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I stayed out of the way while he arranged it, but I never went anywhere after that without at least four bodyguards. It was a little bit annoying at times, but not nearly as annoying as being dead would be!OK, the next thing we had to worry about was a bunch of thugs moving in to beat up on the strikers. Jimmy and I talked about that and decided to preempt that phase of the cycle. We had no intention of sitting around on our asses waiting for somebody to get badly hurt—that just wasn't our style.We organized a raid on the processing plant, since Atlanta was too far away for us to attack directly. We loaded up four trucks with unemployed militia members (this was getting to be such a regular thing that maybe we just needed to admit that we needed a standing army) and drove to the processing plant. We took along one of the strikers to act as a guide once we got inside the plant.The front gate was locked, but we didn't let that stop us. I sent a man, with armed protection, to use a bolt. Just then, her back porch light clicked off, and just as suddenly, and to his absolute horror, he realised that the glow from his hallway light, now seemingly lighting up the room like a horrible searchlight, backlit him, making him (or so it seemed to him) glaringly obvious to any viewer who happened to look up at that moment. And look up she did. He froze in a combination of fear and anticipation, his right hand still on his cock, his left hand gripping the windowsill. She raised her left hand and slowly waved and then...then a sly smile seemed to cross her face. Was it his imagination? Yes, that was it. It was his imagination. Any second now she would scream and run back into her house. But no...no, she was definitely waving. Smiling up at him. Oh. Oh my God. He panicked, briefly, sure that she knew what he was doing. “Hey! Good to see you!” Her voice rang through the cool night, soft and soothing, as if she were out there fully dressed, as if there was nothing amiss about him.
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