Foreword

Spring has arrived. Flowers begin to bloom, the weather friendlier, and life moves on.

To be sure, crime does its own blooming, just as love does.

There is much focus on Ed, Stevie gets something very special; a rash of non-human murders by two good-old boys, a series of robberies throughout New York State, and a copycat killer very similar to Claire Waynestead, is coming to settle a score.

New characters enter the foray; some humor, and anger rises to the surface.

Somewhere in the mish-mash of craziness, Freddy will be in the mix.

Enjoy.

Excerpt

Fred Creasy walked into Room 111, with two boxes of pizza, and two six-packs of beer.

Bertram Ballmate, was sitting on the edge of one of the twin beds, cleaning both rifles. As Bertram often said, “A clean weapon fires a clean shot for a clean kill.”

On the TV, a movie was playing both men have seen several times, ‘Die Hard’. They loved Brue Willis and the way he played a no bull-shit kinda guy.

“Hey Bertram, two large pizzas with the works. And I got us some Bud to chase them down with.”

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if this part of the country had any beer joints to begin with.”

“I hear ya, buddy. But the guy at Bob’s Pizza, said there was a place, two miles straight up from here, so while they were fixing our pizzas, I went and got us some suds.”

“Good. Maybe after we eat, we can take a drive around and get a good feel for this place. See if’n we can help people around here, take care of their pets for them.”

**********

Just as Death and Destruction are never satisfied,

so human desire is never satisfied.

Proverbs 27: 20

The desire of love, Joy:

The desire of life, Peace:

The desire of the soul, Heaven:

The desire of God … a flame-white secret forever.

William (Fiona McLeod) Sharp

Death, and destruction are my two favorite calling cards. Two of my closest friends. Secrets are like surprises. You never know what will be revealed until the time comes. Who am I kidding. The surprise I bring is your last breath of air. The real secret is how long will you struggle to remain alive. Not very.—Freddy

**********

It had almost two months since Daniel died in that terrible accident. A month of many sleepless nights, and many private tears.

For Patrick Davenport, perhaps the most difficult thing for him was the trip to Montie, with Daniel’s parents, to identify Daniel’s remains. He felt as if his insides were going to explode.

Eleven years of pure joy and happiness were suddenly ripped away as if caught up in a spinning vortex, leaving behind a trail of wanton destruction that could never be rebuilt, or replaced.

Patrick’s soul felt destroyed.

Everywhere he looked, everything he touched, reminded him of Daniel. He had to get away. But to where? Where could he go and feel somewhat comfortable? Where could he go to rebuild his life?

He remembered after viewing Daniel’s body with his parents, he later took a long drive around Montie. A rather small, quaint city, seemingly quiet; though he knew part of its history both past and present. As his own mother once told him, “Looks are deceiving. Beware that which tempts you most.”

During that drive, he saw a for-sale sign for an animal clinic, including a small veterinary hospital. He wrote the number down and put it in his wallet.

Remembering it now, he withdrew the paper from his wallet, and ran his fingers over the scrawled numbers.

It wouldn’t do any harm to ask, he thought.

Reaching for his cell-phone, he pressed in the 503 area-code and the rest of the numbers, and on the third ring, a young woman’s voice answered.

“Allgood’s Associates, Marrianne, speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yes, hello. My name is Patrick Davenport, and I’m calling about the property for sale on Murrate; the animal clinic.”

“One moment. I will redirect your call to Allen Vandecamp. Please hold.”

At least it wasn’t a pre-recorded message right off the bat. Press one for a man. Press two for a woman. Press three for a drink. Press four for a ….

“Allen Vandecamp, here. Mr. Davenport?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you are interested in Dr. Creekmantle’s clinic.”

“If you mean the animal clinic, yes.”

“One and the same. What would you like to know?”

“Why is he selling, and how much?”

“Dr. Creekmantle’s selling because he is retiring. He has hopes of selling the place to someone with experience and to continue the practice.”

“I see. Experience, I have. Almost ten years, and I have toyed with the idea of owning my own business for some time.”

“If I may, Mr. Davenport, I would like to set up a day and time to show you around the place. It still is in operation. It’s just that Dr. Creekmantle rarely comes in these days. His assistant, Terrie Norstrum, is pretty much in charge for the time being.”

“Mr. Vandecamp, my coming in any time soon will be a problem. I’m down here in Newark, Delaware. But, if you can email me photographs, along with any structural damage the building may have; and any areas that may have to meet any safety-inspection codes, that would be a big help.”

“I can certainly do that. The building is in excellent shape, and recently passed all safety standards.”

“Also, please include his asking price.”

“That’s easy. Dr. Creekmantle wants $650,000. And, I’m afraid that’s one single payment. He doesn’t want to deal with someone doing bank financing. That price does include all materials, furniture, lab equipment, and so forth to keep the clinic and small hospital going.”

“One last thing. Sorry. Do you, or can you, get to me a history of income for the last three years?”

“I am sure I can. Dr. Creekmantle is very anxious to sell and will practically do all he can to get the place sold, and in qualified hands.”

“Then go ahead and email all that information. I will get back to you once I have reviewed everything.”

Patrick gave him his email address and closed off the call. He spun around in his office at home and looked out onto a crisp morning. He stared out into his yard, and all the leaves that had piled high on the ground. He watched as a few leaves were lifted back and forth, from one place to another from a slight breeze, gliding its way to no place, and going someplace, he had no clue about.

Spinning back around, he faced his computer, booted it up, and knew if the place looked even halfway good to him, he would buy it.

He had the money, in part from his savings account, his joint checking account with Daniel, and the life insurance policy that made Patrick the beneficiary. Daniel also left a separate policy to his parents. “Just because they can’t bitch I left everything to you,” Daniel often said. All totaled, according to when he checked his account online; he was two-hundred thousand shy of two-million.

The more he thought about the clinic, the more he knew he would say yes and buy the place. He had the experience, working as an assistant vet at the Newark Animal Shelter. He had his own ideas on how to run a clinic, so this would be ideal.

But there is another reason he wanted to buy the place. The closeness. It was the last place Daniel was alive and breathing before God took him away.

For Patrick, being close to Daniel’s final moments made living a bit more memorable, and in time, he might once again find happiness. Maybe.

With that thought in mind, his right hand reached for the Sig-Sauer .351, replaced the safety, and opened the bottom drawer, and placed the weapon in a case and then closed and locked the drawer.

Thursday – February 7th

Baker’s Office – 9:26 a.m.

“Baker.”

“This is Captain Adams over here in Brighton.”

“What can I do for you, Captain?”

“In light of what you recently went through; it’s more what I can do for you. We had a call two weeks ago reporting a dead body. One Marie Hampton. She used to run a realtor business out your way.”

“Name rings a bell. Wait. I remember now. One of my officer’s received information from her, regarding Fredrick Uri Kristen, who was using an alias at the time, Craig Murray. Because of her help, we almost apprehended him. But like you said, that was just a few weeks ago.”

“She’s why I’m calling. Her death was sadistic. Throat cut, chest ripped open, body parts all over the place, and her heart; half torn to pieces, but according to the autopsy’s final report, the heart was chewed. Like eaten.

“My unit swept her place good. We found blood and a few body hairs at the scene. We were able to identify the blood belonging to Kristen. I have to say, Lieutenant, compared to what he has done to other people, this was brutal and messy. Pure rage and anger.”

“What he was after last month, he didn’t get. His frustration and rage boiled over onto her.”

“Makes sense. We also found a slug that appears to be from a .45, that was left in an ashtray.

“If you can send that to my office, I’m more than sure ballistics will tell you it came from one of my officer’s weapon.”

“I can do that, but there is one other thing.”

That flat statement from Adams had goosebumps rise up on her arms.

“Lay it on me, Captain.”

“As I mentioned, my team swept Marie Hampton’s apartment, and one piece of evidence we collected was a letter, for you, from Kristen. It is still in a sealed bag and had been dusted for prints. The reason it took this long to contact you, honestly, is that our office is short-staffed, and not everything is being done properly yet, to keep things running smoothly.

Baker inhaled and muttered, “That-son-of-a-bitch.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing. Look, I can be in Brighton in the next couple hours to read the letter.”

“No need. Just give me your fax number, and I’ll send a copy, and later mail you the original. We have no reason to keep this around any longer.”

“Deal; though I’m not sure I want to read this one, this time.”

“I’ll have it to you in the next two minutes. I’ll also send you copies of how we found Marie Hampton, what the team dug up, and what the M.E. gave me. It’s understood he’s your perp, and I figured you would want any information that gets you closer to arresting Kristen.”

“Just what I need, Captain. More puzzle pieces but thank you.”

After she gave him the fax number, as promised, the fax started working. She hit receive and watched as a blank page sprang to life with black letters on it. Letters, she knew, would make her shake in both fear, and anger.

She couldn’t help but believe if that phone hadn’t rung that night, that no amount of help could have saved Stevie, Ed, or herself. But it did ring, and guessed God wasn’t ready to move her and the two men she loved most, into heaven yet.

The paper from the fax machine stopped printing. She pulled it away and sat back at her desk and started reading.

My dear sweet Janis,

Once more you survived when you shouldn’t have. Are you Irish? Devine intervention, perhaps? Either way, you get to run around town and continue to play bad-girl cop. Did that prick, Ed, survive? Did you see the look on his face when his arm divorced him and hit the floor? The look was priceless. I have no way of knowing at the moment; if he died or not. I would give you my address that you could write, but we know that isn’t happening.

For reasons we all understand, I will be away. I have other people to do. Hence, sweet Janis, you can relax. But—there will come a day when there will be no more running, no more wondering for either of us. I can promise you that. Before you ask yourself the all-too important question; of course, you will hear from me time to time. Isn’t that what friends do? After all, you know me so very well now. I almost dare say, better than I know myself.

Before I forget, give my regards to your Gimp for a son. Knowing what he knew was to have happened, I have to give my respect where respect is due. I saw no fear in his eyes. I make you this promise; I will not harm your son.

Question? Can your lips still feel my kiss? For a bitch, you are delicious.

When you have finished this, I will be far, far away, so for now my delicious wench, farewell.

Next time; Just you. Just me.

With No Love In My Heart For You

Freddy

PS … when it comes time, I will take you to hell’s never-ending abyss.

The Twenty-Second Precinct – 10:31 a.m.

“Excuse me, but can you direct me to who is in charge of this establishment?”

Sergeant Dewey McDaley, looked up and over his desk, and through his coke-bottle glasses, could see a modest, yet somewhat attractive woman standing before him.

“That would be, Captain Page, ma’am. He’s up on the second floor. Take a left at the top of the stairs, and his office is the first one on the right. Can’t miss it. Says: Captain John Satchell Page in big letters on the glass.”

“Thank you.”

The woman turned and slowly, methodically took her time, taking in the sounds and smells of what it is like to work in a place such as this. A place she wouldn’t normally be in to begin with but felt it necessary.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she looked down.

“So small they all look. Walking dolls.”

Turning back, she walked to the first door, and knocked loud enough to be heard the first time.

“It’s open.”

Twisting the handle, she entered the room, and across from her, she could see a tall black man standing at his desk with a streak of gray hair on both sides that seemed to give him a bit of a regal look. He almost resembled Morgan Freeman.

“You are Captain Page?”

“That I am. How can I help you?” His smile broke wide, and it was an honest one. I gentle one. Definitely Morgan Freeman, she believed.

“I finally decided to come in because of the events that happened about two months ago. Also, because I believe some of my dolls may have been involved. I have read the papers, listened to the news with that Ralston reporter, of the unfortunate accident that a few of your police officers had with a, Craig Murray. I believe that was the name he went by.”

“Please, have a seat, Miss ….”

“Colepepper. Bethany Colepepper.”

“Give me a minute. I’m going to get Lieutenant Baker, and ask her to sit in on this, if you don’t mind.”

Less than a minute passed, when Baker walked into Satchell’s office, spying Bethany sitting in one of the dark oak wood chairs in front of Satchell’s desk.

“What’s up, Captain. I was about to go to the hospital to see Ed.”

“This might not take too long, Baker. I think you need to hear this woman out. Baker, this is Bethany Colepepper. Ms. Colepepper, Lieutenant Baker.”

A handshake, a nod of the head, along with two reserved smiles, and Bethany Colepepper began speaking.

“As I first explained to the Captain, I heard about the unsavory events that happened involving that person, Craig Murray, and I feel partially at fault.

