PART TWO

At five o'clock exactly, Jim walked in the door to their room. Weary from sitting in a chair all afternoon, he was looking forward to meeting Franks at the pub and having a beer. The afternoon was pleasant, white fluffy clouds drifted across the sky and a stiff breeze tickled the water, causing small whitecaps to appear across the inlet. Sailboats were plentiful as they darted and dodged the commercial ships reroute to Seattle.

"Hey, Sandburg," he called out, hearing the shower running. "You get any rest?"

"Yeah, I'm going to be awake all night, big guy. I'll never sleep after that power nap you made me take," Blair replied from the bathroom.

"Great," Jim moaned. It wasn't a problem back at the loft when Blair stayed up all night, but in this small room? Jim shook his head.

After re-bandaging Blair's leg, Jim took a turn in the shower. Soon both men were dressed and ready to head out, locking the door behind them. Blair was dressed in tennis shoes, loose jeans and a light gray long sleeve Henley with a light flannel shirt, his wet hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Jim wore leather loafers, dark Dockers and a lightweight, blue cotton cable sweater. Jim opened the door for Blair to go out first. Blair's first swing on his crutches over the sill was aborted when he spied the foldable wheelchair just outside the door.

"No way, Jim," Blair declared firmly, backing away.

"Sandburg, empty parking spots don't exist this time of day. The pub is over five blocks away, and you are `not' walking, even on crutches. Besides, this will give you freedom during the day to check out the galleries and return to the bookstore."

Blair's face brightened. "Really? I can go back to the bookstore?"

Jim gave his friend a look of disbelief. "Do I look stupid? Admit it, you planned on returning tomorrow, didn't you? At least with this, you're still following the doctor's orders."

Blair lowered himself into the chair and leaned the crutches on his knee and shoulder. "To the pub, James," he ordered in a bad English accent.

Arriving at the pub, Franks stood up from his table and waved at them across a large crowded room. Blair had refused to use the chair inside the pub, so it was folded and placed off to the side by a large coat rack. Using his crutches, Blair maneuvered his way through the room with Jim on his heels. One side of the open restaurant was covered with a huge antique mahogany bar, complete with the original mirror. The ceiling was covered in decorative hammered copper. A band was setting up, getting ready to play on a small corner stage.

"This must be the famous Blair Sandburg!" Franks said in a loud voice as they neared. "Martin Franks. Joel's told me all about you!"

Blair looked at the older man in surprise, leaning on one crutch as he shook the extended hand. "Joel Taggert?"

"Yessiree, worked with Joel for over five years, just before I got assigned to the desk next to Ellison's in Vice." Franks admitted, pulling out a wooden chair. The legs scraped across the wooden floor, causing Jim to flinch from the sound.

Blair sat as Franks introduced the other five men at the table by name. The men were a mix of city and Jefferson County off duty cops all about Jim's age or older. Jim nodded to each man as he took a seat next to his roommate. He could see the men sizing up Blair, probably puzzled by his age and appearance.

"Joel says you ride with Jim for your college studies," Franks said as the waitress set a large pitcher of beer on the table. Franks helped himself to a glass, passing the pitcher to Blair, who passed it off to Jim.

"What? You're not twenty-one?" Franks asked.

"No...I'm on meds," Blair explained, catching the eye of the waitress and grinning. "Coffee?"

"Coming up," she answered, returning a warm smile.

"Ah...of course. Your bullet wound," Franks said. "During the Quinn escape attempt, right?"

"Yeah."

A man from across the table leaned forward. "We got a chance to read some of that report. How'd you know which way Quinn went, Ellison? All the sheriff's search crews went the opposite direction."

Jim poured his beer and passed the pitcher to the next man. "Just following a hunch, knowing my Captain's luck, if the entire rescue team heads off in one direction, then Simon went the opposite."

The group laughed. An older man speared Blair with a measuring eye. "You're not with the department, Sandburg, why did you go along?"

Jim bristled at the tone. He knew some of these men had pegged Blair as an outsider, a hippie like the young men and women that seemed to roam the streets of Port Townsend in packs. Jim began to regret his decision to bring his partner. They should have just found a quiet place to eat alone.

