John Gets What He Needs
By: Hogan
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)
Editor: Gerry Young

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
 

Chapter 1  

"John Clark, The Gentle Giant"

At age twenty-five, John was 6 feet 8 inches, 245 pounds, and white hair, not blonde … he was a true blonde with a muscular hairy chest on which you couldn’t really see the hair until you were up close. His hair was so fine and white.

John wasn’t one of those gym rats that had to workout three or four times a week. He just took good care of himself, ate right, and with all those hours of “shootin' hoops,” that he loved to do, he was in better shape than most, without the prerequisite frequent trips to the gym. Wintertime in Indiana didn’t stop him from playing ball, either. Many of the aged elementary schools would have “open gymnasium” in the evenings so a lot of guys got together for one-on-one, or if there were enough players who showed up, they’d play full-court games.

John was a gentle giant to all who knew him, almost goofy at times, and radiated "the eternal child at heart." Nothing penetrated his world of his easy, care-free attitude, and most could sense it after only a few minutes of conversation with him. He had always been a leader of his own destiny, never following anything or anyone, but only focused on what he was intent on doing.

Don’t get me wrong. John was no push over, by any means; he could hold his own ground against the best of them. Without having to show his own physical prowess, he had an angry, intense stare that could make many back down, immediately. He had dodged many bar fights simply by just staying calm. His large presence was intimidating, but only until he spoke and gave you that big grin with those piercing blue eyes.

He did well in school while growing up, never really having to apply himself to make good grades. John wasn’t what you'd call very athletic, but basketball was his passion ... the man played at least five times a day! He was the type who would see a game being played at a local park, just walk up, and immediately be accepted into the game. An onlooker would conclude that it was more because of his size than his way with people on the court. Anyone who came into contact with him would instantly be drawn to him. It was unlikely that he ever really met a person he didn’t like, except, perhaps, for a few tight-ass cops or some overly gung-ho military personnel.

Although he was a very large man, he was cursed to have been a late-bloomer as a teenager. When he was a senior in high school, he was still only at the height of 5 feet 8 inches ... not exactly starter material for the basketball team at that height, so he never was picked to be on a team. Barely a hair anywhere, except on his head and crotch, he only started growing hair all over his face, chest, legs, pits and arms after he turned eighteen. It wasn’t until after he graduated and went into the Air Force, that he went through his last growth spurt ... a big one, at that.

John served his three years in the Air Force, but decided it wasn’t the career move he was hoping for. He’d also found a girl in Georgia, and married her, while he was stationed there. The marriage didn’t last much longer than a little over a year and ended in divorce. He decided not to re-enlist and moved back to his hometown in Indiana after his divorce and discharge. After all, there was nothing holding him there in Georgia since his marriage fell apart, and he was no longer government property issue.

By knowing an old buddy who worked at the local phone company, his father arranged for his job application to be put on the top of a pile of hopeful applicants. In the real world, this was how it worked, for the most part. Luck, or being at the right place at the right time, had little to do with getting a good paying job when you hadn’t gone to college. Out of some sense of "patriotic duty," many employers felt that those applicants who had just been discharged after having been in the service, should somehow or other be given first chance to fill open positions within their companies. And to other employers, a person coming from the military was seen as someone who was mature and disciplined, which made for a good employee to hire.

Installing and/or repairing phone lines and equipment was what he applied for. Of course, he got the job ... with his father's connections. Some of the electronics training he had received in the Air Force, also paid off. After being in training for a few months of learning the ropes, he was on his own and driving a company work van.

He liked his job. He drove the van around and enjoyed the semi-freedom of not having to be in one place all the time; it was just the opposite of being in the military and having to ask when and how to wipe his own ass. Everyday was a new adventure, or at least it was something different, and kept him interested. Sometimes, he would be on-call during off hours, but normally, he worked a 9 to 5 shift. During storms, he’d be busy working long hours, but he never minded it much, since the overtime pay was great.

Besides, after a year of working for the company, John bought a three-bedroom fixer-upper that he spent many weekends working on. He still had years of work to do, it seemed, but it was coming along to his satisfaction. He was in no hurry, and since it was just him living there, the constant messes of remodeling wasn’t much of a problem. His father was a carpenter by trade, so all those many projects he helped his dad on while growing up, had paid off. The extra overtime he got from his job helped him afford materials to keep the remodeling going.

He spent many stormy nights, out in the countryside, resetting breakers or replacing burnt-out electrical boards at sub-stations. Most were caused by lightning or some other natural disaster that came with the spring and summer storms. Rare ice storms in the winter would also cause havoc on the region. Most of John’s required service was usually in very rural areas outside of town. Picturesque country roads, farms, homes and cornfields dotted the landscape.

On one particular early, warm summer evening, a cold front came in from the northeast, just after dark. It produced a storm of heavy rain, wind, and of course, lightning. There was definitely a lot of repair work to do. Parts of the county had lost their phone connections due to the high winds and electrical storm, and it was going to take all night to get everything connected back to the grid.

No one was seriously injured by the time the worst of the storm had passed through. All that remained of the storm was a little wind and lots of rain. Even though there had been light damage, mostly limited to tree limbs and signs blown all over the place, the area had dodged the bullet once again. Occasionally, John saw lawn furniture in trees and chuckled at the odd sight.

Most of the homes had escaped another potentially disastrous storm without having a tornado tear up everything they owned, but people still became quite testy when their electricity and phone service had been interrupted. After such an even, everyone employed at the phone company would be working to get all the lines up and buzzing as soon as possible. If absolutely necessary, this meant working into the late night or early morning until it was finished.

John went from job to job that was being sent to him through his wireless computer in the van; luckily, the cell towers hadn’t been interrupted, so he could get his work orders quickly. Well, to be honest, luck didn’t have anything to do with it. The phone company had backup systems and generators and was well prepared for all-too-common events like this. Indiana was very familiar with the fierce, late-afternoon storms in the spring and summer which would roll through.

After about 4 am (early morning of his second consectuive shift), and he was on his way to the last job he was assigned for the day. It was an old connection box along side a road that wasn’t getting a signal and left everyone, down the old country road just off the State Road 18, without phone and computer service. John had serviced the site a few times before. That particular piece of equipment was old and always causing trouble. Seemed to go off-grid even when a horse farted while moseying by, pulling an Amish buggy. It was equipment that needed upgrading and was scheduled to be replaced with newer equipment later in the summer ... but a quick fix would do ... until then. As he drove up to the connection that stuck out of the ground about four feet, he could see State Road close by. Flashing lights were coming down 18 as he stopped the van at the edge of the country road, so he knew all the government agencies and utility companies were busy that night after the storm.

