"How did they lose him this time?" Jim shook his head; he knew Pete was too stubborn to ignore the challenge that a guard outside his door represented.

"They don't know. After the nurse checked to make sure that the sleeping pill she gave him worked, the guard left." MacDonald picked up the phone receiver and put it back down. He did not want to have to call Captain Moore to tell him that Pete had escaped again. Not that it would really be news to the captain, Pete had never been one to stay in a hospital longer than he thought was necessary. The problem had always been that his doctors tended to disagree with him on that point. "I guess we should be happy that he isn't going home when he wanders."

"There's that. Wait, Pete doesn't take sleeping pills." Jim couldn't help laughing, even though he knew that the sergeant wouldn't find it funny. "He says they give him a hangover worse than he ever got from drinking."

"No. The nurse watched him take the pill. He was asleep." MacDonald used his right hand to rub the back of his neck; he would definitely be waking up his wife Mary to rub his shoulders when he got home.

"Mac, how long have you known Pete?" Jim spread his arms, raising the right one slightly higher than the left.

"Twelve years or so, what does that matter?" Deep down, Mac knew that Pete, wherever he was, was safe. Still, his habit of walking out of hospital rooms wasn't in accordance with department policy.

"In all that time, you never saw him pull a quarter out of a kid's ear to calm them down? Never saw him juggle coffee mugs or deal Three Card Monty?" Surely Mac had seen Pete do some of that, but it had been a long time since he rode with Malloy. Once or twice, after losing coin toss after coin toss to determine who paid for the coffee, Jim actually wondered if Pete could fix the toss. "Trust me, that pill never found its way into Pete's mouth."

O~O~O

"I heard some guys in the locker room talking. They were saying something about Malloy getting out of the hospital?" It was more a question than a statement because Larry Kasak knew that Pete wasn't due to be released for a few days, at least.

"Clear us." Pete's personality quirks were not something that Jim was willing to discuss with Larry. It had only taken Reed a month or so to learn that his training officer had a stubborn, independent streak. Malloy, an only child, treasured his privacy and rarely asked anyone for help. Being stuck in a hospital with people hovering over him drove Pete to skip out of his room when the lack of privacy reached its boiling point. While Jim had never had an extended hospital stay like the ones Pete has had to endure over the years, he did understand how his partner felt.

Jim liked working the Monday a.m. shift. While early Sunday evenings, especially in the warmer months, were hotbeds for drunken driving arrests, few people stayed until the bars closed when they had to work in the morning. Still, there are always a few people who do not know when to stop.

"Run the plate on that green Plymouth in front of us." Larry did as instructed, but he wasn't sure why Jim had him check the license.

"What's the matter? I don't see anything wrong."

"Take a look at the driver." Jim pressed harder on the gas pedal; putting the unit close to the other car.

"I can't see the driver." Larry leaned forward, straining his neck in an attempt to see what Jim saw. He did, however, finally notice that the car had begun swerving. Jim turned on the reds and the Plymouth took off.

"Roll up your window and put us in pursuit."

"1 Adam-12. We are in pursuit of a green Plymouth Wagon, license Ida Robert Allen three one five."

"All units, 1 Adam-12 is in pursuit. 1 Adam-12, your location please."

"This is 1 Adam-12, we are…"

"Northbound"

"…we are northbound on Manning, nearing Pico." The rookie's voice was wavering, but then, he hadn't been in too many pursuits and being calm in one takes experience.

"All units, Adam-12 is in pursuit northbound, nearing Pico." In contrast, the dispatcher's voice was calm and professional. Both officers found that reassuring.

"1 Adam-12, we are now westbound on Pico..."

"Tell her how fast we are going." Jim was too busy trying to both keep control of the car and catch up to the speeding Plymouth to check the speed himself.

"…speed in excess of…ah...seventy, nearing Westwood Blvd."

"1 Adam-12, 1 Adam-16 is code 100 at Westwood and Pico."

