After Sentinel Too. Blair is still a graduate student)

Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

In The Loop
By Jael Lyn
February 2000

"Simon, with all due respect, since when does Major Crimes do investigations for vandalism on a car? Who owns the damn thing, some rock star? Visiting royalty?"

Simon Banks gave Jim his best wither-the-subordinate glare. "Major crimes considers all violations of the law a serious matter, detective. I'm sure you whole-heartedly agree." Brown, who was standing nearby, winced at the sarcasm. When the Captain was in this mood, it was best to be invisible. Simon continued to struggle into his suit coat. "I'm sure you won't disappoint me, and when our good mayor calls me again about this little matter I'll be able to clear up the whole thing. Do I need to stress the word 'again', detective, or did you catch that the first time? When will Sandburg be here?"

"I was supposed to pick him up after class. He was going to help me with the final paperwork for the Wallace car-jackings. You know, the murders we worked on before we got serious pursuing kids with spray paint?" Brown grabbed his partner by the arm and started dragging. Retreat with honor before the explosion looked like a very good plan.

Simon turned on his heel, facing Jim. The two men edged forward, subtly invading each other's personal space. Then he smiled broadly, and handed a sheet of paper to Jim. "Well, I'm sure two bright boys like you and Sandburg will be able to finish off that paperwork in no time - right after you see to these vandalism reports. Take Sandburg with you; he'll fit right in. Now, move. I have a meeting on what's left of my already pathetic budget, and I can only stand so much fun in one day."

Jim looked at the address without recognition. He'd expected something downtown, or in one of the wealthy residential districts. Somewhere with enough clout to have the mayor calling. Actually, it was nearer the university. "Rhonda, do you know what this place is?"

Rhonda smirked. "Yessss, I just might know something about this little errand."

"Rhonda, Simon specifically avoided telling me this until he escaped - what do you know that I don't want to know?" Jim's suspicions were now in overdrive.

"Why, Detective Ellison, I'm just shocked at you lack of sensitivity toward social justice and all."

"Rhonda, I'm sure you're enjoying this, but...."

Rhonda started to giggle. Jim knew he was in real trouble. He stood quietly, waiting to hear the worst.

" It's the office of LOOP - Lawyers of Oppressed Peoples." She wiggled her eyebrows. "You'll be an instant favorite over there, a nice, laid back, ex-military jock like you. I'm sure Simon was just joking when he made that comment about checking out the kevlar for you." She wrinkled up her nose and smiled. "You just have a real nice time, now, and play nicely with the radicals."

"Rhonda, I can't believe you would wish me this kind of pain." Jim continued to mumble as he grabbed his coat and left. "Lawyers. He's sending me to rescue lawyers. Not ordinary lawyers, no, the ones that think we beat elderly ladies for entertainment at lunchtime. Great. Just great." He turned and gave Rhonda one final glare. "I think I'd rather deal with the murder and mayhem group."

 

Jim did pick up Sandburg from the university. Simon had been right about one thing; Blair might relate to these folks better than Jim on his own. For all the sarcastic jokes made on both sides, the lawyers of LOOP volunteered their time and worked hard. From Jim's point of view, their clients might not be the most deserving, but that was beside the point. He could tell Blair shared Rhonda's amusement, and his partner didn't resist the temptation to do a little teasing on the way over. Jim just glared and let him have his fun.

As they pulled up to the address, Blair placed his hands on the dash of the truck and leaned forward. He stared out the windshield, then looked at his partner. "Jim, you and Simon must be mistaken. This isn't vandalism. This is demolition."

Both men circled the two cars parked at the curb in front of the building. If car vandalism was an art form, this was the Sistine Chapel. All the tires were slashed. Every window was broken. One of the cars must have been unlocked. The doors had been beaten to a pulp on the inside. Huge dents marked every panel. Paint had been thrown on the upholstery inside and the exterior, seemingly by the bucketful. Neither vehicle was new, but now they were beyond repair. Blair could extrapolate to his Volvo and shuddered. He felt sorry for the owners of these vehicles. These cars weren't new, but they should have had a lot of useful life left in them. The insurance settlement probably wouldn't cover the cost of getting new transportation.

