Indiscreet Box Set

Chapter 9

Brain was awakened out of a sound sleep by hearing his landlady banging on the door to his room. He blinked, the room was full of light, the clock read 6:30 P.M. He looked down in embarrassment, there was an obvious trail of dried c*m on his stomach and chest.

“Murphy, Murphy, you got sumthin’ from a messenger.”

Estelle James’ knocks made the walls shake. She not only owned and ran this boarding house, Brian suspected Estelle James and her boys owned and managed the Clinton section of Trenton.

Clinton was supposed to be one of the worst sections of Trenton. Even so, Brian found his neighbors, once they got used to him, treated him with either kindness or indifference, which was the way most people got by in this section of town. Miz James was a long-term resident. She claimed to be exclusive, only taking clean residents. Clean, according to Miz James, was job holding and rent paying.

He could have walked out the door of his room at any hour of the day and bought a stash of pharmaceuticals, legal or illegal.

However, once they saw he was not in to it, or into reporting anything to the cops, they left him pretty much to his own devices.

Miz James gave him the house rules when he arrived. “Mind you own business, pay your rent on time, and don’t be bringing trouble to this house. If you start running something outta here, I get me a cut, or maybe you face do…”

Brian struggled to get out of bed and to the door, grabbing a pair of clean jeans from the closet and Donald’s shirt from the top of the dresser. He dressed as he crossed the room. Brian was not a stupid man, although he made sure no one here suspected he had a brain.

Brian dropped his rent off once a week in Miz James’ mail slot and avoided any further communication. Miz James on the other side of his door was not a good sign. Brian opened the door. Estelle James waved a creamy vellum envelope with a messenger delivery tag in his face. Miz James had opened his mail. Brian felt a frisson of foreboding tickle his spine.

“What you got coming to this house, boy? I see you pull up in a fancy limousine drawing unwanted attention to my place. Then it’s followed by this here invitation to a ritzy s*x house over in the boonies.” Estelle James kept walking forward into his room, poking her skinny finger, with its long dirty fingernail into his chest. “You think jus ‘cuz I live in Clinton, I don’t know what’s what? How do the likes of you get one of these here? You like no rent boy I ever seen. You been doing business in my house, ain’t you? I ain’t seen you, but if you is, I’ll be charging extra.”

Brian grabbed at the envelope and Miz James just set it higher in the air. “You answer me first, boy.”

“Miz James,” Brian began, “first, I have no clue who sent this. Second, I have no idea what it is until I get to look at it.

Additionally, you see me come in at the same time every night. I have no visitors. Please, let me have my mail. I would appreciate it, if you did not open it in the future.”

Estelle James handed him back his envelope, her mouth set tight. “Well, I think you be having visitors. If that ain’t a trail of jism on your belly, my momma was Queen ‘lisbeth. Therefore, don’t you go on sassing me, boy. This here is my house. There ain’t going to be much future. You be paid up until the end of the week on Friday next. You best start seeking alternative arrangements. By the way, Mr. Murphy, my boys and me may not be that patient—So you best be careful until you leave, boy. If you have been cheating me of my cut, I will be finding out one way or ‘nother.” Miz James gave him the sign for the evil eye and headed down the stairs.

Brian closed the door behind her. He had less than a week to find a new place to sleep. “s**t,” he said, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He sipped his now warm Coke. He was so very weary of doing the debtor’s three-step, one-step forward, two steps back. He turned the vellum envelope in his hands repeatedly. He decided to open it since the damage was already done.

Indiscreet Welcomes

Mr. Brian Murphy

To our Membership Roll

Club Operating Hours are Daily

From 3:00 P.M. until 4:00 A.M.

Orientation by Appointment

609-NDSCRETE

Brian took the invitation and examined every inch. It had to be one of the guys from school who did this. Some of them had both jobs and family money, which allowed them to afford the fees at a high-priced club. Maybe they put his name on a potential member’s list as a referral. He couldn’t afford the fees. He would call and graciously decline. Maybe if he explained to Miz James, she would let him stay on a while longer.

“f**k,” Brian shouted in his head. He wanted to tell the James b***h to go stoke Hell’s fires. He wanted to tell Aunt Mary to blow it out her ass. He wanted—oh, Jesus, he could not be such a self-centered, horrific son—he couldn’t let the thought get loose from the tight compartment where he chained it in his brain. His ma sacrificed everything for him. He did not almost wish her gone—he couldn’t.

