(Sunday 17th - 1st half)

“…Ishat Choo, Chimmy?!”

“What’re you doin’ here, Calloway?” the chunky cop leaning against the red brick cop shop grumbles.

Tim, in his own world, snaps out of it and glances up from the sidewalk. “Aw, I’m coming after a friend. How are you doing, Gitchull?”

Gitchull blows smoke and points backward, stubby cigarette poked between two fingers, making wide smoke rings. “So that’s your friend in there?”

Tim slows and then stops. “My friend…” eyeing him, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Why… what’d he do?”

“NOBODY CARES!”

Tim peers up at the doorway. “What was that?”

Gitchull shakes his head in disgust. “What hasn’t he done?!” dropping the foot he’s bracing himself against the building with and turning to face him, “And that, Calloway, that is your friend. That guy’s been raisin’ Cain for the last seven hours in there. Screamin’ at us and then bawlin’ like a baby. Sayin’ somethin’ about somebody murderin’ his sister, nobody cares, and all cops are criminals.” Gitchull takes his last drag, cocks his head and lets it out, eyeing Tim the whole time. He then snuffs the butt on the sole of his shiny black cop shoe.

“I’m sorry, Ray, for anything and everything he’s done. I only got the call fifteen minutes ago that he was here.”

“Fif-… well, that’s nice. That jaybird’s been havin’ us call you all night.”

“All night? How long’s he been here?”

“Since two. Wandered in here a few minutes after two.”

A wry smile develops. “Paul came here? That was considerate of him.”

Unamused, Gitchull frowns, pointing his finger at Tim. “Not so considerate of us, let me tell you.” He takes off for the door, “C’mon, let’s get your jaybird outa here.” Tim stares at his back. The cop holds the door open, “C’mon!” waving him in.

“Let me out of here! None of you cops care about the murder of a beautiful young girl unless she’s your own! There’s not a cop from here to Washington to Maine to Florida and back over to Texas who cares unless it’s their own daughter or sister or mother or wife! You’re all a bunch of a-”

The yeller opens his eyes, locking on Tim standing in front of his cell. Tim’s saddened hazel eyes peering back at the former best friend he had not seen in four years. The only sound in the room of seven men is the coffee maker brewing a fresh batch along the opposite wall.

“Paul…” in a near woeful whisper, “what are you doing here?” staring at his disheveled, now embarrassed, friend.

Paul scrunches his forehead, “Chimmy?... ishat Choo, Chimmy?” hands gripping the bars; forehead resting upon the middle one. He casts his reddened blue eyes on the floor of the small two-cell police station. The small man’s head makes a sloppy upward jerk. “Hey! What’re you doin’ ‘ere, Chimmy? Where you been?! I been tryin’ to reach you for daze!”

“Chimmy?!” Gitchull howls. Two more officers join in the laughter. Tim glances over his shoulder and back at grinning Paul.

“Yeah, Chimmy!” one cop mocks, “where ya been?!”

“I was out on assignment,” Tim mumbles over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I bet,” another one retorts, looking around at his friends. “What was it this time? Blonde, brunette, or redhead?” the officers guffawing louder. Paul looks around at them, trying hard to focus.

Tim leans in. “Hey, let’s get you out of here. I’ll be right back. Just keep it together. Okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, shure… shure, I can keep it together, Chimmy. Just get me outa ‘ere, buddy.”

Tim turns and walks toward the laughers. “All right, all right, yeah that’s real funny. So, what did he do? And how much to get him out?”

“We’re just messing with you, Calloway,” desk sergeant Wilson chuckles. “He didn’t do much except drive us crazy all night. I’ll get his paperwork together. You can pay his fines, and we’ll release him to you.”

“Did he tear anything up?”

“No, just wandered in here yelling. All we can charge your friend with is drunk and disorderly; public intoxication. No big deal.”

“No big deal?! I ain’t had a wink of sleep since he’s been here!” a voice cries from the cell next to Paul’s. Tim spins around to see an older man appearing in the same shape as his friend.

“Yes, yes, Simmons. But you’ll get plenty of sleep once your missus comes by to pick you up after church as usual. Now hush!” Wilson answers. Tim turns back to the sergeant with a curious expression on his face. “Sign here, Tim. I’ll get his things for you.” The fiftyish veteran officer lets out a slight grunt as he stands from his roller chair, grinning. “Timmy.”

Tim looks up quick from the paperwork, sheepish, knowing he had it coming. The investigative journalist did a healthy share of ribbing all the present officers the last four years while working the fifty-mile radius of Los Angeles. But, they had given him much the same, along with information, helping the twenty-six-year-old make a name around the southern coast of California.

“Here ya go,” Wilson said, placing the clear bag of Paul’s pocket contents on the counter.

“And here you go, Chimmy,” Gitchull from behind. Tim turns to see Paul out of the cell with Gitchull holding his upper left arm; bracing him from falling.

Tim inspects him head to toe. “Can you stand?”

Paul does his best to appear composed and stand straight. “Sh-shure I can,” teetering, working on buttoning his top button and cinching his tie.

Tim looks at Gitchull. “What did he drink?”

“No idea. But it was a lot of it. Smells like bourbon.”

Tim turns back to Paul struggling with his tie and balance; and then starts helping the small man finish the task. “Whew!” wrinkling his nose, squinting, “don’t breathe on me, son, you smell like a distillery. Turn your head, Paul.”

Paul turns his head in Gitchull’s direction, weaving, smiling at the officer. “Ya know… you’re nice for a cop.”

“Thank you,” Gitchull grins at Tim who is wholly embarrassed and straightening Paul’s suit jacket. “You’re a good friend, Timmy,” the cop mocks, patting the man’s shoulder and walking away.

Tim nods. “I appreciate it,” taking Paul by the arm. With careful maneuvering, he gets him over to a chair across the room by the door. “Sit here while I take care of all this. I’ll be right back. Be good,” gazing stern at his friend. Paul’s head bobs in agreement.

Almost convinced, Tim moves over to the counter to Wilson and Gitchull. The other officers are then refilling on their cups and in their own discussion.

Tim looks down at the short stack of papers and up at Wilson. “You said ‘pay his fines.’ He doesn’t need to appear in court? See the judge?”

Wilson wrinkles his nose, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. “Naw, there’s no need in that. He came to us, after all. Other than the yelling and crying, he didn’t do much.”

Tim presses his lips together, giving a nod. “I appreciate that, Sergeant.”

