The bait shop was small and had a variety of items that were more bait for the fisherman than the fish. Magazines and books on angling, portable grills, canned goods and an assortment of outdoor clothing competed with the soda machines and refrigerated bottles of fruit juice and iced tea for the sportsman's dollar. The homespun owner of the little shop worked industriously on a display of fishing lures that promised to have the fish jumping into the boat on their own while the local gadflies sat in front of a small table, set in a corner of the store. The argument was as much over politics as the checker game in front of them. The voices stopped when the door opened up ringing the cowbell hung above it.
Jon Baker walked in with a broad smile, "Hi, Fellas. Who's winning?"
"He is," the men spoke in unison and pointed at each other simultaneously, making Jon chuckle.
"I get the picture," he laughed. "Hi, Wilson, I just thought I'd stop by on my way home to pick up a cold drink and say good-bye."
The owner stopped arranging the fishing lures and gave Jon a wide smile. "Hate to see you leave. Didja catch anything?"
"A few," Jon shrugged. "I mainly came for the peace and quiet. The city gets a little much for me sometimes."
Wilson laughed and scratched his head, "I know what you mean. I can't believe I spent 15 years of my life in that rat race. Buying this store was the smartest thing I ever did."
Jon looked past him at the display of lures and made a face. "You don't really expect anyone to buy those things, do you?"
Wilson laughed and leaned back against the counter. "Awww, that's for the tourists. Some of them will buy anything. Heck, my first time through and I almost bought a magnifying glass for snipe hunting."
"Well, geez. I didn't know you stocked those," Jon answered innocently. "I could have used one last night. A snipe almost came into camp."
Appreciative chuckles came from the direction of the checker table. "Now, Jonny," the one man chimed in, "you're about as much a city slicker as I'm a ballerina."
Jon joined in with the laughter and slapped Wilson on the back. "How's about an iced tea for the road. I want to be back in LA tomorrow so I can have one day to work on the truck before I go to work Monday."
Wilson reached over and pulled a bottle from the refrigerator and handed it to his friend. Jon reached into his pocket for some change but Wilson waved him off. "Not this time. I'll catch you again."
Jon smiled his thanks and took a sip from the bottle. "That tastes good after that coffee this morning."
"You need yourself a nice little wife that can cook," Wilson teased, "You'll kill yourself if you keep eating your own cooking."
"Tell me about it," Jon winced. "Cooking isn't my strong point." He turned around and walked back out the door. "Catch you guys in a couple of weeks."
"See ya later, Jonny," Wilson called after him. "You be careful going home now. I wouldn't want you to get stopped by the State Police for speeding."
The men at the checker table laughed warmly and returned to their game.
*****
Frank Poncharello looked at the pile of citations in front of him and groaned. It was going to take him all afternoon to find that one cite, and he would never get out into the fresh air and sunshine. Baricza walked into the reporting room and laughed at his friend's misery. "Bet you wish Jon were here about now."
"Tell me about it," Ponch smiled up at him. "Jon would probably remember not only the exact day, but the hour, minute and what we were discussing prior to and after the stop."
Bear helped himself to Ponch's potato chips that were scattered on the table. "How does he do that?"
"Beats me," Ponch sighed. "Bonnie can do it, too."
"Yea," Bear rolled his eyes, "I know. It's discouraging to those of us with just adequate memories."
Ponch laughed, "I'm feeling a little less than adequate today. If I can't find that cite, Getraer will have me for lunch." He became serious and sighed, "I wish Jon would get back early, but I'm sure he's still fishing. He could save me a lot of work right now."
Bear grinned. "In a way, you're both fishing. He just has better scenery."
*****
Jon drove down the mountain listening to his tape deck. Willie Nelson graveled out one song after another as the truck took the winds and turns of the road. Nothing prepared him for the deer that leapt off the slope above him and landed directly in front of the truck. Swerving, he hit the brakes to control the swing of the vehicle only to have the deer become disoriented and jump in front of the truck a second time. With nowhere to go, he struck the animal. The impact swung the truck in an arc so that it was sliding backwards downs the mountain, and the deer flipped up over the hood. Fatally injured, the deer's final efforts pushed kicking hooves through the windshield and struck Jon in the head. Jon felt a flash of searing pain and then total darkness.
*****
Ponch stepped into Getraer's office and laid a citation carefully and neatly on the desk in front of him. "There you go, one loose load citation."
Joe looked up at him steadily, "Do you want a commendation, Poncharello? Baker would have found that thing three hours ago."
