DISCLAIMER: The fictional characters (Miss Parker, Jarod, Sydney, Broots etc.) and places of the dramatic television series "The Pretender" are the property of MTM Entertainment and NBC Productions and used with no harsh intent for the purposes of entertainment only. There are some real facts in this story, but it is entirely a work of fiction. This is an independent fan production.

Timeline: It takes place directly before the episode, "Toy Surprise." Written with much admiration for the writers and actors that create and portray these characters. Fourth in the "Truth" series. (1998)

Summary: Miss Parker deals with the aftermath of yet another Centre secret, while Jarod investigates recent museum robberies.


DEADLY TRUTH

Outside Abandoned Theater
Jersey City, New Jersey
March 31st
Tuesday, 8 P.M.

The black car screeched through the streets chasing the fleeing form before them. Evening had fallen and the headlights were the only illumination in this part of the city. A thunderclap rolled through the air with the threat of rain. The car pulled around a corner and came to a halt. The pursued was no longer in sight.

Miss Parker and Sam the Sweeper sprang from the car, zeroing in on the only building their fugitive could have disappeared into. "Go around to the front and block the entrance!" she hissed at the driver. The car sped off into the night.

"This way," Miss Parker said, pausing before a dark alleyway. "It's like Wonder Boy to choose large empty buildings to hide in." She was again wearing her headset and mouthpiece to keep in touch with the occupants of the car.

The alley was very dark and very long and for once Miss Parker hesitated. She had the same eerie feeling she had had when first staring down the porthole which led to SL-27. She had ordered Broots to go down first. This was not an option this time. She looked at Sam and ordered, "Give me your gun!" In her last encounter with Jarod, he had taken her gun. Her personal gun, her 9mm. She was now very much frustrated without it and even felt a bit lost, rather like a snake who has lost its rattle. She had carried it almost everywhere with her. Her gun had been her security blanket, whenever she had been on edge or in danger, it was something comforting to clutch and flourish. It instilled fear, it gave power, and as of yet she had not felt like getting a new one. She had extra weapons, but had failed to bring any along this trip. Partly in defiance of the fact that Jarod had taken hers and partly because it just wouldn't have been the same.

Sam's gun in hand, she had the sufficient amount of courage to plunge into the darkness of the alley, whispering to Sam over her shoulder, "Stick close." The sky grew even darker as clouds covered the stars overhead. They reached the door and Miss Parker gestured at Sam to go in first. He pulled the door open and they both sprang inside into the even more encroaching blackness of the interior.

Sam, in his dark suit, was nearly invisible, in fact, yet Miss Parker still insisted he go first as they walked down a dim hall into the auditorium. Their footsteps had echoed on the cement floor of the halls, but were muffled on the red carpeting of the auditorium. Rows and rows of seats greeted them and Miss Parker thought uneasily that Jarod could be hiding behind any one of these. She pointed her gun in all directions, then looked at Sam and said. "Get back and guard the door! If anything moves, alert me at once!"

With a nod, Sam complied.

Miss Parker continued on, scanning the rows. From pitch blackness, the room began to take shape. Miss Parker squinted as there was a flickering of lights and the stage suddenly was illuminated. She looked up towards the light fixtures, pointing her gun accordingly, but spotted no one. Her nerves were now on edge. She quickly turned to look behind her. She felt as if she were being watched. There was definitely someone here.

But she never saw who was, for just then, the lights died again. And in that moment when one's eyes are still adjusting to the dark, still dilating in order to see more, she heard a moaning noise coming from the direction of the back door. A hand slapped over her nose. She smelt a strange sweet odor and lost consciousness.


On the Highway
Somewhere in New York
April 1st
Wednesday, 3 P.M.

Time has a way of changing things, Jarod thought. He was driving down the road in a grey Intrigue, leaving the scene of his last Pretend. Who would have believed now that it was over a year since he had escaped the Centre? He ate a mouthful of Pez from a Snoopy dispenser and smiled to himself remembering how his coworkers had looked at him strangely when he had asked how come Charles Scultz, the writer of this comic strip had called it Peanuts, when it was about children and super-intelligent animals. When he had insisted on knowing the answer, some had broken into laughter and Jarod had joined them.

