Part 3 of 7
CHAPTER ONE

True to its name, through the night the windy city entertained strong winds
from off of Lake Michigan. Along with the winds, it sent rain-laden clouds
over Chicago. Hobson's predawn loft lit up as lightning intruded at the
windows. As if to announce the time of 6:30 a.m., thunder rattled the
windows as an accompaniment to the radio alarm. It was a rude awakening for
the McGinty owner, so abrupt that last night's mood was lost as he admitted
to an impulse to unplug the radio and use it as a discus. There was no time
to plan its demise; the cat's yowl was the next irritant.

Without a welcome, Gary stared down at the feline and snarled, "Why do you
have to do that? Couldn't you just mew gently like other cats do? I don't
mind feeding you, but couldn't you show just the slightest touch of
gratitude once in a while?" As useless as the words were, he felt the
satisfaction of having his say. He brought the paper to the coffee table.
Before reading, he fed the cat. "You're welcome," he said to the greedy
little creature in place of the 'thank you' he'd never receive.

Headlines proclaimed the bad weather that was already upon them, causing
multitudes of disasters. It ranged from road accidents, both of the serious
and not so serious nature to clogged sewers causing flooding to a woman who
slipped on the wet tiles at a store.

"Ya'd think that in this weather, people would have the good sense to stay
home. But no, they're out there, making my job a hundred times more
complicated."

The first catastrophe was scheduled to take place in just over an hour. He'
d have to get his shower in and take to the road immediately. Commuter
traffic was already in full swing throughout the city and wouldn't be
improving until after nine. He wondered why he ever got rid of what Chuck
Fishman called his Paddington Bear wet weather gear. Maybe it was because
of the way Chuck laughed at him when he wore it. 'Maybe' wasn't a question,
actually; he knew he resented it when people mistook him for an object of
ridicule.

He decided to wear a hooded sweatshirt under his leather jacket. It would
have to do; the time was growing short. He stepped out of the front door of
McGinty's not just into a downpour, but also to the discovery that his van
had a flat tire. A few impulsive words came to his mind. Before he could
utter them aloud, a Jeep Pathfinder pulled up to the curb next to him. The
window rolled down and a familiar voice called out for him to get in.
Instinct warned him to hesitate, but he pulled the handle and settled
himself into the front passenger seat.

"You looked like you needed a ride," the voice said, "Where to?"

The 'familiar' voice belonged to the man who came close to pummeling him the
night before when he intervened between Robin and him.

"Before you get out again, let me tell you I'm sorry about that scene last
evening. I'd had a tough day and drank way too much scotch. I'm between
girlfriends right now and, you know, I was feeling my oats in 'man' ways, if
ya get my drift. That Robin. Well, she's always so damned friendly to
everyone that I guess I thought there might be something behind the
attitude. Anyway, I'm sorry, man. I sure 'nough am sorry. You've got a
real sweet girl there."

All that was fine until he added, "For such a little lady, she sure fills
out her clothes right."

Gary stared at him for longer than he intended. It wasn't just the
reference to Robin's shape that bothered him---which it had. It was just
hard to believe that the man was so penitent. He didn't seem all that drunk
at the time, at least, not to Gary. He shrugged and said, "Okay. Forget
it. Were you serious in wanting to act as a taxi service in this weather?
How'd you happen to be here?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. And it's no mystery how I managed to be here now. I
work midnight to 8 a.m. and this is on my way home. I pass McGinty's every
morning about this time. Have for years. Hell, if you'd be open this
early, I'd probably make it my first stop. I'm Curt Franco, by the way, and
I already know you're Gary." He held out his hand, which Gary automatically
accepted and shook.

"Where to?"

A ride is a ride. Gary needed one. Curt was willing to provide one. It
was as easy as that. "If you have the time, I really need to get to the
west side as fast as possible." He provided the address and Curt provided
the conversation. At first it was a commentary about him having moved to
Chicago six years previously. After a while it evolved into asking things
about McGinty's and Gary.

By the time they arrived at the destination that Gary needed, Curt Franco
knew pretty much about the barkeeper's day-to-day life, but not 'all' of it.
Gary often wondered what would happen if someone, like Curt, asked about his
life and he told them, pointblank, about the paper. Most would react just
as Renee did when in a weak moment, he blurted out the truth. Most would
laugh and move on to another subject.

"Ya want me to wait for you?" Curt asked as Gary was leaving the Jeep.

As tempting as it sounded, Gary didn't want to take the chance that he might
have either a witness or someone who might eventually put two and two
together. The other man already had a pretty complete bio on him. "Thanks.
Thanks; I'm not sure how long this will be. I appreciate the ride---a lot.
See ya, Curt." As soon as he stepped into the rain he made a point of
disappearing into the nearest storefront. Watching from the center of the
small business, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the Jeep drive off.

It wasn't that he had to answer Curt's questions. He could have tried to
change the subject, but Gary felt that it might have made him seem
unfriendly, especially after the man had gone out of his way to apologize
and provide him with the ride. From his drop-off location, he was able to
move on toward the intersection where the first rain-caused accident was
scheduled to occur. It only required the performance of a few traffic
control maneuvers to alert the drivers to the dangerous situation.

After that he was kept busy moving from one save to the next, mostly by
taxi. He would never have been able to explain his destinations to Curt,
had he accepted his chauffeuring from location to location.

By noon he had finished the morning duties and walked back into McGinty's,
hair plastered to his face and his clothes soaked. Anything not covered by
the jacket was drenched through and through.

A voice called out from the bar, "Hey, Hobson! Someone dump a pail a water
on ya?"

Crumb. Wouldn't you know that it would be Crumb working this afternoon?

"Hey, Crumb." Gary's voice held no enthusiasm as he asked, "Is Marissa in?"

As irascible as he sounded most of the time, Zeke Crumb was a caring friend,
almost a father figure. Certainly Gary was like a son to him. He had
gotten that impression a long time ago. Crumb gestured silently towards the
office. Gary's shoes made sloshing noises as he entered, causing Marissa to
ask, "Gary? Is that you? What's wrong?"

He tended to slip into sarcasm when he was as hungry as he was at the moment
or as tired and wet as he was, "If the person who sends me this paper wanted
me to take care of things, you'd think that that person would help me out a
little. Just a little, that's all I ask, like making it a clear day. Or
giving me a vehicle without a flat tire. Or, or, or something."

She understood immediately. "Are you okay otherwise?"

"Yeah."

"How about if I ask someone to take something hot up to you while you warm
up in a shower? You need to eat something and to change into some dry
clothes."

It sounded good to him and he had no argument to offer. "Yeah. Yeah, I
think I will." With that, he sloshed his way out and up to his room,
leaving wet footprints in his wake.

The first thing he noticed was that his door was ajar. When he left that
morning, he was in a hurry, but he didn't usually forget to close the door
securely. Too cold, too tired to care, he prepared to shower.

Taking his time to linger beneath the showerhead and allow the hot water to
hit him directly in the face, he then played it on his back until he felt
warmth throughout his body. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went to
choose some fresh clothes.

Before he could return to the bathroom to dress, a knock was heard. "That
you, Marissa?" he called out.

He was startled to hear Robin answer, "No, it's me. I've got a tray with
some food and hot coffee. Can I come in?"

"Uh, uh, count to ten, then come in. I'm just finishing dressing. Thanks,
Robin."

Figuring that she probably put the tray down and returned to the bar, he
took his time. He never cared much for hair dryers so he toweled his hair
one final time and stepped out a find the food. Robin was sitting at the
table, having arranged the lunch for him.

He was no kid, but he didn't need to be naked to feel self-conscious in
front of a woman. Some people, it seemed, were able to take things in
stride. They acted as though everything they did was normal and natural.
If they had to zip up and someone else---like a female---was present, it
didn't bother them any more than it did to scratch their head. Not quite
knowing what to say, Gary scratched his head.

Robin wasn't quite so insecure; she smiled and explained, "Marissa sent up a
corned beef sandwich and lentil soup. You like lentil soup?" You could
tell by her tone that she wasn't a fan of the taste.

"It's okay," he said, sitting down. "Anything hot'll do right now."

Standing up again, she said, "I'd better get back down there. Enjoy. Are
we still scheduled for tonight? It's pretty wet."

He was unsure how to take her observation, "Ya think it's too wet to go
out?"

"No! I mean 'no', I was just asking." She left him to his meal, smiling to
herself as she descended the stairs.


CHAPTER TWO

When he was leaving his loft that evening, he double-checked his door to see
that it clicked shut. He intended to make a point of checking it from now
on. Thinking more about it, he locked it.

The evening went well to a point. Their dinner was excellent. The paper
didn't interfere for a change. The rain was steady and continued throughout
the dinner hour. Their conversation was more awkward than he expected. For
one thing, he was caught up in examining her from close up. He was not into
paying a lot of attention to the employees except to talk to them. Their
looks betrayed their identities, but not their personalities.

He took this opportunity to observe how his dining partner kept pushing an
obstinate lock of hair from her face, how she ordered, how she ate. Now,
that was interesting and just a little strange to him. He was accustomed to
eating a little of everything at once. Robin made an issue of keeping her
different foods separate from each other, eating one type completely before
going on to the next.

He warned himself not to comment on it.

They did find a mutual interest when the talk turned to baseball, the Cubs
in particular. They were his favorite topic. While she followed the Cubs
(didn't everyone in Chicago?), she was more intense in discussing the
Milwaukee Brewers. The two teased and kidded about the teams until it came
time for the theater.

He wasn't sure whether she would object if he placed his arm around her
shoulder, but what does a guy do with his arms? Place them in his lap?
Leave them on the arms of the seats? Rather than try one position after the
other, he threw caution to the wind and put his arm on the back of her seat.
As they were watching, he forgot himself and absentmindedly wrapped his arm
around her shoulder. He almost retracted it when he felt her tense
slightly, but left it where it was so she wouldn't guess that it was not
placed there on purpose.

Leaning over to her at one point, he whispered, "How do you like this
movie?" As he did, he found his nose almost inside of her ear.
Just as awkwardly, she turned to answer, her cheek ending up against his
cheek. Both of them pulled away, self-consciously. Or was it shyly?
Whatever it was, they faced forward the entire rest of the movie.

