A Timely Intervention 
Installment 5
by Polgana


Gary and Lois were still talking half an hour later, when they heard someone tapping at the door.

“Gar?”  It was his father.  “Gar?  Son, are ya in there?  C’mon, Gary.  Open up.  Don’t keep your old man standin’ out here in the cold!”

Giving his mother a mischievous grin, Gary stood up and walked to the door, moving as quietly as he could.  He stood there a moment, his hands only inches from the knob.

“Have a heart, son!” Bernie pleaded.  “This is embarrassing!  Please?”

Gary eased the door open, peering around the edge.

“And what you guys did downstairs wasn’t?” he asked calmly.  “Besides, it was good enough for Mom.”

Stepping back, he waved his dad into the loft.  Hesitantly, Bernie stepped across the threshold. 

“I can understand if you’re upset . . .” he began.

“Upset,” Gary repeated, chuckling ironically.  “For a while there, Dad, I was more than ‘upset.’  You do this to me every time, you know that?  I can understand it from Mom.  It’s instinctive, I think.  But you?  I would’ve expected you to . . . to be able to see things from my viewpoint.  To see that . . . that I can’t just sit back and watch someone else be hurt because of me.”

Gary led his father over and sat him down beside Lois.  He then began pacing in the tiny space in front of the sofa.

“Ya know, I love you two very much,” he sighed, “and I know you love me, but you can’t keep trying to run my life!  You especially can’t keep scolding me in front of my staff!  God!  Talk about embarrassing!  A-and you promised me, promised me, that you weren’t going to do that anymore!  The two of you sat right down there, in the same room where you just ripped me apart, and gave me your word not to do that again!”  He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.  “This isn’t just my home, guys, it’s also my place of business.  I have to keep a little self-respect, or I can’t keep good people working for me.  I had to let Jake go because he kept ignoring my orders to tone down on the spices.  That’s what happens when people lose respect.  They try to walk all over you.  A-and scenes like we went through downstairs . . . they make me wonder if you have any respect for me.”

“Gar!” Bernie protested.  “Of course we respect you.  You’re our son!”

“You’re not getting the picture, Dad,” Gary sighed.  “You love me as your son.  You respect me as a man.  There’s a big difference.  I’ve worked hard to earn the respect and loyalty of a pretty good crew.  I’d hate to lose them because they think it’s okay to talk down to me.  T-to scold me for taking chances.  You . . . you can‘t keep putting me in a position like that!”

Lois and Bernie exchanged a red-faced look. 

“Don’t you miss the days when he had problems expressing his feelings to us?”  Bernie murmured with a rueful grin.

“He has a point, dear,” Lois murmured in reply.  “Ever since the accident, we’ve treated him like a child.  We haven’t stopped to consider his situation, or feelings, at all.”  She stood up, wrapping her arms around Gary’s waist and burying her face against his chest.  “I promise to wait until we’re alone before I go all ‘maternal’ on you from now on,” she told him.  “That’s the best I can do.  I just don’t know if I can take another bedside vigil.  This last time . . . you weren’t even . . . I mean . . . the Paper wasn’t even involved and you almost died.  J-just like . . . like when you fell.  This past year, you have been so close to death so many times!  I don’t want to have to go shopping for a black dress.”

“I dunno,” Gary teased.  “You look pretty good in black.  Wear that pearl necklace Dad got you for your birthday, and that diamond brooch great-grandma left you . . . Ouch!”

Lois popped him on the chest again as she stepped back, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“You brat!” she giggled. “I’m trying to get serious here!  I don’t want to go to your funeral!”

“God willing,” he told her, “you won’t.  I can’t make any promises, guys.  I can only do the best I can.  If we can keep these little discussions private, though, I guess that’ll be good enough.  And, Mom,” he added, rubbing the place she had struck with his free hand, “could you hit the other side, next time?  That really hurt!”

***********

After a few more minutes of less serious conversation, Lois and Bernie had to leave.  Another realtor had a ‘promising prospect’ for them.  They had yet to find a house they approved of, or that would fit their price range.

Once they were gone, Gary took the opportunity to stretch out on the bed.  Since the shooting, he had been regaining his strength steadily, but that dash across the street had worn him out.  Or it could ‘ve been the stress of being shot at . . . again.  Or the emotional outburst on the rooftop.  Or the one in his room just moments ago.  ‘Probably ‘all of the above,’’ Gary thought to himself.  He had been running on adrenaline since that first shot was fired!  Now, all the tension and energy just seemed to drain right out of him.

He had barely closed his eyes when he heard a tapping on his door.  With a weary sigh, Gary raised his head to see the distorted images of Armstrong, Curtis, and Sloan.  Flopping back, he called for them to come on in.

“I promise not to bite,” he told them as they filed into the room.  “If you’re here to carve off another piece of me, though . . .”

“Truce,” Armstrong promised, both hands raised in mock surrender.  “After that scene downstairs, I think you’ve suffered enough.  How do you feel?”

“About as tired as I’ve ever been,” Gary admitted.  “I don’t seem to get much of a breathing space, lately.  I just jump from one crisis to the next.  Then I get raked over the coals for taking chances.”

“Which you do on a regular basis,” Paul responded.  “How can any of us protect you when you pull stunts like that?”

“I never asked for protection,” Gary reminded them.  “As I recall, you threatened to lock me up for my own good.  Then you and General Hammond double-teamed me, giving me three choices.  Jail, military custody, or Curtis.  No offense, Jason, but you were the lesser of three evils.”

“None taken,” the Marine shrugged.  “Just don’t ever do anything like that again.”

Struggling upright, Gary directed a disappointed look toward the young soldier.  “You still don’t get it, do you?” he sighed.  “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt on my account!  If I can stop that from happening, I will.  Whatever it takes.  Now, if you aren’t here to read me the riot act, what else can I do for you?”

“You can tell us why you never seem to know when something bad is about to happen to you,” Steve suggested.  “Why is it that you can know about things like car bombs, and potential drownings, car accidents and robberies in time to stop them from happening, and not know that you’re about to get shot?”

Sinking back with a sigh, Gary covered his eyes with his good arm.  “Ask me another one,” he murmured.  “That wasn’t in the instruction book, either.  How much have they told you, Paul?”

“Only what you told Steve,” was the detective’s curt reply.  “What I want to know is: why did I have to hear it from him?  Why couldn’t you have told me yourself?”

“Do the words ‘delusional’ and ‘crackpot’ ring any bells?” Gary replied in an acidic tone.  “If I’d even suggested anything like that to you, I’d be having another competency evaluation.  Y-you’ve never trusted me, Armstrong.  Never.  Even now, you’re thinking that . . . that I could’ve set all this up myself.  As some kind o-of attention getter.  What was it you called it?  Munchkin’s Syndrome or something?”

“Munchausen’s By Proxy,” Paul corrected with a tight-lipped grin.  “You’re a little tall to be a Munchkin.”

“Whatever,” Gary grumbled.  He uncovered his eyes to give the detective a steely glare.  “The gist of it was that I went looking for trouble, or tried to manufacture it.  You even chased me all over the tri-state area, throwing that word ‘delusional’ around like confetti.  All because I couldn’t tell you how I knew what was gonna happen before it did!  So you tell me, how would you explain it?  For the record, in terms that wouldn’t get you locked away in the booby hatch for the rest of your life!”  As Armstrong looked away without answering, Gary sadly shook his head.  “That’s what I thought.  If it’s any comfort, you’re not the first one to feel that way about me.  One . . .”  He paused to lick suddenly dry lips, then continued in a husky rasp.  “One guy kept asking me if I saw v-visions, or heard voices.  H-he tried to frame me for something, too.  Only I wasn’t gonna be in any kinda shape to deny the charges.” 

“I never knew that,” Paul murmured.  “It wasn’t in your record.”

“They hushed it up,” Steve told him.  “I had to twist a lot of arms to find out about it myself.  What was the guy’s name?  Marley?  Yeah.  J.T. Marley.  Only, he called himself Dobbs.”

Curtis, who had been watching his charge carefully for signs of stress or fatigue, couldn’t help but notice the way Gary shuddered at just the mention of that name.  It was something that he would have to bring up in his next report. 

“You should’ve told me,” Armstrong insisted.  “About all of this.”

“I was told,” Gary sighed, “that I was never to speak of it.  To anyone.  If I did, they had a cell with my name on it in Leavenworth.  To tell the truth, though, they didn’t need the threats.  I just wanted to forget it ever happened.  But two men were dead, and a third died at my feet.  How do you forget something like that?” 

The young Marine was quick to notice a slight slurring in his patient’s speech.  Hobson was starting to drift off again.  Curtis knew that Gary had not gotten much sleep the night before due to the frequent ‘neuro checks’ that went with a concussion.  Add that to the adrenaline rush he must be coming down from and it was no wonder the man was feeling sleepy.  Nonetheless, Jason did a quick check of Gary’s vital signs.

“Are you feeling okay?” Curtis asked as he took Gary’s wrist between his thumb and first two fingers.  He was reassured by a slow nod and a strong, steady rhythm.

“Jus’ fine,” Gary murmured.  “Li’l tired s’all.  Where’s Chuck?  I’d ‘ve thought he’d be in on this li’l Inquisition.”

“He had to call home,” Steve replied with a shrug.  “I think Jade has him on a short tether for some reason.”

“He forgot to bring the pictures,” Gary chuckled sleepily.  “Mom’s been on his case since he got here for the same thing.  Word to the wise, fellas.  If you’ve got kids, don’t come near my mom without a wallet full of snapshots.  Candid snapshots.”

As Gary’s eyes drifted shut, Curtis signaled the others to silence and began to herd them toward the door.  “He’s worn out,” the young Marine whispered.  “I guess all the excitement’s getting to him.”

“You make it sound like we’re putting the baby down for his nap,” Armstrong murmured as they filed out.  “Did you remember to burp him after he ate?”

“I heard that!”

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

Gary wasn’t sure how long he’d been dozing when he heard a tentative tapping on the glass panel of his door.  Once more, he turned his head to see a blurred figure on the other side.  It was Chuck.

“C’mon in,” he called out wearily.  “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

“Jade wants me back home ASAP,” Chuck sighed.  “She had to take Alexandria to the doctor and they admitted her to the hospital.  Measles, or something like that.  Anyway, she said if I didn’t get my butt back home to help take care of Little Gary while she stays with Alex, I could kiss certain delicate portions of my anatomy goodbye.  That sounded a little too painful to even think about, so I’ve already booked the next flight to LA.  It leaves in a coupla hours.  Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Chuck,” Gary nodded.  “I just tire easy, right now.  You need help packing?”

“Nah,” Chuck shrugged as he tossed one of his bags on the bed.  He flipped the top open, just missing Gary’s legs.  “Oops. Sorry, pal.  Anyway, I figure I can grab a cab and get to the airport in time to get checked in with only half an hour to spare.  I hate to run out on ya like this, but Alex has me worried.  This is twice she’s gotten sick, and the twins aren’t even a year old yet.  The first time was just a cold, but . . .”

“She’s your baby, Chuck,” Gary reminded his friend.  “You don’t need to explain anything.  I’d give anything to be in your shoes.  Not that I don’t hope she gets better before you get home,” he hastened to add.  “It’s just . . . you’re a dad, Chuck!  A father!  Someday, you’re gonna send them off for their first day in school, their first dates, teaching them to drive.  You’re gonna live your whole life over again through them!  Only better!”

