Thalma smiled. So Murphy hadn't told her about her "brother."

  "His name is Mark," she said.

  Chapter 7

  THALMA AWOKE TO A low-pitched rumbling growl. She pushed the bed sheet off her face and raised her head. The monster Ovcharka – Plato – stood a few feet from her bed, his dark eyes fastened on her, head cocked in question. The smell of her "last supper" – a smorgasbord of steaks, chicken, salmon, cheese, eggs, and mixed beans – still hung in the air after the nearly two days she'd been in bed. She would need to duplicate that meal soon if she wanted to remain upright.

  She crawled out of bed, one hand on the mattress as she fought through the inevitable first wave of vertigo. Plato's growl deepened, like an engine catching. Thalma blinked away the haze and straightened up.

  Socrates bounded past the bristling-haired Ovcharka and shoved his wet nose in Thalma's newly bulging groin. A familiar greeting that hadn't grown more charming with repetition. Thank Zeus she was wearing boxer shorts. She shoved him away. Plato lurched forward with a snarl, but bumped heads with Socrates, who was working up a growl of his own.

  "Shut up, both of you."

  Thalma staggered past them toward the bathroom, the growing bulge in her shorts signaling the need for relief. What a pain in the - well, nether regions – it was to be a guy. She relieved herself for what seemed to be an hour before facing herself in the mirror.

  A young man with unkempt and too-long black hair and a five or six o'clock shadow peered back at him. She didn't feel much – neither attraction nor revulsion – just a sense of greeting an old and somewhat disturbing friend. Right now she could view her new form from a dispassionate perspective. She – or he - was still Thalma. She saw and thought about things as Thalma, regardless of her body. That would change in time, but she had no intention of letting much time pass.

  Though desperate to wash off her "sluck" – her favorite description of the slimy post-metamorphosis residue on her skin –her first order of events was to cut and dye her hair. She snipped back her dark brown locks, an unaccustomed tug of regret because she'd grown her hair so nice and long – more "feminine" – the way Louis liked it. Oh well, it would grow back. Next, she generously applied the blond hair color. L'Oreal, because she was fairly sure she was worth it.

  While she waited for the color to set, she fed and watered the dogs, started a roast she'd saved for the occasion going in the oven, and had six eggs with sausage and some Louis's beloved banana bread as an appetizer before plunging into a hot shower.

  Emerging clean and reborn, Thalma towel-dried and styled her hair and examined her new self with a critical eye. Not bad. Mark's fine features verged on the feminine, but more in a "beautiful man" way than something soft. Her skeptical cool blue eyes still stared back at her. The spiked blond hair contrasted nicely with her tan and lent Mark a kind of surfer dude gravitas that sharpened the distinction between them. Mark could've been her twin brother, but she knew that the longer she was in this form the more the resemblance would diminish as his higher levels of testosterone had their way.

  After thirty minutes in the oven at high heat, the three-pound roast was seared on the outside and semi-raw on the inside, just way she liked it. Thalma made short order of that, and as an avalanche of sleepiness rolled over her she made herself get dressed and corral the dogs for a run. She had to stay active now or risk falling into a twelve-hour slumber.

  Dressed in shorts and tank top, she led the dogs on her usual run up the trail. Her first run with Plato, who now seemed to have accepted her transformation and Mark's leadership, which she exercised by clucking out a correction as he bounded ahead of her. On her other side, Socrates grumbled his approval.

  Male hormones pumped through her veins as she ran, and she began to feel stronger. Her mood lifted to a near-euphoria, accompanied by a thin layer of guilt that she should be feeling so good while Louis was lying in the hospital – there because of her own thoughtless actions. Still, it was her new form that would save him, and to do that she needed Mark healthy and strong and positive. Not much of a chore, because being Mark was an undeniable rush and positive-thinking to a near-Tony Robbinsish degree.

  After the run, it was time for more food and drink and making contact with the outside world. Almost two days had passed. For all she knew, World War Three had started or Louis had regained consciousness or experienced a setback –

  Stop. Louis would be fine. The cops weren't at the door. The world hadn't ended.

