Fandom: Houston Knights
Series: Other Authors
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Joe/Levon
Archive: Starwinder's
Title: The Suit
Author: Glo
e-mail:goglow@mailcity.com

Standard Disclaimer: Houston Knights belongs to Jay Bernstein and Michael Butler and Columbia Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fan fiction, written out of love for the shows. I am making no money off this. I have no money so please don't sue me. Any original characters that may appear in these stories are the property of the author.

The Suit
By Glo

It had already been a long day for the two tired Houston police officers. Senior Detective Levon Lundy stole a glance at his partner, Detective Sergeant Joseph LaFiamma. The boy looked kinda pale, like he'd lost a bit of weight, too. Lundy thought about that as he steered his Jimmy through heavy commuter traffic in downtown Houston. Fact wuz, the boy had been looking kinda ragged fur a spell. At that moment, Lundy was distracted by a taxi driver who had lost patience with the slow progress of the lane and started daringly crossing lanes, creating a trail of horn-honking angry Texans.

LaFiamma observed the antics of the drivers in front of him with detachment. Ever since he'd spotted Gianfranco last week, he had known his time was limited, it made everything seem distant and surreal. Ever since he'd been burned on reporting a 'tailor' to his lieutenant, back on the case about Lundy's friend Bobby Wilton, LaFiamma had decided to keep a low profile when it came to the mob. Not that he'd done anything wrong, but the Feds had been on his case, torn up the MCU's bullpen and been a real thorn for Lieutenant Beaumont. Now, he'd spotted Gianfranco. Some sixth sense told him that this time the tailor was fitting a 'suit' for him.

His uncle, Mikey, back home in Chicago, had told him to stop calling. Lundy had pointed out that it was better that way, to remember that 'yesterday was gone.' It hurt, though, cut off from family. Bad enough being stuck down here in cowboy-land but to lose that lifeline. Well, it was bad karma, for sure. Since Gianfranco, LaFiamma had stopped eating except when with his partner. No point. He simply waited to die.

Levon Lundy arched his back against the driver's seat, feeling the stiffness in his bad shoulder kick in. Must be a storm brewing in the Gulf, it would account for all the tempers flying here on the streets, and his aches. Mebbe why the boy looked so peaked. [Don't like to see him that way, my pretty boy.] Lundy had to smile inside, wouldn't do to have LaFiamma know that's how he thought of his partner.

Lundy swung the Jimmy over into a side street, jest to get out of the traffic swarming down the main street. Enough fur a bit. They still had to log in at Reisner before they could call it a day. LaFiamma could be dropped off at the police garage, had his own vehicle now, sort of. If you could call that dark streak of power a vehicle at all.

Joe LaFiamma edged slightly away from Lundy as they turned into the side street. Didn't want his partner hit by a bullet meant only for him. Should I tell him? No, not just now. Lundy had been real surly lately, that Colt of his going missing had been a real mess. Nothing Joe could do or say was right. Just stick by him, was all he could do. 'Til death do us part, he thought with dark amusement, one corner of his mouth kicking up slightly.

Lundy spotted the half-smile, wondered what had tickled his so-quiet partner. Boy hadn't said two dozen words all week. After the first few weeks of non-stop complaints, lectures, and arguments, it should have been a relief. Instead, Lundy found himself wondering what wuz wrong. Pale, thinner, not talkin'. [Something serious botherin' the boy. My boy. Gotta do somethin' about thet.]

Lundy decided to spend a little personal time with hiz pardner, long as he wuz careful. Wouldn't do fur LaFiamma to see jest how important he'd become to Lundy. [Not til I figger out iffn he swings thet way, enyhow.] Fur now, jest find out what wuz wrong. After all, both their lives might depend on LaFiamma some time, he'd be no good iffn he wuz off hiz feed. "LaFiamma? How about coming out to my place this afternoon for a beer?"

LaFiamma blinked in surprise. This was a first. Was it safe? Would Lundy be safe? Surely the tailor hadn't paid that much attention to his partner, after all they barely saw each other outside of work now, maybe a meet at that rib shack, Chicken's. That was it. "Uh, sure. Okay." Why not? The blonde was so gorgeous. [I'd really like to make time with you, Levon, if I could only figure out how to get past your 'good ole boy' attitude. May not be much time left for me.]

Lundy nodded, that's settled then. He picked up the mike and radioed in to Reisner, logging them out from there. Traffic was so thick, no point going in jest to turn around and come out, not if the boy was coming home with him. [Um, like the sound of thet.] They could come back in later tonight fur Joe's car, when the traffic eased up, if Joe still wanted to go home after... well, he'd hafta wait and see.

LaFiamma made no comment as he listened to Lundy's message.

The Jimmy heeled over on the back street, turning into another less traveled street that led in the direction that Lundy wanted. If he'd looked back, he would have seen the black sedan follow his changes.

**************

Levon's route was not his normal one, he was plotting his way around the worst pockets of commuter traffic, swinging wide of the city to take an outer loop road back up and around to his ranch. LaFiamma hadn't said a word, and that began to worry Lundy a bit. [Usta be, he'd be throwing a fit by now, us goin' some roundabout route.] Levon let his fingers tap lightly on the wheel as he gnawed at the problem.

They were out in the country now, but Joe could have sworn this was not the way to Lundy's ranch. Not that he'd been there that often. But still. He hunched his shoulders higher against the passenger side door, closed his eyes.

Lundy nearly had the road to himself now. He sighed in satisfaction. Might take a bit longer, miles-wise, but lot less time on the road. There was a pickup truck headed toward him on the country lane, moving slowly, full of bales of hay. In his rearview there was only one car, nondescript, black. At that moment, the pickup's right front tire blew, sending the truck into a skid across the road in front of Lundy. Levon slammed on the brakes, cursing under his breath. The Jimmy's tail swayed to the side and suddenly the black car was pulling up nearly even with him. "What the hell?"

There was a second sharp retort, this one sounded like a back fire, except his partner, LaFiamma, pitched across the cab seat and into his right drivin' arm. "Goddamn it, LaFiamma! Cain't you remember to buckle up?" Fighting the wheel, he shoved the man away, shocked when his hand came back covered in blood. There was a third hard retort and the Jimmy bucked, dropping toward one of the deep irrigation ditches lining the road. He caught a glimpse of the black car as it sped off, past him, past the stopped pickup just ahead, then the Jimmy was taking a nose-dive into the canal and his partner was floppin' around beside him in silence.

Levon never lost consciousness as the Jimmy plunged into the canal. He could see it was one of the deceptively deep ones. They needed to get out and fast. He slid out from under the wheel and grabbed at LaFiamma. Boy was out, bad bruise on his head and bleedin' somewheres but no time to find out. [Gotta get out now afore we drown!] With grim determination, Lundy climbed over Joe and kicked out the rest of the broken passenger side window. Already the water was slopping over the windshield and covered the tipped down driver's side of the vehicle. Levon braced himself in the open window, boot heels dug into the seat and secured his arms around LaFiamma, under his arms and locked his hands across the boy's chest.

Heaving with all his might, he got both their heads out the large window and jammed his elbows against the sill. That was when he heard the welcome call of someone shouting to him. "Yes, goddamn it, Ah need help! Help me pull out my partner!"

Nameless hands grabbed at the shoulders of his jeans jacket. Dragged him up, and he held on to LaFiamma. Then they were lying on the verge of the road, soggy and bloody. He could feel rivulets of blood streaming down his head from where the broken, jagged glass of the window had cut him. Didn't see his hat, didn't even remember losing it. Huddled in his arms was his partner, unconscious and bleeding badly if the pool forming around them wuz any sign. Damn.

The two ranch hands from the pickup had hauled them out of the Jimmy once they saw what happened. Abandoning their crippled vehicle for the moment. The black car was history.

"Mister, yore friend is losing a lot o'blood."

"Yeah, help me lay him out so's I kin see where it's all comin' from." Lundy scooted out from under LaFiamma and pulled him out straight. Hand came away wet with fresh blood. Low in the right shoulder, then, maybe a lung, ribs for shore, edge of shoulder blade, too. No exit wound. Shot in the back. It was a definite bullet wound. That black car. Suddenly LaFiamma's attitude, his weight loss, paleness, it all made sense in a macabre sort of way. He knew this wuz comin', Lundy thought grimly. And, he didn't tell me.

Time to think about that later. Fur now, pressure bandage and lay him out on his side in case he had eny problems breathin'. Lundy tore off his jeans jacket to put together the makeshift compression bandage.

