The ringing phone finally broke through the haze of sleep. Nick jerked half awake, not sure how many times it'd already rung. He felt around on the bedside table, trying to find the handset, and falling back asleep at the same time. He finally managed to shove it against his face, "H'lo."

"Uh…Nick?"

Damn, not a wrong number, but he didn't immediately recognize the voice, so he didn't put much effort into seriously waking up. "Mm-hmm."

"Hey! How are you?"

"…'sleep."

"I know it's been a while. Like eight years, I guess, but uh…"

Eight years…? Okay, that woke him up a little. "Who is this?"

"It's Murray. You may not remember me very well, but—"

"Murray Bozinsky?" Murray was a pretty unforgettable guy. And he and Nick had spent a pretty good evening together in New Orleans…about…eight years ago.

"Yeah! How are you?"

"Fine, Murray. Why are you calling me at…?" Nick glanced at the alarm clock, "Three o'clock in the morning?" Mostly awake now.

"Well, uh, I have a little problem."

Remembering the sweet-tempered inventor/computer genius, Nick had trouble picturing it. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I was wondering if you might know a good lawyer. And if you might possibly be able to bail me out of jail. If the judge sets bail, of course. I guess I need the lawyer first. And then bail. Hopefully."

"Bail? Murray, what happened?"

"Well, I had a little difference of opinion with my employers about an invention."

"Like the difference of opinion you had with Colonel…uh…what's-his-name…Litvak?"

"Well, yes, actually. Something very much like that. Only with a video game."

"…a video game?"

"It's a very boss game, Nick. At least it was before those idiots went and changed all the most important parts. Did you know that they programmed the Brickbats to—?"

"Murray! Murray, listen, tell me about the ball bats later; why are you in jail? Why do you need a lawyer?"

"Well, I got a little upset about the changes they made to my game. Without my permission, mind you! And well, I sort of broke the window in my lab."

"…They arrested you for breaking a window?"

"Yes. And…destroying my lab. With a baseball bat, actually. Funny you should mention a bat."

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. Destruction of property. Okay, didn't sound too bad, so why wasn't Murray just fired, given a citation, and told to appear in court to pay damages? This wasn't adding up. "What else?"

"What else? Oh, you mean…"

"Yeah."

"Well, I also sort of barricaded myself in the lab when I was destroying it. And when I broke the window, the glass fell about ten stories, and I kind of yelled out at my boss…and the police after they arrived…about how I wouldn't let them get away with changing my game like that. Really, it was unconscionable, Nick."

Nick thought for a second…and remembered. "Did you hit anyone?"

"Well…"

Now the picture was becoming clearer, and Nick rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to stay open. "Okay. Okay, Murray. Where are you?"

"The Santa Barbara Police Station. The arraignment is in the morning."

"Okay. Listen, I know a guy. We'll be up there in a few hours, okay? You just hang tight."

"Okay. Nick, I'm really sorry to call out of the blue like this. Especially after so many years. In the middle of the night. But I didn't know anyone else in the area who might…well, that is to say…"

Nick smiled sadly. Sounded like Murray was still as socially awkward as he'd been in '76. "It's okay, Boz. Just hang tight, huh? You gonna be okay till I get up there?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. And thanks, Nick." With that reassuring tone, Nick wasn't sure exactly who Murray was trying to convince—Nick or himself.

Nick pressed the switch hook to disconnect the call and dialed a different number. After a few rings and a sleepy greeting, Nick apologized, "Hey, pal. Sorry to wake you up, but I need a favor. A friend of mine is in jail and needs a lawyer."

Cody yawned and rubbed his eyes. When Nick had called and said he had a 'friend' who needed a lawyer, Cody half expected it to be Nick himself. After all, Nick's rather significant temper fired off on a fairly regular basis. But instead, Nick had picked up Cody at his house and driven them to Mugu Airfield, and they'd gotten in the huge pink monstrosity Nick claimed was a helicopter that could actually fly. Which was Cody's third surprise of the night. One, Nick waking him at 3:00 a.m.; two, that it wasn't Nick himself in jail; and three, that the massive pink dumpster really did fly. Sort of.

Cody's eyes traveled on their own to the banks of switches in front and above them. Before the engines caught and the rotors started turning, Nick had whacked at them a couple of times with either the side of his fist or the heel of his hand. Which didn't really inspire much confidence in the machine. Neither did the random puffs of smoke that seemed to appear in various places. Cody's faith in Nick was pretty limitless after the last few months, but metal had a breaking point and machine parts did wear out. And the fact that he could hear the engine coughing and missing was causing Cody's muscles to clench involuntarily.

To take his mind off the rattle trap helicopter chugging through the night sky, "Hey, tell me about this guy. How do you know him?"

There was no immediate response. Cody turned to see what was wrong. Nick looked hesitant. Uneasy. Reluctant. It was unusual that Nick didn't immediately spill, so Cody got worried there was something amiss with the chopper. "What's wrong?" He hoped he didn't sound as tense as he felt.

Nick winced slightly, "There's nothing wrong. Not really. It's just kinda hard to explain."

"Nick, I need something to distract me from the fact that I'm flying in a helicopter that Da Vinci built. Talk to me. And if I know a little about this guy, it might help when we get in front of the judge."

Nick looked offended at the first comment, but he relented at the second. "Yeah, okay. Murray is… Well, we met in the army. This was when I was an M.P. It was '76, and me and another guy were sent to take this captain to military prison for assault on a superior officer. The prisoner's name was Murray Bozinsky."

Cody recognized the name from somewhere. "Wasn't there a Bozinsky who played for the Steelers? 'Killer' Bozinsky?"

