Jimmy returned from the last of his errands and let himself into HQ. Working all the locks had become almost automatic by now. He especially enjoyed opening the latest addition to the lock collection, a cool new electronic gadget that used a secret code. He was getting really smooth at operating that one; he got it right on the third try, hardly even needing to glance at the numbers he'd inked on his hand.

As he entered, he noticed a small piece of paper lying on the floor. Strange. He thought he'd straightened everything up. He was sure he hadn't left anything on the floor, and he thought he'd put all the loose papers on the desks neatly in folders or paper-clipped together. Oh well. He scooped it up and tossed it in the "to shred" bin, barely glancing at it to make sure it had no important information on it.

He was looking forward to the guys getting back tonight. Meanwhile, though, he might as well make the most of his last day of having the place to himself. No matter how close he felt to his buddies, he still didn't feel comfortable doing stuff like this when they might hear him. He stripped to his boxers, and hunted around until he had everything he needed to have a little fun: a cold beer at the ready, for afterward; an old vinyl record with a good beat; his favorite shirt, which he put on and left mostly unbuttoned; and finally, his shades. Cranking the volume all the way up -- the guys had installed really great speakers, which they rarely used, almost as if the music was beside the point once the fun of setting up the sound system was over -- he started with "Bad to the Bone," his favorite song for honing his skills on the air guitar. Breathing hard as the track ended, for a minute he thought he heard someone clearing his throat. He didn't remember that being on the CD. Must be his imagination. He played two more tracks, imagining an audience out there in the office. He couldn't see in the dimness with his sunglasses, and once he could almost believe he saw a shadow moving out there. By the end of the song there was a sheen of sweat on his chest and his muscles were getting sore from the contortions. Man, was he getting out of shape! He peeled the sweaty shirt off his back and grabbed the cold beer. It only tasted this good right after a good workout, whether athletic or musical.

Finally, he headed for the shower, stopping on the way to toss his shirt and boxers into the laundry pile. As he was able to step into the shower, he thought he caught a glimpse of a man in the mirror. Not his own reflection; he was looking at the mirror at an angle, and anyway the man had been dressed in dark clothing, so it couldn't have been him. He glanced over his shoulder, didn't see anyone, shrugged, and stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in fresh clothes, he was doing some last-minute filing, wanting HQ to be as neat and orderly as possible to surprise the guys when he came back. He just trying to make up his mind whether a folder labeled "In Progress" belonged under "I" or under "P" when he distinctly heard a man clear his throat impatiently behind him. He glanced back; there was indeed a guy standing behind him.

"I'll be with you in just a sec, sir," he said. Quickly coming to a decision, he decided that "In" was such a little word that it couldn't possibly count. He slid open the "PQR" drawer, which made a quiet click, and filed it in front of "Project Blue Book." Then he frowned, noting that someone had moved the big box-bottomed file on "Elvis" out of the "E" drawer. As he was wondering if he should fix that, he heard a sigh and a rustle behind him, which reminded him he was keeping someone waiting.

He turned to find a strikingly handsome man about his own age staring at him. He was just withdrawing his hand from his leather jacket, as though he'd put something away.

"What can I do for you?" The stranger was staring at him with a mixture of annoyance and amazement, so he added, "Sorry for keeping you waiting. My, um, partners will be back in a few hours. Is it something I can help you with?"

"I think so." He spoke in a deep, oddly tense voice, just above a whisper.

"How'd you get in here, by the way?" He slapped his forehead. "Oh, man, did I forget to lock the door again? The guys are gonna kill me! Please don't tell them, okay?"

The guy look insulted. "No," he growled. "The door was--" Then he seemed to change his mind about something, and smiled at Jimmy. "Tell you what," he said in a more normal tone of voice. "You don't tell them that I barged in without knocking, and I won't tell them you left the door unlocked."

"Thanks, buddy. It's deal." Jimmy squeezed the stranger's arm, just above the elbow. He was startled when he felt hard plastic under the leather sleeve, but quickly realized the guy must have a prosthetic arm. "Oops, sorry." He squeezed his other arm, and felt firm flesh and muscles. That was better. He grinned and patted the arm.

"That's it? No disgust? No pity?"

"So you lost an arm. Bummer. Are you used to people freaking out over it or something?"