The evening was uneventful and he took her home, saying goodnight without
more than a squeeze of her hand before saying it. It would have been better
if he had done almost anything else. She closed the door behind her,
feeling about as lonely as she had ever felt in her life. She hadn't
expected a smoldering kiss...or maybe she did. Why hadn't she invited him
in? 'Oh well,' she consoled herself, 'I'm probably not his type.' She
added, 'I'd sure like to be.'

As for Gary, he castigated himself all the way back to the bar for
everything he said or didn't say and everything he did---or didn't do. For
one thing, he wished, really wished, that he had taken the opportunity to
put his face close to hers again. To smell her hair. To just, maybe, brush
a kiss on her cheek. Most women, he found, read too much into that gesture.
He was determined not to scare Robin off with forced affection. But not to
do anything? He just hoped that he didn't give the impression that he felt
nothing about her. 'She probably sees me only as her boss anyway. She's
probably glad that the evening's over.' And he quickly added, 'God knows I'm not!'

Damn!


CHAPTER THREE

Jorge, from McGinty's kitchen staff had had the van's tire repaired and Gary
was able to be his own driver the next morning. Among the saves that
involved motor vehicles, the paper listed a traffic jam that prevented an
ambulance from delivering an injured child to the hospital in time to save
him. It seemed that a white, commercial van had its brakes fail as it
approached a red light, thereby rolling out past the light and ramming into
the side of a bakery truck. Then the van bounced off to involve an
intersection full of vehicles. The injuries were all minor, but the child
in the ambulance died. When he reached the part in the story that described
the location, he felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up.

Driving along, it suddenly occurred to him that he was headed for the very
same intersection, behind the wheel of a white van displaying commercial
plates. At the time that the paper listed for the accident. He felt a
surge of adrenalin when he realized that he could be..that the McGinty's van
was...that he'd better try his brakes before he got any nearer to that
intersection. The brakes seemed a little mushy to him and he slowed the
vehicle, pulling over to park at the side of the street. It was difficult
to tell anything by looking under the van except to see clear liquid on the
wheels that could have been from the streets. A check under the hood,
though, showed the brake fluid reservoir to be nearly empty.

The realization that the accident could have been his fault struck him. For
some time he just sat in the van, making no attempt to call for assistance.
He might have had that child's life on his conscience if he hadn't stopped
to check.

Eventually he left the vehicle to call McGinty's, explaining the problem.
They would take care of the towing and obtaining repair services.

Meanwhile, he walked the short distance to a bus stop and sat down to wait.
He couldn't quite shake the experience off. Over and over in his mind he
saw the events that almost took place. Damaged autos he could live with.
Death? Death was not acceptable, especially when it would have been his
fault.

Still deep in thought, he heard his name being called. Curt Franco was at
curbside---again. "Hop in, Gary. I'm goin' your way if you're headed back
to the bar," he called, a friendly smile on his face.

Buses were not his favorite means of transportation, but a bus would have
allowed Gary the time alone to pull himself together before encountering
anyone. Still, he needed a ride and it would have been rude to refuse the
offer.

"Thanks," he said, as he took his seat in the familiar Jeep. "Don't go out
of your way; just drop me off somewhere in the vicinity and I'll walk the
rest of the way."

Curt chuckled, saying, "I'm goin' right past the place. No problem." He
hesitated a moment then repeated it, "No problem."

When he got to the bar, Gary didn't stop to talk with Vadim or Marissa or
even Robin. He didn't bother answering their hellos, but went, instead,
directly up to the loft. The locked door didn't seem to respond to the key.
He played with the key in the lock a few seconds before he realized that the
door hadn't been locked. He gazed down at the key, puzzled by the strange
occurrence. The last thing he remembered as he left that morning was
purposely locking the door and trying it to be certain.

Gary turned around and returned downstairs, heading for the office. Marissa
was working on the computer. Before she could get any more out than "Hey,
Gary," he asked from the door, "Hi, Marissa, do you happen to know who has a
key to my loft?"

She turned from the monitor, eyebrows raised, commenting, "Anything wrong,
Gary?"

"Well, yeah, I think there might be. I won't even mention the problems the
van had twice this week. What I'm talkin' about is my door. Once it was
left open. Now, I could've done that. I didn't think so, but I could've.
This time, though, I remember distinctly locking the dam..darned door and
testing it when I was leaving today. When I went to unlock it...it wasn't
locked."

Marissa shook her head, perplexed, "Gee, I haven't noticed anything. What's
happened to the van? You mentioned the flat tire, but what happened this
time?"

He related the story about the brakes failing.

"Is it likely that these things are coincidental? That you may have been
mistaken about the door?" When she heard him mutter a negative response to
her suggestion, she said, "We could ask the employees. Maybe Robin did some
cleaning up."

Gary leaned closer and whispered, "I..I've been straightening up the bed
before I leave."

She laughed and responded with a smile, "Why don't you ask the crew?"

This was not a comfortable thought to him. What if his questioning insulted
one of them? After all most of the time they're only trying to be of help.

"Nah, I just, just wanta..go upstairs."

"Gary, is something bothering you?" she asked compassionately.

"No." He shook his head as though she could see it, then said again, "No.
I...I..." Changing his mind then, he decided to tell her about the accident
that he narrowly averted by pulling over before the brakes went out
completely.

"How awful for you," she offered as consolation. "You're so lucky that you
weren't injured. What if you hadn't been as observant as you were?"

"Marissa," he said, trying to impress the gravity of the situation to her,
"I was almost the cause of a little boy dying on route to the hospital. Ya
understand? A kid."

"But it didn't happen, Gary. You were able to keep it from happening
because of the paper. And because of you. Don't beat yourself up for
something that didn't happen."

When he didn't comment, she continued, "You can't take the whole world on
your shoulders. Sometimes I think that you feel responsible for everything
that happens just because you weren't there to prevent it."

He knew she was right. He did feel that he should be able to do something
about every disastrous incident. Wasn't that why he received the paper?
Why would the paper mention the event if it didn't intend for him to
intervene?

He remained so quiet that she almost thought that he had left the room.
"Did you want me to have one of the kitchen crew to see to the van's
towing?"

"I already called and Jorge said that he would take care of it. And,
Marissa?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome, Gary. Have some lunch before you go out again."

"Yeah."


CHAPTER FOUR

He barely had time to climb the stairs and was in the process of pouring
himself some milk prior to lying down for a few minutes when Robin appeared
at the door. It was a surprise, but he was feeling anything but sociable at
the moment. He left the door open for her as he went over to the couch to
finish his milk.

"Can I help you, Robin?" he asked, the morning's event still heavy on his
mind. "Come on in. Want something to drink?"

This wasn't like him, "Thanks, I'm not thirsty. Are you okay, Gary?"
He glanced up at her, nodding in answer. Hoping to erase the morning's
shock, he tried to rub the weariness from his face.

She sat down on the couch. "You don't look so okay to me. What's
bothering you?"

She was the second person to diagnose by psychology in the last half hour.
He didn't look at people and try to analyze them; why did everyone seem to
want to dig into his feelings? He set his glass down on the coffee table
and leaned back against the couch. Gary was about to reach up and rub his
face again when Robin stopped him. She pulled his hands away, saying, "Don't do
that. You're rubbing the wrong way."

He was not in the mood to have someone mothering him---even as to how he was
rubbing his face. He was tempted to verbally strike out at her when she
placed her hands on the sides of his face and methodically began small
circular motions of massage.

"A few years ago I took a class in this stuff. Just lean back and close
your eyes."

"Wait a minute. I don't..." he began to object.

More assertively this time, she said, "Lean back and close your eyes."

Obediently, he rested his head on the back of the couch as she positioned
herself behind him and began a series of massaging motions, beginning at his
temples. She had to shush him once when he attempted to say something.
When she was finished, she asked, "So, how's that?"

"Gary?"

"Gary?"

There was no doubt that he was more relaxed. He had relaxed himself to
sleep. Amused more than surprised, she took a light throw blanket and
covered him before leaving the loft.

CHAPTER FIVE

While Gary was enjoying the sleep of the angels up in the loft, heavenly
bodies were not among the thoughts of the man seated at the bar. His
thoughts had a much more sinister bent as he watched Robin return to her
work behind the bar.

He raised his empty glass as a sign to her that he needed a refill. When
she obliged, he asked, "Hey, Robin. How're things goin' with you and the
boyfriend? Any chance for me to come between you two?" He laughed heartily
at his loaded joke.

Politely, but coolly, she answered, "Here's your drink, Mr. Franco."
Knowing that was not the question, she smiled and added, "Anything else,
just ask Vadim; I have to tend the tables." As she walked away he caught up
with her and whispered something to her. Making it look quite accidental,
Robin spun around, jabbing her elbow into his midsection hard enough to make
him grunt. "Oh, Mr. Franco, I'm so sorry," she purred innocently, "You
startled me. Are you okay?"

Vadim was quick to respond. He had observed the whole scene and left his
post at the bar to station himself between Franco and Robin, asking
tactfully, "Did you call me, Robin?"

Keeping her voice calm and her facial features without a hint of anger, she
patted Vadim on the arm and assured him that she was fine. "Maybe you
should ask Mr. Franco, here, if he's okay."

Franco looked daggers at Vadim, but turned back to the bar, gulped the rest
of his drink and headed out the door.

"Are you really okay, Robin? You want me to refuse to serve him when he
comes in here?" Vadim was sincere in his offer and stood there awaiting her
answer.

"Really, Vadim, I'm fine. He shook me up with an insulting proposal, but I
think he got my point, even if it was the point of my elbow. Thanks
though." She appeared completely cool about the episode, but inside she
felt herself trembling.

A few minutes later the large form of Malcolm Dowry strode into the barroom.
He walked up to the bar and asked for Gary.

"Is Mr. H upstairs, Robin?" Vadim called out in his heavy Russian accent.
She nodded. Before she could add that Gary was up there, but he was
sleeping, Malcolm barged through to the stairway and took the steps three at
a time. He pounded at Gary's door, calling, "C'mon, Gary, I know you're in
there. Open the door. I got somethin' ta tell ya."