“I should hope so,” Chuck grumbled as he tossed his clothes into the suitcase.  “Growing up was the pits!  I want my kids to grow up right, but I don’t want to look back in twenty years and find that I missed out on them just bein’ kids!”  He clicked the first case shut and stood it by the door.  The second suitcase quickly took its place on the bed.  “I don’t wanna be one of those dads who spends more time workin’ to support his kids than he does actually being with ‘em.  I want my babies to know I love ‘em.”  He crammed the last of his things into the bag and snapped it shut.  He then bent down and planted a quick kiss on Gary’s forehead.  Before the other man could react, Chuck pinched his cheek, giving it a little shake.  “Just like I love you, big guy.  Don’t make me rush back for your funeral.”

“What’s with you, Mom, and funerals?” Gary grumbled, rubbing the tender spot on his cheek as he shot Chuck a baleful glance.  “You two seem to have a lot of confidence in me lately,” he added sarcastically.

“Gar,” Chuck sighed, “we know you!  You’re not gonna let a little thing like a death threat slow you down.”

“But there haven’t been any threats!” Gary protested.  “This bozo skipped the threats and jumped straight to the action!  He must be on a tight schedule.”

“Whatever,” Chuck sighed.  “Keep your head down, okay?  Don’t make me find a new uncle for my kids.”  With that, he pulled his best friend into a rough embrace.  “You take care, you hear me?” he added in a tight voice.  “You ‘n’ me, we still got a long way to go.  Don’t you get to the Pearly Gates without me there to show you how to sneak in.”

“If I do,” Gary promised, returning the hug one-handed,  “I’ll leave your name at the door.”

“You do that,” the little guy replied.  With a sigh, he released his hold, letting Gary sink back onto the bed.  “Well!  I guess this is goodbye.  Again.  You’ll come out to visit when you can?”

“I may leave Mom and Dad in charge for a week or so,” Gary grinned.  “Expect me when you see me.”

“Yeah,” Chuck grinned, trying to keep the tears from his voice.  “Well, take care, Gary.”

With that, he hefted his bags and practically fled from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.  As the latch clicked shut, Gary had to wonder if he would ever see his friend again.

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

Gary was just starting to drift off to sleep again when he heard the noise.  A soft, discreet sound.  Like something being quietly slid out of the way.  It had sounded close, too.  As if someone were stepping up to the right side of his . . . bed.

Without another thought, Gary rolled his body to the left.  There was a sharp pain across his right bicep, and then he heard something plunge into the mattress with a distinct ripping sound!  As he rolled to his feet, he had a brief glimpse of a dark-clad figure before his face and eyes were hit with a hot, stinging mist.  Staggering back, Gary let loose with a choked cry!  Pepper spray!  The sorry SOB had hit him with pepper spray!  Groping blindly with his free hand, Gary bumped into the bedside table, knocking it over with a crash!  Falling to one knee, he could hear footsteps as his assailant hurried around the end of the bed!  He needed something, anything to use as a weapon!  Finally, cursing volubly as the spray burned its way into his eyes, Gary found the slender aluminum cane he had been using until just yesterday.  Getting a firm grip, he swung it in a wide arc, hoping to discourage his attacker.  To his satisfaction, he was rewarded with a meaty ‘thunk,’ and a muffled curse, as he connected.

“Who are you?” he demanded, still waving the cane.  “Wh-why are you doing this?  Answer me!  What’ve I ever done to you?” No answer but harsh, heavy breathing.  “Look, fella.  If you want me dead so bad, you . . .you gotta have a reason!  At least give me a hint!”

“Stay away from her!” a harsh, heavily accented voice demanded in a muffled whisper. 

Startled, Gary almost lowered his guard.  Had he heard that right?  In the sudden silence, he could hear feet clambering up the stairwell.  Help was on its way. 

Apparently, his attacker heard them, too.  Gary could hear stealthy footsteps headed towards the back exit. 

“Wait!” he pleaded.  “Stay away from who?  What’s this all about?  Tell me!”  His only response was a dull ‘thwok!’ as something struck the wall just inches from his right ear, and a muffled hiss.

“Stay away from her!”

“Hobson!” Armstrong’s voice demanded as he burst through the door a second later.  “Wh . . . oh, sh--!  Are you all right?”  That last bit had sounded very close as powerful hands helped Gary to his feet.

“P-pepper spray,” Gary wheezed.  “Aw, Christ!  My eyes’re on fire!”

“Let’s get ‘im to the sink, here.”  That was Curtis.  “We gotta flush his eyes.  Easy does it, pal.  Steve, keep pressure on that arm.”  They guided him to the kitchenette and helped him position his head over the sink.  “Now, hold real still.  We’ll get you some relief in a second.”

Cool water was drizzled over Gary’s eyes and he was told to blink several times.  After a while, a very long while, the burning began to subside.  They then turned his head to get the other side more thoroughly.  Curtis asked one of the others to get a bottle marked ‘sterile saline’ from his kit.  He then used that to flush the last of the stinging solution from Gary’s red-rimmed eyes.  While all this had been going on, Steve and Paul had been plying Gary with questions about the attack.  Gary answered as best he could, in between acid comments on the mystery man’s antecedents, possible pedigree, and ultimate destination.  He was on a roll.

“A-all he said,” Gary sighed as he ran out of steam, “was ‘Stay away from her.’  But he wouldn’t say who!”  He was having to hold still as Curtis rubbed a soothing ointment into the ruddy places around his eyes.  “God, that feels better!  Thanks.”

“Now, let me get a look at that arm,” Curtis murmured.  “Man!  That’s gonna need stitches!  Could one of you hand me that kit?” he added as he sat Gary on the sofa.  Taking the medical bag, he began laying out his instruments.

“Whoa!” Gary cried as the Marine first extracted a vial and a syringe.  “What do ya think you‘re doing?  You‘re not stickin’ me with that!”

“Oh?  You’d prefer I sew you up without a local?” Curtis asked, acting surprised. 

“S-sew . . . I thought you were talkin’ about going to the emergency room!” Gary exclaimed. 

“And have to sit around for a coupla hours before you’re even seen?” Curtis snorted.  “I can have you stitched up and ready to go in less than twenty minutes.  Now, just hold still.  This is gonna sting.”  Before Gary could utter another protest, Curtis quickly swabbed the skin above the wound and jabbed the needle in.  Checking to be sure he had not struck a vein, he injected the numbing medication.  “Now, since this is such a long, deep cut, I’m gonna do the same just below.  Hold still.  There.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Gary gave him a look that needed no translation.  The redness caused by the pepper spray only added to the effect. 

“Oookay,” the young medic murmured.  “We give that a moment to take effect, then I can get to work.”  Looking over at the bed, he grimaced.  “Then we’ll see if that mattress can be saved.”

“Wha . . .?  Aw, man!” Gary groaned.  A large mound of padding was protruding through a long slit running across the mattress and bedding.  “I had that broken in just right, too.  And that comforter was given to me by my grandmother when I went to college!”  He started to get up, intending to take a closer look, but Steve held him down.

“It’ll keep,” the blonde cop assured him.  “Do you have any idea who this guy was talking about?  Who’re you dating right now?”

Gary turned to give both detectives a steady gaze.  “You do remember who you’re talking to, here?  The guy that monks look at and snicker up their sleeves?  My last date was before the accident.  And that was a disaster!”

“Wasn’t that with Toni Brigatti?” Paul asked.  He averted his gaze as Curtis picked up one of the sutures.  “You just went out for coffee a couple of days before it happened.”

“And ended up in one of those fights that always seem to be my fault,” Gary sighed.  He grimaced as the young Marine set to work.  “Funny, I never seem to see the warning signs with her.  We can be smiling and laughing one second, the next she’s calling me names and storming out.  Could he mean Brigatti?  I haven’t seen her in . . . God!  Since some time in April.  That first night we were rehearsing the play.”

Steve took a seat in the armchair, while Paul started pacing behind the sofa.

“It all keeps coming back to that play,” the Chicago cop mused.  “The apparent stalking started there, with the side door being left open.  The gun was tampered with there, and you were shot onstage.  Then nothing happens until you start going back to rehearsals.  The very next day, someone tries to bean you with a bowling ball.  Then two attacks today!  That’s a bit much for coincidence.  Even for you.”

Gary tried not to flinch as Curtis continued with his handiwork.  How long was that gash?  “Well, th-that narrows it down some,” he murmured. “There’s, um, Bonnie Rousseau, but she didn’t show up ‘til that night.  And we’d found that door open several times before that.  Crystal, but she’s dating this Danny Bellagio who was giving me voice lessons.  Don’t laugh.  It was to help me get over that stutter.  He saw me as more of a challenge than a threat, I think.  Sophie and Reggie just got married last year.  And Darlene is Crumb’s steady girlfriend.  That just leaves Elaine.”

“She’s the tall blonde that plays Angelique?” Steve asked.  At Gary’s careful nod, the blonde cop sat back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “She’s pretty enough to attract this kind of attention.  What do you know about her?”

“Not much,” Gary sighed.  “I don’t think I even know her last name.  I first met her a coupla years ago.  I kept her from getting crushed by a falling mobile sculpture.  A-at the library.  She was in a meeting of the, um, the Jane Austin Society.  She came by that one time to thank me and . . . that was the last I saw of her.  Until Crumb talked me into doing the play.  She had to remind me where we’d met,” he finished lamely, a slow flush warming his cheeks.  “I’d forgotten all about her.”

“With a spitfire like Brigatti on your mind,” Paul chuckled, “no wonder.” 

“Hold still!” Jason snapped.  He tightened his hold on Gary’s arm as his patient started to turn, mouth half open to deliver a scathing remark.  “Last one.  There!  Now, let me just clean this up and cover it.  I’ll call Doc Fraiser in a bit and see if we need to up the antibiotics.  I’m not gonna ask about tetanus.  I figure you got one when you broke your leg.”

“That and a bunch of vaccines,” Gary grumbled.  “I think I’ve been inoculated against everything but bad luck.”

Before anyone could reply to that, there was a knock on the door.  Paul stepped over to admit the uniformed officers he had called on his way up the stairs.

“We canvassed the area,” one officer reported, “but didn’t find anyone suspicious, sir.  Just a coupla bag ladies and some kids skipping school.  He must’ve cleared the area before we arrived.”

“Great,” the big detective sighed.  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he stepped up to where a large bladed carving knife was still protruding from the wall to the left of Gary’s bed.  Grasping it carefully at the juncture of the blade and handle, he worked it loose.  Wrapping it in the cloth, he handed it to the officer.  “You know the routine,” he said.  “Prints, fibers, whatever.  And get a photographer up here ASAP.  I think the victim would like to get his mattress replaced before the stores close.”

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

“How soon can you have it delivered?” Gary was saying into the phone half an hour later.  “Great.  McGinty’s, on the corner of Illinois and Franklin.  I live right above . . . That’s right, the loft.  You remember.  And could you send a set of bed linens with that?  No, whatever you’ve got is fine.  Thanks.  One hour.”  He returned the phone to its cradle with a sigh.  “Well, at least I’ll have something to sleep on tonight.  Now, if I can just find someone to repair this comforter.”

“Let me take it home,” Armstrong offered.  “Meredith knows this woman who could probably make it look as good as new.  Do you have extra blankets in the meantime?”

“Yeah,” Gary sighed.  “I’m okay in that department.  Thanks.”  He looked over to where the police photographer was packing up his equipment.  “I’ll need a copy for the insurance company,” he reminded the detective.  “And the report, too.”  He brought his left hand up to rub at his tired eyes, but a sharp reminder from Sgt. Curtis stopped him in the act.  Frustrated, Gary plopped onto the sofa, rubbing his temple instead.  “This sucks,” he sighed.  “I guess I need to get an alarm put on that back door, too.”

