Raymond Crockett owned the biggest farm in all of Cascade and probably in all of Washington. When his sons were old enough to take over the farming, Mr. Crockett became Cascade's first mayor and was the leader of the other founding fathers. Unfortunately, his sons weren't as good at farming as he was, and he had to sell a lot of land to his best friend, Rupert Ramsbotham, to make money. In 1968, the Crockett farmhouse burned down and the little bit of land they still owned became the property of the city because of unpaid taxes. The City Council finally decided this year to have the farmhouse rebuilt just the way it used to be, and have it be an historical museum for the city. From the 5th Grade Report Cascade's Founding Fathers
by Jeannie Marie Michaelson
Simon strode urgently from the elevator to his car, the tail of his long coat flapping around his legs. He puffed anxiously on the cigar he had lit -- somewhat illegally -- on the elevator. No one was around to nag him, and he could smoke in his own car if he wanted to, politically correct or not.
What was it with Ellison and Sandburg? How could two men turn a simple assignment into another life and death struggle?
As he exited the garage and stopped before pulling out into traffic, he was astonished to find a vaguely familiar man running toward him on the sidewalk, waving his arms frantically and yelling.
Rolling down his window, Simon rested his right hand on the weapon at his side.
"Banks, right?" the man panted out.
"Yeah... and who are you? Wait, you're 'Sneaks,' right? Look, I'm in kind of a hur--"
"Hey, I just wanted to advise you, you know? Manny Manning is after Ellison!"
"No kidding!" Simon responded sarcastically. Sighing, he leaned over and unlocked his passenger door. "Get in, now. You can tell me all about it on the way."
Jim opened his eyes and tried to assess their situation. After everything that had happened, the stillness was unnerving.
Knowing the bad guys were right behind them was even more unnerving.
"Jeannie?" he asked softly as he sat up. Ouch! He'd wrenched his left shoulder in the crash. Reaching down with his good arm to gently help the little girl sit up from her bent-over position, Jim noted her pale face and rapid breathing. Poor kid was scared to death.
"I'm okay," she said, but she clung to his arm even after she sat up.
Blair's side had taken the brunt of the crash; his door wouldn't be opening anytime soon. Jim looked across the seat to his partner as he tested his own door, gently prying his arm out of Jeannie's intense grip. "Chief?"
"Still here, man." Blair looked shaken up. He had a slightly glazed look in his eyes and a bruise already forming on his forehead.
"That's good to know." Jim forced his door open then stepped out, positioning himself carefully around nails, bolts, and jagged wood exposed from the crash. They were almost completely enclosed beneath the collapsed platform. Definitely to their advantage. He also realized that if there'd been anything stronger than a heavy curtain covering the end of the bandstand, they most likely would have been killed or seriously injured.
Listening, he determined that the other two cars had stopped and the men -- seven of them -- were exiting their vehicles cautiously.
"Stay there a moment," he whispered over his shoulder. Peeking through a gap created by the damage, Jim watched as the men who had chased them hunkered down behind their open car doors. He guessed they were waiting to determine what his and Blair's next move would be, and how badly they may have been hurt. Sticking his gun between two of the damaged boards, he aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger.
A loud yelp. Bullseye. One of the men dropped, clutching the top of his shoulder. The other men immediately ducked lower behind their doors; a few returned fire.
Jim turned back to the truck. "Come on. We have to get out of here now."
"You got a plan?" Blair kept a reassuring hand on Jeannie's back as she scooted toward Jim. Jim grabbed her under the arms and swung her over the hood and down in front of the truck onto a clear area of dirt, grimacing slightly as his shoulder protested.
"Don't I always?" Jim started to turn away, leaving Blair to follow, and stopped. He smelled blood. Looking more closely, he saw a slowly expanding red stain on Blair's jeans, mid-thigh. "Shit, Chief. Your stitches?"
"Yeah." Blair shrugged. "At least I didn't pick up any new gaping wounds. I'll be fine."
"Riiight." Jim didn't have time to argue. He leaned in, grabbed Blair's arms, and helped him out. "Now that they know at least one of is alive and shooting, they'll stay put for a few moments. I figure we can make our way underneath, which should bring us close to the forest. Then we make a run for it. Think you can handle that?"
"Yeah, man. Just check every once in a while to make sure I'm still behind you."
Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder before taking Jeannie's hand.
