Charming Pawse 318 Meanwhile, Back in Charming

by wanderingchat

While Tig languishes in CPD lock up, Cat tries to find a way to post his bail from the hospital. The community learns of her intent to run for office and her marriage to Tig and the Channel 2 assignment editor gets his just desserts at last. We also learn of Lumpy's history and how he came to Charming. Kozik makes a decision about his relationship with Ima and Salazar is busted.

The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are pure coincidence.

Love and thanks go to the DH, who is very much alive and well; along with my best friend and my 'unofficial' god – daughter for being part of my family. Also, much thanks to the members of , , the Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, SOA Forums, Watchers of Anarchy, Kim Sisk (author of Sapphires and Whiskey), and my Facebook and Twitter friends for their support. A big thank you for those readers who have written reviews and listed me as a favorite author here at FanFiction. Net.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

Charming Pawse

Book III

Chapter XVII

Meanwhile, Back in Charming

Sebastian fled from Chibs and out the door of Charming Pawse to his bike. He was upset that he'd acted like such an ass in front of the patched member. 'How the Hell did I miss seein' his bike parked out front? Would I have acted up like that if I had noticed?'

He cringed to think that the coffeehouse employee and customer were probably laughing their asses off at him. Their derisive laughter was well deserved. He'd acted like a major fool, shoplifting a sample pack of whiskey blend and cutting ahead of the waiting customer.

Chibs had quickly set the prospect straight on what it really meant to be a part of SAMCRO. He didn't care one bit that he took the prospect to task in front of civilians. Chibs had sent Sebastian home, effectively banishing him from the clubhouse for the day.

Sebastian was inwardly glad of a day away from the menial labor that was likely waiting on him at the clubhouse. 'Donk' work was not what he'd expected to be doing as a prospect of SAMCRO. He'd honestly thought prospecting the club meant getting to know the patched members better, being involved in club business, and being respected about the town.

The latter was something that he'd never experienced. He was neither tall nor brawny with an unfortunate tendency to being a geek. He had an IQ that would make that Sheldon character on 'The Big Bang Theory' jealous. All that combined made him one of the unpopular kids.

Girls hadn't been willing to give him the time of day, at least not the beautiful girls. The average looking ones always tried to get his attention, only to receive the same treatment from him that he received from the beauty queens.

Despite his high IQ, Sebastian allowed his grades to suffer. There was little to challenge him in Charming's school system and his attention would often wander outside the classroom. When he was old enough to drop out, he did so, working minimum wage jobs until he was old enough to enlist in the military.

Sebastian served two tours of duty in the Middle East and earned his GED. He also discovered he had an aptitude for construction, working with wood, concrete, drywall, wiring, and plumbing. What's more, he enjoyed that kind of work.

That experience was the only benefit he gained from his military tenure. His body refused to gain muscle, no matter how hard he worked out. When he received his honorable discharge, he was physically the same as when he'd enlisted.

Sebastian returned to Charming and got a job with Oswald Industries, working in the construction sector. He made good money, but didn't want to own his own home or rent an apartment. Instead, he convinced his parents to let him renovate the basement, turning it into a comfortable apartment for himself, complete with a private entrance.

Once his apartment was finished, he distressed his parents further by buying a Harley from his savings. He followed his own schedule, rarely seeing his parents except for mandatory Sunday dinner and to pay the rent.

Sebastian had idolized the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club for as long as he could remember. The club had provided hours of escape from the boredom of his classes. All he had to do was hear the roar of those mighty Harley engines and his imagination would take him riding down the highway seeking one thrill after another.

He envied the spirit of brotherhood and belonging the club members projected. That was one of the many factors that led him to purchase the bike in the first place. It brought him one step closer to his goal of becoming a patched member.

Owning a Harley enabled him to gain access to the SAMCRO clubhouse and become a hang – around. He was allowed to buy alcohol at the bar, play pool, and otherwise hang out with the patched members and the Croweaters. He finally felt like he had found a place where he belonged.

He'd proved his merit as a hang around, always being willing to do whatever a patched member needed to have done. Sometimes it was finding intel, other times he would be asked to give a Croweater or porn star a ride home. Once he'd lent money to one of the Nomads. He didn't expect to get paid back, but to his surprise and delight, the Nomad returned every penny with interest.

He'd heard whispers from the more pious civilians in Charming that SAMCRO was an outlaw MC, ignoring the law to do their own thing. He refused to believe the gossip but couldn't help wishing that people in the town would feel that same way about him. He longed to be treated with that same respect mixed with a small amount of fear.

Where society as a whole had looked down its nose at him, SAMCRO had accepted him. He had been overjoyed when the patched members voted to elevate him to prospect status. He'd stood proudly in the hallowed chapel with Miles and Filthy Phil, taking in the view with a child – like, wide - eyed wonder.

He managed to contain his excitement until he accepted the black leather cut with the 'Prospect' patch sewn on the back. He'd been so happy that he'd spoken out in response to Chibs' welcome. His thoughtless comment earned a stern reprimand from the VP.

He'd glanced beseechingly at Opie when Jax publicly chastised him. 'C'mon, man! Speak up for us!' He silently urged the patched member. Opie had stared stonily ahead, ignoring Sebastian's non verbal plea.

He flushed with embarrassment at Tig's amused eye - roll and the harsh, cold stares of the rest of the club. Their behavior wounded him to the core. 'Why are they treatin' me like shit all of a sudden?'

Clay, a man whom he'd idolized for years, seemed a little more inviting. 'At least he welcomed us!' Sebastian comforted himself, though he was a little worried about that ominous comment about not getting themselves killed.

Opie never once acknowledged his presence during the short amount of time the new prospects were in the chapel. He even seemed to enjoy the verbal abuse heaped on the new members as they scurried out the door. Sebastian could hear Opie's laugh amongst the other guffaws that followed them.

Chuckie, who handled many of the housekeeping chores in the clubhouse, offered the three new prospects hearty congratulations on their new position.

'Now that's more like it!' Sebastian felt his chest swell with pride. The Croweaters at the bar ran accessing eyes over the three prospects, as if deciding which of them would become patched first.

"OK! Time to get to work!" Chuckie exclaimed, pointing at the prospects.

"Huh?" Sebastian grunted in surprise. "What are ya talkin' about?"

Chuckie grinned and ordered Sebastian to pick up all the empty beer bottles and liquor glasses. "The dead soldiers go in the recycle container; the glasses need to be washed and returned to the bar when they're dry."

Without waiting for a response from Sebastian, Chuckie turned to the other two prospects and gave them their work assignments. They got the job of emptying all the trans cans put clean liners in them, and take the full bags to the trash cans out back.

"Be sure you retrieve any aluminum cans for recycling!" Chuckie added.

"Are you nuts?" Sebastian challenged the digitally challenged club mascot.

Chuckie looked at Sebastian as if he were a bug on the floor. "Not certifiably. Why?"

"You do realize we're prospects now," he huffed. "Who gives you authority to tell us what to do?"

"Clay said to keep you guys busy. I accept that. So should you if you want to earn your patch."

Sebastian snorted in derision, taking up a waiting stance near the chapel door. He'd take the matter up with Opie. 'The nerve of that civilian, tellin' me to do somethin'!' He seethed inwardly, thinking he might just cut off the man's remaining fingers, just because he could.

"Man, maybe you ought to do what he says," Filthy Phil muttered. "It's better than gettin' yelled at again."

"You wanna be at that bitch's beck and call, that's your business! I'm not somebody's bitch!' Sebastian snarled.

"Your funeral," Filthy Phil shrugged, going on about his business.

Sebastian remained on guard near the chapel. He pounced on Opie the minute the doors opened. "Ope! What's the big idea of shunnin' me in there?"

Opie ambled over to the new prospect. "Didn't you hear what Jax said in there?" He rumbled ominously.

"Yes, I heard him!" Sebastian complained. "But I demand to know why you let them treat us like a piece of shit in there!"

Opie grabbed Sebastian by the front of his shirt and pulled him into the hallway. "You need to learn somethin' real fast," Opie explained. "You're a prospect. That means ya earn respect by keepin' your mouth shut unless a patched member speaks to you, and doing what you're told, when you're told to do it without question!"

"Even from a civilian with one finger on each hand?"

Opie drew on his small reserve of patience to deal with the wayward prospect. "Yup. Croweater, Nomad, a friend of the club, or a Charter member. They yell jump, you jump. Period."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't sound very appealin'!"

Opie shrugged. "Ya don't like it, you're free to go. Just leave the cut behind and don't show your face around here again."

Opie's voice was gruffer than he intended. Sebastian's behavior was disappointing. After all, he'd been the one who'd suggested Sebastian, along with Miles and Filthy Phil, to prospect SAMCRO to Clay at Sack's wake.

'Guess if Sebastian's gonna be a problem, better to find out now and get him outta the club. I'd rather it happen that way then to let 'im get close and then find out he can't cut it!'

Sebastian could tell that Opie wasn't pleased with his line of questioning. He didn't care. He needed answers and was determined to get them. "What if I get conflicting orders?" He pressed.

"You carry 'em both out," Opie replied.

"Are ya shittin' me?" Sebastian fumed. "I thought prospectin' SAMCRO meant ya learn club business and get to know the guys! I didn't think it meant doin' donk work!"

"If it's not beneath Jax and me, you're sure as shit not too good for it!" Opie retorted.

Sebastian took a step back, holding both hands up in surrender. "Shit! How the Hell was I to know? You and Jax are sons of founders. I figured ya got in as legacies!"

"That shows how much ya don't know. There's no such thing as a legacy,

Sebastian!" Opie growled. 'Why the Hell does everybody think the son of a Son has it easy? Sack had the same idea, and it's not right! Hell! These jokers are gonna have an easy prospect year compared to what we went through!"

Sebastian continued gazing at him with an expression of wounded pride mixed with

surprise. "You went through the same shit?"

"Nope, we went through worse shit," Opie acknowledged reluctantly. "Jax and I had a harder prospect year because we were second generation. The patched members really rode us hard."

Opie waited to see whether Sebastian would accept the hazing as a necessary evil, or if he'd turn and leave for good. 'Don't make me regret votin' ya in, man!'

'You really expect me to believe that, don't ya?' Sebastian thought grimly. 'I know what you're tryin' to do, but I know better! There's no way in Hell the patched members would've given the sons of founders a harder time than any regular prospect. Life just doesn't work that way!'

He was struggling to hold on to his belief that patching in to SAMCRO was a ticket to paradise. He should be entitled to all kinds of benefits and privileges as a prospect. All he had to do was swallow his pride and ride this first storm out. "OK," he'd grinned. "I'm in.."

The prospect's decision should have relieved Opie. He nodded briefly and walked away from Sebastian, but he had a bad feeling about the prospect. 'That one's gonna bear watchin'.'

The remainder of that day had sorely tested Sebastian. From cleaning up after the fight between Tig and Kozik to being snubbed by the porn girl, his pride had taken a severe beating.

It had been losing the porn actress - first to Kozik, and then to the club VP - that had made him decide to take what he felt was owed to him. He'd deliberately chosen the coffeehouse as his first victim because the owner was a friend of the club. He'd forgotten just how well associated the owner was with the club, and his beliefs had blown up in his face.

He slunk into his basement apartment and flung himself onto the unmade bed, locking his fingers behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, mourning the loss of his grand ideas about prospecting SAMCRO.

He was filled with doubts about whether he belonged with the club after all. He didn't want to be looked down upon by the very people he admired. Nor did he want to have to be a slave, laboring at the worst jobs in hopes of gaining their trust. 'That's what bein' a hang around was for! All those things I did for them have to count for somethin'!'

He thought back to the recent lock down during the battle with Zobelle and LOAN. He'd been brought into the clubhouse for safety as a friend of the club. That had put him in position to witness a lot of things that now made him seriously question his future with the club.

He'd been thrilled, but also very scared, when the patched members of SAMCRO had walked out of the chapel loaded to the gills with weapons. Their faces had been set with grim determination as they walked past the civilians gathered in the clubhouse. They were adamant in their desire to avenge everyone close to them who'd been hurt by Zobelle or they'd die trying.

'Could I be that determined if the time comes?' Sebastian asked himself. 'If it came down to it, could I kill someone in cold blood just because it was necessary?'

Chibs' sound scolding came to mind. He'd really given Sebastian a quick education in what it meant to be a member of SAMCRO. Not glory, not instant gratification. It was more than brotherhood. It was a way of life that Sebastian wasn't sure he was ready to embrace.

He turned over onto his stomach and turned on the television, surfing through the channels but finding nothing of interest. He was suddenly tired. Prospecting the MC hadn't turned out the way he'd hoped. He felt a keen sense of let down. He knew he was at a cross roads in Life, and he had to make the right choice no matter how much it hurt.

---

The office phone on Margaret Murphy's desk rang, causing her to frown in annoyance. She was trying to enjoy a quiet moment and a cup of tea - both very rare for her to have at the same time. 'Now what?' She groaned inwardly. "This is Margaret," she stated quietly into the mouthpiece.

"This is security. Gemma Morrow is on the run."

Margaret frowned intensely. "How did that happen? Where was the agent guarding her?"

The security manager explained how Gemma had acted like she was having an adverse reaction to the heart meds. "It came on all of a sudden, and the nurses took it for face value, especially with her having such a high temperature."

The security manager described the symptoms that led the nurses to call Dr. Knowles. "Dr. Gallagher was in surgery," he added. "Dr. Knowles ordered her to be taken for a slush bath to reduce the fever, and the agent left the room for privacy's sake."

"What about the nurses?"

"Dr. Knowles sent them to find someone to assist. It all seemed on the up and up. When the nurses returned, the slush bath was empty, and both Mrs. Morrow and Dr. Knowles were gone."

Margaret felt an intense feeling of déjà vu. 'I don't like this. Tara should've never been left alone with Gemma!'

"We're doing a floor by floor search, the SJSD, CPD, and the Feds are helping. Right now, we're considering Dr. Knowles an unwilling accomplice."

"That's good. Continue with the floor by floor search. Gemma Morrow is going to want to use obscure passages. She probably has Dr. Knowles with her in order to use her key card."

"I could deactivate it," the security manager offered.

"No. That could put Dr. Knowles in danger. There's no telling what Gemma might do if the key card suddenly stops working!"

The security manager sighed. He had known Margaret would say that, but he had to try. He'd wanted to keep the situation from her, but policy dictated otherwise.

Margaret replaced the receiver and bolted out of her office like she'd been fired from a cannon. She hurried towards the service entrance, certain that Gemma was heading that way.

She rounded a corner and nearly plowed into Tara, who was coming from the opposite direction. The doctor wasn't wearing her ID badge or her lab coat.

'I have a bad feeling about this!' Margaret thought, staring at Tara. The doctor's expression was like a kid who was just caught with her hand in the cookie jar after being denied a treat because it was too close to suppertime.

Margaret slid her key card through the access panel next to the locked supply room. She opened the door and motioned Tara to precede her inside.

As soon as the door closed, Tara surprised her by admitting that she'd help Gemma escape. Before Margaret could form a reply, the doctor explained exactly why she'd done so.

Margaret listened intently as Tara described Abel's abduction and how powerless she'd felt to prevent it and the murder of the prospect. Margaret's anger and hatred for the Feds flared anew when she learned that Agent Stahl had deliberately canceled the Amber Alert, allowing Abel to be taken out of the country.

She realized that Tara felt guilty about the murder and kidnapping. 'She thinks that if she'd tried harder, she could've prevented it all when she could've been killed, herself! What she did, she did against all the rules, but for all the right reasons!' Margaret thought to herself, recognizing that the brash, tough biker chick that had decked her a few days earlier had been replaced by a scared, but determined woman.

'Damn that Fed! She uses everyone every way she can for her own gain!' Margaret fumed. 'She played me like a virtuoso, she probably played Gemma for a murderess to cover her own tracks, much as I hate to admit it. Well, this is one time when the Feds are getting what they want from us!'

Without warning, Margaret threw a punch that smacked the taste out of Tara's mouth. The doctor stared in shock and surprise at her supervisor, but Margaret didn't see it as her back was turned to retrieve a cold pack.

Margaret activated the cold pack, shook it, then handed it to Dr. Knowles. 'It felt good to get a little of my own back; at least the cops will have a more difficult time disproving Tara's claim.' She headed out the supply room door without a word.

Tara hesitated for a moment before following her. She held the ice pack to her throbbing jaw, thinking over what had just transpired in the supply room. For whatever reason, it appeared that Margaret was going to be an ally. 'I just wonder what she'll want in return. Most people don't stick their necks out without wanting something in return.' Tara felt her stomach turn at the various conditions her supervisor might choose to hold over her head after the fact.

---

Windover recorded the introductory and concluding stand ups for the story, both using 'Charming Pawse' as a backdrop. Then he conducted a few interviews with customers as they left the coffeehouse, getting their opinions about the owner's decision to run for office. Though he tried to get balancing opinions, all the people he spoke with were in favor of her running for the council seat.

He felt some satisfaction that no one he spoke with had a bad thing to say about Cat Marshall - Trager. It was just desserts after the stunt Pesta had pulled in withholding information from the tip. Windover still seethed over that, as he feared it jeopardized the fragile trust between himself and the Tragers. He also wondered if the assignment editor hadn't set him up to test his loyalties.

Windover didn't make a habit of contacting the news director while out on assignment. Most communications went through Pesta. The news director only got involved if a major story was in the works, such as what had happened in Charming a few days ago. This time, Windover felt that he had no choice but to buck the chain of command. He said as much to his camera operator as they loaded the van to return to the station.

"Look, I know you don't like making waves, but this is serious shit!" The camera operator noted. "I talked to the other station's camera operators. They all said their copy of the email tip claimed money from the coffeehouse was going to the MC. It wouldn't have been difficult for Pesta to do some judicious editing before he printed out the email."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Windover inquired dryly. "As far as showing that Pesta has overstepped his bounds, yes!" The camera operator replied. "If he withheld vital intel on a story once, who knows how many times he's done it before without getting caught?"

The reporter considered that factor for a few moments. "I see what you mean. That could be dangerous to the station."

"Now you're seeing the whole picture!" The camera operator remarked. "Sure, he put you in a bad spot with the biker, but his wife is a smart cookie. She has a background in the business; she'll vouch for you with her old man. In the meantime, you've got to report this to Powell. The sooner the better."

"What's to keep Pesta from finding out before we get back to the station? The weasel listens in to everyone's landline conversations!"

The camera operator rolled his eyes. "This is the 21st century dude! Use your cell phone!"

Windover grinned sheepishly. "I forgot all about that!" He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the news director's cell phone number.

"Powell speaking."

"This is Windover. I need to talk to you as soon as we get back," the reporter announced.

"You bet we need to talk; Pesta's in rare form about that stunt you pulled on the radio. I'm surprised you did such a thing," Powell retorted.

"We didn't have an exclusive on the story, boss," Windover reminded him. "That tip went to all the area news outlets. Some of the details were missing from my copy!"

That statement was met with silence, then Powell stated carefully, "I think you'd better go ahead and tell me what happened."

"With pleasure," Windover explained about how he'd been blindsided about the amount of money the MC was receiving each month from the coffeehouse. "Mrs. Trager said she gave a percentage of her business to her husband as a wedding present," he added. "But that information was missing from the copy of the email Pesta gave me."

"And you're sure that the other stations' had that information?" Powell inquired. He had jotted notes in his own reporter's notebook as Windover related the situation. He underlined a reminder to contact the station's IT department as soon as he was off the call with his reporter.

Windover wisely refrained from mentioning that Trager had been angry over that omission. Though Pesta had been willing to exploit the reporter's association with the businesswoman, Windover had a sneaking suspicion that the station would frown upon his friendship with the couple. "My cameraman talked to his co - horts, and looked at their copies. It was right there in black and white," he assured his employer.

"I see," Powell mused coldly. "Come to my office the minute you get back."

"That sounded ominous," Windover closed his cell phone and pocketed it.

"Wants to see you as soon as we're in, I take it," the camera operator replied.

"Yeah. He didn't sound too happy, either."

"He's probably not. Withholding information like that is a pretty serious thing. Pesta's gonna be in really hot water this time."

"It couldn't happen to a more deserving individual," Windover sighed. He helped carry the equipment from the van into the newsroom, stopping at his desk long enough to hang his suit-coat on the back of the chair.

Pesta was looking over the assignment board and had his back to the cubicles where the news staff worked. Windover hurried to the News Director's office door while Pesta's attention was otherwise engaged.

The news director's office was actually more like a fishbowl, the only solid wall was the one behind Powell's desk. The other three walls were half solid, half glass, allowing him to see what was happening in the newsroom. A bank of flat screen television monitors occupied one shelf of a bookcase, enabling him to keep tabs on the competition's coverage. A police/fire/ambulance scanner sat on the desk, it's LED lights winking as it captured broadcasts from the various agencies. Powell was sitting at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows. A computer monitor was placed at an angle to him, a wireless mouse and keyboard lay in front of the monitor. A multi - line telephone sat across from the computer monitor. The receiver had a padded attachment that enabled Powell to comfortably hold the receiver against his shoulder while he typed notes during the conversation.

"Enter!" Powell called in response to Windover's knock. Windover opened the door and stepped inside the boss's inner sanctum. Powell had his suit-coat off and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. "Sit down and relax, Windover," Powell announced, pointing at a chair across the desk.

Windover complied with the sit down part, but didn't feel very relaxed. He knew he'd done nothing wrong, but he always felt a vaguely uneasy whenever he was called into the boss's office.

"I had IT pull the news tip emails from the last few weeks. Made an interesting discovery," Powell continued, oblivious to the reporter's discomfort. "Quite a few have been going into the trash bin for no good reason."

Windover didn't know how to respond to that statement. He wasn't surprised, given Pesta's loud and contemptuous comments about the tip line since it had been established. The reporter opted to remain silent, and allow his boss to lead the conversation.

'Smart man. He's taken the brunt of Pesta's ire recently, has the most reason to throw the man into the fire.' Powell slid a piece of paper across the desk to Windover, who glanced at it, then back up at his boss.

"This is the email Pesta received about Ms. – Mrs. Trager," Powell stated. "Does it bear any resemblance to what he gave you?"

Windover reviewed the document. It had several similarities, and one glaring omission. "It does and doesn't," Windover admitted reluctantly, withdrawing the paper Pesta had given him earlier. He placed it beside the other sheet so Powell could see the information that had been left out of the reporter's copy.

Powell sat back and gazed intently at his reporter. Windover had been working for him for many years. He was an honest and loyal employee, always giving his best. 'Of all the people in this newsroom, I expected Windy to be the most relieved to be seeing the back of Pesta!'

The assignment editor had been riding Windover hard, especially after the reporter had gone behind his back to get approval to cover the Peace Rally. "I don't get it, why are you being so reticent about this? Pesta goofed up big time, and I finally have just cause to get him out of here!"

"I know, boss," Windover sighed. "But it's hard to be happy about a guy's career ending on such a sour note. He's had a long run here; once it becomes known what happened, he won't even be able to get a job as the mail clerk for any station!"

"That's probably true, but he has no one to blame but himself. It's not just this incident. This is just the final straw. Tomorrow morning, you're taking over his job."

Windover's eyes widened in surprise. He'd hoped to one day become assignment editor, but he never expected to get the position this soon. "Th – thank you. I won't let you down!"

"I know you won't. You've got a good head on your shoulders, you're good with multi – tasking, and you keep your cool under stress. Every reporter in this newsroom respects you. We'll make the announcement later this afternoon. Other than the missing intel, did you have any trouble with the story I should know about?"

"None, except that the 'person on the street' interviews are a little one sided; all in favor of Mrs. Trager."

"Well, that happens. I'm sure you tried for balance. What'd you do, take 25 interviews?"

Windover grinned in bemusement. "Twenty. I'll comb through 'em and get the better ones. Probably a total of 15 seconds worth of sound bite."

"Good. Can't wait to see the finished product." Powell stood up and held his hand out to Windover, who rose and clasped the hand extended to him. "Now you'd better get started on editing that piece!"

Windover nodded and tried to walk casually to his cubicle. He felt like he was walking on air, though he felt a twinge of regret for Pesta. Despite the soon to be former assignment editor's dictatorial manner, he had been a good reporter, and Windover had learned a lot from him. He shook his head to clear it and logged into his computer. He placed his notebook on the desk beside the keyboard and then unknotted his tie. He clicked on the email from the camera operator, which contained a file of the unedited video. Soon, Windover was engrossed in the task of pounding out his story.

As soon as the door closed behind the reporter, Powell called security and HR to request their presence in the conference room. It was located well away form the curious eyes of the newsroom. Once Powell had fired Pesta, security would be able to escort him from the premises without disrupting the news department. 'Not that it won't be disrupted after the fact," he observed wryly. He slipped into his coat and walked into the newsroom. He stood for a moment, listening to the sounds of keys clacking, voices talking, and laser printers producing copy. Then he walked to the dais where Pesta was still scowling at the white board.

