Part 6 of 7
CHAPTER ONE

Curt Franco paced back and forth in his apartment, asking out loud, "How
does he do it? How does he know? First he caught me in the alley, then he
anticipated where I was gonna get him---every time! I gotta find a way."

He paced in silence for a while, his anger building in his frustration.

After a while he took out his rifle and cleaned it again, smoothing the oil
across the barrel. Talking softly, he murmured, 'Don't worry, baby, you'll
get your chance.' He wiped it dry and put it back in its plush case.

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

Marissa had convinced Robin that she would be wise to spend the next few
days with her. At first Robin rebelled at the thought of everyone being
involved in her life, but then she rethought her stand and agreed to be
Marissa's guest. It made better sense to her since she could still go to
work.

And it shut Gary up. He had nowhere else to go when she informed him of her
decision. She was absolutely refusing to stay with his parents. Stubborn,
yes, but as Marissa had said, she didn't 'belong' to him. She...didn't...
belong...to him.

The next day was light on the activities and he spent much of it working in
McGinty's himself. Gary made a point of steering clear of his female
bartender as much as possible. She had been in to work just after lunch and
kept busy with the bar duties and customers. When it slowed down enough for
her to take a break, she took a cup of coffee and settled into a booth to
relax. She closed her eyes and began to massage her temples.

His voice came as a surprise, "Hi, Robin." Gary was seated across from her,
looking expectant about what her attitude would be. "Can I join you? There's something I want to say."

"Listen, Gary, I don't want to hear any more about where I should come or go
or live. In fact, I'm not even interested in hearing Curt Franco's name.
If you can stay within those parameters, then you're welcome to sit with me.
If not, I'll, I'll clear my table and go back to work."

"At least you're talking to me. I wasn't sure."

She gazed down into her coffee cup and said, "I'm a bartender. I talk with
everybody."

"Robin, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just that I've been nervous about,
well, you know who." When he saw the look that spread across her face, he
hurriedly added, "Don't worry, I won't say it. What I wanted to say is,
someone, I have no evidence to prove who, is trying to kill me. Okay, so I
sound paranoid, but what am I supposed to think after all the incidents?
The mechanic confirmed that the tire blowout appeared to have been caused by
a bullet. And, and, ah, yesterday, ah, the paper, ah, ah.."

She responded, "A bullet? Why would someone shoot a tire when they wanted
to shoot the driver? As far as I can see, a bullet in the tire doesn't
sound like a threat. And I've been thinking that maybe it wasn't he who
attacked us the other night. I'm thinking that it could have been someone
else. Surely he couldn't think that hurting me would make me like him
more."

Not believing what he was hearing, Gary was unsure what to say without using
Curt Franco's name to say it.

"I can't tell you all the facts, but there are enough to tell me that there
is a great danger here---not just to me."

"You can't tell me the facts? What facts? How could the truth be something
you can't divulge to me? Please, Gary, I have to go back to work. My
bosses will be angry with me." She slid out of the booth and walked back to
her position behind the bar.

He sat there a while, wondering what he could say to break through to her,
short of showing her his special edition of the Sun-Times. 'Why is this so
hard?' he asked as he removed the newspaper from his back pocket. He
checked it and decided that he would try to catch Malcolm Dowry at work
today.

The paper reported that someone was going to ram into the modular office
structure at the construction yard and one man would be killed in the crash.
The article didn't mention the victim's name, but the time mentioned was
2:30 in the afternoon. That was forty-five minutes from now. He stuffed
his paper back in his pocket and went out to the van, first scanning the
area for possible snipers.

After the first few blocks he relaxed a little in his worry about someone
following him. If they intended to shoot, they would have had ample
opportunity during the traffic light stops. Maybe this was going to be just
a normal save after all.

He found Malcolm inside the office module, greeting him, "Hey Malcolm, how're things?"

"Son of a..Gary! Ain't seen ya in ages. Still tendin' ta yer bar? What
brings ya ta this workin' class establishment?"

Same old Malcolm. Same old humor.

"I just thought that I'd stop by and see the guy who saved my life." Gary
looked around, "And maybe to get to meet the lucky lady."

Malcolm slapped him on the back solidly, guffawing at him. "Right! Right!
C'mon in here." He led him into the next room, calling, "Phyllis. I've got
someone I'd like for you ta meet."

To Gary's surprise, the woman at the desk looked up and aimed a warm smile
at Malcolm, then at Gary. She was, probably, around 45, blond and reminded
him of the mother on 'Leave it to Beaver'.

Malcolm put his arm around Gary's shoulders, announcing, "This here's my
good friend, Gary Hobson. Gary, you need to meet my fianci, Phyllis
Goodman, the very finest lady you'll ever meet." When he saw the big smile
on Gary's face, he added, "Yup, I asked her and she honored me by sayin'
'yes'. On the first try too!"

Phyllis giggled, saying, "Nice to meet you, Gary. Mal's told me more about
you than about himself. He's so humble and shy."

Gary stifled his amusement and agreed, "Oh, yeah, he's humble and shy all
right. You're a lucky lady, that's for sure, no more lucky than he is
though."

"Thanks, Gary," Malcolm said. "How about bein' my best man at the weddin'?"

Upon recovering from his surprise, he bowed chivalrously, saying, "That
would be my honor and privilege."

Talking to Phyllis, Malcolm said, "See. What'd I tell ya? He knows how ta
use words." Then addressing Gary, he said, "Come on out, Gary, I've got
some stuff to gather before the guys come ta pick it up."

Gary suddenly remembered the other reason why he was here and took out his
paper before leaving the building. The article was still there and, unless
he got Malcolm away from the building, his friend's engagement would end
very abruptly. When he reached the bottom step he was relieved to see that
Malcolm was already getting into one of the forklifts. Gary checked his
watch. It was 2:29. There didn't seem to be any other men in the vicinity.
The other workers had gathered near a flatbed loaded with rebar.

Malcolm called to him that he'd be right back and that he should wait for
him. While Gary sat on the stairs he kept an eye out for the intended
victim. Was the paper wrong again? His mind began to kick into gear at
that moment, especially when he saw a sedan with darkened windows speeding
toward the building..and toward him.

'I'm the victim!' he said before he swung into action and
moved away from the entrance to the office. At the end of the structure, he
turned to see the vehicle still heading toward him. Before the car could
reach him he used the building as a shield by circling to the back of it.

The driver seemed determined enough at first, but must have changed his mind
upon seeing how many witnesses had gathered. He made the complete circle of
the building and sped out of the yard again, headed north.

All of the workers who had gathered around were engaged in animated
conversation about the madman using the construction yard for a raceway.
Malcolm found Gary standing stunned nearby. "C'mon, son. I'll buy ya a cup
a coffee. That'll settle ya down."

Phyllis had come out of the building to find out what had happened. Trying
to explain to her, Malcolm walked Gary into the office and urged him to sit
down. "That, sure 'nough, was one doped up driver. Good thing you weren't
hurt, kid."

"Yeah. Yeah," he said as he held the steaming cup.


CHAPTER TWO

"Has Gary come down yet, Robin?" Marissa asked.

"I haven't seen him," Robin responded, "Maybe he's sleeping in today."

"Not Gary. He doesn't have that luxury."

The comment seemed strange to Robin, but she didn't question her further.
Through the years she had seen and heard a number of strange things, but she
kept her thoughts to herself. She liked the job and she liked the people
she worked with. Even tough old Crumb only added to the enjoyment of
tending bar at McGinty's.

When she didn't comment, Marissa asked, "Are you and Gary having problems?"

"If there are problems, they're not of my making," she answered, an element
of peeve in her voice. "He seems to be having some kind of breakdown over
this Curt Franco situation. It's all he can think about. Every time we
speak he either talks about it or alludes to it."

Marissa, calm as always, continued with her questions, "Do you think that
there might be some basis for it? He thinks that the man is highly
dangerous and capable of violence."

"Oh, I know that. He takes every opportunity to impress it on me."

With Marissa, Robin understood her function in running the bar. With Gary,
she wasn't always so sure. He was always gone, it seemed. She hadn't heard
about it, but she assumed that he had other financial interests. He was,
after all, a stockbroker before he took over McGinty's. When it came right
down to it, Robin didn't really know that much about Gary. If he didn't
have other businesses, where did he go all the time? Some of the absences
might be attributed to the normal management of a bar, but every day?

And then there was the matter of his being accident-prone. She had never
seen someone who had so many injury problems. And, at least in the case of
Franco, he was so suspicious. Lately Gary blamed everything that went wrong
on Curt, from the flat tire to the attack in the alley, and more. She might
have agreed to visit his folks, to meet them and maybe get to know more
about her, ah, about Gary except for his one-mindedness. One part of it
all, the part that she didn't find that intolerable, was the caring
attention he showed. If Gary just hadn't tried to tie it all into a
sinister plot she might have welcomed it more.

Since the first time that she had seen him enter the front door of the bar,
she was taken with his appearance. His dark hair. His eyes. His
smile..his eyes. She'd developed a crush the same as most of the other
female help had. When Erica Paget captured his attention, the rest of the
employees allowed their infatuation to die down, seeing him respond to her,
or was that, to the idea of an instant family? Whatever it was, it dampened
Robin's crush. She forced herself to concentrate on her work and to his
status as the boss.

Marissa and she had been talking at the bar. The music was on, a little
louder than it needed to be, she thought. Marissa was having coffee as she
looked over some computer printouts and Robin excused herself to
straightening up the area under the bar. She had crouched down visually
searching for the supplies for that night's happy hour. As such, she was
quiet and out of sight.