Brian was so close to the cliff, teetering at the very edge.

Flashes of his nightmare from the morning clouded his brain.

Frantically, he searched the small room. He had one of those prepaid cell phones. He kept it for emergency use. He figured losing his somewhat shabby bed was a definite emergency, so he entered the number listed.

“Indiscreet…” The answering voice showed the value of modulation and pitch. It displayed both the sophistication and the naughty edge of the establishment. Brian recognized the voice as one of a well-trained fellow submissive, “Jim Boy, at your service.”

“Eh, hello Jim. My name is Brian Murphy.” He coughed to hide the panic about to choke his throat, threatening to spew forth at the least provocation. “Excuse me, a-eh-slight cold. I received an invitation by courier this morning. I think it might have been delivered to me in error.”

Brian heard Jim Boy heave a huge sigh on the other end of the line. “Brian, dear, this is Indiscreet. We do not make errors.

If we did, we would be out of business in a week. Now, if that invitation has your name on it, it belongs to you. I called the courier service myself. I distinctly remember the address. It was in the Clinton area of Trenton. Not many of our membership come from your area. I checked upstairs and got my bottom spanked for my trouble. It was fun, I owe you one.” Jim Boy giggled.

“But I don’t have enough money to pay for the membership,” Brian protested in exasperation, fighting back tears of frustration.

“That has all been handled,” Jim Boy stated in a matter of fact voice.

“By whom?” Brian asked, his voice trembling.

“Now that would be telling and spoil the surprise.”

“What if I don’t want or like surprises?” Brian said in a dry tone.

“First, my dear, if I did know, I couldn’t tell you. Second, I don’t know, and honey, if I don’t know, it’s hush-hush. How about you come in tomorrow and I will show you around, and we will talk. Sounds like you are having an off evening?”

“Jim, you don’t understand. I don’t own a car. My landlady saw this invitation and just ordered me out of the building, because she thinks I am making income on the side as a rent boy and holding out on her. I am about to lose the lousy furnished room I live in, and taking a tour of a facility I can’t get to and certainly can’t afford to use in addition to costing me my living arrangement, isn’t high on my list of things to do at this particular moment.” Brian’s throat was tight. He was trying like hell not to take his growing frustration out on the man with the calm voice and friendly manner on the other end of the telephone. He couldn’t afford anger, he couldn’t afford frustration, nor could he afford to show weakness. He just needed to hold on for a little while longer, he had to cope.

“s**t, eh, Brian who is your landlady?” Jim Boy’s voice lost its veneer of naughtiness and the feminine coquette, and took on the bark of a drill sergeant.

“Estelle James,” Brian answered.

“Look, pup, gather up your stuff and stay put. I’m coming with a few bouncers and a car. You are in a shitload of trouble.

Someone upstairs thinks you are important and that means it is on my ass if something happens to you because of that invitation.

Give me about thirty minutes. If I haven’t phoned you back by then, call me. But I should be at your door by then.”

“Danger?” Brian questioned. “Look, Jim. I know Estelle James is a pain in the ass, and she is running something illegal out of this house, but she…shit, f**k…she did threaten me. She said the boys might get impatient waiting for me to leave. What do I do?”

“Look, pup. I’m not kidding. Pack it up, move it out, now.”

Jim Boy hung up, leaving Brian holding the phone and not quite knowing what just happened. However, his gram always told him to go with his gut. Brian started to throw his stuff into his battered suitcase and a lone cardboard box.

Calling Donald Drummond flitted across his brain, but he quashed that thought before it could take root. He couldn’t jeopardize his new position. He would sleep in the park before he called his boss. He at least had thirty minutes to get himself back under control. It took only fifteen to gather his belongings.

Checking to make sure his door was bolted, he sat cross-legged on the cot and centered himself. He began to breathe evenly in and out, in and out, in and out, putting himself deeply into a trance-like state to regain control of his roiling emotions.

He did not even hear the lock slip on his door or see Mama Estelle’s boys enter the room before they started to work him over. His last thought was, The b***h had a key made…

* * * *

Bear Drummond was in his Mercedes SUV heading over to Brian’s apartment. He hoped the boy was there, because his patience was running rather thin. Once Mavis advised him of the danger, Bear formed a precise plan of attack to seduce Brian into his home and keep him there. He felt a sense of serendipity.

