"Second Chances"

Written by Phil Turner — Directed by BOBBYNEAR and CoronetBlu
Supervising Producer Lea Ames — Created by Roy Huggins

Part 3 of 3

CHICAGO - UPPER FLOOR OF AN ABANDONED, GUTTED CHURCH - DAY

The camera is behind FBI Special Agent Dennis Gagomiros, who has just fired one bullet at Richard Kimble. The bullet came close enough to threaten his life, but ended up missing the target. Kimble quickly looks for cover and finds none. Ben Charnquist stands beside the stair rail, blocking the closest escape route.

Gagomiros approaches firing two more times, grazing Kimble's right leg. Kimble grabs his leg, limping. His eyes dart about for a weapon.

"There are plenty more where those came from, Kimble," Gagomiros declares. "Now, be a cooperative fugitive."

"What do you want?" Kimble yells, reluctantly facing Gagomiros.

Gagomiros pauses, then says in a mocking tone, "So...the great Dr. Richard Kimble. Or should I say, the infamous murderer of Helen Kimble. You know, people like you make me sick!"

"I didn't kill my wife!" Kimble says bitterly.

"Really? And I've never murdered anyone either, Doc," Gagomiros continues in a sarcastic tone. "Strange isn't it? Two murderers who profess to never killing anybody. How ironic destiny can be."

"There's the real killer," Kimble says pointing to Charnquist. "He's the one you want." Charnquist looks on with a stunned expression.

"Wrong! You're the man we want. We've kept a death row cell door open just for you," Gagomiros says, laughing. "The Greek gods must be smiling on me today! Bringing you in for the murders of Helen Kimble and Captain Gerard will make a terrific story...and guarantee me a promotion at the Bureau."

Charnquist breathes heavily. Gagomiros turns to his left, points the gun at Charnquist and smiles with a look of familiarity. "Ben, it's nice to see you again. You look awful! How have you been? How's the family?"

"What? …What are you...talkin' about?" The effects of the drug injected into his neck are evident as Charnquist fumbles with his words.

Gagomiros, looking somewhat puzzled, tells Charnquist, "Ben, Ben, Ben…how soon you forget your old friends. Don't you remember?" Gagomiros takes a few steps toward Charnquist. "Louie Q. told me that you might need some help. So, he sent me here to see what I could do."

"I don't...need your help," Charnquist mumbles, fighting the drug. "My...debts are...paid."

Gagomiros closes the gap between them and peers into Charnquist's eyes with a cold stare. "No," he says shaking his head. "No, you're wrong old buddy. Times change. People change. Everyone has a price…and our price just went up!"

Kimble realizes the attention has shifted away from him. He maneuvers his way towards a plank of wood along the wall.

Acting quickly, he picks it up and strikes Gagomiros over the back of the head. Gagomiros staggers and falls. The gun is knocked from his hand and slides across the floor to Charnquist, who struggles to pick it up. Kimble, hobbling, makes a break for the staircase.

Gagomiros raises his throbbing head and sees that he is staring down the barrel of his own gun.

"My debts are paid...in full!" Charnquist says vengefully. The pistol goes off...once...twice. Gagomiros has been fatally shot.

Kimble, alarmed by the gunfire above him, loses his footing on the staircase and tumbles down the final three steps, hitting the ground below. He pulls himself up and runs from the building.

THE ALLEY OUTSIDE

Captain Philip Gerard is slumped over, unconscious, in his Ford Explorer. Kimble approaches the vehicle and sees that Gerard has sustained two bullet wounds to the chest. Kimble opens the passenger door and quickly checks for Gerard's pulse, assessing his condition. The Captain is alive, but losing blood rapidly. Using Gerard's cell phone, Kimble frantically dials 9-1-1.

"Help, there's been a shooting! Send an ambulance!" he desperately tells the emergency operator. The cell phone's signal is extremely weak and Kimble's call is barely audible on the receiving end.

"Your message is breaking up," the operator says. "Say again, sir…where are you calling from?"

