Disclaimer:  Early Edition and its characters are the property of CBS Television and Sony  TriStar.  No infringement is intended, and there is certainly no money changing hands here.  This story is an act of homage to our favorite show and an offering to fans who just can't get enough of Gary & Co. in forty-four minutes a week.

Authors' note:  The beauty of fanfic is that writers can pick and choose which characters they want to play with.  While we don't harbor any ill will toward Erica or Henry Paget, they just didn't fit into this story.  Crumb, however, did.  Actually, he demanded that we give him something to do.  He was getting bored being locked up in the basement of McGinty's all these months.  He was glad to trade places with Erica and Henry, and we promise to throw them a few scraps while we all wait for the second, official return of Crumb.
 
 

"FREEDOM!!!"

"Quinn, what the HELL is the matter with you THIS TIME?  Get down off that table before I throw it and you right out the window!"

Gary froze halfway through the vestibule door.  He thought he'd seen it all tonight, but this--this took the cake.  Patrick Quinn, his face half--blue?-- was yelling into the empty bar, one fist in the air, as he stood atop a round table.  Crumb looked up from below, fists on his hips, a scowl that would normally stop traffic directed at the oblivious Patrick.

Who, Gary couldn't help but notice, was wearing a dress.

"What in the world is going on?"  Marissa emerged from the office as Gary, unobserved, tentatively stepped into the bar.  Crumb turned to her with an exasperated huff.

"Marissa, this kid is nuttier'n a fruitcake, you know that, don't you?  Not only that, but I think he's about as drunk as my Aunt Fanny was by the time she got around to putting her bourbon
balls into the oven!"

"Oh, no.  He wasn't bobbing for apples again, wasn't he?"

Apples? Gary wondered.  What did apples have to do with Patrick acting like even more of an idiot than usual?

"Not again, no," Crumb groused.  "The first effects haven't worn off yet. Either that, or he's just being his usual self.  I'm not sure I can tell the difference."

"Miss Clark!" Patrick called.  "You make a beautiful flapper, did I tell you that?  And I think we're just about through cleaning up--Mr. Hobson, you're back!"  Patrick caught sight of Gary, but as he whirled to greet him he lost his balance and toppled off the table and into Crumb.  The two of them went down in a jumbled heap, Crumb sputtering and cursing as they rolled once, twice, and then tried to untangle themselves.

"What happened?" Marissa asked anxiously.  "Patrick, are you hurt?"

"No worries, Miss Clark, I'm fine!"  Patrick jumped to his feet while Gary hurried over to help Crumb.

"Patrick, what is wrong with you?  You okay, Crumb?" Gary asked.

Fixing Gary with a baleful glare, Crumb snarled, "Do I look okay to you, Hobson?"

Gary took a good look at the man and had no luck at all stifling a smile.  Crumb's face and white shirt were splotched with bright blue makeup, what little hair he had was ruffled and standing on end, and all Gary could think of when he saw the expression on his face was that Crumb hadn't needed a costume after all--he made a perfect Oscar the Grouch.

"Would somebody please tell me what's going on?" Marissa demanded, the red, beaded fringe of her dress swaying impatiently as she made her way to the group in the middle of the room.

"Uh, Patrick, he, he took a little tumble here," Gary explained, and before she could tell him that she knew that much, he added, "And he took Crumb down with him. He kinda--" Gary choked back a chuckle--"smeared Crumb with all that makeup."

"Oh, dear.  Crumb, are you all right?"

"Yeah, he's just feeling a little blue," Patrick chortled, bouncing off with the broom to sweep the back corners.

Gary expected a growl, but the Oscar expression lightened when Crumb saw that Marissa was genuinely concerned.  "Yeah, yeah, I'll live.  But you two better get this loony outta here before I drop kick him into the dumpster."  Crumb stalked off toward the bar, where he grabbed a towel and swiped peevishly at his shirt and face.

Marissa turned toward Gary, her expression changing from bemused to serious as she lowered her voice.  "What about you, Gary, are you okay?  Where have you been all evening?"

He stole a glance at Crumb, who was ignoring all of them, then confided, "Well, you, you know how Halloweens are."  She nodded.  This was the third one since the paper started coming.  "Yeah, well, take that and multiply it by a Saturday night.  Not only did I have the kids who got hit crossing the street because they couldn't see out of their masks; not only did I have the junior high pranks that went wrong; I also had all the adults who didn't have to worry about going into work tomorrow out and about, going nuts, lighting bonfires..."

"I thought you smelled a little smokier than usual."  Marissa grinned.

"Yeah, well, let's just say we're lucky it wasn't a full moon."  Gary ran a hand through his hair and scanned the bar.  "Though, from the looks of these two, I'd say it might as well have been.  What happened, anyway?"

Marissa sighed.  The feather in her hat drooped to one side as she tilted her head.  "Some of Patrick's friends were here.  One of them spiked the apple bobbing bucket with vodka or Everclear or something, while Crumb and the rest of the staff were busy trying to keep the others from bothering the customers.  Then these 'friends' egged Patrick into joining the bobbing over and over again."  Frowning, Marissa added, "I think his friends were taking advantage of him.  They're even wilder than he is, and they didn't seem to care that they were putting his job in jeopardy.  Patrick didn't realize until he was halfway gone just what they had done, and, well, you know Patrick, Gary.  He just throws himself into things, he's so enthusiastic anyway, that by the time Crumb figured it out and threw the kids out Patrick was...well, you can see for yourself."

