Walking forward is difficult when one is persistent in looking back over their shoulder, this however was the situation Malcolm now found himself in. His light personal case over his shoulder and the leather briefcase swinging by his side, he pushed forward in what almost resembled a drunken stagger, his head swinging from left to front to right and back again. Any noise that was in the slight louder than a bird singing would shift his attention in that direction, at times almost causing one foot to trip over the other. He had finally made it back to the sidewalk that runs by the center street in Mayberry. There were many people walking that sidewalk, and Malcolm smiled.

"Get lost in the crowd," he whispered to himself. "Broad daylight," he whispered to himself. Once amongst the people, he would brandish a friendly greeting to those he met along the walk. Those people would smile and greet in return. And while his steps became less drunkard, more relaxed, and while his head was turned only a bit to the left as he made a greeting to a lovely young woman pushing her child in a stroller, and then he smacked chest to chest into a man who was just a few inches taller than he, and who wore a flat gray suit. It was not the man in the glasses, nor was the suit of the same shade of gray if one were to compare them side by side, but it was enough to take Malcolm's breath. Both men stopped, each staring into one another's eyes, Malcolm with the eyes of a man who saw a train coming right for him and no time to avoid it, the other man with the eyes someone who had just heard an unwelcome insult made about his mother.

The man in the gray said, "Why don't you look where you going?"

Malcolm tried to swallow from a dry mouth, "My apology."

The man stepped around Malcolm but maintained an inspection of Malcolm as if he were a six feet tall mound of rotten and stinking potatoes. Now Malcolm wasn't so cheerful. His forehead had large beads of sweat on it, his mouth was open only for breathing and his brow was pushed upward, and the people he met along the sidewalk noticed. People returned this worriment with worry of their own, some with expressions resembling contempt. and those who did this with high degree were given a wide berth by Malcolm. Perhaps the person who would settle the score between Malcolm and the man with the glasses would not be in a gray suit. Perhaps it would be a man in a fishing hat, or the elderly man with the walking cane, or even the attractive young woman pushing a stroller. Every person he met was now a potential danger. He began to shrivel his body up tightly, the people he met were toxic to the touch; they were bearing claws; their mouths were full of razor-sharp teeth.

Malcolm now began to step at distance from the crowd, towards the storefronts, backing himself into a corner, his eyes wide like a trapped animal. His back pressed against something solid. He used his hand to feel the surface of the wall behind him, his eyes never leaving the exposed spaces in front of him. It was not a wall; it was a door. Doorknobs exist on doors; these are the tools that will open the door, and a door is a wall one can step behind and conceal themself. His hand lightly patted along the face of the door, which side would this doorknob be on? His patting and rubbing became faster, and the pats were now more of a tremble. There it was, the doorknob. The trembling subsided when he grasped it. He felt he had been falling and now had grabbed a ledge to break his fall; he turned the knob and eased inside. He closed the door.

"Come in for a haircut?" asked a voice from behind him.

Malcolm turned and realized he was in Floyd's barbershop. Floyd was standing behind the barber's chair, chin up and smiling, scissors peeking over his barber's shirt pocket. Malcolm's mouth went into a slanted smile, "Sure."

Floyd dusted the chair and Malcolm sat. Malcolm heard a soothing bluegrass song coming from the radio, and the draping of the stylist's apron over his body gave him an odd sense of normalcy. He deeply inhaled the scent of witch-hazel as Floyd snugged a tissue around his neck. Floyd asked, "How would you like your cut?" Then Floyd stepped back from the chair and was wide eyed, "Say, you're not a stranger. You're that gentleman from England. Merriweather? Right?"

Malcolm at last broke into a smile, "That's right. And I believe you are Barber Floyd."

"Yes. Yes, well it's good to have you back in Mayberry."

"And it's a right dilly to be here now with you. I might say, it's been a morning, but I feel much better." Malcolm had relaxed his posture and began drumming his fingers along the arms of the barber's seat to the bluegrass drifting from the radio. Floyd was poised to begin cutting but waited and Malcolm said, "Oh, sorry. Just a trim."

Floyd replied, "A trim it is." Floyd began to snip and comb.

Malcolm recognized the next tune on the radio, "Oh, that's one of my favorites. Would you mind?"

Floyd said, "Oh, sure, sure," and he increased the volume of the radio and swayed a bit to the tune, "I like that it one, too. That's a good one."

However, as both men began to lose themself in the bright music, it stopped. A deeply voiced male was now on the broadcast, "This is a news alert from Mayberry B. A terrible event has unfolded in the small and quaint town of Mayberry this morning, an event so much larger than Mayberry that it's gained world attention. Prince Dia Shahi of Kisnu has been assassinated in his room at the Mayberry hotel."

