~ ~ ~

After dinner, Jim and Blair decided to walk around town a bit, maybe think about seeing a movie or something.

Jim’s graveyard-shift schedule was playing havoc with his sleep, and he was tired tonight. He spotted a park bench and plopped himself down.

“Thought we were going to walk, Elliott,” Blair teased, standing between Jim’s outspread legs, hands on hips in mock remonstration.

“We walked here, didn’t we?” Jim sat up straighter and gestured to the bench beside him. “Take a load off, Sandburg. Some of us work for a living, you know.”

“Sorry, man. Are you bushed? We can call it a night if you want.” He seated himself beside Jim, looking around the small park, maybe for the shortest route out again.

“Hey, Chief. I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.” He laid a hand on Blair’s thigh and squeezed once in reassurance. “Let’s just sit a moment, ‘kay?”

Blair seemed encouraged. “Yeah, sure. At least there aren’t any photographers around.”

Jim didn’t argue even though he could easily hear Megan sneaking into the bushes behind them. Although he knew she’d never take a shot of anything that would challenge the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy Jim had adopted, he was still uneasy with displays of affection in public. He wanted their first time—their first real kiss, even—to be special, and not something showcased for all of Cascade’s entertainment.

Under guise of stretching, Jim moved away a bit, instantly missing the warmth of Blair’s body down his right side. “You know, you said something that first night I’ve been thinking about.”

“I said a whole lot of things that first night. Could you maybe narrow it down a little?”

“When we were sitting with those assholologists—” Blair gave a short bark of laughter at Jim’s insult of Rainier’s intelligentsia. “You said something about people with enhanced senses.” Jim picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. He was very uncomfortable talking about any of this.

“Oh, that…”

“What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“It didn’t seem like nothing at the time, Chief. Old Stod-fart said you were going write a thesis on it. On, um, Sentinels, was it?” Jim remembered it clearly; he’d quoted both Blair and Stoddard in what would be the first of the regrettable articles, but he figured Jim-the-errand-boy would hesitate over the technical term. He waited for Blair to respond. There was a long pause and finally Jim added. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Blair rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, as if his palms were sweaty. “Oh, Jim. You don’t know what you’re asking. I could talk about Sentinels for days, years even. I practically did. It’s you I’m not sure is ready to talk about them.” Blair grabbed Jim’s chin and turned his head so they were eye to eye, only inches apart. “About being one.”

Jim pulled back out of Blair’s grasp. He stood quickly and walked a few paces away. “How did you…? How long have you…?”

“Your little psychic act that first night, Jim. You could see, hear, smell stuff the rest of us couldn’t. Plus don’t forget, if you hadn’t had that zone-out, we never would have met.”

Jim knew he’d actually had a crappy plan of asking Blair directions when he’d keeled over, but he wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. He’d needed answers for ages, and now they sat before him, staring at him with those incredible blue eyes. He didn’t seem to know where to begin. Blair just sat there, elbows resting on knees and hair falling like a curtain around his face.

“I can wait, Jim. Whenever you’re ready, you just let me know.” He sat back, spreading his arms wide along the back of the park bench. “I can help you. I know I can.”

Jim had never seen Blair look so confident, so in control. He had come to admire many things about Blair, but he’d never seen him in his true element, talking about his field of expertise. His exclusive area of expertise, Jim figured, both from Stoddard’s jealous jibes, and from the total futility he’d had in his own efforts to uncover the root of his enhanced senses. He was a professional journalist with a nose for news and an entire research department at his disposal, and they’d turned up nothing about Sentinels. Yet once Jim had been pointed in the right direction by Blair’s comments that first night, he’d been able to find a few references that filled him with both terror and relief. At last he knew what it was, but since it was an integral part of his being, and not any sort of condition, he was dismayed to learn that there was no cure. He was like this for life!

Blair waited patiently while Jim paced, the thoughts roiling around in his brain matching the roiling in his gut. Finally, he turned to Blair. “I had them as a kid, the senses, but my dad made me feel like they were bad, like I was different; so I learned to hide them. I guess I turned them off until… I dunno. It’s kinda hazy. I think I had them in Peru—I told you about my chopper crash there, right? But then I didn’t have them again until I was out on a case a couple of years back. They went away before. I was hoping they’d just sort of go away again.” He grimaced at Blair, a bit ashamed of his behaviour. “I had a lot of medical tests, but the closest the doctors came was post-traumatic stress disorder. I wasn’t buying, though. It just didn’t feel right.” He paused. “The senses, they feel right, really. And sometimes they can be helpful. When I’m trying to get a story…” Blair’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, when one of the journalists is trying to get a story and asking me to help, sometimes I can see further or hear something… Once there was a computer glitch, and an entire article was lost. The document had been erased by accident and the printer had run out of toner. I was able to read and dictate the entire article back to one of the secretaries when everyone else saw just white paper. And I stopped a fire in the pressroom one time. I smelled smoke long before anyone else did.” Jim didn’t have to make stuff up, these things had really happened, although he hadn’t really thought about his senses being helpful until now.

“We’ll work together, Jim. We’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t and get you back some control.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“It’s my life’s work. I got an indefinite extension from Rainier when I left. It was something I managed to get out of Eli when he realized I wasn’t afraid to go to the University’s Board about his behaviour. I can pick up where I left off and finally get my Ph.D. Maybe even publish a book about it.”

“Oh, so this is about you, is it?” With his emotions on edge, Jim’s temper spun quickly out of control. “You’ll get what you want. Have you only been palling around with me to get a Sentinel for your thesis? I should have known. What does a rich prick like you need with a fucked-up asshole like me?” He meant to storm off, but he just sort of stood there, waiting for Blair to respond.

“Okay. We’ll forget the Sentinel and just work on Jim. No thesis. No book. Just you.” Blair hadn’t hesitated a second in supplying that answer. “I’d rather have you than a Ph.D. It’s about friendship” He looked at Jim without guile; this was Blair Sandburg at his truest.

Jim felt bad for his outburst and said so. “I’m sorry, Sandburg. Blair. It’s this city. The job. Things get to me sometimes.”

“We could go back to Clayton Falls. I may not be a Sentinel, but I sure miss the peace and quiet.” Sirens sounded in the distance as if to emphasize Blair’s point.

“I’m from a small town too, you know.”

“Really?”

“Well, it’s been absorbed as a suburb now, but when I was a kid, it had it’s own Mayor and just one high school. It was probably as small as Clayton Falls.”

“Wow. That’s pretty nifty.”

“It was a beautiful little town, too. A row of poplar trees right along Main Street. Always smelled as if it’d just rained.” Jim was lost in memories. “The high school’s been torn down. It’s a strip mall now.” He sighed, sitting back down on the bench beside Blair. “Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Best Buy. I couldn’t wait to join the army and get out of there. Get away from my father. He was a helluva bastard, always playing my brother and me against each other. He thought competition would make us strong, successful. Like him.”

“I never knew my father. Sometimes when I hear other people’s stories, I’m kinda glad I didn’t.” He clasped Jim’s hand, and the two of them sat there, staring at nothing, lost in thought.

The siren shrieked again, coming closer. Jim clapped his hand over his ears as more sirens joined in the cacophony. Blair placed his hands over Jim’s and gently massaged. He might have been saying something, but Jim couldn’t hear anything but the screaming sirens. He focused on Blair’s touch, warm on the back of his hands, moving rhythmically. Gradually, gradually, he was able to get control again. He carefully moved his hands a little away from his ears, moving with that fragile tenseness of someone expecting great pain. He was surprised to find he was okay—no devastating migraine, no nausea or chills. “I’m okay, Blair.” There was wonder in his voice. He’d been through this so many times before, and there’d always been residual pain, illness. “I’m okay,” he repeated.

Blair laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “There seems to be a fire on the far side of the park. Do you want to get out of here, Jim?”

“No. I don’t.” Jim had never been able to cover certain types of scenes before; if they were noisy or had noxious odours, he’d had to leave the reporting to someone else. It made him feel weak and useless, but now he felt like his old self again. He had plenty of experience with fire rescue. He could be useful again, maybe make a difference in somebody’s life other than making them look the fool. “Let’s go see if we can help. Ever been to a fire before?”

Blair snapped a sharp salute. “Captain Sandburg, fire volunteer, Clayton Falls.”

“Let’s go, Chief.”

“Not the chief, just a volunteer,” Blair corrected, and they set off for the fire at a brisk trot.

Chapter 17. Guilting the Lily

Back in his office, a little grimy and a little sweaty, Jim watched the curser pulse on his almost-blank computer screen.

“What’s up, Jim?” Megan asked softly, slipping into the room.

“Nothing.” He’d meant to snap at her for getting into his business, but he lacked the heart for it, and it came out flat.

“What’s up, Jim?” she repeated. “Something’s eating you.”

Megan came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Guide Assists Cascade Fire Department” read the headline. The text went on to state, “Last night, Blair Sandburg, aka ‘The Guide,’ proved invaluable to the Cascade FD. Recognizing and interpreting gang symbols spray-painted on the burning wall, Sandburg was able to identify the blazing building as a crystal meth lab. The Fire Chief ordered his crew back from the scene just as the entire building exploded into a hellish inferno. Who knows how many lives were saved by…”

You haven’t gotten very far, have you? That’s where you were an hour ago. Come on, let’s knock off and go down to Joe’s bar. The gang’s waiting for us.”

“I can’t write it, Megan! Blair was a hero tonight, saved a lot of lives, but Ventriss is going to take it and twist it around so Blair looks like an idiot again. Or worse. I shouldn’t care. I should be professionally distant. But I can’t. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me!”

“Uh-huh. I think I can tell you.” But before she could, Jim’s cell phone rang, playing an electronic version of the Cascade Jaguars’ theme song. Jim ignored it, but it continued its tinny serenade, stopping finally when it clicked over to the answering system. Almost immediately, it began to play again. Whoever was calling really wanted to speak to Jim.

Jim grabbed the phone. “Ellison.”

“What?” Blair’s voice was confused.

“Elliott, here. Who’s calling so Goddamn late?” Jim covered quickly, trying to sound both confused and grumpy, as if he’d been wakened from deep sleep. He covered the phone and glared at Megan. She took her cue and disappeared.

“Oh. Uh, I couldn’t sleep. Kinda wanted to talk to you. Is that okay?”

Jim could hear the nervousness in Blair’s voice. “No, Yes. It’s okay. Uh, I couldn’t sleep either,” he lied, glad Blair wasn’t a Sentinel so he couldn’t hear all the office noises in the background.

“I wanted to thank you again for hanging out with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Tonight at the fire, you were great, directing all those people, forcing the Fire Chief to listen to me. You balance out all the jerks and sons-of-bitches I’ve met since I’ve been back in Cascade.”

“Well, uh. Thanks.” Jim flushed, not really comfortable with touchy-feely kinds of conversations. “But it’s not like it’s any big deal. I like hanging out with you, too.”

“You know what I’ve been doing since I got home? Been working on some tests for your senses. I was just, um, thinking about you.

Jim was touched. “We could work on them some time. Maybe the weekend?”

“I hope to be ready next time I see you. Maybe tomorrow night after you get off work?”

Jim picked up a glass paperweight and spun it on his fingertips, a goofy smile on his handsome face. “I’d like that, Chief. I’ll see if I can get off a bit early.”

“Night, Jim.”

“Night.”

He snapped the tiny phone closed and sat back, staring at the computer without really seeing it at all.

Megan, who had been hovering just outside the office, took that as her cue to re-enter.

Jim looked at her, guilt tearing him up inside. “That guy’s either the dumbest, the stupidest, the most imbecilic idiot in the world, or he’s the greatest thing alive. I can’t figure him out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And here’s the great Jim Ellison, crucifying him. I’m just crucifying him.” Jim dropped his face in his hands with a groan.

“People have been crucified before. Good people, even.” If there was a touch of irony in her voice, Jim ignored it.

“Why? Why do we have to do it?”

“You wanted to be a successful journalist, didn’t you?”

“Yeah? So what?”

“Like I have all the answers.” Megan shrugged. “Call the psychic hotline or something.”

“Here’s a guy so fresh and original, that to us jaded city-types, he looks like a freak. You know what he told me tonight? He said he wants to set up a foundation and give away all of the money he inherited. All of it! Then he’ll go back to teaching high school science in Clayton fucking Falls.” Jim barked out a harsh laugh. “Imagine.”

“The guy’s balmy. I know what I’d do with $20 million dollars, and it sure wouldn’t be to give it away.”

“What would you do, Megan? With $20 million, I mean.”

“Well, I’d probably go home to Australia. Maybe buy a sheep station for my dad. He always wanted one. And help out with the Aboriginal issues there. Set up a walk-about program so they don’t lose their unique culture. And endow a chair at my Uni. Hell, endow a wing, maybe.” She looked up at Jim, shock on her face. “Oh, God. I would. I’d give it away. Not all of it, surely, but a lot of it. I guess I’m just some tree-hugging, do-gooder liberal myself.” She grinned, apparently not all that displeased with her new insights. “How ‘bout you, Jim. What would you do with 20-million bucks?”

Jim stared into space, wanting to give an honest answer as Megan had. Wanting to know what he’d do. “I think…” he began. “I think, I’d give it to Blair Sandburg. He’d know what to do with it. He’s… trustworthy.” Jim looked into Megan’s eyes, feeling the same surprise as she had a moment before. She smiled back. “I’ve had trust issues all my life.” Megan rolled her eyes but with a kind smile of encouragement. “I think I can honestly say that Blair Sandburg is the right man to trust with $20 million.”

Chapter 18. Blair Naked

Blair lay in his king-size bed, propped up against the elegant ormolu headboard. He’d been sitting there for a good ten minutes, cradling the telephone receiver in his arms, stroking it lightly. He finally noticed and chuckled to himself, commenting “you’ve got it bad, Sandburg” to the bedpost. He set the phone back in its cradle to re-charge and grabbed his book. It was the same one he’d received on his last day in Clayton Falls, The Sentinels of Paraguay by Sir Richard Burton. He was glad he wasn’t still stroking the phone when Rafe poked his head in the open bedroom door.

“Beg pardon, Mr. Blair.”

“Yes?”

“Your caterer called.”

“Oh, yeah. Frankie. How’s he doing?”

“François is fine,” Rafe corrected. “He said to tell you everything is all set for the reception.”

“François, right, from the French part of Long Island.” Blair rolled his eyes. “It’s not my reception. That Douglas guy from the Theatre Board thought it would be a good idea. Hey, why don’t you put on a black wig and pretend to be me? You’re so much classier than I am.” He grinned at Rafe.

“Yes, sir. Is that an order, sir?”

“Uh, oh. You only call me ‘sir’ when I’m in the doghouse. Okay. Okay. I’ll go to my own party. But I won’t enjoy it.”

“Yes, Mr. Blair. Goodnight. Do you wish the door closed?”

“Nah, just leave it.” He scratched the inch of hairy stomach that peeped out of his pyjamas. “Going out, Rafe?”

“Will you be needing me again this evening, sir?”

“Uh, oh. Again with the ‘sir’. God, that’s effective. Kind of like a safe word. I need some sort of code like that in my next relationship; save a lot of grief if we just communicate properly. I’m going to talk to Jim about it, see if he likes the idea.” Blair contemplated a relationship with Jim Elliott a moment, before returning to Rafe’s question. “Nah, I got along 30-odd years—and believe me there were some pretty odd years there—without you, so I guess I can handle one more night. Have a good one, buddy.”

“Very good, Mr. Blair.” Rafe smiled and left, not closing the door behind him.

Bored and restless, Blair climbed out of bed and shut the door after all. He might not have an actual relationship with the gorgeous and sexy Jim Elliott, but he could have a fantasy one. He dropped his pyjama bottoms and climbed back into bed.

