THE RING (1/2)

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THE RING (1/2)

Author's note: Every Adam-12 fan knows that Jim Reed was a happily married man. For four seasons, his wedding band was prominently displayed on his left hand. Then, suddenly, in season 5, it disappeared, even though he still was happily married to Jean. What happened to it and why did he stop wearing it? Here's one possible explanation.

"I'm a lucky man, Pete. A really lucky man."

Officer Pete Malloy took his attention away from the heavy late afternoon Los Angeles traffic and cut his eyes over to study his young partner's profile. Jim Reed, age 25, wore a silly grin on his face that made him look like he was still in high school. Reed was generally a fairly low-key kind of guy who tended to brood about things rather than express them. However, when the young man was moved to start talking about a subject, he was rather hard to shut up. Right now, Jim was practically beaming; the grin on his face evident in his eyes as well.

This might be a long shift. At least he's happy about whatever it is that's got him going. Pete knew he was in trouble when Jim whistled all the way through getting dressed in the locker room before they reporting to roll call for PM watch. Jim definitely wasn't a whistler, so the aberration in his partner's behavior caught Pete's attention immediately. Unfortunately, it also caught the attention of several other officers in the locker room. On Jim's fifth or sixth questionable rendition of "Zippity-Doo-Dah," Officer Ed Wells, not known for his tact anyway, hit Jim in the back with a thrown shoe. Wells then threatened to take his nightstick and use Jim's head for practice if he didn't "cease and desist that damned annoying whistling!" For once, Ed and I agree on something. Along with everybody else. The remaining men in the locker room applauded loudly in support of Wells. The memory brought a grin to Pete's face, but he squelched it, sighed silently, then bit the bullet. Might as well ask.

"How do you figure?" Pete turned his attention back to the traffic. Even at 4:30, Santa Monica Boulevard was bumper-to-bumper.

"I just am. I've got a great life. I have a beautiful and loving wife who keeps a great house and cooks like a gourmet, a great kid, an interesting job with a teriffic partner --"

"Gee, I'm touched," Pete interrupted, his voice dry.

"Seriously," Jim interrupted, undeterred by Pete's sarcasm. "I could have wound up with Ed Wells, you know."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." Pete looked askance at the younger man again.

"I mean it as one." The silly grin was still there.

"Well, thanks." Pete attempted a little more sincerity.

"So, I'm a lucky guy. Life is good. I mean, when you look at it, what more could I ask for out of life?" Jim was talking fast, almost babbling in his enthusiasm.

"Reed, are you drunk?" Pete asked, chuckling.

"Drunk?" Jim chuckled, too. "Maybe -- drunk on love."

"Oh, God," Pete rolled his eyes. "I can't take you like this for eight hours."

"Like what? Just because I'm madly in love with my wife, and I love my kid and..."

"Don't even say it," Pete cut him off.

The silly grin got even wider. "Pete, you're hopeless. Tell me -- what did you do on your days off?"

Pete was taken off guard by the sudden change in subject. "Uh, well, I slept late on Wednesday, then did the laundry and cleaned up the apartment and washed my car." Pete stopped the black and white for a redlight. "Ran errands on Thursday -- you know, the bank, groceries, that kind of stuff. I had a date with Marilyn that night."

"The receptionist."

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

"It was a date," Pete moved the car when the light changed. "Dinner, dancing, the usual. You want a play by play?"

"Nah," Jim was still laughing. He leaned forward and ran his finger down the list of tag numbers on the hot sheet.

"You got something?" Pete asked, suddenly all business.

"Uh," a pause, "No. Thought that Mustang up there had a hot plate. But I was wrong." The ridiculous grin was firmly in place.

"I take it your days off went well?"

"Oh, yeah. Real well. Really, really well."

I bet I'm gonna be sorry for this. "Tell me about it."

"There's nothing spectacular to tell, really. It's just that Jean and I, we really connected over the past couple of days. Don't get me wrong -- our marriage has always been strong, but it's like the intensity went up a couple of notches over the past two days. Do you know what I mean?"

Pete nodded. "I think so."

"It's hard to pin down exactly what happened,"Jim went on, still enthusiastic. "Jean let me sleep in on Wednesday, and when I got up, Jimmy had just gotten up from his morning nap. He was in the best mood, and I got to spend all afternoon playing with him. He's really something, you know, walking now and everything."

"My godson," Pete grinned himself, now. "Walking at 10 months. Nobody believes me when I tell them."

"If they had to chase him around the house all the time, they'd believe you," Jim declared. "He's into everything. You can't turn your back on him for a second or he'll be in some kind of trouble."

"Just like his old man," Pete couldn't resist the jibe.

"Funny, Malloy. But anyway, Jean had some errands she had to do, and she wanted to go visit her sister. So Jimmy and I just spent the day together doing man-stuff."

"Man-stuff? What kind of 'man-stuff' can you do with a ten-month old?" Pete turned away from the traffic to fix his partner with a puzzled look.

"You'd be surprised. We played ball, and built block towers. Jimmy really liked knocking them over! Then we went for a walk, and Jimmy flirted with every girl in sight. I think he's looking for a gal for his Uncle Pete."

"Uh, huh," Pete grunted. Just like his mother.

"Then we came home and read the sports pages."

Pete couldn't contain a laugh. "The sports pages?"

"You bet. Jimmy's real disappointed in how the Dodgers are playing lately."

Pete laughed again. "I really think you've got a screw loose, Jim."

Jim joined Pete's laughter. "No, I'm just realizing how lucky I am. I think I said that already."

"You did." Several times.

"After we read the sports pages, I realized the boy hadn't had an afternoon nap, and it was getting late. I knew Jean would skin me alive if she found out, so I fed him and gavehim a bath and got him to sleep. Jean got home about 6:00 and the little tiger was already down for the night."

"I bet that earned you some brownie points."

"More than a few. For the first time in months, we had a whole evening to ourselves. We ordered a pizza. I tell you, Pete, a little pepperoni pizza, a little cheap wine, and a little music minus one baby adds up to some significant quality time together, if you catch my meaning."

Pete nodded, a pained look on his face. "Let's keep this conversation G-rated, okay? I have this image of Jean I don't want you to spoil."

"Don't worry," Jim laughed even harder. "I know it sounds stupid, but it was such a special time. It was like when we were first married and I was still in college. We were acting kinda goofy and carefree."

Kinda like you're acting now. "I've heard cheap wine will do that to you."

"I'm serious, Pete. It was great. And it just carried right over into the next day." Reed paused and his grin widened. "We're closer now than we've ever been. If it gets any better I don't know if I can stand it."

Me, either. Aloud Malloy said, "I'm happy for you, Jim, I really am. I know a lot of married men, and I don't hear any of them talk as glowingly of married life as you do."

"Like I told you once before, Pete, marriage, a family and a home....that's where it's at. I can't imagine life without Jean and Jimmy. I wish you had this kind of happiness."

"Who says I don't?" Malloy bristled. "After nearly two years of riding together you still don't believe I'm happily single?"

"Well, sure, I think you're happy, Pete. But, don't you ever wish you had a wife waiting for you at home at the end of a long shift? Someone to take care of you and to cuddle up with in the middle of a long, cold night?"

"I take the fifth, partner." Pete cut his eyes at Jim and shook his head. "How many millions of times are we going to have this conversation?"

"I'm sorry," Jim chuckled. "I just want you to feel as good as I do right now about life. Everybody should be this happy."

"I appreciate your sentiment. I assure you, I'm very happy."

"That's good to know." Jim paused again, longer this time. Pete thought maybe he'd gotten it all out of his system, when the young man spoke again. "There's only one thing wrong with being this happy."

"And what would that be?"

"I keep thinking that I don't deserve to be this happy, and that something is gonna happen to ruin it."

"That's silly. Not only is it silly, it's paranoid superstition."

"You think so?"

"I know so. You and Jean are happy because you work at being happy. Happiness breeds happiness, I always say. But if you get to thinking too negatively, that the bubble's gonna burst, then it just might. I think they call that a self-fufilling prophecy."

It was Jim's turn to look askance at his partner. "That's quite a mouthful. I didn't know you were such a philosopher."

"Not philosophy, psychology. Psych 101. Made a B+, thanks to Patsy."

The dispatcher's voice interrupted the conversation. 1-Adam-12, 1-Adam-12, a 4-15 women fighting. 754 West Elm. 1-Adam-12, handle Code 2.

Jim picked up the hand mic with his left hand even as he was scribbling the address down with his right. "1-Adam-12, roger."

"A cat fight to start the shift," Pete grumbled as Jim replaced the mic. "Isn't this our lucky day?"

They were seven blocks from the location of the disturbance, and with the heavy rush-hour traffic, it took them several minutes to reach the scene. Once Pete turned the black-and-white onto Elm, however, they had no trouble locating the house. A very large and noisy crowd that gathered to cheer on the combatants gave it away.

"It never fails," Pete sighed, pulling the car over to the curb and parking. He took his baton and hat from their resting places, donned the hat as he left the car, and stuck the baton in the ring. Reed was doing the same thing a half-dozen steps ahead of him.

Neither officer could see the fighting women, who were blocked by the wall of curious onlookers, but they certainly could hear them. Even over the cheers and jeers of the crowd, the two women's voices, shrill and angry, cut through the din.

Pete saw Reed pick out a spot in the crowd and move people away. "Okay, people, move aside! Move aside!"

"Get back, get back!" Pete echoed, following closely behind his young partner.

The crowd parted and over his partner's shoulder Pete got his first look at the fighting women. They appeared to be in their mid-thirties. One was tall and lean, the other shorter and heavier. They were both on the ground, rolling around, screaming and grabbing at each other. They each had a hand wrapped around an article of clothing belonging to the other, poking, scratching, jabbing, or pulling hair with their free hands, depending upon the vantage each had. The women wildly kicked at one another. Poor aim made for a lot of flying dust.

