Part 3

The cheap motel room was stuffy as the air conditioning unit struggled nosily to cope with the heat of a summer night. Way past its better days the unit sounded like the motors that pulled the roller coasters up to the top of the rides in the theme park only yards away across the bushy waste ground. The rides were running now pulling another load of excited, screaming tourists up to the very edge of oblivion before plunging them down into the queasy depths once more. It wasn't long until the glow in the neon lit sky above would be further enhanced by the brief extravagant beauty of the fireworks that signalled the end of the theme park's attractions for another day.

Peck was oblivious to the enjoyment just yards from his door, for he was on his own specific brand of thrill ride – he was dreaming again!

It was, however, a new and different dream this time. There was no image of an alleyway, no running and no pursuit. This time there was only the emotion, the fear, tearing at him, racing through him and pulling him awkwardly out from the oblivion of sleep. It was raw and intense and terrifying, forcing him to feel, petrifying him completely; so he lay on the bed, sweating and motionless, every part of his body imprisoned by his anxiety.

As he came closer to consciousness he had but a vague memory of what he had experienced just seconds before. He gulped in air violently, and then forced his breaths to come in and out more slowly, pressed the panic and the pain away, concentrating on nothing but control, until he dare move again.

He glanced at Murdock sleeping soundly beside him on the bed. The pilot snored softly and the sight brought Peck a brief rush of relief that he had not disturbed his companion. Lying back into the not-so-soft pillow, Peck tried to remember exactly what he had been dreaming.

He was afraid and he could recall the sense of loss but also of deep desperation. He glanced at the clock. It read 11.18. A strong wave of relief flushed through him at that but he did not understand why. He had survived! But survived what? From deep in the depths of his subconscious he managed to drag forth the fact that he had believed he was going to die for something. But what? It had all appeared so real in his dream, so obvious but he could only remember his sense of complete certainty, the actual facts remained illusively out of his reach. He snorted, forcing his mind to think. He was going to die at 11 o'clock… there was something he had not done and for that he was going to die!

He rolled over and sat up, throwing his legs out of the bed but careful not to disturb Murdock. What the hell did it mean? Why had everything appeared so blatant and why couldn't he remember it now? He stood up and slowly shuffled to the bathroom. He dabbled cold water on his face.

He hated it when his mind ran away from him. He wanted to be in control, he wanted to be sure but uncertainty ravaged through him. He sighed. The most frustrating thing of all was that in his dream he recalled that he had accepted his own death as if it was correct, as a punishment for something he had failed to do. He knew he had acknowledged that it was a fitting and deserved conclusion but he could remember no more, hard as he tried. Something he hadn't done, something important…..

"Shit!" he muttered, ignoring the fear that was pooling inside his gut once more, knew it wasn't going to help him.

"What's up?" Murdock was standing in the door way, bleary eyes blinking in the dirty bath room light, still bright compared to the darkened bedroom.

Face sighed again. "Sorry," he replied wearily. "Couldn't sleep."

Murdock eyed him suspiciously. "Couldn't sleep or couldn't sleep without dreaming?" he asked.

Face just snorted and pushed past the pilot making his way back to the bed.

"Same one?" Murdock asked as he followed.

Peck sat down, his head resting in his hands, elbows in turn on his knees. "Different," he muttered.

Murdock sat beside him. "Wanna tell?"

Face looked up, his eyes moist and dull. "Can't remember," he replied.

Murdock's own eyes narrowed. "Not enough words, Face," he said worriedly. "Talk to me, open up! If you don't tell it might come true, remember!"

Peck snorted ruefully. "Thanks for the encouragement," he said. Lifting his legs, he lay back on to the bed, pulling the thin quilt upwards.

"What you doing?"

"What's it look like?"

Murdock looked hurt. "Looks like you're going back to sleep but do you think you can?"

"Only one way to find out!"

Murdock moved around and climbed in his side of the bed. "It's gonna be all right, Faceman," he said softly.

Outside the bangs of the theme park fireworks started. Peck jumped but then managed to control his flinch into only a slight shudder. "How do you know, Murdock?"

Murdock drew in a deep breath. "Cos we're the good guys," he replied, his voice muffled slightly by the pillows.

Peck turned to look at him pensively chewing his lip. "Are we Murdock?" he asked. "How can you be so sure?"

Murdock smiled widely then. "Cos Butch and Sundance are the goodies," he said with such uncluttered certainty that Peck found himself nodding in agreement.

"Of course," he sighed with resignation.

Peck cleared his throat and knocked on the door once more. Hell! Why was he doing this?

It had seemed so easy when Mo had asked him but now he didn't even seem capable of getting into the room, let alone having a heart-to-heart with her son.