They found their way to the main offices on the second floor. An eclectic assortment of people seemed to be bustling in all directions. Blair could have blended with the crowd in a heartbeat. Jim just drew stares. Finally a man about Blair's age spoke. "You guys need some help?"

Jim went through the usual introductions. He ruefully waited through a more thorough than usual examination of his badge. Want me to write down the number, buddy? Pledge the rights to my first born child? The man nodded in return. "Alright - it looks okay. I'm Scott Lowell. At the moment, I'm nominally in charge here. One of the vehicles was mine." Looking Blair up and down, he continued. "So what do you observe, or are you just the PD's token normal person?"

Blair sensed Jim stiffen with irritation, but the big man held his tongue. Blair smiled, and offered his hand. "I'm doing my dissertation on social structures in closed societies. I've been partnered with Detective Ellison for several years. As far as normal goes, I always thought common courtesy came under that heading."

Lowell met his gaze and grinned. "Well, point made and point taken. The other car belongs to Cathy Taylor; actually, it's her parents' car. She's a high school kid who volunteers part of her mornings on a school-to-work program. She was pretty upset. We had to take he back for her other classes, though, so she's not here right now. I called her folks for her. It's not like she was irresponsible or anything."

"When did this happen? I assumed it was at night or before working hours."

"Try 9:30 in the morning in broad daylight. We started hearing glass breaking and loud crashes. By the time someone got to that side of the building to look out the window, the cars were a wreck. I saw the tail end of some guys jumping into a van and roar off down Monroe, but I couldn't give you a description or a license number. A dark blue something or other. Beginning to end, it couldn't have been 30 seconds."

"Would you show us the window?"

"Sure. Those are interview rooms. We don't have very many clients in right now, so they're all empty."

Jim continued to ask questions as they walked through the corridors. "Judging from the amount of damage, I can't imagine one person causing that much damage. Either the time frame is off, or this is more than one individual."

Lowell nodded. "I agree - I heard several voices, men's voices, but like I said, nothing for identification. One of the guys dropped a sledge hammer on the run to the van. The patrol officers took it for evidence."

Jim gazed out the window at the vehicles. It wasn't a great vantagepoint, but he marked a few spots to look more closely at. "We'll contact forensics and see if they've found anything. I can't imagine they'll turn up anything very promising. With no viable descriptions of the vandals or the vehicle, our best bet is any suggestions you can give us."

Now it was Lowell's turn to bristle. "Detective, anything that goes on in this office is covered by privilege and you know it. And don't give me any lectures about our obligations to law enforcement."

"We can't investigate thin air," snapped Jim in reply.

"Our relationship with our clients depends on their trust in us. They depend on our ability to oppose established institutions and protect their interests. Cooperating with the local gendarmes isn't high on our list of things to do. You find the evidence - I thought that was your job."

Jim reigned in his temper. Time to try a different approach. "I understand you've been in contact with the mayor about previous incidents, but the department doesn't have any other complaints on file."

"Some of those incidents occurred when we were coordinating legal action against the Cascade PD. Didn't take a genius to figure out how our concerns would be received. We didn't waste the time."

"Well, I'm here right now and you're wasting my time at the moment. Tell me about the early stuff. Was it all vandalism?"

Lowell leaned back against a chair. "Let's see, there was a smoke bomb thrown into one of our community liaison meetings. Glue poured through our mail slot onto our mail. Posters ripped down. Anonymous midnight phone calls to the more visible attorneys. Phone lines cut. Some stink bomb made by a kid's chemistry set dumped into the air conditioning shafts on the roof - made the building uninhabitable. Rocks through windows."

"And you didn't come to us earlier? How long has this gone one?"

"Like I said, we don't expect a lot of cooperation from traditional authorities."

"Right. Any communication along with these events? Threats? Letters?"

"Not necessarily. Look, Detective, we're on the cutting edge of protecting and extending the rights of those that don't have any. We're not popular with our opposition."

Blair figured it was about time for him to earn his keep. "Look, confidentiality isn't confined to the legal profession. Protecting the people who trust you is necessary in a lot of fields. You don't have to talk about specific case details. In general terms, are there any cases you defended lately that someone would be willing to retaliate over? For example, you get someone off. The family members of the victim aren't too pleased. That kind of thing. Do you have a controversial case coming up? Or just finish one? A client that wasn't happy with your services. You can understand why we need something to go on from you."

