To Bare One's Soul
Installment 1
by E. Soral

Summary:  As much as we'd like to think everyone in this world is well-intentioned and law abiding, there are some people who have a selfish, evil mind-those who rationalize that what's good for them is okay and all right to use whatever means they can to achieve.  These people create mysteries for the rest of us.

Spoiler:  The whole EE series of episodes is bound together and has been used to color this tale, especially Fatal Edition and The Iceman Taketh.

Disclaimer:  Early Edition and its characters and situations are the property of Sony/Tristar.  This fanfic is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Thanks, as always, to Vickie Jo for beta reading.  Special thanks, too, to Mike and Tracy for their constructive criticism.

Rated PG.  Reviews and critiques are welcome.
 
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To Bare One's Soul
by E. Soral

"Can I help you, son?"

 The hand on his shoulder with the accompanying voice jarred Gary from his thoughts. "No, no, I don't think so. I just came here..."

 "To be alone?" The priest asked it as though he had heard the statement more than once before.

 "Kinda, I guess." Gary wondered whether he could politely leave-right now, before he got any deeper into what could be a revealing situation.

 "You can be alone in a lot of places, but you can never be alone here."

 Gary's gaze dropped as his eyes filled up. He wanted to say something, but like most people, he held back, not wanting to shift his load to this stranger.

 After dealing with the paper's demands of the morning, he had arrived back at McGinty's just in time to take a phone call, a devastatingly disturbing one. After listening to the message, he returned the receiver to the cradle and wandered out of the bar, a glazed look in his eyes.

 That same shocked look on Gary's face caused the priest to inquire further, "Is it something you want to...to talk about? I have some time. Want to come into my office?"

 Firmly protesting anything that might strip him of his privacy, Gary gave a firm, "No! I mean, if you don't mind I just want to sit here and.."

 "You could sit here," the priest took Gary's arm, "but come on. I need some coffee and I can see you do too."

 Without hesitation, Gary stood then he entertained second thoughts about it. "I can't. I, I just...can't. I need to..." He rubbed his hands through his dark hair, resting them at the back of his neck as he allowed his head to droop.

 "You need to get it out. But I won't push you. I promise. When you're ready, let me know."

 He started to walk away when Gary observed quietly, "We never have enough time, do we?"

 Turning back to what he saw as a troubled young man, the priest asked, "Time for what? Living? Doing? Or...being?"

 "..Never have time for talking...telling someone how much they, they mean... How much you lo..." He began to sit down again as he felt his composure slipping. Instead, a steady hand directed him along to a small office, filled with books and religious items.

 He sank into the armchair, to which the other man had guided him. Feeling awkward about the scene that he permitted himself to be herded into, he self-consciously asked, "Now what? I don't know what you want me to say."

 "Now, my son, get comfortable and I'll bring you the best cup of coffee you' ve ever had."

 The chair was deeply upholstered and it was easy to sit there. He even began to feel more relaxed as he waited, especially after rechecking his paper for the time of his next assignment. The morning had been tiring and the news, sapping. It was a good fifteen minutes later before his host returned with the steaming mugs. Gary's was placed on the desk in front of him. "Sorry I was so long; I had to handle a call. Do you take anything with your coffee?"

 "With it? No, this is fine." Why did I come in here? Oh, God, don't let me start.

 Neither spoke as they tested the drink. The awkward silence was becoming unnerving in his present state. "Am I supposed to bare my soul? I'm not used to this sort of thing." The other man shook his head and continued sipping at the contents of his cup.

 "I can't, ya understand? I can't. No one wo..would like to hear what I would have to say. No one really wants to know..to believe me." Why did he say that? This problem wasn't about him; no, not about him. Or was it?

 No!

 He glanced up from his coffee to see the other man meeting his eyes. "I'm s 'posed to be able to help people, to keep them from being hurt or, or, or.." "I'm sorry. I think I missed something. Let's start over." He offered his hand as he said, "I'm Father Mark. What kind of work do you do? Are you a doctor? Even a doctor can't heal everything."

 Gary released a dry chuckle at the idea, "A doctor? No." He was thinking of leaving.

 "I run a bar." In answer to what he felt would be the next question, he said, "McGinty's on Illinois and Franklin."

 "I've passed it many times. I'll have to stop by and say hello. It's a good excuse for a cold beer."

 Gary put his cup down and looked ready to stand up. "I'd better be going. Thanks for your time. The coffee was the best I've ever had."

 "No, no, no, no. I didn't mean to chase you away. What is it... What's your name, son?"

 "Gary...Hobson."

 "What is it, Gary, that prompted you to take that giant step from the curb outside to the inside of the church?" He was curious about this young man. Something was bothering him.

 "It's, it's, ah, not something I have time to talk about. There's somewhere I have to be in a short while. Maybe I'll stop in again another time." He rubbed the sides of his face, reconsidering the wisdom of even having come into the church. It had been years since he had entered a church except to talk to non-clergy. Just entering wasn't so bad, he thought, but why did he allow himself to be cornered this way?

 CHAPTER 2

 The day had started just as every day does, the cat, the paper, the assignments. The morning went fine, just fine. On time. Effective. In general, a good feeling of accomplishment.

 Then there was that call.

 Unsuspecting, he took it at the bar. Watching his boss take the phone, Crumb had seen the blood drain from Gary's face and, in his own gruff way, told him to sit down before he fell down. Instead of sitting, Gary had nodded into the telephone receiver and said to whomever was on the other end of the line, "Okay," in an emotionless voice. He left without answering Crumb's questioning about what was wrong.

 He had wandered Chicago's streets for a while before coming to the steps leading to the heavy wooden doors of the old church. How many people had stood in the exact place he was standing? He wasn't wondering about those who showed up to attend the Sunday Mass. How many stood there as he was now, their minds in turmoil, thinking that maybe they could remove themselves from the problem as easily as removing themselves from the street into the church.

 He'd been inside this church before. When, he didn't know. It was sometime during the last five years though. He was up the steps and into the dark and quiet interior before the decision to enter had caught up with him. At a spot off to the side of the main aisle he sat down. As he did, the enormity of this change in his life struck him and he slid into a kneeling position, burying his face in his hands. The tears hadn't come yet. It was too unreal, too black, too empty.

 As a child he had learned the prayers most people learn. Funny, he couldn't begin to think of the words to them now. Not even the Lord's Prayer. Without a format, he began to say the same words over and over within himself. "God, help me. Help Dad." That's all he could think of to say.
 When he had picked up that phone he had heard his dad's voice, "Gary," then there was a pause where he heard what sounded like a sob. Surely, not a sob. "Gary, son, listen to what I'm...I'm gonna say. It ain't something I wanta tell ya, son, but you've gotta know." Bernie took an exaggerated breath before continuing, "Your, your, ah, your mom's had a heart, a heart attack, son." He could hear his dad take time to take another deep, shuddering breath. Before Gary could ask, Bernie went on, "She's..she's, ah, she's, she's gone, Gary." Bernie broke down at this point and wept. Somewhat composing himself, he said, "We was gonna go to Branson to see some of the country singers. I thought.. We were about five miles from that RV park that we both like to stay at when she said she wasn't feelin' too good. As soon as she said it, she kinda, kinda..." His voice drifted off before continuing, "She leaned back and just sorta..collapsed against my shoulder. I thought she might've fainted so I pulled off at the next wide spot. She was gone, son."

 His mother wasn't even sixty. How could this be true? His dad had often played practical jokes on him. Maybe this was. No, he would never kid about..

 His dad began again, "Gary, don't think about comin' down here. As soon as they clear it, I'll be bringin' her back. I found a place to leave the Gray Ghost. I'll be comin' back on the train with her..her body." As if he had just noticed the silence at Gary's end of the line, Bernie asked, "You okay, son? Tell me you're okay and I'll be able to hang up. Love you, son." Gary confirmed that he would be okay and heard the other end of the line disconnect. Why hadn't he asked how his dad was? Why didn't he inquire about where his dad was staying? He ignored Crumb's solicitous comment as he hung up, choosing instead to leave the bar.

 Walking along the Chicago streets, hands in pockets, head slightly bowed, he tried to picture his mother. The last time she and his dad had visited him was on Marissa's birthday. The bar had been closed to celebrate the occasion with some of the regulars and some of her church friends.

 Lemonade and soft drinks replaced the alcoholic ones for that night. Mom had brought Marissa a hand-knitted angora afghan. Mom was like that. She beamed as Marissa raved about it. When she beamed, her blue eyes sparkled. Try as he might, at that moment, he couldn't picture his mother's face other than her eyes. How would he have described her to someone? Kinda petite. Light haired. Pretty. What kind of pretty? What shape nose did she have? Did she have a cleft chin? He sorta thought that she used some makeup..didn't she? At least lipstick.

