Getting Even

by Cory

*   *   *

"And up the carpet on there way in is the special effects master for the film, Rollie Tyler!" Cameras flashed as Rollie, grinning boyishly, made his way into the theatre. He headed up to the door and presented his pass to the guard, and then turned, walking into the movie premiere.

"YAAAY ROLLIE!" called Angie, stuffing popcorn in her mouth. Angie, who wasn't able to get a pass for the premiere (MUCH to her dismay!) was relegated to sitting on the couch watching coverage of it from the shop.

It was about ten o'clock. In a few minutes "HARD GOING" would premiere in the theatre, and two days later across the rest of the country. Swinging her feet onto a table, Angie sat back and watched as another star came down the carpet. He waved to the fans pushing against the guardrail . . .

Inside Rollie was ushered to his seat at one edge of the theatre. He was offered a drink, which he denied, smiling at the young lady who was placed behind him. She smiled back. It was a few more minutes until the movie was to start. Ever the impatient, Rollie pulled the FX padd out of his pocket . . .

Angie jumped as her padd beeped on the workbench. She jumped up, and ran over to it. On it, under a heading "MESSAGE FROM ROLLIE", was "How's it going?"

Angie quickly wrote back, "Great! Director's coming in now." She sat back down on the couch.

A moment later it beeped again. "Okay. I see him."

Angie wrote, "Are you excited?"

"Very, Ange," wrote Rollie. "Wish you were here."

"Aah, I don't care," wrote Ange. "Oh, here comes Sid Singer!"

"Great, the star!" came back the response, "Now maybe we can get this show on the road!"

Suddenly from the TV came the sound of gunshots. People outside the theatre screamed as from down the street came a mob of masked people with machine guns. One of them fired over his head, screaming something that couldn't be made out from the announcer's mike. As if realizing this, the masked man came running towards the camera. You could hear the announcer shouting as the microphone was grabbed from his hands, and he began to speak.

"Ange?" came a message.

Quickly Angie wrote. "Rollie, about 20 masked men outside theatre, leader says Sid Singer is to die, don't know why."

The shooter on TV shoved the mike back into the announcer's hands, and then as if for the first time noticed that guards had surrounded the theatre entrance. He and his comrades quickly jumped behind crowd members, using them as a shield as a gunfight began.

A message came back. "Inside lobby, see men, have idea."

Forgetting she was communicating by padd, Ange cried, "Rollie! NO!" But before she could send anything back, her padd showed a message. ROLLIE DISCONNECTED.

"Damn you Rol!" she exclaimed. She leaned forward, watching the screen for signs of him. Suddenly she saw him. He was in the background, blurry. But she recognized his limo, which had been sent to pick him up. A door opened, and closed.

The gunfight continued. Most of the crowd had run, only those held hostage by the masked men were left. The guards were careful not to hit the hostages as they aimed for the shooters. She a guard, who'd been hiding behind a pillar in the theatre entrance, get shot. There were hysterical screams from the hostages as they saw the guards aim for the shooters behind them.

Suddenly the leader turned his gun on his hostage. "All right!" he exclaimed, "Nobody move! Or she dies!" His hostage, a large, plump woman in her forties, screamed. "I'm going in!" said the shooter.

Suddenly from the street, behind the shooters, came a loud voice. "HEY! OVER HERE!!"

"Oh -- oh my god!" exclaimed the announcer, "It looks the FX master, Rollie Tyler might stop this with, with whatever that thing is." It was Rollie, hiding behind a garbage can across the street. In his hands was a cannon which he'd used in an FX adventure he and Angie had had before, when they investigated a suspected UFO base. He aimed it carefully, and fired the gun at the shooter. A golden sphere shot from the cannon, and hit the shooter, across the street, exploding in green goo. He screamed as he was pushed to the ground, green goo bubbling up all around him.

The guards sprang forward, jumping upon the other men before they could react. In a few seconds, it was over.

From the inside of the theatre came the sound of cheers as the director came out, followed by Sid Singer and others from the cast. The shot guard got up again as if nothing had happened. The crowd came forward again, cheering. The announcer laughed. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been had!"

Angie sat up. What?

"As a dramatic introduction to the film, we have just seen a little play set up by the director and the movie's best man," the camera zoomed in, "ROLLIE TYLER!"

Rollie stood up and ran across the street, toward the announcer. "Rollie," said the announcer, "What a dramatically choreographed introduction for the film. Have you anything to say?"

"Yes," said Rollie, turning toward the camera. "This is to my assistant, Angie. Angie . . . GOTCHA!"

Back at the shop, Angie rolled her eyes. "Oh MAN!" she exclaimed. She grabbed her padd . . .

Rollie's padd beeped. The camera still trained on him, he reached into his pocket and fished out the small contraption. "Oh!" he said, acting surprised, "This, ladies and gentlemen, is a message from Angie."

The announcer laughed. "What does she say?"

"It says, and I quote: RO-O-OLLLLIIEEE!!!!" He laughed, as did the announcer. "So even your assistant didn't know about this?" he asked.

Angie cursed a Rollie under her breath. "I'm gonna GET YOU FOR THIS!"

"Nope!" said Rollie, grinning. "Well, please excuse me, I have to see the movie!" He turned back toward the theatre, the cannon still hanging from a strap around his neck.

Unbeknownst to anyone, one of the "masked men", thought to be a hired actor, reached into his pocket. As the announcer turned his attention to Sid Singer, the man pulled out a small silver gun. Pushing himself up from his position, laying on the ground, he shakily aimed it and fired.

The shot rang out as people screamed again. Sid Singer, though, had not been hit. Rollie had just passed in front of him . . .

Angie cried out as she saw Rollie fall, clutching his side. The announcer, for a moment, thought this was part of the game. Turning to Sid, he asked "Is this part of the show too Sid?"