“He doesn’t seem like a bad fella,” Gitchull says, glancing over at Paul and back at Tim. “Expensive suit and haircut… manicure to boot. He come from money, Calloway?”

“Yeah, he does,” Tim answers, looking over at his friend once more struggling with his tie. “And he’s a doctor in an Oklahoma City hospital.”

“Oklahoma City? A doctor? How’d you come to meet up with him, Calloway?”

“We went to college together. OU.”

“Ohhh… that’s right…” Gitchull pauses in thought, nodding. “I’d forgotten all about that. You were a star running back for the Sooners there until—”

“Yeah,” Tim shuts it down.

Wilson, watching the two men, seeks to help Tim out of added embarrassment. “He does appear to be a good kid,” looking over at Paul, “not a habitual drinker in my estimation. More than likely just something troubling him at the time.”

Tim glances over at Wilson and holds his look, silently thanking him for the save, and smiles. “Yeah, yeah… I mean, I don’t know. We haven’t seen each other in a long time. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times. Planned to get together. We just haven’t ever made the time for it.”

“Well, looks like you might be having it made for you,” Gitchull offers.

Tim peers at him, thinking; all three look over at Paul with his tie. “Yeah, it would seem so.”

Gitchull looks back at Tim. “Boy, when’re you gonna get a haircut? Your hair’s dippin’ down to your shoulder. It’s longer than my daughter’s.”

Tim grins. “Nothing wrong with my hair.”

“No? You could ponytail it.”

“I do,” Tim responds with ease, “when I ride my HOG,” and back to the papers in front of him. “Have to. Gets in whatever young lady’s face that’s riding behind me at the time.” Grinning, he looks up at Wilson, “So, how much to get him out, Sergeant?”

“A hundred and fifty. Both charges carry a penalty of seventy-five a piece.”

“Just give ’em one of my credit cards, Timmy!” Paul booms from across the room, focusing on his tie and in total oblivion of his audio level. “Out of my wallet there! Just pick one! Doesn’t matter which!” The three men stare at him. He stops quick and looks up. “Oh no! No… no, better not! Don’t need that information to get back home!” He focuses on his tie, thinking. “Just give ’em some cash from my wallet,” quieter, “I had five hundred when I left my hotel room yesterday.”

The three turn back to each other.

“He still have any of it?” Tim asks. “I have no idea where he’s been or why he’s even here.”

Wilson nods. “He has three hundred. And there’s a key to a room at the downtown Hilton in LA. Maybe he was here on business.”

“Convention.” The three looks back to Paul fiddling with his tie. “Medical convention.”

“Well, there. Some of the mystery solved, anyway.” Tim and Gitchull turn back to Wilson smiling warmly at Tim. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah,” Gitchull agreeing, “now just get some coffee and food into your friend. Find out what’s eating at him, and you’re home free, Timmy,” popping him on his left arm.

Tim looks wary at him and glances over at Paul, “Yeah.” He pulls Paul’s wallet from the bag, takes two of the three crisp one hundred-dollar bills, and hands it to Wilson. “Here you go.”

“Okay,” taking it and placing them inside a lockbox. “I’ll give you a receipt, and you boys can be on your way.”

“I expect he was really out of it when he came in here. How did you know to call me?”

“He had your card in the vest pocket of his suit for one thing.”

Gitchull chimes in, “Yeah, and he kept yelling your name between all the other nonsense,” pausing to blow smoke in the air and look at Tim. “How in the devil do you think he got way over here in Lawndale from downtown LA?”

Wilson places the lockbox of money in the drawer and picks up the receipt book. “Could’ve taken a cab.”

Gitchull, looking at him, “Okay. But, why? Why out here?” snuffing his butt in the ashtray on the counter, “a lil’ podunk town. What could’ve brought him out this way?”

Tim stays silent; looking back and forth at the two officers, thinking.

Wilson pauses from his writing and looks up at Tim, grinning. “Maybe he was already missing home. If he’s an Okie, he probably got his fill of LA quick and was merely missing small-town life.” The sergeant points his pen in Gitchull’s direction, “You oughta know, Ray. You’re from Oklahoma. You know how it is,” leaning back over his receipt book.

Tim looks over at Gitchull in surprise. “I didn’t know you were from there, Gitchull.”

“Some hotshot investigative journalist you are, Calloway.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since ’68.”

“Ten years. Why did you end up here?”

Gitchull stares at him; starts grinning slow. “Same reason Sarge just said.” Tim eyes him a bit longer, and Gitchull enjoys returning it.

The sound of paper ripping ends the silence.

“Here you go, Tim,” holding the piece of paper up. Tim still in his curious stare match with Gitchull. The sergeant gives it a shake, “Here. Go take care of your buddy. He looks like he might have that tie just about licked. Get some coffee and food into him, and he’ll probably be able to fill you in on what he’s been up to. Maybe.”

Tim turns his head to look down at the paper. He takes it, glancing at Wilson. “Thanks,” folding it in two and placing it inside Paul’s wallet with his one remaining bill. He empties the bag onto the counter and grabs the room key with Paul’s other set; placing all three in his Adidas warm-up jacket pocket. His eyes linger upon the wedding ring on the counter. Sadness washes over his tired face. The two officers watch Tim pick it up and tuck it in his front jeans pocket while looking at Paul; his buddy gazing at his success with the tie as he tries focusing on the wanted posters tacked on the wall to his left.

Tim feels Gitchull’s eyes still on him. “So, I guess you’re right to question my investigative skills, Gitchull. Because it just occurred to me. I don’t recall ever asking how long you’ve been a police officer.”

“Ten years.”

“Ah,” nodding. “Here the whole time?”

“Yep.”

Wilson seeks to change the course of this conversation. “Say, Tim, the missus has been asking about you and Julie. When are you going to bring her over for dinner again, son?”

Tim looks his way, poking at the bulging contents of his jacket pocket. “Julie and I are no longer together, Sarge.”

“Ohhh, that’s a shame. Julie is such a pleasant young lady. Are you seeing anyone else? You should think about settling down sometime, Tim.”

Gitchull grins ornery. “Calloway ain’t ever gonna settle down, Sarge. Wolves don’t settle down. They just head the pack ‘til they’re too old. Then another young one comes along and kills him.” Tim glares at him.

“That’s enough, Ray. You’ve had your fun with Timothy this morning,” Wilson admonishes. “Tim, you take your friend to get something into his belly. I suspect you both need that.”

