Chapter 76.7 Unpleasant Duties, Part I
Bobby’s POV
I’m not known as a cold, vindictive person. That’s good. It means I’m constantly underestimated. I have my moments. I feel rage and anger like the next person, but my default is peace and happy. I’ve seen enough blood, guts, and gore in the world. I don’t need to live in that. I usually rid myself of those feelings quickly and return to my normal state of calm amusement.
Unfortunately, I’m also capable of holding a grudge. A long, detailed, unforgiving one. A harsh one if you piss me off.
I’m pissed off. I have a former subordinate still walking the face of this earth without proper punishment.
Oh, he was punished, but that was merely his body and his pride. Not enough. RangeMan is more than my company. It’s my independence, my faith in my brothers, my faith and support in my men, my legacy.
When you betray the brotherhood, you betray more than just a company. You betray men. Some of these men have been trained to follow orders. They’ll follow orders into hell because they trust their leaders to protect them, to encourage them, to guide them to safety. They know that their leaders would not put them in harm’s way without facing it themselves. That’s why the military and law enforcement men gravitate to RangeMan. We don’t bullshit them, and these men have a high bullshit meter. They smell it a mile away, but they know we don’t carry that odor. We don’t bullshit. The stakes are too high.
The ex-gang bangers and ex-cons? Their loyalty to RangeMan is absolute because we show them what true brotherhood is. It’s not watching someone’s back while they make a drug sale. It’s being there for him when he’s in trouble and when he’s ready to celebrate. When he needs food, clothes, and shelter. When he needs a lawyer or a doctor, when he passes an exam or has a new child. When he’s at his lowest and his highest. When your brother needs a helping hand, we’re there, ready to provide what he needs.
What’s more, we restore these men’s pride in themselves. We place them in positions of trust, something no one else is willing to do, and tell them we trust their judgment. We honor their hard-won knowledge. We ask them to join us in making the streets safer and communities less dangerous. They’re always shocked and surprised at our willingness to believe in them, but we start with the men who believe in themselves and just want to prove it to the world. We help them get their rights restored, find apartments, see their kids. We remind them that men of honor take care of all of their obligations. We remind them that what people don’t see you do is as important as what they see you do.
For a vast majority of the men, the paycheck and the amenities we provide are secondary to the trust we show them. The world has condemned them to wear an invisible I for ‘Inmate’ or G for ‘Gangster’ for the rest of their lives. They are shunned, scorned, hated, and reviled for mistakes made in ignorance and, very often, youth. The average age in this company right now is 29. These men are young and healthy. They need a chance. They’re ready to move on with their lives.
I didn’t always believe in this ideal. In fact, I was the last holdout, a result of my privileged background and experiences. I’m the RangeMan who summered in France and Senegal as a child. I had a tailored tuxedo at 16. I was a beaux, went to a prestigious school, was expected to do great things.
I went into the Army because it was family tradition. The family expectation was that I would go to Wall Street or to medical school. I was definitely expected to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, not gangbangers and hoods. My family is still in (polite) shock over the people I choose to associate with.
Meeting Ric and Tank was my introduction to this ideal. It wasn’t until I’d known them for three years that I learned of their backgrounds. My two best friends, my two brothers, men I would gladly and happily take bullets for, were ex-gangbangers. They were ex-cons, juvie but still, they made the mistakes. They served their punishments. They didn’t want to dwell on that. They wanted to move forward and embrace their new lives and identities. The Army was their new start in life and it allowed them to prove who they were as men.
For me, joining the Army was my way of living up to family tradition, but the Army did something even more vital for me. It stripped away all the hubris and snobbery I grew up with and reduced me to the essential element of ‘man’. I was just another man, like every other man in the Army, and I was special only because of my particular leadership abilities. I was special only because of my personal qualities. The Army stripped away my privileged background and made a man of me.
This is the reason I have such problems with Chenae. I look at Chenae and see what I could have been if not for the Army’s swift kick in the ass. I see the kind of privileged, entitled snob I might have been if I had not been stripped of my snobbery and reminded that background didn’t mean shit but character does.
That’s what pisses me off about her. I came by my snobbery honestly. Hers is completely manufactured.
