ACT II

Scene One

The thought of how the girl had looked at him slammed Johnny back against the squad. He didn't want to go into the hospital, didn't want to see her, didn't want to chance her seeing him. He couldn't face that terror in her eyes, terror he had put there. He'd rescued terrified people before, he had been on the receiving end of their fear, even been blamed for that fear. He'd climbed after people who were afraid of heights and dove for people who were afraid of water. He'd started I.V.'s on patients who were afraid of needles, and everyone was afraid of cave—ins and fires. He knew it wasn't him she was afraid of; part of him did, anyway. Another part, a louder, more persistent part, told him that even if it wasn't his fault it was his responsibility. If he'd only realized sooner what they were dealing with, if he'd only gone a little slower and been a little gentler, if he'd only followed Roy's lead, if only … Knock it off. "If only" won't accomplish anything. Just go find Roy. Roy was inside. Johnny could wait out here, in the squad; he'd done it before. He should duck in and let someone know he was out here, although that wasn't really necessary. He could use the radio. From right outside the door? Really? There was no reason to believe he would see the girl as long as he steered clear of the treatment rooms, and it was probably a safe bet that she wouldn't see him. He should just go in. He could make sure she didn't see him. He did want to check on her. He hoped from the bottom of his heart that she would be all right, that they had been able to help her, that he had helped her, at least medically. You're being ridiculous. Get your skinny butt in there. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there, debating with himself, when he spotted Vince parking his squad car. Johnny took a deep breath and steeled himself as Vince drew near. He fell into step with the officer and they entered the emergency room together.

Roy was waiting by the base station as Johnny and Vince came down the corridor. He looked at his partner and shook his head. No word yet. He raised his eyebrows.Are you all right?

Johnny nodded. Yeah, I'm ok.

Dixie emerged from Treatment Room 5 looking grim. She joined the three men at the base station and looked slowly from one to another. "She's come around. She's won't speak; without answering any of Kel's questions the exam is taking that much longer, and that's …" she inhaled sharply, and took a moment before she could go on. "She won't speak to me, either. She's in pain and she's losing a lot of blood." Vince handed her a small leather pouch with fringes and a long, thin strap. "What's this?"

"Her purse. Yes," he replied before the next question had been voiced, "her parents are being contacted. Her name is Melissa Tyro." He took a moment before adding, "She's 15."

"Oh my G—d." Roy fell onto the counter.

Johnny fell almost as hard against the wall. "She's just kid," he whispered.

"It gets worse," Dixie held back the tears. "If we can't get the internal bleeding under control fast, she may need a hysterectomy." She turned to Vince. "Any idea how long it'll take to get to the parents? We need consent, especially if … we need consent."

"Afraid not," Vince told her. After another long moment of silence he asked, "What about her alcohol level? How long for that blood test?"

"Vince – "

"No, Roy, listen. As far as I know she was driving drunk, not to mention she's underage. If she's under arrest then she's in police custody."

Before Roy could respond Dixie moved back toward the treatment room. "Thanks, Vince." She disappeared inside.

Roy shook his head wearily as he rose from the counter. Suddenly Johnny was beside him, shouting. "You're going to," Johnny adjusted his volume but his anger remained clear, "you're going to her arrest her? How can you do that?"

"Johnny, the law –"

"The law, Vince? Really? After everything that poor kid's been through, is still going through, can't the law just … I don't know, wait its turn?"

"Johnny," Roy said calmly, "if she's under arrest she's in police custody. Understand?" Roy could see the point wasn't making it past his partner's rage. He admired Johnny's passion and empathy but wished he could temper the former.

Johnny seemed to deflate as understanding dawned. "Yeah, I guess. But there's got to be a better way than arresting her," he mumbled.

Dixie was coming toward them, her expression bleak. "Vince," she said softly upon reaching them, "we have to move. Come do whatever it is you need to do."

"Where is she," a male voice demanded. The foursome looked up to see a tall, slender man with intense blue eyes and thick salt—and—pepper hair moving down the corridor toward them. "Where is my daughter," he continued, stopping before them.

"Sir," Dixie began.