Both Floyd and Merriweather turned their heads towards the radio, both with mouths agape. Floyd's scissors raised and froze open, Malcolm's drumming fingers now gripping the arms of the chair. The news announcer continued, "Prince Shahi had been traveling in secret, stopping in small and obscure towns in an effort of anonymity, on his way to Washington D.C. for a peace summit surrounding the challenges and tension between Kisnu and the neighboring region of Terhati. The United Nations has noted..."

Floyd remarked, "In Mayberry? Oh my."

The announcer continued, "His highness was in the company and protection of the Federal Bureau of investigation, of whom are now performing a vigorous investigation. They have placed an all-points bulletin for the location and apprehension of a suspect not native to but known to Mayberry. They are in search of an English born male who goes by the name of Malcolm Merriweather. He is approximately..."

Malcolm growled, "I knew it. They set me up anyway."

Floyd looked at Malcolm, "Isn't that you? Is it you they're looking for?"

Malcolm leapt out of the seat as if he had been sitting on hot coals, "I didn't do it," he pleaded. "I've been framed. There's this man, and he's watching..." Malcolm tore the apron from his neck, "It's too complicated to explain. You have to believe me; I didn't do it."

Floyd raised both hands a bit and backed up a step, "It's okay. Don't be excited."

"Don't be excited?" Malcolm shrieked, "Did you not hear? They say I killed a prince." He immediately felt trapped and began shifting left to right, looking and searching for an escape from himself. "I'll have to run. Find a place to hide."

Floyd said, "Hey, I have an idea. Turn yourself in to Andy and Barney."

"But they would be obligated to hand me over to the Federal agents who believe I did this."

"Andy and Barney are pretty smart when it comes to things like this. Plus, they like you. They've always had good things to say about you. Besides, you can't run. Where would you go?"

Malcolm raised a defiant finger, and the tip of his lips were at least a thousand words floating in strings of reasons why this was a bad idea, but in his mind and heart, he could find little if no argument to Floyd's advice, "Maybe you're right," and the finger went down.

The two of them stood gawking at one another, frozen in place, for five or six seconds and Floyd shook himself from the trance, "Well, you better go then."

Malcolm was electrified by the words and began to scamper like a squirrel, gathering his belongings, including the leather briefcase that held the firearms, "Oh, right you are Barber Floyd. Right you are."

Seated in the courthouse, Andy by his desk and Barney by his, both with ears leaning towards the police radio, of which an authorities' voice issued, "... goes by the name of Malcolm Merriweather. He is considered armed and dangerous. Any sightings must be reported to the Federal agency of..." Andy switched the radio off.

Barney said, "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. I didn't think Malcolm could hold a gun much less shoot someone."

Andy sighed and looked down at his feet, "Yeah, I don't know what to make of this. But I do know Malcolm fought in the war. He's told me and Aunt Bee stories of it. Seems he was quite good at it too, shooting that is."

"You don't say."

"Yep. Question is, do we believe Malcolm is capable of killing someone in cold blood. Lots of difference between acting in war and out right killing somebody."

Barney replied, "Well, there has to be some kind of mistake. Wrong place wrong time, circumstantial evidence. I just don't think the ole' boy could do it."

Andy agreed, "Question is, what's he to do? If he's on the run, he won't make it far."

At that moment Malcolm came bursting into the courtroom screaming, "Andy, Barney, oh thank heavens you're both here. You've got to help me; I didn't do it."

Andy and Barney both jumped a bit from the shock of his entrance. Andy began to attempt calming Malcolm, "Take it easy Malcolm. Now just calm down. Take a breath. We will do everything we can to help you."

Malcolm was still frantic, "I was framed I was. Set up. Someone else did this... this... assassination and is trying to pin it on me. I'm just a big stool pigeon. Oh, you've got to help me."

"And we will, we will," Andy continued, "But first you have to be calm. You got yourself all keyed up. Now just settle down and let's discuss this thing."

Relief washed over Malcolm, and he smiled nervously, like a man pressured to explain why he was so late to work, "Oh, Floyd was right. And I knew it too. I knew I could count on the likes of the two of you, genuine friends you are."

The phone rang and Andy gripped the receiver, "That's right, Malcolm. We'll get to the bottom of this." Andy placed the receiver to his ear and the speaker of the phone near his mouth, "Sherriff Andy Taylor here," and he listened intently for several moments, "Okay, we'll be here, both me and my deputy." Andy placed the phone back to rest.

Barney asked, "Who was that?"

"That was one of the Federal agents who was guarding the dead prince. He's on his way over to debrief us."

Malcolm was in panic again, "Here? Now? Andy, you won't turn me in, will you?"

Andy shook his head, "No, no. Best they' don't know you're here. I don't know what's going on, but I know something fishy is happening. You'll hide in our storage room right back there while we speak to the agent. Sort of get some information from him, try to see where they're coming from and what they plan."

