Forever Knight

A Most Embarrassing Way

To Die

"I'm going to KILL him!  I am most definitely going to kill him!"  She threw an exacto knife at a dartboard.  Over the bullseye was taped a garish caricature of Mitchell Carson. The knife hit squarely between the legs.  "And it will be very long ... And very slow ... And it will hurt very much!"  Toni Parker Knight seethed. 

"I hope you aren't talking about me."  Nick Knight winced and placed his hands over his crotch as he stood in the doorway to her office at Universal Studios. Toni's firm, Artistic Imaginations, had contracted to do the set and mat designs for the filming of Jim Reardon's book Descent Into Darkness, since she had done the artwork for the book as well.  It was easier to work from the set than from her studio, so Steve Cantrell, the producer, talked the studio into giving her temporary space here. 

"No.  I wouldn't kill you, darling.  Not unless you made me as mad as Mitchell Carson has."  She said, kissing her husband on the cheek.  "Did you bring the things I asked for?"

"Uh huh.  Here's your sketchpad and the box of leads that you forgot when you left for work."  He said, handing her a bag.  "By the way, what's our star pain-in-the-ass done this time?"

"He's filed a grievance with the Screen Actors Guild that the sets I designed clash with his coloring.  He says they make him look sickly and he wants me to do them over again. In purple of all colors!  Can you imagine the ballroom in the Palace of Versailles decorated in purple! The nerve of him!  Nick, you know as well as I do that there's nothing wrong with those sets.  Everyone else thinks they're perfect."

"Actually, Versailles did have a lot of purple.  It was Marie Antoinette's favorite color."

"Details.  Details.  Details.  My palace is in red and gold and it's going to stay that way."   She pulled the knife out of the board.  From the holes in the paper, this was not the first time she had scored in that area. 

"He has also been screaming at the script director that he doesn't have enough lines and that the scenes aren't flattering enough for him.  He wants a complete rewrite.  He's been on the cameramen that they aren't shooting his best side and he has called for I don't know how many retakes.  The lighting is wrong.  The costumes are wrong, and so forth and so on, et cetera, ad nauseum.  We've been shooting for three weeks now and we don't even have a dozen scenes in the can."

She threw the knife at the board and it landed almost exactly in the same place.  "If that isn't enough, the little twerp has tried to proposition me, as well as every other female in the place.  More than once."

Nick's eyes flecked yellow and his fangs elongated slightly.  "Nobody hits on my wife!  Or any other woman!"  He growled.  "I'll drain him for that.  As well as for everything else.  He needs to be boiled in his own oil.  And I, for one wouldn't mind doing the boiling."

"Easy, love.  I told him I was married and that my husband was a cop.  It didn't seem to make any difference, though.  He thinks he's the gift of the gods to the women of the world.  Besides, if you want a piece of him, you'll have to get in line behind his co-star, who he's also hit on, several times, the director, the key grip, the best boy, and at least half a dozen female crew members, all of whom he has managed to piss off."

"You can add me to that list too."  Jim Reardon said as he came into the office.  "I heard you were doing the artwork for this picture and I came over as soon as I got inside the gate.   Steve called me and told me they were having trouble with the actor they hired to play Arturo.  He wanted me here, since I had final say so on any major story changes.  I was looking for a reason to get off the farm anyway, so I threw a pair of clean undershorts, my toothbrush, and George's doggie dish in my suitcase and hopped the first westbound plane out of Topeka.

The assistant director met me at the airport and filled me in on the problems.  The changes Carson wants to make are ridiculous.  I can't possibly OK them.  They would ruin the entire piece.  How did he get the part anyway?"

"He auditioned for it like everyone else.  Apparently, he is a good enough actor to pull a snow job on the casting people.  By the time they found out exactly what he was really like, his agent had him locked into an iron clad contract."  Toni explained.

"Who's his agent?"

"Roland Henley."

"That explains it.  Henley always was a bloodsucker." 

Nick coughed loudly.  < If only you knew. >

Jim turned to Nick and extended his hand.  "Enough shop talk, though.  It's good to see you two again.  It's been too long.  The last time was at your wedding.  Of course, we were at the Hugo awards together, but with the crowds, we hardly got the chance to even say hello.  I had to leave that same night.  I had the deadline on my new book, The Child Of  The Phoenix. Now, as I understand it, you're the parents of twins?"

"Joey and Nattie."  Nick said, shaking the outstretched hand.  "They're three and a half now.  I have a few snapshots, but that won't do you much good."

"A FEW snapshots, husband dear?  You carry around a miniature album in your coat pocket.  Trust me, Jim.  He has every picture ever taken of them in his wallet."

"Listen to her.  Who has a whole wall full of their photos in her studio, wife of mine?"

"That's an artistic collage.  Yours is just plain bragging.  If you want to meet them, though, they're here in the child care center."

"I'd love to."  He said, picking up George's harness and taking Toni's arm.  "Lead on."

**********

Nattie and Joey Knight stood by their parents.  Nattie clung for dear life to Nick's pant leg.  Her thumb instinctively found her mouth.

"Kids.  This is Jim Reardon."  Nick said.  "And this is George, his Seeing Eye dog."

Joey put a bear hug on his mother's left leg and retreated behind her.

"It's all right.  You have to tell him your name so he knows where you are.  He can't see you.  He's blind."  Toni said, gently extricating her son from his hiding place.

"Hi.  I'm Joey."  He said, taking a few tentative steps toward the stranger.  "And that's Nattie.  She a 'fraidy cat."

The thumb came out.  "Am not!" 

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

Jim heard a smack and, with a loud wail, Nattie burst into tears.

"JOSEPH!"  Nick yelled at his son.

"Sorry."  He said in a small voice, hanging his head.

"You're gonna get it when we get home."  Nattie teased her brother. "Nya-a-ah!"  She stuck out her tongue. 

"NATALIE JANETTE KNIGHT ! "

"I'm sorry, Mommy."  She said, giving her mother the sad puppy look she inherited from her father.  The thumb discovered her mouth once more. 

"Hi, Joey.  I'm Jim."  Reardon said, squatting on his heels and extending his hand in Joey's direction.  Cautiously, Joey took the hand and shook it.

"Since I can't look at pictures, can I see what you look like?"  Jim asked him.

"But you're blind.  You can't see.  Daddy said so."

"This is how I see."  Jim said, putting his hand on Joey's face and tracing the features.  "There's no doubt he's your son."  He said to Nick.  "He's got Toni's face and your eyes and her hair."

George found Nattie hiding behind her father.  Slowly he approached her and carefully sniffed her over.  When he was satisfied that she posed no threat, he gave a wet lick to the tears rolling down her face. She giggled.  Happy to find a living squeaky toy, the yellow Labrador Retriever began licking and nuzzling her.  Eventually, he had Nattie laughing and giggling uncontrollably.

"George!  That's enough!  Stop!  Come!  Sit!  Stay!"  Jim called.  The Lab went to his master's side and sat patiently, his tail wagging furiously.

"Wanna see me, too?"  Nattie asked, approaching him.

"Of course."  He traced her face as he had done with her brother.  "She's yours all right."  He said to Toni.  "Your eyes, your mouth and Nick's hair and face.  You can be proud of them both."

"We are.  Very proud."

"Toni."  Nick said.  "I've got to be going.  I only stopped on my way to work to drop off the supplies you asked for."  He kissed her lightly.  "See you later, Jim.  You have to come to the house.  That's not an invitation.  That's an order."

Jim put two fingers to his forehead.  "Yes Sir!"  He said, smiling.

"I happen to know your shift doesn't start for another two hours."  Toni said  "Can't you stay for a quick tour of the studio.  You haven't seen it since they started shooting."

"Well ... I guess a quick tour won't hurt"

**********

"No.  No!  NO!"  Mitchell Carson yelled, storming off the set.  "I can't say these lines.  They're all wrong!  They're not me!  Where's those rewrites I asked for?"

"Mr. Carson ... It's like I've told you before.  I can't authorize any major rewrites.  Only the author  ... "  The script director stammered

"Screw the author!  Either I get those rewrites or my lawyers will have a talk with the studio lawyers about a breach of contract suit.  I do have script approval, after all.  And I do NOT approve this script!  When you've done as I asked, come get me.  I'll be in my trailer." 

He nearly ran into Toni, Nick, and Jim as he headed for the door.  "Forget it, boys.  Sweet cakes here isn't worth it.  She's the original ice maiden."  He said to them.  "She wouldn't even let me get in the game with her.  I doubt if either of you could get to play.  Especially not the umpire here." He said, pointing at Jim.   

George's ears flattened against his head and he let out a low growl.

Nick held up his left hand, fingers extended.  His wedding ring was obvious.  "Not only did I get to play, I won the game as well."  He said.  Only Toni seemed to notice the small flecks of yellow in his eyes.  "I'm her husband."

"Oh.  Sorry to hear that, old man."  Carson said as he continued to his trailer.  There was more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Nice man."  Jim said as the star departed.  "No wonder everyone wants to see him out of here.  I go along with the majority.  Are you sure there's no way to break his contract?"

"Not unless someone takes a baseball bat to his head."  A tall slender man in his early fifties said as he approached the trio.  Believe me, if there was a way out, we would have found it.  I'm John Myron, the director for this film."  He said, holding out his hand to Jim.  "We've had the studio legal department going over his contract from top to bottom.  At this point, we'd even take an undotted 'i' or an uncrossed 't'."

"I have a feeling you're talking about Ego Boy."  A young auburn haired woman came to the group.  "Excuse me for interrupting.  My name is Eileen Sanford.  I'm the costume coordinator for this disaster.  He just complained to me about the costumes for the Elizabethan scenes.  He says the doublet makes his rear end look too big.  I told him that's what they wore back then.  You know what his answer was?  'Well, then shoot the scene in another era.  One where the costumes are more flattering to me.'  I'd like to shoot him in another era. Like in his fat head.  With a .45 automatic."

"Not until I'm through with him."  Larry Groce said.  At Toni and Steve Cantrell's request, Industrial Light and Magic had lent their star special effects wizard to Universal for this project.  "He's so clumsy it's not even funny.  In the sword fight scene, he fell over a background prop and destroyed it.  From there, he backed onto the wall mat and poked a hole in it.  The fight wasn't even supposed to be in that area of the set, but he complained that the area where it was supposed to be was too confining, so the bigwigs ordered it moved.  Then he had the nerve to complain that the sets were too flimsy.  It's going to take days to reconstruct that piece.  To top it off, he stabbed one of the extras.  Nothing serious, but it is going to cost the studio big bucks to cover this one."

