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theories were generally wrong. Behind his back his fellow officers referred to him as Sherlock Holmes on a very bad hair day. Fred felt if personalities were colors, Paul would be colored some shade of bland gray.
    Fred thought of Paul as “the disconfirmation one,” a term used by social scientists when predictions do not occur as stated, and new creeds spring from the ashes of non-events. Fred remembered a recent cartoon in a local newspaper that showed a man holding a poster proclaiming, “THE WORLD WILL END TUESDAY.” Over time, the day of the week had been crossed out, and the next day added. Hope springs eternal, and there were at least five crossed-out lines above the current line, which affirmed anew the conviction in the steadfast mind of its author. To Fred, Paul was like the street corner prophet, often wrong but never, never in doubt.  
    Fred realized he would not have an easy job of supervising those who just two days earlier had been his senior peers. He knew instinctively that Paul would rapidly become his most difficult staff problem.
    Offsetting Paul was Jim Hebert, highly competent and, fortunately, Fred’s best friend in the department. Although Jim also had competed aggressively for the lieutenant’s badge, he openly and without apparent qualification, supported Fred’s promotion. They had been friends since the academy and had remained so ever since. In fact, Jim was the only fellow officer to openly congratulate Fred on the day of his promotion. All the non-selects issued a half hearted round of applause upon the chief’s announcement.
    Today, for the first time in his career, Paul had not even showed up for work. His wife had called in for him reporting that he was sick, but assured the voice on the other end of the line that he would be sure to return to work the next day.
    As Fred continued his walk down Main Street, he noticed a man directly across the street leaning against the front pillar of Phil’s Pharmacy. Fred noted that the man closely resembled Paul but wasn’t sure, as his vision was impaired by the blinding rays of the sinking December sun. Fred realized whoever it was seemed to have been staring directly at him, observing his every movement.
    In an instant Fred’s reaction changed from curiosity to one of physical survival. As he was shielding his eyes to gain a better look at the man, he was struck by a severe crushing blow from his right. His back hit the cement sidewalk violently; immediately thereafter he heard a cracking sound as an unbelievably heavy foot settled firmly on his chest. Excruciating pain traversed his body, as blackness started to blanket his consciousness. His final clear vision was that of the man across the street, who now appeared to be smiling. The last sound he heard was that of Judy screaming.

 
    Chapter 9
     
    Fred gradually emerged from unconsciousness with a searing pain that radiated throughout his body. As he desperately attempted to regain focus, he saw the blurred image of a burly man, weighing easily over 300 pounds, running down Main Street at a pace that seemed to defy the laws of physics. As Fred started to get up, waves of dizziness and severe pain overtook him. He rested briefly in a standing position, hands on knees, waiting for his stupor to clear. Fortunately, he thought, I am still alive—at least partially.
    As his head started to clear he was jarred by a new force. Fred went down again, but this time with a fraction of the trauma he experienced seconds before. From his prone position he saw a smaller man also running at a brisk pace, moving away in the same direction as the burly assailant whom he had been unfortunate enough to encounter a few seconds earlier. “What the hell!” Fred cried out in total frustration to no one in particular.
    Judy was immediately at his side asking, “Should I call the police?”
      Still unable to inflate his lungs adequately, Fred could only whisper, “Judy, I am the police.”
    “Oh, yes, I