George Buddy Król

Defaulted Defalcation XX

Król gets called back to Wilkes-Barré to investigate financial fraud, but even with his buddies, he has his hands full. (C) 2024 Alopex

I was in a state of dreamless sleep when I heard my ears ring. I was enervated as I drifted out of sleep with this tinnitus.

It was still dark in my room, and the cacaphony lowered its decibles. I think realized that someone was calling my fax....at 5 AM!

I pricked my ears, and a loud beep announced the end of the sequence. I only had an hour left to sleep, so I drifted back for the privilege.

When I awoke again, it was still dark. I should have expected as much, because it was the Eighth of December. My clock showed just past 7 AM. I decided to eat, then sneak off to services when I realized that the fax had awakened me nearly two hours previously. I found a message in the basket:

"Mr. George Król:

We have a case at the Marco Sal, a federal corporation for administering student loans. Please fax us an answer today. We can brief you over the telephone, but we could rather you come to our office at 8 AM tomorrow. Call....

Raymond Moran

Director of Personnel


I did fax an answer. Monday began bleakly. It looked like a snowstorm. Although the employees' entrance was nearer, I went to the front entrance.

The secretary showed me a room in the back. Like the other rooms the fenestration was high. In this narrow room, the walls were lapis lazuli, enough to avoid claustrophia. I cooled my heels for nearly a halfhour when an average-height man came in.

"I'm Joe Bale," He broached simply. "The big boss will be here shortly."

Bale wore a plain grey suit with a carmine tie. In contrast, a blond man arrived dressed, but somewhat less orthodox. He introduced himself as Shane Kenton. Kenton looked even more disgusted to see me. He wore a brown tweed blazer and a yellow shirt, dark brown pants and shoes, and a saffron tie. Neither would discuss anything with me.

Then Moran appeared in the door, dressed like Bale. He closed to door behind him and motioned his subordinates to sit down.

"Mr. Król," he commenced. "We have a gigantic problem with lost loans. There is a simple method to erase loans off the system; the operator merely pressed F9 twice. Should the borrower default, then we lose them because we can't produce the records."

"Let me get this straight," I interrupted. "The operator of the system has only to do a simple procedure to eliminate loans Marco Sal has bought from the records. If the borrower should default, Marco Sal would lose the loans because it cannot find the records."

"Actually," Moran continued. "It isn't that simple. It would take extra expenses, but we could track them down. What bothers us is the frequency of these mistakes have taken off since September."

"What changed in September?"

"The state universities used to funnel their student loans into one corporate bank. We just purchased almost a million of these loans in May. Because of the huge volume, we had to hire temporaries to get them processed within a year. In this building we have over a hundred to accelerate our speed. It was in September we hired half of these temps."

I digested this revelation in a pause, then asked the pertinent question, "What exactly do you want me to do?"
Moran sat back and stared at the ceiling. Before he could reply, Kenton seized the momentum.

"Find the reason for the leak and the culprits."

"How sure are you that there are culprits?" I challenged.

Kenton looked at Moran and Bale a moment. They nodded and Kenton continued.

"We are certain that the disappearance of these loans from our files was no accident. Over the past three months ten borrowers filed for bankruptcy, and we had no records for any of them. Right after Thanksgiving we found out that some of our examiners remembered processing these loans because we have a total check on each stage of the process."

"How do I get into this process?" I asked.

This time Moran answered me.

"We're taking you on as a 'temp'. I want you to learn the system over the next two weeks. It would be very helpful if you could bring a few assistants for cover."


While we were making the arrangements, another incident occurred which would have an impact on this case. From out of the past -- five years -- a previous case provided a revenant which proved crucial in this case.

Around Thanksgiving 1986 I solved the mystery behind a conspiracy to destroy an organization dedicated to rehabilitating juvenile delinquents. Quite helpful to my investigation was a dedicated employee of this organization called Nirvania. At the time of the commencement of this case in November 1991, I had lost touch with Don Hanson and his ward, Jame Brian McQuinn.

Don had moved up in Nirvania, and the organization had ameliorated its tarnished image from the accidental deaths of some of its juveniles in 1986. Jame had left this organization in 1990 to finish high school. However, his previous record was not altogether expunged in the minds of some in State College.


Jame had applied to the state university to pursue a degree in law enforcement, as Don had done in 1982. When he applied for financial aid, one of his quondam partners in crime contacted him about a "great way to convert student loans into grants".

Disturbed by anything crooked, Jame contacted Don. Don attempted to contact me, but I had left my abode in State College in 1989 for a bungalow in the country. Don remembered that I had worked at the university in the departments of history and of political science. Not only had I left my telephone number, but I also had my fax number in their files.

Don Hanson called the bungalow that morning while I was at Marco Sal. All he learned was that my bungalow sat just outside of State College, and I was now in Wilkes-Barré.
Sometimes even the latest technology falls short. I was so involved in assembling a team that I failed to call my answerer on Monday evening. I had decided to stay in my mother's cottage near Wilkes-Barré while I worked on the case.

Meanwhile Don and Jame found themselves thrown back on their own resources. Another factor in this case was that this week was the end of the semester. The finals ran from Monday the Ninth through Saturday the Fourteenth. Jame decided to try again on Tuesday.

Whenever I left the bungalow for more than a day on a case, I arranged for one of the Stacys to stop at the house and feed/let out my two dogs and cats. I had acquired this managerie over the two years I lived there in the woods.
The Stacys were three siblings: Allen, Darrell, and Jennifer. I had met them in the fall of 1988 through their father, Richard. Richard had been a detective with various police departments on the East Coast until he came to the university to teach law enforcement and corrections. He had insisted I take on the boys as apprentices, and these coadjutors proved to be excellent learners in the previous four major cases over the last three years. This year Jennifer would prove herself as worthy as her two elder brothers.

Jennifer arrived at the house. She let out the dogs to relieve themselves and proceeded to go into the kitchen for the food. It was an overcast day in State College and crepuscular. Jenny easily spotted the flashing light on my answerer. She pushed the button marked "play" and discovered Jame's message.

While she fed the animals, Jen planned her next move. She called the house to find out whether her brothers were home. Darrell advised her to stay there until he and Allen could drive their sedan to my bungalow and hear the message in the original. Soon the old yellow sedan drove up the driveway to the door of the garage.

"Okay, Jen," Allen broached as he came in from the frontdoor. "Let's hear that message."

By the time the tape was playing back, Darrell had finished parking the car and had joined Jen and Allen.

"Mr. Król," Jame's voice crackled through the speaker "This's James Brian McQuinn. We first met at Nirvania some five years ago. I have somthing you might wish to invesigate involving fraud through student loans. Don Hanson and I will be at Nirvania tonight. I will try to call you tomorrow on Tuesday the Tenth if I'd missed your call."

Allen and Darrell looked at each other.

"What do you think, bro?" the elder Allen asked.