Tim slowly turns from Gitchull to Wilson. “Yeah.” He walks over to the chair where Paul is now leaning on and still focusing on the wanted posters. “Come on, buddy,” pulling him up, “Let’s go get something to eat.”

Wilson calls after him. “The invitation still stands, Tim. You’re welcome to dinner anytime.”

Tim—a head taller than Paul—stoops over, draping the small man’s arm around his neck. He turns his eyes back in the direction of the counter. Gitchull has turned to face the two men at the door, his backside leaning against the counter and arms folded. Tim ignores that.

“Thank you, Sarge. Tell Sylvia I said hello.”

“Will do, son. Take care.”

Tim gets Paul to the car, slips him inside and walks around the back end, glancing up to see Gitchull watching from the door. Ignoring him once more, Tim gets in and fires up his Trans Am. The beefy motor idles as he stares through the windshield at the chunky cop. He pulls out, taking off for LA.

“Thank you, Timmy.”

“Wha?” snapping his head in the voice’s direction, “oh… yeah. No problem.” Tim’s thoughts are still on Gitchull, and he is not used to anyone else being in his car—not that often. A voice other than his own startles him. The voice of his old best friend in the seat next to him gives him a jolt. He looks back to the road.

It is almost noon on a sunny, unseasonably cool September Sunday. Tim had little sleep from being out all night, and his head is feeling fuzzy. Not too fuzzy to realize that within a few minutes places to eat will soon be filled with churchgoers. But, he has nothing to eat at his apartment. “I’m gonna stop at a drive-in and grab us some burgers. Sound good, buddy?” Tim hopes so. He also has hopes of not being pulled into the drama of what’s troubling Paul enough to lose the last twenty-four hours. And then walk into a police station. He hasn’t the time or desire for any interruption.

The two travel a couple of miles when Tim catches himself back in his thoughts, completely forgetting Paul. The man hadn’t made a sound since thanking him. Tim steals a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, and the best he can tell Paul has his arm up on the top of the door; fist pressed against the side of his face. ‘Maybe he’s sleeping,’ Tim surmises. A short, pitiful sound of sucking air following a wet sniffle, letting him know he is wrong and wishing he isn’t.

“Are you okay, buddy?” doing his best to have the right amount of sincere concern in his tone. And do it without looking at Paul. Nothing. Beginning to feel like a jerk, he looks over and sees tears streaming down Paul’s worn-out face. Long enough to have created two pools at the top of his tailored shirt, each parallel with his tie. He feels like a jerk. “Paul?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tim never heard a man sound like that before; not in that pitch. He has never heard this man utter this kind of weakness. “Can’t do what, buddy?” doing small, quick glances to show concern; trying to hide his uneasiness of the whole scene. “Is everything okay with you and Lisa? Is Amy okay, Paul?” another quick side glance as Paul stares out the side window at the scenery whizzing by; his balled-up fist pressed against his slightly open mouth.

Looking back at the road, Tim’s relieved to see the A&W Drive-in sign up on the left, downshifts into third gear, the black TA roaring low; on to second, turning the signal on and whipping into the parking lot, finding the first stall with a shade. He rolls down both windows with the power buttons on the middle console and shuts the brawny engine off.

“Whoo… I don’t know about you, buddy, but I am thirsty and hungry.” Tim looks up at the menu and over at Paul staring blankly at the floorboard. “Paulie, you have to eat. Want a burger and Coke?”

Paul shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Never one to take a ‘no’ for an answer, Tim informs, “I still know what you like to eat, Paulie. I’m ordering it. It’s up to you if you eat it or not,” reaching his arm out the window, pressing the button and proceeding to place their order.

Afterward, he glances over at Paul still looking the same as before. “Look, Paulie, I don’t know what’s going on. I want to help you. I do. But you have to tell me what it is we’re dealing with here.” Paul says nothing and moves nothing. Tim lets out a loud, long and weighty sigh, turning to watch the pretty young carhop take a large order to the stall across from them. He smiles when she peers up at him.

“She likes you. They always did.”

Surprised, Tim quickly looks over at him; Paul still piteous appearing, now forcing a small distressed smile. It was a start. “Too young. Even I have my boundaries,” flashing his big grin. “But they can’t help themselves. Poor creatures,” winking in his sideways stare, playfully combing at his blonde horseshoe mustache with his fingers. Paul’s sparse smile grows into a slow grin. He shakes his head and turns to look out his window. As he does, Tim sees the slight grin rapidly fading. He can’t lose his opening.

“Paulie, you always talked to me. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t talk about, buddy,” he coaxes, voice full of gentle sincerity. “Tell me what got you so upset.”

Paul shakes his head. “I… I can’t, Timmy… I’m just worn out at it all… so wore out at it that I don’t even want to hear myself talk about it.”

“Well… then, just do it once, for me. It might make you feel better, too.”

Tim watches the left side of Paul’s head, waiting for movement, noting some hints of gray already showing in his dark-brown hair. It makes him sad. Noticing that and thinking about all the missed opportunities of seeing his old friend the last four years is enough time for Paul to decide to talk. And he flinches from it when the small man turns back to him.

“I’ve been getting messages, Tim. Messages about Penny… it wasn’t a suicide. She didn’t kill herself… she was murdered. It was all just a big cover-up.”

Tim stares at Paul long enough to realize he’d better say something. “Are these messages from real people, Paulie?” That’s the wrong thing to say. Paul lets him know with an ample serving of contempt and turning to look out the window once more. Tim’s facial expression spirals from sincere curious to self-loathe, with another loud sigh. “Aw… Paulie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that… well… you know what happened last time. You almost blew your whole future our junior year. That’s all I was thinking about. That’s all,” still nothing. “Okay, just, just forget my being a moron and let’s start over. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Hi,” a young female voice chirps in a singsong tone, interrupting their one-sided conversation. Tim’s head jerks up to the left. The same cute carhop smiles down at him, holding their tray of food and drinks.

Tim flashes his grin. “Oh! Hang on, darlin’, let me help you hang that heavy tray on the door here.” He reaches out, taking hold of both sides, his big hands overlapping her small ones, both pausing to share a glimpse.

“Thank you,” she coos flirtingly.

Tim grins more with a nod, “No problem. Now, what’s the damage?” reaching into the back seat for his jacket.

“Two thirty-nine,” admiring the car, bumper to bumper, “Nice TA.”

“Thank you,” Tim smiles, thumbing through his wallet, taking out a ten and handing it up to her. “Here you go, darlin,’ and you keep that change.”

