A Timely Intervention 
Installment 4
by Polgana


Gary and Sgt. Curtis were able to enjoy their lunch, but couldn’t find a movie either man cared to see.  Instead, they killed time in Lincoln park until the first rescue of the day.  Gary took the first long walk he had been able to take in over a week, enjoying the early summer sunshine.  In spite of still having to lean on the cane occasionally, it felt good to be able to stretch his legs. 

The young Marine, however, was unable to relax.  He kept a watchful eye out for the kind of trouble his charge seemed unable to predict.  Being out in the open the way they were made him increasingly nervous.

“Tell me about yourself,” Gary prodded, hoping to get the younger man to loosen up a little.  “How did you get chosen for this?  Other than the ‘hand-to-hand, best marksman’ stuff.  Those couldn’t be your only qualifications, could they?”

“No . . . Gary,” Curtis replied hesitantly.  He was obviously uncomfortable using first names.  “Dr. Fraiser insisted on someone with medical experience.  I’m a gunnery sergeant, now, but I started out as a corpsman.”

Somehow, Gary wasn’t really surprised at that news.  It explained the all too accurate medical reports and the almost daily phone calls from the tiny doctor. 

“And the other stuff?” he asked as he steered their way toward a bench facing the lake.

“One for fitness,” Curtis shrugged.  “The other because my dad was an avid gun collector.  I learned to shoot before I was six.  How ‘bout you?  Any hobbies?”

“Astronomy,” Gary replied, sinking down on the bench with a sigh.  “When I get the chance, that is.  Not much time for anything, lately.”

Curtis lowered himself next to his charge before commenting dryly, “This . . . ‘thing’ that you do.  It keeps you that busy?”

“You’ve only been around for a coupla slow days,” Gary sighed.  “Things can get . . . hectic, to say the least.  I just hope things don’t bust loose before I’m back up to speed.”

“And you cover the whole city alone?” the young Marine snorted in disbelief.  “No back up?”

“My family and my business partner are my ‘back up,’” Gary murmured as he watched a young couple stroll by.  They were holding hands, laughing at some private joke.  A few yards away, an elderly couple were sitting on another bench, arms about each other’s shoulders, and gazing out at the water.  “They’ve been pinch-hitting for me while I’ve been laid-up,” he added in a distracted monotone.  “It’s my responsibility, though.  Not theirs.”

Glancing at his watch, Gary saw that it was time to get back to work.  He looked around at the dozen or so strollers ambling through the park.  This was the right area . . . and there was the guy tossing a Frisbee with his dog.  Levering himself back to his feet with a heartfelt sigh, he tried to make it look natural as he strode over in their direction.  He managed to stop pretty close to the right spot.  When the plastic disc bounced off the lamppost and toward the street, Gary was able to snag it with his cane.  Thus he prevented the dog from jumping out into the street and crashing through the windshield of the dark blue Lincoln, thereby saving the dog, the driver, and the three skaters that would have been crippled or killed in the resulting turmoil.  As the owner of the dog ran up, Gary retrieved the toy from where it had fallen and scaled it back to him.

“Thanks, mister,” the young man yelled, as he went running back toward the lake.

“You’re welcome,” Gary murmured. 

“That went petty smooth,” Curtis commented.  “You came out all this way to save a dog?”

“Something like that,” Gary shrugged.  He watched the young man frolicking with his beloved pet for a moment, before turning to head back to the van, his expression unreadable.  They had less than an hour to get to the Michigan Ave. bridge and stop a maintenance worker from falling to his death.  “Some days I get lucky.”

*********

As promised, it was well past midnight before the two men returned to the loft.  Sgt. Curtis was aching from head to toe with exhaustion.  He hated to even think how Hobson must be feeling!  After saving the maintenance worker, they had rushed to deliver a baby on the El train, stopped six traffic accidents within a three block radius of the Sears Tower, performed CPR on a middle-aged man who had just won the Lottery, talked a man out of jumping from the roof of the Wrigley Building because he hadn‘t won the Lottery, knocked a teenager out of the path of a drive-by shooting, stopped two robberies and a carjacking that would have proven fatal for the victim.

Gary had to pause twice while ascending the stairs to his loft.  He was so tired, it was all he could do to force his left leg to cooperate.  All he could think of was crawling into his bed and passing out.  He was too tired to even care that they had missed supper.  Again.

As had quickly become routine, Curtis checked every room in the apartment before allowing Gary to enter.  The moment the room was declared safe, Gary limped painfully up to his bed and eased himself down onto the mattress.  He sat there for a moment, getting his breath, before falling back with a loud sigh.  “I’m bushed,” he mumbled, his voice confirming the brief statement.  “I don’t think I can move.”

“What you need,” Curtis sighed from where he was leaning against the doorjamb, “is a hot bath.  Loosen those sore muscles before they stiffen up on you.”

“Right,” Gary agreed.  “Sounds great.”  He just lay there, unmoving.  “I have to get up for that, don’t I?’

“It’s not as messy if you use a tub,” Curtis replied with a tired nod.  “Want me to run the water?”

“Please,” Gary murmured.  “Le’ me know when ’s ready.”  His voice had begun to slur.  A few seconds later, he was snoring softly.

With a tired sigh, Curtis bent down and rolled the other man the rest of the way onto the bed.  He then removed Gary’s shoes and the sling, then jerry-rigged immobilization for the injured arm.  When he had done all this, he pulled the comforter up to Gary’s shoulders.  Spent as he was, it was the best the young Marine could manage.  He didn’t even bother folding out his own bed, just wrapped himself in a blanket.  He was sound asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.

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

“Querr?”

Gary awakened to the dry rasp of a rough tongue against the stubble on his cheek.  “G’way,” he mumbled drowsily.

“Mrr?”

“No’ now,” Gary protested.  “Tired.”  He tried to push the persistent cat away with his right hand, only to find that he couldn’t move it.  The effort sent a twinge of pain through his wounded shoulder.  He let loose with a muffled curse as he rolled onto his left side, then struggled to a sitting position on the side of the bed.  The Paper, as had been the case since he’d come home, was under his left hand.  Gary gave it a rueful glare before looking down to see what was confining his arm. 

Someone, Curtis, if he had to guess, had taken one of his bath towels and folded it in half lengthwise around his arm.  It had then been wrapped around his chest and tied in place with the sash from his bathrobe.  Puzzled as to the purpose behind this elaborate rig, Gary was still looking for the knot, to loosen it, when Curtis peeked over the back of the sofa.

“Had to make sure you didn’t move it in your sleep,” he explained.  “How ya feelin’?”

“Okay, I guess,” Gary murmured in reply.  “Little stiff.  You?”

“Fine,” the young Marine yawned as he gave a luxurious stretch.  “I’ve had worse nights in the field.”  He rose smoothly to his feet and headed for the kitchenette.  “Scrambled eggs okay with you?”

“Cheese omelet, if we have cheese,” Gary responded neutrally.  He had a sneaky feeling that the young Marine was putting him on.  That he was almost as stiff and sore as Gary, but determined not to show it.  Looking down at the improvised immobilizer, Gary had to admit that Curtis had hung in there longer than he had. 

A quick scan of the headlines showed nothing until after ten.  Tucking the Paper into the towel, and then grasping the cane he’d left leaning on his nightstand, Gary levered himself to his feet.  What he needed was a hot soak to kick things into gear. 

“Here!” Curtis snapped, hastening to cut him off.  “What’re you doing?  Let me . . . “

“I’m just going to run a tub of hot water,” Gary sighed.  “Nothing strenuous.  Just go on with what you were doing and let me take my bath.”

“And how were you gonna scrub your back without getting those stitches wet?”

That stopped him.  Gary gave out a low growl of frustration, chaffing at having to be ‘looked after’ like a child.  “All right, all right!” he grumbled taking a seat at the counter.  “You’re as bad as my mom, you know that?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Curtis chuckled, “you still beat me waking up this morning.”

“That’s ‘cause I’ve got this furry alarm clock,” Gary grumbled good naturedly.  He scooped a can of Fancy Feast out of the cabinet, popped it open one-handed, then set it down in front of the cat.  The orange tabby ‘querred’ gratefully before digging in.  “You’re welcome,” Gary nodded.  He looked down at the cup of fresh coffee the Marine placed in front of him.  It had already been doctored with the right amount of cream and sugar.  “Thanks,” he sighed in defeat. 

“Don’t take it so hard,” Curtis shrugged as he assembled the omelets.  “You put in a hard day, yesterday.  Most of what I did was just back up.  Plus you’re still hampered by that hole in your shoulder.  From what Dr. Fraiser said, you weren’t in all that good of a shape to begin with.  Hell, I’m surprised you’re able to move at all.  A lot of guys would still be in that wheelchair.  Or dead.  Of course I feel better than you, right now.  So, let me do my job.  You’ve already done yours.”

“Not today, I haven’t,” Gary sighed.  Today, in spite of getting what he considered a late start, promised to be almost as hectic as the previous day.  What was it with pedestrians and cars?  Or trucks and buses in this case.  Two  more traffic fatalities that morning and three more in the afternoon.  Plus a domestic squabble that would trigger a gas explosion, killing a family of five, a drowning, and two kids playing street hockey would put a nun in a coma.  Then he had time for a late lunch before dealing with the two girls who would be severely injured in a fall down an escalator while fleeing security at the department store where they would be caught shoplifting, the little boy who would stray from his mother during the confusion and disappear, then the predator that would also take another child an hour later.  After a short respite while they drove back to Grant Park, they’d have just enough time to stop a rape/murder before a police sting operation turned fatal for all involved.  Then, just before sunset . . . Gary pushed the Paper away with a weary sigh as Curtis placed the steaming omelet in front of him.  It was accompanied by toast and hash brown potatoes.  “Looks good,” he murmured gratefully.  Then, after taking a bite, “It is good.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Curtis grinned.  “Busy day ahead?”

“Mmm,” Gary nodded, his eyes staring, unfocused, somewhere in the middle distance.  “Lots to do.”  Without bringing out the Paper, he briefly ran over the earliest events.  “Don’t plan on eating again before two,” he added ruefully.

