Beginning - Chapter 10

   Panic caught up on some much needed sleep. Then worked on his couple of example cameras for that final phase of the project which was coming soon.

   Bluedot was pinching off the final phase of his gigantic pond contract. He wasn't losing any sleep and thought it was quite a novelty to be involved on the periphery of the whole home spun investigation. He wasn't in love with living with Panic and Speedy, but it was stacking his per diem's in his pocket and he liked that aspect.

   Speedy was pulling his fucking hair out for several days trying to get a handle on why he could not locate Timmy the chemist. Who had quit his chemist job, did not leave a forwarding address, new job, nothing. He just disappeared. A single guy disappears, that's while not normal, still understandable. Wife, kids… not as easy to picture.

   Speedy couldn't figure out why he had seemingly everyone else on paperwork in his stack of employee data sheets from the chemical plant and was mysteriously missing Timmy's data.

   He went back to the plant and spoke to the manager, who was equally confused. He was sure he had given Speedy a full stack of all employees. Past and present. Dates should have guided Speedy to his desired contact, but they didn't. He got Bobby's friend right after work ended who still worked at the plant, and he didn't have anything further on the mystery.

   Yet a third trip to the plant, Speedy got the manager again. Bobby's workmate again. Nothing. Speedy was finally told to go to personnel, that Martha the old lady who did all that stuff in the office should be able to help.

   A quite exasperated Speedy started quizzing her as gently as he could. Goatee, short thin man. Really really polite and quiet. He felt silly thoroughly describing a man that he had never met. But what else was he to do at this juncture, he wasn't sure.

   Martha finally explained that the payroll was all automatic. Computerized time cards were punched, rates were administered in the program, and payroll checks came out the printer. Finally old lady Martha said "I think you actually mean George, everyone just calls him Timmy; It's some kind of long standing nickname. I think… maybe…".

   Sure enough, 16 different checks betrayed the fact that George was actually Timmy. Timmy was just a nickname, her memory was not faulty. Speedy smiled like an insane man convinced he had just slain a dragon.

   "Martha? I have the spill data UIF file paperwork, and… it says Timmy. Department head…"

   "Well? That's just notes typed in! You could type in Mary had a little lamb instead of the spill information, sir. Doesn't mean Mary works here and her little lamb kicked over a barrel of some chemical."

   Speedy was amazed that entire reams of information could list an employee by another name, but what the hell. It made sense only in the end, and even then not very much. Bobby's surviving ex boyfriend workmate called him Timmy. The other employees he had talked with briefly called the man Timmy. But, only in southwestern Pennsylvania, Speedy thought, would "Timmy" actually be "George".

   Speedy came home still frazzled, but with renewed energy as he felt he was approaching his goal. He once again emailed all his state police contacts. When he didn't get results back as quick as he now expected having the man's real name nailed down, he called instead of emailing the skip trace expert the state police used back at his home office.

   He sicced him on it.

   That produced results.

   George the chemist no longer lived at his former house he had occupied with his wife and two kids. Skip tracer was having trouble picking up the trail immediately, so Panic and Speedy drove out to the old house, to see if they could maybe sweet talk the new owners into letting them look around and they would try to tell the new owners as little as possible.

   In the course of being shown a bum's rush walk through the house, Speedy asked if he could see the garage and the shed barely visible out the back. They took Panic and Speedy back to the garage which produced nothing interesting. On a last whim they saw the "weird overbuilt shed" George had left the new owners.

   Panic and Speedy were intrigued by the thick cement floor, with the steel and cement trap door to the cement sub basement. No other shed either had seen, had ever had anything like this. It reminded Speedy and Panic of maybe a gun store's powder bunker. Reloading powder needs special storage requirements to meet insurance requirements when amounts are over certain commercial quantities.

   Colonel Panic, among other things, did 110 and 220 electrical wiring, and was puzzled by the enormous electrical feed line, large electrical box, and numerous 20 amp lines and 220 lines snaking around the large shed. Enough pull outs and sub boxes that would be more at home in an industrial shop.

   Thick cement tables and what was once the fume hood setup was now a cement mystery as well. Once Panic stood back and looked at the huge exhaust fan covering a sizable portion of the roof, he saw it was something big enough for a large commercial garage 20 times longer and wider. He got the idea he was maybe looking at a home made, DIY exhaust system from hell.

   Panic took Speedy aside and explained what he thought this once was, he thought it somewhat resembled his high school chem lab, just scaled down. Speedy agreed it was more than plausible. The new owners were smiling at the state police badge and the men's politeness, but were now explaining they didn't know anything about who had lived here prior, perhaps the Realtor would know something.

   The Realtor now worked in another office, but the paperwork left behind wasn't straightforward. The place had been sold quickly to a real estate holding company. Who made a percentage off of the difference between the quick cash sale, and the final sale. At the time, property values on nice houses were rising and appreciating in the area.

   The Realtor had gotten the listing off of the holding company, and had sold it.

   Skip trace boy now had a new puzzle to work on for Speedy, it took several days, none of which produced a forwarding address.

   When Speedy asked nicely for more information on the phone, he got rebuffed even if politely. Trying in person, he got nowhere. A lawyer finally cold called Speedy, and asked him what he thought he was doing. Speedy tried to explain, to seemingly no avail.

   The lawyer kept his cool and quite patiently pointed out a number of things to Speedy. For one, his state police badge was useless in this state, was he aware of his jurisdiction being hundreds and hundreds of miles away. For another, who sold and who bought the house while indeed publicly available data… the fact a holding company had bought it for lump sum was the end of that. A different type of real estate holding company now had the property.

   That corporation was overseeing the leasing of property to another smaller corporation. Speedy said he would get back to the lawyer and call again later on down the road.

   He sicced the skip trace guy on it all, figuring he would be better used to this particular run around. The skip trace guy wasn't. When Speedy contacted the lawyer again, the lawyer suggested Speedy get a warrant. Speedy sidestepped admitting he really couldn't because it was his own personal case and he was out of his state's jurisdiction.

   Investigating the corporations produced nothing beyond more paperwork, and that one corporation was leasing property to another corporation. Who could sublet the property at will.

   After several days, the skip trace guy called Speedy back with the only idea he had. He had gone back in time on the computer to the point the man he was looking for still had his family in his original house, before the paper chase started. The skip trace guy found it "curious" that there was another property once owned by what appeared to be the same man.

   Judging by the town and area, it was a "hunting cabin". It was being leased in and around the paper chase as well to yet another small corporation that would, most likely, sublet that property as well.

   Speedy and Panic decided to take a weekend and make the long drive to the hunting cabin. They expected nothing more than what had occurred at the man's former house. Confused new owners leasing property. More people who smiled and knew nothing.

   When they finally got there, they knew they were close but not lighting up cigars just yet. No mailbox, at the far edge of what the GPS claimed was the edge of the property. A trip to the post office got them nowhere. They returned. Speedy said "fuck it" under his breath, and trespassed against the wishes of the well posted property lines.

   The both walked around aimlessly until they located what appeared to be a long gravel driveway. The GPS had taken them to the last known mailbox, while the actual driveway came in a different way. It being a farm property in a rural setting, this was not an uncommon feature and both of them knew it.

   They dutifully hiked the rutted drive with gravel in the ruts, until they reached an end to the not inconsiderable sized property of rolling hills and meadow interspersed with stands of trees. They turned around, marched back to where they started, then tried the other direction on the gravel ruts.

   This eventually produced a barn like structure off in the distance. They retraced their steps back to the car, and drove around blind until they located the other end of the property, and found the gravel rut drive once more, except this time with a car.

   Speedy once again trespassed and drove slowly up the gravel ruts, cussing and muttering at what it was doing to the underside of his car. Crawling along so slow it didn't really register on the speedometer, they finally caught sight of the barn from the other direction they were approaching from.

   Another gravel rut broke off and went up a slight meadow rise. Finally, a typical old farmhouse became visible. They approached it slowly, and it didn't look abandoned. Actually, it looked remodeled.

   There was no doorbell, and both the front and back door were locked. They returned to their car and sat and decided to wait. They were there about 45 minutes, when they were excited to see a car approaching. Their initial hopes were soon deflated when it turned out to be a local cop car. A station wagon shaped 4 wheel drive. K9 cage in the back with no dog.

   The uniformed cop was only uniformed from the waist up; his uniform below his belt was jeans and work boots. He kept his hand resting on his gun as he slowly and steadily made his way towards their car. He stopped about ten yards off, and just eyeballed them intently. Hand still resting on his gun.