When the driver of the Plymouth saw Adam-16 parked at the corner of Westwood and Pico the car swerved, sideswiping a parked car before hitting a mailbox. It spun around coming to a stop just short of a storefront. Jim slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to the curb behind the Plymouth. As Larry reported the TA, Jim ran after the driver, who was attempting to flee. Kasak dropped the mic and ran after one of the passengers.

The three occupants are the speeding car were easily captured: Larry got the front seat passenger, Adam-16 got the backseat rider and Jim nabbed the driver.

"How old are you?" Jim was leading the driver, who clearly wasn't old enough to shave yet, back to the unit. "…and what is your name?"

"Mark. I'm seventeen." The shakiness in the boy's voice was enough to convince Jim that Mark was lying about his age.

"Do you wanna try answering that again, Mark?"

"Don't tell him anything Marky boy. You got rights even if you ain't eighteen yet." Larry's prisoner, who bore a strong resemblance to Mark, was having trouble standing up straight and was slurring his words.

"You do have the right to remain silent, but we'll find out your name eventually, so make it easy on yourself kid." Wells and Woods were once again serving as back-up to Adam-12, which gave Wells the "right" to intervene in Jim's questioning of the boy.

"I'm telling him anything he wants to know. You aren't in trouble; I'm the one that was driving." Mark turned back towards Reed. "I'm fourteen. That's my older brother Carl."

"Hold up. Larry, give the boys their rights." Jim could see Woods standing by Adam-16 and reading the second passenger his rights. After Larry finished, Jim began to question Mark again.

"What is your last name and why were you driving? I know that you don't have a license."

"He ain't got a license, but he's not drunk, so we told him to bring us home." Carl seemed to think that having his younger brother drive them home was a bright idea. "Our last name is Wilson."

"Well, all three of you are going to jail. Next time, call a cab."

Two hours later, Mark was referred to Juvenile officers and sent home with his parents. His brother and the other passenger, both nineteen years old, were booked for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

Larry and Jim had one thing, above all else in common; both were always hungry and never seemed to gain weight. Pete often teased his younger partner, telling him that all that eating would catch up to Reed someday; he was still waiting for it to happen. As soon as they could, the two officers put in for a dinner break. During the allotted forty-five minutes, Kasak tried several times to steer the conversation towards the rumors about Pete. He didn't get very far.

The sunrise was starting when Adam-12 received a Code 30, silent alarm call to a local drugstore. With no back-up available, Jim and Larry approached the building with extreme caution. The layout was simple, with a large storeroom in the basement and a loading door in the alley behind it. Jim turned off the headlights, slowly pulling up to the door that was slightly ajar.

"1 Adam-12, reporting a 459 in progress at 12384 Lankershim Blvd. Advise any responding officers to approach from the alley." Jim stifled a smile; Larry's radio procedure was improving.

"Come on. Don't close the doors all the way. Keep your flashlight turned off until we get inside." Reed exited the unit, pushed the door closed enough for the dome light to go off and carefully made his way to the door.

"Do exactly what I tell you and nothing else." The hairs on the back of Jim's neck were standing on edge; that usually meant that he or Pete were in danger. Did that sixth sense apply to Larry too?

"Stay behind me and go slow." Jim took great care to silence his footsteps. If there was anyone still in here, Reed wanted to hear him before seeing him. "Don't talk."

Jim muttered something under his breath; the layout had changed slightly, with rows of solid shelves instead of the metal grid ones that used to be there. After peering down the first aisle, Jim moved across it to the next aisle and the next; trusting that Larry was following him. He was about to move to the fourth aisle when a voice in his head, Pete's voice, said: "Always keep track of him because that rookie will walk off on his own."

Jim looked back. Larry was nowhere in sight.

Reed stood frozen; his back to the end of one of the rows of shelves. His rookie, the one he was responsible for, was God knows where, in the dark and Jim didn't know what to do.

"Hold it right there." Larry's voice was barely loud enough, but Jim heard him. The rookie and whoever he found were along the back wall and off to the right. Reed fought back the urge to run towards Larry, just in case whoever he ordered to stay still didn't.

