Date: Thu, 27 May 2004 17:18:40 -0700
From: RC in Sacramento <sacwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: Munchkin Chptr 4

This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between
two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be
reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to
be, then enjoy.

			 MUNCHKIN
			 Chapter 4
			by Sacwriter


	Becka had just finished laying out the pattern of the mural she was doing
when she heard the phone ring in the back of her father's office. She knew
he was back there so she ignored it, and instead picked up her sketch book
to recheck the design that the customer had approved. She already knew the
mural by heart, but next to it she had scrawled her notes on her chosen
colors, and she wanted to go over them again before she started mixing the
paints for her spray gun. She was just searching for the bottle of ochre red
when her father's voice called out her name.
	"Yo, Becka! Gia's on the line, says it's important."
	"Coming, Dad!"
	Becka made her way through the big garage bay to the back where the store
rooms and offices were located. Phil Cameron, her adoptive father and the
owner of Cameron Auto Detailers, stood at one open door holding a wireless
phone against his chest.
Like Becka, Phil was wearing a set of gray coveralls over his street
clothes, with the company logo on the back. But unlike his daughter, whose
outfit hung loosely over her girlish frame, his was stretched to near
bursting over his heavily muscled chest and arms. Forty eight years of hard
work and over three decades studying the martial arts had bulked the already
big man up considerably, to the point where buying him shirts for Christmas
had required a lot of shopping. At a demonstration for one of his karate
classes, she had once seen him shatter five concrete cinder blocks with a
single blow of his much scarred hand. Sometimes Becka thought that she could
almost feel the raw power radiate off her father.
But she always knew that he was just a teddy bear.
	"Thanks, Dad. Hello, G?...Yeah...He said what?....Damn, and they're still
there?...Okay, call him back and tell 'em to keep the doors locked, I'll be
there in twenty minutes...Yeah, I will, 'Bye."

Becka handed the phone back to her father, who had listened to the one sided
conversation patiently. The big man was not the kind of parent who pried
into his kids' personal life, but he did raise a questioning eyebrow when
his oldest daughter slipped past him to the locker room and started to
remove her gray coverall. As she stripped down to her street outfit of
t-shirt and cutoff jeans, she apologized for what she had to do.
	"I'm sorry about the Henderson van, Dad, but I gotta go somewhere. Ah, a
friend of ours has a problem and needs help. I should be back in an hour or
so, and I promise I'll stay late to finish it up tonight, okay?"
	"Yeah, sure, sweetheart. I know you're good for it. But this 'friend', his
problem wouldn't happen to be some sort of trouble, would it?"
	"Um, yeah, it might be. But nothing serious, nothing I can't handle. " As
she was talking, the blonde girl had taken her work coverall and hung it
from a hook inside her employee locker. From the bottom of the locker she
had taken her voluminous purse and was searching in it for the keys to her
and Gia's Mustang.
	"Uh huh," Phil answered, dubiously. "So is your sister going to be there?
Do you want me or one of the boys to come along?"
	"Ha! No, believe me, that would be overkill. Look, Dad, this kid's trouble
is a little like the trouble I used to have, so it's kind of personal. I
can't really talk about it until he says it's okay, but I promise it's not
going to be dangerous."
	Phil frowned. Becka had only become a part of their family a little less
than five months ago, and the ink on her adoption papers was barely dry. He
knew he tended to be overprotective of her, especially after hearing all the
horror stories of her childhood. But like all his children she was extremely
capable and knew how to handle herself, and he owed her the same respect he
gave to her siblings.
	"Okay, but keep your cell phone handy. If you run into anything you aren't
prepared for, don't you hesitate to call, you got that?"
	She gifted him with that hundred watt smile that always set a flutter in
his heart, then sealed the deal with a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Papa
Bear," she whispered, then spun around and hurried back out to the front.
Phil followed her out and watched her go. She stopped on her way and took a
can of spray paint from one of the workbenches, which amused him. But then
she also picked up a tire iron, which didn't amuse him at all.
