No Loose Ends
by The D5W Group

---

"Forty." Hank sighed as he looked at the calendar on his desk. A big red circle had been drawn around the next day's date. "The big 4-0." He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. This isn't just any birthday. Heck, turning thirty was a piece of cake compared to this. Forty. I'm halfway to dead for crying out loud! Hank Stanley, your life is half over. Poof ! In the flash of an eye, I've gone from being a cute little tyke to over the hill. Well, maybe not quite over the hill. More like having a great view of the top.

Hank picked up the framed photos on his desk and looked at them fondly. Then, he stood up and heard his knees crack. He looked down at the offending joints and scowled. That's the first sign of old age. Arthritis is settin' in. What's gonna be next? My eyes? My hearing? Pretty soon I'll be getting up five times a night to go to the can, like my grandfather. Jeez, I might have to retire early if I can't walk. I can see it now: Stoker having to help me out of the engine, and me using one of those walkers with the wheels on it to get around. I'd have to keep my H.T. in that little bag that hangs down from the back. Hank walked out of his office and into the apparatus bay. He paused as snippets of a muted conversation drifted past the squad.

"Did you get it?" hissed Marco.

"Everything's been taken care of," replied Johnny, softly. "Cap'll never expect a thing!"

Hank scooted back when he spotted Johnny peek over the top of the squad.

"Shh! Here he comes," Johnny whispered loudly.

They're up to something. Is the Phantom gonna strike? Nah. The Phantom works alone. He'd never let Gage in on his trade secrets. They got me a birthday present, or they're having a party. Hank chuckled. I wonder what they got me? It shouldn't be too hard to find out. Gage'll crack faster than cheap plaster in an earthquake. But, I'm not gonna let them know I know. He strolled past the front end of the squad and paused. Mike checked the gauges of the engine, while Chet and Marco cleaned and checked their breathing apparatus. John checked the drug box while Roy checked the oxygen.

"Hi, Cap," Johnny said cheerily.

"John," replied Hank.

"We were just checking the equipment," said Johnny with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"I can see that, John," said Hank as he crossed his arms. "How's it coming?"

"Fine, Cap," interjected Chet, "just fine." He held up his breathing apparatus proudly. "Works like a charm."

"Good. When you guys have finished, we'll start the drill." Hank unfolded his arms and started to walk toward the locker room. "Why don't you guys meet me in the day room in about...fifteen minutes."

"Right, Cap," said Mike.

Hank continued into the locker room and stood in front of the mirror. The gray hair's nothing new. You've been getting some of that for years. You don't need the Grecian Formula 16 just yet. Serving under McConnikee was enough to get you a head full of gray hair. I thought I was free of him when I became captain, but then he had to get promoted to Battalion Chief, and of all battalions, he had to get assigned to this one. I really should take the Chief's exam. He might be able to hurt me a little on the orals, but he can't wash me out completely. Then we'll be on an even playing field.

Hank washed his face and hands. As he dried his face, the towel stopped around his eyes. Crow's feet. Maggie noticed them the other night after we took a shower. She said they made me look...distinguished. She was just being nice to me. I'm not stupid. Distinguished is another word for 'old.'

Hank tossed the towel into the hamper and stared into the mirror. Maggie. I wonder if she'd leave me for another man...somebody, younger, sexier. She's still got a great body, what would make her stay with a wrinkled old fart like me? I'm not rich, and being good in bed only goes so far. I'll have to get her flowers or something tomorrow.

"Hi, Cap, we're finished with the equipment," Roy said as he entered the locker room. He opened his locker and pulled out a magazine. Closing his locker, he stared at Hank's unmoving form. Roy walked over to the sink and touched Hank lightly on the elbow. "You okay, Cap?"

Hank jumped. "Huh?" he looked around and rubbed the inner portion of his eye. "I'm fine, Roy, just fine." He glanced at his watch. "I'll be right in."

"Okay, Cap." Roy raised his eyebrows and left the locker room.

Better not do that again, the guys'll think I'm gettin' dotty in my old age. Heck, maybe they already think I am dotty? Maybe they'll be happy to see me retire. Look what they did for Hookrader. I wonder if they respect me, or if they talk about me behind my back? I can just hear Kelly's speech at my retirement party. He'll talk about his senile old captain who couldn't remember to show up for the drills he planned for his men, and who made him scrub the latrine with a toothbrush after pulling that multi-colored jello trick on Gage.

Hank walked out of the locker room and paused by the entrance to the day room. Well, they aren't talking about me...this time. Bide your time, Hank. Bide your time.

~~~

"Hello, Everest Savings and Loan, can I help you?" Shelly Young asked, brushing a stray lock of golden hair out of her face.

"I need to speak to Dennis Moore." The voice was deep and dark.

"One moment please," Shelly stated and paged her boss. Hanging up the phone, she set about getting ready to leave for the day. She was the last person in the office. I'm always the last one to go home! Maybe if I took the phone off the hook....

~~~

Dennis Moore was also preparing to leave for the day when the call came through. His secretary, Shelly, patched the caller through.

"Hello, this is Dennis Moore," he spoke tiredly.

"Mr. Moore, I'm calling to warn you. A bomb has been set to go off in your building in 30 minutes. Let it be a message to you, Mr. Moore." Abruptly the caller cut the connection.

"What? Is this some kind of joke?"

Nothing but the dial tone answered.

"Hello?" Dennis hung up the phone. This has got to be a joke. I've felt like crap all day and now have to put up with someone's idea of a sick joke. He finished packing his briefcase and walked out his office.

"Shelly? You just about ready to leave?" he said as he unconsciously rubbed his left arm.

"Yes, Mr. Moore. I'm ready," Shelly said, noticing her boss' pale and sweaty face. "Mr. Moore, are you okay?"

Before she got an answer, Dennis fell to the floor, clutching his chest. "I think...I'm having...a heart attack," he said weakly.

~~~
Matthew Verne could see everything from his position across the street from the savings and loan. He watched curiously as a fire department rescue squad pulled in front of the three-story structure. Then he saw the paramedics pull their equipment from the squad.

A frantic woman ran up to them. "I need help!"

"Calm down," Johnny said, grabbing her arm. "We got a call about a possible heart attack?"

"It's my boss, Dennis Moore," she cried. "We were getting everything secured and he just grabbed his chest and collapsed! He's upstairs...third floor."

Verne smiled. This is going to be easier than I thought.

~~~

Shelly led John and Roy through the empty bank to the elevator. When they arrived on the third floor, they entered a central room with a large desk. Several offices branched off of the main room. The paramedics found Dennis Moore unconscious, lying on his back in the central room.

Johnny quickly set up the biophone while Roy began assessing the victim. Roy ripped the man's shirt open and then placed the defibrillator paddles on his chest for a quick look.

"Johnny, he's in v-fib," Roy announced.

Johnny started counting out loud as the defibrillator charged, and when it reached 400-watt seconds, Roy zapped the victim.

"Okay, we've got a pulse, let's patch him in," Roy said.

