Returning from her errands, Uriel found the young witch, warlock and ghost huddled around the kitchen table with LA and Orange county maps spread in general disarray and topped by a thick street locator map book.

"Somewhere," Jeanne was gesturing, "about here."

"Hey," Danny exclaimed, "tha's my hood. Right?"

"You got it," Jeremy confirmed, reaching for the street locator and searching for the local map.

"A high room," Jeanne continued. "Uh, east side, I think. Stacked in a closet. Several people in the room. A bunch of long tables." She started giggling. "You wouldn't believe it. A bunch of people sitting around with no clothes on, filling little bags."

"Sounds like you're describing a drug packaging operation," Uriel offered. "Should I ask what you three are doing?"

"Probably not," Jeremy answered. "Warlocks have their secrets, too."

"Hey, ghosts are secrets, right?" Danny vanished softly.

Jeanne was busily writing notes on yellow post-its. "We'll tell you later," she suggested. "But we wanted to work this out ourselves, first."

"Say, did you find your chemist friend?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes," Uriel confirmed, smiling. "And I gave her the baggies and your note. Well, since you're busy, I'll just hobble down to the shop. I think I'll call Jack and ask him for another set of ID. It's time I changed my name again."

"Huh?"

"Why?"

"How does 'Francine Stein, PhD' strike you?" the older witch asked, reflectively. "Don't you think it suits me?"

She exited, smiling, followed by double moans ...

* * *

"Good news," Jeremy reported. "Talked to Dad - he'll be flying in Monday. Uh, I guess that will get me out off your hands," he addressed the older witch. "I mean, I thought you might like to have your place back ..."

"Well, I'm glad your father's coming in, Jeremy. For your sake ... but, as for being on my hands, I thought we were friends?"

"Uh, sure, but ..."

"But nothing. If you want to set up someplace of your own, fine - you'll have a generous allowance coming in for the next twenty years. However, I assume I'll be seeing you frequently, after all - you still owe me lessons, right?"

"Uh, sure, of course but ... I just didn't want to be in the way. Okay, fine then. Uh, 'cuse me, Danny and Jeanne are waiting for me."

* * *

"Uriel? ... Katy, here. Hmm, tell your friend he's right. One sample's the real thing, high grade, barely stepped on ... I hope he didn't expect it back 'cause I've flushed it. Junk like that scares me. ... Oh, the other one's sugar. Just plain, flaked sugar. And I've got the sample your friend asked for. Come by and pick it up whenever. ... Okay, long as you're sure it's legit. ... I'm serious. I've seen too many fools ruin themselves and had too many fools asking me to cook up something special for them. At least this request was - well, reasonable is hardly the appropriate word - but harmless enough. ... Oh, I though you knew? ... Oh, well, I've been asked for everything from acid to speed but this is the first time I've been asked for pharmaceutical-grade sugar. ... Sure, you can buy me a drink - but I'd still like a story to go with it."

* * *

"You kids still want to go to Disneyland?" Uriel offered, pushing the pizza box out of the way. "Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Uh, couldn't it wait for a few days?" Danny responded. "We've kinda got plans..."

"Sure, whenever you like," Uriel sounded a bit surprised. "I thought you'd be anxious to go."

"Uh, 's not that," Danny tried to explain. "But ... it's important."

"And I shouldn't ask?" she guessed.

"Nope," Jeremy stepped in. "This one's Danny's and, like he says, it's important. Er, you said you'd pick up a package from your friend?"

"In a rush?"

"Well ... it would help."

"Okay, Francine Stein at your service, sir," she rose from the table. "You can clean up the leftovers."

* * *

"Ok," Jeremy looked at Jeanne's list. "These are the big ones. The only problem is - how well are they guarded? If I can get in ... even for a few minutes ... fine. But changing isn't as fast as simply grabbing and skipping."

"Relax, Jeremy," Jeanne calmed him. "I've got safe time slots written down for each one and Danny'll be checking before you hit each and watching while you're there. What could be simpler?"

"That's what's worrying me," Jeremy admitted. "What are we forgetting?"

"They'll never know we was there," Danny insisted.

"They'd never know you were there anyway," Jeanne reminded him. "Jeremy doesn't have the same advantage."

"Well, we've got a couple of hours anyway. What do you want to do?" Jeremy ran his fingers through his hair.

"I," Jeanne announced, "am going to practice." She frowned for a moment, then smiled when a hole appeared in the empty pizza box.