   Speedy held his badge case up and out the window, opened up to let the man know he was in no danger approaching them. He now moved in, but stopped a few feet from the car as he saw a badge case.

   "Thought I was gonna run kids off. Hell, come on out then…"

   They both got out. They both knew Speedy would take the lead here.

   "Officer… maybe you can help me, then. I was hoping to find the property owner."

   "Well… the owner called you in. Said there were strangers hiking and driving and trespassing on posted property. Asked me to remove you, give you a fine. He got one a them doorbells, that's an internet camera."

   "I'm an Illinois State Trooper."

   "Can I see that badge then…"

   Speedy walked up and handed it to him. Panic stayed between him and the car.

   "This ain't Illinois, but, you know that. Mind if I ask what your business is?"

   "Just looking to talk to the owner, if he's around."

   "Technically, the owner said to remove and fine anyone here, on account of the well posted property lines. Impossible to get in without seeing it. I don't suppose you're here all the way from ILL-ah-noize… to serve a warrant? Subpoena? Anything?"

   "I'm not here to arrest the guy, I'm not here to accuse him of anything. I'm just here to talk to him. A little professional courtesy wouldn't kill us both, would it?"

   "I don't mind it, but, fact is… that's the owner's call on that one."

   "So… what do we do, then?"

   "Hold on. Guy's down the station. Having a sandwich with the Chief while I came up to check the property. I'll see what I can do…"

   The local cop went back to his car, and lazily stood with one boot on the door frame of the open cruiser, while he had a quick chat on the radio, then came back.

   "Property owner says you can talk to him down at the station, if you have to. You can follow me down, if you like."

   "Thanks, sounds good to me…"

   Under his breath, Speedy said "car, Panic…"

   They got in and followed the cruiser. Which used the grass instead of the gravel ruts that tore Speedy's undercarriage up so noisily on the way up; the way back down and out was a little easier.

   Speedy parked next to the local cop's spot, and followed the local into the station. It wasn't a very large building, looked all one level. Several rooms.

   A man with a sort of long and full beard was indeed having half of a large sandwich, and the chief appeared to be having the other half of the thing.

   "Illinois State Troopers… meet the chief."

   They both waved and said "Hi".

   "You're a hard man to find, George."

   "Hell, not hard enough, I see. Can't remember ever even being in Illinois, so… what's this all about?"

   "Your friend Bobby. From your old workplace. One of your favorite maint workers."

   "Bobby's been dead some years now… what's that got to do with me?"

   "Just wanted to talk to you. Thought you might be able to help us. We think it was a murder, not an accident. Figured if we got anywhere, that might help you out too."

   "I don't know anything…"

   "You might not know that you know anything. But, don't you think you owe it to your dead friend to try to help? I ain't met one single person yet in this investigation that didn't think Bobby was a nice kid. He didn't deserve that."

   The man seemed to be deciding.

   "Chief? Can me and the troopers have a little privacy in a room somewhere here? I'd rather talk to them here, if you don't mind."

   The Chief got up, regarded the newcomers.

   "If the troopers don't mind letting me hold badge cases…?"

   And the Chief held his hand out. Speedy knew that the chief knew, that he wouldn't run off anywhere without his State Police badge case. He handed it over. When the Chief held the same hand out for Panic's? Panic shrugged and handed over his wallet and carry permit.

   Speedy answered for him…

   "He's my investigator."

   "Use my office George. We won't be far…"

   "Thanks, chief."

   "No problem, George."

   The Chief yanked his head slightly to indicate for the other cop to follow him out, and give the two some privacy. Closed his own door on the way out. Between the chief letting him use his office with the door closed unsupervised, and politely letting everyone know they were within yelling distance… it spoke volumes how comfortable George/Timmy was with the local chief, and more importantly how comfortable they were with him.

   George wanted to know…

   "Where do we begin?"

   Speedy hesitated and smiled, albeit wanly. Waited.

   Speedy smiled more broadly at the man.

   "Sir? You pick it. Start before the beginning, through the middle, and far past the end. Now, I think I know exactly what went on? I'm curious…"

   George looked at him and furrowed his brow,

   "Really? What was your name again, Trooper?"

   "Everyone calls me 'Speedy'. On account of they say that I think quick. Wanna play… quid pro quo, college boy? I'll bet my 2 years of 'human relations' associates degree? Flat up against your much longer and higher priced education in Chemistry. Want me to go first? Or… I'll give you a chance. You can go first if you want… but, then it's my turn. Pick one?".

   Mr. George, or Mr. Timmy, or whatever the hell his name really was. He seemed to take the bet. He just smiled, and started off on his own soliloquy…

   "All I know is? I consulted my lawyer after the fact. I broke no laws at the time, and, my friend is dead. That's really… all I know. After that happened? Yeah, I got into early retirement. Sure… I paid a lawyer about 1200 a year to manage all the… I don't really know how it works… the ownership/lease/corporations, who owns what, who leases what, it's confusing. That's what I pay the 100 bucks a month for, just so I don't have to worry. That's my viewpoint. My lawyer's other advice? Never talk about it if I didn't have to."

   "Will you talk with me about this?"

   "Maybe. Maybe not."

   "Timmy Georgie… Why would I lie to you. If you know anything, I would simply say anything I thought you wanted to hear? Just so I could get some straight shit on this Bobby murder case. I am like… this fucking close on it, I can smell it? I ain't there yet. I was figuring on… you putting me over the wall on this. Huh? Come on. Tell me this much… you tell me here and now, was Bobby your friend, or wasn't he?"

   Speedy eyeballed him gently for his response.

   "Bobby was my friend…"

   "Then… help me…"

   "But… my lawyer recommends…"

   Panic, completely out of character, cut Speedy off.

   "Speedy? Let me try this. Yo… George. Are you scared of these people? That's why you ran and hid? Come on. It's obvious. But… I want you to tell me. Is… you being scared… the main reason you retired early?"

   The man nodded silently.

   Panic smiled, like half a lunatic. Made the poor guy almost lose his shit.

   "No… no… Me? And Speedy? We're fucking special. Tell you what, Mr. George… Mr. Timmy? Whatever your real name is? I don't care. I want you… to spend one… single… day… with myself, and Mr. Speedy. We'll walk around in the woods, we'll just hang out… here's my bet. If at the end of the one day trial, if you don't feel safe with the two of us? I just don't think its possible you won't want to tag along with us. You watch me… and him… shoot rifles and pistols all day and after dark? You'll feel extremely safe."

   "I don't give anything up, until I get the one day trial period? You show me something?"

   Speedy eyeballed Panic like he wanted to bore a laser hole in him. Direct confrontation, Panic knew, was against Speedy's… religion with this sort of thing. He gritted his teeth and silently swore to strangle Mr. Panic alone and establish control over his behavior. For now though, he left it in play. Mainly because he had no other better alternative.

   Panic was still glaring him his best calm, friendly, lunatic look. Speedy was glaring at Panic. Then, Tim George decided.

   "Here's the deal. I'll take the 'make me feel safe' one day trial. If I like it? I'll talk. If I'm not impressed? I stay the course with my lawyer's instructions. Deal?"

   Speedy surprised Panic by jumping in just ahead of him with…

   "Deal… we start at 8 am? Tomorrow?"

   "Uh, sure."

   "Is there a motel nearby?"

   The man gave them polite directions to the nearest small motel, or they could all go and hang out all night at his bait shop. Which would be more fun. They had cots there, it was a bait shop that was open 24 7.

   Speedy and Panic exchanged looks, both shrugged and almost said together…

   "Bait shop…"

   So… they all three went to the man's alleged bait shop. Timmy spoke briefly in confidence to the chief and his unit, and George got in an older pickup truck and Speedy got into his personal cruiser car. They followed him out to what was his bait shop.

   They soon found out there was a nearby fishing hole. They were right on the edge of the state game lands, so it made the fishing hole that much more important, as this was no normal community. This was a "hunting camp" town, basically. Each and every small farm property in the town? Was considered a "hunting camp" for the state game lands just next door.

   Apparently it was no huge deal if he was at the bait shop or not. He was a lot, and tried for the late night crowd to impress the locals. If he turned on the "open" lighted sign? Occasional people would come in.

   Panic went out to the trunk of Speedy's car, and retrieved two big black cases that were obviously rifle cases, though not huge ones. Smaller more square cases came in the other hand. Two cases per hand, smiling.

   "Do it like normal? Thermal readings and I take verified targets?"

   "If we have visuals. Sure."

   "Oh, we will…"

   "So, Timmy… how big is the fishing hole?

   "Eh. Bigger than any pond, not quite a lake."

   "Sounds nice."

   "If you like fishing? It is."

