PART 1
CHAPTER ONE

"Cologne! Gary, is that cologne?"

"Thanks, Marissa," he acknowledged sarcastically, "I even started showering-about the same time that I moved out of the swamp and into the cave. Yeah, it's cologne."

She exaggerated sniffing the air, "Cologne, shampoo.and.," reaching out to touch his arm, "a suit! Hmm. A date?"

Perturbed at her ability to deduce so accurately, he answered, "No! A meal, it's a meal!"

She was not giving up, "With a female? With some talk? At a restaurant?"

"Of course, some talk. What do you think; we'll just eat and go home? And set your mind at ease, Marissa, it'll be at a restaurant.with tables.and plates."

"What do I think? I think it's a date!" She was delighted with herself and added, "Who is she?"

She had him squirming with her questions and assumptions. "It's Brigatti, if you have to know. Anything else?" When she failed to add anything else other than her smirk in her attempt to embarrass him, he announced that he would be leaving. He was exasperated at her ensuing, all-knowing smile, and Gary went towards the door, mumbling as he went.

The new waitress, Sophie, caught his eye as he was leaving. "Gary? Can I ask you something?" She had been working there for almost a month and seemed to get along well with the job and the customers. Aside from the fact that she wore her clothes distractingly tight and flirted with the men, her two bosses had no complaints.

He was almost out the door, but stopped at her beckoning, "I'm kinda in a hurry. What is it?" he asked.

"I've got a problem, Mr. Hobson. I really need to pick up a prescription for my daughter at the Jolson Pharmacy. It's not that far from here, but they're closing soon and Phyllis needs to start with the medicine tonight. I wouldn't ask you, but you seem to be going out and I thought.I thought, maybe, if you didn't mind, that you could drop me off there." Before he could answer, she added, "You won't have to bring me back or anything. I can get the bus or a cab afterwards. It's just that the pharmacy closes soon." Begging before he could object, she gave the selling plea, "Please. She's so sick."

She knew her 'customer' all right. Even in the short time she had worked there, she knew that her bosses, Gary particularly, were a soft touch when someone needed help. He had helped her out when she needed an advance on her wages when she was first hired. He stepped in to come to her aid when one of the bartenders was fresh one day. Stanley had trapped her behind the bar and was playing 'pin a kiss on the barmaid' with her. Another time Gary saved her from a bad fall when he caught her as she tripped over a customer' s foot, grabbing her around the waist before she lost her balance entirely. She knew the words that pulled his chain, 'medicine, sick, daughter,' and a very humble, 'please.' How could he refuse? What kind of person would refuse such a request? Not Gary Hobson!

"Ahh," knowing he couldn't, wouldn't dare, be late picking up Brigatti, he wanted to say 'no,' but it was early and he was compelled to agree to do it. Noble? Yes. Kind? Yes. Lucky? No!

It would have all been fine if Brigatti hadn't gotten off work early that day and decided to save Gary the trip to her house by picking him up. Toni was early enough that she didn't bother to call. She wouldn't mind sitting and talking with Marissa until Gary got ready so she parked the car and was about to get out. When she saw Gary leaving McGinty's.with Sophie, her Italian temperament burst through!

This man, this ultra handsome, charming.infuriating, frustrating.tempting, thoughtful...aggravating man was going to be the death of her someday. Either that or he, himself would be dead-by her own hand! 'Was this not the night they had arranged to go out to dinner?' she asked herself. 'What kind of game is this that my enigmatic friend is playing?' She asked herself the questions, but the answers she would have to uncover-and she would!

Toni sat in the car watching as Gary held the van door open and assisted the extremely blond woman up and into the front seat. She had to do a little fancy wiggling to get seated since her skirt was so short and tight. A lot of thigh was uncovered before the door closed. Gary hurried around to his seat and drove off in a rush.

After deciding not to inflict herself upon Marissa in her state of extreme anger, Toni started the car again and sped off. Why was she so attracted to someone who did this to her all the time? Just how much could her pride take before she stopped trying? He appeared to know just what would get her boiling mad. It was a mystery ever since they first met; and the mystery of his magnetism still held her a prisoner. There were always more questions than there could be answers.

Most of the drive home she was either aiming curses at him or she was speechless in her indignation. As soon as she entered her door she made sure to listen to her messages; and she followed that with putting the answering machine back on. A long, hot bath and some herbal tea and, maybe, she could calm down enough to get some sleep tonight. Maybe.

First she would leave a message with McGinty's to break the date and make sure that Gary would not bother to show up at her door. She didn't say 'drop dead' in the message, but it was more than tempting. What kind of masochist was she? When she wasn't calling him names, she was calling herself names.

They had shared an earthshaking kiss once. It involved a case she was on and it wasn't meant to be a romantic kiss, but his lips lightly touched hers for an instant, then, as if he didn't believe what he had just tasted and he wanted to taste it again, he gently placed one directly on her mouth, making it last a split second longer. The result of that appetizer-sized kiss was the need to follow-up with an engulfing and in-depth kiss that shook both their worlds. It went on and on, neither of them worrying about the onlookers present.

She knew that she had to break it up or her legs would fail her. She broke it up with a well-placed kick to his shin, putting an end to the steamy embrace. They were both out of breath when they ended this very-involved kiss. Maybe it was the memory of the kiss that kept her coming back to try again to stir the coals into flames. While she was at the 'maybes,' maybe this was the final straw. Maybe the question shouldn't be addressed tonight while she was in this mood.

Gary dropped Sophie off at the pharmacy and left, intending to pick up Brigatti, when he remembered that he had placed a bouquet of mixed flowers in the McGinty's cooler earlier in the day. Berating himself for the oversight, he turned back to McGinty's. Of course the first thing he heard upon entering the bar was that he had a telephone message in the office.

Toni's message was short and to the point. Was that a touch of irritation to her message? No 'call me?' Thinking it was intended, he sat down at the desk and placed the call. When all he reached was her machine, he left a message hoping she was well and words to the effect that he would call her the next day.

Thoroughly bummed, he spent the rest of the evening helping out in the bar and restaurant, anything to keep himself busy and work off his energy. His expectations had been high that this would have been the night they could iron out some issues that constantly arose between them. Something was there that would raise its ugly head whenever they had the opportunity to talk, trying to air their feelings. The only thing that was aired so far was the negative electricity that their volatile conversation generated.

Sparks? That, and more!

If only they could surpass their difficulties, he was certain that those sparks could have been of the positive kind, generating the electricity that could light their lives. If only.

"Mr. H?" Vadim touched him on the shoulder from Vadim's place behind the bar. "Mr. H? You okay?"

"Huh?" Gary was jolted out of his reverie. "Wha.what is it, Vadim?"

"Stanley says we're out of vermouth and almost out of grenadine." He was pointing to Stanley, who had been working as waiter and relief bartender. Stanley looked up and nodded in affirmation.

It was late and the tensions of the day had ganged up on Gary as he sat at the bar nursing a beer, feeling a little sorry for himself in his disappointment. "Nah, I'm sure I saw some under the bar, near the sink."

Stanley stooped down and checked. "It's not here, boss. I looked all over. Do you have some in the cellar? Do you want me to look?"

Gary rubbed his forehead and ran his hand through his hair, fighting the inclination to send Stanley to look. "Just close up for tonight, I'll look before I go to bed." He picked up his beer and took it to a booth. He wanted to lash out in anger and tell them all to just leave him alone.just leave him alone! To hell with the vermouth, the grenadine, McGinty's, and the world in general. He just wanted.privacy.peace.a day of no complications.and.tonight, Brigatti!

Brigatti, the 5'2" bundle of dynamite! The woman who drove him crazy when she was near. The woman who invaded his thoughts when she was not near. Her dark hair. Her smooth, exotic beauty, her petite and deceptively delicate frame. Her dynamically proportioned shape! He needed to figure this woman out. Either that or forget about her entirely. Which was it, Hobson? He couldn't forget about her; he tried. Could he figure her out? Even he had to laugh at that absurdity.

The staff had finished closing up and called 'goodnight' to each other as they left. It was quiet at last. He was left alone with his troubled thoughts. "Nuts!" he yelled to nobody as he got up to go search out the cellar stock.

Once in the cellar, he only had to move a couple cases in the area where he kept the liqueurs and mixes to find that which he was seeking. Cradling two bottles of vermouth in one arm and three bottles of grenadine in the other arm, he started up the stairs again. Upon reaching the top, he shifted the bottles a bit and tried to turn the doorknob. He thought that he had left it open so he wouldn't have to bother with opening it with his arms full. At first try it appeared to be either stuck or locked. Surely not locked. They very seldom locked the door leading to the cellar. Stuck? He might have thought so if he hadn't just come through it.

It was as though someone had opened the door up suddenly, then slammed it again, violently, right in his face. The bottles fell to the wooden stairs and bounced on down, breaking as they struck each other. He followed the bottles down bodily when the door struck him in the face, knocking him off his balance and propelling him backwards. Reaching out for the handrail did him no good, his body was carrying too much momentum to secure a grasp on it adequately enough to stop his fall. Gary only felt the 'falling' effect part of the way to the bottom. Somewhere around the middle of the descent, he struck his head on a step or in contact with something solid and made the rest of the trip unconscious. His 6'1" frame lay unmoving, sprawled at the foot of the stairs where it had come to rest.

CHAPTER TWO

His own groaning brought him to consciousness. In opening his eyes to find out why his pillow was so flat and hard, he noticed his location and recognized the stairs leading upward from where he was spread out. The cellar light shone right in his eyes, but it hurt to move his head so he tried not to. He seemed to be face down in a red liquid. 'Probably landed in the spilled grenadine,' he thought, hoping that he wasn't also in the broken glass.

Taking stock of the source of his pain, other than his head, he considered that it was very probable, since breathing sent shivers of pain into his chest, that, maybe, he also managed to hurt a few ribs. He was lying on his left arm and it was painful to even move, let alone to maneuver his arm around to his face in order to check the time. It was also impossible to determine just how long he had lain down there. The cement floor was cold enough to have chilled him through and through. The expression, 'chilled to the bone,' held new meaning to him, but, inspite of the pain , he wasn't shivering.

It was difficult to see. His eyes didn't want to stay open, but he did notice that every time he opened them the 'grenadine' puddle seemed larger. It didn't smell like grenadine syrup and he wasn't about to taste it to find out. At that flicker of reality, he was forced to the possibility that the liquid had another source. He reached up near his face, dipping a finger into the puddle. 'Well it isn't grenadine and it, sure as hell, isn't ketchup either!'

'Blood! My blood!' he said to himself in revulsion and shock, his head playing dizzying tricks whenever he opened his eyes. 'Am I dying?' he questioned, 'How do I feel? How do I feel? Concentrate,' he ordered himself in a hoarse whisper, 'what will happen to the paper? Lindsay is way too young! Who's gonna know I'm here?' His eyes were closed as he tried to force himself to focus, 'I can't think!' he thought in panic, then went on to another subject, 'Maybe I can control the bleeding, slow it down...a little.' He tried to find the source of the blood, examining his face and head with his hand. The blood seemed to have a thicker coating in one area above the hairline. His nose was another obvious source as it was flowing freely, but the pain was all-encompassing and there was a likelihood of more than a couple sources of the bleeding.

He knew he had to try to get out of the cellar. His legs didn't seem to be broken, thank heaven for such favors! Squinting in the light and grimacing from the pain, both from his head and from the movement of his ribs, he was able to drag himself to the first step. Standing up was not feasible judging by his dizziness even as he lay there. Falling again would not help his cause!
Step by step, inch by painful inch he advanced upward, placing his head on each step to rest as he completed conquering each one in meager progress towards his goal. At one point, he rolled over to test the idea of making more progress on his back, with his legs pushing. Not an easy alternative, not faster, but a whole lot easier on his ribs! As he neared the top and the door, he rolled back to his stomach, intending to kneel to open the door, but the desperate strength that had sustained him in the long climb failed him now. He lowered his head onto the top step, losing consciousness before the ultimate goal was achieved.

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

Marissa had arrived for work with the intention of completing her paperwork in the morning so she could attend an afternoon seminar at the college. She had looked forward to the line-up of speakers and was eager for the opportunity to hear them. It was a surprise to her and a little irritating that, when she reached to switch the lights on, most of the lights had been left on overnight.

Vadim checked in early too because he had hoped to perform his bartender duties and fulfill his hours early in the day. He wanted to be in attendance at the Russian-American Club that evening. Familiar ethnic dishes would be served and the music and dancers of his native land would be the entertainment. His fondness for America was a fact, but the ache of homesickness for the flavors and sounds from his Russian childhood was also a fact.

Sophie was there already, intending to work the early shift; and the kitchen help was heard making preparations for the luncheon and dinner menu items. McGinty's was coming to life even without being open for business.

Vadim called out to Marissa, asking whether Gary had brought the liqueurs up yet. She didn't know and Sophie wasn't in knowledge of it. "Anyone see Gary yet?" Marissa called out. "I guess not," she answered herself when no one responded. She assumed that he was out on one of the paper's assignments.

"You want me to look for the bottles, Vadim?" Sophie offered.

"No, Miss Sophie, I think I know where to look," he said as he put down his towel. When he got to the cellar door, he asked loudly, "Why is door to cellar locked?" Since no one in the restaurant had locked it, no one volunteered an answer, although a couple employees looked up before resuming what they were doing. Vadim unlocked the door and turned the knob.

"My god!" he shouted as he saw the sight of Gary's body lying face down on the stairs, blood still seeping from the wound on his head. Blood was everywhere on the stairway, from the top all the way to the bottom where a pool of congealed blood had been smeared by a body dragging itself through it. "Call 911! Please, call 911, fast! Mr. H. He's..." Vadim didn't go on with what he was going to say. He had not checked whether his boss was breathing or not. "Don't wait, call now!"

The kitchen people heard the commotion and charged in to join Sophie and Vadim at the stairway door. "Don't move him," someone felt compelled to say. Sophie went off searching for something to cover him.

After putting in the call, Marissa was trying in vain to have Vadim give her a description of what had happened to put him in such a panic, but he stood there in shock, having seen the way the body was positioned and all the blood, both on the stairs and on Gary. 'So much blood, so much blood,' kept going through his mind.

"Vadim, please, please, tell me.talk to me," Marissa pleaded. "Is he...is he..."

The bartender, as if in a trance, responded to her by testing for a pulse in Gary's neck. As if on automatic, his voice relayed the positive answer. He had no experience in checking on the vital information of an injured person, but did, finally, feel the telltale pulsing of life. There was no mistake.

His fingers pressing gently below the jaw line were rewarded with a feeble, but steady throbbing, sending the message that there was still life existing in the bloody body of Gary Hobson. He was thankful that Marissa could not see the red stains which covered 'Mr. H.' Sophie and one of the other female kitchen employees left the vicinity of the stairway with their queasiness.

No sounds had come from Gary, no movement. His struggle to climb out of his 'pit' ate up all the energy, all the strength he had and he swam in the darkness of unconsciousness. When the paramedics arrived, they found it to be a delicate operation to remove him from his location on the stairway to a spinal support board in preparation for transporting to the hospital.

Marissa did not ask to accompany Gary in the ambulance for fear that she might hold them up in their race to get him to the hospital. She went to the phone and called Crumb instead. Marion Crumb, retired police detective now working privately on cases, occasionally tended bar at McGinty's to help them out. Marissa was always one of his favorite people and Gary was like a son to him, in every way. He could look at him or think of him with pride; and he could find a great many reasons to be exasperated and even angry with him. Often at the same time!

Marissa's impassioned plea for him to help her to get to the hospital was impossible to refuse. He picked her up and they made the trip to Cook County General Hospital in time to find Gary still in the emergency room. Entrance to the examination room was off limits to visitors because of the medical assessments in progress. She and Crumb sat in the waiting room and played the game of inquiring about their injured friend every twenty minutes for the next hour and a half.

Crumb, fresh out of patience, asked Marissa to wait while he attempted to squeeze some information out of the ER staff. Marion Crumb was skilled from his CPD days when he investigated crimes of a variety ranging from robbery to murder. He was able to intimidate most people without a word, and he knew it! Confronting those who guarded the ER exam entryway, he was able to impress someone that he had a right to be inside the forbidden doors. After that, finding his friend was a matter of trying to be inconspicuous while searching for the correct cubicle.

