Excerpt from Kindred Spirits:

Gary felt . . . strange.  Light, heavy, numb, sore.  So sore.  As he came closer to full consciousness, all the sensations began to sort themselves out.  Head, arm, shoulder, ribs.  Mostly head.  Had he been drinking?  He didn't usually drink that much, but this felt like he had really tied one on last night!  He brought his right hand up and felt . . . cloth.  Cloth?  Bandages? Slowly, his memory crept back.  Sung, the concert, the gun, Marissa.  "M'rissa?"

"I'm here, Gary!  I'm right here!"  She found his hand, clutching it like a lifeline.  "Thank God!  Gary, we've been so worried!  You've been unconscious for so long!"

"Any . . ."  He swallowed past the dryness in his mouth, vaguely recalling some comment he had made about kitty litter.  "Any one else . . . hurt?  You . . . 'kay?"

Marissa's smile was like sunshine.  "Yes! I'm fine, thanks to you.  And no one else was hurt either."  She abruptly turned serious.  "How could you do that, Gary?  Put yourself in such danger for me?"

"How . . . how can you . . . even . . . It was my fault!" he told her, bewildered.  "And you're my friend!  My best friend!  Why wouldn’t I help you?" God! His head hurt so bad! "Um . . . How long . . ."

"Two days."

He slowly turned his head towards the new voice.  Toni Brigatti and Paul Armstrong stood in the doorway.  "Wh-what?"

"You've been in and out for the last two days," Brigatti elaborated.  "Doc says the CT's and MRI's showed no serious brain damage.  So you should be outta here in . . .oh . . .a week."

"No," he protested.  "Not that long.  A day or two . . ."

"One . . . week," Armstrong told him in a no nonsense tone.  "I've got a set of handcuffs to chain you to that bed, if we have to."

"You don't understand," he pleaded.  "I have respons . . . responsibilities!"  God!  Even to himself, he sounded too weak to move!  How would he ever convince them!  "Marissa!  Please...!"

"What you have is a concussion, a broken arm, and two cracked ribs," Brigatti informed him.  "Plus major blood loss.  You are going nowhere!"

"Peter and his father said they would take over your . . .responsibilities . . .whatever they are, until you're completely well," Armstrong assured him.

"And that's final," Marissa told him.  "I can handle the bar, so you have no excuses!  You will rest, Gary Hobson!  If we have to take turns sitting on your chest!"

The gleam in Brigatti's eyes promised that he should probably take that literally, where she was concerned.

"Um! You win," Gary sighed.  "So, tell me what I missed."

"Well," the tall detective shrugged, "we caught Sung on video, in the act of shooting you in the back.  That was enough for the States Attorney to file charges.  The others were all rounded up at the Center.  Not much else to say there, except that we can convict him, now, of attempted murder even without your testimony."

"But you still need me to get him for murder one," Gary finished with a sigh.

Paul shook his head. "Stone says they might be able to get that just from the wire," he said hopefully.  "The States Attorney's Office really wants to rush this through.  They hope to have all this over with before you're in any shape to testify."

"Nice of her," Gary mumbled.  He was starting to feel drowsy again.

"She said she owed you that much."

"Speaking of owing, Mr. and Mrs. Chandler send their regards," Brigatti shrugged.  "They said they had to be in Knoxville for a few days, but they'd stop by to check on you before they return home.  And that somebody named Lula(?) . . . had found someone you just had to meet.  Whatever that means.  Oh! He wants to talk to you about cutting a demo!  He was listening when we played back the tape from your wire.  Said to tell you . . . What did he say, Paul?"

"That Hobson had a pretty good singing voice," the big detective smiled.  "That with just a little training, you could have a future in country music."

Gary eyes widened in horror!  Singing?  He had been singing?  Out loud?  Oh, this just kept getting better!

"He especially liked your rendition of 'Homeward Bound', "Brigatti smiled.  "Said it was almost as good as the original."

Mortified, Gary groaned as he tried to bury his head under the sheets.  Could it get any worse?

"Excuse me," a strangely familiar voice drawled.  "Is this Gary Hobson's room?  An old friend asked me to look him up."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then . . .

"Oh . . . my . . . God!" exclaimed Brigatti.  "You look just like . . . Oh, this is too much!  Gary, you've got to see this guy!"

Slowly, Gary lowered the covers until he could see the new arrival.  At first, all he saw was the Stetson hat.  Then the clothes.  Checked flannel shirt and jeans.  Very expensive snakeskin boots.  The height and build...the face.... Ohmigod!  That face!

"You . . . you must be . . ." he stammered.

"Yessir. My name's Buddy Jackson."

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


Triple Play
   by Polgana


The resemblance was incredible.  The young man standing just inside the door to Gary's room could have been his twin brother.  He stepped further into the room, laying his hat and sheepskin coat on an empty chair.  From the expression on his face, he was just as stunned as the rest of them.

"Damn!" he exclaimed.  "Lula wasn't kiddin'!"   He reached down, grasping Gary's chin and gently turning his head to get a better look at the fading bruises.  "Course, right now, you look like I did after those leg breakers in LA got through with me.  Whose girlfriend did you steal a kiss from?"

Blushing furiously, Gary pushed the hand away.

"W-wasn't like that," he protested weakly.  No wonder Earl disliked this guy.  "Umm, Mr. Jackson, these are my . . . my friends, Marissa Clark, Toni Brigatti, and Paul Armstrong.  Toni and . . . and Paul . . ."

"Chicago PD," Armstrong finished for him.  "And what kind of business would you have with         . . .'leg breakers,' Mr. Jackson?"

"Not anything I'd want the police in on," Jackson replied with a smirk.  "Besides, that was a couple of years ago.  I've paid my dues on that one.  I'm a songwriter now," he stated proudly. "Got three on the top forty.  And two more climbin' the charts."

"Umm, tha . . . that's nice," Gary stammered drowsily.  In spite of the excitement of meeting his 'twin,' Gary was finding it hard to stay awake.  "G-gonna be . . . in town . . . long?"

"Coupla weeks," Jackson shrugged.  "The Songwriter's Guild is havin' a convention soon. Why?"

 Although finding it harder and harder to remain alert, Gary could not suppress a grin.  "Drop by my place . . . corner o' Illinois an' Franklin," he offered.  "Give my folks a shock."

Brigatti and Armstrong exchanged a startled look.  "How'd you know your parents were in town?" she asked.  "They just got in this morning."

Gary was having trouble staying focused.  What had she said?  His parents?  "Mom and . . . Dad? When . . .?  Oh.  Umm, figured . . . some-someone'd called 'em . . . by now . . . I'm a li'l tired . . ."  His voice faded as he drifted back into oblivion.

Brigatti gave his hand a gentle squeeze as his eyes drifted shut.  They had been warned that he might still drift in and out for a while.  The bullet that had creased his head had dug a pretty deep furrow, requiring a double layer of stitches.  His memory would be a little iffy too.  No wonder he had looked so confused.  For a moment, she just watched him, reassured by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

"What the hell happened to 'im?" Buddy asked, alarmed at how rapidly the other man had slipped into unconsciousness.

"He was shot in the head," Armstrong replied bluntly.  "Third, no, fourth time he's been shot this week. It was twice in the warehouse, wasn't it, Toni?"

The tiny brunette shrugged, never taking her eyes off the young man who so infuriated . . .and amazed her.  What had Caine said?  A heart bigger that the whole damned city.  And, fortunately, a head as hard as steel.  "Yeah," she responded absently.  "A graze across the back.  And a deeper one under the left ribs.  The one in the shoulder he got a coupla days later.  After he and Caine stopped that attack in the park, but before he talked that lady out of jumping.  Our boy's had one hell of a week."

It was now Buddy's turn to be stunned. Just who was this twin of his?  What kind of work was he in?  He was almost afraid to ask.  "The, ahm, the arm?"

"A lighting arrangement fell on him," the pretty black woman said, a little hitch in her voice. "He . . . he was trying to get me away from kidnappers.  By trading his life for mine.  He . . . they made the . . . the trade.  When Gary tried to make a run for it . . . they started shooting."  Tears were streaming down her cheeks at the memory.  She had never been so terrified!  Not even when Gary had been trapped in that derelict carpet store.  She traced a shaky hand over the healing scratches around his eyes.  "They said he couldn't see.  That he was . . . he was stumbling around . . . The lights and the noise . . . He must have been so frightened!"

Toni knelt down and gathered Marissa in her arms. It was all the encouragement the young blind woman needed to let go with heart wrenching sobs of pent up fear and relief.

"M-Marissa?"

The two women sprang apart, Marissa hurriedly wiping her eyes. "I'm still here, Gary," she replied with a little sniffle.

"You're cryin'. Wha's wrong?"

"Nothing, Gary," she told him in her most soothing voice.  "Just so happy we got out of this alive.  Go back to sleep now.  I'll be here when you wake up."

"No you won't," he told her, struggling to sit up.  Toni reached over and raised the head of the bed for him.  "Thanks.  Armstrong or . . . or Brigatti can take you home.  No buts," he quickly squelched her protest.  "Kn-knowing you, you've been here . . . the whole time.  Go home. Someone's gotta take," he paused to swallow past the dryness in his throat, "take care of the place. Mom's pro'bly got all she can do . . . to keep Dad from givin' away all our stock."  He gave her a lopsided smile, knowing she could sense better than others could see.  "Go.  Get some rest.  I'll be fine."

Armstrong took the hint and gently assisted Marissa to her feet.  Instantly, the golden retriever that had been lying in the corner stood and walked up to her left side, waiting patiently for her to grasp his harness.

"C'mon," the big detective urged. "Reilly's anxious to go. He knows Meredith is waiting to spoil him."

With a ragged little sigh, Marissa gave in to the gentle bullying.  She gave Gary a quick peck on the cheek, then finally allowed herself to be led from the room.

Puzzled, Buddy took the vacated chair as Brigatti held a cup of water up to the injured man's mouth, urging him to drink.  Finally giving in to his curiosity, Jackson asked: "Just what is it you do that gets you tore up this bad?"

"Hmm?" Gary had almost drifted back to sleep, having forgotten about his odd visitor.  "Oh. I, ahm, I run a bar.  McGinty's. Check it out."  He yawned sleepily.  "Say hi to my folks for me."

Still mystified, Buddy looked to the pretty cop for answers.  She just shrugged as she pulled the covers up to Gary's chin.  "Don't look at me," she told him.  "I've known him a few years, and I still haven't figured it out."

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

The next time Gary woke up, his face was turned to the window.  First, he noticed that it was dark outside. What time was it?  Then he noticed the slim figure sleeping in the chair.  What was Brigatti doing here, he wondered.  Should he let her know he was awake?  The matter was taken out of his hands as she stretched languorously, failing to smother a huge yawn.  Her jaws snapped shut with a click when she noticed him watching her.

"Hi," he greeted her in a quiet voice, just barely above a whisper.

"Hi yourself," she replied with another yawn. "Howya feelin'?"

"Better. Y'okay?"

"Me?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "I'm not the one who got beat up, shot, and drug around by a cold-blooded killer. Not to mention leaving a bloody trail over half of Chicago."