Hector finished off the lesson. Hector came to us, in humility (well, as much humility as one could have while confessing to hacking our entire fucking system) and asked for a favor. We could tell it was a new feeling for him. Hector is not the kind of man who asks favors, but he humbled himself to ask for help. We agreed because of his conditions. He didn’t want help learning to be deadly or want our help protecting his back. No, he asked for protection for his family. He didn’t want them to pay for his mistakes.
We would have given him whatever he asked for at that moment.
We trained Hector as a Ranger. We know he didn’t know what we were up to, and I’m sure he still doesn’t know, but Hector is as deadly as any Ranger we served with. What made Hector special, to me, was his moral code. Hector is not a killer. It weighs on Hector to have so much blood on his hands, but he cares about his life and the lives of those he loves. Hector will never be the aggressor in the fight but he will be the man who ends it.
Hector was the man who finally hammered home the idea that I should ignore the trappings a man came with and look at his heart. Hector was a gangbanger with no bodies to his name before he made the decision to get out. I’m not saying he regrets killing, because I know he doesn’t, but he regrets that was the price of leaving.
So RangeMan, to me, is more than my retirement plan. It’s more than another security company. RangeMan is my way of repaying the men who have placed themselves in harm’s way to protect this country time and time again.
It’s my way of giving men with no other options in this world another chance to redeem themselves.
It’s my way of telling men who come from backgrounds of no hope that there is hope at hand, if you’re willing to work hard and sacrifice.
It’s my way of telling men in a false brotherhood that what they stand for is built on quicksand and is as substantial as a feather in a tornado.
It’s my way of reminding the world that when a man has served his time and made restitution, he should be made whole and given another chance. When you strip him of every dignity and make his very existence a living hell, you condemn him to the same habits and practices that he served time for in the first place.
And a traitor still lives and breathes among us. That cannot stand. A traitor, a liar, and a thief. He violated more than his company. He violated men.
He violated an ideal. He’s mobile again. Good. Time for him to truly pay for his misdeeds.
Upon this, one has to remark that men ought either to be well treated or crushed, because they can avenge themselves of lighter injuries, of more serious ones they cannot; therefore the injury that is to be done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge.
Les smiled upon quoting that and, after a moment of reflection, so did I.
Machiavelli. More commonly translated as Never do any enemy a small injury for they are like a snake which is half beaten and it will strike back the first chance it gets.
Les and I have been working on this plan for weeks and we derived our inspiration from the worst source.
Steph.
We have to give most of her attackers credit: They had extremely simple and effective plans. None of them were stupid men (or groups). They just fell victim to the villian’s downfall: monologuing.
We don’t monologue. We kill. Simple as that.
It was surprisingly simple. Les procured the correct duffle bag and contacted some individuals. I prepared my drugs. Simple blow-dart application to knock him out, another to keep him out for 18 hours, and one to slow his breathing to a nearly indiscernible state. Given the combination, I had to be very careful with dosages; we want to know he’s landed and made it out alive.
After that, eh. Whatever happens, happens.
We thought about time tables and decided that the day after Steph’s clearance would be perfect, but our contact wouldn’t be ready then. One week after Steph’s clearance would be perfect so we agreed. All of us would be extremely mobile. I was headed to Miami. Tank would be in Charlotte. Les was supposed to be in San Antonio. Ranger was . . . somewhere.
We coordinated effort. Liam deserves a proper send-off.
I hit him with the blow dart right after he left the doctor’s office. It would take 30 minutes to take effect. Les grumbled about that but I simply smiled. His first outing on his own in months and he wouldn’t make it back home.
The drugs took effect just as he reached his apartment building.
His body didn’t have time to drop before Tank had him, in his hands, carrying him down the stairs to the SUV. He tossed him in the back and set off for the airport while Les and Ranger started stripping him. I put the tracking chip in his ass and made sure Hector’s tracking program was picking up on it. I nodded, Les and Ranger redressed him in a pair of cargos and stuffed him in the duffle bag. I situated the oxygen tank next to him and positioned the air supply in his nostrils. Don’t want him to die prematurely. Les added the note, one knife and an MRE and we zipped the duffle.
We drive up to JFK and Les makes contact with Hawk, an old buddy of ours, while Ranger hides on the floor in the backseat. Tank drives up to the plane.
