A Little Fault's a Bitter Sting by Fox -------- Back to Part 2 SVS2-07: A Little Fault's a Bitter Sting by Fox, Part 3 -------- "What are they saying?" Blair poked Jim in the ribs. "Anything interesting? I can't believe they didn't let us do it. It's fun watching you do your Bad Cop thing." "Just keep your eyes open. The guy could turn up any minute," Jim said. "Rafe's Bad Cop is plenty amusing. And it wasn't our turn." "What are they expecting to get from her?" "Oh, gee, I don't know, Mr. Importance of Secondary Sources," Jim retorted, poking Blair back and grinning. "Maybe Mrs. Landry's impression of her husband's attitude and outlook might just be the tiniest bit helpful, you think?" "If we're interested in the effect his attitude has on her life and experience, maybe," Blair said with a smile. "Otherwise, it's biased. I'd much rather talk to -- here he comes. This is him." A blue station wagon had passed the spot where they were waiting in the truck and was about to pull into the Landrys' driveway in the middle of the block. Jim was out of the truck and approaching the car before the driver had even turned off the engine. "Detective Ellison, Cascade PD," he was saying as Blair caught up to him. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind, sir. What can you tell us about your military service?" "Um... I -- I served in Vietnam," Landry said. "Can we go inside? I've --" "In a minute. Did you volunteer to go to Vietnam, or were you drafted?" "I was drafted while I was still deciding whether to volunteer. What's --" "So you were a regular foot soldier." "Yes. What's this about?" "Are you a member of the Cascade Veterans League, Mr. Landry?" Landry pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "As a matter of fact, I'm not," he said. "And before I answer any more questions, I'm going to have to insist that you tell me what's going on here." "Why aren't you a member of the CVL, sir? Do you have particular problems with that organization?" "Look, I said I --" "Okay, time out," Blair said, going into his Good Cop routine. "Simmer down a little, there, Jim," he added, giving Jim a little push on the arm. Jim's eyes were blazing, and his nostrils flared, and Blair knew this was mostly for Landry's benefit. He allowed himself a little chuckle. "Mr. Landry, we're just investigating some trouble the CVL's been having, and we wanted to talk to you because we heard sometimes you weren't so enamored of them, is all. Can you help us out?" "What kind of trouble?" "Well, we can't really discuss the details of our investigation. But let's step inside, huh? You look a little chilly." Landry led them into the house; Blair glanced at Jim, who cocked his head for a second and then gave a minute nod toward a closed door. Rafe and Brown must have had Mrs. Landry talking in the den. No problem. They steered Mr. Landry toward the living room. "You had issues with the CVL, Mr. Landry?" Blair prompted again. "Sure, I had issues with them. When I was a member, those guys were caught in some kind of propaganda reel. You know, like you used to see in school -- duck and cover? Nah, you're probably too young. Both of you. Dammit." He puffed air through his cheeks before continuing. "Anyway. Very much an us-against-them attitude, I felt, down at CVL, with 'them' being the rest of the known world, it sometimes seemed. No admission that the army might not always be right, much less that they could ever have done anything wrong." "Well, that would have to be the official position of the League, wouldn't it, sir?" Blair said gently. "They market themselves as a group for patriots in uniform -- we can't really expect them to equivocate." "I'm very, very proud to have served my country," Landry said. "But I'm appalled at some of the things I know the soldiers do. Yeah, a lot of the time they're acting on their own, but the army shouldn't allow that any more than it allows bad orders. And I always thought the responsible thing to do, as a veteran, was to call on the army to behave itself a little better -- and not too many people saw it that way." "That sounds like a complaint with the Armed Forces," said Jim. "Not with the CVL." "Tomato, tomahto," Landry said, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't know about those other groups -- I was never a member of the VFW, didn't like their membership pledge declaration or whatever it is -- so I don't know what they do, but the CVL is really not a lot more than a bunch of guys in denial about getting old. They lobby and campaign on their own behalf, not for the benefit of veterans who might need their help, and they don't hold themselves or the army to any standards worth mentioning. But just try to speak unfavorably about them -- hell, try to speak just not favorably, try to name them without singing their praises -- in, you know, the