"I'm going to kill you, you homewrecker!" the heavy-set woman declared, her voice a shrill shriek. "I'm going to kill you!" As Reed reached for her to pull her off, the women flipped, and the lean woman took the advantage.

"You crazy bitch!" the lean woman screamed. "You're crazy!"

Reed was fast enough to grab the slender woman by both arms and pull her off the heavy-set woman. "Okay, lady, that's enough!" he growled.

Pete, right behind Jim, reached down and hauled the heavier woman to her feet. "Settle down, lady, right now!"

"Let me go, let me go!" Pete's charge strained against his hold on her, trying to break away and get to the woman Reed now restrained. "I'm going to kill that tramp! Let me at her!" She aimed several kicks in the direction of the other woman, but Reed maneuvered her out of reach.

"I said, settle down!" Pete raised his voice a notch and strengthened his grip on the woman's arms.

"I want that woman arrested!" The lean woman screamed over the din of the crowd. The cheers had turned to boos at the officers' intervention.

"Quiet down, lady," Reed barked at her.

"If anybody gets arrested, it's going to be you, you, you....tart! Homewrecker! Harlot!" the bigger woman jerked herself free of Pete's grasp and lunged at her adversary, with Malloy a half-step behind her. The crowd picked up its cheering again.

Reed turned so that he was between the charging woman and his prisoner. "Keep her off me! She's crazy!" The lean woman yelled in Jim's ear.

Reed put out an arm to stop the rush of the pudgy lady, keeping himself between the two women, until Pete caught up with her and pulled her back.

"Lady, if you don't settle down and shut up, now, I'm going to put the cuffs on you!" Malloy warned, pulling the woman back to a neutral position.

The lean woman, now that she was safe again, relaxed and was quiet. Reed loosened his grip on her, but still kept himself between her and the still raving heavier woman.

"You want to tell me what's going on here?" Reed asked her.

"Don't listen to her! She's a lying witch!"

With one hand Pete reached for his handcuffs. "I warned you, lady." Malloy waved the manacles in front of her face. "Last chance. Calm down or wear these lovely silver bracelets."

The sight of the handcuffs seemed to get through to the heavier woman. She stopped struggling and screaming.

Now that both women were relatively calm, Pete turned to the crowd. "Okay, folks, the show's over. Now go home, all of you. Break it up, and let us do our job." Pete motioned for the people to go away.

The crowd slowly dispersed, most of them mumbling their displeasure at having lost a source of cheap entertainment. When most of them had gone, Pete turned back to his prisoner.

"Now, ladies, let's be civil. I want the story here, nice and slow, and one at a time. Let's start with your names."

"Betty Carson. Mrs. Betty Carson. Mrs. Ira Carson!" this last she threw contemptuously at her adversary.

"Not for long, you fat pig!" the lean one shot back.

"Hey, hey," Reed chided. "Don't start again. What's your name?"

"Lisa. Miss Lisa McWilliams. I want that woman arrested for assault!"

"Just slow down, lady," Pete cut in before Mrs. Carson could get on another tear. "Let's hear it from the beginning. You first, Miss McWilliams."

"Well, I had just come home from work. I work as a legal secretary for a law firm downtown. Anyway, I got out of my car and was heading into my house,"

"Is this your house?" Pete interrupted, indicating number 754.

"Yes, officer. I live here alone. As I was saying, I was heading into my house when this, this, woman came out from behind the bushes and jumped me! She pushed me down, then started beating on me, screaming about how I was a homewrecker and a whore and whatever other vile names she could think of."

"Because it's true! And you deserve everything I gave you and more!!" Mrs. Carson made a move toward Miss McWilliams, but Pete pulled her back.

"No more! Be quiet, Mrs. Carson. You'll get your turn."

"Naturally I had to defend myself!" Miss McWilliams exclaimed. "She was trying to kill me! She said so herself! Someone in the neighborhood must have called you. And I want you to take her off to jail! I'm filing a complaint for assault and attempted murder!"

"Mrs. Carson, is this true? Did you come here and hide, waiting to attack Miss McWilliams?"

"You bet I did!! This woman is having an affair with my husband! No two-bit harlot is going to steal my man and get away with it!" Mrs. Carson was red in the face, still breathing heavily from her exertions.

"Maybe if you gave your husband what he needed at home, he wouldn't have to come looking for me to find it!" Miss McWilliams retorted.

Mrs. Carson shrieked and lunged at McWilliams again. Pete managed to get a hold on her before she reached Jim and Miss McWilliams. This time, he carried through on his threat and handcuffed the squirming, squealing woman.

Reed spoke at last. "Miss McWilliams, are you having an affair with her husband?"

Miss McWilliams didn't answer for a few beats, then looked triumphantly at Mrs. Carson. "Yes. Yes, I am. I don't mind admitting it."

"I swear I'll kill you!" Mrs. Carson threatened, tears spilling down her face. "He's my husband! You leave him alone! I have a right to protect what belongs to me!"

"He doesn't belong to you anymore, lady. He hasn't for a long time. You took him for granted and now he's looking for happiness in somebody else's arms!" Miss McWilliams harumphed at the weeping wife. "And you don't have the right to try to kill me because you can't hold onto your man!"

"Do you want to press charges?" Reed asked, as Mrs. Carson completely fell apart in Pete's grasp.

"You bet I do!"

Pete sighed and took the Miranda rights card out of his pocket with his free hand. "You have the right to remain silent," he intoned, then read the rest of the rights as the woman sobbed. "Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you?" Malloy finished, wishing this poor woman wasn't bawling. He glanced over at Reed, who was watching, a pitying look in his eyes.

"Y--yes," Mrs. Carson gulped. "But what...what about her? Isn't she going to jail, too?"

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't arrest her for having an affair with your husband."

"But...but she was fighting, too!"

"In self-defense," Reed supplied, his voice kind.

Mrs. Carson slumped, all the fight completely gone from her, now. She continued to cry quietly.

"Let's go, Mrs. Carson. Reed, get the informaton from Miss McWilliams."

"Right." Reed steered McWilliams towards her home as Pete took the still sobbing Mrs. Carson to the unit.

"What's going to happen to her?" Miss McWilliams asked Reed.

Reed took his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open to a blank page. "I suppose that's up to you," he said cryptically. "Now, give me your full name again."

***

Malloy settled Mrs. Carson in the back seat and watched as Reed finished getting the details from Miss. McWilliams.. Mrs. Carson's sobs eventually faded to sniffles, for which Pete was grateful. His young partner spent what Malloy thought was an inordinate amount of time talking with the slender woman. Finally, though, Reed pocketed his notebook and walked back toward the car.

"Problem?" Malloy asked, as Reed walked around to the driver's side back seat.

"Depends on how you define problem, I suppose," was Jim's response.

"What?"

"Never mind. Let's go." Jim tossed his baton into the front seat along with his hat and sat down next to Mrs. Carson.

Pete steered the unit around, into the traffic, heading back for the station and the routine of booking. There was silence for a few minutes, then suddenly Mrs. Carson spoke quietly.

"For fifteen years I've loved my husband," she said, as tears began to fall again. "I've cooked for him, cleaned for him, borne him three children. And this is how he repays me?"

Neither officer responded. Pete looked into the rearview mirror and caught Jim's eye.

"It isn't easy, keeping your figure after three children," she continued through her tears. "It isn't easy running a household with limited money, keeping clothes on your kids' backs and food on the table. There's never enough money, or enough time...never for the luxuries...I swear I've tried but there just isn't enough time or energy after a long day, to just be together and ..." She trailed away, sniffling. "But I do love him! I love him enough to fight for him! It's not fair! She's slim and beautiful and doesn't have to fight with him about money and how to raise the kids! I don't stand a chance." She dropped her head and began to cry in earnest again.

Jim reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. He started to offer it to her, but realized she couldn't very well wipe her nose with her hands cuffed behind her back. Wordlessly, Reed retrieved his key, removed the cuffs from one wrist, and handed her the cloth.

Pete caught his partner's eye again and frowned at him over the breach of protocol. Reed shrugged his brows in response. One of these days, Jim, that bleeding heart of yours is going to get you killed. Not everyone is as trustworthy as you are.

"Thank you." Mrs. Carson noisly blew her nose and dabbed at her face. When she was through, she offered her hands back to Jim, who replaced the handcuffs.

Mrs. Carson nodded her head toward Jim's hands. "I see you're married, officer."

"Yes, ma'am."

"How long?"

"Almost five years."

"Do you and your wife have children?"

"One boy, ten months."

Mrs. Carson sighed. "It's been a long time since mine were that young. We were so happy then, Ira and I. You think it's never going to end...the happiness, I mean. Then one day, you wake up, and you're old, and out of shape, and suddenly your husband is a stranger. It just isn't fair. It just isn't fair."

Again, neither officer responded, and the rest of the ride to the station was made in silence.

After booking Mrs. Carson on assault charges and arranging for her transport to Sybil Brand, Malloy and Reed headed to the cubbyhole beside the watch commander's office to fill out the paperwork.

Pete noted that Reed's earlier grin had been replaced by a grim look. He was somber as he took out his pen and a blank form and started writing.

Pete pulled up a chair, turned it backwards and straddled it, watching his partner write.
Probably feeling sorry for Mrs. Carson. Can't blame him...she really was crushed.

"It sure took you a long time, talking with Miss McWilliams," Pete remarked. "She decide one married man wasn't enough for her?"

"Huh?" Jim looked over his shoulder at his partner.

"It took you a long time to get that information from Miss McWilliams," Malloy repeated. "Was she hitting on you, too?"

"No!" Jim looked scandalized, then turned back to his report. "I, uh, was talking with her about maybe dropping the charges."

"I see. I take it she wasn't interested."

"Nope."

"Can't blame her, can you?"

"I guess not."

"Mrs. Carson admitted to lying in wait and attacking her without warning," Pete reminded.

"I know."

"You never quit, do you?"

"Quit what?" Jim asked, not putting down his pen.

"Trying to save the world."

Jim did drop his pen and turn around this time. "What does that mean?"

