PART FIVE
CHAPTER 3


With the car bombs out of the way, he could concentrate on the evening’s assignment.  At 8 o’clock that night, at the Paramount Theater, a certain Millie Burkhart would tell her husband she wasn’t feeling well and was going out to get a drink.  Upon reaching the lobby she would begin to feel worse and would go into the ladies room where she would collapse.  Because no one knew about it, she would be too far gone before any help was summoned.

This did not look to be too difficult to avert.  Gary would have to call from inside the theater in order to convince the paramedics that he was on the site and that he could possibly know about it. 

He gave them time so they would have a good fifteen minutes to arrive before Millie would suffer her symptoms.  It went very well.  There was a small period of time, about three minutes actually, when the paramedics arrived before the woman came staggering out to the lobby, and before they observed her trying to make her way towards the ladies room.  It created a little confusion, but she received the immediate attention that she needed to be able to recover and live to see another day…or movie.


CHAPTER 4


That same evening, around eight, Helen picked up the bar phone and announced, “McGinty’s.”

A female voice came on the line.  “I’m looking for Gary, is he there?”

Helen excused herself and checked the office and the other places Gary might have been.  Returning, she asked if she could take a message.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll leave a message.  Just tell him…”  She broke in to ask, “Who’s this?” When she was told it was Helen, she felt more confident in leaving this important a message.  “Helen, it’s Toni…Brigatti.  We met briefly this morning in Gary’s loft.”  If Helen had not recognized the voice, she surely recognized the east coast delivery.  Toni continued, “It’s extremely urgent that you give him this message.  Tell him to be very careful, that Paul is suspicious about tonight, and he’s looking for him.  Do you have all that?”

Hesitantly, Helen told her she had understood and would relay it.  How could she have understood it?  It sounded as if it was in code.  The message sent her mind and imagination running wild.  Was Gary messing around with a married woman?  Was he in danger from the husband, ‘Paul?’  The thought of it left a bad taste in Helen’s mouth.  She most definitely would give him the message AND she’d see to it that she was present to be the one to tell him personally so she could see his facial expression.

After Brigatti thanked her and hung up, Helen went to search out Marissa.  She had grown fond of the very capable woman who was in charge of running McGinty’s.  Marissa seemed to be able to address any problem, whether it involved the business end of the bar, or involved digging into the basic psychology of a troubled friend.  She was able to reduce most problems to the lowest common denominators and make it appear that the solution was elementary.

Marissa was in the office, going over some papers that were strewn all over the desk.  “Marissa, do you have time to talk?”

“Come, sit down and tell me what you need.  I’m just finishing up with this research into the case of the missing cases.”

“Do you consider Gary a man of good morals?”

“Do I…what!”

“I know it’s a strange question.  I’ll understand if you’d rather not answer, but I don’t know who would be better able to answer this.  Do you think of Gary as a man of high morals?”

Marissa had one of her enigmatic smiles when she considered the question.  Gary Hobson, of all people…Mr. Clean personified.  ‘Did Helen find out about the paper?  What would prompt her to inquire about Lois Hobson’s pride and joy in this manner?’  “Gary Hobson is one of the most honest, moral persons I’ve ever met.  In all the years that I’ve known him, he’s never been anything else.  What causes you to ask?”  She was hoping against hope that Helen was not going to bring the paper into the conversation.  It made her uncomfortable to be put in a position to have to lie.  She warned Gary several times over the years that she would not be responsible if someone were to ask her directly about the paper. 

“I guess that I knew that, or felt that, but someone told me something today that made me wonder about it.”

“What did they say?”

“Oh, nothing really.  Excuse me, Marissa, I’d better check on the tables.  Thanks.”  Gary came through the door a little after nine.  Heading straight for the bar, he asked for a bottle of beer and took it with him up to his apartment.  Helen finished with the customer she had been serving and asked Vadim to keep an eye on things while she took a break.  She intended to deliver Brigatti’s message in a face-to-face encounter.
“It’s open,” Gary called when she knocked.  He was sprawled on the couch, one leg on the couch, one leg on the floor, nursing the beer and was just pointing the remote control at the TV, intending to catch the local news.  When Helen entered, he stood up and set the remote back on the end table. 

“Hi, Gary.  You don’t have to get up.  A message came in while you were out.  Toni Brigatti asked me to relay it to you.  She was concerned that you receive it tonight.  She said, ‘be very careful.  Paul is suspicious about tonight.  He’s looking for you.’  Does that sound right?”

His face showed no embarrassment, no guilt, not even curiosity.  It was as if he understood the message and was comfortable with it.  “Does that sound right?” he repeated, tiredly, “If by ‘right’ you mean fair, no.  It’s not right, but it’s the way Paul is.  No, I’m sure you meant to ask if it was comprehendible and complete; and it is.”

“Is there a problem that I can help with?  It sounded serious.”

“Ser…serious?  Oh no…no…no…no.  Nothing you need to worry about.  Paul is just a worrier and he likes to put me in the picture when there is trouble.”  He saw that she was not in a hurry to leave and he sat down again on the couch.  She moved farther into the room and took a seat at the other end of the couch, waiting in silence for him to speak.  He rubbed his eyes and whole face as if trying to erase the tiredness.  When he looked up at her, he stared for a long minute, taking in the whole picture.  It reminded him of the night she had come up here with the dinner tray from Marissa.  It was the night that she sat cross-legged on the opposite couch…like they were two kids talking about school…or something.  Her hair was a little out-of-place, with stray hairs hanging in her face.  The lamp behind her put some of her face in shadows but backlighted the hair ends. 

Why did he get in such a mood when he was around her? 

Why did she remind him of a woman from a Renoir painting?

She was still not convinced that he wasn’t in trouble with some woman’s husband.  The direct approach seemed the only way to handle it.  “Gary, is Toni Brigatti someone you care for?  Her message sounded like you and she…”

“Toni…Toni Brigatti?  No, no, no, no, no.  She’s not, I mean, she and I are not…,” he paused, still staring into her eyes.  “Toni Brigatti is a police detective who I have been involved with only in, in…police cases.  You thought that she and I…?  That Paul was her hus…husband?  Paul Armstrong is her partner at the CPD, that’s all.   Paul has been on my ‘case’ ever since I met him.  He is suspicious about everything about me, ya see, and is always searching for a reason to put me behind bars so he can grill me about everything from the traffic on Michigan Avenue to the price of butter.  He has this obsession, ya see, about me being responsible for all the criminal happenings in Chicago—and the environs.”  

“The reason he’s after me this time is I warned them of a dangerous situation that he and Brigatti needed to be aware of.”  He examined her face to see how his credibility was coming across.    

“Helen, we never did talk about the night of the robbery…what went on in that refrigerator…  It seems like such a long time ago, but I wanted to say something about it.”  He covered his eyes with his hands as if he was about to rub his face again.  She thought he was feeling remorseful again so she stood up and moved to sit closer to him. 

When she placed her hand on his knee to attract his attention, he flinched in surprise.  He abruptly pulled his hands away from his face and turned to train his eyes on her.  One of his hands reached down and covered hers.  “Helen, I wanted you to know…I wanted you to know that…I…I…”  He seemed to be changing the subject.  “You know, ah, regardless of how it looks to people here, I function pretty well during the day.  I actually appear as…capable…in what I, ah, do.  I accomplish…things.  It’s when I see you…in, in the bar, in the restaurant, at my door, and, especially, in that damned kitchen…that I fall apart.  I know that you want us to be ‘friends’ and all that that, ah, implies, but I don’t...I don’t feel…honest in being your ‘friend.’”

Her eyes teared up, but she held their moisture.

“What do you want, Gary?  I must be too tired because I’m not picking up your meaning.  If you were trying to tell me to leave you alone, you’ll have to come out and say it.  The truth is, you mean too much to me to forget about…unless that’s your intention.”  Was that a tear that just slid down her cheek?

“Wai…wai…wai…wait.” He stammered.  “That’s not what I…I mean, I never intended, you’re too…just a minute.”  ‘Compose yourself, Hobson!’  He was facing her now and reached up to wipe that errant tear which had, by now, reached her jaw line.  “Don’t ever let me be the cause of another one of those.  I’d rather die than be the cause of you shedding a single tear.  What I was trying to say, and messed up, as usual, was I don’t want to be only a…a friend.  We had a lot of fun.  But, I think, I’d like to see us go further than a, a, a platonic friendship.   And while we’re there, I didn’t want to wipe that tear away like that.”  He leaned forward and putting his hands on either side of her face in the most gentle, but firm manner, he kissed the place where the tear had come to rest.

She had closed her eyes when he applied the kiss to her face and they were still closed as he gently kissed the corner of her upper lip.  He proceeded to place the next one at the summit of her lips.  She audibly gave a small gasp and parted her lips ever so slightly.  The next kiss was gentle as he barely met her lips.  Another gentle kiss followed.  As if convinced that this was, as Martha Stewart might say, ‘a good thing,’ he held her tightly as they shared a deeply satisfying kiss, one that shook both their worlds.  They held each other this way until a soft knock was heard at the door, along with Marissa’s voice calling his name.

Completely out of breath, Gary went to the door to admit Marissa.  “Hi, Marissa…we were just, we were, ah, ah, that is, we were…just coming down.  Anything wrong?”  As unkind as it might sound, he was so glad that Marissa couldn’t see his face at that moment, or notice the fact that he barely had the strength to walk.

Full of the special Marissa Clark sarcasm, she said, “Other than that my waitress is missing and we’re suddenly overrun with customers, no, nothing’s wrong.”  Upon hearing that, Helen jumped to her feet and touched Marissa’s arm as she rushed past her with a breathy ‘sorry.’  “Gary, what am I missing?  You can’t possibly think that I am stupid enough to believe that there’s nothing going on between you and Helen.  Everyone who works here PLUS all of our regulars have a pool going and have to be brought up to date daily on the developments.  I thought you and I had more respect for each other.  Is it that you’re unsure of your feelings…or unsure of how I will react?”

Gary took his time to respond and, when he did, it was with some impatience, “If this were yesterday, you would already be ‘up-to-date’ on the developments, as you call it.  Those developments may NEVER happen if we are constantly…inter…interrupted in their…development.  Marissa, I find, that is, I’ve discovered, ah, ah, I think I’ve fallen in love…with Helen.  Every time we begin an in-depth discussion of our feelings, so to speak, we are, ah, interrupted.  What I need…”

Marissa could stand no more.  “Developments you say, an ‘in-depth discussion, is that what it’s called these days?  I didn’t realize that I was so behind the times.  Come on, Gary, face it.  If things get any more ‘in-depth’ or ‘developed,’ you and Helen will need a hotel room for your discussions.” 

If ever there was anyone who could cut right through the formalities and inflict the most embarrassment on Gary in the shortest amount of time, that person was Marissa Clark.  That was about all the red-faced Gary could face at the moment.  ‘Thank God, Helen wasn’t in on this conversation,’ he thought.  “I’m late, Marissa.  We’ll talk more about what you need to know, and how important it is that everyone downstairs needs to know about my life…later!  Right now there is a bus on Wacker that is about to jump the curb and wipe out two people standing there.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the cool air outside McGinty’s.  ‘Oh, for the simple life, is it ever going to be simple?’


 End of Part 5 

*************************************

PART SIX
CHAPTER 1

Marissa entered the restaurant from the office and slid into her favorite booth.  “Gary?” she called when she heard movement behind the bar.

“No, it’s Helen.  Can I bring something for you, Marissa?”

“Maybe coffee, if you don’t mind.  Where’s Gary?”

Helen found herself amused by the question.  ‘Who could keep track of Gary?’  “He was here until about fifteen minutes ago, having a glass of orange juice and reading the paper.  Suddenly he jumped up and almost ran into the office, to make a call, he said.  I asked what was wrong with the bar phone, but he was gone before he could answer.”  She brought Marissa the coffee and sat down opposite her.  “Like a tornado touching down, he burst back in here through the doors again, grabbed his jacket and scarf, and he disappeared outside on the run.  He’s probably in Evanston, by now.  Where does he go everyday?  It seems as though he’s always in a life or death hurry.”

‘If she only knew how close to the truth that is,’ thought Marissa.  Her usual response usually sufficed, “You know Gary…” 

“I wish,” was Helen’s reply.  “When the two of us are sitting quietly, talking, he’s so out-in-the-open and easy to relate to and, well, and to…like.”  Marissa kept her silence, allowing Helen to take her time choosing her words.  “Then he’ll go into this panic mode and all I can picture is the ‘Road Runner’ frantically rushing here and, mostly, there.  How do you break through that?  What is it that sparks him into action like that?”

‘When is Gary going to face his feelings and let Helen in on the paper?’ Marissa sat posing questions to herself.  ‘What am I supposed to say to this girl who, obviously, is more than ‘in like’ with my partner?’ 

Before she had to answer any questions a very intruding ‘Mrowr’ sounded from the bar area.   “What’s that, Helen?  Is that Gary’s cat?”

“I’m afraid it is.  How does he get down here?  I’ll get him.”  She left the booth and was heard moving behind the bar.  “He’s knocked Gary’s paper down and is sitting on it yowling.”

“Gary’s paper?  What makes you think that it’s Gary’s paper, Helen?” 

“It has to be his.  He was reading it before going to make his call.  When he returned he was so preoccupied with leaving that he went out and left it lying near his glass on the bar.  I tried to stop him, but he was gone by the time I got to the street.  That paper seems so important to him that I folded it and placed it under the bar.”  As an after-thought, she added, “Please don’t let me forget to tell him.”  Helen picked up the ‘special issue’ belonging, as she suspected, to Gary, intending to put it back under the bar. 

A sense of foreboding crept into Marissa’s mind and she asked Helen to bring it over to her.  It was a curious request, Helen thought, since Marissa wasn’t able to read it, but she placed it on the table in front of her and sat down again. 

“Helen, do you remember what the page was that the cat was sitting on?” 

Curious about this out-of-the-blue question and where this all was headed, she asked, “What page?  I don’t really know.  Is that important?”  On rethinking, she recalled, “I’m pretty sure it was the centerfold page.  When I picked it up, none of the pages fell away; they just folded back up easily.”

Marissa’s voice was innocently calm as she asked, “Please read that page to me.”

Helen’s expression would have been considered as priceless as she looked at this, usually rational and sensible, woman.  Shaking her head, she began reading, beginning with the first item in the upper left corner.  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to start with the front page?” 

“No, I’m only interested in that spread page.  How about reading just the headlines first?”

“O-kaay.  ‘Mayor’s Stolen Limo Recovered.’  ‘Vandals Release Lab Rats at Local School.’  ‘Child Molester Sentenced.’  ‘Shootout at Rescue Mission Leaves Two Dead.’  ‘Newest Councilman…’

“Wait!”  Helen nearly jumped out of her skin at Marissa’s alarmed cry.  “Wait.  Read that one, the one about the shootout.”