Chapter 19. Mean with Envy

Blair stood on his porch, decked out in a custom-made tuxedo and feeling very suave. A young man trotted up the front walk toward him, smiling in greeting. He wore black dress pants, a collarless white shirt, and black satin vest embroidered in gold. He was young, late teens, early twenties maybe. Too young to be a patron of the arts, Blair figured him for a member of the cast that they’d trucked out for the benefit of the rich sponsors.

“Good evening, Mr. Sandburg.” The young man smiled.

“Welcome. Welcome.” Blair responded, shaking his hand. “That’s what I should have worn, one of those mandarin style shirts, then I wouldn’t have had to worry about this frickin’ bow tie!” He tugged at his collar, a mock-grimace on his face. “Care for a drink?”

“Can’t, sir. I’m on duty.”

“Duty? You a cop?” Blair knew they’d have security, but this guy was so young.

“Actually, I’m part of your staff. Usually, I’m the assistant gardener, but I’m getting paid extra tonight to do the valet parking with my brother.” He pointed to an identically attired man taking the keys from an older man in a tux and a woman decked out in furs, the warm evening notwithstanding.

Off to a great start there, Sandburg, Blair chastized himself. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the whole idea of him having staff. “I suck at being rich,” he said to the gardener-cum-valet, turning away without waiting for reaction.

Then Simon Banks appeared, looking very dashing in his own tuxedo, and Blair felt his spirits pick up a bit. Simon stood by Blair’s side as guest after guest arrived, cueing Blair on names and backgrounds as needed. Blair felt a little better about having staff, although he’d come to think of Simon as more of a friend and mentor. He tried to enjoy himself, despite what he’d told Rafe the previous evening.

He wasn’t doing so well at the enjoying-himself part later, though. Once the guests had all arrived, he had no set role, no reason to walk up to anyone and insinuate himself into their conversation. He wished Jim was there, or better yet, wished he and Jim were out at one of their favourite restaurants or sitting on “their bench” in “their park”. Nobody paid any attention to him. Why would they, now that he’d made the theatre self-sufficient? Nobody needed to kiss his philanthropic ass anymore. He walked through his house like a ghost, eavesdropping on snippets of conversation, sorry that he did. He might not have been talked to, but he certainly was being talked about.

“Oh, hello darling. So good of you to come. Sweet of you to ask me. Where is he? I’m just dying to see The Guide,” one woman exclaimed as Blair passed her knot of over-perfumed guests. He coughed, glad Jim wasn’t there after all. The colognes and perfume were overwhelming, and the room was already blue with cigarette and cigar smoke, despite the tasteful brass “no smoking” signs. Guess these people were just really used to doing whatever they pleased.

Blair sauntered past a whispering couple, “Shh! He could hear you,” the man said.

“Even if he heard you, he wouldn’t understand. I hear he’s practically retarded,” the woman responded.

“I hear he still believes in Santa Claus.”

“Will he be Santa Claus? That’s what I want to know.” She laughed and flicked ashes on the carpet. Perhaps that was her response to the lack of ashtrays. “I’ve been very, very naughty this year.” She gave a low and throaty laugh, “and I can be very, very good.”

Blair hurried out of earshot, stopping near another man who was holding forth to two elegantly dressed women. “You both look ravishing. Have you got sights set on The Guide”?”

“Well, I certainly have,” purred one woman, yanking her dress front just a wee bit lower. “I could use a little boost to the old bank account right about now. Where is he? Is he as ugly as old man Lipshitz was? God, I swear I had to really fake it for that one.”

They all laughed. The second woman patted her hair, nodding in agreement, “With $20 million, he doesn’t have to have looks! But the first thing I’d do is sneak up on him in the night while he was asleep, a sharp knife in my hand…”

The others leaned in close, anxious to hear what she was proposing.

“…and slice off that disgusting mop of his. Who knows, might be something halfway decent under all that hair.”

They seemed to find this hilarious. Blair sighed and retreated further into the shadows. He touched his hair, pulled tightly back in a ponytail, which he thought looked rather nice. He recalled Jim toying with it and cheered up a bit.

Chapter 20. Some Enchanted Leaving

Back when Jim had first met Blair, he’d arranged with Megan to move into the extra room in her apartment. It had been part of the errand-boy persona he’d created; a guy who’d been out of work a long time and rung up large medical bills probably couldn’t afford that funky loft on Prospect Avenue. Also, should Simon Banks have done any background research on Times employee James Elliott, Jim wanted to have an address that was in no way connected with J.J. Ellison.

Megan had lugged most of her camera equipment into her own room, which was much larger, and set up a futon for Jim in her spare room. Sharing an apartment hadn’t proved too difficult. Jim had shared accommodations with varied people when he’d been in the military. Mostly he and Megan would follow Sandburg around all evening, charge back to the office to prepare and submit their story, then crawl home to crash and sleep away most of the day. With that kind of schedule, it wasn’t like they were going to be dating much, so there were no awkward “oh, that’s just my roommate” moments.

Jim felt a bit bad at putting Megan out, but she was a trooper of a journalist and pooh-poohed his concerns. “I’ve gone beyond the black stump with an absolute dill for a story, mate. I can certainly put up with a yobbo like you. This unit’s ace, now.” Jim was sure she did this on purpose, but he wasn’t about to admit he hadn’t a clue what she’d said.

Jim had actually enjoyed the camaraderie and was not surprised when Megan popped her head in his open bedroom door, ubiquitous cup of tea in hand. One of the things he liked about her was that she could be good company without feeling compelled to fill the air with chatter. She stood at the door, watching him, not pushing him to explain why he was listlessly folding and packing his few things in a small duffle bag.

“Can I make a comment, Jim?” she said as the silence between gradually shifted from companionable to awkward.

“I fold my boxers because I’m anal. Okay?”

She chuckled, “Well, I was wondering. But that wasn’t really what I was going to say.”

“I can’t do this anymore; leading him on, lying to him. He deserves better.” Jim crossed to the closet and yanked a beige sweater off the top shelf. “I’m getting out of town for a while. I’m going to take some of that vacation Joel promised me.”

“Running away is no solution. Tell him the truth. Give him a chance to make his own choices.”

“I’m not going to hurt and humiliate him any more. I’ll leave that up to Gus Ventriss. I’m out of here. Going to go home and get caught up on a few things, then leave for Peru end of next week.” He looked up at Megan. “Thanks for letting me stay here. I know you couldn’t control what went in the papers—you and Joel—but I doubt I’ll ever work for any company in the Ventriss empire again. I might see if the Cascade Tribune needs a good reporter. Maybe I’ll stay in Peru. My Quechua is a little rusty, but it’ll come back quick enough.”

No matter how many times Jim folded and refolded things, eventually he was done packing. Megan finished her tea but continued to fiddle with the cup. “What’ll I tell him if he rings?”

“Tell him I had to leave suddenly. I got a job in Peru or some place.”

“You’re acting like a schoolgirl.”

Jim rounded on her, although to Megan’s credit, she didn’t so much as flinch. “What else can I do? Keeping this up is no good. He’s bound to find out sometime.” His outburst faded as quickly as it had come. “At least I can save him that.”

“Aren’t you seeing him again tonight?”

“We were supposed to get together, but then the theatre group told him he was hosting a fundraiser. Nice of them to let him know, eh? He invited me, but I was afraid someone would recognize me.”

“Yeah. You’ve been really lucky on—” Megan was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“I’m so glad there’s a security system in the lobby,” Jim commented, heading into the tiny en suite bathroom to collect his shaving gear and toothbrush.

“It’s just Mr. Mustafi from down the hall,” Megan called after him. “I told him I’d take a photo of him and his dog to send home to wherever—” She didn’t bother to check the peephole and just opened the door to find it wasn’t Mr. Mustafi at all.

“Uh, hi. I’m Blair Sandburg. Does Jim Elliott live here?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course.” Then loudly, and a little in the direction of the spare room, she called, “Blair Sandburg. Step in, won’t you?”

Megan closed the door behind him, directing him to the living room.

“You’re Megan. Jim’s cousin, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, yes, of course. His cousin. Yes, I’ve been his cousin for a while now.”

“Is he home?”

“Hiya, Chief,” Jim said, appearing in the doorway.

“Hello, Jim. I waited in the park for you for half-an-hour. I thought maybe you’d forgotten.”

“I didn’t think you’d be there tonight, what with the big party and all.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t let them stop me from seeing you. I snuck out!”

“Won’t you be missed? It’s your party, isn’t it?”

“So what? They all think I’m a weirdo anyway. What more harm could it do?” He sighed and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess that’ll be in the papers tomorrow. It will give them something else to laugh at.”

Jim’s face clouded miserably.

“It’s no big deal, though. They get a party. I get to see you. Everybody wins.” Blair shook his head as if to clear thoughts of the party. “Would you like to go for a walk? Get out of here? I’ve been cooped up all day, and I’m feeling way antsy.”

Jim glanced at Megan, who was busily not doing anything in the kitchen. “Sure. Love to.”

“Goodnight, Megan. And don’t worry. I won’t keep him out too late.”

She laughed and saluted them with her re-filled teacup. “Have a nice evening, boys.”

The door almost closed, then opened again, and Jim stepped back in the apartment, catching Megan in the process of grabbing the camera equipped with a night scope. Jim stood before her, blocking her path. “No more photographs,” he said quietly.

Megan nodded and placed the camera on the hall table. “I promise, Jim. I just hope the rest of camera club are as easy for you to control.”

He headed out again, looking grim.

~ ~ ~

The evening was warm and the walk to the park pleasant. Conversation was sketchy. Blair appeared preoccupied, and Jim was lost in thought and guilt. They reached the park and settled on their usual bench without exchanging more than a handful of words. The silence continued for a while, never being quite comfortable or awkward. Finally Blair spoke. “Jim, I’m going home.”

“You are? What? To your mansion or to Clayton Falls?”

Blair nodded at the latter.

“When?”

“In a day or so, I think.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jim said quickly, harshly.

Blair seemed surprised by Jim’s words. Well, thought Jim, maybe Jim Elliott would ask him to stay, but J.J. Ellison is a prick that doesn’t deserve him and knows it.

“I just don’t fit in around here. I once had an idea I could do something with the money, but they kept me so busy here, I haven’t had time to figure it out. I’m sure I’ll have more time and less distractions when I get back home.”

There was a long pause, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Finally Jim spoke, “I thought we were going to do some tests. Help me get control of these senses.” He couldn’t help the trace of bitterness that crept into his voice. He should be used to people running out on him by now; he’d had a lifetime of it.

“I’ve written it all out. We can email, talk on the phone.” He handed Jim a large brown envelope he’d been carrying. A sheaf of papers and an old, leather-bound book peeked out the top.

“Right. That’ll be great.” Jim didn’t really feel like it’d be great at all, but he could hardly make demands on Blair after the web of lies he’d spun, the pain he’s caused.

“Or…” Blair stared at the bag he’d just handed Jim. “You could come with me.”

Jim was stunned by the words. Now this was great news. He’d love to spend time with Blair, time away from the flashing cameras and vicious news crews because really, who’d bother to follow them to Clayton Falls? The Guide was only news as long as he was in Cascade; the country-mouse/city-mouse dynamic was the hook. Once he left, he’d look normal against the small town backdrop; in fact, any journalists who followed him there would end up looking like the fish out of water. Jim grinned at the thought. He could do it; he could go with Blair. They could get to know each other better, work on Jim’s senses, get Blair’s thesis re-started, finally have sex, they could…

“I’d love to, Blair, but I’m going to Peru for a while. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Blair stared at Jim, his face turbulent with emotion. “Peru?” he whispered. “I like Peru.”

Jim turned to face Blair, a glimmer of hope on his face. “It’ll mean jungle travel, Blair. No five-star hotels.”

Blair made a rude noise. “Jim, I’ve been rich for exactly…” he stared at the streetlight. “…less than a month anyway. I’ve never stayed in a five-star hotel in my life. I’m sick of having everything done for me and nothing to do. Being rich is way boring. Hell, Peru doesn’t even need a travel visa and I always keep my passport up to date.”

“Well, I can promise you won’t be bored, Chief.”

Chapter 21. Quit or Miss

“Stop it. Jim. Stop it! What do you mean you’re quitting? You might as well tell me I’m quitting. Ventriss will have my hide if I let you go.” Joel’s face was an odd shade of burgundy. Jim wondered if that’s what “aubergine” meant. He also wondered if he should maybe call someone; he ran through the CPR steps in his mind.

“What’s eating you, Ellison?” Joel sat down heavily in his chair, reaching for a half-empty bottle of water. He chugged it, a little escaping to run down his tie. “Why now? You’re as deep in this thing as anybody.”

Jim stared out the window; sunlight danced off the gleaming chrome on the boats that bobbed in the Cascade Yacht Club. “He’s had enough, Joel. Last night, he told me he’s leaving.”

Joel looked upset. Jim wondered unkindly if it was because of the way they’d treated Blair or because Joel was losing his star reporter and going to get reamed for it. That wasn’t fair, he chided himself; Joel had spent the first part of his working life risking death and dismemberment for the city of Cascade. Still, people change, and Jim was hardly in the mood to cut anyone involved in “The Guide” debacle any slack at all.

“We’ve driven him away, Joel. Driven a good man from his home.”

“Did he ask you to go with him?”

Jim nodded miserably. Trust Joel to dig right to the heart of the matter.

Joel perked up. “Why, Jim. That’s terrific!” He held up his hands, framing the words in the air as he spoke them: “Guide Heads for Home, Special Friend in Tow.” We’ll play up the gay angle, that’s a hot topic at the moment, you know. ‘Will and Grace’, ‘Brokeback Mountain’, Canada. That’ll—”

“Print one word of that, and I’ll blow this fucking place up!” He realized after he’d said it, the irony this particular threat to the ex-captain of the bomb squad. He didn’t mean it of course.

“It’ll be sensitively done, Jim. I promise you that.”

“The way the whole Guide thing was so sensitively handled? Sorry, Joel. I know you’d try, but your hands are tied. Ventriss runs things around here, and we’ve turned into a freak show since he got involved.”

“Sorry, Jim. Sorry. It would have made a heart-warming story. Maybe a way to salvage the whole Sandburg situation. I just got carried away. So he asked you to go with him, huh? What a twist! You set out to nail him, and he—”

“Yeah. Funny twist, isn’t it?”

“Hey, you haven’t gone and fallen for him as well, have you?

Jim’s silence was eloquent.

“Well, I’ll be—” He rose and walked over to Jim, laying a hand gently on his arm. “Hey, you know none of that matters to me… matters to anyone with half a brain these days.”

Jim tried to smile, to show Joel he appreciated the support. He couldn’t quite manage it though.

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’ve asked him to go to Peru with me and he’s accepted. But before we go, I’m going to tell him the truth.”

“Tell him you’re J.J. Ellison? Tell him you’re the one been making a fool of him all this time? He won’t go to the shit-house with you after that, let alone a jungle jaunt to South America. Why not wait until you’re down there? In the jungle or something so he can’t get pissed off and leave.”

“I can’t, Joel. You know why. We need to clear the air before we go traipsing off into the Amazon rainforest. You need a certain amount of trust between people going out into dangerous situations, Joel. No one knows that better than you.”

Joel nodded.

“I’m not going to put his life in danger because of some stupid career aspirations I had. I’m having lunch with him today at his place. We’re supposed to hash out the details for Peru. It’s going to get pretty messy.”

“You’re crazy! You can’t do that! What if he tries to hit you?”

“I hope he does.” Jim looked defiantly into Joel’s worried eyes. “I’ll stand there and let him. I deserve it.”

“God, Jim! I’ve never seen you like this. Look, I’ll put you on another job, back on the crime beat like you asked. You don’t ever have to see him again.”

“Oh, right. That’ll be such an improvement.” Jim glared at Joel for even suggesting it. “If Blair and I are through, it’s going to be his decision. Not mine.”

“Oh, as bad as that, huh?”

“Telling him is a long shot, but it’s the only shot I’ve got. I’m going to take it.”

Joel watched Jim with sympathy and understanding. He nodded once. “I get it, Jim. I get it now. Go do what you’ve gotta do.”