“Already taken care of,” the Marine assured him.  “I called General Hammond from downstairs.  Your new security system will be up and running by this time tomorrow.  They would’ve been here tonight, but we thought you’d like to get a little sleep.”

Gary could only nod in agreement.  It saddened him to realize he had been attacked twice in his own home, in just a little over six months!  Worse, that he had no real clue as to why this person would want to harm him!

“Cheer up, Hobson,” Curtis grinned.  “We’ll catch this guy the minute he slips up.  Then your life can get back to normal.”

As if rehearsed, three voices murmured: “Define ‘normal.’”

Steve and Paul exchanged amused glances, then looked over to where Gary had his head lying on the back of the couch, his eyes closed.  The young civilian was too tired to appreciate the irony of the remark.  Taking a seat to either side of him, they reluctantly began another round of probing questions.

“You said he had an accent,” Steve reminded him.  “What kind of accent?  German, French, Italian, Chinese?  Could you recognize it at all?”

“Gee,” Gary grumbled.  “It was kinda hard to tell.  He only spoke four words.  ‘Stay away from her,’” he repeated in a very close imitation of the whispered command.  “Just like that.  Period.”

“What about the voice itself?” Paul asked.  “Was it low, high, mellow, rough?”

“Kinda gravelly,” Gary replied.  “Harsh.  Just a loud, garbled whisper.  Kinda like he was trying to disguise it.”

“That doesn’t give us much to go on,” Armstrong sighed.  “Maybe you’ll recognize the voice if you hear it again.”

Gary raised his head to fix the big detective with a steady glare.  “I-I have this strange feeling,” he said, “that the next time I hear that voice . . . it could be the last thing I hear.  Ever.”

“He has a point,” Steve sighed.  “I just wish we had some kind of clue as to this guy’s agenda.  Who does he want you to stay away from?  And why?  Is she related to him, or is he obsessed with her?  What?  We’ve got so damned little to go on!”

“Tell me about it,” Gary sighed, laying his head back once more.  “This guy is giving me more credit than I deserve.  He must think I‘m some kinda Casanova, or something.  He doesn‘t know I‘m lucky to get a date every coupla years.”

“Every coupla . . . You’re kiddin’ me, right?” Curtis chuckled.  “I’d ‘ve thought you’d have to beat ‘em off with a stick!”

“Hobson doesn’t even need a toothpick to fight ‘em off,” Armstrong commented dryly, an amused gleam in his eyes.  “Once they get past his looks, most women are under whelmed by his charming personality.”

Without moving his head, Gary fixed the black detective with a heated glare.  The lingering redness of his blood-shot eyes multiplied the effect by a factor of ten.  “God will get you for that one, Paul,” he murmured.  “If He doesn’t, I will.”  A slow smile played across his face as he added, “Maybe Meredith can help me come up with a suitable revenge.”

“That’s low, Hobson,” Armstrong chuckled.  “Recruiting a traitor in my own camp.  Trouble is, she just might go for it.  Meredith loves a good joke.”

“I’ll remember that,” Gary promised.  “Seriously, though,” he sighed, “I just never seem to have the time to work on a relationship.  Most women seem to sense that and steer clear.  And I guess I’m still a little, well, ‘gun-shy’ in that department.  I-I mean, why invest in something that’s gonna end up exploding in your face?  I’ve been ‘slow-roasted’ so many times, I feel like I’m gonna wake up one day with an apple in my mouth.  It’s just so . . . ironic that this guy thinks I’m s-some kinda . . . Lothario or something.”

“Have you really been that long without . . . you know,” Steve asked hesitantly.  “I would ‘ve thought . . .”

“Then you thought wrong,” Gary murmured, his face taking on a definite scarlet hue.  “I don’t play ‘musical beds.’  I-it has to mean something or it’s just . . . wrong for me.  Can we change the subject?  Please?  I-I’d kinda like to keep my personal life . . . well, personal, if you know what I mean.” 

He didn’t want to talk about that night when, suffering from a head injury, he had been forced to let Toni Brigatti ‘look after’ him.  The night that she had . . . Was ‘seduced’ the right word?  He wasn’t sure.

“I wish we could,” Paul sighed.  “But it seems that your ‘personal life’ is why this guy is gunning for you.  We have to analyze every aspect of it.”

Gary covered his face with his left hand and groaned.  This promised to be a very embarrassing discussion.

***********

Paul finally relented in his interrogation long enough for Gary to eat his supper in peace.  For security’s sake, the detective insisted that it had to be prepared in McGinty’s kitchen and sent up.  Carlos, the new chef, prepared a sumptuous Mexican dinner for all four men of Chimichangas, enchiladas, refried beans, and a salad.  He topped it off with fried ice cream. 

As the others ate with gusto Gary just picked at his meal, his own appetite dampened by the day’s events.  The fact that his eyes were still a little irritated was no help at all.  He couldn’t even have a beer to wash the food down because of the pain medicine!

“I just don’t understand any of this,” Gary sighed as he poked at his dessert with his spoon.  “I know a lot of people with accents.  None of ‘em have any daughters, sisters, or girlfriends I’ve even considered dating!  Not that I know of, anyway.  I mean . . . I do look!  I haven’t gone blind, lately.  I’m just . . . just not exactly . . . looking . . . anymore,” he finished lamely.

“Not even for fun?” Jason asked.  “Just someone to kick back with and relax?”

“I just got out of a wheelchair a coupla months ago,” Gary snorted humorlessly.  “Most of my time’s been spent trying to get back on my feet.  Literally!”  He pushed his plate away with a sigh.  “The majority of the women I’ve seen over the past year have been either nurses, technicians, or some kind of therapist.  Trust me, the prettiest, wittiest, most intelligent woman in the world loses her appeal when she comes at you with something she wants to stick up your . . . somewhere!”

The other three men winced in sympathy. 

“I just realized something,” Paul murmured.  “Tomorrow is the fifteenth.  In less than a week, it’ll be one year, to the day, since you fell down those stairs.”

Gary gave the Chicago detective a bleak look.  “You could’ve gone another year without bringing that up,” he grumbled.  “Just don’t expect me to be throwing any parties to celebrate the event.”

“How about to celebrate being alive?” Steve asked.  “Beats the hell out of the alternative.”

“There was a time,” Gary murmured, as he rose from his stool, “that I wasn’t so sure.  You guys wanna pop in a tape, or something?  I’ve got some old Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart movies.”

“Have you got ‘Rear Window?’” Curtis asked.  “I’ve never seen that one.”

Eager for any distraction, Gary looked over his collection.  Yes, he had ‘Rear Window,’ and ‘Casablanca,’ which Steve asked for.  He was surprised to find that one.  It was one of his dad’s favorites.  He must’ve left it there the last time they stayed over.

“Great!” he said as he handed the tapes to Steve.  “This is what I really need.  No more talk about killers or digs at my personal life.  Just kick back, watch a coupla classics, and relax.  We can worry tomorrow.  Right?”

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

Gary tossed and turned on his new mattress and sheets.  The new bed linens felt stiff and scratchy.  He hadn’t thought to run them through the washer and dryer before Jason prepared his bed.  The mattress itself was a little too firm for his liking.  With a sigh, Gary tossed the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed.  It was no use.  His shoulder was throbbing like a sore tooth, as was the gash on his arm, and his eyes and face still itched.  Also his throat felt raw from the tiny bit of pepper spray that he had inhaled.  Maybe some water would help, or some juice.  He thought there was still some apple juice in the fridge.  His bare feet made soft slapping noises on the hardwood floor as he padded his way to the tiny kitchenette. 

“You okay, Gary?” Curtis asked in concern.  He had moved the rollaway bed so that it blocked the front door to the loft.  The faint sound of Gary’s footsteps had brought him to instant alertness.

“Just fine,” Gary sighed.  “Little thirsty.  You want something?”

“Naw,” the Marine sighed.  “Thanks for asking, though.  What about Steve?”

Quietly, Gary padded around to where the other man had positioned another cot across the rear exit.  Steve was resting quietly, even making soft snoring sounds.  Still, any attempt to open the door from the outside would be enough to rouse him to wakefulness. 

Satisfied that his new friend was sleeping soundly, Gary returned to the kitchenette to get his drink.  He paused, his left hand on the door handle to the refrigerator.  Maybe what he needed was some warm milk?  That usually helped him get to sleep.  Working as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb his ‘roommates,’ Gary heated the milk.  An easy task made difficult by having only one hand and the faint light from the window to work with.  He winced every time something clinked or clattered.

With a weary sigh, Jason Curtis arose from his cot to see what Gary was doing.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured.

“It itches,” Gary replied, waving his hand at his eyes.  “And the bed feels . . . strange.  I was hoping this would help.

“Why didn’t you ask me for something?” Jason snorted softly, mindful of the man sleeping just down the short hall.  “I’ve got this small pharmacy with me, remember?”

“I don’t like taking drugs,” Gary grumbled.  “Never have.” 

“If you need something, though . . .” Jason tried to reason.

“Jason,” Gary sighed, “from the moment I first woke up after ‘The Accident,’ they had to keep me so pumped full of drugs, I was thrilled to have a lucid moment.  They kept it up until I pitched a fit and told them not to bring anything unless I asked for it.  And to tell me exactly what they were giving me, and what it was for.  The first few days after that were . . . bad.”  He paused to sip at his milk, his eyes staring off into not so distant memories.  “Withdrawal was . . . I don’t know how I did it, but I think I managed to keep my family and friends from seeing . . . what I was going through.  Th-the hunger a-and the . . . the need!  Before it was over, I thought I was losing my mind.  Next to that, the pain was nothing.  I think that was why the second time, after Savalas . . . th-the depression hit me so hard.  Knowing that, not only was I reduced to having people I’d have to look at for days, weeks possibly, do even the most basic, demeaning things, but I was going to have go through . . . I just wanted to die and get it over with.”  Another sip, as he tried to marshal his thoughts.  “This last time, as soon as I was able to talk, I made it clear.  No morphine.  Under no circumstances.  Nothing stronger than Toradol.  And only as I needed it.  Really needed it.”

Jason nodded in understanding.  “That’s why you’re having so much trouble sleeping,” he sighed.  “Between the pain, itching, and what amounts to a strange bed, you can hardly close your eyes.”

“That pretty much sums it up,” Gary murmured quietly.  He took a big gulp of his milk.  It was starting to cool.  “I can’t afford to go down that path, Jason.  It’s a dead-end street.  The kinda things I have to do . . . they require a clear head at the best of times.  I can’t allow myself the . . . the luxury of falling apart.  Too many people are depending on me, whether they know it or not.”

“Toradol,” Jason mused.  He turned for his kit, spying Steve standing by the corner of the short hallway.  How much had the other man overheard, he wondered?  “I may have some of that, and some Benadril for the itching.  It might make you drowsy, too.”

“Nothing real strong,” Gary told him.  “I don’t wanna sleep through my alarm.”

“Over-the-counter strength only,” Curtis assured him as the young Marine rummaged through his bag.  “You have to get some rest, Gary, or you can’t function.  Here you go.  One Toradol and two Benadril.  Wash them down with the rest of that milk and it’ll spread the effect a little.  Not quite the same as an empty stomach that way.”

