Marissa Clark smiled to herself as she sat in a booth at Arlington racetrack.  Gary was due to meet her for lunch any minute now.   It was sort of a monthly tradition of theirs.  Gary would make a bet to cover his monthly expenses, and she would place one small bet just for the thrill of it.  She never allowed Gary to give her any tips, as that would have taken all the fun out of it.

 While waiting she relaxed, and listened to the chatter of other patrons as they discussed the merits of different horses. The smell of burgers and hot dogs wafted from the concession stand, causing her stomach to rumble.  She hoped Gary would arrive soon; she was starving.

 This was the first time that Gary had agreed to meet her for lunch since the Sears Tower bombing.  That had been almost four months ago.  Marissa hoped that this would be a sign that Gary was returning to his old self.  She had missed him.  She missed his teasing when she had announced that she had a date with a co-worker.  She had missed amusement in his voice when he was reciting whatever the latest scheme that Chuck had cooked up, whether it be to get rich, or get a women.

 Physically, he had healed fairly quickly since the bombing, but mentally, it was much slower
going.  He seemed to have come to terms, reluctantly, with the demands that the paper placed on him; but he still was haunted by the deaths of the innocent people he had been unable to save in the bombing.

 In the weeks and months following the tragedy, Gary had been distant and pre-occupied much of the time. There were dark shadows under his brown eyes, no doubt caused by the residual flashbacks, and nightmares of the bombing. He spent less time with Chuck and Marissa, and more time alone, thinking.  Where as before, he would have relaxed playing pool and having a few beers at McGinty's bar, now he pretty much did whatever rescuing that was required of him, then would go back to the hotel and watch television.  Chuck had taken to going over there to keep him company a couple of evening a week, just so Gary wouldn't retreat too far into himself.  Chuck reported to Marissa, that most evenings watching TV, Gary didn't even pay attention to what he was watching.  Chuck would take control of the remote, and flip through channels with nary a protest from Gary.

 Marissa had urged Gary to seek professional help in dealing with the pain, but Gary would just mumble that he was fine, shrug and change the subject.  Marissa crossed her fingers, and hoped that Gary really was on the mend.  In addition to meeting her for lunch, he had gone to the bar the other night, and had hung out with Chuck.  Marissa could tell by the tone of Chuck's voice as he had told her about it, how happy he had been to see signs of the old Gary emerging.
 Marissa suddenly sat up a bit straighter, her ears detected the tread of familiar steps as they hurried towards her.

 "Hey Marissa, sorry I'm late." Gary apologized breathlessly. He slid into the booth.  "You wouldn't believe what almost happened this morning." He said, his voice conveying a sense of excitement, "There was this little kid who was gonna stick his head between the bars of the Lincoln Park Zoo's sea otter exhibit.  He would have gotten stuck for over two hours, before the fire department would have been able to free him.  Luckily, I was able to get there just in time, and I was able to distract him before he tried to climb through the bars." Gary grinned, and chuckled.

 Marissa had a wide smile on her face, as Gary finished his story, she was happy to hear him sound so cheerful.

 Gary rubbed his hands together briskly, "I'm starving. Do you want your usual, Marissa?"
 "Yes, that would be fine." She answered as Gary rose to go to the counter to order.  "Ask for my burger to be well-done!" she added.

 "Yeah,I know, I know." Gary replied with a grin.  "It hasn't been that long."

 After eating, the two placed their bets.  Gary won, as usual, but this time Marissa also won a modest amount and laughing with excitement, gave Gary a big hug.  He returned it. She tucked her winnings into her purse, with a huge smile plastered on her face.

 Gary tucked his money away in an inside pocket of his coat.  He always hated leaving with large sums of cash. With Spike, Marissa's guide dog leading the way, the pair headed by way of bus and train back to the city.
 

 Since the moment Gary had entered the racetrack, interested eyes had followed his every movement.  A few phone calls had taken care of  the necessary arrangements.  The man didn't know why Gary had been absent from the track for so long, but now that he was back, and still had his winning ways, their plan could go into action.  They had waited long enough, he thought, with an evil grin.
 

 After seeing Marissa safely to her apartment, Gary started walking home.  The autumn afternoon, which had started quite mildly, was starting to get chilly.  Gary turned up the collar of his black leather jacket, and thought about flagging down a cab.  Looking up and down the street, he didn't see any in the vicinity.  He shrugged, it didn't really matter, and there was only few blocks left to go anyway.

 Walking gave him time to think.  He shook his head ruefully, as though he needed anymore time.  He felt like he was finally emerging from a deep well that had trapped his spirit.  Nights had been the worst.  He'd shut his eyes to sleep, and the terror of being trapped in the rubble would rush into his mind.  When he did manage to sleep, his dreams had been plagued by faceless people missing arms or legs, pointing accusingly at him.

 While he understood, and accepted the responsibilities that came along with the paper, he wondered how whoever sent it to him expected him to do it all alone.  There was so much to be done, and he was only one man.  The burden of job had weighed heavily upon him, changing him from the fun-loving, light-hearted guy he had been a few years ago; before the paper had started mysteriously appearing at his door. Changing him to the serious, more somber man he now was.

 Suddenly, Gary stopped walking; he had a feeling that he was being watched.  The sky had turned gray, and the short fall afternoon was quickly turning dark.  Gary turned and scanned the sidewalk behind him.  In deference to the chilly weather, most people had opted to take cabs or buses home from work, and the sidewalk was nearly deserted.  The few people behind him were hunched over against a blustery wind.  He shook off the feeling, and continued on his way.  He was only a block from the hotel.