Jim inwardly shook his head, watching Sandburg soothe and cajole a complete stranger. The kid had a gift. No doubt, Sandburg would get more out of this group than he would. Time to go with it.

"Look, I want Blair to check out a few things with me outside. Why don't I send him back in, and the two of you can go through what you might be able to share with us. Blair's really good at seeing patterns when there don't seem to be any. I don't consider this a case of simple vandalism at this point. The amount of damage is far too great. This was a very violent act. The timing suggests planning and very organized execution. I suspect it was meant as intimidation or retaliation, and we'll conduct the investigation on that premise until we know differently. Could I speak briefly with your staff?"

Lowell seemed slightly mollified, and left to gather people from far corners of the building. It took about 10 minutes to gather everyone together. The initially hostile group seemed to relax when they realized Jim was more concerned with their safety than conducting an interrogation. Jim went over some basic procedures about entering and leaving the building in pairs or groups. There was a short discussion of safer parking possibilities. Some simply decided to take public transportation for the duration. Jim requested a list of home addresses so he could coordinate stepped up patrols in the evening, as well as instructions as to who to contact a the PD if the need arose.

"I suggest you keep log of all entries and arrivals, if you don't already. If someone ends up working alone before or after hours, call dispatch so they can be aware. Please err on the side of caution."

Back out on the street, with Blair's guidance, Jim searched the areas he had identified earlier. They found some hair strands caught in the brick around the corner, where the perpetrators probably waited for the street to clear. There were multiple fiber traces, and notable scuffmarks on the pavement.

"These aren't street shoe marks. Boots, maybe work or hiking boots." Jim stood, and brushed off his knees. "I'll go back down to the station and finish up that paperwork, and talk to forensics. I really think you can do more here. What do you think of Lowell?"

"I think he'll talk to me. Do you think he was truthful?"

"Hard to tell. His heart rate didn't skyrocket or anything. He doesn't feel comfortable around me, so it's hard to judge. My guess is he knows something he doesn't really want to discuss with a cop. I can't imagine having all those incidents without having some purpose behind them."

"And why carry out long term, organized harassment if the target doesn't get the point. I agree. It doesn't make sense. I'll do my best to pry it out of them."

"I'll come back and pick you up around 4. Call me at the station if you need anything." Jim crossed his arms. "I can't believe I'm letting you get out of the Wallace paperwork."

Blair laughed. "See ya, Jim. And since I didn't get lunch, you owe me dinner!" With a wave, Blair disappeared back into the building.

 

Four o'clock came and went. The afternoon was moderately productive. Forensics had found a few random fingerprints. Jim's samples taken from the scene would be good corroborating evidence, but they needed some identities first. As they telephoned back and forth, Jim realized that Blair was making good progress on his end, despite Scott Lowell's reluctance. LOOP was involved in several prominent and controversial environmental cases, and had received some heated correspondence concerning their activities. They routinely defended high profile clients who were not well thought of in the community. His last call had included a list of potentially hostile former clients or family members. Jim was surprised to say the least, and conveyed his promise that those leads would be pursued with due care and consideration. Jim was still wrestling with details from their other case. Blair was stranded.

 

"Look, Jim, we're done here for today. Scott is getting a ride with one of the interns. I'll just have them drop me at the loft, okay? I'll see you later. Bring dinner home." He listened as Jim spoke. "I said dinner, Jim. Wonder Burger and dinner are mutually exclusive terms."

 

 

Blair stepped out of the car, still chatting with Scott and his intern from Rainier, Danielle. When Scott saw Blair's Volvo, he laughed.

"Sandburg, you go park that thing in front of the building and hope those guys come back. You owe it to yourself. See you tomorrow."

Blair jostled with his backpack and headed toward the loft. After the initial awkwardness, he had enjoyed himself. He had been impressed with the dedication of the men and women he had spent the afternoon with. He didn't necessarily agree with all their opinions, but none of them deserved to have this hassle in their lives. He'd brought some organizational information home with him to show Jim. Open a few lines of communication and all that. He had a nagging feeling that Scott still was holding back. He was friendly enough, but over and over Blair sensed wariness when his questions got close to certain areas. He'd just have to keep chipping away at it.