‘Man! Just this last quick job and I can go home and crash for eight hours or more, since it's Friday, and I’ll have the rest of the weekend off,' John thought, as he gathered the tools he needed and again pulled on his rain gear, since it still hadn’t let up much.

He hesitantly got out of the warm and dry comfort of the company van only to be pummeled by the cold wind and rain. He began his short trek, walking down into the dark ditch next to the road where the phone connection box was located. It didn’t take him long to replace a connection that had been fried from the lightning. Then he ran a few tests on the connection to see if everything was working properly. All was fine, so he started heading back up out of the ditch to his van when the beam of his flashlight shown on something that caught his attention.

“What the fu..,” John stammered aloud to no one but himself.

‘I hope that’s not what I think it is … Shit ... it is! ... it's a body!' "Oh, crap!" he blurted aloud.

The rain continued coming down at a steady pace; the wind howled in gusts, making the rain feel even colder. The flashlight beaming through the rain was shining on a very dirty and wet body, lying lifeless in the ditch, face down, half covered with debris. John wasn’t sure how he had missed it when he first came down. He observed that the person's clothes were both filthy and cut up.

He hesitantly walked closer to the motionless form and began to remove some debris that was covering the head of the person. Soon, he noticed it was a guy ... with dark hair. Maybe around his own age or younger, it was hard to tell. He tried to check for a pulse or any sign of breathing. He was no expert, but the guy sure looked dead to him, and was very cold to the touch. He could see cuts and bruises on the face.

John wondered if the guy had gotten caught up in one of the tornadoes over in the next county, and then it had spit him out into the ditch. Twisters were notorious for appearing for brief periods out in the countryside, without warning, during a storm, then dissipating a brief moment later without anyone being the wiser. He ran back to his van, jumped in, and called the dispatcher to tell her what he had found.

He picked up the radio and began signaling the dispatcher. “Ruby this is John in van #24 … come in.”

“John ... Ruby here ... are you finished for the night?” Ruby was one of the company dispatchers from the main office in town.

“Ruby … no … Shit! ... You ain't gonna believe this, but … but … I found a body!”

"WHAT?" she screamed.

“I’m at the last repair job on 550 South County Road near 18. I’m pretty sure he’s dead,” John said, breathing heavily as almost in shock at what he had witnessed.

“John ... what you mean … a body?” Ruby loudly questioned.

“Ruby, it looks like someone was caught in the storm or was hit by a car and thrown into the ditch or something. I don’t really know what happened to him, but he looks pretty banged up. I checked for a pulse and breathing, but he looks like he’s gone. I’m not even sure how long he’s been here,” John replied back into the mic.

“John, are sure he is dead?” Ruby asked.

“Geez, Ruby, I think so … but I sure ain't gonna go back and see. Damn! I’m kinda freaking out here … send me some help,” John yelled back

“Ok, just gimme a minute.”

The pause seemed like an eternity to John, but finally, after only a couple of minutes, Ruby’s then-reassuring voice could be heard once again.

“OK, John … Stay there and wait for the sheriff. We’ve notified them, and they said a patrol car was close by on 18. It’ll be easy for him to find your location out there in the dark since your van has flashing yellow lights,” Ruby relayed back to John, trying to calm him.

After about two minutes, John saw the emergency lights of the sheriff's car approaching. He didn’t like being here alone with a dead body … gave him the willies.

He left the comforts of the van once again and shook hands with Andy. Andy was one of the county officers he had worked with before at a couple roadside accidents that had knocked down some lines. He’d also seen him around the area, patrolling the countryside. John, being the likable guy he was, had chatted briefly with Andy many times. He seemed like a nice guy, not cocky like most officers he had meet on his job before. He didn't seem to be the type who think they're all powerful, ready to put handcuffs on anyone who doesn’t jump high enough around them when they speak; ‘real butt wagers,’ he thought to himself.

“Man, Andy! I’m sure glad to see you. I haven’t seen a dead body before,” John said, nervously.

“Hey ... no worries, John! Being a sheriff, you get used to it after seeing so many car accidents on the highways,” Andy stated, trying to reassure John. “Actually, the only thing that usually gets to me these days is when kids are involved." Then Andy remarked with reverence, "Those are the ones you have a hard time forgetting about and try not to bring home with you.”

John didn’t say anything to that but only guided Andy to his ‘find’. They approached the man in the ditch, and the sheriff leaned down to check if he were alive. Andy couldn’t find a pulse, either, and called on his radio, “Dispatch ... we have a fatality, male, around early 20s; cause of death unknown; send a wagon, please.”

The radio repeated Andy’s call and acknowledged his command.

As the officer tried to pull the twisted body over onto it's back to get a better look at him ... to see if he could find any identification in his pockets ... the body began to move with just a slight twinge. Both, he and John, jumped a foot back, startled. Iimmediately, the officer called back over his radio, "Cancel the wagon! Now requesting an ambulance at present location; possible severe injuries; victim has a pulse,” Andy bellowed back into his radio.

Again the radio repeated Andy’s command and acknowledged him.

The local hospital was also notified for the ER to be ready to receive him, as he would be transported as soon as the ambulance arrived. Andy hurried back to his car and got a blanket to put over the guy until the ambulance arrived. The sheriff proceeded to see if he could determine any injuries the man might have. John helped him the best he could, trying to be careful and not move the man any more than they needed to, hoping not to further injure him. There was so much mud on him that it was hard to tell, but it did look like he had been through the ringer a few times; his clothes were in shambles.

The guy’s eyes opened as Andy and John were trying to find a wallet in the young man's pants. He looked right into John's blue eyes with a look of terror and shock.

“Hey ... everything's going to be ok … Help is on the way… you're gonna be ok, you hear me? … Just hang in there, guy, ok?” John was trying to calm and reassure the guy as much as himself. “Hey ... my name's John ... what’s yours?”

No sooner had John finished the question, than the man started pawing at the ground, trying to get up and crawl away from them as if he were scared or something. They both tried to calm him and hold him still, but the more they tried, the more he continued clawing at the ground trying to break free and escape.

“He must be in shock from his ordeal,” Andy offered to a wide-eyed John.