Gary gave her a sleepy grin. "Just a few blocks," he corrected her. His lazy smile faded, to be replaced by a thoughtful frown. "We . . . we need to talk," he stammered self-consciously, looking away. "About . . . about what happened last Christmas.  We‘ve had that . . .and other things hanging over us much too long now.  I just thought . . . well, first things first."

Brigatti straightened up in her chair. Somehow, she wasn't really surprised. She had wondered how much longer he could sit on his anger and resentment. Toni prepared herself to receive the brunt of his disappointment and accusations. What she got surprised her.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. His good hand plucked nervously at the blanket as he talked. "I . . . well, I may’ve over reacted.  I never thought that . . . that you intended things to . . . to happen the way they . . . did.  And you were right.  I was still way too angry last time to talk about it rationally and I said some things . . . A-anyway, W-Winslow said that it’s been . . . that you’ve been . . . I-I’m not gonna press any charges or . . . or anything.” he finished lamely, unable to meet her eyes.  “I just wish things had happened . . . differently.  Th-that m-maybe we could’ve . . . could’ve had something we could . . . build on.  Something . . . something good.”

Brigatti jumped to her feet and took a few paces towards the door. Gary thought she was going to leave, but she stopped after only two steps, putting both hands over her face.  Finally, she lowered her hands, placing one on her hip.  The other wiped repeatedly at her cheeks.

“Th-thank you,” she said, her back still to him.  “That . . . that has been . . . bothering me for . . . well, since it happened.  I can’t begin to tell how . . . terrible I’ve felt over some of the . . . the awful things I said b-before you left.  The way I just . . . just trampled all over your rights a-and your feelings.  It wasn’t right, and you have every reason to . . . to hate me.  Out of my own  . . . my own revulsion at what I had done, I attacked you, the injured party, as if it were all your fault.  And you’re apologizing to me?”  Toni spun around suddenly, eyes flashing.  “Where the hell do you get off apologizing?  Especially after my cousin almost killed you!  I should be down on my knees begging your forgiveness!”

Startled by her sudden outburst, Gary could only shrug with a sheepish grin, saying simply, "If that‘s what you want, then you‘re forgiven."  He pushed himself up a little straighter in the bed.  "So, um . . . we're okay, now?  At least, well, friends again?"

Hesitantly, Toni Brigatti sat on the edge of the bed.  The look Gary turned on her was so full of hope . . . and fear . . . And those damned mud puddle green eyes . . . She was suddenly holding him in a tight, desperate hug.  She eased back when he tried to smother a grunt of pain.  "Damn you, Hobson," she repeated with a broken sob.  "You're gonna make me like you in spite of everything!"

Gary had been putting as much into the embrace as she was.  At her words, however, he pulled back slightly, smiling down at her. "Like?"

Laughing, Brigatti leaned her head against his broad chest. "You're pushin' it, Hobson."

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

It was getting late when Buddy Jackson finally made his way to Gary’s place of business.  His first impression of McGinty’s was of a place that didn’t ‘scream’ anything.  It spoke softly of cold beer and a warm welcome.  It wasn’t large and loud.  Rather small and . . . neighborly.  It boasted no pretentious ‘atmosphere’ or ‘aesthetics.’  It was a place to hang out with friends or family alike.  

As he walked through the inner door, he saw the main bar stretching out before him, a row of shelves covering two thirds of a large window behind it.  A slightly smaller bar occupied the adjoining wall behind him.  Half a dozen tables were spaced out in a double row leading outward from the smaller bar. Two more sat against the far wall between two brass railings. Directly across from the main bar was a raised area on which he could see a couple of pool tables and a jukebox.  Three large windows would let in plenty of light in the daytime.   In some ways it was like any number of honkytonks and bars he had visited across the country, but something was . . . different.  It was almost . . . homey.

“Oh my God! Gary?”  Buddy turned back to see a tiny blonde woman coming through a door at the end of the larger bar.  She was not young, yet he would be hard pressed to guess her age.  Over forty, at least.  He quickly snatched off his Stetson, which did nothing to diminish her confusion.  “When did you . . .?  Oh, I am so glad to see you . . .!”  She enveloped him in a hug that threatened to steal his breath away!  He was tempted to go with it.  It just felt so . . . right, somehow.  Almost instantly, however, he felt her tense up.  She slowly stepped back, looking him up and down more closely.  “You . . .you’re not . . . I mean, you look like him, but . . .you can’t be my son.”

Buddy stepped back with an awkward grin.  “What gave me away?”

“No bandages,” she replied quickly.  “And no cast.  Gary has a broken arm.  The same one with the bullet hole in the shoulder.  My son may be a fast healer, but even he can’t mend broken bones in less than a week.  So, now that we know who you aren’t, how about telling me just who you are,” she finished, crossing her arms and fixing him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, um, I’m Buddy Jackson,” he replied nervously, running his hands in slow circles around the brim of his hat.  “An old . . . friend . . .of mine, Lula Rogers . . . she told me about this fella here in Chicago that she said looked just like me.  Well, that kinda tickled my interest, so, since I had to be in town for a songwriter’s convention later this month, I figured I’d just mosey on up a little early and check this fella out.  Once I got here, and hooked up with Lula, she tells me he’s in the hospital.  So, I finally find him, and danged if she ain’t right!  We could'a been hatched outta the same egg!  Anyway, since he still wasn’t feelin’ too swift, he suggested I come check out his place and meet the folks, meanin’ you, I reckon.  And, well . . . here I am,” he finished with a slight hand spreading gesture.  He glanced around in open admiration.  “It’s nice,” he commented.  “Kinda laid back and homey.  Business Good?”

“He gets by,” Lois replied evasively.  “Aside from showing me your uncanny resemblance to my son, how can I help you, Mr. Jackson?”

Buddy stopped worrying at his hat long enough to run his right hand through thick, dark hair in a nervous gesture so familiar, it sent a chill up Lois’ spine.

“Well, you see,” he began, “that’s where it gets . . . Lula knows I was adopted.  And ever since I was old enough to be out on my own, I’ve been lookin’ to find out if I have any real blood kin left somewhere.  You see, I was found a few hunnerd feet from this burnt out wreck in an arroyo a few miles outside of Fort Hood.  This was right after a tornado had ripped through the countryside around Killeen, and that thing could’a been sucked up nigh onto fifty miles away.  Or more.  There wasn’t enough left to even run a make on it.  It might’a been a Ford, but they couldn’t be sure.  It was all twisted up like a mess o’ barbed wire.  Hell, for that matter there was nothing to say I was ever in it to begin with.  I could’a been dropped off by coyotes for all any one knew!  So, when someone tells me there’s a fella in Chicago who looks enough like me to fool Lula, who knows me real well, I had to come see for myself!  You, um, you know what I mean?”

Lois listened to his rambling, nervous discourse until he finally ran out of words.  It certainly sounded plausible.  And it stirred up vague memories.  Coming to a decision, she took the arm of the young man who looked so much like her absent son, and led him toward the office.

“Very well,” she said in a matter of fact tone.  “First things first.  My name is Lois.  Only my son ever gets to call me ‘Mom.’  And ’Mrs. Hobson’ is only used by those I’m royally ticked at.   Second, if I’m going to help you, I need details.  Lots and lots of details.  Starting with: who is this Lula?  How well do you know her?  And how well does she know my son?  Oh!  And just wait ‘til Bernie sees you!” she added with a laugh.

“Um, who’s Bernie?”

“My husband and Gary’s father,” Lois replied.  “He thinks he’s seen it all.  Just follow my lead.  We will . . .blow . . .his . . . mind!”

*****************    

It was a warm, windy September morning when they finally let Gary go home.  He was still weak from the long period of inactivity, and from the occasional killer headache. Fortunately, they were finally decreasing in frequency and severity after earning him an extra ten days in the hospital.  An infection had put him in Intensive Care for most of that time. His parents were fussing over him as the nurse entered with a wheelchair. He took one look at it and immediately began to complain.

"I don't need that!" he protested. "I can walk just fine!"

"We noticed, dear," Lois Hobson smiled. "Right about the time you hit the floor."

Gary shot her a look. "I didn’t!"

"Almost," his father chimed in. "If we hadn't been here . . ."

"I just . . . got a little dizzy . . . for a moment," the younger Hobson tried to explain. "When the room stopped moving, I was okay."

"We could always send you home in the ambulance," the nurse smiled sweetly. "Think how impressed your neighbors will be."

Grumbling about conspiracies, Gary finally gave in. His mood was not improved in the least when he found a blue and white police cruiser waiting at the door.

"This is 'low profile'?" he hissed to his parents. "Where's the brass band?"

"Don't be such a grouch, Gary," his mother teased. "That nice Captain Simms wanted to show her appreciation that’s all."

"Yeah, kiddo," Bernie said with a big grin at his only son. "Just think of it as an honor guard."

Gary glared at the squad car, then at his father. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The way his father wouldn't meet his gaze aroused his suspicions. The fact that his mother also kept looking away and trying not to smile made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. What were they planning?

Thirty minutes later, they pulled up in front of McGinty's. 'At least they didn't use the sirens,' he consoled himself. The flashing lights had been bad enough! As he was helped from the car, however, his uneasiness grew. The uniformed cops were having a hard time keeping straight faces. And his dad was grinning from ear to ear. That was bad. And his mom still wouldn't look him in the eyes. That was worse than bad. What were they up to?

The moment he walked into he front door of the bar, the band started up. A moment later, he was assailed with,

"They call me the Fireman! That's my name.
I run around all over town, puttin' out old flames!"

Dusty Wyatt and his band were set up on the raised platform that had once held Patrick's karaoke machine. And the bar was packed! Dazed, Gary was led to a place of honor near the impromptu stage.  Some part of his mind gradually took in the elaborate decorations, the banner spread above the back of the room, and . . . finally . . . the faces of the people who crowded the room. So many of them looked familiar. There was Virginia Dawson. The woman who was ready to kill herself just a few weeks ago. Paul Armstrong and his wife, Meredith. Toni Brigatti stood near the bar, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Detective Griffin, Peter Caine, and his father. Next to them was a little Oriental man he didn't recognize, but who looked older than the hills. And a pretty blonde had Peter by the arm, laughing at some joke. Captain Simms was there, as were Detective Winslow, Miguel Diaz, Molly Greene, and Rachel Stone with her husband. Even Marion Crumb was there! It suddenly dawned on Gary just where he had seen all the others. He had, at one time or another, aided each and every one of them in some way! Gary suddenly wanted to find a really deep hole, crawl in, and pull it in after him!

Mrs. Chandler was behind the bar, with Lula Rogers and Buddy Jackson.  The three of them were mixing up drinks like Tom Cruise in the movie ‘Cocktails‘!  Everyone was laughing, singing, and having a wonderful time!  People he barely remembered kept coming up to him to say 'thank you' and 'how do you feel?'.  A lot of them kept looking at him, then at Buddy with the most incredulous looks on their faces.  Several people stopped to comment on the uncanny resemblance, asking if they were twins.  Still, they were obviously enjoying themselves immensely.  So why was he so . . . tense?  It was like he was watching a movie, where he knew something that the revelers didn't; about some impending disaster, looming just over the horizon . . . but what?

Miguel was suddenly in front of him with that ever-present camera that was like an extension of him.  He had intended to snap a candid shot of Hobson enjoying some well-deserved admiration, but lowered his camera at the last second.  Hobson wasn't smiling.  Instead, he seemed on the verge of panic!

