Bullpen

As soon as Jim and Blair entered the bullpen the next morning, Simon ordered them into his office.

"We have a problem, men," Simon told them as he seated himself behind his desk. "Have you heard about the poisonings?"

"A little, sir," Jim answered.

"We heard it on the news last night," Blair contributed.

"What hasn't been released is that all the victims are associated in some way with the Sheriff's Department."

Blair gasped.

Jim gritted his teeth.

Simon continued, "Two were wives of deputies, who are still fighting for their lives. One was a secretary, who is now conscious and can be questioned. The other three were deputies, who are still unconscious."

"What were they poisoned with?" Blair asked.

Jim remembered that the news on the radio stated that it had been caustic chemicals.

Simon recited from memory, "They seemed to have ingested ammonium, anionic surfactants, silicates, sodium lauryl sulfate--"

Jim interrupted, "Cleaning fluids?"

"Looks that way," Simon agreed. He took a deep breath, "We can't rule out that this could be related to the Bait and Shoot Program."

Blair looked stunned. "When did the first case occur?" he asked.

"Four days ago. First, two deputies and the secretary were rushed to the hospital in the late afternoon. Next came the third deputy and the wives were admitted yesterday."

"Do they share anything in common--besides the affiliation with the Sheriff's Department?" Jim asked. He had to agree with Simon. Since it targeted only the Sheriff's department, it most likely was in retaliation to the killing of the deer.

"Only the time they were admitted. Early evening," Simon told them gravely.

The three men exchanged meaningful glances, but Blair was the first to speak. "If they were all hospitalized at around the same time of day, it stands to reason that they must have ingested the chemicals at the same time of day, too."

"Lunch," Jim inserted.

"There're tons of restaurants near the County Building," Blair suggested.

"Check it out," Simon commanded. "If they were poisoned here in Cascade, I want to know who did it. The Mayor has convinced the County Executive that you two should head the investigation. The deputies have their hands full with the Bait and Shoot program and keeping the peace with that."

Hospital

Jim knocked on the partially open door. The occupant was the secretary to the sheriff, Jenny Powel. A soft, "Come in," gave him permission to enter. Blair was at the nurses' station getting more detailed information on the other poisoned victims.

"Mrs. Powel? I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade Police Department." He watched her wariness disappear, replaced with a friendly smile.

"Hello, Detective. My boss said you'd be stopping by. I understand the mayor wanted you in particular on the case."

"I believe you're right," Jim responded with a wry grin.

"Have you heard how the others are doing?" she asked, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

"My partner is checking on them now."

"I suppose you want me to tell you everything that happened."

"Please," Jim entreated.

"I was home making dinner when my stomach starting cramping up. At first I thought it was just gas pains, you know? I had eaten at one of those fast food restaurants and sometimes grease will give me the runs. I went to the bathroom and it just went downhill from there."

"Tell me about lunch. I understand two other deputies became sick the same day as you. Were you all having lunch together?"

"Yes. Deputies Rand and Burlington took me out. I had written up a..."

Jim's mind froze at the names of the two officers. He was almost positive that they were the ones who had tried to apprehend the truck last fall that had crashed and spilled the ink, giving the highway the look of a Skittles commercial. Why did so many things seem to be connected to that damned truck?

She continued, "...I ordered a cheese burger and fries and I don't remember exactly what they had."

"Did it taste funny?"

"Not that I remember. But with all that grease and condiments, I don't know if you could taste anything foreign."

Jim was sure he'd have no problem, but he didn't have the run of the mill tastebuds. "Do you remember who served you?"

"Kids, I guess."

The door slid open and Blair peeked around. "Okay for me to come in?"

Jim stood. "Mrs. Powel, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg."

Blair went over to the bed and shook her hand. "I am so glad that you seem to be recovering. The doctor told me that you seemed to have ingested less of the caustic chemicals than your companions."

"How are they doing?" she asked, her concern blatant.

"The two deputies have been upgraded to guarded, but neither can talk yet."

"You really think we got sick when we ate lunch?"

Jim gave Blair a pointed look.

