THE WRITER

by Southy

© July 2006

PART TWO

As Jim’s mind rose to consciousness, he began to catalog his environment. The strong antiseptic smells. The dry air blowing through the vent. The intercom in the hallway. A crying child in the distance. The dryness in his mouth. 

The throbbing pain at his left side.

“I think he’s waking up,” a familiar voice said. 

Jim opened his eyes. He’d rather have been alone than have his boss sitting at his bedside.

“Looks like you’ll live,” Samuel Fleming said. “Just wanted to make sure our finest employee wasn’t going to bail on another assignment.”

“You’re a laugh a minute,” Jim said tightly, feeling the pull of sutures in his side. Fleming had always had an acerbic sense of humor.

More gently, Fleming asked, “Do you remember what happened?”

Jim was thoughtful for a moment. “Getting the shit beat of me by a group of Asians. Then…,” his eyes darted to Fleming, “did they stab me?”

“A three inch gash on your left side. Paul Williams was also acting as an agent for them, so they knew when your guard was down and they could take you out.”

Jim grimaced. Williams was an employee of the firm, and apparently pulling another salary from the Asians, as a double agent. “What happened to everyone?”

“Don’t worry. Our reputation is still reasonably intact. The family had made it downstairs before they took you out. It interfered with the planned hit.”

Thank God for that.

Fleming stood. “Enough business for now. You’ll need a few weeks to recover, so I’ll stay out of your hair until the doctor says you’re fit. Oh, there’s an Australian lady waiting outside to see you. I believe she said her name was Megan. Shall I show her in?”

Jim furrowed his brow. He felt the Australian nationality should mean something to him, but he couldn’t fathom why. The name wasn’t registering either.

Without waiting for an answer, Fleming went to the door and held it open for Jim’s visitor to enter.

A slim, attractive, well-dressed brunette woman came into the room. “Mr. Ellison,” she said in greeting. “I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I’ve been sent by Blair Sandburg.”

Jim perked up. “Sandburg? Is he all right?” It had been over a month since he’d left the estate.

“Yes, except for his worry about you. I’m his agent, by the way.”

Jim remembered that now.

She sat down in the chair Fleming had vacated. “He had tried to call you to set up a fishing trip. When he couldn’t get a hold of you, he had me try to track you down. It took some digging, but we were able to find out what happened and that you were admitted here.”

Jim was amazed at the effort.

She lowered her voice apologetically. “He would have come himself, but he was afraid his presence might create a commotion. There was a nasty article about him in one of the tabloids that hit the stores this week.”

God. Poor Sandburg. Jim wet his throat, then said, “All untrue, I suppose.”

“Of course. We thought the publicity had died down. But now someone is claiming that parts of Willow were copied from a manuscript they had written and never published. The accusations are a complete fabrication.”

Of course. Somebody was willing to take the $20,000 to make something up.

“How’s he doing?” Jim asked.

“He’s upset, of course. The publisher has a slew of lawyers to handle it. But now he’s distracted from finishing his next book, and hearing about your injury has distracted him even more. He sent me to ask if you’d like to recover at the estate. It’ll calm him to know how you’re doing. He says he’ll arrange for a private nurse to check in as often as necessary. You’ll never be on duty, you can enjoy the peace and quiet undisturbed, and he’ll serve you homemade meals in bed, if you’ll let him.”

Jim felt an instinct to resist, telling himself that Sandburg was lonely, and it wasn’t for him to cure that.

But the estate was peaceful. And comfortable. He’d have someone around who cared, and yet wouldn’t hover beyond what was necessary.

And maybe, with a friend near, Sandburg would be able to finish his book.

Megan said, “He does have one requirement of you.”

“What’s that?” 

“When you feel up to it, you agree to go fishing with him.”

Fishing with Sandburg. That was such a pleasant thought.

Jim managed a smile. “Tell him yes.”

**

Blair had arranged for a private ambulance, so that Jim would have the best of care and greatest possible comfort during the trip.

Jim knew that, in most cases, a person with his injuries would be able to walk – albeit very stiffly – upon release. But his sentinel abilities meant he was on diluted painkillers, since his system over-reacted to medications; plus, the injuries themselves were more painful than they would have been if his senses were normal.

In short, the knife wound hurt. It was difficult to think of little else.

During the ride, where he was able to lie on a gurney with his upper body elevated, he began to have second thoughts about his acceptance of Sandburg’s invitation. He would be vulnerable during his recovery, and wouldn’t have a way to simply up and leave, if he decided to. In a sense, he was at Blair’s mercy.

His foreboding increased when the ambulance turned into the circular driveway. Jenkins, his replacement, moved out to greet him.

Damn. Jim had forgotten that he’d be here. He didn’t like the idea of the other bodyguard seeing him when he was incapacitated.

Sandburg trotted out the front door as an attendant opened the back of the ambulance. “Hey, Jim,” he greeted happily as he stuck his head in the back. Then he sobered and his mouth dropped open.