Pete grinned at him. "Finish the report, partner."

"I will, if you stop bothering me."

Pete stood. "How about a cup of coffee? I'm buying."

"Thanks."

As Pete stepped into the hallway to head to the breakroom, he heard someone call his name.

"Hey, Malloy!"

Pete turned and recognized Jake O'Neill, better known as "Big Jake" around the station. He was on permanent station duty due to a near-fatal shooting that had happened when Pete was still a probationer. The wounds had left the big, older officer with a permanent limp and partial vision in his left eye. Big Jake was a favorite of everyone -- he had a million old "war stories" and the personality to tell them with a flourish.

"Big Jake," Pete returned the call.

"That young partner of yours around here anywhere?" Jake limped toward Pete.

"Here, Jake," Reed stuck out his arm so that the officer could see him.

"Ah, Malloy, you got the kid doing all the paperwork?" Jake gruffed. "Smart guy."

"He's the college man," Pete grinned. "Better vocabulary."

Jake snorted as he reached the cubbyhole. "You gonna let him get away with that, kid?"

Reed smiled up at the older man and shrugged. "When he's right, he's right. I spell better, too."

Big Jake waved a piece of paper in Reed's face. "Now, who's the smart guy? I was just about to post this on the board for you, kid. Your wife called a few minutes ago. She says give her a call."

Reed frowned and took the paper from O'Neill.

"Now, don't get that worried look on your face, kid," O'Neill chided. "She said it wasn't an emergency or anything."

"I'm not worried," Jim protested. "It's just unusual for her to call me here."

"She has a nice voice, your wife," Big Jake remarked. "Sounds real sweet. If she's as pretty as her voice sounds, you're a lucky guy."

"She is, and I am." The grin returned for a moment.

O'Neill grunted. "Just you keep remembering that, kid. Don't screw it up." The older officer thumped Jim on the back so hard that it made him cough. "Now get on with that report so you two bums can get back on the air. No sense in all you able-bodied bums lounging around here when there's bad guys to catch."

"No, sir," Jim agreed. He bent back to his work.

Jake waved at Malloy, who grinned and saluted him in return, then turned and limped back toward the front of the station.

******
One cup of coffee and twenty minutes later, the report was finished, signed, and in Sergeant MacDonald's hands for review. While the watch commander was looking it over, Reed excused himself to go call his wife.

"Hi, honey, it's me," Reed greeted her when she picked up. "Everything okay?"

"Hi, sweetie. Everything's fine. I told the officer on the desk that it wasn't an emergency."

"I know, he told me."

"But you worried anyway." Jean laughed. "I think I like it when the shoe is on the other foot for a change."

"Have I told you today that I love you?"

"Only four or five times, but I'm not complaining."

"So what did you need me for?" Jim asked.

"Maybe I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you. After the two wonderful days we just had together, I can hardly stand you not being here."

"They were wonderful," Jim agreed, his voice wry, "but somebody's got to get out of bed long enough to earn a living."

"You trying for the couch tonight, big guy?" Jean's voice was teasing.

"Just try it and we'll see who cracks first."

"Sounds like a challenge to me!"

Jim looked up and saw Pete motioning to him from the end of the hall. "Hon, seriously, I've gotta go. Did you need to tell me something?"

Jean sighed. "Annie wants me to go with her to buy a new dress for some party she and Russell are going to this weekend. She's coming by to pick me up, then we're taking Jimmy to Mom and Daddy's before we go out. I just didn't want you to worry if you called and I wasn't here."

"Okay. Thanks for telling me. You two be careful, and try not to be too late coming in. Be sure to leave the lights on."

"Don't worry. My big sister will take care of me."

"She'd better." Jim looked up. Pete was now standing with his hands on his hips, looking impatient. "I gotta run, looks like Pete's ready to pull his gun. Love you. I'll see you later."

"Love you, too, honey. Be careful!"

"Always, baby. Bye."

Jim replaced the receiver and joined his partner in the hallway.

"Everything okay?" Pete asked.

"Yeah. She's going shopping with her sister, and she just wanted me to know."

"Oh. Well, I've got some bad news."

"What?" Jim asked as the two of them strode back towards MacDonald's office.

"Mac found a problem with your report."

"Uh, uh!" Jim protested. "What?"

"He said to tell you there's a comma splice in the 4th sentence." Pete broke out into raucous laughter.

Jim made a face. "How long has he been waiting to use that one?"

"He was just waiting for the right sucker to come along," Pete was still laughing. When it looked like Jim was going to go back to the watch commander's office to make a change, Pete caught him by the arm and steered him toward the back door.

*****

The radio was quiet for twenty minutes so the officers made a few routine loops through the park and two elementary school grounds. They were just entering a residential area when the radio bleeped.

"All units in the vicinity and 1-Adam-12, a 211 in progress, at the liquor store. 1567 Rochester. 1-Adam-12, handle code 3."

"One-Adam-12, roger," Jim acknowledged as Pete hit the toggles for lights and siren.
The younger officer reached down and removed the shotgun from its rack. He then straightened and started checking the upcoming intersections. "Clear right, go," he instructed for the first one.

Malloy gunned the car through the intersection, all his attention keyed on his driving. He trusted Jim to steer them through the intersections so that he could keep his eyes ahead and to his left, checking for potential problems.

They were close to the location so it didn't take them long to reach Rochester. Pete knew where the establishment was, and he pulled the unit up to the curb, almost directly in front, leaning over to shut off the siren and reds all in one motion.

He bailed out of the car, pulling his gun and checking the store simultaneously. He saw Jim jump out of his side of the unit, shotgun up and ready. By the time Malloy reached the front of the car, a man came running out of the door of the liquor store, gesticulating wildly.

Both Malloy and Reed tensed in response but soon realized the frantic man was the proprieter. As he came closer, Malloy could see a bloom of bright red blood on the man's right shoulder.

"They're gone, they're gone!" the man exclaimed, breathless. "Out the back, in the alley! Just now! If you hurry you can catch them! They're on foot! They shot me!"

Reed, who was closer, reached out to steady the man. "Settle down, sir. How many of them were there?"

"Two, two! Don't just stand here, go get them! They took over one thousand dollars from me!"

"Can you describe these men, sir?" Pete asked, as Jim settled the man against the fender of the unit for support.

"Describe them? Why waste the time!" the man was now holding his wounded shoulder and heaving for breaths.

"We have to know who we're looking for, sir," Jim explained.

"I'll call an ambulance," Pete reached inside the window and picked up the mic as Jim prompted the man to recall the appearance of his assailants.

"Two, like I said. Both of them about your height," he indicated Jim, "but heavier -- maybe 200-220 a piece. They wore jeans and black leather jackets...red bandannas over their faces. One had on a plain white t-shirt, the other a UCLA Bruins t-shirt."

"Caucasian?" Jim dragged out his notebook and began scribbling.

"Yeah! One had red hair, the other one was a blonde! The red headed guy was in the plain shirt."

"Ages?"

"Young. 20, 21, no more than that!"

"Did they both carry weapons?" Jim asked.

"No, I only saw the one...a chrome plated .357 magnum. The blonde carried it."

"You're sure of that? A .357 magnum?"

"Of course I'm sure. I have one just like it!" the man slumped against the fender, tiring rapidly.

"Take it easy," Jim soothed him.

"Ambulance is on the way," Pete straightened. A squeal of tires caught his attention and he looked up to see Wells and Brinkman's unit, 1-Adam-36, speeding toward them.

"Sir, these officers are going to take some more information from you and wait until an ambulance comes. They'll also call detectives to get out here and check for prints. My partner and I are going to drive around the alley in back and see if we can pick up their trail." Malloy motioned to Wells and Brinkman as they donned hats and exited the car.

"Whatcha got, Malloy?" Wells asked, looking at him from under the brim of his hat, which the officer always wore a little lower than regulation.

"This man is the owner of the liquor store. We have two suspects that just left on foot. I've called an ambulance. Stay with him and get the information. Call the detectives. Reed and I are going to try to pick up the trail and we'll put out a broadcast."

Wells frowned. "Thanks for the action, Malloy," he groused.

"We got the code 3, Wells," Malloy reminded. "Let's go, Reed."

As Pete pulled the black and white away from the curb, Jim picked up the mic and cleared the frequency for a broadcast.

"...two male caucasians, age around 20 years, approximately 6 feet 2 inches tall, weight approximately 200-220 pounds. Both wearing jeans, black leather jackets and red bandanas. Suspect 1 is blonde, wearing a UCLA Bruins t-shirt; suspect two has red hair, wearing a plain, white t-shirt. One known weapon, carried by suspect 1 -- a chrome plated .357 magnum. Suspects last seen fleeing on foot in the alley between Rochester and Green Avenue."

"I-Adam-12, roger. All units, a supplemental on the 211 that just occured at 1567 Rochester...."

The dispatcher's voice droned on as Pete slowly eased the car down Green Avenue, pausing at the entrance to each alley and side street to do a quick visual check for the two suspected felons.

"They're probably long gone," Pete mused. He pulled the unit up into an alley to turn around and check the other direction.

"Or holed up in one of the buildings, waiting for it to cool off around here," Jim offered.

"Might even have had a backup car a few blocks from here."

Jim grunted. "If they were smart."

"If they were smart, they wouldn't have held up a liquor store in the first place."

Jim grunted again.

The two officers continued their slow patrol. After a few minutes Malloy was about ready to give up and return to the scene when Jim straightened.

"Pete! Back up!"

Pete hit the brakes, but a car was following too closely for him to back up. "What?"

"I don't believe it...I think I saw them coming out of the back of that old theater."

Pete waited for traffic to clear, then backed up and pulled the black-and-white into the alley Jim indicated. When they passed a row of dumpsters and their line-of-sight was clear, they saw two men strolling casually down the alley, their backs to the police car.

"Jeans, black leather jackets, a blonde and a red-head," Jim noted.

"And a red bandana sticking out of the blonde's back pocket," Pete finished. "Those're our boys." He picked up forward speed.

