Running On

By: Heather F

Librarian Note:

We have tried to reach Heather F, but have not gotten any replies. This story has been rescued. Since Lady Angel's Library (now M7FC) was already hosting some of Heather's other stories, we assumed implied permission to host this one as well. If you know how to reach the author, please ask her to contact us.

I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels…

Ezra stood quietly, his back straight. His eyes seemed not to focus on Larabee. He appeared unfazed by the verbal lashing that washed over him. Standish did not give the impression of even caring.

Josiah wondered if it was insolence. The big man studied the Southerner as the man stared blankly at a fixed spot some distance through Larabee.

A tense silence hushed the area as the others watched yet another dressing down of the Southerner in the conference room.

Unlike other times, no one argued or fiddled with pens or shifted nervously hoping to convey a sense of camaraderie to the Southerner. No one offered or tried to extend some kind of support or even back up.

Larabee was well within his rights. Dereliction of duty was not something that could go unnoticed or ignored. The teams had wasted valuable time and effort as well as taxes payers' money.

The 'meet' had been a bust. A big nothing. Standish had not shown. No 'representative' had bothered to make an appearance. Evan Sullivan had not materialized to purchase the weapons for his mysterious boss. The dealer, Craig Hoster, stormed away, cursing and spitting on the name of Sullivan.

When he had left the premises, a tense urgent silence had enveloped the teams that waited in eagerness for this bust to be over.

The team had left the Greek restaurant, in the early morning twilight, worried over their missing teammate.

As soon as things were clear, Larabee and Tanner had sped off to Standish's condo fearing the worst. The others stayed behind and 'broke' down their surveillance equipment and the plethora of 'toys' needed for the intended bust.

When Chris and Vin had called to say they could not find their undercover agent the team agreed to meet back at the office and start an organized search for the missing man. Teams Four and Eight offered their assistance.

Hearts hammered in chests as anxiety rose expediently. Everyone asking, What happened to Standish? Was he alright? Was he still alive? Who'd he piss off this time?

When Team Seven strode briskly from the elevators, their usual jocularity absent, they rounded the bend in the hall that opened up into their work station. Chris had been speaking sharply to each man directing them toward a place to start their own individual searches. He organized a grid pattern of sorts, just on a paper trail.

As they rounded the corner, the words tapered off from Chris as he came to an abrupt stop with Buck and Vin mirroring his actions. JD, Nathan and Josiah marched into them from behind.

Jaws dropped and blood pressure sky rocketed in a select few.

There he sat at his desk, not a scratch or bruise on him, just staring at his computer monitor. The undercover agent never looked up. He never uttered a greeting or explanation. Instead, Ezra worked on his computer as if nothing outside the realm of his desk existed.

Larabee's anxiety had metamorphosed to fury. With a growl and a curse, he hauled the southerner to his feet and dragged him into the conference room with the others in tow.

Ezra's surprise had fallen quickly and was replaced by shock and then a softly muttered apology. He had simply forgotten.

Larabee slammed him to a wall, with faces barely inches apart, started a verbal lashing that rebounded around walls.

Chris was within his rights.

The longer Ezra stood before him without uttering a word, without offering a hint of an excuse, the more intense the anger focused, until it was honed into a fine pinpoint blaze of rage.

Chris slapped his hand off the wall next to Standish's head causing the others to jump slightly at the abrupt movement. An oily hand print marred the flat surface.

Standish stood quietly and stared, gazing intently through Larabee at some unseen speck on the far wall.

Chris's hand tingled from the contact with the wall.

If Buck was pushed, he would have guessed that Standish's mind was a thousand miles away. Uncaring….or even unconcerned, maybe even unaware.

Perhaps just plain tired. There was a slouch to the shoulders, a wounded look Buck had never seen before.

Chris was right, though, there was no excuse, not for this. Ezra did not even bother to elucidate his reasons. He just stood planted and took his medicine.

Did he even know that he had crossed the line this time?…That there was no ready excuse to see him through this mess?

In the end, when Chris had harshly spoken all he could, when he had denounced the Southerner to the best of his ability, Larabee paused, fighting the urge to hit the quiet man.

Josiah rubbed his chin scrutinizing the unusually silent agent….

Smug?…. Didn't Standish even care?

Ezra waited a moment, trying to gage, perhaps the intelligence in moving and delicately slipped from between the wall and Larabee. He skirted around Chris, dropping his gaze to the institutional grey speckled carpet and slinked out the open conference room door. He did not pause at his desk as he walked by but gathered his suit coat from the back of his leather chair without missing a stride. He dropped it over one arm and headed for the bank of elevators just out of sight. He paused at the unseen line that delineated the bullpen from the corridor and turned back over his shoulder, stared directly at Chris and quietly stated without fire or indignation, "My apologies gentlemen."

"It’s not enough this time Standish." Larabee fought the urge to haul the Southerner back into the room by his shirt collar, fought the impulse to expel his anger in a physical manner.

Standish nodded once, as if in resignation, before slipping from the area without a sound.

Buck noticed the fear in JD's dark hazel eyes. Vin watched Larabee wondering if he should intervene or not.