“In the news, it was mentioned porcelain dolls were part of an investigation your department has been, or still is, looking into. I think they are my creations.”

Baker leaned forward from where she sat.

“What makes you believe the dolls are yours?”

“It was stated in the paper and on Channel 08 news there were three dolls. I recently made three dolls for a man who called himself, Craig Murray.”

Baker’s eyes shifted to Satchell, who answered her unasked question.

“How long ago was this, Miss Colepepper?”

“Quite some time ago. Handcrafted, lifelike dolls take a great deal of time to perfect, but he picked them up from my shop; but I would say it was sometime around the eighteenth of January.”

“Ms. Colepepper,” said Baker, “if you would, I would like you to follow me downstairs into the basement where the evidence room is and identify the dolls as being your work.”

“I see no problem in that. I have also brought along the picture that Mr. Murray gave me to use their, excuse me, your likeness, and I daresay, and forgive me again, but I had no idea I would be speaking with you until you walked in.”

Bethany reached inside her purse and pulled the picture out and handed it to Baker.

Reaching for it, she knew right away where this was taken. Right after the wedding ceremony. It was her, Ed, and Stevie. Freddy told her he was there, and this picture proves that.

Baker threw the picture on Satchell’s desk and he glanced at it with a sad shake to his head.

“I would say this alone is enough to convince me, Miss Colepepper did make the dolls.”

“I agree, Captain.” Baker stood, looked at Bethany, and said, “If you would please follow me, so you can make a positive ID of your work, and then we can close this part of the investigation.”

“Certainly, Lieutenant Baker.” Bethany looked at Satchell, with a small curving smile. “Captain Page, my pleasure.”

Satchell stood from behind his desk, extended his hand and said, “Thank you for coming forward, Miss Colepepper. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

Definitely Morgan Freeman, she smiled again.

Within a few minutes, Baker and Bethany found themselves in the basement and in front of a caged counter where a sign hung overhead reading: PROPERTY ROOM.

A tall, skinny man with the nameplate: Gibbons, walked to the counter.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

“I hope so. I need you to pull the evidence box on the porcelain dolls for me. I have this woman with me who is going to identify them for us.”

“Give me two minutes.” Gibbons disappeared behind a shelf to his right.

“Is he the only one who works down here?”

“Pretty much. Marty’s been doing this almost seven years. I sometimes think if someone else were to work with him, Marty would feel invaded. This place is his home away from home.”

“Sad, in a way, when you say it like that. It’s as if this is the only life he has.”

“It may well be, at least in his eyes. He lost his wife in a terrible accident at the textile mill. Her name was Meredith. Seemed a cog or pin came loose on the machine she was assigned. It fell apart, crushing his wife before she had a chance to react. Two other people were caught under the weight of the machine who died as well. It was a sad day then.

“Marty had a funeral for her, closed-casket, and from that day to now, he’s been in that ‘I’m fine’ mode. And he is, or as close to it he will get. But he is a good man.”

Just then, Marty Gibbons returned from the corner shelf with a one box in his hands.

“I believe this is what you are after, Lieutenant.”

Opening the box, there lay three dolls. Some were broken, some cut into, but without really looking, Bethany Colepepper acknowledged they were her handiwork.

“I must say, when I created these, they were intact; not so messy.”

Baker closed the box, looked at Marty, saying, “You can put these back, Marty, and thanks.”

“Quite all right, Lieutenant.” He grabbed the box and disappeared once again.

“Ms. Colepepper, thank you for coming this morning. At least this piece of the puzzle we’ve been working, has finally been found and put in place, thanks to you.”

“I do hope you find the rest of the pieces. That Craig Murray, well, he appears to be a very dangerous man.”

“Dangerous is an understatement, and I don’t believe we will ever see Craig Murray again.” Baker reached for her wallet and pulled out her business card and handed it to Bethany. “But in case you do, or have any other information, please call me.”

Taking the card, she said, “I feel terrible that my work was involved in all this, and that it nearly cost several lives.”

“You had no way of knowing. Besides, that part is finished.”

As they reached the main floor, Bethany handed Baker one of her cards. Smiling, she said, “If you ever get the urge.” Then she turned and walked out the front doors.

Baker looked at the card that read in bold letters: THE-DOLL-MAKER.

Turning, she walked up the stairs to her office to file a report on today’s events and close out the nagging question that held no answer until today. Once she finished, she would head over to the hospital and look in on Ed, and later Roberts.

As Bethany got in her car and drove away, she couldn’t help but think aloud, “Pity I hadn’t found her when she was a child. So natural a beauty she is.” Stopping for a red light to change, she briefly looked at her image in the rear-view mirror.

“Nothing wrong there. I won’t need another child to enhance my looks for at least another eighty years.” She winked at herself, smiled, and when the light turned green, she drove on.

The Baker-Manning Home

111 Homestead Lane – Late Night

Baker drove up to her garage as the door opened from her remote.

Today had been one of those long tedious days of going through old and new files, compiling summary reports from each of her team members, and then, no less, photo-copying each in triplicate, then scan each page into the computer data-base. On top of that, she had meetings with city council members over new zoning modifications, and the restructuring of finances for both the police and fire department as well.

God, she can’t stand “polly-ticking”, as Ed would say.

The upside? No emergences, no robberies, no assaults; no nothing.

With the garage door closed behind her, she stepped out of her red Hummer to go into the house and spend a relaxing night, or at least what was left of it; first in the tub just to soak herself into a prune. Every muscle in her body ached. Then, a late-night dinner with Stevie and Ed. Some conversation, maybe a movie, that is if she could keep her eyes open that long; then off to bed and snuggle in bed with Ed, until the Sandman, or some other sleepy-time character came along and put her in dreamland.

As she stepped to the side door leading into the kitchen, she noticed the door slightly open. Her hand automatically reached for her weapon when she paused, thinking, “One of them just didn’t close the door all the way.”

Entering the kitchen, she threw her keys on the kitchen counter and saw the place the way she left it this morning—spotless.

It was Stevie’s night to cook.

“Ed! Stevie! I’m home, guys.”

No answer.

She walked to Stevie’s room first as it was closer and spied a light on from under the crack of the door. She lightly wrapped her knuckles on the door saying, “Hey bub. You in there?”

No answer.

She opened the door. Room clean. Bed made. Spotless.

Maybe they are in the yard, but why so late? Plus, it’s cold out there.

She started for the French Doors that led out onto a spacious yard, when she heard something fall and break in her bedroom.

So that’s it, she thought. They are in our room, wrestling. Ed knows better. He isn’t fully normal; given the circumstances, but she smiled just the same. Ed and Stevie were becoming closer every day that came and went. As a mother, she couldn’t ask for anything more.

Slowly, she inched the door open, and just as she was about to sneak a look around the door, she yelled loudly as her hand went for her gun a second time.

“YOU BASTARD!”

He turned, blood-soaked from the neck down, a hell-bent smile pasted to his lips. In his left hand, he held Stevie’s head. At the edge of the bed, lay Ed, throat slit, his other arm cut off, chest splayed open.

“sweet Janis. Nice of you to arrive on time. Here is a present for you.”

He threw Stevie’s severed head in her direction just as Baker was aiming her gun at him, tears coursing down her face, her cheeks flush with anger.

Freddy had also thrown the first of two Bowie knives at her at the same time he threw Stevie’s head. The first blade went deep into her left shoulder, sending her against the wall between her dresser and the bedroom door.

Baker felt herself sliding to the floor, watching, as Freddy came at her with another Bowie knife.

She cocked the hammer on her gun.

“sweet Janis. This is the moment I have waited for. To taste your blood, feast on your heart, drink in your fear, and listen to your pitiful pleadings. Tonight, you die with all you love. Love is dead, sweet Janis, just like you. Now die, you BITCH!”

Freddy lunged, Bowie knife pointed at her stomach, eventually to be ripped straight up to her throat.

Feeling the blade rip into her deeply, screamed loudly, “You die with me, asshole!”

She fired every round from her gun into Freddy’s stomach, chest, and face. Even in death, Freddy had the final moment, without words. As blood poured from his flesh, his tongue snaked a bloody trail across her lips and face.

When he fell to the left side of Baker; her eyes, staring a final time at the carnage surrounding her; quiet became the loudest sound in the room.

The Sandman finally got to her.

But why could she still hear voices? She could hear her name being screamed aloud. She could feel her body being yanked, pulled, and tugged, as if she were but a rag doll being callously hurled in the air.

Getting into heaven was supposed to be easy.

Just leave me be, her mind screamed. Just let me go and be at peace, finally.

She could feel a light cross over her face. Her eyes reacted behind closed lids. The light! It’s the light leading me to heaven. To home. To those I love.

Jan!

Mom!

I can hear them. They are so close. Finally. Going. Home.

“Mom! Please, wake up!”

“C’mon, Jan. Snap out of it, girl. It’s just another dream. Wake up.”

Baker’s eyes flew open, shifting left to right, taking in both Stevie and Ed. Both of her hands touched their cheeks. Tears slid down the sides of her face.

“Oh, God. Another nightmare! He, he … Freddy killed you both. He killed me, but this time I killed him. He died this time.”

Then her tears raged forth faster and harder, and she curled her face against Ed’s stomach. She could feel Stevie’s hand against her face as he whispered, “It’s okay, mom. You’re back with us. We’re home, together, mom. He can’t hurt us any longer. And if he ever does come back, his days are numbered. I promise you, mom. Next time, we surprise him. Next time, Freddy is history.” He looked at Ed. “Right, Ed?”

“You better believe it.”

The three laid huddled together as a morning sun rose to chase away the overnight chill that had captured their part of the world.

Sunday – April 1st – 1:30 p.m.

The Baker-Manning Home

111 Homestead Lane

Backyard Cooking

Today was the first really good spring day, and to prove that, Baker, Ed, and Stevie, invited friends and coworkers over for a cookout,

Johnathan and Dianne, Andre Devon, with his wife Vanessa, and daughter, Jenny. There was also Ellie, with her parents, Barry and Julie Whitmore; Satchell Page, and even the mayor, Jean Marsh, and her husband, frank. A few others were invited and would probably stop by when they got off work. J.W. was unable to attend, but Baker made a promise to bring him some of the food later in the day.

Stevie was the intrepid chef for the day. On the broiler he had plenty of beef-ribs, chicken breasts, hamburgers, and hot dogs. For those who wanted their meat barbequed, he had plenty of his mom’s homemade recipe for everyone to pour over their meat. Stevie wasn’t taking any chances, especially since he knew Ellie’s mom didn’t like anything barbequed. This way; each to their own tastes.

A few people brought a small dish of food. Satchell brought three-dozen doughnuts. Johnathan brought macaroni salad, and Dianne, potato salad. Andre and Vanessa brought macaroni and cheese. The Whitmore’s brought egg salad. Baker also made some homemade bread, just in case. The Marsh’s brought four cases of beer and soda.

But today was a feel-good day. After the nightmare Baker had, this was just the ticket to bring her back online with what being a mother, wife, and friend is all about.

If only, Baker mused, every day could be this serene. This calm.

Deep down, she knew better than to go there. The minute she thinks life will be a piece of cake, is the day when pigs fly; and Elvis comes back from the dead to start a second musical comeback.

At least the sun is shining. The weather is forecasted with warmer weather in the high sixties. Spring has sprung, and please, no more winter’s like the one that just disappeared.

Today was a day that held no talk about work. It was more about family, such as it is with Andre and his family. Then there was the closeness you could see developing between Johnathan and Dianne, and of course that certain feeling between Stevie and Ellie.

Young love, ain’t it grand, she heard someone once say.

Smiling, she watched as Stevie flipped burgers, turned both chicken and ribs over, and watching Ellie dog him every step of the way.

Before dark hurtled her black blanket over a beautiful blue sky, Baker made certain she remembered to pack enough away for J.W. She wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t at least get to taste some of the food since he was still unable to move around as well as he would like. Stevie and Ed would go with her after things were cleaned up.

But today was one of the better days. In another week, it would be even better.

Stevie gets his driver’s license.

1125 Clearfield Street – 6:05 p.m.

After letting them in, and allowing Baker to take over his kitchen, J.W., and Ed, spoke.

“How are things going for you, Ed?”

“To be truthful, it’s still taking me time to get adjusted that I pretty much have a useless are hanging by my side. I sometimes think I would have been better off if it hadn’t been reattached. But, I’m doing rehab.”