He raised his arm to look at his wristwatch. It was three fifteen, he still had about forty-five minutes left before he was due for the job interview. Jarod pulled over to a gas station to get his tires checked. While he did so, he munched on Pez and pulled out his lap-top computer, which he kept in his silver Haliburton briefcase, along with the precious DSA's which contained his life. You Have Mail, flashed across the screen. He opened it, and began decoding the message. It was from Sydney and read, "Jarod, we need to talk." Jarod typed back a message which read, "Page me." He knew Sydney now had his pager number, he had sent it with a drawing not long ago and doubted if the Centre had yet found out about it. Besides, it was much easier for Jarod to get a secure line, one Broots would not be able to trace until it was too late, if it was he, Jarod, who called Sydney.

About ten minutes later, Jarod heard a sharp series of high-pitched beeps. He looked at his beeper, pulled out his cellular phone, and punched the buttons.

"Sydney," a voice answered.

"It's Jarod," he replied. "What do you need to talk about, Sydney?"

"Thanks for calling here so promptly. I have a question to ask you. Where is Miss Parker?" His accented voice contained a masked anxiety.

"Isn't she supposed to be wondering that about me?" Jarod replied, warily. "What did she convince you to do this time, Sydney?"

"I'm serious, Jarod. She left two days ago following your clue and we haven't heard from her since. She should have contacted us by now."

"What clue?" Jarod asked in a surprised tone.

"Your bread crumb arrived Monday morning while Broots and I were on coffee break. When we returned, Miss Parker had left to follow it," Sydney explained.

"Left? To where?"

Sydney replied, "Broots was able to deduce New Jersey, but nothing else very specific. Miss Parker must have taken the item with her."

"Alone?" asked Jarod, sounding worried. "Sydney, I didn't send anything to the Centre, let alone to Miss Parker."

"Are you certain, Jarod?" asked Sydney, incredulously. "No, not alone. I believe she was accompanied by some sweepers."

"I'm positive. But if I didn't, then who did? Keep me posted, Sydney." He pushed the 'off' button on his phone.

Sydney sighed and hung up as well.


MEANWHILE,
Somewhere in Rochester, New York

The first thing Miss Parker was aware of was a sickening, splitting headache. Her brain was fuzzy, she opened her eyes, but her vision was blurred. Her brain registered that she was in a dark, enclosed room. What was going on? What had happened? She closed her eyes again, and tried to touch her head, but her arm wouldn't move. Something was restraining it. Miss Parker opened her eyes again and looked down at her arm. In the dim lighting, she could just make out the fact that she was sitting in a chair. The fog began to lift from her brain and she realized the reason she was unable to move. She was tied in the chair with ropes, her arms were tied to each arm of the chair, leaving only enough slack to wiggle her fingers ever so slightly. She was being forced to sit.

At this point her brain cleared completely and she jerked to broad awakeness. "What in the world!" she cried out, tossing her head back and nearly toppling the chair. She struggled, pulling at the ropes, but noticed another tied around her waist, keeping her back against the back of the chair. She turned her concentration to the bonds around her arms, but found she was not able to move enough to dislocate any joints...fingers or otherwise. The only part of her free were her legs.

The effort of speaking told her that her mouth was dry, but she ignored that fact. She was more interested in knowing who her captors were and she did not have long to wait. Footsteps echoed on the cement floor, and then the screeching hinges of the door moaned in protest at being opened. Two shadowy figures stood in the doorway, Miss Parker was unable to make out any details. She felt a cool breeze blowing on her from above and looked up to see a grate. I'm in the basement of somewhere, she thought.

One of the shadowy figures nodded to the other. "You're right. She's awake."

Miss Parker swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing she had nearly exhausted herself from struggling against her bonds. There must be a peephole somewhere, she thought to herself. These thugs have been watching me. Her head was still throbbing slightly, but her blood pulsed faster as her temper began to take over.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" she shouted hoarsely at the two figures in the shadows. Yes, her father was chairman of the board, they would definitely pay.

