April 29th, 1998

	"For once in your life, would you stop acting like an idiot"?  Fred looked incredulous at that statement.  He couldn't believe anyone was talking to him like that, especially his own brother.  Fred turned and looked away pretending to ignore Will, but Will kept coming.  "Do you think you're the only one to lose something?  Get your head out of your ass and come back to the human race"!  Fred always thought that nobody would understand his concerns, his grief, or his loss.  Yet, here his brother stood talking to him like a child.  Talking to him like he was the one at fault, talking to him like he was the who pulled the trigger - How dare he!  He doesn't know what happened, what gives Will the right to lash out without knowing?  But Fred knew Will was right.  Fred had been acting foolish, walking around thinking nobody could possibly understand his situation, walking around thinking nobody cared, walking around basically like a zombie all these months.  And how long has it actually been?  One month?  Two months?  Three months?  At that, something spoke up in his mind and said, "Try two years, buddy"!
	Damn, has it been two years?  Two years since that horrific night.  Will shook him on his shoulder at that point and brought him back to the present.  "Look, I'm not trying to jump on your ass over this.  I just thought that enough was enough.  Two years of moping around doesn't help anybody, especially you."
	"I don't think it's too much to ask for you to come back to the city with me.  You don't have to live up here all by yourself anymore.  Come back with me, you can still keep this place.  You can live with me and Tina.  Hell, we've got the room since the kids moved out.  And with as much time as Tina spends in the house, you could run around all day playing with your own balls as far as I care.  Just put 'em away when she comes home".  At that Fred couldn't resist, he burst out laughing so hard he started crying.  They both laughed.  God, how long had it been since we were able to laugh like that?  Again, the voice spoke up, "Two years, stupid"!  All of a sudden the giggles stopped and the tears halted.  Both of them standing in the middle of the kitchen wiping their eyes and trying to get their breath back.
	Fred finally said, "I know what you're trying to do, Will.  And really, I appreciate it.  Just give me one more month to put some things in order, then I'll come back to Seattle with you".  Knowing he didn't mean the latter.  "And hey, I may even take you up on that offer to run around the house playing with my balls"!  That brought on another set of howling laughter.  Both of them pounding on their knees to get control.
	It was Will who got control first.  "And I know what you're trying to do.  No way, Jose.  We either leave here together, side-by-side or I carry you out.  You don't have anything the take care of.  This house is paid for, you have a caretaker come by once a month for routine maintenance, and you've never used this address for mailing purposes.  So what could you possibly have to do that would take a month?  That's just a ploy to put it off and put me off.  Not this time".
	Fred put on his best, you-got-me grin.  "Ok, ok.  You win, but it's a long drive back.  Why don't we spend the night here.  I'll make up the second bedroom for you."  At that Will's face brightened even more.  Knowing he had won this round and thinking by tomorrow night he would be back with Tina.  It was late and it made no sense to start the drive back tonight.  Tomorrow . . . tomorrow would be fine and dandy.  "We could even stop at that restaurant you like so much for breakfast.  All right, I'll give you that one.  Tomorrow it is".
	Will stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled out a Budweiser.  "You want one?"  Fred gave a half disgusted look and shook his head, no.  "No, the only reason I have those here is because of you.  I don't drink that stuff."  Will put on a surprised look.  "You don't?  Oh, that's why I never see you drink when I'm here.  Then why do you keep it in stock?"  Now it was Fred's turn to look surprised.  "In case you stop by . . . duuuuh"!
	Will put on his best winning grin.  "Wow, what a brother"!
	Fred turned and left Will in the kitchen.  He may as well make sure the front door was closed and then setup the second bedroom for Will.  The weathermen kept saying it was going to be a windy night and it's better to have the door shut, then to see it flying into the lake.  The winds in this area can get rather strong in the evenings.  Fred was told, by his rather nosey neighbors, time and time again about the wind storm of '77.  Nearly, blew the entire neighborhood -- all of three houses -- into Destiny Lake.  He didn't believe them until one summer night when he and Cindy came up for the weekend.  The winds picked up such fury, it blew down the a tree in a neighbors yard.  Only takes one episode to make a believer out of most folks and Fred wasn't any different.
	By the time Fred got upstairs, he could hear Will cranking up the stereo in the living room.  Suddenly, he could here the jazzy and soulful sound of Eryka Badu's "Rimshot" floating through the halls.  Fred didn't have to do much to the bedroom.  Everything was as it was, as it has been in this room for the last two years.
