(Tuesday 19th)

“… Blue Windbreaker Man.”

A loud knock at the door wakes Paul, Tim, and KC in the same places they were the previous morning.

“Open up! LAPD!”

The three look up and around at each other sleepy-eyed. Tim gets up and walks over to the door; opening it to see Detective McCoy once again.

“Dave, are you my new alarm clock?” rubbing his face with his left hand, right one on the doorknob.

The detective grins stepping inside. “Good morning everyone.”

KC and Paul mumble, “Morning.” Harry and George just look at him.

“Dave, you have to stop announcing yourself as ‘LAPD’ when you come over. My neighbors are going to start thinking I’m a drug dealer or something.”

“Trust me, honey, your neighbors know full well about you,” KC chimes standing from her beanbag bed and heading for the kitchen. “You want some coffee, Dave? None made yet, but it will be right here quick.”

“No thank you, KC. I’ve already been up two hours and my tank’s full for now.”

Tim scoffs, walking past him and back to the couch. “Have a seat somewhere, Dave. What brings you by—what time is it, anyway?”

“Six forty-five,” looking at his watch. “No, I only have a couple of minutes. I need to get to the station. I only wanted to stop by to mainly let Dr. Randall know that we caught the guy who murdered that teenage runaway in his hotel room the other night.”

That gains all their attention. KC comes in from the kitchen, holding the carafe.

Noting his awakened audience, Dave goes on, “Yeah, his name is Robert Bowman, and he’s well known to us. He has a pretty lengthy rap sheet: multiple petty thefts and two aggravated assaults. When he’s not self-employed, he hires his skills out to anybody wanting anything done. This is his first murder, however—planned or not.”

“That’s great,” Tim says, “how’d you catch him?”

“He was picked up on another theft last evening, trying to snatch a woman’s purse near Rodeo Drive. A beat cop chased him down and tackled him. He had some of Carrie Blanton’s belongings still in his pocket. Can you believe it?”

“So,” KC, her tone curious, “how’d you get as far that he’s the one who did her in, Dave?”

“Our excellent interrogating abilities,” smiling broadly, “we pressed and pressed him until he cracked, finally confessing to it. But, he insisted—and still does—that it was just an accident. His story is that someone hired him to take pictures of himself with Miss Blanton in that particular hotel room. How crazy is that?”

KC stares at him, nodding. “That is pretty crazy.” She looks over at Tim and Paul, still groggy and staring silently at the detective standing in the middle of the room.

The detective looks at Paul. “Not that I’m giving his claim any credence, Dr. Randall, but you wouldn’t have anyone wanting to set you up, would you? Your room was chosen in which to do the picture taking in.”

Paul is floored. “N—no… no… I can’t think of anyone who would want to even bother with me.”

McCoy nods, thinking. “Yeah…” looking at Tim and KC, “Well, I didn’t think so myself. I just like to ask questions no matter how foolish they sound. You never know unless you ask, right?” grinning.

Tim has a strange look. “But why were they in Paul’s room?”

“Yeah,” KC says, looking over at Paul; the small man is most interested himself.

McCoy shrugs. “Who knows? It could’ve been the wrong room—if Bowman’s telling the truth there... could’ve been merely a random room Bowman picked. We didn’t find the missing pass keys on him. But, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t in possession of them at any point in time either.” He looks over at Paul. “More than likely, Dr. Randall, you’ve just been the victim of some pretty bad luck here. And I’m sorry about that. I see it all the time. People like you come here on business and fall prey to the kind of lowlifes I deal with every day.”

“Hmm,” KC ponders with a curious expression and then looks up at McCoy. “So, what’s this joker look like, hon?”

“Oh,” looking over and pointing in Paul’s direction, “he does resemble you for a fact, Dr. Randall. Although he’s a couple of inches taller and has a little more weight on him than you. I can see why the hotel night clerk and the other guests thought it was you. Except—as you already know—what saves you is being in the Lawndale jail at the time.”

McCoy looks back over at KC. She is still looking at Paul. The man is relieved, but his mouth is open in astonishment. “Other than that, KC… he is pretty unremarkable. Bowman’s still wearing the clothes he had on early Sunday morning when the clerk and other guests saw him: gray slacks, a blue button-up shirt, and a blue windbreak—”

“Wait!” she yells, springing close to McCoy, “He had on a blue windbreaker, too?!” startling him enough to step back and stare down at her. Still holding the carafe in her right hand and sticking it out, pointing at her wrist with her left, “did he have a pretty good gash or cut on his arm here?!”

“Well… well, yeah,” the detective peers back at her, “he did... it was a couple of days old, but he had it bandaged. We looked under it and asked him where he—” his eyes go into a squint as he stares down at her, “got it. Hey, how do you know about that, KC?”

Pressing her lips together, she looks over at Tim with his mouth swung open. “I knew it! That’s the fool that was here kickin’ your door in! I knew that had to be the same dude! We were only speculatin’ before, but that there’s proof! Ain’t that the livin’ end?” KC looks back up at McCoy appearing like he’s at a tennis match, peering back and forth at her and the other two in the room. “Dave, that turkey got that gash on his arm here in Tim’s apartment. Compliments of Harry there,” pointing proudly over at the huge German Shepard at Tim’s feet.

McCoy turns and looks down at Harry with his chin resting upon Tim’s big right bare foot. “Well sooo…” audible air coming from his open mouth, confusion across his face, pointing at Harry and looking back at KC, “well so what the devil is he doing over here breaking into Tim’s place for? When was this?”

“Sunday afternoon,” Tim answers, “when I was gone picking up Paul from Lawndale and then dropping him off at his hotel over in LA.”

“No, it wasn’t in the afternoon, Tim,” KC corrects, “It was more like a lil’ after eleven in the morning. I know, because I had just hung up from my Aunt Shillie in Galveston and I looked at the clock. Right after’s when I heard the bang at your door and Harry goin’ nuts.”

Tim looks at her. “Well, whenever,” and back at McCoy, “the fact is he was here. Now, why would he be the same dude over here doing this as the one murdering that Carrie girl in Paul’s hotel room, Dave?”

“That I do not know, Tim. But I will,” McCoy’s forehead furrowed.

Tim looks at Paul staring up at McCoy. Seeing Tim’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, he turns his head toward him. “What do you think about all that, brother?”

Paul shakes his head. “Phew… I don’t know what to think about all that. It’s too much for me to process without some coffee.”

KC jumps, lifting the carafe in the same hand she was bracing on her hip and looking at it. “Oh! Yeah! We do need some coffee! Even more so now!” scurrying off to the kitchen, rapid production sounds emitting from it. The three men exchange grins.

“Well, I have to get—” McCoy looks at his watch. “Oh, I really have to get going. That joker gets arraigned this morning, and I have some paperwork still left to do,” swiftly moving toward the door. “If I find out anything else, I’ll let you guys know. See you later.”

“Thanks a lot for stopping by, Dave,” Tim says getting up.

Paul quickly stands, making his way toward the detective, holding his hand out to him. “Yes, thank you for all your help, Detective McCoy.”