“Look at it like this, Ed; if Hollywood decides to remake ‘The Fugitive’, you can always get your arm removed and take the role of the one-armed killer.”

“I think I’ll pass on that idea.”

The reheated aromas were filtering their way into the small living room.

“Man-oh-man, that sure does smell good, Baker,” said J.W.

“Don’t give me the credit, that all goes to Stevie. I’m just reheating his masterpiece meal from earlier.”

“Is that right?” J.W. looked at Stevie. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“From, mom, and my dad, and his….” He looked at his mom, then, Ed. He wasn’t sure how to say partner. Lover.

“He means significant other, J.W.,” countered Baker.

“Oh, okay. I get it. Your dad was gay.”

“Yeah, he was. I just didn’t know how to say it since you are. I didn’t want to offend you.”

“No offense taken.” J.W. looked at everyone standing in the living room, with Baker holding two plates of hot food.

“Actually, it’s nice to be around people who understand what it means to be gay.”

“I will tell you, J.W., that in the beginning, I couldn’t accept Mark being gay, that’s Stevie’s father. It was a blow to my psyche, and also being a woman, who, at the time, had a high sex drive. It took time for me to adapt. Stevie was about ten at the time. Mark and I divorced, he moved out of state, and we mutually agreed it was better for Stevie to stay with him, than me. As a cop, I am a liability for a stable home environment. So we traded off holidays and vacations. Worked out well until the accident. Now, it’s working even better.

“Now start eating. I don’t really want to have to reheat all this food again.”

Five minutes into an eating frenzy, J.W. looked at Stevie.

“You keep cooking like this, and one day you’ll have your own restaurant and a TV cooking show.”

Stevie grinned.

“One day, I want to make a difference in the lives of people. Maybe be a cop like mom, and Ed. Maybe a Congressman or Senator, maybe even the president. I think if I can really make a difference for someone’s life and convince someone else to make a difference; we can double, triple, and quadruple that and so on; until we live on a world where the only difference between life and death isn’t a bullet fired from a gun, or a fist hitting another human being, but the difference is ridding the world of famine and disease, homelessness, and having, and keeping world peace among all nations.

“I know it won’t all happen. But it might, one day. And that would be so cool. Be like the movie, ‘Pay It Forward’. Keep it going, and never let it end.”

“Yeah, that would be, cool, Stevie.” J.W. smiled and winked at him.

“Going from peace on earth to the here and now; just how are you doing, J.W.?”

“I go back to the doctor, Thursday. I’m hoping he will finally give me a clearance to return back to work. That damn knife of Freddy’s did some major damage, but everything’s healing fine. Just healing too slow for my tastes.”

“When a knife goes through you the way it did,” interrupted Baker, “and goes through part of a lung and breaks two ribs, and a collar bone, as well as tearing through muscle tissue, until the blade is sticking out of your back; be grateful for slow. Slow is good. Slow beats the hell out of dead in my opinion.”

“You get no argument from me on that. It’s just being laid up like this. I wish I had something to do.”

“Trust me; when you get back to work, I’ll have plenty for you to do.”

J.W. and Ed looked at one another. Ed held up his good hand in defense.

“Don’t look at me. I have no idea what she has in mind.”

“Ever hear of be careful what you wish for?” Baker asked.

J.W. nodded his head, but he was grinning.

“You might get your wish and then some when you get back.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” said Stevie.

Opening the door, Andre Devon stepped inside with a bottle of wine.

“Hello, everyone. I’m not intruding, am I?”

“Nope. Not at all. C’mon in, Cisco.”

“After I took Vanessa and Jenny home, and Vanessa sends her best to you; I thought I’d drop by and see how you are doing.” Andre pointed to one of the plates of food. “Good stuff, huh?”

“Sure is. I see you have a bottle of wine. What? Are you going to try and get me drunk and take advantage of my poor state of health?”

Andre turned a bright red.

“Oh, c’mon, Cisco. I’m just teasing. What kind of wine did you bring?”

As Andre went into the kitchen, he removed a corkscrew from his pants pocket and inserted in the cork and started twisting until he could get it to come out.

“Well, I think we’ll leave you two alone to catch up on things. Some of us here have a work day tomorrow, and Stevie has school.

“It was good seeing you again, J.W.,” said Baker, as she lightly clapped him on his back with her left hand. “Call me after you see the doctor and give me a heads up.”

“I’ll do that, and thanks for coming by. Really. Means a lot to me.”

“No problem,” grinned Stevie.

Just as the door was closing behind Baker, she heard Andre say, “It’s pure vintage, 1991 Mogen-David wine. I couldn’t find us any Mad-Dog 20-20 for us.”

As she followed Stevie and Ed down the steps to her Hummer, she could only smile.

Today turned out to be better than just a good day.

It was the best of days.

Monday – April 2nd

Baker’s Office – 9:12 a.m.

What with bring caught up on all the planned events via a memo from Satchell, her daily meeting out of the way, and a lukewarm cup of coffee sitting on her desk, the first thing she realized she missed was Ed, standing in front of her desk with two steaming cups of coffee, and his smile.

She smiled, though it pained her at the same time.

But it was a good memory. The world needs more good memories.

Then there is Stevie, back in school after spring break. More smiles came when she thought back to yesterday’s cookout, and how he mastered the cooking, as well as serving the food. She managed to smile even more when she had seen how he and Ellie were getting along.

Tonight, was going to be a surprise for Stevie. Ed’s words dangled in her head. “Call it a belated birthday gift, since no one went to the Super Bowl.”

She remembered saying, “There will be other Super Bowls. No biggie, but I only have one Stevie, and one you, and I want you both around for a long time. So when is Stan going to deliver?”

“Some time after two. I should be back from the clinic by then. We shouldn’t have a problem surprising him.”

Her two strong men. With her in the middle, they became that solid rock no one could ever break apart.

Not even Freddy.

Though April Fool’s Day was yesterday, in Baker’s mind, this was no joke. The rock would remain firm long after hell froze over.

West Park Sports & Rehab Clinic – 11:20 a.m.

Ed had just finished a sixty-minute therapy session with Mrs. Peterson, and like all the other times he got started, back in the middle of February, there just didn’t seem to be any progress.

It wasn’t like he was expecting full use and strength of his arm overnight, but there wasn’t even a tenth of an inch worth in progress. He couldn’t raise his arm more than five inches, and he still had no ability to hold anything in his hand.

Basically, like buying jewelry as an accessory to highlight what you wear; his left arm was just there, pretending to be part of a complete body.

It just wasn’t working for Ed.

“Another day down, Mrs. Peterson.”

She could hear the dejected tone in his voice.

“Mr. Manning, an injury like yours takes time to rehabilitate. To be quite honest, possibly as long as five years. I have noticed neural systems in your arm are responding better than they were in the beginning, and that’s a plus.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure I want to wait five years. I think back to Stevie, and the progress he made in such a short time, and I wonder if I will ever get as lucky as him, or as blessed.”

Mrs. Peterson smiled.

“Stevie certainly wasn’t the norm. But, Mr. Manning, your genes, and Stevie’s are separate issues. Over twenty years separate the both of you, and that means healing time is different for one thing. For another, Stevie had quite a bit of muscle tissue to work with. When they reattached your arm; a large mass of tissue had to be removed in order to have your arm work as it is now. Freddy nearly destroyed that entirely when he sliced into the arteries, and the large muscle next to your shoulder socket. To be perfectly frank, I am surprised, but pleased, at the progress you have made.”

Ed gave a half-grin.

“I guess you’re right. Some progress is better than none. But I keep thinking that if I could have what Stevie has, that would make a world of difference; wouldn’t it?”

“Very possible. In that regard though, you would have to speak with Dr. Lambert. That’s her field of expertise. Mine, is in this room.”

“Is Dr. Lambert in?”

“She isn’t scheduled to be back until Thursday. Excuse me for a moment.”

Mrs. Peterson walked behind a desk next to a twenty-something girl working as the receptionist. Mrs. Peterson picked up a book, flipped a few pages, put it down, looked at the girl and said something Ed couldn’t hear; then she came back to the table where they sat talking.

“Mr. Manning, Dr. Lambert has a one, and a two-thirty open this Thursday, if you would like to speak with her.”

“Great. I’ll take the one.”

She looked up and over her shoulder, raised her hand, and with only the index finger of her left hand raised, Ed could see the receptionist nod her head.

“You’re in, Mr. Manning. See you Friday for our next session.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Montie High School – 3:05 p.m.

She honked the horn. Stevie walked over to the Hummer, hand in hand with Ellie. Seeing them approach, she hit the down button on her console remote to lower the passenger window.

“Hi, Mrs. Manning.”

“Hello, Ellie. How are you?”

“Great. It just feels weird being back to school after having two weeks off.”

“At least you are back, and that’s what counts,” said Stevie, with his full, award-winning smile.

“Did you and your parents have a good time at Disneyworld?”

“It was the best. But, it would have been better if Stevie had been with me; I mean, us.”

“Maybe next time,” Baker said with a slow smile and a wink at Stevie. “One never knows what will happen.”

Another horn honked. It was Ellie’s mom, Joline.

“Oops, gotta run.” She reached up and kissed Stevie and he pressed into her and gave her a fast, but fiery kiss.

“Call me tonight, Stevie.”

As Stevie was opening the door to get in the Hummer, he yelled, “I will. Ellie. Me, too!”

Baker shook her head, saying, “Do you two ever think you will say, I love you, and be done with it?”

“Mom, you worry too much. But, yeah, we will, one day.”

As Baker pulled away from the curb, Stevie said, “It’s your turn to cook, you know. I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with this time.”

“I know it is, but I decided to opt-out for once and go for a home delivery.”

“Okay, mom. What’s going on? Usually when we do this, it’s just for the weekends.”

“Just thought it would be a nice change of pace for the start of the week. Besides, I ordered from Pablo’s Retreat.”

“Cool. I love their food. What time are we going to eat?”

“I was thinking around five-thirty. And before you ask, yes, I’ll order enough for four. I called Joline earlier and made arrangements to bring Ellie over to the house tonight. I told her I would bring her home by eight-thirty. Plus, I ordered the enchilada pizza.”

“Double cool! Mom, Have I ever said you are the best mom on the whole planet?”

6637 Dusty Lane – 3:15 p.m.

Patrick Davenport popped open a cold beer, ran it across his heated forehead, took three deep swallows, emptying half the can of Schlitz beer. He needed that after finally unpacking and arranging the last of the items delivered two days ago by a moving company.

Between his furniture from Delaware, his personal items, and the few new things he purchased in Montie; his new house was starting to look like a home.

He decided that tomorrow, he would drop by the clinic, and introduce himself to the girl who was currently in charge; Terrie Norstrum. He would have her give him the guided tour and introduce the employees to him.

As to the rest of his day, he sat on the front steps of his porch and drank his beer, soaking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood.

Just before he finished his first beer, his eyes lifted as he looked to an almost cloudless blue sky.

“Daniel, this one is for me. The next one is for you.”

The Baker-Manning Home – 4:35 p.m.

111 Homestead Lane

Ed had been telling Baker and Stevie how his therapy session went, and how he felt about the repeated exercises, that at least to Ed, weren’t doing him any good.

“It isn’t going to be easy, Ed. It’s not as simple as going to sleep and waking up the next day, and bingo; your arm is perfect. Remember, the doctor’s told us you wouldn’t have but about sixty percent use of your arm to begin with.”

“I know this. I also know I’m not Stevie, where I can simply change my habits, or way of life, or whatever you want to call it; but there might be a way. I have an appointment Thursday afternoon with Dr. Lambert. I’m going to talk with her about getting a bionic arm similar to Stevie’s leg.”

“But,” said Stevie, “that would mean having your arm removed. I mean, isn’t that risky? I didn’t have a choice when I lost my leg, but you have a choice with your arm.” Stevie paused a moment, lifted his eyes to Ed, and his mom.

“Guess I just don’t want to lose you, or worse; you regret your decision.”

“Good point, bub.” Turning away from Stevie, she faced Ed.

“If your decision is final, Ed; just don’t go into this blind without knowing any side-effects. Get as much information as you can.”

“Can do. Will do.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” said Stevie.

As he went to the door, Baker said, “Ed, whatever you decide, I’m with you all the way. I hope you know this.”

