PART ONE
CHAPTER 1    

Eight o’clock, Sunday morning.  The precinct house was fairly quiet.  Few people were waiting to be ‘processed’ and the central room was reasonably orderly. What had been chaos and a microcosm of activity just last evening was now no different than any other business just opening.  Telephones rang only occasionally.

One of the people sitting awaiting attention was fidgeting nervously.  His hands were handcuffed in front of him and he was circling the room with his eyes. 

A newly arriving uniformed police officer looked around and spotted him.  “Hey, Hobson,” he smiled.  “What’re you doin’ here?  Brigatti doesn’t work on Sundays.”  This he added with an accompanying smirk.  Then, as if addressing the whole room, he asked, “Which one of you rookies put handcuffs on Hobson?  He’s family here.”  Snickering could be heard throughout the room.

The young man settled his eyes on the officer.  Gary sat up a little straighter.  With a sickly smile, he nodded to him, “Hello, Brennan.”  He raised his cuffed hands, as if displaying them.  “Can you get me some attention?  I have to be at the train station this morning.”

Brennan was heading towards the men’s room and called back to Gary, “I’ll see what I can do for you as soon as I answer this ‘call.’”  Brennan was, maybe, 35 and was one of the first CPD officers Gary met when he first began receiving the paper.  After all this time they had developed, not a close friendship exactly, but at least a comfortable working relationship.  In the beginning Hobson was just another suspected felon brought in for questioning.  He had involved himself somehow in a suspected bank robbery attempt involving a possible hostage situation.  The main objective in the questioning seemed to be to determine just what crime had been committed.  No one had seen a weapon.  No one had demanded money.  There was that small detail which had reported this suspect shouting, “I’m a desperate man,” in a crowded bank.  After that the descriptions by witnesses became muddled.  Gary had been cleared and released. 

Gary eased back into the chair again.  With the arrival of this friendly face, there was hope, now, that he might make Union station in time to prevent the elderly man from slipping on a coffee spill.  The paper gave him a couple hours leeway between each of this morning’s errands and he appreciated it.

The CPD workforce was painfully familiar with Gary and put no great effort into taking care of his problems.  Those problems, more often than not, turned into their problems.  Usually they passed his case on to the next unsuspecting officer to handle.  The trouble was, unsuspecting officers were becoming harder and harder to find. 

Hobson’s excuses were exasperating, “I had this feeling,” “I just knew,” “right place, right time,” “my cousin overheard.”  They’d all been heard before, sometimes the same ones by the same officers.  It was a painful experience to have to fill out forms in which Gary Hobson was involved.  His answers were always vague.  His actions during the interview were those of a nervously guilty man.  And the officer’s supervisors were always unhappy with the lack of information obtained through the interrogation.

While waiting, Gary noticed a man at the check-in desk.  A couple of officers near him commented quietly about the arrival of “Mad Anthony.”  Gary focused on him for lack of anything else to do.  He was probably around 50.  His clothes were clean looking, and unwrinkled.  His sweater looked a size or two too large.  If he had to describe the person he would probably mention his sandy-brown, thinning hair, round face with a small bump on his nose, deep frown wrinkles in the forehead.  His appearance was fairly nondescript, someone you’d see anywhere, about six feet tall, maybe.  His clean-shaven face held a somber, if not sad, expression.  He was directed to have a seat at a desk near the bench Gary was occupying after he quietly said something to the desk sergeant.

“Mr. Wayan, you can go in now.  He’s expecting you.”  When Wayan heard his name he stood and went in the direction of the detective offices. 

Brennan returned and, after another ten or fifteen minutes, took Hobson’s statement.  After approval from one of the captains, also familiar with this ‘suspect,’ he authorized Gary to be released.  Gary had been, not just ‘on the scene,’ but also in the scene when the police arrived at a teen gang confrontation.  The teens were taken to juvenile hall and Gary, well; Gary was taken to this station where he was never absent long enough to become a stranger.

CHAPTER 2

Thankful to be outside again, he looked around, checked his newspaper, and took up a brisk pace toward the next ‘assignment’—the train station.  The chilling air was giving notice that fall was fast getting on to winter.  Layered shirts under a leather jacket, jeans and hiking boots kept him from feeling the wind as it blew off Lake Michigan.  The sun was shining just enough to keep things comfortable for this type of walking, fast walking.

He was intent upon arriving at his destination early, not so much to avert the forewarned mishap—it was not going to happen any earlier than the newspaper reported, but more to just getting out of the chilling wind.  So intent was he that he failed to pay attention to the man trailing him from across the street.  Occasionally Gary would pull out the paper that had been stashed inside his jacket to check the headlines as he continued on.  Curious action if someone had been watching…and someone was.

Most of the travel time was spent mentally reliving one of his recent saves, which was particularly satisfying.  A young couple had become separated from their toddler in the Marshall Field store when the youngster had gotten caught up with a dense crowd entering an elevator.  With the help of the paper’s warning headline, he was able to snatch the wandering three-year-old from the top of an escalator before she had attempted to descend and, thereby, prevented her from the reported fall and its consequences.  He saw and felt the relief of the parents when the three were safely reunited.  It was enough to bring a revealing smile to his face.

Upon arrival at Union station, he went directly to the maintenance closet at the men’s room.  Picking up one of the standing signs, ‘Caution, Wet Floor,’ he proceeded on to the coffee bar.  This assignment was not one foreign to his experiences of the last few years of dealing with the paper.  When he read the accompanying details printed for the impending disasters, he would envision the event and mentally form his plan of action.  Many times his responses went on automatic pilot.  If the plan worked well the first time, he would repeat the steps with few adjustments needed.

It wasn’t much of a wait when a hurrying traveler bumped into a commuter as he turned to take his coffee with him to the train.  The Styrofoam cup hit the floor and the contents splashed to form a fair-sized puddle on the shiny and, now, slippery tile.  The initial anger response was peppered with four-letter words and a slur on the fellow traveler’s parentage.

With the instant appearance of a fresh cup of coffee being placed in the hands of the angry victim, the burning fuse was soon extinguished.  The young man who furnished the new cup of the rejuvenating liquid produced a ‘Wet Floor’ sign and placed it over the spill.  “Have a good day,” was all he had to say as he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.  Both the people involved were so taken aback they just stared after him as he disappeared into the crowd.  As far as they were concerned he may have been an employee of the station.

Unknown to the man who had been following him, Gary left the building from another door.  Standing in the shelter of the building, he stopped and referred to the paper’s headlines again.  A new one had appeared.  The only time this normally happened would be if he had, in some way, influenced the details making up one of the previous saves.  Nothing stood out in his mind as directly related.

“Man Killed in Lakefront Assault,” it read.  “Anthony Wayan, 51, was attacked at knifepoint around noon Sunday in what is assumed to have been a robbery.  He had been seen sitting on a park bench eating his lunch.  Witnesses described his assailants as three men in their early 20’s.  The victim was found unconscious and taken to St. Luke’s Hospital.  He succumbed while in surgery.”  The article continued on, describing the area where the incident occurred and a brief biography of the victim.

‘I’ve got a couple hours to wait,’ he mused to himself, ‘with a day like this, I may as well find a good bench, myself, near the water and just wait.  If I’m visible, that may be enough to change the plan of the attackers without having to deal with that knife the paper mentioned.’ 

He was able to get the transportation connections he needed without resorting to a taxi this time.  Finding the fountain mentioned in the article, he seated himself on a bench some fifty feet away, hoping to make his presence known, but not obvious.

He often sought out the lake for the peace it brought.  The lake, viewed from a distance, was massive, beautiful, calm, at rest.  When observed from up close, as he was doing then, it reminded him of the human mind--his mind--and state of emotions:  constantly in flux.  At the same time raw, wild, and conflicted.  Was this the source of the peace for which he searched?  Can peace be obtained from the inner turmoil humans entertain?  Whatever the answer, the lake’s effects were always cathartic to him.  In essence he allowed the waves to carry some of his burden away.

He sat back on the bench for the wait.  Out on the water the freight hauling ships could be seen heading toward their destinations, hulls deep in the water.  Not much in the way of pleasure craft ventured out at this time of year. 

CHAPTER 3

Anthony Wayan had awakened that Sunday morning to the usual sounds.  Someone in a neighboring apartment had his or her radio or TV set on to the news.  Another neighbor was heard having a noisy dispute with their co-habitant about the garbage accumulation.  It didn’t bother him.  Apartment living allowed him to be a spectator in other people’s lives.  It made him feel that he was a normal part of their lives. 

Anthony’s apartment itself was quiet.  The only sounds he heard close by were those originating within his own head.  They were constant throughout the day and night ever since his return from the Viet Nam war.  When he slept, it was a rehash of all the violence he experienced while in the army.  As a corpsman, he had the horrors that war inflicts shoved in his face daily. 

While awake he was bombarded with voices, especially those that questioned why he was allowed to return home uninjured.  All those others...  They were the ones who put their lives on the line in the name of honor, valor, or was it just…obedience?  Did they do what their consciences dictated was right, or were they conditioned to follow orders?  He should have gone a step further and connected the motives.

He had taken a job at Chicago’s Lakeview Shelter on West Addison when he returned from duty just after he had spent a few months as an outpatient at the veteran’s hospital.  While at the hospital, they had conditioned him to accept the voices with something similar to biofeedback.  He knew and acknowledged their existence and origin, but let them become background music rather than focus points.  The pills the doctors prescribed he tossed into the trash and the counseling sessions he abandoned after a few times.

It was difficult to concentrate on most of the normal eight-hour day jobs.  Four hours was about his maximum before stress raised its ugly head and he ‘wandered.’  At the men’s homeless shelter, he saw others with problems similar to his.  He heard a lot of the military attitude.  It was an army of the ‘walking wounded’ and he was a prime member.

His phone rang at just about seven this morning.  The voice was familiar.  “Yes, I’ll be there.  No, I’m not going to have a conflict with my job.  They understand that I need flexible hours and look for me when I arrive.  Right.  Bye.”  This promised to be an interesting day.  It was the reason for being at the police station this morning and, in a way, the reason for him being at the lakefront eating his lunch. 

CHAPTER 4

At the lakefront, the wind was picking up and the water was topped with whitecaps, not unusual for the lake at this time of the year.  Gary’s face was burning with the infamous Lake Michigan wind.  He may have been dressed for the weather as a pedestrian, but, sitting still, exposed to the Lake Michigan wind, he was soon wishing that he had added a head covering and gloves to his wardrobe of the day. 

Looking around as the time edged toward noon, he noticed a familiar face.  The man from the police station, ‘Mad Anthony,’ had taken a seat on a bench on the other side of the fountain from him.  He was just opening a fast-food lunch he had brought.  It made Gary wish he had taken time for lunch.