"When the Hell is Windover getting back? He's not there to drink coffee all day!" Pesta grumbled without turning to acknowledge the News Director. "He's been back for some time," Powell observed dryly.

"He's there at his cube writing his story." Pesta turned and glared at the reporter in question, whose attention was focused on the monitor in front of him. "Good! Everyone's accounted for now!"

"We need to talk," Powell announced.

"And I need to get the 5pm planned. Can't it wait?" Pesta replied.

"No, it can't wait. You need to come with me, now. And bring your coat and keys. You're gonna need 'em." Pesta glared at the News Director, who stared right back at him without flinching. 'Whatever wild hair is up his ass, it must be important to make him this insistent!' The assignment editor shrugged and slung his coat over his shoulder, indicating the News Director should precede him from the newsroom.

The buzz in the newsroom came to a complete halt as the door closed behind the pair. Only the zipping sounds from the laser printers and the calls from the police scanners broke the silence.

"What on Earth was that?" One of the reporters asked of no one in general.

"Methinks there's gonna be a new sheriff in town," another reporter mused.

"About damn time!" The first reporter exclaimed before returning to his keyboard.

Clicking keys and the hum of conversation merged with the printers and scanners as the reporters returned to their work. An air of relief and anticipation filled the room replacing the oppression that had existed for so long.

Pesta followed the News Director down the hall, lined with pictures of the on camera news staff. His own picture was opposite Powell's. It had been taken when he first joined the station as a field reporter. He'd never seen the need to update it every year and refused to sit for a new one.

Powell opened the door of the conference room and stepped to one side to allow Pesta to enter ahead of him. The assignment editor stopped in the doorway at the sight of the HR department head and two security guards waiting inside. 'I've got a bad feeling about this!' He turned to glare at Powell, who stood behind him, patiently waiting for him to continue on into the conference room.

"What the Hell is this?" He growled menacingly.

"Just go on inside and sit down. I told you we need to talk. I felt the least we could do was hold this away from the newsroom," Powell explained quietly.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Pesta," the HR representative added, gesturing to a chair across from her.

Pesta shrugged his shoulders and sauntered to the indicated chair. He sat down and leaned back, acting as if he didn't have a care in the world. Powell took a seat at the end of the table, so that he was between the HR rep and Pesta. One of the security guards stood behind the assignment editor, the other moved to stand near the door.

"So what's this all about?" Pesta sneered. He'd already told Powell several times in the past that he was safe from any job action; it was written into his contract, and had been since he'd first come to work for the station while his family had still owned it. After the station was sold to a conglomerate, Pesta's family had grandfathered the clause into his contract, making it virtually impossible for him to be removed.

'Except he's gone too far this time and could've put us in jeopardy,' Powell thought to himself. In just a few moments, that smug sneer would be wiped from his face for good. "You received a tip about Cat Marshall - Trager via the newsroom email link today," Powell announced.

"Yeah. Gave it to Windover. He's our best person to cover the Charming situation, and that woman." Pesta replied.

"Except you didn't give Windover all the information the email contained," Powell continued. "You deliberately left out a vital piece of information that the other reporters had from the email."

"Prove it!" Pesta sneered.

Powell reached into his inner coat pocket and removed some papers. They were folded once, length wise. He unfolded them and passed them to the Pesta and the HR rep.

Pesta took one look at the contents of the paper and his face turned grey. "How did you - ?"

"The IT department found it. Just because you permanently delete something doesn't make it gone for good." Powell removed another sheet of paper and handed it to the HR rep. "That is a list of all the email tips that he's deleted just over the last week."

"Isn't it your department's policy to keep all those tips for at least a month?" The HR rep inquired, glancing over the top of the sheet at Pesta.

"Yes. just in case something useful results from them. We can't follow up on something we don't have access to."

"What makes you think I don't have hard copies stored in a file?" Pesta challenged hotly.

"Already looked. Every file cabinet in the newsroom was searched. No such hard copy files exist," Powell replied. "I don't like saying this, but the time has come for a major change in the newsroom."

"I'll agree with that!" Pesta snorted. "And may I say it's been a long time coming!"

"I'm glad you agree," Powell stated quietly. "Because the change is that you're fired, effective immediately."

"You can't fire me!" Pesta announced haughtily. "It's in my contract!"

"Unless you engage in behavior that is detrimental to this station," the HR rep supplied.

"And I haven't!" Pesta retorted. "Not keeping a bunch of unsolicited emails that don't amount to a hill of beans is not detrimental to this station!"

"Manipulating a story, withholding vital information, and verbally abusing your staff fit in that category, and you've done all of that numerous times," Powell replied tiredly.

The HR rep picked up a file and shoved it in front of Pesta. It was a thick file, filled with incident reports that had been submitted by newsroom staff, detailing the verbal put downs and attacks they'd suffered at his expense. "Those are just from this year," the HR rep announced. "There's another larger file from last year in the records."

"You can't fire me without following the established process! Where are the progressive disciplinary actions?"

"California is an 'at will' employment state, Mr. Pesta. If you'll recall your latest contract, there is a stipulation that management can discipline certain actions by disciplinary action up to and including termination without going through the steps," the HR rep supplied.

The haughty sneer on Pesta's face was replaced with a shocked expression. He never thought the day would come that he'd be fired from the station his father had built. Now that day had come, and he felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world. "Can't I at least go back to my desk and get my things?"

"No," the HR rep replied. "Your personal items will be packed for you. You can pick them up at the reception desk tomorrow, or have someone pick them up for you if you prefer."

"I wish this hadn't happened," Powell added.

"The Hell you do!" Pesta spat, turning his anger on the News Director. "You've wanted me out ever since you came here! Now you've got your wish!' The former assignment editor leapt from his chair, assuming an aggressive, threatening stance over the News Director.

"That's enough, sir," the security guard behind Pesta warned quietly. "Sit back down or I'll make you sit down."

Pesta stared defiantly at the guard, then threw himself back into the chair. "OK! OK! Back off!"

"I'm also sorry this has happened, Mr. Pesta," the HR rep interjected. "However, we're going to announce that you've retired, effective immediately. "

"This will benefit you two ways," Powell added before Pesta could respond. "You don't lose the retirement benefits the station has matched all these years, and if you decide to look for another job in some other line of work, you won't have the stigma of a firing to overcome."

"Oh, wow! Allow me to genuflect and kiss your ass!" Pesta scoffed snidely.

"No one's asking for that," the HR rep stated grimly. "Though I would've thought you'd have been a little grateful for that consideration. We have every right to terminate you outright."

"Don't do me any favors!" Pesta barked.

"I didn't," the HR rep responded tightly. "This was Mr. Powell's idea. Personally, I was against it, but he argued on your behalf. Why he did that is beyond me. Please turn in your press credentials and your key card."

Pesta looked at Powell in momentary confusion. He couldn't believe the News Director had gone to bat for him, protecting his retirement benefits and making it less difficult for him to find employment later on. "My - my press credentials are in my desk," he stammered, digging into his pocket and removing his key card. He tossed it on the table. It landed face down and slid across the polished wood into the HR rep's hand.

The HR rep picked up the key card and the files. "Mr. Powell, I'll be in contact with you later about Mr. Pesta's successor." She turned and walked out of the conference room without a backwards glance.

Powell stood up with a weary sigh. "Good luck," he stated, holding out his hand. He didn't expect Pesta to shake hands, and he wasn't disappointed.

Pesta stood up, turned his back on the News Director, and stormed out of the conference room, followed by the two security guards.

---

Cat awoke to find herself in a dark room instead of the well lighted break room at 'Charming Pawse' where she'd fallen asleep. 'I know the kids wouldn't have left me lyin' here when they closed! They'd have called Alex or gotten me home somehow!' she assured herself. Her questing hand felt cool sheets and a mattress, and a hospital gown covering her body. She knew she wasn't in the break room anymore. 'I've got a bad feelin' about this!'

She tried to open both eyes and found the vision to the injured one was still blocked by a bandage. 'What the fuck?' She slid her hand to the bed controls and pressed the button that would raise the head of the bed. She heard the sound of clicking and clacking across the room.

"ex? Where are you?" her voice sounded garbled to her ears. She cleared her throat and added in a stronger tone, "Come to think of it, where the Hell am I?"

"Relax, chick. You've been admitted to St. Thomas," June's voice spoke in the dim light. She was sitting in a chair across the room, her knitting needles flying in her hands. She was sitting in a chair near a lamp on a dresser. She held her knitting needles in both hands, passing knitted and purled yarn from one needle to the other. "I imagine Alex and the rest of 'em are over the Pacific somewhere."

"How long have I been out?"

"Quite a few hours," June replied. "I suspect y'all might've managed to give Alex a few white hairs, chick!"

"That would've been somethin' to see!" Cat stretched experimentally. No major twinges of pain punished her for moving. She indulged in a stretch that her cats would've envied. "Anything to eat around here, kittenface? I'm starved!"

June snorted in exasperation. "I should say so! Anyone who slept as long as all y'all did should be hungry!" She placed her knitting on the dresser and grabbed a plastic bag. She walked across the room, placed the bag on the rolling table, and brought it up towards Cat's reach.

"I brought y'all some Oriental food," June explained as Cat removed small boxes, packets of soy and duck sauce, and chopsticks from the bag.

"Looks like a smorgasbord!"

"There's enough there for both of us. Figured I'd wait to eat so I could keep y'all company." June pulled a chair closer to the bed and settled into it. "There's also some green tea. Might not be as hot as it should be – "

Cat had already removed the lid to her cup of tea, inhaling the aroma and sipping judiciously. "It's wet, that's the important thing ," she sighed. "Thanks, kittenface!"

"You're welcome!" June opened one of the boxes and spooned some rice onto a plate. Another box revealed a colorful array of vegetables and meats that she piled on top of the rice. A delicious aroma filled the room.

"Smells good!" Cat sniffed appreciatively, spooning a small amount of rice onto her own plate, then peeking into one of the other boxes. "Bubogli! Yum!" She excitedly spooned long, thin strips of marinated beef onto her plate.

"Don't suppose y'all got side dishes?"

"Look in the bag," June grinned. "I know better than not to get y'all some sushi and kimchi. "

Cat rustled in the bag and found more boxes, one with several different varieties of sushi. The other contained a red tinted, highly pungent Korean delicacy.

"Purrfect!" Cat sighed in satisfaction, popping a piece of the fermented, spicy cabbage in her mouth. "Where on Earth did you find Korean food? All I've been able to track down has been the typical Chinese takeout places."

"Interwebs, baby! I just did a search of Korean restaurants in the immediate area and found this one in Lodi. Reminds me of the one Bill used to take us to back in Indiana."

"Except it doesn't look like they give you as many sides," Cat replied mournfully, thinking of the egg cakes, heaps of shredded dicon radish, small fish, three different flavors of kimchi, and other delicacies that accompanied each meal at that restaurant.

"That's true. But these sides weren't an additional charge, so I'm not gonna fuss about it!"

The women munched contentedly on their food. Usually Cat used chopsticks, having grown fairly adept at their use during her marriage to Bill. Due to the cast and sling, she opted to use the spoon so she wouldn't make a mess.

June filled her in on all that had happened after the press event ended. "Alex was really upset chick. You crashed yesterday, then this shit today. I shoulda hauled your ass back in here the first day I arrived!"

"I would've just walked out again," Cat replied. "Hope Alex doesn't worry too much! He really needs to stay focused on the task at hand!"

"Just call him on the pre pay later," June suggested airily. "I'm sure he'll relax once he hears your voice. Y'know, for a caveman, he really does care about y'all.

"True dat," Cat observed, taking another sip of tea. The feast had conquered her ravenous hunger, but there was still a lot left over. "What are we gonna do with all this?"

"Who's we, chick? Y'all got a mouse in your pocket?"

"Fun - nee! Honestly, I don't want this stuff to go bad, and it will, sittin' around without refrigeration!"

"No worries, chick," June assured her. "I'll take it home and put it in airtight containers. It's not like you're gonna be here forever!"

"I should hope not!" Despite their light banter during dinner, Cat was concerned over her long sleep. She silently watched June repack the food to carry to the house, before motioning for her friend to sit down in the chair near the bed again.

"What's up, chick?"

"That's what I wanna know, kittenface," she replied. "Y'all told me everything except why I've spent so much time in dreamland."

June returned to her original seat long enough to retrieve her knitting. It always helped her think, and sometimes helped her with difficult conversations. She started to knit and purl the yarn, a soft alpaca in a rainbow of hues.

"Makin' more booties?" Cat inquired, pointing to the knitting.

"Nope. Tryin' somethin' else. Maybe a sweater or a vest. Depends on if I feel like takin' on the challenge of sleeves or not," June explained. As for your hibernation, Dr. Gallagher said it was your PTSD takin' control of the situation."

"Say what?"

"English!" June retorted with a sly grin. "You've been runnin' the equivalent of an emotional marathon for days. So much stuff happened and y'all didn't have time to process it. Your body was trying to heal and your psyche was trying to take in all the mayhem."

"Are y'all sayin' I shut down?"

"Say the secret word, but y'all don't win the big cash prize!" June chuckled.

Cat lay back against the pillows, idly watching her friend knit. "So does that mean I'm losin' my grip on sanity?"

"Chick, y'all were never sane to begin with!" June retorted. "Your craziness is what makes you unique. It's not the type that sends one to the nuthouse."

"I thought you mental health pros didn't like that word."

"I'm not in that field anymore," June explained wryly. "Considerin' the circumstances, it's a wonder that y'all haven't gone off the deep end!"

Cat's eyebrow got lost in her bangs. "Yeah, someone obviously wished that ancient Chinese proverb about 'interestin' times' on our little burg."

"No shit!" June snarled angrily, stabbing her needles into the ball of yarn and thrusting it into her bag. "And I'm worried about y'all cause I'm leavin' in the mornin' and no one's gonna be around to watch out for you

"Aw, kittenface!" Cat cried. "Do y'all have to leave so soon?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Have another assignment already. Gonna be home long enough to wash clothes, pack, and go again."

"Y'all know you can wash your clothes at the house!"

"I know. Figure of speech."

"Can't they send y'all from here to there? Give y'all a day off for good behavior?"

June shook her head. "You'd think so, especially since it's cheaper in the long run."

"Damn!" The two fell into a disappointed silence. "Don't worry, kittenface. I'm sure that Alex took time to arrange for someone to keep an eye on me," Cat assured her friend.

"Wish he'd have shared it with me; I'd feel a Hell of a lot better about leavin' y'all to the wolves!" June grumbled.

"It's possible that he called my 'boys' from Rogue River and they'll be here in the mornin'." At June's puzzled expression, she explained, "That's the Rogue River charter."

"Oh, yeah! The team you played on when Alex pulled rank and wouldn't let y'all play for the skins!" June laughed. "Imagine that move made Alex real popular!"

"As popular as a termite in a forest," Cat replied. "We would've won, and those boys have had my back ever since."

"Wish they'd get here tonight," June mused.

"As it is, I'm gonna hafta head back to the house and pack. Oh dark thirty comes pretty early!"

Cat tried to hide her sadness at her friend's imminent departure. "Yeah, and you're not a good vampire," She winced as the lightness in her voice sounded forced.

"We'll always have Stockton, kid," June winked.

"And Gerry!" Cat added with a fond smile.

June hovered near the bed, laying a hand on Cat's uninjured one. "Listen, y'all rest for awhile -"

"Rest!" Cat hooted derisively.

"Yes, rest. Your system needs it, even after that long sleep y'all had. I'll come back through in a few hours before I have to go to the airport in Stockton to say goodbye."

Cat favored her friend with 'The Look'. "Thought y'all had to turn in your badge, kittenface."

"I did. But I kinda learned my way around. Remember how I snuck into the hospital when y'all had the gastric bypass?"

Cat smiled broadly. "As if I could ever forget that yellow swirl that floated in the room. It haunted me for months afterward!"

"Then I'll see y'all later, chick. Don't forget to call Alex. I put your cell phone in the drawer next to the bed."

"Thanks, darlin'. Far as I know, Alex wasn't takin' the two - way. We didn't think it would work that far away."

"Y'all have a good visit, then," June hugged her swiftly, then picked up the two bags. Before Cat could respond, she was out the door.

---

Kozik held his Harley steady to allow Ima to mount behind him. He'd given her his helmet to wear again, insisting that he'd be fine without it. He felt another thrill as Ima's hands rested on his waist. 'A guy can really get used to this!'

"All set?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Ready!" Ima announced, her fingers tightening a bit in anticipation of the bike's movement.

Kozik started the bike and put it in gear. He turned the throttle just a bit to give Ima a feeling of the power that rested between her legs. He eased off on the throttle and put the bike in gear, gliding smoothly from the curb.

Kozik had refused to tell Ima where they were going to eat. He wanted to surprise her. "Just wear somethin' comfortable for the bike, like ya might wear to a picnic, baby," he advised her.

Ima had decided that her sweats and sneakers were good enough for that kind of thing. Not dressy, definitely not revealing and suited for being out on a bike. One of the things she'd learned from bitch riding with Jax and the Prospect was that exposed flesh was could get wind rash, over exposure to the sun, and/or hit by rocks or other debris caught in the bike's wake.

'This is one case where comfort's going to come before fashion!'

Though her hair was covered by the helmet, she wore a gaily printed scarf around her head. It would help keep the exposed hair from flying and tangling in the wind.

Kozik piloted the Harley down Main Street, past Floyd's barber shop and on past 'Charming Pawse'. He felt like he was sitting a little taller and prouder to have a beauty like Ima on the back of his bike. 'Maybe I am at that,' he mused.

He pulled the bike to a stop in front of a small café. He knew the owner from his earlier days in Charming, but the café itself had undergone a renovation. Now the décor had a retro flavor to it – beads hung in the doorways, posters of late 60's and early 70's rock stars covered the walls. The music on the juke box was from the same period. Small battery operated glitter lamps that worked like lava lamps stood in the center of each table.

"This is neat!" Ima exclaimed when they stepped through the door into the café.

"Yeah, I'm not sure when the owner changed it, but I kinda like the new atmosphere. Wait 'til ya see the menu!" Kozik waved at the cook/owner as one of the wait staff approached them with laminated menus.

"Follow me, please," she stated cordially, leading Kozik and Ima to a corner booth.

"May I start you off with anything to drink?" she added after placing the menus on the table. She stepped aside so that the couple could be seated.

"Water for me," Ima replied.

"Got beer?" Kozik asked.

"Sorry, no beer. We have tea, coffee, cola, water, lemonade, and milk."

'Almost sounds like the old Monty Python routine about spam!' Kozik mused. "Coffee. Black."

"I'll be back shortly to take your order," the waitress grinned.

Koz didn't open his menu right away. He wanted to watch Ima's reaction to the menu items.

Ima picked up her menu, opened it, and began reading over the selections. She smiled at the interesting and original names of the selections, such as 'Inna Garden of Eatin'' for salads, 'sublime' for sandwiches, and 'To Dye for Desserts'. The last offered a 'Strawberry Alarm Clock Shortcake'.

"Oh, this is cute!" She laughed.

"It's ingenuous," Kozik agreed. "Ties in with the whole premise, doesn't it?"

"Very much," Ima replied. She was trying to decide whether she wanted to try one of the offerings 'From the Yellow Submarine' or if she wanted to trust the 'Magic Mushroom Swiss Burger'.

Kozik enjoyed watching her reaction to the menu. 'Glad I thought of bringin' her here. She might be a little young, but she seems to be at home in here.'

"Kozik!" The cook shouted, coming 'round the counter with the tray of drinks in his hands. "Long time no see!" he added, placing the drinks on the table

Koz leapt to his feet and gave the owner/cook the 'bro hug double back tap'. "Ty! Good to see you, dude!"

Ima grinned a little to hear the owner's name. She hoped his last name was 'Dye' because she'd not be able to stifle the giggles that threatened to break loose at any minute.

"Nice lookin' lady ya got with ya, bro!" Ty added, smiling broadly at Ima. It wasn't a leering smile like she was used to, more of a friendly smile like she'd get from the male employees at the coffeehouse.

"Thank you, Ty," she smiled back. "I like this place. Seems a little quiet, though."

"You should see this joint during meal times! We're packed at lunch and dinner times, and weekends are a blast!" he cordially informed her. "I use quiet times like this to catch up on paperwork and the like."

"What gave you this idea?" Koz inquired, returning to his seat next to Ima and sipping his coffee.

"That coffeehouse down the street," Ty replied. "Seems like niche businesses are all the rage with customers. The restaurant was doing OK, but we weren't doing great. Then I got the idea to take my name and run with it, so the 'Ty Dye Café' was born! Been makin' a tidy little profit ever since."

"I'm glad for ya, bro," Kozik stated. "Real glad. What's with the wall mural over there?"

Ty followed his gaze to the array of photos tacked up on the wall. "That's our wall of tie dye," he explained. "Any customer who comes in wearing tie dye shirts gets their picture on the wall, and a five dollar gift card for their next visit."

"Does that work well for you?" Ima inquired. She was fascinated by the place, and the owner's ideas to get return customers.

"Sure does!" He grinned. "We get a lot of new customers this way!"

Kozik's stomach rumbled loudly, causing Ima to blush faintly.

"Sounds like someone's a little hungry!" Ty laughed.

"True dat," Kozik grinned unashamedly. He glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 4:15. "Too early for dinner?"

The menu clearly stated the dinner menu was served only after 4:20. Kozik grinned again at his friend, waiting for the reply.

"Not for you," Ty stated. "Havin' the usual?"

"Natch. Gotta keep my strength up!"

"Rare?"

"Is there any other way to have a steak?" Kozik asked.

"You'd be surprised, man," Ty grimaced. "I've had some people want 'em blackened, and I'm not talkin' about Cajun style!" Ty turned his attention to Ima. "And for you, lovely lady?"

"Ima," she supplied, picking up the menu again and glancing over it. She was hungry, nearly ravenous, but didn't want to order too much.

"May I make a suggestion or two?" Ty inquired, sensing her quandary.

"Please!"

"A lot of ladies like the French Dip, or they're go for the Tie Dye Jacks," he explained. "If you're looking for something light, the Cobb Salad or the Crimson and Clover Salad Plate is really satisfying."

Ima read each item he suggested. They all sounded wonderful. She finally decided on the Tie Dye Jacks. "Could you not include the onion crisps?"

"How about if I sub a little extra bacon?"

"You've got a deal!" Ima grinned.

"Crispy or chewy bacon?"

"Chewy, please."

"Hey, Ty! Howza 'bout a plate of those crab cakes of yours?" Kozik ordered.

"You got it!"

---

Tig patiently endured the booking process. He had to remove his belt, wallet, rings and wrist cuffs along with the Reaper jacket and cell phone. Those items were itemized for his signature, along with the small amount of money in his wallet and placed in a large envelope. He signed the envelope and watched as it was placed in a safe.

He remained silent as he was fingerprinted and had his photograph taken. As Eglee led him to the familiar holding cells, he asked about his one telephone call.

"Make it quick," she replied, leading him to her desk. She leaned against it as he picked up the receiver.

"Do ya mind, doll? I'd sorta prefer this be a confidential."

Eglee snorted and moved to the desk opposite hers. "This is about as private as you're gonna get."

Tig shrugged and replaced the receiver. "Fine."

"Change your mind?"

He shook his head. "Just thinkin' a minute. No law against that, is there?"

"Not yet," she grinned. "Might as well make yourself comfortable."

Tig snorted and sat down in Eglee's chair. He was in a bit of a quandary about who to call. 'Cat's in the hospital, prolly still asleep and might not have her cell. Not gonna involve June in this shit, not when she's gonna be leavin'. Tara's dealin' with the police about Gem's escape. Only other person I can call is the lawyer.'

He picked up the receiver again and dialed the number to Rosen's office. "Is Lowen available?" He inquired gruffly when the receptionist finished her breezy greeting.

"Attorney Lowen's with a client right now. May I take a message?"

'Shit!' Tig's hand rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, tell her Tig Trager called. I'm under arrest at CPD. Need her to arrange bail."

"I don't know how long it'll be, Mr. Trager," the receptionist replied.

"I don't care! Just give her the intel!" he snarled.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Yes, sir. May I help you with anything else?" she stated in a sulky tone of voice.

'Shit! What a bitch!' He massaged his nose again, thinking how grateful he was that his woman wasn't as thin skinned as the receptionist. "Yeah," he added a little less gruffly. "I need ya to call St. Thomas Hospital and get a message to my wife, Cat Marshall. Tell her I'm in CPD lock up, but that she is not to check herself out because Lowen will take care of the bail and that I'll be by to see her as soon as Lowen arranges bail."

His request was met with stony silence on the other end, and a shocked look from Eglee. 'Guess she hasn't seen the evenin' news yet.' He shrugged and growled into the mouthpiece, "Did ya get that?"

"Yes, sir." The line went dead in his ear.

"Well! The things one hears!" Eglee mused with a wry grin. "Never thought you'd settle down with any woman."

