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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Please refer to Part 1.
Author's Note: Lots of references made to the Season 1 episode "The Better Part of Valor." You may want to pay special attention to this episode when it comes around on TNT.
Till We Meet Again
Part 4: Follow Your Instincts
Langer M. Fritz
Cul-de-sac, Hilton Street
Sunnyvale, California
Jarod sat in his blue, nondescript rental car and starred out the side-window at the house across the street. He had driven from LAX, having arrived from Dover on a red-eye flight. He had no idea why he was following this lead. Logically, and according to what Broots had told him, he should be concentrating his efforts on Mr. White and Lyle. He didn't have the evidence yet, but he was sure those two had something to do with the tire blowout in Philadelphia, and the subsequent death of Miss Parker. No, not just any death, he reminded himself. It was premeditated murder.
But here he was, sitting in the car, staring at a house with its requisite white picket fence and trimmed front lawn in a quiet suburban street corner as the sun rose above a row of similarly built homes.
He rolled down the car window and breathed in deeply the morning air. He could sense the dozen or so families on this street beginning to wake from their slumber, readying themselves for a new day at work or at school. The showers were running, the coffee percolating, and the kids crying or yelling for their parents' attention.
He smiled his sad, envious smile and turned his attention back to the manila folder lying on the front passenger seat. He picked it up and opened it.
Michael Patrick.
He had initially no idea who Michael Patrick was when Broots first mentioned the man during their meeting at Miss Parker's home. All he knew was that the Clarkson Pharmaceuticals sales rep had been in contact with Raines regularly. But then more had come to light from his Centre "inside men."
Michael Patrick was an ex-flame of Miss Parker's and had bumped into her "accidentally" in a restaurant in Blue Cove when she was out dining with Sydney. It was later that they discovered his renewed romantic interest in Miss Parker was no more than his way of getting inside information on the whereabouts of Jarod.
He could still hear Sydney telling him how they had missed him, Jarod, at the Pittsburgh Fire Dept. - the "Fighting 16" - and discovered Michael Patrick there instead.
It was as if someone had literally shaken him out of a long forgotten memory. He had "met" the infamous Mr. Patrick. At the station house just as he was about to leave his latest pretend after solving the case of firefighter Tamara Copeland's death. The man had pulled a gun on him, and he was sure he was heading back to the Centre in cuffs when Amber, the "Fighting 16"'s Dalmatian had given a mighty bark that distracted Patrick long enough for Jarod to send his gun flying with a swipe of his Halliburton and to make his subsequent escape. He had thought the man a Centre sweeper and had left it at that, putting him completely out of his mind. But now it appeared that there was more to Michael Patrick than met the eye.
And according to Sydney, Michael Patrick had been working for Raines then. Still is, apparently.
Jarod refocused on the open folder on his lap. He picked up a photograph and gazed at it - a smiling Michael Patrick with his lovely wife and daughter.
"What are you up to, Michael Patrick?" Jarod murmured, his brows furrowing.
Just then the front door to the house that Jarod had been watching opened. Out stepped the man in question. Patrick turned to say a few words to his wife who stood at the doorway, gave her an affectionate kiss and headed to his car parked on the driveway.
==================================================================
The Seaview Apartments
Venice Beach, California
Kate was having a hard time sleeping again. Her nightmares were always the same. Shapeless faces and shadows that hounded her till she woke screaming. She turned with a groan to look at the clock - just past six. Time for her to get up anyway. She headed to the bathroom in search of the prescription drugs to help ease her massive headache.
She stared at herself in the mirror and reached up a hand to her forehead, gingerly tracing the scare at her hairline. Why can't she remember anything?
Her husband had told her it took time to regain her memory after that bad accident. But it had been more than a year and still she remembered nothing, save for what he's been telling her. That they've been married for three years and his work took him away from home often.
Kate headed to the balcony that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The slight breeze soothed her frayed nerves, and returned her to some semblance of calmness.
She looked to the unfinished canvas to her left. Her physical therapist (when she first got out of the hospital) had encouraged her to paint, emphasizing its therapeutic benefits. And, a year on, she still painted.
She looked at the unfinished work with a critical eye. Not bad at all.
Jean had seen her sketches and paintings when she visited once, and had thought them good enough to sell. Kate had laughed it off, saying that the paintings were a side hobby, and not meant for the eyes of others. She still remembered her conversation with Jean a couple of months back.
