Jack's POV. 1989, while Murdoc's dating Mac in Mission City.

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...nobody took me seriously at first, not even Mac, who grinned at me and asked if I'd had one too many the night previous. But I never did drive drunk- well, I try not to, that's a bit too much of a risk for a taxi driver. And that Tuesday night I hadn't been drinking at all, even.

So it wasn't until Thursday morning, when I couldn't take Sergeant Olson's wife up to Duluth to visit her cousins, that the police started taking an interest in the matter. Lackadasically, but it was something.

"I mean, I've gone over this town with a fine tooth comb now, it's definitely missing! Who'd even want to steal my beat-up wreck of a cab, anyway?"

"Could be gang activity," Olson said, with considerable gusto. For a born Missionary and a cop, he shows the occasional sign of a lively imagination. "Grabbing a vehicle for a quick getaway- well, I'll send out an all-points bulletin, but no promises. It's probably miles away by now."

"Really. Is that all I get for my hard-earned taxpayer money?"

"Oh, hush up," he said dismissively. "You've had the benefit of the doubt more than once around here, you can extend us the same courtesy."

He had a point there, but I wasn't gonna admit as much. "Great. Just great. And what am I supposed to do for an income now, huh?"

"You have car insurance, don't you? Pony up the cash for a copy of the police report when I'm done filling one, and you can send it along."

Mac must have noticed me twitching; he guided me out of the office double-quick. "You do have insurance, yes?"

"Uh...the basic one, I paid the premiums up to date. I think."

Maybe I'd act up less around him, if he wasn't so cute when he groans. "See, on the jeep- back when I had the jeep, anyway, I made a point of having comprehensive insurance so it'd be covered if anybody stole it. But that's only if you paid the extra fee for it."

He pays a lot of attention to the technical side of things, ever since that screwed-up patent business landed him in hot water; while I like calling spades shovels. "What you're saying is, I'm up a creek."

"Basically. But it's not that bad, is it? You still have your plane."

"For which I still haven't logged enough flight hours to be flying commercial yet. And those suckers drain away money like anything."

"Then sell it again. You can buy yourself the best cab ever made for that much money."

See, I knew that theatre guy has been messing with his head but bad, I've had enough time to kinda get to terms with that. But I hadn't realised just how clueless the relationship's been making him. It's like he can't see a situation from anybody else's point of view anymore.

"Angus MacGyver! Flying's always been my dream, you know that! No way am I selling her, no way am I dipping into my plane fund. I'd starve first."

"Mmm. Well, you've picked the right season for it, Lent started yesterday."

"...oh, cripes, this is the worst time of year for me. Nobody ever wants to go anywhere or buy anything until Easter."

"Then you haven't missed out on much, have you? Maybe your cab will show up again before it's all over."

"I think you've appropriated my boundless optimism. Give it back."

"Figure out how first. I won't try to stop you."

"Are you two going to stand in my police station gossiping all day?" Olson yelled at us.

So we trudged out into the delights of hard-packed Minnesota snow, me still grumbling. "I mean, I appreciate your coming along...but geez, you could stand being a little more sympathetic. I'm in serious trouble if I don't get that cab back."

"You have the equivalent of a couple hundred thousand dollars stuffed up north in that hanger, and you're too bull-headed to even think about turning it to your advantage. Forgive me for not finding this a terribly sympathetic problem."

So I was maybe more snippy than I needed to be, next line. "You do realise that if I'm carless, there's nobody to drive you and Becky around when you need a lift?"

"Oh, we'll be fine. Last time Jacques was in town, he was practically begging me to take his Jag out of the garage sometimes. Says that he figures cars do better if they're exercised regularly- just like my grandpa always said, you know."

"Then, if you've got a car..."

"No way am I letting you borrow it. Wouldn't want you losing that one too, you know," Mac said, and had the absolute gall to chuckle at me.

Like I said. He's just not the same these days.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Usually when I've got a problem, I'd chat about it with Mac, or Katie, my no-strings sweetheart of a barkeep next town over. Only I couldn't get there now, either. Or to my aircraft hanger, or the cheaper supermarket 'cross town, or to my favourite Tex-Mex restaurant over in Elkson, which serves the only decent chili this side of the Twin Cities...I mean, Minnesota's backwoods are wide and spacious and good-looking, if you like that kinda thing, but definitely meant to be traversed by car. Not having one in the bush is a nice slow death sentence.

But I'm interrupting myself; in the absence of better help, I showed up at the coffee shop early Saturday morning, seeking Becky Grahme for advice. Nice enough kid, if a trifle inclined to idolise an uncle who doesn't really deserve it- but then, I can't blame her for pinning all her hopes on the one relative standing between her and disaster. Did that myself. Anyway, she has a smart head on her shoulders and wants out of Mission City ASAP, which is a sure sign she's already turning out better than the elder generation.

"So why can't you buy another one? Unc says...well. That you have a lot more money than you want to let on about." She's inherited the family knack for dry understatement. Allison was just that way too, as I recall.

"Yes n' no. Yes, I have a fair bit stashed away, but in actual practice, I can't use any of it, because it's all earmarked for hanger fees and fuel and things- and moving expenses, don't forget. Next year I'm going to Texas, one way or another."

"I know I'd miss you, but- what if you went now?"

"Not too helpful. I doubt I could get flight lessons on the cheap anywhere else." Ms Henderson and I have a tasty little arrangement; I pay for the plane, she instructs me and gets to sneak flights whenever she's jonesing for a fix. What a fanatic like her is going to do when I'm gone, I honestly don't like to think. "And besides, I'd still need something to live on for another year. At least my Wednesday gig here keeps the lights on."

"Oh, so you'll have to find something else to do. Sooner rather than later, I guess?"

One thing I do like about Becky: she is spectacularly bad at recognising the possibility of failure. "Sure. And I can think up a dozen nice little earners, down to and including the horrors of gainful employment, but not in Mission City. I do have a reputation to think of- and so does everybody else."

"What if I borrowed the Jag? And drove you out of town somewhere."

That one's a stunner. "You'd do that for me? Mac would be furious, you know that."

"I...I don't think he'd be that angry with me, just for helping out a friend."

That's what she said. The sharp line that replaced her smile told me that she's observed the same things I have; that Mac's wrapped up in his darling Englishman, and increasingly snappish to anybody who gets between them. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll manage. Always do, you know. But anybody can tell you I like to do my share of griping about it first."

"If you say so. But- hey, until you do, why don't you take my Saturday tips? That's definitely my money, I can do what I like with that. And it's only fair, after the way you helped us out during that rough patch in January. Everybody going on diets and giving up desserts until Valentine's."

I'd honestly forgot all about that. "Beck, it'd take an absolute toad to take the hard-earned funds of an overworked teenager, and I'd like to think I'm not that amphibious - are you crying?"

"Maybe a bit," she said, sniveling in a slightly undignified fashion. "I get scared when people I love are in trouble. Especially when they won't let me help."

Her mother would probably have diagnosed it with some fancy long phrase, like a trauma-triggered phobia or whatever. To me, it spelled out the difference between heat and huddling under every blanket I have until summer. Minnesota's got a cruel climate for an expat Texan.

"Mac would never do this," I couldn't help observing, as she tipped the jar into my waiting hands.

"Well. He can't be right all the time."

If even wide-eyed Becky is starting to doubt her uncle, there is definitely something wrong with the man.