Act VII           For Barnaby and Betty, the time had never crawled by more slowly.  Frequently, their eyes strayed to their watches or to the clock on the wall, discouraged by the snail�s pace at which the hands ticked around the face, inching their way toward daylight.  Their minds were constantly on J.R., praying silently for his safety.           In spite of the hour, or perhaps because of it, there were other people milling about, mostly detectives using the relative quiet of late night to catch up on their cases, using fax machines, telephones, copy machines, comparing notes on various crimes.           Barnaby and Biddle continued to discuss the plans they intended to put into motion as soon as it was light enough to see.  Betty had briefly wandered down to the snack room for coffee and had reluctantly accepted a doughnut offered by a sympathetic detective who was aware of the situation.  She now sat quietly but restlessly in an uncomfortable chair near Biddle�s desk, frequently shifting in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, sipping the cup of coffee, and ignoring the doughnut for which she had no appetite.           A harsh buzzing sound on the desk startled her out of her thoughts, and her body flinched at the abruptness of it.  As Barnaby�s receptionist, it was a sound she was well accustomed to, but it had never sounded harsher than it did in those overnight hours of waiting.  John snatched up the telephone before it could buzz again.           �Biddle.�  He listened for a moment, then said, �Excellent.  Tell him we�ll be right down.�  He slammed the receiver back on the hook and stood up.  �That was the receptionist down in the lobby.  The paramedic has arrived.�           Betty turned startled eyes to Barnaby.  �Paramedic?�           �Yes.  John and I were talking while you were getting coffee, and we agreed that it might be a good idea to bring a paramedic along with us when we search for Jedediah.  The fire department helped us locate an off-duty paramedic who has agreed to go out with us in case Jedediah needs some medical attention.�           �And don�t forget, there�s a chopper standing by if we need it,� Biddle added.  He reached for his suit coat, then changed his mind.  It would be hot in the desert, so he began rolling up his shirt sleeves.  He turned over his wrist to glance at his watch for perhaps the one hundredth time during the night.  It was forty fifty.  �Okay, let�s roll.  We�ll start seeing some daylight soon, and with any luck we�ll be at the Oasis shortly after sunrise.�  He turned to Betty, who had stood up with Barnaby.  �Why don�t you go on home?  I�ll call you when we find out something.�           �No!  No way!� Betty objected, visibly annoyed that Biddle would even suggest such a thing.  �I�m going with you!�           Biddle sighed heavily and exchanged a worried glance with the aging detective.  If J.R.�s condition was poor when they found him, he knew Barnaby would rather that she was not there to see it.           Betty looked from one to the other, understanding what they were trying to do, but she was not going to stand for it.  �No!  I know you�re trying to protect me, but I won�t stay behind!  I brought my own car, and if you refuse to let me ride with you, I�ll just follow you.  Don�t think I won�t do it!  You and J.R. are the only family I have left, and I�m going, one way or the other, whether you like it or not!�           Barnaby knew she would do it too, and nothing short of placing her under arrest would keep her from joining the search.  He glanced at Biddle, who lifted his eyebrows and shrugged, determined to stay out of the family discussion.  When Barnaby made no objections, he said,  �All right.  Let�s go.�           Barnaby, Betty, and John Biddle took the elevator down to the lobby where Biddle approached a man who was dressed in black slacks and short sleeved blue shirt with a fireman�s shield on the breast pocket.  He carried a sizeable kit with a medical emblem embossed on it.  �I�m Lieutenant John Biddle.�           �Wade Gordon,� the paramedic said as he shook hands with the lieutenant, and then with Barnaby and Betty.  He hefted the medkit.  �You mentioned that the patient might have gone an extended time without water, so I brought along drinking water as well as other supplies that might be useful.�           �Great,� Biddle said.  �I really appreciate the Department doing this for us.  We�ve been worried about what condition he might be in when we find him.  We know he had some water with him when he started out, but only one bottle, so it�s a sure bet that he�s run out by now.  We also don�t know if he�s injured, so we�re very glad that you�re going with us.�           �Glad to help.�           The four of them walked out the door and turned toward the parking lot.  Then, with everyone seated in Biddle�s car, they pulled out onto the street and drove toward old highway 13.           J.R. was startled awake by a peculiar sound that he could not immediately identify.           