Ponch grinned at him and patted the citation, "He'll be back sometime tonight. He said he was going to work on the truck tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm off duty. I'm going to call up a girl, and ……"
"Spare me," Joe held up his hands and leaned forward. "I don't want to hear it."
Ponch chuckled and slipped out the door. "You've been married too long, Joe."
*****
Jon tried to open his eyes several times. He rested in the light doze that comes when you're not totally awake but not totally asleep either. A gray area of time in which that part of the mind that moves the limbs and joints is still asleep even though the conscious mind is slowly rising like a diver coming to the surface of a lake. He felt hands touching him and moving him and the strong smell of a man who had been working hard at physical labor. The movement was vaguely uncomfortable and he chose to stay in the limbo state to avoid the pain that he sensed would come with full consciousness. He silently thanked God that someone had found him and that was all he could concentrate on without effort. Thought was quicksilver that wouldn't stay in place long enough to grab it and develop it into a whole conception. Time had no meaning and so he was unsure how long it was since the man had come and gone. Slowly, he fought his way to awareness and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through his head at the slightest movement, so he laid quietly until it receded. Keeping his eyes closed, he began a slow assessment of his condition. Pain was centered in his head, his arm and both of his legs. He groaned and concentrated on opening his eyes.
Sunlight hit his eyes making him squint and causing the pain in his head to explode with a private fireworks display. The sun was shining strongly through the branches that waved over his head and created a canopy that prevented him from seeing the road that he knew was above him. Broken tree limbs dangled from the encircling trees showing where the truck had slid down through them. The dense vegetation had obviously slowed the vehicle so that it landed much more softly than it would have otherwise. The truck itself was nose first in the soft loam of the mountainside with the broken seat belt dangling from the open driver's door.
Panic struck as Jon became aware that the truck was several feet away from him, but that he was unable to move his legs. They felt like a weight held them pinned and any effort to move them was excruciating. Ignoring the pain in his head as best he could, he moved slightly to view his lower body. The deer laid with its neck broken on the ground with the body pinning Jon's legs down. The ground was covered with blood, not all of which belonged to the dead animal. A long gash extended from Jon's left thigh to somewhere underneath the deer. His right arm was severely bruised and he suspected that the bone had been cracked.
Remembering the man, he scanned the woods for some sign of his rescuer. He was totally alone. He made an effort to get into a sitting position, but the resulting pain restored the darkness and he slumped back onto the forest floor.
*****
Ponch turned the music on softly and checked his casserole one more time. Linda was coming over to watch an old movie on TV, and he was in the mood for a comfortable, intimate evening. He checked himself in the mirror and took a quick look at the apartment. Smiling, he lit the candles and stepped back to admire the effect that it made. The phone rang and he picked it up.
"Hello, speak to me."
"Ponch, it's me, Joe. I need to talk to you," the voice on the other end of the line seemed tired.
"Sarge," Ponch cajoled, "if it wasn't the right cite, I'll find it tomorrow. Linda's coming."
"It's not the cite, Frank."
Sobering, Ponch picked up the tone of the voice on the other end of the phone. "Joe, what is it?"
"I just got a call from the station. They just had a ransom note delivered."
There was a knock on the door. "Hold on a minute, Joe, Linda's here."
Ponch set the phone down on the end table and went to open the door. Linda stood in front of him dressed in a long white sheath dress, her dark hair hung loosely over her shoulders. "C'mon in darlin'. I'm on the phone."
He gave her a long warm look and then picked up the receiver again. "A ransom note, Joe? For what?"
"For Jon." The voice was steady but obviously concerned.
"Jon's fishing," Ponch reasoned although his chest tightened with alarm.
"Frank, the note was wrapped around Jon's badge. It has blood all over it."
Ponch stared at the wall in front of him. He swallowed hard and blinked. "How would someone get a hold of his badge?"
"Good question, Frank. I think we really ought to find out."
"Yea," Ponch swallowed again, "and, Joe?"
"Yes, Frank."
"Thanks for calling."
He replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned to face Linda. "I need to get down to the station, honey. Understand?"
She stared at his handsome face and read the shock and fear written there. "Yea, you go. We can do this again."
The FBI agent knelt down between Ponch and Joe and surveyed the parking lot. His handsome face was tense and concerned. "He must be an amateur," he offered.
Ponch sat down on the macadam and stretched his cramped legs. "What makes you think that, Anderson? He started out by kidnapping a cop." He took off his sunglasses and wiped his eyes. Without the glasses in place, the agent could see the dark circles that had developed there since the night before.