"Roy, let's get a blanket on him," Johnny said.

"I'll go out to the squad and get one," Roy answered. "Miss...why don't you come with me? You can wait for the ambulance."

"Okay," Shelly answered as she numbly followed the paramedic out of the office.

Roy and Shelly headed downstairs as Johnny contacted Rampart. "Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?"

~~~

At Rampart, Dr. Kelly Brackett and Nurse Dixie McCall heard the call at the base station. As Brackett prepared to acknowledge the call, John's voice was suddenly replaced by the sound of an explosion.

Kel looked at Dixie. "What the?" he questioned. The biophone link was still open, and they could hear the sounds of settling debris.

Then silence.

"Squad 51, come in," Brackett demanded.

Nothing.

"Squad 51, do you read me?" Brackett turned and looked at Dixie. "Contact the County Fire Dispatcher. Tell them we've lost contact with Squad 51."

Dixie nodded and picked up the telephone.

~~~


Roy opened his eyes with a start, uncertain why he had them closed to begin with. What the hell? He rubbed his eyes as he sat up and looked at his surroundings. Damn!

As he continued to get his bearings, he sighed with relief that he seemed to be all in one piece, despite a great deal of pain in his left arm. He felt it gingerly. Great...I think it's broken.

The sound of someone coughing caused him to turn around. "Are you okay?" he asked the young woman as she sat up.

"I think so. What happened? Oh my God! I smell smoke!" Shelly cried.

"I'm not sure," Roy said honestly. "Just remain calm. We made it downstairs before the explosion, and the entrance is just a few feet away. Let's get outside and I'll call for help."

Roy helped Shelly get to her feet and the two stumbled outside, both coughing from the smoke and dust. He turned back and looked at the building for a brief moment, longing to go back inside to locate his partner.

Heading straight for the squad, Roy picked up the mike. "LA, this is Squad 51."

"Go ahead, 51."

"LA, there's been an explosion with fire at our location. Respond a first alarm assignment with an additional squad and ambulance."

Neither Roy nor Shelly noticed the dark figure sneak into the burning building behind them.


~~~

Verne slipped quietly past the paramedic and into the building. I have to make sure Moore is dead. He took everything from me. He doesn't deserve to live another minute! Verne coughed and pulled a handkerchief over his face in an attempt to keep from choking on the acrid air.

He carefully made his way to the 3rd floor. It was hard to see anything due to the smoke and the debris that littered the room. He could see a small fire in one of the outer offices. I've got plenty of time....


~~~

"Kel," Dixie said, interrupting another attempt at raising the paramedics. "I just talked to the fire dispatcher. There's been some sort of explosion at the scene. They said one of the paramedics called it in."

"How bad?"

Dixie shook her head. "They wouldn't say. They have additional units on the way."

As if on cue, a moan could be heard over the still open biophone link, followed by a long bout of coughing.

"I hope we're about to find out how bad," Kel said. He turned back to the base station and tried once again to get a response. "Squad 51, do you read?"

~~~

Johnny woke slowly, his hearing returning first. His eyes closed, he gradually became aware of creaking noises around him, and the sound of small objects dropping from a higher level to a lower one. Sounds like it's raining....His lips parted in a smile. Love the sound of rain on the tent roof....

Johnny opened his eyes lazily and blinked at the dust settling over him. He found himself lying on a bed of splintered 2 x 4's and broken chunks of concrete, blanketed by crumpled sheet rock and ceiling tiles. Guess I'm not in my tent....

"Squad 51, do you read?"

The sound startled him. He turned his head, trying to gauge the direction from which the noise had come, wondering how he might escape the debris that covered him. Pushing experimentally, he discovered that the upper portion of his body wasn't trapped. He was unable to free his left leg and didn't understand why until the dust settled, allowing him to see a little more clearly. A large metal desk pinned his ankle. He wiggled his foot, and realized it was uninjured, but there was no way he could move the desk and get free.

Slowly, he shifted the best he could until he managed to reach the biophone. It took a few minutes and several increasingly concerned summonses before his hand touched the source of help.

As soon as his hand touched the biophone, he was once more overcome by painful coughing, leaving him breathless and in distress. He winced as he held his tender ribcage. Dammit! He sat up slowly, and brought his hand to a painful spot on his head. It came back wet. Must be bleeding...where the hell am I?

"Johnny, is that you? Answer me!" came the voice.

He felt for the receiver and grabbed it. "Hello?" He was surprised by the raspiness of his voice.

"Johnny? What's going on? Are you okay?" Brackett asked.

"I think so....What happened?"

"There was some sort of explosion, Johnny. How's your victim?"

Victim? Oh, man! I don't even see him! "Um, Rampart," Johnny shook his head. "I'm unable to locate the victim. He should be nearby, but I'm trapped and can't see him."

Just then Johnny thought he saw something move out the corner of his eye. He placed the biophone handset down, with the transmit button still depressed.

"Roy? Is that you? I'm over here!"

"No, it ain't Roy," Matt Verne answered. "It's just some scum-of-the-earth here to make sure Mr. Moore is finished ruining people's lives. Where is the bastard?"

Johnny shook his head. "I--I don't know. I haven't seen him since the explosion." Johnny squinched his eyes, trying to get the face in focus that belonged to the gravely voice he heard. He watched as the man walked closer to him, leaning down on the other side of the desk.

"Found him," Verne said. "Looks like my job's done." He stood and walked to where Johnny was lying. "Well, almost. Seems I have a loose end to tie up now. Can't leave any witnesses, now can I?"

"Witnesses?" Johnny asked, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "What are you going to do?"

"I brought a little insurance along, just incase somebody tried to screw up my plan." Verne reached inside his pocket and pulled out a grenade.

Johnny shook his head. "No...you don't want to do that. I didn't witness anything. Let's talk about this. What's your name?"

Verne laughed. "No one's gonna live to identify me. Just your bad luck that desk trapped you like that. That fire'll probably get you before anyone arrives. But then again, no sense taking chances. Once I pull this pin, you have 30 seconds to live. Have a nice afterlife."

Verne turned around, laughing mockingly. He pulled the pin from the grenade, placed it just out of Johnny's reach, and ran.

~~~

At Rampart, Dixie and Kelly Brackett listened in shock and disbelief to the conversation on the other end of the biophone.

"...have a nice afterlife," they heard spoken by a strange voice.

"Kel, he's going to kill Johnny!" Dixie said, fear griping her heart.

They listened in shock, hearing Johnny grunt, trying to free himself. Then came the deafening explosion, causing Dixie to shudder.