"Roger, Dispatch. Have you heard anything from One-Zebra-One?" Rafe pounded his window with frustration as Henri pulled up next to the crashed sedan and stopped.
"Negative, Baker-Three-Nine. Not for the last few minutes. Approach with caution."
"Roger that, Dispatch. Do you have an ETA for the ambulance and fire units for the off-road vehicle?"
"Accident response is en route, ETA 10 minutes."
"Roger." Rafe hung up the microphone and glanced worriedly through the windshield ahead. "I hate having to stop for these scumbags when three innocent lives are still in danger. Damn the humanitarian part of this job."
Henri sighed and opened his door. "That's what separates us from the bad guys, babe."
Another set of two-by-fours, another not-quite soundless gasp of pain.
Jim sighed in frustration. Every six feet or so they had to step over the criss-crossing two-by-fours supporting the structure. The activity was obviously quite painful for his partner.
"What are they doing now?" Blair asked breathlessly, his voice strained.
Jim paused briefly to listen. "Well, they've figured out that we've left the truck. They wouldn't follow us in here because it would be too easy to pick them off, so they've split up..." he cocked his head, "... four to the right of us, three to the left, still about ten yards behind."
"Good. That's good."
"The construction vehicles and debris will make it harder for them to follow." Jim wasn't exactly certain why the contractors weren't working that day, but he was grateful. "If we keep a steady pace, we should reach the end before they do."
Blair nodded in the semi-darkness and pushed off the beam he'd been leaning against. "Let's get going, then."
A few steps later, the bandstand ended and the stage began. Because of the stage's much wider width, its support beams didn't cross, leaving a clear dirt path down the middle. To accommodate Blair, Jim had been maintaining a slightly slower pace than he would have liked, but now he felt it safe -- if not necessary -- to increase their pace.
"Are they gonna kill us?" The soft, small voice at his elbow came as a complete surprise. Jeannie hadn't spoken since the accident.
Jim squeezed her hand. "No, honey. Not if Sanbug and I can help it."
The suspects in the sedan had not been seriously injured, though one was trapped and the other slightly dazed from a head wound. Rafe and Brown had performed what first aid they could, applied handcuffs, and read them their rights. Wasting no more time, they had returned to the road.
Now Henri pulled over about 50 yards from the haphazardly parked black sedans. They'd been traveling Code 2 -- no siren -- since pulling onto the little-traveled Milestone Road, and the element of surprise was in their favor.
Pulling his weapon, Rafe exited the car and stood behind the shelter of the open door for a moment as he joined Henri in scanning the scene more thoroughly.
"Anything?" he whispered.
"No sign of life. From the looks of the truck, though, Ellison and Sandburg didn't come out here to do any sightseeing."
They slowly approached the sedans and checked them over. There was no one inside, and no one in sight. Still treading cautiously, they moved on to the truck.
A deep gouge in the earth, the flat rear tire, and the bullet holes in the glass told them that their colleagues had not stopped easily or voluntarily. As they came closer, they could only guess the speed at which the truck had rammed the bandstand.
The entire cab of the truck was beneath the partially fallen bandstand, the left side taking the brunt of the damage. Dented metal was buried in the side of the structure, and shattered and splintered wood was strewn around and on the bed of the truck. Rafe slid partway into the fold between where the floor of the bandstand met the side, and checked out the truck. The passenger door was hanging open, and as Rafe strained forward and peeked in, he saw that the cab was empty except for a backpack.
And broken glass.
And blood on the driver's side seat.
"Damn," Rafe swore softly, sliding back out. "Looks like at least Sandburg got hurt."
"Not badly enough that they couldn't move," Henri whispered back. "So they're being pursued on foot with at least one injured man. And if you couldn't even squeeze all the way through that hole, I doubt the bad guys followed them inside. They must be following along on the outside."
Rafe and Henri exchanged glances. "I'll go this way," Rafe said, nodding toward the forest side of the structure.
Henri checked the magazine on his gun. "Be careful," he said, and disappeared around the corner.
"I gotta tell you," Blair complained in between gasps, "the Academy's obstacle course is a sham, man."
Jim grinned as he slipped around another two-by-four, Jeannie holding tightly to the hem of his jacket. Following the length of the stage had been a breeze, but then the stage had ended and the "mayor's platform" had started. The platform was narrower than the bandstand and closer to the ground; the three fugitives had to resort to crawling under and around the platform's supports.
