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Tinker's Dam        
by Kikkimax

 

Jim sighed heavily as he rested his head on the top of the open refrigerator door. Only one person he knew wore boots that made that kind of noise in the hall. He pulled out a beer and made his way to the front door to surprise his unwelcome guest. It had been a long day and Jim had been looking forward to a little quiet time alone, especially since Sandburg had flown the coop earlier and probably wouldn't be returning until morning.

"Brady," he said dully as he opened the door and caught the burly detective in mid-knock.

"Hi, Jim. Is Blair around?" Jay asked, not nearly as surprised as Jim would have thought. But then again, the other detective had already figured out Jim’s little secret when they had shared a jail cell in Mexico. Brady had a large duffle slung over one shoulder and carried a twelve pack of Bud, already half gone, under the other arm.

"Sorry, he's out for the evening," Jim said, pointedly not inviting Brady in, hoping the cowboy would get the message.

"Oh, right, hot date tonight with Sheila what's er name," Brady grimaced and leaned against the wall as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

"McRay?" Jim guessed.

"Yeah. That's it. Sheila McRay. Blair’s been talkin’ about her for a while now. I knew they had a date tonight, dammit. I musta forgot. Sorry I bothered ya," Jay turned and staggered back down the hall toward the elevator.

As he started to close the door, Jim realized that he didn't have to be a Sentinel to catch the wave of booze coming off the other man. "Hey, Brady, you're not driving are you?" he called out as the elevator door opened. He still didn’t want company, but he’d feel guilty as hell if something happened to Brady, or God forbid, some innocent bystander when he could have stopped him.

"Yeah, Jim," Jay huffed sarcastically as he stepped inside the car and punched a button. “My life's not deep enough in the toilet yet. I thought I'd try for a DUI to round things out.”

"What's wrong?" Jim asked with a sigh, caring more than he was actually comfortable with.

Brady stopped the closing elevator door with a hand and gave a pale imitation his usual prize winning smile. "Nothin’. Don't worry about it, Jim. Have a good one."

"Wait a damn minute," Jim growled impatiently as he made up his mind and strode forward, adding his hand to Brady’s on the door. "I can't just let you leave like this. You look pitiful and you smell like a brewery."

"Don't worry,” Brady assured quietly. “I'm not driving. I came in a cab."

"Still, I can't let you wander Cascade in a drunken stupor. At least come inside while you sober up." Jim reached into the elevator and caught Brady by the strap of the duffle bag, pulling him back into the hall.

"I don't want to sober up," Jay insisted and broke Jim's grip with a hard shrug of his shoulder. "Get off me."

"I'm not letting you leave like this," Jim replied, matching Jay's tone.

"You man enough to stop me?" Brady challenged, dropping the duffle but hanging onto the beer like a lifeline.

Jim laughed. "It always comes down to a pissing contest between us, doesn't it?" he asked. "You obviously wanted to talk about whatever's bothering you or you wouldn't have come looking for Sandburg in your condition." He bent down and grabbed the bag and headed back into the loft, leaving the door open behind him.

Brady followed slowly with a bewildered look on his face. "Jim? Don't you want to fight?"

"Here. Let me put those in the fridge. Have a seat," Jim instructed. Jay fished out two cans before handing over the rest. "I've got one, thanks," Jim said with a tilt of his own bottle.

"These are for me," Jay stated as he stumbled toward the couch a beer in each hand.

Jim winced as he watched him go before completing his task and joining him in the livingroom. Brady was a lot of things, but drunk and disorderly wasn't usually one of them. Even after losing his partner, Jay had managed to hold it together. At least on the outside. "Look, I know I'm not Blair..."

Jay snorted and popped open one of the beers. "How long you gonna keep me here?"

"Until you sober up some," Jim answered, snatching the beer away.

"That may take a while," Jay responded, retrieving the other beer he had stashed behind him and opening it with a messy pop. He sucked the foam down before it could overflow.

With a sigh of resignation, Jim sat the extra can down on the coffee table. "Suit yourself. I'm going to bed." The mood Brady was in, if he said anything else, they probably would fight he reasoned.

Brady nodded absently before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a little velvet box. "Everybody's gonna know soon enough I suppose," he said cryptically before tossing it to Jim.

The sentinel settled on the other end of the couch and cracked the box open. "Gee, Brady. I don't know what to say. I just want to stay friends," he quipped.

Jay laughed. "Yeah, that's what Megan said."

"Oh," Jim said apologetically, examining the diamond ring a little closer. "You popped the question."

"I could have lived with no," Jay confirmed. "But she freaked. She threw me out."

"What? No way. Megan loves you."

"That's what I thought," Jay whispered forlornly, leaning his head against the couch, his hat tumbling backwards into the floor unnoticed.

"I mean it, Brady. She's impossible to work with after she's been around you. She just floats around the bullpen. I can't believe she turned you down." He closed the box and set it on the table.

"I can't really blame her. Hell, I don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I sold my beautiful red truck to pay off the debts from my little venture into the world of private detective. Not that I mind my little piece of shit Honda, but I’m sure Megan doesn’t want to be seen in it. Everything else I own in the world is locked up in a storage shed in Houston or right there in that bag."

"Megan's not like that," Jim argued. "She's not about things."

"Ellison, that doesn't make me feel any better," Jay groaned, closing his eyes.

"Talk to her."

"I'm done talking. Now I'm gonna drink," he declared, polishing off the beer in his hand.

"Don't give up, maybe she'll change her mind if you give her some time," Jim urged one last time, feeling genuine sympathy for his friend’s friend.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. That's what my dearly departed granny used to say."

"Get some sleep," Jim said, climbing to his feet.

"Thanks, Jim," Brady replied as he pulled off first one boot and then the other.

"You can stay as long as you need to," Jim offered sincerely.

Brady smiled a real smile this time. "Just tonight, Jimbo. I'm going undercover in the morning."

"You think that's wise?" Jim asked.

"Why not? At least I'll have somewhere to stay for a couple of weeks." He fluffed a pillow and positioned it next to the armrest.

"But will you be able to keep your mind on the job?"

Jay stretched out on the couch. "I'll be okay," he declared as he closed his eyes.

Jim unfolded the afghan from the back of the couch and covered his sometime adversary with it before heading off to bed himself. He stopped halfway up the stairs to turn around and look. He’d never be able to sleep if Brady kept up that earth-moving snore.

Blair slipped in the door as quietly as he could. Experience had taught him no matter how silent he thought he was, if Jim didn't have in his earplugs he invariably woke him. To his surprise a soft, congested snore emanated from the couch. Without turning on the light, Blair ventured closer to check it out. Unfortunately an errant boot tripped him up and sent him crashing to the floor in a heap.

The snore ceased momentarily as the object on the couch pulled the afghan over its head and shifted away from the noise. Within seconds however it resumed a little louder.

"Jay?" Blair questioned as he fingered the boot under his palm.

"Yeah, he paid you a visit last night," a familiar voice called from up above. "I think it's safe to turn on the light. If that pratfall didn't wake up sleeping beauty nothing will."

"Sorry about that, man," Blair muttered as he crawled over to the lamp and turned it on.

"You're home early," Jim joked, glancing out the window at the first rays of sun as he came down the stairs.

"What's up?" Blair asked as he spotted the ring box on the coffee table. "Oh, no. I guess things didn't go so well with Megan, huh?"

"You knew?"

"Well, yeah. I helped him pick out the ring. You know, cut, color, clarity…"

"Carat," Jim supplied succinctly.

"That too. I was gonna be best man."

"See? That's Brady's problem right there," Jim explained. "He got things all out of order. He should have secured the bride before he made all the other arrangements."

"I don't know, Jim. I think it's kind of romantic to do it the old fashioned way," Blair argued thoughtfully.

Jim sank into the chair. "You think he got down on one knee?"

"I'm sure he did," Blair laughed softly. "You mean you didn't with Carolyn?" he added after a minute’s thought.

"Hell, I don't even remember asking her. I think we just both knew we were gonna do it. I let her pick out the ring and charge it to my credit card."

"That explains sooo much," Blair teased. "And look how well it all turned out."

"Hey! At least I made it all the way to the altar," Jim protested.

"And back."

"Go to bed, Chief," Jim grunted irritably.

Still on the floor Blair drew his knees up to his chest and studied the form on the couch as the sun finally reached the windows, sending shafts of golden light across the loft. "I can't believe she said no," he breathed softly.

"I'll bet he even called her father in Australia to ask for her hand," Jim ventured in the same reverent tone.

"He did," a rough voice reverberated from under the afghan.

"Oops," Jim deadpanned. “How about those Red Socks?”

"Jay! Man, what happened?" Blair asked as he rose up on his knees to pull the cover away from Brady’s head. "You look like shit by the way," he added.

"I don't want to talk about it," Jay huffed as he tried to re-cover his face.

"You wanted to talk about it last night," Jim reminded him.

"Shut up, Ellison."

Blair easily won the tug of war for possession of the afghan and settled on the coffee table with it on his lap. "I can't believe she really said no. What did she say exactly?"