Singer shook his head nervously. The announcer pulled in a breath. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "It appears that this is NOT part of the show. Someone has REALLY SHOT FX genius Rollie Tyler!" The camera zoomed in as guards, REAL GUARDS, hurried forward toward Rollie. The announcer stuttered out three last words. "I -- I think he's dead."
 
 

PART TWO\

"ROLLIE!" screamed Angie as the camera hastily zoomed in on the still form. Rollie was laying on the ground, not moving, blood pouring from a wound in his side. She knew this was no fake. He'd been SHOT!

From the crowd ran a bald man. "I'm a doctor!" he exclaimed, kneeling down beside Rollie. He felt Rollie's wrist, and felt a faint pulse. "He's still alive!" he announced relievedly to the audience, but then quickly refocused on the task at hand. Carefully, so as not to disturb the wound, he examined him. Tearing off his suit jacket, and ordering other people nearby to do so too, he carefully pressed on the wound with them. "He's lost a lot of blood! Someone call an ambulance!" . . .

Angie jumped up from the couch, the bowl of popcorn spilling on the floor. Running into the garage, crying, she grabbed the keys to the FX van and jumped in, heading for the hospital. "Oh god Rollie," she said, sniffling, "hang on! . . . "

The gurney carrying Rollie burst through the doors to the ER ward, dozens of medical techinicians and doctors following, screaming instructions to others. Suddenly from around a corner ran Angie, her eyes red from crying. She ran up, pushing through the crowd of people to look at Rollie. His face was pale. Angie's lips tightened when she saw the wound in his side. "Oh god Rollie," she said. "Rollie, Rollie!" He didn't answer.

A nurse pulled her away. After Angie said who she was, the nurse explained. "He's in shock. We have to see what we can do for getting blood back in and closing the wound."

Angie looked away from the nurse's face, not wanting her to see her crying. "How bad is it?"

The nurse hesitated. "The . . . the chances are good that he . . . might die."

Angie burst into tears as a wave of despair rushed through her. She stumbled to a seat. All the good times they'd had, all the help they'd given . . .

. . . and now, unlike all the movies, all the tricks . . . there was nothing she could do but wait . . .

Angie spent the next three hours in the ER waiting room, constantly at the door, questioning any orderly, technician, doctor, or nurse how Rollie was. The answer was always the same.

Suddenly from inside there was a shout. A nurse rushed out, coming to a stop beside Angie. The nurse had bags under her eyes, and Angie thought that the nurse mirrored how she must look. "He's conscious!" exclaimed the nurse, guiding Angie through the double swinging doors and toward Rollie.

They had stripped Rollie down to his waist, and a large white bandage covered the wound. An IV was hooked up to his arm. But Angie was relieved to see that his eyes were open, and they quickly focused on her. "Angie!" he exclaimed, breathing heavily.

She ran to his side, kneeling beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," he croaked. His eyes closed. A moment later they slowly opened. He seemed groggy. "Did you . . . like the . . . show?"

Angie managed a small laugh. "Truthfully Rol, you scared me!"

He laughed, and then moaned in pain. "Yeah." His eyes closed. "Yeah . . . g''night." The nurse came up beside Angie again. "Let him rest," she said.

Angie nodded, and stood up. Walking away, she caught one last glance of Rollie before the swinging door blocked her view.

Angie went home, and gratefully fell onto the bed, falling asleep immediately. She awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. It was Mira. "Angie?"

Angie recognized the voice. "Uh, yeah?"

"Angie, we arrested the guy who shot Rollie."

Angie's fists clenched. "And?"

"We tried to get him to talk. No luck."

"Well, get him to talk!"

"Angie, he killed himself in jail this morning. A cyanide capsule planted in the back of his mouth."

Angie's eyes grew wide in horror. "Mira, what does this mean?"

"Ange, the capsule has only been seen once before -- a high class terrorist group in Europe."

"So what does this mean?"

"It mean's Rollie's case is a lot bigger than we thought."

"Huh?"

"We thought that this was a simple revenge thing. Some gang wanted to kill Sid Singer, and their shooter shot Rollie instead. Sid has a lot of enemies."

"I'm feeling a big 'but' is coming . . ."

"BUT none as big as this group. The only thing we can think of is Sid was behind something really big. But it just doesn't fit."

"Mira . . . it's six in the morning. You didn't call me just to say that."

"All . . . all right Angie. No, I didn't call just to say that. I called to tell you the news."

Angie said cautiously, "What news?"

"Rollie's back in shock again. And this morning's surgery had complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"Many. Angie, something's VERY wrong here."

Angie paused. "What are you thinking of, Mira?"

"I have a hunch."

"Spill it, Mira."

"Angie, that shooter wasn't aiming at Sid. For some reason, for some UNKNOWN reason . . . he REALLY WAS shooting . . . at Rollie."

PART THREE

"Why would anyone want to shoot at Rollie?"

"Good question, Angie," said Mira. "That's what we have to find out. Meet me at the station in one hour."

Midtown South was a busy New York police station near Rollie's workshop. Angie knew her way around fairly well, and after passing Francis found Mira's desk.

Mira was a fairly neat person. Normally her desk was neatly arranged, pencils and pens here, papers there . . . now everything was pushed off to the side as she had a large TV set and a multi-tape VCR on it. Mira looked up as Angie arrived. "Sit down," she said, motioning for Angie to sit down beside her.

"Hi Mira," said Angie, "What's happening?"

"I'm going over footage of the crime from the various local TV stations. Three in all covered this event -- and I still have all the press photos to go over."

"Mira -- you're looking for something."

"Angie, let's say I'm -- suspicious -- there's something we're forgetting." She carefully watched one camera angle of Rollie running across the street. She flicked to another.

Angie watched over Mira's shoulder. The camera zoomed in on Rollie's grinning face. As he came across onto the red carpet, he was swept into a sea of reporters. Another camera angle. One station, unable to get his attention, could only cover the questions asked by other reporters, and Rollie's back. The cannon, strapped around his neck, swayed as he bobbed from question to question, from press reporter to news reporter.