He drove the tough but sleek vehicle in a smooth pattern over the semi-deserted Trenton streets. On Fridays in the summer, everyone in western New Jersey headed to a friend’s house at the shore. Bear was happy with his peaceful farm off Route 29.

His musings abruptly ceased with the strident ring of his cell phone. It was his private line and very few people knew the number. It had to be Reed. He put the phone on speaker. “What did you find out?”

“Bear, get your ass over to your pup’s rooming house as quickly as you can.”

“What’s wrong?” Bear roared.

“He lives in Estelle Jones’ boarding house, and the word out on the street is Zeke Robbins has paid her boys two thousand to do some major damage. One of them is a cutter. He did some work in New York. My sources say his work is not pretty. The boy called here about the invitation. Jim put it together, ran out the door, and shouted at me to call you. Six more bouncers are on the way. I’m in the car. I’ll meet you there.”

His Brian was out on the street in Clinton. If the James boys so much as touched his Brian, they were not going to be happy campers by the time he finished with them. The Clinton section of Trenton was a cesspool. The idea some families had to raise children in that kind of neighborhood raised his blood pressure and turned his stomach. He was pushing the city to put in some new low-cost housing and better municipal services. This had just become personal. Clinton had found itself a white knight and Donald now knew exactly where his campaign would begin.

His boy now had a protector. He barreled through the narrow streets of Trenton’s older and seedier neighborhoods, he even rode the shoulder. There was a building revival near the ballpark and the capitol, but it had not made it to Clinton. He leaned on the horn, passed on the right, and it felt like it took forever, but he arrived. What met his eyes was like a hammer to his gut.

His Brian was in the center of what looked like a street gang. Time distorted. In slow motion, Donald down shifted and popped the curb as his eyes took in the three James brothers surrounding Brian with baseball bats and tire irons behind their backs. The boy was tied to a hook hammered into the pole of a streetlight to keep him upright. The harsh rays of a late summer afternoon reflected on a long sharp shiv. Egged on by an old woman in ragged plush bunny slippers and pink sponge rollers, they were cornering Brian.

Donald started to sweat. Brian’s face was a mask of blood and bruising. Donald gunned the motor and took the SUV up the curb and on to the sidewalk. The SUV scattered the boys from around the light and just as Donald exited the car, the ragged rope gave and Brian went down.

The old broad jumped out of his path, screaming obscenities.

The young punks ran. Reed pulled up from the other direction with six of the club’s bouncers. They formed a protective circle around Brian.

He was mumbling. The words were barely discernable, “Mama, please don’t, Mama please…” A river of tears tracked through the blood and dirt on his face.

Jim Boy was there at the ready. “Sir, get the backboard out of Reed’s car.”

Donald didn’t even question that a sub was shouting orders, he just ran and procured the board. The bouncers helped Jim get the boy on the board and Jim slapped a cervical collar on his neck. Bear heard the sirens in the distance. “Do we have time?” he asked Jim.

“No,” Jim snapped. “I have a cot. Put him in the back of the van and hold his head. I put him in a neck brace. Get in and I will ride in the back with you and watch his vitals. Master Reed, you drive. Go to Saint Ann’s. They are the best and the closest. Sir, claim him as a domestic partner and have Mavis fix it up and alter the date.” Both Doms looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Move, Sirs…now!”

The van pulled up to the ambulance bay with the SUV right behind it. Jim shouted for a gurney and demanded they call the neurologist. Jim and Bear brought Brian straight into the ER, leaving Reed to deal with the paperwork at the front desk.

One of the nurse supervisors, Dot Supinski, spotted Drummond leaning over the boy and discretely coded the Chief of Staff to the ER. St. Ann’s Medical Center owed Drummond Realty. Don found the land they needed for expansion, bought it, and served on the board that built the wing it stood on tonight.

As a result, St. Ann’s was the most up-to-date trauma center in the area. The Medical Center had all of the latest technological bells and whistles it needed to attract the kind of doctors who usually practiced in places like Philly, New York, and Baltimore.