Jim picked the shotgun up again and reached for the mic. "This is 1-Adam-12, be advised, we've sighted the two suspects from the 211 at 1567 Rochester, in the alley adjacent to 15th street and Rochester."

"1-Adam-12, roger."

As Jim replaced the mic, one of the suspects turned and spotted them. He punched his buddy on the shoulder, and they both broke into a run.

"They're taking off," Pete stated the obvious as he gunned the car to catch up with the two robbers.

"They're going over the fence," Jim noted, as the men reached the point where they either had to turn or climb over the barrier.

Pete hit the brakes and Jim bailed out with the shotgun, going on foot after the pair.
Malloy grabbed the hand mic as he wheeled the car left to attempt to get around and cut them off from the front. He saw Jim disappear over the fence after the felons as he completed the turn and notified dispatch.

"1-Adam-12, the 211 suspects are running. They are heading west in the alleys parallel to Green Avenue. My partner is in foot pursuit." Pete dropped the mic and pushed the car as fast as traffic would allow to catch sight of the suspects.

*****

Reed hit the ground running on the other side of the fence. For big men, the fleeing felons were fleet of foot, and Jim pushed himself to try and cut the distance between them. Foremost in his mind was catching the two, but the knowledge that one of them was armed with a .357 magnum was a close second. He poured on a burst of speed and yelled at the suspects.

"Hold it! Police! Freeze!"

In response, the blonde turned, and the sunlight glinted off the metal of the chrome-plated weapon he held in his hand. He snapped off two shots and kept running.

Jim threw himself down just as soon as he saw the suspect turn. He knew without a doubt he was about to be a target. He hit a pile of crushed cardboard boxes as the two shots rang out. They sounded like canon blasts to Jim, but he rolled up, the boxes having cushioned his fall, and continued his pursuit.

****

Malloy heard the two shots even though he was a block and a half away in traffic. "Damn!" he said aloud, pushing the car faster. He reached for the mic again.

"1-Adam-12, shots fired, between Green Avenue and 15th Street. Request a back up."

"1-Adam-12, roger. Any unit in the vicinity, back up 1-Adam-12, at the alley between Green Avenue and 15th street. Shots fired in pursuit of 211 suspects."

Pete came to an intersection of alley and street. Wells and Brinkman are just three blocks away. They should be here in seconds. Malloy strained his eyes as he passed, but he didn't see the suspects, or Jim.

"1-Adam-12 be advised that 1-Adam-36 will back you up."

"1-Adam-12, roger." Pete acknowledged.

Suddenly, though, about a half-block ahead, Pete saw one of the suspects come flying over another fence. It was the blonde. He pushed the car faster as the man turned his back and fled back toward Rochester and the liquor store.

"The guy is nuts!" Pete exclaimed aloud. He felt confident that Wells and Brinkman would be able to cut the guy off. He hoped Jim was okay and about to catch up with the red-head.

*****

Reed lost time in the pursuit due to his crash into the boxes. The suspects were still in sight, but he was a good 25 yards behind them. He yelled once again for them to freeze, but once again, he was ignored. Jim flinched as the blonde made a motion with his gun hand, but instead of turning to fire, Reed noted that the felon tossed the gun away. He wasn't sure what the suspect hoped to accomplish by that, but it relieved him of part of his concern. He made a mental note of where it fell; they'd come back for it later.

The suspects came to another fence. This time, the pair split. The blonde went up and over the fence, disappearing from sight, while the red-head flanked right and continued down a side alley.

Jim opted to follow the red-head, because he knew Pete would eventually pick up the blonde on the main street. He turned the corner after the suspect and was surprised to see an overturned garbage can directly in his path. Reed leaped over it effortlessly, and caught sight of the redhead yet again. The man was grabbing at anything he could find in the narrow alley, throwing it in Jim's path. The obstacles were nothing more than a minor annoyance to the athletic young officer, but they served to keep him from gaining much ground on his quarry.

The red-headed suspect rounded another corner, and disappeared from Jim's sight for a few seconds. Jim slowed just a bit, leading with the shotgun as he rounded the corner. He stopped himself short as something large and silver flew at his head. Reed ducked instinctively and the object, a garbage can lid, sailed overhead with a hiss. Reed recovered and straightened, pointing the shotgun at the suspect, who'd boxed himself into a blind alley.

"Okay, freeze, mister, its all over! Nowhere to go, pal!"

The suspect looked around frantically, trying to decide if he could make a move.

"I said, freeze!" Reed walked toward the man, the shotgun level. "Put your hands on top of your head!"

The suspect sighed and did as he was told. Reed moved forward, handcuffs at the ready.

******

Malloy was following the blonde suspect in the car, who, for some odd reason was still running along the main street. In his eight years on the force, Malloy had seen suspects do a lot of odd things, and this ranked right up there. He picked up the mic to advise dispatch of the new location, when Wells, in Adam-36, came tearing out of an alley right in front of the suspect, blocking his path.

The felon skidded to a stop and started to change directions, but Pete hit the brakes hard, his tires smoking as he got to the curb. He slammed the car into park and was out of the car, gun drawn, by the time the suspect had made up his mind to turn.

"Freeze, mister! You're surrounded! Give it up!" Malloy barked.

Wells and Brinkman were out of the car just a split second later, guns drawn.

Faced with such odds, the suspect threw up his hands in surrender.

"Get down on the ground, hands out, feet apart!" Malloy ordered. The officer advanced on the suspect, gun in one hand, cuffs in the other. When the suspect complied, Malloy cuffed him, then searched him. "Where's your weapon?" he demanded, when the search showed him to be clean.

"What weapon?" the suspect snarled back.

"The one you shot the liquor store owner with," Malloy reminded, hauling the man to his feet.

"Man, you're nuts! I didn't have no gun!"

"Did either of you spot Reed?" Malloy asked as Wells holstered his gun and joined him.

"No." Wells shook his head.

"Hang onto this guy for me," Pete pushed the suspect into Wells's hands. "I'm going to pick up Jim."

"Anything you say, Malloy."

"Thanks for the assist, Wells," Pete called as he got into the car. "I'll make sure your name gets in the report."

Wells's retort was drowned out by the roar of the engine as Pete pulled back into the street.

Pete backtracked the unit through the maze of alleys, figuring Reed would head back to the liquor store if he'd apprehended the redhead. If he hadn't, Malloy didn't have a clue where his partner might be. Pete was almost back to the alley behind Rochester when he caught sight of Reed escorting the hadcuffed red-headed robber. He tapped the horn and Reed stopped and turned. A grin split the younger officer's face as Pete pulled the unit beside the pair.

"Need a lift?" Pete asked, relieved to see his partner in one piece.

"Sure." Reed handed the shotgun to Malloy through the window, then settled the prisoner in the back seat.

"You look a little rumpled," Pete observed. "You take a nap?"

"Nah, just ran a little track," Reed removed the chrome-plated gun he'd recovered and handed it over to Pete before sliding into the back beside the prisoner. "You lose blondie?"

Pete snorted. "No, I turned him over to Wells and Brinkman so I could see if you'd gotten lost or something."

"Ah. Well, thanks for lookin' out for me."

Pete smirked at his partner in the rearview mirror. "Somebody's got to."

********

"You know, those two guys weren't so bright," Reed remarked once they had returned to patrol after taking care of the suspects at the station.

"No kidding," Pete agreed. "I bet between the two of 'em, their I.Q. doesn't break 100."

Reed laughed. "No bet. Hey, all that runnin' made me hungry. How about an early 7?"

"Don't blame it on the running. You're always hungry."

"There's a new all-you-can-eat buffet at Olympic and 10th."

"Call it in."

Before Reed could get the mic off the holder, dispatch called their number.

"1-Adam-12, 1-Adam-12, a 415 domestic dispute. 895 Oakdale. 1-Adam-12, handle code 2."

"Rats," Jim muttered, then picked up the mic. "1-Adam-12, roger."

"Sorry," Pete offered.

"One thing about it being a domestic dispute," Jim sighed.

"What's that?"

"They usually kill my appetite."

Oakdale was a quiet residential street in one of the better neighborhoods in their patrol area. The homes were newer and modern in style; the cars in the driveways were, too.
Number 895 was no exception -- except for the quiet part.

As soon as the officers exited the car they could hear the noise from the conflict. There were two loud and angry voices, one male, one female. The voices were accentuated occasionally by the occasional sound of something crashing.

"This one sounds serious," Pete murmured, quickening his pace.

Jim rang the doorbell, but the confrontation inside didn't quiet or slow down. He waited a beat, then resorted to knuckles. "Police officers! Open up!"

The noise stopped, then. The officers heard heavy footsteps, and the door opened to reveal a middle-aged man, sweating and red in the face.

"Someone here call the police?" Pete asked.

"Not me. And I'm pretty sure Betty didn't, either."

"May we come in, Mr...?"

"Hamrick. Donald Hamrick." Hamrick hesitated, then nodded his head. "Sure. Come into the lion's den." The man opened the door wider and Jim and Pete entered.

A quick look around the living room told Pete plenty about this fight. The floor and furniture were littered with objects -- some whole, some broken. They looked like pieces of dinnerware. He heard Reed's foot crunch on some glass and they both looked down and stepped around the shards. Bric-a-brac which probably belonged on the coffee table or a side table were on the carpet, again, some of it broken.

A shrill voice greeted them from a room off the living area.

"Who's there, Donald? Get rid of 'em!"

"It's the police, Betty."

"The police? You called the cops?" The owner of the shrill voice came into the room, then. The woman was nearly as tall as the man and thin. She, too, was red in the face. She was clutching a ceramic coffee cup in her right hand, but she looked ready to use it as a projectile, rather than for drinking.

"No, I didn't," Mr. Hamrick protested. "Did you?"

"Hell, no!" Betty Hamrick did use the cup as a projectile, then. She hummed it full force right over her husband's head. He ducked and it missed by a considerable distance, crashing into the wall on the opposite side.