 As Gary passed an alley, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.  He was turning to see what it was, when suddenly he was shoved into the alley from behind.

 "Hey!" Gary exclaimed in protest, whirling to face his attacker.  Before he had a chance to say anything, he saw a bright flash as he felt something hard impact the back of his head.  He crumbled to his hands and knees, dizzy and confused.  What was happening?  He shook his head trying to clear it; he tried to stagger to his feet, but was slammed back down by another vicious blow to his head.  This time, everything dimmed, and he sank into unconsciousness.

 The two attackers picked Gary up by his arms and legs, and tossed his limp form into the back of a waiting van.  They climbed into the van, and quickly drove away.  The whole incident had taken less than two minutes.  Passers-by heard nothing, and saw even less.
 

 "Hey Gar!  Where are ya?  Out saving the world I guess.  Well anyway, give me a call as soon as you get in, okay?"  Chuck hung up the phone.  He had tickets to a Bull's pre-season game, and had been trying to get a hold of Gary all last evening and today, but to no avail.  He thought for a minute, then dialed the front desk of the Blackstone Hotel, and asked to speak to the doorman.

 The doorman denied seeing Gary since the day before but complained about an orange cat that was hanging around Gary's door, making a nuisance of itself.

 "You know," he told Chuck indignantly, "it's against policy for animals to be allowed in the hotel. If that is Mr. Hobson's cat, he's going to have to get rid of it."

 "Yeah, well, Gary doesn't have a cat." Chuck said quickly, at least, technically Gary didn't. Chuck thanked the doorman, and hung up distractedly. He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking.  This isn't like Gary, he thought. Grabbing his overcoat from a hook on his cubicle wall, he decided to head over to the hotel to see if something was wrong.  He was afraid of what he would find.

  On Chuck's way out, he stopped by Marissa's reception desk, and asked if she had heard from Gary.

 "No, he and I had lunch at the track yesterday, then we went home.  I haven't talked to him since he left my apartment yesterday afternoon.  Why, what's up?"

 "Oh, well, probably nothing, but I've been trying to reach him since last night, and all I get is his machine.  I talked to the doorman at the hotel, and he hasn't seen Gary all day either.  I'm gonna head over there now, and make sure everything is okay."

 "You don't think something happened to him, do you Chuck?" Marissa asked, concern in her voice.

 Chuck shrugged, though Marissa couldn't see it, and tried to sound casual.  "How did he seem yesterday?  What kind of mood was he in?"

 "He seemed fine, happier than he had been in a long time, in fact.  Gary wouldn't...hurt... himself. I know it.  He was starting to feel better, he was laughing and joking yesterday, Chuck." Marissa insisted.

 "You're probably right. He is likely out saving someone, and the doorman just didn't see him leave.  I'll call you when I find anything out, okay?" Chuck hurried away.
 

 Sounds filtered through his consciousness.  Car doors slamming. Loud voices talking. Hands grabbed him and dragged him roughly from the van.  He groaned as he was dropped to a hard cement floor.   Blinking painfully against the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room, Gary strove to stand.  Before he had made it all the way to his feet, he was shoved into a straight-backed chair, his hands quickly tied tightly behind him.  Though disoriented and dizzy, he struggled against his captors, succeeding only in getting slugged in the side of his head for his efforts.  Stars burst in his vision, and he slumped forward, semi-conscious.  He dimly felt someone grab his hair from behind and pull his head back.

 "Uhhh!" Gary groaned, what the hell was going on, he wondered desperately.

 Opening his eyes, Gary looked about wildly.  Standing calmly in front of him, was a man of medium height and build, with neat dark hair. Though short in stature, his persona exuded power.  The man nodded slightly to two larger men flanking the chair Gary was tied to.  Gary's head flopped forward, as his hair was suddenly released.  Shaking his head to clear it, Gary focused with difficulty on the man in front of him, fear and dread welling up in him.

 "I hope that this will not be too unpleasant for anyone involved." The leader said mildly.  "I have some questions for you to answer.  If youanswer to my satisfaction, we may let you go.  If things have to get...shall we say ...messy, well, let's just say, that for your sake, I hope you co-operate." He finished with a cold smile.

 Gary, now fully conscious, felt his heart pounding in time to the pain in his head.  What could they want with him, he wondered?  Who were they?  The cold smile on his captor's face sent chills racing up Gary's spine.

 Standing in front of the chair, his hands clasped behind his back, his captor started asking his questions.

 "Who do you work for?"

 Totally confused, Gary blinked, "Uh, no one.  I...I'm not working for anyone." He stammered.

 The man put his head down, shaking it sadly.  "Please, I told you that I was hoping that this wouldn't get messy." He glanced at one of the men at Gary's side.  Faster than Gary could have believed possible, the man came around to the front of the chair, and delivered a short, brutal punch to Gary's abdomen.

 Gary doubled over, gagging and retching.

 "Now, again.  Who are you working for?  The FBI?  ATF?"

 Gary swallowed; he took a deep shuddering breath.  How could he convince this man that he didn't work for anyone?

 "I told you, I don't work for anyone.  What is this all about?" Ignoring Gary's outburst, the man asked another question.

 "What's your name?"

 "Gary...Gary Hobson.  I don't work for anyone.  I used to be a stockbroker." Gary answered helpfully, trying his best to be co-operative.

