When I wrote Geriatric Justice, the story ended at just the beginning of a new career for three old fogies spending their last days waiting to die in a convalescent home, so two years later I decided to pick up where Geriatric Justice left off. Here is a brief review of the story:

During a brief stay at the Claremont, Bill noticing that both Freddie and Stan were in good health, but were dying of broken spirits because of being abandoned by their families; enticed both men to join him in one last fling. All three were retired military, and although they were in their 70s, Bill convinced them that they could correct many miscarriages of justice. Bill explained that even if they were caught, the worst that could happen would be life in prison, and they could do a short stretch like that very easily. So far, they were successful in their endeavors....

And now I give you "Justice Delayed............."

Bill Kelly, Freddie Barton, and Stan Bates were sitting around the table in the back room of the Kelly Detective Agency. Freddie was watching as Bill and Stan tried to assemble the latest addition to their crime fighting equipment. Bill said he knew all about using computers, but he'd never opened one up before. Stan had watched his grandchildren play games on one, but that didn't help. Suddenly, the case slid smoothly off the back revealing to their amazed eyes the most forbidding jumble of incomprehensible stuff anybody had ever seen.

"Golly," Freddie chuckled, "are you really gonna stick your hand in there?" Bill looked at the box marked Modem, the little box labeled simms, and the bigger box with the CD rom drive in it and shook his head.

"Fellas, we've got over 200 years of experience between the three of us, but I think we better find us a 10 year old kid to put this here thing together." They laughed and put the case cover back on the frame. Stan said,

"It's good to see you laugh again, Freddie. It's been a long time."

"Yeah, funny thing, I been hurting so long because my family never came to visit me in that `Claremont Home for the Aged.' Now, I got you guys for a family, we just finished killing a couple of slime-balls who really deserved to die, and I'm sitting here having the time of my life."

Stan and Freddie helped Bill carry the computer and all the stuff that belonged inside to Bill's station wagon. Freddie had to drive, so Stan stayed behind to watch the store and some of his soaps. The salesman who'd sold Bill the computer and suggested that Bill have the service department install the peripherals smirked when he saw them approaching the door. He waited and silently pointed to the big sign, which read, "Electronics Service Department."

The service guy told Bill to come back around 2 p.m. tomorrow, and gave him the owners manuals to read. Bill asked if the mouse didn't know how to operate the computer? The guy just rolled his eyes up in the air and said, "Just read the manual."

When they were driving back to the office, Freddie asked,

"Bill, I thought you knew how to use a computer. Didn't I hear you telling your friend Ed, you wanted your computer put back online, and for him to set you up an Internet account as someone in the San Pedro area. You said you'd set up a relay router down there. Now you don't know how to turn one on...what's goin' on Bill? How sick are you anyway?

"Just sick enough to set up a witness, who, I'm sure, will testify that I don't know the first damn thing about computers. Are you forgetting that I cleaned out all the bank accounts and transferred them to several, numbered accounts just before we blew Malcom Gilbert and a Charles Jackson into tiny pieces of fish food. After I get set up, I've got to move it all again via a new Internet account through several countries. It will be almost impossible to trace, but if the banks or a sharp insurance investigator tries, he could find me, but I don't know how to turn on a computer, do I?"

That evening after a notorious meal of beer and pizza, they sat bleary eyed trying to focus on the TV; heads nodding then jerking back up to signify wakefulness...finally in unison the heads slowly nodded and this time, didn't rise.

Suddenly, there was a tapping on the frosted glass pane of the window that carried the legend, "Security Office." As one the heads popped up they looked at each other. Freddie whispered, "Oh shit! They found us already...whata-we do now Bill?"

"Keep quiet, I'll go look," Bill hissed as he shuffled out of his office and over to the door and peeked through a pinhole he used for occasions like this. "Hmmmm, this IS very strange," he muttered.

What?" they demanded in unison.

