Sorry, folks. I had this scene in my head. It's not a real story b/c,
let's face it, I would flunk out of law school if I wrote a story around
every scene that popped in my head. LOL!

But I hope you enjoy it!
warning: language -- cursing and derogatory racial remarks by
politically incorrect psycho of the week.
category: angst, h/c (surprising, I know. This  h/c stuff is something
different for me) *grin*

~~~~~
Hang Man
~~~~~

Jim stood as rigid as a statue at his desk, his fingers gripping the
receiver tight enough to turn his knuckles white and send an ache
shooting up his arm. "Who are you?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded deep and angry. "The New
Wave."

Jim swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest.  *Oh, Jesus.* Rafe and
Brown were assigned to a string of racially-motivated murders propagated
by this 'New Wave' white supremacy group. Jim hadn't been involved in
the case, but Sandburg....

Sandburg was Jewish -- at least peripherally. It didn't matter whether
he practiced or not, he had the wrong name for the 'New Wave' group.
"You hurt Sandburg and I promise you I WILL find you."

//"Jim..."//

Jim stopped breathing and focused his hearing on the soft, familiar
voice in the background. Sandburg was speaking so low Jim doubted the
kidnapper would be able to hear him.

//"Warehouse. Fifth and Trancas."//

Jim closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, calming breath. *Way to go,
partner.* Now all he had to do was keep the kidnapper on the line while
the cavalry went to rescue Sandburg. But he didn't want to stay here. He
*needed* to be on the front lines to make sure things were done right.
There was no way he'd risk Sandburg's life to anybody else if he could
be there himself.

He gestured to Rafe, who's gaze, along with everyone else's, was fixed
on him. Nodding, Rafe picked up the phone and opened the line to listen
in.

Jim spoke into the receiver. "You know what you are? A coward." If he
could keep the caller angry, the guy might just stay on the line longer.
"What's the matter? Pissed off because you lost a job to a black person,
or a Mexican, or a Jew, or an Asian?" He was just rambling, trying to
find words that would enrage the guy and keep him talking. "Too afraid
to consider that you might just be inferior and stupid as hell, so you
have to take it out on innocent people who just happen to have more
brains than you? You're a remedial. These 'New Wave' murders aren't even
original. Stabbing. Hanging. Shots through the head. What's the matter,
lacking creativity? Hell, the NAME isn't even original."

"Fuck you, Ellison..."

Jim lowered the receiver and placed his hand over it. "Rafe, pretend to
be me. Keep him on the line, but don't speak too much or he'll figure it
out." Next he looked at Simon, who was standing in the doorway of his
office, watching with silent concern. "Sandburg's at a warehouse on
Fifth and Trancas." Then he turned to Brown. "H, dial a three-way on my
cell phone so I can listen in."

Without further explanation, Jim set the receiver carefully on the hook
and stormed out of the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blair swallowed hard and closed his eyes, standing on his tip-toes on
the chair. His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were
bound. The noose hung loose around his neck, but the only thing between
him and death was the flimsy, foldable chair beneath his feet.

His only hope was Jim. Had the sentinel heard his whispered words? Would
he get there in time? Find out all this and more. Coming up next week.
Same bat time. Same bat channel. He almost laughed. Here he was moments
from being hanged to death and cheesy lines from an old TV show were
floating through his head. Hmmmnn... Maybe this was denial?

Denial. Yep. Big time. Standing here on a chair with a noose around my
neck and some psycho on the phone with Jim...

//"You're a joke, Ellison"//

Blair almost laughed again... or sobbed... he wasn't sure there'd be a
difference at this point. How the hell did he keep getting in these
situations?

//"You and your entire police force. You have niggers and Jew-fags and
even women out there carrying guns and pretending to work for the public
good. No wonder Cascade has one of the highest crime rates in the
nation...."//

Blair shifted on his toes and twisted his wrists, trying to work the
ropes loose. He paid only marginal attention to the psycho's angry
words. The man was obviously insane... which, by definition, all psychos were.

All of a sudden the 'New Wave' proponent started yelling. Blair opened
his eyes to see the guy toss his cell phone on the floor and turn toward
him, his eyes fiery with anger.

*Uh-oh. Time's up.* Blair took a deep breath, his body rigid. He could
feel the pounding of his heart all the way down to his toes.

The killer stopped inches from the chair and looked up at Blair. "How
does it feel to know you're going to die?"

Blair swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet his captor's gaze. The guy
looked quite young -- in his twenties -- with thick, dark hair and
large, hazel eyes. He wore Dockers and a thick sweater and could have
passed for a normal, law-abiding yuppie any other day.

Blair continued working the ropes binding his wrists. "Death doesn't
scare me, man. I've already been to the other side. You know what? There
IS an afterlife, and I promise to make your life a living hell when I
get there."

Mr. 'New Wave' simply laughed and glanced at the phone on the floor. "I
left the line open. Think he can hear? You wanna say goodbye to your
partner?"