"I'll have to question all these people," said Mira. She sighed, pushing back from her desk. "ALL those people. It's gonna be hell."

But Angie was watching the TV with interest. Rollie left the reporter's group, momentarily disappearing behind them, then reappearing as Sid Singer walked over to join the group. Off camera, the shooter reached up, fired, and hit Rollie -- the doctor runs up, and they begin to tend to Rollie . . .

Angie winced. Suddenly it hit her. "Mira!" she shouted.

"What is it?" Mira said, spinning around and quickly sitting down again.

"What's wrong with this?" She replayed the sequence of events.

Mira saw it as well. "Oh my god, Angie . . . "

"And look." Angie hit the freeze frame. As the camera began to zoom in on Rollie's wounded form, off the side of the screen was a figure running away, with a glint of something strapped around his shoulder.

Mira grabbed a paper and wrote down some instructions. Then she jumped up, pulling the tape out of the machine, waving down someone. "Send this downstairs, and tell them to enhance this . . . " She shoved the piece of paper into the boy's hands. Then she sat down again.

"Angie! How could I have been so stupid?"

Frances came over. "Stupid what? Got any leads?"

Mira turned her chair to explain. "Rollie ran across the street, cannon around his shoulders. He was interviewed, cannon around his shoulders. He goes out of camera view for just a second, comes back -- no cannon."

"Was it on all of the broadcasts?"

Mira shook her head. "I remember -- they didn't follow Rollie as he left -- they turned to interview Sid Singer. And we think we have someone running away with the cannon in the background."

Frances was quiet for a moment. "Soo -- what now?"

"Now," said Mira, "we wait for the results of an enhance on the figure," and turning to Angie, "and we check on Rollie."

PART FOUR

It was raining as Angie stepped out of the red FX van at the hospital. She entered, brushing back her wet blond hair, and the antiseptic smell hit her like a shock. The halls of this ward were fairly empty, and she felt out of place walking down the halls to the emergency area, where Rollie was still being held.

It was so quiet. The TAP TAP-PING of her shoes on the floor and the ocassional squeak from the wet soles echoed. Above her, a flickering neon light hummed softly, casting strobe-like shadows of her on the green hospital walls.

She entered a windowed passageway, and above her she could hear the soft beating of the rain on the roof. The hospital had been built in two sections, the old, which she had just passed through, and the new -- the passageway connected them.

Up ahead, she heard the sound of someone coming toward her, and the squealing of a cart. The person came by, dressed completely in white hospital garb, with a mask over his face. The cart was covered with a white sheet. The worker nodded as Angie past. She ignored him, and continued walking.

She passed the receptionist, who didn't look up as she came by. Angie seemed to know definitely where she was going. Besides, it was almost coffee break. The receptionist turned away.

Angie stared straight ahead and kept walking. Oh, was Rollie okay -- would he survive -- oh Rollie, oh poor Rollie poor ol' Rol . . .

A few more paces. There, that was his door down there. She'd come in and he'd be sitting up smiling or sleeping soundly like a baby and she would sit beside him and just know he was okay oh Rollie Rollie I please don't Rollie . . .

Her thoughts were broken by another white-gowned orderly who seemed to appear from nowhere. "Excuse me, but you can't go any farther."

Angie slowed. "Why not -- it's still visiting hours, isn't it?"

"Yes, but we've been told --"

"But he's my coworker, my friend I just . . ."

"Sorry ma'am -- "

"This is ridiculous!" She turned around to talk to the receptionist, "What's going --"

She wasn't there.

Angie spun around again to face the orderly. "I have every right to be here, and if you don't give me a good reason why not to --"

"Ma'am, PLEASE, ma'am, you can't --"

But Angie was frustrated, upset, and crying, "You -- you can't hold me back -- I can go in there." She tried to step around him.

He blocked her way. "No, you can't . . ."

"Fine!" she exclaimed, "Why?"

"Because Tyler's still in -- in bad condition -- he's going to die . . ."

Angie stumbled, and her knees felt weak. "Oh god, no, Rollie . . ."

"I'm sorry," said the orderly, then he hurried away, pushing past her.

Angie cried. Then she turned around to say . . .

. . . but he was gone.

PART FIVE

Angie pulled herself to her feet, wiping the tears away from her eyes. Oh, poor Rollie -- why him, why did it have to be him . . .

She felt so horrible. She hugged herself, and felt her knees begin to buckle again. She managed to gide herself to a chair, where she pulled off the wet raincoat that had was keeping her so cold. She held it away from herself, looking at it. FX.

She yelled, and threw it to the floor. From down the hall, a head popped out from a doorway. "Miss, is everything . . ."

Angie turned, wishing it was . . .

. . . but it wasn't. A young woman with a nametag reading Dr. Vickers stood watching her. "Oh," said Angie, sniffling, and wiping away the tears from her eyes. "I'm fine. Really . . ."

"Ooh - kay," said the woman slowly, obviously knowing she wasn't fine. But she turned and headed back into the room.

Angie sniffled again. Poor Rollie, poor Rollie.

She pushed herself to her feet, and began to walk down the hall again, away. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, say it would be okay . . .

. . . but that would be lying. He'd know. He knew her too well. No, she wouldn't be able to hold it.

She entered the dreary inter-building passageway, and stopped, staring out at the rain outside. It was fitting. So fitting. She could see the orderly's face telling her Rollie -- Rollie . . . "

Suddenly outside her mind jumped tracks. "Rollie," she said slowly, "Rollie Tyler, Ty-ler . . ." Then she knew. "Fuckin' hell!" she exclaimed, running back from where she'd come, back to Rollie's room. She pushed by a nurse carrying a tray of surgical tools -- they spilled to the floor. "Hey!" the nurse exclaimed . . .