Nothing could have slept through the pounding. It roused Gary so abruptly
that it was in a daze that he reluctantly called back, "The door's not
locked, Malcolm."

He stretched and yawned before rising to shake the hand that Malcolm
offered. "How's things, Gary? Ain't seen you in a while." Seeing the
barely awake barkeeper, Dowry asked, "How's the leg, kid?"

Fifteen minutes was not Gary's idea of a nap. It was more like about
forty-five minutes shy of a decent one. He slapped his thigh and nodded his
head as he answered, "Fine. The leg's pretty well healed. What brings you
to my loft today? Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm on a lunch break and I got only a few minutes. So
sit down and hear me out. My problem is your problem so I brought it here."
Curious to find out how he suddenly acquired Malcolm's problem, Gary sat
down opposite his visitor. "Okay, tell me why I have a problem."

"I will, I will. First, ya know how I'm workin' at the construction yard?"
To Gary's nod, he continued, with a silly smirk, "Well, I met someone." As
if Gary should know what that meant, he clammed up and sat back.

"Okay, Malcolm. I'll bite. Who've you met? A girl?"

"Of course, a girl. What'd ya think, a dog?"

Gary was resigned to having to hear it all. He waited for his friend to
continue.

"Anyway, ya see, I get paid ever' Friday. Like clockwork. This girl..well,
she ain't exactly a girl. More like a..a real, real nice woman. She's no
kid, either. I'm not lookin' fer a toy. She works in the office and hands
out the checks."

He looked around and spied the refrigerator, "Ya got somethin' ta drink in
there?" he asked, pointing. "I'm mighty dry." Not waiting for an answer,
he searched the refrigerator for a beer, and then he took his seat again.
"I kinda think this lady's (she's got the manners of a lady, Gary), anyway,
I think she's interested in talkin' ta me. She's got a great laugh. She
asks me how long I've lived in the area. Now, you know, I cain't tell her
anythin' about what I used ta do. Wull, I told her the truth EXCEPT fer the
robbin' part."

Again Gary gave him an enthusiastic nod of approval.

"She asks me if I have a family and I got around ta lettin' her know I ain't
never been married. And ya know what? She ain't never been married
neither!"

Malcolm gave an anguished expression and looked at his friend, saying, "I
guess my question is, do ya think I could seriously pursue the woman?
Actually, I don't know if she would even go out with the likes a me, but I'd
like ta see."

Listening to Malcolm was amazing. It was something out of a TV sitcom.
Gary made sure that he didn't show his amusement. He saw that his friend
was waiting for a reaction. "Sounds pretty good," Gary said, "What's the
problem? You haven't mentioned a problem yet."

"Wull, I sure did," he objected, "What if she asks more about my past? What
if she don't like me? What if I feel she's someone I'd like ta, ta, well,
marry?"

"Whoa! Aren't you jumping over fences that aren't even built yet?" Gary
sat forward. "You need to ask her out. That's the first step, buddy. Take
her to the movies, to dinner...stuff like that. Wear a suit and don't show
up with that shotgun in the truck. Bring her flowers when you pick her up.
Or, better yet, send her some the next day and.."

"Wait there just a minute!" Dowry exploded as he interrupted, "Flowers
before the date is fine. Flowers the next day? What're her friends and
neighbors gonna think? I mean, you know how people are, 'What'd she have ta
do ta earn those?' You know..that sorta stuff."

Without indicating his amazement at Malcolm's naiveti, Gary asked, "Malcolm?
Is this your first date with a female?"

His answer was immediate, "Nah. I went plenty a places with females when I
was in my twenties. Those were young ones though. This lady's, well, this
lady's more mature. She's gentle. And, and sweet. Aw, what's the use?
She'd never go out with someone as...as uncultured as me." He rose to go.

"You're not bein' fair to the lady, Malcolm."

"What dya mean, not fair to her? It's me who ain't exactly a gentleman."
Gary rose too and slapped him on the back, "I mean, give her a chance to say
'no' to going out with you and anything else you might want to ask." He
winked.

"Thanks. And don't be givin' me no 'knowin' winks'. You might be spittin'
out teeth, if ya get my meanin'."

At that, Gary chuckled and closed the door behind him. Imagine. Malcolm
has a crush on someone who works at the same place that he does. 'Not
impossible,' Gary thought, 'but I'd give a week's gross to meet her'.

He had no more than gotten himself a beer from the refrigerator than he
heard a solid knock at his door. He was wide awake this time and walked
over to open it. It was a surprise to see Curt Franco standing there,
holding on to the doorframe to steady himself. He had bypassed the bar and
entered, unnoticed by the staff.

"Curt. C'mon in."

Stumbling over the threshold, Curt made his way to the armchair. He sat
down heavily. At first he didn't speak as though he was mulling over his
words.

Trying to urge him to state his business, Gary asked, "What can I help you
with, Curt?" He reached over to gather his Sun-Times to himself. He hadn't
worried about Malcolm seeing the special edition that he received as
regularly as the clock reached 6:30 every morning. Newspapers didn't seem
to be on Malcolm's reading list. He wasn't sure about Curt Franco. If he
had to admit it, nothing about Franco made him feel comfortable.

Curt Franco slurred his words as he asked, "You and Robin still a 'thing'?
I saw her come down from here and wanted to ask her about it, but didn't
think that she'd answer. You two still goin' out?"

This was not a welcome subject as far as Gary was concerned. "Look, Curt,
you need some coffee. I'm fresh out. Come downstairs with me and I'll get
you a cup."

Rubbing his temples, indicating that he could probably use an aspirin, Curt
refused the offer. "I don't need coffee. She's drivin' me nuts, ya know,
the way she scurries around the bar and such. Can't ya jus' tell me if you
two are still lovey-dovey? Is that why she was up here?"

"Why she was up here is none of your business," Gary shot back, "You've had
too much to drink. Remember last time? If it bothers you to see her, maybe
you should do your drinking at a different bar." Gary walked over to the
door and held it open for Franco.

Curt was quick to comment even with the extra liquor under his belt, "Last
time you had someone backin' you. I'd like to see if you really needed that
backup."

The last thing a businessman needed to do was to get in a physical encounter
with a customer---even an unwelcome one. "C'mon, Franco. Last time you had
too much to drink too. You said so yourself. Let's just pretend that this
meeting never took place. Look for another girl. Robin wants you to leave
her alone."

"Robin does? Or you do?"

"We both do. Be careful on the stairs as you leave."

Curt hesitated for a moment as though considering pushing his point, then he
got up and left, closing the door behind him without saying more.
Relieved to see him go, Gary took his paper to the table and put Curt Franco
out of his thoughts by scanning for any assignments that may have appeared
since earlier.

Part 4 of 7
CHAPTER ONE

There was one item that he hadn't noticed earlier. Usually he caught all
the situations that might produce dire consequences, but this time he must
have either skipped over it or it was new. Either way it was important.
'WOMAN IN COMA AFTER CHOKING ON FOOD.' 'Velma Cornish, 54, of Evanston
choked on a piece of lamb last evening while dining at Pasha's Restaurant .
She collapsed while her husband and children watched in horror. Jerry
Cornish, 56, was in shock and claimed that he didn't recognize what was
happening. By the time a waiter stepped in to assist, Mrs. Cornish had lost
consciousness. She was taken to County General Hospital and is in a coma
due to the length of time that she was without oxygen.'

As serious as it sounded, Gary had tackled similar emergencies before and
was confident that he would be able to make a difference in the outcome.
While he had the van handy, he hated trying to find a convenient place to
park in that area at 10:30 on a Friday night. Switching to sneakers and
uncharacteristically leaving the paper in his loft, he planned to take
advantage of the cool, but not freezing temperature and walk. He'd be able
to arrive in plenty of time to search out the family.

Passing the Rain Forest Cafe, he counted himself lucky that the incident
wasn't scheduled to take place there. It was hard enough to see the next
table amidst all the rain forest theme dicor.

The woman commenced her choking right on cue, or so it seemed, and she and
her shocked family gushed with appreciation for Gary's being there at the
right time. The waiters stood back, astonished at this stranger's entrance,
rescue, and immediate exit.

As for Gary, a feeling of accomplishment brought a satisfied smile to his
face as he walked off in the direction from which he had come. The stores
may have been closed, but Chicago didn't quiet down this early. It was a
few minutes past eleven and the cars streamed on by.

As he paused for a traffic light on a fairly well-lit corner, he heard a
distinctive yowl from atop a nearby newspaper stand. Afraid to look,
begrudging having his day still not over, he closed his eyes momentarily
before turning to what he knew was the 'cat'. Surely other cats must have a
similar sound, but there was not the slightest doubt in his mind that this
was the cat that woke him each and every morning. Again, the cat ordered
his attention with its vocal plea.

"I'm off duty, Cat. The day's over. Give it a rest, will ya?" He gazed at
the cat for a minute, hoping for a reprieve, but knowing there wasn't a
chance that he'd get one.

Reluctantly, he picked up the Sun-Times to verify that it was, indeed, the
one that bore tomorrow's date, tomorrow being very soon. Before reading it,
he checked the area for onlookers. His eyes scanned through the headlines,
searching for any undone tasks.

The headline cried out, 'MAN KILLED IN HIT-RUN ACCIDENT'. It went on to
read, 'Curt Franco, 34, of Chicago, was struck by a speeding pickup truck at
the corner of West Hubbard and Wells last evening at 11:30. Witnesses were
unable to obtain the license of the vehicle, but reported that the victim
had run, full speed, into the path of the truck. They said that the driver
of the pickup had tried to veer around Franco, but that the runner had not
stopped to look and kept up his speed. Franco was pronounced dead at the
scene.'

"Curt Franco!"

As obnoxious and unpleasant as Curt was, that is, is, Gary could not allow
this news item to happen. As he was folding the paper to stuff into his
belt, the cat began to yowl again.

Gary gave him a dirty look, "I'm gonna do it! I'm not gonna let him die.
Don't have a cat fit."

The cat was not giving up.

"What? What?" he asked, almost whining. "More? Ya know, I don't get to
sleep all day like you do."

