Sorry this took so long and is so short! I've really got to get to bed, so I'm not going to write much on here. I don't own CHiPs. Oh, Stan Gordon and Ryan belong to Ponchy. The glory goes to God! :D Good night!

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Chapter 2

By lunchtime, Jon had almost completely shaken his dark thoughts. He and Ponch decided to eat at Del Taco. After they gone in and ordered, the two sat down at a table. Their food was still being made. Jon had noticed that his partner had been a little on edge. He opened his mouth to ask why, but was interrupted before he began by Ponch.

"So, what did you think of the escape of Stan Gordon?" Ponch asked, a hint of unease in his voice. He had horrid memories of that man.

Jon glanced at his friend, realizing the reason for the worry. Stan Gordon was a cruel man. He would stop at nothing for whatever scheme he had cooked up and had a grudge against all cops, Ponch especially. "I think it's definitely something worth watching out for. We'll just have to keep our eyes open for him," he stated calmly. He was hoping to put Ponch at ease.

A voice called out in a New English accent, "Number 175! Order for number 175!"

Jon quickly got their food and returned to the table only to find that Bear had pulled up a chair and joined them. The man had brought his food with him. Jon grinned. "Hey, Bear. What's up?"

Bear cocked his head. "Well, I had the strangest thing happen. I pulled a middle-aged guy over for speeding, but he said he had a relative in the CHP named Jonathan. I told him I could think of only two Jons. There's Kingsley and you. The strange thing is that he . . . kind of . . . looked like you. He had a different name, though." Those eyes! They're like Jon's! That's why he was so familiar!

"Well, I'm sure there are a lot of people with blonde hair and blue eyes here in California," Jon laughed. "Besides, my dad has brown hair and eyes. I have only one uncle and he has flaming red hair. His eyes are brown, too. And they live in Wyoming, so it it couldn't have been either of them."

Bear furrowed his brows. "Well, it couldn't have been a relative, then. How weird is that?"

They had a good laugh about Jon's doppelgänger, but each would ponder that such a thing had happened later. In fact, had Bear thought on it, he would have remembered that a red car had followed him to the restaurant. Chuckling, Jon reached for his drink and accidentally spilled it over his shirt. "Oh, rats!" He stood up and went to get napkins. While he was off on that mission, Ponch and Bear started to chat.

"So," Bear started, "what happened at the beginning of briefing? I missed this first part."

Ponch shrugged and answered, "Oh, nothing much. There's a gang of motorcycle drivers that's been robbing stores and knocking people down. Oh, a man escaped from jail!"

Bear leaned forward. "Who was it?"

"Stan Gordon. He's that guy who . . ." Here he shuddered, then continued, "kidnaped me and tried to kill me."

Realization dawned in Bear's eyes. "So that's why that name sounded familiar! Oh, I remember him! Man, he was terrible! What a wretch!"

Ponch nodded grimly. "Yeah, and he's not in prison anymore."

Jon returned with a damp shirt. "I think I got most of it dry, but I'll probably smell like sweet tea all day."

The three ate their food, chatting in between bites. Soon, it was back to patrolling the highways.

Ponch glanced at his rear-view mirror, only to see a red vehicle behind them. At first, he thought nothing of it, passing it off as another car headed in the same general direction in which they were headed. After a few turns, however, he was convinced that the car's following close behind them was not sheer happenstance.

"Ponch, stop!" Jon shouted, holding his arm out in a vain attempt to halt his partner.

Poncherello looked up to see that he had gone over a curb and was headed for a house. He swerved his motorcycle sharply to the left and just barely made it safely back. As soon as he got on the road again, he was bombarded by Jon's worried questions as to his wellbeing. He sighed, "Sorry, Jon. There was a car following us. I was thinking about that and forgot to look at where I was going, I guess. I'm fine."

Jon swiveled. "Car following us? Where?"

Ponch turned around, too. The car vehicle was nowhere in sight. Ponch stuttered, "B-but . . . he was there! I saw him!"

Jon frowned. "I believe you. . . but why didn't you tell me?"

"He did it so casually that I had to make sure it wasn't just a conincidence. He was following us, partner! I'm sure of it!"

Jon patted Ponch's back comfortingly. "Okay. Well, we lost him, so we should be fine. Let's get back on our bikes."

The two mounted their motorcycles and continued on their patrol. When their shift was over, they pulled into the CHP parking lot. Ponch was talking. "So, I'll bring over the pie Francesca made. It's apple pie, Jon!" He was very excited. "I'd like to bring her with you and, if you get a date, make it a double-date, but I can't. She drove up to Oregon to visit her grandparents for a few days. She should be back soon, maybe in a few days."

Jon grinned. "Apple pie? Oh, that'll be great for dessert!" His belly rumbled. "I sure hope supper hurries up and gets here!"

With a laugh, the two CHiPs parked their rides. They dismounted and went for the CHP Headquarters.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon stopped at the red light, impatient to get home and start supper. He and Ponch had split up and were going to meet up at his apartment. Suddenly, a flash of red grabbed his attention. Behind him was a car with a deep-crimson paint job. He remembered what Ponch had said about a red car stalking them and began to feel a bit panicked. He tried to inconspicuously lose the Mustang, and only accomplished his goal after a full ten minutes. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jon started home.

When he reached his apartment, he noticed something was off. He could not quiet place it, though. He parked his car carefully. As he walked up to his room, he was suspicious of every little sound. I hate this! Since when am I paranoid? he wondered. Still, it is kind of freaky that I was being stalked. He shook his head violently, as if to rid it from those thoughts. "Dear God, please help me calm down," he prayed. By this time, he had reached his door. He unlocked the door and slowly walked in. After satisfying his paranoia, he breathed a prayer of thanks to the Lord. He turned, flipped the light switch, and shut the door. A noise that sounded very much like the clearing of a throat made him pivot.

In his room, on his couch sat a man that resembled him greatly. It was a man that was ruthless, a man that was . . .

"Stan Gordon." Jon's voice was reserved and icy. He had not forgotten what this man had done and tried to do to Ponch, his best friend.

Gordon nodded. "Jonathan . . . so good to see you again."