Notes: I use the paper's chronology of events, not the airdates. See the preview to False Starts for a recap. (BTW, "Time's date is incomplete on that and covers that whole weekend, maybe more.) From this point on, all occurs after the end of season 4.

Disclaimer: Early Edition, its characters, and its aired situations belong to Tristar Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made off this work of fan fiction. On the other hand, all original material (including characters and situations) contained within this story belong solely to the author and may not be used without permission.

Archiving:  Except for the mailing list archive, permission is required. (I like to keep tabs on my stuff.)

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The Never-ending Rescue
by Scheherezade

Gary Hobson walked briskly down the street, past storefront after storefront, glancing periodically at the names above them. He pulled out tomorrow's newspaper and turned to the lead he was following.

A robbery attempt was thwarted yesterday morning almost before it began. When 17-year-old Scott Jordan entered Starbucks Coffee on North Michigan at 10:20am, he had no idea that a plainclothes police officer was one of the customers. The would-be robber had no sooner announced his intention than the officer had a gun trained on him. Within minutes, the young man was under arrest and business as usual continued.

Jordan did not have a previous record and no motive for the attempted robbery has been given.

On a busy day, Gary would have had to ignore this news item from his special edition of The Chicago Sun-Times. More often than not, his sole concentration was on situations where people got hurt. But this attempted robbery was the only thing in today's-or rather tomorrow's-newspaper, and Gary needed to do something, anything. Tomorrow's news had been fairly uneventful for several days and, whereas Gary would normally have been thrilled at something so nearly resembling a vacation, he was not handling it well at the moment. It gave him too much time to think. And if Gary could keep this kid from making a mistake that might haunt him for the rest of his life, it was time well spent.

So it was with great anticipation that he approached the renowned coffee shop. Taking a last look at Scott Jordan's picture, Gary stuffed the paper in the rear pocket of his jeans and entered the establishment. He took up a position between the door and the counter where he could spot would-be robber and intervene. While enduring odd looks from customers who thought him strange for just hanging around, Gary tried to imagine what would make a teenager with no prior record suddenly decide to rob a coffee shop of all places. He hadn't come up with any good answers when he saw the young man nervously enter the door. Gary moved to reach him but was repeatedly thwarted by other customers scurrying in and out. There was only one thing left to do.

"Scott Jordan!" Gary yelled as though he'd seen a long lost friend. "What on earth are you doing here?"

The startled young man whirled around to see a complete stranger waving and making his way through the lines of customers. Jordan panicked as the older man approached, and pushed his way out the door with Gary still calling after him.

Reaching the door seconds later, Gary tried again to get the kid to stop running, but it was obviously useless, so he discontinued the chase.

"Hobson?" Gary turned to see Antonia Brigatti giving him the once-over. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Uh.…" Gary pointed toward where Jordan had run. "I was going to talk to him, but I guess he was in a hurry."

"Right," she responded skeptically.

Gary quickly switched subjects. "What you doing here? Today? Arresting wayward coffee beans?"

Brigatti was in a good mood, so she let the jibe ride. "Cute. I'm shopping. And you?"

Gary looked around him, then motioned toward the store. "Getting a cup of coffee. Can I buy you one?"

For a moment the small, dark-haired police detective looked as though she thought he might pull a weapon on her; but the wariness eased and she accepted his offer. Normally she wouldn't splurge on something as fleeting as a cup of coffee, but since Hobson was buying, Brigatti figured she might as well take advantage of it.

"For here or to go?" the beleaguered woman behind the counter asked.

"To go," Brigatti blurted. Turning to Gary, she added, "I have lots to do today."

Outside once again, the preparing and sipping of coffee was unable to overcome the awkwardness of the situation. Long looks and polite formalities only served to fill time. Finally Brigatti uttered a quick "I gotta go. Thanks for the coffee" and left Gary staring after her-again.

"That woman's gonna be the death of me," he murmured.
 

**********
 

Having nothing else pressing, Gary had decided to take a load off, leisurely drink his exclusive coffee, and do some people watching. He'd managed to waste nearly an hour when he heard a familiar "Meow". Gary looked down at his feet to see the yellow tabby that came with his paper each morning.

"What are you doing here?"

"Meow."

After four years, Gary knew that particular mewl meant that he needed to look at the Paper again; something had changed.
With a sigh he pulled the Paper from his back pocket and began turning pages, looking for a new headline. He found it right where the headline for the attempted robbery at Starbucks had been: Youth Wanted in Salon Robbery. Gary read on.

At approximately noon yesterday, a man in his late teens robbed a salon near Water Tower Place Mall. Witnesses say the suspect pretended to have an appointment at Tucci's and began wandering the salon while the receptionist attempted to verify the appointment. The unidentified man was seen taking money from an unattended cash drawer. When challenged, the man threatened the employee with a knife and escaped through a side door.

One woman was slightly injured when she was knocked down by another customer attempting to capture the thief. The suspect is described as Caucasian, 5'11", 150 lbs., with brown hair and blue eyes. The suspect was wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt.

