Part 7
(one week later)
"You can't make it up and down those stairs well yet." Mary Margaret again explained to Peter why he couldn't stay at the apartment above the vegetable market. "Master Kahn said he'd help with the people of Chinatown and Yong Fi said he'd be most glad to help with the sick, so you don't have to worry about that."
Dakota pulled the car into the long drive of the Blaisdell home, delivering Peter into the hands of his foster family, straight from the hospital discharge. "That'll be...$12.75, sir."
Peter didn't miss the joking smile that accompanied the fare. "Put it on my account," he replied.
Todd and Carolyn McCall greeted the officers and their passenger. Todd helped Dakota get Peter out of the sedan and up the few steps into the house. Using crutches modified to fit just above the elbow, Peter made his way through the foyer. They protected his wounded shoulder, which was slowly mending, the bullet having missed the bone and torn only through muscle.
"Hey, big brother. Sorry I couldn't come get you. Taylor needed to be fed and that is one thing that Todd can't do." Carolyn smiled as she hugged Peter.
Peter blushed as he caught the meaning. To him, Carolyn and Kelly would always be the little girls he met so long ago, not married women, and certainly not mothers of their own children.
Paul's den had been turned into a bedroom for Peter until he was able to traverse the four steps to the upper level of the house where the master bedroom and three other rooms were located.
"Where's Paul?" Peter asked, seeing his mother come up behind Carolyn.
Annie couldn't see the weariness on Peter's face but she heard it in his voice.
"He's gone to City Hall with Kermit. Now, do you want to stay on the couch for a while or do you need to go to bed?" The anxious mother could be heard beneath the casual question.
Realizing he was closer to the couch and his arms were tired of using the crutches, Peter opted for the couch, though his body longed to stretch out on the bed.
"Why's he at City Hall?" the recently released Kelly questioned as she made room for her brother. She moved to the other end, allowing him to lie down, his head on the arm of the couch, while Carolyn and Todd shared the large recliner and the two detectives stood at the fireplace.
If Peter heard the conversation, his brain didn't let it register. His eyes closed as exhaustion took over and lulled him to sleep.
***
Waking up seemed a little harder. The comfort of the couch, the warm blanket tucked around him, and the soft crooning of Nat King Cole serenaded his mind. It was a sharp contrast to the hospital's hard mattress, irregular temperatures, and monotone announcements over the intercom system. If nothing else, Annie Blaisdell knew how to help her children relax and heal.
Familiar voices pulled Peter away from the temptation of further sleep.
"It went well. We have a contract for six months. If we get good results, then we'll be put on a yearly retainer" were the first words Peter heard.
"Oh, Paul. That is wonderful. Have you told Peter about your plans yet?" Annie asked.
Peter allowed his chi to reach out to both of them and felt them holding each other. Their love for one another filled his mind and heart.
"No, I wanted to get everything set up first. How's he doing?"
"Mary Margaret and James brought him home. I don't think he even knew when everyone left. He fell asleep on the couch."
The voices grew closer. The sound of a shared kiss caused Peter to blush. He'd never eavesdropped on his parents before.
Peter cleared his throat to announce his wakefulness. "Paul?"
"Hi. How are you feeling?"
The mild narcotics made Peter's eyelids droopy and his voice somewhat slurred. "Tired. Where were you?"
Uncomfortable looking down at Peter, Paul sat on the corner of the coffee table while Annie excused herself to go get Peter some water, alerted to the need by the hoarseness of Peter's voice.
"Well, since I resigned from the force, I have to find, or create, a job."
Curiosity tugged at Peter to wake up more fully, though his body protested. "Create a job?"
Seeing he had Peter's attention, Paul smiled. "Yeah. I can't go back to being Captain of the 101st. Karen has done a wonderful job. And I'm too old to be a beat cop."
A small chuckle from the older man and the thought of his being a street cop caused Peter to laugh. "So, what are you going to do?"
"Well, I need a couple of partners with special skills. You know - detective skills. I have a contract with the city to help solve some of their old cases. The FBI has a program set up like that where a group of agents and city officers review cases that are at least a year old and still open. We will also help with high profile cases where cops can't go. Luckily, the Mayor is a good friend and saw the need for a..." Paul tried to find a way to describe his little group.
