PAST REGRETS
KALEIDOPYIIMary Margaret Skalany closed the folder she had been working on, tossed it into her Case Closed tray, and then leaned back in her chair to allow herself a moment of satisfaction before pulling out another.
The continuous tapping from across the aisle was slowly grating on her nerves. Finally taking all she could, she looked over at Peter who was tapping the eraser end of his pencil on a pile of paper work. "Hey partner, you think you can keep the drum solo down?"
Before Peter could make a comment, the phone on his desk started ringing. He yanked up the receiver and growled, "Caine." A second later a smile spread across his face. "Donny, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
Skalany watched with amused interest as Peter anxiously listened to his snitch. She knew it was only a matter of time before the fun would start.
"When? Now?" Peter asked. He released a frustrated sigh, placed his hand over the telephone's receiver, and called out to the detective sitting in front of him, "Uh Blake…"
"Forget it," the precinct's electronic expert replied, not bothering to turn around as he continued to tinker with a small gadget.
"Donny, let me call you back." Peter hung up the phone and took a quick glance behind him to make certain the captain's office door was closed. With a satisfied grin, he casually glided across the aisle in his chair and headed straight in Mary Margaret's direction.
"Skalany, I need you to cover for me," Peter said, and quickly raised his hand, halting her protest even before she had time to voice it. "Let me explain first. Donny has some information on a case that I need. All I need is one hour."
"And how am I supposed to explain your absence?" Skalany countered.
"Simple. Tell everyone I'm in the bathroom." Peter rolled himself back behind his desk before she could argue. He grabbed the phone and dialed a number. "Donny? I'm on my way. Don't go anywhere until I get there, you understand?" He glanced over his shoulder, doubled checking to make certain that the coast was clear before he hung up the telephone. He grabbed his jacket and smiled his most charming smile. "I'll be back before anyone knows I'm gone."
"Famous last words." Skalany taunted and watched him leave the bullpen. "I'll make sure it's put on your tombstone."
After loading the last of their luggage into the trunk of the rental car, Robert opened the passenger door, entered, and shut the door behind him. "It's show time."
During their drive, the two men remained quiet until the car reached an underground parking lot. "Our main office is located on the fourth floor, and we have a great view of the police precinct directly across the street," Robert said, as he locked the car and the two men walked to the elevator, "My friend, we are in the distributing business."
Before Michael had time to respond, the elevator door opened. Both stepped inside and waited until the door closed before Michael responded, "Distributing? Couldn't you have come up with something more original?"
"There's no better cover than a distributing company. We can stockpile almost everything we need without drawing attention to ourselves." Davis pressed the fourth button on the panel and the elevator started upward. "We even have a catchy company name: American Distributors. I think that's appropriate for such, All-American, law-abiding citizens as ourselves, Americans, don't you?"
The elevator door opened and the two exited. They walked up the long hallway; Davis enjoyed showing his partner their new location. The place didn't lack for luxuries.
He opened the door to the office suite and a woman greeted them as they looked around the waiting room. "I'm Mary Applegate. Mr. Smith is expecting you. He's waiting for you in the far right office with the other gentlemen."
Both men followed her directions and went to the office she had indicated. A man walked up to shake their hands. "Good to see you again, Robert," he said, and turned to Michael and introduced himself. "I'm William Smith, the best electronics expert money can buy. I can do wonders with voice tape, computers, and telephone taps. You name it, I can do it."
"I'll need your services very soon, Mr. Smith," Michael said, and slapped the man on the shoulder. He moved over to the rear window and looked out through the slats of the mini blinds, immediately and spotting his target, the 101st precinct. "Have we gotten our two pigeons' routine down?"
"Griffin has no routine," another man answered as he pulled out his note pad to go over his notes. "He comes and goes as he pleases, never takes the same route to and from home. I have no idea where the man lives. I swear, it's like he knows we are trailing him." Pulling out a picture, he gave it to his new boss, "This is the car he drives, a green Corvair."
Michael glanced at the picture before giving the photo back to the man. "What a God ugly car! What is it with Griffin and the color green?"
"Can't answer that question, but I do know it's his pride and joy."
Robert glanced over the man's shoulder, and took a quick look at the photo. He was convinced that Michael didn't have any taste, especially where classic cars were concerned. "What's wrong with this car? I like it."
"You would," Michael muttered, and then glanced down at his watch before returning to his view out the window. "Anything else?"
"Well, the cops hang out at a bar called Chandler's."
"That might be a place to keep in mind if we ever need a lot of witnesses for anything," Michael mused.