Nathan slouched in his chair and played with his pencil not meeting anyone's gaze. How could Ezra have possibly forgotten? They had all worked too hard to reach this point, to get Craig Hoster to even come out of the shadows into the public light. What had happened?

Josiah closed his eyes in resignation feeling disappointment in everyone around him. Disappointed in Ezra for pulling such a stupid stunt, in Chris for being so hot headed and in himself for not attempting to diffuse the situation before it erupted.

Buck pushed himself off the edge of the conference table. He nodded to Chris, who still stood staring down the others, daring them to challenge him and his authority.

No one did. No one even considered it.

Ezra after all really screwed up, JD could figure no other way to explain it.

Buck patted Larabee's shoulder in understanding before sliding from the room.

The bullpen felt deserted. The foolish trinkets that adorned their individual desks seemed loud and inappropriate. There was an air of tragedy, Buck felt it in his chest. He wondered what had happened today to drive Ezra to act so irresponsibly, that it affected everyone around him? Standish's briefcase still sat next to his desk. The screen saver rolled over itself, traveling lazily from corner to corner criss-crossing the screen.

Buck headed for the elevator and watched as the rounded lights highlighted the numbers heading for the garage.

Wilmington took the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~

You know I don't even know what I'm hoping to find...

Buck stood at the front bumper waiting. Standish continued to look through him just as he had done Larabee upstairs. Keeping one hand on the black hood Buck swung around to the passenger side door of the Jaguar. He feared the Southerner would speed away the minute his way was no longer blocked.

Wilmington slid into the car and shut the door.

"Where we goin' pard'?"

Ezra slowly pivoted his head and looked at Wilmington as if making a decision.

Without a word, he simply put the car and gear and drove out of the Federal building parking garage.