   "What kind of bait do the locals like?"

   "I try to keep the worms stocked up. I net for minnows. I found a leech bog couple miles from here, the guys that like leeches? Won't use anything else. I buy outdated bread for next to nothing, and guys going past the hole to the small river? They like it for catfish and carp."

   "So, this is what you do now?"

   "Oh, this is my main job, but, I do other stuff. I tried keeping livestock, like my grandfather used to do here. Damned coyotes ate me out of house and home. I got a few chickens, can't have too many on account of all the raccoon's and foxes. I get more eggs than I can eat, and give the rest away. Tried growing some corn, damned blackbirds are coming down the row right behind me planting a row, I cant win. Possums into everything something else ain't into. Damn deer come night and day for anything I try to put in a garden. Then? The goddamn wild pigs run wild out here. You can't win for losing."

   Panic looked at Speedy…

   "This is… paradise."

   "Tell me about it."

   "Aw, I grew up around here spending summers at grandpa's farm."

   Speedy smiled.

   "That's how you're so friendly with the local cops then…"

   "Yeah, everyone knew Grandpa. They all knew his grand-kid too, every summer. I kept this place for somewhere to bring my boys on the weekends and summers, you know, keep them out of trouble."

   "Seems it would be kinda hard to get into any trouble around here."

   "My oldest, I guess the worst trouble any kid can get into around here… drinking beer with some of the local kids? I lecture him about smoking cigarettes and smoking pot, but hell, that's just to keep him thinking he's getting away with something if he tries to act up. If any of the boys get a wild hair up their ass, I want it to be a small hair, if you take my meaning."

   Speedy nodded.

   "I do."

   A truck had pulled in. Four guys waltzed in. Bought a bunch of overpriced soda pop and snacks. Each bought two dozen worms. While about to ring them out, the guy at the register asked if he could have four quarts of "dago red".

   Timmy went in the back room, opened up one of several refrigerators, and came back in two trips, a corked bottle in each hand, both trips. Wrapped all four wine bottles in paper bags.

   The man checking out, sent his buddy back to the truck for the "deposits". The man returned with 6 or 8 corked but empty wine bottles.

   Timmy added everything up by pointing at it, and keeping track with an ongoing running total. The man paid, thanked him, and asked if he would be here all night.

   "Probably, yeah."

   "Good enough… see ya…"

   Timmy yelled as they left…

   "Good luck fishing!"

   The man paying stopped long enough to say over his shoulder…

   "Only in America? Can I get drunk drowning worms, and I get to call it a sport! Ha… thanks for the red…"

   "No trouble."

   Timmy was looking at Speedy and Panic.

   Speedy shrugged…

   "What? I didn't say anything…"

   "Well, you're a state cop and all…"

   "Oh, for fuck's sake… if the local cops don't care you sell some wine to fishermen, I don't give a rat's ass about it. I'm trying to solve a murder. Honestly? If more people fished and drank home made wine? I bet we wouldn't even need state police…"

   "Ha, you'd be out of a job, then…"

   "And? That would suit me… just fine."

   Timmy regarded them and smiled.

   "You boys want a beer?"

   Panic looked at Speedy. Both shrugged at each other.

   "Sure…"

   Timmy went in the back again, and a different small refrigerator was a tapped keg. Really dark frothy and creamy beer came out. He filled up three frosted mugs that came out of a freezer, and handed the other two to his guests and blew the foam off the head of his onto the old wooden floor and took a big gulp.

   They both thanked him.

   Panic again pronounced the place…

   "Paradise."

   Slow steady business of fishermen came and went through the late afternoon, and into the night. Some of them wanted snacks, some bait, some wine and or beer. Some wanted all, and came back for refills whether it was bait, snacks, or booze.

   Panic observed…

   "You really have a nice little gig going here. None of my business, but, I guess you stay afloat?"

   Timmy sipped his dark beer…

   "All I got to come up with, is taxes and electric and internet and cell phone plan every month. Food of course. Without all the bills of my house I used to live in? It's really not hard. 1200 a year for the… service I use…"

   "Locals don't hassle you about the wine and beer?"

   "Hassle me? Christ's throne no… my best customers… see, Grandpa always made beer and wine and ran a still for everyone. With Grandpa long gone? Everyone expects me to provide it. I guess you noticed and didn't say anything… I don't collect sales tax. This place is off the books…"

   Speedy shrugged…

   "If the locals like it? Fine with me."

   Panic noted that business had quit for the time being.

   Speedy smiled, and they opened up their rifle cases and black storage cases. Speedy laid a compass down, and dialed in north with a little arrow he could position.

   Speedy took out his thermal spotter and opened all the windows and had a peek.

   "Two targets. Target number one… one… seven… two…"

   Panic regarded the compass and repeated the bearing direction back softly… while bringing up his bolt action 22… it had a larger than normal scope on it, and a few black wires tucked in out of the way down lines of the gun that wouldn't snag on anything.

   "Got it… rabbit. About, I'd say 40 yards out…"

   "Backdrop?"

   "I'm downhill. I'm fine… on your mark…"

   "Fire when ready."

   Speedy winked at Timmy…

   "Head shot only, Panic…"

   "I'm good…"

   A few seconds later, the only noise Timmy heard was a "chuff!" noise.

   Panic looked through the scope again, and said target was down. He slipped out the back and returned quickly. Tossed a rabbit with a blown out head onto an old newspaper.

   Speedy was already scanning with the thermal again…

   "Target number two. Possible rabbit. Bearing… one… four… three…"

   The same procedure went on identical as before, with the only exception being that Speedy requested "center-mass".

   Panic made another "chuff!" noise, then went and retrieved the second rabbit. A hole through the body. It went onto the old newspaper to join its comrade.

   Timmy smiled.

   "Grandpa would have loved you two guys. You, uh… just having fun? Or, you wanna eat those things?"

   "You got something to cook them here?"

   "You clean them? I got the shit to make fish here. You get them cleaned? I'll have them breaded and pressure cooked in minutes flat."

   Speedy took another quick scan.

   "Ah, Panic? I got one further out… one… five… one…"

   "I… I got it. Maybe… seventy yards, give or take…"

   "Fire at will…"

   There was no shot placement requirement on this further rabbit.

   "Chuff!"

   "We good?"

   "We're good. Everyone gets dinner…"

   Panic retrieved this one as well. Once he had three on the old newspaper, he made a slit down the back of the neck and into the shoulder blades. Got his hand around the neck and pulled. The entire skin easily went inside out like peeling off a T shirt. He stepped on the back of the knife to chop off the head and repeated it on all 4 feet. He tossed that carcass onto another clean newspaper by itself, then repeated the procedure twice more. The guts stayed in the membranes attached to the discarded skins.

   Timmy took them in the back on a paper plate, tossed a handful of breading at a time onto the plate until he had them coated. All he had to wait on was the pressure cooker, which he primed before closing with a few tablespoons of oil. In minutes, the weighted top of the pressure cooker was rocking.

   They each had another dark mug of the home made dark beer with their individual rabbits on paper plates.

   After dinner, Speedy let Timmy look through the thermal scope. Panic had him look through his own infrared night sight. It was a little screen that flipped out the left side of the gun, much like a camcorder screen. The scope part was sealed with a few wires snaking around.

   "The thermal? I've seen ads for it. What's that thing?"

   Panic shrugged…

   "Oh, I made that myself. Infrared digital night vision. Custom."

   "Never saw anything like that… is that a silencer?"

   Speedy said the proper name was a "suppressor", but yes, it was.

   "Is that… legal?"

   Speedy and Panic looked at each other. Panic shrugged.

   "I'm class three approved. Perfectly legal. The subsonic 22 ammo is a pain in the ass to find in stores, but, I can order it to any gun shop."

   "Hell. I wish I had you around when I was trying to keep my livestock alive."

   Speedy smiled as he sipped his mug of dark beer…

   "George? If me and Panic were here, George wouldn't have a yote problem… the yotes would have a Speedy and Panic problem."

   George chuckled.

   "I like that… that's cute…"

   "God's truth."

   "Why didn't you use the flashlight mounted on that 22?"

   Panic smiled.

   "I did. It's not visible light… it's infrared. To me and you? Its nothing… But? To the sensor? Its like a searchlight."

   Panic let him look at the screen. Flicking the IR on and off, the view went from night to day. A veritable invisible, tightly aimed spotlight.

   "Pretty slick. You said you made that yourself?"

   "Yeah. I rebuild flashlights and make my own infrared illumination. And the digital night vision."

   "How far does that thing see?"