Gary took the tablet and two capsules, eyeing them doubtfully.  He knew Jason was right.  He had to get some sleep.  Still . . .  With a sigh, he tossed the medication to the back of his throat, chasing them down with several swallows of the now lukewarm milk.  Rinsing the glass out, he placed it in the drainer.  He was about to do the same with the pan he had used to heat the milk when Jason took him by the elbow and turned him toward the bed.

“I’ll take care of that,” the young sergeant promised.  “You get back to bed.  Try counting sheep, or whatever.  But keep your eyes closed until that alarm goes off.”

Gary grumbled something that sounded like ‘Yes, Mother,’ as he shuffled obediently back to his bed.  By the time Jason had finished straightening up, the antihistamine in the Benadril had taken effect.  Gary was curled up on his left side, snoring softly into his pillow.

“The more I learn about this guy,” Steve murmured, “the more he amazes me.  How many people do you know that would willingly put themselves through the hell of morphine withdrawal?  I’ve been shot a time or two, myself,” he added.  “I know the kind of pain he’s in.  My dad had to wean me off the morphine over about a month’s time.  From the sound of it, he had to say where to draw the line himself.”

“That happens, sometimes,” Jason whispered.  “Doctors don’t want their patient to suffer, so they start the pain meds before the poor guy even wakes up.  If the injury is bad enough, they may start ‘em out with a pretty hefty dose.  I think that’s what happened to Gary.  His doctor may have meant well, but he should’ve consulted with his patient.”

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

The next few days were fairly quiet and uneventful.  Even the Paper seemed to sense that the young Guardian needed time to recuperate.  What few ‘errands’ he had were minor and easy to handle.  This left him with plenty of time, however, to think about his attacker.  He was gradually able to recall a few details, such as his height and build.  The brief glimpse he’d had just before being blinded, was of a rather tall man, about his own height, and slender.  Gary was pretty sure he had been wearing a dark, hooded jogging suit.

Other than those minor details, they had nothing new to go on.  Gary was able to rejoin rehearsals, and keep his appointment with Dr. Griner in peace.  He was even able to get fitted for his tuxedo.  Diane had given him a pointed reminder that her wedding was only a few weeks away.  He had better not wait until the last minute!  Gary had wryly suggested that Steve and Jason might want to do the same.  In case they were still hanging around on the big day.

“Don’t mess up Diane’s wedding,” he warned them.  “She’s been planning this for the last six months and is not above taking the hide off anyone who screws it up.”

At the same time, Gary eyed his calendar with growing apprehension.  Not just because of the approaching wedding.  A somewhat more significant date had captured his attention ever since Paul had mentioned it.  The one-year anniversary of his fateful tumble was looming over him like a black cloud.  Over the last few months, as his body had regained its strength and mobility, he had managed to put that particular demon to rest . . . for a time.  Now, thanks, in part, to Armstrong’s passing comment, the dreams were back.  So were the flashbacks.  All of them.

“I go into my office,” he told Dr. Griner with a weary sigh, “and I see them working over my . . . my body.  Only I’m not . . . not breathing.  On the stairs, there’s blood.  Gallons of it.  I can’t use the Jacuzzi anymore because I keep . . . keep hearing . . . hearing him sneaking up behind me.  Every time I see a gun, or someone rattles a chain, it’s like . . . suddenly I can’t breathe!  I had to go to the zoo, yesterday.  W-went by the R-reptile House.  A rattlesnake s-started . . . ya know?  Almost gave me a heart attack!  A-at Lincoln Park today, I found myself at that . . . that same pier.  There w-was this kid.  He, um, he fell off wh-while I w-was watching.  For just a second . . . I froze.  I went in.  I did!  But . . . what if I can’t the next time?  What happens when these . . . these waking nightmares become too ‘real’ to ignore?  What do I do?”

The genuine anguish in his patient’s voice got to William Griner as nothing had in years.  It reminded him, all too vividly of when the initial shock had worn off.  When he had to wonder: What was he going to do with the rest of his life?

“You look it square in the eye,” he said, “and you do the best you can.  You’ve already learned, the hard way, that this special ‘gift’ of yours carries no guarantee of success.  Yet, you go out, every single day, prayin’ for the strength, and the courage, to at least try.  Has a day ever passed that that prayer wasn’t answered?  You’ve admitted that heights make you dizzy, that you’re afraid of fallin’.  Yet, how many times have you stood on some narrow ledge, leaned over the railing of some bridge, jumped or crawled from one rooftop to another in order to save someone’s life?  Don’t doubt yourself, Gary.  Use your fear the same way everyone else does.  To stay alert, and alive.”

Dr. Griner reached up and felt for the STOP button on his CD recorder.  Switching the machine off, he turned back to Gary.

“Enough of the therapy,” he said with a grin.  “How are you feelin’ otherwise?  Shoulder still botherin’ ya?”

“Some,” Gary admitted with a careful shrug.  “But I’m still able to workout on the treadmill, and Diane has given me an exercise regimen to follow as soon as I can ditch the sling.  She thinks I’ll be as good as new, or at least close enough, in time to walk her down the aisle.”

“That is one determined young woman,” Dr. Griner nodded, his smile spreading even wider.  “I have to wonder if her young man knows what he’s gettin’ into.”

“If he doesn’t,” Gary replied with a grin of his own, “he’ll be finding out in about three weeks.”

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

Opening night of the play was finally scheduled for May 22nd.  Rehearsals were intensified in anticipation of the big day.  Gary once again found himself the focus of motherly concern from every female in the production.  Even the guys fussed a little.  After all, his character, while not the star, was pivotal to the plot!  May 20th was set aside for their final rehearsal, giving them one day to relax before the frenzy of opening night.

May 20th.  Gary was wide-awake long before the alarm went off.  In fact, he had not been able to sleep after 2 AM, the approximate hour that the accident had occurred.  That bizarre dream, hallucination, whatever he had experienced immediately after his fall had pushed its way rather forcefully to the front of his mind.  He found himself reliving it in vivid detail.  Then came the hour when he had found himself, still lying on the stairs, the top of the footstool digging into his spine, listening to the steady drip of his own blood as it mingled with the growing pool covering the steps.  Shortly after, his mind was assailed by the frantic activity that had gone into keeping him alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive, the heartbreaking sobs when his parents were told that he was . . . gone.  Everything after that was hazy, as if he were not meant to remember what had happened . . . ‘beyond.’  He recalled, in gruesome detail, waking up to pain.  An all-encompassing pain that didn’t extend below his hips.  Although it should have. 

With a sigh, Gary turned to look at his clock radio.  4:56 AM.  The moment of his ‘rebirth.’  For the thousandth time, he wondered why.  Why was he ‘sent back?’  Why was he not warned of the accident in the first place?  Had it truly been one of those things that had to happen?  Or was he finding himself to be a pawn in some cosmic chess game?  If he had not listened to the specter of Lucius Snow in that derelict building so long ago, would his ‘career’ have ended there, along with his life?  Tossing back the covers, Gary levered himself up to sit on the side of his bed.  It was no use.  He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore.  He might just as well go ahead and start the coffee.  The way he felt, that would be all that kept him going for the rest of the day.

As he waited for the coffee to brew, Gary went over the events of the past year in his mind.  Not just what had happened, but what might have happened.  Little Elliot would have died in that snow bank.  What effect might that have had on his grieving parents?  That boy at the pier.  Would he have been in danger at all if he had not been tormenting Gary?  Certainly Bernie wouldn’t have been put at risk.  The airliner would have crashed, either in Denver or Colorado Springs, killing Amanda’s father and over two hundred others.  The ‘Stargate’ program would’ve suffered a major setback.  How many would’ve died there?  What could it have meant to the safety of the whole planet?  Dr. Sloan and Steve would have died from the bite of a venomous reptile.  Jean Phillips would’ve had no one to console her when she needed it most, running off by herself as she had.  What might she have done in her fit of despair?  No, however you looked at it, a lot of good had come out of his suffering.  So . . . so maybe it was worth it.  As long as he could look at things in that light, he could live with it.

As soon as the coffee was ready, Gary fixed a cup, taking it and strolling toward the back door.  Two pinpoints of red gleamed at him as he stood in the short hallway.  The new security system was state-of-the-art.  It required a palm print to open it from the outside.  His.  It even had a battery back up in case of a power failure.  A similar arrangement was on the front door of the loft, and linked to the windows.  If a pigeon landed on his windowsill, someone would know about it.  The scanner on the inner door was keyed to his, Marissa’s and his parent’s palm prints.  The theory was, if he became ill or injured, it helped if someone else had access.  Especially since the rippled glass of his door had been replaced with a new substance that, while identical to the old panel, was bulletproof and shatterproof.  It also was impervious to any blade short of a laser drill.  The same had been done to his windows.  The whole installation had taken less than a day; with another day of testing to be sure it was working properly. 

It saddened him, driving the point home, more than anything else, that someone hated him enough to make these precautions necessary.  What had he done to this person?  Who was it that he wanted Gary to stay away from?  None of it made any sense! 

“Still having trouble sleeping?”

Gary turned to find Jason sitting up on the sofa/sleeper, watching him with concern.  Steve was still sound asleep on his cot by the door.

“Some,” he admitted, finally answering the murmured question.  “I guess it’s just hitting me.  A year ago today, at this very minute, they still weren’t sure if I was gonna make it.  Now, someone wants to make sure that I don’t.  Kind of a sad commentary on my life, ya know?”  He finished his cup and returned to the counter for a refill.  “I was just thinking that it would help if I just had some idea as to why this person hates me so much!  I mean, it’s not like I’ve never ticked anyone off before.  Just . . . what ‘ve I done that was worth killing over?”

“You mean aside from saving a president’s life?” Curtis asked.  “Or the lives of two men vital to a certain covert operation?  Thwarting bank robberies and terrorists?  Defusing hostage situations and foiling kidnappers?  What about uncovering murder-for-hire schemes?  Or . . .”

“Okay, okay,” Gary sighed.  “I get the picture, already.  But none of that applies here!  This guy clearly wants me to back off from someone, only I don’t know who!  Or even why.”  He set his cup down, blowing his breath out with a frustrated huff.  “I don’t even know if the person he’s angry about is interested in me.  It could be that she just said something to make him jealous.  You know what I mean?  Some girl just saying to her boyfriend, ‘Why can’t you be more like him?’  Not realizing that I’m no prize, either,” he added bitterly.

“Why are you so down on yourself this morning?” Jason asked.  “Is it because of what day it is?”

“Partly,” Gary admitted ruefully.  “And partly because of opening night, soon.  Stage fright, I guess.  Plus I’m wondering why this bozo hasn’t done anything over the last coupla days, and what he’s gonna do next.  All those digs at my social life, or lack thereof, didn’t help, either.  I-I just feel like my whole life is slipping away and it never really amounted to anything.”

“Excuse me?” Steve murmured, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  “Did I just hear you right?  I could’ve sworn you just said you never amounted to anything!  How many lives have you saved?  Not all together.  Just in the last coupla years.”  Gary just gazed dejectedly down at his cup, unable to meet Steve’s incredulous gaze.  “You honestly have no idea, do you?  You’ve saved so many, you can’t even count ‘em!  What would it take to give your life meaning?”

“A wife,” Gary murmured without hesitation.  “Someone who loves me as much as I love her.  Kids.  Just one or two.  I’m not greedy.  Picnics in the park, ballgames, flying kites.  Being a good husband and father.  Passing on my values to someone that will remember me when I’m gone.  Hopefully with fondness, and love.  I-it’s asking a lot, I know, but that’s all I ever wanted out of life.  All that ever mattered.”