press, or a civics class, or what have you. They'll be on your back and threatening libel suits before you can say equal time." Blair glanced at Jim. Jim raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly. "You don't seem shy about speaking your mind, Mr. Landry," Blair said. "Should we expect a call from a CVL representative?" Landry scoffed. "Pssht. Probably. It's certainly no secret that I don't think much of that organization. Seems like every time I hear them complain about divisiveness in the veterans community, my name's right up front." He grinned. "I'm going to have a team shirt made. Whipping Boys. With my name across the shoulders." Jim smiled. Blair could see his jaw muscle tense, and knew it would start jumping any second. Something had tripped a wire in his head -- Blair started flipping through his notes. "Number One, huh?" Jim said conversationally. Landry sobered immediately. "Not at all. If anybody's Whipping Boy Number One, for the veterans in this town, I mean, it's Jerry Brandt." Blair could have smacked himself upside the head. Damn it. Damn Andrew Davis. He thought about breaking his pencil, settled for biting his tongue, and flipped back to the page in his notebook where he was recording the salient details of this interview. 'B.L. as unpop. @ CVL as J.B.,' he scrawled. "Yeah, we'd heard that," Jim agreed. "You know if he's as vocally opposed to the outfit as you are?" Blair stared at Jim -- set professionalism aside for a second and just gaped. Take your concern about Jim's objectivity and eat it, Simon, he thought. He knew it had to be killing Jim to even ask the question, but here was an independent source naming Brandt, unsolicited, as the guy CVL beat up on the most. The fact that the animosity between Brandt and the CVL was public knowledge threw a little suspicion back Brandt's way -- and here was Jim probing that angle. Blair ruthlessly quashed the inclination to rub Jim's back in reassurance; professionalism was back in its seat. He bit his lip. "Nah, not at all," Landry was saying, thank god. "They don't like me because I could be a member and won't. I've turned my back on them. They don't like Jerry because -- well, if you've heard, you know exactly why they don't like Jerry. They wouldn't take him even if he wanted to be a member." Jim scratched the back of his neck and folded his arms. "Mr. Landry, can you --" his cell phone rang. "I'm sorry. Can you give us just a moment, please. Ellison." He turned away to take the call. Blair smiled pleasantly at Landry. "These pictures of your kids?" he asked, nodding toward the mantelpiece. "Nice looking family." The most recent photograph, it appeared, showed Landry and his wife with two teenaged girls and a boy who could have been about nine. The picture was about ten years old, judging from the daughters' hairstyles. "This the last one? Been a while." "That was the year Wendy went away to college," Landry said absently. "We've never managed to have a family picture taken since then. Seems sort of -- I don't know, anyway, since the girls aren't at home any more." "Your son still lives at home?" Blair said, furiously making mental notes so he could keep up the pretense of casual conversation. "He lives in the dorm at the university, but he comes home all the time," Landry said. "Connie won't do the laundry for him, but she will let him use the machine without taking away all his quarters." Blair laughed on the cue, and Jim came back from his phone call just in time for Mrs. Landry to hurry into the room, followed by Rafe and Brown. "Well, great," Jim said. "I'm glad everyone's all together for this. Mr. Landry, I've just spoken to our people at the station, and they tell me there was a six-minute call from your house to the Cascade Veterans League a little before ten on Wednesday morning." "Well, that can't be right," Landry said. "We were both at work Wednesday morning." "That phone call was a bomb threat, sir," Rafe said. "I suggest you consider very carefully whether or not you want to do this the hard way." "Wait -- but who are --" "Detective Rafe. Detective Brown. Cascade PD. We're going to need to take a look around. Ma'am?" The Landrys exchanged a communicative glance. "Perhaps you'd better come back when you have a warrant," Mrs. Landry said. "Why? You hiding something?" Rafe asked. "You know we'll leave Detective Ellison here while we go get the warrant, so it's not like you'll be able to get rid of --" "What does your son study, Mr. Landry?" Blair asked suddenly. "I beg your pardon?" "Your son. He goes to Rainier? What does he study there?" "Physics," Landry said. "But what does that have to --" "And he's in his... second year?" "That's right." "So I expect he's taking a lot of chemistry, too, huh?" Blair pressed. Jim snapped his fingers. "This'll be his first semester of organic, if it's