"George must be busy with another case in Wilkes-Barré," the blond Darrell replied. "Let's call his mother's place and see if we could tell him."


My mother was busy until late that day in court. Allen left a message on that answerer. Darrell had already taken the phonebook and had looked up the number of Nirvania.

Don Hanson came for the call, and the Stacys did a little hustling for the job. Don had his doubts, but he succumbed to their persuasion. The next afteroon the Stacys met Jame on campus.

"Can you get this guy to give you the details on how you could turn a student loan into a grant?" Allen inquired.

The day was bright, and the sun shone on the snow outside as the three walked down an offpath.

Jame stopped in aposiopesis and stood in the wind as it played with his yellow, curly hair.

"I supposed I could trust you guys because you know George," he stated aporially. "I already know the details. This wight named Spike and I used to do various juvenile pranks in grade school. When they sent me to Nirvania in 1986, we lost contact. Nonetheless, when I saw Spike a few days ago, it was obvious he had found crooked employment. He was bedizened with clothes and rings which would suggest a profitable means of living.

"Anyway, he told me that for a fee of 5% of what I borrowed, I could default on the loans. He guaranteed verbally that the creditors could not contest the default. How many more details do you need?"

Allen thought for a moment as his brown eyes stared ahead. "See if you can uncover the source of this crew. Try to garner as many clues as possible."

"Why don't we go along with the scheme perfunctorily?" Darrell suggested.

"We need to get the money for the 'fee'," Jame replied.

"How far do we go before we get into the 'fee'?" Darrell asked pensively. "At least let's see what we can do now. By the time we get into the problem of money, maybe we'll have assistance from George."

"Great idea, bro," Allen lauded. "Jame should make the arrangements this week, so we'll have time to wrap up the case by Christmas."

Jame stared at Allen with a straight face. Darrell broke into the hiatus in the conversation.

"I suppose that statement was accidental japery."

Allen suppressed his laughter, but his gelasins belied his attempt . -- To take his mind off the joke, he wondered about what I was doing in Wilkes-Barré.


Tuesday the Tenth did not bode well of this case. I did manage to cajole Kevin to join me in the case, but I could not get anyone else. On the way to Marco Sal, we talked it over.

Kevin and I were brothers, but it wasn't until late 1989 when he helped me in a major case. It was a rather nasty affair I called the "Christmas Crime", and I still feared what might have happened. The seven of us were virtual prisoners at my abode while we fended off a hitman, and I worked on two apparently unrelated case in State College. On Christmas Eve we solved the nexus of the cases and prevented the hitman from ever applying his trade again.

Kevin and I were going to Marco Sal in his van. Kevin, like me, was self-employed. Since 1989 we had combined synergistically to solve cases.

"Did you contact Joe?" Kevin was checking.

"He agreed to join us at the end of the week. I don't have Keith's number, so I don't know whether he's coming back to the area for Christmas."

Joe Tunk went to a university in a proximal small city. He was involved in getting a doctorate in organic chemistry. His scientific experience sometimes accelerated the route to solving cases.
Keith Cahill was my fidus Achates. Like Joe, Keith made my acquaintance in April 1986. I had met them in a minor case over embezzlement in the mental health business in Wilkes-Barré.
While Joe's graduate work often intemeddled with his assistance, Keith never forbore a chance to help me. Our male bonding gave us a feeling of mutual philadelphianism. Soon after the last major case in June of last year, Keith left Wilkes-Barré to pursue a college education. He wanted to be a writer.
Recently I had thought of him. In early November, a disappointed graduate student had gone berserk and shot several students before committing suicide. He had interfected two students and severely wounded two others. While I was relieved that the crime had occurred near the department of physics -- where Keith would most unlikely be -- I wasn't sure until I had read the names of the victims in the newspapers the following Sunday.

We arrived at Marco Sal. The building was a flat one-story with a wooden façade. It looked newly remodeled on the outside. Kevin and I walked into the public entrance.

The receptionist told us to wait in the lunchroom. Kevin and I sat down at one of the tables and bavarded for a few minutes. Then a relatively short, young woman with an expression of enjoying her job walked into the room.

"Are you Kevin and George Król?" she questioned us.

"I'm Kevin," he stated first because she was looking directly at him, and he was the closer of us.

"Then you must be George," she laughed as she looked at me. "I'm Lisa Abino. I am your instructor for the day."

"Then let's get started," Kevin said while arising from his chair. "We have much to learn in a few days."

"I must admit," I added. "That attitude is catchy."


At the end of the day, I tested myself. Fortunately the cover was not much of a job. One did not even have to type at a decent speed to master it. I memorized the various codes we weould use as we went through the files. Our undercover was checking through the loans of each of the borrowers and coding what was missing. At least Moran and the management put us smack dab into the area of the problem.

Kevin left me off at the home of my mother the judge. I found the door unlocked and supper ready. "George," she said as I went into the guestroom. "You have a message on the machine."

I had been using another telephone the previous evening, so I had not seen the flashing light on the machine in my mother's room. She had come home later after I had retired. It was then I first learned of another case in State College. I figured the Stacys could take care of it.


"Isn't this illegal?" Jame requested. "We can't legitimately tape our conversation without Spike's permission."

Don't worry," Darrell said calmly. "We have no intention to use it as evidence. Besides we aren't the police, which allows us to get around the Fourth Amendment."

"And the exclusionary rule," Allen added.

As he entered the room, Jame recalled the warning Don had given themn that afternoon. He urged them to take no chances and to get out of the building as soon as possible.

Spike had invited the Stacys to meet them in the basement of an abandoned store. Ironically, three years previously, in the case I called the "Staid Stadium", someone had ambushed me in the same cellar, but no one knew it had happened.

The A&P had closed in September 1982, and the desuetude had even taken more toll than in 1988. Don had agreed to drive the boys up North Atherton Street to the former motel in which I had lived. The four then walked the kilometer to the abandoned building.

Jame descended the steps of stone to the ajared door leading into the basement. Jame lifted his flashlight into the room and called out. A quick whirl of the light around the basement revealed no other soul in the basement. Then Jame played the stream of light along the floor. He decided that perhaps no other living soul was in the room! Just off center along the floor, lying supinely was the body of Spike!

Jame recoiled in horror, then he knelt down to examine the body. Spike had assumed room temperature -- about four degrees, like a refrigerator. If Jame had not curly hair, it would have displayed horripilation. He called his companions into the cellar.

"He's been dead a few hours," Allen reported. "You probably talked to him right before he died. Do you know where he used to live?"

"We're going to seach his home?" James asked incredulously. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Look," Darrell retorted. "We don't know with whom we're dealing. We won't take anything or alter what is in the place."

"Once we've obtained a decent aperçu, we'll call the police," Allen assured.

"Okay," Jame yielded. "Spike's room is #6 of the same former motel in which we'd parked Don's car."