John couldn’t get over the terror he saw in those blue eyes, and the contrast to them from the rest of his dirty body. They were so bright and big and almost child-like. It wasn’t like they were looking at him, but through him; like the guy wasn’t registering that John was there. The man never made a sound the whole time he was trying to free himself.

Finally, the ambulance arrived and the paramedics started examining him trying to determine the extent of his injuries. They didn’t find anything they could see that looked too serious, maybe a badly broken leg and some bruised ribs, and some other minor cuts and bruises, but it was hard to tell from all the muddy and torn-up clothes. They were concerned about internal injuries. The paramedics didn’t waste any time preparing him to be transported back into town. The man calmed down a bit but just kept staring into John’s eyes.

John held his hand the whole time, as paramedics did their jobs quickly with skill and care. They then placed him onto a gurney to get him into the ambulance. The man wouldn’t release John’s big hand, which was starting to ache from the little man's grip. Finally, the stranger's hand had gone limp as the man went unconscious again, just as he was when John found him.

With lights flashing and siren blaring, the ambulance headed towards the ER with the patient.

Still at the site, Andy was using his flashlight to look through the guy’s wallet he had fished out of the pants pocket. He showed John that there wasn’t much in it. “Looks like we have a John Doe until this guy can tell us who he is. He doesn’t have any identification. Only a two dollar bill, which is odd, since you don’t see those very often. A business card to a Mental Wellness Center in Toledo, and a photo of a German Shepherd ... with the name 'Jacob' on the backside. The card has an appointment date written on it from three weeks ago,” Andy concluded.

“Here, John, use these antiseptic wipes on your hands when you get back to your van. Make sure you don’t have any cuts, and if you do, stop off at the ER and have'em take a look. You can’t be too careful about catching diseases from perpetrators and victims who have injuries,” Andy said.

“Thanks, Andy; I will.” John patted Andy on the shoulder for thinking of his safety.

“So, Andy, how are you gonna find out who he is?”

“Maybe, after he regains consciousness, he’ll be able to fill us in, as to who he is, and what he was doing out here in the countryside. We're a good two hundred miles from Toledo, if that's where he’s from. If he can’t speak or isn't able to tell us anything, I guess we'll try missing persons in Ohio, and see what we find after he gets treated for his injuries.” Andy looked up at John as he continued, "Well, that is … if he makes it.” Andy then shut the trunk lid of the cruiser.

John looked back at Andy, feeling bad for the guy, and being a little worried that maybe Andy didn’t think the guy was going to pull through his ordeal. 'He sure has more experience in seeing stuff like this than I do,' John thought to himself.

“Andy thanked John for his help, and they both headed towards town in their separate vehicles. During John's drive back, he couldn’t believe what a night it had been, and he was starting to feel the tiredness of the day as it hit him, as the adrenalin began escaping his body. His thoughts on the drive back were of wonder about the guy they found.

‘What happened to him? Why'd he look so petrified? He looked like he was scared to death. Was it from the storm? Or did something happen to him on the road? Or ... was he crazy?' John pondered. 'He did have a mental illness appointment card in his wallet.' He couldn’t help but think about the poor guy. ‘How did he get to this place and this point in his life?’ John wondered.

John couldn’t get over those blue eyes, either. Even with the terrified look in them, he could still see they were the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen, almost glowing in the dark. He couldn’t tell much about what the guy looked like except that he thought he had black hair; it was really hard to tell, 'cause it was so caked with mud and debris.' He was a smaller looking fellow, kind of skinny, too, but then again everyone looked small to John, since he was so tall. John chuckled to himself.

He also thought it was strange the man never said a word, nor even made a moan or any other noise the whole time; maybe it was just the noise of the rain and wind that prevented him from hearing anything; he just wasn’t certain. John was sure beat, though, from working all night after fighting an eight-hour shift that day, also. All he wanted to do was to go home, have a hot shower, and then pass-out in his bed. As he drove into town, he had to pass the hospital on his way home. Since he was so tired and his hands were free of cuts or abrasions, John didn’t know why it occurred to him, but he thought he’d stop and see how the John Doe was doing, and if they had found out anything from him, yet.

He noticed Andy’s patrol car was at the ER entrance, so he decided to stop, half-curious and half-nosey, he thought. John saw Andy at the ER desk and went up to him and asked, “Any news on how he’s doin'?”

“No, nothing definite yet; just got here myself about twenty minutes ago; they're still working on him. Nurses have been filling me in on what they know so far ... which ain't much! Although, it doesn’t look too serious, his right leg is broken badly; they know that for sure, 'cause of the way it was twisted so. I’m sure the x-rays will tell all when they come back soon. Some lab work has already confirmed that he's severely malnourished and dehydrated. And ... they're pumping him full of IV’s right now.”

John strolled down the hallway with Andy to check out how the patient was doing, since the hospital staff was working on him. One of the nurses was cutting the guy's remaining clothes off, 'cause they were so ripped up and dirty. It was impossible to see how badly hurt he was until they could actually find some skin. The little guy was still unconscious while they were working on him, and guessing that was probably a good thing; ‘at least he doesn’t feel any pain,’ John thought to himself.

John figured that the hospital staff was going to be busy working on him for a while. So, he asked Andy, “You think it would be alright if I checked on him tomorrow … err ... I mean later today, after I get some sleep and then come back and see how he is doing?” It was almost 6 a.m., and John hadn't had any sleep in almost twenty-four hours.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure you’re on the list to be able to visit him, since it doesn’t look like he’d have any family around here.” Andy expected he was just traveling through, drifting, until the storm got him.

“Hey, thanks a lot, Andy, and thanks for being there; I owe ya,” John said, as he put a hand on Andy's shoulder and smiled at him.

Andy smiled back ... but didn’t say anything.

“Hey, catch you later, Andy, and if you find out anything, please let me know. Kinda curious as to what this guy's story is.”

"No problem. I'm curious, myself, and I just hope he's not any danger to himself or to anyone else," Andy said, pointing to the mental heath appointment card as he gave John a slight frown.

They said their goodbyes, and John was off to his house for that long awaited shower. He was dead tired and hungry, but just too tired to fix anything to eat until after some very needed and well-deserved sleep.

As soon as John got home, he was shucking off his wet clothes the entire stretch from the front door to the bathroom. By the time he got there, he was down to his boxers, and turned on the water in the shower to let it warm up after he got the temperature adjusted. He pulled his boxers off and slipped into the hot steamy shower and felt the water cascade down his back and chest.

