Generations of Strangers

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

41

 

1956-Susano worked in his garden. He liked the pattern he was coaxing out of the natural greenery around and inside his house. His servant appeared at the door. The valet said nothing, but his manner said there was trouble in the air.

 

"Yes?" Susano put down his clippers. He had a feeling he would have to come back to finish the job later.

 

"A Miss Yamamura is here to see you." He indicated the master's office with a finger. "She says it's urgent business."

 

"She's from the Ministry." Susano looked down at his casual clothes. "Tell her I will be there in a few minutes."

 

"Yes, sir." The valet turned and vanished into the house.

 

Susano crossed the garden to get to his personal quarters. He stepped inside and changed into a black suit, shirt, and tie. He nodded at his appearance in a mirror before walking back to his office on the other side of the house.

 

He wondered what the Ministry needed with him. They had newer personnel that were as idealistic as he had been when he was younger.

 

Miss Yamamura was a case in point.

 

He found her waiting at attention in front of his window. She could see the garden from where she stood. She smoothed out her dress as she turned to face him.

 

"It's an honor to see you again, sir." She nodded her head.

 

"What brings you to my humble home, Miss Yamamura?" He gestured for her to sit in a chair reserved for visitors. He walked behind his desk and sat.

 

"We received a message in one of the old Imperial codes from the war." She didn't sit. "It purported to be from Southern Cross, and it stated another one of the monster that we dealt with were on an island south of us."

 

"I assume you checked with his service to verify the truth of it." Susano could see no other reason why she would be there at his home otherwise.

 

"He was attacked in his home by one of the worms and some things they are calling wasp men. He flew out to try and trace the starting point of the things according to the officer I spoke with in our counterpart agency." She placed her hands behind her back and held them so they wouldn't move when she talked.

 

"So they don't know what happened to him?" Susano closed his eyes.

 

"They are mounting an expedition to find him." She doubted any group from Australia would reach the supposed base in time to do any good.

 

"Radio the Australians and tell them I will go look for him myself." Susano nodded at the decision. "Where was this location he broadcasted?"

 

"It's an island about a thousand miles south of here." Yamamura looked around the office and saw a wall map. She went to it and indicated a speck in the middle of the ocean. "There's a volcanic island nearby where an adventurer and his men caused an eruption last year."

 

"I remember the reports." A man named Adam Blake had caused an eruption on an island supposedly clear of people. There had been some kind of nest there of a mad doctor causing earthquakes according to the file.

 

Mad scientists loved their secret lairs so they could create their world destroying weapons in peace and quiet. It must be some kind of bulletin point on their operating checklist.

 

"I shall report back when I have found something." He pulled out a tube of paint from his desk to mark his face.

 

"I'm supposed to go with you." Yamamura doubted helping Susano had been on the Ministry's mind when they asked him to be informed of the problem. They wanted to make sure he did nothing rash to jeopardize his ability to represent the nation.

 

"I suppose that would be reasonable." He marked his face with the word thunder so that it masked his features.

 

Susano stood and walked out in the open air of his garden. He summoned his sword from its secret place as she joined him. He whipped a cloud out of the air. He stepped on it, holding her hand as she climbed on board the floating fog with him.

 

The cloud lifted them up into the air as the valet looked on. He held up a hand as he watched them go. He turned and went inside the house. He would have to call the Ministry in a few minutes to let them know their hero was on the way.

 

Susano pointed his cloud south. They flew over the greater islands of Japan before heading out over the Pacific. Endless blue confronted them for a moment as they hit the open sea.

 

"Do you think we can handle one of those worms on our own?" Yamamura didn't think so. If the Arc hadn't been at their last confrontation, things might have gone differently.

 

"We will just look around and see what kind of trouble my old friend has stirred up." He watched the ocean below. "It's too early to judge the nature of the menace that we are getting ready to face."

 

"Is that why he called us instead of his own people?" She didn't think the two were friends at all.

 

"He called us because we're closer." Susano smiled. "He used the old code to attract our attention. The problem is what he encountered there that stopped him from sending a follow-up message to let us know that he had solved the problem. The Australians would have been called next to arrange for their armed forces to take over things from him."

 

"So we could be faced with real trouble when we reach the island." Yamamura flexed her hands. Black sparks floated around her fingertips for a brief second.

 

"It's a possibility." The lord of thunder looked ahead. "We won't know until we reach the island and look for ourselves."

 

They flew on in silence.

 

Susano wondered what kind of adversary a wasp man would be. He had dealt with various things before, during, and after the war. Some had been easy to beat. Some had been hard. He hoped a wasp man fell into the easy category.

 

A worm would be bad enough if they encountered one.

 

Yamamura's touch had been effective against one of the things. He doubted they had toughened themselves enough to that she couldn't dissolve them with her hands.

 

He hoped they hadn't. He couldn't protect her while dealing with monsters.

 

He saw the island in the distance. He saw three tracks in the water. He doubted they were torpedoes the size of boats heading his way.

 

"Looks like we have three worms to deal with this time." He gave his sword a spin to adjust the grip. "Are you ready?"

 

"I think I can kill one if I can get close enough in the water." She looked at her hands. "I would do better with solid footing."

 

"I will drop you on the island as soon as we get passed the watchdogs." Susano frowned at the snouts raising from the water. "Perhaps the wasp men Southern Cross dealt with were the only ones."

 

"I don't think so." She pointed at a cloud of bodies rising from the island. "We should retreat and return with assistance."

 

"I doubt we would be able to win a sprint against the flying things." He called clouds to gather around him. "Perhaps we can confuse things with some bad weather."

 

Lightning exploded from the water. He drew the streaks of electricity into the blade of his sword and fired it into the crowd charging to miss him. Rain began to lash the sky in big drops from the angry clouds.

 

Some of the bug men dropped from the sky in trails of fire.

 

"We are going to separate." Susano caught more lightning with a backhand. "I am going to attract as much attention as I can. You find Southern Cross."

 

"I can do that." Yamamura wished she had brought her coat. Her dress was soaked through.

 

"Get ready then." The cloud dipped toward the island. Wasp men fried under redirected lightning. "Now."

 

Yamamura dropped off the cloud with a lift of her skirt. She vanished into the trees.

 

Susano lifted his cloud away from the island. The rain swirled around him. He laughed as lightning leaped from his sword at his enemies. He was the lord of the storm. What was lightning to him?

 

The wasps flew in to grapple with him. Maybe physical force could do what their weapons couldn't.

 

He smiled as he swung his sword at his enemies.

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

More good work, csyphrett

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

More good work' date=' csyphrett [/quote']

 

I think I made this thing way too complicated.

CES

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Well, you're working with multiple story threads, so yeah and certain degree of complication is to be expected.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

42

 

1956-Dr. Hoz was not happy about the flying intrusion above his island. It meant he had been discovered. He would have to move his lab if he wanted to continue his work.

 

He suspected Southern Cross had arranged things to come to this.

 

He sighed as his third eye looked the place over. He had a lot of equipment to move if he wanted to take it with him. He would have to leave it.

 

It was a hard choice, but a practical one. He couldn't take everything to another site. He would have to rebuild his resources.

 

Dr. Hoz sent out a recall to one of his worms. He could take one of them with him. The others would have to follow when they could. He supposed he might have to sacrifice them in battle, but didn't want to use that option.

 

He gestured for one of his wasps to come closer. He gave the wasp a message for the rest of the hive. They were to flee from the invasion ahead with anything they could carry. He made sure that they knew not to follow him, but to hide in places near the coasts of wherever they settled.

 

He would collect them when he had made good his own escape from the island.

 

It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

 

Dr. Hoz turned to his prisoner. His enemy regarded him coldly. He smiled. The least he could do was finish this one off before he left.

 

"You have wrecked my empire before I could really start my plans." He nodded as he took off his lab coat. "Well done."

 

"It was the least I could do." Southern Cross strained against the manacles holding him to the floor. "You wrecked my house."

 

"Do you really want to get into oneupmanship here?" Hoz picked up a syringe. "I think you have wrecked more of my plans and belongings than I have of yours."

 

"I'm retired." Southern Cross's chest glowed as he tried to summon his inner fire. It flickered out. "Why don't you bother someone else?"

 

"After this, I won't be bothering you anymore." Hoz plunged the syringe into a glass bottle of yellow chemical. He sucked the chemical into the needle. "This will take care of that problem for you."

 

Southern Cross strained against his chains. He doubted anything prepared by Hoz would be helpful.

 

"I'm sorry that I don't have anything to sterilize this with, but I doubt that will be a problem." Hoz raised his hand to stab his enemy with the poison.

 

Southern Cross fell on his back. He kicked out with both feet. The impact drove the doctor into a rack of equipment. The scientist dropped the syringe to the floor.

 

The hero examined his chains. He had to get out of his predicament if he wanted to hold on until help arrived.

 

He hoped all this was because someone had invaded the island to find him, and not Hoz being particular.

 

The good doctor wore an angry expression as he collected himself from the landing.

 

"You won't get out of this that easy." Hoz bent to pick up the needle. The injection would be delivered.

 

"As long as you get what's coming to you, I'll be happy." Southern Cross smiled. "I should have made sure you were dead years ago."

 

"You should have." Hoz agreed.

 

The doctor paused to listen. He smiled. His baby was close by and coming closer. His escape was assured.

 

When Vitus arrived, its lightning would deal with his nemesis before they set out for places unknown.

 

The worm arrived through a hole in the wall. It cast about with a yowl. Then it coiled up in the lab as it waited for directions.

 

"We have to leave." Hoz smiled. "Kill him."

 

The worm turned its eyeless head toward Southern Cross. Its maw opened to deliver the killing blast. Something small and wet dropped on its back with burning hands. It reared up against the ceiling of the room in its pain.

 

Yamamura dropped to one side to avoid being crushed by the bulk of the elongated body. She held up her hands. Black flame covered them as she flexed her fingers.

 

"You're under arrest." She grimaced at the odds. "Surrender."

 

"This is unexpected." Dr. Hoz smiled. "You've hurt my baby. I can't allow that to go unpunished."

 

"The other two are being destroyed by Susano as we speak." Yamamura hoped they were being destroyed. She wasn't sure he could do it. "If you want your last one to live, come along quietly."

 

"I'm afraid not, my dear." Hoz's third eye blinked. "It's just not in my plans."

 

The worm blasted at the girl. Lightning scored the wall as she dodged to the right. She ran to where Southern Cross was chained to the floor.

 

She sliced through the chains with her hand. She needed help. The old hero had to be freed whether or not he could fight.

 

"Thanks, girl." He stood with the cut chains hanging from his manacles. "Let's see if I still have some of the fire left."

 

Hoz threw the needle like a dagger at Yamamura. Someone had to pay for this. He couldn't exact his revenge on all of them in the time he had left. He grabbed the side of the worm as it pulled him out of the lab.

 

Southern Cross jumped in front of the thrown weapon. It stabbed him in the arm instead of the Japanese agent. He looked down at the needle as some of the liquid entered his system.

 

"That might have been a bad idea." He grabbed the needle to pull it out.

 

"Wait." Yamamura pushed his hand away. She grabbed the syringe in her own hands. She destroyed the mixture and holder with a thought. Only a piece of the hollow needle remained. She extracted that with some tweezers she found laying around.

 

"Not bad, but I think some of it is enough to cause me problems." He pulled the sleeve of his costume back. His arm had taken on a reddish hue.

 

"What do we do?" She grimaced at the sight.

 

"I have to get after Hoz." Southern Cross pulled his sleeve down. "You have to get out of here. I'm sure he left something unpleasant around for anyone trying to dig him out."

 

"Susano will be here soon." She looked up at the ceiling. She imagined she heard thunder through the rock.

 

"It will be too late." Southern Cross looked around. He heard something that sounded like thunder, but knew it couldn't be.

 

"Take cover." He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to a rack of equipment. His arm burned from the injection.

 

Wasp men roared into the room. The majority carried things that served some kind of housing purpose from what he could see. Some on the edges carried weapons. They pointed them at him as the main group headed down the tunnel created by the wounded worm for the doctor's escape.

 

They backed into the tunnel like a porcupine running away with the quills out. Then the opening closed behind them.

 

"So much for chasing after the bugger." Southern Cross ran to the new wall. He pushed on it, but it refused to move out of the way.

 

"I think we should leave." Yamamura grabbed his arm. "We can look for him another time."

 

"You're right." The hero spared one last glance at the wall. "Let's see if I have enough star power to lift us out of here."

 

He picked her up and flew down the tunnels, looking for the exit.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

43

 

 

1956-Southern Cross saw the exit ahead. He wanted to smile. The spreading pain in his arm and chest prevented that.

 

Dr. Hoz had done for him.

 

He had thought he would enjoy his garden for the rest of his life. He had been wrong about that.

 

He spotted Susano in the stormy sky. He had to hand off his passenger and then clear the area before something bad happened.

 

He could feel his internal energy building up beyond his ability to control it.

 

He didn't have long.