Peter heard the hesitation. His impatience caused him to finish Paul's sentence. "A mercenary detective agency?"
Another chuckle. "Yes, I guess that is what you could call it. You know those cases where the police can't do certain things because it could jeopardize the case? That's what we'll be doing."
"We?"
"Well, I already have a computer expert. He's associated with the police department and will work part-time for the agency."
The smile that spread across Peter's face made Paul more confident that his plan might work. "I would think that would be Kermit."
"Ah, such detective skills. That's what you could supply."
The smile faded and a far away look came to the dark eyes as Peter turned his face away from Paul. "I left that life, if you hadn't heard, although I'm sure your contact told you."
The last part was said sarcastically, a fact which was not lost on the newly returned parent. It stabbed at him but he accepted the words as payment for his dereliction of fatherly duties.
Paul realized also that this was the opening he had wanted. "That's what I need to talk to you about, son. Why did you quit?"
Continuing to look at the fireplace, Peter tried to come up with anything that would help him avoid the question.
"Peter, back when Benson had us and even in the hospital, you said you didn't know why you took the brands. Mary Margaret said it was to save your father. Was that it? Or was it something you really wanted to do?" No answer came, so Paul continued. For both their sakes, he had to get Peter to open up to him. "Karen said you told Kincaid you took the brands and then left the force because of a bad cop. She didn't buy it and neither do I."
"It doesn't matter any more," Peter muttered, closing his eyes to feign sleepiness.
"Yes, it does. No matter what religion, a person doesn't become a priest - the mouth of his God - without feeling that he was led to it. Nothing seems to go right if he chooses that path just because it seemed the easiest path or the thing to do at that time."
Paul stood and walked around the room, wanting to get the answers to questions that he and others shared about Peter's leaving the force. "This bit about quitting because of bad cops is ridiculous, also. What about Torres and Lyle? They tried to kill you because you were stepping in on their drug dealings in Chinatown. You didn't quit then. What about that FBI agent who framed Karen for murder? Or federal agent Pardoe? From what Kermit tells me, he not only tried to kill your witness, but you and your sister as well. You didn't quit either time, nor even quit when Stiles and Cooper framed me."
Walking back to the couch, Paul watched Peter try to sit up and drink from the glass his mother had brought in before she left again. Paul recognized the move as one Peter used when he didn't want to examine his motives too closely. "You came into the department knowing about the bad side of police work, because I told you about it. You weren't naive about it, Peter, and I don't buy that cop out. You quit because you became a priest. So, yes, it does matter." Paul kept his voice calm and even, wanting the words to penetrate Peter's mind, to make him think and talk. When again he received no answer, Paul tried another tactic. "Do you miss being a cop?"
A slight nod of Peter's head gave Paul the answer he was hoping for. "I had always thought that I was destined to help those who needed protecting, those who were weaker. When you took me in, being a cop was what I wanted and when I graduated from high school and the academy, that was who and what I became." Peter leaned his head back, letting his true feelings flow out, finally able to say the words. "It's been just a few months, Paul. I thought the feelings would go away, but the need to...to do things that only a cop would do...I wake up to that every morning."
Silence from his father encouraged Peter to continue though he was still unable to look his parent in the eye. "In the beginning, I was thrilled with getting to learn my new skills. It was exciting to be able to help the ghost of a murdered man save his daughter. I help the precinct when they ask and I enjoy being with the kids at the Y, but…there's just something missing. That, and I need to have some income."
"Is there anything in the rule book that says you can't be a detective and a priest at the same time? I mean, you don't have to carry a gun, but I would like you to work with me. That was the best thing about you working at the 101st, we worked together. I was and still am proud of you, no matter what you choose to do."
Peter thought about the invitation. His heart leapt with joy, but the joy was short lived as he caught a glance of the dragon on his forearm. "I don't know."
"Well, just think about it. I already have a case and could use you on it. Kermit's coming over tonight to discuss it. OK?" Paul gently brushed aside the few stray hairs that had made their way in front of Peter's eyes.