still the same setup as my science-major friends had when I was there. How's he like that?" "We get it, Chief. Rafe, Brown, go get the warrant. Make sure it specifies the whole house, including the kids' rooms. Dot those i's you were talking about." They nodded and ran out to Brown's car. "And pick up Andrew Davis again, while you're at it," he called after them. Jim pulled out his cell phone again -- to call Simon, Blair guessed, and tell him Rafe and Brown were on their way. "Excuse me -- we don't 'get it,'" Landry said. "You think our son threatened to -- no. That's just not possible." "Thanks, Simon," Jim said, hanging up. "Actually, sir, it is possible -- in fact, it's probable, and the detectives will be back with the warrant in about fifteen minutes. Meantime, can you tell us when was the last time you spoke to your son?" -------- Kevin Landry had called home Tuesday evening, and they'd had what his father had thought at the time was a casual conversation about politics, military service, social responsibility -- the sort of thing, he insisted, that you chat about with your college-age son. There was a history requirement at Rainier, even for science students; the kid was just talking about things that came up in his reading. When Jim and Blair searched his room, however, pursuant to the warrant brought back by Rafe and Brown, they found pages and pages of handwritten rants about the military in general and the Cascade Veterans League in particular; it seemed to be substantially the same harangue over and over again -- many drafts of some sort of editorial, apparently. They found printouts of news articles on assorted misbehaviors of the CVL and the Rainier University ROTC. They found one or two articles on Jerry Brandt's expulsion from the VFW. All this devastated his parents, but just the same, while Blair and Jim made sympathetic noises on one side of the room, Rafe was on his cell phone on the other side, telling Connor and Ramos to get to the university and arrest Kevin Landry pronto. Rafe and Brown went back to the station, but Jim and Blair headed back to Rainier and met Connor and Ramos coming out of Kevin Landry's dorm. "Roommate says he hasn't seen him since Monday," Megan told them. "And his last class of the week was this morning. No idea where to find this kid." The four of them stood on the sidewalk, watching the university rev up for the weekend. Three girls passed by with rolls of tape around their wrists and stacks of fliers in their arms. "Sandburg," Jim said, eyes narrowing as he thought out loud. "I know you don't know this kid personally, but isn't it possible you know someone who does?" "I'm thinking, I'm thinking," said Blair. "Argh. Hard science. This is not a social bunch, man." He chewed on his thumbnail. The three girls had begun taping their fliers to the backs of benches and the trunks of trees. Blair looked sharply at Jim. The expression on Jim's face was molten and unmistakable, and Blair belatedly realized he was sucking on the tip of his thumb. He could feel Jim's gaze on his lips, and hastily tucked his thumb into a fist and stuck his hand in his pocket. "The student activities office," he said. "Come again?" Megan asked. "Student activities," Blair repeated. "They ought to have membership lists of all the university clubs and things. This way." He took off toward the administrative building. Jim fell in at his side, with Megan following and Ramos behind her. "That wasn't nice," Jim growled, brushing Blair's shoulder with his as they walked. "Sorry about that," Blair whispered back. "Subconscious." "Aren't you always telling me about the subconscious and repressed desires?" "I am hardly repressed, man," Blair grinned. "But yes. I'm sure my subconscious is trying to tell me something. Both of us, probably." "I'm listening." God, it was like he could feel the heat of Jim's breath on his ear even from here -- which was patently ridiculous, as Jim had merely turned his head to speak to Blair, but not leaned in closer at all. Maybe he was getting sympathetically heightened senses, Blair thought. Hadn't he once had back pain at the same time that girlfriend of his was having cramps? Of course, his aches had continued far longer than hers, and she'd advanced the idea that he ought to replace his mattress, but still. "Later," he whispered. "Work." "You let me know when later rolls around, Chief," Jim murmured, holding the door to the admin building open and ushering Blair, Megan, and Ramos through. "Hi there," Blair said, ignoring Jim and smiling brightly at the student behind the front desk. "You know who we can talk to about student organizations?" "Depends what you need to know," said the kid, profoundly unhappy to be at work on a Friday afternoon. "Just looking for what clubs a guy might belong to," Blair said. "You have membership