 

The wasp men fled at his approach. They fired their lightning guns as they flew from the storm. He flew around the arcs as the swordsman caught many of the blasts with his own weapon. It glowed against the sky.

 

"Take her." Southern Cross handed Yamamura to his old enemy. "Dr. Hoz created the worms. He has a file."

 

"Hoz?" Susano helped his associate balance on the cloud he had made solid with his will. "I will report this to my superiors."

 

"I have to fly." Southern Cross headed straight up from the meeting.

 

"What happened?" Susano looked down at the younger agent.

 

"This Hoz threw a needle full of something unknown at me." Yamamura followed the fiery trail left by Southern Cross's passage. "Southern Cross was injected by it while saving my life."

 

"We should see if there's an antidote." Susano headed for the island.

 

"I don't think we have time." She pointed upwards.

 

Southern Cross glowed like a new star. He kept climbing away from the surface of the planet. He seemed intent on breaking his own height limit as fast as possible.

 

Then he exploded while the agents watched from a safe distance.

 

People from all over the hemisphere saw the explosion. There was some scrambling as no one knew what the blast meant. Agitated air swept away from the blast with the promise of a changed climate for the next few days as it cooled again.

 

Susano closed his eyes for a moment against the glare.

 

"We have to report this." His words sounded different to his ears. "The Australians will need to know what happened."

 

"What about Hoz?" Yamamura folded her hands in front of her body.

 

"I plan to hunt him down and kill him." The lord of the storm glared at the sky for a moment. Clouds gathered at his anger. He took a breath and they started separating into thready masses carried away by the wind. "Before I can do that, we should relay the news to the ministry, and Southern Cross's service. They will want to be assured the danger has been averted."

 

"That explosion will have been seen for miles." Yamamura pointed to the tunnel entrance. "We can enter the lair there. I think there's a radio we can use."

 

"We shall have to look at this Hoz's file." Susano directed his cloud to the tunnel. "There might be some clue in his past we can use to find him again."

 

They started down the tunnel. He carried his sword at the ready. More of those wasps might be waiting despite the majority seeming to flee the battle. He doubted they would have stayed if they could escape, but one never knew.

 

They walked into the remains of the lab. He looked around. He shook his head at the damage.

 

"One of the worms arrived and carried Hoz through the wall." Yamamura pointed at the closed breach. "The majority of the wasps seem to have followed him."

 

"That means we will have to hunt them down before they can regroup." Susano spotted the radio laying on the ground. Apparently it had been knocked around by the scuffle.

 

He examined it as he picked it up. It looked intact. He shook his head at the cut power cord.

 

"Let's see if I can get this to work." He ran a small bit of electricity through the cable. The radio lit up. "Let's call home first."

 

A radio operator answered his call. He gave his identity number and asked for support from the Allied Command. The Americans were the only ones with a fleet in the area. He had to turn the lair over to them, but he also had to have his own people on the scene.

 

He called the Australians next. He used an old frequency from the war so they would know it was him. He smiled that the tactic had been the same Southern Cross had used to call him.

 

He relayed the news in a coded message. That was the best he could do at the moment.

 

They would have to answer questions from all sides. He put the radio down. He could live with that.

 

Afterwards, he would be able to take matters into his own hands. Then he would deal with Hoz in his own way.

 

He doubted his ministry would understand.

 

"How long will we have to wait?" Yamamura looked around the destroyed laboratory.

 

"I don't know." Susano went to the closed exit. He sliced at it with his sword. He frowned at more rock underneath the wall. "It looks like the path is closed to us."

 

"I'm sorry about your friend." Yamamura folded her hands together in front of her again.

 

"He wasn't my friend." Susano smiled. "He was a worthy opponent."

 

"Then why would you engage in a vendetta against Hoz?" Her expression formed the question mark.

 

"Who else would?" Susano walked toward the mouth of the entrance tunnel.

 

Yamamura wondered if she ever made an enemy that would avenge her death. She doubted it.

 

She wondered if that was good, or bad.

 

She quietly followed the older agent. She had only talked to Southern Cross briefly the two times they had met. She didn't understand why he had done what he had done.

 

Is that what was required of heroes?

 

She didn't know if she could do that.

 

She didn't know if she wanted to do that.

 

Susano stood at the entrance, looking out to sea. He seemed to be watching for the first ship to arrive so he could start his hunt.

 

She joined him. She watched the ocean as she waited for him to speak. He said nothing as the waves crashed against the island.

 

At least he had put his sword away.

 

They stood that way as the sun rose. A dot became a smear that became a ship. It looked like an ordinary merchant's boat.

 

Colonel Long stood on the deck, cap and pipe in evidence. He looked up at the cliff with his sharp eyes.

 

"I should talk to the American." Susano clapped his hands. "He might be able to help me."

 

Yamamura frowned at the thought that the Ministry's greatest weapon had decided to break loose from the rules he had lived by for most of his life.

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

RIP Southern Cross. He was a good man, a good hero and he will be missed.

 

And Susano's vangeance will scare even the gods.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

hopefully i won't mess things up too bad as the stories go along.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

44

 

1958-Tim Daschle checked his notebook. He stood at the right address. He went to the door. He frowned at the lack of security.

 

It was no wonder a thief had gotten in without being seen.

 

He hoped this was a soft ball. He had two more cases to look over before he called it a day.

 

He tried the handle and nodded at it being locked. He reached over and thumbed the doorbell next to the door. He had the reports from the patrol that had responded, but he wanted to look at things for himself.

 

Maybe there was something there that no one had seen yet.

 

He looked down both sides of the building. He only saw that one door. How many other ways were there to get inside?

 

He would have to walk around the outside as soon as he looked at the scene of the crime.

 

His few years as a detective had shown him what to look for in a professional job, and how to tie it back to the burglar. Copycats complicated the job, but he felt he was clearing his share of the load.

 

There were still open cases, but the squad of detectives did what they could. You couldn't catch every thief in the world.

 

And Tim hadn't needed to call on Ghost Angel in the last few years. That was icing on the cake as far as he was concerned.

 

The spirit of vengeance was probably not too happy about that, but he felt that setting his attack dog on anything that moved was not the way to be a policeman.

 

He pushed the bell again. Shouldn't there be someone inside? He knew the crime lab had released the scene back to the owner.

 

The problem was the technicians hadn't found anything with their powders and such.

 

Tim decided to rule out every human solution before he went after some unknown villain.

 

He just couldn't declare every theft was by some monster.

 

He needed to work it like it was a normal burglary until something took it into the realm of the extraordinary.

 

Then he would put it on a backburner and try to clear crimes that weren't extraordinary at all.

 

He couldn't risk the temptation of using Ghost Angel again.

 

It would be like a drunk going back to the bottle after years of being sober.

 

Tim pressed the button again. If no one came this time, he would knock, then walk the perimeter. His other cases needed his attention too.

 

He heard the locks rattle on the door. He stepped back. He wanted to show that he was harmless. He pulled his badge out of his coat pocket and held it up in front of him.

 

"Hello?" The woman at the door had the look of recognition, but not where. "Do I know you?"

 

"I doubt it, ma'am." Tim did recognize her and cursed his luck. He decided not to mention the past meeting. "I'm here about the theft you reported."

 

"Come in." She stepped away from the door. "I talked to some policemen when I noticed the tiara was gone."

 

"I'm from the Burglary Squad, ma'am." Tim stepped inside the theater. "Uniforms have a lot to do on their beats. It's my job to carry on finding who done it while they go back to looking for new crimes."

 

"I totally understand." She led the way through the building. "We had it mounted above the stage, up there."

 

She pointed at a display case high above the wooden floor of the stage. Catwalks ran nearby so stagehands could work the curtains and any aerial props the show demanded. The lights were turned off between performances.

 

Tim saw that if anyone could get up to the catwalks, they could open the case with a pull of a cord and twist of a latch.

 

He had seen the same kind of frame arrangement dozens of times as a detective.

 

He wondered why there wasn't a padlock on the back of the case to discourage thievery.

 

"How do I get up there to look around?" Tim hoped they had something simple like a ladder he could use. He didn't want to swing around like Tarzan.

 

"We have ladders in the wings." She pointed at the ends of the stage.

 

Tim walked over to the closest ladder. He climbed up until he could pull himself on the catwalk. He used the rails on either side of the platform to steady himself as he made his way down to the hanging case.

 

The burglar didn't have to be at home with heights, but it wouldn't have hurt.

 

Tim looked around for anything the technicians might have missed when they dusted the rails, and the ropes. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

 

He pulled on the ropes hooked to the case. The box swung toward him easily. The latch on the back looked pristine. He opened the case. He didn't see anything inside the container other than the cushion.

 

That was some careful work he supposed.

 

How did the thief get up there to grab the loot in the middle of a crowded theater?

 

Tim put that down in the unanswered questions file. If he knew that, it would narrow down the list of suspects.

 

It already looked like an inside job to him.

 

Tim climbed down from the platform. He had more questions to ask.

 

If it was an inside job, what did the thief hope to gain? If it was an outside job, what did the thief hope to gain?

 

According to the reports he had read, the item stolen was almost worthless.

 

What was the motive? Money seemed out at the moment, unless there was something valuable hidden in the tiara.

 

What else was there?

 

"Can you show me what you were doing when you discovered the theft?" Tim needed something to go on. Maybe there was something in the routine of the day.

 

"I would be glad to do that." She headed to the end of the stage and stepped down to the audience floor. She started up the aisle toward the back of the place.

 

Tim followed at a slower pace, scanning the floor and the seats as he passed. So far he didn't have a clue as to what had happened.

 

He hoped this wasn't a case where he spun his wheels and went nowhere.

 

She stopped at the exit and turned around. She looked over the rows of empty seats with one hand raised so she could check her position. She nodded.

 

"We put the tiara in the case before the performance." She waved her hands to indicate the crowd. "We opened the doors for the audience. People came in and waited. The band played some music to get them in the mood. The curtains opened, and I noticed the case was empty. I told the actors to keep going without it while I called the police."

 

Tim frowned as he looked at the stage.

 

"There's no chance any of the stagehands, or actors, made off with it during the show." She copied his frown. "When it was stolen, it was done when the stagehands were getting ready on the catwalk."

 

"None of the hands would alibi each other?" Tim believed in the easy solution.

 

"Not all of them." She smiled at the suggestion. "They tolerated each other, but not much more than that."

 

"Let me have a look at the roof." Tim could already see this was moving into a bad place just from the brief start he had made. "Maybe there's something up there the lab people missed."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

45

1958-Tim sat at his desk in the squad room. He had papers spread across the top. He checked what the crime lab found against his own observations. It was a whole lot of nothing.

 

He sat back in his chair. He didn't have a clue where to look. He didn't even have a clue how the crime was done.

 

He didn't want to admit the tiara might have vanished in front of everybody. That brought in forces that were beyond his ability as a policeman to deal with. It meant having to call up Ghost Angel for help.

 

And he had decided that using the spirit of vengeance was something he could only afford to do if it was life or death. Anything else was asking for trouble.

 

And then the question of Miss Carmichael loomed from the edges of his mind. Running into her had been unexpected. It had been years since he and his ally had saved her life. He didn't want her to remember him. She might tell everyone about how he had broken the law to deal with the blind wizard.

 

He had built a good career as a detective. Any word that he had acted as a vigilante would have the new internal responsibility division combing through his life with a comb.

 

He couldn't explain the years of amputation he had lived before going into the academy.

 

Lieutenant Kent would not approve.

 

He planned to avoid her as much as possible until he had something positive to tell her. And since he had nothing, that might be forever.

 

He could live with that.

 

He closed his eyes. This case might be unsolvable.

 

Tim took all the reports and put them back in their file. He locked the file up and pulled on his jacket. Maybe he should look at a performance and see if that gave him anything.

 

Maybe some kind of opening was present that Miss Carmichael didn't know anything about.

 

Maybe there was something there in the performance that would lead somewhere.

 

At the moment he had nothing, and the small trail led nowhere, so he had nothing to lose.

 

Miss Carmichael being at the center of another strange occurrence bothered him. He hoped it was just a horrible coincidence. He hoped she was just that unlucky.

 

Otherwise, she was a human target that someone wanted gone.

 

He had already seen enough strange things in Old Troy to know that was just as likely as someone being at the center of a couple of bad luck happenings.

 

Tim drove over to the theater, listening to the radio. Patrol cars were reporting various crimes across the city. So far there was nothing to concern him. He called in to say he was at the theater before leaving the car.

 

He went to the back door and knocked. He didn't want to sit in the seats. He wanted to see how things went backstage.

 

One of the stagehands let him in after a flash of his badge. He took a spot next to the door so he could watch the show.

 

He concentrated his gaze on the people using the catwalks above the stage. They were the closest to the display box. He couldn't rule any of them out. They might be tightknit enough to lie to an outsider so they could administer their own justice.

 

One of them might have misdirected the rest while he committed the crime. No one saw him, so he had the perfect alibi. People would swear up and down that he hadn't been near the box because they really didn't know where he had been.