"Let's get going and discuss this issue along the way," Darrell urged. He pivoted from the doorway to see Allen bent over the corpse.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm getting the key to the room," Allen answered matter-of-factly as he fished the ring out of the backpocket under the corpse.

"Let's get this search done; it makes me panophobic," Don urged.

"We'll give it an hour. Then we'll return the key and call the authorities.If we shouldn't get done fast, Jame'd freak out, and I don't blame him."


"What exactly are we looking for, guys?" Don asked frustratedly.

Darrell and Allen paused and frowned. This former motelroom was no more than eighteen square meters, including the showerroom. Spike had left it quite slovenly. The four had been there about fifteen minutes and had found nothing to trace the source of the scheme.

"Okay," Allen took charge. "We'll just have to highlight anything unusual here.

"Like this letter?" Jame suggested.

"What does it say?" Darrell responded.

"It addressed to Spike. 'Congratulations for joining our employ this month. If you need anything, contact my representative in Wilkes-Barré.' Someone named Nino signed it."

Darrell took the letter. "It's dated last month. Why would anyone kill Spike just when he was getting started? Obviously he hasn't been able to afford a decent apartment yet, or did not have the time."

"Uh, oh" Allen interjected. "Do you hear that?"
A siren wailed in the distance, but the Doppler effect indicated an approaching object. Allen sallied to the porch, about four meters above the ground and followed the cruisers past the building as it sped from downtwon State College toward the abandoned building they had just left!
"Don," he called from the porch. "Why don't you and Jame drive past the building to make sure the police passed that place."

"What about the key?" Don asked.

Allen paused a moment. "No, we'd better not drop it off in either case. We may have to leave it here."

Don and Jame raced down the stairs to the car and left. Don was determined to drive past the locus delicti nonchalantly. Within a minute they passed the building. It was lit up in the night with all those whirling red lights. The building probably hadn't been that bright in a decade.

Dejectedly Don drove to the next road and turned left into it to get back on Atherton Street. Nothing seemed unusual until Don and Jame passed the building again. Don had not quite made it to the light when he heard a siren which was following them. Don pulled over to let the car through, but the police car parked ten meters in front of them!

"Let me do all the talking," Don cautioned Jame.
He rolled down the window and asked cheerfully, "What's the problem, office?"

The grim cop replied brusquely. "May I look in your trunk?"

"Do you have a warrant?"

"Someone told us you were at the A&P building a halfhour ago and removed some things from the basement."

"Who is this someone? Let the informer come forth say it to my face," Don averred. "Otherwise, you have no reason to stop us, let alone look in my trunk."

The cop backed off. At least the exclusionary rule still applies to police, Don thought. Then it occurred to him a gruesome thought. As they pulled away, Don decided to head along Aaron Drive and pass the room where he supposed Allen and Darrell still were.

Sure enough, Allen and Darrell were no longer in the room. Jame took a good look enough to see the police had arrived. Don turned right into the parkinglot behind the building. As they followed the road around the building and back to Atherton Street, Jame spotted the Stacys as they stepped down from the porch on the other side of the building. Darrell noticed the car first and they jumped into the backseat.

"How did you guys get out of there before the police arrived?" Don wondered.

"I never left my lookout on the porch. Right after you left, the police pulled into the lot. Darrell left the key on the kichenette, flew out of there and locked the door behind him," Allen narrated. "Then we descended the stairs in time to encounter the police on the porch."

"Did any of them recognized you?" Jame asked.

"No, but if they had, we were ready with an innocent story about coming to visit Spike and that he wasn't home. Surely he can't tell them otherwise," Allen continued.

"What'll we do now?" Jame brought up the looming question. "All we know is that someone named Nino contacted Spike and that Spike kept a flowsy room."

"Wait!" Allen exclaimed. "Spike had been dead for hours. How do we know the murderer hadn't ransacked the room?"

"I was thinking of a scarier question," Darrell worried. "How do we know the murderer didn't see us and called the cops? While we evaded the police, we don't know who the murderer is, but he may know us!"

Don frowned as the car encountered downtown traffic. "It's not only possible but probable. The cops wanted to search the trunk. Had an innocent bystander stumbled upon our visit to the former A&P, such a person would have seen that we had never opened the trunk."

"We must get out of town awhile, and our only clue points to Wilkes-Barré," Allen concluded.

"Where is Wilkes-Barré?" Jame impetrated.

"It's a small city some two hundred fifty kilometers east by northeast of here," Darrell informed. "Can everyone get away from State College?"

"I have a final tomorrow morning, then I'm free," Jame agreed.

"I have vacation this week and next because the juveniles are going home for the holidays," Darrell said approvingly.

"Good," Darrell said hopefully. Now let's contact George tonight to se if he should agree to all this blustering about. For all we know, maybe he can help us while he sojourns in Wilkes-Barré".


Naturally I was astonished at the revelations Darrell gave me that evening. It was then I decided to bring them all into a group for training on the machines with goal that we weould be competent enough to mingle into the crowd by the beginning of the week. When I called Joe, he agreed to hasten his project and join us that Wednesday. The only problem was where everyone would stay. A quick call to my grandmother in Ashley solved the problem. She lives alone in a house with three bedrooms.

My mother had only a spare bed left, save for the couch. Keith would join us to take it, for he was coming back to the area to visit his relatives for the holidays. We arranged to meet in the training room at Marco Sal on Wednesday morning. The eight of us would mutually enforce our speed training, then we would begin the investigation.

Kevin and I had our hands full by trying to pass on the information to our fellows. Joe arrived first, then the four from State College. Fortunately Jame's final ended about 10, so they arrived for the start of the afternoon.

Lisa Albino graciously helped us sort the confusion. Keith called to say he'd miss the day, so we frantically prepared to teach him as much as possible at the confabulation at my mother's Wednesday night.


We spent the time after supper discussing the intricacies of date entry. Keith rang the doorbell just after eight, and I left him in.

"I see you covered your philtrum again," I teased after my greeting of a bearhug.

"It's traditional now, Keith smirked. "Every winter I grow a nosebrow to keep warm."

"Actually I grow a mustache to ward off colds every winter," Joe laughed. "Shall we begin intensive training?"

"Did you eat yet?" I queried Keith.

"I recall an attack of indigestion between Cincinnati and Pittsburgh. Perhaps I'll have some cereal later."


We took turns narrating the events of the past few days. Keith just sat on an armchair and absorbed the information, asking questions when unclear.
"Are you going back to State College to work on this other mystery?" he asked.

"We decided to work this angle on the offchance that the two situations are related," Allen summarized the plan. "THe nexus implies that there is such a relation. There is no other agency in Wilkes-Barré which services student loans. I find it more than a coïncidence that in State College someone is selling rights to default on student loans while such defaults occur in Wilkes-Barré."

"I surely home you guys searched Spike's romm with gloves. Otherwise, the police would think you'd had something to do with the murder," Keith commented.