"I asked the doctors approximately what time the poison would have to be ingested for it to have caused your admittance to the hospital at around six. He said that depending upon the dose, it could take anywhere from two to six hours for the symptoms to begin."

"That fits," Jim remarked, satisfied with at least having narrowed down where the poisoning took place.

"What's the name of the restaurant?" Blair asked, taking out his notebook.

"It's the Wonderburger on Main and South Avenue."

Jim blanched slightly as she said the name of his favorite burger joint. Then he froze, waiting for Blair to start his teasing. Much to Jim's surprise, all he received was a quick glance.

"We'll check this out right away," Blair told her as he put the notebook away.

"Sorry, Chief. We have to go to the demonstration first." Jim didn't like reminding his partner about it, but it was an assignment that they couldn't get out of.

"As soon as we can get out," Blair assured Mrs. Powel, "we'll go to that Wonderburger and find the responsible parties." Blair patted the woman's hand as he said goodbye and the two men left.

They got out into the hall and were halfway to the elevators before Jim turned to Blair and asked, "So, what else did you learn?"

Blair wore a thin smile. "You knew I found something disturbing."

"Yeah. There was an opportunity to give me grief and you passed it up."

"Not much in the mood for kidding around." Blair paused and then continued. "I talked to the two deputies, Kurlan and Thomas, whose wives are in intensive care."

Jim stiffened. "Kurlan was the deputy I helped on our way back from Teale's cabin."

Blair nodded sadly. "They were the real targets. The women were poisoned by mistake. Turns out that the two men are on diets. Something they were joking morbidly about. Their wives usually meet them for lunch and bring a chef salad. This particular day the deputies decided to get the women Wonderburgers and then they'd switch at lunch."

"So the fast-food workers thought that the officers were going to eat the food so they put the poison in the burgers," Jim paraphrased, extracting the facts from his partner's story.

"A lot of it," Blair added. "The doctors don't think the women are going to make it. The deputies are on one massive guilt trip. It's almost like they're grieving already and can't function."

"The only way we can help is to arrest the culprits."

Blair nodded emphatically.

Outside the County Building

The two detectives leaned against a street lamp pole as they observed the demonstration on the opposite side of the city street. Jim's eyebrows were furrowed as he inspected every square inch of the area. Blair could tell that the sentinel was ill at ease with the high emotions of everyone around him. It was only a matter of time before things would escalate and the people would become a mob. Mob scenes were so not fun.

Blair felt himself relax into "researcher mode", which was as natural to him as breathing. This was a subset of a population that was trying to change something officials were imposing on society. Could they succeed? Despite his own desires to see the protest initiate the change, he tried to keep his wishes from influencing his observations. Blair could tell by Jim's alert stance that he was ready to intercede if the need arose. Keeping the peace was always his main objective in these situations.

At first glance, the picketers all looked the same. Yet, if you narrowed in on one person and then the next, differences could be detected. One person was wearing a coat with a large decal of a deer with a rack of antlers. The protestor behind him was pushing a stroller with one hand and holding a sign with another, which read--"innocent slaughter of animals does not bring our children back." The sign was typical, the person was typical, but the two combined with the baby in the stroller made a powerful image.

A conversion van pulled up to the curb and several men jumped out carrying thermoses of steaming drinks. With some kind of order, the men began handing out styrofoam cups of the warm liquid. Memories shot through Blair of similar situations where he was a young boy amidst a forest of adults. He remembered his own hot chocolate cup and how yummy it had tasted on a cold day. What they had been protesting against eluded him, but he did remember the camaraderie, the feeling of acceptance within their small group. A nostalgic smile flitted across his face then he let the memory go and concentrated on the job at hand.

The crowd of protestors walked back and forth in front of the County Building. They mostly kept to themselves, holding their signs and trying to stay warm. A shiver went up Blair's back. His inactivity was slowing his metabolism.

Jim's hand patted him on the shoulder. "Cold?"

"A little," Blair answered.

"Let's walk a bit, then," Jim suggested.

Blair nodded and they left the comfort of anonymity and strolled more closely to the protestors. Individual voices could be discerned.

"Stop the slaughter."