. . . but Angie kept on running. "He said Tyler," she said -- "he said . . . Tyler!" She swore again. How come she hadn't noticed before, how come . . .

She pushed open the door to Rollie's room, and it slammed against the wall with a thunk and she saw . . .

. . . a hospital bed. The covers were strewn up, and multiple IVs surrounded it. But Rollie was gone.

"HELL!" she muttered. She ran out of Rollie's room, to where Dr. Vickers was.

"Doctor!" she exclaimed, crashing through the door, "doctor!"

Vickers was sitting at her desk, reading a chart. A desk lamp was the only light source in the room. "Yes?" said Vickers, looking up quizically. "Can I --"

"Where's Rollie?!"

"Where who?"

"Rollie Tyler, he's supposed to be down there."

"And he is, miss, if you just go two doors over but . . ."

"What are you trying to pull on me?"

Vickers squinted. "What?"

Angie was furious. "Listen, HE'S NOT THERE. An orderly said he's supposed to be there . . ."

"He is, miss, look," Vickers stood up, and guided Angie out of the office. "He's through this door right here . . ." she swung open the door and saw that Rollie was gone.

"What the --" she began, and suddenly it went dark.

PART SIX

Mira walked up to the reception desk at the hospital. "Excuse me," she said, "but could you tell me where Rollie Tyler's room is?"

The receptionist nodded at Mira. "Just one moment, please." She pulled out a clipboard. After searching down a column of names, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Rollie Tyler is not here in this ward."

Mira frowned. He was supposed to be here. "Are you sure?"

The receptionist paused. "Let me check the computer." She tapped a few keys into the terminal. "No, I'm sorry, Rollie Tyler was discharged earlier today."

Mira bit her lip. "Miss ..."

"Sanders," said the receptionist, pointing to her nametag.

"Miss Sanders, do you keep a list of visitors?"

"Yes and no," she said, looking downward. "I mean, we're supposed to, but we don't really worry much about it ..."

"Oh," said Mira. "Can you tell me, then, who discharged him?"

Sanders straightened. "I'm sorry, I can't give out that kind of information."

Mira sighed, and pulled out her police badge.

"But on second thought, it shouldn't, uh, matter. One moment." She typed Rollie's name into the computer again. "This is weird."

"What?" said Mira, trying to twist to see the screen.

"I thought I knew all of the doctors in this ward, but I don't recognize this name."

Mira felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"A doctor, uh, Sam D. Carson."

"Is he in the hospital personnel files?"

The secretary keyed it in. She could feel the urgency. Suddenly she gasped, and in awe, said, "No."

"Damn!" exclaimed Mira, hopping away from the desk. "What room had he been in?"

The receptionist looked through the files again. "Room 284."

Mira took off for the room down the hall at a dead run. She burst through the door. She saw the room was vacant. Frantically, she began searching. "Rollie, Rollie," she whispered under her breath, searching for something, ANYTHING, that could be a clue ...

The receptionist came in. After a moment: "Excuse me?" she said cautiously.

Mira looked up, and saw the receptionist was white. "What is it?"

The receptionist pushed the door closed, and revealed what Mira had missed rushing into the room.

A bloodstain streaked down the wall.

Angie awoke to find herself in a dark, cold room. She was sitting on the floor, her hands tied behind her back. Beside her was Dr. Vickers, still unconcious.

Angie looked at the room she was in more closely, her eyes adjusting. Light was coming in through a barred window in a corner, illuminating the dust floating in the air. The room was bare, except for a heavy wooden door in one corner.

Vickers moaned. Angie turned to her. "Dr -- dr. Vickers?"

"Wha - what happened?"

"I don't know." Angie explained who she was and her visit to Rollie.

"So you're telling me you knew this orderly was lying --"

"When he said 'Mr. Tyler'. I hadn't said Rollie's name -- he somehow knew I was looking for Rollie."

"So you guys -- you guys are movie people."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Oh." Suddenly the door clanked open, and two figures appeared. One seemed sort of limp, the other, who was holding him up, threw him into the room. The door slammed shut.

The figure landed on Angie. Angie shouted something in horror as the body rolled over. It was Rollie!

Room 284 was blocked off, and half a dozen police officers were in the hallways of the hospital, questioning anyone who might have been on duty.

Mira was hurrying down the hall when suddenly Francis came up behind her. "Mira!" he exclaimed, waving a notepad.

"What have you found?" asked Mira.

"So far, there's nothing in the room. Forensics has taken a sample of the dried blood. They've analyzed it."

"Can they identify who it came from?"

"Not, not yet. See, it seems there are two different blood types, meaning blood from two different people. But I'm expecting identification of one of the people soon."

Mira half smiled, knowing Francis had something up his sleeve. "Spill it, Gatti."

"Personnel files show a Dr. Theresa Vickers signed in about five hours ago. She hasn't been seen for about the last two or three hours, and has missed several appointments."

"You think ..."

"I certainly do. Forensics thinks that the hospital has a blood sample from Vickers they can use for DNA identification."

"What about Angie? I sent her to talk to Rollie."

"I have a feeling she's the other blood sample. But we can't be sure without positive DNA identification, and to find something to check against would take time. We'd have to search her house ..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay. So that's all we have ..."

There came a shout from the room. Mira and Francis hurried to the door. And investigator appeared. "Found this wedged under the closet door." He held up a PDA.

Mira grabbed at it, and stared at its face. "Look at this," she said, mystified.

The screen read: "Found this wedged under the closet door. Look at this."

"It's recording our voices and putting the words on the screen," said Francis.

"Exactly," said Mira, scrolling backwards through the text. "Rollie was have turned to this option before he was taken -- and I'm pretty sure he was taken."

She searched through to the beginning of the recording. "Bingo!" she exclaimed, tapping the screen.

