"But Jeremy, I still don't get it," Richie said, making very little protests as Denise undressed him.
"For some reason, Mason has had all these guys working with him, something against the hooker, now I know they make money but if there's enough to get five guys on the payroll, she must be an expensive dame."
"And what about the broad at the police station?" Denise asked.
"I'm on the fence about her, she may be in on the take, but then again it's possible that somebody screwed with the phones."
"The phones here or at the station?" Denise asked.
"Well that's a stupid question," Richie said, "The station's phones had to be working because Jeremy said all the police were out on call."
"So who was screwing around with our phones?" Denise asked.
"I don't know," Jeremy replied.
"And Krug's killed these five guys, so its possible Mason is alone in this now, right?" Richie asked.
"Very possible, he said he was sending all of his men out," Jeremy said.
"But that doesn't mean he doesn't have women working in it too," Denise added as she dug out another set of clothes from Richie's bag.
"But women aren't as dangerous as men," Jeremy protested, "At least no woman out there." He pointed to Denise, "This woman right here, she can take down John Rambo, Mad Max Rockatansky, the Terminator, Rocky Balboa, and Jean-Claude Van Damme. But those broads out there, they couldn't even kill a cockroach."
"They're not as brutal, that's for sure," Denise replied, "But who's to say they can't be as sinister, or as cunning? Underestimate a dame and that could prove fatal, remember Francine Hughes? And I don't need to remind you where money's involved, they'll do just about anything."
"True," Richie said.
"Still, any woman that he could have working for him can't be too much trouble, don't you agree?" Jeremy asked.
"I suppose so," Denise said as she helped Richie slip into another shirt, "So I guess once you get down to it, the only one we have to really pay any mind to, is Mason."
"And we don't have to worry about him," Jeremy added, "There's us, and Connor, and Krug and Jason, we got this guy outnumbered."
"But still without any body," Richie said, "There's not much we can do."
"We'll worry about that later," Denise said, "You two, in that bed, now!"
They both jumped into the bed and drew up the sheets. Denise turned out the lights and headed out to watch the downstairs.
An hour and a half later, everybody was awake and everyone was also hungry, so Denise cooked breakfast, however once she actually got around to serving it, everyone started having second thoughts.
"What exactly is this again?" Connor asked.
"Bacon and rice," Denise answered.
"For breakfast?"
"Yes."
Simultaneously, Connor and Jason came up with excuses to leave the room and they exited, Krug on the other hand just shrugged his shoulders and took a plate.
"I'm not complaining," he said, "In this business you never know when your next meal will be your last meal."
"So Krug," Denise said, "My brother tells me that you did away with most of Mason's friends last night."
"Most? I'm hoping I got all of them. It's what I do best after all."
"Well now we're trying to figure out just what he did with the woman's body," Jeremy said.
He and Denise saw Richie just looking down at his plate, he didn't touch it with his fork or anything, he just stared at it.
"Richie, you okay?" Jeremy asked.
Richie looked up at him with the strangest eyes they'd ever seen. "Maybe he ate her."
"What?"
"Maybe that's why we can't find her, maybe he's a cannibal."
"If he was, what'd he do with the bones?" Jeremy asked, "I doubt he could throw them out."
"Maybe he buried them," Denise said, "If so that dog on that block is going to love coming over to his property."
"Maybe he took those down to the funeral home to have them burnt up," Richie thought, "Bones are a lot easier to sneak out than a whole body."
"I don't know," Jeremy said, "I still think he's got her over there somewhere."
"Why? What's he waiting for?" Richie asked.
"For this bunch of peeping toms to stop watching him, he knows that if we catch him, then it's his ass in the fire," Krug said, "He's waiting until he's certain nobody's going to be looking for him, then he'll make his move."
"And how do you know that?" Denise asked.
"I've been in this business long enough, I know my way around homicide," he said.
"So what, we just wait and watch him?" Jeremy asked.
"Like a hawk," Krug responded. "We keep watching him, and sooner or later he is going to snap and try something and then we have him."
"It's just too bad we can't get him out of that house," Jeremy said, "Maybe this time we'd actually be able to find something."
"Something else," Krug corrected him, "We have the murder weapon, we just need to find the corpus delicti."
