Captain Simon Banks looked up from his desk, currently cluttered in financial reports, just as the team of Ellison and Sandburg walked back into the bullpen.  He didn't say or do anything, just watched as the men walked to their desks, dropped a couple of files onto them, then headed towards his office.

Glancing at his watch, Simon noticed that it was a quarter past one in the afternoon.  Knowing that the two detectives had gone to 'lunch' just before noon, he guessed that they had run into some trouble. He dropped his watchful gaze just as Jim rapped, once, on the door and Simon let out a grunted, "Enter!"

"Captain, I can explain…" Jim started as he walked into the Captain's office, Blair fast on his heels.

Leaning back away from his disorganized desk, Simon grinned ferally and asked, " Oh really?  Let me guess, you and Sandburg lost track of time and hadn't realized that you had taken a hour and a half lunch because…  Hell, I can't even come up with a good one for that!  Sit!  Both of you!  And this had better be good!"

The partners sat down across from their commander, and just as Blair opened his mouth to begin the 'explanation,' a member of the uniformed patrol knocked on the Captain's door.

Raising a hand to halt Sandburg before he started, Simon yelled out, "Come in!"  He nailed the patrolman who opened the door with his patented 'state-your-business-and-get-out' look.  "What is it, Sgt. Goodman?"

"Sorry for the interruption, Captain, I just need Ellison and Sandburg's signatures on this report." Brigham J. Goodman held up a file so the Captain could see it, then handed it and a pen over to Ellison.  "I didn't get the chance to thank you before, Jim, but I really appreciated your help earlier."

Jim opened the file, found the report that he had to sign off on and signed it.  Handing the file and pen over to Blair, he grinned at the Sergeant crookedly.  "Not a problem, B.J.  I'm just glad we were there and no one was
hurt."

Taking the file folder back from Sandburg, Goodman responded.   "That's only because of your fast actions and Sandburg's faster mind.  Anyway, thanks again.  I'll let you know how the perp is, if you want, later?"

Blair nodded.  "That'd be nice.  I'm still having problems with how that kid was acting.  I'm not sure what he was on, but he was obviously flying high."

Simon watched as Goodman nodded in agreement and left the office, closing the door behind him.  Looking at his two men, he shook his head.  "Okay, let me guess: You walked in on a hold up in progress?"

Jim grinned and shook his head. "Not exactly, Simon."

"Nah, more like it walked in on us," Blair supplied.  "Just as we were getting set to leave The Garden Spot."

"The Garden Spot?  You actually got Jim to go there?  Voluntarily?"  Simon sat back in shock, and listened as the two men related the lunch time events to him.

Simon allowed himself a good chuckle over the story.  With the backup from Sergeant Goodman's request for a signature on a report, he knew it had to be true.  "You two aren't even back on duty for a full day before you're getting into trouble!"

Blair smiled. "Okay, so who won the bet this time?"

"What time did this 'incident' go down?"  Simon pulled a small notebook out from his desk drawer and opened it to a page near the back.

"I'm not real sure, Simon.  I was a little busy.  Chief?"  Jim looked over at his partner.

"Sorry, didn't wear my watch today."  Blair’s grin was wide.

Simon reached for his phone. "Easily taken care of."  Dialing the extension to the communications center he asked the dispatcher that answered, "Becky, Captain Banks.  There was an armed robbery called in, for the Garden Spot? Yes, the one that Ellison called in.  What time?  Okay, thanks.  No, not this time, Becky.  Maybe the next pool?  Fine."  Hanging up the phone he turned his attention to his notebook once again.
"Damn!  How does he do that?"

"Sanderson again?"  Jim asked.

"Yes.  Lucky bastard.  Got it right down to the day and minute this time." Simon took a cigar out of his humidor and began to chew on it.

Blair sat forward on his chair, "Captain?  Did I hear you right?  Becky down in dispatch got in on the pool?"

"Sandburg, she's the one that started the whole damn 'Ellison/Sandburg In The Thick Of It' betting pool."  Which was, Simon reflected, only one of the Ellison/Sandburg pools that floated around Central Precinct.  There was also: E/S Solve Crime In X-Number Of Days, E/S Which One To ER This Time, and the
on going one that no one had won yet ? Ellison or Sandburg: Who makes Captain First?  Simon had been responsible for the last one himself, and figured it was a fairly even field since Jim and Blair were both being considered by the brass for the next Lieutenant's test.  The betting in that pool was fairly heavy on Jim, but four, no five, people had placed small wagers on Blair: Taggart, Brown, Rafe, Connor and, of course, Simon himself.

