Arch Rivals

Arch Rivals

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                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ARCH RIVALS

                                                  CHAPTER 1

    Patrick Conners studied the Gateway Arch from his sixth story room of the Adam's

Mark hotel.  How tall was it?  He knew the Arch was over six hundred feet tall. It’s

stainless steel gleamed like a giant rainbow, its gentle curve anchored to the ground. 

Constructed to invigorate a decaying water front, the Arch had become a national

landmark,  the pride of St. Louis.  He would be climbing it tonight… He must climb it, 

regardless of the risk or outcome.  He stopped for a moment, putting his hands on his hips,

an inherited habit, (From his mother's genes, doubtless),

Family members from her side of the family tree would stand and look at someone with

their hands on their hips until the other person withered.)  Was it defiance,  determination,

or both?


    The glare from the stainless steel hurt his eyes. The binoculars he was using made

looking at the shiny surface painful.  He studied the view ports at the top of the Arch,

looking for movement.  He knew who hid there… a madman and at least four cronies.

They had taken the Arch yesterday and now were threatening to start killing hostages.

They had killed four people in the take over. Two park service employees, one as yet

unidentified white male and one nun. They held fifty one other people at present.  Thank

goodness attendance at the Arch had been light yesterday evening.  The leader, Sam

Mercer had made his demands. Now it rested with him, Patrick Conners, to stop this

madness.


    He keyed his mike to speak with the command post. “Are we making progress on the

meeting yet?"

    "Yes Sir. We'll have a time for you soon", a female voice answered.

    “OK", Patrick said.  He hated radio conversations.  They kept one hand occupied, just

to talk.  In all on duty situations he preferred to keep both hands free.

He ran through the known details of this crisis one more time. So unexpected, it had

escalated to the point of extreme violence.


    "Figure this one out and you get a medal, smart boy", he said aloud to no one. He had

secret hopes for another prize also. Mary Alice. Fate kept pushing them together.  Perhaps

this would be the final push.  Could you have a more unlikely setting for a crisis and

romantic finale? He doubted it.  One beautiful woman.  Two long time friends.  One mad

man.  It had been one hell of a learning curve to date. The Gateway Arch almost looked

like an old friend. He had only been here for a short time, but had already studied the Arch

extensively, in order to familiarize himself with as many details about it as possible. He

hated surprises.


    Patrick knew why Sam Mercer wanted a face to face talk with Senator Will Steepleton.

He also knew Sam would kill the Senator, as soon as he aired his grievances and made him

grovel.  Are we so different, he thought?  Three men and one woman equaled a very big

mess . He suddenly understood the motivation of Sam Mercer to pull this trick. He wanted

her too! He had wanted her from the moment he first set eyes on her. She was just so very

special in so many ways. But Patrick knew she belonged to someone else. That did nothing

to curb the desire for her however.


    In addition to controlling the Arch, Sam Mercer had planted explosives inside

Busch stadium.  Bomb sniffing dogs were searching for them now.  A human search could

not be risked at this point.  Sam Mercer would have planted the explosives in a place he

could see well enough to get a shot at anyone searching there. He was an expert marksman

with a high-powered sniper rifle. It was just too dangerous!


    Patrick keyed his mike.

    "Any progress with the dogs yet", he asked?

    “No sir", was the reply.

    “Rats. I was hoping the bomb, or bombs, had been found", Patrick said.

    "We'll let you know right away if we find it, sir."


    Sam had a commanding view of the entire area. He had four well trained friends with

him, all armed with automatic weapons. They were all battle tested former Green Berets.

They possessed skills superior to his, more firepower, and had made it clear they

were not in the mood for negotiation.


    Patrick scanned the Mississippi river. No way to approach from there.  The Arch had

view ports on each side, making approach from the river questionable.  He would be too

easy to spot. He would do better by approaching from the North or South end.  He noted the

sparse cover from the South approach.  The North was more open, but the distance was

shorter. He looked at the old courthouse. Too much open space made it seem impossible.

He'd be dead before he went ten steps! Even at night he would be more visible from that

approach. Which way would be the less likely from Sam Mercers' point?  He reasoned Sam

had planned with care, considering defensibility of approaches. Green berets never planned

an ambush without considering the small details.
 

      Getting there would be the easy part. Climbing up the Arch might be too demanding.

