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This is a sequel to the story Conspirare
not my characters, not for money, not a threat
A Victimless Crime
Part I
*****
There'll be no dancing; there'll be no symphony there. There'll be no laughing; there'll be no stamping of feet. There'll be no crying; there'll be no singing the blues...and I can guarantee you won't be let down.
-Peter Himmelman, Running away
*****
It was eight-fifteen a.m., and Blair was waking up to the smells of breakfast; pancakes, fried eggs, and maple smoked bacon. Enough cholesterol to choke a horse, but what the hell, sometimes you have to live a little.
He sat up, ran his fingers loosely through his long black curls and looked at the bed beside him. Jim had laid there last night. All night. The two of them like they had doe it for years. A part of him, in the back of his mind, even while it was happening was afraid that it would seem strange in the morning. It didn't. Now *that* was weird.
Jim was whistling tunelessly by the stove, a song he didn't recognize. Thank Christ.
"Morning, Chief," Jim paused his tune, "hope you're hungry."
"Yeah," Blair said, standing and stretching, "you could say that."
Jim nodded, flipped the eggs.
Blair hunted for his clothes. It was a small cabin, and it wasn't much of a search. He got dressed, keeping an eye on Jim, wondering. That seemed a pretty ordinary good morning, all things considered.
"Where'd you find the grub?" Blair asked, sitting at the small table.
"Camp store three miles up the road," Jim answered, with a slight grin.
"Wow, big guy, this *is* isolation."
Jim nodded, and slid two greasy eggs, some bacon, and two pieces of toast onto a plate, and set it down before Blair.
"Eat up."
Jim got himself a plate and sat down across from him, almost instantly cramming half a slice of toast in his mouth. Blair smiled.
"We had sex, Jim."
Jim looked at him, evenly.
"I know, Sandburg."
"Don't you want to at least discuss that?"
Jim shook his head, put his hand on Blair's face.
"Nope."
Blair smiled, honestly and by surprise.
"Okay."
Jim nodded, and proceeded to practically shovel food into his face, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks.
"Jim, are you feeling alright?"
Jim looked surprised.
"All things considered, yeah. Just hungry."
Blair cocked an eyebrow.
"Jim, man, I have seen you hungry before. This is...this is something else."
Jim nodded.
"I haven't eaten much since you disappeared."
"Oh."
Jim kept on eating. Blair had his fill, and mostly pushed the food around.
"You gonna eat that?" Jim asked, pointing at the remnants of the bacon.
Blair held the plate out to him, and Jim scooped it up.
"If you keep piling bacon back like that, your heart is going to explode. You're getting older, big guy."
Jim glared at him, mostly friendly.
"Get stuffed," he said chewing.
Blair smiled, and sipped his juice. It tasted fresh.
When breakfast was finished, Blair helped him clear away. Jim seemed distracted. Blair patted his forearm.
"Something up?"
"No. Just edgy, I guess."
Blair nodded, said nothing, touched his arm again for good measure, and went back to washing dishes.
"Is that how you always ate before I met you?"
"Quantity or quality?"
Blair looked at him.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"I guess I did save your life," Blair said, and saying it seemed to come off three shades less funny than he meant it.
"Ha ha," Jim said, thank Christ, "You are one funny guy. I ever tell you that?"
Blair smiled and leaned against him, without thinking about it. Jim slid an arm around him and squeezed, kissing the top of his head.
"Well, Chief, we should hit the road."
"Um...okay," Blair said, half dizzy.
*****
The newscaster smiled reassuringly...and off camera, someone sneezed.
-Stephen King, The Stand
*****
"Did I mention," Blair said, grinning, sometime after they hit the highway, "that I love your new wheels."
"Beggars can't be choosers, Sandburg. At least it runs. And no one is going to look for us in a green El Camino."
Blair chuckled.
"I guess that's true. How long have you had this stashed away?"
"Same time I bought the cabin, more or less."
"And I thought you were paranoid."
Jim frowned.
"It's great to be right," Jim said.
Blair leaned back.
"Where are we going, anyway?"
"Cascade, I hope. Long enough to pick up a few things anyway."
"Oh. Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Nope, but I figure I'll check the area out with my senses first. If it seems...risky, we bail. Sound good?"
Blair nodded.
"What about Simon?"
"What about him?"
"Aren't we going to tell him anything?"
Jim slowed the car, turned and looked him right in the eye.