Blair ignored the tone, giving a short laugh. "Are you kidding? Jim alone in the woods? Who would protect the bears and other poor woodland creatures?" he joked, before his dark blue eyes became serious. "Jim's my partner; you go where your partner goes. Besides, Simon's a friend."

The table grew quiet. Then the older cop nodded. "Well said, kid."

The group began to share old cases, as they tried to top each others stories, each more outlandish then the last, until the table was laughing loud enough to cause heads to turn. By the time the food arrived, the stories had slowed down and the talk switched to sports. Jim took time to prepare his prime rib the way he liked it, smothered in coarse horseradish. Beside him, Blair dug into his chicken and pasta.

The band was playing, people laughed and joked, adding to the noise in the room, causing Jim to turn his hearing down. Still, a soft cry reached the sentinel's ears. Jim looked up from his food, his face alert while his eyes searched the room.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair whispered.

Jim didn't answer, his eyes checking each occupant as he dialed up his hearing.

"Give it up, Annie. You know you want it."

"No, I'm leaving...augh!"

"I'm not forking out dough for this lousy food just to have you split, baby."

Jim spotted the couple at the other end of the room, toward the back where a booth offered some privacy from the crowd. Jim could see the backs of their heads, unable to see what was happening, but he didn't need to, his ears told him enough. Without explaining his reasons, he was out of his chair and across the room.

"Excuse me, Miss," Jim said politely. "Can I help you?"

The woman at the table looked young, eighteen or nineteen. Her hair had been dyed with multiple colors of red, orange and blue, forming long streaks down the strands. She was pretty, slim-figured and petite. The man leaning against her in the seat removed his hands from under her sweater and turned to glare at Jim with a murderous expression.

"Get the hell out of here, mister." His voice was low and angry; a wave of sour whisky wafted up into Jim's face.

Jim's badge was out and slammed on the tabletop in an instant as he jerked the younger man out of the seat by the scruff of his neck. "Wrong tactic, cowboy. I was hoping more for the `one too many drinks by the fella and now he's all sorry' scenario here."

The man swung his fist towards Jim's face, but his alcohol soaked brain made the punch slow, easy to dodge. Jim shoved him face first into the wall, pinning him with his right arm behind his back.

"What'cha got, Jim?" Franks voice asked over Jim's shoulder.

"Cowboy here was not being a gentleman," Jim explained as he twisted his head to look at the girl cowering in the corner, her white face frozen with fear. "Are you alright, Miss? Do you want to press charges?"

She shook her head adamantly, snatching up her knitted handbag from the floor and sliding out of the booth. "No, no...really it's all right."

Franks laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss, have one of these officers call a friend to take you home. Do yourself a favor and stay away from this guy, okay?"

She nodded. "That's okay. I've got a cell phone. I'll call my dad," she said. A waitress appeared at her side and offered to take her to the back to wait.

"Let him go, Jim," Franks ordered.

Jim released the man and stepped back, fighting the urge to sneeze. Something in the air was irritating his nose. Jim traced the scent to the man's expensive smelling cologne. Jim hadn't noticed it until now, the strong smell of alcohol overpowering anything else on his person.

Franks looked at the local man with contempt. "What's wrong, Sanderson, misdemeanors too boring for you now? Trying your hand at felonies now?"

Sanderson glared at Jim and Franks, then two more cops from their table arrived to back them up. The fact he was outnumbered four to one seemed to sink in. Attempting to adjust his sweater, his face flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Franks. I was enjoying my dinner when this jerk came on like Conan and started throwing his weight around. I didn't even know he was a cop."

Franks pointed to the badge on the table. "What's that? Looks like a clear message to me."

Sanderson pointed at his face with a smirk. "No glasses."

Franks turned to Jim. "Your call, Ellison."

Jim considered the younger man for a second. Did he really want to deal with this? He'd have to come back for the court date, not something he looked forward to. Plus he'd never verbally said he was with the police, with Jim's normal luck, the guy was legally blind without glasses, just too vain to wear them on a date.

"Get out of here. Grow up and learn how to treat women, little boy," Jim warned, picking up his badge and returning it to his pocket. Sanderson replied with a look of smug insolence. It was almost enough to cause Jim to change his mind and make an arrest on the spot.