Buck blinked squinting at the sharp brightness of a sunny early morning

~~~~~~~~

Running on Empty

Running blind

Running into the sun

I'm running behind.

They had been driving for 15 hours. For three hours Buck had tried to make conversation. He tried to defend Chris's position, attempted to explain why Ezra had made such a serious mistake. Inexcusable.

In the end, with more than a few hundred miles under their tires Buck gave up.

Standish simply drove.

For the second time, they had stopped for gas. Buck had ventured another question about stopping to eat. His inquiry was only met with stony silence. He again asked where they were headed and again silence filled the void.

Standish exited the car and merely pumped the gas. He had not looked to his passenger once since the garage in Denver.

The undercover agent headed into the giant rode side station/market to pay. Buck took the time to make a call.

"Tanner."

"Vin it’s me," Buck stood next to the passenger side of the car with the door open. He was afraid to even go to the restroom fearing that if he took too long Standish would essentially abandon him. Instead, Wilmington had had to make due with "checking the tires' a few hours back when they had stopped for the first time for gas.

"Where the hell are you?"

"With Ezra." Buck answered leaning his elbow on the roof of the car and resting his head in his hand.

"Where?"

"I ain't sure somewhere south of I- 70 I think Missouri, but I wouldn't bet too heavily on it."

"Shit," there was a pause and then Vin's voice was back, " where the Hell are you headin'?"

"How the Hell should I know? He hasn't said two words to me at all." Buck paused and turned his attention to the Undercover agent who stood second in line from the cashier counter. "What's going on back there?"

"They're thinkin' of suspendin' him without pay…indefinitely," Vin answered, "Buck ya better git his ass back here, it ain't lookin' too good and with'im skippin' out of town like this…Chris 'n the Judge are goin' ten rounds with each other and both 're lookin' to lynch Ez and they're fightin' anyone who tries to do it for 'em." Tanner paused and then added, "Haul his ass back here, Buck, we can't help ‘im if he's runnin' away again. Some are even say'n he's in cahoots with Hoster…."

"Bull shit!" Buck hissed out hunching angrily over the small phone.

"No shit…don't worry Josiah put a quick stop to that…damn he's scary when he's pissed." Vin paused, "Josiah smashin' heads ain't gonna be enough to stop that kind of shit from bein' thought…. Buck, ya gutta git 'im home. Ez ain't gonna survive another Atlanta if it starts here." Tanner warned quietly.

"No shit," Buck whispered out scraping his toe against the cracked pavement of the Travel Plaza. "How'm I suppose to do that?"

"I don't know, but ya better think of away….the head hunters are out after scalps and they're fixin' their gazes on Ez."

"Anythin' you guys can do back there?" Buck sighed trying to buy them time, hoping to figure out just what was going on with Standish.

"Well, Nathan is checking into some stuff and JD 's hackin' into Ez's computer checkin' his email and shit.…." Vin let his voice fade.

Buck hung his head. It didn't really matter the cause, Ezra should have shown at the restaurant, should have called if he couldn't come to the meet, but to just forget? "Damn Vin here he comes I gotta run."

"Git 'im back here Buck….or ya just might find yourself suspended indefinitely too…"

"Somethin's wrong Vin, there's no way Ezra would just forget about the Job….no way."

"I know pard', I know…jist git ‘im home 'fore Chris and the Judge convince themselves to hang 'im out to dry."

Buck slapped his phone closed and turned to Standish, "You ready to head back to Denver?" Buck's smile faded as the Southerner slid behind the wheel without so much as looking at him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The brisk autumn breeze had slowly turned humid. The fall colors that melded from tree to tree slowly gave way to sharp greens. Fall had yet to reach the south.

Buck leaned back against the head rest and closed his eyes. He had tried, numerous times into talking Ezra into turning around, into going back to Denver. Each time silence met him. Not even a glance was shed his way.

Light had faded long ago and blackness gradually overtook the sky. Headlights automatically clicked on, dash board lights offered a small amount of illumination. Windows remained down and the wind competed with the soft drone of the radio.

Buck watched the white lines flash by, just as they had for the last 800 miles.

For the third time, the Jaguar pulled off the highway and into a Travel Plaza. Without a word, Standish pumped gas.

Buck stood and stretched his arms over head and cracked his back. He watched the Southerner and once again tried to start conversation. His efforts failed miserably.

Standish pre-paid at the pumps but headed into the station anyhow.

"Hey Ez, git me a coffee too, will ya?"

Standish never indicated that he heard and continued walking away.

Buck pulled out his phone.

"Tanner."

"Vin, what's goin' on?"

"Where the Hell are ya Buck?"

"Just west of Alabama."

"Shit,"

"What's goin' on Junior?"

"Judge wants blood. Ez seriously fucked up this time. I told Chris that your headin' back in with 'im." There was a pause and again a frustrated, "shit." Tanner's aggravation traveled clearly across the small digital phone.

"Where the Hell is he goin'?" The rhetorical question from Vin mirrored Buck's thoughts.

"Nathan find out anything?"

"Not yet, Josiah has jumped in and 'is helpin' JD, jist ain't like Ez to screw up this bad." There was another pause, "How 'bout you? You gainin' anythin'?"

"Nuthin'," Buck paused and then added, "I'm thinkin' that he don't even care right now that he's in a world of trouble." Buck paused and then added, "I gotta tell ya though, he's got somethin' in mind. He just isn't drivin' blind. He knows where he's going."

"No shit," Vin's frustrated voice came back.

"Shut-up and listen, I'm sayin' is, we shoulda been hung up in some road construction a few miles back but Ez scooted around it takin' some back roads through some Podunk towns…never looked at a map or anythin', he's headin' somewhere that's real familiar to ‘im."

"Yeah? Well see iffen ya can't get ‘im to turn around and git his ass back here…the fats gunna hit the fire and if he ain't here to defend 'imself he's gonna be outta here."

Buck paused and slowly added, "I don't think he really gives a shit." There was a short pause and then a very quiet, " Ya know?"

There was a brief hesitation and then a "Ya I know…..but why the Hell did he do it?….Dumbest damn thing he coulda done….jist plain stupid…and this runnin' off ain't helpin' 'im none. He's gotta know he's diggin' 'is own grave."

"Maybe that's just it. He knows he screwed up so bad he just doesn't give a damn," Buck watched the Southerner as he once again stood in line, this time with two cups of coffee. Buck let a small smile lift his mustache, least he knows I'm here, "maybe he really did just forget?"

"Maybe, but it don't make sense."

Buck nodded in agreement. "Listen he's comin' back, I gotta go."

Ezra walked up to the car just as Buck pocketed his phone. Wilmington smiled as he took the proffered coffee, "Vin say's Hi."

Ezra stared pointedly at the Ladies' Man for a moment and disappeared inside the car.

~~~~~~~~~~

I don't know where I'm running now,

I'm just running on…

Buck yawned as Standish wove the black Jaguar down rural back streets. Trees hung over the road, their entwining canopies neatly covered the avenue giving them a sense of traveling through a tunnel.

No yellow lines dotted the rural routes they traveled down. Rundown farms sat next to weed choked fields. Empty homes stood gutted and abandoned next to overgrown dirt driveways.

Standish continued to drive staring out the window as they moved. He chose his route without much thought. Buck watched as the undercover agent made Lefts and Rights leaving one unnamed road for another. They passed through a small town. A wooden sign welcomed them to Eimida, home of the Wild Cats and 1991 girls state Volleyball champions. Eimida's population of 200 had grown recently to 201. The one had been hand painted over the zero.

Buck gazed out the window at the Ace Hardware store and feed store that stood just next to the grain elevators and across the street from Al's automotive.

Ezra guided the Jaguar through the town, past the tiny Post Office and small High School and Elementary school that shared the same property, housing four double wide trailers and a small gravel track.

Buck couldn't help but wonder how these kids ever escaped from here…or if they even had a notion that something large waited for them outside their little town.

His thoughts came back as Standish turned off yet another unnamed street and down a dirt lane. He slowed the Jaguar rolling it to a stop, its tires crunching on the oiled dirt road.

Standish unsnapped his seat belt and opened his door. He turned and stared at Buck, "You're not welcomed to come along."

The only words he had spoken since leaving Denver.

The man looked like Hell.