 "Mr. Hobson, you don't expect me to believe that you aren't working undercover, do you?  We have seen you go to the track, and pick the winning horse, even though, that horse is always the long shot.  One or two times, we might have considered it dumb luck, but since this has happened many times over the last year, that's hardly likely.  Unfortunately, this leads me, and my boss to believe that you have an ulterior motive."  The man started pacing in front of Gary.

 "You see, we don't like outsiders snooping around in our business.  Especially, when they are Feds."  He said menacingly.

 Gary swore silently, what had he gotten himself into?  What business was he referring to?  Gary was afraid that he had stumbled upon some kind of syndicate, and now they suspected him of trying to infiltrate it.

 "I really have no interest in your business.  I just got lucky a few times.  It won't happen again.  I promise." Gary said earnestly. Anything so that they would let him go, he thought.

 The man laughed sarcastically.

 "I was hoping that you wouldn't be so stubborn.  Oh well, I'm in no hurry.  I'm sure eventually I will get my answers." Nodding at the two other men. "Gentlemen, I think I will leave while you take care of Mr.Hobson.  I really do hate violence." Straightening his tie, the man exited through a steel door.

 A frisson of fear shot through Gary.  He hadn't been able toconvince him that a mistake had been made.  He started struggling against his bonds as pure panic set in.

 He had been right to feel fear.  The two men proceeded to pummel him unmercifully.  They were very thorough, leaving no part of his anatomy unscathed.  After the first ten minutes, Gary stopped feeling the blows, retreating into a semi-conscious state, praying for the beating to stop. Twenty minutes after they had begun; the men left Gary in a heap on the floor, still bound at the hands. Wiping their hands on a towel, the two left through the same door the leader had gone through.  The sound of a key in the lock echoed through the small room.

 Hours passed, and the men didn't return.  Gary inched painfully across the floor, every muscle and bone screaming in protest, and huddled against the wall.  The room was freezing, and Gary shivered uncontrollably.  He tried to think of a plan to escape, but his mind was fuzzy and seemed to be working in slow motion from all the abuse it had taken. He finally slipped into a fitful sleep.
 

 Special Agent Fox Mulder rubbed his eyes wearily.  He had stayed late trying to catch up on unfinished paperwork, but a glance at the pile of folders still lying on the desk in front of him made him sigh in frustration. God, I hate paperwork he thought with disgust.  Most of it was just stuffed in to a filing cabinet somewhere, never to be seen again.  Shoving his chair away from the desk, Mulder stood and stretched.  He promised himself that he would stay late again tomorrow night to finish it, but right now, he needed to get out of here.

 He was just putting his suit coat on in preparation for leaving, when his office phone rang.  He thought about ignoring it.  After all, he normally would have left by now anyway.  Glancing at his watch, he decided to go ahead and answer it, maybe it was Scully checking up on him.  Sometimes she made him feel like an errant schoolboy being chided about his homework.

 "Mulder" he answered as he finished shrugging into his coat.

 "Um, yeah, Mr. Mulder, you probably don't remember me, but we met in Chicago when you were here investigating the Sears Tower Bombing.  My  name is Chuck Fishman."

 A mental image of a short man with a round face and receding brown hair popped into Mulder's mind.

 "Yes, I remember you.  You're Hobson's friend, right?"  Mulder answered his curiosity aroused. "How is Hobson?" He asked, remembering the man's injuries.

 "Well, that's what I'm calling you about. You see, Gary is missing. No one has seen him for two days.  The cops won't do anything because, according to them, there is no evidence of foul play.  I was hoping that you might be able to help."  Fishman explained.

 Mulder sank back into his chair.  "Are you sure that he's missing?  When I met him, he seemed pretty disillusioned with everything, maybe he just took off somewhere for some R&R."

 "No, I know Gary.  He wouldn't just take off without mentioning it to either Marissa or me.  Besides, none of his clothes are gone."  Chuck paused.  "On top of that, the paper still keeps coming to his door everyday.  The last time Gary tried to take a vacation, the paper followed him."

 "The paper doesn't give any clues as to Gary's whereabouts?" Mulder inquired, his brow furrowed in concentration.

 Chuck sighed "No, nothing, at least, not yet.  I was hoping that you might be able to help find him, or maybe just use your connections to put some pressure on the Chicago Police to get them involved."

 "Well, I don't' think I can do much good with the CPD, but maybe I could come out there and nose around a bit." Mulder offered.  It was a chance to get away from boring paperwork, and work on an interesting case. Besides, he really was concerned about Hobson's wherabouts.   "I have some vacation coming that I can use. I couldn't do anything officially, however." He warned.

 "Whatever you can do would be great." Chuck said gratefully.  "I didn't know whom else to call.  Gary had told me that you believed in the paper, so I figured you would understand how important it is to Gary.  He would never go off and leave it.  He'd feel too guilty." Fishman replied  "Not to mention, he would never let me have a chance to get a hold of it." He added ruefully.

 Thinking back to the anguished man, who had tried and had almost been killed trying to prevent the Sears Tower bombing, Mulder agreed with Fishman.  Hobson had reminded him of himself; both were controlled by unseen forces.  One man devoted his life to seeking the truth, the other to righting wrongs.  There was no way that Hobson would voluntarily abandon his mission.

 After asking a few more questions and promising to take the first flight to Chicago in the morning, Mulder hung up.  He immediately dialed Scully's number.  He hoped she would go with him.