   "Couple hundred yards, much farther than I can shoot the 22. I have another gun with a similar setup. Both good for day and night. I built the illumination from scratch with 5 different lenses on that one. That's my baby."

   George nodded.

   "I wish I had friends like you two."

   Panic smiled gently…

   "Be careful what you wish for. You just might."

   "Aw. I know you two mean well, but… your protection would end at some point. Then I'd be on my own again."

   Panic winked at Speedy…

   "That's… not necessarily the case, George."

   "Really."

   "Speedy? For starters, Bluedot's almost done with his big pond contract, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "And, he's bitching about how us three didn't get to shoot enough for us all getting together, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Bluedot and Mr. Careful here, I bet they would hit it off well enough."

   Speedy calculated…

   "I could see Scott coming up here, and having a ball. You got wild pigs out here? Scott would have a blast. George, you got meat grinders? Band-saws? You said yer Grandpa had livestock… freezers and such…"

   "Oh hell yeah."

   Speedy smiled at Panic…

   "You thinking, what I think you're thinking?"

   "RLB fest, Speedy. More than one."

   "George? You're not real into guns, are you?"

   "Well, not like you two. I do mostly all black powder. Cannons, civil war reenactments, stuff like that. Me and the boys are into it. Grandpa made his own black powder along with everything else he was into. I guess, that went a long way getting me interested in Chemistry as a profession when I got older."

   "You… you make black powder? For guns and cannons?"

   "Yeah, sure. Carbon, saltpeter, and sulfur. It's more art than science, really, the truth be told. I got sacks of the stuff. I got lead coming out my ass, too."

   Speedy smiled…

   "Oh… the boys are going to like you… and I tell you something else, George. They, are going to love your property."

   "Who are these guys?"

   "Gun nuts, like us, basically. Benchrest shooters. Skeet shooters. Pistol competition guys. Cops. Ex cops. Military. Ex military. 1000 yard shooters. Even… one SWAT sniper."

   "Now, the SWAT sniper? That… I would like to have living here, I tell you. For 4 legged critters and two legged varmints if it came to that."

   Speedy smiled…

   "George… you have property. Lots of it. You're not even using most of it, and, shooting on it? Wouldn't hurt the property any. The locals? It's a hunting town. They wouldn't care. The guys I'm talking about? They would pay you to shoot here."

   "What about insurance?"

   "Ha. We carry a one million dollar policy, just in case anything happens. Which it never does. We have NRA instructors, and certified RSOs. That's Range Safety Officers. These guys are not what people call 'Bubba Shooters'. These are all pros."

   "Where in the hell would we put them?"

   "When they go out shooting? They camp out. You wouldn't even know they were here, you have so much property."

   "Let me get this straight… I would get paid, to be protected?"

   "Oh yeah. Twenty bucks a day, per head. Easy. You wouldn't have to lift a finger to do anything. I bet, you'd even make a killing selling black powder, beer, wine… and whatever else you got along those lines, to tell you the truth."

   "Your bait shop? Will get more business too, I guarantee that."

   "You… really think you can get guys like that coming out here on the regular?"

   Speedy smiled…

   "George. The problem isn't getting them out here. Your biggest problem will be getting them to leave. This place? Is fucking paradise to professional shooters. You'll have guys with night vision, on wild pig hunts."

   "Well… do you really think we can get the SWAT sniper out here? That would be pretty sweet…"

   Speedy winked at Panic on the sly, and smiled…

   "George? I can guarantee him coming out. For sure."

   Timmy George thought about it. They could tell he was already mildly or better impressed with what he had already seen, they knew they were going to wow him the next day with much better shooting performances.

   "Sounds like we can try it. You boys want another beer? Try some of the wine? Maybe something a little stronger…?"

   Panic and Speedy exchanged looks, and Speedy answered for the both of them…

   "Well, you suggest something, George…"

   "Hmm. How about the apricot brandy. Both of you?"

   They both nodded yes…

   George rummaged around in the back room, and came back with three small brandy snifters. Poured a couple fingers in each one, out of a bottle with no label, like everything else he proffered. Replaced the cork…

   "I recommend, you swirl it a little, like this… then sip it…"

   They followed his demonstration. Both were amazed. Strong apricot flavor. Sweet, but not sickeningly so.

   "You like it? Grandpa's favorite… mine too. Have all you want. Don't cost me shit to make it. Just time is all."

   Panic sniffed his glass…

   "I taste the apricot, what's the other flavor I can't put my finger on…"

   "That's smoked apricots. A bunch of heavily smoked apricots go into the aging barrel. That's the secret ingredient. Okay, guys. You wanna hear my story?"

   Speedy swallowed the last of his glass, and smiled. Timmy refilled it and began, after topping up Panic's glass as well.

   "Okay, so I'm a chemist. The plant I worked at, we get interns from the university chemistry program. We pick out good candidates, they get a good summer job every summer. It's a good job… the company doesn't mind keeping a few if they can recruit them away from the university for the maintenance department. Hard to find regular employees that know anything about chemicals and safety."

   "That's how I met Bobby. He was happy with the money and overtime he made his first summer. I recruited him to come on full time. When he saw how much he would make as an employee? Well… that was that."

   "Bobby's friend already was my favorite maint guy. That's how I came across Bobby and picked him out. Now I don't normally go out after work with the maintenance guys, but, these two were my favorite crew. We went to cookouts and stuff like that sometimes. Went out for a beer a few times. Pretty normal stuff."

   Speedy asked…

   "Did you know they were both gay?"

   "Yeah, after a while it came out. I didn't care. My two best workers? Like I care what goes on when they're out of work. None of my business."

   "So, we end up going to a big club one time, for a holiday party. It's… a gay dance bar. Again, I don't care. And, I noticed something strange there…"

   Speedy smiled…

   "Let me guess… the guys dancing, were taking drops of some chemical and having fun ?"

   "Yeah… simply everyone is doing it, and dancing, and having a ball. I was offered some, but turned it down. I asked Bobby what it was, out of curiosity one day later on. He tells me."

   "Well, I was curious what everyone was taking. I wondered if it was safe. Didn't take me too long to figure out what it was, I am a chemist after all. As it turned out? It's an industrial chemical. Used in reactions to make other chemicals."

   Speedy answered…

   "Let me guess. You have this chemical at work…"

   "No, not exactly. But… we stock the chemical its made from, it's used to make a lot of other stuff in the various industries we supplied."

   "Me and Bobby were gabbing about it over lunch one day. I'm a chemist, Bobby had a year of Chem… Bobby asked if we could make some. I looked into it. It really wasn't a hard set of reactions. I have to take a dipper full of that chemical out and test it anyways, I use very little and dump the rest. Hell, I just kept the sample and didn't dump the leftover."

   "Did you make it at work?"

   "At first. I stayed after work a couple times, it was a fun project. I tested it on a 200 pound sheep by the way… it made the sheep sleepy, then it woke up fine. I had no use for it, it was just a fun project. I asked Bobby if he wanted it… because, you know, the guys at the club like the stuff."

   "Well, long story short… Bobby took it to the club, and said he scored some 'Gabby', that's what they called it… apparently everyone loved his Gabby. Their stuff? Must have had some water in it to make it cheaper. Mine was pure."

   "Bobby came back, and wanted some more…"

   "Yeah… I made a little every time I tested a barrel of that chemical."

   Let me guess… then Bobby decided to sell his samples you were giving him…"

   "Well, yeah. It wasn't illegal back then, you understand… I wasn't breaking the law… you have to understand that much…"

   "I know… go on…"

   "Well… my Grandpa, I grew up around a man that made beer, wine, whiskey… sold it… made black powder and sold it… it's not even against the law…"

   Speedy smiled…

   "I get the picture. It's not even illegal, why not make some and sell it. They might as well get a safe, pure product from a real chemist anyways…"

   "Bingo. As luck would have it? We got a contract to make something else, but… we had a lot of barrels of that particular chemical at work… I tested every barrel, it was my part of the plant…"

   "So, you had a little supply from all the testing."

   "Yeah. Why not make a couple extra bucks instead of throwing money down the drain. We were going through the stuff at work anyways."

   "Okay… so… how did this all go bad then?"

   "Well, it didn't. Bobby just sold the batches I made him, to the guy at the club that got it for the big dance nights. This went on for a while… then, one day? Bobby said he ran into a guy that owned a chain of gay dance clubs. He wanted to buy a bunch of the stuff. Because if a club has it? They pack the dances."

   "Makes sense…"

   "Now, by this time… the chemical is still perfectly legal, but… it's about to become illegal. Restricted to only industrial uses. This guy that Bobby had met? He wants to stock up on the stuff."