“Whoa!” the young Marine commented with a low whistle.  “You’ll let me know when it gets ’hectic,’ right?  So, um, how long have you been doing this?” Curtis queried.  “Doc says it’s been a while.”

“Almost five years, now,” Gary murmured distractedly.  To the young Marine, it seemed as if he were in a trance.  Gary was just trying to lay out the best plan of action in his mind.  “Some days are okay.  Not much happening.  Others . . .”  He just shrugged, turning his attention back to his plate.  “A lot of it gets to be routine, after a while.  Traffic fatalities, that’s mostly a matter of timing.  You know, remove one factor from the equation and it doesn’t happen.  Fires are a little trickier, sometimes.  You have to know what starts ‘em.  Bombs,” he added with a shudder.  “I hate dealing with bombs.  Of any type.  The really nasty stuff is deliberate, usually.  Robbery, rape . . . m-murder.  Hostage situations can be . . . chancy.  And suicide!  I’m always afraid I’ll say the wrong thing.  Set somebody off instead of saving them.  Scary.”

Curtis eyed his charge with growing horror during this quiet monologue.  Hobson spoke in a raspy monotone, as if his mind still wasn’t quite focused on the here and now.  Yet, he described dealing with the stuff that nightmares were made of as if he dealt with it everyday.  Thinking back over the last few days, Curtis realized that Gary was just reciting the facts.  Which only made the soldier’s skin crawl even more.

“And you deal with this stuff everyday?” he asked, incredulous.

“N-not everyday,” Gary replied.  “Each day is . . . different.  Sometimes, I make one thing right, and another goes wrong as a result.  You never know when that’s gonna happen ‘til it does.  So I have to stay on my toes.”

The young Marine stabbed at his own meal as his mind digested what he had been told.  No wonder the General was being so protective of this one civilian.  It all, finally made sense. 

“You can see the future,” he murmured in awe.

With a wry chuckle, Gary shook his head.  “The future isn’t written in stone,” he replied.  “And I don’t ‘see’ it the way you mean.  I’m not psychic, or one of those people you see on TV.  No tarot cards, tea leaves, or crystal balls.  All I know is what could happen today . . . unless I change it.  That’s all.  And I don‘t know everything.  My limitations are . . . well . . . I-I do what I can.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He thought back to a snow covered rooftop, as a fire raged down below, of a frightened old man too weak to hang on.  Then of a young black man with a big heart and a huge piece of skylight piercing his abdomen, his life‘s blood pouring out onto the floor of a derelict building.  Gary shook his head sadly.  “Not always.”

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

“He’s still in the tub,” Curtis murmured into the phone.  “Poor guy almost ran himself to death yesterday.”  Pause.  “I dunno, ma‘am.  He seemed okay when he first came out, but after we’d been at the park awhile, he got sorta . . . quiet.  Depressed, even.  He doesn’t seem much better this morning.  Oh!  I gotta tell you about that psychiatrist.  Dr. Griner.  I only spoke with him for a few minutes, but he strikes me as being good at his job.  Dr. MacKenzie could take lessons from this guy.  But that’s not the most amazing part.  This Dr. Griner is a dead ringer for what Hobson will look like in fifteen, twenty years.  I’m telling you, if not for the gray in his hair, and the fact that he’s blind . . . Yes, ma’am.  As the proverbial . . . I don’t think it slows him down much.  He looked to be in pretty good shape to me.  No, he lost his sight in ‘Nam back in ‘69.  Apparently, he and Hobson got to talking about it.  Yes, ma’am.  That’s what I thought, too.  Excuse me, ma’am, but I’d better go check on Hobson.  He’s soaked long enough.  Have I what?  No, ma’am.  So far as I’ve seen, he just . . . sorta spaces out while reading the newspaper.  Weird, but however he does it, he seems to know his stuff.  He’s only been off on a coupla little things, but never by much.  Yes, ma’am.  I’ll see that he eats, and takes his medicine on time.  Yes, ma’am.  Thank you, Dr. Fraiser.  I’ll tell him you said so, but I doubt that it’ll do much good.  I don’t want to push him too hard.  Ma’am, he’s already feeling like a caged animal.  If I don’t give him room to breathe, he might decide to try and ditch me.  Yes, ma’am,” he sighed.  “I’ll do my best.  Good-bye.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your orders.”

Curtis almost dropped the phone as he spun around to face the man standing in the bathroom door.  Gary was dressed only in his bathrobe, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel.

“How can you move that quiet with . . . oh.”  He noticed that his patient wasn’t leaning on the cane this morning.  “You gonna try to get along with out it today?”

Gary walked carefully over to the bed and sat down.  “I’ll keep it handy,” he replied neutrally.  He started getting dressed.  “So you think I’m depressed?”

“A little, yeah,” Curtis admitted as he set the phone back on the table.  “Mostly tired, I think.  You take a lot on yourself, you know.  By the end of the day, you’re worn yourself down to a nub.  Here, let me help with that.  Two hands work faster than one.”

He quickly helped Gary fasten his jeans, then carefully eased the barkeep into his T-shirt and jacket.  As Curtis was tightening the laces on Gary’s Reeboks, he looked into the other man’s despondent visage.

“Cheer up,” Curtis smiled.  “At least you’ve still got all your parts.  That puts you a step above a lot of vets I know.”

“True,” Gary replied, his lips twitching in an attempt at a smile.  “Most of those parts even work.  Oh, I forgot to tell you.  After we stop that super from getting electrocuted,” he added, his voice brightening a little, “we’ll have time for me to attend rehearsal.  They still want me in the play!  Crystal, Bonnie a-and the others . . . Someone came by the hospital almost everyday t-to help me go over my lines.”

The Marine looked up to see a shy smile on his patient’s pale features.  There was also a faint gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” he observed, straightening up with a groan.

“Me?  Nah.  I’m doing this as a favor to Crumb,” Gary replied dismissively.  “A-and Crystal.  She needs the exposure.  Besides, it’s . . . it’s kinda . . . fun,” he finished lamely.  “I-it gives me something to think about b-besides an endless string of . . . of . . .”

“Disasters?” Curtis suggested.

“Exact . . . ly!” Gary agreed, moving both hands in an expressive gesture without thinking.  He instantly put his left hand to his wounded shoulder as a very sharp reminder was delivered.  “Remind me not to do that again,” he hissed.

“I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you,” Curtis dead-panned.  “It might hurt.”

Gary opened his mouth to say something, closing it again as he realized he’d just been had. 

“Oh, that’s cute,” he grumbled good-naturedly.  “Th-that’s real cute.  You learn that in ‘basic’?”

“Nah,” Curtis grinned.  “You left yourself wide open for that one.”  He helped Gary slip his arm into the sling.  “There.  That should remind you to be more careful.”  Glancing at his watch, he headed for the bathroom.  “I better hurry or we’ll miss the bus.”

As the Marine left the room, Gary pulled out the Paper, perusing the headlines in more detail.

Runaway Bus Kills Twelve In School Yard.

No.  They definitely didn’t want to miss that bus.

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

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Gary?” Bonnie asked as they stepped out on the stage.  “You still look so pale!  Is he getting enough rest?” she asked the man trailing two steps behind her friend.

“I’m fine,” Gary hurried to assure her.  “We’re just doing the scene where ‘Angelique’ and ‘Troy’ are arguing about the upcoming divorce.  I’ll be sitting . . . b-behind . . .”  He slowed as they approached the set, coming to a halt a few feet from the desk.  They had scrubbed and repainted the fake wall he had crashed into, but there was still a large area that was just a shade darker than the rest.  A chill shiver ran up his spine as the scene played itself out in his mind, and his heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest.  He didn’t realize that he was holding his breath until the touch of a gentle hand broke him from his paralysis.  “Huh?”

“I asked if you were alright,” Darlene repeated anxiously.  “Gary, you’re white as a sheet!  Doesn’t he look pale to you, Bonnie?  Crystal?  And he’s sweating!  Are you running a fever?”

“I’m fine, really” Gary assured her, gently pushing aside the hand that was reaching for his forehead.  There was a quaver in his voice, however, that belied his words.  “It’s just . . . the-the scene of the crime . . . ya know?  It’s to be expected, they tell me.  Like I didn’t already know,” he added softly.  “Um, l-let’s see, I’m supposed to be seated a-at the desk when ‘Angelique’ comes storming in, waving the pre-nup at me.” 

As he spoke, Gary strode boldly up to the set and took his seat.  By busily arranging the blank sheets of paper scattered across the desk, he hoped to hide how badly his hand was trembling.  It was ten times worse when Elaine walked onto the stage from the exact same spot where Crystal had emerged with the pistol in her hand.  For a moment, he had to fight an almost overwhelming sense of panic as he once again saw that brief headline.  Saw the gun aimed at his chest.  He looked hurriedly down at the desktop.

A deep breath, shoulders squared, and he raised his head defiantly to meet Elaine’s concerned gaze. 

“Just what part of that agreement eludes you, Angelique?” he asked grimly.

**********

Three hours later, Curtis was helping an exhausted barkeep up the stairs to his loft.  Gary had insisted on going through the scene until he could do it without stuttering.  Or shaking.  Once he was past that first hurdle, the rest of the rehearsal had gone smoothly.  Soon, Bonnie assured them, they would be ready for a complete ‘run through.’  They just had to help Gary get up to speed.

“I hope tomorrow is a slow day,” Sgt. Curtis sighed as they reached the top landing.  “I don’t know if I can take another one like today.”

“We can only hope,” Gary nodded.  He reached for the door handle, stopping with his hand just inches from the knob.  The door was open.  “That’s funny.  I was sure I’d locked it when we left this morning.”

Instantly alert, Curtis drew his gun and motioned Gary back from the door.  Easing the portal open with his foot, the Marine quietly chambered a round.  As the door pivoted on well-oiled hinges, he crouched low, keeping close to the wall as he reached in and flipped on the overhead lights.  There was a startled grunt as Curtis charged into the room.  Simultaneously, two familiar voices shouted ‘Freeze!’