 

That kind of thing would be hard for him to crack since everyone was prepared to back up a lie they believed in than a truth they didn't know.

 

Tim watched the production with half an ear to what was going on stage. He doubted the actors could get to the display box from the wood platform. By the end, he admitted that the only way one of them took the tiara out of the box, was for all of them to have taken it.

 

None of them got close enough during the play to touch the box as far as he could see.

 

Where did that leave him?

 

He was back to square one, with no way to go. He couldn't prove any of them took the tiara because they all alibied each other. He couldn't prove they all went in together to steal it. The lab report didn't show anything unusual on the box.

 

Where could he go from there?

 

He couldn't arrest all of them without evidence.

 

After the show, one of the hands opened the box and pulled out the substitute crown they had gotten for the show. He took it and placed it in a box marked storage and carried it down the ladder. He placed it in a closet marked props.

 

Tim walked over and examined the room. It didn't have any other exits as far as he could see. Opened chests and moving racks lined the walls. Could somebody have gotten the crown from this room before the production? Then all they had to do was put a substitute in the carrying box.

 

That left him trying to explain what happened to the substitute during the show.

 

Maybe it melted away in the box during the show. Maybe it was only there for them to see, but it wasn't there at all.

 

That was on the edge of believability.

 

He smiled at that.

 

He thought it a likely alternate explanation to everyone taking the thing and then calling the police.

 

The only problem was he needed proof so he could close the case. And he had little of that.

 

He liked the substitute theory. It meant the crime could have been done when no one was in the theater, so no one knew what had actually happened.

 

Anyone could get in if they had a way with locks.

 

That expanded his list of suspects to anyone in Old Troy.

 

He needed a way to whittle it down somehow.

 

He wondered if the tiara had a history that no one knew about. That would explain the why of the theft since it wasn't that valuable as far as money went. If he knew that, maybe that would lead to something else.

 

Maybe he was looking for a collector of odd items.

 

If he went with that approach, that would narrow the field, but it could be a horrible mistake.

 

It would narrow his search to people who might not have anything to do with the robbery.

 

He needed evidence before he narrowed his search that far.

 

"Detective Dashcle?" Miss Carmichael appeared from Tim's left. She frowned as she saw him standing at the prop room door. "Can I help you?"

 

"I just wanted to see the production for myself." Tim put away his notebook and pen. "I was wondering if you knew anything about the tiara."

 

"Not really." She waved him to join her as she walked around the stage. "It was a donation to the theater before I started here as the assistant."

 

"Who would know?" Tim watched as she gave directions and made sure the theater was ready for the next performance.

 

"You could try Murray Heite." She gave him an address. "He used to run the theater."

 

"Thanks." Tim started for the back door. He wanted to avoid the press of the audience leaving the front.

 

"What do you think happened?" She called after him.

 

"I don't have a clue." Tim kept walking and headed into the alley beside the building. He walked to where he had left his car. He wondered if this Heite was at home.

 

Maybe if he knew something about the tiara, he would have some clue as to what it meant to whomever took it.

 

Maybe that would lead him to the thief.

 

He had the feeling that he would have to decide whether or not to use Ghost Angel on this. It had the markings of a strange case. He hoped there was a mundane explanation for things.

 

He didn't want to break his word and unleash his attack dog.

 

He got behind the wheel of his car and called in to show that he was still running around. The dispatcher gave him an acknowledgment. He pulled out of his spot and headed across town.

 

Maybe Heite would give him something he could use.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

46

 

1958-Murray Heite lived in a house at the edge of one of the city's public beaches. The place was flat and low to the ground with wide windows and flowers edging everything. Tim frowned at the greenery as he pulled to a stop at the curb.

 

He hoped the former theater owner had something he could use in his search. He had a feeling that he was on the edge of more of the city's strangeness.

 

He got out and walked up to the front door. What was really going on with the tiara? It had to have some value other than being a piece of costuming.

 

He hoped there was some value to the thing. If there wasn't, he was dealing with a nut. And nuts had their own ways of doing things.

 

Tim looked for a bell before knocking on the door. He waited patiently as he scanned the neighborhood. It looked okay to him. He figured it would shrink to industrialization and tourism.

 

He hoped that didn't happen. Old Troy needed the neighborhoods as much as it needed the heavy industry.

 

He glanced at the windows of the house. He didn't see anything moving. Was Heite at home? What was his next step if no one answered the door?

 

He would have to go back to the squad room and see if there was some background information he could dig up about the theater and Heite.

 

He knocked again. He thought he heard movement inside the house. Heite probably didn't want visitors at night. He could be sleeping. He might be watching television and willing to ignore someone at the door until his program was over.

 

Tim only had a name. He didn't know anything else about the man other than he had run the theater. He should have dug a little before showing up on the man's doorstep.

 

The door cracked open. A section of a wizened face appeared. One gimlet eye squinted at the detective as he looked back.

 

"What do you want?" The door opened wider. "Do you know what time it is?"

 

"Mr. Heite?" Tim didn't see anything moving behind the door. "My name is Dashcle. I want to talk to you about the Trojan Theater."

 

"It was a nice place." Heite opened the door and stepped out on the porch. "Ran the place for a long time. Retired when I couldn't get around as well as I used to."

 

"There was a theft there." Tim decided to lay his cards on the table. "A tiara used in one of the plays was stolen during a production."

 

"Don't see how I can help you." Heite wore a bathrobe and slippers. Pajama bottoms revealed thin legs. "Haven't been to the Trojan in a couple of years."

 

"The tiara was a prop for a few years according to the people there." Tim wondered how to punch through the gruffness without alienating the old man. "I was hoping you could tell me about it. I can't figure out why it was stolen. It wasn't that valuable according to what I can find out."

 

"That old thing came from a costume shop that closed." Heite put his hands in the pockets of his robe. "One of our prop men dressed it up for the first production we used it in. Bunch of rhinestones and glass to reflect the light on a metal band."

 

"Do you remember the name of the prop man?" Tim cast about for something he could gain from this.

 

"Sure, but he's dead." Heite shrugged. "Hit by a car. The police never figured out who did it."

 

"When did that happen?" Tim felt a headache starting to poke at his eyeballs.

 

"A few years ago." The former manager told the detective the name of the dead prop man. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

 

"I'll talk to you again if something else comes up." Tim felt dazed. His only clue was dead as a doornail. "Thanks for your help."

 

"Come in the daytime the next time." Heite went back in the house and shut the door.

 

Tim stood on the porch and looked out on the street. He tried to bring his vertigo under control. He still had to go in and dig up the report on the prop man's accident.

 

The first thought in his head was that the prop man had been run down to shut him up about something. It seemed stupid, but he couldn't dismiss the impression. He realized he had to rule it out before he could move forward.

 

He had hoped to clear things up so he could walk on a clear path. Instead the case was more muddled than when he started.

 

He walked to the car and got behind the wheel. He stared out the window for an unknown length of time. He finally blinked and decided he needed to get back to the squad room and dig around. He needed to be able to exclude the prop man from the rest of things.

 

If things turned on a murder, he would have to let the Homicide Squad in on his investigation. He wasn't ready to do that. He would be pushed aside while they trampled over everything.

 

Lieutenant Kent demanded closings on all cases. If Tim called in the Murder Monkeys, he would face two options. The first would be the case would be deadlocked while the other squad tried to direct him on his own case while they sat in their office and read their reports. He faced the possibility it would never be solved and Kent standing over his shoulder until one of them retired.

 

The other option would allow Tim to shuffle the case onto the other squad, and he could go back to other cases. Once it was out of his hands, Kent would disapprove of giving up a case but live with it.

 

Tim had to see how the prop man was connected before he could decide how to avoid alerting his counterparts from across the hall.

 

The thought that the accidental death was connected seemed so obvious in light of everything else, he couldn't dismiss it as coincidence.

 

The prop man worked on the tiara to spiff it up, then was run down by a car. Then the tiara vanished in front of a packed house a few years later.

 

Why the gap in time?

 

If he knew the answer to that, he might have a better grip on who had stolen the tiara in the first place.

 

Tim wondered if anything else had happened at the time the tiara was being fixed. It might offer some clue to an explanation of the theft.

 

He would have to dig into the old cases. He decided to try the unsolved cases first. Maybe that would give him something to point the way.

 

If he couldn't find anything there, he would review the solved cases where the loot was never recovered.

 

Unrecovered jewels might explain everything. It might give him a suspect to look for so he could ask some questions.

 

He hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with anything out of the ordinary when he chased down the leads he had. He had been able to avoid using Ghost Angel, and he wanted to stick to that resolution.

 

Tim pulled his car into the motor pool and parked it. He felt wound up. He needed to work until he felt tired enough to catch some winks.

 

He wouldn't be the first detective who slept at his desk while chasing a hot case.

 

Instead of heading up to the squad room, he headed for the records room under the building. That's where he had to start his search.

 

He started with the accident reports. He doubted the hit and run had been put down as a murder. He found his man in the third box. He pulled out the contents and took them to a table to go through. Maybe something had been left in there he could use.

 

Wallace Collie had a wallet with about fifty bucks in it, a cheap watch, and tickets for a trip out of town that he never made.

 

Nothing said this is your killer.

 

It looked like an accident according to the paperwork filed with the effects.

 

Collie had come out of a bar on Cleveland. He stood at the corner. Witness reports stated that he seemed to be waiting on someone to pick him up. No one talked to him while he watched the road. A car came down Cleveland at excessive speed, jumped the curb, and knocked Collie for twenty-five feet. He died while the ambulance was on the way to the scene.

 

The hit car didn't have plates according to one witness.

 

That made sense to Tim. The driver would want to make things difficult for the police to find him if it was a hit.

 

Why was Collie killed?

 

Tim put the box back together. He thought Collie had been killed because of the tiara. This smacked of a double cross gone wrong. How did he get the evidence to prove it?

 

He looked at the rows of boxes. He needed help to search them all. He would have to wait until morning before he could have the professional filers locate the other things he needed.

 

He rubbed his tired eyes. He would have to get a room ready to use for his effort. Maybe he could con some of the other detectives to help him out.

 

One of them might have caught the original theft call. That would be a big help if he could narrow things down.

 

He had a theory of how things had gone. It was something he could use to point him toward information he needed. He knew it wasn't perfect because it was guesswork.

 

How much would he have to put on the frame before the prosecutor could try for a conviction?

 

He left the records room and stretched. He felt tired now. He needed to get some sleep before something bad happened. He could meet the clerks in the morning at the start of his shift.

 

He hoped there were some relevant files to his search. He didn't want to waste time on a wild goose chase. He made a note to check Collie's background, and see if there was anything there he could use.

 

He hoped this case would turn into a slam dunk. That would make things easier down the road.

 

He laughed at the conceit. Things never got easier because you assembled a winning case. It was just practice for the next case.

 

No one cared how hard you worked. They just wanted to see results.

 

He pulled on his jacket and hat. He straightened his tie. He left the building and started along the street toward his place.

 

He wondered if Heite was in on whatever had happened. He made a note to check into the man's background. Maybe he had been the driver that had hit Collie on the sidewalk.

 

That would mean that the manager had discovered the secret and kept it away from the people he worked with until he could get out of the theater. Why hadn't he taken the tiara then?

 

The only way that made sense was if he didn't know what he had.

 

Tim put that down as a theory even if he didn't believe it. He doubted Heite killed anyone.

 

He put Heite's name down anyway. He had seen too many guys who looked harmless try to go for iron in his years running with Ghost Angel and as a beat cop. The old man could have done it if he made the connection and didn't know the tiara was the loot.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

47

 

1958- Old Troy was one of the last major cities to adopt computers to streamline record searches. Before the very first computer was installed in its room, most government agencies depended on clerks to find the relevant records.

 

That was why Tim found himself waiting for background checks on the other side of the building from his squad room. He sipped coffee and wondered why the place didn't have windows as he watched the staff go about assembling his material. He was sure there was something in those files he could use.

 

The more information he had, the better he could see what fit the puzzle and what didn't. The more he learned about something pointed away from wrong choices.

 

The death of Wallace Collie could mean nothing to his own case. It could mean everything. Once he had that sorted out, he could figure out how to get at the person he wanted.

 

If they were tied in, how could he prove it?

 

He couldn't even prove a theft had taken place except with his witnesses who hadn't seen anything important.

 

He needed something like a fingerprint if he wanted to keep moving.

 

Those that belonged to the theater people didn't matter. Their prints should be on the case from the plays they put on.

 

He couldn't prove none of them shouldn't have touched the case when the crown vanished.

 

"Here you go, Detective." Marcy Connors produced three files. "This is all we had in the system."

 

Tim took the files to a table and read through them. His hand made notes as he went. He shook his head. Of course everything had looked unconnected. It was supposed to if you didn't have a suspicion about it.

 

It looked like three unrelated crimes.

 

How could he prove that there was a chain? Who was his prime suspect?