Obediently, Helen began reading:  “Police were on the scene yesterday and returned fire when two men appeared in the alley behind the mission on West Addison and threatened the handyman and another man who was not employed at the mission.  Apparently an altercation ensued and it progressed and escalated into gunfire.  Two men died at the scene and two were wounded. Some of the casualties are believed to possibly have been the results of crossfire.  CPD Detective Paul Armstrong’s only statement was that the police are investigating.  The names of all victims were being withheld pending identification and notification of next of kin.  The two injured men were taken to Cook County Hospital for treatment.” 

It was all Marissa could do to withhold her gasp when she heard the scanty, but frightening details.  She understood why Gary raced out in such a hurry that he forgot the paper.  It was also obvious, that if he hadn’t left it, there might not have been such dire consequences—to him.  ‘Six people involved, two CPD officers, two gunmen, two ‘innocent’ bystanders;’ her logic told her that Gary had some big odds against him having been untouched by the violence.  She slid out from the booth.  “Helen, you’ve got to leave a note for the staff and take me to the Cook County Hospital…right now!”

“What, Marissa?  What’s wrong?  Do you know who they’re talking about?”

Her mood would allow no discussion as she insisted, “I need you to either take me there in the van or call me a cab, but I need to be there NOW!”

“We’re going, but I expect an explanation on the way there.  No more vague philosophical treatises.  I want to know what’s going on here.  How long do I have to participate in these bizarre goings-on blindfolded?”

She was right.  This had gone on long enough.  Regardless of what ‘anyone’ else thought, Helen deserved to know what she had become a part of when she allowed herself to become close to Gary Hobson.  With flat resignation, Marissa promised, “You’ll get your explanation.  It may challenge your imagination and belief, but you’ll hear it.  Bring Gary’s paper and let’s go.”

On the way to the hospital, Marissa gave Helen pretty much the same speech that Gary had given Erica some time ago in trying to disclose his secret, in describing his newspaper and its ensuing responsibilities.   “That’s what I do, you see.  I’m out there saving people...”  He tried to explain honestly, but with a light touch.  Was there something missing in the way it was presented?  Helen didn’t laugh as Erica had, but Helen wasn’t buying it at first try either.

After she had a few moments to mull over the disclosure, she announced, “I don’t think I can continue to work at McGinty’s, Marissa.  I don’t have to be told the whole story, but, please don’t lie to me.  Something, anything believable would have been okay.  It’s almost insulting to hear what you have just told me and realize that you expect me to believe it.”  She had her eyes glistening with tears. 

“I’ve told you what I know to be true, only that.  You can choose to believe it or not.  Meanwhile, let’s get to the hospital.  I think Gary could be one of the wounded victims.” 

With the new motivation, the van was given additional gas.  Whether she believed it or didn’t, she would have to act as though she did, or face the consequences.  This was a side to Marissa that she had never seen before, and she wasn’t so sure she liked it. 


CHAPTER 2

Early that morning Paul Armstrong had received a message that Anthony Wayan had called.  By noon he was able to return the call and Wayan came on the line with “Wayan here, who’s calling?”

“Wayan, it’s Armstrong.  What’s up?”

“What’s up is I heard something about those two guys who carved up your friend.  Meet me at the mission.  Oh, and Armstrong, bring money.  I’ll be here until 6.”

Paul Armstrong had been on the force for about twelve years, six as a detective.  He was comfortable with his job and confident in his abilities.  It was difficult to stop using the descriptive term ‘job.’  After attending junior college, followed by four additional years in studying forensic and police sciences, he had earned the job designation as ‘detective’ and that made it, not a job, but a career.

His beautiful wife, Meredith, and he lived in a modest home and doted on their treasured daughter.  Life was pretty good as far as he was concerned.  A place to be, a family, a direction in life, what more does a man ask?

There was one particular problem in his work that tried his patience and eroded his confidence to the point of frustration…at times.  Most of the time that problem stayed away from him, far away.  Those were the best times!  Occasionally he would attend to his duties and the proverbial fly would settle in his ointment.  That fly was, in a word, Gary Hobson!  

Now, it seemed, even though nothing was happening involving Hobson, he was still involved!  He found himself often puzzling…why this man is always in his face?  Why did his name pop up on Paul’s log book continually?  There were no answers, but he was searching for some.

He waited until 2:30 to leave for the mission, hoping that it was past the lunch, but before the dinner rush.  Before leaving the station, he also checked his wallet to make sure some ‘respectable’ money was with him.  He wondered if Wayan would withhold information if he had $20 and Wayan wanted, say, $50?’  It was just a thought he had entertained as he considered the element of the mercenary qualities existing in this ‘transaction.’

These last few days he was dependent upon public transportation as his car’s motor was being overhauled.  For that reason he called upon Officer Gadsden to draw a vehicle from the police motor pool and to act as his driver.  It didn’t make any sense to leave a car parked for any length of time in that section of town.  Vandals didn’t require even ten minutes to do their dirty work.  Gadsden would take care of that worry.

A little after three he left Gadsden sitting in the vehicle in front of the building while he entered.  Wayan must have been watching for him because he was motioning to him from the back of the large community room.  They proceeded on with the intention of holding their discussion, in the alley out back, the same as the previous time.  “Not to appear greedy or nothin’, but I need the money up front,” Wayan piped up.

“You’ll get your money.  Right now it’s my nickel, but you get to do all the talking.”

“No.  No, I don’t want to be seen accepting anything, especially money, from you, not out there, not in the alley.  Give it to me in here.”  He motioned to the darkened maintenance room they were passing through on the way to the outside door. 

Paul Armstrong dug into his wallet for the money and handed Wayan a small wad of bills.  When Wayan saw the money, he shook his head and kept his hand extended, indicating that it wasn’t enough.  “You know what could happen to me if anyone found out I was the one who told you where to find those two you want?  I ‘d be the next roast to be carved up!”

“Okay, okay, but this is all I have.  They don’t give us an unlimited expense account, you know.”  He handed him the rest of the bills.
------------
Gary was moving fast towards the alley when he stopped to check the article in the paper.  He reached into his jacket to retrieve the Sun-Times.  As soon as he found the paper missing, he remembered what he had done.  He recalled leaving it at the bar when he went to call Paul Armstrong, hoping against hope that he could think up something good enough to convince him not to go into that alley.  Reaching only Paul’s answering machine, and without leaving any incriminating message, he headed immediately out the door. 

There was no turning back to the bar for the paper.  He was at the alley and, with only the slightest moment of hesitation, turned in.  At the mouth of the alley was someone bundled up, seemingly loitering to avoid the vicious Chicago wind that whipped through the streets.  There was a vague familiarity in his stance.  A few yards away and across from the rear door of the mission he saw another man.  This man was standing, watching the door intently.  He was training a large caliber handgun towards the door and steadying it on a trash bin that was serving as a shield.  Adrenalin surged through Gary as he sprinted forward with renewed urgency. 

He was still a few yards from the door when it opened and Wayan took a step out, closely followed by Armstrong! 

Gary shouted frantically, “No!  Go back!  Get back inside!”  The first shot was heard coming from the direction of the man at the mouth of the alley.  Wayan twisted in his step and doubled over, holding his arm as he dove back into the mission.  Armstrong didn’t have a chance to make a move.  More shots rang out as Gary flung his whole body towards the detective, knocking him flying, backwards into the same doorway that he had attempted to exit.

When Gadsden heard the shots coming from behind the building, he started the car and floored the gas pedal to go around, hoping to block the alley.  He called for backup and proceeded to go to Armstrong’s assistance.  The man nearest to the patrol car turned to the police car to take aim at Gadsden and was shot in the attempt.  Armstrong had come out and taken refuge behind a refuse dumpster.  More shots were fired.  Then there was silence. 

“You okay, Armstrong?”  Officer Gadsden called from his shelter behind the open car door. 

“I’m fine.  Were there more than two?  I’ve got one down over here.”  He hesitated moving out from his protection.

Gadsden answered after a pause to look around, “Just the one down over here.  I called for assistance.”

Two additional police vehicles and an ambulance arrived while they were still removing the weapons from the men.  After checking the shooters, a coroner’s team was called. 

Armstrong and Gadsden entered the mission again to appraise the damage to the two ‘civilians’ inside.  Wayan was sitting next to the very still form of  Hobson as he lay sprawled face down.  Wayan was holding tightly to the sleeve of his blood-soaked shirt.  Motioning towards Hobson, he said, “I think he hit his head when he did his Superman routine, trying to prevent you from being blasted by those two.  One of the two in the alley I recognized.  He was the one who used the knife on Hobson.  The other one I couldn’t see clearly.  I was kinda doing a dive to get outta there.”  A paramedic moved in to check his arm.

Before the paramedic team could turn their attention to Gary, he groaned and began moving.  He rolled over and sat up leaning his back against the wall.  His back and right side sent an excruciating pain through him as he attempted to raise his right arm to touch what was fast becoming an egg on his head, where it had struck the wall as he slid across the floor.  The pain was evident to those watching and one of the paramedics crouched down to examine the damage.

Seeing Gary making an effort to gain leverage to stand, the medic reached out to impede his attempt, warning, “You have a concussion, at the very least.  We’re going to…” 

He didn’t even get all of his words out before Gary interrupted, “No, no, no, no, no.  I’m fine.  The bump will be gone by tomorrow.  I appreciate your help, but I’m not going to any hospital; not for this.”

Paul Armstrong stepped in.  “Come on, Hobson.  You hit hard enough to be knocked out.  Let them at least check you, take some X-rays…you know…you should know, by now.”

“No!  I know that I don’t have to go to the hospital if I refuse to go.  Just record it as ‘refused treatment’ and let me go on home.”  The paramedics looked at the detective who gave them a noncommittal shrug.  They entered the information on their report and left with Wayan as their passenger in the ambulance.

“I think you’re foolish not to let them check you out, but it’s your call.  Okay, Hobson, get in the back of the car.” 

“Wai...wai…wait!”  Gary was looking at him in disbelief.  “Are you arresting me?”

Paul was amused that he had taken him so seriously, “Sounds tempting, but no, this time you get a free ride.  We’re taking you home.”

Gary protested, “But…but…but I can take the El.  That’s how I came.”

“It may be how you came to be here.  I’m certainly interested in why you came here…at this particular time, but come on, we’re giving you a ride home.  You don’t want to bother those paramedics again today by collapsing on the El, do you?  The car is outside, in the alley.”  And in a more friendly tone, he added, “Don’t make me ‘cuff you in order to help you.”  He gave Gary a brotherly smile and a pat on his shoulder, and then walked towards the door.  The smile was okay, but that pat on the shoulder almost brought tears to Gary’s eyes. 

‘Great,’ he thought disgustedly, ‘I’ve bruised, maybe even sprained, some ribs.  All I need is to have someone notice that and I’ll be bound for the hospital anyway.  I can make it…if…I can only…get up.’  He very carefully maneuvered his body until he was vertical enough to walk.  The more he moved, the easier it was, painful, but easier. 

He approached the car to the sound of the younger officer’s taunting with, “What’s holding you up?  Let’s go!” 

Gary gave him an innocent look and told him he had had something he had to ‘do’ first.  Both police officers allowed that he probably had to make an essential stop before the ride.  Gary reached for the door handle, remembering that he needed to enter the vehicle from the right hand side in order to make it easier on his injured side.  Very carefully, he sat down and slid in trying not to use his right arm at all.  It was a neat trick, but he managed to stifle the grunt he wanted to release caused by the pain of his movements.

The ride went fairly smoothly; people tend to move out of the way of police cars.  Not long after the car had pulled into the traffic, Gadsden commented on how quickly their passenger had fallen asleep.  Even after they stopped outside McGinty’s, Gary appeared to be asleep.  Armstrong got out, opened the back door and reached out to shake Gary’s shoulder.  “Hobson.  Hobson.  Wake up, we’re here.”  It did concern him that Hobson’s probable concussion was causing his tendency to fall asleep so easily.

The disabling pain caused by the rough nudging woke their passenger with what Gadsden and Armstrong thought was a cry of surprise. 

“Holy moley, Hobson!  Chill!”  Armstrong jumped a mile when Gary made the outburst. 

“Unh!” Gary grunted as he gained some balance in getting upright outside the vehicle.  “Sorry, sorry.  You sca…scared me.  And just when I was in the middle of a great dr…dream, too.  You should have seen her.  What a beauty…”

“We don’t want to hear about your ‘happy’ dreams, Hobson.  Take care of yourself.”  Just as Gary was turning to enter the bar, Armstrong called out to him, “Hobson…Gary?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I told you ‘thanks,’ did I?  You’re still on my list of puzzles to be solved.  Remember that!”

“You’re welcome, Armstrong.  And I’m sure I’ll remember.”  He watched the car drive away.  Now his problem was in figuring out a way to get in those doors without having to strain his ribs.  That problem was quickly solved when two customers opened the door in leaving the bar.  He was in without having had pushed or pulled on anything.  The next solution he looked for was how to pass Marissa and, possibly, Helen without being unduly questioned about the day’s events.


CHAPTER 3

It was a relief to glance around and NOT see either of them.  ‘Okay, Hobson, for once you are having some good luck.  Small favors.’ 

He was lucky, but not that lucky.  Vadim had caught sight of him as he made his way toward the stairway leading to his loft.  “Mr. H!  How are you tonight?  George was in asking about you.  And Detective Armstrong left message for you to call him tonight.  He made me promise to tell you ‘tonight’!”  He saw a tired and painful expression on his boss’ face.  “Are you okay?  You need some coffee?”

The pain in Gary’s head and side was coloring his attitude in a very negative way.  “Of course I’m okay.  Vadim.  I’m fine, just fine!”  Realizing how bad that sounded he added, “I’m sorry, Vadim.  No coffee.  I’m really tired. Busy day.  Thanks for asking.”  He painfully continued on his way towards his loft, his shower, and his bed, in that order.  Armstrong would have to wait.

The trip upstairs was slow.  First of all, those fifteen or so steps appeared to his weary eyes as three times that many.  One step at a time.  Careful.  One more step.  One more…
At last he was at his door and unthinkingly tried to open it with his right hand.  The stabbing, burning pain that the effort had produced almost brought him to his knees.  He was so disabled by the hurting that he leaned his back against the door for a minute, waiting for the feelings to neutralize a bit.  Finally, and in anger built on his physical suffering, he grabbed the doorknob with his left hand and opened the door. 

He really intended to take a shower before lying down, but his strength seemed to fail him as he did lay himself down, as is, in full dress, jacket, shoes, and all, on his bed and either fell asleep or lost consciousness. 

-------------  

Marissa and Helen came in the bar’s front door not too much later.  Marissa approached Vadim and inquired whether he had seen Gary.

He could see her worried condition.  “Mr. H came in, maybe twenty minutes ago, Miss Clark.  He went to loft.  Very tired.”

Vadim was not in the country all that long, but he strove to fit in.  He had picked up not just the English language, but a lot of the prime slang too, some of which was not acceptable in mixed company.  All in all, the customers seemed to like the affable bartender because of the speed and skill he exhibited in serving correctly concocted drinks, something they never received when Chuck used to help out at the bar. 