He saw that there would be no letup until he checked the paper again. On an
opposing page to the Franco article was another dire notice, "WOMAN BEATEN
TO DEATH" 'Police reported being called to an alley off of West Illinois
near Wells by a security guard who had found the body of a woman. It is
believed that sometime between 11:00 pm and 1:00 am last evening, she had
been lured or forced into the alley and attacked brutally. Robbery did not
seem to be a motive and she was fully clothed at the scene. From papers on
the body, it was determined that she was employed at McGinty's Bar, close to
the scene of the crime. At press time her name was being withheld pending
notification of relatives. The murder is the 211th of the year in the
environs of Chicago.' A sub-article elaborated on the crime statistics of
the city for the year.

Gary could feel his heart pounding at the thought of two people dying within
the same time period. Silently and in agony, he asked, 'God, what do you
want of me? I can't be in both places at the same time. Why even tell me
if one of these people is going to die anyway? Do I need this?' There was
no time to stand and remonstrate with himself or anyone else. He knew that
he had to do something and it had to be now!

Marissa had left early that night. Joanna, who was filling in on this busy
Friday to help out wouldn't have been kept this late. That left.. That
meant that it was...

Out loud, he yelled, "NO!" He didn't care that people might have heard his
outburst. As he ran he mapped out his plan. He knew exactly when Franco
would be killed...and where. Maybe, if he could be at the intersection a
little early, he could stop the truck or divert Curt from its path.

But what about Robin? There was no doubt in his mind whatsoever that Robin
was the other victim. Could he tend to the Franco incident and rush over to
avert the one involving Robin?

He was one man. He could do a lot in a day's time, but he was only one man.
Why would he even be informed if he couldn't do anything about it? Was he
being tested, he wondered? No! Even the powers that sent the paper wouldn't be
that cruel. Would they? He hurried on.

Before he knew it, and without fully intending it, he found himself nearly
at the alley mentioned in the article where the woman---where Robin---would
be found. He approached from the opening closest to McGinty's, figuring
that she must have been going to get her car. There was no time to wait
around. He had five minutes to prevent the crime and still be at the
location of Curt's accident. He saw Robin's car parked at street side at
the mouth of the alley. In fact, less than a half block from where he stood
he could see a woman approaching the vehicle. Robin! Robin was still
alive. He could do this! He could be there in time to stop her from
entering the darkness of the death-alley. He yelled, hoping to draw her
attention, but the wind carried his voice away.

Putting on as much speed as possible, he pushed forward, closing the
distance. Suddenly she stopped. It wasn't from him calling, though. A man
stepped out of the darkness and grabbed hold of her arm, then grasped her
around her waist and pulled her into the mouth of the access alley.

"Robin!" Gary yelled it again and again until he entered the alley too.

The man in the darkness had thrown her against a building and she lay
crumbled on the ground. Gary threw himself at the black shadow of a man and
wrestled with him until they both ended up in an oily puddle on the cement.
They traded punches, one on top, then the other. When one of Gary's punches
stunned the other man, Gary gained his feet, ready to confront him again.
There was no light to invade the area and all they were to each other were
dark blobs.

While the other man was getting to his feet Robin groaned, calling out to
Gary and diverting his attention. As he turned back to his target, a solid
left landed at the side of his jaw. He staggered backward against the wall
of the building before slipping to the ground, giving the assailant the
opportunity to run off in the darkness.


CHAPTER TWO

Gary's next moment of awareness came as he heard Robin calling him and felt
her cupping the side of his face.

"Can you get up, Gary?" she asked in a worried tone. His answer was
incoherent and she asked again, adding, "Do you need me to call an
ambulance?"

That was all he needed to bring him to. "No ambulance," he groaned, "I'll
be fine in a minute." He sat up and allowed her to help him to his feet.

She steered him back to McGinty's and settled him into a booth while she
went to find something to clean his face.

While she was gone he searched his clothes for the newspaper, dreading what
he would read. It was gone; the paper was gone. He thought that he must
have lost it in the scuffle. Sick at heart, he sat back and squinched his
eyes shut, knowing that he had let Curt Franco become another statistic to
add to the others. Why did the paper do this to him? He wanted to save
both of them. Didn't he? Maybe 'they' thought that he didn't care about
Curt. Not liking didn't mean not caring.

He was berating 'them' as well as himself when Robin's voice was asking,
"Are you okay? Can you open your eyes?"

He opened them to see her compassionate expression and to reassure her. She
was gentle in dabbing at the muck and blood that covered his face and it was
much appreciated. When she was finished, she placed an ice pack on his left
cheek and instructed him to hold it there.

"Do you want me to help you to bed?"

In bolting upright, he almost lost the icepack in his shock. "Ah, ah, ah, I
'm, I'm, ah, I'm okay. I just need to..to..." At that point he remembered
his paper again and frowned, asking, "Did, ah, did you happen to see my
paper?"

She frowned right back at him, but the corners of her mouth curled upward in
a disbelieving smile, "Your paper? Honestly, Gary, you're all beaten up
from fighting off some maniac and you're worrying about your paper?"

"Well, I was..kinda in the middle of an article.." His voice trailed off,
seeing that she was finding his dilemma humorous. It was useless to ask her
to take him back to the alley. It would have been hopeless anyway, since
the time of Curt Franco's death had come and gone. He was dead and it was
Gary's fault for making a choice of one over the other.

"Come on," she said as she slid out of the booth, offering her hand to
assist him. "I'll see you upstairs and don't worry, I promise that I won't
put you in your 'jammies' and tuck you in." She laughed and smiled. He
returned it with a weak smile of his own, trying not to move too many facial
muscles in the process.

There was no dissuading her; he could tell she was determined to help.
"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

They were able to negotiate the stairs without any difficulty. Once inside
the loft, Robin went directly to turning down the bedding.

"You don't have to do that, Robin. How are you gonna get home? You had a
terrible scare yourself. Ya want me to drive you home?"

"With those eyes? The left one is almost swollen shut; how can you even
see? No, I'll be okay." She turned to go.

"Robin. I don't think you should be going home...at least not alone."

He took one of the pillows from the bed and went to the wardrobe drawer to
take out a blanket, announcing, "You could stay here. I'll take the couch
and you take the bed." Then to break up the mood, he said, kidding,
"Besides, I might need some nursing during the night."

She laughed again, "That's silly. I'm all right. You're the one who got
beaten up. Besides, look at how tall you are. Your feet would hang off of
the end of the couch and I would feel guilty."

Not wanting to argue the point since she seemed to have agreed to stay
there, he took a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts from the drawers for her.
"I, ah, don't have anything that might fit you, but these will cover the
subject, I think. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

"I'm fine, too, Gary. That is, except for being tired."

Later, when she emerged from the bathroom in his oversized clothes, he
forced himself not to laugh. He turned away to hide the smile of amusement
that stole across his eyes and mouth.

"I saw that!" she said as she giggled.

"Sorry. You just looked so much like a little girl that I..."

"Believe me, I'm not a little girl. And..from the size of these duds, you'
re no little boy either!"

She achieved her purpose and saw the crimson blush spread over his features.
With that accomplished, she carefully eased her bruised body onto the couch
and went to sleep.

For Gary, it wasn't a peaceful night. Curt Franco kept invading his dreams.
He didn't utter any accusations, but just appeared with an evil grin on his
face. No words. No 'You could have saved me, but you chose to save her'.
He just grinned.

By morning, when the radio began its news chatter, Gary felt as though he
hadn't slept at all. In order not to waken his guest, he rose and stayed
close to the door, waiting for the paper.

Opening the door at the first cat-sound, he grabbed the paper and tried to
shoo the bossy little feline away. Instead of politely walking off, the cat
slipped between his legs and headed for the kitchen with only the shortest
of pauses to observe the person on the couch.

Whispering, "Okay, okay. But be quiet, will ya. Some people like to
sleep." Going on, he dwelt on the point, sarcastically, "Not me, of
course. Me? I can be awake 24 hours, just to serve the paper---and you, of
course. I can skip meals, skip sleep, skip.."

"Who're you talking to, Gary?" Robin asked from the couch. She saw him
pouring the cat's food and realized who or what it was. Smiling, she
called, "Good morning," with almost the same smile that he remembered just
before falling asleep the night before.

"Mornin'," he answered. "Want some breakfast? I have coffee and, and," he
searched through the refrigerator and cabinets as he spoke. "Ah, I have
some cereal..no bread..a banana.. Oh, hell, I don't have any milk that
doesn't smell. Want me to fix something downstairs?"

"I owe you, big time, for saving me from that crazy person last evening.
How about having me fix something for you downstairs?" She rose and stopped
at the bathroom door, asking, "Towels?"

"In the cabinet next to the door. No extra toothbrush, I'm afraid. Sorry."
Mentally, he made a note to add 'toothbrush' and 'hairbrush' to his list for
the store.

She closed the door and he could hear the shower going a few minutes later.
It gave him an opportunity to sit down and check the paper for the article
that he knew would tear his stomach out. He knew it was there, but had to
look anyway. It was like going to Jeremiah Mason's burial ceremony. He was
to blame for Franco's death. He had released his hold on Franco's life,
allowing him to die.

It was this type of thing that caused him to ponder the benefits of
receiving the paper. He could have saved the man..at the cost of Robin's
death. Or was it? Maybe he could have covered both incidents.

Franco's accident wasn't mentioned at first glance so he went back and began
again from the front page. By the time he arrived at the end of the paper,
he decided to reread it from the back. He paused where he had remembered
the story to have been originally located, but news of a water main bursting
resided in its place now. Putting the paper down, he wondered what had
happened. Perhaps those involved in sending it were so disappointed that
they omitted it in the final run. 'Look at me,' he silently chided, 'giving
personality traits to..what?..the 'powers that be'?'

Robin emerged from the bathroom, back in her clothes from yesterday with her
hair hanging wet and straight at her shoulders. "Okay, next person for the
Hobson shower."

Feeling as though every part of his body held a bruise, Gary gathered fresh
clothes. He purposely carried his paper with him. She asked, amusement
flowing with the words, "You need all that paper in there?"