"Animals have the right to life."

"Deer aren't killers, people are."

As they walked, a group of Native Americans came within sight. Some had on items of clothing genuine to their culture. Blair knew that many of the tribes indigenous to the state of Washington were active in the conservation of wildlife and their habitats. They were walking alongside their white-man neighbors in their pursuit of "justice for deer." Blair could feel himself being pulled into joining their cause, but one look from his partner, reminded him of his duty.

"They're starting to get to you, huh?" Jim asked, concerned. "You're not going to lose it, are you?"

"No, I'm fine," Blair tried to reassure his partner.

However, Jim knew different. Blair gazed on the group with a look of nostalgic longing that made Jim distinctly nervous. Naomi was big on demonstrations; this scene was probably right out of Blair's childhood. What kind of life was this for a kid? The adults were angling to be noticed, and if it didn't occur through peaceful means, then violence was a viable option. He saw a mother pushing a stroller and balancing a sign. There was also a man holding onto a young toddler, both shouting to stop the slaughter. Jim followed the crowd's actions with his eyes, but his ears were strained to catch the slightest sound that didn't belong.

Suddenly a disturbance by the front of the County Building caught his attention. The front door of the building opened and two deputies in uniform stepped out. Jim felt every single muscle in his body tighten in anger. "What in the hell are they doing?" he whispered to himself.

"What? What?" Blair strained to see what was going on.

"I think those stupid deputies are actually trying to start a riot," Jim answered, stunned by their insolence. The deputies stood looking out at the protestors. They didn't move, but stationed themselves as if guarding the front door.

The demonstrators coalesced into one unit and drifted toward the front stairs. In small groups, people slowly ascended the stairs. The marble columns made the crowd separate, but they quickly reassumed a cohesive mass. The deputies stayed at the top, surveying the scene, which made the crowd become more incensed. Jim noted the officer's names, meaning to lodge a formal complaint when this was all over.

"Sometimes protestors believe that a successful demonstration can only occur if violence erupts and they get arrested. It's a sense of pride with them," Blair admitted, with regret.

Jim acknowledged the truth in his friend's words, realizing that it was starting to happen right in front of him. Protestors were shouting and moving like a communal ameba. As the crush intensified, people were pushed further up to make room. Jim stood tensely. He took out the radio and called in, warning of the possible eruption of hostilities. Jim ended the communication then jumped on top of a parked car, perusing the throng, looking for firearms or an altercation that he could stop. Out of the corner of his eye, he happened to catch Blair as he gave him an apologetic glance and then entered the multitude. Jim shouted, but Blair probably couldn't hear him over the mob's roar.

Blair knew that the Sentinel would be having a hissy fit by now, but he couldn't help it. He was worried about the woman and the baby in the stroller. With the space between the people shrinking, Blair was worried that someone would lose their balance and fall on top of the child. He absently acknowledged Jim's shout of warning as he entered the throng--intent only on locating the stroller. The people allowed him through, either not sensing that he was a cop, or instinctively knowing that he belonged with them.

Blair ducked under a couple of signs. A waving arm almost clipped him in the face, but he maneuvered around that. The roar of the crowd surged and they all milled closer together. Blair had to push one man out of his way, but he didn't seem to notice. The noise level increased the further he progressed, and there was frenzied shouting all around him. The mob seemed to be talking with one voice and it was directed at the two deputies standing by the front door, as if they alone could make the changes the crowd demanded.

Blair paused, taking stock of how far he had progressed. He grunted as an elbow jammed his ribcage. The man had only been shifting his sign from his left to his right hand, but with little space, Blair bore the brunt of the move. He doubled up briefly, taking quick breaths, then resumed his search. It was unlikely that the woman would attempt the stairs, so he concentrated his efforts within the congested portion of the gathering. Moving was difficult, but suddenly a glimpse of a set of wheels flashed before another body obstructed the view.

With a target ahead, Blair pushed past three and then a fourth person. The mother's face peeked out at him from behind a large man--then disappeared. Blair maneuvered behind the man and was rewarded by another momentary view of his target. He squeezed behind yet another person and found himself in front of her. The woman's face was clouded with worry as she struggled to turn the stroller away from the stairs. The mass of people was slowly pushing her and she was powerless to stop the flow.