"Oh come on, why don't you try selling them? I betcha people'll be lining up to buy them. I tell you, they're that good," Jean had persuaded.
Kate laughed at what she thought was the funniest thing she heard yet. "You've got to be kidding right? Who in their right mind will pay for them?"
"They're really good, Kate. You have talent. Any chance you're the offspring of Picasso and just forgot?" Jean joked.
"I wish!" Kate replied smilingly.
"Seriously, these paintings are meant to be seen and appreciated. Not hidden away to gather dust. And besides, it's your chance to earn a little extra something. I, for one, know the Red Tattoo's paying you pittance," Jean reasoned. "I betcha old man McGraw will be more than happy to hog your wares at his little sidewalk setup by the beach if you dangle a little commission carrot in front of him."
Kate was beginning to get caught up in Jean's enthusiasm. "Do you really think it'll work?"
"Why wouldn't it?" Jean answered eagerly as she stretched out on Kate's living room couch. "As I see it, it's an ideal spot to show off your paintings on the walk. And with some persuasion of the female kind, plus some monetary reward, McGraw will bite. He's there most parts of the year anyways touting his knick-knacks to the tourists."
Kate plopped down next to her friend and quietly thought it out.
Jean looked at her and could guess at what she was thinking. "Afraid that hubby of yours would say no?"
Kate turned her intense blue eyes on her friend. "What do you think? He's Mr. I-Don't-Think-You-Should-Work-And-Should-Stay-At-Home, remember? The one who still thinks I should take things easy? He'll have a fit if he finds out I'm expanding my side hobby."
"Who's to say he has to know?" Jean said mischievously.
Kate never did tell her husband about this little secret of theirs. He would never have approved.
==================================================================
Clarkson Pharmaceuticals
Sunnyvale, California
Jarod really did not appreciate this stakeout. He hated the waiting and the inactivity.
He opened his laptop, connected it to a host of sophisticated satellite peripherals and began typing furiously.
"Let's see what we have on you, Mr. Patrick," Jarod muttered. Within minutes he had gained access to the Clarkson Pharmaceuticals mainframe.
More clicking of the keys and then, "Bingo!"
It seemed Patrick has been scheduled to leave on a business trip today.
And, a call was made to Blue Cove, Delaware from his office phone.
"What are you reporting to Raines about?" Jarod said out loud, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered.
It was too late to intercept and tap into his phone call now. But Jarod had a back-up plan. He opened his e-mail account, and sent a quick message to Broots. The techie would know what to do about future incoming calls to Raines from California.
Just then, Jarod spotted Patrick walking out of the building and heading to his car.
"Here we go," Jarod said as he started his car.
==================================================================
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California
It had been easy tailing the unsuspecting sales rep since he left Sunnyvale, but the teeming crowds at this famous beach haunt was making it difficult for Jarod to keep up with his quarry. Except for the occasional sight of Michael Patrick's bobbing head somewhere in front of him, more often than not, Jarod was dodging the masses taking their leisurely strolls.
And then just as suddenly, the man disappeared from sight. Jarod ran toward where he last saw Patrick, stood at the exact spot, but ... nothing.
He whirled around, scanning all directions. Nothing.
"Damn!" the pretender swore angrily.
==================================================================
Later That Night
The Seaview Apartments
Venice Beach, California
Kate stared at the ceiling as she listened to the sound of the ocean waves breaking on the shore nearby. And that periodic snort from the man who slept beside her.
She turned her head sideways to look at her sleeping husband and sighed.
Was their marriage always like this? That occasional wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am when he came home. What about their courtship days? Was he a romantic? Did she ever receive that surprise bouquet of a dozen roses from him? Did they take moonlit walks on the beach? Or sit at a sidewalk café as they whiled away the time talking about nothing and everything?
She had no recollection and so couldn't compare. But she was sure that was what she wanted in her marriage.
They have had arguments over his long absences from home. She would count herself lucky if she saw him three consecutive days in a week. But he was always able to explain that away - that as a sales representative for a major pharmaceuticals company, he was expected to travel.
But something was still not right, she sensed. Who was this stranger who shared her bed? They hardly communicated, and when they did they argued about his job or her hours at the Red Tattoo. She recalled the time they had that heated exchange over her friendship with Jean Branson when she first started working at the restaurant. He had called Jean a tramp and a bad influence. And he was ridiculously possessive when it came to what she did and whom she saw. It was Gestapo-style interrogation on her whereabouts every minute of the day, every day of the week, be it in person or over the phone when he was away.