	He sat down on the lazyboy chair next to the window and wondered what happened to the last two years.

April 9th, 1996

	It was a pretty decent night, considering Seattle has always been known for rain.  And boy, does it rain in April.  But not tonight.  Clear skies and a warm easterly wind.  A perfect night to go for a walk.  I decided that Cindy and I were made for each other and tonight would be the night.  I would finally breakdown and ask her to marry me.  We’ve been dating for four years and her parents have been putting the serious pressure on to pop the question.  Besides, Cindy’s father, just last week had said to me, “After all, four years is a long time for someone to be putting the moves on my daughter”.  And he was right.  I’ve known all along she was the one.  The first time I met her, she was sitting at her desk in the office both of us worked at, so quite and looking so cautious.  And, damn, was she beautiful.  The way her eyes always seemed to make me melt with one glance.  The way her smile used to say to me, “Do you really think you’ll get your way with a smile like this”?
	Never saw it coming.  I loved her and didn’t even know it.  It was like putting on a jacket, that you’ve owned for years and knowing every little crease, every little pocket, every little shape and fold without ever having to look to see how it was fitting.  It’s never been in my nature to date inside an office, but for some reason, this was different.  She was different.  She made the pieces of the puzzle fit.  Failed relationship after failed relationship, I searched and could never understand why love never seemed to make sense.  Why it never seemed to setup camp in my corner of the world.  Never bothering to stop and say, “Howdy”!
	But my relationship with her didn’t start out like that, oooh no, it did not.  No, I was too caught up in, she looks “foine” and she’ll never be interested in me that way.  It took me over a year just to ask for a kiss.  I must admit, it was well worth the wait.  Although, I was baffled when she asked how come it took so long.  Never dawned on me, she may be interested in me, that she may have been looking for that elusive “real” relationship.  We dated.  Not knowing we were dating.  Not knowing I had fallen in love with her.  Not knowing she had fallen in love with me.  Just not knowing.  Was it because I didn’t want to know?  Too scared to be hurt and ready to bounce at the first sign of trouble or a hint that “oh, she’s like the others”!
	The more time I spent with Cindy, the more I started to believe.  The more I started to believe in myself.  The more I started to believe in “us” and “we”.  What a powerful set of words, yet a bunch of people don’t seem to get it.  But not, “us”.  We both get it.
	As I reached her apartment, my hand slipped inside my coat pocket just to touch the ring box.  I pushed the intercom button and waited.  After what seemed like an hour, but was really only a few seconds, her voice drifted down to me from the speaker just below the camera to my left.  “Come on up, honey.  I’m almost ready”.
	“Bzzzzz”.  I fumbled the handle of the door, I was so nervous.  But I caught it just before it was able to lock on me again.  As I was standing in front of the elevator waiting for it to come down, some guy I had never seen before, at least in this building, came running up to the outside door.  He started pounding on the glass and yelling.  “Let me in!  I need to use a phone!  I live here!  Really, I do!  Let me in”!
	Just as I started to turn to walk back towards the door, the elevator doors opened and Chris walked out.  He pointed at the guy outside the door and made a get-away gesture.  Chris has always been a straight shooter.  He’ll tell you exactly like he sees it and won’t worry about hurting your feelings.  “Get the fuck away from my building, asshole”!  He grabbed me on my shoulder and spoke directly in my ear.  “Don’t even think about letting that dick face in.  He’s got a “Jones in his bones” for a couple of the women in this building and he keeps trying to weasel his way in”.
	After a couple seconds, the guy outside just walked away with a scowl look on his face.  Man, if looks could kill . . .
	“Really?”, I said.  “As long as he stays away from Cindy, I won’t have to open a can of “Whoop Ass” on him”.  At that, Chris cracked up and slapped me hard enough on my back to shake my glasses a little off my nose.  At 6-4 and, I would guess, around 275 pounds, Chris could smack the living daylights out of a bull if he got mad enough.  “Oh, that was a good one!  But who are you going to try and beat down . . . an out-of-shape ‘egghead’ like you?  The only thing you could beat up would be that little guy that pops up in the corner of your computer when you’re using email.  What is that guys name anyway”?