Unable to see the face of one of the patients, he relied on the sight of Hobson's dark brown hair in order to identify the room as Hobson's. The nurses were still endeavoring to clean up the blood. They had already removed Hobson's clothes and had hooked him up to the usual IV fluids. There was an additional bag of red liquid going into the patient along with the clear one. One of the doctors seemed to be in charge as he called out orders to various aides.

Gary was not conscious that Crumb was able to see. The attendants were able to easily manipulate him without patient opposition. The doctor was angrily calling for the X-rays that had been taken and grousing about time being of the essence. He called for an update on the patient's vital numbers. The numbers were relayed back to him in order, beginning with blood pressure. The tension was released to a degree when someone rushed in with the news that an operating room was becoming available. The doctor, noticeably perturbed, commented that it was about time, that in a little while his patient would no longer need an OR.

The depressing nature of seeing someone, someone important in your life, being handled, pierced with needles, palpated, stitched, and all the other things that happen to emergency room patients, was sobering. Crumb stood out of the way of the ER personnel, but in line of sight of their patient. Crumb's luck ran out when one of the ER staff approached him with orders to leave the area immediately. The last thing Marion Crumb heard as he was being bullied out of there, was one of the nurses warning the doctor about blood pressure dropping. A security guard helped herd the former police detective out before he could turn back to witness the new crisis.

Marissa was sitting where he had left her almost an hour ago. What could he say to her to set her mind at ease? Lying wasn't going to accomplish anything. She wasn't a child needing to have things sugarcoated. He sat down next to her and, uncharacteristically for him, put his arm around her shoulders as a parent might. A shudder went through her, as she understood that he was back.

She didn't ask right away. If Gary had.died, Crumb would certainly have told her, wouldn't he? Why was he back? Why didn't he talk to her?

"Marion, did you find him?" she asked, afraid of any answer he might have for her.

"Yeah, I did, Marissa. Ahh."

"What are you trying to say? He's not.not."

"Oh no! He's.not! I don't know what to tell you. They're doin' their best, I'm sure."

Marissa's patience was at an end. "I'm not a teenager, Marion. I'm 35 and have taken care of myself for most of my life. I have experienced the deaths of loved ones and the suffering of others I love, without falling apart. Why are you so reluctant to tell me Gary's condition? Don't you see that I'm suffering almost as much by not knowing as I would be if I were informed?"

"Yeah," he found himself admitting, "you're right, a'course. But it's so hard to see the kid lying there so helpless and people doin' everything for him." He paused for a moment to consider how to explain his hesitance to talk about their friend. "Do you remember anything about color, Marissa? Do you remember what red is?" She could hear the emotion of tears in Crumb' s voice as he continued, "The room he's in is red, Marissa. It's," she thought she heard a sob coming from this 'tough' ex-policeman, "red-with his blood! His life blood is painted all over the floor, all over the sheets," she was sure he was weeping as he forced himself to go on, "He's pale as de.as.anyway, he's pale; and he never moved once while I was watchin', even when they stuck needles into him, even when they."

Crumb was silent, obviously trying to compose himself in order to make her understand what he was trying to say. He cleared his throat and forced himself to be calmer. "They didn't talk to me; hell, they didn't notice me for most of the time, but I could see that he was hooked up to a row of machines. I saw tubes and wires goin' into him and tubes drainin' stuff outta him. They were gettin' ready to take him into an operatin' room. The last thing I heard was a panic over his blood pressure droppin'. Well, no wonder.it was all over the floor! I ain't never been touched like that before and I hope I never have'ta see someone in my life, someone like Hobson, practically a son, go through that again!"

She sat there trying to imagine what it took for Crumb to bare his emotions.in her presence. She wasn't embarrassed for him; she was in awe of his strength of character that allowed this stalwart, worldly, unmovable man to show his gentle soul. She turned towards him and put her arms around him in the kind of embrace good friends share to console one another.

The next time that Crumb went to ask about Gary he was directed to a waiting area near the operating rooms.

Lois and Bernie Hobson were about to sit down as Crumb and Marissa entered the surgical waiting room. Lois' face was drawn and ashen. She and Bernie greeted them warmly with her emotions well under control for the moment.Lois broke the silence following their exchange of greetings, her voice betraying her nervous concern, "How," she cleared her throat, "How.What happened? All we were told was our son had been hurt and we needed to come." She frowned in an attempt to calm herself and hold back her emotions. "The surgeon told us that he was going to try to relieve the pressure building on the brain, but that we should be pre." she took a deep breath to try to stifle a sob, "prepared." At this, she reached in her purse for a tissue and turned away, her shoulders shaking.

Bernie put his arms around her and finished what Lois had begun. "The doc thinks.Gary.has lost too much blood and.his head.his head was.too severely." he trailed off, unable to continue.

Marissa stepped forward to embrace Lois. "He'll be okay. I know he'll be okay. He's a fighter. Isn't he a fighter? He knows he's responsible to stay around for us and for the paper." She was hoping to break the tension.

"I don't ever want to hear about that damned paper again!" was the spontaneous outburst they heard from Lois.

To hear her loud condemnation and the un-Lois-like curse word shouted brought them all to quiet attention. It also brought a nurse in to ask if there was a problem.

Lois was shocked by her own words, but not sorry that she had said them. "What kind of life has he had? Not his own! Not ever to just 'kickback' for a day! Not ever to be able to just, just take a day off? To.watch a ballgame? Well, now he has to take a day off. He may not even live through this 'day off!' Damn the paper!" She broke down in tears."I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry, but he's my only child, our only son. He's only 35 and he may not live to see 36." Her face tear-stained, she needed to go on, but the words failed her. She sat in a shocked silence staring down at her hands.

Bernie sat next to her, holding tightly to her hands, wishing he could change the situation. Addressing a stunned Marion Crumb, he asked, "What happened to cause this? Can anyone tell us why our kid is in a hospital?"

Crumb was about to speak, but Marissa touched his arm, indicating her willingness to be the one to relate this morning's events. It was unpleasant, but far less gruesome coming from a sightless person.She hadn't seen the steepness of the steps that he had tumbled down, unconscious before he came to rest at the bottom. She hadn't seen the blood everywhere, nor the way Gary had been lying, the pure violence of the accident.

Crumb did not contribute by describing how bloody Hobson had been, nor the drama of the emergency room. For one thing, Crumb had heard Lois' reference to Gary's paper and the significance it hinted at. Through the years that he had known the 'kid,' as he called him, he had made a great effort at not knowing about the secrets that he held close. Here was Hobson's mother indicating directly that there was a special significance to the paper that the kid never allowed out of his reach. It was too late to pretend he had never heard it. Now his natural 'need to know' was aroused and knew that, when this was all over, he would satisfy that need to know.

They were all four mulling over the dramatic exchange that had taken place in this small, intimate waiting area, a place where thousands of families and loved ones had gathered in the past, all sitting in numb attendance, waiting.waiting, just as they were. Had those thousands gone through such emotional trauma in their wait?

While they were considering the electricity that had just bounced off of the walls, the surgeon entered the room. Asking if they were Gary Hobson's family, he spoke to them as if he were reading the words off of a script. If a face could be stern and still contain a faint smile, the doctor displayed one. He directed his words to the elder Hobsons, "It's good that you're both here. Your son is being taken to recovery. From there he'll be kept in intensive care until we can be sure that recovery is indicated."

Bernie wanted to, but couldn't, ask what the heck was meant by 'indicated.' He knew, but it galled him at the ease in which the doctor said it.

The doctor continued, "We've taken measures to reduce the swelling of the brain. Your son has taken some pretty severe blows to his head. To aid his recovery we've placed him in an induced coma. It'll allow the body to concentrate its efforts towards healing him." He checked their faces, knowing that the things that he was telling them were not really being digested. "What I'm saying is that he's not out of the woods, but the surgery was successful in its purpose."

Again Bernie held his tongue instead of releasing the anger building within him.

"After he's out of the recovery room, you may see him, family only, no more than one person per hour for five minutes at a time. Don't be upset if you don't get a response from him; remember, he is meant to be in a coma. That is not a bad sign. It's necessary. Do you have questions?"

Bernie stood up and was controlled and brave enough to ask, "How long will he be in recovery?"

"The length of time depends upon indications that the vital signs show him to be stable. It may be an hour or two or.as long as it takes." He gestured dramatically as he spoke.

Crumb interrupted, asking point blank if there was brain damage. The reply he received was not satisfactory. The doctor said the EEG's were inconclusive at this time and he wasn't inclined to take another reading until twelve hours had passed or after Gary showed improvement, whichever was first. The answer was given so matter-of-factly that Crumb followed him out into the hallway when he left, grabbing his arm and his attention.

"Hey, doc, is that tellin' us that you don't expect him to make it? I have a problem when ya tell us all this without actually giving us his chances. You're doin' all this testin' and operatin' and you don't think he's got a chance?" The doctor started to disagree, but Crumb cut him off and continued, "No, don't start snowin' me with the lingo. Why put him and his family through all this if he's just gonna lay there and.die?"

The realization struck him then, that he was not going to be able to shake this man from him without a more detailed answer being presented. The doctor began an oration that, to Crumb, came the closest to sounding as though he had been touched by the patient's or his parent's plight.

"Frankly, I'm surprised that he made it out of that stairway where they found him. He lost just too much blood to give me more than a hopeful guess at his chances of ever awakening. If he does, his recovery may never be complete. The brain is pretty unforgiving. It takes a beating, but when it does take a beating, cells are destroyed, sometimes dramatically altering the patient. I'm sorry. This is so hard. What you're asking me to tell you is an exact expectation. There aren't any exact expectations in his case. Sorry."

Doctor Lawrence had encountered people like Crumb numerous times in dealing with cases like this one. "What I'm tellin' you, as you put it, is only what I have said. I can't be more clear. There are no crystal balls here. We can't just stop treating him and give up just because it's unlikely that he could overcome the severity of his injuries. You know the old, 'Where there's life, there's hope' saying. That's exactly what we're dealing with here." He was going to walk away, but turned back once more, "His family needs hope whichever way this turns out. You can't go mourning the dead before they're dead."

The doctor turned away from the crestfallen ex-policeman and left him standing in the hallway. Bernie came out and asked Crumb outright and face-to-face about what the doctor had to say. "Aw," Crumb began, "you know these medical types. They deal in mumbo jumbo every day. There's no gettin ' any decent answers outta them."

Bernie put his hand on Crumb's shoulder, "You don't have to flimflam me, Zeke, I know you well enough to know you wouldn't settle for anything less than the real thing. C'mon. Don't you think I need to know?"

This man facing him, begging for information about his son said he had a need to know. Need to know. Yes, he had the need to know. He deserved no less than the truth as Crumb had heard it, but would it be right to tell him that his son wasn't expected to come out of the ICU? At all! And, if he did, he would probably never be the son that Bernie used to know?

Marion Crumb took Bernie Hobson down to the cafeteria, got them each a cup of coffee and proceeded to tell him exactly what the doctor had said without prettying up the details. Bernie sat silent through the relating of their conversation. At the end, his eyes were filled with tears that he willed not to be released. He stood up, thanking Crumb for his frankness in a voice that held no life. At the end he slowly walked away, feeling older and drained. If it weren't for Lois waiting, he would like to have gone to a bar and soaked his mind in bourbon.


CHAPTER THREE

Zeke Crumb, 'Marion' to people like Marissa or Lois Hobson, entered Paul Armstrong's office and helped himself to a seat. Paul and Toni cut their conversation short to acknowledge his presence. After the normal formalities, Zeke asked if they knew about the McGinty's accident. "The Hobson kid's in a bad state in the hospital from it."

Paul shook his head in disbelief. It wasn't because he didn't believe Crumb, but because he just never knew what this bar owner friend of theirs was going to do next. Toni froze as she and Paul were told the details of the accident and, even more chilling, the prognosis.

Guilt engulfed her as she listened. In her mind she remembered the closeness that she felt on that hotel rooftop when Gary had saved her from plunging to her death. His arms were around her, holding her tightly, as if she were...precious...to be protected. She felt cherished for that moment. She liked the strength that she felt in those arms, in those shoulders. She liked his face buried in her hair as if he...liked, no, not liked, as if he loved her. Toni clung to him then, enjoying the feeling of being taken care of.

She remembered sitting on the bed with him at that same hotel while she treated his injured arm. Without actually having had their lips touch, their hunger for each other was stoked by their breaths, close enough to taste. They were left breathless at the ring of the interrupting phone call from Marissa.

Toni was reminding herself of the first time that she met Gary when he was the one she was supposed to be protecting, but it was he protecting her by covering her towel-clad body with his body as bullets riddled the walls of McGinty's.

These moments passed, but not the memories. Suddenly the moments of frustration were outnumbered by the moments of the 'fond' variety. Maybe they were more memorable since Crumb said that Gary would probably succumb to this latest misadventure. She became aware of Paul calling her from her reverie, "Toni. Toni! You okay? You look a little faint. Can I get you some coffee?"

Drawn out of her thoughts and back to the present, she sat back. "Yeah, please. Black."

When he returned, he resumed the discussion with a question for Crumb, "You want us to take a look at the accident scene, Zeke? I don't know if we can see anything that you couldn't, but we can try."

"That's exactly what I was hopin' ya'd say. I know the Hobsons would be thankful. So would I. The two of 'em just mope around like zombies."

"We've been working on a home burglary-theft ring that's making the rounds, clearing out homes in the high rent district. So far no witnesses, no clues. They don't leave one piece of furniture behind. Nothing! No one sees anything. Does that sound familiar, Zeke? We're at a standstill, just sitting here waiting for a break." Then, to Toni, Paul said, "I'll clear my schedule and, if you want to also, we can be there in an hour." She nodded her agreement to the suggestion.

CHAPTER FOUR

Crumb sat with Marissa and Bernie in the McGinty's booth whispering together as if someone might be listening. Paul and Toni arrived and came over to see them before proceeding with their promise to Zeke Crumb.

Crumb and Marissa filled them in on all that they knew. The first thing the CPD partners did, of course, was to inspect the cellar door to check the lock. When nothing out of the ordinary was apparent, Paul opened it. The grisly vision of those blood-smeared stairs stunned even these experienced professionals. A bloody crime scene did not usually affect Toni, but this one had struck a little too close to home. Bile rose in her throat as she stared at the stairs.

This accident scene...what was it? What was wrong here? All the blood... This scene belonged to another classification of occurrence in Toni's eyes. She had to vocalize what she was thinking, "This doesn't look like an accident scene, not to me. What do you think, Paul? What am I seeing? And, even more important, what are we not seeing?"

Shaking his head, Paul agreed that there was something about this site that didn't seem to ring true. "Yeah. Yeah, there is a message in someone...someone healthy and sound...taking a header down the stairs and landing at the bottom. It would take a fairly strong force to knock someone off their balance enough to push them backwards and down." He walked to the doorway and the steps, visually observing the distances, and commented, "If he was just going to get some bottles, why did he bother to close the door...and why was it locked as the bartender contends? He would have had to purposely lock it. That kind of lock doesn't engage itself."

Paul opened the door to its full limits, then, to test the door's balance, pushed it until it was barely ajar, the way he imagined someone might do if he expected to return with both arms full. It was out of balance as he suspected and it drifted to a wide-open position by itself. "These old buildings," Paul commented as he observed it. It didn't close; it opened!" Then he addressed them all, "Was there someone here with him? Does anyone know?"

Toni was following his thinking as she added, "Too bad there wasn't a crime scene investigator here. Too many people have contaminated the area by now for it to yield any usable clues. How did he manage to lose his balance? That's what really bothers me. Unless...unless it was forcefully jerked toward Hobson, as in being used as a 'weapon.' That was my first impression. That would give him a powerful enough blow to throw him off his feet...especially since he was unsuspecting, thinking that he was alone."