Gary winced as he recognized the other voice.  Leaning heavily on his cane (it had been an exhausting day), he proceeded into the loft.  “Sgt. Jason Curtis,” he sighed.  “Meet Police Lt. Steve Sloan, of the LAPD.  Both of you can put your toys away.  I’ve had enough gunplay for one lifetime, thank you.”  As the hardware was being returned to their respective holsters, he turned to the blonde detective.  “I thought you and your dad went back to LA last Friday?”

“We did,” Steve shrugged.  “Then I took a leave of absence and came back.  You didn’t think I could just walk off and leave until this case is solved, did you?”

“I-I guess I didn’t think about it one way or the other,” Gary mused as he eased himself down on the couch.  “Not from your standpoint, anyway.  I-it’s good to have you back.  Where are you staying?”

“Some dump called Casa Diablo,” Steve grumbled.

“Aw, man!” Gary groaned.  “I know that place.  You can’t stay there!  It gives ‘flea-traps’ a bad name!”

“There’s no other place left to stay,” Steve shrugged.  “There’s another convention, seminar, whatever.”  He pointed with his chin to the young Marine.  “What’s with him?”

“Oh, um, y-you may recall that I’ve had a run-in or two with certain . . . government agencies,” Gary shrugged, wincing.  “H-he’s here to make sure this . . . incident wasn’t because of . . . you know.  National security or . . . a-anything like that.”

“Gary,” Steve sighed, “for such a nice guy, you run in the strangest circles.”

“With ‘run’ being the operative word,” Curtis replied with a tight-lipped grin.  “This man should try for the next Olympic track team.  Even with him leaning on a cane, I can barely keep up.”

Recalling a certain afternoon on the Navy Pier, Steve had to chuckle.  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”  He gave the young Marine an appraising glance.  “You seem to be in good hands, though.  Has he told you what he did just a few days before he was shot?  Guy’s barely able to walk and he takes a dive off the end of Navy Pier after some guy who . . .”

“He was gonna drown!” Gary protested.  “I was supposed to just sit back and let that happen?”

“You were supposed to ask for help!”  Steve told him pointedly.  “We were right there!”  He turned his attention back to Sgt. Curtis.  “Has he pulled anything like that with you?”

“All the time,” Curtis nodded.  “Have you any idea how hard it is to watch someone’s back and front at the same time?  Just yesterday I had chase him to the top of a scaffolding on the Michigan Ave. bridge where he grabbed some guy just as he was about to fall, then to the top of the Wrigley Building, and had to watch as he knocked some kid out of the way of a ‘drive-by!’  You wouldn’t believe what today was like!  And he says this was just a little above average.  What if our saboteur decided to show up at any of those little shindigs?  Who do I save him from?  The assassin or himself?” he added with an expressive wave of his hands.

“Now just a . . .”

“Good question,” Steve replied, ignoring Gary’s protest.  “That’s something my dad was worrying about on the flight home.  Gary has this remarkable talent for finding trouble.”

“Do you . . .”

“Finding!” Curtis snorted.  “He doesn’t have to ‘find’ anything!  He knows exactly where it’s gonna be long before it happens.”

“Would you two like me to step outside so you can talk about me in private?” Gary asked dryly.  “Or I could just go make us some coffee.  Give you two a moment alone to compare notes.”  He started to lever himself to his feet as he finished speaking.

Steve placed a hand on Gary’s good shoulder, pinning him to his seat.  “You just stay put,” the blonde cop admonished.  “I know where to find everything.  Besides, shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed?  I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy for awhile.”

Gary turned to give Steve an irritated look.  “Are you gonna turn into my mother, too?” he asked.  “‘Cause, if you are, I have to tell you that I don’t need tucking in.  I’m a big boy, now.”  Leaning back with a sigh, he rubbed his good hand over his face.  Suddenly, the events of the day were catching up with him.  “You’re right,” he murmured apologetically.  “I-it’s been . . . um., look, you can’t stay in that dump.  Why don’t you go get your things and bunk in here with us?  The two of you can share the sleeper tonight, and I’ll have a cot brought out from storage in the morning.”

“I was sorta hoping you would say that,” Steve grinned.  “Marissa let me put my things in your office.  I’d, um, I didn’t want to put you out, but, when I saw that the cockroaches were ‘packing heat,’ . . .”

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

“He what?”

“I’m serious!” Steve chuckled before taking a sip of his coffee.  “Beaned that kid with a long pass from our front yard.  Hell of an arm.”

“That’s nothing,” Curtis snorted.  “You should’ve seen him clambering up to that scaffold with only one hand!  Or today, when we had to stop that bus!  When the driver had that seizure, I thought we were all goners.  But Gary hauls him outta that seat like he was a rag doll, one-handed.  Then he wrestles the bus to a halt while I’m trying to keep the driver from hurting himself.  You ever try to drive a bus?  Those things . . .”

His narration was interrupted as a pillow impacted with the side of his head.  Both men looked over at the bed, where Gary was once again trying to burrow under the coverlet.

“Knock it off, already,” he grumbled.  “It’s after two, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Sorry,” Steve grinned.  “I guess I’m still on west coast time.”  He bent down to retrieve the pillow and return it to the bed.  “You’re just such a-a wellspring of great stories.  Too bad I can’t tell ‘em to the guys back at the home precinct.”

He stepped over to tuck the pillow under Gary’s head once more.  The younger man grunted his thanks.

“So glad to keep you guys entertained,” he murmured through the covers.  “Now, can we all please just go to sleep?”

Chuckling quietly, Curtis began to gather their half empty cups.  “We better do as he asks,” he commented.  “He gets a little cranky if he doesn’t enough rest.”

Groaning in frustration, Gary pulled the pillow over his head.  “I’m only two days out of the hospital, guys,” he mumbled.  “Could you cut me some slack?  I just . . . need . . . sleep.  Please?”

**********

Bam!  Bam!  Bam!

Rolling onto his back with a groan, Gary looked at the clock.  Four-thirty.  Who could be pounding on his door at this hour? 

Bam!  Bam!  Bam!

“C’mon, Gar!  Open up!”

God, no!

“Who the hell . . .?”   Sgt. Curtis grumbled.  He had sprung to his feet, his gun drawn and ready, with the first rattling impact.  “Are you expecting company at this hour?”

“You never expect Chuck,” Gary sighed, his voice muffled by the covers he had pulled over his head.  “He just appears.  Like a bolt of lightning.  You might as well let him in.  The only way to get rid of him is to shoot him, and he is my best friend.”

Holding his pistol close to his ear, the muzzle pointed at the ceiling, Curtis stepped quickly up to the door.  The rippled glass distorted the view somewhat, but he was able to see well enough to recognize Chuck Fishman from the file he had been given on Hobson’s known associates.  He gave vent to an explosive sigh before ejecting the round in the chamber.  He tucked the pistol back into the holster draped over the back of the couch before returning to open the door.

“What’d he do?” the sergeant grumbled.  “Pick the lock downstairs?”

“He doesn’t have to,” Gary murmured.  “He probably used the spare key in the lamp post.”

Curtis paused halfway to the door.  The look he directed toward the figure on the bed could only be described as ‘dangerous.’  “Just when was I supposed to be made aware of this little breech of security.”

“Jus’ a spare key,” Gary grumbled, trying to burrow deeper into the bed.  “No one’s ever found it that didn’t know it was there.”

Shaking his head with a resigned sigh, Curtis reached to open the door.  “We’ll talk about this in the morning, Hobson.”

Chuck stood there, one fisted hand raised to pound on the door, two suitcases at his feet.  He gave Curtis a startled look.  “Do I know you?” he asked.  Craning his head to peer at the bed, he added, “Gar, you have a party last night or something?”  Without waiting for an answer, the little man reached down and hefted his bags.  Striding briskly past the gaping sergeant, he dropped them noisily next to the treadmill.  “Can you believe there’s not one vacant room in this . . .?”  He then noticed the other man levering himself up from the sleeper.  “Steve?”  Looking over to the bed, he asked, “Gar?  What’s going on here?  You startin’ a boardinghouse or somethin’?”

“No,” Gary sighed, rolling himself out of bed and sliding his feet into his slippers.  “No, I’m not.  What I am, is tired.  You guys just stay right here, get to know each other, have a nice little chat, talk about me behind my back, whatever.  Steve, you can make the introductions.”  Rubbing the back of his neck with an irritated sigh, he shuffled toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” Curtis snapped, stepping in front of him.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

Gary didn’t even pause as he stepped around the NCO.  “I’m going downstairs, to my office where there’s a nice, comfortable sofa, and some privacy.  If . . . if, mind you, I’m real lucky, I might be able to get another hour of shut-eye.”

Curtis reached out to grab Gary by his good arm.  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said.  “You need to just . . .”

“I need to get just a little more sleep,” Gary told him levelly.  “I’m not gonna get it here.  Now, please let me go.”

The two men locked gazes for a moment.  With a sigh, Curtis looked away first.  Hobson was right.  The loft was turning into Union Station.  “At least let me check it out, first,” he told the bleary-eyed man before him.  “It’ll only take a minute.  Wait here.”  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.

Scrubbing at his face with his good hand, Gary perched on the edge of the bed.  If only they had let him have just a little more sleep. 

“Gar?”

He looked up to meet Chuck’s concerned, and puzzled gaze.

“What’s going on?” he asked.  “And what happened to your arm?  I get back from New Zealand yesterday to find a message on my machine that you were in the hospital again. I tried to call but all the lines were . . .”

“S’all right, Chuck,” Gary murmured.  “I’m fine, now.  Steve and Jason can give you the whole story.  I-I’m sorry to be such a grouch, but things have been . . . hectic.  I’m just . . . tired, okay?”  He could hear footsteps climbing the stairs.  “You guys go ahead and talk, or . . . whatever.  I’ll be fine.”  He looked up as Curtis stepped through the door. 

“It’s clear,” the young Marine told him in a subdued tone.  “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Gary murmured.  Grasping his cane, he levered himself to his feet, and pulled the lap-throw off the back of the sleeper.  Draping the small blanket over his left shoulder, he shuffled toward the door.  “If the front door is locked, I’ll be fine.  Marissa usually isn’t in ‘til seven, seven-thirty.  Y-you guys just . . . just stay here and . . . I’ll be fine.”  He pushed his way past his bodyguard and continued down the stairs.

