"But you would think, that just once, they might have made an exception!" Roger exclaims once again just in case we didn't hear him the other fifteen times he said it. 

We're finishing up a very nice meal here on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, one big reunited three-fourths of a band. Or so it seems from the outside looking in.

Brian politely stabs his fork into what's left of his ratatouille, the most vegetarian thing on the menu that wasn't a salad.  "I'm not surprised, really.  I wouldn't expect them to dox their Rick, no matter how nicely one might ask them.  It just isn't done."

"Yeah," Roger sighs.  "You can't force people to talk, I guess."

Brian nods, shooting me a sideways look.  "Unfortunately."

Of course, I say nothing in reply, in fact I don't really acknowledge what they've said at all. I think I've scarcely spoken four sentences since these two virtually kidnapped me. 

Now again, to be fair, Brian and Roger have not forbidden me to go my own way- or tried to explicitly hold me back.  That would be far too obvious. Rather they are opting for a more underhanded approach.  They're more or less just waiting me out, seeing if I'll pop under my own steam. Perhaps they're hesitant about pushing for information from the media- but they have no qualms whatever about monitoring my every move, as they know I'm not going to make so much as a peep about it later on.

It's no surprise. Brian's a very insidious fellow when he wants to be. They are watching, just like they did on the plane- except much, much more closely. Anything I say or do now has the potential to give them even more clues. Even making contact with Julia is highly risky at the moment, as much as I would love to.  I couldn't even send one harmless little message to Veronica upon sitting down at this restaurant without Brian casually asking me what I was doing.

And yes, I know I could have made a break for it while we were still at the station.  Thing is, I'm much too worried that they'll follow me. Call me paranoid if you want; but it is my privilege to be paranoid, knowing what I know and having seen what I have seen. The last thing I want to so much as chance happening is for these two to discover where Julia has been raising Freddie's secret offspring all these years- and where she has been lately hiding our alleged band mate himself. All they would have to do is tail my car to New Jersey for the whole damn charade to bust wide open.

Good Lord.  It's an absolute mess, it is, I say to myself.  And it's all because you let him look at your photo gallery.  Brilliant move, John.  Just brilliant.

More than anything I want to talk to Julia, find out whether Rick is still even around.  If he really is Freddie, there's a chance he's already been thrown back home by now.  But again, I'm surrounded.  Wouldn't that be lovely, to have made all this effort, come all this way, just to be horribly delayed by these two men on the same mission as myself- but with vastly different motives- and go home empty-handed.

I've just got to find the chance to get away.  All I need is a distraction- and a ride. 

Our waiter passes us, and I call, "Checks, please," with a special emphasis on the plural "s" in "checks." 

Brian looks at me, brows raised.  "John, no, I've got-"

"No, really, it's quite all right, I can take care of my own..." I trail off, staring over the top of his curly silver-white mane.  There's a table right behind him where a younger couple is sitting down.  The woman, who is handsome and definitely of Asian descent, I don't recognize.  But she's not even what I'm focused on; it's the man who has my attention.  He's tall and broad-shouldered, with small, squinting blue eyes and thin lips. 

Hey, that's Dr. Preus, I realize idly.  How about that.  It's a small world after all. Oh, Stuart, you naughty boy.  Wait till I tell Julia I saw you with another woman.  

"You all right, John?" Roger asks.

I cough, snapping out of it.  "Yes, yes, I just- thought I saw someone I knew."

"Really?" Curious, Roger turns around, looks at Stuart and his lady friend as they each order a drink, or something.  Brian follows suit, naturally- but he stares at them much longer than Mr. Taylor does.  

"Oh, my God!"  Brian turns back to his friend.  "Roger, do you know who that is?"

Roger looks again.  "Which person?"

"The man."

"Uh- no?  Who is he?"

"That's the physicist who made so much noise with the practical 'time machine' concepts a few years back-"

"Oh, yeah, yeah!  There was some article about him I was reading the other day, some magazine, forgot which one."

Brian's mouth curves in an awe-tinged smile. "Funny, that he's in Manhattan, I always thought he was based out of the West Coast or something, wonder what he's doing around here."

"What's his name?  Prius?"

"No, no, I think it's Preus.  He's German.  Stuart Preus, yes, that's it.  Fascinating fellow."

Roger smirks, watching Brian keep glancing back at the younger scientist.  "Why don't you go say hello?"