Gary looked at his watch; he had less than half an hour. After quickly disposing of his empty coffee cup, he tried vainly for a few moments to hail a cab before deciding it would be faster to run. At least he got his exercise. As he ran, Gary tried to figure out why the description of the thief sounded so familiar.

Gary checked his watch again as he bounded through the salon door: 11:57. Seeing the receptionist's desk, he hurried over and saw her looking through appointment books.

"May I help you?" she asked as he huffed and puffed before her.

"Did...Did a guy...come in here?" he asked between gasps. "About this tall." Gary paused as he checked the paper. "Brown hair, blue eyes, gray T-shirt?"

"Uh, yeah, he's...around here somewhere," she answered as she tried to find the man in question.

Gary was sure he had just missed him. "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know."

Gary took off down the hallway, hoping to catch the kid before any damage was done.

"Sir?" the receptionist called after him. "This place is getting crazier by the day," she told herself. "Maybe I should move back to California."

Gary made his way past the various rooms and cubicles, apologizing to anyone he encountered for disturbing them. He found hairstylists, colorists, nail techs, massage therapists-but no armed robber. He also found a tanning bed, but the topless lady using it was not pleased with Gary's company, despite his profoundly embarrassed apologies.

Spying a door ajar, Gary sneaked his head around for a look. Not only did he want to avoid alarming the young thief, but Gary himself was a little skittish after the tanning room incident. He saw three customers on reclining chairs: one had a towel over her face, two others had some kind of bizarre goop on their faces. One whiff told Gary that the treatments, whatever they were, included some kind of aromatherapy. Walking as quietly as possible, he headed for an open door at the back of the room. He was about halfway there when one of the clients called out.

"Jenny, I think this masque is turning into concrete!"

Gary stopped dead in his tracks. He cautiously backed up and pivoted toward the owner of the voice. His face scrunched up in perplexity, he squeaked, "Brigatti?"

In one swift movement, the woman before him jerked the towel off her face and sat up. Gary was appalled by the ghastly vision before him. A garish, Picasso-like visage of bird's-egg blue swirled amid mold green sat upon what was obviously a woman's body, clothed though it was in a white terry robe. The shapely leg was a dead give-away. So was the fury in the brown eyes that peeked from the hellish mask that was euphemistically termed a beauty treatment.

The woman-thing gathered her mortification-induced vehemence into a potent energy source and began to rise slowly, menacingly from the chair. "Hobson," she hissed.

"I gotta go." Gary hightailed it out of there as though he were the thief and had just tossed a bone to a vicious dog.

"Hey!" he heard someone yell.

Distracted both by Brigatti and the disembodied yell, Gary ran right into the young thief, knocking the money from his hand. Gary immediately recognized the teenager from Starbucks, Scott Jordan. "You!"

The young man's eyes widened as he recognized Gary. But he didn't stop to ask questions; he just ran.

Gary growled softly and chased after him. "I just want to help, Scott," Gary called, but the kid wasn't listening.

The young man pulled away quickly and Gary, deciding that further pursuit was useless, instead followed the call of his growling stomach and the wafting aromas of a nearby deli. This calm morning had turned out to be pretty strange, even for a guy who gets tomorrow's newspaper today. Gary hoped that a good lunch and a call to his friend Marissa would ease the trauma.
 

**********
 

"No, nothing else, thank you. That was delicious." Gary gave the waitress his best smile.

"Come back again," she cooed.

"I just might do that." Gary chuckled to himself as she swished away. His lunch had been perfect; in fact, he needed to talk to the chef at McGinty's about duplicating it. Reveling in a relaxed stretch, Gary gazed about the small dining patio where he was seated and took in the early summer sunshine. He felt like a new man; the restful lunch in the warm spring air had certainly done the trick. He was ready to face anything.

That's when the Cat showed up.

Gary pointed to the animal and insisted, "I am in a good mood for the first time in days and you are not going to mess it up."

"Meow," it countered.

Gary pulled out the Paper. "You got spring fever or something?" he asked the Cat.

With a mewl that sounded part laughter and part growl, the Cat leapt off the chair next to Gary and tiptoed its way toward a tasty-looking morsel beneath the next table. With an air of resigned good humor, Gary sought for the change in headlines the Cat's appearance often signaled.

"What is wrong with that kid?" he complained as he saw Scott Jordan's name and photo in the Paper yet again. This time, however, a shopkeeper was seriously injured. "It just gets better and better," Gary thought sarcastically.

At least Gary was able to hail a taxi for a change. Although it wasn't far and he could have walked it, Gary wanted to be early, to be prepared when Scott Jordan showed up. Having paid the cab driver, Gary turned to look at the site of the teenager's next robbery attempt: The BigWig. "Realistic, fashionable wigs for every person and every occasion" read the tag line on the window. Gary groaned and began to think of an excuse for being in this particular store.

