The Apartment

Gil pulled into the driveway of Randy's home smoothly. Donny and Keith made as if to get out, reaching for the car doors. "Wait!" Gil said. They looked a question at him.

"This is going to be rough on Randy," Gil said compassionately. "I've done estate cases before, and it's always an emotional strain on the family, looking through the stuff that reminds them of who they just lost." He glanced compassionately at Randy. "Seems like the younger they are, the worse it is for them." A shift in tone and expression; Gil was wearing his 'I'm the lawyer in charge here' persona, and Donny recognized it. "Donny, you've been there, and I remember how it was when my father died. Keith, I suspect your mother's death hit you and Lucas hard, right?" A tight-lipped nod replied more than words could. "You two, be there for your new brother. I'll do what I can, but I may have legal matters to deal with at the same time." He gathered the three boys' eyes with his own. "Ready?"

They stepped out and walked to the door. The Hollisters' house was typical of its comfortable middle class neighborhood, large, two low-slung stories, looking slightly incongruous in what seemed to be an architect's misguided effort to adapt Colonial motifs to a modern split-level style. "Test your keys, Randy," Gil said. "Jason's a good locksmith, but this was a hurry-up job for him, so let's be sure they work okay."

Jaw gritted together and lips pursed, Randy unlocked the door and walked in. It was outwardly the clutter of a normal lived-in house, but.... Donny looked around. To the left, a spacious living room, comfortable plush furniture, oak end tables, and a large brick fireplace. To the right, a somewhat formal dining room with walnut table, chairs, hutch and buffet. Through it he could see a large kitchen beyond. A short entry hall dead ahead turned into a coat closet and an imposing stairwell. There seemed to be doors off the rear of the living room, but he couldn't make out details.

"What you need to do, Randy –" Gil's voice was deep and compassionate – "is to just walk around the house and see if anything's been taken. I don't trust those people from Child Services at all. That, and decide what of your stuff you want to take over to the apartment. We can do as much more of the legal requirements as you feel up to, but don't even hesitate to say to stop. You do not have to be strong and stoic; it's going to be rough for you, and we have time. The only thing I need from you right now is to find out what, if anything, is missing, before whoever took it has a chance to muddy the trail."

"Okay," Randy said, clearly hanging onto emotional control with some effort. Donny was intrigued by the sheer size of the house as Randy methodically made his way through it. In addition to a master suite, there were three additional bedrooms, one converted to a crafts area for Randy's mother, as well as Randy's room and a guest room. A passage led from the upstairs to the low-ceilinged space above the attached garage.

Randy's first find was in the master bedroom. "Mom's jewelry box isn't here, sir," he told Gil. "It's always on top of her dresser, right here." Gil nodded grimly. Randy's room had clearly been searched by someone, as well. Donny noticed its windows overlooked the garage roof, with a tree just behind the garage; he remembered Randy telling how he'd gotten away.

They trooped back downstairs. Living room and kitchen seemed not to have been disturbed. The doors Donny had noticed led to an enclosed porch and to Randy's father's home office/den. The latter had clearly been home to pixies, too. "Dad was almost OCD in keeping this room organized," Randy said. "He'd never have left it like this!"

Gil walked over and looked. The file cabinet had Pendaflex folders marked "bank statements" and "insurance policies", but there was no sign of their contents. Randy was not clear on what his father kept in the desk, so he could not establish if anything was missing, there.

Gil pulled out his cellphone and called the police. "Gil Christenson here, officer. I want to report a burglary in a house I am trustee for the estate of." He provided the address and the background on Randy's parents' recent death. "I think we have a good lead for you on the probable suspects, too – Yes, we'll be here. Oh, and probably you should send O'Brian too; the victim is a juvenile. – Right. He's his parents' only heir; I have letters testamentary to administer the estate in his behalf. – Good. See you then."

Randy was looking like he was ready to break down. Donny wrapped his arm around his shoulder and motioned Keith over. "Hold him, dude. He needs to draw strength from us. This is really tough on him." Keith gladly stepped in and gave Randy a warm hug. Randy clung to him.

"Randy, when you're ready … and not before … we need to finish the walk-through, see what else you can identify as gone. I was afraid this would happen." Gil was apologetic.

