Disclaimer: No violence, gentlemen -- no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture! - Sherlock Holmes

The Great Escape - Chapter 10
(c)1999-2001 KSH

"I don't suppose you'd believe we were hunting Easter Eggs?" Neal asked.

"Mr. Schon, surely you would not be so sarcastic to the person who is about to decide your future." Tim/Guido answered, removing Neal's gun from his belt and putting it into his own. "Mr. Cain, do you have a weapon?"

Jonathan shook his head and mentally kicked himself for walking right into this one. *Dammit, I couldn't drive with Stacy's gun in my pocket, so I left it in the car. Of course, it's probably a good thing, because that would give him three guns.* Jon surreptiously glanced toward the doorway, hoping and praying Stacy heard what was going on, and didn't come barging in too.

"I will have to ask you gentlemen to accompany me back to my cabin, as you apparently weren't going to meet me there. How did you find my apartment, anyway?" Tim asked, herding them toward the front door with the gun.

"In the Yellow Pages, under "Hitmen"," Neal snapped. For some reason, this guy got under his skin faster than Perry.

"I'll have to speak with them about that. It was supposed to be under "Assasins"." Tim replied, closing the door behind them.

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Stacy waited until she heard a car start outside, and peaked out the front window. Neal was driving away in Tim's car, with Jon in the front seat beside him, and Tim in the back, obviously holding the gun on both of them. *Men!* She dug through the back of Tim's closet until she found an old police academy baseball cap. She put the cap on, pulling her hair up so the red hair wouldn't be so obvious. Looking out the windows again, she checked to make sure they hadn't come back before running down the stairs. She ran through the kitchen, and just as she opened the back door to let herself out, her brain registered the flash of purple she had seen on top of the refrigerator. She turned back and grabbed the box of Raisin Bran before going out the back door.

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Jon tried to signal Neal as they approached a traffic light.

"Now gentlemen, surely you couldn't be thinking of departing my company so soon. It would be terrible if you were to try to jump out at this stoplight, because I would have to shoot one of you. Possibly both, depending on how fast you run."

Neal and Jon looked at each other, silently agreeing that it wasn't worth the risk. They had both seen Tim's certificates for sharpshooting from the police department.

The rest of the drive continued in silence. They were almost at the park when a beige Honda Accord passed them. Neal hadn't noticed the car until it had passed, but Jon had seen it coming up behind them for several minutes. Tim had given the other car no more than a passing glance. Neal cleared his throat and pointed toward the Honda careful to keep his hand where Tim couldn't see it. Jon, also keeping his hand out of Tim's line of sight, gave Neal a thumbs up.

Tim directed them into the same parking lot where Jon had brought Neal a few days earlier. As they got out, Jon stretched and debated the possibility of knocking the gun out of Tim's hand. He caught sight of Neal's gun, still in Tim's waistband, and decided against it.

"This way, gentlemen," Tim politely ordered. By the look he gave Jon, Jon swore Tim knew what he had just been thinking.

*Gotta keep him calm. He's probably planning to kill us both, but maybe if we stay calm, we can find a way out of this.* He tried telegraphing his thoughts to Neal, but the guitarist never looked his direction.

They headed toward Tim's cabin, Neal leading, Jon behind him, and Tim in the rear, holding the gun. Once Neal stopped and picked up a large stick, but put it back down when Tim said "Now Mr. Schon, the only creature that would be of defense against would be a snake. However, I can assure you that I could shoot a snake before it would have time to strike you."

Once they reached the cabin, Tim unlocked the door. They went inside, and Tim shut the door behind them, gesturing them toward the chairs.

"Very efficient, Mr. Cain, removing my door lock. However, I must relieve you of the tool you used." He held out his hand.

"I left it on your desk at your apartment," Jon answered, looking at Tim's hand.

"Oh, Jonathan, what a poor liar you are. Would you please give me the tool, or shall I have to lose my composure?" Tim's mouth tightened, but otherwise, he gave no outward show of emotion.

Jon sighed and handed over his Swiss Army knife.

"What's wrong, Guido, your tool doesn't get the job done?" Neal sneered.

Jon shot him a warning look, but Neal was furious. "I'm sick and tired of your candy ass manners and bullshit games! Why did you bother bringing us here? And where the hell in Jon's suburban?"

Tim still did not show any reaction, which was really making the hair on the back of Jon's neck stand up.

"Mr. Schon, I deplore your vulgar manners. You really should work on your temper, and frustration at not being in control of situations. I have to plan carefully for your disappearances. If you could be just a little more peaceable, it would probably prolong both of your lives. However, ..." Tim trailed off and spun around as the front door slammed open.

Jon took advantage of the moment and grabbed the gun in Tim's hand. Tim was surprisingly strong, but the combination of surprise, being off balance, and Jon's superior size caused them to fall to the floor in a tangled heap. Jon managed to grab the gun from Tim's hand, but he was reaching for Neal's gun.

"Freeze, you son of a bitch!" Stacy screamed, holding the Dirty Harry gun on Tim. "Jon, if you can get up from this human pretzel, do it."

Her voice was so cold, Jon was afraid not to. He scrambled out of the way. Neal just stood there stunned, looking from Stacy to Tim to Jon.

"Stacy, sweetheart..." Tim began, starting to get up.

"Don't move another inch, and don't 'sweetheart' me! You tried to kill me!"

"I assure you it was nothing personal. I did not know how much of my second career you might be aware of, and I couldn't take any chances." Tim still didn't show any emotion, and Jon was now inches away from being completely freaked out.

Just then, a sudden gust of wind blew the door shut. Stacy jumped and looked behind her quickly, long enough for Tim to get to his knees, draw Neal's gun, and aim it at her.

"Now Stacy, this is what we call in police work a "Mexican Standoff". I have a gun pointed at you, and you have a gun pointed at me. Neither of us can back down. Of course, Mr. Cain here also has a gun, but I doubt if he knows which end to aim. Now, put the gun down. Because you know I can shoot at least one of you before any of you could get me."

"I don't think you'll do that, Tim." Stacy said, suddenly seeming to gather determination from some unknown source.

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because if anything happens to any of the three of us, my brother the US Marshall gets your Raisin Bran box."

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