Toni was still trying to envision someone carrying an armload of bottles, not heavy boxes, not clumsy, bulky things, but bottles. After checking the floor of the cellar, she concluded it couldn't have been more than four or five bottles at the most, hardly an overload for someone.

The next question she uttered, almost to herself, was "Why? Who would hate Hobson enough to want to do this much damage to him?" She was a perfect witness who could attest to him being all sorts of things, but not hateful!Then there was a question bothering them both that said, 'If he was thrown down the stairs by the door, a door that didn't like to stay closed, why was the door not just shut, but locked?' Someone would have had to do that."What do you think, Crumb?" Paul asked. "You must have speculated about this."

Crumb rubbed the stubble on his cheek as he confirmed, "I think youse two have grasped the situation very well. Those same observations occurred to me. I thought I was too close to the subject though...that I was seein' ghosts when there was only a smokin' candle."

PART 2
CHAPTER ONE

A tall, somewhat masculinely built nurse set her clipboard on the counter at the nurses station, asking, "Has Mrs. Hobson been in today?"

The little blond at the computer continued typing as she nodded. The other nurse, Marlene, paging through some file folders shook her head slowly...sadly and answered softly, "She's in with Billy the Kid right now."

"Marlene!" Gracie scolded her at least once daily about calling him that. The reference to Billy the Kid was made by Marlene because of Gary's look of complete innocence as he slept. The staff held Gary in a special place in their hearts and prayers. He was alive, but the medical records held no promises as to his recovery possibilities. His visitors' attitudes were reflective of that knowledge, somber and solemn.

Gracie looked down the hall and recognized the light-haired, fiftyish woman coming from the direction of Gary Hobson's room. She slid her clipboard onto Marlene's desk, calling out as she walked away, "If anyone wants me, I' ll be in the cafeteria for a few minutes."

The petite blond called after her, "Bring me a donut-coconut, please."

Lois Hobson approached the nurses. She walked slowly, absorbed in thought and plagued with fear for her son's recovery.

"Hey, Mrs. Hobson. How are you today?" Without waiting for an answer, Marlene asked, "Anything we can get for you? Coffee? How about some tea?""Hello girls, thanks, but I'm leaving. I'll be back around six." Thinking about it further, she asked, "Has anyone seen any...changes?"

"Mrs. Hobson, you know we'll call the minute anything happe..." the word Marlene was about to use set off alarms in her head and she paused, finishing the sentence, "if anything changes."

Lois' eyes were unexpressive, with moisture beaded at the corners. She caught the inference of death. Her voice was flat when she spoke, "Thanks...thanks." She felt older than she had ever felt as she made her wa y to the elevators. These visits had taken their toll both on her strength and her emotions.

Lois was known, well known to the nursing staff. Every morning she spent a couple hours at her son's bedside. She'd leave around noon and be back a little after six that night, sometimes with a man everyone assumed to be Mr. Hobson.

Her face did not have the vibrancy it had ten days ago. For the last nine days and nights she had sat for hours watching her son. She kept a watch on his face, so still and unchanging, the bruising still apparent, though mostly faded.

With one of his hands clutched in hers, she found herself praying, as she had not done in years. What does one pray for when the awakening of her son, her only child, might disclose a stranger with Gary's face? She knew that she couldn't live if he were to waken without his mental capacities intact. What if he didn't recognize her? What if he were paralyzed, or.or? Her nightmares were full of horrible possibilities. Sometimes it was impossible to know whether to pray for him to live, or.to pray for him to gently pass away in his sleep.

She hated that phrase, 'pass away.' It sounded as though the dying person was sneaking away. She hated herself too, for what she was even thinking. 'What kind of mother would allow those thoughts to surface?' she berated herself.

The two nurses followed her out with their eyes, then they returned their attention back to what they were doing. After a few minutes, Kerry, the one at the computer observed, "That lady is the picture of defeat. I don't know how I'd feel if that were my son, Bobby, in that bed. Bobby's my only son, my baby. He's only eleven, but it is unthinkable that he would be...like...that." Chilled by the thought, she continued on with her entries.

Her work partner asked, curiously, "Say, Kerry, you didn't happen to hear a cat a few minutes ago, did ya?" When she saw the look that she received from Kerry, she said, "I thought not."

CHAPTER TWO

In the Hobson room a small yellow tabby-the small yellow tabby-was laying comfortably on Gary's legs. Curled up at the ankles of the bar owner, it patiently watched over him.

Gary had no awareness of the cat. His darkness was complete. No bad dreams. No dreams at all! The doctors had been content with his progress in having the brain cease its swelling. They were basing any hopes for recovery now on the event of his awakening from the coma. The vital signs were not causing alarm, but their patient was not responding in their attempts to bring him to a conscious state. It was an exercise in frustration to the entire medical staff as well as to his parents and to his friends to have the days of his life passing by without his participation.

--------------------.

Marissa and at least one of the McGinty's employees, usually Crumb, stopped in to sit with him between one and three o'clock each day. It broke Crumb up to see 'the Kid' in the condition he was in. It hurt him even more to see the pain Marissa was going through. At first, when they came to visit, Marissa seemed full of optimism, talking familiarly to him. She sat with Gary as though she expected him to waken at any minute.

The last few days she seemed to have lost faith. When she touched his face or hand, she found no life vibes in the touch. 'Where was he? Gary, wake up. Please, please, just...move your hand. You could give me...us...your parents, this gift.' She wept quietly, her tears making streams of moisture down the sides of her face. It was as if she started to realize the unlikelihood of him ever coming back to them.

There was a time that she would have never shown such emotion to anyone. God knew she didn't want Marion Crumb to see her cry. Was she mourning? But he wasn't dead. He was here, right here. His hand was warm. He was alive, wasn't he? 'Gary, please. I wouldn't even mind if you snored a little. Just,' she quoted in her thoughts from an old English poet, 'let us see life still dwelling within.'

Crumb put his arm around her, bringing her back to the present.the real. "C 'mon little lady, this is no good for you or him."

"How can we leave?" she asked, her voice filled with emotion. "What if he wakens and no one is here with him?" She nervously wrung her hands. "You go, Marion, I'll be okay here. I'm fine." She wiped her tears and took several deep breaths.

"Naw, we can come back another time. It's time we get a change of scenery. They say that people in comas can hear what other people say. If that's true, they probably can hear the emotion that goes with the words. Maybe we can pick up a little optimism or faith or whatever the hell you call it when we stop for some dinner."

Marissa saw that Marion was not about to leave without her. He needed a renewal of faith as much as she did. She placed her hand on Gary's still face to find a target for a kiss, whispering, "Come back to us, Gary," before she took Crumb's arm to leave.

CHAPTER THREE

Paul walked directly to the booth Marissa was using to mope in. He touched her arm to let her know he was there, "Can I join you, Miss Clark?"

She'd been sitting, head bowed, one elbow on the table, eyes closed in introspection and with her hand on her forehead. Paul didn't startle her with his approach; she had heard Stanley call a greeting as he came in.With her present mood, all she needed right now was a conversation with Paul Armstrong. "Sit down, detective. Would you like some tea?" Marissa had never held Paul in high esteem. She had known too much about the harassment, the agony, that he had put Gary through in the past few years. It just seemed that he went out of his way to make things difficult for Gary ever since the fire in the apartment house when Jeremiah Mason had fallen to his death.

She had felt Gary's pain when Jeremiah died. He blamed himself and was distraught with the guilt of failure. The shock and pain of witnessing someone's death-from what you believed to be your own failure--was not something that was easily forgotten. Sometimes, as he sat quietly, near her, she could feel his sorrow almost as he did. Even years later, Gary still went silent when they came near the subject.

Paul's very presence could fill the air with the heaviness associated with self-conscious guilt. For this alone, Marissa could not allow herself to welcome Paul in his infrequent visits to McGinty's. Yet here he was, sitting at the same booth with her and she was forced to play the hostess.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm only here for a few minutes." Paul went on without invitation, "I'm really here to ask about the accident. We're still trying to figure out who would have been in a position to have caused his fall. Has anyone here shown a suspicious side? Anyone quit suddenly? Anything at all that you might have noticed would help. I've talked with Crumb and he doesn't have anything new to add."

"There's nothing obvious to us. We've talked about it among the 'old' employees, but they couldn't add anything."

"Frankly, we're at a stand still. I really believe, as Toni and Zeke do, that someone deliberately and maliciously caused this. Someone wanted him to die, right here in McGinty's and to do it that night!" He sighed dejectedly, rubbing his hand over his shaved head, then he slid out of the booth, "Well, if you hear or even suspicion anything," he handed her his card, "give me a call-whether or not you think it's important."

"We'll do that, Detective Armstrong," Marissa agreed.

"Miss Clark."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't mind if you'd call me Paul. We've known each other for a long time now."

Marissa was surprised at this offer, but, at the same time, it irritated her. She raised her eyebrows and took her time responding in a tightly controlled voice, "I'm not ready to accept what we have as a friendship." His surprise was evident as she went on, "Personally you've been cordial to me, but my partner has been put through every kind of hell you could manage to provide."

He was wanting to give her an argument about Gary being the cause of more of his difficulties than any three guilty men, but instead, he was sincere when he said, "I'm sorry. I know you're under a tremendous amount of strain. Perhaps we can talk some other time. Goodbye, Miss Clark."

She nodded in return. After he left she went into the office to place a call to find out what flight Chuck was coming in on. He had been all but forgotten through the first week after Gary's hospitalization. When they had finally reached him, he was on some remote location in Peru, working on a film featuring Rob Lowe and a great many unknowns.

He had been upset at the news, and more so when he found out that they had put off notifying him for almost a week. Even at that, he wasn't able to leave the filming site for another four days. Tonight he was due to arrive and she wanted to be there to meet him. He would have an unending list of questions, she knew.

CHAPTER FOUR

Marion Crumb had insisted on taking Marissa to the airport to welcome Chuck Fishman back to town. There was no problem for Crumb to pick him out of the crowd of deplaning passengers. Chuck looked...well, he looked...Hollywood! It was well into June and he was wearing a longish camel coat. His head was covered with a beret and he wore a cravat. Crumb was glad that Marissa didn't see what he looked like.

"Yo! Fishman! Over here," the ex-policeman beckoned to Chuck.

With a big bear hug, Chuck enveloped Marissa, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She giggled like a schoolgirl and hugged him back. Next Chuck turned to Crumb. "Uh-uh, Fishman. Don't be lookin' at me like that. You hug me and you'll be spittin' out teeth like watermelon seeds."

Chuck laughed at the crusty, but familiar attitude. "Good to see you too, Crumb!"

"Likewise. Now let's get outta here. Where's your luggage?"

The threesome retrieved the luggage from the baggage carousel and they were on their way ten minutes later. Next scheduled stop: McGinty's.

CHAPTER FIVE

A voice at the CPD station house cried out so everyone could hear, "Incoming!" He had his eyes on the entrance. Antonia Brigatti had just arrived and was coming up the stairs with a visible storm cloud attitude. Actually she reminded him more of the determined 'Little Engine That Could' than of artillery being fired. For her small stature she could make an imposing entrance. Was that steam coming from her nose and ears?

In her extreme anger, she ignored the smart mouth remark uttered at her expense. She stormed into Paul Armstrong's office and shook something in the air, demanding, "Was this your doing? Did you do this, Paul? I would never have believed it; did you do this?"

"Hold on there, Toni. What are you talking about? What is it that I'm supposed to have done?"

She glared directly into his eyes, checking for humor, or guilt, or anything to expose his complicity in this prank. "Paul, tell me the truth. I can't imagine that you'd be a part of this, but I need to know. Did you do this?" She held the item aloft and shook it accusingly.

"Toni, you need a day off. I think you've let the job get to you. Why don' t you go home and kick back today. And, just for the record, whatever it is that someone has done, I am not that someone!"

Accepting that for an answer, she calmed herself for the moment, turned on her heel, almost in a military fashion, and stomped out of the building. She was heading for home when she made a few turns and changed her destination to McGinty's, intending to find out just who was at the bottom of this.

'Chuck Fishman,' the name grated on her. He was there, standing with his back to the bar, watching her enter. It had to be him. She walked over and stood ready to confront him when he did the thing that most disturbed her, he spoke. That was the something that she hated the most about this...

"Hey, Brigatti, you came to see me! That's the trouble with me; I'm irresistible! Come here and let me give you a big hug."

Was there even an accurate word to describe him? She slammed the item she was carrying in her hand flat across his middle and began her tirade.

"Fishman, you sorry excuse for a man, did you do this? Are you the sick little bastard who placed this at my door? Where are your brains, man? I thought you were a lowdown scum, but I never thought you could be this low. He's your friend, for Pete's sake! What's the matter with you? Did you think I would find this funny?" She went on for another five minutes until her whole vocabulary of foul language had been expended. Chuck was agape throughout it all. When she finally stopped to catch her breath, he took one look at what she had hit him with and grabbed her arm, pulling her along into the office with him.

Marissa was at the desk when the two of them barged in. Chuck gently nudged Brigatti into a chair and sat down in one himself. "Marissa, we have a problem," he said calmly.

"If you did this, you foul little piece of dung, I will be your problem!" Brigatti spat out a few more unpleasantries before being interrupted by Marissa.

"What's the trouble, Chuck? Toni? What's happened?"

Chuck retrieved the item from Brigatti and placed it on the desk in front of Marissa. "Guess what Brigatti found at her doorstep today?" As Marissa reached out to touch and confirm the identity of the object, Chuck addressed Brigatti, asking, "You didn't happen to find a cat sitting on it, did you?"

"It was you, you little freak!"

Thus it was that the scene was fully revealed and Marissa said, "Toni, go easy on Chuck. He's probably all that you claim, but he didn't do this." To Chuck she asked, "What kind of headline are we talking about Chuck?"Fishman picked up the copy of the Sun-Times, tomorrow's edition, and perused the headlines. When he came across one in particular, he stopped to read it aloud, "Chicago Businessman Murdered in Hospital." Chuck read on, relaying the details as he did, "The article describes the victim as 35-year-old Gary Hobson, patient at Cook County Hospital, who had been killed by an unknown assailant, dressed as a doctor, face mask, rubber gloves, and all that. The killer had been surprised in the act by a nurse. He assaulted the nurse and escaped, but not before he had murdered the patient in a vicious attack. Police were investigating, etc. etc. etc. They set the attack around 8:30 tonight."

An astounded Marissa could only say, "Nooooo!"

"What's wrong with you two? It's a joke, a terribly sick joke. It's tomorrow's paper! The perpetrator should be real proud of himself for making this up."

"No, Toni."

"No, Toni? What do you mean, 'No, Toni?' Who would do this?"

Marissa reached for Toni's hand and Toni gave it to her. "Toni, I want to tell you something that's going to be hard to take, but please, bear with me. This is tomorrow's paper. I mean to say, this...is...tomorrow' s...paper. These are tomorrow's headlines. This is what Gary does. He takes the paper and changes the headlines by removing the 'death and damage' factors from them."

A sick feeling crept into Toni Brigatti's stomach as she sat and listened to this remarkably stable person speak absurdities to her. She might have expected it from the mouth of 'Fishbrain,' but not Marissa.

Chuck could see that Marissa was not getting her point across. Brigatti had no intention in believing this admittedly implausible explanation.

"You couldn't have been in on this with Fishman, could you? Not you!" The concept was not believable in the least.

"This is not a hoax, Toni. Gary receives this paper, with a cat, every morning. That is, he did until he got hurt."

Taking a couple minutes to fully digest that which she had been forcefed, she stated, "I'm leaving. Don't ever try this again. I warn you." She looked at Marissa, adding, "Don't either of you...just, just don't! You don 't want to mess with me when I'm like this. Nothing is funny about this! And, and, and..." She started to get up. Chuck stood and placed his hand on her shoulder keeping her seated. "Take your hand off of me or lose it!" she growled.

"Brigatti. Brigatti. Calm down. Open your mind...just this once," Chuck pleaded, "What is it that you think Gary does every day? Why do you see him at every crime scene where people almost get hurt? How does he, himself, get in so many dangerous positions?" He paused. "Think, Brigatti!"