"Its the woman from Claremont — you know — the one that checked us out. I wonder what she wants?" He pulled back the deadbolt, opened the door and asked,

"Is there something I can do for you?" She nodded, looked around nervously and asked,

"Can I step inside? I'd rather not try to talk outside here in the mall." He opened the door wider and she hurried inside. She appeared to be frightened, but grew calmer when Bill closed and bolted the door. He turned to her and asked,

"Now, what in Hell is going on? How did you find us and why?" She took a deep breath and proceeded to tell Bill that it was really all his fault. When he took off with Stan Bates and Freddie Barton, she immediately processed the billing and started looking for a billing address. When she couldn't find one she started looking in Stan Bates and Freddie Barton's files and found some chilling information.

In each file she found an insurance policy was made out to Claremont, a death certificate and an autopsy report dated the 16th. of next month. In Bill's file she found this address on a wrinkled old business card, which she stuffed in her purse. She put everything back, and got out of Mr. Dixon's office as fast as she could. She was pretty sure no one saw her because today, when Mr. Dixon got back from Europe, he discovered that Stan and Freddie were gone. He called her in and threatened to fire her, and ruin her if she didn't tell him the truth about where they had gone. She pretended to be just as dumb as she was when we left. She told him what Bill Kelly had said about sending the closing costs to his accountant. She told him that Bill Kelly drove a Buick station wagon and that was all she knew.

"So that's what he's doing," Bill growled, "He's running a reverse mortgage type of scam on the relatives. They run up costs until they can't afford to pay, and they can't afford to stay. Then he gets them to sign over the insurance for never ending care. The relatives go away feeling like they did something good for dear old dad, and Mr. Dixon lets dear, old Dad hang around for awhile, if it doesn't cost too much to keep him alive; otherwise, bye-bye dad — nice man that Dixon, just our type of guy."

Stan and Freddie started to giggle, and the poor woman looked like she had stumbled into the funny farm. She jumped up, "Well, if you're not going to take my warning seriously, I'm going to the police. There's something very wrong going on out there, and you old fools just sit here and laugh about it. Bill stood beside her,

"Sit back down, young lady!" He barked, "It's you who don't understand! This Dixon is nothing but a damn murderer, and if he finds that you've been poking into his files, he'll kill you, too. You can't go back to Claremont — one look at you and he's bound to know something is bothering Hell out of you. Let the Kelly Detective Agency send you to Florida for a couple a weeks...when you come back, Mr. Dixon won't be around to bother you or anyone else anymore." Her eyes swept over the three, unshaven, old derelicts, and reflected her disbelief.

"I don't have any money," she protested, "I could never pay you back."

"Don't let that bother you," Bill reassured her, as he fished five $100 bills from his wallet, "don't go home; just get on the plane and buy a toothbrush when you get in Miami, Okay?" She nodded, took the bills and waited while Bill phoned for the flight reservation. When she left, Bill told Freddie to follow her to the airport and steal the license plates off her car.

Freddie asked, "Why do we want her license plates?"

"We don't, but we don't want anyone to be able to trace her that easy, either. Now, get outa here before you have trouble tracing her, yourself." Freddie slowly raced out of the room.

Sleep was out of the question, Dixon wouldn't be sleeping — he would be out hunting for Stan and Freddie. They had no choice but to get Dixon before he got them; however, they were handicapped by the fact that Dixon could end up legitimately with two dead bodies, but Dixon's death had to appear to be an accident.

"Stan," Bill leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and began, "I want you to think back to your stay at the Claremont. I want you to try to remember every time you had any contact with Dixon. I want you to tell me in detail everything you can remember about those contacts...even if he scratched his nose — which side? which finger? Do you get what I mean?" Stan nodded and said,

"I'll try, but you've got to remember, I wasn't in the greatest condition back in the beginning." He started talking and talked long into the night. Bill sat so quietly he appeared to be asleep, but he was intently listening to every word. He not only got a fairly good picture of Dixon's daily habits, but he was able to share in the torment endured by his friend during those months spent waiting to die at Claremont. Toward the end of the narration, Freddie returned, tossed two license plates on the floor, and went to sleep.