"Oh my God...."

~~~


Roy felt a great sense of relief when he saw paramedics from Squad 16 approaching. He stood cradling his left arm and gave them a report.

"Johnny and the victim are on the third floor..." he began. "You've got to find them...."

Bellingham ran over to inform the captains of Engines 16 and 51, who were both now on the scene.

Everyone froze in their tracks at the sound of the second explosion. Captain Stanley turned to his men. "Chet, Marco, get the inch and a half. Let's move!"

Brice took in the paleness of Roy's face and guided him to sit on the running board of the squad. "Don't worry, DeSoto; they'll find Gage. You just sit here and I'll get that arm splinted in a few minutes."

He turned to Shelly who was sitting on the sidewalk. "Are you injured, Miss?"

"No, just shaken up a bit, I think," she replied.

"Let's get this cut on your head cleaned up," Brice said, noting a scrape near her hairline.

Roy watched Brice treat the girl as Bellingham and three other firemen entered the building. Dammit, I feel helpless just sitting here....

"Roy, you okay?" Captain Stanley asked as he approached the squad.

"I'll be okay, Cap. I was almost outside the building when it blew. Johnny and the victim were up on the third floor...." His voice broke off.

Hank looked from Roy to the building. He wanted to reassure him that Johnny was probably all right, but in reality he was every bit as worried as Roy was.

~~~

Johnny saw the grenade lying just beyond his reach. Without a moment to spare, he picked up a loose board and gently eased it under the weapon until it rested on the end of the board. With all his might, he flung the board as far away as he could. He barely had time to cover his head from the deafening explosion. The last thing he remembered was a piece of the wall beside him crumbling like a house of cards.

~~~

"J---o---h---n---n---y, c--a--n y--o--u h--e--a--r m--e?"

Who put the 48 on long play? Oh wait...not a record...the biophone. He discovered the receiver near his hand. He let out a groan as he brought it to his ear.

"Yeah, uh, I hear ya," he slurred.

"Johnny, are you okay? What the hell happened?" Dr. Brackett asked.

"Who is this?" Johnny asked. He blinked his eyes, trying to remember where he was and what had happened.

"It's Dr. Brackett, at Rampart. Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"Dr. Brackett at Rampart," Johnny repeated. We were on a run...."Doc?" He swallowed. "Where's Roy?"

"Johnny, we were talking to you and there was an explosion. Roy is outside; he's okay. There was someone else there with you. Can you see anyone?"

Johnny looked around. "Um, no," he said weakly.

"That's okay, Johnny. What about the heart patient? Can you see him?"

He coughed again, unable to answer the doctor's question. He felt himself fighting for each breath. Finally, the coughing turned into violent retching.

~~~


Dr. Brackett and Dixie exchanged looks. They listened helplessly to the injured paramedic. Suddenly, the tension intensified. They could hear him choking, coughing, and sputtering.

"It sounds like he could be aspirating," Dixie stated flatly.

"They'd better get to him fast," Brackett said.

"Rampart, this is Rescue 16, how do you read?" came a voice at the second intercom at the base station.

"Loud and clear, 16," Dixie answered.

"Rampart, we have three, possibly four victims. Victim one is a female, 24 years old. She's been caught in an explosion and has a cut on her head near her hairline. The ambulance has arrived and we are preparing to transport. Victim 2 is a 30-year-old male with a fractured left radius and ulna....

"Rampart, victim three is Squad 51's patient whom at this time has not been extricated."

Dr. Brackett gave instructions to Squad 16 and ordered them to transport both victims. "Squad 16, we have been in voice contact with your fourth victim. He seemed to be initially semi-conscious, then appeared to be in respiratory distress. He may have vomited and aspirated. How soon before you'll have him and the other victim extricated?"

"All I know is that they're working on it, Rampart."

"10-4, 16," Brackett sighed.

Ten minutes later the ambulance arrived carrying Roy and Shelly. Roy refused to go into a treatment room, and marched himself straight to the base station.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Can you still hear Johnny?"

Dr. Brackett looked solemn. "We haven't heard anything for the past 10 minutes. I think he's unconscious."

"Doc...."

All eyes turned to the base station as Johnny's raspy voice was heard over the intercom.

"Johnny, yes, I'm still here. What's happening? Are you all right?"

"Doc...I...I don't feel so good...."

"Johnny, just hang in there."

"I'm not sure...I can..." his voice faltered.

Roy looked alarmed at Johnny's last statement. He pressed the button to transmit. "Johnny, this is Roy. You hang on, do you hear me?"

"Roy? You're okay?" Johnny was gasping, whether from pain or the bad air, Roy couldn't tell.

"Yeah, but I'll be better once they get you in here." Roy turned to Dr. Brackett. "I should be there helping."

"You wouldn't be much help with a broken arm, Roy."

"Roy," Johnny's voice rasped. "Cap's birthday present...it's in the closet at my place." He spoke quickly, trying to get the words out before unconsciousness claimed him once again.

"Don't worry about that now, Johnny," Roy said. "You can take care of that yourself."

No answer.

"Johnny?"

Silence.

Without thinking, Roy pounded his fist onto the counter. The pain from the broken arm flared to immense proportions, causing him to see stars for a moment. He felt his knees begin to buckle. Strong arms held him up and guided him into a nearby exam room where he was helped onto an exam table.

"This can't be happening..." Roy mumbled. "It was a heart attack call...how could this have happened?"

~~~

Dr. Brackett held his vigil at the base station, still listening, hoping for something to happen at the scene. Just hang on, Johnny...help should be there soon....

"There he is," a voice was heard to say.
Brackett took a breath and listened intently. It's about time!

"His foot's trapped. Let's get this off him--" Sounds of grunting and shifting materials.

Then silence as the transmission from 51's biophone was finally cut off.

Dr. Brackett frowned and put his hands in his coat pocket. He turned to Dixie. "They'll have him out soon. We'll just have to wait until they establish communication."

~~~
Johnny was aware on some level of activity centering on him. He cried out in pain as he was lifted and placed in the stokes. In some vague way, he understood what was happening, but was powerless to do anything about it. Sounds seemed distant and tinny.

"Just hang on, Pal, we're almost there," Bellingham spoke, not knowing if his friend and co-worker could hear him. A faint moan caused him to lower his face closer to Johnny's.

"John, can you hear me?"

Johnny slowly opened his eyes. I'm outside....He blinked slowly a couple of times as he struggled to stay awake. He tried to speak, but the effort resulted in a relentless, painful cough.

"It's okay, Johnny. You're gonna be okay," Bellingham soothed. Johnny glanced up and stared glassy-eyed at Bellingham. Then his eyes closed and he was deathly still.

Across the street, Verne watched the scene unfold before him. He saw them working on the fireman he'd hoped to kill. Dammit! He's still alive! Now what am I gonna do? I have to make certain he doesn't talk. He saw me.

~~~

"Roy," Dixie said as she entered the exam room a few minutes later. "They've got him. They're bringing him in now."

Roy took a deep breath and closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer. Unable to find his voice, he looked at Dixie and gave her a slight nod.

She smiled sadly. "I'll keep you posted," she said before leaving the room.

~~~


Awareness returned slowly. It hurts too much to breathe. Johnny felt detached as hands probed his limbs checking for injuries. The hands touched his chest, causing him to moan softly.

Bellingham was relieved when the ambulance finally arrived at the hospital and backed into the emergency entrance. The driver opened the doors and helped move the stretcher onto a gurney.