He considered himself to be in great shape by any one's standards.  But could this be done?

He had the space boots, courtesy of NASA.  They had been developed for zero gravity

walking as training for astronauts. Would they work for Arch climbing?  He must have

something for his hands as well. The slope of the Arch was too steep to climb in an upright

position.  Doubt began to gnaw at his gut. Could he even do this?  He'd find out tonight.


    The plan was simple enough in theory.  He would sneak up to one end of the Arch.

Climbing up using the space boots, he would somehow gain access to the inside,

overpower the lookout, take the trolley down, and then take out the rest of them.  Just a

few questions remained.  First, should he use the upper, or the lower curvature of the

Arch? Would the boots make enough noise to be heard inside?  If he made noise trying to

climb up, Sam would know and start killing hostages.  He'd kill all of them too, Patrick

knew.  It would be difficult either way.  Once on top, would he be able to get inside?

The St. Louis police department said the nine millimeter Glock he carried would take out

the windows.  He wasn't sure, so had insisted on carrying an AK-47 with armor piercing

rounds.  It was small enough to manage and should have enough power to do the job.

The Arch had been constructed of first class material.  Built to withstand violent winds,

and extreme temperatures, not to mention lightening strikes.  A problem he became aware

of that instant.  In the distance he could see the jagged path of a lightening bolt.


    Tonight's forecast called for thunderstorms. He imagined being tied to the huge steel

structure as thunderstorms rolled in. He would be a lightening rod, for Christ's sake!
   
With so many problems and so few solutions worked out at this point, this seemed to be

headed for the mother of all hostage situations. He had to remember that his first objective

was to reduce the loss of life. If Sam got a little shaken and started shooting, no telling how

many lives would be lost. He was also acutely aware that he could easily end up being

counted among the dead.


    Come to think of it, why was he assigned this case in the first place?  Sure he wanted to

be here, rescuing his fair lady.  Anyway, he was a crack bank robbery solver, not a hostage

negotiator.  Despite governmental objections, Senator Will Steepleton had complied with

Sam's demands right away, by agreeing to meet with Sam.  Will had requested Patrick to

act as the onsite FBI. man in charge because they were friends.  Mary Alice Hammondss 

was a friend to both men, but Will was  engaged to marry her.  Talk about a three way

squeeze.  This had to be the worst possible way for everyone involved.  Given a choice

between his best friend and Mary Alice, which would he choose?  He loved Mary Alice,

but was duty bound to protect a United States senator. Well, he'd just rescue them all.


    Patrick pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket and pressed the speed dial number

for the Bureau.  A high pitched voice answered on the third ring.

    "FBI this is agent Blackerby speaking."
   
      "Jeff, did you get the meeting set up with the profiler yet?" Patrick asked.

      "Yes sir.”
   
    "At what time?"

    "3:30 this afternoon sir."

    "That doesn't give us a lot of time.  We have a lot of ground to cover."


    Patrick had seen the initial background reports this morning.  The F B I had pulled the

files on Samuel E. Mercer last night, and had given him a brief rundown. They had sent

for the top criminal profiler, who had poured over the records most of the night. Profilers

worked on kidnappings, missing persons, and other cases for the beaurea.  Most of the time

they were right about the perps, and had helped find and save many people. This time, the

who, what and here were already on every national news network.  Even Patrick's face was

being broadcast live. A tangle of wires, vans, people and commentators crowded South

Broadway.
 

    “I’m on my way now, " Patrick said.  Turning the cell phone off, he dropped it into his

pants pocket and headed out the door.  He took the elevator to the first floor, hesitated

after the door opened and listened.  Not a sound.  He stepped out and made his way to the

rear entrance.  The last thing he needed right now was an interview.  His hopes were

dashed as he opened the door and stepped out.  Wall to wall reporters started toward him

at once.   


    "No comment at this time," Patrick answered to dozens of microphones thrust at him.

He continued to walk at a brisk pace.  Nearing the street where a black sedan waited, he

hesitated as a young lady stepped in front of him.


    "Mr. Connerss," she began, thrusting her mike forward.

    "Look lady, I've already said 'NO COMMENT AT THIS TIME' ".

    "Please sir", she begged. "I'm on my first assignment and it would help my career a lot

if you would just say a few words about this situation.  Please sir."