Brady struggled upright and turned brown and red eyes to his friend. "She said a lot of things,” he muttered, pausing to take a deep breath. “She said she wasn't looking for a permanent relationship. She said she wasn't ready to get married. She said if that's how I felt we needed to back off."

"Talk about closing the barn door after all the horses got out," Jim exclaimed sympathetically.

Jay fixed him with a malevolent stare before shaking his head and sighing wearily.

"What are you gonna do now?" Blair queried as he picked up the ring box and opened it, letting the light reflect off the large stone. He closed it quickly when he noticed his partner’s fascination with the whirling rainbow of dots it bounced around the room. The last thing he needed right now was a zoned sentinel.

"Now?” Jay asked with a shrug. “Right now I'm gonna have breakfast and go to work." He noticed the open beer next to Sandburg and leaned forward to pick it up.

"I'll get that, man," Blair offered as he rose to his feet.

"Don't bother. This is breakfast," Jay advised then downed the warm, flat beer in three easy gulps.

Jim grimaced. "You can't go to work like that."

"Sure I can. It fits my cover to a T."

"Brady, you can't let this thing with Connor affect your job," Jim lectured, stern but not unkindly.

"This thing?" Blair butted in. "He loves her, Jim."

"I don't give a tinker's dam…"

"Jim?" Jay interrupted. "Do you even know what a tinker's dam is?"

Blinking back a surprised look Jim glanced at his partner and then back at Brady. "I've heard of it," he answered vaguely.

"Back in the thirties these men, tinkers they were called, traveled around and repaired folks' pots and pans," Jay leaned back against the couch and began to explain quietly. "They'd even fix holes by building these little dams out of clay and pouring in solder. As soon as the solder was cool they brushed the dam away into dust."

"Okay," Jim agreed softly, shooting another look as his partner. Blair shrugged and picked up a pen to absently doodle on the edge of the old newspaper as he listened to his friends bicker, deciding for once to stay out of it.

"I'm not used to losing, Ellison. I'm used to 'most likely to succeed' and MVP and fast track to detective. I mean sure, I've had a few setbacks lately, but I’ll survive. Right now though, without my job, that's about what my life is worth; a tinker's dam. I'm not gonna screw this up."

"I just think you ought to back off on this undercover a day or two, that's all I'm saying," Jim suggested in a softer tone.

"No can do, buddy. It looks like this weekend starts the summit for every lowlife hood from Seattle to Cascade. I found out where most of 'em are gonna stay and I've gotta get there first."

"Well," Jim finally conceded, "be sure and take precautions."

"Don't worry, Mother. We do police work down in Vice, too," Jay grumbled. "What the hell is that?" he asked as he caught sight of Blair's sketch.

"It's a chicken," Blair informed him patiently.

"No it's not," Jim argued with one glance from halfway across the loft.

"Looks more like a duck," Jay commented.

"No, look. See its head?"

"Well, yeah. Its head and feet kinda look like a chicken, but its body is definitely a duck."

"Maybe it's a dicken," Jim declared as he wandered over to get a better look.

Blair grinned widely. "A chuck?"

"What's that?" Brady asked, pointing to the vague appendage on its head.

"That's its pecker."

Brady roared unexpectedly with laughter, sounding much more like his usual self.

"Uh, Chief? I think you mean beak," Jim corrected with a chuckle of his own.

"Yep," Brady agreed uproariously, "A pecker's a whole 'nother piece of anatomy."

Blair feigned a look of embarrassment but tipped Jim off with a well-timed wink as Brady bent to gather his boots.

"Thanks, Blair," Brady managed as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. "I needed that." He shoved his feet expertly into the tight leather tubes but didn’t bother to pull free his denim pant legs from the tops. "I gotta hit the head and then I'm outta here."

"You need a ride?" Blair asked with a yawn.

"Nah, I'll catch a cab. Probably better if no one saw you drop me off."

"Where are you going?" Jim queried, trying his best not to sound too interested. "You know, in case somebody needs to get in touch with you."

"It's just a little roach motel down by the waterfront. I'll be checking in with Vice twice a day so you can just leave a message there."

"Not that I would," Jim backpedaled as he climbed the stairs back to his room. "But Sandburg might. Or, you know, Megan."

"You want me to hang onto this for you?" Blair asked picking up the ring.

Jay sighed as he took the box and stuffed it down in his front pocket. "Nah, I'll hang to it. But you can keep an eye on this for me," he said pulling out his badge and shoving his driver’s license, credit cards, and anything else with his name on it inside the leather case. "It'll save me a trip to the station this morning to stick it in my locker."

"'Kay," Blair agreed.

"Don't let Mother Ellison get to you," Jay advised quietly. "I'm fine."

"I heard that!" an indignant voice declared from up above.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… how do you live with him and those damned ears?" Jay asked in amused exasperation.

Jay adjusted the gun tucked in at his waist and straightened his loose shirt over it, paid the taxi driver and hoisted his duffle over a shoulder. Ignoring the no-vacancy sign he pushed open the door of the ratty motel lobby and made his way to the counter. A pencil-thin young man with a deeply receding hairline regarded him impatiently.

"We're full," the man grunted, turning his back on the big cowboy.

"I need a room," Jay drawled back as if he hadn't heard him.

"Are you deaf and dumb?" the clerk replied sarcastically as he spun back around to stare into the barrel of a 9mil.

"I'll take one down on the end. Second floor."

"But… but, sir. I told you, we're full," the startled man stuttered.

"You got what?” Jay scoffed, “twenty-four rooms and an empty parking lot?"

"Yes, but I can't rent out any of the rooms today. They're all reserved for the weekend," the clerk swore nervously; sweat already beginning to bead on his ample forehead.

"All of them," Jay responded, his voice thick with disbelief.

"Well, most of them," the man hedged. "But I have instructions not to rent to any outsiders for this weekend."

"Do I look like an outsider to you?" Brady asked placing a hand over his heart and looking wounded by the accusation.

The man swallowed hard, and managed to shake his head.

"I'll pay for two weeks," Jay said as he retucked his weapon.

"Yes, um, sir," the clerk answered hesitantly, obviously relieved that the gun had been put away. He rang up the bill and pushed the guest book forward.

Brady smiled charmingly as he handed over a wad of cash and signed the book. "If I even see a cop in the next twenty-four hours, I'm coming to see you," he threatened lightly.

"Have a nice stay," the man sighed and sank down into an easy chair behind the counter to wipe his brow.

Jim pretended not to notice when Megan entered the bullpen half an hour late wearing her sunglasses and sending out leave-me-the-hell-alone signals. Sandburg's first morning class had been canceled for some unexplained reason and he'd suspiciously decided to accompany Jim to the station. Now he leaned on Jim's desk considering Megan thoughtfully as if she belonged to some new species and he was carefully planning first contact.

"Leave her alone," Jim advised softly without looking up.

"What?" Blair asked with practiced innocence.

"I know why you're here, Chief. I'm warning you, you don't want to get in the middle of this."

"Come on, Jim. She might need someone to talk to. This has to be hard for her, too," Blair argued persuasively.

"You can't fix this. Besides, who says it needs to be fixed? Megan's a grown woman. She knows her heart. If she doesn't want to marry Brady then who are we to say any different? At least she's acting like an adult and not…"

"Where the bloody hell is my stapler?" Megan shouted causing Jim to flinch at the sudden noise.

"You were gonna say?" Blair asked smugly as he turned to walk away.

"Don't go over there," Jim warned his back.

Blair flipped him a little backward wave as he ignored the advice and approached the lion's den cautiously. "There it is, Megan. Under that file," he murmured sweetly, soothingly.

"Thanks, Sandy," Megan sniffed as she pushed the file away and stapled the document in her hand savagely, four times.

"Um, you wanna get some coffee?" Blair asked, trying to look casual.

Megan lowered her shades slightly to look at him over the tops with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "My God, you already know," she whispered darkly.

"It was a nice ring, don't you think?" Blair admitted with a shrug.

"I don't want any advice," Megan ground out as she shoved her sunglasses back over her eyes and began to angrily sort through the papers on her desk.

"I don't want to give any advice,” Blair offered gently, tentatively touching Megan’s hair. “I just want… coffee."

Megan sat and studied her hands silently for a few minutes before letting out a despondent sigh. "Coffee sounds good," she finally uttered.

Blair smiled beatifically at Megan but somehow managed to work in an I-told-you-so look at Jim as he ushered her to the break room. Jim shook his head and returned with a don't-come-crying-to-me-when-this-blows-up-in-your-face glare.

Simon, who had watched the entire three-way conversation including the silent one between Sandburg and Ellison, ventured out of his office. "Something I should know?" he asked as he approached the dour detective's desk.

Jim shook his head disgustedly. "I don't suppose it's a secret. Brady proposed to Connor, but she turned him down."

"Really? I'm surprised."

"That he proposed? Or that she said no?"

"Both," Simon exclaimed, scratching his head. "You should have warned Sandburg to stay out of it," he added wryly as he headed back to his office.

The room was unimpressive to say the least. Shabby didn't quite cover it. Unfortunately, clean was not an adjective Jay would have used either. After depositing his bag on the bed he unzipped the top and took out the remainder of his beer. A small fridge buzzed away noisily under the kitchenette counter so he put the beer in it, even though it didn't actually feel very cold. He lay on the bed, boots and all, to map out his strategy for the next couple of days. The clerk worked for Busey and would no doubt report the incident with the gun. Someone would probably come to check him out sooner rather than later.