"We've got it now, Bob," Dr. Brackett told the paramedic once they got Johnny in the exam room.

Bellingham left the room, stopping to brace himself on the wall in the corridor. At least I got him here alive....I better find Brice...and Roy. Roy'll want to know what's going on....

~~~

Captain Stanley hurried into the ER, followed by Chet, Marco and Mike Stoker. It had been two hours since the ambulance transporting Johnny had pulled away from the scene. The men were anxious for word on both of their injured co-workers.

Dixie McCall paused as she heard her name called. She turned to see the firemen from Station 51 hurrying toward her. Hank Stanley reached her first.

"Is there any word on Johnny? And Roy?" he asked anxiously.

Dixie nodded. "Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early are still in with Johnny. He suffered some fractured ribs and a broken right wrist. He had some pretty nasty bruises and contusions. What we're most concerned about is a hairline fracture of the skull. We're monitoring his pressure now and doing some tests to rule out intercranial bleeding."

Hank frowned as the others exchanged worried glances. "Is he conscious?"

Dixie sighed. "He's in and out, but he's very disoriented."

"How's Roy?" Mike Stoker asked.

Dixie smiled. "He's in orthopedics having his arm set. He also suffered a minor concussion. We're going to keep him overnight. He'll most likely be released in the morning."

Hank nodded. "Well, that's good news anyway. I better call Joanne."

Dixie shook her head. "We already called her, Hank. She's with Roy now, in orthopedics." She looked at the worried men. "Why don't you go grab a cup of coffee and I'll call you when there's more news."

The men nodded and headed toward the cafeteria. Dixie watched them for a few seconds, then hurried into the treatment room to check on Johnny.

~~~

Matt Verne stood outside a storefront building staring at the "FOR LEASE" sign taped to the window. For a moment, he could see beyond the graffiti on the walls to a time when the paint was fresh and the sign read "GRAND OPENING". This store had been his dream. It wasn't much, but it was all his. He had sold his wares to the neighborhood, coming to know that Mr. Lawson only ate Rye bread and Mrs. Baker always bought her dog, Rusty, a box of biscuits on Friday night. He extended the Daniels' credit when Mr. Daniels had fallen onto hard times. And through it all, his wife Kathy had worked right by his side.

His eyes misted as he pictured Kathy working the register. She was young and beautiful and they were so happy. Then, she was diagnosed with cancer. Sickness and pain replaced the good times. The medical bills piled up, eating the tiny profits of the store. Finally, he had turned to Mr. Moore for a loan, just a little something to get him back on his feet and keep his wife in the expensive experimental cancer drugs that the doctors recommended.

And that scumbag banker sat across his desk in his expensive suit and his just-buffed fingernails and turned me down. Verne seethed with fresh anger, remembering that all too humbling and humiliating experience. Shortly after this, the cancer that had ravaged her took his beloved Kathy. And all I was left with were more bills! Verne grinned as he thought of the dead banker. Guess I got some back after all, huh, Mr. Moore? My world exploded…and then so did yours! He frowned as he thought of the injured fireman. Gotta take care of that loose end. I already lost all I got. I can't end up in no jail cell.

With a last glance, he turned and walked away from the building that had once housed his dreams.

~~~

"N-no…no…le's talk...." Dixie entered the room to find the dark-haired paramedic struggling on the treatment table. She hurried to his side.

"It's okay Johnny. You're safe now, you're at Rampart," she spoke soothingly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

"He's becoming agitated," Dr. Brackett stated grimly from across the table. He gave a nod of approval to another nurse, who placed an injection into the IV port.

"I's gonna blow up..." Johnny continued to squirm in distress. "R-Roy? W-Where's Roy? Gotta get out!"

"Roy's okay Johnny. He's safe and you're safe too."

After a few tense moments he calmed, managing to open his eyes. He scanned the room, obviously disoriented. His gaze hesitated for a few seconds on Dr. Brackett, before coming to rest on Dixie.

"See, you're safe. Everything's going to be all right." She smiled and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Just relax, Johnny."

"W-Witnesses…n-no witnesses," he mumbled to her, before his eyes began drifting closed. "No loose ends."

Dixie and Kel exchanged a worried glance, before Dixie focused her attention back to Johnny. "Now don't you worry about a thing Johnny. It's all over now, I promise."

~~~
Dr. Brackett exited the treatment room, heading for the lounge. Well, at least the prognosis is much better than we'd initially guessed.

He opened the door and as he'd expected, was met by a lounge full of restless and worried firefighters. Two police officers spoke quietly with the captain, while the other men silently watched the exchange. Brackett waited as each man immediately stopped what he was doing and turned expectantly toward him.

Brackett cleared his throat and addressed the group. "I'm happy to be able to say, that Johnny's looking pretty good," he began with an optimistic tone, "considering all he's been through." The doctor paused, finding himself smiling at the audible sigh's of relief from the weary group. "He's by no means out of the woods yet, but barring any complications, it looks like he should make a full recovery."

"Doctor?" One of the officers reluctantly approached Brackett. "Would it be possible for us to speak with Mr. Gage yet?"

Frowning, the doctor placed his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," he informed them, making eye contact with each officer. "Mr. Gage is in no condition for visitors today."

The officer nodded his understanding. "We will need to get a statement from him as soon as possible."

"I can appreciate that, but like I said...he is in no condition to give any statements today."

The officer turned back toward Captain Stanley and the others. "Thank you for your cooperation, Captain...gentlemen. We'll be in touch." With that, both officers left.

There was a brief silence in the room, then Chet Kelly stood and began to pace. "I can't believe that PSYCHO is still out there! Roaming the streets! FREE!"

"He won't be free for long, Chet," Hank Stanley crossed his arms. "The ATF and the FBI arrived right before we left. I'm sure they'll find something that'll help them catch this guy."

"But, Cap," Chet stopped. "Johnny SAW him. This nut tried to kill him once before. What makes you think he won't try it again?"

"Maybe he thinks Johnny's dead?" suggested Marco. "I mean, there was that other explosion."

"I doubt it, Marco," Chet shook his head. "These nuts usually stick around to admire their handiwork. I'm sure he saw Johnny being rescued."