"I do have a little bit of news that might interest you, sir," the cameraman spoke up excitedly. "Paul Blaisdell dined at a small restaurant three days ago. I paid one of the waiters a few dollars and he told me that your father is a frequent guest. Either he dines by himself, with some of his co-workers, or with his wife on a regular basis. He's there now."
"A perfect place to accidentally bump into dear ol' daddy," Michael grinned. He turned around and faced the others in the room. "Have Ms. Applegate place a call to that restaurant and set us up with an account. It's time for me to make an appearance."
Broderick was on the verge of hitting the first person who dared speak one argumentative word to him.
Some idiot kept making prank phone calls to Strenlich every five minutes, putting the chief in one major bad mood. To make things worse, it seemed every nut in the city had come for afternoon visitation. It was days like this that he wished he had been a used car salesman.
"I already told you six times, if you want to see the prisoner, you have to fill out the paperwork first." He glared back at the six foot three inch man who was dressed in spandex, feathers, and a green Bozo wig. He slid the clipboard across the table towards the visitor.
The Jolly Green Giant just stared back at him with a dazed expression plastered across his face.
"Is the wig on too tight?" he asked sarcastically, thinking that might explain why the jackass refused to follow simple instructions. After again repeating his request for the man to sign the paperwork with no success, Broderick heaved a frustrated sigh. "Look buddy, no signature, no visit."
"Is there a problem?" Kermit asked. He gave a brief inspection of the man's attire before adding, "Is the circus in town?"
"Hey man, what's your problem?" the freak asked and then glared back at Broderick. "I ain't signing nothin'."
Kermit grabbed the clipboard and shoved it into the man's stomach, "I believe the nice officer asked you to sign this."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you are going to find out how hard it is to write with eight broken fingers," Kermit said and smiled dangerously at the man.
He wasn't stupid after all. He took the clipboard and filled out the forms in record time. In a polite, sincere voice, he added, "I'll wait over there until you call me…uh," he paused long enough to read the desk sergeant's name badge, "Sergeant Broderick. You let me know when I can see my friend." Taking a few steps backwards until the edge of a chair touched his legs, the man slowly descended into the chair, nervously watching every movement the ex-mercenary made.
Kermit wanted nothing more than to have some fun with the scumbag, but there were more important matters that needed his attention. Walking over to Skalany's desk, he grabbed a chair and sat down. "Where's Peter? And don't say the bathroom."
Taking a deep breath, Mary Margaret put down her pen. At least it wasn't the captain, she thought to herself. "He's…"
"Right here," Peter answered, heading for his desk.
Kermit got to his feet and followed the younger detective. "When you can fit me into your busy schedule, let me know. I have that information on the Kent case you wanted."
"Thanks Kermit, but we may not need it after all. I got what I needed from Donnie," Peter announced proudly. "One call to the D.A.'s office, and now Kent's lawyer has had a change of heart. There isn't going to be a lawsuit."
Kermit sat down on the edge of the desk and didn't move.
After a few seconds, Peter glanced up. "Do you want something, Kermit, or has my desk become your new office?"
Kermit didn't answer; he just continued to stare at the younger man, a feral grin forming on his lips
"Stop that."
"Stop what?" Kermit's smile got bigger.
"Grinning like that." Peter shifted anxiously in his seat, "Come on, Kermit, you're giving me the creeps. What's going on in that devious mind of yours?"
"Devious? I'm not the one who supposedly took an hour cruise with the tidy bowl man."
Laughter broke out between Blake and Skalany, but Kermit maintained the same smug expression.
"Someone kept Blaisdell busy on the phone, and the chief," Blake paused long enough to glance around and then lowered his voice, "well let's just say if he gets a phone call, take a message."
"You owe Blake dinner," Kermit stated, ruffling Peter's hair as he stood up. "As for what you can do for me, I'll think of something later. And trust me, kid, I do have a vivid imagination." Griffin pulled his sunglasses off long enough to wink at Skalany before going back inside his office.
Watching with amusement at the shocked expression on her partner's face, Mary Margaret took the position Kermit had just vacated. "I don't know why I am telling you this, but every time Frank asked where you were, the phone started ringing. For some strange reason it was always for him."
"Strange how those calls got disconnected when the chief picked up," Blake declared, while attaching the listening end of a phone back into the receiver. "I like my steak well done, Pete."
"Medium rare for me, partner," Skalany added before returning to her desk.
"Where's the captain?" Peter asked, ignoring their request for dinner reservations. "His car was missing from the parking lot."
"Annie called, and he left to take her out for lunch," Blake answered. Two sets of accusing eyes stared back at him, putting him on the defensive. "I heard him telling Strenlich."
