The Harem on the Hill (Part LXXXVI) (Patreon)

The hardware store is busier than you'd like, one of the reasons you switched to online shopping.  Surprisingly, convenience isn't one of them.  At least not when it comes to supplying your harem.  Anything dealing with that is usually purchased online with a VPN using a dummy account, then shipped to one of your faceless shell LLCs where the contents are laundered in a warehouse with other inventory before being ultimately delivered to you via private courier.  It's a stringent process that takes weeks and costs a fortune.  With your prurient interests, however, you can't be too careful.

You frown as you pull your Explorer into the last open space in the lot.  Crowded aisles mean lots of witnesses and little discretion.  Fortunately, what you're purchasing--an invisible electric fence to install around the perimeter of your estate--isn't unusual for this neck of the woods.  Plenty of local landowners and farmers use them to hem in their otherwise free-range pets and wildlife.  It's only odd when one considers that you already have a ten-foot wall around your property and that your "pets" are anything but free-range.

Still, Tina's recent escape made it clear you need another line of defense.  It actually wouldn't have helped in her case--she wasn't wearing the silver tracking bracelet you affix to your hungry heifers when they first join your herd--but that's a mistake you don't intend to make again.

Ultimately, you engage in some good-natured banter with curious locals and even pose for a selfie with an older lady who clearly had never taken one before, but no one questions your purchase and soon you're rolling the hefty box back to your vehicle on a dolly.  Some important modifications will need to be made; chiefly upping the amperage, but that will have to wait.  Right now, you have more important business to attend.

After closing the hatchback on your Ford Explorer, you drive to an empty lot close to the police station.  It will eventually provide parking for a strip mall that’s under construction, but right now it's vacant and unmonitored by cameras or other security.  Nestled beneath the shade of a Spruce, you remove a small black police scanner from a leather duffel in the passenger seat and set it on the dash.   The signal is too weak to penetrate the heavily forested distance to your harem on the hill, but at one hundred yards, it crackles to life with a twist of the dial.

You settle back in your seat and sip your tepid Cornucupia coffee.  You probably should have visited the cafe after the hardware store, but were eager to see how many pounds Ella had packed on since your last visit.  At least the caffeine will help keep you awake.

The lack of radio chatter doesn't make your eyelids any lighter, but is a good thing overall since you're responsible for much of the small town's criminal activity.  Even better, what little there is--a trespassing vagrant, an unsupervised brush fire, and an aggressive dog off its leash--has zero to do with you.  Police departments across the country are beginning to encrypt their radio scanner communications for secrecy's sake, but the local precinct seems unconcerned.  Based on the sporadic Mayberry-ish misdeeds you've been privy to thus far; their indifference is justified.

Well, it was until you moved in.

You're about to call it a day when a curious call comes over the scanner.

"Car 54 en route to 136 Vessel Lane."

"The missing girl?"  Responds the monotone dispatcher.  Her flat voice has nearly put you to sleep on several occasions.  This isn’t one of them.

"Roger."

Your heart races.  Not because of the call itself.  The fact the police are visiting the residence of a girl documented in your spiral-bound harem journal isn’t surprising.

The identity of the girl is, however…

You dig back into your duffel and remove the well-worn notebook you've come to call your bible.  You flip to the back and find the address scribbled in pencil: 136 Vessel Lane.

Only it's not the address for Tracy Jamison, the local girl you recently kidnapped.  Nor is it the address for any of the girls in your harem.  It's written beneath a blurry photo of a rotund blonde checking their mailbox—

Jada Jenson, the reclusive social worker you chose NOT to recruit.

As you try to make sense of it, the staticky voice of the arriving officer startles you.

"We've got a 10-35 at 136 Vessel Lane.  Jesus.  10-78 and 10-79.  I repeat, 10-78 and 10-79."

"Roger.  Um..."

You recognize the codes from the handy cheat sheet provided with your police scanner, but the dispatcher apparently isn't familiar.  Or has forgotten them due to a lack of use.

"Jesus, Betty," the officer finally says with an exasperated sigh.  "Just send the coroner."

PS: Sorry, no choices this week.  There will be lots of important decisions to make next time!