Tucking his head under the showerhead to get his hair wet, he put his hands out and leaned against the tiles while the hot water warmed and soothed his big frame. John stayed under the showerhead for what seamed like ten minutes, warming his body slowly back up from that cold windy rain the storm had brought through. While John soaped his body slowly, he began thinking about that poor John Doe, again.

For some reason, the guy's eyes haunted him. ‘Was it shock ... or down right terror in his eyes? What happen to him? Why didn’t he speak ... or even cry out in pain? Why did his eyes seem to stare at me, like an innocent child does when he doesn't understand something?’ John wondered.

‘Maybe he's just mentally ill and was out of it?’ John didn’t have answers for any of his own questions, but was hoping the guy was going to be ok. He had never been around someone, that he knew of, who was mentally ill, and didn’t quite know what to think or expect.

‘I will definitely check and see how he’s doing later today ... after I recharge myself with some sleep,’ John thought, trying to convince himself.

He finished his shower, and even managed to stroke one out before the water turned cold. He massaged one of his hairy nipples while he used his other hand to slowly stroke his seven inches of the hard, slippery cock, sliding through his fingers, with the help of plenty of shower gel. Usually, he would have his ex-wife in his thoughts when he was stroking himself, but now and again he’d think about the last hot babe he had encountered, and that would always help him along. He shot a nice load onto the newly tiled shower that he'd installed himself, and watched his cum slowly run down and get washed away by the water splashing in downward cascades.

Release of sexual tension relaxed John and would help him sleep better ... he knew that for sure, from past experience.

John dried off and climbed into bed, nude, and was out, in seconds. He was so exhausted that he was in a deep sleep within minutes. He knew that he'd dreamed about the little guy, but didn’t remember much about the dream when he awoke, some five hours later.

Hunger pains hit him as soon as he opened his eyes. John got up and got dressed and went into the kitchen to make some coffee to wake himself up. He looked at the clock and it was almost 1 p.m. He was glad he didn’t sleep any longer, 'cause he would be screwed trying to sleep again, later that night.

He got his coffee started, and then dressed while it brewed. He looked at the string of clothes on the floor he had taken off earlier that morning and chuckled to himself. ‘Damn lucky you're divorced, or an argument with the ex would be transpiring about now.’ John quickly took all the wet clothes and put them into the hamper to be washed later in the day.

He decided that after his coffee, he'd pick up a Jimmy Johns submarine sandwich on the way to the hospital, when he'd check on the little guy. He didn’t much feel like cooking at the moment.

He wondered if Andy had found out any details concerning their new little wandering friend. He picked up his phone and dialed Andy’s cell number while sipping his fresh brew. He had given it to John a couple of months prior; Andy had given him his personal sheriff's card when they were at an accident scene. A car had hit a telephone pole and snapped it in half. He had also written his home phone number on the back of the card.

The cell began to ring and Andy picked it up on the sixth ring. A very groggy “Hello” came from the other end, as Andy had still been asleep.

“Hey, Andy, this is John; guess you were still asleep. Sorry, man, for waking you up; I forgot you had and early morning, too,” John said, apologetically.

“Hey, no problem. I needed to get up, anyways. Can’t sleep all day; still have to check out the Ohio data banks for missing persons.”

“So ... you think he’s missing then? He didn’t tell you anything last night?”

“No, he was out of it most of the time, but when he did wake up, he didn’t talk to anyone, or answer any of my questions. The doctors aren’t sure why he’s not speaking. They did say he had a really high tolerance to pain. He barely registered that he was in any pain at all, especially considering he was pretty banged up. After they got him cleaned up and examined they found he had two broken ribs and a broken leg. The leg was broken in two places. And the really odd thing is, that the ribs have been broken for a while ... they estimated maybe a couple of weeks or more. The x-rays showed they had already started healing. But the leg was probably broken during the storm last night. Also ... once after they got him cleaned up from all the dirt and mud, they noticed he has bruises and cuts all over his body.”

"Yeah, I noticed he had several on his face last night.”

“Some old, some new. He looked like he has been in several fights. And that’s not including the one with Mother Nature last night,” Andy chuckled at his own joke. They say that some might even be … well ... they aren’t sure yet, but they look like they might be self-inflicted.”

“What do you mean Andy?”

“They've seen similar cuts on patents, before. That’s another reason why they're gonna do a psychological evaluation on him. Well that … and the card we found in his wallet. They're going to have a shrink visit him tonight, sometime after some of the drugs wear off. He'll be more coherent then, too. He’s also in restraints until we find out more about him, just to be safe. You can go check on him at the hospital if you want, but I’m sure he’ll probably be asleep for a while. He’s still in ICU for the rest of the day, so they can keep a close eye on him; then they'll be moving him to a private room until we find out his story. He'll be in room 204-C by the evening if you still want to go visit him.”

“Yeah, I sure do, Andy; seems this guy needs us looking out for him for a while,” John smirked.

“I told the nurses it was ok for you to see him ... if you still want to pay a visit. But be careful, and watch yourself; we don’t know anything about him, yet; ok?”

"Um huh," John agreed.

“John, I know you’re a big guy and can take care of yourself, but without knowing anything about him, let's just play it safe 'till we know more.”

“No problem, Andy; just wanna have a look; kinda curious about this little guy. It's not everyday you find a body in a ditch, ya know,” John chuckled out loud, shaking his head as if he couldn't really believe what he had found in the ditch.

“Well, that’s true, John.”

“Well … hey, Andy … I’ll let you go, and thanks a lot for the 4-1-1.”

“Anytime, John; I'll catch you around, soon, I’m sure. Later, my friend.”

Andy closed his cell and lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling with a morning hard-on that was yelling for both attention and release. It was past noon, but his cock didn’t know that. Andy thought about going back to sleep for a while, to see if he could continue the hot dream he was having before John called him out of it. ‘Damn … just when it was getting interesting, too,’ Andy frowned. He didn’t go back to sleep, but instead, slowly stroked his six-inch cock while he had a hot fantasy in his head. It was the same one he’d been re-running in his head for the past couple of months.

<><><>

John arrived at the hospital and went up to the nurse’s station at the ICU ward. He looked at the nurse’s nametag, which said Lindsey; calling her by name, he smiled at her and asked which room last night's John Doe was in. She looked at him and gave him a smile and that flustered look that he frequently got from women. She asked for his name and checked the list to see if he was on it.