"Not bad," Danny commented. "But you didn' take out all of t' dot. See, you left some white?"

* * *

"Father Dominguez." The voice from the other side of the confessional was startlingly familiar.

"Jer ... good evening, my son." Father Dominguez, gestured with his cupped hand over one ear and a finger across his lips.

"Doesn't matter, Father," Jeremy grinned. "Just wanted to let you know that everything's okay. Danny, too."

"I'm glad to hear that but," Father Dominguez kept his voice low, "there may be watchers still."

"Mai pen rai - it doesn't matter. Watch." Jeremy vanished from the closed booth. Then, a moment later, reappeared. "See, it's easy ... long as Danny's spotting for me."

"You've advanced since we talked." the priest murmured. "I wish we could discuss this at leisure."

"Hope we can," Jeremy offered. "And soon. I'd really like that ... I've got a lot of questions."

"Whatever I can answer," Father Dominguez responded.

"Not right now though. What ... ? Father, Danny says we'd better make this short. But we'd like your blessing, Father."

Father Dominguez didn't waste time on trivialities. "Any particular reason?"

"We've got something to do," Jeremy related. "It might be dangerous."

"Very well. Benedicte Nomine, Dominus, Patria, Fillus et Spiritus Sanctus ...," he began, concluding a moment later, "... Amen.... Vaya con Dios. God be with you, my son."

"Thank you, Father ... Oh, see what you can get on the man who's forcing his way in. Sorry, I jammed the side door hinges. Hope he doesn't do too much damage. Talk to you later. Bye."

"I'll say a mass," Father Dominguez addressed the empty confessional. "For success in perilous undertakings."

* * *

Several hours later, Jeremy extracted a pepsi from the refrigerator. "I don't know what it is," he addressed his partners. "But I'm thirsty as ... as a desert."

"Maybe it's fear," Jeanne suggested. "Why don't you take a rest. We don't have to do all of these tonight."

"We set it up this way," Jeremy insisted. "I'd like to finish. When's my next?"

"You've got twenty minutes," she glanced at her watch. "Sure you wouldn't rather take a break?"

"For twenty minutes," he agreed. "Danny? How's it lookin'?"

"Still a couple boys mucking 'round," Danny reported. "Jeremy, uh, I got a question?"

"About what?"

"Guess I'll tell y' when you get here." Danny fell silent.

"Now what's that all about?" Jeanne asked.

"Don't know," Jeremy answered. "Boy talk?"

"Sure ..." She threw a wad of paper at him ... which vanished before it hit.

* * *

"Okay," Jeremy kept his voice low. "What's the problem."

"Look ov'r there," Danny suggested.

"I can't," Jeremy reminded him. "It's dark in here."

"Oh, I f'got. Hey, bro, there's a whole shit load a guns in boxes. Uzi's an' automatics an' tons a ammo, too."

"Not good, Danny. Damn. Ask Jeanne how much time I've got."

"She says this 'un's short. Not much, ten minutes left."

"Damn! Okay, first the junk."

"Over here," Danny guided him.

An instant later, working by touch, the bulky packages began to vanish in ones and two as the boy's figure rapidly flickered in and out of the darkness.

"Now the guns," Jeremy gasped, as if out of breath.

"No time, bro," the ghost relayed. "Jeanne says get out o' here."

"Can't leave 'em," the boy panted. "I'm going to try to trash all of them and get out of here in a hurry. How's my time?"

"Som'one coming," Danny replied. "Split."

"In a sec!" Jeremy stood by the crated weaponry, concentrating.

A heavy smoke boiled out of the crates and, a scant instant later, burst into flames but Jeremy was already gone.

* * *

"I don't know," Jeremy confessed. "Maybe it is too much - like that one. I didn't have time to change the stuff - not with those crates of guns there. too. And ... Danny? Can you check what's happening?" The boy reached for the pepsi can and sent it spinning across the table. Jeremy simply watched his hand shaking like an aspen leaf in a high wind.

A long moment later, he burst into tears.

When Uriel entered, the younger witch was crouched on the floor, holding the crying warlock in her arms and stroking his head, muttering comforting if nonsensical words. Danny was hovering over the pair, silent. The spilled pepsi can was still emptying itself on the floor.