Yeah, Gary could see it all right.  Patrick was waltzing around the tables with the broom.  "Who--who the hell is he supposed to be, anyway?  I mean, why is he wearing that dress?"

Patrick stumbled over to the pair, whirling the broom around with one final flourish.  Gary had to grab Patrick's arm to keep him from careening into Marissa.  "It's not a dress, it's a kilt.  I'm William Wallace, the greatest Scotsman who ever lived!" Patrick crowed, and lifted the broom over his head.  "Are ye ready for a WAR?"

"Uh, no, Patrick, we're ready to close down the bar for the night, okay?"

"Crumb said they were all dressed like that," Marissa told Gary.  "It's some kind of theme."

"Braveheart!" Patrick exclaimed.  "Best movie ever!  FREEDOM!!!"

There was a pounding at the front door.

"We're closed!" Crumb bellowed.

"Come on out, Wallace!"

Gary turned to see a large group of young men, all dressed like Patrick, waving their arms and yelling wildly as they mingled on the sidewalk in front of the bar.  Patrick waved back, but called, "I have to finish up here!"  He swung around and managed to catch the back of Gary's head with the business end of the broom.  Gary took a step away, brushing the dirt and who knew what else out of his hair while Patrick's eyes widened.  "Oh, Mr. Hobson, I'm so sorry!"

"Patrick, why don't you take the rest of the evening off?" Gary suggested, clenching his teeth to keep from adding any expletives.  He was the owner, after all, he was supposed to be a professional.

"But--but you and Mr. Crumb need my help," Patrick protested.

"Not tonight, not this kind of help.  Go on."  Gary took the broom out of Patrick's hands and waved toward the door.  "Go."

A wide, slow grin spread across Patrick's face.  "Really?  All RIGHT!"

"Just, just be careful, is all," Gary told him.  "You guys aren't driving anywhere, are you?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Hobson, we aren't stupid!"  Patrick ducked into the office to get his denim jacket off the hook and emerged with his eyes sparkling.

"That's open for debate," Crumb snarled from the bar.  "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!  And don't you let any of those hooligans in here either!"  His threat bounced off Patrick's back as he headed out the door.  Gary was right behind him, locking the door immediately.  He watched, bemused, as the young men all gathered in a group, pounding Patrick on the back, and, with a communal shout of "FREEDOM!",  disappeared down the street.

Gary shook his head. Was he ever that young and heedless?  Maybe, but he doubted it.  He chuckled as he headed over to help Crumb with the final chores.

Half an hour later Crumb was in the back, putting the last of the stock away and locking things up.  Marissa came out of the kitchen, Spike padding behind her.  In her hands she held two cups of fragrant hot cider.

"After tonight, I thought we could both use a drink.  Besides, we need to finish this stuff off."

Gary hurried to take the mugs and pull a chair out for her at a nearby table.  He sank down into its neighbor with a weary sigh.  For a moment, they just sat, enjoying the quiet.

"Was there anything else in the paper?"  Marissa put her cider down, cupping her hands around the thick mug's warmth.

"I don't think so."  Pulling the paper out of his back pocket, Gary thumbed slowly through it, sipping his cider as he did so.  After several pages, he chuckled.

Marissa's eyebrow went up.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Looks like someone decided Buckingham Fountain needed cleaning.  Says here they think two whole cases of dish detergent got dumped into it.  The picture looks like Christmas, like it just snowed all over Grant Park."

Marissa smiled.  "Well, that sounds harmless enough."

Gary laughed, and continued perusing the paper.  He choked on his drink as the headline on page twelve came into view.

"Gary?"  Marissa put one hand on his arm in concern.  "What is it?"

"Damn, I think you were right about Patrick, or at least about his friends.  Looks like they're all causing trouble, but Patrick's the one who gets arrested in the park, at the fountain."

"Why, Gary?  What are they going to do?"

Gary scanned the article hurriedly as he stood.

"Um, disturbing the peace, public display, and vandalism.  Looks like they're blaming him for the soap in the fountain too."  He checked his watch, then folded the paper.  "And I've got less than an hour to get there."

"WE have less than an hour," Marissa corrected firmly.  She stood, pulling the hat off her head, and reached for Spike's harness.  "I like Patrick, Gary; I don't care what his friends are like.  And it makes me angry to think that they'd leave him to take the rap for something they did.  I'm coming with you."

"Comin' wit' you for what?"

Gary whirled around.  Crumb had come out of the kitchen.  Rolling his sleeves down, he eyed Gary for a moment before snorting.

"Let me guess, you got another one of those mumbo jumbo feelings of yours," he said, buttoning one sleeve with half a large blue face print on it.

Gary looked helplessly at Marissa.  She shrugged, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  How she managed to respond to him like that when he knew she couldn't see him...