The two ranch hands backed away at the sight of Lundy's gun holster with Colt. Lundy spared a look up at them. "HPD." Then he looked around. Still no one else on the road. Empty in both directions. The Jimmy had sunk so far into the ditch that only the rear bumper was still bobbing up in view. No radio, then. "You fellers got a CB in that truck?"

"No, sir." Both looked alarmed at what was happening.

"Then best git yore truck fixed fast. We need to git mah partner to a doctor."

The men were backing away, nodding now. Looking scared. Then they eyed each other and suddenly were running, but not in the direction of the pickup truck. They ran to a walk-bridge over the canal, crossed it and headed out across the pastures and fields beyond, running full out. They'd both been Hispanic. [Must be wetbacks, afraid I'd turn'em in.] Lundy sank down onto his heels beside LaFiamma, one hand resting on his partner's raised shoulder. He flipped hair back out of his face and grimaced, still trying to catch his breath from this sudden shift in his world.

Well, alright. Git LaFiamma over to thet there pickup, some shade that way, and Ah kin keep an eye on him whilst I fix the flat. Sighing, Lundy staggered to his feet and put his hands back under the larger man's arms and began to drag backwards, towards the pickup resting about 15 yards away. The crease between the blonde cowboy's eyebrows became a deep line of concentration as he tried to lift the deadweight as much as possible, to prevent further hurting his partner.

****************

Joe LaFiamma felt the sharp punch in his back even as he had been bracing for Lundy's skid to avoid the pickup in trouble ahead of them. He was shoved over toward Lundy by the hit, saw the wheel rim coming toward him but couldn't avoid it, already turning cold and numb. Then his head met the hard steering wheel, edge-on, and there was only blackness.

Now, though, the blackness was fading a bit, more like a gray and he could hear things again. Grunting, cursing, sounded like Lundy. A Lundy in extremis. Well, he was usually that way. For another few seconds, LaFiamma rested in the semi-conscious way station of grayness. Then, without warning, PAIN! The pain slammed in, biting his back, driving spears of agony through his chest, breathing was impossible but necessary, it felt like his lungs were awash in seawater. He coughed softly, tasted blood. Oh, yeah, ok. So this was it, then. He still couldn't see anything, but he could hear more clearly now. That was definitely his partner, nearby from the sounds of it, working hard at something. Maybe I should offer to help? That struck him funny, here he was, probably bleeding to death, apparently blind as well, and he was going to offer to help Lundy? The cowboy would just laugh at him for sure. Might as well just rest here and die without any more aggravation.

There was a loud snort, then Lundy was talking. "That ought do fur now." A pause, then Lundy's voice sounded closer, but gentler, too. "Alright, LaFiamma, we gotta git you up in the truck. Ain't no easy way, pardner. Iffn you kin hear me, I'd kinda like a little help here."

So, he did want help after all. Why not? Joe coughed softly again, then whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

"By god, boy! You're alive!" Lundy's voice sounded happier. "Jest help me git you standing here."

Then hands were on him, pushing him up. He tried to ignore the pounding pain and leaned forward, somehow getting his legs folded and swung under himself.

"Good, good, now, ya gotta stand up, Joe."

[Joe! He called me Joe!] Somehow, LaFiamma staggered to his feet, swaying wildly, two hands gripping his arms, holding him centered.

"Good boy. Now you gotta get in the truck."

"Which way?" was a hiss of pain.

"Which way...? Cain't you see, Joe?"

"No, just gray, everything is gray..."

There was a moment of silence, then gentle fingers were probing his forehead, right at the bright center of his flashing head pain.

"Ow."

"Sorry. Okay, jest turn like I'm pushin' ya."

**************

LaFiamma shuffled about and then forward, pulled by careful hands, Lundy murmuring words of direction and encouragement the whole way. Not too far, then he was half-dragged, half-climbed into something. Lundy said it was a pickup.

"The Jimmy?"

"In a ditch, deep water. We'll need a tow truck to get her outta there. Right now, son, we gotta git you to a doctor." With that, there was the sound of the motor starting, then gears grinding. A lurch, and LaFiamma's small grey world began to vibrate, bouncing him back to black.

****************

Lundy's mind was jumping down several trails at once. Find the nearest phone. Find the nearest help for LaFiamma. HIDE LaFiamma. Report in. Energized with the needs of the moment, he sat nearly shaking with the adrenaline flush that drove him. LaFiamma had passed out as soon as the small truck started forward. There didn't appear to be any springs in the damn thing, it was a wonder the boy didn't scream first, afore he passed out.

No way to turn around, Lundy drove back down the road, the way he'd come. There was a junction up ahead where he'd joined this road. The way back to Houston was desolate for too great a distance. Boy was still losing blood. He struggled to remember what lay on the other two sections of road. One led to Harmon, a small town on the edge of the farming land southwest of Houston, the other led to the oil fields. No help there. Okay, Harmon it was. There'd be a local doctor any way, and telephones.

He put a hand out to touch LaFiamma's forehead, where hiz head bobbed down, chest restrained by the seat and shoulder belt Lundy had clipped on. The brow was wet with sweat, and hot. But Joe's skin was cold on his arms, chill from shock. [Please, God, Ah do NOT want to lose the boy. Help me. Please.]

****************

The old pickup continued its bone-jarring motion all the way through the intersection and into Harmon. Levon parked haphazardly in front of the tiny general store - post office. It must be close to closing time, he thought inconsequentially, as he laid a hand on LaFiamma's bent neck for a moment, as if reassuring himself that the boy was still there, still alive. Then he slid out of the cab and hurried inside the small store.

There were a few people picking at shelved items, wire baskets in hands, and one man stood in front of a postal box, muttering numbers to himself as he fiddled with the combination lock. An open counter stretched across the rear of the store. One side, set up as a simple post office, the other end had a cash register, a surprisingly modern computerized one, along with a row of large open jars full of old-fashioned penny candy. Behind it stood a mammoth woman, a small print apron stretched across her ample stomach. She was sorting mail into bundles on the counter top, ignoring the rest of the shop.

He came to a stop in front of her. "Ma'am?"

She looked up and her eyebrows rose, though her expression remained neutral. Levon realized he must look a sight - dripping wet, bloody brow, more blood on his shirt where LaFiamma had rested against him, his holster in plain sight. She said nothing, just looked and waited.

"Levon Lundy, ma'am. HPD." He showed her his badge. That would explain a lot, make it easier. "I need some help. Mah pardner's in a truck outside, shot. We wuz ambushed up the Hetty Creek Road a ways. My ride went in the ditch, couldn't radio in for help." He paused now.

She stood staring at him for another beat, then put two muscular arms forward, hands down on the counter as she leaned forward. "Muskie! Roaks! Get over here!"

Two of the customers, all of whom had been eavesdropping shamelessly, walked over rapidly, putting their baskets on the counter.

"Muskie - run get Doc Pittman, he should be over at Smiley's Café. Tell him what you heard this man say. About his shot up partner." She watched her first minion depart at speed, then turned to the second.

"Roaks, call Sheriff Bart on my phone in the back, tell him to get his worthless hide here now. Just say there's trouble, say Vi' says so." The second man ducked his head and rounded the counter, disappearing through a curtained doorway at the back.

She locked eyes with Lundy. "Help's coming, Mr. Lundy. You want to sit or go out to your man?"

Lundy, tired and sore, but impressed by the way the woman had marshaled her resources so quickly, tipped his head in respect. "Much obliged, ma'am. Ah'll be out yonder with mah pardner. Iffn Ah could take out some water to him?"

The woman nodded, reaching under the counter, hand reappearing with a bottle of spring water, she handed it over. "On the house. The name's Vi', short for Vivien. Everybody around here just calls me Vi'." She sent an assessing eye up and down Lundy's wet clothes. "I'll send someone to get you some clothes from the church basement."

Levon smiled. "That'd be most welcome, Vi'. And call me Levon. Mah pardner, Joe..." he suddenly hesitated over the last name, someone wuz huntin' Joe jest now, wouldn't do to advertise, "he's hurt bad and Ah got to report in. Iffn Ah could jest use yore phone after the Sheriff is called?"

"Yore welcome to it. But looks like the doc is coming," she raised her head and gestured back out through the store plate glass window to where a couple of men now stood beside the pickup, looking in at Joe.

Levon excused himself and hurried back out.

