The Thousandth Man

  Part 6

 

 

 

“I want to see Detective Fahey.” Keeping his cool and not blasting past the officer he was talking to was a monumental feat for Johnny. If the policeman hadn’t had a gun in his holster…

 

“I’ll check and see if he’s available. Can I have your name?”

 

“John Gage. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me.”

 

“Just a minute.” The bored officer picked up a telephone, dialed a number, mumbled a few words, then hung up. “His office is back there.” He pointed through a doorway to the back of a smoky room containing a maze of desks and crowded with cops milling about.

 

Johnny shouldered his way past him and stormed through the room. Not bothering to knock, he charged through the doorway of Fahey’s office and found himself face to face with the man.

 

Fahey arched an eyebrow at him, but other than that, didn’t show any emotion. Just the fact that John Gage was there told him two things: one – that Chet had told him about their conversation, which demonstrated something about the extent of loyalty he had to Gage. He wouldn’t be able to count on his cousin to give him any information on either Gage or DeSoto, especially if it was negative. And two – he wasn’t going to be able to trust his cousin to keep their conversations confidential. It was a shame; he’d been counting on the fact that he had an inside source of information. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “Well, I’d say ‘come on in’, but I guess that’s not necessary is it? What can I do for you, John?”

 

“You know damn well what you can do for me. You can keep your nose out of my business!”

 

“I’m trying to conduct an investigation here, John.”

 

“An investigation into what? My personal life, or Roy’s disappearance?”

 

“Both. Either. Whatever gets me to the answers I need to solve this puzzle.”

 

Johnny slammed his fist down on Fahey’s desk. “You have no right to dig up personal information about me and gossip about it to my coworkers!”

 

Fahey sucked on his lower lip and looked away. Gage was right; that had been low. But he’d wanted Chet’s reaction to it. And he’d been banking that Chet wouldn’t open his mouth about it. “Maybe so. But perhaps your coworkers deserve to know that you’re not a very honest guy.” Another low blow. But sometimes getting a person mad caused him to blurt out things better kept secret.

 

Johnny threw him a murderous glare. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!”

 

“Don’t I? Hey, if you want to screw married women, that’s your bag. But it only supports my theory about you and Joanne DeSoto. And if you want to lie to the department about it, that’s fine too, but again, it can’t help but make me wonder what other things you lie about.”

 

“This is….crazy,” John uttered in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be finding out what happened to Roy, not…”

 

“Don’t worry; I’ll find out what happened to him.” Don tapped his desk with the pen in his hand. “The question is, why do I have a feeling you don’t want me to?”

 

Johnny shook his head, snarling, “You’re wrong, Fahey. I was actually hoping that maybe you’d be able to come up with something, but I can see that I was mistaken. You’d rather waste your time digging up garbage for the National Enquirer than find the truth. As long as you’re in charge of this case, I can see that we’ll never find out what really happened to Roy.”

 

“Maybe if you’d just tell the truth it would save us all a lot of trouble…”

 

“I AM telling the truth!”

 

“Just like you told the Fire Department? Forgive me if I have a little trouble believing you. What I’m betting on is that you owe Roy. He knew about your little indiscretion, and now he’s wanting payback. He kept your secret, now you keep his. You’re only glad to do it, with one added perk: his wife. Either that, or maybe you just had DeSoto knocked off so you and the wife could share the insurance money.”

 

Johnny’s lip curled. “You’re twisted.”

 

“Hey, I’ve seen it before. Plenty of times.”

 

The two men stared at each other for several long seconds in a stand off. Johnny’s face was red with rage and he was shaking slightly, while Don remained calm, his eyes piercingly cold. “Tell me, John, what happened to your horses?”

 

Johnny wasn’t going to cooperate. Fahey wasn’t going to believe him no matter what he said. He crossed his arms. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

 

Fahey nodded. “Look, I know you sold them.”

 

“Detective, I buy and sell horses all the time. I have a horse farm.”

 

“An empty horse farm. You needed the money, didn’t you? Or I should say, Roy Desoto needed the money.”

 

Johnny shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t know how to answer. If he told Fahey about  paying for the baby’s surgery, not only would he likely not believe him, but he’d probably blab it to Chet. “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

 

“It’s all right. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll figure it out, sooner or later.”

 

“Fine. You do that. Good luck with it.”

 

Fahey crossed his arms and regarded Johnny silently.

 

Frustrated, Johnny took a couple of paces around the room, then spun back to face him. “Man, you are so far from the truth, it’s scary.” Johnny pointed a finger at him. “Instead of doing some real investigating, you’re just lookin’ for a scapegoat. Well, I can tell you right now, it’s not going to be me!”

 

“It’ll all come out in the end.”

 

“Look, you’re way off base. I’m not helping Roy. I don’t know where he is. And I’m certainly NOT having an affair with his wife. I’m asking you to lay off. And if you have a problem with me, then you come to ME, not one of my coworkers.”

 

“It’s a free country, you know.”

 

Feeling sick, John closed his eyes. He stood there for several long seconds, debating what to do. “I don’t believe you,” he muttered. Slowly, he shook his head, realizing he couldn’t win. Numbly, he turned, and walked out the door.

 

Don stared after him, unable to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Usually he could tell when people lied; there was always something in their eyes or body language that gave them away. He hadn’t seen that in Gage. The man continued to steadfastly deny any wrongdoing. He briefly wondered if he was barking up the wrong tree.

 

Why don’t I trust Chet’s opinion?  Kelly knew his coworkers well; maybe he should put more merit into what his cousin said. But there had been no other leads, and there was this lying from Gage. True, he hadn’t been seen with Joanne DeSoto lately, but that was probably because he was trying lay low and not draw attention to their relationship.

 

He still had to interview the guy on the boat they had rescued to try to determine if he and Johnny had set the whole thing up to get rid of Roy, so that could be another lead. As soon as the guy was well enough to talk to he’d find out if there was any connection. And what was really suspicious was the sale of those horses and no money trail…

 

No, he was going to stay with this angle and see it through. If it didn’t lead to anything, he’d have to start from scratch. Fahey wasn’t too worried. Something was sure to break soon.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Johnny gripped the steering wheel tightly, his entire body tense after meeting with Fahey. He’d gotten absolutely nowhere with the man. Maybe getting mad hadn’t been the way to handle it. But he just couldn’t help it. He’d been so damn angry! The detective seemed hell bent on destroying his life.

 

The conversation with Chet brought a knot to his stomach. Oh man. Chet knows now. What he must think of me. What if Chet tells everyone? Even if he doesn’t, Fahey will probably make sure everyone knows about it.  I won’t be able to show my face again.

 

Aw, why did I have to get involved with Amie…this could seriously ruin my credibility, if not my life. It was an honest mistake! She’s the one that deceived me! But no one’s going to understand that. All they’re going to look at is how I lied. And what I did. Oh man, when this gets around Rampart…how am I going to ever look at Dixie or the docs again?

 

Or Michaela. 

 

He pulled up to a red light and stopped, resting his forehead on the top of his steering wheel. How has my life gotten so out of control? What am I gonna do?

 

Another voice charged out from a different part of him. Do nothing. You’re not guilty of anything except bad judgment. Fahey can’t prove that you’re hiding Roy or having an affair with Joanne, or any of that crap! Fuck him. Find Roy yourself. No one else is gonna help you, Gage.

 

No one else…no one else…wait a minute!

 

Johnny’s head popped up just as the light turned green. An idea was forming in his mind. Maybe there IS someone who can help me. A private detective! I can hire a private detective! Like…like Joe Mannix! He’d be on MY side. Johnny’s foot pushed the accelerator pedal a little deeper, now excited at his new idea, and anxious to get home.

 

His mouth turned downward into a frown. Jeez, I wonder how much a private detective will cost me? He debated that for several minutes, wondering whether he should spend precious funds he could use for Joanne and the baby for finding Roy. I’ve got to try. Time is running out. It’s been too long…God, please don’t let me be wrong. He bit his lip and glanced up toward the sky. C’mon Roy. I need your help, man. Throw me a bone or…or something. Let this be the answer. I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to look for you if you don’t…

 

No, I’m not giving up! I won’t give up…don’t worry, Pally, I’m gonna find you.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Johnny stood at his locker getting dressed for work, his thoughts caught up in the conversation he’d had with the private eye the day before. After half a day spent on the telephone searching for a private detective that he felt could help him and that wouldn’t put him in the poorhouse, Johnny finally ended up at the office of a man named James Sinclair.

 

Formerly a hotshot with a firm called Intellitect, Sinclair broke off to form his own agency after disputes with his employers, who preferred to use high-tech computer analysis and sophisticated gadgetry over intellect and wits to solve mysteries. Sinclair had an impressive record and a reasonable cost, two things that were deciding factors for John.

 

The large, silver-haired man was a no-nonsense World War II vet in his early fifties with a thoughtful mild manner and a dry sense of humor. He agreed to take Johnny on as a client knowing Johnny couldn’t afford him for long, but did so because he admired the loyalty he demonstrated for his friend. John reminded him of guys he’d served with during the war. Firefighters were sort of like military men; they both regarded one another as brothers. Sinclair could identify with that.

 

After spending an hour and a half interviewing Johnny about all the facts, he didn’t pull any punches in laying it on the line. Given how long it had been, he told Johnny there was a very slim possibility of finding Roy. For John’s sake he hoped that DeSoto really wasn’t trying to defraud the insurance company. It would be a shame to waste that kind of loyalty.

 

 

 

Chet pushed the bathroom door open and headed inside. Noticing Johnny at his locker out of his peripheral vision, he silently headed toward his own. Johnny was doing his best to keep his face averted, not acknowledging Chet as he silently buttoned his uniform shirt. Sighing, Chet bypassed the pleasantries and pulled his locker door open.

 

The discomfort was palpable as silence permeated the room. Neither man knew what to say to the other. Johnny finished dressing and stood stiffly in front of his locker as if contemplating something. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “Chet?”

 

Kelly looked up, grateful that one of them had broken the silence. “Yeah?”

 

Johnny stood gripping his locker door with one hand, staring into it, the pause so long that Chet began to wonder if John was going to say anything.

 

The statement came out in an almost whispered anguish. “I…I didn’t know she was married.”

 

The Irishman regarded John for several long seconds, then nodded, the corner of his mouth turning upward slightly. “I knew that.”

 

Johnny finally dared to turn and look at Chet. His eyes held apology and embarrassment. He licked his lips. “Um, I’d appreciate it if the Phantom kept this information to himself.”

 

Chet nodded slowly. “The Phantom understands. His brilliance may be devious and underhanded at times, but he’s not cruel.”

 

That brought a relieved smile to John’s face.

 

“He’ll grant this one discrepancy.”

 

Johnny refrained from rolling his eyes. “Tell the Phantom I appreciate that.” With that, Johnny pinned on his paramedic pin and left the locker room, his heart a little lighter.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Thanksgiving came and went. Although Station 51’s A-shift was spared having to work the holiday this year, Johnny wished he hadn’t been. It was the first time in five years that Johnny hadn’t been invited to the DeSoto’s, and it felt odd not being there. Joanne didn’t have the energy or the mood to fix a large turkey dinner; her mother prepared it and they had a very subdued holiday dinner, the shadow of Jimmy’s ill-health hanging over them all. Once again he was beginning to show signs of distress.

 

Johnny spent Thanksgiving morning armed with photos of Roy exploring Santa Cruz, then came home exhausted and crashed on the couch, napping in front of the TV and watching football for the rest of the day. Michaela worked until midnight.

 

The enticing aroma of roast turkey breast hit her immediately upon entering the house, surprising her. It wasn’t anything fancy, and Johnny had whipped up a batch of Stove Top stuffing and some boiled potatoes to go along with it, but it was a pleasant end to a hectic day. A bottle of Chardonnay sat waiting in a bucket of ice along with a pair of flickering candles. It was the nicest evening they’d had together in ages.

 

 

 

To Joanne’s dismay, Jimmy’s condition grew more unstable, and soon it was no longer a question as to whether he’d need surgery again, but when. They’d been keeping the baby mildly sedated in order to keep him calm and not put strain on his heart, but it seemed to make no difference.

 

Joanne fell into another depression, lamenting that she didn’t think she’d be lucky enough to get a second donation. Despite the doctor’s opinion that Jimmy had a good chance with the second surgery, the insurance company still refused to pay, stating that his illness was a direct result of the first surgery, and that further surgery was experimental and risky.

 

Despite all this, Christmas was just around the corner, and the Desoto children found that looking forward to Christmas lifted their spirits, even if their father couldn’t be there. Joanne didn’t have the heart to tell them that gifts would be much more limited this year with the strict budget they were on.

 

While the others were renewing their efforts to raise money for the operation with garage sales and fundraisers, Johnny knew that it would never be enough. They didn’t even have the Fireman’s Fund money this time. He began to think in terms of assets, and what else he could sell to see that the baby got the surgery he needed.

 

There were a couple of options. One would be the land he owned adjoining his cousin’s property back home. Wayne’s business was prospering and it certainly wouldn’t be a hardship for him to come up with the money to buy Johnny’s portion. Johnny knew he’d never use it anyway; he had no plans to ever move back there again.

 

The other option was his house.