Franks jerked a thumb at the doorway. "You heard him, get out of here before `I' change my mind and take you in."

Sanderson slipped past the cops without a word, disappearing through the doorway and walking with angry steps down the sidewalk. Jim ran a hand through his short hair. "Nice little town you've got here, Martin."

Franks clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder as he guided the other detective back to the table. "Trust you to find the local asshole, Ellison."

Blair was visibly vibrating in his seat when the four cops returned to the table. Jim noted Blair's crutches were currently in the custody of the older cop, out of Blair's reach.

"Sorry, Jim. They wouldn't let me back you up," Blair explained.

Franks took his seat and nodded in agreement. "It was my call, Blair. You need to stay off that leg. Besides backing up the trouble magnet was always something I was good at. This felt like old times."

Blair's eyes widened. "Trouble magnet? Jim used to be a trouble magnet?"

With a groan, Jim sank into his own chair. Picking up his fork ,he speared a piece of steamed cauliflower.

Franks laughed. "Oh yeah, he ever tell you about the time he was down at the fish processing warehouse in the middle of August?"

"Franks! Don't you dare," Jim growled, knowing Blair was ready to start taking notes; thankfully he'd left his backpack in the motel. No wait, this was Sandburg, he probably had a notebook and pen stuffed inside his shirt.

"The guys back in Cascade call `me' the trouble magnet!" Blair confessed.

"You are, Sandburg. I passed the mantle to you when you started riding with me," Jim grumbled good-naturedly.

Later that night, Blair fell into bed with a sigh. He was stuffed. In spite of the nap he'd taken that afternoon, he was exhausted, barely finding the energy to change into his sweat pants and t-shirt.

"Franks is such a cool guy, Jim," Blair said with a yawn. "Hard to believe he's an Assistant Chief."

Switching off the light and crawling into his own bed, Jim grunted. "You should have seen him back when I worked in Vice. He and his partner were always having their butts chewed for something. They were good cops, but real hotheads."

"Wow, coming from you, they must have been something..." Blair muttered, almost asleep.

A second later, Blair was wide-awake, the result of a pillow smacking the side of his head.

"Hey!"

"Don't even pretend you didn't mean that slam, Sandburg," Jim growled.

Blair grinned in the darkness as he rubbed his ear. "Jeez, just a little sensitive there, Big Guy? Keep it up and I'll tell Rafe the fish story."

"What! Franks never told you that story," Jim protested. "You're bluffing."

"Remember when you went to the bathroom?"

"That traitor! And I promised to keep the midget story to myself!"

"Night, Jim," Blair said in a sweet voice.

"Ah...about that pillow incident, Chief. You're not ..."

Blair remained silent, his grin stretching his face, knowing Jim could easily see him in the darkness.

"Oh, wonderful. I thought I'd finally got that stupid story behind me when I got to Major Crimes," Jim muttered in the darkness.

Blair was still smiling as he drifted off to sleep.

The sound of the door slamming woke Blair up. He rolled over to see Jim in his gray running sweats, searching his duffle bag with a grim look on his face.

"What`s up, man?" Blair croaked.

"Body in the water," Jim announced calmly.

"What?" Blair asked, sitting up in his bed in alarm.

"He's about half a mile off shore." Pulling out his cell phone, Jim headed for the door again. "Stay here, Chief," he ordered before disappearing outside.

Blair tossed his covers of and climbed out of bed, searching the floor for his sneakers. "Yeah, right."

It wasn't easy using crutches on a beach. Remembering the fall he took the day before in the bookstore, Blair took his time, making sure each rubber tip was firmly planted in the rocks before moving forward. Blair could see Jim up the beach, by an old boat ramp. The morning was overcast, the gray clouds mirrored in the gray water, water that yesterday had been a picturesque blue. Unable to keep from shivering as a wind gust lifted his long hair from his shoulders, Blair took a second to zip up his jacket before crossing the last few feet to stand at Jim's side.

When the first marked police car joined them, Jim had given up trying to talk Blair into returning to their room. Jim pointed east, directly at the body. The cop squinted as she searched the gray water, not able to see anything.