"But where?" Richie asked, "We looked the house over up and down, every floor, every room, where could she be?"
"I don't know," Krug replied, "However, I don't think he cremated her."
"But maybe he did take the body down there to hide," Richie thought, "Maybe they have her stuffed away in a coffin."
"Impossible, I checked them all myself when I was putting the corpses in," Krug told him.
"So where is this dame, then?" Denise asked.
"That's what we're just going to have to find out when we go over there," Jeremy said.
"Yeah, but how?" Richie asked.
"That's a good question," Denise said, "We were lucky before, but how can we get him out of the house this time?"
"I don't know," Jeremy replied.
"It's not my place," Krug said, "But if you want to know what I think—I suggest we go right on over, and blow the bastard back to hell where he came from."
The idea was oh so tempting and also oh so impossible, for the time being anyway. After breakfast, Denise put Jeremy and Richie back to bed in his room and went to stand guard to relieve the men for a while. She turned off the light and closed the door on her way out, it had stormed all night and was still continuing today, so there was no sunlight to bother them. The more Richie thought about it, it felt kind of awkward, he and his best friend, all alone, in the dark and the quiet, nobody to bother them, that was a first. As he started to fall asleep he remembered how in foster care they were always bothered by—
The thought was cut off when Richie felt a strong pair of arms snake around his waist, he was wide awake and knew just who the arms belonged to. "Jeremy?" he asked.
"Yeah?" he replied, sounding half asleep.
"What—are—you—doing?" Richie asked, wriggling to get loose from his grip.
"What's the matter?" Jeremy asked, "What did I do?"
Richie sat up against the headboard and turned around to face him, and when he did, he suddenly couldn't think of anything to say. He really wasn't sure that Jeremy had done anything.
"Boy, this murder's gotten you turned into a bundle of nerves," Jeremy said, "Why I bet if somebody said "BOO" you would jump a mile."
However, Jeremy saw that his joke did nothing to change the look of horror and shock on Richie's face.
"What's the matter, Rich? You don't think that—you think I'd—oh come on, Richie, how long have you known me?"
"I like to think long enough to know."
Jeremy shook his head. "You know what I think? I think you were in foster care so long, it just got you scared out of your skin if anyone gets near you. You weren't always this jumpy, I know that."
"Well the last time we shared a bed, you had a different place to keep your hands," Richie said, "Yourself."
Jeremy laughed, "Oh come on, Rich, you know I'm not into that freaky stuff."
"I sure hope not."
"Even if I were, you really think I'd have that little self control that I'd try to jump my best friend's bones?" Jeremy asked.
And Richie felt like an idiot for even considering the idea to begin with. "No, you're right."
"Good God, Richie," Jeremy said, "What did those bastards do to you?"
"What?" Richie asked.
"When we got split up, Denise and I couldn't protect you anymore, what did those foster people do to you after that?" Jeremy asked.
"Nothing," Richie shook his head, "They never got away with anything but I always had to fight them so they wouldn't."
"Then you, my friend, were lucky," Jeremy replied, "Denise and I weren't always that fortunate, even when we could fight."
"I know."
"Now, in basic foster care you will come across two main types of parents," Jeremy told him, "One, the kind that will use you as a punching bag for no reason, you know the type, they get off on beating the crap out of you. Then, there's the second kind and that is the kind that just gets off on having you there. And I don't think I have to tell you that once you come from a string of homes like that, either way you will about jump out of your skin when anybody touches you for any reason from there on out."
Richie hated to admit it but the more he thought of it, it made sense. Several times last night he came up short of a panic attack just about every time Denise touched him while she bathed him. It wasn't anything new and neither was her technique, when they were still living together she probably bathed him a hundred times the same way, so why else should it bother him now, other than the theory that Jeremy had just given voice to.
"I think you're right," he said, "Jeremy, you ever think about becoming a psychiatrist?"
"Don't even joke about that," Jeremy replied, "My parents are both shrinks, and I've been sent to enough to know that it does more harm than good. They're all just looking for someone screwier than they are, a perfect victim, someone that needs help and keeps coming back, like in foster care, they're looking for the perfect victim. Least that's how it always went with me."
"And Denise?"