"Lady, cut that out!" Pete ordered. "No more throwing things!"

"Or what?" Mrs. Hamrick demanded. "Is it against the law to throw things in your own home?"

"No, ma'am, it isn't, but it is against the law to assault your husband with them." Malloy kept his voice reasonable.

"Assault him? I haven't put a scratch on him!"

"That's true," Mr. Hamrick agreed. "She's got bad aim."

"Shut up, Donald! Who asked you?" Betty Hamrick turned and disappeared.

"Ma'am, uh, ma'am," Pete called after her. "We need to talk." Malloy turned and looked at Reed, who was standing mute beside him, his eyes trying to track Mrs. Hamrick's path.

"So talk! Then get out of here! This is between Donald and me!"

"Ma'am, apparently one of your neighbors called the police. Your fight is so loud that you're disturbing the peace. That's also against the law. If you two don't simmer down, we'll have to run you in." Malloy felt foolish talking to the empty doorway.

It wasn't empty for long. Mrs. Hamrick returned, this time with a cup in each hand.

"Mrs. Hamrick..." Pete sighed. "Put the cups down."

Mrs. Hamrick merely glared at Malloy. "What Donald and I are discussing is none of the neighbors' business."

"When you're discussing it as loudly as you two were, it certainly is their business."

Betty let loose with another missile, this time aimed somewhere in the vicinity of Malloy's head. Pete ducked, though he didn't need to. The cup sailed far over his head and crashed through the picture window behind him.

"Betty, please calm down," her husband pleaded as Malloy stared the woman down.

"Mrs. Hamrick, if you throw one more thing, I'm going to handcuff you," Pete warned.

"Maybe if you tell us what the problem is, we can help you," Reed finally spoke.

"You're looking at the problem!" Mrs. Hamrick indicated Donald. "He's a no good, lazy, ungrateful jerk! On top of that, he's a lousy husband, an even worse lover and is spineless as a jellyfish! Can you help me with that?"

"How did all this start tonight?" Jim asked calmly. "Maybe if you just back up and..."

"Young man!" Mrs. Hamrick interrupted. She marched towards the officers. She was still holding the second cup, but her hand stayed at her side. She stopped directly in front of them and peered intently at Reed. "Show me your left hand."

"Ma'am?"

Mrs. Hamrick reached down and pulled Jim's hand up herself. "Hmmm...you are married, apparently." she dropped the hand. "Just how old are you, anyway? Eighteen, nineteen?"

Pete noticed Jim flush slightly. His partner hated being accused of still being a teenager.

"I'm twenty-five, ma'am."

Mrs. Hamrick raised an eyebrow at him, and shook her head. "Well, Officer...Reed, I'm twice your age, and if you think I'm going to listen to marital advice from some wet-behind-the-ears kid, you've got another think coming!"

"Ma'am, we aren't here to solve your marital problems," Pete told her. "We're here to stop the racket coming from this house. We aren't leaving until we're satisfied that there's not going to be any more fighting. At least not the loud, violent kind."

"Betty, I don't want to fight any more," Mr. Hamrick spoke up.

"Well, maybe I do!" Mrs. Hamrick wheeled and hurled the second coffee cup at her husband. Both Reed and Malloy lunged for her arm as she reared back for the throw, but she was too fast for either of them.

Pete, however, managed to get ahold of her wrist just after she let go of the cup. "Lady, I warned you!" Malloy reached for his handcuffs and slapped one on the wrist he was holding. Reed grabbed the other arm and put it behind her back for Malloy to finish the job.

"You have no right to do that!" Betty Hamrick screeched. Her voice was so loud and shrill it hurt Pete's ears.

"Yes, ma'am, I do," Pete corrected. "And I also have the right to arrest you if you don't stop the racket."

"Betty, please!" Donald pleaded.

"Shut up! Shut up!" Mrs. Hamrick yelled. "I'm not through telling you what I think of you!"

"Oh, yes, you are," Pete sighed. "Reed, take Mr. Hamrick to the kitchen while I talk with Mrs. Hamrick."

"Okay. Mr. Hamrick?" Reed stepped around Malloy and indicated for the man to precede him to the kitchen.

Pete waited until they were gone, then he steered the simmering Mrs. Hamrick to the couch. "Now, Mrs. Hamrick. We're going to sit down here and figure out what we can do to get this situation under control." Malloy helped her to sit, but she remained stiff-backed, on the edge of the sofa.

"The only thing that will help is if that spineless husband of mine ever develops any backbone!"

"I mean what will help you calm down, now? Like I said, we're not leaving here until we're sure we won't have to come back. If you insist on throwing things at your husband and being so loud, I'll have to book you for disturbing the peace. You really don't want that, now, do you?" Pete attempted a smile, but when Betty Hamrick narrowed her eyes at him, he sobered.

"The only thing that will help me get calm is if I don't have to lay eyes on him for the rest of my life!" Mrs. Hamrick declared.

"Is there any place you can go for the night and talk to someone? A sister, a friend?"

"Why should I have to leave?" Mrs. Hamrick's voice rose a couple of decibels. "He's the one causing all the trouble!"

Sure, he is. Pete bit back a sigh and tried to think of another strategy.

********

Mr. Hamrick sank into a kitchen chair and pulled one out for Reed. "Have a seat, officer." The man's voice was full of defeat.

"Thank you." Jim sat across from Donald Hamrick and looked around at the kitchen. There were no pots or pans on the stove, and the room was immaculate. Mrs. Hamrick's tirade hadn't touched this room. In fact, it looked so sterile and clean that Jim wondered if the woman ever set foot in here to cook. "Mr. Hamrick, does your wife get so agitated often?"

A bitter laugh escaped Hamrick's lips. "All the time. Every day! Every day for twenty-seven years."

"I'd think she'd run out of things to break."

"Oh, she doesn't get quite this bad," Hamrick backtracked. "She yells and complains, but it's only when she really gets in a snit that she throws things."

"Have the police ever been called here before?" Jim asked.

"No. We actually haven't lived here very long. We moved in about a year ago. Things have been calm until recently."

"Has something happened?"

"It's actually what hasn't happened that's making her angry." Mr. Hamrick ran his hands through graying brown hair.

"I don't understand."

"A raise and a promotion," Hamrick explained. "I'm an accountant with a medium-sized firm in town. Betty thinks that I'm due a raise and a promotion. But she's wrong. I just got a raise six months ago, and was promoted last year. I'm at the top of the ladder unless I move into management. And that's not going to happen. Betty thinks I should 'be assertive' and demand both. I'm not willing to risk my job to do it."

Jim nodded. "I think I see."

"You have to understand Betty," Hamrick continued. "She's pushy and wants the finer things in life. I'm doing the best I can, but it's not good enough for her. Nothing's good enough for her. Nearly every day for twenty-seven years I've heard how incompetent, or stupid, or spineless, or useless I am. You have no idea what that can do to you..." Hamrick trailed off and looked away. "I'm sorry, I'm saying too much. You don't need to know all the gory details."

"It's all right, Mr. Hamrick," Jim assured him.

"I'm sorry Betty made fun of your age. That's pretty typical of her. She doesn't think much of young people. It probably doesn't surprise you that we don't have any children. It probably doesn't surprise you that we haven't shared the same bed for almost twenty years."

Not a bit. Man, I am lucky. Luckier than I can imagine. "Sir, you don't have to tell me this. Like my partner said, we're concerned that when we leave here, everything's gonna be quiet for the rest of the night. Do you think that your wife'll calm down?"

"I really don't know. I doubt it. It takes Betty a long time to get over things."

"Maybe it would help if you left for a while, and gave her time to cool down. Is there anyplace you could stay for the night? Or someone you could call?"

"Leave for a while?" Mr. Hamrick repeated.

"Yes, sir. Until your wife calms down."

Hamrick stared at his hands, which were clasped in front of him on the table. "Leave? Leave," he muttered. He looked up and smiled at Reed. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Sometimes in the heat of an argument..."

"Leaving is a great idea. Leaving is something I should have done twenty years ago."
Hamrick was positively grinning now. "Oh, I thought about it, but never had the guts to do it. But somehow, when you verbalized it, it makes a whole lot of sense."

Somewhat alarmed at the turn the conversation was taking, Reed spoke quickly. "Mr. Hamrick, I just meant for you to go somewhere for the night so things can settle down. I didn't mean leave permanently."

"I know you didn't, son," Hamrick reached over and patted Jim on the arm. "But if one night is good, then forever must be better!"

"Mr. Hamrick, do you really want to throw away twenty-seven years of marriage?"

"Just how long you been married, son?"

"Five years."

"When you've been married for twenty-five, maybe you can understand."

I hope not. Not if it means living like you did for twenty years. "Mr. Hamrick, twenty-seven years has to count for something."

Hamrick reached over and pulled off his wedding band. He held it in front of Jim.
"Read the inside of this ring, Officer Reed."

Jim took the ring and squinted to read the tiny script inside. "Love always, Betty."

"Love always. What a joke. Not only was it not always, it wasn't even a year."

Jim held the ring out for Hamrick to take, but the older man pushed it away.
"Nope. No more. Taking that ring off makes me feel liberated."

"Mr. Hamrick..."

"Betty's right about one thing." Donald Hamrick stood and reached in his pocket, pulling out a set of car keys. "I don't have a lot of backbone. If I had I would've left a long time ago. Maybe seeing you two here gave me the shot of courage I needed."

"Mr. Hamrick, I wish you'd reconsider," Jim held the ring out again.

Hamrick shook his head. "Give it to Betty. Tell her not to wait up. Not that she ever did anyway." Hamrick turned and went to the door, but stopped as he opened it. He turned back to Reed, chuckling silently. "Betty's right about the backbone part," he repeated. "I'm walking out the back, leaving you to tell her I'm gone. I'm sorry about that, Officer. And don't feel bad, son," he amended, seeing the stricken look on Reed's face. "I think you just did me a great big favor."

