The Last Act – Chapter One

"Daniel, do me a favor, will ya? Pull over when we get to Morty's – I want to get an early lunch." Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone rubbed his tired eyes then shook his head vigorously as if trying to wake himself up.

He and his partner, Inspector Dan Robbins, had been working all weekend, and now on this sunny but brisk late November Monday morning, fatigue was beginning to make itself felt.

"No problem," the younger man answered affably as he turned the large tan Galaxy sedan in the direction requested.

"All I've had so far this morning is a cup of coffee," Mike complained good-naturedly, "and I'm pretty sure I've been hearing one of Morty's Reubens calling to me since we left the office."

Dan chuckled as he pulled the car to the curb in front of the small deli. As Mike opened his door, he looked once more across the front seat. "Can I get you anything?" he asked with a knowing grin. On Dan's almost patented long-suffering look, he laughed as he climbed out of the car. "One of these days, my boy, one of these days I'll get you to chow down on a Reuben, mark my words." He slammed the car door and headed towards the store.

He was just about to pull the glass door open when Dan's voice stopped him. "Mike!" He turned back. Dan nodded a little further down the block. "I'm gonna get myself a salad; meet you back here at the car."

"You got it," Mike called back as he opened the door and entered the deli.

# # # # #

Criminology Professor Steve Keller was sitting at his desk, a stack of essays piled before him. He sat back, tossed his pen onto the desk, ran his fingers over his eyes, then down across the short, well-tended beard that now graced his face. He stretched his back muscles, grunted slightly, then picked up the pen again and started back to work.

A discreet throat-clearing from the hallway caught his attention and he looked up to see a fellow academic leaning against the doorframe, armed crossed.

The older professor was smiling sympathetically; he glanced at the watch on his left wrist then back up at his colleague. "Jeez, Steve, you look like you've been at that all night? It's only 11 – how bad are you going to be looking at 5?"

Steve smiled sardonically, tossing the pen once more onto the desk and leaning back. "Truth be told, I only started on this about an hour ago. I had rather a late night last night…" He raised his eyebrows knowingly, grinning.

"I get the picture," Professor Carleton chuckled, uncrossing his arms and moving towards the desk. "Ah, to be young and in the full flush of life." He dropped himself down on one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. "So, how goes it, dear boy? Anybody this year that stands out from the rest?"

Steve sighed loudly and glanced down at the papers on the desk. "One or two, I think, but I'll know more after the exams coming up. You?"

Carleton was Steve's immediate superior and someone who had been in the Criminology Department for over two decades. Steve respected the hell out of the man. "Oh, you know, the usual, same as you. We might get a few decent cops out of them."

Steve chuckled. Carleton never let him forget the years he had spent as a street cop, and though it had been over two years since the incident that had precipitated his early retirement from SFPD and changed his life forever, the older man knew that his younger colleague's heart still dwelt in the past.

"Speaking of which," he continued with a grin as he leaned forward once more and picked up the pen, "I gotta get these done and get out of here at a decent hour. I'm meeting Mike for dinner tonight and I'd better not be late; not after the last time." He chuckled at the memory; an accident on the Bay Bridge meant he was over an hour late for their dinner 'date' and he had arrived to find a very worried cop waiting for him. Some things never change.

Taking the hint, Carleton got up from the chair and started back towards the door.

"Good for you. Give Mike my best, okay?"

"Will do," Steve acknowledged as he bent over the papers once again.

# # # # #

Juggling her books and file folders, Jeannie Stone pulled the door open and entered the small, dark-paneled shop. She paused briefly, allowing the deeply rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee to fill her nostrils. Getting into line, she reached into her bag and grabbed her change purse, patiently waiting. When she got to the counter, the girl behind the cash looked up and smiled. "'Morning, Jeannie, the usual?"

"Yep," the dark-haired young woman replied with a smile. "Oh, Carole, you have no idea how much I need this this morning!" She handed over a couple of bills.

The cashier laughed. "Another weekend studying?"