 

Wallace Collie had a brother, Louis. The brother was a pro with two sentences for theft. No one knew what he was doing with his free time since he had not been in the hoosegow for a while.

 

A robbery had been committed a few days before the theater put the crown together under Heite. It had the earmarks of a Collie job. Everyone was looking for Lou to see if he had the gems on him.

 

The heist had taken place within walking distance of the theater from the address in the files.

 

Lou maybe committed a robbery near the theater where his brother worked. A crown with fake gem decoration was added as a prop to the theater's plays. Then the brother was run down.

 

Lou vanished. Everyone thought he got the loot from the robbery and fled to Mexico. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe he had to wait.

 

It was a good theory. That didn't mean things had happened like that. Maybe Lou was dead.

 

That would explain the time difference between Wallace being killed and the tiara suddenly vanishing.

 

Tim sat in his chair and thought about everything he knew. He still needed something to point him in the right direction.

 

He turned to the slim file on Heite. He hadn't really thought there would be one. He flipped it open and scanned the contents. Several charges and one conviction for trafficking stolen goods. He shook his head.

 

That presented a ready explanation for everything.

 

Heite had supposedly been clean all the years since his release from the state pen. He ran the theater for most of those years.

 

Tim closed the files and handed them back to the clerk. The answers given weren't much, but they were better than the nothing he had. Now he needed some way to squeeze Heite and see if he killed either of the Collies for the jewels.

 

If he had known something had been stolen, but not where it had wound up, Heite could have gotten someone to steal the tiara for him.

 

If he had experience before becoming a fence, he could have done it himself.

 

And no one at the theater would have said anything because he was one of them.

 

Tim trooped down to his desk. He wrote up everything he knew so far to show his progress. He placed it in a casefile. He headed downstairs to get his car. Questioning Heite again was at the top of his list.

 

An explanation for ducking the fencing conviction might reveal something else.

 

Tim knew that most people would keep something like that hidden. It was human nature not to show you had a motive to do something. What he wanted was something to show that Heite knew the crown was valuable.

 

That would give him a motive for the theft. It also would give him a motive in the death of the prop man.

 

That was something Tim expected him to hide at all costs.

 

The detective drove across town and then along the beaches and piers until he saw Heite's house in the distance. He pulled over to the curb. How should he approach this?

 

He doubted asking questions about the dead man would give him anything. The former fence would see something like that for the trap it was.

 

Asking about the display box and how to break into it without being seen would also be seen as a trap.

 

Tim decided to ask about the missing brother. Maybe that would give him something he could use.

 

He got out of the car. He looked around the neighborhood as he walked up to the flat house. He wondered how much one of the houses cost. Could he afford one on his salary?

 

He knocked on Heite's door. He should have called first, but he could afford to wait if the old theater manager wasn't home. Waiting was part of the job.

 

Nothing moved inside the house. Was Heite home?

 

Tim knocked again with a little more punch. He wanted to make sure he was heard before he did something like break into the place.

 

He leaned against the window. A light was on, but nothing moved as far as he could see. He decided to see how the back looked.

 

Maybe Heite was walking the beach.

 

Tim walked down the side of the house. All of the windows were curtained from outside view. He looked out on the beach. He didn't see the elderly man anywhere. He walked up to the back of the house.

 

He had spent too many years with Ghost Angel. Breaking into someone's house because you suspected them wasn't good for job security.

 

He slipped a pick into the door lock and opened the door. He hoped no one had seen him. He didn't want any trouble for taking a look around.

 

The Lieutenant would not approve of his method.

 

Tim cautiously walked around the house. He didn't see anything unusual in the everyday clutter. He didn't see a glowing sign that said jewels are here. Would Heite keep the stuff in his place at all?

 

Tim doubted that. If he had the tiara, he wouldn't want it where anyone could find it and connect him to the theater robbery, and the older jewel robbery. He would put it somewhere that no one would think to look for it.

 

Hiding it in plain had been a stroke of genius on the part of the Collies'. It had been undiscovered for years after Wallace's death.

 

Tim looked the place over one more time before walking to the window. He peered out on the street. He stepped out on the porch before someone came along and saw him leaving the house.

 

He walked back to the car. He needed to think of something while he waited for Heite to come home. He got behind the wheel and watched the house.

 

He admitted he was coming up empty in the ideas department. He needed some inspiration if he wanted to catch his quarry in a trap.

 

He spotted Heite coming down the walk with a shopping bag in his arms. The old man fiddled with keys with one hand as he walked toward his house.

 

Tim got out of the car and walked toward the theater manager. He took the bag before the other man knew he was there.

 

"How's it going, Mr. Heite?" Tim smiled. "Let me help you out for a second."

 

"Problem?" Heite opened the door with his key.

 

"I wanted to ask you if you knew Wallace Collie's brother." Tim handed the bag back. He wanted his hands free in case he needed them. "I'm looking for him to see if he could answer some questions for me."

 

"Didn't know Wally had a brother." Heite stepped inside the house. "Knew he had a girl. Think her name was Sheila something. One of the boys at the theater should know for sure."

 

He closed the door in the detective's face.

 

Tim blinked for a moment at the dismissal. He listened at the door. He heard footsteps moving along the wooden floor of the house.

 

He would check on the lead. Maybe he had been wrong about Heite. The brushoff had been sharp and clean.

 

Tim walked back to the car. He hadn't seen a mention of a girlfriend in the accident report. Maybe she hadn't come forward.

 

Maybe there wasn't a girlfriend.

 

He had to check it to cut down on the false trails. A girlfriend meant a viable suspect. No girlfriend meant Heite was partially trying to deflect suspicion off of himself.

 

Tim decided to wait in his car for a bit before he set out after the mythical girlfriend. Maybe Heite would do something to clearly point the finger one way or the other.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

48

 

1958-Tim waited down the street for an hour. Heite didn't move from the place. He stared at the house while he tried to think what he could do.

 

Maybe he should call the rest of the squad in on this so he had help. He wasn't going to be able to follow Heite around and chase down leads. He wasn't going to call Ghost Angel. The spirit of vengeance had his own priorities.

 

Letting the ghost loose on an old man who might have done nothing was not good. Heite was his only lead. Tim had nothing if the manager was sent to Hell without parts of his body.

 

Tim decided the best thing he could do was call Swanson and ask him to help out until he cracked the case. The older detective wouldn't mind lending a hand.

 

That would free up Tim to look into the supposed girlfriend who hadn't claimed the dead man's body. If she was real, maybe she knew what the tiara really was.

 

Maybe she killed Collie and stole the crown from the theater.

 

Maybe she was a fabrication.

 

He had to make sure if he wanted to move ahead. An answer would rule out paths for him to take while opening others.

 

He needed to check if Swanson was back at headquarters. That should be his first move.

 

He grabbed the radio and called in. He asked the dispatcher to call over to the office and see if the other detective was still on. She said she would call him down to the radio room if Tim could wait. He confirmed he would be on station as far as he could tell.

 

"Go ahead, Car 54." Swanson's voice sounded sharp from the speakers.

 

Tim outlined his problem to the older man. The radio crackled as he waited for an answer.

 

"I'll be right there. Give me a few minutes." Swanson signed off.

 

Tim imagined his colleague going back to the office for his jacket and gun. Then he would go down to the motor pool and check out a car. Then he would follow the roads down to the beach until he pulled up on the street.

 

Tim saw the car right on time. He smiled. Swanson was a man to count on.

 

Tim got out and walked back to where the other car pulled over to a stop. Swanson leaned back in the chair as he watched the street. The younger detective got in on the passenger side.

 

"Thanks for coming down." Tim pointed at the flat house. "The guy I'm interested in lives there. His name is Murray Heite. He's 5-8, a hundred fifty pounds, bald on top, white hair on the sides. He lives alone as far as I can tell. I need you to follow him and note everyone he talks to until I can come back and take over for you."

 

"What's he done?" Swanson stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit up. It might be his last one for the night.

 

"I don't know." Tim decided it was better to be honest than to spin some tale of murder and intrigue. "I'm trying to rule him as a suspect in a theft. If I can do that, I can move on to someone more viable."

 

"How long do you think you're going to need me to sit on him?" Swanson puffed on the cigarette as he watched the house.

 

"I'm going over to try to confirm a girlfriend for an accident victim." Tim checked his watch. "I don't know how long that will take. I want to at least take a stab at it so I have something useful to work with instead of all this junk."

 

"If he moves, I'll call it in to Dispatch." Swanson waved a hand of dismissal. "Otherwise, let me know if you got anything when you come back."

 

"Thanks." Tim got out of the car and skulked to his own vehicle. He hoped Heite couldn't see his car, or Swanson. He would try to wait them out if he knew he was being watched.

 

Tim hoped he did something that was a clear indicator that he was guilty. Then the case would move to amassing enough evidence to convict, instead of trying to winnow him out of the suspect list.

 

The theater manager might know everything and be intent on taking some of it to his grave. The detective couldn't allow that if he wanted to clear the case off his load.

 

On the other hand, he had to make sure there were no other suspects in the field before he could concentrate on Heite to the exclusion of all else.

 

He drove over to the theater. Maybe some of the people there would know about Collie's mysterious girlfriend. They might know enough to point him to someone who did know her, or could confirm there was no such person.

 

Once he did that, he could examine Heite for more lies.

 

If someone told a lie that big, they might have more to be taken apart and used as evidence.

 

Tim pulled to a stop in the slot he had used before when the play was underway. He went to the back door and knocked. He waited for someone to answer the door.

 

Tim checked his watch. He thought someone would be on duty. Why weren't they answering the door? He knocked again.

 

He wondered how much trouble he would be in if he just opened the door with the set of picks he had. He didn't want to be seen as the enemy. People wouldn't talk to him at all then.

 

No one liked the police seemed to be the common thought.

 

He knocked again. He could break in if no one came to the door. People might be too busy to answer. They worked in the theater after all. Rehearsals and other preparations might be going on.

 

The door cracked. One of the stagehands looked out. His expression changed when he saw who was there on the step.

 

"How's it going, Detective?" He opened the door wide for Tim. "You caught us in the middle of set up for the show tonight."

 

"I have some more questions." Tim crossed the threshold. "Did you know Wallace Collie?"

 

"Everyone did." The stagehand frowned. "He made all of our props for us. He was a wiz. I heard someone ran him down on the street."

 

"I heard the same thing." Tim pulled out his notebook. "I heard he had a girlfriend. I need to talk to her about his effects."

 

"His effects?" The stagehand frowned even deeper.

 

"When Collie died, everything he had on him was put in an evidence box." Tim shrugged. "I did a check and found out he had a girlfriend and a brother. I can't find the brother, so I am hoping someone here could help me find the girlfriend."

 

"We can try in the office." The stagehand waved at Tim to follow him. He led the way through the mess of people trying to do eighty different things at the same time until they reached a small office next to the dressing rooms. The door stood open. "The theater has phone numbers for people we can call. Wally's should still be there with the rest."

 

Tim nodded as he checked the bulletin board over the desk. Collie had two numbers. It might mean something. It might be nothing.

 

"Do you know this girlfriend?" Tim put his notebook in his coat.

 

"Not really." The stagehand shrugged. "Wally only talked about whatever he was working on, and very little else. He was like a stuck record."

 

"So you never met her?" The detective looked up at the catwalk above the stage. What was he missing?

 

"I didn't even know Wally had a brother." The stagehand shook his head. "It doesn't surprise me."

 

"Thanks for your help." Tim headed for the door.

 

"Do you know what happened to the tiara?," The stagehand called after him.

 

"Not yet." Tim didn't want to give away anything. This guy could have stolen it just as easily as Heite. "I am hoping to get some answers soon."

 

Tim went back to his car. He needed to use the radio and see if Swanson was still in position. Then he could find out who the phone numbers belonged to with a reverse directory.

 

Maybe once he knew who Collie considered his girl, he might be able to put her in the lead for running him down. His other option was there was no girl and the number was a relative, or friend, that the prop man wanted to know if something happened to him.

 

It could be nothing. It could be everything.

 

He wouldn't know until he found the phones and looked around for himself.

 

"This is Car 54." He needed to check in with Swanson. Maybe Heite had gotten nervous while he was at the theater. "Could you patch me to Car 12?"

 

"Go on Channel 2" The dispatcher responded a moment later.

 

Tim switched frequencies so he could talk to the other detective directly.

 

"Did he move?" He kicked himself. That wasn't the proper radio method.

 

"Subject is still motionless." Swanson snickered quietly. "Wait. He's on the move. Over."

 

"I'm on my way." Tim cranked up the car. "Give me a direction. Over."

 

"He's heading south." Swanson gave a block number for a street. "He might be heading out of town. Over."

 

"Don't get my hopes up." Tim thought about it. "We have to know what he's doing until we clear him as a suspect. Over."

 

"If he leaves the city, we're jammed. Over."

 

"I don't care." Tim was glad they were not broadcasting over the normal police band. "He's my only suspect so far. I have to be able to rule him out before I can do anything else. Over."