Marissa and Helen didn’t talk much on the way home from their fruitless hospital search for Gary.  It was mystifying that the paper was wrong.  Was it really wrong?  Or was her friend in the hospital under another name?  The hospital staff attempted to help her, but they were unable to locate anyone bearing a resemblance to the description they had given. 

Helen did not know what to think about this whole afternoon’s adventure.  She was worried about Gary, but, more important right now, she was baffled by Marissa’s assertion about a newspaper that told the future by arriving a day early.  It still sounded like science fiction to her.

Marissa returned to the bar less than ten minutes later, questioning Vadim, “Are you sure he went up to the loft?  I knocked for a long time with no answer.”

“Yes, Miss Clark.  He went to loft.  Maybe Mr. H is sleeping.”

Marissa called out, “Helen?  Is she here, Vadim?”

Before Vadim could answer, Helen came over to her and touched her arm.  “I’m here, can I do something for you?”

“Please.  Please, will you go up to Gary’s room with me?  I need to talk to him tonight.”

Together they stood outside the door to the loft and Marissa knocked insistently.  After five minutes or so of knocking and calling his name, Helen timidly opened the unlocked door.  “Gary?  Gary?”  They entered and Helen spied him stretched out, full length, on the bed.  “Marissa.  I think something’s wrong with him.  He doesn’t sound like a sleeping person.”

Marissa reached down to where he was and touched his arm—his right arm.  He answered them with a groan of such magnitude that they were too shocked to move.  “Gary!  What’s wrong?”  Marissa’s heart was in her throat as she waited for him to respond. 

“Unh,” he moaned again.  Then he remembered what had happened and who it was doing the asking.  He made himself sound sincere as he said, in a voice he hoped sounded like a healthy man, “Oh, I’m sorry.”  He tended to flinch when he allowed that word to leave his mouth, particularly within Marissa’s hearing.  “I-I-I was in the mi-midst of a dream.”  With his left hand he rubbed the area between his eyes as if trying to wake up.

Helen was not blind.  She could see he wasn’t his usual self, but made no sign to Marissa.

“Gary, Helen and I had a very large fright today.  Do you know why?”

“How could I possibly know?”

“Helen found the paper you left behind this afternoon.”

“Yeah, so?”  Here it was, the inevitable.  He waited for the next shoe to fall.

“Your paper.  The special issue of the Sun-Times.  You know?”

She was not going to relent until he let her know that he understood what she meant.  Apprehensively, he asked, “What are you try…trying to say, Marissa?”

“I’m trying to tell you we found an article alluding to you having been wounded in a confrontation between the police and two criminal-types.  We spent this afternoon searching Cook County Hospital for anyone resembling a certain Gary Hobson friend of ours.”

Still refusing to accept her challenge to implicate the paper, he continued his bluff; “I was never in the hospital today.”  He was nervous and wondering what Helen was thinking of all this.  He was also feeling like he needed to get in the bathroom and wasn’t sure he could pull off a nonchalant absence from them for a few minutes.  “Do you two think we can continue this conversation at a later time?  How about, ah, tomorrow?”

Helen jumped into the conversation with, “Tomorrow?  No.  I don’t think Marissa is finished yet.  Would it help you if I told you that we know you weren’t in the hospital today?  That we know because we spent hours looking.  Where were you, Gary?”

His head was spinning with this offensive challenge, “Please.  If you have to have more questions answered, how about letting me shower and then I’ll come down to give you both some answers?  I really need to get in that little room.”

They both fully understood what he was trying to say.  “Oh…okay.  We can wait for you to come down.”  The ladies left to go, Marissa descending the stairs first. 

Helen had started down the stairs, but then she excused herself to Marissa and returned to Gary’s room.  She waited there until he reentered from the bathroom.  “Gary…I needed to tell you how much we worried…how concerned I…we were.  I’m so glad you’re all right.”  She strode over, close to him, and placed her arms around his waist tightly.  Before she could lay her head on his shoulder as she had before, he reacted to the pressure of her embrace, not with a reciprocal embrace, but with a groan as he dropped to his knees in agony. 

“Gary, what?  What’s wrong?  Talk to me!  Talk to me!”  He wasn’t able to talk for the moment.  He wrapped his arms around his right side, gasping with pain. 

Helen helped him to his feet and then to his bed where he sat panting from the exertion.  As he was trying to recuperate, she began frantically to remove his jacket.  Upon taking it carefully off of his arms, she noticed the heavily bloodstained shirt.  “Gary!  What in hell happened today?”  Not waiting for him to answer, she proceeded to unbutton and remove the shirt.  When she saw the source of the blood, she was alarmed enough to grab the telephone, ready to dial 911. 

“No.  No.  Please don’t call about this.  I’m going…to be okay.  I probably just, just, just fell on a nail or some…something.  Please.  Please.”  He sounded pitiful enough for her to hang up the phone. 

“What do you expect me to do?”  There was that question again.  It gave him a chill just remembering the last time someone had asked him that.  “You’re still bleeding from whatever did that to you.  You have to go!”

“Help me,” he pleaded much in the same way he had when Brigatti had asked that question.  “I need to clean up.  Can you help me?  I can’t move my arm without having the pain intensify.”

Unlike Brigatti, Helen was willing and anxious to help, with or without explanations.  “Lie down and be still.  I’m going to start your shower.”  He closed his eyes.  There was no problem in having to lie still.  Just breathing was causing discomfort.  Helen touched his forehead, checking for fever, as she said, “I’m back and it’s ready for you.  Do you need help undressing?”

That brought his eyes wide open.  He stared into hers, silently asking if she was serious in wanting to help him remove his clothes.  “Tha…thanks, but I’ll make it.”  After he said it, he wondered if he really could.  With one slow step at a time, he was able to reach the targeted room.  Closing the door, he began undressing.  Try as he might, the jeans required two hands to be able to remove them.  Two hands were needed to open the button and zipper and he only had one arm he could call upon. 

Helen’s voice was heard, “Are you going to be okay in there?”

“Yeah, sure…Oh damn!  Helen, can you, ah, ah, help me?”

She opened the bathroom door cautiously and saw him standing there, helpless to remove his jeans.  His eyes were closed, wondering just how much embarrassment he would have to endure to take a lousy shower.  “M-m-maybe you should ask Vadim to come up here.” 

“Sorry, too late.  Vadim had plans to leave at just about the time Marissa and I came up here.”  Mischievously she volunteered, “I could ask Robin to help.”  He gave her what was meant to be a withering look, but it didn’t come off as well as he had hoped.  Her amusement was evident.

She could see what was causing his hesitation.  It was equal to how she would feel if she had to ask him to help her…get naked!  “Gary, I’m not going to gawk, I promise.  This is hard, er, difficult for you, I know, but I’ll try to make it as easy as I can.  After all, we’re friends, aren’t we?  Good friends, I hope.”  The whole idea of what she was being called upon to do made her add,  “Cause if we weren’t good friends before, we will become so during the next thirty minutes or so.”  Seeing what anguish she was causing with the humor she had intended to lighten the situation, she repented with, “You’re hurt and I do want to help.  Marissa would be ideal, but, unfortunately, her lack of sight might impair rather than help.  Keep your eyes shut and let me do all the work.”

He was questioning the necessity of taking a shower right now, but he had seen the blood that was revealed when his shirt and jacket were removed.  He was still agonizing over the wisdom of allowing anyone, let alone Helen, help him in this way, when he felt her untie his shoes and take them off along with his socks.  He tried to numb his feelings as he felt her unzip his jeans and felt them slide to the floor.  “Oh, God, please,” she heard him plead in a mere whisper.

Thinking that he was praying because of the physical pain, she asked, “Are you okay, Gary?  Do you want to sit down while we do this?”

“No!  It’s not the pain in my side making me suffer at the moment!  I don’t know if I can do this, Helen.  I don’t know if…”

He didn’t get the words out of his mouth when she modestly stood behind him and slipped his boxers down.  “See, just pretend that I’m a nurse and that I’m helping you with your shower.  They don’t think anything about times like this.”  She knew a couple working nurses and she knew, from their conversations, that this was a total lie.  Of course they appreciated the human form.  Of course they talked about the ‘hunk’ category they had to assist now and then.  It was so difficult to keep her mind on her ‘job.’  It made her wonder how these ‘angels of mercy’ could appear so…uninvolved?

“All right, then, step into the shower and I’ll clean your wound.”  He moved automatically, trying to ignore the circumstances of the occasion that required him to be undressed and take a shower with an unrelated, or any, woman watching.  The last time he experienced having to do this, he was five years old, and it was his mother.

The water was a perfect temperature and, he had to admit, it felt so good on his shoulders.  He tried to reach around to wash the wound.  Impossible!  Life seemed intent on keeping him humble…or was that ‘humiliated?’ 

Helen clutched a washcloth in her hand and was attempting to remove the clotting blood, dabbing gently, but found that she was working blind, so to speak.  She had to reach through the shower curtain.  “This is just not working!” she said in frustration.  “We have to try something else.  I’m getting myself all wet…and the floor and walls too!”

“Wha…wha…what do you want to do?” he asked with much trepidation, afraid of what was coming next. 

“Well,” she thought out loud, “we can make this a bath, with you sitting in the tub, Gary, but I’m sure you don’t want to be sitting in a tub of blood.  Or…or,” she had an inspired thought, “or…  Just a minute.” 

The lack of action was making him uneasy, “What are you doing, Helen?  Are you still here?”

He felt the draft of the shower curtain being opened.  “Wha…” 

Her answer was the feeling of her hands applying the washcloth to his back—from behind him—in the shower!  “Don’t turn around.  Just stay the way you are.  This is much better, and far easier.”

“But, but, but you’re going to be soaked!”  He was afraid to move for fear that his suspicions would be confirmed.

“Gary, don’t panic—and don’t turn around!  I kinda, sorta, solved the problem of the water.  You know I don’t have dry clothes to change into so I’m doing the next best thing.  I’m doing this in the buff.”  She felt him trying to turn to confirm what she had just announced.  “I said don’t turn around!  You don’t have a problem following directions from your ‘nurse,’ do you?  Now, just stand still so we can finish before the hot water runs out.”

It wasn’t the hot water making his face red.  ‘I’m in my thirties.  For Pete’s sake, when will I reach the age when I won’t blush?’ he asked himself. To her, he pled, “Aren’t we almost done?”  The mental image he was conjuring up was causing some discomfort other than in his side and he found himself attempting to ‘cover up’ by placing his left hand over the vital spot. 

Feeling sorry for having teased him so much, Helen made a point of not commenting on his modesty move, but she wanted to.  “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.  This looks nasty.  I still think you need to go to the emergency room tonight.”

“Thank you, but no, thanks.  I’ve had enough of hospitals.  Can I turn the water off now?”

“Almost.  I’ll bet you were one of those little kids who always asked, ‘Are we there yet?’  I’m going to reach around to clean the blood that dried on your stomach and under your arm.  Do you want to turn around, or do you want me to just…reach?”

‘Oh lord.  Is it never going to end?  Now I have to make a choice.  Allow a naked woman, whom I have…feelings for, face me in…my condition…in our mutual nakedness?  Not yet!’ 

“No, I think we’d better cut our losses and let you reach.  It would be a good idea if we ended this session…soon!”

“Fine with me.”  She took the washcloth and reached around to his stomach…to his stomach…!  Doing that required her to move close, very, very close to him.  In fact, it required her to get body-to-body with him.  “Gary, I don’t think this was much of a good idea.  Actually, I think this was a poor decision on both our, shall I say, parts?”  Upon saying the words, she couldn’t help it; she started to shake with suppressed laughter.  “I’m sorry.”  More laughter bubbled out.  “Do you want me to stop where we are?”

Enough was, truly, enough…and yet, not nearly enough.  The shower was quite small, for a single occupant.  It was a close encounter with two occupants.  Gary had endured and, finally, was the ultimate victor over his embarrassment.  He was now ready to face further challenges. 

“Weren’t we in a similar situation before?” he innocently inquired of the woman standing behind him, who was still trying to suppress obvious giggles.  “It seems to me we have a penchant for, ah, ah, physical closeness that we don’t usually experience in our nor…normal, day to day, lives.”  He reached over and turned the water off.  “Maybe we ought to face the ‘danger,’ ah, ah, head on.”

Her laughter stopped abruptly.  “How do you propose we do that?”  As much as she cared for him, she was not looking forward to his answer. 

“I guess I mean, in the several times we have been ‘glued’ together…like this, we have not been in any, any position, I mean, ah, condition to do anything about it.  Person…personally, ah, I’ve come to have str…strong feelings for you.”  He was beyond being flustered.  “If you don’t know, I…I…I’m pretty sure, no, make that, I know that those, ah, feelings are…love.”  He wondered if she was going to say anything, do anything…anything! As if on automatic pilot, he put little emotion in droning on, “You may not have the same feelings.  If you don’t, I’ll understand.  In that case, let’s just get out of this shower, get dressed and continue on as friends.  ‘Friends’ was good, but I would like to see…this…thing go further.”  This soliloquy was draining the feeble strength he still possessed.  He waited for her to comment.  Nothing was happening and he was about to reach for the shower curtain and get out.

Her voice, soft and filled with warmth, requested, “Gary?  Turn the water back on please.”

“What?”  He wondered why she would ask him to do that.

“Please, turn the water back on.”

He complied.  Waiting for an explanation, he stood, with eyes closed in expectation, facing the showerhead.  He could feel her trying to maneuver around him.  When she achieved a stance directly in front of him, she began wiping at the remaining bloodstains on his stomach.  His mouth formed a smile as he looked down into her eyes.  As he did, she cuddled into his chest…and the rest of him. 

As she nuzzled at his neck she became aware…of many…things, one of which was that he was trembling.  “Gary.  I’m ready to admit that I love you, really love you.  I’m ready to do a lot of…things, but, right now, you’re shaking and we had better get you out of this shower before you collapse.”  They turned off the water again and she left the shower, donned a towel and reached to Gary to steady him as he stepped out.  She furnished him with his towel and carefully dried off the areas, most of them anyway, that he couldn’t reach properly.

She put her clothes back on, then she helped him put on sweats.  “If your wound isn’t better tomorrow, you’ll have to put up with Vadim and me taking you to a doctor.  Now, take these aspirins and…just sleep.  I’ll check on you before I go home.”  She bent over to place her lips on his and they shared their affection in a kiss with that special form of surrender that lovers share.  Before she left, she took the telephone receiver off the hook.  Gary was asleep before she walked out the door.


CHAPTER 4

Back down in the bar, nothing much was doing.  Two customers were hanging on, nursing their drinks and conversing in low tones.  Robin’s favorite song was being played—again!  Helen was helping Robin and Marissa to clean up the evidence of a busy day. 