Toni was cooling down. Doubt was creeping into her brain, coming in waves. She took the paper into her hands and looked long and hard through it, page by page. "He couldn't possibly take care of all the headlines in this paper. There aren't that many hours in a day."

Marissa took a turn at the convincing attempt by offering, "But he doesn't need to take care of all of them. He just tends to the dangerous ones."

"Well, say that I believe this crazy story. Just suppose. Why did I have the privilege of receiving this...this...magic paper? And I'm not saying I believe it!"

Marissa saw that they had finally instilled some element of doubt. "The reasons 'why' are not always apparent to Gary. He just goes and does his best, whatever is necessary, and lets the 'why's' take care of themselves."

Marissa was about to give her 'faith' sermon; Chuck just knew it. To prevent that, he asked, "So, what are you gonna do about this?" He pointed to the murder headline and story.

Again Brigatti pleaded, "This can't be true, can it? Do these...these things always come true?"

"Do you want to chance it?" Chuck asked.

PART 3
CHAPTER ONE

Detective Antonia Brigatti kept herself busy doing paperwork in her office, deliberately trying to make the morning pass more quickly. The other benefit of the busy work was to keep her from thinking about the special edition of the Sun-Times that she had seen. Right now the suspect paper was resting in her bottom desk drawer. Out of sight, out of mind, was her hope.Having Fishman and Marissa gang up on her with this unwanted knowledge was not appreciated, not then, not now. Even now she wondered whether she would be proven the fool after all was said and done. She wanted to ignore that deadly headline, to pretend that it was a lie. Could she afford to ignore something that could be disastrous when her foreknowledge might prevent it from happening? After all, she had read it. It wasn't as though she could erase that fact.

Isn't preventing crime just what she had worked to do all her life so far? It was her career! If she found that this occasion proved to be legitimate, what would that do to her career, to her aspirations? Anyway, she would know tonight.

The tentative plan was for her, Fishman and Marissa to be at the hospital, already concealed in Gary's room when the attack would take place. There may be very little time for action once it did begin to happen. Being there and not stopping the would-be killer would not, not, not be acceptable.Actually, she had no intention of allowing the two civilians to be present and in danger when, that is 'if,' the attack took place. She intended to divert them to a waiting room to.wait!

Her mind wandered to her first meeting with Gary. She was supposed to guard him as a witness. She put on her 'tough,' untouchable gal act that she often adopted in dealing with men, especially men who looked like the Hobson witness. Because she was so short, she made sure that she created a large image. Brassier. Bolder. Tougher. Louder. More blunt. At times, maybe even cruder. She had to keep her distance from any emotional failure on her part while she made sure to quash any romantic illusions on the witness' part.

She succeeded. So why was she not happy with the results? Why did it bother her that she couldn't turn off the act when she wanted to? When Gary and she were in close proximity, one or the other would say something threatening to crack the image and she would be immediately on guard.While they were in the hotel room on the Lermontov necklace case, she had the perfect opportunity to change their relationship for the better. It came pretty close to changing when she was taking care of his injured arm. They kidded and teased about the wound. Sitting there on the bed, together, close, closer, why did the stupid phone have to ring? Their lips were so close that his breath was on her mouth. She didn't even have to be the aggressor; she just needed to close the distance slightly between their lips. He seemed to be doing his best. It was so close. There would always be that regret. 'Once past, never again.'

She really did want to dance with him that night at the hotel, to feel themselves physically close. Her job required her to take the opportunity and dance with the suspected jewel thief instead, hoping to coax some hint of his plan from him. At the very least she hoped dancing with him would allow her to stay close for any attempt of his in heisting the famous diamond necklace.

Heaven knows Gary seemed to be interested in her. Why didn't she show him that she wanted to reciprocate and develop a real relationship? On the flip side, he was such a flake! All the occasions that they were together and he. Or when they planned to go out and he. It did seem as though he often had to rush off to who-knows-where? Was that possibly.? And that cat! Right from the start that cat had been involved. Is that why the cat showed up at the strangest of times? And in the strangest of places?

The more she thought about the past situations, the closer she was to wanting to believe the authenticity of that damned paper. It provided an answer to questions of why he always broke away to rush off somewhere. But that was impossible! Impossible! Wasn't it? Of course it was.

Nevertheless, she was going to follow through with the plan of the day. She 'd be there in the hospital room just in case there was any truth to the article.

Before she realized it, Paul stuck his head into the office and asked how much longer she was going to be there. He was headed out on a lead and probably wouldn't come back afterwards. She let him know that she would be leaving shortly on a similar mission.

CHAPTER TWO

The infamous Chicago winds were pushing clouds in off of the lake as Toni, Marissa and Chuck entered the hospital. Rain was almost a sure thing, as sure as any Chicago weather. The ride up on the elevator ended for Brigatti on the third floor, one below Gary's. The other two continued up to the fourth floor.

Toni walked up the one remaining flight of stairs to come in on the far end of the floor. Even as she was ascending the stairs she wondered what she'd do if the newspaper were accurate. There was little danger of that, she was sure. She was cautious to seek out the room, quietly waiting for Chuck and Marissa. The patient was the same as he had been for the previous ten days. Toni searched his face for any signs of wakefulness, but nothing was obvious to her.

It was only a couple minutes more before Marissa and Chuck entered the room. Chuck aided Marissa in sitting close to Gary. She took his hand and told him who was there. His hand was...different. "Gary?" she sounded as though she was going to ask a question. "Gary!" she said louder and slightly alarmed

Chuck put his hand on her shoulder, "What's wrong, Marissa?"

"Chuck, are his eyes closed?"

"Yeah. They're closed. Why?" He looked closely at the still form in the bed, "Why?" he asked again. "Did he move?"

"No. He didn't move, but...his hand feels different somehow. Something's different."

"Different as in 'Chuck, call a nurse' or different as in 'Chuck, he's waking up' or?" He looked to the equipment hookups for possible answers, not that he'd be able to read them. Most of the machinery of nine days ago had been disconnected. Gary still had an IV and a nasal cannula. He still had his hookup that connected to the catheter bag hanging near the foot of his bed. A heart monitor was attached to him. A steady beeping could be heard, an audible reminder that he was still, in essence at least, with them.

"It's not anything specific," Marissa noted, hope filling her voice, "but there's something different. You're sure you don't see any changes?"

Chuck would not comment, not even in jest. She was probably hoping so fervently that she imagined his condition improving. If it was possible to 'will' someone to be better, he would have already been awake and kidding with them.

Before the public address system could announce the end of visiting hours, Toni asked them to go out to the waiting area across from the elevators.

"We're not leaving," was Marissa's calm response.

Toni Brigatti looked at her with exasperation and impatience, "Both of you...I need you, Chuck, to watch for the killer and, possibly, divert him before he gets this far. Marissa, you can't be in here when there may be violence."

She was about to go on, but Marissa objected, "I'm not fragile and I will stay out of the way."

Toni wanted to be gentle to this gentle person, but time was uncertain and they had to put their plan into action, "Marissa, I'm trained for this, in procedure and experience. That means that I get to tell you to wait outside of danger where you can't be used by the killer in any way."

A tear rolled out of each of the black woman's sightless eyes as she understood Toni's argument. She rose to leave, nodding in reluctant agreement.

Chuck, strangely, seemed content with his assignment even with its possible yet remote dangers. He offered Marissa his arm and they said their goodbyes to Gary before going to seek out a place in which to watch the elevator.Brigatti placed her extra handgun under the folded blanket at the foot of the second bed in the room. She pulled the curtain to a midway point between the two beds and seated herself behind it to wait.

In the waiting area Chuck and Marissa took seats so he could observe the foot traffic. For the most part, people were leaving. Visiting hours were just now over. As the second elevator opened to receive its new passengers, a man in medical garb got off. Standing immediately, Chuck touched Marissa' s arm to indicate his intended departure. Typically, she whispered "Be careful, Chuck," as he left.

He caught up to the man as they turned down the hall leading towards Gary's room. This man wouldn't ordinarily have been suspicious looking in a hospital, but the timing and the 'uniform' were correct and that meant no chances could be taken.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, buddy, doctor, ah..."

The man stopped. In turning, he asked, "Are you talking to me?"Chuck closed the gap between them and edged close enough to back him up to the wall. "Yeah. I was wondering...ah...what time visiting hours are...tomorrow."

Thinking what a flake this was that he was addressing, the medic questioned,

"Tomorrow? It's the same every day."

"And that would be...?"

"I have no idea." He stared down this aggressive little man, adding, "I'm not a visitor, am I?"

Chuck asked, "Are you a doctor?"

Pointing to his employee name badge, he said, "The badge says I'm a nurse...so, I guess that makes me a nurse, doesn't it?"

"But you don't know when visiting hours are." Chuck stated it flatly, not intending to make it an accusation, nor a question.

Adopting a friendlier tone, the nurse admitted, "You're right. I truly don't. Actually, I'm usually on duty in physical therapy. We don't have formal visiting hours. Our patients aren't 'sick' in that way. I'm just here because one of the doctors downstairs asked me to deliver this note personally," he held up a folded slip of paper, "to one of the patients up here. I need to find room 415 and give it to him. I have the feeling that it's some kind of joke because he told me to just put it in his hand if he's asleep."

"415?" Chuck asked, "That's my friend's room. I can do that if you want. I left my briefcase in there. I have to go to pick it up anyway."

The nurse thought a moment wondering whether to trust this nervous little person. "Ya know what, I'm on a tight schedule and I'd appreciate it."

Handing the note to Chuck, he turned and left, calling back his thanks.After first looking up and down the hallway, Chuck opened the note. He felt a chill rush up his spine as he read, 'Accused. Convicted. Judged. Executed.' 'What's that supposed to mean?' he questioned himself. He didn 't want to be the cause of them calling off the watch too soon so he walked back to take his seat next to Marissa. She'd be interested, no, not just interested, make that anxious, to know what had happened.

At the time Chuck was encountering the male nurse, Brigatti was waiting in the room with steadily fading patience. She checked her watch again. Hearing the door open, she was brought to instant alert. Without being in full view of the door, the visitor's legs were easily observed entering. As the person approached closer to Gary's bed, Toni rose from her seat as silently as possible.

Checking the face of the patient as if to positively identify him, he leaned over and said, "Did ya get my note? This is for Blake!" With that, he placed his hands on Gary's neck, thumbs in his throat, actually at the esophagus just below the Adam's apple, and applied enough pressure to cause a choking sound as he cut off the air.

"Police! Stand away from the bed. Now! Move!"

He released his hold slightly, still keeping his thumbs in place, as he turned in surprised shock to view his challenger. Reapplying the pressure, he threatened, "Back off or I'll crush his larynx before you can spit. Besides," he added, still growling out his words, "you may just do this job for me if you shoot and miss."

Toni didn't expect to have her order questioned. She knew he could do exactly that which he threatened. It was never her intention to fire a gun in the hospital anyway. She was well acquainted with the almost instant death possible with the larynx and Adam's apple. In trying to keep him calm, she stepped back one pace, "Okay, I'm backed off. Take your hands off of him, now! You won't get out of here."

"Yes, I will. If I don't, he won't ever be gettin' outta here! Now, put your gun down. No, not on the floor. Toss it over by the window. Come on, do it!" He leaned over again as if ready to finish the job he began. His voice was somewhat muffled by a surgical mask, but, even in the subdued lighting, Toni thought that she knew him. Anyway, she slid her gun across the room where it came to rest at the wall near the window.

"Okay, now what?"

"Now you step into that bathroom and close the door. Move!"

"How do I know that you're not gonna finish the job?"

"You don't."

"Then there's no point to me doing what you ask, is there?"

He reached down and pushed the call button. When he received a response he identified himself as a doctor and requested a nurse, adding the attention-getting, 'Stat.'

Toni wondered what his plan would be and didn't have long to wonder. A nurse no bigger than Toni entered and stood in speechless shock at seeing a 'doctor' with his hands around the patient's neck.

"Get over here," he ordered. Grabbing her around the waist and neck, he warned Brigatti, "Don't come out or I'll break her neck and you'll find her body in the stairway. If I'm able to reach the street without interference, I'll release her. Otherwise, this hospital will be needin' to hire another nurse for this shift." His tone was one of icy malevolence as he dragged the frightened woman out with him.

Before closing the door behind them he spat out another warning, "There'll be another time. He'll pay and he'll know why!"

As soon as the door closed, Toni went over to Gary. His breathing had normalized and his eyes were closed, but the heart monitor was beeping erratically. She called a nurse and gathered her weapons from the floor and from the other bed before anyone arrived. Leaving Gary to their medical expertise, she cautiously went to find out how the hostage-nurse had fared, making sure to call for CPD assistance.


CHAPTER THREE

Lois Hobson preceded her husband, Bernie, off of the elevator on the fourth floor. She was engaged in a non-stop conversation about the previous evening as they walked. "Wasn't Aunt Bridget pleased to see us? We probably shouldn't have gone, what with Gary in the hospital, but she's only going to be eighty once. She's the only one left in your mother's family. Eighty and she's just as sharp-minded as she ever was..."

"Lois, Aunt Bridget never was all that sharp. There was the time that she..."

The nurse's station had been a conflux of activity and failed to notice the two pass by. As the senior Hobsons turned the corner leading to Gary's room, Lois interrupted her husband, "Bern, Bernie!" She gestured to the hall ahead. "Is that..is...is that what I think it is?"

Bernie noticed the uniformed officer sitting in front of their son's room. "If it ain't, then I'm seein' things too. It sure looks like a cop out there. Why would a..." They increased their speed in their semi-panic to find out what could have happened to have caused a guard to be placed at their son's room.

Lois' hand was reaching for the handle of the door when the officer stood up to block any entrance to the room. "I'm sorry, but no one's allowed in this room."

People mistaking Lois Hobson's short and petite stature as delicate and submissive were often surprised to find out just how formidable she could be when being thwarted. "You don't want to mess with a father and mother's access to their son's bedside, I'm sure." Her eyes spoke a threat even though her words were delivered in a dead calmness. "We're his parents and we're going in there."

The officer stood his ground and put one hand on his side weapon as he said, "Sorry, you're probably exactly who you claim to be, but my orders are that no one is to enter without a doctor or nurse accompanying them. You can get clearance down at the nurse's desk."

The standoff had them standing, face-to-face-to-face, with Lois about to explode in her anger and frustration. Bernie saved the day by backing down first, placing his arm around her shoulders, softly urging, "C'mon, Lois. We're outnumbered. Let's go get reinforcements."

Lois fussed and fumed as they retraced their steps back to the gathering of medical staff. She was next to tears and allowed Bernie to be the spokesperson, "Who's in charge here?" Bernie touched the arm of one of the male personnel who had been lecturing to the others standing behind the desk. He continued talking as if Bernie wasn't there. The next voice Bernie Hobson used was loud enough to have been heard on the floor below. "Who the hell is in charge on this floor? Anyone? Anyone know? Anyone care?"

The medical group grew suddenly quiet. After a few moments of disbelief, the same man that he had just addressed responded to him with a forced calm to his voice, "Can I ask you to lower your voice, sir? This is a hospital and some of the patients can't handle the stress of noise. You can consider me in charge if you want to talk in a normal, calm voice."

He was rewarded with Bernie asking in a much quieter tone, "My son is in room 415. Yesterday, when my wife left, he was sleeping and unresponsive. We were away overnight. One night!! This morning, right now, we were warned off from visiting by a uniformed cop! What I want to know is what happened!" When he reached the words, 'what happened' his voice had grown again to a higher decibel level.

The day nurse, Marlene, suddenly realized what he was asking about. "Doctor, this is Mr. Hobson. He's the father of the patient. You know, the one..."

The doctor gave a double take between the nurse and Bernie, his whole demeanor changing to one of caring remorse as he realized what she was trying to say. He turned to face the distraught parents, "Please, come with me. I'd like to explain the reason for the officer and why you couldn't just 'see' your son." He led them down to a physician's lounge and motioned for them to sit down.