As Kimble gives the operator the location, Gerard awakens briefly to see someone helping him and then slips back into unconsciousness.

Emerging from the building, Charnquist finds Kimble with his head inside the vehicle. He raises the gun and comes up awkwardly behind him.

"The antidote," Charnquist says thickly, aiming the gun at Kimble. "Give me it now!"

Kimble turns around, puts his hands up and stares at Charnquist. "It's not here…I don't have it with me," he says.

"Give it to me," Charnquist demands, snarling, "or you're a...dead man!"

"You won't shoot me," Kimble says.

Charnquist looks puzzled. "What...makes you so sure?"

"If I die, you die!" Kimble says. Charnquist realizes he has heard this phrase before. "I told you, it's not here," Kimble repeats. "But I can take you to it. Only we've got to hurry. We don't have much time!"

Charnquist tries to assess whether Kimble is telling the truth. At the same moment police sirens can be heard nearby. Charnquist cocks his head, listening. His fear of arrest is visible in his eyes. He backs away.

"They're after you...Kimble," Charnquist says darkly. "I'm already dead!" He continues to back off and then lurches down the alley.

Kimble turns to face the rising wail of sirens.

As the sirens get closer, Kimble casts a worried glance toward Gerard. Then he turns and runs from the scene. Seconds later, a fleet of Chicago police cars and unmarked vehicles converge on the alley. Following right behind is an ambulance.

A FEW BLOCKS AWAY

Panting with exertion, Kimble halts at the curb and flags down a passing taxi. He reaches for the door and climbs stiffly inside.

"Where to?" the cab driver asks.

"Airport," Kimble replies, out of breath.

"Gotcha," the driver says and swings into the lane of traffic. Kimble sinks into the seat, rubbing his eyes in a gesture of extreme exhaustion. Then he sits up and takes notice as the taxi passes the scene of the shooting. Police vehicles are parked every which way, lights flashing. From the rear window Kimble watches as paramedics lift Gerard's body from the Explorer. He sees another body, fully covered, being wheeled to an awaiting ambulance.

"Too much violence in this part of town," the cabbie says, shaking his head. "Seems like there's one down every minute,"

Too tired to reply, Kimble watches over his shoulder until the scene is lost from his sight.

CHICAGO GENERAL HOSPITAL - GERARD'S ROOM — 3 HOURS LATER

Gerard is lying in bed, hooked up to an IV. In the corridor outside, Dr. Frank Williams is explaining Gerard's condition to law enforcement officers. Williams is a slightly overweight man in his early forties.

"The Captain's a very lucky fella," Williams says with a southern drawl. "No doubt about it. If it weren't for that bulletproof vest, ya'll would be attending a funeral today." Just then, Sara and Alex Gerard arrive and enter the room.

"Daddy!" Alex says rushing over to him. "Are you really alright?"

"Sweetheart, I'm harder than nails," Gerard says.

Sara bends down and kisses her husband, then gives him a piece of her mind. "Well, I see you finally put stubbornness aside and wore your vest. About time you listened to your wife!"

"Yes, dear," Gerard replies softly, fighting the pain. "I knew one day that vest would be a lifesaver, but I never dreamed it would protect me from one of our own."

"Philip, what happened out there?" Sara asks.

"I really don't know," Gerard answers. "I went to meet Kimble and some fool who calls himself Ben Charnquist."

Sara's face registers her displeasure at the mention of Richard Kimble.

"When I got there my partner shot at me," Gerard continues. "Then I blacked out. When I came to I was here in the hospital." A memory then returns. "I do vaguely remember someone using my cell phone to call for help."

"Well, thank God somebody had the decency to get involved," Sara says. She is getting close to the end of her rope. "But, look at yourself, Philip! What is it going to take for you to realize you've got to put this Richard Kimble thing to rest? You had a life with Alex and me that meant something to you once. Or have you forgotten that, too?"

"I could never forget you or Alex," Gerard says, reaching out to touch his daughter. "You're my family. But, Sara, this is my job. And I'm doing it for you."