The laughter that had followed Simon's revelation about the dispatcher slowed down to mere chuckles and the Captain returned his attention to the work before him.  "You two got anything pressing right now, Jim?"

"Not that I can think of.  What do you need?"

"Your partner."

"Me?  Uh, for what, Captain?"

"Your skills at handling fiscal reports."  Simon gestured at the paperwork piled on his desk.  "I need to have this year's first quarter report finalized by Wednesday and I can't even begin to think of where to start."

Seeing that Jim approved of his assisting their commander, Blair took out his glasses, got up from his seat, and leaned over the desk.  "From January to March, right?  Okay, where are…" He started fishing around the deep pile of papers.

Jim left the two men alone, knowing that his assistance wouldn't be needed. He could balance his checkbook, keep track of his personal expenditures, but handling and justifying everything from overtime pay to office supplies drove him crazy.  He'd done it, once, when Simon had been recovering from being shot by Zeller, and swore off ever having to get involved in the process again.  Heading back to his desk, he sat down and pulled out the military record of Alicia Andreson to go over again.  A thought had occurred to him at
lunch, before the incident, and he wanted to check it out.  Sure enough, there was no rank listing on her DD-214.  Highly irregular.

Alicia let herself into her apartment just after five in the evening.  Saint Gee greeted her with a loud, rapid discourse of his day's events while trying to wrap himself around her ankles.  Slowly making her way to the kitchen, she placed the grocery sacks on the counter, and whistled a three note tune while patting the countertop.  When Saint Gee responded by jumping onto the counter and padding over to his 'spot', she rewarded him with a teaspoon of kitty treats and a good ear rubbing.  After he finished his snack, she snapped her fingers, once, and when he leapt down, she dropped to her knees and gave him a good back scratching.

"You're such a clever boy, Gee.  Now, can you behave yourself while I get dinner ready?"  His purring motor went into overdrive and he walked over to the sofa in the living room, jumped up onto it and settled onto 'his' pillow.  "Thank you."  Removing a bag of charcoal from one of the grocery sacks, she walked out onto the balcony, loaded up the smoker and fired it up.  After making sure the coals fully caught fire, she returned to the kitchen and set about getting dinner for herself and Gee.

She had just set the three large salmon to smoking when her phone rang. Picking up the cordless from its place by her computer, she answered, "Hello?"

"Alicia, Hiram.  Arrangements have been made.  You'll fly out of Tacoma, on Wednesday at six a.m., arrive at Las Vegas at approximately nine a.m. and be escorted to the facility."

Letting out an exhausted sigh, she sat down at her computer desk.  "Hiram, I know the routine.  Remember?  Have the facility coordinators gotten back with you about the items I requested?"

"Yes.  They assure me that if they don't already have them on hand, they will in time for your arrival."

"Good.  Okay, I have to finish my dinner, start packing and look for someone to watch my kitty for me."

Hiram laughed over the phone line.  "You and your animals!  One day, you'll run across one that won't take to you."

Feeling a pressure on her left leg, Alicia bent over, picked up Saint Gee and placed him in her lap.  "Hasn't happened yet."

"I have more information on that other matter I told you about earlier."

When they had talked that morning, Hiram had informed her that someone had been running a typical background check on her.  She'd asked if he could dig up whom.  "You got a name for me?"

"Not yet, but the check is being run through the Cascade Police Department. Have you gotten into something that I should know about?"

"No."  At least she didn't think so.

"You assured me that there is nothing in your past that I need to worry about, right?"

Alicia chortled, "Nothing.  Look, should they manage to get a hold of my service records, they'll find nothing of interest."

"Good.  Well, I shall let you be about your business.  See you at the Grand Opening."

Hearing the connection terminate, she hung up the phone.  Sitting back in her straight back chair, stroking Saint Gee's silky fur, she thought back to the only event that could possibly have the police interested in her.  "I know that I was careful.  There is no way that they could have identified me off that letter."