 After explaining the situation with Hobson, Mulder told her that he was going to take his vacation time and see if he could find out anything.  Mulder was surprised at how quickly she agreed to accompany him. In fact, he was somewhat startled at how concerned she sounded about Hobson.  A feeling that might have been jealousy shot through him, but he shrugged it off. Scully was just a very caring person, and Hobson had struck them both as an honest man who sincerely wanted to help people.

 Scully hung up the phone, lost in thought.  At the mention of Hobson's name, she had been surprised at the little flutter of excitement in her stomach.  In her mind she saw the tall handsome man with the haunted brown eyes. He had struck her as a truly good person, willing to sacrifice for others. A person she would have liked to get to know better.  Hopefully, she would get that chance. She quickly started packing, trying to tell herself that she was silly for feeling like a love-struck teen, especially about a man she barely knew.  She thought about Mulder, and felt guilty, as though she was betraying him somehow.
 

 Upon arriving in Chicago, Mulder called Chuck, and it was agreed that the three of them and Marissa, would meet at McGinty's Bar and Grill to discuss all the details concerning Gary.

 While waiting for their lunch to arrive,  Chuck told Mulder how he had been unable to contact Gary for three days now.  Marissa explained that she had been the last person to talk to Gary when he had seen her home after their excursion to the racetrack.

 "Okay, so he left you at your apartment at about five o'clock in the afternoon on Tuesday?" Mulder asked, going over his notes.

 "Yes, that's right." Marissa nodded.

 "Do you remember what he was wearing?" Mulder inquired, then blushed, as he remembered that Marissa was blind. She functioned so well, one forgot about her disability.

 Marissa chuckled softly,  "Well, as a matter of fact, I do know that he was wearing his leather coat, because it squeaked when he moved around."

 Chuck piped in "Yeah, Gar's got a black leather coat, and he usually wears jeans."

 "Okay, that's a start."  Scully said. "Have you questioned any of his friends, women he might be dating?"

 "Um, well, we're pretty much it."  Chuck answered.  "For the last year or so, with the paper and all, Gary didn't have time for many other people.  As far as women goes, he hasn't had much luck with that either."

 Scully let out her breath.  She hadn't realized she had been holding it while waiting for Chuck's reply.

 Mulder sent her a puzzled look, which made Scully blush, and she looked down, pretending to intently read her notes.

 Chuck sat back with his arms crossed, confused at the sudden tension in the air.  What was going on between these two?

 Marissa, oblivious to the silent exchange, went on to tell them how Gary had been since the bombing, and how he had slowly been returning to his old self.

 Their lunch arrived, and the foursome made small talk while they ate.  Chuck told some tales from when he and Gary had roomed together in college, making them all laugh.

 After eating, Mulder laid out the plan.

 "Well, the last anyone saw him, was at Marissa's, and he was walking home, right?  So, we'll go to Marissa's and re-trace Gary's steps.  It's been several days, but it's worth a try."

 Scully turned to Chuck.  "Do you have a recent picture of Gary?  We'll need something to show people."

 "Um, I don't think so, but we can stop by his hotel room.  I have an extra key.  I know that there are a few pictures there." Chuck said, as he pulled out his wallet, and paid the bill.  He was also paying for the two agents' hotel rooms, so he was hoping that Gary would turn up real quick.

 "Okay, Scully, why don't you go with Chuck to get the picture, while Marissa and I go re-trace Gary's route home that night?  I'll meet you at the Blackstone when I'm done, okay?"

 "Okay, sounds good."  Scully gathered her purse, and she and Chuck left to walk the short route to the Blackstone hotel.

 In Gary's room, Scully quickly found a picture of Gary and a pretty blond woman, happily smiling into the camera.  The picture had been stowed away in a nightstand drawer, as though Gary didn't want to be reminded of it.  She studied the picture thoughtfully.  She wondered if the woman in it was his ex-wife.  Scully turned to Chuck and asked him.

"No that's not his ex-wife.  I don't think he was ever that happy with her." Chuck said making a face.  "The woman in that picture is Emma.  She was great, and I never saw Gary so happy as he was the few weeks he spent with her."

 "What happened?  How come they only had a few weeks?" Scully asked, something inside her needed to know more.

 Chuck took the picture from Scully, looking at it.  "It turned out that she was still in love with her former boyfriend that she had thought was dead.  Gary found out from the paper, that she was going to be reunited with him, at a place he was going to be taking her."

 "So why did he take her?  I mean, if he really did know that they would meet, he could have just avoided going there, right?" Scully wondered.

 "Yeah, he knew." Chuck answered, shaking his head.  "  In fact, Gary almost took her somewhere else that night, but he said that then he would have never known if she loved him, if he was just a substitute for Marco.  That was the other guy's name." Chuck finished.

 "Oh." Was all Scully could say, feeling a lump come to her throat for the pain Gary must have suffered.

 Shaking off the melancholy feeling, Scully proceeded to thoroughly search the small hotel suite.  She found an address book that she thought might be helpful.  She asked Chuck if he could go get copies of the picture made at a one-hour photo shop.  He quickly agreed; happy to finally have something concrete to do to help find Gary.

 Meanwhile, Mulder had carefully retraced Gary's route back to the hotel. He was only a few blocks from the hotel, and so far he had found nothing.  He had looked in every alley that opened onto the sidewalk, but didn't hit pay dirt until he was only a block from the hotel.

 Stepping into the alley, Mulder did a quick search, initially not finding anything.  He was turning to leave, when an orange cat emerged from the shadows meowing insistently.  Mulder quickly headed towards the cat.  The cat retreated further into the shadows, with Mulder following.  His foot hit something that went skidding into the wall.  He stooped to look at what he had kicked.  It was a brown wallet.  With a sense of dread, Mulder opened it, and was met with a  photo of Gary Hobson smiling back at him from a drivers license.

