ACT IV

Scene One

The pictures punched Roy in the gut as hard as any fist could have. He thought he'd seen the last of them two weeks prior … at least until the trial, the police had said, and that would be a long time coming. There might not even be a trial; if the boys pled guilty, though no one really believed that was likely, or if a deal could be made. That meant the assailants would plead guilty to a lesser charge in exchange for a reduced sentence, often significantly so, Bogart had said sadly, especially for first time offenders, which these boys were. Some deal. Either Johnny's attackers got off easy or Johnny would have to relive the assault in court and in the newspapers. However the case went, Johnny would get the short end.

The office was small, not much bigger than the cubicles outside. Having left immediately following shift change, Roy had arrived early for his nine o'clock appointment. There were some people already working, but none near the office he needed. His knock was answered with, "Come on in." When Roy first entered, the man pacing behind the desk waved him in, pointed to the two chairs in front of the desk, then sat down on his own side and spun the chair toward the window, as if not looking at his visitor reestablished his privacy. Roy wouldn't have heard him anyway. His full attention was on the wall to his left. These weren't the snapshot-size prints the police had shown him. These were large, clear prints, posted here like wallpaper for all the world to see. Every bruise, every break, every burn, every degradation was on display. Three in the middle were especially disturbing. One footprint, one handprint, and one, though less clear, Roy was certain, pair of each.

"Can I help you?" The question had obviously already been asked more than once. Still, Roy could not tear himself away from the pictures. The man moved to the wall and reached up, pulling down an old map of Los Angeles like a shade to cover the John Gage humiliation gallery. Finally, Roy turned away from the wall. "How can I help you?"

"Mr. Belosi? I'm Roy DeSoto."

"Aw, geez," he seemed genuinely distressed. "I'm sorry, Mr. DeSoto. I planned to have that," he nodded at the now covered wall, "put away before you got here. Can we start again?" He offered Roy his hand. "ADA George Belosi. Pleased to meet you; I am sorry for the circumstances." Roy relaxed and accepted the offered hand. "Please, have a seat." Roy sat as the ADA made his way back around the desk. "I wasn't expecting you for another," he paused to check his watch, "forty minutes. Wow, you are early."

"I came straight from the station. No traffic, I made good time."

"Very good. Listen, I hope you don't think we just leave pictures like that around for everyone and their uncle to gawk at. I try to get that cover down whenever I have anyone in here not working on this case. I assumed you were staff. I guess it's true what they say about assuming, huh? Gage is your friend; I can't imagine how hard it must be for you, but whether I like it or not those pictures are evidence. Right now they're the best evidence I've got if I want to put those guys away."

Roy smiled. He liked this man. Belosi was Roy's height, with a trim, athletic build. His jacket and tie were on hooks behind the office door, the top buttons of his shirt were open, the sleeves pushed up above his elbows. Roy placed him at about forty years old, and, although his dark hair was thinning on top, there was a youthfulness about him and something else. He's Johnny at that age, if Johnny had gone to law school. The thought broadened his smile. At first he couldn't imagine John Gage sitting through the hours and hours of class time law school required. Then a picture came to mind, as clearly as if it were playing out in front of him. Johnny in court, jacket hanging on the back of his chair, tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, using his own unique Gage logic to elicit the desired testimony from a witness, making an impassioned plea to the jury as he paced before them. Yes, John Gage had a way about him, and Roy realized that despite the perpetual motion of his body, law school could very well have kept the equally energetic mind engaged. Roy could not shake the feeling that George Belosi and John Gage were cut from the same cloth: energetic, focused on the job, and earnest in their desire to help. For the first time since that terrible day he felt like, just maybe, Johnny would actually get justice from the justice system.

"I was surprised to hear from you so soon," said Roy as he took a seat. "I thought the other side dragged these things out. I guess I shouldn't believe everything I hear."

Belosi sat on the corner of his desk. "Actually, there's truth in that. It's often to their advantage. Life goes on; witnesses become unavailable, memories fade, cases need to be closed. Not this time, though." He held up a hand, forestalling any questions, and dove right in. "Mr. DeSoto, have you ever heard of Webber, Morgan and Towne?"

"The investment firm?"

"What do you know about them?"

"Started here in Los Angeles in the twenties, survived the Depression, and really took off after the war. Headquartered in their own building downtown, offices in New York, Chicago, and London."

Belosi nodded. "The county must pay firemen a lot more than they do lawyers," he teased.

"I have a family; I have to be smart about money. I read whatever I can about investing and they're in the paper all the time."

"What if I told you the men that assaulted your friend are John 'Jack' Webber and Erik Towne?" He waited a moment as the full impact of his words registered.

"Money. Power. Fancy lawyers." Belosi nodded. "What does this mean for Johnny?"

"That depends on him."

"On him? How —"

"There's no question of their guilt. Your whole crew and the laundry's manager and customers all saw Gage go into that back room with Towne. The manager will testify that there was no one else in there, and you and your crew heard Towne say that Webber was waiting when he lured Gage. It was only the three of them there when they were found and there was an officer on scene when that happened. With that and … well," he gestured toward the now covered pictures, "the injuries Gage sustained, I'll get a conviction."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I can get a conviction; I can't make any promises on sentencing."

"I don't understand."

"Webber and Towne are claiming it was a practical joke gone wrong when Gage —"

"I know what they're saying," said Roy with disgust. "Detective McCluskey couldn't wait to tell us."

Belosi shook his head. "McCluskey's ok. That's one of the things I need to discuss with you."

"McCluskey?"

Belosi nodded. "Why did you put off talking to him? If Gage really is just an innocent victim in all this then why wouldn't you —"

"If he's innocent? Of course he's innocent!" He lowered his voice. "What is this? I thought you were on our side." Though the words were angry, Roy's tone revealed his disappointment.