Exhaustion was once again draining Peter of energy as he thought about the cases Caine had helped him on. Would it be so bad to help Paul as Caine had helped Peter? The idea of doing what he always loved followed him into sleep, filling his dreams.
***
How the mighty had fallen. The posh office where they had once met had been exchanged for an abandoned warehouse. Instead of a huge oak table and cushioned chairs, its furnishings were a large spool and overturned crates. The four men gathered around the makeshift table were dirty. Their once meticulous clothes were now full of briars and tears from the rush into the woods, away from the police who still surrounded their fortress.
Wilson stood, not sure the crate would support him more than a few more minutes. "Gentlemen, I'm glad we could all meet once again." The location had been chosen long ago, a back up in case anything happened to the main founder of the company and led to the loss of company headquarters. "Our contract on Alexa is still intact, though they have not changed the deadline. We also have the contract that was put into motion last week. Please read the paper; take note of all your duties. I am looking into a new business office while Mr. Benson is detained at the local police station. Mr. Benson will be released soon. Meanwhile, I will be the leader and will contact each of you for our next meeting."
With that said, Wilson turned and left the room, leaving the others to read their assignments, never once fearing that their organization would be found again.
***
The restaurant had just opened for lunch. Few business people had made it inside. Only some hungry shoppers and people out for appointments had been seated. Waitresses and bus boys quickly rechecked each table for place mats and silverware as the cooks prepared the stoves and deep fryers.
In one booth, a young woman sat reading some loose papers. A glass of iced tea was within reach, condensation rolling down its sides. Two women were escorted to her table, exchanging pleasantries with the seated woman.
"Well, what do you think, Sue?" the larger of the two visitors asked as she accepted a glass of water from the waitress.
"Grandmother is senile, Jeanne. She wants Scott's payroll deduction even though he has paid off the car," Sue responded, throwing down the papers she had read.
"Well, until the court says she is senile, you still have to do what she wants. Remember, she is the keeper of your trust fund," the other woman stated. "I am her lawyer, and as such, I can tell you now that no court would find that woman insane or mentally incapable of retaining her position as your executor."
Sue looked at Jeanne, her own lawyer and co-executor of the trust fund. "So that means I can't marry Scott, right? Just because she says so?"
Molly, the other lawyer, let out a small sigh. This was not the first time this conversation had been rehashed between them. "She just doesn't want you to marry someone who may be trying to get to your trust. And if you have children, well, that would complicate things more."
"She doesn't have to worry about that. I don't want to pass my diabetes on to the poor child. Scott loves me, not my money. Besides, he doesn't know about it." Sue defended her future fiancé. Changing the subject before she lost her weak control on her temper, Sue talked about her job. "We have started the drive for the homeless shelters. Having to keep on my budget is not as hard as it seemed. I found some ornamental trees at one of the nurseries. I can get two for ten dollars."
"You are going to put a tree up in each of the shelters?"
The conversation stayed on the shelters as their lunch was served; each person avoided the previous topic, fearing that it might set Sue off on a tantrum and ruin the lobster placed before them.
"Well, I have to go. I have a meeting in about thirty minutes," Jeanne said as she pulled out her credit card, laying it on the bill to pay for all three meals.
"Remember, I rode with you, so I'll need to go, too. You leaving now, also, Sue?"
Sue shook her head. This was her favorite restaurant. All the workers knew her and she loved the atmosphere. "No. I think I'll stay here for a while longer. Maybe have some dessert."
The waitress picked up the card and ticket and returned quickly after processing the transaction. Business had picked up over time and she rushed off to serve other customers.
"Call me if you need anything," Jeanne and Molly both said as they slid out of the bench seat and left the building.
Outside, the two women walked quickly to their car, which was parked half a block from the restaurant.
Neither looked remorseful as the building they had just left erupted into fire and flying debris.
"How convenient," Jeanne said flatly, watching rubble rain down on cars and people who were able to run from the collapsing building.
"Yes," Molly answered. "One less problem for us to deal with."
Jeanne put the car in drive and pulled out into the slowing traffic as distant sirens grew closer. Neither she nor her partner wondered about Sue's fate; they would find out later on the news.