Jeannie nodded vigorously. "If I knew getting a Ph.D. was gonna be this hard…"

"Ah, you'll nail it. But architecture? Whew, that's gotta be a bitch," Carole said as she handed over the change and another Starbucks employee put a cardboard cup on coffee on the counter between them. "So, are you going home for Christmas?"

Jeannie looked up from dropping the coins into the tip jar. "You bet. I got my ticket Friday. My Dad is going to be so happy to see me, almost as much as I'm gonna be happy to see him!" she laughed as she picked up the coffee cup.

"Have a great day," Carole called after her as she turned and left the store.

# # # # #

Mike stifled a yawn as he entered the deli, letting the door close behind him. He headed towards the back where the sandwich counter was located. The store seemed deserted, not an unusual circumstance for a Monday before the lunch hour rush.

"Morty, my man, I am in desperate need of one of your –" He had stepped from between the rows into the area before the deli counter and stopped short. Morty was behind the display case, unmoving, his wide eyes fixated on something out of Mike's field of vision, something down the adjacent aisle.

Silently, Mike took a couple more steps to his right then caught his breath. Standing in the aisle was a tall, thin, wild-eyed young man, his left arm around the throat of a terrified elderly woman, a long-barreled .22 pointing at the back of her head.

Immediately reading the situation, Mike stopped moving, raising his empty, open hands in an 'I'm not armed' gesture. Smiling slightly, he asked quietly, "What's going on here, son?"

The young man flinched as if struck and his gun hand began to shake. "Don't call me son!" he bellowed. "Nobody calls me son!" The woman let out a squeal of fear.

"Okay, okay, okay," Mike assured quickly and calmly, dropping his eyes placatingly. "My mistake, I'm sorry."

Everybody calmed down, Mike started again. "My name is Mike and I'm a police officer. Now, from what I can see here, you seem to have gotten yourself into a situation that's maybe gotten a little out of control. Am I right?"

Breathing heavily, the young man nodded, eyes still wide with fear and something else that Mike could only guess at.

"Good, good," Mike said soothingly, grateful that at least he was being heard. He resisted the urge to look towards the door, hoping that no-one else would enter the deli or that Dan wouldn't come looking for him if this went on too long. He met the woman's eyes briefly, trusting that in his calm demeanour and approach, she would get control of her fear and not become a liability.

"Okay, so, what's say you let Morty and this nice lady go, and then you and I can have a little talk about what's going on here? We don't want anybody getting hurt now, do we?" he asked softly and was grateful to see the young man nod slightly.

Mike looked at the woman again and nodded encouragingly. Her eyes still wide with fear, she nodded back and began to take a step forward. The young man's grip around her neck tightened slightly and she froze, a whimper escaping her lips. She looked at Mike apologetically.

"You have to let her go," he said calmly, taking a half step forward, staring at the young man's dilated pupils, hoping his words were getting through. Almost somnambulantly, the gunman's forearm began to move away from the woman's neck. Her eyes fixed on Mike's face, she took a tentative step forward and, as the arm dropped from around her neck, almost flung herself at the rock steady detective.

Putting his hands on her shoulders but still looking at the young man, Mike steadied the elderly woman and moved her to the side. He smiled slightly and nodded, "Thank you." He turned his head slightly and called over his shoulder. "Morty, why don't you take this lady out of your store?"

"Ah, yeah, sure," the florid faced deli owner said shakily as he started to move around the counter.

Suddenly the front door slammed open and a voice boomed out. "Hey, Morty, we're here for our usual!" Morty's eyes widened in fear and he broke into a run, trying to get to the front door. Mike, who had glanced at the retreating deli owner, turned quickly back to the gunman, but one look at the young man's eyes told him it was all over. As the elderly woman bolted away, Mike took a step back towards the young man and held up his hands, shaking his head.

Both pairs of eyes were wide with fear. As Mike took another step forward, the long- barreled .22 turned towards him. He kept repeating "No, no, no…" until the trigger was pulled.