Steve and Jason exchanged shamefaced looks.  What could they say to that?

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

Gary had already bathed and dressed by the time the paper arrived.  He opened the door to see the cat staring off down the stairs, as if he had heard something.

“Hey, fella,” Gary murmured, scratching the watchful feline behind the ears before grabbing the Paper.  “Whatcha starin’ at, hmm?”  The cat just looked up at him with a decisive ‘quirrr’ before padding his way to the kitchenette and his food dish.  Gary had already emptied a can of Fancy Feast Tuna into the bowl.  Not his favorite, but a little variety never hurt.

Gary scanned the headlines quickly, while the other two were preoccupied with their own morning rituals.  There were just a few traffic fatalities to prevent, a robbery at a convenience mart, and a toddler wandering too close to an open storm drain.  All of these took place well before he was supposed to report for rehearsal.

For once, everything went off without a hitch.  He grabbed the toddler seconds before the child would have fallen, giving the squalling child back to his mother, then sped off to prevent two kids from getting hit by a man running late for an appointment.  The robbery turned out to be a prank that could have turned deadly.  The so-called ‘robbers’ were friends of the new clerk, a teenager on his first job.  The last errand was preventing a woman from getting hit by a beer truck while chasing after her escaped pooch.  All in all, not a bad day’s work.

“They should all be this easy,” Steve chuckled as he handed the leash back to the extremely attractive young woman.  She smiled her thanks, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as she slipped a scrap of paper into his hand.  As she hurried away, Steve smiled.  She had given him her phone number.

“You wish!” Gary snorted.  He had double-checked the Paper while the other two were distracted.  Nothing new had resulted because of anything he had done so far.  With any luck, it also meant that nothing would change before the night was over.

********

Everyone milled around nervously, at first, each one checking the others over to make sure they had their costumes on correctly.  Since the play was set in the fifties, they were fitted with clothing popular to that era.  The only ‘modern’ article of clothing was the sling which still encased Gary’s right arm.

“Now,” Bonnie was saying.  “This time we’re going to go through the whole play without stopping for anything but scenery changes.  Are you up to it?” She looked around at the ring of expectant faces, her gaze lingering on Gary, his sling in particular.  He just smiled and gave her a ’thumbs up.’  No one said anything, but several others nodded excitedly.  “Great!  Places, everyone, for the opening scene.”

The first scene, where ‘Vic’ and ‘Angelique’ entered in the midst of a heated argument and ended with the victim being shot by an unknown assailant, went smoothly.  Gary picked himself up from the other side of the fake ‘window’ with Jason’s assistance.  It was while the sets were being rearranged by the stagehands that Gary noticed something odd about one of them.

“See that guy in the blue coveralls?” he said to his bodyguards.  “The tall one with the black hair.  He keeps turning his head away whenever I look at him, but I’m almost certain I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Maybe he works here,” Jason suggested, although he, too, thought the man was behaving suspiciously.  “You could’ve seen him hanging around, sweeping up, whatever.”

“I don’t think so,” Gary murmured, trying not to look at the man directly.  “Denny and Mitch are the only ones that work here on a regular basis.  These other guys have all been hired to work on this play.  I just wish I knew why he looks so familiar!”

“I’ll talk to Oscar about him,” Steve told them.  “See if he knows anything about this guy.  In the meantime, keep your eye on him.”

Gary simply nodded, unwilling to trust his voice at that moment.  He had a terrible feeling crawling up and down his spine.  That feeling he got whenever disaster was about to strike.  After checking the Paper for the third time with no change, he looked over to where Paul Armstrong and Toni Brigatti were just taking their seats in the center section, along with several friends of his fellow cast mates, and his parents.  They were mostly there as a ‘test audience.’  He and Toni had exchanged a cautious, if chilly, greeting earlier.  Gary was still uncertain exactly where he stood with the fiery Italian.

Elaine tried to put him at ease, reminding him that it was just amateur theater, not Broadway.  There was no need for him to be so tense.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Gary replied with a good-natured, if strained, grin.  “Maybe I’m being stalked by the ‘critic from hell,’” he quipped.  “When he says ‘thumbs down,’ he’s not kiddin’ around!  Thanks for tryin‘ to cheer me up, though.”  Without thinking, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Blushing furiously, Elaine ducked her head to hide her rising color.  Flashing her handsome cast mate a shy smile, she hurried to her next mark.

The next scene went as well as the first, as did the third.  Gary was beginning to think he was just having a bad case of the jitters.  He was standing off in the wings, nervously going over his script as the scenery was being set up for the next Act, when it occurred to him to check the Paper one more time.  He had just found the article, ’Off Broadway Mayhem,’ when something struck him behind his right ear with stunning force!  Dazed, he dimly heard someone cry out in alarm as he sank to his knees.  Before he could fall any farther, a lean, muscular arm clamped itself around his throat, choking him!  At the same moment, something sharp was pressing into the right side of his neck, just below the angle of his jaw!

“Drop it!” Jason snapped, his automatic pistol out and covering Gary’s shadowy attacker.

“No!” the strangely familiar voice growled.  “I tol’ heem!  Stay away!  Now, he must die!”

“S-stay away from who?” Gary grunted, his left hand tugging ineffectually at the arm pressing into his windpipe.  “At l-least tell, unh, tell me that!”

“You know of who I speak!” the voice hissed angrily.  “The woman you have dishonored!  The one you have shamed with your very existence!”

“Just drop the knife,” Steve said calmly, trying to reason with the man.  “Give us a chance to get to the bottom of this.”

The only answer was a sharp pain as the knifepoint penetrated the skin of Gary’s throat.  He felt something warm trickle down the side of his neck.  The pressure on his windpipe increased as his assailant forced him to stand, dragging him backwards.  The movement caused the razor-sharp point to jiggle, doing even more damage to the all too vulnerable flesh of Gary’s neck.  The trickle was turning into a stream.  Dimly, he could hear his mother’s frightened, angry voice as someone apparently held her back.  Strangely, the first thought that crossed his mind was, ‘Dear God!  Not in front of my parents!’

“Wh-who did I ‘d-dishonor?’” he murmured, trying to speak without moving his jaw.  “I-if I gotta d-die for it, I deserve . . . deserve to know that much!”

“That’s far enough!”

The unseen figure roughly spun his hostage around, using him as a shield against this new foe.  Gary felt the knife slip, doing only God knew what to the soft tissues of his throat!  He felt an odd churning quiver in his stomach that heralded unpleasant possibilities.

“Put it down,” Crumb said, his eyes fixed on the man hiding behind his younger friend, and not on the widening ribbon of scarlet coursing down over the blade of the stiletto.  He slowing eased forward, forcing his opponent onto the lighted stage.  “Whatever beef you got with Hobson, it ain’t worth killin’ over.”

“L-listen to the man,” Gary squeaked.  “H-he kn-knows what he . . . he’s talkin’ about!”

“Vincenzo?” 

The startled exclamation burst from two sets of feminine vocal cords.  Stunned Brigatti and Elaine looked at each other as the tiny detective scrambled onto the stage, Armstrong right behind her.

Gary’s captor spun around again at the sudden cry, still using his hostage as a shield.  Gary fought not to pass out.  A chill sweat broke out on his forehead as his knees threatened to buckle.  At the same time, he was struggling to contain his rising gorge.  How much blood had he lost already? 

“Y-you do that . . . o-one more time,” he rasped apprehensively, “I’m g-gonna hurl.”

“Antonia!” the rough voice exclaimed, ignoring Gary for the moment.  “Go back to you seat!  You. too, Elena!  Thees is a matter of honor!”

“In a pig’s ear!” Toni snapped.  “Put that knife down!  What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“No!  He must pay for what he deed to you!” Vincenzo snarled.  “And for toying with the heart of the one I love!”

Gary hesitantly raised his left hand, trying not to move anything else in hopes of keeping the bloodshed to a minimum.  His blood, in particular.

“Um, s’cuse me,” he murmured in a hoarse croak.  “A-as the, um, d-defendant here, c-could I ask j-just one question?  Wh-what was I supposed to’ve done?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Toni snapped, a little too quickly.  What did she know about all this?  “Put the freakin’ knife down, Vincenzo!  Put it down now!  Before one of us has to shoot you!”

“I-I’m with her on this, Vincenzo,” Gary stammered nervously.  “Why don’t you unh!”

“Silencio!” the irate Italian ordered, digging the blade a little deeper.  Gary was sure he felt it scrape bone that time.  “You have, how you say?  You have crossed our familia too much!  First, the treasure of Capone, then you dishonor our cousin, Antonia!  Then . . . then you make eyes at my Elena!  You keesed her!  My betrothed!”

Capone?  Cousin?  Gary now recalled where he had seen Vincenzo before.  He and his brother, Marco?  Rico?  Something like that.  They had almost killed him and an overzealous Treasury agent while looking for the legendary treasure of Al Capone’s ‘vault.’  This was the first he had ever suspected that the brothers were in any way related to Toni Brigatti!  And where did Elaine come into the picture?  Then it hit him.  The article appeared after he had kissed her!

“I’m getting very confused here,” he murmured.  “Vincenzo, put the knife down.  Please?  Let’s at least try to talk this over li-urk!” 

“I tell you to be silent!” Vincenzo growled menacingly, his powerful arm choking the life from his prisoner.  “You have toyed with my cousin’s heart, dishonored her.  You have even used the one who brings light to my darkness to cause her pain!  For that, you must die!”

“He dies,” Curtis responded coolly, “you die.  Before he hits the floor.  Put the knife down, now.”  The young Marine had a .9 mm automatic centered on the bridge of Vincenzo’s nose.  “I’m not playin’ around here, pal.  I will kill you.”

The arm squeezing Gary’s throat tightened, wringing a choked grunt from the prisoner.  “H-he’s not k-kidding,” he gasped.  “H-he’ll . . .”  The arm tightened again, cutting off his words.

“Drop you weapons,” Vincenzo snarled, “or I keel heem, now!”

“Vincenzo,” Elaine said in a pleading tone.  “If you truly care for me, if you honestly love me, put the knife down.  These people will kill you if you don’t!”

“If they do not drop their guns,” Vincenzo snarled, “I keel heem where he stands!”

“Um, Vinnie?” Gary squeaked.  “Th-that’s why you’re here?  Remember?  You kinda . . . kinda lose your b-bargaining power . . . wh-when you state up front th-that the h-hostage is t-toast.”

It took a moment for that to sink in.  Slowly, the blade was withdrawn from Gary’s throat.  There was an immediate increase in blood flow down his neck.  Gary reached up with his left hand, intending to try to stop the bleeding, only to have the arm tighten painfully across his windpipe!

“Be still!” his captor hissed.  “You may yet die this night!”

“Wh-what have I done that was so terrible?” Gary rasped painfully.  “And please don’t keep giving me that ‘honor’ stuff!  Get specific!  Toni, what’ve you been telling this guy?”

“Nothing!” Brigatti snapped.  “I haven’t even seen this guy since . . . Wait a minute.”  Her eyes narrowed, taking on a dangerous gleam.  “Vincenzo.  Were you guys eavesdropping again?”

The arm tightened even more as the Italian shrugged.  “How else are we to know what you do here?” he asked.  “You no tell, so we must be spies to learn what our cousin is doing in America!”

Gary’s ears were starting to ring as he struggled for breath.  “Air!” he gasped.  “N-need . . . air!”