"I bet," Skalany teased the nervous man.
"I don't eavesdrop on Blaisdell's phone conversations, if that's what you're thinking. Besides, he would know if someone had his office bugged. And I wouldn't want to be in the guilty party's shoes when he found out."
Watching as Paul and Annie Blaisdell entered the restaurant, a man in a parked, dark sedan lowered the binoculars and pulled out a cellular phone. "It's me. I'm parked across the street from the restaurant you ordered me to keep under surveillance. Paul Blaisdell just went inside, but he isn't alone. He has his wife with him."
"Perfect," the voice responded. "I should be there in fifteen minutes. Stay where you are until I arrive. I don't want to lose sight of our prey."
Without saying another word, the man in the car hit the off button on the phone and tossed it into the passenger's seat. Twenty minutes later, another car drove past him and pulled into the restaurant's parking lot. Recognizing his employer's vehicle, he inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine.
Michael Blaisdell climbed out of his rental car, glanced across the street, and nodded to the driver in the dark sedan, who then drove away. As he walked inside the restaurant, he smelt the aroma of Italian cooking and it made his mouth water.
A lunch date out with her husband at their favorite restaurant during the workweek was a rare occasion for Annie. The live music and fresh roses that adorned each table enhanced the romantic atmosphere for which the small Italian restaurant was famous.
As they finished their meal, the conversation turned to Peter, and almost immediately Annie detected a barrier go up between them. Experience had taught her that the two most important men in her life never responded well when pushed, but she wasn't in the mood to play diplomat. She demanded to know the details of what had happened between father and son earlier that day.
Normally she easily got her way, and still managed to make it appear that it had been either her husband or son who had gotten the upper hand. However, today Paul unexpectedly stood his ground, refusing to even listen to her attempts to defend their son.
After numerous attempts, she finally gave up and commented on the weather.
"Annie, I know what you're trying to do," Paul said with a heavy sigh.
"It's not as crowded as it usually is this time of the day," she continued, determined to show her husband that she could be just as stubborn as he could.
"You're changing the subject on me again, babe."
She gently placed her folk down by her plate, and picked up her wine glass. "What's the point, Paul? You're too stubborn to even listen to my side of the discussion. You've already made your mind up and nobody is going to convince you otherwise."
"Annie, you know I trust your judgment implicitly, especially when it comes to our children, but this time I'm right and I know I did the right thing," he said, and placed his hand on top of hers. "If I had allowed Peter's destructive streak to go unchecked, then I might as well have signed his death certificate instead of the reprimand." Paul got the waiter's attention, and called out to their waiter, "We would like our check, please."
She waited until the waiter had left before she spoke, wanting to keep the conversation private. "I wasn't trying to undermine your authority, Paul. It's just that I'm worried about our son. Caine's leaving has left Peter devastated. It's like a part of him has died, and every time I try to get him to talk to me about it, he either clams up or finds some excuse to leave."
"You don't think I know that? Today was just another example of how insecure he's becoming and if I don't try to get a handle on him now, I'm afraid he's going to get himself killed." Her husband sighed, and then continued, "We've been through this before with Peter, and we came out all right. We'll do it again. It's just going to take longer because this time we're not dealing with the ghost of Kwai Chang Caine. The man's alive."
"If only Caine would make contact with his son," Annie said, as her thoughts turned to Peter's biological father. The priest seemed so likeable when she had first met him at Carolyn's wedding. Even Paul, a good judge of character, had been won over by Kwai Chang Caine, and for a while everything seemed perfect.
Naturally, it came as a complete shock when Caine suddenly left town, abandoning his kwoon, his students, and his newly discovered son without so much as a warning or a reason. Annie wondered if they had been wrong to accept the priest so easily?
"A postcard would do wonders for Peter's self-esteem right now."
"I'd love to know where Caine is myself," Paul's replied harshly, as a utensil struck his plate. "There's no excuse for what he's done to that kid."
"Paul, I want your word that if and when Caine returns, you won't interfere. Let Peter handle it, understand?" she continued, not giving him time to argue, "If you confront Caine over this, it's going to alienate Peter, and you know how he feels about his father. When you attack Caine, you attack him. Do you want to risk losing your son over this incident?"
"No, damn it, but it hurts like hell," her husband admitted bitterly. "You raise a son for twelve years, and then one day some stranger walks in and takes that title away from you."
"Paul, you will always be Peter's father. Nothing will ever change that fact, and neither Caine nor Peter expect you to believe any differently," Annie said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. If the shoe had been on the other foot, Annie wasn't sure if she would have accepted Laura's return from the grave as graciously as Paul had accepted Caine.