“Well, it was fun while it lasted, Joel.” He reached out and grasped Joel’s hand, just holding it for a long moment. “Thanks for everything. I’ll go clean out my desk.”

Chapter 22. Paradise Tossed

Blair stepped from his room, singing “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina”. It wasn’t about Peru, of course, but he didn’t know the lyrics to any Peru songs, so it was close enough. He didn’t know the words to this one either, really, but he knew enough to fake it. He checked his reflection in the ornate mirror at the top of the stairs. He’d changed three times and was finally sure this was the outfit he’d wear for his lunch with Jim today.

It was Jim’s first time in Blair’s new home, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He threw one leg over the banister and slid down, still singing. “…every word is truuuuuue!”

In the dining room, Rafe was just putting the finishing touches on the table setting.

“How’s it going? Everything okay? You don’t think the flowers are too much, do you?” Blair babbled.

“Fine. Yes. And no, the flowers are a nice touch.”

Blair picked up a saltshaker and examined it. “Silver, eh?” Rafe nodded while polishing a fork and laying it down again. Blair straightened a soupspoon, adjusted a water glass.

“Did sir wish to do this himself?”

“Sorry. You don’t tell me about anthropology, so I should show you the same respect.”

“Yes, Mr. Blair.”

“Did you make sure it was all cooked like I was telling you? Not too much seasoning, easy on the spice.”

“Did you tell me that, sir?” Rafe inquired blandly. “I may have forgotten.”

“Oops. Still ‘sir’. I’m fucking up, aren’t I? You didn’t forget, did you?”

“No, Mr. Blair. Everything is cooked exactly to your specification. I even went to…” he shuddered visibly. “Wonderburger for some of their ‘secret sauce’. You do realize it’s nothing more than ranch dressing with extra salt and sugar added, don’t you?”

“Great. So now you can make it here at home without having to make a special trip to get it.” He slapped Rafe on the arm, he was in just such a good mood. Peru with Jim Elliott. It was like a dream come true. Anthropology and Jim; his two favourite things in the whole, wide world.

He sat in one of the chairs, leaning forward in an imaginary conversation with Jim, lips moving but not making a sound.

“Do me a favour, Rafe? Sit over there for a sec.”

Rafe sat down with far more grace than Blair ever had.

“Yes. That’s good. How tall are you? No, that’s good.”

They were practically nose-to-nose over the flowers. “Rafe, old buddy, old pal. I have something important to tell you.”

Rafe smirked, then tried to look serious. Blair chuckled. “These flowers, nice as they are, are too tall. It’ll be like having lunch with Poseidon except with mums instead of seaweed.”

Rafe rose and swapped the chrysanthemums for a lower bowl of daisies.

“How is this, Blair?”

“So it’s ‘Blair’, finally, without the ‘Mr.’ Guess that means you approve. It’s perfect! Perfect! Now don’t touch a thing!”

He hurried toward his bedroom to change again.

Chapter 23. The Rat's Out of the Bag

Although Jim wasn’t expected for another 20 minutes, Blair couldn’t seem to settle and so wandered around command central. He groaned when Simon Banks appeared suddenly; he liked Simon well enough, but he wanted to be alone with Jim. But Simon was a flexible guy; Blair would see what he wanted, tell him he had company coming, and Simon would disappear.

But the look on Simon’s face as he loomed over Blair didn’t look promising.

“Uh, hi, Simon,” Blair tried.

“Look, Sandburg.” Oh, no. Simon calling him by his last name was almost as bad as Rafe calling him “sir”. He shuddered to think what was to come. “Look.” Simon continued, an angry note in his voice. “I don’t mind you making a sap out of yourself, but you made one out of me, too.”

“Huh?”

“Jim Elliott. Jim Elliott, my ass. That guy has been taking you on a ride that will keep Cascade laughing for years. He’s the slickest, double-crossing—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Blair said between clenched teeth. “You’d better explain quick, Simon. What do you know about Jim Elliott?”

Instead of answering, Simon shoved a copy of the Cascade Tribune under Blair’s nose. So far, Blair had only read The Times. He hadn’t bothered with The Tribune, at all, figuring it was just more of the same sensationalist crap. He took the paper from Simon and scanned the page, quickly finding the article that had so offended Simon. It featured the shot taken a week or so ago of Blair reaching up to kiss Jim on the mouth. It was a touching picture of new love, and Blair’s heart warmed. Until he read the caption underneath: “Unethical Journalist Uses Sex to get Story.”

“Wha—?” Blair was speechless. What was going on?

He looked at Simon, who only said, “Read on, Sandburg. Read on.”

Blair began to read the article: “It appears that our esteemed competitor will do anything to get a good story. Jim ‘J.J.’ Ellison of The Cascade Times has been ‘seeing’ Sandburg aka ‘The Guide’. Perhaps something more than guiding has been going on. And with $20 million in the mix, maybe it’s not just the story Ellison is after.” The article went on the recap some of their activities. Blair turned to the middle section, and there were a lot more pictures, and unlike those that ran in The Times, these ones clearly showed Jim—on the street, in restaurants, in the park. In each one, they were touching, leaning against one another or gazing into each other’s eyes. In one they were holding hands, in another, walking down the street with Jim’s arm slung over Blair’s shoulder.

“None of these things happened.” He looked up at Simon, feeling hurt and angry.

“Are you saying these are re-touched photos, Sandburg?”

“Well, No. I mean, Jim and I have been... It’s just that... Well, we haven’t, you know…”

“You’re missing the point, Sandburg. ‘Elliott’ is really J.J. Ellison, The Times’s crack journalist. Every time you opened your mouth, you gave him another story. He’s the one who nicknamed you ‘The Guide’. You’ve been hanging out with a liar and manipulator. He even lied to you about his name!”

“Shut up!” Blair screamed. “Shut up,” he said, quieter this time. The third time he said it, it was so soft it would have taken a Sentinel to hear it. He slumped down in his chair, still staring at the newspaper.

Simon Banks pulled out his cell and began to make calls.

Chapter 24. Sensational Lies

Jim’s desk was almost bare. He was never one for clutter, but he did have a few personal items he wanted to take away with him. Megan had brought him an empty box, the kind that paper came in for the photocopier. It was bigger than he needed, but he didn’t care. He dropped the glass paperweight into it, and he was done.

He flipped through a small notebook, handing it to Joel, who stood nearby.

“Here, Joel. Give this to my replacement. It’s got the names of all the best informants in town. You can usually buy a bit of intel from them at reasonable prices. They’ll talk to a reporter long before they’ll talk to a cop. Everybody likes their name in the paper.”

“Aw, listen, Jim, I can’t let you quit now. You’re not going through with this, are you?”

Jim nodded his head with finality. His desk phone began to ring.

Joel picked up the receiver, holding it loosely in his hand. “If you ever change your mind, you can always come back.” He raised the phone to his ear. “Ellison’s office. Yeah. Just a sec.”

He held the receiver out to Jim. “You’re a newsman now, Jim. A journalist through and through. In a couple weeks—months, maybe—you’ll want to come back. And you’ll always have a job here.”

“Thanks, Joel. That’s, uh, nice of you. But I won’t be changing my mind.” Into phone he said, “Ellison here.”

“Jim Ellison? Could you hold a moment, please?” Simon almost managed to hide the disgust in his voice. He handed the phone to Blair.

Blair prayed it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, a joke. He half expected Simon to start laughing and saying, “You’ve been punk’d”.

“Hello, Jim?”

Still in the middle of his conversation with Joel, Jim forgot the Elliott ruse. “Oh, hey, Chief.”

His face went dead as he realized his mistake.

“Uh, Jim. I just called to ask you something. Is it you who’s been writing those articles about me?”

“Look, Chief, Blair. I was just leaving. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I was coming to explain. I quit my—”

The words died in his throat. He looked dully at the receiver. The dial tone sounded a death knell that grated upon his sensitive hearing.

~ ~ ~

Blair gently replaced the receiver in its stand, as if any sudden moves might shatter the world around him. His stomach lurched, and his eyes burned. He was silent a long time.

Rafe entered, carrying a bottle. “Shall I serve the wine with— Blair? You okay, man?”

“I think lunch is cancelled,” Simon said softly.

“Can I get anything… do anything?” Rafe asked.

Blair shook his head, not looking up.

“I’m so sorry, Blair. If I’d known you were going to take it so hard, I would have kept my mouth shut. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Simon. It’s better I know now than when we got to Peru.” He spoke softly. “There is something you can do for me, Rafe. Would you mind packing my things? Just the stuff I came with. I’m going home.”

Chapter 25. Needle and Threat

Blair emerged from his bedroom, walking toward the staircase. In his hand he carried the backpack he had arrived in Cascade with less than a month earlier. He glanced at the gleaming banister, but wasn’t in a sliding mood. He walked down the wide staircase beside Simon, who was one of the very few things he’d miss about Cascade.

“You shouldn’t be running away like this. What’s going to happen to the estate?” Simon asked.

“They can shove the Goddamn estate up their collective ass, for all I care. I wish I’d never had anything to do with it.”

As Simon and Blair crossed the lobby toward the front entrance, a commotion could be heard coming from the kitchen. Simon hurried back there to investigate, Blair right on his heels.

They entered command central to find Rafe struggling with a wild-eyed man. The angry shouts of the two wrestling men tumbled over one another: “You can’t just walk in here!” “Let me go! I wanna see him!” “He’s not home!” “I just wanna speak to the guy!” “I’m calling the police!” “Let me go!”

Within seconds, Simon crossed the room and grabbed the intruder, all butch ex-cop. “What’s going on here?”

The man struggled for a few moments more before calming. Cautiously, Simon freed him. The man stood with wounded dignity, smoothing his shirtfront. He was middle-aged and wearing a cheap suit and tie. Rafe glared at him.

“There he is!” The man pointed at Blair, who stood frozen by the door. “There you are! I just wanted to see what kind of a man you were!”

He took a step toward Blair, but the immovable form of Simon Banks prevented him from proceeding.

Blair moved toward his uninvited guest warily. “Uh, can I help you?”

“I just wanted to see what a man looks like that can spend thousands of dollars on a party, while people around him go hungry! The Guide, huh? Did you ever stop to think how many families could have been fed on the money you pay out to get on the front pages? How ‘bout guiding some of those publicity and entertainment bucks our way?”

Simon forcibly restrained him. “Come on, you! You’re leaving!”

“Let him alone,” Blair ordered.

The man instantly started his rant again, railing rhetorical questions at Blair. “How did you feel feeding doughnuts to a Goddamn horse? Get a kick out of it, huh? A big laugh? Did you ever think of feeding human beings! No!”

Blair stared at him, determined to wait him out, let him get it all off his chest so they could begin to communicate rationally. His minor in psychology was proving helpful or so he dearly hoped.

“Shall I call the police, Blair?” Rafe asked quietly.

“No, Rafe. Thanks.” To the man he said, “What do you want?” A reasonable question said in a reasonable tone of voice.

“Yeah, that’s all that’s worrying you. What do I want? A chance to feed my wife and kids! I’m an American. I want a job! Cascade used to be a major manufacturing town, but now everything’s made in China. Or India or somewhere. Anyone who counted on a job to see them to retirement is shit out of luck now!”

At first Blair felt concerned, caring, then he felt his heart grow cold. “I’ve met nothing but manipulators and bullshit artists since I’ve come to town. You’re probably a liar and a moocher like everyone else.” He turned to leave; he’d had enough for one day. Let Simon deal with it. It was what Blair paid him to do, wasn’t it?

Suddenly a gun appeared in the man’s hand, aimed right at Blair. “Stay where you are, Sandburg! Get over there. All of you.” He gestured for them to gather by the fireplace.

“You’re about to get some more publicity, Mr. Sandburg! You’re about to get on the front page again! See how you’re going to like it this time! See what good your money’s going to do when you’re six feet underground. You never thought of that, did you?” His voice was rising, tinged with a note of hysteria. “My name is Fernando Capobianco, and I worked for Cascade Industries for 17 years. Then they do some cost analysis thing and boom, we’re all out of work. Sure, they gave us a severance package, but I don’t want charity. I want to work. I’m dyslexic, so I can’t do anything but manual labour, and now I can’t do that.” Tears began to run down his face. “I’m an honest worker just trying to feed my wife and kids.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Blair’s heart went out to the guy, his mind raced for solutions. “But what’s it got to do with me?”

Capobianco’s face hardened again, and he pointed the gun at Blair’s heart. “Don’t fuck with me, Guide.” He spat on the marble floor. “You own Cascade Industries and you know it!”

But his new flare of anger burned out fast, and he began to sob quietly. He glanced down and, seeing the gun in his hand, stared at it in surprise. “Oh, God!” Fernando said, almost inaudibly, slumping into a nearby chair. He held the gun out, handle first, whispering “Sorry. Sorry.”

Simon stepped forward swiftly and grabbed the gun, quickly opening the chamber. “Empty,” he pronounced, slapping it closed. “The fucker had no bullets.”

“Never meant to hurt anyone.” Fernando hid his face in his hands sobbing. “Crazy. You get all kinds of crazy ideas. I just wanted…”

Blair watched him, moved to pity. “Don’t,” he said softly to Rafe, who had moved silently to the nearest telephone and begun dialling. At Blair’s word, he replaced the phone but hovered near it.

Walking over to the weeping man, Blair squatted by his side. “Tell me,” he said softly. “I didn’t know I owned Cascade Industries and I really want to know what happened, what happened to you.”

Blair’s kindness only made Fernando cry harder, begging their forgiveness for his temporary insanity. “You don’t know what it’s like. Seeing my kids go hungry. My wife trying to cheer me up, like I’m not some kinda failure. Trips to the food bank. It kills me to take a handout. Go ahead and do what you want with me. I’m at the end of my rope.”

A sympathetic tear ran down Blair’s own cheek. Simon’s lower lip trembled, and Rafe left his post by the phone and quickly reappeared with a plate of cold cuts that had been intended for Blair’s lunch with Jim Elliott.

~ ~ ~

At the table that had been set for Jim, Nandy Capobianco sat, eating voraciously, paying serious attention to his food. Blair sat opposite him, watching.

The man stopped eating abruptly. “Can I take some of this home with me?”

Blair nodded.

Chapter 26. Generous to a Vault

Guide to Give Fortune Away

Sandburg Plan Startles Financial World

Cascade Industries to Re-open. Workers Reinstated with Back-pay, Benefits

Hundreds of New Positions Created at Cascade Industries

Staff of Workers Investigate Applicants

Thousands of Unemployed Storm Sandburg Home Hoping for Jobs

Blair’s inherited mansion had seen many gatherings over its life, but this was the first one that didn’t involve hors d’oeuvre and fancy mixed drinks. The front yard was spilling over with people, and a mob of men and women clamoured at the gates, jostling each other, carefully watched by police.

Blair’s ballroom had been transformed into something resembling a wartime induction centre. He sat at one end of the room at a giant antique desk with a wall of cardboard boxes beside it. Fine antique furniture had been pressed into service as workstations: a Louis the Fifteen dressing table and an early pine harvest table were now home to laptops and telephones and busy clerks. A Chippendale dining table pushed against one wall held coffee and doughnuts. Rafe had made sure that a large glass cutting board had been inserted between the coffee makings and the table to protect the finish. Computer cables criss-crossed the parquet dance-floor. A photocopier now stood where the chamber music trio had played at the theatre party only a few days before.

On one side and leading out into the hall was a long line of people waiting to be interviewed.

“Go on. You’re next, ma’am,” Henry Brown directed, on site now in his official capacity. Two uniformed policewomen accompanied him. It was their job to run police checks and metal detectors on each person before they were ushered into the room. Although Nandy Capobianco had been forgiven, his little moment of insanity had made it clear that Blair was a potential target. The pile of confiscated weaponry locked in a trunk beside them, however, remained surprisingly small.

