Shoulder

Carson watches Misty's car until it disappears out of sight. Slowly he makes his way back inside, finding Ashlyn back in her room, seething. Confident she wouldn't shoot him, he tosses the gun on the bed with disgust. "Sorry you didn't get out of me what the big boss wanted," he states with sarcasm. "I'd say better luck next time, but I think you know there's not gonna be a next time."

He locks eyes with her for just a moment, conveying his anger with her. Grabbing his backpack, he sidles past her and out the door without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

"Carson, you fool!"

He ignores the shout and keeps on going. His mind was in turmoil. His heart ached. He had no idea where to go or what to do...


Wyatt paces the floor, looking at his watch again. He'd tried Carson's cell phone, he'd tried Carson's landline, he'd gone back out to the hotel, and still there was nothing. He'd looked all over town, and had come up empty-handed. He'd seen Misty and gleaned a little bit of information as to what had happened the evening before, and it worried him. He wanted to trust Carson, but a disappearing act didn't do much for confidence.

Finally giving in, Wyatt grabs his eyes. He'd go to Carson's apartment himself and break in if he had to, in order to find some clue...some trace.

An hour later, he's back, heading straight for Nate's desk. "Nate...I was just at Carson's place." His face is tight with tension. "Looked like most of his clothes were gone, and these were on his kitchen table." He holds out Carson's left-behind cell phone, along with two pieces of paper. One is a handwritten note with one word: Walkabout. The other is a printout of an electronic plane ticket to Australia.

"That's it," Wyatt says lamely. "No contact, no address, no phone number, no nothing. He's just...gone. I don't know what to do."


"Con, look out!"

Con doesn't hear the warning, and suddenly feels the blow to his neck and shoulder as a heavy two-by-four comes crashing down from the high rack. Stumbling forward, Con winces and puts a hand to his shoulder. "Dang it," he mutters.

"You okay?" Phil comes jogging up to him.

"It's nothing," Con fibs. "Give me a minute." He tries rotating his arm, but it's too painful, so he gives up. "Just help me get these palates stacked where they belong and at least Leonard can't complain about that."

Phil looks at him with concern. "How about you take an early lunch. I'll cover for you."

"I can't..."

Phil shakes his head. "Con, go get that shoulder taken care of, alright? I'll report it and when you get back this afternoon we'll get the rest of this cleaned up."

Sighing, Con relents and heads out from work. Once back to his apartment, he finds himself on his couch with an icepack on his shoulder as it throbs. It had gotten an awfully good whack, and if he didn't recoup fast, this would hurt his work, and he couldn't have that happen. Swallowing a couple pain killers, he looks at the clock. He had an hour before he was supposed to meet Jamie for lunch.