The oldsters were still in the restaurant when Kitty brought Lance back to the table. “Do you wanna talk, now?” father asked son. “At least start what will be a long conversation?”

Lance waved his hand dismissively. “Later. Let’s get back to the business at hand. I am assuming you’re the Belichick of this show. Do you have a semblance of a game plan, or is it all run and gun?”

The Patriots fan smiled. He loved that Lance came up with the Bellichick/Brady anaology without prompting. Looking at Kitty, he wondered if Bill the Hoody wanted to fuck Gisele as badly as he wanted to fuck the Kaboodle girl. “Every game plan has to be tweaked, if it’s not working, and I’m not exactly sure about who we’re playing against.”

A waitress appeared, and asked if the kids wanted their meals now. They did. Having already eaten, Madge and Stephen just asked for more water.

“Are we playing against more than one team, at the same time?” Kitty inquired.

“Probably,” Madonna answered. “Almost certainly, actually, or will be as we move forward.”

“Is anyone playing on our side?” was Kitty’s follow up.

“We have been scouting, and have a short list of potential draft picks,” King said.

“Including the Staal brothers?” asked Kitty.

“Yes. You and I will be meeting them tomorrow,” King said, addressing Kitty.

Kaboodle looked at Lear, “Told you.”

“But they don’t know the bigger game being played,” Madonna said. “Stephen pitched them with the idea of giving away a year’s salary each. They liked the idea. Good guys.”

“Yes, I pitched them, but Madge closed them. She has a way of getting what she wants, especially from males of the species.”

Kitty wondered if she did the brothers, all three, at the same time. She decided that, so far as she was concerned, the Whore of Babylon had, indeed, let the brothers ravage her, like a pack of Japanese midgets gangbanging a naïve, naughty, nubile Nipponese nun, possibly even dressing the part, and wondered if she would fuck anyone who needed fucking to win this game.

Like most people, Kitty assumed that the Queen of Pop had slept her way to the top, sucking a mile of industry dick along the long, lonely road to fame and fortune. And so what, if she had? Good on her, Kitty concluded. Fuck their lights out, and stab a stiletto into their throats, as you trample their spent bodies to climb higher, and higher.

Oh, but wait a minute, Kitty thought. The brothers are coming on the morrow, to meet the King and I? What, exactly, did that mean?

The curious Kitty was snapped back to attention when Lance waved his hand in front of her eyes. “Earth to Kitty. Earth to Kitty.”

Kitty grinned, “Sorry. I got lost in thought. What?”

“Do you agree with this idea?” asked the boy who would be her King… if he’d still have her at the end of this mission, which suddenly seemed more perilous. Or fun? She wasn’t sure.

“What idea?”

“Splitting up. Me and Madonna going to Vancouver, to meet the royal runaways, while you and coach here stay put to tend to other matters.”

Kitty liked it as much as she didn’t. She didn’t like the idea of the whore across the table disappearing onto a tunnel with Lance in hand, and bad intent in mind. She would have to make it clear to the whore that the boy was hers, and hers alone, before they went on their merry way.

She looked at Madonna, who was already staring straight back at her, waiting for an answer. She was thinking ‘I’ll put a stiletto rigt through your esophagus,’ as she said, “Yes. It makes sense. We can get more done.




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