Startled, the swarthy man looked down at the blood-drenched arm clamped tightly about his captive’s throat, as if just remembering what he was doing.  “S’cusi,” he murmured, finally relinquishing his hold.

The others moved in quickly.  Paul snatched the knife from the Italian’s hand while Steve hauled out a pair of cuffs.  Jason had moved to catch Gary as the other man half collapsed, drawing air into his tortured lungs in a wheezing gasp!  The young Marine clamped a hand to the side of Gary’s neck, trying to staunch the steady flow of blood from the not so tiny wound, as he eased the breathless man to the floor.  Using a clean handkerchief to keep direct pressure on the wound, he gently cradled the injured man‘s head in his lap. 

“Man!” Jason hissed after a quick examination.  “I think he tore your jugular!”

“Th-that’s bad, isn’t it?” Gary rasped.  He was still dizzy from being half strangled, and from the increasing blood loss. 

“It ain’t good,” the medic agreed. He took the first aid kit from Oscar and quickly tore open a thick packet of gauze squares.  These he used to replace his saturated handkerchief.  “Don’t try to talk.  Steve!  We need an ambulance!  Pronto!”

The LA detective was way ahead of him.  Steve was already giving the dispatcher their location.  “Ten minutes,” he reported.  “That’s the quickest they can get here.  The nearest crew is just finishing up a run.” 

Jason just nodded in reply.  He looked up briefly when Lois and Bernie knelt close by, wanting to be of assistance, but wisely letting the more experienced sergeant handle things.  Still keeping a steady pressure on the torn vessel, he gingerly probed the swelling where the disgruntled cousin had struck Gary‘s head.  While his gentle touch brought a hiss of pain, he was sure that the skull was still intact.

“How bad is it?” Lois asked anxiously.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Jason murmured.  To Gary, he cautioned, “Just hold still.”

“I-I wanna b-be there,” Gary rasped.  “Wh-when they question him.  W-wanna hear . . . wh-why.”

“You will,” Jason assured him.  “Don’t talk,” he repeated.  “It makes it harder to control the bleeding.”  He looked up to where Brigatti was pacing back and forth, her hands clasped to either side of her head.  She looked like she had developed a migraine.

“I can’t believe this,” Toni was grumbling.  “My own cousin!  By marriage, thank God!  Aw, man!  What’m I gonna tell Aunt Christina?  She’ll have a coronary!”  She directed her ire at her scowling cousin.  “Where do you get off defending my honor?” she snapped.  “What’s it to you, anyway?  You an’ Rico, the two of you were deported a coupla years ago!  You shouldn’t even be in this country!  What’s with the ‘honor’ thing anyway?  You bozos think I can’t take care o’ myself?  Against him?”  She flung her hand out in a flamboyant gesture aimed at Gary, who shot her an insulted look.  “Of all the stupid, idiotic, asinine, Sicilian things to do!  And you’re from outside Milano!  You don’t even have the excuse of being Sicilian!”

In the midst of this tirade, Jason leaned his head down so that he could hear Gary’s mumbled question.  The young Marine had already added another thick gauze pad to the compress, and the blood was still oozing.

“Gary wants to know what started this,” the sergeant relayed.  “Exactly what is it that he’s supposed to have done?”

“Nothin’!” the fiery Italian detective snarled.  “This idiot just took a-a tiny little . . . it wasn’t even a complaint!  J-just me venting off a little steam!  And this . . . this cousin turns it into a vendetta!  Aunt Christina is gonna skin you alive!  After I get through with you!”

“Quit dodgin’ the question!” Crumb snapped.  “What exactly have you been tellin’ the folks back home, Brigatti?” 

“I-it was nothin’!” Brigatti squirmed.  “I just told Aunt Christina that I was feeling a little . . . taken for granted.  L-like he was usin’ me to hedge his bets!”

“And when did you tell her this?” Armstrong asked, giving her a dangerous look.

“Wh-when I went to visit her last summer,” the tiny Italian shrugged uncomfortably.  “Last June.  I was there for Grandpa Vito’s funeral.  Look, can we discuss this privately?  After we get Hobson patched up?”

Absorbed in the scene, Jason was startled by a tug on his sleeve.  Looking down, he saw Gary crooking a finger at him.  Obediently, he inclined his head so the injured man could whisper something in his ear, only to straighten a moment later with a dry chuckle.

“Gary says he seconds that motion,” he reported to the crowd.

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

“I can’t believe you were accusing me of neglect,” Gary rasped hoarsely.  He was sitting up in the same hospital bed that he had just left a little over a week before.  A thick bandage covered the wound in his badly bruised throat, which had taken several stitches to close.  “Y-you came t-to visit me . . . one time th-that whole month before your trip!  In ‘n’ out. ‘Hey!  How ya doin’?  Gotta run!’  T-two minutes, you were here!  Then nothin’!  N-not even a phone call!  I didn’t even know you’d gone . . . to Italy ‘til Winslow t-told me!”

“Well,” Toni grumble irritably, “with all your old girlfriends hangin’ around, I figured you didn’t have time for me.”

“What girlfriends?” Gary asked.  “As-side from you, the only women who came to . . . to visit me were Mom, Marissa, a-and Amanda Bailey’s mom!  And the girls that work for me.  A-all of whom are either married o-or engaged!  Look, Toni,” he sighed, his good hand massaging his throat under the bandages, “w-we’ve had a rocky . . . relationship even b-before my accident.  After . . . that was . . . you seemed more secure when I was . . . was at my lowest!  I-I don’t know what it is you want!”

“A little romance woulda been nice,” the tiny detective shrugged as she paced near the foot of his bed.  “Flowers now an’ then.  A candlelit dinner, maybe.  Something to at least give me a hint as to where we were going!”

“I was in the hospital!” Gary replied in a frustrated croak.  “I c-couldn’t walk and m-my hands were b-badly burned.  What was I s’pposed to do?  Hit the call button w-with my nose and ask the nurses to round me up wine, r-roses, a-and a romantic dinner so that you could s-spoon feed me?”

One corner of Toni’s mouth turned up in a wistful smile at the image his words invoked.  “That could’ve been fun,” she admitted. 

“A-and when was I s-s’pposed to arrange . . . all this?” he rasped, irked by her amusement.  “You n-never came by, or . . . or answered my calls.  Have you any idea how f-frustrating it was, having my m-mom dialing your number over a-and over again, and all I ever got was . . . was your machine?  W-with her sitting there, holding the phone up to . . . to my ear, what kinda m-message was I s’pposed to leave?”

“Um, I see you point,” she murmured, wincing at the image.  “Kind of . . . embarrassing?”

“Toni,” Gary sighed, “this whole year has . . . has redefined th-that word in ways that defy th-the imagin . . . imagination.”  He lay his head back carefully.  All the talking was irritating his throat, and any sudden movement tugged at his stitches.  “My life has hit lows you can’t even conceive of,” he murmured tiredly.  “Wh-which really isn’t fair, since you . . .you’ve had a hand in some of the w-worst.”

Toni sauntered over to perch on the edge of the seat by the window.  “Oh, c’mon!  It really hasn’t been that bad!  Has it?”

“Where were you when I wanted to kill myself?” he asked her bluntly, his voice hoarse with more than just pain now.  “Wh-when it hurt to just . . . just think about facing one more day a-as an invalid.  Of having to be poked and p-prodded on a daily b-basis.  O-of being s-stripped and bathed l-like an infant.  N-not being able to walk, o-or to feed myself, or c-clean myself, or even push the damned call button when I needed h-help!  When th-the agony of morphine with . . . withdrawal was ripping my insides to sh-shreds!  Where were you when I couldn’t get t-two words out of my m-mouth without sounding l-like Porky Pig!  Where were you when the p-people of my home town, people I’ve known all my life started t-treating me like a-a pariah?  When it got to the . . . the point that I just wanted to drop off the face of the Earth a-and die!” he added bitterly.  “Where were you, Toni?  Where were you wh-when I needed you?”

Biting her lower lip, Toni stared down at her clasped hands.  Her face had gone deathly pale as he rattled off his list of grievances and torments.  All trace of her usual mocking defensiveness slipped away as she considered his words.

“I guess I’m a fine one to talk about neglect, aren’t I?” she murmured.  “No one . . . no one said it was that bad.  Th-that you were hurting like that.”

“Would it ‘ve mattered?” Gary croaked, his tone still one of pain and barely controlled anger.  “You saw how I was when . . . when you . . . we . . . a-and you took full advantage of it!  Had everything just the way you wanted it!  That was . . . that was the worst, you know?  The lowest, knowing that I was nothing more to you than . . . than a piece of meat!  An amusement!  I was praying, Toni!  Praying for God to just strike me dead and get it over with!  Up to that moment, I thought we had something!  Something we could build on, maybe.  Now . . .”  At this point, his voice failed him completely, having been strained beyond endurance by his emotional outburst. 

His voice ended in such a dejected tone, Toni was startled from her contemplation of her hands.  Looking up, she tried to think of something to say in response to such a bald statement.  The trouble was, she had been harboring the same kind of doubts.  What did they have?  As long as she had the upper hand everything was fine.  The moment he asserted himself, she became defensive, even angry.  That revelation made her take a long, hard look at her own motives.  Gary wanted someone to share his life with.  Was that what she wanted?  Did she really want to give up that much control?

“I-I don’t have any answers for you,” she murmured, looking away.  “Seems like there’s a lot of things I need to be asking myself.  I’d like to think . . . to think we could at least be friends.  But we . . . we’ve got too many . . . issues . . . between us.”  Abruptly, she leapt to her feet, heading for the door.  “I, um, need to sort this out.  Try to get things straight in my head.”  She paused, one hand on the door.  “I’m s-sorry . . . about Vincenzo, I mean.  I’ll see to it that . . . that he can’t bother you anymore.”

“Bother?  Toni, he tried to kill me!” Gary gently reminded her in a strained squeak.  Frustrated, he looked around for something to write on.  Toni wordlessly handed him her notebook and a pen.  ‘His fate is out of our hands, now,’ he quickly wrote.  ‘I’m afraid he won’t be deported this time.  Unless you can work out something with the DA’s office, he’s in for a long prison sentence.’

“Good God!  You’re right!” she winced as she translated his hasty, left-handed scrawl.  “What is it?  Five counts of attempted murder?  He could end up spending the rest of his life in prison!  Or the next twenty years, at least!”  Stunned, she plopped into the chair by the door.  “This is gonna kill Aunt Christina!”  Toni gave Gary a silent, pleading look.

Gary slowly shook his head, taking back the notebook.  ‘Don’t look at me,’ he wrote more carefully.  ‘You know the law better than I do.  If there’s any way I can help, though, let me know.  I’ll do what I can.’

“Are you serious?” she asked incredulously.  “After everything he did to you?  Why?”

“Because he’s your cousin,” he croaked with a shrug, wincing as a shaft of pain reminded him why he shouldn’t move too quickly.  Or talk.  With a look of resignation he took back the pad, writing quickly.  ‘Because I still have feelings for you, however screwed up they may be right now.  Or just because life is too short to hold a grudge.  Seriously, Toni, I’ll do what I can, just don’t expect miracles.  Your cousin’s really screwed up, this time.’

**********

For once, Brigatti left without slamming a door, or verbally cutting Gary off at the knees.  Whether it was because she couldn’t find a way to make the whole mess his fault, or that she genuinely felt guilty over what had happened, he wasn’t sure.  And he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, either. 