Joe squeezed Ponch's shoulder and turned his attention to the agent. "Think he's going to show?"
"He'll show if he wants the money. Once he does, he won't get out of here. He chose a bad spot. Only three ways in and out. We can cover them easily. All these cars are here providing us with easy cover. Then, there's the amount requested. Five thousand dollars. That's amateur hour."
"It took more than an amateur to take out Jon," Getraer remarked. "He's a good cop and capable of taking care of himself."
"Yea," the agent sighed and nodded. "That's the part that doesn't make any sense. Baker should have been able to handle this bozo."
Anderson's walkie talkie crackled into life. "We've got a live one," the voice whispered from the unit.
"Again," Ponch supplied. He returned to his crouching stance behind the car and trained his binoculars on the small bag leaning up against the lightpost.
A small, wiry man wearing a dirty shirt and torn jeans walked through the parking lot appearing to look for a car. When he came across from the lightpost, he stopped and looked around carefully, all pretenses gone. He reached down and grabbed the bag then sprinted across the parking lot towards the exit. Immediately, the lot filled with sirens and unmarked cars sprang to life sealing off the lot. The man panicked and dodged the police to run between the cars in an effort to escape. Getraer felt the adrenaline pump through his system as he forgot about his cramped legs and shot out of his vantagepoint like a sprinter in a race. Cutting off the fleeing man, he slammed into him ensuring that he would be stopped. He lifted him off the ground with one hand, pushing his upper body across the hood of a nearby car, pinning him there.
"Where's my officer?" Getraer growled through clenched teeth. "Tell me or I'll snap you in two."
The man squealed and squirmed beneath his grasp. "I didn't do nothing. He was already dead, I swear."
The color left Getraer's face and his fingers felt numb. "What do you mean he was already dead?" Vaguely he was aware of Frank Poncharello and Phil Anderson standing behind him. Poncharello's face working with an effort to form words that wouldn't come.
The suspect swallowed hard looking at one unsympathetic face after another. "I found this guy all busted up in the woods. Blood everywhere. I figured he didn't need his stuff no more, so I helped myself. I figured the State had a lot more money than me……. I swear I didn't mean no harm. I just wanted a grubstake. You know, a chance at somethin'. " He looked around him. "He didn't need it no more. He didn't."
Getraer released his hold and let Agent Anderson put the cuffs on the man. "How did you know he was dead?"
The man blinked at Getraer like a disoriented bird. "Whacha mean?"
"Couldn't you find a pulse?" Getraer was puzzled by his reaction.
"Pulse?" The man repeated stupidly. "Gee, I don't know. I didn't check."
A roar of rage filled Joe's ears and a solid figure in tan pushed past him to grab the man's throat in a firm grip. Getraer inserted himself between Poncharello and the suspect using every bit of strength he had to pull the irate policeman off the terrified man. Releasing the suspect, Ponch fell into his Sergeant's arms sobbing. "He didn't check, Joe. He found him and he didn't even try to help him."
"I heard him, Frank," Joe soothed. "I heard him."
"He could have been alive! He left him to die!" Tears fell down the swarthy face and landed on Getraer's bare arm. "The son of a bitch didn't even check."
Anderson looked in disgust at his prisoner. "If I find that Jon Baker was alive when you found him and you left without rendering assistance, I'll give you to this man without a second thought. Do you understand me?"
The prisoner nodded emphatically, his eyes wide in fear.
"Where did you leave Baker?"
"He was dead, up the mountain. Blood, everywhere blood."
"When."
"Yesterday, I swear, it was yesterday."
The man trembled under Anderson's grip.
Anderson glared at him. "Where exactly."
"I'll take you there. I will," the man flashed Ponch a frightened look. "Is he coming?"
*****
Ponch sat in a cruiser next to Getraer and scanned the roadside for any sign of the accident. "This is the second time for this section, Joe," he complained bitterly. "That jackass lied to us."
Joe nodded in agreement but continued to scan the road ahead. "Or he just remembered wrong."
Ponch swallowed hard and returned his attention to the road. "I can't believe he's dead, Joe." He shook his head hard trying to clear his eyes. "No, I won't believe it. I'd know, I swear I'd know."
Joe slowed the car down to a crawl. "You've been partners a long time. Friends even longer. I wouldn't expect you to just roll over and accept it. But, Frank, it might come down to that. Even if he was alive yesterday when that jerk found him, we have to live with the idea that he probably wouldn't have made it through the night without medical attention let alone all day today. We're praying for a long shot to come through."