Gary came through the doors, greeting Marissa. He stopped to look at the
Braille printout she was scanning, commenting, "It wasn't that long ago that
I thought that I'd have to learn Braille."

Remembering the temporary blindness to which he was referring, she gave him
a bright smile and agreed, adding, "You could do worse than learn Braille.
It's essential for me, but it would allow you to read these reports."

"Thanks, Marissa, but I'll let you do that part. I'll do the saving; you do
the managing."

As he said it, a strange look came over her face.

"What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

"Ah, Gary," she started, "we might not be alone."

He looked around. Seeing no one, he took out the paper and tapped it on the
bar, "This paper had me running today. It had a notice of a man being
struck by an out-of-control car and the weird part of it all was that the
victim was supposed to be me!"

She asked again, "Gary, are you sure we're alone here?"

He double-checked, "I don't see a soul, Marissa. You remember Malcolm? You
know, the guy who helped me find help when I hurt my leg?" To her nod, he
continued, "I was over at the construction yard where he works---that's
where the car almost ended my stint with the paper---and he introduced me to
his future wife. Now, who'd believe that he could go from 'Redneck Robber'
to husband in less than a month? He asked if I'd be the best man at the
wedding."

"Gary. I think Robin's around here somewhere. Be careful what you say."

Disregarding her warning since he saw no one but them, he went on, "How am I
gonna convince her that Franco's behind all these newspaper articles? I can
't tell you how many times yesterday that the paper said I would be killed
by a sniper's bullet. As fast as I could change my route, the paper changed
the information. And today, the paper didn't come out and name me as the
victim of that car, but I was the only one in the location of the 'accident'
. If I hadn't caught on to it, I would have been.."

Before he could finish, Marissa broke in, "I don't like to interrupt you,
but I just remembered that I promised someone that I would call them back
after lunch and I need to go make the call. I'm glad you weren't hurt."

She began to walk away and turned back to say, "I think that you should call
Toni Brigatti or someone on the police force and get some help."

After she left, he said, too quietly for her to have heard, "It's not as
though anyone would believe me."

It was at that moment that he heard a strange sound from behind the bar and
Robin stood up in front of him. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like
a long time. All he could do was return the stare she was giving him.
Feeling much like the time that he had been caught red-handed sampling the
cake that was destined for his mother's women's club, he could only stare,
wide-eyed in shock.

"Ah, ah, ah, Robin. Hi. We didn't, we had no idea, I mean how long have,
have you, ah, been.."

"Long enough, I guess," she said. "I'm sorry, but you and Marissa had a
conversation going and I was in the middle of something so I didn't want to
interrupt the two of you. I should have coughed or something."

"Ah."

"Maybe I'm ready to apologize, Gary. Maybe I'm ready to listen. I'm not
promising that I'll believe you, at least not right away, but I promise that
I'll listen if you want to tell me."

He rubbed his face, wishing this whole thing had been just another of the
crazy dreams that he had been having. "Please," she pleaded, "I feel like
we're friends and I was unfair to you as a friend. You told me to trust
you; will you trust me now?"

As he tapped his fist over the bridge of his nose, he groaned, "I don't
know. This is not something that I can tell you and have you forget. I've
tried to explain before...to others, ya see, and most of them laughed. What
I would tell you, I warn you, I wouldn't believe if it were told to me! In
fact, I didn't believe it when it was forced upon me."

"Try me, Gary."

His mind was in turmoil whether to trust the knowledge of the paper to her
or not. He felt for the paper in back of him so he wouldn't start out
trying to show her something that wasn't there. He had that experience when
he first tried to divulge the knowledge to Erica.

No, the paper was in his pocket. She was standing expectantly in front of
him. He looked down at the top of the bar. Then he slapped the bar with
his hand and said, "Okay. If you really feel that you can keep an open
mind, I'll tell you a crazy story of something that happened several years
ago." He gestured for her to follow him to a booth and he sat down opposite
her, still wishing he could find a way out of this.

"It happened when my wife and I split up and I was living in a hotel room at
the Blackstone. I won't go into the part about Marcia and my divorce
because I never felt that it was part of this. Chuck Fishman always
believed that it was, but I don't."

He looked into her eyes, checking for humor, but found none present. Taking
out his paper, he laid it on the table in front of them. This is it, he
thought, as he began to explain. Once in a while she would interrupt him to
ask a short question, but other than that, she listened to him all the way
through, ending with an examination of the paper. When he was through, she
was silent.

"Well?" he asked.

"You're right about this being unbelievable." When she saw his
disappointment, she added, "I didn't say that I didn't believe it, but,
Gary, as you said, you couldn't believe it the first time you received it.
You even threw it away, thinking that the date was a typo. It took you a
day to accept it...and that was only after you tested it out. Give me a day
to digest the idea. Will you do that?"

At that moment a customer entered and sat at the bar, looking around for
service. Robin slid out of the booth and went to help him. Gary checked
one of the paper's stories and left the booth headed for the door when Robin
called, "Be careful."

That small comment was enough to lighten his mood.


CHAPTER THREE

A chip of brick from the building stung his neck as a bullet struck the old
firehouse. He had taken a few minutes to walk around the van, checking the
tires when he felt the sting and heard the shot almost simultaneously.
Ducking behind the van for cover, he checked the windows and rooftops of the
nearby buildings.

He waited several minutes expecting to hear---or feel another one, but the
only sounds were those of the traffic. The save at the Cass Hotel was still
a news item so he entered the van by way of the back doors and drove off.
Paranoia had set in enough that he kept his eyes open for followers all the
way to the hotel. On the way back he made sure to park away from the bar
and walk, his eyes alert to his surroundings.

As he entered, several regulars, one of whom asked if he had been out with a
vampire, greeted him. "Yeah, haha," was the only response that he gave.
Marissa was curious about the question, but he had no answer for her. The
mystery was somewhat solved when Robin came over to the table and commented
in a whisper, "Gary, you have blood running down your neck. What happened?"

In a whisper he thanked her and explained why his neck had been bleeding.
The concept of the paper and its assignments was still new to her. She knew
that she had to accept his explanation, after all, Marissa did. It didn't
mean that it didn't make her nervous for him though. She procured a wet
cloth and wiped the blood away.

"You have to ask the police for help, Gary."

"Ya see, Robin, it's like this, the police and I, well, we don't exactly see
eye to eye on what I consider important. They always want to know how I
know what I know and why they don't know it from other sources. They would
rather put me in jail for not disclosing where I obtain my information than
to check out the pending disaster. So you see, calling them for help will
create more problems than it will solve."

"But you can't just accept this, this stalking. That's what it is, you
know. Whoever is doing this is dangerous. You're not always going to be
'lucky'."

"I know. I know. Marissa. Robin. I'm gonna go up and take a shower."
She watched him walk towards the stairway to the loft and commented to
Marissa, "This is unacceptable. He's in grave danger and there doesn't
appear that there's anything that we can do to help."

Marissa added, "Short of locking him in his room."

"Marissa, you're blind yet you believe in whatever he says. How can you
have such faith? Don't you worry?"

Surprised at her assumption, Marissa smiled, "Of course, I worry. I do have
faith though, faith in God and faith in Gary. I know he has to do the
things he does. Oh, and I trust. That's how I can believe in him."

"He's lucky to have you as a friend."

"Someday, when you have a lot of time, I'll tell you just how lucky I am to
be his friend."

"Thanks, Marissa."


CHAPTER FOUR

Toni Brigatti entered McGinty's and hesitated at the door allowing her eyes
to become used to the dim lighting. She was a familiar face to Robin for
several years now. Robin was never sure whether she and Gary had a 'thing'
going between them or not. One visit would find them chummy and the next
time it would have them at each other's throats.

Robin approached her as she noticed the detective was looking for someone,
"Hey, Officer Brigatti, I'm glad to see that Gary called someone about the
shooting."

In actuality, no one had called about a shooting, she was there to visit
with Marissa. "Is Gary here?" she asked, suspicions mounting within her.
Robin directed her to Marissa in the office.

"Hi Toni, would you like some coffee?" Marissa enjoyed Toni's company
usually---when she wasn't on a case that involved Gary, that is.

"Hi. What's this I hear about a shooting? Anyone hurt?"

Wondering who had called and confident that it wasn't Gary, Marissa was
careful about her response, "Someone took a shot at the side of our
building. Gary was near and a small piece of brick hit him. No real
damage. We figured that it might be someone fooling around with a gun."

If Marissa had been able to see the expression as she said that it was
someone fooling around with a gun, she would have known Toni was too much a
detective to accept that. Toni intended to phrase her comment in a friendly
sounding way, but from her attitude, Marissa knew that Gary would not be
pleased.

Her eyebrows arched high as she asked, "Has our boy antagonized someone new
lately? Someone who might be bearing a grudge maybe?"

"Gary's not here right now and I'm not sure. You know how it is running a
place where people drink."

Toni Brigatti was not anyone's fool. She recognized it when she was having
a question evaded. It made her more determined to receive a more complete
answer. "Did you have a disgruntled employee quit..or get fired?"

"No, we pretty well have content employees."

More determined than ever, Toni asked, "When will Gary be back?"

It was obvious that she was not giving up. "He's expected back in the next
couple hours, detective. Do you want me to have him call you?"