"We sure as hell aren't. We'll phone him from where we're going, once we figure that out."
Blair blinked, unbelieving.
"Jim, he's your best friend, man. You can't just bolt and say nothing."
Jim shook his head.
"Think about it, Blair. All telling Simon does is put him in danger."
"He's your *friend*."
"You think I don't know that? Jesus, Sandburg, it's not like I don't have this all figured out. I've been ready to do this for years."
"And what about me, would you have just left me without saying a word?"
"Depending on the circumstances, maybe."
"I can't believe you!"
Blair slammed his hand on the dash.
"How can you even say a thing like that?" Blair continued, furious.
"Because," Jim said, taking a hand off the wheel to grab Blair's wrist forcefully, "I love you people, and I don't see the point in dragging people down with me."
Blair pulled his arm back, stung.
"Since when did you have to *drag* me anywhere?" he asked, blinking back tears. "You're making me glad *I* got us into this mess."
Jim shook his head.
"Chief, you are taking this the wrong way. Turn on the radio, would you? We should listen to the news."
Blair silently turned the radio on, and tuned to the all talk station out of Seattle.
"...difficult to even guess the long-term implications of such an admission on international relations with Canada, and even harder to predict the effect this will have on an already divided political climate within Canada itself," the radio blurted.
Blair felt his jaw drop.
"Uh oh," Jim said.
"The accident occurred yesterday, in the very early morning, when a routine excavation accidentally unearthed, and apparently cracked open a buried drum of Sarin nerve gas on the land surrounding the Canadian military station at Suffield Alberta..."
"Oh god," Blair said.
"Within hours, the gas had dispersed over the entire town of Suffield, and all thirteen hundred and fourteen persons there were dead, the vast majority of those were civilian casualties..."
Jim stopped the car pulling over, his hands shaking.
"The Canadian government released a brief but informative statement just hours after inspection teams made the horrible discovery."
The voice on the radio switched to that of a man speaking at a press conference.
"We would like to offer our apologies to the families of those lost in this tragedy. At the present time, we can not explain how or why this canister of nerve gas was still on the facility, as we had believed the facility was now free of all chemical or biological agents. Clearly, we were in error, and the matter will, be assured, be investigated to the very fullest."
The voice switched back to the announcer.
"Experts say that the area may not be safe for habitation for the next six to seven years. We will bring you updates as events proceed."
Blair turned off the radio, and neither of them said anything for what seemed like days.
*****
"It's 106 miles to Chicago. We've got a full tank of gas, a half-pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."
"Hit it."
-Jake and Elwood Blues, The Blues Brothers
*****
When they drove past the state border into Oregon, Blair realized that their plans had changed.
"Uh...Jim?"
"Yeah?"
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know. I'm thinking."
Jim was curt and there was an unpleasant edge in his voice. Blair had only heard it once or twice before, and it never presaged anything good.
"Do you want me to drive for awhile?"
"No. Shut up and let me think."
"No problem."
Blair started to drum his fingers on his thighs, and thought better of it. [He's cranky enough.]
"I'm sorry," Jim said.
"It's okay, man, I understand. This is a pretty whacked out situation..."
"Blair, sweetheart, I don't think you really understand this."
"I might," Blair said, his voice a little strained, "understand this better than you think. All those people died because of what we did."
Jim braked the car, a little too rapidly.
"What did *we* do, chief?" Jim said, genuinely angry, "*We* didn't do anything. They kidnapped you, and then that monster Joel did what he did, and didn't have to. And then *they* cleaned it up. We didn't do this, Blair. We are reacting to what they did to us. Period."
Blair swallowed hard, a little surprised at Jim's outburst, more words from him than he'd heard in hours.
"If I hadn't dragged us off vampire-hunting," Blair said, managing a pretty lame smile, that even he didn't think was fooling anyone, "they'd never have tracked us down."
Jim clenched his teeth and spoke through them.
"Look, Chief, this is old ground. That was a coincidence. I think we would both agree that this turned out to be something like a worst-case scenario here, but at least we are both still alive."
"Yeah. For now, big guy. I mean, they *must* be looking for us now. I mean, for them to do that..."
"You think?" Jim said, looking at Blair with mock amazement. "Of course they're looking for us. That's why I need to think."
"Okay, think. This is your field, man. Go crazy."
Blair patted Jim's knee and laid his head back, closing his eyes.
