Title: Linear B 2 - The Response

Blair looked up from his coffee as his partner came in the door. Today had been one of those days. They'd been chasing a robber who'd attempted to hold up the convenience store they were in, and he'd led them on a merry chase indeed...over the fences, down the alleys, through shops, until they had finally cornered him and Jim had brought the man down with a flying tackle. Of course, that flying tackle landed both Jim and the burglar in a puddle of what Blair could only describe in his report as "the most noxious smelling combination of liquids and solids he'd ever had the misfortune to smell."

He and Jim had changed into the spare clothes they kept in their lockers, and then started into their paper work. At which time, they had then had the misfortune of being the only ones in the bullpen when another call came in. So Simon sent them out. They dragged back in three hours later, covered in manure, slime, blood, and various other animal by-products.

Simon looked up, and immediately held his nose. "What the hell happened to you two?"

"You remember that call you sent us out on."

"Yeah. So?"

"So the jerk was threatening his wife and family with a handgun," Blair said tiredly.

"OK. Go on."

"Well, when he saw us, he jumped into his car and took off. While Blair checked on the family, I took out after him in the truck. He made a circle of about five blocks and drove by his house again. Blair had gotten everyone into the house and talking to the uniformed officers, and was outside contacting me by cell."

"OK...but that still doesn't explain why you look and smell like a reject from a Grade B slasher flick."

"Just wait," Blair said. "It gets better."

"When he saw Sandburg, he took a pot shot at him. Logically enough, Sandburg returned fire, shooting out one of his tires. The guy managed to bring the car to a semi controlled stop, jumped out of the car, waved his weapon around, took another shot at Sandburg, and yelled, "You'll never take me alive, coppers!"." Jim looked over at Simon. "I've NEVER heard anyone use that old corny line!" He sighed. "So, he took off...and away we go again on another tour of the nastiest places around."

Blair looked over at Simon and held up a hand to stop his next question. "Simon, do you remember the address for that call?"

"Yeah. Over near the meat packing...plant...oh, no! He didn't!"

"He did. Turns out he had worked there until this morning, when he'd gotten fired. It seems he'd been talking kinda crazy to his wife about getting back at them for firing him."

"He went postal?" Simon sighed.

"He went postal," Blair agreed. "So, Jim's in the lead. This guy takes a path down an alley that leads directly into the area where they were slaughtering the animals. The amount of blood and other animal by-products in that area of the plant is astounding...and messy...and smelly...not to mention slippery. We fell several times. Dial it down, Jim."

"I'm trying, but I'm gonna have to get out of this stuff soon. I can't stand it anymore."

"I know." Blair looked sympathetically at his partner. "Anyway, he lead us through every dirty, smelly, stinky part of that plant and then he wound up in front of where they were rendering the carcasses. Full of the internal organs and so forth. They'd already been skinned by that time and were hanging by one leg. So, he's running, looking over his shoulder at us and the uniforms chasing him, and he barrels right into one of the biggest men I've ever seen in my life...a Mr. Paris. Now, Mr. Paris would have made two of you, Simon, maybe not in height, but definitely in weight."

"He was probably 7 feet, maybe 7 and a half feet tall, Simon. He was a butcher on the line, wearing an apron, covered in blood up to his shoulders, with splatters of blood all over his face and his cap, and wielding the longest butcher knife I've ever seen." Jim grinned.

Blair giggled. "Oh, yeah. He didn't even really budge when our perp ran into him...or at least not much, but the perp...."

"Yeah," Jim grinned. "Knocked that schmuck flat on his keister. His gun went flying. That guy must have bounced back about 3 feet from this big guy."

"Who then turned, looked down at the perp, snarled when he saw who it was, and yelled, "Are you seriously trying to piss me off here, Bridgewater? I told you the last time that you started anything that
I was going to be the one to finish it! And then HE took out after the jerk."

"He laid down the knife, and took out after our guy, and, you know, for a big guy, he could really move. Thank God he was just after him with his bare hands. He'd covered the few feet between him and the perp in two steps, reached down a hand the size of a small ham, grabbed Bridgewater by the collar, picked him up, and started shaking him...like a terrier shakes a rat."

Jim took up the tale. "At that point, we moved in, and talked Mr. Paris into giving Bridgewater to us. Turns out that Bridgewater was a man of very little brains."