lists?" "Um... not really," the kid said. "I have a master list of all the official university clubs and stuff, but they keep their own membership information. We have numbers somewhere, for like statistical stuff -- so we can say X percent of students participate in extracurriculars -- but no names." Blair heard the others getting frustrated behind him. "Well, maybe you can help us out. You know a kid named Landry? Kevin? Sophomore, physics major... this ringing any bells?" The kid knit her brow and looked hard at a spot in the middle distance. "Landry... Landry... I feel like I know that name. I don't know the guy, but -- maybe I've seen it? The newspaper, that's it. He writes for the paper." "You can give us the names of the paper's staff, right? Or a faculty adviser?" The kid punched a few keys and handed them a printout. "Thank you very much," Blair said, and the little group turned and headed out again. "This running around campus is getting to be a drag," Ramos grumbled as they filed into the empty newspaper office. "I think the students feel the same way," Blair said absently. "Jeez, this place is a hole. How can they work with all this -- Jim, you okay?" Jim had stopped for a moment at the door, but was now shaking his head and moving toward a large cork board on which were tacked sections of a few editorial pages; three candy bar wrappers declaring that they were not winning game pieces; a beat-up baseball cap and a hastily hand-lettered sign reading 'CAP OF GOOD HOPE (for emergency use after 2 am)'; a series of charts showing topics and the writers who had been assigned them; several photographs of young people, presumably the paper's staff, in various stages of inebriation; and another hand-lettered sign, hanging sideways, that said 'If you can read this, you fell asleep at your desk again. Go home.' Around the room were mangled copies of previous editions; typed drafts of articles with four colors of editing markups; pizza boxes and coffee cups, the age of whose contents was indeterminable; black and white eight-by-ten photographs with editorial doodles in black ink; and a large 'NO SMOKING' sign over the window, with the handwritten addition of an arrow pointing to the window itself and the words 'THE WORLD IS YOUR ASHTRAY.' "It cannot have been this long since I was an undergraduate," Jim said. "You were never this kind of undergrad, Jim," Blair assured him. "Come on. Here by the phone -- a contact list. Let's see if we can find someone who --" "Excuse me," said a student, coming in with a hot pizza and two six-packs of Coke. "Um, can I help you with something?" Then his face brightened in recognition. "Hey, wait, I know you from somewhere," he said, putting his dinner down. "I've seen you. Yeah! You're the phony grad student, right?" Blair sighed. "Close enough. Listen, we're here to --" The kid turned to Jim. "Whoa, and that would make you --" "We're trying to find one of your reporters," Megan interrupted, widening her eyes and putting a little pout in her voice. "We've looked every place we can think of, but we just can't seem to find him anywhere. Maybe you'll be able to help us out?" She lowered her chin so she could look at the kid through her eyelashes. "We'd really appreciate it. Kevin Landry?" The kid sat heavily in a chair. "Huh. That's about the weirdest thing I've heard all day." He popped the top on one of his cans of soda and took a long swallow. "I'm Kevin Landry." Blair took a step back. He looked at Ramos; he looked at Megan; he looked at Jim. Jim looked at him, with an expression on his face that seemed to say he didn't quite believe it could be that simple. It had sure never been that simple before, at any rate. "Seriously?" Blair asked. "Yeah," the kid replied, with the tone of one assuming every kind of intellectual superiority over everyone else present. "That'd make you the Scarecrow, I guess," he went on, nodding to Blair. "We got a Tin Man and a Lion and a Dorothy --" Jim, Ramos, and Megan, respectively. "Nice. What can I do for you?" "You can quit trying to be so cute," Jim said, pulling Kevin to his feet by one elbow. "Kevin Landry, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at no charge. Do you understand?" Kevin set his jaw and nodded. "Good. Come on downtown with us. We need to have a little talk." -------- "Listen. Kevin. I know where you're coming from, man." Sandburg sat backwards in a chair in the interrogation room and spread his hands out in front of him. "There's a lot of things about a lot of institutions that need to change. But threatening them isn't the way to go about it. I mean, you say you'll beat a guy up if he doesn't apologize to you, and how sincere is the apology you get from that?" Kevin Landry looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. Sandburg hung his head in exasperation. "Look, buddy, at this