 

"Don't worry." Swanson gave another block number. "I don't think he knows I am back here. Over."

 

"Be careful." Tim thought about Wallace Collie broken on the road. "This guy could be dangerous. Over."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

49

 

1958-Tim found Swanson sitting in his car across the street from a house in the no man's land leading south toward Oakland and San Francisco. The detective had an eye on the house while he smoked a cigarette.

 

Tim pulled up behind the other car and got out. He walked up to the driver's window. Swanson relaxed the hand he had on his revolver.

 

"Anybody else in there with him?" Tim looked the neighborhood over. This could be something as innocent as a family dinner.

 

"Not yet." Swanson threw his stub on the road. "We just rolled up."

 

"I'm going to go around back." Tim examined the house. Heite could have went in the front and then out the back without Swanson seeing him. "If someone shows up, see if you can find out who it is."

 

"No problem." Swanson rubbed the back of his neck. "Which one do I follow?"

 

"Pick up any new guy." Tim looked up and down the road. "I'll circle around and follow Heite wherever he goes from here."

 

"Got it." Swanson settled in the shadow to watch the street.

 

Tim walked back to his car and drove around the block. He parked behind a set of cars on the street. He could barely see the target house from where he was by looking down an alley between two adjacent houses.

 

If things went bad, he would have to get out of his car, run down that alley in the dark, and hope to catch whomever ran out the back before they got away.

 

Tim frowned at the thought that if anything went bad, there was a chance the bad guy could get away before he could stop him.

 

He had a feeling he was on the edge of solving things. He only had to figure out where the tiara was and get it back. Arresting Heite was secondary to that.

 

He didn't even know that Heite had the thing.

 

He put that down on his list. He needed to know if Heite had the thing for sure before he broke into a family reunion.

 

He needed to get a better view of the inside of the house.

 

He got out of his car and walked down the alley. He crept through the yard until he came to a short fence in the dark. He felt around with his hands and thought it was a thing made of bars to keep out dogs in the neighborhood. He pulled himself over and dropped to the other side. He paused to watch the back of the house.

 

Nothing moved as far as he could tell.

 

Tim crept to the back door. He wanted to get a view of what was going on in the house. Then he would know if he was chasing the wild goose.

 

He didn't want to spend any more time than he had to ruling a suspect out.

 

Tim skulked to the windows. Curtains blocked his view. He frowned. So much for seeing inside.

 

What should he do now? He and Swanson weren't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be trespassing like he was. He could see the regulations flashing in his mind.

 

Tim checked the windows to see if they were unlocked. He got lucky on one. He pushed it up enough to be able to hear what was going on inside the room, and maybe the house. That depended on how open the place was inside.

 

Voices reached his ears. He settled in to listen. Apparently someone was there before Swanson arrived.

 

That made sense since Heite was obviously visiting someone. Who was he visiting? The discussion didn't sound friendly from the snatches that Tim could hear. Maybe the homeowner didn't like his visitor.

 

Tim didn't like him all that much himself.

 

He ducked down as the speakers walked into the room on the other side of the window. He hoped they didn't notice the opening he was using as his listening post.

 

"I don't have it, Murray." The speaker ran water from a faucet. "Someone else grabbed it."

 

"No one else knew about the thing but us and Wally." Heite sounded angry to Tim. "And Wally's dead."

 

"What makes you think Wally didn't tell someone?" The speaker sipped something, maybe the water. "He had a girl."

 

"She left town after he died." Heite sounded smug there. "I told the police about her so they would chase her down."

 

"What's the point?" The speaker shrugged. "She's out of it unless she came back to town and stole it before we could."

 

"We don't know where she is or what she would do." Heite shrugged from the sound of it. "If that cop catches her with the tiara, we have to hope he doesn't know what he's got."

 

"He knows." The speaker shook his head. "He's bound to now that he knows Wally had a crook for a brother. We have to find the tiara first."

 

"How do you suggest we do that?" Heite laughed. "That detective is all over me. I am done."

 

"Just hang around the theater." The speaker clinked something. "If the tiara is still there, it will show up sooner or later."

 

"What do you plan to do?" Heite sounded suspicious.

 

"None of your business." The speaker sounded calm through the window. "Do what I tell you."

 

"I don't think so." Heite seemed to have made some gesture. "I am not going along anymore."

 

"Then you're not going anywhere again." The owner of the house made some kind of noise like metal rubbing against metal.

 

Tim went to the back door. He kicked it open. He didn't want to blow his cover, but he couldn't let his only lead be killed out of his jurisdiction. Heite and another man turned in surprise to see him. The other man held a butcher knife in his hand.

 

"Put down the knife." Tim pointed his pistol at the man. "I don't want to shoot you."

 

The knife went in the sink. The man snarled at his visitor.

 

"Someone want to tell me what this is about?" Tim looked at the two men. They looked like they weren't willing to talk. He wanted to use the rubber hose on them.

 

"I tell you what." Tim gestured with his gun. "Let's step outside. I'll give you two a ride down to headquarters."

 

"Your badge doesn't mean anything here, lawman." The owner of the house sneered. "You can't do anything to us."

 

"I can shoot you and claim it was in self-defense." Tim waved the gun again. "I can introduce you to someone who thinks the law is too limiting. I think he would love to meet you two."

 

The two crooks sullenly marched through the house. Heite opened the door and stepped out first. The other man reached for the door. Tim placed the muzzle of his pistol against the man's skull.

 

"No tricks." He delivered the warning quietly.

 

The other man dropped his arm and walked out on the porch. He paused when he saw Heite raising his hands in the yard. A wide man in a cheap suit waited on the sidewalk. He pointed his pistol at the older man.

 

"We're taking them in." Tim shook his head. "This guy decided he wanted to kill Heite with a butcher knife."

 

"You can't prove that." The man sneered at Tim.

 

"So what?" Tim smiled back. "Hands on the back of your head."

 

A minute later, both men were stowed in the back of Swanson's car with hands handcuffed behind their backs. The detectives stood off to discuss the legality of what they were doing.

 

"What's the plan?" Swanson puffed on his cigarette as he stared at his captives. "We can't claim we're picking them up for something."

 

"The one guy threatened the other guy and pulled a knife." Tim shrugged. "I made the decision not to let the guy we were following get stabbed. We need to think of something we can make stick while we rip this house apart."

 

"I guess we can claim we're processing them." Swanson smiled. "That will give us a few hours."

 

"Take them in and put them in separate cells." Tim nodded. "We'll hold on the booking until tomorrow morning. That should be enough time for me to look through this place for anything we might need."

 

"Bring the knife along." Swanson threw his cigarette butt down and stamped it out. "We can at least go through the motions."

 

"I guess we can try to claim we're extraditing them if we come up with something we can use." Tim headed back to the house. "Do what you can to hold them."

 

"Find something we can use, or this is for nothing." Swanson walked to his car and got behind the wheel. He pulled out and headed back to the city.

 

Tim paused inside the house. He decided to walk around first before he started his search. He doubted he would find the tiara. He hoped to find something else he could use as a wedge. He had shown his hand by busting in the door. Unless Heite stated that he had been afraid for his life, this was the end of his investigation unless he came up with something he could use.

 

Once he walked around, he started looking for evidence of a crime.

 

He needed to justify blowing his case.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

50

 

 

1958-Tim and Swanson stood outside the two interrogation rooms. Tim's search of the house had come up empty. He needed one of his suspects to tell him what was going on.

 

He doubted the owner of the house was going to tell him anything. How could he break Heite?

 

He didn't have a lot going for him.

 

"What do you think, Swanson?" He looked at his notepad for some kind of edge.

 

"You should have let the other guy kill this guy so we at least have a murder." The wide man rubbed the side of his head with a thumb. "Right now, we don't have squat except for an attempted assault that they can lie about to have the charges dropped."

 

"Maybe we can convince him his friend is going to kill him after they get out." Tim slapped his pad against his hand. "Maybe that's exactly right."

 

"Who did the other guy kill?" Swanson frowned, thinking about the implication.

 

"Wallace Collie." Tim grabbed the door knob. "Follow my lead."

 

The two detectives walked into the plain room. Heite was manacled to the table so he couldn't do anything to himself, or others. He gave them a look to show he wanted to leave.

 

"What can you tell us about Wallace Collie's death?" Tim sat down at the table. He put his pad in front of him. He held his pen ready to write.

 

"Nothing." Heite seemed surprised by the tact. "I heard it was a terrible accident."

 

"Your friend says you drove the car." Swanson leaned against the door. "We just want you to fill in the holes for us."

 

"I don't know what happened." Heite looked at their bland faces. He wanted to believe the detectives were trying to pull some kind of hoax, but he wasn't sure. His supposed ally had tried to kill him.

 

"Let me tell you what we know." Tim put the bare facts on the table. He implied the whole time that Heite's partner had informed him of the details instead of what the crime lab people had dug up. Heite grew paler as he went on. "I think with his testimony we can put you in the chair."

 

"None of that is true." Heite banged on the table. "He did all of that, not me. He stole the swag in the first place."

 

"Can you prove that?" Tim hid the smile he felt. He had them both if they could reel in this fish.

 

"He kept one of the jewels because he didn't trust his brother with it all." Heite smiled. "He put it in the leg of his desk at his house."

 

"How do you know that?" Swanson cracked an eyebrow.

 

"I was there." Heite shook his head. "I handed the rest over to Wally to work for the prop tiara for the ‘Four Queens'."

 

"Four queens?" Tim wondered who they were.

 

"That's the play we were putting on at the time." Heite tried to shrug against the manacles. "The tiara was supposed to be worn for the production and then stored until the next time the theater needed it. Once the play was done, I was supposed to get the crown and get the jewels out of it."

 

"Why didn't you?" Tim had wondered at the length of time between the robbery and the crown vanishing.

 

"Because the ‘Four Queens' was the last play I ran at the theater." Heite scowled at the memory. "They gave me a farewell party and told me to have a good retirement."

 

"They took your keys with the firing." Swanson nodded. "Let's say you're telling the truth. Where's the crown now?"

 

"I don't know." Heite shook his head. "That's why I went over to his house in the first place to see if he knew."

 

"And he decided to chop you." Tim shook his head. "We're going to need you to write out a statement in your own words to show what happened. We'll go over and talk to your friend again."

 

"Give me a piece of paper and a pen." Heite sighed. "Let's get this over with."

 

Swanson stepped out of the room. He returned with a pad and a pen. He handed them to the prisoner.

 

Heite wrote down everything he knew in spiky strokes. He pushed the pad and pen over after he signed it.

 

"We're going to talk to your friend." Tim took the statement. "It will be up to the District Attorney what you will be charged with, if anything."

 

"So I might be able to go home?" Heite smiled.

 

"It depends on the District Attorney." Tim went to the door. "He might come in and have some questions of his own before he drops the charges."

 

"It's not like I'm going anywhere." The old man shrugged with a rattling of his chains.

 

The detectives shut the heavy door on him as they stepped outside the interrogation room. Swanson smiled as soon as he couldn't be seen.

 

"Good job." Swanson clapped Tim on the back. "He's going to the chair and he doesn't know he did it to himself."

 

"We still might need him." The detective looked down at the statement. "We still don't know who took the crown from the theater. We have another player out there."

 

"One thing at a time." Swanson waved off the thought. "We have to make sure this guy doesn't walk now that we have a statement."

 

"He's the other Collie." Tim shrugged. "He won't crack. He'll deny everything."

 

"Then we turn him loose and give him another shot at his buddy." Swanson shrugged. "Then we can prove attempted murder and hang that on him."

 

"Let's see if we can flip him first." Tim shook his head.

 

"Spoilsport." Swanson smiled.

 

They walked down the hall to the other interrogation room. The other man looked at them from a similar manacle set up to what held Heite in the other room. He said nothing as they took their places.

 

"We would like for you to tell us why you killed your brother, Mr. Collie." Tim brushed aside the notion of the alias was real. "We know everything else."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about." The suspect gave them a steely glare.

 

"So we charge you." Tim stood. "Enjoy the chair."

 

"You can't prove anything." Collie smiled. "You're bluffing."

 

"We have a statement implicating you in a murder." Tim shrugged. "It's not much, but we also have the murder vehicle now, and we have your prints all over it. It doesn't matter if you did it, or not. We just have to convince twelve people that you did do it, and with your record, that is a piece of cake."

 

"You don't have the murder vehicle." Collie sneered at them. "It's where no one can get at it."

 

"An admission like that makes it easier for us." Tim went to the door.

 

"I'll deny everything." Collie laughed at them. "Good luck."

 

"Have fun sitting in the chair." Swanson smiled at him as they left.

 

"That went about like what I expected." Tim shook his head.

 

"He had the car stripped." Swanson stared at the closed door. "That's how he knows we can't get to it."

 

"If we don't have the car, we don't have anything but Heite's statement." Tim rubbed his face.

 

"We can charge them both." Swanson waved a hand. "It's out of our hands if the prosecutors say they can't convict."