"You okay, man?"

Gary nodded absently as his eyes drifted around the room, visibly wincing at each familiar face.  "I . . . I'm fine, I guess.  It's just . . . Major déjà vu, ya know?  What are all these people . . . How did you manage to find . . . so many . . ."?

"Oh, that part was easy," the photojournalist shrugged.  "The real problem was paring the list down so we didn't end up SRO."  At Gary's puzzled look, he translated.  "Standing Room Only. Remember, I have a file goin' back almost four years on you, Hobson.  I still think you'd make one hell of a story."

At that, Gary went so white, Miguel thought he was going to pass out.  Damn! He'd better watch it! The man was just out of the hospital, after all.

"Please, Miguel," he pleaded in a near whisper.  "Don't go there! I can't . . . I can't do what I do . . . if people are pointin' at me and . . . askin' me questions I can't answer.  It's bad enough when they think I'm nuts!"

"You mean you're not?"

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

On stage, Dusty was watching the whole exchange.  They had gone to a lot of trouble to set up this little shindig.  It had been intended as a ‘thank you’ for Gary and Peter, for their having saved Harley and Lula from a gang of young bucks looking for trouble.  Gary didn't seem to be enjoying the attention much.  In fact, he looked downright spooked.  How had this backfired?

Then the guy with the camera said something that made Gary laugh, and the tension seemed to drain out of him.  'I guess the shock is wearin' off,' Dusty told himself as he began singing 'You Know Me Better Than That'.  Gary's mom brought him a soda, no alcohol with pain meds, and sat down next to her son.  It had surprised the Chandlers that the people closest to Hobson had taken the boy's actions so calmly.  They had been concerned over his injuries, of course.  The rest they seemed to shrug off.  Like it was old hat.

“She still thinks I‘m perfect and that I like that cat.
But you know me better than that!”

******

"We need to talk, son."

Uh Oh.  That tone could only mean a lecture was coming up.  Gary took a sip of his soda and waited for her to continue.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you," she began calmly, "not to go into a fight when you're already injured?  If Mr. Blackstone hadn't disarmed that young man when he did, I'd be listening to sad songs at your funeral.  You had a perfectly healthy bodyguard that you refused to take advantage of."    She held up one hand as he started to speak.  "Don't interrupt.  From everything I've heard about him, he was more than capable of handling the situation alone.  And, at the hotel, why were you protecting him instead of him protecting you?  Can you explain that one to me?"

Gary waited patiently, sipping at his drink and nodding.  Once Lois indicated she was done, he took a deep breath and began his explanation.

"First of all," he told her, "it was one of those things I had to be personally involved in, or it wouldn't have turned out right.  Don't ask how I knew that. I just did.  Also, if I hadn't been involved, I wouldn't have thought to ask Dusty for help in rescuing Marissa.  And we both might have died.  At the hotel . . . Peter would have died.  While looking out for me, he would've seen the first shooter, but not been able to stop the second.  They popped out at the same moment.  I thought about warning him, and the headline became a pitched gun battle that dragged out for hours with even more people getting killed.  Because of me.  I couldn't have that.  So I took the bullet.  And I lived.  End of story."

Lois looked at her only child.  He looked tired.  "You'd do it again, wouldn't you."  It was not a question.  "Just like all the times you've dashed in front of speeding cars.  Even after being hit by one.  You'll take whatever risk you have to.  As long as you can keep one more person from being hurt."

Gary shot her a lopsided grin.  "I hope it never comes up again," was his quiet reply.  "If it does, well . . . We'll see.  I hope I still have the . . . the courage."

Mrs. Hobson smiled as she stood to go.  Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she ruffled his dark hair.

"I have no doubts about your courage," she told him.  "Just your survival instincts."

"Wait."  Gary took another sip of his soda while he considered what to say next.  "Um, how did you know?  About the car."  He ducked his head to hide his embarrassment, suddenly fascinated by the coaster.  "I mean . . . well, it never came up before."

"Gary! I'm your mother!" she exclaimed in a teasing tone.  "Do you really think there is anything I don't know about you?"

After days of watching her son fighting to hide his pain and misery, the smile he gave her then was like the sun coming out after a thunderstorm.

"Chuck?"

"Couldn't keep a secret from me if his life depended on it," she confirmed.  "And you shouldn't!"  She stroked his chin gently.  “When that Dr. Zimmerman seemed to know you so well last year,” Lois explained, “I was a little curious.  He wouldn’t tell me anything, so . . . I grilled Chuck.”

Gary's red face belied his shy grin.  Poor Chuck!   About that time, the band started up 'I Cross My Heart.'  He vaguely recalled telling Dusty that it had been played at his wedding.  Had he mentioned the divorce?   He couldn't remember.  As bittersweet memories threatened to get the better of him, he decided he needed to lighten up.  Just for this one day.  Slowly he stood up and offered his hand to his Mom.

"Mrs. Hobson, may I have the honor of this dance?"

Lois gave him a flirtatious smile and took his hand.  "Why, sir, I thought you would never ask!"

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

It was getting late, and most of the crowd had started drifting out hours ago.  The Armstrongs had been the first to go, stating they had to pick up their child at the babysitter's. That had been the beginning of a slow exodus, with Rachel Stone and her husband being the last to leave. She had assured Gary that he would not be called on to testify any time soon as the grand jury had only indicted Sung that morning. Sung had been arraigned on charges of kidnapping, attempted kidnapping, and one count of attempted murder. It did not warrant the death penalty; but if found guilty, he would be locked away for the next fifty years. At least.  Also, because of his open attempt on Gary’s life, he was being held without bail until his case came up for trial.

The fact that he would not have to be looking over his shoulder for the next few months was a great relief to Gary. It did nothing to allay his nightmares, but at least he could still walk around in the light of day.
 
Miguel had insisted on a few pictures of Gary with Buddy and of the two of them with Dusty and the band.  He got them on the condition that he not mention anything about Gary’s injuries or how he had obtained them.

“Oh! These are for the bar, man!” the photojournalist smiled. “And a nice little fluff piece for the Sunday supplement.  Promise.”

Finally there was just the McGinty's crew, the band, and Buddy Jackson left.  Gary wandered over to where Dusty and Buddy were sharing a table.  It had not been his intention to eavesdrop, but the conversation made him stop just a few feet away, his gaze anywhere but on the two men.

"You, um, you played my song tonight," Buddy was saying as he rolled the glass in his hands nervously.  "Hadn't heard it in a while.  You even . . . even played it like . . . "

Dusty took a swig of his beer before responding.  "Figured it was time to let bygones be bygones," the singer shrugged.  "You've mellowed out some, Buddy.  Not as hungry, or as angry as you were then."

"Or as stupid," the younger man agreed with a lopsided grin.  "That stunt with the reporter . . . I can't believe I was so . . . desperate for attention.  'Blinded by the light,' so to speak. I was cocky and eager and . . ."

"Young," Dusty chuckled.  "God, you weren't much more than a pup, Buddy!   In a hurry to make a name for yourself, that was all.  We all could’ve handled things better.  We let all the smoke and the lights blind us to what was really important."

"The music," the young songwriter agreed with a nod.  He held up his bottle in a toast.  "To the music."

"To the music." Dusty took another drink of his beer.  As he set the bottle on the table, he looked over at the young barkeep.  "Might as well join us, Gary," he drawled.  "After all, it's your party."

“And your place,” Buddy added with a grin. “Although everybody kept thinkin’ I was you.”

Red faced, Gary took a chair.  "Sorry.  Didn't mean to intrude," he mumbled.  "Just . . .I guess I was curious about . . .What I meant was . . ."

"I was a real SOB," Buddy chuckled.  "So full of myself, I rubbed my own family the wrong way.  Hell, thinkin' back, I'm surprised I've lived this long!  I've cheated people.  Stole to keep food in my belly.  Got hooked up with criminals and various other lowlifes.  And still cain't get my brain out of neutral before my mouth hits overdrive.  I knew I had talent, but wasn't willin' to . . .I dunno, let it develop, I guess.  I wanted everything fast and easy.   Had to find out the hard way how to earn respect."

Gary nodded soberly.  "That's a hard lesson to learn," he agreed.  "A lot of people never do."

"You seem to've learned it pretty good," Dusty commented with a grin. "Everybody thinks highly of you around here."

"Those people tonight were a minority," Gary chuckled, not catching the look on Dusty's face when he did.  "Ask anyone at the 27th precinct, where Brigatti and Armstrong work, they'll use the words 'nut' and ‘crackpot’ . . .a lot.  Along with a few choice words you can't use in front of your kids.  No, I was taught that you get back as much respect as you give.  As long as I can look at myself in the mirror, I'm okay."

"You two even laugh alike," the singer remarked with a shake of his head.  "And I've been meanin' to ask you something, Gary.  How come, while you were runnin' for you life from that Sung character, you and Peter were in the park at the precise time Harley and Lula needed rescuin'?  And most of the folks here tonight told pretty much the same story.  Are you some kind of trouble magnet or something?"

"Something like that," Gary hedged.  "I just have this . . .knack for landing in the thick of things."  He tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a yawn.  "Sorry. Long day."

"And you just out of the hospital," Buddy apologized.  "We'd better let you get some rest.  I'll come by in the morning.  About nine?  I promised Marissa to help Gene bring some stock up from the cellar."

Gary started to protest, until he remembered the cast on his left arm.  And the sling.  If he managed to reopen that wound, he'd never hear the end of it.  "'Preciate that," he sighed. "It's gonna be awhile before I'm fit for the heavy lifting."

"For any lifting," Buddy remarked as he and Dusty stood to go.  "Take care of yourself, pal. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll say my 'good-byes' now," Dusty told him. "The band and I have to be in N'Orleans in a coupla days.  Been great gettin' to know ya, Gary. Keep yourself safe."

Gary just grinned as he shook their hands.  "I try never to make promises I can't keep," he drawled tiredly.  "but I'll try to stay in one piece."

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

Trying to smother a cavernous yawn, Gary dragged himself up the stairs to his loft.  He was really looking forward to sleeping in his own bed again.  Not that the hospital beds were uncomfortable.  They just weren't his bed.

Halfway up the stairs, he looked up to see a light on in his room.  Pausing, he wondered who could be up there at this time of night.  Buddy had left with Dusty and his band just a few minutes ago.  Everyone else had been gone for nearly an hour.

Various scenarios ran through his mind as he took a cautious step.  Could it be Miguel, still trying for a story?  Or one of the kids from the park looking for a little payback for their humiliation at his and Peter's hands?  Or . . . Oh, God!  What if Sung had sent someone to 'take care' of him?  The man might be in jail, awaiting trial, but he still had connections to the outside.  The image that had haunted his nightmares for the past week or so flashed through his mind.  The image of a single eye staring out of a shattered face . . .

"You gonna stand out there all night, Hobson?"

Startled, Gary almost missed the step, catching himself at the last second.  Heart racing, he peered up the stairwell at a familiar silhouette standing in his doorway.

“Christ, Armstrong!  Give me a heart attack, why don’t ya?” Gary gasped as he slumped against the wall, his knees turning to jelly. “I thought you went home hours ago!”

The tall black detective stepped out on the landing, shaking his head.  “Sent Meredith to pick up the baby,” he said with a shrug.  “You and I need to talk.”