With no hesitation, he answered, "Yeah, I kinda, kinda, am used to, ah, that
is, I like to, ah.."

Laughing heartily, she commented, "That's all right, Gary, I understand. I'
ll read it later."

She was still laughing after he closed the door.


CHAPTER THREE

McGinty's had weathered the lunch rush. Marissa was sitting at a booth
discussing the expenses with Gary. That is, she thought she was discussing
them with her partner until she heard a strange, but familiar sound coming
from him.

"Gary."

She reached out to confirm for herself that he was lying on his arms on the
table, sleeping. Both sympathetic and slightly irked, she rumpled his hair
and called louder, "Gary!"

He mumbled.

"You weren't even listening, were you?"

Denying everything, he said, "Of course, I was. You were talking about the
need to double our order for, for white wine for the Saturday night crowd."

"Tsk," she clicked her tongue.

"What?"

"That had to have been fifteen minutes ago. What's the matter, Gary? Did
you have a hard morning?"

He whispered as he answered, watching for unwelcome listeners as he did,
"You could say that. Everything was crammed into the same general time
frame. The paper had me literally running from one potential catastrophe to
another all morning. If it gets any worse, I'm gonna have to get some
younger help."

At that remark, Marissa's eyebrows shot up. "Help? And younger help at
that. Anyone particular in mind? Like, maybe, a female bartender?
Like..."

"Marissa! I'm not joking. I almost missed the kid who had planned to ride
his bike across a board that he placed between two apartment buildings. He
was showin' off for his friends. The board would not have held his and the
bike's weight when he reached the middle of it. A minute or two longer and
I would have been too late to stop him."

Marissa had a way of sounding helpful, yet trying to work some humor into
the situation. "Maybe you're right, Gary. Maybe you do need help. Maybe
you're just too old to be doing all these physically demanding tasks. You've been
at this a long time now." Not getting enough mileage out of her attempt to rile him,
she added, "How old did you say Lucius Snow was when he died? Maybe he just
looked old from doing all this."

"Thanks, Marissa. I try to explain why I'm tired and you give me a hard
time. I think I'll go upstairs and take a shower."

"Didn't you have time to take one this morning?"

He really wished he were out of this conversation, but he answered her
anyway, "Well, yes, Marissa. Thank you for asking. And I brushed my teeth,
too." Instantly regretting his curt response to her, he explained, "Ya see,
by the time I got to take a shower, the hot water was almost gone."

Marissa was beginning to regret her giddiness and, to show some compassion
for him, offered, "Do you have a problem with your hot water? Didn't we
just replace the tank?"

"No, the water heater is fine. It would have been okay if Robin hadn't
taken such a long shower this...."

Uh-oh. He had just made a very large mistake. It must be the lack of sleep
that caused him to drop his guard. Whatever it was, the words were out and,
from the expression on her face, she was about to launch a barrage of
questions that he was hesitant to answer.

Before Marissa could begin, Crumb approached and greeted him with a loud
"Hobson! You look like hell."

Gary mumbled something like, 'Everyone's a critic.' "Hey, Crumb. Did you
find that note from the delivery guy? He..."

"Holy cow, Hobson!" Crumb had just gotten a full view of Gary's face. "Was
it the same steamroller that got Curt Franco?"

The name, Curt Franco, struck him in the pit of his stomach. Or was that
hunger? Whatever it was, how did Crumb know?

"Steamroller? Wha-wha-what're you talkin' about?"

Crumb exposed a mischievous grin and said, "I'm talkin' about youse two
havin' matchin' faces. That's what I'm talkin' about."

"How did you know about Curt? Was it in the paper?"

Marissa sat by, confused by all the talk about matching faces and the paper.
Zeke Crumb figured that Gary was pulling his leg. "If ya's must know, I saw
Curt comin' outta Steve's Diner this mornin'. He musta had breakfast there.
His face was a whole lot like yours---like fresh hamburger. Ya wanta tell
us what happened?"

Gary looked up, his face swollen and he stated emphatically, plainly, "No!"
Then he followed that up with a question asked in a much softer tone, "Did
you really see Curt? Walking? Are you sure it was him?"

"His face was all beat up, but it was him all right. He was wearin' a
different jacket, but I saw him get inta his 'Ute'."

The blood had drained from Gary's face. Not just from the news that he hadn
't been killed, even after Gary failed to save him, but from the implication
that it very likely was he who Gary was fighting in the alley.

"You okay, kid?" Crumb asked. "Lemme get ya some brandy. That'll fix ya
up. You're white as a ghost." He wandered off towards the bar.

Marissa decided to let the Robin question rest until a later time. She
wanted to know about the Curt question first. "Well. Are you going to tell
me? It seems I've missed out on a lot over night."

Reluctantly, Gary related the occurrences of the previous fourteen hours.
He included the part where Robin spent the night---on the couch. At the end
of it Marissa asked, "Do you think that you should notify Armstrong..or
Toni? Curt was going to kill her. You know that, don't you?"

Crumb handed him a coffee and a glass of brandy, then excused himself to
return to work.

"It's been bothering me all morning, Marissa. How can I tell the cops about
Franco 'wanting' to kill her or me? People can't be arrested for 'wanting'
to commit a crime. And how would I explain about how I knew about it? They'd lock me up!"

"You're right, of course, but what are you going to do? He may try it
again. You can't protect her and you can't watch him every minute."

He rubbed his hand through his hair. "I know. I know."

She hoped to change the subject and asked, "Have you and Robin been going
out any more?"

"That's a question that I can answer, but I can't answer your next question
about why not. I like her, but I can't ask her to compete with the paper.
It's not fair."

Marissa kept at it, "Not to bring up Lucius Snow again, but didn't he tell
you to live your life? Wake up, Gary. This is your life, that life he told
you to grab on to and live."

"How? Just how do I go about living my life when the paper uses my life for
assignments? Crumb was right. I look like hell. That's from living for
the paper."

She had to admit he had more questions than she could provide with answers.
"You'll have to work on it as if it had first priority. I know you want a
wife and a family. You deserve to have them. Well, partner, they're not
going to walk up to this table and say, "Gary, there's something that I want
to talk to you about."

He was nodding at her advice when Robin walked up to their booth and said,

"Gary, there's something that I want to talk to you about. Do you have
time?"

Gary and his blind partner exchanged glances and a duet of "Oh boy!"

Getting up from the table, he said, "Yeah, ah, yeah, I do. Excuse me,
Marissa, I'm gonna take an old newspaper typesetter's advice."


CHAPTER FOUR

"Do you want to use a booth for this talk?"

Robin looked at him, questioningly, "Is there somewhere more private? I don't want anyone to overhear."

'Oh boy,' he thought, 'Oh boy. To paraphrase the astronauts, Houston, we
got problems.'

"Ah, maybe we should, should, ah, use the loft for this discussion."

"Yes. That would be better." She marched on ahead of him to his door.
Offering her a seat on the couch, he sat down opposite her. He waited for
her to speak.

Robin was searching for where to begin. She, observing him, saw that he
was being patient. "Okay," she began, "Here's how I see it. See if you
agree. Some guy, some nut grabs me and before he can do anything, you
appear and the two of you beat each other up. He takes off. Sound right?"

Gary nodded. This was not the conversation that he thought she was going to
present. It was not the subject that he was particularly dreading. He
thought she was going to tell him that they had nothing to look forward to
in a relationship. He was dreading that she might be telling him not to
bother her any more.

In answer to her question, he said, "Sounds accurate."

"Okay then, stop me if I'm being too assuming, but I think that the man in
the alley was Curt Franco. And I think he was going to do some serious
damage. What do you think?"

Gary nodded, "That thought had crossed my mind. What can we do about it?
If we're right, you're still in danger. He was interrupted. That doesn't
change his plan; it just postpones it. Can you go out of town for a couple
weeks? Maybe it'll allow him to cool off and rethink this."

She didn't look very receptive to his idea, "Me running and hiding won't
change anything. I think that he knew that you were there. If he didn't at
the time, certainly he does now. Enough people have seen the two of you.
Like Crumb, they can do the math. I guess what I'm saying is that you're in
as much danger as I would be."

Gary protested, "You don't know that."

"No, I don't know that. And we don't know that he was the one in the alley.
And, besides, surely he'll repent and mend his ways and leave the two of us
alone. Somehow, I don't see that as plausible."

"Now you're being facetious, but I understand what you're trying to say.
Aside from going away together, we're gonna have to face him again before
this will be over. The trouble is, I'd rather see him coming at me than
not. Ya know?"

A worried expression filled her face, "Yeah, I know. What are you planning
to do?"

Gary shook his head, saying, "I don't know. Meanwhile, do you have a place
to stay for even a few days other than your apartment?" He moved over to
sit next to her on the couch. Taking her hand, he admitted, "I'm worried
about you. You mean a lot to me and I can't afford to be responsible for
you being hurt."

His hand felt comforting and safe in hers and she placed her other hand over
his as she said softly, "Your friendship means a lot to me too."

It was enough encouragement for him to venture further, "I, I would like to
have us move past the 'friendship' stage if you feel that you'd be
interested."

She looked up into his eyes. 'Bad move,' she thought, 'how can I make a
decision like that while I'm looking into eyes like his?'

Confused, she asked, "But, I thought.. You didn't seem to be..."

He released her hand then and rubbed his fingers through his hair, trying to
choose the right words, "Ya know, Robin, I've been married before." She
nodded and he continued, "That makes me not too good a marriage risk."

She frowned, "What would that have to do with being a 'risk'?"

"It has a lot to do with it. Fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce.
I've worked with numbers and that's one big risk!"

Arguing, she countered, "Working with numbers or not, numbers are not what
makes a marriage fail; people do. We're not kids and, besides, we're
talking dating, are we not?" To lighten the mood, she added, "You haven't
published the wedding bans yet, have you?"

They both laughed.

"That's better," Robin said, "Let's take this slow and keep it light.
Neither of us needs to rush into anything. We can just enjoy each other's
company." She leaned on his shoulder then and said, "Cause I know that I'm
enjoying your company right now."

He wrapped his arms around her and they sat there in the quiet of the loft.
Nothing had been settled about Curt Franco. What they had 'settled' was
something vastly more important to them at the moment.