In the morning Bill spooned some instant coffee into three mugs poured in the water heated on his hot plate and quickly outlined his immediate plans,

"I want you guys to stay holed up here in my office. There's no telling how many people he has looking for you two. Don't open this door for anyone but me. I'm going to tail Dixon for a while. Obviously, he doesn't sleep at the Claremont, so he must have a place somewhere. There is too much security at the Claremont for us to arrange a fatal accident for our Mr. Dixon, so we'll just have to fix up his residence then he can have one in the privacy of his own home."

"Sounds like a plan to me," giggled Freddie. Stan grumbled that he didn't like hiding from the murdering s.o.b.; but if they had to hide in order to make the hits to look like accidents, he guessed it was worth it.

Bill became Dixon's second shadow for the next week, coming back to his office only to shave, take a quick shower, and record his progress on his new computer. Dixon was quite methodical in his habits, but also damned careful about his phone calls. He would swing into a convenience store's parking lot and use the pay phone at least twice a day, but never the same one. It wasn't until the same Monday of the second week that Bill caught on to the pattern. That evening when he was entering his report into his computer, he noticed that Dixon had used the same phone the previous Monday.

On a hunch, Bill went back out and spent hours secretly bugging the two pay phones that Dixon visited the previous Tuesday. He knew it was a gamble, but time was running out — his witness couldn't stay in Miami very long on $500.

Tuesday, Dixon was true to form and pulled into the parking lot right on schedule. Bill was there in advance because when he saw the route Dixon was following, he knew and hurried on ahead to get a good vantage point where he could put his camera with the zoom lens to good use. He was sitting in his station wagon reading the newspaper when Dixon pulled to a stop and hurried to the phones. He leaned over like he was using the phone and waited...

When the phone rang he was waiting and answered quickly, "You're late!"

"What do you mean you can't find her? She can't just disappear off the face of the damn earth!"

"I'm not paying you to think, I'm paying you to find the bitch and kill her. She had to have seen my records...that's why she's on the run. She's scared and hiding somewhere.

If you don't find her and kill her, I'm in deep shit!"

"Well I'm not going down — I'll just go into hiding myself until this blows over."

"I'll just say you and Jason talked me — no, forced me into your murder scheme, and I was afraid you'd harm my family if I refused. You starting to squirm yet? You better, you goddamn worm. Now, go find my bookkeeper and kill her, and I mean NOW!"

He hung the phone up, went to the other phone and rapidly punched the buttons...

"Jason....., Oscar Dixon........, tell Jason I need to talk to him."

"Jason, is it okay to talk?"

"Okay, where?"

"You got it, see you at four." and he hung up. He got in his car and drove off.

"Hmmm, the plot thickens," Bill mumbled to himself as he went to work collecting his equipment, hoping for a good recording of the other side of the conversations; especially the party who answered the second call. That person must be Jason's secretary and probably identified either Jason or his company.

Bill kept Dixon in sight as he went about his daily routine; however by early afternoon he decided to just watch Dixon's car. He had been following so closely he was beginning to worry about being spotted and putting his quarry on guard. The Claremont had it's normal flow of foot traffic and visitors during the day, Bill had been a guest long enough to recognize the usual visitors and business people who came and went.

When 4 o'clock drew near, Bill became more attentive. He expected Dixon to be in motion at any moment now. When 4 o'clock came and nothing happened, he began to fidget in his seat. When 5 o'clock arrived, and Dixon came out and drove directly to his home, Bill almost had a stroke he was so enraged. That smooth talking s.o.b. had out maneuvered him and that was embarrassing as all get out...something he just wouldn't tell the guys.

Either Dixon had called off the meeting or Jason was one of the people who entered the nursing home shortly before 4 p.m. He replayed the scene in his mind's eye several times before he remembered the hearse. The hearse, yeh! It had been driven by a tall guy in a gray business suit, not black, but gray. What was on the side of the hearse?.....Picky? - no - Picey? -no - Pices? Yeh, that's it, Pices! Pices Mortuary. Bill hurried to the nearest phone booth and looked up Pices Mortuary, and there he was, even his dignified picture, Jason Miller, Funeral Director.