He visually searched the area for possible assailants.  The only person there, other than himself, was a fairly young, maybe twenty-one year old, man who walked up, stationing himself between Gary and the victim-to-be.  It appeared, as least to Gary, that he was interested in the sculpture in the fountain.  It looked like modern art with all the requisite free-style shapes and holes.  It probably looked better when water was flowing though it as during the warmer months. 

Modern art required a modern art attitude to appreciate it as far as this Indiana boy was concerned.  His interests in fine arts tended toward the impressionists and were pretty much what he had encountered at the Art Institute of Chicago.  Gauguin, Monet, and Renoir, particularly Pierre Renoir, exhibited paintings that could hold his attention for hours.  That appreciation for these artists especially, he had to admit, grew from Marcia’s interest in the holdings of the Institute. 

Absentmindedly, he had been watching this ‘art lover’ and didn’t notice until then that two more men had appeared near Wayan.  One stationed himself behind Wayan while the other approached him from the front. 

The man behind him, upon a pre-arranged, silent signal between the two, placed his hands firmly upon Wayan’s shoulders, forcing him to remain seated.  The other produced a rather large hunting knife and placed it directly under Wayan’s chin in the fleshy part under the jaw.

“Don’t move.  Very slowly now, just hand me your wallet.  I’ll take the watch too.”  He checked the ring on the victim’s left hand, appraising its worth visually.  “You can keep the ring.”  He laughed at what he thought was funny.

Wayan’s body jerked slightly, but the hands on his shoulders kept him immobile.  His eyes opened to saucer size under his arched eyebrows and he froze.  Not a word came out of his partially open mouth.  He didn’t move a muscle.  The man behind him was confused by the sudden stalemate and asked of the one with the knife, “What’s happening?  What’s he doin’?”

The other looked up just briefly.  He had a puzzled expression on his face as he shook his head and shrugged.  He applied a little pressure to the knife, “Hey man, did you hear me?  Are you there?  We want the wallet and the watch!”

Wayan remained frozen in place.

As soon as Gary saw what was going on between the three, he stood up and made a move toward them.  The art lover instantly lost interest in the fountain as he reached out, grabbed Gary’s arm, and turned him around roughly.  “Hey buddy, there’s nothing that affects you over there.  Just walk the other way and you won’t have any trouble.”

Another, probably wiser, man would have done just that.  Shedding the other man’s hold on his arm, Gary met his eyes.  “I… I don’t want the trouble you are talking about, but there’s no way in hell they’re gonna, gonna rob that man right in front of me.  Now get out of my way.”  He ran the short distance to where the ‘bench discussion’ was being held.

“Okay, guys.  You can leave now and save yourself some problems,” he paused for an instant, “or you can wait for the police to arrive.  They’ve already been called.”  He heard sirens in the distance prompting this threat.  The sirens weren’t of his doing, but how would these men know that?

The two in control of Wayan just turned toward the intruder as the third man on their team grabbed Gary’s arms from behind.  He was ready for the move and slipped away from the hold.  With one arm held out straight as if to ward off his attacker, he argued, “Ya know, this was a bad idea from the beginning.  Why not just…just walk away?  Save yourself some trouble.  You can still get away if you leave now.”

The sirens were getting nearer as the men allowed a mental vote to be taken by eye contact and an assenting nod passed between them.  As if on a count of three, they turned away and jogged off.

“You okay?”  Gary leaned over and touched Wayan’s arm to attempt to bring awareness to the traumatized man.

Still in shock, Wayan uttered a “Yeah.  I’m…okay.  I’m okay.”  The cold or the fright had left him shivering.  So was Gary.

“You sure?  You got some blood running down your neck.”

Wayan reached up to his jaw where the knife had penetrated slightly.  He gave it a swipe with the napkin from his lunch that he still held clutched in his hand.  “Just a nick, that’s all.  Say, how did you manage to be here at a time like this?  Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t know if I’d’ve gotten involved with some strangers, especially when one was wielding a knife the size of his.”   Wayan stood up, facing Gary.

“Yeah, well, you looked like you could use some help,” Gary was feeling uncomfortable by the direction this conversation was taking.  He was looking around and thinking about making his exit. 

Then another thought came to Wayan, “Did it ever occur to you we were kinda outnumbered?  Three guys and a knife against the two of us; that’s not too good for our odds unless you hold a black belt in karate.”  At this point he made a complete 360, searching for…what?  “And…where are the cops you called?  I heard their sirens.  Where the hell are they?”

“Yeah, well, ya know, I mean…well, I didn’t exactly…that is, those sirens weren’t my…I mean…it was a bluff.”  Gary knew he should have left when he had the first inclination. 

Now Wayan released his tension in a growing anger—toward Gary.  “A bluff!  You tried a bluff…with our lives as the bet?  What if they hadn’t run?  What if they had killed you, me, or both of us?”  He placed both of his hands, open, in front of him, protectively, and stared at Gary.  “Ya know what?  Ya know what I think?”  Wayan backed away, still intending to make his point with this person standing before him.  He pointed a finger at his ‘savior,’ “You…you’re…you’re crazy!  You are certifiable, that’s what!”

He turned and walked quickly away, shaking his head as he went, leaving Gary to call after him, “And you are welcome!”  He sat down on the bench Wayan had recently vacated and pulled out the paper.  Pleased that this story had disappeared, he looked for the next job.

One thing he had learned these last few years in dealing with rescuing people was you can alter their lives by protecting or saving them, but you cannot guarantee they will appreciate your efforts—if they recognize them at all.  He wasn’t bothered by that; he wasn’t into appreciation or recognition.  The ‘save’ was the whole motivation.  Life was too important to waste.  An ant or a cat, a fly or a human…life was everything.

His wake-up call was seeing Sherman, the news vender, hurt in an accident that destroyed his newsstand.  He passed by Sherman every day on his way to work.  It was his second day of receiving the paper, before he became aware of the responsibility that accompanied tomorrow’s edition of the Sun Times.  Seeing Sherman taken away in an ambulance shocked him into relating the paper with a need for action.  It was his initiation into the paper’s world, duty laden, sometimes guilt-filled.


CHAPTER 5

Gary’s next obligation had been at the Kroger store in the McGinty’s neighborhood.  He had been able to keep a shopper from tripping over a box left in the aisle after shelf stocking had been done.

The shopper had been so intent on reading labels that no thought was given to watching her step.  The simplest solution turned out to be just as easy as picking up the box and moving it to a safer location, which he did.  Mission accomplished!

Then it was on to McGinty’s.  He gave a quick “Hi” to Marissa and others he saw, then, “Shower…I’ll be back.” and headed immediately up to his loft for a belated shower and change of clothes.  The whole idea of peeling off his clothes and letting the hot shower play on his body was highest on his list of priorities.  Not even his empty stomach tempted him away.  He had not been warm since before the Wayan lakeside incident.

He basked in the therapeutic benefits of the hot spray hitting his shoulders and back.  It felt luxuriously relaxing, feeling the water continue running down his back after he turned and allowed the stream of hot water to concentrate on his chest and abdomen.  The dozens of wet fingers were doing what they were meant to do as he submitted to them.

Before the hot water ran out, he plugged the tub drain and finished his bathing by lying down in it.  A great warmth spread through him.  It was quiet, with only the sound of water gently sloshing as he breathed.  Leaning his head back on the towel he had placed on the tub rim, he closed his eyes, ‘just for a moment’ he told himself. 

That ‘moment’ came and went.  The next thing he was aware of was Marissa calling him in a frantic voice.  It startled him awake and he called out to her, “Marissa, I’m in the tub.  What’s wrong?”

She answered from just outside the bathroom door.  It always made him nervous if she appeared in the open door of his bath even though she couldn’t see him.  Their close relationship and the respect they had for each other allowed each of them to forget each other’s impairments, whether it was her lack of vision or his lack of intuition.  Marissa was so ‘present’ in her life personality that one could, and often did, forget that her perception was not through her eyes.

“You went to take a shower—almost two hours ago.  When you didn’t come back down, you didn’t answer the phone, or your door, I was scared something had happened.”  The tension left her voice, “You okay, then?”

“Yes, Mom,” he started, sarcastically, “I kinda fell asleep in the tub, Marissa.  And this water is mighty cold now that I’m awake.  I’ll be right out.”  He had gone into the tub hoping to warm up; now he was chilled again.  ‘Some sweats ought to cure that,’ he thought as he dried off.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” he had promised.  This time he would not take a chance by even closing his eyes.  In fact, he’d better not even sit down.  ‘Tired, so tired,’ but he had no time for that now.  ‘So hungry’ had priority with him at this moment.



CHAPTER 6

Marissa was at the bar talking with Vadim and a customer.  They shared a laugh and greeted Gary as he joined them.  “Well Gary, did you succeed in breaking it?” Marissa asked, her face radiant with mischief.

He looked at the other two questioningly, then at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, “Break what?  Marissa, what are you talking about?  I told you I was taking a bath.”

She smiled in reply.  “I told the guys you were going for a Guinness record in time spent taking a shower.  Did you break the record?”

“Heh heh, ve…very funny,” he spoke with a flat tone.  A pained expression has no sound, but he gave it to his sight-impaired friend anyway and she responded with a satisfied laugh.  They shared a friendship as close as any brother and sister could ever have.  She felt it was her responsibility in life, or so it seemed, to put more humor in his serious outlook on everything.

“Vadim, could you get me a cup of coffee, please?”  His voice betrayed his tiredness.  He added, “And...and…maybe you could add a little brandy to it?  I’m still cold to the bone.” 

Marissa was instantly suspicious, “What have you eaten today, Gary?”

Focusing downwards, at the surface of the bar, he reluctantly admitted, “That would…probably be a glass of O.J. and a piece of toast this morning.”  He waited for her tirade, but it didn’t happen this time.  Instead, she called out to Robin to fetch him a turkey and Swiss on sourdough and asked her to hurry.

Looking down the bar towards Robin, he spied a new face delivering a tray of food to the people at one of the booths.  He watched for a few minutes, distractedly.  “Gary?  What are you doing?”  Marissa could feel the atmosphere change.  Gary didn’t answer.  She repeated, “Gary?  Gary?  What’s wrong?  Is it a headline?”

That got his attention and he broke away from his concentration.  “Huh?  What?  Oh, Marissa, I didn’t mean to ignore you.  I guess I’m just tired from the action today.”  Trying to sound as casual as possible, he waited awhile before adding, “Uh, Marissa?  Who’s the new person waiting tables?”  He tried to sound as uninterested as he could, but he forgot to whom it was he was speaking.  He could almost see Marissa’s curiosity bloom.

“Oh, just a minute, Gary.”  Marissa asked Robin to bring ‘Helen’ over to them.  Gary tried not to watch as she approached, but she was tall and walked with the grace of a dancer.  It appeared to him that he could probably encircle her tiny waist with his hands…  “Helen,” Marissa reached her hand out and Helen placed her hand in it, “I’d like you to meet your boss, Gary Hobson.”  Marissa turned toward Gary and touched his arm.  “Gary, Helen is our new waitress.  She started today.”  A silence.  “Gary?” 