Tig leaned back in the chair, a sly grin crossing his face. "There's an exception to every rule, doll."

"I don't envy Ms. Marshall," Eglee retorted. "She's one exceptional woman to be able to put up with you!" She gestured for him to get up from her chair. "C'mon, stud. Your cell awaits."

Tig looked up at her, assuming his most winning expression. "Think I can sneak in another call, doll?"

Eglee shook her head. "Sorry, stud. One to a customer."

"But I just wanna call Cat's cell. Let her know I'm a'right," he pleaded.

Eglee hesitated. The chief had called in earlier with the news that Cat Marshall was back in the hospital, suffering from exhaustion. The coffeehouse owner was considered a friend of the department, not just because she gave all CPD cops free coffee, but because of her support of the retirement and widow/widower and children's funds.

'It's obvious he gives a shit about her, especially if he went so far as to marry her!' Eglee mused. "He doesn't want her to hear the news from some hospital gossip or the media.' She glanced about the bullpen. The few officers at their desks were busy at their own pursuits and not paying a bit of attention to her and Tig.

"OK," she shrugged. "Since it's to Ms. Marshall - I mean your wife - I'll make an exception this time. Just make it quick."

"Thanks, doll!" Tig grinned. He dialed the number to his wife's cell, frowning at getting transferred straight to her voice mail. 'Prolly one of the nurses turned it off when she was admitted,' he assured himself, trying not to count how many hours she'd been asleep. Despite Eglee's presence, he left a detailed personal message, then replaced the receiver and winked at Eglee. "OK, doll. Lead the way!"

---

Cat opened the top of the rolling bed table to reveal not just her wallet and cell phone, but her boot knife as well. 'Bless y'all, kittenface!'

Not that she'd need the knife in the hospital. Zobelle and LOAN were no longer a threat to her. Westin was dead, Zobelle had fled the country. If there was any danger to her, Alex would've had someone standing guard outside the hospital room.

She patted the black matte boot knife on its' handle, then grasped her cell phone and lowered the lid to the table. She accessed her contacts lists and pressed the one she'd made for Tig's pre - pay.

'It'll probably go straight to voice mail,' she thought while waiting for the call to connect. To her surprise, the phone rang several times before she heard, "This is Tig. Leave a message and a number."

She snorted a laugh at the terse delivery and took a deep breath just as the tone buzzed in her ear. "Hey, love! Figure you're somewhere between here and the auld country. Thought y'all would feel better knowin' I finally decided to wake up. Sorry for worryin' y'all. Still at St. Thomas, guess they're keepin' me here to keep me outta trouble. I'm sure you appreciate that! Be safe. See y'all when I see ya."

She ended the call and sent a text to June requesting she bring the phone charger. There were no new messages, so she made a quick call to the coffehouse.

"Charming Pawse, This is Anna."

"Hey, darlin'. It's Cat. How's everything?"

"You're awake! Thank God!" Anna cried.

"Ah, so y'all heard the news," she observed dryly.

"Your friend June called to tell us where you were," Miss Anna informed her. "Everything's fine. The petitions are getting signatures, and the news about your marriage is getting favorable reaction."

"I'll bet," Cat retorted.

"Honestly, Miss Cat! Most people are just surprised that Mr. Tig opted to settle down at all, not that he married you specifically."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're hearing favorable things. Just be careful, as I'm sure there will be some fucktards who won't be happy."

"We will be. CJ's already told me I'm not leaving here alone tonight. He's staying after close until I leave."

"Good idea," Cat approved. "I feel better knowin' he's stayin' with y'all. Be sure he stays on the clock. Y'all can have him get a head start on baking. Speakin' of which, the cheesecake squares were terrific. Mr. Tig especially enjoyed the Snicker bar cheesecake!"

"There was never any doubt of that!" Miss Anna giggled. "You take care, and don't take this wrong, but I hope we don't see you for awhile!"

"Love y'all too!" Cat laughed, ending the call. There were no new messages waiting, so she turned off the phone to save the battery, returned it to the tray table and removed her belt knife. She slid that under her pillow and settled back. Not that she'd need it, but she felt safer with it in easy reach.

Just as she was going to ring for a nurse to assist her with a delicate situation, one walked in with her nightly PTSS medication and to check her readings. "Your friend told us you were awake!" She announced.

"Good news flies quickly around here!"

"Sometimes the not so good news as well. How are you feeling?"

"Rested, but a little embarrassed."

"What's wrong?"

"I need to use the facilities, and find that all y'all have me hooked up to a bag," Cat flushed.

The nurse's lips twitched, but she managed not to laugh out loud. "That was done as a precaution because we had no idea how long you'd sleep. But I can see that it's a nuisance, now," she replied sympathetically.

"That's an understatement!"

"You just lay back and relax. I'll have get that out in a jiffy!"

Cat complied with the nurse's directions, focusing her gaze on the tile above her head. The nurse quickly and quietly removed the catheter, emptied the bag in the toilet, and disposed of it.

"All done!" She chirped.

'Don't hafta be so damn cheerful about it!' Cat groused inwardly. "Thanks. Any idea when Dr. Smythe's gonna be around to check my eye?"

"I can look into that," the nurse replied, checking the readout on the monitor. The sensor that tracked Cat's heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing was hooked to her index finger. "Your readings are good, so we won't need to keep you hooked up to this any longer."

"Good!" Cat removed the monitor from her finger while the nurse turned off the monitor. She slid to the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the floor, waiting as her legs got used to her weight again.

The nurse stood by to help if she was needed. "May I extend congratulations?"

Cat blinked uncomprehendingly "Huh? For havin' good numbers?"

"On your marriage!" The nurse exclaimed. "It was on the news today! What's it like to be married to an outlaw biker?"

Cat's eyebrow disappeared into her fringe at the somewhat rude inquiry. "I wouldn't know. Tig's not an outlaw," she replied curtly.

"What kind of name is 'Tig', anyway?" The nurse pressed.

"His name. I've never worried about it, and you shouldn't either," she growled, feeling her temper about ready to blow. Yet, she couldn't alienate a potential voter. 'Just because I'm plannin' to run for office doesn't mean every aspect of Alex's life is open to public scrutiny!'

The nurse glared at her patient, then suddenly grew flustered when she recalled why she was talking to Cat in the first place. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I forgot in all the excitement that you're a patient!"

"It happens to the worst of us," Cat shrugged. "And the good wishes are appreciated. Would ya mind checkin' on Dr. Smythe for me?"

"Of course, Mrs. Trager! I'm so sorry!" The nurse scampered to the door, casting a nervous look behind her before fleeing into the hallway.

Cat smiled wryly at the closed door. 'Serve her right to worry if I'm gonna report her or not! Geeze! A person gets into the public eye and they think they have the right to know everythingabout your family! Not happenin'!'

She slid from the bed and limped into the bathroom, continuing to fume over the nurse's lack of professionalism. 'It's one thing for the average person on the street to be a bit intrusive; I can handle that! It's another for someone who's supposed to be takin' care of a body to be nosy!'

She limped back to the bed and turned on the television. She winced when she saw the time display in the lower right hand corner of the screen. 'There's no way Dr. Smythe's gonna see me today! Much too late; unless he checked the eye while I was hibernatin'.'

She ruefully shook her head. 'Nah, June would've said somethin'. Guess I'm stuck here for the night.' She was comforted that the cats would be well taken care of by their 'Aunt June'.

She surfed the channels until she found an old Charles Bronson movie, Machine Gun Kelly. She'd never seen it and was soon engrossed in the plot, forgetting all about the rude nurse.

---

The morgue was located in the basement of St. Thomas. It was always dimly lit and kept locked when no one was working in that section. The hospital didn't have the budget nor the staff to staff the morgue 24 hours a day. Anyone needing access to the morgue 'after hours' had to have a key card to do so.

The basement gave Hector the creeps. His Achilles Heel was dark, dank basements. He'd been scared of them for as long as he could remember. He didn't like the air of death that permeated the place. He believed the ghosts of the dead could easily reach out and touch him.

It was one thing to kill another person. Just after death, the body was still warm. It was a far different thing to see a body several hours later. By then, the dead person's body had become cold, waxen, and held a strange pale blue tint to it.

Though Hector had been kicked out of his club, he still felt a duty to his fallen brother, Pozo. He never believed Pozo intended to rat out the Calavarez and the Mayans. 'Alvarez just made that up to appease SAMCRO! If it's the last thing I do, he's not gettin' a rat's burial!'

Recovering Pozo's body was the only thing that could turn Salazar away from getting revenge on the SAMCRO VP. As much as he wanted to get even, his duty to his friend and brother came first. 'Once I'm done with this, I can go back to trackin' the VP's old lady.'

He tried to open the door, expecting to find someone inside to assist him. To his disgust, the door was locked and unyielding. He banged on it, yelling for someone to come open it. His rage grew when no one answered his call.

"Shit! Someone has to release the body to me! Where the Hell is everyone?" he cried, kicking several times at the metal door. The door wouldn't give, but he got a small amount of satisfaction in putting a dent in it.

He heard footsteps receding down the hall behind him. He turned in time to see the back of a white coat turn a corner, heading towards the service entrance. 'Oh no you don't!' Hector sped after the hospital employee, intending to catch up with him or her to get Pozo released to him.

He turned the corner just as the white coated figure opened the service door with a key card. He stopped short at the sight of three Reapers grinning from black jackets. He ducked back around the corner before any of the trio could see him.

'Shit! That was close!' he wiped a shaking hand across his sweaty brow. He wasn't sure, but he thought one of the three cuts belonged to the blond VP. 'They're traveling without full rockers, going incognito!' He grinned thinking how that intel would come in handy in the near future.

'Now what am I gonna do?' he mused. 'There has to be some way to get Pozo's body out of there!' He returned to the morgue entrance and finally noticed a sign on the wall next to the door he'd kicked. "After hours service, please contact security." There was a phone next to the sign.

"Mierda! Damn thing would've bit me if it'd been a snake!" He shook his head and lifted the receiver. There was no keypad, but he heard an encouraging ringing in his ear.

"Security."

"Um, yeah. I'm down at the morgue to pick up a body," he announced.

"OK. Someone will be there in a few minutes."

Salazar hung up the receiver and smiled grimly. 'Guess he thinks I'm with a funeral service!' He squatted on his haunches to wait.

A few minutes later, a hospital worker and a member of the hospital's security team walked towards the morgue. "You the guy that called for assistance?" The security officer asked.

"Yeah," Salazar replied, rising to his full height. He didn't meet the guard eye to eye and was barely an inch taller than the employee.

"Do you have release papers?" The hospital worker asked, holding her hand out expectantly.

Salazar slapped his hand against his forehead. "Oh, man! The boss didn't give 'em to me, and the office is closed for the day!"

The security officer shrugged sympathetically. "Sorry to hear that, man, but we've got to have release papers."

Salazar struggled to hold on to his temper. 'Maybe there's a way I can finesse this,' he took a deep breath to calm himself. "I know, I know, man. The world revolves on paperwork."

"You got it," the security officer started to turn away.

"There's just one problem," Salazar added hurriedly. "This isn't the first time the office has screwed up and forgotten to give me the paperwork. If I don't come back with the body, the boss is gonna have my head!"

"Shouldn't be your problem, mate," the officer replied.

"True, but it will be. His old lady's the office manager," Salazar stated. "You know how that goes!"

The security officer gazed intently at Salazar. Everything the man was saying was plausible, but something didn't feel right. The bruises on the man's face was one thing, but his attire was another matter. 'Most funeral home employees don't wear jeans and flannel shirts, even if they're picking up a body. This just doesn't feel right.'

"C'mon, man! I could really use a break!" Salazar pleaded.

"I'm sorry, sir," The hospital worker replied. "I can't release any body to you without the proper release form. But I'll give you my card. You can have your boss call me. I'll vouch for you. It's the best I can do." The worker turned to follow the guard back down the hall.

Salazar whipped his gun from the holster at his back and fired a round into the wall, just in front of the officer's face.

The shot made the hospital employee scream in fear and drop to the floor.

The security officer also stopped, but kept his back to Salazar long enough to

reach up to the microphone attached to his uniform. He opened the channel and locked the button down so his fellow officers could hear and summon help.

"I'm sorry to do this, cause you spoke nice to me," Salazar explained to the cowering hospital worker. "But you're gonna release a body to me, and you're gonna do it now! You! Polizia! Turn around with your hands over your head!"

The security officer raised his hands above his head, showing that he was unarmed. He turned slowly to face Salazar. "This isn't the way you want to handle this, friend," the officer stated calmly.

"You've given me no choice!" Salazar retorted, waving the gun at the morgue door. "This is what is going to happen, the employee or you are gonna open this door and let me remove my amigo's body. I'll leave, and you can go home to your wives and snot nosed kids!"

"And if I don't?" The security officer challenged.

Salazar fired another shot, directly into the concrete floor in front of the officer. The bullet sent a chunk of the floor flying into the wall. "That answer your question, esse?"

'I hope to Hell backup comes soon!' The officer thought, refusing to react physically to the second shot. That didn't mean his heart wasn't racing in his chest. "I guess it does," he replied quietly.

He moved slowly towards Salazar, who continued to point the gun directly at the officer's heart. Salazar took a step back as the officer moved another step forward.

"That's right, esse, slow and easy. I don't wanna have to kill you!" Salazar crooned, taking a step back for each step the officer made towards him. He motioned for the hospital worker to stand up and accompany the security officer to the door.

Behind Salazar, Officer Eglee and another CPD cop were silently advancing towards him. Their guns were drawn and aimed at the former Calavarez leader. Eglee raised one finger to her lips, signaling to the two hostages not to give away their presence.

The security officer continued moving slowly forward, keeping his eyes locked on Salazar. He inwardly relaxed now that backup had arrived. The hospital worker, though pale and shaking, didn't acknowledge the police officers' presence, much to the security officer's relief.

Eglee and the other CPD were directly behind Salazar, who'd just stepped past the morgue door. He took another step back, right into the barrel of Eglee's gun.

"Drop it!" Eglee roared. "Now!"

Salazar briefly considered trying to shoot his way out. There were three armed police officers against him. He might succeed in killing one, but there was just as good a chance that he'd get killed in the process. The police had the added advantage of catching him by surprise. Logic won out against bravado. He slowly squatted down and placed the gun on the floor.

"Slide it back towards the sound of my voice!" Eglee ordered.

Salazar slowly stood up, placed his foot on the gun, and pushed it backwards. He winced at the sound of metal scraping against the concrete floor.

"Face down on the floor!" The other officer ordered.

Salazar slowly knelt on the floor, keeping his arms out at his sides. He slid to the floor, face down, arms still out at his sides.

"You want to do the honors?" Eglee asked the security officer.

"Damn straight!" He whipped his handcuffs from the holster on his belt and knelt down to cuff Salazar's arms behind his back. "Looks like I'll be going home to my wife and snot nosed kids, esse!" He roughly and thoroughly searched Salazar for any other weapons before hauling the biker to his feet. "He's all yours! Thanks for the backup."

"Smart move, keying open your mic like that," Eglee replied.

Salazar spat on the floor in front of the security officer's shoe. "I should have shot you when I had the chance!"

"Yeah, too bad about that," the security officer grinned.

"Enough of that!" Eglee retorted, grabbing one of Salazar's arms while her partner took the other. "A night in a cell should cool you down!"

The security officer and the hospital worker watched the CPD officers haul Salazar away. As soon as they turned the corner, he slid to the floor against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest as great sobs wracked his chest.

The hospital worker also slid to the floor next to the officer, and drew him into her arms. Together, they cried from relief that they'd survived.

---

Kozik was encouraged that the dinner out with Ima had gone so well. 'Takin' her to the 'Ty Dye Cafe' was a good idea. I think she had a good time.'

They'd ridden around the country after their meal, just taking in the sights and sounds of the county. The longer he was with Ima, the more he enjoyed being in her company. He hoped she felt likewise.

She didn't seem to be against the idea of being with him; if their bedroom activity earlier was any indication. Yet, Kozik was reluctant to explore her feelings on a possible long - term hook up due to the recent trauma she'd endured from the club VP.

They swung back by the Ty Dye Cafe before it closed to pick up their leftovers, which Ty had agreed to keep refrigerated for them. Most of the leftovers were Ima's. Kozik had polished off the majority of the crab cakes and his steak in record time.

Ima had eaten considerably more than she usually did. Ty believed in giving his customers generous portions, and she found herself unable to finish her main course.

"That's all right, Miss Ima," Ty assured her. "I'll box this up for you so you can enjoy it later." He turned a mock glare on Kozik and added, "Provided you can keep that Neanderthal from inhaling it first!"

Kozik gazed at them both with an innocent 'Who, me?' expression, causing Ima to laugh at both men. She couldn't recall the last time she'd had so much fun in a man's company away from a bed or a camera.

They returned to Ima's apartment, where she stored the leftovers and Kozik reclined on the couch. She leaned on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and gazed at him. 'He looks like he's quite at home, and I think I'm liking that!'

"Hey, baby, I'm feelin' a little lonely. Why don'tcha come over here and sit with me?" He invitingly patted the sofa cushion next to him.

"Sure, can we watch the news? I'm just curious about what's been goin' on in the area," she replied as she sauntered over to join him.

"Sure, which channel do ya like?" He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. It was already tuned to Channel 2.

"That one's OK. They seem to do the most local coverage."

Kozik set the remote on the armrest next to him and drew Ima into a one armed embrace, allowing her to snuggle up next to him. "Prolly wouldn't hurt to know what's new in town," he murmured.

The Channel 2 station ID slide melded into the news opening video. The intense music faded as the news anchor framed the center of the screen.

"Good evening Sanwa County! Topping tonight's news, a surprise announcement in Charming. James Windover has the story."

"That's the guy that covered the rally Cat Marshall headed!" Ima informed Kozik.

The news anchor was replaced by a long shot of the reporter, standing just to the side of the 'Charming Pawse' building.

"Early this morning, Channel 2, along with other local media outlets, received a tip about Cat Marshall, owner of this coffeehouse," Windover explained. "The tip is thought to have originated from a political rival of Ms. Marshall's, as she had just started obtaining signatures of interest to support a run for city council in the upcoming primary."

As Windover's narrative continued, a close up of one of the petitions, complete with signatures, sprang onto the screen.

"The tip informed local journalists of Ms. Marshall's true marital status, including a copy of a Nevada marriage license, issued earlier this year."

The next image was a close up of the license Windover alluded to. Cat Marshall's name and another name were prominently displayed. Another close up showed the second name belonged to Alexander Trager.

"Tig's married?" Kozik hooted. 'No wonder he's on edge about her bein' back in the hospital!'

"Well, what do you know!" Ima exclaimed at the same time. "I wouldn't have thought he was the marrying kind!"

"When asked about the validity of the tip, both Mr. and Mrs. Trager had a unique response," Windover stated in another close up.

The next edit showed the interior of the coffeehouse and the waiting reporters. The song 'Don't Fear the Reaper' began to play over the sound system, making Kozik grin. 'That's gotta be an obvious reference to the club if I've ever heard one!'

The camera then showed Cat struggling against the twine that bound her hands and feet. The twine was attached to cross beams that Tig controlled.

"She has a flair for drama, doesn't she?" Ima observed.

"Kinda looks like it," Kozik murmured.

They were both startled when Tig withdrew his belt knife in a threatening manner. They relaxed with broad smiles when he cut the twine binding her wrists and tossed the cross beams aside, then laughed merrily when the music changed to 'I've Got No Strings'.

While the video showed Cat and Tig confronting the reporters, Windover continued his report. "Mrs. Trager then explained the reason she chose to continue to be known by her maiden name."

Kozik listened intently to Cat's explanation. So did Ima. "Does she really think they're going to buy that?" she asked incredulously.

"Apparently, so. Look at the reporters!" Kozik replied, pointing at the television screen. An edit showed the reporters were hanging on the business woman's every word.

"They're buyin' it, and what she's tellin' 'em makes a lot of sense. I can see why Tig chose her!" Kozik remarked admiringly.

Ima pouted in response to that remark.

"Aw, c'mon baby! Don't be jealous! I'm more partial to blonds!" he assured her with a sly grin.

Ima pretended to be miffed, but her body language told Kozik she wasn't really mad at him. She molded against him, settling her head on his shoulder.

"Though the primary is weeks away, it appears the incumbent, Councilman Croucher, won't have an easy win," Windover stated, holding one of petitions next to his shoulder. The petition was filled with signatures. "As of this afternoon, Mrs. Trager has more than enough signatures to earn her a spot on the ballot. Ironically, Mrs. Trager was readmitted to St. Thomas this afternoon. The hospital isn't releasing any information on her condition. James Windover, Channel 2, reporting from Charming."

Kozik lowered the volume on the television as the news anchor returned to the screen to introduce the next story. "Looks like it's gonna be an interestin' primary."

"I wonder what Jacob Hale will think of this," Ima mused.

"Why do you ask?"

"He's been running the Charming political scene since his father retired," Ima explained. "Croucher is one of his cronies."

"You sound pretty knowledgeable," Kozik replied, turning an admiring eye on her.

"LuAnn fought him pretty hard about the adult movie industry. Hale kept trying to get legislation passed to outlaw Caracara," she replied. "Fortunately, a lot of the local voting males were on our side!"

"I'd think so!"

"I wouldn't put it past Hale to have been the tipster, though how he came by that marriage license is anybody's guess."

Kozik turned off the television and turned to face Ima. "I've gotta tell ya somethin', baby."

Ima stiffened at the serious tone in his voice. 'Here it comes, girl! The brush off!'

She took a deep breath and waited for whatever excuse Kozik was going to come up with.

"Relax, baby! I'm not castin' ya aside!" he assured her.

Ima flushed with embarrassment. "I - I'm sorry," she murmured.

Kozik placed his hand under her chin and gently tilted her head up so she could look him in the eye. "Hey, if I were in your shoes, and some guy I'd just slept had used me, I'd get nervous when the next guy got all serious with me, too!"

Her eyes misted over at his empathy. Kozik was so much more gentle than Jax ever was with her. Maybe Kozik really felt more for her than just the need to scratch an itch! She smiled tremulously. "Th - thanks, K - kozik. What do you need to tell me?"

"That's my girl!" He smiled encouragingly. "Tig called this mornin'. He and most of the club have gone to Belfast to retrieve Abel. He asked me to check on Cat. I've gotta run out to the hospital for a bit. But I wanna see you again - tonight."

"Just tonight?" she asked coyly.

Kozik threw his head back and laughed. "No, not just tonight. Every night, woman!"

Ima squealed and launched herself into his waiting arms. They shared a deep, passionate kiss. She reluctantly broke the kiss and gazed into his eyes. "Why don't you go ahead and do your duty, then come on back? That'll give me a chance to fix something for you!"

"Would it be a'right if I pick up my pack from the clubhouse?" he asked. 'Ugh! I'm rushin' her!'

Her reply erased that thought from his mind. "I wish you would," she replied huskily.

---

The newsroom buzzed with activity when Powell returned from the conference room. Several curious heads popped up from the cubicles, reminding him of prairie dogs sticking their heads up from their desert holes.

He stifled a smile at the thought, he didn't want his staff to get the wrong idea. 'I doubt they would appreciate being thought of as rodents!' His eyes met Windover's inquiring gaze and he nodded slightly, indicating with his chin for the reporter to join him at the dais He stood in front of the desk Pesta had recently occupied, leaning against it as if he were casually observing the newsroom.

The ambient noise diminished as Windover stood up and approached the dais More heads popped up from the cubicles. "It appears they know something's up," Powell murmured to the reporter.

"'Fraid so, boss. There's been a little chatter, but that's to be expected in a place as big as this," Windover replied.

"I probably should've just gone on to the conference room and called Pesta in from there," Powell mused. "Would've saved a lot of speculation."

"Guess that's why it's called 20/20 hindsight," Windover murmured. "Thing is, there's no guarantee he would've obeyed."

"Obviously," Powell remarked. He raised his hands around his mouth and called loudly, "May I have your attention, please?"

The sounds of clicking keys and voices came to an abrupt halt. Only the police scanners and the news wire printers remained active. It was actually the quietest the newsroom ever got, as it was staffed 24 hours a day. "If you'll all gather around up here, I won't have to yell!" Powell added, gesturing for the staff to come to him.

Reporters left their cubicles as camera operators poured out of the editing bays to congregate in front of the dais The newsroom was fully staffed, all the shifts - morning, noon, and evening - were overlapping. It was the best time for Powell to announce the transition.

The news staff waited patiently. They looked at the two men on the dais with hopeful, expectant expressions. Powell waited until he was certain that the entire newsroom staff was present. "I have an announcement to make; and would appreciate no interruptions until I'm finished."

A series of nods and "OK's" rippled through the group. When they grew quiet, he continued, "Mr. Pesta is no longer affiliated with Channel 2 News. He tendered his resignation today –"

A cough that mysteriously sounded like "Bullshit!" broke out in the group. A few wry smiles broke out amongst the staff, but most of them maintained blank expressions.