When Bill arrived at his office, he excitedly ran the whole story to his bored assistants, but the longer he talked the more enthused they became. When he finished, in one voice they started asking how in the world did he, Kelly, propose to take on Dixon and Miller and some unknown other accomplice at the same time and still make all three still appear to be accidents. Bill admitted it was quite a challenge, but that he'd figure something out.

"I'm gonna need a lot more time than I anticipated _ might have to keep that woman out of town more than the two weeks. Trouble is that I ain't got the slightest idea where she is. Hopefully, she will have sense enough to call me before heading back."

Freddie spoke up, "Why not turn in some anonymus phone calls to the cops about funny business going on at both the nursing home and the mortuary? A couple of raids will let them know that someone is on to them; even if the cops don't accomplish anythig, it will still shake em up."

"Good idea," Bill answered, "it might just save someone's ass at the home. If the cops are snooping around, they might think twice about killing anyone else for awhile. I'll go back out and stir things up a little." He gave his two buddies the thumbs-up sign and slipped out through the door.

At one pay-phone he dialled 911 and excitedly told the operator that he had just escaped from Claremont after they had tried to kill him in his sleep. He said he had bit one of the male nurses hard enough to escape, but was bleeding from a knife wound. Cried out that he had to run because he could see them coming.

At the next phone he called the We-Tip hot line and whispered into the phone that three of his homeless friends had signed contracts with the Pices Mortuary selling their vital organs for a prepayment because they were broke and hungry. He paused for effect then hissed into the phone,

"And I swear to God, all three of my buddies were dead within a week...all from hit-and-run accidents." He said he had sold his, too, and now he was scared to death that he was next. He cried out, "Oh No," banged the receiver against the body of the phone and left the phonebooth with the receiver dangling.

He knew they'd trace the call to the phonebooth and have to take some action.

When he told Stan and Freddie what he had done, they roared with laughter.

Freddie said he wished he could be there to watch.

Bill replied, "Why not? lets go by the Claremont first and see what's happening. It'll take a longer time for them to get around to busting the mortuary." So, off they went to see the effect of their mischief.

They parked as far away as they could while still getting a good view of the entrance gate of the Claremont. There appeared to be nothing happening, no police cars no activity at all.

"i'll bet those lousy cops just called the Claremont and asked if they had lost an inmate or had anything unusual happen. Naturally Dixon would deny it and convince them it was just a prank call." Bill grumbled, "I guess I'll have to make it more convincing." He reached into the back of the stationwagon and grabbed a suitcase. Inside was a jury-rigged makeup kit and a bundle of old clothing.

In minutes he transformed himself into a bearded scroungy looking street wino dressed in clothing even the "Good Will" wouldn't accept. He shuffled down to the corner mini-market. When he approached the cash register, he paid for a bottle of Dago-Red and a pack of cigarettes. He asked the old guy behind the regester,

"Did ya see that kook in the bedsheet run by here? He was bleeding like a stuck horse and screaming for help. There were a couple of guys from that joint fer old folks chasing him. The old man shook his head no, but still went to the doorway and looked around. Bill said, "I think someone should call the cops."

"I don't want to get involved," the store clerk replied.

"you dial the phone and I'll tell them," Bill said, "and that way your not involved. You're only letting me use your phone."

The guy checked under the counter, dialed a number and handed Bill the phone. Bill took it, told where he was calling from, and told his story. He gave the phone back to the waiting clerk and told him he was going to wait outside for the cops. When he got out of sight he hurried to the waiting car.

"they oughta get here anytime now," he reported as he started removing his disguise. It only took about five or six minutes for the prowl-car to pull up in front of the mini-market. The cops went inside, stayed for several minutes and then drove to the Claremount.

"Bill," Stan spoke quietly, "I been thinkin', we just can't have them individually have fatal accidents. They're too closely linked for it to be a coincidence. The cops would know that something was fishy. We gotta figure out how to get them together and then blow them up or something."