“He looks like that Linus kid, with his ‘security’ blanket,” Chuck mumbled as his best friend disappeared from sight.

“I heard that!” Gary called without looking back.

“What!  Yer gonna sick Snoopy on me?” the little man retorted loudly.  Behind him, he heard what sounded like a choked laugh.

“Good night, Chuck!”

Curtis leaned against the doorframe, biting his lip, until he heard the door at the foot of the stairs close with a thump.  Lightning quick, he spun and slapped the wall with the flat of his hand, letting loose with a loud expletive as he did so.

“I have royally screwed up,” he growled.  “Man, I can’t believe how badly I screwed up.  I‘m supposed to be looking after him, not just watch over him.  And what do I do?  First time someone comes along I can ‘talk shop‘ with, I treat it like a damned ‘sleep over!’”

“It’s as much my fault as yours,” Steve muttered consolingly.  “I could see how tired he was last night, as well as you could.  We were just too keyed up to pay attention to it.”

Chuck‘s plaintive whine cut through their self-recriminations.  “Will someone please tell me what you two are talkin’ about?”

Both men looked at each other, then shook their heads before turning to face the newcomer.

“Gary’s exhausted, physically and mentally,” Steve told the young producer.  “He’s also feeling the pressure of being watched continuously.  Not to mention knowing that someone deliberately tried to kill him.  It’s . . .”

“Whoa!  Hold up there, Kemo Sabe,” Chuck cried, holding both hands up in a warding gesture.  “Let’s backup just a little.  Someone tried to kill Gary?”  Stunned, he turned to the young Marine.  “And where, exactly, do you come into the picture?”

Pushing himself to his feet with a sigh, Steve took Chuck by the arm, guiding the younger man to the kitchenette.  “Let’s belly up to the bar here,” he said, “and we’ll tell you all about it over coffee.  I have to warn you, though.  You’re not gonna like it.”  As he led the way, Steve shot the smaller man an amused look.  “Snoopy?”

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

“Mrrr?”

“Not now,” Gary murmured drowsily.  He was stretched out, on his left side, on the sofa in his office.  “I’ve had a lousy night,” he grumbled into his throw pillow.  Squirming around onto his back, he opened one eye . . . to see a bright shaft of sunlight streaming though his window.  He frowned thoughtfully as he noted the angle of the beam.  It seemed awfully high for 6:30, even for this time of the year.  Turning his head, Gary eyed the tabby sitting on the Paper.  “You let me ‘sleep in?’” he murmured, surprised.  “Thanks.”

He carefully levered himself to a sitting position before looking at the clock on the wall.  It was almost eight!  Wow!  He must have been tired!  He hadn’t slept past seven in years! 

“Is something up?” he asked the cat.  “Y-you didn’t let anything slide just . . . just feeling sorry for me, did you?  ‘Cause I don’t need sympathy.  I just needed those guys to shut up so I could sleep.”

The cat didn’t say anything, just tucked his feet beneath himself and gazed back with a smug purr.  Gary cocked his head to one side, trying to read the banner headline.  It seemed to be about a new budget proposal.  Didn’t the local politicians have anything better to do with their time?  Reaching down gingerly, he nudged the still purring feline off of the Paper and picked it up.  Leafing through, he scanned each headline carefully.  Except for a certain councilman getting caught taking bribes, and a half-price sale at the Reebok outlet store, there was nothing of interest.  Stunned, Gary turned to the front page and started again, reading each article carefully.  So engrossed was he in his task, that the cat was in his lap before he was even aware that it had moved.  The orange feline butted his chin repeatedly to get his attention.  At the same time, there was a gentle tapping on the glass panel of the office door.

“Do you think he’s awake, yet?” someone murmured on the other side.  It sounded like Steve.

“I dunno,” Curtis whispered in reply.  “I don’t see that cat anywhere.  What do ya think got into that beast?  Wouldn’t even let me down the freakin’ stairs!”

Silence, then . . .

“What ‘re lookin’ at me for?” Chuck demanded in an indignant whisper.  “Like I know what that orange monster is thinkin’?  It hates me!  It always has.  The only reason it ever tolerated me is because of Gary.”

More silence.

“Do you have any idea how weird that sounded?” Steve asked.

Gary looked down at the orange tabby lying curled in his lap.  Setting the Paper aside, he began scratching behind its ears.  “What’d you do, fella?” he murmured his lips curving into an amused smile.  “Put the fear of God into those bozos?  Read ‘em the riot act, or something? Hmm?”

The cat just closed his eyes and purred louder.  The voices on the other side of the door continued.

“We can’t just stand here all day,” Chuck insisted, his voice still pitched barely above a whisper.  “He’s gotta be awake.  That cat never lets him sleep this late.”

“So why are we still whispering?” Curtis asked.

Chuckling, Gary nudged the cat out of his lap and stood up, sticking his feet back into his slippers.  Through the rippled glass upper panel, he could see three shadows pressing against the door, trying to see or hear better.  Easing up until he could just reach the knob, Gary snatched the portal open, spilling all three onto the floor at his feet.  He managed a dry chuckle as he watched them try to untangle themselves.

“It’s okay,” he told them.  “All’s forgiven.  And I seem to have the day off,” he added, rubbing his hands together briskly.  “So, um, what would you guys like to do today?”

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

After a hot breakfast, Gary spent a little time going over the books with Marissa.  His partner was still ‘walking on air’ after Emmett’s proposal.  They had been forced to postpone the date twice, however, due to the logistics of getting both families together.  At first, each had been certain the other was having ‘cold feet.’  Gary somehow managed to keep them talking, though, and things were starting to gel. 

“We think we can get married on Valentine’s Day,” she told him that morning, “but we haven’t heard from his uncle in Milwaukee, yet.  Or my sister.”

“You sound discouraged,” Gary commented distractedly as he checked his figures one more time.  “Not feeling a little . . . chilly, are we?”

“Just a little,” Marissa sighed.  “Emmett’s starting to feel it, too, I think.  He’s starting to talk about eloping.  I’m almost ready to agree.  It’s not like we’ll have that many guests, but who could’ve known that getting forty people together would be this hard?”

“It’ll happen,” Gary chuckled.  “It’ll seem like forever, at first.  Then, as the big day gets closer and closer, it’ll seem like there’s not enough time left.  When it’s all over, you’ll forget all about the scheduling, and the costs, and the time spent worrying about all the nitpicky little details.  The only thing the two of you’ll be worrying about is how long you can make the moment last.”

Marissa sat back with a wistful smile.  “Mmm,” she sighed.  “You make it sound so . . . romantic.”

“It can be,” Gary murmured, his mind drifting back as he set the ledger aside.  “It can be.  Well!  That’s one less headache to deal with later.  We’re all going to the racetrack.  Care to go with us?”

A worried frown creased the blind woman’s brow as she considered his offer.  “Should you be going someplace so . . . public?” she asked.  “That . . . person . . . is still out there.”

“Marissa,” Gary sighed, “I’ve been out in the open a number of times in the last few days.  No one has taken any more shots at me, or even sent me a threatening note.  Whoever doctored those rounds has been scared off.  And I’m not gonna cower in my loft for the rest of my life on the off chance he’s still ‘out there.’  I can’t function that way.”

“Aren’t you frightened by this at all?” Marissa asked, her tone saying clearly that she was scared enough for both of them.

“Of course I’m scared,” her partner snorted.  “I’m not an idiot.  But I can’t let some half-baked terrorist dictate how I run my life.  If I do that, he wins by default.  With no guarantee that he won’t . . . won’t wait until everyone figures he’s took off for parts unknown and we let our guard down.  Then h-he pulls a S-Savalas on me and . . .” He paused, heaving a shuddering sigh as he got a grip on himself.  “No.  I can’t live with that hanging over me.  If my staying out in the open helps to flush him out, good.  And we need something like this.  Just a bunch of friends kicking back, laying a few bets . . .”  His voice faded as he thought back to happier times.

“You’re not going to give Chuck any winners, are you?” she asked guardedly.

“He doesn’t need any,” he replied, his mind still . . . elsewhere.  “He’s got everything he needs.”

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

Out of habit, as much as anything, Gary stuck the Paper inside his back pocket as the four men headed for the EL station.  They had decided to leave the van behind, to avoid parking hassles.  Plus, Gary felt the need to stretch his legs.  The last couple of days, he had been too rushed to walk just for the exercise.  It felt nice to be able to take his time.   He was a little self-conscious, at first.  People would stare at his cane or the sling, then look hurriedly away as he met their curious gazes.  No one, however, made any threatening moves toward him.  That could have been because of the way Sgt. Curtis hovered protectively within arm’s reach.  Or the stony glare Steve turned on anyone who got too close.

“Could you guys tone it down a little,” Gary growled irritably.  “You’ll have people thinkin’ I’m ‘connected’ or something!”

“Better ‘connected’ than ‘disconnected,’ if you get my drift,” Chuck countered.  “So, Gar,” he went on, rubbing his hands together briskly, “who do you favor in the first race?”

Gary shot his friend a warning glance.  “No,” he replied with a quick shake of his head.  “No way, Chuck.  We don’t play that game, remember?”

“What game?” the little man queried in wide-eyed innocence.  “I’m not playing any games.”  He turned his innocuous gaze on Steve, then Curtis.  “Did I ask him to look into his crystal ball and pick us a winner or two?  Did I even suggest that he . . .?”

“Knock it off, Fishman,” Steve told him.  “We all know what you meant.  Let’s just do things the normal way today.  Let the man enjoy his time off.”

“Thank you,” Gary nodded in grateful acknowledgment. 

“Of course,” the blonde cop added, “you won’t mind if we all let you bet first.”

“Forget it,” Chuck sighed.  “I tried that once.  He just bets on the favorites to win.  No long shots.  How a guy can know what’s gonna happen everyday and not wanna make a killin’ off of it . . . I still say it’s unnatural.”

“Of course it’s ‘unnatural,’” Gary grumbled quietly.  “Knowing the future at all is unnatural.  I just don’t think this . . . this ‘gift,’ if you wanna call it that, is some gimmick for getting rich.  And could you keep it down?  I don’t want everyone hearing this.  I’m supposed to be relaxing.”