 "Damn!" he swore softly.  In his mind, he had hoped that Gary had won a lot of money at the track, and had just decided to take a little trip.  Finding the wallet seemed to sqelch that thought.
 

 Gary rolled over, grunting at the pain that the simple movement caused.  Using the wall behind him for leverage, he managed to get into a sitting position.  Panting at the effort, he leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.  As best he could guess he had been held captive for two to three days now.  He had been kept in the same small room, except for twice daily excursions to the bathroom.  His hands were still bound, but they had released his feet the first time he had gone to the bathroom, and thankfully, hadn't re-tied them.

 Opening his eyes, Gary surveyed the room for the hundredth time.  The walls were completely bare, with only one small window high on a wall to break the monotony of the room.  A bare bulb on the ceiling provided the only light.  Gary could only surmise that he was in some kind of storage room, but where, he had no idea.  He had gone over the room inch by inch, trying to find some kind of weapon, even a bent nail would have been a welcome find, but his efforts proved fruitless.

 Gary sighed in frustration.  He wondered if his captors had forgotten about him. So far, he hadn't seen them today; at least he didn't think so. Without any way to tell time, Gary had no way of knowing how long it had been since he had woken up this morning.  It was even hard to tell what time of day it was.  The light was left on constantly, so Gary was starting to get his days mixed up.

  The same trio that he 'met' the first night had returned twice more.  Each time, they had asked almost the same questions. Who did he work for, and who gave him the information on the winning horses? Gary denied knowing anything, but they didn't believe him. He even went so far as to explain about the paper, but, of course, that caused an eruption of laughter, quickly followed by several quick blows.

 Gary's stomach rumbled noisily.  So far, he had only eaten twice since he had been held.  One of the big guards had given him a couple of sandwiches, and some water.  The other guard didn't even bother, so not only was Gary intensely hungry, he was also very thirsty.

 At least it didn't seem like any permanent damage had been done by the beatings, Gary thought wryly. Except for being dizzy and disoriented the first day, and having a fierce headache, he had all his faculties still. Though he was incredibly sore, and he thought some of his ribs might be cracked, there was no damage that wouldn't heal.  He just hoped he would be alive long enough to give his injuries time to mend.
 

 Mulder ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  He and Scully had completely canvassed Gary's neighborhood, showing his picture, and asking if anyone had seen him, but to no avail.  Nobody knew anything.  Mulder stood by the alley where Gary had disappeared, and asked people heading home from work, if they had seen or heard anything, the afternoon of his disappearance, and was dismayed that no one recalled anything out of the ordinary occurring that evening.

 Standing in Gary's hotel room, with his hands on his hips, Mulder surveyed the room.  He felt like there was a clue somewhere that he was missing.  He strode over to the kitchen counter, and pulled out a drawer.  He had already been through it, but maybe he missed something, he thought.  He quickly rifled through Gary's receipts, and bank statements that were lying neatly stacked in the drawer.  Mulder picked up the stack, and carried them over to the couch, and sank down to examine them.  He hadn't really looked closely at them before, just noting that, though Gary was far from rich, he didn't seem to be in any financial trouble.  That pretty much eliminated loan sharks from the picture.

 Scanning the statements, Mulder suddenly sat up straighter. Something had caught his eye.  Each month there was a deposit for around two thousand dollars.  Where did the money come from? He thought for a moment.  Jumping to his feet, Mulder hurried back to the drawer retrieved Gary's checkbook.  Comparing the statement to the checkbook, he found matching entries, marked simply 'track'.  Is that how Gary managed, by making bets?  Mulder looked back through the rest of the checkbook, and found monthly entries similarly marked.  Mulder suddenly recalled that Marissa had mentioned having lunch with Gary at the track the day of his disappearance. Mulder didn't know if it was important of not, but he wanted to check it out.

 Picking up the phone, he dialed Scully, and asked her to be ready to go to the track.  Maybe some more clues could be found there. For every hour that Gary remained missing, the chances of finding him alive diminished.
 

 "Have you ever seen this man?" Mulder asked for the umpteenth time. He and Scully had spent the last forty-five minutes questioning everyone from the janitors to the hot dog vendor.  A few people thought that the picture of Gary looked familiar, but couldn't place him. Mulder was asking the people who cashed the winning tickets if they had ever seen Gary.  The third woman perked up when she saw Gary's picture.

 "Oh yeah!  I remember him.  He was here just the other day.  I remember because Janine and I...well....um...let's just say that we remarked on how nicely his jeans fit him."  The young women giggled.

 Scully couldn't suppress a smile, though Mulder just rolled his eyes.

 "Well, that's nice Miss, but could you tell us everything that you remember about his visit a few days ago, or even previous visits if you know anything."

 The young blonde woman cocked her head to the left, brow furrowed as she thought.  "Well, I have seen him before a few times. I remember his name starts with an H.  Let's see, it's Hopper, or Hanson or...wait, I remember, it was Hobson.  Yeah, 'cause it sounds kind of like a butler's name or something.  Anyway, he brought his winning ticket to me, and I had to have him sign some tax forms, 'cause you have to do that if your winnings are over a certain amount." She informed them.

 "Was anyone with him at the time?" Scully asked.

 "Hmm, well there was a blind lady with a dog, and a couple of other guys behind her, 'cause her dog growled at one of them, and the blind lady had to shush him."