 

"We need to find that car." Tim put everything in a case for storage. "Can you take them down to booking."

 

"What are you going to do?" Swanson went back to Heite's room.

 

"I'm going to find that car." Tim took the files and headed for the elevator. "I'm going to canvas everyplace in the city until I find it."

 

"Good luck with that." Swanson opened the interrogation room and unhooked the manacles from the table as Tim let the door on the elevator close.

 

Tim rode the elevator up to the squad room. He locked the casefile in his desk before he headed down to the motor pool.

 

He checked out his car and pulled out on the street. He felt his mind drift as he headed along the streets. Where would he have a car destroyed if he used it to kill someone?

 

Would he even have it destroyed?

 

Tim didn't think so. His guy would keep the car. He would just hide it for later use. No one had even connected him to the hit and run.

 

He had no reason to get rid of it until he was told the police was looking for it. And he had no way to get to it after they took him in. So it still had to be there where he hid it.

 

Where had he hid it?

 

It had to be somewhere close to his house out of town. It had to be accessible from the street. It had to be hidden from view. It also had to be heavy according to the lab reports.

 

Tim found himself on Collie's block. He drove around the streets nearby before circling back to the house. He parked in the driveway.

 

Where would he hide a car in this neighborhood?

 

Tim got out of the car. He went into the house. He stood in the living room and looked out the windows. The third window he looked out was on a Ford sedan from the forties. It was parked in a garage in the adjacent yard.

 

Tim walked over to take a closer look at the car. The front light was knocked out of it. There was some spots that looked like blood on the bumper.

 

No wonder Collie was so confident. It was his neighbor's car he used on his brother.

 

He parked it and if the police came snooping around, he could say he knew nothing about it.

 

Let's see if that would work in court.

 

Tim went back to his car and called for a wrecker and the lab boys to take pictures before he had it moved back to the motor pool. He wanted his guys to have a headstart before Collie got a chance to call his lawyer.

 

The prosecutors were going to want this too.

 

Tim waited patiently in the driveway. No one came out to tell him to quit loitering. He wondered about that, but decided the car was more important. He could knock on the door later.

 

He was going to have to ask them some questions about how the car got damaged sometime.

 

The lab boys got there first in a van they had bought from an ambulance service. They started taking pictures and measurements while Tim stood out of the way. He just told them he wanted a copy of the report as soon as possible. One of the scientists nodded briefly.

 

Tim went to the talk to the owner of the house. He knocked on the door but received no answer. He checked the windows. He didn't like the sight of a foot from the window. He opened the door and stepped back from the smell.

 

So much for talking to the owner.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

51

 

1958-Tim sat at his desk and thought about what he knew so far. Things had worked out fairly well once he had towed the damaged car back to the motor pool. He didn't need a tricked statement once he showed that piece of evidence to the prosecutors.

 

So he had cleared up two mysteries and closed two different cases. The problem was neither one was the one he had been called to close.

 

He still needed to find out what happened to the tiara and who had it now. It was the last piece of the puzzle.

 

The unknown girlfriend could have it now if she knew what Wallace Collie had done.

 

What would she do with it?

 

If he knew that, it would narrow down his search.

 

He looked at the two numbers he had copied. He needed to know which phones were at the end of the line. An address would be just what he needed.

 

Tim pulled a reverse directory from its spot next to his phone. That was the place to start.

 

He flipped through the pages until he found both numbers. He noted the addresses attached and decided to check them out. He had nothing to lose at this point.

 

Maybe he would find the one thing he needed to finally wrap things up so he could move to the other cases on his desk.

 

Tim headed down to the motor pool. He drove out to see what the first address was. He hoped it was something that would explain everything to him.

 

Tim pulled to a stop in front of the first address. It was a dive. He frowned. He decided to go in and ask around. He needed to find out something so he could move forward.

 

If it didn't pan out, he would drive over to the next place on his list.

 

He walked across the street and paused at the smoked windows before stepping inside. The neon sign seemed to be laughing at him as he looked the place over. He stepped inside.

 

The bar consisted of five tables, two pool tables in their own room off the main room, and a long counter toward the back. The bartender stood with glass in one hand, and a rag in the other. He glanced at the detective between wipes but didn't do anything to show that he had seen the new customer.

 

Tim looked the patrons over as he headed for the bar. They continued their conversations as he passed as if he wasn't there. He paused at the bar. He considered his approach before he said anything to the bartender.

 

"I'm looking for a girl. She used to go out with Wally Collie." Tim decided to be blunt. It would save him a lot of time not trying to remember lies. "I would like to talk to her if I could."

 

"What kind of name is Wally Collie?" The bartender almost smiled.

 

"I don't know." Tim shook his head. "He died recently and I am looking for any possible next of kin."

 

"Do you know what this girl looks like?" The bartender put the glass on a tray behind the bar.

 

"No." Tim shrugged. "This address was on a paper I found. I was hoping she would be here so I could talk to her."

 

"I don't know anybody that lost a boyfriend." The bartender picked up another glass and started wiping it. "What do you want to do?"

 

"If you hear something, tell her to call police headquarters downtown and leave a name with Detective Daschle. Tell her that we arrested Collie's killer."

 

"Really?" The bartender put the glass down. "He shoot this Collie?"

 

"Ran him down with a stolen car." Tim headed for the door. He looked the room over. No one seemed to have paid attention to his talk with the drink dispenser.

 

He had hoped for better, but he knew that no one wanted to talk to the police in a place the local crooks populated. He could only hope that the bartender would pass the word along.

 

He doubted it.

 

He got in the car and drove toward the second address. Maybe he would have better luck there.

 

Maybe she would be waiting for him to show up so she could tell him how much she had lived in fear until he had arrived to give her the good news.

 

He doubted that for some reason.

 

Tim pulled up to the curb in front of a modest house to the north of town. He paused at the thought that it was halfway to the old chemical company.

 

Maybe she worked out there and hung out at the bar. It was a lead he couldn't confirm since he didn't know who he was looking for.

 

He hoped the house belonged to her so he didn't have to keep looking for her.

 

He got out of the car and walked up to the door. He wondered if anyone at the bar called to let her know he was on the way.

 

If they had, she could be long gone from there.

 

Tim knocked on the door while listening. He didn't hear anything inside. Maybe she wasn't at home.

 

He looked around. Should he go in and look around? Would that get him anything he could use? Did he want to be seen as tampering with evidence?

 

He had already cut it close with the partners. A good lawyer could still get them off because of the trickery he and Swanson had performed.

 

He knocked again. He decided to knock three times, and then wait. If she didn't come home in a few hours, it might be because she expected him to be sitting on the house. She might be running for it right now.

 

He couldn't deal in speculation. He would make sure about the house. Then he would think about his next move.

 

He couldn't ask for a dragnet when he didn't know who he was looking for in the first place.

 

Tim knocked the last time and waited. The house gave its ‘I'm empty' message again while he stood there. He walked to the corner and looked down the side. One look in the back shouldn't be that bad.

 

He walked down the side of the house and paused at the back corner. The backyard stood empty. A couple of trees gave shade over the lush grass. It had been a while since anyone mowed, he decided.

 

Maybe no one lived there anymore.

 

Tim went to the back door. He knocked there. He listened and heard nothing. He decided that maybe he should go in and look around. Maybe the crown was tucked away somewhere.

 

He picked the back door lock with a pick and stepped inside. He stood next to the refrigerator and listened. No one seemed to be waiting for him.

 

He walked around the inside of the house. Dust covered everything. He found an empty picture frame on an end table. He didn't see any other pictures anywhere else. He would have to call downtown and find out who owned the house. Then he could get a license check for a picture.

 

That would give him some idea who he was chasing.

 

He needed something more than a suggestion from a thief and murderer.

 

There might not be a woman at all. There might be another wild goose he was trying to track down.

 

He looked around one more time for anything that might help him. He tipped his hat back when he didn't see anything useful. Where could he go from here?

 

He went to the back door and stepped outside. He locked the door behind him. He walked around to the front. He would ask the neighbors about the tenant for a few minutes.

 

Maybe that would give him a clue to chase down.

 

He canvassed the houses near the suspect house. Everyone agreed a man had lived there. No one had seen him for a while.

 

Tim had a suspicion why. He didn't have a picture of Collie, but he was sure that was the man who lived at the house. The file had listed another place as his home.

 

Maybe he should look at the other address that had been listed in his files.

 

Tim drove to the address he remembered from the reports. He frowned when he found it was a place not far from the theater. He saw a few people from the theater standing in front of the building.

 

He parked away from the building and watched the front of it. He should have known that Collie would have put down a place near the theater as his home. They might all live there.

 

How did he search a place like that? He would need an army of patrolmen to even get started. And if he was wrong, he was tipping his hand again.

 

Tim thought as the crowd headed for the theater.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

52

 

1958-Tim decided to look around the second theater building. He had to rule it out. He expected to come up empty in his search.

 

He checked the street before crossing over to the place. He used his picks on the gate in front of the front door, then on the door itself. He stepped inside and listened. Nobody seemed to be around the door.

 

He locked it to give himself some time in case he had to make a break for it.

 

Tim decided to start at the top and work his way down. That would let him wind up near the ground in case he was caught by anyone coming home early.

 

He didn't plan to jump from the roof if he was caught.

 

Tim didn't have time to take everything apart. He decided to start with Wallace Collie's room. Then he would check the rooms closest to that. That might save time and effort.

 

He checked his watch as he climbed up to the apartment. He only had a few hours before the play was over. He had an unknown amount of time after that before the actors and stagehands arrived back at their lodging.

 

Tim looked around the room first. Then he thought about all the places that could hold the tiara. He searched those places first. Then he checked the vents last. Sometimes people hid their belongings in the air conditioning system.

 

He admitted defeat when he came up empty. He moved to the apartments nearest the dead man's.

 

He spent the minutes quietly checking the rooms. He checked his watch and shook his head at how much time he had spent inside the building. He noted the rooms he had examined before heading down to the ground floor.

 

He went back to his car and got behind the wheel. That was a failure. If someone in the company had the crown, they had hidden it in the places he hadn't searched in their quarters, or in the theater itself somewhere.

 

They had hidden it too cleverly for him to find it without an army to help him take the places apart.

 

He doubted Kent would give him that many policemen on a hunch.

 

He needed some clue on who the girlfriend could be, and if she knew about the crown. Then he could narrow his search down to her place. At that moment, any woman in Old Troy could be the woman he was looking for to question about the crown.

 

Right now he was just spinning his wheels.

 

He sat behind his wheel and watched the street. Unless he came up with something to point him toward his next move, that was all he could do. The case was stalled.

 

Maybe he should get something to eat and consider what he could do someplace where he could read his notes in piece.

 

A piece of pie might hit the spot.

 

Tim decided to move the car to someplace out of sight while he went to one of the local places. He might have been seen. No one would do anything with a policeman sitting at the curb.

 

Maybe if they thought he was gone, someone would make a move he could use.

 

Tim made sure the car was hidden among others in a lot further down from the lodge. He went into the nearest diner and got a small meal he drowned with coffee. He made sure to take a seat where he could look out and not be seen from the street.

 

If he knew why the tiara had been stolen, maybe he would know who had stolen it. He had uncovered some things in the background, but they meant nothing if he couldn't connect them to the thief.

 

He realized his main stumbling block was if the thief knew about the loot grafted to the tiara by Collie. That was the fork in the road he was having problems resolving.

 

Either path led into different directions.

 

If the thief knew, then he/she was connected to the small gang he had learned about and arrested. That made him/her someone close to the Collies or Heite. Collie's girlfriend, if she existed, would fit that. He would have to find her in a crowd of women and then find out if she had the tiara.

 

If the thief hadn't known, why take the prop in the first place? It would have been worthless except for some kind of sentimental value to the thief. That looked as promising as finding the phantom girlfriend.

 

Collie hadn't left any pictures in his closed apartment. So there was no indicator there who the girl could be.

 

Tim wondered about the play. Why had they needed a display case and a tiara for it in the first place? Whom did the crown belong to in the play?

 

Maybe there was something in that. He wondered if one of the actresses had a thing with Collie. Maybe that would explain part of the thing.

 

How could he find that out without giving away his hand?

 

Maybe someone at the paper would know. They did reviews of the scene. The critics had to know who was supposed to be playing whom.

 

Tim thought the information wouldn't mean anything, but he didn't have anything else to do. Digging was all he had left. He was sure that someone inside the company had stolen the thing.

 

The way things looked, the thing must have been stolen before or after the performance. Only one of the crew could have gotten close enough to do something like that.

 

Miss Carmichael was his most likely suspect since she was the one in charge of the tiara. She might have called him to throw everybody off the scent.

 

It sounded convoluted to him. He needed more information about her.

 

If he could rule out her involvement, he could use her as a source inside the company so he could weed out the rest until he had a suspect.

 

That was the only way he could think to proceed. He had to check things as if he didn't think there was a connection to Collie. Maybe he would unearth the girlfriend if he dug deep enough.

