Author’s notes: Since some servers will not recognize stressed vowels, I had to eliminate them from the dialog in Spanish. // means the dialog is over the phone.
Warning: If you are Mexican, and one of those people who tend to be offended because the bad guys in a story happen to share your nationality, please don’t read this. I’m Mexican, and their being from my country is a very important part of the plot. I’d rate the story PG for language, especially if you understand Spanish.
Spoilers: For TSbyBS and Murder 101.
This is for Kerensa, Sarah and Cindy (Paul and Danny may think his dad was Timothy Leary, but anyone who’s read Cindy’s stories knows better. Right, guys? It’s Mac!)
Happy Halloween, everyone!
"OK, Jim. See you there in about... Let me see how many people are waiting in line." Blair took a quick look inside the bank, "Uh, I’d say in about fifteen minutes."
// Fine, Chief. Anything else besides beer and popcorn?//
"Yeah. Now that you mention it. How about one of those pumpkin pies Mrs. O’Malley said she was making today? Do you think they’re ready?"
//Maybe. I’ll stop by her bakery and see. If it’s not ready yet, I’ll pay for it and have her send it over. And how’d you like some of her sweet potato and pineapple tarts for breakfast tomorrow?//
"Wow! Perfect, man!"
//Right. See you later. Chief.//
"Bye, Jim."
Blair Sandburg put his cell phone back in his pocket and entered the bank. His taste buds were already getting excited. Mrs. O’Malley made the best pumpkin pie in Cascade, and it was the perfect Halloween dessert. After a whole month of stakeouts, working weekends and mountains of paperwork, he and Jim would finally be able to spend a well deserved evening of nothing but Indiana Jones movies, all three of them. He was really looking forward to a nice, quiet dinner, and handing out candy to the few kids who took the trouble to go all the way up to the loft. But the best part of this day was right now. He was finally going to deposit his first paycheck from the Police Department in his starving bank account.
OK. So, the job was not going to make him rich in this millenium, not in the two months left to go, anyway. And, to be honest, not in the next millenium either.
And he knew he would have to use almost every cent he was going to make in his first two years as a detective to pay back his student’s loans, not to mention the four months rent he owed Jim. But it had felt great to receive the check this morning, and it would feel even better to deposit half of it in his account, and the other half in Jim’s. The money would cover two of the four months he owed his partner, plus a little of the cash Jim had insisted on lending him until he started earning again. God, but it felt good! Two more paychecks and he could start on the loans.
It had taken only one big shouting match to convince the Sentinel that his Guide was not going to budge. Jim had insisted that the loft was Blair’s home as much as his own, and his partner did not have to pay rent anymore. But Sandburg had absolutely refused to discuss the matter. He had even threatened to move out if Jim refused to take the rent money, and Jim knew that Blair only bluffed at poker.
The line had been advancing smoothly and Blair found himself suddenly in front of the pretty blond teller who usually spoke more with her eyes than with her voice.
"Hello, Mr. Sandburg. How are you today?" (I’m SO available. Say the word and I’ll go anywhere with you.)
"Fine, uh, Suzanne. How are you doing?"
"I’m good. Thank you." (Let me show you just how GOOD I really am.) "What can I do for you?" (What can I do TO you?)
Blair offered her his brightest smile. The only reason he had not asked her out yet was his temporary lack of funds, but that was all in the past now. His future was bright and sunny and, Suzanne willing, his dateless weekends were over.
Two windows to his right, there was someone standing in line who was not as happy as the lovely Suzanne to see Blair Sandburg. Chancellor Edwards, Dean of the Social Science Department at Rainier University, had seen the young ex TA enter the bank, and she had immediately turned her back to him, hoping he would not have the nerve to say hello and force her to acknowledge his presence. Of all the banks in Cascade, that disagreeable young man had to come into this one! Well, as long as she did not make eye contact, it was as if he did not exist. And, so far, it seemed that he had gotten the message and was not going to embarrass her by forcing her to say hello.
The fact was, Blair hadn’t even seen her. He finished writing down the lovely Suzanne’s phone number and, with a last wink, put his bank book and receipts in his pocket and started to walk away.