Nervously, Gary continued up the stairs.  Why was it everyone was so chatty lately?  Once in his loft, Gary made a beeline for the bed.  Easing himself onto the mattress, he kicked his shoes off with a sigh.  Having done that, Gary half turned to face his unexpected guest.  Paul was not trying very hard to conceal his amusement.

“What’s so funny?” Gary grumbled.

“You,” the big detective replied with an evil grin. “Who did you think I was?  Sung?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Gary shot back.  “Or someone sent by him.  The last coupla weeks haven’t exactly been the vacation of a lifetime.  Do you know some of the stuff they did to me in that hospital this past week alone?  I’ve never had so many . . . I was perfectly capable of bathing myself.  And I certainly didn‘t need one after every meal!  I‘ve been shaved so often, I‘m surprised I have any skin left!”

It was taking everything Paul had to keep a straight face.  He had heard how just about every unattached nurse in the place had taken turns ‘attending’ to ‘the incredible hunk‘, as some of them had taken to calling Hobson. It had become something to tease Toni about at least.  Although, surprisingly, Winslow had been very watchful of his partner‘s reactions.

“Now what’s so important it couldn’t wait ‘til morning?” Gary asked wearily.

That innocent phrase acted like a splash of ice water. Armstrong seemed almost as nervous now as Gary had felt on the stairs.  He paced in front of the sofa, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“Toni tells me that you two have . . . worked out your differences, so to speak, on whatever came between you two last year,” he ventured.

“We . . .talked,” Gary admitted cautiously. “Why?” Suddenly he didn’t feel nearly as sleepy as he had a few seconds ago.  What did he know?

“She suggested that, since you’ve suddenly developed this strange affinity for hospitals,” he commented with a wry grin, “that I should try to clear up a few things while we have the chance.  So . . . here I am.”

“To talk about . . . what, exactly?” Gary said by way of encouragement.

“That whole Scanlon/Savalas mess,” he sighed.

Gary sat up a little straighter as he felt a chill go up his spine at just the mention of the rogue cop’s name.  That was not a period in his life he wanted to relive!  Still, it had lain like an open wound between them for too long.  “Wh-what about it?” he asked cautiously.

The big detective gingerly sat in the armchair, turning it so that he was half-facing Gary, his hands now clasped in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.  

“Because I owe you a huge apology, “ he sighed.

“For not believing me?” Gary wondered aloud. “That’s  . . .”

“For sandbagging you,” Paul said in a rush of words.  “The lie detector test,” he added at Gary’s puzzled look.  “I fed the technician a few extra . . . questions.  If he had stuck to the ones dealing with Scanlon, you would’ve passed the test easy.  But . . . You’re so secretive!  And you never have a rational explanation for how you end up in so much trouble!  Or how you know what you know! I saw a chance to force some answers from you . . .and I took it.  And it screwed up your chances to clear yourself.  For that . . .I’m sorry.”

Dazed, Gary sat staring open-mouthed as Paul finished his little speech.  When Paul finally wound down, Gary slowly stood and began to pace, his right hand automatically running through his hair in a nervous gesture.  Stunned, his mind raced from one scenario to another as the implications of the officer’s confession stirred his memory of that nightmarish incident.

“Do you have any idea,” he asked tersely, “what you put me through?  Any idea at all of what it was like for me out there?  Imagine not being able to sleep, because someone might spot you and turn you in.  Or afraid to even call on your best friends for help, in case they could be accused of conspiracy.  Or, worse, they’ve been convinced to turn you in ‘for your own good.’  Can you even imagine how cold and alone, and terrified I was out there?”

“Almost every night,” the big man sighed.

“I don’t think so,” Gary remarked in a tense monotone.  “‘Cause, if you did, if you’d really been haunted by this like I have, you’d have been here a long time ago.  It was Hell, Armstrong. The purest kind of hell there is.  And to know . . . to know it was . . . How could you do that?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch and volume.  “I put my life in your hands! Trusted you to give me the same chance to clear myself that you would have given anyone else!  But I wasn’t anyone else, was I?  I had a secret and you just had to have it!  Couldn’t rest until you wormed it out of me! Never mind justice!  Never mind innocent until proven guilty!  That doesn’t apply here!  No, no, no.  Not so long as we have a chance to squeeze Hobson’s ‘secret’ out of him!  Can you even imagine what it’s like not to be able to trust anyone?  It wasn’t bad enough having Savalas and his partner manufacturing evidence against me, turning every attempt I made to warn Scanlon into a case for premeditation.  I also had you calling me ‘delusional,’ ‘crackpot,’ branding me a-a psychopath in front of the whole freaking world!”  Mentally and emotionally exhausted, Gary flopped unto his sofa, forehead pressed into his good hand.

“I screwed up, man,” Armstrong sighed.  “And I’m sorry for what I put you through.  Especially after everything you’d done for Meredith, saving her life twice in less than a week.  My suspicions were no excuse for what I did to you.  I put my own interests above your rights, and you paid a heavy price for my obsession.  Especially later, when he . . . but I can’t undo it, and I don’t know what to do to make it right.”

“I don’t know if it can ever be right,” Gary replied in a strained voice.  “You said it.  You can’t take back what you did, and I can’t help how I feel about it.”

Dejected, Paul rose to go. What had he expected?  That Hobson would so easily forgive such a blatant act of betrayal?  Especially after the way he had jumped all over Hobson for telling the truth about his harassment of Baylor.  The way he had brushed Gary off when he tried to warn him about the slime-ball’s next murder.  He had forgiven him for that easy enough.  It had hurt him, and he had been hurt because of it.  Hurt just bad enough that he had been unable to stop Baylor from killing Judge Romick.  But he had still been man enough to absolve Armstrong of any blame in the judge’s death.  This, however, had been a clear and deliberate betrayal.  Not just of trust, but of the grudging friendship that had started to grow between them.  In spite of his frustration at Hobson’s secretive nature, he felt that he was basically a good . . . honest man who was simply trying to do the ‘right’ thing.

“What is it about me?” Gary sighed into the silence.  “What is it that makes it so hard for you to trust me? I’d really like to know.”

Paul halted with one hand halfway to the doorknob. “It’s the secret, Hobson,” he sighed in return, his hand falling to his side.  “It’s you knowing things that you can’t possibly know. Things about me, my family, my life.  It’s not being able to get you to trust me enough to let me in!”

Gary ran his hand through his hair with a long, low exhalation.  He rubbed the back of his neck absently as he strove to get his wildly careening thoughts and emotions under control.  Suddenly, he gave a quiet, brief burst of laughter.  Puzzled, Armstrong turned once more to stare at Gary’s huddled figure.

“It had to happen,” Gary muttered with a wry, strained chuckle.  “If I hadn’t been accused, arrested, and in a position for Savalas to frame me, I never would’ve had to dig deep enough to help Toni uncover that ‘murder for hire’ setup.  How many more people would he have killed before someone else was able to stop him?  If he ever was stopped.  He could’ve gone on with it for years.”

“But you didn’t have to run,” Paul pointed out.

“Yes, I did,” was Gary’s surprising reply.  “If I hadn’t run, the frame they built around me would’ve been enough to get me the death penalty.  And no one but Marissa, and maybe Brigatti, seemed to think that I might possibly be innocent.  Face it, Paul, as long you had me, you never even considered looking elsewhere for another suspect, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted.  “It all fit so . . . perfect.”

“And that all fits in with this ‘secret,’” Gary told him, a strained little ‘catch‘ in his voice.  “You were just another pawn used to push me in the right direction.  Savalas had to be stopped.  I had to be the one to stop him.  That’s what it all boils down to.  Certain things have to . . .have to be made ‘right.’  And I have to go through all kinds of damnation to do it.  Not you, nor Brigatti, nor even Crumb, although I make him crazy, too.  It has to be me!  I don’t claim to understand it anymore than you do.  I honestly don’t think any ‘rational’ mind could.  Are you sure you want in on this madhouse ride, Paul?”

Something in the tone of Gary’s voice worried the big cop.  He sounded like someone who had been slammed from pillar to post so often he no longer felt the bruising impacts.  His tone was hurt, tired . . .and numb.  As if he was so close to the edge, he couldn’t see anything but the long drop that lay ahead.  The last time he had heard that tone in Gary’s voice . . . Slowly, Paul walked over until he could kneel before the exhausted man, placing a hesitant hand on his good shoulder.  Gary still sat hunched over, his hand gripping the back of his neck. Slowly, he raised tired eyes brimming with unshed tears to meet his visitor’s concerned gaze. “Are you sure?” he repeated in a strained whisper.

“Yes, “ Armstrong told him evenly. “I’m sure.”

“Then . . .you’re gonna have to learn to trust me,” Gary told him quietly. “Because, when I do tell you, if I ever can, it’s going to take the biggest leap of faith you’ve ever had to make in your life.”

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

Buddy was surprised to find Gary rushing out as he was coming in.  His twin still seemed a little drawn and pale, but . . . energized in some way.  He was stuffing a newspaper in his back pocket when they almost collided.

"Sorry. . .Hey, Buddy!  You made it!  Wasn't sure with all this snow.  Um, Gene can show you where to find everything and Jake'll fix you some breakfast, if you haven't eaten yet.  I have a few errands to run, but I should be free by lunchtime.  We haven't had much time to really get to know each other and I'd like to change that, but right now I really have to go. Bye."

The words had spilled out in such a rush, Gary was gone before Buddy could get his mouth working!  He found himself staring slack jawed at the closing door.  Gene, the bartender, took him by the elbow and led him towards the kitchen.

"You'll get used to that," he told Buddy. "He's in and out all the time."

"B-but he's still . . .I mean, shouldn't he be in bed?"

"Gary?  The only thing that stops him is . . ." Gene had to pause a moment, considering. "Come to think of it, nothing seems to stop him.  Except being hospitalized.  He's been slowed down once in a while.  But I've never seen a day go by that he wasn't out doing . . .something. Even in a blizzard."

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

He was a short, stocky, balding man in his fifties, with a thin little moustache.  To look at, he really wasn’t all that impressive.  Yet, the way the two taller, younger men hovered about him, you would have thought he was a visiting head of state.  He fingered the material of his new suit as he admired his image in the mirror.

“Wonderful craftsmanship, as always, Angelo,” he remarked in his wheezing rasp. “Wouldn’t you agree, Pauly?”  

“It makes you look very distinguished, Uncle Vinnie,” the taller of the two younger men agreed.  

Turning slightly, he had to agree.  The dark wool jacket was cut to flatter his shape, rather than accentuate it.  He was very pleased with Angelo’s latest addition to his wardrobe.  It also pleased him that his new soldier had taken so readily to calling him ‘uncle.’  Ever since the death of his real nephew in Los Angeles a few years ago, he had insisted that all his people address him that way.  It had distressed him, at the time, that he had misjudged the potential of the young soldier that Nicky had suggested for the hit on that damned accountant.  Not only had Tony Greco paid with his life, so had Nicky.   

Vinnie was a little distracted as he and his men stepped from the tailor shop and onto the busy sidewalk.  As big a pain as Nicky had been, he was still family.  And Tony had been a brave soldier.  He’d been brought to Vinnie’s attention after taking a bullet for Nicky.  But Rossellini had said he just did not have what it took to kill in cold blood.  Something that was often required of a good ’mechanic.’  All of which made the kid’s betrayal so hard to understand.  Especially over a woman.