Jim smiled, and thought Blair couldn't see.
A few moments later, the car pulled to a stop at a gas station.
"Time for a rest break, Sandburg."
"I'm okay."
Jim looked him in the eyes.
"I think you need to go, Chief."
"But I...Oh...Okay..."
Blair walked into the john and splashed some cold water on his face. As gas station bathrooms went, this place was less awful than most. He looked at his face in the mirror. He wished he had his pick and detangler. He was three days away from Bob Marley. At best.
When he walked back out, Jim was sitting behind the wheel of a minivan, grinning broadly and wearing new shades. Blair said nothing, until he got in the van. He smiled broadly, for the benefit of those in the lot.
"Jim," he said through his forced smile, "What are you doing?"
"I'm stealing a minivan. Buckle up."
Jim hit the gas and tore away.
"Are those even your shades?"
"No. Do you like them?"
Blair shook his head, halfway laughing.
"They look good on you. Maybe it's just the aura of danger or something. I always had a crush on rough types."
Jim smiled, genuinely.
"Blair, you have seen nothing yet."
Blair laughed, with an edge of nervousness as they headed back up towards the border.
*****
"I've been doing some thinking here; just kind of looking at our situation, and I've come to the conclusion that we are completely FUCKED. Has anyone else made this discovery?"
-Matt Stone, Cannibal: The Musical
*****
About ten minutes later, once back in the state of Washington, Blair let out a deep breath.
"Well, That's it, right? We're home free."
"Theoretically, yes."
"Theoretically?"
"Yeah. But this thing will be reported stolen, and the various state governments and police forces tend to cooperate with each other about these things."
"Oh, great...so now we're hiding from the police?"
"Theoretically."
Blair just stared at him this time.
"Well, until we get back to Cascade."
Blair shook his head violently.
"Jim, that's crazy. If you want to get to the police, why not just drive there? We *work* there."
"Well, that's what I'm going to do, but I'd rather walk in the back door with armed guards."
"You think they're waiting for us at the station?"
"I am *positive* they are."
Blair nodded.
"And the loft?" Blair asked.
"Forget it. We're never getting in there. Not anytime soon."
"What about our *stuff*, big guy. There are a lot of things in there that I..."
"Blair. Listen to me. We have to be very careful. These people will not be out to capture and study us. They want us dead. Forgotten. Disappeared. Savvy?"
Blair shuddered a bit at the last term. He had spent the better part of a summer in Latin America once, and had heard the term way too often.
"I savvy."
Jim patted his knee.
"I'm sorry, Chief. Facts of life. I promise, I'll make this up to you."
"Jim, this isn't your fault, either."
"I know."
Blair sat back.
"I still don't know about this stealing the van and everything, big guy. You are a police officer and everything..."
"They'll get their van back. I just...commandeered it. As for my being a police officer, Blair, well, I wouldn't count on that."
Blair rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"This is crazy. That job means so much to you, man."
"It's not everything, Chief."
Jim pushed the tape into the tape player and waited to see what it was. A few seconds later, Jimi Hendrix began to sing Freedom. Jim grinned.
"I wouldn't have pegged you as a Hendrix fan," Blair said, tapping on the arm rest.
"As long as it's quiet."
"Well, you won't catch me turning it up."
Jim looked at him, turned it down a couple more notches, until Blair couldn't hear it.
"Hey, Jim, I didn't mean you had to turn it off. I mean, I can deal with it. No biggie."
"As far as I'm concerned, Sandburg, it's blasting."
"Ohhhhh," Blair said, nodding, "Cool."
"Well, they have to be good for something, right?"
Blair laid his head back, and napped.
*****
"The definition of asshole is someone who doesn't believe what they see. And you can quote me."
-Richard Ginneli, Thinner
*****
Simon slammed his hand down on his desk, and looked at Jim and Blair, who seemed to be trying their damnedest not to laugh.
"Detective Ellison," he started off, "I hope you have one hell of a story."
Jim shook his head, not sure where to start.
"What the hell were you thinking, Jim, stealing a car?"
"I was thinking it sounded like fun."
Blair looked at Jim and his jaw dropped. A strained sound that might have been some kind of a laugh followed. Simon said nothing, seemingly convinced he'd heard wrong. "Jim, what the hell?" Simon trailed off to incoherence.
"Look sir, there is a story. That was a joke. I guess. This is going to be a tall one to swallow, Simon."