   "So, you bought barrels of that chemical…"

   "Uh, no. I, uh… I wanted to make pure profit off of this one big sale. Have a nice nest egg out of it, for my family. I ain't breaking the law, so…"

   "So, you stole a barrel at work, right?"

   Timmy smiled…

   "Better. I arranged a little accident with me on a forklift during lunchtime. I already had the drains flushed out, and dry as a bone. I had "checked" the drain system like always, and… I just put an empty big container out there, and diverted the drain hose into that container."

   "So, you now had a 55 gallon drum of the stuff?"

   "No… I made sure I ruptured almost a whole pallet of drums, and that they were right next to the drain to catch spills. I had a couple hundred gallons in a clean plastic tote container. I did this on lunch, no one was around except Bobby and the other kid. Bobby was in on it, his buddy wasn't any the wiser."

   "How did you get it out of there?"

   "Went in at night to 'work late' several times. I siphoned a 55 gallon drum every night I worked. No one noticed."

   "You took it home, to your backyard chemistry lab?"

   "Oh, you were at my old house then, you saw that?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Well, I slowly ran the reactions… I made a huge batch of Gabby. Bobby had his chain of gay dance clubs friend… we got the stuff for all but free… we made a nice little nest egg out of it. I saw Bobby well taken care of, trust me."

   Speedy looked at Panic…

   "Bobby… wanted a house in the country…"

   "Yeah, he did. This was going to fix both of us up pretty well, was the plan. Not even doing anything technically illegal, well, except for… engineering a little accident at work…"

   "Okay. So… how did this go bad?"

   "Well, it didn't. We sold it all. I sold it through Bobby. After all, he had the contacts in the gay community, I didn't."

   "So, where's the problem come from?"

   "We had our nest egg sold out… I wasn't going to make any after it became illegal… when BANG! Bobby turns up dead."

   "This scared you?"

   "I felt real bad, but, not scared. Not at first."

   "When did you get scared?"

   "After the stories got out, about people drugging him, kidnapping him, he escaped and got chased on the streets. Friends found him, and got him to their house. Then he went off and 'drowned'… which I started to think was way too convenient, after the other stories a couple days before?"

   "Then you got scared and went for early retirement…"

   "Not exactly. I started getting paranoid, thinking people were following me. I thought, maybe I was seeing dark SUV's around me way too often than was an accident. I drove to see Bobby's parents a few times, pay my respects to them? He was my best worker and friend, you know… I thought I saw a similar SUV parked across the street from his parent's house. Like they were watching it. Or, maybe I was paranoid."

   "Then?"

   "Then, the last straw? I saw a big dark SUV at work. In the parking lot. Couple people in it. Now, that did it… I put in for early retirement. Quit going to work as soon as I could. Got my lawyer to recommend a better one, you know, to advise me. I had my nest egg saved up in cash anyways, plus… I was a chemist for a long time, and I didn't waste money, I was a family man… I could retire early and disappear. So? I did."

   "The wife and kids know about this?"

   "Not the kids. The wife? Just thinks having a friend 'probably murdered' affected me and helped me retire early."

   "The 64,000 dollar question. You ever meet Bobby's… customer? The big customer."

   "Not in person. I didn't want to meet anyone. Bobby having contacts that wanted the stuff, that was what made it happen at all."

   "Not in person. Does that mean you… had any phone calls? Emails?"

   "No, and no."

   "Have you seen the guy? I assume it was a guy…"

   "I saw him."

   Speedy smiled and said…

   "Tell you what. We'll play a game. All three of us, okay?"

   "Sure…"

   "All three of us are going to write a description of the guy down on a piece of paper. Me and Panic? We think we know what's coming."

   "Okay…"

   A few pieces of tablet paper got handed out, and a pen got passed around. Everyone hid their answer. When they were all done, Panic and Speedy handed him their guesses, and he handed Speedy his real description.

   All three were more or less the same, which intrigued Timmy. But, Timmy's description was obviously the gold standard of the three…

   Short thick guy. Big arms and legs. Barrel chested. Dark hair and eyes. Curly hair and beard. Some kind of slightly foreign accent. Drove a big dark SUV.

   Speedy keyed in on the vehicle description…

   "How do you know the vehicle?"

   "I was always at the club, on the rare occasion Bobby was doing his thing. I never entered into it, and would go in without him, sit and hang by myself. We would meet up later to divvy up the cash."

   "You saw the vehicle there?"

   "Once or twice, I saw him get out of it. Go in. I was waiting on Bobby. Once, I followed Bobby. For one of the big deals? I stayed several cars back, the guy drove him to a cheap motel he was staying at. Bobby followed him with it in his truck. The big ones were 5 gallons at a time, which is a lot of the stuff. A drop or two goes a long way when it's pure, like I made it."

   "Why didn't you ever go to the police with this?"

   "Well, for one… the deals were over, and then Bobby came up dead."

   "For another…?"

   "If you remember, Bobby came up drowned. The stories about him being chased and drugged and all that? Those stories didn't come out till much later. I heard that part from Bobby's friend. At work. He knew some of the people that went and found him."

   "It didn't strike you as odd, that the descriptions of the people chasing him in the streets, matched the description of your guy?"

   "Now, those descriptions? Didn't come out until much later. I didn't put 2 and 2 together and come up with 4, until later on down the line. By the time I was getting paranoid, and went to see a lawyer? The lawyer's advice was not to say anything unless I had to. I was thinking about more than myself and my job, I have a wife and 2 kids to worry about."

   "You ever own any bitcoins?"

   "No… currency investing was never my thing…"

   "Bobby?"

   "Not that I ever heard of."

   "Think you know the motel you're talking about?"

   "Yeah. The Biarritz."

   "Would you know the room?"

   "Two stories of motel rooms. As you're looking up at it in the front? It was the top left room."

   "I don't suppose you know a day and time, that would be too much to hope for… that long ago…"

   "Actually? Yes. I know for sure, because it was Labor Day. The Labor Day before Bobby… you know…"

   "A name?"

   "Bobby nicknamed him Elvis behind his back. Because his friends with him? Called him 'King'… which wasn't the name he used at the club when he met Bobby there. I dunno, I guess maybe he was an Elvis fan."

   "Anything else about the guy? Identifiable?"

   "Not really… just he was missing an earlobe. His… yeah, his right one. I noticed it when he walked past me in the club once when I was up at the bar, and him and Bobby were at a table. Looked like a clean slice."

   "I might be able to do something with this…"

   "The motel? Was torn down years ago. I know that won't help you any."

   "I might be able to get records. You never know."

   "I hope you can."

   Speedy sipped his apricot brandy…

   "I just wish you had gone to the cops. Way before this. You strike when the iron is hot… this is a cold trail now."

   "My lawyer…"

   "Aw, the lawyer. The hell did the lawyer tell you not to go to the cops for, anyways. Remember, you didn't break the law. You'd have been the star witness."

   Timmy took a sip and set the glass down. Sighed…

   "Bobby wasn't some crack dealer that everyone hated, Bobby came from a good family. A family with some money and connections and friends. The gay community was all up in arms about it. The cops were being squeezed to get results. Honestly? The lawyer said right off the bat, it wouldn't be the first time the cops under pressure just grabbed someone and said 'here, that's who did it.'… he said I knew just enough to put me square in the middle of it, and maybe not enough to show them exactly who did do it. He said that was a dangerous position to be in."

   Speedy made a sour face…

   "Well, sure, it sometimes takes a while to convince the police of some stories. But…"

   "But nothing! The lawyer pointed out, that while the cops were splashing my name and face all over the news, to show they got something now? The real killer might decide it was a great time to drown me. You know, put a pretty bow on it all for everyone. Then, the cops would definitely wanna pin it all on the dead guy that was up to his neck in it."

   "That… that's really a worst case scenario, that doesn't really happen very often---"

   "Very often, huh? So… you admit it happens! I can play with lightning for my life… I can't risk it for my wife and kids. If you knew anything about me? You'd know I don't run around the bars like most guys do, I'm a real family man! I spend every night and weekend with my wife and kids! My hobbies? I'm either working in that chemical shed you saw, or, the wife and kids are with me, doing my thing!"

   "Okay, so you have the lawyer go to the STATE police. He talks to investigators first. Primes the pump. The state police? Don't have that… pressure from the mayor and the councilmen. Like local cops do. They have real investigators."

   Timmy raised his voice a little, which was out of character for him…

   "The lawyer said that wasn't going to happen! Remember, Bobby was 'drowned' in Allegheny county. City cops. I lived in Allegheny county. City cops. There's no jurisdiction jumping to get the state police involved. Lawyer said, a high profile case like this? City police would never let it out of their hands, or ask for help! The chief and the mayor? Want their face on the news, giving results and taking credit!"