The man cut her off, his attention directed to Vince. "The name is Tyro. The police called, told me my Missy is here. Where is she, why is she here?"

"Mr. Tyro," Dixie tried again. Again she was interrupted.

"Pastor."

"Excuse me?"

"Pastor. Pastor Samuel Tyro." He turned his back on her and addressed the men. "Where is my daughter?"

"Pastor Tyro, your daughter's been pretty seriously injured," Roy told him gently. "She's bleeding pretty badly and needs an operation right away. Your permission is required for surgery."

"What happened," he asked.

"I'm afraid your daughter was assaulted, Sir."

"Assaulted?"

"Yes," Roy confirmed. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Sir, but it looks like your daughter was raped."

The door to the treatment room burst open and the gurney containing Missy Tyro rolled by them on the way to the elevator. "Daddy?" The cry was weak but unmistakable.

He turned to her. With a quick nod from Dr. Brackett, who'd moved straight to the elevator and pushed the call button, the orderlies stopped the gurney and stepped back to give the father and daughter a moment.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Roy shuddered. There was an odd tone to the question. It wasn't the sympathetic, rhetorical question that assured the girl of her father's love. He sounded like a stern teacher leading a small child to an important lesson.

"I'm sorry I went out tonight. I'm sorry I …" Her voice was small, her lip quivered as she fought the tears.

"No crying, Child. Tell me the truth. Are you sorry?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And for what are you sorry?"

She lost her battle and the tears began to flow. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you."

"And?"

"I'm sorry. I … I went to see Rob. It was Rob, Daddy. … It was Rob. I'm so sorry. … I'm sorry, Daddy … I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He stared at her. There was nothing sympathetic or gentle in his eyes. "Daddy, please …" She reached for him. He stepped back.

"Harlot!" He walked away from her.

With her father gone from her sight line she was left looking toward Johnny and Roy. Her gaze first landed on Johnny. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her eyes then met Roy's and she tried in vain to smile. He stepped over to her and she reached for his hand, which he quickly gave her. She tried to sit up; Roy dropped the side—rail on the gurney and moved closer to her. She threw her arm around his waist, pressed her face into his side and wept. He held her gently to him with one hand, with the other he softly stroked her hair as he would his own daughter's when she was hurt or afraid.

"Pastor," Roy called after him. He stopped. "This is your daughter. How could you –"

"That is correct, my daughter. I must do what I know to be right."

"'Right!'" Roy's hold on the girl tightened protectively.

"Do you have a daughter?"

"Yes, Sir, as a matter of fact I do."

"When your daughter has been taught about boys, when your daughter has been warned about a particular boy, when your daughter has disobeyed you and allowed herself to be taken, then you may judge me sir."

"Pastor Tyro," Roy tried, "whatever mistakes Missy may have made she didn't 'allow herself to be taken.' Your child has been the victim of a brutal crime. She needs your support, not your –"

"You support her. My daughter was a good girl. This sinner is not my daughter."

"That's hardly a charitable attitude, now is it," Roy challenged him. "Even Mary Magdalene was forgiven her sins."

"Mary Magdalene repented her sins." He glared at Missy. "My daughter knew to stay within the bosom of her family. My daughter knew to stay away from that boy. My daughter knew to honor her father. My daughter died tonight." He turned to leave.

Dixie reined in her temper and moved to block his exit. "She needs care we cannot provide without parental consent."

"You have it. Do whatever you see fit." He said without turning to face them.

"Written consent," she insisted.

"Very well." Dixie went to the nurses' station. Pastor Tyro found himself looking at the shocked faces of the four men who had been caring for his daughter tonight. "Thank you for your efforts, gentlemen." His gratitude was as heartfelt as a thanks for holding open a door. Dixie returned and handed him a clipboard and a pen. He glanced over the form, signed it and thrust the items back at her. This time nothing stopped his departure.

Brackett punched the elevator button again. The door opened immediately. "Let's get her up to the O.R. stat," he barked. The orderlies started to move the gurney into the car, but Missy tightened her hold on Roy.

"Please stay with me," she begged. "Please don't leave me alone."