* * *
	"Hey, faggot,  come on out. We're not gonna hurt ya. We just want to talk."
	"Yeah, Munchkin, we just want to plaa-aay!" This last was said in a
sing-song, which broke up into a series of giggles.
	Thump-crash! The sound of one of Mattie's flowerpots impacting against the
front door. That was the second one in the last ten minutes. Someone started
a staccato rapping on the big front window.
	"C'mon out, you little pussy! You can't hide in there forever."
	It had been like this for almost half an hour now, the harassment, the
assaults on the house, the threats. Never loud enough to force the neighbors
to interfere, but always there, always picking away at what little courage
Joe had left. The constant references to what they had almost done, and what
they had done, were feeding that dark thing inside of him that had first
taken root yesterday. And the suicidal urge to go outside and just get it
over with was getting stronger every minute, too.
	Joe crouched on the floor by the front door, shivering, flinching at each
new assault on his home. In the kitchen the phone rang, again and again, but
he stayed where he was. He knew it might be Gia calling back, but the last
time he had answered it had been Gary Harper, calling from his cell phone.
Joe had slammed the receiver down and hadn't been able to approach it since.
	God, why couldn't they just leave him alone! They had already destroyed
him, made him nothing, a prisoner in his house of his own fear. What more
did they want? Last night he had suffered under the new nightmares that he
suspected would haunt him for the rest of his miserable little life, he had
already added them in his mind to the ones about his parents and the fire.
They had crippled him, as surely as if they had broken his back and put him
in a wheel chair. Wasn't that enough?
	From outside he could hear the jeering and laughter continue, but over that
he heard the sudden squeal of a cars' brakes. The laughter hesitated, then
stopped completely at the sound of one long, sustained blast of an
automotive horn. A desperate hope suddenly sprang up in Joe's chest, as he
scrambled to his feet and raced for the front window, where he carefully
peeked through the crack in the drapes.
	Harper, Ingles and Hooker stood on the front lawn, but they couldn't see
him because they had their backs to the house, looking out into the street.
At the curb was parked Harper's brand new Jeep Wrangler, but past that was
another car, stopped in the middle of the road and facing the other way. It
was the familiar red convertible he had arrived in yesterday, the top down,
with Becka Jackson sitting on the back of the drivers' seat and leaning on
the horn.

Even as Joe watched from the safety of his house, Becka stopped sounding the
horn and then gave the three maggots on the front lawn her biggest, most
insolent grin. She reached to the passenger seat and brought up the can of
spray paint she had brought from work, and then pointed it out in the
direction of the parked Wrangler.
	"Hey asshole! How much do you like your paint job?" she shouted. And so
saying she let loose with a stream of Taxicab yellow that stopped less than
a foot short of Gary's pride and joy. The response was satisfying and all
she could have ever wanted, as Harper howled like a scalded cat.
	"NOOO! You fucking bitch, I'll kill you! You touch my car and I'll rip your
goddamned head off! You cunt, I'll kill you, I'll kill-"
	Harper's tirade stopped in mid sentence. He had been advancing on Becka,
his face twisted in rage and his fists raised, but just before his foot hit
the concrete of the street Becka dropped the can of paint and scooped up the
tire iron. She swung her long legs over the side of the Mustang and jumped
to the ground and just stood there, half crouched, holding the tire iron in
both hands. The smile was still there but her lips had gotten thin, and
there was a wild look in her eyes that seemed to hint at something feral,
something maybe not quite sane. It spoke of an eagerness to do battle that
penetrated even Harper's fog of rage.
	With an obvious effort to gain control he stood there trembling, then with
a wordless jerk of his head he turned to the side and climbed behind the
wheel of the Wrangler. Hooker and Ingles hurriedly scrambled aboard, even as
their leader brought the motor to life. But before he put the vehicle in
gear he turned towards the house and stared directly at the front window,
trapping the gaze of the figure crouched behind the curtains. Deliberately,
Harper placed his palm on the center of the wheel and leaned on it, sounding
one long blast of his horn, and sending out a message of his own.