“Les!” They shake and Hawk nods at me. “What do we have here?”
Les smiles. It isn’t a pretty smile. “We have someone who needs a quick trip to Uzbekistan.”
Hawk’s eyebrows rise. “Fuck. Been a minute since you had that sort of problem. What did he do?”
“Treason,” I reply coldly. Hawk nods.
“Then he deserves what he gets.” Hawk opens the back of the SUV and motions for two other men to approach. They take the duffle and none too gently strap Liam’s ass on a shelf in the cargo plane.
“How long to Afghanistan?”
“Fourteen hours. I got some cryptic instructions from Ranger weeks ago that I didn’t understand, but I get it now. So he needs to be unloaded next to the Aral Sea?”
“If at all possible,” Les replies.
Hawk frowns. “The Aral Sea is in the north of the country, closer to Kazakhstan. That’s a hard flight to cover politically. Dropping his ass right over the Afghani-Uzbeki border is easy.” He grins. “And it makes life harder on him. No matter where he goes, he’s fucked. He could end up in Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan or Tajikistan. Play his cards wrong and he could end up in Iran.”
We smile. “Sounds good to me,” Tank replies. “We just need to know he’s gone.”
“Done.” Hawk turns and heads to his SUV, then turns back around and comes closer. “I’m hearing some disturbing rumors about Ranger.”
Tank lifts an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Rumor says he’s supposed to be in Pakistan, but I’m also hearing he’s in Afghanistan. Weirdest rumors, whispered of course, say he’s actually stateside. No one believes those but . . . ” He shrugs. “It’s Ranger. No one is willing to discount it. The man’s like smoke.”
We say nothing. Hawk looks at us and sighs. “Yeah, I know I’m not going to get an answer if he’s on assignment. I’m just saying.”
“Thanks for the info. We’ll let him know the next time he checks in,” Tank says.
Hawk nods and walks off. We climb back into the SUV. Ranger’s on the floor looking pissed.
“I’m going to have to take a short assignment overseas when this is over,” he says. We nod. “I’ll have to cover my tracks.”
“I’ll start working the contacts for a short assignment. Something under six months?” Les asks.
“Something under six weeks,” Ranger replies. Les and I look down in surprise but he nods. “Babe’s done everything I could ask of her. I don’t want to put our reunion off any longer. We have a relationship to work on.” Ranger grins. “Besides, I have a penguin suit to get into in May.”
“Just for that, Imma make your ass wear a blue tuxedo. With the ruffles, you ungrateful bastard,” Tank growls. We all fall out laughing. “I’ve done my best to keep Lula from turning our wedding into a multicolor affair.”
“You think you’ve won?” I ask.
“Hell no! You know how much shit goes into a wedding?” Tank says, completely disbelieving. “If it’s not the cake, it’s the favors, the flowers, the boutonnières, the bridesmaids dresses, shit, I’ve started reading wedding magazines during my run just to keep up!”
We’re howling now and Tank’s turning red. “Laugh if you want to, but you have no fucking idea how many times Lula’s tried to sneak more color in on me. If I don’t watch it, you’ll end up in blue tuxedos and shoes!”
Perhaps now isn’t the best time to tell Tank she’s been looking into blue roses.
Ranger wipes his eyes. “My apologies. I thank you for your vigilance, RB.”
Tank snorts. “I can’t wait to see what shit Steph pulls on you.”
Ranger’s smile falls. “If we get married, big IF there, I can see that going one of two ways. Either we’ll elope in Hawaii or Mrs. Plum and my mother will try to take over.”
I wipe my eyes. “I vote for Hawaii, then.” A Burg disaster meets a Latin extravaganza? Jesus, please let them elope!
“Me too,” Les and Tank reply. We hit the commercial end of JFK. I board the plane to Miami. Les takes a plane back to San Antonio. Tank is headed to Charlotte.
Ranger? Ranger disappears. I send Hector an email to remove Ranger from my access. No mistakes. No accidents. I check five minutes later. I can’t see Ranger anymore. I lean my head back and smile.
Stay safe, bro.
I hit the Miami office in silence. Every man stands to look at me. I look at Jackson.
“Mats. Thirty minutes at 1200.”