Jay thought about calling in, but it was still early and he didn’t really have anything to report. Besides, his cell was still somewhere deep in his bag, probably with a dead battery and he didn’t have the energy to dig for it just yet. And he couldn’t really risk using the phone in the room. Not that it would work anyway as it looked extremely… used. He closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes, but the recent emotional drain along with the alcohol still in his system snuck up on him and pulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Blair watched Megan fuss with her coffee. Her hands shook slightly and she sniffed intermittently. "So," he said softly.

"Sandy, I know that you're Jay's friend."

"I’m your friend, too," Blair insisted.

"Exactly," Megan said pointing at Blair with her coffee stirrer, splattering the table with the brown liquid. "I don't want to put you in the middle of this."

"No problem. But if you ever do want to talk," Blair shrugged, leaving the statement open.

Megan nodded and sniffed again. Blair reached across the wet table and removed her glasses as he pushed a handful of napkins towards her. "I was just so surprised!" she declared, opening up just like Blair knew she would.

"Why were you surprised? You know Jay loves you."

"But marriage? It was so sudden."

Blair snorted. "Megan, he’s been staying at your place ever since he got back to Cascade. You two have had the perfect little couple thing going..."

Megan waved his words away impatiently. "And we were fine. Why'd he have to go and ruin everything?"

"Is the problem Jay?” Blair dug in, “or just marriage in general?"

"I don't know,” Megan muttered shaking her head in self-loathing before covering her face with her hands. “Both… neither, really. I've just always wanted to do it right. One time and that's it."

"There are never any guarantees," Blair pointed out, insistently pulling her hands away from her face.

"I know that," Megan hissed with an echo of her earlier anger. "I love Cascade, but what if I ever wanted to go home? What if something happened to my father? What if Jay wanted to go back to Texas and I didn't want to go?" Her words tumbled out in a desperate bid to be understood.

"Yeah," Blair nodded supportively and continued in a calm, low voice. "I can see how those things would be insurmountable. And Jay's so hard to get along with anyway. I'm sure he'd never be able to sit down and work that kind of stuff out with you. You're right. Better to kick him to the curb now."

Megan glared at him as fresh tears overflowed her already red and puffy eyes. "Damn you," she swore as his words hit home.

"All I'm saying is why borrow trouble? If thinking about those kinds of things concerns you, then you should talk about them. Preferably with Jay, if you love him."

"I do," Megan admitted thoughtfully, wiping her eyes. "I just panicked. You should have seen his face,” she added sorrowfully, sniffing again as her nose began to run. “I hurt him. I really, really hurt him."

"It's not too late," Blair pushed gently. “Jay’s a pretty forgiving guy, right?”

Megan half-sobbed half-laughed as Blair handed her another napkin so she could blow her nose. "You’re right. He is. And I’m a damn fool. Someday you're going to make some girl very happy, Blair Sandburg," she said with a weepy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Probably not," Blair said with a smirk. "I'm sort of a package deal. I come with a grumpy Sentinel."

Brady woke hours later with a nagging bladder and a mote-filled stream of sunlight from the gap in the curtains hitting him in the face. Disoriented for a second, he sat up long enough to get his bearings before moving to the bathroom to pee and then splash water into his face. A little more awake now he went to the window to part the tacky orange drapes and look out into the sunny summer afternoon.

"The sun never shines in Cascade," he grumbled. "Why today?" He could just make out the murky water of the tiny pool in the middle of the parking lot from his second story vantage point.

Brady let the curtain fall and went to his bag to dig out his cell. The battery wasn’t dead, but he couldn’t get a signal. He decided to take a walk later and try his cell again; if it still didn’t work he could always find a pay phone somewhere. That seemed reasonable, but in the meantime he had nothing but time. Unfortunately, the TV only picked up two stations and even Ellison wouldn’t be able to hear anything through all the static.

Deciding that he didn't want to hang out in the room and feel sorry for himself anyway, he opened the duffle and upended it on the bed. He knew he didn't even own any swim trunks, but he did have a couple pair of shorts.

"Crap," he muttered, realizing that one pair of his shorts was in his locker at the gym and the other was probably at the bottom of the hamper in Megan's bathroom. He unbuttoned his shirt and examined his farmer's tan in the dingy mirror over the bed. Even that was fading due to almost six months in unsunny Cascade. With a resigned sigh he stripped out of his shirt, kicked off his boots and jeans and tried to tie a cheap, too small motel towel around his waist.

He looked ridiculous with one powerful thigh sticking all the way out so he scrapped the towel and made his way to the fridge for a beer. As an afterthought, he wrapped the towel around his gun and stuck it under his arm to set off for the pool in his white BVDs, putting on his Stetson as he stepped out the door. His boot worn feet were tough as leather on the tops and sides but tender as a baby's butt on the bottom. The shaded walkway and stairs were no problem but the hot asphalt exaggerated his already slightly bowed legs. He tipped his hat politely to the maid who gaped after him as he gingerly crossed the parking lot to the pool.

Finding the sturdiest looking lounge chair he positioned it for maximum rays and brushed at the seat with the edge of the towel. Settling back, he sighed as the sun warmed him through and raised his spirits considerably. He placed his hidden gun strategically by his right hip and popped open his beer. Cocking his hat all the way down over his face he waited to be contacted by any of the local wildlife. Sometimes, he mused, police work had its perks.

Jim didn’t want to ask. He really, really didn’t want to get involved at all. Sandburg had ignored his advice to stay out of it, and Jim was certain it would eventually come back to bite him in the ass.

Never the less “what’s wrong now?” slipped past his lips without passing his brain as Megan entered the bullpen with a worried frown on her face.

She stopped at his desk and looked around before whispering urgently, “Jay didn’t check in at the station this morning.”

Jim clamped a hand to his forehead and bit back a groan at his own stupidity. “He’s okay, Connor,” he assured. When he looked up Megan was still standing there waiting for him to elaborate. “He stayed with us last night. First thing this morning he left to go undercover at some motel.”

“I… I know that,” Megan informed him uncertainly, “but he was supposed to come in to get some equipment… a wire… He was against wearing one in case he got searched, but he still should have come in.”

“Oh,” Jim replied hesitantly, “he wasn’t really in any shape to show up here. But he did ask Sandburg to hold on to his badge, so I’m sure he didn’t plan to come in.”

Megan looked down guiltily. “I see,” she said softly.

“He’s fine. He’s a big boy. A broken heart’s not gonna slow Brady down too much,” Jim tried to be supportive, even if it was awkward.

“But he hasn’t checked in at all,” Megan added worriedly. “His boss is quite unhappy with him.”

“I’m sure he’s just sleeping it off. Do you know where he was gonna stay?”

Megan nodded. “The Captain’s Shoreline Hide-a-way.”

Jim grimaced in sympathy. “That place is a dive.”

“Carmine Busey owns it.”

“Right,” Jim nodded. “Now this thing is beginning to make sense. Busey wants to organize his own little mini-mafia down on the waterfront, but there’s been a lot of interference from some of the local talent. How does Brady fit in?”

Megan glanced around again tensely and lowered her voice even more. “For the last couple of weeks Vice has been leaking information to the street about a hit man who wants to join forces with Busey and be his muscle. Jay’s just going to settle into the Hide-a-way and wait until someone contacts him.”

“Who’s his backup?”

Megan shook her head. “It’s deep cover. Without the wire, he doesn’t have any backup.”

“Yeah, that’s him out at the pool,” the clerk said as he fretfully peeped out through the dusty blinds of the lobby.

“He’s in his underwear,” one of the goons sputtered in disbelief.

“I know! Man, he’s out there. He just doesn’t care. That scares the hell out of me.”

“Busey’s not here yet?” the more elegant of the three newcomers asked patiently.

“No. I’m expecting him any time, Mr. Cole.”

“Don’t worry Horton, I’ll take care of things. You just remember the plan and do as you’re told.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Cole. Do you have something for me now? You know, just to tide me over?” Horton pleaded.

“Now, Horton, I need you to have a straight head tomorrow. Oh well, can’t have you going into withdrawal on me, now can I.” Cole motioned to one of his bodyguards who produced a tiny packet and tossed it to the clerk.

Horton sighed as he clutched the bag to his chest. Cole scared him more than the crazy cowboy did, but he gave him what he needed. Something Busey never did.

“Come on boys, let’s go to the pool,” Mr. Cole said brightly to his small entourage.

“Hey Jim,” Captain Gordon greeted as Ellison stepped into the elevator.

“Sir,” Jim relied with a nod to his old boss. “How’s everything in Vice?”

Gordon shrugged. “Same shit, different day,” he answered sardonically. “Brady keeps me busy.”

“I’ll bet,” Jim agreed, the question about whether or not Brady had called in yet on the tip of his tongue.

“Sandburg around?” the captain asked. Jim picked up the slight smell of anxious sweat on the man and his heartbeat was rapid.

“Uh, no, he was here this morning but he went back to Rainier before lunch. I’ll see him when I get home. Why?” Jim couldn’t help but ask.