“Oh! Thank you!” squealing with delight, jumping up and down. That got Paul’s attention, and he turns, watching the two. The young carhop then notices Paul and grows embarrassed. “Well, you guys need anything else… just anything… you let me know. I’m Candy,” jutting her left shoulder toward the black TA.

Tim grins, “I bet’chu are,” winking, “we’ll sure do that… Candy. You have a nice day, darlin,’ okay?”

“You too,” she grins, backing away, eyes locked on Tim’s, “bye,” waving.

“Bye-bye,” Tim sings back.

Paul keeps watching his old friend reaching up for a drink and straw from the tray at the same time leering at the cute carhop peering back once more before going in.

“Darlin’?” Paul asks staring at Tim. The man’s eyes still on her while handing the drink and straw to Paul. “What’s with all the sudden cowboy talk, Tim?”

Tim looks at him, sheepish. “Well, you know,” shrugging, grinning. “They seem to like it.” He turns back to the tray, gets his drink, sticks the straw into the cross-slits at the top and takes a big gulp. “Ahhh… that’s good,” placing it snugly between his legs and reaches for a burger, turning to hand it to Paul, who waves him off. “You have to eat something, Paulie.”

“I can’t. Not right now. My stomach’s in knots, and my head feels like a bowling ball.”

Tim watches him briefly and then unwraps the burger; taking a healthy bite, chewing and swallowing. “Well, you never could drink. I don’t know what got you so upset that you’d tie one on with bourbon. I would’ve thought you got broke of that after our stunt in ’73 following Homecoming our junior year.”

“That’s just it, Tim. I haven’t had a drop of hard liquor since nearly dying on that Everclear you guys were drinking that weekend. The only thing I drink is beer, and that’s when I’m grilling out or watching some college football. Which isn’t very often with all the hours I put in at the hospital. Remember, I just started my residency at Mercy back in June.”

Tim stops chewing his last big bite while looking at Paul. He turns and stares out, slowly moving his jaws once more, and then takes a sip of his drink, thinking. He sticks the cup between his legs, glancing at Paul still looking at him. “Well, then why were you blasted drunk on bourbon and still reek of it?”

Paul begins shaking his head. “I don’t know. I only had two beers yesterday.”

“Where?”

“At a club around Rodeo Drive. I went there late yesterday afternoon to get something for Lisa. I’d hoped it might be a peace offering. That’s why I wrote a check for five hundred at the front desk of the hotel. I didn’t want to use a credit card. Either Lisa or dad would see it on the statement.”

“Why?”

“You know how it’s always been with mom and dad, Timmy. And as angry as Lisa’s been at me lately, I didn’t want her getting any strange ideas I had bought something for some other woman.”

“But did you really think you could buy something for five hundred on Rodeo Drive, Paulie? You might get a little diamond toe ring for that.”

“I know that now.”

“So, you didn’t buy anything there, then? Nothing to show for you being there?”

He shakes his head and goes to take a sip; his hand shaking badly, making it tough to get the straw into his mouth. The last question suddenly hitting him, Paul’s head snaps in Tim’s direction. “Why? Do you think there’s any reason—any need—for me to show I was there?”

Tim chews and thinks, shakes his head and swallows. “I don’t know. I just always look at every possible angle in case something comes up, and there’s a need for it. I spend most of my time looking at angles and trying to figure out how or why somebody’s done something. It’s what I do, Paulie,” wadding the burger wrapper into a ball, tossing it on the tray hanging onto the side of his door. Then he grabs his drink and takes another long pull from it, gazing out the windshield at nothing, thinking. “You still haven’t told me about the messages. Who are they from? Any idea?”

Paul shakes his head. “I don’t even recognize the voice.”

“Voice? You mean you heard them? I thought the messages were only in written form.”

“No. Well, both. Typed messages left for me at the hospital and on my windshield. Phone calls at the hospital and home.”

“So, you don’t know the voice? Was it a man or woman?”

Shaking his head again, “No, nothing distinctive about it. It is a man’s voice. Luckily enough, I’ve been the one to pick up the phone at home when he calls. I know because I often ask Lisa if anyone’s called.”

“That you know of. Could be the dude has, and Lisa’s just not saying. Or, maybe he hasn’t, and it isn’t luck, but the fact that he knows when you’re there.”

Paul’s eyes grow wide. He quickly turns to his friend. “You think he’s watching me?”

Tim shrugs. “Could be.” He sees fear flash across his old friend’s face. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. Like you said, it might just be lucky that he calls when you’re there. Besides, Lisa would tell you,” hoping his last words might reassure Paul. They didn’t appear to do so. “Well, when did these messages start?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“The written ones left at the hospital… where have they been left and has anyone seen who’s been leaving them?”

“No. And that’s the crazy part. They’re left in my locker in the doctor’s lounge... one was in a patient’s room that was on my rounds one night—on their chart, Tim! How could they know everywhere to place them where only I would find them?!”

“Do they all say the same thing?”

“The first half did. Almost word-for-word. That’s why I was blowing it off, thinking it to be some clown who knew and with nothing better to do... wanting to mess with me. I can think of a couple of doctors.”

“The first half? What happened with the last half?”

“The last fifteen began building with more details... each one. Details only someone who either did what the messenger claims happened to Penny or knows the person who did.”

“Fifteen?! You’ve received thirty messages from this dude, Paulie? Have you talked to any cops about it?”

He shakes his head. “You know the trouble I had. And with me being a first-year at Mercy… I don’t need any problems, Timmy.” Paul goes to take another sip, but he’s shaking more than before. It takes both hands on the cup to tame the straw. Tim sees it, and it makes the burger in his stomach roll.

“Paulie, you’ve talked to someone about that… haven’t you? I mean… you are, aren’t you?”

“I am. But not on the record. I must protect my career, Timmy. I do talk to Terry once a week.”

“That’s good. No offense, but I’m relieved you said Terry and not Penny. At least you stopped that. Wait… who’s Terry?”

“You know… Terry Blackenstock. We met him in our freshman year. He’s now a doctor, too. A first-year psychiatrist at Baptist in OKC. We have a standing date once a week at the club for eighteen holes. He lets me talk. The days and times vary because of our schedules. But he makes time for me. Lisa insists upon it, too.”

“That’s good. So, Lisa knows. But, Paulie, you’re in your first-year with these crazy hours… how is it you’re here? How are you able to get away for a medical convention?”

