Disclaimer: I do not own The Sentinel or the REM song 'Make it all OK' and I am making no money out of this – as much as I would love to do so.
Make It All Ok
Chapter one
Blair flipped the burger and cursed as the hot fat spat at his hand.
Big Vinnie Parisi slapped him on the back and bellowed in his ear, "Doncha worry, BS. One day you'll have wonderful hands like mine!" He lifted up two meaty paws, pitted and scarred with numerous tiny burns and cuts and waved them in front of Blair's face.
"Vinnie, leave him alone and serve!"
"Okay, Maria," the big man sighed, "I'm coming, my lovely." With one last slap that nearly sent Blair face down onto the frying food, he turned back to the hungry customers that were yelling orders for burgers, corn dogs and chips.
Blair grimaced and slid two burgers, a fried egg and a slice of bacon onto the warming pan that stood on the counter at the front of the trailer. Immediately, the small woman with the salt and pepper hair, large eyes and larger heart darted in and scooped up one of the burgers and placed it in a bun.
She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes twinkling. "60 minutes and we're done, all right?"
"BS, three burgers, two turkey steaks and four large fries!" Vinnie drowned out Blair's soft reply as he tiredly nodded at his employer.
All three of them knuckled down to finish the evening rush of the final day of the Pine Ridge County Fair. The last customers picked up their orders and drifted off into the night as the three people that had served thousands of hot meals and cold drinks over the period of the fair wearily started to clean the small food concession.
"Blair, you don't need to do this. Vinnie and I can manage. I know you started early today. Billy-Bob told me." Maria gently took the sponge out of her temporary assistant's hand and turned his face to look at her. "You did good. You helped us out a lot and we're grateful. We'd really appreciate it if you could come with us to Sheridan." She smiled hopefully up at the man who'd been helping them out while her and Vinnie's only son recovered from a bad motorcycle accident.
Although he'd been with them for nearly three weeks they knew little more about him than the day he'd started. He'd turned up at the fair looking for work and they'd been grateful to take him on for cash and no questions asked. He'd been a good worker and a number of other stallholders had discovered him to be versatile and reliable and had used him for a number of different jobs around the fair. Only that morning, Billy-Bob, the shooting gallery owner had had him fixing the runners on the moving targets. They wouldn't be the only ones sad to see him go if he didn't take the Parisis family up on their offer.
As the man pondered her request, Maria couldn't help wondering again about the sadness held deep in the blue eyes and the air of defeat that hung about his shoulders. Obviously intelligent and well educated, she'd only seen him with one small leather backpack that he carried with him wherever he went and a sports bag that held his one-man tent and a sleeping bag. He was painfully thin, despite her efforts at fattening him up, and walked with a pronounced limp favouring his left leg. His clothes were clean, but threadbare and she'd never seen him buy anything except for absolute necessities.
"Yeah, come with us," interjected Vinnie. "Please don't leave me all alone with the little lady."
"Vinnie!" scolded Maria, "Go and empty the bins."
As her husband backed out of the small trailer he lifted his hands in an imploring gesture and mouthed at Blair, "See? Pleeeease." He quickly ducked out of the door as Maria turned and lifted her hand menacingly.
She turned back to Blair. "That man will be the death of me." But it was said with affection and a small smile graced her lips. "Well, what do you say?"
"I've never been to Wyoming."
"Great!" And to her own surprise she gave him a quick hug. Standing back, slightly embarrassed, she stood dumbfounded as Blair's whole face lit up with a blinding smile. 'Oh my,' she thought to herself, 'if only I wasn't married and was twenty years younger…'
The man before her put up his hands and covered his mouth, as a large yawn seemed to erupt from his very soul. He grimaced, "Sorry. Guess I am pretty wiped. You sure you don't need me to help with the clean up?"
"No, go on. I know your leg's hurting and you need your sleep. It's a long drive and we're leaving early. You'll need to drive Mikey's car for him – the idiot. "
"Okay, thanks." Blair took off the dirty apron that was obviously too big for him and laid it on the counter. He picked up his backpack and limped towards the door then stopped as Maria called to him.
"Wait! Here're your wages." She held out a handful of notes. "I've given you a $30 bonus… Ah, ah," she held up her other hand as Blair tried to interrupt. "You've earned it. We wouldn't have been able to manage without you. Go and get yourself something nice."
'There goes that smile again,' she sighed. 'Just who is he?'