"You handle this.  I'll get the coats," she said, heading for the office.

Gary sighed, meeting Crumb's gaze reluctantly.

"Yeah.  I, uh, well, it's Patrick.  He's gonna--"

"Quinn?  You're heading out at this time of night to rescue that nut?"  Crumb laughed harshly and finished buttoning his other sleeve.  "Hey, I say whatever that kid has coming to him, he deserves.  Him and his friends."  He reached over the bar, groping for something beneath the counter.

Gary waved the paper vaguely in Crumb's direction as the bartender pulled his jacket and hat out from under the bar.

"Well, I don't think this is his fault, and I can't just let him take the rap for something--" he protested.

Half into his coat, Crumb paused and pointed one finger at Gary.

"You're not his Mom, Hobson.  He's a big boy, and if he gets in trouble, maybe it'll teach him to be choosier about his friends."

"Well, could you at least give us a ride--"

"Nuttin' doin'.  That kid deserves whatever he gets.  Besides, I don't want any part of your mumbo jumbo heebie jeebie stuff tonight," Crumb said, shrugging the rest of the way into his coat
and picking his hat up.

"Aw, come on Crumb, weren't you ever youn--"

Crumb cut off Gary's protest with an abrupt shake of his head.

"I was never that young or that stupid.  And neither were you.  Except maybe now.  I'll say it again, you're nuts to go out to try and rescue him.  And I can't believe you're gonna take Marissa out at this time of night, on this particular night, to help someone who probably won't even appreciate it."

"Yeah, well you tell her she can't go," Gary groused, swiveling to face the old cop as he headed for the front door.

Pausing at the vestibule, Crumb chuckled and put on his hat.

"Nope, that's up to you.  I'll see youse tomorrow."  He held up one hand. "Don't worry, I'll let myself out."

Gary sighed and shook his head as the door closed behind the older man, then headed for the office.

"Marissa? You ready?  We gotta hurry if we're gonna get there before the cops!"
 

"Okay, here comes a cab."  Gary stepped toward the curb, lightly guiding Marissa by the elbow, and flagged down the taxi.  The cab came to a shuddering stop and Gary shook his head as he opened the door.  He hoped it would make it to the fountain.  It looked to be one of those unlicensed cabs that usually patrolled the train stations.  Well, there was no time to worry about it now.  Still, Gary did a double take when he saw the name of the cab company embossed in red on the black door.   Hades Cabs?  Gulp.  He squinted, and sighed in relief when he saw the letter S hidden by a patch of dirt.  Shades Cabs.

"Where to?"

"Buckingham Fountain, please." Marissa tugged Spike over a bit to make room for Gary.

"Okay.  That must be the place to go tonight."  The cabby took off at a speed that flung Marissa and Gary back into the seats.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Gary loosened his death grip from the door and tore his gaze from the road.  The cabby had settled into just the usual death-wish driving mode of the average Chicago taxi driver.  The form of a large, black bird bobbed wildly on the dashboard, and Gary was sure it was about to attack, until he realized, as the first stoplight shone through the windshield, that the raven was only a stuffed prop.

The driver partially turned, and Gary recoiled in horror. His or her face--Gary couldn't even determine the gender of the driver--was a pasty white with dark gray hollows under bloodshot eyes.  The lips were black with a trickle of blood streaming from one corner.  A hood was pulled up over the head so that the face seemed to emerge from the shadows.  Gary shuddered even though he realized that it was just a costume.

"I mean that I've ferried a whole bunch of people over to Grant Park tonight, that's all.  I said to myself, 'Charon, you got to get out and get a life, instead of spending all-'"

The hair on Gary's neck prickled.  "Charon?  Uh...your name is *Charon*?"

The hood bobbed up and down.

"Yeah, Charon.  You know, like Charon Stone."

"Oh! Sharon.  Sorry, I misunderstood."  Gary felt like an idiot, and couldn't help noticing the little smile on Marissa's face.  He lowered his voice, "What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, nothing."  Her smile widened to a grin. "You're a bit jumpy tonight, aren't you?"

"Well, the driver looks like she belongs in The Night of the Living Dead," Gary whispered defensively, as he snapped open the paper and angled it toward the window to catch the rays of the passing street lights.  The rapid play of light and dark across the pages began to make him feel sick.  He started to fold the paper back up, when the car lurched to a top and the red glow from a neon bar sign fell across a headline that sent chills racing up and down Gary's spine.

HALLOWEEN TRICK TURNS TO TRAGEDY

"The body of Patrick Quinn was found floating in Buckingham Fountain late last night..."

Gary drew a quick breath.  Body?  Floating?  How could that be?  Patrick was only supposed to be arrested.  The story had changed, but why?

"Gary?  What's wrong?"  Marissa turned to him expectantly, but it took several stop lights before Gary was able to finish reading the article.  He didn't answer until he knew what was going to happen.  Spike swiveled his head from Gary to Marissa and back again, as if he knew something was amiss.

His voice low and urgent, Gary finally said, "Marissa!  We gotta...we gotta hurry!  Patrick is gonna drown in the fountain."  Rolling the paper up, he stuck it inside his jacket as the taxi pulled over near the south end of Grant Park to let them out.