Marissa told Robin to go on home and was about to tell Helen the same thing when Helen calmly mentioned that she would be staying the night to keep an eye on Gary.  She gave Marissa an abbreviated version of Gary’s injury, leaving out the part about their shower.  “You may as well take off with Robin, Marissa.  I’m not sure we should have allowed Gary to skip out on a trip to the hospital.  I cleaned the blood off, but the wound looks long and deep.  He said he thought a nail caused it, but I’ve seen it and I don’t believe there is a nail made that could have done that!”

“Maybe I should stay too,” Marissa offered.

“No, but thanks.  I really want to be the one to be with him.  In fact, we talked a little about that a while ago.  If you can’t tell, I want you to know…as someone I consider close to me as well as to Gary, that we’ve, kinda, professed our fee…feelings…our love…for each other.”

Surprising to Helen, Marissa was not surprised.  “Well!  It certainly took you two long enough to let that out.”

“Marissa!”

“Do you think that everyone’s blind?  This place hasn’t been the same, and Gary either, since you started working here.  Please let me tell you how happy I am for each of you.  You have my approval, if you need it.”  Another question occurred to her, “So, does this mean that you believe the story about his newspaper too?”

“Are you still on that?”  Helen came over and gave Marissa a hug.  “You really are a love, Marissa, but the existence of a magic newspaper is a bit far-fetched, at least right now.  Besides, it’s not something necessary for me to believe in…or not…in order for me to love Gary as I do.  Whatever he is, or does, is the whole Gary…and that’s what I love.”


CHAPTER 5

The next morning while Gary still slept, Helen took her shower and dressed.  Before leaving the loft she checked the patient and planted a kiss on his forehead, using her mouth as a thermometer to detect a fever.  His left hand reached out to capture hers and pull her closer for the proper destination for her lips. 

“Where’re you going?” he asked, and his voice held the invitation. 

She smiled as she stood up, “Marissa should be here by now.  I’m going to go home and change clothes.  I’ll be back...you can count on that.”  One more meeting of their lips and she went out.  Before closing the door, she called back, “I fed your cat and put your paper on the lamp table.  Stay in bed!”

Try telling someone not to do something, something they felt obligated to do.  Gary rolled to a sitting position at the side of the bed.  Mentally he measured the distance between where he was and where he wanted to be.  Ten feet?  Twelve feet?  That’s not far.  He could make it and rest on the couch while reading the paper.  The cat’s yowling urged him on. 

He gingerly stood up, allowing the dizziness to pass before continuing on to his goal.  The pain in his side didn’t seem to have abated through the night, and the loft felt as though the heating unit was not working.  His breath was not visible in what felt to him like frigid air, but, just the same, he blew into the air to check.  He’d have to have Vadim check on the furnace.  You can’t ask customers to stay and enjoy themselves while they were freezing! 

Carefully lowering himself into the easy chair, he reached for the paper, discovering again how important it was not to strain in reaching.  The paper was unusually thin today, that is, for tomorrow.  The stories appearing were of the type that could be allowed to happen, except for the one about the ambulance accident.  “Ambulance Struck by USPS Truck, Four Fatalities.”   It went on to describe the USPS semi tractor and trailer driver as not having heard the emergency vehicle’s siren.  Proceeding into the intersection at more than maximum speed limit, the truck hit the ambulance on the driver’s side, killing the driver outright and causing the vehicle to roll several times until coming to a rest against a cement light standard.  The USPS driver was shaken up, but the others, two paramedics, a police detective, and the patient being transported, were all dead at the scene.

There would be ninety minutes before it would happen.  Gary took an inventory of his condition and decided that, taking it easy, he could take a cab and be at the intersection to block the USPS truck in time.  With that decision made, he went on to dress for the weather; in this case, it meant leaving his sweats on, adding his jacket and shoes.  ‘If it just weren’t so damn cold in here.’  He was shivering already and hadn’t even left the loft.

Before leaving to negotiate the stairs, he took the time to search for the cane he had used some time back after he had a broken leg.  Again he shivered just to think of that experience.  He didn’t even like heights and he had to rescue the little girl—and her teddy bear—from the third floor of a building in process of being renovated.  It had all gone well, until he had to go back out onto the scaffolding to get the child’s stuffed bear!  All the fears in the world do not compare with the fear of falling from a height.  As luck would have it, he landed in a pile of construction scraps.  It broke his fall, but it also broke his leg and held up his activities for weeks.

To muster the strength he knew he would need to manage the stairs, he sat down again on the bed.  Maybe he could procure a glass of orange juice from the kitchen downstairs before going…or hot, hot coffee.  No, if Marissa caught him, he would be dead in the water.  She’d never let him out.  ‘Why do I feel like I have the flu?  Every joint, every bone, every muscle in my body is crying out...and…I’m so cold!’  Determined to return afterwards and take a really long nap, he attempted to stand to go when there came a knock at his door.

Happy to have an excuse for sitting down a while longer, he called, “Come on in, it’s open.” 

In his heart he was saying ‘Oh, no,’ but out loud he said, “Hey Armstrong!  You don’t mind if I don’t get up, I think I’m gettin’ the flu.”

Ignoring the flu complaint, Paul added one of his own, “Hobson!  Don’t you return calls any more?  I left a message at the bar last night because it was important!”  In looking around the loft, he observed, in disgust that, Gary’s phone was still off the hook.

“What can I do for you, detective?  I’m on my way out, but it can wait a minute.”  He saw Armstrong begin to take off his coat.  “You won’t want to take that off; it’s like ice in here.”

“Hobson, what are you talking about?  It feels like a sauna.  It must be your flu.”  He set his coat on the couch.  Gary was horrified as Paul picked up his Sun-Times as he sat down. 

“Uh, Armstrong…Paul…what can I help you with?  I’m kinda in a hurry.”  His side began throbbing to the point of giving him a new reason to shake.

“You left something in the car yesterday, Hobson.”

Feeling like this was the come-on to a ribbing, Gary asked, “What did I leave?”  He wanted to tell Armstrong to knock off the joking…that he wasn’t feeling well enough to bother with the kidding around…that he had to be somewhere to ward off a fatal accident.

“Gadsden let me know that when we got back to the station from our run-in at the mission that he caught some static when he checked the car back in.  It seems someone had left something on the back seat.  We figure that someone was you.” 

Gary’s head was throbbing and he was experiencing a feeling of disorientation.  “Please, Paul, get to the point.  What did I leave?”

“Blood stains, Hobson.  You left bloodstains on the seat.  And don’t try to hand me a rasher of bologna about it being from that goose egg on your head, either.  Did one of those shots hit you?”  His sermon wasn’t nearly finished and he continued, “What in the world could you be thinking?  Bullet wounds don’t just…go away!  Where did it hit you?  I can’t…”

“Wait, wait, Armstrong, hold on.  Give me a…a chance to…to…explain.”  The room began a slow spin as he tried to concentrate on producing something to fend off Armstrong’s attention.  “I wasn’t even sure it…it…it was a shot.  It felt like, like something, something like a nail cut or, or, or…”   He used his fingers to straddle his temples in an attempt to relieve the sensations of unrealism that were numbing his thought processes. 

“Stand up Gary, I want to check it out.  Where’s the wound?”  When Gary stood, he had difficulty keeping his balance.  “Okay, better idea:  let’s have you sit down to show me.”

He pulled his shirt up as best he could and turned away from the detective. 

“Good God, Hobson!”

“Don’t get excited, Paul, it was just a, just a flesh wound at…at the most.  The bullet didn’t actually, ah, go inside, it just, kinda, ah, ah, made a rut.  Can I get going now?”  He didn’t try tucking his shirt back in his jeans, as he slowly started sideling towards the door.

Paul picked up the phone and punched some numbers in.  He spoke some words into the mouthpiece, but Gary’s ears were, more and more, filled with sounds of the sea.  He thought he heard the words ‘up-stairs,’ ‘now,’ and ‘McGinty’s.’  Paul replaced the telephone and re-approached his strange friend. Leading him back to the bed, he applied some pressure to force him to sit down.  It was obvious that Gary was not following what was happening.  His eyes were finding it hard to stay open and he allowed Paul to bully him into lying down.  “I’ve called for an ambulance, Gary,” he was not sure that his words were getting through to the barkeep.  Repeating much slower, he said, “Gary…Gary, can you hear me?  The wound on your back is infected.  That’s why you think you have the flu.  Are you awake?  Gary?”  He received no answer and left him there as he went downstairs to await the paramedics.


CHAPTER 6

As the paramedics settled Gary into the ambulance, the jostling brought him to consciousness.  It took a few moments of looking around for him to find his voice to inquire, “Where…what is…what happened!”

Paul Armstrong had climbed into the emergency vehicle to accompany their passenger.  “Hey Hobson.  What happened is you didn’t listen when you were told to get medical help after the shootout at the mission.  Now you have a dangerously infected wound and will be forced to have it…”

Interrupting him with an angry, “No…no!  I can’t do this!  I have to be…”

While Gary took time out to catch his breath, Paul tried to calm him, “Hobson…Gary!  It’s too late to complain.  You couldn’t walk two feet as you are, just how do you think you can convince anyone to release you?  Lay back, relax and go along for the ride.  They’ll check you over, give you some antibiotics—or something, and then you can go back to your life.”

The dark-haired young man lying there in obvious pain began again, “There’s no time.  Let me out!  I have to…”  Suddenly he remembered the paper’s predicting headline and article about the accident.  Four men, ambulance; it became all too clear.  He renewed his pleading, squirming and struggling in an attempt to convince the paramedic on his left and the detective on his right.  In a final attempt to impress Armstrong with the urgency and importance of his request, he whispered in the loudest volume he could produce, “Paul, please, please!  There’s going to be an accident.” 

Paul leaned closer.  “You’re delirious, Hobson.  Close your eyes and rest.”

“No!  Listen to me.  Make them pull over to the curb…NOW!  Right now!  You have to make them pull over!  Please.  Please!”

Armstrong looked up at the paramedic who also met his eyes.  Once again Paul made the attempt to find out how Gary knew what he knew.  “Gary,” he leaned close to Hobson’s ear and asked, “How do you know there is going to be an accident?  How do you know?”

Feeling entirely defeated, Gary squinched his eyes shut and used the usual, “I just know.”

That’s the only answer Paul was going to drag out of him; and how many times had he heard that before?  Knocking on the separating wall between the back of the ambulance and the driver, he called out, “Driver!  Pull over to the curb for a minute…now, please!”

“The hospital’s only five minutes from here.”

No one had a more commanding voice than Paul Armstrong when he was convinced about the righteousness of a decision.  “Now, please!”

The ambulance suddenly pulled into the bus stop zone, just before the corner of the block.  It hadn’t been at a stop more than three seconds when a large semi roared through the intersection, the intersection that the emergency vehicle would have been in if it had not pulled over.  The driver went white when he realized what had almost occurred.   “Did you see that?  Did you see that?”  He couldn’t move for the moment. 

Paul didn’t need to have seen that.  He knew something had happened that might have been deadly.  He looked to Hobson to comment, but Gary was no longer awake to hear.  As far as Paul Armstrong was concerned, this whole scenario was the answer.  ESP, psychic abilities, whatever you wanted to call it, he felt that it was the only answer to what Gary Hobson, bar-owner, and, now, mystique no longer, truly was. 

Gary had always refused the label as a psychic.  There could really be no other explanation now that Paul had seen and experienced it first-hand.  Hobson could not have had a hand in causing this almost-accident.  There could be no collaboration to such a thing except that he had felt, had seen, or just ‘knew’ what was going to happen.  Knowing this, he could have no alternative, but to be compelled to try to stop it.  Obsessed to identify Gary Hobson’s ‘secret’ ever since they had first come in contact with each other, Paul believed that he now had his answer, strange as it was. 

His admiration for this bar owner grew stronger as the ambulance proceeded on toward the hospital.  All of their contacts in common of the past few years came to mind as they went along.  The crimes, the accidents, the intrigue; he felt a sense of pride in having persevered until the questions were all fitted with the only answer possible: ‘Gary Hobson, psychic.’  Personally, Paul never accepted ESP as a possibility.  Too many weird people were out there seeking some strange satisfaction in just such an attention-getting device.  Until Hobson, he had never witnessed an honest demonstration.  Now, remembering all their encounters, he felt confident that no other explanation could fit as well as this one did.


End of part 6

  ******************************


PART SEVEN
CHAPTER ONE

When Gary was a child, until he was eleven or twelve, he usually appreciated being the only child, reaping the benefits of all of his parents’ attention.  Adolescence came along and his parents learned what it was to have a rebellious teenager in the struggle to grow up.   Their opinions, their authority…all of it, suddenly became a matter up for question.  The young Gary didn’t so much get in trouble as distance himself as much as possible from all authority. 

When he had finished his freshman year of high school, they sent Gary to a summer camp, one that they hoped would couple projects and activities, other than just fun and games, into their agenda.  They sent him off to ‘Super Camp’ in Toronto.  It would allow him to be entirely out of their influence and occupy his time with, not remedial courses, but ‘lessons’ on college prep courses on how to learn and, most important at this age, how to trust himself and others.  What sounded as though it would feel like a punishment to Gary at the time became one of the most memorable experiences of his whole life. 

Gary’s first teen love was discovered in one of the leadership classes.  She was a few weeks short of becoming fourteen.  She had all the virtues and attributes that he required at this age:  Shiny blonde hair, loose and long; slim figure, actually, in her case, she was skinny except for one maddeningly intriguing feature to a teenage boy, she had plenty of shape above the waist.  And he loved the fact that he didn’t have to explain everything he said, she understood it all, even the humor.   The last conversation he remembered them having as she was about to get into her family’s car was her telling him that she would never forget him.  She whispered, “I love you, Gary Hobson,” into his ear and kissed him…right in from of, not only her parents, but his parents too!  He remembered along with it that he was afraid to turn around to face his mom and dad.  He knew that his mom was beaming; he also knew he would have to endure his father’s joking for the next millennium of his life.

One of the other remembrances floating through his mind right now was that of the day they had the young people demonstrate to themselves that they could ‘trust.’  The activity required each of them to put themselves completely and literally ‘in the hands’ of their peers.  They had to allow themselves to be lifted up and passed from hand to hand, bodily, by their fellow classmates in order to get from point A to point B.  It was uproariously funny to those who were the ‘passers,’ but the person being moved along really had to trust enough to put their life in the hands of others.  Not an easy thing to do for insecure, suspicious teens. 

He felt as though he were there again, being passed along, jostled…Someone said ‘lift’ and he felt himself being lifted and placed on a hard surface.  What was reality?  What was a dream?  A remembrance?  He made an effort to open his eyes.

“He’s coming around.  Open your eyes, Mr. Hobson.  Open your eyes,” a man’s voice commanded and he tried harder, blinking in the bright overhead lights.  “There he is!  Do you know where you are?”

He stared into the man’s face looking down at him, then at the surroundings.  “I…know this…looks like a hospital.  But…why?”

They began to tell him about arriving in an ambulance.  When he heard the word, ‘ambulance,’ an icy dread engulfed him.  “What hap…happened?”  Afraid to be told what he feared, he asked, “Is the driver okay?  Where’s Armstrong?”  He was turning his head wildly, trying to glimpse someone he could recognize.  “Did anyone else make it?”