“I know that Brady considers your partner a friend,” Gordon explained. “I also know about what happened with Miss Connor.”

“I see good news travels fast,” Jim joked half-heartedly. “So Brady still hasn’t checked in?”

Gordon shook his head. “Brady’s a good cop, but just between you and me, I’m wondering if in light of recent events he hasn’t gone rogue on us.”

“Brady wouldn’t do that,” Jim argued.

“I hope not. But if I haven’t heard from him by morning, I’ll have to send someone in to pull him out. If he’s even there.”

Jim nodded as the elevator stopped on five and the captain got out. “Later, sir,” he said.

Gordon gave him a tight smile and headed down the corridor.

Jay frowned under his hat as a shadow fell across him. He covertly uncovered his weapon and slipped his hand around it. “You’re in my light,” he grumbled without looking up.

A huge, muscle bound man squatted down next to him and unceremoniously removed his hat. “Look at Mr. Cole when you talk to him,” he advised sternly.

“I didn’t come here to talk to any Mr. Cole,” Jay drawled as he stealthily cocked his gun and dropped it down to snug the barrel firmly against the big man’s nuts so conveniently at hand.

“Sir,” the goon mumbled miserably to bring his boss’s attention to his current uncomfortable situation.

“I’d like my hat back,” Jay requested respectfully. With a quick glance at his boss, the man on the end of his gun handed it over and Brady rested it against his sun-pinked chest.

Cole laughed amicably. “Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I take it you are the hired gun that the street’s been buzzing about for the last few days?”

Brady squinted as he studied the two upright men in front of him, but didn’t lower his gun from the third man’s crotch. “What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

“If you’re as good as they say I’d like to hire you.”

“What about Busey?” Jay inquired offhandedly.

“What about him?” Cole returned evenly.

“Well, I haven’t even met the man.” Brady quirked a crooked grin. “I don’t generally talk business in my skivvies, but I do like the idea of a public place. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get dressed and then have some supper over there at the menopause lounge,” he said with a nod toward the rundown nightclub next door to the motel. “I might be willing to talk business once I get fed.”

“After you,” Cole invited with a sweep of his hand.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jay replied easily as he slowly pulled his gun away from the seriously pissed off man beside him.

Cole shook his head and laughed as he made his way around the edge of the pool and through the gate. The second man followed, but the third remained, glaring at the man who’d made a fool of him in front of his boss.

“Russell?” Cole called from the parking lot.

“Run along, Junior,” Brady goaded with a smile as he wiped the barrel of his 9mil with the towel. “Daddy’s callin’ ya.”

Brady watched the group leave, and even waved amicably to the sour face next to the driver in the front of the limo. He needed to call in, especially since he’d already been contacted, so he quickly made his way back to his room. The cell phone still flashed a ‘no service’ message and he wondered if the cinderblock walls didn’t have something to do with it. He dressed quickly and peeked out the window. The limo was already parked outside of the nightclub.

Cramming his cell phone in the jacket pocket with the ring box and his gun in the back of his waistband, he stepped out the door and made his way around the corner to the back stairs. Knowing he was being watched, he stayed on the alley side of the motel once he reached ground level and took the long way around to the club. Without wasting time he pulled out his phone and dialed Vice as he moved away from the building to get a better signal.

“Henderson,” a voice answered just as Jay was knocked to the ground from a blow to the head. The phone bounced into the weeds next to the dumpster. “Hello?”

Jay landed face first in the dirt and dumbly studied the expensive leather shoes in front of him. A trickle of blood ran into his eyes as hands roughly patted him down finding his gun, wallet, and the ring box. A protest formed in his mind, but he passed out long before it reached his lips.

“Hey,” Jim greeted as he entered the loft, taking in his partner’s anxious demeanor. “What’s up?”

Blair pushed up his glasses with the same hand he held a red pen, unknowingly drawing on his cheek. “Nothing, really,” he said with a sigh, gathering up some of the papers scattered around him and sliding them into a folder. “Megan just called. She’s worried about Jay.”

“Yeah, I talked to Gordon. Brady didn’t make either call in today.”

“He’s in trouble,” Blair stated with certainty.

Jim moved through the kitchen to open the fridge. “You don’t know that for sure,” he argued as he perused the shelves looking for something easy to make for dinner since it was his night to cook. “He’s probably just licking his wounds. He’ll surface when he’s ready.”

“Come on, man,” Blair swore adamantly. “I know you don’t like Jay, but you heard what he said about his job. He wouldn’t do this on purpose.”

Closing the refrigerator, Jim sighed and walked over to the table where Blair was attempting to straighten the remainder of his mess. “Look at me, Chief,” he said quietly, ready to explain in no uncertain terms that they couldn’t get involved. He knew in his heart he wouldn’t get through to his passionate roommate and was already prepared to surrender to whatever argument Sandburg offered.

Much to Jim’s surprise, Sandburg didn’t say anything. Instead he merely glanced up with petulant blue eyes, his face a mask of frustration. Jim almost laughed, knowing if he hadn’t been on the verge of caving in before that the eyes would have done him in for sure.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Jim offered instead of the lecture he’d been writing in his head. “I hear there’s a new deli down at the waterfront.”

“Jim, I… what?” Blair stammered as his own prepared argument melted away. “Really? You want to go down to the waterfront? Can we do that?”

“Sure, why not? It’s a free country,” Jim offered with a shrug.

“Well, all righty then,” Blair enthused as he jumped up to grab his jacket.

“Wait a minute,” Jim said as he captured his roommate with one hand and licked his other thumb. “This’ll drive me crazy if I don’t fix it. Hold still,” he warned as he rubbed at the red ink with his wet thumb.

“Gross,” Blair complained as he endured the spit bath, wiping his face obsessively with his loose shirttail as soon as Jim released him.

“One more thing,” Jim said as he opened the front door.

“Yeah?” Blair asked apprehensively, stepping back out of reach.

“Just between you and me… I do like Brady, in spite of the fact that he’s overbearing, overprotective and obnoxious.”

Blair grinned cheekily as he slipped out the door past his mothering sentinel. “Sounds like somebody else I know.”

Shoes again, Jay thought passively as he opened his eyes and blinked the haziness away. These were dirty sneakers that had definitely seen better days.

“The blood will never come out of the carpet,” a whiny voice complained.

Brady moaned involuntarily as he tried to sit up. He fell back to the floor and hit his already throbbing head.

“He’s awake,” a vaguely familiar face said as it intruded deeply into Jay’s personal space. “You gonna live?”

“Yeah, I, uh, just have a hell of a headache,” Jay answered truthfully as he rolled away from the intrusive face to find yet another pair shoes. Only these were much nicer; Italian and leather and… clean.

“I’m afraid you probably have a concussion,” a clipped, English accent informed him from above. “It seems my man might have struck you too hard.”

“Oh, good,” Brady deadpanned. “Cause if this was just a hangover, I’m afraid I’d have to stop drinking.”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” the English voice declared. “My guests will start arriving tomorrow and I still have things to do.”

“We could tie him up,” Horton suggested eagerly.

“Fine. Do it.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Busey,” a new voice replied.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jay slurred as yet another pair of shoes stepped into his field of vision. “I think I’m gonna pass out again,” he proclaimed as everything began to grey around the edges.

“I have handcuffs,” Horton’s voice provided faintly before the lights went out completely.

Somehow they managed to choke down a couple of sandwiches without Blair going berserk in the little deli. But as soon as Jim peeled off a couple of ones and tossed them onto the table he was in his jacket and waiting at the door.

“Which way?” Sandburg asked succinctly the second they stepped back out onto the street.

“North,” Jim grinned as he turned his partner in the right direction. “It’s not far.”

They crossed the street and turned down the first road. Half a block away ‘The Capta n’s ide-a-w y’ flashed off and on in pink and blue neon, clashing with the red ‘no vacan y’ sign directly below it.

“That’s it?” Blair asked with a shudder as they drew near. “I hope Jay’s had all his shots. What do we do now?”

“We ask a few questions,” Jim replied and headed for the lobby. Blair followed him inside but made an effort not to touch anything. Jim rang the bell and sniffed the air tentatively as he waited, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“What?” Blair asked quietly before Jim began to sneeze repeatedly.

“Dammit,” Jim swore as he fought off the urge to run from the room. “I thought I smelled something, but there’s too much dust,” he explained.

“Filter it out,” Blair encouraged, placing a hand on the sentinel’s back. “What do you smell?”

“Mold mostly. Ugh. And there’s a strong odor of urine and... Oh, men’s room. I don’t think it’s been cleaned in a while,” he said pointing to a slightly open door in the lobby. “Strong smell of Lysol coming from behind that door,” he continued pointing to the closed door behind the counter, “but it’s covering something else…”

Blair grimaced. Jim concentrated a little harder, but the sneezing started up again. “Sorry, Chief, I need to step outside for a minute,” he mumbled apologetically, looking a little green.

“Go,” Sandburg encouraged. “I’ll talk to the manager if anybody ever shows up.”

