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A soft knock startled Sir Henry from his light, fitful sleep. "Ah, I was only resting my eyelids," he said to the open and empty room. Henry surveyed the room, taking in the rich wooden tones, red throw carpets, and the other trappings of his success. Another knock and he realized that he must have a guest. "Ah, come in." he beckoned.

The door opened and a pale, skinny figure snuck quickly inside, barely leaving the door open a scant second.

"My god, Jimmy! You look like crap." Sir Henry said in alarm.

"Well, with the Kingpin after you, hygiene and eating take somewhat of a backseat to safety," he said with a wry grin. Half-collapsing onto the sofa, he stole a stale crumpet from the coffee table.

Ignoring the crumbs being scattered over the fine upholstery, Henry addressed his former student, "My, this is serious then. I made a few calls. From what I could tell you've been fraternizing with that hot little vixen Leilani. Enjoy playing with fire, do you?" Henry stared into the hazel eyes of his friend, searching for an explanation to the madness he'd thrust himself into.

"Well, its complicated, but yes," Jimmy responded amid mouthfuls of crumpet. Swallowing a mouthful that might have choked a horse, he continued, "Apparently we were caught in a less than professional arrangement and, well you know how things can snowball out of control." Sir Henry couldn't be sure, but either his friend wasn't being entirely open with him. Either that, or he had suddenly formed a deep appreciation for the study's pressed tin ceiling.

"While my mind is reeling with excitement," Henry began, "perhaps you should spare me the minutia of your compromising position. Where exactly do I factor into this? I assume you came to me for some sort of help." Sir Henry projected an aura of slight impatience for the youth before him. After all, it was getting quite late, and such evening rendezvous did horrors to his beauty sleep.

"You've caught me," Jimmy answered with palms up, "The truth is I need a safe house where I can lay low for a while till the heat is off." Leaning closer, Jimmy whispered, "I know that you've been helping the order rebuild."

Blanching slightly, Sir Henry stuttered a moment. His mustache twitched nervously. Regaining composure, Henry stammered, "I don't know the foggiest what you're talking about! However, in light of our long-standing friendship, I'll see what I can arrange."

As John Raider stepped off his bus, he caught a fleeting glimpse of himself in the stainless steel corrugations of the bus. Aside from the startling blue eyes staring back at him, he couldn't recognize the emaciated, withering figure before him. His hair had been thinning enough on its own from stress, and now it'd been murdered by a blind barber with an electric razor. The hallowed cheeks, and dry raspy cough he cough definitely blame on the young rapscallions he tried to beat knowledge into semester after semester after dreary lifesucking semester.

Once he had beautiful blond curls of hair. Many had considered him the Casanova of the mathematics, a shining star, debonair, who could spin a proof of such beauty, an unassailable web of logic. People would weep, weep for his proofs. Now it was he who weeped, for his sorry state of affairs that his life had become. As the bus departed, the sight of the high school he'd been teaching remedial English eclipsed the horizon, as it had done to all his hopes and dreams. While answering questions on English in pidgin, his inductive and deductive abilities had withered to nil from lack of use.

Equally frustrating, the mystery of his imprisonment here at the high school continued to boggle him to this day. It was inconceivable. He'd earned both a bachelors in Math and Physics. He could integrate, derive, and plot the paths of atoms to planetoids. Yet he received no response to his many applications toward graduate school. None whatsoever. Thus, under the burden of his burgeoning college dept, he had to accept the teaching position, far outside his field, just so he could survive. Had he known what it would cost him, he'd rather have become a beggar, or a rock star. Yeah, a rock star... solving equations while on tour.

Great licks of flame would curl up from behind the stage. Dust would fly as he'd rip tunes and shred chalk with his custom guitar and chalk holder. At the end of each show there'd be another earth-shattering proof to accompany the crescendo of the band. With each show the stakes would raise, the secrets of the universe unraveled. Women would throw panties onto the stage and beg him to write proofs on their nubile naked bodies.

Suddenly realizing he'd been fantasizing far too long in front of the school, John quickly dodged a few of his students by taking a nosedive into the bushes. This bought a few moments of peace at the cost of the cleanliness of his clothing. His pride had long since been lost, so no loss there. Sneaking over to a window, he hazarded a glance inside, and sighed with relief to find an empty classroom. With one great lunge, he was inside and on the floor. Slinking along the walls, avoiding windows, John quickly passed through the adjoining classroom, and finally to his office.

To call it an office, John realized, was a gross exaggeration. It'd been a closet for the Janitor, second class. However, the janitor had been promoted and John had acquired the space. He'd lived in self-storage units larger than this. A chink of missing mortar in the wall afforded a waning glimmer of light to penetrate the concrete box. He called this his window.

A ring sounded somewhere beneath a pile of exams and ungraded essays somewhere in the vicinity of his desk. Tracing the cord, he pulled the phone like a fish he'd caught and shouted triumphantly, "Just a minute!" toward the receiver dangling below. With flare, he tossed the whole phone into the air, catching the receiver and letting the receiver crash onto the desk, spilling coffee over most of the exams. He ignored the spill, as perhaps the most important thing to happen to him in two years had happened. His phone rang! "What can I do ya for?" he asked expectantly, hoping the caller was young, rich, and female.

"Is that any wya to greet your old mentor?" Sir Henry responded.

"Mentor? You old hack, I taught you everything I knew!" John snorted.

"Oh did you now? Yet the university chose me for the professorship instead of you? Still teaching remedial delinquents to grunt are we?" Henry chuckled. Before John could reply with what would no doubt be something not for public ears, Henry continued, "But I didn't call to open old wounds, nor to make you lick them." He paused to savor the imagery.

"Look, I don't have time for this. I've got a busy social agenda, lots of dates tonight" John lied as he eyed the stack of ungraded papers that threated to tip off the desk and into the rubbage bin.

"Yes, I'm sure," Henry snorted sarcastically, "but I thought you might enjoy flexing your deductive powers once more. I've got a job for you for which you are uniquely qualified."

"Oh really," John responded, his spirits lifting with the promise of money and math. "Tell me more!"