Francis peered over he shoulder, reading aloud. " 'Hey, who are you guys. You're coming with us. But wait you're not with the hospital -- where are we going -- Pier 82, buddy -- Hurry up, the ship leaves at ten!' "

Mira grabbed her cell phone. "Karen, hi, could you get me a list of all the ships leaving Pier 82 here in New York around ten o'clock? Thanks."

Francis looked at Mira. "Pier 82? Isn't it that huge one down near Bay?"

"Yeah," said Mira. "And we don't know whether the boat is small, fast, big, small ..."

"And what time is it?"

Mira looked at her watch. "Ten to seven. We have three hours to find them before that ship leaves."

Mira was running out the door of the hospital when her phone rang. "Mira!" she shouted into the receiver over the noise of the rain.

"Mira, it's Danny down in photo, I have the results of the photo enhancement you wanted me to do."

Mira racked her brain. Enhancement? Of course! Before Angie'd left to see Rollie, they'd noticed that in the background of one of the TV broadcasts of the movie premiere a man could be seen running off with Rollie's cannon. "Yeah Danny, where can I pick up the enlargements?"

"There's a cruiser coming over right now -- uh, Mira, we ran a check on this guy."

"Who is it, Danny?"

"Welland Garcia."

"Who!?"

"Yeah, that's right. Garcia, the head of that big crime ring. He was ALSO the one who shot Rollie, if you look back in the tapes."

Mira slapped a hand to her forehead. Of course! She KNEW it was someone like Garcia who'd shot Rollie -- she just couldn't put her finger on quite who. "Thanks, Danny. Here -- here's the cruiser. I got the pictures. Uh huh, it's him all right."

"So, Mira, are you going after him?"

Mira thought for a moment. "No. Rollie and Angie and a doctor have been kidnapped and we think they're being held on a ship at Pier 82."

"Good luck -- the size of that port you'll need it."

Mira jumped into her cruiser, Francis climbing in beside her. "Pier 82?" asked Francis.

Mira froze. "Actually . . ." She thought back. There had to be some easier way to find them -- they'd never get to them in time. Then she knew. "No, Francis," she said.

"Where then?"

"Rollie's shop."

"Where?"

"The shop! We found Rollie's PDA at the hospital, but Angie had her PDA with her when she went to see Rollie at the hospital as well! If we're lucky, then it's still got battery power."

"So?"

"Remember that bust a long time ago, when Rollie told us a little about how the PDA works? He said that even when turned off, if they have a battery they send out a small locator signal. He says he uses the signal to find it if he loses it in the mess of his workshop." She half smiled at the memory. "We can use that signal to track down what ship they're in."

Her phone rang again. "Hi Karen, go ahead give Francis here the departure list . . ."

Garcia turned. "What the hell is this?" he said, tossing the square pad into the hands of the woman standing beside him.

"I -- I'm not sure," she said, "hold on." She looked it over. It had a microphone, speaker, and tiny video recorder. There was a large flat touch screen. "Looks like some kind of communicator or pocket notebook or something."

"The girl, Angie, had it on her."

The woman examined it more closely. "Wait, here's a power button." She pressed it, and the FX logo flashed across the screen. "I was right!" she exclaimed as it loaded, "It's some kind of mini-computer. LOOK at this. Wow! This guy, Tyler, sure knows what he's doing!"

"Come on, Theresa!" exclaimed Garcia, flicking off the PDA. "You can play with the toys later." He tossed it onto the table in the center of the room. "Right now, you watch for the police."

Mira had gathered a task force outside the gates to pier 82. "Okay!" she exclaimed. "You'll all where the clothing assigned to you. We MUST assume that they'll be watching for us, and we don't want to tip them off for as long as we can." She pointed to the FX truck. "Francis will be here in the truck, coordinating the activities." She held up a PDA, one of two she'd found in Rollie's shop. "This is a PDA, and I and another officer will carry them. We think these might help us find Rollie. The rest of you I have given copies of the list of ships leaving the pier -- start searching in the areas indicated. I stress that if you should locate any sign of the three of them notify Francis immediately . . ."

"Rollie!" exclaimed Angie. "Are you okay?"

He moaned, rolling off her lap. "I've felt better, love," he said, wincing as he pulled himself onto his knees.

Vickers looked worriedly at Rollie. "Oh my god you're sick, Tyler, we have to get out of here."

Angie grimaced. "Don't think there's much chance of THAT, is there?"

"I can untie you," said Rollie. Angie scooted forward, and Rollie came in behind her. He sighed. "No, I can't."

"What?" asked Vickers.

"Plastic cuffs."

"Damn!" exclaimed Angie.

"Say again?" said Vickers.

"Police use them sometimes when they don't have enough cuffs for everyone being arrested -- good luck breaking out of them. They're just a heavy, industrial strength slice of thick plastic." Suddenly he brought his hand to his head, and moaned again. He fell over sideways, and yelped. "Ow!" he said. He'd landed on a piece of glass.

"Oh my god," said Dr. Vickers, "we need to get you out of here."

Angie's eyes lit up. "And here's our way out!" She rolled over carefully to where Rollie was gripping the glass shard which had cut his arm. He began to cut the handcuffs.

But he groaned, and dropped the glass. "I can't do it," he said. "I just can't -- focus ..."

"Okay, okay," said Dr. Vickers. "Lay down!"

"Right Rol," said Angie. She'd managed to pick up the glass herself, and was now at work cutting off her cuffs. "I can handle this . . ."

Garcia, feeling pretty happy, trotted down the corridor to his quarters. There he unlocked a closet, and tossed a sandwich to the figure inside. "Thought you'd be hungry. I'm not mean, you know."

The figure moaned. "Yeah, right," it said. "And just how am I to eat this?"

"You'll find a way." Garcia walked out ...

... and the Garcia attempted to bite the sandwich sitting on the floor.