“I know, but it’s still the best news I could ever ask for.”

“Mom! It’s Pablo’s. They want forty-five dollars.”

Baker stood up and walked to the door, and gave the delivery girl, for a change, sixty dollars, and handed half the food over to Stevie, and the rest to Ed, who was standing behind her.

“Hon. Keep the change, and thanks.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. She had received tips before, but never one this big. As she walked away to make more deliveries, she hoped she got to deliver to these people again.

Baker looked at both of her strong men, and said, “Just don’t stand there. I didn’t buy all this food just to smell it! Let’s get it into the kitchen.

“And Stevie, keep an eye on Ellie pulling up soon.”

Stevie reached over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mom, you’re the best.”

Two slices hadn’t been eaten, when the doorbell rang again. Stevie went to the door again and opened it, and there stood, Ellie. They embraced each other, giving each other a soft kiss, and then Stevie held her hand as he led her into the kitchen.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Manning.”

Ed’s mouth was full, so he just waved and nodded his head. Baker smiled, and said, “Please, call me Jan, or Baker, and him, Ed. We’re kind of impersonal here. But, if you two get married one day down the road; then you can call me, mom.”

“Mom!”

“What? Stevie, people do get married, you know. Happens all the time. I’m not saying you two will, but if you ever do ….”

“That’s okay, Mrs., aah—Baker. I understand.”

Ellie winked and smiled at Baker,

“My mom and dad met in the ninth grade, dated straight through into college, and they got married’ so I know what you’re talking about.”

“Enough about this invisible wedding. Food’s getting cold. Dig in.” Ed’s masterful voice managed to say with his mouth half-filled with a burrito.

And dig in they did.

Somewhere In Kentucky

Two good old boys, not so old (25 and 31), were riding north, drinking beer, telling dirty jokes, listening to country music, trying to sing along. That last part wasn’t working out for them.

Fred Creasy and Bertram Ballmate, were both born and raised in Kentucky. They just up and made their minds up one day to drive north and have a little fun. They met while in prison and became fast friends.

“Screw all that ya can’t associate with another convict crap. Hell, Bert, ya ain’t no damn convict, yer muh friend.”

Like the Beverly Hillbillies, they loaded up Fred’s truck with all the stuff they owned and moved; but not to California.

It was Bert’s idea to head north and have some fun.

“Be like it was down home. A pot shot here, pot shot there. Drop one where it stands. It’ll be fun. And we’ll be doin’ community service for people. Fair ‘nuff trade of, I ’spect. ’Sides, we need a break from Kintuck.”

Two Winchester 30-30’s laid in the boot behind their seats along with over a thousand rounds of ammunition. Underneath each of their seats, were two western-style holsters, each holding a Colt .45.

They were loaded for bear, but bears wasn’t their targets.

Yep, just two good old boys wanting a little fun.

Bert looked at Fred.

“Can’t wait ‘till we can get started. Ya know, there ain’t no harm in a little target practicin’ while we roll up the road.”

“Yer right.” Fred looked at the gas gage.

“I got less than a quarter-tank, so next exit, we get gas, and a meal, then we can do a bit of practicin’ at the same time.”

“Works fer me.”

The Baker-Manning Home – 5:12 p.m.

111 Homestead Lane

“Another slice?”

“Oh please, no, Baker. I don’t think I can eat another bite. The food was delicious, and as tempting as it is; if I ate one more slice of that enchilada pie, I would burst into a billion pieces!”

Ed looked at Baker, smiled, and nodded his head.

Baker stood and cleared off the table, throwing away all the paper and containers, as Stevie wrapped what was left over and put it in the fridge. Baker then walked into her bedroom to get something.

“Ellie, let’s go sit on the porch for a bit.”

“Okay.”

“Not okay,” came Ed’s voice.

“Huh? Why not?”

“This is why not.”

There stood Baker, between the kitchen and the dining room, holding a cake filled with candles. She walked to the table and set it down.

Sixteen candles, and it read: Happy Birthday, Stevie.

Stevie grinned.

“Hey, in case you forgot, my birthday was in January.”

“How could I forget? Remember, I was there when you showed up.”

“Okay-okay-okay, I give. What’s this about anyway?”

“Simple,” said ed. “We had plans for you to see the Super Bowl, and because of what happened, that went poof. So, today, we are doing a re-celebration of sorts. So, make another wish, and blow out your candles.”

Stevie’s eyes looked at Ed, then to his mom, who only smiled as she sat next to Ed. Then he looked at Ellie and shrugged his shoulders. Ellie reached out, grabbed his left hand, nodded, as if to say, “Make a wish.”

He did. And with a power like a harsh wind, he blew out the candles in one fierce rush of air. Applause filled the kitchen.

“Now, you need to follow me.”

Ed stood with Baker by his side and were closely followed by Stevie and Ellie.

They were headed for the garage.

When all four were inside, Stevie’s eyes were as big as saucer cups. There, parked next to Ed’s Volvo, sat a Mustang GT 5.0.

As Stevie walked all around the car, peering inside, he could hear Ed’s voice.

“You have a 6-speed manual transmission. You also have a voice-activated navigational and entertainment system. Bucket seats with a 12-way adjustable setting, and a steering wheel with a mounted Bluetooth. The entertainment system, so I was told, can store up to ten gigs worth of music, and you have eight speakers for quality sound.

“The dash is modular activated. When you’re low on gas, water, oil; or if the door is unlocked, seat-belt unfastened, it will tell you. Comes with a spare, the same size as you see now, and they are cast-aluminum.

“Under the hood, you have a V-8 engine, electric fuel injection. The max on this 412 horsepower at 6,500 r.p.m.’s, but we trust you well enough to never take it to the max to begin with. Interior is black leather.

“It can go 0-60 in 4.4 seconds, and a quarter-mile in 12.8 seconds. Of which we know you wouldn’t try that anyway.

“Beyond that, this baby has all the bells and whistles one could ask for. We shopped around for a car that would fit your spirit, and that’s why we settled on the Mustang.

“But the kid in me took it a step further. I had it repainted. It was red, like your mother’s Hummer, but I thought how totally cool you would look driving to school with it looking like this.”

The top, from front to back were painted a scarlet color, while the sides were painted almost the color of a morning fog. Top that off with a blending of scarlet and gray flames mixed in that gave it a dramatically impressive look. The Mustang almost had that 1950’s hot-rod look.

“Here’s the keys,” Ed said, catching Stevie’s attention as he threw them in the air. Stevie grabbed them without missing a beat with his left hand. His other hand had Ellie’s in it.

“Did you know about this, too,” he asked her.

“No. This is a beautiful car, Stevie.”

Stevie let go of her hand and walked over to Ed.

“This is far better than a Super Bowl, Ed. I will never forget this. Thank you very much.” He stuck out his right hand, and Ed clasped it into his own. Then Stevie pulled himself against Ed.

“I mean it, Ed. I won’t ever forget.”

Then he turned toward Baker.

“Mom, what can I say, except I love you, and thanks a lot for this.” He opened up his arms and hugged her.

“Stevie, just promise me you will always drive carefully.”

“You know I will, mom. Heck, it wouldn’t look good if Lieutenant Baker’s son was pulled over for speeding.”

“This is true.”

“Say, mom, speaking of driving; can I take Ellie for a little spin? I promise I won’t be gone very long.”

“Just be careful out there. That’s all I—we ask of you.”

“And I’ll make sure he’s careful,” added Ellie. “Besides, he can take me home. Thanks again for inviting me over. It’s been fun. Bye!”

And just that quick, they were both in the car, buckled, in, garage door opened, and they were backing out onto the street, making a beeline for who knew where.

Baker stood next to Ed watching the Mustang until it was gone from sight.

“Ed, do you think he’ll ever grow out of the hugging stage with me?”

“I doubt it, Jan. That’s something you instilled in him a long time ago, and I seriously doubt he’ll stop.”

“I hope you’re right. He’s growing into a man, but he’s still my baby. We came so close to losing him. I don’t think I could take something like that happening again. I want him to bury me; not the other way around.”

Ed looked at her and said, “What’s all this talk about?”

“Ed, we almost died. As a family. The next time Freddy comes back, and trust me, he will; the next time could very well be our last. And if that happens, I don’t want Stevie even remotely close. I want him to grow up and have a good life. Married or not.”

Ed held her with his good arm and kissed the top of her head.

“First things first. You and I are going to live until we can count all the wrinkles on our ass. Second, if anyone buries you, it’ll be me. Stevie can stand alongside me. But, I suspect you’ll live forever, any damn way.”

Baker laughed a little.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are just too damn stubborn to die.”

“Stubborn? I am not!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

Ed might have an almost useless arm at this point, but his legs worked perfectly as he ran from the edge of the garage back into the house, doing his best to stay away from the swinging arms of Baker.

Both were laughing like little kids.

Tuesday – April 3rd – 8:29 a.m.

The Squad Room

“Just a few items.

“First, J.W. will be returning to work next Monday. The Captain got a call from him this morning saying the doctor has cleared him for duty. So, Devon, Poncho is coming back.”

“About damn time. Been kind of lonely being in the saddle by myself.”

There were a few throaty laughs.

“Another thing; between seventh and ninth off State and Melrose, the streets are blocked off due to a sinkhole right in the middle of eighth. It happened sometime during the night. So keep an eye on traffic in that area.”

Satchell walked in.

“I need a minute of everyone’s time.”

Satchell walked slowly to the front to face everyone. He had a pained, tired expression on his face.

“I have some bad news to give all of you. Very few of you didn’t know our former captain, Raymond Todd, but most of you sitting here do. Moments ago, I received a call from his son. Both Ray, and his wife, Elaine, were found dead two days ago up along the Sandbar Creek region in Northern California. They went up there for a weekend to do some fishing and relaxing.

“Reports are sketchy as to how they were killed, yet alone why. I have already called the State Police there, and left word for them to call me, but, according to preliminary reports, it’s pretty gruesome, as if an animal may have mauled them to death. Once I get more information, I’ll pass it on to you.

“I have spoken with Mayor Marsh, and she has authorized that all flags be flown at half-mast for the next seventy-two hours.”

Without taking questions, Satchell left the room and went back to his office. The only noises heard were footfalls, and the door closing behind him as he disappeared.

Silence became a blanket which covered the room. Not a word was spoken for the longest time.

Baker looked around the room at the shocked, surprised, and angry faces. Most of the men and women in the room had served alongside Raymond Todd for a number of years, herself included. A few others barely got to know him before he retired in January after putting in twenty years of active police duty. Decorated for valor several times; it was the last incident, a shooting that almost took his life, that prompted him to retire. Barely four months ago since he retired, and now he was gone.

People finally stood up, some muttering whispered curses, others, both men and women alike with a tear riding down their faces, turned and started to go their own way for the day. They still had a job to do.

“Baker said it loud enough to be heard. “Be safe out there and keep our streets safe.”

No one said a word.

Davenport Animal Clinic & Hospital

8th and Murrate – 9:45 a.m.

It felt oddly intense for Patrick to see his name in large letters over the entrance, but it also brought about a warmth of a brand-new beginning for him. This was now all his. He either made it work, or he didn’t. This was the dream come true he often spoke with Daniel about.

Before he found Terrie Norstrum, he whispered, “Daniel, dreams do come true.”

After he entered the building, he found a series of doors where one read: T. Norstrum, Assistant Vet. Another door, directly opposite Terrie’s read: Dr. P. Davenport, Executive Administrator. Fancy title, mused Patrick. He twisted the handle on Terrie’s door and entered. He immediately saw a secretary sitting behind a desk.

“Yes sir, how may I help you?”

“Yes, Terrie Norstrum, please. I’m Patrick Davenport.”

The secretary’s eyes widened, and she quickly stood, and started for the adjoining door. Her name, according to her desk plate read: Shirley Ames.

“One moment, Mr. Davenport.” She gestured with her hand at a leather chair just to his right. “Please, have a seat, sir.”

As her hand reached for the second door, Patrick smiled and said, “Try to relax, Shirley. I’m not the devil from hell.”

She stopped short, smiled nervously for a second, then disappeared into Terrie’s office. Five seconds later, Shirley reemerged, saying, “Dr. Norstrum will see you, sir.”

Shirley stepped back to her desk, sat down, and said, “Welcome to Montie, Dr. Davenport.”

“Thank you. Feels good to be here.”