His attention was caught by a frantic shout just before a hurtling body plowed into him!  An instant later, there was a crash as loose masonry crashed to the spot where Vinnie had been standing!  He would have hit the pavement, ruining his new suit, if not for a quick pull on his arm.

“You okay?”  a worried voice asked him.  He looked up at the scaffold where two masons had paused in their repair work to see if anyone had been injured.  Then he looked into the concerned face of the man who had just saved his life.  His eyes went wide in shock.  It couldn’t be!  He was dead!  Wordlessly, he nodded.  

“Um, tha . . . that’s good,”  the young man in the navy peacoat stammered.  “You take care.”  With that, he turned and vanished into the growing crowd of on-lookers.

Vinnie stared at the spot where he last saw the dark-haired young man, speechless.  It couldn’t be him!  He knew that face!  It had haunted his dreams after that disastrous mistake.  He turned to Pauly, his face crimson with barely controlled rage.

“You get me Rossellini,” he hissed.  “I want him here yesterday!”

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

Wincing as he beat a hasty retreat, Gary rubbed at his aching shoulder.  ‘Maybe I tackled the guy a little too hard,’ he mused.  That could account for the stunned look on the man’s face.  It probably more than explained the renewed pain in his only recently healed bullet wound.  ‘Man! That guy only looked flabby!’  There was no escaping it.  He would have to take one of those blasted pain pills if he was to get any sleep at all tonight.  And he really needed to get at least one good night’s sleep.

After that agonizing scene with Armstrong last night, his sleep was anything but restful.  He had been haunted by a dream where he was being hunted through dark streets, and even darker alleyways.  Of faceless people pointing accusing fingers at him as he ran by, breathless with exhaustion.  Of turning to familiar faces for help, only to have guns pointed at him.  He could still hear the explosive report of gunfire.  Feel the pain as burning lead tore into his chest!

“You okay, mister?”

Startled, Gary looked into the face of a young police officer.  He closed his eyes, quickly suppressing a moment of panic, his knees turning to jelly, as the dream can flooding back.  He nodded wordlessly as, trembling, he was helped to a bench, his head spinning.

“J-just a little winded,” he gasped, right hand still on his aching shoulder.  “I-I’ll be okay.  S-sorry.”

“No sweat, pal,” the young cop assured him.  “You still look a little pale, though.  You have a heart condition or something?”

Gary shook his head.  “Gunshot.  J-just got out of the hospital y-yesterday,” he stammered breathlessly.  “Guess I still . . . n-need to take it easy.”

“You look like you need to go back in for a check up,” he was told bluntly.  “What were you running from?”  At Gary’s puzzled look, the officer explained.  “Well, you weren’t actually running, but you sure were hot-footing it!  And you didn’t seem to be . . . seeing where you were going, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” Gary mumbled in sudden understanding.  “I, um, I had a kind of waking nightmare, I guess,” he explained.  “S-something I saw, or thought I saw must ‘ve triggered it.”

“You have these ‘nightmares’ often?  Or only since the, um . . .”

“It‘s been a while,” Gary replied with a shaky smile. “Hope it’s the last, officer . . .”

“Oh, Tate. John Tate.  If you won’t let me take you to the ER, how's about I drive you home?” he asked.  “Mister . . .?”

Gary told him his name and where he lived.  That had been the last headline.  At least until this afternoon.  And, Tate was right.  He felt lousy.

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

“You had no business going out this soon!” Lois snapped.  “What if you’d reopened that wound?  And, why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t sleep?  Your father and I were right here!  We could’ve talked it out!”

“Please, Mom,” Gary moaned.  “I don’t need this right now!  That last one wasn’t so hard.  It was just a simple matter of pushing someone out of the way.  My shoulder is sore, but it’s fine.  And, I’m not a little kid anymore.  I have to take care of my own nightmares.”

Lois sat down next to her son on the sofa, her anger chased away by her overwhelming concern for his well-being.  She slipped an arm around him and pulled him close.  He resisted, at first.  Then, with a shuddering sigh, he laid his head on her shoulder.  

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he murmured softly.  “This is one bad dream I can’t share.  It’s just too . . . personal.  I don’t want to see it reflected in your eyes every time you look at me.”

She stroked his back tenderly, just as she had when he was her little boy.  He had tried to hide his pain then, too.  This time, however, she felt he might be right.  The past few weeks had been very trying for him.  Each had been a nightmare in its own right.  

“Don’t the police have counselors?” she asked.  “For victims of violent crimes, I mean.  Or that Dr. Griner you went to last May.  Just listen to me, son,” she added as she felt his body stiffen.  “You’ve been shot, kidnapped, and shot again.  If anyone qualifies, it’s you.  On top of that, you’re carrying around all the pressure of dealing with the paper, of knowing that some gangster could still . . . It’s a huge burden for one healthy pair of shoulders to bear.  You have someone willing to help you now.  That nice Mr. Cain and his father.  Why didn‘t you let them handle the paper today?”

“Forgot to tell you,” Gary mumbled drowsily.  He was really very tired. Maybe he had jumped back into harness too soon.  “Peter and his dad had to go out of town this morning.  Detective Griffin, too.  Something about a dragon’s wing.  Told me about it last night.  At the party.  Nice party, by the way.  Did I ever thank you for that?”  His eyelids felt like lead.  As the soothing, repetitive motion that Lois’ hand made lulled his senses, his eyes drifted closed.

“Yes, dear.  When you asked me to dance,” Lois told him softly.  She continued to rub his back as he slowly drifted off to sleep in her arms.  It had been a long, long time since he had last done that.  As his head slid down onto her lap, she realized that it was one of the things she missed.  

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

As Buddy served the people at table six their orders, he wondered, for the umpteenth time, what was keeping Gary?  He had more or less promised they would have lunch together, and here it was after one.  Had his errands run longer than he’d expected?  Still, he was getting a kick out of the looks on the faces of regulars when they realized he wasn’t Gary.  Especially that guy with the redhead in tow.  Both of them looked like they had seen a ghost.  As soon as they’d gotten a good look at him, they turned tail and ran!  What was that all about?

“Hey, Buddy!” Bernie greeted him as he stepped into the office.  “You seen Gary, yet?”

The young musician shook his head as he took off the apron he had been wearing.  ‘Wouldn’t the guys back home love this!’ he thought, grinning to himself.  ‘Five songs in the top forty and here I am, waiting tables!’    

“Those errands of his must’ve run into overtime,” he shrugged.  “Reckon Lois would like to join us for lunch?  Marissa said there’s a really good Texas style grill not far from here.”

Bernie set down the inventory sheet he had been going over and stood up. Rolling his shoulders to work out a few kinks, he turned towards the back stairway.  “Only one way to find out,” he said.  “Let’s go up and ask her.  Have you been up to Gary’s loft, yet?”

“Not yet,” Buddy replied with a shake of his head.  “I’d like to see it, though.  Get an idea if’n our tastes run the same.”

As they ascended the stairs, Bernie grinned at the younger man.  “Admit it,” he said.  “This ‘twin’ thing is blowing your mind, too.”

Buddy rubbed the back of his neck, scrunching his eyes thoughtfully.  “It’s a poser, alright,” he admitted.  “If we ain’t related, that’d be one hell of a coincidence.”

Bernie paused with one hand on the door.  “With Gary, there’s no such thing as a coincidence,” he remarked cryptically.  “You’re here for a reason.  We just don’t know what it is yet.”

“It’ll be to die at a young age if you wake him up,” Lois Hobson hissed in a loud whisper as they entered the apartment.

Startled, the two men froze half way through the door.  Then, moving quietly, they rounded the end of the sofa to see Gary lying with his head in his mother’s lap, sound asleep.  

“A policeman brought him home a little over an hour ago,” Lois told them quietly.  “He’d . . . well, he’d had some kind of . . . blackout, I guess.  Anyway, his shoulder was hurting so I made him take one of the pills the doctor prescribed.  He must’ve skipped breakfast this morning, because it hit him like a brick.”

“A blackout?” Bernie repeated worriedly, kneeling to get a better look at his son.  “Why didn’t he take Gar to the hospital?”

“He didn’t pass out,” Lois replied.  “Gary said it was more of a . . . a fugue state.  A ‘waking nightmare,’ I think is what he called it.”  She gently brushed the hair back from Gary’s forehead.  “I think he had a few real nightmares last night.  He told me he hadn’t slept well after Detective Armstrong left.  I’d give my right arm to know what that man said that upset him so much!”

“Maybe we oughta go to the source,” Buddy suggested.  “After we get some food into Rip Van Winkle, here.  You were right, those things hit hardest on an empty stomach.  I’ve, ahm, had a little experience with ’em myself.  I never said I was all that good in a fight,” he added with a grin.  He reached out and shook Gary by the hip.  “Rise ‘n shine, cuz,” he said in a loud voice.  “Time for lunch!”

“H’mm?  Wha . . .Oh, hi buddy,” Gary mumbled, still groggy.  “Lunch?  Is it . . .?”  Then it hit him.  Gary shot upright, eyes wide, looking around in surprise.  He looked at his watch, which he had strapped around his cast.  “Oh, man!  It’s after . . . Why’d you let me sleep so long, Mom?  I gotta get to Union Station before . . .!  Oh, Buddy!  Sorry about lunch, I’ll try to make it up to you.  How’s about supper?  Mom, can you get us reservations at The Saloon?  I should be back before six.  An hour to shower and change, we could make it by seven-thirty, eight.  Better make it eight.  For the four of us.  My treat.  Gotta go.”  All this was said as he jumped up from the sofa, wincing slightly, grabbed his jacket and slipped it carefully over his injured arm.  He finished his rapid little speech as he headed out the door.

Buddy sat where Gary’s sudden explosion of movement had landed him, flat on his butt on the floor, staring open-mouthed at the closing door.  He looked up at Bernie and Lois with a ‘What’d I do?’ expression.

“Did I hit the wrong button?” he asked, a little dazed.  “Or does he always wake up like that?”

“Not always,” Bernie sighed.  “But often.”

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

Steve Rossellini sat in the rental car parked across the street from McGinty’s.  His partner, Angelica Chaste was speaking urgently into a cell phone from her vantage point just down the street.  They had just gotten in from the West Coast that morning, and had stopped by the bar for a quick lunch before reporting to their client‘s ‘representative‘.  When they had seen the young man waiting tables in a red checked shirt, blue jeans and snake skin boots, Steve’s heart almost stopped.  It couldn’t be!  Angel had plugged him dead on!  One in the heart.  One in the head.  Just like he’d been tryin’ to teach the stupid kid!  ‘Served him right, too!’ The Rose mused.  ‘Thinkin’ he was in love with his target!  Dumb, stupid . . . kid!’

But Angel had seen him too.  And had been just as shocked.  He hadn’t been her first kill.  Just her first in cold blood.  The poor sap was actually proposing marriage to her when she blew him away!  Talk about cold!  That had impressed The Rose more than her taking out Nicky and his soldiers.  They had been trying to kill her, so she was only defending herself.  But Tony had dropped his gun and was pouring his heart out to her.  So . . . she shot him.  The first shot had caught him right in the heart.  The second smack between the eyes.  The kid died with a glazed look of surprise that Steve could still see if he closed his eyes.