"How do you know so much about the criminal mind, Chet?" Mike asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I've seen it on television, Stoker," Chet said incredulously. "Come on, it happens on all those cop shows." He started to count them on his fingertips. "Kojack, Hawaii Five-O, Dragnet, Adam-12. You know they base their shows on real cases." Chet shook his head in disgust. "Hey!" he raised his arms as a barrage of empty Styrofoam coffee cups pelted him.

~~~


"Doctor Brackett," Carol looked up as the treatment room door opened. "The ICU called, and his bed is ready. Plus," she gestured to the thermometer in her hand. "His temperature's up to 100.5."

Brackett twitched his mouth as he walked over to Johnny's bedside. He took his stethoscope out of his pocket and listened to Johnny's lungs. "This could be from the trauma."

"Or it could be pneumonia starting," Dr. Morton interjected as he entered the room. He held up an x-ray. "Look at this." He placed the x-ray film on the viewer box and flipped on the light.

"We heard him vomiting at the scene," Brackett muttered as he studied the film. He sighed as he turned off the viewer box. "We may have to start him on some antibiotics as a precaution." He stroked his chin. "I'd hate to put him on anything he doesn't need right now."

"Well, you can always watch his fever, and see what happens," offered Morton. "If it goes higher, or if his x-ray gets worse, start him on something. If the temp goes down, then it was probably from the trauma."

Brackett studied Johnny for several moments.

The paramedic slept quietly. His damp, matted dark hair contrasted with his pale features. Johnny breathed easily as an Orthopedic resident wrapped his arm in a plaster cast.

"Hey, Steve?" Dr. Morton held up another x-ray. "Looks like you'll also need to set his ankle."

"Really?" The Orthopedic resident squinted at the picture. "Yeah," he commented. "Looks like a clean break."

"Bellingham said it was under some pretty heavy debris," commented Brackett as he looked at the ankle film. "Mike, I think I'd rather hold off on antibiotics for now." He strode over to the viewer box and studied the chest x-ray again. "This could be something that'll clear up with some coughing and deep breathing exercises." He switched off the viewer.

~~~


"He's at Rampart General," Matt Verne commented to his reflection in the mirror of his tiny bathroom. "I know that place inside and out, especially after Kathy." He looked at her photo, taped to the lower corner of the mirror. "This one's for you, Babe."

~~~


“I KNOW it's past midnight, but I need it now, Porter!” Verne yelled angrily into the phone. “It don't matter what it's for!” He threw a few curses at the voice on the other end of the line, hoping it would change his former army buddy's mind. A large delivery truck rumbled by in the dark, deserted street, rattling the glass in the phone booth and making it hard to hear. “What?” he hollered, gripping the handset harder. “Whaddaya mean you can't get it? You got the other stuff for me!” He glared at the truck as it rounded the corner in front of him, continued down the street a little ways and parked. “You know I don't have much money right now! Come on, Porter! I need a favor from a friend! Can't you give me credit or something?” Suddenly he heard a knock behind him on the door of the booth. “GIT OUT OF HERE!” he screamed over his shoulder. Turning his attention back to the phone, his face reddened with rage when he heard the answer at the other end. “Yeah, and this is how you pay me back for saving your sorry hide in Nam?!” He spewed curses into the handset, then slammed it back onto the phone cradle.

Verne wheeled around, jerked the door open and charged out, nearly knocking over a man standing in front of the booth. “Get out of my way, you jerk!” he bellowed, and headed angrily down the street.

“Mr. Verne? Matt Verne?”

Verne stopped as if he'd run into a brick wall. He didn't think anybody knew him on this side of town, where the cheap bars and even cheaper apartments were. And the voice was vaguely familiar.

“Is dat you, Mr. Verne?”

Verne heard uneven footsteps coming up behind him. He turned around to eye a short, stocky balding man in a khaki uniform limping towards him.

“I'm...I'm sorry ta bother you like this, ya know? But I'm Daniels. Bert Daniels?” The older man looked like he wanted to hold out his hand to Verne to shake it, but was more than a little uneasy about his reception. He rubbed the palm of his hand on the leg of his pants instead. “I...I told da wife if I ever found you again, I'd let you know dat things are okay wit' us now.”

Seeing Verne's confused look, Daniels continued, a little more certitude in his voice now. “Remember four, four and a half years ago? You gave us credit at your store after I bummed up my leg at da refinery. You and your wife were da best, ya know? We could'na made it without your help.“

Verne nodded slightly, stunned as memories began to flood into his head at the mention of his beloved.

“We was real sorry to hear about your wife. I remember, whenever we got uptight about paying our bill at your store, she always told us just ta pay it when we could...and ta pass the kindness on when we got back on our feet, ya know?” Daniels paused, finally getting up the courage to hold out his hand towards Verne. “You and she was like saints ta us. I jus' wanna say t'anks.”

Verne numbly placed his hand in Daniels', automatically returning his firm grip, but not feeling the camaraderie that the man seemed to want him to feel.

Daniels released his hold on Verne's hand, a little confused by his former benefactor's silence, but relieved to have done his duty towards him. “Well...uh...” he began, throwing his thumb over his shoulder at the phone booth under the corner street lamp. “I gotta call my boss. He gave me da wrong address to deliver to. Not very smart, ya know? Especially in dis part of town dis late at night, huh?” He raised an arm at Verne and turned to go. “Hey, it's great ta run into ya! Maybe I'll see ya 'round, 'kay?”

Standing alone on the dark sidewalk, watching Daniels limp away, Verne found his heart tearing in two. He abruptly turned on his heel and began walking rapidly down the street, faster and faster...trying to escape from the image of the good man he once had been...the man his wife had wanted him to be...the man who had helped his neighbors when they needed it –- the same man who had just murdered one person and was planning to kill another.

~~~


“Mr. DeSoto?”

He felt himself being shaken...heard his name...but he didn't want to wake up...didn't want to open his eyes. The shaking stopped at last, and he allowed himself to drift down into the darkness again.

“Mr. DeSoto? You need to wake up!”

The shaking started again, worse than before, bringing him back up to the surface where he didn't really want to go. He finally opened one eye, squinting at the light streaming in the open door.

“That's better. Just making sure you're okay, Mr. DeSoto.” Roy blinked up at the white-capped figure standing over him. She adjusted the pillow under the cast on his left arm and felt his fingers to make sure the circulation was good. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“Uh...in bed at Rampart.”

“Good. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“There was an explosion. I broke my arm.” Fully awake now, Roy sighed. He'd been through this routine at least three times already tonight. And he was going to have to go through it every hour on the hour until Doctor Brackett was satisfied he was okay. “And the day is Thursday, and my name is Roy DeSoto.”

The nurse smiled down at him. “Very good, except it's Friday since it's past midnight. But I think that's all I need for now. Do you need pain medication for your arm?”

Roy shook his head, although he was tempted. His arm was starting to hurt a little. His head was aching, too, but he could live with it. “No, I'm okay.”

“Fine. If you need anything, just buzz, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. I'll see you again in an hour, then. Goodnight, Mr. DeSoto.”

“Goodnight.”

Roy watched the nurse walk briskly toward the stream of light in the doorway.

“Miss,” he called softly, “could you tell me what time it is?”

She stopped and looked at her watch. “It's one-fifteen a.m.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” She headed into the hallway, taking the light with her when she pulled the door closed behind her.

Roy shut his eyes to sleep, but sleep didn't come. His mind kept playing the same scenes over and over. He kept reliving the first explosion that had knocked him down and the horror he felt when he realized Johnny was still inside. He felt again the panic of hearing the second explosion tear through the building and his powerlessness to go back in. And finally, his heart churned again at the utter frustration of talking to Johnny on the biophone and not being able to do anything--ANYTHING--to help him. Even now the anger at the helplessness he'd felt ate at his soul.