As the door closed behind her, Gary settled back with a sigh.  He glanced at the twin IVs running into his left arm.  One was normal saline.  The other was the second unit of blood he had received since being admitted.  Dr. Carter had not been able to resist a quip about Gary running ‘a quart low.’  By their estimate, he had lost more than just a quart!  The razor-sharp stiletto had almost severed his jugular, missing his carotid artery by less than a hair!  That would have been the end if that vessel had been cut.  He would’ve been brain dead by the time the ambulance had gotten there!

Shortly after Toni made her quiet exit, Jason poked his head around the edge of the partially open door.  Seeing that Gary was awake, he motioned the others in behind him.  Steve, Paul, and Gary’s parents arranged themselves on either side of the bed.  Lois, seeing how pale and drawn he was, immediately put a hand to his forehead.  What was it, he wondered, about moms and fevers?

“How’re you feeling, sweetie?” she asked in a conciliatory tone. 

Gary just made a seesaw motion with his good hand.  ‘Now I’m reduced to hand gestures,’ he mused in frustration.  Then Curtis opened up the briefcase he had been carrying, setting up a laptop computer on the tray table and placing it in front of the injured man.  Gary spared him a grateful smile as he tapped out his reply. ‘I’ve been better,’ he told them.

“Not lately,” his dad chuckled, to which Gary responded with a wry grin.  “The guy who did this to ya is tryin’ to find a good mouthpiece.  The DA says it’s pretty much an open and shut case.  His only hope is that the judge will agree with deportation.”

“Which is highly unlikely,” Armstrong shrugged.  “If it had been one of those ‘heat of the moment’ things, maybe . . . But five times?  No judge in the country will buy that!”

Gary laboriously typed out his response on the keyboard.  ‘What if I don’t press charges?’

“Are you nuts?” Steve asked incredulously.  “That lunatic tried to kill you!  Why wouldn’t you press charges?  Aside from the fact it wouldn’t do any good, that is.  What he did is a felony any way you look at it.”

Lying back with a sigh, Gary wracked his brain for a solution.  The guy was Toni’s cousin.  They might not be close, but he had a bad feeling that sending Vincenzo to prison for the rest of his life would not go very far toward healing the breech that now existed between the barkeep and the fiery detective.  If, indeed, that wound could ever be healed.  Gary had a bad feeling that he and Toni really didn’t have much chance of a future together, but he would still like to remain friends if that was possible.  Picking out the words one-handed, he offered his only other option.

‘Can I speak up for him at the arraignment?’ he asked.  ‘Tell the judge, or whoever, that he got his wires crossed?  He thought I was messing with family, and his new fiancée.  That can make some guys a little crazy, and Vincenzo wasn’t wrapped too tight to begin with.’

Curtis, peering over Gary’s shoulder as he typed, gave out a bark of laughter.  “You’ve got that right!  The guy is down there, now, trying to find out if he can get an Italian judge,” he grinned.  “He thinks a pisano will understand better and cut him a break.  So far, the closest he‘s come is an Irishman and a Greek.”

“Why would you go to all this trouble for the guy who almost killed you?” Paul asked.  “For Brigatti?  You do know that she’ll find some reason to stop speaking to you before the week is out.  She may even try, somehow, to make this out to be your fault.”

‘Elaine is engaged to him,’ Gary typed, choosing to ignore the snide comment.  ‘Did you know that?’

“We just found out,” Lois sighed.  “Poor girl.  She’s devastated that he was the one behind the shooting and everything.  Bonnie, Crystal, and Darlene are talking to her now.  She met him a little over a year ago, when she was on a tour in Italy.  He was driving the tour bus to pay his way through college.  He’s studying to be an architect.”

“He was,” Bernie amended with a tight-lipped grin.  “If he ends up spendin’ the next twenty years in the slammer, he can kiss that goodbye!”

Gary was typing furiously, often backspacing to correct his spelling, or to change what he wanted to say.  Finally, he turned the screen around so the others could read it.

‘I know he screwed up royally, this time,’ he’d written.  ‘Even worse than pulling a gun on a Treasury Agent.  He deserves to be punished, yes.  Isn’t there some way to do it without destroying the rest of his life?  Community service, maybe?  Like tutoring in Italian for free.  Or helping build youth centers.  There has to be something we can do!’

“I’ll talk with the DA,” Armstrong sighed.  “No promises, though.  He drew Rachel Stone as the prosecution.  She tells me you saved her life a few years ago.  Now she sees this as a way to help even the score.  I really don’t look for her to be cutting any deals.”

‘Could you try?’ Gary asked.  ‘Please?’

Paul read that final plea and sighed.  “Yes,” he murmured.  “I’ll try.  Just save what you’ve written so far to disc, and we’ll let her read it.  Maybe that will help.”

Gary quickly saved his text under a file named ‘Clemency,’ then typed another message.

‘Any word on how soon I can go home?’ he asked.

“A few days,” Jason told him.  “Give that wound a chance to heal some, watch for complications, and get your voice back.  You still have to walk that Diane chick down the aisle in a coupla weeks.  And she is seriously torqued at this Vincenzo guy for hurting you.  Again.”

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

The doctor finally pronounced Gary fit enough to go home by the 25th.  He was cautioned not to exert himself and drink plenty of liquids.  It was also suggested that something cold, like ice cream or sherbet would help with his sore throat. 

Crumb and Darlene had come by the morning after the opening of their play to let him know how everything had gone.

“The audience was packed!” Crumb related enthusiastically.  “Chris was a little nervous, takin’ over your part, but he did okay.  And Crystal had to move up to Elaine’s part, ‘cause of her backin’ out to take care of that psycho who tried t’ kill ya.  Oscar’s kid sister filled in for Crystal”

“It was chaos!” Darlene exclaimed happily.  “I don’t know how we got through it with so many cast changes, but we did.  And the audience loved it!  We had three curtain calls and a standing ovation!”

“Sorry I missed it,” Gary croaked.  “Was that Williams guy in the audience?”

A few days before Vincenzo’s assault, Gary had called the casting director and asked him to please come check out Crystal’s performance.  He had not told his young friend, though, afraid that it would make her too nervous to give it her best.

“He was,” Darlene told him with a smile.  “He was very impressed with our girl. He thinks she’ll be perfect for a small part in a project he’s working on.  They’re still casting, and won’t go into production for another month, so it won’t interfere with our performances.  We only planned on the play running a couple of weeks, anyway.  She’s so excited!  This could be the break she’s been praying for!”

“Hope so,” Gary rasped.  “She’s worked hard for this.” He swallowed past the tenderness in his throat before continuing.  “A-any word from P-Paul?”

“He’s talkin’ to an old friend of yours,” Crumb chuckled.  “A judge named Wellborn.  He’s gonna talk to the Feds and see what he can do to keep that bozo out of prison.  He’s thinks you’re as nuts as Vincenzo for goin’ to bat for the guy who tried to kill ya, but he thinks they can work somethin’ out.  As long as it keeps you from buggin’ ‘im.”

Which Gary readily agreed to.  A few days later, he was allowed to go home, as long as he promised to restrict his activities for another week.  Jason and Steve assured the doctor that he would do just that.  Whether he wanted to or not.

For the next several days, they would not let Gary so much as save a butterfly by himself.  It irked him to have to sit on the sidelines, but his two bodyguards were adamant.  Even though the stitches came out only three days after he was released, Gary was not allowed to lift anything heavier than his coffee cup.

“We got our orders from Diane,” Jason told him.  “She made it very clear that nothing was to happen to you.  If you aren’t there to walk her down the aisle, she will kill both of us.”

“She wasn’t kidding, either,” Steve shuddered.  “We screw this up, we’ll be looking for postings in the Antarctic.  If we move fast enough, we might live long enough to regret it.”

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

Diane stood before the full-length mirror and adjusted the bodice of her gown, smoothing down the flowing white satin material of the skirt.  Her bridesmaids plucked at the sleeves, puffing them out just so.  Her dark auburn hair was carefully arranged in a swept-back do that cascaded over her right shoulder.  The Maid of Honor set the tiara affixed to the veil at the proper angle, letting it trail down Diane’s back. 

This was it.  The Big Day.  Nervously, Diane glanced at the dressing room door.  Out there, in the cathedral proper, her mother sat with about sixty of her family and closest friends, with an equal number on the groom’s side.  Diane’s mother had balked at having a virtual stranger give her daughter away, at first.  Then she’d finally met Gary when he came in to start therapy for his shoulder.  His quiet courage, unflagging determination, and boyish charm had won her over long before the end of that first session. 

Speaking of Gary, where was he?  The music was playing!  It was almost time to start!  Diane cast another nervous look toward the door.  He had still been looking a little pale at the rehearsal dinner the other day.  Had he suffered another setback?  She earnestly prayed that he hadn’t, as much for his sake as her own.  He had suffered so much in the single year she had known him, it was about time something good came into his life.  In her mind’s eye, she could still, all too vividly, recall the day he was first shown the wheelchair that everyone thought would be his main, possibly his only, mode of personal transportation for the rest of his life.  How, at first, he had tried to put on a brave face, even cracking a few jokes.  Then had come the reaction she had been expecting for a long time.  He had stopped in the middle of the room, eyes staring straight ahead at a dismal future, and cried.  Quietly, at first, then in heartbreaking sobs of intense grief.  As she had gathered him into her arms, he’d wept on her shoulder like a child, clinging to her for the strength to go on.  She remembered telling him it was ‘okay.’  “No,” he’d told her, straightening up and drying his eyes.  “It’s not okay.  Not yet.  But, it will be.”  He had been right.  Eventually.

The Maid of Honor opened the door at the sound of a hesitant knock, and Diane breathed a sigh of relief.  Gary stood there, looking incredibly handsome in his rented tuxedo, a dark blue satin handkerchief artfully arranged in the left breast pocket, a yellow rosebud fastened to his lapel.  Even the livid scar under the right angle of his jaw could not spoil the effect. The corner of his mouth turned up in a shy smile as he eyed her appreciatively. 

“Walter’s a very lucky man,” he murmured, his voice still a little husky.  “He’s getting a jewel beyond price.  Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Diane replied tremulously.  “Let’s go.”

Gary gave her a look of open concern as he looped her arm over the crook of his elbow.  “Are you okay?”

“Of course not,” she laughed nervously.  “I’m terrified!  This is it!  The day I’ve been looking forward to almost from the instant we first met.  I’m finally going to become Mrs. Walter Beyeler, and I’m scared to death!”

“Just keep telling yourself how much you love him,” Gary suggested as he walked her to the entrance.  “And how happy you’re going to be together.”

“For how long?” Diane murmured shakily.

“Sorry?” Gary asked, unsure of her question.

“How long should I keep reminding myself?”

“If you’re lucky,” Gary mused as the music swelled, “the rest of your life.”

**********

Later, at the reception, Gary had to admit that everything had gone smoothly.  So far.  Diane and Walter were sharing the first waltz.  As the dashing young groom swept his radiant bride into his arms, they floated across the dance floor as if nothing else in the world mattered but this one precious moment.  Lost in the beauty, and the nostalgia, of the dance, Gary briefly lost track of time.  When the music ended, he glanced at his watch, jerking himself back to reality with a start.

Gary pulled his jacket open just enough to sneak another peek at the Paper.  ‘Tragedy Mars Nuptials.’  A structural defect in the ceiling of the banquet hall was going to drop the weighty chandelier on one of the couples during the next waltz.  Now, if he could just pick out Ed and Natalie Stearns! 

“You seem somewhat preoccupied.  Anything I can help you with?”