   Speedy didn't have an immediate comeback. Timmy continued…

   "There's more. Lawyer assured me, there's cases of the police just pick out a scumbag, and they have plenty to choose from… they let him go on whatever he's picked up red handed with… they tell him what to say? He'll say it. They can magically invent 'witnesses' to put me places. The jury? They buy that shit a lot of the time."

   "I don't know of one state pol---"

   "Right! You're state police! Not some city cop. City cops are more known for that bullshit. What city cop you going to hand this to? Whatever one knows how to 'get the job done', and get 'results' so the mayor can go on the news…"

   "You… could get lie detector tests, so you---"

   Timmy laughed and took a swig of happy apricot goodness…

   "Oh. Right. I pass the lie detector test? In court, it's 'inconclusive'… I get nervous? Squiggle the line just a hair? 'Oh, look! Guilty!'… lawyer said there's a reason lie detector tests are not what the public thinks from watching TV… and with a city prosecutor, used to working with city cops."

   "Okay, the system isn't prefect, but…"

   "Perfect? No. He explained we have an adversarial legal system… and what it means, is this. The cops? Particularly city cops, under pressure? Just need to make arrests. They don't give a shit about guilt or innocence. Not their job…"

   "But…"

   "The prosecutor? Just wants a win, with whatever case they are handed to them. Period. That's their job. Some of them do some kinky stuff to get a conviction. Play to the press. Innuendo on TV and for the news reporters. Try the case in the papers, so I'm guilty when I go to court."

   "That's where the jury shines! 12 regular people, just like you, decide what---"

   "No, not just like me. Twelve people who read the papers and see the news, that's been parading 'we caught the guy' for a year straight. Twelve people with their face shoved into a big photo of a floating murder victim! Then? The prosecutor points at me…"

   "Well…"

   "Deep subject! That man, right there! He's a thief, he steals from his employers. He works on making himself rich on their time and money. What else is he making and selling on the black market, huh? Drugs? Explosives? Who knows what else this guy is into! Don't buy his story, members of the jury…"

   Speedy had nothing, and Timmy continued.

   "Gets better, Speedy. I didn't know this, until the lawyer told me… my description of the guy? Is way too close to what the police all call the 'bushy haired stranger'. Do you know what that is?"

   Speedy looked sheepish… whispered…

   "Yeah. I do…"

   Panic furrowed his brow…

   "Well that's two of us. Someone enlighten me on it…"

   "Speedy? You wanna tell your investigator? Or should I do it."

   "No. I'll do it, Timmy… Panic? There's a class of perpetrator… they commit a crime. Usually the last person you'd expect. Women, or really anyone middle class or better… they have this common idea, they just have to describe a 'bad guy', and the cops will chase their tails finding the man that doesn't exist… while they get away with… murder."

   "I don't fully…"

   "Panic. Someone who thinks they're smart, but not really, the slick type? They always describe this… 'bad guy'. He always has a beard or at least not clean shaven… he always has somewhat 'bushy hair'… not super long hair, easier to ID… just a little long. Unruly. Try to imagine… a bad TV movie? What the 'bad guy' looks like? That's what they describe for the sketch artist. A generic bad guy who 'did it'. He's known as… the bushy haired stranger…"

   Timmy finished by prodding him…

   "And… what's the joke about the bushy haired stranger?"

   Speedy looked at his own feet, and spoke in a low monotone…

   "He's the BHS, the bushy haired stranger. Why, if we could just catch him? He's committed shit-loads of murders and masterminded all kinds of crimes…"

   Timmy finished for him, swallowing the last of his smoked apricot fun…

   "It's to the point? As soon as anyone starts describing a guy with 5 o'clock shadow or a beard, and long but not too long of unruly hair? Any good detective immediately starts throwing the witness into cuffs and a jail cell… they immediately put all the resources onto you…"

   Speedy said nothing. He just had a pained look on his face… while Timmy finished quietly.

   "Fun fact? What if, just what if, a guy fitting a general description of the BHS, actually existed… what if, the police were under enormous 'pressure' to do 'something'… what if, a detective who knew how to 'get results' got the case, and a prosecutor that knew how to sling mud worked it…"

   Speedy was suddenly more interested in his shoes and the old wooden planked floor, than anyone's face.

   Timmy poured himself another two fingers of apricot smoked surprise, and topped up their little snifters too. He was no longer animated, he was subdued. Resigned to his fate.

   "Here's the ending, Mr. Panic. In real life? Not all stories have happy endings. In the real world, sometimes innocent people go to jail. Hey, it happens. The cop's job? Arrest people… Speedy will tell you. You try to tell an arresting cop you're innocent? He'll tell you to 'tell it to the judge', not his JOB. Speedy? Ever say those words?"

   Speedy grunted unintelligibly. Like a little kid getting browbeat and knew he had no answer.

   Timmy sipped and continued.

   "The cops just make arrests. Whoever. They aren't your friend. The prosecutors? They just want a win. They're supposed to make a judgment call, but… in a pressure cooker? Good luck on that. The judge isn't even on your side… he's just a glorified referee. Then, all the shit goes before 12 people who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty."

   Speedy looked up, deflated at this damning conviction of his line of work. Stayed silent while Timmy put his glass down and started picking at his leftover 'Kentucky fried rabbit' as he called it…

   "No, Panic. The only person even remotely on my side, in this whole possible scenario? My LAWYER. That's it. No. One. Else. My own lawyer? Recommended another one. An expensive one to advise me. With expertise with 'the system'… I think all three of us can guess what he told me…"

   Speedy spoke quietly…

   "Keep your mouth shut, no matter what. Only talk to your lawyer, and no one else…"

   Panic finished…

   "You know just enough to get into trouble, and not enough to get out of it, if it goes south… You? Are here, in the pressure cooker. You might fry. Best advice? Say nothing. Quietly move. Here's a card for a lawyer that can help you cover your tracks as best you can, legally."

   Timmy was now subdued and quiet. Like Speedy was.

   "Yeah. I argued and fought him on it. I wanted to do the right thing, but… the more dirty tricks the detectives and prosecutors use he told me about? The more I understood where he was coming from. He said, his JOB, on pain of being disbarred, and disgraced, and not living in Squirrel Hill and driving a Mercedes… was to get me the best possible outcome he could, and that was… move. Hide. Enjoy the quiet life, I had a few bucks, it was time."

   Speedy eyed him, but gently. More… begging and a dog whipped look than anything else, really. Panic wasn't used to this, he was used to the confident Speedy. Who made decisions and they just worked, from hunch and experience…

   Well, George. Why in the hell are you telling us now, then? Hmm?"

   "Laundry list, to tell you the truth. Guilt. Not the kind of guilt that makes a man hang himself? Just enough it gnaws at my guts when I'm up too late at night. If I had just said 'no', lied and said, I don't know… 'Bobby, I can't make that stuff, I don't have the right equipment', well… he would have believed me. I should have told a little white lie, as my mom always called it."

   "Loyalty. My Dad, and my Grandpa? They were real big on values. One of them was loyalty. You get caught with some beer? You don't rat out the guy that was nice enough to get you the beer. You shut up, you pay your fine. You don't ruin the life of some guy who was your friend."

   "Friendship. I was taught that, again by Dad and Grandpa? That real friends are what counts in this world, right up there with family. For some people who don't have a decent life like I had? Friends can be more important than family. I was taught that guys you drink with, when you're buying a round? Those are acquaintances, not real friends. REAL friends? You can count those on one hand. Maybe get into the second hand's fingers, if you're really lucky."

   "Yeah, Mr. Speedy… when you looked at me, and you just wanted to know… was Bobby my friend or not? Yeah, he was. He made me look good at my job. So did his boyfriend at work. I don't give a fuck they were gay. Those kids made me look good at my important chemist job… Me? I paid that back. Bought them pizza. Paid for BBQs. Bobby liked gardening. I was out, I saw some seeds? I picked him a few packs up. He was my friend. He would go above and beyond at work, to do the right thing. He would work late, he would work through lunch… all so I look better as the head of a reaction department."

   "Now. Speedy. I want you, to look me… right in these two eyes… I want you to tell me… was that just some shit you say to a witness, to get them to talk? Or… was it really you and your feelings. When you asked me, 'is Bobby your friend'… because he was. Or, was that just some shit to get me talking. Huh?"