"Let me help you!" Blair screamed over the roar, with the people becoming more frantic as the deputies remained unmoved at the top of the stairs.

She gave him a grateful nod.

Blair felt the need to hurry--things were coming to a boiling point, as he picked up the front of the stroller. She held on to the back and they began forcing their way through toward the street. An arm came flying, but because he had the stroller, he was unable to avoid the impact. Unfortunately it wasn't the arm that connected, but the pole of a sign. The man seemed oblivious of the damage he had inadvertently caused. Blair felt a moment of dizziness. He didn't have time to think about his injury--they needed to get out. Tears gathered in his eyes as he pushed his way through the mass. Suddenly he broke free into the open air. Jim was the first person he saw as he looked up. He nodded to him then set the stroller down.

"There you go. Are you okay?" Blair asked, ignoring his partner for the moment.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what happened. All of a sudden everyone got closer and I couldn't walk anymore."

"You were in the wrong place at the wrong time," he told her consolingly, then started to tell her what happened. "A couple of sheriffs came out and--"

"Well, that was pretty stupid of them," she interrupted.

Blair braved a quick glance at his partner. Jim wore a stony expression, which told Blair that things were indeed becoming more violent. Stony with Jim usually meant apprehension. The older detective's face made a grimace as he reached for his gun. Blair's attention shifted from his partner to the top of the County Building. Several additional uniformed deputies came out and tried to push the crowds back down the stairs. Angry at the show of force, the people pushed harder.

"Ma'am, I think you'd better take your child home, now," Jim instructed in an authoritative tone.

"Thank you for your help," the woman was able to get in before Jim pushed a pile of snow onto Blair's face.

"It's swelling," Jim replied to Blair's sputtering.

The woman laughed as she pushed the stroller away from the mob. As Blair waved goodbye, with melted water dripping down his face, he happened to remember the fact that she had been carrying a sign--no doubt lost within the melee.

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly a body--tripping backwards and totally out of control--crashed to the ground between them. The man pulled himself to his feet and flung his fists, trying to connect with anyone in his way. The peaceful protest had turned into a riot. Blair ignored the bump on the side of his head and joined his partner in trying to restore order.

Several patrol cars pulled up to the curb and the front of the County Building became a jungle of police, nightsticks, handcuffs and reluctant prisoners. With mixed emotions, Blair helped Jim reestablish the peace. When people came at him with signs at the end of makeshift clubs, he was able to subdue them and cuff them right alongside the other officers. When it was over, with most of the protestors either arrested or on their way home, Blair felt disgust settle in his soul. He was furious at the deputies, who in his mind instigated the violence and he felt betrayed by the protestors who shouldn't have risen to the bait. Back at the station it was hard to concentrate on anything. His stomach was churning and his head was pounding. Everything just felt wrong.

"Why don't you go home and take a few hours off," Jim suggested. He could see how strung out Blair was, and didn't want him to break down at the station. "If anything comes up, I'll call." At Blair's disbelieving look, he added, "I promise."

"Okay. I think I'll meditate and try and clear my head of all that violence. You know when we subdue criminals it doesn't hurt that much. But today, they were the good guys--the ones we're usually trying to protect." Blair shook his head with remorse.

Jim's phone rang as he watched his partner walk out of the bullpen. Absently he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"You Detective Ellison?" the caller asked.

"Yes. I'm Detective James Ellison."

"This is Carl Meredith. You promised that you'd check into the counterfeiting of the Pokemon cards. I haven't heard anything in awhile. Have you made any progress?"

Jim gave a mental groan. He had promised to go to the man's shop. "Yes," he answered truthfully. "We're working on it. Why don't--"

"Aren't you going to come over to my store?" Meredith interrupted. "I want to show you how wide-spread the problem is."

"Okay. I need to finish up some paper work and then I'll run over." This might be a good way to use the time while Sandburg got his bearings back.

"Great!" Meredith responded, enthusiastically. "I'll be waiting."