"Well, some people do." Then he added shyly, "But the people who, uh, have the strongest feelings about me seem to treat me exactly the way they did before I lost it."

"And I'll bet that's just how you want it. That's how most of my blind buddies feel, anyway. You're just as good a person as you were before."

"Your blind buddies..."

"From back on Long Island. I organized a football team for blind guys. Sonar, balls that beeped..." He babbled on happily for a few minutes, waxing enthusiastic about two of his favorite subjects, technology and football, and almost getting lost in the happy memories. He really missed his team, but right after losing them he'd gained something he'd been looking for all his life.

Finally the guy interrupted him. "Actually, I know all about that. That's why I came to you. You're Jimmy Bond, right?"

"You're here to talk to me?" Jimmy was used to people coming to the Lone Gunmen for help, and he was lucky if he even got included as one of them in anyone's mind. He'd finally come to understand what it must feel like for guys who got picked last for the football team in school. "I figured it had something to do with the paper. Oh... I see! You want information about getting involved in sports? Finding a team that'll take you?" He frowned in concentration, trying to think of something helpful. "I hate to say it, but as far as I know--"

"Actually, it's not for me. See, I know of a place that has dozens and dozens of guys who've all had an arm amputated. There was an industrial accident a few years ago, right next to a high school -- covered up by the government, of course."

"Oh, yeah, you'd be surprised at how often that happens," Jimmy assured him, proud of his worldly knowledge. "So... these are all young guys, probably still in good shape?"

"They're all around eighteen now, in their senior year. All in really fine shape. And some of them are a lot taller than me."

"Hey! They'd be naturals for basketball!"

"Great idea! I'd been thinking baseball."

"Well, maybe baseball would work. I'd have to give it some thought."

"No, no, basketball sounds like an even better idea."

"And the nice thing is, it doesn't take a lot of investment in equipment. I'm kinda broke right now--"

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to pay for any of it!"

"You don't have some big anonymous sponsor, do you? Because if I were you, I'd check them out first," he advised. "I almost got burned real bad--"

"No, it's just me. I saved up some money, and I've got disability payments. I can't pay you, but I can cover your travel expenses. And I can certainly spring for a basketball or two. We can do without uniforms. We can play in the school gym, or a park if we had to."

"Sounds like you've got it all thought out. When is all this gonna happen?"

"Right away would be good. There isn't much of summer vacation left. But we'd only need you fulltime for a few days to get the ball rolling and give them a pep talk. You can train me to take over from you as coach. Unless this is a bad time?"

"Things are pretty slow right now, as far as I know. But let me check with the guys and see if they can spare me for a few days. I can't just leave town without asking them."

"Why? Are they paying you a salary?"

"No," Jimmy said with a smile, "But I've kinda got a commitment to them."

"What kind? A legal commitment?"

"No, nothing like that. We're just a team, that's all. They'll be back sometime tonight. I can ask 'em then."

"Oh. I was counting on heading back this afternoon. I'm still checked into a motel room a couple of hours from here, and I've still got all my stuff there. In fact, I'd really like to get going before the traffic gets heavy. Is there any chance I could get you to come with me right away? Like in the next hour?"

"Well, they've all got cell phones. If they don't mind, I guess I could go right away." Lately he was getting used to packing up on short notice and driving all around the country. He went to the wall phone.

"Wait! Why don't you just write--"

"Damn. No dial tone." He held down the button in case it had been left off the hook, but that didn't help. "They must be out of cell phone range."

"Uh, yeah. Right. Your friends must go to a lot of areas with no coverage."

"They sure do! One time they were at the bottom of this military silo..."

"Oh, yeah, tell me about it! The coverage is terrible there! Just when you need it most! I hate that."

Jimmy realized the guy must be teasing him, and smiled sheepishly. Then he turned serious. "Look, I really want to help you, but I have to wait 'til I can reach the guys. Can you give me your number and I'll call you tonight? Maybe I can join you at that motel."

The guy hung his head. "I understand," he said, sounding miserable. "You're letting me down easy. You're not going to help us, are you?"

"No, really, that's not it." Jimmy put his hand on his shoulder. "I just can't leave right away, without asking my partners and telling them where I'm going."

"I know when I'm being turned down. It's happened often enough. Maybe I should give up on this whole idea. It was a lost cause from the beginning. Poor kids."