"I can do it," Randy said, a catch in his throat.

"Lean on Keith; that's what he came along for," Donny said. "And I'm here for you, too, and so's Gil. He held me through learning my parents had died – same as yours, in a car accident."

Randy nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They trooped into the dining room. "Grandma's silver service," he said, and pointed at the hutch where his mother's heirloom silver – wasn't. Faint discolorations in the wood showed where they had been sitting.

Randy drew a breath, and led them through the kitchen again, to the stairwell to the lower level. Donny was again impressed – it was completely finished; there was a kitchenette and small dining area at one end of a large, casual family room. Doors off it led to a laundry, the furnace/water heater area, and two storage rooms, each the size of a small bedroom.

Randy looked around. "I don't see anything else obvious," he said to Gil. "Um – I think I want to sit down."

Keith was quick to help him to a couch. "Sit next to him and hold him," Donny instructed Keith. "You need to let it out, don't you?" he asked Randy sympathetically. Randy nodded. "Comfort or privacy?" he asked, knowing from his own experience Randy would grasp his shorthand way of saying it.

"Privacy," Randy replied.

"Okay, then. Gil, let's go upstairs and wait on the cops, and give Randy a little time to grieve. Keith, stay with him."

"He wanted privacy," Keith objected.

"Not from you," Donny replied. "And he shouldn't be left alone right now. Been there, know how it feels. He needs you beside him, to cling to. But not an audience." He motioned Gil to walk ahead of him; they made their exit.

---

"Nephrology Associates; how may I direct your call?"

"Dr. Carruthers, please. Tell him it's Bill VanBauern."

"One moment, Mr. Van Born. I'll see if he's available."

'My, aren't we getting egotistical,' Van thought to himself. He waited through a particularly poor rendition of 'Take the A Train', then...

"Spence Carruthers here. May I help you?"

"It's Van, Spence."

"Well, why didn't you say so? You'd have been patched right through."

"I did, Spence. Your operator got my name wrong, and apparently sees her duty as insulating you from incoming calls."

"Well, we do get some strange ones, Van. But what brings you to call? Gotten yourself a decent practice, yet, instead of that save-the-world thing you were on?"

"No, I'm still at the walk-in Clinic, directing it now. Mmm... this call is about half professional in nature, and iffy in terms of ethics. That's why I came straight to you."

"Oh? Fill me in."

"I have a patient who ended up with bruised kidneys from a bad beating. He seems to be recovering well, but I'd like to have him checked by someone with a nephrology specialty, just as a precaution."

"Well, send him on down. You know what our fee schedule is. I'll make sure he gets a good exam."

"That's part of the problem: he's a homeless kid, without money to travel down to you, much less cover your fees."

"Well, surely you don't expect me to send one of my associates up to your clinic and swallow the cost, do you?"

"Of course not; I know how you operate. What I had in mind is something I think you'll see as appropriate. Send me a postgrad to do the consult. One particular postgrad, in fact: a young woman named Rachel Carson. It'll give her some field experience, and help me out, and be a teaching write-off for you."

"That can be done. In fact, I'll ask you for a favor in exchange." Spence briefly outlined what he had in mind. "Any particular reason you want her, specifically?"

"Yeah, the patient in question. She's his sister."

---

At the apartment

The six boys left at the apartment were sharing a leisurely breakfast, or at least those not cooking were. Chay, Pauly, and Mikey, after eating, had gone out, on errands they didn't spell out. Jack had tried to insist it was his turn to cook, but was overridden by unanimous consensus of the longtimers there when it became obvious he was in pain. Instead, Andy was frying sausages while Lucas and Peewee teamed up on cooking pancakes on a stovetop griddle. Despite the mess and giggles, the two eleven-year-olds were turning out excellent pancakes, light and flavorful.

And their good mood was infectious. Probably every possible play on the similarity of link sausages to a certain body part had been hit on by now. Ray chuckled as he remembered the impromptu artwork someone had come up with, with sausage strategically tilted up from pancake 'belly', and a row of drops of coffee cream carefully aligned with it.

"More coffee, Jack?" he asked the dark-haired boy, who was sitting on a throw pillow Peewee had brought from the living room to put on one of the kitchen chairs for him, after he winced sitting down on the bare chair.