He needed to catch up with his school responsibilities, and right now he had the time, since Jim was taking care of dinner. He was fumbled for his keys, juggling the LOOP flyers in his hands. Sandburg, only you can lose your keys in your own hands. He had just located his keys in the pocket of his jeans when a force jarred him from behind and smashed his face into the side of the building. Blood spurted against the bricks. Blair tried to push back, but the weight of more than one body held him in place. He flailed away, trying to get free as some sort of cloth or hood was pulled over his head. He dropped his keys and kicked them away, hoping Jim would find them. As he started to cry out, a blow to his throat reduced his voice to a whisper. He managed to break loose and stumble a few steps away once. A blow across his shoulder blades and neck sent him to the pavement. While he struggled to breathe, still unable to cry out, he was drug off toward the street.

Jim Ellison rounded the corner; his attention focused on the small white take-out boxes that just would not stay where he put them. At least he and Sandburg both enjoyed Chinese. He was pulling the truck to a stop when he realized Blair's backpack was sitting, abandoned, on the walk. There was no sign of its owner. What now, Chief? Chasing a pretty girl? He allowed his vision focus - Blair's keys, some papers, a hiking shoe. There was blood on the wall of the building. A trail of blood droplets led toward the curbing, with one particularly smear near the lone shoe. Kneeling on the pavement, Jim could clearly see the scuff marks from heavy boots. He stretched out his senses. No sign of his Guide. Time to call Simon and start a search. Blair's safety was his only concern at the moment.

"Lowell, is that you? Where have you been?"

"Hello, Ellison. Nice to speak with you again. Do you recognize these phrases, Detective? They're customary in polite society. In case you've forgotten, I didn't have my own way home. What do you need?"

"My partner. He's missing. Did you drop him off? Did you see anything?"

"Well, yeah. We left him right out in front of the building. Why are you so freaked? Maybe he went somewhere."

"Without his keys? Or his backpack? Literature from your office is all over the ground, and blood." Jim's voice was rising. Blair was in trouble and this guy didn't get it. "Sound like Blair took a jaunt to the store to you?"

"I apologize. What do you want me to do?"

"Call your people. Put them on alert, and ask if they noticed anything suspicious when they went home. You have my cell number. Call."

"Of course. Right away."

"Lowell, if I find out you've withheld some critical information from me that put Blair in danger, no amount of attorney privilege will protect you. Think about that while you make your calls. And don't waste my time grandstanding. Blair's a lot more important than any point you have to prove."

Scott Lowell hung up his phone and swore. Those lunatics wouldn't, couldn't be crazy enough to grab someone off the street. Surely there had to be another explanation. God, how bad was this going to get? He grabbed his phone index and started making calls.

 

 

Jim scoured the neighborhood in the immediate area of the loft without result. No one in the building or nearby had heard anything unusual. By the time Simon arrived Jim's frustration and worry were pushing him past the breaking point. Simon refused to let him drive the area, pointing out that they now had plenty of units in the area. Steering Jim upstairs to the loft, they waited in silence as patrols scoured the area and checks were made on other LOOP members. When the call finally came, Jim was torn between rage and panic.

 

The beating started in earnest when Blair was tossed into a vehicle. There was a lot of room - maybe a van. At least one of them was using a nightstick, or something like one. The hood shifted and he caught the glimpse of a muscular arm. Snippets of angry words and threats, as well as questions, were thrown his direction. Blair couldn't answer; his throat ached and he struggled to catch a clear breath. Would he strangle? Someone roughly taped his wrists. Every few seconds another blow rained down, but they didn't seem too serious about hurting him at the moment. They were doing just enough to keep him down. He lost track of the turns, starts and stops the vehicle was taking. He had no idea where he was.

They screeched to a stop. When Blair was dumped out, they did nothing to break his fall. He hit the ground and tried to roll away. His limited line of vision had crossed the dark blue paint of a vehicle. He didn't get far. The heavy boots followed him. They did not miss their mark. He was pulled up again; arms pinned back, to create a better target. Jim, get here. Get here before they kill me. The nightstick and fists beat out a rhythm. Voices started to penetrate the haze. He couldn't concentrate - nothing made sense. He only caught some of what was being shouted at him.