Blair sported two days’ growth of beard and looked exhausted. Next to him was Richard, a student recruited through the employment office at Rainier. Richard was going to be a doctor someday, but today he was interviewing potential factory workers. The student-clerks arrived in shifts, and Blair was just showing the newly arrived Richard the ropes.

“You were a lead-hand on the green team, Mr. Lebowitz?” he asked the next applicant.

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. I think you’ll qualify.” Richard handed Lebowitz a completed form. “Take this to that desk over there for further instructions.”

“Thank you very much. You’re a good man. No, a great man!”

Blair smiled tiredly at the praise. “I’m just a guy with a buck. Next, please.”

Another man stepped forward and stood before Blair and Richard’s shared desk.

“How many does that make?” Blair asked Richard. They had 400 new positions to fill, and roughly 2,300 old ones. Those numbers would shift, of course, depending on how many came forward asking for their old jobs back. Some people had found other employment, some had moved away or passed on. Those people were still entitled to back-pay, according to Blair’s rules, but these things could be dealt with at a later date. Right now, he was absolutely beat and just wanted to know how many more there were to go.

The clerk shuffled some papers, keyed some info into a computer and hit “Total”. “That’s 1,619.”

“Is that all?” Blair smiled, proud and tired. “How many more to go?”

Richard did a few more calculations, “Out of a possible 2,700 positions, you’ve okayed 1,619.” He hit the keypad a few more times. Which means there are still 1,081 left to fill. And more interviews than that for people who aren’t qualified or are trying to scam us.” A few fakers had shown up claiming to have worked for Cascade Industries and demanding back-pay; but thanks to computerized records and photo-ID, they’d been quickly turned away. The presence of Cascade’s finest had probably deterred more from trying that particular con game.

“It’s going awfully slow. We need more help. Do you think any of the people here could—” He was interrupted by his phone. He didn’t want to answer it, but couldn’t bear the tinkly little version of “Don’t Cry for me, Argentina”. He’d set his ring tone to play that song when he’d been planning on going to Peru with Jim. He meant to re-set it, but something always distracted him. He flipped it open. “Blair Sandburg. Oh, yes. Yes. The building was inspected and approved to re-open with minor upgrades, but I don’t know about the conveyor equipment yet. Come up tonight around ten and bring the specs. Right.” He clapped the phone shut.

Nandy Capobianco approached. “Here’s the order for the steel. Joe, over there.” He gestured at a collection of planners and analysts gathered in the far corner, using the grand piano as a workstation. “Joe said to tell you we got a good price on ‘em.”

Blair took the piece of paper and smiled. “Thanks, Nandy. That’s fine. I’ll look them over later.”

“Oh. Mr. Sandburg?”

Blair looked up

“Pina, that’s my wife, wanted me to tell you she…” he hesitated a moment. “She prays for you every night. Is that okay? I know you’re not Catholic.” He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

Blair was both touched and a little embarrassed. “Well, thanks. I, uh, don’t think anyone’s ever prayed for me before. Tell Pina I appreciate it, but ask her to widen her scope a bit, will you?” He gestured widely indicating their entire operation and all the people waiting outside. “I’d hate to hog all the blessings. There’s others here need it more than me.”

Nandy smiled and stepped away. The next applicant moved quickly in to fill the space.

“Hi. I’m Blair. And this is Richard.” Blair introduced himself and the clerk sitting next to him. “And you are?”

“Roger Rankin, sir. I was a supervisor before the plant closed. I hear I might be able to get my old job back. I haven’t worked since the plant closed. They just don’t seem to need a man who knows how to get things done anymore.” He grinned wryly.

“Well, Rick here is just going to pull up your employment records, and we’ll get you re-instated. If you have your bank card or account information with you, we can deposit your back-pay right into your account today.”

“We’ll need to see some ID, Mr. Rankin,” Richard added.

“I’ve got my driver’s license, social security card, passport. Hell, I even brought my wedding photos in case you wanted them. I wasn’t taking any chances on this. You’re giving me my life back.” As he spoke, he produced plastic cards and paper documents, piling them in front of Richard, who examined them carefully. “Here’s my old security card. I’ve greyed up a little since then, but you can see it’s me, all right.”

Blair took the card and examined it. The man had aged ten years in the five since the plant had closed. It was hardly an isolated event, and Blair felt guilty even though it hadn’t been his fault. Richard looked up at him, nodded and smiled. Now this was the part of the job that made it all worthwhile. He stuck out his hand. “Welcome back, Mr. Rankin. If you take this form over to Mary at the next desk, she’ll see that five years of back-pay, compensation in lieu of benefits and vacation are deposited into your account. I’m afraid you’ll have to submit receipts to be reimbursed for medical bills incurred during the time away. Oh, and you’ll get full credit for those five years on your retirement pension. Do you mind if I call you Roger?”

“You can call me any damn thing you please.” He yanked Blair into a big hug, tears streaming down his creased face. “When do I start?”

“I’m trying to get the plant up and running, but it could take a few weeks. Until then, you can go home and spend a little quality time with your family at full pay. Now, since you were a supervisor, you might get called back in—oompf.” Blair got hugged again and had to reassure Henry Brown he was okay and not being attacked.

Chapter 27. Bald-Faced Lawyer

Lee Brackett sat behind his desk, Cassie Wells and Larry Lipshitz seated across from him. Cassie and Brackett exchanged a conspiratorial glance as Larry sat with his pen poised hesitantly above a stack of official-looking documents.

“We have very little time. He’s ordered me to turn everything over to him immediately. We have to work fast before he disposes of every penny.”

“See, Larry! I told you something could be done. I knew it all the time. Sign it.”

“We don’t need the money, Cassie, and those people Cousin Blair is helping really do. It isn’t fair for us to take it away from them.”

“Oh, don’t be such a bleeding-heart! You worked your way up from nothing. You deserve what you get. Those people had the same opportunities, but they didn’t avail themselves of them, expecting a free ride all their lives.”

“The law, Larry, is all about fairness. If it turns out that it is, as you say, unfair, let the courts decide. Who are we, after all, to interpret the law?” Brackett spread his hands and smiled. Larry still looked unsure.

He set aside the top document, still unsigned, and perused the next one.

“What’s this one?”

“That’s your agreement with Lee, if we win,” Cassie leapt in, a patronizing note in her voice, as if she were speaking to a child that was a little slow.

“You see, my end was going to be rather expensive.” Brackett sat forward, steepling his fingers. “I have a lot of important people to take care of. I have the legal machinery all set and ready to go. I’ve been working on nothing else for the last week. You say the word, and we’ll get an order to stop Blair from dispersing your uncle’s estate until the courts can decide what’s fair.” Brackett knew he was very good at manipulation. “Don’t you want to do what’s best with your uncle’s estate?”

“Just sign it, already!” Cassie ordered. “It’s just a first step. It doesn’t really change anything.”

“Oh, all right.” Larry sighed and began signing documents, both Brackett and Cassie leaned forward, practically drooling.

As the final paper was signed, sealed and witnessed, Brackett pressed the button on the intercom. “Rhonda?”

A tinny voice responded. “Yes, Lee?”

“Tell the senior partners that the papers are signed. Have Norman get that subpoena for J.J. Ellison at The Times right away.”

Chapter 28. Asset Trip

“Next!” Richard called. He needn’t have raised his voice, though. The instant Roger stepped away, the next person filled the spot. At first, it had seemed to Blair like a vending machine; one person moved along and was conveniently replaced by another. Now he started to feel like The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and longed for some wizard to come and make it all go away.

Simon Banks strode across the ballroom, pushing his way through the organized chaos toward Blair’s desk.

“Blair, you look awful.”

Blair smiled up at Simon, who stood, arms crossed and looking pretty grumpy, an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. “Thanks, Simon. Nice to see you, too.”

“When was the last time you slept? Or ate, for that matter? You are knocking off for lunch, now.” Simon looked pretty tired as well. He, too, was working day and night to help pull together the re-opening of Cascade Industries. They had realized immediately that Blair’s $20 million wasn’t going to cover much more than the initial retro-fits and most of the back-pay. To be operational, they’d have to obtain some substantial financing. Jack Douglas of the Theatre Board was head of a large bank and had made some creative recommendations concerning IPOs and income trusts. Blair, together with Simon, and his accountant, had given Douglas the go-ahead to begin securing investors.

“I’ll eat when you do.” Blair gave Simon a meaningful look. “I want to get through this as soon as possible, and then I want to go home to Clayton Falls. What price did you get on those trucks?”

“What are you trying to do, kid? Keel over? You haven’t been out of this house in days.”

“Well, maybe I will have a little something.” He turned to the next person in line, a capable looking black woman brandishing a sheaf of identification papers like a fan. “Richard here will take over. ‘Kay?”

“Oh, sure, sure. No problem by me. But if you like to have ‘a little something’,” she winked and picked up a large woven bag that lay at her feet, “I can give to you.”

She reached into the bag and extracted two Tupperware containers, placing them on the desk before Blair. Quickly, she peeled back the lid, and delicious-smelling steam drifted out, making Blair’s mouth water. “Me daughter just bring to me in line, there, not 20-minute ago.” She raised the plastic container and wafted it under Blair’s nose. “Is still hot. You like goat?” she asked in a charming West Indies accent.

“Goat? Curry goat? I love curry goat. This is so great. Thank you. Thank you.” She’d produced a plastic spoon from somewhere, and he dove in, trying not to eat too quickly.

She opened the other container and began to eat, standing there before them. Blair looked at her, then at Simon, who was swaying on his feet. The fork froze mid-way to his mouth. Richard was looking across the desk at him, licking his lips. Every eye in the long, long line up was riveted on him.

Blair lowered the fork. He picked up his cell phone and dialled his own number.

“Mr. Sandburg’s residence.” Rafe, too, sounded just about done in.

“Rafe! Please call every pizza place in town and get hundreds—I dunno,” He covered the phone with his hand. “Hey, Henry! How many people are here, including outside? Just an guesstimate.”

“We let in a total of 100 each morning,” Henry shouted back. “Then we let one in for everyone that leaves. There’s about 300 outside the gates at the moment.”

“Thanks, Henry.” Blair shouted, “Rafe! Oops.” He lowered his voice back to normal decibels. “Sorry. Can you order pizza for 400 very hungry people? Is there enough bottled water?” They had been distributing water since day one, which, as Nandy had pointed out and thereby proving himself indispensable, would require Port-a-Potties as well.

They’d commissioned paramedics who were on standby and had already delivered one new baby girl to the world, who was promptly named Blair. Richard had run out and taken the mother’s details between contractions, making sure she’d have a paid maternity leave for the first few months of little Blair’s life. The street was lined with a miscellany of chairs, from plastic lawn furniture to expensive Windsor ladderbacks for those who found standing a problem. And Simon had spent a fair amount of time cajoling licenses from the city and appeasing grumpy neighbours.

Some of the rich people in the neighbourhood had been horrified that—gasp!—blue-collar workers would be milling about in front of Blair’s house for the next few weeks. Mrs. Owens-Thomas from next door—the one who let Blair sneak in and out of his house via her property—had been delighted with Blair’s noble undertaking. Blair waved to her at the next desk. She’d been a real trooper, working beside Blair and Simon and Nandy for the planning stages.

She’d originally made her money in software, having designed a nifty little program that helped people plan their weddings and other special events, run small businesses, etc. In a matter of days, she’d written a customized version, uploaded Cascade Industries’s database, which they were able to get from the accountants, and installed it on a hastily cobbled LAN of rented computers. Her software streamlined the entire operation and meant the sorting of payroll and personnel issues would take days instead of months.

“What? Pizza for everybody? When they’re about to get huge cheques from us!” Simon tossed his well-loved cigar in the wastebasket at Blair’s feet.

“Well, that doesn’t make ‘em any less hungry.” Blair emphasized his point by savouring another bite of curry goat stew.

“Okay, Santa Claus. Pizza for 400!”

“And order a whole boat load of chicken for anyone who’s lactose or wheat intolerant,” Richard added.

Simon chuckled as he headed back to his own office, set up in command central. He and a couple of other recruits were the front line for all incoming issues and outgoing concerns. Blair smiled tiredly, wondering what he would have done without Simon and glad he didn’t have to find out.

Richard began to take vital statistics from the curry goat-lady while Blair finished up his lunch. He had just downed the last possible forkful when there was a bit of a scuffle among the waiting people. One man was pushed forward by some others. He mumbled a protest, trying to get back into position, but the men pushed him forward again.

“Go on, say something. Say something!” the group encouraged.

Blair looked up inquiringly.

The man finally stepped forward to stand before Blair, shifting, ill-at-ease, his head hanging bashfully. “Mr. Sandburg, they…” he jerked his head in the direction of the line-up. “They wanted me to say a little something. They just wanted me to say…” He cleared his throat. Blair was getting curious and maybe a little worried at the production. “Well, they wanted me to say that we think you… what you’re doing here… is great. Noble, even.” He blushed and tried to step back.

“Say something more, Sayid!” the line yelled.

The spokesman had apparently not quite finished yet. Feeling self-conscious, Blair glanced around, surprised to notice uniformed men heading his way. They stood behind Sayid, waiting for him to conclude.

“Give me a chance, fellas.” Sayid shouted at his colleagues before turning back to Blair. “We’ve all had a rough time of it since the plant closed. But then you come along, it kinda gives us a little hope, and they just wanted me to say—”

The three strangers had apparently grown tired of waiting for Sayid to complete his thank-you mission. “Break it up. You’re done now. Go on home.” One of the uniformed men clapped a hand on Sayid’s shoulder.

The most imposing of the three walked around Blair’s desk, standing close and glaring down. “Are you Blair Sandburg?”

“Yes? What can I do for—”

“I’m Deputy Sheriff Bale.” He shoved an official looking document so close to Blair’s face he jerked back to avoid being clocked by the papers and the fist holding them. “We’ve got a warrant to take you into custody.”

“A what?” Blair just sat there, looking dazed.

“A warrant for your arrest.” He repeated it, speaking very, very clearly. “You’ll have to come along with us.”

Blair was so shocked, he barely registered Simon’s appearance at his side. “What’s going on here? What do you men want?”

“I don’t know nothing, buddy. All I know is the Sheriff gave me an insanity warrant to execute.”

“Insanity! It’s you who’s insane here.” Simon snatched the papers from the Bale’s hand. “Who says he’s incompetent? Henry!”

But Henry Brown and the other uniforms had their hands full trying to keep the crowd from attacking the Sheriff. “It’s legit, Simon!” Henry shouted back over one shoulder. “I just got a call from Finkleman warning me it was coming!”

Lee Brackett stepped forward, having remained out of sight up to this point.

“I’m sorry, Simon.” He held out his hand to Simon, not even looking at Blair. Brackett drew his hand back quickly when Simon looked like he might bite it off. “The complainant is another nephew of the late David Lipshitz. The charges are that Mr. Sandburg is incompetent and incapable of handling the Estate that he’s inherited.”

“This is a conflict of interest, Brackett. You’re his lawyer.” Simon gestured at Blair who was still seated.

“Since Mr. Sandburg never responded to my queries with regard to the renewal of our relationship. I was forced to look for other clients. I have a business to run, you know.”

“But, but…” Blair sputtered. “You’re supposed to be my lawyer.”

“No, Sandburg. I was your uncle’s lawyer. You inherit the estate, not the law firm.” He looked daggers at Blair. “You never engaged us, you didn’t even answer my calls.”

Simon strode over to Brackett; Blair had never seen him be quite so imposing. “Looks like somebody got panic-stricken about Blair giving all his money away.” His dismissal of Brackett was so final, that anyone watching knew that Simon Banks would never speak to Lee Brackett again in this or any other lifetime. Simon turned now, projecting his aura of intimidation at the deputy sheriff, “Where do you think you’re going to take him?”

Bale put a hand on his holster, the two other deputies closing ranks behind him, just as Henry Brown and Nandy Capobianco stepped up behind Simon. Blair still sat, stunned and exhausted, watching the surreal proceedings as if in a dream. “You can tell his lawyer he’s being taken to the Cascade General Hospital.”