"She never went and she ain't going to," Jeremy said, "They didn't help me any, and she had it worse than I ever did, she'd kill them before the first session would ever be done."
"Yeah, but you're not screwed up like they are, you could actually be a good one," Richie thought.
"Oh yeah? You consider it, Richie, shrinks have people who are sick all the time, people with anorexia and bulimia, people who want to kill themselves, people who are there by court orders, people whose mentality could snap like a twig and then you have some trigger happy psycho in your office. Who would ever want to go into a profession like that? Anyone sane that is."
"It was just a thought," Richie said.
"Next time you have a thought like that, throw it away," Jeremy told him.
However, Jeremy considered that perhaps Richie was just doing it, to get his mind off their current situation, and if truth be known, they could use all the distraction they could get.
"Jeremy?"
"What?"
"Do you think it's true what they say about people like that?" Richie asked.
"Who?"
"Well, like our foster parents. You think it's true what the experts say?"
"What?" Jeremy asked, "That it's a sickness? That they just can't help themselves? That they don't understand what they're doing is wrong?"
"Yeah."
"No. It's not possible, at least not in any way that I can figure," Jeremy replied.
"How's that?" Richie asked.
"Well, there are different kinds of illnesses, there's the kind that you can catch, but there's nobody to catch something like that from. Then there's the kind that it's just something in the air, that stuff don't pass through the air. Then there's the kind you're born with, and nobody's born like that, I know that for a fact. Illness, I've seen it can make people upset, depressed, suicidal even, it can make them angry, but one thing I have not seen it make people, is violent towards kids."
"Well then why does everyone say it is?" Richie asked.
"Because," Jeremy replied, "That's their way out of having to make someone responsible for what they do. Now, I believe in doing something while temporarily insane, or maybe fully insane, but I don't necessarily consider it to be an illness. My sister's insane, I won't say she's sick, foster care made her that way, but then you explain the guys that did it to her, what's their excuse? Anyone who has half a brain knows better than to repeat the damage done to them, and anyone without half a brain should be found out long before they're trusted with a kid. For a lot of them though, or at least the ones we got stuck with, what they fall victim to is alcohol and anything to get a good high, and that's a choice they make, not some illness. They can say what they want about the addiction beating them, but when you've truly gotten tired of something, you find a way out of it. They make it sound like the people can't help what they do, when they damn well can, they choose to do it because they can, it's as simple as that. It's not an illness, it's about power, Richie, strong versus the weak. By the time the latter stops being weak then they're not a target anymore. It's as easy as that."
"That's a hell of a philosophy," Richie said.
"No philosophy, Richie, it's a fact and it's life. As soon as you stop letting people walk all over you, they learn not to mess with you anymore—in fact—"
"What?" Richie asked.
"You stop to think about it, there's probably just as many people like that working in psychiatry as there are as foster parents. If you think about it, there's a pattern there, a profession that's supposed to help people, people with problems, people who are considered unstable, no credibility, have nobody to turn to, nobody to back them up, and they're at the hands of these master freaks. You have a past like that, you are easy prey for the dominating people, both in foster care, and in the psychiatric profession. In both cases, they can do whatever they please to the people in their care, and they can get away with it because those people have nobody to help them. If they try anything, it's their word against yours, and we are a couple of ex-cons, straight out of foster care, and there are these high and mighty people, policemen, bankers, lawyers, doctors, psychiatrists, and nobody would take our word over theirs. As I said, it's all about power, and control, and domination."
"But what makes them like that?" Richie asked.
"You're kidding, right? Richie, people have been that way for thousands of years, everybody wants control over somebody else. Royalty and Communists have possessed control over whole nations, lawmen and politicians have control over citizens and towns and suburbs and the whole country. Men have dominated women, minorities, other men. If they can't find someone who's already weaker than they are, then they find a way to make them weaker, that's the way it's always been, and as it's always going to be. At least, that's how it's going to be, until the latter starts fighting for themselves and blow those power hungry bastards back to hell where they belong. Now go to bed, Richie."
However, Richie had found a nice position sitting, leaning against the headboard and showed no sign of moving.
"Come on, Rich, you know I'm not going to pull anything—look, I don't know how they do things in your new family, but around here, so long as everybody keeps their clothes on and nobody reaches for under them, ain't anything wrong with friends in the same bed, is that allright with you?"
