Although I offered to buy the whole franchise for a buck fifty, Pet Fly, Paramount, the Sci-Fi networks and various other individuals refused to sell me the Sentinel. I made no money off this story, which is logical since it is not worth any money. I humbly ask not to be sued since I lack the funds to put a stick of gum on lay-away.
High Priestess Lunatic
Desperate Times
Part Two:
James knocked his chair over backwards with his legs as he stood up abruptly. He slapped his open hands on the glossy surface of the cherry finished pine conference table at the end of Simon's office; opposite from the Captain's desk. He bellowed enraged, at the black telephone broadcasting his Guide's distress in stereo from its twin tiny speakers, as though the sound of his voice alone could stop the crime in progress.
Well, maybe it could.
That was of course, if Cortese could hear him.
However, Cortese was to busy kidnapping his best friend - per his instructions - to pick up the telephone.
As the elevator chimed before closing, James bolted from Simon's office at full speed, bursting through the Captain's door with force enough to rattle the glass and pull a few papers of Rhonda's desk as he passed. His long legs devoured the distance between Simon's office and the doors to the Major Crimes department in three strides.
He elbowed between Detectives Henry Brown and Rafael van Rijn coming through the doors, knocking Rafe on his behind. Henry stumbled back into Inspector Megan Conner and Captain Joel Taggert just stepping off the elevator, but James did not pause in his headlong rush to the stair to apologize to his co-workers.
If it were a real emergency - if Blair had really been kidnapped - he would be focused on finding, protecting, and avenging his Guide. Nothing else would matter. Not the sudden appearance of his biological mother's from thin air. Not Ed McMann with a million dollars, the keys to a Ford Expedition and a policy for automotive insurance with Triple AAA with a low deductible. Not even six beautiful buxom Hula dancing naked red headed women begging for sex.
Nothing would stop or distract him.
Though he might glance over at the naked women. His Guide would understand.
Besides if he stopped now, and saw the sincere piteous empathy on the faces of his friends - the Shaman's friends, their chosen extended family and tribe - there was no way he could go through with THE PLAN ™. He would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, everyone would be really pissed with him, he might go to jail and the Shaman would not be safe.
He would be naked with a crossbow bolt in his side, bleeding to death on the jungle floor looking at James with sad accusing eyes.
Died because James shot him.
Shot him because he was aiming at HER.
Aiming at HER and missed.
THAT was not going to happen.
James erupted from the stairwell hoping that his expression was convincingly distressed and furious. Judging from the way the other officers in the parking garage visibly cringed back as they saw him approaching, he supposed it was. He could hear Simon shouting breathlessly behind him, years of smoking Cuba's finest cigars kept him from running fast enough to keep up with James Ellison. He ignored his Captain and headed to his truck.
James fumbled for his keys, and almost broke the truck's driver side window in frustration. Simon was catching up, and he could not face him knowing the whole situation was an elaborate hoax dreamed up so the Sentinel would not have to share his latest Spirit Guide induced dream with the resident Medicine Man. It was just too absurd and logical even for James to think about - let alone believe.
James managed to get the key in the lock, the door open and himself in the driver's seat just as Simon was running up to the truck. He quickly jabbed the key in the ignition, and revved the truck into life as Simon skidded to a halt beside his door.
"Damnit Ellison don't you go off half cocked!" Simon shouted at him through the glass of his rolled up window.
James looked over his shoulder, shifted the truck into gear, and pulled out of his parking space so fast his tires squealed. He wrenched the steering wheel violently; nearly swinging his truck into a collision with a patrol car whose breaks whined loudly at it came to an abrupt halt.
With Simon standing with his hands on his hips fuming, and two uniform officers swearing at him - James drove his truck on to the ramp and out of the underground parking lot of the police department.
~+~
Cortese sighed as he shifted the limp body in his arms. Blair's head rolled against his shoulder before flopping back, his mouth open. The graduate student's right arm was folded cross his waist, but his left arm dangled down, swinging limply as Cortese stepped off the elevator. He caught his reflection in the plate glass door, and shook his head ruefully.
He looked like a government agent carrying off an innocent on the cover of a B-movie. This was ridiculous. Cortese sighed again as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and hip. He walked out of the building and looked amazed. Here he was, committing a felony in broad daylight and no one seemed to be paying attention.
Cortese made a rude disgusted sound, and Winston wondered why he hated Americans. Self centered pigs.
Winston had been sitting in the front of their stolen ambulance fiddling with the radio dial. When Cortese came out of the building Winston crawled through the space between the front two seats and opened the back doors of the rig for him.
Cortese handed Blair up to Winston's waiting arms, then pulled himself up, and climbed into the van, shutting the doors behind him. As he made his way to the driver's seat let Blair's back pack slide off his shoulder onto the floor with a dull thud, Winston settled Blair in the back.
Crouching so that she did not hit her head, Winston placed Blair's body on a gurney in the middle of the back of the van. She arranged the young man's limbs so that his arms were down at his sides then strapped Blair's body down with the nylon restraints.
"Not a mark on him," Winston commented. She rolled up the left sleeve of Blair's denim shirt, cleaned a patch of skin with a betadine wipe, and inserted the needle of an IV containing saline, a little glucose and enough sedative to keep Blair deeply sedated. "Didn't he at least put up a fight?"
"Yeah, fought like a cornered wild cat - not that he knew what the hell he was doing," Cortese said as the started the truck and backed out into traffic. "He was just swinging, kicking, and screaming hoping to land a good solid blow or attract attention. It was pathetic, you'd think the Captain would have at least taught him the basics."
"Well he's going to be with us for a while, why don't you teach him." Winston put a pillow under Blair's head, draped several quilts over his body before coming to the front, and siting down next to Cortese in the passenger's seat. She was dressed in dark pants, a white polo shirt and a jacket she stole from a paramedic.
"How's that gonna look Edna? We kidnap him and teach him self defense?"
"Do you plan to just sit around looking at him until Ellison wants him back?" Winston shot back.
"That's why I brought his backpack. He's a student, he can do his homework," Cortese replied sarcastically.
_+_+_+_
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