"I thought that's why they had stuntmen."  Nick said.

"He insists on doing his own sword work.  And the studio lets him.  He thinks he's the reincarnation of Zorro or something like that.  It's a wonder he hasn't cut off a certain sensitive part of his anatomy.  Not that anyone would care, of course.  He'd be doing the gene pool a favor."

"I know Steve Cantrell."  Jim Reardon said.   "He's not the type to give in to someone as petty as Carson."

"It isn't Cantrell, Mr. Reardon."  John Myron said.  "It's the numbskulls in finance and the idiots in legal.  They're so afraid of a lawsuit, they'll do anything to keep him happy.  Including ruining the film."

"I could always withdraw my artistic consent."  Jim suggested.  "I gave Universal the production rights, but I still own the copyrights.  If I don't like the way the story is going, I can pull the plug.  That's in my contract.  You see, Roland Henley is my agent, too.  With no script, there can be no movie.  With no movie, there can be no star.  With no star, Mitchell Carson's contract isn't worth the effort to tear it up."

John Myron put his arm around Jim's shoulders and patted him repeatedly on the back.  "Mr. Reardon. You are a man after my own heart.  I like the way you think.  Let's go talk to the legal department!"

"Only if you call me Jim."

**********

"Hey, Sweet cakes!"  Mitchell Carson called from his trailer as the group headed back to Toni's office.  "Yeah. You, sweet thing."  He said, pointing at Eileen Sanford.  "Be a doll baby and get me a coffee.  Double Latte, Half Decaf.  And two of those no-sugar thingies.  Gotta watch the old figure, you know.  Can't have the beach babes seeing any fat on these perfect abs of mine."  He patted his stomach.  "And if you're real nice about it, Daddy will give you some sugar, too."

Nick started toward the trailer and Toni put her hand on his chest in an attempt to restrain him.  She knew that if Nick really wanted to do anything, her efforts to stop him would be futile.  His eyes were flecking again and a low rumbling sound was building in his throat.  "Chill out, Nick."  She said softly.  "Chill out."

"It's okay, Mr. Parker.  Nobody really takes him seriously."  Eileen said.  "Just because he got some minor award, starred in a couple of low grade bombs, and had an interview on Goodnight USA, it's all gone straight to his head.   There's plenty of room up there, though.  What little brains he does have are all in his groin.  One of these days, he'll get his, and I hope I'm there to see it.  There's a line from a song that goes ' ... And that's when I'll discover that revenge is sweet ... '"  She turned at the next intersection and headed to her office.

"MISTER Parker?"  Toni said, doubling her fist.  "I'll straighten her out fast enough."

"Remember what you told me, honey?  Chill out?  When you're working, you're Toni Parker.  Everyone knows I'm your husband and so they just naturally assume my name is Nick Parker.  When you've had as many identities as I've had, little things like that slip don't mean much."  He kissed her lightly on the forehead.  "What does matter is that you are my wife and I love you."

"You know Nick, you're one in a million.  How did I get so lucky?"

"You're wrong.   I'm the lucky one."  He replied, slipping his arm around her waist and kissing her full on the mouth.

"Keep that up, mister and you'll have to call in late."  Toni said, playfully cuffing him on the chest.

"Don't tempt me."

"I'll do more than tempt you.  Just wait until you get home."  She waggled her eyebrows and grabbed at his tush.

"Why wait?"  He said, nuzzling the nape of her neck.  "Your office has a lock on the door ..."   He trailed butterfly kisses down the side of her ear.  " ... And it has a phone, too ... " 

**********

Nick's senses bristled as he approached the Caddy in the studio parking lot.  Someone was there.  Another vampire.  LaCroix.  He was masking his vibrations.  As Nick's powers of control became more complete and automatic, his senses and abilities, both mortal and vampire had become sharper and more defined. Particularly after he had fed and especially after he had taken Toni's blood.   LaCroix was not happy.  Nick did not need extraordinary talents to tell that.  The scowl on his face was ample evidence.

"To what do I owe this visit?"  Nick said as he got in.

"You!"  LaCroix answered.  "Has your newfound mortal abilities left you so weak willed and cowardly that you would let  ... Vermin ... like Carson publicly insult your wife and that other woman, Eileen Sanford?"

"LaCroix."  Nick said.  "They both have assured me that the things Mitchell Carson said to them were no big deal.  There are other ways to deal with him."

"SHE'S YOUR WIFE!"  LaCroix hissed.  "At least have the common decency to defend her honor.   If you won't ... or can't, then I shall have to do something."

"LaCroix!  Hands off!  I'll handle Carson.  My way!"

"You had BETTER!  NO ONE affronts a member of MY family.  AND LIVES!"  With a gust of wind, LaCroix was gone.

**********

"My dear children."  The Nightcrawler began his monologue.  "Tonight let us speak of duty.  There are many obligations one must carry out.  Duty to one's employer.  Duty to ones state or country.  Duty to whatever Higher Power one may believe in.  But there is another duty that is the fundamental obligation of every person.  The duty to we all have to those we love.

True love must occupy the most important place in our lives.  Everything else becomes a distant second. 

It is not always easy to do what must be done where love is concerned.  Sometimes, it appears that what we have to do to protect those we love, is in direct opposition with the other ideals toward which we all strive.  Many times it is.  Just remember.  Love takes precedence.

Think well on this, gentle listeners.  I am the Nightcrawler.  I am with you.  Always.  I love you.  Always."

**********

"Nick, I know he's your father, but do we have to listen to that drivel?"  Mike Taylor leaned back against the seat of Nick's Caddy and propped his feet against the dashboard.

Nick didn't answer, he just turned the radio off.

"Another boring night."  Mike sighed.  "I wish Officers Jones and Baker would hurry up and get their case to the jury so they could return to patrol duty and we could get back to the nice warm dry precinct."

"What's the matter?"  Nick teased.  "Never took a nap in a car before?"  He slapped the soles of Mike's shoes hard, knocking them back to the floor.

"Funny Nicky.  Funny."  Mike replied, throwing a candy bar wrapper at his partner.  "While your Caddy is comfortable enough, I'd rather be in a sedan.  I know it's only psychological, but there's something about there being only a thin piece of cloth between me and all this rain that makes me very uncomfortable."

"We can go back and get your car."  Nick suggested.

"Nah.  Pull in there."  Mike said, pointing to a small shopping center.

"You see trouble?"

"Nope.  A Krispy Kreme."

"Don't tell me.  The big bad cop has to have his jelly donuts."

"Not for me.  Tracy just loves chocolate eclairs.  You didn't know that?  After all, she was your partner."

"You know, you two have been together longer than a lot of Hollywood married couples.  Why don't you get off your duff and make it legal."  Nick ducked as a wadded up paper napkin grazed his head.

**********

Tracy Vetter huddled beneath the bush and tried to find a comfortable spot.  She was absently listening and taping the conversation going on in the motel room directly in front of her.  Of course, the rain that was falling didn't make this stakeout any easier. She pulled her jacket tighter around her. 

This was not one of her favorite type of assignments, tracking wayward spouses, but this particular client was Florian Latrane, a member of the County Commissioners.  He was afraid that the scandal of his wife's trysts would be the grist that the tabloids would smear all over their front pages.  Since he had announced his intentions to run for Governor in the next election, he could hardly afford that.  Especially not after the Monica Lewinsky circus.  So, he was paying Vetter & Associates an ungodly sum to see that her affairs were discrete, at the very least. 

Her other investigators were busy with their own cases, and considering the client, Tracy decided to handle it herself.  At this moment, the wife in question was meeting with an actor named Mitchell Carson.

Suddenly the conversation inside the room caught her full attention.

"You bastard!"  Elanore Latrane shouted.  "HOW DARE you talk like that to me!"

"BITCH!"  Mitchell Carson yelled back.  "I'll talk to you any way I want to.  If you think you're going to get rid of me that easy, you better think again.  If I leak what I know about you and your precious husband to the press, he can kiss the Governor's mansion goodbye.  He might even end up in prison.  You could, too."

"You wouldn't dare."  Elanore said in a very subdued tone of voice.  "Those things were said in complete confidence.  You can't use them against us."

"Oh, but I can and I will.  As I see it, you have two options.  Either we continue as we have been, or you can give me very large monetary gifts, in installments, over a very long period of time, to insure my silence.  By the way, if we do stay together, I'll need a much nicer car than what I am driving now.  Nothing too fancy.  A Ferrari would be nice.  In midnight blue.  And this watch could be replaced.  A Rolex, maybe.  Or you can give me the cash and I'll buy them myself."

"I'll see you rot in hell first!"  Elanore Latrane hissed.  There was the sound of a slap and then nothing more. 

Tracy quickly gathered her things and started walking toward the front of the motel.  In case there were any problems, she wanted to be sure that she would be nowhere near the room, to protect herself and her client.

Mitchell Carson slammed the motel door as he left.  He jumped in his car and peeled out of the parking space.  Practically in one move, he skidded to a stop and changed to drive gear.  At the same time, he floored the gas and took off like the proverbial bat out of hell.  Tracy backpedaled to avoid being run down by him.  Her foot skidded on a rain soaked oil slick and she fought hard to retain her balance.  It was a losing battle. There was a popping sound in her right foot as it twisted under her.   She felt something in her left arm give way as she tried to break her fall.  The last thing she remembered was her head hitting the asphalt of the parking lot.

**********

Nick ran to keep up with his partner.  He didn't think Mike could move that fast.  They had heard the 911 call on the police band.  At first, it seemed like a routine hit and run that the motel manager had called in.  Then they had heard Tracy's name.  Almost instantly, Mike was insane with worry.  He wanted to go to the scene, but they were too far away.  Nick finally talked him into going directly to the hospital.  Mike insisted on lights and sirens.

"Tracy Vetter?"  Mike said to the volunteer at the Emergency Room desk.

"Are you family?"  She asked.

"She's my ... ah ... fiancee."  Mike said, blushing deeply.  "Sort of ..."  He added, barely above a whisper.

"The doctor will be out to see you shortly."

Just then, Officer Pulanski came out of the treatment area.  "Detective Taylor, Sergeant Knight.  I figured you two would be here sooner or later."  He said.  Putting a hand on Mike's shoulder, he continued.  "She's going to be okay, Mike.  According to the medics who treated her at the scene, She was conscious and responsive.  At first we thought it was a hit and run, but according to Tracy, she just slipped and fell on the wet pavement.  I'll let the doctor fill you in on the rest of the stuff.  I got to get back and file the report."

A few moments later, the doctor came out.  "Is there anyone here with Tracy Vetter?"  He asked.  Mike almost smothered him. 