With a deep sense of dread and unease, Gary entered and was immediately assaulted by hundreds of wigs in hundreds of styles and colors. Some were modeled by life-size mannequins; others were perched atop faceless, bodiless, silvery head-forms; and still more were seemingly suspended in the air, hovering above their unsuspecting victims, ready to strike without warning. Gary closed his eyes against the frightening vision. "Oh, boy."

"Actually, lots of people are overwhelmed initially by the variety. But let me assure you that we can narrow it down quickly and painlessly."

Gary opened his eyes to discover a petite, gray-eyed woman who was coifed in a long, honey blonde wig. Gary could tell it was a wig because a few strands of short nut-brown hair, determined to make their presence known, had freed themselves from the edges of the wig.

"Let's start with the person you're buying for. Unless you're getting something for yourself?"

"Me? No, no, no, no. I'm not getting anything for me," Gary assured her.

"Well, I didn't really think you were; you've got a great head of hair." She reached up examined Gary's hair, causing him to pull away in distrust. The shopkeeper never noticed and continued on in her all too perky manner. "But you never know these days. So who's it for?"

"Huh?"

"Let's start with her age; that'll narrow things down a lot."

"Oh, uh...It's for my mom," he lied.

"Her natural hair color?"

"Blonde."

"Okay, let's start over here then."

Gary followed her numbly, one eye on the doorway, while she continued her sales pitch to her non-customer.

Just when Gary thought he would need a wig because he was going to pull his hair out listening to the woman go on incessantly, Scott Jordan made his appearance. "Excuse me a moment," Gary told the shopkeeper.

Scott Jordan had eased his way behind a rack of wigs, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Gary quietly walked up behind him. "You're a very bad thief. Ever think of getting a job?"

Jordan whirled around, brandishing a shiny and sharp-looking kitchen knife.

Gary raised his hands and backed up a step. "Whoa. We don't need that, Scott."

"How do you know my name? Who are you? Are you following me, man?"

"Let's just say I'm your guardian angel."

"Ha! If I had a guardian angel, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"Why are you here? Why do you keep doing this, Scott?"

"You're so smart, you figure it out." The kid sounded tough, but there was a fearful look in his eye that made Gary even more eager to help the kid.

"Sometimes it helps to talk about it."

"Yeah? Well, you first. Why are you following me?"

"Technically, I was here first. But I'm here because I'm trying to keep you from making a big mistake."

Jordan wavered. He must have known this was a mistake. Gary wondered what had driven the kid to repeatedly attempt robbery. The bell on the door rang as another customer entered, distracting Gary long enough for the young man to bolt.

"Hey, watch it!" the startled newcomer told the fleeing teenager.

Gary froze. "Oh, no, not again." He hid behind the wig rack and slowly, carefully leaned his head out far enough to see the new customer. His eyes widened and he slipped back behind the rack just before being seen. "It had to be Brigatti," he whined to himself. Someone was having a cosmic laugh at his expense today. Gary remained as still as possible while the gregarious shopkeeper welcomed Brigatti into the store. Gary's curiosity got the better of him and he drew closer in an attempt to learn why Toni Brigatti was in a wig shop. He couldn't understand why she would want to cover up her shiny, jet-black hair. His musings on the beauty of her hair almost did him in; he was so preoccupied that he knocked over one of the wig-topped head-forms, causing both Brigatti and the shopkeeper to turn his way. Gary grabbed the wig and darted behind the nearest cover.

The be-wigged shopkeeper set Brigatti to browsing and excused herself. She surveyed Gary with a slow, appraising eye, looking up and down his 6'1" frame, before shaking her head at the inscrutability of both men and the modern world. "Sir?"
Gary winced. So much for becoming invisible. He parted the long titian hair of the wig he had donned-backwards. He gave a short, weak chuckle and pulled the off his head. "I was...uh...." Gary's mouth went very dry, unlike his palms. "I changed my mind," he said, thrusting the wig into the shopkeeper's hand and dashing out the door.

The woman stared after him for a moment, shook her head, and took both the wig and its discarded stand back to its rightful place. Brigatti glanced over as she came near. The woman shook her head again. "Men are becoming more difficult to understand by the day," she explained. "Even-especially-the good-looking ones."

Visions of her day so far flashed through Brigatti's mind. "My sentiments exactly," she replied.
 

**********

"Everywhere I go, Marissa."

"Maybe the Paper's trying to tell you something."

Gary turned in the phone booth. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Maybe it wants you to see Detective Brigatti."

"What? After nearly four years of ruining anything remotely resembling a social life, the Paper is now trying to set me up?"

"Maybe."

"With Brigatti?"

"Maybe."

Gary wasn't about to consider that possibility if he could help it; it was too frightening. The Paper spoiling his social life was one thing; having the Paper direct it was altogether too creepy.

Hearing no response from Gary, Marissa moved the phone to her other ear, an unconscious signal that she was changing the subject as well. "Do you have any idea why this kid keeps trying to rob stores?"

"No." The frustration was evident in Gary's voice. "I think I almost got him to talk when Brigatti walked it." There it was again: Brigatti. Next thing he knew, he'd go to the men's room and there she'd be.