Buck watched as Standish slipped into his suit coat and trudged up a small tree lined hill.

Once he disappeared over the top Buck got out and followed.

The late morning sun had yet to fight its way through the canopy of trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ezra did not turn when Buck stood beside him. He did not bother acknowledging the man standing beside him. Instead, the Southerner kept his attention on the large knot of people a half acre away standing around a grave site. Standish kept within the morning shadows, his sun glasses on and his attention riveted to the gathering crowd.

The Reverend's words whispered on the breeze. The words of comfort seemed lost on the two men that stood so far apart from the gathered crowd. The breeze gently lifted strands of hair and laid them out of place. The words offered condolences and hope to the family and friends gathered around the coffin and the open hole.

Buck scrutinized the crowd trying to learn something from the mourners.

When the words were finished and the final goodbyes said people began to drift away.

As someone drifted back to their car, supporting the thin frail shoulders of an aged woman, they looked back over their shoulder. Not to spy the grave one last time but to spot the distant pair of mourners obscured in the shadows of a large Sycamore.

The man turned forward and continued to guide his elderly charge to the waiting cars.

After a few minutes, the people were gone and the small crew that had stood invisible in the background came forward to finally lay the dead to rest.

Standish seemed to catch his breath and then move. He headed down toward the grave. Buck followed a step behind giving the man his space but offering his support.

The grave had no marker yet. The crew stopped their work to watch the two new comers. One looked intently at Standish, openly scrutinizing the agent. The old man finally nodded as if coming to a decision. He stared squarely at the southerner and quietly spoke, "Ya shouldn'ta come back here son, Ole John is gone and ain't no one left here to welcome ya back."

Buck studied the old man that spoke the soft words. There was no anger in the assertion, only disappointment. Sorrow shone in the tired eyes of the worn man.

Ezra simply nodded. He squatted down next to the fresh pile of dirt and gathered up a handful. He stood and tossed the dirt into the grave on top of the shiny wooden coffin.

"Nice to see you too Mr. Cunningham," Ezra turned and headed up the hill, back toward his Jaguar.

"It's Sam, son, always been Sam," The old codger corrected, for what Buck figured to be a life time, "….ya shoulda stayed…never shoulda left…broke their hearts boy, 'n not jist theirs…" Sam spoke quietly to himself shaking his head in grief.