'I imagine they're inwardly shouting 'Hallelujah'!' Windover observed to himself. He was having a hard time keeping his expression from mirroring his own thoughts.

"You'll be pleased to know that the new assignment editor, effective immediately, will be James Windover," Powell added, placing one hand on the reporter's shoulder.

A burst of applause and shouts of "Bravo!" met that announcement. Windover's face flushed with pleasure at the response of his comrades. "Thanks. This is all a little sudden, and a lot for us to take in. We'll celebrate later on; right now, we've got a newscast to prepare for."

The police scanner for Charming squawked into life. The newsroom's attention turned to it when the dispatcher announced a high speed chase towards Modesto. The subject of that chase was a tow truck for Teller – Morrow driven by Tig Trager.

"Co – incidence?" Powell inquired wryly of his new assignment editor.

"Not sure," Windover replied, trying to think who should take his place covering the story.

"Go," Powell replied, thrusting a reporter's notebook in Windover's hands. "Make this your final story as a reporter. I'll handle things at the assignment desk the rest of the afternoon."

Windover's camera operator was already on his way to the parking lot. The reporter leapt from the dais, raced to his desk, and grabbed his coat from the back of his office chair. Seconds later he was headed out the door after the camera operator.

"OK, people, like Windy said, we've got newscasts to prepare! Back to it!" Powell called out to the newsroom. The reporters returned to their desks while the producers and camera operators scurried back to the editing bays. Powell removed his coat and hung it on the back of the chair on the dais He wrote a new entry on the board, "Trager Chase, Windover". The phone on the assignment editor's desk rang and he picked it up, grabbing a notebook and pen as he settled into the desk chair.

---

The door to Ally Lowen's office opened as she escorted her client to the reception area. Her face was set in a carefully controlled benign expression that gave no hint of her exasperation. The meeting had been long and difficult. The client was hard to please and had requested several changes in the document the firm had already prepared.

"I'll have the changes you requested added to the document, and a new one typed up for you to sign by the end of the week," she assured the client as they paused in front of the door.

"The sooner you can have it ready, the better," the client announced testily, reminding Ally of a potentate granting a boon to one of his subjects. He limply shook Lowen's hand, then left the office.

She sighed with relief and wiped her hand against her skirt, leaning against the door. "Wow!"

"Rough meeting, I presume?" The receptionist inquired sympathetically.

"Could've been worse," Ally replied. "Any messages?" The receptionist held out a sheath of pink notes. "Nothing major," she replied brightly.

Ally accepted the slips and skimmed through them. She was too engrossed to notice that the receptionist had strategically crossed her arms over the spiral carbon message book, hiding the one message she hadn't removed and placed in the attorneys' message bin in front of her. She was hiding the message from the outlaw biker from Lowen.

'That's what he deserves!" She consoled herself. 'I'll give it to Ms. Lowen in the morning.' The receptionist had already decided not to call the biker's wife. She wasn't the firm's messenger service. 'Besides,' she told her herself, 'the last thing that poor woman needs to be bothered with is bailing out that man! Let her rest and get well!'

Ally wandered back to her office, still sorting through the messages. Some demanded her immediate attention, others could wait a few minutes. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly six pm.

"Why don't you go on home for the night?" Ally called back to the receptionist. "I'll see you in the morning."

Lowen closed her office door and tossed the pile of messages on her desk. There was a small television in the bookcase and she turned it on just in time to catch the Channel 10 news. She sat forward as the top story was announced. It wasn't every day that two of her clients made the news! She grinned as the story played out. Not that the news came as a surprise. Though she'd only been in charge of the SAMCRO account for a few days, she'd had a lot of interaction with Cat Marshall. She'd suspected the couple was a lot closer than they let on in public.

"Good for you, Cat! I hope you oust Croucher!" she exclaimed. "I should stop in and sign that petition before they close!" She decided to take the messages with her and call from the coffeehouse. A change of scene was needed after that last appointment, and a cup of tea would be pleasant.

'There's no law that says I can't relax and make my calls at the same time!' She gathered her purse and briefcase, slipped the messages inside the purse, and escaped her office.

The reception area was empty. The receptionist hadn't wasted any time in getting out of the office. 'Good for her!' Ally sighed. She stepped through the entry and locked the door behind her, then headed for her car.

---

Jacob Hale settled comfortably in his easy chair in the den, prepared to watch the death knell of Cat Marshall's political aspirations. He'd avoided listening to any radio news during the day, and hadn't yet read the newspaper account.

He set his DVR to record the other local stations newscasts while he watched Channel 2's live. The San Joaquin Tribune lay folded on the table next to him. He'd read the full details once he'd satisfied his anticipation by viewing the businesswoman's downfall.

A predatory smile crossed Hale's face as the Channel 2 newscast opening began. The news anchor read the lead in to the lead story of the evening, and Hale licked his lips.

His smile froze on his face as the narration announced the death of his hopes for ending the businesswoman's political career before it started. He couldn't believe his eyes and ears! 'It just can't be possible!' he thought desperately, waiting until the Channel 2 report was finished before he switched to check the other stations.

'They all led off with it!' He fumed, watching all the local stations lead stories in full. His stomach tightened as the same scene – Tig Trager slicing through the cords binding his wife to cross beams he'd used to control her movements – was repeated on each station.

He rubbed his head to ease the ache the numerous repeats of that dratted song ran through his head.

'At least she didn't use the one from the Disney flick!' He consoled himself. 'It's obvious that somebody in the media tipped her off about the email! Damn!' He threw the remote across the room, hoping it would smash into the wall and shatter into pieces. In keeping with his current run of luck, the remote landed safely on the sofa.

He picked up the newspaper and frowned at the banner headline and accompanying picture. Though there was more substance to the newspaper account, it was just further proof that his plan failed miserably.

As if things couldn't get any worse, his cell phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He drew it out and frowned at the caller ID. The identity of the caller didn't surprise him; just that he'd waited so long to call after the story had aired. "I saw the news, Croucher," he announced wryly.

"Then you realize that I've already lost the election. There's no way the townspeople are going to turn away from her now!" the councilman whined.

Hale winced at the high pitched, reedy voice in his ear. "If that's the attitude you're going to take, then maybe that's a blessing!"

"What do you mean?" Croucher shrieked.

Hale winced again. "Could you take the histrionics down a notch? If you'd taken

a moment to think, you'd realize that the whole thing was planned in advance!"

"So?" the councilman yelled.

'Are you naturally stupid, or just work overtime to be dense?' Hale took a deep breath and replied soothingly, "So, that means someone in the media warned her about the tip!"

Blessed silence met that observation. Though he loathed the idea of ruining the respite to his eardrums, Hale asked, "Are you still there, or have you fainted?"

"I'm still here," Croucher replied less stridently. "You really think that's possible?"

Hale rolled his eyes. "I know it is!"

"How can you be sure?"

'Anyone with half a brain could tell! That's why you're having so much trouble!' He took another deep breath and replied, "First, the music wasn't a chance thing. That had to be pre - recorded, especially to cut so quickly from one selection to the next."

"It did? I didn't notice!"

'DUH!' Hale mused inwardly. "Secondly, that puppet act of hers. The wooden cross beams with the twine attached? That had to have been made in advance!"

"Really?"

"Do you 'just happen' to have wooden cross beams and twine lying around handy?"

Hale growled.

"No - o - o - o."

"Neither do I. She was warned, that's all there is to it!" Hale confirmed.

There was more silence on the other side of the line, save for Croucher's heavy breathing. "OK, that might be the case. Who told her it?"

"Obviously it was one of those reporters!"

"Which one?" Croucher asked excitedly. "Maybe we could complain to the station management!"

"Doesn't matter," Hale replied. "What's done is done."

"You can't be serious!" Croucher screamed. "What about the damage she did to you?"

"What damage?" Hale sat up straighter in his chair. He'd seen nothing on the television coverage that could've hurt him.

"Didn't you read the Tribune's account?"

"I skimmed through it," Hale admitted.

"Then you may want to read it more closely," Croucher replied snidely. "You'll find out you didn't escape unscathed!"

The phone went dead before Hale could reply. He shook his head and slipped the cell phone back in his pocket, then picked up the newspaper from the floor so he could read the entire story:

"Charming Business Owner Petitions for City Council Seat.

"Charming, CA - There's a saying that politics can make for strange bedfellows, and in Charming, this certainly seems to be the case.

"Cat Marshall put out petitions of interest this morning at her coffeehouse, 'Charming Pawse'. Her goal is to run for the city council in the upcoming primary election against incumbent council member Jay Croucher.

"Within minutes of the coffeehouse's 6AM opening, local media outlets - including the Chronicle – Tribune - received an email from a 'concerned Charming citizen' claiming that Ms. Marshall was had been married to the Sergeant at Arms of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club for some time. The email included a copy of their Nevada marriage license. The tipster raised questions about her ability to run for office

"Radio and television news crews, along with this reporter, traveled to 'Charming Pawse' to get the facts from Mrs. Trager. She and her husband staged an elaborate skit that illustrated how serious she is about seeking the city council seat.

"From the moment the reporters entered the coffeehouse, the musical selections that included Alice Cooper's 'Elected' and Bob Dylan's 'The Times They Are a Changin', were delivering the message that Mrs. Trager wasn't just seeking the public's support on a whim.

"As the reporters compared notes about the tip, it was obvious we all shared the same question: How could the public be assured that Mrs. Trager could be counted on to vote in the best interests of Charming instead of her husband's club?

"There have been past allegations that certain council members tend to vote the way the party majority leader wants them to vote, disregarding the preferences of their constituents. It's important that this paper points out that these allegations have never been proven by physical evidence."

'They certainly covered their asses with that one!' Hale snorted.

"Mrs. Trager, with the help of her husband, put that question to pasture in a vivid manner. As they entered the customer area accompanied by Blue Oyster Cult's 'Don't Fear the Reaper', Mrs. Trager appeared to be directed via ropes tied to wooden planks operated by her husband.

"As they stood on the small platform used for the coffeehouse's community events, Mr. Trager pulled his knife, seemingly to use it on her. Instead, he cut through the ropes, freeing her wrists and feet. His next action startled the reporters when he grasped her throat from behind. However, his wife reacted in a relaxed manner. 'This woman is no one's puppet, she's my wife!'

"Following that statement, the background music changed to the Andrews' Sister's rendition of 'I've Got No Strings.' Redoubtably, this will be the theme song for Mrs. Trager's candidacy.

"Citing the fact that many often confused her husband's riding group with outlaw bikers, Mrs. Trager explained her reasons for not publicly announcing the marriage. ' Tig is a member of the local motorcycle club. Though some unkind people insist on referrin' to them as a gang, they're co - workers who are Harley enthusiasts and ride together'."

Hale rolled his eyes. "That's the same thing Clay said to Zobelle! How can she expect people to believe that story after the standoff on Main Street?" He got his answer as soon as he resumed reading the article:

"Mrs Trager continued, 'Why should the events that happened on Main Street a few days ago make SAMCRO the bad guys? . . .Is it because they wear three patches on the back of their vests and carry knives? Aren't they entitled to stand up to a bunch of bullies like Zobelle and the Mayans?'

"Mrs. Trager went on to explain that such misconceptions led her to decide not to announce the marriage. 'That same kind of attitude that had all y'all thinkin' Tig was gonna harm me just a bit ago made me think about reality. There are some very infamous gangs out there that consider the Sons an enemy for some reason. So, in order to keep them from usin' me to get at Tig, I decided it'd be better if we perpetuated the idea that we were just livin' together.'

"Mrs. Trager also answered allegations that her coffeehouse was used by the club as a money laundering front.' "Apparently whoever sent all y'all that tip about our marriage passed along some bad intel. Is there some kind of law that says I can't give my husband a stake in my business as a weddin' present? I certainly don't object to his sharin' it with his friends'!"

"She continued to field questions from the press with all the ease of a practiced baseball player. Mrs. Trager's final words were to the voting public of Charming. 'When it comes to havin' a low opinion of someone based solely on who they associate with, let us not forget who invited LOAN and Zobelle to our town in the first place'."

"Shit!" Hale shouted, throwing the paper across the room to join the remote control. "I can't believe that bitch said that!" He stood up and stormed across the den, slamming his fist into his open palm. "I expected whoever my opponent's going to be to use Zobelle against me. She took it further by indirectly blaming me for her injuries! That bitch!"

His cell phone began buzzing in his pocket, but he ignored it. He didn't feel like discussing the matter with anyone at the moment. 'Whoever it is can just leave a message!'

He paced the room again, passing the sofa and the crumpled newspaper several times. He finally picked up the paper and returned to reading the remainder of the story. 'I've gotten this far, might as well see how much worse the damage gets!'

"One of the employees of 'Charming Pawse' also filmed the meeting between his employer and the press. When questioned, the employee, identifying himself only as Pete, an assistant manager, stated the entire event would be posted on their website later today.

"'Miss Cat would want the public to be able to see the whole, unedited thing as opposed to having to rely on a few quotes, pictures, and sound bites. Therefore, she asked me to film it and put it on our web page'. It'll be under the 'past events' tab, along with the web cast of the Peace Rally'."

"Clipboards containing copies of the petition were strategically placed around the coffeehouse. The majority of those petitions were well filled this morning. At press time, a follow up call to the coffeehouse indicated interest in the petitions had been steady throughout the day, though the employee, who preferred to not give their name, would also not provide more detailed information.

"'That's for Miss Cat to know, and for her to tell you when she's back'." The employee revealed Mrs. Trager had been readmitted to St. Thomas for exhaustion.

"Mrs. Trager was injured in a hit and run accident the night of the Peace Rally held at Charming United Methodist Church. The vehicle and its' occupants are still being sought by Charming PD. Mrs. Trager signed herself out of the hospital when one of her husband's friends was killed and Abel Teller, the son of Jax Teller, the club's Vice President, was kidnapped.

"An Amber Alert was issued that night for Abel Teller, but subsequently canceled by order of Federal law enforcement. The child's whereabouts are still unknown.

"Representatives of St. Thomas declined to give details on her condition.

"The video shot by the 'Charming Pawse' assistant manager has been loaded to the coffeehouse webpage, .com. We have provided a link to it on our home page.

The Chronicle – Tribune attempted to reach the incumbent council member, Jay Croucher, for a comment. He did not return the call at press time."

"I'm sure he didn't!" Hale grunted, dropping the newspaper on the floor. He powered up his laptop, which was sitting on the desk in his den. Once it had booted up, he accessed the internet and the coffeehouse website.

"Looks like the entire population of Sanwa County's been looking at the full video!" Hale groused when he checked the hit counter on the video. He clenched his fists while he watched the unedited video of the event with the press. The more he watched, the more sure he was that Croucher was not going to be reelected in the primary. "Not unless something really heinous happens between now and then to turn the voters against her!"

He shut down the laptop and sat staring off into space. "The problem is that she and that club will be on the lookout for any more attacks on her. "

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "That woman is smarter than I gave her credit for! She warned us that we'd regret not allowing her to use the park for her rally; I never thought she'd go after Croucher instead of me!"

Everyone in Charming knew he was planning to run for mayor. So far, no one else had shown an interest in running for the office. He'd heard talk that the opposing party shot callers were leaning on Elliot Oswald to throw his hat into the ring.

"If Oswald does go up against me, I can use his putting up the money for the club's bail against him. That stare down on Main Street worried a lot of people. The adverse media coverage didn't help. But I can't just use it for no good reason; the voters might be sheep, but they're smart sheep and not easily led. I have to have something to use in connection with SAMCRO and Oswald."

His eyes focused on the blueprints for the Liberty Street Project. Another idea stuck in neutral because Lumpy Feldstein refused to sell. He was disappointed that Darby had turned him down, the irony would've been sweet. But he still had plenty of alternatives, thanks to LOAN.

"If Salazar doesn't get in contact with me, I'll just go to the next name on the list until someone takes the job!

---

"Hey Kittenface, the batt's gettin' low on phone. Call the room when you get this. =^^=" June smiled and slipped her cell phone into her pocket. She picked up the receiver to the phone in her bedroom and dialed the direct number to Cat's room.

The phone only rang one time. "Cat speakin'!"

"You rang?" June replied in her best Lurch imitation.

"I did. Did y'all get my text?"

"I'm fine, thanks for askin'," June replied wryly in her normal voice. "The cats are fine, too, though they miss their parents."

"Message received, kittenface. I miss them, too, and miss my guy."

"Didn't you call 'im?"

"Yeah, but it went to voice mail. Not quite the same thing," Cat sighed.

"That's not unusual for transatlantic flights, chick," June replied reassuringly. "Don't want the plane to land in the drink! Besides, just hearin' your voice will do wonders for his morale."

"Hope so."

"No worries about the charger, it's already in my purse to bring to y'all."

"Y'all just wanted to rattle my chain!" Cat retorted. "Any idea how the petitions are bein' received?"

"Yeah, Miss Anna gave me a report when I stopped in to order some coffee to be shipped home," June explained. The clipboards had had to be refilled three times, and there had been a rush on the coffeehouse after the local newscasts.

"I think that's gonna be one of your most profitable hours!"

"Y'all are probably right about that," Cat observed. "Guess the voters are really showin' their support!"

"Listen, chick, y'all will probably get hissed off at me, but I called your father and told him you wee readmitted."

"Nah. He was probably relieved to hear it!" Cat laughed.

"Yeah, he was, but he was also concerned. Y'all are probably gonna get a little parental fussin' when he calls. I gave him the direct telephone number."

"Thanks, darlin'. Listen, much as I love the sound of yer voice, we can talk more in person later."

"Count on it, chick," June replied before returning the receiver to the cradle. She buried her nose in Ming's fur and sighed. The sleek Siamese had hopped onto the bed and curled up next to her during the conversation. He gazed unblinkingly at her with his sapphire eyes, one velvet gloved paw resting on her thigh.

"Miaow!" Ming cried, burying his nose in her hair and purring.

"Yeah, I'm gonna miss y'all too, baby," June murmured. She rubbed her fingers under the Siamese's chin, giving him 'skritches' that made him close his eyes in contentment.

"I worry about your catmom sometimes. This is such a radial difference from what all y'all had with Bill. It makes me wonder if she's havin' a mid – life crisis of some kind!"

"Nee – ow!" Ming protested. "Nyah!"

"You think not, eh? Then is she reverting to her more rebellious youth?" June stretched out on the bed, curling one arm around the cat's body.

Ming protested again, giving the feline equivalent of 'No!'. He curled up in a black and tan ball, covering his nose with his tail.

"Glad you're so unconcerned," June observed wryly. Despite Ming's vocal protest, June felt certain that her friend had reverted to her more rebellious and wild persona of their college years.

'That's the only thing that makes sense! I know she can cope with the craziness of the life, she did it before. But I can't understand any other reason that she'd willingly go back to the outlaw lifestyle! Once should've been enough for her.'

June set her phone's alarm to wake her at the appropriate hour so she could load the car and drop by the hospital to say goodbye to Cat.

Cat hung up her room phone and sat back against the pillows, anticipating what path the conversation in the nightly telephone call from her father might take.

The biggest problem was that her step – brothers and cousins often checked out the 'Charming Pawse' website and shared any news from it with her father. He didn't have internet access, and sometimes didn't feel up to talking long on the phone, so he relied on the family to keep him up to date.

'I doubt the brothers will say anything about this, and most of the cousins would keep it on the QT,' she assured herself. One cousin, the eldest of their generation, might be concerned enough to mention the press event to her father instead of confronting her directly. It wouldn't be out of malice, but it wouldn't make her father happy to find out she was treading in outlaw territory again.

The phone next to her bed rang. She glanced at the time display in the lower right hand corner of the television screen. 'A body could set their watch by him!' She smiled indulgently. "Cat speakin'!"

"Good evenin' to you," her father's deep voice intoned.

"And good afternoon to you. How are y'all?"

"That's what I was going to ask of you!" he replied.

"I'm OK, Daddy. This is a precaution. Kinda like when y'all get too dehydrated and hafta go in for re hydration!"

"I suppose," he observed. "'Course, you wouldn't have had to be readmitted if you'd stayed put."

"Couldn't, Daddy. I had to leave. People needed me!" She pleaded.

"I know, honey. Any news on the little one?"

"He's still missin', Daddy."

"Then I'll continue prayin' for him," he assured her. "You're sure you're all right?"

Now it was her turn to offer some reassurance. "Just sore in places I didn't know existed. Dr. Gallagher says the bones are knitting."

He didn't know about her eye injury. Neither she nor Alex felt he needed to know about that until or unless it became necessary.

"That's what June mentioned, but I'm glad to hear it from you."

They commiserated over the Cubs latest loss and anticipated the next day's game.

"I found an application for WGN for my phone, so now I can listen to the games!" she announced.

"That sounds totally Greek to me, but it sounds like good news," he joked.

"It is. How's Mom?"

"The same. She remembers me, but two minutes after you tell her something, she asks it about it again."

She learned her brother was still out on the road someplace in the continental US. Her father was feeling about the same as always. "I have all the pep of a tranquilized tortoise."

"I can sympathize with that right now!" Cat replied.

"I can imagine. Well, when you see Alex, be sure to give him a hug for us. Is he anywhere around?"

"No, Daddy. He's kinda workin' late."

"I hope he remembers to take care of the kitties. Have him give them a pat on the head for me, so they know they're appreciated."

"Will do. Love y'all, Daddy," she replied, smiling at his usual sign out.

"Love you too. Talk to you tomorrow."

She replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. If anyone had told him about the press event, it would've been the first topic of discussion. She could relax in the knowledge that he wouldn't be burdened with more worry about her well being than he could handle in his condition.

She wasn't sure whether her PTSS medicine or the needless worry about the call with her father was making her drowsy. Her eyelid suddenly felt too heavy to stay open.

---

'The one good thing about not goin' to Belfast is that I'm not leavin' my girl behind while she's injured!' Tig thought while he lay on his back on the lumpy CPD cell cot.

He stared unseeingly at the ceiling tiles above him as he mentally organized the work he needed to do to restore the Challenger. 'That's the other good thing! I can get that car finished before we complete the deal Jax made.'

The frame and body work had been farmed out to the body shop the garage worked with. Meanwhile, the tranny and motor were in his bay, waiting to be restored. 'Once they're torn down, I can see what parts are needed. I'm hopin' that the oily mess on the outside won't mean the internal parts are fucked,' he mused.

'Once the frame and body's back, I can get a detailer to take care of the interior, make it nice for her.' If he didn't get a lot of interruptions, he hoped to be able to finish the job before the club returned from Belfast with Abel.

As minutes turned into hours, Alex wasn't overly concerned that Lowen hadn't come to bail him out. He had every confidence in Lowen, and wasn't too worried when Unser told him his weapons bond might be revoked. He knew the chief was rattling his cage as payback for the high speed chase. 'Ally won't let that happen!'

What did worry him was the continued silence from Cat. He'd felt sure she'd call Unser and raise all kinds of unholy Hell when she received his message. 'They're prolly keepin' her under so she gains some strength. I let her get away with doin' too much that she shouldn't have,' He grinned ruefully at that thought. He knew it was impossible to keep his woman on a short leash, even if it was for her own good.

'Least with me not in Ireland, I can be the one keepin' an eye on her instead of Kozik!' Alex mentally and emotionally clung to the last time he'd seen her at the hospital earlier that day. Cat had still been sound asleep, but she looked less pale and worn than when he'd brought her to the ER. It was just the not knowing that was driving him nuts.

'It's not like June or Kozik can get a message to me while I'm here! It's not like a bed and breakfast!' Eglee had been decent about letting him leave a message for his wife after he'd used his one phone call on Lowen. The other officers weren't as willing to bend the rules where he was concerned. 'Looks like I'm gonna be here overnight!' He mused, shifting to make himself more comfortable.

'I'd rather not be at the house without Cat there. It's not the same. June can handle feedin' the furry ones tonight. Guess the 'kids' will feed 'em tomorrow.'

Thinking of food made him realize that several hours had passed since he'd eaten. His stomach rumbled in agreement. He had no idea what, if anything, CPD would serve for a meal. The promising jingle of keys brought him out of his reverie. 'Don't get your hopes up, might just be one of those fuckwads comin' to mess with ya,' he warned himself.

Despite the inner warning, part of him hoped he was getting released from CPD's care. The first thing he wanted to do when he got out was to go to the hospital to be with his wife. 'Guess the whole region knows about us now. Wonder if the civilians will treat her any different now that they know she's married to me instead of just my 'old lady'?'

The jingling grew louder as one of the officers walked into the lock up area. He started to sit up in preparation for walking out of the cell. "Up against the wall, asshole!" The cop growled as he turned the corner to Tig's cell, carrying a tray in both hands. "It's chowtime!"

Tig got up from the cot and stood on the far wall next to the urinal/sink. The cop kept his eyes trained on him as he unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. He placed the tray on the cot and backed out the door, never taking one eye off the outlaw the entire time. "Bon appetite!" The officer stated.