"How does Patrick drown in the fountain?  That doesn't make sense, Gary."  Marissa shook her head, her brow furrowed as she scrambled out of the cab with Spike at her heels.  Gary ducked out behind them.

"The paper doesn't give too many details."  His hand on Marissa's upper arm, Gary started off at a quick walk down the sidewalk toward the fountain.  "All it says is that nobody he's with realizes he's missing for at least thirty minutes.  Once they do, nobody thinks to look in the fountain.  Patrick's body is found a little later when the suds start to dissipate."

"That's horrible!"  Marissa shivered.   As they approached the fountain, they could hear shouts and laugher.  "Is that Patrick's group?  Hurry, Gary, you have to get to him!"

Gary jogged a little ahead of Marissa and Spike, scanning the glow around the fountain, hoping Patrick was among the revelers that he could hear.

"Ooommphh!"  Without warning, Gary found himself on top of a squirming bundle of rags.  A squirming bundle with sharp angles, he noted as a knee came very close to one of Gary's most sensitive spots.

"Get off me, you pervert!"

A gaunt face surrounded by wild strands of gray-streaked black hair emerged from the bundle, and Gary at first thought the woman was dressed up as a witch.  "Whoa, I'm trying, okay?  Just hold still, lady."  Gary tried to scramble to his feet when a bony hand shot in front of his face and a stream of liquid fire was sprayed into his eyes.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"  Forgotten were knees, angles, witches and Patrick.  Gary swiped furiously at his burning eyes as he staggered to his feet.  His nose started running, and the pepper seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his upper respiratory tract.  He coughed, choked, gagged, and nearly vomited, but even those reactions were barely noticed in his attempt to get the pepper out of his eyes.

"Can't a lady get some sleep around here?" muttered the harsh voice as it faded away to his right.

Spike was at his side, sniffing and whining, and Marissa's voice was suddenly close.  "Gary?  What is it, what's wrong?"

"Marissa!"  Gary shook his head, using his sleeves in a useless effort to soak up the pepper spray.  "I tripped over some lady, and she sprayed me with pepper spray!"

"Are you okay?  You sound terrible--like you have a cold."

Gary coughed.  "I can't see a thing.  Can you get us to the fountain?"

"Well, sure.  No problem, I can hear it to my left not too far away. Just follow the sound of my voice, okay?"

Still coughing, Gary groped for his friend.  He heard Spike's harness jingle about the time his hand brushed Marissa's.  Her hand came up to grasp his elbow, pulling him toward her then to his left.  He followed her lead, still rubbing frantically at his eyes.  He pulled his shirt out and tried to get more of the pepper spray off with the tail. Marissa chuckled.

"Wha-wha-what's so funny about this?" Gary gasped out between coughs.

He heard Marissa's smile, rather than saw it.

"Oh, I was just remembering that old saying.  You know, the one about the blind leading the blind..."

Gary shook his head, grumpily refusing to see the humor in the situation.  The burning didn't seem quite as bad, though his eyes were still watering profusely.  He squinted, and thought he could make out a blur of light ahead of him.

"I just hope for Patrick's sake one of us gets our sight back before we get to the fountain."

"You're gonna be fine, Gary.  Here--" he felt something hard bump his shin; the rush of water was right in his ears and he missed whatever Marissa said next as he plunged his face into the water, desperate to wash the pepper spray away.

"Yow!!  Da--"  Gary bit off the curse before it got all the way out.  Water splashed out all over his pants and feet as he spun away from the fountain and stood, rubbing ferociously at his eyes.

"Gary?  What is it?  What happened?"

"Someone, someone - I forgot someone put soap in the fountain and now I got it in my eyes!"  He risked a peek, scrunching his eyes shut quickly as the burning sensation grew stronger.  "Damn..."  He'd never be able to see Patrick now.  Heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, Gary cursed paranoid bag ladies who were too quick on the draw with pepper spray and Halloween pranksters.  Marissa had the courtesy not to giggle, though when he remembered the article they'd seen in the cab, there was little enough to giggle about.  He had to be able to see to find Patrick.  Buckingham Fountain was huge, and there was no guarantee they were even close to the right place.

"Marissa?"  The handle on Spike's harness chinked as she lifted it, her leather coat swishing as she moved toward him.

"Yes?"

"Can you, can you -- I can't see a damn thing. Can you hear anything?  Hear Pat--"

"FFRREEEEEEEDDDDOOOMMMMM!!!"

He knew Marissa was smiling as she said,  "I think he's over there, Gary."

"Can you tell which way we need to go?"  Of all the times for him to forget about the soap in the fountain...He shook his head as he spoke, and tried to open one eye.  Rewarded with a blurred glimpse of Marissa and more burning, he snapped it shut, cursing the pranksters once more as he rubbed his eyes.  Of course, they couldn't know that Gary needed the fountain to wash the pepper spray out of his eyes, so he could see to find Patrick, and they wouldn't know about Patrick either, so he really couldn't blame them.  Or could he?

Spike pressed against his knee as Marissa's hand grasped his elbow gently.