************

Lundy sat in the creaking wooden chair and studied the dark hair of his partner, stark against the white pillowcase. Joe hadn't yet come to. Been unconscious since the road, since they climbed into that old pickup. Doctor Pittman had stanched the flow of blood while Joe still half lay in the truck cab. Then, Levon and two other men had carried his limp body into the doctor's infirmary. The clinic was little more than the doctor's house with a few of converted rooms, a waiting area in the front hall, one room for day visits with an examination table, one for records and some lab work, and there wuz a guest bedroom. That was where Joe lay now.

Pittman had operated on the exam table, explaining that Joe had been in shock dangerously long, no time even for med-evac by helicopter. With Levon assisting, stony-faced at the sight of all the blood, Pittman had gone in, following the bullet's trail, retrieving it and repairing what he could. He'd put a drain in Joe's chest, to clear the right lung, and re-inflate it. It had collapsed, filled with blood. Strapped Joe's ribs and patched the hole in his back with stitches and bandages. More were wrapped around his crown, where he'd taken several stitches to repair the gash to his head. Levon had explained that Joe said he couldn't see. Pittman shook his head on that, saying there'd been no direct damage to the eyes, so it might be brain damage. Lundy had been very quiet after that.

Once Joe had been stabilized, Levon had called back to Houston, to the Major Crimes Unit where he and Joe worked, in the Reisner Building. He'd talked to Joanne Beaumont, their boss, for some time. In the end, it was decided that the fewer folks that knew where LaFiamma was, the better. Lieutenant Beaumont would contact the local sheriff to work out details of the investigation into the attempted hit and set up protection. Pittman had made it plain that Joe was as fine here as he'd be anywhere, so they'd just keep him here. With Lundy as his bodyguard.

So, Levon sat beside LaFiamma's bed, watching him sleep.

***************

"Where...?" The soft question was the first Lundy had heard from Joe since the pickup truck.

He leaned over the bed and put a hand on Joe's chest. "Easy, LaFiamma. You're in a bed at a local clinic. Doc here took the bullet out, fixed you up."

"Lundy?"

"Yeah. I'm here, LaFiamma." Levon saw that LaFiamma had turned his head toward the sound of Levon's voice, but his eyes were a blank blue, unfocused. "Still can't see enythin'?"

Instead of answering, LaFiamma lifted one hand to his own face, touching his eyes, the bandage on his forehead. His fingers lingered in front of the open eyes, eyes that did not blink. "Everything is gray." The whisper sounded flat, defeated. Then, "Are you okay, Lundy?"

"Yeah, Ah'm fine, son. Jimmy's a mess, but the department will take care of it." Levon hesitated, then continued, "LaFiamma? That was a hit against you, weren't it?"

LaFiamma puffed out a small sigh. Let his hand drop back to the bed. Turned his head away from Lundy without answering.

"LaFiamma?"

The bruised face swung back around toward Levon's voice. "Yeah. It was a hit. Aimed at me. I'm only surprised they made such a balls up of it." He stopped, just breathing quietly, those cloudy blue eyes almost spooky. "They'll be back to finish it. Might be better if you weren't here."

"By god, LaFiamma! What the hell are you sayin'? Jest let'em come and murder you in yore bed? Ah never thought you wuz spineless, boy!" Levon didn't know whether to be angry, exasperated, or fearful. He settled on angry, it wuz easier.

Joe rolled his head back on to the pillow. This grayness was unsettling. His time had come. Suit was made, just needed to be worn.

Lundy was getting worried again. LaFiamma wasn't responding. He thought about his observations, how the boy'd been off hiz feed, looking pale, listless. All this afore the shooting. Boy knew it wuz coming, ah bet. "LaFiamma, you knew the hit wuz on, didn't you?" This time he spoke quietly, not in anger.

Still facing the ceiling, LaFiamma's lips moved for a few moments without sound, then he whispered. "I saw Gianfranco Barga last week. He's a tailor from Chicago. Like the one for your friend, Bobby Wilton. Knew Gianfranco was here for me. Nothing to do. But wait. To die."

"Shit, boy, whyn't you tell me? Ain't I yore pardner? An' thet's no way to talk, 'bout dyin'."

"Nothing you could do. Didn't want the Feds down on you and the Lieutenant again, like in the Wilton case. Figured you'd had enough grief." Why was Lundy bothering? Tears leaked from cloudy blue-grey eyes, slowly dripping trails down his cheeks, ignored.

Lundy swallowed, hard. Caught Joe's closest hand and squeezed it. "Boy, don't cha know that I'd ha'been grieving a whole lot worse iffn you'd gotten it the way Bobby did?"

"For me?"

There was so much surprise in the tone that Lundy reached up a hand and stroked LaFiamma's face, wiping at the tears and then cupping Joe's face, as if he could press his feelings into the boy through touch alone. "Joe..."

LaFiamma started, as much at the sound of his first name again, coming from his partner, as at the gentle touch on his face. Wonderingly, he reached up his own hand to cover Lundy's. Held on tight. "You never call me that."

Puzzled for a moment, Levon hitched up the chair with his free hand. "You mean 'Joe?'" He paused. "I'm sorry. Guess Ah kin be a right bit persnickety at times." He let a finger stroke Joe's cheek bone. "Yore right important to me, Joe. I don't want to have to mourn fur you. Much druther have you around to fight with."

LaFiamma coughed a laugh, that began another, more painful cough. A bubble of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. Lundy slipped an arm around behind his shoulders, holding him up slightly, until the cough subsided. "Take it easy, boy. Doc says yore lung has a hole in it. You got banged on the head, too, he thinks that might be why you cain't see."

Despite the pain that was knifing through his numbness, Joe felt a little better now - Levon cared! He'd said he'd grieve, mourn if Joe was killed. LaFiamma suddenly wanted to live. Wanted to SEE his partner's face. Unfortunately the world remained uncooperatively gray. Fearful, he asked, "Lundy? The doctor, he thinks a head injury caused my blindness? Is it permanent?"

"Hope not, Joe. He thought there might be some damage somewheres, but you sound like yore thinkin' jest fine to me." Levon tried to sound reassuring, but he didn't want to lie to the boy. Gonna keep you close, Joe, no matter what.

"Lundy? They'll be back, you know. Until they see my corpse, they'll keep on coming." Now that it looked like there might be a chance for them, LaFiamma despaired.

"And Ah'll be here, standing in front of you. They won't git through me, boy, don't you worry."

**************

When he woke again, the world was still gray. Pain washed through making him nauseated. If this continued, he didn't dare think there would be any future for him, for them. It was so silent he could hear a clock's tick somewhere nearby. Panic. Where was Lundy? "Lundy!" It came out like a hoarse croak.

"Right here, Joe."

That soft tenor, close to his ear, followed by a hand touching his. He felt better immediately, but he needed more. "Levon? I still can't see anything."

"I'm right beside you. You jest rest, son. Let nature heal you some."

"You'll... you'll stay?" There was hope and fear in the question, Lundy recognized the tone, the sound of a little boy lost, in the voice.

He stood and moved over to the bed, sat on the edge, taking up Joe's hands in his own. "Try 'n keep me away."

Joe just wanted to hold on to those fine, strong hands forever, but his own had no strength at all. Fell heavily to the mattress. "Levon. I'm sorry for everything. Really."

Lundy paused. Aside from not tellin' him that the hit wuz back on, he couldn't think of anything that the boy needed to apologize fur. "It's alright, boy."

"You won't leave?" The voice was gettin' smaller, if anything. Fainter. Boy was slipping back to sleep from the sounds of it.

"I won't leave. I'll be right here beside you, long's you need me."

Forever, Levon, I'll need you forever, LaFiamma thought, then wondered if he'd spoken aloud.

*************

Even cowboys got to go to the bathroom sometimes, Lundy thought, as he peered back over his shoulder at the community nurse who was gently giving LaFiamma a sponge bath. The boy was sleeping right through it, those medications were mighty powerful. The doctor had explained that there would be incredible pain, making LaFiamma unable to lie still iffn he didn't take the meds. Needed them to give the body time to start healin'.

Lundy nodded to Guiterrez who slouched in the open corridor, on a folding chair. Standing guard over one of their own. He knew that Joe-Bill and Dale were on perimeter patrol around the small town, and Carol O'Brien had taken up station behind the counter at the local café, Smiley's. The postmistress, Vivien Parsons, and the sheriff, Bart Thompkins, were both helping out, keeping rumors down, keeping a lid on the town's new secret 'guest'.

