Friday, August 19^th

Trent’s hands shook so violently he was unable to hold the coffee mug. It had been almost a week since the last symptom. Then came the tremors.

Not since their first visit with the doctors had Darcey seen this look on his face. Fear in his eyes. A desperate fear. He looked pathetic. It wasn’t a good look for him. It wasn’t what she was accustomed to seeing in him. It wasn’t an emotion with which he was familiar.

She called Doctor Slim’s office. The nurse said to bring him right in. The doctor would see him immediately.

She had to help him get dressed.

Doctor Slim and Doctor Raymond both made themselves available as soon as the couple arrived. They examined Trent thoroughly. They asked questions about the nature and timing of other symptoms.

“Since all the other symptoms have been of short duration,” Doctor Raymond said, “I think we can safely conclude that this will not last long.”

“What would you think about propranolol to ease the tremors?” Doctor Slim asked her.

“Yes, a Beta blocker would ease the symptom,” Doctor Raymond replied. “I think we should give you a shot rather than pills. I don’t think there will be a need to prescribe a daily dosage since it’s likely this symptom won’t last past today. If I’m wrong, we can always prescribe a longer treatment.

The doctors again reported to Darcey and Trent on the continuing work to find a cure. Again the doctors said they were optimistic.

As they started out the door, Trent stopped and turned back.

“With this shot you just gave me, is it ok to have a cocktail this evening?”

“Trent!” Darcey protested.

Doctor Raymond laughed.

“It’s ok,” she said. “Alcohol might make you a little drowsy but as long as you don’t overdo it, a cocktail this evening should be fine.”

“If your hands are still shaking you’re not getting a cocktail, Trent,” Darcey announced. “I’ll do a lot of things for you but I won’t hold a sippy cup so you can have a drink.”

Steve Burgess had no problem holding a drink. He was in his favorite sleazy bar drinking heavily. And talking too much.

He let the bartender know that Sunday would be a big day. He bragged that he would be on Nob Hill on Sunday morning. He sneeringly said something about the “…high and mighty…” falling.

When he staggered out the door in mid-afternoon, the bartender stepped into the office. He turned on the lap top computer and sent a burst transmission.

Jimmy Shadow had a date. Jimmy knew Burgess’ plan.

When the booze began to wear off, Burgess didn’t remember talking to the bartender.

Captain Place had the helm, steering Dancer out of San Francisco Bay and into the open waters of the Pacific.

“You selected a good name, Captain,” the man standing beside him said.

“Yes, it’s a vessel that dances over the sea,” Captain Place replied, an air of contentment about him.

The man standing beside the captain was once known as Pietro Greco. He had another name now. A new identity. He was looking forward to starting life over again. Life in a new place.

He breathed in the air of the open sea. It felt good in his lungs. Fresh. Clean. Free.

“In which direction should I plot our course?” the captain inquired.

The man thought for a moment. He looked south, toward Mexico. Escaping to Mexico seemed such a cliché. He looked north.

“North, I think, Captain.”

“Any place in particular?”

“Just north for now,” the man replied. “I’ll know our destination when I see it.”

Trent’s hands were still a bit shaky when cocktail hour arrived. He didn’t think he wanted Darcey to watch him try to hold a mixed drink. It would upset her if his trembling hand sloshed some of the liquid over the edge of the glass.

He made it quick. A shot of tequila.

A light dinner of bacon and eggs.