 "Did you call Hobson by name?" Mulder inquired.

 "Yeah, I think so. I usually do when I see their names on the forms.  It's supposed to make people want to come back to the track, if they feel that we are their friends.  At least that's what the training manuals says."  She giggled.

 Scully nodded and asked "Did you recognize the other men in line; the men that the dog growled at?"

 "Well, I've seen them around before, but I don't know their names.  I've seen them talking to Mr.Lawrence lots of times before, though.  Mr. Lawrence is sort of a legend around here.  I think he is some kind of CEO or something."

 Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance.  Things were starting to add up.  After getting as much information as they could from the cashier, they thanked her and walked out to the concession area.

 Mulder bought hotdogs and soft drinks for himself and Scully, and they seated themselves at a booth.

 "Well, what do you think?" Mulder asked around bites of hotdog. Scully swallowed, and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

 "It sounds like it could have been a robbery." Scully said.

 Mulder shrugged, and took a gulp of his soda.

 "I don't think so.  After all, we found his wallet, and his credit cards were still all there.  Plus, why wait till he gets all the way back home?"  Mulder shook his head.  "I think that Hobson was taken because they thought he was horning in on their operation."

 Scully looked skeptical. "What operation?" she asked.

 "I think some one has a nice little thing going here, where they get tips on winning horses.  If they thought Gary was also getting the tips, or even worse, was a cop trying to expose them, they might not be too happy about it."

 "Well, I think we need to find out who Mr.Lawrence is, and maybe then we will find our answers."  Scully said, as she finished her hotdog and wiped her hands.

 "My thoughts exactly." Mulder agreed.

 It didn't take long for the two to find out who Mr.Lawrence was.  Some searching of the FBI database turned up a Steven A. Lawrence who matched the description given them by the cashier.  His record revealed a previous conviction from ten years before for insurance fraud.  He had owned several racehorses that were killed when their barn mysteriously burned down.  Larwrence had been convicted when the arsonist had plea-bargained in exchange for naming Steven Lawrence as the man who had paid him to torch the barn. He had been sentenced to seven years in jail, and required to reimburse the insurance company.  The arsonist had been found dead in his cell shortly after Lawrence's conviction, though no proof was ever found linking Lawrence to the death.

 "Steven Lawrence's release date was September 3, 1994." Scully read out loud.  She bit her lip, and gave Mulder a worried look.  If this guy was holding Gary, then he was in big trouble.

 Mulder shared her concern, and was already on the phone digging up as much current information as he could on Lawrence.
 

 A key rattled in the door.  Gary sat up as straight as he could.  His heart was pounding.  He hadn't seen nor heard from his captors for hours, maybe as long as a day.  He wasn't sure. In a strange way, he almost welcomed their arrival. At least then he knew that he wasn't forgotten. One of his greatest fears was that his captors would leave him with no food or water to die alone in this bare room.

 The door opened admitting the short dark haired man.  The boss, Gary called him in his mind.  Following him were his two big henchmen.  Gary tried not to show the fear he was feeling as he eyed the trio warily.

 "How are you doing today, Mr.Hobson?" the boss said cheerfully.

 Gary remained silent.

 "Are you ready to talk to us?  I sincerely hope so." The boss squatted down in front of him.

 Gary looked at him, narrowing his eyes.  "I don't have anything to talk about.  I already told you everything I know.  I'm not a cop. I don't have any connections.  I just got lucky, so why don't you let me go!"

 Gary was surprised at the tone in his own voice.  He knew that he shouldn't say anything to get his captors angry, but he was beyond caring.  He was tired of waiting for them, wondering what they were going to do with him.The boss's jaw clenched.  The only outward-sign that Gary's outburst hadn't set well with him.

 "I was almost ready to believe you, but, you see, I can't take a chance that someone else knows what you know.  I have to know that all my people are trustworthy.  I can't do that if I have to worry that one of them has been talking to the Feds, now can I?" he stood up, nodding to his henchmen.

 The two men picked Gary up by his arms, and roughly shoved him against the wall. The man on his left was holding Gary's jaw in a vise-like grip.  Gary struggled, not liking where this conversation was heading.  Weakened from previous beatings and lack of food and water, though, his struggles were ineffective, and he was slammed back against the wall, his head bouncing painfully against the cement block.  He sagged as darkness threatened to overtake him, but was brought back to semi-consciousness by the click of a gun hammer being pulled back. The boss slowly walked into Gary's line of vision, holding a gun in front of him. "I'm sorry things had to turn out this way." He said, sadly shaking his head.

Gary couldn't take his eyes off the gun, as terror coursed through him.
 

 Getting current information on Steven Lawrence hadn't been as simple as Mulder had hoped it would be.  As a parolee, he had been required to check in with his parole officer monthly, but he only checked in sporadically.  The parole officer was responsible for over a hundred men and women out on parole, and it was only to be expected that some would fall through the cracks.  Steve Lawrence was one of the lucky ones.

 "What do you mean, you haven't seen him in over a year?" an exasperated Mulder nearly shouted into the phone.  Mulder listened impatiently to the officer's excuses, all the while pacing the hotel room.

 "Okay, just give me the last information you have on him."  Mulder said tersely, as he grabbed a pencil, and started scribbling the info down.

 "Well, it's not much, but it's a start." Mulder said to Scully as he hung up the phone.  Steve Lawrence's last known address was as 1223 N. Greenbay Rd in Highland Park.  Using FBI resources, and some of his own, Mulder was able to get more detailed and current information.  It wasn't easy, as Lawrence was no dummy, and he was not listed as the owner of record on any of the addresses they were finally able to dig up.