McCoy takes it and gives a shake; smiling back at him. “My pleasure, Dr. Randall. I must admit my head is swimming, too, with all we’ve uncovered here,” shaking his head and grinning, “Like you, I need some time to process it. But, I do always like it when the good guys win. You take care now.” He opens the door, steps out, and turns back. “And you’re welcome, Tim. KC,” he calls toward the kitchen, “I’ll see you later sometime, sister. Stay out of trouble.”

“Bye Dave! Thank you, sweetie!”

He grins. “You bet,” closing the door behind him.

Tim and Paul look at one another. Tim turns his head to look at the closed door, sticks his hands in the back pockets of his Levi’s and smiles, shaking his head, “Whoo!” good wind behind it.

“Yeah,” Paul replies softly, thinking.

Tim leans his upper body backward to stretch, straightens, still staring at the closed door, thinking. “I must admit, I thought that Bowman dude being the same one that was here was far-fetched, now that we know it is, it’s got me wondering what he has to do with the both of us?” Paul shakes his head. “Wait…” pulling his hand out of his pocket and pointing at him, “Sergeant Wilson at Lawndale said they knew to call me because you kept repeating my name and you had my business card in the vest pocket of your suit jacket. Could that guy have seen it if he went through your jacket while you went to the john there at that bar you were at, Paulie?”

Paul has the most baffled look on his face. “What?”

Exasperated, Tim yelps, “Paul! The blue windbreaker dude—Robert Bowman—was here, was in your hotel room with Carrie Blanton, and was at a bar with you earlier in the day! Did you not get that part?!”

Paul stares blankly at him. KC steps in and leans against the bar, watching the two men. The smaller man glances over at her. She looks back at him, lips pressed together, head cocked to the right, and forehead furrowed. “Ya did, didn’t ya, honey?” sympathetically, nodding. She leans her upper body backward, looking in the kitchen and turns back at him. “Hang on,” quickly disappearing; a few banging sounds and the two men exchange puzzled glances. “Here, sweetie,” putting a steaming cup of hot coffee up to his chest. “Now you go back over there and sit down,” pointing at the couch.

Paul looks down at it. “Thank you,” and obeys.

“Where’s mine?” Tim whines, watching his friend walk over to the couch and sit down.

“I’d say you know where it is, but I’ll be nice. Hang on.” KC goes back to the kitchen, more banging sounds, returning with both his and her cup of hot, black go-go juice. “Here, spoiled rotten.”

Tim grins, winking at her. “Now what am I supposed to do? Do I go sit down?”

KC walks over to the bean bag chair and sits down. She looks up at him with her right brow raised. “I don’t care what you do.”

“I’m the spoiled rotten one? Look how you’re pampering him!” Tim keeps looking at her. KC defiantly stares up at him, sipping from her hot cup. He looks over at Paul sipping his and gazing back at him in satisfaction. Tim shakes his head, sits down, and takes a few sips. “I just don’t get how you don’t get this blue windbreaker dude is all our same dude.”

“I do get it, Tim. I just don’t know what you want from me. I wore my suit jacket the whole time. I never took it off. I understand you are trying to help me, trying to piece this all together, and I understand how your mind works with all this investigative journalism stuff. You were always like that. Ever since I’ve known you.”

“Was he really?” KC asks, holding her cup close to her face with both hands, “Tck-tck-tck,” shaking her head, looking sympathetically once more at Paul. “You poor guy. I know full well what it’s like to suffer that.” The little firecracker turns her sites back onto Tim as she sips from her cup.

He’s watching them both. “Well, at least I’m trying to figure this out. Not just sit here like two bumps on a log like you guys.”

“Shuddup.”

“You shuddup.”

The three remain silent for a good long while, each in their own thoughts. George meanders from lap to lap getting his ears rubbed and head scratched. Harry grows jealous and drives him to the floor for a game of paw boxing. At just about the point of ticking George off, the Shepard instinctively rolls over onto his back, perpendicular with the cat, peering upside down at him; as if to change tactics. George’s aqua blue eyes shift into a squint, back legs rapidly thump Harry’s big nose in a staccato beat, springing off it, spins midair landing upright, and slowly saunters off with machismo swag. The three burst out laughing; laughing so hard they’re wiping tears.

“Man! That was funny!” KC howls. “I just dig animals. See why I do?” looking at both men nodding and grinning.

“So, it’s occurred to me that the two of you think Paulie’s ugly,” Tim says coolly, taking a sip.

Both look at him, puzzling. “What?” KC asks.

“Well, you told us, KC, that blue windbreaker man was ugly. Paulie said he wouldn’t call him handsome. And then Dave comes in and says that dude looks like Paulie. So…” shrugging, nonchalant and taking a sip.

KC and Paul exchange looks and turns back to him. “Shuddup.”

“You shuddup,” grinning. “Of course… you also said he was a big dude, KC. Which he’s not. So…” Tim looks over at Paul; acting like he has a drink in his hand, tossing it down his throat and whisper-yelling, “told you she has a drinking problem!”

KC throws a pillow at him. “Shuddup!”

Tim dodges, laughing, “You shuddup.” All three laughs.

They sip on their coffee some more. Tim goes for the carafe, refilling everyone’s cups; and they make light conversation about what the trip will be like. After a short bit, Tim grows quiet, and the other two soon notice.

KC dives in. “What’s going on, Tim?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on, K.”

Her eyes direct, she begins slowly nodding. “Oh, yes there is. I know you. Spill it.”

He tries holding her gaze and can’t. Tim never could. He scoffs, shaking his head; looks out the window to his left at some birds flying by. “Alright, fine,” turning his head back to KC and glances over at Paul; both stare at him. “I didn’t tell you two everything my boss said yesterday morning when he called.”

“Spill it,” KC again, flatly, knowing him all too well. He eyes her a good bit. “Now.”

“That blue windbreaker dude was hired by the ones strong arming the Santa Monica restaurant owner I went to see Sunday. He was recruited to find something to set me up with.” Tim looks back and forth at them.

Paul’s eyes go wide. “You are a creep! Just like KC says!”

“Why would you keep that from us, Tim?!”

“This! Because of this!” He keeps looking back and forth at them—their stares turn to glares—and then looks down at the coffee cup he’s holding in his lap. “That wasn’t the only reason. I didn’t want you worrying while I’m trying to figure this all out.”

“What?” the two in unison.

“Just say it, Tim,” Paul says, perturbed all over his face.

Tim sighs heavy. He looks up at KC, over at Paul, and back down at his cup. “My boss said Sunday evening he heard from an old friend. A veteran journalist secretly following that group’s activity the last few months—the one buying up real estate and strong-arming people into selling their properties. They’re a relatively young gang, but vicious in their dealings. Pretty diversified in their business, branching out into prime real estate in Southern California, Arizona, and as far as New Mexico,” stopping to rub his face. “Anyway, they somehow heard about the piece I’ve been working on of the changing real estate market, and that I’d been trying to talk with the owner of that restaurant in Santa Monica and they didn’t like it,” glancing over at KC and then the floor. “Yes, they put the word out to my boss for me to back off, or I’d wind up hurt, and that’s the part you did know,” he looks back up at KC. “What I didn’t tell you is: they didn’t say hurt they said dead. And… my boss’s friend said he also heard them discussing you. They know about you, K, and sent me a warning… they are going to do some very bad things to you.” Tim looks back to the floor.