It was then that he noticed the dark haired teenager with his hand in a very bulky jacket pocket, nervously fidgeting from one foot to the other, and taking furtive glances at the guard by the door. Another young man was approaching the manager’s desk with his right hand inside a too long trench coat, reminding Sandburg of a very young, very scared Napoleon. Blair was about to take out his cell phone to call Jim when he heard the machine gun rattle, and the voice of the third man, the one Blair couldn’t have seen behind him, ordered everyone to raise their hands. The frightened teen brought out the gun he had been concealing in his pocket and, trembling, pointed it at the old security guard, while trench-coat boy was now holding a shotgun to the manager’s head. Blair turned around and saw the third robber pointing a very scary-looking machine gun at the nearest customers. He was a tall dark man in his late twenties or early thirties. He looked Latin or Native American like the other two, but there, the resemblance ended. This one was the leader, and he was not a frightened teenager on his first holdup.
This one had done it before, many times before.
This one was bad.
The screams of terrified customers and tellers were quickly repressed, and Blair knew the moment to call for help had passed. All he could do now was keep his cool and hope that Jim would be worried enough to come looking for him. But at the same time, he wished there were a way to warn him so he wouldn’t just walk in and get himself shot. A second volley of the machine gun destroyed the security camera and the tall hoodlum ordered everyone to stand still if they did not want to get hurt. The fifteen minutes were almost up, and Blair knew his cell phone would start ringing anytime now.
Anytime now. Any...
As if on cue, Blair’s pocket phone began to ring.
"What’s that?" Machine-gun man shouted. "You! What you got there?" He pointed his weapon at the woman standing beside Blair. "Turn that phone off or I’ll shoot!"
"It’s not her!" Blair said taking a step forward to cover the woman with his body. "Take it easy, man. It’s my cell phone that’s ringing." He slowly lowered his hand. "May I?" He took the offending gadget out of his pocket. "See? I’m turning it off."
"Throw it on the floor in front of you and step back!" Blair obeyed. "Everybody move to that side of the room. Now!" The thief ordered. He took out a cloth sac from his jacket and threw it at the closest teller. "Fill that up. All of you, take out all the cash and fill the bag! And you people," he faced the terrified customers, "Hit the floor and no one will get hurt! Paco!" he shouted to the young boy by the door, "If that old man moves, shoot him! You too, Joaquin, if you see the guy’s hand near the silent alarm, blow his head off!"
"Take it easy, Cuervo. No te enojes. They won’t move." Paco answered. "Y-you won’t move, mister. R-right?" He asked the security guard, almost begging. The old man nodded and raised his hands a little higher.
Blair sat on the floor with the rest of the hostages, praying for the robbers not to notice his shoulder strap and the gun he carried under his jacket. If they saw he was armed, they would start shooting before asking questions, and there were too many innocents sitting next to him. Damn! There was even a little boy holding for dear life to a woman who must be his grandmother. The kid was being really brave, not uttering a sound even though there were two huge teardrops rolling down his cheeks. He could not take any chances with that child’s life, nor anyone else’s.
But, what could he do to warn Jim? Three minutes went by and the one called Cuervo seemed to be getting more impatient by the second. The scared Paco had forced the guard to close the door, and trench-coat boy, Joaquin, was just as nervous. If Blair tried anything, the shotgun he was holding to the manager’s temple might just go off. Blair was not prepared to risk it. There had to be another way.
"Uh, Jim?" he whispered, "If you’re out there, now would be a good time to give me a signal. Like blowing the horn three times or something."
His spirit lifted as three blasts of the familiar horn of Jim’s pick-up was added to the sounds of the traffic outside.
"OK. Here’s the deal." The young detective lowered his head so the robbers would not see him speaking to himself. "There are three of them. One is holding an Uzi and is standing next to window number six. You know, the one with the pretty brunette who whispered to the redhead the other day that you could park your shoes under her bed any night you wanted?" Stop joking, Sandburg. This is serious! He thought.