 He was thoroughly disgusted with his inability to physically describe his own mother. In stopping, he looked up to see that he was standing in front of the church. That's where he should have stayed...in front of the church--outside.

 ------------------

 Gary checked the paper as he hurried along. The medical building was just up ahead on the right. Third floor; the psychiatric clinic took the whole floor. Clusters of straight-back chairs held waiting patients of varying ages.

 The Sun-Times article was headed, CLINIC NURSE KILLED IN DRUG-RELATED ROBBERY. The item had little to describe the killer, but the time was set at 3:15 and the victim had been identified as Pearl Swantz, age 38. She had been accosted as she was inventorying the controlled drugs. Witnesses had reported hearing two shots. Police presumed that she must have resisted her assailant. A male, his facial features concealed by a black knitted ski hat, had been observed sprinting out of the clinic and down the stairs.

 Gary asked for Ms Swantz at the reception desk. When she answered her page he took a stance blocking the staff entry door to talk with her. Because she was near his age, he began questioning her about the high school she attended, implying that he used to know a Pearl Swantz. Her first reaction to this person was one of curiosity and suspicion. He looked so very much like... Well, almost like... Few of his words registered as she mentally examined eerily familiar face.

 It was 3:14 and still no one appearing sinister or even suspicious came through the main doors while he watched. Maybe the paper was wrong. Maybe the killer-thief had already wormed his way into the inner offices and was right now rampaging through the drug supply room. At least Pearl was not in the path of danger.

 A man wearing a knit hat came in. He didn't head for the receptionist, but stood at the door watching Gary and the woman to whom he was speaking. The man should have tried to get past the two if he was going for the drugs, but he seemed surprised to see the nurse standing there. He stood stock-still, just staring at Gary and Pearl with a 'what do I do now' look on his face.

 Gary stopped talking to the nurse and took to staring back at the man. After a couple minutes the man muttered something like 'damn' and turned to leave.

 The incident brought her out of the trance and she commented about the strange event. For a few minutes Gary wondered how he was going to end the conversation. She solved his problem when he mentioned his Hickory, Indiana high school. She quickly informed him that she had attended school right there, in Chicago. They both laughed and she excused herself to return to work, her arms a mass of goose flesh. How could anyone look so much like someone else, she wondered.

 Sometimes the prevention of a crime and its consequences is exactly that easy. Be there. Stare the possible perpetrator down. Everyone stays whole and healthy. Perfect. This time.

 With no remaining 'errands' demanded by the Sun-Times, he walked the couple of miles back home, immersed deeply in his thoughts and memories. It was barely 9:30 p.m. when he returned to that day's starting point. The bar was dark. A black-edged notice in the glass of the door announced, "Closed until Wednesday-Family Bereavement." Dad must have called someone, probably Marissa, or Crumb. He was a little relieved that he didn't have to face anyone tonight. No noisy customers. No consoling friends. The day, the news, the saves, the walking: he found himself to be totally wiped out and wanting a shower and the warmth of the bed.

 When he arrived at the door to his loft another sign greeted him. "Call Marissa" it said, with Vadim's distinctive 'V' identifying the author. Not tonight. Not now.

 CHAPTER 3

 The shower never happened that night. Gary sprawled out on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while before closing his eyes to the world's existence. His father was in one of his dreams. He stood alone waving to someone. Was he waving hello or goodbye? He was smiling so it must be 'hello.' Yet the other figure was becoming farther and farther away until they were no longer visible. As the Bernie Hobson of his dreams turned to walk away, his face was streaming with tears. His arms hung limp at his sides. Gary watched as the figure of his father changed and aged until his body was stooped, limping as he cautiously placed each step as though in pain. His hair whitened and became shaggy right before his son's eyes.

 "Mrowr." Twice he heard the sound, right through his dream.

 Not today. Please.

 More insistently than before, "Mrowr!"

 Irritated, he sat up on the couch, surprised that he had not gone to bed. "Okay, okay. I'm comin.' Keep quiet, will ya?"

 As if this were any other day, the cat found his way to the kitchen, expecting the usual service. "Someday I'm not gonna be here. What happens then, huh? Oh, I know, you have Lindsay waitin' in the wings. Do you think she'll treat you like a king when she's awakened with your noise? And, and while we're on the subject, what about your attitude? You don't even act thankful-even when I go to the trouble to get your favorite brands." He shook his head at the cat's utter disregard for his comments. "You'd better shape up and change your attitude. She's not gonna wanna put up with this crap."

 It was useless to try to engage the cat in the discussion. It just ate, strutted, slept, and announced the paper, rain or shine. Gary sat down to scan the articles while the cat finished its breakfast. A few items needed attending to this morning; a few would be for late afternoon.

 His telephone rang as he was still into identifying the most urgent events. He didn't even flinch. As the answering machine picked up the call, the voice on the other end demanded, "Gary! Gary, pick up this phone. I know you're there. Gary? Please don't make me come over to McGinty's for nothing. Please?"

 He knew she would. She would make the trip just to see if he was there. "Hello, Marissa."

 "Your dad called. I'm so sorry, Gary. This is so devastating. How're you doing?"

 "I'm all right, Marissa. Thanks for closing the bar for the week. I'd just as soon not have to deal with people right now. Did Dad say where he was? Or where he was staying? I didn't think to ask when he called."

 Marissa was relieved to hear Gary's voice. "He said that because of the holiday weekend her body wouldn't be ready until next Monday. He's staying at the Edge of the Woods RV camp at the outskirts of Branson. He sounds pretty good...for the circumstances. I guess it's all too soon for the reality to hit him. Gary? You there?"

 "Yeah. I'm here."

 "Have you eaten this morning?"

 "I have some errands, but I'll stop somewhere for breakfast on my way."

 "You want some help? With the, ah, errands? Emmet and I could..."

 "No. No, thanks. I'll be fine. There's nothing too rushed. I gotta go now, Marissa. Thanks for being there always. No one has a better friend. Bye."

 The line disconnected. Marissa stood there for a while next to the telephone. She wished, aching inside, that she was there to put her arm around him and console him. Lois was her friend too, but she was his mother, his mom. Gary was hurting and was going to go through the motions of his responsibilities, like it or not. There would be no way anyone could influence him to take a day off to get in touch with the loss. She only hoped that he would be extra careful today.



 CHAPTER 4

 After cleaning up and preparing to leave, Gary stopped in the downstairs supply room to pick up a bag of kitty litter before going out the door. He took the van to a quiet neighborhood a few miles away. The paper's headline involved a human interest story about a wheelchair-bound boy, 6 years old, whose dog died from ingesting antifreeze that the child's father had drained from the car. A puddle of it had formed on the driveway. Antifreeze is one of those innocent sounding and looking liquids that smells so good to animals. It also is one of those liquids able to cause death to the animal.

 Finding the exact location was not as easy as it sounded because the article gave no address other than a reference to a cross street. The vision running through his mind showed a tree with a broken branch edging the driveway. Thank God for that! His luck held long enough to dump the whole bag of kitty litter on the puddle. As he did so, the small boy looked curiously on, wondering about the strange person littering his driveway.

 Before anyone else could wonder, Gary was back in the van and on to the next location.

 The whole morning was taken up in the same pursuit of calamities. Around 12:30, Gary found himself sitting in the van in the church's parking lot. He left the vehicle and took his seat of the previous day, up near the front. The words to the usual prayers still eluded him and he returned to the "God help me" one.

 He had no idea how long he was there before a familiar voice greeted him, "Well. Gary? Back for my coffee, I'm sure."

 "No-no-no-no-no, I'm just..." He saw from the priest's expression that it was said in jest. "I'm just, ah, taking a break."

 The clergyman motioned for him to follow him, "The coffee's already made this time. Come on, I need some company."

 This was not what Gary had in mind. He wanted aloneness, not company. If he didn't want Marissa or Crumb near, why in hell-oh, sorry-why in the world would he want the company of a stranger? A religious stranger at that! Regardless to what he wanted, he followed the priest to the same little office of the previous visit.

 "Do you go out to lunch every day?"

 Gary set down his cup. "No, I was in the neighborhood and I needed to, ah, to, to..."

 He didn't finish the sentence. What the hell was he there for? It wasn't apparent to him either.

 "It's all right. I really need the company. I'm going through a tough time with one of the parishioners right now. You don't know anyone in our parish so I think I'll try my problem out on you. D'you mind?"

 Was he ready to hear someone else's problems? Right now? Here?

 "Go ahead."