This shook him out of his reverie and he reached out his hand to shake hers.  “I’m, um, um, glad to meet you, Helen.  I hope you’ll enjoy working with us.”

A curious look passed Helen’s eyes and she accepted his hand.  She was inwardly amused at his obviously embarrassed awkwardness.  ‘Why?’ she wondered and added to herself, ‘Good sign?  Bad sign?  I hope it’s a good sign.’  As she addressed her new  boss, she suddenly found herself stammering nervously, “Pleased…I’m pleased…I’m really pleased to meet you.  Miss Clark wasn’t sure you would be in…today…while I was here, that is, and I’m really…happy…to have this job…to work here.”  She blushed ever so slightly, closing her eyes in a squint, bowing her head as if in pain.  She was in the pain of totally feeling that she had blown the introduction.  Her next birthday would have her 29 and she felt like a teen with a sudden crush on her high school math teacher. 

The two of them stood with their hands still together even though they had stopped pumping them up and down.  “Uh, I’d better get back to the kitchen.  I have an order coming up.”  With that she pulled her hand back and spun around to walk away. 

“Okay, Gary.  What exactly was that?”  Marissa sounded impatient.  “You let her go on like that and didn’t even say ‘boo!’  Couldn’t you tell she was having trouble finding words?” 

Gary was having trouble finding words, too.  He didn’t dare say he was sorry, not to Marissa.  What to say?  Suddenly he was flooded with the need to escape to his loft.  “Marissa, I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable.  It must be the long day.”  He just wanted to be out of Marissa’s range…right now!  “Marissa, could you ask them to wrap that sandwich for me to take upstairs?  I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.”

“Sure, if you promise you’ll eat it before lying down.”  She wasn’t impressed with his resolve to put some food into his stomach before letting himself sleep.

“Okay.  Okay, Marissa.  I’m hungry enough to eat the wrapper and napkin too.  Now, where’s that coffee, Vadim?”

He finished his coffee as he listened to the trio discuss the day’s events, said his ‘goodnights,’ and picked up the tray of food, taking it with him as he retired to his loft-apartment, trying to not look where Helen was as he was on his way out.  The stairs seemed every bit like the last mile as he dragged his tired and chilled body home.

After opening the bed he went over to the couch where he sat down to remove his boots.  He went as far as picking up the top piece of bread from the sandwich to inspect the insides.  He just leaned back on the couch for a second and the sandwich went uneaten in exchange for sleep.  The bed was left untouched as the couch accepted him as its occupant for the night.

Sometime before morning he awakened, shivering uncontrollably and found himself stiff and sore.  Rising from this substitute bed, he put on his robe for extra warmth, then relocated himself in his bed and piled the covers on.  Sleep resumed as soon as he warmed up.

What seemed like mere seconds later, the radio began its 6:30 broadcast with news highlights for the area commuters.  Simultaneously the cat gave his notice of the paper’s arrival.  His delay in rising only brought louder, more persistent yowling.

“No.  It’s too early.  Not yet,” he complained.  As he rolled to a sitting position he reached to shut the radio/alarm off.  Standing up, he gathered the robe tighter around him and, dutifully, went to invite the cat…and the paper…in.

No name had seemed appropriate for this four-legged tyrant before, especially since it didn’t really belong to Gary.  As he headed for the refrigerator to take out the cat’s breakfast he thought it was time that cat bore a real name.  After all, what cat really belongs to anybody?  “I’ve thought of just the name for you, cat.  You need one that fits your personality, your attitude.  From now on you will be ‘Ming’ as in ‘Ming the Merciless.’  It fits you and suits me.  How does that sound?”  Ming gave him the same forbearing look it used on over-affectionate children and continued eating.

He scanned through the headlines as he did every morning.  ‘What would life be like without this paper bully?  What would he use as a directive to the day?  If he saw an accident about to happen, an assault, or a robbery in progress, would he turn around and proceed in the opposite direction as fast as possible?’  There could be only one answer.  He wasn’t able to release his hold on the paper or, was that, the paper’s hold on him?

CHAPTER 7

All in all, the week went pretty well.  Thursday had one instance where he became the one who needed saving when the branch he was perched upon in a ‘kid save’ began to crack and splinter.  The child’s father was on a ladder that was leaning on the trunk of the tree.  Gary was able to hand the child down into the father’s hands just before the branch that was supporting Gary’s weight broke away.  The only thing that saved him from landing on the cement of the walkway was a lower, stronger branch.  It wasn’t any skill on his part, but rather, pure luck that he fell across the limb.  He had his breath, momentarily forced out upon landing, but no injuries.

Friday had been busy, but he had made it through the week thus far without a visit to a doctor or a hospital.  That was his criteria for a successful week of working with the paper: no emergency room, no paramedics, not even a Band-Aid.  The errands had been completed by 3:30 and he was considering taking in an old black and white movie showing nearby.  Maybe Brigatti would even do him the honor of accompanying him.  Maybe they could finally have the time and opportunity to become better friends.  Maybe…maybe…well…a man could dream, couldn’t he?

The morning had started out with no time to do anything except throw on a pair of jeans and some layers of shirts before rushing out.  That made this much-delayed shower even more enjoyable and appreciated.  As expected, Chicago was experiencing a proper rain, steady and cold.  It was forecast to continue on into the morning hours of Sunday.  His outfit for the evening would include what Chuck considered his “Paddington Bear” get-up.

Unfortunately his call to Brigatti went unanswered so he left his message and prepared to go alone.  Too bad, the movie was a 1946 classic, “The Stranger,” with Orson Welles and Edward G. Robinson.  They always supplied good drama, with Loretta Young  supplying both the romantic and her special melodramatic touch.  Toni would have been good company.  He smiled to himself when he considered that thought.  Brigatti/good company, Toni Brigatti/good company.  She could be, he knew.  She could also be exceedingly confrontational at times, but she was so…interesting.  What was it about her?  She was such an unpredictable encounter.  Her dark, expressive eyes and her glossy, dark hair setting off her smooth, Mediterranean complexion, and that, oh so petite, but shapely…  ‘Knock it off, Hobson,’ he told himself.  ‘She’s probably going to show up at that movie with some other guy.’

He hadn’t forgotten the new waitress.  Maybe she would…nah…he didn’t know anything about her.  Maybe she was married…or had a live-with…or…  Tomorrow he would check her personal information on her employment application.  Sometimes ‘sneaky’ is best.  He rubbed his hand through his hair to break away from this futile line of thought. 

He sat with a mug of coffee in his hand at the bar watching the news with Marissa.  A familiar something rubbed along his leg and suddenly hopped up onto the bar.  “Off, off, off, off,” he stammered in rapid fire.  “I’ve told you to confine yourself to floor travel, Ming.” 

He thought Marissa was going to fall off her stool when she heard that.  “Ming?  Did you just call the cat ‘Ming,’ Gary?”  At that, she took to laughing.  “Ming? As in the old Flash Gordon shows?  Emmett’s a fan, you know.  He has a collection on videos.”  Again it set her off in laughter.  “And how does…Ming…react to this…indignity?”

Gently lowering the cat to the floor, Gary looked up at her.  “Ming doesn’t get a say in this matter.  He’s adopted and isn’t volunteering his real name so he is ‘Ming!’”  He became aware that the paper had slipped out of his back pocket.  It landed, open, next to the glaring yellow tabby.  “What?  I’m off-duty.  The headlines have been tended to, now leave me alone.  I have plans.”

“Gary,” Marissa said softly, hoping to awaken his guilt feelings.

He was having none of it.  “It’s raining, it’s cold, I’m hungry and, and, and tired.  That’s what.  My day began at 6 today, Marissa.”  He looked at her face to see her reaction to his slightly exaggerated dramatics.  She held and returned his stare. 

“Don’t stare, Gary.  Whatever the paper wants you to do won’t get done until you get out there to do it.”  She knew how ridiculous that sounded, but she continued to look at him until he finally acknowledged defeat in this game. 

“But, but, but…”

“Gary, you can sit around complaining, but you and I both know you’d never be able to live with the consequences of ignoring a headline.”  She knew her friend and appreciated his occasional rebellion.  He certainly had the right.  For years the paper had ruled his life.  The special edition of the Sun-Times had the power to dictate his schedule without regard to his plans or convenience.

With a resigned sigh and an expression of surrender, he crouched to pick up the paper.  As he read, he no longer considered his previous plans for the evening.  If he was lucky he could figure on finishing his ‘errand’ just about the time the movie would have let out.

‘Robbery, Carjacking, Kidnapping, Assault at Convenience Store,’ the headline read.  ‘Gunpoint robbery at a convenience store in the north loop area left the store clerk and one customer dead.  In making his escape, the masked thief forced the owner of the car from behind the wheel, kidnapping and assaulting the woman before leaving her unconscious and bleeding in a mall parking lot on the out-skirts of the city.’   Further details gave the time and a description of the clothes the thief was wearing and the auto stolen.  The police were asking for help from locals to report any sightings of the vehicle.

End, Part 1

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

PART TWO
CHAPTER 1

He read the headline and article to Marissa.  “Keywords here being robbery, carjacking, and gunpoint, Marissa.  Doesn’t that sound a little out of my league?  Gu-gunpoint?  I don’t come supplied with armor, ya know.”  Sitting at the bar, he held his head in his hands as he studied the story.

“What are you going to do, Gary?” Marissa let some worry creep into her tone.  “Can’t you put a call in to Crumb or Brigatti?”

He leaned toward her as he lowered his voice to a desperate whisper.  “That’s just what I have to do.  I don’t care what they think about me, I have to call this in to them or someone at the station.  I’m going to go into the office and make some phone calls to try to get the attention of someone…anyone…better equipped to handle someone with a gun.”  With that, he folded the paper and walked into the office, leaving Marissa at the bar with her coffee and her concerns.  She knew that whether he got someone to come to the rescue or not, he had to try to stop the deadly chain of events.  He couldn’t trust that the elements of this crime would not cause harm unless he was physically there to, at least, observe.

Some time later Gary returned to his seat next to Marissa.  He didn’t have to say a word; he never did.  He rubbed his temples to ease the headache forming.  Marissa turned toward him, “Gary?  Did you reach anyone who could help?”

“Brigatti is out somewhere tonight.  Who knows where?  I left a message for her to call here, if you don’t mind listening for it.    Just let her know where the crime will be.  She’ll give you a hassle.  She does for me anyway, but try to impress upon her the serious nature of this whole thing.  I don’t have a clue what makes her tick.  She’s…sweet and…delicate as a kitten one minute and as wild as a feral cat the next.”