"For us?" Sara contests with bitter sarcasm. "You're chasing a man who killed his wife and, for all we know, hired someone to kill you! When will it end? At your funeral?!"

"Don't you see, Kimble is in this up to his neck," Gerard says. "Sooner or later he's going to hang himself. Then I'll have him. I'm too close, I can't stop now!"

"I'd rather you just came home, Dad," Alex says, disappointed.

Dr. Williams is finished conversing with law enforcement and enters Gerard's room.

Sara turns to him imploringly. "Doctor, tell my husband that he needs plenty of time off to rest and recuperate."

"Two weeks, at the very least, Captain," Williams says, arching a brow. "Doctor's orders."

"One," says Gerard firmly. "Captain's request."

DETROIT - A PAY PHONE — 3 DAYS LATER, EVENING

Kimble is on the phone with his sister, Maggie, who is still recovering at home following her recent surgery.

"Hi, Maggie, I can't talk long," he says, looking warily around him. "I just wanted to call and see how you and the kids are doing."

"Richard, it's great to hear your voice again!" Maggie says emphatically. "Recovery is slow, as everyone expected. But I am feeling better and getting stronger every day. I never really got the chance to thank you for what you…"

"Are you kidding?" Kimble interjects. "You've saved me from my share of trouble over the years. Besides, what are big brothers for?"

Maggie laughs lovingly. "The children are fine. We're back to normal...well, as normal as it gets in this family."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Kimble tells her. He turns his back to the street as a police car slowly passes.

"Richard, I'm worried that this whole mess is taking too big a toll on you," Maggie says into the silence.

"Last week I would have said I could handle it," Kimble tells her, his expression haggard. "But, this week I've discovered a...a side of myself that, quite frankly, scares me. It's like there's no light at the end of the tunnel. All I've been doing is risking the safety of everyone I love. Maybe it's time to stop and turn myself in."

"No, Richard! You can't give up now and be put to death for a crime that you didn't commit!" Maggie says with conviction. "With Dad gone, too, what would be left of the family?"

Kimble listens closely to Maggie's words, but his eyes reflect despair.

"Richard...remember how, when we were little, you'd come to me with a problem or question asking for advise?" Maggie asks. "You could always count on me to give you my true feelings. You might laugh or even get mad at me sometimes. But, I think you listened. Well, I'm going to give it to you straight, now. After all, what are little sisters for!"

Kimble smiles faintly. "Okay...I'm listening."

"You're too good a person to be victimized a second time by that psycho," Maggie says, impassioned. "The one-armed man destroyed Helen. Don't let him do the same to you! The Richard Kimble I know never ran from a fight or quit while he still had a chance to win. If you give up, I'll find a way to bring Helen's murderer to justice myself!"

"Maggie, no! You can't do that!" Kimble says. "I don't want you involved any more than you already are. I know an old friend who may be able to help. You just concentrate on getting well. Give Stu a hug and a kiss for me, will you? I've got to go now."

"Richard, we all love you," Maggie says quickly. "Take care, and be careful!" Kimble hangs up and heads down the street glancing behind him.

THE STREET

As Kimble walks hurriedly along he hears a sudden squealing of tires at the intersection. He looks up to see a large truck colliding with two cars and a passenger van. There is the explosion of multiple crashes and a sickening thud as the van flips onto its side and skids across the street.

Seemingly frozen in time, Kimble sees superimposed in his mind grisly scenes from Helen's death. These images are followed by replays of Gagomiros firing at him and Ben Charnquist holding him at gunpoint. Swamped by the string of recent tragedies in his life, Kimble can find no purpose in anything any longer. He stands helplessly by while people run past to assist at the accident. He hears shouts calling for someone to get help.

Kimble turns and walks abjectly in the opposite direction. As he passes a storefront window he catches a glimpse of his own reflection. He stops and stares back into eyes which are mirrors of hopelessness. Then, clearly, in their place he sees Helen's eyes, Helen's face. She is looking at him, beautiful and beseeching.