 "We have this couple in the membership who have donated some pretty expensive items to this church in the past. They have the idea that their donations entitle them to dictate policy and procedure. Evidently they were allowed to do that with the previous pastor. I have to find a way to set them straight without alienating them. Frankly, I'm at a loss how to do that. Their motives are good. They've gotten the wrong idea and they're clinging to it. What d'ya think?"

 "Boy, you don't mess around with easy stuff, do you?" The priest shook his head slowly and Gary added, "I was kinda hoping y-y-you were going to ask me a yes or no question. You're in trouble whichever way you go on this one. Give in and you suffer. Don't give in and they suffer." He chuckled, "You' re not gonna come out clean on this one, ya know."

 Sadly, the priest agreed. The housekeeper knocked and peeked her head in, "You have a visitor waiting, Father Mark. It's Mr. Fortas back to challenge you again." Even though it sounded serious, she said it with humor.

 "Oh, I forgot all about our meeting. Tell him to come in." To Gary, he said, "I'm sorry, Gary, I'll have to cut this visit short. I promised Aram that I'd try to show him the error of his ways again. He probably tells his wife that he's doing that for me. We have this wonderful on-going discussion of Judeo-Christian history. Sometimes it gets a little, shall we say, animated, but it's all in good friendship."

 Gary replaced his cup on the desk and stood to leave. Before he left, Father Mark made sure to introduce the barkeep to the Jewish scholar. A scholar, Aram Fortas may have been, but Gary saw someone, not seventy years old as might be imagined, but someone not much older than forty, if that. His full head of hair was dark, as was Gary's. He was Gary's height and build. His nose was more mid-eastern than Gary's, but other than that, right down to the brooding eyes, he and Gary could have been brothers in appearance. The two men took in the similarity then looked to Father Mark as if they had been set up.

 The priest laughed to see that both men found the resemblance uncanny, if not downright suspicious. "I know I owe you both an apology for what you're thinking, but let me assure you that it was not an intentional prank as it must appear. I've known you almost three years, Aram, and Gary I met only yesterday. He did strike me as a double for you immediately. Please, let my apology only be for allowing this meeting to be a surprise. Oh, and for any embarrassment you may be feeling. This was not an intentional setup except that you both happened to be here at the same time. Well, Gary, now you know why I didn't want you to go before Aram and you had a chance to meet."

 Stunned by the meeting, Gary headed for the nearest fast-food place before the next assignment. A hamburger, Coke and fries gave him renewed energy. He made the resolution then and there, not to make it a habit to run into the goodly father. Meanwhile he had to be at a busy intersection near the Loop to keep a woman from being accidentally jostled, causing her to fall under the rear wheels of a turning bus. The only clue as to which part of the intersection that the accident would happen would be the picture of a jewelry store that flashed before Gary's eyes in a vision. The woman's name had been withheld pending notification of next of kin, but it mentioned her age as being in her thirties-not much to go on for our hero.

 The jewelry store had people constantly entering and leaving, adding to the crowd waiting to cross the street. He saw the bus approaching, taking notice also of the woman closest to the curb. A man standing near her had been pushed and had fallen against her before he was able to regain his balance. Thanks to Gary's quick thinking, he was able to pull her out of danger. The feeling of falling is bad enough, but when she saw the bus beginning the turn, she saw the rear wheels and felt the terror of knowing she would not be able to avoid them. The only thing she didn't experience was the accident itself. Gary Hobson held her in his grasp, both of them trembling, but away from the curb. He had pulled her close to the building and out of the way of the foot traffic.

 Her voice was quivering as she said, "Thank you. Thank you. You did that so fast. I knew that I was going to die. I could see myself being squashed under those tires." She pulled away from his arms and looked into his eyes. Her shock had a new source now. "You!"

 It was Gary's turn to be surprised, "You?" he recognized her from the psychiatric clinic. "Ms Swantz, isn't it?"

 "This can't possibly be a coincidence, can it? Have you been following me?"

 "No, no, no," he insisted, "I was just in the jewelry store and came out as the bus was about to hit you."

 "Did you see who pushed me?"

 "Uh, yeah, I saw the guy, but he'd been pushed too. Must've been an accident. Are you okay?"

 She straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair, "I'm okay. Thanks!"

 She walked on towards the crosswalk, leaving Gary to stare after her.

 Checking the paper, he was glad to see the headline had changed. The next errand had him driving to the northern section of the city. It took his presence to deter two teens and a younger boy from slashing the vehicle tires in the small parking lot outside a tavern. They'd put their knives away when they saw Gary, then they left when they saw that he wasn't going to leave.

 As long as he was already there he decided to go on into the tavern and have a beer. There's something about being in a strange neighborhood. No one knows you. No one bothers asking questions. It was quite like the opposite of the bar in the TV series, 'Cheers.'

 The place was mostly bar with a few small round tables here and there. The beer was cold and he made it last. When some of the regulars decided to have a discussion with him in the middle, he finished the drink and left. There were six messages on his machine when he arrived at his loft, but except for the call from his dad, he only made notes of the rest. The others would have to wait; the only one he would be calling was Dad.

 Bernie Hobson was waiting at the phone as Gary called; what else was there to do? "Hello, son. How're ya holding up? You eatin' okay? Your mom would be madder'n a hornet if I didn't check on your eatin' habits. You know that." After Gary gave him the answer he wanted to hear, he asked his dad how he was doing.

 "Ya know, we'd been married longer'n we were single. I know I got on her nerves. Hell, I even get on my nerves! Remember when she kicked me out that time, right after I retired? Sure, I was underfoot. What was I good for anyway? Makin' shelves seemed like something to be doing." His dad rambled on about his mom for a while before coming to the point. "Gary, they've okayed it for us to be going home earlier.."

 Visions of his father sitting alone in the hotel room made his heart ache. He wanted to be with him at this time, but it was vetoed immediately by his dad. Once Bernie Hobson had an idea in his head, well, he was determined to see it through. "When will you arrive in Chicago? I assume you have to stop here."

 "Yeah. Hickory only has a freight line. We'll be renting a...a...hearse..." His dad's voice broke up and he stopped talking.

 "That's all right, Dad, don't worry. I'll be at the station when you come in. Just let me know when you know the time. I..I guess I'll let you go then. Are you eating okay?"

 "Have you ever seen me not eat? I even found a diner that serves gnocchi at lunchtime. You know I can't sleep if I eat gnocchi before bed. See ya soon, son. I love you, kid."

 "I know you do, Dad. I love you too. Bye."

 He vaguely wondered if Antonia Brigatti-who was one of the callers-would like some company tonight. He could stand talking with someone. Maybe he'd call her. Maybe.
 End of Part 1

 Part 2 CHAPTER ONE

 If it could be said, his mother would have liked the day of her funeral. It was sunny, but not too hot. Lots of flowers. The McGinty's crowd was there, taking up the back of the small church. The rest of the space was filled with Hickory townspeople. Even people Gary barely remembered came. He made it through most of the service okay until they came to the individual eulogies. Longtime friends took turns at the pulpit telling their experiences involving Lois Hobson. After the first couple, though, the whole church was in tears.

 There was a lot to say about the Hickory dynamo. She didn't wait for invitations to help out when the need arose. Her dishes were well known at community potlucks as well as at the homes of someone in need.

 Bernie seemed so old to Gary. He put his arm around his dad's shoulders at one point at the cemetary when it seemed that Bernie was about to collapse. All in all, it was heartening to see so many of their neighbors show their support.

 After everyone had left, after the ladies had cleaned up the kitchen, after Bernie Hobson was left alone with his son, there was silence. The two men sat at the kitchen table staring into their coffees. "Why don't ya go to bed, Dad? We're both dead on our feet. I'll close up, you go on to bed." That's how they ended the worst day of their shared lives. Two numb witnesses to a final farewell.


 CHAPTER TWO

 Pearl had arrived home early in the day and showered before slipping into something she hoped was seductive. The silky dress tended to hang loose where it should and cling where a cling would be most appreciated by a man.

 She'd only had one lover prior to this one. Next to this handsome hunk of manhood, the comparison with the other paled.

 She fantasized about having him all to herself one day soon. He had promised that a divorce from his wife was forthcoming. Thinking about how cold his wife was to him, she shuddered. How could she have this wonderful man living under the same roof and treat him so shabbily? It was a cinch that 'she' would never make him want to wander from their conjugal bed.

 As she applied the final touches to her makeup and spritzed his favorite scent in some vital areas she heard his key in the lock. She approached him in purposely-slow steps she and noticed the hungry look in his eyes as he gave an animal growl and smiled. They embraced for a few minutes then sat together in a longer embrace on the couch.

 "Mmm. You smell delicious, woman. What do you do, sit home and pamper yourself all day?"

 "You know where I am all day. Today, especially, I spent it finishing the drug inventory. Say, I don't think I told you. I think I may have developed a stalker."