"This way!" exclaimed Mira, running down the pier toward a large ship near the end. "They're somwhere on here!" she said into the PDA, and the cop behind her radioed that message to the rest of the search party.

Mira glanced at her watch. 9:48. They had less than fifteen minutes to search the whole ship. They just might make it, if they were lucky. And if the boat didn't leave ...

From the top of the boat came a deep whirring sound, and Mira, running closer, saw figures quickly untying the boat from the dock.

... early. DAMN! She ran down the dock even harder. "HEY!" she tried to yell over the noise of the boat. But it was too loud, and she was too far away. She wouldn't get there in time. The gangplank was already being retracted.

"Francis!" she yelled into the mike on the headset she was wearing, "It's leaving!"

She could her Francis grumble something.

"HEY!" yelled Mira again. She was nearing where the officers were on the deck, with the retracted walkway. "NYPD!!" she shouted. But they just smiled and pointed at the widening space behind them and her. One of them waved, and then they left.

Mira glanced around. Then she looked up and gasped. "FRANCIS!" she yelled, "WHO SENT UP THE CHOPPER?!"

There was a pause. "Oh, I didn't tell you? Terry downstairs volunteered its use ..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT TERRY -- GET IT DOWN ON THE PIER!"

"Yeah, OK." There was a nervous pause, and Mira turned to see the ship was already getting away.

Then the copter started to descend, the side door opening. Mira and the nearby cops ran over. "GET ME THERE!" Mira yelled over the noise to the co-pilot. He gave her a thumbs up, and Mira, selecting three others to join her, climbed into the copter. It rose, and began to cruise towards the ship ...

The sound of a helicopter made Angie look up -- she'd just finished removing Vickers' cuffs, and was attempting to find a way to open the heavy door. It had a large, brass lock, with no keyhole or knob on the inside -- this room had been designed to keep people in.

She searched her pockets for anything that could help her. To her surprise, she found a nail file. Slipping it between the edge of the brass lock and the door, she managed to pry around inside the brass lock.

"Angie," rasped Rollie. "Can you do it?"

Angie grimaced. "Just -- a little -- bit --" suddenly the lock clicked, and Angie pulled open the door. " -- longer!"

They made their way out. Finding themselves in a long corridor, they started towards their right. Angie noticed how the floor and the walls shook with the deep thrumming of the ship's engines. They turned a corner, and abruptly the corridor stopped at a large steel door. "This must be the engine room," she said. The thrumming seemed louder here. As Rollie and Dr. Vickers stood guard in case anybody started coming, she tried the door handle. The door opened. Angie peeked inside, and apart for someone at the far end of the room, an attendant, there was nobody there. She motioned for Rollie and Dr. Vickers to come in.

They crept across the floor to another door across from them. It seemed to be some kind of office. Carefully, so they didn't attract the attendant's attention, they entered it.

Immediately, Rollie noticed something sitting by itself on a table in the center of the room. "Our PDA!" he exclaimed, grabbing it up.

"What's in here?" asked Dr. Vickers, pointing over to a bunch of beige file cabinets.

"Looks like all the paperwork for the ship," said Angie, pulling the blinds and locking the door. "But stuff like this is usually kept on the bridge. Why is it in here?"

Rollie smiled. "Down here no one sees it." He pulled open one of the cabinet drawers and took out a bunch of files. "Maybe we can find who our wonderful host is." He squinted at the labels in the dim light. "Payments, October 12, 1997. Payments, October 28, 1997. December 18, 1997. Let's see how much. Jeez, I'm feeling better. Staring at these files actually seems kinda fun." Angie sighed, and Rollie opened the files. He whistled in amazement. "Angie, look," he said. "Two hundred thousand American transferred from Ying Yang Corp, in France, to an account in Switzerland, before being brought over here to the states and transferred to ... I don't believe it!"

"What?" asked Vickers.

"Tar Key Incorporated, here in New York. And guess who's one of the main shareholders in this Tar Key? Welland Garcia."

"But Rollie, why would Garcia want you dead?"

Rollie collapsed into a chair. Vickers rushed over, but Rollie waved her off. "No, just thinking." Then he snapped his fingers. "OF COURSE! Tar Key is one of Garcia's pets, just as Redicom was."

"Redicom?" said Vickers. "Jeez, you lead a busy life."

Rollie couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, right. But seriously, Angie, remember last year when we filmed "Sixty-two Twelfth Street?" Redicom manufactured over half of the reinforced steel girders we used to create that huge monster tower."

"Of course!" Angie remembered now. "And then when half the set collapsed, and it was proven the problem was with the girders. We'd manufactured the sets to the girders' specs --"

"But WE proved the specs were false. The girders were half as strong as they were supposed to be --"

" -- The producers sued Redicom for damages and because it was only a fledgling company it was pushed out of business! They said the main shareholders were left penniless! Dammit Rollie, that's it!"

"Exactly! Garcia wants to get even. We took his whole life away from him, at least for a little while. Now he just wanted to take mine to get even."

Dr. Vickers, who'd been listening to the conversation, added, "But then what are the payments for? If this Garcia guy is being paid by Ying Yang in France, why is there this boat?"

"He must be bringing goods over to France, using this ship," said Angie. "But what are the goods? Jewels? Gold? Electronics?"

Rollie shook his head, and held up another file folder. "None of the above." He pointed to a line at the top of the file. "TAR KEY EXPLOSIVES."

They were all speechless. Finally Angie said, "So you're telling me this ship is loaded with EXPLOSIVES?"

"I think so," said Rollie, smiling. He'd moved to another section of the file. "We are sitting on over a couple hundred tonnes of dynamite, TNT, gunpowder, whatever you want, they seem to have it." He slapped the file shut.

"Well a hundred tonnes isn't that bad," said Vickers.

"Yeah," said Angie, quietly. "But it's enough to make quite a big bang."