Blinking rapidly in an attempt to drive away the remnants of sleep, he lifted his head from where it had been resting against the wall behind him and cringed at the discomfort caused by the movement.  He had known the previous day that he would be stiff and sore this morning, but he was unprepared for the pain that gripped the shoulder he had banged on the pavement during the accident.  It had limbered up a bit yesterday as he had walked toward the Oasis, but now, after hours of inactivity, it had stiffened up painfully.           In addition to the accident related discomforts, his mouth was very dry, his neck was stiff, and he realized with a jolt that it was daylight.  He had missed his chance to set out down the highway in the cool predawn.           Then he heard it again; a sound that chilled his blood and brought him fully awake as he realized what it was.  It was the crunching of gravel on concrete beneath human shoes.           His head swiveled instantly toward the direction of the sound, trying to pinpoint its precise location.  Turning toward the main entryway, he focused on the narrow gap between two strips of plywood and saw what appeared to be an eye pressed against it, peering into the restaurant.           His body gave an involuntary shudder in reaction to the startling presence of the other person.  Silently, he pressed his back against the wall, staring with wide eyes at the orb that was still peering between the two pieces of plywood.  The eye shifted as the man who owned it pressed to one side and then the other, trying with apparently little success to see into the dark, shadowy interior of the building.           Slanted stripes of light penetrated the gaps between the plywood, but apparently the gap was too narrow for the person to adequately see through it.  The eye disappeared, and J.R. listened as he moved around the corner to the front of the building.  Occasionally, he stopped to test the viability of the plywood that was nailed over the windows and doors.  He knew without a doubt that Jessup had returned, anticipating that his prey would seek shelter in the abandoned buildings, and apparently hoped for the element of surprise,  knowing that J.R. would have thought him long gone by now.            Eventually, he would make his way around the east side to the service entrance, and he would surely notice the loose piece of plywood hanging there.  He would know that he had taken refuge inside.           This was very bad news, for it also meant that Betty and Barnaby or anyone else who might come searching for him was in potential danger as well.            Seeking an avenue of escape opposite the direction the convict was slowly working toward, J.R. turned to his right.  The gift shop was just around the corner through the entryway.  Perhaps there was another exit there, a door through which he could escape and make his way into the hills where he could hide.            As he stood up, J.R. sucked his breath in sharply in response to the twinge that went through his sore hip.  Like his shoulder, it had not troubled him too much the previous day, but now, after sitting still throughout the night, it had become stiff and sore.  Grasping the edge of the counter to steady himself, he pressed his hand against the injury and waited for the discomfort to pass.           Finally, he released his grip on the counter and with his hand still pressed against the bruise, he went through the lobby area, then around the corner toward the rear of the building.  The restrooms were positioned there, as was the door of the room that had once been the gift shop.  It was not a large room, but like the restaurant area, the windows had been boarded up with thin slivers of daylight penetrating the cracks.  As his eyes quickly scanned the walls through the dusky interior, he quickly located a rear door, and opened it.            His sigh of disappointment was loud in the quiet room.  Instead of an exit, it was an employee lounge.  A square of tile on the floor that was slightly off color indicated where a soda machine or perhaps a refrigerator had once stood.  Scuff marks were visible on the floor where a small table and chairs had been, and an old porcelain sink was still in the counter, with cabinets built above and beneath.  Another doorway stood opposite him, and he went to it and opened it.  A closet, presumably for the employees� belongings.           With no other option, J.R returned to the front entrance, where his eyes fixed on the glass double-front doors, now boarded up on the outside.  Moving toward it, he placed his hands on the handles, as if preparing to open them.  They were the type of doors that opened both directions, inward and outward, but a slight tug told him that they were locked.  He had known they would be, but if there was a chance of getting them open, he might be able to break through the plywood.  Jessup would hear it and undoubtedly give chase, but J.R. was confident that he was younger and stronger, and the likely winner of a foot race.             Reaching under the handles, he located the deadbolt and gave the knob a twist.  