Uriel took in the scene at a glance, crossed to the sink to fill a kettle, placed it on the stove, extracted a jar of instant coffee, sugar and a tall bottle of peppermint schnapps. By the time cream had been fetched from the fridge, the water was boiling and, quickly enough, a hot, sweet and well-laced cup was on the table for each of the mortal youngsters.

"I'm not sure what to offer you," Uriel addressed Danny. "How do I serve spirits to a spirit?"

"Don' know," Danny answered. "Have one y'self an' maybe I can taste it?"

Jeremy had quit sobbing but his face seemed unsure whether to laugh at Uriel's dilemma or resume the water works.

"You could mop up the spill," Uriel suggested. "As for you, Danny, I guess I'll give it a try. You prefer schnapps or brandy?"

"What's schnapps?" Danny queried. "Sounds like a dog barking."

"You tell me," she poured a generous measure in her own cup. "Well," she raised the mug, "here's to something." She took a healthy sip, then raised an eyebrow. "Wow, I hope its worth it." Another sip. "Well, want to tell Auntie Stein about it?"

"Not if we have to call you that!" Jeremy choked, took a gulp of the coffee, and choked again. "Danny?" he gasped. "Did you ..."

"Ma'be you' better have t' coffee," Danny suggested. "Before I tell y'."

"Maybe you'd better tell me," Jeremy replied with a note of steel in his voice but took another slug of coffee anyway.

"T' burnin' man showed up," Danny reported. "T' place was already in an uproar ... an' I think ma'be burnin' too ... but t' burnin' man appear'd in t' middle a ever'thin' an' ... it's a real mess."

"Oh, lord," Jeremy's face was jumping through changes like a cat on a hot griddle, threatening to burst into tears again at any moment. "What ... what about the ... the people inside?" he choked out.

"Looks like they runnin' like hell," Danny responded.

"I've got to ..." Jeremy stood. "I can't ... I'm not ... Help me move, Danny. I've got to help."

"You can't," Danny replied. "Place ain't there no more. F'get it."

* * *

"Father Dominguez?" The caller was a woman ... or a girl.

"Yes?"

"This is a friend of Danny's. Can you come somewhere right away?"

"Uh, not safely," the priest judged.

"If you'll hang the phone up right now and walk over to the Seven-Eleven, someone will pick you up. You won't be followed. Your shadow's taking a break right now. Please. Trust me. It's important."

"I'll be there." the priest replaced the handset. Then, pausing only to gather his 'emergency' kit, he walked out the door.

* * *

Father Dominguez listened patiently to both the boy's and to the ghost's report - as relayed by Jeanne and Uriel - without offering comment.

When both had finished, he repeated the blessing he'd offered earlier before continuing. "If either of you have erred," he began, "that is human ... and ghosts, Danny, have no special dispensation against making errors. Even angels can err. But an error is not a sin. If either of you - any of you - are guilty of sin, it is the sin of pride ... of trying to do more than you can accomplish. But, for it to be a sin, we would have to look at why."

"I believe," the Priest paused, addressing Uriel, "I could use some of the coffee?" Returned to his younger audience, he continued. "Still, the question of sin isn't the important question right now. I understand what you were doing ... and trying to do ... and your intentions were laudable. The fact is that you made mistakes - that's easy to figure but, exactly what and why isn't so easy to answer."

"Look, what I'm trying to tell you it that you can't take all the blame for everything that happens. Actually, I'm glad to see that you can make mistakes. If you could foresee everything, then I would really worry about you."

"But ..." Jeremy protested. "People could have died ... May have died ... The fire ..."

"The fire was accidental," the priest reminded him. "How many people would have been killed by the guns? Innocent people? And how many people would have been killed by the junk you disposed of? Have you thought about that?"

"But ... it all seemed so simple ..."

"You want simple? Only in stories, my son. Real life isn't that easy. In real life, things are messy and there aren't any easy answers ... But part of it is even simpler - you can only do so much. You can't do everything. And, until you learn better what you - and Danny - and your friend here? - can do ... maybe you'd better take things a little easier. Would you consider that?"

"Uh ... I guess so ... but ... we really wanted ..."

"To play heroes? To save the world? Things are never quite that easy, are they?"

* * *

"Uriel Geller?" the priest shook the older witch's hand. "Ah, I suppose I shouldn't ask."

"Perceptive, Padre," she grinned. "Although I'm considering changing to Francine Stein."