"Here, it's this way."  More howls of "Freedom" were heard as she pulled him back out to the sidewalk.  Gary stumbled as he tried to keep up, and Marissa yanked on Spike's harness to slow him down.  Gary didn't want Spike to slow down, they had to get to Patrick before he fell.  The condition he and his friends were in, it was no wonder nobody would notice if things went wrong.

When things went wrong, Gary corrected himself, remembering the article in the paper.

The volume of the laughter and shouts increased as they drew closer.

"Sounds like a riot in the making," Marissa observed, as Gary finally got his eyes to open.  This time the stinging was bearable and he managed to keep them open.  Through the tears that insisted on welling up, he vaguely saw a dozen or more forms running and jumping and sliding in what looked like a foot of fresh snow.  Pulling his elbow out of Marissa's grasp, Gary held his hand out to stop her from advancing any farther.

"Wait, the sidewalk's covered in suds here."

Marissa pulled back on Spike's harness as he whined.  Gary stopped beside her.  Shaking his head, he blinked and peered through his tears at the rowdy group slipping and sliding in the foam pouring out of the fountain--foam that was overflowing everything in its path.  Someone took a running start and launched a large box; Gary pulled Marissa back a step or two as it bounced to a stop near their feet.  He could just make out the large letters on the side: J - O - Y.  He read them out loud for Marissa's sake.  She smiled.

"Well, I guess we know who's responsible for the soap.  Can you see Patrick now?"  Her tone became serious as she turned in the direction of the raucous revelry.  The spreading blanket of foam was oozing closer to where they stood.

Gary rubbed his eyes again, and blinked more tears away.  Now what was going on?  That had to be Patrick and his friends.  All in those same ridiculous dresses--no, kilts--they stood swaying back and forth as one kilted figure shepherded them into a somewhat straight line.  Gary tried to make out which one was Patrick, but he couldn't be sure.

"ARE YOU READY FOR A WAR??" the first kilt bellowed.

"What the--"  He pulled Marissa back another step.

With a communal howl of "FRREEEEEDDDOMMMMM!" the line of kilted men bent forward at their waists, and Gary, blinking hard, suddenly had a clear view of their very bare buttocks, in varying shapes, sizes and colors.

"I don't believe it..."

"What, Gary?  What is it?"

"You don't want to know.  Believe me, you don't want to know."  As the group stood, kilts flapping back down, Gary finally thought he could make out Patrick, swaying on the end of the line.  The stream of tears slowing at last, he focused on the tall figure as it left the group, leaping with a wild yell toward the fountain.  His stomach clenching in fear, Gary let go of Marissa's arm.  He had to stop Patrick before he landed in the fountain!

"I think I found our boy.  Wait here."  With one last swipe at his still streaming eyes, Gary headed out into the foam.  "Patrick!"

The figure Gary focused on splashed through the streaming suds, somehow finding and stepping up on the rim of the fountain.  Patrick balanced there, to his companions' cheers and yells of encouragement.  Gary started to run.

"Patrick!"  His bartender was facing the opposite direction, but Gary waved both hands over his head anyway as he got closer.  One of these inebriated nutcases had to see him, hear him...he took a deep breath, then cupping both hands around his mouth, yelled, "HEY, QUINN!"

Now standing on one foot with the other out in the air, Patrick looked back over his shoulder.   He stared for a moment, teetering precariously as he suddenly thrust one arm back and pointed at Gary.

"Mr. Hobson!"

"Patrick!  Get down!!!  Get down, now!"  Patrick wavered, arms windmilling and his other foot coming down to help as he recovered his balance.  This time, Gary thought, he made it this time!  What about the next time?  He had to get Patrick down from there before it was too late!  Patrick pointed again, this time beyond Gary to where Marissa stood at the edge of the growing field of suds.

"Miss Clark!  Hey there!"  That announcement was followed by a loud whoop, and Patrick swiveled around toward them only to lose his balance again and promptly disappear backwards into the suds with a loud swoosh.  His companions roared their approval and clapped wildly.  Gary ignored them, scanning the undulating suds for any view of Patrick as he skidded to a stop where he thought the edge of the fountain was, only to trip over the low rim.  His own momentum catapulted him over it.  He at least had enough time to close his eyes before they were dowsed in soapy water for the second time that night.
 

Straining to hear a familiar voice amidst the shouts and cheers that followed Patrick's call, Marissa ventured closer to the fountain.

"Gary?  Patrick?  Answer me!" she called as loudly as she could.  There was no response other than the repeated whoops and cheers over the rushing of the fountain.  "Spike, let's go."  Gary had said the sidewalk was covered with soap suds; Marissa only had to take a few steps toward the sound of the rushing water to realize what an understatement that had been.  Water crept up her ankles through her pantyhose and she immediately started to slip on the perilous surface.  Pulling Spike up short, she took a moment to kick off her slingback heels.

"Nice doggie!  Hey, you wanna dance?"  Someone grabbed Marissa's free hand and pulled her around in a loose attempt at a circle.