He heard the �click� as the lock disengaged, but still they would not open.  Shifting, he looked closer and found a heavy chain wrapped around the handles on the outside with a sturdy lock.           �Damn it,� he breathed.           Jessup was almost to the side entrance now; there wasn�t much time, and unfortunately, it appeared that he was trapped.  His only hope was to find some way to secure the service entry door before Jessup reached it.           Quickly scooping up the flashlight from the floor to use as a weapon if necessary, he made his way along the inside area of the long service counter until he reached the end of it.  The front and side of the restaurant had been constructed of glass, offering splendid views of the desert to the dining customers.  Now boarded up with plywood, J.R. could see the man�s shadow through the gaps as he proceeded along the east side of the building, still testing the plywood.  Momentarily, he would find the door.           With a slight limp in his gait, J.R. stepped carefully to prevent his sneakers from crunching on the debris that littered the floor, and pushed on the swinging doors that separated the dining area from the kitchen.  After moving through them, they fell quietly back into place.  He had not gotten a good look at the kitchen the night before because of the dark, but now, in daylight, the room was darkly shadowed but viewable.  Hookups for the ovens and grills lined one wall, and across from it was the space where the industrial sinks had once stood.  A slightly discolored area on the linoleum indicated where the large freezer had once stood.            Outside, he heard Jessup grasp another board and tug on hit, then he cursed, indicating that it was secure.  Slowly, J.R. crept toward the door, hoping to find some way to secure it before the convict reached it.  He had turned the knob last night to lock it behind him when he came inside, but the knob was loose.  A firm blow from the baton should be all that was required to knock it off.           As he reached the entrance, his eyes fell immediately upon the round door knob, but it was too late to try to find anything to block the door.  Jessup was there.  He had already found the loose plywood, and J.R. could hear the sounds of it being ripped from the outer wall.  Then, abruptly, the noises stopped.            J.R. backed up quickly, returning to the kitchen area, and moved behind the protection of the wall.  Peering around the corner, he watched the door knob, waiting tensely for it to turn.  He was uncertain what he would do to protect himself when the convict entered, but one thing that was in his advantage was the fact that his eyes were already adjusted to the dim light and Jessup�s were not.  Coming inside out of the bright sun, it would initially be difficult for him to see inside the dusky building, and that would give J.R. a huge advantage.           He hefted the flashlight, comparing it to the baton that Jessup carried, and decided that it was coming up decidedly short, so he looked around quickly again, seeking something a bit more substantial.  His eyes came to rest on the steel pipes that protruded from the wall.  Perhaps he could pry one of them loose.           Quietly, he moved across the darkened kitchen to the hookups, and placed his hand on the first one.  It was securely fastened in place with steel nuts, and he did not have the tools to remove them.  He turned a helpless circle in the middle of the room, searching for something, anything that he could use as a weapon; a rock, a brick, even a discarded frying pan, but found nothing.           It was then that he realized that it was quiet outside.  Enough time had elapsed that Jessup should have been inside the building by then.           Creeping back to the door, he leaned against it, listening intently, but there was no indication that Jessup was there.  Would he have given up?  J.R. felt that was unlikely, given the ease with which he could have breached the loose door knob.  Something else must have happened.  Then another thought sprang into his mind.  Perhaps Jessup had seen Barnaby�s car approaching along the highway, and had been scared away!  That must be it!  Barnaby was here!           Excitement surged through him, and J.R. eagerly turned the knob and poked his head out the door.  An instant later, a hand reached from behind the door and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him completely off his feet.            J.R. yelled in pain and surprise as his battered and bruised body sprawled onto the hard ground.  He instantly flipped over, watching with horrified eyes as that smooth baton swung at his head once more with great force.  This time, he rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet as the club slammed on the ground with a loud thud where he had been lying an instant before.  Spinning away from the convict, he began to run, hoping to put some distance between him and the criminal.           Jessup was startled by J.R.