Back in Houston, Beaumont was working the assassin angle with Federal agents and a special Houston task force. Joe LaFiamma may have started out as a courtesy transfer from Chicago PD, but now he was one of Houston's and they did not intend to let outside shooters come in and kill with impunity. Not in Texas.

Meanwhile, LaFiamma was stashed here in little Harmon, hopefully out of harm's way.

The pickup had been retrieved by a local rancher who'd cursed the hired hands that had run away and left him short two helpers. Levon had suggested that once LaFiamma was feelin' better, maybe the two of them could help out, while staying out of sight. The rancher had been willing, so now it was just a matter of waiting for Joe to heal enough.

He wuz jest zipping up his fly when he heard the commotion from back in LaFiamma's room. Heard Joe's voice, raised. He hurriedly yanked open the door to the bathroom, heard, "Lundy! Where's Lundy? Who ARE you? Leave me alone. LEVON!"

He could hear the nurse, Karen Foster, trying to calm Joe without success. And then he'd reached the doorway. Esteban was already inside, trying to hold a naked, scared LaFiamma back. The boy had managed to wrestle himself half off the bed and was gonna tear some of the bandages around his chest and back loose iffn he didn't settle down. "JOE! I'm right here!" Lundy's long legs made short work of the distance and he grabbed LaFiamma's arms near the shoulders, bracing him. "Joe," he continued more calmly to make sure LaFiamma recognized hiz voice, "I'm here. It's Levon. It's okay, son. Now set back down on the bed."

LaFiamma had stopped all forward motion at Lundy's first words and sagged now in his grasp, looking relieved. "Levon?" Joe's head was wobbling back and forth as if he was trying to see where his partner was, eyes pale and empty.

Lundy felt a pain in his own heart. Such a lovely lost boy. And he's trying to find me. "Yeah, Joe, right here." Lundy gently guided his partner back down onto the bed. Sat beside him, ignoring Nurse Foster. Saw Esteban quietly retreat out the door, closing it softly behind him. "Jest calm down. I wuz in the bathroom."

"Who...?"

"This is Karen Foster, she's the local community nurse. She wuz just trying to bath you, Joe. We got to do all we kin to get you better and keeping you clean will help."

Foster came closer. "Hi, Joe. I'm Karen. I'm sorry I scared you, I didn't think you'd wake up."

Joe had subsided now and slumped against Lundy. "I wasn't scared. Just didn't know who you were. Didn't know where my partner was." He turned his face into Levon's shoulder. His voice was thick with the sedative still in his bloodstream.

Levon reached an arm around him, hugging him close for just a moment. "That's right, jest calm down. No need to worry. Ah'm right here. Now, yore gonna let this pretty lady finish her job, right?"

LaFiamma gave a deep sigh that promptly provoked a painful attack of coughing. Lundy held on grimly while his partner sounded like he was gonna cough up one of his lungs.

Foster held up a special inhaler to LaFiamma's nose, then, when the wheezing eased, she tried to affix an oxygen line under his nose, attached at the other end to a pump. Joe started to bat away the tube and hands until Levon caught his wrist and murmured a few reassuring words.

Lundy turned back to the nurse, once Joe was sitting passively beside him. "How do you want him miss?" At her direction, he quickly rearranged Joe on the bed, talking quiet nonsense the entire time. Then he walked around the bed, still talking, to sit on the far side, picking up one of Joe's hands. After that, Joe cooperated for the remainder of the bath.

************

After three days of bed rest, Joe was on reduced medication, able to breathe fairly easily without the extra oxygen assistance. His vision had not returned. Levon slept on a cot the doctor put in the room so that he was there whenever Joe called for him. The Italian didn't seem comfortable with anyone else and Lundy didn't mind, kinda liked the fact that his partner preferred him over even Carol O'Brien, who'd volunteered to give Lundy a break and sit with LaFiamma, early on.

Beaumont had reluctantly taken Dale and Joe-Bill off the guard detail, MCU had too many cases to tie up entire teams for so long. O'Brien and Gutierrez were pulled off soon after, when Beaumont secured Sheriff Thompkins' word that he'd have patrol officers alert and available, watching for strangers. Small towns were good that way, strangers stood out. And there'd been no sign of the black car or any strangers.

Doctor Pittman assured both men that LaFiamma was well on his way to full recovery, at least as far as the bullet wound and head gash were concerned. He suggested that a specialist would need to be consulted about the continuing blindness. Neither man commented on the impossibility of that for now. Somewhere out there at least one man waited for LaFiamma, to fit him with a suit. A death suit, in the Mafia slang of Chicago.

Lundy had called Mikey LaFiamma on the second day. Told him what happened and explained about Joe's sight of someone called Gianfranco Barga.

"That is bad."

"Well, sir, iffn you could give us some information. Like who'd be the likely hitter, we might be able to git a line on the man."

"No."

"No? Uncle Mikey, this is Joe LaFiamma, yore nephew we're talkin' about here."

"I am not your uncle, detective, and I can not help you. I'm sorry about Joey. But if Gianfranco is involved, no, I can't..." the sentence trailed off.

"Ah doan understand...?"

"That man, he is bad. Worse is who he works for. The hitter? Could be anyone. But Gianny? He works for someone up high, someone I can't touch, you understand now?"

Levon was silent for a moment digesting all this. "Can you tell me who the big man is?"

"No," Levon could almost picture the man shaking his head with finality. "This conversation, it's over." There was a click, then dial tone.

So, whoever was after Joe LaFiamma now was too powerful for his own family to stop. With an increased feeling of dread, Lundy thought, this is trouble.

**************

Ward Bascomb's ranch ran a few head of cattle, some horses, and raised soybeans for a sale crop. Fields and fields of the low-lying dark green vegetation lined the narrow unpaved road leading up to the main house and barns. Levon was driving Joe-Bill's pick up truck, dusty white, two door, the bed extra long. McCandless had agreed to loan it for as long as need be, checking out a plain wrap to use in the meantime. Pickups got less notice in the country.

Joe sat silently in the passenger seat, listening to Levon's continuing descriptions of the country they were driving through. Lundy had never talked so dad-blamed much in hiz entire life. Somehow, for Joe, he didn't mind. Right now, he wuz playing eyes for the boy.

Joe let the sound of Lundy's voice flow over him, washing him with words that held little meaning right now. He savored the caring he heard in the voice. Sightless for several days now, he was beginning to get used to the idea that he might never see again. Of course, never might not be that long, the hit man was still out there waiting. LaFiamma knew the one attempt was not the end of it, not this time. Not when Gianfranco had been involved. He didn't tell Lundy how serious that was, no point. He'd rather enjoy his unlimited access to his partner right now. He was being spoiled and he knew it, didn't care. He felt like a condemned man and he wanted Levon Lundy for his last meal.

***************

After settling into the bunkhouse, really a cabin behind the main ranch house, Levon took Joe out to the barns. They'd devised a way of walking, with Joe's hand on Lundy's shoulder, that let both move fairly freely, while keeping Joe safe and guided. In the barn, Joe leaned against a high wood rail, listening as his partner explained what he was doing. Basically pitching straw into the stalls, clean and sweet, laying a base for the horses for the night.

Levon felt right at home, the barn, bigger than his, was basically the same layout. Instead of preparing one stall for Fooler, he wuz doin' seven. More work, but simple enough. No way Joe could help, even if he wanted to. It was much too soon, his stitches weren't even out yet, and his ribs were still bound tight. Levon could hear LaFiamma catch his breath, too, as if the lung was still givin' him problems, though he hadn't said anything.

Lundy had his Colt, in the holster, draped over another rail. You can't pitch straw strapped up in a rig. He'd just speared another forkful of straw when they heard the shots. Three of them.

Levon had looked wildly around as Joey ducked straight for the floor. Then there was a sharp rattle of an automatic and the plank door of the barn was riddled with holes. Lundy dropped down, feeling the tug of a bullet on his sleeve, somehow not clipping any flesh. "Joe, stay down!" he hissed, crawling toward his gun, over ten feet away, still slung on the rail. He could see LaFiamma coming up on all fours, heading in his direction. "Joe, fer god's sake, git down!"

LaFiamma ignored him, crawling fast. At that moment, the door burst open, hit by the front of Bascomb's tractor, the motor's roar doubling in sound as it entered the enclosed barn, running right over the plank door. It plowed to a stop only inches from LaFiamma who was looking that way blankly over one shoulder. Lundy swallowed his heart back down and rolled over to his partner, catching him by the shoulders and rolling them both on under the John Deere's wheels. The driver of the tractor, Bascomb, hung over the side, one arm tangled in the spokes of the steering wheel. Dead, or near so, from the looks of it. "Now, STAY here!" Lundy hissed at the Italian who looked back from a mussed head of straw-coated dark hair, his eyes wide and unseeing under the dark bangs.