"Shh," Roy removed her arm from around his waist but held onto her hand. "I'm right here. I'll be right here with you until you fall asleep," he promised. He raised the rail, then moved with the gurney as the orderlies hustled it into the elevator, followed by the good doctor. A moment later they were gone.

The phone rang before any of the three who remained could speak. Dixie looked to Johnny, who was closest to it. "Rampart Emergency, Fireman Gage speaking … Yeah, surgery. Wait, what about … Yeah, thanks." He hung up slowly and turned to face the group. "That was the lab. No alcohol. None at all."

Vince broke the heavy silence that had descended upon them. "I'm going to head back to the station. That car she crashed is registered to a Robert B. Patron." Robert Patron. Robert. Rob. No one spoke. No one needed to. Vince turned and followed the girl's father out of the hospital.

Scene Two

Darkness had receded by the time they left Rampart. The heat was quickly rising with the light. They had called the squad in available as soon as Missy Tyro had been wheeled into the O.R. but with no calls, for which Roy was especially grateful, had stayed at the hospital until she'd been settled into the recovery room almost two hours later. In one night this 15-year-old child had lost her innocence, her family, and a significant piece of her future. Roy decided he would return to the hospital on his way home to check up on her personally.

"You all right there, Partner?" Roy slid behind the wheel of the squad and sat silently, the key hovering above the ignition. As Johnny got in next to him he prodded, "Roy?"

"Huh?"

"How're you doing?"

Roy sighed. He put the key into the ignition then grabbed the mic. "Squad 51, returning to quarters."

"Squad 51," came the acknowledgment. He started the engine.

"Look, I feel bad for her, too, I really do, but this one's gonna eat you alive."

"How could he do that?"

"Who, her father?"

"Damn right, her father!" Roy shouted. He slipped the truck into gear and pulled out. "How could any father do that," he continued quietly. "I don't care what your religious convictions are or what she's done, you don't turn your back on your child, especially when she's been hurt and especially when she's been hurt like that."

"Roy –"

"She is a child, Johnny. Fifteen is a child. I wonder what he told her mother. You think he went home and told his wife their daughter is dead?"

"Maybe the mother feels the same way he does," Johnny suggested. At the stricken look on Roy's face he immediately regretted it.

"No. I can't believe any mother would feel that way. It's hard enough to believe of a father, but I remember when Anne was pregnant. As much as a child is a part of her father, there's a bond with the mother …"

"Even if she disagrees, do you think a guy like that would have a wife who would act against him?" Johnny studied his partner. "Maybe the mother will be there when you go back."

"How did … I barely made up my mind yet, how did you –"

"I'm your partner." Johnny flashed what he hoped was a supportive smile. "Just be careful."

"Careful? Me? Of what?"

"Rule number one. 'Never get —

— emotionally involved with a patient," they finished in unison. Roy almost smiled himself.

"Hold it! Hold it! Hold it!" Johnny suddenly exclaimed. "Will you look at that!" Just ahead of them was a couple apparently playing tug-of-war with a toddler as the rope. Roy pulled over. In the moment it took them to notice that the woman's clothes were at least two sizes too big and that she appeared not to have bathed in a month she wrested the child from the man's arms, pushed him to the ground and took off running. Like a shot Johnny was racing after her.

Roy grabbed the microphone as he pulled over. "L.A., this is Squad 51. Request police at West Carson Street and Figueroa, possible kidnapping in progress."

"10-4 51."

The man had landed flat on his back. "Why don't you hold still just a minute." Roy was at the man's side attempting to assess his condition. "Can you tell me your name?" Roy had seen his patient tuck his chin and was hopeful that this had prevented a concussion, but when a full minute had passed and the question remained unanswered he began searching for signs of a head injury in earnest. "Your name, Sir," he asked again, "can you tell me your name?"

"Anderson. Ward Anderson." He sat up suddenly, and winced. "Gary!" Roy's hand was on the Ward Anderson's shoulder, gently pushing him back down even as he tried to stand.

"Gary is your son?"

"Garson, yes."

"Mr. Anderson, I know you're worried, but my partner is on it and the police are on their way, so why don't you relax and let me take a look at you, ok?" Ward Anderson looked at Roy with doubt, then nodded and allowed Roy to ease him all the way down then gently roll him to one side to better see his back.