�s agility, but recovered quickly.  In a foot chase with the younger, more nimble man, he knew he was at a disadvantage.  Hefting the baton again, he flung it at the fleeing private detective, aiming at his head, but it fell well short, tumbling against his ankles.  To Jessup�s surprise, it achieved its purpose any way.           J.R. stumbled when the club struck his ankle, and he pitched forward on his face on the rocky ground.  Before he could react, Jessup grasped both hands full of his shirt and roughly flung him over on to his back.  Wide eyed with terror, J.R. could only watch helplessly as the criminal straddled him, effectively pinning him to the ground with his weight.  A moment later, Jessup�s huge, filthy hands were at his throat.  Struggling to breathe, J.R.�s hands gripped the man by the wrists, attempting to wrench them away from his throat, but he was no match for the convict�s strength.  Instead, Jessup bore down harder.           �Yer a smart little feller, ain�tcha?� Jessup taunted as he continued to bear down on J.R.�s trachea.  �Thought you could hide in there and I wouldn�t know it.  But I had a pretty good idea you was in there.  See, I saw yer bike stashed down by the highway yesterday ev�nin�, so I knew you�d be comin� here to wait for help.  And I knew you�d be able to see better in there than me, since I was comin� in outta the sun, so I figured if I waited long enough, you couldn�t resist stickin� yer head outside to see if I was still around!�           Barnaby�s voice resounded in his ears:  Jedediah, didn�t I tell you not to rush in?           Reaching toward that surly face, J.R. desperately attempted to press his thumbs in Jessup�s eyes and at the same time he brought his knee up swiftly, slamming it into the man�s back.  Jessup grunted as the knee struck him in the middle of his back, and he jerked his head to the side to avoid the probing thumbs.   Enraged that his victim was fighting back, he pressed down on J.R.�s throat with one hand and backhanded him across the face with the other.           J.R. was unable to utter any kind of exclamation of surprise or discomfort, for there was no air coming in and no air going out.  He was beginning to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen.           The bright sunlight seemed to be fading at an alarming rate.  Darkness was drawing across his eyes like a deepening shadow, and he knew he was losing consciousness.  And if he did, it would be the end.           J.R. turned his eyes toward the road, hoping desperately to see Barnaby�s car pulling into the lot, but his eyes were met only with the rugged desert terrain; the shrubs, the rocks, and the hot asphalt of Satan�s Ribbon.  It was here in this desolate place that he was going to die, far from home and family.  Soon, Barnaby would arrive and find his lifeless body lying in the desert, murdered by a demented killer.           He felt his body growing weaker and weaker.  His arms fell limply to the ground, and his right hand fell against something hard and smooth.  With a jolt of cognizance he realized that it was the baton.  It must have landed there when he had thrown it at him.  His hand closed around it and, gathering all his remaining strength, J.R. swung at the back of Jessup�s head as hard as he could.  It was not a fatal blow, but it was certainly enough to render him temporarily senseless.  With a low groan, Jessup slumped over.           J.R. shoved the groaning, barely conscious man off him, scrambling out from under him at the same time.  He managed to stagger to his feet, dropping the club at his feet, and with his hands at his throat, he coughed and gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air.           Holding his head in his hands, Jessup attempted to rise, but fell back and lay still.           Once he had managed to catch his breath again, J.R. bent down to pick up the baton again, making certain it remained out of Jessup�s reach.  After a grateful glance at it, considering it a form of poetic justice that he had defended himself with the weapon Jessup had used on him, he tossed it aside.  Kneeling down beside the convict, keeping a sharp eye out for signs that he was coming around, he slipped his hand into the man�s front pocket and felt around until his fingers closed on the key ring, and he withdrew it from the pocket.           He paused briefly to look for the car.  He had not heard it approach, but decided it must have been the sound of the door closing that had awakened him, so he knew it wouldn�t be far away.  It was parked in the main lot, just inside the entrance, so he sprinted toward it and yanked the door open.  But as he inserted the key in the ignition, he glanced back at the convict, still lying in the sun, apparently unconscious.  If he woke up, he might get away.  Better to secure him first.           Removing the key again, he went to the trunk and opened it, searching for a length or rope or something that he might use to tie up the convict.  He was not surprised to find that there was no rope, for most people did not carry ropes around in their vehicles.  