"And, by the time Mr. Paris finished with him, little to no consciousness. Jim, you've got to stop reading the little girl down the hall Winnie the Pooh," Blair observed quietly. "Next time we baby sit, we'll ask her if we can read her something else, OK?"

Jim blushed...or at least Simon thought he blushed. He couldn't tell underneath all the muck and everything else covering his two detectives.

Blair looked over at Simon. "Anyway, it seems that Bridgewater was a bit of a bully. He was a big man who enjoyed taking out his anger on some of the smaller men he worked with. But, even though Mr. Paris wasn't a violent man, he wasn't one to take that...from anyone. One of the other workers there told us, when we asked, if Bridgewater had been fighting with Mr. Paris.

"The guy said, 'Not until the third time Bridgewater tried picking on him and a couple of the guys on the line.' He said that, at that time, Mr. Paris reached down, picked him up by the back of the collar and his belt, and carried him away from the rendering line. Told him he would be glad to meet him after work, just name the place, but that work wasn't the place for this kind of shit. The supervisor had seen what had happened, and happened to agree. They put Bridgewater on immediate 10 day suspension without pay, and told him that, if it happened again, he'd be fired."

Jim looked up. "According to the other workers...it happened again this morning...when he tried to pick a fight with two of the supervisors...and got his butt fired. Which was what started this whole mess to begin with. Bridgewater is now down in holding, in a cell by himself. The other prisoners threatened to kill him and stuff him down the toilet if they put him in with them." He looked down at his clothes. "I've got to get out of this stuff, Simon...but I've used up my only spare clothes here...except for my gym shorts."

Simon looked around his still bare bullpen. "I can't really let both of you go right now, Jim. At least not until someone else gets back from their calls or out of court. I've got a couple of T-shirts I could lend you to go with the gym shorts. Sandburg, you go downstairs and take a shower. Ellison, you take your smelly self
home, get showered and changed, and come back here with another set of clothes for Sandburg. Then you can finish the paperwork up on this perp. By that time, we should have the second shift in."

"OK, Simon. See you later, Chief."

"OK, Jim. Be careful. Call me if you need to, OK?"

Jim nodded and left, being given a wide berth by everyone in the hall. Blair looked down at his clothes, and sighed. "Hey, Simon, you think the department would reimburse me for a new pair of shoes. I think these are ruined." He looked ruefully up at Simon and sighed. "Again...two pairs of shoes in one day. It seems like we
can't win."

"Go take a shower, Sandburg. Get that...SHIT...out of my bullpen."

"Right, Captain," and Blair headed down to the locker room and the showers. Like Jim, Blair also had people giving him a wide berth. One even refused to get on the elevator with him.

*******

Blair looked up as his partner dropped a bundle of clothes on his desk. "Clean clothes, Chief, and another pair of shoes."

"Thanks, Jim." Blair grabbed the clothes and headed for the men's restroom. He put the clothes on the sink and immediately began stripping out of the gym clothes. He couldn't wait to get out of the gym clothes. They weren't the warmest things in the world.

Jim was standing near the door, keeping a watch out for other persons coming in the door. "I'll doctor those cuts once you get on a few more clothes. I took care of mine at the loft."

"OK, Jim, thanks. Took care of a lot of them in the locker room, but...wasn't able to get to some of them. Hopefully the shampooing and soap suds helped to get most of them clean."

"Yeah. We'll keep a close eye on them. With what we were slipping, sliding, and falling in, there's no telling what we might have picked up," Jim said sourly.

"Jim, it'll be all right. If they look like they're starting to get infected, we'll go to the department doctor for additional treatment." Blair caught his eyes in the mirror. "Got me?"

"Yeah, Chief."

Blair quickly buttoned up the shirt over his clean t-shirt and buttoned the sleeves.

"Oh, by the way, Chief, I checked the mail. You've got a letter from Naomi waiting for you at home...and one I brought with me. It's…not from anyone I know. A Dr. Adam Pierson?" Jim held out the letter. "I brought it with me since I wasn't sure if it was important or not."

"Hmmmm...I don't know an Adam Pierson either, although the name sounds familiar. Might be from one of my old journals." Blair dried his hands and took the letter. Carefully popping the sealing wax on the back flap, Blair pulled out a letter on very expensive writing paper and began reading.