“My resident came into the doctor’s lounge a week ago Friday just after I came on duty and told me he wanted me to go in his place. He handed me an envelope with his plane tickets, itinerary, hotel reservation, and two one-hundred-dollar bills in it. He said he didn’t want to go but someone needed to be there to represent the hospital, and it would be a great experience for me. I was on the plane that following Sunday morning.”

“You’ve been here all week? Why haven’t you called me, Paulie?”

“I did a couple of times. And then I was so busy with the daily presentations and beat afterward. I just got something to eat and went to bed every evening. At least I’ve been able to get caught up on some sleep I haven’t had the last five months.”

“So, I’m assuming you went out last night… or late afternoon to get Lisa’s gift because you’re going back soon?”

Paul nods. “My flight leaves out five in the morning.”

“Well, I hate to see you go this soon. It sucks we haven’t been able to spend more time than this and under these circumstances.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I’d better get you back to your hotel, so you can get some rest before getting up in time to catch that early flight.” Paul nods again, solemn. Tim looks at him briefly, seeing the sadness set in his tired eyes as he stares down at his cup. He reaches over and places his hand on Paul’s left shoulder, giving a little squeeze and shake. “Hey, buddy, you’re going to be okay. We’ll find out what’s going on. I’m going to do some checking. I have plenty of good sources in the OKC area. Or I used to. No matter. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Now, what’s this about Lisa thinking you’re cheating on her? That’s ridiculous. I’ve never known any guy so madly in love with one woman before in my life. Never.”

“I don’t know, Timmy. It started about a month ago. She began growing distant and then getting angry with me over the smallest things. Last week she outright accused me. She said she’s filing for divorce if I don’t end it. She won’t even tell me who I’m supposed to be having an affair with!”

“That’s just crazy!” Tim shakes his head. “Between that, all your hours, and those messages… no wonder you said you couldn’t take anymore.”

Paul nods, looking down at his cup once more, softly uttering, “Yeah.”

Tim places his empty cup on the tray, taking the other burger off it and handing it to Paul, “Here. Take this with you.” He sets the tray on the menu stand ledge and starts his car. As the engine rumbles in idle, Tim looks over at Paul. “Do you think you were just so tired, Paulie, that those two beers hit you that hard?”

“No! There’s no way, Tim! If you want to know the truth of it… I think someone slipped me something. I know the effects of drugs. I don’t know what with… but this is no two-beer hangover. I still feel the cloudiness in my head from it. Besides, you said yourself I reek of bourbon. Well, I do! And it’s partly why I feel so ill. The smell is killing me!”

Tim grins starting the car, “All right, all right! I’m gonna get you back to your hotel so you can get a shower. You have time to have them clean your clothes, too. You don’t want to take that nice suit home smelling like this for Lisa. Think you got trouble now. Let her get a whiff of that, and you are done, brother!” Paul nods vigorously and winces; touching his temple. Tim sees it as he’s backing out of the stall and grins. “Sorry, Paulie.” They circle the busy drive-in and pull out onto the road heading for LA.

As they drive back to the downtown Hilton, Tim realizes he doesn’t want their last few minutes plagued with unpleasant talk and chooses to steer the conversation to happier times; those of when they were younger, filled with dreams and mischievousness. And it works. Tim has Paul laughing by the time he pulls onto the circle drive out front of the hotel.

“Four years went by way too fast, buddy. I’m going to take some days off from the paper and come spend some time with you and Lisa. I need to meet Amy! If I don’t, she’ll meet the wrong boy in preschool, and we just can’t have that. I have to set her straight about boys from the get-go.”

Paul laughs, “You’d be the perfect one for that job, for sure. Sounds good, Timmy. And thank you for picking me up and… letting me talk. For believing me and not thinking I’ve lost my mind… again.”

Tim smiles and winks, “Anytime, buddy. You have a safe flight, and I’ll be in touch,” seeing sudden sadness trying once more to slip in and showing itself on Paul’s face, “I mean it. I’ll be in touch.”

Paul looks up at him and smiles, nodding. He gets out and heads for the doors as Tim watches; turning to smile faintly, wave once, and disappear inside. Now, Tim has the sudden sadness entering his face. Its arrival brings curious pondering as he stares at the closed doors. The doorman staring back at him catches his attention. Tim nods—embarrassed—eases up to the road and sits. He then sighs big, looks both ways, and gives the muscular engine some extra gas; heading for home in Culver City.

On his way to his apartment, Tim mulls over all Paul said.

“I don’t want to get involved. I hate to say that. Paulie’s my oldest and best friend. I just don’t have the time or even want to,” talking to himself, as he often does when thinking through a particular thing bugging him. “Still… this doesn’t feel like it did before. Something’s going on. I can make some calls like I told him I would. I can do that much. I owe Paulie that much.”

Tim arrives at his place in a couple of minutes. So, it seems to him anyway; lost in thought and unaware of the extra ten it usually takes. He parks in his reserved spot at the Casa Linda Luxury Apartments, awkwardly climbing out of the low-slung sports car like a spider; awkward due to his six-foot-four frame. He is lean, yet muscular despite not being on a football field since his sophomore year. His famous swan dive ended that promising gridiron career. Tim walks to the outdoor staircase; warmer winds blowing his shoulder-length blonde hair as it shimmers in the afternoon sun. He runs his big hand through it, giving a quick side-to-side shake, feathering it back into position.

He grabs onto the stair railing, bounding up them two at a time, swinging right after reaching the top, and heading for his apartment; the second one from the stairs. Tim peeks down with pride at his black beauty in the parking lot—Black Betty—smiles and turns to unlock his door.

“KC must’ve forgotten to lock up again,” under his breath, grinning. “I’m gonna have to spank that girl—” putting his key into the lock as the tumbler spins, stopping cold at the realization his door is already unlocked—it can’t lock. It can’t even fully shut. He carefully presses on it to open it more and his hazel eyes widen seeing bright red blood all over his avocado green shag carpeting—fresh blood.

“Where’s Harry?!” Tim screams inside his head, “And George?!” his eyes darting back and forth across the apartment, creeping farther inside, “Okay, George could be hiding… but not Harry!”

He reaches down, head up and scanning around, picks up a ball bat on the floor with his other belongings, raising it and ready to swing at any time.

“Oh, hey,” from the doorway behind him. Tim spins; bat cocked, eyes in a hard squint. “Whoa, whoa, cowboy! It’s me! It’s me! KC!” the small, tanned woman yells, both arms up, hands pumping back and forth at him.

“You scared the crap out of me, KC! And you almost got your head knocked off! What the heck happened here and where are Harry and George?!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. They’re both okay, Tim,” trying to calm him, “the boys are at my place, and they’re alright.”