"That’s the bad one, Jim. There are two more. One is next to the manager’s desk and the other one right by the door, to the left. But they’re only kids, Jim! I bet this is their first serious offense and they’re just realizing it. They look like they’d rather be back in school right now." There was fear in Blair’s voice. He knew Jim was out there and he must have already called for backup. There was no way these kids would be walking out of this one, and he did not want them to die. Not those two, please! That Cuervo guy was clearly a lost case, but there might still be hope for the boys.
"Blow the horn if you’ve already called for backup, Jim." He whispered.
The blue and white pickup answered. Someone’s surprised, sharp breath intake sounded behind him, but Blair was too focused on his Sentinel to notice.
"OK. Tell them not to use the sirens. I may be able to talk them into giving up, but I don’t want them to be more scared than they already are. They’ve got guns too, you know, and one of them is pointed at the manager’s head."
The pickup horn sounded twice more, two long, angry blasts. Jim was protesting. He didn’t want Blair to attract the attention of the robbers. Blair smiled.
"Don’t worry, partner. I’ll only talk to them after the backup is here."
"Oh, my God!" Blair heard a familiar voice whisper behind him. "It was true!"
The young detective turned around to find the amazed face of his former boss only inches away.
"Chancellor Edwards!" he said. "Fancy meeting you here."
"You never lied in your dissertation. He really is a sentinel!"
"I would appreciate it if you kept your voice down," Blair whispered back. "Right now is not the time to talk about that."
"But I don’t understand! You deliberately threw away your whole career, and you discredited what could very well be the discovery of the century! Mr. Sandburg, how could you...?"
"Dean Edwards, not now!" Blair insisted, irritated.
"Quiet there!" The tall man shouted. "You want me to shoot you and the old lady, phone-boy?"
"No, man. Sorry." Blair answered. "She’s just a little scared and I was trying to calm her down, but she’s OK now. Aren’t you, ma’am?"
"Y-yes." Doctor Edwards answered. "I’m all right now."
"Well. Shut up, then, or I swear I’ll shoot you, vieja!"
"Cuervo, por favor!" Paco said, his voice breaking. "Nos prometiste que nadie iba a salir herido!" (You promised us that no one would get hurt.)
"You shut up too, Paco! Just watch the old man and SHUT UP!"
The last teller had put the contents of his cash box in the cloth sac and placed it on the counter. Cuervo ordered the security guard to sit down beside the customers and told Paco to get the bag. Paco was shouldering the booty, obviously more relieved to think that they were about to leave than happy because the holdup seemed to be a success. He was taking the first step toward the door when a voice on a speaker sounded outside.
"This is the Cascade PD. The building is surrounded. Drop your weapons and come out of the bank with your hands up!"
"YOU BASTARD!" Cuervo went to the manager and hit him with the butt of his weapon. "You sounded the alarm!" The manager collapsed on the floor with a wide bleeding gash on his head. "Joaquin!" Cuervo growled, "Shoot him!"
"But, Cuervo. It wasn’t him!" the boy pleaded. "He didn’t sound the alarm, man. I never took my eyes off him!"
"I don’t care. Shoot him or I will!" He shouted pointing his gun at the fallen man.
"Cuervo, por favor!" the young boy began to cry. "Lo prometiste!" (You promised.)
" Pinche chillon! Callate o te mato a ti tambien!" (You damn crybaby! Shut up or I’ll kill you too!)
"Cuervo, no!" Paco shouted and dropped the money bag.
"He’s the tall one beside the manager’s desk, Jim." Blair whispered. "Now!"
The doors of the bank flew open and Detective James Ellison ran inside. He rolled on the floor as Cuervo turned his machine gun on him and, not taking an instant to aim, shot the tall criminal in the heart. Joaquin raised his shotgun on an impulse, but the Sentinel’s gun was already pointed at him.
"Freeze!" He shouted. "Drop your weapons right now!"
The shotgun hit the floor and Joaquin raised his hands, but Paco kept pointing his gun at Jim.
"Drop the gun, boy," Jim warned Paco. "Don’t make me shoot you."
"No, Jim!" Blair jumped to his feet and, raising his hands, placed himself in the line of fire.
"Sandburg, get out of the away!" Jim cried.
"He’s not going to shoot, Jim." Blair whispered. "He’s frozen with fear."
"Move away, Chief!" Jim insisted.