She never questioned Paul's motives, but it didn't stop her from wondering why with all his resources, her husband never investigated Caine's background just to confirm the man was really who he claimed to be. There were some things she wanted to discuss with Caine when he returned. Unlike Paul, who had to share his role as father, she was Peter's only mother, and she planned to make damn sure the priest realized just how adversely his unexplained absence had affected their son.
"We should do this more often," she suggested, finishing the last of her wine, and lighten the mood. She hated that they had spent most of their date talking about Peter, but felt it had been necessary to discuss the situation with Paul.
"Yes, we should, and as much as I prefer your company, if I don't get back to the office, I won't be home tonight," he said, getting up and helping her with her chair. "And I would hate to miss a night with you. Let's get…" his voice trailed off, then she heard him gasp, "Oh my God!"
"What is it?" Annie asked, alarmed by the tone of her husband's voice. "Paul what's wrong?"
She barely heard his whisper, "Michael."
For his part, Michael's performance would have won him the Oscar. His eyes started to mist as he quickly hurried to his father's table. "Dad? Is it really you? I'm not imagining this, am I?"
Tears welled up in Paul's eyes. He reached up and touched Michael's face. The older man's bottom lip quivered as he caressed his son's jaw, and the baritone voice, usually strong and stable, broke as emotion took over. "How?"
"Someone lied to you, Dad, but that's not important right now," Michael said, continuing with the illusion of someone who had been happily reunited with his family. "Just seeing you again is all that matters."
Paul pulled Michael into an embrace, holding him tightly as the scene continued, "I've dreamed about this moment for so long, son. They told me you were dead. Oh God, Michael! Where have you been? Why didn't you try to get in touch with me?"
As Paul continued to hug his son, neither he nor anyone else could see the evil smile that was on Michael Blaisdell's face.
This is working out better than I had hoped it would,' Michael thought to himself as he felt his father's tears of joy against his cheek. During the few short years they were together, Michael had rarely seen his father cry, especially not in public. 'Cry, old man. Before I'm finished with you and Griffin, you both will have plenty to cry about.'
With the paperwork completed on his newest detective, Strenlich slammed the top drawer of a filing cabinet and then walked out of his office. He saw Blaisdell walking through the bullpen, heading towards his office. "A three hour lunch? Very unusual for you, Captain." he commented with concern. "Is there something I should know?"
"You will soon," Paul promised then stopped in front of Peter's empty desk, glanced up, and asked, "Where is he, Frank?"
"Kelly showed up and took him to lunch," he answered. Before he could explain further, the phone started ringing. He angrily turned his attention to the front desk. "Broderick, if that's for me, take a message. I'm not here."
"Hiding from someone?" Paul teased before opening the door to his office. He paused at the doorway, his tone suddenly serious. "Frank, it's important that I talk to Peter. As soon as he walks in, send him to me."
"Will do, Captain," Strenlich said, watching Blaisdell close the door behind him. Something was up. The captain never publicly displayed any emotional attachment towards Peter while they were at the precinct; both feared accusations of favoritism by co-workers. Their relationship was commander and employee at work nothing more, and nothing less.
Frank knew that more than anyone, having witnessed several heated moments between father and son. He had been forced to play the role of arbitrator on more than one occasion when one stubbornly refused to listen to common sense where the other was concerned.
Something big must have happened over lunch for Blaisdell to break that cardinal rule. Strenlich was so deep in thought trying to figure out what it could be that he almost didn't hear Janet Morgan's snide remark.
"Hasn't the fair-haired boy been punished enough today?" She asked in a mocking voice.
"Apparently not. You're still here," Detective Chin spoke up, making no effort to hide his obvious disdain for his co-worker.
Strenlich ignored the barb. Someone needed to knock Morgan down a peg or two, and he had a precinct to run. He walked over to Roger's desk and handed the young detective a piece of paper. "Detective Chin, you get the honor of breaking in a new partner," he said, and called out to a man sitting behind a desk. "Detective Nixon, come meet your partner, Roger Chin."
A man in his late thirties with thinning hair approached the two men. "Hi, I'm James Nixon. No relation to the ex-President. Nice to meet you, Detective Chin." The man introduced himself by shaking his new partner's hand, "I'm sure we will get along just fine. I've heard some great things about this precinct."
"Nice to meet you, Detective Chin," Roger said, shaking his new partner's hand.
"You better find a new source of information, buddy," Detective Morgan answered from her desk.