Two police cars pulled up, one immediately took off in the direction Roy and Mr. Anderson indicated, the other left one officer with them, then his partner took off after the others.

The police officer questioned them while Roy continued his examination of Ward Anderson.

"You called in a possible kidnapping," he asked Roy, who nodded. "What happened, Mr. … ?"

"DeSoto. Roy DeSoto."

"Mr. DeSoto —"

"Officer … ?"

"Ted Phillips."

"We were coming to the intersection —"

"'We'?"

"My partner and I, when Joh —"

"Coming from where, which direction?"

"We were coming from Rampart Hospital, headed toward station 51. My partner spotted Mr. Anderson and some woman wrestling over his son. She grabbed the kid and took off. Johnny — that's my partner, he went after them."

"Can you describe the woman?"

"Small, about five foot one or two; very thin; long, stringy hair, maybe light brown, could be blonde, it was pretty dirty. She was pretty dirty, looked like she lives in the street." As he spoke Roy began to gather his patient's vitals while the officer redirected his attention to that man.

"Do you have any idea who this woman might be, Mr. Anderson, or why she might want your son," the officer asked, poised to write down whatever he might be told.

Anderson swallowed, then nodded slowly. "Caprice. Caprice Anderson. She's Gary's mother."

Phillips flipped his notebook closed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but if she's his mother then whatever is going on is a matter for the family court."

The pulse beneath Roy's fingertips jumped. "Look," Anderson pleaded, "we're divorced and I have full custody. Caprice is a druggie; she's not supposed to have any contact with us until she can prove she's clean. Even then her visitation is supposed to be supervised, the judge said so. Isn't violating a judge's order a crime?"

The cop shook his head. "I'm sorry, but this is a civil matter."

"Can't you at least help me get him back first?"

"I'm sorry sir, I really am." He did manage to look sympathetic as he radioed his fellow officers. Roy shook his head and found himself wishing Vince had responded to this call. Vince had had to follow the law, too, but he had been willing to work within its boundaries to help Missy Tyro. Now there was a child in the hands of a druggie who had shown herself to be strong and not beyond using violence. Roy's stomach turned as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

"Mr. Anderson, please," the paramedic said quietly as his patient tried again to get to his feet. "You went down pretty hard, just let me make sure you're all right. I'm sure my partner will bring your son back," he threw Phillips a hard glance, "and once you have him back safely you can deal with the legal issues."

"Please," for the second time that morning Roy found his arm in a desperate patient's vice-like grasp, "you don't understand. He's my son."

"I do understand." Roy carefully removed the man's hand from his arm even as he helped him to sit down on the rear of the squad. "I have a son. There's nothing I wouldn't do to protect him, and nothing I wouldn't protect him from, not even his own mother." Even as he said the words Roy felt something twist inside. He couldn't imagine ever having to protect their children from JoAnne, but even as he believed it was a need he'd never face, he knew that if such a day should come he would do whatever was necessary to ensure his children's safety. Just recognizing the possibility felt terribly wrong.

Before Roy finished examining Mr. Anderson the police had gone. There was no concussion; he did have minor scrapes to his upper back, which had been protected by his shirt, and more significant scrapes to his unprotected elbows and palms, no other injuries. His blood pressure was a little high, though that was to be expected. The safe return of his son was now solely up to Johnny. Come on, Junior. Didn't you say something about being a track star in high school? This is the most important race you've ever run. You can win it. You have to win it.

Roy cleaned the abrasions and made Mr. Anderson as comfortable as possible. As the minutes dragged on he continued to monitor the man's vitals, paying particular attention to the BP, which, although at the high end, remained within normal limits. It was nearly twenty minutes after he'd left that Johnny reappeared, still running, the boy in his arms. A moment later Caprice came running after them, barely winded. Johnny's much longer stride was all that allowed him to stay ahead of her. Roy took in Johnny's matted hair and the stains spreading down his chest and under his arms.

Anderson rose to meet Johnny, reaching eagerly for his son. "Thank you, thank you so much."

Johnny thrust the boy at his father, careful to position himself between the Andersons. "Welcome," he said breathlessly, "go!"