"She's in very good condition."  The doctor continued.  "She has a broken left ulna, that's in her arm by the way, and a sprained right ankle.  She also has a minor concussion and it took four stitches to close the gash on her head.  They're putting a cast on her arm now, and when that's done, you can go back and see her.  Although we're reasonably certain there are no problems, we're going to keep her overnight.  Just as a precaution.  Concussions are nothing to play around with."

"I know."  Mike said as 'memories' of the days right before Nick's wedding flashed through his mind.  "I've been there."

Tracy was laying on the examining bed when Mike and Nick came into the treatment room.  Her arm, encased in a hot pink fiberglass cast, was propped on a pillow and her head had a large gauze pad taped to it.  Several of the bruises were starting to turn a neon purple.  Her foot was encased in an ace bandage and was also cushioned on a pillow.

"You look like hell, Trace."  Mike said as he kissed her cheek.

"Thanks.  I love you, too."  She said, returning the kiss.

"Okay.  What really happened?"  Mike asked.

"Just like I told Pulanski, I slipped and fell."

"Slipped and fell.  Yadda Yadda.  And I've got beach front property in Nevada for sale ... cheap.  This is me.  Mike.  Don't give me that line of bull cookies.  According to the manager of the Dew Drop Inn, you were run down by a speeding car. He's even got part of the license plate number.  What were you doing in a place that rents by the hour in the first place?"

"All right.  I was there, but I was on a case.  The car came close, but it didn't hit me.  I fell getting out of the way.  That's all I can say.  Client confidentiality.  Pulanski believed me, why can't you?"

"I'm sorry."  He held her close, being careful not to disturb any of her injuries.  "I do believe you.  It's just that ... Well ... Snooping around in cheap motels isn't your kind of case.  In fact, I wish you'd get into some other line of work.  I worry about you.  If anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

"What kind of work?  Like being a police officer?  Been there.  Done that.  Too dangerous.  You think I don't worry about you being hurt or killed?"

"I know." 

"There is something you can do for me though.  Go out to the motel and get my car.  The keys are in my purse.  That is, unless you want me taking a cab home tomorrow."

"You're not taking any cabs.  In fact, I'll drive you home.  And I'm going to stay with you until you're well.  No back talk.  That's not negotiable."

**********

"How do you know?"  Mike said softly as he and Nick drove to the Dew Drop Inn.

"Know what?"   Nick asked.

"Whether it's real or not."  Mike sighed.  "Tracy and me, I mean.  How do you know when it's the real thing.  How did you know with Toni?  I mean ... Well, you know what I mean."

"I think I do.  You just know.  Tell me, when you two aren't together, do you feel like there's a large chunk of you that's missing?"

"Uh huh."

"When she touches you, does your stomach tie in knots and goose bumps run up and down your spine?"

"You bet."

"When she says your name, is it like there's a symphony orchestra playing Rhapsody In Blue in your head?"

Mike nodded.

"When you say her name, do violins play and birds sing?"

"Is that what it's like for you and Toni?"

"One last question.  If she asked you, would you do a swan dive off the Malibu Cliffs into a glass of ice water?"

"Of course."

"Then it's real, and you've got it bad."

"So what do I do about it?"

"If I have to answer that, you flunked Basic Biology 101."

"I know …  What to do.  I just don't know ... what to do.  I mean ... you know ... It's like ... What comes next?"

"Why don't you ask her to marry you?"

"I've been a confirmed bachelor for a long time now and ... Well, you know ... What if she doesn't feel the same way about me?  What if she says no?  Then what will I do?"

"You'll never know until you ask her."

"I can't.  I've tried but I'm scared witless.  What if I'm killed?  I mean I'm a cop and I'm in the Marine Reserve.  With all the trouble in the world today, I could be called up anytime. I don't want to make her a widow before she's a bride."

"And if you don't ask her, what will that make her?"

Mike was silent for a long moment.  "I see your point.  But what do I say without tripping all over my tongue?"

"Look at me, Mike."  Nick concentrated on his partner's heartbeat.  "There's nothing to be scared about.  Just tell her what's in your heart."

"In my heart ... "  Mike replied in a soft voice.

**********

"So, Trace.  You need anything?"  Toni asked as she entered the room.  Tracy had been moved from the emergency room to a semi private room.  "Nick called and told me what happened and I thought I'd stop by on my way home."

"A million dollars wouldn't hurt.  Nah, I really don't need anything.  I'll only be here for the night, and Mike can bring me anything I need until then."

"You know, that man's really in love with you. The chemistry between you two is awesome.   I think Nick and I saw it the first time he looked at you.  I think you saw it too."

"Yes, I saw it.  I feel the same way.  You know he's almost asked me to marry him several times, but every time he gets to the good part, the part about love and commitment, he freezes up and then says something stupid like 'Would you like a pizza?'.  Sometimes I just want to shake him until he rattles."

"This is the 1990's, Trace, not the 1890's.  There's nothing that says you can't ask him."

"Yes there is.  There's that little thing called macho male ego.  And Mike is full of it.  Among other things."

"I know what you mean.  So is Nick.  Sometimes I think men are ninety percent testosterone and ten percent little boy.  But then again, if they were any different, would we love them as much?"

Tracy yawned.  "I guess you're right.  I hate to be a party pooper, but the doctors gave me a shot for the pain and it's making me sleepy.  If it's all right with you, let's continue this conversation some other time."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?  I can catch you at home anytime."  Toni reached over and gently kissed Tracy on one of the uninjured places on her cheek.

**********

Mike came into the darkened room. He had managed to convince the nurse on duty to let him into the room after visiting hours.  It was times like this that he wished he had Nick's 'persuasive' powers.  " I've got your car.  I'm going to take it with me and bring it back tomorrow so I can take you home." 

"Thanks."  Tracy said groggily.

"Tracy."  Mike said, pulling the chair up to the side of the bed.  He took her free hand in his.  "There's something that I've gotta say to you.  Don't say anything till I'm finished or I might lose my nerve."  He sighed heavily.  "I always fancied myself a ladies man.  You know, love 'em and leave 'em.  I never thought I'd ever meet someone like you.  Someone who could affect me the way you do.  You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I want you to know that.

I know you care about me, and I hope and pray that it is as much as I love you. There.  I've said it.  I do love you, Tracy Vetter.  More than life itself.  When I heard you were hurt today, I realized just how much.   Just the thought of spending the rest of my life without you is unimaginable."

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a jeweler's box and opened it.  Inside was a single marquis diamond in a filigree gold band.  Beside it was a similar band.  "I bought these the day after I saw you in the nursing home.  I knew then and there that you were the one for me.  I've just been waiting for the right time to give it to you."  He took a very deep breath, held it a few seconds, and then let it out slowly.  "Tracy Vetter.  Will you marry me?"

Tracy's only reply was the soft rhythmic purring sound of her breathing.   Her eyes were closed and her head was laying against her shoulder.

Mike kissed her gently on the forehead.   "Sleep well, my love."  He whispered.

**********

Detroit  1929

Nicholas Winchell sat at his desk.  He had came there three years ago after fleeing LaCroix one more time.  This time, to attempt to elude his master, he had taken a job as a reporter with the Detroit Blade, a small struggling daily newspaper.  He tried as much as possible to keep his name and picture out of the headlines, just in case LaCroix might get his hands on a copy.  Tonight was unusually quiet, so Nick occupied his time working on his thesis for the University of Detroit.  He was pursuing his Masters degree in Archeology.  With a bit of luck, he would graduate this spring.  While he had posed as an archeologist in several of his identities, he did not have an actual degree in the subject.  He was, however, deeply interested in the field.

George Taylor, his editor came by and dropped a paper on his desk.  "Here's one for you, Nick.  Judge Roy Bintner.  Died couple of hours ago."

Nick picked it up and read it.   "Obituaries?"  He asked.  "Isn't that Paul Black's territory?"

"Yeah, but Paul isn't feeling too well.  Got another cold."  George coughed and put his fist, thumb extended, to his mouth and tilted it upward.  "90 proof.  If you know what I mean.  Cover for him, will ya?" 

**********

Los Angeles

"Look, Toni."  Nick said as he handed Toni the bag of art supplies.  "Next time I'm going to drill a hole through your ears and attach a chain.  On that chain I'm going to put your pencil leads, your erasers, your sketchpad and everything else you keep forgetting. You know this is the fourth supply run I've had to make in as many days.  People are starting to talk."

"Let them.  We're married, after all.  I do it deliberately.  Between my hectic schedule and yours, this is the only way I get to see you at all."

In the corner of the room, Jim Reardon clapped his hands.  A beeper on the dartboard sounded.  Jim threw the exacto knife at the sound.  It landed unerringly right between the eyebrows.  On the caricature's head, someone had written 'nothing of any value in here'.  A similar message was scribbled across the fly.

"Jim.  That was fantastic.  Direct hit.  How did you do it?"  Nick said.

"Easy.  You know those beeping keychains?  Toni stuck one of them to the dartboard, and the rest is history.  According to her, I'm ready for tournament play."

"You are coming home with us tonight, aren't you?"

Jim nodded.  "Absolutely.  George can't talk about anything else.

"Dogs can't talk."  Nick said.

"George can.   The only problem is, I'm the only one who can understand him."

"Funny, that's what the twins say about Charlie, our cat."  Toni commented.

"By the way, where is George?"  Nick asked.

"Joey and Nattie have appointed themselves as doggie chaperones.  Right now, they're on the back lot with one of the extras as their babysitter, seeing to it that he's getting enough exercise.  That usually involves one dog playing lickle and tickle with one set of twins."  Toni explained.  "I think those two inherited their father's charms.  When they're not shooting, the extras almost get into fist fights to see who gets to watch them."

They were interrupted by a loud noise that sounded very much like an explosion.

"Something's wrong."  Toni said, heading for the door.  "There's not supposed to be any detonation scenes today." 

Nick was right behind her.  Jim grabbed tightly onto his arm. "You're not leaving me behind."  He said.  "It's scary in here without a nightlight."

The studio fire department arrived as they reached the soundstage.  Inside, black smoke and flames billowed out of Mitchell Carson's trailer.

"Mr. Parker."  Eileen Sanford said nearly hysterically as Nick, Jim, and Toni came in.  "It's awful.  Carson threw another tantrum and went into his trailer.  A few minutes later ... "  She pointed toward the flaming trailer.

The crew watched in numb silence as the firemen put out the flames.  A short time later, the Fire Captain came to Nick.  "You're a cop. Right?"

"That's right.  Homicide."

"In that case, I think you better take a look at this."