'Yeah, sure,' she thought, 'I'll be an old woman before he does that.' To
Marissa, she said, "No, I have some errands to run; I'll be back after
that." As an after-thought she added, "Tell him to stick around. I have a
few questions for him."

Too quiet for Toni to have heard, Marissa muttered, "Oh boy!"


CHAPTER FIVE

The last of the news items that required his attention read: 'TEEN INJURED
IN HARDWARE STORE'. The item went on to tell, 'Customers at Acme Hardware
were horrified when the 14 year old son of customer, Herb Carnaby, was
seriously injured yesterday. Not realizing that the table saw was a working
demonstrator and was still plugged in, the boy turned it on and had his arm
pulled into the blade as he attempted to feed a 2x4 through.'

This was one 'save' that required Gary's personal presence; otherwise the
teenager's arm would require amputation to repair the damage that the saw
inflicted.

Gary took the first parking place he saw when he arrived at the store. He
had no time to bother with locking it; the moment of the accident was fast
approaching. Once he found the right department, though, it was a matter of
merely unplugging the piece of equipment. The boy was irritated and highly
disappointed when he saw Gary meddling in what the teenager had planned.
The boy's father never realized what had almost happened.

Gary was about to make the trip back to the bar and, possibly, a nap when
his Sun-Times announced one more assignment. It wasn't there earlier; he
would have noticed it. The item told of an out-of-control vehicle plowing
into a dry cleaning store, killing a customer and the clerk. It was another
of those 'names withheld pending notification of next of kin' articles. The
location was not far from where he was and he hurried on to it.

The lone customer stood with her back to him, talking to the clerk about her
cleaning, presumably. He burst through the doors, yelling, "Everybody out!
Everybody out!"

Antonia Brigatti, CPD detective, turned around to the familiar, but frantic
voice, "Hobson!"

He was surprised, but there was no time for niceties. "You two have got to
get out of here...NOW!"

Neither of the two seemed as though they were going to move to his warning.
When the clerk came out from behind her counter, he turned and pointed
toward the delivery truck heading toward them at an increasing speed. From
the wavering way in which it was traveling, he didn't think that the driver
had any control at all. "Quick, where's your back door?" he asked as he saw
there were two doors leading from where they were standing.

Frozen by the pending disaster, the clerk finally seemed to understand his
panic and pointed toward the door behind her. With the tiny Asian-American
clerk under one arm and Toni Brigatti under the other, Gary headed toward
that door. While he meant to just herd them as far back as possible, the
violence of the collision propelled him farther and faster than he could
move while still on his feet. It sent the three of them onto the floor of
the back room where he twisted as he landed, ending up on the floor beneath
them, cushioning the women's fall.

Out front the truck demolished the door, front windows and everything inside
up to the separating door. The driver, his head bloody, had forced the
truck door open and was standing amidst the rubble, leaning on a piece of
what used to be the counter, surveying the damages.

Toni regained her feet instantly and checked that the clerk wasn't injured.
She took out her cell phone, reporting the accident and requesting
paramedics. Gary was still on the floor. He had landed with the two women
on top of him, his head striking the floor as he fell. Toni had heard him
grunt as the breath whooshed out of him.

Before bothering with Gary, though, she went out to where the damage was to
find out how the vehicle's driver fared and to wait for the paramedics.
There wasn't much of a wait, sirens were already heard in the distance.

Toni had made the truck driver sit down. He was mumbling incoherently and
needed to be urged to stay seated.

Police and paramedics arrived at the same time and began their procedures.
The driver was appraised first since he was bleeding along the hairline.
Toni then directed them to the back where Gary was still lying on the tile
floor. His eyes were open, a dazed expression on his face. The paramedics
weren't satisfied with his reactive time and brought in a gurney to use to
transport him. Just the motion of picking him up seemed to bring him to
awareness of what was happening. He began by asking where he was. Toni
placed her hand on his chest, "Hobson, lie still. They're trying to load
you into the ambulance."

His voice uncertain, he asked, "What happened? Toni, what're you doing
here?"

"Shut up, Hobson. You hit your head when you pulled us out of danger."

"Danger." He didn't ask, he just sort of acknowledged that there had been
danger present.

"Never mind, Hobson. They'll take care of you."

"Load me into what? Wait-wait-wait. Who'll take care of me?" He seemed to
recognize the situation; he'd gone through it many times before. "I'm not
goin' to the hospital. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Lemme up. Please. I'm not
hurt. It just, just knocked the wind outta me."

One of the paramedics re-examined his eyes. "They'll want to take some
X-rays, he probably has a concussion."

"Listen fellows, I need to get up. The accident just shook me up. I'm
fine."

They fastened the straps with him still objecting as they carted him off to
the waiting emergency vehicle. Brigatti followed him out to the ambulance,
trying to reassure him that she would see to it that Marissa would know
where he was. Her reassurances weren't comforting to him. He knew Marissa
would be worried just hearing his name mentioned in the same conversation
with the name of a hospital. 'Why? Why were they always in such a hurry to
cart everyone off to the hospital? He had a fierce headache, but anyone
would. A couple aspirin, an Ibuprophen. A nap, for Pete's sake.'

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

Toni made the call to Marissa telling her what had happened and promising
her that she was going to wait at the hospital to find out whether Gary
would be released. If not, she would call back.

How many times had she personally seen Hobson injured while he was meddling
into police affairs and into other people's lives? Most of the time his
injuries were minor in nature, but there were a couple times that had his
friends really concerned.

Why he thought that he should inject himself into things not of his concern,
she had no clue. The whole CPD shook their heads whenever his name was
heard. The mere mention of it sounded sirens in their heads. It got so
that when he was present at a crime, he became the likely and convenient
suspect. They usually found that he was innocent, but he was their first
choice of whom to put away in a cell.

At the hospital she flashed her badge to be allowed to be at his side. He
was lying quietly in a cubicle with a cloth over his eyes. Not knowing
whether he was asleep or not, she pulled a chair close and sat down to wait.
At one point a nurse entered the curtained off area and asked her, "Are you
family?"

Silently she presented her badge and sat back again. Before the nurse left,
she addressed the patient, "Mr. Hobson, the doctor will be in soon. Would
you like me to turn off some of these lights?"

The man on the examination table murmured something that sounded like
'please'.

"Hobson. Are you awake?"

At the sound of her voice he was not only awake, he pulled the cloth from
his face and struggled to sit up. "I, I didn't know you were here,
Brigatti."

"Yeah, well, I promised Marissa that I would stay to find out what they're
gonna do with ya."

"Thank you," he said softly, then added as though an explanation was
necessary, "she worries."

"No problem. I'm off duty. How's the head?"

He raised one hand to test the tender spot at the back of his head. "It's
just a goose egg. Aspirin should take care of it."

"Say, Hobson. Have you ever thought about paying attention to McGinty's
bar? To sticking around there and putting in a day of work INSIDE the bar?"

"Ah, well, I do, I..."

Disbelief was obvious in her expression as she commented, "If you spent half
as much time tending to the bar as you do tending to the business of the
CPD, we wouldn't have to spend so much time sitting at your hospital
bedside."

His head was throbbing with the injury and, now, with the rantings of
Antonia Brigatti. She had the ability to inflict pain without touching her
victim. It must be a talent. 'It could be another form of martial arts,'
he thought as he held his hands to the sides of his head.

She saw his discomfort at her words. Placing the cloth over his eyes again,
she said, in lieu of an apology, "Never mind, Hobson. Lie back and wait for
the doc."

It was always like this in their 'relationship' it seemed. He would only
need to be present for her to be irritated. She couldn't explain, even to
herself, why he was able to press all her buttons by just
appearing---usually at a crime scene. She was a trained detective---a
damned good one too. It was part of the job to remain cool and aloof to the
drama involved in her work.

What was it then that threw her for a loop in his presence? For one thing,
she knew that it angered her that, try as she might, she couldn't maintain
her professional image where he was involved. Take, for instance, her
memories of the Lermontov Diamond case. Did she dwell on the thoughts of
the investigation of the theft? Or on the apprehension of the man she
thought had stolen the necklace? Or even on the fortuitous return of the
gems? Every time she allowed her thoughts to stray to that case, her mind
found itself dwelling on her dealings with Hobson! Could they have
developed a relationship? How many times had she dwelt upon that
possibility?

She glanced over at him, lying so still before her. There was so much that
she hadn't permitted herself to say on the several occasions that they had
been..that they had found themselves..close. She could see by his breathing
that he wasn't sleeping. Maybe now would be the time for them to discuss...
The doctor entered the tiny alcove addressing the patient, "Mr. Hobson."
Lifting the cloth, he examined the response reflex of Gary's eyes. "The
tests indicate that no fractures are apparent. If anything, you'll have a
headache for a while."

Gary looked up at the doctor, "Is it okay for me to leave?"

The doctor wasn't finished, "What I was going to say is that you have a
slight concussion, but we don't need to keep you. Will someone be with you
tonight?"

Before Gary could respond, Brigatti spoke up, "Yeah. There's plenty of
people willing to sit with him."

Her spontaneity surprised both Gary and the doctor. "Okay then," he said,
"I'll instruct the nurse to complete your paperwork and you can go on home."

As Gary was straightening his clothes and putting on his shoes, she offered
a semi-apology, "Sorry to have answered for you, but I know that you don't
seem to be at a shortage of friends."