      Patrick wondered why he didn't just push her out of his way, or go around.  Instead he

looked her in the eye, smiled and said, “Ma’am, I can't discuss this now.  Hand me your

card and I'll give you an exclusive interview when this situation is over."  She handed him

a card with her name and phone number.  He stuck it in his pocket without looking as he

headed for the car.  He could hear many feet scrambling to get to the junior reporter.

Almost in unison they asked,    "What did he say? What did he say"?

      “No comment at this time", she replied.


                                           
                                                      Chapter 2



    The quick drive to the Trans World Center was silent.

    “Thanks," Patrick said, as he jumped from the car and headed for the door.

Inside the Trans World dome the F B I had set up a round table.  Four people were seated

around the table, each studying an open folder.  Skipping introductions, Patrick took a seat

    “Who goes first," he asked.

    “I’m Dr. Fields," a small, bespectacled man began. "I'll give you my best guess about

this Sam Mercer and what I think he's apt to do."

    "Can we do this in time," Patrick asked. "We're cutting it short already.  It will be dark

in a couple of hours?"

    “If we don't waste too much time”, Dr. Fields said.

    “I need a cup of coffee before we start," Patrick said.  He started to rise.

    “I’ll get it, Mr. Connerss," a uniformed policeman said, heading across the room.

    “Good, then we can get started,” Dr. Fields said.  "Of course, I have been studying

Sam Mercers' file and background all day," he continued. “I’d say he exhibits the classic

signs of schizophrenia.  This man is very dangerous.  He will not hesitate to kill anyone,

even Mary Alice Hammondss."

    "He's also very well armed,” Patrick said. "Still, if I can get close enough for a clear

shot that won't matter."

    “I can't help you with that,” Dr. Fields replied. "I think I can get you inside his head,

however. You're going to need some kind of backup. Just in case."

    I'll be the only one climbing the Arch," Patrick said. “There will be an army of FBI

agents and St. Louis cops in the shadows, though.  Just tell me what you know about Sam

Mercer."

    “Okay, Mr. Connerss". As I've already said I have studied Mr. Mercers' Army files, OSI

investigation, and every piece of information we could come up with.  All of you have the

information in front of you.  I'll start by being Sam Mercer.  Remember this is my best

guess.  I'll try to present Sam in detail, so you'll know what you are dealing with.  We

will turn the lights down a little to make it easier for you to relax, but don't doze off."

The lights dimmed and Dr. Fields began in a monotone.
 
      Meanwhile Sam Mercer sat looking out at the hotel. He held all the right cards, he

was finally going to get what he wanted, and that was all that mattered. Who could have

imagined that he would be in this position now? He closed his eyes and thought of holding

Mary Alice Hammondss close, breathing in the arousing fragrance she wore. Nibbling at

her neck, kissing her full lips, feeling the delicate smoothness of her face. He'd make her

understand. She would look at him with her beautiful blue eyes and respond for sure. Then

he would take her far away from here, someplace where they could explore each others'

bodies in the way that fate intended. He smiled, remembering his childhood, and how he

had long dreamed of this day. He sat motionless, trancelike, remembering how it all began.

    Growing up on a small southern farm had been tough. Samuel Eli Mercer hated

it with deep bitterness.  Looking out across the field that started in front of the frame

house and ended at the gravel road only made the reason more apparent.  The hay standing

about two feet tall waved westward in the gentle morning breeze.  The tin on the roof 

popped in protest at the morning sun already radiating enough heat to make waves

dance and shimmer.  Gyrating wildly, they danced away to the atmosphere, free of the

farm.  A large black and yellow spider dangled from a single silk thread.  Looking up he

could see the spider's web hidden in the eaves, still wet with moisture.  The small garden

from last year lay fallow.  Brown cornstalks jutting up through the grass, struggling to be

free of their roots.  I need to burn that off, Sam noted, as he tucked his dirty shirt into his

jeans.  It was just another chore of many that he hadn't got around to yet.


      At the advanced age of seventeen he figured he had already seen everything a farm 

had to offer.  He was not impressed.  The farm was eighty acres, owned by his father,

William Mercer, and it stank.  Sam hated the hard work that must be done 365 days of the

year.  Rain or shine something needed to be done each day.

His father would say, "Sam you will learn to like the farm one day."

Sam just didn't see how.  He couldn't wait to get away from it.  It really sucked, big time.