Blair handed her a pair of binoculars. He'd stuffed them into his jacket pocket before leaving the room. "Let her try with the binoculars you used."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Chief," Jim said as he pointed again. "Look right over there."

"Okay, got it." The cop returned to her patrol car to notify the marine unit of the approximate location.

Jim gave Blair a nod. "Good thinking."

Thirty minutes later, the body had been retrieved. The beach dipped into the water with a gentle slope, allowing the police boat to bring the body directly to their feet. Assistant Chief Franks arrived just in time to see two of his officers dressed in wet suits carry the deceased to land. Jim had observed the two cops check the body over when they first pulled it out of the water. For whatever reason, they didn't start CPR.

"Ben Sanderson!" Franks exclaimed. "Holey shit, this is going to get ugly fast," he muttered to Jim and Blair with a grimace.

"How do you mean?" Jim asked.

"The Sandersons are a powerful family around here. Hell, the building we were in last night for dinner was built by this kid's great-grandfather. His grandfather was the first judge in Jefferson County and his father was the city mayor for four terms before retiring to the city counsel." Franks headed for his car. "I'd better call the Chief."

Blair got a good look at the body. Sure enough; it was the same guy Jim had confronted. He looked in his early twenties, still wearing the same clothes they'd seen in him last night. Jim and Blair stepped back, keeping out of the way. After talking with his supervisor on the radio, Franks returned.

"What happens now?" Blair asked.

"Well, I called the Chief, so he can deal with the family and all the political fall out - if I'm lucky. It's not like we have a town full of people that are going to miss this kid. I'm just hoping he wandered into the water last night and drowned. It's rare, but it's happened before." Franks finger combed his gray hair as he spoke.

"Not likely," Jim said, nodding to the body with his chin.

The dead man's shirt had been unbuttoned to reveal several knife wounds on his chest, the exposure to the salt water making the edges of the wounds white and wrinkled.

"Oh, man..." Blair whispered, swallowing hard as he looked away.

"I'd rule out suicide if I were you, too," Jim said calmly.

The crowd grew in numbers as the local residents woke to see the police activity on the beach. Barricades with bright yellow tape were put into place. Checking the time and seeing Blair shivering, Jim made the decision to head back.

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim said, pulling him away. "Martin, I'll see you at the conference?"

Franks shrugged. "Hard to say, I might be tied up with this. I'll try and catch up with you guys later."

Jim slowed his walk as he accompanied Blair off the beach. Back in their room, he tossed the binoculars back into Blair's open bag. "Take a shower, Chief. I'll go get us some breakfast."

Blair disappeared into the bathroom on one crutch, clean clothes under his free arm. "Thanks, Jim."

Locking the door behind him, Jim headed into town, towards a small coffee shop he'd noticed last night on their walk to dinner. Like the other stores in `old-town', the shop was on the ground floor of a three story brick building. Jim marveled at the fine craftsmanship of the brickwork. His eye caught the name at the top of the structure, centered at the roof line, `N.D. Hill'. In fact, now that he noticed it, many of the old buildings had the names of the persons that had built them; Hill, Tibbals as well as Sanderson.

Opening the old fashion wood-framed screen door, Jim entered the coffee shop named `McKinsy's' and took a deep breath. The fragrant smell of dark coffee, fresh bakeries and rich chocolate caused his mouth to water. The shop was narrow, high ceilings, and walls painted a dark green that complemented the old oak cabinetry. Small square wooden tables with mismatched wooden chairs allowed customers to sit and chat while enjoying their purchases.

As Jim waited in line, he eyed an antique toy fire engine and large handmade sailboat displayed on the top of a cabinet. Those would look nice in the loft. Zooming in on the small white sticker, he read the three letters penciled in by hand: N. F. S. Oh well, there was an antique store one block to the north, maybe he could talk Blair into looking around later.

With two coffees, a couple of slices of hot mushroom and bacon quiche and a bag full of bagels, Jim returned to the motel. Blair was finished with his shower and already at the table with his new book purchases, making a few entries in a small notebook.

"Yum! Smells good," Blair exclaimed, pushing his work to the side as Jim joined him.

"Wait till you see the shop it came from. You know, I'm signed up for meetings till two-thirty. If you want, we can look around downtown this afternoon," Jim suggested as he set out the food and drinks.

