McGinty's Bar lay as silent as old men watching pigeons in the park. Marissa, business partner and friend, sat beside Gary Hobson at the tall, oak bar, her sightless eyes staring vacantly ahead. Two coffee cups, each half full, released steam as their owners attended to business.
"Hey, Gary, what terrible catastrophe needs adverting today?" Chuck, Gary's other business partner in the bar and long time, best friend asked by way of greeting. The bantam entrepreneur strode up to the bar and planted himself on a stool.
"Hmm, oh, nothing major, a Canadian diplomat has a flat tire, ties up downtown for forty-five minutes, a car hits an electric pole, causing a power outage on Lake Street." The bar owner rattled off a few more, minor events.
"So, are you going to be able to watch the Bulls play tonight, Gary?" Marissa asked hopefully. She hated seeing the paper take over her friend's life as it so often did.
"Uh, yeah, I'll be here." Instinctively she knew he'd looked up at her, away from the paper. "You still owe me five dollars from the last game." The blind woman smiled innocently.
"Double or nothing?" She temped him.
"Oh no, pay up." Gary shook his head. Folding the paper in half he stuffed it into his Wrangler's hip pocket and prepared to leave on his daily round of do-gooding. Tomorrow's news usually lead him on a merry chase all over Chicago.
"The game starts at seven, remember." Chuck called out as his friend closed the front door behind him.
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Inspector Thatcher climbed into the long, black limo and situated her dress' short, dark skirt. She almost envied constables Fraser and Turnbull their uniform pants. Instead of complaining, Meg Thatcher checked her flawless make-up one more time and directed Turnbull to the airport. He may not have had two brain cells to rub together but the junior mountie at least drove better than Constable Benton Fraser.
"If I may be so inquiring, Sir, who exactly are we here to greet?" The blond mountie asked through the rolled down partition between them.
"We are going to the airport to meet the Princess Sibella of Morenia, she's been to Chicago before, so don't over explain everything as you usually do." Thatcher warned her overzealous, junior officer.
"Understood, Sir, no over explanation, I'll keep it short and sweet." Turnbull nodded in agreement, babbling as usual. Inspector Thatcher let him ramble.
"Speed up, Constable, we have to meet her at the airport at nine o'clock, sharp." Meg slipped her compact back in her purse as the neared the exit.
"Why, if may ask, are we meeting the princess instead of someone with her country's consulate?" The subordinate mountie asked, understandably confused.
"Canada just signed a trade agreement with Morenia, the king and the trade minister are old golf buddies so he asked that we chaperone his daughter while she's here on vacation. It seems last time she was in Chicago she slipped away from her guardians. He wants her properly guarded this time." The inspector sighed, hating the idea of being on a babysitting detail, a woman of her rank and position. Still, it was all part of the job.
"How old is the princess?" Turnbull eased the limo into the exit and merged with traffic heading toward one of the world's busiest airports.
"Twenty or so, I wasn't told exactly." Meg shrugged, her superiors never gave her the full report.
"Where is Constable Fraser?" Turnbull wondered, wishing the legendary officer had accompanied them.
"Constable Fraser is testifying in one of Det. Vecchio's case hearings." Thatcher answered as if the words were sour in her mouth. The blond mountie took that as a hint to stop asking questions.
"Here we are, Sir." Turnbull parked the limo along the main exit for her to step out. A security team had already arrived at the airport and checked in. They stood waiting for Inspector Thatcher and the princess to meet at the terminal.
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Gary drove the McGinty's Bar van along the street, one eye on traffic and the other scanning the street for a limo with Canadian flags waving on the antenna. Cars and trucks were bunching near a traffic light, horns blared and people craned out their windows to see what the hold up was. A tall man in a Santa red uniform waved traffic around the stretch limo. Gary turned on his flashers and edged the gray van into a parking spot. Quickly, he grabbed a tire iron and a can of Fix-A-Flat he'd bought along the way. With his usual, brisk pace the bar owner approached the Canadian Consulate's car. He could hear an annoyed, female voice as he drew close to the rear door.
"Can I help you in any way?" Gary spoke to the uniformed figure calmly directing traffic.
"No, thank you, I think I can handle traffic, we've already called for assistance." The officer smiled and motioned a Chevy pick-up on around.
"Listen, it'll take forever for anyone to get through traffic at this rate, let me help you get this taken care of." Gary persisted. He didn't hear the driver's side rear window roll down or see Princess Sibella put her head outside.
"Gary Hobson, is that you?" She called as he spoke to the officer. He whirled around and stepped back to the rear of the limo.
"Princess Sibella, good to see you." Gary peered down at the lovely, young woman as she beamed up at him.
"Your Highness, you know this man?" A woman about Gary's age asked, her voice coming from out of the shadows.
"Yes, this is Gary Hobson, he owns McGinty's Bar, we met when I was in Chicago on a world tour." Sibella answered enthusiastically. "I still have the snow globe you gave me, Gary." She shook the miniature as he grinned, one eye on the worsening traffic around them.
"Listen, your highness, let me get this tire taken care of, then we can talk, okay." The bar owner shook the can of Fix-A-Flat before darting off to see to the wheel at the front of the black Lincoln.
"Gary Hobson is such a nice, young man, he took me to the skating rink and he showed me all over the city when I last came to Chicago." Sibella bubbled. Meg nodded and rolled down her car window. She saw Gary squat down and begin to work on the flat tire. He wore brown leather shoes, well fitting, Wrangler jeans and a maroon t-shirt under a forest green and brown flannel shirt. With his dark hair and all-American good looks he was a pleasure to behold to the Canadian liaison officer.
Just as Gary finished with the Fix-A-Flat Meg rolled her window up and returned her attention to Sibella. The young woman was bright and enthusiastic about everything. She rather reminded Meg of Turnbull.
"Alright, that should do it until you get back to the consulate." Gary dusted his hands off on his jeans.
"Thank you kindly, Mr. Hobson, wasn't it?" Meg spoke before the princess could get a word in edgewise.
"You're welcome, ah," He searched for the woman's name as she scooted closer to the open window. Her dark eyes were striking as she looked up at him through thick, dark lashes, a coy smile playing over her full lips.
"Inspector Meg Thatcher." She supplied, her voice purring slightly.
"Inspector Thatcher, you're welcome." He repeated her name. Gary thought for a moment of asking her to stop by McGinty's but thought it would be rude to ask her out and ignore Sibella, so he didn't ask either. He had a suspicion he'd be seeing both ladies again before too long anyway.
"Drive safely." he bid them farewell, standing on the sidewalk. The limo merged into traffic slowly. Gary watched it disappear around a corner before returning to the van.
Scene Break
Author's Note: Set after Early Edition, Season Two, "Romancing the Throne"