point we care less about locking you up than we do about nothing blowing up tomorrow morning, okay? I just need you to tell me where you've planted your explosives, and I'm sure we can work something out with the DA. We just don't want anybody to get hurt." Kevin didn't answer him. Outside the interrogation room, Jim turned to Simon. "I believe that's my cue," he said. "Break a leg," Simon nodded. Jim reached for the doorknob. "Jim," Simon said sharply. "Yes?" "Figure of speech. Please don't break the kid's leg." Jim grinned. "Aw, sir. You never let me have any fun." He scowled, opened the door roughly, and banged it closed behind him. "Okay, kid, listen up," he snarled. "My partner here has been pretty nice to you, and given you a couple of chances to turn yourself in and avoid spending actual time in an actual jail, and for some reason you haven't taken him up on those offers. Why's that?" Kevin looked steadily at Jim. "I have the right to remain silent," he said. "Do you want a lawyer? Is that what it's going to take to get you to talk? Because I promise you, Boy Wonder, we're going to get some answers out of you one way or another. We know all about how highly you esteem the Cascade Veterans League, pal, and we have documentation in your handwriting to prove it." "I have the right to remain silent." "We also know all about your harassment of the ROTC kids at Rainier. Some of our other detectives are taking their statements right now. Those'll go into evidence to show your propensity to violence. Know what that means? Less chance your parole'll be approved." Jim stalked around the table and leaned against the wall behind Kevin, where the kid would have to twist in his seat to see him. He didn't twist, though; he folded his hands on the table and looked at them. "I have the right to remain silent." "Yeah, you do. And that's okay. 'Cause we've got our bomb guys hunting around, and they'll find anything you've planted and have it defused way before the parade tomorrow. Probably about done with it already, actually." Jim wandered back around the table and sat next to Sandburg. "I mean, how hard can it be -- they're a professional bomb squad, and you're a nineteen-year-old kid with a chip on his shoulder." That earned him a glare. Sandburg nudged him under the table with his knee to keep going. "You thought the CVL was going to knuckle under and humiliate itself in public for that? For a disaffected college student? You don't know anything about military service, junior. Why should anybody listen to you?" "It's not just me," Kevin muttered. "What's that?" Sandburg asked. "I'm not just thinking of myself, the way they are," Kevin said. "I want them to admit they're wrong. I do know. They're a bunch of self-centered pricks who smear other people's names for their own benefit." "Like your dad?" Sandburg said gently. Kevin nodded. "My dad, and lots of other people. Like you, right?" he said, looking at Jim. "I know you're not in it. I have their membership rolls. Is it because they left you for dead for a year and a half and then wanted to appropriate your name and your struggle for their own purposes of --" "We're not here to talk about me, Kevin," Jim said, standing up. "You really want to live with the death and injury of hundreds of people on your head for the rest of your life? You have got to tell us where the bombs are right now." "Therarnnyboms," Kevin mumbled. "I beg your pardon?" "There aren't any bombs." He coughed. "I was going to plant them in the middle of the night, after I figured you would have done your thing and decided the places were clean." All Kevin's right-to-remain-silent bravado was gone; he had looked scared and angry for a few minutes, but now he was just miserable. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought if I held out long enough maybe they'd give in and make the public apologies tomorrow anyway. If they were afraid I might blow something up. Since I was the only person who knew I wouldn't." He sat back in his chair, defeated. "They wouldn't have hurt too many people, anyway. They weren't going to have nails in them or anything. It was just supposed to look impressive and scare them. Damage their buildings -- fire, smoke damage, rewiring, some structural stuff." "Okay." Sandburg smacked the table with his hand and stood up, turning the chair back around. "We're going to have someone come in and take your statement, Kevin, and talk to our captain about the charge. We can't let you just walk away from this. You understand?" Kevin nodded. "You want a soda or anything?" Kevin shook his head. "All right. Hang out here for a little bit." Jim shut the door behind Sandburg when they were both back in the hall with Simon, and all three of them looked through the one-way glass at Kevin Landry, elbows on the table, head in his hands. "Nothing