This time Joey nodded. All the noise. The tractor's engine was still roaring, just over his head now. He'd heard the first shots, ducked down, then the automatic, right there. Nothing he could do - yet. He'd been worried about Levon, but when the cowboy had rolled them, he realized his partner was uninjured so far. Lundy hadn't tried to shoot back yet, Joe wasn't sure why. Then he felt a wet drop on his head and turned his face up, more fell, like rain, coming steady now. He touched his face, the smell. He tasted his finger. Blood. "Levon!"

"Joey, stay DOWN. I'm alright, that's Bascomb up in the tractor." Levon's low comments were breathless as he crabbed over toward where his Colt hung, still out of reach. They could hear more gunfire now, coming from the direction of the bunkhouse, Levon realized. No subtlety here, looked like comin' here had been a bad idea. They were on their own fur now and their attackers must know that too. Weren't botherin' with silencers. And it did sound like more'n one.

Lundy had reached the stall where his gun hung, four feet above his head. He raised his head cautiously, couldn't see anyone and the barn door was wide open now, though filled by the huge tractor, back wheels taller'n him. Deciding on a fast break, Levon sprung upward, one arm outstretched to hook the holster off the rail. He felt the bullet the same moment he heard more shots. Kept going anyway, grabbing the worn leather straps and then letting himself fall back down. He landed with a grunt that was almost a cry, his right forearm was slashed open by the grazing bullet. Whoever shot him was still outside, but that might not be for long.

"Levon?"

"Damn it, Joey, be quiet! I'm okay." Lundy's hoarse whisper was the best he could manage. He knew that LaFiamma must be going crazy, unable to see or act, listenin' to all this. He had to git to the boy. He pulled the gun harness over his left shoulder, took the Colt in his left hand and started crawling back toward LaFiamma, keeping an eye on the open spaces around the tractor.

His breathing was harsh by the time he came up against the young Italian. LaFiamma started and nearly attacked him. Lundy wasn't sure why LaFiamma didn't connect the fist he balled up and held in front of Levon's face, but suddenly Joey was hugging him. The brunette's face was smeared with blood, his shirt spattered with more. Levon looked up, saw the slowing drizzle of blood from Bascomb's body above them. Man was taking hiz time dying. Nuthin' to be done.

Joe was panicking, he could hear but he couldn't see. He followed Lundy's thrashing progress away from him but didn't understand why the cowboy was leaving him. Then the shots and Lundy must have been hit, he heard the muffled cry. When he called to him, Lundy'd yelled at him to stay quiet and still. It was all he could do, crouched beneath the drying streams of Bascomb's blood.

Then someone was there beside him, panting. He pulled back to punch when he caught the scent of his partner. These last few days he'd learned that scent very well, having no sight had done that for him. He hugged the cowboy to him. Alive, Levon was still alive!

Levon tugged them both back further under the tractor's body, away from the pool of Bascomb's blood. He stopped long enough to look at Joey, wipe some of the red from his face with a shaking hand. "Joe, I'm hit. It's mah shooting arm." Immediately, LaFiamma was feeling up Lundy's chest to his shoulder, then down his arm, frantically. Touching with incredible delicacy, his face a picture of intense concentration.

"Feels like a graze, Lundy." Joe was tearing off his own shirt now. "Here," he muttered, clumsily tearing strips from the shirt and clutching them in his teeth. He dropped the shirt and pulled one strip from the clump, carefully wrapping it around Lundy's forearm, above the wound. He tightened it by feel alone, making a tourniquet. Now he took more and wrapped the wound itself, tying them off and tucking the ends in.

It looked a ragged mess, but the bleeding was stopping and the pressure was easing the bite of pain. Lundy shook his head over the makeshift bandages. "Thanks, boy, that'll help. Now, we gotta git outta here."

LaFiamma sat back down. "You go."

Lundy had been leaning out to peer between the giant tires, trying to spot their attackers. He sunk back down and turned to face LaFiamma. "What? No, way, pardner. We're going out together."

"What, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? You kiddin'? I saw that movie. They both die. No, you go. They don't want you, Lundy, they're after me. It was always about me. You know it."

"Yeah. It's about you." Levon Lundy was desperate. LaFiamma was so dang stubborn, he'd have to drag the boy out and he couldn't get them outta here iffn he had to do that. It was time to play his ace. He leaned in closer, right into Joe, so that his breath was warm on LaFiamma's face. "It's always been about you. Always will be." Levon's voice had gone to a husky, warm whisper. He brought up his hands, dirty, callused from the recent increased farmwork, bloody now. He took Joey's face in his hands. Looked deeply into the blue-white unseeing eyes. Saw the still raw scar from the wreck, the black grease marks from the tractor and the blood smeared over all, stuck with bits of straw, a face only a lover could cherish. He leaned in, tilting his head to the side so that their noses didn't collide, and touched his lips to Joe's. Hellava first time kiss.

Joe's eyes widened blankly in surprise, then narrowed in pleasure and he was kissing back, arms coming up to claw at Levon's back, hang on tight, bring him close. For an endless moment, they clung together. Another shot clanged off the tractor's fender.

They broke apart, but not far. "You see?" Levon murmured, a half smile on his face, " I can't leave you behind, Joey. I can't ever leave you." He leaned in for another kiss, tasting deeply, knowing it might be their last. "I love you, baby."

LaFiamma was crying now, silently. "Oh, Levon. I love you, too. I don't want you to die because of me." He started to push back, landed on his seat and began to shove away with his feet and hands.

Lundy was having none of that. He lunged forward and grabbed hold of Joe's belt, hooking his left hand in and yanking back. "Don't try me, boy! We're gettin' outta this and we're gonna do it t'gether!" He switched his grip to one of Joe's powerful biceps and tugged. "Now, stop bein' a mule and come'on!"

LaFiamma had jerked to a halt when Lundy caught his belt. He nearly grinned, despite everything, at Levon's short, pithy lecture. [The man loves me. If he wants me with him, I'm coming.] That decided, Joe switched directions and followed the pull now on his upper arm.

Lundy dragged up the remnants of Joey's shirt from the floor, no point in leaving any clues behind. Then, together, with Levon half-resting on top of Joe's left shoulder, they crawled away from the tractor, back towards the root cellars that Lundy knew were well concealed. Since he hadn't yet fired a shot and hadn't seen anyone, there was a good chance that it was just a wild shot that had caught him. Certainly they continued to hear shots peppering the stillness, seemingly at random all around them, some at quite a distance. Bascomb was the only other person out at the ranch today. The cook had gone into town for supplies.

Levon was not gonna risk Joe defending a deserted ranch. Best thing to do jest now was hide.

**************

Scuttling across the floor with LaFiamma, Levon looked back and could see the trail they were leaving in the straw. Wouldn't do. Git Joe inta the cellar, hafta come back and cover our tracks and better do it fast, his thoughts spilled rapidly through his mind.

The root cellars were at the far end of the barn's runway, off to the side out the back door which was more of an archway than door. Big enough to drive a truck through, literally. Levon got Joey to sit for a moment and fumbled with the catch, finally pulling up and open one of the large swing-back wooden doors. Cool air, earthy smells and the heaviness of ripe apples. He couldn't see much, it was dark in there, but that was to their advantage jest now. "Joe, come on," he took LaFiamma's hand and pulled the brunette to him, turning him toward the opening. "Go straight ahead, it's down," he warned, "inta the root cellars. I'm gonna go cover our trail and then Ah'll be back."

LaFiamma balked. "Lundy, I'll wait here for you."

"Joe, Ah cain't risk enyone spotting you out here, we're not in the barn here. Ah'm going back inside. Ah promise, Ah'll ony be a coupla minutes." He gave Joe a hurried kiss on the cheek and pushed.

LaFiamma grunted in surprise as the solid, cement floor in front of him gave way to steep wood steps. Half falling, he lurched forward, catching his hands on the second or third step down. He twisted his body to pull his legs down after and sensed that Lundy had shut him in by the change in air pressure. Swallowing with difficulty, he drew his legs up to his chest and sat on the step he'd fallen down to, turning a dirty face up to where he could still hear the sounds of gunfire, muted now. [Be safe, cowboy. Come back to me.]