Brackett stepped up, trying to get into Simon’s face. “It’s for his own good and the good of society. We don’t know if he’s a danger to himself.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Or to others.” He straightened up and spoke loudly. “Of course, that’s only temporary. A hearing will follow immediately.”

Blair rose, looking pale and utterly beaten. “Oh, Jeeze. Just because I want to give this money to people who need it, they think I’m crazy? First, the one person I cared about in this town makes me out to be crazy, then my cousin and my lawyer conspire to lock me up. I never should have left Clayton Falls! They liked me there.”

Bale took out a pair of handcuffs, then replaced them quickly as the crowd began to murmur angrily and close in. He placed a proprietary hand on Blair’s shoulder instead. “Come with me now, Mr. Sandburg.” He eyed the crowd nervously. The curry goat lady alone was pretty menacing, let alone another 99 displeased applicants.

“Wait a minute! Not so fast.” Simon insinuated himself between Deputy Sheriff Bale and Blair. “We’re going to get a lawyer. I’ll call…” He paused. Brackett and associates had been the only law firm involved with them all for years; Brackett had seen to that.

Blair stepped around Simon and stood beside the sheriff. He was tired, distraught and thoroughly disillusioned. “No, don’t bother. I’ll come quietly.”

“Let’s go. We’re wasting a lot of time.” Bale took one of Blair’s arms, his assistant deputy the other, but before they could take two steps, Blair pulled back violently, yanking his arms out of their grasps.

Blair stood there, chest heaving, head down like a bull about the charge. “All right, I’ll go. But get your hands off me!”

Blair began to walk toward the door, accompanied by Simon Banks. The deputies and Brackett fell in behind them. The crowd parted for them, a murmur of confusion spreading through the line and back to those waiting out on the lawn.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Nandy asked, as they passed him, but Blair didn’t answer; he just hung his head and walked on. “What’s going to happen to you?” Nandy muttered.

Chapter 29. Confront and Centre

Jim pulled his truck into the Cascade General Hospital parking lot. He didn’t have much hope left that he’d get into see Blair at all before the competency hearing. He’d tried pretending to be a delivery boy yesterday and had claimed to have a subpoena for Blair to sign the day before. By now, the guards all knew him by sight, but he had to try again. He had to keep trying; he owed it to Blair.

It was lunch hour, and Jim found a linen closet that wasn’t locked and started pawing through the dirty laundry cart. It was more than a little disgusting, and he shuddered to think what kind of bio-hazards he might be touching. His fingers curled around a small plastic rectangle; success! He hauled a formerly white lab coat out of the pile, stained, but not too offensive. He yanked it on quickly, checking out the battered name badge still pinned to it; Dr. McKay must have forgotten to unpin it when he changed. Lucky for me, Jim thought grimly.

He left the linen closet, having garnered a clipboard as well—no one could tell it contained the laundry schedule and not a patient chart. He took a deep breath and rounded the corner quickly, trying to look as over-worked and self-important as possible. He headed for the door to Blair’s room.

“Hey, Doc,” the guard said, quickly interposing himself between Jim and the door. “Sorry, but I gotta check my list. Oh, it’s you again.” He touched the lab coat. “Nice try though.” He wiped his hand on his pants.

“I’ve got to see him! Call Captain Finkleman and ask her. She’ll vouch for me.”

“Look, Ellison, I know who you are. I wasn’t a cop yet when you left, but I know your rep. I’d let you in if I could, but you know the drill as well as anyone. You’re not on the list, you don’t get in.” The young cop blushed a bit. “I would if I could.”

“Will you at least give him my name?”

“Listen. Just between us, there ain’t a thing wrong with that guy until someone mentions your name. Then he goes ballistic!”

Jim winced at that. “Sorry to keep bothering you. It won’t happen again.” He turned away but stopped just around the corner.

~ ~ ~

Within the locked hospital room, Blair was seated by the far wall, peering moodily out the barred window. Simon Banks paced about. Suddenly, he wheeled on Blair.

“What’re you going to do, Sandburg? Just sit back and let them railroad you? It’s a frame-up! If you’d just let me get you a lawyer!”

Blair paid no attention to him.

Simon Banks continued, raising his voice, “You can’t walk into that courtroom without being ready to protect yourself in the clinches. Brackett’s too smart. With the array of talent he’s got lined up against you… he’ll eat you alive!”

“I’m not nuts, Simon. Am I?”

Simon ignored the ridiculous question. “Do you realize what’s happening? If they win the case, it’s not just that you’ll lose control of the money. I know you don’t care about that. It’s that they’ll lock you in the cracker factory. You’ll be sharing the shower with guys like that serial killer Warren Chappel. The hearing starts tomorrow!”

Blair considered this a long while, and Simon let him. Finally, he said, “Okay, Simon. Okay. I’ll meet with Beverly Sanchez. No—” He cut off Simon’s objections. “It’s Beverly or no one.”

Simon had a high-powered lawyer lined up, but Sanchez was certainly better than no one. “I’ll get right on that, Blair,”

Outside the hospital room, the guard read his paper. Jim waited just out of sight.

“So long, Mr. Banks.” The guard said.

“Bye, Wilson.”

As Simon rounded the corner, heading for the elevator, Jim stepped in front of him. “Simon,” he said quietly.

Simon took one look at Jim and kept moving. Jim reached out grabbing his arm, “Simon!” he said, louder this time.

Simon stopped, glaring at Jim’s hand where it gripped Simon’s arm, wrinkling his suit jacket.

Jim dropped his hand. “I’ve got to see him, Simon! I’ve got to talk to him!”

“Haven’t you done enough damage already, Ellison?” He eyed the lab coat, blowing out a huge breath in exasperation.

Simon’s caustic attack stung like the hard truth it was. Jim gasped, but steeled himself and continued. “Somebody’s got to help him! He hasn’t got a chance against Brackett. Look, I’ve been all over town talking to everybody. I’ve got Joel all lined up. And the paper’s behind him; Ventriss knows a potential lawsuit when he sees one. And I can get him Livingston, the paper’s lawyer. With a lawyer like Livingston, he’s got a fighting chance.”

“You’re wasting your time. He doesn’t want any high-powered lawyer. He’s picked a woman who makes her living on charity cases. He certainly doesn’t want or need any help from you. It’s your fault he’s in this mess to start with. You crucified him! For a couple of headlines! What happened to you, Ellison? You used to be someone I respected.”

“He hasn’t got a chance with Sanchez. Get him a real lawyer. Get him—”

“How the hell did you know about Sanchez? He only just told me a minute ago.” Simon’s eyes narrowed. “If I find you have surveillance equipment on him, Jim, so help me I’ll prosecute you and that disgusting rag you work for to the full extent of the law and then some.” He pulled out his cell phone, “Captain Finkleman, please. Sarah? Banks here. I want Sandburg’s hospital room swept for bugs right away. Just trust me on this.” He snapped the phone closed.

Simon turned his back on Jim and walked away, eschewing the elevator and taking the stairs.

Jim stood in the hall a long time, although what he was waiting for he couldn’t have said.

Chapter 30. Courtroom Trauma

Lipshitz Heir Charged with Incompetency

Sandburg Sanity Hearing Today!

Ex-Cascade Industries Workers Unemployed, Unpaid

Police Fear Courthouse Riot

The area surrounding the courthouse was a zoo. This turn of events in the life of Blair Sandburg was the most fascinating human-interest story to hit Cascade since the Angie Ferris case. A large group of former Cascade Industries employees were there, worrying about their futures. The generally nosy public hung out in knots, waiting for a chance to see something, anything.

Nandy, Roger, Joe, and the curry goat lady, whose name was Thelma Aruba, stood around looking nervous. They were more worried about Blair than they were about being reimbursed for old debts. Money came and went, but a good man was a rare treasure. A paisano of Nandy’s appeared at the edge of the crowd, beckoning, and led them in the janitor’s entrance. They quickly grabbed seats at the back of the rapidly filling courtroom.

Inside, the corridor was jammed with reporters and photographers jockeying for position. Celebrity hounds and thrill seekers tried to gain entrance while Kevlar-vested police strove to keep them back.

The courtroom was packed. People stumbled over each other to find a seat. The bailiff and his assistants had their work cut out for them.

The judge’s bench was not yet occupied. The room was abuzz with the chatter of excitement and anticipation.

Among the spectators, Jim Ellison sat quietly beside Joel Taggert, his hearing clamped down tightly. He stared, expressionless, at the floor beneath his feet. Joel glanced at his friend sympathetically. He refrained from taking notes; this was one story he had no intention of covering.

Simon sat at the defendant’s desk, looking tired and angry, beside him, Beverly Sanchez scrawled last minute ideas in a coil-bound notebook. They’d worked day and night to prepare Blair’s defence, and Simon had quickly come to see the wisdom Blair had shown in picking Beverly as his lawyer. She was unconcerned about payment and totally dedicated to Blair. It didn’t matter that if they lost, Blair wouldn’t have much to pay her with. Simon would pay her from his own pocket if it came to that.

Behind Beverly, in the first row of spectators, Rafe sat quietly. He was easily the best-dressed man in the room. In his lap he clutched a small suitcase, hoping for the chance to hand Blair a change of clothing. Nearby was Norma Owens-Thomas, the programmer from next door who’d been so helpful with the Cascade Industries campaign. She turned around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Nandy hugged her in greeting, kissing both cheeks, and asked her to let Blair know the Cascade Industries contingent was seated in the back row.

It was a small group of friends that Blair had gathered around him since he’d been in Cascade, but a very loyal one. Their faces were grim and determined. No one was going to lock up their friend without a fight.

On the opposing side of the courtroom, Lee Brackett and Oliver were seated, conversing smugly, fussing with papers and files. Next to them, Larry Lipshitz, the complainant, sat, head down, toying with his tie, which was beginning to unravel a little. Cassie Wells scanned the courtroom expectantly, as if she was about to watch an entertaining performance being given for her benefit.

Directly behind them sat Brackett’s other partners and legal assistants, along with a professorial-type, presumably an expert witness, a psychiatrist perhaps. The press table was located down one side of the room with representatives from the major dailies, including Gus Ventriss, who had decided to cover the hearing himself since Taggert had refused.

From a side door, Blair entered. Immediately the place was astir. Jim Ellison sat up quickly, attention riveted on Blair. Impulsively, he started to rise, but Joel put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“There he is!” Oliver exclaimed, stating the obvious his forte.

A guard accompanied Blair, holding him by the upper arm. Jim winced. It made Blair look like a criminal, a danger to those in the courtroom. He was glad Blair had waved his right to a jury. A judge, Jim hoped, wouldn’t be swayed by the trappings of the legal system. At least Blair wore normal clothing: wheat-coloured pants, a grey Henley and a sport jacket. Thank God, they hadn’t forced him to wear an orange jumpsuit and leg-irons although Jim suspected Brackett had probably tried for it.

As Blair advanced to his seat, necks craned for a glimpse and hushed comments were whispered back and forth.

Blair looked bad; his face was drawn, with dark circles underscoring his eyes. He glanced neither left nor right, but sat down hard, slumping low in his chair. He stared solemnly into space. Simon Banks leaned over, speaking softly so only Blair could hear. And Jim. It was difficult, but he was beginning to get the hang of the techniques that Blair had written out and given him that last night in the park. He closed his eyes and focussed on his hearing, visualized a dial turning up the volume, gradually reaching out…

“Listen. Brackett just sent a text message to my Blackberry. They want to settle. They,” Simon jerked his chin in the direction of the prosecution. “Are willing to drop the insanity charges if you agree to let Brackett’s firm manage the money for you—a full power of attorney. Here’s your chance to get out of the whole mess. What do you say?”

“Forget it, Simon.” Blair sounded exhausted and depressed. “I’m either crazy or I’m not.” He slouched in his seat. “And no one is more anxious to find out than me.” He glanced at the prosecution seated across the aisle.

Larry Lipshitz looked pleased to see his cousin. He gave Blair a tiny wave. Cassie slapped the waving hand down on the table, hard. She looked at Brackett, concerned. Brackett reassured her with a confident grimace.

There was a stir in the courtroom as the bailiff announced the judge’s arrival. “Quiet, please! This court of the State of Washington, City of Cascade, is now in session, the Honourable May Perlman, Judge, presiding. Be seated.”

The Honourable Judge Perlman peered sternly over her half-glasses. “The court wishes to warn those present that it will tolerate no disturbances.” She focussed her gaze on Blair meaningfully. Looking down at her notes, she began, “Regarding the competency hearing of Blair Donovan Sandburg, are you represented by counsel, Mr. Sandburg?”

“Yes, he is, Your Honour. I, Beverly Sanchez, licensed to practice law in this State, have been retained to represent Mr. Sandburg in these proceedings.”

“That’s very nice, Ms. Sanchez. Very official.” From the angle she was standing, Jim could see a hint of a smile on Sanchez’s face. “However,” Judge Perlman continued. “In future, when I ask Mr. Sandburg a question, I expect him to answer, if you don’t mind too terribly much. This is a hearing, not a trial. If counsel doesn’t know the difference, then perhaps they shouldn’t be here.”

The smile disappeared from Sanchez face as she mumbled an apology.

“Opposing counsel?” The judge inquired mildly. “Opening arguments, please.”

Brackett rose to his feet, “Thank you. If it please the court, Your Honour, I am Lee Brackett of the firm Brackett, Brackett, Brackett and Oliver, established by our grandfather in 1924 and doing continuous business in the State of Washington since then. I will be lead council during this hearing. Today we are representing the interests of our client, Mr. Lawrence Romeo Lipshitz, who is the only other living relative of the late David Xavier Lipshitz.”

Larry Lipshitz looked startled when Brackett identified him for the court by clapping a hand heavily on his shoulder. He looked around, giving a confused half-smile to the judge, to his cousin Blair, and to his wife, who scowled sourly at him.

“Mr. Lipshitz has retained us,” Brackett continued. “Because he does not feel that, in good faith, he can sit by and see the hard-won estate of his beloved uncle dissipated on a whim. Now let me assure the court that we don’t think Mr. Sandburg is a bad person. Indeed, in his delusional state, he’s trying to be the best possible person he can. But his sanity appears to be slipping, and we question his competence to manage his own affairs, let alone an important estate. It’s unfortunate, of course; however, we have no choice but to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Mr. Sandburg is incapable of managing his uncle’s bequest and should, for his own good, be institutionalized until such time as his behaviour is deemed rational.” Brackett turned and faced the packed courtroom. “It’s not that we want to see poor Mr. Sandburg locked away. It’s not a punishment like a prison term. It’s just for his own good. In everyone’s best interests.” Brackett spread his hands wide, as if helpless, being forced to do something he really didn’t want to.

Jim rolled his eyes. Joel placed a hand on Jim’s arm, but Jim wasn’t going anywhere.

Brackett took a few steps to the right; he straightened his tie to the click of a dozen digital cameras.

“There’s to be no photography in the courtroom,” the judge ordered. Throughout the room, impressive digital cameras were packed away. Jim knew from experience that this was all for show and that silent miniature cameras concealed in purses, glasses cases, even within eye-glasses themselves, were being called into service. He hated his profession anew and regretted again having been forced to leave law-enforcement.

“You may continue, Mr. Brackett.”

“I was personally acquainted with the late Mr. Lipshitz, having represented him legally for more than a decade. I think I can safely say that over the years of our association, David and I became friends as well as solicitor and client.” He paused theatrically, having allowed a husky note of grief to creep into his voice. “And I know for a fact, that David Lipshitz did not work himself into an early grave so that this young hippie punk could blow all his hard-earned money on some boondoggle scheme!”

The judge banged her gavel. “Order. Mr. Brackett, you are out of order.”

Brackett dabbed at the corner of his eye with a handkerchief. Jim squinted and cranked up his sense of sight; there were no tears in Brackett’s eyes. And who the hell used a handkerchief these days?