"Your mama!" Tig snapped as he sat next to the tray. He lifted the cover to find a cold bologna sandwich and a bag of chips. No drink. No dessert. "Not exactly my idea of fine dinin'!" Alex observed with a shrug. It was edible, and his stomach was protesting nosily.

He ate slowly, making the Spartan fare last as long as possible. He couldn't help wishing for a one of Cat's Snicker Bar Muffin or a few Snicker Cheesecake Squares. He finished his meal and drank from the sink, cupping his hands under the tepid, thin stream of water. The salt from the cheap brand of chips made him very thirsty.

He paced the length of the cell a few times for a exercise, swinging his arms around to let off some nervous energy. He considered some of the tai chi moves Cat had taught him, but decided against it. 'Cell's too damn small for that shit!' he grumbled. He paced a few more times, then settled back down on the bunk, crossing his hands under his head. He figured he might as well get comfortable; it was going to be a long night.

---

Kozik slipped out of the dorm area with his duffel bag slung on his back. It was weird seeing all the bikes parked along the railing knowing that their owners were half way to Belfast.

Piney had come out of the office to talk to him when he'd rolled into the lot. The large founding member waited patiently while Kozik backed his bike along the railing and shut it down. "Where ya been?" He rumbled.

"Out and about," Kozik replied. "Everybody get off a'right?"

Piney shook his head. "Not quite. Gem escaped from the hospital, apparently with Tara's help. Tig ran interference so she, Clay, and Jax could get to the plane."

"Any idea where Tiggie is now?"

Piney shrugged. "Maybe tryin' to hide out in Modesto. He's got the tow truck, so I hope he's not gonna be much longer with it."

"There's still the flatbed," Kozik pointed out.

"Hard to manuver in town," Piney huffed. "Tow truck's a lot easier to use on the repo's we've got lined up tomorrow."

"Sounds like it's gonna be a long day," Kozik remarked. "As for the club, with Tiggie AWOL, it's just you and me to ride herd on the prospects."

"Looks that way. Keep your cell charged in case you're needed. By the way, Cat's AWOL, haven't seen or heard from her all day."

Kozik filled in the founding member about Cat's return to the hospital. "Tiggie asked me to keep an eye on her," he added.

"Ain't that like askin' a monkey to guard your banana?"

"Real funny, Piney!" Kozik winced.

"Gotta admit, I'm surprised Tig would trust his most cherished possession with ya after the last time." Piney's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did ya hold your patchin' in over his head or somethin' to get him to agree?"

"Hell no, man! I thought about it, but that's not the way I wanna get my patch back," Kozik admitted.

Piney nodded sagely. "That's the first smart thing you've said in awhile. By the way, what's with you and the porn chick?"

"Ima? She's an OK girl, once ya take the time to get to know her for somethin' besides her pussy!" Kozik retorted.

Piney's eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned ferally. "So you're tappin' that already, eh?"

"Not gettin' sloppy seconds, man. I'm not into that. It's more than that I think."

"To each his own," Piney observed. "A word of caution, if you're gonna hook up with her, don't bring her around the clubhouse."

"Why the Hell not?"

"Tara and Lyla. Seeing Ima there, even if she's with you, will set them off. There's some bad blood between those women right now."

Kozik considered the older man's statement for a few moments then nodded reluctantly in agreement. "OK. I'll go along with it for now. But don't think I won't take it to the table for a vote!"

Piney nodded and walked back to the office, leaving Kozik to his own company. Piney was trying to make some semblance of order out of the chaos of paperwork on Gemma's desk. It hadn't been touched since she'd gone on the lam. The founding member was at a loss in what to do with all the piles of paper; forms, invoices, and the like. The founding member wasn't much of a paper pusher. He preferred to repair stubborn inanimate objects. ''This kind of shit is more up Chuckie's alley anyway! I'll put him to work in here tomorrow mornin'!' Piney decided.

Kozik seethed inwardly at the injustice being done to his girl. It was OK for the other 'old ladies' to hang around the clubhouse with their men, but his girl was forbidden? It wasn't fair! 'Maybe I'm jumpin' ahead a bit, but I like her, like how I feel when I'm with her. After the way she's been treated by Jax, why wouldn't she wanna be with someone like me who'll treat her well?'

He snorted and dismounted from his Harley, placing his helmet on the mirror. 'Once I get my patch, I'll damn well bring it up and demand she be given the same respect as the other women! Tara will just have to get over it. Her old man ain't the Prez yet!'

He stalked across the parking lot to the dorms. It didn't take long for him to pack. Some of his clothes were a little ripe, so he pushed them into a plastic bag and tied it shut to keep them from stinking up the few clean ones. 'Guess I'd better put laundry on my list of shit to do,' he mused, hefting the duffel to his shoulder.

The mechanics were busy in the garage and the prospects were apparently occupied in the clubhouse when Kozik stepped out of the dorm. No one would take up any more of his time with idle chit chat. He glanced at the sky, noting that the sun was setting.

'Guess I'll ride out to St. Thomas, check on Tig's woman, then go back to Ima's.' Kozik secured the duffel to the back of his bike, mounted, adjusted his helmet, and keyed the ignition. The Harley roared to life and he pulled away from the parking spot and on out to the street towards St. Thomas.

Visiting hours were still in effect when Kozik walked through the front entrance. After their phone conversation earlier, Tig had texted Cat's room number to him, so it wasn't necessary for him to ask for it at the desk. He sauntered to the elevator and nodded at the civilians waiting in the elevator area with him. Only a couple of people looked uncomfortable to be in his presence, the other civilians nodded cordially back at him. The ones that felt a bit nervous about him decided to take the stairs.

He walked onto the elevator with the other visitors, choosing to stand at the very back. "What floor?" asked the visitor standing in front of the buttons. Kozik gave the floor number and stood with his hands crossed in front of his crotch. A few minutes later, he got off the elevator and sauntered casually towards Cat's room door.

The door was closed and he could tell from the window that it was dark inside, save for the blue glow from the television screen. 'Nothin' usual there. I've heard she's light sensitive.'

None of the nurses were around to challenge him, so he opened the door and slipped inside the room. He waited in front of the door to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He could see the outline of Cat's body stretched out on the bed. She was lying on her side, facing him. Her glasses were off and he could see that her unbandaged eye was closed.

'Guess I could consider this checkin' on her, but I know Tig'll want more than a vague, 'I looked at her from the door'. He moved silently towards the bed.

Cat sensed rather than heard a presence in the room. The feeling that she wasn't alone woke her, but she pretended to be asleep. 'Too early for June to be back, and none of the 'kids' would be stoppin' in. Could be trouble comin' for a visit,' she warned herself. 'And that's exactly what this asshat is gonna get from me!'

The television gave off enough light that she could make out the patches, including the 'Sergeant at Arms' and 'Tacoma' patches on his cut. 'Kozik! I should've known he'd pull a stunt like this the minute Alex was gone!' Her hand clutched the knife tighter as Kozik leaned over the bed to gaze at her.

Cat slipped the knife out from under the pillow and swiftly brought it up to his Adam's apple. "What the fuck?" Kozik yelped. He could feel the point of the knife touching his throat. It made him swallow convulsively.

"That's what I was askin' myself!" Cat growled, keeping the knife against his throat as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

"Are y'all tryin' to give me more white hair?"

"Whaddya think ya just gave me?" He yelped, moving back a couple of steps from the knifepoint.

"Serves y'all right for tryin' to sneak up on me!" She retorted. "Is this your idea of watchin' out for my well bein'?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were doin' a'right, in case Tig called for an update," Kozik replied, keeping his hands spread at his sides.

"Obviously, I'm not at Death's door," she replied, lowering the knife to her side. "Guess they're keepin' me here to make sure I don't relapse or somethin'."

He was relieved that she'd lowered the knife, but didn't appreciate that she kept it close by.

"Mind if I sit?" He indicated the chair near the bed.

"Help yourself. I promise not to scalp y'all, unless you give me good reason!" Kozik sat gingerly on the chair as if he expected it to blow up under him. When it didn't explode, he sat back with a relieved sigh. "Saw the news on teevee today. Never expected Tiggie to be the kind to settle down; not after he lost our friend."

"That seems to be the general consensus," Cat snorted disgustedly.

'Damn! She's got a nice smile when she wants to share it! She always looks so angry when I'm around!' He cleared his throat and replied, "Well, it is a bit of an unusual role for Tig to take on."

"Why in Hell does is that? Why can't Tig enjoy that same comfort from someone who loves him like Opie had with Donna and Clay has with Gemma? Why is it such a shock that he's capable of havin' real feelin's for a woman himself?"

Kozik shook his head and held out his hands as if warding off another attack. He'd never thought of Tig needing or wanting that kind of relationship with a woman. 'He never showed that to the girls' mother, though he sure loves those kids of his! Shit, he's so far out in left field sometimes that he doesn't seem to be on the same planet!' He squirmed uncomfortably in the chair and replied, "I guess I never stopped to think about it. Fact is, it's prolly never occurred to anyone before!"

"Maybe all y'all should take the time to do so instead of makin' unwanted observations!" She growled.

Kozik considered how he felt about Ima, and his intention to make her his old lady. "I s'pose you're right about that," he observed quietly. "Mind if I ask a personal question?"

"You can ask; won't guarantee you'll get an answer," she replied. Her uninjured hand caressed the knife lying next to her.

"Fair enough," he coughed. "Why do ya dislike me? Is it because Tig doesn't trust me?"

Her eyebrow disappeared into her bangs. Of all the questions she'd fielded that day, she found his the most unusual. Was there a chance that Kozik was right? Had she allowed Alex's own feelings to influence her? 'No!' She protested inwardly. 'It was Kozik's attempt to drive a wedge between us that made me dislike him!'

"Never mind!" he scowled not realizing the reason for her silence. "I should've known you were just followin' your old man's lead!"

"Y'all have a really bad habit of openin' your mouth without puttin' your brain in gear, Herman!" Cat retorted. "I was actually givin' your inquiry some careful consideration"

"Oh, really?" There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah, really!" She snarled. "I'm not a sheep blindly followin' the herd. Y'all got on my bad side the first time we met with your own bad behavior!"

Kozik felt his face grow hot. "Oh, that," he murmured. 'With all the other shit goin' on, I completely forgot!'

"Yeah, that!" Cat mimicked. "Givin' me a collapsed lung didn't exactly endear y'all to me, either."

'That must be why Tig voted against me transferrin' in! He's not still carryin' that ancient grudge!' Kozik felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. "But wait a minute! Ya seemed OK while the Rogue River boys were showin' me the door!"

"Happened after y'all left. Wasn't a very comfortable experience, and not one I wanna repeat!"

"Is that why you're always armed when I'm around?"

"Yeah. There's an old sayin' that goes, 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. There ain't gonna be a third time'."

"I don't think we ever got past the first stage," Kozik observed dryly.

"I made an exception in your case," Cat admitted in a snarky tone of voice.

"Guess I deserve that. So why the fuck do ya think your old man asked me to watch out for ya?"

Cat shrugged and raised her legs back onto the mattress, covering them with the sheet and blanket. She relaxed against the pillow, but still held the knife in her uninjured hand. "There's only one thing that makes any sense," Cat observed.

"What's that?" "Tig knows the club needs more bodies and Clay really wants y'all to transfer."

"That can't happen unless it's a unanimous vote!" Kozik informed her.

"I'm well aware of that, Sherlock!" She glared at the blonde Tacoma SAA. 'Lord, help me to keep my temper with this dude, will ya? He really pushes my buttons!' She took a deep breath and added, "Maybe he's givin' y'all the proverbial second chance before the vote."

Kozik started to tell her there'd already been a vote and the outcome, but he took a moment to think over what she'd just said. 'Makes sense. First time I saw her, I caused injured her. Second time, didn't do her a lot of good, though I did save her from gettin' turned into Swiss cheese in the drive by!'

"I see the gears grindin' in your head, Kozik," Cat remarked. "You're on the right track. Tig knows y'all saved my life durin' the drive by. This might be his way of showin' gratitude for it. I suggest y'all don't fuck up this opportunity."

"Ya don't sound real happy about the idea!"

"Do y'all blame me?"

Kozik shrugged. "Guess not. So where do we go from here?"

"Guess we'll take it one day at a time. When Tig checks in with y'all, you can tell him you did your job and checked in on me."

Kozik's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you gonna tell him?"

"The same thing, and then he's gonna have some 'splain' to do!"

Kozik barked a laugh. "I'd love to hear that conversation!" "Sorry to disappoint y'all, sport. That's not on the program!" A bell chimed over the intercom system, announcing the end to visiting hours. "Guess that my cue to leave."

Cat nodded, sliding the knife back under her pillow. "Don't be gettin' any ideas of comin' back and tryin' to disarm me when I'm asleep," she warned.

"No way!" Kozik grinned. "I kinda like it when you're not threatenin' my balls!" He felt like he might've had a break through with Tig's woman.

She grinned wickedly at him. "Hate to admit it, but I kinda like not havin' to threaten 'em!"

Kozik's mouth nearly fell to the floor in surprise. 'Holy shit! She's actually teasin' me!' He carefully controlled his reaction and backed towards the door, just in case she changed her mind. "I'll be back through to check on ya tomorrow."

"Wow! Gives me a reason to live through the night!" She growled, unable to keep a small smile from lighting her face.

"Then I've done what Tig wanted me to!" He quipped, grabbing the door handle and slipping outside before she could utter a suitable scathing reply.

"Damn! If I'm not careful, that guy's gonna grow on me like kudzu in Georgia!" She murmured sleepily to herself. She settled comfortably under the covers and closed her eye. The television set was tuned to the local classifieds that broadcast the radio station she liked best.

She yawned and reached out to the bed controls, turning off the television just as the top of the hour news came on. 'Really not interested in hearin' about the press event again,' she thought. 'June'll be able to find her way from the hall light.'

---

The last student had left and the janitor was cleaning the gym for the night. Lumpy prepared the daily deposit and headed out the back to door to his car after issuing a few instructions to the maintenance worker. The atmosphere on the block depressed him. His gym was the lone island in a sea of empty buildings. The other business owners on the block had slowly given in to the increasing pressure to sell their properties.

'I hate dis! Vhy don't dese rich guys build outside the town line vhere dey belong?' He kept a wary eye on his surroundings as he approached his car, and checked it thoroughly before he got in. He'd not lived through the Holocaust in order to die from a car bomb or a sniper bullet. He wouldn't put it past the hired muscle to try to kill him in order for their deep pocketed clients to gain his property by default.

The boxing school was all that Lumpy had left to make life worth living. He'd endured too much horror in the old country as well as in his adopted homeland. Many of those memories were painful and haunted his sleep. 'As if it's bad enough I carry a constant reminder of the Holocaust on my arm! Vhy vould I vant to retire and give dem time to take over my life? Dey vill veigh me down like an anchor veights a boat in da vater! If I give up my livelihood, I might as vell give up my life!'

Not all of his memories were unpleasant. He had good memories of the old country, when he was a child named Ibrahim. Memories of his Mama, Papa, sisters and brothers on the farm; of learning all he needed to know of his faith in Hebrew school and becoming apprenticed to the bricklayer so that he could learn a trade.

He had been a strong young man and good with his fists. His government announced tryouts for boxers for the Olympics. Ibrahim's family encouraged him to go. He won a spot on the boxing team and went on to win a bronze medal.

The Third Reich had already reared its' ugly head in Europe. He'd read and heard many horrible stories that the Nazis were exterminating Jews of all ages. Young and old, rich and poor. Every time the Third Reich conquered a country, the Jewish men, women, and children were rounded up like cattle and stuffed into box cars at the train yards. They were forced to stand for days on end as the trains carried them to concentration camps miles from their homes. Families were separated from each other and sent to different camps. The military members of Hitler's regime were blind and deaf to the pleas of the old and the young to be allowed to stay together.

After the Olympics, Ibrahim and his family enjoyed a few years of peace before their own country was taken over. He had married the girl his parents had chosen for him through the town's Yente.

When the Nazis invaded their homeland, Ibrahim's wife as pregnant with their first child. He had taken steps to insure her safety should the unthinkable happen and had tried to get his parents and siblings to do the same.

One night in mid winter, Ibrahim and his wife awoke to the sounds of screams and breaking wood. They quickly dressed and ran to the barn on their property, where Ibrahim had created a hiding place.

"Stay with me!" His wife begged as he helped her into the hiding place.

"I can't," he replied in a whisper. "I have to cover the door with hay so you won't be found."

"They'll take you away!" She protested. "I may never see you again!"

"I know. Better that they take me than both of us. You have to escape so our child can live!" He insisted. "Better that our child not know me at all that than he or she never live!"

She gazed up at him, fear evident in her eyes. But she also knew that he was right. If their child lived, then Hitler wouldn't succeed in destroying their people.

"I'll find you," he promised. "When it's over, I'll find you and our child."

He closed the door and covered hay over the area, making it look as natural as possible. The sound of marching feet alerted him to the advent of the soldiers. He could tell they were getting close to his property. He scurried across the yard to his door, slipping inside just as the Nazi troops battered their way through the gate. He watched through the window as half of the unit spread out over his property while the other half approached his house.

His eyes widened with horror when two of the stormtroopers entered the barn. 'Please God! Let them blinded and rendered deaf so that they don't find her!'

No sooner had he breathed the short prayer then Nazi troops swarmed into the house. They had their guns drawn and shouting in German. Ibrahim didn't understand a word of German, but he knew how to interpret gestures. The stormtroopers made it very clear that they wanted him to get out of the house and to keep his hands where they could see them.

He quietly complied with their shouted orders. He knew he was leaving his house for the last time. He'd had just enough opportunity before the Nazis swarmed onto his property to stuff his bronze medal in his pocket. It and his wedding ring were the only keepsakes he allowed himself to carry.

Ibrahim managed to keep calm until he saw two stormtroopers force his wife out of the barn. They pulled her by her arms into the yard, ignoring her cries of pain and fear.

He managed to put his skills from the Olympics to good use, landing several hard punches that disarmed a couple of the Nazis. His defiance didn't last long. There were too many of them for him to fight off. One of them hit Ibrahim in the face with the butt end of a rifle, bringing a swift end to his offense. He fell to the ground, monetarily stunned by the blow.

His wife rushed to his side only to be forcibly pulled away by two of the armed thugs. They held her by her arms in cruel, hard grips that made her cry out in pain.

"Leave her alone!" Ibrahim shouted angrily. "She's done nothing to you!"

The troopers merely laughed evilly, their eyes filled with lust. One of them stepped in front of Ibrahim's wife and ripped the front of her dress, exposing her breasts. The Nazi laughed cruelly at her cries of terror, gazing lewdly at her.

It was obvious to Ibrahim that the trooper's co – horts were enjoying the scene. He gazed at his wife, trying with his eyes to communicate to her, giving her his strength the only way he could at the moment.

An officer stepped onto the property, causing the stormtroopers to stand straight and abandon their torment of Ibrahim's wife. She ran straight into his arms and helped him to his feet. He whispered soothing words to her as the Nazi officer approached them.

The Nazi officer took one look at the woman's torn dress and glared angrily at his men. "You are worse than pigs!" He spat.

The stormtroopers muttered to themselves, but none dared to answer back to the officer. A cold wind whipped through the yard, making Ibrahim's wife shudder from the cold air hitting her exposed body. She gathered the torn pieces of her dress in front of her in a vain effort to ward off the cold.

The officer glared at the storm trooper that had been roughly fondling the Jewess. "Go inside and get a blanket for her!" He barked.

The officer cast a hate filled glare at the commander before obeying the order. He entered the house and returned a few seconds later with the blanket that had covered the couple. It was still warm from their combined body heat.

The storm trooper made a move to place it around Ibrahim's wife. The officer barked, "Nien!" and held out his hands for the blanket. He accepted it from the storm trooper, then handed it to Ibrahim. "Cover your wife."

Ibrahim glared at the Nazis, then shook out the blanket and wrapped his wife in it. He rubbed her shoulders and upper arms in a comforting matter before stepping back to stand beside her, facing the officer.

"I'm General Koenig," the officer announced, surprising them by speaking their own language. "I apologize for my troops' lack of courtesy. They have been away from their women for many months."

"And that gives them the excuse to manhandle another man's wife?" Ibrahim growled.

"No, it does not," Koenig replied quietly.

"What is the meaning of breaking into my home like this?" Ibrahim continued.

"All Jews are being taken into protective custody," Koenig explained. "It is for your own well being that we do this. It is by order of Der Fuhrer."

Ibrahim frowned intently. The General was a smooth liar. He knew better, but he had to give the General credit for playing his role well. Ibrahim knew what lay ahead for them. It was what he'd tried to prevent. Incarceration, starvation, and being used as specimens for grotesque experiments was their immediate future. The Nazis would wear them down until the Jews were more than happy to die.

"You intend to separate us," Ibrahim stated.

Koenig nodded. "I will give you a few moments to say goodbye to each other."

"What of my unborn child?"

Koenig's voice held a reassuring note intended for the woman's benefit. The General turned his eyes to Ibrahim's wife, placing a gentle hand under her chin to force her to meet his gaze. "You will be treated kindly. A doctor will monitor your pregnancy. You need not be afraid."

Ibrahim glared at the General, but he didn't immediately contradict him. He continued to hold his wife close, trying in vain to think of some way that she could escape.

"Do not make the mistake of confusing my compassion for weakness," The General warned, as if he were reading Ibrahim's mind. "The troops will shoot to kill if you try to run away."

"In our best interests of course!" Ibrahim spat.

"Go into your home to say a private farewell. I will give you five minutes. If you are not both outside by then, I will not be responsible for the troopers' behavior!" He stepped away from the couple to stand before his unit.

Ibrahim never saw his wife or child after that night. During his long incarceration, he didn't know if they'd lived or died. Only his grim determination and the fact that he was still in top physical shape from training for the Olympics had enabled him to survive.

He watched his fellow Jews waste away and die around him during the long months that followed until the Allied Forces defeated the Third Reich and he was freed from the camp. He spent many months after that roaming his homeland, searching for his family.

He learned that his parents had died the night their town was occupied. One brother and his family had escaped, the others had been taken and died while imprisoned.

He eventually learned that his wife had been raped and beaten by the same storm trooper who had torn her dress in their yard. The General had left the unit unmonitored, so the storm trooper and his buddies had seized the opportunity. Ibrahim's wife wasn't put on the train with the other prisoners. The evil men had taken her back to their home and taken turns with her body on their marriage bed. When their lusts were satisfied, they had killed her. The catholic priest found her the following morning as his congregation was cleaning up the destruction performed by the Nazis.

'Ah. So much tragedy. Is it any vonder I don't vant da time to allow it free reign?' he mused while walking into the bank.

The business teller window was open, the teller waiting for him. She gave him a smile as he handed over the locked bag and deposit slip. He waited patiently while she counted the deposit and entered the transaction into her computer. He accepted the printed deposit slip from her and wished her a good day, just he did every work day.

He returned to the gym, stopping along the way to pick up some groceries at the 'Sunflower Market'. He roamed up and down the aisles, not really seeing the goods lining the shelves. He finally paused in front of the deli case, gazing at the kosher items in a separate case.

He liked the deli worker; they attended synagogue together and on occasion, met at 'Charming Pawse' for coffee and to play chess.

"What tickles your fancy today, Lumpy?" the deli worker inquired, leaning against the top of the display case.

"Ah, the usual I guess," Lumpy sighed tiredly.

"If you're not careful, you'll turn into a slice of liverwurst, my friend!"

"Eh, as if dat's da worst dat can happen?" Lumpy replied with a hint of his former good humor.

"Hoo, boy! That's a ripe one, old man!" The worker hooted, donning a pair of plastic gloves before removing the hunk of liverwurst from the case. "The usual number of slices?"

"Make 'em thick."

"Naturally!" The worker sliced several thick slices from the loaf, placing them on a piece of white butcher paper. "Anything else?"

"Nah."

"You sure? Bakery's got a nice shipment of fresh pumpernickel in today. I had 'em save a loaf for ya."

"Den I should head dat vay, shouldn't I?" Lumpy's eyes twinkled at the thought of fresh baked pumpernickel. He espied the processed kind, it was always rock hard and hurt his teeth.

"See ya tomorrow," the worker called out as Lumpy headed for the bakery.

Lumpy raised a hand and waved without turning back to face the worker. He just wanted to get his loaf of bread and get back to his gym. He inquired at the bakery counter about a package being held for him.

The worker didn't know him as well as the deli worker, so he wasn't surprised that the employee handed the package over without more than the usual common courtesies. Lumpy accepted his package and walked to the check out, inhaling the aroma through the bag. He decided a nice Bermuda onion would go well with the bread and meat, and found a perfect specimen in the produce section. He paid for his purchases and drove home.

Somehow, Lumpy had managed to keep his medal with him during his imprisonment. It was the only personal possession he brought with him when he relocated to America.

Unlike many of his fellow Jews, who sailed to New York City, Ibrahim booked passage across the Pacific and Los Angeles. The first few years were difficult for him. He didn't understand English and he couldn't get a job.