She looked back up from the chart and told him which room and what direction to go, then threw him another seductive smile. John was used to women coming on to him a lot. He wasn’t conceited about it ... it was like he got embarrassed more than anything else. ‘It's the blonde hair and being tall that they all seem to like,’ he'd often told himself in the past. John told the nurse, "Thanks," and then returned the grin as he turned and walked down the hall.

He found the little guy's room and slowly tiptoed in. He was asleep, so John tried to be quiet as he approached the bed to get a better look at the mystery fellow. He could see the IV’s in the guy's arms. The restraints on his wrists were visible, and a plaster cast cocooned his left leg

Andy had been right -- the guy did have black hair, and it hung down his forehead to one side. He looked like he was about John's age, but maybe a year younger. It was hard to tell, with a black eye and the small cuts on his face, to be sure. John could see the cuts on his arms that Andy had mentioned earlier on the phone. There were several cuts, side by side, rather short, as if a large animal had clawed him. There were several sets of them, up and down his arms, some newer, some older, some only faintly visible. His ribs were covered up, so John couldn’t see if they were bandaged or not. He imagined they were, since Andy had also mentioned the two broken ones. He watched the guy sleep for a while, and wondered what his name could possibly be. On the foot of the bed, he saw that they had him listed as John Doe.

The nurse came in and checked on the IV’s. John asked if he was still unconscious. She said, "No -- just sleeping, 'cause of the pain medication. He wakes up every now and then, but can’t stay awake for long before he goes out again,” she explained.

John asked if he had spoken yet, and the nurse again replied, "No." She said that he wasn’t responding to people when he was awake. He seemd to be totally shut off from the world.

As the nurse was talking, John saw the guy start to stir and slowly begin to open his eyes. Blankly, he looked around the room until he gazed in John's direction. His eyes got bigger and more open, as if he had recognized John. He quickly grabbed John's hand, 'cause it was close to where his restraints were, and held on tightly, as if it didn't want to let go. The nurse noted this and said to John, "That may be a good sign, since you're the first person he's even acknowledged."

His grip was strong, but his hand was so much smaller than John's. It really didn’t bother John much, so he let him hold onto his hand. His eyes never left John's.

"Hi...do you remember me? My name's John. I’m the one that found you last night.”

He didn’t respond or even make any movements; the little guy just continued to hold onto John's hand and stared at him. John noticed that even with all the cuts and bruises, he was a nice looking guy; wondered why he had had it so rough, and who would do such a thing to him ... or to himself, for that matter.

“What’s your name?”

There was no response to the question; he just drifted off to sleep again. The nurse said that that at least was more than he had done before. She said she thought that, for some reason, he either trusted John or just remembered it was he that found him. Finally his grip left John's hand as the guy went to sleep, but John just continued to hold onto his hand for a little while longer.
John decided he’d better go, and let him sleep. He'd return later that night and check on him again, or maybe tomorrow, after the pain medication wore off some.

On the short drive back home, John was hungry again, so he picked up a pizza for dinner. He still didn’t feel like cooking and making a mess in the kitchen, which would need to be cleaned up. He was still tired from working the long double shift and was determine to take it easy for the rest of the day.

‘Maybe shoot some hoops later in the driveway, then catch up on my weekend chores,’ John thought.

Besides the weird circumstances, he was wondering why he couldn’t get the little dude out of his mind ... maybe he just felt sorry for him, but after thinking about it more and more, John realized, after seeing him cleaned up, he could actually see what he looked like.

John realized he reminded him of his high school buddy, Evan. He missed him, too, when he thought how close they had been, then drifted apart as their lives went in separate directions. John - into the Air force, and Evan had moved to California. John hadn’t heard from him since high school until one day last year. He didn’t even see him at graduation. Someone told him later that he had graduated early and didn’t attend the ceremony with the rest of the class.

John thought that was kind of weird, 'cause after all those years of being in school, you’d think he’d want to be in the graduation ceremony. Evan was kind of weird like that -- didn’t have many friends, not that he wasn’t likeable, but he was really a shy person if he didn’t know you.

John sat on the couch drinking a beer, just looking into space, remembering what all had happen in the last years before he’d grown up ... before life got all complicated.

John's memories of Evan

Evan and I had a blast hanging out together, especially in the summertime. We would go camping, canoeing, skinny-dipping. The first time I saw a girl naked was with Evan and Melissa, a girl we both knew from school, and she lived a few houses down from Evan. One day, we were skinny-dipping at the local reservoir, getting away from the summer heat. You weren't supposed to swim there, but we did, anyways. Got caught one time by the DNR, but he just told us to leave. All three of us were bare-assed naked, around sixteen, and checking each other out as we swam around.

Evan was the first to get his driver's license and a car, in our neighborhood, so he was the one that picked us all up in the morning to go to school. We all hated riding the bus. We thought we were big shit being able to ride in a car and come and go when we wanted to. Evan and I hung out almost every day; we slept over at each other’s house, and I shot hoops all the time. Evan never did; he'd just sit in the shade and watch me and others play for hours, never complaining that he was bored ... just quiet, as usual, when others were around, but when it was just he and I, he babbled non-stop, sometimes.

One day when I was seventeen, the summer before my senior year, I’d finally gotten lucky and got laid. I managed to lose my virginity to a girl from school who was baby-sitting a kid; it gave us a place to do the deed.

I told Evan all about it, and he seemed kind of surprised at the whole thing. Heck! I thought he and Melissa had done it long ago. He was just the kind of person not to go around telling everyone. So, I guess, I just didn’t ask him. After that, things got kind of weird; he withdrew and didn’t come around as much, and when we did see each other, he was acting differently. I started hanging out with another bud I had, named Tom, and Evan and I just drifted apart. I’d see him in the halls at school during the first semester of our senior year, and we’d briefly speak, but it was awkward, then. He started acting nervous around me as he had always done with everyone else. I got the feeling that Evan had begun to think of me just as another one of the guys.

Sometimes, when I had a free period, I would go to one of his art studios to pop in and say hi and see what his last masterpiece was. The dude was talented. He could paint, sketch and even do sculpture. I, on the other hand, was not gifted in art at all, but I still knew he had a lot of talent. I was always amazed, while watching him use his hands in almost a trance-like state, when he was painting or sketching something. It was like he wasn’t even there. I swear, sometimes when he was sketching something for a class project, he would be examining the object that the class was all drawing and wouldn’t even be looking at his canvas for long periods of time. It was like he was sketching more from his eyes than his hands; his hands automatically mimicked what he was looking at.