Jim realized that his bruised and battered face was something Blair hadn’t expected.

But his host recovered immediately and presented a gentle smile. He reached for Jim, barely touching the top of his arm. “I’m so glad you agreed to this.”

Jim presented a smile of his own. “It’s good to see you.” He’d been given a mild sedative and it was making him drowsy.

“Okay,” Blair said, “we’re going to make this real smooth and easy. Your bed is all ready – it’s a different room since Jenkins has the one you were in before – and these guys will just take you upstairs and slide you into bed. We’ll get your pillows all fluffed and make sure you have anything you need, and then I’ll leave you alone to rest.”

“Sounds good,” Jim said. After the bombardment on his senses from the hospital, and then the long ambulance ride, he was looking forward to the comforts of home.

The ambulance attendants began to roll the gurney out of the vehicle. 

“Hey, Jim,” Jenkins said.

Jim gave him a brief nod.

“Okay, guys,” Blair said, “this way.”

Jim was relieved that Jenkins wasn’t trying to assist.

The gurney was carried up the staircase and then down the hall. They went into the bedroom that was next to the master suite.

It was a smaller bedroom than he’d had before. But it was neat and clean, and the bed had been moved to within a few steps of the private bath. 

Blair stayed back while the attendants efficiently moved Jim into bed. The shifting renewed all his aches and pains, but not as badly, he knew, if he’d been fully alert.

Once he was settled, Blair said to the attendants, “The bodyguard, Jenkins, is in the hall and he’ll show you guys out. Thanks so much.” And then he turned his attention to Jim, putting a knee on the bed. “Hey, man, you need me to move the pillows at all?”

“No, this is good,” Jim said, allowing himself a sigh of relief.

“Water?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay,” Blair said, his hand hovering over the nightstand, “you’ve got ice water and a glass here. And look at this.”

Jim accepted the device that was placed in his hand.

“A walkie-talkie,” Blair explained with a big smile. “I’ll keep mine with me. So, you need anything, just talk into that and I’ll come up.” He paused to gaze a Jim with a fond smile. “Don’t worry about bothering me or anything like that. Taking care of you is why I invited you here.” His smile broadened. “I’m so glad you agreed.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Jim said.

Blair lowered his voice. “It’s just me and you with the walkie-talkies. Jenkins has orders not to come in here unless you summon him. I made it clear that you’re my guest and he’s to do whatever you ask of him as a bodyguard, just like me.”

Jim wondered why he was wallowing in Blair’s babble, since he felt so tired.

“Jenkins is okay,” Blair went on. “But he doesn’t want to get friendly or anything.” Snort. “He’s good at what he does but he spends a lot of time outside. But then, he smokes, and I won’t have that in the house with me.”

Blair put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, which was bare, since he was clad only in an undershirt and boxers. “Okay, man, I’m going to leave now and let you rest. Please radio me when you wake up. I don’t want to call and disturb you when you’re sleeping. When you’re ready, I want to hear all about what happened to you.” Blair straightened and released a breath. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Jim.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Jim said again, his voice low.

“Okay. I’m going.” Blair moved backward a few steps. “Oh, a nurse will be visiting first thing in the morning.” He turned and gently closed the door behind him.

Jim gazed at the walls of the room.

They felt like home.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

**

Three hours later, Blair removed the serving tray, and its empty plates, from Jim’s bed, and set it by the door. Then he returned to the chair next to the bed.

Blair’s meal had been vastly superior to hospital food, and was better than what he usually got while eating out. “Thank you,” Jim said softly.

While eating, he’d described to Blair how he came to be stabbed, and Blair marveled at the dangers of Jim’s occupation. 

“Jim,” Blair said hesitantly now, “with your special senses….”

“Yes?”

“Does that mean an injury hurts more than it otherwise would?”

“Yeah,” Jim said with a tired sigh.

“Has it always been like that?”

“No,” Jim said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He gazed at the ceiling. “I was normal until a few years ago. And then I started experiencing all sorts of weird things. I didn’t understand what was happening. I got to where I could control it, where I could pretty much summon the extra abilities at will. Still, like I told you before, it was too hard to control in a cop environment. That’s why I had to resign.”

Blair lowered his gaze a moment, then looked at Jim bashfully. “What about, you know, the other end of the spectrum?”

Jim wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Pleasure,” Blair said, darting his eyes away.

Jim firmed his jaw.

Blair quickly waved his hands. “Never mind, never mind. I’m being nosy again.”

Jim relaxed back against his pillow. 

Blair grinned. “I think it would be neat to write a series of mysteries starring a character like you.”

“My life isn’t very exciting, Sandburg.”

“They would be fiction. I’d put lots of drama in them. I just think the whole senses thing could be a unique twist. Do you think you could tell me about some of your more interesting cases sometime? And how your senses helped you?”

“Only helped?” Jim said. “Because I can tell you a lot more times when they were a hindrance.” Then, more softly, “I mess up sometimes.” He wondered if he should be sharing something so personal with Blair.