Marissa let the opportunity pass to sermonize about his relationships with women in general, and Toni in particular, for the moment.  “Did you try anyone else?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did…try, that is.”  He rubbed his face, continuing, “Crumb is home with a cold.  He sounded terrible and I didn’t go on about it to him.  As a last resort I tried the police, but they heard who was calling and gave me the run-around.  ‘How is it you obtained this information?’  ‘Where are you now?’  On and on they went with questions I couldn’t afford to answer and I just didn’t want to come up with a phony story.  So now I’m stuck with going there and, I guess, I’ll call 911 from the site.”

He absentmindedly let his eyes wander to watch Helen preparing the tables for the evening crowd.  She moved in and out among the tables, wiping off the chairs, straightening the table set-ups. 

Marissa touched his arm and asked, “Why don’t you ask her out, Gary?”

“Who?  Ask who?”

“Gary, you’ve been ogling Helen for the last fifteen minutes.  I can always tell by the funny sounds your throat makes when you are watching her.  Ask her!”

“That’s my hunger, that’s all.  I’m just hungry!”  As Marissa laughed, he added, “Besides, the paper has a job for me tonight… Why do you always do this to me?”

“Do what?” Marissa innocently asked, “Weren’t you thinking of asking her out?”

Only halfway kidding, he continued, “What I’m thinking is none of your business.”  Then, remembering what he had to do, he said, impatiently, “I’ve gotta go!”

Marissa’s voice took on the serious note as it always did when a job carried this kind of danger with it, “You’ll be extra careful, won’t you Gary?”  She added, “Please.”

“Don’t worry about that, Marissa, I’ve got a perfect record going this whole week.  No medical involvements so far.  I intend to keep it that way.  As John Wayne said in one of his old westerns, ‘Me and doctors don’t see eye to eye.’  It was something like that anyway.”  He got up and went to search for the yellow slicker and head covering.  An umbrella could have added some additional protection from the heavy downpour, but he felt it would just hamper his movements.   He might look like an overgrown grade school traffic guard in his raingear, but it was effective. 

As he came back through the bar he let her know he was leaving, “I’m going to take off now, Marissa.  If I can, I’ll try to call you to let you know what’s happening.”  He touched her hand as he usually did, as a goodbye gesture; then walked to and out the door.  His cab was just arriving and he jumped in, giving the driver the address as he settled back for the ride.  He still had no knowledge of the presence of the  ‘someone’ who had been waiting and watching his movements all week.  

When the mystery man saw Hobson get in the taxi he waved his arm furiously for his own cab, waiting in the alley.   “Just keep that cab in sight.”  He spoke to the driver with little emotion, “Lose it and you lose your tip.  Don’t get noticed though.”   The rain was coming down so hard now that there was no difficulty keeping the other cab’s taillights in sight; that’s all he could see of the vehicle.  Staying out of sight presented no challenge either.  The darkness and the wind-blown sheets of rain limited visibility.  It was only a little after eight on this Friday night, but traffic was running light.  Who would choose to be traveling the streets of Chicago under these conditions unless they absolutely had to?

Hobson’s cab pulled up to the driveway of the gas station/convenience store where Gary designated he wanted to be dropped off.  He handed the driver the fare and tip and asked the driver to wait.

The driver looked at him as though he had developed a third eye.  In an accent that disclosed some east coast influence, he asked, “Are you crazy?  I’m not into the idea of being mugged in this weather in this neighborhood.  Good luck, buddy!”  As if to emphasize his decision, the driver spun his tires as he sped away.  Gary stood dumbfounded as well as disappointed watching the cab’s departure.  Turning toward the store entrance, he went up to the phone booth and put the call in to 911.  Hoping they would arrive without a stormy night’s usual delays, he decided to get out of the rain to wait inside the store.

His first impressions:  It smelled like coffee, it was warm and it felt good to be out of the rain.  The clerk greeted him with a “Great weather, huh?” 

“Yeah, great.  You been busy tonight?” 

“Not very,” the clerk, his shirt identifying him as ‘Doug,’ replied.  He became suspicious of single, male customers at this time of night, doubly so in weather like this.  How would he even identify someone in full rain gear?  All that was obvious was the person’s race.  It wouldn’t be the first time he was robbed, but he was hoping this was not going to add to his previous experiences. 

Gary went over to the magazines displayed at the front windows.  He picked one up and paged through, making a pretense of reading it.  Facing out toward the parking lot made it easier to keep an eye out for the police as well as any suspicious characters. 

Suspicious characters?  Doug watched his lone customer’s obvious surveillance of the parking lot.  ‘Was he watching for an accomplice?  Waiting for one?  Was he working up his nerve?’  Doug picked up his cell phone from beneath the checkout counter and kept it at the ready for quick-dialing 911. 

He called out to Gary, “My boss doesn’t like people to wait for the bus in here.  There’s a bus shelter right out there at the driveway entrance.” 

His words jolted Gary from his concentration and he turned toward Doug.  “Did you say something to me?”

“Yeah, I said you couldn’t wait in here for a bus.  It makes the boss nervous.” 

“But I…I’m not waiting for a bus.  I’m looking for…a magazine and…a package of gum.”

From the look on Doug’s face, it was obvious that he was not buying that.  “You came out in this rain…for gum and a magazine?  In that case, my name is William Gates the third.”  He received a curious look from his customer with that bit of sarcasm.  After a minute of silence, he added, “We don’t keep much cash on hand.  I have to shove the paper money into an anchored strong box every hour.  All I have is twenty bucks or so.”

“What?  You think I’m after your cash?  No, no, no, no, no.  I really am after some gum and a…a” He looked down at the cover of the magazine he had been paging through.  “…an Auto Trader.”  Trying to sound believable he went blundering on, “Ya see, my wife has this cra…craving, ya see.  For gum.  For spearmint gum.  You know how women are, once they get a notion…  You might as well brave the elements and get it over with.”  Even he thought he sounded stupid.

As if thinking, ‘Poor schnook,’ the clerk shook his head.  He still held on to the telephone. 

Gary turned back to looking outside.  Funny, but he had not noticed the bus stop shelter before.  As he was observing it, he saw someone huddling in the shelter.  The face was concealed in the darkness, but something about the man seemed familiar.  ‘Trying to identify shadows, Hobson?  Are you just a bit edgy?’  He pulled himself out of his slip into the paranoiac and struggled back into reality.  A woman came into the store as he stood there.  He looked over to her as she made her way to the refrigerated cases at the back.  The stage was set and almost all of the actors were in place.  He was feeling the tension of the moment and turned back to watching outside for the drama to unfold as foretold in the paper.

At that moment, while Gary was still watching the gas pumps and parking lot, a police patrol car pulled into the lot and parked facing the front doors.  Two officers were in the vehicle.   One man was talking on his radio while the other was giving the area and building a quick look.  They got out, one of them heading straight in while the other walked the length of the windows, looking in.  ‘One employee, two customers,’ he mentally noted. 

The relief was evident on the clerk’s face upon the arrival of the law.  It was also evident in his voice, “Good evening, officer.”   He felt it was safe to set the phone back under the counter, which he did. The uniformed CPD officer looked around, noting where the male customer was in relationship to the employee.

The officer looked directly at Gary and nodded in his direction as he asked the very shaky Doug, “Any problems here?  There was a call put in from this location about a robbery in progress.”

Doug was at a loss.  Who could have called?  Gary had not threatened him.  No weapons were brandished.  No money was demanded.  Even so, the only sound he could muster up was, “Ahh, ahh…..,” as he slowly shook his head from side to side.

That was enough.  Misreading the gesture, the officer drew his gun, pointing it at Gary, “Okay mister, keep both your hands in plain sight.”  He motioned with the gun, “Step over here and place your hands on the counter.  No sudden moves.”  The female customer peeked out from behind a display to see what was going on at the front. 

“But, but, but…,” Gary was the one at a loss for words now.  He wanted so badly to consult his paper for an explanation of this development.

“Keep your hands in sight.”   He repeated his prior command.  “Over here.  NOW!”  This time his tone was both menacing and intimidating.  Gary dropped the magazine and wasted no more time in putting his hands in the air and moving to the checkout counter with a cautious stagger.  He placed his open-palmed hands on the counter and stood perfectly still, afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe.  The officer’s partner came into the store and patted their ‘prisoner’ down for weapons. 

“What’s this?” he asked as he pulled a retractable box cutter from one of Gary’s pants pockets.  He extended the lever to examine the blade it held.  To no one in particular, he asked, “What did this guy intend to achieve with this?  Criminals get weirder and weirder.  A box cutter!” 

Gary had forgotten all about the cutter.  He had to open a case of scotch this afternoon and intended to put the tool back, but, instead, he deposited it in his pocket.  Now they were calling it a weapon.  He knew instantly where his next ride was coming from and where it was going.  They pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  Slapping one part around Gary’s right wrist, they jerked his hand behind his back and forced the other wrist backwards to cuff it as well.

He tried to give an explanation, but he only succeeded in stammering out something about this all being a mistake.  The officers acted as if they didn’t even hear him.  While they were making their arrest and reading Gary his rights, he happened to look outside. An old Chevy pickup pulled into the parking lot, driving slowly past the patrol car, and continuing on out the other driveway.  It had to be the real thieves, Gary was sure.  Well, at least the killing didn’t happen.  And the kidnapping wouldn’t happen.  And the rest of the crimes were also past happening.  Now all he had to worry about was explaining his way out of jail. 


CHAPTER 2

He tried pleading his case with the arresting officers all the way to the station house.  The officers were on automatic pilot and ignored their prisoner.  They took him into the station and proceeded to process him before confinement.  After the usual data gathering, fingerprinting, photographing, etc., his personal effects, belt, etc. were packaged up and tagged for him.  He was placed in a holding cell to wait until morning.  A very dejected bar owner sat on a cot in a lonely wait for the next day’s events which, hopefully, would allow him to resume his life outside this depressing and restricting enclosure. 

Where the paper was, he didn’t have the faintest idea.  It may have been lost during the ride in the police car for all he knew.  Right now, he did not care.  He didn’t care if he never saw it again.  Ever!  After grumbling to himself for a while, he laid back, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

-------------

“Hobson!”

He hadn’t realized when it was that he fell asleep, but the hearing of his name being barked brought him to awareness immediately.  He looked around in confusion; the memories of the previous night were slowly coming into focus.

“Hobson!  On your feet!  Face away from the door and place your hands behind you.”  The guard was all charm, just what you want to wake up to.  Once this ‘dangerous felon’ was cuffed, the two of them proceeded downstairs to the office of one of the duty officers.  He was instructed to wait while they searched for his papers from the previous evening. 

Mrowrrr. 

There, in the office of one of Chicago’s finest, on the floor, almost under the desk, was the cat, recently dubbed ‘Ming,’ sitting on the Monday edition of the Sun-Times.  Gary stretched out his legs and caught the fold of the paper with the heel of his boot.  He slowly inched it toward himself until it was positioned in front of him, on the floor.  He leaned over to examine the front page.  It gave him some relief not finding his name a part of any visible story.  “Just what…what is it you expect me to do, Cat?”  He caught himself calling him ‘Cat’ and figured it would take time to break the habit.