"NO!"  She pulled against the hand, trying to keep herself and the kid from tripping over Spike, who scrabbled frantically in the suds.  "Let go of me!  This is serious!  Where's Patrick?"

"WOO-HOO!!!"  Off to her left, Marissa heard another shout.  "FREEDOM!!!"  The cry was taken up by all the voices around her, including that of the young man who'd tried to dance with her.  He released her hand and was gone.  Marissa quickly regained her balance and hurried with Spike toward the fountain and the voices.  The battle cries were drowned, though hopefully not literally, in splashes.  "Onshe more into th' breachsh!" someone hollered.

They were all going into the fountain.

Oh, no.  If Gary and Patrick were still there she might never find them in the melee.  Frantically calling their names, the suds almost to her knees, Marissa bumped up against the edge of the fountain.  She felt her way around its broad circumference toward where she'd heard Patrick's greeting and Gary's last shouts.

"Gary?  Gary?  Patrick?"  Her voice was almost lost in the rush of water and outright screams of the revelers, but they seemed to be going around the fountain in the opposite direction.  Spike barked, and she finally heard it, a familiar sputtering and cough.  It was almost directly in front of her, maybe a little to the right.  Reaching out, she shouted, "Gary, is that you?  Are you all right?"

"Here, Marissa."  He coughed more, cursed.

Thank God.  "Where's Patrick?  Did you find him?"

"I can't see him, there're suds everywhere. Damn!"  She heard more splashing.

Spike woofed helpfully, his head at her shoulder.  He must have put his front paws up on the fountain to keep out of the suds.  Bless him, there weren't many dogs who would wade through this mess to stick with their owners.  Marissa tried to sweep away the suds that kept coming over the lip of the fountain, threatening to overwhelm both her and Spike.  Climbing onto the edge of the fountain, awkward in the tight dress, she bent over until she could reach into the water, feeling for Patrick.

"Anything, Gary?" Marissa called as she scooted through the suds along the edge of the fountain on her knees, ripping her hose to shreds in the process.  Spike kept close.  She could hear the noises of the partiers coming closer again.

"Whoa, what are you doing?"  Gary was right in front of her.  He grabbed her shoulder, whether to steady her or himself, she wasn't sure.

Suddenly, the would-be warriors were on top of them, hollering and whooping, and Gary stumbled into Marissa as the oblivious horde pushed past.  "Climb out, Gary, they'll trample you!"

"I won't find Patrick out there."  His other hand grasped her upper arm, and she reached out to steady him, but it was too late.

A voice almost in her ear shouted, "Where the bloody hell is Wallace?" and someone crashed into Gary, who tottered backward, nearly pulling Marissa in with him.  He let go of her just in time for her to catch the edge of the fountain, her face going into the suds and the water.  Spike caught hold of the sleeve of her coat with his teeth.  Sputtering, Marissa pulled her head out of the water and kept her grip on the fountain's edge with her left hand while reaching out for Gary with her right.

People were rushing by, screaming and hollering, but Gary's voice cut through it all.  "I found him!  Here!"

"Where, Gary?" The world was a rush of battle cries in horrible Scottish accents and water and her heart pounding in her ears.

"I tripped over him--I think he saved me from going under again."  The last of the war whoops faded to the other side of the fountain as Spike let go of her arm.  "Here, get down off the ledge and hold out your hands--"

"Is he breathing?"

"I got him face up--I think he's just passed out drunk or something.  He's still breathing.  Patrick!  Patrick, can you hear me?"  There was no response.

Gary splashed over to her, and she could hear the effort it took to drag Patrick through the churning water.  "Can you grab him under the shoulders and hold him over the suds while I climb out?"

"I think so Gary, but please be careful, I don't want you--" she broke off as Gary transferred his burden into her outstretched arms.  Marissa struggled to hold Patrick's broad shoulders above the suds.  His head fell back against her chest, and she pushed closer to try to keep his neck from snapping backward.  But she was leaning too far forward and her feet were slipping out from under her..."Hurry, Gary, I can't--"

"Need a little help here?"  Huge arms came across her own and lifted Patrick's weight out of her hands.  To the other side, she heard Gary slosh out of the fountain.

"Crumb!"  Gary steadied Marissa and then stepped past her to help one of their bartenders haul the other out of the fountain.

"Set him over here," she heard Crumb say, and then Spike was at her side, wet through and through just like the rest of them.  Marissa fumbled for his harness and they joined Gary and Crumb.

"Gary?  Is Patrick--?"

"I think he's gonna be okay."  It was Crumb who answered her.  His assessment was confirmed when Patrick sputtered and coughed.  "Help him sit up," Crumb said to Gary.  Shivering, Marissa knelt next to Gary in the grass and suds.

"Patrick?" she asked gently.

A few more choking coughs, then a weak, "Hey, Miss Clark.  What are you guys doing out here?"

"Saving your bacon, meathead," Crumb grumbled.  The party could be heard faintly, continuing on the other side of the fountain.  "What the hell are you doing, anyway, making these two pull you out of that slop?  Do you have any idea how many employers would come out in the middle of all this just to save your butt from the slammer?  Exactly none.  Except for these two wackos."