"How big?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't wanna be around to find out, and if I was, I wouldn't really have a chance to ... "

The pilot had managed to quietly land the chopper down on the deck of the large ship. The ship was dark, obviously hoping for a silent and easy escape from the harbour. The deck was cleared now. There was no one there.

Mira and the other officers clambered quickly off the helicopter, and it rose and flew up high above the ship, where it would be hard to spot yet would ready in case it was needed quickly.

"Francis," said Mira into her microphone, "Are you there?"

"Mira -- " came the reply, "Breaking -- up ..."

"Boost the signal strength!"

There was no reply.

"Damn!" exclaimed Mira. "Ah well -- let's hope for the best." She waved for the other officers to follow her, and they moved across the deck to an exit ...

"What do you mean, 'wouldn't have a chance to'?" asked Dr. Vickers, nervously.

"I mean," said Angie, then she motioned with her hands. "Boom."

Dr. Vickers paled.

Suddenly Rollie, who'd been searching through the cabinets, pulled out a gun. "Look-y what I found here!" he said. "Full clip -- yep, we can do some business."

Suddenly the doorknob jiggled as someone tried to open the locked door. "And just in time!" said Angie, pulling Dr. Vickers with her behind one of the cabinets as Rollie backed behind another.

There was shouting, and suddenly the lock exploded as the people outside shot the door open. In came Garcia and three other security guards, all with guns. "Tyler!" said Garcia, "I know you're here!"

Rollie was still. "Rollie!" called Garcia again, moving more into the room, gun ready.

Rollie was about to turn around and shoot at Garcia, but the cold muzzle of one of the thug's guns in the back of his neck stopped him. "What do you think you're doing?" asked the thug, grinning.

Rollie dropped the gun.

"Stand up," ordered Garcia. Rollie watched as Angie and Vickers were forced to their feet as well. "You people are coming with us. Since you happily ruined our little holding room, we'll have to put you in the hold."

"With the explosives," groaned Rollie, rocking backward slightly, feeling slightly nauseous. It wasn't a question.

"Still sick, huh Tyler? Yes, with the explosives. Should prevent gunfights."

As Rollie, Angie, and Dr. Vickers were escorted into the hold, Rollie got Garcia talking. "So why am I still alive?" he asked quietly. "Why not kill me now?"

"Because," said Garcia, smiling, "I have my reasons -- now."

"What do you mean -- " but Rollie's sentence was broken as he was pushed through the door into the hold.

"Sit!" exclaimed one of the thugs, pushing Rollie and the others onto the floor. As he and another guard stood over them, guns drawn, Garcia and the others moved to the other end of the room.

Angie glanced at Rollie. The thug standing over her was yawning. The other seemed tired as well. Maybe it could be used to their advantage.

Rollie nodded, and then counted down silently. *Three, two, one*. Simultaneously, they kicked upward, pushing the guns out of the thugs' hands, meanwhile knocking their knees out, followed by a quick blow to the stomach.

The thugs quickly and quietly stumbled over, and lay on the ground. "Stand guard," Angie said to Vickers. "We'll see what we can do."

"Me? -- Are you guys secret agents or somethin' -- how did you --"

"Let's just say we're kind of friends with, uh, Bond, James Bond," Rollie said, in his imitation Scottish accent. Angie got the joke, but Vickers seemed more confused than ever, and even a little afraid. "So you guys are secret agents?"

"No," said Angie, chuckling, "So as you ponder about our movie friend, take this --" she handed Vickers one of the guard's guns. "Might come in handy."

Vickers, literally scratching her head. But she stood guard, and as Rollie and Angie hurried away they heard the faint thud of the barrel hitting something, and a groan, then a thud. "She's got potential," Rollie said. Angie laughed harder.

"Hey!" Across the room, one of the thugs had heard Angie's laughter. He pulled out a gun, and as he shot a couple of rounds Angie and Rollie ducked behind a crate of explosives. "You know, Rol, behind a crate of explosives isn't the safest place when you're being shot at."

"I know," said Rollie grimly. "Well, let's even it up." Rollie produced the gun. He spun around, and shot back a few more as Garcia and the others ran for cover.

"Dammit man," said Garcia, "this room is full of explosives!" The thugs huddled behind a crate as Garcia took off somewhere.

"Hey man," said a thug, "where're you --"

"Stay here!" exclaimed Garcia, gun ready, as he disappeared around the edge of the crate, across the room to Angie and Rollie. The thug with a gun watched as Garcia was almost at Rollie and Angie's crate when Rollie came out. Garcia's gun was pointed at Rollie. Rollie's gun was pointed at Garcia. The thug would have shot Rollie, but Garcia was in the way. There was no guarantee. He'd have to wait till his boss said so.

"Tyler," said Garcia quietly. "I'm not who you think I am."

"Yeah, well who are you then?" said Angie from behind Rollie.

"I'll, uh, tell you later."

Just then the door to the cargo hold burst open, and Mira and the other cops charged in. "Mira!" yelled Rollie, "Don't let them shoot ..."

Then everthing happened so quickly. The thugs shot at Mira and the others. One cop shot at the thugs, while the other took out "Garcia's" leg. Another cop missed, and severed a cable across the room. It broke, and began to arc and spark.

"NO!" shouted Rollie. To Mira, he yelled, "THE ROOM IS FULL OF EXPLOSIVES!! WE'RE GONNA BLOW!!"

Rollie turned to Angie. "Angie, some help?..." he said.

Angie traced the path of the cable across the room with her eyes. "There!" she said, pointing to a box on the wall across the floor. "If we can cut power to the cable with that, we won't have to evacuate."

"Then go!" shouted Rollie over an alarm bell that had begun to ring. The police were busy attempting to evacuate everyone from the ship.

Angie began to run, then stopped in her tracks. "Wait!" she said. "I can't -- I'll be electrocuted!"