He nodded, "I'm—sorry, Jeremy."
"No harm done, just relax, you're wound tighter than a clock," Jeremy told him.
They both laid down again on their own sides of the bed with their backs turned to each other, but neither was ready to sleep yet.
"Jeremy," Richie said.
"What?" came the muffled response.
"Does it ever get any easier?"
Jeremy turned back over to face Richie. "What do you mean?"
"Do you ever start to forget what people did to you?" Richie asked.
"I thought you said the bastards didn't touch you."
"They didn't, but they tried, God did they try. They were dead set on having me as a new notch in their bedpost, I swear," Richie said, "I wish I could just forget it all."
"Sometimes we're worse off not remembering," Jeremy responded, "Then the subconscious really eats at you. It's when things are right on your mind that it'll usually leave you alone, but the things you don't think about, the things you try not to pay any attention to, that's where the subconscious will give you nightmares, and flashbacks, and—other things. You remember it, you won't let yourself be taken advantage of in the future, then you know what to do."
Richie sighed, "I still say you'd make a hell of a shrink."
Jeremy turned back over, "Don't worry about it—just go to sleep, Rich, soon, this whole ordeal will be over, and we can move on with our lives."
Richie nodded and turned over so his back was to Jeremy's again, however he couldn't sleep, he couldn't get comfortable, he couldn't think straight, he couldn't calm down. All he wanted to do was die, and even that he couldn't do.
Jeremy wasn't asleep either, although not so much for the same reason as Richie—he figured as soon as he tried to go to sleep again, Richie would say something else to get him up, so he just waited. He wound up waiting longer than he'd anticipated and was about to fall asleep when he decided to stop pussyfooting around.
"Richie?"
"Yeah?"
"What's going through your mind now?"
"I was just thinking."
"Oh yeah? What about?"
Richie turned over to face his friend. "I wonder if that was the case with Mason."
"What?"
"The lady he killed, I wonder if she was just easy prey for him."
"It's a definite possibility. However, if she was or wasn't doesn't really matter too much anymore."
"But Jeremy."
"What?"
"It had to be something like that. She was a hooker, no doubt about that, but why would just an ordinary customer want to kill her?"
"Who knows why anybody wants to kill anyone."
"But just think, it's not a common thing. I think there was something to it more than that."
"But what? Like maybe he was her "employer" or something?"
"Maybe, I mean, so far as I know, the number of times that you hear about a customer killing a hooker is probably about two, and I don't think this guy would be a third case. No, I think he has to be something above a customer."
"Well I'll admit, the bastard does have the finances to be able to afford "owning" the broad, but if that were the case, he'd be making more money off of her, why would he kill her?"
"Maybe she was holding out on him."
"Maybe, but again it's something we'll never know, now go on to sleep before you drive us both bananas," Jeremy replied.
They both turned back to opposite sides of the bed and laid down but neither was asleep, Richie didn't move and hoped soon he'd be too exhausted to stay awake. Jeremy wasn't asleep either, he was listening for Richie to say something else, he didn't. Jeremy turned over and saw Richie wasn't moving much aside from breathing either, he listened carefully to make sure he was still breathing. It took some straining to hear Richie, it was low and shallow breathing, and became quieter, and quieter, until—he stopped breathing.
"Richie?"
Jeremy grabbed Richie and as he did, Richie let out a noise that Jeremy couldn't determine whether it was a howl or a sob, or both combined. Jeremy turned Richie over and instinctively locked his arms around him and held him close, expecting Richie to give him the fight of his life to break loose, but he didn't possess the desire or the strength, he just leaned into Jeremy and cried.
Denise was better at this coddling stuff than he was, she always had been, but now that she sometimes beat the living hell out of the person she held, Jeremy decided he had to do this instead.
"It's allright, Richie, we won't let him get you," he assured him.
"I just want this whole thing to be over," Richie told him over his gut wrenching sobbing.
Jeremy patted Richie on the back and assured him that it would be over soon – it was just a matter of finding the body and he told Richie it couldn't be as hard as they were making it out to be, but Richie didn't seem to hear him. After a few minutes, Richie seemed to tire himself out.