"Especially given you guys go hunting each fall", I added while looking at the Stacys. "If we should get the chance this weekend, we must find out what is going on about this investigation of Spike's murder."

"We're even moreso up the creek if that cop remembers us," Don reminded us.

We retired at ten o'clock, hopeful that we would become an investigatory unit by Monday. Keith was our most disadvantaged, and he had the easier portions of the examination of notes by the end of the day.


Moran arranged for us to stay after everyone had left on Friday. Kevin and I took the others on a grand tour of the building. We did so to better familiarize ourselves with the operations.

"One thing bothers me," Keith mentioned while we stood on the loading dock. "Why do they use so much security in this place?"

"I suppose they use security for the deliveries and the motion-detectors inside the building because the promissory notes are so valuable," Kevin attempted an answer.

"That's why this scheme is so insidious. Marco Sal uses so much security to protect notes, the majority of which are useless to thieves, yet they have essentially no protection from pilferers who contract to steal certain notes," I opined.

"It would be so eacy to blot out 'loans' on the system for a profit," Don continued. "Why the conspirators could even walk out of the building with the notes, effacing the evidence that Marco Sal even received them!"

"Good thinking," I lauded. "Especially with all those temps they hired. Here we have such hard times when firms refuse to hire workers outright, and they expect loyalty from them. All the while the employees know that they are temporary and will be jettisoned soon as the work is done. Over the past few years, it has dawned on me that corporations are not interested in training their workers for better jobs in the firm."

"Anyway," Kevin stopped my attempted screed. "It's time for us to get back inside and figure this cabal out."

"Let's start with the loans which disappeared," Don suggested. "Maybe we can trace them back to the perpetrators."

"I suppose that Marco Sal already made such an attempt. Nonetheles, maybe we can conjure a novel method of tracing these rogues because we are outsiders," I conceded.


Two hours later we were ready to call it quits. The biggest problem was to locate the operator through the system. Although the sequence usually showed the codes of the operators, it was impossible to trace the boxes from the social security numbers of the borrowers of the defaulted loans. We were looking a long, drawnout process, unless we just happened to stumble upon a crooked operator.

"I suggest we give it up for new," I announced when everyone looked enervated. "Our only possibility is for us to spread out in the place and to keep our ears open for scuttlebutt."

"It's going to be a long week if we should lack any leads," Kevin stated somewhat irritably.

"Well," I added. "If we be going to leave, we'd better tell Moran, so he can put on the alarms."

"You'd think he'd trust us to close the place," Keith complained.

"I wouldn't fret over it," Joe assuaged. "We've had other clients who didn't even give us decent information, let alone trust us."

By this time, I was out of earshot. I figured the least I could do was to check the frontdoors. I thought I'd heard a noise in the lunchroom when I passed the entrance of the room in the hallway. I peered into the halflit room and saw nothing past the gloom but what starlight from outside could illuminate through the skylights.


On my return to the backroom, I paused once again at the entrance to the lunchroom. I sensed something was amiss and walked into the halflit room. No one was there, so I turned out the front lights, went out the side exit and into the restrooms.

"If we be going to go back to State College, I suggest we go tomorrow," Don announced when I returned.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to go back there just yet," Kevin opined. "We should work on this angle all weekend if he have to do so."

"I agree," I concurred. "Let's meet back here tomorrow morning. I would suggest that everyone keep track of his leads, then we'll confab tomorrow night at my mother's in Kingston."

By Saturday morning, we were burnt out. I seriously considered going to State College just to get away from the mess, but it would be only for a day. I figured the enigmatic and exiguous clues we procured needed some human foible before I could put the data in my personal computer and expect to get anything substantial out of it. We had divided the work among us, but with a hundred temporaries to check out, we still had twelve apiece.


Monday the Sixteenth began with a dusting of snow on the ground. As I expected Moran had the supervisors scatter us around. I took a seat in a backroom, and while it was noisy, all I could get was palaver.

The Stacys sat relatively close to each other in the main room. Because there were eight of us, we broke into four groups of two. Don and Jame worked with the ones doing references for the loans. Joe came into the backroom with me, but he sat two rows away. Kevin and Keith sat in the back of the main room.

The day proceeded rather tediously as we all struggled to get our cover down. It was in the afternoon, right after the postmeridian break, when a voluptuous female approached Darrell. "Say, you're new here."

"Yes", Darrell answered somewhat astonishedly. "My brother and I are slugging it out over this job."

"You look about 17. My name is Gina."

The exchange subsided the rest of the afternoon until it was time to leave. Gina approached Darrell again, but he had other plans that evening.

After our meeting, Allen brought it up.

"May I remind you that she brought it up," Darrell parried.
"Don't knock it," Kevin rebuked. "Keith and I will be on the floor tomorrow, so we'll keep an eye on Gina from the back. The more contacts we get this week, the faster we can solve the case.



However, the two younger brothers managed to add complications to the case. As I approached Kevin at the end of the working day, he was talking with a blonde about 170 cm and 48 kg.
I brushed past them and approached the Stacys. Darrell was doing the same kind of socializing, and I overheard the conversation as I went past.

"Why did they name you Darrell?" Gina was asking.

"I suppose after Daryl Hall."


"Well, I don't think you look that much like Daryl Hall. With those dimples, you look more like Corky Nemec."

I averted my eyes as Gina kissed Darrell. I did not have the time to contemplate the decadence of my investigatory unit, because Bale was waiting for me at the signout.

"Good news," he informed. "The main office in Washington was able to trace the identities of the operators. Here's the printout."

Bale tossed a fairly thick ream of computer paper at me. I went back to reassemble the guys. Darrell insisted that Gina join us, and Kevin followed suit with his new friend, Bay Smith.

The ten of us plowed through the ten borrowers who had filed for bankruptcy. All of the loans had three different codes for the three enterers of the data: one for the references to contact if Marco Sal should lose contact with the borrower, one for the examiner of the promissory notes, and one for the inspector who checks the work of the previous two enterers. Fortunately a fourth entry, the codes of the schools were not necessary, because the defaults had preceeded their entry.


I took my position as doyen and proceeded to sift out the most frequent codes of the operators. Only one code showed up in each of the ten: ZKM. It was almost evenly spread among the three functions. No other appeared more than three times.

"Does this code mean we have the culprit?" Jame asked.

"No," I denied. "It means we have a lead. I will run the code through this book. ZKM is.. Zachary Knox MacTavish!"

"Zachary Knox MacTavish?" repeated Joe. "I don't know him."
"There're only women where we work," Don stated in turn.
"I guess I'm the one closest to this guy," I realized. "I remember a somewhat tall and blond fellow moved into the room today while Joe was on break. A gregarious little guy named John Johns called him "Zack Mack". He's actually sitting to my right at the next terminal."

"Well, George," Keith rubbed it in. "It seems you're elected to pursue this lead."

"How are you going to get MacTavish to reveal whether he is the culprit?" Kevin questioned my intention. "It's no easy task to get a complete strange to unbosom himself."