She didn't know how much longer she could tolerate being in this marriage. Yes, her amnesia might have been a contributing factor, but Kate was sure it wasn't the only reason.
She hated even thinking about it, but that's what her marriage was - a sham.
==================================================================
The Next Morning
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California
Jarod loved being out so early in the morning - watching as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, and this little community coming to life.
He of course knew he had a job to do today. Find the elusive Michael Patrick. But what the hell? He was here now, the man was no where to be found (he had checked all the nearby hotels and motels), it was a great day, so why not give himself a much needed break?
He sighted a man pushing an ice-cream cart and made a beeline for it.
He caught up to the man and said politely, "I'll like a double scoop of chocolate chip ice-cream on a cone please?"
The vendor stopped and turned to look at the dark-haired man standing next to him as if he had grown horns on his head.
Just as he was about to utter some well-chosen words to let that oddity of a man know what he thought of him, there was the sound of a crash, and then cursing.
Jarod turned his attention to the sound and hurried over to the old man bent over the items that had spilled over from his cart.
"Here, let me help you," Jarod said, bending down to help pick up the things up.
He handed the items back and watched as the old man displayed them on his makeshift cart.
The old man then turned toward Jarod. "William McGraw III at your service," he stuck out a hand and gave Jarod a firm handshake. "Mighty kind of you to have helped, young man. This back of mine ain't what it used to be."
"Jarod," he introduced and smiled. "And it was my pleasure."
He looked around at the assortment of goods the old man had to sell - from sunglasses and souvenir T-shirts to a variety of handmade arts and crafts. "You've got quite a set up here, Mr. McGraw."
The old man nodded as he continued to display his wares for sale. He declared proudly, "Been doing this for the last twenty years. Makes a decent living."
He next took a series of 8x10 sketches and paintings from the storage area within the cart and began displaying them.
"Nice," Jarod commented as he gave the paintings a cursory glance.
And then one of the paintings caught his attention.
He picked it up with trembling hands and asked, "Where did you get this?"
TBC
Author's Note: Lots of references made to the Season 1 episode "The Better Part of Valor." You may want to pay special attention to this episode when it comes around on TNT.
Till We Meet Again
Part 4: Follow Your Instincts
Langer M. Fritz
Cul-de-sac, Hilton Street
Sunnyvale, California
Jarod sat in his blue, nondescript rental car and starred out the side-window at the house across the street. He had driven from LAX, having arrived from Dover on a red-eye flight. He had no idea why he was following this lead. Logically, and according to what Broots had told him, he should be concentrating his efforts on Mr. White and Lyle. He didn't have the evidence yet, but he was sure those two had something to do with the tire blowout in Philadelphia, and the subsequent death of Miss Parker. No, not just any death, he reminded himself. It was premeditated murder.
But here he was, sitting in the car, staring at a house with its requisite white picket fence and trimmed front lawn in a quiet suburban street corner as the sun rose above a row of similarly built homes.
He rolled down the car window and breathed in deeply the morning air. He could sense the dozen or so families on this street beginning to wake from their slumber, readying themselves for a new day at work or at school. The showers were running, the coffee percolating, and the kids crying or yelling for their parents' attention.
He smiled his sad, envious smile and turned his attention back to the manila folder lying on the front passenger seat. He picked it up and opened it.
Michael Patrick.
He had initially no idea who Michael Patrick was when Broots first mentioned the man during their meeting at Miss Parker's home. All he knew was that the Clarkson Pharmaceuticals sales rep had been in contact with Raines regularly. But then more had come to light from his Centre "inside men."
Michael Patrick was an ex-flame of Miss Parker's and had bumped into her "accidentally" in a restaurant in Blue Cove when she was out dining with Sydney. It was later that they discovered his renewed romantic interest in Miss Parker was no more than his way of getting inside information on the whereabouts of Jarod.
He could still hear Sydney telling him how they had missed him, Jarod, at the Pittsburgh Fire Dept. - the "Fighting 16" - and discovered Michael Patrick there instead.