Ward Anderson did not need to be told twice. "I'm sorry," he yelled back as he ran, his son wrapped tightly in his arms. A feral scream rang out and suddenly Johnny was face down in the street, what little wind he had left knocked out of him. Caprice was on him, straddling him, pounding him. Roy tried to pull her off. A hard kick to his shin sent him to the pavement alongside his partner. He scrambled to his feet, barely aware of the scrapes to his knees and palms and tried again. He received an elbow to his solar plexus. He finally caught his breath and tried a third time; his efforts were rewarded with five deep scratches down his right forearm. Try as he might, Roy could not move her. Damn, she's strong. What the hell is she on?

Johnny struggled to gain his feet. He was able to get to his hands and knees only to have Caprice dig her knees into his sides then drive her heels into his thighs, forcing him back down to his belly. Roy grabbed her firmly around her waist and had nearly pulled her clear when he was stopped as if caught on something. Johnny cried out. Her hands were buried in his hair; as Roy had pulled her back so had she pulled Johnny's head. When Roy loosened his grip she loosened hers; Johnny went down flat. She moved quickly, driving her knees into the small of his back and grasping his hair as if it were the mane of a runaway horse. Roy repositioned himself to keep one arm around her waist, threw the other across her arms and tried again. His arm across hers should have thrown her off balance and loosened her grip. Should have. Roy pulled, her left hand came free; she twisted the fingers of her right hand, painfully wrapping Johnny's hair around them. She then twisted herself around and sank her teeth into Roy's left bicep. Roy grunted, but did not let go. He continued in his efforts to get her off of Johnny, but her hand was too tangled up in his hair. The more Roy pulled, the more Johnny hurt.

Now Roy did release her; he left them long enough to radio for help. When he turned back Johnny had managed to roll himself onto his left side. Four bloody scratches had appeared across his throat and the left pocket of his uniform shirt was torn. Again Roy tried to pull her off. This time Johnny was able to maneuver enough to help. He reached over his head with his right hand and was able to grab her right wrist. She let loose another animalistic scream and reached forward to scratch him again. Before her claw reached his face he was able to pull his left arm out from under his body and grab her left wrist as well. Though his position was awkward it was enough. Roy came up behind her, reached around and took her wrists with his opposite hands. He pulled her arms across her body as he pulled her against him so that he was acting as a human straitjacket.

Johnny got slowly to his feet as the police car pulled up. Officer Ted Phillips emerged from the passenger side as his partner joined them from behind the wheel.

"Look, fellas, I already told you there's noth—" He took in the difference to the scene he had just left. "What happened?"

"She … she tried …" Johnny panted. He moved to the squad and sat heavily on the running board, elbows on knees, head down, working to catch his breath. He waved his hand weakly at Roy. You tell it. I need a minute here.

"My partner there got the boy back," Roy explained, making no effort to hide his disdain for the policeman. "He's safe, by the way, the kid. He's with his father." The woman in his arms bucked violently against him but Roy held her fast. "Johnny wasn't so lucky. She attacked him. Tell me, is assault still a crime, or do we have to report that to the family court, too?"

Officer Phillips' partner took charge of Caprice. As he escorted her to the squad car Phillips asked, "Assault? I understand your partner believed it was a kidnapping at the time but he did take the woman's child away from her. It's understandable if she got a little physical, but it could be construed as defense of a third party — she was protecting her son, after all."

"Protect —" Roy sucked in his breath and his temper with it. "Maybe Johnny didn't know the relationship, but she did know she had no legal claim to the boy AND Johnny's in uniform. You really believe she thought she was protecting anyone?"

"You do have a point, but how much harm could she really do, she's just a little bit of a thing. Can you really call it an assault, Mr. DeSoto?"

"Officer Phillips, come over here," Roy led the policeman over to Johnny, who was finally beginning to breathe a little easier. "Hey Johnny, look up a second, will ya?" He looked at Roy, making the scratches across his throat clearly visible. Roy just glared at Phillips. "Then there's this," he flicked Johnny's shredded sleeve, revealing the abrasions the pavement had left on the arm. "There's more, and when I tried to stop it," he looked the policeman in the eye then presented his bitten bicep, "I got this for my trouble," he showed the scratches down his arm, "and this." He waited a moment to allow it all to register. "You're the law enforcement officer, you tell me: does this qualify as 'assault'?"