	Becka watched closely as the jeep pulled away and disappeared down the
street. She watched even longer after they were gone, thinking about
viciousness and the cruelty of cowards. When she turned away and started
across the street towards the house, she kept the tire iron with her.
* * *
	Becka knocked on the front door and called out, not loudly, knowing full
well that Joe was aware of her and was probably just on the other side.
	"Joe? It's Becka Cameron. It's alright, they're gone. You can open the door
now. Joe?" She knocked again, and after a moment she heard the locks being
undone and the chain removed. The boy who opened it looked smaller and more
pale than she remembered, but he seemed to be unharmed. She gave him a
minute to collect himself, while trying to look over his shoulder into the
house.
	"Your aunt... uh, Mattie? Is she home? No, she wouldn't be, she'd have
called the cops if she was. Well, where is she?"
	"Um, she's gone, gone for a week. She's got a temp job up in Lake Tahoe.
She's gonna be back next, um, next Sunday."
	"Oh shit. You mean you're gonna be here all by yourself 'til then?"
	Joe glanced away nervously, but gave her a tight little nod. She noticed
that his glasses now sported a piece of masking tape around the right
earpiece, making him look even more like the kid in the Harry Potter movies.
Probably got broken yesterday, and we just didn't notice. Christ, but he
looks so lost!
	Embarrassed, she looked away from him, saw the remains of the broken flower
pots on the front step. She nudged a fragment of terra cotta with her foot,
heard it scrape loudly against the concrete.
	"You got a broom and dustpan, Joe? We should get this cleaned up."
	The boy nodded his head and hurried away, obviously glad to be doing
something as mundane as cleaning up a mess. He brought the requested items
back, along with a paper bag to put them in, and surprisingly enough a
gardening trowel. While Becka picked up the shards of broken pot, Joe dug
two holes to the side of the porch and carefully transplanted the purple
flowers that they had contained, along with most of the potting soil. He
tamped the soil down firmly, and even used some of the displaced dirt to
form a small wall around the base of the plant. Afterwards, he took the hose
from where it was coiled against the wall and turned the tap slightly, then
dribbled just enough water over the plants to dampen the newly turned soil.
When he was finished he recoiled the hose and then carefully swept up the
last of the dirt from the porch and off the worn welcome matt in front of
the door.
	Becka couldn't help but be impressed. Despite all his fear Joe's mind was
already beginning to function, and to think clear enough to solve some basic
problems. He obviously wasn't quite the basket case she had thought he would
be. She decided he could probably handle what she was going to offer.
	Becka nodded at the newly replanted flowers, looked around at the rest of
the colorful plants that decorated the yard and house. "That was pretty
cool, what you just did. Did you put in the rest of these?"
	"Um, yeah, my Aunt Mattie and I did. She showed me how, but I had to do
most of it myself. She has problems doing stuff like that with her leg and
all. I put in the garden in the backyard all by myself."
	"Cool, I'd like to see that. Hey, do you have someplace I could dump this?"
she asked, holding out the bag of pottery shards. Joe nodded and took the
bag from her, and then led the way around the side of the house to the trash
cans. While they were there Becka got him to show her the back yard, where
she made the appropriate sounds of admiration at the garden. The compliments
weren't forced, either, the flowerbeds really were beautiful. Their bright
colors contrasted beautifully against the dark green of the neatly trimmed
lawn, and everything was obviously well maintained. Becka had learned
something about the difficulties of proper yard care since she had become a
member of the Cameron family, and could appreciate all the hard work
involved. Joe may be little, but he obviously did an adult's worth of work.
	A honking sound out front suddenly reminded her that she had left her car
parked in the middle of the street, and she hurried out front to move it,
waving an apologetic hand to a woman in a green station wagon that she had
blocked. She parked in the driveway to Joe's house, and when she got out he
played the proper host and invited her inside for a cold soda. Becka
accepted, and left the tire iron in the car when she did. She was pretty
confident that Harper wasn't coming back, at least not while she was there.