On top of which, St. Ann’s could afford to pay their nurses top dollar. If there was a nursing shortage, you did not see it at St. Ann’s Medical Center.

Doctors, nurses, techs, they all came, attracted by higher salaries, lower fees for hospital privileges and research facilities with grants that did not come with corporate strings attached.

They stayed for the beautiful country vistas along the Delaware River, the proximity to Princeton, Philadelphia, and New York and the relatively lower cost of living. Despite prevailing attitudes, St. Ann’s was gay-friendly. The board had tied them to a larger group of hospitals financed by Donald’s money. St. Ann’s was now the receiving hospital for several smaller satellites and completely non-sectarian. If they had stayed within the confines of the diocese, they would have lost their chief financial donor and their Chief of Staff.

Dr. Francisco de Loria ran down the corridors of Saint Ann’s Medical Center headed for the emergency room. Dot Supinski, the nurse supervisor in ER gave him a heads up. Don Drummond was in the hospital. Dot was one of the old guard, she did her nurse’s training at St. Ann’s, working at the hospital for the past twenty-eight years. When she called, Cisco paid attention.

Cisco barely remembered his first meeting with Don Drummond, but Drummond never forgot. Cisco, an intern in the busy St. Ann’s ER had taken extra time about twenty-three years before to talk to a badly beaten boy with multiple contusions and a mild concussion. He recognized in the boy what the boy did not recognize in himself until puberty.

He advised the boy to start to bulk up and train to be able to meet the bullies on equal terms. Cisco knew from experience they only left you alone if you were not afraid and the only time you were not afraid was when you could give as good as you got.

In return for those extra fifteen minutes on a busy Friday night, Cisco found himself appointed Chief of Staff of St.

Ann’s hospital by the Board when the old chief retired. A Search Committee formed along with a Building and Trust Fund to bring St. Ann into the 21st century. Don Drummond chaired one committee and served as treasurer for the other.

Called to Mr. Drummond’s office at the hospital, Cisco thought he was about to be asked to resign. Cisco was gay and the leader of the group of doctors who pushed for reform in the hospital’s archaic attitudes and a bigger capital-spending budget so they could adequately serve the community.

A huge man in a fancy suit jumped up and engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug, and the astonished Cisco recognized that he faced Donald K. of Drummond Realty, the frightened, beaten boy of twenty-some years before. The hospital and Cisco had unknowingly acquired a powerful ally from a random act of kindness.

The elevator opened just outside the ER. As Cisco turned the corner, he saw Don’s face, it was a mask of pain. It was now his duty to help another young man, harmed by hate, and to comfort again the man who had done so much for what, at the time, had really been very little.

Bear stood beside the gurney. He gave the nurse a killer look when she tried to stick Brian with the general population in a curtained cubicle. The look was enough for a short conference at the nurse’s station, which resulted in Brian’s swift removal to one of the larger private rooms in the emergency room. Two orderlies assisted.

Brian lay flat with his head immobile and tied to the board.

The nurse took Brian’s vitals, bathed the worst of the cuts, and then started an IV line.

“Did you have any trouble, Reed?” Donald asked his old friend as Reed entered the glass-faced room.

“No, Bear. Did you really expect me to have a problem here?

They think you are second only to God Almighty.” Then Reed asked, “What else do you need?”

The boy moaned. “Mama, please stop. I didn’t do anything wrong, please.” Bear turned away from Reed with a white face.

He murmured in a sotto voice meant only for his ears, “He has no idea where he is.” Bear’s voice chocked. “Reed, I need this boy.

If I lose him, I will lose myself.” Bear crossed back to the bed and caressed Brian’s cheek with soothing strokes using only the last two fingers of his huge hand. Instinctively, the boy attempted to turn his face to rest in Bear’s palm.

“I need to speak to Cisco about Brian. If they keep him here, I’ll stay with him. If Cisco plans to release Brian tonight, before I get back, can Jim Boy run him over to the farm? I will call Mrs. Santore and make sure she knows to expect them. He doesn’t have to wait. I might be a while.” Bear paused and pulled a chair closer to the gurney to cradle the boy’s hand.

“I would also appreciate a few of your bouncers accompanying me on a trip over to see Miz James. I’m bringing the whip.” Bear growled through clenched teeth. Bear’s bull whip was hidden in a special compartment in his SUV, always at the ready.