**********

Mike balanced Tracy against his side as she hobbled from the dining room table to the couch.  The hospital had provided her with crutches, but with her broken arm, they were less than useless.  Mike stayed with her constantly when he was not on duty, either carrying her or being a living crutch, as he was now.  He cooked, cleaned and even helped her bathe.

"You know, Mike."  Tracy said as he adjusted a blanket around her.  "Someday, you're going to make someone a wonderful wife.  That was the best beef stroganoff I've ever tasted."

"Speaking of wives."  Mike said.  He sat down beside her and carefully put his arm around her shoulder.  "There's something I've been wanting to say for some time now.  I tried to tell you this in the hospital, but you were too sleepy from the medication to hear me."  He took a deep breath. 

"Look, if it's about my quitting the private investigation business, save your breath.  It's all I know, and I'm good at it."

"That's not it at all.  If you want to continue, It's okay with me.  I know you wouldn't be happy doing something you didn't like.  This is different.  Tracy, I ... "  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the jeweler's box.   "Tracy, I ..."

Just then, the phone rang.

Mike put his hand on Tracy's as she reached for the receiver.  "Let the answering machine get it.  What I've got to say is important, and if I don't finish what I started, I'll lose my nerve."

"You've reached the Vetter residence."  The answering machine kicked in.  "Tracy can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and she'll get back to you."

"Mike.  It's Nick.  I know you're there.  Pick up.  It's urgent.  There's been a possible homicide at Universal and I need you here ASAP."

Muttering unprintables that questioned Nick's parentage, heritage, sexual preferences and bathroom habits under his breath, Mike put the box back in his pocket and picked up the phone.

***********

Detroit

Nick parked his car across the street from the Palmer House Inn.  It was registered as a hotel, but it was an open secret that it was a thinly disguised house of pleasures.  A throng had gathered at the entrance and the police guarding the door had a difficult time holding them back.  Nick showed his press card to the officer in charge and then stuck it in the brim of his hat, as was the custom.

"Winchell ... Any relation to Walter?"  Sergeant Patrick McMurphy asked, extending his hand toward Nick. They were fairly friendly and had come to a mutually beneficial back scratching agreement.  Nick had gotten several 'anonymous informant' tips from the portly Irish cop and McMurphy was privy to anything that Nick might discover.  He asked the same question every time the two met.  Nick would have to have a talk with Aristotle about more careful research on future identities.

"Hi, Paddy."  Nick said as he shook the beefy freckled hand.  "What's the scoop?"

"Nothing criminal.  Hizzonor, there."  Paddy pointed to the sheet covered stretcher that the coroner was wheeling through the lobby. "Took a heart attack while gettin' it on with one of the ladies that have permanent residence here.  You know, after the way that he and his Reform Party have been crusadin' about cleanin' up this district, he's the last person I'd suspect to be visitin' here.  Kinda destroys your faith in humanity, now, don't it?"

**********

Los Angeles

By the time Mike reached the studio, the area around the trailer had been cordoned off and police investigation teams were busy doing their thing.  Captain Davies was there, as well as studio security.

Quincy McCoy came out of the trailer behind the technicians.  "It most definitely was not an accident."  He said to Nick, Davies and Mike.  "We found the body in several pieces, literally, in the bathroom.  I can't be sure until after the autopsy and the forensics exam, but it appears that he was blown up."

"Blown up?  You mean BOOM?"  Mike said.

"More or less.  Did you ever throw a cherry bomb into a toilet and watch the water spout?"

 Mike nodded sheepishly.

"It looks like that's what happened here.  According to the forensics prelim, there is something that looks suspiciously like Semtex on the toilet seat.  When he sat down, it went off."

"You mean it blew his little pecker off?"  Edgar Rathman said.  A flash popped as the technicians wheeled the body bag out of the trailer.  "This is going to make front page if anything can.  I can just see it now.   'Exploding Toilet Blows Movie Star To Kingdom Come'.  Care to make a comment?"  He held a mini tape recorder in front of Captain Davies's face.

"Ratface, I'm not going to ask how you got in here."  Captain Davies said, taking the recorder and removing the tape.  "I'm only going to tell you to get out.  And I'm only going to tell you once.  Then I'm going to arrest you for obstruction of justice or maybe impersonating a human being.  I'm impounding the tape as evidence.  You can have it back after the case is closed.  Same goes for the film."  He took Rathman's camera and removed the film canister.

"Sheesh!"  The ferret faced reporter for the National Peeper said as he put the camera and recorder back in his bag.  "I can see where Nicky Baby gets his attitude from.  Ain't you guys never heard of freedom of the press?"

Nick turned to him and let out a low growl.  He curled his upper lip, showing just the barest tip of his fangs.

"It's getting so a guy can't even earn a decent living without being hassled nowadays."  Ratface said as he walked toward the sound stage door. "I wonder if we have a case for police harassment here."

"Well, I guess we had better start interviewing people to see who had motive and opportunity to blow our little buddy's ass off."  Mike said.  "Who are the chief suspects?"

"I overheard several people talking as they were putting out the fire."  Captain Davies said.  "Everybody … with the possible exception of Nattie, Joey and George … is suspect.  The twins don't have the knowledge to construct a bomb, and George doesn't have the manual dexterity.  I'm afraid that you're on that list too, Knight.  Somebody said that you'd threatened Carson several days ago.  Until we get this straightened out, I'm going to ask you to voluntarily remove yourself from the case."

Nick nodded assent.  "Do you want my shield and weapon?"

Davies shook his head no.  "I'll reassign you to desk duty until you're cleared."

"You're crazy, Cap."  Mike said angrily.  "You've known Nick long enough to know he couldn't possibly kill anyone unless it was absolutely necessary for self defense."

< If only you knew the truth. >  "It's okay, Mike."  Nick said.  "The Captain has to play by the rules.  Anyway, this will give me a chance to catch up on that mountain of paperwork clogging up my inbox."

**********

Detroit

Nick sat at the typewriter in his room at the boarding house.  In frustration, he yanked out the blank paper and threw it into the wastebasket, which was overflowing with wadded up blank papers.  Something wasn't right.  All the facts were there.   Everything fit.  Still, something was missing.  He put another sheet of typing paper into the machine.

He did not hear the tiny rush of air.  He did not see the tall blond haired man standing behind him.

"Good evening, Nicholas."  Lucien LaCroix whispered softly, his mouth almost pressed against Nick's ear.  "Are you so engrossed in your mundane mortal pursuits that you don't even have time to greet your loving father?"

Nick turned to answer, but his reply was cut short as he was yanked from his chair and slammed full face against the wall.

"You left without MY permission."  LaCroix hissed at him.  His eyes were yellowed and his fangs had elongated.  He put his right arm against Nick's neck, pinning him facing the wall.  "You have been TOLD about that before.   I WILL NOT tolerate such behavior."  He drove his left fist into Nick's kidney for emphasis.

Grimacing in pain, Nick managed to bring his arms even with his chest.  He pressed his palms against the wall and pushed as hard as he could.  Caught off balance, LaCroix went sprawling to the floor.  Using his momentary advantage, Nick picked up a chair and smashed it against his master's head as LaCroix attempted to standup. 

A steady stream of blood flowed from the gash on LaCroix's head.  LaCroix daubed at it and spat out something in Latin.  It was definitely an epithet.  LaCroix rushed to Nick and threw him across the desk, scattering papers, pencils, pens and ink. The typewriter also went clattering to the floor.  Nick landed on the floor as well, on top of the typewriter.  He felt at least two ribs break and felt the carriage return handle impale itself in his side.

Nick could feel the vampire come to the fore in him.  There was a jerking pain in his head as he was pulled to his feet by the neck and once more slammed against the wall.  He gasped for breath as one of the broken ribs punctured his right lung.  Almost instinctively, he brought his knee up hard into LaCroix's crotch.  With a cry, the elder vampire released his hold on his wayward child.  Nick picked up a broken chair leg and snapped it clean.

"Do you really think you can do any damage with that tiny piece of kindling?"  LaCroix taunted.

With a primal scream, Nick charged.  LaCroix dodged easily and Nick's head broke the plaster of the wall.  As LaCroix pulled him from the breach, Nick spun and caught LaCroix across his upraised left forearm with the chair leg.  There was a crunching sound as the bones snapped in two.

Pain washed over Nick and he coughed.  Bloody froth trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Are you ready to start acting like an obedient son and come with me?"  LaCroix asked, holding his now useless arm against his side.

Nick did not answer.  He just stood leaning against the wall, panting.   LaCroix came closer.  "I said ... "  He was stopped short as Nick's right fist connected with his jaw.  Blood trickled from the split lip.

In an instant, Nick grabbed LaCroix by his injured arm and pinned him to the wall.  He pressed his left arm against LaCroix's adams apple and drove the makeshift stake into his chest.  It broke skin.  It tore the pulmonary dura, but stopped mere centimeters short of the heart itself. 

"Now it is my turn."  He hissed. "Get out of my life and stay out!  Do you understand!" He pushed the stake until it touched the heart itself.  "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

LaCroix nodded.

Nick roughly pulled the leg from LaCroix's chest.  Blood spurted from the wound.  Nick picked a table scarf from the floor and threw it at the wounded vampire.  "Here."

"You may have won this battle."  LaCroix said.  "But I shall emerge the victor.  I always do."  He clutched the cloth to his bleeding chest and with a rush of air, left.  

**********

Los Angeles

Nick pushed the folder aside and picked up another one from the stack.  Even though he had been working fairly constantly since he arrived for work, the pile did not seem to be going down.  He opened the new one.  Strange, he did not remember this case.  He called it up on the computer and, sure enough, his name was listed as one of the investigating officers.  He shut his eyes and concentrated.  With his vampire total recall, he should be able to remember the particulars, but he couldn't.  He searched further into the computer file and at last found what he was looking for.

The case belonged to Lawson and Myers.  They had asked him for input and the three of them had spent several hours brainstorming possible scenarios.  Other than that, he had no connection.  He picked up the folder and walked to Lawson's desk.  He dropped it forcefully in front of the petite blonde detective.  She looked up at him sheepishly.  "I'm sorry about that."  She said.  "Since you're on desk duty for the duration, I figured you wouldn't notice a few extra ones in your load.  You don't mind, do you?"

He could have said something, but Marilyn Lawson looked up at him with the clone of his own little lost waif look, complete with the sapphire blue eyes and the pout.  He just shook his head and walked away.  He had been had ... by his own favorite maneuver.