Jim listened for the sound of possible other suspects, but the only voice he heard was Kasak's. From what he heard, Larry had finished searching the suspect and was about to cuff him.

"Hey man, my shoe is untied, can I fix that before you put on the cuffs?" The voice sounded old, but with a tinge of deceit in it; at least to Jim's trained ears.

"Sure, but make it quick." Jim turned the corner just as Kasak gave the young adult male the chance to tie his shoe. Without hesitating, Reed drew his weapon, trained it on the man and ordered him to freeze. He stepped closer, ordering the still bent over male to assume the standard position: hands on the wall, feet back and spread apart.

"Search him." Jim barked the order at the rookie, who clearly didn't understand what was happening.

"I already did. He's clean."

"Do it again; right this time." The bewildered probationer did as instructed. He searched the arms, down along the torso to the legs, stopping and inch or two below the knees.

"He's clean. Can I cuff him now?" Larry didn't see what the problem was and was about to suggest that the guy be allowed to tie his sneaker when Jim growled at him.

"Cover him; watch and learn." Once Kasak drew his gun and held it out to keep an eye on the suspect Jim searched the man, this time going all the way down the leg.

"He's clean?" Reed pulled up the right leg of the man's jeans, pulled out a slender silver knife, holding it up for Larry to see.

"Uh...ah…sorry sir, I didn't see it." Jim quickly cuffed the suspect, shoving him towards the rookie, who was visibility shaking.

"Scared? You should be." Jim shoved the switch blade into his back pocket. "He could have killed you."

"I'm sorry Sir."

"Don't be sorry, be scared."

"Do you ever stop being scared when you search a man?" Reed knew the answer to that one; Pete hadn't sugar coated his response to that same question when Jim asked it.

"Yeah, the day you lose sight of his hands and he kills you."

O~O~O

Pete was disappointed; it was too darned easy. What fun was there in only having to sneak past one nurse, an orderly and a guard who stayed around to flirt with a nurse? He thought at least the security guard might have presented a challenge. It was as simple as listening to the sound of the nurse's heels on the tile floor; followed by the guard's heavier footfalls. Judging the distance by how fast the sound faded was a valuable skill for a police officer. Once she was at the other end of the hall, Pete adjusted his robe to hide the bandages and left his room. The orderly did look askance at him before shrugging his shoulders. Malloy learned long ago that acting like you have the right to do something usually stops people from questioning you when you do it. By the time the nurse noticed that he was gone, Pete was nowhere in sight. Keeping a fox caged up was far harder to do than the hospital staff assumed.

Initially, Pete had intended to take a walk around the grounds, but as he entered the stairwell, his attention was drawn to a young boy, who darted up the stairs when he saw Pete.

"Whoa, hold up there." Pete held up his right hand, signaling for the kid to stay put. "Relax; I'm not going to tell on you."

The child aged eight or so, leaned over the stairway railing; jet black hair partially obscuring his eyes. He didn't back away, but he also seemed reluctant to trust Pete.

"Trust me." Pete took a step or two towards the landing between him and the boy. "If I tell someone that you aren't in your room, they'll find out that I'm not in mine."

Pete climbed the steps slowly and silently; much the same way that he approached a criminal from behind. It was a hunter's way of walking, designed to not alert his prey. He smiled at the boy, eventually holding out his free hand to the child.

"I'm Pete. Why don't we take a seat?" Malloy waited until the boy took his hand to shake it. Eventually, they both sat down on the steps.

"I'm Gary." He stared at Pete, clearly trying to figure out this odd man who promised to not turn him in. "Did you really sneak out of your room?"

"Yep, I slipped past the nurse, an orderly and a guard." Pete was leaning forward, arms braced on his knees, turning to face the boy on his right.

"A guard…?" Gary seemed more excited about that fact than scared of Pete. Eight year olds rarely meet people who would admit to being guarded. "Are you a bad guy?"