Just then a piercing scream is heard. It is a child's voice, evidently in great pain. As if awakening from a long dream, the pediatrician in Kimble responds.

"What are you doing?" he asks himself. "You're a doctor!" He turns around, his expression alive once again.

Galvanized by his emotional rebirth, Kimble dashes towards the intersection, scanning each vehicle for the source of the scream. He sees a little boy pinned inside the minivan. The boy's father and several men are trying, unsuccessfully, to free him. Kimble elbows his way through.

"What's your name?" Kimble asks the child.

"Jimmy Martin," the boy responds, gasping and crying.

"Okay, Jimmy," Kimble says, reaching in to check his pulse. He then looks into the boy's eyes. "Can you see me okay? How many fingers am I holding up?" Kimble holds up three fingers.

Jimmy tries to focus on them. "Three," he says.

"Good boy, Jimmy," Kimble says with a smile.

"My legs hurt!" Jimmy says.

"The firemen are coming," a shaken Mr. Martin tells Kimble.

"We'll get you out soon, Jimmy," Kimble says cheerfully, in an effort to ease the boy's fear.

He turns to Mr. Martin. "Don't try to move him. We have to keep him calm and talking until the ambulance gets here. He needs to stay conscious, okay?"

Mr. Martin nods.

"Is anyone else seriously injured?" Kimble asks onlookers. A few shake their heads no. Seeing that he is more needed helping Jimmy, Kimble tries again to get the boy's attention. "How old are you, Jimmy?"

The boy does not respond. His eyes are squeezed shut against the pain.

"He's ten," Mr. Martin replies, very worried.

"Your son will be alright," Kimble assures him. "Are you looking forward to summer vacation, Jimmy?"

"Yes, I guess so," Jimmy says and manages to open his eyes.

Mr. Martin peers hopefully over the bent steering wheel at his son.

THE ACCIDENT — MINUTES LATER

Police and EMS crews have arrived. As paramedics treat the victims and firefighters use the Jaws of Life to free Jimmy from the smashed minivan, police officers interview witnesses to prepare for an accident investigation. Kimble tries to disappear in the crowd, but as he does, an officer hastens towards him.

"Hey, don't leave yet!" the officer yells. "We need to ask you if you saw anything."

Kimble looks away. "No, I just heard the crash. It was all over when I got here," he tells the police officer.

"Some of the witnesses have told me that you really took charge out there," the officer persists. "Are you a doctor?"

"Medic...I was a medic...in the military, years ago," Kimble mutters.

"Can I have your name for our report?" the officer asks.

"Hank…Hank Woodward," Kimble answers.

"Thank you, Mr. Woodward," the officer says."Is there a telephone number where you can be reached, just in case we have further questions or need more information for our report?"

Kimble takes the officer's notebook, writes down a false telephone number and hands it back.

"Ma'am," the policeman says, stopping another witness. "I need your name. Did you see the accident?"

Kimble moves swiftly away. He sees the EMS crew carefully loading Jimmy into the rear of an ambulance. They then close the door.

"Where are you taking him?" Kimble asks.

"Detroit Mercy Hospital," the paramedic replies. Kimble watches as the ambulance carrying Jimmy Martin pulls away.

DETROIT MERCY HOSPITAL — LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON

Kimble arrives at the hospital entrance. He is familiar with this hospital, having worked with colleagues here a handful of times during his medical career. The automatic doors open as he enters.

A CORRIDOR IN PEDIATRICS

As Kimble walks down the hospital corridor, a passing nurse stops him.

"May I help you, sir?" she asks.

"Yes, I'm here to see the son of a friend of mine," Kimble says. He is holding a yellow and red "Get Well" balloon purchased from the hospital's gift shop. "Jimmy Martin. He was brought in last night."

"Oh yes, Jimmy," the nurse replies, smiling. "He's been a real doll!"

"Yeah, he's a great kid," Kimble says.

"Jimmy's doing much better today," the nurse says. "He's down in room 403." She points down the hallway.

"Thank you," Kimble says, giving her a warm smile.