“Why did you not tell me that, Tim?! Don’t you think I have a right to know that?!” her eyes burning holes into the top of his head.

Tim tries looking pitiful, shrugging his shoulders. “I know, K, I know. I was just trying to figure it all out and didn’t want you worrying ab—”

“Tim, you had no right,” Paul interrupts with a marked tone. “This is KC’s life here. And why did you put me through all that nonsense about could he have seen my card in your suit jacket, Paul?’ when you know my head’s spinning, not only over all this, Tim but what’s going on at home, too? Why?”

“I don’t know, Paulie. I didn’t mean to cause you added stress. I was just trying to throw a rabbit trail at you two while I figured this out.”

“Well stop it!” KC howls, pretty face contorted. “You are not in this thing alone, Tim! We’re all involved in this! Don’t you understand that?! Stop being so selfish for once in your life! That’s what happened to us!” she stands, fast-walks for the door, and goes out it.

The two men quietly stare at the door; hearing hers shut. “I think you need to go and apologize to her,” Paul says. “You owe her that.” Tim looks over at Paul. He feels bad, and it clearly shows. “I know you’re a jerk. Stop being one. Go and apologize to her. Then we had better step it up in getting out of here. It sounds like that’s best for us all; dog, cat, and turtle, too.” Tim keeps looking at him. Paul motions with his head over to KC’s. “Get moving.”

He sighs heavily and nods; stands, goes to the door, opens it, stops and turns. “I’m sorry, Paulie.”

“I know.” The two men briefly stare at one another, and Tim walks out. Paul hears his knock on KC’s door and her yelling at him. Eventually, she lets him in. Paul smiles. He takes his empty cup to the kitchen, shaking his head.

Tim’s over at KC’s a while, doing his best to make amends concerning his latest exploit involving her. It takes longer than it usually does for him to do this time; given the details of threatening talk made against her. Once he convinces her that his promise is real and to never keep information concerning her from her ever again, they discuss the need of getting out of town and on the road for Oklahoma asap. She calls Quinn to see if he is nearing being ready. He confirms he is and can pull out within the hour. KC tells him she’ll call when they are prepared to leave.

While Tim’s over at KC’s, Paul begins making breakfast out of the food left over from Tim’s grocery run to KC’s the previous morning. It’s almost eight-thirty, and it’s just about ready when Tim and KC return. She’s notably more reserved than usual, and Tim’s clearly smarting from the tongue lashing he received from her. Paul goes right on as if nothing occurred, ordering them to get plates and silverware; making small talk as the two carry out his instructions. The three eat while Paul makes more small talk about the trip, eventually drawing them into the conversation. Tim hurriedly finishes his plate and announces he has some errands to run before leaving town. With that, the big man goes into his bedroom and within minutes has changed, grabs his keys from the bar. “I’ll be back in a bit,” as he’s walking out.

Dumbfounded and with food still on their plates, KC and Paul stare at the closed door.

“Whatta you think that’s about?”

Paul turns to meet KC’s curious gaze. “I have no idea. He didn’t say anything about any errands to me.”

She holds his look for a moment longer and turns to look at the door, thinking. “Me neither,” handing him her plate and coffee cup, “hold these a sec, hon,” crossing her feet at the ankles and lifting herself up from the bean bag chair.

“Why do you sit in that thing? It’s not good for your back.”

“It’s mine, and I like it. That’s why,” taking the dishes back, “thanks.”

Paul smiles up at her, stands and follows her into the kitchen with his dishes.

“That was good, hon. You’re a mighty fine cook.”

Paul’s rounding the bar when hearing that; KC’s back to him. She sets her dishes in the sink, turns on the water, and glances up at him. He has the oddest expression.

“What?” Staring at him as he stares back like he forgot her name, where he is, or something. Hesitant, KC slowly smiles. “Paul? Are you okay?”

“Y... yeah…” suddenly embarrassed and glancing around the kitchen. “I never realized, until now… that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that.” Now self-conscious, Paul quickly spins, putting the lid on the butter and other condiments used for their breakfast preparation; placing each in their respective spots in the fridge and cabinets. KC periodically sneaks a peek at him out of the corner of her eye as she rinses the dishes. When he finishes and has nothing left to do, he stands in the middle of the kitchen looking around.

KC peers over her shoulder. “What’re you doin’?”

Paul suddenly looks up at her. “Nothing. What do you want me to do?”

She grins, shaking her head. “I don’t want you to do anything. But, if you want somethin’ to do, I’ll hand you these, and you can load them in the dishwasher.”

“Okay,” quickly moving around her back and to her left, opening the dishwasher and standing in wait.

KC shakes her head and giggles. “Honey, nothin’ against whoever it is you’ve been around, but evidently you’ve been ridin’ in the backseat,” handing him some dishes.

“What does that mean?”

“It means someone’s been callin’ your shots for you. And that’s a puredee shame you’ve never been complimented on your cookin’ until now. That’s what that means.”

Paul stands in place staring at her, even after KC turns her head back to the dishes in the sink. “Oh.”

She turns to him once more with some rinsed and ready dishes. He’s still holding the last ones she handed him and staring at the counter. “Darlin’, I can’t give you anymore until you put those in there.”

He looks up at her in surprise. “Oh! Yeah!” hurriedly placing them in the dishwasher racks and retrieving the others she’s holding.

“Paul, how long have you been married?”

“Uh,” concentrating on which dishes go on the top rack, “Five years?”

“Are you askin’ me? ‘Cause that sounded like it was a question instead of a statement.”

“No… no. It’s five years. Lisa and I married our last year at OU… mine, hers, and Tim’s… that is,” now standing at nearly eye level with her; another odd expression on his face, “this is the first time I noticed we are the same height.”

“How tall are you?”

Paul’s thoroughly embarrassed, flushing red. He looks down at the remaining dishes in the sink. “Hand me those, and we can start this.” KC’s still looking at him; grins and reaches for the last plate and silverware. “I’m five–five. Small, I know, for a man.”

“Nope, men come in all sizes, hon. Some of the biggest men I’ve ever known were short on height. Not in character.” Paul smiles. “You’re still a lil’ taller than me, though. I’m five–three.”

“Speaking of character,” Paul says, looking at the dishes on the top rack, fiddling with a cup for something to do, “you know… Tim is a good man… with many admirable qualities,” lifting his eyes up at her.

KC shuts the water off and turns to him. “Yeah… what’re you gettin’ at?”

His eyes back down and repositioning the dishes, “it’s just that… well, as maddening and short-sighted he can be where relationships are concerned… he doesn’t mean any harm. We both know how loyal he is when it comes to those he cares about. I’ve seen enough to know you know that.”

KC hands him the last of the dishes, picks up a towel, and turns to lean her backside against the counter. Wiping her hands, “Yeah well, the part of him that is so focused and driven in his career is the part I have a problem with. Don’t get me wrong… I admire men who work. But Tim takes it to another level. Nothin’ else exists while he’s on a story; at least the investigation part, anyway.” She tosses the towel onto the counter behind her and looks Paul in the eyes. “I’m not a needy woman, Paul. And it’s an ideal situation Tim has Harry and George ‘cause they don’t need much but their basic necessities and a lil’ head scratchin’ here and there. But Paul… people can’t be in a relationship and ignore the one they’re in a relationship with. And now he has gone so far as involvin’ me… puttin’ me in danger.”

