The next plane from the big city arrives and with it the DL. She's a very flashy lady with a wild mane of gold hair, a lingerie model body and, if rumor is correct, she's a shameless whore, if you're a customer and also far enough up your management chart to warrant her attention.

The DL stops by the lab where I'm working.

I give the DL a brief update on my progress.

She's not interested in the technical end of things, just in the percentage completion and remaining time required. She then wiggles in to the CO's office. (I know what you're thinking, "Why didn't somebody just stop her?" If you had ever seen the DL wiggle, you wouldn't ask me such a stupid question.)

I continue to labor very hard in the lab until Thursday. I have to reinstall everything that Les' people screwed up, including the software, and, in the process, replace some of the things that the idiots that Les hired, damaged during their pathetic attempts to do something to justify their continued employment.

The CO and the DL disappear together. No one knows where they went. However, the DL apparently does that which she does so well. When the two of them reappear, the CO bears the unmistakable signs of the pussy whip.

Thanks to the Dls' efforts, the political problems are over and it's now just the technical problems remaining.

By Thursday afternoon, I get the 25 hour test started and the military operators take over the operation of the system. When they get past the first two hours of the test clean, they have gotten past the previously reported problem areas and we're almost certain of a pass for the system.

The DL then stops by and gets my report on the technical state of things. With all systems go, the DL then tries to book a flight back to the big city. However, it's no dice, the last flight out on Friday is booked. All of the Saturday flights are also booked.

The DL then calls her executive boyfriend back in the big city. He's 'too busy' to fly up and pick her up. Thus, the DL informs me that she's riding with me, in a tone that indicates that the knave should be ecstatic because the desperate Princess is going to ride in his oxcart. I'm thrilled beyond words at the prospect of being an unpaid chauffeur, which is just as well because, "Fuck you, bitch!" doesn't play at all with the DL.

The 25 hour test continues through to the end and the system that I reinstalled passes with flying colors. The government observers sign off the acceptance and I have once again pulled the company out of trouble.

The military techs aren't going to let Les and/or his fumble fingers people screw up a working system. Thus, I have once again rescued incompetent Les and, in the process, saved the company's bacon.

Since there's no other realistic way home, I'm going to drive my rental car back to the big city. It's a long drive, but I'm afraid that if I stay at the remote military base, I'm going to kill Les. (It would be a service to humanity, but the police wouldn't see it that way.)

I notify the DL of my immanent departure. The DL again reminds me, "You're going to take me with you when you drive back to the big city."

I have no real choice in the matter, so I say, "I'll be glad to take you back with me. It'll be good to have company on the long drive back home."

I load my suitcase into the rental car. I also load the DL's two suitcases, trunk and makeup kit into the rental car. (Obviously, the DL didn't leave home, she brought it along with her.) Once I have the rental car loaded, we jump in and start the long auto trip down from the high desert.

The DL is in a very nasty mood and as we drive along, she begins to vow vengeance against Les for his incompetence.

I'm thrilled at the DL's words. I'm just one of many people who hate Les. However, unlike the rest of the people who hate him, the DL has the political clout to inflict some real pain on Les. Yesssss!

We drive for a couple of hours through a howling wilderness with little to break the monotony. Then the alternator light goes on and the engine area begins to emit sounds like Les makes when a client doesn't give his mother a quarter. We slowly limp into the little high desert town of Cowflop.

Despite the fact that we're driving together, only I get to stay to talk with the local mechanic.

Meanwhile DL wiggles across the street to something called the Deserter Bar.

The mechanic takes a look at things. The alternator is FUBAR. It has seized and the drive belts have then committed suicide. The repair parts will arrive as Greyhound belly freight around 11:15 the next day. With luck, DL and I will be on the road again by 1PM the next day.

The mechanic seems like a competent type. He wants to wait for Monday to get the repair okayed by the rental car company. However, he's willing to take my company credit card instead.

In the interest of a speedy repair, I'll pay the bill and then let the Accounting Department fight the matter out with the rental car company. (Since I have the DL with me, the Accounting Department has to win the fight.)

I leave the rental car with the guy, as if I have any other real choice. I then walk across the road to the Deserter Bar.

When I get to the Deserter Bar, a very unhappy DL is finishing something called a Gunfighter. I don't know exactly what booze is in a Gunfighter, but the people who make rocket fuel should definitely check it out.

DL signals for another Gunfighter and I manage to get a Heineken at the same time!

I give DL the bad car news.

The DL is livid. (I have hopes that when we get back home, the DL will tie Les up, throw him inside the car, light the car on fire and then let it run over a very high cliff.)

Since there's no real choice in the matter, the DL and I walk from the Deserter Bar over to the only motel in town and sign in for two guest rooms. I get to schlep DL's stuff from the car and put it in her room. Then I get to schlep my stuff over and put it in my room. I then get cleaned up and call the DL.

She wants another 15 minutes.

When I pick up DL at her motel room, she's wearing a very skimpy silk top over no bra, a silk micro-mini skirt, fancy stockings and very tall heels. DL is just about finished with what I think is her second Gunfighter.

The sign back in the Deserter Bar ominously warned, 'The Gunfighter, lays your lifeless body on the ground.' Whatever.

We get back to the Deserter Bar and I get a cowboy steak, baked potato and a Heineken. DL gets a salad and another Gunfighter.

My steak isn't too bad for a grungy little desert town bar. I have no idea how DL's salad is, because she's pretty much incoherent, probably due to the three (or possibly more) Gunfighters that she's consumed.

We finally finish the meal and I wonder what the evening holds for us.

DL then gazes at me with the owlish stare of the very inebriated. She slurs, "I hadda fly up to the middle of nowhere. I then hadda fuck the damn CO to keep him from canceling the contract. I hadda fuck him more than once, the horny bastard. Then, my ass hole boyfriend, make that ex-boyfriend, is too busy to fly up and pick me up. Fuck the ass holes back at the company. Fuck 'em all! Tonight, I'm gonna have me some fun."

I realize that the DL is way drunk. I also realize that anything I try to do to deal with the problem will be worse than trying to defuse a live bomb.

About this time the Manager of the Deserter Bar comes by and lies, "I'll have a couple of girls here to dance real soon."

The sign on the outside of the Deserter Bar promises strippers. Thus far, there have been no strippers visible.

DL says to the Manager, "Fuck the lazy bitches! I'll dance instead."