	“He’s called the ‘Genius’”, I said.  “And you better watch yourself buddy, or I’ll program a worm to eat all of your muscles and leave you with that shriveled up dick”!
	“Ooooh, that was classic”!  As he smacked me again on my back, even harder this time.
	“Look here muscle head, I gotta go see my woman.  You go and lift something.”
	Chris grinned and said, “Yeah, you just watch yourself with Cindy.  She may be your girl, but she’s my sister.  So when are you going to pop the right question?”
	I gave him a half hurtful look, “Hey, you never know.  It may be closer than you think.  We may be brother-in-laws before you know it”.
	“Oh, that’ll be too soon for me, beattlejuice”!  This time he smacked me on my shoulder and off he bounded down the hall to our right.  Off to the gym . . . again.
	“That boy’s gonna pop something one of these days lifting so much”, I mumbled to myself.  I pushed the elevator button again and this time, the doors opened immediately.  I got in and punched eight.

	When I arrived at her door, it was cracked a little.  So I knocked anyway and pushed it a little further open.  I could hear her cursing about dropping something, then she said, “It’s open!  Come on in, I’m in the back bedroom!  Could you grab my robe off the couch, please”?
	I immediately got excited.  I couldn’t help myself.  The closest I had gotten to seeing her naked was when I came over one day and she was stepping out of the shower with a towel draped around her.  I grabbed the robe and headed to the back bedroom after closing and locking the door.  Force of habit, even in a secure building like this, it’s still a habit I can’t quite shake.
	As I reached the bedroom, I could see her silhouette.  Those tightly formed breasts, the arch of her shoulders, her hair dangling down as she brushed and flipped.  I always wondered why she kept her hair long, even though she’s constantly talking about how she should cut it short.  I think she knows I like her hair long.  I had to adjust myself so she wouldn’t see what was protruding when she came out.
	“You sure you want me in the room while you’re naked?”  I said it in such a way that would sound like a little boy and slightly embarrassed at the same time.  Not a very good impersonation though, didn’t come from the heart.  I wanted to be in the room.  Hell, I wanted to be in the bathroom when she bent to brush and flip her hair.  Standing just behind . . .
	“Sure, silly!  I saw you naked once and I’m still going with you!”,  She purred.
	“Ha, ha, very funny.  If I remember correctly, you couldn’t stop looking either”, I managed without sounding too embarrassed for real this time.
	I stepped closer to the bathroom door and held up the robe to block her body from my view and block her view of me at the same time.  She stopped brushing her hair, dropped the half wet towel, that had long ago stopped holding her breasts, and sweetly strolled over to me.  Turning her back to me just as she arrived.
	I held the robe in place so she could slip her arms through, then I enfolded her into my arms and kissed her neck.  She immediately backed into me and found the surprise I was trying to hide.  And no, it wasn’t the ring.
	“Oh, I see your marine is saluting tonight”!  She purred.
	“Well, he can’t help it.  He must snap to attention whenever his commanding officer is in sight”, I managed, still trying not to sound embarrassed.
	She turned completely around in my arms and we kissed for what seemed like days.  Until she broke the lock and said, “We better get going.  I’ve got to get back by 10PM.  I’ve got a conference call with our Australian office and it starts at 5PM, their time”.
	Since Cindy left the company, I still work for, she’s been on a steady rise.  Currently, one of three Assistant Vice Presidents of Sales & Marketing for a firm called Global Network.  She never really said as much, but she was as much the cause of her landing this job than I.  I only got her the interview because I knew the Vice President of Sales & Marketing.  She was the one who started out as a Marketing specialist and within a year and a half became Assistant Vice President of Sales & Marketing.  But let her tell it and I’m the sole cause of her success.
	“You can watch me dress if you like, handsome”.
	“Wouldn’t mind if I do.  I can’t guarantee that I’ll keep my hands to myself though.  On second thought, maybe I’ll just go into the kitchen and get something to drink.  If I stay, your father might be after me with a shotgun after a few months.”  I made sure to give the best scared look I could.
	You see, her father is made from something old fashioned.  Something right out of the Cosby show.  Cliff Huxtuble and George Jefferson all rolled into one.  Mr. Whittington worked his way out of a job as Foreman by showing his boss skills that could not be denied.  For ten years, he worked for a construction company called “Construct-Rite”.  He had such a flare for locating and securing business, the owner, I think his name was Mr. Wainright, put him in the office to close the contract negotiations.