"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." Blair took the money and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. He carefully made his way down the narrow steps of the trailer and slowly cut across the emptying fair ground. People were swarming over the stalls and rides breaking them down ready for packing them away. Some of them waved at Blair and one or two invited him to join them for a beer. He waved in return but held his head down and kept going. Eventually he slipped between two caravans and into the dark space behind.
His small, one-man tent was set up under a large oak. He opened the zip and crawled in pulling his backpack behind him. He lit the gas lamp that was hanging from the centre pole and pulled off his boots. Checking them over he decided that the soles were good enough to last for another couple of weeks especially if he was going to be driving and not walking to Wyoming. Not that he had a particular desire to go to Wyoming, but one destination was as good as another, as long as it wasn't Cascade. He pulled his tee shirt up to his nose and grimaced at the smell of cooking fat that permeated the material despite the apron he'd worn. He struggled out of it, tugged his jeans off and stuffed them into a plastic bag. He'd be able to wash his dirty clothes once they stopped off for the night. There was always someone among the group who willingly included his clothes when they did a wash. He suddenly realised that he'd forgotten his wages in his jeans and pulled the wad of money out of the pocket.
He quickly pulled on a tee-shirt that had been rolled up in his sleeping bag along with a pair of cut off jeans. Leaning out of the tent he quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth using water from a plastic bottle. Finished, he put the soap in a plastic bag and then put the bag with his toothbrush and toothpaste into his toiletries bag. Maria and Vinnie allowed him to use the shower in their caravan in the mornings, but he had to 'make do' in the evenings. He wasn't bothered; he'd endured worse since he'd been on the road. Zipping the tent up again, he stretched out his legs before him and examined the messy scar on his left thigh. It was red and raw, but he thought that it was looking slightly better. Delving back into his backpack he pulled out a small earthenware pot. Carefully he massaged some of the brown paste from the pot onto the scar wincing at the deep ache and then wiped his hands on a small towel. He then pulled on the cut offs.
After returning the pot he took out a small metal box and flicked the lid open. He unfolded the paper lying on top of the pile of money inside and smoothed it out onto the sleeping bag he was sitting on. Carefully, he counted out his wages and keeping the $30 bonus aside he took out the money in the box and piling the amounts together put it all in a courier service envelope along with a bank slip. Picking up the paper again he subtracted the amount from the figure on the list and wrote the new total underneath. With a sigh he traced his fingers over the numbers then put the paper back into the box and the box back into the backpack. He sealed the envelope and with a slightly shaking hand he wrote the destination on the front:
First Cascade Bank
Student Loans Division
1112 Main Street
Cascade
Placing the envelope in his backpack, he closed his eyes and for a brief moment let his despair wash over him. Then taking a few deep breaths he ran his hand through his short curls, forgetting for a moment and trying to brush them behind his ears, and centred himself. Taking the small windup alarm clock that stood in the corner of a small tent he set the alarm for 5:30. That would give him 4 ½ hours of sleep before having to get up and pack away his tent; that was as long as he managed to actually get to sleep. His first month on the road, he'd slept deeply and without dreams finding it difficult to drag himself awake whether he'd slept in a cheap motel or in his car next to the road. Recognising it as a symptom of his depression he'd been dosing himself with liquorice tea and herbs. However, his depression seemed to lift a little the further he got from Cascade and now his sleeping patterns had swung the other way.
Resolutely he turned off the lamp and crawled into his sleeping bag. He tried emptying his mind so he could slip into sleep, but even in his exhausted state, it eluded him. The different sounds of the fair being dismantled filtered into his tent: voices, laughter, engines and music. Then as one song started his breath caught in his throat and despite his best efforts, tears welled up in his eyes. It was REM's "Make It All Ok", the same song that had been playing in the Volvo as he'd driven away from Cascade leaving his dreams, hopes and regrets behind him.
"You threw away the ballast and you rowed your boat ashore
Didn't you, now? Didn't you?
You made your ultimatum too big to ignore
Didn't you, now? Didn't you?
So you worked out your excuses, turned away and shut the door.
The world's too vast for us now, and you wanted to explore.
It's a long, long, long road
And I don't know which way to go.
If you offered me your hand again I'd have to walk away…"
With a groan, he buried his head under his arms and started humming a rock song. When that didn't work he started on a mantra designed to calm him down. After a while, the music stopped and the voices faded away. As the moon started its downward slide towards dawn, his breathing eventually evened out and Blair slipped into the blue jungle of his dreams.
"Ellison! My office."
Jim looked up from the report he was reading and turned his raised-up eyebrows to his partner. His eyes skittered over the person sitting at the desk next to his and he clenched his jaws. Daniels looked up and grinned at him, but his smile faltered as he noticed the grinding teeth. He knew that once again, the detective had forgotten that he wasn't the right person sitting next to him.