Taking the not so subtle hint, they quickly changed the subject to baseball.  Gary still held out hope for the Cubs, while Chuck and Steve were Dodgers fans. 

A while later, on their way back from the betting window for the third time, Gary felt something snag his ankle as he was limping down the stairs.  He stumbled into Steve, who was a step ahead of him, almost knocking both of them off balance.  A quick move by Curtis saved both men from a nasty fall.

“You okay, Gary?” the young Marine asked in open concern.  He still had a firm grip on the injured man’s left arm. 

“Y-yeah,” Gary assured him shakily.  “I must’ve tripped on . . . on something.”  Looking down at the place where he had stumbled, Gary could see nothing that could have caused his misstep.  “Funny,” he murmured.  “It was almost like something . . . “

“Something what?” Steve insisted as Gary’s voice trailed off.  “Did you trip or not?”

“N-not, I think,” Gary mused.  He stepped back to where he had felt the obstruction, looking carefully at the faces on both sides of the broad stairway.  Nobody looked familiar, but there were a couple of empty seats on the aisle that he could’ve sworn had been occupied a moment before.  “I think someone . . . N-never mind,” he sighed.  “It’s almost time for the race.  Let’s get back to our seats before Chuck has kittens.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asked.  “You look a little . . .”

“I just tripped on someone’s ankle or something,” Gary insisted.  “I’m fine, honest.”

He wasn’t so sure a short time later, as they were cheering home the horse they had all wagered on.  Gary had relented just enough to pick a three-year-old at four to one odds.  As the horses entered the home stretch, their runner coming up fast on the outside, Gary felt a sudden chill.  Like ice water rolling down his spine.  At almost the same moment, a searing shaft of pain hit him right between the eyes.  Rocked by the suddenness of the attack, he staggered back a step, taking Chuck with him.  Instantly alert, Curtis grabbed him by his good arm to steady him.

“Are you okay?  Whoa!”

No sooner had they moved, than something plummeted past Gary’s field of vision, having fallen, apparently, from the balcony above.  It hit the space he had just vacated with a resounding crash, causing several nearby spectators to scream out in panic.  Stunned, Gary was almost trampled by people trying to flee the scene.  He had only a brief glimpse of the object before Steve and Sgt. Curtis dragged him and Chuck to safety.  A bowling ball?  ‘Who,’ he wondered, ‘brings a bowling ball to a racetrack?’

He didn’t like the answer he came up with at all.

***********

Armstrong found three of the four men seated in the infirmary, where they had taken Gary at the first sign of trouble.  Hobson was stretched out on a cot, a damp cloth covering his eyes.  He appeared to be sleeping.

“He said he felt dizzy,” Chuck told the big detective, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.  “He lost his balance just . . . just before . . .”  The little man shuddered at the memory of the incredibly near miss.  “If he hadn’t, we’d both be dead, now.”  He looked up at the others.  “Did you know it cracked the concrete where it hit?  I saw it.  Just . . . shattered it.  People thought it was a bomb.”

Paul knelt next to the figure on the cot.  “Did they sedate him?”

“No,” Gary murmured.  “They should’ve sedated Chuck, though.  He’s a wreck.”  Reaching up with his free hand, Gary removed the compress.  “I’m fine, except for this God-awful headache.”

“Cheer up,” Steve commented dryly.  “Think of the one you almost had.  That would’ve been a real skull buster.”  He looked over at Armstrong.  “He almost took a header down some stairs a few minutes before the ball dropped.  Gary thought he’d just tripped on something, but I’m not so sure, now.”

Armstrong reached out, grasping Hobson by the chin and gently turning his head to one side.  Three ‘steri-strips’ pulled together the edges of a shallow cut on his left temple.  “I take it this isn’t the source of your headache?”

“That happened later,” Curtis sighed.  “We got separated in the stampede.  When I found him, he was half under one of the bench seats, trying to keep from being stepped on.  Again.”

“It’s no big deal,” Gary mumbled irritably.  He pushed the detective’s hand away and turned his head back, placing the cloth over his eyes once more.  “Trip to the ER, a few stitches and something for the headache, I’ll be fine.”

“You should know,” Paul sighed.  “That ball weighed sixteen pounds, by the way.  At the very least, you could’ve been severely injured.  If it’d hit you square on, it would’ve crushed your skull like an eggshell.  This guy is not playing around, Hobson.  You should be in protective custody.”

“We’ve already been over that,” Gary sighed.  “That only protects me.  What happens when this jerk goes after my family?  Or my friends?  How many people should I let be hurt or killed to protect me?”

Frustrated, Armstrong lunged to his feet and began pacing the tiny room.  “I just don’t get you, Hobson,” he snapped.  “Anyone else in your position would be screaming for protection.  You act as if it’s a violation of your right to be worm food!”

“I don’t see the need to put anyone else at risk,” Gary countered.  Wincing, he rubbed at his temples with one hand.  “Could you hold the volume down a little?  Please?”

“At the very least,” Steve told him, “you’re going to the ER to have that cut stitched.  While we’re there, maybe they should look into the cause of that headache, too.”

“It’s just a headache,” Gary sighed.  “No big deal.”

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

“You have a concussion, Mr. Hobson,” Dr. Kovac reported as he leafed through Gary’s chart.  “CT scan shows no intracranial bleeding, but there is a slight swelling.”

“Does that mean I can go home, now?” Gary mumbled. He was lying back on the stretcher with his eyes covered once more.

“Normally,” the dark haired Croatian replied, “I would say yes, if there were someone to awaken you every few hours for neuro checks.  Given your recent history, however, I would like to admit you for observation.”

Gary raised one corner of the cloth to give the doctor a steady look.  “I’ve got a Marine with Medcorps experience and a police lieutenant staying with me.  Plus a friend just in from the west coast. Not to mention that my mom lives across the street from me.  What make you think I’m gonna get any sleep?”

“Um,” the physician nodded, failing to suppress a tiny smile.  “Still, it would be best for all concerned if you let us take care of you tonight.  I am troubled by the fact that this headache hit you before you struck your head.  And you said you felt a chill?”

Letting the cloth fall back into place, Gary nodded once.  “Like ice water running up my spine,” he replied.  “Right after that . . . the pain . . . It was kinda . . .” He heaved a sigh as he searched for words to describe the experience.  “It felt like something just smacked me between the eyes.  But there was nothing there.”

“All the more reason for us to keep you.” Dr. Kovac told him.  “Want me to tell your friends?”

“No,” the young barkeep grumbled.  “I want you to let me go home.  No offense, Doc, but I’ve practically lived in this joint over the past year.  I’m just starting to get comfortable being in my own place again.”

“It’s only for one night, Mr. Hobson,” the physician chuckled.  “You won’t have time to get homesick, I promise.  Now, let me get you admitted, and schedule a few tests.  We’ll try to have you back home by this time tomorrow, hmm?”

**********

Gary couldn’t figure all the furtive looks he kept getting as the orderly wheeled him up to the same floor where he had awakened just a little over a week before.  Some of the nurses turned away a little too quickly, their shoulders shaking.  Were they laughing at him?

“Here you go, Mr. Hobson,” the orderly said as they rolled up to the door.  “Your usual room.  It even has your name on it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gary sighed.  “That’s a good one, Joey.  What’d they do slap a piece of tape on the door with . . . my . . . Oh, that’s cute.  That’s real cute!  Who . . .?  Who came up with this?”

He was looking up at a gleaming bronze plaque hanging on the door, proudly proclaiming that this room now had a name.

 The Hobson Suite.

***********

“I’m almost tempted to sue,” Gary grumbled to his guests.  Then his lips twitched as the humor of the situation won out.  “That plaque must’ve set someone back a bundle.  Those things aren’t cheap.”

“So, how’s the head?” Chuck asked as he settled onto a chair.  “Any better?”

“Some,” Gary admitted, sinking back into his pillow.  “They gave me a little something for the pain, and to keep me from getting sick.”  He looked up to the big detective standing by the window, gazing out at the parking lot.  “Do we know any more than we did an hour ago?”

“Not much,” Armstrong grudgingly admitted.  “The ball was wiped clean, no one remembers seeing who dropped it.  It’s a common brand found at any sporting goods store.  Even the finger holes had been cleaned.  This guy is no fool.”

“That much we’d already figured,” Sgt. Curtis murmured distractedly.  “He had to be wearing gloves.  No one noticed a guy wearing gloves in the middle of May, carrying a bowling ball at a racetrack?  Do people have to practice to be that blind?”

“It’s a common phenomenon,” Steve remarked dryly.  “They don’t want to get involved, so we find ourselves with a mass outbreak of selective amnesia.  Happens a lot back home, too.”

“So,” Gary sighed, “what happens now?”

“You get some rest,” Armstrong told him sternly.  “I’ve already explained that Sgt. Curtis will be staying the night with you and that no one else is to be allowed anywhere near you without my say so.  Tomorrow . . .”

“W-wait!” Gary pleaded, holding his good hand up to silence the detective.  “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Griner in the morning.”

“Who’s Dr. Griner?  Is he on staff here?”

“He’s this psychiatrist Hobson just started seeing,” Curtis explained.  “We can call him and reschedule.”

“I-I’d rather not,” Gary murmured.  “M-maybe he could be brought here?”

Armstrong shot Gary an amused glance.  “Finally getting your head examined, Hobson?”

“In more ways than one,” Gary sighed.  “I’m still having some . . . issues . . . with wh-what . . . with last Halloween.  Things happened so fast right after that, I didn’t have time to . . . to deal with it then.”  He rubbed at his temples as the pain returned.  “Since this last . . . I-I couldn’t put it off any longer.”

The big cop nodded soberly, regretting his flippant remark.  He was not surprised that Hobson was having problems.  What Savalas had done to him would’ve given the most hardened veteran nightmares.  “I’ll see if this Dr. Griner will consider coming here for your session,” he offered.

“You’ll have to send a car for him,” Curtis told him.  “He’s blind.”  He glanced at the man on the bed, biting his lip with indecision.  Finally, he added, “He’s also a ringer for Hobson.  A little older, but the resemblance is amazing.”