Jackson swallows hard and nods. I look for Maria and find her in the prep area, headphones on, swaying to the beat. The prep area looks great. The hookup for Maria’s iPod is there but I also see the iPad nearby, on its charger. The room has been given a facelift. New paint, a new comfortable chair, and a larger monitor for Maria’s computer.
The Miami boys are definitely trying, but the SA boys mean business. That’s a beautiful bouquet. I’m laughing. They want ‘their’ Maria and Rafe back. They like the Silvas but, as they tell us constantly, ‘We accept no substitutes, sir!”
Rafe’s watching Maria from another doorway. I laugh my ass off mentally. She must be giving him some encouragement. “Eyes up, sir.”
Rafe whirls around and blushes. “Like you wouldn’t watch.”
I grin. “I would. It’s a nice view but you’re a bit obvious with it.”
Rafe rolls his eyes. “Young boys,” he snorts. “You spend so much time trying to pretend you aren’t impressed you don’t know how to honestly and openly appreciate a good woman.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Rafe walks off.
I step forward and stand next to Maria. She looks over and starts, then smiles. “Bobby!” I get a warm hug. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, kissing her cheeks. “I’m here for a pop health assessment,” I whisper. Maria grins. I look around and sniff. “I don’t smell any food.”
“Armando hasn’t signed the contract.”
I frown. “Why?”
“He wants to drive the point home so I’m under standard contract for two weeks. Having me here, but not preparing food, is really driving the point home to the men that everything I do is because I want to, not because I have to.”
I nod. Smart move, Armando. Tank’s really watching Mando like a hawk and he reports that Steph made a smart move in removing him from Miami. Mando is returning to the man we placed in charge of Miami. We’re glad. We’ve been nervous about that move.
“Well, I’d like to have your assistance tomorrow in assessing the men.”
“Will I be assessed too?”
I shake my head. “I assessed you a few weeks ago, in Texas. Remember?”
Maria’s eyes gleam. “Oh right!” She grins. “Time to bring the pain?”
“Glad to see you’re on board.”
I keep Jackson’s mat time short and sweet. I’m not feeling rage right now. I’m just irritated so I pretty much give him a gift. He’s relieved to see I’m not thrashing him.
We return to the infirmary and I start a meticulous inventory of his area. All drugs are accounted for, all procedures are noted, everything appears to be correct. I’ll dive in deeply tonight.
“Recite for me the SOPs for medics in this company, Jackson.”
I listen as he recites the SOPs for medics. He looks confused. I push the chair over to him and motion for him to sit.
“Do you understand why you earned mat time with me?”
“No, sir.”
I lean forward. “I don’t care who in this company asks you for the medical records, you should always get a receipt.” He pales and I nod. “Exactly. I don’t care if it’s Ella, Tank, or Ranger, I will always back you in that. If you have difficulty, you should always contact me. I am your next step in this company in regards to the medical records. You should never feel afraid to contact me for either support or backup.”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
“I plan to reinforce this with every medic in the company, but Ella told me about the lax standards here in regards to medical files. I hope, when I review these files tonight, that I don’t find discrepancies.”
“You won’t, sir. I’m meticulous about noting everything.”
“Good.” That’s one less worry. “That’s the reason I hired you, Jackson, as opposed to the six other applicants I had for this position. I wanted your attention to detail and, quite frankly, I was surprised to hear you’d gotten lax with the records.”
He nods, a bit shamefaced.
I lean back and stare coldly. “What was the point of attempting to test Maria when she returned?” His eyes widen and I nod. “We know all,” I hiss. “Explain to me why you, of all people, felt the need to test her.”
Jackson is quiet. “It’s not that I was trying to test her, sir. I was honestly surprised. Maria’s never requested assistance before. She’s always done a great job. Always and it was surprising to find that she intended to make changes.”
I stare at him then place my hand against his forehead. “Hmm … you don’t appear to be running a fever.” I slap him upside his head and glare. “Did you really believe that, after receiving help at every other branch, she would really come back here and just start doing things the way she’d always done them?”
“I didn’t know what to think or expect, sir.”
I stare at him and shake my head. “Idiot,” I mutter, amused. “You are the man in this company who works closest with the housekeeper. The medic should be the housekeeper’s biggest cheerleader and vice versa. Do you know why?”
Jackson swallows hard. “Because if there’s something wrong with the men, she’ll probably find out first?”