“You’re right, Your Honour. I allowed my emotions to affect my words. It won’t happen again. If it please the court, would you please strike it from the official record?” The judge nodded and directed the court reporter accordingly. “Thank you, Your Honour.”

“This stinks,” Joel whispered to Jim. “The whole thing sounds fake, rehearsed.”

Jim nodded. When did the legal system become about which lawyer was the better showman?

Brackett paused and waited. Finally cluing in, Oliver pushed a pile of newspaper clippings in Brackett’s direction. “I have before me a series of articles written by a journalist who was eyewitness to Mr. Sandburg’s bizarre conduct since arriving in Cascade to claim his inheritance.”

Jim hung his head and yanked in his senses. He’d been subpoenaed, but still hoped he wouldn’t be called upon.

“In these articles, written by the renowned journalist and former detective of the year, James Joseph ‘J.J.’ Ellison, you can read about Mr. Sandburg’s odd and irresponsible behaviour. In fact, as attorney for the estate, I was first hand witness to some of this behaviour myself. If it please the court, I’d like to call on myself to testify.”

“This isn’t a criminal case, Mr. Brackett, so we have some leeway here.” She hesitated a moment. “Okay. I’ll allow it.” She nodded firmly. “You’re already under oath so just say your piece.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. Personally, I first met Mr. Sandburg on April 28th, when Simon Banks and I drove all the way to Clayton Falls to advise Mr. Sandburg in person of his inheritance. His reactions, even then, were strange. He wasn’t interested in the money at all, and read a book while we tried to work out the details. Can you imagine being told you’d inherited $20 million and not registering some sort of emotion?”

There was a general buzz about the room, murmurs of “If it were me…” and “That is weird!”

Brackett waited for the room to fall silent again before continuing. “We suggested he come to Cascade as soon as possible. He grew angry and demanded we take him that night. Oddly, he had a suitcase already packed and ready, as if he might have to leave town suddenly.” Brackett trailed off, looking confused, as if he were wondering why anyone would feel they needed to be so prepared.

“It didn’t go down like that.” Simon’s mutterings were audible enough that the judge threw him a sharp look.

“So imagine, if you will,” Brackett carried on. “Two men you’ve never met before come to your door saying, ‘You’ve inherited a fortune. We’ll be going now.’ Would you go with them? Would you just take off from your job as a high school science teacher without a word, leaving your colleagues in the lurch, abandoning your students? Now I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I think I would have wanted to see a little more identification than a couple of business cards. How many of you would do that? Most of us won’t even open an email that says, ‘You’ve won $20 million,’ let alone quit ours jobs, abandon our responsibilities, and head to the big city with strangers.”

There was a murmur of consensus among the crowd. The judge raised her gavel to strike, but the room quieted down under just the threat.

“So I say, leaving off being a witness and moving back into my role as lawyer, that this man, Blair Sandburg is like a child. Anyone could lead him down the garden path, and I’m afraid that’s what’s happened. It’s a sad story, really, of innocence and disability being manipulated for greed and gain.”

Jim couldn’t imagine where Brackett was going with this. The surreal re-telling of events didn’t have even a passing connection with the brilliant and resourceful man he’d come to… be friends with.

“A former employee of Cascade Industries—one Fernando Capobianco.” Brackett pointed accusingly at Nandy at the back of the room. “Capobianco is an unemployed assembly line worker who broke into David Lipshitz’s home and threatened Blair Sandburg with a gun and a sob story. Next thing you know, Sandburg has added this guy to his payroll and is handing out huge sums of money to all Capobianco’s buddies. And, if allowed to continue, he intends to give them David Lipshitz’ entire fortune and more!”

The conversations within the courtroom became so loud that the bailiff was forced to call for order.

“And where were you at this time, Mr. Brackett?” the judge asked. “Where were the people who were to protect Mr. Sandburg?”

“Interesting you should ask that, Your Honour. Mr. Sandburg refused to engage my services or that of any legal counsel. I’m surprised to see Ms. Sanchez with him today. Apparently, Mr. Sandburg feels that with $20 million comes with no responsibilities, no attention to detail. Why at one point, I retained a respected off-duty policeman to accompany him to his destinations for his own protection, but he tricked the man and locked him into a closet.”

There was a gasp from the crowd.

“The only person whom Sandburg allowed to stay near him was Simon Banks, who, apparently, has become so enamoured of Mr. Sandburg’s money, or, perhaps of Mr. Sandburg himself…” Brackett paused, to imply some sort of scandal. Simon couldn’t have looked angrier if he tried. Blair just slumped in his seat. “That Mr. Banks has thrown his weight behind the absurd scheme to give away all the money.”

“I take it you will not be calling on Mr. Banks to testify then.”

“Now hold on a minute!” Simon leapt to his feet in protest.

“Mr. Banks, I presume,” the Judge said dryly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Uh, yes, Your Honour. Simon Banks, here. Now I want you to know—”

“Mr. Banks? I’m not sure who you are or how you’re connected with this case, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you are competent enough to sit quietly. Or else you will be escorted from the room. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honour.” Simon sank into his seat with air of defeat.

“Now who’s going to speak for Blair?” Joel mumbled. Jim began to change his mind about not being called upon.

The judge turned back to Brackett, who had stood quietly. He looked smug. Jim figured he’d set the whole thing up so that Blair’s side would look bad. He’d already discredited Blair, Simon and this Capobianco guy. Jim was a little leery of the factory worker himself. Brackett had said he’d pulled a gun on Blair although Jim had heard it hadn’t been loaded.

“Ms. Sanchez, do you wish to cross-examine Mr. Brackett in his role as witness.”

Sanchez conferred with Blair for a moment. The discussion appeared heated.

“Ms. Sanchez. We’re on the clock here,” the judge prodded.

Sanchez made one last comment to Blair who sat back with his arms folded, shaking his head. Sanchez sighed. “Apparently, we do not at this time, Your Honour.”

“Fine. Mr. Brackett, your next witness.”

“If the Court pleases, I shall call upon Dr. Emil Von Holler, if he will be good enough to give us his expert medical opinion. Dr. Von Holler is an eminent psychiatrist employed by Cascade General. Dr. Von Holler?”

The distinguished-looking man who was seated behind the complainant’s table rose and walked to the front of the room.

“Now, Dr. Von Holler,” Brackett began. “Will you kindly tell the court your opinion on this case?”

“I had the opportunity to interview Mr. Sandburg on two occasions. After careful consideration, I have concluded that this is a severe case of manic depression. I suspect Assperger’s syndrome and possibly obsessive compulsiveness, as well, as evidenced by his inability to leave his reading to give his attention to the new information that he’d inherited $20 million. In cases of this kind, patients sometimes go on for years before being detected.”

“Why does it take so long, Doctor?” Brackett led.

“It takes so long to detect them because their mood changes so often and so quickly. One day he’s dancing in the streets feeding doughnuts to horses, and the next day, despondent, practically catatonic, as you see before you now. I think I can explain it better with a chart.”

One of Brackett’s paralegals jumped up with a large, cardboard-backed chart, holding it up where the judge could see it, then turning it to face the crowd. Jim saw a straight black line running across the paper, from left to right; a few calibration marks along each axis.

“When the subject’s mood is below this line,” Dr. Von Holler continued, pointing at the centre line, “they are extremely depressed, melancholy, impossible to live with, and often become violent.” He took a red marker and placed the tip on the bottom left-hand corner. “From this mood the manic depressive might gradually change until they reach this state.” He moved the marker upwards, drawing a line almost straight up the paper, stopping when it hit the centre line. “Here is lucidity. Here they are perfectly normal. As normal as you or I, assuming, of course, that we are normal.” He waited, probably for laughter that didn’t come.

He continued his line to the top of the paper. “Then, the mood changes again, until they reach this state, a state of highest exaltation. Here everything is fine. Here the world is beautiful. Here they are so elated, they would give you the shirt off their backs!” He arced the line and drew it downwards again, then up, then down, until he had a series of waves across the paper, intersected by the middle line. “Up. Down. Up. Down. It’s an emotional roller coaster. Troubling for us, and devastating for the sufferer.” He capped his pen, resignation in his stance. He, like Brackett had earlier, conveyed that he was just doing what was best for Blair. Jim thought he’d puke.

“Dr. Von Holler, how would you say that applied to Mr. Sandburg’s case?” Brackett asked.

“The symptoms are obvious.” He pointed to the top line. “When he is here, on top of the wave, he feels nothing but kindliness and warmth toward his fellow man. He wants them around him. He experiences high elation, such as when he chases fire engines, or sets up endowments, or plans to reopen that factory. He feels an intense desire to help humanity. This is contrasted with his other moods—when he humiliates his peers in public, when he sneaks out of a party he threw, as he sits here today,” Von Holler gestured at Blair who slumped in his seat, clearly distressed. “He sits over there, almost catatonic. Yes, I’m so sorry to say, this man needs to be not only institutionalized, but heavily medicated before he does damage to himself or someone else.”

“Thank you, Doctor; you have been most helpful.

“Ms. Sanchez. Any questions for Dr. Von Holler?”

“Yes, Your Honour. Just a few.”

“Well, go ahead. Ask your questions, then.”

Blair could be seen to pat Sanchez’s arm as she rose and walked toward the witness stand. “Dr. Von Holler, you said you…” she checked her notes, clearly quoting back his own words to him. “‘Had the opportunity to interview Mr. Sandburg on two occasions.’ Is that right?”

“Why, yes. That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He looked at her patronizingly.

“How much time would you say that was, cumulatively?”

Von Holler looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, now, I’m a very busy man. It’s a very busy hospital and what with holidays and budget cuts, well, I…”

“Can we get a number, please, Doctor? An estimate, of course.”

“Let’s see. I’d have to check my files, but I think I probably saw him an appropriate length of time, given the circumstances.”

“Just answer the question, please.”

Von Holler looked down, stroking his goatee and apparently counting. “About 20 minutes, I believe.”

“Twenty minutes each time you saw him for a total of 40 minutes?”

“No. Twenty minutes in total. Maybe 15 the first time and five the second, just to confirm my diagnosis.”

The courtroom was awash in whispered conversations. The judge looked very concerned; the Bracketts shuffled papers and looked at each other accusingly.

“Twenty minutes, Dr. Von Holler. And during those 20 minutes, did Mr. Sandburg act in any irrational ways?”

“Well, not exactly, although he was rather focused on some books he had with him. In fact, he paid so little attention to me that I threatened to have them confiscated! And then…”

“And then, Doctor?”

“He took over the interview! He began to ask the questions. It was obvious that he’d had prior counselling, and he even admitted to it. Plus he’d taken a minor in psychology while at university. These kind of informed patients are hardest to diagnose as they tend to ‘perform’ for their doctors.”

“I see.” Sanchez paced the front of the room. “So even though Mr. Sandburg falls into the category of those patients who are hardest to diagnose, you still feel that you only needed 20 minutes to do so. Is that right?”

“Well, there are all his aberrant behaviours.”

“Aberrant behaviours such as?”

“Why all the things he’d done that were in the paper!”

“So, let me make sure I understand this. Blair Sandburg exhibited no ‘aberrant behaviours’ that you were first-hand witness to. You based your findings strictly on what you read in the newspapers. Is that right?”

“And he’d been under been under the care of a psychiatrist in the past.”

“Oh, so seeing a psychiatrist makes you crazy. Is that what you’re saying, Doctor?”

The courtroom laughed. Even the judge looked mildly amused.

“No, wait. I…”

“I’m sorry, Doctor. But I doubt that Sigmund Freud himself could diagnose anyone in 20 minutes. I’d like to ask the court to strike the doctor’s testimony from the record.”

“I object!” Three Bracketts plus Oliver were all on their feet.

“Thank you, gentlemen. A single objection will suffice. I tend to agree with Ms. Sanchez. I know I certainly wouldn’t want to be judged sane or insane based on a 20-minute assessment plus what the newspapers wrote about me. I was something of a radical during my college years in the 60s. The newspapers have a way of skewing things, don’t they, Joel?”

She threw her gaze across the courtroom at Jim’s seatmate. Joel was blushing furiously. “Uh, hi, May.” Well, well, thought Jim. Cascade is more of a small town than I ever thought. It occurred to him that his dad golfed with Gus Ventriss. And hadn’t his grandparents been friends with a family named Lipshitz at one time?

The judge’s voice brought Jim out of his reverie. “The testimony of Dr. Von Holler, while fascinating, is disallowed. Thank you, Ms. Sanchez. Doctor Von Holler, you may be seated.”

Von Holler returned to his seat only long enough to gather his belongings. Face a disturbing shade of burgundy, he stalked silently from the courtroom. Brackett’s minion, who had been acting as a flip-chart stand, slunk back to his seat as well, scrunching the useless chart under his chair and out of sight.

“Mr. Brackett. Please approach the bench. You, too, Ms. Sanchez.” When the lawyers stood before her, she glared at both of them. “Mr. Brackett, were you aware of how sketchy Dr. Von Holler’s diagnosis was?” Before Brackett could answer, she continued. “Do your homework from now on, Lee. You’ve got a worthy opponent here, and she deserves better than that. As does Mr. Sandburg and Mr. Lipshitz. You’ll get no easy win here, today. You may go back to your seats.”

Jim nearly fisted the air. It was obvious from the use of Brackett’s first name that he and the judge were acquainted, maybe had worked together at some point, or attended the same social events, but Jim knew from his years as a cop and later working the crime beat that Judge Perlman was considered by all to be above reproach. Her integrity was her badge of honour, and Jim felt that if nothing else, Blair would get a fair hearing. He could only hope that Sanchez was up to the challenge. Brackett was a hell of a lawyer and not one who held integrity in particularly high regard.

There was considerable shuffling and hasty re-strategizing at the complainant’s table. Finally, Brackett rose, buttoning his expensive suit coat. “It’s a shame that the doctor’s expert testimony has been disallowed. I’d like to respectfully remind the court that just because Dr. Von Holler undermined his own diagnosis, it does not rule out the possibility of said diagnosis. Mr. Sandburg’s competency is still the subject of this hearing. I, myself,” Brackett continued. “Felt unable to keep pace with Mr. Sandburg’s mental quirks and was constantly fearful of being involved in his questionable schemes. I must admit that, when my firm finally realized we would not be retained as council to the estate, we were concerned, but not a little relieved as well. The last time I had contact with Mr. Sandburg was the morning after he tied up traffic for an hour feeding doughnuts to a poor horse. And by his own statement was waiting for said horse to ask for a cup of coffee.”

The audience laughed aloud at this, recalling the first newspaper article.

“We have photographs to substantiate that little episode and other photographs which show Mr. Sandburg interfering with firefighters at a dangerous and costly fire. This scarcely sounds like the actions of a man to whom the disposition of $20 million may safely be entrusted. The writer of these articles, a man whose intelligence and veracity in the newspaper world is unquestioned, held Blair Sandburg in such contempt that he felt compelled to give the man a belittling nickname. Like Charles Manson, Jimmy Jones and so many other cult leaders before him, Blair Sandburg’s mental instability makes him both charismatic and messianic. He has an attractive and persuasive manner that allows him to lead otherwise right-thinking people down his own personal garden path. It was this kind of nonsense that led Mr. Ellison to aptly name him ‘The Guide’.”

Again the audience tittered. Jim buried his face in his hands, groaning at his part in bringing about this horrendous hearing.

“Your Honour, at this time, we would like to call James Joseph Ellison to the witness stand.”

There was a mild stir, as all waited expectantly for Jim to appear.

“Mr. Ellison, please.”

Jim, gaze on Blair, slowly walked to the stand.

Blair averted his face, refusing to look at Jim.

Jim continued to stare at Blair as he was sworn in.

“Raise your right hand, please.”

As the swearing in concluded, Brackett stepped up to question Jim.

“Mr. Ellison, are you employed by The Cascade Times?”

“No!” Jim winced at his own vehemence. He’d do Blair no good if he appeared irrational.