"Nope, I'm a good-guy." Pete shook his head and chucked as the boy's eyes widened. "I really am a good-guy. Don't tell anyone, but I'm a cop."

"No you aren't." Gary leaned back slightly, eyeing Pete through narrowing brown eyes. "Cops don't have guards."

"Sometimes we do, especially when we're in the hospital. Usually, they are there to protect us, but this was a security guard who was supposed to keep me in my room." Pete's Irish charm seemed to extend to convincing young boys that he was, in fact, a good guy.

"Can I see your badge and gun?" Gary asked excitedly. Most kids ask to see both whenever they find out that someone was a police officer.

"I don't have them with me." He chuckled, pointing to his bathrobe. "They are locked away until I can go back to work." The kid seemed to accept that so Pete asked the question he wanted the answer to the first time he saw the boy.

"Why did you sneak out of your room?"

"You first." It seemed the boy was still somewhat suspicious of the older man.

"I snuck out because I don't like being cooped-up in a room for a long time." Considering that he had been living in Los Angeles for fifteen years, Pete still treasured the freedom his boyhood in the country gave him. When Gary squirmed instead of explaining why he left his room, Pete took a guess…

"Did you sneak out of your room because you're scared?"

"No…" The boy suddenly seemed smaller; unsure of his answer. "Kinda. Are you scared?"

"Not now." Pete chuckled and shook his head. "I'm going stir crazy from being in here too long, but I do get scared sometimes." He almost told the boy that everyone gets scared, but hesitated, not knowing what other adults might have taught him.

"Men don't get scared, especially policemen." Gary spoke with conviction; clearly someone had told him that. Pete had to tread lightly.

"Not all men are alike. It's okay to be scared. What's important for a police officer is that we don't let being scared stop us from doing what we have to do. Kinda like soldiers."

"Were you scared when you hurt your shoulder?" With the boy sitting on his right, it was impossible to prevent Gary from seeing that his left arm was in a sling.

"I was."

"Did you get shot?" It was the expected reaction. Most people never think of cops getting hurt in car accidents, fights or tripping over a garbage can. Pete hesitated only a moment before confirming the Gary's question. It was impossible to miss the excitement in the boy's eyes.

"Did a robber shoot you?" Pete shook his head.

"No. It was a man I sent to prison. He got out and wanted to get even with me." It was a simplistic version of what happened, but Pete was not about to explain Tony Johnson's act of vengeance in detail.

"That's not fair. You did your job!" Gary spoke with righteous indignation. There were good guys and bad guys to a child; for the lucky ones, the ability to see the shades of grey didn't develop until their world expanded passed the confines of their childhood homes.

"I did, but that doesn't mean that he liked being in prison. It's not a good place to be." Pete figured that he had some time to waste, so he went back to the issue at hand.

"You never did tell me why you left your room." Pete smiled at the boy to reassure him that he had no intention of telling anyone. "What scared you?"

"A bigger boy told me that his friend died when they tried to take his tonsils out." Gary shifted in his seat; did the boy mean to run?

"He just wanted to scare you. People don't die from getting their tonsils out. See?" Pete opened his mouth wide to let the boy look at his throat, even though he was sure that Gary didn't know what a tonsil looked like. He did look for them.

"Were you afraid when they took yours out?"

"I don't know. I was three years old, so I don't think I understood what was happening." Pete paused, giving the boy the once over. "But, you're a big boy and understand that you'll be okay, right?"

"Are you sure I'm gonna be okay, Pete?"

"I'm positive. They have the best doctors here. They've saved my life more than once." He stood up, holding out a hand to Gary. "Where should we go next? Your parents are probably looking for you and this really isn't a good hiding place."

"Yeah…." Gary stood, looking down at his slippers. "It's just Mom. Will you take me back Pete?"

It was obvious that the child wouldn't go back to his room by himself, but taking Gary to his room would bring attention to his own flight. With a large sigh, Pete took Gary's hand and together they went to the pediatric ward.