Roger raised an eyebrow, grinned, and then motioned Nixon forward. He pointed in Morgan's direction as whispered, "She has permanent P.M.S. We try to ignore her most of the time."
"Enough with the formalities. You two get on the street and see if you can solve the Luther case," Frank said, pointing to the top folder on the stack of files he had just dropped on Chin's desk.
"The guy who fell down the flight of stairs?" Roger asked as he began to flip through the folder. With a confused look on his face, he asked, "I thought it was ruled an accident. Didn't a witness say he was drunk when he fell?"
"According to his ex-wife, the man never touched a drop of liquor in his life. Either she was fooled during the marriage, or the witness was lying. I want you two to find out the truth," Frank ordered, as Nixon took the information from Roger and started to read it. "Nicky is doing an autopsy on Luther, and should have the results for you in a few hours."
"While we're waiting on the autopsy results, we'll run by the court house and check the public records to find out if Luther owned anything else of value. If so, it might have been a motive for his murder." Roger glanced up at his partner and flashed a smile. "You driving, or am I?"
"I always drive."
"I like this guy already," Roger commented on their way out of the precinct. They passed Skalany at the front desk as she was picking up her messages.
Mary Margaret introduced herself to the newcomer, and then made herself a cup of coffee before she hurried to her desk.
"Skalany, here's a little something to keep you busy for awhile," Frank said and approached her desk with several case files in his hand, "I didn't want you to feel left out."
"I know! I know! Never let it be said that you never gave me anything," Skalany replied, and then started to go through her messages. "Oh great! Mom's called twice." She sat down, glanced across the aisle at her partner's empty desk, and with a surprised expression on her face, asked, "Peter's not back? That must be some fancy restaurant that Kelly took him to for lunch."
"If you want my opinion, I hope he stays gone and doesn't come back until I'm on vacation. He's driving me crazy with stupid questions that any rookie should know. I think he's doing it on purpose, just to get under my skin. And if I hear one more grumble about how it's undignified for a hot shot cop to be busted down to filing clerk, I'm going to strangle him." Frank stared at the closed door to Blaisdell's office. "I'll never survive a whole week with Peter stuck in here with me. I'm trying to figure out if Blaisdell is punishing him or me."
Mary Margaret covered her amusement by taking a swig of coffee, but quickly regretted the decision when she tasted the hot drink. With a cringe, she declared, "Whoever said this stuff was coffee should be sent up for life." She placed the mug on her desk, looked up, and laughed. "Don't worry Chief. I'll give Peter two days tops, and then the captain will get him out of your hair." Then with a giggle, she added, "Well, what's left of it."
Detective Burt Miller slammed a stack of papers down on his desk, and glared at them. "It's bad enough that Peter gets special treatment around here because of his relationship with the captain. And what happens when he does get caught disobeying orders? Nothing!"
"Detective Miller, I think it's best if you get your mind back on your own business," Strenlich ordered, keeping his voice low and even so not to lose his temper with the man. For months, Miller had been nursing a personal grudge against Peter, claiming the younger detective had assaulted him when he had attempted to arrest Peter's father for escaping from jail.
"You must have forgotten, Burt. Peter's personal life is a sensitive issue that's not open for discussion. You have to treat him with kid gloves because his real Daddy walked out on him. Again!" Janet said, and brutally stabbed the keys on her keyboard, using one finger to symbolize her anger. "If you ask me, it was the only smart thing that reject from the sixties ever did in his whole life. I was getting tired of listening to all those fabricated stories Peter was making up about his old man."
"Peter still turning you down?" Mary Margaret asked tauntingly.
"Caine will be back." Blake said with assurance. Usually the quiet and meek detective was reluctant to get involved in a confrontation, choosing instead to keep to himself. He glanced back at the agitator and added with confidence, "Caine wouldn't have left town unless he had a good reason."
"Really, Blake? Well, I can't wait to hear that reason. I could use a good laugh."
A diabolical smile crept across Mary Margaret's face, and she opened her mouth to comment.
"Skalany," Frank warned, stopping her from launching an insult, "don't even try it."
"Oh don't stop her, Chief," Morgan continued, enjoying the scene she was causing. She stared at Mary Margaret and then smirked. "I guess it must be pretty insulting when someone like Caine rejects you. Isn't that right, Skalany?"
"That's enough, Detective, You requested to be pulled off Vice for a few weeks, so make yourself useful and get to work," Frank growled, his patience finally worn out. Morgan's verbal abuse of Kwai Chang Caine had grown more intense after Blake had innocently revealed Skalany's fondness for the priest by asking if a date had been set. Since that time, Morgan had deliberately gone out of her way to make sarcastic remarks at Skalany's expense. It was rapidly wearing thin, not only with Strenlich, but with most of the other detectives at the precinct as well.