 

It could easily be done. Shortly after he’d purchased the ranch, an older couple had approached him and offered to buy it. It had been just what they were looking for to retire in, and had told him that if he ever thought of moving, to call them.

 

But thoughts of leaving were painful. Johnny could hardly imagine it after all the work he’d put into fixing up the property, although with the herd gone it was distressing to look out onto the empty pasture every day. Johnny missed the horses terribly, and not seeing them was a constant reminder of their absence. Moving away would take that pain away. If he sold the house he and Mick would have to find a place to live quickly. Michaela would likely not understand and he feared her reaction.

 

But what else could he do? There weren’t enough overtime shifts to raise the amount of money needed in time. And no one else seemed ready to step up to the plate. Something had to be done quickly.

 

Johnny searched through his desk drawer and found the telephone number of the Wyatt’s. Studying the tattered slip of paper, he reached for the telephone, then stopped, his hand hovering over it, not sure if he could follow through. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to call them and find out if they’re still interested. At least that way I’ll know; I don’t have to commit to it right now.

 

Without telling Michaela, Johnny slowly picked up the receiver and dialed.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Her long paisley skirt was vibrant with jewel tones and softly swirled from side to side as she walked. Johnny and Gil followed her up the sidewalk, passing a languidly swinging wooden sign that read, ‘Divination’, that was surrounded with stars, the moon, and the sun.

 

Stepping up onto a peeling wooden porch, they entered a small victorian house painted in bright shades of purple, blue, and teal.

 

“He’s in there,” the tall fortyish woman said, the silver bangles on her wrist jingling as she gestured into a darkened living room, its doorway framed in rich burgundy velvet curtains. She followed them in and watched as they kneeled over a prone man who was having trouble breathing.

 

“What happened?” Johnny looked up at her.

 

She seemed to recoil in surprise as they made eye contact, as if startled by something. After a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “Well, I was giving him a spiritual reading when he started having trouble breathing. He said he thought he was having a heart attack, and then fell off the chair. I guess he couldn’t handle the news I gave him. I didn’t know what else to do, so I called you.”

 

Gil glanced up at her. “You did the right thing.” He began getting vitals while Johnny set up the biophone.

 

Quite heavy, the man was in his fifties. His face was red and he was distressed, his chest heaving in an effort to get a breath.

 

The two paramedics had just gotten him patched in to the heart monitor when he coded. What followed was a desperate attempt to save his life. Johnny and Gil worked calmly and skillfully together, and were able to get him stable enough to transport to the hospital. Surrounded by a sea of empty IV packages, syringe covers, tape, and other debris, he was finally wheeled out of the little house. Gil followed the gurney out carrying their supplies and the biophone, while Johnny stayed behind to clean up.

 

Johnny sat back on his heels a moment to rest. Doing CPR was strenuous, and it took a lot out of a person, especially when they were already tired. He closed his eyes, calmed by the sudden quiet and rich incense of citrus and spice that hung in the air. Something soft and silky brushed against his arm and he opened his eyes to see a long-haired white cat sashaying by. Slowly, he crawled around the debris that littered the rust-colored carpet and began clearing it away.

 

Reaching to his chest to pull his stethoscope off, he realized it was absent and began searching around for it.

 

Unaware of her presence, Johnny almost jumped when the female soothsayer broke the silence in a rather enigmatic tone.

 

“You’re not looking in the right place.”

 

Johnny looked up at her and was puzzled by her frozen, unblinking expression. “Oh,” he answered, thinking she was cluing him in on where his stethoscope had disappeared to. He searched further, lifting scattered trash and peering behind a chair. “Do you know where it is?”

 

The blank face kept staring.

 

Johnny frowned, wondering if she was all right. Maybe she was in some kind of shock after seeing what happened to the man. He stood up and faced her. “Are you all right ma’am?”

 

Abruptly, she started blinking, and her eyes searched his. They seemed to convey an urgency. “He’s…he’s not in the water.”

 

Johnny’s eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. “Ma’am?” He licked his lips. “Um, maybe you should sit down…”

 

“I’m fine,” she said with a deep inhale, now seemingly normal. “But you’re not.” She looked at him sympathetically and took a hold of his forearm.

 

He swallowed, looking down at a hand that gleamed with silver rings on each finger. It was warm, and seemed to resonate with energy. “Ma’am…exactly what are you talking about?”

 

“You’re looking for someone…a friend…a brother or family member, maybe?”

 

Johnny swallowed. “How…how did you know that?”

 

The woman brushed her long silver hair off her shoulder and shook it backwards. “The moment I saw you…I knew. I’m sorry, I just got this very strong feeling.”

 

Johnny stared at her, his eyes narrowing as his mind worked to control the skepticism that he knew should be blaring at him more loudly than it was. There was no way to explain the things she’d just said. “Ma’am…”

 

“Matilda,” she corrected.

 

He nodded. “Matilda, um, can you tell me what you meant by what you just said?”

 

She looked at him with hesitation.

 

Johnny stood up and faced her, leaning in toward her. His demeanor seemed urgent. “You said I was looking in the wrong place. You also said that he’s not in the water. Matilda, I’ve been searching for a friend for almost three months who was lost at sea.”

 

Her eyes widened and she nodded.

 

“If you can help me…” His tone was almost desperate. Johnny normally didn’t believe in fortune telling, but what she’d said was so convincing; he’d be a fool not to pursue it. This was the first break he’d had in a long time.

 

“I can help you. But not now.” She looked up at the clock. “This appointment has already put me late. I have to go.”

 

He looked desperate. “Please. Can you just tell me one thing?” He hesitated marginally, gambling the answer would be favorable. “Is my friend still alive?”

 

Her eyes were bright with certainty. “Oh yes. Yes, he’s alive.”

 

Relief rushed through him with such intensity it brought tears to his eyes. Part of him knew that he was taking a big chance in believing this woman, who was possibly a quack, but she was the first one to confirm the unexplainably strong instinct he’d had ever since Roy disappeared that his best friend was alive.

 

A stack of business cards sat in a small basket on an old worn roll top desk. She handed him one. It read, ‘Matilda’, ‘Services: Tarot, Numerology, Astrology, Gastromancy, Alchemy, Theurgy, with a phone number and address at the bottom. “Call me for an appointment. I charge twenty-five dollars an hour. Find something that belonged to your friend, something special, and bring it with you when you come see me.

 

Johnny clutched the card in his hand as if it were a one hundred dollar bill. He suddenly realized he had to go too. Gil would be waiting for him at the hospital. “I will. Thank you.” He knelt back down to collect the rest of his things.

 

“Your stethoscope is under the table.” She nodded toward it.

 

Lifting the red tablecloth, he crawled under it and saw it there. Surprised, he snatched it up and clipped it around his neck. His eyes searched hers haltingly, wishing she could give him more answers. “I’ll call you.”

 

She nodded and he left.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

“Where you been?” Gil pushed himself away from the counter he’d been leaning against at the base station. He and Dixie had been discussing their patient and the rescue.

 

Johnny reached for a coffee cup. “Talking to Matilda.” He sipped the hot brew he’d just poured. “How’s the guy?” He looked from Gil to Dixie.

 

“Rough, but he’s hanging in there,” Dixie answered. “He’s going to need bypass surgery.”

 

“Mm. That’s too bad. I had a bad feeling about him the minute we saw him.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Gil responded. “Who’s Matilda? The psychic woman?”

 

“Yeah. She’s pretty amazing. She told me something you guys aren’t going to believe.” Johnny put his cup down, and his eyes sparkled with a happiness not seen in a long while. “Guess what she said?”

 

“What?” Dixie smiled wryly. “That you were going to get married and have ten children?”

 

Johnny took a step backwards and shuddered, his face scrunched up distaste.

 

She and Gil chuckled to one another.

 

“No, not quite, Dix. She said…” He took a deep breath, his face resolute with certainty. “Roy is alive.”

 

The smiles left the others’ faces abruptly.

 

“What?” they both said simultaneously.

 

“Yeah, that’s what she said.” Johnny went on to tell them how she’d just come out of the blue and told him how he was looking in the wrong place and that Roy wasn’t in the water and that he was very much alive. “See? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys all along.”

 

Gil and Dixie exchanged glances, their doubtful expressions unhidden.

 

Dixie shifted on her seat, searching for the right words that wouldn’t break the thin ice she was standing on. “Johnny…isn’t it possible that she could have read about Roy’s disappearance in the paper? She might be trying to take advantage of you. You know those people can sense desperation. She might just be telling you what you want to hear to get your money.”

 

Johnny shook his head adamantly. “No, Dix. I don’t think so. How would she have known that Roy was my partner? I didn’t tell her anything about it. She just came out of the blue and told me. You should have seen her eyes. It was like she was in a trance or something.”

 

Dixie stared worriedly at the paramedic.

 

Frowning, Johnny realized that once again, he was alone in his beliefs. “Oh, forget it,” he said in a discouraged tone, snatching up Gil’s box of supplies. “Let’s go.” He stormed off, not waiting to see if Gil followed.

 

“Johnny – ” Dixie called, feeling badly.

 

Gil shrugged at her and went to follow. “See you.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

“Uncle Johnny?”

 

“Chris?” Johnny tucked the phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he sat down in his living room with his coffee.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Well, hi partner, how’re you doin’?” Johnny had taken to calling Chris partner since Roy’s disappearance. It filled a gap for John and Chris liked it.

 

“I’m okay.”

 

Johnny frowned. Chris sounded kind of down. “Oh yeah? Well, that’s good. How’s your mom and your sister?” He cringed slightly upon asking about Joanne, wondering what Chris might say. He’d been on Joanne’s shit list since the funeral and they hadn’t seen or talked to each other for a long while.

 

“They’re okay.”

 

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. What’s up?”

 

“Well…” Chris sounded hesitant, “I just wondered if you were going to come over sometime.”

 

“Oh. Uh, sure Chris, I mean, I don’t know; it depends on what your mom would say.”

 

“Mom would be okay with it, I think.”

 

“She would?”

 

“Yeah. Besides, she kind of needs some help with some things. I offered to help her, but she doesn’t want me getting up on the roof.”

 

“The roof? What’s wrong with the roof?”

 

“During that wind we had, the gutter pulled loose and a couple of shingles came off. She’s afraid it’s going to start leaking.”

 

“Oh, I see. Yeah, that sounds like a problem. I guess I could fix it if she’d let me.”

 

“Okay, but there’s something else.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Well, I was kind of hoping that we could put Christmas lights on the house like we did last year, but mom won’t let me climb on the ladders, and she doesn’t want me messing with extension cords and plugs and stuff, you know.”

 

Johnny smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. You gotta know what you’re doing.”

 

“Last year you and Dad did it. I know I could do it, but Mom won’t let me try it by myself this year.”

 

“You want me to help?”

 

“Would you?”

 

“If your mom says it’s okay.”

 

“Hold on, I’ll go ask.”

 

“Chris – ” Johnny heard the handset rocking back and forth on the table, then a yell of, ‘Mom!’ in the background. After that, things got quiet for almost two minutes before Chris got back on the phone again.

 

Chris’ voice rose in excitement. “She says it’s okay. When can you come?”

 

Johnny swallowed his coffee and smiled. “How about this afternoon?”

 

 

 

It took Johnny a little over two hours to repair the shingles and reattach the gutter to the Desoto roof. By the time he climbed down the ladder, Christopher had gathered a pile of lights ready to be strung onto the house. Jennifer stood close by, arranging them in the order she wanted, ready to direct where each one should go.

 

“Okay, guys,” Johnny asked. “What goes where?”

 

“Uncle Johnny, I want to do red, then white, then red, then white, every other one on each bush, so it looks like a candy cane.”

 

“Then up there, all along the roof line, we’ll do the multi-colored ones like you and Dad did last year,” Chris added.

 

“I want those two trees to be all green,” Jennifer pointed to two large trees in their yard.

 

It was quite a bit more lighting than what he and Roy had done last year, but John wasn’t about to disappoint the kids. He was determined that they were going to have a great Christmas this year. Hopefully Roy would be there to enjoy it, but even if he didn’t make it home in time, he was going to try to make it a good Christmas for the kids.

 

Three hours later and one trip to the hardware store to get extension cords, more lights, and a timer , all the lights were up on the house. It looked spectacular and the kids were thrilled. It was the happiest moment they’d had since their father had died.

 

Sounds of laughter drew Joanne to the window. An unexpected joy filled her heart at seeing the simple ritual that she thought would never take place again now that Roy was gone, and she felt thankful that Johnny had come.

 

The three of them burst through the door excitedly, thrilled with the outcome of the decorations.

 

“Mommy, when can we put the tree up?” Jennifer asked, nearly bouncing up and down.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, honey.”

 

“Can we go get a real tree Mom?” Chris asked.

 

“No, honey. We can’t spend the money this year.”

 

Dual ‘awws’ were heard from both children.

 

“Joanne, don’t you have an artificial tree?” Johnny asked.

 

She sighed. “Yes, but it’s in the attic and I’m not sure exactly where it is…Roy usually got it – ”

 

“Uncle Johnny can get it!”

 

“ – and it’s difficult to put together.”

 

“Uncle Johnny can put it together!”

 

Joanne looked helplessly at Johnny.

 

He smiled. “I’d be glad to do it…if you want.”

 

The kids broke out into pleas of ‘please!’ simultaneously that Jo couldn’t refuse.