Startled, Gary turned to find Dr. Zimmerman standing almost at his elbow.  The genial neurologist had been Walter’s best man, which had pleased Diane to no end.  Walter was a resident studying under the kindly physician.

“I-I’m okay,” Gary murmured distractedly.  “Diane looks . . . sh-she’s beautiful.  Walter’s a lucky man.”

“And you’ve helped to make this the happiest day of her life, so far,” the doctor nodded.  “She told me that, initially, she asked you to give her away so that you would have something to look forward to.  Apparently, you were something of a mess when you came back from the West Coast.  She was afraid that you’d been given too many challenges at once.  You needed a goal.”

“She was right,” Gary replied softly, his attention on the couples beginning to crowd the dance floor.  “I was a mess.  Becoming a hermit had its attractions at that point.  Y-you wouldn’t happen to know the Stearns, would you?  Ed and Natalie?”

Puzzled, Dr. Zimmerman scanned the room until he spotted the young intern and his wife.

“The young man tripping over the feet of that tiny blonde,” he said, pointing them out.  “Why?  Did you want an introduction?”

“No time for that,” Gary murmured as he cast a worried glance at the ceiling.  He was sure he’d heard an ominous crack.  “S’cuse me, Doc.  Gotta run.”

With a loud cry that sent the other dancers scattering before him, Gary scooped the startled couple off their feet as the termite riddled support beam finally released its burden, sending the weighty chandelier crashing to the floor!  The impetus of Gary’s dive sent him and his burden crashing into the table holding some of the wedding presents.  He felt an electric shock run up his right arm as his wrist struck one of the stout wooden legs.  The impact also jarred the table enough to send a small bronze sculpture toppling . . . onto that same arm.  Choking back an agonized yelp, Gary cradled his injured extremity to his chest as he helped the young woman to her feet.  Her husband was assisting her from the other side, casting stunned glances toward the huge lighting fixture that now lay over a ten-foot radius of the hardwood floor.

“Y-you two . . . okay?” Gary asked through teeth clenched in pain.

“Fine, thanks to you,” Ed replied after giving his wife a quick once over.  “That thing woulda crushed us like bugs!  What about you?  Oh, man!  You’re hurt!  Let me see.”

The young intern sat Gary down in a nearby chair as everyone crowded around, those that hadn’t actually seen the amazing rescue, curious to know what had just happened.  Dr. Zimmerman, Diane, and Walter pushed their way to his side, concern and alarm clearly written all over their faces.  They got there just as Ed was carefully probing Gary’s wrist.  Gary bit back a choked cry as he felt something grate under that gentle touch.  His face had lost all its color, and he was bathed in fine beads of sweat as he fought not to scream.

“Th-that hurt,” he admitted with a gasp.  “Man, that hurts.”

“I think we’d better get you in for some x-rays,” Ed observed with a glance at Dr. Zimmerman.

“I concur,” the older physician nodded.  “At least one fracture.  Possibly a crush injury to that hand.  Diane, you and Walter see to your guests.  Dr. Stearns and I can handle this.”

“Man,” Gary groaned.  “I just got rid of that blasted sling a week ago.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Dr. Zimmerman smiled, “you probably won’t need a sling.  How are you on casts, though?”

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

“Two bones in the hand,” Dr. Stearns murmured as he looked at the most recent x-rays, “and a cracked ulna.  You’ve broken those before, it looks like.  But everything is healing nicely,” he reported.  “Another week or so and we can take that cast off.  How does it feel?  Still in a lot of pain?”

“Not so much now,” Gary sighed.  He’d really hoped to be rid of the cast, but it had only been a little over a month.  “Mostly it just itches.”

“You haven’t been sticking anything down in there to scratch, have you?” Ed asked, his expression clearly saying that he considered that a bad idea.

“A paint stirrer wrapped in some of those tissues with the lotion in them,” Gary admitted.  “I had to do something!  It was driving me nuts!”

“Well, you showed more sense than a lot of my patients,” the young intern replied with a relieved grin.  He looked up as Dr. Carter, who was supervising him this shift, came in with Gary’s chart in his hand. 

“We’re gonna have to see about getting you a seat on the board,” John Carter murmured distractedly.  “You’ve probably spent more time here than anyone else in the whole city.  How’s the shoulder?”

“A little stiff,” Gary replied with a shrug.  “It’s hard to do the therapy when I can’t use my hand, but Mom and Dad help me with the resistance exercises.  It’s coming along.”

Carter nodded as he studied the radiologist’s report.  “Dr. Stearns has told you that you’ll be stuck with that thing for another week or so?”  He smiled at Gary’s grumbled ’yeah.’  “Good.”  He stepped up, tilting Gary’s head to the left so that he could examine the scar under the taller man’s jaw line.  “You won’t even notice this by that time.  And the back?  Any problems there?”

“Not even a twinge,” was the welcome response.  “I’m back to jogging and doing the occasional wind sprints.  Seriously, the back is fine.”

Carter flashed a penlight in first one eye, then the other.  “No more headaches, trouble sleeping?”

“An occasional nightmare,” Gary sighed.  “And I still have flashbacks now and then, but not as bad as they were.  My therapy sessions are down to once a month.”  He held still as Carter gently probed his larynx.  “No tenderness there, either.  Honestly, Doc, except for the arm, I’m fine.”

“Whatever happened to the guy who tried to kill you?” Carter asked, noting Ed’s startled look.  This was the first the young intern had heard of it, apparently.  “Wasn’t he deported?”

“No,” Gary grinned.  “He was offered a kind of community service or prison.  He chose the first.  He’s now helping to build a new school in a little town just north of Fairbanks, Alaska.  They didn’t want him in the same part of the country as me.  Elaine went with him, as his new wife.  I got a letter from her last week .  She says it’s beautiful, and she may try to talk him into living up there permanently.”

“With five counts of attempted murder?” the young resident asked incredulously.  “How’d he swing that?”

Another shrug.  “I think it impressed the judge when the victim, me, spoke up on his behalf,” Gary ventured.  “The judge had to set a few precedents, and bend a lot of rules, but he pulled it off.  Mostly because he was being pressured by a county judge who remembered me from . . . well, he’s the same judge who excused me from jury duty.  Permanently.  I-I think he just wanted me out of his courtroom as quickly as possible.”

Before either doctor could respond to that, a small, energetic whirlwind burst into the treatment room, clambering into Gary’s lap and wrapping him in a tight hug.

“GaryGaryGary!” a tiny voice squealed.

“Elliot!” a woman’s voice exclaimed in exasperation.  A slender blonde woman came rushing in, tugging gently at the child’s arms.  “I told you to wait until we were sure!”  She looked up at a pair of very confused mud puddle green eyes.  “I don’t even know if you remember us,” she sighed.  “You were little more than half dead at the time.  We found you wrapped around my son in a snowdrift last December.  You saved his life.”

Gary looked at the wriggling child in amazement.  This was little Elliot?  The child he had crawled through the snow to find?  He vaguely recalled that desperate struggle.  It had occurred during one of those ‘low’ periods he had told Brigatti about.  He had checked into a flea trap of a motel on the outskirts of town to escape another scene with the fiery detective.  Still trapped in that wheelchair, not really sure if he wanted to live or die, he had been called to duty by the Paper. 

“I do remember,” he murmured, pulling the squirming child up into his lap with his good arm.  “Elliot?  I-it was . . . was just before Christmas, wasn’t it?”

“I was cold!” Elliot nodded.  “Momma made me stay in bed and I missed Santa!”

“But I’ll bet Santa didn’t forget you,” Gary replied with a wistful grin.  “Did you get lots of toys?”

“A small mountain of them,” Ed retorted with an indulgent smile of his own.  “Gary, you’ve obviously met my nephew, Elliot Granger.  This is my sister, Cassie.  I had no idea you were the man who . . . Weren’t you in a wheelchair?”

“Um, yeah,” Gary admitted, blushing.  “I was . . . I-I’d just had a f-fight with . . . a-anyway, I’m just glad I was able to help.”

“Help!” Cassie exclaimed.  “You saved my baby’s life!  When we got to my neighbor’s house and she said Elliot wasn’t . . . that the other children had taken him out to play . . . I’ll never understand why she didn’t make them go right back out and find him!  Then when your heart stopped and I saw the look on your mother’s face . . .”

“Sounds like I just heard the highlights before,” Dr. Stearns murmured in amazement. 

“Not even the tip of the iceberg,” Carter chuckled.  “Gary’s had a rough year.”

“I-it was pretty bad sometimes,” Gary shrugged, unable to take his eyes off the little boy who was fascinated by the cast.  “A lot of good came out of it, though.”  He looked closely at something on the back of the child’s neck.  “Has he got some kinda allergy or something?” he murmured.  “He’s got some red spots on his neck here.”

“Let me see,” Carter said.  “He’s been immunized, hasn’t he?” he asked the mother as he pulled down the boy’s collar.

“We were on our way to get his boosters,” she nodded. 

“Well, you can quit worrying about the chicken pox,” John sighed.  “He’s got it.  All over his back, from the looks of it.”

“Oh man,” Ed winced in sympathy.  “Poor little guy.  We’d better fit him with some mittens or something to keep him from scratching.”

“Does it itch?” Gary asked.  “It doesn’t look all that bad.”

All three of the other adults turned to look at the man holding the infected child.  Carter just closed his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh.

“Gary, please tell me you’ve had this when you were a kid,” he said.

“Not that I know of,” Gary shrugged.  “Why?  Is it contagious?”

Carter just buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he tried to decide if he should laugh or cry.  It could only happen to Gary.

“I’ll call upstairs for a room,” Ed offered.  “Cassie, you might want to admit Elliot, too.  His system is still a little weak from that cold he had last week.”

“Admit . . .”  Gary looked up at the three sympathetic faces, down to the child, then back to Carter.  “Is it serious?”

“Not usually, no,” John assured him.  “It’ll be worse on you than him, I can promise you.  He’s young and he’ll recover in less than a week, although we’ll want to watch him because of a recent illness he had.  You, on the other hand, will need to be watched for several days.  And may have to be sedated from time to time.”

“Me!  I’m not sick!” Gary protested.

“You will be,” Cassie assured him as she took the protesting child from his lap.  “Trust me on this, dear.  You will be.”

“W-wait!” he pleaded.  “Let me call Mom.  She’ll be able to tell us for sure.”

Carter quickly agreed, having a cordless phone brought to the room and handed through the door.  Until they were absolutely sure, there was no sense in taking chances.

“Hi, Marissa,” he murmured as soon as his partner answered the phone.  “Did Jason get off to the airport okay?  That’s good.  I wouldn’t want him to get in Dutch with the General.  Did Steve remember to pick up his dad and the others?  Good.  Um, is Mom around?  C-could you put her on, please?  Thanks.”  A short pause.  “H-hi, Mom. Yeah, my arm is coming along fine.  The cast has to stay on another week, though.  Um, Mom?  Do you happen to remember what childhood illnesses I’ve had?  Measles.  Mumps.  The flu a couple of times.  What about the . . . the Chicken Pox?” He winced as he held the phone away from his ear.  Everyone in the room could clearly hear her wail.

“Oh, Gary!”

Dazed, Gary allowed himself to be stripped, scrubbed, and dressed in hospital pajamas and a face mask.  He was then whisked off to Isolation, where he had several days to contemplate just how much trouble he could get into.  Without even trying.  On the plus side, they had promised to remove the cast before he was discharged.

*fini*

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 
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