"Don't worry, Chief, this is the last leg of the journey." After the mayor's platform came a series of unattached "cook shacks" where hotdogs, popcorn, calzones, pizza, soda, hot cocoa and coffee, and other edible wares were to be sold by selected vendors. The shacks would provide a modicum of protection from one set of bad guys as they broke for the woods. Jim paused for a moment to focus his hearing outward, assessing the movement and position of their pursuers.
"Jim!" Blair whispered, almost too loudly. "You with us?"
"Sorry. What?"
"I said, where are they?"
"Two are still about ten yards behind, one on each side. No, one is actually coming closer, but the rest are farther away. They've spread out in case we don't go all the way to the end or we double back." Listening intently, Jim frowned. "There are two more of them now."
Blair grunted as he pulled himself up and over another two-by-four. "The two from the crashed sedan, or has the cavalry arrived?"
"I wish I knew."
His gun at the ready, Henri carefully sidled up to the edge of the bandstand and peered around the side. In addition to a pile of lumber, another pile of scraps, and a backhoe, he could spot an armed man about twenty feet away looking in the opposite direction.
He took a deep breath, bent over, and began running for the silent backhoe, the nearest source of cover. He reached the machine and peered around the cab to check his target, who was still looking away. Another deep breath, another dash ahead, and Henri found himself close, crouched behind a pile of scrap just a few feet away.
Picking out a section of two-by-four, he transferred his gun to his left hand while hefting the piece of wood in his right. He waited until the man was focused on lighting a cigarette, then stood and quietly approached.
Tapping him gently on the shoulder, Henri quietly spoke.
"Hey, mister, got a light?"
The man turned, dropped his cigarette, and pulled out his gun in one fluid motion. Henri swung the two-by-four, thwacking the gun out of his hand, then followed through with a knock-out punch to the jaw. The man grunted quietly as he slid into unconsciousness.
Henri quickly cuffed the man's hands behind his back and dragged him behind the pile of scrap. He stopped a moment to make sure that his captive was still breathing, then resumed the hunt.
Rafe watched and waited. The man he was observing was clearly nervous, pacing back and forth, every once in a while stopping and staring ahead toward the end of the wooden structures.
He'd slowly and carefully made his way closer, and was now hiding behind a portable toilet as he considered his plan. Not knowing how many men were still pursuing Ellison, Sandburg, and the girl, he tried to control his impatience as he figured out how to eliminate this guy from the game.
He spotted a large rock on the ground nearby and an idea glimmered to life. Rafe picked up the stone, hefted it for a moment to measure its weight, and heaved it toward the forest's edge. When it landed with a thud, his prey spun and pointed his gun toward the sound.
Rafe slipped up behind the guy and poked the barrel of his gun against his neck, right at the base of his skull.
"Hey, pal," he whispered. "Drop your gun and don't say a word. I'd hate to have to shoot you in the spine."
The man froze and dropped his gun obediently.
"Good boy. Now we're going to walk over to that portajohn and you're gonna stop right in front of the door."
They moved slowly and stopped in front of the toilet door. Rafe pulled out his cuffs and fastened the man's hands behind him, threading the cuffs through his belt, then opened the door. Holding his breath as the chemical waste smell drifted out, he pushed the man down onto the seat.
"You just stay here and keep quiet, or you're gonna die on the john. Don't make me do it. I'll get someone here to rescue you soon."
Grabbing a partial roll of toilet paper from a shelf, he stuffed it into the man's mouth and patted him on the cheek.
"Behave yourself, Jack."
Rafe closed the door and looked around until he spotted a likely piece of lumber. Digging a bit of a trench in the damp, muddy ground, he propped one end of the wood in the trench and the other end against the toilet door, then tested its strength. Satisfied, he pulled his gun back out and continued his silent pursuit.
"Shit," said Blair, too tired to care about watching his language. "What now?"
Jim considered. They'd reached the end of the mayor's platform and were now peeking out through the heavy curtain that hung there. One lone gunman paced between the structure and the forest, waiting to see if his prey exited their wooden tunnel. The bad guys weren't as dumb as they'd hoped. Unfortunately, Jim couldn't just shoot the guy because the others would be on them before they'd gone two feet.
"Here's what we'll do," Jim decided, adding a fresh magazine to his gun. "When the guy paces away from us again, you take Jeannie and hightail it for the woods. As soon he spots you, I'll take him out. You should make the treeline before the others show up."