Patrick stepped into a spacious office filled with shelves of books. A deep-reddish carpet covered the entire floor, and there was a modest oak table with five leather chairs scattered about. Behind the desk sat a man, who stood, walked around the desk, with arm to hand extended in greeting. Patrick was thoroughly surprised.

“Hello, Dr. Davenport. I’m Terry Norstrum. Welcome to Montie. I hope your move here wasn’t tedious.”

“It went smoother than I thought, and it feels good to be here. But please, call me Patrick.”

“Then, call me, Terry. Have you had a chance to look around since you have been here?”

“Montie? Somewhat. Still getting a feel for the area. But I came by today where you could give me the guided tour. That way, I won’t get lost or confused.”

“Then why don’t we begin. Please, follow me.”

Terry introduced him to fourteen employees, all of which knew what they were doing. Why shouldn’t they? Most have been here five years or longer, and three have been here sixteen years. Patrick made general conversation, asked a question here and there, got the answers he wanted, and with Terry, they moved from one room to another.

Each of the eight rooms were laid out the same way. Each equipped with a table, medicine cabinet, and plenty of space for medical supplies for minor emergencies, or for that semi-annual to annual checkup required by state law. There were two smaller rooms designed for pedicures, shampoos, and the “Give my baby a fluffy look”, practically every owner wanted of their females.

There was also an extremely larger room with close to forty dogs housed that didn’t have an owner. Another smaller room was set up for adult cats, kittens, and even a few gerbils, hamsters, and even a parrot.

It had been Dr. Creekmantle’s wish that any animal who was a stray, or was abandoned, would be dropped off at the clinic. The clinic would feed and house them instead of them being euthanized. The only time they would be put down is when the dog, or cat, were either severely injured, or that age has simply taken its toll.

Once a month, Terry would appear on Channel 08 news in the morning and would show two or three different animals. The station dubbed it: “Terry’s Best Bets for Pets”.

Then came the hospital section itself. Not an extremely large room, but large enough to hold two operations if needed, at the same time. The room was divided into two sections, each having the same equipment.

“Business has been somewhat slow,” explained Terry. “What with people doing their taxes this time of the year, that’s almost to be expected. Add the weather getting better, so they can start to work on their flower garden or lawn, first. Most of the animal checkups will start near mid-May, to the end of June.”

“Things certainly seem to be in good order. I must say, you have done an extremely good job in Dr. Creekmantle’s stead.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m almost wondering if there is any reason I should even show up for work. Things are running like a well-oiled machine.”

“Trust me, Patrick, you’ll be needed; more often than not.”

Terry placed his hand on Patrick’s forearm and said, “Now, if you will follow me back out into the hall, I’d like you to take you to a place Dr. Creekmantle had designed and built for us.”

Maybe it was just Patrick, but the touch of Terry’s hand was almost too soft and warm, feeling almost too casual for a first meeting. Patrick shook his head and throughout his mental window. That wasn’t Terry trying to come on to him. That was Terry simply being friendly and directing him to another place.

But for that one moment—no, he thought. It’s me. It’s been so long since a man had touched him; not since, Daniel. He shook the thought clean away. Besides, Terry didn’t look, sound, or even act remotely gay.

Down the hall and then the first left, Patrick could see what Terry was talking about, in the distance. It was beautiful.

They arrived at a set of electronic doors that opened when they neared the entrance, and Patrick became exposed to a breathtaking view of a floral garden unlike anything Patrick had seen before. With Daniel, he had seen quite a few botanical gardens, but nothing quite like this. Al most every floral species known to man resided in this garden, aptly named: Eden’s Beauty.

The colors were resplendent in reds, whites, purples, greens, and yellows. The various shadings of whites and burgundies, velvets, and pinks were just so alive and inviting. Everything was mixed and matched in such a way that it must have taken gardener’s several weeks to display correctly.

“This is absolutely gorgeous. How long did this take to put together?”

“Believe it or not, three days. Dr. Creekmantle drew the design, listed exactly where and how he wanted all the flowers to be arranged, and they had to be just so; or he would pitch a you-know-what.

“What took the longest was having this addition added into the building and then the solar-gliders in place to conjoin with the windows over top. Throw in the special lighting, the small waterfall, and manmade creek that runs its winding path around the flowers, plants, and shrubs; and you have an almost picture-perfect shot of what Dr. Creekmantle often said was, ‘A small piece of God’s heaven’.”

“I believe it. This is incredible.”

“All of the staff come here for their lunch break. Before this was built, most of us would drive crosstown to the city park. And, when customers come in, they always enjoy coming here while waiting for their pet to be either coiffed, their yearly checkup, or, if necessary, an operation. Call it Dr. Creekmantle’s private little joke, but if you look around the bench to your left, you will see a small section of grass, and a fire-hydrant, as well as a pooper scooper. That’s for when customers have their pets here while waiting. They get to potty either before or after being cared for by us. It also keeps them from being too excited on the drive home.

Patrick laughed as Terry smiled, showing a perfect set of dazzling white teeth. He is attractive, thought Patrick. I’ll give him that much, and he certainly knows what he is doing.

“Pretty impressive tour. But I think I’ll go back to my own office and get settled in.”

“Very well, but so you know, you haven’t a secretary yet, but there are five interviews set up for next week. I’m afraid, until then, you will be pretty much on your own. Although, if you need help with anything, please come get me, or my secretary, Shirley Ames.”

“About the only thing I want to do for now, is look over everyone’s employment file. It will help me to know everyone better than just a mere hello-how are you-nice to meet you, greeting. I want them, and yourself to know, and understand, that I am a very relaxed person. If you like, you can set their minds at ease if any were thinking I might be planning to replace them with new help. That is out of the question. I firmly believe the old axiom of, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Terry smiled even more.

“A few did share concerns with me that you may let them go, but I will pass along your message.”

“Thanks, and can you have Shirley type up a memo for me to give everyone?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I will have open house in my office all day, every Wednesday, if anyone has issues, concerns, or problems that would affect their job or personal life. I’m here to work with them, and just not have them work for me.”

“Patrick, I see already that you are going to blend right in.”

For the rest of the morning, into mid-afternoon, Patrick poured through everyone’s files.

Kevin Ames, employed six years. Both he, and John Sanders are both in charge of caring for stray animals; both with outstanding records.

Madge Ingram, Donna Mason, and Edie Blanchette, have been with the clinic fifteen, seventeen, and nineteen years, respectively. All three are groomers, and all three have done minor surgeries.

Every name he read over, he could find only positive remarks, and this showed him an unswerving loyalty. Dr. Creekmantle was a genius in finding quality people like this.

But he saved the best for last.

Terry Norstrum.

What a surprise it was to find out Terrie, was in fact, Terry. That’s what he gets for assuming too much.

Terry is thirty-two, six-feet even, one-ninety, sandy-blond hair, medium complexion, and ocean-blue eyes. The middle brother of three; one four years older, the latter, five years younger. Single, never married, originally from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Like himself, Terry somehow found his way to Montie. Was it by accident, or by design? He would have to ask him one day. Everyone else was either from Montie, or Stanhouse.

Patrick felt he made the right move. Montie was a clean break; that new fresh air he desperately needed.

And maybe—no, he had to wash that thought from his mind. He just attested it to his hormones acting up.

After all, Patrick is human.

Beaver Creek Bar – 6:55 p.m.

8 Miles From The Canadian Border

The music from the jukebox played loud. The lights were down low, the crowd was sparse, but it wouldn’t be much longer before the place would fill up. Tonight, was half-price night. In another hour, and you would have a hard time finding a place to stand, yet alone a place to sit.

Back in a darkened corner, sat a man nursing a double-shot of Jack Daniels. He sat alone, and what few patrons there, who walked by him, never so much as said hello. The look on his face made it plain he didn’t want conversation. Those who went by him the first time, to a wider path to where their drink was the second time. Even the waitress who brought him his drink felt apprehensive about serving him, but he didn’t do anything but sit. As long as he paid her, and didn’t cause any trouble, he could have looked like the devil himself. Which he almost did.

It was his looks that bothered people.

Bald head with a tattoo of a swastika on the right side of his skull, and another tattoo of Hitler on the other side. From just above his forehead, running straight over the top to the back, at the base of his neck, ran a lightning bolt. Down each arm were more tattoos of snakes curled around one another, but when you saw his hands, you saw five snake heads with their tongue’s out, running along each finger.

His face held one scar that traversed from under his left eye to end in a curving arc at the edge of his left ear.

He was a huge man, well over three-hundred, but not one ounce could be considered fat. At six-seven, that made him a dangerous man if anyone dared to tangle with him.

It was hard to tell in the darkness of the bar where he sat, but his eyes were a steel gray. From a distance, were you to look, they would seem to be coal black. To know their true color, you would have to look much closer, and willing to be that close.

Jesse Waynestead. He had been down twenty-three years for a double murder. Released five months ago, and now, his only purpose was to take up where his sister left off. He had taken care of one problem, but there would be more. He had to be smart; smarter than his sister, and up until her demise, she had her groove going on. Jesse planned to keep that groove, grooving, like no one’s business but his own.

Sitting at the table, he came up with a plan for retribution. He knew his looks frightened people away, and that didn’t bother him. Intimidation was something he enjoyed. It always gave him an edge. Another difference about Jesse, was his smile. More importantly, his teeth.

The edges were filed down to represent teeth of a dog, or, a wolf. Plus, he had made “special teeth” when he was in Chino, similar to a retainer, to be inserted into his mouth for attack purposes. Three inches in length, made of steel. He used them twice on snitches in Chino. Bit right into their jugular veins. Gave him such a rush.

He remembered a hooker he paid for a few nights ago as he sipped more of his drink. She was impressed with his tattoos, but it was the one on his back that interested her most.

It’s a large depiction of an attractive woman, long-flowing dark hair, being held in the arms of a werewolf, fangs bared, eyes staring at her. The woman didn’t have a fearful look in her eyes. What she did have, was a longing to be taken.

Jesse explained it to the hooker.

“The woman is my sister. The wolf, me. I’m not out to kill her. Only to protect her.”

It was a tattoo he had put on his back when he was much younger. Long before he went to prison. Jesse and Claire had been inseparable until a year ago. Now, she was forever lost to him.

He swore an oath. People were going to die. People who were responsible for her death. He wouldn’t stop until they were split open from belly to brains.

The same waitress came to his table and asked, “Another drink, mister?”

He looked at his shot glass, finished what little there was, stood up, threw a ten-dollar bill on her tray she carried, shook his head no, and headed for the exit.

He had work to do.

Wednesday – April 4th – 8:37 p.m.

The Squad Room

“I want to take the time to thank all of you for doing an outstanding job out there. Clausen and Klugston, good job running down that Oldsmobile yesterday. Good, clean bust.” Baker looked at her notes. “Seven kilos in the trunk. Great job, you two.

“Prescott and Andrews. Though you two didn’t have the kind of day those two did, I want to commend you both for stopping a potential domestic situation before it happened. We have all seen how those types of situations can turn ugly, and it’s good to know you two quelled the smoke before a fire broke out.

“This is something Captain Page gave me earlier about Captain Todd and his wife. And it isn’t good news. They were both found dead a few days ago, apparently while doing some fishing. There were no fingerprints left at the scene, but they both had their throats ripped open, and their hearts torn from their bodies, but the hearts were never located. A wild animal was ruled out because there were no tracks of any type of predator. It is suspected the killer is male, and that the perp either took the hearts with him, or … ate them at the scene.”

Not a single man or woman in the room said a word. The silence spoke for them. Todd had had the respect of every officer in the Twenty-Second.

“Since this is out of our jurisdiction; the only thing we can offer to the boys out west is any assistance from here, that is, if we by chance run across anything that could tie to the killings.

“Other than that, if there are no questions,” she paused a couple seconds, and finished saying, “then get out there and be safe, and keep our streets safe.”

Baker’s cell rang. It was Stevie.

“What’s on your mind, bub? Are you, all right?”

“Hi, mom. I’m good. Just calling to let you know I won’t be home until after seven. I have a coaches meeting, then baseball practice so I can start learning how to call signal’s to batters and runners.”

“Okay. Just be ….”

“I will, mom. You know me. I’m always careful. Gotta run, class time. Love you! Bye!”

“Love you ….”

too. Dead air.

She looked at her phone, shook her head and smiled.

Walking into her office she thought, Stevie’s just not her own any longer. Everyone wants him.