There was silence as Officer Phillips took in the all the harm this one small woman had inflicted. Apparently his partner had been paying attention; they heard him tell Caprice Anderson that she was under arrest for assault, then begin reading her rights.

"At least the kid is safe," said Phillips.

"No thanks to you," Roy added under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Hey, guys," having handcuffed the assailant and returned her to the back of the squad car the second police officer joined them. "I'm Pete," he offered his hand, "Bogart."

Roy smiled and accepted the hand. "Nice to meet you Pete. I'm Roy DeSoto, that's my partner, John Gage." Johnny smiled and waved from his seat on the squad. Although still weary from the run his breathing was much better.

"Obviously you're still on duty," Pete continued. "When do you think you can come to the station house and give us your statements?"

The paramedics exchanged a glance. Johnny shrugged. Right after shift?

Roy nodded. As soon as possible. He looked at his watch. "We're off in about ninety minutes. We can be there any time after that."

"Good," said Bogart. "We're actually going off shift in half an hour but we're back on at seven tonight, if you could drop by then?"

Roy glanced at Johnny, who nodded, then returned his attention to Officer Bogart. "That's fine. Rampart Division?" Now Bogart nodded.

"And you'll get to the hospital, get those injuries documented," asked Phillips.

"Of course," said Roy. Johnny rolled his eyes. "We'll see you this evening."

"What?" A few minutes after the police had left them Johnny realized how quiet it was. Too quiet. He looked up to find Roy staring at him.

"I was just thinking, maybe you're right."

"I am?" Johnny grinned. "Right about what?"

"Maybe there's more to being a mother than just having a child. I realize her thinking was clouded by whatever she was probably on, but still … she really could have hurt that kid." Johnny chuckled. "What's funny?"

"I was just thinking that you were right. Even with that garbage clouding her mind she wanted her child. Pastor Tyro was stone cold sober when he walked out on his kid, but this mother —"

"Here." Johnny finally noticed the canteen Roy had been holding.

"Thanks"

"You look terrible."

"Thanks a lot. You don't look so great yourself, y'know."

Roy pulled up his blood-stained sleeve and gingerly touched his bicep where Caprice Anderson had bitten him, then looked down at the scratches she'd left on the other arm. "No," he replied with a sad smile, "I guess I don't." He glanced up. "Drink, then let's go get cleaned up."

Johnny groaned, "Back to Rampart."

"Really?" Roy's smile brightened a bit. "You're volunteering to go to the hospital?"

"Not for me, Partner. I'll let them clean me up, but you need to get that bite checked out. Do you know how much bacteria is in the human mouth? Besides that, when was your last tetanus shot?"

"I'm good. How about you?"

"I think I'm good, too." Johnny raised the canteen. "Man, I am beat. What a morning."

He'd barely wet his lips when, "Squad 51, what is your status?"

Roy reached into the squad's open window and grabbed the microphone. "Squad 51 available."

"Squad 51, stand by for response." Roy tapped the canteen, reminding Johnny to drink. He'd managed one sip when the response came: Engine and Squad to a possible drowning not too far from their current location. In seconds they were on their way, the closed canteen forgotten on the seat between them.

Scene Three

Minutes later they pulled up to a large laundromat. As they moved to pull out their gear Roy handed Johnny his jacket.

"What's this," he asked even as Roy slid into his own.

"We'll head back to Rampart after this run. For now these will offer at least some protection."

Johnny tipped his head, exposing the scratches on his throat. "Protection? For your arms, maybe, but this?"

"You want to answer the questions?" Johnny sighed as he zipped his jacket so that the tattered sleeve and torn pocket of his uniform shirt would be concealed. He hoisted the oxygen and swayed just a bit. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a little warm for this time of year."

"Maybe you shouldn't —"

"No, you're right. Even if Cap gets it, Chet'll never let me hear the end of it. Let's do this."