Carl Meridith's hobby shop

Jim opened the door to the small shop. A bell tinkled, heralding his entrance. The walls were lined with shelves sporting do-it-yourself kits for everything from Star Trek's Enterprise--five different models--to Star Wars' Millenium Falcon and the Death Star. Dungeon and Dragon games were placed on the lower shelves. The dreaded Beanie Babies had their own glass case, as did a few Cabbage Patch Dolls and Barbies in fancy dresses.

"Detective Ellison. You've finally made it."

Jim gave Meredith his patented stare, which did little to quench the man's overbearing manner. "Is there something in particular you want to show me?"

"Over here." Meredith led him over to a case against the far wall. Many of the glass cases Jim passed were filled sports-related cards--football, basketball, hockey and rows and rows of baseball cards. "This is where I keep the Pokemon cards."

Jim peered inside and was astonished by the number of different kinds of cards. One card in particular caught his attention--Muk. One of the boys from the Civic Center had used that card. The picture showed a puddle of mud. Right next to Muk was a character called Lickitung. There was a Geodude, then Zapdos, and a pink ball called Jigglypuff. Ignoring the odd names, he focused on the cards themselves and tried to detect the percentage of counterfeits.

Meredith opened the case, which caused an excess of sunlight to reflect off the glass and into his vulnerable eyes. Squeezing his lids closed, he felt tears ease the pain.

"You okay, Detective?"

Reining in his temper, he nodded and reached in to remove a few of the cards from the opened case. This one had Japanese writing on it. From all angles, it appeared that the card was genuine. One after another Jim picked them up to examine them closer.

"Is that all you're going to do? I can tell you which ones are fake."

"Have you noticed anything peculiar about which cards are counterfeit and which ones are genuine?"

"Yeah, they don't bother reproducing the cheap cards, only the more rare ones," Meredith responded with derision.

"What about the fact that only the American cards are fake, not the Japanese ones?"

"Really?" Meredith pulled out a stack of Japanese cards from behind the counter. "Hey, none of these are fake." His face was lit with amazement. "You may be on to something."

"I think the counterfeiters are working from a limited amount of plates or what ever they're using to copy the cards and they've selected only the American versions. Have you been in contact with dealers in other cities or states? Are they having the same problems?"

Meredith shrugged his shoulders. "I know Cascade is flooded, but I know nothing about Seattle or other cities."

"You could really help if you'd call some representative stores in other cities and find out," Jim suggested.

The man preened with self-importance. "I can do that."

Jim gave the store another quick glance. "There's not much else I can do here. Let me assure you," Jim broke in before Meredith had a chance to interrupt, "that I'm working hard on this case and I'm following up on some promising leads."

"Like what?"

Jim gave a sigh. "I can't tell you much because it might compromise the investigation. The only thing I will say is that I have a suspect but he's a little fish. I'm after his bosses."

Meredith's eyes lit up. "So, this might be stopped soon?"

"I certainly hope so," Jim responded, heartily.

Loft

Blair blew out the candles, then glanced at his watch. Dinnertime. His stomach was growling because of his missed lunch. His bare feet made little sound as he padded over to the stereo and turned off his favorite meditation tunes. Blair rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the kinks caused by two hours of absolute stillness. Despite his physical discomfort--aching back, stiff legs, not to mention empty stomach--his mind felt more at ease.

It was inevitable that his personal beliefs would conflict with his new lifestyle, he reasoned, as he poured himself a glass of milk. After all, he'd been raised to question authority, yet now he was the authority. There'd be times when he'd need to overcome personal teachings for the greater good--it was all part of being a cop and he accepted that when he chose this path for his life. Trying to prevent injuries caused by a group of people who were out of control was a small part of that choice. What they were protesting against--was irrelevant. It was all perspective, Blair reasoned to himself. Wasn't this what Jim had been telling him all along? Blair was flatly against the Bait and Shoot program. Jim thought it was a good idea. Yet neither of them was responsible for initiating or canceling it, only minimizing the destruction caused by the public's response.