Lundy swung the big root cellar door shut and scrambled back into the barn. He used the remains of Joey's shirt as a kind of drag cloth, swinging it through the loose straw on the floor, starting over by the tractor that was now sputtering to a stop with no more gas feed. He made sure that he ruffled the straw enough to hide his own blood trail from the center of the runway where he'd been hit. Picked up the pitchfork, hesitated, decided to take it along.

The sporadic shots continued, with riffs of automatic fire interspersed with single shots. At least two of them then, Lundy thought as he crawled back toward the cellar doors. Pro'ly don't know much about farms or country, neither. It had been sounding like a scene from an old B-grade war flick for over 5 minutes now. Even iffn they were killin' ever' cow and horse on the property, it shouldn'ta taken that long. They must be shooting at haystacks and the like.

Mebbe they really were city slickers. Likely were. After all, the big men up in Chicago, whoever they were, probably sent their regular shooters, not smart enough to use local help. And down here, a Chicago 'suit' wouldn't fit all that well...

Lundy had reached the cellars now, still with no sight of the shooters. He wiped the ground near the door and mussed it further so there'd be no obvious sign of their track, then slid beneath the door, held up only inches to let him slide under. He sent the pitchfork down ahead of him, pole end first, wouldn't do to spear hiz pardner.

"Lundy, that you?" came a quiet voice out of the darkness, very close.

"Yeah." Levon snicked down the door. No way to lock it from the inside? Yes! There was a bolt, this must be a hurricane shelter, too. Ony reason to be able to lock it down from the inside. He felt up the door's seam, found other bolts, slid them all home.

Joe hadn't said enything more. Levon was as blind as a bat down here, now they both couldn't see a blamed thing. "Joe, you okay?"

"'m fine, Levon. Where are we?" The last was a rather plaintive plea. Boy sounded scared.

Lundy scooted down a couple of stairs on his bottom until he was up against Joe suddenly. He felt his way over to the brunette, gathering him close. "Take it easy. We're in a root cellar, 'n we're lucky, it's a hurricane shelter too."

"Why'zat lucky?" Joe's head butted his shoulder, seeking a place to rest. Felt Levon's long fingered hand come up around his head, cup it gently and guide it to a snug, safe spot under the cowboy's chin.

"'cause shelters can be secured from the inside - that way the winds won't rip 'em open. And ah jest threw all the bolts. No way them boys out there are gonna know that, most likely they'll think that a locked door to a rootcellar is somewhere we ain't."

"I got news for you Lundy, if 'them boys' is from up north, they probably don't even know what a root cellar is. I sure don't."

Lundy chuckled into Joe's hair, hugging the boy close. [God, I got it bad.] He placed a kiss on the top of Joe's head, then said, "Let's git down more, away from the doors, jest in case they decide to decorate'em with bullet holes too. They seem bound and determined to perforate ever'thin' else on this ranch." With that he placed his arms securely around LaFiamma and slowly bumped them, seated, down the remaining steps. It wasn't far, they reached the bottom after six more. Feeling around in the dark, Lundy pulled them to the side, up against a pile of what felt like potatoes in bushel baskets, smelled like it, too. Lumpy and uncomfortable.

He began to shift some of the baskets, moving further in to the side pulling Joe with him, out of direct shot of the doorway, building a kind of bunker by putting the baskets between them and the door. By now Joe had figured out what he wuz doin' and wuz helpin'. They worked as fast and silently as possible. When Levon felt they'd done enough, he took a hold of LaFiamma's closest hand and tugged him back behind their new ramparts. Levon's eyes had adjusted some to the darkness now, not quite complete, as tiny chinks of light came through the joins in the plank doors.

The gunfire had stopped.

"They ain't got much longer." Levon sounded so certain that Joe swung his head to 'look' toward his partner.

"What d'ya mean?"

Both were whispering, barely mouthing their words, heads close together, touching. Breath against each other's cheeks. Levon reached up to place a hand on Joey's face, cup it, soothe the boy. Joe responded with fingers, gentle and loving, stroking Lundy's face.

"Out'c'here, that much shootin' is gonna attract attention."

"Levon," Joe's voice was heavy with humor, "I hate to tell you, but there ain't no one around here for a loooooong way."

"Makes no never mind, LaFiamma," Levon's voice sounded certain, amused in his turn. "Ya see, they's so little to interfere with sound out here that gunshot carries fur miles. The way they're carryin' on, neighbor's are pro'bly already on the phone complainin' to the Sheriff..."

"...and he knows the score." Joe finished with satisfaction. He kissed Levon's nose, closest thing. "You are one smart cowpoke."

"I been tellin' ya, Chi," Levon kissed back, but found tender lips to taste when doing it. There was a pause.

"'Chi' - I like that," Joe murmured when he came up for air. He smiled. "How long you figure before the cavalry arrives?"

"'bout half hour, most."

"Lot can happen in thirty minutes, Levon."

"Yeah," Lundy snuggled closer for another kiss.Then hestitated. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy the freedom to touch but, Joe wuz right, a lot could happen... still. Best to wait.

Joe rested against Levon's strength, not wanting to tell him that all the rolling and crawling around had torn some things loose inside. He was pretty sure at least one rib had come adrift again, when they were scuttling under the tractor up in the barn. There was a sharp persistent pain now in his side. Somewhere along the way, his breathing had thickened and he was tasting blood again. So far, he had managed to suppress any coughs, at least in Levon's presence. If the cowboy was right, help was on the way. If he was wrong, there was nothing to be done, no sense talking about it.

Lundy had pulled them back up against one sidewall, really just raw earth that had been packed tight and roughly mud-packed to an almost cement-like hardness. The result was hard and cold, chill with the earth itself. Levon rested his shoulders against that surface, sitting propped up, legs straight out, his Colt resting by his right hand now. He had Joe tucked in beside him, in the shelter of his left arm. He could hear a light roughness to Joe's breathing. Boy musta reopened the injuries to hiz lung from the sounds of it. Joe had said nothing. No sense talkin' bout it, til we kin do somethin' about it, Ah guess. He twisted his head to put another kiss on the top of Joe's head, then rest his jaw there. He kept his eyes glued to the chinks of light in front and above them.

Thud.

Thud, thud, thud.

Crack! An axe blade smashed through the plank door above them. Buried deeply. A ripping sound and the blade came free, bright beams of sunlight shooting in through the broken hole. Then the axe was back, striking twice more, and one of the two sides of the double door broke free and crashed down onto the cellar stairs.

For a moment there was silence, then someone leaned down and began spraying automatic fire in an indiscriminate arc into the cellar. Standing at the top of the stairs, actually outside, forced a downward angle, and none of the bullets reached all the way to the back and deep sides of the root cellar. Levon had pulled his long legs back and rolled on top of Joe, forcing his partner down and back into the very joining of wall and floor, covered by the cowboy's body.

LaFiamma silently struggled to get free. They wanted him and he'd be damned if Levon died in his place, especially now! Lundy was strong, stronger than he looked, and Joe was still not up to full strength. The tussle was short. Then Levon was laying on top of Joe, one forearm shoved up under the ex-Chicago cop's chin. "Damn it, Joe, stop fightin' me!" he hissed in LaFiamma's ear. "I ain't tryin' to do something stupid, but you keep this up, they'll see us for shore!"

Joe subsided, breathing harsh and bubbly now. He swallowed a cough, more blood. He tried to pant silently, nearly gagged. There was another riff of gunfire, this time at a better angle from the sounds of it, hitting the back wall, the baskets of potatoes with a splotting sound.

Levon grunted once, then sighed lightly.

"Levon? You get hit that time?"

Silence, then, "Yeah, in the leg this time. Ah'll be ok, went on through."

Joe could hear the tension and pain in the blonde's voice. If only he could see, he could DO something. He shifted slightly and felt down each of Lundy's legs. The sound of a quick indrawn breath told him when he'd found the wound. This time he pulled off his sleeveless undershirt, which had been beneath the shirt sacrificed for Lundy's arm. Stretching it lengthwise, he pulled it snugly around Lundy's thigh and was able to get enough purchase to make a half-knot, would have to do for now, at least it might slow loss of blood.

"Okay, Joe, thet's fine. Leave it be." Lundy sounded distracted despite the pain he must be feeling. His hands pushed Joe back down and away from him. "Stay here, LaFiamma. I'm gonna move up a bit, see if ah kin get a clear shot, iffn the shooter tries again."

"Levon!" Joe hesitated. What could he say? "Be careful."