All he'd ever wanted since he'd started as a rookie detective in Homicide four years ago was to be Ellison's partner. However, his idol had already had a partner, unofficial true, but still a big presence in the man's life. At first, and like many others, he'd thought that they were a couple, but finally he'd realised that they'd simply had a strong, if unusual, friendship. He'd thought that all he'd have to do was be a good cop and be patient; Sandburg would eventually get his PhD and go back to academia. Then the 'diss' mess happened and before anyone could blink an eye the 'fraud' was a real cop.
He watched Ellison head for the captain's office and tried to quash the bitter taste in his mouth. Sandburg was gone and he, a Wisconsin, backcountry, farm boy, had taken his place. He'd worked hard and deserved to be where he was. He'd seen an opportunity and had gone for it. Squirming a bit in his chair, he remembered exactly what he'd done to get here. Oh, nothing illegal or immoral, just perhaps, a little nasty. A shame really, because Sandburg had been a good guy and all in all he'd liked him. It was all for the best though, as he truly believed that Ellison needed a partner like him; a man without doubts hanging over his head. All that he needed now was for Ellison to realise that too.
Jim strolled into Captain Banks' office, "You yelled, sir."
"Close the door and sit down." Banks lifted his head from the papers he was reading and studied his best detective. He noticed the hard look and sighed internally. Outwardly the man showed nothing of what he was feeling, but he knew his friend was hurting from the 'betrayal' perpetrated by Sandburg leaving after only six months as a detective. Everyone thought that he would slip back into his pre-BS character; cold, standoffish and aloof. While it was true that he laughed less and was more reserved, he'd not turned back into 'Iceman' Ellison.
He, himself, couldn't understand what had gone wrong. After Sandburg had accepted the offer of a badge and had passed the academy with flying colours despite his oft-declared hate of guns, he'd hoped that the two men could get their friendship back on track. He'd been a good detective (that had never been in doubt) and Banks was still annoyed that after all his and Ellison's hard work in getting him the position, he'd thrown it all away three months ago with a tersely written resignation letter that had explained nothing.
However, he also had to admit, that there seemed to have been a brittleness in the younger man and the zest of life that had previously shone in his eyes had been replaced by a world-weary wariness. Where before he'd been sure of himself, maybe a bit too sure, he'd become hesitant and had seemingly withdrawn from his friends in Major Crimes. Ellison on the other hand, had behaved as if nothing had happened even to the extent of once telling Sandburg to wait in the truck! To tell the truth, Jim hadn't been the only one in the unit finding it difficult to treat the young man as a cop and not the observer he'd been for four years. Perhaps he, as captain, should have tried harder…?
"How's the Granger case coming along?" He gestured with his coffee mug, but Ellison lifted his hand in a negative as he sat down in one of the chairs in front of his captain's desk.
He ran his hand through his short hair and sighed. "It's coming."
"And what does that mean?"
"What do you really want to talk to me about, sir?"
Simon grimaced. Ellison knew him too well. He took a long drink from his mug as a way of buying time; he wasn't looking forward to this conversation. "I've had news from the Feds. Apparently Berger's son has stepped into daddy's shoes and is screaming out for vengeance."
"What the hell can he do? We took out almost three quarters of his daddy's cohorts. There're mostly only lowlifes and small fry left. Hell, how could an 18-year-old boy hope to rebuild the sort of crime base his father had?"
"Well, there's a problem. According to FBI sources, he's made a deal with Escobar's lot."
"What!" Jim agitatedly lurched out of his chair and put two hands behind his neck. He glared at Banks. "I thought the Feds had sorted him out. They said they had an ironclad case against him. They said they had two witnesses who saw him take out councillor Martin. What the hell is going on, Simon?"
Simon's face showed all the anger and disgust that he felt at the situation. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Sighing, he put them back on and looked up at Jim. "The two witnesses were found with their throats cut under Pier 22."
"Brilliant! Really brilliant. So what are we going to do now? You know Berger junior's going to come and try and take us out, don't you? And with Escobar behind him he won't care who he takes out with us."
"I know. Which is why the Feds want to put you, I, and the rest of the team into a safe house until they sort this whole sorry mess out."
Ellison looked at him in dismay. "You expect us to put our lives in the hands of those bozos? No way! You and the others can go. I prefer to protect myself my way. "
"I'm with you on this one. Nevertheless, we should offer the safe house to the others."