 

Soon the tree was assembled and the decorations were out and the four of them were having a marvelous time. Joanne popped some popcorn and threaded it onto a string for the tree. Joanne got a lump in her throat when Johnny lifted Jennifer up to set the star atop, just as Roy had done last year. It was a bittersweet moment.

 

Eventually the excitement died down a little and they began cleaning up. Joanne got cheers when she suggested she make hot chocolate for everyone, even though it was in the sixties outside. While she was in the kitchen, Johnny and the kids scooped tinsel off the floor and stacked up the empty ornament boxes.

 

Tired from the day, Johnny finally relaxed, sinking into the sofa. Jennifer used that as an invitation to climb up onto his lap, a habit she dearly missed now that her father was gone. She began talking about what surprises Santa might bring her, squealing with delight when Johnny stated that he thought it was a distinct possibility that Santa might bring her the Malibu Barbie she wanted. If Joanne hadn’t already purchased it for her, it would go on his list.

 

Chris sat quietly next to them, staring at his lap.

 

Noticing the boy’s somber mood, Johnny ruffled his hair affectionately and smiled. “What do you want Santa to bring you this year, Chris?”

 

Christopher shrugged, heaving a big sigh. He was too old to believe in Santa, but even if he did, he knew his wish would be something even Santa couldn’t deliver.

 

Johnny leaned forward in concern, trying to make eye contact with the boy. “Chris?”

 

“I just wish…my dad would be here for Christmas. That’s what I want, Uncle Johnny.” He turned his head away to hide the wetness that had suddenly sprung to his eyes.

 

Reaching an arm around the Chris’ shoulders, Johnny pulled the boy tightly to his side, squeezing him once. A single tear trailed down Chris’ cheek, yet his face remained still.

 

John struggled for words, desperately wanting to tell the children about the promising news he’d heard from Matilda, yet knowing he couldn’t just yet. Still, there must be something he could say to comfort the boy.

 

Drawing his arm away, he faced Chris with Jennifer still in his lap. “You know, Chris…it’s Christmastime. Sometimes…miracles happen.”

 

Desperate eyes looked up expectedly at his uncle. “What do you mean, Uncle Johnny?”

 

“Well, Chris…I just mean that…well…maybe something will happen, you know?”

 

Chris’ brows furrowed together in bewilderment. “Uncle Johnny…are you saying…do you think…my dad could come back?”

 

Johnny looked into the boy’s eyes, so wanting to fill him with the hope that he himself felt, yet unsure if it was the right thing to do. He chewed his lower lip, weighing what to say. “I don’t know for sure, Chris, but maybe there’s a chance that – ”

 

“John.” The voice coming from the kitchen was loud and stern. And angry. Joanne stepped into the room. “John, I’d like to talk to you. Right now. In the kitchen.”

 

Johnny knew he was in trouble. He’d obviously stepped over the line. Yet part of him resented Joanne speaking to him like one of her kids. Closing his eyes in dismay, he coaxed Jennifer off his lap and slowly got up, following Joanne into the kitchen.

 

The happy mood she’d been in earlier had turned to anger on a dime. Absolutely incensed, she glared at him. It was all she could do to keep her tone at a civil level, her voice coming out in a ragged whisper. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?! You’re still trying to tell them that Roy’s coming home? They’re just learning to live with the fact that he’s not and you go and fill their minds with your fantasies! It’s been hard enough on them as it is! How dare you, Johnny! How dare you do that to my children!” Her whole body was trembling.

 

Johnny’s eyes widened at her outrage. “Jo, please, don’t get so upset.”

 

“Upset! Yes, I’m upset! When are you going to face reality, Johnny? I’ll not have you promising my children things that are impossible to deliver!”

 

“Jo, I think after you hear what I have to say, you might reconsider.”

 

“What? Don’t tell me, a UFO swooped down and took Roy up into their spaceship and they’ve contacted you to tell you they’re letting him go. Is that it?”

 

Johnny’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “No, of course not. Look, Jo, I talked to a lady the other day. She’s a psychic – ”

 

“Oh my God, I should have known!”

 

“Please, listen! She told me things that you’d never believe.” Johnny stepped closer to her, begging her to believe him with his eyes. He told her exactly what happened at the rescue the other day and everything Matilda had said. Then he withdrew from his pocket the item he planned to take in to her.

 

It was a small charm that the children had made for Roy’s key-chain. Months ago it had broken off while at Johnny’s house one day. John had found it on the floor and put it into a drawer for safekeeping, but had kept forgetting to give it back to Roy.

 

That morning, he’d been combing his house for some personal item of Roy’s to show Matilda. To his dismay, he hadn’t been able to find anything, not one single item of Roy’s, other than a photograph, which wasn’t really personal. It had startled him to think that as close as the two of them were, he had not one meaningful item belonging to his best friend. There were a few things Roy had given him, gifts for Christmas or birthday, and that is what he had decided to bring with him until he’d opened his desk drawer and saw the charm. Lifting it like a piece of fragile china, he’d held it up to the light and examined it, a wide smile coming to his face as he realized it was the perfect thing to take to Matilda.

 

Now he held it up for Joanne to see. “Remember this, Jo? Roy lost it at my house over the summer.” He examined the tiny figurine in his hand. “I meant to give it back but I kept forgetting. I thought it would be the perfect thing to take to Matilda, unless – ”

 

“Stop. Just stop!” Joanne held up her hand. “I’ve had enough!” Joanne snatched the charm out of Johnny’s hand, stunning him. “You’re not going to make a mockery out of my husband by taking this to some – some – fortune teller!” Her face was red with anger. “I’m sorry, Johnny, but I’m going to have to ask you to go. And until you decide to stop this nonsense, I don’t want you to come back!” She turned her back on him, stepping toward the window.

 

Johnny stared in wide-eyed shock. “You don’t really mean that.”

 

She whirled on him with tears in her eyes. Her speech was choked. “Yes, I do. I can’t take it any more. Now please go.” She closed her eyes to blot out the hurt look on his face. She almost felt sorry for him. He just didn’t get it.

 

A part of her regretted how she’d blown up at him, but she hadn’t the strength to control it. The fact remained that even as she stood there in the kitchen, even as she’d tried to pretend it was a normal day for just a little while, Jimmy was back in the hospital, his life hanging by a thread. She was about to lose another member of her precious family and it was close to sending her back over the edge.

 

John stood there stiffly a few moments longer. His gaze dropped to the floor, acutely aware of the emptiness in his hand. Turning to leave, he caught sight of four cups of hot chocolate growing cold on the counter top. Slowly he walked out of the kitchen, doing his best to paste a smile on his face for the children.

 

He squeezed Chris’ shoulder and gave Jennifer a quick hug. “Hey, kids, I’ve got to go.”

 

“But Uncle Johnny, what about the hot chocolate?”

 

“Oh, well…” he glanced back in the direction of the kitchen and saw Joanne standing in the doorway, her jaw set. “You know, I just didn’t realize how late it was getting, and um, well, I promised Michaela I’d be home by now.”

 

“Oh,” Chris said disappointedly.

 

“But you guys can have my hot chocolate, okay?”

 

“Sure, Uncle Johnny.”

 

Sighing, he headed for the front door.

 

“Uncle Johnny?” Chris beckoned him.

 

“Yeah, partner?”

 

“Well, will you be here for Christmas?”

 

Johnny looked down at the floor. He threw an uncomfortable smile at Chris. “Uh, I don’t know, Chris. I…I might have to work.”

 

Both children looked crestfallen.

 

“Please?” Jennifer asked.

 

This was killing him. He didn’t know what to say. The way things looked right now, it’d be a cold day in hell when Joanne ever let him back in her house. “We’ll see.” That was all he could say.

 

Not able to bear the disappointment on the children’s faces, he picked up his jacket and slowly opened the front door. Throwing a backward glance at them, he said good-bye.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 Kelly Brackett closed the folder on his desk with a disgusted slap, his facial expression dark and brooding. He hated to be pushed into a position such as he found himself in now; being able to see both sides of a situation was often more of a curse than a blessing.

 

The meeting he'd just taken part in with both Rampart's Head Administrator and its Chief of Anesthesia Services had been more than unpleasant, and now he felt he had to warn the target of its possible outcome. Quickly glancing at the day's surgery schedule, he located his subject and saw she should be finishing up her last case before lunch. Steeling his resolve, he strode toward the elevator, briefly pausing to inform Dixie of his absence for the half hour or so. Without waiting to hear her reply, had there been one, he breezed down the hall and passed both John and Gil as they exited a treatment room.

 

The two paramedics headed toward the base station. “Hey, Dix, what's with Brackett? He looks ticked.” Gil began gathering their replacement supplies as John leaned tiredly on her counter.

 

Dixie shrugged. “He didn't say much, just that he'd be out of the Department for a little while.” The three watched as he stiffly entered the elevator and punched a floor selection a bit harder than necessary, evident even from a distance.

 

Gil placed the box of supplies in front of Dixie to be checked off. “Well, I'm just glad I'm not on the receiving end of that look.”

 

“You and me both.” John glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes, Gil. I'm gonna run upstairs and see if I can catch Mick between cases, okay?” With everything that had been on his mind, it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t seen her in a couple days.

 

“No problemo. Here,” he handed the HT to John. “Come get me if we get a call; I'll be in the lounge, if there's any coffee in there.”

    

“Becky just made a fresh pot.” Dixie stood, handing the supply box to Gil. “I'll even join you if you're buying.”

 

“Why do we always say that?” Gil mused as the three headed down the hall. “The only time we actually pay for the stuff is when we have to go to the cafeteria to get it.”

 

“Nothing in life is free, Gil. We pay for it, in one way or another.” John veered away toward the elevators.

 

“You're more right than you know, Johnny.” Dixie paused at the lounge door. “Becky isn't exactly the best coffee-maker in the ER.”

 

“Bad coffee is better than no coffee.” Gil shot over his shoulder as he continued into the room.

 

“Remind him of saying that, later, Johnny.” Dixie smiled as John got onto the elevator.

 

 

 

Kel spotted Michaela at the end of the hall, and motioned for her. “Dr. Marcantonio, do you have a moment?”

 

Michaela's initial smile faded a bit as she took in both Dr. Brackett's serious expression and his use of her formal title; as head of Rampart's residency program, he held a certain amount of power over her but had never made her feel as uncomfortable as she did now. “Of course, Dr. Brackett.” She followed him into a small conference area.

 

Kel took a seat at the conference table, and motioned to the chair opposite. “Please have a seat, doctor. We have a matter to discuss.”

 

Mick carefully sat, her hands in her lap as their slight tremor belied the nerves that suddenly came over her; this was not going to be a good talk, she realized.

 

Kel took a deep breath, and began, “I want you to know, this doesn't come from me, and I don't agree with it at all. There is a situation that I feel you need to be made aware of before it goes any further.” His brows furrowed even deeper as he continued. “There are certain parties in administration that have somehow been made aware of your relationship with John Gage.”

Mick's eyes opened wide. “Administration? Why...what reason would Admin have to...that is my personal life – ”

Kel raised his hand to interrupt. “And, normally they would not be interested. However, the recent investigation into the disappearance of Roy DeSoto, and the questioning of Rampart staff in the matter, raised certain red flags in the eyes of those parties in Administration. Your name has been mentioned in the questioning as well.”

 

Johnny stood just outside of the conference room door, stopped in mid-stride as he overheard Roy's name; he'd been directed to the room by a staff member when he'd come up to the surgery floor in search of Mick. Instinct halted his steps when he realized Kelly Brackett was the one who had pulled Michaela away from her lunch break. His breath quickened as he listened.

 

“Admin feels that your personal life is your own business, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work or negatively reflect on the hospital's image. However, the investigation and the interpretation of where those findings might lead have made Admin nervous. They feel the outcome of the investigation is going to be very negative in regard to Johnny's involvement, and they are concerned about any backlash in regards not only to the paramedic program's attachment to the ER, but also your involvement with Johnny.’ Kel paused, definitely disliking this entire conversation. “This could hurt your career, Michaela, not only at Rampart but at any hospital. Something like this would follow you, no matter where you went.”

 

John willed himself to remain silent, but his heart nearly stopped at Brackett's words. How could he?! He’s practically threatening Michaela just for being involved with me...threatening her entire career! From his position outside the door, he couldn't see Brackett's expression soften.

 

“No one wants to see you hurt by this, Michaela. I've known your uncle for years, and when he approached me about taking you into our residency program, I did it with the full intention of helping you find success in your field. I would hate for you to lose all that you've worked so hard to gain.”

 

Numbed, John couldn’t stand to hear more. He turned and walked slowly down the hall toward the elevators, his expression not nearly as stunned as he felt inside. He'd never expected this kind of betrayal from Brackett, a man he not only respected as his superior but also had considered a friend, not only to himself but to Roy as well. Up until a moment ago, he had thought the feeling was mutual; now, he didn't know what to think. Making his way back to the ER, he was grateful when the HT toned the squad out for a call, and he quickly gathered Gil up on his way out of Rampart.

