The irritating bitch was so far up her own fucking ass hole that she could probably lick her tonsils from the back. Belle nodded and made the right noises and put an illegible scribble on each piece of paper that, if analysed by a handwriting expert, would reveal itself to be closer to "M Mouse" than B Morton. She actually looked a little startled when Bauer laughed.  It was actually quite a pleasant laugh, even if it was laced with bitterness and anger.<i>You remind me of her. So very very angry, so in your face. The world owes you a living. The world owes you everything. You didn't ask to be born and the whole world has shit on you right from the start... You poor kid, you'll never know what hit you!</i><br/><br/>Louisa had created The She Wolves. She was the mother figure, even though she was only two years older than Tracy, the youngest of them. And she was the butch, the domme, the husband. She had held the band together through lean times and kept them from falling apart like so many had, kept them going, kept coming up with new material. It was she who had made them millionaires, and now she was gone and the four Bitches (as they liked to call themselves) did one last memorial concert for her, had the biggest row ever and all went their separate ways, vowing they would get back together when the Beatles, The Eagles and Simon and Garfunkle all got together and invited them to join. (As Lennon had died some 26 years earlier, that was never going to happen). And Belle had a big hole in her heart that nothing had been able to fill.<br/><br/>The Probation Officer stood and offered some final advice as Belle showed her out. "Don't give her money, don't send her on errands to the shops. We vet the kids thoroughly, and if they have violent tendencies or have any history of theft, they don't get into this program. Those ones we have scrubbing graffiti off walls and picking up litter!"<br/><br/>Belle shrugged. "Riiiiiight, well it was nice meeting you Muzz Lippyrude. I'm sure we'll see each other around, it's not exactly a big town, after all..." With the cow gone, Belle turned her attention back to the girl in her study.<br/><br/>"The band..." She saw the kid looking at the display on the wall behind the drum kit. "Only the three of us left now. You probably never heard of us. The She-Wolves. Oh we were big on the punk scene in the seventies and early eighties, back when we were young and rebellious. We had a revival in the nineties with a whole new brand of rock, then Louisa got some bad crack. She was the only one doing it, the rest of us stuck with E and acid. We never found out what it was cut with, I don't think it was cut at all, but it killed her. And that was that."<br/><br/>She shrugged. "That's me, when I was younger. That's Louisa, lead guitar and lead singer, it was her band really, that's Tracy, she did keyboards, Tina was rhythm guitar, and Andrea was bass. You can probably guess what I did..." She nodded at the drum kit which stood taller than either of them with the two china cymbals to each side. "It's a shame I don't have any close neighbours. I'd love to annoy them!" She giggled. Come on, kid, let's show you the rest of the house." Belle tore the coppies of what tasks she should and shouldn't give to the kid in to four pieces and dropped them in the waste paper bin by her desk. "You know what Leibenrood means in English, kid? Free road. So Muzz I've-Been-Rude can go fuck herself with a carving knife. Come on. Shit, I need a fucking drink! Let's start with the bar. You want anything?" She led the way into the hallway and then into a room that was quite clearly set up as an old-style Western saloon bar, even to the swing doors. She slid behind the counter and  took a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon off the shelf, poured herself a glass and downed it in one go. "Yeah, I know it's a bit early to get plastered, but that fucking cow just made me need a shot!" She giggled. "So, yeah, you can start by dusting in here. Help yourself if you want a glass of something, but if I find you completely shit-faced I'll have to tell snot-face." She beckoned the kid to come behind the bar and pointed to the cleaning utensils stored neatly in the corner there. "I'll leave you to it. I'll be in my study if you need me."<br/><br/>Belle staggered out of the room, the stagger caused by having to use crutches with a broken arm, rather than the alcohol. She had flatly refused a wheelchair. At least her collar bone was mended now. She was aching to get back on the two things that made her life worth continuing - the drum kit and the hog.<br/><br/>The bar and the two tables were both covered in a thin layer of dust, as was the floor. Everything in the bar room was gleaming dark oak, except for the green baize set into the tops of the card tables. The guns on the walls were all replicas of firearms that would have been available and in use in the 1870s, but none of them were real - except the Winchester '73, but that one had a plug in the barrel and the firing pin removed.<br/><br/>A single window looked out onto an area of woodland with farmland just visible beyond it through the trees.