When he returned to his desk, Rafael Dominguez was waiting for him.  He and his partner, Peter Heller, had been assigned to the Mitchell Carson case. Rafael and Peter were about as opposite as two people could get, but on a case, they functioned as one.  Nick was glad they had gotten it.  If anyone could get to the bottom, it was Peter and Rafe.  Mike, over Nick's protests, opted to withdraw too.  At this time, he was working in Community Relations.  Nick had said a silent prayer for the other officers in that department.

"I know you're innocent, Nick."  Rafe began, "But I got to question you, anyhow.  You know that regardless of what Peter and I find, IA is gonna conduct their own investigation into the matter."

Nick nodded.

"So, tell me what you know.  Be totally honest.  You know as well as I do that IA is going to triple check everything, and if there's even the slightest discrepancy, innocent or not, they're gonna fry you.  Since an officer is involved, no matter how slight, we gotta be extra careful."

"I wish I could help you, Rafe, but I have no ideas on this one at all.  I did make some remarks concerning Mitchell Carson. As near as I can remember, it was something about boiling him in oil.  It was after he had tried to proposition my wife and treated other women on the set in a very demeaning manner.  Several times it was in front of witnesses, myself included.  I cannot in all honesty say I'm sorry he's dead, but I didn't do it."

"I believe you."  Rafe said after Nick had completed his statement.  "Now let's hope IA does."

"I know you're not supposed to be working on the case."  Peter added.  "But there's nothing that says we can't keep you informed of what we find … as a concerned citizen of course.  Also, we would appreciate all the help we can get from anywhere we can get it."

**********

Nick entered the After Sunset.  LaCroix was sitting at his usual table in the corner of the restaurant.  He was talking to a young vampire.  When LaCroix saw his son approach, he waved the youngster away.  "I assume you are here to question me concerning the death of Mitchell Carson."  The elder vampire said as he and Nick walked toward Clarissa La Pont's office.

"Unofficially."  Nick said as he closed the door.  "It's not my case.  So far, there's no record of any connection between you and Carson and I'd like to keep it that way."

LaCroix laughed loudly.  "This is precious!"  He said, wiping his eyes.  "You actually think  ... I ... had anything to do with that ... fiasco!  Nicholas!  Really!"

"After what you said in my car that night ... "

"I didn't kill him."  He held out his wrist.  "If you don't believe me, find out for yourself."

"I believe you, but I had to make sure."

"Ah, yes.  Your mortal sense of duty."   LaCroix opened the office door and waved Nick through.  "Since this is not an official call, would you care for a drink?"

"I'd like that."   

**********

Roland Henley looked up as Nick came into the pool area.  With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the three starlets at his side.  "I thought you'd be coming around."  He said.  "I take it you're here about Mitchell Carson."

"Not exactly.  It's not my case.  I just wanted to talk to you before the investigating team does.  What do you know about his death?"

"Not much.  As spectacular as it was, you should know that's not my style.  Besides, I have an airtight alibi.  Ask Clarissa.  I was at her restaurant all night.  Private party, you might say."

Nick nodded. "Speaking of airtight, I understand you had Carson under a contract that would have made you quite a lot of money."

"Not really.  The contract that I negotiated was nothing more than the standard one.  His lawyers, however, interpreted everything in the most literal sense and diggled and haggled it to death ... Excuse the pun.  They changed a word here and added a phrase there until it bore no resemblance to the original contract at all.  For instance, his original contract included a standard script approval clause.  According to accepted definitions, it means that he can accept or turn down any script he chooses. It's an all or nothing deal.  According to the way his lawyers defined it, he has the right to keep or reject any part of the script he does not like.   Same goes for the sets and costumes, and just about everything else. 

I've talked to those bloodthirsty shysters until I'm hoarse, but it doesn't seem to do any good.  When it comes to turning the screws, they make me look like a saint.  While I am technically still his agent, he and his lawyers are actually running the show. I've tried to cut him loose, but he's threatened to sue.  He gets what he wants, and I get the heat.  It's a no-win situation.  Personally, I'm not overly broken up at his demise."

**********

"I still don't know how Peter and Rafe can think you two had anything to do with Mitchell Carson's death."  Robyn Parker said as she chopped the lettuce for the salad.

Toni and Jim had finally agreed on a time for him to come for dinner.  Tonight was the night.  They had also invited Robyn and LaCroix to join them.   

"Now, Lucien, here ... "  She playfully slapped him across the chest.  "I could see him doing the dirty deed. "

"If I would have done the ... dirty deed ... I wouldn't have done it that way."  Lucien LaCroix said, gently patting her behind. " I would have probably fed him to a carouche."

"But I thought carouches only preyed on rats and other vermin."

"My point exactly."

"I don't know anything about explosives."  Toni said  "The last explosion I had anything to do with was in was in Sister Lucinda's Science Class.  It was a stinkbomb.  Took out several windows and forced the evacuation of the entire school."

"I remember that incident.  You and Roxy Lefler spent the rest of your Sophomore year in the Detention Hall."  Robyn added.

"I wouldn't know Semtex if I stepped on it."  Toni said as she set the table.

"If you stepped on it, you'd know."  Nick said.  "A piece the size of a marble would blow you and everything in a ten foot radius to kingdom come.  That's about the amount that Forensics thinks was used on the seat."

"And how do you know so much?"  Robyn asked.

"I'm a cop.  It's part of my job."  He put the silverware in place.  "According to Rafe, everyone at the studio is suspect.   Toni and I are friends with Larry, as is everyone else on the set.  His department handles explosives every day.  Although it's a long shot, it's possible we, or someone else could have gotten the Semtex from him."

"In other words, they think it might be a conspiracy?" 

"They aren't ruling it out.  Right now, it's the only thing that looks anything like it's promising."

Just then, the doorbell rang. 

"Toni."  Jenkins, the voice of the smart house announced.  "Your guest and his dog have arrived.  Do you wish for me to admit him?"

"No, thank you, Jenkins.  I'll do it myself.  I think you might only confuse him."

"Very well, Toni.  Shall I confine Charlie to the den while the dog is present?  Just as a precaution."

"That would be a very good idea."

Nattie and Joey bounded through the hallway.  "George is here!  George is here!"  They chanted.  They couldn't wait to play with George.  It was all they had talked about since they got up that morning.

**********

Mike pulled the car off the road and onto the grass.  This section of Mulholland Drive was popularly known as Lover's Lane.  From the hillside, you had a panoramic view of Los Angeles.  On any clear night, like tonight, the cars were lined up door to door along the grassy strip between the cliff and the road.  Of course, very few of the occupants were taking in the view.  Mike had no intention of watching the city lights either. 

He turned the engine off and stretched out his arms.  By some strange coincidence, when he put them down, his right arm was around Tracy's shoulder.  She too yawned and stretched.  Her arms found Mike's neck and wound around it.

"Sir."  She asked, nibbling on his ear.  "May I inquire what your intentions are?"

"Strictly dishonorable, my lady."  He replied, gently biting her lower lip.  "I thought you could read minds.  You mean to tell me you didn't know that?"

"If that's the case, what are we waiting for?"  Her lips found his in a passionate kiss.

Finally Mike broke the embrace.  "Before we go any farther, there's something I want to say.  I've tried on several occasions to tell you, but each time we are interrupted.  First, you fell asleep on me.  Second time, it was the telephone.  Here, there are no phones and you're wide awake."  There was a long pause.  "Here goes nothing."  He whispered to himself. 

"Tracy."  He said, taking her hand in his.  "I have ... I have ... "  He took a deep breath.  "This isn't as easy as I thought it would be.  We've been going together for almost four years now.  In that time our relationship has gone from acquaintances to friends to more than friends.  A lot more than friends.  I think it's time to take the next step."  He reached into his pocket and took out the jeweler's box.  "Tracy Vetter ... will  ... "

He was interrupted by a tapping on the window.  He looked in the direction of the noise.  A uniformed patrolman was standing at the car door holding a flashlight on them.  He looked to be right out of the academy. 

"Good evening, sir."  He said when Mike rolled down the window.  "I'm sorry to disturb you, but this is a no parking area. You'll have to move your vehicle.  If you are still here after ten minutes, I'll have no recourse but to issue you a citation."  He touched his fingers to the bill of his cap and moved to the next car.

**********

Detroit

George Taylor threw the paper on Nick's desk.  "What the hell is this?"  He shouted.

"It's Judge Bintner's obit."

"I know that.  I can read.  I'd expect this from Black, but not from you.  Here we have one of the leaders of the crusade against the Mob, who is found dead in a house of prostitution, and all you give me is three paragraphs about his family and lodge memberships!  Nick, this is front page stuff.  The Free Press is going to scoop us three ways from Sunday.  Do it over, and do it right!"

"I know it's not much, but this story isn't what it appears to be.  Something smells and I don't want to print anything until I have all the facts."

"Like what?"

"Judge Bintner supposedly died of a heart attack, but according to his family doctor, he just had a complete physical two weeks ago and he was in perfect health.  Second, he was a very happy and contented married man.  He had no reason to go catting around.  Third ... just think for a moment ... If you were Bintner, would you risk everything you'd worked so hard for this close to Election Day?"

"You have a point there.  I'll sit on this story for twenty four hours.  No more.  If you can't come up with something by then, I'll wipe the front page with it."

"Thanks, Chief."

"You know, if you're right, this will be the story of the year.  Hell, it could earn the Pulitzer Prize ... And don't call me Chief." 

**********

Los Angeles

Peter Heller and Rafe Dominguez came to Nick's desk as he was signing the last of the reports.  It was amazing the amount of paperwork one could go through with a week of desk duty.  Particularly when anything that had either Lawson's or Myers's name on it somehow wound up on Lawson's desk.  Two could play that game.

"Well, it looks like you're off the hook.  We have found Mitchell Carson's killer.  Heller said as he sat opposite Nick.  "You know the studio had a hefty life insurance policy on Carson."

"Of course.  It's standard.  They have one on all their key people.  There's even one on Toni."

"Did you also know there's a second one on Carson.  Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.  Double Indemnity.  The beneficiary on that one is Archie Pesnowski."  Dominguez added.

"Archie Pesnowski, the key grip?"

"When we found out about the policy, we did a little more digging into his past."  Rafe continued.  "It seems our friend Archie loves the ponies.  Only the ponies don't love him.  He's up to his eyeballs in debt to quite a few bookies and loan sharks.  Mitchell Carson's death has made him a very rich man.  Five hundred thousand dollars will more than pay off his gambling debts ... and feed his habit for a very long time to come."

"I'll agree that's a pretty powerful motive, but what about opportunity."