	The inside of the small tract home was pretty much what she expected, after
seeing the condition of the front and back yards. Clean, and as neat as a
pin. The furniture was mismatched, old and a bit shabby, and had probably
been picked up piecemeal at various garage sales and discount stores. The
pictures on the wall were mostly landscapes, the kind of discount
reproductions found in hotel rooms everywhere, but they were also tasteful
and an effort had been made to make sure they matched. It was a humble
place, but it also showed a lot of pride. Becka decided that she'd probably
like Aunt Mattie.
	Joe led her to the kitchen, where he got out two glasses of ice and filled
them from the two liter bottle of Coke in the refrigerator. They sat at the
table and made innocuous small talk for a while, before Becka finally
broached the subject that was on both of their minds.
	"Joe, you know you can't stay here all by yourself. Not now, not for a
whole week. Sooner or later those assholes will be back."
	The boy looked away, fidgeting nervously. It was obvious that the same
thought had been worrying at him, too. But what else could he do?
	"I know. But... look, I can't call my Aunt. If she comes back early she'll
lose this job for sure, and we really need the money. And besides, I'd have
to tell her why she had to come back. I, I just can't tell her about this. I
can't."
	"Yeah, I know. But you still can't stay here by yourself. So let's do this.
Pack a bag, and you can come stay with us for the week. We have plenty of
room, and I'll have my Dad call your aunt and arrange things."
	Joe looked at her, stunned. No, that wasn't right, it was more like he was
in shock! Becka Jackson not only comes to his rescue what, three times now,
but she also offers to take him in for a week? This was more than bizarre,
it was positively freaky! But then, that was the way his life had been going
for the past three days, so maybe this offer did make an eerie sort of
sense.
	"Um, thanks. Thank you. But what are we going to tell my aunt? She'll want
to know why we're doing this, but we can't tell her. I just can't let her
know, not about what happened yesterday."
	"Relax, we won't have to explain anything. We'll just say that Gia and I
are friends from school, and when we heard you were going to be all alone we
invited you to stay over. And don't worry about our Dad, he's cool. He won't
ask any questions, either."
	It didn't take much more to talk Joe into going along with Becka's idea. In
fact, while the blond girl got on the phone and called her Dad and he moved
to his bedroom to pack a bag, he was feeling almost giddy with relief. He
rummaged in the back of his closet and found the old suitcase that he hadn't
used since he had first moved here, and lay it open on top of his bed. He
filled it with a weeks worth of underwear, along with shirts and two pairs
of pants. He stopped in the bathroom and got his toiletries and placed them
in a plastic bag, and they too went into the suitcase. He also included his
CD player and headphones, and some of his blues CDs. As an afterthought, he
threw in his two harmonicas. Maybe he would have some private time, to take
all of these tumultuous feelings and get rid of them through some soul
cleaning music.
	He was feeling pretty good as he locked the door and walked with Becka to
her car. He threw his suitcase in the back and was actually smiling as he
climbed in the passenger seat. But then he lost the smile and gulped when
his world did another flip flop and turned itself upside down. Becka opened
the drivers' door and slipped in under the steering wheel, and Joe got a
good look at what she was wearing. And for the very first time, he realized
that 'the Beast' had a great pair of legs.
* * *
	As they drove Becka told him what he would be doing, explaining that she
couldn't be with him the entire day, but she would make sure he wasn't ever
alone. For now she would take him back to work with her, where he could hang
out for a couple of hours, and there he would also get a chance to meet her
father. Then Gia would come by to pick up the car, and he could spend the
rest of the after noon with her. Afterwards she would take him to their
house and help him get settled in, and introduce him to the rest of the
family.
	Joe nodded agreeably, trying to hide his nervousness at his recent
discovery. 	Becka Jackson was hot, and he was attracted to her! She was
actually beautiful, with her curly blonde hair and her clear blue eyes, and
a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. Her breasts underneath the
snug fitting t-shirt were full and firm, her shoulders a little broad but
narrowing down to an hourglass waist. And the long tanned legs he had
already noticed met together underneath what looked like a pretty decent
ass. How could he not have seen this before?