   Speedy, deflated though he was. Quickly answered…

   "No. That was the truth. Sure, it seemed like the right thing to do and say at the time? But… yeah. I meant it."

   "Another reason? Fuck me, but… I honestly have trouble figuring how you two found me. Oh, I was told, I knew. It wasn't impossible to find me… but, it was deliberately made as hard as possible. For obvious reasons."

   "You two? Didn't you tell me, this was on your own time? Your own case? I'm trying to imagine the dedication. The drive. The desire… to get here. No one else ever got as far as you guys did. Speedy, you were challenging me. You knew a lot already. You weren't sure, but… Christ almighty. Only thing you motherfuckers missed, was that the 'spill' was the chemical needed to synthesize that fucking Gabby."

   Speedy eyed Panic up slightly…

   "Hey, I'm not a goddamned chemist. I had some Chem classes in high school and college. What do you want from me?"

   "Don't get sore and blame him… only a real working chemist would figure that one out. Speedy… you two are here… you figured out most of the puzzle on your own. For no money. For nothing, except… what? Being the guys that cracked the hard nut to crack? I'm impressed."

   "What are you getting at, Timmy?"

   "This. Get that whipped dog look the hell off your face. Unless I miss my guess? You don't suspect Bobby was murdered. You know he was murdered. You know… I don't know… something I don't know about all this. Over the years? I was willing to believe, I don't know… some serial killer just came along and dusted Bobby, and it was all a coincidence. I guess that's how I closed my eyes when I couldn't sleep."

   "I don't believe in… 'coincidence'…"

   "That's fair. Now… what the hell, connects me and Bobby and Gamma… to the serial killer. Which is what I figure, you two are after. Yeah, I read about the smiley shit on the internet. Yeah, years later when that stuff comes out on the internet? It makes me… wonder."

   "You followed the case? On the internet?"

   "Honestly? At first, it was just something interesting to read. Then? One or two bodies came up with GBH. People commenting on the case, pointed out that GBH would deteriorate quickly in the body after death, and not get picked up in a tox scan. Wasn't even looked for during a normal foul play autopsy. That… got my goat."

   "Why didn't you go to the cops then?"

   "Speedy. Nothing's changed for me. I'm still the guy, that knows just enough to get fucked, and not enough to point them to the right killer."

   Speedy sighed. Sipped some more apricot heaven…

   "Is this your idea of a pep talk? I thought we had to give you the pep talk, to get you spilling your guts. This is a new one… the witness, has to 'motivate' the investigators. Good sweet Christ almighty…"

   "Well, you're doing this on your own time… that means, you're own dime, too, right?"

   "Yeah. I had a little 'retirement windfall', I thought this would be a fun way to spin into my retirement…"

   "So, you're… motivated? This is just… you're doing what you know how to do? You're taking a crack at the hardest nut to crack, just for something to do, before retiring?"

   "Pretty much, I suppose…"

   "How about you, Mr. Panic. What's your motivation? You retiring as an investigator too?"

   Panic laughed.

   "Hey… I'm just a weird guy, with a weird set of skills… Speedy tapped me to have some fun on this… to me? Honestly? This is… like a giant crossword puzzle. Once I get started? I wanna keep coming back to it, try to see it through. I feel like… a donkey. You dangle a piece of straw on a stick to keep the donkey walking, pulling your cart, you know? We get just enough to keep us going, not enough to finish it. I just keep walking forwards."

   "There you go then. Don't quit now. Hey, I shared all I know with you guys. Why don't you share back with me. What led you here? I'm… I'm willing to help. I'm not an investigator like you two guys, I'm not a shooter like you two guys… I'm just a chemist that was taught to hustle a few bucks on the side. But… I'm a retired chemist. I got a few bucks… I'm… not rich? I'm… comfortable. Maybe I can help. The fucking least I could do, I figure."

   Speedy looked at Panic. Panic looked back at him. They shrugged at one another. Panic looked at Timmy. Back at Speedy. Shook his head yes, he was voting. He liked the guy. He believed him. His gut told him this was the best chance they had.

   Speedy chewed on his thumb for a few seconds, and said…

   "We're all gonna stay up late at the sleepover, and share stories? Fuck it… get that apricot brandy that Jesus H. Christ made, and let's get to it. I might as well fuck this up the rest of the way, then…"

   Panic smiled. George smiled…

   "That's the spirit…"

   And, George filled up all three of the little snifters, and it was Speedy and Panic's turn to tell him what they knew. George was engrossed, and they had little snorts of apricot brandy until the bottle was low.

   When Speedy and Panic were done taking turns explaining… George simply said…

   "Jee-zus. This is bigger than I thought."

   Speedy smiled and ran his hand though his hair, exasperated but keeping his shit together.

   "Yeah. It's a real monster. I'm the knight, trying to slay the dragon. A dragon no one will admit even exists… this? This is Panic, my faithful squire. Now… what the fuck do we do about it."

   George announced softly…

   "Right this second? I don't know… we should finish this bottle of apricot brandy, there's three of us, and we're almost there…"

   Speedy and Panic both had a buzz, and Speedy asked what the proof was on the apricot liquor.

   "More than schnapps, less than whiskey. It's almost 60 proof, not quite. More of a tasty cordial, I guess, than real Brandy…"

   They both thought at this point, "what the hell" wasn't a bad way to be going right now. Timmy divided the last bit among their three little glasses.

   "You boys wanna toast your case, or something?"

   Speedy lost some of his steam…

   "I was honestly looking for a bit more of a 'breakthrough' from getting you talking freely."

   "Sorry to disappoint. You get a decent description of the guy, if that's the guy. We each shared, and we each had many overlapping guesses. I say, let's toast to 'limited progress', it's better than getting nowhere or worse yet, going backwards…"

   They all three toasted to 'limited progress', slightly out of unison. They weren't drunk by any stretch, yet each of them could be said to have a glow on.

   Panic sat there smiling…

   "Speedy? We're getting somewhere, just slowly. I'm… happy for the little incremental progress."

   Timmy cut back in. He had an easy smile and an easy going voice. He had that rare, magical ability people call "raw charisma". Most people just liked him or at least tolerated him easily. He was the kind of guy that should have been selling used cars but was an educated professional chemist instead.

   You couldn't help but like the guy. He could get away socially with almost anything, and it either came off as witty banter, or a failed bad humor attempt. He was likable. Speedy surmised like people hang out with like people. This might be what Bobby was like to sit with. This was one of his peeps.

   "So, what's your financial planner telling you guys right now. You mentioned a limited window of exploratory investigation, I believe is how Mr. Speedy described it. Mr. Panic was describing the camera blanket thing. I'm offering my help. If you want it."

   Panic looked to Speedy. He had already cut Speedy off in interview, a grave error, but it had turned out optimum if only on accident. He didn't want to press his luck with Speedy. This man had gone up against hardened dangerous career tough criminals and more or less always came out on top physically, as well as intellectually. This was "Speedy's call", Panic's eyes and expression said.

   "Time and money are sadly, limited resources. We are trying to 'be all we can possibly be' before our window closes."

   "Can… I help with… the cost of the cameras? Mr. Panic… you were talking in terms of 100 and 200 cameras as an upper and lower limit. Also, about the idea of 'how many' were going to be video instead of game cam stills. You were starting to go into density calculations, I think you called it? I had math classes for my degree too. What if I add money to the camera fund. What kind of cost are we talking."

   Panic shrugged, and went for broke…

   "Well. For the game cams… there's a 20 dollar base unit. They would be best decked out… with a list of features…"

   Features he went on to describe.

1) multiple lithium ion batteries of good known quality, not Chinese bird-shit wrapped in newspaper.

2) solar recharging.

3) SD card replaced with an electronic gizmo that let you broadcast to a phone or internet connection. One man could walk through and get the pictures downloaded like a meter reader making a route.

4) 100 to 200 for the video cameras, plus accessories. Upping to the 200 each budget, would allow for live internet streaming.

   Panic continued after sighing…

   "So… every game cam comes in just over 100 each. Figure a hair over a thousand per 10. 10 thousand for 100 cameras. 20 thousand plus a little… to get the bigger blanket effect. 20 dollars a camera, jumping to a hundred bucks with accessories? Hamstrings the budget."

   "What's your dream? 300 cameras? All 100 bucks each? 30 thousand. A little more. I would spend three times that, if you thought wiring up all the south side trying to catch one of these pricks, would maybe produce results."

   "You got that kind of money?"

   "I'm not some kind of multi-millionaire, if that's what you're asking. I honestly don't worry about money though. The way I'm going now? That will keep me for life, and my wife can still go and get a roast any night she wants."