"Come on, Junior." With that they entered the laundry as the engine pulled up to the scene.

Once inside they were met by a heavy-set, middle aged woman in a smock with the name of the laundry above the left breast. "Come," she turned sharply and walked away, obviously expecting them to follow.

"Uh, Ma'am," Johnny attempted to get some information as they hurried after her.

"Come," she repeated. She led them by a few customers to a bank of washing machines against the far wall. In the rear corner, in the machine farthest from the front window, was a slight young man who appeared to be wearing nothing but a necktie. The engine crew joined them just in time for her explanation. "We open at five. I had work in the back; linens, uniforms, the commercial stuff. The industrial machines are back there. It gets loud when those get going, then once the machines up here start you can't really hear nothing so I had no idea anything was wrong until a couple of his friends ran in back looking for the circuit box."

"His friends," Cap asked while Roy and Johnny moved to the washer and its occupant.

"Frat boys," the woman spat. "Apparently they think this," she waved her hand at the young man, "is funny. They put him in there, got the machine going, jammed it up good, too, then couldn't stop it when he got caught. Most of 'em took off but at least a couple of 'em were decent kids."

Roy looked up. "Aren't these machines supposed to stop automatically when they're opened?"

The woman looked at Roy as if that were the most stupid thing she'd ever heard. "I already told you, they jammed it up."

"Why didn't they just unplug it right here," Johnny asked from behind the machine. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed his damp hair away from his eyes.

"Too tight. They were big boys, lot's bigger'n you. Don't matter, you got it here and they did back there at the box. Just get him out of there without busting my machine. And plug it back when you're done, I sure can't get back there." A small crowd started filtering into the store. Some were trying to see what was going on but most were customers, carrying baskets or bags of dirty clothes. "I got work to do. I'll be up at the counter if you need me." She left them in a huff.

The neck tie turned out to be a bikini top, a quick glance into the machine revealed he was wearing what appeared to be the suit's bottom and socks, nothing more. The top had caught on the agitator, and pulled tight, tearing the strap around his back. Roy cut the top from around the boy's neck as Johnny rejoined him in front of the machine.

"What's your name?"

"Suzie," he replied without looking up. Finally he did, relieved to see patience in Roy's face and no sign of ridicule. He added something, but the noise level was rising as the customers began doing their laundry.

"It's Stewart," he repeated as loudly as he dared, "but the guys can't know I said so."

Roy smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. Let's just get you out of here, ok? Are you hurt anywhere?"

He shook his head. "Not hurt, but my foot's caught."

"Hey, help, please." Suddenly a large young man appeared behind them. He grabbed Johnny's arm and pulled at him. He stood about two inches shorter than John but was broad-shouldered, thick through the chest and well-muscled. He nearly pulled Johnny off his feet.

"Whoa, hold it! Help what, tell me what's wrong."

"My buddy," came the reply. "When Su — Stew here got caught we went for the circuit breaker. It was the only way we could stop it. Now my buddy's caught between one of those big machines and the wall. Please help me get him out." He continued tugging at Johnny's arm.

"Stupid stunt," Chet muttered.

"Gage, Kelly," ordered Cap.

"No! I mean, Jack's not hurt, he's just stuck, and I almost got him but I'm just too big. I just need one guy to help me, someone who can fit." He looked at Johnny, then Cap. "Please, the rest of you just help Stewie."

"Cap?"

With a nod from Cap Johnny accompanied the young man to the back room. Roy thought he saw fear flash across Stewie's face as his friend led Johnny away but it passed quickly and the boy smiled at him. With help from the Engine 51 crew Roy set about freeing his victim.

"I'm Erik," offered the boy.

"Johnny Gage. Don't worry, Erik, we'll take care of your friend."

The back room was slightly smaller than the front, with fewer though much larger machines. Two of the massive washing machines were running. Combined with the noise coming from the front Johnny had to shout to be heard.

"Where's your friend," he asked, looking around. He stepped further into the room and spotted the circuit box on the wall between the washers and industrial dryers. The space around it was clear, allowing easy access. He turned angrily and was nose to nose with Erik. "What's going on, where is your friend?"