like misguided youth," Simon said, twisting his cigar in his fingers. "Rafe and Brown have been chatting with Colonel Davis while you've been babysitting." "Yeah? Did the sonofa --" "They got a DA in the room who managed to get the guy to plead to obstruction of justice," Simon said. "I'm still not sure how. I guess he told his people not to mention Landry to you two yesterday -- he was sure we'd be able to get rid of any bombs so nobody would be in danger, and he took the opportunity to try to nail Brandt. So there was some talk of what the charges would be like if his railroading turned out to be the proximate cause of casualties in the event something did blow up tomorrow because we didn't get around to the Landry kid in time. It was all very persuasive and I got about every third word of it. But Davis swallowed it like nobody's business. Signed the paper and took a hundred hours of community service -- and his work with the CVL doesn't count." "Who is this DA?" Jim burst out. "If we have lawyers like that representing the people in this town, why the hell aren't more criminals in jail?" "Supply and demand, my friend," Sandburg said, squeezing his arm. "Listen, here's something that just occurred to me. If this thing is in the bag, there's still time to get a piece about it in tomorrow morning's paper, right? Plot to disrupt Veterans Day Parade thwarted -- so the hook is oh, someone was threatening the CVL, but the substance is a rational bomb-free presentation of the actual complaints Landry has against them. 'Cause it made a ton of sense, Simon, the way Landry senior was talking about it before. It's just when you take the step of starting to plant bombs that you start losing your audience." "Sandburg, we're the police. We can't go calling reporters and giving them stories like that." "You're the police. I, on the other hand, am still a civilian consultant. And, and, and," Sandburg went on hastily, when Simon took a deep breath that he probably planned to exhale at high volume, "as such, I can casually mention to Kevin Landry, when Connor goes back to take his statement, that this would make an interesting feature in tomorrow's Herald if he got the call in soon enough? He writes for the school paper, Simon -- he must know one or two people in the business." Simon looked hard at Sandburg for a minute, then covered his eyes and pinched his temples between his thumb and middle finger. "Just get back in there and do your job, Sandburg," he said. "Can I point the kid toward --" "Did you hear me answer that question?" "Uh... no, sir." "That's right. Now go." Sandburg grinned and hurried back to the interrogation room. "So," Jim said, as he and Simon walked back to Simon's office. "Case closed, right?" "Good work, Ellison," Simon nodded. "So you won't need us tomorrow, will you." Simon turned to look at him. "Jim --" "We can actually leave town, if that would make it easier for you." "What would make it easier for me," Simon said, closing his office door, "would be if you two would just agree to march in the damn parade. I just don't think it needs to be as big a deal as you're making it." "I don't want to make it any deal at all, Simon --" "Jim. It's Veterans Day. It's a Veterans Day parade. It's not a VFW parade, or a CVL parade, or a US Army parade, or anything affiliated with anything except the city. And you are a veteran. You're a veteran who works for the city. Your appearing in the parade tomorrow won't be seen as endorsement of any group or any policy or belief. Your not appearing in the parade tomorrow will be seen as a number of things." Jim leaned against the vent by the window. "I think you're mistaken," he said. "I think my marching will be seen as endorsement of the VFW, precisely because I'm a veteran. I can either be Ellison the veteran who's a cop or Ellison the cop who's a veteran, but not just Ellison who works for the city like everybody else." "I'm sorry," Simon said, exhausted but not insincere. "I really am. But it's too late for that now. If you and Sandburg choose not to turn up tomorrow, you'll be on your own. I can't go to bat for you on this one." Jim looked at Simon for a moment and tapped his finger against his knee. "Okay then." He stood up straight and went to the door. "Thanks. See ya." "Jim." Jim stopped halfway through the door; Simon was seated on the corner of his desk. "Will we see you tomorrow?" Jim looked out to the bullpen; Sandburg had just returned. "Good night, Simon," Jim said, and closed the door behind him. "We outta here, Jim?" Sandburg asked, unnecessarily, grabbing his coat and following Jim to the elevator. "Megan's taking Kevin's statement. I don't figure she'll have any trouble getting the whole truth out of him. And I mentioned the thing about the newspaper, just casually, you know, and I think he took the hint. So that ought