The Baker-Manning Home – 6:12 p.m.

111 Homestead Lane

Baker had been home twenty minutes after a rather ho-hum kind of day. She enjoyed days like today. No stress, no murder scenes, no nothing. Montie could use a few thousand days like that.

The microwave beeped, signaling the popcorn finished popping. She grabbed the melted butter in her squeeze container mixed with salt and squeezed a healthy amount all over the popcorn so that it would slide down over the rest and coat every hot morsel. Picking up two glasses and a two-liter bottle of Pepsi, she casually walked into the living room where Ed sat on the sofa watching Channel 08 news.

“Finally, around the state, a series of robberies have been taking place. To date; fourteen towns outside of New York City have been robbed at gunpoint. Another thirty-nine establishments have been broken into. Most of those have been in smaller towns where police are at a minimum, and where crime generally is at a low to zero statistic, as one officer stated in Randall Township; population: 797.”

“Interesting reporting of our Around the State Today, Jennifer. What will you have for us tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, how an out-of-state veteran took a dream and ran with it across the state, and made his dream come true.”

Ed changed the channel and then pressed play on the remote of the DVD player.

“You might want to do yourself a favor when you go to work tomorrow.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Call Channel 08 and ask for that Jennifer Railstone girl. See if you can get her to fax you over a layout of where all those robberies are being done. From what I could see, they seem to be spreading out like a quarter-moon, and it almost appears that whoever is doing this, might eventually be in our neighborhood. Just saying.”

“Okay, I’ll do that, Sherlock. So,” as she snuggled closer to him, “what movie are we watching tonight?”

“Thought we’d do a double-feature, a couple of cartoons, and a movie serial for a change. I’m in a nostalgic mood tonight.”

She reached her head closer to his cheek and kissed him.

“Then I’m nostalgic with you. What have we got?”

“We’ll start with some Woody Woodpecker, then a couple chapters of Flash Gordon, with Buster Crabbe. He won a gold medal in the Summer Olympics back in the thirties for the hundred-yard meter. He even did a Tarzan movie, but he was never as good as Johnny Weissmiller.

“Anyway, after that we have Key Largo, and the African Queen. Two classics.”

“Now I know why I married you. You are into my head when it comes to movies. You’re my very own Bogie.” She kissed him again, but this time on his lips.

“Watch it, Bacall. Keep that up and we’ll never see how the movie starts, yet alone end.”

“Oh yes we will. Stevie will be home in about thirty minutes. Not enough time.” She winked at him.

The sound of that insidious laugh almost every human being over forty should be able to remember, who would finally say:” Guess who!” He started pounding his beak into a tree creating cartoon havoc.

From there until Stevie came home, they sat through two more cartons, and one chapter of Flash Gordon before Stevie joined them for Key Largo.

In between film changes, there was general small talk about baseball practice, and how he would have to learn the play calling better, but Stevie felt that that wouldn’t take much longer.

Twenty minutes into the African Queen, Stevie fell asleep in Baker’s lap.

She didn’t mind. She ran a free hand gently through his hair and smiled as she sat between those she loved most.

Right now, life was as good as it gets.

She had two Bogie’s in her life.

Madison Motor Inn – 8:31 p.m.

55 Miles East Of Brighton

DeWayne Andreason, Marcus Thomas, and Jasmine Kinteaya, were in Room 112, counting up what they had taken today after robbing five stores in a small town called, Miller Creek, about eighteen miles from the motel. All total: $1,883.37.

“Ain’t bad, considerin’,” said Thomas.

“Truth. Two days ago, we barely got two-hundred, but we ain’t gone dry yet. This what? The tenth day? Jasmine? You been keepin’ track, right?”

“Course I have, DeWayne! This is day fourteen, and this makes the total just over thirty grand. Bustin’ two stores on the same street at the same time was a trip. But I’m always trippin’ when you guys go and do like three in a row!”

DeWayne looked at both of them.

“I think we need to take a break for a day or two. Just hole up here and relax. By not doin’ nuthin’ for a while, it’ll throw the cops off any trail we might have left behind. I’ll dump the car later tonight, and when we’re ready to roll again, I’ll get us another one.”

“You hear that skinny bitch on TV, tonight? She sayin’ nobody, and I mean nobody got any idea where we are, or who we are. That mu brother, is bitchin’.”

“That’s why I think we need to lay down for a few, Marcus. Gives us time to recharge, get fresh and don’t mess up non, and it’ll give Jasmine time to map out other small towns for us to hit.”

Opening her laptop, Jasmine homed in on a wireless signal, and started a Google search.

“I’m already on it, baby.”

DeWayne laid back on the bed and relaxed. If his plan continued as it has so far, by the end of the year, the three of them should pill in a quarter-million, easy. It’s a lot of drive-time, a lot of risk-taking, but they have gotten away clean every time. No physical descriptions, no fingerprints found on any of the cars they stole and abandoned. The sweet part was by the time they found one they did steal, they were doing another hit in another stolen car. But, the even better part were the conflicting reports of it being one person doing the robberies. Then it came out there were two, possibly three. Confusion is a great friend to have.

Three sixteen-year old kids out having fun. Beats school all to hell. Beat robbing banks, too. Bank robbers always get caught because of cameras. They get caught because of the speed in which police show up. With DeWayne’s plan; being caught would never happen.

The gig was just too easy.

If they did have problems; each one carried a Glock, and each one also had a Mac-10, and they knew how to use them.

All three met each other in the Queens-City Foster Home Care Center. It’s a place where kids who lost their parents at a young age were placed if no other relative were able to provide for them (or wanted to); or children who were unwanted, such as Peter Jones (Jones was a common name in foster care programs when no records could be found for the person. Sometimes, Smith would be used). He was found in a garbage dumpster at age one.

Peter lived at Queen’s Care until he left, by state law, on his own at age eighteen. He was given five-hundred dollars by the state, and without a word, good luck, or even a goodbye; out the door he went.

Three days later, he was found face down in an alley with a bullet in his head. The police listed him as homeless and as a John Doe. He had no identification.

Such are the ways of the city.

DeWayne had a plan, and with Marcus and Jasmine, they would stay face up, and cash money in their pockets. He would be damned if he would end up a John Doe.

One night at Queen’s Center, DeWayne talked with Marcus and Jasmine.

“Look, we all know this place ain’t got shit for us. Long as the state pays the bills, we get a roof over our heads and a couple squares in our bellies every day. But this place ain’t helpin’ us find a home. These people here could give a fuck less what happens to us. Don’t know about you, but me? School ain’t shit. We don’t make no money stayin’ here, so I has this plan.

“I’m really good hot-wiring cars. Did a few with some friends before my old man when and got himself killed when I was nine or ten. But, I get us a car, we hit a store a few blocks from here, grab some iron, some cash, and we hit the road.

“Then we start hittin’ small mom and pop joints in small towns. We could hit two or three joints a day. Every couple day’s we switch out cars, hit another town. Cops won’t know it’s us, ‘cause we keep movin’. Besides, this place won’t give a flyin’ fuck about us. They’d might list us as runaways but that would be all they’d do. We’d be the last thing the cops be lookin’ for when it comes to what I have in mind.”

“We’re gonna need a laptop, too,” said Jasmine. “That way, I can keep track of where we go, where we’re headed, who we do, how much we get, and, stay on top of anything in the news about us, if it’s listed.”

“Computer? Where’d you learn that stuff?” asked Marcus.

“In school, fool. Where else.”

DeWayne laughed at Marcus and punched him in the arm.

“She got your ass! Now look; when we get the guns, we’ll get you a whatever it was you said.”

And their adventures began.

DeWayne stared up at the ceiling of the room they were in. He could hear the TV, and the mumbling voices of Marcus and Jasmine.

This was play time. When they went to work, it was just that—work. If it meant they had to dust a fool trying to play hero (which hadn’t happened), it wasn’t any sweat off his ass. DeWayne, and his two friends had a goal, and nobody was going to stop them.

Nobody.

Madison Motor Inn – 1:30 a.m.

DeWayne walked back inside the room after a thirty-minute walk from dumping the car. Walking back, he cased several cars he thought might be doable when it was time to hit the road. The lights were off and one of the bed had two lumps under the sheets.

DeWayne grinned.

Tomorrow night, it would be him and Jasmine.

She was smart and sexy, and she can really move that ass of hers and tire any man out. He liked that about her, but what he liked even more, was her ability to find the right places for them to hit.

Yeah, the bitch was sexy, beautiful, but above all, she has brains. That part of her, he would never fuck with.

Thursday – April 5th – 11:56 a.m.

Oak Hills Strip Mall – Johnny P’s

A call came in on the car radio for Prescott and Andrews that a robbery was taking place at Johnny P’s, a twenty-four-hour check-cashing place. It was in their sector and were told backup would be there for support.

Stepping on the gas, and making a hard right around a corner, Johnathan was almost on top of Johnny P’s before Dianne hung up the microphone to the radio.

“No sirens. If they are still there, it’s our advantage.”

Dianne reached for her sidearm just as Johnathan pulled up to the side of the building.

“Dianne, go around the back, I’ll take the front. They haven’t seen us yet if they are still here. We’ll advance to the center nice and slow.”

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

Dianne ran as fast as she could until she was at the back entrance. She peered inside through a small window and barely saw Johnathan. With a wave from him, that’s when they slowly edged into both doors, with Johnathan’s weapon held shoulder-high, hammer cocked back. Dianne’s gun was held in both hands, slightly downward and away from her right hip, hammer also cocked back.

Just then, three black and whites pulled in, sirens blaring.

Johnathan motioned to Dianne to just rush in as he did. As he did, he saw a lone figure, his back to Johnathan, with a small caliber handgun waving it wildly.

“Drop the weapon and get down on your knees. Now!”

The robber, barely five feet tall, turned out to be about ten years old.

The gun hit the floor, and the boy dropped like a rock to the floor.

Backup units stormed in right behind Johnathan, every man with their guns drawn. One officer quipped, “Well, lookie here, we got us a midget.”

Dianne turned around as Johnathan handcuffed the boy. “We got this, guys. Show’s over.”

As Johnathan started talking to the boy, Dianne started talking to the cashier on the other side of a bulletproof glass. Linda, about twenty-two, slightly chubby, and pretty smile, said she was about to give the boy eighteen hundred dollars. That was all she had in the drawer. She had already given him four-hundred of it, when they showed up.

The boy was searched, and the money was found, but now it was evidence. Linda called her boss, and as Johnathan and Dianne were going to their car with the boy, Linda put a sign on the door that read: TEMPORARILY CLOSED.

With the boy in the back seat, Johnathan started the car and headed for the Twenty-Second. Dianne started talking to the boy.

“You think you might have something you would like to tell me as to why such a little guy like yourself was in there trying to rob that place?”

“I need money really bad.”

“But why?”

The boy, not quite ten, had tears streaming down his face.

“It’s for my mamma. She needs it really bad!”

Dianne looked over at Johnathan with a look of sad story time.

“What about your mother?”

“She has Cancer and needs an operation. I was just trying to help.”

Dianne was right. Sad story time.

West Park Sports & Rehab Clinic

Dr. Lambert’s Office – 1:00 p.m.

“Mr. Manning, obviously you know that a surgery such as this is quite expensive, and honestly, I can’t guarantee that your system won’t reject what you are asking for.

“Just as with Stevie, his bionic leg hasn’t been widely used and the bionics of the arm is in the same percentile. Less than five percent.”

“So, what you’re trying to say is if I opt for the transplant, it’s possible it would fail and that I would be out of one arm for keeps.”

Dr. Lambert nodded.

“Yes. Though your progress is slow-going, you do have partial mobility. If you decide on the transplant, and if your body rejects the bionics involved, your arm will not be able to be reattached again.

“Let me explain further. What we call an osseointergration has to be done. This means it will be connected directly to the bone, replacing your current socket and liner standard. There will be electrical wiring connected to the muscle tissue behind the socket joint, then connected to the bionic placement.

“There will be a forward shaft that will automatically send megabytes of information to other parts of the arm, right down to the fingertips. Thus, you should have, after some therapedic training; stability and for all outward appearance, as well, flexibility.

“Just as with Stevie’s leg, this is made from carbon composites that are lighter than other prosthetics. You should have at least a ninety-nine percent usage without any failure.