He sought out a synagogue and received help from the Rabbi and the congregation with a room and a meager job. They also helped him learn English.

One night, he participated in a 'take on all comers' boxing match. He won his bout with the favorite. An agent was in the audience, and was intrigued with Lumpy, as he called himself for the fight.

The agent struck up a conversation with him which resulted in an offer to manage his boxing career. Lumpy started his career in small venues, fought well, and won every match. The sports press began to acknowledge him, and he fought in larger venues. His popularity as a boxer grew, but with the increased coverage came brushes with the mafia which wanted to own him and control the outcome of his matches so they would win big on the betting.

Lumpy refused to co – operate with the mob, and they retaliated. It started with small things intended as warnings, which he ignored. He'd become a local boxing celebrity, married and had a family.

The mafia grew tired of his continued defiance. If they allowed Lumpy to continue to defy them, other sportsmen would follow his lead. The mob had to do something to make Lumpy fall in line as an example to all the sports local professional athletes.

When memories of the concentration camps didn't haunt his nightmares, the memory of what happened to his family did. Either way, he would wake up screaming and sweating from events he was as powerless to prevent as the day they occurred.

The night before his next scheduled bout, Lumpy had again refused again to yield to the mafia's wishes and the mob took their revenge. A fire broke out at both entrances to Lumpy's modest house in the early morning hours.

His child's rasping cough woke him from a sound sleep. His eyes began watering the minute he opened his eyes. He choked on smoke with his first breath. He immediately realized what was happening and dropped to the floor in order to escape the smoke and find some breathable air. There wasn't much there, but enough that he could crawl to his wife's side of the bed.

He pulled her off the bed onto the floor next to him. She coughed feebly as he patted her cheek to wake her. "I need your help, honey!" He called to her.

Beyond their bedroom door, their only child continued to cough and cry. "Crawl out of de bed und get on de floor! You'll be able to breathe!" He shouted to the child.

His wife looked up at him with fear in her watering eyes. "What's happening to us, darling?" His wife was an American born Jew and did not have the European accent like her husband.

"Our house is on fire," he replied. He was surprised that his voice was calm. He was shaking with fear inside. "Go to de bathroom, soak towels in vater. Get them as vet as you can!"

"What about you?"

"I'm going to look for an escape route. Ve may have to jump to safety!"

His wife nodded and began crawling to the bathroom, calling out assurances to their child.

As he passed the open bedroom door, Lumpy saw that his child was crouching under the bed, whimpering in fear. "Stay vhere you are! Mommy vill be back vith a vet cloth to help you breathe!"

"Don't leave me, Daddy!" His child cried piteously.

"I'll just be a few feet avay. I have to find us a vay out," he assured the child before crawling to the stairwell.

More smoke and heat met him before he managed to crawl half way down the stairs. He could see orange and yellow flames devouring the front room, moving steadily towards the stairwell. 'Dere'll be no vay ve can get out dis vay! The flames are moving too fast!'

He backed his way up to the head of the stairwell and crawled to his child's bedroom. His wife was already there, comforting their child in her arms. She'd wrapped a towel around her mouth and nose, leaving the top of her head exposed. She was just tying a knot in the towel around their child's head to secure it.

Lumpy answered her unspoken question with a slight shake of his head, accepting the wet towel she'd prepared for him. He coughed while he secured the towel over his own mouth and nose. The wet material immediately filtered the worst of the smoke, so that breathing was easier.

His wife and child both appeared frightened, but also gazed at him with absolute trust. "Ve're going to play a liddle game," he explained to his child while he removed the sheets from the bed. He started tearing one of the sheets into long, thin strips.

Immediately catching on to what he intended, his wife began tearing the other sheet. Lumpy began knotting the ends of each strip together, forming a long ribbon.

"Are we going to swing, Daddy?"

"Yes, in a vay," he replied. He crawled to the window and wound the makeshift rope around his hand. He brought his arm back as if he were going to deliver a knockout punch, sending his fist crashing through the window. Pieces of glass fell to the ground below. He used the material to safely remove the remaining shards of glass from the window frame.

Fresh air poured into the room, giving the small family more relief. Lumpy knew the added air would fuel the fire, consuming the downstairs area faster than before.

"Ve don't hev much time!" he shouted, gesturing for his child to approach him. He gathered his child in his arms for a quick, fierce hug. "I vant you to hold on tight to this. Don't let go until your feet touch the ground. When dey do, you get avay from the house to de sidevalk. Vait for Mommy dere. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy. Will you be coming?"

"As soon as you and Mommy are safe," he promised. He picked up his child and leaned out the window as far as he could.

His wife held the waistband of his pyjama bottoms so he wouldn't lose his balance as he slowly lowered his child to safety. T

hey could hear glass breaking in the rooms below them. Their child screamed up at them in terror at the sight of fire through the downstairs windows. "Mommy! Daddy! The house is on fire!"

"It's all right, baby! Hold on! You're almost on de ground!" Lumpy called out encouragingly.

A few anxious seconds later, their child's feet were flat on the ground and the material went limp. Lumpy and his wife watched their child run to the sidewalk and wave at them. "You next," Lumpy ordered, gesturing to his wife.

"That can't possibly hold me!" she protested. "

It vill. Hurry!"

"But how will you get out?"

"I'll tie the sheet to the radiator and slide down," he replied, anxious for her to get safe. They embraced, trying to put a lifetime of love into the gesture.

"Now, go!" he whispered, helping her over the windowsill.

"You don't have to lower me, I'll slide. It'll get you out quicker," she replied, taking the sheet from Lumpy and letting it drop to the ground. As he held tightly to it, she slid down the sheet in rapid time. As soon as she felt the ground under her feet, she released the sheet and ran to the sidewalk. "Hurry honey!" His wife called frantically.

Lumpy quickly tied the sheet to the radiator and tossed it out the window. He climbed onto the window sill, grabbed the sheet, and began sliding down it.

The sound of breaking glass and his wife's scream warned him the fire was attacking his makeshift rope. He could feel the heat under his bare feet, and turned so that his back was to the flames licking greedily at the walls.

"Mommy, is Daddy going to fall?" The child cried.

His wife knelt to the sidewalk and embraced the child, shielding the young eyes from the nightmarish view. "Daddy will be fine, honey." She didn't see a dark sedan parked across the street from them, nor could she hear its' engine idle over the roar of the fire. Her back was turned to the car as she watched her husband reach the safety of the ground just as the flames ate into the sheet. "Thank God!" She sighed.

A thunderclap exploded behind her and her eyes grew wide in surprise. It felt like something hot had just pierced her back. She held her child slightly away from her to see a blossoming spot of red on the front of her white gown. "Oh!" She sighed, before collapsing onto the ground.

Lumpy screamed in horror and ran to her side as the car's headlights blazed into life and the car pulled away from the curb. Their child stood in shocked silence, staring at the crumpled form on the ground. The child's knees buckled and the small body collapsed. A blossoming red spot stained the front of the child's nightclothes.

Lumpy fell to his knees beside his wife and child, tears rushing down his cheeks. Sirens sounded in the distance, but he knew help would arrive too late. His child's sightless eyes were turned to him while his wife's life was ebbing away from him.

"Honey! I'm sorry! I should've obeyed dose bastards!" Lumpy cried, holding his wife in his arms.

She smiled weakly at him. "N - no, my love. You - you did the r - right thing! I'm - p - proud of you!"

"Bah!" He swore something in the old language.

She smiled and raised a shaky hand to his caress his cheek. "R - remember what you told me after we talked about the horrors your experienced under Hitler?"

He stroked her cheek before placing his hand over hers, holding it to his own cheek. "Yes," he whispered, gazing lovingly into her eyes.

"T - tell me again."

He drew a deep breath. "I vill never allow another man to treat me as his property, to own me in any way, no matter vhat da cost." Tears formed in his eyes. "But da cost is too high dis time!"

"N - no!" She gasped. "You must not give up now! P - promise me you will not blame yourself for this! I - we will not die in vain!"

Before he could respond, she stiffened slightly in his arms. Her hand grew limp and began to slide from his cheek. If not for his hand lying over hers, her hand would have fallen to the ground.

Lumpy gathered his wife's body close to him, crying as if his world was ending. He scooped his child's body close to him as the sirens grew closer. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He murmured over and over.

The firefighters and police found him that way when their vehicles pulled to a stop. The firemen immediately went to work extinguishing the flames, though the house was going to be a total loss.

One of the police officers wrapped a blanket around Lumpy's shoulders. He was familiar with Lumpy, they'd shared many beers together at the local bar. Lumpy had shared his troubles with the mob with the officer, who'd tried to get some help for him. Unfortunately, there was little the police could do about potential threats.

'Well, now they've upped the ante. Maybe someone up the line will finally take action. It won't help Lumpy, but it might help the next guy.'

Another officer brought blankets to cover Lumpy's child and wife. An ambulance pulled up and stopped. The wailing siren went silent. Red and white flashing lights bathed the scene in an eerie glow.

Lumpy didn't move until the other cop tried to remove his wife from his arms. Then he fought like a wild man, screaming that no one was taking his family from him.

His policeman friend laid a comforting, firm hand on Lumpy's shoulder. "They're already gone, Lumpy. Let my partner cover your wife. You don't want the lookee lous to see her like this!"

His friend's quiet, authoritative voice cut through Lumpy's fear and anger. He stopped fighting and dropped his arms to his sides.

The other officer stretched Lumpy's wife body out on the ground and covered her with the sheet.

"You're right, old friend," Lumpy sighed. "It's better dat da neighbors not see her dis vay."

Neighbors had come out of their houses to stand silently on the other side of the street, watching the macabre tableau play out. Their hearts ached for the Feldsteins.

The women whispered to each other about helping Mr. Feldstein get through the next few days. The rabbi broke away from the group to walk across the street to comfort Lumpy. He stood next to the officer, his sad eyes taking in the destruction of all that Lumpy held dear. "This was the mafia's work," he stated softly to the cop.

"I know. I've been afraid something like this would happen. Lump was determined not to let them control his life."

"You can't blame him. Not after what he endured!" The rabbi protested.

"I'm not," the cop retorted. "He's paid the ultimate price. He may never be the same."

The rabbi placed his hands on Lumpy's shoulders. "Come, my friend. You can stay with my family the rest of the night. Let the professionals take care of things."

"I don't vant to leave dem!" Lumpy mourned.

"I know. But you must. Come." Lumpy allowed the officer and the rabbi to help him up. He gazed sadly at the sheets that covered his wife and child, then at the smouldering skeletal remains of his home. 'De cop is right. I von't be da same any more.'

His friends led him to the first police car just as another vehicle pulled up. The lettering stenciled on the side of the vehicle indicated it was a member of the press come to record the scene for posterity.

"Let's get him out of here!" the rabbi suggested, climbing into the car to sit beside his friend.

"You got it, rabbi!" The officer started the engine and threw the car into drive just as the reporter ran up to the passenger side. The reporter raised his camera, but the car sped away before he could get a shot of the grieving man in the back seat.

The rabbi's wife was waiting for them when the police car pulled up. The rabbi got out and waited for Lumpy to climb out of the passenger seat. The blanket was still wrapped around him. The rabbi's wife opened her arms and embraced Lumpy. She murmured words of comfort in the old language. He accepted her embrace with a tired sigh.

"Come, friend. I've made up the guest room for you. You'll sleep now. Later, you'll eat, and make plans for sitting shiva. We'll help you every step of the way."

"I don't vant to mess your fine linen vid my messy clothes!" Lumpy protested weakly.

"So you take a bath. The tub's already full for you. You can wear a set of my husband's night clothes to sleep!" She replied like a proper Yiddish mama.

Lumpy nodded and allowed her to lead him to the bathroom. "You relax. Take as long as you want. Shall I bring you something to drink?"

"I'll take care of that, Mother," the rabbi declared. "He needs something a little stronger than tea."

The rabbi ushered Lumpy into the bathroom and shut the door, giving the man some much needed privacy. He shooed his wife off to bed, fixed a stiff drink for his friend, and brought it back to the bathroom.

"Is dat you, rabbi?" Lumpy called softly.

"You were expecting someone else?" The rabbi replied, opening the door to find Lumpy lying in the steaming water with his head hanging over the back edge.

"I brought you something that will help you relax."

"I can't tank you enough for doing dis," Lumpy replied softly.

"'Tis little. Do you want me to wait for you?"

Lumpy shook his head. "I'll be fine. Go to your vife. Go to sleep. I know vhere de guest room is."

The rabbi gazed intently at Lumpy The man didn't look strong enough to lift a feather, much less get himself to bed! "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! I've disturbed you enough for one night."

"Drink your drink, it'll help you unwind," the rabbi suggested before exiting the bathroom.

Lumpy was relieved the rabbi didn't wish him a good night. He doubted anything in his life would be good again. He felt a little better after the bath. At least physically. Emotionally, he was numb. He lay on his back in the rabbi's guest room, staring at the ceiling, wishing he felt something for his loss. He sighed and drifted off to sleep, wishing it were all a bad dream, but knowing it was harsh reality.

---

Visiting hours had ended hours earlier, and the night shift staffed the wards. All the patient rooms were dark and their occupants asleep for the night. The meds had been given, vital readings checked and written down, and dressings covering healing wounds had been changed. The staff was busy at the nurses' station, updating patient records with the results of the 11pm readings. June knew it would be the perfect time for her to slip quietly down the corridor and into Cat's room.

Her bags were packed and secured in the Chrysler 300M's trunk. She'd spent some time with the felines, giving them skritches, some treats, and then some catnip infused mice she'd knitted for them to keep them busy when she left the house for the last time.

June had awoken from her nap shaking from a disturbing dream. She'd been comforted by the presence of the three cats curled up along her side as her breathing and her heartrate returned to normal from the dream.

'It's just all the upset going on around here that stirred up all the old memories!' she consoled herself as she washed and dressed, then packed her bags.

She thought of that dream as she crept down the hall towards Cat's room. She had no intention of mentioning the dream to her friend. Dreams were just jumbled memories that the brain dredged up when one was in REM sleep. That's all it was, not a portent of danger to come.

'Yeah, and if y'all believe that!' She mused, slipping through the door and leaning against it until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

She could hear her friend breathing, and frowned as she counted the respirations. 'She's sleepin' pretty deep. Hate to wake her just to say goodbye, yet she'd scalp me bald headed if I don't!'

She checked her watch, noting she still had a good hour before she had to leave for the airport. 'I'll sit with her for awhile, see if she wakes up on her own. If she doesn't, I'll wake her, say goodbye, and get out.'

She settled into the chair and relaxed. She'd not brought her knitting because she knew it's be too dark to work on it.

A few seconds later, Cat suddenly sat straight up in the bed and snarled "Get away from me, damn you or I swear to God I'll kill y'all this time!"

"Yeow! I'm just sittin' here!" June protested. Cat's hand slid to the controls attached to the bed, turning on the overhead light. She blinked owlishly at her friend, who gazed questioningly back at her. "Sorry, June. Bad dream."

"I gathered. You do realize y'all yelled loud enough to wake the dead?" "Then you'd better hide in the bathroom, just in case someone comes in to check on me," she replied tiredly, shaking her head to clear the sleep from her eyes.

June slipped into the dark bathroom just as one of the nurses walked into the room.

"Are you all right, Ms. Marshall? I heard you yell."

"Yeah. Just had a bad dream," she replied.

"Those can seem a little real at times, can't they?" The nurse replied sympathetically.

"Y'all aren't just whistlin' Dixie on that one!" Cat remarked.

The nurse walked over to check her pulse, noting that the patient's heart rate was a little faster than usual. "It must've been quite frightening. Do you want me to check with the doctor on call about a sedative?"

Cat shook her head. "I've been sleepin' so much that my subconscious is probably just in overdrive."

The nurse shrugged. "You do need rest, though."

"I'll be fine, but thanks for checkin' on me. Hope my caterwaulin' didn't scare the other patients."

"I just happened to be close by when I heard you," the nurse assured her before stepping back out into the hall.

June slipped back into the room and grinned at her friend. "Sometimes there's a disadvantage to having a voice that carries."

"Are y'all tryin' to call me a loud mouth?"

"I'd never even think of such a thing!" June declared innocently. "But if the shoe fits!"

"Screw y'all and the horse you rode in on!" Cat snorted, slipping her glasses on her face. "Did y'all remember the charger?"

"What's this look like to y'all?" June retorted, holding the charger cord and power plug. She plugged the power unit into the wall socket while Cat removed the iPhone from the tray table.

"Ah dammit to Hell! I don't believe my rotten luck!"

"What's wrong, chick?"

"Thought I turned this frackin' thing off, but I only locked it. Now the battery's damn near gone!" She held out the guilty contraption to her friend, who dubiously eyed the small little red ring in the very empty battery icon.

"That don't look good!"

"It's not. Bet it won't let me unlock it - shit! I knew it!" Cat had swiped the bar to unlock the phone to see if she had any messages. The iPhone had other ideas as the battery gave out and the screen went black.

"Doubt you're missin' anything, chick," June assured her. "Your father called tonight, didn't he?"

Cat nodded. "Usual time like clockwork. He called the room phone."

"There y'all go. Won't be any important calls for a few more hours. Speakin' of which, did y'all call Alex?"

"Yeah, but only got the voice mail," Cat replied in disappointment. "

Well, he'll appreciate hearin' y'all are awake at last once he hears it!" June assured her. She helped attach the charger cord to the phone, then set it on the dresser next to the bed for her. June settled into the chair and made herself comfortable before asking softly, "Do y'all wanna tell me about it?"

"If y'all don't mind," Cat replied, settling back against the pillows and raising the head of the bed so she could converse comfortably with her friend.

"I'm all ears." Cat remained quiet for a few moments to gather her thoughts. "It was about the last time 'Brownie' tried to beat the tar outta me."

June rolled her eyes. That had been an epic battle that sent Cat to the hospital and 'Cory' on the lam, though not before he pulled a few more stunts at her expense. "What in the Hell could've dredged that up?" "Had a visitor tonight. 'Herman'," Cat shrugged.

"The biker that looks a bit like an agin' surfer?"

Cat couldn't hide a smirk at June's description of the Tacoma SAA. "Well put. Seems my darling husband asked that asshat to check in on me!"

"What in the world was Alex thinkin' of - or with – to do that?" June fumed.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Cat had a good guess, but it wasn't something she was able to share with her friend. 'The less she knows, the better off she'll be.'

"Well, that would certainly be a good enough reason to have nightmares, but why about 'Brownie'? There's no resemblance between the two!"

"I dunno, kittenface. Haven't seen him in years."

June gazed intently at her friend. 'Maybe it's because of all the stress of the last few days related to that MC! It's a lot like what went on with 'Brownie', minus the physical abuse!' She decided not to voice her feelings, as it would just distress her friend. They'd already thoroughly discussed the issue days ago, so there was no sense in dredging up the conversation again.

"I know what y'all are thinkin'. Sure, there's a motorcycle club involved, but that's where the similarities end."

"Uh, huh. Y'all tryin' to convince me, or yourself?"

"Both of us. It was like watchin' the whole thing play out in front of me, like a movie. 'Cept I knew how this one ended."

"It still scared y'all," June observed.

Cat tried to pawn off a 'not me!' attitude, but June wasn't fooled. Had it not been for the intervention of the MC in Terre Haute, and along with Cat's own female riding group, they both knew she'd have wound up six feet under.

"Does Alex know about 'Brownie'?" June asked suddenly.

"Yeah, sure!" Cat replied quickly.

June's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How much does he know?"

"Enough."

Her friend's evasive reply told June volumes. She knew Cat had a habit of editing facts that she felt might be too intense or hurtful to innocent parties. Such as her artful spin on the true nature of Alex's work to her father. "So he doesn't know about the beatings? Or about the attempts on your life after you got out of the hospital?"

"Since he doesn't know that 'Brownie' put me in the hospital way back then, then no, he doesn't know everything," Cat admitted sheepishly.

June frowned and tapped her finger on the arm of the chair.

"Look, kittenface. It happened decades ago! What good will it do to tell Alex about it now? He hurts enough anytime I have flashbacks about it."

"Because we both know 'Brownie's' still out there, and still lookin' for y'all!"

"And this state's pretty big, as is the country. If he couldn't find me in Indianapolis, he's not gonna be much luckier here!" Cat insisted.

"Yeah, but y'all weren't exactly in the public eye there!" June countered. "Y'all put yourself in the spotlight, so that's bound to attract him."

Cat lifted her uninjured hand to June. "I'm not the same person I was decades ago, kittenface. He won't be able to manipulate my emotions and play my fears like a concert piano!"

"True, you are a lot stronger, and not as fearful. At least from what I've seen between you and Alex!"

"Oh, he tried to scare me away!" Cat laughed.

"Looks like he succeeded quite well," June retorted wryly.

A companionable silence fell between them for a bit. Cat relaxed against the pillows and forced herself to remain composed. She didn't like big goodbye scenes, and she was already missing her good friend.

"Y'all wanna know somethin' weird?" June asked softly, breaking the silence.

"What, hun?"

"I had a similar dream tonight about y'all and 'Brownie'. It was very vivid, and I woke up scared to death for y'all!"

Cat's eyebrow disappeared into her bangs. "Interestin' co - incidence. Y'all didn't get a visit from 'Herman', did you?"

June shook her head. "But I'm still concerned. You're walkin' such a fine line between worlds, chick. I don't wanna see y'all get lost to the dark side, Despite the sayin', the dark side doesn't have cookies!"

They grinned in amusement over the old joke. Someone somewhere had made a tee shirt with the saying 'Come over to the Dark Side. We have cookies!' stitched on it.

"I know it doesn't, kittenface. All I can do is just try to assure y'all this ain't the 80's all over again."

"Thank Gawd for that!"

"No shit! Hated the big hair and fashion of the time," Cat remarked. "I promise to keep my eye open, and to be careful. Is that good enough?"

"I guess it'll have to be," June sighed. "And on that note, I'm gonna have to take my leave of y'all." She stood up and leaned over the bed, enfolding Cat in a hug.

Cat returned the embrace, slipping her arm out of the sling to hold her friend in both arms. "I'm gonna miss havin' y'all around, kittenface."

"Ditto. Y'all try to behave and not give Alex too hard of a time. He might be an outlaw, but he's got a few redeeming qualities!"

Cat snorted in laughter. "Better not say that around Alex. He cherishes that 'badass' reputation of his."

"I know. Love y'all."

"Love y'all back. Be safe, and call when y'all land."

"You know I will. Sleep tight, and have a few wicked dreams about Alex! That's an order!"

Cat snuggled back into the bedclothes with a wistful sigh. "Those are orders I can live with!"

June slipped out the door as the nurse approached holding a cup of water and a pill cup in her hands. "Ms. Kruckle! I heard through the grapevine you were leaving us!"

June nodded. "I just stopped by to say 'goodbye' to Cat. She'd never forgive me for sneakin' off with just a phone call."

"I hope she talked to you about her bad dream. Her heart rate was quite accelerated. Dr. Kelley recommended a sedative so she's sleep the rest of the night."

"Good. I told her to have naughty dreams about her husband!" June smiled.

"Best kind!" The nurse giggled. "Have a safe trip, Ms. Kruckle!" The nurse disappeared into Cat's bedroom.

June couldn't help listening at the door. She grinned when she heard her friend complain, "Only in a hospital do they wake y'all up for a sleepin' pill!"

June cruised down the hall to the elevator, her brows knitted in deep thought. By the time she reached the parking lot, she'd come to a decision. Once safely locked in the car, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the pre pay number.

"This is Tig. Leave a name and number!"

"Hey, handsome! It's June. Y'all need to sit Cat down as soon as possible and get the full story from her about what 'Brownie' did to her. Not tryin' to rat her out, but husbands deserve full disclosure. If she won't tell y'all, call me and I'll fill y'all in. Be safe!"

She knew Cat wouldn't appreciate her sticking her oars into the murky waters and stirring it up. 'Cat's just gonna have to get over herself. 'Brownie's' still out there, and Alex needs to know just what kind of asshat he might have to deal with!'

---

Lumpy ate his meal while watching the local news. He smiled during the coverage of Cat's candidacy and her marriage to Tig.

'She's gud for him! I haven't seen him dis happy in many years. Now if my two boys vould just quit batting their heads together like stubborn old goats I could die a happy man!'

He washed out his dishes and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. He popped the top and returned to his recliner to read the paper. He started in on the full write up of the press event, but his thoughts soon drifted back to that long ago day when he'd buried his family and had to start all over a third time.

The following morning, Lumpy and the rabbi walked to his former home. It was mostly a pile of ash, the heat and flames had consumed it. Only the stove in the kitchen and the fireplace in the living room remained standing.

Police barricades had been erected around the house. Fire inspectors and detectives sifted through the ashes, looking for clues to determine the cause of the fire.

Lumpy's police officer friend saw the two walk up to the barricades. He drifted over to stand across the barricade from Lumpy. "It was definitely arson. The fire pattern shows an accelerant of some kind was poured in front of both doors. You were lucky to escape at all."