 "Are you sure it's not just a coincidental meeting?"

 "Twice in a week? Chicago's a pretty big city for that, don't you think?"

 "I think you should let it go, but be ready if there's another occasion. Carry a camera. Or follow him. Or call a cop. Stay where there's other people around just in case he's got some crazy ideas. If you take his picture, don't let him see you do it. I'll leave my cell phone with you; I have another one at my office." Grasping her tighter, he playfully uttered a gutteral, "Now, come here, you."

 She felt protected whenever he was near. Just having his arms around her made her tingle with excitement. Whatever he wanted she was ready to provide. Whatever.

 After all, didn't she take special precautions to guarantee that the clinic never noticed the missing drugs? The paperwork was carefully altered so the inventory always agreed with the original purchase order, not the one that showed the additional items. He never explained fully what they were for, but she was sure they weren't for his personal use. Not that particular drug anyway. He told her that he used it in his practice. She knew that he couldn't prescribe drugs himself, not being a medical doctor, but she did wonder now and then why he didn't ask his psychiatist associate to do so.

 They eventually went out to the small, quaint restaurant they both loved. It was intimate with a wide Mediterranean style menu. Where else could you order Fettucine ala Papalina or Spanakopita or American pot roast from the same menu? The waiters knew the kind of service he wanted and provided it to the tune of a large tip at the end.

 She couldn't help the yearning that went on inside her when he left at night after they slept together, "When can we be together all the time?" She had whispered it as she kissed his smooth and muscular chest.

 His moods came and went on his schedule alone, not hers. Her efforts to rouse his interest and have him stay longer were useless. "Soon, Pearl, very soon." As he rose from the bed and dressed in front of her, he explained, "There's a crisis in the house right now; Rachel's sister died yesterday; I don't want to cause her more trauma to add to her own. She and her sister were very close." Somehow Pearl found it difficult to generate any interest in his wife's problems.

 Watching him dressing had a mesmerizing effect on her. He knew it. There had to be a bit of exhibitionist in him because he liked putting each item of clothing on slowly and deliberately. It never ceased to amaze him how it always drew her rapt attention. To himself only, he referred to it as a striptease in reverse. Wasn't it a game anyway? Everything he had done during the last three months had been according to his game plan. She was as much a pawn as she was a mistress.

 "Last week you said that she'd been in an accident and the time before it was not the right time. What gives?"

 "You know I love you." As he said it he leaned down to kiss her, "We'll find a time for being together, soon, just not now. He reminded her to be on guard and to carry a camera for the next two weeks." He kissed her again for a longer time before taking his leave.

 Every time he left, he had to go through the same questioning. Why couldn't she allow things to be as they were? She had everything she needed, didn't she? He paid all the expenses for her apartment and paid the lease on her car. Why couldn't she just be happy with that? As his mistress before Pearl had, she was putting pressures on him that he wasn't going to tolerate. It wouldn't be much longer, though, he told himself.

 CHAPTER THREE

 Gary hated to do it, but desperate times required desperate measures...or something like that. Chuck had come to the Chicago area for Lois Hobson's funeral and was staying at the Emery Standish Hotel, two miles from McGinty' s. As Chuck's voice came on the phone, Gary pleaded, "Chuck, please, can you help me out today? I need you to attend to one of the Paper's items for me. I wouldn't ordinarily ask, you know that, but this is a special occasion." The silence on the line was deafening.

 "Is this Gary Hobson? Is this the same Gary who won't allow his best buddy to even touch the 'magic paper?' Say, just who is this?"

 "Don't kid around, Chuck. I need your help. There's an accident reported and I'm gonna need your help in preventing it from happening. Just one item, buddy." He hoped that would appease Chuck, "It's supposed to occur at 11:30 this morning."

 "11:30? Ya know I would do anything for you, Gar, but this morning is particularly bad. I'm free about 2:30, maybe 3:00 this afternoon. This morning I have to meet with some big shots about filming a TV series out of Chicago. A lot of filming is going on right here in the 'Small Apple.' They want me! Don't laugh now. I don't dare NOT go to the interview and meetings." The line was silent for a few seconds, then he added, "I'm really sorry, pal, but Jade would have my hide mounted and hanging on the den wall if I missed this opportunity."

 "I understand, Chuck. I can't ask you to throw that chance away. I'll have to find someone else or, or go myself."

 "Why can't you go yourself? You sick?"

 Gary's voice was in anguish, as he admitted, "No..no...no, this save involves the same person that I've helped twice already. What's she gonna think?"

 "She? She? Well, now the crystal ball is clearing. What does 'she' look like, Gar? Attractive?"

 "Wai..wai...wai...wait a minute.."

 "I'll take that as a positive answer. Oh, so we have an attractive woman having to be saved three times, you say? Just how attractive are we talking about? Drop dead? Pleasingly? Knock out? What?"

 "That's enough! I'll take a..a...a chance and do it my..myself. Forget that...that...that I even asked." His impatience made Chuck laugh. Chuck just loved to get under Gary's skin. Gary was such easy game. He embarrassed easily. He blushed if you did it right. And his stammer appeared whenever the other symptoms did. If it was planned well, Chuck could get his friend to do all at one time...like now! There may have been a telephone between them, but Chuck knew Gary well enough to picture the whole scene in McGinty's. He hoped someone else was at the bar watching to see his friend's agony.

 "Sorry, Gar, I really can't help you out. How about Crumb?"

 He had barely said the name when Gary answered, "Crumb! And ho..how would I explain to, to, to Crumb that I know something's gonna happen to, to someone at 11:30 this morning? And know exactly what was gonna happen? Thanks, anyway, I gotta go. Bye."

 Gary did think about asking Crumb, but there didn't appear to be a logical way to explain the problem. He would go himself. He would take the chance that she wouldn't recognize.. Of course she would recognize him. Three times? How could she NOT recognize him?

 He checked in with Marissa and let her know when to expect him back. They were going to go over the last six months financial papers that evening. It wasn't often that they had these meetings, but Marissa insisted that he know what was going on. He trusted her management skills, but preferred to be kept in the dark about the results as long as they were favorable. She wouldn't hear of it. At least every six months he had to sit there and inspect the accountant's financial rending of the McGinty's profit and loss and balance sheet statements.

 Gary pretended an interest that often, twice a year. He would 'okay' and 'ahh' and 'uhhuh' whatever Marissa pointed out. He would make a point not to disappoint her by skipping the ordeal no matter how uninteresting it was. His argument? He really did trust her. When he was working as a stockbroker he had had his fill of financial reports. She had stepped into managing the bar and restaurant after Chuck left, proving that her skills were without question. For a gentle and ladylike person, she was able to shift into her assertive-boss role in an instant. Ask the salesmen who assumed that she wouldn't have a clue as to what she was purchasing. Ask the repairmen who dared to presume that she couldn't possibly understand what they were proposing. Ask the waitress or barman who might have thought that they were in charge because the 'boss' was a vision-impaired woman. Yes, to say that Marissa was only 'capable' was to underestimate her in every way.
 End of Chapter 3

 CHAPTER FOUR

 As Gary neared the parking area where Pearl Swantz worked, he checked the headline again, WOMAN ATTACKED IN PARKING GARAGE. The article was quite explicit in mentioning Pearl Swantz's name and age and 'Killed by unknown assailant in robbery attempt.' In Gary's pre-vision, the killer had hidden behind her auto, waiting for her to retrieve her car to leave on her lunch break. When she used her automatic door opener, he stepped out to confront her. She had resisted giving up her purse. He consequently used some sort of blunt weapon to knock her down. She had died from a severe skull fracture.

 Gary wasn't sure what sort of vehicle Pearl drove nor where it was parked so he waited in the shadows of a support post for her to exit the elevator. At 11:23 he saw her walk to a late-model green Ford Explorer. Nearing it, she pressed the key chain opener and the unlock mechanism echoed in the stillness of the parked cars. The aspiring thief revealed himself by standing up behind her car and closing the distance between them with a couple of short strides. Before the attacker could verbalize his threats, Gary made his presence known by addressing the two people, Pearl and the attacker, with, "Excuse me. Do you two have any idea where E67 would be? I left my car and took note of the number, but I'm all turned around now that I'm back down here."

 Pearl had two shocks to consider. One was the familiarity of the person asking the question, not just because of the two previous occasions, but also to his closely resembling her lover. She had seen Gary several times-and close up. The other was seeing the man close behind her. She hadn't even noticed him near her before that. Her heart was thumping madly as she wondered whether the two men were in partnership in cornering her at her car. Before she could answer, the man next to her walked on past both Gary and her as he headed toward the elevator.