"First, Kev, you forget about those tapes to which I spent so many hours listening. There's a technique I learned called neurolinguistic programming. I get my first chance to try it.
"Second, you are assuming MacTavish is guilty. Don't you find the circumstances by which we uncovered the name of the operator just a little suspicious? I'm going to probe for any answers. I intend to persevere."

"Here's your chance," Kevin challenged as we passed the lunchroom. Sitting alone at a table was the subject of the day. He seemed down on a Wednesday, deep in thought with his hands curling a steaming cup of coffee. I accepted Kevin's challenge. I sat down next to MacTavish.


Kevin didn't believe me. He thought that I took him to be credulous. Ten minutes later, as he sat at his terminal, he sat agape with Keith by his side as Zack and I passed.

"Did you ever wear Macavish plaid?" I was asking jokingly.

"Why, I even wore it while eating haggis," he replied. "However, I was reared Presbyterian."

"Why did you leave that denomination?" I questioned.

"Orthodox Calvinism, even as the Presbyterians changed it, was too harsh for me. I finally found the Unitarians more to my liking."

"I don't recall any Unitarians in Wilkes-Barré, at least when I lived her," I related.

"Back on 3 November we just charted as a congregation. Would you like to come on Sunday?"

"I don't know whether I'll be in town this weekend. I'll let you know on Friday."

As I observed Zach the rest of the week, I became more convinced that Moran had thrown us a red herring. No other leads developed by Friday, so the Stacys, Don, and Jame returned to State College. At the last moment, I, too, went home. I figured Kevin and Bay could enjoy the weekend before Christmas.

My suspicions grew by Friday the Twentieth because Moran did not press the investigating. I anticipated a showdown by Christmas, and I needed all the help I could get. Hence I offered my new ami de coeur a weekend of fun at my bungalow.

As I showed Zack the sights of State College, I slowly changed the subject of the conversation from his personal life to why Moran had sicced us on him.


"I wish I could be as successful as you," Zach sighed as I drove him to the bungalow on Saturday afternoon.

"Why do you say that?"

"Look," Zach indicated. "I spent four years at Wilkes University and graduated in 1989. I've been stuck in worthless Wilkes-Barré doing pink-collared jobs in a depressed area."

"And you can't get out," I continued. "The biggest problem people have is that they abrogate their control of their own destiny. They don't plan, they don't think, they don't imagine, and they keep a negative attitude."

"Such problems would produce such an attitude of frustration and resignation," Zach protested.

"No, it starts with you. You change your attitude. In the two weeks I've been there, twice has there been meetings about the juvenile antics of the operators. Maria and Jackie should not even have to call such meetings. Now I would never like to do such boring work for a living. However, if one can't handle such a low-level job, how can anyone expect to advance? Life is boring only to boring people. Accept all the changes they give you as challenges -- goals to achieve barriers to overcome, instead of insuperable chasms."


Zach said nothing the rest of the way home. Because he was my guest, I left him relax in my livingroom while I did my duties in the household.

Zach must have been thinking about what I had said, because he offered to help me finish cleaning the place for Christmas. I handed him a broom to sweep out the kitchen and teased him about his sinistrality. Then I went outside to check the lights hanging around the soffits. He helped me resting the lights.

I began to dig for clues about why Zach was the red herring on Sunday. There was just no way anyone could fake such sincerity.

"I have no idea why Moran would do such a thing," he repeated. He thought it was such a joke that he exposed his dimplettes. "I don't even know him, Kenton, or Bale."

"Why did you move next to me on Tuesday afternoon?"

"I couldn't tell you that either. I though that Maria dicided to give me the privilege of sitting in the backroom. I had though it meant that she would trust me to behave where she couldn't watch me all the time."

"I guess I'll have to ask Maria tomorrow why she moved you," I pondered. "I wonder if you would like to give us some help in finding who has been using us as patsies."

"Boy, would I!" Zach asgreed. "I'm willing to go with you call the way on this case!"

"I surely hope you know that the path could be rather dangerous. I cannot personally guarantee your safety."

"Look, George," Zach confirmed. "I am bored to death with my tedious job, and I want some revenge. Do you comprehend?"

"Loud and clear, good buddy," I laughed and patted his back.

Monday the Twentythird brought me apprehensions of the week. My intuitions told me that something wasn't right as we approached a confrontation. My fears proved real before the day had ended.

I had always kept a loose control over my group, so it wasn't until lunch when I noticed something uncanny. Kevin, Keith, Joe, and I usually ate in the lunchroom, then retired to an empty conference room to confabulate. The other four usually came into the lunchroom fifteen minutes earlier and signalled us that everything was fine. On this day, none of the four was in sight!"

"Where is everybody?" Kevin solicited.

"Didn't anyone check?" Joe responded versantly.

"Whoa," I interlocuted. "Allen is at the doorway."

"Go for it, Keith whispered with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. "What's he signalling?"

"We're to meet him near Kevin's van in ten minutes," I interpreted. "He want only me to come."

"It must be something big!" Kevin concluded.


Kevin was right. Flurries fell to whiten the parkinglost, but the blanched faces I met only emphasized the seriousness of the situation. Both boys looked so pale that their ephelids became more prominent in their faces.

I slid into the van as the Stacys jumped in behind me. Darrel turned his cerulean eyes at me first.

"Jennifer called your grandmother's, and she relayed the message to call her at the front office. This morning the State College police served a search warrant on our house. Dad couldn't challenge it, for it was to take our rifles and other firearms."

"That story makes no sense. How could the police have probably cause to take your guns?" I pondered aloud. "Nonetheless, I see your point. You must return home to challenge the validity of the warrant. Did you tell Don and Jame yet?"

It was Allen's turn to bring a revelation. "We haven't seen them since Friday," he epiphanized. "We aren't even sure they had come back with us yesterday. They never came to Ashley, so we thought they had driven here early this morning. "

"Now I know something's coming down!" I spat. "Attrition is rubbing out my crew."


I was crestfallen when I returned. "We have a huge problem, just when the confrontation begins. Be on guard, guys. There're only five of us now."

"What happened?" Kevin asked neutrally.

After I had dumped the latest of reversals, we discussed why Jame and Don were missing. Kevin used his card for a long distance call to Nirvania.

"George," he said nonplussed. "Nirvania says they both left last night. They have no idea where they are."

"Intriguing," Joe commented. "Did you try your grandmother's house?"

"No luck there either. They seem to have vanished in State College!"

"What did you learn from Maria?" Kevin struck another line of questioning.

"Kenton requested they move MacTavish next to me. Unfortunately, Kenton is at the main facility at Hanover Industrial Park today and will be in meetings all day," I related disgustedly. "I wonder what Moran knows."

"Is he available," Joe wanted to know.

"I'd rather let this ebullient aspect go for today. If Kenton be unavailable tomorrow, we will ask Moran just what's going on. I suggest we call in our contacts. I'm going to get ahold of Zach."