He saw that she wanted to say more. What more was there to say? She had
never been at a loss for words in their previous encounters. Caustic-that
pretty much described her. Even on the few occasions that he was close
enough to touch her, to smell her, to taste the heat of her mouth, to feel
that he wanted her, she would pull away with a motion or, God help him, a
word. That woman could spread a layer of ice over hell with a few words.


CHAPTER SIX

As they were driving along Brigatti had a lot on her mind. She kept
thinking that this might be the moment for a serious conversation.
Suddenly she said, as an observation, "Ya know what, Hobson? I think it
would be better for you to, kinda, stick around McGinty's."

Puzzled, he asked, "Howzat?"

"You know, tend bar, schmooze with the customers, advise the employees, even
cook, if ya feel like it. Just, just stay in the joint. You'll stay safer.
Your friends'll like it. The CPD, sure as hell, will like it. What'dya
think of the idea?"

A pained expression filled his face, "Look, Brigatti, I have a blue ribbon
headache right now.."

"A headache? No kidding. I'm not just tryin' ta torment you; I'm tryin' ta
give you some good advice. Say, Hobson?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes shut to shield them from oncoming headlights.

"While I was waiting for you tonight, I was thinkin' back to some of the
times that we were thrown together for one reason or another."

Either impatient or uncaring, he said, "What about it?" This was a subject
that he often found himself dwelling on-in the past, that is.

She went on, "I've been thinkin' about how we get along."

He couldn't help but snicker at the phrase, 'get along'. If truth be known,
getting along was not exactly what they did.

As if to argue the point, she stressed, "We did share a few, shall we say,
romantic moments?

He objected, "Now, listen, Brigatti..."

"That's just it," she nodded in agreement. "We shared a few moments. Okay,
I'll admit it was a very few moments. We got along fine-okay, very fine for
a few minutes only. Then, bang!, we went back to the other kinda stuff.
The bickering. The yelling. The anger. Ya know what I think?"

Giving up, he asked, "What's that? I know you're not gonna let this alone
until you tell me. Are you tryin' to say we had irreconcilable differences
between us?" He smirked briefly upon saying it.

Ignoring his flippancy, she commented, "Maybe it's better that we admit
them, don't ya think? Better now, that is, than if we had gotten married
and then discovered them."

Her reference to marriage and irreconcilable differences struck him in his
most vulnerable spot. It brought back memories of a marriage that had
beautiful moments, but failed in the long run, the long run, in this case,
being five years.

He didn't think his head could throb more violently, but it was making the
effort to do so. "Brigatti," he pleaded.

"What I'm tryin' to say is, this hot-cold stuff is exhausting in every way.
Maybe if we agreed to eliminate the 'stuff' completely, we could be..you
know..friends. I wouldn't mind comin' in for a drink now and then and sit
and talk with you and Marissa or..."

'What was she talking about?' he asked himself. Aloud he asked, "Stuff?"

Toni stared straight ahead as she drove. "Romance. Sexual undertones.
What dya want, Hobson? I don't wanta fight every time we come in contact.
Let's get this tension thing out of the way. Ya know what I mean? Is any
of this gettin' through?"

After a few minutes of silence, he nodded.

Gary finally responded, "I think it would be much better than having to
worry which of us would murder the other one first. Yeah. Definitely
better."

Their conversation was interrupted as she pulled up in front of McGinty's.
She seemed to still be staring out the front of the now-parked car. He
looked over at her, surprised that she had let up on her sermon. He felt
that he needed to ask, "Can I go now?"

She shook her head, wondering if he had understood what she had been
attempting to impress upon him. "Hold on. I'll help you out."

At that, he opened the car door, assuring her as he did, "I'm okay,
Brigatti. I can make it the ten steps to the front door." Afraid that it
may have unintentionally sounded sarcastic, he added, "Not that I don't
appreciate it, but I'd just as soon make my entrance without having an
escort."

As he walked away, she called, "Hobson!"

He looked back.

"Take care of yourself."

"Yeah," he answered.

"See ya around."

With that, he entered the bar, not bothering to watch her drive away.


Part 7 of 7
CHAPTER ONE

Paul looked up from his paperwork to see Toni Brigatti searching feverishly
through stacks of files on her desk. With a smirk, he said, "Hey, Toni, I
heard you sat up with a sick friend at the hospital."

"Don't start with me, Paul, I've lost an important case file that the
captain's asking about: the Bashan file." She continued shuffling through
folders.

He pulled a thick file from the corner of his desk, holding it up, "You mean
like this one?"

With a look of impatience on her face, she accepted his offering and asked,
"How'd it get to your desk?"

"Don't look at me, Toni. I have no idea why Jorgensen dropped it here."

Disgusted, she said, "Great. I've wasted the last fifteen minutes searching
for it." She reviewed the contents.

"You didn't answer me when I mentioned the 'sick friend'."

Trying to ignore him, she stated flatly, "I didn't intend to."

Paul wasn't about to let the subject lie. He commented, "They said that you
were at some place with Hobson when a wild vehicle demolished the building."

She didn't look up from her papers.

"Toni?"

Closing the case file abruptly, she sat up, staring at him, "All right,
Paul. What do you want to know? I filed a report. It's all in there if
you care to look."

A knowing smile spread across his face as he said, "I already read the
report. All the guys have. That's why I want to know what's going on with
my partner."

What little patience she had left was gone at that instant. "Will my
comments be appearing in the station newsletter?" she asked. "Should we
record this? Or should I just call a meeting and give my report to all of
you at once?"

Paul backpedaled as he saw the direction that their conversation was going,
"You know how people are when they work together. Any news at all will perk
up the working staff. Of course, you don't need to tell me anything. It's
your life."

She shook her head slowly, allowing a smile of resignation to appear.
"Okay. 'It's my life', huh? The story you are all so hot to hear is flat
and boring. I went to the drycleaners. Hobson suddenly raced in, yelling
for us to get out of there. He grabbed the clerk and me when we didn't
react fast enough and practically threw us bodily into the back room. It
just so happened that a truck came crashing into the front of the cleaners.
What had been a business became a bunch of firewood. We'd have been under
that firewood if Hobson hadn't magically appeared. Unfortunately, he was
injured when we landed on top of him. End of story. Questions?" She
asked, "Will that pass the scrutiny of the stationhouse?"

Paul found a lot of interest in her rendition. "Were you hurt, Toni?"

"No, not me. Hobson was kinda 'out of it' so they bundled him up and took
him off to the hospital, complaining all the way. Slight concussion," she
explained. " I just stayed until they finished the exam and released him.
Then I gave him a ride home." To his obvious curiosity that was always a
part of Paul Armstrong, she added, "No, Paul. I don't have any idea why or
how he knew to be at that location just before disaster struck. He didn't
say; and to tell you the truth, I didn't ask."

Paul murmured, "Too bad. I'd love to know."

"I know you would. So would I, but face it, IF he really knows, he's never
gonna tell us. Let it go. The guy is harmless even if he is a constant
source of irritation to us."

This was a new attitude from his partner. "That's not something I expected
to hear from you, Toni."

She sounded tired, as she explained, "No, it's not. I admit that I've been
the most curious of all." She pushed the paperwork aside on her desk,
saying, "Paul. I can't do this anymore."

Shocked, he asked, "What? Police work?"

"No. It's not the police work. I'm not up to having my work interfere with
my personal life any longer or vice versa." She laughed. "Funny, huh? I
know. I'm not supposed to even mingle the two; we're supposed to be able to
keep them separate. Well, how do you do that? For a while there, a long
while there, I had a---I guess you'd call it a schoolgirl crush on Hobson."

To Paul's knowing expression, she said, "Yeah. Go ahead. Laugh. It was
his looks. And that damned innocent attitude. I guess some of it was the
mystery about his sources too. Whatever it was, I had it. You knew that,
of course. Everybody seemed to know it, but it didn't make a difference; I
was still attracted to him."

Paul asked calmly, "And now? What's happened to change all that?"

Toni looked around the office, trying to choose her words carefully, "Ya
know. He hopped into that dry cleaning shop like Superman, picked us up
like a damned super hero and saved our lives. Yeah, he got hurt---again.
As I was sitting in the hospital, waiting at his bedside, I got to thinking.
The truth is, he's not Superman. He's human and whether he knows it or not,
he's mortal. One of these days he's not gonna just have a slight injury, he's gonna die doing these crazy things."

Toni rose from her chair and paced for a moment, then she sat back down.
"Well, I'm not ready to invest my emotions in someone who'll have me
wondering 'when'. Police work is important to me, Paul. I've always wanted
to do just what I'm doing now." Looking straight into his eyes, she gained
confidence as she said, "I'm not in love with the kind of person he is. He's not
logical, if you need a word for it. He's completely unpredictable. You can never
tell what he'll do or when. It's apparent that he never considers the consequences...to
himself..when he jumps right in to save some poor schnook---and I include myself in that description!"

Paul felt she needed a word, "You're turned off by the danger he assumes?
Toni. You're a cop! I don't believe what I'm hearing from you."

"Then maybe that's the whole thing. I'm ready to face the dangers of the
job, but I'm not ready to see someone I love face those same dangers. How
about you, Paul? Would you be willing to go through the day, knowing
Meredith was driving around in a patrol car and confronting the type of
people that you and I do? Are you willing to see her lie in a hospital
emergency room, not knowing whether she was going to live or die? On a
regular basis?"

Shaking her head, she continued, "I'm not gonna do it, Paul. I'd rather
forget about the guy than take any of that. Give me someone who pounds
nails for a living. Or someone on a desk job." Then, smiling, she added,
"Or a bloody millionaire who does nothing but sit on his can all day."