"I am. So is McCluskey, believe it or not. Official reports note when he was at the hospital and at your station, and when you were. I have to account for the delay in your interview, make sure there's nothing that could possibly be used against us."

"I never knew he was at Rampart. I found that out later when McCluskey himself told me."

"And the station? Why didn't you go talk to him right away? Were you trying to hide something?"

Roy inhaled sharply, but as he looked at the man asking the question he realized there was no accusation in it. He blew out the breath and began slowly, his mind travelling back to that awful morning. "I just … I needed a minute. When we got back to the station, I was only taking a minute; then I saw the vomit. In the dryer, John … I stepped in it or, maybe when I cut away his uniform … There was vomit on my shoes, my pants. And blood. On my shirt. Mine and … Not a lot of blood for how bad he was …" Roy looked up then, and seemed to realize that he'd been talking, not just remembering. "I only wanted a minute, but the vomit and blood … I couldn't … Not with Johnny's blood …" He set his jaw and shook off the image, if not the memory. "I washed up. If McCluskey has a problem with that —"

"Don't worry about McCluskey. He's hard, but he's thorough and fair. I know it probably didn't seem that way, but believe me, what he asked you guys was necessary. It wasn't just about your answers, he also noted your reactions to the questions. If he read you guys right, and I'm sure he did, the claims against Gage aren't just nonsense, they're nonsense the defense won't be able to sell the jury as easily as they would like. That goes a long way toward weakening their case, especially with the added testimony of the nurses that have been interviewed. Don't worry," he responded to the horrified look Roy gave him, "they've only been told that we're gathering background information on Gage, which is true where they're concerned. He's strangely popular among them. Even the ones who said they wouldn't go out with him again were protective of him. There was a lot of concern for him; some giggling and eye rolling, too, but not one would speak against him. I suspect that might not be the case when they're talking amongst themselves," he added, more to himself than to Roy, who nodded his understanding. "That he's inspired such loyalty from all those women, especially those with whom he's had failed relationships, is a tremendous blow to the defense's case. The bottom line, though: we need Gage's testimony. We need him to tell which injuries were caused by the earlier incident, we need him to tell how he got in that dryer, and, most important, we need to know if Webber or Towne said or did anything that might show that they knew the heat was on when they started the dryer."

"How could they not know? They were watching him in there. Wasn't that in McCluskey's report? The guys saw —"

"Chet Kelly and Mike Stoker. Yes, it's in the report. The doctors' statements are also in there: concurrence that if not for the heat being on, Gage likely would have been fine. The problem is that those two have done this before, with washers and dryers. The police have seen it, so has the hospital. No one was ever seriously injured though. That supports their claim that they had no reason to believe anyone would be this time. He wouldn't have been, either, except for the heat. The metal was too hot for Gage to hold on to. If he could have, the broken bones as well as the burns would have been prevented. I understand he had first degree burns on all the exposed skin and second degree where the skin came into contact with the metal, even through his shirt."

"Yeah."

"And there it is. The previous victims all got into the appliance willingly and came out with nothing more than a little dizziness."

"John wasn't willing; he was on duty. He's not some kid pledging the fraternity; he didn't climb in. Isn't that obvious?"

"Legally that doesn't matter; 'obvious' isn't admissible. If they can convince the jury that it was just a tragic turn of an otherwise innocent act, the best I can probably get them for is simple assault. That's a misdemeanor. They could get out of this with no jail time at all. I have to show, beyond a reasonable doubt, that they knew what they were doing would harm him and that they intended to cause that harm."

Roy sat silently as the ADA's words sank in. "This doesn't make any sense. They almost killed him. We still don't know if he … They almost killed him. That's attempted murder, isn't it? How could they not go to jail?"

"There's no question they did it. The question is of what they meant to do. They're trying to sell the idea that they believed what they're saying about him, not that he did anything, just that they believed he would. I have to show that they intended to hurt him. That's aggravated assault. Legally, they only need to show that they believed they had to defend themselves from him, not that they actually did."

"The law stinks."

"Yeah," Belosi's eyes dropped to the floor. "Sometimes it really does." He brought his gaze up and looked directly into Roy's eyes. "I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get these guys what they deserve."

"What if …" Roy swallowed. "What if John doesn't remember? That's a possibility."

"I know. That's one of the things I wanted to discuss with you this morning." He moved to the wall. "The defense efforts to rush this case into court."

"Why?"

"It's good strategy on their part. It's to their advantage that Gage never gets to court. They don't want to face him there. Not just that they don't want him to testify, they don't want a jury to see them side by side. I've managed to hold things off for now, but their lawyers are as good as you would expect and I still need to build this case. That's one reason I called you. It would be better directly from Gage, but, for now, you're the only one who can say which injuries were caused by the Anderson woman." He raised the map. "The doctors can testify that all these injuries occurred around the same time. With medical experts saying none came significantly before or after, separating the results of the two assaults is imperative."

Roy steeled himself and joined Belosi in front of the dreaded pictures. He pointed out four, then turned his face away from the wall. "She jumped on John's back, it didn't cause any injury. She did squeeze her legs around him a bit, but that was more to hold on, she didn't hurt him with that either. Mainly she held on by his hair. I can only imagine what a picture of his scalp would show," he added bitterly. There was a long moment of silence, then, finally, Roy returned his attention to the pictures. He tapped one. Johnny's palms. "I told you she was on his back. At one point he was up on all fours, she forced him back down. That's how he got the scrapes here." He hit another picture. Johnny's knees. "And here. She only caused the scrapes, what you can see of them. The other bruising …" He touched a third picture. Johnny's neck. "She did that with her fingernails. She gave us a matched set." His eyes flitted to his arm where his own scratches had been. His hand absently traveled to his bicep, which still bore the faint mark of Caprice Anderson's bite.