The storm clouds that enveloped Lois a few minutes ago had changed to tremors of fear. If nothing was wrong, why would someone have to prevent them from seeing their son? Why would a police officer be stationed outside his door? She was filling in the blanks with all negative answers, waiting for the doctor to speak. It seemed as though he was taking extra time in order to build up his courage to provide an explanation. For what?

"C'mon, Doc, what's wrong?" Bernie could stand it no longer. "We know somethin's not right. We want to see our kid." The additional hesitation caused him to plead, "Help us out here."

After clearing his voice, the doctor finally began his explanation, "First I have to apologize for addressing you as I did out there. I had no idea who you were. You certainly were reasonable to be demanding attention." He looked back at the coffee urns. "Would either of you like a cup of coffee?"

Impatiently, Lois urged, "No. Just go on."

"Yesterday evening someone created a dangerous situation for the hospital and made an attempt on your son's life."

Bernie and Lois felt the blood drain from their faces. "How..."

"We don't know all the details. The police have been involved fully. They can give you the 'whys' better than I can. We know that a police detective was in the room when the attack took place. She..."

At this point, Bernie and Lois exchanged an understanding glance between themselves. They knew, without a doubt, that the detective, 'she,' must be Brigatti. Lois gave the doctor an invitation to continue.

"She was able to stop the person from doing any permanent damage. As a result, though, there has been a guard posted. He, your son, will be transferred to a room closer to the nurse's desks as a temporary 'fix.' I' ll accompany you to his room now and get you past the policeman. When you return tomorrow, you will have to have someone accompany you into the room and stay during the visit-police policy." He wiped his brow with a handkerchief as if he had just finished an exhausting task, adding, "Shall we go?"

They followed closely, anxiously, fearfully. Dr. Frazier gained them entrance and left. Upon entering, they were struck by the figure in the bed. The bandages that had enveloped his head for almost two weeks had been removed. A fringe of dark hair was showing at the wound site. His face was still and rested looking, but appeared even more pale than it had on the previous day.

Lois leaned to kiss her son's cheek. As she did she saw the vivid bruises on his throat. She froze inside to think that someone would do such a thing.

Bernie understated the obvious in this case with, "Man, those are some awesome marks!"

Lois' eyes were moist at the sight. "How could they have done this? To a helpless.. To a... To Gary?" She allowed the tears to flow and her husband of 36 years held her tightly. His eyes were dry, but his heart was numb with the sadness of having the two most important people in his life suffering so.

Bernie pulled the chair closer for Lois and she reached for Gary's hand as she sat down. Reaching beneath the coverings for his hand, she was aghast to find restraints limiting his movements. That thought struck her as so ludicrous that the expression on her face caused Bernie to ask what was wrong.

"What's wrong? Exactly!" She was more than puzzled; she was mad! "What next?" she asked as she pulled the blanket and sheet away so Bernie could see Gary's hands as she did, restrained as if he were dangerous!

Bernie stared at the restraints, his eyes disclosing his growing anger. "What's with that? When did those get...and what's with the bandages?" His indignant fury was building as hers did. Gary's left hand had been wrapped in gauze bandaging covering the whole hand except for the fingers. His right hand was somewhat swollen, but without bandaging.

The significance of this evidence of...activity...hadn't as yet dawned on them. Were they even considering how a supposedly unconscious man could sustain this kind of injury?

Maybe they had. Maybe they were afraid. Afraid? Afraid that their son may have reached some state of consciousness? Perhaps. Or, maybe, afraid of what kind of person had awakened. Could they have made that advanced a consideration?

Hardly realizing that she had done so, Lois pushed the call button, demanding in an insistent voice, to see a doctor in the room-immediately!

Immediately was not much more than five minutes. A noticeably tall, youngish man in a medical coat entered the room. He appeared youngish to them, but it was difficult to tell. His face was partially covered by a bandage covering his nose. His left eye had been blackened; his lower lip was split and swollen. Light lacerations were seen on his swollen jaw.He held his hand out to them and introduced himself as Dr. Diemers. He took a couple minutes to check the heart monitor and noted the rate before addressing them, "I checked your son over early this morning. We're quite optimistic about him at this point. For someone in the condition that he was in, and considering the attack of last evening, he's doing very well." He added, "Do you have any specific questions?"

Bernie was the first to speak, asking bluntly, "What's goin' on? Okay, he's doin' great. You're optimistic. Everything's wonderful! Then tell me this, why's he in restraints? Why are his hands all beat up?" He waved his arms in frustration as he tried to extract some explanation for Gary's hands. "Why would you even place restraints on an unconscious man?"

What Bernie had said was exactly what Lois would have said, but she knew that she couldn't have said it without becoming emotional.

"Why don't you both sit down?" He brought another chair over for Bernie. "You son is doing well, not wonderful, but very well. He's not really unconscious by our standards. We consider him to be in a sedated sleep at this time."

Before he could go on, Lois demanded, "Sedated sleep you say? Who sedated a comatose patient? I thought that you wanted to have him wake up. Sedated!""Just a minute, Mrs. Hobson. I'll tell you the whole story. Last night someone posing as a doctor entered this room and attempted to strangle him. They would have, too, if it hadn't been for a police detective being on the scene. Anyway, they succeeded in causing the ugly bruises on his neck, but nothing more permanent in damage. He was checked over right after the incident." He took a minute to cover his patient again.

A cynical Bernie pressed for more information, "Were you gonna mention the small detail of sedation and bandaged hands?"

A faint smile stole over the physician's face as he continued, "I was getting to that. Anyway, that was last night. This morning I was on duty to check your son. As I was leaning over with the flashlight to check his eye responses, he opened his eyes-wide! Damned if he didn't scare me half to death. His eyes were wide with panic, or fear, or whatever. He brought his hands up and started pounding on me, fighting me off. I think he thought, with my white garb, that I was the one from the night before. He very likely thought that I was the one who attacked him. Which means that he probably reached some sort of awareness during the attack, enough to at least see what the person was wearing." He pointed, indicating towards his facial injuries, "I tried to pull away, but he just held on with one hand and punched me out with the other. You can see that he's gotten some of his strength back."

Bernie was amused, at least inside. He was afraid to speak, for fear of laughing with pride in envisioning his son beating up the doctor attending him.

Lois lowered her guard and meekly asked what they could expect next. Dr. Diemers shrugged his shoulders and, with what the Hobsons took for an 'I haven't the vaguest of ideas,' said, "I wish I knew what to tell you to expect. We don't know what to expect. If he wakes up..."

He should have known better than to suggest 'if' to these two devoted parents. They simultaneously corrected him with, "When! Not 'if,' when!"

"Of course. When he wakes we'll know much better how to proceed. The sedatives are due to wear off any time now. If you're here when they do, please call and alert the staff."

Bernie was quick to respond, "We'll be here until they kick us out tonight. Do ya think we could sleep knowin' that he might wake up with no one around?" When the doctor looked like he was about to take exception to Bernie's assumption that Gary was left unattended, with the hidden accusation of neglect, Bernie made sure to cover his faux pas with, "Of course we're not saying that you aren't watchin' him. Honest, Doc, we really need to see our boy make the trip back to us."

"Speaking of that," he said, "I need to get back too," forcing a smile and adding, "I'll try to see that you aren't bothered."

CHAPTER FOUR

Bernie awoke with a start from what had become his nightmare. He jumped up abruptly from his slouched sleeping position on the chair next to Gary's bed. At his exclamation, which happened to include one of Lois' least-loved epithets, she also woke up. When he saw her raise her head from its resting place on the bed next to their son's arm, Bernie hurriedly apologized, "Oh...heck, Lois. I didn't mean to wake you." Bernie checked his watch.

"Lois, hon, we've gotta go. It's 11:30." Her arguments toward staying longer had no strength; they were both exhausted.

As they drove back to the loft, Bernie attempted to relay his disturbing dream to her. It had been a dream, but it seemed full of symbolism. Gary was in it-in a way. Bernie and Lois were at a long banquet table. The guests were almost all the people they knew here in Chicago, certainly all the McGinty's bunch.

In addition to Marissa being there, Vadim, Robin, the other waitresses and the kitchen crew were all seated at the sides of the table. Oh, and he remembered seeing the face of Juan, who did janitorial services for the bar, seated down toward the middle of the table. Even Chuck was in the group seated.

At the head of the table the host's chair was vacant. The walls were lined with mirrors that caught the flickering lights of the candles. Bottles of red wine were at the ready on the side tables. Formal place settings, complete with wine-filled, crystal stemware faced each guest, but not the host's chair. The only sign of service setting at the head of the table was a long-handled silver bell.

All the friendly conversation died when the bell rang as it fell over, unassisted. Paul Armstrong and Antonia Brigatti entered the room carrying a large, ornate, silver-domed serving platter between them. It was placed before the host's chair and the two CPD detectives stepped back slightly to wait. Each of the guests sat looking from one to another, wondering about the absence of the host.

Zeke Crumb, seated next to the head of the table, attracted everyone's attention as he reached forward and, looking around for approval-or disapproval, lifted the dome of the platter to see what the main dish was to be. The guests were aghast and Lois Hobson fainted on the spot when they saw Gary's severed head on the platter, surrounded by garnishes. That was the waking point for Bernie and that's what stayed in his head.

"Lovely," Lois said sarcastically, "just lovely."

They didn't say much else until they were in bed and ready to turn out the lights. Lois was half asleep already when Bernie asked, "So.do ya think the dream was s'posed to mean somethin'?"

Sleepily she said, "Absolutely."

Silence. "Well? Whatta ya think?"

"Without a doubt, Bernie, it meant that you should've gone easy on the pepper sauce you had with the gnocchi tonight."

He turned out the lights, innocently asking, "Ya think?"

PART 4
CHAPTER ONE

Gary opened his eyes upon hearing someone humming. No, that wasn't the whole reason or even the main reason that he opened his eyes. He did it because someone was doing something that disturbed him. He actually woke to awareness suddenly and with a jerk, causing him to stiffen out his muscles.

When the nurse noticed the patient's coming awake, she greeted him and began to explain to an embarrassed Gary that she was checking the catheter and what she called an 'irritation' in that area. Upon his reaction to the embarrassment, she also suffered some degree of embarrassment at the all too obvious results.

"Sorry," she apologized immediately, "I'll be finished here in a minute." As she brought his covers back up she let him know that she'd inform the doctor that he was awake. He decided to save up his multitude of questions for the doctor.

He lay there fully awake, fully alert. A distant headache threatened as he watched the sun's rays producing Technicolor patterns in the raindrop prisms on the window. Chicago had had its quota of precipitation; enough for the whole year and it still had six weeks to go until the June 30 year-end.

The doctor that she had promised, actually, Doctor Previn, entered and approached his patient. After he did the usual eye response test, he asked Gary how he was feeling. He shrugged his answer.

"Headache?" the doctor inquired. Gary lied, shaking his head. He knew that he needed to be 'healthy' to be allowed to go home.

His negative answer didn't convince the doctor. An unbelieving doctor responded, "No, huh?" Trying to produce a smile on his patient's face, he commented dryly, "I'll bet I could drive you to tears by turning on MTV right now. At least it has that effect on me when my kids turn it on."

Gary's eyes widened as if to ask, 'You wouldn't.would you?' This seemed the perfect time to ask his questions, beginning with "Doc, I hate to ask, and I know this is a hospital, but...what happened? I don't remember..."

"That's not surprising. It's also not important. Time will either bring back the memory...or it will just stay hidden in those gray cells."

"How long..." Gary began his next inquiry.

Dr. Previn checked his chart. "You've been here about ten days." He saw from his patient's face that this was not the question that was intended.

"Oh, you mean how long until you go home?" Gary nodded. At this Doctor

Previn laughed and said, "I know you want out," he received another nod in return, "but it's too soon to tell. The neurologist wants to have his turn with tests."

How was Gary to convince this man that it was necessary for him, Gary, to return to his duties and responsibilities? He hadn't seen the paper since before the accident. He couldn't just whip out a copy and flash it in the eyes of this medical man. If he did, he could count on spending some more time here, in psychiatric evaluation. Besides, few people had enough faith in anything to believe in tomorrow's paper, even if it was placed in their hands.

Gary thought he'd try a different ploy. "Ten days! Doctor, I just have to go home. I have to! There are things that...that won't get done without me doing them. Can't you give me some pills and release me?"

The doctor was not swayed by the melodramatics of the patient. "Everyone wants to leave the hospital. You aren't the only one here who wishes that he were somewhere else. Right now, even I wish that I were somewhere else! Think, Man! You missed the kiss of death by inches! You left more blood at the accident scene than you had left in your body! Can't you understand the serious nature of all this?" Judging by the attitude of the man frowning at him from the bed, the doctor could see that none of what he was saying impressed his patient. "What more can I tell you to make you see that we don't want you here one second longer than is absolutely necessary?" Before he finished his sermonizing, he added, "Oh, and pills are not the whole answer, my friend."

Going on, he tried to reach a more positive attitude level and to explain, "Your tests thus far have been very good. We were really only waiting for you to be able to come awake and stay that way too. The headaches will come and go. Tylenol should do some good. If you need something stronger, contact your personal physician."

Then he began a series of questions for Gary to answer to check his level of memory retention, the first of which was 'What's your name?'An exasperated Gary gave him the answers he sought and the physician continued quizzing him with questions to determine how far back the memory loss entailed.

Gary answered, "My bartender needed some stores from the cellar. That's probably the last I remember before waking up, I would guess."

"Do you remember anything about the accident?"

Gary shrugged and admitted, truthfully this time, "Not much," then, "I remember some stairs.and.falling. That's it." He squinted as if that would help him remember.

Acknowledging that the patient probably had a full-fledge headache by now, Dr. Previn said, "Your friends will probably fill you in as much as anyone can about what happened. You fell, you received a severe concussion.you'll have varying degrees of headache pain on and off for a while. You lost considerable blood, as I told you. There were a multitude of bruises, most of which are only a memory even to those who took care of you these past two weeks."

Between this sobering information and the headache, Gary had become quiet and appeared downcast. He was tired of the whole thing: the hospital, the routine, the food.yeah, the food especially. He was frustrated with memory lapses.of any kind. Doctor Previn tried to console him with, "I told you the memory of the accident is not that important. In fact, maybe it's better not to remember it at this time. It may come back...maybe not." He checked his watch. "I'll check in with you this afternoon. If all's well and you don't beat up any more of our doctors, like you did to Jack Diemers," he smiled at saying it, "you can be released, ah, tomorrow or the next day."

Gary was still negotiating, "What about today? I really need to get home. What they're doing for me here can be done there."

Dr. Previn thought a minute, then he patted Gary's shoulder. "Sorry. The best I can do is tomorrow morning-if you have no further moments of unconsciousness. See you this afternoon, Gary."

"Wai-wai-wai-wait!" Gary stammered, "Can you take these restraints off? Please." Few things bothered him as much as restraints. Well, there was, possibly, one more bothersome.

The words were barely out of his mouth when the doctor was already removing the wrist cuffs. All the 'discussion' had been very tiring to the patient, but one more request needed addressing. "Can you also have this.this.'thing ' removed from..." He gestured towards the lower part of his torso.It broke the tension. The doctor recognized the attempt to ask that the catheter be removed without mentioning the 'p' word. He allowed himself an amused smile and actually chuckled as he reached to pull the covers down and off of Gary. "I can help you with that too."

Again Gary stammered, "Wai-wai-wai-wait, please, would you, ah, ah," Gary motioned towards the open door.

Still amused, Dr. Previn reached up and pulled the modesty curtain around the bed. Then he continued in his efforts to remove the catheter, much to Gary's relief.

"Now, can I get out of bed? I have need to, ah, ah, use the, ah, facility."

That was the end of the good humor of his doctor. "Not a chance," he said as he reached under the side table and brought forth a strange shaped plastic bottle, setting it on top of the table. "This will have to do unless you want an attendant to assist you to and in there," he used his thumb in a hitchhiking gesture, "to use the restroom."

At this point, Gary gave a half-hearted laugh, "You're joking, right?"

"I'm gonna leave now, but there's nothing funny about the orders that I'm leaving with the nurse on duty. If she finds you out of bed for any reason, she's to use you as a learning device for the other nurses in how to insert a catheter in a man! Do you understand? Better yet, do you believe me?"Timidly, Gary nodded-then he reached for the bottle as soon as the doctor was out of the room.