Blair glanced at the discarded cell phone. *Oh God, please don't let him
hear. Let the line go dead or the batteries run down or even let him
zone but please, please don't let him hear."

~~~~~~~~~~

//"You wanna say goodbye to your partner?"//

HOOONK!

Jim turned the wheel sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding a BMW. Damn!
He'd just ran a red light. Stupid! He glanced at the speedometer. Sixty
MPH. Through city traffic. If he got himself or someone else killed he
wouldn't do Sandburg any good.

//Goodbye, Jim. I hope you can't hear this, but if you can, I know you tried. I... " Blair's voice dropped to a whisper. "I love you, man. You've been a good friend."//

God...

He pressed harder on the accelerator. The truck flew through another red
light at Fourth Street. His sirens were blaring, but that seemed to have
little effect on the motorists. He killed the sirens as he approached
Fifth Street, then took a sharp right. Trancas was two blocks ahead.

When he reached the corner of Fifth and Trancas, he slammed on his
breaks. The screech of rubber on the blacktop must have been audible to
anybody in the vicinity, which meant Blair's captor had likely heard.

He jumped out of the truck, automatically extending his hearing.

//"Goodbye, kid."//

A thud. A scrape. A grunt.

*No!* The time for caution was past. If the guy had heard the screech of
the truck's tires, he gave no indication. Jim withdrew his gun and burst
through the doors of what looked like an old, vacated office building.
"Police!"

The 'New Wave' guru raised his hands in the air as he stepped away from
Sandburg.

*Shit!* "Blair!" The young man was was hanging with a noose around his
neck, a chair toppled on its side a foot away. His face was red and his
eyes bulging, and his body jerked as he struggled against suffocation.

In one swift motion, Jim raised the gun, his eyesight honing in on the
rope, and squeezed the trigger. The rope snapped, and Blair fell hard,
collapsing bonelessly on the floor, gasping and wheezing, although he
looked on the verge of passing out.

The killer had taken that moment to act, reaching behind his back to
retrieve a gun. Jim saw the weapon swing toward him, and he shifted his
own gun and rolled to his right. His opponent fired, but missed. Jim
came out of his roll on one knee, the gun aimed, and he fired. The killer's body
snapped back, and he lay motionless on the floor.

Jim slipped his gun back in its holster and hurried to Blair, dropping
on his knees next to the young man. Blair was still wheezing, his body
spasming as he gulped at the air like a fish out of water. His right
cheek was pressed to the floor, and a red ring encircled his neck just
beneath his chin, already swelling angrily.

Jim heard the sirens. Finally! He didn't know how he'd gotten so far ahead of everyone, but he was grateful that he did. If he had arrived a few seconds later and Blair would be dead.

But Sandburg was still in distress, though his eyelids hung low and he
didn't seem to be aware of what was going on around him. Jim used his
sensitive fingers to probe Blair's neck and spine, searching for signs
of more serious damage. When he found none, he turned his attention to
Blair's wrists. The rope cut deeply into Sandburg's flesh. Wincing in
sympathy, Jim worked at the knot. It took him a couple of minutes to get
the thing loose, but it finally gave, and he tossed the bindings aside.
That accomplished, he carefully turned the young man onto his back.
Blair's eyes opened, and his hands came up to claw at his neck. Quickly,
Jim grabbed his partner's wrists just above the rope burns and forced
the arms down.

"Easy, Chief. Help's on the way."

Blair looked at Jim, his eyes red and watery, and nodded. He stopped
struggling, but his breathing still came in labored gasps and his body
remained rigid. Gently, Jim slipped the noose over Blair's neck and
threw it away, a surge of anger rising to his cheeks as he glanced at
the man who'd try to kill Sandburg. No breathing. No heartbeat. The guy
was dead. *Good riddens.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The touch brought him awake. Fingers around his neck. A flare of pain.
Pressure. He tried to pull away, but something from behind stopped him.
An unfamiliar voice sounded low and deep near his left ear. The fingers
traced a path of hot pain around his neck and thrust him further awake.
He jerked, his hands coming up to ward off the assault.

"Take it easy!" A harsh command by a familiar voice. Then the tone
softened and hands grabbed his. "Easy, Chief. It's okay."

"That was easy," the unfamiliar voice said.

Blair willed his heavy eyelids open, and he saw Jim and another man in a
white jacket standing over him.

"Hey, partner." Jim offered a lopsided smile. "'Bout time you woke up."

Blair's brow furrowed with confusion. How long had he been out? He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but his throat erupted with fire, bringing the sting of tears to his eyes.

The doctor spoke up. "You probably won't be able to talk very well for
the next day or so. You've got some swelling of your trachea, and we've
been trying to keep that down to maintain your airway without a tube."

Blair closed his mouth and nodded. His neck protested the motion with a
tug of pain beneath his jaw. Damn. it seemed his communication abilities
were quite limited. He looked at Jim and mouthed the question, 'How
long?'

Jim glanced at his watch. "About 11 hours, and to answer your next
question, the doc says you can go home in a few more hours if you take
your meds and stay in bed."

The doctor nodded. "The main concern we have right now is making sure
the swelling doesn't interfere with your airway."

Blair grimaced. He hated the feeling of suffocation. Okay, who didn't?
But he'd experienced it too many times already -- drowning,
strangulation...

He didn't notice the steady beeping in the background until it suddenly
increased. Both Jim and the doctor glanced at the machine, then Jim
looked back down at him and placed a hand on his arm.

"What is it, Blair?" Jim grimaced and leaned forward. "Sorry. I forgot
you can't speak. But whatever it is, try to relax. You're going to be
okay. All you need is a little rest."

Blair took a deep breath and nodded, wincing slightly from the twinge of
pain around the tender skin of his neck. He closed his eyes and focused
on his breathing. This was not the time to have a panic attack -- not in
front of Jim and the doctor.

He felt Jim's hand brush across the top of his head, but it was only a
whisper of a touch. "Just so you know, the guy who kidnapped you is
dead. His name is Robert Carson. Rafe and Brown searched his apartment,
and they found a list of other 'New Wave' members. They're rounding them
up now for questioning."

Feeling the beckoning tug of sleep, Blair managed another slight nod. So
now he had a name to put with the face that would likely haunt his
dreams for a good time to come. Just like a handful of other people he
wished he'd never met. But along with those people were others he
cherished and wouldn't trade for anything. Jim. Simon. Joel.

'Thanks, Jim,' he mouthed just before surrendering to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end. How 'bout sending me some feedback? Please :-)
NawdC@yahoo.com