“Exactly,” I reply. “Not having an experienced housekeeper in San Antonio is really driving me mad. I’m ass deep in paperwork for the branch and trying to keep an eye on the health and welfare of all the men. If I had Maria back, I could relax and let her handle that and when she was there, I did. Lourdes, the current housekeeper, doesn’t know the men like that yet. She’s still learning all the standards and trying to make standards. She’s busy but I make sure the men know to respect her and talk to her if they need something.” I lean forward. “You and Maria? You should be an indestructible team. You both have the charge of the welfare of the men of the branch. Understood?”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
I take a deep breath and smile. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, tell me what I need to know about the health and welfare around here.”
Jackson was a font of information. I wonder what Diego will tell me.
“Diego.” I shake his hand and I’m pleased to see Diggy is settling into the job as XO. I’m also here to slyly assess him for Tank and, so far, I think we have San Antonio’s XO. The men are on point, heads down and working hard. I heard Diego really put his foot down hard here in Miami, trying to establish himself, and I see the difference between him and Mando. It’s subtle but it’s there, and I know what it is.
The men fear Diggy. They know he’ll beat the shit out of them. I wonder how the manual punishment angle is working.
Almost as soon as I wonder, I see Ignacio and Antonio washing windows. Both are red-faced when I nod at them.
I turn to Diggy, hiding my smile. “Manual labor?”
“Saying ‘toothbrush’ to them wouldn’t have quite the same effect,” Diggy replies blandly. I’m ready to laugh my ass off. Mando and his toothbrushes are what tipped us into naming him XO here. Tank loved that shit. “I’m learning that ‘windows’ does.”
I break. I can’t help it. That was funny. Diggy smiles slightly and moves to close the door. I look around his office and I see subtle changes. He’s moved the master monitors in here, so he can keep an eye on everything, and I see piles of paper. I almost feel as if I’m in Mando’s office.
“Why didn’t you just move into Mando’s office?” I ask.
“Because that’s still his office. I’m not the XO here. I’m interim XO,” Diggy says, taking his seat. “I respect my XO and realize that I didn’t have a clue about half of the stuff he was doing.” He shrugs. “I dunno. I guess I just feel as if it would be disrespectful to invade his space, regardless of how long I was there.” He looks at me and smiles. “Kinda like I would never move into Ranger’s office, no matter how tight space was here.”
Good answer. I’m glad to see there’s still respect for chain of command here. “How are you handling the extra duties?”
Diggy snorts. “Treading water, sir. Mando and I have a three-hour call every Friday night”—he checks the time—”in an hour, actually, so he can teach me different aspects of the job. This weekend is supposed to be the weekly report.” I nod. “Ms. Plum gave me a pass on submitting it last week but that just means I have to submit two weeks’ worth of reports.” He shakes his head and barks a laugh. “Les told me at the beach that being an XO is more than what you see. He’s never lied. I finally understand why Mando lived in his office.”
“Do you see any duties that need to be reassigned?”
“I’ve reassigned everything that could be reassigned, and I’m watching ’em like hawks to make sure it’s getting done, but the workload is still insane.” Diego smiles. “Honestly, I’m thrilled we have an HR department now. Are we going to have someone in-house soon?”
I nod. “I think that’s what Steph and Candy envision.”
“That would be great. An HR person and a secretary. Every XO probably needs one.”
I make a mental note. Steph was right. We need staff at each branch. I kick back and get comfortable. “Well, you asked me to come. What do I need to know?”
“The league of assholes—”
“The what?” I lean forward, already chuckling.
Diego shrugs. “I’m firing so fast that it’s easier to call them that than to keep up with the number.”
I’m done. I’m going to have a headache later. I laugh long and hard and eventually wipe my eyes. Yeah, Diggy’s the perfect XO for San Antonio. Diggy’s dry humor is a perfect complement to Ches’s sly humor. Ranger and Les. Now we need a Bobby/Tank in the strategist position, and Les has his eye on possibly moving Marcus from Atlanta. He thinks he might be the right man to balance those two. We’re thinking Mack for Miami to take Diggy’s position if Diggy goes to SA. Mack’s a fucking fool and we’re realizing that’s been another benefit of having Steph in the CO position. All these personalities are coming forward and showing themselves.