	After only six months as negotiator, Mr. Whittington was named Chief Negotiator.  He became so well known, that he was able to close a contract just by showing up.  Construct-Rite became the largest construction company in the mid-west and by the time Mr. Whittington bought the company from Mr. Wainright, it had gone national.  Construct-Rite had office buildings and stadiums from coast to coast.
	“You touch my daughter when she doesn’t want to be touched and I’ll touch you in a way that’ll never allow you breed . . . ever”!  That was conveyed to me over eggnog at the first Whittington’s Christmas Eve I ever spent with her family.  And he wasn’t even drunk.
	Cindy, looking a little disappointed, and I might add, the most beautiful disappointed look I’ve ever seen, said “Oh, Ok.  Just don’t get anything to eat, I won’t be long”.
	I hope to rectify that disappointed look this evening.
	I reached the kitchen just in time to see her cat, Gucci, jump from the top of the garbage can, looking a little flustered.  Like he was trying to get at something and I broke his concentration.  Gucci immediately ran over to me and started rubbing himself on my pant leg.  I reached down to pet him and he hissed at me and backed away.  Weirdest little kitty I’ve ever run across.  He can pet you, but you can’t pet him.  I’ve known Gucci since I started seeing Cindy and you would think I would have learned by now to just except the gratuitous kitty pet and leave it at that, but for some reason, it’s instinctual to reach down and pet an animal who is showing affection.
	I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.  Cindy always keeps a plethora of bottled water in her apartment.  She has filters on every sink, yet she insists on purchasing bottled water.  Just a little quirk, but I love it just the same.  I sat at the kitchen table waiting for her and looking down at Gucci as he alternated between rubbing on my pants to rolling on his back on the floor to jumping on and off of the chair sitting to my right.
	I kept playing my marriage proposal sequence over and over in my mind.  Arrive at the restaurant, by 6:15, have dinner by 7:00, ask for desert around 7:45-8:00, make my speech about 8:05, ask for her hand in marriage at the moment desert arrives with the ring on top of her favorite desert, strawberry shortcake with a strawberry slice on top.  Instead, this time, it’ll have a ring in its place.
	I was pretty deep in thought into this sequence when she walked into the doorway of the kitchen looking absolutely beautiful.  A simple little blue dress, she knows blue is my favorite color, with shoulder strap ties.  Her deliciously black long flowing hair hanging around her shoulders.  She made the perfect moment.  Have you ever had a moment in time which you wanted to just freeze and never, ever, leave.  This was one of those moments.  Time could have completely stopped, and I would not have cared, I would have been happy with the thought of looking at her forever at that moment.
	She has never been the type of woman to wear make-up and tonight was no exception.  She is naturally beautiful, knows it, and it doesn’t effect her brain one bit.  Some woman who are naturally pretty and know it are some of the most ugly women on the inside.  They see their beauty as a means to an end and not an end to a mean.
	Cindy doesn’t.  She understands her beauty and doesn’t try to capitalize on it.  Chalk it up to another reason I fell in love with her.
	I stood up and started to tell her how beautiful she looked and she stopped me dead in my tracks by walking over to me and planting the most passionate kiss we’ve ever shared.

	We arrived at the restaurant on time, 6:10PM.  We were seated and ordering our drinks by 6:15 and ordering our dinner by 6:30.  Dinner arrived at 7:00 and we had the most enjoyable evening ever.  I don’t ever recall, during the four years we’ve dated, ever having such a perfect evening.  I excused myself to go to the restroom and to setup desert.
	7:35 rolled around and then the night became a horror show.  I was the first to spot him.  The same guy who was pounding on Cindy’s apartment building door earlier.  The same guy, with the long raincoat.  The same guy with the goatee.  The same guy with the hat on that made him look like a desperado.  The same guy.
	He strolled into the lobby of the restaurant at 7:35.  He was seated at 7:40 two tables from us.  When the waiter came to our table to take our desert orders at 7:50, the night started it’s decent.  He first started an argument with a woman who accidentally brushed into him while passing to go to the ladies room.  Which quickly escalated into a shoving match when the woman’s husband came over to find out what was going on.  At this point, I’m wishing my mind doesn’t work like it does.
	I have an ability, or a curse if you prefer, to catalog.  When my senses become heightened, they record every little detail.  Who said what, who went where, who did what and when.  It’s something I’ve had to live with all my life and something that came in extremely handy afterwards when the police where questioning me about my involvement.