"Yes," he returned the grin. "I can see the temptation. Ah, I am under an obligation to Jeremy and Danny - concerning what I can discuss but, under the circumstances, it would seem that you are privy to their concerns. If it is not an intrusion, if there is anything you could tell me that would help?"

Jeremy - at Jeanne's insistence and Uriel's agreement - had finished his coffee and gone up one flight to bed. He had done quite enough for that evening and, if it seemed wise, they could plan further activities later.

Jeanne - herself a good bit more shook than she wanted to admit - had called home to tell her parents that she was spending the night at Uriel's. Since her parents knew and approved of - without entirely understanding - the book dealer, her mother agreed without question. She had then taken herself to bed, easily as exhausted as Jeremy.

"I think you know as much as I do right now," Uriel was saying. "But I am very grateful for your attendance. Hmm, from what Jeanne's told me, you are under surveillance of some sort? Have you been ..." She searched for the right word.

"Inconvenienced? Not entirely," Father Dominguez replied. "But I do have some information which Jeremy may find useful. And a few suggestions. Er, perhaps, Uriel, I should offer you the same assurances I've already extended to Danny and Jeremy." He repeated essentially the same pledge of privacy which he had made to the two boys a few days before.

"Thank you, Padre," Uriel refreshed his coffee. "But I had already assumed your discretion when Danny asked Jeanne to call you. Still, there are problems I'm not sure how to settle."

"I believe," Father Dominguez suggested, "that I might have a few ideas which could help. For tonight, however, I believe I will spend the evening hours with a friend at Sacred Heart." He wrote a number on a notepad. "Ask Jeremy to call me here, tomorrow - he knows the password - and I'll come over and we can talk further."

He rose, gathering himself to go, then added. "I believe that I can persuade a friend to cover Santa Maria's for me for a few days. It might help if I simply drop out of sight for a little while so I can be available ... ah, for other concerns. Besides, if you will pardon my confession, I am quite fascinated ... and quite awed as well."

"I feel that way myself, Padre," Uriel agreed. "Let me give you a lift." She gathered her purse and followed him out.

* * *

"The call came from a pay phone outside a Seven-Eleven convenience store ... No, nobody remembers anything. ... Look, damn it, give me an extra hundred men and I'll have an extra hundred places for them ... Hell no, I don't know how the caller knew when he took a break ... Look, you drink cold coffee and eat hot dogs from a convenience store and you'll get the trots occasionally too ... So, we'll pick him up when he comes back. ... No, now he's a primary target, I plan to have two floaters and one mobile on him at all times. He won't slip away that easily again."

* * *

Saturday morning began bright and chilly. When Uriel awoke, she looked in on her two young charges and found both already up and gone. On a hunch - or, perhaps, it wasn't - she stepped out the backdoor and spotted the trio high in the cottonwood.

"A good place for them," she told herself. "A good tree and a good view can do much to heal the soul. So, old woman," she chided herself, "now that you're finished being a slug-a-bed, maybe you can do something to help the bodies. But I still don't know what to do for the third. He must eat something. Or something."

Quickly enough, the aromas of hot coffee, frying bacon and pancakes were wafting gently on the morning air. "Danny," she called softly. "Ask those two with you how they like their eggs."

"They're arguing about sunnyside and scrambled," the ghost reported. "Uh, can we talk?"

"Of course, Danny," the witch agreed. "About what?"

"It's my fault," the ghost began. "It was my idea an' I wish we'd a gone t' Disneylan' an' he was only doin' it cause I aske' him too."

"Hey, relax." she dropped the egg, then decided that they'd be scrambled regardless. "Look, Danny, it's not your fault either. Maybe it was your idea but Jeremy and Jeanne went along with you, didn't they? Besides, I know you were listening to Father Dominguez last night. Do you remember what he said?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay. Now, Jeremy's already feeling bad enough You need to help me perk him up. And, after breakfast, I think we will."

"What?" the ghost asked.

"Go to Disneyland."

"Oh ... Yeah, that ought t' help."

"More than just them," she thought to herself. Then added aloud, "I wonder if Father Dominguez likes Disneyland?"

"What are you talking about?" Jeanne entered the kitchen.

"We decided on sunnyside," Jeremy followed her.

"You're getting scrambled," she told them.

"Hey, that's cool."

"Jeremy, there's a number on the pad by the phone. Father Dominguez said that you'd know the password. Why don't you call him? Ask him if he'd like to join us at Disneyland."