"We told you to back off. You should have paid attention."

"Poor little Jew-boy lawyer. Still want to go to court?"

"You keep out of the business of God-fearing white people."

"We're going to drive all the punks like you out and take this country back for the true Americans."

A hand wound into his hair at the back of his head, roughly pulling him up. Blood was dripping off his chin from under the hood. More seemed to be filling his ear. Blair tried to balance, to answer back. He still couldn't croak out a reply.

"You tell Lowell we'll take one of the women next. Or maybe we'll see how that old office looks when it burns? You commie bastards step back into a court, trying to steal our lives, you won't have anywhere you can hide. Get him out of here." Blair felt himself lifted from the ground and heaved through the air. He crashed down onto what he realized was probably the bumper of the van. He tried to turn and brace himself, and managed to succeed for a few moments. Another blow to his temple sent him to his knees, and the haze returned.

 

 

The department was making an all out effort to find some trace of Sandburg. No significant information was being reported and Jim's state of mind had not been improved by hours of waiting. He nearly vaulted across the loft when the first ring penetrated his pacing.

"Ellison, that you?"

"Lowell. Do you have something?"

"Yeah, I got a call. God, I'm sorry. They thought Blair was one of us. They said they left him in a public place, and that he was alive. He didn't say where. I tried to string the guy along. I just couldn't get anything else."

"Come on, Lowell. A name, an accent, background noise? Cascade's a big place - we've got to have something." Jim's thoughts were on the blood scattered along the walk. "Any clue to what shape Blair was in?"

"They hurt him, I'm sure of it. I just don't know what to say."

Even over the phone line Jim could hear the man's heart race. His voice was sharp and angry. "Try the truth. You know more than you've told me. Quit playing games with me and think about Sandburg."

"I....it's the Patriots of God."

"And you knew this. Damn you, you knew all along."

"I didn't know, Ellison. I suspected. They should have been on the list. It wasn't any more of a possibility than what we gave you this afternoon. It's an ongoing case. We felt we had a better chance of breaking them by giving them enough latitude to get careless. Things may seem real simple to you, but we're trying balancing a lot of competing interests, consider the greater good..."

"My only interest is Sandburg. You figure anything out, I'd better get a call in a heartbeat. You owe him that. Anything else we can deal with later. Don't even think about holding out on me a second time." Jim slammed down the phone and wheeled to face Simon.

"Tell me."

"White supremacists. They're going to dump Sandburg, or they already have. Simon, where do we look in the middle of the night? These freaks want to make a statement. What would they do?"

"Somewhere public, maybe. The courthouse? Some other government building? Rainier? Hell, the NAACP. Could be anywhere." The two men stared at each other, desperate for an idea.

"Simon, Lowell thought they hurt him. I don't want to wait until someone finds him in the morning. I'll give dispatch what we have; tell them to concentrate on places with a high profile."

The required calls didn't take long. Jim wanted to go in, join the search. They were about to leave when the phone jerked them back.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim." 'It's Brown', Jim mouthed to Simon. "Rafe and I are stuck searching at Rainier, but we're not having any luck. Look - it might be nuts, but I have a thought."

"Simon and I were just heading out. No idea is stupid at this point. We can check it out on the way in."

"This is a hate group, right? Has anyone checked the new MLK memorial? I was at the dedication last month. What do you think? Jim? Jim????"

Brown shrugged at his partner. "I guess he didn't think much of it. He hung up on me. Next time I'll keep my mouth shut."

 

Simon insisted on being the one to drive. Donations had established a plaque and a small reflecting pond to honor Dr. King in one of the public parks overlooking the sound. It had just been dedicated. Simon, in fact, had been one of the speakers. Simon was no sentinel, but he could read the horror in his detective's eyes. The combination of an injured Sandburg and water was a haunting combination. When they reached the small parking lot Jim was out and running before Simon even got the car stopped.

Simon fumbled for a flashlight. Jim might be able to see where he was going, but his search would require some light. This was a beautiful site during the day, but it wasn't intended for 24-hour viewing. This park was closed after dark. Grimly, he followed Jim into the night.