"No hint at all in the Paper?"

"Not a thing," he told her as he scanned the newspaper yet again. The story had disappeared after he left the wig shop, but he wasn't taking any chances. "It just kept saying they didn't know the motive and that he had never-"

"What?" Marissa asked into the sudden silence.

"I don't believe it."

"Gary?"

"He's done it again."

"You're kidding?"

"No. This time he's got a gun and he wounds an employee. Look, I gotta go, Marissa."

"Be careful," his friend reminded him.

Gary raced down the street and around the corner; he'd have to hurry to catch Scott Jordan this time. While still several storefronts away, Gary saw the determined thief cautiously approach his target. The young man looked around, gauging his chances of success. Gary called to him, but the noise from the traffic drowned out his voice. Visions of gunshot wounds propelled Gary forward with a burst of speed; but Scott Jordan made it inside a split second before the older man arrived.

Thankfully the teenager had not yet begun to implement his plan when Gary raced into the store, attracting the attention of employees and customers alike and barely avoiding stepping on a young boy playing on the floor. Gary was attempting to smile and reassure all concerned when he caught Scott Jordan's eye. The younger man struggled to place Gary's face; all the pieces fell into place when Gary called out to him. Panicked, Jordan darted back and forth in an attempt to escape from his unknown and unwanted pursuer, while Gary tried to corner the lad and stammer explanations that came out sounding like a wild man's ravings. Mothers grabbed their children out of harm's way; the store manager attempted to reason with both men, eliciting a protest from Gary regarding his own innocence; others in the store expressed various degrees of contempt, fear, curiosity, or anger.

One of the latter was a very tall, very muscular man who had lumbered up from the back of the shoe store, carrying a pair of 15EEE steel-toed workboots. His irritation at the commotion peaked when Scott Jordan turned over a shoe display in order to get away from Gary who had been closing in on him. One of the high-heeled shoes on that display flew up and hit the gigantic man in the forehead. His subsequent growl spurred both Jordan and Gary toward the door in near Olympic record time. Gary didn't bother to consider how he'd hang on the kid once they were safe from Attila the Hun; it wouldn't matter if either of them were caught.

The teenager flew through the door first, almost knocking over a woman attempting to gain egress. Gary had been mumbling apologies to everyone he accidentally stepped on or pushed until he realized that such niceties were putting him in harm's way. The guy was big and slow, but he was gaining ground. So Gary hit the door without further ado, slamming into the very same woman that Jordan had barely missed. He grabbed her to keep her from falling and apologized.

"Hobson, you big oaf! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Brigatti! I'm sorry, I…." Attila had reached the door. The blood drained from Gary's face. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you," he told her and ran down the street as fast as he could, not bothering to pause or look back until he'd put five blocks between himself and the gargantuan avenger.

Brigatti, meanwhile, turned from Gary's swiftly departing figure to the mass of muscle that blocked the entrance to the shoe store. She looked up-way, way up-and placed her hands on her hips. With a withering stare and a cold, determined voice, Brigatti ordered the huge man to "Move it or lose 'em, Goliath." He looked down at the previously unseen woman. After considering her relative size, her bearing, and her demeanor, the enormous man wisely moved aside and let her pass.
 

**********
 

Safe from his pursuer, Gary bought a drink and found an empty seat from which to quench his thirst and catch his breath. Sighing, he rubbed his hand across the top of head and down the back of his neck. It was his own fault; he'd complained about having time off and now he was making up for it in triplicate. Gary picked up tomorrow's newspaper, hoping against hope that he would not see Scott Jordan's name in there again. Looking at the paper made him think about what Marissa had said-about the Paper trying to bring him and Brigatti together.

"You know, if that is what you want, there are easier ways to do it. You could just tell me to ask her out. You know, 'Local Bar Owner Dates Police Detective'." Gary blinked. "I'm talking to a newspaper," he realized.

"Meow."

Gary slowly lowered the Paper. Sitting in front of him was Cat, the yellow tabby that came with tomorrow's paper. A look of uneasy puzzlement preceded Gary's rather gruff "What?" to the Cat.

"Meow," the Cat repeated.

Gary searched the Paper for whatever the Cat had wanted him to see. Uneasiness settled upon him as he reached page four.

Seventeen-year-old Scott Jordan was killed yesterday afternoon when he attempted to rob a lingerie store on North Michigan. Jordan was shot after he pulled a gun on police at the scene.

"Now he moves up to a gun." Gary looked at the Cat. "You want to tell me what this kid's problem is or why I should keep saving his neck?"

"Meow."

"That's what I thought you'd say."

Gary checked the time in the news story against his watch. He didn't have long, but the store named in the Paper wasn't far. If he got a move on, he'd make it in plenty of time.

Arriving within minutes, Gary looked around the crowded street, then peered inside the store. Things looked quiet enough. Gary debated waiting outside this time, especially considering the nature of the store, but thought better of it. Although he couldn't see anything amiss inside, it was possible that Scott Jordan was already there. Gary decided that he'd better take a look. Accosted several times by eager sales clerks, Gary played the stupefied boyfriend and began his circuit of the store.