* * *

"Yes, I've seen the news reports and the damn video tape ... Yes, it does look like a dancing man ... From a home video tape? I've seen better fakes done by kids. ... Okay, but what's the connection between an arms dump and our target? ... What? ... Any traces. ... Just from the victim? Well it's possible, true but it doesn't make any sense. Sounds more like a raid from a rival gang that got out of hand. ... No, the priest hasn't shown up ... What do you want me to do? Put a watch on every Catholic church in greater LA? Give me a few battalions of the National Guard and maybe. ... Have you found out who's covering for our missing priest. ... From where? ... St. John Seminary ... Yeah, great lead ..."

* * *

"Buenos dias, seņor. Padre Dominguez, por favor. ... Que? ... Este el hildalgo del norte. ... Gracias."

* * *

"The Haunted House," Jeanne insisted. "Danny'll love it."

"Madre de Dios," Father Dominguez shook his head. "Taking a ghost to a haunted house? I suppose it makes sense - on the job training, so to speak - but ... Come on, let's do it."

* * *

"Sorry, the three - four - of you are welcome but I think I'm too old for a roller coaster. If you will pardon this old man, I'll wait here. Besides, I enjoy watching the crowds." Father Dominguez found a comfortable seat and relaxed.

"Make it three," Uriel agreed. "Some things are for the young but not the merely young at heart." She joined Father Dominguez.

* * *

"Is there a saint for such situation?" Uriel asked. "How they can eat like that and then head for the flume ride ... Hey, where are you going?"

"With them, of course. This one looks like fun," Father Dominguez grinned. "Oh, it's Saint Nicholas, patron saint of children ... and fools."

* * *

"Well, Padre. Perhaps you could light a candle to St. Nicholas for all of us," Uriel suggested.

"I'll do that," the priest agreed, glancing in the back seat where two of the party were, if not asleep, certainly offering an excellent imitation. "You can assure Jeremy that I'll be by tomorrow, after Mass. I have a suggestion or two," he added, "which might help resolve some small part of the problem."

* * *

Sunday's paper repeated - and amplified - the story on the fire, concentrating on the recovery of the cache of firearms and garbled reports of the burning man.

According to the newspaper at least, the heat of the fire had been so intense and so sudden that portions of the armament had been melted. In addition, the same account contained bad pictures - copied from the amateur video tape - of the burning man as well as - very garbled - eye-witness accounts of the fire, the occupants of the building and the burning figure offered by a variety of neighbors.

However, since two of the few businesses in the area which were open - and which provided the bulk of the witnesses - were bars, the majority of the observers were intoxicated ... if not before the holocaust, then certainly afterwards.

Of course, where the pictures carried by the dailies' and the television news stations were moderately restrained - as were their written or reported accounts - two of the west coast-based national tabloids were far more enthusiastic. In these journals, every bit of video had been scrutinized - and selected images enhanced - before publication while the accompanying eye-witness accounts ranged from encounters with space aliens to sacred visitations, depending on the witness's predilections and, perhaps, their state of inebriation.

Thus, if you were to believe the U.S. Inquirer - whose intelligence sources were as through as their reporting was sensationalistic - the weapons had been partially vaporized ... undoubtedly by visitors from a superior civilization wielding nuclear-powered laser rays.

Their immediate competitor, the Clarion Examiner, in keeping with long standing editorial policy, preferred the divine retribution angle.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of all of the accounts was that no-one made any mention what-so-ever of the fact that nearly a hundred and fifty keys of the finest Colombian flake cocaine - totally un-cut - were also missing.

The two most immediate witnesses - after being treated for severe smoke inhalation and less serious burns - were not available for questioning.

Of the two, one had requested political asylum. His request was declined however - with the suggestion that he'd seen Moscow on the Hudson once too often - because, while his birth place was Harlem, both New York and California were still part of the United States.

His partner, exhibiting a slightly greater degree of situational comprehension, settled for protective custody and incarceration in a high security facility.

Neither, however, had a satisfactory answer for the disappearance of a major shipment of Colombian flake ... and, most particularly, neither cared to explain this to their previous employers. Of course, their reluctance was understandable enough - when an organizations' retirement policies feature execution, mutilation and dismemberment, employee loyalty can be a very tenuous commodity.

However, after explaining - or, at least, attempting to do so - to the nondescript man, their previous employers' policies might have seemed slightly less capricious.