 She thought for a minute that he could have been the same man from the clinic the other day, same build, same walk, kind of a sailor's swagger. After the elevator door closed the man inside, she confronted Gary, "Who the hell are you? Don't tell me that you're not following me. There's no way that this is an accidental meeting." He was shaking his head 'no' to her accusation, but she didn't give him a chance to explain. "If I ever see you again, I'm gonna have you arrested. You're creepy, ya know that? Now get the hell out of here!"

 Creepy? He was creepy? He'd been called almost everything that a person could be called. But that was one of the few things that he'd never heard before. Creepy! He'd be glad to get back to the safety of the bar today.

 His mind was elsewhere as he drove back, never noticing the green Ford following a couple cars behind, the driver still trembling after the incident in the parking garage. She was too nervous to eat lunch anyway; she may as well follow the rabbit to his hole.

 Pearl didn't dare follow him into the bar. She parked on the other side of the street and a half block farther away. Her hands shook as she called the number that had become so familiar during these past two years. To his 'hello,' she said, "I've found him."

 "Hi, Pearl. Who've you found, dear? Say it isn't another puppy. That last one nearly wrecked the whole apartment. We had to tear out all of the carpeting after we returned him to the store."

 "No, no, no, listen to me. I've found that man, the stalker. He was at my work again. Actually he was in the parking building beneath it as I was going to lunch. I'm still shivering at the thought." She lost her control then as she yelled into the phone, "He was at my damn car!"

 "Calm down, sweetheart. Give me the address. I'll be heading there as soon as I hang up the phone."

 --------------

 He parked his black BMW across from McGinty's and in front of her car. He walked back to slide in next to her. After giving her a perfunctory kiss, he asked for a description of the man.

 She gave a full description of his clothes, but skipped over the resemblance that the two men shared. How could she say, 'why he looks just like you!'

 "You aren't going in there, are you?" she asked nervously when he opened his door to get out. "Call the cops. He might be dangerous!"

 "Why the hell not go in? He won't know me. I want to see what kind of a son of ah, ah, what kind of a damned idiot would mess with my sweetheart." He kissed her again, this time more earnestly. "Besides that, I know someone who owns this bar. I'll just be innocently visiting a friend. The guy's not going to do anything with all those people around. Now, don't worry."

 Her parting words were "Be careful. I love you."

 CHAPTER FIVE

 As Pearl's friend entered the bar and became accustomed to the dim lighting, he observed the layout of the establishment-the bars, the booths, the tables. They were all the usual furnishings of such places. Maybe there was a little more hominess to it; the bartender greeted him as he approached.

 "Hello, I'm looking for Gary..Hobson. Is he here?"

 Crumb looked the man up and down, wondering to himself about the resemblance between his boss and this man. 'Could they be related? Must be.' Crumb offered to get his boss, saying, "He'll be happy to be rescued from all the bookkeeping mumbo-jumbo. Want a drink while ya wait?"

 He placed the requested cup of coffee in front of the visitor and went off to the office to call his boss.

 Gary seemed, to Crumb, to be pleased to see his visitor. "Hey, nice of you to stop by." He held out his hand, saying apologetically, "I'm sorry, I don't recall your name."

 They met each other's hand in what could have been called a good, solid grasp. It was the way most business meetings began.

 "It's Aram. Aram Fortas. We met at Father Mark's office. He was the reason that I knew who to ask for here."

 "Oh, yeah. Nice to see ya, Aram. I see you're havin' coffee. Want anything stronger?"

 "No, this is fine." He glanced around for Gary's benefit, pretending an interest in the bar and its layout. "Pretty busy place."

 "Yeah, pretty busy tonight. Ya wanna sit at a booth? It might be a little easier to hear. Or we could go up to my loft. I live here," he said, and pointed upward.

 "A booth will be fine, Gary. You know, I thought that I saw someone I know come in here when I drove by about fifteen minutes ago. He had on a black leather jacket and a Cubs cap." He looked around at the other booths visible and at all the tables.

 "Well, I don't know if there are any others who might fit that description in here," Gary waved to Crumb for a beer, "but I came in about that time and my jacket is black leather-and I was wearing a Cubs cap. I guess you must have seen and mistaken me for someone else."

 Aram took his time sipping at the coffee while examining Gary's face. He does look an awful lot like me, he mused, could he be the one Pearl is talking about?

 An idea took form, "Can you come outside a minute, Gary, I'd like to show you something."

 "Outside? Sure." They left together, looking a great deal like brothers as they walked and as they stood on the sidewalk in front of McGinty's. Aram maneuvered so that Gary would be visible to Pearl. He was hoping that Pearl would be watching and take the opportunity to snap a picture.

 He pointed at the McGinty's sign, asking "Don't you think that you could use another sign, for instance, one that was painted on the alley side of the building? It would give you a double shot at the passing prospective customers. The neon one is great and has good impact, but by the time the customer-to-be sees it, he's passed the place. With one on the side of the building you get two chances at their business."

 This struck Gary as a strange line of talk coming from this relative stranger. "I didn't know you were interested in advertising."

 "Not especially. I'm a clinical psychologist, working with traumatized teens mostly. The science of psychology shows up in most parts of life, you know. Advertising is a way to pull someone's psychological chain. In this case, to pull them in here...thirsty, you hope."

 "I guess so, Mr. Fortas, er, Aram, but our business has been pretty good and the cost of having a big enough sign painted is, well, you know. We're doin ' well now, but we had a touch-and-go situation when we first took over this place." Suddenly conscious of the cool Chicago breeze, Gary suggested, "Let's go back in; I could use something hot right now."

 They sat and talked about a variety of subjects over the next half hour or so. After Aram Fortas left, Crumb came over and asked, "What was that all about? You two related?"

 "No..no...no relation. As to what it was all about, ya got me, Crumb," he said as he characteristically scratched his head. "He was talking signs, like out in the front of McGinty's."

 "What's wit' the sign stuff and all? You thinkin' of doin' some more advertisin'?"

 "That's just it, Crumb, I hadn't thought about it for a long time. First, when I did consider it years ago, we didn't have the money. Now, we might have the money, but what would we do with more bodies in here? It's packed most nights already."

 "Sounds pretty loony, if you asked me. Is he in advertising or painting?"

 "If you can believe it, he's a psychologist. Funny, huh?" This time it was Crumb's turn to scratch his head in wonder. "Crumb, I'm gonna go back into the office and see if Marissa's still wanting to go over the reports. I hate it when it comes around to looking over those reams of number-filled papers. All I want to see is the bottom line. Red? Or black? That's all I want to bother about. I'll be in there if any more psychologists make a courtesy call to discuss my signs or advertising policies." He laughed at his joke and went off towards the office.
 End of Part 2

 Part 3 of 10
CHAPTER ONE

 When Aram reached the outside of McGinty's he was pleased to see that Pearl had driven away. He'd stop by her apartment tonight just long enough to pick up the camera he hoped she had used to capture the image of the 'terrible' man who was stalking her and had 'threatened' her life. These were not her words, but they would become so, but from his mouth. His housekeeper would be out tonight; he'd have the privacy needed to convert the digital picture to a printed-out one.

 The next morning he had several time delays in his schedule, but was finally able to break away from his office to attend the Crime Task Force meeting at the city hall. The other members were already seated at the large conference table. Writing materials, drinks and small sandwiches had been placed at each member's place. Those present were two members from the mayor's office, two CPD detectives-Paul Armstrong and Antonia Brigatti, two representative clergymen, the director of the homeless program and, with Aram's arrival, a psychologist. Their plan of the day was to discuss a way to improve relations in the various ethnic neighborhoods through promoting 'whole city' ideas to replace the cluster of small, separate communities. At break time, Aram approached Paul Armstrong. "Say, Paul, can I ask you a professional question?"

 "That's what most people would expect to ask you, Aram. What can I help you with?" The resemblance that Aram bore to Gary Hobson was undeniable. Paul found himself mentally noting the differences rather than the similarities between the two men.

 "I have an associate whose nurse is being bothered by a stalker. He was wondering what to tell her to do. The girl has been encountering the man everywhere she turns. Lately he's been threatening her. Does she need to come in and file a formal complaint to make him stay away from her? What does she do? My friend says that she's a nervous wreck from all this." Armstrong's eyebrows shot up as Aram spoke. "How long has this been going on?"

 "I'm not sure, but it sounded like a couple weeks." He hoped he was underplaying the drama effectively to arouse their curiosity. From the look on their faces and the interest showing in their eyes, the two detectives were biting.

 "Two weeks! What was she waiting for, a written invitation to come in and file a complaint?"

 Brigatti was nearby and joined in with her opinion, "If this guy is threatening her, she had better do something soon. Doesn't she read the paper? Stalkers are dangerous even if they start out as admirers initially."