“I don’t want to badger you while you’re recovering, but I hope we can talk some more about your career and what it’s like to live with heightened senses.”

“How’s your book coming?” Jim asked, eager to turn the conversation away from himself.

Blair shrugged. “I manage to type a paragraph every couple of hours or so.” He presented a lopsided grin. “Writing is like that sometimes.”

“I heard you had another tabloid incident.”

“Yeah,” Blair said reluctantly. “It’s not going to turn into anything because the paper already printed a retraction. I bet they paid somebody to make that up, so they could quote them. Even with the retraction, they got the sensation they were after for a few days. It sold them some papers.” 

“Sounds like a drag,” Jim said with sympathy.

“Sometimes,” Blair said in a low voice, “it feels like nobody cares about what I think, what I feel. Only what I can write, and what they can get from my fame and glory.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. His instinct was to scold Sandburg for voicing such. Yet, in his time as his bodyguard, he’d come to understand just how much his younger friend was treated like an object.

Blair looked up sheepishly. “That’s why I like having you around. You accept me for me. I’ve never felt that you’ve wanted something from me. I trust you and that means so much.”

Gently, Jim said, “I know it does. I feel the same way about you, buddy.”

Blair grinned at then endearment, and then cocked his head. “You mean, trust me because of the senses? You don’t normally talk about them?”

Jim looked away. “I mean because of a lot of things.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure he could put those “things” into words.

Blair reached forward and patted his hand. “I think this is enough talk for tonight. Are you going to be okay until the nurse comes tomorrow?”

Jim nodded, relieved that they’d changed subjects. He glanced toward the bathroom, “It was great of you to put the bed so close to the john.”

“I just wanted you to be comfortable.”

Jim squeezed his hand. “I am.”

**

His nurse was a man, pleasant while unobtrusive. But he did make Jim get out of bed for a few minutes and walk around the room, and then around the hall. It hurt, but Jim was grateful for the progress.

Jim was glad to have his host and companion back at his side for lunch.

We they had finished, Jim said, “Do you still have your fan mail round here, or did Megan find a fan club?”

“She found a service to handle it,” Blair replied, “but there’s still some mail that arrives here directly. The service sends a truck once a week to pick it up.”

“While I’m laid up, why don’t you let me read it? It’ll give me something to do, and I can sort the good letters for you, like I did before. I can keep an eye out for anything threatening.”

Blair grinned. “You aren’t supposed to be working.”

“I’m bored. It’s still two days before I can try hobbling down the stairs without assistance.” 

“All right. I’ll bring you the bag from downstairs.”

Jim couldn’t help but notice that Blair seemed pleased at his interest.

**

Late that evening, Jim pushed the heavy sack away, determined to not read one more letter, though it was tempting. He had a fair pile to show to Blair. The rest had been put back in their envelopes and placed in a pile for those already read. He still had half the bag remaining.

Jim turned off the lamp and settled back on the mattress. As he closed his eyes, his hearing instinctively reached out and made a sweep of the house. Down the hall, he could hear Jenkins snoring. He had to pity his co-worker. There had only been a very minor incident with a mother and daughter coming to the house a couple of weeks ago. Since Jenkins didn’t seem particularly interested in conversing with Blair, it had to be the most uninteresting of assignments.

Jim’s hearing went down to the first floor, and then into the basement where the gym was. He pulled his hearing back, preparing to left himself drift into sleep.

Then he heard muffled noise, like a gasp.

He listened.

It was coming from the master bedroom, next to his room.

A moment later, Jim realized the sound had a rhythm and he knew what it was.

He reached down beneath the covers and gave himself a sympathetic feel – just long enough to validate that it would be a while before he’d be feeling any such urges, considering the pain in his side, however wavering.

He respectfully pulled back his hearing.

Closing his eyes, he wondered, When was the last time he had sex with a warm, loving human being?

**

The next morning, Jim moved slowly and cautiously, determined to make it down the staircase without Sandburg or Jenkins – who was out smoking on the balcony – feeling the need to rush to his side.

He could hear Sandburg in his office, occasionally clicking the mouse.

Surfing the net, not writing.

Having finally made it to the first floor, with being in only an annoying level of pain, Jim decided to move deftly to the office and scold his host. The deadline for Blair’s second book was two weeks away.

Just as Jim breached the open doorway, he saw Blair frowning heavily, while focused on his computer screen. Then he broke into a smile when he looked up. “Jim!” He started to rise.

“Stay where you are,” Jim said in his firmest voice, while his hand pampered his side where the wound was. “I know a writer who isn’t writing when he’s supposed to be.” He gingerly seated himself in a chair before Sandburg’s desk.

Blair turned back to the screen, his expression more sober. “Actually, I was writing a little earlier, but I decided to take a break and surf the net.”

Sandburg’s attention remained on the screen, the corner of his mouth twisting into a frown. Jim prompted, “And?”