"J-Jail?"  Patrick's teeth were chattering, Marissa could hear the clicks.  She didn't have to see Gary's face to know that he was thinking the same thing as she; jail would have been the least of Patrick's worries tonight, if they hadn't come in time.

"Well, Patrick, what did you think would happen if you decided to turn Buckingham Fountain into the biggest dishwasher in the city?"  Marissa could hear relief under the annoyance in Gary's question.

"B-b-b-but-but--we were just having fun."

"Some fun.  Looks like you nearly drowned yourself and the both of them in the process," Crumb grunted.  "What's the matter with your face, anyway, Hobson?"

"That would probably be the pepper spray," Gary ground out.  "It's a long story."

"Oh, no, oh, Mr. Hobson, I'm so, so, sorry..." Patrick coughed some more. "Miss Clark, are you okay?  Oh, your pretty costume, it's wet and your hair's all stringy and--"

Then there was a new sound, one Marissa had only heard once or twice before.  Building from a muffled, choked sound to a full-fledged guffaw from the gut, Crumb's laughter surprised them all.  "Oh, geez.  If anyone had a camera--the three of youse look like a buncha drowned circus rejects, and Quinn here is the melting clown."

Marissa started to smile, but she heard something new.  "Wait a minute, listen."

"I mean, I even wish Fishman was here, just so he could see it."

"Marissa's right," Gary broke in.  "Those are sirens."

"C'mon.  Let's get out of here before you all get thrown in the nuthouse and I'm out of a job."  Crumb's hand was at her elbow, helping her up and placing Spike's harness back in her grasp before he went to help Gary with Patrick.  "My car's just over on Jackson.  Here, Hobson, you take his other arm."

"Where the heck did you come from anyway, Crumb?" Gary asked as they started away from the fountain.  "I thought you went home, thought you didn't want any mumbo-jumbo tonight."

"Home's where I was going, Kreskin, until your blasted cat showed up in my car!"

The chills Marissa was feeling didn't come from the cold.  Gary stammered, "Your--your car?"

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot..." Patrick started singing, sadly off-key.

"You heard me, I'm halfway home and the damn thing starts meowing from the back seat, nearly ran into a light pole.  I was bringing it back to you when I saw the suds out on Columbus Drive and figured if there was one place in the city that kid would get into trouble, this would probably be it."

Marissa stifled a chuckle.  Crumb was so much softer than he liked to pretend.

"And never brought to miiinnnndddddd...."

"Uh, Patrick, do you mind not singing in my ear?" Gary asked as they all came to a halt.

"Well, it's just, it's just, you guys are the best, you know that? I mean, it's like you like me, you really, really like me, you know?" Patrick asked with a droopy sigh.  Marissa heard a car door open and from the grunts and curses assumed Gary and Crumb were trying to get Patrick into the back seat.

"Hobson?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me he won't remember this in the morning."

Marissa felt a hand on her elbow.  Spike leapt up into the car and she put her hands out to feel the door frame before letting Gary guide her the rest of the way into the seat.  She grinned as she heard Gary's response to Crumb's plea.

"I don't know Crumb," Gary said.  "You just may have a new best buddy."

Minutes later, Crumb was still shaking his head as he steered the car out onto Columbus Drive.  Glancing over at the retired detective, Gary hid a smile as he buckled his seat belt.  When Crumb caught his eye, Gary turned his best innocent face back to the other man.  Crumb glared at him, then snorted.

"Frankly, Hobson, I'm not lookin' for any more buddies. I have enough trouble with the ones I've got."

"Hey, I seem to remember saving your--whoa!"  Gary put his hand on the dashboard as Crumb veered left, narrowly missing a cab that had swerved into their lane, cutting them off.

"Damn moron!" Crumb muttered.  "The jerk's driving like a bat outta hell."

That brought back the image of the black cab that Gary and Marissa taken to the park earlier, and he chuckled.

"What's so funny, Hobson?"

Gary glanced at Crumb, and shrugged.  "I was just thinking about your comment.  The bat out of hell thing," Gary clarified at Crumb's puzzled look.  "It's just…it's just that I at first thought the cab we took to the park was called Hades Cabs."

"Oh."

Gary sighed. "Guess you had to be there."  He turned to the back of the car to see how Patrick was faring.  Poor Marissa was trying her best to keep him upright, but the shivering fool kept grinning at her and putting his wet head on her shoulder.  Gary almost expected him to give his head a good shake like a wet puppy.  Spike watched Patrick warily as Marissa shoved the dripping blue head back toward the other window.

"And I suppose you crossed the River Styx, too."

Gary turned back to Crumb.  "Huh?"

Crumb gave a little half-shrug.  "Styx, Hades…you know…"

Thinking of the Chicago River, Gary nodded.  "Something like that."

Crumb wasn't paying attention anymore, he was looking in his rearview mirror with a scowl on his face.  "Hey!  Quinn!  Get your head off the lady's shoulder, would ya?"

"Yes, shir, Mr. Crumb."  No sooner had his head come up, and the words been uttered, when Patrick's head flopped back down.  Blue makeup was dripping down Marissa's damp leather coat.