“I know, KC, all you said is true. I suppose I’m merely saying… don’t give up on him. People can change.”

“I know they can, Paul, but they have to want to. Tim and I have been round and round about this,” she stands straight, turns to the fridge and opens it, taking out two beers and handing one to Paul.

He closes the dishwasher and turns it on. Paul looks down at the beer and up at her. “I don’t know what time it is, but it can’t be much past ten.”

“Take it,” he does, “and come on. We’re goin’ out on the patio. This here’s our after-breakfast beer.” KC rounds the bar and goes through the living room, heading to the back of the apartment. “You’re on California time now, Paul,” sliding the patio door open. “C’mon.”

He follows her out and sits in the lawn chair next to her, facing the pool. “This just feels strange. Tuesday morning… I should be at work… instead, I am sitting here drinking a beer before ten.”

KC laughs. “Well, you’re not at work. Besides, we don’t know how long the dork’ll be gone,” takes a sip from her can and looking down at the water.

Paul, still looking at her and holding his beer, furrows his brow, pulls the tab and takes a drink. “Why not?” Joining her in watching the water in the pool below. The sun is warm and the breeze light.



The dork—aka Tim—is out seeking his own answers about Blue Windbreaker Man before leaving town, knowing it will bug him the entire trip if he doesn’t at least make an attempt. In the less than a handful of years Tim has been in Southern California, he has made a lot of contacts, friends, as well as enemies. And he does know there are only two bars within walking distance of Rodeo Drive. The savvy journalist also knows the owners of both and most of the ever-changing bartenders. That’s where he heads for some answers. Checking the first one with a gut feeling it not the one—his gut always found dependable—is correct; it’s the second one that Paul walked into on Saturday afternoon. The bartender currently on duty is also the one working that day and remembers Paul well, saying, “He just didn’t fit. Ya know?”

Owner/bartender, ErnieC, a slow-talking thoughtful man, also noticed Blue Windbreaker Man coming in right after Paul and sitting in a darkened booth, watching the small man for a spell before moving over and striking up a conversation. “That other fella seemed kinda cagey to me. I did my best to keep an eye on the lil’ fella when they couldn’t see me lookin’. I just didn’t trust that other fella. But, when he bought the lil’ fella a beer, I started thinkin’ it might be okay. Since he let him. Ya know?”

“Was anyone else around, ErnieC?” Tim asks, picking peanuts from the dish on the bar and chasing it with his glass of beer; working his modus operandi: acting as if he knows nothing to allow the other person to tell him everything—even if it includes everything he already knows.

ErnieC thinks for a moment, looking upward, rubbing a beer glass with a towel. Suddenly looking back at Tim, “You know, now that I think about it, there was another fella came in. Sat down over there,” pointing at a booth along the darkened wall, “almost in the very one that cagey fella was in before. And he did the very same thing. Ordered a beer and just stared up here at the bar at your lil’ friend and that cagey fella. It wasn’t until after your friend went to the can that the other fella came over and started talkin’ to the one here at the bar.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I couldn’t tell. They were talkin’ kinda low. Pretty soon the second fella pulled out a wad of cash and peeled a couple bills from it, handin’ it to the fella that was sittin’ with your friend. He palmed him somethin’ else in his hand, but I couldn’t tell what it was. You know how it is, Tim. Yahoos come in here and trade their dope and cash all the time. I just figured it was another typical transaction as such,” pausing in thought, “now that I think about it, I ain’t never seen somebody give somebody money and dope before. That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, it is,” in a puzzled tone, thinking. “So what did this second dude look like, ErnieC?”

“Oh, ‘bout your size. Yeah, but that second one looked like a cop.”

“A cop?”

“Yeah. You know… a cop. Had a cop look about him. Had to be one at some time or ‘nother.”

“Well, how did he—this cop-looking dude—and Paul act together when Paul came back from the john?”

ErnieC shakes his head. “Didn’t see each other. He was gone by the time we both got back to the bar here. Just that cagey fella was left sittin’ here.” Tim stares at him blankly. “Your lil’ friend locked himself in the can. He was yellin’, and I had to go let him out.”

“Locked himself in?!” chuckling. “How in the world did he manage that?”

“Dunno. Actually, he couldn’tve… now that I think about it. The outside latch was hooked… or maybe he could’ve. It might’ve fallen in the perfect spot when he went in. It has happened… just not real often.” ErnieC puts the dry glass on a shelf, picks up another and starts wiping. “You know I have to keep that like that for the yahoos I have to throw in there and wait for the law to come get. The ones that just don’t come to reason, ya know.”

Tim nods, grabs more peanuts, pitching them in his mouth. He gazes off at the back of the bar in thought while taking another drink. “Are you sure you saw that dude that looked like a cop come directly over to this bar?”

ErnieC thought for a moment. “Naw… naw, now that I think about it… he first walked to the jukebox over there and played a song,” pointing to the corner next to the restrooms.

Tim turns and looks back at him with a knowing expression. “Uh-huh, I think we just figured out how my lil’ friend locked himself in the can. I wonder what that joker was up to?”

“Dunno. Never seen him before. Like I said, he was gone once’d your lil’ friend and me came back to the bar.”

“Huh,” Tim says, thinking. “Did my friend stay much longer?”

“Naw, Naw… he did drink that beer the cagey fella bought him. Then the two of ’em left together.”

“Together? Are you sure, ErnieC?”

“Yup,” nodding, “I heard your friend say he needed to get back to his hotel, and the cagey fella said they could share a cab. Then they left.” ErnieC has a concerned look come across his face and leans down toward him. “Your friend… your lil’ friend’s okay isn’t he, Tim?”

He nods. “Yeah, Paul’s okay. He’s just found a little trouble is all. But, ErnieC, with the info you just gave me, I think I can take care of that little bit of trouble.” He takes another drink and before he can set his glass down the bartender takes it from his hand.

“Let me put a lil’ more in there,” smiling. “Yeah… needed to put a lil’ head on that,” gazing at the honey-colored liquid filling the glass from the tap, setting it back down in front of Tim, and admiring his work.

“Well, thank you, ErnieC. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, my pleasure, Tim. I like you. I get a lil’ homesick sometimes and just ‘bout the time I do, you show up.”

Tim smiles. And then it hits him. “Hey, that’s right. You’re from Oklahoma.”

The bartender nods, putting his left foot up on a shelf behind the bar, his left forearm resting across it; towel dangling from his hand. He suddenly frowns. “Say… now that I think about it… that fella that talked to that cagey fella while your friend was in the can was an Okie,” looking up, rubbing his chin in thought. “Yeah… yeah, I’d swear to it.”

Tim’s forehead furrows with keen interest. “No offense, ErnieC, but you get that from a dude just ordering one beer?”

Smiling, nodding confidently. “I sure do. Ya see I spend all my time talking to folks—folks needing a drink for some reason or another. And I see all kinds. I can even tell you pretty close to what part of Oklahoma.”

“How?”

“Because if a body pays close enough attention, there’s a definite and distinct difference depending on what part of a state a person’s spent the most of their time in. Of course, you have to be from there and know in the first place; the state, I mean.”

