Oscar Smuff was waiting in Chief Collig’s office when Fenton got there.

“Don’t you have a home or something?” The detective growled at the shorter man as he scowled and sat down in the seat next to him and across from Ezra.

“Oh Fenton,” Smuff goaded, “come on now, and tell me how you really feel?”

“Boys,” Collig warned, nipping this in the bud before it could even get started.  As much as he often times found the animosity between the two men humorous, he wasn’t in the mood right now to listen to it.

“Sorry, Ezra,” Fenton apologized and then tried his best to block out the annoying presence next to him.  Smuff snorted, but didn’t say anything.

Chief Collig nodded at them, then continued, “Okay, so with Fenton’s ID, what else do we know about this guy?”

“Not much,” the detective admitted.  “I was investigating a string of B&E’s about eight years ago when an informant gave me a lead on a cat-burglar, went by the name of ‘Tex’.”  Fenton frowned as he thought back to that time.  “I finally tracked Tex down, and after a little bit of convincing, he was willing to talk to me.”

“What’d he say?” Smuff demanded impatiently, leaning towards Fenton, who pushed him back in his seat and ignored him as he continued addressing the Chief of Police:

“He was pretty nervous, and told me that he wasn’t working alone, and if I could promise him some immunity, he’d talk.”

“And?” Again Smuff’s impatient voice, and this time Fenton fixed him with a disapproving look even as he spoke to Ezra:

“Can’t you do anything about him?”

Collig sighed heavily.  “One more word from you, Smuff, and you’ll be fetching coffee.” He looked at his old friend.  “Go on, Fenton.”

Smuff pouted.

“Before he could say anything else, someone took a pot shot at us and we split.  I yelled at him to call me, but never heard from him again.”

“I remember that,” Collig said.  “Ballistics was never able to match the bullet they took out of the dumpster.”

“Dumpster?”  Smuff couldn’t help but sneer, “Interesting places you choose to meet people—”

Collig cut him off.  “Make mine black, two sugars.”

“Black for me,” Fenton added, enjoying the new look on Smuff’s face.

“But…but,” the short man sputtered, but one withering look from Ezra silenced him, and he got up from his chair.  “Black, two sugars…black.”

“Yes.”

“Yup.”

“I’ll be right back.”  The miserable note in Smuff’s voice was almost enough to make Fenton feel sorry for him…almost.

As soon as he left, Collig appraised Fenton for a few long moments  before he said anything. “Fenton,” he said softly, “I do remember this case pretty well.”

“I thought you might,” the detective said.  “But figured I’d refresh it anyway, for all of us.”

“Thanks,” Collig nodded, knowing he was referring to Smuff.  “I appreciate that.”

“Ezra, why is he here?” Fenton asked as he leaned back in his seat, tiredly.

The Police Chief looked at his old friend.  “Honestly?  Because I can’t seem to get rid of him.”  When the detective gave him a look, Ezra raised an eyebrow.  “You have your doubts?  You think I’ve got some other motive?”

“Well,” Fenton admitted, “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted Smuff as backup, in case…” his voice trailed off, and Collig finished it for him:

“In case you give it up, again?”

“Yes,” the detective admitted, feeling a heat rise in his face.  He prided himself on finishing everything he started – this case had been the one exception.

“Fenton,” Ezra let out a heavy sigh.  “That’s not it, and if you think about it for a moment you’d realize it.  I understand completely why you withdrew yourself from this back then…and I still understand.  If it had been me, I’d have done the same thing.”  He leaned forward across the desk and locked eyes with his long-time friend.  “But those were extenuating circumstances…you and I both know that.”

Before Fenton could comment, Smuff was back with the coffees.

“Black, two sugars, Chief,” he said pleasantly, putting the coffee down in front of Ezra, and then he turned to Fenton.  “And milk, four sugars for the dick.”

“Takes one to know one,” was all Fenton commented as he took the coffee.  It took every ounce of his restraint to not pour it over Smuff’s smug little face, but the investigator would have never given him the satisfaction.

Instead, he’d just dream about it later!

* * *

Wrapped in a towel, Joe had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the phone ringing.  “I’ll get it!” he called out to Frank, and then went into the hall to pick it up on the third ring.  “Hardy residence!”

[Joe, honey, is that you?]

“Hey Mom!” the teen greeted warmly, “How’s the Big Apple?”

[Fine, darling.  Is your father home?]

The teen detected something odd in his mother’s voice.  He couldn’t place it, but it unsettled him.  “No.  He went to see Chief Collig.” Joe paused and then just asked right out, “Mom…is something wrong?”

Silence, and then heard his mother’s voice again, and was alarmed by how tired she sounded:

[Not really.  I just needed to talk to him.  Can you ask him to call me when he gets in?]

“Sure, Mom.”  Joe hesitated before he pressed, “Are you sure you’re okay?”  He heard his mother’s soft chuckle, and he could easily imagine the expression on her face as she just said:

[Oh honey…never change...]  And then she said good-bye and hung up.

Joe frowned as he stared at the receiver in his hand.  Something was wrong.  His mother hadn’t asked how he or Frank was doing, or even admonished him about being careful, which she did every chance she got!  But before he could give it much thought, Frank’s door opened.

“Hey kiddo, feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Joe admitted, hanging up the phone and going back into his own bedroom.  Frank followed, and sat on the edge of Joe’s bed while he got dressed.

“By the way, it was Coach Iago that I ran into at the track today!” the older teen’s dark eyes simmered with excitement.

Joe paused briefly before pulling a t-shirt down over his muscular chest. “Oh,” was all he said.

“Yeah, and guess what?”  Frank was almost bouncing up and down with excitement.  Joe would have normally found this uncharacteristic display from his reserved older brother, amusing, but not right now. Not when a hard, cold knot of fear had just slammed into his stomach….

“He asked me to be his assistant coach for the remainder of the summer, and I said yes!”  Frank didn’t even bother to make Joe try and guess – he was so excited he couldn’t keep it in any longer!

The older boy continued, “Tomorrow is my first game – you gotta come, Joe!  It’ll be great!”

Joe just stared at Frank for a moment longer and then shook his head, backing away slightly.  “I-I can’t,” he stammered.  “Sorry…I-I gotta go somewhere.”

Frank looked at his brother strangely.  “You gotta go somewhere? Where?” This was news to him!

“New York,” Joe said, thinking quickly. “That was Mom who called…she wants me to bring up her car, so she has something to drive while she’s there.  I’m leaving right away.”  He was amazed at how effortlessly this story came together.

An irrational, but all-encompassing fear, fought down whatever guilt he felt about deception.  “Sorry, big brother, maybe next time.”  And then he was reaching into the back of his closet, pulling out a duffle bag and throwing clothes into it, as quickly as he could.

He had to get out of Bayport – that was all he knew!

Frank just watched him, his handsome face set in a worried frown. His brother was acting oddly; even more odd than was usual for Joe. “Are you okay?” he finally asked, not liking the vibes he was picking up from the younger teen.

Joe nodded his head.  “Yeah.  Fine.  Peachy.”

“Mom wants you to drive to New York tonight?”  Frank’s voice sounded skeptical, because he was.  Their mother was a worrier; he couldn’t see her wanting Joe to be driving on the highway after dark….

“Yeah,” Joe said distractedly, and then he grabbed his duffle bag, and gave his brother a quick hug.  “I’ll call when I get there.”  And then he was gone before Frank could even stop him.

Stunned, Frank just stood there. First his mother had just up and left town without a moment’s notice, and now his brother – what the heck was going on??