Draining the last drop of milk from his glass, he resolved to get back to work and to stop loafing off at home. Maybe Wonderburger would be a good choice for dinner. He was interested in one particular Wonderburger--the one that had intentionally poisoned the deputies. As he grabbed his coat, he started thinking that maybe he should have a dinner companion. One of the lessons Jim had always drilled into him was the need for backup--usually because Jim never followed his own rule, which sometimes got them into trouble.

Still carrying his coat, he went over to the phone and called the bullpen. Jim's desk phone rang repeatedly, until the phone mail system picked it up. He tried another number, which contrary to the first, was picked up on the second ring.

"Hello. Cascade Police Department."

"Is that you Rafe? It's Blair."

"Yes, Sandburg. It's me."

"Is Jim around? I just called his desk, but he didn't pick it up."

"He's off at some hobby shop."

Blair gave a silent laugh at the news. Poor Jim. "I was wondering what you were doing for dinner? Would you be willing to go to Wonderburger with me to eat, and check out the possibility of the deputies having gotten poisoned there?"

"Sure."

"Wait out front for me and I'll swing by and pick you up."

"I'll leave a note on Jim's desk and tell him where we're going. Maybe he'll meet us there."

"Yeah, Jim'll want proof that I actually went to the grease pit without his pushing me into it." Blair chuckled as he hung up the phone.

Wonderburger

Blair pulled his Cobra into a parking slot right in the front of the restaurant. Rafe unfolded his large frame from the car. Many of the tables were full with laughing kids, playing with small toys between bites of their hamburger. Their parents looked on with patient expressions--no doubt used to the atmosphere.

"When we go up to the counter," Rafe instructed, "you order first. I'm gonna start a conversation about the demonstration as I'm ordering. Play along, okay?"

Blair nodded. "You want to see what kind of food they serve you. I see." Not really wanting a greasy excuse for meat, he asked for the chef salad. Deciding suddenly that he should try and fit in better, he added a small order of fries. Sliding his tray to the side, he waited for Rafe to begin.

"I'll have a double cheeseburger and a large fry," Rafe ordered. Turning to Blair, "I can't believe how fast the protest got out of hand this afternoon." Rafe's eyes darted back and forth between the kitchen help and Blair.

"I'm glad the Cascade PD helped us out. We were pretty short of deputies." Might as well go for broke, Blair thought as he got into the spirit of the undercover assignment.

Rafe smiled at his backhanded compliment. "I just don't understand why the people are having so many problems with us helping them out."

"I know what you mean. Something has to be done about the huge deer herds; I don't hear anyone else making suggestions." And this was true. Blair wished he could think of another alternative.

Rafe's head was facing in his direction, but his eyes were pointed in the kitchen's direction. Blair decided that he needed to keep up the conversation and give Rafe time to see what they were doing. Then he stiffened at his own thought. He was with Rafe, not Jim. Rafe didn't have any keener senses than he did. His eyes should be working just as hard. Luckily, he was adept at both talking and observing.

"As county deputies, it's our job to make sure that the whole county is safe. If those deer are wandering into the path of oncoming cars..." Blair found himself espousing something he didn't believe in. Yet, because he was undercover, it didn't feel like he was betraying his own ideals. In fact, Blair wasn't even sure that Rafe knew his real feelings on the matter. "...and this bruise is from some demonstrator who didn't like my interference in his expression of free speech."

During his dialogue, he followed one of the boys in the back as he assembled a burger. Nothing he did seemed unnatural or out-of-place. Salt was sprinkled on the fries and several people were given plates from the same batch.

Rafe paid the cashier and they selected a table near the back so that they were partially hidden from the workers. The soda fountain was off to the side with the condiments, so both men were fairly certain that the drinks would be safe. Rafe carefully unwrapped his cheeseburger and smelled it. "It doesn't have a soapy smell."

Blair opened his salad relatively sure his was fine since they didn't start their act until he had gotten his food. Rafe must have been of the same mind because he took Blair's fries and started to eat them.

"What are you doing," Blair asked, watching his fries disappear into Rafe's mouth.

"I thought you got them for me," he answered, the words garbled because he was chewing.