CHAPTER FIVE

A few blocks away from McGinty's, Curt Franco sat at the bar surrounded by
several people he worked with. One of them brought up the subject of Curt's
facial injuries. "Hey, Franco! Your girl must be one tough mama!"

"Lay off, Justin. Keep your thoughts to y'self about my girl. She's a
delicate flower."

One of the other's joined in the ribbing, "That's right, Justin, his girl's
a delicate..bartender down at McGinty's. Only I heard that she's really
Hobson's girl, not his."

Curt turned and glared at the man, "She works for Hobson, that's all. She
belongs to me. If you don't want a mouthful of my fist, shut up!"

"Take it easy, Franco, we're just havin' a little fun."

Curt coughed and growled at them, "A little fun is fine, but leave my girl
out of it. I'm thinkin' a marryin' her."

Someone at the far end of the group asked, "Won't you have to ask her boss
first?"

Franco gave a fake laugh and said, "Her boss is not even in this."

Another man called out, "I heard YOUR girl is sleeping with her boss."

Franco stood up abruptly and confronted his antagonizer with a fist in his
face, threatening, "One more word about her sleepin' with anyone and you or
any of you other guys will see what this feels like."

"Come on, Franco, it's all in fun. He's just kidding because Hobson has the
bar and all we got is union dues and fringe benefits. How're you gonna
compete with that?"

Curt Franco went back to the bar stool and took another gulp of his drink.
Not wanting to let the excitement die, the man on his right asked, "How many
rounds did you and Hobson go to get those matching black eyes?"

Another voice farther away piped up, "Yeah, I heard that his eyes were in
the same condition as yours. But then, he's got a cute little nurse on the
staff there---at the bar."

One of the others commented, "I've seen her and I wouldn't mind havin' her
as my nurse."

Franco got up from the stool and faced the bunch, snarling, "Have your
laugh, you brayin' jackasses. We'll see whose girl she is. We'll see if he
can hang on to her." Slamming his money on the bar, he stormed out into
Chicago's early morning hours.


Part 5 of 7
CHAPTER 1

Marissa was aware of someone entering her office and sitting down opposite
her. From the familiar leather smell, she greeted the visitor with "Hey,
Gary. What did the printer say? Will the new menus be ready Friday?"

"I don't know. I didn't go there yet; the proofs are still in the van.
There's an 'errand' that I need to attend to in that area later this
afternoon. I'll try then."

Definitely disappointed, she asked, "We really need to give them enough
time. I wish you'd have told me that you weren't planning to go there this
morning; I would've asked Robin or..."

"No! Don't ask Robin to go out on errands. That is, she's needed here
more. I didn't say I wouldn't go, I just, just decided to go later, that's
all. I'm still planning to give them the final copy approval."

"Oooh-kay. Please let me know if something comes up to prevent you from
taking those proofs today, though."

"Sure."

He was so quiet that it prompted her to ask, "Is everything okay, Gary?
Were you able to be at all the places on time?"

"Yeah."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything went fine."

She persisted, "Something's wrong. What is it?"

"Oh, something's screwy with the paper. It keeps warning me..about, about
stuff. Like not going to that printer. That kind of thing."

"Gary," she responded, "why would the paper warn you not to go to the
printer? How did it warn you?"

He knew that he shouldn't have mentioned it. Nothing ever slipped past her.
Now she'd be on his case until he divulged the whole thing. He should have
known better. "Ya see, when I read the paper this morning, it did 'it'
again."

Interrupting him, she asked, "What did it do again?"

He lowered his voice to answer, "It had an item telling of my...my..my
death."

"Gary!"

"I don't know what's going on with the paper, Marissa. Maybe they got a
wrench caught in the presses or something. All morning long, it's been
announcing that I'm gonna be killed getting out of the van at the printer's.
Some vehicle comes along and hits the van door as I step out and, and I'm
supposed to be pronounced dead at the scene."

"No, Gary! You're not 'supposed' to be pronounced anything! You're
supposed to be forewarned, that's all! It's okay to postpone going to the
printer..or why don't you park in another location?"

"I tried all those maneuvers, but every time I'd change something, the paper
would change the time or location or, or, or whatever!" She didn't need to
ask, he had already decided, "I'll try again this afternoon."

Her voice took on a concerned sound, "I had no idea. I should have more
faith in you, Gary. Sometimes I'm so used to how others procrastinate that
I attribute the fault to everyone. Ever since that day that I went to the
post office in your place when you kept forgetting it, you know: the
payroll taxes. Well, you promised that you would be more faithful to your
promises---and you have been. Forgive me. Do you want me to have someone
else go?"

"No. No, I'll get there, but it'll have to depend on what the paper says.
It seems as though it just doesn't want me to go to that print shop. When
it takes the time to warn me, I tend to take that warning seriously." He
checked his paper and then his watch. "I've gotta go, Marissa. Don't
worry. I'll keep an eye on the paper."

"Thanks, Gary, good partners don't come along every day. Take care."

"I will."


CHAPTER TWO

He found it strange that his death was not announced for any other errand
sites---just the one at the printer. It was as though the hit and run
driver was waiting around at the print shop. He guessed that it must mean
that it wasn't meant that he had to die that day, just that he had to die if
he went near the printer. Screwy paper! It also meant that he would ask
Zeke Crumb to go there for him.

Once the afternoon assignments were over, he returned to the bar. The paper
didn't present any more Gary Hobson obituaries for the rest of the day.
When it came time to close he found that he and Robin were the only ones
left to finish the preparations for the next day.

"Do you mind if I put some music on, Gary? I'm feeling kind of melancholy
and sometimes it helps to hear some soft tunes."

Gary went over to the CD player and chose an older one, 'You Are the Wind
Beneath My Wings'. "This song tends to perk me up. Any problem in
particular bothering you tonight?"

Robin wiped off the bar as she answered, "It's not so much a problem, I
guess. Sometimes I just feel lonely. It's been so busy today that it's
actually probably tiredness." She continued with the bar.

Gary came over to where she was and took the cloth out of her hand, walking
her over to the middle of a clear space and proceeded to dance with her.

"Maybe we both need a break," he said as he swayed in time to the melody.

"I didn't know you liked to dance, Gary," she whispered. "There's really a
lot that I don't know about you. We haven't done much talking outside of
the bar business."

"Mmm," he murmured, as he leaned his head on hers.

"When did you learn to dance? In school?"

Straightening up, he smiled and said, "I learned to dance to rock in high
school. It was impossible to be in high school and NOT learn rock.
Besides, it didn't matter much what moves you made as long as they were in
time to the beat."

"This isn't exactly rock."

He settled his face affectionately on hers and admitted, a little
embarrassed, "Yeah. My mom kinda made me learn some ballroom dancing. Dad
would stand by and just grin, amused by her attempts to teach an awkward
teenager the finer points of, mostly, slow dancing. She threw in a little
waltzing and added a taste of her favorite---the jitterbug. I think she
wished that Dad would break in and dance with her."

Robin could feel him chuckle deep inside as he relived his lessons. She
clung tightly to him, the music and the mood matching perfectly.
He whispered into her hair, "I'm glad you didn't get a glimpse of me trying
to jitterbug. The stuff they did with their feet! I ended up flat on my,
ah, ah... I fell flat on the floor once."

It was her turn to chuckle and he felt the tremor from deep inside. They
danced to this and a few more slow songs before she broke away, saying, "It'
s really late. I'd better be going."

"Ya wanta come up and watch a movie before you go?"

Checking her watch, she gave him a disbelieving look.

He argued, "I'll make some coffee. You won't believe how nice and peaceful
it is up there when everything down here is closed up. How about it? I've
even been known to make popcorn."

She was so hesitant that he almost gave up. "If you don't like the movie,
we can just turn it off. And, from checking the work schedule, I happen to
know that you're not gonna be on duty until four in the afternoon tomorrow."

"What about you? Don't you have to be up early?"

He smiled as he said, "Don't worry about me. I have a foolproof alarm
system." It was foolproof all right, between the radio alarm and the cat,
he didn't stand a chance of oversleeping.

Her smile wiped away the tiredness of the day. They finished up, turned off
the lights and headed upstairs for a late, late movie.

The movie that they settled on, 'China Town', had not improved with age.
Even the coffee couldn't seem to keep them awake. Finally, she said, "I'm
sorry, Gary, I'm just too tired to watch this. It's time for me to go."

He had been enjoying sitting close, his arm wrapped around her. The movie
could have been anything; he couldn't care less.

"Don't take this wrong, Robin, but how about spending the night?" To her
wary expression, he continued, "I said don't take this wrong, didn't I? I
meant the couch is already warm and you're too tired to drive."

"How do you know whether I'm too tired to drive?"

"Because I'm too tired to have you drive."

They laughed again. "Look, Robin, you take the bed. That way I won't
disturb you when I move around in the morning."

"You know what I said last time. First off, the couch is too small for you.
Second, from personal experience, I happen to know that the couch is a
backbreaker."

He pondered it, knowing she was right. "Well, then, that's settled."

She looked at him as though he was a crazy man, asking, "What? What's
settled? Did I miss something?"

"We'll both take the bed!"

"Gary."

"Here's my plan: You get to sleep under the covers; I'll take another
blanket and sleep on top, er, of the covers."

She glanced over at the bed, appraising the idea.

He anticipated her warning, one hand over his heart, the other in the air as
he said, "I promise. No funny business. Trust me."

"I think I've heard that 'trust me' phrase before."

"Not by me." He placed his hands at the sides of her shoulders, looking
directly into her eyes, "You can trust me."

She followed him over to the wardrobe to receive the sweatshirt and sweat
shorts before retiring to the bathroom to change. When she came out again,
she said, facetiously, "Remind me to bring a toothbrush and pajamas next
time I come to work." In answer to the ready smirk that flashed on his
face, she added, "Not that I will."

By the time that he emerged from the bathroom, ready for bed, she was sound
asleep. He was careful to slide onto the bed gently, hoping not to awaken
her. Lying awake a few minutes, he looked up at the shadows produced on the
ceiling by the outside streetlights, thinking how tranquil it felt to have
her at his side, whatever the conditions.