"And I Bay," Kevin added. "She thinks I should grow a stache to look more mature."

"You do, and you'll look like Dave Kot, only with your hair parted the other way," Keith opined.

"Actually mine would be blond like Shannon Mank's" Kevin corrected.

"Shannon has no facial hair," Joe contradicted. "How do you know the color of his mustache?"

"Zach told me."

"Well, we definitely need him for our phratry. I haven't received any straight answers from our clients since they sent that antejentacular message two weeks ago," I summarized.

"What did Zach tell you?" Keith asked curiously.

"There used to be another guy named Dave in the backroom. Zach told me he was tall, dark, and handsome. This Dave Warren had rosy cheeks, gelasins, and dimplettes."

"In other words, he had a few more desirable features than I do," Keith teased.

Jen was waiting for her brothers when they arrived home. "I saved you guys," she asserted.

"What?" Darrel asked incredulously.

"How did you save us?" Allen followed his brother.

"When I saw the cops drive into our yard, I remembered that I had seen a strange pistol among your guns in the basement. I ran down the stairs, grabbed it, and ran out the backway into the yard. I was coming back from the woods when the cops were walking into the cellar."

"Let's see that pistol," Allen commanded.

"What were you doing amid our guns?" Darrell interrupted.
"I expect you to take me hunting next fall."

Before Darrell had time to react, Allen turned to the subject of the pistol. Jen gave it to him, and Allen examined it with goved hands over the plastic container. Jen took it back to the cache in the woods.

When they returned upstairs Darrell, who was still shocked at his sister's ingenuity, asked for some details. "When did you discover the incongruous pistol?"

"I noticed it yesterday right after you left for Wilkes-Barré. Fortunately I hadn't touched it until the police showed up with the search warrant. I quickly grabbed a glove and a wrapping bag, then ran down the stairs."

"How did you figure what was going on so fast?" Darrell wondered.

"While you were busy eyeing Gina all weekend, I eavesdropped whenever I could," Jen reported indignantly.
"Gina?" Allen blurted. "Did she touch that pistol?"

"I didn't see her touch it," Darrell averred.

"Don't look now, but the sheriff is coming up the walk with your firearms," Jen noted.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, boys," the sheriff apologized when they let him in. "It looked like a legitimate warrant until the judge was about to sign an arrest warrant."

"An arrest warrant for us?" Allen muttered.

"I was puzzled, too," the sheriff admitted. "How could the judge know that the warrant had provided enough probable cause before the objects of the search had been examined?"
"That question may help clear the case," Darrell stated vehemently. "Who's the judge?"

"It's on the search warrant," the sheriff said surprisedly. "I think his name is Antonin Balancia."

"Balancia?" Allen repeated after the sheriff had left."Didn't he just win an election this year?"

"We have a little research to do, starting with a visit to this illustrious judge," Darrell determined.

"Nirvania still has heard nothing about Don and Jame," Kevin told us as he cradled the receiver.

"Now I'm really worried," I confessed reluctanly. "Can we get Darrel and Allen to check this problem out?"

"No such luck," Kervin frowned. "They haven't been home all evening. Jen keeps answering the telephone. She suggested we return to State College to help them out."

"Unfortunately, a trip there before we solve this problem is our. You guys can take Christmas off while we regroup our forces," I replied.

"Aren't you going back to the bungalow tomorrow?" Keith interjected.

"Nah," I faked disgust. "I'd rather spend Christmas with you guys."

The telephone interrupted our moment of lightheartedness. I answered and heard a muffled voice ask my name.

"Yes, this is George Król."

"Come to Marco Sal at tne tomorrow night. The employees' entrance will be locked, so come into the lobby at the main entrance. Use your card to open the door inside. I have information that will bust this case wide open."

With a click I lost contact. I finally realeased my reverie and hung up the receiver. All four of the group wasnted to go as soon as I told them the basic content of the call.

"I suppose as soon as I tell Zach, he'll want to go, too," I mused.


Jackie Bantramp was in a hurry. She rushed into the ladies' room one last time to check on her hair. Maybe I do look like Bea Arthur, but I'm not as old, she thought, or as rich or tall.

It was almost seven o'clock, and the late surises did not make getting up earlier any easier. THere were a list of the temporaries to check, and Jackie was sure that the timecards and the daily reports that day were going to be messy.

The door to the room behind her desk was ajar, which caused Jackie to step into the doorway.

"Maria," she called. "Are you here already?"

Maria wasn't there, but the presence of a slumped over body piqued interest. Perhaps one of the management had been working overtime and fallen asleep. The blond hair and the brown hair made a surmise rather easy.

"Mr. Kenton?" Jackie quieried as she approached the figure. Kenton did not respond. Jackie touched his neck, and it was room temperature!

"Did you move the body?" I asked as my phratry stood around the desk.

"No," Jackie replied. "I just called the police."

Just then, the door behind her opened. A police lieutenant walked up to us.

"A very good job," he admired macabrily. A "shot to the heart at fairly close rang. Kenton must have known who killed him."

"Is that it, Lieutenant?" I jumped in. "Did you uncover what he was doing at that terminal?"

"I was hoping you could tell me what is the significance of this paper. It has the number 116, what looks like a Social Security number and Pennsylvania."

"Holy Toledo," Kevin swore. "Please give me that number, Lieutenant, after I boot up the computer."

"I'm ahead of you, bro," I syncopated his though with the beep of the terminal. Soon we were in the servicer for Pennsylvania. Screen 116 generally help the domestic references for the borrower. Once the lieutenant had given us the Social Security number off the post-it, the murderer's message appeared in the template of the screen:

NAME KROLS AND STACYS SSN

ADDRESS GIVE UP, OR YOU'RE MY NEXT VICTIMS! PHONE

CITY NINO STATE ZZ ZIP 00000

"One thing is for sure," I commented to cut through the coup de main. "We have someone to meet here tonight.

The Stacys came into the front door of my bungalow. It was quick dark inside. Darrell was more factitious than usual.

"I can't understand why the judge would want to meet us here. It smells skunkish," he inveighed.

"Am I glad we kept Jen out of this, else I'd have two siblings with which to remonstrate," Allen complained.

There was a knock on the door behind them! Standing on the stoop was Gina! Both Stacys were agape enough to swallow any flies available in December.

"I heard you were here, so I came over," Gina explained.

"Gina," Darrell couldn't take any more female interference. "It might be dangerous to meet this judge."

"Ah," Gina poo poohed. "I can take care of myself."

"Say, shouldn't we call George to tell him what we're going" Darrell insinuated.

"Sure," Allen agreed morosely. "Wait until he gets the bill for long-distance calls."

"Drat," Darrell imprecated. "All I get is the answerer. I will leave a message."

The Stacys had their backs to Gina, so they did not see her uncover a concealed weapon. After Darrell finished giving the time of his message, she laughed behind them.