HOSPITAL - ROOM 403

Kimble enters the room and sees Mr. Martin sitting beside Jimmy's bed.

"Hi, I'm here to see Jimmy," Kimble says diffidently.

"Hey, I know you!" Mr. Martin says in a loud voice. Kimble looks startled. Mr. Martin rises and extends a hand. "You're the one who talked to my son at the accident. Hey, thanks for coming!" He shakes Kimble's hand vigorously. "Stephen Martin. Jimmy has been asking about you. My wife and I want to thank you for everything you did!"

"Hank Woodward. I'm just glad I could help," Kimble says, modestly. He then turns his attention to Jimmy. "How are you doing, Jimmy?" he asks, handing him the balloon.

Jimmy's face lights up. "Better. But it still hurts sometimes." He looks down at his legs, then back up at Kimble. "The people are nice here. Are you the angel who helped me?"

Surprised by the innocent question, Kimble sits down and looks into Jimmy's eyes. "I think someone was looking out for you, Jimmy. You know, we all have angels. A friend once told me that angels hold the keys to your heart."

Mr. Martin comes over to stand beside them, happy to see the interest in his son's face.

"I love my angel," Kimble continues, "and I know she is watching me all the time…especially when I'm hurting."

"You have a girl angel?" Jimmy asks.

Kimble laughs, "Yes, a very special one."

"How do you know she is watching you?" Jimmy asks, curiously.

"Because whenever I feel angry or sad, she helps me remember what is really important," Kimble says. "She also reminds me to do what is right. Without her help I wouldn't be here today."

"I'm glad you're here," Jimmy says.

"So am I," Kimble replies.

CHICAGO - GERARD'S OFFICE - 1 WEEK LATER — MORNING

Gerard is sitting at his desk, sipping coffee and reviewing all available files and related documents detailing the life and career of Special Agent Dennis Gagomiros.

"Here's the morning paper," Agent Eve Hilliard tells Gerard, entering and placing the newspaper on his desk.

"I just can't figure this out," Gerard says. "A seemingly upstanding FBI agent with 13 years in the Bureau loses his mind and decides to shoot me. Why? It doesn't make sense. Then somebody shoots and kills him. Something smells rancid around here, and it's not my coffee!"

Just then, the office telephone rings. Another FBI agent answers, and after a moment gestures to Gerard to pick up. Gerard picks up the receiver. "This is Captain Philip Gerard, can I help you?"

"I'm glad to see you're back in action," Kimble says.

"Who is this?" Gerard enquires.

"Someone you had an appointment with." Kimble says.

"Well…Richard Kimble! And to what do I owe this unpleasant surprise?" Gerard motions to the FBI agent to trace the call.

"Aren't you even going to say thank you?" Kimble asks.

"Thank you? For what?" Gerard asks, annoyed.

"Who do you think called for help when you were sitting in your truck bleeding to death with two bullets in your chest?" Kimble says.

"That was you?" Gerard asks, winking at Hilliard in disbelief. "In that case my family thanks you."

He swivels back in his chair. "But you know, Kimble, you can't continue to go around saving lives just to impress a jury. When it comes down to it, you're no hero. We all know your real story. Make it easy on yourself and come clean about the murders. Then we can stop playing these games."

"I had Ben Charnquist ready for delivery," Kimble says hotly, "but someone else, someone on your side, interfered!"

"Why am I not surprised that this one-armed man of yours never shows up," Gerard asks rhetorically. "Ben Charnquist is dead."

"Charnquist is alive!" Kimble stresses. "He may feel as if he's been recovering from a massive hangover, but he IS alive! If you can't believe the rest of it, believe that." He quickly hangs up on Gerard.

"Don't tell me…not enough time for a trace?" Gerard asks the FBI agent, who nods in the affirmative. "Nothing ever changes," Gerard says disgustedly and sips his coffee. He grimaces in distaste. "This is rancid! I need a fresh cup." He gets up gingerly, using his chair for support.