His eyes finally settled on a pair of bungee cords ticked behind the wheel well.  Yanking them free, he ran back to Jessup.           Jessup was still lying where he had left him, so he knelt down beside the felon and pushed him over onto his stomach.  Seizing him by the wrists, he pulled them together behind his back, where they were securely bound with the bungee cord.  Moving to his legs, he used the other cord to tie his ankles together as well.           Satisfied, J.R. rose up again, brushing his hand across his throat, trying to rub away the feel of the man�s fingers.  As he gazed down at the convict, he knew the man was vulnerable to the elements.  Reaching down, he grasped him by the ankles, determined that he would not lower himself to the level of the criminal by leaving him senseless under the blistering sun, but it was difficult to find the strength to do so.  He was severely weakened from hunger and thirst, but mostly from the ordeal of almost being choked to death, and Jessup was very heavy.  Tugging and straining, he managed, little by little, to drag the limp form under the awning and into the shade.  There, he allowed the man�s legs to drop unceremoniously onto the concrete.  Humane treatment was one thing, but there was no need to be excessively gentle.           The jolt revived the criminal, and Doyle Jessup�s body jerked fully awake.  Startled to find himself trussed up, he began to thrash.           J.R. jumped backward, putting a safe distance between them as the convict rocked back and forth on his abdomen and pulled with his arms, attempting to free himself from the tethers.  �You might want to avoid struggling,� he advised.  �If you keep pulling on them like that, it�ll just make it worse.�           Jessup bellowed with rage, forming no coherent words, just enraged roars.  Ignoring J.R.�s advice, he squirmed and struggled even harder, screaming louder as the bungee cord tightened around his wrists.  Finally, realizing that his struggles were only causing additional discomfort, he rolled onto his side and became still, except for the rapid in and out motion of his heavy breathing.  His face was flaming red with rage, and J.R. wondered briefly if he was about to have a stroke.  Focusing vicious eyes on the disheveled man who stood a short distance away, Jessup demanded, �Let me go.�           �Sorry, but I can�t do that,� J.R. said.           �Untie me, boy!� Jessup shouted.           �Do I look that stupid to you?�           He and Jessup glared at each other for several moments as the convict slowly began to accept the reality that he was at the mercy of J.R. Jones.  �What are you going to do?�           J.R. showed him the car keys.  �I�m leaving.�           Panic flickered in Jessup�s eyes at the thought of being abandoned, and his raised his head off the concrete, grimacing at the pain it caused.  �No!  Wait!  You�re not going to leave me here like this!�           �Yeah, I am,� J.R. replied.  �However, unlike you, I�m not a killer, so I pulled you into the shade so you won�t blister or die of heat stroke or something like that.  Even though you probably deserve it, after all the things you�ve done.  You�ll be all right until I can send someone back for you.�           Jessup understood the consequences of being picked up by the authorities.  He began pulling and tugging again, trying to free his wrists of the cord.  When the effort failed, he raged, �You let me loose right now, boy!  I aint goin� back to prison!�           �Yes, you are, but I�m afraid you�re in even bigger trouble than before.  That guard you beat up died.  And you confessed to me that you killed a man while you were in prison.  You�re going back to prison for a long time.�           Jessup understood the significance of that; another trial, two more life sentences.  He�d never be paroled.  �At least loosen these ropes,� the convict pleaded.  �They�re biting into my wrists; they�re cutting off my circulation.�           J.R. shook his head, understanding that the criminal wanted the cord loosened so that it would be easier for him to get out of them.  �I�m sorry, but I warned you about thrashing around like that.  It�s a stretchy cord, so I had to tie it pretty tight.  You�ll just have to tolerate it for a while.  Maybe for a few hours,� he added.  �Who can say how long it�ll take someone to get out here to pick you up.  So if I was you, I�d just settle back and try not to move around too much.�           �My head feels like its splittin� apart!�           �Now you know how I felt yesterday,� J.R. retorted without sympathy.  �I�ll send someone back as soon as I can.�           J.R. picked up the flashlight he had dropped when he was yanked from the building, then he turned toward the car, but this time, instead of running, he walked, satisfied that the situation was under control.  And as he walked, he could hear Jessup, escaped convict, convicted killer, begging him not to leave him behind.                                                     Go to Act VIII