Blair said a silent goodbye to his fries, and did his own inspection of Rafe's food. He was holding the burger up to his nose when a body slid in next to him.

"Don't eat that, Chief."

Blair turned to look at his missing partner. "I was just sniffing it. Can you tell if there's-"

"There is," Jim returned emphatically. His nostrils flared as he took another whiff. "Smells like the stuff we clean the oven with."

"Easy Off?" Blair pulled off the bun and looked closely at the meat. "What did they do, spray it on?"

Jim nodded. "I suppose so--probably before they cooked it. How'd you get it?"

Rafe explained the plan to Jim. "Let's bust 'em," Jim said as he stood. Rafe pulled out his cellphone and requested backup, a forensics team and the Health Department.

Armed with the contaminated cheeseburger, Jim strode purposefully to the front counter. An angry Jim was not someone to get in the way of, Blair thought, following in Jim's wake.

"Can I speak to the manager?" Jim politely demanded.

The girl working the register paled, took a few backward steps, then turned and walked quickly behind the microwave ovens. Jim stood at attention, no doubt listening to her words. Blair wished he could hear them, too.

The heavy-set manager came strolling nonchalantly out from the dark recesses of the kitchen. "Can I help you?"

He acted unconcerned, as if this was just a regular person complaining about the adequacy of the food.

"I'm Detective Ellison. Can we have a private word?"

"Sure." He looked more alert, now. "My office is back here."

As Rafe rejoined them, Jim instructed, "Escort the patrons out and secure the doors." Then he followed the manager into his back office.

Rafe immediately went behind the counter and stood guard by the back door leading to the loading dock--gun in hand. Blair stayed in the front and went from table to table quietly asking the customers to leave, taking their names and addresses and noting the table in which they were sitting. Their food had to stay, he told them consolingly, to be checked over by the forensics team. If anything was found they would be notified.

"What's going on?" one of the girls asked Blair as he locked the door behind the last exiting group. None of the staff made any kind of move to escape. They all looked as bewildered as the first girl.

Blair and Rafe exchanged looks. Rafe gave him a nod.

"Your restaurant has been implicated in the poisoning of some people--six men and women in the last week or so."

"Us? You mean like E. coli poisoning? I can't think how. We really cook our meat to death."

"No. Not bacterial contamination, but deliberate chemical poisoning." Blair saw Rafe stiffen-- ready to act. Nobody moved.

Blair noticed one young man shift from foot to foot. Was he acting guilty? Nervous? Casually, he drifted over toward the young man. "Do you know something about it?" Blair couldn't decide whether to act comforting or confronting. What came out was something in the middle.

"Uh. Ah, maybe a little," he responded tentatively.

Blair went over and stood nose to nose. He wanted to try intimidation, but it generally never worked with him. That was Jim's role.

"It was a lark. Some guy came in here and asked us if we'd like to have a little fun. He had a bone to pick with the Sheriff's Department and mentioned how much fun it'd be to give them the runs. That's what soap does, isn't it?"

Blair wanted to strangle him. "The runs?" His disbelief at the young man's idiocy came through loud and clear. "There are three people fighting for their lives. Bars of soap may give you the runs, but industrial cleaners destroy your insides. If they die, it's murder. I suppose right now it's just the attempt to commit murder." Blair let that sink in a minute. "You gonna take the rap by yourselves?"

The girl, who had summoned the manager, squeezed her eyes shut. She was still ashen. "Tell him, Dennis. We didn't think we were doing anything that bad. Like he said, it was just for some laughs." Her voice cracked as she spoke.

"Didn't you hear about it on the news?" Blair heard the office door open and Jim appeared. He didn't interfere, but stood against the wall listening. "I mean," Blair continued, "the media carried the news of the poisonings on all the broadcasts."

"I had no idea it had anything to do with us," Dennis remarked.

Blair believed him. Both kids looked shocked enough to be sincere in not comprehending the severity of what they had done.

"Yeah," the girl agreed. "The guy just said to put a little of this on the hamburgers as they were frying. Most of it would get burned off anyway on the griddle, so no one would get really sick."