"Then we need to pray a little harder. I won't give up until I see him dead and I check his pulse. Me, Joe. Not somebody else. Me," Ponch's voice dropped away. "I need to touch him, Joe."
Getraer shook his head, tiredly. It had been over 36 hours since he had been to sleep and it was telling on him. He pulled over onto the berm of the road and parked the car. "I can't drive anymore. You take over." He opened the door and stepped out. Slowly, he stretched his cramped back easing the muscles back into place. Ponch stepped out on the other side and began to walk around the front of the vehicle. Suddenly, he stopped.
"Joe!" Getraer's head snapped up and he looked where Poncharello was pointing. A small section of guardrail along the curve ahead was bent. It hadn't been completely knocked away which is no doubt why they had missed it before, but from the angle where they were standing they could see newly broken branches below the slope of the hill.
The two men ran excitedly up to the section of broken rail and peered hopefully down through the thick branches of the trees. "This is it," Ponch bounced with excitement up and down the road as he searched for a pathway down.
"You can't be sure, Frank," Joe tried to calm him, but the enthusiasm was catching and soon he was following along looking for a way to descend.
Ponch ran back to the cruiser and returned with a long length of rope. He tied one end around his waist and handed the rest to Getraer. "Don't let me fall." He stepped forward to slip down the embankment. The rope jerked hard against Getraer's back where he had wrapped it to give better support.
"What're you doing Frank? I can't hold you if you do anything fancy."
"Sorry, Joe. The slope just disappeared. I'm in a tree."
"Can you come back up?" Joe was immediately concerned. "We'll have to get better equipment."
"It'd be easier to keep going down. There's nothing to push against to come back up." Ponch's voice drifted from an area that was invisible to Joe. One of the trees swayed and dipped indicating where the officer was moving about to make his descent. "I'm going to have to release the rope, Joe. It's getting tangled." In a moment, the rope went slack as the weight was removed from it. Again, the tree swayed and quivered with movement.
"Oh, God, OH DEAR GOD!!"
*****
Jon smiled to himself. It wouldn't be long now and the pain and thirst would disappear. They were almost gone already. Time had stopped, and the sunlight that was seeping through his eyelids had been replaced by black, then a glowing white that seemed to encompass everything. From a distance, he heard Ponch's voice calling to him. It would be nice to see Ponch again but it was very pleasant to lay in the light and let it soak the pain from his abused body. It reminded him of lying on the warm sand at the beach after a hard day's work, so comfortable, so very peaceful. Just a few minutes more, Ponch.
*****
Ponch stared at the scene in front of him in horror. The familiar blue truck totally destroyed hung from the trees with its nose embedded in the soft forest floor. The dead deer smelled of decay and the flies buzzed around its body where grubs were already hatching. The blood had soaked into the spongy ground leaving only a discoloration where it had once been. Jon. Ponch looked at his friend and partner with tears streaming down his cheeks. The sandy blond hair was filled with dried blood and mud, the face was almost unrecognizable. Cuts and bruises covered it completely. The nose was swollen and off to one angle. The right arm was swollen to twice its normal size and the left thigh had a nasty gash in it that had poured copious amounts of blood onto the ground below.
He pinched his nose closed and gave the deer as wide a berth as he could to get to his partner. Reaching down, he placed his fingers tightly against the carotid artery. In shock, he dropped his other hand onto Jon's chest, and then placed his ear against it to listen for the heartbeat. "Jon!" he screamed into his ear. "Jon, it's me. I'm here buddy, I'm here. I've got ya."
"Joe," Ponch was yelling at the top of his lungs now. "Joe, he's alive. We've got to get him some help. He's alive."
*****
Jon woke up slowly and took in his surroundings. He was in a bed. He tried to raise his head only to have the pain come crashing down on him. His mouth was still dry, but the terrible thirst that he had been feeling was now gone and the smell of antiseptic had replaced the decaying deer. "So much for dying," he croaked softly.
Immediately, Ponch's concerned face came into his line of sight. "Hi, Partner," he spoke softly. So very softly for the energetic Ponch, that Jon had to try to smile. "You had us worried."
"I had me worried," Jon croaked.
"You're gonna be okay. It'll just take a little out of your handball game for a couple of weeks." Ponch smiled. "Who knows. With your arm in a cast, I might have a chance to beat you."
Jon smiled and closed his eyes, relieved to see only familiar blackness there. "Ha," he managed. "Very funny."
Ponch touched his arm gently. "You just sleep, I've got ya."
Jon smiled and left himself slip into the arms of Morpheus.