Jim watched as Hamrick quietly closed the door. He stared at the man's gold ring and thought about the inscription inside. He set it down, took his own silver band off and looked at the inscription there, which was not so different from Donald Hamrick's.

Forever, Jean.

Jim fingered the band, thinking of the love behind it, of the sacrifices Jean made to buy it for him, and wondered if he would ever get to the point where Donald Hamrick was tonight. He wondered if there would ever be a time when taking off this ring would make him feel liberated instead of lonely. The past two days he and Jean had spent together had been some of the best of their marriage; it was hard to imagine that those feelings could ever end. But what scared him was the thought that Donald Hamrick might have felt the same way twenty-five years ago.

Reed slipped his ring back on his finger. I love you, Jean. He picked up Hamrick's ring and cupped it in his hand as he got up from the table. He walked back into the living area where Pete was still talking to Mrs. Hamrick. She appeared calmer, but Jim couldn't help checking her hands for objects as he walked over to the couch.

Pete looked up at him. "What?" he asked.

Jim cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hamrick, your husband asked me to give you this." He handed the ring to Betty Hamrick. "He said not to wait up for him."

Mrs. Hamrick stared at the gold band for a moment, then looked up at Reed. "You mean he left me?"

"Well, uh," Jim shifted his feet, "It kinda looks that way, ma'am." He looked over at Pete, who was looking at him strangely.

"Well, what'dya know?" Mrs. Hamrick said with a slight smile. "What'dya know? Maybe there's hope yet."

"Ma'am?" Jim questioned.

"This is the first gutsy thing Donald has done in twenty-seven years," Mrs. Hamrick explained. "What'dya know?"

"I'm glad you recommended this place," Malloy said around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. "The food is good here." But you can't tell it to look at you. You're acting worse than Jimmy, pushing food around on the plate.

"Yeah," Reed agreed halfheartedly.

"Snap out of it, Jim. It isn't your fault."

"I feel bad, Pete. I feel really bad." Jim dropped his fork and looked over at his partner. "I put the idea of leaving his wife into his head."

"Would you just stop thinking about the Hamricks and eat?" Pete gave Jim an exasperated look. "You haven't even finished your first plate yet. If you don't eat, you'll be hungry in a half-hour and I'll have to listen to your stomach growl the rest of the shift!"

"I told you, I've lost my appetite."

Pete rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look, Jim, you know what you meant and I know what you meant. Just because Hamrick says he's leaving for good doesn't mean that he really is."

"He took his ring off. Said he felt 'liberated.' Sounded like he meant it to me."

Pete watched as Jim twisted his own wedding band, a habit the older officer had noticed Jim practiced when he was upset or thinking about his wife.

"I don't think Betty is going to give up on him that easily," Malloy tried to interject some levity into the conversation. "You saw the gleam in her eye when she decided her husband had done something 'gutsy'."

"Twenty-seven years and he just takes off his ring and he walks out. Just like that."

"It was hardly 'just like that.' How would you feel living with that woman for twenty-seven years?" Pete finished off his macaroni and cheese and started working on a pile of peas and carrots.

"Marriage vows are supposed to mean something. 'For better or for worse' was a phrase in mine, as I recall."

"Just this morning you were telling me how lucky you are, being married to Jean. Not everybody has it as good as you do. I know how hard you and Jean work at your marriage. How would it be if you were the only one working at it? If Jean hit you with all that garbage every day -- for twenty-seven years." Pete quirked an eyebrow at his partner. "Taking that ring off might feel pretty good to you, too."

Jim considered, then shrugged. "I suppose. I know she got on my nerves after just five minutes with her."

"There you go," Pete nodded once in agreement.

Jim continued to twist his ring. "It's just sad to see a marriage go sour like that. I'd hate to think I had any part of a couple getting divorced."

"You've already got them in divorce court? What if this little incident has the opposite effect?"

"How do you figure?"

"Well, now Mrs. Hamrick thinks her husband has some backbone. He probably thinks he has some backbone...maybe she respects him a little bit more. Maybe he respects himself a little bit more," Pete waved his fork around for emphasis, "and maybe they can find some common ground. Did you ever think about that?"

"I guess not."

"Because you were too busy blaming yourself for Hamrick walking out. That's something I've noticed about you."

"What?"

"You're always willing to see the best in other people, but you always think the worst about yourself."

"You know, you really are turning into an armchair psychologist. You're a regular Lucy Van Pelt." Jim scowled. "Maybe you should hang a sign on your locker that says 'Psychiatric Help, five cents. The Doctor is in."

"A regular Lucy - who?" Pete looked nonplused.

"Lucy Van Pelt...Linus's sister...in the Peanuts cartoon. She's always yanking the football away from Charlie Brown when he tries to kick it."

"Is that a fact?"

"It is."

"You know what else I think?"

"I'm afraid to ask." Jim's scowl deepened.

"I think you've been watching too many cartoons with your boy."

"Thank you, Dr. Malloy."

"You'll get my bill," Pete quipped. "Now eat your mashed potatoes. We've only got ten minutes left on 7."

***

Pete was pleased to see Jim's mood lighten once they got back out on patrol. Sometimes riding with Reed was an emotional roller-coaster. Pete always tried to keep in mind just how young his partner was -- married and a father or not, he'd just turned twenty-five, and in Pete's mind, he still had a lot of growing up to do.

A light rain started to fall and they briefly considered going back to the station for rain gear when it slacked to a mist. The cloud cover made the darkness seem even blacker as they continued their patrol.

It was a slow night, early on , and the two officers had a conversation about Dodger baseball in between a couple of traffic stops. They'd just made a bet for lunch regarding the outcome of the National League's western division when the dispatcher tagged them with a call.

"1-Adam-12, 1-Adam-12, a 459 silent, at the warehouse. 1706 East Manning. Delay on the man 1 hour. 1-Adam-12, handle Code 2."

"1-Adam-12, roger." Jim acknowledged.

"I know that warehouse," Pete said grimly. "It's filled to the brim with crates of God-only-knows-what, the lighting is bad and it's coming down in pieces. I hate that place."

"Sounds like fun," Jim was sarcastic.

"I hope it's a false alarm...if that alarm system is in as bad a shape as the rest of the place, a bug could set it off."

They made the rest of the trip in silence. The rain picked up again, and by the time they pulled to the side of the warehouse, they were both sorry they hadn't gone for the rain gear.

"Let's check it out," Pete sighed.

They moved silently to the loading area doors. There, they stepped up the short flight of stairs to the platform where the rolling doors were and stopped to listen. It didn't take long before the officers heard sounds of movement and loud talking.

"There's somebody in there, all right," Jim whispered.

"They didn't get in this way," Pete whispered back. "Let's move around to the other side. There's an office entrance there."

Pete led the way around the back of the warehouse to the side entrance. After the climbed the steps, he sidled up beside the door and found it slightly ajar. He punched Jim on the arm and pointed. Jim nodded acknowledgement.

Malloy pointed to his ear and Jim nodded again. They pressed themselves against the corrugated siding of the aging building and listened some more, blinking light raindrops from their eyes.

Two different voices filtered through the building. Both were male voices, and they sounded young. The words were indistinct, but the tone and the laughter and hooting that accompanied them were clear enough. So were the crashing noises that indicated boxes and crates were being overturned and their contents scattered. There was also a metallic pinging noise that rang out occasionally. It sounded to Pete like metal striking metal.

"Sounds like they're trashing the place," Jim whispered. "Probably high on something."

"Yeah. I only make two voices."

"Me, too. We goin' in?"

"Yeah. Watch yourself. I don't trust this place."

Pete pulled his gun and inched his way through the door, pushing it open just wide enough for him to enter. The office was dimly lit by the lights in the main warehouse area, but Malloy was able to pick his way through the office clutter without tripping over anything. He heard Jim slither into the room behind him.

The senior officer paused as he reached the door that led into the warehouse. It was wide open, and he flattened himself against the opening, his gun at chest level. Jim moved to the opposite side and knelt, bracing his gun against the jamb.

"Oooo-eee, Eddie, man! Lookit all this stuff!"

"What is it, man?"

"Radios, man! Hunnerds of 'em!"

Pete and Jim exchanged a look. They stood and listened some more, trying to catch a glimpse of the burglars. There were lights on in the main storage area, but it was only one row of about five that lined the vaulted ceiling. It brightened the center strip of the warehouse shelving sufficiently, but the other strips and storage areas were shadowy and some were extremely dark. The pair of would-be burglars was just out of the officers' visual range, behind a tall pile of crates. But they could hear them still talking about the radios.

Jim made a motion with his hand and caught Malloy's attention. The young officer indicated that he would slip out and try and get around behind the two. Malloy nodded and mouthed "I'll move this way and get behind that pile there." He pointed with his free hand to a short stack of crates he could crouch behind and still have a view of where they thought the suspects were.

Reed slipped out and tiptoed in a semi-crouch around the wall until he reached a junction where he could lose himself in the darkness of an aisle of shelves.

Malloy watched his partner blend into the darkness, gave him a few more beats to make his way down the aisle and turn the corner, then he, too, eased his way along the wall. Pete was going to have to cover some open ground to get to his hiding spot. He waited and listened a moment more to make sure the intruders would remain out of sight, then he covered the open distance with a few quick, light steps. Malloy crouched behind his cover then peeked around for a look.

Pete could just barely make out the dim figures from his vantage point. He shifted his position slightly to get a better angle, then raised his gun and propped it on top of a crate. He strained his eyes to see if he could find Reed, but his partner's dark uniform blended in too well with the dark aisles. Malloy trusted that Jim had stepped into position, but he hesitated before calling out to the duo.

"Why ain't there no music comin' outta this radio, Eddie?"

"'Cause there ain't no battries in it, stoooopid. You're sooooo stooopid!" The burglar named Eddie laughed, then started banging on a crate with something.