"Goddamn it Jim, try me. I bought the sentinel thing, and I even kept an open mind on this whole vampire thing. I don't know what the hell you think you could possibly say that would surprise me."
Blair swallowed.
"Well..."
"Shut up, Sandburg. The last thing I need right now is *you*."
"Yessir."
"It's like this," Jim began. He laid out the story from start to finish, from what happened when he got to Edmonton, to the moment they left Suffield. About at the part where Mandrake's hand started to glow, he sat down and held his face in his hands. By the end of it, he stared openly at both of them, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes slightly glassy with a dawning belief that it might just be the truth.
"Jesus," Simon said, "So what you're telling me is that this story about the leak up there is some kind of cover story to hide the fact that the whole base plain disappeared. Am I getting that right?"
"Almost," Jim said. "I'm guessing that the leak probably happened. But it wasn't accidental. I think they killed that whole town just to make sure nobody ever told what really happened out there."
Blair looked, and felt, sick. So did Simon. Blair could see that he believed it.
"And," Jim continued, "knowing this, I'm pretty sure that there are people looking for us who want us dead.
I wanted to get in here and talk to you. I figured the best way was to..."
"Okay. I follow you. Okay. Why Oregon, for God's sake. There must be easier ways to get arrested."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Jim said quietly, and paused. "This a pretty stressful situation, sir."
Simon nodded.
"I can't imagine."
Simon looked at Blair, and back at Jim.
"So. What now?"
"I need a favour. A big one."
Simon took off his glasses.
"What?"
"Sneak us out of here. But make it look like we're still in custody."
"Jim, that is a felony."
"I know that, Simon."
The two of them looked at each other for a long second, and Simon glanced for a second at Blair, and then quickly averted his eyes.
"Oh, goddamnit, all right."
Jim smiled.
Simon maneuvered the two of them out the door, and a plainclothes cop came over to assist.
"That's alright Ken," Simon said. "They aren't exactly resisting."
Ken smiled and nodded at Jim and Blair. Blair smiled back. Simon led them downstairs in the direction of the holding cells, and into the cellblock.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he said when the coast was clear.
"I'm hoping it'll give us a head start on things," Jim said.
Simon led them through the cellblock to the fire stairs.
"Go on."
Jim offered his hand to Simon, who, after a pause shook it.
"Thank you Simon," Jim said, with a disturbing finality.
Simon nodded, visibly upset.
Blair suddenly got a real sense of the moment, and the pit of his stomach fell out. This was goodbye, wasn't it? He looked at Simon, and finally, still didn't know what to think, and felt sick that he probably never would.
"Thanks, Captain," Blair said, and offered his hand. Simon took it, and looked into Blair's eyes. Blair decided to turn the handshake into a hug. A quick one, which Simon, surprisingly, didn't flinch from.
"You take care of yourself, Sandburg."
Blair felt tears on his own cheeks, surprised by all of this, the suddenness of it. He released Simon and smiled, weakly.
"You too, sir," he said, and wanted to say more, but couldn't make the words to do it.
Jim and Simon shook hands again, and them Jim put an arm around Blair, and they started down the stairs. It didn't take sentinel senses to hear Simon's final words to them as they left.
"Damn," Simon said, in a voice thick with emotion, and lost opportunity. "Goddamn."
*****
"If you live your life with your baggage packed, it seems you leave more often than you come back."
-John Gorka, Bigtime Lonesome
*****
Jim hotwired Simon's car and they were driving away in a couple of seconds. Blair cried most of the way to the loft, which they circled once they got there, Jim silent, but obviously checking things out. Blair looked up through red-rimmed eyes.
"I am *so* sorry," he said, wiping his hair from his face. Jim frowned and said nothing, brow furrowed.
"There's nobody watching the place. I don't get it."
Blair shook his head.
"That doesn't make any sense."
"I know that, Blair."
Neither of them spoke for a bit, and then Jim stopped the car. He checked his pistol, made sure it was loaded, and returned it to his holster.
"Whoa," Blair said, alert, "Where are *you* going?"
"Chief, which one of us here is a sentinel?"
"I don't think that's important right now..."
"There is something in there that we are going to *need*. I'll take that risk. You..."
"Stay in the truck? Not this time..."
Jim cut him off by putting a hand over his mouth, and roughly pushing him back against the seat.