 

Tim finished his cup of coffee. Actors from the theater drifted into the place as he kept watch. He decided to leave before someone recognized him. He didn't want to cause a stir.

 

He left money for his bill and stepped outside. He kept to the shadows as much as possible as he walked down to his car. He could do some basic research back at the station.

 

He would hit the paper in the morning. Maybe he could catch some of the critics at their desk as they extol the virtues of one acting troupe over another in pen and ink.

 

Tim reviewed the plan and couldn't think of anything wrong with it other than the waste of time. He doubted the tiara was going anywhere if it was hidden close to the theater, but he also was lagging behind if it was already out of the city and fleeing across the state and country.

 

He had to think he still had hope. He doubted anyone had left the company since he had been called. That would look suspicious to the other people. Maybe they would call in and tell him. Maybe they would take things into their own hands.

 

Tim spotted the theater as he drove off from the tired crew. He decided to stop in and look around. Maybe there was something there that was waiting for the people to leave so he could look on his own.

 

Maybe there was something there he had missed during his first search.

 

Maybe there was something that had been hidden from him the first time he had looked around.

 

Maybe he could find it if there was no one around to obstruct him.

 

Maybe he was wrong and he would find nothing.

 

He parked out of the way and used his picks on the door. He entered the theater, listening for anyone who might have stayed behind. He nodded when he heard nothing.

 

Tim stood in the lobby and mapped the area out and went over everything quickly. He worked his way into the seats, moving up and down the rows. He did the stage area next. He paused at the ladder to climb up into the catwalks. He looked around the empty space. He went to the ladder and started climbing.

 

He needed to take another look at the display case and work his way down from there. Maybe he would find out something new.

 

He grabbed the hook and drew the case in on its chains. He unhooked the box from the suspension system used to swing the thing around. When he saw that, he realized how the theft had been done. That meant someone had done it during the show.

 

He smiled at the clue.

 

He looked at the chains in the dark and looked down the ladder. The thin line vanished in the dark of the stage. No one would have seen it during the play depending on where the lights pointed when the show was going on.

 

One yank would send the box out of position long enough to take the tiara. Another pull and the thing was back in place.

 

That definitely meant one of the crew had done the deed. What had they done with the tiara once they had it?

 

Tim headed down the ladder. He had a smaller area to search now. He doubted the thief could have moved more than a few feet from his post during the performance. And the crew still seemed to be busy enough to keep him away from it the few days that the detective had been investigating.

 

Tim paused at the approximate place where he thought the case would drop. He started looking around. He smiled when he found a loose place in the stage.

 

Maybe he had the makings of a trap if he was careful.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

53

 

1958-Tim and Swanson stood at the edge of the stage. The wider detective eyed the area with a critical eye.

 

"Are you sure about this?" He looked at the crowd by the front door.

 

"It's the only shot we have to catch the guy." Tim pushed his hat back. "I'm willing to listen if you have something better."

 

"I can't think of anything better." Swanson smiled slightly. "Let's see if you can give Nick Charles a run for his money."

 

"I hope so." Tim watched the other detective step off the stage and move to one side. They had men stationed at the doors so no one could leave. The rest depended on what the theater people said and did.

 

Tim gestured for the crew and actors to come forward. They all had pensive looks. He wanted to smile, but he didn't have that much charm and knew it.

 

"I'm still having problems sorting through the interviews about what happened the night the tiara was taken." Tim had plotted everything out on a blackboard at the office before he had called the meeting. "I feel that I need a visual aid without the distraction of an actual show. I want everybody to take their places as if they were really putting on a show."

 

The crew slowly took their places. The actors moved to the wings while the people who worked the sets readied for the mock show. The light people climbed to the catwalks.

 

"Is everybody where they are for the show?" Tim looked things over. He noted a different man stood by the chain to the box than the one he had listed in his notes. "Do you normally run this chain?"

 

"Yep." The man nodded. "Sometimes I run a light, or play the violin. Depends on what's going on."

 

"Did you run it on the night the tiara was stolen?" Tim knew he hadn't from the interview.

 

"Nope." He pointed down to the orchestral. "Sam called out sick and I played the violin that night."

 

"Let's switch up then." Tim waved him down to the seat. "Go sit beside Detective Swanson, Sam."

 

One of the musicians stood and walked over to the seats. The crew man sat down in the empty spot.

 

"Who exactly was standing in this spot during the show?" Tim looked around. All eyes turned to one of the actresses standing in the wings.

 

She came forward and stood by the chain.

 

"Were there any other changes to the routine?" Tim walked around the stage with his hands up to block in the separate parts.

 

"Lisa Furley had joined the cast and left the next day." Miss Carmichael stood next to Swanson's aisle. "She was a temp we hired to help out for that one night."

 

"Did she know anyone here?" Tim checked his notes. He hadn't interviewed this woman. He didn't see any mention of her anywhere.

 

"Not as far as I know." Miss Carmichael pointed to the front of the theater. "She worked the concession stand for us."

 

"Where did she go from here?" Tim pretended to write down the particulars. As soon as he heard front of the place, he had dismissed her as a suspect.

 

"She received some bad news while I was talking to her about giving her a permanent place." The manager frowned. "Her grandmother had died and she was needed back east."

 

"I'll send a note to check on her." Tim put his pad away. "I want you guys to go through the play without all the acting. Show me what you did that night."

 

The theater came alive with voices as each man and woman went through the motions. They corrected each other a few times. The detective watched, wondering if he was going to have more curves thrown his way.

 

Finally it came to the woman by the chain. She had used it to move the curtain a few times. She seemed afraid to touch the wrong thing.

 

Tim noticed that at several points no one looked at her. She stood all alone in the dark. It was perfect for her to take the tiara.

 

How could he make her slip up and admit it?

 

Tim held up his hands to cause the players to stop. They all looked at him as he walked over to stand next to the girl.

 

"What do these chains do?" He pointed at a section of the system that he had noticed she hadn't touched at all.

 

"They move the runners up by the catwalk." She pointed up at where the men looked down at them. She paused, but realized she had said too much. "Sometimes we use them to hang up ghosts for some of the plays so we can show them flying."

 

"So what happens when I pull this?" Tim grabbed one of the chains and pulled. The display case dropped down to the stage. It smashed against the wooden floor before either one of them could catch it.

 

Something gleamed in the wreckage. Tim kicked the wood away to reveal the tiara.

 

"That's not possible." The actress's eyes widened in shock. "I left it..."

 

She paused when she saw everyone looking at her. One hand covered her mouth. She turned her head to look at the detective. He gestured for her to continue.

 

"Where did you leave it?" He said to prompt her to finish her confession.

 

"I put it in a spot where I could get it later." She went to the loose spot in the stage and pulled up a board. The real tiara gleamed inside the space. "I just wanted something from Wally."

 

"Go with Detective Swanson." Tim took her by the arm and led her to the edge of the stage. He handed her down to the waiting policeman. "We'll want a statement."

 

Tim went back and picked up the real tiara with a piece of cloth and put it in a bag from his jacket pocket. He picked up the fake. He grimaced at the busted case on the stage.

 

Clapping came from the front row. He looked over in that direction. Miss Carmichael clapped softly with a small smile on her face.

 

The rest of the company joined in a few seconds later.

 

"I think..." Tim paused to adjust his voice. "I think we're done here for the day. I'd like to thank you for your cooperation on behalf of the department."

 

He dropped off the stage and walked toward the door. Miss Carmichael met him by the front exit.

 

"What happens now?" She crossed her arms.

 

"We have enough to convict without a statement. If she pleads down the charge, I will bring the fake tiara back for you to use in other plays." Tim held up the crown he had ordered from a prop company. "The one Collie made for you has the loot from a robbery embedded in it and that is why he was murdered. The crown will be used in the murderer's trial and then broken up and given back to the jeweler that was robbed."

 

"Does she have to be charged?" Miss Carmichael looked out where her actress sat in the back seat of a squad car.

 

"If you want to talk to the District Attorney, maybe he will ask for a lighter sentence." Tim shrugged. "At this point, the law is going to move forward like a machine."

 

"I understand." The manager nodded. "I never thanked you for saving my life."

 

Tim paused. He should have known that she would remember what he had done. Then he shrugged.

 

"It's my job." Tim tipped his hat before he headed down to the squad car. "I'll let you know about the tiara."

 

"Thank you." Miss Carmichael walked back to join her employees. They were going to have to work around one of their number going to jail in the middle of production.

 

The show would go on.

 

Tim got in the passenger side of the squad car. He looked at the prisoner over the seat. She looked at the floor of the car.

 

"I think Miss Carmichael is going to drop the charges." He saw the look of relief flit across the actress's face. "We're going to take you down and process you for the theft. If the District Attorney goes light on you, or drops the charges altogether, that's out of our hands. That's something that requires some luck."

 

"What happens if he doesn't?" She glanced at both detectives.

 

"You stole a tiara that normally would be worth less than fifty dollars, which is a minor larceny charge. Usually, that would be a month to six months in jail with a fine." Tim didn't want to raise her hopes of an easy out. "In this case, the tiara has been covered with jewelry reported stolen in a robbery. It raises the value of the thing which raises the punishment. Also it makes you look like an accomplice to that robbery and Wallace Collie's death."

 

"But Wally's death was an accident." She looked around. "They said he had been run down by a drunk."

 

"He was murdered." Tim hated the tears he saw coming to her face. If she had known that, she was a great actress to conceal it in his opinion. "We got his killer in jail and the District Attorney is putting him on trial. If he is convicted, he will get the chair."

 

"This is what Wally was talking about." She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dress. "He had said he was going to get some money from his brother for a job. I should have known his brother had done something to him. I just thought it was an accident, bad luck. I should have known better."

 

"He said he had money coming from his brother?" Tim glanced at Swanson. The other detective was doing his best to not look interested.

 

"Yes." She nodded. "Is that important?"

 

"Everything you can tell us is important." Tim tried not to smile. He might have ammunition against the other Collie when he went to trial. It might even make the prosecutors overlook the minor theft charge.

 

He might be able to change someone's life for the better.

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Ooooh. I like this. And Tim's doing it without G-A's help. Even better.

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

perhaps ghost angel fdinds another,for lack of the proper term host one more ameniable to using his powers

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

I can't comment except to say that the Collies are related to the Collie from The Canines from walking with strangers.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

54

 

1959- Cal Gary and Madeline Finch walked to their favorite eatery. They were engaged, talking marriage, and trying to figure out where they could settle together other than Cal's small place and her boarding house. Some place with a white picket fence kept coming up in their conversation.

 

It was a first for him. He had mostly planned bank robberies and how to spend the money in his first life.

 

He knew he was lucky to have met someone like Maddie. She calmed the rages he sometimes felt. Her presence made everything better as far as he was concerned.

 

And it kept him on the straight and narrow. Many a time he had wanted to exercise his full power on someone but didn't because of her.

 

He wondered if that's how heroes felt when they weren't trying to stop guys like him.

 

He could see why they didn't use their abilities all the time if they had people to lean on.

 

"I think the house should be pink." Maddie smiled as his eyebrows quirked at the statement.

 

"Pink brick would look like a cake." Cal shook his head. "It would be hard to keep clean."

 

"But that wouldn't be my problem, would it?" Maddie paused at a group of men surrounding a young woman in a pink dress. "I wonder what's going on."

 

"They're blocking the sidewalk." Cal walked up behind the nearest man. "Excuse me. We're trying to get through."

 

"Go around." The man didn't bother looking over his shoulder. That earned him a grip of steel around his neck. He winced as the fingers dug in.

 

"I'm hungry and irritable." The mechanic squeezed more. His psychic power enhanced his strength as he felt his anger grow. "You're blocking the sidewalk. Step to the side, or I will step you to the side."

 

He released his grip.

 

The group had paused in whatever they were doing to watch the confrontation. Evidently they hadn't recognized him, or had and didn't think he would stand up against their superior numbers. The man he had talked to turned and swung an arm as soon as his neck was free. He fell to the ground, trying not to puke his guts up on the concrete.

 

"Come here, dear." Madeline held out her hand for the woman to coax her from the ring of bullies. She frowned at them.

 

"Now step aside." Cal glanced at the woman. Her dress was torn near the top. He frowned at the men. Anger hardened his face and eyes. "I get really cranky if I don't get my dinner."

 

"What do you think you're doing?" One of the men glared at Cal. "Who do you think you are?"

 

"That's totally the wrong question that you're asking." The ex-villain waved his hand at the thugs to get out of the way. "What you should be asking is how bad is it going to hurt if I get really angry in the next two seconds."

 

The crowd picked up their fallen member and opened the way for the smaller group to pass. Cal waited patiently for the women to clear the crowd before he started through the gauntlet.

 

The men decided to try to inflict a beating on Cal when he was in the middle of them. That was a mistake on their part. His mental eye opened wide in the middle of the group and scattered them like leaves in a high wind. He caught one by the throat before the man could hit the ground.