She shook off the speculation, enticed her cat to jump down off her lap, then headed out the kitchen to prepare the solution to put in the smoker's steam pan: a combination of a dry white wine, fresh rosemary and thyme and a white Worcestershire sauce.  Seeing that it was taken care of, she went into her bedroom and changed into her normal 'biking' wear.  Wheeling her mountain bike out of the apartment, letting Saint Gee out to roam, she set off to burn off some excess energy.  She was just building up a good speed on Prospect Ave. when she passed a familiar blue and white pick up.

Blair looked up from the paperwork he was reading over, Jim had brought the files on Alicia home with them, just as their neighbor flew by them on her mountain bike.  "Whew!  She's booking it!"

"Thought she only rode in the mornings?  Or does she fly past us while we're running just for the fun of it?"  Jim pulled into the parking area of their building, parking next to the Subaru.  He'd caught a glimpse of the vehicle's tag as he pulled in.  It was a personalized plate, Tyler-1.  He filed the information away to run through the DMV files in the morning.

"That's what she told me.  Maybe she had a bad day at work?"  Blair closed the files and hopped out of the truck.

Following his roommate, Jim had to agree with him.  "Maybe."  The gentle breeze that had been blowing in from the harbor died then switched directions, causing him to sneeze.  "Damn!  Perm day in the salon, again."

Blair laughed. " Okay, you know the routine, Jim."  He placed his hand on the small of the other man's back, gently rubbing in a circular motion. "Turn the dial back to a one and leave it there until just before you go to bed.  Got it?"  The sentinel nodded.  "Good. The fumes should be gone by then."  They headed up the stairs, only to be greeted by Saint Gee with what was becoming a 'normal' routine.  Every time the little cat spotted Jim, he'd fly into a snarling, hissing fit and either take off in flight, or plaster himself to a wall to avoid the tall detective.

This time, the cat stood his ground on the second floor landing and just hissed when Jim passed him.  Looking down at the kitten, Jim voiced his thoughts. "You know, I was here first, fur ball.  Get over it."  And he
walked by the cat and on up the stairs to the third floor.

Watching in amazement, Blair's jaw dropped as Saint Gee quit his hissing, sat down on his haunches and went about smoothing his fur back down along his spine. Keeping a close eye on Jim as he walked up the stairs.  Looking down at the black kitten when it was his turn to pass him, he spoke to the cat. "He's right, Saint Gee."  Blair was rewarded with a plaintive 'mmrrreow' and a flip of the tail tip as Saint Gee stood up and walked past him to continue his trip on the stairs.

When he entered the loft, Jim was already in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator.  Walking over to the dining table, Blair dropped the files and wandered back towards the bathroom.  When he returned to the kitchen, Jim had started dinner: spaghetti from the looks of things.  As he pulled a bottle of fruit juice out of the fridge, he recalled Alicia's invitation.

"Hey, Jim?  When I took the fish down to Alicia, she invited us to dinner." His roommate's head snapped up from checking the sauce and Blair clarified his remarks. " Tomorrow night.  I took it upon myself to answer for both of us.  You interested?"

Carefully laying his large spoon on the plate he'd placed on the stovetop, Jim thought about the offer.  It would give him a chance to learn a little bit more about their neighbor, seeing her in her natural environment.
Providing that her kitten decided to behave itself.  "Sure, Chief.  Might be interesting."

The glint in the depths of the sentinel's blue eyes didn't fool the shaman for a minute.  "Jim, we're going to be there as neighbors, friends.  You will not use the opportunity to interrogate Alicia."

The strength of Blair's conviction came through to him loud and clear, he nodded in response and shrugged.  "Okay, I'll behave myself."  He picked up the spoon to stir the tomato sauce again, then used it as a baton as he continued his thoughts. "But don't blame me when it turns out she's some kind of mass murderer with a rap sheet as long as she is tall."  Jim grinned impishly as he said it, hoping that his guide would catch on.

Nearly choking on his drink, Blair spluttered.  "What?  No way!"

"I don't know, Chief.   You never can tell these days…" He grabbed up the pot with the boiling noodles and carried it over to the sink where he drained it into a colander.