He reached toward the fourth picture, but pulled his hand back, unable to touch it, unwilling to look at it. Johnny's thighs. "When Gage got to his hands and knees, she forced him down by driving her heels into his legs." He finally did look at the picture, then sighed and turned to Belosi. "The smaller bruises just above his knees, they're the right size and in the right place to be from her feet. Those other two, though, I … I don't know how —"

George Belosi lowered the map with one hand while the other gently pushed Roy's shoulder, turning him away from the now covered pictures and back toward his seat. "We do. Proving that will come down to Gage's testimony too; only he can say for sure. The possibilities are medically limited though, so we know."

Roy nodded. "Yeah. I think … I guess I do, too." Belosi took the chair next to Roy's and waited for the other man to find his voice. "Even if the doctors couldn't place the timing of … John didn't have any bruises before the shift, and we didn't get into anything during the shift that would … we've never gotten into anything that would cause those bruises. Not like that." Another long pause. Years of experience told Belosi the question Roy was working his way up to asking. "I know what they're claiming Johnny did to them, but … they did it, didn't they? Not just passes, they … they touched … they hurt him … that way, didn't they."

"Yes."

"And when he recovers, if he remembers, you want Johnny to testify to that?"

"Yes."

"In open court?"

"Yes."

"The papers are already having a field day with this story."

"Yes."

"And there's nothing you can do?"

"About the media? I'm afraid not. I wish we could, that's the jury pool reading those stories, but we can't stop them and we can't change the story without …"

Roy waited for Belosi to complete the thought. "Without what?"

"The pictures. We could probably turn the story around with the right pictures."

"Not … " He held his breath

"No. I'll do whatever I can to keep those under wraps for as long as I can. Truth is: releasing them would help. Not all of them, not the ones you're most concerned about. Some would garner sympathy, but those are too graphic, they could backfire. The defense doesn't want those pictures out either, not any of them, though they have their own reasons. Problem is, the defense has their own copies —"

"Those guys have those pictures?" This just keeps getting better.

"Their lawyers do. They're evidence, they're entitled to — It doesn't matter. I've dealt with this firm before. They're not above breaking the rules, and they get away with it, in court almost as much as out. They'll try this case in the papers; half-truths and innuendo will be accepted as evidence. They'll bias the jury pool before we ever get to court. If we release the pictures that would help our case, they have no reason not to release the rest of them. It would be a gamble, but with the right spin they could use those pictures to lend credence to their allegations of Gage's proclivities."

"But it's not true!"

"I know. But I can only control what's said in court, and even then only to an extent. It's up to the jury who they choose to believe. Anybody can say anything to a reporter, and the papers will publish what will sell. Some of the more conscientious may try to verify the facts, but how can they here? The police and this office have already said as much about this case publicly as we will, the doctors won't say anything, Gage can't. Who's left? The laundry manager, and you and your crew. I've spoken with her; believe me when I tell you the manager is on our side. I know the department ordered no one discuss the case, but they didn't really need to, did they?" Roy shook his head and offered a weak smile. "I thought as much. And the fire department itself, will they address this beyond the statement they've already given? Would you really want them to?"

Roy shook his head. The Los Angeles County Fire Department is deeply saddened by the accusations made against one of our firefighter/paramedics. Said firefighter/paramedic was severely injured in the line of duty while rescuing his accusers and is unable to respond to the allegations at this time. A departmental inquiry has revealed an exemplary record and no evidence to support these specious claims. Until such time as he is proven guilty in a court of law this department stands by him and looks forward to both his full recovery and complete exoneration. "It was a pretty bold statement."

Belosi smiled. "Gage will never be charged; your department knows he's been cleared of any wrongdoing as far as the police and this office are concerned. I wish we could have prevented the internal, too, but we both know they had to do something on the record once the story broke. What your Captain said, that was a bold statement."

"You heard about that?"

"Of course. And Captain Hammer's not the only one that feels that way. You and your crewmates have closed ranks around him, which is right. So did the crew at station 10 and his former partner there. Freeman, I think?" Roy nodded his confirmation. "To say nothing of Chief Conrad and Chief Houts. The word 'impulsive' has come up, but I don't anticipate it doing any damage. Everyone we've spoken to insists Gage would rush in to a situation to help someone but never do anything that would put a victim at risk, ever. He's earned a lot of respect for someone who's only been at the job four years." He smiled. "And that's just the fire department. On the medical side there's Doctors Brackett and Early, and Miss McCall. The only issue there is that they're also on this case as his care providers. Beyond them there's Dr. Parsons, Dr. Morton, Wilma Jacobs —"

"Dr. Morton?"

"He's a little rough around the edges. I'm not sure he even likes John Gage, but he does respect him professionally, and since the issue is his alleged behavior on the job, that's what matters."

"Good, so John's got a solid reputation and a bunch of character witnesses. How much can that help him against the accusations? The publicity?"

"Fortunately, nothing's actually been said publicly beyond the initial reports that a 'Los Angeles County firefighter/paramedic was overzealous in his rescue efforts' and that the two 'boys he was rescuing responded in kind, accidentally injuring the rescue man in self-defense.' Boys, my Aunt Fannie!" He recited the lead of the first story on the incident from memory, the words boys and accidentally dripping with sarcasm. "That's already more than should have gotten out, especially the way they're telling it. "

"How much does the department know?"

"They don't know precisely how we believe your partner was injured, if that's what you're asking. He's been hurt enough. Maybe I'm an idealist but I wasn't going to stand by and let him be victimized any more, especially when he's in no position to defend himself. I really do believe in justice and I plan to get it in this case. If this were almost anybody other than Webber and Towne none of it would have seen the light of day."

"You said releasing some of the pictures could help. How?"