Burt got to his feet, glanced briefly at Morgan who nodded, and then walked out of the precinct.
Frank watched the man leave, wondering what scheme Miller was conspiring now. With that big chip on his shoulder it was only a matter of time before Burt caused the precinct trouble. Maybe he should consult with Blaisdell and see if the old man would consider transferring Miller to another precinct.
"Chief, did Kermit give you the print out that I requested on the Murphy case?" Skalany asked, drawing his attention back to paperwork. "He hasn't given it to me, and I need that information no later than tomorrow."
Frank shook his head. "No, the last thing Kermit handed me was the Kerrigan report yesterday afternoon."
"It's unusual for Kermit to be late. He must be busy."
"He's probably afraid to show his face in public," Morgan put in.
"I know I'm going to hate myself for asking," Skalany said, "but what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Skalany, you're not that naive, are you?" Janet asked, staring at woman as if she were an idiot.
"Apparently I am," the brunette shot back.
"Griffin comes in here one day, gets his own office with no questions asked, and only the captain knows anything about him. For all we know, that computer nerd could be a hired killer with his face plastered on bulletin boards in every post office across this country. I swear I've seen him on America's Most Wanted more than once."
That was it, Strenlich decided. Morgan had to go. Before he could reprimand her, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Kermit's office door was ajar. He immediately wondered if Griffin had heard Morgan's outlandish accusations, and if he would confront her about them if he had.
He turned his attention to Skalany's desk, and noticed that Line One was still lit up. He let out a deep breath, relieved that Blaisdell had been tied up with a phone call and hadn't overheard the commotion, or all hell would have broken loose. If they were lucky, Kermit had been in the captain's office as well.
"And since Captain Blaisdell hired Kermit personally," Morgan continued, "I'm beginning to wonder if he doesn't have a few skeletons hiding in his closet as well. I'm sure having a blind wife comes in handy. It shouldn't be too hard to fool her. Have you ever wondered how he could afford that house on just a Captain's salary?"
Someone gasped at the accusation.
"Detective Morgan!" Frank shouted, impervious at who heard him now. Annie Blaisdell was a close personal friend and nobody would insult her while he was alive. "You better thank whatever God you pray to that you are a lady because if you were a man, I would have already punched your lights out."
"She's no lady," Skalany replied, the hostility back in her voice. "Not even Caine could find a decent bone in her body."
"Defending your lover, Skalany?" Janet asked, taunting the woman with an evil smile. "Why? Didn't he leave town without telling you? Maybe Peter's daddy found someone else to impress."
"You bitch!" Mary Margaret jumped to her feet, ready to attack the woman. "I'm not going to just stand by and let you attack Caine or Peter anymore. From now on, every time you open your mouth, it's going to be slapped."
"What's the matter? The truth hurt?"
Frank grabbed Skalany's arm, restraining her from striking the other woman. "Detective Morgan, gather your things and get out of here. Starting tomorrow night, you are back on Vice, third shift."
"Gladly," Morgan replied, picking up her purse and ignoring the stares from the other detectives in the bullpen. "I'm getting sick of the special privileges that certain individuals receive at this precinct, and all the fraternizing that goes on behind the scenes. I don't blame Burt one bit if he follows through with his threat to bring this to Commissioner Cooper's attention."
"Let's get back to work, people. Contrary to what the politicians are saying on television, crime isn't on vacation." Strenlich said and released Mary Margaret, sighing as he glanced at the woman. "Skalany, I don't know if I should reward you or…"
"Give her a medal, Chief," Blake interrupted, cracking a smile at the duo. "You don't know how long I have been wanting to do that."
Kermit had been summonsed to Blaisdell's office, and had overheard Detective Morgan's remarks as he made his way to see the captain. He had ignored what she said, figuring Strenlich could handle the woman. If not, he laughed to himself; he had ways of making her eat every word she had said.
As he waited impatiently for Paul to get off the phone, Kermit wished he had his laptop with him. Nothing irritated him more than waiting, and with nothing to do but stare at Blaisdell, a laptop would have been a welcome sight. He started to get up, but Blaisdell held up his forefinger, indicating he wanted him to stay.
After a couple of minutes, Paul hung up the phone and looked across the desk. "Sorry about that Kermit, but the mayor kept talking and, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't hang up on him."