“Great,” Steve muttered.  “Just what we need.  Two of them.”

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

Gary had to endure a series of lab tests, and an MRI before finally being allowed to rest that evening.  And it wasn’t until Curtis and Steve had stepped out to talk privately with Armstrong that he and Chuck were able to talk candidly.

“So, why didn’t you know about this, Gar?” the little man asked pointedly.  “Did you tick off the Paper Fairy or somethin’?  This is twice, no three times it didn’t warn you ahead of time.  First that spill down the stairs, then Savalas, now . . . And what about that shooting?  Did you even get a hint . . .?”

“Yes,” Gary sighed tiredly.  “I just didn’t see it in time.  Look, those others . . . If they hadn’t ‘ve happened the way they did . . . then I wouldn’t ‘ve been in the right places in time to stop a lot of people from dying.  There’s . . . there’s a reason behind this, too.  I just . . . just don’t know what it is, yet.  B-but I will.  Eventually.”

“Yeah?” Chuck snorted.  “Well, any more ‘wake up calls’ like this, and you won’t be in any shape to handle it when you do.”

“S-so, um, how are Jade a-and the babies?” Gary asked hesitantly.  The way Chuck smiled and his eyes brightened, Gary knew that he had successfully changed the subject.  The little guy was still expounding on the twins’ latest exploits when Steve and the sergeant finally returned.  In fact, once started, it was all they could do to shut him up!  It wasn’t until the nurse came in with a syringe that Chuck decided it was time to go.  Promising to return early the next morning, he practically ran from the room.

Smiling, the nurse inserted the syringe into the IV port.  “It’s just an antibiotic,” she chuckled.  “What’s his problem?”

“Body fluids,” Gary told her, grinning at his retreating friend‘s reaction.  “If there’s even the possibility of blood, he gets weak in the knees.”  He let his head sink back into the pillow with a sigh.  “I don’t suppose you have anything for this headache?”

“I’ll see if the doctor wrote any orders,” she promised.  Noting the faint lines of pain around his eyes, she asked, “Bad?”

“Mmm.”  He nodded slightly, wincing at the movement.  “Doesn’t have to knock me out,” Gary added.  “Just a little something to take the edge off?”

“Let me check your chart,” she told him.  “If there are no orders, I’ll page your doctor.”

“Thank you,” Gary murmured as she turned to go.  He turned his head slightly to see Steve and Jason holding a whispered conference by the window.   “Anything I need to know about?”

The two men exchanged troubled looks before approaching the bed.

“Who knew we were going to the track today?” Steve asked without preamble.  “Did you tell anyone?”

“Just Marissa,” Gary replied, puzzled by the question.  “I told her in the office a few minutes before we left.  And my parents, so they wouldn’t worry.  Why?   W-wait!  You don’t think . . . She’s one of my best friends!  And my partner!  I’d trust her with my life!  I already trust her with more than my life!  No way is she involved in this!”  Grimacing, he bit his lip, pressing the heel of his left hand to his forehead as a sudden shaft of pain blurred his vision.  “She’s not morally, ethically, or emotionally capable of anything remotely like this,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“You’ll notice he never once brought up the fact that she’s blind?” Steve commented dryly. 

“Well, maybe that’s because I have a little more insight into handicaps than you do,” Gary snapped, moving his hand to shoot the detective a baleful glare.  “I-I know that a-a cane o-or a wheelchair has nothing to do with a person’s ethics.  Or their capabilities.  I also know about the possibility of an accomplice.  Except that it’s not a possibility with Marissa!  What would she gain?  The bar?  She’s already half owner . . . by my suggestion.  And trust me, it’s not that big of a prize.  We do okay, mind you, but not well enough to kill for it.”

“So, how did this person know where to find you?” Curtis asked.  “I don’t want to believe it, either.  I don’t know her as well as you do, but she strikes me as . . . well, I have to agree with Sloan on this.  Someone had to let this guy know where you were?”

“He couldn’t ‘ve just followed us?” Gary snorted derisively.  “Maybe he spotted us on the El, and decided to try his luck.  I don’t know about you, but a bowling ball at the racetrack doesn’t strike me as premeditated.  More of a-a crime of opportunity.”

“You’ve got us there,” Steve admitted ruefully.  “This guy is good, then.  Curtis and I were both looking for tails, and we never spotted anyone suspicious.”  He sank down into a chair with a sigh.  “Sorry.  We didn’t want to upset you, but it’s an avenue that had to be explored.”

“Well, try another road,” Gary grumbled, looking away.  He was still too angry to want to meet their chagrined gazes.  “It can’t be anyone close to me.  N-not close close, i-if you know what I mean.”  He rubbed at his eyes with his good hand, wishing that nurse would hurry with the pain medicine.  “Look, I know that I’m not exactly . . . universally loved.  A-and I know that you have to look at things in a way I don’t even want to imagine, but I just can’t see this as being a-a conspiracy concocted by people I know!”

“No one ever wants to consider something like that,” Steve sighed.  “The fact remains that most homicides are committed by someone the victim knows.  It had to be someone who knew about the play, who knew you were the only one being ‘shot,’ and the rehearsal schedule.  Oscar didn’t even buy the ammo for the prop until the day before.  He loaded the clips that morning and they were kept under lock and key until the rehearsal.  The only other time they were out of his sight was a half-hour window when an old Army buddy dropped by.  Plenty of time for someone who knew what they were doing to pop the real blanks out of the clip, slip in the live rounds, and duck back out.  Armstrong said they finally found his old ‘buddy.’  The guy was paid to leave the theater door cracked whenever he was let in.  He thought it was a prelude to a robbery.”

“Some friend.  S-so, he knows . . .?” Gary stammered hopefully.

“Next to nothing,” Steve admitted reluctantly.  “The guy was so high when they found him, he was lucky to know his name.  Oscar has been trying to get him into rehab for years.  All he could tell us was that the man who paid him had a foreign accent.”

Gary sank back again, his hopes of a speedy end to this mess dashed with those words.  “Half of Chicago has a ‘foreign’ accent,” he grumbled.  “That only narrows it down to, what?  A coupla million?  If you leave out women and children, you can cut it down by two thirds or more.”

“Take it easy, Hobson,” Curtis cautioned.  “You knew this wasn’t gonna happen overnight.”

“I know,” Gary sighed.  “I know.  I-it’s just . . . I wanted this to be over, to get back to . . . to something like a ‘normal’ life.”

Steve almost choked on that one.  “Gary,” he wheezed, “define ‘normal.’”

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

It was about nine the next morning when Gary became aware of hushed whispers just beyond his door.  A moment later, there was a hesitant knock.  Sgt. Curtis quickly rose from the recliner where he had been reading and cracked the door open just enough to peer out.  Satisfied, he stepped back to allow Steve to escort Dr. Griner to a chair.

“Good mornin’, Gary,” he greeted his patient in a soft drawl.  “I’m sorry to hear about your little set back.  You weren’t seriously hurt, I hope.”

“Bump on the head,” Gary shrugged.  “If they’d wanted to hurt me, they should’ve aimed for something a little softer.”

The psychiatrist chuckled at the dry comment.  “I wonder if you meant that the way it sounded,” he said.  Turning his sightless eyes toward Steve, he motioned one hand to the table at his side.  “If you could set my things up here, and give us a little privacy,” he said, “it would be appreciated.”

“No problem,” the blonde detective replied.  He quickly set the CD recorder on the table and plugged it in.  “You guys have a nice chat,” he said as he reached for the door.  “And if you talk about me, be kind.”

As soon as they were alone, Dr. Griner turned on his recording device.  “Seriously, Gary,” he began, all humor gone from his voice, “how are you feeling?  And don’t tell me ‘fine.’  I know better.  If that near miss didn’t put the fear of God into you, you’re beyond my help.”

“They told you, huh?” Gary sighed.  “Hell, yes, it scared me.  If they hadn’t been waking me up all night, I still wouldn’t ‘ve gotten any sleep.”

“Dreams?”

“Every time I closed my eyes,” he admitted.  “And not your nice, peaceful Disney type dreams, either.  Full, Technicolor, Stephen King meets Clive Barker horrors.  In Dolby surround sound, and directed by John Carpenter.”

“Ouch,” William winced in sympathy.  “As bad as the Savalas dreams?”

“Oh, I don’t have to separate them,” Gary sighed.  He rubbed tiredly at his face with his good hand.  “I like to economize, so I run everything together in a nice, neat little package.  Marley, Savalas, th-the accident, it all starts to spill over on each other until I’m bouncing from one scene to the next and I can’t sort out the details.  I-I’m losing sight of . . . of me and I don’t . . . don’t know where to look . . .” 

“Back up a minute, son,” Dr. Griner pleaded.  “You said you were losing sight of yourself.  In what way?   Are you . . . watching yourself in these dreams, or is it in the sense of . . . losing track of your identity?”

Gary took such a long time answering, Dr. Griner wondered if he had drifted off to sleep.  It had been a long night for the younger man.

“Sorta . . . both, I think,” Gary finally replied.  “Lately, these dreams have a kinda . . . overtone.  Like I’m in two places at once.  I’m inside my own body, confused, scared, running or fighting for my life.  And I’m . . . someone else.  Someone who’s . . . watching?   Observing, maybe?  It’s like I’m sizing myself up, judging my performance.  J-judging my. . . myself.”

Dr. Griner waited patiently for Gary to mull over what he had just said.  To take the next step.  He was pleased, in a way.  It usually took a few more sessions for most of his patients to get this far.  Most preferred to see judgment as coming from outside themselves, when, in truth, no one could ever judge them as harshly as they judged themselves.  This was something he had found to be true, not just in PTSD patients, but also in cases of abuse.  The victim was made to feel that they deserved whatever punishment that was meted out.  In the case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the punishment was usually administered from within.  Often taking the form of alcohol or drug abuse.  It was a downward spiral that had almost destroyed more than one of his comrades from Team Viking. 

“You think . . . you think I’m punishing myself,” Gary murmured softly.  “That I’m calling up all these . . . demons because I’m blaming myself for their . . . their dying.  Then, why don’t I see Judge Romick?  Or Jeremiah Mason and Earl Candy?  I mean . . . wouldn’t I have more reason to feel guilty over them than cold blooded killers like Marley and Savalas?”