Blair leaned back against a beam and glared at him. "Man, we have got to do something about this hero complex of yours."
"We don't have all day to discuss this, Chief."
"No kidding. Jim, in case it's escaped your notice, I'm in serious pain here. I couldn't go two seconds on a slow-paced Nordic Track without collapsing. If anyone's going to stay behind to provide cover fire, it should be me."
Jim opened his mouth to nix that alternative, but Blair beat him to it.
"But since I don't have the same penchant for self-destruction that you seem to, I offer that as the absolutely final, completely last choice on my list of choices."
Secretly, Jim was relieved on both counts. But that still didn't help their situation any. "Okay, Einstein, dazzle me with a better idea."
Blair blinked. "Uh, I'm working on it."
Jeannie leaned forward from her position next to Jim and whispered, "Why can't we hide in the root cellar?"
Looking around to try and locate any additional baddies as he left the cover of the scrap pile, Henri moved stealthily toward one of the few trees in the area. Reaching the old, spreading oak, he stopped and leaned against it for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Maybe Sandburg had the right idea about eating more healthy foods and taking off a few pounds. Whether it was his ample waistline or just the tension of the situation, he was panting more than he should be.
He spotted his next target edging along the construction for the stage. The stocky man seemed to be trying to search underneath, looking for and peering through any small gaps between boards and posts.
He was so occupied with his efforts that he didn't even hear Henri sneak up behind him until it was too late. He turned and found himself with a face full of handgun.
"Surprise!" Henri grinned, speaking softly. "Cascade PD. I'll take that."
He relieved his captive of the gun and held a finger to his lips for silence, gesturing the man toward the oak. Pulling some plasticuffs from his rear pocket, he found an accessible branch and secured the man with his arms trapped overhead. A search of the man's pockets netted, among other things, a handkerchief. Henry grinned and gagged the man swiftly and efficiently.
With one last glance, he moved on.
Rafe crouched low as he moved to another pile of scrap, then a small utility trailer. Not spotting any movement ahead of him, he was just about to step out from its shadow when he heard a voice that froze him in place.
"Damn cops! When I catch up with them, they're gonna pay for this. Maybe shoot a kneecap or two before I kill them."
Ducking lower, Rafe stared in the direction of the sound. Looking closely, he could just spot the top of someone's head on the other side of a stack of lumber.
He watched for a couple of moments as the man groused about his sore shoulder, apparently having been shot by Ellison or Sandburg, but he never looked up or around. Rafe walked quietly to the stack of wood and edged around behind him.
The man had his jacket off, and Rafe could easily see the crimson stain on the top of the left shoulder of his previously white shirt. There wasn't a lot of blood, and the man was moving his arm freely as he complained, so the wound couldn't have been too bad. Rafe felt no stirrings of compassion as he eased up behind him and raised his weapon.
"Cascade PD. Hold it right there. Raise your hands, slowly, above your head. Do it now."
The injured crook raised only his right hand, replying in a whiny, irritating voice.
"I can't raise my other hand, I'm shot."
"Winged, more likely," Rafe responded coldly, aiming his weapon "Turn around, slowly. Try anything and I'll shoot you in the other shoulder and work my way down."
A soft thud sounded as a gun hit the damp ground, and the man turned around to face Rafe.
"All right! All right, let's not get nervous here."
Rafe gestured with his gun, directing the man toward the small utility trailer. Passing one end of the plasticuffs through a handle, he cuffed the man with his back to the trailer doors and warned him to be silent. Worrying about the time it was taking him to reconnoiter his side of the stands, he jogged off in search of Ellison, Sandburg, and his partner, not necessarily in that order.
"A root cellar?" Jim repeated. He worried about the little girl's emotional well-being.
"A root cellar!" Blair slowly smiled. Jim worried about his partner's blood loss.
Jeannie nodded vigorously. "Raymond Crockett owned this land, for acres and acres and acres. His farmhouse was right here, on this field. That's why the city is having the Sesquicentennial celebration here."
Jim nodded, trying to follow her words and concentrate on the movements of the men outside as well. He remembered learning about the Crockett family in school and the hard times they'd suffered. Bitter, most of the family had moved away. It was no wonder Eloise Farber in the mayor's office couldn't track down a Crockett descendant.
Jim's attention returned to the present with Jeannie's next words.