Rubbing its fur against Gary’s leg, the cat again yowled at him.

“I’m looking.  I’m looking.  Hold on.”  Toward the bottom of the paper he saw what must have been meant to attract his attention.  Teen Suicide at Merchandise Mart.  Marta Espinoza, 18, jumped to her death Sunday from the roof of the Merchandise Mart.  Police found a note at the scene alluding to despondency over a break-up with a boyfriend.  He couldn’t follow the article further because he couldn’t manage to turn to the continuation page inside the paper.  When he tried, all he succeeded in doing was tearing the page.

“Mr. Hobson,” the officer greeted him as he came in and sat at the desk in front of Gary.  “We have no need to keep you any longer.  You’ll be released as soon as the paperwork can be processed.  The clerk at the convenience store verified that you made no sign of intent to commit any crime.  He admitted that he was just overly edgy with the rain and all.  Sorry, but I’m sure you can appreciate how many of these type places get robbed every week.  He’s young and said to tell you how sorry he is.”  He looked up from his file to see Gary fidgeting with something on the floor.  When he stood up in order to see what was going on, he saw the newspaper on the floor with his prisoner attempting to turn the page with his boot.  “Where’d you get that paper?”

“Uh, uh, …” Gary figured he must be slipping when he can’t come up with even a bad excuse on the spur of the moment.  “Ya see…I…I…Oh hell, the cat brought it in.”

The officer gave him a patronizing exasperated look.  He looked around for a cat—just in case—and felt embarrassed that he had looked.  “Very funny.”  Getting up and coming over to Gary, he said, “Stand up.  Let’s get you out of here.”  He unlocked the handcuffs and had Gary follow him out to pick up his personal belongings. 

As he was preparing to leave, a familiar face at the desk called after him.  “See ya next time, Hobson.”   It was the same person who was on check-in the previous Sunday morning.  Gary just gave him a sickly look of disgust and said nothing.

CHAPTER 3

As he was walking down the steps leading to the street he bumped into another man on his way in.  Each gave the other a shocked look of recognition.  It was Wayan.  The vision going through Hobson’s head right now was of a man huddling in the rain waiting for a bus.  He knew he had seen that figure somewhere before.  Their run-in at the park was also still vivid in his mind as well as his remembrance of the police station.  Their exchange of looks was brief before each continued on his way. 

Wayan was thrown completely off base by the encounter.  ‘Hobson again!  How many of him are there?  I’ve been trailing him for a week now.  Even when I lose him…he pops up in my face.’  His ‘voices’ gave him their opinions to add to his own.  He continued up the stairs as he originally had intended, but turned around at the top and reversed his course, heading out after Hobson.  His ‘prey’ was a half block away by the time Wayan left the building.  He continued following, keeping a half block between them.

Originally Wayan planned to check in with the police department to give his report to a certain tall, black detective.  Chicago was by no means a small town.  Three million people!  Three million people and Hobson has become a central character in his life’s drama.  Wasn’t that more than laws of coincidence would allow?      
__________

Because the Merchandise Mart was so large, Gary felt he needed to get there as early as possible.  He was hoping he could find a flower shop on the way.  Other potential suicides that he had successfully intervened with had been aided by his appearance with flowers in his hand.  It gave him a softer, more familiar image than merely intruding into someone’s life and, in these cases, their planned death.

He had bought some pink carnations to take to the eighteen-year-old.  Not that it could solve her problems or free her from her feelings of rejection, he acknowledged, but, sometimes, a person needs something beautiful to hold on to, to focus their eyes and thoughts on…a picture…a memory…a bouquet of pink carnations.

She had been staring out over the edge of the roof, crying, when Gary arrived.  Through the tears she became angry that some stranger was invading her space just when she needed isolation to think this through and to complete her planned course of action.  He spoke so sincerely though, as he held out the carnations to her upon approaching her corner on the roof.  He called her by name, “Marta.”  It had its effect.  She turned toward him and her eyes alternated their focus between him and the bouquet.  He softly pleaded, “Marta.  Please.  Don’t…don’t do this.” 

“Who’re you?  How do you know my name?”  Her voice showed her irritation.  Her eyes spoke of her hurt and confusion.  “What do you want?” 

“My name is Gary.  Gary Hobson.  I’m nobody,… that is, I’m just somebody who…who cares.  I don’t want you to do anything to hurt yourself just because some guy’s a jerk.”  She broke down completely then and allowed him to hold and comfort her in her absolute misery.  Her whole body shook as she sobbed.
 
For a long time he held her without speaking.  After a while she pulled away and looked up into his eyes, containing such a depth of sadness of their own.  “I’m going to live through this, aren’t I?”  Not waiting for his confirmation, she said, “Thanks. It was just so…so hard to hear Jack…tell me that he no longer wanted us to be a ‘couple.’  He was already seeing someone else!  Someone else!”  Tears came to her eyes, but held there as she went on.  “I would never have…I…I mean, I thought we would be a forever thing.”  She looked up at Gary, “Pretty dumb, huh?  You must be thinking how naïve I really am.”  He didn’t answer; he just shook his head as an answer to her question and kept his silence.

What he was thinking was that she was young, so much younger than he was.  No one should have to go through such pain at such a young age.  His heart went out to her as he remembered his own Marcia experience; an agony in what had become a one-sided love and the shock at the realization of the truth.  He put his hands at the side of each of her shoulders and smiled, just barely.  He told her the story, not going into all the details, of his failed marriage.  He sympathized about the pain she was feeling now and would continue feeling for a long while.  He wanted her to realize that he was speaking from personal experience.  He wanted her to know that she would always remember, as he did, both the love and the pain of such heartbreak.  All the things that he had felt and lived through were personified in this young girl.  It was as if she were allowing him to see himself through another’s eyes.

Marta clutched him again in a long, tearless hug.  “Thanks.  I would have made a terrible mistake if it weren’t for you.  And Jack wouldn’t even care.  That’s what hurts the most!  You know what I had planned?  Do you know what I wanted to do…up here…today?”  The intense gaze she delivered somehow related to him that she realized he did know and understood what she had gone through to come to this decision.  “I’m glad you know.  I’m glad you cared.  I’m sorry for your hurt, but your hurt has allowed me to want to heal.  Can you understand what I’m trying to say?”  He stood there quietly allowing her to self-analyze by verbalizing it all.  “I’ll remember you, Gary Hobson.”  She stood on tiptoe and reached up to pull his face closer in order to plant a kiss on his cheek.  With a new sparkle to her eyes, she whispered, “You need a shave.”   He smiled at that.

She seemed to have matured in those few moments when she became a part of Chicago’s skyline.  Marta gave his arm a squeeze as she turned to leave the rooftop, looking back only once as she closed the door behind her.

Gary found a five-gallon paint can and sat down to check the paper.   The teen suicide story had vanished and was replaced with a public service notice.  He felt emotionally drained by the whole episode and was ready to get back to McGinty’s to explain his absence to Marissa. 

Wayan had found his way to the roof of the building just after Gary did.  He had witnessed, from across the rooftop and out of earshot, the meeting of this man appearing to be in his early thirties, surely, and this young teenager.  He watched from afar as Hobson presented her with a small bouquet of flowers, watched them as they embraced, and saw her break away and leave. 

During this past week he had observed many of Hobson’s encounters with people.  Most of those people happened to be women.  There was one young woman with a small child who he seemed to escort from a restaurant.  He walked them safely across a street, barely escaping injury when a truck made too short a turn at the corner.  He was there in time to see Gary force some money into the hand of what looked like a street bag lady.  He was even able to spot Hobson in a small steakhouse as he applied the Heimlich maneuver to a rather beautiful, well built, and well coiffed blond.   Later that same morning it made Wayan shiver to recall the incident of Hobson walking up to a woman at least fifteen years his senior, and give her what looked to him like a hug.   As he hugged her, he kind of twirled her around and, by chance, out of the way of a group of skateboarders who were using the sidewalk as a speedway.

 He did come in contact with a great many other people too.  In fact, Wayan had never seen anyone with so many friends and acquaintances.  ‘He could be a politician,’ was the thought that went through his mind as he witnessed some of Hobson’s encounters in the course of this past week.  There was nothing much out of the ordinary with the men he came in contact with except, in each instance, he was able to come to their assistance in some way.

One of the particularly insidious voices in his head began planting suspicions and suggestions in Wayan’s subconscious.  Hobson’s own actions were fuel for the character assassination, which was going through Wayan’s mind at this very moment.

There was another question he entertained:  how can this man afford the time and money to wander, sometimes at high speed, around the city every day?  Wayan thought about approaching him now, right here on the roof of Merchandise Mart.  He wanted to…but…

He concealed himself carefully as Gary got up to leave.


CHAPTER 4

It was beginning to rain again as Hobson stepped outside the huge building.  His yellow slicker was under his arm.  The rain began as little more than a light drizzle and he decided to run to the nearest El platform rather than don the outfit.  As he passed an alley his attention was drawn to some scuffling going on at the side of a loading dock.  Two men were pushing at a smaller man, uttering epithets and threats.  Gary stopped at the mouth of the alley thinking that they might notice him and suspend their bullying actions. 

One of the men looked toward him, said something to the others, causing the others to look up.  Gary was able to see a knife in the hands of the tallest of the three.  Without thinking, he moved into the alley closer to the conflict.  “Hey, guys, hey!  Someone’s gonna get hurt.  Break it up.  Let him alone.”

A string of profanities came from the three men to the effect that Gary Hobson was not wanted in their argument, but also that the composition of his body was questionable and so was his parentage.  Surprisingly enough, the mugging victim was with the muggers in their angry response directed towards Gary.

‘Whoa,’ was Gary’s thought as he wondered where they came up with their vocabulary.  His mom would have had some good remedies for their foul mouths.  “Come on, guys.  You’ve got him outnumbered.  Can’t you work this thing out?  Someone’s gonna end up hurt.” 

One of the men broke away and began walking toward where Gary was standing, causing him to back up.  “You want some of this, *******?” 

“No, no, no, no,” Gary stammered.  “All I’m saying is…think about it.  This is a no-win situation.  You’ve got an easy victim, sure, but you’ve also got a witness.  Me.  You’re better off just breaking it up and walking away.”  He was saying all the stuff that he usually had success with.  All he wanted was to see them leave—and see what the paper had in it about this, if anything.

A facetious, “Well.  All right then.”  The tall one looked at his accomplice, giving him a communicative glance he hoped the other one would understand.  “After all, Gus, this is Saturday.  Let’s let Charlie go on home in one piece to his old lady.”  ‘Charlie’ took the cue and sprinted at top speed toward the opposite end of the alley, not looking back.

Gus and the tall one had been walking toward the mouth of the alley where Gary was holding court.  “Ya know,” he snarled in approaching Gary, “people get hurt meddling into other people’s business.  What’s your angle?”  He and Gus kept getting closer.