“Huh,” he utters in astonishment, mouth agape, thinking. “So what part do you say he’s from?”

“Oh, I’d say he’s spent a good deal of time around the OKC area.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you see, Tim, OKC is south enough to have some of that Texas drawl, that slow drawl, ya know, but just enough Yankees’ve come in to put a mix to it… kinda a cosmopolitan mix.”

“But, what about someplace like Tulsa? It’s cosmopolitan and still southern.”

ErnieC drops his foot to the floor, frowning, shaking his head. “Noooo, no, no, no, Noooo, Tim,” lips pursed. “They’re up there closer to Kansas and Missouri. Folks up there have a lil’ drawl, but not strung out, ya see,” he grins, holding his arms up and out—like he’s showing the size of the fish he did or didn’t catch—towel still dangling from his left one. "And Yankees’ve infiltrated there too, ya know. So there’s an interesting mixing going on.

“What part are you from, ErnieC… hey… I’ve never asked your last name.”

“It’s Barnard.”

“Barnard?! I figured it started with a ‘c,’ and that’s what the ‘c’ was for in ErnieC.”

The bartender chuckles, looking down, “Naw, Naw. That’s part of my first name. You see, my daddy and his daddy were Ernie’s, too. ErnieA, ErnieB, and I’m Ernie—”

“C! Now that’s funny!”

The bartender chuckles again, louder, and nodding, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve gotten a lotta mileage out of it over the years. I’m fifty-two, and I still find it funny.”

“So what part of Oklahoma are you from, ErnieC?”

“Perry. A lil’ place called Perry. Just west of Stillwater,” raising his right fist, “Go ‘Pokes!”

“Aw! Now I never figured you for one of them, ErnieC! Now you’ve gone and ruined a perfectly good friendship,” shaking his head and looking down at his beer, mournfully disgusted.

“Oh, stop it,” waving his hand, “you’re not a real Sooner. You’re from Houston.”

“Hey now, I was a starter for OU three seasons—nearly three; which makes me a Sooner!”

“Awright, awright.”

Tim grins. “Hey, can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure.” ErnieC steps back and retrieves the telephone behind him, setting it on the bar. “Here ya go. I’m gonna give you some privacy and run to the can while you’re here. Watch the bar for me a sec?”

Tim nods and begins dialing as ErnieC walks away, scanning around the bar; pretty sure no one else had slipped in without him noticing but wanting to make sure. He slides his big index finger into the hole of the last number on the circular face of the base and gives it a spin. There are two long rings in the receiver when the person on the other end picks up.

“Yeah, this is McCoy.”

“Hey Dave, this is Tim Calloway. I need to talk to you, buddy. Are you going to be there for a bit or you going out? Maybe I can meet up with you.”

“Hi, Tim. Yeah, I’m about to head over near Rodeo Drive. I need to speak to a guy about this Bowman joker we’re holding. We got him arraigned this morning and—can you believe it?—the guy was insisting he was hired by another guy to take pictures of himself with a call girl in that hotel room. Only now he’s saying that other guy hired him to get pictures with that call girl and some guy he followed into a bar Saturday. Bowman says he initially planned on just rolling the guy; spotting him as an out-of-towner… a businessman, you know. But, when that other guy came into the bar, he hired him to set up this mark with some compromising pictures. I tell ya, Tim, this Bowman character takes the cake. But, if that’s the case and it does turn out to be true—whether your friend Paul knows of anybody that’d want to do it or not—somebody’s tried to set him up.”

“That’s just plain nuts, Dave. Paul doesn’t have people in his life like that. Believe me, the guy’s life is as exciting as a rock on a deserted island,” his head is reeling at the thought. “But how did Paul end up out in Lawndale? Did you ever find out? Because he has no idea.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that either. But, Bowman says when they went out to get into a cab together, your friend Paul got away from him. His exact words were: ‘that squirrely little guy took off before I even knew he was gone,’” Dave chuckles on the other end of the line. “At least with all the trouble your friend fell into… he did save himself more trouble by being a squirrely little guy.”

“Well… there is that.”

“Yeah, so this Bowman’s kept on me so much about this latest outlandish story of his, even begging me to talk with the bartender over at ErnieC’s that I’m going to. Not so much for him, but for me; for my own peace of mind. Whatta you got? Want to meet me somewhere near there?”

“Well, Dave, it’s kinda funny. That’s why I’m calling. If you can believe this… I’m at ErnieC’s, and I just talked with the bartender. It was ErnieC himself working then. And he says that other guy appeared to be a cop. Well, he said he looked like one. How soon can you be here?”

“No kidding? That is funny. A cop, huh? That’s interesting. Okay, I can be there in about twenty. See you soon, Tim.”

“See you soon, Dave.”

Tim hangs up the receiver when ErnieC walks back behind the bar. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Hey, ErnieC, you said you would like to help my friend.”

“Yeah, if I can.”

“Cool. I was just talking with a detective friend of mine, Dave McCoy. You know him?”

“Yeah, I know McCoy. He’s a good guy.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind telling him all that you just said to me then?”

“Naw, I don’t mind. Anything I can do to help, Tim.”

“Good, good. Well, McCoy’s the one who’s working the case concerning that cagey dude—as you called him—and my friend, Paul. I was going to give him the info you just gave me but, strangely enough, he’s coming over here to talk with you himself; seems that cagey dude’s been begging him to check out his claims of another dude involved in this matter.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, he’s saying this other guy hired him to take my friend back to his hotel room and snap some pictures of Paul with a hooker, for some reason. Only it didn’t exactly turn out that way…” Tim tells him all he knows that had transpired with Paul after meeting Bowman there at his bar last Saturday afternoon. By the time he has ErnieC up to speed the detective walks in.

“ErnieC,” McCoy says smiling, standing next to Tim, extending his hand across the bar.

“Detective Dave. How’re you, sir?” shaking it.

“Oh, I’m good. The ladies at home are keeping me lined out,” winking.

“That’s good, that’s good. You need that.”

“I sure do.” McCoy looks to his left at Tim on the bar stool, “is that all you do all day? Sit on barstools, drink beer, and eat peanuts?”

“Pretty much,” grinning sideways at him and tossing a handful into his mouth. “Have a seat, Dave. I’ll buy you one.”

Dave puts his left hand on Tim’s shoulder, giving it a couple of shakes. “You’re alright. No matter what KC says about you. No, no beer for me. I’m on duty.” He looks at ErnieC. “I will take a coke, though. I don’t get many of those at home.” ErnieC smiles and nods.

“Sounds like they do have you lined out at home, Dave,” Tim chuckles.

“They do,” he sighs, smiling. “They do.” The bartender sets a good-sized coke with ice in front of the detective. He briefly eyes it with pleasure and takes a nice long drink. “Ahhh, that’s good,” breathless. He looks up at Tim and then ErnieC. “So what’s this you have for me?”

Tim and ErnieC tell McCoy all they put together between them concerning Blue Windbreaker Man—Robert Bowman—and Paul; along with the third guy who came in and spoke with Bowman while Paul was locked in the restroom.