"Have you said any of this to Hobson?"

"Me? No. Not in so many words, that is. I told him that I'm through with
the tension between us and that I'd rather that we keep our 'friendship'
more platonic." She laughed, "Of course, he probably thought all along that
our friendship was platonic. Oh well, it didn't seem to destroy him." She
laughed at herself again.

Her partner wasn't so sure how convinced she was with her own statements.
Anyone in the work they did, tended to be more skeptical than others anyway.
Paul turned his attention back to the case that he was working on, hoping
that Toni's new attitude wasn't something that she would live to regret.


CHAPTER TWO

Gary opened the inner door at McGinty's, hoping that he could go through to
the loft without attracting any attention. His hopes were left hanging as
he saw Crumb standing at the bar. The grizzled ex-police detective reached
over to touch Marissa's hand and whisper something to her. She sat up
stiffly, listening for Gary to draw closer. The bar grew silent except for
the music. "Gary?"

He approached her, "Yeah, Marissa, it's me."

She hugged him, asking, "Are you okay, Gary? Where's Toni? Is she here?"

"No. I told her to go on home. I'm fine; just a bump on the head."

She whispered in his ear as she clung to him, "Robin's been frantic having
to wait to find out how you are."

Looking around the room, he spied Robin at the door to the kitchen. The
barroom noises picked up again and he excused himself to Marissa and Crumb.

By the time he entered the kitchen, only the food preparation employees were
in evidence. He went through to the office to find that Robin was standing
just inside, near the couch. Curiously, she appeared near to tears.

Seeing her there, waiting for him, moved him to take her in his arms and
hold her tightly. As he did, he could feel the wetness of her tears on his
chest.

"Don't cry, Robin. Please. I'm fine. I'm really okay." He found himself
kissing her hair. She relaxed, pressing herself closer and clinging tightly
to him. He progressed to kissing her face and, finally, her lips. This was
the kiss that they had hungered for on their first date. This was the
embrace that sealed their relationship.

When they separated, he kissed her once more, asking, "Ya wanta come
upstairs..for...for a while? I'd like to change this shirt; it's kinda
dirty from, from today. We could have a drink and...." He stopped and,
gazing into her eyes, urged, "Come upstairs, Robin."

She hesitated just enough that he added, "Please. Come up with me.
Please."

The regret in her voice showed as she said, "I can't. I can't, Gary. I'm
supposed to be working." Robin whispered as if in pain, "Marissa and Zeke
will be looking for me." She hugged him again, clutching him close, "I want
to." Then pulling away, she said, "I'd like to, but, but I can't do that to
them."

As Robin walked away, he said, "I'll come down later. Will you be here?"

She turned and saw the look of hope in his eyes. Smiling, she said, "I'll
tell Marissa that I'll close tonight."

He smiled as he climbed the stairs to the loft.


CHAPTER THREE

The next morning Marissa checked her watch as her partner came into the
office and sat down opposite her. She asked, "It's almost ten o'clock. Are
you just getting back or are you just going out?"

"Ha ha," he said, rather than really laughing. "As a matter of fact," he
added, more cheerfully, "the paper let me sleep late this morning. I could
live with those hours. I have one 'errand' to attend to---nothing really
serious---then I'm free."

"Free? As in only one assignment for the whole day?"

Smugly, he nodded and said, "That's right. It appears that the powers that
be have seen fit to allow me almost the whole day to myself."

"Maybe they're allowing for your head injury," she offered.

He placed his hand at the back of his head, feeling for the swelling, "My
head injury's just a bump, Marissa. It was nothing. But whatever the
circumstances," he slapped the paper down on her desk, "I'm feeling pretty
good about the paper this morning."

"You seemed awfully cheerful. The additional sleep must have felt good. I'
m glad you'll be able to have things a little easier for a change. What do
you have to do today?"

Out of habit, he looked around for listeners before telling her, "The paper
says that a couple young dogs wander out on Lake Shore Drive and cause a
gigantic traffic jam for miles. It's not a big deal; no one gets hurt, but
it's bad enough to last for over an hour. I could let it happen, I guess,
but I thought that I'd spare the Chicago citizens the inconvenience by
directing the dogs in another direction if I can." As an afterthought, he
added, "Besides, it was in the paper so I figured I'm supposed to do
something about it. Maybe someone in that jam has a critical meeting or
event that depends on them getting there on time."

"Nothing else? Are you sure?" Marissa asked.

She heard him paging through the special edition, reading the headlines to
her as he did.

When he was through, she smiled and said, "That's nice, Gary. Well, you
have a good day. I'll go up to the loft to pick up your dishes and towels
in a little while."

In what sounded strangely to her like nervousness, he confided, "It's all
right; Robin already took them down."

"But I thought that Robin didn't come in until four today," she countered,
puzzled.

Even more nervous sounding than before, he responded, "Uh, she was, ah, here
a little while ago. I-I-I think she went home, that is, she went back home.
She said she'd be in at four."

As he walked out, he called, "See ya in a little while."

It wasn't often that Gary was in such a good mood. It must have been those
extra hours of sleep.

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

Zeke Crumb was in an unusually good mood too, it seemed, as he joked with
the lunchtime waitress, Diane. He had just filled a tray with drinks for
her customers when one of the wanderers of the neighborhood rushed in,
calling out in his raspy voice, "Zeke, hey, Zeke!" He was old and
arthritic, but still got around pretty well as he collected aluminum cans
and plastic bottles in a couple of large black trash bags that hung from an
old handcart. He had left the cart at the edge of the sidewalk, trusting
that his 'treasures' would still be there when he returned for them.

"Hey, Dandy," Zeke Crumb greeted him. "What's got you all in a lather this
morning?" He set a glass of beer on the bar for the weathered man who got
his name because of the paisley vest he always wore.

Before anything else, Dandy took a deep draught of the foamy brew.

"What's new in the neighborhood, old timer?" Crumb asked.

"Listen, Zeke. You gotta call the cops. Your boss just got hisself
kidnapped." He took another long drink.

"What're you talkin' about? Hobson's gone off on an errand."

"No. No, he's not! I jus' saw him talkin' ta some'un at the van, then they
both went around ta the back an, an, an the other guy bashed him in the back
a the head an shoved him inside. Then the guy, he peeled out down the
street in yer van with yer boss puttin' up no complaints that I could see."

Zeke came out from behind the bar and, taking Dandy by the arm, hustled him
into the office where he told the whole story to Marissa.

She shuddered as she listened to the old man's story. Dandy had been
hanging around the bar, on and off, longer than Gary had owned it.

Crumb steered the bearer of the disturbing news out to have Diane bring him
some food. When he returned to Marissa, she asked, "What're we gonna do,
Crumb?" She picked up the phone, wondering whom to call.

The crusty old bartender and former police detective gently took the phone
from her shaking hands. After punching in some numbers from memory, he
asked for Armstrong. Moments later, he said, "Armstrong? Yeah, It's me.
We got ourselves a problem here. Yeah, well, maybe not a little one either.
It seems some old guy off the streets saw Hobson get himself kidnapped a
little while ago. That's right, I said kidnapped." He listened a while.

Then he began again, "Listen, Armstrong, I know the difference. It sounded
like kidnapping when the little guy said he saw someone push Hobson into the
back of the van and drive away with him."

Paul Armstrong must have had more to say because Crumb listened except for a
'Yeah' or 'Uhhuh' that he threw in every once in a while. Finally, the
conversation was concluded and Crumb put the phone back in Marissa's hands.

"Well?" she asked.

"They're gonna send some people over to take our statements," Crumb
responded. Now, before you say anything, they have to do it this way---it's
procedure. Dandy's a nice old guy, but he's not exactly a solid citizen, if
ya get my meanin'. One day he came in here and said that he saw parts of a
body in our dumpster. Turned out to be a large beef bone that the cooks had
used for the soup."

"When will they send someone?" she asked softly.

Zeke Crumb put his arm around Marissa's shoulders, hoping to console her,
saying, "You know how these things go. They gotta do some paperwork before
they do anything. It's all a matter of reports and more reports. Don't
worry. Someone'll be here soon."

She frowned, "What if they don't believe Dandy?"

He chuckled briefly and commented, "Hell, I'm not sure I believe Dandy. We'
ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, I'm gonna make sure that we keep him
eatin' so's he doesn't wander away."


CHAPTER FOUR

It was early afternoon before the CPD arrived at McGinty's. With Marissa's
permission, Paul took over the desk in the office. He and another police
officer sat with each of the employees, taking statements. Not much
developed from them except for their mention of the 'mishaps' that Gary'd
been experiencing. Their only knowledge of Gary's being missing came from
Dandy's announcement.

Robin arrived at work and was asked to sit for an interview as the other
employees had. When Paul began questioning her about her missing employer
she frowned and closed her eyes, electrified in hearing about it. Paul
asked that someone bring a glass of water for her and went on in presenting
his questions.

"Are you okay now?" he asked first. Her face was pale and he wasn't sure
that she wasn't going to faint.

When he was through with the usual questions, and before he dismissed her,
he asked, "Do you mind if I ask if you and Mr. Hobson have a relationship
other than just employer-employee?"

Her answer was in a flat tone, her expression that of a dazed person,
"Kinda." She took another sip of the water.

