment on how best to represent each case.

Must. Contact. Brad.

***

The elevator and main foyer are much the same as the office—scarce. I’ve seen glimpses of people in doorways, but that’s been it. I’m sure they were all just cleaners. All I know is they took no notice of me and I took no notice of them. Just the way I’d hoped.

By the time I reach the tall sliding glass doors of the building’s main foyer, it’s already dark outside. It fascinates me to see how quickly the city changes at night. The city goes from peak hour bustle of every corporate worker leaving for the day to eerie ghost town, all within an hour.

A paparazzo who used to work for my Mum sits on a ledge of a built-up garden at the front annex of the building. The moment he sees me coming through the doors, he leaps up and starts snapping a flurry of pictures.

“Maurice, my family will have you out of a job if they find out you’re doing this.”

Frowning, I question what this city is coming to if it finds my relationship with Pacer so riveting.

“My Mum even likes you,” I add.

Maurice stops firing off pictures for a moment and shrugs. “Sorry, Chelsea, your photographs are worth a lot of money to someone at the moment. We’re getting top dollar for an exclusive shot. The others all gave up and thought you’d gone home, but I knew you’d still be up there.”

I smile, “Fuck you, Maurice. Find someone else to annoy. Didn’t Mariah Carey or someone arrive into town for you to piss off?”

“Come on, Chels … you know how this works.”

Don’t Chels me. His voice becomes distant as I walk away.

He’s right. I know exactly how this works. Hopefully he has the shot he can trade that allows the papers to make up some bullshit story to sell tomorrow. Taking more notice of what’s around me, I jump into the first cab with its vacancy light on.

“Corner of Kent and Bathurst Streets, thanks.” I try to avoid eye contact in the hope that the Indian driver doesn’t recognise me.

If he drops me on the corner, I can walk to the building and make sure no other photographers are following me. The last thing I need is someone finding out where I’m going. I couldn’t do that to Travis.

Within minutes we’re where I want to be. Handing over a note, I get out of the car.

“Keep the change.” I wave my hand out in front of me to stop the driver from taking a good look.

Doing a scan of the street, I walk as quickly as I can towards the archive headquarters. Buzzing the intercom at a door beside a massive roller door, I keep a watch around me to see if I notice the sparkle from a lens anywhere in the street.

“Metro Storage. You pile ’em, we file ’em.” Travis’s voice comes through the speaker.

I laugh. “It’s me.”

The door buzzes so I pull on the long handle and scurry inside. Travis wasn’t joking when he said they pile ’em. Towers of boxes are stacked high in the loading dock space. Travis coming down from the stairs at the far end.

“Surely this is a safety hazard?” I walk carefully through the aisle of boxes.

Travis laughs as he talks. “Don’t say that too loud. The bosses will be down here quick smart, making me get through these quicker.”

I have to hand it to Travis; he is the epitome of resilience.

I hold out my empty hands. “Sorry, I couldn’t bring you a coffee after all. I just didn’t want to risk anyone else in this shit city seeing me.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that’s like dodging bullets at the moment.” He’s never without his humour. “I can run up and grab us coffee and something to eat, if you plan on staying?”

I nod. After today, this will be the perfect hideaway and distraction, all in one.

“Okay. Let me take you down to all the files on Fratelli, and I’ll head out to grab us some food.”

“Thanks so much, Travis. I really needed this.” More than he realises.

“So is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?”

I continue following behind. “Just names, really. Something to shed more light on who was in charge of a couple of investigations. The officer in charge has been omitted from the case file that I have.”

Travis shakes his head. “These files have generated a lot of interest lately. Just a few weeks ago, two homicide detectives were down here, searching through these same files.”

“Did they say what they were retrieving exactly?” I know that’s not normally how they look for information.

Travis’s hair has more grey than it did the last time I saw him. This place is aging him quickly. For a man who’s only in his thirties, he looks as if he should be at least ten years older. Although his case was one of my wins, it’s always felt like a loss. Particularly when I come here for his help, which has only been twice, but two times that he could lose his job over. I won’t need to do this too many times in my career, so I’m sure his good deed will go unnoticed by anyone but me.