So . . . that couldn’t have been Tony Greco waiting tables in McGinty’s.  It had to be his twin.  It had to be, or he was a dead man.  He and Angel would probably share the same grave.

Angel jumped back into the car, slamming the door.  “That was Uncle Vinnie,” she told him.  “Seems he just saw a certain dead man while he was coming out of Angelo’s just a little before noon.  This guy, who happens to look like said corpse, pushes him out of the way of some falling bricks, keeps him from falling to the ground, and then disappears into the crowd!  Uncle Vinnie wants to know if we left anymore walking dead behind us.  Uncle Vinnie . . . is angry.”

“And what, pray tell, does Uncle Vinnie want us to do about it?” Steve asked sarcastically.

“He wants proof,” Angel replied.  “Either Tony Greco’s moldering corpse, or a fresh one.  And, if it’s fresh, he wants to know why.”

Steve looked at her in bemused amazement.  “He wants us to off a guy that he says just saved his life?” he asked.  Turning back to watch the bar, he added, “Hunh!  That’s gratitude for you.  You know, that could lead to some really bad karma.”

“And if we don’t,” Angel reminded him, “it could lead to an early retirement.  For both of us.  I say we just grab the guy when he comes out, find out who he is, then kill him.  Take Uncle Vinnie his head.”

The Rose thought about it as he watched the front of McGinty’s.  “Sounds like a plan to me,” he shrugged. “Whoops!  There he goes!  Say! I wonder why he ditched the boots!”  The figure in the black peacoat was wearing Reeboks.

“Who cares,” the redhead shrugged.  “Maybe he’s going for a run.  Just grab him so we can get this over with.  I wanted to take in a show tonight.”

“Yeah? Which one?” Steve asked as he pulled into traffic.

“Hadn’t made up my mind yet,” she told him.  “I’m thinking maybe that new one with Julia Roberts.  I hope it has a happy ending,” she sighed.  “I’m a sucker for romance.”

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

Gary got to Union Station just minutes after the two thirty train arriving from Abilene.  Muttering in a barely audible voice about the little ’side-trips’ the paper had thrown at him, he looked around frantically for the subject of his next ’errand.’  In the distance, he saw his quarry, a man dressed in jeans, checked flannel shirt, and a black Stetson with an eagle feather sticking out of the band.  He had a carryall in one hand and a western saddle in the other.  A pair of battered western boots finished off his casual outfit. As Gary rushed towards him, a baggage handler lost control of his cart.  Unnoticed by the cowboy, who had stopped to talk to a pretty blonde woman, the fully loaded cart was headed straight for him!  The two were so wrapped up in their conversation, they did not hear, or were paying no attention to, the frantic shouts of the handler!

In a flying tackle that would have gotten him on the first string of the Bears, Gary knocked both of them out of the way of the careening cart!  The three of them sprawled across the floor as the wheeled behemoth crashed into the wall less than three feet away!  Bags and boxes flew everywhere!  Gary found himself pinned face down by a large steamer trunk that had tipped off the cart and landed with bruising impact across his back and legs.  ‘God!  What have they got in this thing?  Bricks?’  He tried to push himself up with his good hand, but could not get enough leverage.  Did he just feel something grate in his ribcage?

“Hang in there, pal,” someone was saying.  “We’ll have that off in a sec . . . Well, I’ll be damned!”  

All Gary could hear after that was the blood pounding in his temples as he fought for breath.  ‘Please don’t let anything be broken,’ he prayed.  ‘I’ve got enough broken bones!’  

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

Clay Treyton stared open-mouthed at the man who lay pinned under the huge steamer trunk.  The man who had just saved their lives.  Could this be him?   The man he had been searching for these past two years?  With a mental shake, he leaped into action.  Grabbing one end of the huge piece of luggage and bracing his legs, he lifted up, only to find it was too heavy.  ‘Christ! What’ve they got in this thing?’ he wondered.  He tried again, only to admit defeat seconds later.  “Hang in there, pal,” he gasped.  “I’ll . . . I’ll get some help.”

“Help is coming.”  The pretty blonde he’d been talking to pointed at the baggage handler and a uniformed officer running in their direction.  

The lead man took one look at Clay and did a double take.  “Mr. Hobson?” he asked.  To his surprise, it was the man under the luggage who replied with a breathless, “Here!”  

It took two men to lift the end of the trunk high enough for the third to pull the trapped man out from under it.  At first, it was all the man could do to draw air into his lungs.  Clay and the officer knelt by his side as he struggled to catch his breath.  Very carefully, they turned the injured man onto his back, to ease the pressure on his straining lungs.

“There’s an ambulance on the way,” someone said from the growing crowd.  

“S’okay,” the man on the floor gasped, finally opening his eyes.  The first thing he saw was Clay staring down at him from beneath his battered Stetson.  His eyes widened as he mouthed a silent ‘Whoa!’  

“Likewise,” Clay grinned.  “Clay Treyton,” he added, sticking out his hand.  

“G-Gary Hob . . . Hobson,” he stammered.  

“This is so weird!” the young officer exclaimed.  “You two could be twins!”

“You d-don’t know . . . the half of . . . of it,” Gary panted, closing his eyes once more.  “What was in that thing?  Christ!  It didn’t h-hurt this bad . . . when the r-roof caved in . . . on me . . . coupla years . . . years ago.”  He reached a hand out to the officer.  “I’ll be . . . okay in a s-second.  Just help . . . help me up, please.”

“Not a chance, Mr. Hobson,” the officer said, placing a hand gently, but firmly, on the injured man’s chest.  “You will go to the hospital this time.”  Turning to Clay, he introduced himself.  “John Tate.  Mr. Hobson wasn’t in that great of a shape just a few hours ago.  Almost collapsed on the street,” he explained.

Gary winced and groaned something that sounded to Officer Tate like, “Oh, man!”

‘Busted,’ Gary thought ruefully. Rubbing his good hand over his sore ribs, he mentally added, ‘In more ways than one.’

Less than ten minutes later, two paramedics came rushing in pulling a gurney loaded with gear.  The man in the lead spotted Clay first, still talking with Officer Tate.  “Hey, Mr. Hobson,” he called in greeting.  To his surprise, it was the man on the floor who waved a hand in answer.  “Mr. Hobson?”

“Keep tellin’ you,” Gary mumbled.  “It’s ‘Gary’.  ‘Mr. Hobson’ . . . is my dad.  How ya been, Lenny?”

“A lot better than you, from the looks of things.”  As Lenny set up his equipment, he found it hard to keep his eyes off the other man who looked so much like his patient.  “I thought you were an only child?”

“I am,” Gary replied.  “But I’m beginning to think, ouch! that I was cloned.”

“Sorry,” The other EMT apologized as she continued to probe.  “A little tender on the left,” she reported.  “So, what was it this time?  Another mugging?”

“R-runaway baggage cart,” their patient replied.  “Trunk flipped over on me.  Thought you’d be, unh! on your honeymoon, by now, Barb.  Didn’t you get married last week?”

“That’s next week,” she told him with a smile as she continued to examine him.  “Don’t forget, you’re invited.  Some bruising across the lower back, Lenny.  Respirations sixteen and shallow.” She quickly strapped a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and began inflating it. “You know, it would be nice if you could make it on your own two feet,” she added, then paused, one finger to his lips, as she listened.  “BP 160 over 75.  Pulse 76.  Have you met my fiancé, yet?”

“No. Is he . . .whoa!”  That last came out in a painful wheeze.

“Make that real tender on the left, just below and lateral to the scapula,” Barb amended her earlier statement.

Clay and Officer Tate, in the meantime, listened in growing bewilderment.  How many times had this scene been played out, they wondered?  

“He, um, does this often?” Treyton asked the young policeman.

“Damned if I know,” Tate replied, engrossed in the action taking place before him.  “Just laid eyes on him for the first time this morning.  But from the sound of it, I’d have to say . . . yes.”

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

Steve and Angel were again stuck sitting in the car as the ambulance pulled out.  Their quarry had eluded them a few blocks from the bar.  They had picked him up again near Franklin and Lower Wacker, only to lose sight of him near the bus terminal, and then pick him up again at the Mercantile Exchange.

“Where the Hell is this guy going?” Steve had asked at one point.  “He’s all over the place.”

“Maybe he’s sight seeing?”  Angel shrugged.  “He’s been away for a while.”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Rossellini reminded her.  “Besides, at the rate he’s moving, he hasn’t taken the time to see squat.  Damn!  He’s gone again!  Tony was never that good before!”

“Maybe he’s picked up a few tricks since I killed him,” the redhead commented dryly.  “Let’s try the Sears Tower.  If he’s not there, we head for the train station.”

“Which one?”

“How should I know?” she snapped peevishly.  “This is your turf, not mine.  What’s the nearest one?”

“Union,” Steve nodded.  “It’s right across the river from the Tower.  Why the train station?”

“Why not?” she shrugged.  “If he keeps up this pace, it’s either that or the El.”

They had arrived at Union Station just in time to see the ambulance arrive.  Minutes later, they had to watch in frustration as their target was wheeled out on a gurney and loaded into the back.  

“That can’t be Tony,” Steve Rossellini sighed.  “It just can’t be.”

“Why not?” Angel asked.  “It sure looked like him.”

“Tony was never this lucky.  Or this good,” the Rose explained.  “The kid could shoot, was great with knives, whatever.  He still couldn’t catch a break.  And he couldn’t shake a tail worth crap.  If this is Tony, he’s learned a hell of a lot since you killed him!”

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

Gary lay quietly on the stretcher, only grunting now and then as the doctor probed another sore spot.  He sure seemed to have a lot of them, this time.  His gaze kept drifting over to the figure talking with Officer Tate in the corner, his Stetson pushed back slightly from his face.  This was getting spooky.  How many of him were there?  ‘Mom and Dad are going to have a fit!’ he thought ruefully.  Still, his lips twitched in a mischievous smile as he imagined the looks on their faces when he showed up with Clay.  Talk about your Kodak moments!

Dr. Carter chose that moment to find a really sore spot!  Gary paled as the pain stole his breath away.  Did he feel something grate in there?

“I take it that hurt?” Carter commented dryly.

“Oh yeah!” Gary wheezed.  “Like a son of a . . .  It hurt.”  He gingerly reached around and touched the spot just under his left shoulder blade that had sent a white-hot lance of pain through his chest.  

“You’re lucky,” the doctor told him, as he continued to probe.  “If you’d re-opened that wound, your mom would slaughter both of us.”

“T-tell me about it,” Gary grunted.  “I’ll be hearing about this for weeks.”

“So don’t tell her . . . “  Gary gave Carter a pained look.  “You’re right,” he sighed.  “She’ll know before you get in the door.  I don’t suppose you’ve considered not getting hurt?”  Another ‘look’.  “It’s a thought, okay?”  He finished prodding Gary’s ribs and turned to the nurse.  “Okay, let’s get him to x-ray and see how many he broke this time.”

“Right away, Doctor.”  The young nurse took the written order and left.

“X-ray?” Gary repeated cautiously.  “Who’s on today?”

Carter looked at his watch.  “Let’s see,” he mumbled.  “After three, so day shift is winding down.  Probably Polly and Jolene.  Why?”