It was as if someone had literally shaken him out of a long forgotten memory. He had "met" the infamous Mr. Patrick. At the station house just as he was about to leave his latest pretend after solving the case of firefighter Tamara Copeland's death. The man had pulled a gun on him, and he was sure he was heading back to the Centre in cuffs when Amber, the "Fighting 16"'s Dalmatian had given a mighty bark that distracted Patrick long enough for Jarod to send his gun flying with a swipe of his Halliburton and to make his subsequent escape. He had thought the man a Centre sweeper and had left it at that, putting him completely out of his mind. But now it appeared that there was more to Michael Patrick than met the eye.
And according to Sydney, Michael Patrick had been working for Raines then. Still is, apparently.
Jarod refocused on the open folder on his lap. He picked up a photograph and gazed at it - a smiling Michael Patrick with his lovely wife and daughter.
"What are you up to, Michael Patrick?" Jarod murmured, his brows furrowing.
Just then the front door to the house that Jarod had been watching opened. Out stepped the man in question. Patrick turned to say a few words to his wife who stood at the doorway, gave her an affectionate kiss and headed to his car parked on the driveway.
==================================================================
The Seaview Apartments
Venice Beach, California
Kate was having a hard time sleeping again. Her nightmares were always the same. Shapeless faces and shadows that hounded her till she woke screaming. She turned with a groan to look at the clock - just past six. Time for her to get up anyway. She headed to the bathroom in search of the prescription drugs to help ease her massive headache.
She stared at herself in the mirror and reached up a hand to her forehead, gingerly tracing the scare at her hairline. Why can't she remember anything?
Her husband had told her it took time to regain her memory after that bad accident. But it had been more than a year and still she remembered nothing, save for what he's been telling her. That they've been married for three years and his work took him away from home often.
Kate headed to the balcony that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The slight breeze soothed her frayed nerves, and returned her to some semblance of calmness.
She looked to the unfinished canvas to her left. Her physical therapist (when she first got out of the hospital) had encouraged her to paint, emphasizing its therapeutic benefits. And, a year on, she still painted.
She looked at the unfinished work with a critical eye. Not bad at all.
Jean had seen her sketches and paintings when she visited once, and had thought them good enough to sell. Kate had laughed it off, saying that the paintings were a side hobby, and not meant for the eyes of others. She still remembered her conversation with Jean a couple of months back.
"Oh come on, why don't you try selling them? I betcha people'll be lining up to buy them. I tell you, they're that good," Jean had persuaded.
Kate laughed at what she thought was the funniest thing she heard yet. "You've got to be kidding right? Who in their right mind will pay for them?"
"They're really good, Kate. You have talent. Any chance you're the offspring of Picasso and just forgot?" Jean joked.
"I wish!" Kate replied smilingly.
"Seriously, these paintings are meant to be seen and appreciated. Not hidden away to gather dust. And besides, it's your chance to earn a little extra something. I, for one, know the Red Tattoo's paying you pittance," Jean reasoned. "I betcha old man McGraw will be more than happy to hog your wares at his little sidewalk setup by the beach if you dangle a little commission carrot in front of him."
Kate was beginning to get caught up in Jean's enthusiasm. "Do you really think it'll work?"
"Why wouldn't it?" Jean answered eagerly as she stretched out on Kate's living room couch. "As I see it, it's an ideal spot to show off your paintings on the walk. And with some persuasion of the female kind, plus some monetary reward, McGraw will bite. He's there most parts of the year anyways touting his knick-knacks to the tourists."
Kate plopped down next to her friend and quietly thought it out.
Jean looked at her and could guess at what she was thinking. "Afraid that hubby of yours would say no?"
Kate turned her intense blue eyes on her friend. "What do you think? He's Mr. I-Don't-Think-You-Should-Work-And-Should-Stay-At-Home, remember? The one who still thinks I should take things easy? He'll have a fit if he finds out I'm expanding my side hobby."
"Who's to say he has to know?" Jean said mischievously.
Kate never did tell her husband about this little secret of theirs. He would never have approved.
==================================================================
Clarkson Pharmaceuticals
Sunnyvale, California
Jarod really did not appreciate this stakeout. He hated the waiting and the inactivity.
He opened his laptop, connected it to a host of sophisticated satellite peripherals and began typing furiously.
"Let's see what we have on you, Mr. Patrick," Jarod muttered. Within minutes he had gained access to the Clarkson Pharmaceuticals mainframe.
More clicking of the keys and then, "Bingo!"