	I noticed this same guy reaching inside his suit coat after the husband pushed him away so hard, he bumped into the gentleman seated directly behind him.  As soon as I saw this, I got up from my seat to warn the husband this guy was reaching for something.  The husband, who I later found out was the former Mr. Gary Blanchard, looked bewildered and turned to face me.  I started to jump at Mr. Blanchard’s assailant, but was too late.  He fired point blank range into the side of Mr. Blanchard’s face, nearly blowing off the right side of his head.  I don’t know what hit the floor first, his ear or the piece of his brain which happened to flop out.
	At that point, Mr. Blanchard’s wife, whom I later got to know real well as Peggy, rushed over to him just before he hit the floor.  She screamed, and screamed, and screamed for what seemed like an eternity.  She kept alternating between hugging her dead husbands neck and calling his shooter a “Bastard”.
	The shooter immediately swung the gun in my direction, so I stopped.  He stood there for a good minute just looking at me.  By this time everyone had cleared the restaurant, running and screaming, and Cindy was up on her feet, tugging at my sleeve to get away from him.  As I was about to turn to look at her, I saw a glint of recognition in his eye.  As if to say, “I know you, you’re the guy who wouldn’t open the door for me”!  Then cocked the trigger.
	Cindy saw this as well.  She’s a small woman, about 5-3, maybe a 100 pounds . . . soaking wet.  But she is deceptively strong.  She pushed, he fired.  Caught her square in the throat.  I could see the exit point, straight through.  The doctors said later that the bullet shattered her spinal column just behind her throat.
	I watched her drop to her knees and at the same time he gasped, because, again later, I found out Cindy was one of the women he had a “Jones in his bones” for.
	The next thing I remember was sitting on top of him, bashing his face with a ketchup bottle that was on the floor.  After about twelve blows, I saw the gun to my left.  I reached for it, got a hold of it, and as soon as he started to try and get up, he looked up at me as if to say, “If I can’t have her, I’m happy as hell you won’t”.
	I’ve never seen a man grin so maliciously.
	As he got to one knee, I fired and hit him square in the center of his forehead.
	I didn’t wait to see if he died instantly.  I dropped the gun where I stood as my attention was back to Cindy, who was lying in a pool of her blood, on her back, next to our table.  I went over to her and sat down in that pool of blood and held her.  I don’t know how long before the medics arrived.  Ten minutes, twenty minutes?  It could have been an hour.  All time ceased to exist.  One minute we were happy as can be and enjoying that elusive “perfect” night.  The next, a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie is being played out.

	The aftermath was just as frenzied.  There had to have been at least 20 people in the restaurant, and all of them vacated the premises during the initial showing of the gun.  I stayed where I was, holding Cindy, with my back to one of the table legs.  Peggy was still holding onto Mr. Blanchard’s neck and weeping on his chest when the medics arrived.  They immediately came over to me to see if I was hurt and to check Cindy.  I was covered in blood from my neck all the way down to my knees.  They could tell it was too late for her, but the medics kept insisting I let go.  That wasn’t going to happen any time soon.  So, they went over to where Peggy was and one of them tried to get her away from Mr. Blanchard, with minimal success, while the other went to where the shooter lay.  Both of them immediately looked at one another, as if to say “No one to save here”.

	By the time the medics got everyone to the hospital, I was somewhat coherent.  I was able to answer all the questions of the medics and the staff at the hospital.  By the time the police arrived, I was a little more together.  I was able to give a complete description of what took place and the sequence at which they happened.  It helped that Peggy was also able to provide the police with crucial pieces of information which corroborated my story.  It also was to my advantage that most of the people who were in the restaurant left by the time the shooting had begun.  So it basically came down to my word, Peggy’s word and the word of the waiter who happened to hide behind the bar and who really didn’t see anything.
	Even with the consistency of both our stories, we still had to go to the station to provide statements.  The police were extremely friendly compared to my next contact with them.  It was downright pleasant.  By the time Peggy and I were through, her entire family had arrived at the station.  But for me, it was only Chris who showed up.  Neither Chris nor I wanted to have the Whittington’s down here.  They were still at the hospital and there was really no need for their presence.  This was when I got the whole story of the Shooter.