"No, don't give up! I swear I'll help you as soon as I can get away."

"School's just starting up. This is the right time to get them interested in something new. They'll be picking colleges soon. I was hoping we could get them hooked on this idea soon enough that they'll all decide to go to the same college, so they can stay together as a team."

"You know what? You don't even need me. You can do this all on your own. You've got the drive!" Jimmy squeezed the guy's good arm again.

"They don't believe me when I say they can do it. They're afraid to try. They're so self-conscious about their amputated arms that they don't want to uncover them even in front of each other."

"In the locker room?"

"Right. And basketball? Tank tops? I'll never convince them."

"Sure you can. What's the big deal?"

"I wouldn't even feel comfortable, myself, in a tank top. How can I convince the kids?"

"Do people really react that badly?"

"I don't know. I've never shown anyone my stump."

"Never? So you haven't..." That must put a real crimp in the poor guy's love life. "C'mon, how bad can it be?"

"Easy for you to say."

"Well, let me see."

"What?"

"You're gonna be changing out of your street clothes in the gym too, right? Even as assistant coach. There's no point in asking me to be your coach if you're gonna be too shy to take your shirt off in front of me."

The guy looked trapped. "All right," he finally said. He unzipped his leather jacket. "But don't watch, okay? It makes me nervous."

Jimmy turned his back and walked into the kitchen area. "Want a beer?" he called without looking back.

"Um... No thanks. Give me a few minutes. It takes me a lot longer to undress than when I had two arms."

"Take your time." Jimmy heard rustling sounds and lots of sounds of Velcro ripping. He heard a thunk, like a long plastic object being set down. The prosthetic arm, probably. Then a more a metallic-sounding thump. The arm again, or maybe the guy had a cell phone hidden under his jacket, like almost everyone else these days.

After making sure he was ready, Jimmy came back. He found the guy standing there nervously, bare to the waist, his chest gleaming with sweat. "Hey!" he said, liking what he saw "Are your boys all in as good shape as you are?"

"Pretty gross, isn't it," the guy asked, waving his stump.

"Oh, that? I wouldn't worry about it." His gaze returned to the guy's torso. He obviously kept very active.

"You don't think people will freak out?" He looked like he was feeling exposed and vulnerable. He obviously wasn't used to this. He was breathing a little hard, and when Jimmy stepped close to him his eyes flicked briefly to his carefully arranged pile of clothing as if he wanted to dive for it. It wasn't unusual for guys to be edgy when Jimmy towered over them, but Jimmy thought he'd already established a bond of trust with this fellow. Must be the arm issue. This would be a new challenge for Jimmy. The guys on his blind football team had been totally unselfconscious in the locker room, kind of a refreshing change, with all the unwritten rules about when and where and how long you could look at somebody's body suspended.

He tried to reassure him. "Who's gonna see them while they're practicing, except each other? And by the time you've got a bunch of fans filling the bleachers, we'll think of some kind of custom uniform that will cover it, if they're still worried about it by then. One step at a time."

"Could you come with me and tell them that? I think it would really help them get over their fears, if we lined them all up like this. Sort of like inspecting the new troops. When they see that you're not horrified, it will give them the confidence they need."

Jimmy pictured a long row of shirtless young athletes lined up for his inspection. He felt a rising excitement. "This could really work!" he said, squeezing both of the man's bare shoulders. Man, but the guy was tense! "Relax," he said, kneading gently. "We're gonna be working together."

"I'm just worried about the traffic. It's getting late."

"Let's get going, then!" He slapped him on the chest. "This is gonna be great!"

The guy looked enormously relieved to be able to go back over to his pile of clothing, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry to put them on or even pick up the first piece of clothing while Jimmy was watching. Some guys had strange kinds of modesty, but Jimmy had been in locker rooms with so many hundreds of guys over the years -- and now in that prison with Byers, to top it off -- that nothing surprised him anymore.

It didn't take Jimmy long to pack. The guys had taught him to always keep an overnight bag packed and ready to go. He tried the wall phone once more, but was still unable to reach the guys' cell phones or even get a dial tone.

"I hate to go without telling my friends."

"Leave them a note. Tell them everything I've told you. I'm sure they'll understand."