Outside of his vision someone commented, “He must be delirious.”  

“Mr. Hobson, you’re the only one with a reason to be in the hospital.  Everyone else is fine.  Please lie still while we finish the treatment appraisal.” 

Gary frowned, not able to comprehend how he was able to have gotten from his home, point A, to this hospital, point B, without the fatal ambulance accident taking place as foretold in the paper.   Wanting to know more, he began again, “I need to…I need…”   He grimaced, closing his eyes as they manipulated his body in order to check the wound. 

A nurse placed her hand on his hand and tried to comfort and calm him.  “Don’t worry about anything.  We’re in command of this ‘ship’ and you’re going to be okay.  You’re going to feel a little light-headed now; just let yourself sleep.  When you awaken it’ll all be over and you’ll start to feel much better.” 

He wanted to ask more.  He wanted to argue his hospitalization.  He was not ready for sleep, but the noise in his head blanked out his will to stay awake.

------------

What was it that Gary hated so much about doctors and hospitals?  Some of it was due to all the attention they paid to his helplessness.  What patients needed most was to sleep.  But what was it that happened when they tried it?  Blood pressure readings, pulse, oxygen levels, blood drawing, wound site checks, fluids check, IV manipulations, pills, wake up, go to sleep, cough, transport for X-rays and other tests, the routine went on and on, night and day. 

Something of that nature was going on even as he was trying to make the trip back to consciousness.  Nurses stood at each side of him, fussing with whatever nurses do.  His attitude tended to be feisty when people did things for him without his pre-approval. 

Impatient that they were not going away so that he could get back to sleep, he opened his eyes and took in the activities going on at each side of him.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Hobson,” one of the nurses greeted him, “I was just about to fill in your meal menu for you.”  She began to rattle off his choices for the day’s meals. 

“Put whatever you want down.  I’ll eat it,” he said with little interest.  “Can you tell me what happened to the others who were in the ambulance with me?  I need to know how they are, I have to know!”

“I’ll get the doctor,” the other nurse said as she left the room

“Wai…wai…wait,” he tried to call her back.

It was a full half hour before anyone returned.  He listened to the doctor tell him about his mild concussion and scold him about the infected gunshot wound…how dangerous it was…how foolish it was to ignore it.  Like a child, he lay with his head on the pillow, wishing that he were anywhere else other than where he was.

The doctor finally ended his harangue, informing his patient that he was going to be the guest of the hospital until the fever disappeared and the infection showed improvement. 

“Tomorrow?” he hoped aloud.

“Tomorrow?  I’m not going to promise that, but let’s see how your symptoms are tomorrow.  We’re using the IV to fight the infection with antibiotics.  Meanwhile, relax, read the paper, enjoy the hospital food…such as it is.  Get some rest.  That’s how you’ll get out of here faster.”  He had heard that speech often enough that Gary would have sworn that the doctors read it from a script.

“Is anyone gonna let me know how the others who were in the ambulance with me are?  Are they alive?”

Puzzled with this inquiry since he hadn’t heard of any people coming in with Hobson, the doctor patted Gary’s leg and, patronizingly, told him he would look into it for him.  The stillness after the doctor left did little to induce Gary to remain alert, whatever that was.  He hadn’t experienced ‘alert’ since Armstrong had called 911 for him.  Even in his obsession about obtaining details surrounding the ambulance ride, he allowed sleep to become more important.

CHAPTER TWO

His dreams were the type associated with fever: hectic, frustrating, fragmented little vignettes starring familiar figures of his life.  As he escaped from the upsetting episodes, he thought he felt something resting on his hand…light, almost weightless.  One eye opened to peek at his right hand and he woke fully to see Helen’s head lying so near his arm that some of her hair overlapped, almost covering, his hand.  Lying there with her eyes closed, she was angelic in his sight.  Moving his hand, he placed it gently upon her hair, hoping not to wake her in the process.  The softness of it compelled him to caress it in a petting motion.  He was awash in the joy of seeing her where he wished she would always be, at his side. 

She lifted her head to smile at him, “Hey,” she said quietly upon seeing him, not just awake, but smiling back at her.  “That was so sneaky of you to leave without me.”  Then she put on a more serious expression as she felt her eyes fill with tears.  “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Do what?  Leave?” 

She affectionately squeezed his upper arm and said, “No, it isn’t the ‘leaving’ part that I’m upset about, it’s the part about you not taking proper care of yourself.”  She moved her hand to his cheek, surprised that he was noticeably warm, and added, “I told you something that I have never said to any other living person; I confessed that I love you.  If you were telling the truth that you love me, then you have to be more careful about yourself.  I can’t take the chance of losing you now that I’ve found you.”

Gary maneuvered his arm around her to press her closer to his face.  He kissed the corner of her mouth with a tender and soft touch.  “I would never lie to you, Helen.  I do love you, more than I can ever express.”  He continued softly kissing around the edges of her lips, avoiding the true target.  “Ask me anything, tell me to do anything…I would do it.” 

His lips, avoiding direct contact, were driving her crazy.  The next time he aimed for an off-center spot to kiss, she moved to press her mouth tightly to his and the kiss intensified until they both stopped for lack of air.  

“Whew!” he commented breathily, to which she answered in kind with her own “Whew!”

“You’d better hurry and get better.  I…need…you out of this place!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” he agreed.  “Helen?  I need you to help me.  Do you think you can find out what happened to the others who were in the ambulance that was involved in the accident?  Whatever happened, I need to know!”

“An accident?”  She didn’t understand and asked, “What accident were you involved in?  When?”

“Why is everyone acting as though there was no accident?”  His next impulse was to implicate the paper, but he didn’t want to even start explaining about his special edition.  “Are the others all dead?”  His voice was filled with emotion when he repeated, “Were they all…all killed?”

“I’m not following this…at all.”  She stood up to leave, but before going, she promised, “Gary, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.  You deserve to know the whole story of what happened and I’d like to hear it too.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  Under her breath she added, “And while I’m at it, I’d like to know why you are still running a fever.”

As she went out into the hallway, she encountered Paul Armstrong about to enter Gary’s room.  “How is he?”  Paul asked with more concern than he usually displayed to non-family members.  He reached out to offer his hand to her.  I don’t think we’ve officially been introduced.  I’m Paul…Armstrong.”

She took his hand.  Helen had been told about Paul, enough to be wary of him on Gary’s behalf.  “Weren’t you with Gary when he got hurt?”  When he nodded, she lowered her voice, but it was filled with anger.  Tears threatened in her eyes as she asked, accusingly, “How could you, a police detective, allow a ‘civilian’ to be, not only involved, but to be shot…doing your job?  He’s hurt.  He’s lying there helpless…and…and hurt!  How could you allow this to happen?”  She reached into her purse for a tissue to wipe her eyes. 

Most men have a problem when faced with a crying woman and Paul was no exception.  It reduced him to feelings of helplessness himself when it was encountered outside of his work.  Here was a woman disclosing her anger, really her fear, in seeing someone she loved, ailing.   Sure, Gary could have been killed.  The truth is he was the one to blame…for voluntarily being in the vicinity of the danger without any authority to be there.  He did save both Wayan and Armstrong, but their deaths weren’t a certainty without his interference, or were they?  If Paul hadn’t been in the ambulance to hear Gary beg them to stop the vehicle before that fateful intersection, it was almost a sure thing that all of them would have been killed.  No ambulance attendant would have had the vehicle pull over, not on the word of a feverish and hurting passenger. 

How could he respond to Helen’s accusations?  He had nothing to say that would help her.  Instead of choosing some weak-sounding excuse to use, he reached out to hug her and to allow her to cry it out. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry.  Please…I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled away, suddenly in control of her emotions.  “I didn’t plan to do that…so silly,” she admitted in her embarrassment.  Helen hated it when she betrayed her feelings with tears.

“It’s understandable…and forgotten,” Paul said in answer to her apology.  “Come with me; I’ll buy us both a cup of coffee.  Have you eaten?” 

She managed to gain her composure enough to say, “Coffee, yes.  Talk, yes.  Food, no; I don’t think I could right now.”


CHAPTER THREE

Helen and Armstrong had time to talk and to put some caffeine into their systems before returning to Gary’s room together.  In quizzing Paul about the ambulance question that Gary was so insistent upon delving into, she found out nothing new.  There were no injuries or deaths attributable to Gary’s ride to the hospital.  Helen came to the conclusion that it must have been his weakened condition producing this delusion.

Later, upon entering Gary’s room, they discovered Gary moving restlessly in the bed.  She immediately felt the heat rise from his forehead as she bent to kiss him.  “He’s burning up.  Where are the nurses?”

In answer, Paul turned around and rushed out to summon assistance.  In a loud voice he demonstrated his assertiveness as a member of the CPD to demand immediate action.  Two nurses rushed towards the room with him.  Amidst the chaos of the moment, they asked the visitors, Armstrong included, to leave the room so they could administer to their patient.

Paul and Helen were in the nearby waiting room when Marissa and Robin joined them.  They spent the full hour that they waited, making small talk.  Each of them was afraid to discuss Gary so they picked subjects having to do with the weather, the busyness of the day at the bar, and the reliability of the mail.  They talked about everything and…anything except their friend who was presently at the mercy of the hospital personnel. 

Each of them inwardly considered how their world would change without Gary being there anymore.  What would they lose?  Would life go on as usual?  Each of them dreaded the idea of finding out the answers.

Their thoughts were interrupted, as was their conversation, when a nurse appeared at the door and let them know that they could go in to see Gary again.  She told them not to expect him to be awake much during the visit, but that his fever was coming down.

The four of them chose seats in his room and sat there in silence.  Everything they could have wanted to say had been said in the waiting room, which was…precious little.  One by one they left until only Helen remained with him.  Sitting close enough to hold his hand, she entwined their fingers and sat in silence until the nurse came in and told her that visiting hours were over. 

The next afternoon, during one of Gary’s wakeful periods, he looked up to see Anthony Wayan enter the room, seemingly hesitant as he approached the bed.  Gary’s face registered confusion as he watched him intently, obviously not expecting to see him.  Awkwardly Wayan said, “Hey, Hobson.  I see you’re finally gettin’ a rest.” 

Gary acknowledged this man who, for the last couple of months, had been thrown into his path with amazing regularity, “Hi, Wayan.”  

“So, how’re you getting along?  They making sure to bother you day and night?”  Obviously Wayan was not a stranger to hospital stays.  It was meant as humor, but that humor didn’t show in his eyes.

“I’m doin’ fine, thanks.”  Gary motioned to Wayan’s sling and bandaged arm, “How’re you doin’?  I guess you’re taking a forced vacation too.”

“Can’t do much else with one arm.  Not the stuff I do anyway.”  The small talk was over and Wayan arrived at the purpose of the visit.  “What I really came by to do…was to…thank you for the number of times you’ve come to my rescue.  Ever since I first saw you in that police station you’ve been popping up to save my hide.” 

Before he could go on with his speech, Gary interrupted, “No need to…to thank me.  You’ve come to my…my rescue too.  I figured out it was you who helped me when I was down and bleeding…that day in the alley.  If it hadn’t been for you, I know…I would have bled to death.”

“Nah, all I did was call for help, that’s not savin’ your life.  You stopped the mugging at the lakeshore, you warned us about the shooters in the alley…”

Gary wanted to add a few more points about how important Wayan’s quick actions were, but the one-upsmanship argument was wearing him down.  “Anyway, thanks,” he said as he pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead in an attempt to ease the headache forming.

Wayan took Gary’s gesture as a reason to leave.

They had thought about shaking hands ‘goodbye,’ but thought better of it as they tried to figure out which of their hands was able to grasp and shake without them harming each other.  Instead, Wayan gave a semi-military salute and left.

Mrowrr!

‘Great, just great,’ Gary thought upon hearing this familiar greeting.  “Okay cat, where are you…and where’ve you been?”  By the time he was able to raise the head of the bed a little more in order to see, the cat had hopped upon the bed, finally settling itself on his lower legs.  Smugly staring at him from its perch, the cat repeated his announcement, “Mrowrr!”

“Just what do you expect me to do?  Have you noticed?  I’m not exactly in top shape, ya know.”

No answer, surely no sympathy, ensued so he focused on looking around for the paper.   He discovered it on the chair by the door!  It may as well have been across the street.  As gracefully as he could, he lowered the head of the bed, leveraged himself to a sitting position using the side rail, and then sat for a moment with his legs hanging off the edge.  Wishing the height of the bed had been a little lower in order to plant his feet flat on the floor, he gingerly slid off the bed to stand.  Standing up was not that traumatic; he noticed a little dizziness, that’s about all; and it passed quickly.  It actually felt good to be standing.  Encouraged that he could do it, he grabbed the IV pole for balance and support, and shuffled himself along to fetch the paper.

By the time he reached his objective he found a weakness overtaking him and he sat down to scan the headlines on the same chair from which he had retrieved the paper.  He had no idea what he could or would do if something demanding more than the least amount of effort presented itself.  Just as he was about to comment to the cat that the paper had no situations necessary to be changed, his attention zeroed in on a headline on the second to the last page. 

‘Hospital Sued for Negligence in Death of Patient.’  In detail, it continued to explain, ‘Yesterday afternoon at Cook County Hospital, Howard Beason, 74, an Alzheimer victim, fell to his death when he mistook a stairway door on the third floor of the hospital for the door to his room.  In his confusion, it is believed that he attempted to descend the stairway at the time of the fatal fall.  He had been in the facility for an upcoming exploratory surgical procedure at the time.’  More information was provided regarding the time of the mishap, his family and his pre-retirement occupation.

As soon as Gary finished the article, he searched his imagination to plan how he could make a difference in Howard Beason’s life…instead of permitting his foretold premature death to occur.

Feeling his strength returning, Gary clutched the IV pole again to assist him in rising and moved to the closet to retrieve his robe.  (His modesty would not allow him to leave the room as he was.)  Doing the best he could in putting his hand into the sleeve without disturbing the IV that he was attached to, he cracked open the door…only enough to check if there would be witnesses to his expedition to the stairway that Beason would be most likely to use. 

Other patients seemed to also be getting their walking exercise in, also accompanied by their IV poles, so he did not feel quite as conspicuous as he thought he would.  The going was slow, but steady progress was being made on his way towards the ‘exit’ sign.  In order to make sure he could be effective in preventing Beason from using the stairs, Gary stood in front of the door, blocking anyone from using it. 

After a few minutes of waiting with no one in the near vicinity, his grip on the pole became tighter.  The strength upon which he was relying was ebbing.  To give extra support he braced his body against the doorjamb.  There he stationed himself, head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed to stave off the waves of weakness, which came and went. 

‘Come on, Beason, come on,’ he begged in his thoughts, ‘I’m not going to be much good to you if I faint here.’  He thought about crouching; he thought about going off to search for a chair.  It’s a cinch he couldn’t inform the nurses that ‘someone’ is ‘going to’ fall down the stairs.  If he did that his next room would surely be in the psychiatric ward.