December 3, 1995

	Sunday night football.  The second best night of the week between September and the end of December.  This was a night that was really special for me and Cindy.  It was our first trip together away from Seattle.  For the previous five days, we spent touring around San Francisco.  The Bay area lived up to its reputation, nothing but beautiful surroundings.  But tonight was the capper, Sunday night football between my beloved Buffalo Bills and Cindy’s favorite quarterback, Steve Young.  Cindy’s Dad just happened to be friends with a lawyer in the Bay area and he set us up with beautiful tickets, 50 yard line seats about 20 rows from the front.  We were having the best time until just after San Francisco put the game away with a 90 plus yard fumble return by Lee Woodall for a touchdown.  Broke my heart, but Cindy has always been a gracious winner and didn’t rub it in, at least until after we got back to Seattle.
	It started harmlessly enough, some guy in the front row painted gold and scarlet with a 49ers logo on the side of his head acting like the 49ers had just won another Super Bowl.  He started pointing at people around him and exclaiming his undying support to the 49ers.  A woman seated directly behind him took umbrage at his continuous shaking of his butt in her face.  So she poked him with a giant foam finger directly in the offending area.  He turned around with the most disdaining look I’ve ever seen on someone’s face.  Of course, it didn’t phase the woman, she started cackling with a really high pitched squeal that made the look on his face turn into disgust.  At this point, he actually reached out and grabbed her by the neck.  She immediately leaned back and started kicking at him.  The gentleman seated to her left joined in by grabbing the painted nitwit by his throat and pushed him away toward the railing which was the sole barrier between his seat and a 15 foot drop onto the field.  By this time at least a half dozen stadium security personnel had shown up and everyone in the section was pointing at the painted nitwit as the cause of the problems.  Three of them grabbed him and when they got to the stairs, the other three grabbed hold and escorted the guy out of the stadium.
	What was so weird about the situation, was as they were dragging this guy up the stairs, he kept looking in our direction, right at Cindy and winking.  We were both standing in a hug, but she had turned her head to look at the fracas.  We enjoyed the rest of the football, if you want to call it enjoying something, in mostly silence.

	On our way back to the hotel, I couldn’t help myself but to ask if she knew that painted nitwit.  She was adamant about not knowing him, but she did concede he looked familiar.  She couldn’t tell through all the makeup he had on his face.  Again, we enjoyed the rest of the evening as much as we could.
	We stopped at the bar, just outside of the lobby area of the Hilton, where were were staying, for dinner.  We sat together for quite a while without saying anything.
	I could not get the look that was on the nitwit’s face out of my mind.  And the wink he had given Cindy looked a little to familiar for my taste.  I’ve seen that wink before, hell, I’ve given that wink before.  It was one which suggested so much.  I remember the first time I used “it”.  The woman I used it on, was with her current boyfriend and I only did it because I used to date her.  Theresa was her name and all the while we dated, she would flirt with any guy that happened to come into her line of vision.  I’ll always remember the look on the guy’s face when he noticed what I was doing.  I thought to myself, boy, are they gonna have a donnybrook when they get home . . . Bwaaa ha ha ha ha!
	“So, are you mad now”?  Cindy sounded a little too cautious with that question.  She had been fiddling with her fries for the past 15 minutes and I really didn’t feel like eating my burger either.
	“No, I’m not mad, just a little troubled.  I’ve seen that wink before and I know it a little too well”.  I then proceeded to tell her about the first time I used it.  It’s strange how when you become involved with someone, you eventually feel the need to share everything.  Even the smallest piece of detail about your life becomes a point of discussion . . . boring or not.
	“Maybe if I saw what his face looks like without all the paint, I could answer your question more surely.  I mean, you have to admit, trying to tell what someone’s face looks like with a bunch of paint on is difficult.  Almost impossible to tell if you don’t see that person everyday”.  Cindy had a valid point, but I still couldn’t shake that look.  Obviously he knew her, I would just have to live with the fact Cindy couldn’t identify him.

April 10, 1996

	What Chris did, however, was fill in the gaps.  Cindy was right, he wasn’t someone that she would have remembered, especially with make-up on.  It apparently started harmlessly enough about 6 years before in ‘90.  Chris used to live in the North end of Seattle and worked out at a Gym nearby, called Jim’s House of Power.  He’s always had a regular schedule of working out, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, for 2 hours.  It’s also the gym where he finally got Cindy to workout with him.  Well, about 6 months into using this facility, he got to know one of the counter people.  Stan was his name.  Friendly enough guy.  Always had a pleasant smile on his face, he seemed like such a nice guy.  Chris got to know him so well, that they would go out, every now and then, to get a drink on Friday nights.