 

"The only question now is how badly do I have to hurt you before you get the message." Cal looked into the man's eyes. He saw the fear there and hoped he had made his point. "The only reason I'm ripping your head off right now is my fiancé and I are running late. Don't make me change my mind."

 

He continued down the sidewalk where Maddie was saying some soft words to the woman. She was a lot younger than he had estimated at first glance.

 

Cal gave the crowd a look over his shoulder as he directed the women into the nearest store.

 

"Take her to the bathroom." Cal pointed at the ladies' room at the back of the place. "I'll wait for you."

 

Maddie nodded as she hugged the girl into submission and down the aisle to the restroom.

 

"You can't do that." One of the counter girls looked at him.

 

"Why not?" The look he gave the clerks and floor walkers was fire and brimstone.

 

"She's black and that's a white restroom." The counter girl pointed at the sign.

 

"What do I care about that?" Cal crossed his arms. "I'm not going in there."

 

He walked around as the counter girl looked at the manager. The man shrugged. Apparently he wasn't going in there either.

 

Maddie and the girl came out. She looked scared as she looked at the people looking at her come out of the white restroom. Maddie had pinned the rip together while they were in the bathroom.

 

"I can do a better job with my sewing machine." She grimaced at the rip in the cloth. "Idiots. This dress could have been good for years."

 

Cal looked out the window. The thugs were picking themselves up on the sidewalk. He wondered if they wanted to go another round with him.

 

"What do you think, Cal?" Maddie worked on the dress with her hands. "I think I can fix this right here if I had some needles and a thread."

 

"You got any black needles and thread?" The mechanic glared at the counter girl. She pointed to a shelf to one side. "Thanks."

 

He went over and got the requested items and handed them over. He put money on the counter to cover the bill. One of the counter girls watched the sewing intently as Maddie went to work on the rip. Her interest was so intense that she found herself holding the cloth together as the repairs were being done.

 

Cal stood by the window, watching the street. The manager joined him after a minute.

 

"Those guys won't forget this, Gary." He watched the bullies shambling away.

 

"I don't want them to forget." Cal gave him a look. "I want them to remember what I will do if they cross me again."

 

"None of that talk, mister." Maddie turned him around to look at the job she had done. "What do you think?"

 

Cal looked at the manager. The manager looked at Cal. They both shrugged.

 

"Looks good to me." The mechanic judged.

 

"Men are so worthless." Maddie laughed. "You wouldn't know a good cross-stitch if it sewed your butt closed."

 

The counter girls smiled or laughed at the befuddled expressions the men wore.

 

"I think we still have to get dinner." Cal shook his head. "Then we're supposed to look around for a house."

 

"Thanks for your help, Lucy." Maddie walked to the door. "Tell your mother to bring those dresses by and I will alter them for her."

 

"I have done what I can for that dress in public." Maddie ushered the black girl out of the store. "If there's a problem, tell your mother to call me. I'll do what I can to fix it at home."

 

"Thank you." She looked at the smiling woman and the frowning man. How did these two get together? They were nothing alike. "I better get home."

 

She ran off down the street as they started walking back to the diner.

 

"That was heroic." Maddie had Cal's arm in hers.

 

"That was dumb." Cal patted her hand. "We're going to have to move if I keep punching people in the street. No one will come by the garage to get their cars fixed."

 

"You're a hero under that gruff exterior." She hugged him to her. "I know it."

 

"I'm starving." He freed his arm so he could hug her back. "That's more important than being a hero."

 

They walked up to the diner. People were inside, but the closed sign had been put in the door. Cal pulled on the door. It was locked.

 

He frowned, then he pulled again. The door swung open. He led the way inside.

 

"That was weird." Maddie went to their usual booth. She waved at the waitresses as she went by. Cal walked behind her. He glared at the owner in the cooking area of the place behind the counter.

 

"Probably stuck." He sat down in his usual spot. He watched the place like a hawk.

 

He should have known they would try to lock him out after what he had done on the street. He was tainted as if he was a criminal doing something wrong.

 

He was used to it, but he had the feeling that Maddie would be outraged if she saw it.

 

"We don't want your kind here." The owner stood above them. "You're going to have to leave."

 

"Okay." Cal stood up so fast that the man stumbled stepping out of the way. "Let's go, Maddie."

 

She stood with a frown. She looked around the room. Everyone was staring at them. She shook her head.

 

"I guess I was wrong." Maddie started for the door.

 

Cal followed, looking around the room. No one looked back at him. He shook his head. He looked at the kitchen.

 

The walk-in failed.

 

He wasn't much of a hero to be so petty. He could live with that.

 

"Where do you want to eat now?" Maddie took a moment to look up and down the street. At least the bullies were gone. "I didn't think George would be so dim."

 

"We can walk back and get the car and head over to Mayville." Cal shrugged. "Or I can grill us some steaks."

 

"I'm sorry the night was ruined." Maddie hugged his arm. "I guess I thought better of the people here."

 

"They're still hillbillies." Cal smiled. "How much better than you could you expect them to be?"

 

"I'm a hillbilly too, nitwit." She gave him a playful swat on the arm. "I guess I expected a lot more gushing, and a lot less anger."

 

"Being a hero isn't all that great." He gave her a kiss. "Still kissing the princess is the best part."

 

"Flattery will get you everywhere." She laughed. "Let's get the car. We can still salvage the rest of the night if we hurry."

 

"All right." Cal smiled. "I could stand to look at a big city again."

 

He looked around the town as they walked back home. It was hard to restrain his talent, but his anger faded as they talked.

 

A few of the windows had cracks in them, but at least they hadn't been blown out.

 

His mind turned to how much money he had saved from his initial war chest. He could leave if he wanted. The only tie he had was Maddie.

 

He wondered how he was going to tell her he wasn't Cal Gary. He didn't want to destroy their relationship, but he wasn't the man she thought he was.

 

He wasn't a hero either.

 

He decided to let it wait. The future was bumpy enough without putting up your own roadblocks.

 

He would have to tell her sometime. He didn't know how.

 

The longer he waited, the worse it would be.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

55

 

1958- Bubba Smith stood at the back of the room. His hands were in his pockets. His eyes were on the rest of the gang. He puffed on his cigarette and wondered how he could make his escape.

 

Bunny Keys was wrapped up in his girl at the moment. Bubba was not fooled by the supposed drunkenness of his leader. The man could go on a binge for days and stay as sober as he wanted. It was something about metabolism.

 

Smith wanted to leave the gang. The robberies they had pulled were attracting too much attention. Law enforcement and masked men all over the southeast were looking for them. So far he had been able to keep ahead with his knowledge of the glades, but eventually that wouldn't be enough.

 

Someone would track them down and they wouldn't be able to fight their way clear.

 

The problems with escaping his boss were he had no funds and the man watched everything like a hawk. If he made a move, Keys would be right there to put a bullet in him.

 

The best time to escape would be during a job, but that held dangers all on its own. Policemen would be arriving to the scene. They would love to shoot one of the notorious Bunny Gang.

 

Bubba turned things over in his mind as he tried to think of a way out of the trap he was in. He could see the others had the same thoughts but were too afraid of Keys and his girl, Sue. They were a dangerous pair.

 

Bubba already had it in his mind that he would have to kill the both of them before he moved to a second step of his plan. If he didn't, they would hound him as much as the law for his betrayal.

 

The next job they decided to pull would be his chance. He would have to shoot the both of them and anyone who got in his way. Then he would have to make a break with whatever loot he had in hand.

 

That was his only chance as far as he could see.

 

He could flee to the next state before finding some way out of the country. He could vanish to someplace that no one knew who he was. He had never worked in Colombia.

 

He might even retire if he ran out with a big enough haul. He couldn't be a bank robber and thief all of his life.

 

He wondered where they would hit next so he could make his own arrangements.

 

"Boys, we're heading back into Miami in a couple of days." Bunny sipped whiskey from a bottle. "I have a hankering to hit the big to-do that will be going on. I want you to make sure your guns will work while I look the place over. As soon as I have a plan, we will hit the place and clean it out."

 

Bubba thought about the angles while trying not to groan. They had hit Miami five times in the last month. Every policeman in the city was on high alert for them. They were looking at a shoot out.

 

Of course, that would be great to Keys. His whole reason for robbing places was to show people he could do anything he wanted. A shootout and an escape would be perfect for that.

 

Smith preferred a quieter approach.

 

This could be the chance he needed to plan his own getaway.

 

Too bad he wasn't going to be riding into the city with the Bunny and looking things over. Keys liked to let them sit in the swamp while he did the running.

 

It was part of the security arrangement. If he got caught, they were supposed to break up and spread out. If he didn't, then there wasn't anything to worry about.

 

Bunny Keys was too much of a threat to the public that they would allow him to run loose just to nab the rest of the gang.

 

Bubba went outside and looked at the night sky. He listened to the animals running loose out there. This was the kind of place he wanted to retire to instead of waiting for the law to catch up to him.

 

He pulled his pistol and flipped open the cylinder. He looked at the brass ends of the bullets. How many bullets could he put in Keys and the rest before he was shot down? Did he want to find out?

 

He closed the cylinder. He wanted to get out of the gang with a whole skin. A death charge was something for when he had lost all hope.

 

He would go along until he was sure of his ground. Then he would shoot Keys in the back of the head at the first opportunity.

 

The world would be a better place when he did that. He might even get a medal.

 

Bubba put his pistol away as he looked out over the swamp. He should have picked a different path. Things seem to have gotten worse the more money he had socked away from his share of the loot. Keys would lead them into an ambush and they would wind up like Bonnie and Clyde.

 

It was inevitable as long as the boss was in it to be famous and not make money.

 

"I'm heading into the city at first light, Bubba." Keys stood at the door with a stealth that belied the bottle of alcohol he had gone through. "I want you to make sure everyone is ready to go when I get back."

 

"We will be." Smith glanced at the man. "How much time are you going to give us?"

 

"It's going to take me at least a day to look around, maybe another day to come back here." Keys shrugged. "Let's say the third, or fourth, day from tonight. That should be plenty of time."

 

"We'll be ready to go by then." Smith planned to be ready to make his own move once they were working. This was almost too good to be true.

 

"Sue stays here out of the way." Keys turned to go back inside. "She's been sick the last few days. I don't want her to slow us down once we get going."

 

"I don't have a problem with that." He nodded in agreement. It was one less person he would have to shoot in the back when the time came.

 

And he kind of liked Sue even if she was as crazy as her boyfriend.

 

He didn't like her enough not to shoot her. That would be pushing things too far.

 

Bubba looked out over the grass again. Was this a chance, or a trap? He had to go for it. Otherwise, he would be one more dead outlaw.

 

He sat down against the wall of the cabin. He should get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

 

He closed his eyes and dreamed of freedom. He woke with the call of an alligator in the distance. He should be happy the beast hadn't decided to investigate him in the night.

 

Gators were infamous for eating anything that crossed their path. They were like sharks on land.

 

Smith picked himself up. He smelled bacon and stepped inside. Everyone else was sleeping where they had been drinking the night before. He looked at the kitchen part of the cabin. Keys whistled while he cracked eggs in the skillet with the bacon.

 

"Breakfast?" Keys waved his hand at the stove.

 

"I didn't know you could cook." Smith sniffed the air. "Smells good."

 

"Of course I can cook." Keys laughed that maniacal laugh of his. "I can do anything I want."

 

"Do you need one of those gold bricks to go into town with you?" Smith got two plates. He handed one to his boss. Two minutes later, eggs and bacon went on the metal dishes.

 

"I don't need anyone slowing me down." Keys dug in while he looked out the window. He had taken the time to pack a change of clothing and his favorite pistol before cooking. He couldn't look like a swamp rat in the city. "This should be a quick in and out."

 

"All right." Smith ate his food slower. He didn't plan to be going anywhere until his boss returned. Then he planned to travel far.

 

"Take care of things, Bubba." Keys put his plate in the sink. "This could be a big score if we take care of business."

 

"Don't worry." Smith smiled. "I'll have every gun ready to go when you get back."

 

"I'll be back in three days." Keys picked up his bag and headed down to the short pier to where the airboat waited. That would take him to another spot where they had their cars hidden from view. Then he could drive into the city from there.

 

Bubba watched the boat fly across the wetlands with something like relief. He could plan his own path without everyone wanting something. He stepped out on the porch. He could get free of the mess he was in.

 

He heard puking from somewhere. He investigated and saw Sue off in the grass. He decided not to say anything. If she was sick with a bug, he didn't want to catch it.

 

He retreated back inside.

 

He had things to do. The first thing was to wake everyone up and get them started. He saw a bunch of headaches to deal with in the next few minutes.

 

He decided to get some more coffee and use the outhouse first. He had three days before he had to be ready to do anything after all.

 

He decided that Keys would be back in two. His boss liked to surprise. It was part of his nature. He went back in the cabin and began kicking the men awake. He had work to do.

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

so the notorious bubba smith is back

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

so the notorious bubba smith is back

 

Yep. He's heading to his death and rebirth.

CES