Blair shook his head dismissively. Yet, he said, “Now I understand why Megan says she fires writers who read what others say about their books.”

Jim furrowed his brow. “How can you avoid knowing what other people think of your books? Isn’t that the point? Obviously, if you’re successful, it means people really like them.”

“The kids like them,” Blair corrected uneasily. Then he admitted, “And sometimes the adults. But my supposed peers…,” he sighed and Jim watched his Adam’s Apple bob.

“What did you find?”

Blair turned in his chair to face Jim. “Before writing my novels, I got a short story published in a magazine. I contacted another writer, Art Hallar, who also had a story in the magazine. I told him how much I enjoyed his story and we exchanged a few emails back and forth. He was more experienced than I was, and he told me that he liked my style, thought I was on the right track with my writing, that kind of thing.” Blair lowered his gaze and swallowed thickly. “It meant a lot to me.”

Jim waited.

Blair turned back to the computer screen, clearly not seeing it. “On this one list where writers sort of hang out, some of them were bad-mouthing Willow and all my work in general. Then others joined in – you know, a sort of the mob mentality that can happen in a group atmosphere. I know there’s always going to be people who don’t like my stuff – either because they think it’s genuinely bad, or they’re just plain jealous of my success – but I’ve been reading all these comments, thinking, surely, somebody would mention they thought Willow was a decent novel.”

Blair drew a breath. “Then I saw a post come through with Hallar’s email address and I thought, ‘Oh, good, at least he’ll put a good word in for me.’” Blair lowered his head and swallowed. “But he trashed Willow too. And then bad-mouthed all my work.” He looked up hesitantly at Jim.

“Come on,” Jim chided, not showing his anger that Blair had been subjected to so much disappointment. “You know they’re a bunch of frustrated, jealous wannabes. This guy complimented you when you were an unknown, and trashes you when you’re famous. He’s a two-holed asshole.”

Blair nodded slowly, gaze on his hands. Then he quietly said, “There had to be some 200 posts on the subject of my work. Not one person had anything positive to say. Not one. Or even anything neutral.”

“Chief,” Jim said, deliberating making his voice cheerful, “those other writers aren’t the people you’re writing for, right? I’ve got a stack of letters up in my bedroom that I want to show you. On top of the hundreds, if not thousands, you’ve already seen. These kids love your books. The characters you create mean so much to them.”

Blair presented a shy smile. “I know. It’s just….”

“What?”

Blair looked at Jim fully. “When I was still in school and trying to get stories published in magazines, I used to try to project into the future and imagine what my life would be like. Sometimes, I’d imagine myself as rich and famous. Sometimes I’d imagine myself as sort of a blue-collar novelist. Sometimes I’d imagine myself doing the rounds at schools, talking to kids. And sometimes,” he grinned, “I’d imagine myself being a truck driver, and looking back at my college days and laughing at myself for having once thought I could actually make a living from writing.”

Jim grinned back.

The smile disappeared from Blair’s face. “But the one thing I never imagined, is that one day I’d be the most hated person within my profession.”

“Two hundred people participating in a cowardly internet mob hardly represents everyone in your profession.”

Blair turned his head to look out the window. “Still, it would have been nice if just one person would have said they thought Willow was ‘okay’."

Jim shook his head. “Couldn’t happen. No one is going to go against the grain in a feeding-frenzy; they’d be swallowed up.”

Blair said, “I’d like to think I’d never let myself get pulled into something like that, where the feelings of the group wiped out my own individual thoughts.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t.” Jim shrugged, trying to shift the subject. “Surely, all the millions you have makes up for some of the consequences of being famous.”

Blair presented a crooked grin. “Millions?”

Jim loved seeing that smile. “The second Willow book has sold millions of copies, hasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been good with numbers. But I only get a small cut of all the sales. I’m hardly a millionaire.” Blair appeared thoughtful. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

“You don’t know?”

Blair shrugged. “Megan has a financial firm handle my money. I don’t have anything to do with it. They just give me a check for five thousand every month, for spending money.”

Jim put his hands on the desk between them, resisting the urge to jump out of his chair. “Do you trust them?” 

“Yeah. Or, rather, I trust Megan and she trusts them.”

“How closely does she watch over the money?”

“I don’t think she watches over it. That’s why she has the accounting firm do it. But all the money for her young writers – that’s what she specializes in – is handled by the firm.”

“Young writers who don’t know better,” Jim said. “Look, Chief, I’ve been a cop. I’ve seen how often trusted people skim money for themselves that doesn’t belong to them.” He felt bad about bringing up the unpleasant subject, for now Blair’s mouth had fallen open. “You’ve got to watch these people.”

“How can I watch them? I don’t know anything about money. They’re investing it in stocks and stuff like that. I can’t oversee stuff that I don’t understand.”