to be all set. What's up?" Three more people had gotten on the elevator at the fourth floor. "We'll talk about it in the car," Jim said, trying not to sound too much like a parent whose kid had just made a spectacle of himself. "Oookay." Sandburg stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, and kept quiet until he was in the truck with his seatbelt fastened. "You were saying?" "We have to decide if we're going to march tomorrow or not," Jim said, pulling toward the garage exit. "Didn't Simon say he needs us?" "He would have needed us, if we hadn't cracked this thing and booked the Landry kid." "Oh. So aren't we, ah, out of town?" Sandburg grinned and raised his eyebrows twice; Jim took a silent moment to be glad he'd never been prone to air quotes. "It's too late for that, apparently. Since we only closed the case just now, we're obviously not out of town." "But we could be! We could be on our way to the mountains right now. The mayor doesn't know we're not. Didn't Simon say he wouldn't call us back?" "He says he can't force us to go, but it's between us and the mayor's office." "Man." "Yeah." Sandburg sat quietly for several blocks; when Jim parked the truck, he got out and closed and locked the passenger-side door almost mechanically. "Jim," he said, "the guy, whatshisname, who gave us Landry -- he's not a member of CVL either, is he?" "I don't know. I guess maybe not." Jim hit the button for the elevator and cocked his head in thought. "I don't think Rafe and Brown said. They talked to a few different people, though." "Right, right, but remember how Landry talked -- it didn't sound like he was the only guy who wasn't pleased with the organization. So there might be a handful of people who aren't too excited about marching in the parade tomorrow and appearing to support these organizations in particular, as opposed to veterans in general." "What's your point, Chief?" Jim asked as Sandburg unlocked the loft door. "Lemme make a couple of calls. Is Landry in the book?" -------- "Ellison. Sandburg. Glad you could join us." The Major Crime gang, all in uniform with the exception of Megan and Blair, gathered at the corner of 12th and Park, at the north end of the parade route. "We're actually just here to say good morning, Simon," Blair said, holding his sunglasses between his teeth as he pulled back his hair. "Everybody feeling good, now that the pressure's off?" "What do you mean?" Megan asked. "You're not leaving now you've been here, are you?" "Nah." Jim slid his hands into his pockets. "We're meeting some people in a few minutes." "To be scrupulously correct," Blair added, putting his sunglasses back on and wrapping his scarf tightly, "Jim is meeting some people. I'm here to march with you guys, actually. Who has some coffee for me?" "What's going on, Ellison?" Brown asked. "Some things Simon said clicked when we got home last night," Jim explained. "Seems I'm here simply as a veteran, not endorsing any particular group or organization. So Sandburg called around and rustled up some other veterans who don't care to endorse any particular group, and we're going to march together." "As a group." Megan grinned. "Laugh it up, Connor," Jim said, poking her with his elbow. "We're the most unorganized group here. Just a bunch of orphan vets." "Here comes some of your posse, Jim," Blair said. Coming up the block was a cluster of men in dark business suits; a few had flag lapel pins, but mostly they were unadorned. Besides Ben Landry, there were seven or eight guys Blair didn't recognize. Right on their heels were three women he'd talked into appearing, and just a few minutes later Jerry Brandt turned up with a group of six men and women behind him. "This isn't a bad idea, Ellison," Simon said as the parade organizers started to call to the assembled public servants through megaphones. "I knew you'd come up with something when I spoke to you yesterday evening." "Did you, sir?" Jim said, eyebrow raised good-naturedly. "Absolutely. Management skills and motivation. That's why they pay me the big bucks." Simon grinned around his cigar and clapped Jim on the shoulder. "See you later." "See you later," Jim nodded. "Have fun without me, everybody." He tugged on a curl of Blair's hair and tapped his cheek lightly with the flat of his hand. "See you on the flip side. We'll grab lunch on the way home." Jim stepped away to walk with the other unaffiliated veterans. "So, how should we form up, guys?" Blair said, turning back to the Major Crime group. How many of us are there --" He had started to count heads when Simon glared at him. "What?" "Nobody's forming up, Sandburg. This isn't the high school band." Blair looked around at the faces of his co-workers. Everyone was stifling laughter, except Megan, who shrugged. "Do we even step in time?" The rest of the team gave up their struggles