After winter break was over and the second semester had started, I didn’t see Evan any more at school. First, I thought maybe his classes were on the other side of the school. It was a very large high school, and would be easy not to run into someone. I finally decided to ask Mr. Biscking if Evan were in his class that semester, since he taught all the advanced art studies.

He told me that Evan graduated early, since he had enough credits to do so, and, since he was already eighteen, he was allowed to skip the last semester. I was actually shocked that Evan would miss, at least, the art classes he could take, and so was Mr. Biscking. He knew Evan and I were friends, 'cause he'd let me come in and watch Evan during class when I’d have a free period. He was surprised I didn’t know he had left school. He knew Evan hadn't been acting the same, that last semester, because he'd been more withdrawn, and his art was definitely changing in tone, and in what he turned in. Not that it wasn’t its same brilliant work, but he seemed to show more of a dark feeling to his paintings and sketches, than before. Mr. Biscking thought for a moment, then asked if I'd ever seen Evan's last drawing he'd worked on. I told him, "No," and that I hadn’t seen him in a while. Evan never bothered to contact me after he left. I said, "Sure, I'd love to see his work."

Mr. Biscking showed me a charcoal sketch of a nude that Evan had done of a guy. And I swear, my mouth gaped open as I looked at it. It was me … I was fucking nude ... from the back ... looking around to the left, in the pencil drawing. I told Mr. Biscking that it looked like me, and Mr. biscking knew that I looked shocked and confused as to how Evan could've drawn me naked. He told me that he thought Evan had drawn it from memory and just filled in the rest.

Everyone knew Mr. Biscking was gay, but he was cool about it, and most students really liked him. He didn’t try to hide it, nor flaunt it, either. He was actually very normal acting for an Art teacher. Evan had told me that Mr. B. had taught him a lot, and was grateful to him for helping him improve.

The sketch was wonderfully done except the expression on my face. He had drawn me ... looking sad ... almost like I was crying. I thought that was damned odd, since he'd never seen me cry, nor even upset. I’m almost always the happy-go-lucky guy. He was the somber one, most of the time, unless we were having a good time, which was usually true when it was just the two of us together. After thinking about it, I wasn’t surprised that Evan would have been able to drawn me from memory, especially since he watched me for hours playing basketball while he sat in the shade, most of those times.

I asked Mr. B. what he was going to do with the drawing. He turned it around so I could see the back of the canvas, and in the left bottom corner it read ...

EVAN’S DAVID

… I didn’t know what it meant. Mr. Biscking thought he was trying to say that this was his David, like Michelangelo’s David was to him. I didn’t really get it, but I wasn’t into art much. Now ... basketball ... I knew all about, but about the art stuff, I didn’t know much. He said he hated to part with the sketch since it was so well done, but that he thought Evan would be pleased if I had it. I agreed to take it home because I wanted something of Evan's work. But mostly, I just didn’t want everyone that went to art class to see me butt-assed naked.

He put it in cardboard protector, for which I was glad. I didn’t want to walk through the halls with my ass out on display for everyone to see. I quickly took it to my car and brought it home; I think it's still in the attic with some of my other stuff that’s boxed up. I never did show it to anyone. Not sure why. Maybe I was shy about it being a nude, or maybe I was kinda weirded out about Evan thinking of me being nude when he had drawn it. I tried not to think about it.

I hadn’t seen Evan for about six years. Last I'd seen him was before winter break during senior year. Then, a year ago, of all places, I ran into him at Soupley's liquor store. He was buying some vodka, and I was in-line behind him, buying beer. He turned around to leave after paying for his poison and almost ran into me. He looked exactly the same as he did before, same height, 5’8", 150 lbs, hadn’t aged much at all; he would have been twenty-four then.

He didn’t even recognize me, and I didn’t know he was back in town. Last I knew, he was still in California, somewhere. He looked up at me and said, "Oh, sorry, man. I didn’t see you there." Then his eyes darted back to the ground. 'Same ol' Evan,' I thought; 'still shy as ever.'

There was no recognition on his face at all that he even knew me, and then he proceeded to walk around me and stopped before I even had a chance to say anything. He turned around and gave me this weird look that was kind of shock and puzzlement. I almost forgot I was then a foot taller and was much larger than when we hung out in high school, so I wasn’t really too surprised when he didn’t recognize me.

He started to try to say something, but I then piped in and said, “Hey, Evan. Shit, don’t you know who I am? It's John … John Clark.”

He just kinda looked at me for a second and said, ”Hi, how are you?”

We exchanged shakes and made brief conversation; said he'd moved back six months ago from California. I told him I'd been home for three years from the Air Force.

"I didn’t even know you were in the military," he’d said.

During most of the brief conversation Evan and I had, his eyes were on the ground, and only for brief quick glimpses did he ever look up at me. He looked the same as I remembered him, but there was something odd … even more so, for Evan; I mean I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet, but he was definitely different.

He said, "Well … I gotta get going, I’m running late.” We said “good-bye,” and he was gone before I could say much else. I wanted to exchange info so we could get together sometime, but I didn’t have a chance to ask. It was weird for Evan not to recognize me. I mean, I thought that I still looked the same, just bigger. And I thought that he seemed like he was in a hurry to get away from me, for some reason.

Actually I hadn’t even thought about Evan much since then; not until I saw that dude in the hospital. It made me wonder what Evan was up to, and why I hadn’t see him around town, or did he still live here? After he left the liquor store, I had made up my mind to ask a mutual friend we had in school, to see if she could give me the scoop on what Evan had been up to, for the past seven years.

<><><>

Finally, John got up off the couch and got some laundry and chores done around the house, and then decided to take a break and make some calls. On his answering machine, he had a message from his mom; she wanted to know that he got in from work ok, since she knew he had to work all night after the storm. John chuckled to himself like he always did, and thought it was funny ... he was twenty-five and his mom still worried as if he were still a kid. He called her and apologized for not calling back sooner. They talked for a while and said their normal love you’s and g'bye's.

He knew a nurse who worked at the hospital on the ICU ward and decided to see if she knew how the patient was doing. They never dated, but knew each other somewhat; well ... through one of his buddies he played ball with.

On the phone, to the nurse, John explained how he knew (John Doe) and then asked how he was doing. She told him there had been some developments. They discovered that the guy could talk, but he had never talked to them when he was awake.