Jim gentled his voice. “I’m no accountant, but I know the basics. They would be using your income from the publisher to pay your expenses, including their own fee. What’s left over, after giving you your $5000 draw, should be money in accounts in your name. All the paperwork should be there. If you’d like, I can go to the firm on your behalf and review out all the checks that have been issued. If you give permission to the publisher, surely they’ll give me access to records of the amounts they’ve paid you, and I can make sure the accounting firm is recording it all as income, and not letting any ‘accidentally’ fall through the cracks.”

“Man,” Blair said, “something like that wouldn’t even occur to me.”

Jim softened his voice even more. “You need someone looking out for your interests, Chief, beyond your writing. Until I can go back to work, I may as well make myself useful. You can’t afford to be naïve about stuff like this.”

Blair furrowed his brow, and Jim suddenly realized how it looked. Here he was, yet somebody else wanting something from Blair – in this case, to get his hands on the records of his money.

Yet, when Blair spoke, he asked, “Are you sure it won’t be a bother to you?”

“Not at all,” Jim assured, not letting his relief show. “I’m worried that you’ve got a bunch of people you don’t know handling all this stuff for you. This is your future, Chief. You might never write another bestseller.”

“Thanks a lot for your faith in me,” Blair said, but he was chuckling.

Jim wanted to hear that sound as often as possible.

**

The nurse was no longer needed. Three days later, Jim was leaning on the stone wall that outlined the back patio. 

Blair came up beside him and squeezed him briefly on the shoulder. “I just received a call from Prestige. They should have all my income records faxed to me tomorrow.”

“Good.” With those documents in hand, Jim and Blair intended to arrive at the accounting firm, without warning. They would politely ask to see documents from Blair’s accounting records the past two years. Jim would be presented as a general consultant, overseeing all of Blair’s interests.

“You get any writing done this morning?” Jim asked. 

“One chapter left,” Blair replied, “and then the rough draft is finished.”

Jim looked at him in pleasant surprise.

Blair nodded with a grin. “I was at my computer through most of the night. You didn’t hear me?”

“I’ve learned to dial my hearing down at night, or I could never sleep. Unusual noises will still awaken me. I’m used to the sound of your keyboard.”

“I’m serious about wanting to write about you, Jim. Or, at least, a character based on you. Writing these three novels for teenagers has meant a lot to me, but I’m ready for something different. I want to write about adults.”

“Your fans will be crushed.”

“Yeah. And my publisher. And probably Megan. Sometimes, I wonder if I could just disappear, and then re-emerge under a different name that nobody but you and Megan would know is really me.”

Partially teasing, Jim said, “I hope you don’t intend to fake your death. As a former cop, I wouldn’t appreciate knowing law enforcement was wasting its time and resources investigating a death that never really happened.”

Blair grunted with amusement. “I admit the thought has crossed my mind. But surely it won’t be necessary to go to that extreme.”

They were silent for a long moment.

“So, Jim, you ever been married?”

Jim supposed it was inevitable that their friendship would finally reach this ground. “Uh-huh. Just for a short time, when I was a cop. She worked in Forensics.”

“What happened?”

“Just grew apart. You know.” He was surprised at how uncomfortable he felt discussing it.

“Can’t say that I do. I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few months.” Pause. “You miss being married?”

Jim realized he wanted to be open to Blair. “Sometimes. There’s something to be said for the companionship.”

“Being a bodyguard, I suppose that’s not the kind of life that allows you to develop much in the way of close ties with co-workers.”

“Ditto for famous writers.”

“I guess.” Blair looked away. “I hate when I feel lonely. But I’ve never imagined myself being married. I guess because I grew up traveling a lot with my mom. I’ve never had to put down roots. I’m not even sure I’d know how.”

Jim reached over and rubbed across the back of Blair’s shoulders. “I don’t think everyone was meant to settle down. Society just likes to make us think we should.”

“Mmm,” Blair said, closing his eyes, “that feels good.”

Jim rubbed more firmly. “Maybe a professional massage would do you good. I saw a sign for one in town. I’ll treat you when you finish the book.”

Blair grinned a moment, then opened his eyes. “Seems like you’d be good at something like that, if you have a heightened sense of touch.”

Jim was amazed at how often Blair’s mind was on the senses. He was startled to realize that he wanted to bask in the desire of another to know him.

“Touch isn’t my most cultivated sense,” he replied. “Sight and sound seem to be the most finely honed for me.”

“What about Jenkins? Does he have heightened senses?”

“No, not everyone with the bodyguard firm has them. But he’s highly intuitive.”

“Mm,” Blair grunted. “So intuitive that he probably knew right away that this was going to be a bum job. You want to know the truth, I’d like to end his assignment.”

“I’m not healed enough to catch any prowlers.”

“There haven’t been any prowlers, or overly-forward fans, for weeks now. There’s not much point in him being here.”

Jim’s hand still rested on Blair’s shoulders. “The firm will want to keep him here as long as Prestige Publishing is paying for it. They don’t care how bored he is.” 

Blair tentatively placed his hand on the small of Jim’s back. “How’s your wound feel?”

“It’s just a mild ache now. I can even forget about it when I don’t move much.”