It seemed Patrick has been scheduled to leave on a business trip today.
And, a call was made to Blue Cove, Delaware from his office phone.
"What are you reporting to Raines about?" Jarod said out loud, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered.
It was too late to intercept and tap into his phone call now. But Jarod had a back-up plan. He opened his e-mail account, and sent a quick message to Broots. The techie would know what to do about future incoming calls to Raines from California.
Just then, Jarod spotted Patrick walking out of the building and heading to his car.
"Here we go," Jarod said as he started his car.
==================================================================
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California
It had been easy tailing the unsuspecting sales rep since he left Sunnyvale, but the teeming crowds at this famous beach haunt was making it difficult for Jarod to keep up with his quarry. Except for the occasional sight of Michael Patrick's bobbing head somewhere in front of him, more often than not, Jarod was dodging the masses taking their leisurely strolls.
And then just as suddenly, the man disappeared from sight. Jarod ran toward where he last saw Patrick, stood at the exact spot, but ... nothing.
He whirled around, scanning all directions. Nothing.
"Damn!" the pretender swore angrily.
==================================================================
Later That Night
The Seaview Apartments
Venice Beach, California
Kate stared at the ceiling as she listened to the sound of the ocean waves breaking on the shore nearby. And that periodic snort from the man who slept beside her.
She turned her head sideways to look at her sleeping husband and sighed.
Was their marriage always like this? That occasional wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am when he came home. What about their courtship days? Was he a romantic? Did she ever receive that surprise bouquet of a dozen roses from him? Did they take moonlit walks on the beach? Or sit at a sidewalk café as they whiled away the time talking about nothing and everything?
She had no recollection and so couldn't compare. But she was sure that was what she wanted in her marriage.
They have had arguments over his long absences from home. She would count herself lucky if she saw him three consecutive days in a week. But he was always able to explain that away - that as a sales representative for a major pharmaceuticals company, he was expected to travel.
But something was still not right, she sensed. Who was this stranger who shared her bed? They hardly communicated, and when they did they argued about his job or her hours at the Red Tattoo. She recalled the time they had that heated exchange over her friendship with Jean Branson when she first started working at the restaurant. He had called Jean a tramp and a bad influence. And he was ridiculously possessive when it came to what she did and whom she saw. It was Gestapo-style interrogation on her whereabouts every minute of the day, every day of the week, be it in person or over the phone when he was away.
She didn't know how much longer she could tolerate being in this marriage. Yes, her amnesia might have been a contributing factor, but Kate was sure it wasn't the only reason.
She hated even thinking about it, but that's what her marriage was - a sham.
==================================================================
The Next Morning
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California
Jarod loved being out so early in the morning - watching as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, and this little community coming to life.
He of course knew he had a job to do today. Find the elusive Michael Patrick. But what the hell? He was here now, the man was no where to be found (he had checked all the nearby hotels and motels), it was a great day, so why not give himself a much needed break?
He sighted a man pushing an ice-cream cart and made a beeline for it.
He caught up to the man and said politely, "I'll like a double scoop of chocolate chip ice-cream on a cone please?"
The vendor stopped and turned to look at the dark-haired man standing next to him as if he had grown horns on his head.
Just as he was about to utter some well-chosen words to let that oddity of a man know what he thought of him, there was the sound of a crash, and then cursing.
Jarod turned his attention to the sound and hurried over to the old man bent over the items that had spilled over from his cart.
"Here, let me help you," Jarod said, bending down to help pick up the things up.
He handed the items back and watched as the old man displayed them on his makeshift cart.
The old man then turned toward Jarod. "William McGraw III at your service," he stuck out a hand and gave Jarod a firm handshake. "Mighty kind of you to have helped, young man. This back of mine ain't what it used to be."
"Jarod," he introduced and smiled. "And it was my pleasure."
He looked around at the assortment of goods the old man had to sell - from sunglasses and souvenir T-shirts to a variety of handmade arts and crafts. "You've got quite a set up here, Mr. McGraw."
The old man nodded as he continued to display his wares for sale. He declared proudly, "Been doing this for the last twenty years. Makes a decent living."
He next took a series of 8x10 sketches and paintings from the storage area within the cart and began displaying them.
"Nice," Jarod commented as he gave the paintings a cursory glance.
And then one of the paintings caught his attention.
He picked it up with trembling hands and asked, "Where did you get this?"
TBC