"You guys shouldn't be waiting on me," Jack said abashedly.

"Why not? You'd take care of any of us – in fact, you did, when Pauly was sick," Andy said.

"I don't deserve..." Jack started to say.

"Don't deserve it?" Billy looked up from his nearly-empty plate, holding his coffee. "You know why I'm here – I got caught ripping off Randy. By all rights I should be eating what they call oatmeal at Juvy. lockup – and someday someone's going to get them for falsely using the term 'oatmeal' for toxic waste – having spent the night on a half-inch plastic mattress on a metal wall-mounted bunk just big enough to hold me. Instead I had an awesome night on a soft, comfortable couch, with a little fun with you mixed in, and I'm having the best breakfast I've had in a long time."

He paused and thought a second. "You know, I think what they were saying is that it's really not about 'deserving' at all. It's about caring, about wanting to help you. And in a group of people who want to help you, if you're any kind of decent person, you want to help them."

"That's how this place works," Andy agreed.

Ray saw where Billy was going with this. "And what you're saying is, if those guys 'deserve' your help by being the kind of people who help you, then maybe you 'deserve' theirs by being the kind of person who wants to repay help with help?"

"Um … yeah!" Billy said. "You can't just take and not give back, and when you give back, that makes you one of the givers, just like the others."

"The Bible says, 'Love thy neighbor as thyself'," Ray mused, remembering the church services he'd been forced to sit through. "So if you don't think much of yourself, you're doing the other guy no favors if you treat him like you feel like you ought to be treated."

"But I..." Jack started.

"I don't deserve Andy," Ray said. "If you don't believe me, go ask my father. Church and home, I heard it incessantly, how much of a sinner I was and how little I deserved anything I got." He drew a breath. "Well, you know something? I'm going to be the person who does deserve Andy, by giving him back the love he gives me, by trying to live up to what he wants me to be, by trying my damnedest to be something close to the guy that he deserves!"

Andy opened his mouth to tell Ray he already was, realized what it was Ray was doing, for Jack and Billy, and closed it again, encouraging his boyfriend with a big smile instead.

"Done!" Lucas said, scraping the last pancake batter out of the mixing bowl onto the griddle.

"Cool," Andy said to him. Then, thinking fast, "Billy? Lucas is kind of boxed in by Peewee there. Would you grab that mixing bowl from him, run some hot water into it, and grab that old hand towel we're using for a washrag and get it hot, then bring it over so Lucas can clean up the spatters of pancake batter on the counter?"

"Sure!" Billy said sunnily. Ray smiled at Andy. The thought, 'you're applying what Donny taught you, about making people a part of things,' went between them, not so much telepathy as just two people 'working from the same script' on how to do what both knew was needed.

"You know, don't you," Ray said to Jack, "that I think my father and your parents must have taken parenting classes together. What they never figured out is, if nothing you do is good enough, nothing ever measures up to their standards, why should you even try?" He paused and looked at Andy with a smile. "I've got my answer," he said with a nod. "That's why, 'cause in his eyes I'm good enough."

"I don't think I'll ever be good enough in anybody's eyes," Jack said.

Andy, finishing cooking the last of the sausages, had been watching Billy help Lucas. When Jack, back to the stove, said that, Billy spun around and looked at him. Andy caught Billy's eye and winked.

---

The Hollister house

"What are these children doing here?" asked the handsome woman in a business suit in a no-nonsense tone.

Gil looked at her with some asperity. "I could ask the same of you, madam. What's your business here?"

"Oh, I need to look the place over to get it ready to be shown," she replied airily. "Would you give me a hand getting these children out?"

"Shown?" After a second, it clicked in Gil's mind what was going on. "May I ask what agency you represent?"

"Why, Heritage First Homes," she answered. "We handle all the official sales of real property that escheats to the county or city."

"And they called you to list this house?" Gil asked.

"Yes, they did. May I ask what your interest is, and why you're allowing these boys free rein in here?" she responded snidely.

"Randy, come here," Gil said. "Keith, Donny, give him any moral support he needs."

As Randy came nervously over to find out what Gil wanted, he asked the boy, "Are you at all interested in selling this house?"