“There is a small motor and micro-processor in the shoulder region that will never break down as they are constantly recharged in two ways. Your body heat and activity. This includes sleeping. Both the motor and microprocessor are less than one square inch and will offer no discomfort.

“The surgery takes about three hours. Small holes are bored into the rotator cup. This allows the bone marrow stem cells to seep out and grow into cartilage.

“Sometimes, longer periods of post-operative inactivity; as in no impact activity at least two to three times a month can increase your chances of this being successful. And finally, there will be a latex-perma covering extended from shoulder to fingertips, made to appear as though it is real skin, right down to the appearance of fingernails.”

“How much are we talking about?”

Dr. Lambert picked up her calculator, pressed a few buttons, and then handed the calculator to Ed.

He whistled.

“Expensive, I know. But give some thought to this before you say yes. Keep in mind, your body could reject this altogether, and then you would be without the arm you have now.”

“I got that part, Dr. Lambert. If I say yes, how soon could the surgery be done?”

“Right now, I can’t say, but I would assume, if we pay cash as you and Lieutenant Baker did for Stevie—probably within thirty to sixty days.”

“Good enough for me. Let’s do it. I can have a certified check in your hands by lunchtime tomorrow.”

Dr. Lambert smiled.

“I’ll start the paperwork to set a date for the surgery. The standard five percent off for cash still applies.”

Ed and Dr. Lambert stood, shook hands, and Ed left her office, got in his Volvo, and headed for home. He would have a lot to tell Jen later.

A whole five percent, huh?

Twenty-Second Precinct – 2:12 p.m.

Baker just left a small room after talking with Prescott and Andrews, about Leon Hargrove, age nine.

Leon tried to rob Johnny P’s, a check-cashing business.

Baker was on her way to one of the juvenile holding rooms. Not in all the years she has been on the force has there ever been anyone this young arrested.

She opened the door where Leon was found sitting on a chair, fidgeting behind a small table.

“Hello, Leon. I am Lieutenant Janis Baker. How are you doing, son?”

“I ain’t your son. My momma is dying of Cancer.”

“That’s what I have been told. How long has your mother been sick?”

“Long time. Just last week she was put in the hospital. Momma says it’s lung Cancer. But, but ….”

“But what, Leon?”

“We ain’t got the money they want to take the cancer outta her. She don’t have no insurance. It’s just me and her. I was just trying to help her.”

“I see. I tell you what, Leon, you stay right here, and let me make a few phone calls. I think we might be able to help your mother.”

“Hey,” his tears stopping suddenly, and a bit of hope shown in his eyes, “you really think so? Hold up! We don’t want no handouts. Momma always told me we pay our own way. We don’t want no charity!”

“It isn’t charity, Leon. If we can make a miracle happen; would that be all right with you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so. Yeah, miracles are good. God makes miracles happen all the time, don’t he?”

“As many as he can, Leon.”

“Then, that be good. Cause I’ve been praying for a miracle.”

Montie High School – 4:30 p.m.

Stevie stood next to third base as the coach. Two players were on base, but it was his job to send both signals to the batter, and both runners. He had certain hand and body signals he was learning for hitting, bunting, walk, or steal a base. The team’s first game was a week from Friday, a home-opener. Stevie wasn’t too worried. He felt confidant with each practice game.

Ellie sat in the stands with a few of her girlfriends, her eyes on Stevie. Practice would be over in another hour and they had planned to go to the Pit-Stop for burgers and steak fries.

Stevie continued going through the motions with hand signals. His hand would play over his ball cap which meant to let the pitch go by. His hand would slide across his shirt, meaning to bunt the ball. Swing, was rubbing his right hand along his hip as long as the pitch looked good.

There were runners at first and second. The next batter swung at the ball, sending it into deep centerfield, but it was caught. Stevie sent a signal to the runner on second, a guy named Terry, to tag and run for third. The first base coach told his runner to stay put.

The ball was thrown hard to third. The third baseman covered the bag as Terry slid into third. As his left foot touched the bag, the ball was in the glove of the third baseman. The umpire, Coach Brian, called Terry, safe.

While the ball was being thrown, the first base coach signaled his player to steal second. It worked. There were two outs and the Red Team was losing 6-3 against the Blue Team, but practice is practice. Both sides learned from their mistakes to make them better players.

Johnson County Memorial Hospital – 4:55 p.m.

Baker walked inside the hospital and went to the information desk and asked where Olivia Henderson’s office was located.

“Fourth floor, first hallway on your left, last door at the end.”

When she stepped off the elevator, she couldn’t help but feel caught up in the emotions of a nine-year old boy.

Reaching Henderson’s door and opened it, it opened to a large, spacious room backdropped by all glass walls that gave a stunning view no matter where you looked; of the county and downtown Montie.

“You must be Lieutenant Baker.”

“Yes, and you are,” noticing the nameplate on the desk, “Olivia Henderson.”

Baker reached inside the flap of her jacket and pulled out an envelope.

Olivia reached across the expanse of her cherry-oak desk, took the envelope from Baker, opened it, and saw a check written to the hospital in the amount of $200,000.

“I threw in a few thousand more in the event something else may be needed.

“Dr. Henderson ….”

“I’m not a doctor, Lieutenant Baker. I am the Assistant Director of this hospital.”

“Very well, but I would like some sort of assurance that Mrs. Hargrove’s surgery goes off without a hitch and that it is scheduled as soon as possible, I have a nine-year old boy looking for a miracle. That check is buying that miracle.”

“I have been in contact with two specialists which will team together on Mrs. Hargrove. But the earliest the surgery can be performed isn’t until Monday morning.”

“What are her chances?”

“I honestly can’t tell, you, Lieutenant. From what I understand, the cancer has taken over one lung completely, and has also attached itself to the other lung. From a lay person’s perspective, about forty-sixty.”

Baker stood away from the desk.

“Not great but better than zero odds. Thank you, Mrs. Henderson, for putting a rush on this. There will be one happy little boy.”

“I’m happy to be of assistance.”

As Baker left and in the elevator to the main floor, she couldn’t help but harbor a resentment for people like her.

Thinking back on her earlier call to Olivia Henderson, and her demeanor over the phone told her she is more interested in patients with money, than with medical problems.

When Baker asked what the surgery cost, Olivia had a smugness in her voice when she told her the price.

No money. So sad, too bad.

When you have money, then it’s can do, will do.

Gravity doesn’t make the world go round. It’s guys like Jackson, Grant, and good old Franklin that keeps the world spinning; as long as you have enough of them. At least she would have good news for Leon.

His miracle was coming.

But would it be enough?

The Baker-Manning Home – 8:30 p.m.

111 Homestead Lane

Tonight, and for the next several nights, the Baker-Manning household would have a guest. Leon Hargrove.

Baker just couldn’t allow him to be held over in juvenile protective services. She personally saw to it the charges against him were dropped, which took a lot of talking on her part, both with the owner of Johnny P’s, and the judge.

Judge Carver did give her a warning.

“If, after this surgery is performed, further complications arise, or in the event the mother unavoidably dies, I will mandate the county to take charge of her son, Leon Hargrove, into custody as a ward of the state until such time a relative can be located to provide for him.”

Baker explained it all to Leon, and he understood.

That first night, Leon and Stevie played computer games and watched a couple movies on Stevie’s TV.

Baker and Ed talked about his upcoming surgery.

“I told you, Ed, whatever you choose to do, I’m with you all the way.”

“I figured that much. Still, just saying if it doesn’t work out, I’ll be minus one arm for keeps this time.”

“I get that. But the rest of you will be intact and your mind will still function.

“I’m not so certain this will.” She made a playful grab at his crotch. Ed swatted her hand away. They were both laughing.

“That’ll still be working fine. It’s the arm that’s going, just the arm!”

The Weekend In Montie

The month of April always gave prominence to the city with all of the majestic colors of the flowers found in so many yards, landscapes, and the fullness of the trees when in full-bloom leafy limbs. Everywhere you looked, there was color to be found.

Several years ago, a photographer from a New York City travel bureau came to do a cover story on Montie. Although Montie isn’t a tourist city, it did bring in about 25,000 visitors who wanted to take pictures of the Roseanne and Charles Johnson’s prized rose garden for one. Two acres of plush beautiful red, white, and yellow roses. There were also perennials and violets nurtured carefully by the Johnson’s; who have been married forty-six years.

The restaurants always fared well during this time as well. It was usually standing-room only throughout April.

Several years ago, to now hasn’t lessened the spirit of residents. People still walk by one another and give a warm hello, or a quick good morning, or afternoon. That’s just the way Montie is; friendly. Even when trouble comes to town.

But there wouldn’t be any trouble this weekend.

Friday night would find the Montie Arena packed tighter than a sardine can as three music acts appeared. Billed simply as ‘The tour’, Journey, Chicago, and Neil Diamond, were on a fifty-city tour, and Montie was one of the lucky places to be chosen.

That night, people for miles around came to relive days gone by. The younger crowd even got into it, realizing they were watching legends perform.

Saturday, found people outside experiencing warmer days. The city park was a prime example as softball games were being played, tennis courts were in use, and even a game of frisbee football was in progress. Young and old alike were out and about.

On each corner of the park, you would find food vendors selling their hot dogs, hot pretzels, doughnuts, cold drinks, cotton candy, and other assorted foods. It was like this every Saturday when the weather was good.

As all this is going on, the police are out in force doing their job, patrolling the city streets, keeping, and maintaining the peace.

The day was relatively quiet for the likes of Rick Lowery and Charlie Banyard. Their only confrontation was a speeder. An older woman was giving them the riot act.

“Why pick on me? I’m just an old woman. There must be some dangerous criminals out there you could arrest instead of picking on me. You should be ashamed of yourself.

“I really didn’t mean to drive so fast. You know how these new compacts are these days. Besides, there are all those high-school kids you can give tickets to instead of an old woman like me!”

She still got a citation to appear in court in twenty days, or just pay a hundred and twenty-five-dollar fine and be done with it.

They both heard her mutter as she drove away. “Probably lose my damn car insurance over this.”

Henry Clauson and Terrance Klugston had it easy. They got to patrol the city park area.

Every weekend when the weather was good, a team was assigned park duty which meant walking the yard. The real reason was in case any thefts occurred, mainly purse snatchings were the big thing. But with the police around, that rarely, if ever happened. Another reason they were there was for any kind of accidents. On this particular weekend, nothing happened.

Only two things happened to Henry Clauson. Ketchup from Klugston’s hot dog dripped on his blue shirt. Later, ice-cream dripped onto his pants. Neither the hot dog or the ice-cream were charged or arrested for anything.

Johnathan Prescott and Dianne Andrews had the weekend off. They went for a drive to Summit Point. The sun was sitting Twelve o’clock, and a slight warm breeze whipped across their bodies along with the scenery had set the mood for both of them.

It was here Johnathan and Dianne walked hand-in-hand. Dianne’s head resting against his shoulder, and both were smiling. This was their quiet time away from friends, and their work, to enjoy what surrounded them. Johnathan stopped, and looked at Dianne intently, then kissed her.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say I can’t use against you. But if you say, yes Johnathan, I’ll marry you, then consider that my asking you to be my wife and just not my partner in crime. So, what do you say, Officer Andrews?”

Dianne smiled, reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“I imagine, Officer Prescott, it may be in my best interest to not take the fifth on this. I accept.”

Across town, Baker, Ed, Stevie, Ellie, and Leon drove over to Masonville. In the process, Ed drop an envelope in the mail. It held the check for his surgery: $175,000.

But in Masonville, that afternoon was where the air-balloon races were held. Over fifty helium-filled balloons would take flight from Masonville, turn south toward Brighton, then west toward Montie, then back northeast to Masonville.

Once they saw the balloons take off, they waited around until they were out of view. Leon asked, “That was cool, but where’s the gas tank on those things?”

As they made their way toward their second journey, lunch at Rastabella’s Italian Eatery, Stevie explained how hot air-balloons worked.

Ordering from Rastabella’s was always a treat. You could choose from thirty-eight different types of pizza to traditional pasts foods. One things was with certainty;

Rastabella’s was the best pasta place within a hundred miles from anywhere.

From there, it was back home. Stevie and Ellie had plans to go to a movie. Baker and Ed would spend a quiet night with no emergency phone calls. With Leon in Stevie’s room watching a movie, it wouldn’t be much longer before he was asleep. Peace and quiet was unfolding across the city.