A smile played at Nick's lips, "That's exactly what the guy I was flying with said. We were expecting this behemoth who'd be fighting us the whole way. Instead, they brought out this skinny little…geek…whose uniform was too big for him."

Cody had trouble picturing it. "And he slugged a superior officer?" Didn't make sense unless the officer was a little geek, too.

"Yeah. Broke his colonel's nose. Full bird, too. That colonel was pretty ticked off, and he really pressed the case to get Murray sent to the stockade."

"Why'd he hit him?"

"Murray's…a genius. I mean a real genius. He invents things. He was working in the research and development section of the army, and his colonel was taking Murray's peaceful inventions and sending them to the War College where they'd be turned into weapons that could be used to hurt people. Murray's pretty passionate about his work. When he found out what was going on, he went ballistic and decked the colonel."

"Well, I guess I can see the guy's point, but…"

"Yeah. Anyway, he told us the whole story on the first part of our flight. I gotta tell you, I felt for the little guy. Being locked up was gonna kill him. And—oh yeah! There's this other thing; when he's nervous, he gets the hiccups like you wouldn't believe. Gave me the creeps 'cause he sounded like some kinda jungle animal. He did it the whole flight. Drove me crazy. If I hadn't felt so sorry for him, I'd have killed him just to get him to shut up with the hiccups.

"Well, it seemed like such a raw deal for him, I had to do something. So instead of refueling in Baton Rouge, I landed in New Orleans. I bribed the guy I was flying with to look the other way, and I took Murray to the French Quarter. He picked out a lady of the evening, and she took him upstairs. Which finally got rid of his hiccups, thank God.

"The whole time, I was trying to think of some way to help the little guy. I finally remembered I served with a fella in 'Nam whose father was a general and a military judge, and I called him up. He gave Murray an emergency hearing, and that led to a new trial, and in the end, Murray was found 'Not Guilty' and got an honorable discharge. And then he got rich and famous inventing computer games."

Oh, that Murray Bozinsky. He was pretty famous. Put Cody in mind of his old Tom Swift books again. He sat for a second and thought over the story, wondering how much Nick had left himself out of the picture. Probably a lot considering how he'd glossed over that last bit. But back to the problem at hand, "So what happened today? Why was he arrested?"

"It was a little hard to tell from Murray's explanation on the phone—and I was half asleep—but I think it was probably the same kind of thing. He was going on about a computer game he'd invented. Apparently, the company he works for made some changes without consulting him. From what I understood, he barricaded himself in his office and then trashed it. Busted out a window and made a real spectacle of himself when the cops showed up."

"Did he assault anybody this time?"

Nick hesitated, "I think so. Murray gets so caught up in the moment, he just forgets himself sometimes."

Cody eyed Nick. The Italian tended to do the same thing occasionally. And while Cody would like to say he himself wasn't like that, yesterday's reaction to Mosher's insult of Nick proved otherwise. Given the right incentive, he supposed the same could be said of anyone.

The sun was coming up when Nick pointed at the horizon to the north. "Almost there. And before I forget, thanks for doing this. Murray…he's just…"

Cody smiled and squeezed Nick's arm.

Nick sat in the gallery of the court room, his thumb nervously tapping the arm of the chair. Beside him, Cody glanced his way once…twice…and finally firmly closed his hand over Nick's tapping. Nick squeezed his eyes shut and nodded briefly as he clenched both hands into fists to keep them still. A few seconds later, his knee began bouncing.

Cody leaned over to whisper, "Would you just relax?"

Nick blew out a quick breath. "I'm sorry, man, really. I just worry. I feel protective of him."

Cody smiled wryly, "Nick, I hate to point this out, but you're protective of everything. The little old lady at the bus stop. That piece-of-junk pink helicopter at the airport. Dolphins."

Nick started to protest. He was not protective of dolphins. Unless they got caught in tuna nets and died for no good reason other than stupid fishermen being too lazy to let them go. But just then, the bailiff called Murray's name, and Nick looked up front to see them bring him in.

Murray hadn't changed much: tall, skinny, clothes about to swallow him: brown cords and an open, untucked plaid shirt with flapping cuffs over a faded, wrinkled T-shirt; geeky glasses with heavy dark frames, one arm taped together; a dark thatch of hair hanging lanky over his forehead. Murray looked anxiously around the courtroom, and he seemed to relax a little when Nick stood up beside Cody.

Cody stepped into the aisle and moved forward to the defendant's table to join Murray. "Cody Allen, counsel for Mr. Bozinsky, your honor."

The judge nodded to them both. "Mr. Bozinsky, you are charged with destruction of private property, assault and battery, and being a public nuisance. How do you plead?"

Cody whispered in Murray's ear, and then Murray looked at the judge. "Not guilty, your honor."

The judge looked at the prosecutor, "Mr. Sorensen, do you have a motion on bail?"

"Given the serious nature of the charges, your honor, I propose bail at one hundred thousand dollars."

The judge looked back at Cody, "Mr. Allen?"

"Your honor, that figure seems excessive since Mr. Bozinsky has never before been charged with a crime. Another fact to consider is that he's pretty well known, sir. He's had several articles written about him for the computer games he's invented. He was on the cover of Popular Science last year. I think it might be difficult for him to attempt escape without being recognized. He does have a rather distinctive appearance."

Nick might have found that perfect assessment of Murray a little funny if he wasn't so worried about getting him out of jail. There was no way Nick would be able to get a ten-thousand-dollar loan on his car for the bail bondsman. Or the chopper. Both combined maybe. Or he could sell the car…

The judge looked back at the prosecutor, "I'm inclined to agree with the defense, counselor. Bail is set at twenty thousand dollars."

Nick blew out a deep breath; he could swing two grand. Murray looked back at him nervously, and Nick nodded reassuringly. Then Murray managed a relieved sigh of his own.