"I'm in. I'll even treat you to a late lunch."

"Deal. I saw a place called `The Cellar' that looked good, we can go there." Jim had his first bite of quiche ready and followed it with a sip from his coffee. The food tasted great.

"I'm going to work here this morning," Blair said after finishing his slice and reaching for a bagel. "I found some great stuff in these books for a paper I'm working on. I bought one book on the history of Port Townsend. I want to read it before we start looking around."

Jim eyed his partner with a smirk. "My own personal tour guide."

But that afternoon, when Jim returned, he found the room empty and the wheelchair missing. Relocking the door, he headed for the bookstore on foot. The day had remained overcast, but dry.

Blair was back in his overstuffed chair, head bent over an open book. A new clerk, an older, tall man with stooped shoulders sat behind the counter today. Blair looked up from his reading as Jim's shadow fell across the pages.

"Oh, hey, Jim. Is it already time for lunch?"

"Yeah, I thought you were staying in the motel today," Jim asked

"I did - most of the day - I needed to check something out," Blair told his friend. "I'm ready to go now."

They found `The Cellar' under a bead store, accessible by an outside staircase. Leaving the wheelchair in the care of the clerk at the bead store, Blair carefully worked his way down the stairs. The store was set up as a one-man deli, allowing customers to point at the different dishes on display under glass. Jim ordered a large bowl of gumbo in a sourdough loaf while Blair picked roasted vegetables with bread sticks.

"Hey, Jim, check this out," Blair said, pointing over Jim's shoulder. The back wall held a wide glass window, allowing the customers to view a small room with a mannequin dressed in old-fashioned clothes and tied hand and foot while lying on a pile of burlap sacks. A small card with handwriting was taped to the glass.

Jim zoomed in on the card. "It's depicting the old practice of shanghaiing men. It's believed that room was used to hold their victims, it connects to tunnels so they could carry them to the waiting boats."

Blair's eyes widened with wonder. "Really! I've been reading about that today, Jim. This town was a wild place back in the eighteen hundreds. Bartenders put a drug in their drinks and the guys from the ship would kidnap them. Can you imagine, man. Waking up and finding out you're on a clipper ship!"

"That's where we get the term, `being slipped a mickey'." Jim nodded. "Working on a ship was no fun. A lot of men died."

"And they wondered why folks weren't knocking down their doors to sign up," Blair commented. "But I've got to tell ya, Jim, this town is so cool! I mean the history is all around us."

Jim smiled as he took another spoonful of the spicy gumbo, listening as his roommate talked about the history book he'd been reading. It looked like the decision to get Blair out of the loft was a good one after all. As long as he used the wheelchair for the next few days, Blair could research to his heart's delight.

"Think about it, this town had all the stuff that movies are made of! Young seaport town, growing, cultures mixing and clashing as people struggled to make a living. Entire fortunes were made and lost on these streets." Blair's lunch was barely touched as he bobbed and weaved in his seat, his eyes shining with excitement.

The door opened and Martin Franks walked into the restaurant, his eyes searching the room and finding Jim and Blair. Jim nodded in greeting as he pointed to Blair's food. "Better finish that, Sandburg. I think we're about to be interrupted," he whispered as Franks pulled a chair away from an empty table and joined the two men.

"How'd you find us?" Jim asked.

"This is a small town. Just had to ask a few clerks where the `big buff hunk and the adorable guy with the hair' went," Franks said with a smirk. "Their words, not mine," he added as Blair blushed.

Jim felt his own face warm. "I had to ask," he moaned with a slight shake of his head. "What's up?"

"We'd like to borrow you for this murder investigation, Jim. My detective is out on maternity leave. She won't be back for another two weeks. I called your captain; he said it was up to you."

Jim sat back in surprise. "What about the conference?"

"There's another one set in six months, Cascade already has a seat reserved," Franks said.

Damn. Jim looked as his roommate. Blair was supposed to be resting; there was no way he'd be able to keep Blair from tagging along if he said yes.

"Captain Banks warned me you two come as a team, that's not a problem. Blair can ride with you, just like back in Cascade."

"Cool! Let's do it, Jim," Blair said eagerly.

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