John didn’t understand and asked her to explain.

She said that he apparently had had a nightmare of some kind, 'cause he had talked in his sleep. She also mentioned that he kept calling John's name over and over in his sleep, like he was trying to find him. She said he must have remembered John telling him his name when he was at the hospital. He had been groggy at the time, and it stuck in his mind.

She also said that when he was awake he wouldn’t talk or acknowledge anyone's presence or answer any questions. Sometimes he acted scared of them ... like they were going to hurt him ... and that he was easily startled, "… maybe still in shock," she said. They had been trying to get him to say his name, but he just stared out the window until he fell asleep again.

John told her that he’d be back in the next day. He hung up and wondered about the guy; too many questions and no answers, as he and everyone else was concerned. 'Maybe tomorrow some of them will get answered,' he hoped.

John' point of view

Well, I got most of my chores done for the day. Tom Delong, a buddy of mine whom I’ve known since high school, came over and shot hoops with me for a couple hours in the driveway.

Yeah, first thing I did when I bought this house was put up a goal in front of the garage. Tom and I had been friends a long time but started hanging out more regularly after Evan and I had the falling out ... if that’s what you’d call it.

I remembered back in high school … there I was, barely hitting puberty, and Tom already had a full thick beard and chest hair. He had dark brown hair and was my height, about 5’9” with average weight. Tom was a good guy and also kinda quiet, but not really shy like Evan. He just didn’t have a lot to say. Most of the time, it was due to the fact that he was constantly high when we were teenagers. I never really was into weed much. Yeah, I wasn’t a saint or anything; I'd smoked a bowl once in a while, but never really enjoyed it. Evan never really enjoyed it, either. Drinking a few beers were more fun, I thought, but I didn’t much like the way that weed made me paranoid all the time, when I was stoned.

Evan also liked to drink, but he didn’t drink too often because he had a tendency to get really plastered when he did drink. He'd be sick for two days afterwards. I'd drink beer, but Evan would always drink shots of Vodka or To-kill-ya (tequila), as he’d say.  Evan was actually, now that I think about it, really a blast when he was drinking. His great personality that he so often hid from everyone else, but me, would flow out and he'd be the life of our little party. That is ... until he got so drunk I'd have to carry him to bed and let him sleep it off at my house.

Evan had a lot of nightmares when he slept, more so than most people, it seemed to me. They were so bad, they'd wake me up. He'd never actually wake up from them, but you could tell he was having them, what with his thrashing arms and legs, and his loud, unintelligible sounds. I’d pull him up to me and hold him tight so that he wouldn't fall out of bed.

Usually, with me holding onto him with my arm around him, he'd settle back down and I'd fall back to sleep. I'd ask him many times if he remembered having had a bad dream, but he'd always say he couldn't remember it. I wasn't always sure he was telling the truth, 'cause sometimes you could see him mulling it over in his eyes. I never really pressed him on it; I figured if he didn't want to talk about it, I shouldn't make him upset by rehashing it all over again.

I never minded holding him up against my chest and keeping him safe from whatever demons that were gnawing at him, at the time. I always felt just that much closer to him. 'Almost like a brother I never had,' I’d tell myself. Sometimes, I'd hold him up to my chest with one arm and just stroke his hair away from his face. That seemed to calm him down 'till he was sleeping quietly again. Other times, I'd keep stroking his hair and watch over him while he slept, even though the nightmare was obviously over by then. Guess it was my way of protecting my best bud ... the only way I knew how.

He never objected to me holding him, either, even when he’d wake up in my arms. One morning, my mom came in my room and saw us snuggled together. I had just gotten awake, and she quietly asked if anything was wrong. I whispered to her about what was happening sometimes -- about his nightmares -- and she smiled at me and told me I was a good friend. She did add that she was a little startled at first to see us like that. For a moment, she thought maybe we were ... well ...as she put it ... being intimate. I kind of quietly chuckled and called her a perv. She laughed quietly, too, and then left the room.

I have a great mom; she was always easy to talk to, and seemed to understand, when many parents wouldn’t. Evan thought she was great, too.

One reason Evan stayed with us so much was -- he adored my mom. She was a great listener and talker; she and Evan talked for hours while I watched sports (basketball, of course) on TV. She treated him like a son; she'd even get into his shit when he’d fuck up just as if I were the one who'd gotten into that shit. I think he felt at home at my house. Evan spent a lot of time staying over at my house and sharing my bed with me, just like normal teenagers do, at that age. I never stayed over at his house, much, 'cause his parents were so strict and uptight. His parents were very religious and didn’t tolerate drinking, especially underage drinking. My mom didn’t condone my drinking, either, but she was realistic enough to know that boys were gonna be boys, when they figured they could get away with it.

Tom never really liked Evan much; said he was a weirdo, or he’d say he was one of those strange artists. I'd always defend Evan and said he was a cool guy if you ever got to know him. But for some reason, Tom never liked him. To my knowledge, Tom never mis-treated him, but then again, their paths didn’t cross a lot, either. They both lived in different worlds, and I thought the only reason they knew each other was from school and through me.

I told Tom what had happened last night and filled him in all the details about finding the guy in the ditch while working to clean up after the storm. Tom said that was one of the wildest things he’s heard about in a while.

“Hey, Tom, you ever run into Evan around town, or heard anything about what he was up to?”

I’m not sure why I'd be asking Tom, but I thought there might, at least, be a time they had run into each other. After all, this isn’t really that big of a town -- maybe 60,000 at the most. Tom gave me a weird look when I asked him about Evan. He didn’t say anything, immediately, and I wasn’t sure if he looked like he was thinking about what he was going to say before he said it; mull it over in his mind before he spoke to make sure it would come out exactly as he wanted to; or if he was trying to remember who Evan was. 'Well, shit! … You did smoke a lot of weed back then,' I thought to myself.

I reminded him, “You do remember Evan ... right?”

“Wow! ... Haven’t thought about that turd in a long time. I thought he quit school and moved away to California to do his gay artwork. Haven’t seen the weirdo since high school.”

I just gave him a stare, letting him know I wasn’t pleased with the comments.

Tom faced me and went to say, “Hey, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said it like that; fuck, I hardly knew him. I just couldn’t understand why you two were ever buds … I mean ... you never had anything in common ... except living a few blocks from him. Hell! … He couldn’t even shoot a basketball if his life depended on it!”