He had met Mo a couple of hours ago as she left work. Smiling as he approached her in the parking lot, he had rolled his eyes as he noted the badge on her chest which proudly proclaimed 'Office Manager' to the world.

"Promotion?" he asked as she hugged him to her affectionately.

Mo smiled. "Couldn't do any worse than the last one," she laughed. "You look good, Templeton!"

"Well deserved, I reckon," he replied. His smile broadened almost off the scale. "What can I say? I was born looking good!"

She laughed but then cast a suspicious glance over her shoulder. "Should you be here? I mean someone with your overwhelming good looks is bound to be noticed. Aren't you taking a risk?"

Peck chuckled, supremely confident. "What's life without a risk?" he asked. "Anyway I got the message you left on my phone – what's up?"

Mo took him home and filled him in on what had been going on. He had listened unsure as to how he could actually help until she had asked him to talk to Drake, her youngest son. Face had argued that he really wasn't the type of guy to deliver fatherly speeches; in fact he was so far from such a person that she needed her head examined to even consider him! But Mo had just smiled "What's life without a risk?" she repeated, eyes twinkling.

Which was why Peck found himself in the unlikely position of banging on the door of a teenager's bedroom, waiting patiently to be given permission to enter.

Finally a gruff response emanated from behind the door. It was not entirely encouraging but Face opened the door regardless and entered. It was a bright, airy room made dingier by dark colours of the gothic posters tacked on most of the wall space – crosses, skulls, scythes…. Peck's eyes ran over them with the merest of perfunctory glances. Not his interest at all. He looked instead at the boy lying on his back on the bed, catching a ball with his gloved hand and then tossing it back up again. There was a dark stain on the roof immediately above him that told Face the kid partook of this angst releasing exercise quite regularly.

Peck looked closer at the boy. Seventeen Mo had said and Face felt a tinge of the jealousy of an old man towards the promise of youth. Christ, at his age Peck was in Boot Camp, almost ready for his destiny in the jungles of Vietnam. But things had been different then, oh so very different.

This boy looked young, very young. His skin had the blotches and spots of the teenage years, his hair was long and drifting into his eyes. His body looked thin and rangy as if at that awkward stage of elbows and joints before the confidence of adulthood smoothed out his odd, angular anomalies. He was dressed in baggy, clothes and Peck suspected that when the kid stood up his jeans were so loose they would reach a natural resting place somewhere between his buttocks and his knees.

Peck stopped looking then – it made him feel old even to think it. Old and tired. He re-focused on the room, looked at the dresser, saw three photos there and moved closer. Maybe here was a chance to find an opening line maybe. The first photo was of a family of four – it looked like it had been taken a few years before, Mo was in it and the kid on the bed, both looking younger and somehow less world weary. There were two others in it – the father and elder brother, Peck surmised. He glanced at the second photo. It showed the elder brother in uniform – bingo!

"Your brother's a green beret?" Face asked with surprise.

The kid snorted. He had made no attempt to acknowledge the

other man's presence but continued to catch the ball disinterestedly. Face's eyes went to the third photo. It was of a young girl, blonde and sweet, smiling with innocent abandon at the camera. Peck reached out and picked it up. "Pretty girl," he muttered.

"Who the hell are you?" The kid's pubescent patience had suddenly evaporated and he turned to look at Peck for the first time, green eyes spitting their anger.

"Oh sorry." Face forced a disarming smile as he put down the photo carefully. "I'm Templeton Peck," he said reaching out his hand.

Almost despite his earlier tantrum the kid's face was suddenly impressed. He sat forward. "Faceman!" he gasped in awe.

Peck's smile quadrupled in strength – how he loved it when somebody (excepting the cops of course) recognised him. He felt the long yearned for warmth flame through his guts; the enduring memory of fame, although lost, still entranced and tormented him. "That's right," he beamed.

The kid took his hand and shook it, tamping down his astonishment. "I'm Drake," he said, trying to look cool and unconcerned but failing. Peck rolled his eyes, wanting to pursue the conversation topic centring on himself with the boy but knowing it would be purely to soothe his own vanity. To his ego's initial relief Drake answered the unasked question.

"My brother, Kyle – the green beret, he loved you guys when we were kids back in the 80s. Man, he had a scrapbook with all press cuttings in it. Jeez he was tedious about it!" The boy smiled. "For a while we always had to play at being you guys in the yard. Kyle, he was always Hannibal cos he said he had a plan. I always wanted to be BA but they said I didn't have any muscles." He snorted in disgust. "I always ended up being you!"

"I can think of worse people to be," Peck retorted defensively, telling himself he deserved the rebuff because of his unwavering focus on appeasing his own ego.

Drake sighed. "I guess."

"Bet you always ended up with the girl?" Peck suggested hopefully.