Paul asked her to explain the involvement and how long it had been going on.
As he developed more and more to ask, the name Curt Franco came into the
conversation. When they were finished, he warned that he would probably
need to talk with her again. In addition, he mentioned that if it turned
out to truly be a kidnapping, the FBI would also be calling on her. She was
allowed to leave the interview.

After checking with the other officer whether she needed anyone called back
and if she had gotten all the responses, they said their thanks to Marissa
and left.

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

Back at the station house, Paul mentioned the latest Hobson case with Toni.
To his surprise, she acknowledged it, saying, "Yeah? What is it, less than
a week since he got out of the hospital? I lose count." Before he could
respond, she added, "I told you, Paul, I can't...I won't let myself be
involved in his life. I have to separate myself from caring about Gary
Hobson. Sound cruel? Well, that's the way it has to be. Unless you need
me in on this officially, I just don't want to hear about it." She picked
up her coffee cup and excused herself to go for a refill, leaving him to
wonder just how much she meant what she had said.


CHAPTER FIVE

Toni returned to the office that she shared with Paul Armstrong, one arm
straining with file folders, the other hand holding a cup of coffee. She
mused, "With all this paperwork it's a wonder that we can get anything done
at all."

Paul stood up, commenting, "Well, you won't get anything done right now.
The captain just called that there's a joint briefing scheduled with the FBI
and he specifically requested that you and I be present." He added, "It's
in five minutes. Come on, I'll walk up with you."

She groaned, but went with him to the large meeting room on the second
floor. Behind the speaker's dais, the images of Curt Franco and Gary Hobson
were projected against a screen. The two detectives chose seats almost dead
center in the second row. Captain Gross greeted those present and
introduced two men from the FBI.

"This case is being listed as a possible abduction rather than place the
label, kidnapping, to it, at least for the time being. Agent Silvers and
Agent Jefferson are just here to add some input. This is not yet a case in
their files. As of now, no one has contacted anyone to ask for ransom money
so we're not being asked to turn over the investigation." He picked up some
papers, holding them up, "You found these computer sheets on your seats as
you came in. They list the facts as we know them. All the 'evidence'
showing it to be a kidnapping is just the statement of an old man who lives
on the streets and claims that he saw the abduction. The other 'fact' we
know is that none of the McGinty's crowd, including his partner, has seen
him since the report. His parents weren't able to be reached."

Going on, he instructed them, "Take a few minutes, if you haven't already,
and read it over before we begin."

Gross talked softly with the agents while his audience was reviewing the
information. After a little while he tapped the podium with the small gavel
to garner their attention.

"Okay, men...and ladies. Agent Silver has a few things to say."

Silver, in the customary uniform of the FBI, wearing a dark suit and tie,
took the microphone, cleared his throat and began, "Normally the first thing
a kidnapper does is notify the family of the victim. In this case, a
transient claims to have seen the abduction. The so-called kidnapper hasn't
notified anyone." He paused to let the implication sink in. He knew it
would. "That leads us to believe that this could be, not a kidnapping, but
an abduction, one that may ultimately lead to, ah, foul play. What I'm
getting at, for those of you who are nodding off, is murder." He said the
word 'murder' loudly and stopped to watch the responses.

Beginning again, in a more normal tone, he said, "We have been provided with
a full read-out of all the cases in which the potential victim's name has
been linked." He turned, picked some computer-generated sheets and held it
up for all to see. "Yes," he said indicating the thickness of the pack, "it
looks as though he's not the shy, hold-back type. He gets
involved---regularly, it appears."

Setting the papers back on a small table, he commented without emotion, "The
people that were questioned at the bar, McGinty's, that includes his
friends, employees, delivery people, even the mailman. They all rave about
Hobson's character. It leads you to wonder: is this the proverbial John
Dillinger type who keeps those close to him happy and goes across town to
commit his crimes? Obviously not everyone loves him---he's missing!"

Toni sat up a little straighter. The officious tone that the agent used had
perturbed her when he first started, now she was fully agitated. Under her
breath, she whispered to Paul, "Ridiculous!"

Agent Silver began again after a short sip of water, "Just so you know, we
don't think this has the smell of a kidnapping. Have any of you heard any
complaints that there might be employee-employer problems at McGinty's?" He
waited. "No? Anyone hear about him maybe abusing or molesting his
female---or male for all we know---employees?" Several officers toward the
back laughed out loud.

Silver addressed his comment to them, "Do you men have a show going on back
there? We're trying to make some progress up here." The men quieted down,
their faces betraying their amusement.

"Okay. When I reviewed his files, I saw involvement in everything from
simple trespass..to first degree murder. Does he pay his way out of these
charges?"

He was about to continue when audience laughter assaulted his ears. Silver
whispered something to Jefferson who took his partner's place at the podium.
"Come on, something's up. Let us in on the joke. As it looks now, it could
have been that he was taken by the mob, by some friends, as a joke, or by a
jealous ex-boyfriend of the waitress we've heard he's been seeing."

Toni could stand it no longer. She stood up. "They're laughing because you're picturing
Mr. Hobson as a villainous, or worse, man of low morals. What the noisy crowd on this
side of the room is picturing is the Hobson that they've come in contact with: a Boy Scout
of a man, looking to do his good deed no matter what law might be bent in accomplishing it.
Aggravating, yes. Evil, no."

She sat down, her rage somewhat abated, unable to meet Paul's eyes that were
trained on her.

Agent Jefferson had been surprised to see someone bother to interrupt their
presentation to support the morals of the man he had just cast aspersions
on. "Thank you, Ms..., Officer..., ah?"

"Brigatti. Detective Antonia Brigatti," she said from where she was seated.

"Thank you, Detective." Point blank, he asked, "Are you personally involved
with the victim?"

He barely had the question out of his mouth when Toni could feel her face
redden. Without looking, Paul knew. Standing up, he answered for his
partner, "Detective Brigatti and I have encountered Hobson numerous times in
our police work. Enough times, in fact, that we feel that we know the man,
his motives and his methods---none of which is suspicious, by the way."

After he sat down, Toni whispered in earnest, "Paul, I owe you one.
Thanks."

He responded in the same way, whispering, "You owe me one all right---you
owe me BIG!"


CHAPTER SIX

Earlier that day, Gary had been about to turn the key to start the van when
he heard a persistent and loud tapping at his window. His surprise was
added to when he saw that it was Curt Franco motioning for him to roll down
the window.

His former mood began to deteriorate rapidly as he said, "Curt! What brings
you here?"

The usual feistiness was gone from the man's attitude when he said, "My car's parked
around the corner with a flat. Trouble is, my jack is gone. A couple months ago I loaned
it to someone and never got it back. Do ya think I could borrow one?" When Gary hesitated,
he added, "I don't know anyone around here; and I'll bring it right back. How about it?"

"Uh, sure. I'd help ya with the tire, but I gotta be somewhere." Gary went
around to the back of the van with Franco following close behind, glancing
around furtively as he did."

It bothered Gary that Curt would ask him. He could see it if it had been
Crumb or someone else in the McGinty's van, but seeing how their
relationship was, well, strained... The fact was, he had a jack and he
would help the man out. If the situation had been reversed, Gary would
probably have walked as far as he needed to before he asked Curt for
anything. 'Oh well,' he thought, 'different people.'

Opening the back, he stuck his head in to check where the jack compartment
opening was; he had never personally used it before. He was about to turn
to hand Curt the tool when he felt something hard strike the back of his
head. It wasn't hard enough to render him unconscious, but hard enough to
make him fight for his balance. The next thing he felt was being pushed
into the rear of the vehicle.

While still attempting to clear his head, he felt the van drive off.

"Wait," he yelled, trying to gain his balance enough to stand. "Wait!
Curt, hold it!"

His driver was paying no attention to his passenger as he made turn after
turn, causing Gary to hang on to keep from rolling around. Finally coming
to a halt, Curt produced a small caliber handgun and ordered Gary to the
front passenger seat.

More than angry, Gary growled, "What's gotten into you, Franco? Have you
finally gone off the deep end and cracked up completely?"

"Just put yer seat belt on, Hobson. Like the guys in the movies say, 'We're
goin' for a ride'. We wouldn't wanta get stopped for not being belted in,
now would we?" With that said, he drove off.

"Okay, I'm belted in. Where're we goin'?" It seemed to Gary that he had a
similar situation occur once before when he first met Malcolm Dowry.

"Don't bother the driver. I'll let you know when we get there."

Curt took a turn eastward and Gary was about to warn him, "Keep away from
Lake Shore Drive; I heard there's a traffic jam there." He was remembering
the news item that he had intended to take care of. Then, thinking better
of it, he figured that he'd just as soon not be going anywhere with this
person anyway, so he kept his silence as he watched them approach and turn
onto the soon-to-be grid locked road. The trouble spot was ahead less than
a mile, but unknown as yet to Curt Franco.

That is, it was unknown to him until he suddenly came upon the beginning of
the slowdown caused by the wayward dogs. It soon involved all northbound
lanes and they became part of the jam.

"Don't get any funny ideas about gettin' out, Hobson. I wouldn't want you
to get hurt...in traffic, that is." He laughed, menace in every syllable.

Gary checked his watch, causing Curt to ask, "You got an appointment? I
think you're gonna be a little late today."

Gary's watch told him that they had at least an hour to sit there and he
breathed a sigh of relief. Every minute that they stayed in public meant he
stayed alive---if dead was what Curt had been referring to earlier. Gary
had time to figure out a plan. 'What?' he asked himself. 'Curt has the gun
trained at me. No time to unbuckle and get out of the door. No way to
signal for help; the windows are the roll-down type.' In desperation, he
thought, 'Chuck, where are you when I need you? Probably sitting at
poolside, relaxing with a tall, cool one.'

Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't just packed it all up and gone to
California with Chuck. They had no real attachments in Chicago. He could
have left Marissa have McGinty's, or leased it out, or whatever she wanted
to do with it. The paper be hanged!! Whoever put out that damned special
edition would just have to find some other sucker. That's what he was, he
thought, sometimes at low moments; that's all he was. There was no
consideration for his comfort, his dignity, or his pride. There were small
compensatory benefits along the order of saving someone's life or preventing
calamities. There was that. What else? Nothing! That's what, nothing!

Maybe he would yet: sell the place and move, if he lived through this. 'Who
would care?' The thought was there, commanding his attention when the image
of Robin came to him. She was 'someone'. She was in his life and his heart
now. She was in his waking thoughts and his dreams as well. Would she go
along with him? Her family was here. It wouldn't be fair to expect her to
uproot herself on his whim.

The sound of car horns shook him from his reverie. As the frightened dogs
up ahead wandered back and forth in front of the lead cars, one by one the
drivers edged their way past the animals. The others were sounding their
horns, trying to urge the more timid drivers to move. The lane to their
left seemed to be making some headway. Gary was keeping an eye on Curt's
responses. A small opening occurred in the next lane and Curt briefly put
his head out of the window. To motion to the approaching vehicles that were
trying to fill in the opening, Curt placed his weapon in his belt and put
his hand out of the window gesturing that he was moving out. Gary noticed
immediately and unbuckled his belt with one hand while the other one opened
the door. He left the van, moving at a dead run in the opposite direction
to the traffic.

Even though Curt Franco noticed, it was too late to do anything about it,
and he was left not only without a passenger, but with the other door left
wide open. All of this was inconsequential to Gary as he wended his way
through the stopped lanes of cars, heading as far away as possible from the
McGinty's van---and Curt! He kept running until he reached Grand Avenue
where he was able to attract a taxi.

Gary had no idea that the McGinty's bunch knew of his disappearance. As far
as he knew, Marissa thought he was out on an errand. For that reason, he
decided to take the cab to the CPD. Because he was there to report a stolen
vehicle, they directed him to fill out papers with an officer.

Sergeant Tanner waved to him from across the room and called out a greeting
that Gary returned before going back to filling out the report.

As Tanner passed Brigatti in the hallway, he commented, "I see that the
Hobson scare was a false report."

Her mood was black enough without Tanner's kidding around. Her response was
an acrimonious "Stuff it, Tanner. I'm not in the mood for your jokes."

Singed by her retort, he said, "Who's joking, Detective? What'd ya do, find
him already?"

Stopping in her tracks, she glowered, asking, "What're you trying to say.
Spit it out."

He shrugged a little, saying, "Well, I mean, ah, he's out there."

She was becoming more impatient as the minutes ticked by, and demanded, "Who's out where?"

"Hobson. Hobson's out in the squad room at one of the desks."

She responded, "Ridiculous!"

"Brigatti. I just saw him. He waved to me. He's sitting there, calm as
can be, filling out some papers." Pointing, he added, "Go look."

"This had better not be a waste of my time," she warned as she stomped off.

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

Gary had some heavy duty explaining to do as he was transferred into Paul
and Tony's office to report the morning's events. This time he described
the abduction in full detail, complete with a mention of the weapon. He
tied the report in with all of his encounters and suspicions of Curt Franco'
s interaction with him during the past month. It did border on sounding
paranoid, but, when taken in conjunction with this morning's event, neither
detective dismissed his statements.

They only drew the interview to a close when Gary began to stretch and yawn,
asking whether they had anything edible in the building. Toni provided a
ride back to McGinty's and again dropped him off with little comment. She
knew that any words they exchanged would only complicate her resolve to keep
him out of her life. Out of her life, yes. Out of her thoughts seemed
impossible to her.


CHAPTER SEVEN

At the detective division of the CPD, the two detectives were dealing with
paperwork. Pawing through the printouts on the 'kidnapping' that turned out
to be a simple 'Abduction by an Acquaintance', Detective Brigatti asked,
"Paul, have you read the statement that Hobson gave?"

Not looking up, Paul said, "Yeah. Well, unless Hobson or the D.A. wants to
press charges, all that is just more shredding materials for someone who
comes after us."

She nodded, looking through the stack and highlighting as she went. "Have
you noticed how many times Curt Franco's name comes up?"

"I saw it," he confirmed, "It sounds to me like he might have a bi-polar
problem coupled with a case of jealousy. Bad combination, especially when
you become the target. Hobson better watch his step."

"True, but did they ever do a background check on the Franco character?
With all this," she held up the highlighted papers, "he may have done this
or something worse before this."

Rubbing his hand over his shaved head, Paul commented, "I think they were
going to run one, but Hobson turned up before it was done."

Toni pushed her chair back. Standing up, she said, "I'm gonna ask if it
ever was printed out. I'll be right back."

Catching her before she left, he had one more thought to offer, "Toni. Are
you doing this because there's a citizen in potential danger? Or because
Gary Hobson may be in danger?"

Without responding to him, she left the office. No one, not even Hobson,
could get under her skin the way Paul did. He was great to work with, but
he had the uncanny ability to stop her in her tracks with pertinent
questions. She'd be more bothered if she weren't so certain that his
suspicions about her motives weren't so accurate.

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

A half hour later she was back to her desk, a new set of papers to add to
the folders. Curt Franco's name came up in various complaints, most of them
misdemeanors.

After more highlighting, she brought the sheets over to Paul. "Just read
the places that I've highlighted, Paul." She sat back down to wait.
At first he skimmed through; then he went back and read it more thoroughly,
commenting now and then. Finally he put the papers down and, looking across
to her, said, "More than I thought. Most of it's petty, but the instance
when he threatened a neighbor with a rifle over the usurping of his parking
space.. And that time that he stood in the hallway screaming obscenities
through a neighbor's door because Franco's paper was missing. Then there's
the time that he discharged his rifle from his window because some kids down
below were being noisy and he couldn't sleep. All the charges were dropped
or probation was ordered. He never did jail time. I don't know, Toni.
That business with the rifle: why does an apartment dweller have a rifle so
convenient to his use? I know guys who like to hunt and they live in
apartments, but they have gunlocks or else dismantle the weapons until the
season. They certainly don't drag those rifles out every time they're
angry. That's inviting disaster."

Toni agreed, "That's what I thought too. Did you notice that when someone
contacted his employer today, they were told that Curt Franco had quit
earlier this week? For a reason, he claimed that he was moving out of
state."

Silent for a minute, she asked, "Paul, why would he do that? To be near to
where his folks live? His file says that both parents are dead. He's crazy
jealous about a woman; so this very angry man abducts her boyfriend, at
gunpoint, then he's gonna just move away and forget about it all? How much
sense does that make?"

"What're you trying to say, Toni? Ya think he's a danger to Hobson or his
girlfriend...or both of them maybe? We can't just arrest him because we
think he has murderous intentions."

She stretched and leaned back, "No, but by the time we would have just
cause, someone would likely be dead."

"That's the way the law works. That's what we have to put up with, like it
or not. Even when we know the potential victims." He handed the file back
to her.

"Like it or not? I think I'm gonna do some looking around---maybe at
McGinty's."


CHAPTER EIGHT

Zeke Crumb, at the bar, had just put the phone down. As Robin brought a
tray full of empty glasses back to the bar, he said, "That phone call was
Hobson. He'd like you to go upstairs when you have time."

"Does he need me to bring something up?" she asked, puzzled.

"He didn't say so. I guess he just wanted to tell you somethin'." Crumb
continued fixing a drink for one of the customers.

She shrugged, and looking around, said, "I suppose I may as well go now.
It's pretty quiet down here." She said it calmly, but she was anything but at ease.
Going through her mind as she climbed the stairs was the possibility that he had
decided that they should go their separate ways. If that were the case, she was
probably going to hear that she was being fired too. Was she too pushy?
She wished that she hadn't allowed herself to feel
so...comfortable around him. She didn't let her guard down with everyone.
In fact, she had made a point during the whole time that she worked there
not to have it show that she cared so much for him. 'Big mistake letting
your feelings known, Robin!' she thought as she knocked on the door.
He opened it, inviting her in, and asked her to sit on he couch. 'Here it
comes,' her inner self said.

He followed her, but didn't sit down next to her, making her dread what his
next words would be.

"It's like, it's like this, Robin," he said softly, "I, I, I, ah, have
trouble saying things sometimes. Especially when I'm, ah, nervous about how
the other person will take what I'm, ah, trying to say. Ya understand?"

She shook her head, "Not really."

As if in anguish, he squinted and looked down at his feet. "I want to....I
have to say something. I'm not good at, ah, this kinda stuff, ya know."

She wanted to cry and she hadn't even heard the words yet. 'Don't cry,
Robin, you fool,' she ordered herself. Don't make it worse than it is.'
For a second she wondered why it wasn't Marissa delivering this speech. 'I
guess Marissa wouldn't want to be telling me that Gary didn't want to see me
anymore.'

Gary took a deep and obvious breath, then slipped down to one knee. Her
heart felt as though it was going to stop. 'What is he doing? It can't
be....'

"Robin. Dear Robin. I want to, to tell you how much I, ah, I love you.."

All the blood rushed from her face, leaving an ashen hue.