Staring at her and breathing hard, Tim lowers the bat, taking one hand off it. Raising his arm with the bat, “Are you sure?! Where did all this blood come from?!” motioning across the apartment, “What happened here, KC?!”

“Sugar, you had a visitor. Harry got a good piece of them. George, too, from the lil’ bit I could see. Now, Harry was injured by that creep. Defending George and his home. But I doctored him, and he’ll be okay. Cops have already been here and gone. I was able to give them a small description, but he shielded his face when he ran past me at the door. I did see deep scratches compliments of George on the right side of his face though.” KC pauses to grin, “Sure am proud of those boys.”

Tim, intensely relieved, “I’m lucky you’re here, K… and a vet,” scoping out the one-bedroom apartment, “even luckier you’re a vet that doesn’t hold hard feelings for me being a bad boyfriend.”

“Oh, hush,” taking hold of his upper arm, shaking and squeezing. “You suck as a boyfriend. But, you’re one heckuva friend, honey.”

He forces a smile and looks down; the carpet catching his attention once more. “So, Harry did all this? This blood isn’t all his?”

“Well, ain’t a gallon, Tim, but yeah…” bending down, picking a lamp up and placing it back on the end table. “Most of what you see here is that creep’s. Harry must’ve got him on a vein of his left hand. I saw it drippin’ pretty good when he ran down the landin’ to the west. You can see the trail out there,” pointing behind her.

“Guess I was caught up thinking about something… I didn’t notice anything,” surveying the mess, gaping in awe, then looking up at her, “Thank you for taking care of my boys, K. You know what they mean to me.”

“I do, sugar. And I’ll tell ya, that fella’s gonna need to be findin’ his own vet for that hand. That’s for sure,” hands on hips and looking around, “I don’t see your satchel. I hope he didn’t get away with it.”

“No, I had it with me.”

“Good. I didn’t see him runnin’ out with it—or anything else for that matter. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’tve been tucked in the creep’s jacket.” KC pauses, thinking. “Maybe that’s what he was after… somethin’ you’re sloggin’ on,” turning to him, “Any idea who might wanna be after you enough to track you down and kick in your door?”

Tim’s eyes fixed on hers, brows knitted, thinking, and shaking his head. “I have done some pieces that have ticked off some people. But not lately. Lately, I’ve been getting human interest assignments… now a piece on the changing real estate scene…” his words trail as he thinks, “nothing to cause this. It was probably just a random break-in. Some loser working harder at stealing from working people than getting a real job, you know.”

KC nods, ponytail bobbing, studying Tim, “Probably so.” She looks around, sighing, “Sure is a mess. Want some help straightenin’ up?”

“No. You’ve done way more than enough. Wait… so how did Harry get injured?”

“Oh. That creep must’ve had a knife. Harry was cut a lil’ on his chest and left leg. Nothing bad.”

Relieved, Tim sighs big; nodding. “K, you could’ve just as easily been cut—worse—stabbed! You shouldn’t have been over here by yourself!”

“Oh, you know me. I have more guts than sense sometimes,” waving him off, “besides, I came yellin’. Startled that fool so bad, think that’s why he tried mowin’ me down when he shot out the door,” pausing, considering Tim’s words, “Didn’t see the knife. Wasn’t lookin’ for one, though.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re all safe. That’s all that matters to me. All this is just stuff. Most of it is only old football memorabilia, anyway. I can—” the phone on the kitchen wall rings, interrupting Tim’s thoughts, and he stares at it.

KC moves over and takes the receiver off the hook, “Hello?” listening for a few seconds, her expression goes serious, “Hang on,” holding the receiver up, “You might need to get this, hon.”

Tim walks over, taking it from her; peering at her cautious and curious. “Yeah. Yeah,” his expression matching KC’s, “Okay, Walter. I’ll be right there. Thanks for the heads-up, pal. I owe you, dude, yeah.” Tim hangs the phone up and looks down, frowning.

“What is it, sugar?”

“Walter… the weekend desk clerk at the Hilton. Said the cops are in my friend’s room, and they’re about to take him to jail for murder.”

“Murder?! Who?!”

“My best friend from college. Paul.”

“Is he the type to kill anybody?”

“No!”

“Then you’d better get down there and see what you can do for that boy!” KC suddenly gets a strange look. “Wait, why’s Paul here?” Tim opens his mouth to answer. “Never mind, you can tell me later, you need to go,” taking the bat from him and leading him by the hand to the door; realizing he needs the help from all the shock he has already experienced. “Go on now. This here’ll keep, and I’ve got your boys. Go help your friend. I’ll take care of your door with the maintenance dude. You just go.”

“Are you sure? I can wait—”

“Go, Tim! Your friend needs you!”

“Okay! Okay! Just don’t stay here waiting for the maintenance dude, K. Wait at your place.”

“Awright, go!” shoving him.

He turns and starts running for the stairs, stopping on the landing to watch her come out behind him.

Seeing him after pulling the door two, KC frowns. “Go on!”

“Okay! I just wanted to make sure you got out of there okay!”

She shakes her head and grins; heading for her apartment next door. Hearing his large feet pounding down the steps two at a time, she stops, and yells over the railing, “And don’t you drive crazy like you usually do, Tim!”

“Alright!” he barked back, slamming the car door. The four-forty motor rumbles; then roars, tires screeching on the hot parking lot surface. He leans forward, glancing up at her apartment door while swiftly turning the steering wheel to the left, shifting into first; squalling the tires out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“Dork,” shaking her head; dark ponytail hairs brushing her tanned shoulders side to side as she goes inside, shutting the door behind her.

After getting out of Culver City and away from the Sunday afternoon runners, skaters, and people doing their family things, Tim makes better time as he nears downtown. It helps traffic is unusually light being the last day of the weekend. He slows to make the left into the circle drive out front of the hotel and spots Walter nervously puffing on a cigarette while talking to the doorman out front. Seeing Tim, he hands the remains of his smoke to him and jogs over as Tim springs from the black beast.

“What’s going on, Walter?” fast walking to the door and going in.

Walter, jumping to keep up goes right into it, “They were here when you dropped your friend off, Tim. They’d been here for about thirty minutes. One of the maids went into his room to make the bed and clean up. She found that hooker beat to death. She came down screaming her lungs out in Spanish at me. I called the cops. I’dve had to anyway, Tim, but I sure didn’t know you knew him until I saw you drop the guy off. I’dve called sooner, but they kept me busy asking me questions—you know—if I was ‘the clerk working last night’ and such. I thought you should know. I didn’t know how close you were to the guy, but he hasn’t struck me as a bad dude when I saw him on my evening shifts the past few days.”