"One of the drawbacks of command," Kermit commented. He noticed the smile that had suddenly appeared on his friend's face. "You look like the cat who swallowed the canary. I take it something has happened that's put you in a good mood."
"To borrow the phrase of someone I know, 'Oh Yeah!'"
"Find your own phrases, Paul. That one's taken." Kermit stood up, placed both hands on the desk, and leaned over it. "Why do I think the title Grandfather is in your future?"
"Not yet, but hopefully that will change soon," Paul said, and took a deep breath before coming to the point. "I guess there's no easy way to tell you this except to come out and say it." Blaisdell paused again, his blue eyes sparkling with intensity. "Michael's alive."
"Michael who?" Kermit asked.
"My son!" Paul announced as he raised both hands in the air with excitement that Kermit hadn't seen him display in years. The captain jumped up, rushed around the desk, and pulled the younger man into a bear hug. Just as quickly he backed away, and nervously cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. "Sorry about that, Kermit. I'm just-"
"Excited?" Kermit guessed, but prayed silently that he had heard wrong. "Are you sure that it's Michael? I mean, your Michael?"
"Of course I mean my son. Who else would I mean?" Paul said. He paced the room several times before he stopped, but the excitement remained. "He looks great, Kermit! Annie and I spent several hours over lunch with him this afternoon. We decided to wait until we had a chance to tell the kids Michael's alive before he visited, but we plan to have him over for dinner soon."
Kermit barely listened to what Paul was saying. Instead his attention drifted back to Blaisdell's son. How was it possible that Michael Blaisdell got out of prison? He was certain he had arranged it so that the younger Blaisdell never saw the light of day. He gritted his teeth in an effort to control his anger. Somebody had screwed up big time. He glanced at Paul and pretended to be just as ecstatic as his friend. "Michael give you any clue where he's been?"
"Yes. He said the CIA faked his death so they could use him on a Special Forces mission whose objective was to overthrow the government of a certain third-world country. Unfortunately, the mission failed and the team was captured. Years later, the few that remained alive were rescued and put under protective custody in order to safeguard them against retaliation. They were just now allowed to contact their families"
"That's great news, Paul. I can't wait to see him. We have a lot of catching up to do," Kermit replied honestly. The only difference was, Blaisdell believed he was sincere; only Kermit knew otherwise.
He returned to his own office, shut the door, and then emailed a colleague who owed him a few favors. Within minutes he received a reply specifying a time and place where he could rendezvous with his contact. He leaned in his chair and plotted his next move. He had to act quickly or the decision he made years ago would haunt him the rest of his life.
For the third time in less than five minutes, Peter swung his chair back around and stared at Blaisdell's closed door. Running a nervous hand through his hair he wondered how much longer he could stall before he would have to go inside that office. Strenlich had told him that Paul had wanted to see him immediately. That was ten minutes ago. He glanced at Mary Margaret and asked, "Skalany, are you sure the captain didn't know that-"
"For the third time, no, Peter," Mary Margaret interrupted him. She pointed at the closed door and almost smiled. "Just go before I drag you in there myself."
The door behind them opened and Strenlich's mumbling voice came to an abrupt halt. Heavy footsteps approached, and Peter closed his eyes expecting the worst.
"Frank, I'm leaving for the day. I've got some personal business that needs my immediate attention." Blaisdell placed his hands on Peter's shoulders, leaned over, and whispered, "Peter, I want you to come by the house. Be there around eight tonight. It's important, son. Don't be late."
The captain then followed Strenlich to the front desk, where Broderick was standing.
Peter watched his foster father worriedly. ' Son? He never calls me son at work unless...' Something had to be wrong.
He jumped out of his seat and rushed to Blaisdell's side. Ignoring the stares he was getting, he grabbed Paul's arm and frantically asked, "Paul, what's wrong? Who's hurt? It's not Mom is it? Kelly? Carolyn?"
"Peter, calm down. Everyone's safe and nothing is wrong," Paul said with a smile that calmed his son's chaotic thoughts. Patting the young man across the back Blaisdell added, "Something has come up and we need to talk privately." The captain glanced around the bullpen, and lowered his voice. "There's too many distractions here, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, talk. Sure," Peter muttered and then returned to his desk. At least nobody was hurt; that was a relief. He dropped down in his seat and tried to concentrate on his work, but his mind started to wonder.
'What is so important that Paul wants to talk privately at the house? And why was he wearing that goofy smile? He knows something that I…' he paused. 'Naw, it can't be that. Nobody knew I…' his eyes flew open. 'I'm dead.'