"No, Jim. This is not going to happen." He faced the trembling Paco, who kept staring at the gun in his hand, too terrified to let it drop.
"Paco, you don’t want to hurt anyone, man. I know." Blair took one step toward the boy, then another, always careful to keep his body between Jim and the youth. In his softest guide voice he kept speaking. "Please, just put the gun on the floor and nothing will happen to you."
"He shot Cuervo, man." The boy sobbed. "He killed him."
"He had to do it, Paco. Cuervo was going to kill the manager." Blair took another step.
"And me too, Paco!" Joaquin cried. "Please give it up, primo. It’s over."
Blair took one more slow, careful step. "He promised he wouldn’t hurt anyone, Paco, and he didn’t keep his promise." Another step. "Look. The man is bleeding. He’s hurt bad, Paco. He could still die. Why don’t you put down your gun now so we can take him to a hospital?"
"He could still die?" Paco looked at the bank manager’s unconscious form. Man, he was bleeding so much!
"Yes, Paco. You don’t want him to die, do you?" Blair asked softly. He was only three steps away from the boy.
"N-no." The boy said. "He promised, man. He promised! We only wanted some money to give my mamacita, man. For her Ofrenda! He promised we wouldn’t hurt anyone!"
"Paco, dame la pistola." (Give me the gun.) Blair said.
"Detective Ellison, are you all right?" a voice called from the street.
"Hold your positions!" Jim shouted. Sandburg, please, move away! he thought. The kid’s too scared to listen. He’s going to shoot you!
"Sandburg," he said out loud. "Chief, get out of the way."
"Me va a matar!" Paco slightly raised the shaking hand holding the gun. "He’s gonna kill me just like he killed Cuervo!"
"Yes, he will if you don’t give me the gun, Paco." Blair said, one step away from the boy, and with the gun pointed at his heart. "Paco, por favor, hijo, dame la pistola." (Please, son, give me the gun.)
"I c-can’t." The boy whimpered. "I can’t let go!"
Blair held out his hand and pleaded. "Paco, no hagas que tu mamacita tenga que poner tu foto en su Ofrenda pasado mañana. Dame la pistola. Por favor." (Don’t make your mother put your picture in her altar the day after tomorrow. Give me the gun. Please.)
Finally, the shaking hand holding the gun slowly relaxed, and the weapon came to rest on Blair’s outstretched hand. Paco let out a mournful cry and broke down in tears. Blair raised the gun to show it to Jim.
"It’s over, partner."
Jim closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Thank God! He called in the paramedics and, quickly but gently, handcuffed the weeping Joaquin, who offered no resistance.
Detective Sandburg knew it was against procedure, but he handed the gun to his partner and, placing his hands on Paco’s shoulders, he pulled him into a strong, comforting hug. The boy was trembling with fear.
"I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!" he managed to say between heartbreaking sobs. "I wanted to give you the gun, man. I wouldn’t have shot you. Honest!"
"Shh. I know. You did the right thing, Paco. It’s going to be all right." Blair said. "It’s going to be OK."
A uniformed officer handcuffed Paco after he calmed down and finally let go of Blair’s protective embrace.
"You’re not alone, Paco," Blair said looking into the boy’s eyes. "Everyone here saw how you and Joaquin tried to stop Cuervo." Paco managed to smile in gratitude and allowed himself to be led to the waiting patrol car. Jim noticed how the seasoned patrolman placed a comforting hand on the teenager’s shoulder and murmured reassuring phrases as they walked to the car. My God! he thought, Sandburg’s compassion is contagious!
Doctor Edwards was speechless. She now remembered Blair’s unyielding integrity when he had been threatened, fired, and almost killed for denouncing Brad Ventriss, the millionaire’s son. What had first appeared to be merely an attempt to blackmail another student into writing his term papers had quickly turned into a gruesome robbery and murder investigation. And Sandburg had not been deterred by the threats of the millionaire’s lawyer, nor by her own shameful injustice, firing him to retain the favor of one of the university’s largest sponsors, even though Blair had presented undeniable proof of Brad’s guilt.