Wilmington listened to the aged grave digger watching the retreating back of his friend. Buck turned to Sam Cunningham and nodded his 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' in one motion. He followed the undercover agent back to the car.

~~~~~~~~

"Who was it?" Buck asked knowing that he would gain no answers. The silence no longer gnawed him. Least now the reason for leaving Denver was excusable. He had something to defend Ezra with when it came time to face Chris, the Judge and those that sought to hang Standish.

Ezra drove back through the small town and stopped at the only motel in the area.

"We stayin' here?" Buck leaned forward and peered up at the neon sign with the blinking arrow and the small Vacancy sign that for some reason refused to light up the C's.

Standish again remained silent and exited the car dragging a small over night bag from the floor of the back seat.

Eimida apparently had enough visitors to warrant a motel. A baby blue Motel that offered cable, “Air 'onditioning and long distan e service.” The 'C' remained stubborn and unlit.

Wilmington sighed and exited the car, "Eh Ez, I don't have any stuff with me."

Standish did not acknowledge him and continued to walk toward the 'offi e'. The 'C' absent.

Buck followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Standish dumped his bag on the bed and handed Wilmington a key. With that, Ezra left the room heading out onto the second story wooden porch and toward the stairs.

Buck watched him go.

The sun hung low in the sky. Night would be coming fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I look around for the friends that I used to turn

to pull me through

Buck heard the fight long before he walked through the front door of "Bobbie's Bar". The Budweiser sign lit up just fine but the Coors read 'oors'. The 'C' seemed defiant.

Wilmington entered the small one room bar into a brawl.

Except it wasn't much of a fight. More like an 'education'. Four against one if Buck was willing to count the young man standing behind the two alternating punches on the solitary figure before them. The fourth held up their opponent to keep the target from melting to the floor.

Wilmington found his ire rising. He tried ignored the uproar, wanted to gauge the situation before rushing madly into a fray. It was a technique he had been trying to teach JD…perhaps he would test it out. Buck just wanted to find Standish before the man found any more trouble.

Wilmington's hunch about the bar proved accurate. He recognized the lone 'one' supported and trapped by the others. Buck quickly eyed the room searching for anything that might sway the odds into his favor.

Shit.

"Ya shouldna come back, ya got some nerve walkin' into this town…." A punch to the midsection punctuated the loathing and disgust in the attacker's voice.

Standish responded by doubling up and groaning. Fat droplets of blood hit the dusty floor with a soft splat. He spit a little trying to free his mouth of the congealing coppery taste that pooled readily in his mouth. Ezra slowly straightened and smiled. Rusty bloody saliva strung across his front teeth and dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Dimples breached his cheeks, as blood ran down his jaw from his mouth and nose.

Dumb bastard, Buck thought as he walked his way around the crowd trying to size up the situation and get Ezra out of here with both their skins still intact.

The second man stepped forward and struck Standish's cheek snapping the undercover agent's head back and toward the right. The dimpled smile faded as the head lolled toward his chest. Blood streamed onto his wrinkled disheveled white shirt. Like a punch drunk boxer he lifted his chin and smiled again.

Stupid, stupid bastard….

Buck lowered his hand and unsnapped the safety clip on his service piece. He looked to the front door vainly hoping to see Chris and the others storm in and save the day.

The door remained closed. Wilmington sighed, where were they others when he needed them? They're always around when he seemed to make a fool of himself but never there when he really needed them. Figures….Perhaps he would try the Chris Larabee technique of few words and a lot of bad attitude.

A third punch lashed out catching Standish at the corner of his eye. His knees sagged slightly as his head whipped around and then fell to his chest. It rested there for a bit lolling back and forth like a pendulum on a short chain. Blood dripped onto the floor and his once white shirt. After a moment, he raised his head, chuckling in his best satiric manner and met his assailants head on.

The rolling sound of his gurgling humor grated on already tight nerves. The man knew how to provoke and irritate people without uttering a word.

Dumb, stupid, bastard……

"Federal Agent," Buck spoke up flashing his badge. Heads turned and stared at him, "Let ‘im go." Wilmington kept his hand on the holstered Sig and stared at whom he thought to be the ring leader.

"Ain't none of yer concern Mister….this here is our brother."

Buck raised his eye brow in some disbelief.

" 'Isn't his concern', William….'isn't his concern'…" Ezra mumbled out correcting the speech of the one who had just hit him.

A chorus of "Shut up Ezra," rang from a series of different sources.

"Ya'll a friend of his?" Three different people took menacing steps toward Wilmington. Buck started pulling his gun.

"You boys don't want to inspire the ire of one Mr. Larabee." Ezra lisped softly. What was Mr. Wilmington doing here? Doesn't the man know how to stay out of trouble?

Six men turned from Wilmington to look to Ezra and then back to Wilmington.

"Yer name Larabee?"

"No, he's Wilmington," Ezra breathed out again, "Larabee is the unholy bastard who'll kill you if you lay a hand on Mr. Wilmington there."

"You're fucked up Standish. Ya know that?" One of the men uttered and backhanded the undercover agent into silence.

"Back away from him," Buck hissed out. He took a step forward reaching out instinctively to protect one of his teammates.

Standish's knees sagged again and the person holding him let him crumble to the floor.

"You boys just back away from him and we'll call it even," Buck forced a warning smile, as he stepped forward and reached down for Standish.

"I'm thinkin' a friend of his is likely to be scum too," a blonde spoke up and placed himself between Wilmington and the downed agent.

Buck started reaching for his gun as a, 'damn it all' flashed through his brain. Six men suddenly turned to eight and bodies flew at him from all over. Wilmington went down swinging, all the while cussing Standish and his ability to find trouble.

Buck gave as good as he got. Bodies were thrown backwards and to the side. Wherever he tossed a punch, Buck hit a body. A few cries of pain were heard, as fists, knees and elbows pummeled malleable targets.