Gary backed up more, as they got closer.  “My ang…angle?  I don’t…I don’t have an angle.  I just think that sometimes situations build until someone gets hurt and everyone…everybody loses.  You guys don’t need that, do you?”  They were within six feet of him now. 

“Those are great sentiments, mister.  Great ideas, but Charlie owed us some money, see.  We were relying on that money to pay for some…candy, shall we say?  What are we gonna do now?  Charlie’s long gone, probably home by now.”  Gus had reached the other side of Gary by this time and began closing in on the Samaritan in their midst. 

“Say, what’s your name, mister?” 

Gary turned around toward Gus.  The realization of his situation was just beginning to dawn on him.  “My n-n-name?  It’s Hobson.”  Not all the moisture on Gary’s face was rain.  It wasn’t warm, but he was sweating under the growing tension. 

“Oh…Hobson.  Well, Hobson, you’re gonna have to make up for what Charlie was supposed to pay us.  How much you got, Hobson?” 

“Now, wait a minute, fellas,” he began.  The two toughs took that moment to move in and press him hard against the brick wall of the closest building.  Gus placed his fingers and thumb around Gary’s throat, applying enough pressure to cause him to stand on tiptoes to breathe.  The taller one pulled out his knife again, pressing the point of it at Gary’s midsection.

“Now, Mr. Hobson, just cooperate.  You’re the peacemaker.  Be peaceful.”  Keeping the knife tightly against his new victim, he began to empty Gary’s pockets, tossing the items  to the ground. When he came across the wallet, he flipped it open to reveal the contents.  Closing it again, he transferred it to his own pocket.  He grabbed Gary’s left wrist and tore the watch off. 

“Gus, don’t you think Mr. Hobson should learn a lesson from all this?  Don’t you think he should learn never to interfere in things that don’t concern him?”

“Sure, Kenny.  He shouldn’t be into other people’s business.  You want me to teach him?”  Gary’s eyes were wide and frantic.  He was afraid to move a muscle.  Hell, he could barely breathe.  This sounded like some old movie he had seen, but this one would have an R rating. 

“I think that’s a good idea, Gus.  Help him understand.”  Kenny pulled his knife away to allow Gus to complete a power punch to Gary’s stomach.  Doubled over, Gary’s jaw came in line with another punch, which knocked him back against the wall again.  He raised his fists to deflect one of Gus’ punishing jabs.  Gary returned with a punch to his adversary’s middle.  Gus went down, the breath knocked out of him. 

Fear was evident in Gary’s eyes as he caught a side movement from Kenny.  It was his intention to make a furious run for the street.  Kenny didn’t miss noticing the opportunity that opened up for Gary’s escape.  “Stay right where you are, Hobson.  You’ve just made a major strategic blunder.”

Stay where he was?  In line to be carved up by a punk in an alley?  Or…. ‘Run, Gary, run,’ and he found himself mentally chanting it as he turned to make a record-breaking dash out of this hellhole of an alleyway.  He turned, just as Kenny lunged at him with the knife extended.  A deeply piercing pain brought a stunned expression to his paling face.  He looked at his attacker with eyes that were asking ‘why?’  Kenny extracted his weapon and stepped back.   Gary’s right hand clutched at where the knife had just exited.  His eyes dropped to Kenny’s bloody knife in horror.  Pulling his hand away from the wound, he stared in confusion at the sight of his bloody and, by now, shaking hand.    

Gus had recovered his breath and was back on his feet.  “Kenny!  Kenny!”  He, too, seemed to be asking why.  Each of the three men was stunned by the bloody reality.  Gary’s midsection had a red stain growing larger by the minute.  He looked down at it, clutching again the place the knife had entered.  His legs weakened, he staggered backwards to the wall, slowly sliding down, first to a sitting position, and then toppling over on the ground, onto his side.

Nothing had to be said between the two assailants.  They looked around to check for witnesses and ran off. 

Gary lay there, on the ground, numbly observing the puddle of red liquid still forming down by his stomach.  He was struck by the thought that he was going to die…right there…in the alley…alone.  As he sank nearer to unconsciousness he thought, ‘This is not so…bad.  It doesn’t…really hurt…all that much.’  As a spasm of pain grabbed him, he thought,  ‘Maybe, maybe it does hurt.’  With the rain continuing and the growing strength of the wind, it was cold!  He was cold.  He heard himself groaning as the pain of another spasm struck.  ‘On second thought, this is a terrible place to die.’  He was barely hanging on, his mind jumping from one thought to another.  ‘I’ll be a John Doe.  I wonder if Vadim will be the one they ask to identify me.’   He found himself writhing each time that another spasm took hold.

A voice close by said, forcefully, “Lie still.  Keep still.  I’m gonna get you some help, but lay still, damn it.  You’re making it worse when you roll around like that.”  Something was pressed, hard, against the wound.  He began to moan, then cry out in the pain, but his voice lost its power to be heard as his consciousness began fading.  He was still now, lying very still, eyes squinched shut.  The man pressing his sweater against Gary’s stomach wound leaned over to check Gary’s breathing.  When he felt the pulse in the neck still throbbing, he placed Gary’s hand over the ‘pressure bandage,’ and got up to leave. 

“I’ll be right back.  I’m goin’ for help.”  He wasn’t sure Gary could hear him, but he felt he had to let him know he was not being abandoned. 

“Don’t go.”  A whispered request issued from the prone figure. 

“I have to go.  You’re going to bleed to death if I don’t get someone here…fast!  Now, don’t talk.  Try to hold that against the wound as tightly as you can.  I’ll be back!” 

“No.  Don’t go.  Please.”  Gary had no volume to his voice.  The person had left, left him alone again, bleeding…dying…in this nowhere place.  He couldn’t open his eyes.  He just lay there, feeling the wetness of his own blood soaking his clothes.  The spasms seemed as though they were coming less frequently now as his awareness faded.

----------

Noise.  So much noise.  His alarm?  He tried to reach to turn it off, but couldn’t move.  He tried again, but something or someone was holding him down.  He allowed a moan to escape as the pain returned.  It was constant now as he tried to move away from it.  He was fighting to get away from it.

Then he heard a voice.  Someone was talking to him.  What were they saying?  ‘Concentrate, Gary, concentrate.’  “What?  What?” he asked impatiently.  He couldn’t stop moaning as the spasms continued and his words struck out in anger.  In a panic harvested from the pain, in as loud a voice as he could muster, he snapped, “Get these straps off me…NOW!  Dammit!  Stop touching my stomach!” 

A calming voice then, saying, “Try not to move, Mr. Hobson.  We’re going to help you, but you’ve got to stop fighting us.”

He heard that.  He forced himself to open his eyes.  He was in a small, confined area.  Two men were there, fussing with him as he lay there—where?  “Where am I?  What is this?”  His voice was so weak that he wasn’t sure whether they had heard him.

“You’re in an ambulance, Mr. Hobson.  We’re enroute to Chicago General Hospital.  You’ve got a knife wound, so lie still.  The restraints are there to keep you from moving and aggravating your condition.  When you thrash around all you succeed in doing is causing that wound to bleed more.”  The paramedic was caring, but was concerned about his patient’s blood loss.

The siren was drilling into his head.  “Do they have to have that siren blaring?  My head…”

“We’ll be there in a couple more minutes.  They need the siren to make sure the traffic lets us through.  Lie still and enjoy the chauffeured ride.”  He nodded to the other paramedic, then said, “Mr. Hobson, we’re going to give you something to help with the pain.  Relax and it will work faster.”  

Gary was sure they said something about pain.  What did they know about his pain?  His midsection felt as though the knife was still in it.  There was a different feeling to the pain now.  What was happening?  Things were getting calmer.  His body tingled for an instant, then the tingling went away and took the pain—and his consciousness with it.
   
----------—

Noise again.  Beeping.  Strange far-away voices as if from a tunnel.  Swishing sounds.   It seemed like someone was touching him every now and then; like pressure touches.  It was so hard to hold on to wakefulness.  Every time he thought he could rise above the darkness, he would sink back into it.  Once in a while he would get a sensation of pain, piercing, engulfing pain.  Then darkness closed all sensations out again. 

At times he thought he remembered feeling someone take his hand, like now.  It was a caring touch, a friendly touch.  It was so hard to reach wakefulness, like swimming upstream.  He was trying to reach a bank of the river, but the current was too swift.  ‘Too tired, too tired,’ he murmured, not knowing whether it was out loud or not. 

“It’s okay, Gary, just sleep.”  The voice was familiar.  Who? 

Once again, he was swimming, but this time he thought that he was making some headway against the current.  A little farther, just a little farther he kept telling himself.  Then he found himself arguing against himself.  “I can’t make it, can’t make it,” he whispered aloud, out of breath, out of strength.  He just kept saying, “I can’t.  It’s too far.  Help me.” 

“Gary, don’t fight it.  Just let yourself rest.  You’re going to be okay.”  There was that voice again.  He almost recognized it.  Almost. 

Consciousness came slowly.  He heard sounds, but they sounded real this time.  He could identify hospital sounds.  He was able to open his eyes.  ‘Hospital’ he said to himself as he let his eyes wander around the room.  ‘Definitely a hospital.’  Looking around he came to realize that he was in a private room.  In his mind he was hoping that his insurance covered a private room.   He had something in his nose.  Weird feeling.  As he was reaching to remove it he realized that his arms did not have the freedom to reach anything.  They were confined by restraints. 

His movements attracted the attention of the nurse entering the room.  “Good morning, Mr. Hobson.  Glad to see you awake.  We were wondering when you were going to come back to the land of the still-struggling masses.”  She smiled and approached.  “I’m just going to take some numbers and check you.  You don’t even have to move, this is a full-service station.”  She chuckled at her own humor.

When she lifted the bandage off of his middle, he attempted to get a look at it too, but found he couldn’t bend quite that much.

“Don’t try it.” She warned.  “We don’t want to get that geyser spouting again.  You gave the doctors a workout trying to cap it off and keep it from restarting.”  She checked the IV and its connection after recording his vital numbers. 

Gary, his voice a whisper, asked, “When….”

She was ready with an answer, “When?  You’ve been out of it for almost three days, now.  There’s going to be some very happy people coming in here today.  Your friends have been keeping a vigil all this time.  We have to chase them out with whips at night.”

“My friends?”  His throat was sore and his voice raspy.  “How did they know?  How did you know?  My wallet….”  He was totally confused.

She put her hand on his shoulder, “The man who called the paramedics for you identified you as Gary Hobson and gave us the name of the place where you work.  McGinty’s?”

“Who…who would that be?  The man?  Who…”  He suddenly felt so tired.  “Cold.  I’m so cold.”  His eyes refused the light and he closed them.  ‘Can anyone feel worse?’ his mind wondered.