"Shut up," Jim began, "and stay here, or I swear to God I will shoot you myself. I don't have time for this right now, all right?"
Blair nodded, and Jim let him go, closing the car door loudly behind him. Jim headed up the walk and through the front door. A black sedan pulled up behind the car, and Blair sunk down unconsciously. He heard the sound of car doors opening and two men talking, and he thought he recognized one of the voices.
Blair craned his head up slightly, and took a look. One of the men he had never seen before, a tall blond man with a nasty red scar on his forehead. The other was very familiar, although he hadn't seen him in years now. He was in his fifties, heavy-set with ash hair, going to grey slowly. His name was Harry Green. Neither of them, Blair was sure, worked for the CIA. He relaxed a little.
Blair opened the door and got out, smiling.
"Hey Harry," Blair called.
Harry turned, obviously surprised, and so did his blond companion.
"Blair?" Harry asked, smiling uncomfortably. He seemed embarrassed to be recognized. "Is that you?"
"You bet!" Blair walked over and gave him a hug, which Harry returned, a little awkwardly.
"I take it you know this guy, Harry?" the blond said, amused.
"Yeah, he's an old friend of mine."
The blond guy looked Harry in the eyes a little incredulously.
"Whoa," Blair said, "not friend as in...you know...connected...just friend friend."
The blond smiled.
"Thanks, bud, I had that figured."
"Cool. I just...didn't want you to get the wrong idea here...."
"Blair," Harry interrupted, "It's good to see you again. We have to do coffee before I go back to Seattle, but now is not a good time..."
Blair nodded, grinning.
"Somebody miss a payment?"
"You could say that," the blond said.
Harry put his hands on Blair's shoulders.
"Blair, you have nothing to do with the business anymore. Ever. No questions, even. Get it?"
"Yeah...Sure...Jeez, man, it was a *joke*."
"Strange sense of humour," the blond said.
Harry slapped Blair's face lightly and affectionately.
"I'll call you later, okay?"
"Sure."
Blair was very nervous all of a sudden. A very unpleasant idea crossed his mind.
"Are you here to whack a guy named Jim Ellison?"
The blond raised a gun, with frightening speed, and held it to Blair's forehead.
"Jesus Christ, Sandburg," Harry said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "How the hell..."
The blond pressed the gun forward a bit, causing Blair to stagger a bit.
"Hey..." Blair said, nervous and scared.
"Relax, Jefferson. He's cool."
The blond, apparently named Jefferson lowered his gun.
"How did you know this?" Harry asked Blair.
"He's my best friend," Blair said, shaking.
Harry turned pale.
"Shit. I'm sorry kid."
Blair didn't know what to say.
The blond turned to go back to the sedan.
Harry turned to him.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked his partner.
"I didn't see anything here. Did you?"
Harry nodded, smiled, not happily.
"No, course not," he said, and then turned to Blair. "You take care, kid. Both of you."
Blair squeezed Harry's shoulder as Harry pulled away.
"Thank you Harry. I won't forget this."
"You'd better," Harry said, "Because we never spoke."
Blair nodded, and the two of them pulled away. He stood there, looking at the ground in silence, remembering. He was still there when Jim came back, with a double armload of stuff, most of it Blair's.
"Blair? Something wrong?"
Blair shook his head.
"Just everything."
Jim nodded and loaded the car, nostrils slightly flared.
"Blair?" Jim started, "Did someone stop?"
"Yeah, I gave them some directions."
Jim looked at him, sure that he was lying. He said nothing. Blair was grateful.
"Okay."
Blair got in the car, and tried to think what he could possibly say to explain all of this to Jim.
*****
"They say there are few greater loves than that of a friend for a friend."
-Reg Kray, Born Fighter
*****
Blair was nineteen when Robert introduced him to Harry Green for the first time. It was the summer before his senior year, and Blair, atypically, did not have big plans for the break. Last year, he had been all through Central America, in a study of the ancient Mesoamericans. This year, he was just looking for a job. Something, he hoped, with no real mental work to it.
He had decided that he would look for work in Seattle. Robert had written him, saying that the economy was much better out there than it had been when they were kids. Blair figured that, at the very least, there had to be some coffee shop somewhere that was looking for a waiter. He was more than aware of his considerable charm, and not at all above using it.
So when Robert picked him up at the bus station, his mood was pretty good.