"Not dat it did any gud," Lumpy mused.

"Beats burning to death, friend!" The officer retorted. "That would've been much worse, and that's what the mob intended."

"Den vhy did dey shoot my wife und child?" Lumpy growled.

"To send a message. Making you and your family crispy critters would've sent a pretty hard message to the rest of the sport community not to cross them. You didn't let that happen. You acted like the hero you are and saved your family. The mob couldn't allow that."

"So you're saying they had assassins on stand by and watching this happen?" The rabbi gasped.

"Afraid so," the officer acknowledged. "When the child and wife managed to escape unscathed, they got scared and started shooting too soon. Apparently the first bullet went right through your wife and lodged in the child's heart," he turned to Lumpy with a sympathetic light in his eyes. "Don't know if this is any consolation. The coroner says the child died the second the bullet hit the heart."

Lumpy nodded and turned his face away from the officer and the rabbi. "But I heard two shots. If one killed them, vhat happened to de other?"

"We found it imbedded in the tree next to the house," the officer replied. "Guess they're better at shooting unmoving targets."

An uncomfortable silence fell on the threesome. The investigators appeared unconcerned that they had another audience. The curious and the press had been stopping in front of the barricades all morning. They continued sifting through the wreckage that had been the Feldstein home.

"Chief! I found somethin'!" One of the investigators called out. He held Lumpy's Olympic medal in his hand. The ribbon, though smoke stained and smudged, was otherwise intact.

"Well, I'll be damned!" The chief investigator took the medal from the investigator and examined it.

"Excuse me," the officer murmured to the rabbi and Lumpy, walking over to the investigative team. "That's Mr. Feldstein's medal. Unless it's needed as evidence, he might want it back."

The chief investigator looked the medal over, then handed it to the officer. "It's the least we can do at this point. Weird how the damn thing didn't get torched!"

"He brought that over from the old country," the officer explained, palming the medal in his hand. "He had it with him while he was held in the German concentration camps."

"Lucky charm," The chief investigator shrugged and returned to his work.

The officer walked back to the barricade and held out the medal to Lumpy. "This is all we found that's salvageable at this point," he explained, placing the medal in Lumpy's hand and closing his hand around it.

"Oye!" Lumpy sighed, cradling the medal to his chest.

"I'm really sorry, Lumpy," the officer stated.

"So am I. If you need me, you can contact me through the rabbi." Lumpy didn't wait for the cop to respond. He turned and shuffled down the street, away from the charred skeleton of his home. The rabbi shook the officer's hand and followed his friend back to his house.

The members of the synagogue had been busy. Offerings of food and extra clothing had been left for Lumpy, along with small monetary gifts to help him start over.

The rabbi disappeared into his study to call the funeral home that served the Jewish community. Funerals were always hard for the rabbi to plan, this one more than most. Due to the circumstances of their deaths, the practice of shemira, the guarding of the dead, had been delayed. That would begin the minute the funeral home picked up the bodies from the morgue.

Someone would be assigned to remain with the bodies of Lumpy's wife and child, reciting the Psalms, until the funeral could be held. Jewish tradition called for the bodies to be prepared and buried as quickly as possible following Death. Some Jews insisted on burial by sunset of the day their loved one died. The funeral director admitted what the rabbi already knew, this would not be possible in this case.

He'd already discussed that possibility with Lumpy over breakfast. Lumpy had stared at his untouched plate and told the rabbi, "Vhatever you tink is best. Ve vill need somevhere to sit shiva for them following de service."

"We will sit shiva here. This is your home for as long as you need it."

Lumpy had looked up at the rabbi with a sad, tired smile. "It von't be very long."

"I've already been in touch with the coroner's office," the funeral director advised the rabbi. "The bodies will be released tonight, so the Chevra Kaddisha (sacred burial society) can prepare them."

"That's good. I'll contact you with the time that Lumpy wants the service to begin."

"De sooner da better," Lumpy sighed when his friend asked his wishes.

"Then it is done," the rabbi replied.

The service later that day was short and simple. Two pine boxes, one smaller than the other, lay before the pulpit. Lumpy, wearing a black suit, knelt between the two boxes and tore the front of his shirt in the ritualistic expression of grief.

The rabbi gave a blessing which was repeated by the members of the synagogue who had come to support their friend. "Blessed are you, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, the true Judge."

Lumpy returned to his seat as several Psalms were read. The rabbi then gave a heartfelt eulogy of the departed Feldsteins - mother and child - that had given light to Lumpy's own life and to synagogue community. He closed with the 23rd Psalm, which the community repeated in unison.

The bodies were taken by hearse to the nearby cemetery. Lumpy walked behind the hearse, followed by the rabbi and his family. The other members of the synagogue fell into step behind them.

Lumpy's police officer friend brought up the rear of the possession. He had requested the assistance of his squad to control traffic along the short distance from the synagogue to the cemetery. He was proud that his officers had accepted his request. A squad car or motorcycle sat at each intersection with lights flashing, blocking the way until the small procession had passed.

The service at the cemetery was brief. Lumpy's police officer friend and other members of the synagogue carried the coffins from the hearse. They stopped seven times in the process so the rabbi could recite the 91st Psalm.

The two pine boxes were lowered into the holes dug into the earth. Lumpy took a handful of the soft dirt and sprinkled it over his wife's coffin, then his child's. As the mourners followed his example, the rabbi read the 91st Psalm again, followed by the El Maleh Rachamim.

After they sprinkled a handful of dirt over the coffins, the mourners formed double lines leading away from the coffins. Before the rabbi could recite the traditional condolence, Lumpy took another two handfuls of dirt and sprinkled them over his family's final resting place. Then he walked down the double line of mourners as they murmured " May God comfort you among all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem."

The rabbi and Lumpy walked back to the rabbi's home, where Lumpy would sit shiva for his family. He'd already decided that morning that he would only observe the ritual the one day, and had told his friend of his decision that morning over breakfast.

"Are you sure, my friend?" The rabbi inquired, setting his coffee cup back onto the table.

"Vhether I sit shiva one day or seven days, it doesn't change enny ting. Dey are still dead. Vhy draw it out enny longer dan necessary?"

The rabbi could see the logic in his friend's comment. He also had a feeling there was more to the boxer's sad decision than he was giving away.

"You don't intend to stay here much longer, do you?"

"Dat's right," Lumpy acknowledged. "Not just here in your home, but dis town."

"You know you're welcome here as long as you need to stay."

"I know, friend. But dere's nothing left for me here. I started over once before, I vill do so again."

"Do you have any idea where you'll go?" The rabbi asked.

"North. Someplace small. A town vhere people can live without fear."

The rabbi shook his head. "I don't know that such a place exists, except in Heaven."

"Den I make my own Heaven on Earth."

Lumpy followed the interstate north until he came to the California Redwood country. Something about the name 'Charming' tickled his fancy, so he took the exit from the interstate and followed the highway into town. He immediately liked what he saw there, and decided to settle down. He wouldn't fight professionally, but he could teach the sport. He found a suitable storefront on Liberty Street that had a studio apartment in the back. He bought the building, and started to make his own Heaven on Earth.

---

Chief Unser frowned angrily at the phone in his hand. He couldn't believe the county prosecutor was putting all kinds of obstacles in the way of revoking Trager's bail!

"He led three different arms of law enforcement on a high speed chase through the desert!"

"Were any other motorists in danger? Did he resist arrest?"

Unser looked down at the incident reports on his desk. "No," he replied.

"Speeding isn't a reason for bail revocation," the prosecutor explained patiently.

"He aided and abetted with the escape of a murder suspect from the hospital jail wing!"

"Oh, really? I don't see that in my copy of the report!" The DA challenged. "According to witnesses on the scene, Gemma Morrow slugged Dr. Tara Knowles, took her ID and key card, and escaped through the service entry. No mention of anyone named Trager present on the jail ward floor!"

Unser sighed in frustration. "How about he pulled a gun on me in the hospital parking lot?"

"Any witnesses that'll vouch for that?"

"No," Unser replied gloomily. 'The other three would side with Trager.'

"Sorry, Chief. There's just nothing serious enough here to warrant revoking his bail," the prosecutor explained. "If it's any consolation, the speeding ticket might warrant a license suspension."

"Thanks for nothing!" Unser growled, slamming the receiver onto the cradle. He glared across his office at nothing in particular. 'Dammit, just once, I'd like to feel like a normal cop when dealing with SAMCRO!'

He was surprised that the club's attorney hadn't put in an appearance to pay Trager's bond. Nor had he heard from a hissing mad Cat about her husband's arrest.

'Her husband. Imagine that!' Unser sighed. 'Man, that one knocked me for a loop. Tig Trager, an old married man!' Unser grinned in spite of his annoyance. 'I never thought I'd live to see the day!'

Office Eglee knocked at the doorjamb, holding some slips in her hand.

"Those the tickets on Trager?"

"Yes sir. Reckless driving, excessive speed, refusing to yield to law enforcement – I wrote one for everything that applied!"

"Good girl!"

"Any luck with the prosecutor?"

Unser shook his head. "Nothing that would stick. The prosecutor doesn't want to stick his neck out during primary season."

Eglee shook her head in disgust before settling in front of the computer. She accessed a program, and entered Trager's driver's license number into the DMV site, along with the traffic violations CPD had cited him for violating. Once she entered the last ticket and hit 'submit'. an information message popped up on the screen.

"Hey, Chief!" She called across the bullpen. "You've gotta see this!"

Unser ambled over to her desk to peer over her shoulder at the display. "Well, I'll be damned! Chalk up one for the good guys!"

"I wasn't aware that CHP and Sanwa were going to cite him for those same violations," Eglee remarked.

"I didn't think it was possible for multiple agencies to cite a person for the same violation!" Unser admitted.

"Guess it doesn't matter to the DMV," Eglee observed, indicating the display. "He won't be too happy when he finds out about it."

"That's his problem!" Unser retorted, but he softened the remark with a broad grin. He couldn't wait to personally deliver the news to Trager.

---

Everything go OK?" Ima inquired as Kozik stepped through the door. "I was starting to get worried."

"No worries, baby. Had to touch base with Piney. Appears Tig didn't make the trip; he's in CPD lockup. Gemma escaped the hospital and he had to run interference."

Ima's eyes widened at the news. That was the first she'd heard of Gemma escaping custody!

"Likely the Feds didn't want it known that they'd managed to lose a 'dangerous prisoner'," Kozik explained, using his fingers to make 'air quotes'. "Otherwise, the high speed chase Tig led the cops on and Gem's escape woulda been all over the teevee."

"That makes sense," Ima observed, turning back to the stove to remove the plates she had warming inside the oven. "Dinner's ready if you're hungry."

"You bet!" Kozik started towards the table. "Smells great!"

Ima put her hand out to halt his progress. "Would you do me a favor and hang up your cut? There's a few empty hangers in the coat closet."

"No problem, baby!" Kozik grinned and shrugged out of his cut, hanging it in the closet. "Just make myself at home, eh?"

"Why not?" Ima replied casually, placing an ice cold beer bottle on a coaster on the table for him.

"You'll get no complaints outta me!" He sat down at the table and took an appreciative pull from the cold bottle. "What's for dinner?"

"Just steak and vegetables. I figured you liked your meat a little juicy," she replied, placing a plate with a sizzling grilled sirloin and a large baked potato in front of him. A small plate of mixed salad greens was placed next to the main course.

"Ya call this simple?" He grinned, catching her around the waist with one arm.

"Well, sure. I wasn't able to do my usual with such short notice," she smiled, returning his embrace before she slipped into her own chair.

"A man can get used to bein' treated like this!"

Ima blushed and picked up her fork, spearing some of her own salad. "So how was Cat?"

"Feisty," Kozik replied around a mouthful of steak. He almost hated to stop chewing to talk. The steak was just the way he liked it. She'd used various seasonings on it that enhanced the flavor of the meat. "You see, Tig and I have been on the outs for awhile."

"So she's siding with him?"

Kozik took a pull from the beer and shook his head. "Nah. She has her own issues with me. In fact, every time she sees me, she pulls a weapon on me."

"That's not very nice!" Ima felt a surge of protective outrage for him.

"If you only consider I saved her from gettin' perforated during the drive – by, you'd be on the right track. Can't really blame her for bein' that way around me; we got off to a bad start the first time we met."

"I remember that drive – by," Ima shuddered. "A couple of the other girls and myself were just coming out of Dubrowski's when the bullets came out of that van!"

"Yeah. We were outside, saw that kid and Chuckie get shot. Then there was Cat standin' there gettin' ready to fire her own gun at the front tires. Didn't even think about it, just tackled her to safety." Kozik then told her all about his first meeting with Tig's old lady.

"Well, you obviously intended to cause trouble," Ima mused when he'd ended the story. "But it's not like you deliberately set out to cause her more physical injury!"

"Tell that to her and the Rogue River charter. They were guardin' her and hustled me out the door faster than shit through a goose!"

Ima shook her head, thinking of the not so warm reception she received from Lyla earlier that day. She felt an empathy for the blonde biker. Besides the bad blood between her and Lyla, there was also the continuing animosity that existed between her and Tara. "What is it about becoming an old lady that brings out the worst in women around here?"

"I dunno, baby. Just hope it doesn't affect you!"

"Why should it?" Ima was surprised by his comment.

Kozik wanted to hit his head against the table. He hadn't intended to blurt it out in that manner, but now that the issue was playing the 800 pound gorilla in the room, he had no choice but to play the hand he'd dealt himself.

"Yup, you heard me right, baby. I'd like you to be my old lady," he stated. "I know we've not been together very long, and barely know each other. But I like ya a lot, and we're good together. Not just in bed, which is great, don't get me wrong about that. We had a great time today and I'd really like it if you'd give me a chance." The words came tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

'It's as if he's afraid if he pauses for breath that I'll turn him down!' Ima mused, feeling a warm, rosy glow rise from the pit of her stomach to spread over her entire body. 'He's so sweet, and he really seems to want to be with me, instead of use me!' The thought of how Jax had used her to drive the doctor away from him still hurt, but not as much as it had. Kozik had seen to that. He'd treated her better than anyone had treated her in a long time. She also liked the blonde biker. He, too, was pretty experienced in the bedroom. There was also the fact that he'd taken her someplace special to him that made her feel special. She'd definitely enjoyed their excursion.

Kozik tried not to fidget as he waited for Ima's response. The question was out in front of them. Now it was up to her. Ima would either accept him, or send him out the door. He knew he'd sprung quite a surprise on her, and was trying to give her time to process it. The waiting was killing him.

"I'm flattered that you think so much of me," Ima replied quietly. "I really like you, but we've only spent one day together. Being your old lady is a pretty serious step to take."

Kozik tried not to let his hurt show. It wasn't a complete refusal, but it wasn't the acceptance he was hoping for. 'Why would she ask me to bring my shit here if she doesn't want to be my old lady?"

"I know what you're thinking, honey," Ima added before he could draw breath to ask the question. "That's why I asked you to bring your things here. What better way for us to get to know each other better than to live together for awhile? Let's see how it works out, then we can to the next step." She looked down at her plate for a moment, then looked back up at his face, meeting his eyes with a gentle smile. "You can start with putting your clothes away after dinner. I already cleared a drawer and some space in the closet for you."

"You did?" He nearly squeaked with relief.

"Where did you think you were going to keep your clothes? In your duffel?" She laughed merrily.

"Hadn't really given it a thought," he admitted. "There's somethin' ya need to know about bein' with me."

"Other than you're not one of the Trager's favorite people?"

"Yeah, there's that. Plus I'm not patched into SAMCRO yet. With the bad feelin's between you and the VP's old lady -"

Ima nodded sagely. She'd expected something like that. "It wouldn't be a good idea for me to show up at the clubhouse for awhile," she finished for him.

"It's only until I patch in, baby," he assured her.

"That's OK," she replied, rising from her chair and oozing into his lap. "I don't mind not seeing the inside of the clubhouse for awhile."

'The longer you're away from Jax, the better I like it!' Kozik felt his body respond to her closeness. His arms went around her as she snuggled against him.

"I wanted to ask you something, guess now's as good a time as any to bring it up," Ima announced.

"What's that, baby?"

"Does my work bother you?"

"What? That you're a porn star? Hell no! I'm gonna get to come home every night to what other men only get to see on their video screens!" Kozik grinned, giving her a long, passionate kiss.

"Really? Opie's always giving Lyla shit about it," Ima inquired when he released her from the lip lock.

"I ain't Opie, or Jax, or any of those other bozos. If it makes ya happy, go ahead and be a porn star. If it makes ya happy to pursue your studies, go ahead with it. I've got your back."

"This almost seems too good to be true," she sighed contentedly. "Listen, baby, only a weak asshat lets himself get intimidated by his woman's work. Ya got things ya wanna do, I just hope you'll let me share 'em with ya." He leered at her slyly and added, "Besides, I'm pretty secure when it comes to my manliness. Besides, I'm gettin' the best of both worlds, brains and beauty in one helluva neat package!"

"Crudely put, but I appreciate the compliment," she purred softly.

He stood up and carried her into the bedroom. "Lemme show ya just how appreciative I can be, woman!"

---

Cat fought the bed despite the sedative that Dr. Kelley ordered for her. Usually such drugs took immediate effect, but the nightmare had her too keyed up to allow it to work on her.

She finally gave up fighting the bed and turned on the television, surfing channels until she found one of the local stations rerunning their 11pm newscast.

She was relatively satisfied with the station's handling of her intention to run for office. She'd expected they'd go for the dramatic scene of Alex cutting her bonds, and she wasn't disappointed. The next story drew her full attention. "An interesting follow up to this story occurred early this afternoon. The candidate's husband, Alexander Trager, was the subject of a high speed chase by Charming PD, the San Joaquin Sheriff's Department, and California Highway Patrol."

She frowned at the unmistakable Teller - Morrow truck racing along the desert highway. The shot was taken from the station's helicopter camera. The tow truck had a pretty substantial lead on the pursuing police cars.

"At the height of the pursuit, the tow truck slowed and stopped, and the driver exited the vehicle as the patrol cars stopped behind him." The next scene showed Alex's arrest. Cat winced to see him handcuffed and placed in the back of one of the squad cars.

"Why the fuck isn't he with the club?" The story gave no reason for the high speed chase, only that no other motorists were harmed during the chase, which reached speeds of up to 100 miles per hour.

It didn't make sense to her that her husband had been leading police on a high speed chase in the tow truck when he was supposed to be in Stockton. 'He didn't mention having to do any repos before they left. Besides, he would've been wearin' his garage work shirt, not a black jacket!'

Cat turned down the volume on the television and reached for her cell phone. The battery had charged to 20%, which was enough to allow her to check her messages. The phone application had a small red '2' in the corner, indicating that there were either two missed calls, or one missed call and one message.

She tapped the icon which revealed one recent call and one voice message. She tapped the voice mail icon and saw that the message originated from 'Charming PD'. She tapped on it and then the speaker button. "Hey, baby. I'm not with the club," she relaxed as Alex's voice crooned at her. "Don't worry. I'm OK. Just tied up with the local cops. Do not check yourself outta the hospital to come get me. Already called Lowen. Shit, by the time ya hear this, I'll prolly be with ya. Just wanted to assure ya I'm OK in case ya wake up before I'm outta here. Behave yourself, baby. See ya when I see ya."

She looked at the time stamp on the message and then at the current time. Several hours had passed and he hadn't called to tell her he'd bonded out. 'If he had, he'd have come right over! Somethin's not right.'

She waged an inward battle over what she should do. Part of her wanted to go after him, but she had no way to get there. Her car was at the house, June was gone, and she didn't have enough cash for a cab. She decided to call CPD.

'At least I can find out how much the bond is!' She used her room phone to make the call, obtaining the number from her contacts list. While she waited, she returned the cell to the charger.

"Charming PD, how may I direct your call?"

"Um, Cat Marshall here. Any chance the Chief's around?"

"He's at home, Ms. Marshall. Do you want his voice mail?"

"No thanks. Can y'all tell me if bond's been set for Alexander Trager yet?"

"Hold on, I'll check," the dispatcher replied. Cat waited in the void of hold, which was mercifully devoid of any kind of music. She didn't think she could tolerate 'elevator music' or some radio station that wasn't quite correctly tuned.

"Thanks for holding, Ms. Marshall," the dispatcher stated when she returned to the line. "No bail at this time."

"Why not? He's been there long enough!"

"I really don't know Ms. Marshall. All I can tell you is that bond won't be set until morning."

"OK. You're just the messenger, I won't shoot y'all," she sighed.

"I'm glad you understand," the dispatcher replied before ending the call.

Something definitely wasn't right, and she had a very bad feeling about it. As much as she hated disturbing the club's lawyer so early in the morning, she knew she wouldn't rest until she'd talked to Ally Lowen.

"Hello?" inquired a sleepy female voice in Cat's ear.

"Cat here, Ally. I'm callin' ya'll from St. Thomas, they admitted me yesterday. That's part of why I'm callin' so damn early." She explained in gruff apology.

"What's wrong, Cat?" Ally was wide awake after hearing her client's announcement. She squinted at the digital clock across the room and winced at the display. "Are you all right?" Ally knew Cat Marshall wouldn't call her so early in the morning without a damn good reason.

"Only thing wrong with me is simple exhaustion. Tig's in trouble, he's in the lockup at CPD."

"What?!" Cat winced at the lawyer's screech. Obviously it was news to her.

"It was on the news this evenin', I just saw it on the early AM rerun." She briefed the lawyer on the story, adding, "Tig left a message for me hours ago, forbiddin' me to check myself outta here to bail him out."

"I'm sure he had good reason," Ally chortled. "

I gave him a big scare that led to me bein' admitted so I kinda owe it to him to do what he requested. I called CPD and the dispatcher said bond hasn't been set yet."

Ally couldn't help smiling at the way her client artfully avoided using the word 'obey'. "I'm really sorry, Cat. This is the first I've known of it. What time did Tig call you?"

When Cat read off the time stamp on her voice mail, Ally was appalled to realize that she was still at the office dealing with the demanding client. 'I've got a bad feeling about this! He must've said something to upset the receptionist and she withheld the message out of revenge!' She knew there was no way Tig would waste his only phone call to leave a message for his still comatose wife. Not if he wanted out as soon as possible.

Cat grew nervous by the lawyer's prolonged silence. "You didn't go back to sleep on me, did y'all?"

"No, hun. I was thinking," Ally assured her.

"That's what I've been doin' since I got off the phone with CPD. Could Unser have tried to have Tig's bond on the MCC thing revoked?"

"I don't know, kitten. It's definitely worth lookin' into later."

"Later?" Cat snorted angrily. "What do you mean, later? Why wait?"

"It is pretty early in the morning, Cat," Ally explained.

"All the more reason not to let any grass grow under our feet!"

Ally ran an agitated hand through her hair. She had to be in court in a few hours, and really needed to get some rest. Yet, he couldn't let her clients down, now when they faithfully paid a retainer for situations like this. "You're right, Cat. I'll make a few calls and get back with you. I'd like to know why bail hasn't been set for what amounts to moving violations!"

"So would I," Cat replied sourly, giving the lawyer the room phone number. "I'd suggest that y'all call my cell phone. I can call out, but don't think they allow inbound calls after 10pm."

"OK. Wait for me to call back," Lowen admonished her before disconnecting the call.

Cat hung up with sigh of frustration. She was wide awake now, a rush of adrenaline had flushed the sedative from her system. "Like I'm gonna go anywhere! At least, at the moment!"

She glanced at the closet, then looked away, shaking her head against the plot that popped into her head. 'Alex wanted me to stay here. I should give him a break this one time. But I can't just lay here while he's in jail. Not if I can do somethin' about it!'

She crawled out of bed, opened the closet, and began changing into her street clothes. Her cell phone went off, alerting her that Ally was calling. The ring tone she'd selected for Rossen's office and his colleagues was the 'Perry Mason' theme. S

he rushed across the room to pick up the receiver. "Cat here!" she announced breathlessly.

"It's Ally. I called Unser. Kinda wish I hadn't."

"Why? Was he grumpier than an old bear?"

"Let's say that I was better off not knowing why the club's bail revocation hearing was put off as long as it was," the lawyer explained. "Not that I can blame Jax, but if it ever gets out that he left the jurisdiction. . ."

"Which is why I got so upset over Tig's arrest."

"Sure it's not because it'll reflect badly on you?" Lowen asked.

"Fuck that. If people are gonna judge me by Tig's behavior, then it's their loss!" Cat snorted. "I'm gobsmacked that you'd ask such an asinine thing."

"It's my job, kitten. Already knew the answer, but it helps hearing the words come out of your mouth."

"Any idea why Tig was in the tow truck leadin' three different cop shops on a chase?"

"Sure do," Ally replied. "Gemma escaped from the hospital by faking a bad reaction to her heart meds. She reportedly slugged Tara Knowles, and escaped using her pass key."

"Holy shit! What was she thinkin'?"