	Joe fidgeted in his seat, his jeans suddenly feeling too tight, and knew
that was caused by his unexpected and unwanted erection. He pretended to
fiddle with his seat belt to cover as he shifted his pants more comfortably,
praying for all he was worth that Becka wouldn't notice his predicament. How
embarrassing would that be, to have her see him with a freaking woody?
	A picture flashed in front of his eyes, the memory of Becka standing out in
the street holding that tire iron and glaring down Harper and his goons.
Looking like she would enjoy nothing so much as breaking open all of their
heads. Maybe being embarrassed was the least of his worries.
	The auto detailer they eventually arrived at was one Joe had seen and
passed by several times without really noticing before, but now he looked at
it with the eyes of a boy who had grown up within the shadow of Mr. Ford's
plant. Anyone with that background couldn't help but know something about
cars and what it took to maintain them, and it was obvious that this shop
was one of the better ones. It was clean, and the building had a new coat of
blue paint, with trim so white it gleamed in the bright morning sun. There
were six big bay doors, all of them open, with hydraulic car lifts in four
of them. The concrete floor was spotless without a speck of oil, which meant
that the floors must get mopped every night, something only the most
professional garages ever did. Joe was definitely impressed. If Becka's Dad
owned this place, they were probably a lot better off than he had imagined.
	Mr. Cameron was intimidating all by himself from his size alone, but he
seemed friendly enough, and when he shook Joe's hand he gave him back all of
his fingers. He also confirmed that having the boy be their guest for the
next week was alright by him, and when he asked about Aunt Mattie, his face
broke out in a big grin.
	"Your aunt drove deuces for the Army? Hell, I was a motorpool sergeant. She
and I'll get along just fine."
	"What do you mean, what's a deuce and a half?" Becka asked.
	"Two and a half ton truck, sweetie. Uncle Sam's workhorse. Been using them
since before world war II. The damned things will go to hell and back, as
long as you got drivers with the guts to push 'em through. Yeah, me and your
aunt will probably spend about an hour swapping war stories tonight."
	They talked for a few minutes while Becka changed back into her coveralls,
and when she was done she led Joe out onto the work area where the Henderson
van was waiting. She showed him the mural she was working on, which had
already been outlined on the van in pencil, and then showed him her
sketchbook and what it would look like when finished.
	Joe found himself staring at the sketch in awe. It was a picture of life in
some sort of primitive village or city, with brown skinned natives dressed
in abbreviated costumes with lots of beads and feathers. A blocky square
pyramid in the background suggested that the village might be either Mayan
or Aztec. The colors were so vivid, the detail so great, that Joe was
totally blown away. Becka had actually drawn this?
	"This van belongs to a friend of my Aunt Jesseniah's. He's an archeologist
who specializes in South American cultures, he teaches over at UCLA. He's
retiring this year, and wants to travel around Mexico in this thing. We
fixed it up pretty solid inside, it's got a foldout bed and a chemical
toilet and a TV and everything. He's a real stickler for accuracy, I had to
spend hours with this guy to get these sketches just right. But hey, he's
the customer, right?"
	Becka explained the entire mural process to him, even as he helped her
prepare the van for the touch of her paints. Earlier that week she had
roughed up the side panel with 500 grit sandpaper, so that the new paint
would be able to stick to the old. She had done it by hand instead of using
an electric rotary sander because, she explained, with power tools it would
have been too easy take away too much and 'burn' the existing paint job.
Then she had drawn the mural outlines onto the van with an ordinary pencil,
referring often to her sketches. This had all been done the weekend
previously, and in the time since the mechanics had been redoing the rest of
the vehicle to the clients' specifications.
	Joe spent the next two hours helping Becka prep the van for painting, using
small strips of masking tape to cover up strategic places on the mural, and
an exacto knife to cut away pieces of the tape and create stencils. The work
was interesting, and he found himself enjoying the time in Becka's company.
His traitorous erection had even gone down, but it still threatened to
return when he watched the way the blonde girl's coveralls stretched
whenever she bent over. He was actually disappointed when Gia arrived to
take him away.

(continued)