“Let’s not go to the accounting firm until you’re healed.”

Jim finally took his hand from Blair’s shoulders and said, “I’m healed well enough.”

He realized that, in the back of his mind, he was cataloging the pressure of Blair’s hand against his shirt.

**

“Mr. Sandburg,” the secretary exclaimed in surprise, looking from Blair to Jim. “I don’t think we had you down for an appointment.”

Keeping the employees of the accounting firm off balance was exactly what Jim was hoping for.

“Yes, we don’t,” Blair said politely. “Sorry, but this came up kind of sudden. I need to see Mr. Steve Bowling right away.”

“Can I tell him what it’s concerning?”

“I’d like him to meet my new consultant, who wants to review my records.”

She moved swiftly away.

When they were in Mr. Bowling’s office a few minutes later, the tall, graying, broad-shouldered man said, “I have an appointment in just a few minutes. What is it you need to see me about?”

Blair said, “I’ve hired Jim Ellison as a consultant. He wants to review the accounting for all my income and expenses for the two years I’ve been with your firm.”

“Consultant?” Mr. Bowling asked while glancing at Jim with disapproval. “Is Megan Conner no longer your agent?”

“She’s still my agent for my writing. Mr. Ellison is in charge of my other affairs.”

“We don’t need to take up more of your time,” Jim said. “We’d like to be given the records and then be given an office or other room where we can review them.”

“You should have called ahead,” Bowling said, “then I could have had the records prepared for you.”

“Jim’s only in town a short time,” Blair quickly lied.

“Surely,” Jim said, “it’s just a matter of printing reports off the computer and pulling some files.”

Bowling drew a breath. “Very well. I can get Lisa to assist you.” He picked up the phone. “Lisa, please come to my office.”

**

Two hours later, Jim and Blair were alone in a small break room, files and reports stacked about them.

Blair mainly sipped coffee while watching Jim work.

Jim flipped over the last page of a report. “The income matches up, at least. They’ve been recording everything your publishers have paid you.”

Blair sighed with relief. “That’s the main thing, right?”

“No, there’s the expense side.” Jim grabbed another file. “A lot of the stuff seems pretty standard, if a bit over-priced. But this $10,000 keeps showing up every month.”

“For what?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Jim leafed through carbon copies of checks in the folder. “Here’s a $10,000 check from three months ago. Payable to Redd’s Financial Consulting Firm. The voucher says Consulting Expenses. Most checks are stapled to a copy of an invoice. This one isn’t. I’ve come across others to Redd’s for this amount that don’t have any supporting documentation, either.”

“Which means what?”

“Which means they might be stealing it from you. One of this firm’s officers – maybe Mr. Bowling himself – might be the owner of Redd’s Financial Consulting Firm.”

“But why would they do that?”

Jim felt a twinge of annoyance at Blair’s naivety. “Because it’s easy money. They’re counting on the trust and ignorance of their clients to never question anything they do.” 

“Why would you think that?” Blair said, distressed. “I mean, why would that even occur to you?”

Jim put the file down and looked directly at Blair. “When I was with the police force, we busted a management firm for professional boxers. This firm would get these young, uneducated, talented boxers to sign up with them, cover all their expenses, and take all their earnings. The minute the boxer is too injured to keep boxing, or starts losing, or otherwise retires, he finds himself completely broke, and the management firm tells him that all his winnings went to ‘legitimate expenses’. It was a tough case, but we eventually won. Still, the firm went under, due to the court case, and the boxers never saw any of the money.”

“Man,” Blair said, “I just can’t believe that Megan would have all her young writers sign on with this firm, if it wasn’t legit.”

“She may not know anything about what goes on. After all, her job is getting you a good contract with the publisher, right? After that, as long as she’s getting her share of the pie, she’s going to assume you’re getting your share, too.” Jim indicated the report from Prestige Publishing. “We've verified that you’re getting your share of sales, which is in this company’s best interest, as well as yours. ” Jim stood.

“I hope we don’t find anything truly wrong,” Blair said. “I’m not good at dealing with stuff like this. I mean, conflict-wise, as well as money-wise.”

Jim went around the table and squeezed Blair’s shoulder. Grinning, he said, “That’s why you have a tough guy like me as your consultant.” He went to the door and opened it. “Lisa, please have Mr. Bowling meet with us as soon as possible.”

It was twenty minutes before Mr. Bowling entered the room. “How can I help you?” he asked, taking a seat next to Jim.

Jim handed him a stack of check copies. “Everything appears to be in order, except for these. Why is Redd’s Financial Consulting Firm being paid $10,000 every month?”

“They do financial consulting for Mr. Sandburg,” Bowling replied. “It’s a service they provide for all our clients.”

“To the tune of ten thousand dollars every month? What kind of consulting is Mr. Sandburg getting for a hundred and twenty-grand a year?”

“They review his investments regularly, and recommended changes as they see fit. Their goal is for Mr. Sandburg’s assets to be invested as wisely and lucratively as possible.”