You were planting, hoeing, weeding, plowing or harvesting something all the 

time.  And then there were the animals to take care of.  They were not cute and friendly,

as all the city dwellers thought.  They were a lot of trouble.  Besides that, some of them

were mean. A horse would nip you on occasion, for no apparent reason. And it hurt!

Geese would also nip you, pigs and hogs would bite you, especially a sow with young pigs.

They could be fine on moment, then suddenly changes moods and become downright

dangerous.


    The chicken house was the worst of all.  It was a steamy, dusty, stinking place where

the ammonia smell would almost choke you.  The dust would mingle with sweat and

form little rivulets streaming down from his suntanned brow.  His sun bleached hair

dripped stained, smelly sweat beads from the long sandy locks. He could feel it as he

worked, sometimes burning the back of his browned neck where he had scratched it ,

pitching hay or some other seemingly unnecessary farm task.  Sam knew that he hated this

life all right.


    Someday, he thought… someday.


    He figured that Sunday was the only day he had to look forward to.

The Mercer family did not stress church attendance, but did insist on Sunday being set

aside for a day of rest.  They didn't care which church Sam attended or whether he went

at all.  This bright, spring Sunday morning, Sam couldn't wait to get to get to the small

Methodist church about a mile from his father’s farm.  He usually sat three pews back from

Mary Alice Hammonds and her family.  He took this opportunity to study Mary Alice.

She was beautiful or least he thought so.  Very pretty and very wealthy to boot!


    Her father owned the bank and the small farm right next to theirs. Why he chose

to live on the farm, when they were rich enough to live anywhere they wanted, Sam

could not understand.  Sam considered Mary Alice to be the most beautiful girl in three

counties.  She had long blond hair that gleamed, especially when the sunlight caught it.

Clear blue eyes that danced with excitement and promise. Her high classic cheekbones

seemed as if they were chiseled there by a great sculptor. The dainty little nose, perfectly

formed to fit her face, accented her full lips, always seeming slightly pursed as if to plant

perfect kisses on a deserving face.


    He had to stop looking at her and think of something else. He would get all worked up

right there in church. He intended to make her his own someday, somehow.  Regardless

of what it took.  He must make a plan.  This Sunday was just like the last.  No plan, no

action, and no chance.


      He had talked to her last Sunday.  When she spoke to him as they were all leaving, he

remembered how the fire had started somewhere below his neck, and burned all the way

up his face. Even his ears were red.  He was so embarrassed he thought about crawling

under the steps of the small entryway.  She had only said, "Hello Sam," with a voice that

was sure to melt butter if it were sitting on the counter.  No doubt this was the woman for

him.


    As he was heading for church this Sunday morning, he resolved to make

the most of any opportunity that presented itself... He wouldn't be so stupid as to get 

obviously embarrassed if she spoke to him again.  He would try to make small talk,

then maybe walk her to her car. Anything but turning red as a beet and not talking!

   
      He carefully chose a light blue shirt, one of the two he owned for dressing up. He

hoped it would compliment his hazel eyes. He was already five feet, ten inches tall with

dirty blonde hair, good looking by anyone's standards, country or city, he figured.  For sure

he could get any other girl's attention if he wished, but he had already made up his mind.

Mary Alice was the girl for him.


    “Sam don't stay too long after the service, it looks like it might storm this afternoon,"

his mother called as he was leaving.  She was a small, frail woman who didn't look

like she could take the rigors of farm life.  Sam thought all of the pioneers had probably

looked something like his mom.


    “I’ll be home right after," Sam said without hesitation.


    The mile walk to the church went quickly.  Sam had only just begun to sweat a

little as he eased himself into the pew.  He could see Mary Alice sitting there with

her mother, father, and younger brother.  She was wearing a light blue dress with 

lacy ruffles at the front.  Sam knew a small matching hat would be sitting on the pew to

her right.  If he had enough nerve he would have sat on the same pew, not right next to

them of course, but close enough to smell her perfume.  He figured he would have a 

chance to talk to her after church.


    The service seemed to last forever, but at last the preacher stopped talking.  Sam sat

patiently while everyone filed out of the small church. But Mr. Hammondss did not leave

immediately, instead hanging around the front, talking with someone. Sam held on for as

long as he could, then decided he must leave now if he was going to get home dry.  He

could hear the distant thunder rumbling. He reluctantly got up and left.  No chance to hit

on Mary Alice today, he thought.