The metallic sound Pete had heard earlier returned. The officer craned his neck to get a better look. There was something long and cylindrical in Eddie's hand, and he was destroying a crate with it at the moment. Pete decided it was a metal pipe, and a big one. Although his vantage point was not the best and the lighting was against him, it appeared to Pete to be about 2 feet long and a couple of inches in diameter. It was certainly big enough to crack open heavy cases with one blow, and the resulting sounds made the pipe - or whatever - was sound solid and not hollow.

"I wanna hear music, Eddie!"

"I'll show you music!" Eddie turned and started striking the metallic shelving with his pipe. The resulting noise was almost deafening as the clanging and banging reverberated in the warehouse. "There, Will, how do ya like it?"

"Coooooool, baby, coool! I can dig it! Wheeeeeoooo!"

Oh, brother. Those two have got to be on something. If he doesn't stop that damned banging, I won't even be able to get their attention. I bet Jim is going deaf!

After what seemed to be an eternity to Pete, Eddie stopped the clanging and the burglars turned their attention to the radios again. Pete was just about to call out when his partner beat him to it.

"Freeze, both of you! Police!" Jim's voice barked from the darkness.

"You're surrounded!" Pete followed immediately.

Malloy saw both men stiffen, then Will got hysterical.

"Eddie, cops, man! Run for it!" Will took his own advice and lunged for cover, sprinting behind a pile of crates on the far wall. Pete could hear rapid footsteps running, coming in his direction.

"I said, freeze!" Reed repeated. Pete noted that his partner's voice was coming from the same location in the warehouse.

"Come and get me, pig!" Eddie turned and started banging on the shelving again with the big pipe. Pete could see him moving in Jim's direction, then he vanished into the dimness.

Malloy had to turn his attention, to Will, who, by the sound of his rapid footsteps, was still running along the far wall. He was coming very close to Pete's location, though Pete could only see a dim view of the top of the felon's head.

Pete tried again to stop the fleeing suspect with command. "Hold it, mister! I've got a gun aimed right at you! Freeze!" Pete wheeled around on his toes to switch his aim.

But again, the sound of Pete's authoritative voice seemed to push the wrong buttons with the suspect. He screamed incoherently and continued to run. Will pushed a large load of crates over, jumped a couple of them and made his way toward the open office door.

Dammit, I'm not gonna shoot this guy! I don't even think he's armed. I gotta cut him off.

Pete rose from the balls of his feet to a higher crouch and took a few crab-like steps to try and cut the burglar off before he reached the door. Malloy couldn't find sufficient cover and felt uneasy as he stood exposed in the dimness. He caught sight of Will again as the man made an attempt to get to the door. Pete could hear Eddie taunting Reed from the other side of the warehouse, but he didn't have time to process what was happening as Will suddenly emerged from cover.

Malloy raised his gun in a two-handed grip and leveled it at Will. "Freeze! You're covered!"

Whatever was pushing Will's internal buttons to ignore Pete's orders kept pushing full force. With another deafening shriek, the burglar slung something in Pete's direction and kept running.

A large, dark shape flew at Pete in the dimness and the officer instinctively went to the floor to keep his head from being torn off. The object went overhead and crashed into the floor behind him. In the several seconds it took to dodge the flying shape and get back to his feet, Will had made it to the door and was heading outside.

Damn! Now I've gotta chase him! Pete started his run out the door after the hysterical, fleeing felon.

***

Reed flinched against the deafening sound of metallic clanging and flattened himself against the shelving unit. He could both hear and feel the pipe-weilding burglar moving in his direction. In a far part of his brain he registered the second burglar fleeing toward Pete, and he knew his partner would handle that one.

"Here, piggy, piggy!" Eddie screeched, slamming the pipe against the shelving for emphasis. "Come on, I'm waitin'!!"

Jim decided to switch positions. He moved out from the shelving into the narrow space between the end of the aisle and the warehouse wall. He pressed himself into the shadows at the aisle's end and got his gun into position. He would let Eddie pass him in the darkness, then take him from behind.

Only it didn't quite work that way. Whether by gut instinct, lucky guess, or second sight, the burglar anticipated that move. Jim heard Eddie stop walking and, thankfully, banging the shelving. Jim stilled his breathing and waited. In the silence, Reed heard Eddie's footsteps start up again, but in the opposite direction.

That won't do. I sure can't let him get behind me. Reed led with his gun and stepped away from his position on the end of the shelving unit into the aisle. That turned out to be a mistake. A blur of motion caused the young officer to pull up and try to dodge, but he was just a fraction of a second too slow. Something struck his gunhand broadside, knocking the gun from his hand. It skittered across the aisle and slid to a stop near another unit of shelving.

***

Malloy raced from the building after Will, who was running as if he were being chased by the hounds of hell. The man was still screaming, and he ran in an erratic pattern across the concrete parking area into a grassy lot surrounding the warehouse.

Malloy saw Will slip on the wet grass and go down to his hands and knees, so he put on an extra burst of speed to try and get to the man before he could recover.

"Give it up!" Pete yelled between breaths. He pounded after the suspect, his gun still out, but he had no reason to use it yet.

Will gathered himself and attempted to run again.

Pete was almost on him. If the man would just slip again, he could take him. Will didn't slip, but his forward speed appeared to slow. Pete gained a few steps and decided he was within leaping distance. He threw himself at the suspect's legs and caught him by the barest of margins around the ankles. Malloy knew the takedown hadn't been as elegant as one of his partner's, but at least the man was down. Pete scrabbled on hands and knees to sit astride the screaming suspect's back.

As he grabbed Will's left hand for the handcuffs, a pair of headlights shone on Malloy. He finished cuffing the man and looked up to see a black-and-white pulling up. The glare of the lights hid the identity of the policemen inside, but the door opened, a form bailed out, and ran toward him

"Need help?"

Brinkman. Wells and Brinkman. Just a few minutes too late. Pete hauled the suspect to his feet. "Just calm down, mister. Stop your screaming."

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" the man sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Eddie made me!"

"Just relax. I'm okay, Brinkman!" Pete called out. He pushed the suspect to walk and headed to meet Brinkman. Wells was out of the car now, running their way.

*****

The blow to his hand momentarily stunned Reed but didn't hurt him. He turned to check Eddie's location and was surprised to find the burglar nearly upon him. I fell for an old one!

Jim took a step back to give him room to make a defensive move, when he realized that Eddie wasn't heading for him, but for the gun across the aisle. Reed didn't hesitate, but made a dive for his weapon before the suspect could reach it. He hit the floor hard and slid sideways, his uniform shirt giving him little purchase on the slick concrete floor. The officer stretched out his left hand to clasp the gun, thinking he could switch to his gun hand in time to fend off Eddie, who was only steps away from him.

Reed hadn't reckoned with the pipe. Just as his hand hovered over the gun, Jim saw something flash past his face. Too late, he realized his mistake.

The metal pipe smashed into Reed's left hand with a crushing force. The blunt object literally tore flesh and crushed bones, making the young officer feel a level of pain that he'd never felt before in his life.. Reed's vision blurred, grayed out, then exploded with stars as the sensations finally registered in his brain. There was only one thing he could do; there was only one response to make to such agony.

Jim Reed screamed.

****

"Jim's in the warehouse," Pete said breathlessly as Brinkman took the suspect in hand. "There's another guy in there. I'm going in to help. You take this one."

"Okay," Brinkman agreed, and led the guy away.

Wells fell into a jog with Malloy as both officers headed back toward the warehouse.

"Glad you came along," Pete said.

"We were in the neighborhood," Wells explained. "Thought we'd take a look."

"The suspect in there has a big pipe," Pete informed his colleage. "I don't...."

Reed's agonized scream interrupted Pete in mid-sentence and froze both officers in their tracks.

It took only a split second for Malloy to analyze the sound of the voice and recognize his partner's tone, even in an unnatural scream. "That's Jim!" Pete exclaimed as he and Wells exchanged a quick look. Malloy broke the look and raced ahead of Wells back into the warehouse. Wells followed at his heels.

Pete maneuvered his way through the office area and broke out into the main warehouse. He pulled up right outside the second door and flattened himself against the wall so that he could evaluate the situation. Wells emerged a split second later and did the same thing on the other side of the door.

Malloy's eyes swept the dim area and saw neither his partner nor Eddie. But he could hear a commotion coming from his left, in the same general area where he'd last seen Reed. "Reed!" he yelled.

The only response was the sound of metal slamming against the floor, and two grunting voices intermingling.

Pete jerked his head in the direction of the voices. "Move out!" he ordered Wells.

*****

Reed was on the deep, dark precipice of unconsciousness. A part of him wanted to fall into the darkness and escape the relentless pain that was shooting through his hand and up his arm, nauseating him and leaving him unable to do anything but moan and writhe. But another part of him, the highly trained part of him, was still functioning somewhere under that curtain of agony. That part of him was screaming in his mind to move! It was telling him that his attacker still had that pipe and the next likely target was his head.

Reed forced himself to listen to that voice. He rolled away from the suspect, even though the very motion intensified the pain. The young officer could hear Eddie yelling at him, and he could hear his own grunting yell as he rolled over the injured hand. Somewhere in his mind he thought he heard Pete yell his name. Immediately after that, something whistled past his ear and clanged loudly beside him. The police officer voice spoke inside his mind again.

He's still got the pipe. You've got to move! Jim rolled away again, but bumped into something cold and hard. I'm at the wall! He pushed with his legs to try and get to his feet but his tortured body refused to respond to that command. Instead he flopped backwards along the wall, attempting to put distance between himself and Eddie, who was yelling and swinging the pipe.

Reed heard footsteps and voices then, Malloy...

****

Pete and Wells moved as quickly as they could around crates and boxes to the aisle where Pete remembered Jim being at last accounting. Malloy ran down the considerable length until he could finally see his partner, on the floor, the suspect advancing on him, swinging the pipe.

"Freeze, mister!" Pete skidded to a stop and raised his gun. Wells flanked him and did the same. "I said, freeze!"

The suspect whirled away from Reed to face Malloy and Wells. He raised the pipe over his head and looked as if he would charge the two officers.