"What tipped us off was the fingerprint report on Carson's trailer."  Peter added.  "Of course Carson's prints were all over the place, but so were Pesnowski's.  Especially in the bathroom, and specifically on the toilet seat.  Pesnowski owns a ten acre mini farm in the Sonoma Valley and according to the owner of the local feed and grain store, he's bought explosives, Semtex included, on several occasions."

"What nailed the case was that a witness heard them arguing and saw Archie leaving Carson's trailer only minutes before the explosion.  A fact he conveniently forgot to mention to us when we questioned him the first time."

**********

Archie Pesnowski sat in the interrogation room with Detectives Dominguez and Heller.  Beads of sweat were glistening against his forehead.  Nick and Captain Davies watched through the two way mirror as Rafe and Peter questioned him.  Nick homed in on the man's breathing and heart rate.  Both were rapid and somewhat erratic.

"Look, guys.  I know I should have told you about being in Carson's trailer right before it went up, but ... I don't know why I didn't.  I guess I was just scared. 

I was there because Carson called me in to complain about the lighting ... again.  He had read somewhere that in the silent movie days, actors used different colored lights to bring out their best features.  Somehow he got it in his head that a tan light would make him look healthier, and so he wanted me to keep a beige spotlight on him at all times.  I told him, not too politely, where he could stick that suggestion."

"How about the bathroom?"  Peter Heller asked.  "Your fingerprints were in there, too."

"Yeah."  Archie's heart rate speeded up.  "I had to take a leak, so I lifted the seat.  You know, it's a good thing that's all I had to do.  It could have been me.  I washed my hands and left.  That's all I know.  I swear."

"I believe he's telling the truth."  Nick said to Davies.  "But I have a gut feeling that he knows more than what he's telling.  If I could speak with him for a few minutes, maybe I could get more."

"It's against all the rules to let one suspect talk with another, but, technically, you're not a suspect any more, so ..."

Davies went into the interrogation room and took Dominguez and Heller to a corner.  He whispered something to them and the two detectives left.  Then he motioned for Nick to come into the room.  As soon as Nick entered, Davies left.  Nick had no doubts that the three of them were watching on the other side of the mirror.

He sat down opposite Pesnowski with his back to the mirror.  He looked deeply into Archie's eyes and focused on his heart rate.  "Archie."  He said softly.  "You know me, right."

Archie nodded.

"I believe what you told the other officers was the truth."

"I did.  I told the truth."

"Is that the whole truth?"  Nick reached into the key grip's mind with his own.  "Why don't you tell me everything?"

"I ... I didn't blow him up.  But that doesn't mean I wasn't going to kill him.  You know about me and the bookies.  They said they were going to go after my family if I didn't pay them back ... with interest.   I'm off the gambling, I swear.  I've been off for six months now.  Been going to Gamblers Anonymous, too.  I don't know what possessed me to take out that policy on Carson.  I was going to fray the flying rig so that when they hoisted him over the canyon scene, it would snap.  I thought I could make it look like an accident.  I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I couldn't actually go through with it. I replaced the rope the day Carson died.  The frayed rope is in my locker.  I'll give you the key ... You gotta understand.  I was desperate.  My family ... "  He started to sob softly.

Archie was telling the truth.  His heart beat and breathing were steady and strong.  Of course, under Nick's 'encouragement', he could do little else but tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

**********

 Rafe held a coil of rope toward Nick.  "I don't know how you manage to get the suspects to spill their guts to you, but Pesnowski was telling the truth.  This piece of rope we found in his locker is frayed.  It's proof that Archie was going to try to kill Carson."

"I don't know how I do it either."  Nick lied.  "I guess I must have one of those personalities that people want to confide in.  Now what happens to Archie?"

"I've talked to the DA.  They're only going to charge him with intent to do grievous bodily harm.  He's willing to accept a plea of guilty but temporarily insane.  With a sympathetic judge and a good lawyer, he could get six months.  He'll most likely get probation if he continues to go to GA. 

As far as his involvement with the bookies go, Pesnowski's agreed to work with Vice to get them off the streets.  That'll go in his favor, too.

Of course, that means we're back to square one."

**********

Detroit

"You're LaVerne Delorette, the woman who was with Judge Bintner when he died."  Nick said as he approached one of the 'ladies' sitting in the lobby of the Palmer House.

"Look, I told my story to the other cops."  LaVerne drawled in a mixed Brooklyn-Southern accent.

"I'm not a cop."  Nick said, showing her his press pass.

"You're a snoop.  That's just as bad. Why can't you leave things be?  The last thing this place needs is heat, either from the police or the press."

"I don't want to cause any problems."  Nick focused on her heartbeat.  "I only want to know the truth."

"The truth.  I don't know anything.  I didn't even know who he was until the cops told me.  He was already dead when I came into the room.  Then this guy, Malone I think his name was, comes in and tells me if I know what's good for me, I should tell the cops that I was ... you know ... doing him.  Then he says I should say that the john had a heart attack.  I may be a dumb blonde, but I ain't suicidal, so that's what I told the cops."

"Did Malone kill the Judge?"

"How should I know?  I don't want to end up at the bottom of the Detroit River.  With characters like Malone, you don't ask questions like that and live a long healthy life, if you get my drift."

Nick kept her heartbeat.  "I was never here and we never had this conversation"

"Never here."

"Sleep."

LaVerne closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the corner of the chair.

**********

Los Angeles

The crowd around the entrance to the precinct was five deep in places.  A reporter stuck a microphone in Nick's face as he attempted to enter.  "Is it true that the authorities have made a major breakthrough in the Carson murder case?"  He asked.

Nick gave the standard 'No comment' answer.

 "Can you give us an update on the investigation?"  Someone else asked.

Another 'No comment'.

"Is it true that the wife of one of our local politicians is involved?"  Edgar Rathman asked.

"NO COMMENT!"

He was momentarily blinded as several flashes went off almost in his face.  A Camcorder light almost completed the job.  He was rescued as three burly, uniformed officers formed a living barricade between him and the throng of reporters.

"It's been that way all day.  Every time someone who's even marginally famous gets done in, the media goes into a feeding frenzy."  Captain Davies said as he headed to his office.  "Next thing you know, they'll be hinting that the Pope did it."

"Actually, Rathman's not too far off base."  Rafe Dominguez said.  "There is evidence indicating our boy Mitchell was bedding the wife of one of the County Commissioners.  We did some quiet digging and found out that said Commissioner is a client of Tracy Vetter's.  So far, we've managed to keep it on the QT, but who knows how long something like that will stay a secret.  If the media gets any names, the whole thing is going to be up the well known you-know-where without a well known you-know-what.  Do you and Mike think you could do some discrete nosing around and see what you can find.  It wouldn't look quite so obvious if her former partner and her boyfriend paid her a call." 

"I think we had better have a talk with Tracy."  Nick said.  "And I think we had better go out through the basement freight dock."

**********

"C'mon, guys.  You know I can't answer that question."  Tracy Vetter said.  "You both know that Client Confidentiality is almost as sacred as the seal of the confessional."

"I know."  Nick said.  Memories of the time Schanke had 'confessed' to him as he was on a stakeout at a church flashed through his head.  "But there is reason to suspect that your client or his wife may be involved in the Mitchell Carson murder.  If the press gets a hold of that, they'll have a field day with it."

Tracy wrote a name and address on a slip of paper and handed it to Mike.

"I promise we'll be as discrete as we can, and if there's nothing inappropriate, that will be the end of that."  Mike promised.

**********

Elanore Latrane showed Nick and Mike into her living room.  Florian and another man were sitting there. 

"This is John Matherson, my lawyer."  Florian Latrane said.

Nick held out his hand.  Matherson merely nodded stiffly.

"I resent that my clients have been implicated in any way with the murder of Mitchell Carson."  John Matherson said.  "Both Mr. and Mrs. Latrane have solid alibis for the time of death.  I'm assuming you have the proper warrants and subpoenas available."

"This is just an informal meeting, Mr. Matherson."  Nick said.  "Strictly off the record.  No one has been charged with anything.  So far, there's nothing official linking your clients with anything, and we'd like to keep it that way.  We're going to try our best to keep Commissioner and Mrs. Latrane out of the spotlight if at all possible." 

"Still, I want Mr. Matherson here, just in case."  Florian Latrane said.

"Very well.  Mrs. Latrane, is it true that you had an affair with Mitchell Carson?"  Nick asked.

"My client does not have to answer that."

"Mr. Matherson."  Mike said angrily.  "My partner told you that we are trying to keep this as low key as possible.  If your ... clients won't answer our questions now, then we will be forced to get a warrant and make this a formal questioning, possibly at police headquarters.  If that happens, there is no way we can keep that information out of the hands of the media.  If that is what everybody wants, we will be more than happy to oblige."

"Detective Taylor, are you attempting badger my client?  If you are, I'll have your badge."

"Not at all.  I'm only stating the facts.  Just the facts."  Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID case.  " ... And if you want my badge, here it is."

"Detective I'm ... "

Florian Latrane put his hand on Matherson's shoulder.  "Look, John, the man is trying to keep this on an informal level.  I don't think it would be a wise idea to piss him off.  I can hardly afford the notoriety." 

"And if he tricks you or your wife into saying something that could involve you, what then?"

"It's not our intention to trick anyone."  Nick said.  "We just want to get to the truth."

"All right.  I'll allow her to answer the question, but I warn you ... "  Matherson shook his finger at Nick.  Nick fought the impulse to bite it.  "Any funny business and I'll slap a harassment suit against you so fast ... " 

"Mrs. Latrane?"  Nick prompted.  "Would you please answer the question."

" ... Yes.  I had a ... relationship with Mr. Carson."  Elanore Lareane said.  "I wouldn't even dignify it by calling it an affair.  We were only ... intimate .. a few times.  Frankly, he wasn't that hot a lover.  I tried to break it off.  That's when he started making demands on me.  Money, expensive gifts, jewelry, and things like that."

"In other words, he was blackmailing you."  Mike said.

"My client ... "

Nick shot the lawyer a stern look.

"Yes, he was blackmailing me."  Elanore Latrane continued.  "Without going into too many details, in a moment of misplaced passion, I confided some things to him that could be extremely damaging to both my husband and to me.  He threatened to go to the tabloids if I didn't do what he asked."

"I knew of my wife's infidelities."  Florian Latrane continued.  "In spite of everything, I still love her and I am certain with the adequate counseling, we can patch up our marriage."

"Do you know anything about explosives, Mrs. Latrane?"

Matherson started to say something, but this time it was Florian who glared at him.

"Absolutely nothing.  They scare me silly.  Even firecrackers send me into a panic.  Before you ask why I'm like that, let me explain.   My brother is with the Navy Seals.  Several years ago, he was badly injured while blowing up a target.  Ever since then, even the thought of explosives gives me the willies."