The next few minutes were quiet, then they heard the sound of gunfire nearby but no longer in their cellar. Lundy figured the men were making their way through the buildings, getting into anything blocked, spraying everything with bullets. He left the holster rig on the ground near LaFiamma. Then he dragged himself forward on his elbows, belly in the dirt. Peering up through the shattered door, at the bright sunlight above. He could see around the cellar fairly well now. Could see Joe lying back against the sidewall, braced. No sign of enyone else.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, Colt in hand, ignoring the leg wound that hadn't started to hurt too bad yet. It would, later, he knew from experience. Cricked his neck to look up. Nothing. He began to inch his way up the stairs, still on his belly, carefully pushing aside the broken bits of door.

Just as he had made the third step up, there was a wrenching sound and the other half of the door above him swung down suddenly, loose from the mistreated hinges. It came cartwheeling down the stairs, one sharp corner colliding with Lundy's head before he could duck. He dropped like a polled steer. The Colt fell from his lax hand, down several steps to the floor of the cellar, the shadow of the steps. The door continued to the bottom where it clattered about, then was still.

"Levon?" Joe whispered anxiously. No answer. "Lundy!" a little louder. Still no answer. That's it, I'm not cowerin' back here when Levon's out there somewhere, maybe in trouble. I'm all the back up he's got right now.

Joe gave a shallow cough to try to clear his breathing, then began to wriggle toward the last sounds he'd heard. His world was still gray, but seemed a bit lighter than before. He was worried. That noise would draw back the hunters, even if they weren't the cause of the noise to begin with. He ran into the baskets of potatoes and simply crawled up over them, afraid he'd lose his direction if he tried to detour. Coming down, one basket rolled under him, spilling him and dozens of large, oblong potatoes in a bumpy confusion on the floor. He struggled to regain his sense of direction. Which way? Panic set in. "LEVON!" as loud as he dared whisper. No answer.

Craning his neck, Joe slowly turned his head, forcing himself to concentrate on sounds, smells, and the tiny bit of contrasts he was beginning to pick up in quality of light against darkness. He strained to make his recalcitrant eyes help him. Levon needed him.

He heard a scuffling sound, then the thump of someone on the top stair of the cellar. That clear sound, together with the increasing brightness in that direction, gave him some clue about position. He curled up, figuring whoever was looking down would not see much after being outside in the bright sunlight. Waited. He heard the sound of a gun being cocked, so, not the automatic, this was a revolver.

*************

"Found someone!" The shout was careless, like the caller didn't particularly worry who heard him. There followed the sound of footfalls on the steps and a grunt. A heavy, bumpy, thudding and scraping sound. "Damn! This one's got blonde hair. It ain't LaFiamma. Whoever he is, he's out cold."

Joey hunched in the darkness, his own and the cellar's, all senses focused on sound. Sounded like Levon had been found, unconscious, dragged out of the cellar. He waited. Listened.

After a moment he could hear an answering voice but could not make out the words. Then all was silent again. Joe squeezed his eyes shut, opened them wide, all to no avail. All was dark, the ghosts of brightness had no form, seemed to float in his vision. Helpless. I'm helpless like this. He carefully stretched out full length on the ground, quietly pushing aside the scattered potatoes.

"LaFiamma! We got your partner. You might as well come out! We don't want him, only you." There was a pause from the magnified voice, some kind of megaphone, then, "Come out and we'll let your partner live."

Joe coughed softly, frustrated. No, they wouldn't let Levon go. Too messy already. But, they might keep him alive until they could force LaFiamma out in the open. Only way to help you, Levon, is to keep hidden and hope you're right about help on the way.

For the next few minutes, all was quiet. Since no one came to look in the cellar, Joe figured that they didn't know he was there. He sat up now, feeling his way toward the brightness, until his fingertips met the edge of the bottom step. He slowly crawled up against it, hands patting the areas around him as he went, careful of potential booby-traps, or things that might make noise and give him away. He kept thoughts of his partner closed tight in a box in his head, it wouldn't do to be distracted by fear for Lundy right now. Levon needed him. His fingers touched something cold and hard. A gun. Lundy's Colt, he was sure of it. He lifted it and let the handle sit down into his grip, fingers wrapping naturally into firing position. He automatically checked the safety by touch. It was off. Leave it that way, but be very careful.

Joey was tiring fast, he'd long ago used up what little strength he'd regained since the shooting and the accident. His ribs hurt, his lung was on fire. He had a headache that seemed to center on the still raw bruise on his forehead. The iron taste of blood on his tongue made his stomach queasy. Sheer determination kept him going, get to Levon. Some how, help him.

With nothing to lose, the dark-haired Italian began to drag himself up the steps he'd found, toward the brightness. He kept his body low, letting it melt into the surfaces as much as he could. His goal was to remain invisible. He remembered that Levon had told him that the cellar door opened outside the barn, so he suspected he'd have no cover. Have to go slow.

************

Levon came to with a gasp. He was drenched in water, could feel it streaming down hiz face, hiz hair. "Wha?'"

A rough hand snagged his hair and yanked his head up. He blinked, still floundering, suddenly realizing his hands were no longer free, they'd been tied somehow behind his back.

"Wakey, wakey!" The smarmy, snarling voice in his ear made him stiffen. "You must be Joey's partner, the Texas cop, Lundy."

When Levon said nothing, the voice continued, "We're looking for Joey. You want to live, Lundy, tell us where he's hiding."

Levon twisted his head in the grasp of the rough hands, trying to see the man threatening him. All he could see was dark clothing, like Joe wore a lot, a suit mebbe, and the face, just a profile, aquiline and sallow. His head was shaken again by the hand in his hair. He shut his eyes against the pain as his world began to spin. "Joey! Tell us where Joey LaFiamma is!"

"Don't know," Levon finally answered, his own voice harsh with pain. It was the truth, too. He wuzn't even certain where he, himself, wuz. He tried to see better, but his eyelashes were coated with the dirty water that had evidently been dumped on him to waken him. Everything was blurry. Then, to his utter astonishment, Levon's eyes began to clear and he found himself staring at his partner.

Joe LaFiamma was creeping out of the cellar opening, the doors broken off now. He was edging to the side that would put him partly into the shade, not really conceal him. He held Levon's Colt in his left hand, pointing vaguely ahead. His eyes were closed, but his head wuz cocked like he wuz listening.

Lundy fluttered his lids to clear them more and squinted to the side at his captor. "Why'dj'a want LaFiamma?" He tried to make his voice loud. Let Joey know where he wuz, that he wuz alive. "And why you got me all trussed up like this?" ...and let Joey know that he couldn't do much just now.

A grating laugh was followed by another rough shake of Lundy's battered head. Darkness threatened and Levon fought it off resolutely, Joey can't afford fur me to be outta action now. A shadow fell across him and a second voice cut in. "Leave him. If he's here, so's LaFiamma. We just need to string him up somewheres and make him squeal. He's bleedin' from the leg - just shove your shiv into that and stir around a bit. He'll squeal alright. And Joey'll come out fast enough, he's never had the guts to leave someone behind. 'specially not someone'd been his friend, partner."

There was a laughing agreement. Both men were looking at Levon now. Good. Keep'em that way. "Honest! Ah doan know where he is!" Levon began to wriggle his body, having discovered his ankles were also tied together.

The man in front of Levon backhanded the blonde cowboy across the face. "Hunh." Levon couldn't help the grunt of pain that came out.

"Don't worry, Texas, there's lots more of that. Come on, Pete, grab on, we'll hang him up on that rail fence by the barn." Both men caught up Lundy's arms and dragged his body, writhing in protest, backwards. As long as they were looking away from LaFiamma, Lundy was satisfied. He risked a quick look toward where he'd last seen his partner. Oh, gawd.

LaFiamma was standing up, facing them all, the Colt braced up in two hands, aimed directly at the whole bunch o'them. Levon, knowing that Joey hadn't been able to see, recognized the blank unfocused look in Joey's eyes. Hope to god that these two ain't too eagle-eyed.

"Hold it." Joe spoke loudly. He heard the sounds of dragging stop.

"Joey!" That was Franco, he'd know that putz anywhere. "We got your buddy here. Drop the hardware."

LaFiamma stood taller, cocking the trigger, which sounded clearly across the short distance. "Let him loose, now."

"Can't do that, Joey." That was Pietro, Pietro Guerra. Everyone back home called him Pete. "You want him to walk, you drop the gun."

"Levon?"

"Yeah, Joe. Right here."

"How ya'doing?"

"Been better."