"See, Jim? The bandstand and other things were built right where the farmhouse used to be, and the farmhouse had one of the biggest root cellars in all of Cascade. Plus, there were two ways to get into it -- one from the inside and one from the outside."
"You're sure about this, Jeannie?" Jim asked softly.
Again the vigorous nod. "Yup!" she whispered back, her eyes excited once again as she immersed herself in her favorite subject. "There were these mean fur traders from Canada who invaded the farmhouse one night when Raymond was gone, and Lydia Crockett and their kids went into the root cellar from inside the house and exited outdoors somewhere. They ran into the woods and hid until help came."
"Jim," Blair said, sitting up straighter. "Test the ground. You can tell if it's hollow underneath."
That's me, Jim thought, a human sonogram. Nonetheless, he pounded the ground with his fist as silently as he could, and concentrated on the vibrations. Sure enough, it felt... hollow somehow. Now to figure out if one of the entrances to the root cellar was in the immediate vicinity....
He scanned the area. Nothing. The bandstand, stage, and platform were not actually in a straight line, but created more of a crescent, so he could only extend his vision back to where the stage started. Again, nothing.
"Stay here," Jim sighed. He crawled back beneath the platform and paused when he reached the area under the stage. His eyes wandered over the tufts of grass and dirt, not even certain what he was looking for. Wait. There. A tiny glint of metal -- yellow metal, not a nail -- teased him from the corner near the bandstand. Jim focused tighter and saw a small brass ring and the barest hint of a square behind it. Way to go, Jeannie.
He motioned for Blair and Jeannie to join him. His partner must be dreading crawling through the maze of two-by-fours again. Blair grinned cheekily in his direction, the little bastard, knowing he was being observed.
Jeannie was through in no time, scrambling like a rabbit, her fear replaced by the excitement of hiding in the Crockett's root cellar just like Lydia and her children had so long ago. The incentive of safety was powerful, and before long, he was helping Blair to his feet, too.
Wordlessly, they inspected the old trap door and took several minutes to scrape dirt and grass away from the edges using Blair's jackknife. Jim grabbed the brass ring and pulled hard, hoping that the wood hadn't rotted. Two sharp tugs and the door swung open with a metallic creak, thudding against a wooden support. Finger to his lips, Jim checked to see if the men outside had heard anything. None of the men headed in their direction.
Blair removed something from his pocket and handed it to Jim. A penlight. More than enough for a Sentinel.
"I'll check it out, then you lift Jeannie and drop her down to me."
Blair nodded and Jim disappeared down the hole.
"Hey, General, can I use the radio? Call us in or something?"
"It's Captain Banks to you, and don't touch that radio again if you wanna keep that hand."
Sneaks slumped back in his seat, temporarily discouraged, but bounced back quickly.
"So, where are we going?"
Simon glared at him for a moment, then grabbed the radio microphone and barked into it.
"Banks to Dispatch."
"Dispatch, roger."
"What's the twenty on Baker-Three-Nine?"
"Last known twenty was outbound on Milestone Road, toward the Sequicentennial site. Fire and ambulance units have also being dispatched to Milestone on Baker-Three-Nine's report of a disabled vehicle in the ditch."
"Roger, Dispatch. Responding to that location. Banks out."
"Dispatch out."
Hanging up the microphone, Simon pressed down on the accelerator, mumbling the names of street signs as they passed: "Maplecrest... Elmwood...."
"Take Ridgeway, that's the next right. There's a back way over to Milestone, I'll show ya. Turn here, turn here!" Sneaks gestured wildly as Simon slammed on the brakes to make the turn.
"You'd better be right, or Ellison is going to be short one snitch real soon."
Sneaks just grinned and leaned forward in his seat.
"Cool," said Jeannie, looking slightly odd as her glasses reflected the tiny flashlight beam around the old dirt room. She wrinkled her nose. "Ewww, it stinks."
Jim certainly agreed with that. The air was dank and musty, and it was all he could do not to sneeze.
"Come on, Sandburg, your turn."
Jim watched as two legs appeared from above, followed by a torso and two extended arms. A mantra of "this won't hurt this won't hurt who am I kidding this is gonna hurt like hell" floated down. He braced himself.
The hands let go. The body fell with a resounding thump and Jim grabbed him awkwardly with his bandaged hands before he could collapse to the dirt floor. Blair grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ow ow ow ow ow." Once he was steady on his feet, Jim let go.