 

Upstairs, Michaela forced herself not to respond as she truly wanted to, but rather as protocol would dictate. Keeping her tone even, she managed to say “My involvement with John Gage has nothing to do with my job, or this hospital. I am highly disappointed that you, of all people, would condemn John for doing nothing more than what any of us should do, for the sake of a dear friend. For trying not only to find Roy, but for being there for Roy's family when they so desperately need help. You will never know what he has suffered, or the sacrifices he has made…and will continue to make...on behalf of a man who means more to him than a brother would – ”

 

Kel again raised a hand to interrupt. “Michaela, you have me all wrong. I don't for one minute believe Johnny is guilty of anything more than being just what you said...being a loyal friend.” Kel nodded sadly. “Maybe too loyal for his own good, from what you've just said. I see what this has done to him...he's changed. He's working himself to death, losing weight...I can see that as well as anyone, perhaps more than some. As his physician, I'm concerned that he's going to follow this down to a point where it destroys him if something doesn't change, and soon.” Kel steepled his fingers on the table, thinking aloud. “As his friend, and yours…I have to say that I am extremely concerned for him. But, I'm concerned for you, too. I feel a certain responsibility for you, professionally, and I felt I had to let you know what was stirring – to forewarn you of things to come unless something happens to change what's already been set into motion.”

 

Mick was grateful that she'd held her tongue; Brackett wasn't accusing Johnny after all. But, his warning sent a cold chill through her body that she couldn't ignore; what if her career really was in jeopardy?  How far was she willing to take this, to support John in his crusade? She had to find out more about what hazards lay before her. “Kelly, what exactly has been set into motion? Has Admin made any decisions – ”

 

“Not yet. But there is a proposal to remove you from the residency program if the investigation continues to lead down the path that the press is alleging, and if your name or position is mentioned to the public in relation to it. They would arrange for you to resume your residency…out of state, probably. And, probably not in a major metropolitan area. It would likely not be anywhere that you would desire to be.” Kel swallowed the acid that had crept up from below at the mere idea that Admin could, or would, sabotage Mick's career in such a way, but the truth was that it was quite possible that they could get away with exactly that. “This could get really ugly. You have to be prepared.”

 

Michaela studied Brackett intently. Leaning forward, she asked, “And what about John? Does the same warning apply to him? Would Admin push to have him reassigned to another station out on the fringe of the city in order to keep him out of the spotlight? Or perhaps they’d just oust him from the paramedic program altogether so as not to tarnish Rampart’s reputation?”

 

Brackett looked down at his hands and sighed. His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Dr. Marcantonio, Johnny’s one of the best paramedics ever to come though our program, and believe me, I’ll fight to keep him if that scenario arises. But I’m afraid that if the allegations against Johnny turn out to be true, the Fire Department would likely release him from his duties anyway.”

 

“They’re not true, Kelly. I can assure you of that.”

 

“Well…then hopefully he’ll have nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, Admin has made similar threats against him. They may go as far as insisting he not be associated with this hospital, thereby either forcing him out of the paramedic program altogether, or to another station as you hypothesized. I’ve been planning to have a similar conversation with him as well to warn him.” But I’ve been putting it off in the hopes that this whole thing will eventually blow over. John Gage’s reaction is not something I look forward to encountering. 

 

Michaela pondered the situation, her face grave. Knowing there wasn’t any recourse, she stood and extended her hand. “Thank you, Dr. Brackett. I appreciate the warning, and the concern, for both myself and for John. I know you took a risk to your own career by letting me know what is going on, and I am most grateful.”

 

They walked down the hallway, pausing when a nurse stopped Mick. “Dr. Marcantonio. Did Mr. Gage find you?”

 

Mick frowned. “He was here?”

 

The nurse nodded. “Just a few minutes ago. I told him I thought you were in a meeting with Dr. Brackett; I'd seen you talking down the hall. I guess he didn't want to interrupt.”

 

“I suppose not. Thank you.” Mick briefly wondered why Johnny hadn't found her, but she supposed the nurse was right; he wouldn't interrupt what he thought might be a student/teacher conference. An urgent call for her help prevented further musing as she was once again caught up in the drama of the hospital. Kelly Brackett left her to her duties and returned to his own in the ER.

 

                                               

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

The call had been a welcome distraction. It came from a feverless man with a bad cold who was more in need of a couple of aspirin and some chicken soup than two paramedics. John and Gil implied just that before leaving the rather disgruntled patient without treating him. As if in retaliation, constant sneezes spewed germs into the air, which the hapless paramedics unsuccessfully tried to dodge.

 

Now that the run was over, the conversation between Mick and Dr. Brackett came charging back to the forefront of Johnny’s mind. Shock at Brackett’s warnings to Michaela consumed his thoughts and anger began to simmer. Brackett. All he cares about is his damn hospital and his image. He doesn’t care whom he tramples on in the process.

 

Johnny sat in silence once reentering the squad. Gil stared at his partner’s clenched jaw and noticed fingers white with lack of blood flow as they clamped the steering wheel. It didn’t seem logical that Johnny could have gotten this upset over their last patient, but Gage wasn’t the easiest person to figure out. He’d learned that sometimes the best approach to Johnny was to just keep your mouth shut.

 

Not for the first time, Gil wondered if being partnered with Johnny had been a good career choice. He wouldn’t even be questioning this had the circumstances with Roy been different. Rationalizing that sooner or later, the original Gage had to reappear, he’d told himself to wait it out. The question was, when would that happen? And would he be able to continue to stand working with John until he got back to normal?

 

Oblivious to Gil’s musing, Johnny drove. With an abrupt jolt, he realized something. He’s making her choose between me and her career! Like molten lava on the verge of exploding from a volcano, pressure from this new bout of anger boiled up inside of him. An inclination to let it erupt was barely restrained; only the fact that he’d already noticed Robinson glancing uneasily at him stopped it.

 

Anger turned to worry as he considered the fact that his own career could be in equal jeopardy. If Brackett’s worried about how all this reflects on the hospital, he’s got to be worried about how it’s going to affect the public’s perception of the paramedic program. I can’t lose my job. I need the money too badly. Jimmy needs surgery again. How can I balance all this out? Damn that insurance company! They started all this! Now I’ve got the police hounding me, and they’re spreading lies about me and Roy all over Rampart and the Department.  His mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions as he tried to untangle one from the other and decide what to do.

 

Should I confront Brackett? It would probably do more harm than good. The man and his hospital are too powerful to fight.

 

Should I talk to someone in the department? Nah, they already think I’m bordering on crazy; I’ve already been written up twice. No use in adding fuel to the fire. Maybe I should discuss this with Michaela… But he knew what her reaction would be. She’d fight for him. She wasn’t the type to let anyone step on her. The problem was, that might make things worse for her at the hospital. A sick feeling filled him as he realized the hopelessness of the situation. I can’t stop looking for Roy. Not now. Not when there’s new hope. But I can’t let her lose everything she’s worked for because of me either.

 

He pulled up to a red light. Forgetting that Gil was with him for a moment, Johnny let out an anguished sigh and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. I’m going to have to be more quiet about it all, not talk to anyone about what I’m doing. I should have done that in the beginning. Now it may be too late.

 

Gil turned to him in concern. “Johnny? You okay? What’s wrong?”

 

John’s head popped up and he looked over embarrassedly. “Nothing. Uh, just…got a lot on my mind.”

 

Gil nodded uncertainly. “Anything I can help with?”

 

John threw a cheerless smile his way. “No. Thanks. I’ll…I’ll work it out.”

 

Gil knew better than to push it. It was likely just more of the same, likely something to do with Roy. He remained quiet.

 

Just before they pulled into the station, another call came in.

 

 

 

There’d been no time to think of anything else on this run, no room in his mind for his own problems. Years of experience demanded they be shoved aside; the patient took center stage as Gage nearly lost him in the ambulance on the way to Rampart. Had it not been for quick reactions and a level head he would have.

 

It was an instance where having a top paramedic at his side tipped the scales in the patient’s advantage. A perfect combination of professionalism and just plain downright skill employed precisely at the right time was what saved his life. No doubt about it.

 

Johnny ran alongside the gurney into the ER, holding one IV bag in his hand and the other between his teeth. A controlled flurry of activity took place thereafter as each team member jockeyed for space around the patient. Gil entered moments later and dove into the fray, no longer in doubt as to what his role should be, as he once was.

 

When it was over and the patient was finally stabilized and sent off to surgery, they all breathed collective sighs of relief, and several sets of shoulders sagged. Johnny wiped a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist. Absently he transferred the patient’s blood from his hands to the front of his pants, then reached for their discarded oxygen tank.

 

Brackett observed Johnny as he went about his business silently, marveling at what had just happened. A wave of guilt passed through him as he recalled his conversation with Michaela earlier that day. Admin’s wrong. Just plain wrong.

 

He took a few steps toward the dark-haired paramedic as he headed for the door. “Hey, Johnny. You did an outstanding job on this…” The stony glare that met his eyes made him falter. 

 

There was no appreciation in Gage’s eyes as he turned and squared his shoulders. “Gee thanks, Doc. I’m glad you think so. I’d hate to be responsible for tarnishing Rampart’s shining image.” With that, the palm of his hand slapped the door open and he disappeared.

 

Dixie McCall watched Kel’s face as astonishment replaced appreciation, wondering what in the world could have possibly caused John Gage to speak so contemptuously to the doctor. Her voice was troubled as she questioned, “Kel?”

 

Brackett’s eyes remained on the closed door for several moments, then turned questioningly toward Gil, but the mustached paramedic simply shrugged and followed his partner out.

 

Dixie folded her arms in concern. “What was that about?”

 

Kel Brackett rubbed at his chin, his eyes sliding uncomfortably sideways, away from her. He took a few steps toward the exam table, dropping his head as he leaned onto it with both hands. Regretful blue eyes lifted to meet hers. “I’m…not quite sure, Dix.”

 

 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

It couldn’t have been a worse day for Hank Stanley to be out sick. And Headquarters couldn’t have assigned a worse choice to replace him.

 

As hard-nosed as they came, Captain Hochrader wore a permanent chip on his shoulder, daring anyone to knock it off. Ready for retirement just a few short months ago, praising speeches at a going away party given by his peers changed his mind. The plan to secretly mock him with false admiration at his retirement party had been called genius by the firemen who were behind it, but their plan had backfired. The punishment was a few more years of service from the gruff, by-the-book captain.

 

Hochrader was in full form that morning as he ordered the men around, the hands of the clock not even reaching eight o’clock before he started in.

 

Two minutes before the start of the shift, Johnny burst through the engine room door only to catch a glimpse of a mop of thick silver hair moving on the other side of the squad. It followed Marco into the dayroom. Wha? Who… Oh crap.

 

Hesitantly, Johnny entered the dayroom, dreading what he would find. “Where’s the Cap?” John whispered to Chet.

 

“Out sick,” Chet answered clandestinely.

 

Hochrader glared at John, then down at his watch. “Gage, you missed role call. Therefore, you get latrine duty. After that, I want the engine floor mopped until it sparkles.”

 

John’s mouth dropped; his head bobbed down to examine his own watch. “But Cap, it’s not even eight o’clock yet! I’m not late!” He turned to Chet, who watched him guardedly, shaking his head in warning.

 

“Gage, in my book the shift starts at eight o’clock. That means everyone has their assignments and are ready to go at that time. Traipsing in the door two minutes before then isn’t acceptable. I expect you here early.”

 

John’s jaw rippled as he clamped his mouth shut. “Yes Sir.” He couldn’t stop his upper lip from curling slightly during his answer.

 

Hochrader wasn’t fazed. Abruptly he turned and addressed Chet, clapping his hands once. “Kelly, quit ogling and clean up this mess!” He gestured toward the stack of dishes drying on the counter that C shift hadn’t had time to put away.

 

“Yes Sir,” Chet replied, rolling his eyes after turning away. It was going to be a long shift.

 

 

 

Johnny stood before the bathroom mirror examining his reflection, the cleaning cloth forgotten in his limp hand. His skin was pale and pasty, his eyes droopy, his hair a tangled mess. The bones in his cheeks looked a little more prominent than usual. I don’t look too good. He tried a toothy smile; it didn’t make any improvement. Man, what’s happened to me? Reaching up, he combed his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to straighten it.

 

Sighing, he struggled to organize his thoughts through a sleep-deprived haze. Worry over Dr. Brackett’s conversation with Michaela had plagued him, stealing sleep away. He hadn’t spoken to her about it because he hadn’t wanted her to know he’d been eavesdropping. But wracking his brain for the past two days about it hadn’t produced a solution. Now as he stared at his reflection, the same question popped up. And the same answer. What can I do to stop the hospital from transferring her? Break up with her? He snorted at the absurdity of it.

 

Fahey had made his assumptions about him and Roy and was hell bent on proving them. Even though Johnny felt Fahey could never substantiate his accusations, he wondered if he had the time to wait to be vindicated. If the media became privy to the details of the investigation, Mick’s career could be over. And the chances of that happening weren’t exactly slim. Finding what happened to Roy, and quickly, had to be the solution. I’ve got to talk to Matilda, and – hope that Sinclair has some news for me.

 

But even this wasn’t the most urgent of his problems. Heading the top of the list was Jimmy. At this very moment, the baby was on life support at the hospital, fading away. Despite his estrangement from Joanne, Johnny had managed to obtain more details about the boy from Mike.