	Chris decided that Stan was a pretty normal enough fella and wanted to introduce him to Cindy.  Well, Cindy didn’t want to have anything to do with Stan.  She kept saying he gave her the creeps.  One time Chris thought it might be a good idea to invite Cindy along with him for one of his Friday night excursions and if Stan just happened to be there, so much for the better.  Even though he knew Stan would be there, because he invited him.  Chris and Cindy arrived at the bar, called “O’Malley’s” around 8PM.  Sure enough, Stan was already there seated at a nice big table and saving three seats.  Immediately, Cindy turned as if to leave.  Chris stopped her.  “Where are you going?”
	“What in the hell is HE doing here?  I told you he gives me the creeps.”  As long as I knew Cindy, she never gave me the impression she liked surprises.  As a matter of fact, if you really want to piss her off, insist that she talks to someone she’s already told you she has a bad “feeling” about.  Which is exactly what Chris was doing.
	“Ah, come on.  It’ll be fun.  Besides, once you get to know Stan, he’s not such a bad guy.”  I like Chris a lot, he’s one of the few people who seem to understand you have to be yourself, no matter what situation you have to deal with.  At the same time, he’s as bull-headed as a person can be.  If he decides something is right, then got damn it, it’s right.  And in his mind, Stan was “right” for Cindy.
	“Well, I’m glad you two are buddy, buddy.  But that doesn’t mean I want to be his buddy or anything else.”  At this point, Cindy was fuming.  Her forehead had developed “the crease” and her eyes were as big as a half-dollar.  I’ve always been told stories about her temper, but she was never that way with me.  The closest I ever came was when I swated at Gucci when he tried to scratch me after I attempted to pet him the first time we met.  After she understood, I was playing, the simmer disappeared as quickly as it had risen.  But after listening to her parents and Chris tell me about certain instances where it came out full blown, I wasn’t about to tempt my luck by experiencing it first hand.
	“If he attempts anything with me, that includes, touching, looking or speaking at me for longer than a half second, or even walking in front of me, I will not only make him wish he didn’t have balls, but you too as well!”  She said this with her finger pointed directly in the offending area of Chris.  I get the impression Chris has already felt that rath and wasn’t interested in repeating the experience.
	“Ok, ok . . . I get the point.”  Chris said this while discreetly placing his right hand in front of the area Cindy was pointing at.  A wise move, indeed.
	After sitting down at the table with Stan, Cindy continued to simmer.  All night long, Stan tried his best, which according to Chris, wasn’t anything at all to be proud of, to get on Cindy’s good side.  But that wasn’t what bothered Chris the most.  Each time he went out with Stan, Stan would drink like he didn’t believe he would ever get a drink again.  Get as hammered as a person can get and each drink that followed, Stan would become more and more disdainful towards women.  Chris believed that by introducing him to Cindy, that Cindy would be able to tame this beast.  Besides, Stan didn’t appear to be an alcoholic and steadily insisted to Chris that he only drank when out with him and rarely ever drank at home.  Tonight, was the eye opener.
	Chris kept saying over and over, he gained more admiration for Cindy, for her composure and restraint, that night then ever before in his life.  The more Stan drank, the more desparate his attempts to win over Cindy.  One thing I learned pretty early on after meeting Cindy, is that her first instinct towards a person is rarely, if ever, wrong.  I’ve never met another woman, who was so accurate in her choice of people to surround herself with.  This bad “feeling” she had towards Stan, was no exception.  It was dead on.  Long after Chris and Cindy had their fill of drinks, Stan kept going.  According to Chris, they spent a total of two and a half hours at O’Malley’s and within that time, Stan downed approximately 15 drinks.  While telling me about these events, Chris kept shaking his head over how many drinks were consumed.  Stan had never before drank as much and worse, he never “appeared” drunk.  He just kept getting more disdainful towards women.
	His comments became cruder and more ugly.  Chris said he noticed a look on Cindy’s face he had never before seen.  She was mesmerized by Stan’s actions.  Not at all in a good way, but almost a “foretelling” way.  Like she could see what was happening and what could - would - will happen.  After around the eighth drink, Chris tried his best to defuse the situation, but it was too late and by his accounts they stayed way over Cindy’s and his time.