"Why, no, not unless you tell me we have to," Randy answered. Donny placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Do I have to?"

"I haven't had a chance to look at your parents' accounts yet," Gil said, "especially with the pixies having removed them from your father's files. But no, no reason I know of."

"What does he have to do with this?" the woman asked. "Child Services has title; the Comptroller's Office called me."

"Interesting," Gil said. "May I present to you Randy Hollister, the minor who is heir to this property, and myself, Gilbert Christenson, his attorney and guardian. And you would be...?"

The woman did a bit of a double take as Gil identified Randy and himself. "I'm Madeleine Anderson," she said. "But I'm sure there's some mistake; the City has title."

What Gil might have planned to answer was interrupted by another arrival, a short, balding man in a suit. "Who are all you people, and what are you doing here?" he asked.

"We can do introductions in a moment," Gil answered firmly. "For now, let me say I'm the lawyer in charge of this property."

"Well, you can tell that young woman that she has a lot of effrontery ordering me here like I was some petty employee!" the bald man said with some heat. "I set my own schedule for appraisals, and I don't appreciate being ordered around."

"Oh, I rather doubt you'll have to deal with her again," Gil said with a smirk. "But I assume from what you said that you're an appraiser?"

"I'm Charles Strothers, counselor, Strothers Appraisals and Abstracts," he replied, fishing out a business card. Then, noticing the woman, "Why, hello, Madeleine! Will your clients be wanting to buy a copy of my appraisal?"

Randy was tense. Keith looked unsure what to do; Donny motioned to help, and Keith wrapped an arm around Randy, who sighed with relief.

"Would you be so kind as to explain how you got called in?" Gil asked Charles, a smile on his face that Donny recognized, and smirked to himself.

"That officious little … well … that young woman said that they'd be filing a claim with the mortgage insurance, and needed a property appraisal quickly to determine the proper asking price."

"That matches what I was told," Madeleine volunteered.

"Well, that answers the question where the legal papers went, not that I had much doubt," Gil said in an aside to Donny and Randy. To the two business people, he said, "Charles, Madeleine, please have a seat. Randy, would it be asking too much if I had you and Keith make a pot of coffee? I have a feeling things are going to get very interesting."

"Sure," Randy said a little nervously. He and Keith headed for the kitchen.

"Listen, counselor, I really need to get this appraisal started. I have a busy day planned."

"No, you don't," Gil told him. "There will be a couple of detectives from the City Police here shortly. They'll almost certainly want statements from both of you." Both tensed up at that. "Don't worry; it seems evident you were brought in in good faith to do your jobs, so you have nothing to fear. But let me fill you in on the facts here, so you will know why to cooperate."

"Up until the night before last," Gil went on, "the boy I just sent to make coffee lived here with his parents, who were killed in a car accident. Child Services appears to have forged a judicial order to take custody of young Randy and put a lien on this property preparatory to selling it – something that Officer Kowalski of the City Police and I discovered and alerted Judge Markham to. My younger brother, here, runs a residential care facility for homeless and orphaned boys; I am legal guardian for what we call 'Donny's boys', owing to his age and my being a lawyer; it simplifies things to do it that way. Randy is now my ward, and I have fiduciary responsibility for this property as his guardian. Which means," he said with a smile, "you're technically committing a trespass in even being here – although one completely understandable, given what seems to be the bureaucracy's plan. But I trust that much information is sufficient to show you why you need to cooperate with us, and with the police?"

Charles and Madeleine both looked shaken by that information. "Yes, I think you've made you point quite well," Charles said.

"Coffee's ready," Randy called out.

"Care for some coffee while we wait?" Gil asked.

"I need some," Donny said, yawning.

"Chay keep you up all night?" Gil asked with a grin. Donny blushed and nodded, grinning back. The four of them walked out to the kitchen.

---

Editor's Notes: I think that the stinkin' child services fits right in with what we used when we had the neighbor come over to our farm to service a cow. The only thing they are trying to protect is their own butts.

Randy is going to fit right in with the other boys, really well.

Obviously Gil knows exactly what he is doing and is going to do all he can to protect Randy and his assets as well, or is that buttets?

Darryl AKA The Radio Rancher