“Those were people you were powerless to save,” William gently reminded him.  “You grieved over that fact, even blamed yourself for a while.  Then something made you realize that you had at least tried.  That, if you hadn’t been there, they would still be dead.  Marley and Savalas . . . you had an active hand in their demise.  With Marley, you more or less led the police to him, but you didn’t pull the trigger.  If he had chosen to obey Lt. Crumb, and had dropped the gun, he would have been taken alive.  It was his choice not to do so, not yours.  You and Savalas were struggling over possession of the gun he brought into your home, with the expressed intent of killing you.  He did, in fact, get off one shot into you before he was killed.  It was the blood from your injuries that made the gun so slippery.  That made your hand lose its grip at just the moment that he pulled the trigger.  You did everything you could to talk Marley out of his course of action.  You tried to take Savalas alive.  In both cases, you failed.  That is the crime you’re punishin’ yourself for.  Failing.  Failing because you believe that, in your heart, you didn’t want to succeed.”

Silence.  Griner could hear the faint rasp as Gary rubbed his hand over something.  His face, maybe?  Or his blanket.  As was often the case, he found himself curious to know what his patient looked like.  Margaret, his receptionist, had remarked that he and his new patient bore a strong resemblance, but she’d said it such an off-hand manner, that he had thought nothing of it, then.

“I-I guess I never looked at it that way,” Gary finally murmured.  “I’ve been beating myself up, trying to think of something I could’ve done, or said, differently.” He gave a little snort of laughter.  “Funny.  I’ve always tried not to judge other people.  To avoid the trap of saying ‘this person is worth saving and this one isn’t.’  Then I go and hang myself without even a trial.”

“Let’s be thankful it never actually came to that,” Griner commented dryly.  “Therapy is pretty much useless on the deceased.”

There was another moment of silence, longer this time.  Did he hear Gary shudder?  Had it actually been that close?

“You’re scary, Doc,” Gary finally responded in a shaky voice.  “To tell you the truth, if not for my family and friends staying on top of me, there was a time it could’ve come to that.  In fact, the only thing keeping me alive was the same injuries that had pushed me over the edge.  By the time I could do anything, I’d decided not to.  Mainly because I didn’t want to die with the name ‘king of the pity pot’ ringing in my ears.”

“Oh Lord!” Griner laughed.  “That had to come from my neck o’ the woods!”

“A tech down in x-ray,” Gary chuckled.  “She’s okay, most of the time, but her temper is awesome.”  He fell silent again.  Then, “Do you mind if . . . if I ask something . . . personal?”

“Depends on how ‘personal’ we’re talkin’ about,” Griner replied cautiously.  “What did you want to know?”

“H-has anyone told you that . . . that you and I look an awful lot alike?” Gary asked hesitantly.  “It kinda makes me wonder if we’re not related, somehow.”

That tweaked William’s curiosity even more.  Now he had to know what his patient looked like.  Moving carefully, he leaned toward the sound of Gary’s voice.  “Do you mind?” he asked, holding both hands before him.

Gary guided Dr. Griner’s hands to his face.  Holding perfectly still, as he had once done for Marissa, he let the blind man explore the shapes and planes of his features.  His questing fingers brushed gently over the surface of his skin, barely touching him.  They sampled the texture of his hair, the shape of his brows, even traced the outline of his ears.  It was an oddly . . . personal experience.  Gary wouldn’t have felt comfortable letting just anyone do this.  He had even been a little self-conscious with Marissa that one time, and they had been friends for a while.  This . . . this was like . . . like his father, or a brother he’d never known before.  Personal, yet . . . right.

Satisfied, Griner sat back with an explosive ‘whoosh!’  “You’re right,” he said.  “The resemblance is amazin’!  I don’t know how to explain it other than a common ancestor.  Perhaps we could get together sometime and compare family trees.”

“I’d like that,” Gary replied, his voice sounding much more . . . relaxed than when Griner had first arrived.  “But, before we get into that, I’ve got . . . this is crazy.  You’ll probably tell me it was an auditory hallucination or something.  Brought on by shock.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Griner chuckled.  “What happened?”

“Well, just as that bowling ball hit the floor,” Gary told him, “I could’ve sworn I heard this God-awful screech.  Like a woman howling in frustration.  But nobody else heard it.  Weird.”

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

They finally released Gary that afternoon, to his immense relief.  It couldn’t have come a moment too soon, as his only save of the day was to stop a cement truck from crashing into the ER waiting room, killing not only the driver, but six patients waiting to be seen.  He hated that he had to stand back and let Steve and Sgt. Curtis do most of the work, but they managed without too much trouble.

“Anymore surprises we should watch out for?” Steve asked as he knocked cement dust off of his sleeve.  He had been the one to leap onto the running board and grab the wheel, steering the truck into a pile of laundry bags.  Thank God for another Housekeeping strike!

“That’s it for today,” Gary replied, not entirely able to suppress a tiny smile.  He looked over to where the doctors were working over the driver.  The middle-aged man had blacked out because of a heart problem and would end up with a pacemaker, but he would live to drive again.  Gary glanced at his watch as he made his way to the van.  “We’ve got the rest of the day to ourselves, it seems,” he told his friends. 

“So you actually do have slow days?” Curtis grumbled.  “I was beginning to wonder.”

“What are you talking about?” Gary asked, puzzled by the remark.  “We had the whole day, yesterday!”

“And look what happened!” Steve snorted.  “You and Fishman, here, almost ended up as a ‘spare.’  Not my idea of a fun day.”

Gary winced at that snide, if accurate, observation.  He still blamed himself for not checking the Paper more often than he had.  The headline had been there, buried on page six.  About the disturbance at the track, at least.  What might it have said if he hadn’t been staggered by that sudden migraine?  Another thing that still puzzled him.  All his tests had come back normal, so had the timing of the headache been a coincidence, or was his guardian angel putting in overtime to make up for that accident a year ago?  By the time Dr. Griner had made his appearance, the pain had subsided to nothing more than a dull throb.  Now, it was little more than a bad memory.

“I’ll admit that things didn’t . . . exactly turn out the way we planned,” Gary told them, ignoring Steve’s raised eyebrow, “b-but w-we had a pretty good time . . . up to that point, didn’t we?”

“Sure,” Curtis grumbled.  “We had a ball.  Up until you were almost trampled in the stampede.  If you can know all this stuff ahead of time to save everyone else, why is it so hard to keep you from getting hurt?”

“Negative ions?” Gary grumbled.  “Bad karma?  How should I know!  This thing didn’t come with an instruction book.  Sometimes things happen that I’m not supposed to change, apparently.”

“Lay off him, guys,” Chuck said, coming to the defense of his friend.  “Don’t ya think he woulda told us if he knew?  This guy is after his head, after all.  Not mine or yours.  He’d be crazy to set himself up like that.”

“You’re talking about a guy who just finished therapy,” Steve reminded the little man with a dry chuckle.   He slid behind the wheel and fastened his seatbelt.  “It wouldn’t be the first time someone has put a ‘hit’ out on himself.  We had a case like that just last year.  Guy was trying to get around a suicide clause in his insurance policy.”

“Well, not Gar,” Chuck insisted.  “I’ll admit he’s a little strange . . .”

“Have you noticed a pattern developing here?” Gary asked, turning in his seat to face Curtis.  “It’s like I’ve suddenly turned invisible, or something.”

“What do you mean?” Curtis asked, clearly puzzled by the strange comment.  “You’re right here!  Plain as day!”

“Exactly!” Gary exclaimed.  “So why is it that, after just a very few minutes, you guys start talking about me as if I weren’t?”

The other three exchanged sheepish looks.

“Are we doing that?” Chuck asked, a pained look on his cherubic face.

“I think we are,” Steve murmured apologetically.  “It’s just that, well, we’re trying to analyze this from so many different angles.”

“That’s right,” Curtis spoke up.  “We have to eliminate all possible suspects to get down to the one who’s actually trying to kill him.”

“But that brings us back to the big question,” Chuck complained.  “Who’d wanna kill a guy who just runs a bar and rescues kittens from trees as a hobby? “

“Guys.”

“You’d be surprised,” Curtis replied.  “There are all kinds of sickos out there.  People who might see him as ‘interfering’ in ‘God’s plan for man’s ultimate self-destruction,’ or some such nonsense.”

“Yoo-hoo.  Guys.”

“Jason’s right,” Steve nodded.  “Or it could still be someone he’s crossed without even knowing it.  Someone he’s rescued might ‘ve had enemies that now see him as an obstacle.”

“It could even be a jealous boyfriend,” Curtis mused.  “After all, he’s not bad looking.  Some wacko might consider him as competition for the girl of his dreams.”

“Hello?  Remember me?”

“Gar?” Chuck snorted.  “A Casanova?  Are you nuts?  The guy chokes if a girl bats her eyelashes at ‘im.  He’s not the kinda guy to go ‘cruisin’ for chicks,’ if you know what I mean.”

“C’mon!” Steve snorted.  “You can’t tell me he’d pass up some pretty young thing who ‘came on’ to him!  He’s only human, after all.”

“S’cuse me.” 

“He’d run like a rabbit,” Chuck assured the detective.  “A monk has more of a social life than . . .”

Their discussion was interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek.  Startled, ears still ringing, they all turned to look at the fourth man in the car.  Gary still had his free hand to his mouth, ready to give out with an even louder whistle, if necessary.  Seeing that he finally had their attention, he lowered his hand and looked at Steve.

“I rest my case,” he grumbled,  “Can we go home, now?”

As Steve started the van, Chuck looked back at Curtis.  “Have you noticed that he’s gotten a little testy, lately?”

“Chuck!”

Raising both hands in a placating gesture, Chuck turned back around and settled into his seat.  “Just making an observation,” he mumbled.

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

Curtis got out first, checking the street to assure himself that no one suspicious was hanging about.  He even scanned the nearby rooftops, checking for snipers, before he would allow Gary to step out of the van. 