"Sounds like the beginning of a plan to me," Bill responded, "I'll have to identify the third party, find something that might bring them all together, and then we'll figure out a nice simple way of sending them off on their final trip."

Freddie piped up, "You guys do the planning. Whatever you decide is okay with me. I'll just drive the car, Okay?"

After more than another week of stalking both Dixon and Jason, Bill was ready to give up. Those two were so spooked they were totally avoiding each other. Jason's secretary came and went hither and yon with no apparent motivation. If he was directing the search for Dixon's secretary, it was probably via secure email, because Bill couldn't even hack into his mail.

Finally, Bill decided to use himself as bait to bring the group together. He started scouting around to find a location for the meeting. A location where a big explosion would do no harm to innocent bystanders, a location with an escape route for himself and his crew and a location where they would not detect the presence of the others until it was too late. When he broached his plan to his crew, Freddie objected,

"I said I didn't want anything to do with the planning, but this is sorta risky _ even impossible. Why don't we knock off the secretary first? He's obviously the one who is probably looking for all of us: the woman, you, Bill Kelley and me and Stan. If he finds us we're dead, so let's kill that sucker first, then get the others when they get together to talk about it."

They all agreed and started planning the secretary's demise. Freddie giggled and made the remark that he felt ridiculous because he had just suggested killing some guy and they didn't even know his name. "It's best this way," Bill replied, "He is a deadly killer and deserves to die, but if we knew the details about his life, family, or anything else, it might cloud our judgment, weaken our resolve and ultimately destroy our reason for staying alive."

Bill spoke up, "I think I just might have a plan. I'm sure Dixon must have told the secretary about me and my Buick station wagon, so why don't we let him find me, then we can get rid of him?"

Stan asked sarcastically, "Just how do you intend to do that and not let Dixon and Jason know that we did it?"

"I'll call the Claremont and ask why I haven't received the billing for my stay. My accountant needs the billing for his month-end payouts. He takes care of all my financial affairs. I'll offer both his mailing address and mine. I'm sure it won't be long before we have a visitor."

"What happens when he gets here?" Freddie asked, but both were curious as they waited for Bill's answer.

"Why, we kill the sucker," Bill replied, "There is only one way into this office, and the minute he grabs the doorknob, we electrocute him. Then when the coast is clear, we take him to Palos Verdes and run him and his car off the cliff and into the ocean. He might never be found"

They spent the rest of the day rigging up the metal implants in the doormat and the switch to the wire attached to the doorknob, so Bill could look out the peephole and make sure who it was before he threw the switch. They didn't want any real accident to happen.

The next morning Bill made his call to the convalescent home and demanded to speak to the billing department. Whoever it was that answered that the person in charge was on vacation, could he call back in about a week. Bill told him that he needed the billing, so that he, Bill Kelley, could deliver it to his accountant for payment. He gave his address and the address of his accountant, and said to have someone mail that damn billing within three days, or else…the person, on the other end of the line, said he'd give the info to Mister Dixon when he got in, and hung up.

Bill put the phone down and said, "Now all we have to do is wait."

They waited nervously hour after hour all day long, but for some reason nothing happened, no one showed up, and no one rang the doorbell. They didn't dare go outside because there was a possibility that someone was waiting outside for the them and would attack when they each expected it. By evening they were all nervous wrecks.

Bill said that there was only one thing to do, they would turn on the TV loud enough to make someone believe they were inside, and then take turns standing watch by the peephole in the front door until someone came along. Stan was standing watch about midnight nodding off occasionally then waking back up when his head banged the door, when he blinked the sleep from his eyes and peered through the peephole and he was startled to see a man standing there with a black hood on his head. Stan flipped the switch turning on the current to the doorknob, and ran back into the room to wake up Bill.

Bill woke with a start and looked up to see Stan standing over him holding his finger over his lips and pointing toward the door with his other hand. Before Bill could even sit up, they heard a scream from the other side of the door and violent threshing noises. Bill ran to the door and looked out through the peephole. All he could see was a pair of legs that were still jerking convulsively. He waited until the legs stop moving before throwing the switch to turn off the current. He cautiously opened the door; it wasn't easy to open because evidently the man was still holding onto the doorknob.