Rollie noticed they were the only ones left in the cargo hold now. The police had taken everyone else out. "Then let's GO!" he shouted, pulling Angie behind him.

They ran out the door and down the corridor. Then the lighting began to fade. "They must be trying to disconnect the power supply to the deck!' said Angie.

"It might work," said Rollie. "But I don't think you can power down the generator down there fast enough for the shutdown to occur in time. This whole shebang is GOING to SHEBANG any second ..." They ran up a flightof metal stairs at the end of the corridor. But Angie skidded to a stop. Over the shrill alarms, she'd heard a pounding sound from the door to one of the quarters. Running back down the stairs and whipping open the door, out stumbled ...

"... Garcia?" gaped Angie. He looked different. More tired, his skin was grey-er ...

He shoved her out of the way, pushing up the stairs. Rollie tried to stop him, but he hit Rollie, sending Rollie tumbling down the stairs. Garcia disappeared at the top of the staircase.

"Rollie!" exclaimed Angie. He was holding his upper arm. "Damn," he said. "I think it's broken ..."

Angie grunted, pulling Rollie to his feet. "COME ON, boss," she said, helping him up the stairs. It was odd they'd run into Garcia ...

They reached the upper deck where the Mira was attempting to load the police, Vickers, and others on. Out in the distance could be seen lifeboats, which the rest of the crew had escaped on. Now the air horn of the ship was blasting repeatedly in warning of the inevitable explosion.

Rollie and Angie jumped aboard just as they shut the doors. Angie turned to Mira, to see her sitting with Garcia, his hands cuffed. "Wait a second," said Angie, "I just saw ..."

The chopper, which was just taking off, suddenly rocked. Angie looked out the window and saw a SECOND Garcia gripping the landing legs of the craft. She spun to face the cuffed Garcia beside Mira, who hadn't seen their new passenger. "If that's you down there, who ..."

The chopped rocked again, this time from the explosion of the ship, which lit up the sky.

On the pier, Francis, who was standing outside the FX van, saw the blast far off in the distance. "What the hell!" he said, grabbing his radio. "This is Francis, all emergency teams, we need boats NOW, I repeat, ship has exploded ... "

Rollie glanced down at the Garcia hanging of the landing strut of the chopper, and then at the one sitting beside him. "Who the hell is that?" he said.

"That's Garcia," said the handcuffed Garcia.

"Then who the hell are you?" said Mira.

"I'm an undercover detective -- with the FBI. My identification's in my pocket."

Rollie fished in a pulled out a police badge and papers. "Yep, you're Detective Frank Lang, FBI." He looked at Lang's face. "So that means ... " He reached up and fished down the detective's collar, grabbed something, and lifted ...

... and the mask pulled off Garcia's face, revealing the detective's true face. "Oh my god," said Mira. "So that's Garcia down there?"

The chopper rocked again. Garcia had swung his legs up and had grabbed ahold of the helicopter door. Rollie held it shut.

"Yes," said Lang. "I managed to board this ship and infiltrate Garcia's operation by capturing Garcia. I kept him in my cabin while I posed him. I can detail his entire deal, and why he was trying to get even with you." He pointed at Rollie. "I can testify, and I have enough to put him behind bars for a long time."

A shout came from the pilot's seat. "Who the hell is that?" the pilot said, seeing Garcia. "We're over the blinking Atlantic! Get him in here!" He reached back, trying to open the door.

"NO!" exclaimed Rollie, pulling the pilot's hand away. The chopper lurched again. "You let him in here and we'll all be killed!" yelled Rollie.

The pilot turned white.

Mira had just finished uncuffing Detective Lang. "So what are we going to do now?" asked Dr. Vickers.

Rollie looked out the window to see they were nearing the pier. Outside, other choppers whizzed by on the way to boat, which was now just a hunk of metal slowly sinking into the ocean. Then Rollie spotted something on shore that caught his eye. "Go there!" he shouted.

"Where?" said the pilot.

Rollie pointed to a building near the shoreline. "Go 'round back!"

"Hey, whatever you say man," said the pilot, steering the chopper in the building's direction.

"Where're we going?" said Mira.

"To get rid of Garcia." Rollie grinned. "Hey, Ang, what's the name of Danielle's new movie she just started filming? The one we couldn't do because of our shoot in Canada next month?"

Angie nodded. "It's called Quick Change, Roll."

"Well, I was talking to her. Later tonight they'll be filming her fall off the building, right there. With stuntmen, of course. And what do you need for a fall scene?"

"Air mattress!" said Angie. "Yeah Roll!"

The chopper whizzed around the corner of the building, which was dotted with patches of light emanating from windows into the night. Garcia banged against the door. Rollie was still holding it shut. "Hurry up!" he yelled to the pilot. "I can't hold him much longer!"

Finally they stopped, and hovered. They were about twelve stories above the ground, close to the edge of the building. Rollie looked down, and he could see they'd just finished inflating the air mattress for the shoot. Already some shouts were coming from below, wondering what a helicopter was doing on set.

Rollie squinted into the darkness. "All right, here goes!" He flung open the door, hitting Garcia in the jaw. Garcia fell backwards, his arms flailing. He cried out. Rollie dove out after him.

As Rollie fell down twelve stories to the ground, he had a strange thought. "I hope they don't mind," he said aloud, and then he and Garcia hit the mattress.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the second debut of Hard Going. We are pleased to announce that F/X master Rollie Tyler, who was shot, has now recovered. We have him right here. Hello Mr. Tyler."

"Hi."

"I've heard you had quite an adventure."

"You could say that, yes."

"Can you tell us about it?"

"No, I don't think so. Maybe later."

"Why is that, Mr. Tyler?"

"Because we have a show to watch, my friend, and I am going to be very pleased to get the job of debuting this film over with!"

"Mr. Tyler ... Mr. Tyler! I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, Rollie Tyler has just entered the theatre. But oh, look, here comes the director! ... "

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