    He had only walked a little way when he heard the Hammonds' car slowing behind

him.  He turned just as the black Mercedes pulled alongside.


    "Can I give you a lift, Sam?"  Mr. Hammonds asked as he stopped.

    "Sure," said Sam quickly. “It looks like I might not make home before the storm hits."

      "Well, we're going your way anyway, and beside I need to ask a favor of you, if its

not too much trouble,” Mr. Hammonds said.


      “I will be glad to do anything I can,” Sam replied, sliding into the back seat with Mary

Alice.  He couldn't believe his luck. He was riding in a luxury car with, Mary Alice.


      "We are going to Hawaii for our vacation starting tomorrow.  I was hoping I could

get you to look after our animals while we are away."  Mr. Hammonds looked over

his shoulder at Sam with anticipation.  "There are only three horses. You feed them one

pail of grain every evening about sundown."


      "Sure.  I'll do it for you." Sam answered.

      "Will you be attending school again this year?" Mary Alice asked.

      "Of course." Sam answered, wondering if she thought he would drop out.  He had to

graduate.  He wouldn't have any chance of getting off the farm without a diploma.


        "Of course." Mary Alice turned to look out the window. Probably have that

disgusting chicken house smell as usual, she thought.  He could at least take a shower

before he came to class.  She didn't understand how anyone could raise cute chicks then

ship them off for slaughter.  And the smell coming from the chicken house every summer

was awful.  She would never date a guy who had nothing but farming going for him.  She

was sure of that.


      She decided she wouldn't date Sam Mercer on a bet, no matter which profession he

chose.  Just the way he looked at you with those cold eyes cutting like a knife was enough

to give you the willies.  They rode the rest of the short distance to his house in silence.


    "Don't worry about the animals, Mr. Hammonds, and thanks for the ride." he said,

getting out of the car. It had started to rain pretty hard as he dashed for the front door.

He was taking off his Sunday shirt when he realized that he had not said good-bye to

Mary Alice.

.
      "Looks like this storm will get pretty rough," his mother was saying as he came into the

kitchen.  "Sometimes the ones out of the East are the worst," she continued as she set

the table for their late afternoon lunch.  She always waited for Sam to return from

church before eating. The lightning struck down every few minutes.  BOOM --

The jagged bolt pulsated brilliantly as it hit a pecan tree.  It tossed splintered wood and bark

in every direction.  Spewing soil and singed grass it continued on a path to the pump house

electrical service.  Deafening thunder shook the window panes instantly, making them

chatter like teeth on a cold morning.


    "That one was close,” Sam yelled, cringing.  He had seen the fireball as it rolled

across the front yard.  The intense storm continued for another half hour before abating.

When it was over and he could go outside, Sam realized his worst fear.  The well pump

supplying the chicken house had been hit.  This meant a lot of hard work for Sam.  The

the pump would have to be pulled and taken to town for repair.  The chickens had to

have water.  Sam would have to haul it from the creek. 


    That was another thing about farm life.  When a thunderstorm came in the rural South,

the lightning almost always tore something up.  This doesn't happen in the city he thought.

It must be because the wires were better grounded, or that there were so many electrical

paths that it could go anywhere.  He wished it had gone anywhere but here.



                                                        CHAPTER 3


    Sam got the tractor and trailer from the barn. His father left it hooked up for just these

kinds of emergencies. The trailer carried six fifty-five gallon drums.  Sam drove to the

creek about a half mile away.  He filled them with water and carried them back to the

chicken house.  He hated this.  He would have to do this five times a day to keep the

chickens from dying of thirst. This was in addition to his other chores.  Disgusting!


      He went to the small bridge, dropped a five gallon bucket with a rope tied to it into the 

cold, clear water. When it filled, he hoisted it up, and poured it into a drum.  When all six

were full, he hauled them to the chicken house. By bucketsful, Sam slowly poured water

into the trough until the drum was empty, and then started on next one.  It amazed him how

much water eleven thousand chickens could drink in a day.  Sometimes, on a hot day, they

would drink whole the five gallon bucketful before it reached the end of the trough.