"Your time's up, boys," she proclaimed piacularly.

Both boys turned pale in the lamplight when they saw the pistol. Darrell felt the more betrayed as his hands rose toward the overcover. "Gina, what're you doing?" he cried frighteningly.

"I'm about to finish another job in my profession. Nino paid me to bump off Spike and Kenton. I wish he had let me knock off your doyen and his group, but he decided to do it himself. I still get paid for six hits in any case."

"Six?" Allen reiterated. "You killed Don and Jame?"

"Not yet," Gina replied as if it had been inevitable. "I have them tied up in the basement. They've been there since this morning, but not for long. You see, after I shoot you, I will get them in the basement, then set this place on fire. George won't have to worry about selling this place anymore. Of course he'll soon be dead anyway."

"Let me guess; Nino lured him into a trap tonight. Why?" Darrell asked earnestly.

"I suppose I could tell you because you won't be around long enough to warn him, especially now that he's gone to the trap at Marco Sal. The whole bunch of you is threatening our business. When Spike became greedy, Nino hired me to rub him out and to keep the others inline in State College. He even arranged for me to put the murder weapon in your house last weekend. He then signed the warrant to put you away, but you escaped. Then Nino decided to put you our of commission permanently. He also didn't like the way Kenton decided to double cross us, so he had me bump him off and throw them off with a neat little message on the terminal."

"I know George," Allen asserted. "He's not so easily fooled."

"If I could fool you so easily, I'm sure someone with enough brains to be a judge could outwit the Króls."

"I suppose you're just going to shoot us?" Darrell said. "Don't we get a last request?"

"Yeah," Gina flashed a flagitious smile. "Do you want me to kill you or your friends in the basement first?"

Gina had been standing near the entrance to the kitchen which led to the door downstairs, so she motioned toward the back of the bungalow with her other hand. Because the right hand was nearer to that door, she waved the gun away from the Stacys. Because a discharge would miss her brothers, at that moment Jen whacked Gina on the head, and the pistol fell to the floor. Gina keeled over and just missed falling on my JFK rocker.

"Jen," Darrell addressed as he picked up the pistol with a cloth. "How did you know?"

"More important than that," Allen cut off the answer. "We must call Marco Sal on the offchance George is there."

"Right," Darrell followed the urgency. "Jen and I will pilfer some knives from the kitchen and free Don and Jame in the basement."

The telephone rang at the front desk without a secretary to answer it. Near the console a clockradio showed 10:03, although another one with red digits was the only one visible in the dark.
Joe Tunk rushed by moments after the rings ceased. In his left hand he held a card to open the inside door electronically. He pushed through both doors, turned a sharp right, and breezed through the parking lot toward Kevin's van.

I had goofed, and I knew it. I had expected to get the confrontation over at the entrance of the building. Instead I was blindly groping in the main room of the operators. Starlight provided the only source of light. I moved to the back of the room where the high windows provided some outside light.

Moving towards me in the aisle was a head of tousled hair. Instinctively I prepared to strike the intruder.

"George!" Zach siffilated.

We both stood up in the fuliginous. Before I could say a word, foudroyant light flooded the room. I quickly closed my eyes, then nictitated. Zach and I found ourselves standing among hundreds of boxes of files. From the front of the room, some twenty meters away, stood a figure.

"It's so nice that you could come," the figure addressed us as he walked along the aisle past nine long tables of terminals. When he reached the crossaisle, he sidled until the few boxes between us were the only obstacle.

"I've been waiting for this opportunity for eleven years, George Król."

I was absolutely mesmerized. The sight of the stranger did not register. The phantom was dressed in black, and the sparse, blacl hair suggested Meditteranean ancestry. Then he pulled out a pistol, which reminded me that I had sent Joe to retrieve mine.


Keith had seen our plight not two minutes before that moment. He was unarmed, and he realized that he could do no good by diverting attention to himself. He spotted the three of us from the front of the room, and I saw him scurry across the gap way behind Nino. I figured my little buddy was out of range, but I calculated our chance of survival were greater if I had kept quiet. I had hoped Joe would return with my pistol to give us a fighting chance. I had no idea where Kevin was, but I was sure he had been planning something. Perhaps he would send us a diversion at the right moment.


"Do you remember that incident at the motel on North Atherton Street? I do. I am Nino. AsI promised, I will end this case and blow it off, only you're going with it."

"Which motel? The one where I used to live?"

"Hill's Motel," Nino snapped. "I got ten years for that caper."

A nostalgic flash nauseated my as I mentally relived that terrible case. It also caused the pieces of this case to coalesce. I endeavored to cache my anger.
"You're one of the Mafia we busted for drugs!" I shouted, both to inform Zach and to alert anyone else nearby.

"Yes," Nino seemed pleased at the rush of events he had started. "We killed you partner then, and we'll get you now."

My emotions were ebullient as I wrestled to keep thme under control. Both Zach and I were too far away for a successful rush, even in surprise. I breathed deeply under the strain in an effort to allow my intelligence to extricate us from this killer. We had a remote chance, but I needed to communicate it to Zach.

"I might as well tell you how I entrapped you," Nino smiled like the Cheshire cat. "When I heard you were on the case, I decided to get the Stacys out of the way by planting the murder weapon in their house. I decided to plow through the hole in the exclusionary rule with a facially valid warrant. When it didn't work, I picked Gina to eliminate the Stacys. Your place should be in flames by now with all four corpses inside.
"Becasue Don Hough and you helped put me in jail, I swore revenge to get you too. I instructed Gina to play her trade in State College while I do my thing in Wilkes-Barré. When they find you on Thursday, I'll be back in State College as an ordinary judge."

"I suppose you took care of Kenton this morning because he was a greedy flaneur," I continued the talking.

"Gredy he was, but Gina took care of him and left you my message of defiance," Nino corrected.

"So now what are you going to do with us?" Zach asked naïvely in another attempt at cunctation.

"I have decided to let Król suffer longer. MacTavish shouldn't be here, but that's his hard luck. I will treat him with misericordia by shooting him in the heart," Nino said mechanically. "I wouldn't want to mess up his looks with a bullet to the brain."
"Then I'm going to shoot Król piece by piece. I'm going to stretch your dying out as long as I can. Does either of you have any questions?"

"Don't we get a last request?" Zach asked for more deferment of the sentence.

"I don't have time for a doch-an-dorrach, make it simple."

"How about a hug?" I suggested.

"How bathetic," Nino derogated. "I may cry after I shoot you. Make it quick."

When we embraced, I whispered the plan. I also told him of the unlikeliness of working. I realized that Zach was in the greater danger because Nino was going to shoot him first.
We unlocked and stood straight. Nino won't know what hit him, I thought positively. I was ironically right.