Unfortunately numbers were not on Buck's side. He soon found himself in a similar position as the undercover agent…. bleeding on a dusty floor in a no name bar in a back water town. Buck did notice that he was within a few inches of Standish. Both men stared at one another for a brief second.

Chris was going to kill them.

Standish's one open eye closed and blood continued to run from his nose. Buck was here he would take care of things.

The bar door opened and closed again. The fist and feet had paused in their torrent of abuse just moments before as people caught their breath. Buck uncurled just enough to try and understand the sudden change in his current position.

"Good Lord boys what 'ave you done?" The same aged woman from the graveside strode into the bar.

Buck painfully pushed himself to all fours and struggled to unsteady feet using a nearby table for balance. The old lady grabbed his upper arm and with strength that did not match her stature, helped him to his feet.

Wilmington groaned and swayed slightly. A petite but firm hand steadied him at the small of his back.

"I'm a Federal Agent ma'am," Buck whispered, trying to keep his eyes on the now eight men that stood somewhat together. Even in dim light of the smoky bar, Buck could make out the familiar characteristics. The 'boys' could have been sets of twins. "I'm just here to get my partner we'll be gone from here by morning."

"Ain't good enough…" someone snarled from the shadows.

"Seamus, you keep that trap of yers shut, what would yer father think?" the old woman's voice cracked at the mention of her husband. "He's not even cold in his grave and you're already disgracing his memory."

Tension went up a notch.

"Don't do this ma," Another pleaded from the shadows, the sound of grief heavy in the words.

"Ma'am I just want to git Ezra and git ‘im back to the motel…we'll be gone by sun up." Buck tried again, never taking his eyes off the eight shadows that seemed to stretch into the dark reaches of the room. He wasn't sure if he could let go of the table just yet to reach Standish, let alone some how get him to the motel just across the parking lot.

"Ezra?" The shocked whisper from the old woman had Buck furrowing his brow. "Little Ezra Standish?" There was silence and then a soft weeping, "my God he came?….the boy came?" Tears could be heard in her voice.

"He don't have no right to come back here ma, none at all….he left us remember? Run out on us and never once contacted us again….ain't once called or wrote to let you and Dad know iffen he was alright or not…."

"You stop it Tommy, stop it this instant," anger washed away the old woman's tears as she stepped forward past Buck. She stared at the semi conscious man laying partially on his midsection on the sand marred wood floor.

"My God is that him?" She brought her hand to her mouth and then knelt slowly beside the crumpled agent. "Lord has he grown."

"He don't deserve none of yer time ma."

"One more word out of you Patrick and I'll tan yer hide, that isn't any way to talk about yer brother."

"He ain't our brother ma."

"Never was." Another voice chimed from the dark shadows.

"Peter and Christopher, so help me God, as I live and breathe I'll wash yer mouths out till your eyes bubble…He might not be blood kin but we raised him as if he were."

"He run out on you and Dad…and us too, he took off and never said a word as to why…"

The old lady hesitantly reached out a gnarled hand to rest on the side of Standish's head. "I know he did Jimmy, I know he ran off, but it had to be for a good reason, ya father never stopped lovin' him even after all these years, and neither 'ave I."

"Ma'am, if you don't mind I'll just git Ezra back to the motel," Buck stepped forward holding onto his midsection, hoping he could rouse Standish to enough of a conscious state to get him on his feet and out the door.

"You next door, young man?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Steven, you and Jimmy give him a hand," The old woman brushed a few bloody strands of hair from a cut about Standish's eyes.

"Ohh ma," one of the 'boys' started to complain.

"It's ok Ma'am I can handle him."

"Jimmy, you shut your whining mouth and help this gentleman or I'll give you something to whine about."

Snickers were heard around the room.

The door to the bar opened yet again. A sheriff and two deputies strode through the door. Buck swore under his breath.

Ezra did not need any more negative attention from law enforcement.

"Katie?" The big sheriff spoke as he walked deeper into the room, "you and the boys alright?"

"Hello Kenneth," the old woman climbed to her feet with the aid of one of her sons. "Thank you so much for coming to John's funeral…he would have appreciated it."

"Nothin' he wouldn't have done for me," The sheriff stepped up next to Buck. The big man looked Wilmington up and down and then gazed down at the prone agent on the floor. He let out a low whistle. "You boys don't waste any time do ya?"

Buck couldn't help but think the Sheriff was speaking of him and Ezra and not the seven or eight shadows of over grown beef and corn fed replicas that populated the bar.

Wilmington could feel the deputies close in behind him. He sighed. Just what he needed, a small time sheriff with a big attitude.

"There a problem here boys?"

Though he spoke in the plural, Buck had the distinct impression he was being singled out.

"Nope Sheriff, just here to pick up a friend and head back to the motel…we'll be gone by sun up."

"You Wilmington?" The Sheriff hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and stood hipshot as if anticipating a creative answer.

Buck did a double take and stared hard at the sheriff, "How'd you know?"

"Someone named Larabee just got done chewin' my ass about some shit I don't understand. But he said to tell ya that they figured it out and to take yer time but be damn sure to get that rebel son of a bitch home."

"Yeah that would be Chris." Buck couldn't help but chuckle. It burned his ribs. "How'd he know we were here?"

"Well son, in case you haven't notice Eimida isn't the biggest thing on the map."

"Hell Sheriff we ain't even on the map," This came from the silhouette that sat on the bar swinging his legs and sipping from a long neck.

"Pete, ya best watch yer Gawd damn language around ya mother and shut the hell up when I'm talkin' business."

"Weren't me Sheriff it was Tommy."

"Shut up, Tommy." Another voice rang out.

The sheriff ignored the voices in the shadows and faced Wilmington, "When a black Jaguar pulls up in front of Maise's Motel it's hard not to notice it. I ran the plates." The sheriff paused and stepped forward and scrutinized the man still curled on the floor. "So he really came back…too bad it had to take this to get him here." The big man pulled his gaze from the now groaning undercover agent to the shadowed faces that surrounded him.