Belosi reached for the files across his desk and pulled out three 8x10 photographs. Three happy young men in uniform. Jack Webber smiled at the camera, his shoulder pads resting between his left hand and hip, his right hand holding a football as if about to throw it.

Erik Towne grinned, his right foot resting on the shoulder pads on the ground in front of him, his left hand holding the football to his chest.

Johnny beamed. Even in the still photograph the eyes seemed to move with laughter. He was in his dress uniform, his hat hanging loosely from his right hand. Roy allowed himself another small smile. He remembered this picture. There'd been a cake and a small, informal ceremony when Johnny's paramedic class had graduated. Soon after the passage of the Wedsworth-Townsend Act the department had held a formal graduation ceremony at which the department, as well as the press, had taken numerous photographs of the newly certified paramedics, including Roy DeSoto and John Gage. A variety of brochures and publicity materials for the new program soon appeared. John's formal graduation picture, a copy of which hung on a wall at headquarters alongside Roy's and the others', a bust shot with the hat sitting properly on his head, had been used in the brochures that went to high schools, junior colleges and career events aimed at young men of that age.

"I can't believe this was only taken about a year and a half ago. He looked like such a kid." Roy shook his head as he realized, "Still does."

"Exactly." Roy looked up, the question addressed before he could ask it. "Look at them again, all three." Belosi waited a moment while Roy examined all three photographs more closely. "What if I told you that Webber was left back twice, once in grade school, again in high school?"

Roy shrugged. "So what?"

"In spite of his academic failings, and his family's money, he's in school on a full ride football scholarship. He's that good.

"Those two grew up together. Their families go way back, Towne's only a year younger. That put him one year ahead academically. He puttered around his freshman year, kept switching up his major; when his friend caught up they landed in the same classes as well as the fraternity. Together to terrorize the campus just like they had in high school."

"Wait a minute," Roy snapped angrily. "Are you telling me they have a history of terrorizing people — that is the word you used, isn't it? They have a record of doing that and you still can't get them?"

"Juvenile record. Even without the clout of their families I couldn't use that. Some of it shouldn't be, juvenile, I mean, not considering how old Webber was in high school, but —"

"Family influence," Roy acknowledged bitterly.

"Yeah. It stinks, I know. There've been some incidents at the university, hazing mostly. Not unlike the incident that brought you guys to that laundry in the first place. If some of those guys would just come forward that would be all I'd need. I could show a pattern of behavior, maybe even add charges. Between their families' clout and the physical intimidation, no one will speak on the record. They're all too afraid."

"Can't you make them testify?"

"Sure. I can subpoena them, put them on the stand. I can't make them admit the truth. Everyone we've spoken to is a lot more afraid of those two than they are of a perjury charge."

"So how could releasing these pictures help?"

Belosi lined the pictures up next to each other. "Those shots were taken at the end of their freshman year."

"So that would make them about the same age as Johnny was in his picture."

"Which was taken just about a year ago. Webber and Towne are seniors."

Roy sat up a little straighter as the implications became clear. "The papers keep talking about the fireman and the college boys. McCluskey did it, too. He talked about our 'man' and those 'boys' … Damn it!" He looked at the pictures again. Even in the dress uniform, Roy was suddenly painfully aware of just how thin Johnny was. He knew from working with Gage that thin could be deceptively strong but, as he looked at the other two, at how robust they looked in their football uniforms, even without the pads, Johnny seemed positively scrawny. "They're older than he is. They're bigger than he is. And they outnumber him."

"Exactly. That's one more reason they don't want to face Gage in court. They don't want the jury to see that. Unfortunately, keeping these pictures and that information under wraps is the only way we've been able to keep the more sordid details quiet. It's also the only way we've been able to keep Gage's name out of the papers. It's a trade-off. Webber and Towne get their privacy, John Gage gets his. It's —"

He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Belosi listened for a minute, then hung up with a smile. "Good news?" asked Roy.

"Yeah. That was Jan Pierce; she's the ADA on the Caprice Anderson case. They just came to an agreement regarding her assault on you and your partner."

"What kind of agreement?"

"She pled guilty to two counts of simple assault and one count of custodial interference. She's in a hospital that specializes in treating addicts. When she's discharged she'll be on probation for three years, during which time she'll be required to participate in an ongoing outpatient program. If, and only if, she stays clean and out of trouble during that time she'll be free and clear, if not she serves the full three years."

Roy nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that's fair. I don't believe she was trying to hurt us, at least I don't think she would have if she'd been straight. She probably hurt herself and her family more than Johnny or me."

"It gets better. It seems whatever she was on caused some kind of disconnect but didn't adversely affect her memory. Jan said Mrs. Anderson described it as watching somebody else using her body. The point is, she remembers and she's prepared to testify in this case." Roy didn't respond. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I'm sure you know what you're doing, but how does the testimony of a junkie who tried to hurt John herself help him?"

"I'll make it help. Preempt the defense, get all the dirt on the record myself so they can't use it against her. 'This poor woman lost herself to drugs. On the day in question she did not know she was a danger to her own son; nor did she recognize that the rescue man sought only to protect the child. Once sober, she saw the truth and accepted responsibility for her actions. She has pled guilty to the charges against her. Although in a hospital, she will be locked up, away from her family, from her child. After having served her time, release will be conditional; she risks incarceration should she fail to meet the stringent conditions. She agreed to these terms of her own free will. She knows that hurting this man was wrong. She is here today in support of the very man she attacked, even as he risked his own well-being to help her son.' Something like that."

"Wow." Again, Roy found himself smiling. "You almost make her sound like a hero." When he agreed to this meeting he'd never have thought that could happen.

Belosi chuckled. "Almost. A little hero, a little victim, a little martyr. It adds up to a lot of sympathy, which translates to likability. A trial isn't about the facts, or even the law; not as much as it should be, anyway. A trial is a popularity contest. We need the jury to like our side better. Of course, the other side wants that for themselves."