There is no real need for caution because the man was dead. It took all of Bill's strength to pry his hand off the doorknob. Bill quickly went through the man's pockets until he found his wallet and his car keys. He handed the car keys to Freddie and said, "Freddie, go out into the mall parking lot and find the car that these keys will open or start. Park it as close to here as you can possibly get." As Freddie was preparing to leave, he gave him a pair of latex gloves saying, "Here, take these. We don't want to leave our prints anywhere on that car, okay?"

Freddie left and Bill and Stan sat silently not looking at their dead guest. Bill carefully went through the wallet and discovered that the man was indeed an employee of the Pices Mortuary. There was no indication as to his employee status, but a couple of pay stubs testified to his salary level, and he certainly wasn't just a driver. After what seemed like hours, Freddie came rushing into the room...obviously upset. His eyes were wild and when he sat down, he buried his head in his hands and his shoulders shook with his sobs.

"Freddie, what in hell went wrong? Quit that, and tell us what happened." Bill poured a stiff shot of bourbon into a water glass and handed it to Freddie. Freddie choked it down and when he stopped coughing he blurted out, "I was checking out cars in the parking lot and I spotted Mister Dixon sitting in this car waiting for this guy. I didn't know what to do, I knew we needed the car to get rid of the body, and I knew that Dixon knew that the guy was in your office killing us, so he could point a finger at us if the guy disappeared. I just flipped out and picked up a big rock out of a landscape planter. Dixon was sitting in the passenger seat with the window rolled down while he smoked a cigarette. I snuck up from behind and cracked his damn skull with a rock. I think he's dead."

"Where is he and the car now," asked Bill,

"Right outside, I laid him down in the front seat…it's dark and I don't think anyone can see him unless the open the door. I did lock the door. What are we going to do now?

Bill grinned, "Actually Freddie, you did us all a big favor. This makes it more believable. We'll put both Dixon and this guy in the front seat. We won't fasten the seat belts and to show a reason for that we'll unzip both of their flys, hang out their things and if the car is found, the reason for going off the cliff will be obvious."

The trio worked the rest of the night completing the plan _ arriving back at the office at daybreak they collapsed into fitful sleep until late in the afternoon.

Bill went to work on the recordings of the conversations between Dixon and Jason. He did a little splicing and editing until he was satisfied with the result. He then checked Dixon's weekly telephone routine. If Jason had caller ID, he wanted to be calling from the correct phone when he set his trap for Jason. He told the others to lay low and keep holed up in the office until he got back. Both Stan and Freddie said they were starved, so Bill promised to return with a sack of cheeseburgers and a twelve-pack of beer.

When Bill arrived at the proper phone booth, he dialed Jason's number and ran the first part of the recording when the phone was answered,

"Jason....., Oscar Dixon........, tell Jason I need to talk to him."

When Jason replied, What's up Oscar? How did last night go? And where in hell is my assistant?"

Bill pressed the recorder again,

"Jason, is it okay to talk?"

"Yes, everyone has left for the day"

Bill then played the rest of his constructed message,

"Last night didn't go well at all, we've got some really serious problems…I'm not going down — I'll just go into hiding myself until this blows over."

"If I'm caught, I'll just say that you, Jason talked me — no, forced me into your murder scheme, and I was afraid you'd harm my family if I refused. You starting to squirm yet? Well, Jason I need to talk to you. I'm coming over for my cut then I'm gone." The tape ended and Bill hung up before Jason could answer.

Bill picked up the beer and cheeseburgers on his way back to his office. While they ate, he outlined his plan,

"Jason has to be going crazy waiting on Oscar Dixon. He knows Dixon is in a panic and bailing out. He is sure Dixon is going to rat him out and try to pin the whole scheme on him, so he is probably sitting there waiting to kill the intruder when he arrives. He might even be planning to dispose of the body in one of the open graves."