CHAPTER TWO

Zeke Crumb, Paul and Toni sat opposite each other in the small coffee room at the station house. Zeke scratched his head in a rubbing motion and slouched in his chair. "So, did youse get any prints from the note? Offhand, I'd bet not."

Toni picked up the warning note. It had been protectively encased in a plastic sheath. "Only those of the male nurse. He was checked out with the Physical Therapy department. Whoever left this billet doux was careful not to leave any prints. If someone were to ask me, I'd say that Hobson wouldn' t have a clue who might have left this warning. By the way, how's he doing? The last time I visited, he was still in that coma."

Paul knew that she was worried about Gary more than her conversation showed. It had been pretty obvious for some time that her affections towards the bar owner were growing stronger with each passing month. The teasing she had to put up with kept her from relaxing and admitting her infatuation. There wasn't a day gone by, though, that someone wouldn't mention some embarrassing incident involving her and Hobson-and there were many.

Paul's wife, Meredith, warned him to keep out of it. She liked Gary, a lot, especially since he saved her from drowning while she was pregnant with their daughter. But, aside from that, he always impressed her as a nice person, a little strange, but nice anyway. Since he was single, she considered it her duty to help out in matchmaking. In fact, there was nothing she would like better than to see Toni and Gary pair up.Before Paul could admit that he hadn't been to see Gary during the last week, Crumb volunteered, "Hobson's doin' okay. I talked to his parents this morning and they said the hospital had a 'situation' that proved that he had at least one awake moment." He paused dramatically until they were on the verge of asking him to go on, "It seems the young man in question woke up suddenly, saw someone in doctor's whites hovering over him and damned near made him a patient in his own hospital. Beat him up.broke his nose.almost broke his jaw. How d'ya like that? Who'da thunk?"

The two detectives stifled smiles at this news of their wonder boy.

Paul sipped at his coffee, "Back to the note, do you suppose someone has a mistaken identity problem? Maybe the note was sent to the wrong room. Maybe the attacker did the same thing, went to the wrong room, assuming that he's the one who sent the note."

The skeptical look both Zeke and Toni flashed at him told him what they thought of that idea. Paul explained, "I'm just trying to come up with some reason that doesn't involve the three of us trying to envision Gary Hobson either as an offensive antagonist or an out-and-out, cold-blooded felon. Somehow I can't picture him as someone who might have caused someone, other than us, more woe than they could abide."

"We can't question him so what about his employees? His neighbors? Does he have any?" Crumb looked from one to the other, "How's about a service person? Do we positively know that Gary has been the only one at McGinty's who's been attacked...or harassed? Do we know it for a fact?"

Toni considered Crumb's thoughts as she formulated her own ideas. Speaking directly to Zeke Crumb, she wanted to know, "Everyone's used to seeing you there, either visiting or tending bar; how about you spending some time chummin' around for information?"

"Now, how'm I gonna 'chum around' with all the cute little ladies that work there? Do I look like I would 'chum around' with the waitresses? That sounds more like something you'd be better at." Waiting for her agreement, he went on, "I'll ask around, discreetly, of course, with the male types there."

Neither Paul nor Toni had ever considered the word 'discreet' used to describe Crumb before. Not that he wasn't a capable police detective before retiring, but he was never known for being tactful.

Paul liked what he was hearing and agreed with them that it would be worth trying. The three split up and promised to keep each other informed about anything, anything at all that they thought might be worthwhile. Meanwhile, Paul would get someone onto checking Hobson's files for someone named 'Blake,' the name Toni had heard the assailant utter before the attack.

They already had the hospital agree to move Hobson to a safer location and to post a CPD guard on duty outside the room.

CHAPTER THREE

About ten o'clock that morning Gary became tired of trying to stay awake and he closed his eyes, supposedly for a moment. He had used the TV to keep himself alert. The fear of having the doctor come in and find him even appearing unconscious was inducement enough to force his eyes to stay open. It worked for a while, then he closed his eyes while a commercial was being played.

The next thing he became aware of was the yowl of a cat. The cat. It was sitting on a chair at the door, using the paper as its cushion. Gary nervously glanced around the room as if someone might have seen this special feline's entrance. Convinced that he was the only one to be witnessing this slave-driver tabby, he relaxed a bit, asking, "Well, what do you expect me to do from here? You can't expect me to go charging around the hospital in an outfit like this, can ya? Besides, I'm forbidden to step foot on the floor."

All the notice the cat would give to his argument was another yowl, louder than the first. "Okay, okay, bring it over here." Gary patted the bed to illustrate where he wanted the paper. Cat paid no attention. He sat atop the paper, on the chair, and continued grooming himself.

Convinced that he would get no action out of his furry friend, Gary impatiently pulled the covers back. "I can do this," he told himself and 'Cat' as he sat up and dangled his legs off of the side of the bed. He clung to the side rail until the blood rush subsided and he could see again. Just as he was about to slide his feet to the floor, a familiar voice coaxed, "Go ahead. Make my day and that of the other eight nurses on duty this morning. I dare you. Chicken?"

Puzzled, he questioned, "Howzat?"

"This whole floor of nurses is counting on you to make the mistake of getting out of bed. There's a baseball team-sized group ready and anxious to brush up on their catheter skills-on you! Lots of volunteers!"

His blush was radiant against the white bed linen background. "You wouldn't!" He saw her 'Oh, yes, I would' look and it was enough to cause him to put his feet back under the blankets.

The employee ID she wore listed her name as Virginia. She picked up his water pitcher and took it away to refill. Before she left, Gary asked if she would hand him the paper. He waited for her to straighten his blankets around him again before he opened the paper to scan the contents. It seemed like a long time since he had held and read this oh-so-special edition. In a way, it felt good...normal even. On the second page he found a disturbing item involving not only this hospital, but also this very floor: '9 Killed in Hospital Fire.' His adrenalin pumped as he read the details telling of the 78-year-old surgery patient, Charles Gundersen, who had been sneaking a cigarette in his room. He had fallen asleep and was the cause of eight other patients succumbing, mostly from smoke inhalation. The fire was confined to two rooms, but the smoke invaded several nearby rooms as well.

What was he going to do? He couldn't ignore this assignment. If he did, he could be among those fatalities. While he was formulating a plan, the cat started up yowling again. "Hey, shhh," he commanded, "someone's gonna hear you and chase ya out." He received a sour look from cat. Hoping to ignore the fastidious feline, he reread the hospital story, wondering how he was going to get to the Gundersen room without being noticed by the nurses.

With probably the loudest meow ever heard, the cat took a leap and landed on top of the paper as Gary held it. "Now cut that out. Look what you've done. You've split the paper right down the middle. What's that for?" A softer mew issued from cat as it ambled off of his lap to sit and stare from the foot of the bed.

Gary got the idea and picked up the second piece of the now two-piece paper. "I don't see what the fuss was about. These are not in my repertoire.politics.the weather. You can't want me to change that! Then he saw it. There was another item to take place in this same hospital. From the facts listed, he saw that the two happenings were supposed to occur at the same time. "I can't even get outta this room. Even if I could, how do ya expect me to be at both of these places at the same time?"

The second article announced, "Wife of Mayor Injured in Hospital Mugging." In the paragraphs that followed, the story added details that included the facts and location. His Honor's wife had visited her long-time friend in the hospital and stopped in to meditate for a few moments in the second floor chapel. While she was praying, a man approached from behind and demanded her purse and jewelry. She had given him what he asked, but when she turned around to hand it over to him, she looked straight in his face.

He became enraged that she might have been able to identify him. Without hesitating in the least, he viciously struck her in the face with his handgun.

The story also listed another unnamed person who was described as having been injured. That other person had been unnoticed in the chapel until they attempted to interfere with the assault and robbery in progress.

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

Lunch had just ended when an unfamiliar white-smocked man entered. He stopped at the door for a second before advancing towards the bed. "Hi. How're you doin'? Staying awake easily?"

"Ah, excuse me, but...who're you? Where's Dr. Previn? He said he would stop by to let me know about goin' home." He had just eaten, but a hollow spot developed in the pit of Gary's stomach as he suspicioned bad news was about to be heard.

"I'm Dr. Bergman. Dr. Previn had a family emergency and I was asked to stand in for him. Dr. Diemers refuses to take a step inside of this room. Were you the cause of his.mishap?"

Gary suddenly developed an intense interest in the blanket binding, unwilling to admit to anything.

"No matter. He's an obnoxious S.O.B. anyway. You have the admiration of the whole staff. It looks as though you'll have to put up with us another..."

He wasn't allowed to finish his refusal before Gary interrupted, "But...but he said I could leave tomorrow! I have to go." As if to punctuate his argument, he added, "There's nothing wrong with me!"

The doctor was unbending, "This isn't up for negotiation. Dr. Previn expects to be back tomorrow morning. If he okays it, you'll still go tomorrow. Otherwise, well, we'll have to see."

"Can I get dressed and get up at least? I'm going crazy here." Too bad this doctor wasn't a female; Gary was putting on his most sympathic appearance.

Dr. Bergman did have a heart after all and gave the go-ahead for Gary to get dressed. "As to getting up, without Dr. Previn's express orders, all I can allow is wheelchair travel for today. Will that suit you?" Some spark of life shone in his patient's eyes at the idea of being freed from his attachment to the bed.

Before the doctor left, Gary thought of one more item of importance, "Will you make sure that you leave a note at the nurse's station giving permission for me to be up?"

"Oh, that. I heard about that. The nurse's were giggling with certain anticipation about that little 'curse' that Previn placed on you. I'll make a point of...er, sorry...I'll emphasize your 'pass of mobility.' Take care, Mr. Hobson. Don't take my permission as a reason to tire yourself out cruising the hallways."

CHAPTER 4

He had just barely finished dressing when a nurse appeared at his door with a wheelchair. His smile of thanksgiving was contagious and she carried one with her as she left. Trying the wheelchair on for size and comfort, he maneuvered it a bit before hitting the hallways.

While he was still checking it out, Toni Brigatti entered the room. Her smile was unexpected, especially since it was so...so...unlike her. There was no sarcasm evident, no hidden agenda, and no facetiousness. It was purely.friendly. He tended to even read more than that into it, but stopped himself. He'd been fooled before.

"So Hobson, you goin' somewhere? I was told you were sick. In fact, there was a rumor to the effect that you were on your way out. Miracle?"

He gave her a thin smile, asking, "Disappointed, Brigatti?" Thinking better about his words, he apologized, "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. As to the miracle, I guess someone figured that I needed a break. Someone's lookin' out for me. Don't I deserve it? On second thought, don't answer that."

She was in total agreement with his reasoning. "Your friends all think no one deserves a break more than you. You even have a cheering section at the station house. They all send their words of luck." After she thought further about it, she asked, "So, tell me, Hobson, how do ya do it?"

"Huh?"

"How do ya do it? How do you get in everyone's way, cause problems everywhere, complicate everybody's life...and have 'em all love you?"

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly, a smirk forming, as he inquired slyly, "Love me? Did you say, 'Love me'? All of them? All?"

"Hobson! I'm speaking generalities!" To get off of the subject that was making her squirm, she asked, "What's with the wheelchair? You need a ride?"

"Th-thanks. I've got something I have to do. In fact, I have two somethings I have to do and...say, Brigatti, do you have some free time this afternoon?"

"I'm here, aren't I? What do you call this? I'm not on duty, if that's what you're asking."

He was not biting on her argument bait; this was too important. "I need somebody...you...to go down the hall and find Charles Gundersen's room. Would you do that for me?" He put on his best puppy-dog face.

"Find...Char... Hobson! What're you getting me into? What do I do once I find Charles whatever's room? And don't put on that downtrodden look. It won't work."

He knew when she said that, that it had already worked. Much more encouraged, he asked, "I need you to find him and watch to see that he doesn't start smoking. He's tryin' ta quit, ya see, and having trouble. He just had some surgery and...and...the nurses said they think he's sneakin' a smoke when they're not looking." To put the final sale in it, he offered, "You could be saving the guy's life." He shut up and waited for her reaction.

"How do you know? How do you do it, Hobson? Does anyone just say 'no' when you ask them to do such things with such a cockamamie back-up story?" She sputtered and shook her head, mumbling for several minutes, then nodded and said, "Okay, I'm in. What was that name? Charles...?"

"Gundersen. Thank you, Toni." He stood up from the wheelchair and gave her a gentle thank-you kiss--on the lips, then he sat down again.

"What was that for? I said I'd do it! I will!" Her words were emphatic and in character with her image, but her heart beat so wildly that she thought he must be able to see it right through her shirt. "Sit tight, Hobson, I'll be back." As she left, she licked her lips and could still taste him. Something about him...what was it? The guard at the door didn't seem to notice the flushed face of the diminutive CPD detective as she passed him.

As soon as she left the room Gary rolled out of the door and past the guard, heading for the elevators. He knew the guard would have to follow, but couldn't do anything about it right now. Two elevator cars arrived at the same time. When the elevator door opened he waited, watching the guard standing nearby. Two people got off of the 'up' elevator and he waited as though he were going to get on it. Instead, at the last second, he rolled himself into the 'down' car and pushed the 'close door' button, then the '2. '

As quick as the guard tried to be, he missed his chance and Gary was gone. All he could do was watch which floor it stopped on and take to the stairs. It was his hope that the '3' where it stopped was the floor that the wheelchair got off and not just one where more passengers got on.Gary felt himself sweating when the car stopped on third floor, taking on one passenger. 'Come on, come on,' he silently urged, hoping the guard didn 't catch up. Luck seemed to be in his corner this time as the door closed again. He exited on second floor and found the chapel sign down two doors from the elevators. Taking a deep breath for courage, he entered the small, darkened chapel, hopeful that his plan would work with no one getting hurt.There were several short rows of pews separated by a center aisle. Two narrow side aisles gave the room a look of intimacy. Electric candles sat on each end of a long, narrow altar and were the only illumination other than the outside light coming through the stained glass panel behind the altar. Being an interdenominational chapel, not much in the way of religious articles was present. Gary took an observational position at the side towards the back. Not to appear too obvious, he parked the wheelchair next to the wall and sat in a pew out of the glow of the candles.

A very well dressed woman somewhere in her forties entered and took a seat near the front. She sat silently with rosary beads in her hands. The sounds of the hospital didn't seem to dare to inflict themselves into this haven for the troubled.

The scene was set with both people in suspended action when the door opened and admitted another occupant to the room. A male of undeterminable age, dressed in sweats, complete with headband, took a seat directly behind the woman. His sneakers allowed him to take his place without a sound until he leaned forward and placed the barrel of a small gun at the back of the woman 's head, explaining, "It's a gun. Don't turn around."

Frozen in fright, she found herself trembling uncontrollably, "What...what do you want?"

Gary rose from his seat and silently moved in closer, staying in the side aisle.

The gun wielder snarled the words, "Don't worry, all I want is your purse and your jewelry. Hand it to me and I'll get outta here"

Her hands shakily removed her jewelry, picked up her purse, and...here was the big mistake...she turned around to hand the thief the items. The two of them were shocked to be looking eye-to-eye as she made the offering as he demanded.

"You stupid b____," he growled and stood up, looming over her, "you've just blown it! I told you not to turn around...what'd you do that for?"

On the verge of tears, she protested, "But...but how...how else was I to hand these things to you?"

He raised the pistol to use it as a club when Gary spoke up from the side aisle behind them, "Don't move, either of you! Police!" Hoping the man would take the time to make his escape, he added, "Put your hands up!"Instead of bolting for the door and leaving them, the robber turned toward him and lowered his gun. He was numbed by the presence of, not just a witness, but a cop! Talk about bad timing! He'd been caught in the act of menacing and robbing someone. His mind raced in considering his predicament. That was only for a few moments though. Something didn't seem quite right to him.

"Hey. Cop. Where's your badge? Where's your gun?" He raised his gun to shoulder level and pointed it at Gary like an accusing finger. "I don't think you're a cop at all."