LaFiamma fired the revolver. Bang! The sound was loud, all three men heard the whistle of the bullet going by. Levon swallowed hard. Damn, that was close. Boy's blind as a bat, how the hell did he do thet?

"Let - him - go. Now. Untied." The steady sound of Joe's voice was punctuated by the cocking of the Colt again.

For a few heartbeats nothing happened, then both Franco and Pete were swearing, but Lundy felt their hands on his wrists, saw them removing the rope from his ankles. Free! Levon rolled clear of the two men who remained standing motionless now, facing Levon's partner. Forcing himself to his feet he staggered closer and removed their weapons, an automatic rifle, several smaller guns, and a Magnum. Lundy tossed most of the weapons away, keeping one handgun and the rifle that he held on them as he backed away, limping, toward LaFiamma.

"Joe, Ah'm free now. Ah got all their guns and Ah'm coming." Lundy continued to back up until he wuz even with the ex-Chicago cop. Glanced over, saw that LaFiamma was swaying, eyes squinted nearly shut, fiercely concentrating on the direction of the two men. "Joe," quietly now, "Ah got'em covered. You kin relax, pardner."

In the distance, the sound of several sirens began to moan, getting louder.

***************

"He's blind! He's fuckin' blind!" Franco's voice was so full of rage that Levon feared for Joey for a moment as the two would-be assassins were led away past where he stood near LaFiamma. One of the deputies was leading LaFiamma toward a waiting car, a second wuz supporting Lundy who wuz wobbly. The angry Franco lunged toward the unprepared LaFiamma, throwing him to the ground. It took two of the deputies to pull Franco back off him, and they began to struggle to handcuff the man. Meanwhile, LaFiamma rolled on the ground on his back, coughing and retching, spitting blood and holding his side. Lundy wrested himself free of the supporting hand under his arm and dropped to the ground next to Joe.

"Joey?" Levon slid an arm under the dazed Italian and pulled Joe up against him, putting his other arm around the brunette's front. "Joey? Take it easy." He held him as the coughing slowed. Hauled them both to their feet. LaFiamma was half bent over his arm.

Safe. For the first time since the root cellar, Joe felt safe. He was back in Levon's arms. He looked up and around, fighting for his breath and thought he could see a dark shape in the brighter light. I need to see you, Levon, he thought. I want to see you. He willed himself to see but the blurs of light and dark shadows remained, as he clutched at Levon's arm across his chest.

There was a shout from the direction of the cars and Franco broke free again, armed this time with one of the deputies' guns. Pete yelled across the car and threw off his captors as well, coming up with another gun in his hand. The surprised officers, still on the ground, tried to get up only to be shot in quick succession. By now several of the other policemen had swung around and were holding guns aimed at the two killers. But the two hit men from Chicago had eyes only for Joe LaFiamma, their target. At this point, it was honor, not life, which mattered.

"JOEEEEEEEEY!" Franco screamed in rage.

Levon was already trying to pull Joe around, away from the action, and down out of the line of fire but the Italian was having none of that. "Let me go, Levon!" Joe tried to loosen Lundy's tight hold, panicked that Lundy might take a bullet meant for him.

"JOEEEEEEEEY!" That was Pete now, sounding just as bitter and dangerous. The sharp bark of guns began, wildly off target as everyone ran, including the two killers, all seeking shelter. All except the two Houston police detectives who still stood locked in their own battle of wills.

"Joe! This is crazy, we'll both git kilt! Git down!" Levon could NOT get his stubborn partner to drop or even swing away from the danger.

LaFiamma didn't spare any breath for an answer, he had none left to spare. Breathing shallowly and raspingly, Joey's hand had come up with Levon's Colt again from where Lundy had stuck it in his waistband at the back. Joey cocked the pistol and swiveled around inside Levon's arms to face the last place he'd heard the sound of Franco's, Pete's voices.

It was all happening so fast that even as Franco got off another shot, this one barely scoring Lundy's right shoulder, Joe heard the shot, heard Levon's cut-off cry, and was firing at the source of the attack. At that moment, with his partner hit, maybe a continuing target, under fire and hurt, Joe's head burst with pain, like a giant jackhammer had suddenly let loose inside. Moaning, unable to suppress his reaction to this new onslaught of pain, Joey found his sight miraculously clearing. Without further thought, he aimed and fired again, and again.

Both final shots from the Colt found their marks. Franco and Pete dropped dead, bullets through their brains. Joey wasn't looking at them anymore, though, he'd turned back to Lundy as soon as he'd fired the second of the two shots. "Levon, where did they hit you?" Anxious, he seemed unaware of just what had happened.

Lundy felt like he'd been trying to rope the wind, as he thought of the struggle to contain his partner without causing further pain. When Joe suddenly spun within hiz arms, Levon was frantic. At that moment, Levon himself wuz hit again, this time in hiz right shoulder, not bad but it surprised a cry outta him. And Joey was firing. Oh, god, the man couldn't see and he wuz firing the Colt agin!

"Levon, where did they hit you?"

Lundy realized that alert, scared eyes were peering into his own. "Ah'm alright, only nicked me." Levon stared closer. "Joey? Kin you see agin?"

LaFiamma closed his eyes, then opened them. "Yeah." He uncocked the revolver and slid it back into the back of Lundy's waistband. And collapsed.

************

Levon sat beside Joey's bed in the white tiled hospital room. His right arm was in a sling to protect the bandaged shoulder and forearm. His left thigh had a wide band around it to keep the stitches clean while it healed, no permanent damage, but the muscles would need time to heal. A cane leaned against the wall nearby. He wuz content to simply sit there in the quiet, no surprises, no gunfire, just him and Joey. The doctors had been very optimistic. Now that he was in a major hospital unit, LaFiamma could be treated for the head trauma, the pierced lung, and the broken ribs - again. At least this time they weren't having to puzzle over his loss of sight. The boy could see jest fine. Ony had to take a look at where those last two bullets he'd fired had gone. One between the eyes of each of the two hit men.

The doctors said the loss of sight had probably been a symptom of the head trauma. The returning sight had probably started before the final moments of the gunfight, but the sudden crisis had shocked Joe's body into an adrenaline flush and forced the final push on the traumatized man. His sight was restored in the shock and new traumas, both emotional and physical. Lundy wuzn't all too certain that the doctors really knew what happened er were jest guessin' but it made no never mind ta him, Joey was sighted agin. All that mattered.

LaFiamma had told Lundy in the ambulance that Franco and Pete were regular muscle of a rival family, but that they had probably been acting rogue. Maybe for favors. Later, after Lundy'd been treated and while he waited for word on his partner, Levon had called Chicago, talked with Joe's uncle, Mikey LaFiamma, head of the LaFiamma family. The man had confirmed Joe's analysis. It seems that the 'suit' crafted by Gianfranco Barga had been meant for another after all, one Carlo Muttoni of Galveston and Houston.

Muttoni had been a middleman for several key operations that had gone awry. Muttoni had turned up dead in a storm drain just off LaPlaya, one of the major avenues branching out of downtown Houston. For him, the suit fit. And there were no clues, just a single bullet lodged at the base of his skull, a 22 caliber.

Franco Piselli and Pietro Guerra had come down in the tailor's wake, hoping to take advantage of the confusion that might be engendered by Muttoni's death. They hadn't counted on Joey spotting the tailor, or on Joey's partner, Levon Lundy.

Mike LaFiamma called Lundy back within thirty minutes to confirm that the rogue killers had not had anyone's blessing. There would be no repercussions from Chicago. Mikey thanked Lundy for his part in keeping Joe alive. The uncle and the partner hung up with a certain satisfaction, they both still had Joey.

A sound, a whisper in the quiet, broke through Lundy's train of thought. He looked up from where he'd been staring at the floor. LaFiamma's bright blue eyes, like twin pieces of deep azure sky, stared back at him.

Lundy leaned close and put a hand on top of Joe's closest arm. "Hey, pardner."

"Hey." Joe's voice was just a light sound against the quiet.

"Glad to see you awake," Lundy smiled, his own brown eyes warm with affection. "Missed you."

"Levon." Joe had to pause for breath. "You meant what you-" another breath, "-said? About us?" There was a kind of shy hopefulness in the raspy tone.

For answer, Lundy tipped forward in his chair and planted a gentle kiss on LaFiamma's lips. When he sat back up, he smiled reassuringly and said, "Yep. Like Ah said, Joe, fur me, this wuz always about you, love, it wuz always about you."

------ finis ------