They hadn't let him see Johnny when he was finally brought in. As for now, his wayward partner seemed to be holding his own. Cap and the rest of the crew had stopped in for a moment on their way back to the station and had given him a good word about Johnny's condition. Even Dixie had dropped in later with an encouraging update. Everybody kept telling him to just relax and wait until tomorrow when both he and Johnny would be feeling better. He swallowed again and again, trying to quell the heartburn he felt rising in his churning stomach. I'm not going to be feeling better until I see Johnny's okay for myself. Joanne kept telling him if he didn't stop worrying about everything, he was going to get an ulcer before he was forty. He figured he was going to get one before he was thirty-five with Johnny Gage as his partner.

Hoping it would help the burning in his chest, he felt around until he found the controls for his bed and raised the head up a bit. He reached over to grab the cup of water on the nightstand, but to his surprise, found his hand shook a little. I guess I'm entitled to that, he thought, draining the cup dry and somehow avoiding spilling any on himself in spite of the shaking. He lay his head back against the bed, knowing the only thing that would help his stomachache would be to see Johnny face to face. Why wait? Why not go see him now? he thought, resolutely setting the cup back on the stand. I've broken a few hospital rules before. Might as well get a few more black marks on my record. It's either that or stay up all night incubating an ulcer.

He sat up slowly on the side of the bed, cradling the cast on his left arm. The pounding in his head increased for a moment, then subsided to a dull roar. He grabbed the sling at the foot of the bed and awkwardly drew it over his head and under his aching arm. So far so good. I'm getting there as fast as I can, Johnny.

He stood up and, swaying slightly, felt his way in the dimness to the open locker by the bathroom. He slipped the robe Joanne had brought him off the hook and somehow, by the light coming in underneath the door, managed to get his right arm into the correct sleeve. The problem now was getting the robe over the rest of him. Ignoring his growing headache, he leaned forward and reached over his left shoulder to grab a piece of the robe material. Suddenly the room began to spin out of control. He tried to grab the edge of the locker to steady himself, but his spatial judgment was way off and he missed it. Unable to keep himself from falling, he banged loudly into the metal edge of the locker with his left shoulder and the left side of his face, slipped down and hit the floor hard, his full weight on his injured left arm.

Thirty seconds later, checking out reports of a loud noise coming from Roy's room, the nurse pushed open the door. In the bright white light streaming in from the hallway, she found him sprawled on the floor, the robe entangled around his body, his injured arm underneath him. “Mr. DeSoto!” She flipped on the overhead light. Now she could see he was bleeding from somewhere. His eyes were closed tightly and his face was set in a grimace against the renewed pain in his arm and the dizziness that turned his stomach. “Helpless...” he said over and over, hitting the floor with a tightly clinched fist.

~~~

Verne entered the pawnshop, fingering the small treasure in his pocket. I'll get it back. I promise you, I'll get it back. Seeing the proprietor behind the counter, he approached hesitantly.

"How can I help you today?" the jovial man asked.

Verne slipped the diamond ring out of his pocket. "I'd like to pawn this," he said. "How much can I get for it?"

The proprietor took the ring and studied it for a moment. "Nice," he commented. "I can give you 200 for it."

"200? Is that it?" Verne sighed. "I know it's worth more than that."

"Well, yes sir, that's true. It's worth more than that. But I can't give you what it's worth or I won't be able to make a profit. You could try selling it yourself, by placing an ad in the paper."

Verne shook his head. "No, no...I don't want to do that. This ring is special to me. I was hoping to be able to buy it back before it was sold." Verne took the ring back from the man. "200," he said more to himself as he brought the ring to his lips. "Where are the guns?" He put the ring back in his pocket.

"Right this way," the man said, leading him to the other side of the store.

Verne looked at the vast array of pistols held inside a glass cabinet. "How much for that one?" he asked, pointing to a small caliber.

"Ah, a 'Saturday Night Special.' Good choice. This one's $75," he said, taking the gun out. He handed it to Verne and began his sales pitch. "Tell ya what. You give me the ring, and I'll let you have the gun, plus 130 cash. How's that sound?"

"Okay, mister, you got yourself a deal," Verne smiled, once again taking the ring out of his pocket. "We've had some trouble with people breaking in near where I live...I'm gonna feel a lot safer now." Don't need him getting suspicious.

~~~


Hank Stanley sat at his kitchen table drinking a glass of iced tea. He gazed out the sliding glass doors, his eyes going beyond the concrete patio to the bird feeders in the backyard.

It seems like it was just yesterday that the backyard held a swing set, a sandbox, a merry-go-round, two tricycles, and God knows how many other toys that I used to trip over. I bitched to Maggie about all that junk every time I had to mow the yard. Today I'm turning forty and what the hell do I have to show for it? My yard is neat and easy to mow like I always wanted it to be, but here I sit longing for my girls to be little again instead of off on their own. Sue's not coming home from college this summer. She found a job in Michigan and wants to stay there. More than likely she has a longhaired boyfriend I won't approve of who's probably sleeping with my little girl. Little girl. Get over it, Hank. She'll be twenty-one in a couple of months. When you were twenty-one you had a toddler and another baby on the way.

A slight smile touched Hank's lips when he thought of that baby.

Joy just graduated from high school. She's gone for the summer, too. Working up in San Francisco for Maggie's brother Glen. I know Glen and Jean will take good care of her, but still, I don't understand why she wants to be so far away from us. It's bad enough that Susie chose to go to college halfway across the country. I was hoping UCLA would be good enough for Joy. But no, she chose Berkley, and had to flee the house just as soon as she had her diploma in hand. Are Maggie and I really such bad parents that our kids can't stand to be around us?

Hank felt light hands on his shoulders, then a kiss being placed on his temple.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his wife greeted. She removed her gardening gloves and set them on the kitchen counter. “I thought you were taking a nap.”

“Couldn't sleep.”

Maggie made no comment to that as she poured herself a glass of lemonade and joined her husband at the table. He'd looked so tired when he arrived home from work at eight-thirty that morning. He'd barely acknowledged her “Happy Birthday” as he passed her on the way to their bedroom. When she asked him if he wanted her to make breakfast for him Hank simply shook his head and mumbled, “I'm not hungry.”

“Did you get any sleep at the station last night?” Maggie asked now.

“No. Just tossed and turned until we got called out on a run at four this morning. By the time we got back there was no use in going back to bed.”

“Hank, I hate seeing what it does to you every time one of your men gets hurt. Maybe it's time to consider taking the Chief's exam.”

“Maybe.”

“That 'maybe' sounds like you've been giving it a lot of thought, but that you're really not interested.”

Hank smiled. “You're a wise woman, Maggie.”

“Not so wise, really. I've simply been married to you for twenty-one years. Twenty-two come the end of July.”

“God, we were so young.”

“I guess. But we didn't think so at the time.

“What do eighteen year old kids fresh out of high school know about life anyway?”

“Pardon?”