All of the accounts, however, contained one gem of information which Danny, Jeremy and Jeanne all found mutually satisfying ... despite everything, no-one had been killed in the conflagration.

* * *

Father Dominguez appeared at a moderate hour on Sunday morning but declined to enumerate his suggestions until the missing member of the company could join them ... which meant that Danny, impatient, vanished in search of Jeanne.

Despite Danny's impatience, however, Jeanne had her own obligations for most of the morning and through noon hour. She would, however, try to join them after Sunday dinner.

The delay, however, suited Jeremy just fine.

"Father Dominguez," he spoke hesitantly. "I know we're not at the church but, if you could spare a few minutes, I ... I need your advice ..."

"I can't offer you a confessional," the priest smiled. "But is there somewhere else you'd like to talk?"

"Top a' t' tree's a good spot," Danny suggested.

"Uh, I'm not sure Father Dominguez would ..." Jeremy began.

"I'm not sure the tree would hold him," Uriel interrupted, remembering the sight of priest, collar and black vestments riding down a giant water slide in a metal and plastic model of a tree truck.

Father Dominguez - who, of course, hadn't heard Danny's suggestion - looked puzzled for a moment before deducing at least a part of missing elements. "Perhaps the porch," he suggested. "With your permission, of course," he turned to Uriel.

"Uh, sure," Jeremy turned and led the way.

Outside, Father Dominguez crossed to the edge of the porch and looked up the tree, appraisingly. His eyes traced routes through the branches, considering possibilities. After several minutes, he turned away. "It would have been fun," he grinned. "But Uriel's right, I'm not sure if the tree could take it. Or me ... might have been a little hard on both of us."

"Sorry," Jeremy apologized. "It's a nice tree."

"And you feel something when you're up there?"

"Uh huh ... it feels peaceful ... even though I know it isn't really."

"If it's peaceful inside you, that's where it counts. Does Danny also?"

"Yeah." He paused for a moment. "You know there's a cat that likes to follow him up there?"

"I've heard that cats sensed things we miss," Father Dominguez agreed, then, a moment later, asked: "How do you feel?"

"Confused," Jeremy admitted. "I don't know what to think."

"Because you couldn't do everything you though you could?"

"Because it all seemed so simple ... before, I mean."

"There just aren't any simple answers, Jeremy. I'm sorry but that's not the way things work. You're not a simple person - you're young but not simple ... so simple answers won't satisfy you. If I can help, sure ... but I can't give you the answers. The only real answer I can give you is to study and learn ... and maybe you'll be able to find some answers."

"Yeah, I was afraid it was like that."

"You already knew it was like that, didn't you?"

"I guess so," Jeremy admitted.

The priest turned back to the tree, enjoying the play of light through the yellow leaves, giving the young warlock a chance to collect his thoughts.

It was several minutes before Jeremy spoke again. "I .. I didn't get a chance to tell you about everything that happened.," he began. "I told you the fire ... started when I tried to ... to get rid of the guns and stuff?"

"Yes, you did."

"But ... the cocaine ... I didn't have time to change it so I took it somewhere. There's an awful lot of it ... and ... and I don't know what to do with it."

"Is it going to harm anyone where it is?"

"No."

"Is it safe?"

"I think so ... I put it in the old root cellar I told you about. The one dug in the mountain side behind our house."

"Why not just ... dispose of it?"

"I'm not sure ... I want to but ... I keep thinking there's some reason why I shouldn't."

"Maybe there is," Father Dominguez considered. "Maybe there is. I have a suggestion. Leave it where it is for the moment. As long as it's safe there, just leave it be. If you like, I'll take the responsibility for it."

"But ... you can't ... I mean, it's my ..."

"Your obligation? You don't have to shoulder all the burdens of the world, you know. Even Jesus had trouble doing that."

"I was going to say," Jeremy giggled. "It's my hideout and ... and it's kind of crowded. I mean, if anyone did find it they'd have to figure it was mine, right? Besides, I'm running out of room. Uh, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"If you're asking me for another place to store drugs ...," Father Dominguez began.

"Oh, no!" Jeremy interrupted. "It's not that. It's the other stuff ..."

"Uh, what stuff?" The priest raised his eyebrows.

"The money," Jeremy replied. "I couldn't leave it behind ... they'd just use it to buy more drugs, wouldn't they. But I don't know what do with it." He paused, then added wistfully, "There's an awful lot of it. Stacks and stacks."