 The cashier at the track had been wrong when she had guessed that Lawrence was a CEO at the track.  In reality, he was owner of a stable of racehorses, though of course, he wasn't actually listed as the owner.  That would be a violation of his parole.

 Scully and Mulder mulled over all the information that they had gathered, finally settling on an old warehouse that was owned by the corporation that was a front for Lawrence.  It was fairly isolated, but so isolated that comings and goings would be noticed.

 The warehouse was on Morgan Street, a few miles west of downtown Chicago, in an area of similar warehouses.

 Mulder called Chuck and Marissa, who had been anxiously waiting to hear any news.  Mulder gave them the address of the warehouse, and told them that if Gary was being held anywhere, that that was the most likely location.

 "Okay.  What can I do to help?"  Chuck asked, eager to finally be able to do something.

 "Unfortunately, not a whole lot.  Scully and I will go check it out, see if we can find anything, and let you know what happens."

 Chuck swore softly into the phone, but acknowledged that he would probably only get in the way, and reluctantly agreed to comply with Mulder's wishes that he and Marissa just sit tight.
 

 Time seemed to slow down.  The barrel of the gun aimed at him looked as big as a cannon.  He dimly heard his own breathing coming in short, frightened gasps.  For an instant, he had stopped struggling, as shock and fear had come over him at the sight of the gun, but now instinct took over, along with a surge of adrenaline.  Suddenly twisting violently, Gary was able to get free of one of the henchman and was in the process of slamming the second one against the wall, when two things happened. One, the door burst open, and a blurred form raced into the room shouting.  Secondly, there was a loud noise as a gun was fired. Gary felt as though someone had slugged him in the shoulder, as he was hurtled back against the wall.  He was momentarily stunned, and slid to the ground.  In the next instant the pain came.  Waves of it, washing over him, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else that was going on in the room.
 

Scully and Mulder had arrived at the warehouse, and saw a shiny black car parked in front.  Scully went to the front of the warehouse, while Mulder headed around back.      There were only a few windows set high in the walls, but there was a dumpster under one of them.  Mulder quickly and quietly climbed on the dumpster, noting that the muffled sounds of a scuffle were coming from the room.  Standing on his tiptoes, he was just able to peer through the window.  He saw Gary being shoved into the wall, his hands bound behind his back. He heard the sickening thump of his head hitting the wall.  Mulder winced in sympathy, and hurriedly jumped off the dumpster and ran around to the front of the building.  Scully, not getting an answer to her repeated knockings on the door, had pulled out her gun, and carefully tried the doorknob, surprised to find that it turned easily in her hand.  She was about to enter, when Mulder flew around the corner, gun drawn.  He motioned for Scully to enter the building, and was quickly in front of her, leading the way.

 Mulder made a left down a short hall way past the entrance, his mind calculating where the room that he had seen Gary in, lay in relation to the outside of the building. At the end of the hall, was a door marked 'Storage'.  That was where Gary  was.

 Mulder and Scully stood outside the door, listening intently. There was silence, then the sounds of renewed struggling.  Glancing at each other, practically reading each others minds, Mulder nodded, confident that Scully would know what he had planned.

 She quickly nodded and took her place to the right of the door, her hand on the knob. At another nod from Mulder, she turned the knob, and pushed the door open, at the same time standing back out of Mulder's way as he burst through the door gun pointed towards the back right side of the room.  Scully quickly followed him, covering Mulder's back.  There was no one behind Mulder, so she quickly turned, hearing the sharp report of a gun. Both agents were shouting "FBI! Put down your weapons!"  As they trained their guns on the three men in the room.

 Scully saw Gary slide down the wall, her heart in her throat. She ignored her urge to run to him.  They had to deal with his captors first.

 Mulder also saw Gary slumped on the floor, and felt anger rush through him; at himself, for being too late, and at the three men who would so coldly shoot another person.  Before the other men could even think, he rushed them, tackling the man with the gun.

 Scully carefully trained her gun on the other two men, who were slowly raising their hands.

 "Step away from him!" she shouted harshly, as one of the men made a move towards Gary.
 "Lie down on the floor with your hands on your heads!"  When they were slow to comply, Scully pulled the hammer of her gun back, her eyes blazing.

 Reluctantly, the men lay down on the floor as instructed.  She quickly handcuffed one man, and used a plastic restraint on the other.

  She had ignored the scuffle going on between Mulder and the other man, as she had concentrated on her job, but now that she had her men under control, she turned to see if Mulder needed any help.

 She was shocked to see Mulder sitting on the other man, his face twisted in rage, hands clenched around the man's neck.

 "Mulder!  Stop! You're killing him!" Scully shouted, as she struggled to pull her partner off the other man.

  "He doesn't deserve to live.  He killed Gary, one of the only truly good people in this world!" Mulder ground out, still struggling to keep his grip on the other man's throat.

 "Mulder, it isn't for you to decide.  Let him go.  Gary's not dead, but he needs our help.  Now!" Scully urged.

 Mulder shook his head, as her words slowly penetrated.  He reluctantly released his hold on the man's neck, and roughly turned him  over and handcuffed him.  Rolling off of him, Mulder panted, and wiped his hand across his mouth, absently noting the blood on his hand.

 He staggered over to the wall where Gary was lying.  Scully was already there, tearing open Gary's shirt to see the damage.