Gary breathed a sigh of genuine relief as he cautiously sat up.  “Last time it was Gus and Deanna,” he explained.  “Those two were a tag team from hell.  I haven’t met Jolene yet, but Polly’s okay.  She’s kinda funny.”

“You know all the techs by first name?” Tate asked in astonishment.

“And most of their children,” Carter muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Gary retorted with a wry grin.  “And Polly doesn’t have any children.  Jeff has four, Karen two, and Liz is still on maternity leave from her second.  A girl, wasn’t it?”

“Victoria Elaine,” a voice spoke up from the doorway.  Everyone turned to see a somewhat stocky woman in her forties pushing a wheelchair.  She wore wire-rimmed glasses, with her dark-blonde hair pulled back in a bun.  She looked from the man on the table to the man she had almost run into.  Without batting an eye, she brought the chair on into the room and motioned for Gary to have a seat.  “Can’t you stay out of trouble, Hon?” she drawled in her heavy southern accent.  “We got tongues waggin’ all over town.  Folks are sayin’ we’re sweet on each other.”

As Gary eased down from the table, he had to smile at her banter.  “I don’t need the chair, Polly,” he told her.  “I can walk.”

Polly just gave him a look.  With a martyred sigh, Gary sat in the chair.  Before his bare back could touch the cold vinyl, Polly slipped a towel over the back of the chair.  Her passenger settled back with a slight grimace.  He cast an amused glance at Clay, then looked up at the tech.

“You sure you’ve got the right one, Polly?” he teased.

“Sweetie,” she quickly replied, “by now, I know you better than your momma.  And he ain’t you.”  She turned to smile at his double.  “Howdy, Clay.  How‘s the shoulder?”

“It, uh, it’s fine,” the cowboy stammered.  “Have we met?”

“Houston Metro,” she reminded him.  “Right after that bull tried to stomp you into the mud.  It‘s the feather, sweetie.  I told ya, nobody wears feathers anymore.”  Polly turned to face Dr. Carter, who was busily writing on Gary’s chart.  “Bilateral ribs?”

He shook his head.  “He’s only tender on the left,” he told her without looking up.  “And a lumbar spine.  He’s got some bruising across the lower back.”

The genial tech just smiled and nodded.  As she wheeled her patient out the door, they could hear her say something that got a pained chuckle out of Gary.

Clay Treyton watched their retreating backs until they rounded the corner.  “She didn’t seem . . . surprised,” he observed.  “About the resemblance, I mean.”  He sounded disappointed.

Carter looked up finally.  “Who?  Polly?” he asked.  “She’s been in this business a long time.  And she’s pretty much seen it all.”

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

“Hi,” Steve Rossellini smiled at the receptionist.  “Maybe you can help me.  A friend of mine was just brought in from Union Station.  Could you tell me what room he’s in?”  When the girl hesitated, he plunged on, adlibbing outrageously.  “See that red-head over there?  That’s his wife and she’s really worried about him.  Today is their anniversary, you see, and . . “

“Room three,” the girl informed him with a smile.  “But I’m afraid he’s not there.  I just saw him being taken to x-ray about twenty minutes ago.  He should be back soon though.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled in return.  “We’ll wait out here.”  He strolled nonchalantly over to where his partner was studying the directory.  “ER x-ray,”  he told her.

She smiled as she found the listing.

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

Polly was just coming out of the darkroom when she noticed the two strangers.  The dark-haired man and the red-headed woman were cautiously opening doors and peeking inside before they ducked in, only to emerge seconds later.  The way they both kept one hand concealed instantly set her teeth on edge.  ‘Those two are up to no good,’ she reasoned.  And, with his luck, it probably had something to do with Gary.  Apparently, they had yet to spot her standing in the darkroom doorway, so she kept perfectly still until the next time they ducked into a room.  It was only one door down from the exam room in which her patient lay.  The second the door closed, she quickly crossed the few steps and locked the door behind her.  Less than a second later, she had also locked the door to the adjoining exam room.

“Polly?  What’s wrong?” Gary asked, alarmed by her actions.

“Nothing to worry your head about, sweetie,” she assured him as she grabbed the phone.  “We need a security team in the ER x-ray corridor,” she said into the phone, voice pitched low enough to keep her patient from hearing.  “Now!  A man and a woman, both wearing black long coats, acting highly suspicious.”  Someone pushed at the locked door.  “No, I didn’t see any weapons, but they’re searching for something and I have a patient who’ll be testifying against a high profile criminal soon.  Now get someone down here pronto or pray I don’t survive long enough to find you!”  She hung the phone up with a muttered, “Jerk!”

“Open the door!” a woman’s voice ordered.  “Open it now, or I’ll shoot the lock out!”

“You’re welcome to try,” Polly replied as she calmly crossed her arms and leaned against the wall by the phone.  “It might take ya a few minutes though.  Ya’ll are lookin’ at two inches of solid oak with a core of lead in a steel doorframe.  Oh, and that’s a three inch deadbolt.”

Their reply was three loud reports in rapid succession.  Followed by a stream of vulgar profanities when they learned the truth of her words.

“Do you kiss your momma with that mouth?” she taunted them.  “I’ve already called security, so ya’ll might wanna hightail it!”

Gary, meanwhile, had scrambled off the table before the echoes from the first shot had died.  He now stood protectively between Polly and the door, clutching at his injured side.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked her patient.  

“What do you think?” he snapped.  “I’m not gonna let ‘em hurt you, Polly!”

“That’s sweet of you, Gary,” Polly smiled.  “but like I told them, they ain’t gettin’ through that door.  Now you just sit yourself in that chair and, as soon as security gives us the all clear, we’ll get you back to the ER.”

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

“I want that b- . . .!”  Chaste snarled as they pelted down the corridor just a few turns ahead of the armed security team.  “I want her head mounted on my damned wall!”

Steve grabbed her arm and yanked her out the fire exit, as he replied.  “Worry about her after we get him!”

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

Polly calmly wheeled a shaken Gary back to the ER under the watchful eye of two security guards and Officer Tate.  ‘So that‘s where he disappeared to,’ Carter mused.  Puzzled, Dr. Carter accepted the packet of films she handed him.  As soon as her patient was safely back in his bed, she waved cheerfully and turned to go.  

“Thanks, Polly,” Gary called after her.  “You’re a lifesaver.  For real.”

“That’s what I’m here for, sweetie,” she replied with a smile.  She turned to the security guards with a stern expression.  “He’s in your care, now,” Polly told them in no uncertain terms.  “Anything happens to him, I will hunt you down like dawgs.  Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.,” the burly senior guard responded nervously.  “He’s safe with us.”

“He’d better be.”  Polly turned back to Gary with a tiny smile.  “These gentlemen will look after you now, Gary.  They’ll make sure you get home safe and . . . Well, it’s too late for ‘sound,’ I guess.  Catch ya later.”  With a smile and a wave at the others, she was gone.

Gary watched her go with a bemused smile.  Polly usually came across as a sweet-natured, down home, country girl.  Tonight, he had seen a bit of the crafty, no-nonsense backwoods girl she must have been, and a major protective instinct!
 
“Something we should know about?” Carter asked one of the guards as he studied the films.

“Some shots fired in the x-ray corridor,” the guard replied.  He quickly explained the actions the tech had taken in order to protect her patient.  “Remind me not to get on her bad side,” he added.  “She almost beaned me with a cassette when I unlocked the door without announcing myself.”

Gary was starting to squirm as five sets of eyes stared at him.  

“What?  I don’t know who they were!”  he blurted nervously.  “I never even saw their faces!”

“Well, they must know you,” he was informed by Tate.  “Ms. Gannon thinks it might have something to do with somebody you may have to testify against.”

Gary rubbed his good hand over his face with a sigh.  Could it have been someone acting on Sung’s orders?  It didn’t really make any sense.  The videotape evidence was too damning on its own.  Killing him would just up the ante at this point.  Would the Tong leader really risk a death sentence just to avoid a life sentence?  The answer to that was a resounding ‘yes!’  The man would kill on a whim.

“She could be right,” he finally admitted.  “God!  When did my life get so messed up?”

“Would someone care to fill me in?” Clay asked of anyone in general.  “I’m a little new on the scene if you recall.”

“God, that’s right,” Gary apologized.  “You just walked in on the middle of this.  I’m supposed to testify in a murder trial sometime soon.  He’s sent hit men after me before, but we thought I’d be safe once he was behind bars for trying to kill me.  On video tape, no less.”

“Ask him for the condensed version,” Carter suggested with a grin.  “What was it?  ‘Little kid, empty warehouse, rival gangs, bang bang, here I am.’  Or words to that effect.  You’ve got two rib fractures just under your left arm,” he told his patient.  “And a couple more that are cracked. We’ll strap those up for you.  You still have plenty of pain meds?”  Gary just nodded as the young physician began wrapping a broad elastic bandage around his chest.  “Are you taking them?”

“Wh-when I need to,” Gary grunted. “Leave a little room to breathe, Doc.  And that was ‘bop bang, here I am.’ ”

“You sure?” Carter asked.  “‘Bop, bang?’  Not ‘bang bang?’”

“Definitely ‘bop, bang.’” Gary nodded cautiously.  “First they beat me, then they shot me.  ‘Bop.  Bang.’”

“Hmm, that makes sense.  Sort of.”

“What brings you to Chicago, Mr. Treyton?” Officer Tate spoke up.  He had been listening to the exchange with one ear, while getting a more detailed report on the shooting from the two guards.  So that was why Hobson was such a mess!

“Hmm?  Oh!  I just found out a coupla years ago that I had a twin,” the young cowboy responded.  “I’ve been looking’ for him ever since, but I kept hittin’ dead-ends.  Then I met some fella out in Las Vegas that thought I was this buddy of his from Chicago.  Seemed pretty sure of himself.  So, I figured I should come check it out.  And who should come barrelin’ into me not five minutes after I get off the train?”

“Well, I hate to be the one to b-break it to you,” Gary said with another painful grunt, “but I know who my parents are, and have the blood tests to prove it.  Dad had to donate blood for me not too long ago.  Does this have to be so tight?”  Carter just grinned and kept wrapping.  “Anyway,” he added at Clay’s crestfallen look, “I think there’s someone you need to meet before you go anywhere else.  See, there’s this other guy at my place who’s looking for his family.  And he’s also from Texas.”

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

Gary eased the rear door open, peering around cautiously before entering the office.  As soon as he was sure the room was empty, he motioned for his ‘other twin’ to enter.  

“They’re probably still upstairs,” Gary told him in a near whisper.  He adjusted the fake cast on Clay’s left arm before swapping his black peacoat for the cowboy’s denim jacket.  

“You sure they won’t see right through this?” Clay asked hesitantly.  “I mean, they’re your folks!”

The young barkeep looked over his handiwork with a wicked grin.  “Mom, maybe,” he admitted.  “Dad?  I think we can count on him not to catch on right away.  Just remember to act kinda tired.  Mom knows I had some pain meds on an empty stomach earlier.  She’ll be worried about that, and watching you like a hawk.   And try not to talk much.  You and I don’t exactly have the same kinda accent.  Mumble a lot.  That should help.”  His grin broadened as he pictured their faces.  “This’ll get them back for a certain ‘surprise’ party they threw me a coupla years ago.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a party,” Clay mumbled as they headed for the stairs.