Gary raised his hands in a surrender fashion to expose his lack of a weapon and began pleading, "Wh-why don't you call this 'bad timing' and leave her...that is, us...alone? You..you can still get away before anyone can do anything about it." This feeble plea fell on deaf ears and the thief steadied his gun with the other hand, making it seem all the more ominous."I'd say the bad timing was on your part, Sir Galahad. Why'd you get involved in this when I had the weapon and you, obviously, didn't? Never mind, I don't care. You're gonna..."

It was at this point that the woman lost it and began screaming non-stop. "Lady," Gary shouted, "get down on the floor! Get down!" Somehow his words reached her consciousness and she dropped to her hands and knees, sobbing loudly, calling for help. The assailant was diverted briefly by her antics, but turned back to Gary, once again aiming the gun at him. It was then that Gary noticed something peculiar about the gun. It was of small caliber, just fitting in the palm of the hand. The peculiar thing about it was that the end of the barrel was encased in a baby bottle nipple.

The thought came to Gary that this thug, if you could call him that, must have seen the same movie that Gary had seen some years previously. The killer in that movie used small caliber guns and placed a nipple snuggly at the opening to silence the sound of the shot.

"Don't you move a muscle," the gunman snarled again, "I'm leavin' here and you two are gonna keep quiet."

The woman gained her feet again and made a panicked run towards the door by way of the other side aisle. Before she reached the door, the gunman turned, yelling for her to stop or he'd shoot. Gary made his move towards the man while he was still aiming at the woman. Confusion reigned for the split second it took for them all to realize the change in the roles of the characters. The gunman turned again towards Gary, intending to keep him from moving any closer. The change in his attention allowed the woman to escape out the door. She could be heard screaming in the hospital corridor.

Gary intended to stop as ordered-his intention was never that of challenging a man with a gun--when the gun just seemed to go off. It was just a 'pop,' not even a serious sound. Clean and staccato. Poof. A shocked gunman stared at the sight of his victim being knocked back against a pillar. It was only too obvious that his gun had found a target. Not intending to stick around for new arrivals, he fled on the run. He knew he had hit this intruder and it made it all that much more important to make his escape at full speed. He didn't even pause to check the condition of the wounded-or possibly, dead-man.

Time seemed to move in slow motion for Gary. He felt the initial sting of the bullet as it entered his body just below the ribs on his right side. The force of it slammed him back against the decorative pillar. He'd been shot before, but it was a very superficial flesh wound that he received when he got in the way between two hostile gang factions. This time he felt the bullet entering; he felt the piercing pain, then the ensuing numbness setting in.

Trying not to fall, he turned and hugged the rounded post. There was nothing to grip and he felt his hands losing their hold as he slid to a kneeling position at the base of it. Fully conscious, he eased himself down to the floor, still in what seemed like slow motion, his blood leaving a wiggly and smeared pattern on the post.

PART 5
CHAPTER ONE

Toni Brigatti was just stepping out of the elevator on the second floor as the CPD guard walked purposefully past, going in the direction of the nurse' s station.

"Hold up," Brigatti called. He was moving fast enough to leave a breeze walking by. "Hold up, Kelly," she called again. "Where's your charge? What're you doin' down here?"

The explanation was quick in coming, "It's like this, Brigatti, he's in a wheelchair actin' like a man who knows where he's goin'. Know what I mean? Fast! It was, like, he's waitin' at the elevator to go up an' I'm ready, see.to get in the car with him.when he backs into the 'down' elevator and disappears." The officer was trying to get his whole explanation out before the infamous Brigatti tore into him. He knew that he had made one gigantic mistake, and he did it in Brigatti's territory. They were speaking about the patient-hospital patient, as in 'disabled'-that he was supposed to be watching, protecting, guarding!

"Brigatti," he was pleading for mercy even as he was explaining, "I've checked the third floor already and I'm doin' this floor now." Was this going to appease Toni?

As he was still speaking, a disturbance was going on at the nurse's station up ahead. Some woman was doing her hysterical best to imitate a mad woman. She sobbed out a few more incoherent words; then she went limp and fainted to the floor before their very eyes.

Toni was distracted for a moment, as was Kelly. Then she took a tight hold of his arm and, turning him around, instructed him, no, ordered him to follow her. His first reaction was that of confusion. It was certainly more than strange to ignore the events happening down the hall for whatever other purpose that she might have had in mind.

Out and out demanding this time, she ordered with more urgency than before, "Follow me.now! There's no time."

They retreated back the short distance they had come until they were at the chapel entrance. She opened the door slowly and cautiously at first. As she stepped inside, her gun was in her hand. The guard had stepped inside to the opposite side of the doorway. Taking a cue from her, he had unholstered his weapon, holding it at the ready.

The meditation room was quiet-and empty! The candles created deep shadows, but not much light. Toni reached around and turned the overhead lights on, filling every corner with shadowless visibility. Even with full illumination, there seemed to be no other inhabitants.

As Kelly looked to her for direction, she appeared to be seeking something or someone, but.what? She gasped, at least inwardly, as she spied the pillar off to the side. Streaks and smears of suspiciously red color had made a vertical pattern downward from about four or five feet from the floor. She motioned without words for him to go forward down the center aisle while she went toward the side aisle. Kelly was halfway to the altar when Toni spied a figure lying on the floor at the base of the post. Her heart felt as though it were in her throat as she approached the dark-haired man familiarly outfitted in jeans and wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt. He was lying perfectly still. If he had been in a bed his position would have seemed appropriate for a sleeping person lying on their side.

Crouching down, she felt for a pulse in his neck. Relieved to find a strong one, she ordered Kelly to get a nurse, doctor, orderly, whatever and to make sure they knew to bring a gurney. As inept as Kelly might have seemed by 'losing' his assigned ward, he actually was a fast-thinking, fast-acting cop and had no difficulty in responding to her instructions instantly. He left without a word and in a hurry.

Rolling him carefully to his back, Brigatti cupped her hand caringly around Gary's cheek. "Hobson," she whispered at first, then in a louder voice, "Hobson!"

His eyes flickered and opened. He frowned looking up into her brown eyes, not quite comprehending her presence. "Toni? Toni. You're here. How did you know.?"

"Shh," she warned softly, "Kelly went to get help. They're comin'."

He remembered.something. "The fire. The fire. Is the old guy okay? Did you stop the."

As he closed his eyes in pain, she answered compassionately, touched at his concern for a man he didn't even know, "Gary, don't talk right now. You were right about the old guy. We stopped him. There was no fire." With his eyes closed, she wasn't sure whether he could hear her. "Gary? You awake? You probably should try to stay awake."

He made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a murmur. With a smile forming on his mouth, he began talking about another time. "The dress."

"What dress?"

Ignoring the question in order to continue the direction his mind was wandering, he commented, "You looked so.beautiful, Brigatti. Prettier'n the necklace."

She let him talk as she, too, remembered the strapless gown that she wore while at the hotel with him while they were on the Lermontov diamond case. Picturing him as he appeared in his tux that evening, she admitted with a faint smile, "You looked pretty good yourself, Gary." She brushed his hair back from his forehead.

After a short silence in which he seemed to lose the line of talk, he went to another subject. A pained expression spread across his face as he visited the past, "I fe.fell, Brigatti. Someone.something sl.slammed the door. I fell." He seemed to be out of breath; then he continued rambling on in a voice too quiet to hear. His grimace was back as he remembered, "Blood.made me.sick. Tasted it. Smelled it." His talking about it was making her nauseous. All of a sudden he was back in the present with a smile on his face, talking about the hospital. "Goin' home, Toni."

"Oh? Yeah?" she asked, doubting all the while.

"Yeah, I'm goin' home." He confirmed, "Doc.the doctor promised. Promised." His voice faded away again, but not the smile.

She could tell he was dwelling on the thought of leaving the hospital. 'Fat chance, my friend,' she mused.

Toni found herself growing ever more concerned about him and about the time it was taking to get some attention here. "Where the hell did Kelly go?"

She silently arose and, without saying any more to her friend than "I'll be back, Gary," she left the room.

Upon reaching the hall, her stride became more like a march as she headed toward the gathering of nurses and raised what Bernie Hobson might have termed 'holy hell,' as unlikely a term as that was. It seemed the nurses had misunderstood the emergency that Kelly had related to them. Their call for the equipment sent the gurney to the Gary Hobson room. Kelly was at the nurses' desks, ranting at them to order the gurney to the chapel. With Brigatti joining forces with Kelly, they were able to finally have the gurney called back to this floor.

In the chapel the attendants loaded Gary onto the rolling table. As he was being secured on it, his shirt fell open to reveal the bloody tee shirt underneath it. Brigatti had already seen the small hole made by the bullet when she rolled him onto his back on the floor in the chapel. The circle of red had grown considerably since that time, but she kept her worries to herself; no one there needed its significance explained

"Is Dr. Diemers on duty tonight?" the orderly asked the nurse as he saw the bloody stain. She nodded in understanding his meaning and left to call the doctor. They both recognized the signs of a bullet wound and Dr. Diemers was known for his finesse with such damage. It wasn't his knowledge that was ever questioned, but rather his bedside manner.

The patient who had been quiet until now, suddenly came awake,

"Diem.Diemers? Diemers? No. No, not Diemers!" He squirmed under the straps, attempting to free his hands and arms.

The attendant who was doing the pushing of the gurney chuckled, and he said, "I see our patient has had an encounter with our Dr. Diemers at some time or other. You really must know him to be that afraid of him." Then he put a calming hand on Gary's shoulder, "Just kidding, of course. Sorry, you don't get to choose your doctor when you have an emergency like this. Lay still and relax. You'll get some attention real soon."

The wound was not causing Gary as much discomfort now as was his dread of having another meeting with the doctor in question.

The emergency room was busy, but not overcrowded for a change. Maybe it was the time of day. It was still before the dinner hour. That was when the real action began. From then until about midnight the ER had casualties lining the walls and filling all the chairs of the waiting rooms. The city didn't quiet down until somewhere around 1 am, unless it was Friday or Saturday night when it lasted nearly all night..

Gary was conscious as they began cutting his clothes away. He made a side comment, grumbling about another perfectly good shirt being ruined. The attending team didn't seem to be in a mood to converse. In fact, even when he did ask a question they ignored him. An older nurse placed her hand on his forehead to soothe him much as you would calm a child.

It wasn't long before Dr. Diemers entered the small examining area. Hoping against hope that the doctor would be too busy to notice who it was that he was working on, Gary kept his mouth shut.

"What've we got here?" the doctor asked as he picked up the one page admitting report to read, commenting as he did. "In the chapel? The hospital chapel? What in.?" He read on, not yet connecting the patient with the name on the paper. "Gunshot. Did someone really set off a firearm in the hospital?" As he was carrying on a one-sided conversation with himself, he examined and probed the freshly cleaned-off wound site. "Still oozing. Do we have him 'typed' yet? How's the count? Oxygen saturation? Where are the X-rays?"

After each of his questions someone would reply with an appropriate answer. Gary was trying not to groan or flinch as the examination continued; the handling was aggravating his discomfort immensely. One of the nurses drew the doctor's attention to the patient's growing distress that was being echoed by the changing equipment readings. "Okay," he acknowledged, "get him ready for the O.R. We'll need to search out the bullet, and soon!"

Next he turned toward the patient to communicate the plan to him. As he began to speak, the two men, doctor and patient, looked eye to eye and found themselves stunned with their mutual recognition.

"You!" The doctor remarked in surprise as Gary gave him a sickly smile in return.

To the nurses, the doctor ordered, "Get this patient ready. Let's get this over with!"

Dr. Diemers had been in practice for ten years since he received his license to practice medicine. He handled primarily the violence-related injury cases at Cook County Hospital.

In his eyes, knife wounds were the worst of all such cases. With an intentional knife wound, the weapon was not likely to be free from any number of dangerous bacteria. Many of the victims might have recovered except for their ensuing infections.

Bullet wounds were another matter altogether. If they had a clean entry point and exit site, a fairly simple repair job could be effected. In that case it depended on what internal organs had been involved. The main objective was to have the victim receive immediate attention in any case.Gary's wound had every advantage in receiving 'on site,' as it were, attention, immediate and expert. The repair was routine to this physician. Most of the damage was limited to soft tissue except for a minor rib involvement when the bullet scraped along the bottom of the rib cage.After removing the bullet, the patient's side sutured and, after a short stay in Recovery, he was transferred to his room, back to square one for the Hobson heir.

CHAPTER 2

The phone was ringing persistently. The occupant of the bed buried his head in the pillows and ignored it...for a while. Finally, he picked up the receiver and proclaimed angrily, "Hobson's loft. He ain't here. They ain't here. No one's here. Call back later!" At that, he hung it up.

A few minutes later the phone began again. The creature from the bed grabbed the receiver with the same degree of irritation in his voice, "What! No one's here. Who's calling?"

"Chuck, don't hang up." Gary was afraid that he would try to leave the phone off of the hook this time. "I need you to do something for me. Are you dressed?"

With a forced calm to his voice, Chuck asked, "Just what do you want, Gary? I'm not usually dressed," he checked the time, "at six a.m.! What do you want?"

Sidetracked at that point, Gary asked, "By the way, I was calling my folks; what...what are you doin' in my loft? And where are they? The last time I heard, they were staying there while I'm here." He was not happy about Chuck using his digs to camp out in. Every time Chuck stepped foot in his loft there was trouble, trouble for Gary.

"Which question do you want answered first? Did I mention that it's 6 a.m.? Actually it's 6:11! That's in the morning...like, before most people are awake."

"Don't fight me on this Chuck. Where're Dad and Mom? Are they okay?"

The pause before Chuck answered was used to count to ten. He was definitely more than a little hung over from the stag party for a buddy that he had attended the evening before. There was no good side to Chuck at this time of the day. "Look, Gary, just because they're not here doesn't mean they're hurt, ill, or in trouble. The truth is they took off for Hickory a couple nights ago. I happen to know that they tried to call and tell you, but your calls were not being put through for whatever reason. Hold on a sec." The phone sounded as though it had been put down, and then picked up again.

"Sorry, I turned on the coffeepot. Where were we? Oh, yeah, they went to your cousin Pattie's graduation. They'd be back now except one of Hickory's little weather phenomena sent a gale force wind through the town and a couple trees fell on their property. One of them wiped out your old bedroom upstairs. Didn't you always wish for air conditioning? Anyway, I decided to stay here because the place I was stayin' at has some renovation goin' on and I thought I'd dodge the noise for a while." Hoping to dredge up a little guilt in his buddy, Chuck added pitifully, "I didn't think you'd mind, you bein' in the hospital and all." He put the phone down again and Gary could only guess that he was now pouring himself a cup of coffee.It was about the fifth call of "Chuck!" that Chuck returned and picked up the phone to continue.

"I'm back."

Gary warned him, "Don't put this phone down again! First of all, don't mess my place up."

"You wrong me, pal, I'm treatin' your place just like I'd treat my own."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of. Wherever you go you seem to leave a trail of destruction. Don't use my coffee pot for hot chocolate! Keep your pets out of my bathroom sink! Don't leave your junk and clothes all over..."

While Gary went on and on, Chuck looked around the loft. Maybe he did neglect picking up his laundry. 'Oh, well,' he thought, 'Gary's not here to see it. By the time he is, it'll be all picked up.'

"Is that all you called about?" he asked the next time Gary stopped for a breath, "It's still way before I want to be gettin' up. What'd you need, Gar? A book? A cheeseburger? Your Superman cape? What?"

"My superma...haha." Less than impressed with the humor, Gary said, "Get dressed and bring me a fresh set of clothes. The doc said that I could get outta here today. Oh, and if the paper arrives, bring that, too."

"Gettin' out, huh? Gee, that's great." Chuck glanced around the loft again and decided that he'd better do a quick cleanup before picking up his friend. "Um, I'll have to take a shower; I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Try to make it fast. Please."

CHAPTER THREE

Chuck may have sounded irritated, but he didn't corner the market on it. Gary had awakened that morning with a nurse taking blood pressure numbers. When he noticed her, he also noticed that since yesterday he had somehow been hooked up to an IV again. After thinking about it he remembered a 'little' about the shooting and reached down to his side to examine the extent of the bandages. It didn't seem like much of a wrapping and the pain was not much of a bother. It shouldn't hold up the release-he hoped.

