No Center Line

by Lois RH Balzer

  “It’s called love, Nash.”

  “I know what it’s called.”

  “Then why do you get so uptight about it? I don’t get why it surprises you after all this time. What do you think made Evan come back to the SIU after he was shot in the throat that time? You convincing him? Your clever arguments? No way, man. It was the fact that you were there, by his bedside, day after night until he was okay on his own. That’s what did it. You cared.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do any of the things Harvey did the other night.”

  “Maybe you weren’t supposed to. Maybe that’s Harvey’s job.”

  “Then what’s my job?”

  “Ask Simon. I bet he knows. All I know is that when I have needed you to be there for me, you have been there. You are my dearest friend and brother.”

  “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t find a Kleenex. You’ve got to warn me before you say stuff like that.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nash. Have a good sleep.”

  “Thanks, Joe. Wait — all that stuff you said, you know it goes for me, too?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Good. See you tomorrow, Bubba.”

  “Have a good evening, Nash.”

  *

  Seattle, Washington

  Tuesday, June 23, 1998, 3:30 p.m.

  Nash Bridges closed his cell phone and walked back into the hotel room. Harvey was busy getting everyone’s coffee order so he could call down to room service. It was too early for dinner, so they had made reservations for five o’clock at the Chinese restaurant across the street from the downtown Seattle hotel. That would still give the Cascade group time to get home early that evening.

  Meanwhile, they all seemed to need this time to be together. Survivors sharing a moment of their lives, one that no one else but them would really understand. Since Friday afternoon, he had been with Ellison and Banks, sharing their pain, their joy, their fear, and their triumph. He wasn’t willing to leave yet. Joe hadn’t asked, but nothing was stopping them from getting on a plane right now and flying back to San Francisco. Two hours and they’d be there.

  But he needed to be here. Ellison and Harvey were talking, telling Sandburg about Harvey’s few minutes as a ‘guide’ — whatever that meant. Harvey seemed to get what they were saying, and Sandburg was excited about it, although he could hardly keep his eyes open he was so tired. He had passed up the chance to have a short rest, one that Evan had taken quickly. Evan’s spirits were still shaky, taking refuge in sleep. Dr Morrison had paid them a visit at the Seattle hospital the men had been taken to, and had discussed with them the potential problems ahead for all of them. So they’d be watching Evan’s sleep patterns, his diet, and his emotions for the next little while. Nash had offered his place, but in the end Evan agreed to stay with Harvey for a week, at least. He needed to be somewhere safe.

  Nash smiled as Harvey casually walked to the adjoining bedroom door and glanced in, probably the third time in the last fifteen minutes. The conversation had shifted, Simon and Jim discussing a case they had worked in Cascade, tied directly to one the SIU was working on now. Harvey settled back at the table across from Simon, his lap top computer open and taking notes. There needed to be more of this happening between cities, but the problem was that no one had time to do it. You dealt with your own problems first, almost relieved when they went elsewhere, because there were always more cases to take their place.

  “Your partner seems to have lost his battle,” Nash said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Blair was slumped against Jim on the couch, eyes closed.

  Simon chuckled. “What was that? Eighteen minutes,” he said, looking at his watch. “I said fifteen, Jim, and you said twenty.”

  “Eighteen is closer to twenty,” Jim responded, smiling. “Pay up.”

  Simon dug his wallet out and handed over a dollar bill, standing to help Jim scoop up his partner. The captain carefully supported the ankle cast as they carried him to the adjoining room. The man was still chuckling when he came out. “The kid may be stubborn, but we’ve got him pegged.” He crossed his arms and mimicked the police observer. “I’m not tired, Jim. Leave it alone. I don’t want to lie down. And I want a large latte, extra shot, no flavors added. Got that?”

  The knock at the door and call of “Room Service” made them all laugh. Sandburg hadn’t even lasted long enough to get his coffee.

  God, it feels good to laugh again.

  *

  Ellison settled his partner on the bed, smiling softly as Sandburg shifted in his sleep, not even waking as he was transferred to lie on one of the beds in the other room. He tugged the bedspread free and pulled it over his guide, careful of the cast around his ankle. The young man was out like a light, curled on his side, fast asleep. With any luck, he’d get a solid nap in before they left for dinner. One last meal with new found friends before they went their separate ways.

  He brushed the hair back from Sandburg’s forehead, feeling for temperature and pulse. Both were fine; the kid was just exhausted, probably would be for a few weeks, as would Evan, sound asleep in the next bed, cured around a pillow that he was squeezing the life out of.

  They were going home.

  At least three out of the ten were. Scott McBride had been the only other officer to live through the ordeal. The Monterey Police Department had issued a formal acknowledgment of Blair Sandburg’s efforts in allowing himself to be recaptured so the rescue team could locate the warehouse. Sandburg had been despondent the last two days that it had not gone as he had envisioned it; he had not been able to rescue the two other men who had been killed that night, Jack Kelly and Pat Hollis.

  That was the worst of it. That seven men had died. Kelly and Hollis, plus the four men they had found dead in the trailer Friday night, and William Fong’s body that had yet to be recovered. At least they knew he was dead, not missing, leaving them always to wonder. One of the videos confiscated was a snuff film which graphically showed how he had died.

  Seven men. Plus two years earlier ten other men had died, and two years before that, another ten men. Twenty-seven men, in addition to the others who had also been caught up in Jurgen Sholtz’s insanity. There were workers hired locally in each of the setups who had no idea what it was they were building, digging trenches for pipes that would be graves for others and themselves. How many innocent men had fallen victim, only to end up as missing or with unexplainable deaths, their bodies waiting to be found days, weeks, months, or even years from now?