    As Sam crossed the small bridge, he stopped the trailer on it.  He resolved again to

get away from the farm.  As he let his bucket down for what seemed the hundredth time,

he noticed a small cord tied to a limb just within reach from the corner of the bridge.

Probably a minnow trap, he thought, wonder what they're catching?  His arms were aching

as he finished the last bucketful. He checked the minnow basket to see what was in it.


      He pulled slowly on the cord, so as not to break it.  He watched in surprise as a brown

jug emerged from the shadows under the bank.  Someone had put something in the creek

to cool he realized. He carefully opened the cap and sniffed.  Home-brew!  Quickly, Sam 

cut the cord and dropped the small jug into one of the drums.  Maybe this wouldn't be

such a bad chore after all.


    Late Tuesday afternoon Sam made what should be his last trip to the creek.

His dad had said the well pump would be installed and running by dark.  He had been

working on it all afternoon.  As Sam finished, dumping the last bucketful into the last

drum, he heard a car coming.  You could hear cars a long way off on the country roads.

As they drove along the tires picked up small gravel and slung them into the

undercarriage, making quite a lot of noise.  He sat his bucket down and untied the

rope. 


    He climbed onto the tractor seat and started the engine.  The roads had wide spots on

either side of the bridges in the country.  This was because most bridges were one lane,

and someone had to wait for the approaching vehicle to cross before crossing themselves.

He looked down and saw that he had left the bucket sitting on the bridge.  He jumped   

from the tractor to pick it up, but the car was already very close.


      He immediately recognized the driver as the car stopped. Billy Joe Webber stepped

out of the car.  Billy worked at the local sawmill seven miles from the farm.  He was six

feet four inches tall and weighed about two-fifty.  Sam had heard he had a temper to

match his size.


    "Hello, Sam," he said, as he approached.
   
    "Hi, Billy." Sam gulped, nervously. "Been a while since I last saw you. "

    "Sam, I need to ask you something," Billy Joe drawled, spitting tobacco juice over the

side of the bridge.

    "What is it?" Sam watched him warily.

    "Well I left a gallon jug of my home-brew cooling in the creek about noon Sunday.  It

wasn't here when I came by to get it a while ago.  Now I don't suppose you would have

any idea what happened to it, would you?" Billy Joe asked.


    "No, sir, I've been working real hard hauling water for the chicken house.

Our well pump was hit by lightning in the Sunday storm." Sam replied.


    "Well Sam, not many people come through here, which is the reason I chose this

spot to start with.  You sure you wouldn't lie to me about it, would you?" Billy Joe asked

again.

The look on Billy Joe's face made Sam want to step back.


        "No, Billy, I ain't seen it or anyone around here either, since I've been hauling

water the last two days," Sam snapped.  Billy Joe was calling him a thief or liar or both and

Sam was getting really mad. 


        "I s'pose I'll just have to whup your butt," Billy yelled as he slapped Sam’s face.
         
        "I didn't' take it, Billy," Sam yelled furiously, suddenly aware of a loud buzzing

noise in his head.  Something bad usually happened when he felt like this.


          "Well, I think you did, so I'm going to whup your butt and make you tell me the

truth, Sam."  Billy Joe shouted!


    Sam had the bucket bail clenched tightly in his hands.  He swung it upward just as hard

as he could.  The end of the steel bucket struck Billy Joe squarely under the chin.  He fell

backward off the bridge, the back of his head hitting a rock that was jutting up near the

middle of the creek.  Sam could see blood starting to tinge the water as it went by. 


    He was shaking so badly he could hardly drive the tractor back to the house.  The echo

of the thud Billy Joe's head made as it hit the rock roared like thunder in his ears the whole

way home.


                                                    CHAPTER 4


    The flight had seemed to take forever. Mary Alice was so excited. The stewardess

had finally begun her routine spiel. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final

approach to the Hawaii airfield.  Please make sure your trays are properly stowed and

your seat is in the full upright position.  We will be landing in about ten minutes and

thank you for choosing to fly with us today." 


      Mary Alice could not imagine this landing as being her "final" anything... Why didn't

they just drop the "final" and the announcement wouldn't seem so ominous a warning.

Anyway she was going to have a lot of fun, meet some new boys, hopefully and generally

have a great vacation.  After all she was eighteen years old this week, old enough to make

her own decisions, except for buying booze and a few other things that would not affect

her for the next year. She had excellent grades and when she graduated next spring she

was going to try and get into Harvard, or Yale. Her father could afford to send her almost

anywhere.  Besides, she figured on majoring in law, with a minor in political science. She

had no political aspirations, it just seemed the thing to do.