"He git a chance to say why he left, or did you boys decide to give ‘im his welcome home present first?"

Silence met the statement.

Standish moaned again and rolled onto his hands and knees.

The sheriff sighed and shook his head. He bent down and with one hand lifted the undercover agent to wobbly feet. "On yer feet son… can't have ya layin' on the floor of Bobbie's like old Dimmer, ya been raised better than that." Standish sagged in his grasp.

"You in there son?" He gave Ezra's arm a shake, jostling the undercover agent. "You know boy, you and I have unfinished business about some broken windows and an outstanding debt."

Ezra merely groaned as he tripped and staggered, falling into a booth under the guidance of the sheriff.

Buck limped behind them aided by Katie.

"Cindy bring us a bottle of Jack if you would please and some ice in a pair of towels." The Sheriff pushed Ezra all the way into the booth and sat on the outside. Buck let Katie in his side and then sat on the edge facing the sheriff.

A bottle of whiskey, three glasses and two hand towels full of chopped ice suddenly appeared on the table.

"Here son put this against ya eye," The Sheriff fit the bundled ice into Standish's hand and then raised it to his swelling eye. "I would have thought that after all this time you would learn to quit walking into trouble." The sheriff shook his head in mock disappointment and then looked across the table at Buck, "been causing trouble since the first day he turned up here…boy just attracts it I guess."

Buck dabbed at his bloody lip and squinted his eyes trying to focus. "Guess some things don't change…you think he's bad you should see two of our buddies…they're trouble waiting to happen."

Ezra grumbled out something but the sheriff just pushed a shot of whisky at him.

The sheriff then did the same for Buck. "Could explain Larabee's temper. Was in the Marine Corps myself for Fifteen years and I've never heard anything like him before."

"Yeah well Chris's bin under a lot of pressure lately. He say anything else?"

"Nope just that they got it figured and the Judge is cooling off some…. and to git yer asses back home...He'd take care of the rest."

"We'll be heading back first thing in the morning."

"How long have you known ‘im Mr. Wilmington?" Katie spoke softly. She tentatively reach forward and rested an arthritic hand on Standish's arm. Ezra merely laid his head on the table uncaring of the dried bottle rings and the build up tacky residue.

"Few years ma'am."

"He ran away one night, we never heard from him again until tonight…" Katie sighed closing her eyes. "John always thought there was a reason for why he just up and ran away….he had seemed so happy with us," She gripped Standish's forearm, "I just never saw it coming," She paused and looked up at Buck, "he should have at least called or maybe wrote… anything to let us know he was alright."

The sheriff spoke giving the older lady a chance to regain her composure, " John and the boys crawled all over this area lookin' for ‘im. They feared the worst of course. They spent, I don't know how many days, hell Months looking for him. Put posters up, ads in the newspaper, hell they stopped just short of going on the TV…but seein' that the boy weren't really theirs, they were afraid that the Authorities would send him back to that bastard of an Uncle of his..." The sheriff paused sipping from his shot glass and then rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. "They got a letter from his mother 'bout 6 or 7 months after he had disappeared," The Sheriff looked to John's wife. She seemed frail for the first time since he had known her. " The boy's mother had sent them a check as compensation for caring for the kid." The sheriff inclined his head to the older woman in a show of respect, "Katie and John didn't have the heart to take it. They coulda used it, but they burned it." The sheriff poured another round of whiskey, "A few years after that Maude wrote again searching for the boy…she had heard he had run away again from where ever it was she had left him." The sheriff stared hard at the man he knew as a boy and then back to the ATF agent who sat across from him, "John and Katie and the rest of us feared it might've been the same bastard that had originally driven the boy to them…us…always held out hope he'd come back…" The sheriff tossed back a second whisky, "Hell, John never really stopped looking for ‘im, he criss-crossed this country in that old Peter Built of his, long hauling always keepin' his eye out for the boy." Ken shook his head, it seemed such a tragic waste.

Buck furrowed his brow and leaned back in the Naugahyde seat. Holding his own ice towel to his swelling lip, he asked, "Don't know nothing about any uncle, but I do know Maude, thing is, he turned out ok, really wasn't any reason to explain how that happened...that is until coming here."

Katie smiled and patted Buck's upper arm as if to say thank you.

"Katie, I think its best if we get these boys back to their motel room and let them get some rest."

"Surely Ezra and Mr. Wilmington can stay with us."

"I think Katie it might be easier on everyone if they go back to their motel." The sheriff stared at the new widow hoping to make her understand.

With a resigned sigh, she nodded her agreement.

The sheriff offered a small smile in gratitude and nodded to his two deputies. The three walked the two ATF agents across the parking lot to Maize's Motel and 'free Air onditioning and HBO'.

"I'll stop by in the morning and take you out to John and Katie's for breakfast."

Buck was about to protest when the Sheriff held up his hand, "It's the least you can do," the big man stared at the unconscious agent sprawled across the bed, "Right or wrong, he opened some deep wounds coming back here."

Buck sat on the corner of his bed and stared at Ezra and then the sheriff, he simply nodded agreeing with just about everything the big man had to say.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone I know, Everywhere I go

People need some reason to believe…

Buck drove the Jag. Occasionally he stole a glance at Standish who slept reclining in the passenger seat. The back seat was loaded with casseroles and bake good items left over and overflow from well wishers for Katie O'Donahue and her family. Apparently John O'Donahue was a hard working man that was loved by his friends and respected by his enemies.

Buck watched the signs for the exit that would lead him to Interstate 70. He glanced back down to Standish.

Ezra had lost a father figure again. Buck knew it had hurt.