  Still, it wouldn't hurt to check. No messages on her phones, as expected, since she'd made clear to Maggie and Murphy that she would be incommunicado and that Mark wouldn't be available until approximately now. No property incursion warnings had gone off, which meant that if the police were watching her they were doing it at a distance. A superficial look into her businesses showed nothing amiss. It was time to introduce Mark to Maggie and get caught up. Hopefully, she'd have some good news.

  "Hey, you're back!" Maggie answered her call.

  "Not exactly."

  "Oh – right! This is Mark, isn't it? Her twin brother? Murphy finally deigned to tell me about you."

  "Yes. I'm Mark. She calls me her lesser half."

  Her laugh sounded a bit uncertain. "I'm Maggie – Maggie Iverson. Nice to meet you."

  "Same here. My, um, sister told me about you. She was impressed how you put your life on the line for Louis."

  "Well, all in a day's work. He's a good guy. She's lucky to have him."

  Which raised the question Thalma had feared to ask. "How is he? Any changes?"

  "He came to just this morning! He was asking for your sister."

  Thalma covered the cell phone with both hands – in case she released a most unmasculine sob – and bowed her head until it nearly touched the kitchen table where she'd been working.

  "He was sort of slurry, but otherwise sounded fine," said Maggie. "The nurses are optimistic."

  "Good," Thalma choked out.

  "Someone's following me everywhere I go. I'm not sure if they're local cops or not. Anyway, M has the item you requested and because of my situation wants to meet you privately. He suggested the same place he met with your sister. Do you know that place?"

  "Yes."

  "He suggested 2 this afternoon."

  "That should work."

  "I'll let him know. I'd like to meet you myself. M has plans of us working together now that your sister is out of the picture for a while. I think it would be safe enough if I just came to the house. They don't know about you yet and I'd guess you'd like to keep our connection unknown to them for as long as possible. They've been wondering what happened to my sister – why she hasn't been visiting the hospital – but they're not ready to move on Thalma's house yet."

  Nothing surprising there. She'd calculated that she had two or three days before the police and/or feds lost patience and came knocking on her door. Getting Louis out of there under these circumstances would normally intimidate even her, but Murphy's LSD-35 would change everything.

  Everything but Louis's shock when he sees me. It occurred to Thalma with a small shudder that the one thing she'd always hidden from Louis – except for one unfortunate slip-up that he couldn't really remember – was about to take center stage.

  "About that meeting?" Maggie asked.

  "Fine," she said. "I guess we should meet at some point."

  "Oh, the enthusiasm. Maybe I should tell you that I'm really hot?"

  "And gay?"

  "So your sister mentioned that," she said with a short, deflating laugh. "But I'm also a load of fun to hang out with."

  "I'm sure."

  When Maggie ended the call, Thalma shook her head. What she really wanted to do is see her husband – she smiled ruefully as she acknowledged thinking of him that way – and everything else felt like a distraction. Still, there were worse distractions than Maggie and her employer. She couldn't deny that without them everything could've been a lot worse. If Maggie hadn't been driving behind Louis... Thalma closed her eyes hard enough to bring stars. Bottom line: she owed the girl a debt of gratitude she could never repay.

  An hour before her meeting with Murphy, Thalma departed through the backdoor wearing dark sunglasses and jogged in a long loop down toward Emerald Bay, thinking to avoid anyone who might follow her car. She reached Vikingsholm Trail in thirty minutes, and took her time walking down. A gaggle of young women giggled and tossed their hair and whispered behind hands, giving her big smiles as they passed going uphill.

  Thalma wasn't sure whether to be flattered or amused or maybe even disturbed. She knew she was dressed more provocatively than she would ever dress in her female form. The muscular arms and legs her shorts and tank top revealed were standard issue for a buff guy, but drew far too much attention as a woman. Having guys – or anyone - gawk at her was the last thing she wanted as Thalma. Not that she was immune to admiration – in the past, she had fantasized on occasion about men drooling over her – but standing out was dangerous. That was one nice thing about Mark. He could be drooled over while not standing out.