And Dean Edwards was seeing now a side of Blair Sandburg she had always refused to accept. This brave, selfless man had risked his own life to save a boy he didn’t even know, a confused, frightened boy who couldn’t be older than Tommy, her brother’s fourteen-year-old son. She could not believe how blind she had been, what a narrow minded, materialistic bitch she had allowed herself to become! She had to have been blind to even consider the possibility of Blair Sandburg falsifying his research. She had believed it because it had suited her to do so. It had been much easier than having to face this honest young man day after day; this bright, creative, enthusiastic young professor who was a painful reminder of all that she had set out to be when she graduated, the living embodiment of her failure as a human being.
She now understood why he had done it. Detective Ellison was able to do his job better than any other police officer in Cascade, maybe in the whole world, because he was a sentinel. But to do his job he needed to keep his enhanced senses from becoming public knowledge. She understood the danger that a greedy publisher had brought upon the sentinel, and why Mr. Sandburg had found it necessary to declare his thesis a fraud. Nothing else would have convinced the blood-thirsty media. Nothing else would have convinced her.
His career, his prestige as a scientist, his whole future, for the life and safety of the only known sentinel in the world. And for the safety of the city of Cascade, which would have attracted every psycho who wanted to prove himself better than the Sentinel.
She really hoped Ellison knew what Sandburg had sacrificed for him. She truly hoped he was worth it. But it was not fair. Sandburg had not even sent the manuscript to the publisher. He had repeatedly refused to authorize its publication. She had been there when he had rejected the three-million-dollar offer. But no one had listened to him. Not her, not the publisher, not even his own mother. Mrs. Sandburg had been too busy dreaming of Nobel Prizes and academic glory for her son. The publisher had been thinking of the millions of copies he would be making of possibly the greatest bestseller in the next century. And she herself had been too busy dreaming of millionaire grants and the prestige he would bring to Rainier University. No one had listened to Blair Sandburg. No one had cared.
She knew now that she had to do something to set things right. Maybe he could write another thesis. Maybe another subject, a less dangerous topic. People forgot quickly, and soon no one would remember the Sentinel scandal. Blair Sandburg deserved to get his doctorate. And, God! She needed to clear her conscience!
Noticing the forgotten cellular telephone on the floor, Chancellor Edwards picked it up and approached the tired, curly haired man who was in the process of trying to placate his partner’s anger.
"... and if you ever pull a stunt like that again, Chief, I swear,... I promise it won’t be any wacko who’ll send you to the ER, ‘cause there won’t be a healthy bone left in your body for them to break! Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal, Jim." Blair answered. "But I tell you the kid was not going to shoot!"
"You don’t know that! We’ll never be sure of that, Chief!"
"Detective Ellison, the captain needs you outside," a uniformed officer called from the door.
"I’ll be right there," Jim answered, annoyed by the interruption. His ice blue eyes were almost flashing with the fire of his anger. "Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Sandburg." He ordered quietly, and walked away without another word.
"Dean Edwards... Uh, thank you." Blair accepted his phone and put it away. "Are you all right?" He asked the shaken academic, a very different person from the smug, arrogant woman who had entered the bank less than an hour ago.
"I thought he was going to hit you!" She exclaimed. Obviously relieved when she saw the older detective exit the bank.
"Nah!" Blair smiled. "He was just worried. Just your typical, everyday, fear-based response. But don’t worry. Once the captain starts chewing me up for not following procedure, he’ll forget his anger and stand behind me one hundred percent."
"I hope he always appreciates having you as a friend, Mr. Sandburg." She forced herself to make eye contact and begged that her voice would not break with emotion. "I hope he’s worth all the indignities you’ve had to endure from foolish, bigoted people like me."
"Oh, he’s worth that all right!" Sandburg was suddenly serious. "That man has risked his life to save my sorry butt more times than I could count. And I’m not going to tell you what he means to me, or the brother I’ve found in him, or what else I’d be willing to give up for him because he just might be listening and he’s cocky enough as it is. Besides, he’d be more impossible to live with than he already is." The renewed smile on his face and the warmth in his voice belied his previous comment. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, Doctor, I have a report to write."
"But, Professor Sandburg, we have to talk about your diss..."