CHAPTER THREE

Across the street, a black Jeep Pathfinder was parked, its inhabitant
seething as he watched Hobson and Robin dancing after McGinty's business
hours were over. He had stopped originally to try to get a glimpse of
Robin, maybe even to follow her home. Instead of finishing her working day
and leaving, she and Hobson danced for a while, then they turned out the
lights. While he sat there trying to decide whether to leave or wait, he
saw the upstairs apartment lights go on. He was still waiting when the
upstairs lights went off and his mood became as dark as those windows.

Curt Franco went on home. He had taken the week off because of the taunting
about his face. In his heart he still held the false hope that Robin would
wake up and dump Hobson and, maybe, her job too.

He went into his bedroom and pulled a case out from under his bed. Setting
it on the bed, he opened it and lovingly caressed the special edition of a
Winchester that he had bought some years ago. Those were his hunting years.

He used to take his vacation every November and go deer hunting in the wilds
of northern Wisconsin. He and some of the others from work would rent a
cabin from a farmer and spend the week tromping the woods in search of deer.

There wasn't a year that they didn't bag one for each of the hunters. One
year they just suddenly stopped going. He kept the rifle in hopes of
someday taking a son and doing it again. No son. No hunting.

Taking out the rifle then, he checked it out and cleaned it. Reaching into
the ammo compartment, he loaded it and spent a few minutes sighting in on
various things around the room. Gad, the Winchester felt good in his hands.
He really should try it out again.

At first he thought that it might be a good way to scare Hobson into leaving
Robin alone. Maybe a bullet into the front tire of the van. Or, how about
one shattering shot to the rear window? He just wanted something to catch
Hobson's attention. Something obvious, but not traceable to the shooter.
Maybe he'd start with the tire.

After a couple times Hobson might connect the act with the motive. He might
suspect, but there was no way in hell that he would be able to prove it.

With his anger diverted to a course of action, Curt Franco went to bed more
relaxed, his plan about to be put in place.


CHAPTER FOUR

Robin plucked Gary's arm off of her and slid silently out of bed. She
showered early and gathered her things together. As Gary's alarm went off,
so did the noise from his cat. She knew he denied ownership of that tabby,
but most people just snickered to themselves when he did.

She opened the door to admit the cat, picking up the paper as the meowing
feline darted into the loft. Gary reached for where the alarm usually was
and only received a handful of pillow for his efforts. Remembering who had
been on the pillow, he looked around bleary-eyed. He finally reached the
alarm and arose to see to the paper. He could hear Robin in the shower.

That was when he noticed the cat prowling around, impatient that his food
was not presented. "Keep your fur on, Cat. Where's the paper?" He stuck
his head outside the door; then he began prowling around the loft himself.

He found the paper neatly laid out on the coffee table. His nerves were
tingling with the thought of Robin having possibly read it. It didn't look
as though it had been disturbed. He relaxed.

If he had the day off, it was a cinch that he wouldn't be up and moving
around at 6:30 in the morning. Maybe she was a morning person. 'I could
learn to be,' he thought, with a mischievous smile.

His first 'save' looked to be scheduled for 8:00, followed by another at
9:30. It should be enough time, he observed. After that, his next one was
for 11:30. Following that one he could stop by the construction yard and
see if Malcolm would like to go to lunch. He might even get an introduction
to the lucky girl that Malcolm had his eyes on. His friends might laugh at
the big, rough at the edges, former thief being in love. Love improves
everyone and everyone's disposition. He was certain of that.

From the sounds coming from the bathroom, Robin had decided to take convert
her shower to a leisurely bath. Taking his clothes with him, Gary went down
to the men's room and dressed hurriedly. No one was expected in this early,
but, well, a semi-public bathroom was not confidence inspiring. He'd have
to skip the shave until later and the shower as well. The best he could
hope for was hot water to wash up with.

Slipping on his boots, he stuffed his wallet into his pocket and the
newspaper into his belt and headed out to the van. Just as he pulled out of
the alley he heard a pop and felt the front tire go soft. He got out of the
van, knowing inwardly what he'd find even before he saw it. 'It's that
damned front tire again!' he said under his breath as he gave the tire an
angry kick. Looking up to the sky, he asked himself in disgust, 'Is there a
black cloud over McGinty's?' He pulled the van into a parking place and
left it to go into the bar and call a cab.

The morning went by quickly, leaving two people at the 8:00 time period and
three people at the 9:30 time period alive and happy. The saves were not
particularly demanding, but the results were spectacular. Instead of four
dead and one serious injured, no one was dead or hurt. It was the type of
morning he liked.

The 11:30 assignment was a matter of removing an obstacle from the path of a
pedestrian. Five minutes of effort became the difference between someone
spending months in pain or going on with his life, oblivious of the danger.

Malcolm was out on a delivery to a construction site so Gary took a
leisurely ride back to the bar by way of the EL. Even with the van trouble,
he was in a good mood, enjoying people-watching while the elevated train
made its way through the downtown streets. Back at the bar the noise levels
were reasonably high, but business was good and people were laughing.

He searched out Marissa. Sitting alone at the last booth, she was having
her lunch. "Hey, Gary," she said as he slid into the booth opposite her.

"You're giving off good vibes today. What's up?"

In guarded tones, he explained about the van first and then he gave her a
play by play of the saves. A lull in their conversation prompted him to
say, "Well..?"

Her face showed puzzlement over his question and she asked, "Well..what?"

He smiled, "Did Emmett ask a certain lady an important question?"

Her joy showed in her voice and smile, "He did."

"And you said..?" When she hesitated in answering, he pleaded, "Come on,
Marissa, don't make me beg."

"We're planning a March wedding. Do you think that's enough time?"

Mischievously, he answered, "That depends on what it is you're planning to
do."

She reached across the table, trying to slap his hand, but only succeeded in
slapping a fork to the floor and they both laughed. "Gary Hobson!" she said
reprovingly, "I'm going to pretend that I don't know what you have on your
mind, but as for me, I'm planning on a formal ceremony at my church. That
takes time, I know, but the pastor's wife, Loretta, has volunteered to help
me."

Gary patted her hand affectionately, saying, "Then you should do fine. I
hope you know how happy I am about this. He's a good guy, but just the
same, he'd better treat you right."

She found it difficult trying to picture Gary 'getting tough' with Emmett.
"All right," she said, "you know my news; how's Malcolm's wedding coming?
Do you have your tux ready?"

He answered, "If Malcolm had his way, I'd be wearing jeans and a flannel
shirt---and he probably would too."

"He's not, is he? I mean, he's not going to be in charge of those things,
is he?"

"You know," Gary said, "his future wife is a real jewel. What he lacks in
taste or class or whatever it's called, she supplies. He was right when he
referred to her as a lady. I guess she sees qualities in him that are
hidden to the rest of us."

Marissa asked then, "Do they have a date set?

"Ununh, but it's gonna be sometime after the new year. That could be
anywhere between January first and December 31st of next year."

Quietly, she asked, "And how about yours?"

"What about my..what?" As soon as he said it, he saw a knowing look on her
face.

"Have you and Robin set a date?"

He wanted to raise his voice. Looking around to see who else may have
heard, he said, "Marissa!" Then, lowering his voice, he asked, "Uh, what
have you heard?"

A smug look on her face now, she said, innocently, "Oh, nothing. Nothing at
all. Just asking."

"Did you hear anything? I mean, maybe from her..from Robin?"

"Not in so many words, Gary. She has been heard humming though. She asks
about you the minute she shows up for work, that is, when she's actually
gone home the night before."

Gary sat like a stone statue, shocked with what he had just heard from his
partner. Irritation obvious in his voice, he asked, "And what's that
supposed to mean?" Reconsidering his question because he feared her frank
answer, he stopped her from answering by saying, "No, no, never mind." In a
far meeker attitude than that which he started with, he asked, "You knew
about that, huh?"

"Gary. Everybody knows about the late night, ah, discussions. If the two
of you weren't such late risers, the secret could have remained a secret. I
was suspicious the first time that you commented that she had already picked
up your towels and brought them down. What did you think? It was hours
before she was supposed to be here for work---and she had just gone home?
Really."

Almost penitent, he said, "Would it make a difference if I admitted that I
love her? I don't just think that I love her, Marissa, I really love her."

Marissa cocked her head in thought before commenting. She could please him
with one answer, but she'd already decided that that wasn't the answer that
he was going to hear. "Have you thought about what message this gives to
others?"

"I don't care about 'messages'."

"Then what about her?" Marissa asked.

"Weren't you listening when I said that I love her? That's not something
that I say about everyone...and...and it's not something I say frivolously.
I want to marry her."

Marissa had the uncanny way of saying a lot in a word or two. "Why?" she
asked in what sounded like innocence.

As he began sliding towards the end of the booth, he said, afraid that he
might say something they'd both regret, "I don't think I want to continue
this conversation."

Keeping on the subject, she asked, "Why do you want to marry her? Last year
you didn't want to marry her. Three years ago you didn't want to marry her.
What happened? Is it because she's obviously infatuated with you? I'll
tell you, Gary, that's not a good enough reason."

Her frankness had just crossed the line to rudeness in his eyes, "Just a
minute, Marissa. Now you've gone too far. We're not joking and we're not
talking about high school crushes.."

She interrupted, "You've got the rest of us fooled in that regard."

Raising his voice, he said, "Marissa! Last year and three years ago and
even before that, I hardly had time to notice that she was here. Why can't
you just believe me when I say that I wish that she'd never go home. I wish
she could be in my arms forever. Don't you think I've given this serious
consideration?"

"Slide back in this booth, Gary Hobson! You're not getting away until I
tell you all that's on my mind."

"I think you've already done that, haven't you?"

She returned his comment with a firm, "Not nearly! Gary, you know that I
love you like a brother." She could feel the tension in the air, "Admit it.
You know that I care. Why would I go to all this trouble and take a chance
on destroying our friendship forever if I didn't care? I care about Robin
too. What does she think about the paper? Or have you told her? Have you
considered that she could be really hurt by you?"