"Right here," a voice growled in Johnny's ear. He spun around to find himself looking up at what he could only describe as a bear. Jack was easily half a foot taller than Johnny and more muscular than Erik. Johnny tried to back away but Erik blocked him. "You're very pretty …" he looked to Erik.

"Johnny," Erik supplied.

Jack's smile sent a chill through John. "You're very pretty, Janey."

Erik grabbed Johnny's arms and pinned them tight behind him. "Cap," Johnny yelled as he tried to free himself. "Hey, Cap!"

"Cap. Hey, Cap. Oh, Ca-ap," Jack yelled even louder. "Keep screaming there, Janey. No one can hear you." He unzipped Johnny's jacket, ran his hands slowly up Johnny's chest and slid the jacket off his shoulders. "Look, Erik. Janey is already hot for me." Sweat had plastered Johnny's shirt to his body. Jack grabbed the back of Johnny's head, which fit easily in the large hand, and, despite Johnny's efforts, pulled him close as if to kiss. With their lips almost touching Jack burst out laughing, then slipped his arm around John's waist and held him fast while Erik yanked off the jacket. "You're so pretty. Nice, trim figure. Shiny hair," he ran his fingers through Johnny's hair, "Soft, too." When Johnny shook his head fiercely against the touch Jack laughed even harder. "Come on, Janey, dance with me." With his right arm still firmly around Johnny's waist Jack grabbed John's right hand with his left and began waltzing him around the room. The next thing Johnny knew Jack's hand crept down his back and paused at his waistband before slipping into his back pocket. He continued struggling but the kid was so strong. He's not a kid. No, these were not kids. College students were adults. A fraternity prank, the manager had said. These guys were upper-classmen; that made them and Johnny about the same age.

Johnny squirmed and fought until the hand in his back pocket clamped down hard and pulled him close to the other's body. He wanted to throw up. He was dipped and spun and before he could pull away Erik grabbed him and wrapped both his arms firmly around Johnny's waist and pulled him close. Jack moved in from behind and squeezed him between them. The noise and the heat from the two machines running in this room and drifting in from the front were making John dizzy. Being pressed between these two hulking men made breathing difficult; the feeling of their bodies on his and the smell of them made him gag. His vision was blurred by the sweat running into his eyes. He felt hands on his hips, then Jack's hands were in Johnny's front pockets. John stiffened and renewed his struggle. Jack leaned in close, hands digging deeper into the pockets. Johnny felt the tongue run up his cheek as the hands in his pockets grabbed and groped. With a burst of strength Johnny threw his head back. He felt it connect. The hands in his pockets withdrew. A yelp of pain came from behind him. The grip around his waist loosened just a little.

"What'd you do that for," Jack sounded genuinely surprised. "It was just a joke, Man. We weren't going to hurt you."

Erik moved toward his companion, Johnny lunged for the door. A powerful hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled hard. Which one had done it he never knew. He was on the floor, looking up at them. Jack's hands were at his nose, which was bleeding profusely. He looked down at John sadly. Erik looked furious. Johnny tried to get up; Erik's foot on his chest sent him crashing back to the floor.

"Man, we were just playing with you."

"Playing? ... Play —"

"Let's just finish this," Erik snarled. He grabbed Johnny around his thighs and lifted, then Jack grabbed him under his shoulders and together they carried him toward the washers. Blood from Jack's nose dripped into John's hair and onto his face. Johnny thrashed wildly against them but they only tightened their grips.

"I have a better idea," said Jack. "He's already all wet. Let's dry him off."

Erik grinned evilly. "Yeah. Besides, he's a fireman, they like the heat." With that they moved toward the dryers. Johnny bucked and thrashed harder. They held tight, squeezing him painfully. He managed to pull off his badge and pins. They opened one of the large dryers, threw him inside and quickly sealed him in. They peered in at him. How long have we been back here? Please, guys, Roy, you've got to miss me by now. He watched them step back and reach for the controls. As quickly as he could he pulled his knife and scissor case from his belt and stuffed them into his pocket. He curled himself into a ball, squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his right arm around them, then tucked his chin as close to his chest as he could and held his head there with his left hand.

Slowly at first, the tumbler began to turn.