"Hit the light if it pleases you, Mr. K," directed the one in charge to the other. A single bulb suspended from the ceiling flicked on, serving to chase away a few shadows. "Now perhaps you can tell us about Jarod?" the one in charge said.

He advanced toward her and she waited tensely, coolly calculating a certain distance. His eyes were beady and shifty, shaded under a grey broad-brimmed hat. His hair was red, slicked down under the hat. He looked for all the world like something picked straight out the days of the Prohibition. But if he did, his associate who still stood in the shadows, looked even more so. The second man wore a black Fedora which was pulled low over his eyes. He also wore a long black coat, the collar of which was pulled up so that there was no way of seeing his entire face. Only the glint of his eyes. Both hands were in his pockets and he remained standing near the doorway.

"Why would I know that?" Miss Parker retorted, lowering her voice deliberately. The one in charge moved closer, trying to catch her response. A plan had not yet formulated in her mind, except one. She wasn't going to be a willing prisoner. This gang, whoever they were, were going to regret the day they ever messed with a Parker!

"I've got news for you," she said, blatantly. "Al Capone is dead."


Photography Museum
Rochester, New York 4:30 PM

"You the new security guy?" asked the man, walking into his office.

Jarod nodded assent. He was dressed in a black watchman security suit. A walkie-talkie was strapped to his side. He had the vigilant air of someone constantly scanning for something out of the ordinary. "Jarod Locke," he replied. "You can call me Jarod."

"Good. I'm Charles Ray. I'm hiring you temporarily. Our normal guy's on vacation, but we can't stand to take any chances. You have any idea what you're guarding?"

"Of course," Jarod replied. "Mr. Eastman is credited with coming up with the idea for a simpler camera. The first camera that was easy and uncomplicated enough for an amateur photographer and even a child to use. This museum was loaned some older models which are usually displayed at the Eastman museum."

"Excellent," nodded Charles Ray. "And you're not from around here, did you say? How did you know that? Been looking around the museum while you waited?"

"Oh, well...With the growth of multinational corporations, marketing has greatly expanded its scope. Many marketing managers take the whole world as their marketplace. Thus Eastman Kodak marketed its new Instamatic camera simultaneously in 28 countries in 1963--the first time simultaneous worldwide marketing was achieved--and prepared advertising and publicity in more than 20 languages. Managers of such global activities must take into account international differences in climate, customs, and business practices, " Jarod rattled out these facts like he was an encyclopedia.

"You sure you just got into town? You talk as if you saw all of this happen. How old were you then? Five?"

"Well, not in person sir, but I did think of the initial business plan. I was four at the time," Jarod grinned.

Mr. Ray shook his head in appreciation of what he thought was a joke.

"Well, good. You do know a lot, I see. There have been several museum break-ins lately. Authorities believe that a certain Jimmy Murdock gang is responsible. We can't afford to lose anything, Jarod. That's why we're adding to the security of this place. I must admit, your credentials are extremely impressive. You worked for the Detroit Bomb squad?"

"Yeah," Jarod replied, shrugging. "But I didn't stay long."

"Why not?"

"Things kept blowing up in my face," Jarod replied.

Mr. Ray broke into a laugh. "That's a good one, Jarod."

"Well, you need a sense of humor when you're in my line of work. You wouldn't happen to have a photo of this Murdock fellow would you? I could--keep an eye out for him?" Jarod raised a questioning eyebrow.

"As a matter of fact, we do. The police have been sending it out to all the local museums in the area. Just ask, Marie, at the desk on your way out. Well, Jarod. Come in and start tomorrow. 8 P.M. sharp."

"How's your day security?" Jarod asked, suddenly.

"Day security? With all the cameras and alarms up in this place you think the crooks would try to steal something in broad daylight? Jarod, your sense of humor amazes me. We have a man to open the doors in the morning and check things over to see if they're in order. It's all covered."

"I see," Jarod replied, backing out of the room. "Well, stranger things have happened. See you tomorrow."


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