Ellison nodded his thanks and pushed the door open to step out and get some fresh air, but he stayed where he could keep an eye on his partner. Blair watched him go before reaching behind the counter to grab the old-fashioned guest registry book. He scanned it quickly before ringing the bell again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” a scrawny man called as he appeared from the back room, pulling off a pair of pink dishwashing gloves. “Well, hel-lo. Please tell me you have a reservation.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Blair muttered in disgust.

“We’re all booked up for the weekend,” the man explained for only the second time since he’d taken the job. He flinched slightly when he remembered the reaction he’d gotten the first time, only ten hours ago. “But if you only need it for a little while,” Horton said with a wink. “Maybe we could work something out?”

“Yeah, right,” Blair stated, noticing the clerk noticing his still sneezing partner waiting by the door. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t want a room.”

“Too bad,” the man said with a leer, which he dropped immediately when the big man outside turned around to glare at him through the window.

“Whatever. I’m looking for somebody. A cowboy checked in here this morning…”

“No, I’ve been here all day. I would have remembered a cowboy,” the clerk cut in, suddenly nervous.

“Tall? Brown hair, brown eyes? Built like a football player?”

“Oh, I definitely would have remembered that. Sorry.”

“Uh huh,” Blair muttered with a disbelieving nod. “Thanks anyway.”

“Don’t mention it,” the man said holding out his hand, palm up.

“I won’t,” Sandburg growled as he walked out without tipping so much as a quarter.

“He’s lying,” Jim replied as soon as Blair was close enough to hear.

“I know,” came the soft reply. “Chuck Dickens checked into room 212 first thing this morning.”

“Oh, Chuck, you’ve got some absolutely gorgeous men out looking for you,” Horton chatted breezily as he pulled on his gloves and squeezed the soapy water out of the enormous sponge and began to once again scrub at the rug. “I might have thought the older one was a cop, definitely G-man material or maybe an assassin with those cold blue eyes, but the young one was just too… fresh to be a lawman. You know? Where do you go to meet men like that?”

Jay groaned when the irritating drone that had thankfully been quiet for several minutes started up again. Slowly a few of the words began to sink in. A strong smell of Lysol and blood threatened to suffocate him, causing him to fight for breath, waking him even further. When he tried to move, metal clinked against metal and he realized that his arms were handcuffed above his head to the leg of a bed frame. He was on his side with a plastic bag stuck under him presumably to protect the carpet. Opening his eyes he was surprised to see pink rubber gloves this time instead of shoes.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled, stopping to lick his dry lips.

“I’m trying to get your blood out of the carpet. Barbarians couldn’t drop you on the tile or in the tub. Oh, no, they had to lay you on the carpet after cracking your skull. And it’s not like I can just call Stanley Steamer for this. But don’t worry, I’m starting to make some headway.”

“Glad it’s workin’ out for ya,” Jay muttered dryly. His fingers were slightly stiff, but he stretched them under the faded, floral dust ruffle to search for anything he could use to pick the lock. Finding dust bunnies, an empty foil condom pack and a dead bug for his trouble, he stretched out to extend the search. “Who’d notice blood stains on an ugly-ass, orange shag carpet anyway,” he asked hurtfully to distract from his movement.

“Scoff if you will. It’s very retro,” Horton pouted as he rinsed the sponge.

“Right. Retro. What did you say earlier? About somebody looking for me?” Jay asked as his mind became a little less cloudy. “Was one of them a woman?”

“No, but the younger one did have long, simply beautiful, chestnut hair. That’s how I knew he wasn’t a cop. And the bluest eyes…”

“Blair,” Jay muttered softly to himself. “How long ago were they here?” he asked the carpet scrubber.

“Just a few minutes ago, but I’m sure they’ve left by now.”

“Ellison! Ellison!! In here…” Jay started to shout, hoping like hell the sentinel could hear as well as Blair claimed he could and that they hadn’t already driven away.

Horton grabbed a pillow from the bed and quickly stuffed it down over the bigger man’s face, riding out the thrashing by sitting on the broad chest. Brady moved the bed several inches before the concussion and lack of oxygen started to slow him down. With one final yank he bent the cheap bed frame and pulled his chained hands free from it causing the whole bed to drop on one corner. The pressure on his chest disappeared. As he threw the pillow away and launched to his feet a wave of dizziness overtook him. He fell back to his knees in a puddle of soapy, pink water and when he was able to look up again the pale, shaky clerk was pointing his own gun at his head. Jay sank down to all fours. Something stuck him in the palm, but he thanked his lucky stars that his warden wasn’t much of a housekeeper as his fingers wrapped around the bobby pin.

“So what do we do now?” Blair asked. They were already half-way back to where the truck was parked at the deli and Jim had finally stopped sneezing.

“Well, if he’s not in trouble and we screw up his cover he’ll probably kick our asses… or he’ll kick your ass and try to kick mine,” Jim corrected with a smirk. “So, we get the truck, call Simon so someone knows what we’re up to, and come back to covertly check out room 212.” He stopped and tilted his head slightly.

Blair wisely froze for a second until Jim shook his head. “What?”

“I thought I heard something, but it’s quiet now. Anyway, if things look hinky, we’ll get a warrant and tear the place down if we have to.”

“Okay,” Blair agreed. “Should we call Megan, too?”

“Not yet,” Jim said shaking his head. “Let’s find out what’s going on first.”

The beefy thug entered the limo apologetically. “He didn’t answer his door, Mr. Cole, so I kicked it in. He wasn’t there. I went through his stuff, but all he had was a shaving kit, some clothes and an extra pair of boots.”

“Now, Russell, we saw him leave his room almost two hours ago, but he never showed up at the bar,” Cole said thoughtfully. “Do you think Busey could have intercepted him?”

“It’s possible, sir. He was here for awhile, but he already left,” the second goon stated. “I didn’t see the cowboy with him, though.”

“I found this in the alley,” Russell replied holding up a cell phone. “And there’s some blood back there on the dumpster, but it looks like somebody hosed off the concrete around it.”

“Talk to Horton,” Cole ordered. “Call me if you find out anything.”

Russell nodded and stepped out of the car. He waited until it pulled away before turning back toward the motel. It was getting dark now and there was very little traffic. An older hooker making her way to the bar passed him with an appreciative glance thrown his way, but he ignored her as he quickly closed the distance to the rattrap. He went around back to pound on the clerk’s apartment alley-side door.

Horton straightened abruptly as someone insistently rapped on the back door. His prisoner was breathing heavily and struggling to stay up on all fours, but he watched Horton’s every move.

“Got company?” Jay asked breathlessly. “Now who could it be? Looks to me like you’re playing a dangerous game. Busey’s your boss, but you’ve been supplying information about the little summit tomorrow to Cole, haven’t you?”

“Shut up,” Horton ordered nervously switching his aim back and forth between the cowboy and the door.

Brady eased back up to his knees with a predatory smile. “I’m right, aren’t I? I saw Cole come out of your office and he headed straight over to me because you’re the one who told him I was here. Playin’ both ends against the middle will get you killed, little man. I can help you. Give me the gun.”

“Horton! I know you’re in there. Open this damn door,” a voice shouted as the pounding continued.

“I’m a cop,” Brady said quickly. “The men who were looking for me know I’m supposed to be here. It won’t be long until this whole place is crawling with police.”

The door exploded inward and Cole’s big thug plowed through it. Horton jumped with a squeal and almost dropped the gun. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Russell purred triumphantly. “You been holding out on us Horton?”

“Horton?” Brady huffed in disbelief. “As in ‘Hears a Who’? What kind of name is that?”

“He attacked me,” Horton lied nervously to the behemoth in the doorway. “I was just defending myself.”

“Yeah, right,” Russell replied reaching into his pocket to pull out a bag of white powder. “It doesn’t matter, me and Chuck here have a little unfinished business to take care of. Take this and get lost.”

Horton lowered the gun and laid it on the dresser, surreptitiously pocketing the little velvet box as he did. He took the cocaine with shaky hands and tried not to look at the man kneeling on the floor.

“Hey, Horton,” Brady called out after him softly. “You’re gonna need some more Lysol.”

The small man grabbed his jacket and scrambled out the back door and down the alley. Russell closed the door and reached for the already bloody baseball bat next to it with a dark smile.

“I don’t suppose we can talk about this?” Jay inquired as he continued to work the lock, but at a more frantic pace.

“Not on your life,” Russell uttered dangerously as he rounded the bed, gripping the bat in both hands.

“Fuck,” Brady swore, dropping the hairpin and charging the big man before he could swing, hitting him square in the gut with his head. He’d been itching for a fight anyway.

“Well?” Blair asked impatiently as Jim closed his phone.

“Simon’s not too happy with us,” Ellison explained, rubbing his eyes.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he doesn’t like meddling in another department’s business…”

“Jay is in trouble…” Blair blurted out anxiously, cutting his partner off.

“We still don’t know that for sure.”

“Oh yeah? Why did the clerk lie about him being there?”

“Maybe that’s what Brady told him to do, you know, as part of his cover,” Jim pointed out.

Blair thought for a second before shaking his head. “That still doesn’t explain why he hasn’t checked in at the station.”

“He was pretty drunk last night. For all we know, he’s just sleeping it off. Or he could be pouting over the thing with Connor.”