  She perched on the same bench she and Murphy had shared before facing out on the same haunting island mired in gorgeous waters. A young woman, maybe early twenties, strolled by, flinging multiple smiling looks at her. Thalma managed a dry nod and smile in return.

  Murphy emerged from the trail's end and sauntered over. He extended a hand.

  "Mark," he said. "It's good to see you again. I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for saving my life."

  Thalma shook his hand.

  "You know, I never quite understood why you did it. I was an evil man, as I'm sure you knew. Deserving of death."

  "I never quite understood it, either." Thalma smiled. "I think maybe I sensed something in you – something worth redeeming."

  "Well, I'm glad you did. What a miserable waste of life it would've been to have continued as I was." Murphy sat down a few feet from him. "It seems strange that one can value one's own life so much while valuing life so little. Consider all the horrific crimes people commit to gain a few baubles or extend their short lives for an eye blink."

  "Live for nothing or die for something."

  "Nietzsche?"

  "John Rambo."

  Murphy chuckled and nodded.

  "You have something for me?" Thalma asked.

  Murphy opened the small pack on his waist and removed a small packet. "Pill form. 30 micrograms. Twenty pills. I hope that's okay."

  I hope so, too. Thalma had little idea of how much was required. She tucked the padded envelope into her front pocket.

  "Thank you. How much do I owe you for that?"

  "Your money, as they say, is no good with me. But I am open to a trade of services."

  "I'm fine with that, in principle. But my first priority right now is Louis's safety. I want him somewhere safe until this blows over."

  "Understood. And I'm willing to help with that. However, the police are watching the hospital closely at this moment, hoping for you to show up. The plan is to arrest you when that happens. They believe that your proximity to Louis will constrain your efforts at self-defense."

  "Maggie didn't mention that."

  "No. We thought it would be advisable to deliver that cheery news in person."

  Murphy was staring at her, his head at a slight angle, as seeking the right perspective of study. Thalma returned his gaze with a flat expression.

  "Is there something you want to say?" she asked.

  "Your hair is dyed, I take it?"

  "Yes."

  "It's really quite remarkable. Your resemblance to Thalma, I mean. I don't know what she looks like under her usual full-body clothing. I speculate that she likes to keep herself covered up to avoid drawing attention. But if she were to wear tank tops and shorts, I imagine she'd look a lot like you. She has to carry a lot of muscle to do the things she does."

  "Are you suggesting I'm Thalma dressed in drag?"

  Murphy chuckled. "I must confess that thought has crossed my mind. You have to admit that there's a certain Superman/Clark Kent proximity issue: Thalma disappears and you take her place. You never appear together."

  Thalma kept her face expressionless – which no doubt just fueled Murphy's speculations. The problem with letting someone as perceptive as Murphy into her life was that he was bound to see things she preferred to keep unseen. Come to think of it, that was the problem with letting anyone into her life.

  "Which isn't to critique your illusion, if that hypothesis is true. Exposing your muscular shoulders makes them seem broader. The faint beard is a nice touch, adding a bit of definition and hardness to your face. You appear an inch or so taller – though that may be the power of suggestion, or perhaps you're wearing lifts in your runners."

  "Do you want to see my dick?"

  Murphy laughed. "Even if you have one, there remains the possibility that Thalma has one as well. She's a beautiful woman, but – not to go excessively New Age – she has a powerful masculine 'energy.' At least by my senses, which may or may not be reliable."

  Murphy's shrewdness had exceeded Thalma's expectations. He was so close to the truth, and yet she was fairly sure that if he knew the whole truth he'd be stunned.

  "So you think Thalma looks like a guy and I look like a girl," she said. "You're not winning a lot of points here, Mr. Murphy."

  He was giving her an impish grin. "Well, I don't find anything about hermaphroditism to be uncharming. A few of such fascinating beings apparently do exist. After meeting you again, and having met with Thalma, that notion – which has been percolating vaguely in my brain for some time – seems not implausible to me."