 

Johnny knew Joanne had begged Jimmy’s doctor at Children’s to try to perform the second operation. Even if he had agreed, which he hadn’t, the operation was still far beyond Joanne’s means. Joanne would be in debt for the rest of her life trying to pay for it. The request had been denied with great regret; neither the hospital nor the doctor wanted to chance the possibility of a lawsuit should something go wrong. But even more importantly, it would be much riskier for a doctor unfamiliar with the procedure and without guidance to perform it.

 

 How long Jimmy would stay alive on life support was anyone’s best guess. The only answer acceptable to Johnny was to raise enough money to have Dr. Lawrence come back and do the surgery. I’ve let Brackett distract me from the most important thing. I’ve got to prioritize. Damn. I shouldn’t have worked overtime yesterday. I should have been on the phone with Wayne. What if he refuses to purchase my half of Winding River? He threw the cloth into the sink. I’ve got to call him.

 

 

 

After checking the engine bay where the paramedic should have been mopping, Captain Hochrader strode into the bathroom to look for Gage. All he found was a dry cloth and some bottles of cleaner on the vanity counter, but no sign of Gage. Nothing had been touched. Where the hell is he?

 

Hearing a voice in the dorm, Hochrader followed the sound only to find the paramedic on the telephone at the desk. Concluding that the conversation was not work related, he grew incensed, bellowing out, “Gage! Get off the phone and get in here and do your job!”

 

Mortified, Johnny covered the receiver of the phone and turned to his superior. “I’ll be right there, Cap!”

 

“No. Now!” 

 

Feeling a vibration through the handset, he heard the muffed voice of his cousin, ‘Johnny? You still there?’

 

“Hang on a minute, Wayne.” He hugged the telephone receiver to his chest and looked pleadingly at his captain. “Cap, I’m almost done. I’ll be right off.”

 

“You’re not getting paid to make personal phone calls.”

 

“I know, Sir. But it’s important. I’ll only be a minute.”

 

Hochrader’s face turned a blotchy red. “We’re starting a drill in two minutes. You’ve got exactly that long to make yourself present.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Hochrader stormed out, intent on adding on to Gage’s to-do list.

 

“Wayne? Sorry. I’m back. Look, I’ve only got a minute. I – I don’t know if I can make it out there. I don’t think I can get away.”

 

“‘Takoda,’ Wayne implored, easily falling back into the habit of calling his cousin by the nickname he’d always used when John was younger. ‘You can’t do this long distance. You need to come out here and talk to the appraiser and see the comps for yourself. You need to look at your land – you haven’t seen it for years.  I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

 

“Wayne, I trust you. Talk to a realtor or an appraiser, or whomever you have to to figure out what it’s worth. Have them call me, okay?” Johnny glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go! Call me back later this afternoon, will ya?”

 

There was a reluctant sigh on the other end of the line. “Hau. Toksa ake.”

 

“Toksa ake,” Johnny echoed, then ran to the dayroom.

 

 

 

After Hochrader’s drill, Johnny made phone calls behind his back at every opportunity. Neither Matilda nor Sinclair were in, so he left messages. Dixie was on the growing list of people he expected to call back with information. He needed to know exactly how much had been raised with the hospital garage and bake sales. How he was going to take calls from her, Wayne, Sinclair, Matilda, an appraiser in Montana, and Joanne, he wasn’t sure. 

 

Joanne might not call him back, since she hadn’t spoken to him since she’d ordered him out of her house, but he’d left her a message anyway. It was important that he find out how the baby was. Time was precious. 

 

As the hours passed, the phone kept ringing for him, and the more it did, the angrier Hochrader became. A call came when they were in the middle of a late lunch. Both John and the Cap jumped up to answer it, but Hochrader was closer and snatched it up before the paramedic could make it.

 

“Station 51, Captain Hochrader speaking.” He listened a moment, glancing at Gage. His words came out short and clipped. “He’s eating lunch right now – ”

 

Johnny’s chair teetered as he pushed it backward and ran to the phone. “No I’m not, Cap. I’ll take the call.” His voice was almost frantic.

 

Hochrader glared unhappily at him, handing him the phone.

 

It was Matilda. Johnny knew he couldn’t speak candidly to her in front of the others. “Marco, would you hang this up for me? I’m going to take it in the dorm.”

 

That drew another glare of irritation from the captain, but he said nothing.

 

“Sure, John.” Marco got up and John handed him the phone, exiting quickly. Once Marco heard John’s ‘hello’, he hung up.

 

“Who was it, Marc?” Chet asked.

 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders.

 

“A woman,” Hochrader growled. “Someone named Matilda.”

 

“Matilda?” Chet repeated, confused. “Who the heck is Matilda?”

 

“Probably a girlfriend, I presume.” Hochrader was somewhat familiar with the gossip of Gage’s lady’s man reputation. 

 

“No, his girlfriend’s name is Michaela. Maybe you got the name wrong, Cap,” Chet offered.

 

“I didn’t get the name wrong, Kelly. I may be in my fifties, but I can hear just fine. It was Matilda.” He scooted his chair back and went to get a cup of coffee.

 

Chet fiddled with his mustache. “Hm. I wonder who Matilda is.” Chet looked around at the others, noticing Gil kept his eyes glued to his plate. Gil knows something. “Gil knows, don’t you, Gil?”

 

Gil eyed the others. “I’ll take the fifth.”

 

Chet got up and stood behind him. “C’mon, Gil. Cough it up. Who is she?”

 

Gil looked hesitant. He glanced around at the other men, unsure as to whether Gage would appreciate him telling them about her. “We met her the other day on a call, that’s all.”

 

“What?” Chet looked shocked. “He’s seeing someone else? Did he break up with Michaela?”

 

“No, no. Nothing like that. Ah…actually, she’s a psychic. We were called out to her place the other day when a client collapsed.”

 

“Oh…yeah. I think I’ve seen her sign. She’s the one over on Thirty-third, right?” Marco reached for the milk and poured himself another glass.

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“What’s she doing calling Johnny?” Chet asked.

 

Gil glanced toward the doorway, his face grave. Reluctantly he told them what the woman had said about Roy.

 

“So Gage is going to use her to help him find out what happened to Roy?” Marco asked in disbelief.

 

“I don’t know; I guess so,” Gil answered noncommittally.

 

“Great,” Mike groused. “Just what we need. Fuel added to the fire.”

 

Hochrader’s shaggy brows furrowed. “What are you talking about, Stoker?”

 

Mike pressed his lips together. Much as he disliked what Gage was doing, he disliked Hochrader more. “Nothing, Cap. It’s not important.”

 

Hochrader sat there for a moment, glancing around at his men, irritated at being left out. “You talking about DeSoto, Stoker?”

 

Mike’s head was bowed and he lifted his eyes to meet the Cap’s. He remained silent.

 

Hochrader was well aware of the special investigation into Roy DeSoto’s disappearance, and the accusations that his death was faked to collect insurance money. The brass in the Department was concerned about the charges, although they were waiting patiently for the police department to conclude their investigation. He was also aware of the gossip surrounding Gage, and that he was allegedly still searching for his partner though he’d been determined dead. Hochrader figured, like most everyone else in the department, that the police would eventually resolve the case and find that no fraud had been committed. Up until now, he’d considered the entire situation to be nonsense.

 

He began to put two and two together. Apparently all the phone calls Gage was getting were related to this futile search for DeSoto. Why couldn’t the man just accept his friend’s death? What was worse, Gage was taking work time to follow up on his wild goose chase. “This business about DeSoto being alive is a bunch of nonsense.” He looked around at them all almost daring them to challenge him. He looked at Stoker. “Do you agree?”

 

Mike sighed and nodded.

 

Hochrader seemed more satisfied.

 

Johnny walked back into the day room, his face troubled. He sat back down before his now cold lunch and began picking at it.

 

No one said anything, but they all stared at him uncomfortably.

 

The Captain broke the silence, the sudden comment making Johnny jump. “Gage, I’ve been in this department a long time. I’ve seen men come and go. And I’ve seen a few lose their lives. No one likes to see it happen, but sometimes it’s part of the job. We all know the risks we take as firemen, and we do our jobs anyway. When it happens, we’ve got to accept it, and carry on, because that’s what a man does. Desoto was a good man. He died with honor, and you’re disrespecting that honor.”

 

Johnny slowly looked up at the man in shock. “Wh-what?”

 

“You’re making a mockery of this whole department with your outlandish notion that DeSoto is still alive.”

 

Johnny looked at him indignantly, his eyes narrowing. He considered his words for several seconds before he responded. “Well Cap, I’m not the only one who seems to think Roy is alive. The police think so too.”

 

“Maybe that’s because you’ve given them reason to suspect it.” Hodhrader’s watery blue eyes drilled into Johnny’s. “Is what they’re saying about you hiding DeSoto true?”

 

Gage’s face grew hard. “No.”

 

“Then why are you continuing to looking for him?” he grumbled.

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

 

Hochrader’s face grew sterner. “I’ll tell you what I understand. And that is that this entire department has been turned upside down with this police investigation, and you’re only adding to their suspicions of fraud by continuing to search for a dead man. Don’t you think it’s about time you stay out of it and let the police do their job?”

 

Johnny took a deep breath through his nose. His hands clenched the edge of the table in a vice grip. His response was a fine line bordering on insubordination. “Cap, I think what I do on my own time off is no one’s business but my own.”

 

Hochrader banged his fist on the table. “Not when it affects the reputation of this Department. But I guess you don’t care about that.”

 

The two men glared at one another, neither averting his eyes. Johnny remained silent.

 

Hochrader continued. “I guess what the Department does about it is their business. But I’ll tell you one thing, what you do while you’re here at work is my business, and I’ll not have you spending one more second of your time here on this farce! You’re not to use the phone for the rest of the day.”

 

John’s mouth dropped open indignantly and his voice rose. “Cap, since when is it against regulations to make a few personal calls during the day?”

 

“Since you started abusing your privileges. You’ve been on the damn phone more hours than you’ve worked today!”

 

“Abusing my privileges! I’m not – ”

 

Hochrader stood up, his hands trembling. “Gage, one more word and you’re looking at a written reprimand!”

 

Johnny stared, incredulous. The rest of the men sat frozen in their seats, watching the drama unfold.

 

Chet finally tried to reason with the captain. “Cap, don’t you think you’re being a little hard on Johnny? He’s just – ”

 

“Kelly, you’re bordering on insubordination!”

 

Chet clammed up immediately, the look on his face betraying how unfair he felt Hochrader was being.

 

Johnny knew when he was beat. He’d picked the wrong man’s patience to try. Angrily, he scooted his chair back and edged around his captain toward the door. “This is bullshit,” he mumbled.

 

Hochrader caught him by the arm and stopped him. “What was that you said, Mister?”

 

Johnny stared at him with a mixture of fear and hatred, nearly shaking he was so angry. “Nothing…Sir.” Hochrader released his arm and Johnny left the room.

 

The captain slowly sat back down, satisfied that he’d put John in his place. Looking up, he noticed all the other men were staring at him, rather unkindly. It didn’t bother him. He’d seen that look many times and knew that in the end standing firm would gain the men’s respect. He glared around the table. “Quit gawking and get these dishes cleaned up,” he growled, then left the table to go to his office.

 

The others sprang into action then watched him go, wide-eyed and shaking their heads as he did so.

 

¡dios mío,” Marco exclaimed under his breath.

 

“You can say that again,” Chet agreed.

 

 

 

Johnny found a way around Hochrader’s orders. Their next run landed them at Rampart, and so Johnny went off to the lounge to use the telephone there while Gil got supplies.

 

Matilda’s earlier call to the station had been disappointing. She wouldn’t be able to meet him right away; she’d had a death in the family and had to go out of town. He would have to wait more than a week to see her.

 

James Sinclair was his last hope in finding out about Roy. Anxious to see if he’d be back in his office, Johnny called him from the hospital. Luck was with him; this time Sinclair answered his phone.

 

“Mr. Sinclair? This is John Gage.”

 

“Hello, John; I just tried to call you, but they told me you were out.”

 

“Oh.” Johnny paused, deciding whether or not to ask who might have answered the phone at the station. He decided he didn’t want to know. “Do you have any news?”

 

“Well, yes; I’ve done some groundwork on the investigation. Unfortunately so far I haven’t been able to find any conclusive evidence of Desoto’s whereabouts. Everything seems to indicate that he drowned the night of the boating accident. I’ve not found anything to the contrary…yet.” Sinclair described an impressive list of people he’d talked to which included all the people who took part in the rescue that night, everyone from the Coast Guard and Harbor Patrol who had been involved in the search, and even the man whom they’d rescued from the boat that night. Nothing he’d found suggested any criminal action or wrongdoing by anyone.

 

Johnny’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.

 

“I do, however, have some information that you should be aware of, John.”

 

“Oh? What’s that?”

 

“You’re being followed.”

 

Johnny was shocked. “Followed!?”

 

“Yes. And what baffles me is that it seems that there’s more than one source.”

 

“Mr. Sinclair…um, exactly what do you mean?”

 

“I mean that it’s not just one organization. There’s at least two separate entities.”

 

Johnny’s throat went dry, and he suddenly felt hot. “Who…who are they?”

 

“Well, not surprisingly, one is the LA police department. A Detective Fahey put a tail on you. They seem to only be interested in your off-work hours. But there are two other men I’ve discovered, and I have no idea who they are. My guess, could be FBI or CIA, but I’m not one hundred percent sure at this point. Their habits seem a little out of the ordinary even for government surveillance. Could be an organization we know nothing about.”