Focused as he was on his search for Scott Jordan, Gary didn't see Detective Toni Brigatti standing next to one of the displays. She, however, saw him. Her years of surveillance experience enabled her to watch him carefully without being noticed by either the subject of her scrutiny or others in the store. Watching him roam around the store as though in search of someone caused her to question both his sanity and his character. She was beginning to wonder if he was following her. She might have thought he was stalking her, but no matter how odd he sometimes seemed, she didn't believe him capable of any sort of criminal behavior.

As she watched Gary, her attitude shifted from that of a law enforcement officer watching a suspect to that of a woman watching an attractive man. It wasn't until she heard herself emit a soft moan when his movements created a ripple of muscle beneath his form-fitting shirt that she realized what she was doing. Not knowing when or if she'd have another chance to observe him unnoticed, Brigatti thoroughly studied him-from the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled to the way he pursed his lips as he concentrated, even to the glutes that Amber had been so fond of. She finally called it quits when she felt an intense desire to run her hands over the V that his hair made on the back of his neck. Rousing her self to action, Brigatti moved to intercept Gary.

"So are you just following me or do you have a hot date tonight?"

Gary froze; he knew that voice very well by now. He plastered on a smile and turned. "Brigatti, what a pleasant surprise."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why are you here, Hobson?"

He bristled at her interrogation. "It's a free country. A guy can shop here if he wants to."

Brigatti cocked her head and gave him a superior glare. "In women's lingerie?"

Gary blinked, having almost forgotten which store he was in. Brigatti was pleased to see him blush slightly. "I'm getting something for my mother."

"Here?"

"She...She likes their perfume."

Brigatti raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Gary decided it was time to counterattack. "So what are you doing here?"

"Shopping."

"I can see that." Gesturing toward the sheer negligee on her arm, he added, "Interesting choice. You buying that for someone in particular?"

It was Brigatti's turn to blush. "Well, it's certainly not you," she countered.

"Ah, so you are buying it for a particular person. Maybe you're the one with the hot date."

"It's for an undercover assignment, if you must know."

"Under whose covers?""

During Brigatti's momentary loss for words, Gary spotted Scott Jordan entering the door. His banter with Brigatti had left him in a poor position to handle the attempted robbery. Gary suddenly realized that Brigatti was the one destined to shoot the young man. There was no time to waste.

"Well, it's not every day you run into police detectives in Victoria's Secret," Gary said loudly.

Brigatti swatted him on the arm, while the rest of the store looked to see who was being obnoxiously loud and who the police detective was. Scott Jordan left the store unnoticed by anyone but Gary.

"Are you out of your mind?" Brigatti hissed at Gary.

"Oh, sorry, was I too loud? A kid blew a whistle in my ear at lunch and I guess it's still affecting me. My ears are ringing...I guess."

"More like there's ringing between your ears." Brigatti moved toward the counter.

Gary followed her. "I'm sorry if-"

She turned on him. "You could have blown my cover right there!" The softness of her voice did nothing to dispel her fury.

Gary's eyes widened. "Toni, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

She tried to stay angry, but he just looked so contrite, so like a little boy who'd been scolded. "Well...don't let it happen again."

"I found these two colors in the style you wanted," the sales clerk interrupted. She brandished two lacy, décolleté brassieres with matching bikini briefs-one set black, the other red.

Brigatti blushed; she had completely forgotten that the girl had gone to get them for her. The blush deepened when the sales clerk pressed the point.

"Which do you like best?" She took in Gary's trim six-foot-plus frame, his thick, dark hair, and his brownish-green eyes and smiled. "Or maybe your friend would like to choose," she suggested, turning the items so that Gary could get a better view.
Gary-unable to decide whether to be embarrassed, flattered, or mischievous-looked from the girl to Brigatti to the lingerie. He figured that if he picked something, Toni would pick the other just to spite him. Of course, later she might take out her gun and repay him for his assistance.

While he debated, Brigatti took matters into her own hands, literally. She yanked both bras from the girl's hands and put them behind her back. "No, he would not." Her bearing dared either of them to contradict her.

The sales clerk shrugged and walked around Brigatti. Stopping beside Gary, she whispered, "You can pick out my lingerie anytime."

Gary's initial surprise melted into amusement at her coy smile and he chuckled softly as he watched her strut off.

Brigatti, on the other hand, was not amused. "Do women hit on you everywhere you go?"

"Hit on...? No, women don't...And why should you care if they do, huh? Tell me that."

"I don't care. It's just cheap, demeaning-the little hussies. It's like you're wearing a sign that says, 'All flirtation appreciated'."

Gary listened to her tirade with a mixture of astonishment and pleasure. "I think you're jealous."

"Ha!"

"Every time another woman acts even the least bit interested in me, you get all defensive and...touchy."

"That's not jealousy. That's disgust."