"Here." Blair handed him something small, square, and white.
Dental floss? Jim looked at it. The line of floss extended back up and out of the hole in the ceiling. "Good thinking, Chief." Jim tugged and the trap door closed with an almost silent "thunk."
Blair opened one eye and looked around. "Wow, this is huge!"
Jim guessed they were in the part of the root cellar that had extended beyond the house itself and out beneath the yard. It was a big empty dirt room with simple wooden supports. Reaching down, he took Jeannie's hand and led the way forward to the part of the root cellar beneath the old foundation. Even thirty-three years later, a faint odor of smoke still clung to the beams and the dirt.
Here there were old wooden crates scattered about, many of them open and still partially filled with the sand that had surrounded the vegetables, keeping them dry and free from rot. If their pursuers did eventually reach them in the cellar, at least the crates would provide some cover.
"Are these boxes?" Blair asked softly, feeling around in the dark. Jim shone the little flashlight toward him, and Blair sank gratefully down on the nearest covered crate. "Thanks, man."
That's one taken care of. For now anyway. Grabbing Jeannie's hand, Jim led her to a corner by the archway leading back into the empty room. "You stay here, Jeannie, okay? Until the other policemen arrive."
Jeannie nodded, the fear in her eyes returning as Jim stacked crates around her. His shoulder was beginning to hurt like hell and the crates were not light. The burns on his hands were beginning to throb as well. He was beginning to wish Simon had just suspended the two of them. At least then they'd be home with beer, popcorn, and basketball.
"Hey!" Blair shouted, then yelped in pain as a crate crashed over.
Jim whipped his head around. A bright beam of light had split the darkness and impaled his partner, who was desperately scrabbling backwards and trying to grab for his gun at the same time.
~BOOM!~ A bullet hit the dirt just above Blair's head.
Jim grabbed for his gun, but the renewed pain in his hands, coupled with shoulder spasms made maintaining a grip all but impossible. Desperate, he ripped at the bandages on his hands with his teeth, hoping to have better luck with his fingers free.
Blair had scrambled backwards behind some fallen crates. He had his gun in his hand, but from the way he was squinting it was obvious he was still partially blinded from having the beam shined in his face.
Suddenly, that same beam swung directly onto Jim, hurting his eyes. He had nowhere to hide. Raising his hands in surrender, he hoped that Blair could take the guy out. Shit. He heard three heartbeats in addition to their own. They didn't stand a chance.
A gun fired. Jim braced himself instinctively, then realized Blair had fired the shot. It had to be almost impossible to aim from his position behind the crates, but the flashlight jerked back and away. Unfortunately it returned just as quickly, still shining its beam directly on Jim.
"Throw out your gun now or we shoot your partner."
"No, Sandburg," Jim growled. Blair looked distraught. Another ~BOOM!~ and Jim flinched involuntarily as a bullet whooshed past his head.
"All right!" Blair closed his eyes and whispered, sentinel-soft, "Sorry, Jim." He tossed his gun over the crates.
The flashlight lowered, and once it was out of his face, Jim could see much more clearly. An open square in the ceiling behind the intruders showed how they'd gotten in and helped to further illuminate the room. "Manny Manning," he said, recognizing the man in the pristine suit. A cowering Bannerman stood next to him, holding a shaking gun, and a tough guy whom Jim didn't recognize stood on the other side with a gun and flashlight. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Tell your partner to join you."
"That's up to him." Jim's eyes never wavered from the guy with the flashlight. Manning wasn't carrying a gun and Bannerman probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if he were standing right in front of it. The tough guy was the one to watch out for.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Blair levered himself into a standing position and took a good look at the three men. "I've injured my leg, so give me a minute."
Jim raised his eyebrows. It wasn't like Blair to whine in front of the enemy.
"The girl, too," said Manning.
"Sorry." Jim raised his hands palms up and shrugged. "We hid her somewhere else."
"Not likely." Manny grinned like a shark. "Little girl! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
Stay put, Jeannie, Jim begged silently.
Blair shuffled toward Jim with an exaggerated limp and suddenly fell forward, pushing a tall stack of crates. Bannerman fell, crying out as two crates hit him square on. Manning had to bounce out of the way, rage exploding across his face. Unfortunately, the tough guy was unaffected. The stack above him teetered, but never fell. He raised the gun and aimed the flashlight in their direction once again.