"I guess they would." Roy released a small sigh of relief. "So what now?"

"I keep building my case. I'll fill in what I need where I can, like with you today. I'll personally interview everyone involved: the medical team, the officers, everyone who was there that day, starting with the rest of your crew. Don't worry, it can't help the case for anyone else to see them so I will make sure to keep those pictures under wraps when they're here. When anyone's here. For your friend's sake I wish we could end this without going to trial, and I'll keep trying to make that happen, but I can't agree to anything that doesn't include at least some jail time."

"They should to go to jail." Roy paused. "We were only there because another prank went wrong. Except it's not just pranks anymore." He paused again to gather his thoughts. "How can they do this? How can they claim it was an accident and self-defense? How can they get away with hurting people, especially someone who was only trying to help them? Did anybody ever find out why? Why they really did it. Why they picked Johnny."

Roy grimaced at the answer. He and Belosi spoke a little while longer, then finally said their good-byes. Before departing the office, Roy turned to the DA one last time. "They deserve to go to jail. I just wish there was a way to get them there without having to put Johnny through a trial."

"Believe me, Mr. DeSoto, so do I."

Scene Two

"Hey, Roy," Dixie smiled as Roy neared the base station. "What brings you here today?"

"I had some business downtown after shift. I thought I'd stop in on my way home and check up on Johnny. How's he doing?"

"He's doing real good, Roy," said Dr. Brackett from behind him.

Roy turned to face him. "Really, Doc?"

Before Brackett could reply the radio came to life. Roy's surprise that the doctor did not move to respond lasted but a second. Mike Morton's voice answered the call. Roy turned back in time to see Dixie wave Sally Lewis over. A minute later he followed Dixie and Dr. Brackett into the latter's office.

"You weren't so sure yesterday" he dove in before Brackett could take his seat. "What's changed?"

Like Belosi had earlier, Brackett sat to face Roy on the corner of his desk. "That's just it, nothing significant. Minor improvements since yesterday, almost negligible. No complications, no setbacks. Slowly but surely, he's moving in the right direction."

"Tell me the truth, Doc," Roy was almost afraid to hope, "how long do you think until Johnny'll be strong enough to come back to work?"

"You're jumping the gun here, Roy," Brackett corrected gently. "He's doing great for this stage of his recovery, but any discussion of his return to duty at this time is premature."

"Yeah," Roy sighed. He'd been doing that a lot these past two weeks. "I guess I knew that. It's just … you said he's doing good."

"And he is. The bloody urine and abdominal rigidity present when you brought him in resolved without surgical intervention. There's been no sign of any infection. His burns are healing; we've even had plastics check on him. There's a good chance he can come out of this without any significant scars."

On the outside, maybe.

"I hope to release him to ortho before the week is out."

"He's ready for that?"

Dixie laid her hand on his. "Roy, this is good news."

"I … I know, I just …" he paused. The past two weeks had dragged by as he had waited hopefully for word on Johnny's progress, medically and legally. Now that it was happening he worried that perhaps it was too fast. Johnny needed more time to get well. He had to build his strength. He was going to need it.

As if reading his mind, Dixie said, "He's strong, and he is getting better. We'll get him back in the squad with you, it's just going to take some time."

Roy did not notice the look Brackett shot her. A look that said You can't promise him that.

Dixie just smiled and squeezed Roy's hand reassuringly. She threw a quick glance back to Brackett. It will happen. We'll make it happen. You'll see.

"By next week I expect all the breaks should be properly cast."

"'Should be'," Roy repeated. "Not 'will be'?"

"Feet, legs, and ribs," the doctor explained, "I'm not too worried about, as far as it goes. His arms and his hands, however, are cause for some concern." Roy eyed him expectantly. "Most of the burns were first degree and those have healed. Fortunately, he was spared any third degree. His arms and hands, though; there was a lot of direct contact with the hot metal without even the thin layer of protection of his shirt. Add to that the compound breaks of multiple fingers. If he keeps progressing the way he has been then I do think we can have all the casts in place in about a week; then we can wake him up and get him out of here."

"Out of here? He can't go home like that."

"No, he can't. He won't be going home, Roy."

"His family—"

Brackett was shaking his head. "They want to, but they understand that Johnny needs more than they can provide."

"Where, then?"

"As soon as he's fully stable, alert, and aware, John will be transferred to the Wexler Pavilion."

Roy's eyes widened, first in shock, then anger. Only the squeeze from Dixie's hand, which still lay on his, kept him from jumping to his feet. "The Wexler Pavilion!? How could you, that's no place for Johnny!"

"It's the best in town," Brackett fired back as he crossed his arms.

"Kel," Dixie snapped. "Roy," she said gently, returning her attention to him. "Roy," she repeated a bit more firmly when he continued glaring at Brackett. Finally, he turned to looked at her. "It's the right move, and you know it."

His shoulders slumped as he released his anger. "It's a nursing home, Dix. I know it's a good one … ok, the best, but it's still a nursing home. Johnny doesn't belong in a nursing home."

By this time Brackett had brought over a chair so that he was eye-to-eye with Roy without putting the desk between them. He'd allowed his personal feelings to interfere in this conversation when he snapped at his patient's friend, now he used those feelings to talk to his own friend. "It's more than just a nursing home, it's also a complete rehab facility. His prognosis is good, but he's got a long way to go. He's going to need a great deal of therapy once the casts come off … until then, even after, for a time, he'll need around the clock care. Feet, legs, ribs, arms, hands. Even if he could sit in a wheelchair comfortably he couldn't move it. It's not just getting around. Think about it, Roy. He won't be able to feed or wash himself; he won't even be able to sit up by himself."

Roy felt another sigh coming and clenched his jaw against it. "There's no other way?" He knew the answer even as he asked the question.