 

Oh my God. Johnny was shaking now. It was bad enough that the police were following him, but the…“F…FBI?” He glanced up in alarm when a nurse walked in to the lounge. “Uh, what…what reason would they have for uh…” he lowered his voice and turned away from the nurse, who was pouring herself a cup of coffee. “…following me?”

 

“Well, if everything you’ve told me is above board, I haven’t a clue. We both know why Detective Fahey suspects you, but as for the others, I am troubled by it…apparently there’s more to the disappearance of your partner than meets the eye.”

 

Johnny was stunned. He didn’t know what to think. Two sets of people were following him and he hadn’t noticed a thing. He’d always prided himself on being acutely aware of his surroundings. How could he have missed this?

 

One thing he did know; he was scared.

 

“There’s something else I should tell you. They’re also following your girlfriend, Dr. Marcantonio.”

 

Fresh shock waves flooded over Johnny and fear built in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t even mentioned Mick to Sinclair. How did Sinclair know about her…and exactly who was following her?

 

Thankfully the nurse had left with her coffee and Johnny was alone. “Who?” Johnny asked frantically. “Who’s following her?”

 

“LA Police, for one. That’s all I’ve been able to determine at this point.”

 

“Fahey,” Johnny growled. “That bastard! This has gone too far!” He wanted to march down to the detective’s office and wrap his hands around the guy’s neck. “Mr. Sinclair, I don’t want her involved in this. What…how do I get him away from her? What can I do?”

 

“Well, I don’t think she’s in any danger, but perhaps it might help if you kept your distance from her, for the time being.”

 

Johnny hesitated as he digested this. “What about the other guys? Are they following her too?”

 

“I’ve seen no evidence of that yet. Whoever they are, they’re much more discreet, much more professional, I’d say. That’s why I guessed a government agency, but they could just as easily be from a…darker organization.”

 

  Johnny felt like his world was spinning out of control. This was too much to grasp. According to what Sinclair was saying, he could be in danger. Michaela could be in danger. If something happened to her because of him, he’d never forgive himself. In a strained voice he asked, “What can I do to protect her?”

 

“Short of hiring a bodyguard, I’d say nothing, other than staying away from her until all this clears up. I would suggest it would be wise for her to avoid being alone, especially in parking lots and the like. You might think about installing a security system on your home, although if Fahey’s got her covered, I’d think she’d be safe.”

 

Johnny groaned inwardly. “That’s some consolation.”

 

“There’s one other thing. Your phones and your home could be bugged. If you want I can come over and check for you.

 

This just gets better and better. “So someone could have been listening in to everything we’ve been saying…both on…and…off…the phone…” his words trailed off as it sunk in exactly what may have been overheard.

 

“Absolutely. John…there isn’t anything you’re not telling me, is there? I mean, you’ve been absolutely above board about all this, haven’t you?” Sinclair neglected to tell John that he’d also checked him out as well. Even though he’d been relieved not to find any skeletons in John’s closet, he felt compelled to ask.

 

Fists at his sides tightened up into balls. Even Sinclair doesn’t believe me! Where could he turn if his own private investigator didn’t trust him? “Of course I’ve been honest with you! I’ve told you everything I know. Why do you think I hired you?!”

 

“Good. I’m sorry John. I just have to be absolutely sure. Do you want me to stop by and check your house?”

 

Johnny sighed in relief. “Yes. But not today. How about tomorrow morning?”

 

“Good enough. We’ll talk more then. Good-bye, John.”

 

Slowly he hung up the phone, still in shock. A part of him wanted to rush out and find Michaela just to see for himself that she was safe. He even considered insisting she stay in a hotel and not return home, although it was some consolation that he had three big dogs to protect her. But three dogs would be no match for the CIA or FBI, or…the Mob…if that’s who it was… Does Sinclair think the Mob is following me? I wish I would have asked him who he really thought it was.

 

Johnny stood staring forlornly at the wall in the lounge, lost in thought. The Mob? Jeez, I’d rather be followed by the FBI or the CIA than the Mob. But why the hell would the Mob be after me? Johnny stopped chewing on the end of his pen and thrust it back into his shirt pocket. This is ridiculous! The Mob is not after me.

 

His eyes darted around the empty room. But what if they are?

 

This is crazy! John glanced up at the ceiling, tired and frustrated. Roy, where the hell are you? And have you really done something that would have caused a government agency to follow me because they want information about you?

 

God I hope they’re not following Joanne, but I bet they are. For a moment, it actually crossed John’s mind that Roy might be involved in something underhanded. But as quickly as that thought materialized, he discarded it, shoving it away vehemently, angry with himself that he’d even considered it.

 

 

 

Worry and fatigue plagued Johnny for the rest of the shift. Insult added to injury later that afternoon when he nodded off during a lecture Captain Hochrader was giving about chemical fires.

 

As the Captain droned on, the added weight of each word felt like an anvil on John’s eyelids until finally they’d slid shut. Hochrader’s craggy eyebrows a mere inch from his own awakened him when he loudly bellowed, “Wake up!”

 

Johnny had been so startled he’d almost fallen out of his chair.

 

Hochrader intercepted three more phone calls for Johnny, preventing him from obtaining the important information he sought. By the time he was able to get back to Rampart to return the calls, it was too late to talk to anyone, the fact that California was an hour behind Montana complicating things.

 

Dixie was the only one on his list he’d managed to speak to and find out the amount of money that had been raised. The three thousand was substantial, yet only a drop in the bucket compared to what was needed.

 

 

 

Captain Hochrader entered the office and closed the door. Pulling open the second drawer of the filing cabinet, he began thumbing through the folders. Stopping for a moment, he took a few steps away and over to the wall to turn on the light switch. Late day sunlight still shone through the window, but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the contents of the dark filing cabinet. Finding the folder he wanted, he snatched it out of the cabinet and lowered himself into the swiveling desk chair. He leaned forward, opening up the manila folder with Gage’s name on the tab.

 

A copy of the commendation Gage had been awarded with sat on top. Hochrader read through it thoughtfully, wondering for a moment if he’d been too hard on the man. Flipping the paper over, his eyes widened, then narrowed as he read the other reports in Gage’s file. Two disciplinary write-ups, both within the last three months were behind the commendation. As if vindicated, he straightened, lifting the papers up and holding them near his face for closer inspection. For some reason, Hank Stanley had chosen to put the commendation in front, even though it was dated earlier than the write-ups. Perhaps it was to hide the bad news.

 

Hochrader wondered if Headquarters knew about the two write-ups. Whether they did or not, they would soon. He also wondered if there were more than two instances in which Gage had defied orders, and Hank Stanley had been too soft to write him up, knowing that a third time would suspend Gage. Well, he wasn’t too soft. By the evidence he’d seen today it might just be the only action serious enough to straighten Gage up. Perhaps this cold slap in the face would force him to be a bit more serious about his job.

 

Inspecting the dates, Hochrader realized that the write-ups had happened within the months after DeSoto’s disappearance. Maybe Gage just can’t hack losing a fellow firefighter. Maybe this incident has just sent him off the deep end. Better to get him out of the Department before he does something to jeopardize someone else’s life. I hate to be the one to do it, but if Hank’s too soft, then someone’s got to take action. He picked up the phone to dial Headquarters.

 

 

 

At twelve-thirty that night the six tired men of Station 51 dragged themselves from their vehicles and plodded toward the bunkroom. The structure fire they’d just returned from had been a grueling three hours of back-breaking labor, leaving them hot, drained, and sweat-soaked.

 

Just as Johnny was entering the locker room, Hochrader held up his hand, stopping him. “Not you, Gage.”

 

Blearily, Johnny gazed at the man with lids at half-mast, feeling ready to collapse. “Huh?”

 

Hochrader’s face was stony. “You still have a job to do.”

 

“What job?”

 

“You’re to clean the latrine and get that floor mopped.” He gestured to the engine bay floor.

 

Johnny was so stunned he couldn’t respond.

 

Near by, Mike overheard the order and decided to interject. Surely Hochrader would listen to reason. “Cap, it’s been a long day. Why don’t you let it slide until morning?”

 

The Captain was just as tired as everyone else, and didn’t take kindly to Mike’s intervention. He’d ordered Gage that morning to get the two jobs done and he expected them done. Backing down would only show his weakness and invite further defiance.  He had an example to set. “Stoker.” He said, the coldness in his eyes a clear warning to stay out of it.

 

Mike held his gaze a few seconds longer, briefly glanced apologetically at Johnny, then turned and left. He was too tired to fight.

 

Hochrader glared at Johnny. “Get to it.”

 

“Cap, it’s past midnight. I’m beat. Can’t it wait ‘till morning?”

 

Hochrader exploded. “No! It can’t wait until morning! If you’d have done your job when you were supposed to instead of gabbing on the telephone, you could go to bed like the other men! Now I want the job done, and I want it done now! And it better be spotless!” He turned and charged through the door, leaving Johnny alone in the engine bay.

 

It was so unbelievable Johnny didn’t know how to react. He felt so slap-happy he almost broke out into laughter. It was either that or cry.

 

He did neither. He was too tired. Instead, he stumbled toward the closet, opened it and bonelessly withdrew the mop and rolling bucket. In a daze, he filled it with water and cleaner, hefting the sopping mop upward and onto the floor. He didn’t see Chet regarding him sadly through the window of the dorm door. Had he known the curly-haired fireman was seriously considering coming out to help him it might have comforted him. Unfortunately, when Chet spotted the warning scowl on Hochrader’s face as he observed him observing Johnny, he decided it wouldn’t do to further antagonize the man. So Chet went on to bed feeling guilty.

 

It was eerily quiet in the engine bay, the swishing and clacking of the mop gliding across the floor echoed in the silence. The few overhead lights that were on glared downward, throwing shadows around the room. The garage door windows were sinister little black holes, like dark eyes watching him. Johnny had never felt nervous or afraid to be in this room alone at night before, but tonight was different. Every little creak or settling noise caused him to jump, and he peered cautiously around the engine as he rounded its front end, half expecting something to jump out at him. 

 

Throughout this time, John’s troubled mind wandered back to the disconcerting news of the day, too exhausted earlier to ponder any solutions. He thought of Michaela, and wondered if she was still at the hospital or at home, and if she was all right. He considered calling her, but didn’t dare after the Captain’s final rebuke and his orders to stay off the phone.

 

Around one-thirty, he dragged himself into the bathroom to clean. Not wanting to wake the men, Johnny left the lights off except for the one in the shower. Dead on his feet, Gage finished the bathroom at around two-fifteen, finally peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt and bunkers before collapsing into bed, his face still smeared with the charred remains of the fire he’d fought earlier.

 

At four-o-five, the tones rudely summoned John and Gil from their slumber, not allowing their return until nearly five-thirty.

 

When the wake-up tones roused the men at seven, Gage didn’t stir.

 

Gil stared at his still-sleeping partner, the dark-haired paramedic’s arm slung over his eyes in the usual manner, dead to the world. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Captain Hochrader pulling up suspenders, preparing for the day, and knew there would be hell to pay if he didn’t get Gage up.

 

A sudden jolt to his shoulder startled Johnny and he jerked awake, unaware of where he was at first. His pounding heart finally slowed as he made eye contact with Gil.

 

“Get up,” Robinson muttered quietly. “Or the Cap’ll have your ass.”

 

Johnny looked ‘round, saw the other men up and moving about. It took every bit of effort he possessed to push his body upward and swing his legs over the side of his bunk. Every muscle ached, every cell screamed at him to leave it alone. The fact that he felt like shit seeped abruptly into his consciousness and he groaned softly.

 

The tickle of a feather that had settled in his throat the afternoon before had sneaked down into his chest overnight and transformed itself into a brick. He swallowed painfully, trying to get the spit to slide past the swelling in his tender throat. A deep breath induced a cough, and a tight pain gripped his chest. He groaned inwardly. Oh man. I’m sick.

 

It must have been that moron with the cold who called us the other day. He was coughing all over us.

 

Damn it! It made him angry. He couldn’t afford to be sick. Not now.

 

Ever since he’d been hit by that damn car and had his spleen removed he seemed to have no immunity to anything. He caught every darn virus that he came into contact with. Most of the time he just sucked it up and worked while ill. Otherwise, he’d use up all his sick days and have to use vacation time.

 

Sensing someone’s scrutiny, Gage’s eyes drifted upward and noticed Hochrader glancing over the partition at him as he sat there with his feet in his boots, the bunkers still bunched up around his ankles on the floor. Averting his eyes, he grasped the pants and pulled them up as he stood, swaying as he worked the suspenders over his aching shoulders.

 

Gil stared at his worn-out partner, his eyes registering Gage’s haggard appearance with concern. The paramedic’s eyes were dark and sunken, his face still blackened with the soot he’d never bothered to wash off. Gil had been asleep when Johnny had finally gotten to bed, so he had no idea how late it had been. But the depths of exhaustion were clear in Johnny’s posture and expression, and Gil prayed they wouldn’t get a run before the next shift arrived. He wasn’t sure Johnny could handle it if they did. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” he said sympathetically.

 

Johnny closed his eyes and expelled a breath, causing a cough to burst forth. It was wet and congested, and brought pain to his chest.