Beads of moisture formed on his forehead and his body took on a wet, clammy feeling.  Closing his eyes was no longer working to ward off the dizziness. 

Someone approached him saying, “Excuse me.”

“Huh?” 

A frail-looking, life-time wrinkled, little old man stood in front of him, indicating towards the door that Gary stood blocking.  “I need to get through here.  Can you move a little?” 

“Where do you want to be, sir?”  Gary asked, hoping he was helpful-sounding instead of belittling. 

As though Gary should know where Howard Beason was headed, Howard said, “Why, to my room, of course.  Just…slide over a little, please, you’re blocking the door handle.”

Two things had to occur.  One, Gary needed to steer him back to his room, wherever that was; and two, Gary desperately needed to sit down. 

Hoping to accomplish both things at once, Gary asked, “Could you please help me?  I’m not sure I can find my room and I don’t think I can make it on my own power.  Can you get a nurse, please?”  He wanted to attract attention to both of their problems. 

The little old man grabbed him, putting one arm around Gary’s waist and, together, they wandered back to the nurses’ station.  No bells or alarms sounded, but you would have thought they had.   The nurses saw this odd couple standing at their desks, one patient who should have been in his bed, being supported by a man half his size and more than twice his age.  No one called ‘attention,’ but that was the reaction to seeing this pair. 

Howard and Gary received a great deal of attention, in both words and action.  For Gary, a wheelchair was produced into which he was loaded; and a seemingly unending barrage of words and gestures accompanied it, informing him of just how unacceptable and irresponsible he had been.  He didn’t bother to argue his case.  His objective was accomplished and he was too weak to be anything except relieved to be going back to bed. 

Howard was directed to his room and a buzzer was activated to alert the staff to other possible ‘escapes.’

CHAPTER FOUR

Gary slept through the rest of the afternoon.  His exhaustion continued right through the dinner hour.  Helen arrived, but he slept on, his food untouched.  She leaned over to kiss him and was pleased to find his temperature felt normal.  She whispered in his ear, but he didn’t respond except to act as though her breath had tickled his ear. 

She relented in her attempt to waken him and, for a while, she settled back on the chair to wait, her hand resting on his arm.  At first she just moved her hand in a smoothing action on the hair on his arm.  Her fidget control limits were eventually reached as she moved her fingers slowly up his arm, past the bicep, to his shoulder.  Mmmm.  Hospital gowns, not being haute couture, were designed without regard to curves, …no pleats, no darts.  As a result she discovered she could reach straight in from the shoulder.  With great pleasure, she moved her hand until she could press her palm over his heart.  Helen imagined that his heartbeat sped up as she concentrated on it. 

A whispered, almost inaudible, “What in the world are you doing?”  Quickly adding, “No, don’t stop.  Your hand feels wonderful.”  The gleam in his eyes made the offer, “You probably realize that…now you’ll have to…to marry me.”

She had jumped and withdrawn her hand when he made the first comment, but she put her hand back and massaged his whole chest when he requested her to continue.  She slowly used her fingers to travel from shoulder to shoulder, then around his pectoral muscles, including his nipples on her route, and what she could reach of his upper stomach.  When her hand made the return trip she used the flat of her hand.  He gasped frequently as she made the journey.

“Well?  You haven’t said you will,” he breathlessly teased.

“Will what?”

“It’s a well-known fact that when an unmarried woman touches a Hobson chest that she has to marry him.  Are you willing…or are you going to dare to break the tradition?”

“You’re serious?  Or still joking?  Don’t kid with me about such an important thing, Gary.  My heart’s not unbreakable, you know.”

“If you marry me, I’ll never put it to the test.  I promise.”  He reached for her face, holding her chin in his hand and meeting her eyes, “Tell me you will, Helen.”  Then, “Please.  Do you want me to get on my knees?  I’ll do it, ya know.”  As soon as he said it he pulled the covers away and started to sit up as if preparing to get to his feet.

“No, don’t get up” she laughed, both at him and the view she got when he sat up, then she gave him his answer, “I will.  I will.”  She stood to better reach his mouth.  Their avowing kiss was long and deeply satisfying. 

The door opened slightly and then all the way as Chuck entered.  They pulled away immediately as he offered his greeting, “Hey guys.”  Noticing the red-faced, guilty looks on their faces, he asked, in a suggestive tone, “Am I interrupting something…I hope?”  And he added, “You want me to go away for a while?  I can come back later.”

There was no place to hide and no way to conceal what they had been doing.  ‘Better to face it,’ Gary thought.  After silently asking permission of Helen, he invited Chuck in and said, bracing for Chuck’s reaction, “Come on in, Chuck.  We have something to tell you.  We…that is, Helen and I…we want you to, to be, ah, the first one…we want to tell you that we’re, that we’re, ah…”

“Stop!  Gary!  Have a heart!  Let Helen tell me.  Please!  Let Helen tell me.  I won’t live long enough to hear you finish the sentence.”

As if passing the baton, Gary closed his eyes and waved his hands to release the honor to Helen. 

“Chuck,” she started, “we, ah, we, ah, that is to say, Gary and I…”

Chuck was fast losing his patience with them.  “Do you two want a pad of paper and a pen?  Maybe you could write out what you want to say.”

“No, I can do it.” Gary began again, very slowly, hesitating between each word, “we…are…getting…m…m…married!”  A huge grin spread over his whole face and it was matched with an identical one on Helen’s face. 

“Wow!  So that’s what you were trying to tell me.  Gar…Helen!”  He closed in on the bed and encircled Helen in a hug, then turned his attention to Gary.  “Gar.  Gar, what can I say?  I’m so happy for you.  All the best to you both.  Is there a date set?  Where will it be?  How…”

“Chuck!  Chuck!  She’s only just said ‘yes.’  We haven’t done anything except to agree that we want to be married and we can’t live without each other.  Give us a break.  You’ll know as soon as we do.”

Even though Chuck was not known for his sensitivity towards others, he realized that this couple was completely immersed in each other’s eyes and needed no third party present.  He made an inane excuse about needing to pick up his dry cleaning and took his whirlwind of energy with him as he left them alone.   

Convincing Helen that she should go home and rest was not as easy.  The nurse almost had to call security to break the two lovers up.  By the time Helen left, Gary was determined that he was going home in the morning even if he had to sneak out the back door.

End of Part 7

****************************

PART EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE

As it turned out, Gary didn’t have to sneak to get out of the hospital.  The doctor arrived extra early that morning, primarily because of Gary’s out-of-room experiences of the prior day.  Without an excuse or even a likely story, Gary was forced to listen to all the doctor’s condemnations and lessons about what a patient is and is not expected to do while in the hospital.

When the tirade let up for a second, Gary finally got his chance to put a word in by, not asking, but telling the doctor that he was leaving that morning.  He was prepared to go on and on, countering whatever the hospital staff might argue towards his remaining there. 

Actually, none of his prepared tactics was necessary; the doctor seemed all too willing to discharge him.  For the good of the hospital’s liability insurance, Gary would need to sign a disclaimer absolving them from fault should he have untreated complications, but he could expect to be out of there before noon…with a list of instructions to follow:  antibiotics to continue, rest, call if a fever returns, etc.

Everyone was happy!

That happiness was evident when Helen came, bearing the fresh clothes that he had requested for his ride home.  As he dressed she went to officially check him out and have someone bring the required wheelchair to escort him to the van…and freedom!

As she drove he seemed intent on her following a somewhat circuitous route to McGinty’s.  In fact, it was more out of the way than she could be silent about.  “Gary, we could get there faster if we took this next right.”

Gary had been reading the paper that he had brought from the hospital.  He had been insistent upon going the way he had directed.  As they passed the stop light, he asked her to pull into the right lane and be ready to stop before the next corner.

“There.  Over there.  By that man reading the magazine,” he pointed as he urged her.  “I need to ask him something.”

She was wide-eyed, asking, “Do you know him?  How did you even recognize him in that hat and jacket?”

“Just stop in front of him, please.”

She pulled over close to the curb, blocking the man’s path as he intended to cross the street in mid-block.  Gary rolled the window down and called out, “Hey, buddy, can we get to Marshall Fields from here?”

Looking up abruptly from his reading, the man stepped back a bit in surprise, and said, “Yeah, if you hang a left at the next light.  That’ll take you to where you want to go.”

“Thanks!” Gary answered as he indicated to Helen that she should drive on.

They rode in silence for a few blocks.  Bewildered, she finally asked, “You didn’t know him, did you?  You weren’t looking for Marshall Fields.  What just happened?  Whatever it was, I missed it.”

He murmured, “He was going to walk off that curb into the path of a taxi.”

“Gary, why is it that when you have a question that you don’t want to answer…that you give your answer in a voice so quiet that only a dog could hear?  What did you say about a taxi going to hit him?  Going to?”

“Helen.  It was in the paper.  I had to stop it if I could.”

“Not the paper again.”  She pulled up to a convenience store and faced him.  “Where is that paper and that article?” 

He handed her his special, early edition and let her peruse it.  “You won’t find the article about his almost-accident,” he warned her, “because it won’t happen now.  We changed it.  He won’t step off the curb with his magazine in his face, and he won’t be hit by the taxi because that particular taxi has already left the area.”

She sat with her eyes glued to the paper.  The date wasn’t today’s, she knew, but that could have been a mistake.  There wasn’t a mention in the whole paper about this, or any other accident involving a taxi.  Her mind was racing, vacillating between believing this man she loved more than anything…and trusted, and believing only what her earth-anchored mind actually saw! 

“Every day a special issue of the paper arrives at my door …with that cat you often see in my loft.  What makes it special is that it tells me tomorrow’s news.  It informs me…about disastrous events that I can change… if I act.”

Not wishing it to appear that she was doubting him, she shook her head as she tactfully said, “That’s such a difficult concept.  Would you have believed it if I had said it to you?”

Gary took her right hand and conceded, “Probably not…I…I don’t know.  Probably not, but…but I want you to be part of my life and you will have to know…and believe me about this.”

She regretted having to admit, “I can’t say I understand anything about what you’re telling me, but I will promise that it won’t become an obstacle between us.  I won’t let it be.  You’re worth the sacrifice of my belief.”  After that exchange they drove without talking. 

They parked in McGinty’s alley and skipped making a grand entrance by entering through the back.  She was a little nervous as she watched him negotiating the stairs, but he took his time, pausing once to catch his breath, and they were soon entering the loft.  Assuming that he would want to go to bed, she went about opening it for him.  Instead, he chose to sit down on the couch.   “Don’t you want to lie down for a rest, Gary?  This morning has been pretty busy for you.”

“You think I can trust myself in bed…with you in the room…and no nurses to interrupt?  I don’t think we’d better chance it.”  She sat down close to him, her amusement showing in her eyes, as he continued, “but if we do some fast planning, we can be married before Christmas. Would that be too soon for you?”  He knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t too soon for him.

Helen leaned up against his shoulder, shyly avoiding his glance, “Christmas?  That’s less than two weeks away.  Can we do all the planning in that time?”

“Maybe I should have asked what size wedding you have in mind.  I told you that I’ve gone through the ‘big wedding’ before.  Obviously it didn’t guarantee permanence.  Do you have your heart set on having a large affair?”  He moved so they could look each other directly in the eyes and he said, “Whatever you would like will be fine with me.  I can hardly wait to have you all to myself, but…we have a lifetime to be together.  A few weeks or a few months…whatever you want.”

Looking into the depths of his eyes, she couldn’t imagine waiting weeks, or months.  “I don’t like the idea of weeks,” she said, looking down at her hands folded on her lap.

Inside, he felt as though a knife had just been inserted into his heart by thinking that they would be waiting months to be married.  “Okay,” he conceded, “you’re all I care about.  What about March?”

“March!  Tha…that’s three months away!  I meant ‘weeks’ is too far off.  How about the Saturday before Christmas?  We should be able to mobilize our parents by that time.  Everyone else can do as they please.  You’re the only one I’ll be able to see at the altar anyway.”

That knife that had sliced through his heart just disappeared at her new suggestion.  A week.  “We can have the reception here at McGinty’s.  That way there’ll be no conflicts about schedules.  Marissa can help; I know she will, but I’ll ask anyway.  I’ll call and ask Miguel Diaz about photos.  Where will we find a minister willing to do the honors on this short a notice?”

Helen was impressed about the thoroughness with which Gary went about the planning.  She added her input, “Pastor Stone at St. Andrews will be my first call.  I love that church.  What’s left?  Flowers!  Do you have any contacts?”

The two of them continued on with making notes and lists of all the things necessary to accomplish in one week’s time.  After all the lists had been made, the reality of it all began to dawn on them.  This was serious!  They took a swim in each other’s eyes and embraced, holding tightly to each other for a long time without words being uttered. 

“Helen?” Gary murmured as he remembered something he needed to ask her, to clear with her.  When she looked up in response, he asked, “You know, there’s one thing that I…I’ve never had that I really want…so much.  Having you with me for the rest of my life is wonderful to think about, but I would like us to be, to, ah, have…and that’s…a…a family.  Kids.”

She was amused with his explanation of what a family was, but didn’t want him to think she would laugh at him.  “How many?  How soon?” were her counter questions, both asked with a devilish gleam in her eyes.

“How…how…how many?”  He asked nervously, “How soon?  Ah…” 

“Yes.  I want kids too.  How many and how soon?”

“Ah…ah…”    What could he say?  Whatever he said, would it be ‘right?’  “How many would you like?”  Inside of him, he was saying ‘six,’ but feared he would scare her, so he told her, formed as a question, “four?”

“I was thinking, maybe two or three, but we can work on that.  How soon?  Right away?  Two years?  Any ideas?”  Noticing how uncomfortable he was with this line of conversation, she added, “And don’t start mumbling.  I want to hear your answer; be honest, Gary.”

Gary turned his head and looked at the bed, open and looking inviting…to him.  Turning back to her he gave her the most candid answer he could produce, one that Chuck and Marissa would never have believed as having been uttered by Gary Hobson, “If we were married at this very moment…and you were willing, of course, I would like to give it a good try, right now!”  Before she had a chance to comment, other than the gasp he heard, he stood up and excused himself to go into the bathroom.  When he came out of the bathroom, she was gone.


CHAPTER TWO

Every day that week showed at least one more item checked off of their list.  The pastor was willing to perform the ceremony in the church; Miguel was willing to do all the photography; Marissa was able to contract with a florist for all the flowers;  McGinty’s was moving ahead with their own usual agenda for the reception, Chuck and Marissa agreed to be the witnesses; and, very important to Gary and Helen, their parents were eagerly planning to be at this most welcome event.  The whirlwind wedding plan was proceeding as hoped for. 

By Thursday, the parties involved were satisfied that everything was covered.  Because of the time frame, all of the invitations were issued by way of telephone calls.  Most of their true relatives were at too far a distance to attend, but McGinty’s and the church would be far from empty.