"The hospital can't provide the kind of care he'll require. Neither can his family, no matter how much they may want to. And they do want to." He paused, watching Roy closely. "Do you think Johnny would want them to?"

He'll need around the clock care … he won't be able to feed or wash himself. "No, but …" Johnny's going to hate this. "No."

"They came to the same conclusion, though it took much longer for them to accept it." Dr. Brackett paused thoughtfully. "Especially when they found out there are no facilities near them that could provide everything he'll need."

"Facilities near—" Santa Barbara. "They're taking him out of L.A.?"

"No," Dixie assured him. "They did look into it. They should, they're his family. They want Johnny close to them but Wexler has so much more to offer, not the least of which is that Johnny's made his life here, in L.A. They said that if he could make this decision himself, they believe he'd choose to be here, near his friends, his home."

But he can't decide for himself. He can't do anything for himself. I'm so sorry Johnny. He looked from Dixie to Brackett. "So you've already discussed it with them."

"That, and their permission to discuss his case with you."

"Permission," Roy grumbled. He hadn't thought of that. They'd never needed permission to tell him about a patient he'd treated before. And this isn't just a patient, we're partners. They'd been partners for two years, longer than they'd been paramedics. They'd trained together, been certified together, begun that phase of their careers together. They had no secrets. He wasn't sure Johnny could keep a secret, and as for himself, well, he wasn't quite as open a book as his young partner but he certainly had nothing to hide. No, no secrets. Especially about this. I know what happened, I was there! Except he wasn't, not really. He'd been in the next room; one of five men for a simple extrication while Johnny was left alone with those monsters. I should been there. I know what happened. I saw the bruises, and I saw those pictures. Damn it, Johnny! Maybe one secret. I never would have believed I could wish this for anyone but I hope you don't remember. I hope you never know. With you or from you, that is one secret I will take to my grave. I promise. At least they had the permission. He felt another sigh begin, which came out a bitter laugh.

"Johnny wouldn't mind," the doctor continued, "we both know that. So does his family. And you treated him in the field, you know his condition as well as any of us, but, with the legal issues and the publicity surrounding the case, everything has to be by the book." They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few long moments. Finally, Brackett rose and reseated himself behind his desk. "Roy, Johnny's a fighter. He's been fighting this from the beginning. The bruises tell us there was a lot more going on than the dryer. And as for that, well … I think he knew. I think he knew the heat was going to be on and that he protected himself."

Recalling his conversation with Belosi, Roy leaned forward in his chair. "Why? What makes you think so?"

"You said that Johnny had curled up in there."

Roy nodded. "That's what Chet said. And when we got it open … it wasn't just the cramped space. He'd tucked his chin and wrapped his arms around his head."

"He suffered no major organ damage. Some issues due to the heat, of course, but nothing from the tumble outside of the bruising to his kidneys. Unfortunately, he couldn't have done much to protect his back. Same with the ribs. The softest part of the body, though, was protected. And the femurs. And his head; no concussion, no damage to his neck or face, minimal heat damage to his nose and throat. Not to mention his eyes.

"I think he curled up before the dryer started turning. Otherwise I'd have expected less damage to his arms and more to the torso, thighs, hips, and skull; especially the skull. I think he buried his face in his arms to protect his eyes, nose and throat from the heat. And his palms were clean. There were the scrapes from the earlier incident, but no burns. If he'd tried to hold on until the heat got too much, we'd have found something on the palms of his hands; burns, blisters, something. But there was nothing."

"You've got to tell the D.A.," Roy exclaimed excitedly. This was just the break Johnny needed. It wasn't proof the heat had been on, just proof that Johnny had expected it to be. If Brackett can testify then maybe Johnny won't have to! Hadn't Belosi said that the defense didn't need to prove Johnny would have done anything, only that his assailants had believed he would? Why couldn't that same logic apply here? There was no evidence of his assailants' alleged belief, but Johnny's had borne out.

"We actually got a call from that office just before you arrived," said Dixie. "I have an appointment with a Mr. Belosi tomorrow morning and Kel has one this afternoon."

"Whatever the legal ramifications," Dr. Brackett brought the conversation back, "the point here is just how strong and determined that partner of yours is."

"What do you mean?"

"To hold that position? It's counterintuitive, but he held it. I can only imagine the kind of pain he was in. Add to that dizziness and disorientation, and still he held on. I know it was bad, but Roy, it could easily have been so much worse. Johnny's a fighter. If he brings that determination to his rehab I believe he'll be just fine."

The men locked eyes across the desk. Finally, Roy smiled. "Thanks, Doc."

"How about I buy you a cup of coffee," Dixie offered as she rose.

"I'd like that." He reached across the desk to shake Dr. Brackett's hand. "Thanks again."

"We all want what's best for Johnny. We'll see him through this."

Roy nodded, then crossed to the door. While he held it open, Dixie paused to look back at Brackett. "See you later, Kel." She smiled at him.

He returned the smile. You were right. Of course.

Scene Three

"How's Missy Tyro," Roy asked as he and Dixie entered the lounge.

"I thought you'd been checking in on her regularly," she motioned for him to take a seat while she fixed the coffee.

"I have. Her mother was with her the last few times I looked in so I left. I don't want to disturb that; it took too long in the first place."

Dixie smiled as she placed the coffee on the table and sat down. "Yes, but her mother's been here all day, every day since she did show up."

"And her father?"

She shook her head in disgust. "He was here once. Made a scene in her room trying to convince his wife to leave. Sharon was there at the time, she called me. When I got there the Pastor was repeating the same cr— stuff he said that night. I did manage to move them from the room into the hallway. I really thought he was going to get his way. He told Mrs. Tyro that she'd best get her goodbyes in, that when Missy was discharged she wouldn't be coming home. Then he just left."