Jim remained impassive. “How does that cost a flat fee of ten thousand dollars a month? What kind of hourly rate does that equate to?”

Bowling smoothly replied, “It isn’t an hourly a rate. Our standard contract, which Mr. Sandburg signed, includes a clause that says he agrees to pay Redd’s Financial Consulting Firm to provide monthly investment advice for his assets.”

Jim folded his hands on the tabletop. “Mr. Bowling, I used to work for the Cascade Police Department. I have many friends there. You had better come up with a good reason for this ‘advice’ to cost ten thousand a month, or I’m going to let Major Crime know that they need to not only look into Mr. Sandburg’s records with you, but those of your other clients, as well.”

Bowling appeared unruffled. But he said, “I don’t see any reason to pose such threats. We’re quite capable of doing an internal audit ourselves. Unfortunately, we recently let our youngest accountant, Andrew Bradford go, as we found he’d made quite a number of errors. If you’d allow me a few days, we’ll review all the expenses paid from Mr. Sandburg’s account and refund any monies that we find have been paid in error.”

Jim forced a tight smile and looked Bowling in the eye. “You do that. And while you’re at it, I’d recommend reviewing other client files for any ‘errors’ made. You never know when someone might tip off the police that there’s something illegal going on.”

Bowling swallowed. “I’ll take that under advisement.” He stood, then nodded at Blair. “Good day, gentlemen.”

**

Since they were in town, they decided on dinner at an expensive restaurant.

As they sat across from each other, eating prime rib and lobster, Blair asked, “Do you think it was really a mistake that that Bradford guy made with my accounts?”

“Of course not,” Jim said. “It just gave Bowling an easy out to name their most recently departed employee as the bad guy. If they were above board, Bowling wouldn’t have so easily admitted to ‘errors’. He’s a slick character, I have to admit.”

“Man, I feel stupid for not even thinking about anything like this.”

“You’ve got to get your money out of there, once they credit your account with their ‘corrections’.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Blair said dubiously. Then he looked up. “Do you want to handle my money?”

Jim choked on his water, even as he appreciated the trust. “No way, Chief. I’m not qualified to do anything like that. But I can help you find a better accounting firm. One that’s smaller and will give you more personal treatment.”

Blair nodded. “I’d like that.” He chewed a moment. Then, “I wonder how much they’ll credit me back.”

“I wouldn’t accept less than all two years of those phony checks – two hundred and forty thousand.”

Blair’s eyes widened. “Man!”

Jim smiled at his companion. He’d never known anyone like Blair. “You really are clueless about your finances, aren’t you, Chief?”

“Yes, I freely admit it.”

“Then is it news to you that you’re a millionaire? I saw a list of your assets.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Blair brushed his napkin against his lips. “That seems unreal.” He sat back in his chair. “Literally. It’s just like when people say I’m famous. It’s just a word to me. Even though I’ve done the talk show circuit and everything, I can’t tie the word to anything tangible, anything meaningful.” He stared at the tabletop. “I guess because it all happened so quickly.”

“It’s no wonder the money doesn’t seem real. You’ve never had your hands on it, except for that five thousand monthly allowance they give you.” 

They both picked at the remainder of the food on their plates.

“Jim?”

Jim nodded at the waiter who offered to take his plate, and then gave Blair his full attention.

“Do you feel well enough to go fishing again? I’d really like to.”

He was amazed, yet again, at how such a simple outing could mean so much to Blair – and how open Blair was about his feelings.

“Sure – as soon as you finish the last chapter of your book.”

“I’ve just got one more scene to write. I already pretty much know how it’s going to play out.”

“Then you should be able to finish it quickly. Maybe even tonight.”

“Yeah. I know I need to get it done.”

“We’ll go as soon as it’s finished,” Jim assured. “Trust me, I feel well enough for fishing.”

Blair’s expression was warm and soft as he beamed at Jim.

They left a short time later. The restaurant was located on the second floor of a building with various upper class establishments. They were in a covered mezzanine as they approached the main entrance that led out to the darkness of night. Thankfully, it was a weeknight and the area was sparsely populated.

Blair paused and gestured. “I need to make a pit stop.”

Jim started to turn that way, but Blair hesitantly said, “Uh, why don’t you wait here? I gotta, you know, do a number two.” Bashful laugh. “That food was really rich.”

“Take your time,” Jim said with a sigh, grateful for the warning.

He stood back and watched Blair grab a free newspaper from a distribution bin as he headed to the men’s room.

He decided he would check in periodically with his hearing, just to make sure a journalist or fan in the john might not be inclined to mind his own business.

As Blair disappeared through the door, Jim let himself admit that he enjoyed watching over him.

Having grown up with money, he had never been impressed by it. Still, it was difficult to fathom Sandburg’s lack of outrage at having $120,000 a year embezzled by a trusted firm.

He needs someone to watch over him, if he isn’t going to watch over himself.

“Hey, uh…”

Jim turned at the voice and found himself looking down at a young slender man, who wore clothing too cheap to be hanging out in a mall like this.