"Shit," Blair whispered as all the blood drained from his face. Jim felt helpless and his hands balled into fists at his side.
When the shot sounded, it was the tough guy who yelled out and fell back, dropping his gun and his flashlight. Manning reached for the gun but a voice behind him caused him to reconsider.
"Cascade PD. I wouldn't if I were you, babe."
Blinking away the after effects of the flashlight beam, Jim could just make out the large form of Henri Brown, grinning, a gun aimed at Manning's head.
Henri appeared to have things well in hand, so Jim lowered his hands and turned around. Rafe stood there, the acrid smell of cordite revealing that it was his gun that had fired. "Hey, Ellison. Need a little help?"
"Yeah. Thanks. How'd you find us? Down here, I mean?"
"Heard the gunshots, then followed the trail of blood under the stage Sandburg conveniently left for me."
Blair had already slid back down to sit on the floor. He waved a hand tiredly in Rafe's direction. "Glad I could be of service."
"And I just followed this little weasel." Henri motioned toward Manning, ignoring Bannerman writhing on the floor and complaining about a broken back. "Hey Ellison, toss me your cuffs."
Jim complied as Rafe stepped past him to help make the arrests.
"He killed Sully."
Jeannie had crawled out of her hiding place and was staring wide-eyed at Manning. Jim tried to step into her line of sight, but she just stepped around him. "He killed Sully. He killed Sully!"
Jim knelt down and gathered her into his arms. "It's okay, Jeannie. It's okay. Let it out."
"Why?" She was screaming now, tears running down her cheeks. "Why did you kill Sully? Why did you kill him?" She buried her face into Jim's jacket as the dam broke. Jim rocked her gently until she was all cried out.
"Holy geez!" Sneaks exclaimed as the Sesquicentennial site came into view.
"You're in deep shit with me, mister, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut and stay out of my sight."
Silently, though, Simon agreed. The place looked like a giant advertisement for Matchbox cars. Bulldozers, cranes, trucks, sedans, ambulances, fire trucks, rescue vehicles, patrol cars, and miscellaneous flashing unmarked cars were positioned haphazardly all over the field. Knowing exactly where his best team was likely to be, Simon flashed his badge at the patrolman directing what little traffic there was and drove straight across the grass to the ambulance.
Sure enough, Ellison was standing and explaining something in great detail to a patrolman taking notes. New bandages were wrapped around his hands and he now wore a sling for his left arm. Sandburg was sitting in the back of the ambulance getting his leg wrapped with a pressure bandage and sporting a large bruise on his forehead. Both looked like hell.
"Impeccable timing as always, sir," Ellison greeted him.
"Yeah, thank your friend's 'shortcut' for that," Simon grumbled.
"Hey, Simon," Blair grinned as the paramedic finished tying off the bandage.
"Let me know when you guys are ready to transport," the paramedic said tiredly, looking mostly at Jim. Jim nodded and the guy moved away.
Simon grinned and chomped down on his cigar. "So, I hear Rafe and Brown saved your hides from Manning and his gang."
"Well, I don't know if they exactly saved our--"
"Oh yeah, we'd've been dead without them," Sandburg said, tossing Ellison a dirty look. "Don't worry, Jim, you're still Jeannie's hero."
"How is the kid?"
"She's fine, sir." Jim adjusted his arm in the sling. "At least she will be. Someone from Children's Services came and she took her to meet her father at the hospital."
"Was she hurt?"
"No, we just wanted her to get checked out, considering everything she's been through today. And she'll need some counseling. She finally broke down and cried about the fireman's death, which is a start in the right direction."
"Pssst."
"You hear that?" Sandburg cocked his head as he pulled two lollipops out of his coat pocket. He handed one to Ellison.
"Yeah." Ellison looked around.
"Pssst." Louder this time.
"Captain," Ellison pointed out, "your car is leaking."
Simon sighed. "I almost forgot. A friend of yours came with me."
"Is it safe?" A whispered voice floated to the ambulance.
"Sounds familiar," said Blair. He sucked thoughtfully on the lollipop.
Jim crossed his arms and addressed Simon's car. "The bad guys are gone, Sneaks. It's okay to come out."
"Sneaks?" Sandburg looked down at his blood and mud covered sneakers.