That information has McCoy most intrigued. “Well,” setting his near-empty coke glass down, looking at Tim, “I think Mr. Bowman is now actually telling me the truth. That doesn’t get him out of murdering that poor girl, however. But, it does put a new wrinkle into the story.” He looks up at the bartender. “What do you say that other guy looked like, ErnieC? A cop?”

The bartender nods. “Could be ex-military, too. But definitely a cop at some time.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because I know what all you fellas look like, Detective Dave. Besides, in my younger years, I was one.”

Having heard these same details repeatedly, Tim is half-listening to the two talking; drinking his beer, eating peanuts, and thinking. When hearing that last part, his eyebrows shoot upward as does his head to look at the man; nearly choking. “You—” cough, “you…” swallowing, “you were a cop, ErnieC?! When? Where?”

“Little place called Terlton. Well, Tulsa for a while at first. Then back to my hometown for a few years. All told… about seven years.”

“Terlton?” Tim has a strange look.

“Yeah. Surely you haven’t heard of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I have.” The two men stare at each other curiously.

McCoy laughs. “I guess you would know what we look like then. If being one didn’t teach you, being behind a bar sure did,” taking a drink from his glass.

ErnieC, still looking at Tim with amazement on their faces, turns to look at McCoy and points, “Now that’s a fact, Jack.” McCoy laughs again. “Naw, I’ll tell you… he was about six foot, dark hair, and eyes; medium build, no facial hair, tattoos or any markings I could see. He looked to be doing all he could to just blend in. Not ugly, not handsome. All I can tell you, Detective Dave.”

“You would know him again if you saw him?”

“Oh yeah, oh yeah.”

“Maybe I could get you to work with one of our sketch artists. See what we could come up with?”

“Sure, sure. Anything to help.” The phone rings. “I’ll be right back, fellas.”

McCoy watches ErnieC, waiting until he answers the phone. “I need to talk to you about something, Tim. Follow me out when I leave.”

Tim turns to look at him, puzzled. “Alright.”

“Sorry ’bout that, fellas,” placing the receiver on top of the telephone, “night bartender saying he’s gonna be a few minutes late.” The two men nod.

“So ErnieC, how did you end up out here in California?” Tim asks.

“Aw, I met a lil’ lady I fell plum silly over when I was doin’ some part-time security guardin’ at OSU. She was a student there. When she graduated, she came home to here, and I followed; like a lil’ puppy. That girl was the one and only love of this ol’ boy’s life.”

“Oh,” Tim responds sympathetically. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Oh, it worked out. I married that pretty lil’ thing. She went to work in her daddy’s law firm as a paralegal. Ended up managing the whole office after he retired. We couldn’t have kids, but we had twenty-five of the best years of my life together. I lost my Angela to cancer two years back.”

“I’m so sorry, ErnieC,” McCoy offers.

“Yeah, ErnieC, that’s hard, brother. Too bad you two couldn’t have any kids, too. I hate that,” Tim says. McCoy and ErnieC both look over at Tim in surprise.

“You like kids, Tim?” McCoy asks.

Looking back and forth at them, slightly frowning. “Well yeah. I want kids of my own,” taking another drink. Tim sets his beer down, licks his lips, and reaches up to brush his mustache, “someday.” The other two men look back at each other, grinning.

“You’re still a young’un, Tim,” ErnieC picks up his towel and wipes the bar down. “And we did have some kids. We had some foster children—four in total over the years. They were wards of the court… throwaways nobody wanted,” he looks down at his towel. And then he looks up at Tim, “but we did. And they filled our home and hearts with more joy than I could ever try to describe.”

“Do you keep in touch with them, ErnieC?” McCoy asks.

“Oh yeah. We get together for dinners and holidays. I get to see their families now,” he smiles.

“That’s good,” both Tim and McCoy say at nearly the same time.

McCoy suddenly looks at his watch. “Listen, I have to get going. I need to meet someone else about half an hour from here, and I’m already five minutes late.” He stands and takes some money from his pocket.

“Naw, Naw. Keep it, Detective Dave,” ErnieC insists with a big smile. “You’re out there doin’ the hard work. I know. That’s why I like tendin’ bar.”

“Thank you, ErnieC. I’ll get in touch with you when we can set that up with the sketch artist.” The detective starts walking and stops, turning back. “I might stop back by and take you up on that beer after my shift this afternoon. If that’s alright with you.”

“Sounds good. It’d be my pleasure, Detective Dave. I’ll have one ready for ya... have one with ya myself. See ya then.”

Tim’s in his own thoughts. Suddenly realizing the detective was leaving and remembering McCoy’s earlier request, he jumps up, brushes his hands on his Levi’s, and drinks the last of his glass. “Yeah, I have to get going, too. ErnieC, I sure appreciate you for everything, brother,” sticking his right hand across the bar.

The bartender takes it, giving it a good shake. “Ain’t nothin’, Tim, anytime. You take care of yourself, son.”

“You never let me down. Here…” pulling out his wallet and handing the bartender a twenty. “You keep that.”

“Naw, naw, Tim. That’s too much. I can’t take that. I’m just glad if I’m able to help your lil’ friend out somehow.”

“No, you keep it, ErnieC. And I believe you did.”

“I appreciate that, Tim. Come back and see ol’ ErnieC sometime.”

“I will and soon, brother. I’ll see you.” Tim steps it up, following McCoy already outside and standing by Tim’s car.

“Where did these come from?” his backside leaning against Tim’s car, pointing at the bullet holes all along the passenger side of the Trans Am.

Tim grins. “Oh. On the way out to Santa Monica Sunday afternoon.”

“Uh-huh. When you went to that restaurant to talk to the owner. Has any of that sunk into your thick head yet, Tim?”

“You think the two are related? Wait—how did you know I went out to talk with the owner?”

“I know things. I’m Detective Dave, remember?”

“So you know what happened out there?”

“I do. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need you to drop your story. Stay away from out there and anything else pertaining to that story. Got it?”

“I’ve already been told by my boss. What do you know about it?”

“I know you’re going to end up dead and KC hurt or dead. You had better listen to me. Better still, get out of town for a while. No. The state. Why don’t you take KC and go to Texas for a while?”

“Why?! What’s all this about, Dave?!”

McCoy stands up straight and leans in. “Tim, it’s Columbian cartel. They’ve run drugs from Mexico to here and several southern states for years. We can’t get anything to stick on them. Any witnesses always end up dead. Now they’re branching out into real estate. Buying anything they want at any price they want. Anything.” McCoy leans in closer, looking him squarely in the face, his finger pressed firmly into Tim’s chest. “Leave. Load up your animals, KC, and leave. Now!”

“Alright, alright! But will you tell me what you know?”

“Just this: That Bowman character was hired by those thugs whose nest you stirred up. He was at your apartment to find something on you. Seems your dog and cat—and KC—interrupted him. But that‘s just a start. And it won’t end well. Get out of here and let me handle this.” Pressing his finger deeper into his chest, “I mean it, Tim. Today!”

“Okay! Okay!” Tim keeps staring into his reddened Irish face, hands on his hips. He knows Dave is right and only looking out for him and KC. “My boss already told me all that, Dave. I was expecting to learn something more,” half perturbed, looking out at the cars going by on the street.

McCoy waves his arms in the air. “Then why are you still here?!”

Tim snaps his head at the detective. “Because we were planning on going back to Oklahoma with Paul anyway. We’re just getting some things together for the trip first.”