"I was ten, man – I didn't want anything to do with no girls back then." He smiled. "Although things change as you grow up. Reckon now I wouldn't be too upset to be like you!"

"Is that a compliment?" Face asked still fishing shamelessly.

Drake fixed him with an uncompromising stare. "How many did you have?"

"Compliments or women?"

"Women, of course!"

Peck sighed, a deep contented release of breath that spoke volumes. "Thousands," he said with a satisfied smirk. Then, remembering with a flash of guilt what Mo had sent him up to do, he carried on quickly. "Of course they didn't make me happy."

Drake's eyes flashed knowingly. "No?"

Peck ran a hand through his hair, sure he was more smug than guilty but out of duty to Mo determined to carry on with his mission. "There is no substitute for a deep, loving relationship," he said. And then an awful flashback of himself suffering very similar sermons on numerous occasions from Father McGill, stopped him from going further.

Drake snorted in disbelief. Peck raised his hands in mock surrender, his own arrogance winning over his sense of duty. "All right! I am the wrong person to give you this little talk – I admit that. I lived it to the full, I didn't care about tomorrow. I was full on in the fast lane. And what's more I would do it all again." He sighed. "But that's not what your mom asked me to talk to you about. She's worried about you, Drake."

"I know, but sometimes I can't talk to her. She's just too positive, too good about things. Lord I miss my dad, you know?"

Face nodded solemnly. "Oh yes," he responded with feeling.

Drake stared at him, eyes wide with understanding. "My mom told me about Hannibal," he said finally.

Peck gulped, suddenly unwilling to trust his voice, unwilling to reveal more. He moved away, feeling hot in the small room, searching for a change of subject. "Who's the girl?"

"Shannon; my girlfriend." Drake too appeared tight lipped and uncomfortable.

"She's very pretty," Face said.

Drake just looked miserable. "She's very pregnant!"

Peck sighed, fiddled with his tie. "Oh. That may explain things then. Your mom doesn't know?"

"No."

"Don't you think it would be kinda a good idea to tell her? I mean she can help you." Face eased himself down on the edge of the bed.

Drake turned away and started throwing the ball again. "We don't need help. I got a job, I was earning and we were putting money away. I was gonna tell mom when we got something sorted. I wanted to make her proud of me – she's always saying to me – 'Come up with a solution not a problem!'"

Peck made a sour face. "She get that from one of those management books I saw downstairs. She stared reading them since she got the new job?"

Drake smiled ruefully. "I blame the guy who got her old boss fired!"

"Guilty as charged!" Peck smiled. "So I guess I better do something to help. What do you want me to do, Drake?"

Drake pondered. "I was doing good. I had a job delivering parcels and stuff after school and at weekends. What I didn't know was that there was some 'secondary delivering' going on."

Peck's eyes narrowed. "Secondary delivery of illegal substances?" he asked.

Drake nodded. "They put pressure on me to join in but I don't want any of that shit. When I refused, the other couriers got me fired."

"That was a brave thing to do." Peck forced away his guilty thought that he would never have been that principled at seventeen – in fact he believed he would have been unable to walk away from the action! He had to admit that the kid before him, although he had no fashion sense, had well developed morals and Peck again felt a tinge of envy.

Drake shrugged. "I know the difference between right and wrong."

"You want your job back?"

"I don't know – I need the money. And I don't think it's right that I should lose it for doing the right thing. I don't think Mr Ramirez, the boss, knows what's going on and he was good to work for."

Peck nodded. "Well, I can't help you with your first problem – I'm strictly an old fashioned love 'em and leave 'em sort of guy but that doesn't mean that your adult attitude hasn't impressed me – I don't think I could be so honourable in your place. However lacking in ethics though I am, I may be able to help with the second issue – in fact that lack could be seen as a definite asset in this case. I'm thinking I could kick some ass and get the operation closed down, but it's your call. How about I get some evidence that you can present to your boss, see if he'll give you your job back."

"Could you really? That sounds awesome but I can't pay."

"There are other ways of paying. How about you pay me by coming clean with your mom; telling her about Shannon and the baby. Do we have a deal?"

They shook on it solemnly. Peck's smile was brilliant once more. "Maybe I'm not so bad at this 'fatherly talk' stuff!"

"Fatherly!" Drake chortled. "You're old enough to be my grandfather!"

That hurt and though it was technically true Peck sure didn't feel like it should be. "And you're still young enough for me to put you over my knee and beat a little respect into your arrogant hide!"

"Hey!" Drake raised his arms. "I'm a lover not a fighter! What say you take me for a beer instead?"

Face chuckled. "Couldn't have put it better myself! But I damn well know you are not old enough to drink – you could get me into even more trouble. Besides you need to talk to your mother!"

TBC