"And it made it easier to clean with the soap already there," Dennis added.

"What was the guy's name?" Blair asked insistently, mad at how easily these kids had been led.

"I think it was Jake, or something like that," Dennis said, looking like he was thinking hard. "He only came in the one time."

"Yeah, I never saw him again," the girl agreed.

"Did he say anything about why he didn't like the Sheriff's Department?" Blair continued, knowing that Jim was getting restless.

"No. I don't remember anything." Dennis looked at the girl. "Did he say anything to you, Lucy?"

"We were just laughing about the cops having to stop giving speeding tickets cause they were constantly in the bathroom. He thought it was hilarious."

Blair took a deep breath. "What about--"

Jim came over and cut in. "Was he wearing any kind of 'save the deer' paraphernalia?"

"No. He had on a pair of jeans and a Dave Matthews T-shirt."

"Dave Matthews? Is he an environmentalist?" Jim asked, seriously.

Dennis, Lucy and Blair looked at Jim like he was from another planet. "Man, he's like a rock star," Dennis was the only one to speak.

Blair could see Jim clench his jaw.

Squad cars pulled up outside and Blair had to open the doors to let them in. Forensics was close behind and immediately began cataloging everything in the room. Patrolmen cuffed the two teens, read them their rights and escorted them outside.

"Well, that's one mystery solved, Shaggy," Blair remarked, tongue-in-cheek.

Jim didn't even crack a smile. "I just can't believe they did it for fun. What is the world coming to when regular kids get their kicks from poisoning cops?"

Blair didn't have an answer for him.

Bullpen

Jim walked into the bullpen to see Blair scarfing down a package of pretzels and finishing up a can of Coke. The younger detective looked up as he came in.

"Are those kids in jail?" Blair asked, as Jim sat down at his desk.

"Yes," Jim replied.

"I've been going over the facts." Blair moved his chair over to Jim's desk, holding a piece of paper in his hands. "We can't rule out the fact that the poisonings are related to the Bait and Shoot program, but that might not be the only explanation."

Jim was surprised. "I agree. You're not as uptight. Did your meditation or whatever help?"

"Yeah, it did. Things just got jumbled up for awhile. I didn't like arresting the people who were protesting for something they believe in. Guess I was running on instinct and emotion--not rational thought."

"Sounds like what you usually accuse me of," Jim remarked with a laugh. "I'm glad things are back to normal. You and Rafe did good at Wonderburger."

"Thanks. I did call the bullpen looking for you, but you'd already left to see your Pokemon friend."

Jim cuffed Blair beside the head. "He's not my friend. But I did learn something interesting. Only the American cards are being counterfeited. I couldn't find any fake Japanese ones."

"Hmmm. So, these crooks have a limited number of originals that they're copying."

"Looks that way," Jim agreed, "but, let's get back to the poisonings. Wonderburger is in our jurisdiction, so it falls on us to find this Jake person."

"You know, the sheriffs are gonna want to know about Dennis and Lucy," Blair reminded.

"And the unknown Jake. Tomorrow we'll head over to the County Building and talk to Sheriff Micale. I'd like to find out what Rand and Burlington have been investigating in case it's the reason behind the poisonings. The Bait and Shoot program may be just a convenient smoke screen."

County corn shed

The moonlight flickered off the white trim of a dark colored parka as a human form darted around a small shed. Kernels of corn filled large barrels, visible through the small rectangular window. The person had just finished squishing a clay-like substance between a pair of loose boards on the north side of the shed. After fumbling around for few more seconds, he backed up laying down some wire as his feet made fresh prints in the snow. His eyes darted from the gray glob to other points, where wire protruded from the structure. Hands, shaking with nervousness, had a hard time getting the wires in just the right alignment. Finally satisfied at the job, he turned and loped back into the woods. As he melted into the tree line, he stopped, pulled out a small transmitter and pushed a button. A loud explosion filled the air as fire erupted and corn flew out in all directions. He allowed himself a moment to observe his handiwork, disappointed that the entire structure hadn't collapsed, then disappeared into the dense woods. The sound of a snowmobile's engine was swept along with the crisp winter wind.