"It gets better. Unser caught up with her at the service entrance. Tig, Clay, and Jax were there with her. Tig pulled a gun on Unser –"

"What?" For once, Cat's voice resembled a girl's. She struggled to bring it back to normal and fired questions at the lawyer. "Why did he pull a gun? Was he hurt? Was Wayne?" She closed her eyes and moaned. 'I swear to God, Alex, if you got yourself hurt, or hurt Wayne by doin' somethin' foolish, I'll kick your ass between y'all's ears!'

"Relax, hun," Ally replied soothingly. "Tig's unhurt, and so is Unser." She was pleased that the businesswoman had thought as much of the police chief's well being as her husband's.

"Thank God!" Cat slumped onto the edge of the bed. "Why on earth did Gem escape? And what were Tig and the others doin' waitin' for her?"

"From what I got from Unser - who wasn't very pleased about getting woke up for this by the way - Gemma decided she wanted to go to Belfast with the club. She'd given her statement to the US Attorney about the Galt shootings. I can only guess the idea of going to jail under the original deal didn't sit well with her."

"Can't blame her for that!" Cat growled.

"Yeah, but it means I've got my work cut out for me," Lowen grumbled. "Anyway, Unser told me the men weren't too pleased that she was going along."

"So that means they hadn't planned to meet up with her in advance!" Cat's heart leapt with joy to know her spouse hadn't been involved in such a hare – brained scheme. "So what charges are Tig facin'?"

"Unser was trying to talk the county prosecutor into revoking his bail on the weapons charges," Ally reported.

"Oye vay!"

"That's why bail hasn't been determined yet. But the key word is tried, darlin'. As it is, he's got quite a few moving violations on his record. Bail's gonna be a bit on the high side because of it."

"I can afford it," Cat replied grimly. "I can get the money available to y'all in the mornin'."

"That's going to be a problem, Cat," Ally sighed. "I have to be in court in the morning and can't bail him out."

"I'll take care of it – somehow!" she replied. "Thanks for your help, Ally."

"All a part of the friendly service!" the lawyer laughed, ending the call. Cat's thoughts were in a whirl over Alex's circumstances. 'I suppose I could ask one of the 'kids' to come and take me to CPD, but that's really not fair to them. They need their rest to deal with the curiosity seekers that'll be prowlin' around tomorrow. Chuckie can't drive with only one finger on each hand, and there's no way in Hell I'm askin' Kozik for a favor. The other guys at the clubhouse would rat me out to Alex in a red hot second!'

She sighed and resumed dressing. "There's nothin' else I can do. Gonna have to go on shanksmare to CPD. The minute I find out how much bail will be, someone can get me to the bank and I can get Alex out."

She grabbed her few belongings, attached the knife to her boot and stuffed the iPhone and charger in a pocket. Her wallet slid comfortably into her back pocket. 'Guess I've got everything," she thought, moving slowly to the door. She opened it just enough to peek into the corridor.

The bright lights of the nurses' station stood out like a neon oasis in the corridor. There wasn't a single soul in the hallway. "I'll just slip to the stairwell and take 'em down instead of waitin' for the elevator," she decided. "Less chance of gettin' caught.'

She limped as quietly as possible down the hall to the door marked 'Stairs'. She pushed the door open and stepped onto the landing. "Thank God this isn't a real large hospital!" She breathed to herself, inching down each step and clinging to the banister with her good hand.

She paused on the last landing to take a breather before descending the last flight to the lobby. The stairwell door opened to allow a white coated figure access to the steps. The figure trotted up the stairwell and stopped when he came even with her.

"Well, well! It's a little too early for visitin' hours, or a little too late, dependin' on your point of view," the figure grinned.

"Yeah, um, sorry about that," Cat replied nervously. "Guess I kinda lost track of time. Stress of visitin', you see."

The doctor, whose lab coat read "Dr. Kelley", stared at her. He crossed his arms over his chest as he gave her a professional once over. "I believe you're a patient here, not a visitor who stayed too long."

"Oh, don't let the sling fool y'all," she quipped nervously. "That's an old injury." "Uh, huh. Along with the bruises, I gather," Dr. Kelley replied. "I'm a doctor, not a fool, young woman, and I'm not lettin' you check out AMA!" He gently grabbed her good arm and led her down the stairs to the lobby.

"Where the Hell are y'all takin' me?"

"To the elevator, and then back to your room," Dr. Kelley explained. "Dr. Symthe would have my hide if you skipped out on him again!"

They walked across the darkened lobby from the stairway door to the elevator bay. Dr. Kelley pressed the 'up' button, then turned and gazed inquiringly at her. "I would've thought you'd still be asleep. I ordered a pretty powerful sedative for you."

"I had gastric bypass a few years ago," she shrugged. "Anything I swallow doesn't absorb like normal folks, so the pill didn't last long."

"Then I know how to fix that!" Dr. Kelley smiled, gesturing for her to precede him into the elevator car.

She tried giving the doctor 'the look', but it didn't faze him a bit.

"I can stand here all night, little lady. I'm not sure you can, though your spirit is probably willing."

"You don't understand, doctor. I have to take care of something important!"

"At this time of night?" His craggy eyebrows lifted in suspicion. The elevator alarm went off, indicating that the door had been held open too long. He reached in and pulled out the emergency stop button, stilling the alarm. "There's nothing open!"

"By the time I get where I'm goin', it will be," she explained. "I've gotta walk there to take care of business."

"The only business you're taking care of is getting back to your room and in bed!" Dr. Kelley growled at her. He firmly grasped her good arm and steered her into the elevator car. He released the emergency stop button and pushed the button for her floor.

"Dammit! Why can't y'all just leave me alone to do my own thing?" She growled.

"Because your own thing is going to be the death of you!" He retorted.

Cat stared at him in disbelief, so he enumerated her symptoms. "You're shaking with fatigue just from the little bit of walking you've done. You're sweating profusely, and you're white as a sheet. Your heart rate is elevated as well, could tell that by the pulse in your wrist. How in the Hell you expect to get anywhere else tonight is beyond me!"

"I'd get there, eventually," she stated.

"It's a moot point now," Dr. Kelley stated, shepherding her out of the elevator car when it stopped on her floor. He still had his hand on her arm and propelled her toward the nurses' station.

"What have we here, doctor?" The duty RN inquired, glancing from Cat to the doctor and back again.

"A runaway patient," he replied, giving a verbal order for an injectible sedative. "I think we need to restrain her so she won't run off again," he added.

"Like Hell you will!" Cat snarled.

"The Hell we won't!" Dr. Kelley thundered in response. "You are weak, woman. You cannot just take off from here this time. I don't care if God himself has called you, you're not leaving this hospital tonight!" He propelled her back to her room and handed her the hospital gown she'd left on the bed. "Go change your clothes," he tersely ordered.

"What gives y'all the authority to treat me like this?" Cat asked frostily. "You're not Dr. Gallagher, nor the co – ordinating physician. I'm perfectly able to decide what's best for me!"

"No, you're not. I can easily have you put in the psych ward for evaluation if I have to."

"I doubt that!" Cat hissed. She knew from past experience with her mother the obstacles that existed in getting an Emergency Detention granted.

"Oh, you do, do you? All I have to do is put in the record that you were delusional and a danger to yourself and have you transferred to the psych ward faster than you can change your clothes!" He assured her.

Cat stared at him in disbelief. If that happened, Alex would be sitting in jail until someone else got him out, and that wasn't something she could tolerate. Nor did she relish the idea of being in the psych ward.

"Guess all y'all MD's don't hafta jump through the hoops we laypeople do," she muttered angrily.

Dr. Kelley sat on the side of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What the Hell is so all fired important that you'd traspe all over Charming in the dead of night?"

"Apparently y'all didn't see the news this evening. My husband's in jail right now; I need to bail him out," she sighed.

"Oh, that. Yeah, I saw the report about the chase. Suppose you're going to tell me there was a good reason for it, too."

"Well, there was," she replied with a small grin. 'Only I can't tell y'all,' she thought to herself.

"Not good enough to risk your own health and well being. I think your husband would be the first person to tell you that. Now, are you going to change clothes or do I have to get the nurse in here to do it?"

"Man, y'all really play hardball, don't you?" She observed wryly. "That's definitely not slow pitch!"

"No, it's not. I always play hardball when it comes to my patient's best interests. And contrary to your earlier observation, I am the on duty physician tonight, so that makes me your doctor, whether you like it or not. I'd rather not have to resort to drastic measures to keep you from making yourself worse, but if I have to, I will!"

"So much for 'first do no harm'," she muttered as she stepped into the bathroom.

"I'd be doing more harm if I let you get away with this!" The doctor snapped.

Cat slammed the door closed, huffing with annoyance. She considered staying holed up in the bathroom and waiting for the doctor to get called away on another case. Though it took every ounce of energy she didn't have left, she took her time washing the sweat from her body before changing into the gown. She gathered her street clothes together and stepped out of the bathroom to find Dr. Kelley still waiting for her.

The nurse had joined him. She held a syringe in one hand and the restraints in the other. Cat non chalantly put her street clothes in the closet then limped to the bed. "Tell y'all what," she stated as she climbed onto the mattress. "I'll make a deal with y'all. The nurse shoots me full of that sleep juice in the needle, and I'll agree to stay here the rest of the night if all y'all don't strap me down."

Dr. Kelley shook his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just don't trust that you won't try another escape if you wake up earlier than anticipated."

He took one of the restraints and gestured to the nurse to take the other. "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Please don't fight me on this; I'd hate to have to call security in here to hold you down."

Cat sighed and gave in. The last thing she wanted was to have security involved. She was resigned to the idea that she'd have to find an alternative way to get Alex bonded out of jail.

She watched as the doctor gently encased her injured arm in the restraint then secured it to the side of the bed. The nurse did the same thing with her good arm. "Aren't all y'all afraid I'll use my feet or teeth to get outta these things?" She joked grimly. "I'm hoping you'll be too asleep to try using your mouth, and doubt you're up to trying to use your feet," Dr. Kelley stated. "Plus, I'm going to have the nurses check on you every fifteen minutes to make sure you're behaving."

'So much for that!' Cat groaned inwardly. The restrains weren't painful, and she could easily reach the bed controls. The nurse agreed to move the room phone a little closer to the bed so she could reach it if it rang. Her iPhone was returned to the charger and placed next to the room phone.

The inner part of the restraints were lined with a fleece that wouldn't chafe her wrists. Having both arms tied to the side of the bed meant she'd have to sleep on her back, and she also didn't have the reassurance of her belt knife under the pillow. She shrugged inwardly, accepting the fact as a necessary evil. 'It's not like anyone's going to try anything this time!'

The nurse prepared to inject the syringe contents into Cat's arm. "You're going to feel a little stick," she warned, then jabbed the needle into her upper arm.

"Didn't feel a thing," Cat murmured while the nurse stuck a band aid over the small puncture. The nurse tossed the used syringe in the container marked for such items, then pulled the sheet and blanket over the patient. "You'll feel sleepy before long," the nurse admonished.

"Can you do me a favor, please?" Cat implored the nurse.

"That depends," she replied guardedly.

"Would you have Dr. Knowles see me as soon as she can when she comes in?"

"She probably won't be in until after 8, I'll be off duty by then. But I'll leave a note with the day shift, so they can have her paged."

"I appreciate that," Cat replied gratefully, allowing herself to relax and not fight the medication. "Don't worry, doc. I'm not gonna rat y'all out. I'm hopin' she can help me with that little problem we discussed earlier."

"I'm not worried whether you report me or not, Ms. Trager," Dr. Kelley intoned. "Any doctor would do what I did; that husband of yours better appreciate your loyalty."

"He does," she murmured sleepily. The words were slightly slurred and the eyelid of her good eye was growing heavier by the second.

"He'd better," Dr. Kelley growled amiably.

---

Alex punched his pillow in frustration. The feathers inside had gone flat again, waking him out of a semi sound sleep. 'I hate feather pillows!' he grumbled to himself, trying to get the cursed thing back into some semblance of fullness. He hated having to constantly readjust it so he could rest. Not that the pillow would make any difference to his comfort level. The hard, lumpy mattress wasn't helping his temper, and only heightened his wish to be back home where he belonged.

Home. He savoured what that meant to him and laughed at himself for all the time he wasted earlier in the year fighting what he'd been feeling for Cat. He'd been torn between wanting a woman to share his life in the way Clay had Gem and remaining unattached. The first was filled with uncertainty. He knew that whoever he let into his life and heart had to be strong. Not strong in the physical sense, but in spirit. There weren't a lot of women who were like that. The second was what he was comfortable with. He could remain on the outside of Clay and Gemma's relationship, looking in and wishing for the same to one day be his. He'd finally taken the plunge and had never looked back.

He found the woman he wanted and needed in Cat. 'She's never tried to change me, never made me feel like a shitheel for my choices. Damn, but I miss that broad!' He missed the warmth of his woman's body pressed against him, making him feel alive and vital. He even missed the comforting sound of the purring fur balls that shared their home!

'Never thought I'd get close to an animal again, but those damn felines have gotten to me!'

He huffed inwardly while he worked on the pillow until it succumbed to his will. He placed it back under his head and gazed at the dark ceiling. The lights had been turned off in the holding area at 10PM. The only illumination came from the far hallway and the cell block window that allowed moonlight to stream into the hall outside his cell. Tig didn't mind the dark. He was used to it, like a friend. What he minded was being separated from his woman when it wasn't necessary.

'I wish I knew how she's doin',' he sighed. The last time he'd seen his wife was after she'd been admitted from the emergency room. She'd still been sound asleep. June had assured him it was just plain exhaustion, but he was still worried. The original plan had been for Drs. Gallagher and Smythe to admit her for tests on the injuries she sustained in the wreck. Cat had changed the game by falling into a very deep sleep for the second time in as many days. He knew there was trouble when his lascivious fondling didn't rouse her. The one comfort he did enjoy in the CPD cell was knowing that his woman was safe and being cared for at the hospital.

'If those asshats would just let me have my cellphone, I could check on her myself, see if she's come out of it yet,' he complained. 'Unser knows the majority of the club is on the way to Belfast. It's not like I'm gonna call to arrange a fuckin' jail break!' Unfortunately, his cell phone and other personal possessions were locked up in the CPD property room. Everything would stay there until he bonded out.

'Whenever in the Hell that's gonna happen! Can't understand why the lawyer hasn't been here already.' Several hours had passed since he'd left the message with Lowen's secretary, and there'd been no word from the lady lawyer. He tried not to let that bother him, as lawyers tended to keep stranger hours than the club. Still, he'd hoped to have been released long ago so he could go to the hospital to be with his wife, not waste time cooling his jets in lock up.

He could rationalize why Cat hadn't called the station to raise Hell. 'She's prolly still sleepin'. Best thing for her the way she's been runnin' all out,' he thought guiltily, as much of her efforts had been on his and the club's behalf. 'I've got a bad feelin' about the lawyer's no show!'

The sound of approaching footsteps alerted him that someone was coming to the holding area. 'Doubt it's anyone comin' to let ya out, prolly another overnight guest,' he admonished himself.

He eased his upper body in a reclining position, supporting himself on his elbows. A female dispatcher dressed in civilian garb stepped in front of his cell door. The moonlight from the cell block window bathed her in a silvery light, making the middle - aged woman almost beautiful. The image made Tig grin slyly at her. "This is a lot better sight than the guy that brought dinner!"

The dispatcher blushed at his obvious appreciation of her feminine assets. "I just got off duty, Trager!"

"And you're tellin' me that because?" He growled.

"I thought you might appreciate knowing that your wife called here a couple of hours ago. I talked to her for a bit."

Tig remained silent, though his heart leapt with relief to know that Cat was awake at last. 'She got my message a'right. Prolly gave this gal a hard time knowin' my girl!' "

She wasn't very happy about you being in lock up," the dispatcher added, confirming Tig's thoughts. "She asked if bond had been set and was pretty ticked when she found out it wasn't."

Another useful piece of intel. It bothered him that his bond hadn't been set, and it didn't explain why Lowen hadn't been to the station. He suppressed a relieved grin while allowing his eyebrows to furrow in a heavy scowl. "What makes you think I'd find any of this of interest?"

The dispatcher rolled her eyes to the Heavens. "Come off it Trager! You might be a badass biker, but you can't fool me! We all know Eglee let you call your wife earlier at your request."

Tig winced at the dispatcher's comment. He'd forgotten all about their 'coming out' show for the press!

"Yeah, tough guy. The newspaper gave a pretty good run down about you two, and also mentioned she was back in the hospital. Seems to me any worthwhile husband would want to know his wife was OK if he couldn't be with her."

"So you've told me the good news," Tig shrugged. "Good for ya. Any idea when my bail will be set?"

"At this point, don't expect it to happen until morning," the dispatcher remarked. "So you'll just have to put up with our hospitality a little while longer!"

"Shit! This place is like a four – star hotel compared to some of the dumps I've been in!"

"Don't let the chief hear you call this place a dump! He's kinda partial to the joint!"

'No shit!' Tig thought to himself. The dispatcher continued standing in front of his cell door, looking at Tig as if he were some kind of exotic animal on display.

"What?" He growled.

"Just wanted to mention that I hope your wife wins the primary. We need someone like her on the council."

"I'll be sure to pass that along if I ever get outta here to see her," he snarked.

The dispatcher had the grace to blush at his remark. "I'm sorry about that, really. I know Chief Unser was on the phone for quite awhile with the county prosecutor after you were brought in, but he didn't look happy after he got done with the call."

'She might be tryin' to be helpful, or she might be baitin' me to see how I'll react,' he mused. 'Obviously Unser was tryin' to get my bail revoked. Could that be why Lowen hasn't been around?' He continued to stare at her, waiting to see how she'd react.

The dispatcher squirmed under his gaze. He was no longer eyeballing her feminine assets with an appreciative leer. His expression was completely unreadable and the atmosphere had become decidedly cooler between them.

"Listen, Trager. This might not be a good career move for me, but the way things are looking, I might not have a career to worry about."

"What the fuck are ya talkin' about?"

The dispatcher looked back at the hallway beyond the holding area, then turned back to face him. "Word is that Jacob Hale's pushing for the Sanwa Sheriff to take over law enforcement in Charming," she explained. "He's been making noise about that ever since the Deputy Chief was killed."

Tig's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. 'Then why did that fucktard make such a public display of bein' chummy with Unser outside Floyd's?'

"Unser thinks that Hale will protect us when he becomes mayor," the dispatcher added, as if he'd spoken aloud. "I've got a friend who works for Hale Properties and overheard him talking to one of his cronies on the council that the sooner CPD gives way to Sanwa the better."

"So?" Tig barked. "Nothin' I can do about it from here!"

"You won't be here forever. It's well known you're Clay Morrow's right hand man. You tell Clay, he'll see to it that the council keeps CPD intact."

'She's got a point about that,' Tig observed to himself. "Then why the fuck hasn't my bail been set? Where the Hell's my lawyer?"

"The dispatcher shrugged. "If I knew that, I wouldn't have to work for a living!"

Tig glared at her. "That's not very helpful, lady."

"Sorry," she blushed. "You did call your lawyer I suppose?"

"Do I look stupid?"

The dispatcher wisely decided to let that comment pass unchallenged. "The powers that be are just rattling your chain, Trager."

"I thought you said the prosecutor refused to revoke the bond!"

"That won't keep Unser from taking his time about contacting the bail personnel. Likely he's going to let you sit here overnight. Come morning, the bail will be set and your attorney advised."

'Sounds like him,' Tig thought angrily. 'It doesn't matter to me, but it's a real shitty thing to do to Cat!' He lay back with a snort and glared up at the ceiling. "Anything else?" He snapped, sensing that the dispatcher was still standing in front of his cell door.

"Nothing. Good night." The dispatcher replied quietly, slipping away from the holding area.

Tig grinned sardonically as he listened to the dispatcher's rapidly retreating footsteps. His smile changed to a thoughtful frown over the intel the dispatcher had shared.

He hoped his wife wouldn't use the news that bail hadn't been set as a reason to slip away from the hospital. 'Nah. She's too weak to walk this far, and I took out most of the cash from her wallet so she wouldn't be tempted to call a cab. Knew better than to not leave her a few bucks!' He assured himself. 'She's the least of my worries at the moment!'

He deliberately turned his thoughts back to the restoration of the Challenger. Now that the club was facing the possibility that SJSD would be in charge of local law enforcement, getting the car road ready was more of a priority. He only had the time that the club was in Belfast to finish the work. One of the things he wanted to add to the car was a false bottom in the trunk, like she'd used in her bootlegging days.

'I need to remember to mention that to Chibs. That car might come in handy for the occasional gun run. I don't like the idea of Cat doin' those runs, but I also know she won't ever loan that car out to anyone!' He couldn't help wishing he could be present when Cat received the vehicle. It wouldn't entirely make up for his upcoming lengthy absence, but it might make that a little easier for her to endure.

---

Tara Knowles couldn't help grinning when she walked into Cat's room. It wasn't every day she got to see someone as stubborn and willful as her in restraints. 'Wonder what she did to have Kelley order her to be tied down?'

"Don't see what's so funny!" Cat growled in greeting.

"Just thinking how Tig would react to seeing you bound to the bed," the doctor laughed.

"You know how he'd react! He'd have some completely inappropriate sexual innuendo to make!"

"Too bad he's with the others in Belfast," Tara snickered. "He'd love this scene!" She held up her camera phone and snapped a picture just before Cat's pillow flew across the room at her.

"Tig's not with the others!" Cat announced.

"Are you kidding me?" The smile dissolved from Tara's face. "What happened?"

"Where've you been since Gem escaped?" Cat replied. "Sleeping. I had a rough day yesterday."

Cat recalled that Lowen had told her Gemma had overpowered Tara to make her escape. "I know Gemma gets a little hot under the collar once in a while, but there's no way she did that to y'all!" She pointed at the dark bruise on the side of Tara's face.

"You're right. She didn't. Margaret hit me. She covered for me with the Feds, too."

Cat's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's she gonna want in return?"

"Nothing," Tara replied.

"Yeah, right!"

"Honest! I think hearing that Stahl had called off the Amber Alert on Abel won her over," Tara assured her patient. "I did help Gem escape, then went home and crashed."

"So you didn't watch any newscasts," Cat observed.

"Nope. So are you going to fill me in or keep me in suspense?"

"Tig led CPD, Sanwa sheriff, and CHiPS on a high speed chase towards Modesto yesterday. They caught him and he spent the night in CPD lock up," Cat explained.

Tara sat down hard in the chair next to the patient. "Maybe you'd better start at the top," she whispered. Cat shared her conversations with Ally Lowen a few hours earlier, and let her listen to Tig's message. "Ally can't post his bond; she has to be in court. It should be set by now!" She added worriedly.

"So that must be why Dr. Kelley ordered you to be restrained. You tried to sneak out of here last night, didn't you?"

"I wasn't sneaking, just walking quietly away from here," Cat protested. "At least that was the intent. I forgot you doctors prefer to take stairs instead of elevators!"

"Just shows that some things you see on television are true!" Tara grinned. She sobered instantly to add, "What were you going to do, walk to CPD?"

Cat nodded. "Someone whose name shall remain unmentioned helped himself to all but five bucks outta my wallet! No car, June's gone home, and no way other than beatin' feet to the cop shop!"

"That wouldn't have done you any good," Tara frowned.

"It's not like i could've called any of the old lady support group to give me a ride that late!" Cat huffed. "Lyla has the kids to consider, and y'all sure as Hell wouldn't have co - operated!"

"True!" Tara acknowledged. "Is that why you left such an urgent message for me?"

Cat nodded. "I know y'all are busier than a one legged man in an ass kickin' contest, but I need a favor."

"Hey, you've helped me in the past, I owe you one," the doctor replied.

"Would y'all go to CPD and bail Tig out? Y'all won't have to pay for it yourself, I called the bank the minute it opened and the money'll be waitin' on y'all, in cash."

Tara had a clear calendar for the morning, as she'd had an early emergency surgery. That was why she was still in scrubs, having just come to Cat's room from the operating room. 'I agreed to help Chuckie at the garage this morning, and I have to do follow ups on the neo natal cases later today. But if Tig hadn't run interference for Jax and his family, they wouldn't have gotten away,'

"Look, if it's too much of a bother, then let me outta these restraints, and I'll have one of my employees pick me up and take care of it!" Cat huffed, kicking the covers off her legs.

"Don't get so agitated, Cat!" Tara admonished as she moved to the bed and put a hand on the agitated woman's shoulder. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it!"

"You sure were takin' a long time to say so!" She retorted hotly.

Tara glared a moment at the other woman, but realized if she were in the same situation, she'd probably feel the same emotions Cat was displaying. "I was just mentally cataloging my day, Cat. I'll be happy to do this for you, so relax! I'll even release you from the restraints, since you don't have a reason to try to run off."

"Thanks, doc!" Cat sighed with relief. "I really need to run to the bathroom, and the staff seems to be a little busy at the moment." She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Tara staring bemusedly after her.