Keith had seen our plight not two minutes before that moment. He was unarmed, and he realized that he could no good by diverting attention to himself. He spotted the three of us from the front of the room, and I saw his scurry acroos the gap way behind Nino. I figured my little buddy was out of range, but I calculated our chances of survial were greater if I had kept quiet. I had hoped Joe would return with my pistol to give us a fighting chance. I had no idea where Kevin was, but I was sure he was planning something. Perhaps he would send us a diversion at the right moment.

Once Keith reached to employees' entrance, he searched frantically for something to set off, perhaps an alarm. Then he saw a closet in the far end of the building. He recalled that once he had seen wires in there.
The villain must have turned off the detectors of motion, he thought. When he saw disconnected wires, he figured a desperate connection would set off some kind of alarm. He grabbed the connection with his bare hands and touched the cables.

THe next thing Keith remembered was the smell of burning flesh. He was looking over a prone body on the floor. He found himself floating out of the closet and out the entrance. He saw Joe at the main entrance. Joe was frantically banging on the outer door that had closed behind him when he left to get the pistol. Then Keith floated out of this world.

What am I doing, he thought. Then he realized he was having an experience out of his body. He was a wraith, a Doppelgänger, a ghost of a living person!

I may not be living long, he thought again. He had never felt so peaceful, so loved. He was drifting up a tunnel toward a light. At the top, he met a luminous being.

"Welcome", greeted the being. "Your parents wish to see you."

"My parents?" Keith repeated. "They've been dead for years! Wait a minute; what happens if I should agree?"

"You also agree to stay," the being replied.

"Tell them I'll be very happy to spend eternity with them when I really die," Keith told of a difficult choice. "I have too much work left undone."


At the precise moment Keith had made himself a conductor, the circuits broke. Thus Zach and I had a good five seconds to push the boxes on Nino, then run in opposite directions along the aisle.
When the backup lights turned the gloom down, we were almost out of the room. Nino couldn't find his pistol under the boxes.

Meanwhile Kevin arrived near the employees' entrance and saw the door of the closet ajar. He hurried to the shoes he saw protruding from the closet. The smell told Kevin that Keith had been electrocuted. He turned Keith supine, heard no heartbeat, and proceeded to do cardiopulmonary resuscitation.
Keith's life balanced in his hands. All Kevin could remember was that Keith's best chance was then. Few people ever revive after they get to the hospital when they suffer a heart attack.


"You don't belong here," another being disputed.

"Does that mean I'm supposed to go to hell?" Keith feared the meaning of the other being.

"No," the first being denied. "He means that you're not supposed to be dead. We could send you back with those about to be born again."

"You never answered my question. May I see my parents before I go back?" Keith protested.

"If you should want to see your parents, you also agree to stay," the being replied. "You'll have to wait for rebirth for awhile if you should agree to stay. Besides, you'd forget everything of your past life, even if you went back that way. No, the choice is between dying and leaving your buddies and returning to earth in your current body."

Keith pondered the possiblities. He wondered if Jean-Paul Sartre had discovered in 1980 that one of his tenets of existentialism -- life condemns us to be free to make choices -- also applies in death.


I had run into the backroom for the very reason of familiarity. I figured that I had worked there for the past two weeks, and Nino had not.The lights were just as dim back there, and the boxes were piled nice and high.
Not quite high enough to hide me, I realized when I heard the wisk of a silencer. A box nearby exploded, I ducked and sped for the empergency exit. I thought of how much the workers of the backroom would curse on Thursday when they see the mess Nino had made as he shot at me.


Kevin wasn't far along in the procedure when Keith resumed breathing. He heard someone behind him.
"How is he?" a strange voice inquired.

"I'm not sure if he be going to live," Kevin replied.

"Okay. After I shoot you, I'll make sure."

Kevin felt panic seize him. He turned to look into that lethal pistol Zach and I had been not five minutes earlier.

"I'll extirpate the brother of my enemy, his buddy, then I'll get him," Nino mused. "Not a bad plan, ugh!"

Nino keeled over. Bay appeared in the doorway all smiles. She revealed the cudget with which she has fusticated Nino. Kevin swore he'd never doubt he ability of a woman again.

Keith stirred, so Kevin turned his attention back to his task. Keith seems quite happy, wherever he is, Kevin thought.

"Is he coming around?" Bay inquired. "Can I help?"

"Yes," Kevin sounded relieved. "It looks as though he'd decided to live."

Kevin and Bay heard a commotion from the front of the building. Apparently the disturbance in the electrical flow did set off an alarm, for a policeman appeared in the doorway. Kevin explained the situation, and the officer called an ambulance.

Nino Balancia instantly realized what had happened when he became conscious. Bay had taken his gun, so he slid away in recreacy toward the lunchroom. Soon he was on his feet, and his dark clothes aided his attempt to absquatulate. He had just ducked into the lunchroom when the police dashed by the doorway. Outside lights guided him to the door.

I had worked my way back to the front of the building when the police burst into the room. They had caught Joe at the frontdoor, still endeavoring to get in! I claimed the pistol, showed my permit, and assisted the operation.
We encountered Zach in front of the lunchroom. We looked at each other, then at the open door to the outside!
Zach and Joe raced to the door, but I just stood in the doorway. I knew Balancia had escaped by then, and we could do nothing about it.
"Forget it, guys," I stated morosely. "He's long gone by now. We don't even know the make and model of the car."

"Say," Zach suddenly thought. "Shouldn't you call your house?"

"I'm almost afraid to do so," I admitted. "Nonetheless, you're right."

Allen answered the telephone. "I'm relieved you called. Gina told us you'd be dead by now."

We spent a good ten minutes summarizing the past happenings. I told the Stacys to lock up; I'd be there the following night to work out the report. The sheriff had just taken Gina away, so the Stacys had to leave anyway. We'd discuss everything on New Year's Eve.

"George," Kevin called from the doorway. "Don't you know what happened to Keith?"

It was only then I learned what had happened. I prescinded conversation and rushed out of the lunchroom to investigate. Zach and Joe had gone before I'd the chance.
I felt sick when I saw what had happened to Keith. Zack joined us as Kevin and I followed the gurney to the ambulance. Kevin consoled me with the progress, but it wasn't until Keith was conscious and in Mercy Hospital for observation overnight, when I finally relaxed.
Keith had been burned, but the trauma was the more injurious. Kevin had saved his life, but Keith seemed too serene. Mercy Hospital discharged Keith on Christmas, and he insisted he do his visiting himself. He promised to visit my bungalow on the way back after New Year's.
"You owe me the vacation," he kidded.

My biggest regret was that Nino had escaped in the hubbub. Gina was up for more murders too infandous to number. The ineffable number neared double digits by the end of the year. I have always reserved the death penalty for such a purpose, although Keith came out against the death penalty when I said so. I could not understand it. -- He had always been for the death penalty, especially recently when I related the significance of the death of Richard Speck.

Because Joe had almost been mistakenly arrested for carrying my pistol, I make it up to him by throwing him a party for his birthday on the last day of the year.