"So what happens now, foster care?"

"Oh, no." Dixie took a long sip of her coffee. "Missy's a minor. Her parents are legally responsible. Sue Mullens, one of the social workers here at Rampart, made it very clear that charges would be brought if he shirked that responsibility. I don't know all the ins and outs but I do know Sue. Missy will go home. I just hope her mother can protect her there."

"You think her father would hurt her?"

"Not physically."

Roy's mind began to wander. Here he was, discussing Missy's case, yet Dr. Brackett wouldn't talk to him about his own partner. Based on Angela Tyro's reaction when Missy had introduced them, he knew her permission would have been granted.

"She has been doing better since her mother's been coming," Dixie was saying. She checked her watch. "Mrs. Tyro usually heads down to the cafeteria about now, just ahead of the lunch rush, if you'd like to see Missy yourself." When Roy didn't respond, she continued, "She is more responsive since her mother showed up, but only with women. You're still the only man she'll talk to."

"Tomorrow," he replied, "on shift."

Dixie's confusion clearly showed. "But didn't you just say you don't want to interrupt the visits with her mother? I don't mean to push you Roy, but if you do want to visit now would be a good time."

"On shift," he repeated. "The first time I went up to see her there was a woman coming out of the room. Turned out to be a counselor from the rape crisis center. We spoke, she recommended I only visit while in uniform. Said it would be better for us both."

"Why?"

"Missy already saw me as something of a hero." He blushed a bit, in spite of himself. "The counselor said it would be better if she associated the hero with the job. She said the professional distance would keep her from getting too dependant on me, and would …" He swallowed hard. "It would hurt her less when I wasn't around anymore."

"She has a point," Dixie said gently. "You can't watch over her forever. And what about you?"

"What about me," Roy asked.

"You said the counselor told you it would be better for you both. How is it better for you?"

"Rule number one. She figured that professional distance would keep me from getting too close, too."

"Makes sense."

"I wish it was always that easy. Just take it all off with the uniform. But what do you do when you're already emotionally involved?"

"We're not talking about Missy anymore, are we?" He shook his head. She smiled softly. "Just hold on that much tighter."

Roy nodded and smiled back. "With both hands."

Scene Four

Twenty-four hours later, following roll call and the usual morning equipment checks, before dispersing to tend to their assigned chores, five men gathered at the kitchen table. While Mike Stoker poured the coffee, the sixth man, Johnny's current fill-in, excused himself.

"It's ok," said Roy. "You can stay, Wheeler."

"I don't know," Tom replied from the doorway to the bay. "Somehow this seems personal … private, y'know?"

"Private!" barked Chet. "It's in the papers. Can't get much less private than that." He crossed to the television set, on top of which sat that morning's paper. He snatched it up and thrust it at Wheeler. "Go ahead, read it," he spat angrily.

"Chet." Stoker's voice was soft but firm. "It's not Wheeler's fault."

"Maybe not," Chet grudgingly agreed as he returned to the table.

"It's not his fault, but maybe he can help!"

"What are you talking about, Lopez?" Tom joined the rest of the crew at the table. "How could I help?"

"Carl Evans," explained Marco.

"What about him?"

"He's crazy about you. So use him to set the record straight."

"Hey, yeah," added Chet excitedly. "You can tell him what a great paramedic Gage is, how he would never hurt anyone, especially on the job."

"That's a great idea," Mike added enthusiastically.

"We can't," said Roy.

"Why the hell not?" Chet demanded.

"Haven't you guys noticed that none of the coverage of this story so far has mentioned that stuff McCluskey said they accused Johnny of or used Johnny's name?"

"Yeah, so? They're still saying things like 'rogue fireman' and how he jeopardized those boys!"

"Pipe down, Kelly." Cap turned to Roy. "What's going on, DeSoto?"

"The DA is trying to protect his case, and Johnny. If we reveal Gage's name we could be opening a whole can of worms." They all listened intently as Roy filled them in on that part of his conversation with Assistant District Attorney Belosi.

"Maybe I can talk to Carl," Tom ventured. "Maybe we all should."

"Don't you understand what I just told you? If this thing goes to trial, which it looks like it will, a lot of ugly things are going to be said about Johnny before it's over. The least we can do put that off as long as possible, and give the D.A. the time to at least try to find another way."

Tom shook his head. "I understand that, DeSoto. I do. We don't have to reveal Gage's identity. We don't even have to restrict the interviews to 51's. In fact, we probably shouldn't."

"What are you thinking, Wheeler?" asked Cap.

"If he only talks to this station it would be pretty easy for Carl to figure out who the firefighter in question is. What if he talks to a couple of you, to a few guys from some other shifts and other stations, all guys that know Gage well enough to talk him up, whose stories can be confirmed after his name is released, if it comes to that, but scattered enough that it can't be put together on its own. For now, we're just a bunch of firemen talking about another fireman. No one reveals Gage's name or any detail that would let anyone figure out who he is before we want them to."

"Why would Evans write that?" asked Mike. "It would be great if he would, but, like you said, we're just firemen talking up another fireman. Of course we'd stick up for one of our own. Where's the story in that? And what if it backfires?"

"What is your problem, Stoker?" Chet demanded. "Don't you want to help Gage?!"

"Enough!" Cap ordered.

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Chet," Mike offered a small but sincere smile.

Chet pulled the newspaper to himself from where Tom had left it on the table.
" 'D.A. DELAYS JUSTICE! FELONIOUS FIREFIGHTER'S FRIENDS FAIL BATTERED BOYS' "

Roy and Mike both reached to grab the paper, but Chet turned in his seat, keeping it beyond their reach, and continued reading.