“Not at the risk of his job,” Sandburg insisted.

“I don’t know about that,” Jim sighed. “I’m not sure his head is in the game. Look, Simon’s gonna call Captain Gordon before we do anything else. He wants us to hang back and observe for a little while.”

Blair stared angrily out the windshield, refusing to make eye contact with his friend. After a minute he opened his door and stepped out, slamming it hard before crossing the street.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Jim yelled as he trotted to catch up.

“I heard you,” Blair grumbled. “But I can’t just sit back and do nothing, not knowing what happened to Jay.”

“Dammit, Blair, we’re not doing nothing. We’ll set up surveillance. I’ve got my orders.”

Sandburg whirled around in the middle of the street. “I don’t. I’m not a cop, remember?”

“Chief…”

“What if it was your friend missing? Would you obey those orders? What if it was me?”

Jim looked at the ground with his hands on his hips as he muttered under his breath. “What are you planning to do?” he asked in a clear voice when he looked back up.

“I’m just gonna knock on the door. Either Jay’ll answer or he won’t. If he doesn’t, I’ll… I’ll check out the bar next door, I guess.”

“Get in,” Jim urged, jerking a thumb back toward the truck. “I’ll drive you over.”

“Yeah?” Blair asked moodily.

“Simon can’t fault me for watching your back, right?”

“Riiiight,” Blair drawled as he crossed back to the truck. “I owe you one, man,” he added with a relieved sigh.

“No you don’t,” Jim offered quietly. “But Brady does.”

Russell groaned as he stopped to catch his breath. He hadn’t intended to lose his temper like that, but the lump on the floor had proved to be more than a handful. He kicked it once more for spite. Pain shot through his ribs as he reached down to check for a pulse. Damned if the stubborn man wasn’t still alive.

Looking around at the shambles of the whorish bedroom he thought about his options. Cole would no doubt be displeased if he killed the man he’d been sent to find. If he could cover his own injuries he might be able to convince his boss that the cowboy had simply given them the slip. All he’d have to do was get rid of the body and assure the little snitch’s silence. He was pretty sure if the promise of more blow didn’t do the trick, fear would.

Bracing himself, he reached down and grabbed a wrist. With a painful heave he pulled the dead weight over his shoulder and straightened with a great deal of effort. He felt the crunch of bone against his back and his burden’s breathing suddenly became strained and noisy. Secretly Russell admired the cowboy’s determination not to go down without a fight, but he would sure as hell pay for that determination in bruises. No way could he hide it from his boss. He’d have to skip town now if he wanted to live. Cole didn’t take well to insubordination.

He could buy himself some time, but he’d still have to get rid of the body. Then he could go up to Dickens’ room and clean up before finding a ship on its way out of port. He might even find some clean clothes he could wear.

When he managed to open the door he glanced around quickly before crossing the alley and climbing the small slope up to the railroad track that lead to the nearby freight yard. Stumbling down the other side he spotted a small shack next to the switch track. He was breathing heavy again by the time he reached it and didn’t even bother to try the knob. With one vicious kick he splintered the door, dropping his bundle and backing out without another word.

Jim agreed reluctantly that Blair by himself wouldn’t look too out of place knocking on the motel door. Focusing his senses on his guide, he held his breath a little as Sandburg climbed the front steps and ambled along to the room on the end. Blair froze when he got there.

Instead of knocking on the door, he turned to Jim. “The lock is broken,” he whispered and turned to slowly push the door open.

“Wait for me,” Jim ordered brusquely to himself, knowing Blair wouldn’t hear him and probably wouldn’t listen if he did. He was out of the truck and across the parking lot in a flash, but not before Sandburg disappeared into the room. Pounding up the stairs, he pulled his gun, slowing only as he reached the room on the end. Cautiously he entered the room leading with his weapon but dropping it quickly when the sole occupant looked up at him worriedly. “Chief?”

“Now will you admit there’s something wrong here?” Blair asked sweeping his hand around the trashed room.

Jim pulled open his phone, but couldn’t get a signal until he stepped out the door and to the corner of the walkway. “I guess we know why Brady didn’t call in right away,” he quipped as Sandburg poked his head out the door as well. Jim quickly dialed Simon’s number. “Looks like someone took Brady out of the picture,” he said as soon as his boss picked up. “Yes, sir, we’re on it.”

“Well?” Blair asked impatiently.

“Simon’s gonna call in the troops. In the meantime, why don’t we have a little chat with the motel manager?”

“Okay, let’s go,” Sandburg agreed quickly pulling the door shut and following Jim back toward the stairs.

Ellison stopped at the rail and scanned the parking lot. “There he is,” he said pointing to a figure huddled in the passenger side of an old station wagon next to the office.

“Jay?” Blair asked doubtfully.

“No, the clerk,” Jim said with a shake of his head as he started down the steps, Sandburg hot on his heels.

They stayed in the shadows next to the building as they approached the car, stopping to watch the man for a minute. Jim cocked his head, narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air. “Do you see that?” he asked Blair quietly.

“Hey, man, that looks like probable cause to me,” Blair agreed, watching the clerk snort a line of white powder off of a small mirror on the dashboard.

Silently, Jim pulled his weapon and his badge as he moved in on the car. Horton wiped his nose and carefully rolled up what was left in the bag and stuck it in his pocket. He jumped when Ellison tapped on the glass with the butt of his gun.

“Step out of the vehicle,” Jim ordered grimly, displaying his badge for effect.

In a panic at having yet another gun pointed in his direction, Horton slid over to the driver’s side in an attempt to escape. Blair rounded the vehicle and threw his weight against the door slamming it back before it opened more than an inch. Ellison yanked open the passenger door and leveled his gun at the frightened man’s chest.

“This way,” Jim instructed. “Nice and easy.”

“Don’t shoot,” Horton begged as he swung his feet out of the door. “I don’t know anything.”

“Really?” Jim asked as he latched onto Horton’s arm and pulled him upright and face down against the car in one smooth motion. He kicked the smaller man’s feet apart and after holstering his gun patted him down. “Cocaine?” he asked as he removed the white powder from a jacket pocket and placed it on the top of the station wagon. “What’s this?” he asked as his hand felt something square in the other pocket.

Blair’s eyes widened as Jim held up a little burgundy, velvet box. “Where is he?” Blair demanded, grabbing the clerk by the jacket and spinning him around angrily.

“You’d better tell him what he wants to know,” Jim cautioned, not trying to restrain his partner in the least.

“This is police brutality,” Horton swore.

“He’s not a cop and I didn’t see a thing,” Jim said, turning his back on them.

“Okay, okay, okay…” Horton stammered quickly. “He’s in my room, but I… I think you’re too late.”

“Where?” Blair asked urgently.

“The door behind the desk. But I didn’t do it, I swear!”

Blair pushed Horton back against the car and rushed into the lobby. “Sandburg!” Jim shouted, grabbing the perp by the collar and dragging him along in pursuit.

Russell watched from up above before ducking briefly into room 212. When he came out of Brady’s room with an armful of clothes he followed the walkway around the building and pulled out the master keys that he had liberated from the office. Just as he found the right key for the first door around the corner he heard the sirens approaching. With a sigh, he realized he would have to wait them out and entered the dark, musty room.

Brady stifled a scream as he tried to roll onto his back. The stabbing pain inside his chest halted his movement, but the resulting cough, although agonizing, temporarily cleared his airway of blood. As he slowly opened his eyes he couldn’t decide if he was blind or if it was only dark. No, not completely dark, a sliver of moonlight trickled in through the broken glass of the one window of the shack. One eye was swollen shut, he decided after a minute of contemplation and the other was staring at a rotting wooden floor. It was thick with dust, which was quickly turning to a gruesome mud as it mixed with the blood flowing from his head.

Taking a quick if somewhat fuzzy inventory, Jay realized that he was in trouble. His breathing sounded wet and ragged to his own ears, he couldn’t move and he couldn’t call out. He knew if he didn’t get some help soon it would be all over for him. With a monumental effort he shifted his weight to his bound hands and pushed himself up to his knees. A ripping pull inside seemed to catch in his lungs, forcing the air out of him. Luckily he passed out again before he hit the ground.

Jim pressed Horton into the armchair behind the desk. There were sirens very close now, but all Jim heard was the gasp his partner made as he opened the door marked ‘private’ and disappeared behind it. “Don’t move,” Jim ordered his prisoner and followed into back just as the flashing blue lights lit up the lobby.

Although his sense of smell had been turned down when he had reentered the lobby, as he pushed through the door the scent of Lysol and blood hit him full force. Sandburg stood holding Jay’s wallet in both hands as he surveyed the blood splattered room, shock evident on his face.

Jim stumbled slightly from the assault on his nose but squinted around at the carnage anyway. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“Oh my God,” Horton exclaimed as he slipped into the room.

“Ellison!”

“In here, Simon,” Jim called out pulling Horton out of the doorway. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“Brady?” Simon asked quietly as he peeked in, leaving the door ajar.

“Not here now, but…” Jim started, shooting a concerned glance Blair’s way. “We’re gonna look around out back,” he added as Sandburg bolted into the alley through the splintered door on the back wall.

Simon turned to Horton. “You live here?”

