As soon as he entered the house, he knew something was wrong. Art Farmer was blowing trumpet with the Horace Silver quintet in a piece called "Moon Rays" that Fred wouldn't have lis­tened to on his own unless someone cut off his ears. And there was a smell of cigarette smoke, a definite no-no, one of the few points on which he and the old man agreed.

"Fred!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs to an empty room. A glance told him things were in enough disorder to know there was trouble. Dashing from room to room downstairs produced nothing so he raced up the stairs, first to his room, then to Fred's. Again, nothing. Then he heard a muffled sound from behind the partially closed bathroom door. Yanking it open, he found his step­father.

Fred O'Connor was seated on the toilet, a towel over his head with his pants and shorts pulled down to his ankles. He was bound to the porcelain fixture with a nylon cord around his ankles and one around his arms, which were tied behind him. His shirt and tie were in place as usual and Mrs. Lincoln was curled up on the bath mat at his feet, fast asleep. Dean jerked the towel from his head and pulled a cloth gag from his mouth.

"The sons-of-bitches jumped me!" Fred sputtered.

"Who?"

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"How the devil do I know who?" He was furious. "They wrapped that towel over my head!"

"Are you all right?" Dean asked, his heart racing nonstop.

"Hell no I'm not all right! How'd you like to sit on the damn toilet for hours? I probably got a terminal case of hemorrhoids."

"Damn!" Dean exclaimed, breaking a fingernail on a knot.

"Hurry up! I'm gonna have a ring around my be-hind for a week from sitting on this thing!"

Dean finally freed the last of the knots and Fred rose, pulling up his pants, staggered a step or two and sat back down. "Kinda woozy, I guess," he said. Dean lifted the old man in one swing and carried him to his bed. "Put me down! I'm not an invalid! I'd have beat the dickens out of 'em if they hadn't jumped me!" Dean turned to leave. "Where are you going?"

"To call the police...and a doctor."

"I don't need no doctor and you're the police."

Dean paid him no attention and called headquarters to report the break-in, asking them to send a doctor as well. He clicked off Art Tatum and "Willow Weep For Me" and after pulling out a bot­tle of scotch and two glasses, returned to Fred's room.




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