Blair found Jim out on the balcony, an open newspaper on the ground beside his chair. He was standing at the railing, looking out toward the shining bay in the distance. Blair walked over to his friend and stood silently beside him for a moment. Then he spoke, softly. "I saw it, too."

Jim was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. "She was quite a lady. The world was a better place while she was in it."

"I definitely agree with you, there." Blair turned to lean back against the railing and looked up into Jim's face. "There aren't many left like her."

"Yeah." Jim sipped her beer. "And that leaves--"

"Irene. The last of the deBurgs." Blair crossed his arms over his chest. "That's a frightening thought."

"It's too bad. She cared a lot about the homeless, and people in need, maybe as much as her great-aunt did. She could have done a lot of good with that money, if she wasn't sick."

"The money will get her the help she needs. And an executor will see that the work at the Mission continues. They've set up a foundation in Miss deBurg's name."

"And so the legacy lives on. The deBurgs of Cascade." Jim raised his beer bottle toward the bay, then took a long gulp. He set the bottle down again and stared off into the distance, his expression unreadable.

Blair stood next to him a little longer, then stood and walked slowly back toward the balcony doors. He paused there a moment, then turned to look back at Jim. "I never told you. I always avoided the subject, but I think I should. Tell you."

"What?" Jim turned to face him, one eyebrow raised.

"About my, my thing, about cops and the homeless. All that."

Jim looked blankly at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I wondered. But that's up to you, you know, if you don't want to--"

"I want to." Blair walked over to Jim's empty chair, seemingly lost in thought, and sat down. He took a deep breath, let it out, and looked up at Jim. His eyes were grave.

"I was twelve. I was out on one of my stupid wandering trips, out on the streets, and I got caught in a bad situation. One of those 'fate worse than death' deals, you know? There are a lot of vultures on the streets looking for homeless kids to use." Blair grimaced. "One found me. But I had this friend, Grady, an old homeless guy who I'd visited with a couple of times before. He got in the middle of it. He saved me, man. And the damned pimp beat him to death." Blair shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. "I tried to find a cop, someone to help, but no one paid any attention to me. I even called it in. I wanted them to know who to go after, who'd done it. As far as I know, they never did anything. They didn't come to help, and they did nothing to punish his killer. It's stayed with me," he said softly.

Jim stood quietly for a moment, watching his friend, then walked across the balcony to squat on his heels by Blair's chair. He looked intently into the other man's face. "How much of what you're feeling is anger against the police, and how much of it is guilt?" Blair looked away quickly. "There's a lot of blame to go around, there, Blair, but none of it is yours. You were just a kid."

"I know." Blair nodded. "I know. But these things, they can color your view of the world for a long time, man."

"Tell me about it. I thought I was so enlightened." Blair looked up at him, and Jim shrugged. "I know better, now. There was so much I wasn't seeing."

"Me, too. People like Mahler, for instance. And Miss Irene. There are a lot of good people out there. I knew that. I just didn't know that, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. And there are. There's a lot of good people out there. But not enough. Never enough." Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder and stood. "Still, every little bit counts, right? Everyone in their own way."

"Yeah. Like Miss Irene said." Blair stood up and smiled. "Don't leave your bottle over there, man." He gestured toward the railing as he walked through the balcony door, into the loft. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Anything but Thai," Jim answered, and followed him inside.

Stay tuned next week when another car theft ring hits Cascade and this time Major Crime takes it personally in "Spare Parts Redux" an all new The Sentinel.

Author's Notes: Many thanks to the BPP team and my beta readers for their help, kindness and patience.

The Bread of Life Mission in Seattle is real, and has real needs -- please go to their website to learn more. There are many similar informative sites where you can learn how you can help. Please try web-searching for missions or shelters in your area. Every little bit you can do or give will help someone.

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