“You are not going to start anything up with the old lady, Bear, are you? We already have enough to put her away, even if Brian never testifies.”

“No, Reed, I’m not going to start. But if she gives me any grief, I will finish anything she starts with the business end of my bullwhip.” Bear turned away so Reed would not see the tears, which persisted in flowing from his eyes despite the vow made years ago.

Reed grabbed Bear’s hand and pulled Bear’s head down onto his shoulder. “Good. I would have to hold you back if you did.

Brian needs you, not a jail bird.”

“Who said you were coming?”

“I did. Jim Boy is just outside in the waiting room, he never left. He feels personally responsible for sending out the invitation and thereby causing the problem. I told him it was my fault, I should have checked—anyway, he would be happy to take Brian home. Clinton, damn it Bear, why is a kid like this in Clinton?”

Bear straightened his back and moved away from Reed.

“It is a long story and it is Brian’s to tell, not mine. Thank Jim Boy, and thank you for having my back.”

“That’s what friends are for, Bro. It looks like Cisco is homing in on the nursing station.”

It took all of Bear’s will to stand still behind the glass wall and let Cisco check the chart. He knew he needed to see the initial evaluations made by the nurses and residents, but all Bear wanted to do was drag Cisco over to Brian and chain the doctor to Brian’s bed until his boy was fixed.

Cisco must have felt his stare. He looked up, nodded, and made a vague hand gesture, which could have indicated anything from one minute to sit the f**k down and wait until I am ready.

Bear didn’t care. He needed Cisco here now.

Almost as if in tune with Bear’s thought process, Cisco walked into the room and put his arm around Donald’s back.

“You might want to calm down, Don. By the look of your beet red face, your blood pressure is dangerously high. If I took the notion to slap a cuff on you, you might find yourself corralled here for the standard twenty-four hours.”

Still staring at the chart, Cisco said, “Him—Murphy, Brian. I am ordering X-rays and pulling his medical records up on the computer. The name is familiar, a little too familiar.”

Bear almost growled at Cisco.

“Play nice, now.”

Bear Drummond bared his teeth in a snarl at Cisco’s irreverence. Cisco’s ingrained knack of treating the pauper as a king, and king as a pauper, had cemented their relationship when Bear found him again. Cisco’s ability to level the playing field made him both diplomatic and compassionate, qualities the Chief of Staff of an urban hospital needed in abundance. Cisco ignored Bear and thoroughly examined Brian, who was finally awake and bug-eyed at the sight of Donald Drummond looming over the doctor prodding his ribs. The kid seemed to waver in and out of consciousness. Brian opened his mouth to speak.

Bear anticipated his protests. “Not a word. You scared the s**t out of me. You will do whatever Cisco tells you to do. I will make sure of it.”

Brian lowered his gaze and mumbled, “Yes, Sir,” and he closed his eyes.

“Brian, I’m Dr. Cisco, a friend of that gorilla with you.”

Brian’s eyes flew to Bear. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

Cisco continued, “What day is today?”

“Dunno. Thursday, maybe Friday,” he answered, his speech slurred.

Cisco turned to Bear and snapped, “Did he lose consciousness at any time?”

Bear’s hands fisted, his anger was cold and hard, but Cisco knew it was not directed at him. “I don’t know. I got there and broke it up, but God knows how long they had been at it. They were going for the knife when I arrived.” Just the thought of it made Bear shiver.

“Did he say anything?” Cisco asked with a bit more compassion.

“Jim Boy talked to him. He is outside in the waiting room.”

“Get him, now,” Cisco ordered.

Cisco spoke to Brian, ignoring Bear’s looming bulk. “Mr.

Murphy, you have a few cracked ribs. The facial damage looks bad, but it is not permanent, I have something you can use for the bruising. Your breathing may be a bit painful for a space, but your face will look much better by tomorrow. I’m sending you for scans to make sure there are no fractures or bleeds. Bear, if you wish, you can accompany Mr. Murphy to his tests.”

“Okay,” Brian answered, still rather woozy. He looked up at Bear. “Thank you, Papa. I love you, you know.” Bear’s heart was in his throat. He knew he loved Brian and he knew that Brian would not remember a thing about this evening.