"Richie."
"What?"
"Don't worry, nothing else is going to happen," Jeremy told him, "We'll protect you."
Richie felt like he was already on death's door, every part to his body ached, his eyes burnt, every single bone in him felt like it weighed about ten pounds – he barely possessed the strength to keep from slipping out of Jeremy's hold. He lowered his head on Jeremy's shoulder and got out a very low, very tired, "Thanks, Jeremy."
As Richie drifted off to sleep, Jeremy laid him back down on the bed and kept a hold on him. It was becoming clear that Mason didn't need to put a hand on Richie to torture him, he was doing just fine using psychological warfare – Jeremy remembered being told that was only called for in war.
Well, he thought, If it's a war Mason wants, it's a war Mason gets.
The day had been slow and dismal; the weather kept the sky dark and in doing so returned the darkness to the earth below, the atmosphere was kept wet by a continuous rain that was persistent to stay there all the day and following night. With Mason's henchmen gone, it was decided only one man need stay watch at a time. Each watch ended with the same results, nothing could be seen or heard, nobody came in or went out of Mason's house, there weren't even any lights on to prove he was there. However, his truck was still in the driveway and the three men had been standing guard all night and all day so they knew he hadn't left.
Day became afternoon, during which time the rain came down harder, and if possible the sky became even darker. Denise had been on her feet all the day and Connor went to the kitchen to tell her to rest, but apparently she beat him to it because he found her at the kitchen table asleep. He went over and tapped her on the shoulder to wake her up, and when she did, Connor knew for a fact that she'd been getting very little sleep lately.
"Oh boy did I oversleep, I've gotta get up, I've gotta make dinner – I've gotta stop saying gotta---"
Connor snagged her by her jacket and set her back down on the chair. "Denise, it's 4 in the afternoon, you've already boiled the noodles and put the lasagna together and now it's in the oven. You fell asleep – although that's not too bad an idea, I think maybe we ought to put you down in bed for a while."
"No, I'm fine," she said, "Besides, I've got to go check on the boys. Wait! What's going on? Where's Mason?"
"In his house where he's been all day," Connor said, "I'm wondering what he's doing over there."
"Well we still haven't found the body so that gives us a few possibilities of what he might be doing," Denise replied.
Connor didn't even want to think about that. Denise was up the back stairs and made a beeline for Jeremy's bedroom, she turned the knob, went in and turned on the lights, and was completely unprepared for the sight of her brother and Richie asleep in each other's arms. She screamed like something inhuman and it got both the boys up very quickly, and they didn't know what was going on.
"What happened up there?" Connor asked.
She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs so she acted fast. "Everything's fine, I just slipped."
"Are you sure everything's allright?" Connor asked.
"Yes dammit I'm sure, go make sure Mason's not having any extra company come around, that'd be the last thing we need," Denise hollered across the hall.
They heard Connor's footsteps return to the first floor, and Denise approached the bed where two very shaken up boys stared on wide-eyed.
"Allright, what's going on here?" she demanded to know.
At first the boys looked like they didn't know what she was talking about, but when they saw the compromising position they seemed to be in, it all came together and they were tripping over their own words to explain it.
"Denise this isn't what it looks like, I swear," Jeremy said.
"Well I should hope not," she replied, "Mama was right, they never should've let you watch The Outsiders."
Jeremy was still tired, too tired to feel much of anything, so instead of snapping back at her, he just laughed. Richie didn't seem to get the joke though.
"Well have you two sleeping beauties had a good rest?" she asked.
"I think so, how about you, Richie?" Jeremy asked.
"Yeah I'm allright, Denise."
"Yeah Richie?"
"Did anybody ever tell you that you scream like a Conehead?"
"You should hear her when she's in heat," Jeremy replied, "I don't know what the hell kind of noise she makes then but if it were a mating call, every beast from the jungle would be in this house."
Denise walked over to the bed and smirked, "Dinner will be ready in little over an hour, and I expect to see both of you at the table, and Richie – you are going to eat tonight, even if I have to feed you like the bambinone you're being."
That idea didn't please him very much. "I'll eat," he replied.
"Good, and don't worry, fratellino, nothing's going to happen to you, we'll all make sure of that."
With that, Denise left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving the two boys to themselves.