“I...it all seemed so endless, Maggie. So full of possibilities. It just seems like yesterday that our girls were clinging to my hands, afraid to go any place unless Daddy was with them. Now they don't want to be within one hundred miles of Daddy.”

“Oh, Hank, that's not true. They're just doing exactly what we did, spreading their wings and learning to fly.”

“Why did they have to fly so far away?”

Maggie laughed.

“I don't know. I guess because that's what little birds have the desire to do the first time they leave the nest. They'll come back someday. Just you wait and see.”

Hank returned to staring out the glass doors.

“You asked me why I haven't taken the Chief's exam.”

“Yes?”

“I guess...I guess it's because I really like being a father.”

“A father?”

“Yeah. Now that our girls are gone the guys at the station...well, I know this sounds like I'm half senile already, but when you're the captain of a fire station you're kind of like a surrogate father to your men, you know what I mean?”

Maggie had been married to a fireman for almost twenty-two years now. Yes, she knew what her husband meant. She'd gotten almost as close to Hank's crew as he was himself. Maybe it would have been different if their children had been smaller when this responsibility came his way, but the girls were already teenagers involved in numerous activities when Hank was promoted to captain and assigned to the then-young crew at Station 51.

“Yes, Hank, I know what you mean. I care a lot about your men and their families, too. Only you can decide when you're ready to move on and give up being a station captain.”

“I...I don't think I'm ready yet.”

“Then that's your decision.” Maggie saw the worry lines tugging on the corners of her husband's mouth. “Speaking of your men, how are Roy and Johnny?”

“Did you hear me on the phone?”

“No. But if you haven't been able to sleep then I know perfectly well you've called the hospital at least once.”

“Twice actually. The first time I couldn't get any information on John. I had to wait until I could finally get a hold of Dixie McCall.”

“So how are they?”

“Brackett thought they were going to release Roy today, but it sounds like he'll be staying until tomorrow.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Seems like at one-thirty this morning my senior paramedic thought he'd take a little stroll up to ICU to see his partner. Unfortunately he never made it out of his room without falling on his face.”

“Was he hurt?”

“He cut his forehead pretty good. Needed nine stitches to close it, but other than that he's all right. Dixie said Doctor Brackett decided they should keep him one more night now because of this little stunt.”

“He's just worried about Johnny.”

Hank smiled at the way Maggie defended Roy. It reminded him of how she used to come to the defense of their girls when they were small and had committed some wrongdoing that was going to get them in hot water with their daddy.

“You're right,” Hank agreed. “Roy's simply worried about John. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to chew on his behind a little bit for doing what he knew perfectly well he had no business attempting.” Hank grinned. “That is my job, you know.”

Maggie smiled in return. “I know. Surrogate father/station captain that you are.” The woman sobered. “How's Johnny?”

Hank scrubbed a hand over his face then gave a heavy sigh.

“Not too good.”

“But I thought things were fairly positive last night.”

“They had been, all things considered. But now he's running a temperature. It's up to one hundred and three. They thought at first it might be from the initial trauma of the blast, but now that it's risen they think pneumonia might be setting in.”

“And?”

“And Dixie said they've started him on antibiotics. That's about all I know. I asked her if I could see him later today and she said she'd arrange it. I thought I'd head over there shortly before two...when afternoon visiting hours start, and get permission from Doctor Brackett to take Roy up to see his partner.”

“That's nice of you. I'm sure Roy will appreciate it.”

“If nothing else maybe it will keep him from falling on his face again tonight.”

Maggie ignored the gruffness to her husband's tone. She knew it was just there to cover up deeper feelings of worry and despair.

“Maybe I shouldn't tell you this,” Maggie said, “but I think you need to know.”

“Know what?”

“The guys were planning a surprise party for you this evening at Roy and Joanne's. They were going to have a cookout, and a cake that wished you a happy fortieth birthday, and they put Johnny in charge of getting your present. I don't know what it is, but when I talked to Joanne on the phone last night she said Roy told her the last thing Johnny said to him yesterday when he was waiting to be rescued was that your present was in his closet.”

Hank had to swallow the lump had welled up in his throat. He reached a hand across the table and clasped it with his wife's. It was all he could do to form the words when he said quietly, “And now you know why I'm satisfied with being Captain Stanley.”

Maggie squeezed her husband's hand.

“Yes, Hank, I know why. Actually, sweetheart, I've known all along.”

~~~

Fingering the small weapon in his pocket, Matt Verne crouched in the stairwell outside the SICU unit. He knew the witness was here; he'd stopped at the information desk where the 'pink lady' was more than happy to tell him where the injured fireman's room was located. He peered through the window and watched as the nurses moved around the area tending to their patients

Verne consulted his watch; in half an hour the shift change would be over and the activity level would be back to normal. This area of the hospital and its routines were familiar to him. He'd spent many hours here with Kathy. There had been several surgeries, each one held less and less promise as the hope and their funds had dwindled away.

Seating himself on the top step Verne leaned against the wall and waited for his chance to complete his plan. Over the past few weeks he had agonized over what to do, now that everything good in his life was gone. He decided that the only answer was to take away that banker's life...just like he had taken his and Kathy's. But things had gone terribly wrong. That banker was supposed to be alone, and then the fireman had survived the grenade blast. His only choice now was to get rid of the witness.

As he sat his mind drifted back to the good times, the times before Kathy got sick and the store began to fail.

Kathy smiled over at him as he locked the front door and flipped over the closed sign. “Another wonderful day, sweetheart.”

He rounded the counter and put his arms around her waist. “Really? Did we have a good take?”

“Oh, just about what we usually do on a Friday.” Kathy finished closing out the register, putting the receipts in a bank bag and zipping it closed. She turned in Matt's arms and linked her hands behind his neck.

Matt rolled his eyes and smiled down at his wife, “So what makes it wonderful?”

“Darling, every day is wonderful. I'm married to a fine man and working with him to build a good life. What else could a woman want?”

“Well, when you put it that way...” he chuckled.

Kathy lowered her hands and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “I'm so proud of you, sweetheart, for what you did for the Daniels today. Times are going to be hard for them with Bert being hurt and all. You didn't have to let them charge, but you did.”

“Honey, I've always believed the thing about bread on the water...if you do good, you'll be returned with good.

The smile on Kathy's face faded as Matt Verne returned to the present. He looked again at his watch. Only a few more minutes. He massaged his stinging eyes with his left hand. Why did I have to remember that? Kathy was always so proud of me....I wonder what she'd think now?

~~~


The pattern in the woodgrain of the closet's bifold door taunted the patient, whose delirious brain continually conjured up eerie image after eerie image in the innocuous swirls. The torturous chills and accompanying cold sweats wracked his already-battered body, sending acute pains shooting through his joints and ricocheting around in his skull. If those weren't discomfort enough, he felt as if he were drowning; his chest achy and congested, he was scarcely able to draw adequate breath.