"Yeah, you're right. But I have a pretty good idea of what they're going to say."
"Just call them in."
Jim put his head out the door and saw Megan and Joel poring over a file on Megan's desk. "Hey, you two. You're wanted in here." They both looked up enquiringly at him. "Have you seen H and Rafe?"
"In the break room," answered Megan closing the file. "What's going on, Jim?"
"I'll go and get the other two and the Captain'll explain."
Once everyone was seated around the conference table in Banks' office, he repeated what he'd told Jim. After the comments regarding the intelligence of the FBI had died down and the expected refusals to take advantage of their 'kind' offer, they got down to deciding what they could do to take down Berger and Escobar.
During a lull in the long discussion Taggart, studiously avoiding Ellison's eyes, broke the silence, "What about Blair?"
"What about him?" interjected Simon before Jim could retort, no doubt angrily and at length.
"Well, I mean he was in on the bust as well. Shouldn't he be warned?"
Unfortunately, Jim jumped in before Banks could respond. "He's not here, is he? He left and we don't know where he is."
"And I wonder why?" Although Megan spoke quietly she knew that Jim would hear her.
"What's that supposed to mean, Connor? If you remember, he just left without telling anybody anything. Obviously just couldn't hack it and did his usual cut and run."
"Oh god, I've had it!" Taggart put a hand on her arm hoping she would calm down. She looked down at him, "I think it's about time he was told a few home truths." He nodded and lifted his hand off her arm.
"Connor!" Simon barked her name.
"I'm sorry Captain, but I've had enough. I didn't say anything when Sandy was here because he asked me not to, but now he's gone…"
"Connor, this isn't the moment…"
"Let her talk, Simon." Both he and Jim looked in shock at Joel's quiet statement while H and Rafe looked on in silent amazement. "These things need to be said and Blair needs, and deserves, to be warned."
Simon waved a hand and looked over at Jim noticing the jumping nerve in his jaw as he glared at the female detective.
Megan took in a deep breath, "Sandy gave up his career and became a cop for you." She snorted as she saw Jim roll his eyes. "Yeah, laugh it up 'big guy'." She deliberately used Blair's nickname and grinned in satisfaction when she saw the man flinch.
"I never asked…"
"Don't give me that crap, again! You never asked! No, you just expected. Anyway, that's not the point. Sandy was trying to be a cop knowing everybody was watching his every move and that half the PD was cheering him on to fail. He knew that he'd have to be twenty times better than anyone else and all the time terrified that he'd have to use his gun. "
"Hold on a minute," interrupted H, "why'd he turn away from us – his friends? Why'd he always eat alone in the break room? We weren't good enough for him to go to lunch with?" Rafe was nodding along with this and even Jim looked like he agreed.
"You drongo," spat Megan, "he was ashamed and couldn't eat out all the time! Why'd you think he never came to poker night? He was broke! He had to pay back his student loans and a lot of his grants. Rainier's insisting."
"We wouldn't have made him pay," insisted Rafe.
"I know, but he had his pride. I tried to make him understand, tried to tell him everyone understood, but you kept organising Jags games and booking that stupid French restaurant. God, he was living on nothing and eating less. Didn't you notice that he was losing weight? And you," she pointed a finger at Ellison, "you threw him out. He was down, virtually penniless and then you made him homeless."
"Hold on a minute!" Jim jumped up from his seat and glared at her. "I was undercover! I couldn't risk having him at home. He could have said something about my, my senses. I couldn't have that. Cortizzi had bugged the loft."
"But he didn't know you were undercover," Joel said calmly. "He thought you were throwing him out for real." He looked over at Simon. "Blair was Jim's partner and unless there was reason to think that he was the PD leak he should have been told."
"Unfortunately, that decision was taken out of my hands."
"But, but… I gave him clues. I thought he'd pick up on that," Jim stammered.
"How could he?" argued Megan. "He was having to deal with too much. He was convinced you didn't trust him, that you resented him and was only putting up with him out of guilt. He believed you."
"No, no. Blair's brilliant, he'd worked it out. Simon?" Ellison looked in growing dismay at Banks.
Simon opened his mouth to reply when his door burst open and two men walked in. "What the hell's going on?" he barked. "Who the blazes are you and haven't you heard of knocking?"
"FBI agent Smith and my colleague, Patel." Both tall, dark-haired men held out their IDs and the older man continued talking. "Sorry for interrupting, but the Commissioner asked us to come down and talk to you about taking you to the safe house."
The Major Crimes group looked at each other and then all eyes turned to Captain Banks.