 Mulder pulled out his cell phone, and called for an ambulance and for police.  Hanging up, he stood behind Scully, anguish in his eyes as he took in Gary's condition.

 "How is he?" Mulder asked quietly, dreading the answer.

 "Well, I don't think that the bullet hit anything vital, but he is losing a lot of blood." Scully answered as she worked feverishly to staunch the flow.

 Gary groaned in protest of the pressure being applied.  His eyelids flickered.

 Mulder moved to Gary's head, feeling useless, but hoping to offer some comfort.

 "Hey buddy, hang in there.  Help is on the way." Mulder quietly urged Gary.

 "Chuck?" Gary asked weakly.

 "No, it's Mulder and Scully.  Do you remember us?"

 "The FBI agents?  What? How did you...?"  Gary asked, confused.

 "Shhh.  Don't talk right now, Gary." Scully soothed, smoothing a hand over his forehead, noting the bruises and cuts partially healed on his face.

 In a moment the ambulance arrived, bringing a bustle of activity.  Gary was bundled off to Northwestern Hospital, while the police took statements from Mulder and Scully.
 

 "Yes sir.  I understand."  Mulder held the phone away from his ear wincing.  He gave Scully a grin and mouthed "He's not happy."

 Scully laughed, she wasn't surprised.  She hadn't expected Assistant Director Skinner to be thrilled with his best agents using vacation time to pursue personal cases. On the other hand, Steve Lawrence was back behind bars, and Gary was recovering.

 She sobered at the thought.  She had been aghast at the fact that he had been severely dehydrated when he was rescued.  What kind of people could deny water to someone?  She shook her head.

 Mulder hung up the phone, playfully rubbing his ear as he did so. "Do I have any blisters on it, Scully" he joked, tilting his head so that  Scully could get a good look at his 'abused' ear.

 Scully laughed, pushing his head away, her laughter stopped abruptly, as it seemed a jolt of electricity shot through her.  Mulder's expression had gone serious also.  His gaze locked on hers, the moment seemed to stretch an eternity.  The trill of Mulder's cell phone broke the spell, as Mulder fumbled for the phone, annoyance in his voice as he answered "Mulder"

 "Yeah, Mulder, its Chuck.  Did I call at a bad time?"

 Mulder sighed, running his hand through his hair, glancing at Scully, who was busying herself packing her briefcase.  She met his gaze briefly, before glancing back down self-consciously.

 "Uh, no, Chuck, you didn't call at a bad time.  What do you need?"

 "I was just wondering if before you left for the airport, if you would have time to go to the hospital.  Gary is finally allowed to eat, so I was going to pick up some pizza, and bring it up to him.  Do you think you and Scully can make it?"

 Glancing at his watch, Mulder saw that they had several hours before their flight left, he asked Scully if she wanted to go, and she nodded. "Yeah, we'll meet you there in forty-five minutes."  Mulder answered.
 

 Gary leaned back in bed, closing his eyes.  Thanks to the pain medication he had been given, the pain in his shoulder had been reduced to a manageable throb.  His bruises were healing, though his ribs still ached with each deep breath, despite that, Gary felt content.  He was clean, he wasn't thirsty anymore, and soon it would be lunch, and the doctor had promised that he could eat regular food for the first time.  This morning he had woken up to a familiar meow, and sitting at the end of his bed had been the orange cat, the paper folded beneath him.  Gary had retrieved it, and was relieved to find nothing that there was nothing urgent that needed to be done.  He was glad that no one was in trouble, as he doubted he would be able to help in his current condition, but he was surprised to feel disappointment too.  He hadn't realized how much he had come to look forward to the paper each morning, until it wasn't there anymore.  Until he hadn't been able to rescue anyone.  Then he missed it.  It seemed to be his purpose in life.

Just then, his door burst open, admitting the mouth-watering aroma of fresh hot pizza.  Gary grinned at the entourage that entered his room.  Chuck led the way, carrying pizza and paper plates.  Following him was Mulder, also bearing a pizza, and Scully carrying a six-pack of soda.  Marissa brought up the rear holding a bunch of napkins in her hand. Gary sat up, suddenly ravenous at the scent of the pizza.  He tried not to wince at the pain that the sudden movement caused, but he caught Scully giving him a concerned look.  He flushed, embarrassed at the attention.  It seems he only ever saw her when he was stuck in a hospital bed.  He vowed that someday, they would visit like normal people do.

Scully gave him quick, encouraging smile, which Gary sheepishly returned.  Only Mulder noted their silent exchange.  Wondered about it.  Soon it was forgotten in the bustle that followed. Chairs were pulled up near the bed, a few borrowed from other rooms.  Paper plates and napkins were handed out, and soda passed around.   Gary sighed, closing his eyes at the first hot gooey bite of pizza.  Nothing had ever tasted so good. He opened his eyes to the find everyone watching him a mixture of amusement and concern on their faces.  He grinned to put them at ease, and took a gulp of pop.  Soon everyone was munching away, chatting between bites.

 "Hey Gar, you ever gonna go to the track again?" Chuck asked, grinning.

 "No!" Gary answered vehemently, shaking his head and laughing.  "I think I will do something safe to earn a living." He took another bite of pizza and a sip of pop, wishing it were a beer.  That gave him an idea."Maybe I'll buy a bar.  If I got someone to manage it for me, I would still be able to do my 'other' job."

 "Hey, I heard McGinty's might be for sale." Marissa piped in, smiling.

 "Hmm" Gary scratched his chin thoughtfully.
 
 

                    The End.

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Don't forget to feed the author!  Maryilee

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