"Hurt? Never!" he protested, "I wouldn't do anything to hurt her." Giving
her comment a second thought, he asked, "What do you think I should do? And
don't say that I shouldn't 'see' her again. That's not a possibility."

She smiled broadly at him. "That's what I wanted to hear you say, Gary
Hobson. I want to know that my partner has thought this through
completely."

"Oh, I have. I've been unable to concentrate on anything else. I just hope
she feels the same."

Still smiling, Marissa commented, "Oh, she does, Gary. In fact, I talked
with her and she told me essentially the same thing."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what, Gary?"

"Do that! You know what. You make me feel like a kid caught doing
something that he shouldn't."

"Gary, that's called a guilty conscience. I didn't give it to you; you
claimed it. I'm proud of you for using more than your emotions in this
decision. But, Gary..."

"Yeah."

"Don't make any mistakes here. Robin is not your wife. She doesn't belong
to you any more than she belongs to that crazy Curt Franco. If you make her
think that she does, you're going to cause her immense pain if this doesn't
work out the way you think it will."

His mood changed instantly to one of irritation, almost anger, "Don't you
think I know that? I know that neither she nor anyone else 'belongs' to me.
God, what I wouldn't give if she did---right now!" He hesitated a moment,
then added, "And don't tell her that I said that! I'm going up to shower.
He slid out of the booth and Marissa did the same. Closing in on him, she
hugged him tightly, whispering for his ears only, "She's a lucky girl, Gary.
And you're a lucky man. I know you'll do the right thing. I love you.
Now, go tell her that and ask her."

He kissed her on the cheek, "Marissa, I love you too. You're a tough lady,
but you're the best."

"Save it for her, Gary."


CHAPTER FIVE

After his shower, he sat down to check on the four o'clock save that would
be the last of the day. No change. Someone named Ted Horton was scheduled
to need an assist off of the railroad track. He had tried to sneak through
the light along with the other traffic as the train was coming and the other
traffic stopped, blocking Ed's ability to clear the track. Even though the
rest of the cars would begin to move, Ted's vehicle didn't have fuel
injection and he would have a flooded engine when he panicked and tried to
floor the gas pedal.

Gary planned to try out the new reinforced bumper that he had installed on
the front of the van for this purpose. The mechanic looked at him as though
he were missing a few marbles when he told him that he ran a bar. The
mechanic's look said it all.

As he set the paper down to take another drink of milk, the cat began its
usual racket. If only it would purr, or meow quietly, anything except the
noise.

"Okay, okay, I get your point. I'll look."

He could complain and rebel all he wanted, but he had come to learn that the
cat would not quiet down until he searched for the new item.

"No. Not again." He found it. In fact, he recognized the picture
accompanying the story. "SNIPER KILLS BAR OWNER." The story went on:
'During the heavy traffic of the evening commute, bar owner, Gary Hobson,
36, was fatally shot and killed by a bullet from a high powered rifle.
Police are checking to determine whether the sniper who has been plaguing
the Detroit area has moved down to Chicago. Anyone with information is
asked to call the CPD.'

'What is it with this paper? Lindsey is not old enough to take over the
paper. Why am I getting my fifteen minutes of fame every day?' The only
way he knew to avoid this headline was to check the location of the shooting
and stay off of it. He mapped out a new route for his return to McGinty's
and rechecked the article.

As he was rereading the headline, the copy was changing before his eyes to
the new location. He tried to remap several more times, but the facts
changed according to his changes.

'Well, I have to go to Ted's rescue regardless of what happens on the way
back,' he thought, 'I'm not quite sure how I'm gonna avoid being shot on the
way back, but I'm going anyway.'

Gary remembered the first time that he had read his own obituary in the
paper. He was scheduled to die in a sub-basement of a carpet store. There
was no way he could avoid the situation unless he had allowed those two
teens to die in his place. He would do whatever he could to prevent it from
happening, but he'd better prepare for the worst.

Pulling the phone closer, he dialed his parents. If he was going, he was
going to have their voices in his memory. The damned message machine was on
duty again. Didn't they ever stay home? His depression was deepening as he
tried to think of what else he needed to do in case he didn't live to see
tomorrow. After the first scare of reading his own obituary, he had made it
a priority to make out a will. It wasn't as though he had a family to leave
anything to; he left whatever was there to Marissa. She was his closest
friend, his most loyal supporter. No, he covered most events. Still, he
wished his mom and dad would've come on the line.

Ted Horton received his 'assist' courtesy of the McGinty's van and its extra
heavy bumper. Afterward he promised Gary that he wouldn't ever choose a
railroad track to push his luck again. Luck smiled on him today.

The article about Gary's death was still in the paper. Gary turned down the
first alley that he came to and circled the block to park under a large
maple tree. He watched for vehicles. He searched the area, visually, for
suspicious characters holding obvious weapons. His hands were clammy,
expecting any minute to hear a 'pop' and then oblivion. A 'pop'? That's
what he heard when the tire blew out. He kept his eyes on the mirrors, but
his mind was running at full speed, wondering if the blowout was a tire
failure...or a bullet.

After fifteen minutes of waiting tensely in the van, he rechecked the
article. Where was it? He went through the paper three times before he
felt the relief of knowing it had disappeared. Whatever he had done had
changed the sniper's access to Gary as a target. Driving back to McGinty's
found him tense, watching for whatever new dangers might arise.

He had only stepped foot inside the bar when Crumb called to him that he had
a phone call. His dad was on the line and began, "Hey, kid. What's this
crap about you missin' us and just wantin' ta hear our voices? You in
trouble?"

"Hi, Dad. No, no trouble. I just called to say 'hi'. Are you and Mom
gonna be home this weekend? I thought that I'd make the drive to visit."

Bernie was relieved that there wasn't an emergency. How many times had he
heard from the McGinty's staff that something was wrong with his son? It
happened many times that he and Lois were enjoying traveling in the 'Gray
Ghost' and a message had to be left. They'd come back to the house to hear
a frightening message concerning Gary. This was one time that he could feel
good about calling.

"Let us know when you're gonna be here, son. We'll make sure that all your
favorite foods'll turn up on the table. So, how's the paper treatin' you?"

"Fine, Dad. Just fine. Do you think that a friend of mine could stay with
you for a few days?"

"Are you stayin' a few days too?"

"Not exactly, Dad. I have a friend who is in danger and I'd like her to be
out of harm's way for a while."

He was glad that it wasn't his mother on the other end of the line. His dad
could be hard to deal with, but Mom was eminently worse.

"'Her', huh? Any friend of yours is welcome here. You know that. In fact,
Mom will be ecstatic, if ya get my drift."

"Yeah, but I need a place for her anyway."

"Can I ask who it is? Do I know her?"

"It's Robin. You know..from the bar. Well, I just got back from the last
save of the day and I want to tell her about our plans. I won't keep you.
Give Mom my love. See ya this weekend. And Dad..thanks."


CHAPTER SIX

What he thought would be good news to Robin wasn't anything of the kind.
She was annoyed, if anything. "How can I possibly impose on your folks like
that?" Not waiting for his reaction, she continued, "Besides, I have to
work. How is the weekend going to be with one less bartender? Gary, I can't go."

"First of all, you're not imposing on them. My dad was overjoyed to have
mom have someone other than him to jabber to. They love visitors. As to
your work, consider this as a paid vacation. You'll actually be doing me a
favor. Ya see, my folks...my folks are kinda obsessed with, ah, things.
They need to concentrate on others more."

"This doesn't make sense, Gary. I'm supposed to help your folks not to
obsess with..what? You?"

He lowered his voice and spoke seriously now, "Robin. I need to know that
you're safe. Something else has come into the situation and there's danger
involved."

With a hint of resentment in her voice, she said, "Were you going to tell me
what this 'something else' is or am I just supposed to pack up and leave all
the responsibility to my big hero with no questions asked?"

"Please. Please. Robin, come up to the loft with me. I'll, I'll, ah, ah,
tell you everything."

"Gary, I'm busy. I'm not going to bunk in with your folks just to hide from
Curt Franco, if that's what you're talking about. Don't ask."

She left him standing there as she went back to her customers. He rubbed
his head furiously, then he turned on his heels and walked off to the
office, hoping to find Marissa.

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

"Why should she or anyone else just pack up and move in with your folks
without an explanation---oh, other than 'it's dangerous'."

"Marissa," he said, hoping she'd see his point, "She's in danger. It's not
just 'maybe' Franco is dangerous; he is!"

"What makes you think that he's more dangerous today than he was yesterday?"

"Well, ah, he was dangerous yesterday too, but today I think that Franco is
in possession of a weapon. In fact, I think that he's been the cause of all
the mishaps that have been happening around here. I'm sure that he's also
the one who I was fighting in the alley."

"Gary. Come on. Aren't you letting your imagination run away with you?
Have you any evidence to back up your accusations?"

Gary was frustrated trying to make her understand. She was just as stubborn
as Robin and it was driving him berserk trying to come up with believable
reasons with which to back up his story. "Marissa, I have to convince her
to leave town for a few days. Hopefully Franco'll tire of this stupid game.
Or maybe the cops'll step in and separate him from his weapon. Or maybe.."

"Enough of the speculations. Or maybe he's tired of this foolishness
already and will get on with his life. Gary, you're assuming all of this.
Why don't you try to talk with him? He can't be serious about wanting to
pursue someone who doesn't want to be pursued."

"Oh, he's serious all right. He's serious enough for the paper to report my
death over and over today. That's how serious he is!"

He finally impressed her about the gravity of the situation, "Did the paper
really report your death, Gary? Did it mention Franco as the culprit?"

"Do you have to question everything? Haven't you ever heard of trusting?
No, I don't have proof of any of this. And I can't show you a picture of
the guy who was gonna shoot me in the van. It didn't have his identity.
And I can't even show you the article because I finally found a way to elude
him. Marissa, I've gotta go. And I've got to figure out a way to stop
Franco before he kills Robin or, ah, me. I'll see you later."

Calling out a 'be careful', Marissa was instantly sorry for giving him such
a hard time, but it was too late. Her words were out and he was hurt. He
had stomped off, leaving her to her books, regretting her part in their
conversation.
 

Continue to Installment 3

Email the author: arcane@nethere.com
 

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