Kermit walked across the parking lot towards his prized Corvair. He came to an abrupt halt and glared at the idiot who had the audacity to sit on the hood of his car. Furious, he picked up his pace until he stood at the front of the vehicle. "You've got two seconds to get your sorry ass off my car before I blow your brains across the asphalt."
"Tactful as ever, eh, Griffin?" the unwelcome visitor asked, flashing a wicked grin as he took his time sliding off the hood. "What, no hug for a long lost friend? No happy to see you, Michael, or you look great buddy? Or, what about something closer to the truth, like, I hoped you were dead."
Kermit stared at him.
Michael folded his arms and leaned against the car. "What's the matter, Griffin? Cat got your tongue?" he asked, when the detective failed to respond.
Kermit reached out and grabbed a hand full of Michael's hair so fast that the other man didn't have time to react. "I spent almost two decades keeping your nasty little secret," he said, jerking Michael's head back. "I'm not about to let you walk right back into your family's life and let them find out what kind of trash you really are." He released Michael with a violent shove before getting into the car. Glaring back at his adversary, Kermit started the engine. "If you're still in town tomorrow, I'll kill you."
"I'll make it easy for you, Griffin," Michael said, and moved to the passenger side of the car. He leaned inside the open convertible. "I'm going to be at Chandler's tomorrow night. Let's see if you still have the guts to execute someone in a public place."
"Michael!" Blaisdell called to his son.
"Hi, Dad." Michael greeted his father, and then glanced briefly at Kermit. "Kermit and I were just catching up on old times."
"I need to talk to you, Michael. I'm sure Kermit will understand if your reunion is postponed until later," Paul said, waiting for a familiar nod from Griffin before he moved towards his son. If you can, I'd like for you to be at the house by eight tonight. Peter's off in a couple of hours, and that will give Annie and myself some time to talk to him and your sisters about your sudden resurrection." At Michael's affirmative nod, he said good-bye to the two men, got into his car, and drove away.
"I guess what they say is true: Paul Blaisdell has gotten soft. Either that or my father is overjoyed to have his prodigal son home again. It's almost like he worships the ground I walk on," Michael laughed, enjoying the moment. "So go ahead and tell Dad what really happened, Kermit. Trouble is, I don't think the old man will believe a word you say."
Kermit gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands but refused to be baited into a fight with Michael Blaisdell, especially in front of the 101st's parking lot where there would be witnesses. He knew how Michael operated. The master instigator would goad his enemy into becoming enraged, then use that anger to his own advantage, hoping it would give him the opportunity to kill or destroy them. That M.O. included creating the stir in a public place so there would be witnesses who could verify that he was the injured party.
"If you think I am going to just stand by and let you destroy Blaisdell and his family, you're wrong."
"Family? Griffin, don't tell me you've mellowed since I've been away," Michael taunted, "Did my old man put a choke chain around your neck and take what little backbone you had left?"
Hearing voices, Michael turned and saw several police officers walking out of the precinct and heading towards the parking lot. If he played his cards just right, those same officers would be in hearing range to witness what he had in mind. He had to think of something that would incite Griffin, but what?
He smiled, knowing the one thing that would push him right over the edge. "Oh I forgot. You don't have much of a family anymore, do you? A sister you hardly visit, and a dead brother who was killed by a good friend of yours. What was his name?" He paused, pretending to try to remember a name as he tapped his chin to further add to the charade. Finally, he slapped his hands together and grinned like he just won the final round on Jeopardy. "Larsen. Larsen was his name. He's the one who put David out of his misery, wasn't he?"
Almost kicking the door open, Kermit climbed over the hood of his car and slammed Michael into the side panel. "How did you find out about David?"
Michael's just grinned, infuriating Griffin further. The computer expert repeatedly shoved the man against the car's frame, screaming, "Answer me!"
"We can end this game tomorrow night at Chandlers like originally planned, or," he laughed, nodding in the direction of three uniform police officers approaching in their direction, "you can explain this little shoving game of yours to them."
Kermit stepped back and released his intended victim, and then turned to the approaching police officers. "Everything's under control. It's just a little misunderstanding."
"You sure, Detective?" one of the police officers asked, his fingertips touching his holstered gun.
"Oh yeah," Kermit said, and then glared back at Michael. "He's leaving."
"Tomorrow night, Griffin," Michael said, as he opened his car door, and climbed inside. He started the engine, and stuck his head out the window. Pointing at the Corvair, he laughed. "What's the world coming to when your car isn't safe in a police parking lot?"
Kermit committed Michael's license's number to memory before he disappeared into the afternoon traffic. He then glanced at his own car and discovered that the right front tire had been slashed.