"It's not like I'm trying-"

"I wouldn't be jealous of you if you were the last man on Earth." Brigatti picked up the two bras, walked up to the closest attractive male, and coquettishly asked for his opinion on which she should buy.

The muscles in Gary's jaw tensed of their own accord as he watched their interaction: her playful smiles and the exaggerated sway as she walked back; his flirtatious behavior and openly appreciative stares. Gary's voice was tight when she returned and placed the red set with her other purchases. "Oh, so you'd take a complete stranger's opinion but not mine?"

"Maybe I trust his opinion more."

"You trust...?" Gary knew she didn't really mean it, but it hurt anyway. Brigatti saw it, but was too stubborn to apologize. Gary looked at her selection. "The black would have been better," he told her quietly as he prepared to leave.

"What about your mother's perfume?" Brigatti asked.

"Huh? Oh. Somehow I'm not in the mood now."

Brigatti felt the rightfully deserved reproof and she scolded herself for letting words tumble out of her mouth unchecked.
The sales clerk, who had returned while Brigatti was away and had just begun recording Brigatti's sale, stopped long enough to bat her eyelashes and urge Gary to come in again sometime. Gary smiled graciously at her. "Thanks. I might do that."

Brigatti stared hard at the girl as she waved at Gary. "Ahem. You want to make this sale or not?"

"You decided to go with the red?"

"I'll take both," Brigatti answered.

The sales clerk mentally patted herself on the back. It was amazing how often provoking a little jealousy could increase sales-and commissions.
 

**********
 

Gary wandered aimlessly for a few minutes just to clear his head. He still hadn't been able to talk to Scott Jordan or discover why the teenager had spent an entire day attempting to rob various retail stores. Whatever the reason, it had been a long day and Gary was ready to go home and have a leisurely dinner. But, being Gary, he couldn't do that until he knew for sure that the whole Scott Jordan thing had been cleared up. Reluctantly he took tomorrow's paper out of his hip pocket and, holding his breath, searched for any sign that his day was not over.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" he complained when he saw the headline: Two Dead in Robbery Attempt.

Upon closer inspection, Gary realized that his daylong string of what had turned out to be nuisances was about to take a decidedly tragic turn.

At 5:45 yesterday afternoon, a robbery attempt turned fatal for both the would-be robber and a police detective on the scene. Scott Jordan, 17, entered the Sassy Lady Boutique and demanded money at gunpoint. Detective Antonia Brigatti was in the store at the time and attempted to prevent the robbery. When Jordan refused to drop his weapon, shots were fired, leaving both Jordan and Brigatti wounded. Jordan died at the scene; Brigatti died from her wounds two hours later at County Hospital.

"Brigatti." Gary flashed a look at his watch: 5:30. A wave of fear swept over him; he had no idea where the store was located. He quickly scanned the rest of the article and breathed a sigh of relief at finding a street address. Finding an empty taxi at rush hour was never a sure bet, but today he needed one. He spotted an empty cab turning the corner and raced out into the street to claim it.

Anxiously awaiting arrival at his destination, Gary finished reading the article and found, much to his surprise, an explanation of Scott Jordan's crime spree. Gary glanced up to see that the taxi was caught in a traffic snarl. Time was slipping away; if he didn't make it in time, two lives would be lost, one of which.... Gary didn't complete the thought. "How much farther?" he asked the driver.

"Eh, two blocks."

Gary eyed the traffic jam in front of them, checked his watch, and calculated the odds of getting to the store on time. Deciding that he'd be better off on foot, Gary paid the fare and sprinted the last two blocks to The Sassy Lady.

Before entering, Gary breathlessly surveyed the area in front of the store, hoping to snag Scott Jordan before he entered the store. Gary looked through the window and spotted the teenager lingering, unnoticed, in a corner near the cash register. With little thought for his own safety, Gary hurried inside and headed for Jordan. When he arrived, however, the young man was not there. Gary began weaving through the clothing racks. Every few turns, he'd spot the teen, only to lose him again before he could get close. The young man seemed to be debating whether or not to go through with the robbery. If only Gary could reach him before he made the decision. Rounding the last rack of clothes before reaching the door again, Gary spied Toni Brigatti just a few feet away. Her back was to him and she was admiring a spaghetti-strapped dress made of a silky azure fabric; it was a color that Gary knew looked very good on her. But that thought was a distraction that could cost her life. First things first, he reminded himself and resumed his search for the would-be robber.

He would miss an entire section of the store if he made sure that Brigatti wouldn't see him. The only way to be sure that Scott Jordan wasn't in the little nook off to that side was to go right past her. He'd have to save her life first and worry about her reaction to his presence later. Nevertheless, in order to avoid a potential interruption in his tracking of Scott, Gary attempted to give Brigatti as wide a berth as possible. Unfortunately she turned just as he drew level with her.

"You again? Don't tell me you're shopping for your mother in here."

"I'm sorry, Brigatti. I don't have time to talk now," he said and kept moving.

Brigatti was nonplussed. He always had an explanation for everything, even if it made little sense.