  The known total of deaths attributed to Jurgen Sholtz’s little empire was approaching forty. Of the eight men involved with Sholtz, only three had survived. Raul Ramos had been taken alive, although Harvey had almost twisted his neck in two, and the man responsible for the set construction, Bill Hart, and his helper Lyle Michaels were not on the property that day and were both at large, but their pictures and descriptions were up at every police station in the country. It would only be a matter of time.

  Jurgen Sholtz, the man who masterminded the entire affair, had been shot to death by Nash Bridges and Jim Ellison. Sholtz had killed two of his own men, Pete Turnalo and Karl Mactire. Several workers hired from the town of Bainbridge Island to do construction or labor were missing and presumed dead at this time. Three of their bodies had been found on the property, in the mass grave, but four local men were missing, all of whom had answered ads to work on the property. No other bodies had been discovered on Shotlz’s property, or at the rented farm house three miles south of the warehouse, where Jurgen Sholtz had stayed. His bedroom in that house had been unbelievable. There was evidence that other young men besides Evan Cortez had been held prisoner there, and when Ellison had walked through it, he knew that at one time Sandburg had been in that upstairs room, although he blessedly had no memory of it.

  This was one summer when there would be no summer school for Sandburg, no classes, just time to relax, maybe work on his thesis, maybe some camping and time to pu
t their lives back together. Jim checked his forehead again, smiling as his partner pushed his hand away as though batting at an irritating fly. Get used to it, kid. I’m going to be a little protective for a few weeks.

  His fingers traced the empty earlobes, and he realized how long it had been since he had seen the familiar earrings. He missed them. Just as he had missed so much about his friend.

  He sighed, tucking the bedspread around him, then returning to the others.

  They were still talking about the one case in the main room when the scream sounded half an hour later. It wasn’t his guide, but he could hear Blair’s pulse racing. As one, they all stampeded through the doorway to find Blair already at Evan’s side, trying to console the thrashing man, caught in the nightmare that would probably haunt him for some time to come.

  Harvey skirted past the others, gently moving Blair into Jim’s arms with a quiet, confident, “You take care of him. I’ll take care of Evan.” He then gathered his sobbing partner in his arms, raising him to his shoulder as Evan tried to pull himself from the bad dream.

  “We’re fine here,” Jim said, and Simon took Nash by the arm and took him back to the other room.

  “Is he okay?” Blair whispered, trying to look back at Evan in the darkness of the room.

  Jim kicked his shoes off and stretched out along the bed, leaning back against the headboard, settling his distraught guide against him. With a sharp tug, he brought the bedspread back to cover them. “He’ll be fine. Harvey’s there.” he said, softly, tuning out the two men on the next bed. His arm gently stroked Blair’s trembling back, smiling as his partner relaxed against him.

  “Jim?” Blair murmured, his eyes closed, his head resting against Jim’s chest, over his heart.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for being here,” Blair breathed, asleep a moment later.

  It took Harvey awhile longer to calm his partner, but finally Jim could hear Evan’s respiration slowing into the ease of sleep. Harvey was curled around his partner, his arms wrapped around the younger man, both facing Ellison.

  “You know,” Harvey said, his voice soft so only the sentinel could hear him, “I get so angry at this man sometimes … we fight, we bullshit about things, I have taken advantage of him, and I have totally taken him for granted. Yet I have shared more of my heart with him than I shared with my ex-wife when we were married. We have talked about our dreams, our loves, our pain — things I have shared with no one else. When I have needed him, he has always been there for me. He’s been just a phone call away, if I can get the courage to call him. I have cried on his shoulder, and he on mine. I have been stinking drunk with him and have gotten into a mess of trouble with him.” His voice trailed off, as memories flooded.

  Jim said nothing, waiting for him to continue, content and comfortable knowing Blair was sleeping peacefully again.

  “I used to be embarrassed about it,” Harvey went on, after a few minutes, as though he hadn’t stopped. “I used to worry about it, wondering what others would say, about rumors and innuendos. About the dangers of sharing so much of myself with another. About how vulnerable that would leave me one day if he transferred to a different unit, or moved to a different city. Or was killed.”

  Harvey gave a little laugh, tightening his hold about his partner. “But, you know what? I don’t care anymore about what people will say. And I don’t worry about fighting with him, or yelling matches we’ve had, or the times we don’t see eye to eye, or when I have hurt him or kept things from him. Hell, I’m not perfect and neither is he. But I know that when the crunch comes, there’s no doubt who I will go to; I know he will be there for me, without question. And he knows I will be there for him. Twenty years down the road, I want to have the relationship and friendship with him that Nash does with Joe Dominguez. I used to be so jealous of them, of their closeness, until one day I was sitting in the surveillance van listening to Evan tell me about some girl who had just dumped him, and I put a hot dog in his hands and made him take a bite, and suddenly I knew I had found that person, that— that—”

  “Soulmate,” Jim provided.

  “Yeah. That soulmate.” Harvey closed his eyes, resting his head beside his partner’s on the pillow.

  Jim Ellison tilted his head to rest it on his partner’s, letting his tears disappear into Blair’s curls. “You’re a wise man, Harvey.” He drifted to sleep, a smile on his face.

  And his palm was against his guide’s, fingers intertwined, their two pulses beating as one.

  *

  The End