The nurse brushed the hair from his forehead and felt the heat radiating from it.  “I’ll be right back Mr. Hobson, I’m going to get something for that fever.”

He didn’t care.  His stomach was starting to throb.  The pain reached out from the wound to his whole body.  He moaned as the pain levels rose and fell.  It wasn’t long before the nurse was back and, with her, the doctor.  They spoke to Gary, but his mind had shut down.  All he wanted was relief. 

The next time he came near the surface of consciousness he heard voices near him.  His right hand was being held in someone else’s.  They were grasping it in a tight hold.

“No!  You don’t have to do this!  No, don’t do this, don’t…”  He was frantic to move, to evade the restraint, but his arms wouldn’t move but a few inches.  Whatever had his hand couldn’t be shaken off. 

“Gary, Gary,” the voice was soft, but urgent, and so familiar.

“Marissa?” he asked, trying to open his eyes.  “Marissa, help me!  I can’t…I can’t…”

“It’s okay, Gary.  It’s just me.  I’m here and you’re going to be okay.  Just sleep.  I’ll be here.”  Her voice trailed away.

The raging river was becoming a busy stream.  He still couldn’t quite swim to the edge against the current.  He was fighting, but getting weaker with each stroke.

------------

Someone was near.  A cool hand had settled on his forehead.  His eyelids twitched as he tried to open them.  He tried to focus on who it was touching his head.  The voice image was so blurred.  He could give in and let sleep win or he could concentrate…concentrate.

The cutest and toughest detective ever to be a part of the CPD occupied the chair next to his bed.  “So, Hobson.  You gonna join us?”  Brigatti had her attitude with her.  Her presence was an easy one to recognize even with his eyes closed.

“Hey, Brigatti,” he whispered.  It seemed that even whispering took his breath away.  He closed his eyes for a minute to catch his breath again.

Toni was quick to notice his problem, “Hobson…Gary, don’t talk.  I’m just here to let you know you have friends…who…care.”

A smile formed on the patient’s lips as he opened one eye to scrutinize the tower of ivory, the stone Venus, who just said something sounding very much like an endearment.

 “Care?”  The questioning word came out in a barely audible voice.  “Did you say ‘care,’ Brigatti?”  The effort left him searching for breath again.

“Don’t talk, Gary…and don’t push it.  The doctors want you quiet or they’ll kick me out.”  She frowned and shook her head as he closed his eyes and, from his breathing pattern, appeared asleep.  She hoped he was asleep anyway as she whispered, “Why do we have to wait until one of us is injured, until one of us is unable to do anything about it, to express an affection?  Why can’t fate cut us a break, just once?”

Chuck and Marissa came in at that time and approached the still form.  The bed was surrounded by equipment, most of which were either delivering or removing fluids.

“Hey, Brigatti,” Chuck greeted her.  “Has he wakened at all?” 

Chuck directed Marissa to Gary’s left side and she placed her hand on Gary’s shoulder, “Gary, it’s me.  Chuck is here with me.”
Brigatti’s eyes, moist with unshed tears, tried to avoid Chuck’s eyes, but he noted the emotion present.  Toni calmed herself before answering, “He was awake a minute or two and recognized me.”  Worry was reflected in her eyes.  “He’s so weak.  He said a couple of words and promptly fell back to sleep.  Fishman!  What did the doctor say this morning?”  She didn’t wait for his answer, but added, “He should be getting stronger.  I don’t see it, if he is.”  This tougher-than-nails cop was angry in her helplessness, fighting the tears that were brimming in her eyes.

Chuck Fishman was not her favorite person.  She hated to be dependent on anyone, let alone Fishman.  His sarcastic humor grated on her.  This crisis was taking so much from her; she was paying heavily in pride and emotions.

Ignoring Brigatti’s present state, Chuck related that morning’s update with the doctor.  The condition was stable at that time, but was considered ‘guarded.’  When Chuck had asked what the hell that was supposed to mean, the doctor explained that they repaired the damage caused by the knife.  That, coupled with and complicated by the copious blood loss made this case unpredictable.  Keeping Gary comfortable was the prime objective as his system fought off infections of every source, not the least of which was the contaminations of an invasive weapon.

Chuck was having a little trouble continuing as he considered the degree of danger still remaining for his long-time friend.  He focused his eyes on a scrap of paper on the floor as he continued quoting the doctor’s warnings.

Gary moved in the bed and groaned in doing so.  “Don’t leave.  Help me!  Please…don’t leave.  Who…who are you?”  He thrashed a bit, then he fell back into whatever pit he was having so much trouble climbing out of.  His pleading to some unknown person was heartbreaking for his friends to hear.

Brigatti got up.  She could take this no longer.  “I gotta go,” she announced to his two friends, “I’ll try to check in later tonight.”  She marched out as if she were late to an appointment.  Outside the room she let the tears run down her face as she headed out of the hospital.  She just wished things had begun better for the two of them.  She could have been softer.  He wasn’t someone she had to look on as competition.  He didn’t question her abilities as a detective.  Why did she have to represent herself as ‘untouchable?’  Was it too late to show him a different side of her?

End, Part 2  

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

PART THREE



CHAPTER 1

Paul Armstrong entered the downtown mission and immediately spied Anthony Wayan sitting at one of the tables with a cup of coffee in front of him.  He was holding the mug with both hands as he stared into it.  A shadow overtook him in his reverie. 

“Hi, Wayan.  Mind if I sit with you a minute?”  Not waiting for an answer, Paul straddled the bench across from the man.

Wayan looked up briefly and acknowledged the tall detective.  “Not for me to say, sit if you want.  I figured you’d get around to comin’ here sooner or later.”  He tested the heat of the coffee with a timid sip. 

“You know what my questions are.”

“And what’s that, Armstrong?”  He didn’t intend to make it easy for Paul.

“Come on, Wayan.  What happened in that alley?  How did Hobson get himself in that kind of trouble?  You know they almost killed him.  I know you were following him.  I know you were the one who called 911.  You saw something.  What?”

“What’s your obsession with this guy, Armstrong?  Did he rape your sister or something?  What has he done to warrant all your attention?”  Wayan waited, then he tried the coffee again.

“My ‘obsession,’ as you call it, is my business!”

“Is he wanted for something?  Suspicioned?”

“Way off, Wayan.  Let’s hear it.  What did you see?”

“What I saw the whole time I was following him was seven days of a perpetual motion machine masquerading in men’s clothes.  That’s right!  Nothing sinister.  Nothing more suspicious than a guy at times literally running from one end of Chicago to the other…every day!  By the way, you owe me some expense money, you know.” 

Paul nodded and motioned with his hands for him to continue.

“His motivation, I couldn’t even guess.  It looked to me like he was doin’ a lot of rescuing of people.  He was on the scene when accidents happened.  Funny thing about it though, no one got hurt in the accidents.  I saw him arrested once, picked up by cops a couple times, and he was even clobbered by some lady’s purse once.  I’m tired just thinkin’ about it.”

“Did you get to see who told him where these ‘rescues’ were going to be?  Did he communicate by cell phone?  An informant?  What?  That’s what I wanted you to provide.”

“If he took orders from anyone…I didn’t see it.  He would stop to read his paper…pretty often, in fact.  After he looked around…like he was watching for someone, like me..he would take off a’runnin’.  I suppose, you bein’ a cop, it would look kinda suspicious, but he didn’t break any laws I could see.”  Wayan glanced at the clock.  “I gotta get back to work.  You want him still watched…once he gets out of the hospital, I mean?”

Paul reached into his pocket for his wallet and discreetly handed Wayan a wad of bills.  “You never said what you saw in that alley.”

“Two guys were beating up on some little guy.  When Hobson tried to split them up, they turned their actions on him and it went bad.  One panicked, I think, and stuck the knife into your guy.  When he went down, they ran for it.  I couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it.  All I did was call 911 for him.  He was really hurtin’ and bleedin’ so I waited with him.  Boy, did he soak my sweater up.  I threw it in the dumpster right there.”

Armstrong was about to leave.  He stopped and handed Wayan another $20.  “Thanks for helping him.  Buy yourself another sweater.  Please give it another try.  I’ll call when he gets out.”

As Paul was heading back to his car he mulled over this enigma known to him as Gary Hobson, bar owner, meddler, puzzler, irritant, hero.  What else?  What was it?  More than ever he felt the need to know the ‘secret.’  How did he do it?


As Gary began to waken the next afternoon, he was aware of someone’s hand on his and a fragrance he wasn’t familiar with, kind of sweet and fresh.  ‘Brigatti doesn’t wear fragrances and Marissa always has an exotic spice scent.  Who?’  he thought as he opened his eyes cautiously. 

It was a surprise to see the new waitress, Helen, at his bedside.  “Hey,” he said with all the volume he could muster.  “Where’s Marissa?  Is she okay?”

Helen pulled her hand away self-consciously.  “Marissa asked me to take her place here after she woke up with a sore throat this morning.  She’s afraid to get you infected, but she didn’t want you to wake up all alone.”

“Thanks,” he whispered.  It hurt whenever he took a breath deep enough to get any volume.  He asked to hear what was happening at McGinty’s and how the new catering job was progressing.  She brought him up to current on the bar, but stopped when she saw his eyes close and heard his breathing develop into a gentle snore. 

The next time that Gary opened his eyes, Helen wasn’t at his side any longer.  Without really understanding why he was uncomfortable with being alone, he called out to her.  Just having a familiar face present was important to him right now.  The effort to raise his voice triggered a fit of coughing which, in turn, triggered spasms of mounting pain spreading from the wound site.  It was at that point that Helen returned with a cup of coffee in her hand.  She saw his obvious distress marked by him lying on his side clutching his stomach and attempting to catch his breath.  Setting the coffee down, she hurried out, returning with a nurse. 

“What have you been doing?  Tell me you weren’t trying to get up.”  It was an accusing tone the nurse used as she walked over to him.  By now he was rocking back and forth, holding his abdomen, his face grimacing in pain.  Pulling the covers back to check his dressings, she was alarmed to see the bandage stained.  Excusing herself, she went to get a doctor. 

Helen stood off to one side when they returned.  The doctor, impatient and frowning, asked the nurse to get a fresh bandage and an ice pack.  “What were you trying to do, Mr. Hobson?  You’ve got the wound site oozing.  You have no idea how much we sweated to get that wound to stop bleeding.”  He muttered a few words he would rather not have had Gary’s visitor hear as he removed all the tape and probed around the stitches.

Gary closed his eyes, uttering, “Coughing…I was coughing” He waved his hand, pointing feebly to his neck.  “Tickle in throat.”  The strain and the doctor’s insinuations had left him on the defensive trying to offer a reason for his discomfort. 