There were only three or four steps from the edge of the sidewalk, to the front door.  If not for the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, and the cat yowling from the doorway, they might have been the last steps Gary would ever take.

Startled by the animal’s unusual behavior, Gary staggered back a step, bumping into Steve and Chuck, who were just a step or two behind him.  Curtis, who was almost at the door, paused to see what was wrong.  It was at that moment that a loud report rang out from across the street, and something whistled by Gary’s head, close enough for him to feel the breeze from its passage!  At almost the same instant, something hit the brick façade of the building, just below one of the window panes.  It then ricocheted off to break out a back window of a car parked illegally near the corner across the street.  Immediately their ears were assaulted by a strident car alarm.

Stunned, Gary stared at the broken window until Curtis grabbed him by the jacket and yanked him back to the side of the van!  Heart pounding, he crouched down next to Chuck, who looked just as shaken as Gary felt.  Steve and Sgt. Curtis both had their guns out, ready to use them if necessary. 

“Stay here,” Curtis ordered.  He started to rise up, only to duck back down as another shot rang out.  This time, it hit the driver’s side window of the van.  Curtis snapped out a few words that would not be found in any military field manual.  A moment later, Steve echoed his sentiments as a third bullet spanged off the hood less than an inch above his head!

“This gets old real fast,” the detective murmured crossly.  “Our shooter is at the corner rooftop, with a real good view of the street.”

“I feel like I’m back in Bosnia,” the young Marine grumbled.  “Look, unless someone inside has called 911, we’re on our own, here.  One of us is gonna have to get under his line of fire.”

“I’ll do it,” Steve volunteered.  “Cover me.”

“No, dammit,” Curtis growled.  “I’m faster.  You cover me.”

“Look, Curtis . . .”

“Guys,” Chuck spoke up.  “Where’s Gary?”

The two men stopped their argument to look around.  Hobson was gone!  Two more shots rang out, hitting nothing but pavement this time, as the sniper tried to track the man running across the street!  By some miracle, Gary made it without getting hit.  They could see him, now, his back pressed against the side of the building, breathing hard.  After a moment to catch his breath, Gary ducked into the front door.

“If this bozo doesn’t kill him,” Curtis grumbled, “I will.  Let’s get over there before he gets too far ahead of us.”

There were no more shots as the two armed men crossed the suddenly empty street in a crouching run.  Ducking into the storefront, they almost ran over Gary, who was waiting by the door.  Steve grabbed him by the shirtfront, almost slamming him into the wall before recalling Gary’s injury.

“Do you want to tell me what kind of fool stunt you were pulling, Hobson?” he growled into the younger man’s startled face.

“I-I figured,” Gary stammered helplessly, “i-if I’m in here, h-he’ll stop shooting up the street a-and you guys have a-a better chance t-to get over here and catch him.”

For a moment, it looked as if the big detective wanted to hit the younger man.  With a sigh of resignation, Steve released his hold on Gary’s shirt. 

“And what if he’d hit you?” he asked.

“It’d hurt like hell,” Gary murmured.  He looked behind Steve.  “Where’d Sgt. Curtis go?”

“To find our sniper, I imagine,” Steve grumbled.  “Why me, God?  Why me?”

*********

They found Curtis on the roof, looking down on the glass and brick façade of McGinty’s.  A high-powered, semi-automatic rifle lay at his feet.

“He jumped over to the next rooftop and ran down the fire escape,” he grumbled.  “That’s probably how he got up here.  All I got was a glimpse of someone in a dark, hooded jogging outfit.  About six foot, medium build.  Probably one eighty.  And, Hobson, what was the idea of . . . “

“Later,” Steve growled, kneeling down to look at the weapon without touching it, or getting close enough to disturb the footprints he could faintly see.  “We can take turns slow roasting him.  I take it our shooter was wearing gloves?”

“Of course,” the Marine sighed.  “I left everything as I found it for the forensics lab, just in case he missed a spot.  This guy is seriously starting to bug me.”  He looked over the edge of the roof at the sound of approaching sirens.  As he watched, an unmarked car pulled up in front of the bar.  “There’s Armstrong,” he commented dryly.  “Guess someone did call 911.”

“I-I did,” Gary murmured, holding up a cell-phone.  “Just before I . . . well, anyway, um, wh-what do we do, now?”

“We turn the scene over to Armstrong,” Steve told him in a tone that brooked no arguments, “and we get you safely tucked into bed.  And if you ever pull another stunt like that . . .!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Gary demanded heatedly.  “Cower behind the van while that lunatic shot up the whole street?  How many people was I supposed to let die before he was caught?  You, Curtis, Chuck?  Those cops down there?  How many?  Right now, the only one that’s been hurt is me.  Crazy as this may sound, I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Now, look, Hobson . . .” Curtis began.

“Apparently, I’m the only one that is looking!” Gary yelled back, cutting him off.  Taking a deep breath, he continued in a voice tight with emotion.  “Th-that stupid bowling ball stunt yesterday could just as easily have killed Chuck.  Or one of you.  O-or the guy with his kid, a four year old kid, right in front of us.  How many were hurt in the panic after it hit?  H-how many innocent people could’ve been hurt today?  You saw how those bullets were going wild!  What if . . . what if someone had been in that car?  What if the next one had ricocheted through the window of that restaurant across the street?  You tell me!  What was I supposed to do?”

In the face of Gary’s impassioned argument, the other two had no answer.  In spite of the apparent rashness of his actions, Hobson had done what he’d felt was the right thing.  It had, in fact, resolved the situation without fatality.  If only they had been able to catch the sniper, as well!

“You’re right,” Steve sighed, finally holstering his gun.  “Just . . . next time, give us a little warning?  Please?  I’m too young for heart failure.”

“Sorry,” Gary mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by his outburst.  “There didn’t seem to be a lot of time.  Besides, you’d ‘ve tried to stop me.”

“That’s a given,” Curtis grumbled.

Armstrong arrived at that moment, followed closely by two uniformed officers.  He quickly set the two cops to securing the crime scene while he questioned the three men already on the roof.  He shook his head at news of Hobson’s latest exploit.

“How are we supposed to keep you alive if you keep taking chances like that?” he snapped.

Steve quickly stepped in before Gary could get started again.  Steering the younger man toward the stairs, he shot a look over his shoulder at the detective.

“Why don’t we take this discussion inside?” he suggested.  “It’s getting a little chilly out here.”  He pointed toward the two uniformed officers with his chin.  “Let’s not fight in public,” he added softly.

Safely inside McGinty’s, Gary was quickly assailed with questions from all sides.  Marissa simply wanted to know that he was all right.  His parents asked if he had lost his mind.  Among other things.  On top of that, Lois was in rare form.  Poor Gary had barely gotten through the front door before she was taking him to task for his ‘rash actions,’ which everyone had seen through the windows. 

“How could you do something so . . . so foolish?” she snapped, paying no attention to where they were.  “You could’ve been killed!”

“Almost wish I had been.” Gary muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Lois asked in her sternest ’mother’ tone.

“Nothing,” Gary murmured, his expression closed, stony.  “Are you through?” 

“Not by a . . .”

“Good,” Gary interrupted in clipped tones.  “I’m tired.  If no one minds, I’m going upstairs.”  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed for the backrooms.  He tried to ignore the sympathetic glances, but he could feel their eyes on the back of his head.  Once past his office, he practically ran up the stairs to his loft.  ‘How could she?’ he thought to himself as he slammed the door behind him.  ‘As many times as we’ve been through this, how dare she jump all over me like that in front of . . . everyone!’

He was still pacing back and forth, trying to get his hurt and anger under control before one of his ever-present watchdogs came to check on him, when he heard a tentative tap in the glass.

“Gary?” his mom’s timid voice filtered through the barrier.  “May I come in?”  When he didn’t answer, she continued.  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she apologized.  “I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to embarrass you like that, but . . . when I saw you running . . . and the bullets hitting the pavement by your feet . . . it scared me!  All I could see was you . . . lying in that hospital bed.  Fighting for your life.  Again.  I-it all just came . . . boiling out of me!  I’m sorry!  Please don’t shut me out!”

She stood there on the outside of her son’s door, praying that she hadn’t gone too far this time.  Silence was her only answer for a very long moment.  No angry words, no bitter recriminations, not even the sound of his footsteps anymore.  Stricken, Lois started to turn away, fighting back the tears, when the door eased open just a crack.

“How can I shut you out,” Gary murmured, “when I can’t shut you up?”

“I-if you let me in,” she whispered, “I’ll promise to be quiet.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Gary’s mouth as he stepped back from the door.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he told her, his voice tired, husky.  “I’m sorry, too, Mom.  I know all this has been hard on you and Dad, b-but you can’t expect me to live my life i-in a bubble!  And you can’t expect me to sit back and let someone else be hurt because of me!  Risks go along with the job!  Do you think it’s easy to go out there every day, not knowing if something I do, someone I save, won’t ultimately spell disaster somewhere down the line?  Or if something won’t happen to put me in front of the train, plain, bus, or car I’m trying to save someone else from?  This scares me every bit as much as it does you.  E-especially after . . . after recent events.  But there’s no one for me to turn this over to.  The job is mine, Mom.  For life.  You’re just gonna have to accept that and stop treating me like a child.”

“But, you’re my son . . .”

“And I’ll always be your son,” he told her, taking both her of hands in his good one.  “Unless you keep holding on so tight, you push me away.  I’m just not your little boy anymore.  I’m a man, Mom.  Please grant me the dignity of treating me like one.  Can you do that for me?  Please?”

“I’ll try,” she nodded, sniffling.  “I, um, I guess we should let everyone else know that . . . that they don’t have to walk on eggshells around us.”

Gary slipped his arm around his mother’s shoulders and led her to the sofa.

“That can wait,” he told her as he sat her down.  “Right now, let’s just be mother and son for a few minutes longer.”

“Oh!  What about your father?” she gasped.  “He thinks you’re never going to speak to either one of us again!”  She gave her son a sheepish smile.  “He said a few harsh words, too, as I recall.”

“And he can make his own apologies,” Gary smiled in reply.  “There are no cowards in the Hobson Clan.”

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

Continue to Installment 5

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 
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