Brackett’s eyes widened in surprise. “You are under oath, Mr. Ellison. I ask you again, are you employed by The Cascade Times?”

“No, I am not. I resigned this week.”

Brackett rolled his eyes. “Well, prior to that time, were you employed by The Cascade Times?”

“Yes.”

“When you were employed by The Times, were you given an assignment to follow the activities of Blair Sandburg?”

“Yes.”

“Did you subsequently write a series of articles about him?”

“Yes! But I—”

Brackett silenced Jim by holding the clippings high, so everyone in the courtroom could see them. “Are these the articles?”

“Yes! But it wasn’t like—”

“Were you present when all these things took place?

“Yes! Listen, you can’t—”

“Are they true?”

“No! None of it. It’s been—”

“But they did take place?”

“They’re slanted. Skewed. Just to make him look silly!”

“But you saw them happen?”

“Yes, but I—” Brackett interrupted Jim one too many times, and he lost his brittle hold on his temper. “Stop cutting me off, Brackett, or so help me—” Jim silenced himself, then, knowing he shouldn’t finish that threat before witnesses. Not without planning a really good alibi first. He turned to the judge. “What the hell kind of hearing is this? What are you trying to do, persecute the man?” He sat back down heavily, unaware he’d risen.

“Mr. Ellison, another outburst like that, and I shall hold you in contempt! We’re not interested in your opinion of the merits of this case. You’re here to testify. Now stay in your seat and answer the questions!” She nodded at Brackett. “Proceed.”

Brackett beamed victoriously, pushing his advantage, firing questions at Jim again. “So, Mr. Ellison, were you with Mr. Sandburg the evening that he chased a fire engine and deliberately crossed the police lines, yelling at firemen to listen to his ‘expertise’, and trying to wrest control of the fire crew from the fire chief himself?”

“That’s not what—”

“Just answer the question.”

“It’s not.”

“Yes or no, Mr. Ellison.”

“No. Yes. I… I won’t have any more of my words twisted against me. Not anymore. That’s what’s got Blair in trouble in the first place—people twisting his words and actions. Then the paper twisting mine. And now you. If I’m not allowed to say what I mean, then it’s best I say nothing at all.”

“That’s fine then, Mr. Ellison. We don’t need anything further from you. That’s all.”

Jim stood and protested, practically yelling, “No, that is not all! If you’d just let me explain—”

“That’s all, Mr. Ellison. That’s all. Bailiff!”

A bailiff took Jim by the arm. “Come on, now. Come on!”

Brackett ignored Jim’s ongoing outburst, turning to Judge Perlman, “Your Honour, I’d like to submit these articles as evidence.”

Jim struggled away from the bailiff, aware that if he were too violent, he’d be locked up where he couldn’t do any good for Blair, not that he had so far, but he had to keep trying. “Let go of me!” he shouted, jerking his arm free.

“Mr. Ellison, please!” the judge ordered.

“I’ve got a right to be heard! My opinion is as good as that quack psychiatrist. Better. I know Blair better than he did.” Jim did his best to reign in his temper; it wouldn’t help anyone if he lost it. “It’s obviously a frame-up. They’re trying to railroad this man for the money they can get out of him!”

Brackett protested. “Your Honour, this is preposterous!”

The judge waved him down with a dismissive gesture of her hand.

“Certainly I wrote those articles. I was going to get a raise, and a month’s vacation! Ventriss put a spin on them. But I stopped writing them when I found out what Blair was all about! When I realized how real he was.” Jim spoke directly to the judge, as if they were the only two people on earth. “Blair could never fit in with our phoney society because he’s honest and sincere and good. If that man is crazy, Your Honour, the rest of us belong in straight-jackets.”

Brackett was livid. He screamed at the judge, “Your Honour, what he was saying has no bearing on the case! I object.”

Screaming at Judge Perlman was the best thing Brackett could have done… for Blair. “Mr. Brackett, you will get a hold of yourself. I can understand why these people are misbehaving—they’re emotionally involved in the case; but you, you’re here in your professional capacity. Unless there’s some level of emotional involvement—say a vendetta against Mr. Sandburg, or an unnatural interest in managing his money.” Brackett went pale, making feeble protests. The judge continued, “Now, you asked that this man’s articles be admitted as evidence. You can’t now say his opinion has no bearing on the case. Let him speak.”

Jim returned to the front of the room and reassumed the stand. He looked over at Blair. Blair stared back at him as if he’d never seen him before.

Jim took a deep breath, now that he was finally allowed to speak, he wasn’t sure what to say, what he could possibly say to express what Blair Sandburg was truly all about. “Your Honour, if you just got to know Blair, to spend time with him and come to respect and like him as I do, you’d know what a fine and honourable person he is. He doesn’t deserve any of this. If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me. I mislead and deceived him—deceived all of Cascade with those twisted articles that made him look crazy. He’s not crazy, Your Honour. He’s… he’s… he’s bright and beautiful and wonderful. I—”

Brackett jumped up. “Your Honour, this is absurd. Mr. Ellison’s acting like they’re in love or something.” He sneered, obviously grasping at straws to paint Jim and Blair in a bad light.

Time to exit the closet, Jim thought. He raised his chin, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Brackett paused, no doubt realizing he had stumbled on something worth pursuing. “Well, you are in love with him, aren’t you?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jim repeated.

Brackett pushed further. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. And last time I checked the constitution, a person couldn’t be locked up for an alternate sexual orientation. So, I say again, how is my being in love with Blair Sandburg relevant to this case? And, by the way, although we’ve just established beyond a reasonable doubt that I’m in love with Blair, I sincerely doubt he’s got anything but contempt for me, given what I’ve done to him.” Jim stared at Brackett defiantly, deliberately avoiding seeing Blair even in the most peripheral of glances.

Brackett turned to the judge. “Your Honour, his testimony is of no value. Why shouldn’t he defend him? It’s a tribute to American gay pride. I’m not saying that nobody likes the boy. I’m fond of him myself, in a fatherly and appropriate way.” He adjusted his jacket. “But that doesn’t mean to say—”

In the middle of his speech, Joel appeared at his elbow. “When Mr. Brackett here gets through, May… I mean, Your Honour, I’d like to verify what Jim said about the articles. I’m his editor. When he quit his job, he told me what a terrific and caring person Blair Sandburg is. I saw the articles Jim wrote before our boss, Gus Ventriss over there, got hold of them and re-wrote them to make Sandburg look like a fool. Sold a lot of papers, but looks like they might just have ruined Sandburg’s life. Jim’s too, it’s starting to look like.”

“If you have anything to say, Joel, wait to be called upon and take the stand!”

“I’ve already said it. I just thought I’d like to get my two cents in.”

Simon rose as well. “Your Honour. I’ve got a couple of cents I’d like to put in—”

“Sit down, Mr. Banks! I’ve already told you.”

“I’ve been around this man ever since he came to Cascade—”

The judge pounded her gavel, interrupting Simon. “Sit down! There will be no further interruptions.”

When quiet returned, Judge Perlman spoke, “In the interest of Mr. Sandburg, I have tolerated a great deal of informality, but if there is one more outburst, I will clear this courtroom. Is that clear?” Her gaze flitted sharply about the courtroom, coming to rest on Simon, then Joel. There were mumbled assents from these men.

“Ms. Sanchez. Do you wish to question Mr. Ellison?”

Jim watched Blair confer with his friends, feeling very much a pariah. He had so many regrets.

There appeared to be some dissension, but eventually, Sanchez rose. “No questions, your honour. We feel Mr. Ellison has been heard from more than enough.”

“The witness is dismissed then. And Mr. Ellison? You’ve had your day in court. No more outbursts, please. This is your final warning. I’m instructing the bailiff to arrest you for contempt the next time you say or do anything I don’t directly ask of you.”

The judge looked at her bailiff, who nodded, then at Jim.

“Yes, Your Honour,” he said. He was so embarrassed he wanted to leave—not just the courtroom, but Cascade altogether. Peru had never looked better. He sat down again, though, needing to be there, to see what happened next, to see Blair even if for the last time ever.

“Allow me to remind you and everyone else here today that this is just a hearing. It’s not a murder trial, although a man’s future is at stake. We’ve had enough courtroom theatrics for a prime time TV show. Could we please move this along in a civilized manner? Mr. Brackett, how many more witnesses do you have?”

“None, Your Honour. My client has instructed me, against my better judgement, to dispense with any witnesses for the defence. So, with your permission, I’d like to give closing arguments.”

“Thank God. You may proceed.”

Brackett paced in front of the judge for a moment, then began what seemed to Jim to be a pretty theatrical speech, in spite of the judge’s directive. “We’re not concerned with Mr. Sandburg’s little antics: horses will survive a few doughnuts, the theatre company will survive being made profitable, and he’s not the first person to sneak out of his own party. These things don’t matter. Even his involvement with the fire department is not something that concerns my client. What does concern us though, is the far-reaching precedent Blair Sandburg could be setting with his plan to reopen Cascade Industries.”

“Now I was involved with Mr. Lipshitz’s decision to close the factory and move the manufacturing offshore. By reopening the plant, especially with all these generous reimbursements and bonuses Mr. Sandburg is offering, he sets a terrible and dangerous precedent. Firstly,…” Brackett held up his index finger. “He puts hundreds of workers out of work in the countries where our goods are currently made. I know, I know. That’s not our concern, but consider this, if you will. We have the social assistance programs in place here in the good old US of A to help workers who have been laid off. They can collect unemployment benefits, enrol in subsidized re-training programs, receive grants to return to school, or low-interest relocation loans. In many third-world countries, unemployment means starving to death—not just for the worker, but for their entire extended family. We’ve all seen horrific pictures of children starving to death in the streets. Do we really want to contribute to this?”

Murmurs rippled the courtroom; Jim saw heads nodding here and there.

“Secondly,” Brackett held two fingers aloft. “The goods that will be manufactured here in Cascade will not be able to compete financially in the marketplace. That labour here was pricing the goods too high to sell was the reason David Lipshitz closed the factory and went offshore in the first place. Nothing’s changed in the few short years since then, so the items they make here will go unsold, and the plant will end up closed again. A waste of everyone’s time and effort, only this time, Mr. Sandburg and anyone unlucky enough to have invested with him, will have poured so much money into the start-up costs and product subsidies that he won’t have the money to take the plant offshore again. So everybody loses. Sure, those workers who were unemployed from the first closing will have made a big cash grab, but by the time they’ve paid off debts and spent money on their pastimes of choice, there’ll be nothing left there either.”

The wealthy people in the room nodded, understanding Brackett’s wording “pastimes of choice” to mean liquor, lottery tickets, a bevy of illegitimate children, and drugs. Nandy and the few other blue-collar workers in the room were incensed, but held their peace for Blair’s sake.

“Thirdly,” Brackett brandished three fingers in the air, “why should we reward bad behaviour? When Cascade Industries closed five years ago, many of its brighter and more motivated workers went out and found other jobs. Some, finding nothing in Cascade, moved to other cities and towns. Some took advantage of the retraining programs I mentioned a minute ago and actually improved their lot in life; they were given lemons, and they made lemonade.” He chuckled at his own joke. No one else did.

“But many—over half of the former workers—did nothing. For five years they have sat around collecting unemployment or welfare or charity handouts instead of getting up and going to work every day like you and I do. They claim they can’t find jobs, but how often do you see ‘help wanted’ signs in the windows of local businesses? They just don’t want to work, and now Blair Sandburg is going to take the hard-earned money of his uncle and give it to these people. It’s tragically ironic, really, that David Lipshitz started from nothing and built his financial empire on nothing but hard work. Then his nephew comes along, inherits it all, having done nothing to earn it, and is prepared to give it all away to a bunch of parasites!”

Brackett stopped there, breathing hard. The courtroom was abuzz with opinions. Nandy and his friends were outraged. The bailiff had to restrain Thelma Aruba, who was shouting at anyone who would listen that she’d worked every day of her life.

It seemed to Jim that the unruly protests of those accused only made them look worse in the eyes of the privileged.

Once the room was quiet, Brackett summarized. “In these times, with our country suffering from many economic ailments and political divisions, and endangered by an undercurrent of social unrest, the promulgation of such a weird, fantastic and impractical plan as contemplated by the defendant is capable of fomenting a disturbance from which the country may not soon recover. It is our duty to stop it! Our government is fully aware of its difficulties and can pull itself out of its economic rut without the assistance of Mr. Sandburg, or any other well-meaning…” Brackett searched for the right word. “Fool,” he said at last. “The prosecution rests.”

Chapter 31. Clearing the Heir

Suddenly a voice rose from Blair’s side of the courtroom, “A fool and his money.” A woman’s voice, strong and commanding. Every head in the room swung toward it.

“What’s that?” the judge asked, searching the room for the speaker.

“A fool, Your Honour,” Beverly Sanchez repeated, rising from her seat, “and his money are soon parted.”

“And this sage pronouncement is relative to these proceedings how?” Judge Perlman asked, clearly at the end of her patience.

“I think we’re guilty of false logic, Your Honour. Logic being the basis for jurisprudence, which is the basis of the law.”

“Thank you for Law School 101, Ms Sanchez. Shall I assume you’ve begun your closing arguments?”

“Yes, Your Honour. I’d just like to say a few words. I won’t take long. And after all, a man’s future is at stake here.”

“Proceed. Just, please, for God’s sake, be relevant!”

“Thank you, Your Honour. I began by citing the old saw, ‘A fool and his money are soon parted’; but as I said, I think we’re guilty of faulty logic. We’re assuming since A equals B, then B must equal A, but in this case it doesn’t.”

There was a fair amount of murmuring in the court, even a couple of calls for explanation.

“Okay, bear with me. All dogs are animals, right?” Nodding heads all over the courtroom. “Therefore, all animals are dogs, yes?”

The mutters of “I get it” were just about equal to the “huh?”s in the audience. Sanchez continued. “So, if a fool and his money are soon parted, then someone who’s giving away money must be a fool, right?” Now the muttering had an unsure quality to it. Jim cranked his hearing and found most people were just confused.

“Your Honour, I’d like to ask a few people in the room a question. May I have the latitude?”

The judge just rolled her eyes. “Why not? I’ve granted so much latitude here today I’m surprised we’re not all suffering from oxygen deprivation.” There were snorts and chuckles at that. “You may proceed, Ms. Sanchez.”

“Thank you again. I’d like to start by asking you a question, if I may. Do you, Judge Perlman, make sizable contributions to charity?”

The judge sputtered, looking at Sanchez like her sanity was in question. “That’s personal, Ms. Sanchez.”

“Not really, Your Honour.” She held up a brochure. “While I was waiting outside Mr. Sandburg’s hospital room, I picked up this brochure. It says here that The May Perlman Wing of Cascade General will be breaking ground shortly. I think it’s tremendous of you to have endowed an entire wing. Exceedingly generous. I’d like to think that although you parted with the money, that you are no fool by any means.”

The judge looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be pissed or pleased. She, apparently, settled for blushing a deep scarlet. The room began clapping, and the bailiff called for order.

“I’d like to ask Mr. Gus Ventriss the same question. Mr. Ventriss, I understand you’re a huge supporter of the Greek community. New immigrants can get language classes and job training at your community centre, and the Greek Orthodox Church on Maple received all new stained-glass windows after the recent vandalism. Very commendable, sir. Your devotion to the community is praiseworthy indeed.”

Ventriss looked shocked and half-stood to acknowledge the applause from the courtroom. Jim was surprised; he hadn’t thought there was anything good about his ex-boss. Maybe there was even something good to be said about—

“Lee Brackett. Do you give to charity?”

“That’s none of your or anybody else’s business, Ms. Sanchez. What my family does with our…”

A tiny voice tried to rise above the noise of the crowded courtroom. A blonde woman rose to her feet, clutching her purse nervously, head down. “Breast cancer,” she mumbled.

Brackett glared at her, ordering, “Sit down, Rhonda. That’s enough!”

“No, Mr. Brackett. You should get credit for the one good thing you’ve done.”

“Please address the court, Ms….”