I calm myself and wave to Diggy. “Continue.”
“Well, the league of assholes and their assorted hangers-on managed to convince Tony’s mom to cook for them. On the plus side, the Maria lessons appeared to hold. They actually thanked the woman for her meals, although they didn’t compensate her.” I snort. “Anyway, instead of adhering to the standard RangeMan diet, they decided to thumb their noses at us and had her bringing in those heavy ass meals Maria used to cook.” Diggy smiles mischievously. “Mando and I decided to allow it. After they had a week of it, that’s when I called you.”
I smile. “I’m looking forward to this then.”
Ella was right. Her regime made a difference. The men who stuck to the RangeMan standard diet are, on a whole, 20 pounds lighter and blazing through the PT assessments.
The ‘league of assholes’ is not as fast and they haven’t lost any weight. I’m amused and so is Maria. At the end of the assessment, I turn to Maria.
“Strict macrobiotic diets for each man who failed and they aren’t allowed anything else until I return to reassess them. Everyone else is fine.”
Maria grins. The men who failed, 18 of them, are in the prep area with me and they’re looking horrified. They know that when a man fails my assessments I take my sweet time coming back to check them. They could be on that diet for months. Diego is smirking. I turn to them.
“I didn’t work with Mrs. Guzman to develop the standard diet because I didn’t have shit else to do when we started this company. I developed it because I wanted to help you stay in peak condition. Each man in here right now is a disappointment to me. If you’re in leadership here, you are officially on probation.”
I look at Antonio. He’s the only one and his nostrils are flaring. “What people don’t see you do is as important as what they see you do. I understand that you led the charge in thumbing your nose at the standard diet?” He gives no indication of his intent to respond, so I stride over and stand directly in front of him.
“I’m not elderly yet, so I assume my inability to hear you stems from your failure to respond. You want to piss me off?”
“No, sir,” he replies softly.
“Then explain why you led the charge in convincing these men to ignore the standard diet.”
It’s silent in the room. I’m staring at Tony, who is saying nothing.
“Diggy,” I whisper.
“Everyone out,” Diggy says. He and Maria usher everyone from the room and close the doors. I’m left with Tony. I immediately sweep his feet and, once he’s down, put my foot in his back.
“I intend to get an answer, soldier. Explain.”
Tony’s jaw clenches. “No one was cooking for us, sir. I asked my mother to cook for us. She fixed her traditional cuisine.”
“You tell her about the standard diet?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?” Silence. I help him off the floor and stare at him. “At the moment, you owe your very life to the CO. Mando intended to fire you the moment he returned from the beach.” Tony’s eyes widen. “Diego hasn’t fired you only because she wants to meet you. I’m not firing you only because she wants to meet you. Your life depends on her good review of you because, believe me, you are holding on by a thread,” I hiss. I stare at him coldly. “You are on probation and I’m planning an “exit interview” if you fuck up with her. Tread carefully, soldier.”
Tony nods and leaves the room. I lean back against the cabinets and blow a breath.
I’m not sure what Bomber is up to, but I hope to God it’s as brilliant as everything else she’s done. I’m wondering if she intends some sort of ‘Mark’ conversion with him. Les is almost certain that’s not it, but he can’t puzzle it out. We don’t understand what she’s up to with him, but we’re trusting her.
She hasn’t failed me.
I return to Ranger’s apartment and check Hector’s tracking program. That sneaky fuck can find us all, but that’s good. If shit goes wrong, at least our bodies are recoverable.
Green dot is SA.
Brown dot in Charlotte.
Red, pink, and purple dots in Atlanta.
Blue dot in Miami.
Yellow dot in Boston.
Orange dot in hasn’t moved from Mazar-e Sharif in 24 hours.
I’ll check again in 48 hours. If that dot doesn’t move, I’ll make a quick call. If the results are as I think, I’ll consider the punishment as having been served.
A/N: Mazar-e Sharif is a military/civilian airfield in Afghanistan that was built prior the War on Terror’s Afghan campaign. If Liam managed to make it there, he might have a fighting chance, as the airfield is currently under NATO command and is staffed by German and Norwegian troops.
Fucking fool – Has a great personality and sense of humor. Thought I better explain the ‘southernism’ there.