Johnny blinked awake from his most recent submersion into a surreal world of nightmarish images. Or am I awake? I can't tell what's real and what's an hallucination. He stared through fever-bleary eyes at the image of the distorted skull in the closet door until he blinked it away, only to open his eyes to a picture of a snarling beast. He squeezed his eyes shut as a strong shudder passed through his body like a wave, originating at his core and reverberating down his limbs. I'm so cold. Why is it so cold in here? If someone would dry me off I might be warmer. How did I get wet? Did I take a shower? I can't remember.

A person materialized at his side. Nurse. When did she come in?

The serious face of the nurse swam in and out of focus. His eyes closed tiredly. The warmth of the nurse's hands was definitely real, and he reveled in the brief contact her hand made with his arm as she checked his IV. She displaced the oxygen mask on his lower face and slipped a thermometer under his tongue. Suddenly, the thermometer was gone and so was the nurse. He realized, with dismay, that he'd blacked out again, for who knew how long.

But wait, maybe not...the warm touch again. She's back. Please, just stay a while and keep your warm hand on my arm. It feels so good. He coasted on that good feeling, expecting at any second that the touch would be taken away again. But it lingered, much to his relief. It kept him slightly more grounded in reality, and kept the ghastly apparitions at bay. He tried to raise his eyelids, but couldn't.

Another violent shudder gripped his sore muscles and arched his back off the bed. Johnny moaned softly, fogging the inside of the oxygen mask. He felt the hand on his forearm grip reassuringly.

"Take it easy, Johnny," the familiar voice urged.

Roy! Johnny struggled to a higher level of consciousness, peeling his eyes open with herculean effort. He focused on the welcome sight of his partner just off the side of his bed. Roy smiled.

"How you doing?" Roy chuckled softly. "Dumb question. I know you're feeling like hell. You've got a high fever."

No kidding.

"Things should be a lot better in a day or two," Roy continued. "If you can fight off that fever, they'll be able to put you in a regular room. You'll be a lot more comfortable there."

Johnny opened his mouth to speak but the only sound he emitted was an indecipherable squeak. With reluctance, he pulled his arm away from Roy's warming touch and fumbled the mask away from his face. "Temp'ture...how...bad?"

"I don't really know," Roy answered honestly. "I know they're keeping a close watch on it."

"Feel'n...lousy," Johnny groaned. His eyes drifted shut.

"I know." Roy rested his hand back on his friend's forearm. He noticed Johnny's breathing was rapid and labored. "Maybe--" He stopped when Johnny started at the sound of his voice. "Maybe," he continued more softly, "I should let you rest. I need to get back to my room anyway, before they send out the National Guard."

"No...no...don't," Johnny mumbled. 'Back to my room'? His eyes snapped open. "Roy...wha's...you're...in...here?"

"Uh, yeah, I haven't been paroled yet. I'm okay, though, nothin' to worry about."

"Your h...head," Johnny struggled to say. "The...'splosion?"

Roy smiled sheepishly. "It's nothing. I'll tell you about it later."

"You...'kay? You...."

Johnny's body tensed as another chill passed through him. The fever was draining his strength. As much as he wanted to argue with Roy and get the whole story now, he was no match for the fatigue that hung on him like a heavy blanket. Roy saw the dark eyelashes flutter as he lost the fight to stay awake.

Roy gave Johnny's arm a squeeze, replaced the oxygen mask and reached for the call button. He'd need someone to push him back to his room. He had to admit he was feeling pretty tired himself. It would be good to get back and take a nap. He sensed a presence in the room and turned, expecting to see the nurse or orderly who would be accompanying him.

~~~

Matt Verne slammed the door to his rented room and threw his keys on the table. He headed straight for the kitchen and the bottle of Jack Daniels that had become his best friend. Hands trembling, he poured himself a tall shot and downed it in seconds. He took a deep breath, slightly calmer now. Then he poured another shot and sank into his kitchen chair, sipping this one. He pulled out his Saturday night special, staring at it as he caressed the barrel.

"I thought they had me, Kathy." He shut his eyes.


He had entered the fireman's room, expecting to find his victim alone. Instead a sandy-haired man in a wheelchair greeted him. The man had smiled at him, mistaking him for an orderly. Matt was glad he had the foresight to wear the hospital whites.

"Are you here to take me back to my room?" the man asked.

Matt recovered from the surprise quickly. "Yes, sir." He stood behind the wheelchair, feeling a pang of sorrow as he remembered the last time he had pushed a wheelchair. Oh, Kathy! He hesitated, then smiled at the man. "I'm afraid this is my first day on the job. I forget what room's yours."

Roy smiled. "No problem. I'm in 402. Just let me say goodbye to my friend." He leaned over Johnny. "Johnny, it's time for me to go. But you hang in there, partner. You're going to be okay."

Matt studied the patient in the bed. The ill man's eyes were half open as he stared at the ceiling, mumbling unintelligibly. His brow was soaked with sweat, plastering a few dark locks onto his forehead. He rolled his head back and forth and feebly waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly.

Roy sighed as he stared at his sick friend. "Hang in there," he pleaded. He turned to Matt and nodded.

Matt expertly maneuvered the wheelchair out of the room. He rolled Roy to the elevator, keeping his head down as he walked. He sighed with relief when the doors opened, then pushed the chair into the elevator, his hands still shaking.

At the forth floor, he rolled Roy off the elevator and headed toward room 402, glad for once that he was so familiar with the layout of the hospital. They were nearly to the room when a nurse stopped them. Matt's heart leaped into his throat and he forced himself to remain calm.

"There you are, Roy DeSoto. I was about to send out a search party."

Roy grinned. "Just visiting Johnny, Dix."

The nurse grinned warmly. "I figured as much, but YOU need your rest, too. My shift's over and I just wanted to say goodnight. "

Roy nodded. "My ride was just taking me home." He gestured to Matt.

Dixie glanced at the orderly and frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't think we met. I'm Dixie McCall."

Matt glanced up, then lowered his eyes again. "Tom Blake, ma'am."

"It's Tom's first day," Roy explained.

Dixie smiled. "Then I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you, Tom. Welcome to the Rampart family."

"Thank you, ma'am." Matt thought for sure that the nurse could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"I'll take him from here."

Matt stepped aside as the nurse started to push the wheelchair.

"Thanks, Tom." Roy called.

Matt nodded, watching them go. Then he turned and ran for the elevator, heading for the lobby. He quickly exited the hospital and raced home.

Now, he fingered the gun, tears in his eyes. Who am I kidding? I ain't cut out for this. I ain't no killer. He took a sip of the whiskey as another voice in his head began to taunt him. But you are a killer!! You already killed one man. Do you want to spend the rest of your pathetic life in jail? Matt picked up the gun and held it to his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut as beads of sweat slowly rolled down his brow. Do it! Do it, you coward. His finger twitched on the trigger. With a sob, he lowered the gun as the survival instinct in him kicked in. "I ain't ready to die!" he cried out loud. "I ain't!"

He finished his drink in a gulp. Opening the gun, he looked at the bullets loaded into the chamber. "Tomorrow." Tomorrow, he'd finish the job on that fireman. And no one was gonna stop him this time.

---

CONTINUE

---