Lance stopped off for a while in Ohio, but he didn't tarry there. A farm boy from Jackson, Michigan, this city wasn't much to his liking. "Heck," no city was quite to his liking yet, so he moved on. Not knowing what he was looking for and being a freshman on the scene, he quickly got into some rather messy, and unpleasant situations. But then, he bumped into Loise, which was in itself, one of the biggest of the messes.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, will you?" shouted Mister Personality. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Sorry.

"You're going to be really sorry if you don't watch where you're going and what you're doing around here, dude." His six-pack abs bursting out from under the tight-fitted t-shirt was even scarier than the bone-crushing grip he'd plastered on the back of Lance's neck. Her boyfriend was quick to respond. Quicker than Lance could even figure out how deeply in he was. Just like an attack dog, a pit bull, perhaps, he pounced as if he was about to break Lance's neck.

"Man! Is he that insecure? Or is it the way things are done in these parts?" Lance wondered while rubbing the back of his neck against his palm.

"It's okay, hey, it's okay man, I'm aright. He's just a kid, a frightened kid," Loise blurted out at him. Lance staggered across a trashcan trying to balance himself up against the bus stop.

"Hi!" she said, "Loise." While holding out a hand in greeting, I'm sorry about that. He's just in a bad mood today, don't hold it against him. What are you doing loitering around out here anyway, are you okay? Can't recall seeing you before, are you from around here? A million and one questions coming at him at lightning speed.

"Can we go now?" Mr.Sulky-face prompted, Loise, Loise, can we go?

"Here," she said, on the spinning back and forth of her gaze between those two who were there and wearing pants and cowboy boots. "If you ever need to talk," she said, "if you need help or anything, don't hesitate to call, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, miss." She quickly caught up with him as Lance watched them walk away, side-by-side. She was looking back periodically before they turned the corner and out of sight. That card she gave him, there, look, it's tucked between Lance's fingers now, and reads, "Loise Arquette, counselor, and mentor, Saint Jude's boys' school."

"Yeah! I'm sure she would like to take a jab at mentoring me," said Lance to nobody, while walking away in the opposite direction. Leaving the card there in the rubbish bin where he'd tossed it. It was there, though, the hungry eyes, the longing look in the way she stared at him. Even while walking away, stride for strides beside Mr. Sulky-face. It was not his kind of place though, he knew it right away, nothing about the place had beckoned. By morning, he would have been gone on to some other place, somewhere else, and searching for something else.

"Whatever 'it' is that I'm going to find out here, it will have to be somewhere else down the road. This long and winding road leads out of this town, so, 'somewhere else,' here I come. Whatever 'it' is, it sure is not here, not for Lancelot Turner." Too close, perhaps, to Jackson, Michigan, and a neck injury, for his comfort.

...

A steady stream of headlights was reflecting off the slightly descending wet road surface. This owing to the effect of some earlier moisture in the air and a slight rain pitter-pattering on the surface of the roadways. Itlooked very much to him like the rich creamy flowing milk being poured out from the carton container and into the bowl half-full of crispy golden-brown cornflakes, by his loving mother. His eyes and mental state had not yet gotten adjusted and acclimatized to be functioning in sync with the recent time change over to daylight savings time.

Traffic on this side of the highway, (the eastern side,) was few and far between. As opposed to a bumper-to-bumper traffic jam on the westbound side. Lance could discern by way of the images in the rearview mirror, the outline of a pickup truck following him. Its headlights were occupying somewhat of a permanent spot in the frame of his rearview mirror. Behind that vehicle, was another one that he wasn't able to decide on in any way, shape, or form, other than that, it was sporting one functioning headlight.

At first, he thought it was a motorcycle, due to the single headlight and all. But the yellow hazard lights on either corner of the front area of the vehicle, helped him to decide the matter, yes, it was a much larger vehicle than a motorcycle. The mist had suddenly changed over to a slight drizzling rain. Lance couldn't shake the image from his mind, of the cornflakes in his favorite bowl. With circles of evenly cut ripe bananas placed on top of the flakes by his loving mother, before she poured on the milk.

He reached over and picked up the phone from where it was sitting in the second cup holder on the dashboard. Humming still, the little refrain he had been singing from deep within him. he hit the menu button on the phone and then punched in a series of numbers with his thumb; tap-tap-tap, somewhat like that, to unlock thedevice.