" 'The statement provided by the Los Angeles County Fire Department in support of their rogue paramedic came as no surprise as the department protected one of its own. In the spirit of cooperation among city agencies it now appears that the District Attorney's office is no longer in the justice business, but instead is also in the business of protecting city employees.' That's just the beginning."

"Stop, Chet, please," Roy almost begged.

"But —"

"I said enough, Kelly," barked Cap.

"I'm not looking for trouble," Chet offered. "I want to help Gage a much as the rest of you, but how do we actually do that?" One by one his gaze met each of the others. "Tell me, I'll do it. There's got to be something, we can't just wait. That's all we're doing. We're waiting for the D.A. to make his case. We're waiting for the papers to tell the whole story. Then we wait to see if ruins his career. And in the meantime we wait for Johnny to wake up. He is going to wake up, right? And, if he does, will he really get totally well? Will he even have a career for the papers to ruin?"

"Damn it, Chet."

"I'm tired of waiting, Roy. Aren't you? Let's do something."

"Yeah, Chet," Roy's reply was barely above a whisper. "I'm tired." He stared at the floor for a moment, then back up at his crew mate. "What do you suggest we do?"

Chet deflated. "I wish I knew. I'm reading that article … We can't talk to a reporter, not now. Not if the papers are saying the D.A. is just sticking up for firefighters, there's no way anything we say will look good. Mike's right."

"Maybe Carl can take another angle, without talking to anybody," Tom offered.

"How," asked Marco.

"He's already written a bunch of articles on me." Chet rolled his eyes, but remained silent. "And there's the series Reginald Siskine had his people do."

"What series," asked Cap. "Who's Reginald Siskine?"

"He owns and publishes a big ladies' magazine. We had a sea rescue a few months back and— Well, 110's territory but Roy and John actually brought the victim in." He glanced to Roy, who merely nodded. "I was there when the harbor patrol brought the boat in with Siskine's daughter aboard. She'd been seasick so I took care of her. Her father was impressed; he had his people do a series."

"For a glass of water and an aspirin," Chet muttered, remembering Wheeler's call to the station to flaunt the series to Johnny.

Tom either did not hear him or chose to ignore him. "That was the same day the little Diaz girl fell down the hole. It was Gage that actually pulled her out; I just ended up on camera 'cause I handed her off to her mother."

"Good of you to admit it." Chet smiled at Marco's comment.

"What if Carl reran some of those stories without using my name? Focus on the rescues and that stuff about Gage, no names."

"What good do you think that would do," asked Cap.

"These are confirmed stories from verified sources, they've already been in the paper. Can't accuse anybody of bias. Just show the good we paramedics do, and maybe point out along the way that the current accusations, unlike the other stories, haven't been proved."

They all turned to Roy. "Not yet," he finally said. "Let me ask the D.A. He says leave it alone, we do. Whatever he says, we abide by it." He looked around at them until they had all mumbled their assent.

"It's not bad, Wheeler," said Chet with grudging admiration. "If this works maybe you can get a promotion. Paramedics' PIO."

"Thanks, Kelly." Wheeler pulled the paper to him and stared at the headline for a moment. "That might not be as much of a joke as you think. They're still still singling him out, 'Felonious Firefighter,' 'Rogue Paramedic,' but if this goes on any longer it can only hurt the program."

"One step at a time," Marco stopped Chet's retort, then turned his attention to Roy. "Do they have any idea why those guys wanted Gage back there in the first place?"

"A joke." Roy looked around, his own feelings reflected in the expressions of disgust they all wore. "They're standing by that. They pull the washer-dryer gag in the fraternity all the time, they thought it would be funny to try it on someone outside the fraternity. Just a practical joke."

"A joke?" Chet gave voice to the anger they all felt. "That's not a joke," he yelled. "A water bomb is a joke. Flour in a guy's bed is a joke or syrup in his boots. A good joke leaves the target flapping and squawking like a wet pigeon, not burnt and beat up and half dead!" Roy was smiling at him. "What!?"

"You are the phantom prankster. Johnny knows, y'know."

Chet grinned. "He may have figured it, but he'll never know for sure. That's the thing about phantoms: they're invisible. Gage'll never catch me." Roy's smile faltered. "He'll be back."

"Kelly's right," Cap assured them all. "Gage will return and those kids will get what they deserve." Roy laughed bitterly. "Is there something you haven't told us? About the legal case? Did Dr. Brackett say something?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Roy raised his hand against the onslaught of questions. "They're not kids. These guys got a late start on their college educations, one by one year, one by two, and they're seniors now."

"So the only kid in this mess is Gage," Cap said, more to himself than to the men.

"I never thought of them as kids."

"No, you didn't, did you Mike, " Roy realized. "You never called them 'kids' or 'boys', not once."

"They're not. They chose to hurt someone. One of us," Stoker replied. "They made a plan. They got him away from the rest of us, made up a lie to do it, then they ganged up on him and almost killed him. I don't care how old they are, they should be tried and punished as men."

The silence that fell was broken by Captain Hammer. "Does the D.A. know why Gage?"

"Yeah." Roy laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound. "Two reasons. One, he's the smallest of us."

"That makes no sense," exclaimed Marco.

Almost simultaneously, Chet cried out, "That's ridiculous. You and Stoker are the same height as him, but Gage is taller than the rest of us."

"It's not his height." Roy cleared his throat, then proceeded to share what the District Attorney had told him. "Seems they first spotted him when he was behind the washer. Johnny's tall, but he's not … big."

There was some mumbling among the men, then Cap pointed out, "You said two reasons."

Roy nodded, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "They said he looks like a freshman. They picked Johnny because he was obviously the youngest of us." He shook his head. "They targeted him because he's young. They almost stopped him from getting any older, and they're destroying him by making it seem like he is." He looked around at his crew mates, Johnny's crew mates. "Mike's right. They need to be tried and they need to be punished." They were all staring at him. "They need to be punished."