"And where is your brother now?"

"He's on a submarine under the polar ice cap."

**********

"So, that's the story on the Latranes.  I checked out their alibi.  They were both at a fundraiser.  Over a thousand people at $500 a plate."  Nick said.  "The brother also checks out, too.  According to the Department of the Navy, he's been on the USS Pitkis in the Arctic Ocean for the past six weeks, and he'll be there for another six weeks.  Except for brief stop offs, his last shore leave was at Thule Greenland three weeks ago and his next one is at Point Barrow in two weeks."

He picked up the folder on them from Rafe Dominguez's desk.  "If it's the same to you, I'd like to pretend that this never existed.  It's a promise I made to a friend."

"What never existed?"  Rafe said, looking intently at the ceiling.

"Thanks.  I owe you one."

"And I will collect.  Just wait until vacation time rolls around."

"This is the most perplexing case I've ever seen.  Plenty of enemies.  Plenty of motives.  Plenty of opportunities.  No suspects."  Peter Heller said.

"Yeah."  Rafe Dominguez added.  "Everybody we check out comes up squeaky clean."

"Including you, Knight."  Captain Davies said as he came to the group.  "IA has officially cleared you.  I knew they would.  You just aren't the killer type.  I'll give you a choice.  You can either take another case or stay with this one."

"I'll stay with this one, if you don't mind."

"Why did I bother to ask?  I knew you'd say that.  Just find me the killer, and do it soon.  So far, Inspector Ganlon has been pretty quiet on this, and I'd like to keep the old bear pacified."

"The Old What?"  Inspector Bill Ganlon said as he entered the squadroom.  "In your office." He said to Davies.  "NOW.  I haven't had dinner yet and I'm looking to gnaw on something ... or someone ...And you're it."

**********

Detroit

Nicholas walked through the North Side Neighborhood Social Club.  On the ground floor were various forms of entertainment for both adults and families. Tables surrounded a dance floor and stage, waiting for the evening crowd that was beginning to filter into the room.  From the kitchen came the smell of food being prepared.  In another room, several pool tables lined the wall.  Toward the rear of that room, card tables were awaiting those who wished to indulge in that form of recreation.  There were also several smaller rooms that could accommodate up to twenty five people for private meetings or parties.

In the basement was a swimming pool and a bowling alley.

The real action though, was behind the 'stock room'.  It was the third box of macaroni on the fourth shelf of the second rack, which, when pulled out, would cause the shelves to swing open. If you knew which waiter to ask, you could get the necessary passwords that would gain you entrance.  Here was the best stocked and most secure speakeasy in the entire state.  Here was where Nicholas knew that Joey Malone could be found.

 Sure enough, Joey Malone was at this usual corner of the bar. 

"Nicky, Baby!"  He called as Nick approached.  "To what do I owe this visit?  You come for a little pleasure?  Name your poison."  He motioned toward one of the bartenders.  "Give my friend Nicky anything he wants."  He said.

"No thanks."  Nick said.  "Actually, this isn't exactly a social call.  I need some information."

"What kind?"

"About Judge Bintner."

"Sad thing.  Who'd have guessed he'd come to his untimely demise in a place like that? And after he vowed to clean up that area.  Said he was going to run organized crime out of Detroit for good.  Did you ever hear of such a thing?  Everybody knows there's no Mob activity in this city."

"That's what I'd like to talk to you about.  Which of the 'upstanding citizens' in this town would benefit most by the removal of Judge Bintner."

"Be reasonable, Nicky.  You know I can't touch that.  Not unless I want to be fitted for a pair of cement overshoes."

"Come on, Joey, at least tell me where the good Judge bought it.  I know it wasn't at the Palmer House."

"All I know is that on the night in question, I was told to pick up a very large package at a certain warehouse in Grosse Pointe and deliver it to the Palmer House."

"And where is this warehouse?"

Malone wrote an address on a slip of paper and handed it to Nick.  "Remember, you didn't get it from me."

"How could I?  I wasn't even here.  You haven't seen me in weeks."

"Thanks, Nicky."

**********

Los Angeles

"Hey, Nick, it's great to be officially back together."  Mike said as Nick got behind the wheel of the Caddy.  "I mean Community Relations is okay, but playing Mr. Policeman to a bunch of elementary school kids and ladies clubs just doesn't hack it for me.  I'm a man of action, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah.  As much as it pains me to say so, I missed you, too."  Nick ducked as Mike playfully swung at his head.

"So, where's our first assignment?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders.  "How should I know?  Now that Jones and Baker are back on patrol, I guess we just ride around until something comes up."

"How about we check out some of the apartment complexes.  Say in Studio City?"

"You wouldn't by any chance be thinking about spending some quality time with a certain blonde private detective, would you?"

"It's strictly business.  The cast came off her arm today and I want to make sure that she's all right.  After all, it hasn't even been three weeks.  How can they be sure the arm is healed enough to do that?"

"By the way, you haven't said anything about your efforts to propose to the fair lady.  What's the matter?  Lost your nerve?"

"Nope, not exactly.  I've tried several times, but each time we've been interrupted just as I get to the most important part.  I'm beginning to think that maybe we aren't meant to be together."

"Perhaps you could do like I did.  I proposed at the Intermezzo Restaurant, right in the middle of the main dining room.  I knew that once I started, I had to finish.  That is, unless I wanted to look like a complete jackass.  And I also counted on the fact that she couldn't really say no with everyone watching us."

"And did it work?"

Nick held up his left hand.  "You tell me."

"How could you afford an evening at the Intermezzo. I can't even buy a toothpick from there.  Do you think Bob's Big Boy would do just as well?"

**********

Toni stared at the cards in her hand.  It was Saturday night and this was the weekly Prop Shop poker game.  Toni was one of the few women allowed to participate, and she was the only one at the table tonight.  The other players included Larry Groce, Marty Sheehan, Bobby Duncan, Steve Chase, and Phil Mueller.

"I think you're bluffing, Bobby."  She said.  "So I'm going to call you and raise you ten."

Steve and Marty threw their cards on the table. 

"Too rich for my blood."  Marty said.

"I gotta call."  Larry said, pushing ten chips into the pile in the center of the table.

"And I think you're the one who's bluffing, Toni."  Bobby said as he added his chips to the pot.  "You better have a royal reception, 'cause I have a Jack high straight."  He spread his hand out in front of him.

"I don't know whether this hand would qualify as a royal reception or not."  Toni said.  "I do have a King."  She laid down the card.  "With his Queen."  Another card.  "Another King ... cheating on his Queen."  She laid two more down.  "And a King going stag."  She started to scoop in the pot.

"Not so fast."  Larry said taking hold of her wrist.  "I've got two pair.  Both of them treys.  And when I went to school, four of a kind beats a full house any day of the week."  He said, putting four threes on the table.  "Come to papa.  Thank you one and all.  With this generous donation to the Lawrence Groce Welfare and Recreation Fund, I can now make my daughter's tuition payment for this month."

Bobby slid his stack of chips to the middle of the table.  "I think I had better cash in.  Somebody has to work in this department and tonight that's me.  I have to rig the exploding outhouse for the scenes from Slapstick that are being shot tomorrow."

"Wait a minute."  Marty said.  "Didn't we shoot that sequence a couple of weeks ago.  You know, right before that Carson guy got himself blown to bits?"

"We were supposed to, but as we were getting ready to start, they cancelled the shooting for that day.  We put the seat back in the stock bin.  When we went to get it again, it was gone."  Larry said.  "Then, with the Carson thing, the powers that be decided to suspend everything until the case was solved.  Yesterday, a memo came down.  Police or no police, it's business as usual." 

"The seat didn't just disappear."  Phil Mueller said.  "Carson was nosing around the shop and he spotted it.  He said he liked it and he wanted to put it in his trailer.  I mean, it was carved oak after all.  Since it hadn't been rigged yet, and we had plenty of spares, I let him take it."

"You WHAT?"  Steve said, turning several shades of sickly gray.

"I gave it to him.  It was just an ordinary toilet seat after all."

"No, it wasn't JUST an ordinary toilet seat.  I had already set it up."  Steve said.  "When it was gone, I thought they had taken it to the set.  I didn't know they returned it to the bin."

"Wait a minute.  If Carson got the rigged seat that means ... "  Larry blanched.  " ... Oh My God! ... "

"I think we had better call Nick."  Toni said, heading for Larry's desk.

**********

Detroit

Nick pulled up to the warehouse.  The sign over the door said Vintorino Imports.  It was an open secret that their 'imports' consisted mostly of bootleg beer and whiskey smuggled across the border from Canada, and moonshine from the southern states.  'Don' Stefano Vintorino was a crusty Siciliano who learned his 'business' from his father, who learned it from his father before him.  He and 'Don' Constantine in the New York area had a virtual stranglehold on Mob activity in the eastern half of the US and Eastern Canada.

He tried the doorknob and, as he had expected, it was locked.  He twisted it a little harder and smiled in satisfaction as he heard the cylinder pins being sheared off.  A few seconds later, the door opened.  Once inside, Nick crept silently to the office.  There were voices.  He recognized one of them as Don Stefano.

"Okay.  We got a shipment coming in Thursday after next." Don Stefano said.  "We got to make room.  Nathan.  Make a note.  Starting tomorrow, every speak will take six more cases of each item until our surplus is gone."

"But what if they don't want six extra cases?"  Nathan asked.

"Did I say anything about them having a choice in the matter?"

"No."

"So ... where's the problem."

"I was just thinking.  What about the Reform Party."  One of the other men in the room said.   "They've been putting the heat on us lately.  If they get their hands on this, they could make life difficult."

"That's your trouble, Mikey."  Stefano said, patting the flunky on the cheek.  "You think too much.  Without Bintner to lead them, the Reform Party is as dead as the Dodo.  Besides, after Tuesday, the elections will be history and all the key people will be in my pocket."

"Yeah, Boss.   I see what you're saying.  I mean it was kind of ironic that the Judge came here to confront you and then keeled over in your office.  That was a stroke of genius having him shipped to the Palmer House and letting everybody think he died there."

"He didn't exactly keel over.  He had a little help."

"You mean you offed him?"

Stefano patted Mikey's cheek several more times.  "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. You really are naive, aren't you?   He was getting too close for comfort.  I had to stop him.  I have this doctor friend who made it look exactly like a heart attack.  Even the coroner couldn't tell the difference.  Of course, it wouldn't have made much of a difference even if he would have.  He's into me so deep he can't sneeze without my permission."