Then with a few other strikes of the thumb, he dialed up his mother, "Mom," he said, "how are you?"

"Lance, where on earth are you, and what could it possibly be that you're doing that could be so important that you can't find a minute to call home?" His mother chided him.

"That's exactly what I'm doing now, Mom, haven't you noticed?"

"Don't be cute with me, boy."

"How are you doing my sweet Mamma? Long time no see," said Lance, in an attempt at pacifying the situation by changing the subject at once. "I've been very busy of late, Mom," he continued when she didn't respond further. "But we should be seeing each other soon."

"That's exactly what you said the last time too, but you didn't show up, did you? Thanksgiving also came and went; you didn't show up either. Will you be here for Christmas? I hardly think so."

"I'll be there, Mom, I will be there for Christmas. I hope. He whispered this ending part rather unconvincingly. "How's dad?" he asked, after the extended pause. "Ma, how's dad doing?"

"Your father is doing fine, Lance, he's doing just fine."

"Is he there, can I talk to him?"

"Here," he heard her say, as she handed him the phone.

"Lance?" his father grunted on his arrival on the phone-conversational scene. "How, how, how are you, I mean...?

"I'm fine dad, I'm fine, and you?"

"Fine, fine. What have you been up to of late? I hope you've managed to get your life in some sort of order by now and thinking about settling down. You can't continue to run around like a rolling stone you know?"

"Dad, I'm doing okay, don't be worrying yourself too much about those sorts of things, I've got this all covered, okay? I'm actually on the road now though, dad, just called tosay 'hi.' I should be seeing you guys very soon. I've got a few things to take care of first and then I'll be home. I've got to run now, I'll talk to you guys later, alright?"

"Bye Lance."

"Bye Dad, bye."

He had to cut short the call way before he wanted to because? It came as a surprise to him; the beep, beep, beeping sounds from the special alarm system that was installed on the SUV that he was driving. Not that he didn't know that it was there, no. But maybe it had something to do with that exchange between him and his folks, his parents? It took him back for a brief moment to a calmer, gentler place, far away from the kind of life he now leads.

The harshness of this new existence belied the small-town kid that his parents had raised who, (without prior warning,) just up and left mere days after his 18th birthday.

They'd sought him out and found him there where he was, hanging out with a rowdy bunch of malefactors in the city seven hundred miles away. They tried hard at "talking some sense into him," trying to convince him to return home with them but, to no avail. Nothing worked for them in that regard. They would have even gone to the police in a last-ditch effort to try and force his hands but, "he's of age," the lawmen said, "he can do whatever he wants."

The beeper system on the vehicle was what sounded off the alarm. All of Manny's vehicles were equipped with special surveillance systems, the same as this one right here, that I'm now sitting in. Well, not me but he, yes, him. It is usually disabled until it is needed for special operations, such as the one that Lancehad just finished doing a day and a half ago. He'd somehow forgotten or neglected to deactivate the system on his vehicle before leaving out on this "part work part play," road trip. Lance was going on a well-earned vacation, a get-a-way of sorts, from the grinds of the everyday hustle.

However, after learning that Lance would be crossing the border into Canada on this trip. Manny (the man,) asked him (as a favor to him,) to pick up some special cargo for him on the way back. Very reluctant though he was, at first, upon learning that the content of the package that he was to take back with him, was currency, not "merchandise" as he'd thought. And after further being made assured by Manny, of a very fat payday upon his return, just for doing that, he agreed.

After all, it wasn't like Lance was a stranger to that kind of work. He would have done those types of assignments many times before, even with weightier kinds of stuff than currency. So, the only reason for him to be a bit hesitant at first, was because this was his well-earned vacation time. His R&R break, yes, and he wasn't in the mood to be mixing business with pleasures, not this time.

The bonus, though, that he stands to receive on his return home with the bundle of cash for his boss, could add up to be more than enough to cover what he had budgeted for the trip. Even with enough leftovers for him to make good on his promise to his parents to be home for Christmas, and to do so in comfort. It was a win-win situation for everyone on every side, not much to complain about there.

It didn't take very long for him to begin putting two andtwo together to start figuring out what had caused the alarm system to go sounding off. Either he was being set up by someone, most likely his own boss, Manny (the man.) Or, it could have been a case of someone being on the run, someone who had already been marked for death and tagged. In which case, (by the way,) that would mean that it's a top job for somebody, like Lancelot, just for example.