“Were you working last night, Walter?”

“No, that was Pete. He’s in there talking to them right now. I had to call him in.”

“So, when did this happen?”

“About 4 o’clock this morning. I heard Pete tell them there was a loud ruckus in there about that time. Guests close to your friend’s room kept calling and reporting loud banging and things thrown against the walls. He had to go up and tell them we were getting complaints and to knock it off.”

“Did he see my friend?”

“Said he saw somebody that looked like him. Couldn’t swear to it. It could’ve been.”

“Okay. I appreciate you calling me, buddy. I owe you one.” Tim takes off for the elevators and stops. “Wait, what room is it?”

“Three thirty-nine. Third floor, Tim. Take a right as you leave the elevator. Third door on the right.”

Tim nods. “Thanks, buddy.”

He turns and jogs for the elevator, punches the ‘up’ button and looks up to see it stopped on the third floor. Tim runs for the stairs, bounding up all three flights in less than half a minute. He opens the stairwell door, looking side-to-side, seeing and hearing why the stopped elevator: Paul resisting the two officers trying to put him on it, insisting he is innocent. Pete runs past Tim on his way to the stairwell.

“Wait, hold on, fellas,” Tim pleads, trotting up to the struggle inside the elevator doors, “he’s my friend. I just dropped him off. Let’s talk about this a minute.”

Paul’s bent over with his head down, and he’s bracing his right shoulder on the side of the door opening. Hearing Tim’s voice, he lifts his head, frantic and searching, “Tim...” seeing him, “Tim! Tim, tell them! Tell them I did not do this, Tim!”

“Calloway, him being your friend is not a good thing,” replied the officer in front of Paul grunting and trying to pull him onto the elevator, then growling, “We don’t need your big nose in this. Matter of fact, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

The other officer gripping Paul’s lower arms from the back is breathing heavy, eyeing Tim and his partner. “Come on, Terry, let’s hear him out. I need to catch my breath, anyway. This little guy’s been giving us a workout here.”

Officer Terry glares at his partner and then Tim. He stands upright, eyeballing him. “What?! And it better be good,” pointing his finger at him.

“Oh, it’s good. And Paul’s right. He didn’t do it. What time did this happen here?” The officer hating Tim less repeats what Walter had just told him downstairs. “Guys, he wasn’t even here. Paul was in Lawndale jail at the time. I just got him out less than two hours ago,” peering back and forth between the two officers appearing unmoved by his declaration. Tim bends his knees, holding both hands up for another shot, “Do me a favor and call Wilson at Lawndale. He’ll verify it,” his eyes darting from officer to officer; Paul remains hopeful and waiting.

Officer Terry snarls, “Calloway, you used all your favors with me.”

“I’ll do it,” the other officer says. “If it’s true and it wasn’t him, I don’t want to spend the time on all the paperwork for nothing.” He looks at Paul and puts his hand on his shoulder. “You behave. I’m going down to make that call.”

Paul nods, eyes big, breathing heavy. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Paul looks over at Officer Terry who is still glaring at Tim and then turns his scowl onto him, pointing at Paul, “I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee. Don’t you dare move.” Paul nods more vigorous with eyes wider. He then turns his pointing finger on Tim. “And if he does move, I’m coming after you, Calloway. To shoot you.”

“Okay. We’ll be right here.” Officer Terry stares at him long enough to feel he has his point across, glancing over at Paul, and gets on the elevator next to the other officer; both men still looking at them. Tim and Paul share looks of concern. “Step out…” Officer Terry says. They turn to the lawmen. “The door can’t close until you step out,” looking at Paul straddling the doorway.

Paul looks down. “Oh. Yes, sir,” sidesteps out into the hallway, silent, looking down at the floor and waiting to hear the doors close.

After waiting to hear the elevator move downward, he jerks his head in Tim’s direction. “What in the world did you do to make that cop want to shoot you?! I hope it’s not a mistake having you for my best friend in this circumstance, Tim!” Tim smiles his usual smile, waving his hand, placing his hands on his hips, and swinging to the left; taking a step. Paul’s hands cuffed behind his back, watching Tim in all seriousness sees the man forming a grin. “It’s not funny, Tim! This is my life here!”

He turns to his panicking friend. Seeing him frantic and in the cuffs, his grin begins dimming and rubs downward on his mustache with the palm of his right hand. “Relax, Paulie. It’s nothing serious. I wrote a piece a while back about a couple of dirty cops, some corruption accusations within the LA County jail that I’d been checking out for about six months. It turned out spot-on, but okay. And the chief even thanked me for bringing it all out. Terry and about half a dozen other cops still have their shorts in a bunch over it. That’s all.”

“That’s all, Tim?! Of all the officers who must be on this force, and I have to draw one in the half dozen who wants to shoot you!” He looks down, shaking his head, and right back up at him. “So, is that Officer Terry not a dirty one? Just friends with the other two bad ones?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. He’s a straight arrow, for sure. He’s also very faithful to the Brotherhood. That’s why he’s so ticked.”

“That other one doesn’t seem to be.”

“No… well, he might be. Maybe a little. Jenner’s never said anything either way. Look, Paulie, most of those guys know it makes them all look bad when even one of them goes dirty. It’s still kind of fresh. It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Once Jenner talks with Wilson, he’ll come back up and take the cuffs off and let you go.”

Paul stares at him a moment. “I hope you’re right.”

The elevator whizzes upward, the door opens, and the bell dings. Paul and Tim share knowing expressions; Tim tries flashing his grin of confidence. Paul’s countenance is the same as when they got into trouble in college—Tim instigated those times as well. The two turn around to see both Jenner and Terry on the elevator.

“I spoke with Sergeant Wilson over at Lawndale, and he did indeed confirm you were there at the time this was going on here,” Jenner informs, turning Paul to face Tim, and unlocking the handcuffs. “But…” Paul draws both arms in front of him, rubbing his red and sore wrists from the handcuffs. When hearing the officer begin to go on, he peers up at Tim with dread. The smaller man turns to face the officers.

“Yes, sir?”

“This is still an open investigation. Although you have a solid alibi for your whereabouts during this murder, it is still your room where this crime was committed. I know you live in Oklahoma and were only here for a medical convention, Dr. Randall. But, I advise you to not leave town for a few days. You will be hearing from one of our detectives.”