"Top notch idea," Malcolm exclaimed, and Barney hurried him into the back room of the office. Barney shut the door, but Malcolm cracked it ever so slightly so he could hear the conversation soon to happen.

There was a knock at the front courthouse door. Barney said, "Think that's them?"

Andy said, "I'd expect so," and he started walking to answer the door, "they don't waste much time. Now, Barney, you let me do all the talking."

Andy opened the door and there was a man in a black suit on the other side. His hair was cut flat and close to his head. Andy said, "Hello, Sherriff Taylor."

The agent said, in high and unexpected nasally voice, "Federal agent Brooks."

Andy said, "Won't you come in?"

Malcolm held his ear to the crack at the door and listened. He heard agent Brooks say, "I guess you know already about the slaying of the prince and our search for Malcolm Merriweather."

"We do," Malcolm heard Andy say.

"And we also understand, through some investigation of our own, he is well known to you, Sheriff Taylor. Some might even say he is a personal friend."

Andy could be heard saying, "Those things are true. But I don't let personal feelings get in the way of my official duties."

Brooks continued, "Good to know. We have reason to think he would, and you can understand this, attempt to make contact with you."

"Why would he do that? You think he's on the run. Why would he run to the police; I mean aren't we who he is running from?"

Brooks replied, "Desperate men do desperate things. If he thinks he could trust you, he might come here. We just want your assurance you will do the right thing if he does."

Andy said, "You don't have to worry about that. Now, if I can ask, are you sure this is your man? Malcolm never struck me as someone who could do such a thing."

"Not much doubt to it Taylor."

Andy said, "We are more than happy to cooperate, but all I ask is that Malcolm be held here. You can bring all the agents you like to stand guard while he is in our cell. Just bring him here, let us also keep an eye on him. Everything will go much smoother, and you won't have near as hard a time bringing him in."

Brooks paused, "We can do that."

Malcolm sighed, "That Andy and Barney are gems. Absolute miracle makers they are." He grabbed the doorknob and began to open the door. His face was so relieved; he could have been the last man to make seat on a lifeboat escaping the sinking Titanic. He took a step out and the front courthouse door opened at the same instant. Through the front door walked the man with the glasses. Malcolm shrank quickly back behind the door, the relief melted away, he now knew the lifeboat also had sprung a leak and was actually sinking faster than the mother Titanic.

"My name is Agent Wheeler," the man in glasses said, "We know where the shot came from, a room that Merriweather had rented from a boarding house just in sight of the hotel. So, we have the time and the place."

Andy asked, "What about motive though? Is there a motive to connect Malcolm to all of this?"

Wheeler said, "That's confidential information. Just know, he is our man, Sheriff Taylor."

Malcolm's heart sank so fast it almost dragged him to floor with it. Malcolm turned and made a dash to the back door of the courthouse, a door that led from the supply room to the alley behind the courthouse building.

In the courthouse chamber, Andy said to Wheeler, "If you say so. It just sure doesn't sound like the actions of Malcolm Merriweather."

Malcolm was careful to open the rear door silently, and he was also careful to not tip over the garbage can he met just outside the doorway, but in a reaction of habit and no thought, he closed the door behind him... quickly... loudly. He grimaced with shrugged shoulders as soon as he realized it had been too loud. That grimace did not last long; he rushed down the alley.

Andy, Barney, and the two agents heard the backdoor slam. The agents almost instantly were in the storage room. Wheeler asked Andy, "Who was here?"

Andy replied, "No one I know of."

Wheeler then became accusatory, "It was Merriweather, wasn't it Sheriff?"

Barney nervously laughed, "Why, that's crazy. Malcolm Merriweather here, hiding in this room, with us knowing it the whole time? What do you take us for?"

Wheeler answered, "I take you as two people who care for this man and believe he is innocent." He moved within inches from Andy's face, who was not intimidated in the least, "You're on the wrong side of the law on this one Taylor, in every way."

Andy asked calmly, "Is that some kind of threat?"

Wheeler commanded, "Brooks, get out to the car and call this in. I want every agent setting up a three-block perimeter and tightening in." Brooks quickly carried out the orders, and Wheeler turned to be close behind, but paused to say, "I don't have to tell either of you the seriousness of aiding and abetting a known suspect. Especially on a Federal case." Wheeler left them to join the search with the other agents.

Barney squeaked, "Andy, what are we going to do? We could be in real trouble."

Andy said, "I like Malcolm. And he is innocent. I am involved in enough crime myself to know innocence when I see it. And I also know a crook when I see one. I transport drugs, I run a casino and a prostitution ring, and I have done a lot of other things even worse, and I tell you Barney, it takes one to know one, and that Wheeler is a crook, as crooked as they come."

Barney repeated, "But what do we do?"

"We find Malcolm, and we find him fast, before they do."