Regaining his composure, Blair retorted.  "You're right, Jim.  You might want to run all our neighbors through the system.  Including Mrs. Catropa.  After all, she might be a retired 'hitwoman' from the mob. She did move out here from Chicago you know."  Hearing Jim break into laughter was enough of a reward.  Taking his juice, he walked back over to the table, cleared the files and began to set out the dinner utensils.

They were relaxing on the balcony after dinner, taking advantage of the mild weather, drinking a couple of beers when Jim decided to try bringing his nose 'back on line.'  The fumes from the beauty salon had faded, only to be replaced with a far more appealing aroma.  Leaning a bit further out over the railing, he spotted the smoker on the balcony below, tendrils of smoke escaping from around the closed top.  "Hmm, that's nice.  Much nicer than the perm fumes."

Not wanting to lean over the railing, Blair took a couple of experimental sniffs then inhaled deeply as the fragrant smoke drifted up past his position.  "That's got to be dinner for tomorrow night.  Alicia said she liked her salmon smoked."  Seeing an opportunity to get some discreet 'testing' in, Blair asked, "So, can you tell me?  What she's using to smoke with?"  Testing was no longer needed for his thesis, but this would also
serve as a form of 'sentinel senses' exercise, to help Jim maintain his control.

Knowing what his friend was up to, but no longer as touchy about it, Jim inhaled.  He, too, wanted to know what Alicia was using; the smell was fantastic.  "Hickory, I think.  And some kind of herbs.  Rosemary possibly.
Can't tell what the other one is, and some kind of alcohol.  But not beer, lighter, a little sweet but not too much."  Opening his eyes, not realizing that he'd closed them, Jim looked over at his friend.  "Well?"

Smiling, Blair held up his hand.  The gentle off shore breeze blew more smoke his way and he closed his own eyes as he dragged in another breath.  Many years of cooking with, and using herbs for medicinal purposes, had given him a good working knowledge of most herbs.  "Thyme.  She's using thyme.  If it tastes half as good as it smells, I may just have to wheedle the recipe out of her."

They laughed for a while, relaxing fully as the sun set in the west.  Once the sun had fully disappeared, they went back inside.  As he scooted past the stack of files, Blair picked up the one containing Alicia's passport record. He carried it with him over to the couch, wanting to see just how many places his latest friend had traveled to.  The first entry was when she arrived in Germany for assignment to Ramstein AFB, back in 1988.  Then he noticed just how many times she had entered other countries in the past two and a half years.  Counting, he came up with 19 different countries, with most visited three or four times, for a total of 42 entries on her passport.

Looking over at Jim who was reading another file at the table, he commented. "Jim, do you think that Alicia flies commercial aircraft?  Or does her company, this Hallstatt Trust International, fly her around
in private?"

Bringing his gaze to rest on his partner, Jim answered, "I have no idea, Junior.  Why?"

Removing his eyeglasses, he maintained eye contact with his friend.  "'Cause, if she flies commercial, I'm willing to bet that the airlines had to 'buy back' a great many of their frequent flyer miles from her." He stood up, carrying the file over to the table and laying it down in front of Jim.  "Look, she's done more international travel since she left the military than she did when she was in.  Only two of the entries here are from when she was in the Air Force, and both of those were to mark her entry into Germany."  Picking up a pad of scratch paper, Blair started to work on a mathematical problem.

Watching Blair jot numbers down, Jim tried to follow what the younger man was doing, but math had never been his strong suit in school.  Finally, he asked, "Chief, what are you doing?"

"Just a second."  Blair finished up his calculations, then dropped his pen back onto the table.  "Damn.  If I've got this figured right, she was traveling, entering a different country, something like every six weeks.  All in the past two and a half years!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim tried to clear his thoughts and connect with his partner's train of thought.  "So?"

"Jim, if she is a insurance investigator, she sure traveled around a lot! And most of it in Europe.  What kind of company works their people like that?"  That question set the two of them to digging.  Blair hooked up his
laptop computer and, accessing the Internet, tried to dig up information on Hallstatt Trust International, Inc.   Jim decided to see what more he could dig up on the woman in question, running her car tags through DMV, which returned to Hallstatt Trust International, Inc. with a Rhode Island address.

As the evening turned to night and the deeper the two detectives dug, the more confused they became.

Webmaster: PJ Browning