The man in question peeked out over the dash and then, bolder, poked his head out the door. "Hey, Jim, good to see you all in one piece. Him, too." An elbow pointed at Blair.
"Don't tell me, Captain," said Ellison with an unusually smug smile on his face, "that you answered a call with a civilian in your car."
"A civilian who wouldn't know a shortcut from a--"
"And I bet," continued Blair, warming to the theme, "that you just left the station to come after us, without leaving someone properly in charge. I know that Joel's in court all day."
"Well, after I was--"
"You really have to learn how to follow proper procedure, Captain." Jim opened his lollipop and popped it into his mouth. "You're setting a bad example for your men."
"Hey, what took you so long, anyway?" Blair asked, lollipop held in mid-air. Rafe and H said you were only about ten minutes behind them."
Simon glared at a cowering Sneaks. "Your 'friend' led us on a lovely sight-seeing tour of Cascade's dead end roads."
Sneaks held up his hands in denial. "Whoa, there, General. How was I supposed to know they closed down Fuller's Crossing? I haven't been out this way in a mighty long time."
"Why would you come out here?" Jim asked.
"I played here as a kid, before the place burned. Used to belong to my great uncle, Horace Crockett."
Simon's mouth hung open.
Blair blinked and raised his eyebrows.
Jim cleared his throat. "Raymond Crockett was a relative of yours?"
"Yeah. A great-some-odd uncle, or some such thing. That's what my mum told me." Sneaks shrugged. "We don't talk about it too much."
Jim stood slowly and clasped both of Sneaks shoulders. "Sneaks, my friend, how would you like your choice of any pair of shoes from the mayor's closet...?"
Give me your heart
Make it real
Or just forget about it...
"This is great, man!" Blair yelled over the music, bouncing enthusiastically to the beat. Jim grinned back, clapping in sync with the rest of the audience. Santana, live. Who knew the City Council had such great taste?
The Sesquicentennial celebration had been wonderful and trouble free from start to finish. Jeannie might not be the next Meryl Streep, but she was flawless in her role as the young Eva Marshall, Cascade's only woman mayor to date. Earlier in the week she had also performed flawlessly, testifying at Manning's inquest, the Native American doll Jim had bought her ("I happened to be going by the store...") clutched in her arms the whole time. Manning and seven other men had been held over for trial, no bail.
The mayor's Honoring of Descendants was worth all the trouble he and Sandburg had gone through. Emily Smith was fairly bursting with pride on the stage. Frank Fisher had a chance to speak of his heritage with dignity and honor -- Jim guessed that Maggie had written the speech, since it was void of the bitterness that might have lost him the crowd's support. He received a standing ovation. Sneaks just stood there proudly in his Goodwill green plaid sports coat, brown pants, and new Italian loafers worth over $300. Morton Finnerman received enthusiastic applause for his invisible-box-filling-with water routine. And finally, Rolland Winston-Dunsmore sat in his chair of honor like the stuffed prig that he was, stiff as a wooden statue, steam all but shooting out of his ears at having to share the stage with commoners. Jim found that oddly satisfying.
The day got better. Simon informed them that Rafe and Brown would now be pulling babysitting duty with Councilwoman Elder's daughter, since they had ignored proper procedure with Jeannie. He and Sandburg were back on regular duty come Monday.
"Hey, Ellison," Brown yelled in his ear. Jim turned to him and raised his eyebrows. Brown pointed to a beautiful young woman in her early twenties, with long black hair, beautiful skin, great body, legs all the way up to....
"You dog, H. You're married!"
"Don't I know it!" Brown shrugged then grinned. "But duty calls, my man."
At Jim's confused look, Brown whacked him on the back. "That, Ellison, is Councilwoman Elder's daughter. Clarice!" He laughed and danced himself back to wherever he'd come from.
Jim sighed and then smiled. H and Rafe could have Clarice; what he was stuck with wasn't so bad. He tugged the thick, curly ponytail in front of him and wondered if he'd ever be able to get Blair to clap with the beat.
Like this episode? Email the writers: hephaistos@valley.net and albertes@juno.com
Want to comment on production? Contact Black Panther Productions: bpproductions@wildmail.com
Stay tuned next week when Millennium Towers is the hot new address for the society crowd, but when a string of unexplainable burglaries occur it's up to Jim Ellison to protect Cascade's beautiful people. But, who will protect high society from Ellison? in "Here Kitty, Kitty" an all new The Sentinel.
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