"Sheesh, Quinn, these people go to hell and back for you tonight, and you repay them by ruining their clothes."

"Yesh, sir--I mean, no sir.  I'm shorry, Miss Clark.  Mr. Hobson.  Really sorry."

"You're going to be all right, Patrick, and that's what matters," Marissa said, and Gary looked back at her.  Despite the mess and the cold, she was smiling.

He checked his own grin, and answered, "No problem, Patrick.  No problem."

As he swung back around, Gary shivered with a sudden chill.  Wait a minute...he couldn't pull the paper out to check, not with Crumb right there, but he found himself suddenly thinking over the changing headline in the  newspaper.  Usually the headlines didn't change unless he did something.  Tonight's headline had changed, had changed...after he and Marissa were in the cab heading for the fountain.  That meant -- He turned around again to say something to Marissa, and caught himself just in time.

"Hey," Patrick muttered groggily, "Did you know, it'sh a little known fact, a Halloween fact, that you can actually shing--I mean sing--'The Raven'?  You know, like the poem."

"That's nice, Patrick."  Marissa pushed his head off her shoulder yet again.

"No, really, I was a lit, a liter, litashure major for three weeks my freshman year and I learned that.  It's true.  It's just like that Fa la la song, you know, the Christmas one!"

"We'll take your word for it," Gary said as he held his hands out to the heating vents.

Crumb pulled up in front of Marissa's apartment, and Gary jumped out to help her.  As he escorted her up to the front door, the faint strains of Patrick's singing came from the back seat.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, fa la la la la, la la la la;
While I pondered, weak and weary, fa la la la la, la la la laaaa..."

It was followed shortly by Crumb's, "Shut up, Quinn!  Or I'm taking you to the precinct myself!"

"Marissa!" Gary whispered, leaning in low towards her.  She paused, hand in her bag as she fumbled for her keys.

"Gary?  What is it now?"

"It-it..."  Gary swallowed.  "It's just, it's just, the headline.  It changed for the worse, after we left to go help Patrick."  He stood up straight, hardly breathing, waiting to see if she followed his logic.  Her sudden gasp told him she had.

"But, that would mean we were the reason..."

"Yeah."  Gary shivered, not liking the implications, not liking them at all.

From the car behind them came, "QUINN!  I said, SHUT UP!  HOBSON!  LET'S GET THIS NUT HOME AND OUT OF MY CAR!"

Gary looked back at Crumb and waved.

Marissa's hand found his arm as he started away.

"Gary, the point isn't that we changed the headline for the worse, the point is we stopped it, all of it, for Patrick.  He didn't get arrested, and he didn't die.  That's the point, not anything else.  I wouldn't worry about it--you can't worry about it.  You can't second guess yourself like this.  If we've learned one thing over the last three years, it's--" she paused as Patrick continued singing Poe.

"While I nodded, nearly napping, fa la la la la, la la la la..."

Marissa smiled as she quoted.  "It's 'only this, and nothing more':  that you have to do what's in front of you to do.  The big picture will take care of itself."

Gary stared at Marissa for a moment, wanting to believe her, wanting to believe that it wasn't his fault Patrick almost drowned.

"HOBSON!"

"Yeah, well, okay, Marissa.  I, um, I..."

"You gotta go.  I know.  Gary--"  Pausing on the bottom step, he looked back up at his friend as she added, "You did the right thing by trying to help.  That's what matters."

Gary nodded, then grinned.

"We did the right thing.  Thanks, Marissa."

"Good night, Gary."

"Good night."  He walked backwards down the walk, watching to be sure she got in the door.   Once it closed behind her, he swung around and ran the last few steps to the car.  Patrick was passed out in the back seat.  "What'd ya do, Crumb?  Knock him out?"

Crumb glared at Gary as he slid into the car.  "He hardly needed MY help.  So, where do we drop off this dead meat?"

Gary stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Don't you know where he lives?"

"Why should I know?  I stay as far away from him as possible, even when I'm working with him.  I thought you knew."

"Well no, no, no I don't."

"Well, he ain't staying at my place!  That's for sure."

"Um, yeah, well, I guess he can stay at my place then.  He can sleep on my couch."  At Crumb's stony frown, Gary quickly amended that to:  "The couch downstairs.  That way we  wouldn't, we wouldn't have to carry him up the stairs..."

Crumb glared at him, then slipped the car into gear and roared off down the street, kinda like a bat out of hell.

Gary snuck a peek at the old cop, then leaned back in his seat and watched the landmarks go by.  The blast from the car's heater had him almost lukewarm again when he heard Crumb's muffled curse.

Glancing at Crumb, Gary saw that the older man was staring into the rearview mirror.  Shifting in his seat, Gary nearly jumped through the roof when he saw that Patrick, snoring happily in the back seat, was curled around a small, furry form--Snow's cat.

"Hobson?"

"Yeah?"

Their eyes met, neither one comfortable with this development.

"This is gettin' spooky."

Crumb didn't know the half of it.  "Well, whaddya expect on Halloween?"

"With you, kid?"  Crumb looked at the cat, then at Gary, and then back out the front windshield.  "I guess anything can happen."