First chap= disclaimers

Mercedes belongs to Mercedes Benz.

Thanks for the reviews!

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

A vine of grief sprouted its way around Jesse Travis' heart as he stared at the memorial plaque that had been made for the service. One month after Steve's last phone call, Mark had finally gotten together enough to have a proper service to say goodbye. Blindly, Jesse wiped away a tear. Turning around, he could see Amanda supporting Mark as he greeted the visitors.

There were all sorts of people coming to pay their respects. Doctors, nurses, police, cooks, waitresses, convicted felons who had gotten released, previously homeless, just about all walks of life. It would have been a humbling experience had it not been so sad an occasion. Blandly, Jesse watched as Jack Stewart hugged Mark. Jesse seethed at the presence of only one person in the room. Jackson Peters.

The man was oilier than a batch of bad French fries. He drove Jesse nuts, and no-one else noticed. Even Mark hadn't noticed as his normally sharp senses were dulled by grief. But, Jesse still held the opinion that if he held a match to Peters, the man would catch on fire.

As the minister approached the front of the room, Jesse moved to take his seat and say farewell to his best friend.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Peters felt a sharp stabbing pain in his gut as he doubled over from the blow he'd received.

"What are you, stupid?" His assailant asked. When he didn't receive an answer, the man continued. "You guys aren't too bright are you? Didja really think that we'd let you pin that cop's murder on us?"

Despite the pain he was in, Peters already had a contingency plan figured out. "Actually, I was hoping we could make a deal."

"A fine way of saying that, chump. You think we want to do business with you when you've got the police on our case?"

Peters sputtered as he received another blow. "Look, I work for the LAPD. I can arrange things."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Don't tell me you guys don't have someone who's getting a touch too close to the law."

"Maybe, what're you saying?"

"I'm saying that you pin Sloan's murder on that guy. Look, I've got enough evidence planted that we can kill two birds with one stone. All you have to do is coach a couple of your guys into saying that your trouble guy was trying to cut a deal with Sloan and that the deal went sour. That way, you are off the hook, the police like you cause you turned in a perp, your problem is solved, and Sloan gets nailed. Its perfect."

Peters' assailant stopped. "I'll talk to my Boss. You know, you ain't as stupid as we thought."

Peters grinned as they left him in the alley. No, no I'm not.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Steve sighed as he trudged up an enormously long driveway. This was the last ad in the paper. Everyone else in town had refused to hire him for one reason or another, but he knew the real reason why. They didn't know who he was or what he was capable of. Of course Dr. Abrams and Sister Agnes supported him, but it hadn't been enough to dispel potential employers' fears. Apparently, he was too dangerous to flip burgers.

A very large house loomed in front of Steve. He wasn't surprised. When you have to ring a bell and announce yourself and your intentions to get let through a gate, you kind of expect it. With an extra spurt of energy, he went around to the side entrance as he'd been instructed when he inquired at the gate. Nervously, he knocked on the door. A gangly man in an average suit answered the door.

He looked at Steve. "Turn around."

Bewildered, Steve complied.

"See that bag of sand there? Pick it up."

More confused than before, Steve again complied.

"Congratulations, you are hired. Step inside will you?"

Steve followed the man into what appeared to be a small kitchen. Recovered from his shock, he managed to regain his speech. "I'm hired?"

The gangly man's reserve broke into a smile. "You are the first applicant that has filled the two requirements for this job. 1. You can lift 75 pounds. 2. You can stay on at the house year round. Most of our applicants have been, shall we say, non-committal high school students."

Steve looked at him. "I stay here?"

"Yes, unless, of course you enjoy staying at Sister Agnes' shelter?"

"No, I just assumed…"

"You assumed wrong, Mr. MacTyre."

"Great, well, what do I do?"

"You, are responsible for maintaining the appearance of the lawn, driveway, and pathways. You sweep the cement, fill cracks, fill in potholes, and mow the lawn. You also rake the yard when necessary."

Steve looked at the man. "I get a room and payment for that? Couldn't you just hire it done by a lawn care company?"

"Yes, but it takes so long for companies to fix a problem for you, and usually they hire people who don't really care about their work. Besides, we have the extra room and pay only minimum wage. A small fee for having immediate help."

Steve blew a sigh of relief out of his lips. He didn't have to pay rent. That made his life a whole lot easier.  The other man motioned to Steve to follow him.

"Come, I'll show you to your room."

Steve was surprised when the man led him back outdoors to a much smaller building.

"A servant's quarters?" Steve asked.

A chuckle came from the other man. "Yes, the owner, he is a touch eccentric. On a rainy day, you can access the main house through by the covered walkway over there."

Steve smiled as he took in the yard. At the backside of the property, he could see the ocean. The same ocean that he's pulled himself out of. He still couldn't remember his walk into town, but he'd been able to relocate the spot where he'd washed up. The grouping of rocks he'd been deposited on had stuck clearly in his mind. Steve's attention was brought back as his guide handed him a set of keys.

"These are the keys for your apartment, the main house, the garage, and the tool shed. And this, is your room."

Steve glanced at it. It was what would be called a very small efficiency apartment. A small kitchenette was combined with a tiny room housing a window, a couch and a television. The bedroom was partitioned off by a short wall. There was a small bathroom attached to the bedroom. It wasn't large, but it was clean, and more importantly it was his.

Steve looked at the man who hired him. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow."

"Before you go, what is your name?"

The other man stopped and blushed. "My pardon, I've done so many interviews the past few days that I've lost my manners. I'm James Jameson, I am the head of the servants."

"James Jameson?"

"Please, call me Jim. My parents were not exactly inventive."

"Where are the others?"

"The others?"

"You know, the other servants."

"There aren't any. At least not when the owner isn't here. It is just you, me and Ms. Thronson."

"Ms. Thronson is?"

"Mr. Thronson's daughter. She lives here year round while her father and his family live in Boston. She sort of watches his house for him."

"I see. Thank you, Jim."

"My pleasure, Stephen."

"Steve, call me Steve."

"Steve, then. Why don't you arrange your quarters and I'll go in and collect your clothes from Sister Agnes."

"You don't have to do that."

"Oh, but I do. For once, I have the chance to bear the hottest gossip in town. Plus, it gives me an excuse to drive the Mercedes into town."

"Okay, well, thanks." Steve watched as Jim walked off. He turned to look at his new home. It wasn't great, but it was his. Resolutely, he began to adjust the slant of the couch before he could wonder what his old home looked like.