He pulled over and stopped on the shoulder to study the system charts and see if he could determine from whence the signal had come. As it turned out, it was from a location somewhere way up ahead. Somewhere close to the city of Montreal, but not quite there, in proper. Before doing anything further, Lance has got a very important call to make, so, he did.

He had already started to piece together in his mind the scheme of things as they might have been that would have caused the current situation. But he needed to report back to base for instructions on what, (if anything) he needed to do and to find out what's in it to gain for him, not you. He dialed the usual numbers, hung up the phone, and waited. That's the custom in this neck of the hood. It goes something like this: Never call directly to the big man's regular phone under any circumstance.

Instead, call the special number that is only used for very important and urgent matters, say your phone number using a special cryptic code, and then, hang up, and wait. One seldom needs to wait very long for the return call, and never it comes from any familiar number. Never twice from any one number either. As usual, it didn't take long. The phone vibrated signalingthe incoming call.

"Delivering service in style," Lance answered the phone in his customary way. Just like he usually does for this type of call. "Man-man's pizzeria," he said.

"Have you got mushroom pizza?" asked the voice on the other end.

"Yes, but I'm a long way out of town, and my device is ringing off the hook; the calls are coming in nonstop."

"Where exactly are you? asked 'the voice.'"

"I'm on the north side of town, already over the bridge and trying to get to the addresses of all those hungry callers. Do you know anything about those calls?"

"Hell yes, I know them alright but, we'll talk about it later, go do what you've got to do, those are special orders don't you think?"

"Ride on," said Lance before he hung up, ending the call.

...

Anastasia has been on the run, running for over a year. Manny, with all of his world-class networking systems, and technical savvy, had not been able to locate and bring her back home to Norfolk, VA, to face up to the music and dance. This is all part and parcel, more testimonials to the caliber of her wit and resourcefulness.

She seemed to have committed a breach of some sort or had run afoul of the big man, one way or another, and had to take off running, for her very life. No one (at least not Lance) had been able to say for sure, what the issue might have been that led to these things; the current states-of-affairs. But for her to pick up and take off, (seemingly,) disappearing into thin air, without a trace, it meant that this was big, yes, this is huge.

Most people might be somewhat inclined to go staking out the usual hot spots in these sorts of situations, you know. Like, those sheik places wherethe rich and famous usually go to hang out and hide, but this is Anna. She's not like "most people," she's smart.

She'd managed to get out of the dragnet, Manny's time-tested and action-proven dragnet. For her to have gotten out, and remain gone all this time, and if this is her, (as Lance assumes that it is.) It would have taken only a chance encounter, a luck-of-the-draw buck-up of sorts. Of course, this along with the very best in modern technology for him to locate her. Without even actually trying, or even chasing after her.

Lance didn't bother to check in at the hotel he'd booked for the week in Montreal that evening. Instead, he spent the night, (all night,) just driving around, or sitting in the vehicle. Loitering in some rather remote and isolated areas on the outskirts of town. While trying his earnest best to see if he could get another hit on his tracking device.

"Some shitty vacation," he cursed under his breath. His planned playtime had suddenly become work time, the type he hadn't signed up for at the start, "not fair," he lamented, "not fair at all."

Anastasia is a smooth roller. She has been lying low ever since she hit the road running. This is in a bid to escape her once-ever-loving boyfriend Manny. That she had been able to elude her captures for this long, seemed to suggest that her strategy had been working very well indeed. Her decision to go north into Canada, instead of going south towards the region of her native origin, must have been what did it.

This did the trick for her, seemingly. She has got enough money at her disposal to last her for years, unless yes. Unless she should (uncharacteristically,) manage to lose that huge bundle of cash that she'dgrab a hold of on her way out. So now, she's got the money, but that is not all that she has got going for her.

She has also got enough smarts to know how to stay off the radar, how to stay underground until the storm passes over, in theory. She also has the technical know-how to create, manipulate, and operate very high-tech surveillance systems such as those with which all of Manny's automobiles are equipped. One of which she'd grabbed on the way out and still has in her possession. However, she now seems to be running short on one small detail, a tiny little thing called, luck. Oh sheet!