Horton nodded mutely still trying to comprehend the destruction.

“Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do,” Simon said grimly motioning for one of the uniforms behind him to take the man out front before following his detective out the back way.

“They could have loaded him into a car. He could be anywhere by now,” Blair was saying, sounding very disturbed.

“I didn’t see a car leave, did you?” Jim asked, wandering around in ever increasing circles as he studied the ground.

“No,” Blair admitted reluctantly. “But with all that blood inside, there would have to be a trail.”

“Looks like someone hosed off the pavement,” Simon offered.

“Yeah, but…”

“Wait a minute, I’ve got something,” Jim interrupted as he reached the sand at the edge of the alley. “This way.”

“What is it?” Blair asked as he rushed over.

“Footprints. And blood. Simon, why don’t you call an ambulance?” Jim suggested as he followed the trail up the small embankment to the railroad tracks, Blair close behind him.

“Okay, I’ll be in here if you need me,” Simon called out as he went back inside the motel to organize the gathering troops.

Brady groaned as he fought his way back to consciousness. His hands were sticky with the bloody mud and he pulled them close into his chest to cushion his ribs as he tried again to roll over. But he didn’t have the energy this time and instead lay staring at the little round imprints his fingertips had made in the dust. He imagined first that they were little dams that would stop the flow of his blood across the floor. No, he laughed to himself as a second thought, tinker’s dams. That’s what they were; symbols of the sum total of his life so far. Not a damned thing to show for it.

Another cough caused blood to spill out of his mouth and run down his chin. Jay knew his time was short, so he made peace with his Maker and tried to think of the good times. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but just as he was about to let go, a knee landed near his head crushing his dams to oblivion.

“Go wait by the tracks for the ambulance,” a distance sounding voice said from somewhere above.

“But Jim…” Urgency. Fear.

“They need to be able to find us quick, Chief. Go on.”

“He’s alive?”

“Yeah. He’s alive.”

“Ellison?” Brady managed.

“Shhh, don’t talk,” Jim’s voice urged quietly. Some type of cloth wiped at the blood on his face. “If you look this bad, I’d hate to see the other guy.”

There was tension in the casual words that Brady didn’t miss, even in his current state. But there was also a gentleness in the tone that made Jay struggle to turn his head to see Jim’s face. “Wasn’t a fair fight,” Brady wheezed as he tried to raise his bound hands.

“What part of don’t talk don’t you understand?” Jim asked gruffly. Within seconds he had the cuffs unlocked and tossed away, grimacing at the raw, purple skin around the wrists.

“Blair?”

“I sent him to wait for the ambulance,” Jim explained.

“Trying to… protect him… that’s good,” Brady tried to nod his approval. “You do that… real good.”

“You’ve got some broken ribs. Sounds like you might have punctured a lung,” Jim stated worriedly as he began to palpate the area. He worried even more when Brady let him without protest.

“Take care of him…” Jay began before being overcome by another bloody cough.

“Easy, Brady,” Jim soothed, self-consciously rubbing a circle on the cowboy’s back in an unintentional imitation of his guide. “Don’t talk that way. You’re going to be fine.”

Brady closed his eyes and grew quiet.

“Stay with me,” Jim urged. “Tell me who did this. Do you know who it was?”

“Cole’s man…” Jay responded without opening his eyes. “Russell… I think… Don’t know,” he paused to try to catch a breath, “first name… or last.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll get him,” Ellison promised never stopping his gentle circles. “He’ll pay. You’re one of our own, you know.” Jim waited, but didn’t get an answer. Brady’s breathing grew shallower with each passing minute.

“Dammit, Jay, don’t give up on me. I hear the ambulance, it’s close. Who would I fight with if you leave?” Jim asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Brady choked back a laugh. “Can’t get rid… of me that easy…” he mumbled. The pain seemed to drift away with the darkness. He could smell cobbler in the oven and he was suddenly warm and safe. In the distance he could hear a disembodied shout…

“Brady!”

Blair watched the back doors of the ambulance slam shut. Still stunned he turned to stare at his friend. Jim stood like a statue, blood stark against the white of his skin in the moonlight on his hands and face. Suppressing a shudder Sandburg remembered the fearful cry just as the ambulance had arrived. He had made a run for the shack, the EMTs right behind him to find Jim performing CPR on Jay’s battered body.

A small crowd was gathering now and a uniform had to clear the way out of the alley for the ambulance. As soon as it broke free it turned in the direction of the hospital and headed out lights and sirens blazing.

“Jim,” Blair breathed, questioning and attempting to comfort all in one word.

Ellison scanned the people gathered in the alley as they started to disperse. His eyes came to rest on a large man standing in the shadows wearing a dark blue western shirt with a double row of buttons. A shirt he’d seen Brady wear more than once. The man stared back at him, looking like a raccoon with the bruising around his eyes.

“We need to go to the hospital,” Blair whispered despondently.

“In a minute, Chief,” Jim said as he began to move, never taking his eyes off of his target.

“What?” Blair asked following in his wake.

“You,” Ellison shouted, pulling his gun. “Hold it right there.”

People scattered out of the way and the man looked as if he might bolt anyway. Mentally, Jim dared him to run. Unfortunately, he froze in place and raised his hands. “What do you want?” he spat out.

“You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of a police officer,” Ellison snarled.

“Jim? Are you sure?” Simon asked appearing from the splintered doorway.

“Look at him,” Jim said with confidence as he turned the man around and firmly shoved him against the side of the building. “I’d know Brady’s handiwork anywhere.”

“A few bruises don’t mean…”

“He’s wearing Jay’s shirt!” Blair exclaimed as he drew closer.

Jim liberated a 9mil from the back of the man’s waistband. “Check the serial number,” he advised. “I’ll bet money that’s Brady’s service weapon. We’ll probably find his fingerprints on the bat.”

The next few days passed in a blur. Jay had been pulled back from his safe, happy place to a place full of dull pain and shadows. Slowly the world began to take form again and in moments of lucidity he was aware of faces and voices. Finally the tube was removed from his throat and he felt more alive than dead, but still he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“Jay?” a welcome voice called from nearby.

“Hey,” Brady croaked out as he managed to open both eyes and turn toward his visitor. “Good to see you, buddy.”

“Oh, man. It’s good to have you back,” Blair gushed as he leaned over the rail and took Brady’s hand. “We didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

“How long?” Jay asked through parched lips.

“You were out for four days,” Blair explained then tightened his grip as Brady tried to shift around on the bed. “Don’t try to move too much, you’ve still got a couple of chest tubes.”

“Ow,” Brady grimaced as he reached tentatively down toward his groin. “That’s not all,” he complained.

“Oh yeah,” another voice said as it drew nearer. “You can’t stay in the hospital for long without one of those,” Jim teased.

“Jim. Just shoot me. Please.”

“No way,” Ellison argued. “I worked too hard to get you back.”

“That’s right, Jay. The paramedics said that Jim saved your life.”

“Mouth to mouth?” Jay asked in surprise.

“It was close,” Jim confirmed solemnly.

“Thanks, Ellison,” Jay said, holding his right hand out. Jim shook it, not squeezing the bruised hand too hard. With a twinkle in his eye, Brady grinned sheepishly. “Can I get a sip of water?” he asked innocently.

“The doctor said you could have ice chips,” Blair provided helpfully moving to get a cup.

“How bout some mouthwash then? Just something to gargle with. I’ve got this god awful taste in my mouth…”

“Prick,” Jim murmured, releasing Brady’s hand.

Jay laughed, which quickly turned into a painful cough.

“Serves you right,” Jim admonished, trying to sound offended, but unable to keep the smile off his face.

Blair grinned as he spooned up an ice chip. “Here, this’ll sooth your throat,” he said knowingly.

Brady nodded thankfully and turned his head to accept the cool treat. His eyes came to rest on the ring box sitting on the bedside table. He crunched the ice and let it trickle down his throat. “You got my ring back,” he said.

“More than that,” Jim assured with a big grin. “We got Russell and Horton has been singing like a canary. He knows the dirt on not only Busey, but Cole, too.”

“I can’t believe he’d spill,” Jay said. “That little shit’s too much into self preservation.”

“Uh huh,” Blair agreed. “But the DA threatened to charge him with attempted murder of a police officer. And well, Jim sort of got in on the interrogation…”

“Did he pee his pants?” Jay asked with a grin.

“Damn near.”

“Hand me that,” Brady requested, nodding his head toward the box. His energy seemed to be slipping.

“Oh, um…” Blair said as he reached for it tentatively.

“This’ll come in handy. I gotta find an apartment. I know I can get first and last months rent out of it. Probably security deposit, too,” Jay replied as he took the box and opened the top. “Hey!” he said, disappointment evident in his tone.

“It’s okay,” Blair assured. “Nobody stole it. Um… Megan’s wearing it.”

“Megan?”

“Yeah, so, see? You don’t need first and last months rent after all,” Blair said hopefully.

“Megan,” Jay said again softly, losing ground fast.

Blair slipped the box out of Jay’s fingers and closed it. “She’s been here with you every day. She barely leaves your side.”

Brady glanced to Jim for confirmation. “We sent her home to shower and sleep. She’ll be back this afternoon.”