"Don't do it!" Malloy growled. "One move and you're as good as dead!" Malloy wasn't going to fool around with this one. Reed was already down with an unknown injury and he'd be damned if he was going to be the next victim. And he wasn't going to let Jim lie there and suffer. This man was going down now -- the easy way or the hard way.

Like his now handcuffed partner-in-crime, however, Eddie didn't seem to get the message. "Go ahead and shoot me, pigs!" he shrieked, taking a step toward the policemen.

Pete was just about to oblige him, but he caught a motion behind the suspect that caused him to hold his fire and yell for Wells to do the same. Reed moved his long legs and with a moan that tore at Malloy's insides, kicked the the pipe-waving burglar behind his knees.

Eddie went down with a grunt. His head struck a shelf on the way down and the pipe fell from his hands. The man was unconscious before he hit the floor.

"I've got this guy," Wells said, reaching for his handcuffs. "See to your partner."

Malloy didn't have to be told twice. He holstered his gun and stepped over the fallen burglar to get to Jim.

Reed was lying on the floor, cradling his left hand against his chest. He was breathing in short, erratic gasps, and was groaning quietly between breaths. The younger officer's legs were twitching and he was rocking slightly from side to side. It was obvious he was in terrific pain.

Malloy knelt beside Reed and put a hand out on his shoulder to calm him. "Take it easy, Jim. Try to relax." Pete saw that Jim's right hand and uniform shirt were covered with blood, but he couldn't see the hand that Jim was cradling against his chest. "He get you on the hand with that pipe?"

"Yesss," Jim managed to grit out between clenched teeth.

"Let me see," Pete reached for Reed's right hand to remove it, but Jim recoiled.

"No, no...don't touch it," he moaned.

"I won't," Pete promised. "Just let me see it."

"He okay?" Wells asked. "We need an ambulance?"

"I don't know yet," Pete responded. He pulled out his flashlight, flipped it on and shone it on Jim's hand. "Come on, Jim, just move this hand away." Pete pointed to the right hand that was supporting the injured left one.

Reed complied, moving his shaking hand away. Even that small jar caused him to draw in a sharp, hissing breath.

"I'm sorry," Pete soothed. Then, as he saw the hand, Pete drew in a sharp breath of his own. "My God," he whispered.

Malloy wasn't prepared for the extent of the injury that he saw. He'd expected to find a bruised and cut hand, but the flesh on Jim's hand was peeled back almost to bone just beneath the knuckles, which were flattened and obviously crushed. Blood oozed fromng from the deep cut, but that wasn't the horrifying part. The horrifying part was the fingers. Jim's fingers were swollen to three times their size, and had turned a deep, angry purple. Pete could see at least two exposed bones cutting through the flesh on the fingers; one on the middle finger and one on the ring finger. The digits were so swollen Pete could only see a small sliver of Reed's wedding band. No wonder Reed was in such pain.

"Ambulance, Wells," Pete said immediately.

"No, no," Reed objected. "Don't....need one..." He could barely get the words out. "Help....me sit up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Pete put an arm around Jim's shoulders and slowly lifted him to a sitting position. Jim sucked in a breath and moaned quietly as Pete settled him back against the wall.

Wells stepped over and peered at Reed. "You don't look so good, kid," he offered, his voice light. "Why don't I go get you a ride to Central Receiving?"

"I can...go in the car."

"Jim, you can barely sit up, let alone walk all the way to the car," Pete objected. He was holding Jim by the shoulders to keep him from slumping over.

"No ambulance," Jim repeated.

Pete couldn't keep the concerned look off his face as Jim looked at him with pain-filled eyes. Malloy couldn't see very well due to the poor lighting and he didn't want to shine his light in Jim's eyes, but he could see sweat trickling down his partner's pale face. The effort just to stay conscious was costing the young man quite a bit.

"Yes or no, Malloy?" Wells asked. "Sleeping Beauty over here's about to wake up."

A mumble from the suspect confirmed Wells' analysis.

Pete sighed. "Take care of the suspect. I'll get Jim to the car somehow."

"Thanks," Jim lay his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"I've got an idea, Pete. Give me your keys and I'll move your unit up here by the entrance. That way he won't have to walk as far. Brink can keep an eye on these fellas."

"Good idea." Malloy fished in his pocket and handed over the key. "You'll need to call another unit to wait on the alarm man. There was an hours' delay."

"Okay. I'll tell Mac what's happened here."

"Thanks."

"Hey, Reed, you take it easy, now kid." Wells moved back to the suspect and hauled him to unsteady feet. "Come on, fella. We're going for a walk."

"When did...36 get here?" Jim asked as Wells led the groggy suspect away.

"You know Wells. He can't resist nosing into everyone's calls. He and Brinkman showed up just after I got all wet from tackling screaming suspect number 1."

"Sorry...I missed...that..." Jim's words were almost unintelligible.

"It wasn't pretty," Pete joked, "but I got him."

"I let...Eddie..trick me." Jim took a shuddering deep breath. "Stupid."

"Don't worry about it. It happens." Pete patted Jim lightly on the shoulder. "Just lay there and relax. Ed'll bring the car and we'll get you to Central Receiving. They'll get you something for the pain and get you all fixed up."

"Pete!" Jim jerked beneath Pete's hand and tried to sit up. His face looked panicked, but the pain his sudden move caused turned the panic to a grimace and Jim fell back, sweating and gasping for breath.

"Easy! What's wrong?"

"My....gun...find it.."

"Okay, just relax." Pete turned his maglite on again and swept the area for Jim's gun. It took him a minute, but he finally located it where it had come to rest near the far aisle. "Found it. Be right back." Pete retrieved the gun and placed it back in Jim's holster.

"Thanks," Jim breathed. "Stupid...stupid of me..."

"Forget it. These things happen sometimes. Don't worry about it right now." Pete patted his partner on the shoulder.

The only sound for a few minutes was Jim's labored breathing, then the young man spoke again."Pete?"

"Yeah?"

Jim looked down at his shattered hand, then met Pete's sympathetic gaze. "You think....think I'll... lose my fingers?"

Pete forced himself not to react to his partner's emotionally charged question. He kept his face carefully neutral, but his mind was racing to find the right words. I can't lie to him; he knows its bad. But he's so sick and scared I don't want to make it worse. Neutral ground is best.

"Jim, I have no idea. I'm not a doctor. Don't think about that possibility."

"Don't...don't let them...take my fingers."

"Jim, you're getting ahead of yourself. Just relax." Pete turned as footsteps sounded behind him in the warehouse. He saw Wells hurrying towards them. "Wells is back. You'll be on your way in a minute."

"Reed, your chariot awaits," Wells announced. He reached down, handed the keys to Pete and lowered his voice. "I pulled it right outside the door, there. Got a message to Mac...he'll meet you at Central Receiving." The short officer glanced at Reed, then back to Malloy. "He wants to know what to do about Jean."

Pete tightened his grip on Jim's shoulder. "Partner? Did you hear that?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "Not...home. 'Member?"

"That's right." Pete looked up at Ed. "Jean's out shopping with her sister. Jimmy's at the Smithson's."

"You want Mac to call your in-laws?" Ed asked.

"No..no..scare them...wait." Jim's answer was breathless as he fought the pain.

"Okay, Jim, we'll wait until we get to the hospital. You can decide once you're feeling better. You ready to try it?"

"Sssure."

"Ed, you'd better get on his other side."

"Right."

Pete positioned himself on Jim's right and Ed took the left. "Jim, we're gonna do this as easy as we can. I'm going to pick you up here on your good side, and Ed's going to pick you up by your belt on the other side. Lean on me as much as you need."

" 'Kay," Jim nodded, bracing himself for the pain that was sure to come.

"All right Ed, easy now. Let's go."

Pete pulled, Ed steadied with the belt, and they lifted Jim to his feet. The injured young man did his best not to cry out as his arm was jostled, but it turned out to be too much
for him. They had just gotten Reed upright when he gasped sharply and his knees buckled.

"Whoa! Easy, easy!" Pete tightened his grip as almost all of Jim's weight fell against him. "You okay? Jim?"

" 'M okay..." Jim straightened slowly, cradling his hand. "Let's go."

They took small, slow steps as Jim shuffled between Pete and Ed. He leaned heavily on Pete for support. By the time he got to the office door, he was shaking and breathing heavily.

"This was a bad idea, Jim," Pete scolded. "It's gonna be a long ride to Central Receiving."

"Chair," Wells called out, kicking it aside.

"Thanks," Pete turned and maneuvered Jim around it. "Almost there, partner. How you doin'?"

"Okay."

"We're at the steps, Jim," Pete announced, because he wasn't sure Jim's eyes were even open to see where he was going. "Ed, I don't think he's able to take them."

"I've got him over here," Ed assured Malloy.

They moved him down the steps as easily as possible, but Reed's legs were rubbery and every step was jarring. Pete could tell his partner was trying as hard as he could to be brave, but by the time they reached the bottom he was moaning pitifully.

"We're here, relax. You want to lay down in the back?"

Jim shook his head. "I feel sick.." He took a deep breath. "I'm gonna be sick," he announced.

Malloy and Wells barely got Jim down to his knees before he lost what little dinner he'd eaten earlier. They held him until the spasms passed, then Pete took his handkerchief and wiped the younger man's mouth.

"Better now?" he asked.

"S-sorry," Jim apologized weakly.

"It's okay. I've been there, myself."

"Everytime I get around you, Reed, you wind up throwing up," Wells complained, but his tone was good-natured.

"Take the hint, Ed," Pete joked. "Let's get him in the car."

Between the two of them, they eased Jim into the passenger side of the black-and-white and buckled his seat belt. Ed closed the door, and Jim leaned against it, his eyes closed. Pete reached over and locked the door. He picked up the mic.

"1-Adam-12, show us 10-8 to Central Receiving hospital. Transporting injured officer."

"1-Adam-12, roger," Dispatch confirmed.

"Hang on, Jim, we're on our way," Pete said as he eased out of the parking area.

Part 2