	At 10:30, it all fell apart.  Stan was babbling about how many Countries he had visited and then started the story Chris feared the most.  Stan started talking about the women of St. Vincent Island.  Chris had heard this story before and cringed when Stan started talking.  St. Vincent Island is Northwest of Venezuela and happens to be where Cindy’s and Chris’ Grandmother is from.  When Chris first heard the story, he just chalked it up to a young guy who just hadn’t discovered his appreciation for women . . . and of course the alcohol.  But now he was repeating this story for Cindy and Chris immediately attempted to step in and end the evening.  Stan would have none of it and continued babbling.  When Stan reached the part about his “affair” with one of the natives of St. Vincent - he often used non-flattering language, most would call it downright abusive - Chris grabbed Cindy’s arm and suggested they end the evening.  Stan just kept talking and eventually used the term “bitch”, followed by “whore”.
	Well, that was when Cindy lost it.  She started by slamming her fist on the table.  “Don’t you EVER call ANY woman ‘bitch’ or ‘whore’.  What in the hell is your problem, anyway?  All you did was babble all night about inconsequential bullshit that would bore a Parrot to tears!  How dare you call anyone by names like that?”  There were more words in those statements than she had uttered all night long, other than the occasional “uh huh” or “oh”, that happened to escape from her lips.
	Chris tried again to grab Cindy by the arm and end the evening.  Stan had other ideas.  Just as Chris grabbed Cindy’s right arm, Stan snatched hold of her left wrist, which was still leaning on the table.  By this time everyone’s eyes, in the bar, were on them.  Chris kept shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was about to take place and for the hundredth time, since taking his seat, felt sorry he initiated this evening.  Stan looked Cindy dead in the eye and said “What’s the matter?  You don’t think you could live up to their ability in the sack?”
	Again, Chris started shaking his head.  He knew was about about to occur, but he let go of her arm anyway.  He knew she would swing at Stan, and after Chris quickly put the pieces together, that was exactly what Stan was hoping.

October 26, 1990

	After an especially hard workout, Chris stepped off the bench to go take a shower.  He had had an especially hard day.  His Boss was on his ass about the monthly reports due and could not be satisfied.  Chris only had been working at the Genevia Community Center for about three months, but he could tell Mr. Nichols didn’t like him.  No matter what Chris did, how Chris did it, or when, it just wasn’t good enough.  Chris had talked it over with Cindy and without even having met the man, suggested that Mr. Nichols was afraid of Chris.  More specifically, afraid of his size.  At 6-4, and humongously built, Chris could be an imposing figure and with Mr. Nichols being all of 5-9, didn’t help matters.  Cindy told Chris, Mr. Nichols had a Napeoleon complex.  It made Chris feel better at that time, but it still didn’t help in the office when Mr. Nichols got in one of his moods.
	So, after work, Chris headed off for the gym.  He worked-out at a fevered pace for two hours.  Everyone around him noticed that his intensity had picked up, but no one said anything to him . . . except Stan.  While on his way to the shower, Chris passed by the counter in the middle of the vast room where he liked to work-out.
	Stan, upon seeing Chris coming by said, “Hey, you up for some drinks tonight?  As Johnny Kemp sang, ‘Just got paid . . . it’s Friday night . . . party hardy . . . feelin’ right!’  I’ll even treat!”
	“Nah, no thanks.  I’m just gonna head home and chill for tonight.  Not really feelin’ in the partying mood.”  All said, without ever lifting his head more than two inches to look at Stan.
	“Come on, man.  You know I don’t get out to drink too often with the hours they have me slavin’ in here.  Just give me a half-hour of your time.  Like I said, my treat!”  Chris was starting to truly like Stan.  He seemed centered and knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life.
	“Alright, I guess thirty minutes wouldn’t kill me.  What time you wanna meet there?”  Chris was already starting to feel a little better.  Just as long as nobody got on him about anything, he would be fine tonight.  First person that jumped or smiled in the wrong way, was gonna get a fist full.
	“Well, I get off in about forty-five minutes, so if you can bare to wait that long, we could go together”, Stan grinned.  Stan had one of the stupidest looking grins Chris had ever seen.  It made him look like he used to ride the “special” cheese buses, back in the day.