"Are you okay?" he asked, immediately concerned.

She nodded and asked for a glass of water.

He stood up and rushed over to the kitchen, returning and placing the glass
in her hand.

"Okay now?" he asked as he took his position of one knee on the floor.
Her head bobbed up and down, nervously.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah. I need to, to, to.." He got off of his knee and
sat down next to her. "I need to do this sitting here." He put his arms
around her with his face on hers. With his mouth near her ear, he said,

"Robin, marry me? Please? I've been trying to ask you for a week."

She was holding him as tightly as he was holding her. He suddenly became
aware that she was trembling.

"Ya need some more water? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. I came up here expecting that you were going to fire me
and say goodbye. I'm not okay, Gary. I'm in shock; that's what I am. I'm
in ecstatic shock---if that's possible. Am I awake? Am I hallucinating?"
She kissed his cheek.

He sat back, looking at her curiously, "How could you possibly think I'd
want to say 'goodbye'? How could you think I'd fire you?" He laughed, "I
can hardly stand being away from you for even an hour."

They embraced, letting their lips touch as though tasting before kissing
deeply, passionately. They sat together on the couch wrapped in each other's arms,
content just to be there.


CHAPTER NINE

The loft was quiet. The only sounds were the creaks that could be heard in
the old wood of the floor. Gary and Robin were on the couch, in each other's arms.
"I need this in my life," she said softly.

"Mmmhmmm," he murmured in agreement as he hugged her even closer. "I wish
we could board up the doors and windows and get rid of the TV. Oh, and the
alarm clock too."

In the middle of sharing a kiss, a crash of glass was heard. Their
attention went immediately to the door where the glass that used to be in
the door was shattered in an arc on the inside. An arm reached through the
shard-dotted opening, unlocking the door. Curt Franco entered the room,
cradling a Winchester rifle in his arms.

"Cute. Very cute," he said sarcastically. "You just never got the message,
did you, Hobson? Didn't you have enough warnings and accidents to clue you
in that I wanted you to stay away from her?"

Gary stood up and pushed Robin back onto the couch when she attempted to
stand. There didn't seem to be any bargaining words left in his vocabulary.

"If you're gonna go ahead with this crazy idea, let's go outside so Robin
doesn't have to witness this."

He was surprised when Curt said, "You're right where I want you to be."

Then to Robin, he ordered, "Stand up, honey."

"Curt, do you have to make this worse than it is? I don't care what you do,
but let her leave so she won't have to see it."

Curt Franco smiled maliciously, saying, "Oh, no, you've got this all wrong.
She's not only going to see this, she's gonna be part of this. Now, both of
you stand over there." He pointed towards the kitchen with the rifle.
"Come on, come on. This doesn't involve making a decision. I've already
done that for you."

Robin rose from the couch and walked over to where Curt had motioned for
them to be. Gary stood in front of her, pleading with him, "Please, think
this over. This is the worst decision of your life. The police know who
you are and I've told them all the stuff you've pulled. They'll know who
did this."

Franco wiped a smear off of the barrel of his prized Winchester. "Frankly,
Hobson, I don't give a damn. I haven't cared for some time now. All I can
think about is making sure that you don't go on living. Somehow you've
skinnied out on some of my plans that I thought would end the aggravation
between us."

Gary interrupted then, "It's not between us, Franco. It never was between
'us'. Look at yourself. You're the only one with a problem. Not 'us'."

An unexpected smile crossed Curt Franco's face as he said, "You're stalling
for time. None of what you're saying makes a bit of difference to me.
Before you stepped into this equation, Robin had eyes for me."

Robin moved to stand next to Gary, objecting, "Never, Curt. I never led you
to believe that. It's what you imagined, that's all."

"Real or imagined. What difference does it make?" he asked. "Neither of
you is gonna leave this room except in a bag."

A new voice was heard, a tough, yet feminine one saying, "Better make that
one bag---one that will fit you, Franco! Police! Put the weapon down.
NOW!" Antonia Brigatti was standing in the open door with both hands on the
police issue pistol. It was unwaveringly aimed at Franco.

Curt didn't take his eyes off of Gary as he pushed Robin behind him again.
"That's right," Curt laughed, "that way I can use one bullet for the two of
you. How romantic---even in death." He raised the rifle to his shoulder,
preparing to shoot.

Brigatti shouted this time, "Put the gun down, Franco. NOW!"

He chuckled to himself. Although his original plan called for being able to
win Robin's affection, it had changed several times to getting rid of Hobson
in whatever way he could, and now, finally, to killing them both and
allowing the police to do the same to him. Clean and easy. At the last
minute he changed his mind again. If he could shoot the cop first, he could
still kill the other two and, with luck, get away clean. The cop seemed to
be alone.

Franco called out, "Okay, okay. I'm putting the gun down." He lowered the
rifle, appearing to be intending to set it on the side table. When he bent
over, he raised the rifle and discharged one shot. As Toni saw him bring up
the weapon, she discharged her handgun. The actions were so simultaneous
that anyone hearing the shots would have sworn that there was but one.

Her bullet caught him in the head while his shot struck her in her upper
chest, near the heart. He collapsed where he stood. The rifle impact threw
her small frame backward to the wall next to the stairs.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs followed the shots. Armstrong and three
police officers reached the top of the stairway to find Brigatti on the
floor. Inside the loft the body of Franco laid sprawled between the couch
and the coffee table.

Through it all, Gary held Robin close, shielding her from the sight of the
carnage. He walked her over to the bed and helped her to sit down. Kissing
her lightly, he explained that he'd be right back. By the time he reached
the hall and stairs, he saw Armstrong slowly stand up next to Toni. He
shook his head ominously as Gary's eyes asked the question.

Paul left Gary alone with Toni and went inside the loft. He had called for
medical assistance, but knew from the location of the wound and the bleeding
that nothing could help her. The 'Winmag .300' was a powerful shot, made to
inflict maximum damage on whatever it struck.

Gary sat down and cradled the petite detective's body in his arms.

Her eyes opened up as she asked, "Gary. Are...are you two...okay?"

"Don't talk, Toni. Just rest. They'll be coming to help soon."

She tried to laugh, but all that came out was a sickly gurgle. A trickle of
blood ran down the side of her mouth.

"Shh," he ordered in a gentle voice. What was there to do? Nothing in the
world could undo what the bullet had done. He placed his lips on her
forehead and kissed her. "I'm so sorry, Brigatti. I'm so sorry," he
whispered.

In barely a whisper of a voice, she said, "Don't...be sorry. Marissa's..right."

Thinking that she was delirious, he asked, "Howzat?"

She coughed a little more and said, "Sorry is an...an...ugly..word."

The breath went out of her and her body went limp in his arms. He continued
cradling her, his head resting on her hair, knowing that she was gone. He
held her there, that way, until the emergency personnel arrived and took
over. One of them escorted him in to sit next to Robin on the bed,
instructing him, "Stay here, I'll be back."

For the first time in his acquaintance with Paul Armstrong, the tall
African-American detective stood back, respecting the occasion. He was
suffering his own loss with his partner dead at the hands of a madman. He
and Toni had shared the same office, the same work schedule, and the same
frustrations, successes and failures.

It was over.


CHAPTER TEN

The Epilogue-A Six Months Later Look-back

Curt Franco had been a loner all his life. No one showed up to claim his
body. He was cremated and buried in a local cemetery.

Toni, on the other hand, had a police officer's ceremony. She would have
been embarrassed at the things said about her in memoriam. But the saddest
part of it was that she wasn't yet forty years old and there she was, gone
in one violent moment. There was no husband and children to gather at her
graveside and mourn her. She had her parents and relatives, friends,
co-workers of course, but there was an emptiness in her life that would
never be satisfied.

Marissa and Emmett married according to their plans. Her father was
deceased and Gary beamed as he escorted her down the aisle, her arm clinging
to his as if for dear life. Giving her away to Emmett at the altar was one
of the hardest things Gary had ever done in his life. Other than that, day
was perfect, the bride was beautiful, the groom..handsome and proud. They
settled afterwards in an apartment less than a mile from McGinty's.

And Malcolm. Yes, Malcolm and Phyllis were married in a dignified church
ceremony with Gary getting to be the best man for his friend. The redneck
part of Malcolm seemed to have been missing for that day or, at least,
subdued. For one thing, he only had eyes for his bride.

Gary and Robin were married in a small and simple ceremony with only her
family and Gary's parents present. Their reception, as imagined, was at a
hall---one big enough to hold their friends and relatives.

It all came about a month after the killings. The repairs to the loft were
quickly accomplished, but Gary couldn't stay there for it nor could he stand
to live there afterward. The memories were too fresh, too much of a
nightmare for him to face. Maybe in a few months, he told himself at first.
But after those few months, he wondered whether Robin and he could ever live
there again. He and his wife found a small house out of the downtown sector
and remodeled it to suit them and their planned family expansion.

The funny thing about it, the Sun-Times early edition didn't skip a beat in
its regularity. Every day the cat's raucous yowl could be heard throughout
the tree-lined older neighborhood, announcing the paper's arrival. Cat didn't
seem to mind the extra distance as long as the food was good..and ready.Its
first time in the Hobson's house found Cat wandering through each of the rooms,
familiarizing itself. After its grand tour, though, it returned to where the food was.

Though this six-month look-back was the end of the story for two of the
people involved, it was only the beginning for the others involved in it.  

Email the author: arcane@nethere.com
 

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