  Maybe he wouldn't be all that stunned to know the truth, she thought. It was unnerving. In all her years, only two people had ever learned that truth, and only after she'd revealed it to them. Now Murphy stood at the precipice. Should she push him over – or maybe just break his neck?

  Thalma removed her sunglasses and turned to meet his eyes. "Does it matter?"

  "Mark," he said. "Or Thalma slash Mark? No, it doesn't matter in terms of what I think of you - and certainly not in terms of what I owe you. I've come to think of you as angel of good in this corrupt world, and I wish to align myself with that goodness. Perhaps because I'm a lapsed Lutheran."

  Thalma smiled a little.

  "So please believe that I am not seeking an advantage by obtaining privileged knowledge about you. Speak freely or not, my alliance is firm. It is pure curiosity, not prurient, I assure you – at least not mostly" – he grinned again – "and also I do foresee the possibility that knowing you more fully may allow me to better serve you."

  "Or use me?"

  "That, too. But only for causes that are mutually beneficial."

  "Do you have anything in mind?"

  "Yes. But let's get the situation with Louis resolved first. As I see it, the major problems are transporting someone in his still delicate condition and, more challengingly, doing so with a dozen law enforcement agents watching the hospital and area on a twenty-four hour basis."

  "I think I can handle that. I just need somewhere safe to bring him."

  "I already have a place picked out – in Nevada, not too far from here. Transportation will be no problem, once he's clear of the hospital. I can have a fully equipped but nondescript emergency van staffed with topnotch paramedics at your disposal. In addition, I have arranged for a specialist to alter Louis's fingerprints so that his return to Tahoe remains an option."

  "That's...really a good idea," said Thalma. "He does have fingerprints on record – unlike me – so the feds could use them to identify him. Thank you for that."

  "My pleasure."

  "I can get Louis to your van," said Thalma.

  "Will there be flying involved?"

  "Yes. And, with any luck, some healing."

  "When were you thinking?"

  "When can you be ready?"

  "The men and the van are on hold. The safe house is ready."

  "Tonight, then? The sooner the better, it seems to me."

  "Agreed. If you can swing it, tonight's the night. Don't worry," he added with a smile. "I won't attempt to sing it."

  Chapter 8

  LOUIS FOUND IT HARD to keep track of time. Sometimes he seemed to be drifting along in a parallel world that moved at a snail's pace while nurses rushed around him like image fragments from a time-lapse photography film. On other occasions, he joined the normal time stream, his thoughts flowing at the same pace as the people entering and departing the room.

  He knew he was in a hospital room. He remembered being shot. Apparently, he'd survived. He had a vague sense that Thalma had been at his side, but he hadn't seen her since he'd semi-returned to this world. The nurses couldn't answer about where she was now. They said she'd been here before – during his most critical days. Their eyes were evasive as they spoke about her and about his assailants, who'd been killed in a shootout that no one seemed to want to talk about. Maggie was okay, they said, which was something.

  The door opened and a young blond woman walked in. A second or two passed before he recognized his "Girl Friday."

  "Hey, good-lookin'," she said.

  Louis reached his left hand – the one free of attachments – up to his bald head. "They shaved it. I must look like a freak."

  "Nah. You got a bit of a macho Jason Statham thing going on." She walked to his bedside and ran a hand lightly over his sandpaper skull. "How are you feeling?"

  "Like I actually did one of those horrible workouts Thal – " He looked around nervously. "My wife is always pestering me to do."

  "It's okay. We're alone. They haven't set up surveillance in your room yet, though they're discussing it." She leaned a little closer to him. "You feeling up to a change of scenery?"

  "That would be great, but I barely have the strength to lift my arms, even if I do look like Jason Statham."

  "Heh, well, maybe that's about to change." Maggie edged past him and opened the window. "Hopefully, I'll see you soon, sweetie." She stooped to kiss his forehead. "I need to go stand guard outside."

 

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