 "Do you want us to approach the guy and put the fear of God in him? At the very least it will allow us to get his name on file."

 Aram kept the reluctant witness tone, "I don't know how she would feel about getting involved, Paul. She's pretty shy and leads a single girl's life. She's scared to death that her mother might find out and make her move back home."

 "Come on, man. You're aware of the dangers. Do you have his name and where he works?"

 "Well," Aram pulled out the pictures that he had printed out that morning and he handed them to Armstrong, "she said that she took these pictures yesterday after she followed him. He'd been in the parking garage at her work at lunchtime and frightened her."

 If Paul had been shocked to hear Aram's tale, he and Toni were astounded when they saw whose picture was presented to them as a stalker!

 All Toni could say when she saw Gary Hobson's image was, "I don't believe it!"

 Paul calmly pocketed the pictures and assured Aram that they would look into it personally after the meeting was over. If they could have seen Aram's face as he walked away to visit the men's room, they would have been surprised to see a satisfied smile forming there. He was entirely pleased with how his personal plan was progressing and he was especially pleased that the two detectives already knew the 'suspect.' The actors were cast, their roles were assigned according to his wishes and the curtain was scheduled to rise.


 CHAPTER TWO

 After exchanging a few pleasantries with Crumb, they headed up to the loft. Gary opened the door widely to welcome them in. He admitted a little nervousness to himself only. The feeling was present whenever either of the two detectives appeared, especially at his loft. They sat down and accepted the soft drink he offered.

 "So, what brings you two out?"

 Toni began with the direct approach, "Hobson, were you at the medical building on Elston Street yesterday by any chance?" She expected and wanted so badly to hear him say 'no.'

 "Ah, ah, yesterday? I believe that I was. Briefly."

 "Do you know someone named Pearl Swantz?"

 Why was it that he felt that this was the type of inquiry that would indicate that he should have a lawyer present during the questioning? "We' ve talked, briefly. Why? Where's this leading?"

 Paul wasn't so sure that they shouldn't warn Hobson of his rights by the way the questioning was going. "It seems that Ms. Swantz believes that you're stalking her. What do you say to that? Any comments?"

 After an initial shocked expression, Gary asked, "Is this an official call?"

 He could feel his hands perspiring.

 "Not yet, Hobson. Right now we're just doing someone a favor and trying to find out if you're a stalker. You do know what a stalker is, don't you?"

 "Yeah, I'm aware of the term. And I'm not one! There's a perfectly good rea..reason why I...I was at that medical building yesterday."

 Toni warned him, "Don't go into one of your convoluted excuses. We don't have that much time. This visit was only meant to inquire for the sake of our own curiosity and to warn you to knock it off if you're stalking her. We don't have any formal complaints so far, so count this as a friendly visit. Stalking has a very bad name, Hobson. Judges and juries are no longer tolerant. They don't find it a joke."

 "I'm, I'm NOT stalking her. I..I..I don't even know her."

 "Were you at that medical office where she works on another occasion?"

 "Well, yeah, but I..."

 Toni waved her hand in the air, not wanting him to start with his repertoire of wild and improbable explanations, "Don't bother. Did you see her about to be run over by a bus and keep her from becoming a statistic recently?"

 "But, I...I..."

 "Never mind, Hobson." Armstrong stood up. "As far as I'm concerned, this is sleazy. Whatever your attraction is to this woman, give it up before you have real problems."

 "But, but, but I don't have an at...attraction to the woman. I just..."

 "Take our advice. Stay away from her." As the detectives were going out the door, Armstrong threw one more comment his way, "You've been warned!" After they had gone, Gary went into the bathroom to wash his face. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he could only shake his head and comment,

 "What has that damned paper gotten you into now?"

 Brigatti sat looking straight ahead as Paul drove. Finally she shook her head as she said, "Ya know, Paul, nothing should surprise me after all this time doing the work we do, but if I hadn't heard it directly from Gary Hobson's own mouth, I would never have believed it. That little scene we just participated in was so unreal. I kept trying to match up the person with the conversation and my 'computer' just wouldn't compute. There's no way I would have believed it, even if my own mother had told me."

 "Don't beat yourself up, Toni. I feel the same way, if it makes you feel any better. Go figure."

 CHAPTER THREE

 A steady rain was falling as the voice on the radio announced the time. The cat was at the door, more than a little bedraggled-looking with his wet fur. Gary picked up the plastic bag containing the special edition of the Sun-Times and invited the cat in to breakfast. He put Cat's food out, but before he sat down for coffee and the paper, he showered, shaved and got dressed.

 He made a mistake with the coffee grounds and ended up with a weakly brewed product. Then the cat fussed about the substitute food. No chicken, no tuna. All Gary had to give him was an emergency supply of dry cat food that he had gotten as a sample. Gary could see why it wouldn't appeal to any creature, but it's all he had this morning. "I'll get you some good stuff for tomorrow. Just eat it this once. Please?" What was he doing, negotiating with a cat?

 He didn't have to look far for a headline. It screamed from the front page, 'WOMAN MURDERED BY STALKER! BAR OWNER BEING SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING.' He wouldn't have needed the coffee for a wake-up, the paper provided the most effective wake-up ever. The article took up most of the front page. Pearl Swantz's picture was first, but adjoining hers was his! Where did they get that one?

 'The victim was identified as Pearl Swantz, a nurse at the Psychiatric Clinic on Elston Street. It is believed that she was sexually molested before being shot to death. She had recently confided to a friend that she thought she was being stalked, allegedly by Gary Hobson, 35. Mr. Hobson is one of the owners of McGinty's Bar on Illinois and Franklin.' The article went on with biographical material on Pearl and Gary. The murder was supposed to take place fairly late this afternoon in the Petite Noir Hotel, not far from the Loop.

 How he hated reading about himself being described as a murderer. Though it wasn't the first time that the paper assigned the title to him, it wasn't something he could become accustomed to. Knowing about this so early might allow him to develop a plan, a better plan than he'd had for the Scanlon murder, hopefully one that didn't include being arrested.

 He checked the other 'save' articles and took note of their times. This morning would be busy by the look of things. He had a few minutes to figure out his course of action before he had to leave. If only Marissa had been here early today. He could use some of her words of wisdom. Somehow he knew that part of what she'd say would include a 'be careful' warning.

 To take care of one of the other incidents, he wrapped up a wad of ground beef that he planned to use to distract a black Labrador dog. It would allow Gary to snatch the toddler from the area in which the dog had been tethered. The two-year-old would wander away from his folks as they visited next door to the dog's yard. The territorial animal looked friendly as he stood watching the small boy coming near his yard. The ground meat would be enough to hold his attention for the few seconds it would require to save the tyke.

 Gary took along a pair of gift certificates for McGinty's dinners for the irate motorists about to fight it out-while the traffic piled up behind them. It would help to divert their attention while he gave them an appeal to calm down and move on.

 He had discovered a long time ago that his best method was usually 'whatever works.'

 Around lunch time, instead of returning to McGinty's, he called Marissa and gave her his itinerary in vague enough terms so she wouldn't worry. Meanwhile, he stopped for a hotdog and headed for the church and some thinking time. His mother was on his mind a lot and he hadn't had the time to visit his dad since the funeral. Their calls were loving, but short with little being exchanged except inquiring after each other's health and a reminder that they loved each other.

 He wanted his dad to take some time to visit him in Chicago, but Bernie had a million excuses why he had to stay around the house. It was either that the house needed some repair that he had put off for months or he needed to complete some paperwork regarding Lois' death. He was getting better than Gary at producing excuses. Visiting his dad would be put at the top of Gary's priorities for this weekend-for sure!

 Chicago was pretty hot this afternoon. The morning's rain had moved off, leaving intense heat. It was as if every drop of moisture in the air was acting as a magnifying glass for the sun. There was a breeze, as always, but the breeze off the lake offered no relief; it was hot and humid too.

 The contrast after entering the cool and fairly dark church gave instant relief. It seemed to reflect the way Gary felt. The candles were calming, as was the silence. He took a seat towards the back at the side, hoping to be unnoticed by anyone.

 Slipping to his knees he tried to remember some prayer, but as before, all that he could think to say was a despairing, "God, help me." He felt like death itself. His life held no family to which he could attach his emotions. No children or wife to sit with and immerse himself in. His dad was fine. He loved him. He respected him. It wasn't the same. He needed someone to hang on to. Someone to make him want to hang on. Life seemed to just...go on, day after day, without him. Maybe with him, but dragging him along.

 He felt, more than heard his mother saying to him, "It's okay, Gary. You'll make it. You can't grieve over things that haven't happened. And you can't go on grieving for me either. I'll be with you always, son. Do you understand? Gary? Gary?"

 "Gary? Gary? Are you okay, son?"