 

Gil immediately saw there was more to this than the apparent exhaustion. “You sick?”

 

Johnny peered unfocusedly at Gil, swaying a bit as he stood slightly hunched. He shook his head minutely and mustered a sardonic smile. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “God, you are such a fucking smart paramedic. Must have been my unsurpassed training skills.”

 

Gil made a face. “You need to go home. Now.”

 

“I can stay the hour. I’ve made it this long.”

 

Gil looked over his shoulder. They were the only two in the room. “I’ll tell Hochrader you’re sick.”

 

Johnny’s eyes bulged. “No! Don’t give him any more ammunition against me than he’s already got.” Johnny waved his hand dismissively. “C’mon. Let’s go get some coffee.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

Johnny studied Gil’s back as he followed him through the dorm door and into the kitchen. His eyes remained glued on the blue shirt all the way to the stove, where Chet was preparing the coffee.

 

“Hurry it up, Kelly. We’re goin’ into withdrawal here.” Gil nudged him.

 

“My, aren’t we grumpy today. You’d think just one little run in the middle of the night wouldn’t…” his voice trailed off as he got a look at Johnny, who was leaning slouched against the counter, a coffee cup dangling from his finger.

 

Gage stared out into space as if he were lost to the world. He suddenly convulsed as a wet cough forced its way out from his lungs. Setting the empty coffee cup on the counter, he stumbled out of the room in search of a tissue.

 

Chet regarded Gil. “What’s wrong with him? He sounds like he’s got the plague.”

 

“I don’t know. Probably caught something from that sick call we got the other day.” He glanced sideways at Chet and lowered his voice. “Didn’t help any that Cap kept him up most the night.”

 

Chet shook his head. “Man. Too bad I was so convincing in that speech at his retirement party. He’d ‘a been gone by now.”

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. You can ask Johnny about it sometime.”  Chet turned away to finish the coffee.

 

Five minutes later Johnny wandered back in and poured himself a cup. He didn’t have time to drink it.

 

“Hey, Gage.” Marco’s guarded tone caught his attention as he entered the dayroom.

 

Johnny looked up questioningly.

 

“Uh, Cap wants to see you in the office.”

 

Johnny closed his eyes and sighed. Shit was the only word that came to his consciousness. He set the full coffee cup haphazardly on the counter top, spilling some of the contents out of it as he headed for the doorway.

 

The others watched as Johnny wordlessly left the room.

 

Chet walked over to Marco, whose face was quite somber. “What?”

 

Marco sighed and turned toward his friend. “The Chief’s here.”

 

Chet’s eyes widened with dread and his gaze slowly turned toward the doorway through which Gage had just walked. “That’s not good.”

 

Marco shook his head.

 

“That’s not good at all.”

 

 

 

Gil glanced at the closed office door for the fifth time, deciding to recheck the drug box once more for the next shift. He thought it might not be a bad idea to be there when Gage came out – just in case. Though he had no idea what was going on behind that door, the look on Marco’s face had relayed everything he needed to know. He glanced at the clock. It was seven forty-five.

 

The door finally opened. Johnny walked through, his vacant eyes fixed straight ahead, his face robbed of expression like a statue. He numbly walked by Gil as if he was invisible; the mustached man’s calls ignored.

 

Johnny was as stunned as he looked. The suspension blind-sided him; he’d never suspected that Captain Hochrader would be the one to initiate it with a third written reprimand. The Chief’s face had been stern but concerned; if Johnny had paid closer attention he’d have seen a smidge of contrition in the eyes behind those glasses.

 

He’d been too shocked to question it, too sick and exhausted to argue. He figured at this stage in the game there wasn’t any point in trying to deny it. The proof on the paperwork blared at him all the way from Hochrader’s clenched hands. He briefly wondered what Hank Stanley would say, knowing that his captain would have to back up Hochrader.

 

Two weeks of suspension without pay. The thought of that missing paycheck seized his gut and twisted it when he thought of it in terms of money lost for the baby. He couldn’t even allow himself to consider the humiliation of it. He’d experience that soon enough. Word would spread fast, and the whispered gossip about him would fly faster than a speeding bullet. He pushed that away. Had to. Wordlessly, he left the room with very little to say, only after they’d finished their rebuke.

 

Even as his body operated on rote, slowly programming itself to gather his things from his locker and depart, hopefully without encountering any of his shift mates, another part of his mind was working on what to do next.

 

“Johnny?”

 

The voice came from somewhere out of a fog just over his left shoulder. He turned slowly, glad it was Gil and not Chet.

 

Gil looked at him expectantly, hesitation in his eyes. Finally, he asked. “What happened?”

 

John’s voice was low and soft, low from the humiliation and soft because of his tortured throat. “I’ve been suspended. Two weeks.” He found it hard to maintain eye contact with his partner.

 

“Shit.”

 

“Ditto.” Johnny grabbed his jacket and turned to leave. “See ya, buddy. You think I’m bad, just hope Craig Brice doesn’t fill in for me.” He patted Gil on the shoulder once and was out the door.

 

Gil stood in stunned silence as he watched Johnny leave, wondering how much longer his partner might remain his partner.

 

 

 

Johnny pulled into his dirt driveway, the anticipation of collapsing onto his bed so strong he wasn’t sure he could make it into the house. The drive home had occurred in a blur, his illness and exhaustion preventing too much contemplation of what had just happened. Only snatches of the conversation and flashes of Hookrader’s and the Chief’s expressions focused his attention, and the visions were out of order, like a weird dream. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

 

The white Impala parked next to the house startled him, and for a moment fear welled up until he remembered that Jim Sinclair was meeting him this morning. Inwardly he groaned, the PI’s presence not only an obstacle blocking him from his bed, but also reminding him of the other problems in his life that had to be dealt with. On the flip side, he was certainly glad it was Sinclair waiting for him and not…some darker human being.

 

John pried himself from his vehicle and headed toward Sinclair’s car just as he was exiting. They greeted one another.

 

Almost as an afterthought, Johnny looked around suspiciously, then warily back at Sinclair. “Uh, they around?”

 

“Who? Your tails?”

 

Johnny nodded.

 

A dark blue Crown Victoria screaming ‘under-cover cop’ slowly cruised by. Sinclair smiled and waved at the driver, whose sunglassed face quickly averted itself from the two men. The car picked up speed as it drove out of sight.

 

“There goes one of ‘em right now.” He nodded down the street.

 

Johnny spun around, incredulous, staring at the vehicle as it disappeared. He hadn’t noticed anyone following him. A sick fear pulsed through him. He hastened toward the door. “Let’s go inside.”

 

Sinclair followed him.

 

Johnny had the key in the lock and had started to turn it when he stopped. “Should we not talk? I mean, until you look for any bugs.”

 

“That’s up to you. I’m sure they know why I’m here, but if you’d feel better about it, we can keep quiet until I’ve had a chance to search the house.”

 

“Yeah. Or maybe we can just make small talk or something. Maybe that way they won’t suspect what you’re doing.”

 

Sinclair just shrugged. “However you want to play it.”

 

Johnny let them in, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it. He made a show of asking Sinclair if he wanted some coffee, then started in about some basketball scores in an effort to make the conversation sound like they were just old friends. Perhaps whoever might be listening in would buy it.

 

Jim made his way around the living room first, checking under and around all the furniture for listening devices. John’s heart nearly stopped when he pulled a small round black electronic device out from under the coffee table. It had been attached behind a leg and blended in with the other screws and bolts holding the legs onto the table.

 

Jim gently placed it on the coffee table and continued looking, while Johnny worked to maintain a companionable conversation. Eventually, six more devices were found, two in each bedroom and one in the kitchen. He proceeded to take Johnny’s phones apart next, depositing three more tiny devices on the coffee table.

 

“Hey, John. You got that coffee ready yet?”

 

Johnny had to work to sound calm. “Yeah. Right here.” He walked over to Sinclair and handed him a cup. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he eyed the small electronic devices on the table. The temptation to pick one up and scream into it was strong, but he managed to hold on to his senses.

 

“Thank you.” Jim set the cup on the table, then one by one, plopped the tiny transmitters into the black liquid as if they were lumps of sugar. “There. You’ve got your privacy back. Temporarily.”

 

“Temporarily?”

 

“Yeah. Until they come back and replant them.”

 

“Jesus,” Johnny muttered. His hand swept over his face. “Can you tell who planted them?”

 

Sinclair scratched at his temple. “Again, two different sources. Some I recognize, the others are a lot more sophisticated than anything I’ve ever seen. As a matter of fact, I’d like to take one with me.” He began fishing his finger in his coffee and scooped out one of the transmitters.

 

“This is unbelievable.” John looked up at Jim. “So what now?”

 

“I’d say the most logical thing to do is to find out why these guys are following you. We already know why LA is; what we don’t know is who these other guys are and what their motives are. I’ll put a tail on them and see what I can find out and if it has anything to do with DeSoto.”

 

Johnny was taken aback. What if it didn’t? What if they were following him for some other reason? He couldn’t even begin to fathom what that might be. “So what do I do in the meantime?”

 

“Just go about your normal business. Something’s bound to happen soon.”

 

Yeah, and I’m not sure I want to find out what that is. “Great,” Johnny grumbled. He sat sipping his coffee for a moment, thinking. “Mr. Sinclair, uh…I’m going to be leaving town for a few days.”

 

Jim’s brows rose. “Oh? Why is that?”

 

Johnny hesitated, then decided to confide in the man. He felt he could trust him. “Look, I’m trying to raise some money for Roy’s kid. He’s in the hospital; he needs an operation.”

 

“Heart defect, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Johnny hadn’t remembered telling him what was wrong with the baby, but he supposed that since the guy was a private investigator, it wouldn’t have been too hard for him to find out. “Anyway, I’ve got some property in Montana. I’m planning on selling it. I’ve got to go up there and take care of the deal.”

 

Sinclair nodded, impressed at what John was doing.

 

“I’m also…selling this house.”

 

“Hey, you know if you move, they’ll just find you again.”

 

“It’s not that, although I’d like to think that would throw them off my trail a little bit anyway. No, see…I need as much as I can get for this surgery.”

 

Sinclair stared at John in disbelief. “Isn’t that a little extreme? Giving up your home?”

 

Johnny looked down in embarrassment, then back up. “Maybe. But it’s all I can think of to do right now. Until Roy gets back – ”

 

“I can’t guarantee anything, John.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Remember I told you the chances of even finding out what happened to him are pretty slim.”

 

Johnny looked at him in dismay. “Just…do what you can, okay?”

 

“Oh, I’m not giving up yet. This case has me intrigued.” He smiled.

 

“Good. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll find out what happened.”

 

“John.”

 

Sinclair’s serious tone caught John’s attention. “Yeah?”

 

“Just be careful. We really don’t know who we’re dealing with here yet.”

 

“Don’t remind me.”

 

“I’m just saying…watch your back.”

 

John felt a cold chill creep up his spine. How the hell do I do that? “I will.”

 

Jim looked at his watch. “Where will you be?”

 

Johnny got up and retrieved a pad of paper and pen from his desk, scribbling down the name and address of his cousin, Wayne. He handed the paper to Sinclair. “Here. It’ll only be a few days. If anything turns up, call me. I’ll call you when I get back.”

 

Jim took the paper and looked it over, committing it to his memory. He slipped it into his shirt pocket. “Got it.” He got up and went to the door.

 

“Uh, Mr. Sinclair…”

 

The PI turned toward him.

 

“I’d like the information I told you about selling the property to be confidential. I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

 

Sinclair studied John, not for the first time in wonderment. Was the man a total fool, or was it possible that he was this devoted to his friend and family? At any rate, he hadn’t met anyone like him in a long time. “John, everything that you tell me is kept confidential.”

 

Johnny nodded and they exchanged good-byes. Sinclair left.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Dixie caught sight of the woman’s long tresses of black curls just as she rounded the corner. “Michaela!”

 

The figure in the white lab coat reappeared, a smile breaking out on her face when she recognized who had summoned her. “Dixie! What brings you up here?”

 

The two women walked toward one another.

 

“Actually, your other half does.”

 

Mick looked puzzled. “…other half?”

 

Dixie smiled. “Johnny.”

 

“Oh! Is he here? Did he stop over after work?”

 

“No, no. Actually, he called a couple of hours ago looking for you. I promised him I’d track you down as soon as possible. I heard you were out of surgery, so as soon as I had a break, I came to find you.”

 

Michaela looked concerned. Johnny didn’t call her often her at work because she was very hard to track down, and her schedule was so rigorous that she rarely had time to breathe, much less take breaks. Usually he would come find her when he had a layover at Rampart between runs, and sometimes if he was lucky, he’d find her. The thought occurred to her with disconcertion that lately he hadn’t been coming around to see her at all at the hospital. As a matter of fact, they’d barely seen one another for weeks. She tried to read her friend’s expression. “Dixie? Is there a problem?”

 

“No,” she said hesitantly, “at least I don’t think so.” She thought a moment, recalling the conversation she’d had with Johnny a few hours prior. His low scratchy voice had barely been recognizable when he’d called, and she’d immediately asked if he was sick. She knew he’d been downplaying it when he’d answered, ‘Just a little cold, Dix’. He hadn’t given her time to inquire further about his health since he’d immediately asked if she’d seen Michaela. When Dixie recommended he call up to the floor she was on, he’d practically begged her to deliver a message to his girlfriend personally, as if he didn’t want anyone else to know he was calling.