~~~~~~~

Running on- running blind

He had seen it in the Southerner's eyes when Katie pulled out the photo album to show Buck the few precious years that a little boy, had stowed away in their old barn and stole pies to 'subsist on'. She showed pictures of a mischievous child who had originally thought someone would blame one of the many children that lived within the walls of their small modified double wide trailer, for the thievery. As Buck watched Katie flip through the years when nine children had lived in her home, Ezra had cautiously followed the other eight now grown children through the woods to an old swimming hole, down to the old tire swing, and the infamous Love Shack. Grandchildren and daughter-in-laws filtered in and out of the house leaving the stranger and 'mum' to sit alone on the sagging couch with a picture book before them.

By the time the 'boys' had all returned, Buck stared at his battered and bruised friend and felt some of Katie's and her family's anger and frustration. Why had Ezra run away from them? Why had he disappeared from their lives after living with them for so long?

When the 'boys' sat down in the living room to toast their father and remember the things they loved about him most, they shared a bottle of whiskey and then two. Nine grown boys and whisky relived the years they spent together under one roof and the protection of their father.

Buck and Katie had moved, listening from the comfort of the tiny kitchen. Near the end of the day and toward the bottom of the second bottle someone had asked the inevitable question.

Why had Ezra run away? What was so bad about living with them that he had left behind everything they had given him and run off?

In the stretch of silence that ensued, Buck had the urge to interrupt, to protect his friend from the memories he had not been shared with anyone until this point. Wilmington was stayed by the simple shattered look of an old lady who had dedicated her life to her husband and sons. She had one son leave her, a boy not even hers, though she loved him as if he was one of her own.

Buck figured she deserved something.

The silence had stretched until the dense honey drawl voice of his team mate started speaking. The alcohol had thickened his accent to the point that the heavy drawl matched the men that sat with him in the other room, whisky had slowed his speech until it drew itself out like hot gum stuck to a metal seat. In the end, he answered the question that a family had asked for more than a decade if not two.

He described the night with very few words but somehow conveyed a young boy's terror. He described a man that had haunted his short life, saw him standing in the very kitchen in which Buck and Katie now sat. He described how this man, his guardian, appointed to him by a relative, had threatened the family, the boys, the parents and even the dogs of this tiny household.

In a quiet, shame filled voice, Standish spoke of a broken glass milk bottle that he had dropped when faced with this shadow of a man in the home that had promised him safety. He remember the glass mingling with milk and worrying about Ruger, the family's yellow hunting lab, cutting his feet and tongue on the glass in his haste to lap up the milk when he snuck into the house in the mornings. Ezra spoke of the rendezvous that he had promised the man he would make the next morning in order to spare the family this man's monstrous brutality.

In the end Ezra had run. An eleven year old had run from a living nightmare into the night to protect a family. He had run, had waited at the rendezvous sight and hid in the bushes. Waiting…waiting for the man to arrive. He waited past the appointed time and then he ran. Ran. And ran. And ran. He made his way to the Mississippi and then up North. In the bustling town of Memphis, he had lived until he found his mother.

They moved to England to live with her new husband. In the end, mother and son had stayed in Europe for three years and two step fathers before returning to the states.

He had wanted to come back home, back to this place, had even packed a bag once and ran away from his mother. But he feared the man in the shadows would return and seek vengeance on the family so each time he unpacked his meager belongings and stayed away.

Katie had held her hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her face. Buck rose from his chair and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth as she grieved for her husband and for the fear that had gripped the soul of one so young while in the protection of her home. She cried great silent sobs shaking her head in denial, wishing she could turn back the clock, wishing she could have her husband by her side, wishing she could have stood in her darkened kitchen so long ago and protected a frightened child.

She cried because that fateful night, her husband and the Sheriff had run into that monster, that man in the shadows, and had pursued him into the swamp. They had chased him into the twisted thick maze of a bayou and had watched silently as he fell violently to one of nature's greatest predators. The man had never reached the parking lot behind the old Baptist church because he had no longer lived.

Buck held her tight and quietly, promised her it would be alright. He closed his eyes as his chest tightened in grief for this family.

~~~~~~~

I don't know about anyone but me,

If it takes all night, that'll be all right

If I can get you to smile before I leave.

Wilmington pulled himself out of the reverie and hit the blinker as he made the switch to I-70 North, they would be home tonight if they pushed hard.

Buck eyed the sleeping man beside him. The whisky, sleepless nights and hard earned bruises had taken their toll. Buck would stop in a few hours. Chris and the others would understand. They would not know the details but they would understand the need to cover and protect wounds from prying eyes, even eyes of friends and family.

They would understand because all of them one time or another had suffered losses alone.

Buck leaned back in the leather seat and eyed the road. This time maybe he and the others would break the pattern that seemed to haunt him and his teammates. Maybe this time no one would mourn alone or be allowed to isolate themselves. Buck shifted his gaze to Standish. He had not moved for the past hour. Wilmington vowed to stick with Ezra just as he had done with Chris. Buck chuckled and reached forward turning up the volume on the radio. Ezra didn't stand a chance of hiding, there were at least four or perhaps five other men who would be willing to help Buck.

The black Jaguar with light tan leather anterior sped down the interstate disappearing into the pink glare of a setting sun.

The end.

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels

I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy

this life feels….

I look around for the friends that I used to turn to

Pull me through

Looking into their eyes I see them running too…

Running on…..running on empty

Running on…..Running blind

Running on…..Running into the sun

But I'm running behind.

Jackson Browne "Running on Empty"

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