----------

Chuck went over to sit next to Gary at the bar.  He characteristically threw his arm around Gary’s shoulders and said in a louder than necessary voice, “Hey, Gary, my man!  A couple more days to go, then no more bachelor highlife for you!”

“What in hell are you talking about Chuck?  My ‘bachelor highlife’ was…nothing!  Zip, zilch, nothing!”

“Hey, that’s not the way to look at it.  The way I see it is, now you have the freedom to choose to go out, to flirt, to have a…fling…any time you want.  Not after Saturday, buddy.  No way a wife is gonna go for that kind of thing, no way!  Your choices will have been canceled…forever!”  Pretending it was an afterthought, Chuck took Gary’s shoulder and turned him to face his lifetime friend, “Ya know what?  What you need is a final fling.  I’m taking over your transition, my friend.  You don’t have to do a thing.  That’s what friends are for.  Be ready tomorrow night.  I’ll pick you up at eight and we’ll go out one more time.  Two buddies!  Dinner, a few drinks, some laughs…you know, the whole enchilada.  Every condemned man gets a final meal.  How about it?”

Gary’s first inclination was to say ‘no, no, never,’ but in his present mood, he was overwhelmed with all the todo going on.  He turned back to his beer and muttered, “Okay, Chuck, whatever you want.”

If Chuck was a dog, he would have been salivating, thinking, no, make that, ‘scheming.’  In all his dreams he would never have thought Gary would be such an easy mark, er, sale.

Gary left Chuck sitting at the bar and caught sight of Helen as he went towards the office.  It wasn’t meant to be a chance meeting in any way.  When Helen left his loft a few nights ago, he had said something that must have sounded completely out of line to say to a fiancé…or, for all that, to anyone.  ‘Why do I have to open my mouth so wide?  One foot would be enough for me to stuff in my mouth, why put both of them in?’ he thought, beating himself up verbally as he had done all week. 

“Helen, could I talk to you a minute?” he asked as he caught her arm gently. 

She, too, wanted to put an end to how she was feeling about that evening.  “Sure thing, Gary.”

He took her by the arm and, worried about unwelcome listeners, opened the walk-in cooler and took her inside, closing the door.  “I…I…desperately need to…to apologize for my behavior the other night.  You wanted to know how soon I wanted, ah, children.  I can’t take back my answer, all I can say is…I’m so sorry.  I wasn’t propositioning you.  I would ne…never ask you to compromise your…virtue.  I meant to…to tell you that what I wanted was for the day…the…the day to arrive that we were married and...”  This was not going as well as he wanted it to so he tried another approach, “I did not mean to have it sound as though I wanted to go to bed with you…ah…ah…I mean, yes, I do want to go to bed with you, but…ah…ah.  Oh hell!  Why can’t I make this sound like an apology instead of…of…of what it does sound like?”

“Can I help you, Gary?  I can tell you why I left the apartment; why I didn’t even say ‘goodbye.’”  She took a deep breath, praying for bravery, “You literally asked me to go to bed with you.  I’ve never gone to bed with anyone and I didn’t want to, before I met you.  And, I don’t want to until after our wedding.  It’s so close and I’m afraid that I’m not strong enough to say no to you if you’re holding me, if we’re lying together, kissing.  I didn’t have to leave, but I had no words to tell you how I felt, none that would keep me out of your arms…leading to exactly that which I was trying to prevent.  What I should’ve done is to tell you how I feel about pre-marital fooling around.  Sharing our love in this way means more to me than two eager lovers looking for sex.”

“Wow!” Gary contributed.  “You don’t mince words, do you?  I probably shouldn’t feel better about this, but, but I do.” He folded her into his arms, leaning his head on hers, whispering as if someone might have been able to hear, “Do you think it’s safe enough to hold you, to kiss you…in here?  Not a bed in sight.”

It was just the right tone and question to remove the seriousness from the occasion.  She almost stopped breathing.  “Are you trembling?  Are you too cold?” he asked caringly.

She forced a calm voice and slowly said, “The trembling, my love, is caused by trying, sincerely trying, not to make any noise when laughing.  Gary, you are too priceless.”  Her laughter erupted and caused the same reaction in Gary.  Together, they stood there, shivering with the cold, allowing their laughter to feed their love. 


CHAPTER THREE

By Friday morning, the day before the wedding, Gary was sorry that he had told Chuck that he would go out with him that evening.  He knew, he should have known, just what kind of mind there existed in Chuck.  Chuck, always the joker, always trying to place Gary in one embarrassing situation or another.  Well, there was no time to think about it this morning.  The paper had his morning fully booked with activities, responsibilities; and he would have to hurry, even now.  Later on he would discuss this whole thing with Chuck.

He called a hello and a goodbye as he passed through the bar area, letting Marissa know he was leaving.  She returned it with the same greeting, knowing what he was most likely rushing off to.  His last words were called out as he was closing the door, “Tell Chuck I need to talk to him about tonight’s plan.”

After that, the day went so fast that it was mid-afternoon before he had time to pay any attention to the growing emptiness of his stomach.  A quickly eaten burger and he was on the move again, heading towards the high school where the chemistry student was about to have a disfiguring accident. 

He had a little trouble in gaining entrance to the chemistry lab, but a previous experience at substitute teaching helped him use the key phrases to be allowed into the lab area.  By the time the school bell rang the end of the school day, he was among the ‘students’ exiting the school grounds.

Today’s edition of tomorrow’s newspaper was one of the thickest issues that he had ever received.  Most of it was filled with ‘errands’ for him.  These were errands holding very little, if any, physical danger for him, but disastrous consequences for those involved.  He didn’t dare ignore any of them.  When he was the least bit tempted to pass by one of the happenings, the memories of Sherman, at his newsstand, flowed into his head.  It was when he first began receiving the paper.  If only he had looked past the novelty and the money potentials of the paper, he could have prevented the misery that Sherman had to endure.  It was too late to change the past, but not too late for the future; that was his to alter.

The next three hours went by in a blur.  By the time he dragged himself into McGinty’s that evening he headed straight for the bar, calling for a beer.  Chuck called to him from the booth he and Marissa were occupying.  When he heard him, Gary looked around, but took a couple quick gulps of the beer before taking it with him as he joined them.  Nearing the booth, he remembered what Chuck was going to want him to do tonight.  Well, he wouldn’t!  More determination was needed; HE WOULDN’T DO IT!

Fatigue was evident, even in his greeting, “Hi, guys, you’ll never know how good it feels to sit down, even on this hard bench.  I’ve been going all day.”  He gulped down the rest of the bottle and ordered another.

“Ya want me to check the rest of the paper for you?” Chuck offered, to which Gary grabbed the paper back from the center of the table and stuffed it into his jacket.  “Okay, be that way.  I was just tryin’ to help,” Chuck said in a pseudo-hurt voice. 

“Yeah, I know, Chuck,” Gary responded sarcastically.  As he searched the crowd, he asked, “Is Helen here?”

Marissa nodded and answered, “The jeweler called that the rings are ready.  She wanted to save you the trip so she took off to pick them up before it was time for her to go home.”  This ‘new’ Gary, this ‘in- love’ Gary, gave Marissa what the Chinese would call an ‘inner happiness.’  “Besides, she has a lot to do before tomorrow.”

His disappointment was obvious as he lowered his voice to murmur, “Damn, I wanted to take her home.”

“None of that,” Chuck started, “the wedding is tomorrow, not tonight.”  He was delighted to see Gary’s disgusted expression aimed at him.  “All right, all right, I’m sorry, Gar.  Don’t forget, we’re leaving here at eight.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that.  Chuck, it’s nice of you to offer, but I really am tired and I don’t want to go out tonight.  Tomorrow’s going to be busy and who knows what the paper’ll have for me to do before the wedding.”  ‘Please, God, let him accept this excuse,’ Gary silently prayed.

“Oh no, no…you don’t get away with that garbage!  This is your last night of bachelorhood, Gar.  I’m your best man.  What kind of ‘best man’ would I be if I didn’t make sure that your last night of freedom was celebrated?”

Too tired to argue and somewhat resigned to his fate, Gary asked, “Where are we going?”

“We have reservations at that little Greek restaurant you liked; the one where you met that gorgeous brunette.”

Gary objected strenuously, “I didn’t like that restaurant.  The food was terrible, the ouzo made me sick, I cut my hand, and I embarrassed myself.  A stomach ache, a red face, and a trip to the hospital, that’s the kind of ‘memorable’ it was!” 

“Just kidding, Gar, it’s not the Greek place, but I wish I could have been there to see it.”

“No topless bars!”

“No.  Gary, you wrong me.  We’re going somewhere great, a place holding great memories for each of us.”

“I’m not gonna sit around your apartment, watching your porno movies either!”

“Gary, relax!  This surprise will knock your socks off.  I’ve thought of everything.”  Chuck was ecstatic with his secret.  He was sure it would be special to both of them.  He checked his watch; “I’ve got to pick up my tux before they close.  I’ll be back by eight; be ready.”

After Chuck left, Marissa excused herself to check on the kitchen, leaving Gary alone in the booth.  A country-western song was playing softly near the bar and the lights were dim over the booth.  Having those two beers on an empty stomach may not have been such a good idea.  He put his head down on the table and was asleep immediately.


CHAPTER FOUR

It seemed as though he had only been sleeping a few minutes when Chuck shook his shoulder violently, “I’m back!  Wake up, Gar.  Time to go!”

The effects of the beer had not quite worn off.  Gary sat in the booth, head upright, but eyes closed.  “Do we really have to do this?” he asked.  “I will concede that you are the very best man of all best men if anyone asks.  My grandchildren will remember you as the best man in the entire world…throughout history.  Please, Chuck, can’t we pretend that we went out, and not do it?  I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You’re not getting off that easy!  It took a lot of pull to plan this evening and you’re going if I have to have two of the drunks from the bar carry you to the car.  That ‘bad feeling’ is just hunger and that will be taken care of too.”

Gary groaned and stretched.  “Do I have to get dressed up for this fiasco?”

“No.  Just come as you are.  I’m not changing either.”

---------------

They drove in silence for a while before Gary asked, “Where are you going?  It seems like you’ve been driving for hours.”

“Now don’t get impatient.  We’ll be there soon,” Chuck said, adding, “You’re going to love this!”  He was like a kid in his enthusiasm.

The area started to look familiar to Gary, but he couldn’t put his finger on the exact location.  “Where…where are we, Chuck?  I’ve been here before.  I know I’ve been here.”  As soon as they made the next turn he made the connection in his memory.  “No, Chuck, you didn’t.  Tell me you didn’t.”

Chuck was in heaven, having pulled off this surprise to end all surprises. 

“Why are we parking at the old frat house?  What in hell are we doing here?”

“It’s not just a frat house, it’s our frat house!  A friend of mine arranged for me to be able to rent our old room over the holiday break.  Our old room, Gary, where we did all our partying!”

“Not we, Chuck, don’t say ‘we.’  It’s where you did all that partying.  It’s also where I tried to do all that studying so I could get out of here faster!  What did you intend that we do to party here…tonight?”

“After Helen told me all that I couldn’t do and added all the warnings of what I’d better not do, all that was left was for you and me to relive our free and easy times with a pizza, some beer, and…play some poker.  I even brought the poker chips.   Come on, help by carrying the beer in.  I’ll get the pizza.”

Gary carried the twelve-pack and plodded on behind Chuck, all the while shaking his head from side to side, not quite believing what he was doing the night before his marriage.  They went to the old room they had once shared.  Gary hesitated at the door, wishing he had been more assertive in refusing to go out…anywhere…tonight.  Chuck was so elated though, that Gary was determined to go along with it and pretend that he was as excited…about playing poker…in his old frat house…with his old roommate…and eating pizza, which must have been cold by now, the night before his wedding, for crying out loud!!!

The pizza was cold, but good anyway.  The beer actually went well with the cold pizza.  He hadn’t had the chance to play poker since college; so that part was fun.  What happened?  It really was fun to have the guys come in and play poker and drink and laugh all night. 

What happened was, he and Marcia got married.  He and Marcia…  What happened was that he had to be someone else after that.  Marcia didn’t like his college friends and he felt like an oddball among her friends.  He had to wear suits…and ties.  You can’t eat pizza or play poker with a suit on.  He and Marcia…had he ever loved her as he did Helen?

“Come on, Gary!  Are you gonna play or are you gonna daydream?”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, discarding two cards and drawing two, “this place brings back a lot of memories.” 

“That’s just what we need.  You aren’t gonna cry, are you?  Cause if you are, I’m gonna pour this beer on you.  Now, let’s open another Bud; and I’m calling.”  Proudly slamming his cards down on the table, face up, he said, “Three aces!  Read ‘em and weep!  What’cha got, Gary?”

Distractions over, Gary focused on his hand, then at the hand Chuck exposed before him, saying, “I guess my full house is gonna claim the pot.”  He laid the cards down before an unbelieving Chuck.

Turning towards the TV, then back at Gary, Chuck announced, “That’s enough punishment for me!  When did you get so lucky?  All through the years I could always depend on your bad poker hands to provide me with my spending money.  Let’s watch some TV.  The Late, Late Show is just starting, maybe they’ll have someone good on.”  He rose to claim the remote control.

---------------

Back in Helen’s apartment she was preparing for bed when she heard a yowling seeming to be coming from her living room.  “Who’s there?” she called out.  She smiled within herself, knowing that whoever or whatever was making the noise she heard, was not going to answer in any language she could understand.  Just inside the door leading to the hall was a yellow tabby, looking for all the world like Gary’s cat. 

“Aww, how did you get in here?” she asked as if she expected an answer.  “You look a lot like Gary’s little cat.”  As she came closer to shoo it outside, she felt…no, how silly…felt like…  “You can’t be Gary’s cat…can you?”  Picking it up she became aware of the newspaper that had been lying under the cat.  ‘Helen,’ she said in a reprimand to herself, ‘don’t start.  I know what you’re thinking…and that’s just impossible!’  She shook her head as if to bring herself to reality and reached to open the door, “Come on, cat, you’re going outside where you can find your way home.”  The cat slipped through her hands and went back to sit on the paper, looking up and, this time, meowing. 

“Hey, that wasn’t nice.  I can’t keep pets here; you have to leave.” 

The cat stepped off of the paper and kept out of her reach as she pursued it through the room.  Finally giving up, Helen sat herself down to stare in a less than friendly manner at the cat that was returning her stare in the same way.   “What?  I’m not letting you stay!”

The cat moved back to sitting on the paper and, now, yowling. 

“Okay, I’ll play your silly game, but don’t you dare tell anyone that I did!”  She got up and went to pick up the paper.  “All right.  I’m looking at it.  What do you want?”  As she said this, she looked at the date on the paper and felt the blood leave her face.  The date was tomorrow’s.  She went to the door and peeked out into the hall, thinking Gary, or one of his friends, surely, had pulled this stunt.  Not wanting to waken her neighbors, she said, trying to keep her voice down…to the empty hallway…  “I’m not falling for this, you guys.  You might as well come and get this paper.”  When she received no answer, she said, “This is no longer funny.  It’s late and I want to go to bed.”