“Was that Blair Sandburg?” the man asked, gazing toward the bathroom door.

“Who’s asking?” Jim demanded in a firm tone.

The man shrugged and wouldn’t meet Jim’s eye. “I just really like his stuff. He’s such a powerful writer. I know that recent book of his, The Willow Place, gets all the attention, but I really like his short stories. They pack a lot of punch. If I’m ever able to write half as good as he does….” 

“You studying writing?” Jim asked, deciding the man wasn’t a threat.

He nodded. “At Rainier. I’m writing my thesis on Sandburg’s short stories and how they’re all, at their core, about the loneliness of man.” He darted his eyes briefly up at Jim. “I wish I could talk to him about his stuff.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Huh?” The kid looked genuinely confused. “He doesn’t want to talk to some stupid beginning grad student like me.”

“You might be surprised,” Jim said, hoping his suggestion wasn’t going to backfire.

The kid snorted. “I’m sure he hears all the time about how wonderful he is. He probably gets sick of it.”

Jim drew a breath. “I doubt it.”

The kid shrugged. “I don’t want to bother him or anything.”

He seemed so sincere. “I doubt he’d consider a compliment a ‘bother.’ Besides,” Jim said with a touch of amusement, “I’m his bodyguard, so I’ll make sure you don’t bother him.”

Just then, the bathroom door opened and Blair emerged.

“Go ahead, talk to him,” Jim said, stepping away.

Blair looked puzzled, his stride slowing as he approached Jim, the grad student between them.

“Mr. Sandburg,” the kid said, “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, so unexpectedly and everything, but your bodyguard said it would be all right.”

Blair looked up at Jim. Jim smiled, and was relieved when Blair then turned his full attention to the kid.

As soon as the student mentioned “short stories”, Blair’s interest peaked and the conversation became more equal, rather than an admirer speaking to the one admired.

Jim decided he wanted to read some of Blair’s short stories, since they were apparently for adults.

He could imagine, after so much attention for writing a pair – soon to be trio – of children’s books, how refreshing it was for Blair that his other writing was being acknowledged.

Finally, their conversation wound down and Jim came closer.

Blair pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to the student. “The snail mail address is old on this, but the email address is valid. So, yes, please email me and I’ll answer any questions you have about the stories.”

“Thanks so much, Mr. Sandburg,” the student beamed. “This is gonna be great!” He strode briskly away.

“You made his night,” Jim said as they moved to the exit doors.

“He made mine! Can you believe that? He was interested in my other stuff. I didn’t think anybody paid any attention to those stories. He even wants to write his thesis about my writing!” They moved out of the building and into the summer night. “Now, this is what I call feeling famous!”

Jim settled his hand on Blair’s back as they strode to the Cadillac. “He was saying something about loneliness being the theme of your short stories.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’d agree with that. It’s funny, though, how you can think you’re writing one thing, and readers can feel they got something else from it entirely.” He looked up at Jim. “You know?”

Jim reached to unlock the passenger side. “Can’t say that I do.”

“We’ll make you famous too,” Blair said as he got in. “I’m going to write about you in my next novel.”

“As long as it’s truly a novel,” Jim said, “and nobody knows it’s really me.” He closed the door, and then went around to the driver side.

After they drove out of the parking lot, Blair sighed airily. “You know what? I think I really can finish my book tonight. I want to have it behind me.”

“Great. Maybe I’ll stay up with you and keep the coffee brewing.” He was eager for Blair to have the book behind him. Blair seemed so anxious to move to the next phase of his life; the requirement to finish the third book of his trilogy was so confining that Jim felt trapped, too.

Maybe, after fulfilling this commitment, Blair would be free.

“Jim?”

Jim looked over at Blair, for his tone had been subdued. “Uh-huh?”

“I just realized that I haven’t said thank you. For all that you did with the accounting firm, no matter what the outcome is. For caring so much.” Blair swallowed thickly. “For treating me like a real person, all this time we’ve known each other. It really means a lot to me to have you here, to have you around.”

“You’re welcome,” Jim said, a warm feeling coming over him. “Other people would treat you like a real person, too, if you’d let them get to know you.” Not that he wanted to share Blair’s attention with other people.

“I doubt it. Jenkins doesn’t think much of me.”

“Jenkins lives in his own world of cigarettes.” 

“And that Bowling… he hardly even acknowledged me, even though it’s my money that’s lining his pockets.”

“I was acting as your consultant at that point, so I was the logical person for him to converse with.” Jim glanced at Blair. “Are you already forgetting your young admirer tonight?”

A smile lit Sandburg’s face. “Man, that was really something. I could handle the idea of fans if they were all like him. It’s like he genuinely respected me, you know? He really wanted to know what my thoughts were behind my short stories. I’ve never had anyone take that much interest before.”

Jim decided that, while Blair wrote his final chapter, he was going to read his short stories.

 

END PART TWO

Part Three

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