“Well, shit, Tom, there’s more to a friendship than common likes of sports; it's not like I was ever a big pot head like you, when we hung out.”

Tom chuckled at that and punched John's upper arm.

“I ran into him a year ago.”

I recalled the story to him. Tom didn’t say much, except, "Sounds like the same ol' Evan to me.”

I just let it go. It was an old argument I didn’t feel like getting into again with Tom. I asked him to let me know if and when he’d heard anything from anyone about Evan.

“Hey, no problem; maybe you should ask Chris; she may know something. I think they're almost related or something.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll look her up in the book and ask her what he’s up to, or how I can get a hold of him.”

“Well, don’t forget her last name isn’t Hendricks any longer, since she’s married and got a kid now. She married a dude in a local band about five years ago. His name's Scott Huggins. They don’t love each any more but still live together, sleeping in different rooms. It’s a strange arrangement they have going, but it seems to work for them. I got their number if you want it?”

“Sure … and why the hell do you have their number and know their life story?"

“Who you think I get my weed from, goober?” Tom chuckled.

“Dang, dude! When you gonna grow out of that shit, Beavis?” John retorted back.

“Just as soon as you realize you're not good enough to play Pro Basketball … oh ... Tall ... Dim-Witted One!”

“Can still kick your wheezing ass all over the court,” John smirked and hit Tom in the shoulder, almost knocking him over.

Tom steadied himself and exclaimed, “Oh, shit! I gotta jet. I’ve got a date tonight; thanks for the game, bro.” Then Tom quizzically grinned, "You gonna take out Sherry again anytime soon?”

“Naw … I doubt it; I don’t think we really hit it off that well; besides ... it's hard not to compare her to my ex. Maybe it's still too soon to be dating; it doesn’t go so well when I do. I don’t think I’m ready to start something up again, just yet. Not really looking for a bar fly that’s for sure," John chuckled.

Tom understandingly said, “I hear ya; you’ll know when you're ready, Butt Shit. But, dude, it's been almost three years since you got a divorce … I sure hope you're using lotion on your hand, 'cause ... it's ... gonna ... get ... chapped! Catch you later, oh, tall goofy one.” As he was walking away, John heard him make a strange nasal sound -- sort of a combination between a snicker and a snort!

“Later, Beavis; and don’t worry ... I’m sure you’ll always lend me a hand when I need a rest,” John smirked.

“In your dreams … Sasquatch!” Tom quipped back, giggling as he walked to his car.

'At least he can do two things at once,' John reckoned to himself.

John went back into his house and grabbed some Sunny Delight, his favorite drink, from the fridge. He sat at the table, swigged his drink down, and began thinking about Becky ... his ex. 'I seem to compare every girl I date, to my ex-wife, without even knowing it; it still hurts, though, that she divorced me. Well, even after she cheated on me with another Air Force dude, I forgave her and tried to make it work, but she wanted out, so we got a divorce. Guess I’m still not over it.'

'Kinda funny,' John continued thinking. 'She'd get mad at me 'cause I'd never argue with her when I knew that’s what she wanted me to do. Even when she had an affair, I still wanted to make it work. I can’t help it; I don’t get angry and want to hurt people. It’s just not my nature. She said that if I cared for her, I'd kick the dude’s ass; that it showed I didn’t even care enough to get angry about it ... which was bullshit!!! I was so fucking pissed, my eyes hurt! I just didn’t feel the need to hurt him, for what she did ... also willingly, I might add. What would it resolve, me hurting him? And there was no doubt that I could of hurt him really bad with my size and strength, but it’s just not my nature to deal with that kinda shit with violence. Besides ... I never did tell her about my little ... umm … conversation ... with him the next day when I found out. I guess people are right ... I’m just a big ol' “Gentle Giant,” just as everyone keeps calling me. There are definitely worse things to be called ... I guess.’

‘Besides ... I hope the bitch gets a fucking venereal disease and suffers … Sorry, God, but you know the tramp deserves it.’ John just chuckled to himself.

<><><>

The phone rang while John was thinking, and he answered it. Andy was on the other end.

Hey, Andy, how’s it going?” John asked.

“Just thought I'd take a break and let you know what I've found out so far about John Doe,” Andy said into the receiver.

“Anything good?” John asked hopefully.

“Well there wasn’t a missing person fitting our guy’s description from Toledo, where the card was from. Actually, nothing for all of Ohio and Indiana with missing persons. I can’t talk to a live person at the Wellness Center in Toledo 'till Monday, but I've left a message with them on their voice mail.”

“Looks like you got a good start, so far, Andy ... for a Saturday.”

“And nothing off his fingerprints in our data bases either, so at least we can assume he hasn’t been in trouble with the law.”

“That’s good news, I guess.”

“Maybe the shrink can get something out of him. He's expected to see him tonight sometime, since he’s on-call at the hospital. They wanted time for the pain shots to wear-off a little before he talks with him."

Andy continued, "The nurse told him that I was there and he seemed to respond a bit to me. I told him that maybe he just thought he saw a big giant towering over him, and he got afraid and that’s why his eyes focused on me," Andy laughed.

I told Andy that I had been planning to go back later tonight to see the guy, but ..." Now that I think about it, I think I'll wait 'till tomorrow when he’s less doped up. Besides, I'm a bit tired from the hoops session with Tom."

“Hey, one more thing before I let you go, John.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“You remember where we found him, right? I mean ... you can find the exact spot in the daylight, can't you?”

“Yeah, no problem, Andy; I’ve been there many times; there’s a box there that gives me shit from time to time … why?”

“Well, I’m a little embarrassed to say, but I forgot to mark the spot on the road for further investigation. Thought maybe you could go back and see if you can find any of his personal effects in the daytime. It might help us find out more about him,” Andy said, and then added, “Hell, I’m not sure what good it would've done to try to paint a mark on the street anyways ... not with all that rain and wind.”

“No problem, Andy; I'll be glad to do it; will drive out that way on Monday, and see if I can find anything else."

After hanging up with Andy, John thought, 'Maybe I'll ask him over for a beer and some hoops sometime; he seems to be in really good shape, and he's a nice guy ... for a cop ... not arrogant like most I've met. He may turn out to be a good friend, and it’s always good to have a friend on the police force. Can come in handy in a fix.'

‘Mental note to myself ... Keep Tom and Andy away from each other.’ John chuckled ... out loud ... to no one but himself.


End Chapter One