"Won't he shoot us if we show up?" Freddie asked.

"Not if we're just a bunch of drunks, drinking beer, staggering around and singing." Bill replied, so when we get down to only three beers, let's go finish off that murderous bastard."

"What kind of excuse do we have for showing up at a mortuary this late in the evening?" Stan asked skeptically.

"Ha, I'll bet you think I don't have _ `n' _ answer for that one," Bill grinned owlishly as he opened another bottle of beer and took a big slug out of the bottle, "I just happen to always read the obituary column just to see if they mention me. I read that a World War Two veteran named George Kerry died recently and his funeral is scheduled to be held at Pices Mortuary. Were gonna pay our last respects to our old buddy, George tonight…can't wait fer no damned funeral." We don't know any George Kerry." Protested Stan.

"Don't hafta," chuckled Freddie, "We're gonna bury the undertaker _ right Bill?"

Bill nodded solemnly, "You got it Freddie."

When they arrived at the mortuary, they got out holding their last bottles of beer in their latex covered hands, staggered around and started shouting, "Georgie Boy, where are you Georgie Boy? We come to shay Goo-bye, Georgie. They pounded on the door when they found it locked. Hearing no answer, they pounded even harder using the beer bottles on the expensively ornate wooden door. The door was suddenly jerked open by a furious Jason Miller.

"What do you people want? The mortuary is closed. I want you off this property at once or I'll call the police."

Freddie draped his arm over Jason's shoulder and begged, "We wanna say goo-bye to our old Army buddie, George Kerry. Can't we come in and see him?" Jason jerked back and pushed Freddie away, and that's when Bill hit him alongside his head with his beer bottle. The bottle shattered and Jason dropped like a rock. Bill wrapped his right hand around the neck of the shattered bottle. They left his fingerprints on the remaining eleven bottles and left them on his office desktop.

Checking the funeral schedule, they found the location of George Kerry's gravesite. Quietly they carried Jason out to the gravesite, located a couple of shovels and dug the grave about 3 feet deeper. They gently lowered Jason into the grave and smacked him in the head with a shovel a few times to make sure he was really dead; then they covered him up until the grave was at the original depth.

Bill stood at the edge of the grave and said, "Fellows, I think we should say a few words." They looked at him quizzically. He continued, "George, we want to apologize for contaminating your grave with this filthy piece of crap. Hate to leave you with such bad company, but we have no choice. See Ya!"

The next morning Bill handed Freddie the license plates to the bookkeeper's car and an envelope. He told him to take his time and not get caught replacing the plates and to place the envelope on the driver's seat. In response to both Freddie and Stan's quizzical stare, he said, "The lady we rescued and sent on a paid vacation is the remaining loose thread in our last little escapade. We have to do something about her. Both Stan and Freddie started to shake their head, "No," furiously. They both started talking at the same time, "No way, Bill! Enough is enough. We aren't gonna harm a hair on her head. What's got into you anyway?"

Bill grinned and interrupted, No, I didn't mean that _ I meant that we have to do something to insure that she avoids any interrogation about the disappearance of her boss and those creeps at the mortuary. I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I think she might just jump at the chance of a better paying job, managing our financial dealing. We could send her off to Denver to live and work. We need some sort of legitimate business to cover our asses, so the Kelly Detective Agency, specializing in skip tracing and process serving would explain our income and cover our travels. She could be our Girl, Friday and handle the bookkeeping for the legit side of the business. How about it?"

"What's in the envelope?" asked Stan.

"Instructions to call us the minute she returns and a brief offer of the job. Hell, I don't even know her name." I'm sure she appreciated what we have done for her, and I'm also sure she wouldn't worry about any hanky-panky going on."

"Speak for yourself, Bill she don't look all that bad to me," Stan mumbled.

Freddie took off for the airport, Stan went for a walk and Bill started going through his stack of 46 photos of murders and molester that were walking around free because of some miscarriage of justice. Time was whizzing by _ they just couldn't be wasting any because they didn't have any to spare.