Nick turned to leave and as he did, his elbow brushed against a wrench left on one of the crates.  It went clattering to the floor.

"Out there!"  Stefano yelled.  "Someone's out there.  Get him!"

Mikey and Nathan were at the door in a matter of seconds.  Cautiously, with guns drawn, the opened the door and stepped out into the warehouse.

From his vantage point, hanging onto a block and tackle above them, Nick watched with amusement as the two gangsters searched the warehouse.  Suddenly his perch became precarious.  The tackle slipped and Nick went crashing into a pile of crates just outside the office. A myriad of splinters and small stalks of wood pierced his body.  As he was extricating himself from the pile, he felt something cold and round pressing against his right temple.  A gun.  Held by Don Stefano Vintorino.

"Well, well."  Stefano said as Nathan and Mikey pulled Nick to his feet.  "What have we here?"  Mikey frisked Nick and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed it to Stefano.  "A snoopy reporter named Nick Winchell.  Any relation to Walter?"  Stefano laughed at his joke and tossed the wallet on the floor. "Nathan.  Mikey.  Isn't it just about time to take out the trash.?" 

Mikey started to say something and then the meaning of his boss's remark dawned on him.  "Oh yeah.  We'll dispose of him real good."

Nick grimaced as Nathan and Mikey opened fire.  Four bullets ripped through his chest.  He 'played dead' and sank to the floor.  He felt himself being lifted and dragged outside.  He heard a car trunk being opened and felt himself being stuffed inside.  The car started and about a half an hour later, it stopped. Two sets of arms lifted him from the trunk and carried him a short distance.  He felt himself being swung and then the hands released him.  The water was ice cold as he splashed into it and sank.

**********

Los Angeles

"Like I told you on the phone."  Toni told Nick. "I know how Mitchell Carson was killed."

"You mean you called us all the way out here for that?  Everyone knows he was blown up while sitting on the john."  Mike Taylor said.

"Before you go getting your tail in a knot, listen to what Phil and Steve have to say.  Go ahead, guys.  Tell my husband and his partner what you told us."

Nick and Mike listened attentively as Phil and Steve recounted their story of the missing toilet seat.

"Why didn't you say something before this?"  Mike asked.

"No one made the connection until just now."  Larry said.

"I thought the seat was a safe one."  Phil added. "Or I never would have given it out."

"And I never suspected that Carson had the rigged throne in his trailer."

"You'll all have to come down to police headquarters and make a statement."  Nick said.  "But I don't see how any of you can be charged with anything.  As far as I can tell this whole thing was a gruesome, deadly mistake.  A horrible accident and nothing more.  And that's the way I'm going to write it up."

**********

Detroit

"And what is this?"  George Taylor asked as Nick put several typewritten pages on his desk.

"It's the truth about Judge Bintner's death.  It's like I suspected.  He didn't die of natural causes.  Don Stefano had him killed because the Judge was getting too close to shutting him down."

"And you're sure of your facts."

"I overheard Don Stefano telling his henchmen all about it."

"But you have no concrete proof."

"Other than my word, no."

"And you'd testify to that?"

Nick nodded.

"Damn!"  George slammed his fist on the desk.  "Here we've got enough to put Stefano Vintorino and his mob away for a thousand years and we can't use any of it.   We print one word, and we'll all end feeding the fishes in Lake Ste. Clair."

< I've already done that. >  "Maybe there is a way."  He said aloud.

"I'm listening."

"We print the stock story that all the other papers are printing about the Judge's death.  Beside it, we print an 'anonymous' letter to the editor giving the actual story.  That way, we're covered.  Don Stefano doesn't have any way to trace it back to us."

Taylor grabbed Nick from across the desk and planted a wet noisy kiss on the crown of his head.  "Blessings on thee, my boy you are an absolute genius."  He stood in silent thought for a moment.  Suddenly his demeaner became very solemn.  "No."  He said.  "That's the coward's way out.  The people of Detroit have a right to know the truth. We're dead either way.  If we're going to go under, let's go out in a blaze of glory.  I'm printing your article as it stands." 

**********

Los Angeles

"How on earth did you get clubhouse tickets to the Jays - Dodgers game?" Tracy squealed as they were ushered through the VIP gate at Dodger Stadium.  "From what I heard, it's been sold out for days." 

"Let's just say I know how much you like baseball, so I pulled a few strings and groveled considerably, and ... "  Mike held up two tickets.  " ... The magic pasteboards appeared on my desk yesterday.  Actually, the seats belong to Inspector Ganlon.  He 'lent' them to me in exchange for numerous unspecified favors in the near and distant future.  Why don't you find the seats?  I've got some business to attend to.  It won't take more than a few minutes."

***********

Mike left the stadium office and headed back to his seat.  Jeff Winston motioned for one of the attendants.   "Do me a favor."  He told the attendant.  "Find a minicam and a microphone and station yourself somewhere near that guy who just left here."

"Why?"

The stadium manager whispered something in the man's ear. 

"You got it."  The attendant said, grinning from ear to ear.

***********

Mike stood up and waggled his hips.  He clapped his hands and raised them over his head. "Hey man!  Way to go!"  He yelled as he sat down.

"All that fussing just because he got a hit.  What would you do if he had gotten a home run?"

"The same thing you did two innings ago when the Jays scored.  By the way, where did you learn to whistle that loud."  He hit his hand against his ear several times for emphasis. 

"I took a semester at Columbia University while I was in college.  In New York, if you can't best a boiler factory whistle, forget trying to get a cab."

The next ball was hit was directly at the shortstop.  He fielded it easily and turned it into a double play.  The Dodgers were out.

Tracy stood up and started toward the aisle.

"Where are you going?"

"It's the seventh inning stretch and I've gotta go."

"You ... You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because .. Because ... You'll miss the organ concert."   Mike stared at the scoreboard.  They were beginning the public service part of the display.

"I think my dilemma takes precedence."

"If you want to wait, I'll go with you."

"Mike!  I haven't needed anyone to take me to the bathroom since I was four years old.  What's the matter with you, anyway?  You've been as nervous as a one legged man in an ass kicking tournament ever since the inning began."  Without realizing it, she touched his mind.  < So THAT'S what he has in mind. >  "I guess I can wait a few minutes longer."  She said as she sat back down.

The crowd became hushed.  You could almost hear a pin drop in Dodger Stadium.  Tracy looked for what she had seen in Mike's mind.  She found it.  There, on the scoreboard screen, was a message.

TRACY

I LOVE YOU.

WILL YOU MARRY ME?

MIKE

Neither Mike nor Tracy noticed the man in the seat in front of them turn a camcorder in their direction.  Tracy may not have seen her face fill the screen over the scoreboard.  The fifty five thousand nine hundred eighty nine other patrons ... did.

"Well, Tracy?"  Mike said.  "Will you marry me?"  He took out the jeweler's box and opened it.

"Yes Mike. Yes.  I will marry you." 

Mike suddenly became aware that Tracy's answer was reverberating from every speaker in the stadium.  There was thunderous applause as the screen broadcast the picture of the two of them locked in an embrace.

**********

Detroit

"Well, we accomplished what we intended to do."  Nick said.  "Because of our story, nearly all of Don Stefano's candidates were soundly defeated at the polls.  Maybe Detroit has a chance at an honest government now."

George Taylor sifted through the ashes and picked up a piece of charred wood that had once been a part of his desk.  The fire that had destroyed the Detroit Blade could be seen for miles. "That's something to be proud of all right, but when I said a blaze of glory, I didn't mean it literally."  He threw the wood back on the floor.  "I figured they'd come after me, not burn down the paper. Well, so much for truth, justice and the American way."  He said glumly.

"What'll you do now?"

"I've heard that the Daily Star in Metropolis is looking for an associate editor.  I think I'll give them a call.  Why don't you come with me?  I know they're always interested in hiring crusading reporters. "

"Thanks, but I'll have to pass on that.  There are certain people who are looking for me.  They found me once, and since my picture was all over the front page, it's probable they'll be after me again.  I've already made arrangements to disappear."

"You mean like a witness protection thing?"

"Yeah.  Something like that."

"Well, then, I guess that means this is goodbye.  I'll miss you, Nick.  You're one hell of a good reporter and a decent human being.  I hope wherever you wind up, you'll keep working for the good of the people."

"I hope the same for you.  You're one of the best bosses I've ever worked for, and I've had quite a few, believe me."

George pulled Nick into a bear hug and the two stood a few minutes saying their silent good-byes.

Across the street, a tall man with buzz cut dark blond hair stood watching them.  He was dressed completely in black and that only heightened the contrast with his pale skin and his ice blue eyes.  He breathed a deep sigh.  "Haven't you learned by now, Nicholas, there is nowhere you can hide?  I will always find you.  Wherever you go.  Whoever you are.  You are mine."  He said softly.  "Forever."

***********

Los Angeles

Nick knocked on the hotel door and Jim opened it.

"Nick."  Jim said.  "What are you doing here?  I thought Toni was supposed to be taking me to the airport."

"She was, but she hasn't been feeling well.  Nausea, tiredness, and bloating.  I think she's coming down with the flu.  Half the precinct is down with it.  I managed to persuade her that I would be a competent and skilled driver.  By the way, how'd you know it was me?"

"Toni doesn't use English Leather."

"Touche.  What have they decided about the picture?"

"According to Steven Cantrell, the script ... the way it was before Carson screwed with it, that is ... is a good one, so they're going to go ahead with the filming. Are you sure I can't talk you into playing Arturo?  You'd be perfect.  As I hear it, you and Toni are up for an award as the best background extras in a ballroom scene."

Nick laughed.  "Toni's been bragging again.  I'm a cop, not an actor.  The last acting I did was some Shakespearean stuff.  But that was a very long time ago." < 1605 to be exact. >

"That's okay.  I was sort of joking anyway.  As I understand it, they're talking with this Canadian actor about the part.  Right now, he's tied up with one of the hottest shows on Canadian Television.  They'll be starting the summer hiatus in a few weeks and he'll be available then.  They told me his name, but it's a very unusual one.  I think its Welsh."

**********

Nick got into the car after Jim's plane had taken off.  LaCroix was in the back seat.  He handed Nick a package.  "Atonia may be needing this."  He said.

Nick opened it.  It was a home pregnancy test.  "I don't think so.  Not this time.  We've talked about having more children.  Lord knows we've tried.  But in three years there has been nothing.  We've both more or less come to the conclusion that the twins were an accident.  A wonderful, loving, miraculous accident, but an accident just the same."  He shook his head and sighed heavily.  He handed the box back to LaCroix.  "It's only the flu.  Pure and simple."

**********

The End

Who are we kidding?