 The voice of Father Mark and his hand on Gary's shoulder brought him out of his black pool of despair. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I was talking to you and you seemed to be somewhere else. Are you all right?" The moisture that he saw in Gary's eyes told him that the young man was not all right. He was suffering over something.

 "What's the trouble, son? Anything I can help you with?"

 Gary sniffed and looked away, wiping evidence of tears from his face. "I'm fine, Father. I just was..that is, I was.."

 "Want a cup of my special coffee? What makes it special is I usually save it for occasions like this." He smiled as he said, "I believe that the label reads 'Napolean Brandy.' How about it?"

 "No, thanks, I really need to...to sit here for a while. It seems to me that I have no time for sitting...and thinking...and, I really need to..."

 "Another time then. What's eating at you, son? Feel like sharing?"

 He couldn't explain why he answered at all. "My mom," saying it brought tears to his eyes. He had to take a moment to get himself under control as he continued, "she died-suddenly. She was only in her fifties, Father. That's too young. Too soon. I needed to tell her.."

 There it was, the priest thought, there was the thing that was bringing this man back time after time. He needed to admit it to himself, to say it aloud, that his mother had died. Evidently she didn't even have the 'courtesy' to allow him time to say what he needed to say. That was what bothered most people when their loved one was taken without adequate notice to their family.

 Father Mark knew how he felt when he was told that his father had been killed in a motorcycle accident. There had been no lingering where he could have told him how much he meant to them. No time to say goodbye. He hadn't said, "I love you," to his dad since he was twelve. To have his father stolen away suddenly when he, the oldest son, was only twenty, left an open wound.

 Gary's anguish was not foreign to the priest. Nor was the solution. There could be no going back, of course, but he knew that going day by day, with prayer, would smooth over the rough spots as time passed. The loss of someone close never really goes away. Just when you consider that you're okay with it, some song, someone's question, or some TV show will awaken your memory of the loss. And the painful bleeding will flow again from the re-opened wound.

 "Do you mind if I sit here with you? I think I could use some quiet time too."

 Gary looked at him at the strange request for permission, and said, "Sure, sure, go ahead."

 A view from the back of the church would have shown two men kneeling down, faces in hands, taking a swim in their past memories. After a while, Gary checked his watch and left the priest alone, still deep in his meditation.

 The pre-rush-hour traffic was light enough for Gary to arrive at the relatively small hotel and park the van with plenty of time to think over his plan. The nearby florist shop was first on his list. With flowers in hand he approached the hotel's main desk, asking for Ms Swantz's room. He explained that he was her fianci and needed to apologize for the quarrel they'd had. Would they please not warn her? She might not open the door if she were still angry. How would be tell her he was wrong and that he still loved her? The sincere look in Gary's eyes and the flowers in his hand melted the heart of the woman on duty. She smiled warmly and told him she couldn't really give out the room number, but she promised that she wouldn't call room 214 and warn Ms Swantz.

 He thanked her with a smile that filled his whole face.

 The second floor was really the third floor in the building. Like most European hotels, the Petite Noir Hotel didn't count the first floor of the building, but rather, the first floor of guest rooms. He found the right number and knocked at the same time as a shot rang out. He knew that trying the door of a hotel room is not going to work and began to throw his shoulder against the door. Another shot was heard. As a desperate measure, he stood back a couple steps and kicked his foot at the lock area, splintering the doorjamb and forcing the door to fly open.


 CHAPTER FOUR

 He took a cursory glance at the occupants and found only one. Gary stepped several feet into the room and stood stunned by the scene. The body that lay on the bed, which had been Pearl Swantz in life, now lay naked, her hair in disarray on the pillow. A splotch of brilliant red was just to the right of her left breast with a neat small hole at its center. Another small caliber-sized hole was about four inches above her navel with a smaller corona of blood.

 Gary jerked abruptly, half turning, at what he thought was his mother's voice calling to him. As he turned to see who was there, something solid came down against the side of his head. What was intended as a sharp blow to the back of his head turned into a glancing blow, knocking him to his hands and knees. As he fell, a gun was tossed down next to him. He was aware of the sound of someone's feet running in the hallway, but had enough to do hanging on to consciousness without thinking about following the person. Time seemed to pass, allowing the blackness to clear. He reached to the sore spot on his head and came away with a handful of blood. It left a narrow trickle to run down his neck and soak his shirt collar red.

 Pulling himself into a chair near the door, he sat there putting his thoughts together.

 "Don't you move! I have a gun. Just stay right where you are." The hotel' s security guard had been alerted to check out the source of what sounded to neighboring room guests as possible gunshots. He was making a dramatic, if not exaggerated, cop-like entry into the room. When the guard observed the gun on the floor and the grisly sight on the bed, he picked up the phone and instructed the desk clerk to get the police. Briefly diverting his attention as he set the phone back on the bedside table, from the corner of his vision, he saw his prisoner get to his feet and charge out the door. "Here now, get back here! I have a gun," he took a stance, both hands on the weapon, "and I know how to use it." The long-retired former police officer followed after his disappearing prisoner. He saw Gary enter the door to the stairs and he kept on his prisoner's trail.

 It had been a long time since the guard had chased anything more than a dream. His legs were not used to stairs anymore and he was already out of breath from over-extending himself in the pursuit. As he viewed his runaway prisoner already on the first landing down from his floor, he called out another warning and fired a shot in Gary's direction. After that his man was out of sight.

 Gary paused at the guard's warning, too long perhaps because the guard's bullet tore through Gary's left upper arm and across his shoulder blade. The impact and sudden pain almost sent him headfirst down to the next landing. He lurched from handrail to wall as he continued with his escape. Upon reaching the door to the parking lot, he hesitated only long enough to check for other law enforcement officers. Once in the van, he allowed his head to slump to the steering wheel for a moment, out-of-breath and feeling the dizziness returning. Among the sounds of street traffic he could hear sirens coming closer. His hand shook as he worked the key in the ignition. Driving at an extra cautious rate of speed was difficult when his heart was racing as fast as his mind.

 'Why did I run? Why did I run?' The thoughts and questions kept on as he put distance between him and the hotel-and that body. It was certain that the sight of Pearl's body would never leave his memory. At first encounter, he was fighting with his urge to vomit. Now, however, it seemed to be mostly under control. The fear and the ever-growing pain were obliterating his thoughts of anything except escaping. Where could he go? Again he reminded himself where he couldn't go. He couldn't go home; he couldn't go near McGinty's at all. He couldn't ask for Brigatti's help; no question about it. He surely couldn't involve his dad by contacting him, although he would have to let him know what was happening before the police did. That pretty much left Chuck and he wouldn't want to put him in that kind of jeopardy.

 Gary pulled into a distant parking space at the nearby library. There he moved to the back of the van and lay down on the floor. He placed an old jacket from the back under his head as a pillow. He either passed out or fell asleep-he wasn't sure-but he woke to see the parking lot dark and nearly deserted. For him, it was time to go.

 The way he looked, dried blood caked in his hair with a direct line running down to his neckline, he couldn't hope not to attract attention wherever he went. The blood from his arm could be concealed in the jacket. Although the wound had stopped bleeding, the sleeve and back of the shirt were heavily stained. His left hand was bathed in the red of his blood.

 Driving around in a van distinctively marked as 'McGinty's' was not the way to remain on the loose either. He needed to clean up and abandon the van somewhere. Meanwhile, he had other needs pressing, not the least of which was finding a place to rest--and think. His head throbbed, sending waves of nausea through him and brought back memories of the concussion he had sustained when he had been struck by a car one particularly cold night. Those headaches had stayed with him for a long time afterward.

 'Aspirin, Tylenol, that's what I need to put on my list,' he mentally noted, squinting from the pain shooting through his head. 'Water would be good, anything liquid would do right now. And some first aid stuff.' Looking down at his left hand, he added 'Something antiseptic.....hydrogen peroxide....I wonder if that would help. As long as I'm fantasizing, I may as well add food. Yeah, I could stand some food, too.'

 He took the wadded-up jacket, shook it out, and put it on. He drove up to the first drive-thru fast food place he found and ordered several bottles of water and a hamburger. Taking himself to the nearest movie theater parking lot, he devoured the hamburger and filled up on some of the water. Next, he moved into the back of the van again and stripped above the waist. Using the unstained part of his t-shirt, he did a general clean up of the blood where he was able to reach.

 What he considered would be the least conspicuous way in which to secure the items he still needed was to find a convenience store. When he found one, he parked the van behind the building rather than take a chance on having it identified by someone in the store. Before entering the store, he checked the money in his pocket. 'Fifty-three dollars. Fifty-three. That's not gonna go far.' He would have to get rid of the van before having to refill the gas tank. Fifty-three bucks was definitely not going to go far if twenty of it went into the vehicle.

