When You Assume 11/?

90 MINUTES LATER: 22 MILES OUTSIDE OF MONTVALE

Despite himself, and contrary to how he'd feared the trip would turn out, Bruce found he was utterly fascinated by the conundrum occupying the back seat of the SUV. He'd almost missed more than one turn, in fact, because he was so caught up in the stories and odd facts spilling from Patrick Jane. Half an hour in, Johnny had insisted Bruce pull over so he could climb into the back as well, complaining that his neck was beginning to ache from twisting backwards out of the front passenger position.

Now, only a short distance from their destination, Bruce caught himself glancing up into the rear view for the hundredth time, watching the other two interact.

"You can't be serious."

"I swear, it's the God's honest truth." Johnny affirmed, holding up one hand in the Boy Scout salute.

"You beat a Wheel of Fortune? Impossible. Can't be done."

Johnny simply shrugged and smiled lightly, as if to say the truth was what it was and nobody's skepticism, not even Jane's extreme brand, could change that. "I grew up in that world, I was shown secrets only the oldest, craftiest carnies are privy to and I am telling you there's no way."

"Sarah was right there the whole time. I'll have her call you to confirm."

"I am capable of using a phone, even these new overloaded, over-rated piles of technological confusion."

"No. J.J.'s gonna have enough to deal with the next few years. I'm not dragging him into the firestorm that swirls around me sometimes."

"Right. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I just… I have to protect him 'till the time is right… until he's ready for the whole story. Hearing bits and pieces from a hundred different sources… innuendo, lies, rumors…he won't understand if it happens that way. I have to protect him."

Jane grimaced faintly, nodded and turned to look out the window. "Damn. I touched a nerve. I have to figure out how not to do that."

"No, it isn't…"

Jane drew and released a trembling breath then paused to compose the question that had just arisen in his mind. "At the hospital… you called Red John the man who took my family. I never told you or your friend…"

"Oh. Well, right after I recover from being forced into a vision, I don't really remember much about what I saw. Not surprising I guess, considering how sick I get and how much pain I'm usually in. As I was talking to you, though, and we got into the story of my son… the images started to come back. I know you found your wife and daughter. I didn't see what was done to them, I promise you that. Just the symbol on the wall… and then your expression. Frankly, I wish I could stop seeing that."

"Was there… did you sense anything?" Patrick asked very softly. Johnny matched the volume level, knowing Bruce not only shouldn't have to hear the response, but would be disturbed for days if he did.

"Rage. Yours and his. Other than that, no. The vision only lasted a few seconds. If I'd had more time…"

"I'm sorry. You said you can't risk helping and I understand. I just had to… the question wouldn't be refused."

Johnny suppressed a smile at the apparently unconscious statement of belief in his ability.

"I get that."

"We're about there, guys. Prepare to stretch legs and backs and whatever else needs it." Bruce announced from the front, watching both men shake themselves minutely, shunting aside the intense emotion the last few minutes of conversation had generated.

Pulling into a small village square, he parked in front of what appeared to be a hardware store and all three men eagerly exited the car, relieved to escape the weighty atmosphere. Bruce moved to Johnny's side, placing one hand flat on the other man's chest and one on his lower back. Smith slowly pushed back and then forward against the firm support, easing the kinks out of his muscles. Patrick watched for a moment, but found such connection and intimacy in the scene that he couldn't bear it too long. Stepping up onto the sidewalk, he studied the line of small shops and, deciding to indulge a side of his personality that hadn't had a serious workout in a few months, sauntered in the direction of a candy store with a brightly colored facade. When Bruce called to him, he reluctantly paused, fighting off the pout that was suddenly threatening to make an appearance.

"Hey, man. Lunch first, okay?"

"I should warn you that you thwart my inner child at your own risk."

"Yeah, well, mine can smack down yours any day and twice on Sunday. C'mon…" he urged, moving the other direction down the narrow strip of cement. Johnny strolled beside him, chuckling quietly.

"My inner child can beat up your inner child. That'd make a great bumper sticker. No, a T-shirt! How totally cool would that be…"

"Don't you start, damn it, I got enough on my hands baby-sittin' him!"

90 MINUTES LATER:

After stowing Patrick's two huge bags of treats in a shady spot in the back of the SUV, Johnny rejoined the other two on the sidewalk and they slowly moved on past the candy shop, all searching for anything that looked like an official building potentially housing the records archive they needed.

"There. That's a rural town hall if I ever saw one." Patrick announced after a few minutes. Bruce gazed where he was pointing and nodded.

"Yeah. Looks about right. Let's go." He said, leading them easily across a street nearly devoid of traffic. Before they could enter, however, Johnny held up a hand, asking the others to wait. Fingers trembling, as they always did now, he cautiously laid his palm on the door frame. His chin dropped, and he stilled for a long stretch of seconds, but he didn't show signs of distress and whatever he was seeing released him very quickly. "What is it, John?"

"Bar fight. Better than a lot of westerns I've seen."

"Bar fight?"

"Yeah, somewhere around 1890 or 95, this place was a saloon. A freed slave walked in and the whole place erupted over whether to drag him out and hang him or buy him a whiskey for having the courage just to push through the doors." Johnny explained, laughing. Patrick smirked, turned away and opened the heavy door, stepping inside. He immediately targeted the young woman behind the desk a few feet away, offering her his most charming smile as he approached. Johnny and Bruce entered as well, but, realizing Jane had just 'switched on', they hung back to watch.

"Hello, my name is Patrick Ulster. I'm an author and I'm doing research for a book on small town mysteries in California. I'd heard there were one or two up here that'd be perfect."

"Wow… Ummm, okay. I'll, uh… do anything I can to help." She giggled, unable to look anywhere but into his eyes. "What, uh… what is it you need?"

"Knowing where your records archive is would be a great first step."

"Oh, that's easy! Most everything back to 1960 is on computer now, which is right back there. If you want anything before that or you need more detail, just speak right up and I'll show you the microfiche room, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you so much…"

"Ashlynn. My name's Ashlynn."

"A beautiful name." he pronounced grandly, kissing her hand. While she fought off a fainting spell, the three men moved past her headed for the computer station.

"You've got to be kidding. That actually works?" Johnny questioned, though he was grinning as well. Patrick smirked.

"On shy sixteen year old girls who've never been told they're beautiful or treated like it? Every time."

"And how the hell did you know?" Bruce continued.

"It used to be my business and it doesn't pay to lose your touch with things like that."

TBC…..