   Speedy looked at Panic…

   "Panic, do you trust him? In your gut?"

   "Well. I can't picture what evil organization he'd be running to try to be smiley. We're really not so much after Bobby's killer, as we are really hunting the smiley killer. We just think its a great chance this was another smiley victim, and it fits in roughly with our working theory. Logically? He can't possibly be smiley… and… if he wants to help? I say take the help."

   It was fairly late, and a car approached. A local fisherman by the familiar way he got the guy his bait. There was maybe a shot of the apricot left, did this customer want it? Sure he did, the guy smiled and thanked him for the "last rights" on a bottle of the good stuff. He was quickly off to fish, or back to it.

   Speedy wondered aloud…

   "How long do you stay here usually?"

   "Oh. Until… whenever. I might go home if its dead, if another one don't go soon, its a coin toss. Me and my two boys sometimes camp out here. If anyone wants anything, I'm here, the buzzer wakes me up. If no one comes? I either sleep through, or leave. Doesn't really matter…"

   Panic appraised his approach…

   "I like the way you have no particular hours. You simply don't care, and it doesn't seem to really matter."

   George smiled…

   "I'm not a depressed and defeated shell of a man… I'm not soaring like an eagle either. Since we're having a sleepover, and sneaking some of grandpa's cough medicine? We might as well sit up talking like schoolgirls, huh? Wine doth loosen a tongue… when people think of a chemist, I'm pretty sure they're thinking of a… I don't know, a chemical engineer, a research chemist."

   "Yeah, that's not me. I'm the ordinary kind of chemist. And I know it. I'm not going to be recruited by a major pharmaceutical, and given a dream lab and support… to invent the next greatest thing. I'm a functional reaction chemist, industrial sector. I fabricate fairly well established chemicals."

   "That's the difference between a chemist making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, and making… 100 to 200 grand a year, depending on job, market, ability, experience, etc. It's decent money, don't get me wrong… I just know my whole career I'll never be a star. I put my twenty years in, and saved most of my money. I was a good boy. I gave Bobby a big portion of our windfall."

   Speedy smiled at him…

   "Exactly how much did you make off of… this little side project?"

   George smiled wanly…

   "I don't really discuss financial stuff in that much detail. Look, I had a six figure bank account before this came along already, and I made six figures more. Exactly what those digits were, well, I'm not a millionaire. I was comfortable already, this just made me twice as comfortable."

   "Are you feeling guilt?"

   "Something awful close to guilt, but, not straight out guilt. I gave Bobby a huge percentage of the lottery winnings, I swear to God. I wasn't greedy. I never argued over a penny. There was enough to go around. I guess you just have to take my word for it, but… I didn't give Bobby no 10 percent finders fee or any shit like that. I treated him like a partner, not a stooge."

   Speedy calculated…

   "Normally? I would guess the person is laying some layer of bullshit over it, but, I already knew before I met you that… everyone said you treated your maintenance crew, your employees? Like gold. Better than you had to. That was your way. I guess I find it easy to take your word you fixed him up good."

   "Hey… grandpa and my Dad drilled it into my head when I was little, I was not allowed to be greedy, especially if there was a big pie going around. It was easy, found money. I shared it. Bobby was able to buy some kind of decent house in the country somewhere, in cash. He just never got a chance to. Like I said, it's not guilt, but it's close."

   Speedy shrugged…

   "If it's not just the smoked apricots talking, you want to casually buy 200, 300, 400 cameras? Twenty, thirty, forty grand? I about can't pass that up. That… that brings a lot more meat to the table. Gives me a chance, to try to get some extra help from somewhere. My state police, Pennsylvania's state police, maybe someone at the FBI would want to donate some manpower… who knows."

   George smiled, looking strangely like he wore the smile of the wife of the married couple that had saved him only to lose him again. A forced smile.

   "Well, I was impressed tonight. You said you two would impress me more shooting tomorrow. You think you can get guys coming out here that you trust? It won't cost me anything? I can feel safe? Let me see some movement on that end of things, yeah, I'll free up my checkbook. Fucking blanket your university stretch of smiley territory… and see if you can cover some of Pittsburgh, too."

   Speedy stretched…

   "I'm gonna take a nap on one of those cots… do we sleep in shifts, or what?"

   "I usually lock the doors and windows, and take a nap by myself. The buzzer wakes you up. Its loud enough. I'm going to take a nap… you two do as you please…"

   And true to his word, George laid down on top of a wool blanket on what appeared to be an old military cot or a college dorm cot auctioned off. The blanket looked to be fairly standard army navy surplus. Stack of several more not already on the cots, and extra pillows were in a pile in the corner in a large box.

   He crossed and uncrossed his legs, and laid back and tried to relax. He finally sighed and seemed to maybe fall asleep, or was trying to. Speedy opened his eyes, and locked eyes with Panic. Panic slowly mouthed the words, "I'll stay up. Go to sleep…", and so Speedy did.

   A couple cars drove by, but no business. Panic figured it was fishermen going back home late. The last truck zooming by, with loud radio and laughing… opened Speedy's eyes. He had grabbed a couple hours. Panic had found a cowboy style coffee pot, and made black coffee to stay awake and watch over Speedy sleeping.

   This guy was a new and unknown quantity. It wasn't like falling asleep in front of Bluedot, or another gun competition member. This guy seemed to be genuine and okay, but it would take time to trust him. Speedy smelled the coffee, and got up silently, and indicated he had a couple hours, it was Panic's turn. This watch was his.

   Panic got a couple hours sleep, and was gently shaken awake by Speedy. Timmy George was snoring, and Speedy took another little nap. An older man, with two younger boys… appeared to be taking his grand-kids fishing, and was smiling and patronizing the bait shop. After buzzing. Panic just stayed up with everyone else that was already up.

   After coffee, George suggested eggs and bacon. He had bacon, and the eggs were free from his wife's chickens. One of the refrigerators was stocked with basic foodstuffs, Speedy and Panic saw bread and lunch-meat. The bread looked home made, and a local shop was the likely source of the lunch-meat and cheese stacks.

   They settled on omelets all around. George had a big cast iron pan, and made a pound of bacon, and beat a dozen huge eggs and added a generous dollop of milk and beat that in with his fork. He crumbled the bacon up, and dumped in the huge egg and milk portion. The crisp bacon got all through it, and it was going to be way thicker than any omelet should be.

   He shredded some ham when both of them okay-ed it. Mushrooms from the surrounding property his wife and he learned to gather, he claimed. He chopped them up fairly fine and worked it in with the bacon. When it was firming up, he added several slices of Swiss cheese, then folded it over into a sort of breakfast cake.

   He sliced it three ways, and served it hot on paper plates. They all already had mugs of black coffee. They were eating and drinking black coffee, when Speedy noticed a local cop station wagon outside. He pointed it out to Panic and they mentioned it to George.

   George said he was going out to say "hi" to what was probably the chief, and off he ambled.

   He talked to the chief a little bit, then he waved and the chief, if that's who it was, drove off. George came back in with several cheese danishes, and opened them up and put them out for everyone. It was obvious the chief was just checking up on George.

   George mentioned it…

   "I felt pretty okay with you guys, that's why I went to sleep. Granted, I don't really know you guys, but… remember when I spoke to the chief and the cop that came out to check things out at my house? The chief promised to run your state police badge and make sure you were legit. If there had been any kind of problem, he said he would come out and get me. When he didn't show up after a while last night, I knew you were a real state cop like you said."

   "The chief just stopped by to get us danishes?"

   "More or less. He said not to take it personal he wasn't overly friendly at first meeting you. He was just checking up on me. Because I asked him to… I guess the danishes were a mild apology, he said we'll all have lunch when we feel like it. Mr. Panic has no warrants, by the way, Speedy…"

   All three chuckled. Trust would come slowly over time, as with anyone meeting for the first time and thrust together. Being a state cop obviously made it easier.

   "You're really chummy with the chief and the locals, George. Most people don't get that level of service unless they have family or friends in the department."

   "Like I said, I grew up here. Grandpa's gone a good time now. No one minds a hometown boy chucked his big city life in, for coming home. I do the black powder and the booze thing just like grandpa did. Its a small town thing, I guess."

   "Panic, what do we do to entertain Timmy today?"

   "Well, we could stretch our rifle's legs some…"

   Panic traded out the rifle cases and square containers for two other rifles for the two of them. They both went over their rigs, got ammo out of plastic storage containers, double checked everything. Both had vests that had pockets for ammo and to carry along rope field cleaning kits. Tiny spray bottles of things had places carved out in the foam, places for patches and whatnot.

   George watched their routine with detached interest.