"Fratellino—" Richie tried to think if he knew what that was supposed to mean.
"It's Italian, Richie," Jeremy told him, "It means little brother."
"And bambinone?"
"Big baby, Denise has picked up a lot of stuff since the last time we were together. It really comes in handy when we run into idiots who piss us off and they only speak English. She insults them and I translate it meaning she wishes them well, it's a lot of fun."
Richie laughed, "I'd like to see that sometime. How many languages does she know?"
"That's a tough call, she's not fluent in any really, a few she knows rather well, others she mainly just guesses at when she recalls the words. Your warden knows she speaks French, and you heard Italian, she also speaks German, Russian, Spanish, Latin, Japanese, Sumerian, Gaelic – and I don't mind telling you Richie that it can get very confusing."
"So how do you know what she's saying?" Richie asked.
"Because when she does it, she has a general attitude towards those people so it's pretty easy to guess."
Richie sagged back against the pillows, "I'm still tired."
"Well dinner won't be ready for over an hour, I'm sure you can sleep until then," Jeremy said.
Richie groaned in agreement, he spread out in the bed and closed his eyes, he felt Jeremy draw the covers back up around him. After that Richie was half asleep for a while, out of nowhere he felt his arm lifted and something slipped under it, and he woke up and saw a stuffed bear looking back at him with plastic eyes. He shoved it away and it fell to the floor and he turned to Jeremy and demanded to know, "What the hell was that for?"
Jeremy shrugged. "I figured since I'm up and won't be going back to sleep, maybe you'd sleep better if you had something to hold onto, and I figured Henry would be as good a choice as any."
Henry? The thing's name was Henry? Richie picked it up and looked at it again before throwing it across the room. "Jeremy–"
"What?"
"How hard has Denise been hitting you in the head? I'm too old for stuffed animals, you ought to know that."
"Bite your tongue," Jeremy said, "I'm not and you're the same age as I am, so there. Besides, even if you were, what's it matter? There ain't a soul in the world that'd know besides you and me and Denise."
"And anyone who conveniently walks in while I'm asleep," Richie added.
"Even if they did, what's the problem?" Jeremy asked.
"If that happened I'd die of embarrassment."
"There you go again, Rich—just when in the bloody hell did you start worrying so much about people's opinions that aren't in the family? I'm going to tell you this now, family's the only people that matter, they're the only ones who give a damn about you and they're the only ones whose opinions count."
"Thank you, Godfather," Richie moaned as he laid back down.
Jeremy picked the bear up and slipped him into Richie's hold again and covered him up. "Ain't anything to worry about, Richie, you're allright."
"Jeremy."
"What?"
Richie held the bear up as if he were going to drop it. "Where'd you get this thing anyway?"
"A second hand store down the street," he pointed over to his window, "Picked them up too."
Richie looked over and saw a stuffed dinosaur, a cat, two dogs, a pig, an elephant, a giraffe, and two other bears.
"And you sleep with them?"
"Sure…it makes it a lot easier."
Richie was too tired to further argue that he was too old for this, so he just gave in, and held the bear to his chest as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
What felt like an eternity later, Jeremy woke Richie up for dinner, they had 15 minutes left before Denise would come calling for them so they decided to meet her in the kitchen.
"How're you feeling, Richie?" she asked.
"Allright I suppose," he replied.
Denise gave him an antacid so his meal didn't get the better of him tonight. Then she called the men into the kitchen for dinner while she went to watch the front window, she explained that she'd eat later. The men sat at the table and talked amongst themselves over dinner, but Richie was uncomfortable with the idea of Denise by herself, so he took his plate and went to join her.
"Uncle David hasn't come back today," she noted.
"Do you think he's allright?" Richie asked.
"Yeah—he may be a cop, but he's not stupid, he knows a lot about survival, after living with Jeremy and myself, you about have to. Besides, Mason's pretty much in this single handedly now, what's the worst amount of damage he can do?" She realized her error too late. "I'm sorry, Richie."
Richie said nothing and kept eating though he was finding it hard to swallow. Finally he asked, "Do you think we will find the body?"
"Yeah, we just have to think of somewhere else to look," Denise said.
"But where?" Richie asked.