“Rhonda Cross, ma’am. Uh, Your Honour. I’m Lee Brackett’s administrative assistant.” She almost curtsied. The judge made hurry-up motions at her. “Well, if it’ll help Mr. Sandburg there stay out of the insane asylum, I think you should know that Mr. Brackett and his brothers lost their mother to breast cancer several years ago. Now every clinic and hospital in town has a mammogram machine from them. When you’re getting a mammogram, you should thank Brackett, Brackett, Brackett and Oliver. He’s their cousin,” she added, ducking her head.

The applause started out light this time, but grew quickly. Jim yanked down his hearing and clapped along with the rest of them.

“Now, I’d like to tell you how I met Mr. Sandburg. Yes, Your Honour, I’m wrapping up.” Beverly smiled at the judge who leaned heavily on her elbows, looking resigned at having pretty much lost control of the proceedings. “I was representing an unemployed single mother, on a pro bono case who claimed to have had a child by the late David Lipshitz.”

The crowd reacted with sounds of shock.

“I checked out her story, and the society pages at the time, about five years ago, did feature pictures of Mr. Lipshitz squiring my client to many events. I believed the allegation and, apparently, so did my client. She wasn’t asking for much, just enough to put her son through a good private school and pay for his teeth to be straightened. It wasn’t until the DNA test came back last week that we were sure that Mr. Lipshitz was not the father. But, even though the suit proved false, Mr. Sandburg set up a trust fund for this child and his half sister to be able to attend the best schools and the best orthodontists in Cascade. And Mr. Sandburg hired my client to help with the re-instatement of the Cascade Industries workers with a promise of a clerical job once the plant was up and running again.”

A smattering of clapping broke out, but died once Sanchez held up her hand for silence.

“He also endowed a scholarship at Rainier, although it did have a couple of odd caveats attached. The first was that a Mr. Tom Washington, currently employed at the Rainier University Alumni Centre as a waiter, be the first recipient of the bursary which would cover his entire tuition and living expenses for as long as he chose to remain in school, provided he pursue a degree in anthropology. And the second, that Professor Eli Stoddard never be allowed to sit on the committee that awards the annual bursaries.”

The room buzzed. A distinguished-looking man at the back of the room rose. “I deserved that,” he said. “In my lust to further my career, I have behaved unforgivably toward Blair and Tom and several other students. I shall speak to Chancellor Edwards on Monday and make arrangements for restitution.” He turned and headed toward the door, turning back to the crowd once he reached it. “I do make generous donations to the Heart and Stroke Society.” Silence hung over the courtroom. If he’d been expecting applause, Jim thought, he was sorely disappointed. Stoddard’s shoulders slumped as he left the room.

“You’re all familiar with Blair’s plan for re-opening Cascade Industries. Now that’s crazy, isn’t it?” Beverly’s eyes darted around the room, daring anyone to agree with her. “That’s really the entire basis for this competency hearing today, isn’t it?” There were nods about the room, especially on the bench where the judge seemed to think that maybe Sanchez was reaching her conclusion. “Isn’t this just insane? To bring jobs that have been farmed offshore back to American workers? To lower unemployment and give our local economy a boost? To help people who want to work do exactly that? Sounds crazy to me, Your Honour.” She made the twirling sign beside her head and crossed her eyes. “Yeah, sounds crazy to me.”

She turned to the judge’s bench. “Thank you, Your Honour.”

Judge Perlman leaned forward, “Mr. Sandburg, before the court arrives at a decision, isn’t there anything you wish to say?”

Blair rose to his feet. “Yes, Your Honour. I think I’d like to get in my two cents’ worth after all.”

The judge seemed surprised. “Take the stand.”

There was a general stir of excitement and whispering.

“Well, I don’t know where to begin. There’s been so many things said about me. Ever since I returned to Cascade, people—lawyers, the media, even my friends—have been telling me I’m a bit Looney Tunes. I guess I was starting to believe it. Hell, Doctor Von Heller there thinks I have Ass-wipes syndrome or something.”

“That’s Assberger’s Syndrome. And it’s Von Holler,” Oliver corrected. His cousins yanked him back into his seat.

“Whatever. So I thought I’d wait and see what other people said. I mean, how often do you have the chance to attend your own funeral?” He shrugged. “This was a lot like that.”

He shrugged again. “Actually, I was beginning to wonder myself if I was crazy—what do I know about handling huge sums of money? I’m an anthropologist and high school science teacher. I know how to dig up old civilizations and put on amateur musicals.” The courtroom tittered. “See, the thing is, I had to find out if I was delusional about my ability to manage my uncle’s money. He earned it. It was his, and he wanted to see good things done with it.”

“Well, Mr. Sandburg. Are you delusional?” Judge Perlman asked.

“No. Actually, I think I’m pretty sane. And a nice guy, too, which is a much rarer commodity than sanity. Anyway, I’m making my cousin Larry my co-director of the Cascade Industries project. That way, if one of us does get delusional, the other will be there to reign him in.”

The court buzzed with chatter. Blair waited for it to calm down again.

“About my reading so much. It seems like a lot of fuss has been made about that. If a man’s crazy just because he reads, then somebody better look into it. There are a lot of book readers running around loose. Maybe even among us today!” He mimed mock-horror. Even the judge laughed.

She was still smiling when she asked, “Mr. Sandburg, you haven’t yet touched upon a most important thing. This rather fantastic idea of yours to give away your entire fortune. It is, to say the least, very unusual.”

“Right. I’m just getting to that, Your Honour.”

“Suppose you were living in a small town and getting along fine, and suddenly somebody dropped $20 million in your lap. Suppose you discovered that all that money was messing up your life, was bringing a whole whack of vultures to your door, and making you lose faith in people. You’d be a little worried, wouldn’t you? I guess our good shrink there would say you were riding on those bottom waves.” He moved his hand up and down in imitation of the waves the Doctor had drawn on his chart. “So, is it crazy then, if you decide to get rid of something that is anathema to everything you are, everything you’d been raised to believe in?”

Lee Brackett jumped up, crying, “If this man is permitted to carry out his plan, repercussions will be felt that will rock the foundations of our entire governmental system!”

The judge pounded her gavel until he became silent. “Please, Mr. Brackett! Proceed, Mr. Sandburg.”

“Personally, I don’t know what Mr. Brackett’s raving about. From what I can see, no matter what system of government we have, there will always be problems with our social systems and not enough money to fix them. If all the rich people went around trying to help out, I think that would be a pretty good thing, don’t you, Judge Perlman, benefactor of the Cascade General? And you, Mr. Ventriss? I may not agree with the way you skew your newspaper articles…” There was general laughter among the audience. “…but I can’t argue with your community efforts. And you, Lee, benefactor of the women of Cascade. And so modest about it, too.”

Brackett blushed, but his brothers beamed, and Oliver touched a tissue to the corner of his eye.

“That’s all I’m trying to do with this money. Give it back to the community it came from.”

He paused, letting that settle in. At the back of the room, Thelma Aruba shouted, “Testify!”

“Right on, sistah!” Blair called back, waving. “Now I’m supposed to stick to the facts, so here’s a couple more. One.” He held up one finger, mimicking Brackett’s identical gesture during his closing arguments. “I’ve talked with my cousin Larry Lipshitz. He doesn’t care about the money at all. In fact, he thinks that if he were in control, he’d probably carry on with my ‘questionable’ scheme to re-open Cascade Industries.”

There were sounds of shock all over the courtroom, most especially at the complainant’s bench. “It’s actually his wife, Cassie Wells, who wants the money, and as far as I know, the whole reason Uncle David left me the money in the first place is that he wanted good done with it. He was sure that if Cassie got her hands on it, the only people to benefit would be Oscar de la Renta, Bill Blass, Hugo Boss, and the Channing Avenue Jewellery Emporium.”

Cassie started to speak, but her husband laid a hand on her arm and ensured she remain quiet.

“The other thing I want to tell you—and this goes directly to the heart of this competency case—just before the hearing started, Lee Brackett emailed my friend Simon Banks here…” Blair gestured toward Simon, who nodded, grinning hugely. “…saying they were willing to call the whole thing off if I made a settlement with him. Not with his clients, but directly with him. So we can only conclude,” Blair spread his hands widely, as if he were being forced to this conclusion, again mocking Brackett’s earlier actions. “That Lee wouldn’t think I was crazy if he got paid off.”

Brackett jumped to his feet, highly incensed. “It’s a lie! I never sent any such email. They’re easy to fake, you know.”

Simon remained seated and just raised his Blackberry in the air and waved it around a bit.

“We can certainly have a computer expert check out the IP addresses and protocols to verify this came from your Blackberry, Lee. But maybe you’d be good enough to just show it to the judge so she can see you sent it.”

The judge looked thoughtful. “Mr. Brackett. Will you surrender your Blackberry device to me now, or do I have to subpoena it?”

“But Your Honour—”

She held out her hand expectantly. “Thank you, Mr. Brackett.”

Brackett, grumblingly, handed his PDA to the judge, who flipped through it expertly. “Yup. The message is here in the ‘sent’ box. Do you still maintain you didn’t send this, Mr. Brackett?”

Brackett shrugged, an air of defeat settling over him. “No, Your Honour, but it’s common to try and save the court’s time and associated costs in cases like”

“Anything else, Mr. Sandburg?” she asked Blair, cutting off Brackett as he had cut off previous witnesses.

“No, thank you, Your Honour. I’m sorry we’ve taken up your time here today. Now, I’d reimburse the City of Cascade for its time and trouble, if you’ll just tell me where to send the cheque.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, Mr. Sandburg.” All eyes were upon the judge, as she cleared her throat. “I have yet to make my ruling, and, although it’s not been very clear at times, I’m still in charge of this courtroom.” She managed to stare down the entire courtroom before continuing. “There has been a great deal of damaging testimony against you. Your behaviour, to say the least, has been most strange.”

An audible gasp was heard from audience.

“But in the opinion of the Court, you are not only sane, but you are the sanest man that ever walked into this courtroom. Case dismissed!”

The entire courtroom surged to its feet, shouting and clapping. The judge smiled warmly. Immediately, Blair was surrounded by a crowd of people who came running down the aisles.

One last time the judge called for order. When she had at least partial control she shouted over the remaining hubbub, “Call my office, Blair.” She made the universal gesture for a phone call, with thumb to ear and little finger to her lips. “I’m looking for some new investments and Cascade Industries sounds right up my alley.”

Blair laughed out lout and promised he would before he was pulled away and virtually swallowed by his crowd of celebrating well-wishers.

On the prosecution side of the isle, Rhonda and Larry Lipshitz moved to join those surrounding Blair. Brackett grabbed Rhonda by the arm. “You’re fired!” he screamed in her face. Larry Lipshitz placed his hand on Brackett’s wrist, squeezing firmly until Brackett let go of Rhonda’s arm. “Since we’re firing people, Brackett, you’re fired, too.” He dropped Brackett’s hand as if it were dirty and started toward Blair.

Before he could move though, Cassie stepped in front of him and slapped him hard. “I’m divorcing you, you bastard. We could have been rich. Rich!”

Larry grabbed her hand before she could strike him again. “You showed terrible judgement in marrying me in the first place, Cass. Imagine marrying a poor man for his money. One would almost think you once loved me.” He raised his free hand to his cheek where a clear imprint of her hand was reddening. Then he patted her cheek in a gentle echo of the slap and walked away.

“Rhonda!” Lee Brackett shouted. He was furious at the turn of events and needed someone to take it out on. Sure he’d fired her, but he did that all the time. He felt slightly mollified when she left the group of admirers flanking Sandburg and headed back to him.

“Oh, Lee, I forgot to give you this. It came in the mail today.” She handed him an official-looking envelope, then stood watching him open it.

“Oh, shit!” Brackett’s outburst was enough to attract the attention of his partners, who were packing up, waiting for the media to follow the winners so they could slink off and think of a new strategy to get at Sandburg’s money; after all, they’d misappropriated enough of it to think of it as their own.

“What is it, Lee?” Oliver asked.

Brackett held out the brief form letter bearing the Department of Internal Revenue logo. “We’re being audited. Monday.”

“Oh, shit!” echoed one Brackett.

“Oh, God!” moaned the other.

“I’m having a heart attack!” cried Oliver, but it was only wishful thinking.

~ ~ ~

Jim watched it all from his seat, where he remained, frozen. He didn’t bother trying to go to Blair. He knew after what he’d done, he wouldn’t be welcome. He watched as Blair, surrounded by friends and family, made slow progress toward the courtroom doors. Joel offered to stay with him, but he shook his head. He wanted to be alone: alone with his thoughts, alone with his guilt, alone with his hopeless love.

Jim remained in his seat, the last person in the room. Even the bailiff and other court staff had left through their private exits. He sighed heavily and began to pull himself together for the lonely trip back to his loft. His plane for Peru would leave in two days; he had a bunch of stuff to do between now and then, but couldn’t imagine himself having the energy to do it.

He listened to the noise of the crowd receding; he didn’t need Sentinel hearing for this. He was glad they were getting further and further away, leaving him behind, leaving him alone.

They were almost out of earshot when, suddenly, the crowd noises seemed to be coming toward him instead of heading away. He jacked up his hearing almost without thinking about it. From what he could hear, it sounded like the media was chasing Blair, wanting stories, pictures, pieces of him until there would be nothing left.

Jim dashed to the door to help Blair, just as Blair ran into the courtroom, slamming the doors shut behind him.

“Jim!” Blair shouted in surprise.

“I’m sorry, Blair. I’ll… I think you can get out that way.” He pointed to the staff exit behind the judge’s bench.

“I’ve got something to say to you before I do, Jim.” The mob behind him rattled the doors ineffectually. They shouted and pounded on them, demanding admittance. Jim could barely hear Blair’s racing heartbeat.

Blair strode over to Jim, fist raised, a determined look on his handsome face. Jim closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow, figuring he had it coming, hoping it might mitigate some of the guilt welling up inside him.

He heard the rush of air and felt the warmth of Blair’s fist as it approached… and descended to clip him ever so gently on the chin, more of a caress than a punch.

“Huh?” Jim opened his eyes, feeling confused.

Blair’s smirked at him, hands on hips. “Oh, c’mon, Ellison. I’m so not the kind of guy who goes around hitting people. Thought you said you knew me better than anyone.”

“Uh, Chief. Aren’t you mad at me?” Jim ran his hand over the place on his chin Blair’s fist had lightly brushed.

“Yeah, sure. But you can make it up to me, man.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, then leaned up to kiss Jim on the lips, kissing, nipping and licking the surprise off Jim’s face.

They kissed over and over again, their hearts beating a fast tattoo in counterpoint to the pounding on the courtroom door. At the sound of a throat clearing behind them, they pulled back. A housekeeper stood there looking at them disapprovingly. She shook her mop at them. “You go. I clean, now. Here, here.” She pointed to a third exit neither man had noticed before. “Go here. No be trouble.”

“C’mon, Ellison. Let’s go see what trouble we can get into in Peru.”

Jim couldn’t believe he’d been given a second chance. He grasped Blair’s hand in his, and together they dashed toward the exit the char-woman had indicated.

Once they were out of her courtroom, Pina Capobianco pushed her wheeled bucket further into the room.

“Nice boys,” she said, as she swished her broom around the judge’s bench. “Such nice boys.”

The End

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Acknowledgments: Beta’d by: etui and the gals and Blackfly Presses. Thank you to Jenny Saypaw for the lovely cover art and to Amy for the others. Notes: Stormy Stormheller, writing as Storm Grant, has moved into the realm of professional fiction, contracting stories with a number of publishers.

She still keeps one foot firmly in fandom, and any similarity between her original characters and a certain a Sentinel and Guide, or a Mountie and Chicago cop are purely coincidental.

Her first full-length novel, GYM DANDY, is available January 2009 from MLR Press. Check out her professional website here: http://www.stormgrant.com/

If you like this story, why not follow the links and try out some of her original fiction?

Thank you.