"Uh, that’s... Detective Sandburg, ma’am." The young man interrupted. And with a slight nod, he added, "Have a nice day." And walked away to join his partner at the door.
"Detective Sandburg." The little boy’s grandmother came to stand beside Doctor Edwards with her grandson in her arms. "That is one brave young man."
"If you only knew how brave!" Dean Edwards said. "You have no idea!"
"Have you known him long?" the elderly lady asked.
"Yes," She answered. "But I didn’t know him at all."
James Ellison’s eyes found hers, and he smiled. He knew how brave his young guide was. He had always known.
"Detective Ellison," Dean Edwards whispered, knowing he could hear her. "Is there anything I can do to make up for what we did to him?"
Jim spoke to his partner, conveying the message. Blair sought her eyes and nodded. Smiling, he raised his index finger to his closed lips, in the ancient, universal sign for silence.
"I will." She said. "I promise." And smiled when she heard the Sentinel ask his partner on their way out:
"Cocky! Who’s cocky?"
They were about to go out the door when a blond whirlwind went by Doctor Edwards, almost knocking her over. "Blaaaair!"
A tearful Suzanne threw herself on the arms of the shocked young man.
"I was so scared for you!" She wept, "You’re so brave!"
Blair blushed modestly and whispered sweet, reassuring words in her ear, while graciously accepting her very physical demonstration of concern.
Jim rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, preparing to wait out the romantic interlude, but a very eloquent signal from Blair’s eyes directed his attention to the pretty brunette quietly crying a few feet away. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Jim approached her and asked in his sweetest, most seductive tone of voice: "Are you all right, miss?"
Smiling, Dean Edwards prepared to leave the bank, certain that the City of Cascade would feel safer to her from now on, and that the Sentinel was about to find a new parking place for his shoes.
"Chief, I’m curious," Jim said as they sat down on the couch, ready to enjoy the first Indiana Jones movie with a huge bowl of popcorn and a couple of cold beers.
"What about, Jim?" Blair asked.
"What’s that O-prehn-dah you and the kid were talking about?"
"Ofrenda, Jim," the young detective answered. "Ofrenda de Dia de Muertos. An altar with offerings for the dead. The old tradition in Mexico is to prepare an altar with pictures of the dearly departed on the Day of the Dead, November 2. They usually put up small dishes with their loved ones’ favourite foods, their favorite things like a cherished object: a grandfather’s pipe or a child’s favorite toy. They decorate the altar with flowers, usually yellow chrysanthemums, candles, sugar skulls and incense-burners. Oh, and a special kind of sweet rolls they call Pan de Muerto. It’s a beautiful tradition that’s been kept since pre-Hispanic Mexico."
"Hey! I’ve had Pan de Muerto," Jim said, "It’s delicious!"
"Sure is, man." Blair agreed, "Tastes like orange blossoms."
"Yeah! So, they think their dead relatives come to visit them?" Jim asked.
"Not really. Some do, though. But it’s mostly a revered custom that is sadly getting lost in the havoc of the modern world. Remembering their dead loved ones by celebrating their life."
"But I remember they also celebrate Halloween there."
"Sure they do. That’s the beauty of modern communication, man. Holidays are becoming universal. But Mexican kids get to trick-or-treat for three nights instead of just tonight." He laughed. "And I don’t know how an American kid would react if you gave him a sugar skull with his name on its forehead."
"He’d probably think it was COOL, DUDE!" Jim laughed too. "And there’s something else, Chief," he added. "I didn’t know your Spanish was so good. It’s perfect!"
"No, it’s not." Blair said.
"Chief, I spent a long time in Latin American countries. Long enough to identify the different accents. I’m telling you, you spoke with a perfect Mexican accent."
"Jim, I know how I speak Spanish, and my accent is a perfect Gringo." Blair insisted. "I don’t know where all that fluency came from. Heck, I don’t even remember what I said! Whoever was speaking back there, it sure wasn’t me."
A slight shiver went down both their backs, and they stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.
Jim raised his beer in a quiet toast. "Happy Halloween, Chief."
"Feliz Dia de Muertos, Jim." Blair answered with a perfect Gringo accent.
Fin.
Get your own Free Homepage