    The ground was coming up quickly now, and she could see the buildings flying by

outside the window. As the plane touched down lightly, her dad was reminding her, "Mary,

though we seem a long way from home, and we are, its still the US.  Most of the same

laws apply here, so have fun, but stay out of trouble".
   

      He usually had some kind of hokey advice for her, even though she had never been in

trouble of any kind. She was well balanced with a promising life ahead of her, and they

both knew it. The plane was headed for the terminal now, and she couldn't wait to get the

traditional Hawaiian greeting and get to the business of having some serious fun.



      Patrick thought back to a summer vacation in Hawaii. He remembered with amazing

recall as Dr.  Fields droned on in his monotone voice.
 

    He remembered awakening with a start. He sat up, swung his legs of the bed, and sat

there to clear his head. What a night, he recalled, brushing his wavy hair back with

his hand.  I'll have to shave today; he noted feeling the short stubble on his chin.  The act

of shaving wasn't bad, except he frequently cut his dimpled chin.  I'm going to cut out all

of this carousing every night, he promised himself.  Besides the physical harm, he knew all

the night carousing also took a toll on ones mental well being, also.  He had a good, well

muscled body from running and working out, so why not just stick with things that helped.


      He and his long time friend, Will Steepleton was in Hawaii for their vacation.
.
They had been almost inseparable since the third grade. They had met while playing little

league baseball, and had remained friends throughout high school.  After that, they had

joined the army on the buddy system, and spent most of four years in Europe.  They were

an unlikely pair, coming from very different backgrounds.  Will's was a big money

family, his father's law firm being one of the largest and most successful in Boston.

Besides that, his father was one of the senators from Massachusetts.  He had money all

right... His father had wanted him to enter law school right after graduation, and Patrick

suspected he was still a little pissed about the Army stretch.  He might have made senior

partner in the firm by now. 


      Patrick on the other hand was the son of a third generation cop. His father wanted

him to be a cop, too.

    "Follow the tradition we have worked hard to establish,” he says.  Patrick mused.  He

was doing that all right.  He would graduate from Memphis State next spring, but he

wouldn't be a beat cop. With his friend's father's influence in Washington, he was headed

for the FBI upon graduation.  He had used his G I bill benefits to attend Memphis State

and was near the top of his class with a degree in criminology. Will would be graduating

from Yale, of course, with his law degree.  Their lives seemed to be heading in different

directions now for sure.


    Will had joked, "You put 'um in and I'll let 'um out.  We'll still be a great team."


    This would likely be their last vacation together. Not that he would mind so much, for

he was tired of working his butt off and saving every penny he could spare to make these

little trips. Will didn’t think of that aspect of this friendship. Money was just another one

of those "no sweat items" to him.


    Patrick pulled the curtain aside and looked out.  It was very early as the sun was just

starting to color the horizon. He would take a quick shower and go for his morning run

while his friend slept.

   
    The beach was deserted this early, except one or two runners such as himself. He took

off at a brisk pace, just staying on the edge of the water line. The sand was firm here and

gave good footing.  He had gone about two miles and was about to turn back to the hotel

when he saw a girl coming toward him.  This one looks interesting enough to check out, he

decided.  A good looking fox, he thought as she came closer.  Maybe a bit young, but

what the hey, so long as she was eighteen.  He would run right on by and check out her

behind too, he thought.  Nice.  This one wouldn't look bad hanging on his arm.


    Mary Alice was eyeing the tall, tan runner coming toward her.  She had hoped to meet

someone like this the entire flight over. A little older, good-looking, tall, tan and, she

noticed right away, no ring.  As he ran past she saw the smooth ripples of his muscles and

caught a glimpse of his rub board stomach.  Keeps himself in good shape she told herself.


    She yelped loudly as her foot caught the slickened, half buried bottle, in the sand.

She might have seen if she wasn't eyeing Patrick.  Her right foot slipped, shifting her

weight to the left, causing her to loose balance and fall.  She was holding her left leg just

above the ankle when Patrick looked back over his shoulder.  He turned and trotted back

to where she was laying. She had sat up now and was examining the injured leg.