"Who is he, Chief?"

"What? Oh, you remember the letter I forwarded for Rupert Giles to Mr. St. Germaine?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this is from a friend of his. Seems Mr. St. Germaine is out of the country, and this man is handling his affairs for him while he's gone." He handed the letter over to Jim and began to gather up his clothes and things while Jim read the letter.

The hand was old fashioned and elegant, yet quite easy to read.

To: Dr. Blair Sandburg
852 Prospect Ave, Apt. 307
Cascade, WA

From: Dr. Adam Pierson
1920 Washington St., Apt. 110
Seacouver, WA

Dear Dr. Sandburg,

Your letter to M. le Comte de St. Germaine has been forwarded to me as he is out of the country at this time. As the person delegated to handle his affairs in this country while he is gone, I took the liberty of opening your letter. I was very surprised to see that he had taught you that particular language.

As I understand from your letter, the situation might be considered urgent. In a case like this, I am empowered to authorize the offer of a place for the use of his former employee and any family involved
at his property in the mountains in Colorado. I have enclosed a letter to the lady in question giving her the particulars and my name, address, and phone number, should she choose to avail herself of their use. In the meantime, I will forward the lady's letter unopened to the area of France that he and Madeleine are visiting before returning home from an expedition to Egypt.

If I can be of any service to you in any other way, please feel free to contact me at the above address.

Sincerely,
Adam Pierson, Ph. D

"Sounds like that lady down in Sunnydale may be getting a bit of help from this guy, Chief. That's good."

"Yeah...it is." Blair took the letter back. "I'm glad I've still got Rupert's address. I'll forward this letter to him." He caressed the paper softly. "I almost wish I could keep both of them. The paper's soooo nice." He smelled his letter and rubbed it again gently as they were walking out the door.

Smiling, "Chief, you've got to curb this jones you have for paper," Jim said as they walked back into the bullpen. "It's going to get you into trouble one of these days."

Blair sighed. "Yeah, I know...but...this is the good stuff. The stuff that's over a dollar a sheet...the GOOOD stuff."

Simon looked up as Jim said, "Like I said, this addiction to paper has got to be curbed. You cannot afford to buy that stuff. I don't know too many people who can."

Blair sat down at his desk, reached into one of his backpack pockets and pulled out an envelope. He placed the folded letter sealed with a blob of sealing wax into the new envelope. Then he called up his contact list on his computer and wrote Rupert Giles' name and address on the letter. "Got a stamp, Jim? I figure we can drop it off at the post office on the way home."

"Yeah." Jim reached into his wallet and pulled out a stamp. "That's my last one, Chief. We'll need to get some more while we're mailing these."

"OK...I've got a bit of cash, Jim. Want to pick up take out? Cause I just don't feel like cooking when I get home."

"Sure. How much of the paperwork is left to do?"

"Not much." Blair closed down his contact list and looked over what was up on the screen, then hit the print button. "In fact, there's not anything left to do," as he handed the reports to Jim for his signature, "except sign them and give them to Simon. At which point, I think we should be able to go home so I can truly scrub the smell off me."

Simon sniffed. "You smell all right to me, Sandburg," he observed.

"You're not the one I'm worried about, Simon. Sentinels have a stronger sense of smell than you or I do." Blair smiled angelically at Simon, giving him puppy dog eyes at the same time.

Simon stared at him in horror. "Stop looking at me like that, Sandburg. Go! Get out of my bullpen! Don't come back until day after tomorrow! Out!" and he walked back into his office and slammed the door.

As they were walking out the door, Megan and Henri walked off the elevator. Megan looked like a drowned rat and Henri looked like he'd taken a bath in a garbage dump.

Blair and Jim looked over at the two. "What happened, Megan?"

She just shook her head. "Don't ask. It's been one of those days."

Blair and Jim looked at each other, nodded in unison, and said, "You can say that again!" and practically ran into the elevator when it opened. They wanted out of there before Simon could change his mind.

Simon walked out of his door and looked at the two bedraggled, smelly detectives, and sighed. "What happened?"

Megan looked at Henri, shrugged, and said, "Well, Simon, it's been one of those days. It all started when...."