Seeing his patient’s weakness, the doctor repented, “It’s okay.  I’m prone to scolding my patients when I should go a little easier.  Sorry if I sounded like you were deliberately sabotaging our efforts, but you should realize that the knife that did this was not scalpel size.  It tore into your middle like a machete through the jungle.  You’re going to feel its effects for a long time to come.”  He became aware that his patient was not the most attentive audience when he heard the rhythmic breathing sounds coming from Hobson who was, once again, out.  “I guess my orations are not what they used to be.”  Then to the nurse he said, “Check his dressings every hour for the next two hours.  I’ll leave a note for the resident to look in.”



CHAPTER 2

Each day Gary found that he was able to stay awake a little longer.  He was allowed up, briefly at first.  Helen spent her off-hours sitting next to his bed, sometimes reading the current day’s paper to him, sometimes discussing her or his growing up years, sometimes just sitting, waiting for him to waken.  She found herself looking forward to this part of her new daily schedule.   

Helen had never had a sister or brother to compare this ‘relationship’ with.  She thought that having a brother would have been pretty close to what she and Gary were sharing.  They talked about a great many different subjects, each giving and receiving opinions, sometimes very differing opinions.  She was not accustomed to disclosing her personal feelings to another person, certainly not to one of the opposite sex, and, certainly, not to one who furnished such passionate eyes in which to become immersed. 

Another thing foreign to her was the way Gary was so open with his feelings.  Other males she met and dated seemed afraid to acknowledge even possessing feelings not fitting their image of  ‘macho.’  She reasoned this must be what it was like to have a brother and she felt enriched by it.


CHAPTER 3 

The day did finally arrive when the doctors could agree that being here, in the hospital, wasn’t doing any more for him than if he was resting at home and he was released.  Chuck and Marissa checked him out of the hospital and they took him home.  Vadim assisted Chuck in lugging him up the stairs and helping him into bed. 

The bed felt great after the efforts he expended in getting home and settled.  The sleep that followed was sound and dreamless; the best he had had in weeks.  That first night home saw Chuck on the couch, keeping watch over him as he slept. 

All this time spent in the hospital and up to the present time, the paper had not made one appearance, nor did ‘Ming.’  Who fed the little troublemaker?  Was Gary’s tour of duty with the paper over?  These questions were all answered the next morning when, even without the radio alarm, the splat of the paper and the ‘mrowr’ of the cat were heard at the loft door.

Gary’s eyes shot open and he stiffened out as he heard the distinctive sounds.  Again Ming called out, even more insistent than before.  Chuck slept on.  “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”  Gary, ever so carefully, rolled first to sitting and then cautiously rose to a standing position.  He walked over to the door, opened it a crack to peek out, and saw the cat doing his morning stretching exercise.  “Hey, Ming!  How do you figure I’m gonna be able to bend down that far?”  He was surprised that he was actually pleased to see the cat.

Ignoring him, the cat strutted right on past and headed toward the kitchen.  By pushing the paper with his bare foot, Gary was able to get it as far as the chair.  He sat down gingerly and pondered how he would pick it up.  He just started at stretching his hand downward, inches at a time, when Chuck startled him by waking up and yelling,  “What in hell are you trying to do?  Gary!”  Chuck jumped up from the couch and grabbed the paper, handing it to his friend.

“Ya know, you could just talk,” Gary said, “I could do without all the noise.”

“What do you think I slept on that backbreaker couch for?  For Pete’s sake, Gary, let me know when you need something.”  Grabbing his duffel, Chuck headed for the bathroom. He explained, “I’m gonna grab a quick shower and get ready for work.  The next ‘shift’ on the ‘Gary Watch’ should be in about nine.  You want me to get you something to eat?  Toast?  Coffee?”

“Thanks, Chuck, I’ll wait for Marissa.  Chuck?” 

“Yeah?”

“You know I appreciate all the stuff you and Marissa do for me, but…I really don’t need all this attention.  I’m perfectly able…”

Chuck interrupted, “Sure, Gary, sure.  Just humor us and let us help, okay?  When the day comes, and it will, Buddy, when you have the least bit of color back in your face…we’re outta here!”  He closed the bathroom door and the conversation was ended. 

Gary shook his head.  It was useless to argue with his friends when they were this determined to assist him.  The times that Marissa and Chuck saw eye to eye in something—anything—were so few that he decided not to argue this point.

He turned his attention back to the newspaper.  Skimming the headlines seemed strange after this forced ‘vacation.’  He wondered if someone else received it when he didn’t…or didn’t anything disastrous happen during those times?  ‘Not likely,’ he thought.  He had to get to the last page before anything caught his eye as preventable.  It gave the details of a child stowing away in the back of his dad’s pickup truck and being thrown to his death when the truck became involved in an accident.  Gary got up and made his way to the kitchen telephone.  He had a couple hours to do something about this warning.  It wasn’t something he wanted to share with Chuck.  Chuck had a ‘life’…and work.

He could have tried to prevent the catastrophe by calling the parents and warning them, but it didn’t sound reasonable to think that he would be believed.  How would someone know?  That was just one of the possible, and unanswerable, questions he would have to face.  Luckily he was able to contact Vadim and have him come to pick him up for an ‘errand.’  It was vitally important that Vadim come early, early enough that Marissa wouldn’t be at work before Gary left, but, please God, not before Chuck left. 

This direct approach to pending disasters usually worked very well.  In most cases he only had to watch and wait until the child was on the verge of acting, then he would appear in a warning capacity.  The child usually canceled his plan and the headline would change. 

Vadim insisted on helping Gary down the stairs and out into the McGinty’s van.  They found the address and spied the pickup truck, the motor already running.  Gary got out and stood near the driveway, presumably checking a map.  A child of about four came out of the back yard and proceeded to climb up into the bed of the pickup.  Intending to attract the child’s attention, Gary forgot himself and gave more hearty a cough than he should have.  It set him off coughing until he was bent over and stars danced in his vision.  The truck’s owner came out of the garage and asked if he needed any help.  Gary pointed to the child as he struggled to catch his breath.  Upon seeing his little boy playing in the bed of the pickup, the father grabbed the tyke and took him back into the house. 

By the time Vadim had reached Gary the disaster had been averted.  He helped Gary into the van to return to McGinty’s.  Time was not kind to them.  Marissa had arrived early and was their greeting party as they walked in the door.  “Uh, Gary, where’ve you been?  Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you were gone?”  Her controlled voice belied her worry.  She turned to target Vadim next, “Vadim, how could you let him go out?  He’s not out of the hospital a full day and you are driving him…who knows where?  What was so important?”

Vadim was flustered and having trouble finding words, “Miss Clark…he insisted!  He would have gone alone.  We did not even go on ‘errand’ as he said.  We stop and he stand outside to read map.”  The story was unfolding for Marissa.  She suddenly began to understand why Gary had to go out.  Vadim continued, “Man come out of house and offer to help Mr. H when he had trouble breathing.”
  
“Trouble breathing?”  Her eyebrows rose at hearing this.  Gary recognized the look on Marissa’s face.  It said so much without a word.  He waited for her to comment.  It was sure to accompany the facial expression that he was seeing.  She came closer to where Gary was standing and caringly inquired, “Well, Gary, so how is the breathing now?”

He knew what she was not saying and he appreciated it.  “The…the breathing is fine.  I’m fine, Marissa.”  Suddenly he didn’t feel so fine.  “I…I’m…gonna sit down.”  He went over to their favorite booth and slid in.  The exertion and confrontation had left him shaky and perspiring.  “Vadim, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee, please?”

Marissa jumped on that clue, “Have you had breakfast, Gary?  Did you eat anything this morning before leaving?”  She was not going to leave it go until he answered.

“I’m fine, Marissa.  There was no time to eat before my…errand.  I could stand some soup now, if it’s ready.”

“Sure thing, Mr H.” and Vadim headed off to the kitchen.

Marissa and Gary sat at the booth and talked in low voices, relating the morning’s assignment from the paper.  When the coffee and soup came, Gary ate in silence.  He looked up from his bowl and asked Marissa, “How am I ever gonna respond to the paper’s tasks, Marissa?  Just getting in and out of the van leaves me shaking inside.  What would I have done if that kid’s father had driven away without noticing his little boy in the back?”

It was Marissa’s turn and she reached across the table toward Gary.  He took her hand.  “Gary, you can’t be doing these things yet.  You have to let yourself heal or you’ll take longer to recuperate.  The paper has to allow for it.”  She paused, but he didn’t reply.  “Can’t you call Chuck or Crumb…or…even Vadim? 

His voice betrayed his impatience and irritation.  “The paper doesn’t ‘allow’ for anything!  It didn’t other times when I was in the hospital.  It came while I was in the hospital.  It must think I can do it!  It must…”

“No!”  She raised her voice and some early morning customers took notice.  Lowering her voice again, she continued, “Gary, no.  The paper is a physical thing.  It doesn’t think.  It doesn’t act.  Those responsible for it somehow arrange for it to be at your door…with a cat.  That’s all!  It doesn’t care if you are sick or well.  Please, please don’t do this again.  Promise me.”

Gary whispered back in reply, “I can’t.  I can’t promise something like that.  If I didn’t do something about that little boy today, he…he…would have been killed!   Marissa, he was little!  A little boy, not more than three or four!  I just plain HAVE to try to do something when the consequences are so…serious!”  They sat in silence again.  “I gotta go.  You don’t like me to say it, but, Marissa, I…I’m sorry!  I can’t live with the alternatives.”  He stood up and slowly made his way in the direction of his loft.

CHAPTER 4

He went over to the bed and spread out diagonally on his back, hands behind his head.  Closing his eyes, he looked back on the scene he just starred in, downstairs.  ‘Great job, Hobson!  Now you have proven to Marissa that you are an a-number-one, capital letter, jerk!   You’ve offended the one person in the whole world who has always stood behind you, who believed in you, who could always be trusted.’  He continued on, silently castigating himself, until he fell asleep. 

The tapping at his door fit right into his dreams and he ignored it until a voice called his name.  He brought himself out of the fog of sleep and opened the door, expecting to find Marissa.  It was Helen, a tray with coffee and a sandwich in her hand.  “Hi, Gary.  Can you use some food and company?” 

He took the tray from her hands and began to tell her he didn’t feel like company just then, but as soon as he thanked her, she walked in and headed for the couch.  “I’ll sit with you for a few minutes and take the tray back with me,” she offered in a voice that wasn’t asking permission.  She climbed onto the couch and sat cross-legged on the cushion like a little girl.   He wanted to discourage her from staying, but remembered his rudeness to Marissa and he was not going to repeat it with Helen. 

“Okay.  Thank you.”    

“Actually, Gary, Marissa asked me to bring the tray up and stay with you and it until you were finished.  She said to tell you she’ll be up with an apology later.”  Helen offered a grin after confessing the reason for her intrusion.

“She didn’t really say she was going to apologize, did she?  Or did she say she’d be up for MY apology?” 

Helen shook her head.  “No, Marissa said she had been outspoken and rude.  She was grumbling that she was sure she had hurt your feelings with unnecessary and mean words.  I don’t know what it was tha