Scott Jordan was indeed in the nook past Brigatti. He had the gun out, though partially hidden, and was gazing at it with the fear and reluctant resignation of a desperate man. Gary approached cautiously and met the younger man, not in the nook, but just at its edge. Scott Jordan had made his decision and was moving toward the cash register.

The teenager's eyes widened briefly when he saw Gary, but instead of backing off, he set his jaw and tried to plow forward.

Gary moved quickly to stand in his way. "You don't want to do this, Scott. If you do this, you'll be throwing away your life. It's armed robbery. And there's a police detective in the store."

Scott Jordan's eyes darted about. "You're lying, man. Stay out of my business."

Gary moved again, not letting the younger man pass. "No, I'm not lying. I happen to know her, and I don't want either of you to get hurt. If you do this, Scott, you'll both wind up dead. Will that help your mother? Your little brother and sister?"

Scott took a step back. "How'd you...? What do you know about my family?"

"I know that you must love them very much to try to do something so dangerous to help them. But it won't help them. If you go to jail or die, who will take care of them then?"

"We need the money. My mom's sick-"

"Cancer. I know."

"We can't pay the bills; we have no food to eat. I gotta do something," Scott said, frustration and helplessness coloring his voice.

"How about a job?"

"I've already cropped out of school to work, but I can't make enough."

"That's too bad. You were a good student, I hear. Science whiz; scholarship material."

"That was before my mom got sick."

"There are places that help families like yours."

"We don't want charity!" Scott raised the gun, pointing it shakily at Gary.

"You'd rather be a criminal? Go to jail or be killed? Cause that's going to happen if you commit armed robbery."

"Put the gun down." Although the voice was not raised, the tone brooked no compromise. Brigatti's curiosity had sent her after Gary. She had had to change vantage points to get a clear look at the person Gary was talking to. Realizing that she'd seen the boy with Gary several other times that day, she moved closer to hear what they were saying. That was when she finally saw the gun by Scott's side. The words "armed robbery" propelled her into action. "Chicago PD. Put the gun down now," she ordered.
Gary grimaced when he heard Brigatti's declaration; he had been so close. A customer had noticed the commotion and had screamed. Scott was on the verge of sheer panic; one wrong move and it would be chaos. There was no telling how many lives would be lost. Unfortunately, Gary didn't have the luxury at the moment of reading his paper.

Gary turned his head slightly toward the police detective. "Brigatti, put the gun down," he told her softly. "Let me handle it."

"You know I can't do that, Hobson. He's got a gun on you."

Gary gauged Scott's reaction. "You really need to put that gun down now. She's a very good cop. She won't miss."

Scott shook his head. "No way. It's all I have. You butted in; now you're stuck in the middle."

"Can I turn around a little so I can talk to her?"

Scott eyed Gary suspiciously. "I want to see you."

"How about halfway? Can I turn halfway?"

Scott nodded. Gary turned and saw that several people in the store were now watching the scene unfold.

"Oh, boy," he muttered to himself. Then he looked earnestly at Brigatti. "You've got to let me handle this. He's just a mixed up kid who's scared and confused."

"In a crowded store, with a gun in his hand, which happens to be pointed at you."

"What are you going to do? He hasn't done anything here and I won't press charges."

"You've been chasing him all day, haven't you?" To Jordan she added, "Yeah, I remember seeing you before. How many other robberies have you committed today?"

"None," Scott told her, honestly appalled at the question.

She laughed derisively and looked at Gary, who confirmed the young man's answer. The determination in Brigatti's eyes wavered slightly.

"Please, Toni. Trust me," Gary pleaded.

She eyed Jordan speculatively for a moment, then shook her head. "No, he has to drop the weapon."

"If he drops the weapon, will you let me handle it?"

Brigatti frowned. "I don't want you blaming me if he shoots you."

Gary smiled gamely. "He won't shoot me." Gary glanced back at the gun-wielding teenager. "You don't want to die here today, Scott." Softly he added, "And neither do I."

Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Finally she sighed softly and nodded once.

Gary returned the nod and again faced the would-be robber. "Scott, if you'll put the gun down, she'll put hers down, too."

Scott began to shake his head. "It's too late."

"It's never too late to do the right thing. Let me help you."

"Do what? Live on charity?" Scott spat out, disgusted with the very idea.

"Sometimes people go through a rough time and need some temporary help. All charity is, is a way for people to help others when rough times happen. It doesn't mean you're any less of a person. We all need help from time to time. Besides, if you help someone in need someday, doesn't that kind of pay it back? Then it's not really charity any more, is it?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Yeah, yeah. That's the way it is. You could go back to school, get that scholarship, and find a way to help other people through their rough times, huh?"

Scott looked down at the gun he held. It no longer seemed like the only possibility, but he still wasn't sure that he hadn't already blown all his chances. "I'm gonna go to jail or something."

"Well, that depends on whether you put down that gun," Gary told him.

"Hobson," Brigatti said in warning. Gary waved at her to quiet her.

"What do you say, Scott?"

The teenager hesitated, wanting to hope but fearing disappointment or worse.