Jim heard the heartbeat. Bursting through a planting area, he saw Blair's body, draped over the memorial pillar, apparently hanging by his wrists. He splashed through the reflecting pond, oblivious to anything but Blair. They had used a light nylon rope wrapped around the pillar and between his arms. His wrists were wrapped in duct tape. Jim lifted the smaller man to his chest, trying to take relieve the strain on his arms and wrists. Simon, using his height, untangled the line. They rolled Blair to his back, trying to catch his head. With horror, realized what terrible damage had been done. The blood-soaked hood had been cast aside and was lying on the ground. Even in the pale gleam of Simon's light, the damage was horrible. Blood oozed from cuts around his skull and eyes. His nose, lips and mouth had bled profusely. The bruising would make him unrecognizable. He couldn't speak, but he was conscious.

"Stay with me, buddy. We're not gonna wait for the ambulance, okay?" Jim gathered Blair in his arms, staggering under the weight, trying to be gentle. Blair's groans told him the level of injury to the body. With Simon's help, they covered the distance to the car. Yanking a blanket from the trunk, they settled Blair on Jim's lap in the back seat. Simon had a gym bag thrown in the back. He dug out a shirt and handed it to Jim before starting the drive to the ER. Jim carefully tried to clear some of the blood from his partner's face, coaxing him to stay conscious. Blair didn't seem to be able to speak - along with everything else it worried his sentinel. "Hey, there, don't try to talk. Just breathe. Stay awake, stay with me. We're almost there." He pulled at the tape still wrapping Blair's wrists. It was only then that Jim realized one hand was horribly mangled, the other swollen. The bastards, they stomped on his hands. His hands.

Captain Simon Banks at full volume definitely had a way of focusing attention on the problem at hand. Jim had barely begun to ease Blair out of the car before medical personnel swarmed the two men. Jim latched onto Blair's wrist and ran along side the gurney, and brushed off any attempt to lose him at the exam room door. They were trying to remove clothing, start IV's, take vital signs. With surprising strength, Blair pulled his mangled hand away from one of the interns and pounded on the gurney beside him. Then he circled it in the air, making unrecognizable but purposeful sounds.

"What do you want, Chief? What do you need?" Again, the feeble loops in the air. Jim stared helplessly, trying to understand his frantic partner. "Writing? You want to write?" Sandburg, he thought, you've been put through the wringer and now you want to do school? "Get me some paper! Get it now!"

"This guy goes - Mark, get him out..."

"Not yet ... not yet." Grasping a pencil weakly in his hand, Blair struggled to a half sit, Jim's arms supporting him. Jim stalled, watching helplessly as Blair focused with eyes nearly swollen shut, scratching at the paper. The pencil dropped from his grasp and his head lolled back. Jim lowered him back to the table.

"I'll be right here, Chief. Right here. I won't leave." Even so, Jim allowed himself to be steered from the room. As the doors swung shut, he tried to focus on the voices and Blair's heartbeat as someone guided him to a chair. He tried to answer their questions, identified himself as Blair's medical contact. Finally, with relief, he looked up into Simon's face. Only then did he realize that he was covered in Blair Sandburg's blood, and was still holding a small pad of paper in his grasp.

Five uneven numbers and a letter - a Washington truck license. Jim stared. A swastika, and a barely recognizable phrase.

Simon took the paper from Jim's hand, speaking softly. "I can't read the last bit."

"Jew boy lawyer. That's what it says. What kind of a world do we live in, Simon. He can't even talk, but he still tried to give us something to go on."

"I sent a unit to Scott Lowell's home. Guess he's feeling a little more cooperative. The station faxed his statement over here. Remember the church burnings last summer? LOOP has been suing individual members of the Patriots of God for damages. They went after the organization's assets, and have been pretty successful. Now Lowell admits that they've had periodic communication demanding LOOP drop the cases. He blew it off as the usual supremacist hate mongering. Apparently someone decided to get serious. Lowell claims he had no idea they were upping the ante. I swear Jim, we'll find them. They won't get away clean."

"We've got a start. Run the plate, Simon. I don't know how Blair got it, but he did. We'll get the lead we need, I just know it. I'll stay here with Blair."

Jim watched him leave. Simon was a good cop. He would take care of everything. He ignored the stares of the people who passed him by in the waiting room.