Cisco turned away from the bed. “Supinski, get this kid down for an MRI and a CT, I’m taking no chances. Bear, go with the kid. I’ll speak to Jim.”

Bear squeezed Brian’s hand and followed Dot and the orderly out of the room.

Jim came into the room snuffling. He had obviously been crying for a while. “Jim,” Cisco said sharply, “I need you to put on your corpsman hat, now. Reed, give him your handkerchief.

Did the kid lose consciousness?”

“I believe he did. He was in and out of it on the way over here. There was something strange though. He kept pleading

‘Mama stop, please stop.’”

“Wait a minute, Doc,” Reed interrupted. “The cub said that when Bear was in the room but Bear was too distraught to hear him.”

Cisco looked down at the chart. “Supinski…” The chief resident popped in the door. “Dr. de Loria, you sent Dot down to CT with Mr. Drummond and Mr. Murphy.”

“You’ll do. Go down to medical records and search for this patient in the inactive files. I want everything from the last twenty years.” Cisco looked at the resident’s nametag. “Harris, I wanted this yesterday. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“And get the nursing station to get that old bastard, Ryan Richards, out of bed. He is a mean SOB, but he is the best neurologist in the state. Tell him I mean now, or he won’t be getting his research assistants.”

* * * *

Bear thought they flew through the testing. It took about an hour, record time for the ER, and through it all, Bear refused to leave Brian’s side. Bear, as St. Ann’s number one VIP, garnered a place in front of every line. Normally, he would have protested, but not this time. This time he was glad his fortune bought him preferential treatment. He held Brian’s hand as they wheeled him back to his emergency room berth. They found Cisco waiting for them in the room.

“Brian, I need to keep you here until the neurologist sees the scans. Jim here is going to talk to you and make sure you don’t go to sleep right now. Although I see no swelling in the brain, someone needs to be with you and Jim is a licensed PA. You will have a nasty headache tonight and feel nauseous on occasion. I can’t tell you more until I get the test results.”

Cisco turned to Bear and said, “Buddy, you need a cup of coffee right now with me.”

Bear noticed Cisco’s demand and followed him out of the room. “Is this kid a sub?” Cisco asked immediately.

“Not yet,” Bear answered.

“That’s good, Don, because if he was, I was going to kill you with my bare hands.”

“Cisco, you know better than that. I do not hurt my subs. At most, n****e clamps and spankings. I did not f*****g do this, and I am going to have the balls of the people who did. He is mine, damn it, or he will be soon enough.”

Harris was the chief resident in the ER doing his last month of trauma training. He had completed training for a psychiatric degree some time before. He came running up the corridor with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Give me a report on those notes, Harris.”

“Beginning?” asked Harris.

“Begin from the first admission,” Cisco replied.

Harris opened the folder and began to read from the computer printout, “White male, child, six-years-old, compound fracture, November, 1991. Mild concussion, broken ribs, contusions, March, 1992. Cigarette burns on legs and arms, radiator burn on back, December 24, 1994.” Harris droned on. “Christ, Dr. de Loria, the list is endless. Children’s Services kept taking him from the mother and putting him with an Aunt. The kid almost died twice. They would put the mother on meds and let her out of the mental health facility and she would petition the court for the kid. Damn it, Doctor de Loria, they would give him back to her every time.”

Cisco saw that Bear had his fists rolled so tight that his nails were biting into his palms. “Harris, you are about to finish doing a double residency in psych and ER, am I correct?” Cisco asked.

“Yes, doctor. I felt that very often ER patients need psych services they didn’t receive because of the nature of the ER,” Harris answered easily. “This is a prime example.”

“Save the hearts and flowers for the grant committee.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he answered. “This young man needs a psych consult. If you don’t think I’m good enough, please let me roust someone from the department.”

“You’re good enough, son. This is Donald Drummond. He is a major contributor to this hospital and that boy in there matters to him.”

“If you can help my Brian, your loans will be paid and all of your future education will be gratis, Harris.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mr. Drummond, but thank you,” Harris said stiffly.

“Good, Harris. You just got your first unsupervised ER psych consult. Get in there and find out what this boy remembers. I think we are dealing with traumatic memory loss along with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and not just from this evening’s activity.”

“What can I do?” Bear pleaded with Cisco.

“Nothing, old friend, just be there for him when Harris is done.”