"You put the gun down, so the detective can put hers down. I promise I'll help you."

"Why?"

"Why would I help you?" Gary gave his head the equivalent of a shrug. "I've needed help a few times myself. Maybe this is payback. Maybe I just like helping people. That's my choice, just like it's your choice what you do with that gun, with your life. Come on, Scott. Make the smart choice."

Scott slowly lowered the gun. Gary moved forward to take it from him, heaving a sigh of relief as he did so. He placed a friendly hand on the young man's shoulder and turned toward Brigatti, who was lowering her own weapon. Gary again surveyed the crowd and wondered how to minimize any potential problems from the scene that had just transpired.

Gary looked over the heads of the crowd and called, "How was that?" Then he raised his arm and made an "okay" sign in the same direction. He spread his arms, smiled, and declared, "That's a wrap, people." Gary gathered both Scott and Brigatti to him and began making his way through the crowd.

A woman who was obviously the store manager waylaid the trio. "Is he going to jail?"

"Uh..." Brigatti wasn't certain herself yet, so she didn't know how to respond.

Gary jumped in. "We were filming." In answer to the woman's puzzled look, he asked, "Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That we'd be filming a TV movie in here today."

"You were filming a movie?" The manager was too stunned herself to notice the surprised faces of Brigatti and Scott.

"Yeah, a movie. Should be out in the fall. They didn't tell you? Gee, I'm sorry for any confusion we caused."

"It certainly seemed real."

"Then we got it right."

"What's it called?" the woman asked.

"Huh?"

"The movie. What's it called?"

"Oh, uh, it's called, uh..."

"Chicago Undercover," Brigatti improvised.

Gary shot her a look of surprised admiration. "Yeah, that's right. Chicago Undercover. Well, we gotta go; can't be paying overtime. Sorry again for any problems. Thanks. Bye." Gary hurried his companions out the door and down the street.
When they had fled to relative safety, Brigatti reined Gary in with a sharp tug on his sleeve. "Okay, Hobson, what's this all about?"

"Exactly what I said it was about." Realizing that he still held the gun, he handed it over to Brigatti. "It's about helping a very promising young man through a hard time so that he doesn't make a terrible mistake."

"He aimed a gun at a police officer."

"No, he aimed a gun at me. And I told you, I won't press charges."

"I could still take him in for not dropping the gun when I told him to."

"You could. But how would that help him?"

"So what's your plan?"

Gary looked at Scott, who seemed to understand that his future was now in this stranger's hands. "I've got a restaurant on Illinois called McGinty's. You can get there on the El. Go on over there now and talk to Marissa. Have her give you some food to take home. Anything on the menu. Get enough for your whole family."

"No, I can't-" Scott began to protest.

"Yes, you can. If you want this to work. I want you well fed when you come in to work tomorrow."

"Work for you?"

"It won't pay much, but it's a start. And we always have leftover food that you're welcome to take home."

Jordan eyed Gary skeptically. "What's the catch?"

Gary pursed his lips. "You have to go back to school. And keep your grades up."

Hope began to dawn in Scott Jordan's eyes.

"And not try anything like this again," Brigatti chimed in with a clear warning.

Jordan nodded. "Thanks, Mr...."

"Hobson. Gary Hobson." He shook the teen's hand. "Now, you go over to McGinty's and tell Marissa that...tell her I've been reading the Paper. She'll take care of you."

"Reading the paper?"

"Yeah. It's...it's kind of like a code word. She'll know I sent you."

"Thanks."

"Go on, now. Get some dinner home for your family. And I'll see you tomorrow."

A satisfied smile settled on Gary's face as he watched the boy go. Then he turned back to Brigatti to find her staring at him with restrained admiration. "What?"

"That was a very nice thing you did. Dangerous, but nice."

"He didn't want to hurt anybody. He didn't even want to rob anybody. He was desperate."

"Desperate people are the most dangerous," she countered.

"I had a good feeling about him."

"Went with your gut, huh?"

"Exactly." They began to walk back toward the store. Gary glanced repeatedly at Brigatti and wondered again why she had been at every robbery site. If Marissa was right that the Paper never did anything without a reason, then maybe the Paper was trying to tell him something about Toni Brigatti. Gary's stomach growled softly. "Want to get something to eat?"

Brigatti looked a little surprised.

"After the day we've been through, we deserve a nice dinner. Don't you think?"

"You payin'?"

"Sure. Sure, I'm paying."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Gary allowed himself a little smile. "There's a nice place about a block and a half up."

"Lead on." They passed the Sassy Lady, and Brigatti sighed. "Guess I'll never go in there again. I really liked that dress, too."

"The blue one? It was very nice."

Brigatti looked up at him and thought about that for a moment. "Of course, I don't have any place to wear it."

"I could take you someplace you could wear it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"You gonna wear any of that lingerie with it?"

Gary didn't even mind the resulting punch in his arm.

**********
THE END

copyright 2000 Scheherezade

Email the author:  seriouslysci@yahoo.com
 

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