J.W, was preparing to go back to work. He was a very fortunate man. Had the blade been two inches to his left, he would have been in the ground. It wasn’t his first rodeo getting hurt on the job, but this had been the most painful, as well as longest recovery process spent away from his job. But he would be ready to go come Monday.

Cisco and Poncho would be reunited and back in the saddle very soon.

Patrick sat on his porch, sipping a cold beer and marveling at the night sky. Trillions upon trillions of stars twinkled. Bothe the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, along with the Archer, and Sagittarius could be plainly seen. And the moon, so full and bright, seemingly low enough that one could almost snatch it from the night sky and put it in their pocket.

It had been a long several years he had seen a night like this. The last time was in Delaware, when he and Daniel spent a weekend at Rehoboth Beach. He took another sip of beer.

Patrick smiled as a tear rolled off his cheek.

Monday – April 9th – 8:39 a.m.

The Squad Room

“Okay guys. One last thing before you head out. J.W. is back with us once again. Now Cisco won’t be so lonely anymore.”

“Yeah, Andre has been acting prissy lately,” said Clausen. “I think his panties are in a twist.”

Everyone laughed.

“I got your panties,” said Andre, smiling.

“Seriously,” Andre spoke over the voices of everyone, “J.W., welcome back. You, my friend, have been missed.

“Check your inboxes everybody for changes in shift schedules. If there are no questions, then get out there and stay safe, and keep our streets safe.”

90 Miles South Of Montie - 10:30 a.m.

Fred Creasy and Bertram Ballmate, were having their fun, and ever since they left Kentucky, they had also left a trail behind them, leaving many residents angry and upset, some in tears, others, devastated.

Each police department throughout Kentucky had no leads as to who was doing the killings, other than knowing by the bullet removed, what type of weapon was used to kill various animals: horses, cows, pigs, and dogs.

As Fred said to Bertram, “If they can’t spade or neuter their friggin’ animals, we just do it fer’em!”

“Ya got that right, Fred. If it weren’t fer us holdin’ down the population of them pesky animals, no tellin’ how many other critters be runnin’ around.”

Just two good old boys doing what they feel needs to be done.

Off Melrose Avenue – 11:45 a.m.

Andre Devon walked out of Burger King, and in one hand was a bag of four Whopper’s and fries, the other bag had two large sodas.

Getting in behind the wheel, he handed the drinks to J.W.

“Well, partner. So far, the day has been pretty much like the weekend. Nice and quiet.”

J.W. smiled.

“To be honest, I’m glad. As much as I like being back to work, I don’t know if I could handle anything major.”

“You want to call it a day? No one will fault you if you do.”

“Nah. I’ll be okay. Just a little nervous, I guess. Hell, I don’t know. I remember the first time I was hurt. Took a slug a couple inches above my heart. It was touch and go then. And now, I get a blade in me almost in the exact spot the bullet entered. You think maybe my heart is a magnate for metal?”

Andre’s eyes raised in surprise.

“Yeah, I know. Why am I still a cop. Maybe it’s because I’m gay and still have something to prove. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get killed. Maybe I’m like a cat with nine lives and have seven left. I love this work too much to let an injury sideline me very long. Maybe, because I’m just a hard head, and don’t know when to quit.”

“And just maybe, Poncho, it’s all of the above. Not everyone is cut out to be a cop. We are respected by so few, hated by so many, and needed most when least expected.”

“Boy, if that isn’t the truth. Our only friends are our families, and other shields like us. We hope to get in our twenty, retire, and live the good life. Not end up on the ‘Wall of Names’.”

Andre was looking at him the entire time when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked through the door of Burger King.

“Jeeze-Louise. Will you look at that!”

J.W. took a look and sighed.

“Okay, Cisco, you want to take the other exit. I can cover this one. I’ll call it in.”

Andre nodded, stepped from the car and ran around the back of the building toward the other exit.

Inside, two men were robbing Burger King.

Twenty seconds later, J.W. was out of the car, gun raised shoulder-high as he stood by the door. He knew Cisco was in position. He could see most of the customers had huddled as a group near the back wall of the store, either sitting or standing around tables and chairs.

The cashier was a young girl around twenty and shaking, on the verge of tears. The other employees stood frozen at their work stations. J.W. couldn’t see any other civilians.

The girl handed them all the money out of three different registers, and the two robbers were about to go out the exit where Andre waited. Not only did they have the money, they also took a bag of burgers.

J.W. stepped through his entrance door, crouched low, signaling to everyone else to get down, and raised his gun. He knew he could have dropped both men if he wanted.

“Freeze! Drop your weapons and down on your knees. Now!”

Both men stopped for two seconds, turned and were about to fire when they heard another voice behind them.

“Don’t get stupid. Hit the floor, now!”

They looked back and forth between J.W. and Andre, with their guns trained on the two of them. In the time it takes to blink an eye, they knew they could get one cop, but either or both of them could get killed in the process. They dropped their guns, the bags in their hands, and hit the floor just as two other squad cars pulled up.

As J.W. and Andre were putting cuffs on their perps, and their rights read, it was Lowery that said, “Well, lookie here. Cisco and Poncho got it together. Looks like we aren’t needed here, Charlie.”

Western Maine – 7:15 p.m.

Seaside Motel

Police had an area sectioned off while detectives, and a forensic unit were trying to make sense of this killing.

A middle-age woman, with short brown hair, was found with her body ripped to pieces. It took police nearly two hours to find all the body parts. It was a messy and brutal savage attack.

The throat appeared to have been bitten into then ripped open. The arms and legs slashed away from the torso, and the chest was viciously slashed open and apparently the heart was half eaten. Her eyes were found about twenty feet from her remains. The rest of her internal organs were spread out over the property behind the motel room.

A blooded note, where the words were badly scrawled out read: “Baker, this will be you.”

The Baker-Manning Home – 10:17 p.m.

111 Homestead Lane

Just as Baker and Ed were headed to bed, her cell phone rang. She looked at him.

“Better answer it, Jan.”

She sighed and reached for her phone on the coffee table, opened it and gave her standard greeting.

“Baker.”

“Baker, this is Satchell.”

“What’s up, Satch?”

“I just received a call five minutes ago from the State Police in Andover, Maine, from a Colonel Mavis.”

“Maine? What’s up in Maine he’d call you for?”

“Seems a few hours ago, they discovered a body, and from the explanation, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Mavis said it was the most brutal murder he’s ever laid eyes on. But, from the physical description they could gather from photographs and her driver’s license; seems she resembled you a little bit.”

Baker’s eyes shifted to Ed in concern, then went back into professional mode.

“What’s this have to do with me, Satch?”

“A couple things about the murder are similar to Claire Waynestead for one. For another, they found a note with your name on it. It said, ‘Baker, this will be you’.

“Colonel Mavis did a quick check on a few things and realized the Baker the killer was inferring to, is you.”

“They know about me in Maine?”

“Seems your skills precede you. He remembered a few news articles that made it in one of their local papers about you, and the elusive Freddy.”

“Okay, so what do we do?”

“Tonight, nothing. Tomorrow, after the squad meeting, be in my office so you can look over everything with me that Mavis has faxed and will continue to fax me. He said once the autopsy was finished, he would send the findings.”

“All right, Satch. Tomorrow morning, then. But at eleven, I have to be at the hospital with the boy while his mother has surgery.”

“No problem. See you in the morning.”

Baker snapped her phone closed and told Ed what she found out.

“While you’re gone in the morning, I’ll do some leg work and see what I might come up with. Hopefully, Andover, Maine has a newspaper and a website.”

“Okay, and while you’re at it, check Claire Waynestead for me and see if she has any living siblings.”

“Will do. Can do. Enough of this for now. Let’s go to bed and get some sleep.”

Baker laid awake another two hours, staring at a dark ceiling, wondering who; wondering why.

Tuesday – April 10th

Captain Page’s Office – 8:47 a.m.

“Baker, I can’t tell you who left the message, or why, but, I did some checking with authorities in California about the actual findings on Ray, and his wife, Elaine.

“What was apparently first believed to be a random, yet brutal attack by a bear, never happened. Hair fibers found on their remains was a synthetic material, dyed to resemble the fur of a bear. The slashing marks were made by claws of which there is no argument, but it is certain that no bear killed Ray and Elaine. With the slash marks on the Jane Doe in Maine, they match with those found on Ray and Elaine, so we have to go on the belief the killer is one and the same person. The same type of synthetic fiber was also found on Jane Doe.”

“Who the hell is trying to target me, Satchell? I mean other than Freddy, there isn’t anyone out there I know of that has an issue with me.”

“Well, not counting all the perps you’ve busted over the years doing time now, I’m in complete agreement with you. Whoever he, or she is, and for the sake of brevity; we’ll say he is moving pretty fast. If he’s still moving, he could be here by tomorrow or ….”

“Or he’s already here, somewhere, planning how to get me.”

Baker inhaled sharply and started to grab her cell phone.

“Baker, I’m approving extra protection and precautions for you, Ed, and Stevie. A car will follow him to and from school. That’s all I can authorize until after I talk with Mayor Marsh. Another car will be parked out front of your home. Other than that, my hands are tied, but I am seeing the Mayor at one this afternoon.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m thinking of taking Stevie out of school and sending him to Mark’s parents. Stevie likes them, and it has been a while since he visited; plus, they have a nice ranch in the middle of nowhere so to speak. Be kind of hard to sneak up on anyone there.”

“Choice is yours.”

“The choice will be Stevie’s. I hope he doesn’t talk me into letting him stay.”

“Last I checked, you are still the parent.”

“You don’t know Stevie like I do, Satch.”

“Headstrong, eh?”

“Just like his mother.”

For the moment, she would wait until he was home before she talked with him, instead of pulling him out of school.

Johnson County Memorial Hospital – 11:56 a.m.

Baker had been sitting in the waiting room with nine-year old Leon Hargrove.

The boy’s mother went into surgery at nine. At 9:20, she picked Leon up from home and drove straight to the hospital. Now, it was all about the waiting.

It became hope.

It became prayers.

“Lieutenant Baker?”

Baker stood up from a chair next to a window. Leon was opposite her, his hand holding hers, tightly.

“Lieutenant Baker, I’m Dr. Ralph Jamison. We have done everything we could. The next twenty-four hours will tell the rest of the story.”

Leon looked at Baker.

“What story he talkin’ about?”

Baker was about to answer when Dr. Jamison bent to one knee.

“You must be Leon. Your mother spoke wonderful things about you. She loves you very much.”

“Yah, I know. I love momma, too. But tell me what kinda story you talkin’ about.”

Dr. Jamison looked up at Baker and she nodded for him to continue.

“Leon, we were able to take out all the bad stuff out of her and ….”

“You mean all the cancer, right?”

“Yes,” smiled Jamison. “We are ninety-nine percent sure it is completely removed. But we are putting your mother in ICU; intensive care, for the next few days to monitor her progress.”

“Okay, so what else?”

“If her vital signs show she is getting stronger, then we can say she is out of the woods and on the road to a full recovery.”

“What happens to my momma if she ain’t out of them woods?”

“Then we will have another situation we will have to explore. She might need a new lung. For now, she is attached to a respirator to help her with her breathing. Like I said, the next couple of days will tell us much more.”

“Doctor,” asked Baker, “did you have to remove the entire lung?”

“Yes, but that’s where part of the problem lies. Because of her age, we aren’t certain if her other lung will be strong enough to carry the burden. Living with one lung doesn’t usually affect everyday tasks or life expectancy, though a person with one lung wouldn’t be able to exercise as strenuously as a healthy person with two lungs. Plus, we will have to watch her closely for any infections that may set in.”

“You sayin’ my momma could still die after all this!”

Dr. Jamison nodded his head slowly, with a look of utter sadness in his eyes. He stood tall, looked down at Leon and softly said, “We will do all we can for her.”

Baker stepped forward less than a breath’s distance from Jamison.

“Listen to me very carefully, Dr. Jamison. I’m footing the bill for all of this, so you had better find a way this boy will have a mother to come back to. Do whatever it takes to get this woman healthy; somehow, some way.”

Leon looked up at Dr. Jamison and tugged on his lab coat.

“I want to see my momma.”

Twenty minutes later, Leon was in Room 20-C. Baker waited out in the hall.

He is far too young to be left alone, she thought, but God, you have given that boy a lot of strength.

She wiped away a single tear trickling from her right eye.

Dear God, please make this come out right.