   
    "Are you hurt?" Patrick asked quickly.

  "I think I've sprained my left ankle." Mary Alice muttered.

      "Let me have a look at it." Patrick was reaching for her ankle.

      "Oh no!  It'll just be sore for awhile, but I'm o k."  Mary Alice assured him. 

    "Well, at least let me help you to your feet.  My name is Patrick, and I won't bite."

    "I'm okay, really, but you can help me up." Mary Alice said again.

    "Are you staying nearby?" Patrick asked as she was brushing the sand from her legs.

    "Yes, my family and I are at the Hilton," Mary Alice replied.
   
    "Great, that's where my friend and I are crashed.  It's a long walk from here, perhaps I

should step up to the highway and hail a taxi. You'll never make it on that ankle.  It's

already starting to swell." Patrick said matter of matter-of-factly.

    "Thanks," she said.

  He helped her walk to the highway and hailed a taxi.  The first one didn't stop, but the

next one did.

    “I could ride with you," Patrick offered.

    "I'm OK, really," she said. “If we are staying at the same hotel maybe I'll see you

around there. And thanks for your help."  Mary Alice smiled, getting into the taxi.
.
  He was headed back to the beach when he realized he hadn't asked her name.


    Patrick thought about his friend, probably still sacked out.  He would

finish his morning run, take a quick dip, then go back to the room and roust him out.

They would make their plans for the evening, perhaps have a good brunch, then lay

out on the beach for awhile. He wasn't sure he wanted to do the club scene again tonight.

Will had ended up with a girl named Jill last night.


    Patrick was ready for a change.  He didn't remember what time he had came to the

room that morning.  He had claimed to have a slight headache, and went back to the

room.  Anyway, he about decided to abandon this party scene every night, and take in 

some of the local tourist attractions.  Besides, many of the women you picked up a the

clubs were either ridden with STD's or were gold diggers.  Either way you had to be

careful. And he was looking for a girl with old fashioned values.


    Will was still sleeping when he came back to the room.

    "Get up you lazy bum", he yelled as he kicked the mattress.
   
    "What's the hurry," Will moaned. "We have two weeks left yet."

    "You can sleep it away if you want to, but I'm going to check out some of the local

attractions for a change."

    "Okay, just hook up with me at the Tiki-Tiki club if I'm not here when you return."

    Patrick showered and left.

 
    He spent the rest of the day wandering around the island, looking at waterfalls, visited

an aquarium and an active volcano.  He enjoyed a lunch provided by the nice folks that

ran the shuttle to the attractions. He wondered why he had not taken the time to do this

sort of sightseeing before. Too busy chasing skirts, he thought.  He got off the shuttle a the

stop short of the hotel.  He would stroll down the beach in the direction, as he was still not

anxious to get back to his room just yet.  About an hour later, he stepped into the lobby.

When he got to his room, Will, had left a note for him. He wadded it up and tossed it into

the trash can.  He was not in any hurry to get to the Tiki-Tiki and his friend Will just yet.



He changed clothes, freshened up, locked the room and stepped to the elevator. The

elevator was empty when it stopped on the fourteenth floor. Caught the express he hoped.

The bell rang on the tenth floor, and in stepped Mary Alice.  Now he silently rejoiced that

He had not noticed the fact that he had made a mistake and got on the up elevator. What had

He done to deserve such luck!

    "Well what a pleasant surprise" he said as she recognized him, judging from her smile.

    "How's the ankle doing?" he asked.

    "Oh, its much, much better this afternoon," she replied with a smile.

    "That's good," "by the way I forgot to get your name this morning," he added.

    "Oh, I'm so sorry she said", "my name is Mary Alice." "And you were Patrick this

morning." she stated.

    "Well Mary Alice, I was just going to watch one of the fire walking shows."

    "Would you care to join me he asked?”

    "I don’t think it would hurt my ankle too much, of course, unless you expect me to do

the fire walking! Mary Alice laughed.” “Besides they are much more fun when it gets

dark.” They walked a a slow pace, chatting as if they were old friends, arriving at the fire

pit just as the show started. The small crowd gathered there allowed for an excellent view.

  “See, I told you night would be the better time,” Mary Alice said, as she nudged him in

the ribs gently. He agreed by saying. “I seem to be a little off in my timing as usual,”