We walk down a thin corridor of cages, piled high inside with boxes of all the city’s criminal matters that have had their time in court.

“The murder cases are always down the back.” Travis tilts his head towards me as we walk. “They have to stay in archives for ninety-nine years. I won’t be getting rid of them any time soon, so they remain down here in the depths of the criminal history of our city.” He wiggles his fingers out in front of him as if it’s some sinister ghost story, which in reality, it is.

These cages hold all the city’s dark secrets. Untold motives, crimes that have gotten off on a minor technicality—all the parts the media couldn’t get hold of sit here.

There are only two caged doors to choose from, and Travis takes the one on the left. Unlocking the padlock, he swings the door open.

“When you find the boxes you need, you can bring them out to my office to read over, if it’s easier? I’ll head out and grab us a coffee and some food.”

“Thanks, Travis. I know what you’re risking by doing this.” My gratitude still doesn’t sound like it’s enough.

He screws his nose up, and swats his hand. “Please. Come on. You’re risking just as much to make sure there are fair trials, and still the justice system misses the ball.”

No truer words.

The moment Travis leaves the cage I start scanning along the boxes to get to the Fs. Finding FRATELLI is easy. His father, Vincenzo Fratelli, has quite a collection of boxes of his own to add to Pacer’s collection. Vincenzo Fratelli’s boxes are worn. The grey cardboard has faded more than Pacer’s modern document boxes that sit alongside them.

Putting my bag down on the raw concrete floor of the cage, I drag the stepladder over to where I need it and kick off my heels. I slide the first box out and drop it on the ground, and repeat the same with the next three boxes. There’s no time to waste by going out to Travis’s desk, so I jump off the stepladder and toss open the first box. Flicking through the folders, I find one of the homicide investigations that had its lead investigator omitted from my paperwork.

Drawing my finger from one line to the next, I get to the officer in charge.

Inspector Lawson. Inspector Michael Lawson. Now I understand Pacer’s little comment to the Inspector earlier—her husband was one of the first people to charge Pacer with murder. Is that why they hate each other so much? For a chick, Karen Lawson seemed to do an awful lot of chest bumping with Pacer.

Rummaging through my bag to grab my notebook, I stop the second I feel my phone. Pacer’s response is understandable. His investigations all seem to be linked, one way or another.

Do I search through my phone to see if there’s a message from him? What if it’s not there?

I stop debating the issue and drag my phone out from my bag. Sliding the home screen open, I see there is hardly any reception in amongst the thick barrier of paper that’s between the world outside and me.

Scrolling through the missed calls, none of them say ‘Pacer’. Chancing rejection, I search through the messages.

PACER: I ran because I wasn’t man enough to stay and protect you. I’m sorry.

I’m torn. Half of me wants him to sweat on that guilt because he was a prick, but the other half of me understands how claustrophobic this would feel. The life that Pacer and I are accustomed to—cameras always watching—makes the world seem a hell of a lot smaller. His is smaller again. How can I judge that?

I flick through to Pacer’s number and call him. The line jumps in and out as it rings. I walk to the end of the cage, and lean against the metal bar doorway.

“Hi.” He sounds hesitant, but it’s still him.

I clear my throat as I let out my one syllable reply. “Hi.”

“Chelsea? Are you there?”

I walk down the caged aisle to get better reception. “Can you hear me now?”

“Yeah, I got you. Where are you? Are you alright?” He sounds worried now. It makes my heart soften.

“I’m fine. I’m just getting some work done.”

“Chelsea?” The connection fades.

“Hello?” I reply.

“Do you want me to come past your place when you’re done?” I can hear his whole sentence without fault.

“No. I think we should really keep things cool while there is so much interest in us.”

“Fucking connection. Chelsea? Can you … what … you … cool?” Only fragments of his sentence come through, but from what I hear, he sounds annoyed.

“I’ll call you later, Pacer.”

The call drops out completely as I finish the sentence. I don’t know how much of what I said he could actually hear.

I don’t call him back. I need to work. There’s so much to uncover, and this may be the last chance I have of piecing it all together.