"That's the thing, to catch Mason in what he's done, we have to think like he would, we have to be as clever as he is. Though that's not too clever to be found out by 3 kids and a couple of crazy uncles, and two ex-bounty hunters."
"But we looked in the house, every single room, we checked the furnace, up the chimney, the freezer, every single place in the house…Jeremy has been in the funeral home, where else could he have put her?"
"That's what I'm going to find out," she replied.
Dinner passed with little further conversation, Richie was feeling tired again so he laid on the couch to rest, Krug sat in the chair next to the couch and watched him, Denise and Connor were at the front window again, and Jeremy and Jason were pacing about, waiting for something to happen. Their peace and quiet was broken up by a sudden wail of sirens, the noise got everybody excited and Richie especially who shot up and fell off the couch. At first it sounded like an air raid siren, but then they realized it was the siren belonging to police cars, and looking out the window they saw it was just that, several police cars speeding up the road.
"They're coming here!" Denise said.
"What's going on?" Jason asked.
"Looks like somebody opened their big trap," Krug noted.
"Swell, now the police have to mess this up," Jeremy said.
But there was a problem, when police were called on a murder, they sped like Satan was chasing them, but as soon as they reached this part of the road they stopped, and casually got out of their cars and came up onto the Kramer property.
"They're going the wrong way!" Jeremy said, "Mason's over there!"
Denise realized something. "They're not coming for Mason."
"Connor," Richie was more afraid now than he could recall being in a long time.
Connor grabbed hold of Richie and told him that everything would be allright, he wouldn't leave him. Truth be known, Richie looked a couple of inches away from his hair turning white and him going crazy.
Denise went to the door and opened it, Uncle David, among several other officers, stepped in and went to the living room. Denise shut the door behind them and followed.
"What seems to be the trouble, officer—s?" Connor asked.
"Who's the owner of this house?" one officer asked.
"Our parents are away on vacation," Denise said.
"So it's you and you brothers here?" another officer asked her.
Brothers. Why not? "Yes," she answered.
Another officer gestured to Connor and Krug and Jason. "And these men?"
"I'm their uncle and these are my boys, we're here on a vacation, can we help you?"
"Do any of you know Drew Mason across the street?" another asked.
"We know of it, never met him though, why?" Jeremy asked. "Are you going to arrest him?"
"Jeremy," David tried to explain, but he was cut off. The other officers laughed for a minute.
"Now that's a riot," one officer said, "You kids go over there, bust his home up, and then think he's the one going to jail?"
"WHAT?!" was everyone's question.
"Hold it! Hold it!" Connor said, "Say that again?"
"We got a call from him a short while ago that somebody had broken into his house, and smashed up a few things, and he came downstairs in time to see them jump out the window and come running to this house."
Everybody started with their protests, but over them all, nobody could really be heard.
"I tried to tell you, Don, these guys have been here all day," David said.
"He's right," Denise added, "We have been here all day, and I can vouch for all of us when I say that nobody's broken in over there, and nobody's smashed up anything because we've been watching that house all day and all night for the last two days, and nobody has seen anything."
"And why were you watching his house?" another officer asked.
"Huh?" Jeremy asked.
"WHY WERE YOU WATCHING THE HOUSE?" he repeated.
"Uncle David, you didn't tell them did you?" Denise asked.
"No I didn't—I didn't even know he'd called the station until they were ready to come here. I tried to—"
Everybody was talking over one another again so nothing could really be heard, until finally everybody was drowned out by the bellowing command of a 400 year old Scot who stood in the front doorway. Suddenly, all eyes were on Duncan MacLeod, and Tessa Noel who stood at his side, each wondering what the hell was going on.
"Oh shit," Richie half murmured as he fell back, and that was when he realized that Connor was gone, he probably slipped out the back just before Mac and Tess showed up. And now they would know, now they were going to find out what had happened, and they wouldn't believe him, no matter what he said, they wouldn't believe him. There was no body, Mason was Duncan's friend and one of the most honorable men in the town, he wouldn't believe him, Tessa wouldn't believe him, the police wouldn't believe him, and once Mac and Tess took him home, Denise and Jeremy and the others couldn't help him. Mason didn't have to get his hands on him, Richie was already as good as dead.