I put on my man clothes. My t-shirt and my jeans and socks. I never realized how rough my jeans feltuntil I put them on after a day of wearing nothing but tights on my legs.My physical discomfort in them made me a little uneasy. I then went backinto the kitchen to make myself that hamburger. After dinner, I felt the need to prove myself as a man. I might becomfortable in women's clothes. In fact, I was actually more comfortablein woman's clothing, but I was not a girl in my head. I walked back intomy bathroom and put on some old spice repeating that phrase from theadvertisement in my head and aloud, 'Because I'm a man!'I put on my shoes, grabbed my wallet out of my purse and headed out toprove my masculinity. I was going to score! I was going to be assertive.I was going to be a man! I reached the neighborhood bar and saw some young girls hanging out atthe end of the bar. They weren't especially attractive. I'd call themnormal dive bar girls. The real easy type. I didn't want a. "Lenore shrugged. "We're here," she said, simply. "Lieutenant Commander Albright knew, and for sure Commander Fales knows. They didn't seem too worried."Shiplett grinned at Lieutenant Brophy. "I'm not too worried, either, sir," he said. "I read up on this place in the library. There hasn't been any Death Squads for about five years now. Everything I've seen says she's right." Death Squads," Brophy repeated, clearly unhappy. "Shit."Lenore only smiled as she brought the Joy Redux to the fishing wharf she'd chosen for the fuel pump on it and the tanks behind it.She handed Brophy the CAR-15, a shortened nickel-plated semi-auto version of the M-16, and he automatically checked the weapon. She slipped her passport into her right hip pocket, and two small wads of folding money into her front pockets. Then, she slipped the Springfield .45 that had been clipped by the pilothouse door into her jeans waistband, leaving her cotton peasant blouse loose over it, and made a face."Damn, that's.
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