"Hey cuz!" Blair said, stepping quickly to his cousin and giving him a big hug.
"Good to see you squirt," Robert said, holding him by the shoulder's at arm's length. "My, you are a pretty little thing aren't you?"
Blair smiled, a little embarrassed. Robert had known him a long time, was the closest thing he had to a brother, if a much older brother. Robert Sandburg stood a few inches taller than Blair, and had the same thick black wavy hair, only cropped short and shot through with flecks of grey, which Blair knew would come to his own, and which he hoped would come off as dignified. Robert had broad, fleshy lips, a little too big for his face, and green eyes. He was thirty years old, and looked older. Hard living.
"Yeah yeah," Blair said, "I have an idea. Why don't you use your muscles to tote my gear to the car, tough guy?"
Robert laughed, grabbed a bag.
"Where's Naomi?" Robert asked. Nobody would ever have called her Aunt Naomi.
"I'm not sure. She called me from San Francisco in May, and said she was on her way to Mexico for a few months. She knows where to find me."
Robert nodded, unimpressed, said nothing.
"So," Robert said, a mile up the road, "you said you were looking for work?"
"Yeah," Blair said grinning, "I'll need spending money while I'm here, mooching, and living on your couch."
"Well," he said, "I might have something lined up for you."
Blair looked at him nervously. He knew a little about the family business. He had spent a lot of summers in Seattle, and once or twice, late at night, Naomi had told him stories of why it was she *had* to get away from Seattle. In short, she didn't like the violence. Blair couldn't help feeling a little bitter about that, as Naomi seemed to have no qualms about bringing abusive guys home with her while he was growing up.
"Uh...Robert buddy....Are you sure about--"
"Blair, it's all on the up and up. I swear. I wouldn't get you involved. Hell, I'm barely involved. I just take care of the figures, and the phone calls. I'm no leg breaker."
"Okay...what'd you have in mind?"
"I have a friend who manages a warehouse. Furniture, appliances that kind of thing. They need a guy to do night inventory. It's not security, there are guys for that. It's just counting."
"Sounds depressing...."
"Pays ten bucks an hour."
"I'm sold," Blair said, laughing. "When do I start?"
Robert shook his head.
"Slow down Tex, I don't want to promise you anything here. I'll take you to meet the guy."
"Cool. Right now?"
"If you want."
They chatted about this and that, getting caught up. Robert advised Blair what might just be smart money, betting-wise. It was a good time. About twenty minutes later they pulled up beside a restaurant with tables outside on the patio, and Robert led him over to the bigger than life guy in a three piece suit.
"Harry!" Robert shouted.
"What the fuck do you want you kike bastard?" Harry shouted back, walking over and taking his hand.
"This is my cousin, Blair..."
"Oh, sure...you're Naomi's kid, ain't ya?"
"Yeah. Hi," Blair said, a bit taken aback.
"She was quite a lady, your ma. Let me tell you."
Blair and Robert were motioned over to a table to sit down, and as Harry sat down, his jacket opened slightly and Blair saw just the end of the butt of his pistol, hanging in a shoulder holster. It was then that he knew this was a bad idea. He shot his cousin a very dirty look.
"What," Robert said, innocently, "What'd I do?"
Harry Green ordered three Molson's, smiling with all his teeth.
*****
"Studies show that on average we all lie at least 15 times a day."
-Christopher Hyde, the Paranoid's Handbook
*****
Jim came back out about ten minutes later. He had two big suitcases filled with stuff and a garbage bag filled with more stuff trailing out of one hand. Blair hustled forward to help him with it, his eyes casting nervously from side to side. Jim's nostrils flared, smelling recent exhaust.
"Trouble, chief?"
"I'm not sure...Let's just get moving alright?"
Jim nodded, and they their the stuff in the back seat. Jim moved to the driver's side door, but Blair had beaten him there. Jim shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
Blair started the car, and they rolled away from the loft.
[forever]
"Where are we going, Jim?"
"Hey...you're driving."
Blair looked at him, frustrated.
"Hey, you're the one with the big plan here..."
Jim smiled, but it wasn't particularly happy.
"Let's start with you telling me what has you so riled up, okay?"
"I..."
"You what?"
"Some guys pulled up. They looked suspicious. I talked to them for awhile and then they left."
"Sandburg, who do you think you're fooling? You couldn't lie to save your life. With or without my senses."
Blair looked out the window, said nothing.