Right now, Jim would concentrate only on the distant sounds surrounding the treatment of one Blair Sandburg.

"Detective Ellison? You're with Mr. Sandburg?" Jim opened his eyes and gazed at the white haired man occupying the chair next to him. "The nurses around here have advised me to surrender without a shot. Seems you and my patient have a long-term reputation for not following hospital procedure."

"We're not that bad. Just attentive. How's he doing?"

"Considering the punishment he took, pretty well. He's got some swelling and possible damage to the kidneys and some cracked ribs. Extensive bruising. His right hand will need further attention, but we'll see that a specialist does that. I expect surgery will be necessary. I have someone in mind. His face looks bad, but it's all superficial. We did some stitching, but I don't anticipate a lot of scarring. Thankfully, no damage to his eyes. I won't kid you, he'll have a lot of discomfort and he'll need someone here tomorrow."

"I'll stay. I don't want him to wake up alone."

"I figured that's what you'd say. No need, really. As soon as I knew we weren't dealing with a heavy-duty concussion, I sedated him. He needs some pain free sleep to get the healing started. That boy's not going to crack an eyelid before tomorrow morning."

"What about his voice? He couldn't seem to talk."

"Took a blow across the larynx. No permanent damage, but the swelling is pretty bad. He shouldn't use his voice at all for 48 hours." Jim rolled his eyes. "OK, so I take it the no talking thing might be a problem?"

Jim smiled and shook his head in disbelief. Sandburg without speech. "Doctor, you have no idea."

 

"Knock, knock. Can I join you?"

Scott Lowell stood quietly at the door to Blair's hospital room. He was carrying a potted plant, some books and other items.

Jim wanted to tell the guy to take a hike. He was none to pleased with the young man. Then Blair whapped him on the arm. His look said, "Mind your manners - be nice." Blair smiled and motioned him in. He still had another 24 hours of silence to spare his healing throat. He began searching for the pen and paper that were his constant companion.

"Hey, you're looking pretty good, Blair. I heard the pulled the plug on talking. I brought you something for that." With a grin he pulled out a child's magic slate. "Just till you get your voice back."

Blair grabbed the toy with glee & started scribbling. "Great plant - thanks. Jim just loves plants." He lifted the film to erase and start again. He smirked when Jim winced at the crackle of the cellophane sheets. His next message was, "Nice you came by." Ripppp. "Is everyone ok?"

"Yeah, we're fine. Considering the circumstances, you deserve to toss me on my ear. I'm sorry you got caught in the crossfire. We - I - should have been more candid." He turned to Jim. "I understand that you've made arrests."

"Yeah. We ran the plate, tracked the owner. The guys were still there. Sandburg rubbed the tape on his wrists in the interior and picked up lots of fiber that we could match. Two of the guys were still wearing clothing with Blair's blood spattered on them. It will be circumstantial, but we got to them so quickly they couldn't build much of an alibi. The DA will make it stick."

"Captain Banks said they covered your eyes. How did you get the license plate?"

Ripppp. Blair wrote, "Hands," on his slate and nodded to Jim, who continued the explanation. "At some point they pushed Blair up against the bumper. His wrists were taped, but he hung on for a bit and felt along the plate. Did a little impromptu Braille for us. A very good piece of work. He also identified the tattoos on one of the guy's arms."

"Well, lawyer to anthropologist, it sounds pretty resourceful for one of us academic types. I'm sure you need your rest, so I won't stay. I do want you to know, LOOP is part of an extended group of organizations involved with civil rights. There's been a fund established with the hospital to cover any of your medical expenses that insurance doesn't catch. There's also a reward fund for individuals who supply information leading to prosecution on the church arson cases. LOOP submitted your name for compensation. It won't be a lot, but it will pay some tuition." He reached over to shake Jim's hand. "Thanks - you both take care."

Blair beamed at Jim. He had mischief in his eyes, even though they were still swollen half shut. He began writing again.

"I did good?"

"Yes, Chief. Are you going to make me admit it in front of witnesses?"

Ripppp.

"Forget praise & money - I am magic slate king!"

"Right - a regular monarch."

Ripppp.

"And you still owe me dinner. Read and obey."

The End