Jay nodded as he closed his eyes. “I’ve got to have a long talk with that girl,” he muttered before he slipped back into sleep.

Whispers niggled at the edge of his consciousness. He batted them away like pesky flies. “I think he’s waking up.”

“Go away,” Brady grumbled. “Sleepin’.”

“Jay, Megan’s here,” Blair advised from nearby. A cold spoon rested against his lips and he gratefully accepted the moisture into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he pried his eyes open.

“Hi,” Megan greeted softly, pulling the spoon back.

“Hi yourself,” Jay returned with a wan smile and a rough voice. “How are you?” he asked.

“Me?” Megan snorted. “I’m not the one in the hospital bed looking like…” her voice broke and she covered her mouth with a hand, unable to continue.

“Ground chuck?” Jay teased lightly.

“Hey, listen, uh… I’ve got to get goin’ here. I’ll see you later, man,” Blair said, leaning in to pat Jay on the cheek.

“See ya, pardner,” Brady grinned back at him, drunk on the pain medication.

“Talk to him,” Sandburg instructed Megan, dropping a kiss onto her head as he left. He stopped in the door to stare back at them for a minute. “Go on, talk,” he said before slipping away.

They watched the door close and sat silently staring at it for at least a minute, neither spoke or moved.

“So,” Jay said at last to break the uncomfortable silence.

“I owe you an apology,” Megan muttered weakly, turning to face him.

“Nah,” Jay dismissed her words with a wave of his hand, the IV tubing curling around his hand. “You can’t help the way you feel.” He stopped to untangle the mess, using the action to avoid looking at her.

“I reacted badly.”

Jay smirked but kept the ‘ya think?’ to himself.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.” Megan carefully plucked the oh-so-interesting tubing away and gathered Jay’s hand into both of hers.

His gaze flickered to the engagement ring on her left hand and back to Megan’s tear filled eyes.

“Yes,” Megan sighed.

“Yes?” Brady asked, slightly confused. “Did I miss something? What was the question?”

“Yes, Jay Brady, I’d be proud to be your wife.”

“Oh, that,” Jay said cautiously. “Um, darlin’… um, we need to talk about that.”

“No, no, shhh. You were right. I overreacted, a bit,” Megan confessed rapidly. “God, I was so worried about you. I thought for sure you’d been killed. And then you wouldn’t wake up and I thought you’d die anyway. I thought you would die thinking I had rejected you.”

“Um, Megs,” Jay pointed out awkwardly, “you did reject me.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. But now that I’ve had time to think about it, I know we’d be great together. And we don’t have to get married right away. We could have a long engagement and you could stay at my place…”

“Whoa, now!” Jay interrupted squeezing her hand to get her attention. “Just cool your jets for a minute. I need to tell you something.”

Megan bit her lip to stop the tremble. “Okay.”

Jay laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. “I thought I was gonna die,” he said at last.

“Oh, Jay…”

“You know what I thought about when I woke up on that dusty old floor? When I couldn’t get up and I couldn’t catch a decent breath to call for help?” he asked, opening his eyes and staring intensely into her face.

Megan flushed slightly as she smiled and leaned forward. “No, tell me,” she whispered tenderly.

“My daddy’s seventeen foot John boat with the center consol and a twenty horsepower Merc,” Jay said, “and fishin’ with my best friend Tom and my cousin Billy Mac.”

Megan’s face fell for a second, but she admirably fought to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Really.”

“Then I thought about my mamma’s blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream melting in little rivers down the crust,” Jay continued fondly, as if he could taste the memory. “And that championship game against A&M my senior year. What a sweet victory that was, coming back from behind like that. ‘Course that led to thoughts of Terri Sue Masters in her cheerleading outfit and those long, lean thighs…”

Megan cleared her throat and looked away.

“Sorry,” Jay mumbled guiltily. “Too much information. But my point is, and I’m not saying this to be cruel, I just think you deserve the truth; I didn’t think about you. Not once. I’m sorry, Megan, I couldn’t. I was dying. I didn’t want my last thoughts to be sad ones. And every time I thought of you, it tore my heart out.”

“Jay!” Megan exclaimed as the tears that had been threatening surged down her face.

“All I could see was the anger on your face when I asked you to be my bride. I gotta tell you, girl, that’s not exactly the reaction a man hopes for when he proposes.”

“I can explain,” Megan sobbed. “I had a moment of selfishness. I never even thought about your feelings. All I could think was that you were backing me into a corner.”

“My point exactly.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Megan cried.

“Shh, now… it’s okay, darlin’. I don’t hold a grudge. Much. It’s my fault anyway. I guess I took you serious when you was just havin fun.”

“I love you,” Megan pleaded.

“I love you, too,” Jay choked out, getting misty eyed himself. “But I can’t marry you. I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if you settled for me…”

“No!”

“…because I got hurt and you felt guilty. I forgive you, Megs. But I’ll always have my doubts about us and... I can’t live that way,” he finished softly, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

Megan nodded her understanding and slid off the ring, pressing it into the palm of his hand.

“Keep it,” Jay offered. “I bought it for you. Maybe you can take it to a jeweler and have a nice little pendant made out of it?”

Unable to speak, Megan only shook her head as she brought Jay’s hand up to her lips gently before turning and stumbling toward the door.

“Megan,” Jay called after her, only hastening her retreat. He lowered his eyes and opened his fist to study the gemstone in his hand. The box was too far to reach so he slipped it onto the tip of his left pinky for safe keeping, although it didn’t go any further than the first joint. It looked like he had a hard row to hoe, but he’d just taken the first step in the right direction. No matter how much it hurt.

“Who was that?” the oncoming nurse asked as a tearful woman burst out of one of the rooms and rushed down the hall to disappear into the stairwell. The echo of a stifled sob sounded behind her as the door slowly closed.

“That was the girlfriend,” the tall blonde replied, looking up from finishing her notes. She slid the chart in her hand back into the rack and removed the stethoscope from around her neck. “Must be trouble in paradise.” Plucking out the pins, she uncoiled her bun and let her hair fall loosely around her shoulders. “I’m out,” she said.

“Okay, Judy,” the younger nurse chirped cheerfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Uh huh,” Judy responded with a smile as she gathered her bag and headed away from the elevators and back toward the floor.

“Judy?”

With a quick glance over her shoulder she smoothed down the front of her uniform and tapped on the door of her favorite patient. “Mr. Brady? Is everything alright?”

EPILOG

Jim let out a long, low whistle. “You sure this is it, Chief?”

“Yeah, man. This is the place,” Sandburg replied with a grin as Jim slowed the truck to check out the nicely adorned log house set back from the road.

“He bought this place? Last I heard Brady was dead broke,” Jim winced at his own choice of words.

“Turns out Jay had a trust fund from his grandfather’s oil wells all along,” Blair explained. “He was saving the money for his kids’ educations…”

“Brady doesn’t have any kids,” Jim pointed out. “Does he?” he added, a little unsure, deciding that it was time for him and Brady to finally get to know one another.

“Well, no,” Blair assured. “But he was always sure that he would one day, and he just wanted to make it on his own without relying on his family’s money. Til now.”

“What?” Jim asked, pulling into the long driveway and parking next to a white convertible Mustang. “Since Megan turned him down he doesn’t think he’ll ever have kids?”

“I don’t think it’s that, I think he just had a little change in priorities.”

“So his brush with death made him materialistic?”

“No, just a little less stubborn,” Blair insisted.

Jim harrumphed softly. “I’ll believe that when I see it. I did wonder how he could afford that rock he gave Megan.”

The front door opened and a nice looking blonde stepped out. “She looks familiar,” Blair mused.

Jim narrowed his eyes to the flash of light along the hollow of her neck. “So does the diamond on that pendant,” Jim answered meaningfully.

“It’s not?” Blair asked.

Jim nodded wickedly. “I think it is. The boy moves fast.”

“Hey, she was one of Jay’s nurses.”

“Hmmm. Making house calls, I see,” Jim agreed. He opened his door and stepped out, reaching back in to grab the large pot of baked beans.

Blair tumbled out the other side with the large gift in one hand and the covered salad in the other. “Not staying for the housewarming?” he asked as the nurse made her way back to her car.

“No, I can’t. I just dropped by to help Jay with the food. I’m pulling an evening shift tonight.”

“That’s a shame,” Blair said with a smile.

“Now you boys don’t let him stay up too late. And no alcohol. He’s still on pain meds.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim agreed pleasantly. “We’ll keep him in line.” He looked up to see Brady watching them through the huge plate glass window on the front of the large cabin. They made eye contact and Brady grinned at him as he leaned on his cane.

“He looks good,” Jim replied to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Blair agreed quickly, waving as the nurse drove away. “The doc’s gonna let him start light duties next week. I think he’s gonna be just fine.”

Jim slapped his free hand around Blair’s shoulder and guided him up the walk. “Until Megan finds out about the blonde wearing her diamond,” he laughed. “Didn’t you once tell me that anthropologically no relationship is ever really over?"

The End

Disclaimer - Images, characters, and settings taken from various television shows are the property of their respective owners, producers, etc.  No copyright infringement intended, I'm just having a little fun.