Visibly a little at ease, the detective takes in a deep breath and lets it out, trying not to be agitated for losing his cool. “You are?”

“Yeah. Quinn and us.”

“Quinn?”

“Yeah. He…” Tim sighs. “Look, it’s a long story. Can I at least call you along the trip? I want to know how it’s going here.”

McCoy thinks and nods. “Yeah. Just don’t give your name if anyone else answers.”

“Okay. Hey, I’ll be Tom Peters… Mr. Tom Peters.” Tim grins.

McCoy, still severely serious and staring at him, lightens and snickers, shaking his head. He steps back, puts his hands on his hips, revealing his holstered gun on his right. “That’s very fitting for you.” The two men laugh. It helped. Neither wanted to part that way. “When are you leaving again?”

“Today. KC, Paul, and Quinn are getting things ready. We’re going in Quinn’s bus, and I’m riding my HOG.”

“Lord.” McCoy grins, shaking his head. “You’re taking the pot leaf express? And the grand joker’s leading it. That oughta be a sight.” He turns to walk to his car. “It’s just as well you leave Black Betty. Everybody and their dogs know you in it.” Tim laughs, watching him as he opens the door of his plain-wrapped cop car. McCoy sticks his right foot in and stops, looking back at him. “You take care of yourself and them, Tim. That guy behind all this mess with Bowman and that poor girl at Paul’s hotel is still out here. We don’t know anything about him or even what he looks like except general descriptions. Until we can get a sketch artist with Bowman and ErnieC that still doesn’t tell us much.”

Tim nods and smiles. “I will, Dave. You take care of you, too. Okay?” McCoy nods and gets in, closing the door and starting his car. “Hey,” Tim walks over and places both hands on the top of his doorframe, leaning down and bracing himself on it. “Do you know Gitchull over at Lawndale? Ray Gitchull?”

“Ray? Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. Have you known him long?”

“A good while. Ray came from Oklahoma about ten years ago.”

“Yeah. I knew that. I just never knew where in Oklahoma.”

“Norman,” McCoy pauses, taking note of Tim’s eyes going into a squint, “He got on with LAPD, but only lasted about a week and just split. We all figured he went back to Oklahoma until one of the guys ran into him out in Lawndale. I did a few months later. He’s kind of a jerk. Why do you ask, Tim?”

“Oh, nothing.” Tim turns to look out at the cars passing on the street in front of the bar while Dave studies him.

“He hasn’t given you any trouble has he?”

Still looking away, Tim slightly shakes his head. “Mnah.”

“Well, you tell me if he has. Ray’s kind of shady—actually kind of snaky. Dirty, if you ask me. I never cared for him myself. Just always did my best to get along with him. I don’t trust him one iota.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“What’s this all about, Tim?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering about him is all,” suddenly turning his head back in McCoy’s direction but keeping his eyes to the ground, a grave look on his face. He stands upright, slaps the car top with his right hand, putting his winning smile back into place and looking up at the detective still watching him. “Take care of yourself, Dave. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

The detective keeps his gaze on Tim. “You sure you don’t want to say what’s on your mind about Gitchull, Tim?”

“Nothing really to say. Not right now anyway. Just been thinking. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when I get it figured out and/or need your help, brother,” Tim winks, wanting to reassure his friend.

Unconvinced, McCoy says, “Alright. That’ll have to do for now. I know full well how you are.” When his last words to Tim suddenly set in, a stern look comes across his face. Dave points his finger up at him. “I expect to hear from you, Tim. You have my home number, too. I mean it.”

“I will.”

McCoy nods and begins backing out, looking behind him in both directions. He turns back to Tim once more, gives a wave as he smiles and waves back, watching the detective drive away. Tim walks back to his car, glancing at the holes. He pauses at his door, thinking; gets in and drives back to his apartment.



KC goes to her apartment to take a shower before they take to the road. Paul uses the opportunity to make another attempt in reaching Lisa before they leave; pleading with her to pick up the phone over the answering machine. She does, and she is icy; sounding like someone Paul has never heard before—causing him to wonder if it’s even her. Lisa tells her husband she has taken his things to his parent’s house and that he is to go there when and if he comes home; Paul protests, saying: “I live there, Lisa!”

“No, Paul, you don’t. Not until we get some things settled you don’t. Not until you admit who you’re having an affair with.”

Paul insists once more he isn’t.

She insists he is, saying she ‘heard from people at the hospital’ he ‘is and it’s a nurse working there.’

After hanging up, Paul is very distraught. KC returns to Tim’s, quickly seeing the change in the man since leaving him only minutes before. She prods until Paul tells her about the phone conversation with Lisa. KC opens two more beers for them and sets about trying to console him. She has him back to a smiling level when Tim walks in.

“What are you two doing?” one hand on his hip and the other high up on the doorframe bracing himself, looking back and forth at their backs in the lawn chairs on the patio. Surprising them both, the two turn around and look up at him.

“Oh hey, Timmy,” Paul tries sounding casual, “we’re just sitting here talking, waiting for you to get back.”

“Yeah, dork. Where ya been?”

“You two already drinking? Is there any left?”

“Might be one,” KC turns back around. “Better hurry or I’m gonna drink it,” taking a sip from her can.

Paul’s still looking up at him. “Where have you been?”

“I’m going to get that last beer before the lush snags it. I’ll be right back and tell you.”

Paul watches him walk away and looks over at KC looking back at him. They both snicker.

Tim comes back and sits to KC’s left and takes a sip of his already opened beer. “Well, you weren’t lying this time. This is the last beer. I guess we better get your inebriated tails on the road now that you’ve drunk it all.”

“Hey!” KC scowls, snapping her head over at him, punching him on the leg, “I don’t lie. You moron!” calmly turning her head back to the front and taking another drink, “and you didn’t have to take all day. Where you been?” Paul’s watching the two, grinning, and then focuses on Tim for his answer.

Tim grins back at him and then realizes why his old friend’s laser-focused gaze. “I’ll tell you in a minute. But first—is Quinn ready?”

“Yeah!” KC yells, “We’ve all been waitin’ for you! It’s nearly noon, Tim!”

“Alright, alright. You don’t have to yell.”

“Shuddup.”

“You shuddup.”

Paul has something else on his mind. “Yes, Tim, he’s waiting to hear from us. He’s going to pick us up when we call and tell him we’re ready. Now, tell us where you’ve been all this time.” Both are staring at him.

Tim sighs and takes a drink, sitting up in his chair. “Alright, I wanted to find out something before we left. So, I went and found the bar you were at, Paulie. The bartender’s a good friend of—”

“Which bar?” KC asks.

“ErnieC’s. Okay, so my bartender friend’s the one working last Saturday aftern—”

“ErnieC?” KC asks, “He the bartender friend that was workin’ then?”

“Yes, KC! Will you let me tell this?!” She waves her hand through the air, shaking her head, and takes a drink. “Sheesh! Anyway, last Saturday afternoon when you wandered in…” Tim goes on telling the two of all he learned in the last hour and a half.

“Well, you did good, dork,” KC pats him on the same leg she previously punched, “we needed to know. I’m glad you got Dave involved and brought up to speed on what you discovered from ErnieC. And thank you for telling us all of it this time,” eyeing him and taking a drink. Tim smiles.