A couple of her neighbors called out through their doors, almost in unison, “So do we!”

Sheepishly she closed her door and went back to sit next to the paper.  She felt that if she so much as picked it up to read it, someone would burst through the door and catch her, laughing hysterically.  She sat there.  And sat there.  “Oh, I don’t even care.”  Picking it up she checked its contents.  “I don’t see anything yet to convince me that this is anything but a prank…or mistake…a typo.”

It was then that one particular item stood out to her; and, when she read further, she was stunned by its details.  ‘Surely, not even Chuck with his sick sense of humor would pull such a stunt,’ she thought.

‘Two Dead in Fire.’  The article read: ‘The oldest fraternity house at Northwestern University burned in the early hours today.  Firemen were alerted when passersby noticed flames at the windows and saw three vagrants hurrying out of the building.  The smoke alarms were believed to be either non-functioning or missing.  The bodies of the two male victims were found in one of the rooms.   Smoke inhalation was believed to be the cause of death.  Items found at the scene identified them as Charles Fishman, 35, and Gary Hobson, also 35, both of Chicago.  The building was scheduled to be demolished next year to make way for a much-needed parking structure.’  More information was furnished, but Helen was in shock and couldn’t go on. 

“No, this is wrong!  This has to be wrong!”  She rushed to get dressed.  Her call to the police was fruitless; they had no information about a fire at Northwestern.  None at all.

‘If this is one of their ‘jokes,’ they will wish they had died in that fire!’ she threatened as she drove to the address mentioned in the paper.  All through the drive, she mumbled threats aimed at them.  ‘How could they think this was funny!  I’ll show them funny!’

She arrived at the building, fuming more than scared.  As she was about to enter, three men pushed their way out in a panic.  Liquor was heavy on their breath and one of them warned, “Don’t go in there, lady, there’s a fire!”  They hustled off into the night.

The smell of smoke was everywhere as she pounded on doors.  The next floor’s hallway was also filling with the rising smoke.  She kept pounding on doors and screaming Gary and Chuck’s names.  At the last door before the stairs leading to the next floor the sound of a TV could be heard.  Pounding and yelling through her tears, she heard what she thought was Chuck’s voice.  “Go away!  There’s no one here, go ‘way!”

“Chuck, please, open the door.  Please, please, Chuck get up!  There’s a fire!”  The smoke was becoming thicker and she was finding it harder to take deep breaths. 

The door was opened to show a rumple-haired Chuck, clad only in a T-shirt and boxers, frowning in disbelief at Helen’s appearance at the door.  “Aw, come on, Helen.  It’s pretty bad when a guy can’t even enjoy his last night out without you showing up.”  He noticed her tear-stained face, and asked, in a more sober tone, “What’s wrong?  Gary’s still sleeping.” 

Helen pushed her way past him with an order for him to grab his clothes and get out of the building.  The smoke was paying witness to her urgent announcement as it began wafting into the room.  Gary was laying on his back on the bed, his pants on the chair next to it. 

“Gary,” she said as she shook him.  “Gary!  Wake up!”  He mumbled, but slept on.  She grabbed the phone and called the fire department, giving them the information.  Then she yelled at Chuck to help her waken Gary.  Together they brought him out of his fog and the three of them helped each other negotiate a safe way out. 

Gary and Chuck sat in the car, Chuck in the backseat, appreciating the warmth of the heater.  Their coats had been forfeit in their hurry out of the building. 

When they were finally permitted to leave the area, Helen turned to Chuck and asked if he was okay; then she faced Gary and asked him the same thing.  “I’m fine,” this usual response came out of his mouth easily.  “My eyes burn and my throat is a little sore from the smoke, but the paramedics cleared us both.”

“Don’t rub your eyes, Gary, let me help.”  She lightly touched his eyes to force him to close them.  Then she pulled his face close and kissed each eye.  He kept them closed waiting for additional ‘therapy.’  “There,” she said, “that’s taken care of.  Now, what was the other complaint?  Oh yeah, your throat.  Let Doctor Helen fix that up too.”  A suspicious look formed on Gary’s face as she continued, “Now, let me move your face a little…that’s it.  Okay, open your mouth as if you’re blowing out a candle.” 

Without understanding what she had in mind, he complied and pretended that he was blowing out a candle.  She couldn’t help but smile at how ‘easy’ he was; no wonder Chuck played all those pranks successfully. Getting back to the business at hand, she moved in to surround his mouth with her own in an in-depth kiss.

“Hey, you two,” Chuck piped up from the rear seat, “I’m here too, ya know.  You got a captive observer.  Didn’t your mothers ever tell you not to have a snack unless there was enough for everyone?”  Gleeful at his own suggestion, he added, “Am I next?  My eyes burn too.”

Helen laughed and started the car as Gary gave Chuck a non-amused “Haha.”  Offering Gary her hand, he held on to it tightly all the way back.  They dropped Chuck off at his apartment, promising to take him back to retrieve his car the next day; and they proceeded on to McGinty’s. 

“Are you really okay, Gary?  Will you be all right tonight?”  When he assured her that he would be ‘fine,’ she thought of the other subject she wanted to address.  “Do you mind if I come in?  I’d really like to discuss something else with you tonight.”

“Of course.  It’ll be your home tomorrow night.  You could think of it as your home tonight, if you’d like.”

“Watch it, mister.  Tomorrow, yes.  Tonight, or what’s left of it, no!”

He put on his innocent self as he said, “Just trying to be helpful.”

They climbed the stairs and entered the loft, turning on the lights.  Two people were in his bed and someone else was on the couch.  Looking closer at them, Gary saw that his parents were sacked out in his bed and someone with their head covered by blankets was occupying the couch.  His mother woke at the lights and called out a low-volume welcome.  When she saw he was not alone, she slipped on her robe and put on her most tickled smile to come over and hug, first Gary, then Helen. 

“Helen, the underdressed lady assaulting us is my mother, Lois Hobson.”  He waved his arm in the direction of the bed and said, “The man snoring like a saw mill, sprawled out in my bed, is my father, Bernie Hobson.  I have no idea who is on the couch, but it looks like I’m going to be on the floor tonight.”   Knowing that their chance of privacy was nil, he mischievously asked, daring her to try, “Now what was that you wanted to say, Helen?”  He smiled, not amused in the least.

Lois gushed over Helen until there was nothing more to say.  “Gary, you can sleep on the couch in the office downstairs, can’t you?  We just had to bring your cousin, Lily, with us.  She was so excited for you.”

“Sure Mom, sure.  Good night.  See you in the morning.” 

He took Helen’s hand and they went back down the stairs to the office.  “Gary, you can’t stay here tonight,” she said, as she examined the possibilities of using the office couch for sleep.  “It would be warmer in that refrigerator.  Come on back with me to my apartment.  My couch is comfortable and…we can talk about something important.”

They arrived at her apartment with just a few hours left before daylight.  She brought out some bedding for the couch and they sat down, taking each other’s hands.  “Haven’t you been wondering how I found you; where you and Chuck were?” Helen began, looking down at their hands.  

“A little, I guess.”  Why was it that he knew what was coming next?

“Your cat came to visit me last night.”

“Oh?”

“And he brought a newspaper with him.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know how I felt…to read about how you died in a fire…on the eve of our wedding?”  She began to cry, sobbing uncontrollably.  “Gary, you’re so important to me.  I was out of my mind to find out whether you were safe or not.  That damn cat was almost a dead cat when I read the story of how you and Chuck had…died.  I blamed him for bringing me such an announcement…until I figured out that it hadn’t happened yet.  And, and…”  Her crying intensified and Gary held her tightly in his arms until she settled down.  “And…I drove like a madwoman to get there before the news article became true.”  She put her hands on either side of his face, looking directly into his eyes, and said, “I can’t stand it, thinking about how I almost lost you!  If you want anything…anything, I won’t refuse you…ever!” 

She started gathering up the bedding she had just set out on the couch to take it back into her bedroom, as he stepped into her path and said, soberly, “Don’t Helen.  Don’t do this.  You don’t have to.  I won’t ask it, not this way…not tonight,” he corrected himself, “ah, this morning.”  He took the bedding from her, placing it back on the couch, and held her, kissing her face gently, everywhere except her lips.  He wanted her to know how treasured she was, not for what she could do for him, but for what she was, his life’s true treasure.

The next morning did come, and all too soon.  Helen left Gary sleeping, his feet hanging over the end of the couch, as she got ready and went off to complete the final errands before the big moment scheduled for that afternoon.  Gary’s job for this morning was prearranged:  he had to take Chuck back to Northwestern to pick up his car.  That was it!  The rest of his responsibilities were done until the time to go to the church.  Helen left him a time schedule detailing the day’s events.


CHAPTER FIVE

Who would’ve believed that a full, but not extravagant, wedding could have been accomplished in one week’s time?  What was missing?  What did they sacrifice?  They had the most important people in their lives present at the church and, later, at McGinty’s. 

They had each other!

Their eyes beheld only each other.  Sounds of the ceremony were hardly heard.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as he asked himself if there was ever a more beautiful bride?  She had borrowed her mother’s wedding gown, a picture of satin and old lace.  The veil was fashioned from freshly crafted materials.  He saw none of these details. 

Her eyes teared up briefly as her father walked her down the aisle and she saw Gary peeking around a pillar to watch her traveling towards him.  The tuxedo he wore was the same one he wore when he was a reluctant assistant to Brigatti in a CPD case.  His handsome face beamed as she arrived at the altar and he joined her there.  The minute that they made their vows was the moment they truly felt they belonged to each other and would, forever.

The celebration that followed the church ceremony went on as planned.  It could have been a picnic in the park as far as the new Mr. and Mrs. Hobson were concerned.  They went around greeting and thanking people, but he kept her in his vision and she kept him in her vision at all times. 

At one point Gary sought her out and walked her into the cooler in the kitchen, “This seems to be the only place we can trust to be left alone,” he said as he pulled her close and kissed her.  “How long are we supposed to…to stay here before we won’t hurt feelings by leaving this crowd behind?”

“Do you want the truth, or do you want to hear what I want?” she asked.  “I’ve met and talked to dozens of people, but I can’t remember their names and I wouldn’t be able to recognize them again.  All I can hear is the minister’s pronouncement of our new status as Mr. and Mrs.  All I can see is…you.”

“You’re here where I can see you, but…all these people…I can’t stand close to you…I can’t touch you…or kiss you…or hold you.  I just want to be with you.  Do you think we could just…just sneak out through the kitchen?”

Helen was filled with the happiness that every bride hopes for, the joy of being prized by the one she prized.  “Let’s go back in.  We can each begin at opposite sides of the room, socializing properly.  When we reach the office doors again we’ll casually walk through them and get our bags from the loft and…leave!  Does that sound like a plan?”

He agreed and they followed through with the plan, each being gracious, each one acting like they were so pleased to have all these faces to celebrate with, each dying inside, trying to reach their objective, the office.  Gary’s mother was probably the biggest delay.  She had to gush over the ‘cute couple’ to everyone.  Bernie had to have a drink with his son.  He’d already had more than enough drinks and Gary was glad that his parents would be spending the night in his loft.  Paul and Meredith Armstrong were beaming as they congratulated Gary.  All the while, Gary was singing the country tune, “Time Never Ends,” over and over in his head as he made his way around the room. 

The two passed each other once and sustained themselves by kissing before continuing on their circuit of the room.  The trip did end and they looked around before entering the office, hoping everyone was too busy to notice their departure from the party. 

Gary and Helen were intent upon carrying their luggage out by way of the alley.  As they exited the kitchen to the alley, they found that all of their guests were already out there, Chuck in front of them all!  Without hesitating except to wave and smile, the newlyweds were on their way. 

They stopped at a red light, looked at each other and, laughing, said together, “Some secret escape!”

Before starting up again, Gary commented, his voice filled with pride, “Christmas is just a couple of days away, but I already have my present!”

Helen corrected him, “No, Gary, I have one more gift for you.”

End of Part 8
  
******************************************

PART NINE
EPILOGUE:  THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY


“Wake up, Gary, wake up,” Helen coaxed persistently as she placed an open-palmed hand on his cheek and met his mouth with her lips, “come on, wake up.”

He strained to reach her lips again for another kiss as he asked, “What?  What time is it?”  Turning to check the clock, he groaned his complaint, “No.  Helen, what are you doing?”  Something occurred to him then that might have caused Helen to wake him at 4:30 in the morning and he immediately asked, “Is the cat here?  I didn’t hear him,” adding for emphasis, as if she didn’t notice, “It’s still pitch black outside!”

“Shh, Gary, it’s time to go.”

He stared at her, disbelieving what he saw:  Helen was in a state of being completely dressed, right down to having her jacket and gloves on.  “Where are we going at…” he checked the clock again, “at 4:38 a.m., for crying out loud?”  He wondered whether he was dreaming…or she was.  Softening his tone as he remembered who it was he was talking to, “Where are we going, Sweetheart?”  He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to gain some wakefulness.

She had a deliciously amused glint in her eyes as she said, “Merry Christmas, Gary, you’re going to drop me off so I can deliver your Christmas gift, personally!” 

Still with puzzlement in his face, Gary tried again to understand what was going on.  “You’re…you’re going to deliver my…my Christmas gift—at 4:30 on Christmas morning?  Nothing’s even open!”

“Right.  That’s exactly right, my dear husband.  What do you think you’re getting from me?  I thought you’d like a Christmas delivery…Daddy!”

Gary was on his feet instantly and fully understood at that moment.  His smile went from ear to ear as he took in her very pregnant visage.  “Helen!  I’m so…I’m so…” 

She stopped listening to him in order to cooperate with another contraction, one of many that she had been timing for the last hour.  As the contraction faded again, she wondered out loud, “Aren’t these contractions supposed to be farther apart, at least in the beginning?  They’ve been every five minutes for the last 45 minutes.”

Hearing this only made him panic more.  He continued in his, now frantic, rush, gathering his clothes and repeating, “I’ll be right with y…you.  I’m almost done, almost done.  Don’t do any…anything yet.  Not yet.”

If it wasn’t so Gary-like, she may have lost her temper.  As it was, she was picturing an old silent movie, a farce, one they had watched together, in which all the actors were in motion at the same time.  The central character was constantly in motion while the other characters went in and out of doors to create the comedic effects.

Helen and Gary did finally get to the van and chase off to the hospital where Gary’s ‘gift’ was safely delivered before noon that memorable Christmas day when the little square-shouldered baby boy was placed in his father’s quivering arms.   His fuzzy dark hair offset his fair little face.  A small cleft was seen on his tiny chin.  His wee fingers closed tightly around Gary’s finger.  There could be no greater joy of this Christmas holiday than that which this small person brought with him by converting a couple into a family.

As a final comment to those who were wondering, this performance was to be repeated again the following year.  And, from what his friends will tell you, Helen and Gary have plans to perform the same routine in future years—just to keep in practice.

Merry Christmas, every one!    

Email the author: arcane@nethere.com
 

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