and laughed out loud. "Sandburg," said Brown, "have I ever told you how glad I am you're a part of this team?" He pressed a hand to his side, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Picking on Rafe was never as much fun as picking on you." "You've added years to our lives, buddy," Ramos agreed with a grin. "You're welcome," Blair smiled. "So, seriously -- do we just sort of... go?" "Yep," Simon nodded, crushing his cigar against the edge of a wastebasket and dropping the butt inside. "Ready?" "Maybe I won't put this in my paper," Blair muttered to Megan as they stuck their hands in their pockets and set off along the parade route. "Get everybody together in uniform and wave the colors and stuff, and then all they do is take a walk? Some ritual." -------- Blair could feel Jim looking over at him while he rinsed the lunch dishes and set them to dry. He knew it was because he was so attuned to Jim's mood and presence, but he couldn't quite convince himself it wasn't because the heat of Jim's gaze was like a beam of fire. For the fifth time, he pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and behind his ear; the crisp breeze during the parade had played havoc with his ponytail. Jim came to stand behind him at the sink. "Just let it go," he murmured, setting his hands on Blair's shoulders and nipping gently at his neck. "You know if you tie it back it'll just come out again." He nipped again, harder. "Might as well turn it loose." Blair tipped his head to the side and hummed for a second. "But it's so much trouble when it's loose. Messy. Gets in the way." He twisted to face Jim for a brief kiss. "I know," Jim whispered. "I also happen to think it looks better." He grinned and pulled the tie out of Blair's curls. "You're not the one who has to deal with it," Blair said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Of course I am. You shed all over the place. You don't think I find your hair stuck to my pillow, in all my sweaters, everywhere?" Jim tightened his grip. "But I put up with it, because I love you." "Oh, well, thank goodness for that," Blair smiled, pulling Jim in for a lingering kiss, slow and smooth and patient. "Plans for the rest of the day?" Jim asked when they pulled apart. "Work," Blair answered frankly, turning back to finish with the dishes. Jim started drying the ones in the rack. "I have to tighten up that one section, you heard Johansen say so on Tuesday, and I have to find citations for it. Or, you know, at least I'll have to go through some sources one more time to make sure they don't flat-out contradict the point." He grinned. "How much would that suck." "It would suck a lot." Jim dried and stacked the last plate, then stepped back and scratched his neck. "Was that really for real, Chief?" "Was what really --" "What you were saying the other night, when we got home. About the sense of vengeance?" Jim looked at him again, faintly irritated. "What?" "Nothing, nothing," Blair said, trying to iron out his surprised smile. Memo to self, he thought. Jim takes affirmative interest in implications of being a Sentinel. Mark calendar. "Yeah, of course it was for real, Jim. Did you think I was making it up?" "I didn't think you were making up the idea," Jim said, following Blair into the study to fetch the books he'd need. "But it's possible you made up having found the documentation for it. I know you wanted to win." Blair gave Jim's shoulder a friendly shove and kissed him quickly. "Of course it was for real," he repeated. "The book's right there, the one with the library tag on it." Jim picked up the book and knit his brow as he read the jacket notes. "Come on. I'm going to sit on the balcony." He tugged at Jim's collar. "It's fifty degrees outside." Blair sighed and pulled Jim along with him anyway. "Number one, fifty degrees isn't that cold. Number two, it's warmed up since this morning. And it won't be long before it really is too cold to go outside on purpose. Come on. I'll even leave my hair down, like you said, instead of tying it back again." Jim raised an eyebrow and slid his hand into Blair's, twisting their fingers together. "It'll get in your face," he said with a smile. "You'll be up to your wrists in it in no time," Blair laughed. He left the sliding door half-open behind them. "I'm not worried." "Then you won't get any reading done," Jim said, settling into his deck chair as Blair got comfortable in his own and opened his first text. "I'll distract you from your work." He reached over and pulled on a curl to prove his point. "You never know, Ellison," Blair said, grinning and turning his head to give Jim better access, but not setting the book aside. "I might distract you from yours."

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SVS2-08: Past Imperfect by Ceares
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