Whether or not the release was going to be held up, he was determined that he would be going. If they had their way, he believed the doctors would have their patients only released on Tuesdays in order to allow the doctors to have Wednesday off. This may not have been a Tuesday, he couldn't really remember what day it was, but whatever day it turned out to be, he was going! He settled back in the bed to await Chuck's arrival.

The police guard had been newly stationed inside the room, supposedly to prevent any more 'happenings.' That didn't please Gary either. In addition, whatever pain reliever they were using to ease his discomfort was most assuredly not working. The aching progressed into throbbing pain and he had to concentrate in order to conceal it from those who might wander into the room.

It wasn't any problem recognizing Dr. Diemers this time. He was not wearing the usual medical garb though; instead, he appeared in a business suit.

"Well, well, good morning," he greeted his patient. He walked over to Gary' s right side and exposed the bandages. Very carefully he loosened the tape and pulled back the gauze, observing, "The stitches look good. No excessive swelling. Nice stitching job, if I do have to say so myself." He poked the area surrounding the wound and stated the obvious, "Sore, isn't it? You should be fine. By the way, what exactly were you doing in that chapel anyway?"

Gary thought he had hidden it very well that the poking was leaving him feeling nauseous as well as achy. He increased his efforts in trying to conceal his discomfort, answering the doctor, "Doing in the chapel? Uh, uh, praying. Say, doc, when can I be released?"

Dr. Diemers was quite surprised that he would think that going home was on the immediate agenda after recuperating from an accident and following that up with being shot. "Sorry, Mr. Hobson, you're fresh out of surgery and we' d like to keep it that way. You'll be here a couple more days."

"No, I won't," he began calmly, then for emphasis he insisted, "I can't! Where's Dr. Previn? He told me I could be released today! I have a life, if I can ever rejoin it. Really, doctor, I have'ta get home! I have responsibilities, ya know...things I have to do!"

"You can stop the histrionics. There's nothing you can do in the condition you're in. The wound is not life threatening, to be sure, but it is a wound. No vital organs were damaged. One of your ribs was grazed and you' ll feel that for a while, but we want to make sure the sutures stay in long enough for the healing to take place." He observed the growing discomfort, both in the attitude of Hobson and in his wound site. "I've been informed about your situation and why you came to take the aggressive stand with the first doctor who had the misfortune to tend to you. It, unfortunately, turned out to be me." He put his hand to his nose gently and, trying to provoke a smile on his patient's face, said, "The nose never was all that perfect, but it wasn't meant to be rearranged in that manner."

He smiled in a friendly way then and empathized with the unhappy man before him, "I'm sorry this happened, but it did and now you need to follow the rules." Almost as an afterthought as he was headed out the door, he offered, "I'll order something for you for that pain. You don't need to pretend that it's not there. I did the surgery and I know what tissues and nerves were disturbed. See you tomorrow."

Gary tried getting the word, 'Wait,' out, but it was too late. He had once seen a bumper sticker that said, 'Life Sucks,' and, right now, he was prone to agree. It seemed as though life put up barriers every time he approached a place in his life where he could move on. What was he going to do about the paper? The paper. Chuck! He was due here any moment. How in hell was he going to be able to escape this antiseptic prison, especially with his own private guard watching him at all times?

The nurse came around and checked his IV connection. He closed his eyes and ignored her, still trying to dream up a plan that would effect his departure. Chuck entered the room and a loud "Hey" announced his presence. It shocked Gary into opening his eyes, just in time to see the nurse injecting something into the IV port.

"What's that?" he asked, already on the aggressive, "What're you putting into that?"

She smiled as if she had just done him a favor and answered sweetly, "Dr. Diemers ordered some pain medication for you, Mr. Hobson. It should work pretty fast. In fact, you should already feel some relief."

It wasn't the relief that he truly sought. He wanted relief from the bed, from the hospital, from all the attention. He wanted to. But he was feeling the medication.and it was kinda.good. The pain in his side was calming down, first to manageable and, now, to pretty damn fine.

"I brought your stuff, Gar. Gar? Gary?"

"Umm? Yeah. Okay, thanks." His voice lost its volume and his eyes lost their power to stay open. "Chuck?"

Chuck had been looking around for a place to put the clothing. His friend was in no way going to be leaving the hospital in his present condition, his present condition meaning all but asleep. "I'm right here, Gary."

Chuck moved closer to the bed. Gary's voice was barely audible as he whispered, slurring his words sleepily, "Did the paper come?"

Chuck patted his friend's shoulder and solicitously said, "The paper didn't come by the time I left so I don't think it's gonna be something for you to worry about today. Just get your rest. Just.just let it go, Gar." The last thing Gary heard was his friend repeating, "Let it go. Get better. We miss ya."

CHAPTER FOUR

He woke up again as the light from the window was creating long shadows across the neighboring bed indicating he'd slept the afternoon away. His side was feeling numb and his head was only slightly better than that. In raising the head of the bed, he saw that, while the guard was still sitting next to the door, he was leaning his head against the wall and had his eyes closed. His mouth had drooped open and his breathing could be heard across the room.

Gary carefully removed the tape at the IV connection to his hand. Grimacing and bracing himself, he removed the needle feeding the IV bag contents into his system. Hoping not to awaken the guard, he hung his legs off the edge of the bed. Things were going well, he felt, as he stood up gingerly and began a methodical search for his clothes.

It turned out to be a short search. Chuck had placed them on the shelf under the night table. Thankfully, the shirt was a button-type and the jacket was light. The pants turned out to be the most difficult to put on, but he managed it. He knew that he'd never be able to get his socks on; he was lucky to have been able to slip his feet into the shoes. Satisfied that he was dressed enough, he stuffed the extra blanket under the bed coverings and added a pillow for shape before he slowly made his exit from the room. All he needed was a few minutes head start and he could make it. He found himself thinking that this must be how a criminal feels when trying to escape from jail.

He made sure to keep close to the wall, keeping one hand on it for stability as he went. The hospital was just coming into the visiting hours and people were meandering through the hallways. It made it much easier to blend in. As he entered the elevator he was alone in making his way to the lower floors. He acknowledged that he would never have made it if he had had to use the stairways; he was already feeling weak and clammy. But he was able to reach the entrance and, from experience, he knew there were always cabs available outside.

Just sitting down inside the taxi was an achievement and he was exultant with the accomplishment. His wallet was missing; he hadn't thought to ask Chuck to bring it. Once he was at McGinty's he could ask one of the bartenders for some cab fare.

The cab driver began a nonstop gabfest as soon as he received his passenger' s desired destination. The only part of the conversation that bothered Gary was the cabbie's observations about how sickly his rider appeared. "You sure you're okay? You don't look so good. How could your HMO get you released like this? Ya want me to take ya home? A bar's no place for you, buddy, you need a bed."

He knew that. He kept reassuring himself that his wound had not been serious in the outcome. If he had had more time at the hospital he would have gained some strength and stamina, but he'd have had to put up with the hospital longer.

"It's okay. It's okay, driver. I live above.above the bar. I'll be alright...as soon as I get there." He wasn't so sure how 'okay' he was going to be judging by the way he felt right then, but there was no turning back.He felt the jolts from every corner and stop. Every Chicago pothole contributed to his discomfort. It wasn't long before they pulled up to park in front of McGinty's. The driver went into the bar and asked the bartender, in this case, that turned out to be Vadim, for the fare and requested some help for his hapless rider. Gary had leaned back and closed his eyes as he waited. He was that way when Vadim opened the passenger door and tried to wake him. Gary's only response was a mumbled and undecipherable answer. The driver came to Vadim's rescue and helped him walk Gary into the bar. Fearing having him fall on the stairs, the two of them supported him all the way to the loft, finally depositing him on top of the bed.

After the cabdriver went back to his taxi, Vadim was left standing at his boss' bedside, wondering what to do next. He called "Mr. H" several times, but received no response from the exhausted man. He removed Gary's shoes and jeans and attempted to do the same about his shirt, but left it remaining on him after receiving grumbled complaints from his patient.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, he went downstairs to seek out Marissa or anyone who could watch over Gary while he went back to his duties at the bar.

Over the duration of the evening, most of the employees spelled each other in sitting in the loft listening to the sleeping sounds of Gary Hobson. At one point Marissa had sought out a bottle of aspirin to alleviate the obvious discomfort of her friend. He was only too eager to take a couple of tablets and go back to sleep. She left the bottle, hoping the next 'babysitter' would keep an eye on his condition in the same manner.

At the morning light, he awakened to the sound of a hungry cat calling from its seat of knowledge on the Sun-Times. He decided, thankfully, that he felt somewhat better. The long evening's sleep in his own bed, without interruptions by strangers, had made a great deal of difference in his attitude. With graceful maneuvering, he was able to make the required trip to the door an almost painless exercise. To give himself some uninterrupted time to read the newspaper, he fed the cat first. When he passed the couch, he became aware that he wasn't alone in the loft. Robin had made herself a bed and was doing a good job of imitating a sleeping person.

He smiled at the kindness represented by his friends and employees keeping watch over him. How many times had they proven over and over again that he didn't have to be alone in the world? Without any knowledge of the paper's significance in their friend's life, they pitched in to stand by him in every case, most of the time, without questioning...out loud, that is.

Amongst themselves they often exchanged puzzled glances or a few wondering comments, but, in general, they gave their friendship without strings.Often Gary wished that he could share with them the paper's influence in his life. Except for Chuck and Marissa, and discounting his parents, he was alone with his burden. When they were away, he had only himself to commiserate with. What does it mean to live among people, but to be unable to discuss his feelings, his concerns, his routine? Sometimes he was able to dismiss it from his mind. Other times, it weighed heavily on him, sending him to the black edge of depression.

Today the paper had three seemingly minor errands to attend. All of them were the type that he felt Chuck would have no qualms in accepting. It was sobering to ponder the ease in which some potentially deadly consequences could be averted. Sometimes the mere act of moving an item that was to set off a dangerous sequence of events, was all that was needed. Sometimes a phone call could cause an immediate change of headline from the dire to the routinely common. 'And they call that heroic,' he thought. 'What makes that minor involvement heroic?'

CHAPTER FIVE

He pretty much took it easy for the next couple of days, slowly increasing his activities until he spent several hours of each day working in the bar or the office. By evening, though, he was happy to drag himself back up the stairs to his refuge.

When Brigatti and Armstrong had first discovered that he had escaped the hospital, they put up a fuss, first with the hospital, then with the guard, and, eventually with the wayward patient himself. There was no reasoning with him though. Someone was still on the loose who was attempting to do him serious harm; you'd think that would be enough to influence his decision toward seeing it their way. Trying to have Gary to agree to having a CPD officer on the premises didn't work. The closest they were able to come to providing protection was for a plainclothesman to act as busboy and handyman.

Gary was behind the bar one morning, checking supplies, when a familiar voice asked, "So how are ya, Hobson? Feelin' okay?"

He almost knocked a line of stemware over at Toni Brigatti's unexpected presence. "Give a warning, will ya? Gee. It's a good thing I don't have a heart problem."

She picked up the tone of the conversation and added, "That's about the only thing you haven't got. Hobson! We need to talk, and if you can spare the time, I'd like to discuss some things with you."

It always made him nervous to have a police officer of any rank want to 'discuss' some things with him. 'Now what?' he asked himself. Toni knew more than he would have preferred someone like her to know. Their closeness at various times in the past had always ended at a stalemate, but he had the feeling that she had done some adding up of the growing pile of evidence. The score so far, he hoped, was 'Hobson, zero; Brigatti, zero.'

"Er, sure, sure, like...when, Toni?"

"Come on, Gary, this has been a long time coming, let's get this over with. Now.please." Since when has Antonia Brigatti been heard uttering the word, 'please'? She thought his eyebrows were going to rise to his hairline. It tickled her a little bit to see him go through several degrees of distress over her request for a meeting. "Can we use your loft for this tete-a-tete? I wouldn't like to have this public, and I would rather we not be interrupted."

If he had been nervous before, he was almost apoplectic with worry now. What could be this important between them? It wasn't that he wouldn't have liked something more to their 'friendship,' if you could term it that. His vocabulary couldn't come near to describing the relationship they shared. Even the word, shared, didn't seem appropriate.

"Well, Gary?"

"Huh?"

"Can we use your loft for our talk?" 'It could be maddening carrying on a conversation with this man,' she thought. In truth, she had expressed that same thought to herself on numerous occasions. She gestured upwards with her thumb.

"Oh, sure." He let Marissa know where he'd be and suffered her raised eyebrows over the idea. "Okay." He led the way until the stairway when he allowed her to ascend the stairs ahead of him.

Opening the door for her, he apologized for the possible conditions they might find in his lodgings. As soon as she entered, she noticibly sniffed the air, asking, "What'd ya do, get rid of the cat?"

He muttered, "No, it's not really my..." and he led her over to the couch.Offering her a glass of wine and they sat in silence, sipping the white zinfandel. She set her glass down on the coffee table and, somewhat nervous herself, began, "We've known each other about five years now. That's gotta count for something when I ask you to be honest with me. That's not saying that you aren't honest with me. Well, this isn't easy for me to say, but I like you, Gary. As infuriating as you can be, I actually find it kind of a turn-on. Now, don't go all blushy just because I said something 'nice.' That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

If this was a conversation, he was missing something. Was she mad? Was she happy? What was this crazy Italian trying to say? 'Surely,' he thought, 'she didn't want to talk about 'liking' him.'

He shrugged, smiled slightly, and waited for her to get to whatever point she might have in mind.

"That day in the hospital..."

"Yeah?"

His hands started to sweat. His feet felt like they were resting on a chunk of ice. He said to himself, 'Get on with it, Brigatti.'

Repeating her beginning, she said again, "That day in the hospital when you asked me to go to find the Gundersen room? What made you think that something was going to happen...like a fire?"

He started to give her the usual, "Well, ah, it seems, ah..."

"And don't give me that old line or any of the other ones about how you just knew." At this point, Gary was staring, wide-eyed, into her brown eyes. Their intense depth refused him a way out. The only mercy she allowed was, "Would it help you any if I told you how I located you in the chapel?"

"Luck?" He closed his eyes in surrender, but opened them again as if to see if she would let up in the interrogation."

"Since when have you had anything resembling, in the least, 'luck'?" She watched for a moment while he fiddled with the rim of his wineglass, studying it intently. "After I found Gundersen and stopped the old guy from burning himself up and burning the hospital down, I went back to your room to tell you. Ya know what I found? No? Well, one thing I didn't find was Gary Hobson, patient in residence! He was gone, but he left something behind when he vacated the room."

Was it her imagination or did this grown man suddenly have the blood drain out of his face until she thought he might faint? "You okay, big guy? Need some more wine?" He shook his head vigorously and, if she didn't know better, looked as though he was ashamed of something. "To shorten this story, I found a newspaper. I thought I'd wait around until you returned. So, my secretive friend, I sat down to read the newspaper. There was no problem until I saw an article about a Gary Hobson being involved and wounded in a shooting in this very hospital's chapel! That's when I checked the date on the paper. Know what it said?" She paused for effect, "Care to guess?"

Again he shook his head 'no.'

"I thought I had lost a day...and my mind. The date was tomorrow's. Ever hear of such a thing? Tomorrow's! A mistake? With your name linked to a shooting? My first impression was that it was some elaborate joke...by Fishman or someone like that. Then I thought, 'Nah, not even Fishman would stoop so low as to give you the evil eye with some horrible thing happening to you.' Then what, I asked myself? Finally I considered the 'what ifs' and hotfooted it down to the chapel-where I found you."

"Tell me that was a 'right time, right place' situation and I will personally take your own hockey stick and break it over your hard head! Okay, now I've said my piece. Now give! I want to know what's going on, and you can skip the hemming and hawing, the blushing and all the other time wasters you have up your sleeve. I'll shut up now. Go for it!"

Continued in Installment 2  

Email the author: arcane@nethere.com
 

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