Paul, still thinking on all he just heard has a grievous expression. “There was another man there at the bar talking to that man I was drinking a beer with?”

Tim looks over at him, still smiling from his surprising and rare praise from KC. He, too, gets a grievous expression upon seeing Paul’s. “Yeah. ErnieC’s going to get with a sketch artist when Dave can set it up, and then we can have a picture of him. Which would be good. I’d like to know what that dude looks like. In case he shows up sometime.”

KC empties her can and stands. “Well, it ain’t gonna be here. That’s for gawldurn sure,” walking through the open patio door. “I’m gonna go call Quinn and tell him to come pick us up in an hour. If you have anything you need to do you’d better get it done in that length of time, ‘cause we’re gettin’ out of here.”

“Do you have everything ready?” Tim asks.

KC stops and turns around. “Yup. Got the kid’s food, their water and food bowls, leashes, Georgie’s litter and litter box, and Fred’s pet carrier ready. I got my clothes, and things packed. Had a shower and I’m ready to roll.” Not seeing him moving, a frown comes across her face. “Tim, you’d better move. I mean it. If you’re takin’ your bike, you have got to get it out of the garage and see if it’ll even start. You haven’t ridden it in weeks.”

“I have too. You don’t know everything,” finishing his beer as Paul watches them banter back and forth.

“Oh yes, I do. And I also know I’m gonna kick your tail-end if you don’t get movin’ now, buddy.” Paul slowly cuts his eyes enough to sneak a look at her in the doorway frowning at the back of Tim. Seeing Paul, she starts grinning, and he’s relieved. She looks back at Tim and frowns again. “Get up!”

“Alright!” Tim jumps up. “Now I remember why I broke up with you!”

“Bullsnot. I dumped your sorry tail,” KC looks back at Paul, winking, walking inside the apartment ahead of Tim. Paul finishes his beer, gets up, and follows them inside.

Tim takes a quick shower, and to save time, Paul packs the things KC lines out to get for Tim. KC brings Benny in his pet carrier and the rest of her things over to Tim’s doorway, instructing Paul to watch them while she goes to her car and makes one last sweep of it and her apartment before locking everything up. Tim, now out of the shower, goes and gets his Harley, pulling it out front next to his Trans Am. He gets off and flies two-by-two up the steps, meeting up with KC and Paul standing next to the railing in front of his doorway.

He peers down at all the luggage and bags. “Man. Think we’re taking enough?”

“Well, we have no idea how long we’re gonna be gone, Tim. These’re all the things we need. We can’t run back and forth from Oklahoma to California everytime we need somethin’. Besides, half of it’s yours and your boys’ stuff.”

“Alright, alright. So, when’s Quinn getting here?”

“Said he’d meet us at one-thirty over there,” KC points at Helmsley Park across the road from the apartments.

Tim turns to look where she’s pointing and looks back at her. “Why?! Why way over there?!”

“Because he drives a big heifer of a bus and can’t get in and out of here, that’s why!”

“We have to carry all this stuff and take the boys way over there?!”

“Yup. You’d best get busy. I can take Harry and George. You and Paul can get all this other stuff,” she reaches down, picks up George at her feet and Harry’s leash. “C’mon boys.” KC starts for the landing of the stairway, turns, and stops. “You’d better get busy. He’s on his way,” descending downward as Tim and Paul watch.

Tim turns back to look at the mound all along the front of his apartment and peers back up at Paul, who’s grinning and shaking his head. “Well, we’d better get busy,” sighing big, reaching down and picking up an armload; following KC.

It takes them several trips and a good while. The park is about the length of a football field from the apartments, and the men are sweaty and worn out after the endeavor. Quinn pulls up the same time they arrive with the first load. Half an hour later—the fifth and final trip—Tim goes back for his bike, rides it over to the park, and turns it off.

“What’re you doin’?” KC questions, looking at him from one of the windows on the right side of the bus, “we’re ready to go, Tim.”

“I want to check my oil. And I forgot something at my apartment. I’ll just be a min—” Squalling tires interrupt Tim as the four looks around trying to find where the loud sounds are coming from, and right quick they do: across the street at their apartment complex. Two carloads of occupants roar into their parking lot and then slow, spraying bullets from automatic weapons at both Tim’s and KC’s apartments; finishing with both their cars and speed out as rapidly as they arrive. The four stares in disbelief, mouths open.

“Wow man,” Quinn says. “Time to split.”

“What the—?!” KC howls. “They shot up my apartment and Lucy!” She turns on Tim with her face all twisted, “This is your fault!”

“Mine?! How is this my fault?!”

“You’re the one those jerks are after for writing your jerky story, you jerk!”

“Whoa, whoa…” Quinn—eyes still wide and hands up, “I don’t want to be involved in any of this crazy business. I can’t—”

“Relax, Quinn,” KC says, “they’re not after you. Fire up this pot leaf and get us out of here.” She turns and looks out the window at Tim. “Get that thing started and let’s go!” He jumps up, kicks the bike and the engine roars; following Quinn out of the park and onto the road. All survey the remnants as they pass the two bullet-ridden apartments and vehicles; neighbors and onlookers now gathering and staring—in the distance, the shrill of sirens from emergency vehicles growing closer. Quinn speeds up; as does Tim behind him. And blaring on Quinn’s stereo:

“Last time I saw Penny

She hung low below the stars

On that cold and dreary April day

That evil Dusty Spur

Up on Keystone, OK…

I’m left to roam this wasteland,

To carry her scars

I’m the man who did fail her

I failed her in every way…

My Penny, my Penny Blue

What did I do to you?

My Penny, ohhh my Penny, Penny Blue?”

KC tells Quinn to stop by a branch of her bank on the way out of town to get some money. Quinn and Paul are not fond of the idea, but KC wins, as she often does. Tim uses the opportunity to call Dave, barely reaching him as he’s about to run out of the detective division upon hearing of what happened at their apartments. The detective is extremely relieved.

Once they get on the road, they stay on it, wanting to get enough distance between them and Southern California.

It is early September and still relatively warm; the days still long, affording them more traveling time. Tim’s backside, not used to extended road trips in a long while, begins taking a beating early in the extra miles on his Harley. But he’s happy for the lengthy wind therapy; even if it does pain him a good bit in his southern section.

Quinn is so shaken by the drive-by incident at the apartment complex he takes back roads all the way until crossing up with I-40; only stopping twice for restroom breaks and long enough for Tim to gas up and get the feeling back into his legs. Not one speaks of the drive-by shooting. It is too fresh. KC sleeps mostly, along with Harry and George. Tim and Quinn drive and think. Paul stays quiet and thinks. He is not thrilled about riding in the pot leaf painted bus, trimmed with daisies, guitars, paisley, and peace signs. But, the man prefers it over staying in California. And for the first several miles he catches himself trying to appear like a captive to all passing and giving them the once-over.

The four finally stop for the day a few miles east of Ash Fork, Arizona; and finding a very wooded out of the way spot just inside the Kaibab Forest comforts the musician. The friends make camp, eat hot dogs they roast over a fire, and go to sleep in the beds they put together inside the pot leaf bus.

Next Chapter: Chapter Five