“You have no idea,” Gary assured him.

Treyton used the time it took to climb the stairs to ‘get into character,’ so to speak.  Gary lagged a few steps behind, so that he would not be visible through the open door.  The moment the door closed behind Clay, however, he crept the rest of the way up the stairs and gingerly lowered himself to a crouching position by the door that Clay had left cracked so he could see and hear.  

“About time you showed up,” Bernie remarked the moment Clay walked into the room.  “You barely left yourself enough time for a shower.”

Clay mumbled something that Gary couldn’t make out and headed towards the bathroom.

“Just a minute, Gary,” Lois said as she rose to block his path.  She put a hand to his forehead.  “No fever.  Look at me, son.  You look a little . . .”  There was a long drawn out moment of silence as she studied the face of the man standing before her.  The scratches!  He’d forgotten about the faint scars he still had from getting a face full of stone chips at the Center!.  This was it.  She was on to them.  Gary slowly straightened up and leaned casually against the wall by the door, trying hard to suppress the grin that wanted to spread itself all over his face.  He was already picturing what she would do next.  She was going to try to catch him by surprise by creeping up and yanking the door open . . .now.  The door was jerked open with a suddenness that would have left him sprawled on the floor if he had not been anticipating it.  Instead, he was treated to the almost unheard of spectacle of seeing his mother speechless.

“Oh, Luucy,” he said in his best ’Ricky Ricardo’ voice, “you got some ’splainin’ to do.”  

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

“This is getting ridiculous,” Lois Hobson fumed as she glared at the three young men seated on the couch.  If it weren’t for the cast on Gary’s arm, she would have a devil of a time knowing her son from the other two.  They were identical!  Right down to the birthmark just below their right sideburns!  “I’ve heard people say a thousand times, ‘I just have one of those faces.’  I never for one minute thought that would apply so . . .perfectly . . .to my own son!  Gary, what is going on here?”

“How the He. . .sorry, Mom.  How the heck should I know?  I’m just as stunned by this as you two are,” Gary told them.  “Think how I feel?  I’ve been an only child my entire life!  Boom! I’m triplets!”  He leaned forward a little, careful to favor his sore ribs, and waved his right hand in a questioning gesture.  “Mom . . .Dad . . .are you absolutely sure there’s not . . . something . . .I should know?

“No, Gary, there is not.”  Frustrated, Lois turned to one of the other young men.  “So, tell me your story, young man,” she said.

“Well, you already know my story, Lois,”  Buddy replied, puzzled.

Biting her lower lip to keep from screaming, Lois turned to the man on the other side of her son.  “Mr. Treyton?” she asked from between clenched teeth.  “You’re looking for . . .someone?”

“Yes’m,” the young cowboy replied.  “See, muh momma took sick and died a coupla years ago.  Before she passed on, she told me how she’d run off from home when she was real young to take up with this travelin’ man.  When she came up in a family way, he took off.  Dumped her in a little West Texas town that was too small to even have a name.  Just a coupla stores and a boarding house.  The landlady took pity on her and let her work for room and board as long as she could. It was a coupla years later that she met my step-dad.  He was a decent enough fella, treated her right.  Did his best to raise me proper.  But I always . . .  They smothered me.  Like they were afraid to let me out of their sight.  Even when my sister came along, then a few more young’uns, they watched me like a hawk.  I couldn’t . . .I couldn’t breathe for the way they hovered all over me!  So I . . . I tried to push everyone away.  Got into trouble every chance I got.  Even did a year in the state pen, I was such a mess.  That was what finally set me on the right track, I think.”  He paused, remembering.  “Almost got me killed, too.  But I learned enough to make it big on the rodeo circuit.  Took the ‘All ‘Round’ three years runnin’.  Anyway, when Ma knew she was dyin’, she finally told me why . . .why she feared for me so much.”

He looked over at the other two.  “I was a twin,” he told them.  “Ma was told the other baby had died.  That he was too weak to hang on.  It wasn’t until a month later that she found out that one of the delivery room nurses had made a deal to sell my brother.  Seems she’d done it before.  Several times, it turned out.  This time, though, she never returned from making her deal.  She was last seen somewhere around Killeen, the same night it was hit by a tornado.  Ma gave up then, believing her other baby was killed along with the witch that stole ‘im.  And she hung on to me for dear life.”

“And you took up the search after she died,” Bernie surmised.  “I take it you thought our Gary was your twin?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Clay snorted.  “I mean, lookin’ at him was like starin’ at myself in a mirror!  I was sure he was my brother, ‘til he told me about Buddy.  Once I heard of a baby bein’ found in the area the same night my brother disappeared, I just knew it had to be him.”

“And what led you to come looking for your twin in Chicago?” Lois asked, arms crossed.  She was still not sure what to make of all this.

“Some funny little dude with a real pretty blonde on his arm,” Clay replied. “I was in Las Vegas a few weeks ago, and we met in that new casino that looks like a pyramid.  He was all over me at first. Callin’ me Gar this and Gar that.  Askin’ me how I was and what was I doin’ out of Chicago.  And then he asked somethin’ about who was takin’ care of the paper.  Hell, I expected you to be a publisher or an editor on some newspaper, Gary.  It took some doin’, but I finally got to speak my piece and managed to convince both of ‘em I wasn’t you.  That fella sure likes to hear himself talk.”

Lois and Bernie exchanged a knowing glance.  Chuck.  It couldn’t be anyone else.  

“So,”  Bernie mused, “you came to Chicago on the off chance that this guy wasn’t blowin’ smoke in your eyes.”

“I had to,” Clay replied earnestly.  “If there was any chance . . . Wouldn’t you?”

Buddy had been listening in stunned silence.  This was . . .unreal.  Way beyond coincidence.

“I was found just outside of Fort Hood,” he told the other man in a numb monotone.  “Next to a wreck so twisted, they couldn’t tell what it was.”

“I know,” Clay told him in a strained voice.  “But I could never find where you went after that.  And, Lord help me, I tried.”

The estranged twins stared at each other over Gary.  It was as if he had disappeared from the room, at least as far as they were concerned.  Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Gary rose and took his mother by the arm.

“Let’s leave ’em alone for a few minutes,” he murmured to both of his parents.  “They’ve got a lot of catching up to do.  A lifetime’s worth.”  He was unable to conceal a wince as he turned her towards the door.

“How many ribs this time?” Lois quietly asked.

“Two,” Gary admitted.  “And a couple of cracks.  Look, I’ve still gotta clean up, and those two may be talkin’ for hours.  What say we cancel our reservations and eat downstairs?  I can have Dave or Carlos fix whatever you like.  Even if it’s not on the menu.”

“Gnocchi?”

“Yes, Dad,” Gary sighed.  “Even gnocchi.”

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

Clay and Buddy talked way into the night.  It was well after sunset before either twin realized that Clay had not even gotten a place to stay.   Gary came to the rescue, again, by offering the use of his loft.  

“You guys can take the bed,” he told them.  “I’ll be fine on the sofa.”

“With cracked and broken ribs?” Clay said with a shake of his head.  “No way.  You’ll keep us up moanin’ and groanin’ all night.”

“Clay’s right, Gary,” Buddy spoke up.  “We can flip for the couch and the chair.  No sense puttin’ you out of your own bed.  I doubt we’ll sleep much., anyway.”

In fact, the twins got very little sleep that night.  Gary didn‘t sleep a wink.  Just not for the same reasons.

Gary was feeling the effects of his long, harrowing day long before the twins realized their dilemma.  Exhausted, he was looking forward to crawling into his bed and passing out for a few hours.  One last look at the Paper and he could rest with a clear conscience.

“Oh . . . my . . . God!” he murmured in stunned disbelief.  The blood drained from Gary’s already pale features as he read the banner headline.  ‘WORLD TRADE CENTER DESTROYED!  THOUSANDS FEARED DEAD!’  The horrifying article went on to describe how, at approximately 8:45 EST, a passenger jet out of Boston had crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, to be followed shortly after by a second impact that obliterated the south tower burying rescue workers and victims alike.  It went into gruesome detail, including the collapse of the much shorter Tower Seven, a third jet liner crashing into the pentagon, and the heroic sacrifice of the passengers of a fourth plane which would crash in western Pennsylvania, killing all aboard.

Stunned, Gary stared at the picture of devastation, a scene straight from Hell.  How could he prevent something this huge?  Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was well after ten o’clock.  That gave him just a little more than ten hours to find some way to prevent this horror!  He thought about the list of contacts he had been given by the covert team operating out of Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado.  Perhaps one of them could help.  Making an offhand excuse to his guests, Gary practically ran down the stairs and out the back door of McGinty’s.  A few minutes later he was dialing the first number on a long, frustrating, list.

“Now, how could I get this number, and the codeword, if I was just another . . .?  Hello?  Hello?”  Muttering under his breath, Gary depressed the cut-off button and dialed again, only to have the operator interrupt asking for payment for the last call.  Grinding his teeth to keep from saying something he would later regret, he fed a fistful of quarters into the machine, then tried again.  This time, they at least let him get as far as the threat to the Pentagon before they laughed and hung up.  With a heartfelt prayer for patience and success, Gary fed the phone and tried again.  It was going to be a long night.

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

The sun was coming up as Gary stumbled back to McGinty’s for more quarters.  He could have called from the bar, but that would’ve made it too easy to trace the call back to him.  The code number and password he had been given was supposed to have gotten him immediate action, no questions asked.  Yeah. Right.  Looking at his watch with tired, bloodshot eyes he saw that he had just under an hour to try to ground those planes.  In the meantime, he also had to deal with whatever else today’s . . . no tomorrow’s Paper had in store for him.

Stumbling up to the loft, he spied the cat sitting serenely at the head of the stairs, the Paper by its side.  As he approached, the tabby stretched lazily and sauntered towards the door.

“Not so fast, furball,” Gary hissed.  “You can’t dump something like this on me, then walk away.  How’m I supposed to deal with something this big when I can’t get anyone to listen?”  He shook yesterday/today’s Paper at the cat for emphasis.  “Thousands are gonna die, and I can’t do anything!”

The cat rubbed up against Gary’s ankles, rubbing his orange head against jeans-clad legs as if in sympathy.  

“That’s fine for you,” Gary grumbled, snatching up that day’s ‘assignment,’ “but I still have to try and solve this mess, and it’s not even my territory!”  The damning headline still stretched across the front page.  The scene of devastation had no less impact for being a day older.  At least there was some speculation as to the identity of the hijackers, but that was all.  Nothing that would give him any clue as to what he could do to prevent the attack.

A quick check on his two guests revealed them to be deeply, and noisily, asleep.  Gary had been hesitant to even open the door.  Their rumblings could be clearly heard from the hallway!  Leaving the twins to their slumber, he returned to the first floor, where he scanned tomorrow’s Paper.

There wasn’t much new in the Paper for this morning.  A guy slipping on spilt coffee at a local Starbucks, breaking his tailbone.  And a cashier in a local fast food restaurant was going to be shot in a hold-up. Two more workers would be found locked in the freezer.  Both took place fairy early.  He would still have time to make a few phone calls.  If only he could get someone to listen!

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

Continue to Installment 2

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 

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