 

‘Dix, please, I really need a favor from you. It’s important that I speak to her as soon as I possibly can. You’re the only one I trust to get that message to her. Can you do that?’

 

The combination of desperation and graveness that hinted at the edge of his voice had startled her so much that she agreed immediately, and then he’d hung up, too quickly for her to ask more questions.

 

The nurse rethought her answer. “Although, I’m…not sure.”

 

Michaela looked worried.

 

Dixie smiled, trying to ease her worry. “Only one way to find out. Why don’t you call him? He said he’d be at home.”

 

She nodded, then glanced at her watch. “Thank you, Dixie. I will. I’ve got about ten minutes before my next meeting.”

 

Dixie squeezed her shoulder as she hurried by.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Johnny stuffed the last of his gear into his Rover and climbed into the driver’s seat. He glanced at his watch in dismay. Four o’clock.

 

He’d wanted to leave by early afternoon. Now it was almost rush hour. Getting out of the city would be a hassle as traffic began piling up.

 

The alarm by his bed had faithfully jarred him from a dead sleep at just after noon, and he’d promptly flung his arm out, knocking the clock to the floor, silencing it. His eyes never even opened as his sick and dead-tired body pulled his mind quickly back into unconsciousness. At a quarter past three, the telephone startled him awake. After a search on the floor for the clock and a double-take at the time, he’d vaulted out of the bed. 

 

A strong pot of coffee brewed as he’d thrown clothes and toiletries into a knapsack. Satisfied that his conversation wouldn’t be overheard, he’d told Michaela his plans, not in great detail, as she’d had only a few moments to talk when she called. As he packed up, he couldn’t shut out the sound of her dismay in his mind. He told her about the suspension. If only he’d had more time to explain things, and face-to-face would have been better, though harder. A long talk was coming when he returned. It would be time to face the music.

 

Anxiety over events of the morning made his chest feel constricted with foreboding. After Sinclair had left, he’d made the necessary phone calls to finalize the plans to sell the house. The Wyatt’s had been only too anxious, and agreed to have their attorney draw up the closing papers while Johnny was gone. They agreed on the following Friday as a closing date, at which time Johnny would get his check. Hopefully it would come in time to allow Jimmy to have the operation.

 

It took John fifteen minutes to pack. Upon sliding into the driver’s seat of his car, a profound depletion settled in and he shakily reached for the coffee he’d placed in his drink holder. He took several large gulps before turning the ignition key, wincing as the hot liquid squeezed past his swollen lymph nodes.

 

The fifteen hundred mile trip would take close to twenty-four hours, but airfare had been out of the question. Making a reservation so late would have cost a fortune. So Johnny settled in, hoping he’d be able to tackle the long drive without stopping for more than gas.

 

Leaving the quietness of his ‘neighborhood’, he headed through city streets toward the 405. Recalling the conversation he’d had with Jim Sinclair that morning, he nervously glanced in his rear-view mirror to scope out his surroundings. A green Dodge Dart had been following him for some time, probably fifteen or twenty blocks so far. It stayed two cars behind the whole way, never making any attempt to change lanes or pass. Johnny became paranoid, instantly situating himself straighter in his seat in awareness.

 

Another five blocks went by. When the car in front of it turned a corner, the Dart moved in directly behind him. Alarmed, Johnny surreptitiously studied the rear-view mirror to examine its driver. He wished he’d had a chance to get a look at the two guys in the Crown Victoria this morning. This car only had one occupant, but Johnny supposed another man could be riding shotgun hunched down so as not to be seen. The driver looked large, with rounded shoulders; thick black glasses sat perched on a large nose, his cheeks sagged with heavy jowls.

 

Johnny changed lanes. The Dart mimicked his moves. Johnny’s heart began hammering in his chest. After several minutes, he spotted a McDonalds on his right. Abruptly maneuvering back into the right lane, he made a quick turn into the entry, hoping it would look like a spur-of-the-moment decision to get a bite to eat.

 

The Dart sped on past. Slowly, Johnny pulled into a parking spot and stopped, willing his heart to slow down. Staring at the mirror, he cursed himself for pulling head first into a parking spot that he would have to back out of, preventing a quick escape. He fully expected the Dart to appear at any second. It didn’t. Three full minutes went by before Johnny decided to leave. If he saw the Dart again, he’d know it had waited for him and that he was being followed.

 

The smell of greasy hamburgers and fries wafted through his open window, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything at all that day. Figuring it would be prudent to fill his stomach, given that it would supply a little energy for the trip, he backed out of his space and slowly pulled into the drive-thru line. He wasn’t all that anxious to get back out on the road to see if the Dart was waiting for him anyway.

 

The waitress handed him a white paper bag containing a cheeseburger, fries, Coke and a hot apple pie, and he left.

 

Gage drove slowly as he headed for 710 North. By the time he was off that and on to 105 East, he’d seen no further sign of the Dart. He finally started to relax.

 

There. See? You’re just paranoid, Gage. There’s no one following you. Even so, he kept his eye on the rear-view mirror, keeping track of each vehicle behind him.

 

Johnny munched on his dinner as he entered 605, once again heading north. Ten miles passed quickly, then he headed east toward San Bernardino National Forest. By the time he entered onto Route 15N, he’d begun to get lazy about looking in his mirror. Another five minutes passed by before he looked again. With a jolt, he suddenly realized that the gold Ford LTD Brougham he’d seen earlier was still three cars behind him, as it had been in two earlier looks.

 

His stomach tightened. He changed lanes, increasing his speed slightly, passing the Vega in front of him. Keeping his eye on what transpired behind him, he watched as the LTD mirrored his actions, staying back, yet keeping an identical speed. Moving into the right lane and slowing down, he waited to see if the LTD would pass him. Two other cars did. The LTD slowed as well, moving back into the right lane a couple cars back. Johnny changed his speed three more times, likely exasperating the other drivers around him, and each time the LTD mimicked him, staying the exact same distance away. Straining to see, John squinted at his mirror, and saw two dark shadows in the front of the gold vehicle. He began to panic.

 

In a rash move, he pulled over to the side of the road and stopped, pretending to consult his road map. The LTD raced by, the dark faces from within turning to stare at him as they passed.

 

Johnny was sweating; the map trembled in his clammy palms. Grabbing a napkin from his McDonald’s bag, he wiped at his brow. His throat was killing him and his chest was heavy. He sniffled as the congestion in his nose prevented breathing through it, then swallowed painfully as his swollen throat rebelled against anything passing. The coffee now cold, he sipped his Coke, hoping the icy drink would soothe his throat and the caffeine would give him a surge of energy. Unsure of what to do, he waited fivce minutes before pulling back onto the road again. Calming once more, he convinced himself he was imagining things.

 

Five minutes later, he spotted the LTD three cars behind him. Where the hell did he come from?! He must have been waiting for me. Momentarily, Johnny wondered if it could be a similar car, yet he’d noted the license number. It was the same.

 

Terrified, Johnny took the first exit, getting off the main highway and onto a two lane road. Moments later, two other cars got off, including the LTD, still three cars behind. Now he was sure. He was being followed. I gotta lose them, he decided. Think! Think! He commanded himself.

 

Trees zoomed by in a blur as he increased his speed a bit. While his vehicle was far from a racecar, it still had advantages over the LTD. Both agility and fuel consumption were weak points for the Ford. Johnny considered that given enough time, he could simply out distance the LTD, since it would eventually run out of gas. It’s V8 engine probably sucked fuel down quickly; Johnny doubted whether it got more then ten or twelve miles to the gallon. But that could take a while. Johnny didn’t think he had the stomach to wait for that to happen.

 

It was an advantage that Johnny knew the roads well. Having camped in the area many times, he was familiar with all the little dirt trails and pathways which wound their way through the forest. He doubted the lumbering LTD could navigate those.

 

I’ve got to play it cool. If they think I’m on to them I’m sunk. His foot eased off the accelerator and he got out his roadmap again, making a show of holding it up high enough so that the cars behind him could see him looking at it. Apparently impatient with him, a tailgating blue Ninety-Eight Oldsmobile passed on the dotted yellow line. That left a silver VW Rabbit and the LTD behind him.

 

Johnny put on his turn signal and slowly pulled over to the side of the road for a second time, relying on peripheral vision as he pretended to look at his map, head bent. He prayed the LTD wouldn’t pull up behind him.

 

Squinting at the setting sun glaring through his windshield, Johnny’s shaky hands reached up and pulled down the visor. He let out a relieved breath as both cars passed and disappeared into the horizon.

 

Johnny took a deep breath and tried to remain calm and think of what to do next. If he continued on ahead, they might be waiting for him. He needed to lose these guys. Remembering a familiar dirt road he had passed a quarter of a mile back, John did a U-turn and headed toward it. Just as he began to turn off the main road, he spotted a car in the horizon coming toward him. It was distant, but as the Rover went from pavement to a gravelly dirt, he thought he recognized the LTD. Its hidden headlamps gave the car a sinister look that was unmistakable. It was moving fast.

 

A fresh wave of terror coursed through him as he increased his speed on the uneven winding path through the wooded area. His eyes ricocheted between the road and the rearview mirror. It was only a minute before he saw the vehicle turning in to follow him. Seconds later he identified it as the gold LTD, its headlamps suddenly exposed in the darkening woods like a monster’s eyes opening.

 

John’s heart raced and he felt light-headed. Vertigo washed over him as he bounced over an old wooden bridge barely wide enough for one car, his tires treading precariously close to the edge. He blinked, inhaling sharply to calm himself and get oxygen flowing to his brain. The vertigo waned.

 

The path wound through the forest, turning this way and that. The last remnants of the setting sun dappled the ground through the evergreens and the bare winter branches of the deciduous trees. A flock of black birds burst from a tree as he drove under it.

 

Johnny glanced in his mirror again; the LTD was a ways behind him but gaining despite its lumbering size. The headlights made it easy to see. Panic mounted as Johnny realized that in here he was alone and there was no one around to help him should he need it. He envisioned the huge car careening up behind him, a long arm extending from the side window with a pistol pointed at him, and wondered what he would do if they started shooting.

 

Not wanting to find out, he spied a fork in the road, deciding to take the path through a denser part of the forest where they would have more trouble following. Downshifting, the engine raced as the Rover careened around a sharp corner, nearly lifting the outside wheels, spewing dust and pebbles in its wake.

 

Now he was further ahead. The LTD was having difficulty maneuvering over the rough terrain and it slowed down, the driver within cursing.

 

Johnny was careful not to apply his brakes so as not to advertise his whereabouts to his followers, downshifting instead to reduce speed. Though it was twilight and hard to see, he kept his headlights off.

 

He drove for another ten minutes without seeing anything and finally started to relax. A flash of headlights off in the distance viewed in his rearview mirror vanquished his relief. A fresh jolt of urgency surged through him. Throwing caution to the wind, Johnny increased his speed; the Rover bounced precariously as it was roughly maneuvered along the dirt road and its bumpy curves. The headlights behind disappeared into the darkness.

 

Johnny squinted as he drove, straining to see. He saw the deer a little too late as it crossed his path, and over-corrected his steering to avoid it as his foot jammed on the brake. The Rover skidded off its path and into a tree, stopping abruptly.

 

Johnny flew forward as the front corner of his vehicle connected with a giant evergreen, then fell back as the car stopped. Stunned, he sat there a long moment before he got his wits about him. Swinging his head around, he looked behind him, fully expecting to see the LTD approaching. There was no one there.

 

Shakily, he started his stalled car. Cursing his misfortune, he urgently threw the car in reverse, knowing he had no time to get out and examine any damage. He berated himself for being so careless.

 

Sweat sealed his shirt to his back. His hand trembled as he shifted, and for a moment his heart was in his throat as the wheels spun and nothing happened. A little more gas coaxed the car away from the tree and back onto the road. Johnny jammed it into gear and took off, first throwing another glance in his mirror. He saw nothing. Even the deer had run off.

 

He took it slower now. Five minutes passed and still there was nothing behind him. Had he lost them?

 

As the adrenalin ebbed, he found his whole body shaking as he crept along, feeling his way in the dark. When he got to the point where he could go no further without light, he reluctantly turned on the headlamps.

 

Johnny continued on; no one followed him, and he finally began to relax, his shoulder muscles slowly uncoiling. As he did, he noticed a pain in his head and felt a warm wetness on his neck snaking down inside his shirt. He reached up with a hand to swipe at it and was startled to see what looked like blood on his fingers. It was only then that he realized he’d been hurt in the crash.

 

Aw, damn it. Gingerly he felt a lump on his forehead above his eye and winced. He couldn’t stop though. It seemed he was far enough ahead to have shaken them and he didn’t want to give them a chance to catch up. Feeling around on the seat for the McDonald’s bag, he fished a couple of napkins out and pressed them one-handedly to his head. When he pulled them away they were covered in blood, so he quickly crushed them back onto the wound and held them there, which was no easy feat while he was shifting gears.

 

Twenty minutes later, Johnny emerged from the wooded path and back onto his route. It was completely dark now, and he didn’t see how they could have possibly gotten in front of him. Heading toward Vegas, he didn’t fully relax until he’d been driving another hour.

 

Part 7