 He found some alcohol and some bandaging materials. It would have to do. It wasn't what a doctor might like, but it would have to suffice. Stores like this didn't carry a full line of first aid supplies. He was lucky that they had anything at all. At the last minute he picked up a couple of candy bars to add to his purchases. Waiting until he could be the last person in line provided him with the least time to be observed by some bored customer waiting behind him.

 While he waited he forced himself to act casual. He kept his left hand in the jacket pocket, taking some of the pressure off of his arm. Glancing around, his attention suddenly fixed on the surveillance cameras near the door and the checkout stand. There was nothing he could do about being caught on camera. Panicking would only make him stand out all the more. He resigned himself to having been already video taped and remained outwardly calm as he waited. No one seemed to pay undue attention to this pale customer, the one whose hair looked as though it was still wet from a shower.

 He used the privacy of the van once more in order to apply what bandaging he could. The task would have been much easier if the worst of the wounds were not to the back of him. Finding a parking spot near the EL, he locked up and abandoned the vehicle. Taking the EL to the next stop, he exited and sought out a telephone. The first call was placed to McGinty's, the last place he should be calling. By that time of night, he knew he might have to leave the call to an answering machine so he was ready. After hearing the bar's recording of McGinty's hours and location, he left his prepared message, hoping his voice was disguised enough not to alert the whole staff, "This message is for Ms Clark. Tell her that her stockbroker friend missed her and will try to reach her tomorrow. The bar's van is parked at the EL stop near her hairdresser's." He didn't say how sorry he was, he didn't dare use that word to Marissa. She would recognize his voice and understand the message.

 The next call might be a problem. He'd have to be careful about the timing at least. It wasn't difficult to remember the number. Hadn't he almost called it at least once a week since he met her? The telephone rang. It was late, or rather, it was early. Midnight was an hour ago. He was about to give up on reaching her when a sleepy sounding voice asked, "Who's this?" That was Brigatti for you. Don't bother asking 'Hello, how are ya?'

 "Brigatti?"

 "Yeah, who's this?" As soon as she asked it, she knew the answer. She knew the voice. Her eyes sprung open, a stone having just settled in the pit of her stomach, and she sat up on the edge of the bed, "Hobson!"

 "Yeah. Sorry to call so late, but I.....I......Brigatti, I have no one to ask so I, I guess I'll ask you. Brigatti. I......I need some help."

 She was ready for that request, "You know I can't help you. You know it. Why do you even ask?"

 "Brigatti, there's no one else that I can turn to."

 "Listen Hobson, the only help I can give is to help you to turn yourself in. I'll see to it that you'll have....."

 "No. I can't do that." Why was he out of breath from just talking to her?

 She hesitated a moment and allowed her tone to soften, "Hobson," there was no doubt that he had evoked a sympathetic spark, "Gary, you have to realize that you're not doing yourself any good by running. You 're making it appear that you're guilty." There was a small break, then she asked, "Did you kill that woman? Are you guilty?"

 "No! I found her. You know I don't use guns. It's not in me to use one to shoo......to, to kill someone."

 Her police tone back again, she said, "People do strange and desperate things under pressure. Is there something you want to tell me about, about your relationship with her?"

 He wondered why he called her. There had to be some reason that he put himself through the misery of talking, that is, trying to talk with this woman. Time and again he felt that they might have something passing between them that could develop into.....something. And time after time, when he tried to find out if they might have a future together, he found out that she was......impossible!

 "I'd better go. We've talked long enough already. I just thought......" His head was pounding, the earlier dizziness returning.

 "Hobson. Are you okay?"

 "Yeah, I'm fine."

 "They found evidence that you may have been shot by the guard. Where'd you get hit?"

 "I'm fine, Brigatti. Don't worry about me. This whole call was a mistake. I won't make that mistake again. I just.....just.......didn't know who, I mean, where to go."

 "Wait, don't hang up. Where are you?"

 "Oh no, Brigatti. I'm not that far gone yet."

 "No. I'm not trying to trick you. Where are you? In the city?"

 "I'm......in the city." His voice was weakening and she could hear it.

 "What do you want me to do?"

 His warning alarms went off to add to the head pain as he considered her makeshift offer. "I guess I just needed to talk to someone. Brigatti, there's something wrong with this killing and I can't......I can't seem to......think." He groaned slightly as the feeling of a knife blade sliced through his head.

 "Hobson!" Her patience gone, she asked angrily, "Where are you? I'm comin' to pick you up. I promise I won't be wearing my badge when I do." What she had just said echoed through her mind. It was against everything she believed and lived. She took an oath to uphold the law and here she was, offering to aid and abet an accused felon. 'What's wrong with me?' This was so completely against her nature that she shuddered that the words had left her mouth.

 "I......I have to think....." If he had the strength to go anywhere, he would never have considered her reluctant offer at all. He gave her the phone location and hung up. Clinging to the telephone for support, he was hoping no cop came by to wonder whether he was drunk.

 A human can't really sleep standing up, but he was doing a pretty good imitation as he hung on to the phone. He jumped as he felt a hand on his left arm. His groan as she touched his wound alarmed her. "Can you walk?"

 No answer.

 "Gary, can you walk if you hang on to me?"

 "Yeah. Thanks for...."

 "Never mind the thanks. This little fiasco just may cost me my career. You'd better be innocent, Hobson! Now put your arm on my shoulder and hang on." She placed her arm around his waist and steered him towards her car. Trying to move someone who weighed almost eighty pounds more than she did, who was at least seven or eight inches taller, was not the easiest task in the world, but they made it to the car without mishap.

 They didn't talk as she drove; she wasn't so sure that he was even conscious. 'He'd better be. I can't carry him into the house.' When they reached her home, it was difficult to make him understand that she needed his help to make the trip from curbside to her door. Once they cleared the front door, though, she was able to maneuver him into the bedroom where he unceremoniously fell onto the bed.

 "Don't go out on me yet, Hobson. We need to get your jacket and shirt off of you. Gary? Gary! Come on, I'm gonna need your help in this. Either that or we'll have to call in reinforcements.....like Paul Armstrong." It was not her intention to call Paul. She said it strictly for Gary's benefit.

 It worked. He was trying to achieve some leverage in order to sit at the edge of the bed. Toni stood in front of him and directed him to give her his good arm. Together they struggled until he was sitting up. When she removed the jacket she gasped to see the extent of the blood stains. "Gary, you should've gone to a doctor."

 Sarcasm was evident as he agreed, "Yeah, right. Next time I'm on the run, I'll keep that in mind." He was much more wakeful with the pain produced in struggling out of his clothes.

 She checked over his head injury first. It didn't appear deep, but she wrapped it to keep it from 'weeping' onto the bedlinens.

 His smart-aleck remark would normally have earned him a few prime comments of her own, but she was truly touched by the amount of blood he must have lost. She pulled a chair close and instructed him to lean against it to keep from falling back to the bed. Bringing a basin of water and some towels, she sat on the bed next to him to better access his shoulder wound. It was only a shallow crease across the shoulder blade, but the blood had accumulated at the site, making it appear at first to be more severe.

 The entry point of the bullet had left a neat round hole through the muscle. The exit point was actually at his back, having first torn a rut along the shoulder blade. She kept muttering as she worked, "You shoulda gone to the hospital. If this gets infected, you're gonna be in trouble 'cause I'm gonna get you to one even if I have to call Fishman to do it!"

 It made him afraid to mention how he felt for fear that she would take it as an excuse to make good her offer without waiting for an infection to set in. "Stay right where you are, Hobson, while I get rid of these things." He was happy to keep from moving. When she returned, she opened the bedding and helped him lie back on his side. Before covering him she loosened his belt and opened his zipper. Until then, he had closed his eyes to control the dizziness. At the feel of her tugging at his belt, his eyes popped open,

 "Wait a minute, Brigatti. Hold on. I can do this."

 She gave a phony laugh and commented, "Don't flatter yourself Hobson, I'm not that desperate that I have to take advantage of an injured man."

 "How desperate do you need to be?" he asked in jest.

 Her disgusted smirk went along with, "I'll be sure to let you know. Don't call me, I'll call you." Between the two of them they were able to inch his jeans off. "Now close your eyes and rest. I'm gonna call the office in the morning and take a 'personal day' to keep an eye on you."

 "You don't have to do that, ya know. I'll be okay after some sleep."

 "That sleep that you're so anxious to have will include me interrupting it to check on your head injury."

 From experience, he knew that arguing with Antonia Brigatti would be useless so he closed his eyes and gave in to exhaustion.

 End of Part 3
 
Continued in Installment 2

Email the author: arcane@nethere.com
 
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