“Officer, I have to get back to work at the hospital. My flight leaves—”

Tim grabs Paul’s arm. As Paul looks down at his arm, his old friend quickly says, “He’ll be here, Jenner. Paul’s not going anywhere. I’m taking him home with me.”

Officer Jenner nods. “That’s good, Tim.”

Officer Terry scoffs, taking a sip of his steaming coffee out of the small paper cup from the machine downstairs. “You’d be better off staying with some coyotes at the edge of LA County, son. Come to think of it I guess you already are. Only over in Culver City.”

Tim glares and, Terry smirks at him.

“Leave him alone, Terry,” Jenner says, five years his senior on the force, stepping back onto the elevator. “Let’s go, Terry.” The disgruntled officer gets on the elevator next to his partner, staring hard at Tim.

“Officer,” Paul says, “what about my things? Can I get my suitcase?”

“You have to leave them for now, son. That’s a crime scene and an active investigation. Steer clear of that room. We’ll let you know when you can have your belongings back.”

Paul has an instant look of disgust. Tim sees it, and to head off the fit he knows is about to be thrown, he jumps in. “Thank you, Jenner, for making that call. I do appreciate you. Paul will be available if you have any more questions for him,” looking most sincere at the officer, feeling Paul’s gawk of protest. Jenner smiles, waves his cuffs up once at Tim, and reaches behind him; tucking them back into their black leather case and snapping it shut. The elevator closes, and this time it is Tim waiting to hear it go downward until he speaks.

“Paulie, you have to stay a few days. I can guarantee this will follow you if you don’t. You can call your boss, and he’ll understand. You can make him understand.”

“I hope you’re right. But what do I do about my belongings? I need clothes, Timmy.”

“I was right last time you said that. And you can wear some of mine. Now let’s get you to my place, buddy. Besides, it’ll be good to spend a few days with you,” Tim puts a big hand on his shoulder, giving a squeeze, “C’mon, Paulie.”

Paul looks up at him, hesitant. “I can’t wear your clothes. You’re a Neanderthal,” forcing a weak smile.

Tim grins. “We’ll work it out.”

Within a few minutes, the two friends are walking out of the elevator at the ding of the bell and into the hotel lobby. As they walk up to the desk for Paul to check out, the phone rings. Walter answers.

“Yeah, just a minute,” he says looking at Tim. With his hand over the mouthpiece, he mouths, “it’s for you.”

Tim exchanges his puzzled expression with Paul’s clueless one. “The only one I know that knows I’m here is KC.” He turns back to Walter. “Is it a girl?”

“Nope.”

“Huh,” Tim presses his bottom lip up to the top one in wonder; his mustache diving downward. He takes the phone from Walter. “Yeah. This is Tim Calloway.” The other two watch as Tim’s expression turns from wonder to surprise. “Now?” All three wait. “Well… okay. It’ll take me about half an hour to get out there. I’m downtown right now. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up and looks over at Paul. “That was a source I’ve been working on for a story. I need to go out by Santa Monica to get some information from them. They said it wasn’t anything they could say over the phone. You want to ride to the beach with me, buddy? It’ll do you good.”

Paul nods an uninspired nod and turns to Walter. “I’m going to go ahead and check out now. Can you get my bill together so that I can pay you?”

“Sure, sure.” Walter begins shuffling through the papers in a file on the desk. “Wait. You’re already paid up. All you have to do is sign that you’re checking out.”

“Oh,” he answers in surprise. “I suppose my attending paid for it. It was his reservation in the first place.”

Walter turns the reservation card around that he’s holding out to Paul and looks at it. “No. No, it says Dr. Randall… paid with your credit card. That’s why you have to sign.”

Paul stares blankly at him. He looks up at his old friend. Tim looks back at him, shrugging his shoulders. “Just sign it, Paul. You can straighten it out when you get home.”

Both mystified and aggravated, Paul shakes his head, takes the paper and signs it.

“Oh, I forgot,” Walter says, shuffling through more papers on the desk and holding up a small piece of one at Paul. “You got a call while you were up talking to the cops. I just took a message. I didn’t figure it was a good idea to interrupt you at the time. You know… given the circumstances.”

“Who was it?”

Walter draws it back to himself, looking at it. “A Dr. Wingate? You know him?”

“That’s my attending,” concerned, taking the paper Walter holds out to him. He reads it and looks back up at Walter. “Did he say anything else? Am I supposed to call him back?”

Walter shakes his head, “No. Just what I wrote down there. Oh, he did say you don’t have to return his call. He did say that.”

Paul stares at him dumbfounded.

“What’s wrong, buddy? What’s it say?”

Paul turns and looks up at Tim with his mouth open. “I don’t need to come back right away. And I need to take a few weeks off… he’ll cover my shifts.”

“Huh,” Tim answers, leaning his full weight into his left elbow on the desk; happy for the unexpected opportunity. And it’s occurring to the workaholic this is the first in a long while he is looking forward to something. He stands straight up, “Well, good! We get to spend even more time with each other, and your boss saved you the trouble of having to call him in the first place.” Tim grins big.

“Tim, you don’t even find that the least bit odd? You don’t find any of this—all these strange happenings in less than twenty-four hours the least bit odd?”

He shakes his head, “No, not really, this is pretty typical for me, Paulie.”

“Well not for me, Tim. It’s downright unsettling to me.”

“Aw, you worry too much, Paulie,” placing his hands on his shoulders, teasingly slow shaking him, “You always did. You need to learn to lighten up sometime, buddy. Sign that paper and let’s get going. I want to get that over with out there. I don’t like going to the beach when I can’t surf. It’s just not right.”

Paul looks at him perturbed, signs the bill, and the two begin walking out; Tim yelling his thanks and appreciation to Walter for everything over his shoulder. Nearing the doors, he looks to his side at Paul. “We’ll get some beers and pick up some steaks to throw on the grill… wait,” Tim turns and jogs back to Walter. “I need to use your phone, dude.”

He calls KC to tell her he and Paul are going to Santa Monica to talk to someone on a story, asks about his boys, and says they will be home soon. She tells him all is well, that sounds good, his door is fixed and to pick up beer. He lets her know it is in the plans as well as grilling some steaks. That rings her bells, and Tim knows this. After animals, KC loves her beer, and her steaks well done.

Tim hangs up and thanks Walter once more. The long-haired desk clerk nods and waves. “Anytime,” watching the two leave, noting how opposite the friends are; grinning, shaking his head.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two