Hilliard sees that Gerard is not as recovered as he would like to think.

DETROIT - A PHONE BOOTH — THE NEXT MORNING

Kimble is on the phone, his eyes darting suspiciously as he talks. "...okay, so we're still on for tonight?" Kimble asks. "Great, Randy. Where do you want to meet?"

"Let's get together at the Irish Saloon around 8:30," Randy suggests. "It's dark inside and usually pretty crowded and noisy, so we're less likely to be noticed."

"You know, you don't have to do this for me," Kimble says.

"Nonsense, buddy," Randy says. "I'm a doctor who wants to helpa fellow doctor facing a life-threatening situation. What's wrong with that? Besides, you'd do the same thing for me in a minute."

They hang up

DOWNTOWN - THE IRISH SALOON, A SMALL SPORTS BAR — NIGHT

Kimble enters the packed and noisy bar. He spots Randy Hodges.

Randy is a handsome man, about Kimble's age, with thick, black receding hair. They have kept in touch with each other since their days in medical school. Kimble goes over and sits down in the booth with Randy.

"Can I buy you a beer?" Randy asks Kimble, his face becoming animated at the sight of his friend. "It's buck a beer night."

"No, thanks, Randy, I can't stay long," Kimble says. "Are you still sure you want to do this?"

"Why not, Rich?" Randy asks. "Look, anybody with half a brain would know better than to believe all that craziness about you killing Helen."

"Thanks," Kimble says, gratefully. "You said you have some information for me?"

"Yes." Randy takes a gulp of his beer. "I've heard through some friends of the family that there's going to be a big meeting here in Detroit. I don't know when…just that it's going to happen soon."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Kimble asks, curiously.

"It's supposed to be a big meeting, and word has it that your one-armed man is going to be there," Randy continues, trying to be heard over the din. "From what I gather, it has to do with diamonds or something. My guess is this one-armed character works for, or worked for, somebody with business connections in Detroit and Chicago. BUSINESS connections…you get my drift?"

"What, you mean like organized crime business?" Kimble asks, interested.

"Bingo, buddy!" Randy says, as he takes another drink of his beer. "I also received an e-mail from a friend in New York. She told me she remembers hearing that somebody in the Chicago Police Department was fired, or reassigned, around the time Helen was killed. I don't know how the pieces fit together, but I thought you should know."

"But you have no idea when this business meeting is to take place, or where?" Kimble asks. "None at all?"

"Sorry, Rich, that's all the information I could find on such short notice," Randy says. "I really wish I had more but…"

"No," Kimble interrupts, earnestly, "that's plenty. You've been great, Randy, thanks! You don't know how much it means to me to have a friend like you." He pauses. "Sooner or later I'm going to find this guy. It's the only way I can clear my name and prove what really happened the night of Helen's death." Kimble looks around to see if anyone has overheard them. "Well, I'd better get out of here," he says. "Randy, you're a great friend. We can't meet again like this, it's too dangerous. I don't want you dragged into whatever is going on."

Randy looks Kimble in the eye. "No, Officer," he says, solemnly. "I have not seen, talked to or associated with that miscreant felon in more than a year." He winks, grinning broadly at Kimble.

Kimble rises from the booth and warmly shakes Randy's hand. Then he makes his way out of the restaurant without looking back. Randy remains behind drinking his beer, pretending that nothing unusual has happened.

OUTSIDE THE IRISH SALOON

Richard Kimble stares up into the evening sky. It's a pleasantly cool summer night. He closes his eyes, sighs, and wonders if his beloved angel Helen is watching over him now. Kimble starts walking away, but his pace slows as a Detroit police car cruises by. He zips up his jacket and unconsciously hunches his shoulders, attempting to blend into the pedestrian traffic.

As he walks, Kimble reflects on the events of the past two weeks. His quest for freedom is far from over, but it is no longer without purpose—as he had believed just days before. He starts to think that destiny may be at work on his behalf after all, and that one day justice will prevail.

The camera elevates above him and Kimble disappears into the night.

END OF EPISODE