Brian shakes his head.  "No, I don't think so."

"Why not?  You're basically his peer- aren't you, Dr. May?"

"Well, I mean," Brian laughs softly, "I doubt any sort of big-shot world-changer wants to be approached by an old fossil like me-"

Roger groans, "Oh, for God's sake, you modest-"

"No, it's not that, I just don't want to intrude on their meal like that."

"Oh, please.  Look at you!  You're half out of your seat already!"

While they bicker, I sit with my hands folded, biting my upper lip.  If ever existed a doubt in my mind that I had made a mistake in breaking with these fellows, this little exercise is only assuring me to the contrary.  Finally Roger needles Brian into getting up from his chair and going over to introduce himself as one scientist to another, while the drummer and I stay where we are and watch the scene unfold from a table away.

Brian walks up to Stuart, murmurs an "Excuse me" or something along those lines.  Before Stuart can look up from his menu, the woman gently taps his arm.  He looks up and smiles a bit uncomfortably until Brian puts his hand forward in greeting.  Remembering his manners, Stuart seizes his hand and pumps it up and down heartily before gesturing toward the woman and says the only phrase I can make out clearly enough to repeat with confidence: "...my associate, Dr. Ling."  She smiles politely and also shakes Brian's hand.

The scene is turning numerous heads throughout the restaurant.  Like a charm, people who up till now hadn't been paying any attention to the three of us are suddenly now holding up their phones, snapping pictures while Doctors Brian May and Stuart Preus exchange compliments and other small talk.

"I have to admit, it's still pretty cool," Roger murmurs. 

I look at him.  'What is?"

"The fact that he's Dr. Brian May," Roger repeats with a chuckle.  "Doctor.  G--d--n.  He's smarter than the two of us combined, I think."

"Yeah, I'll drink to that," I say dryly, lifting my glass.

The man turns to me again.  "Hey, John," he says, "do you mind if I look at that, um- that picture again?"

I tense up.  "What for?"

"Because, uh- I just want to look at it, is all.  The one of your godson and- were those his parents in the picture?"

"The Christmas one?"

"Yes.  By the tree.  Were- are those his parents?"

I swallow.  "Uh- I mean, that was certainly his mum."

"Who's the man, then?"

God, he's pushy.  I never thought I'd say this, but I'm almost wishing Brian would walk back over here to rein Roger in somewhat.  "I don't- A friend of theirs, I guess."

"Oh.  Okay."  A pause.  "So can I see it please?"

I roll my eyes.  "Good Lord-"

"I'm sorry, just- I wonder if that might be Rick perhaps."

"Rick?" I scoff with false bravado. 

"I mean it's possible, isn't it?  I just - It seems awfully curious to me, how there's a man from New Jersey who just magically appears out of nowhere, looks and talks just like Freddie, gets all this attention, freaks Miami the f--- out- and then here you are with that photo-"

"Roger, for the record, my godson and his mother are very silly people," I interrupt coolly.  "Did it ever occur to you that picture might have been Photoshopped?"

Roger scoffs.  "If it was Photoshopped, I highly doubt you would have flipped out when we saw it for ourselves."

I hesitate, then rub my face wearily.  I need to stop underestimating this man.  Roger's not stupid.  He's pushy, and excitable- but he's no fool, any more than Brian is. 

Roger's voice softens, becomes less flip.  "Look," he sighs.  "I know we've been rather, um- out of touch since you left, and, uh- that- you took a real hit when - when Freddie-"

"Roger, now is not the time or the place, and frankly, I really don't want to discuss it, if you don't mind," I cut him off.  "What is it you're trying to ask?"

Roger taps his fingers listlessly against the tabletop for a few seconds. When he just can't take it anymore, he finally asks the question he's clearly been itching to ask all night: "What are you hiding, John?"

"Hiding?" I frown. "What are you on about?"

He just looks at me. "You know what's going on with this Rick bloke, don't you?" Roger murmurs. "You know who he is."

I don't answer.

"Come on, Deaks, tell me," he pleads, the round blue eyes making full use of whatever puppy-dog charm they can still claim. "I have to know."

"Roger, come over here!" Brian calls.  "John, you too!"

Having been summoned, Roger reluctantly pushes back his chair and joins his friend at Stuart's table.  This happens right as the waitress sets down our individual checks, so I have an excuse to hang back.

'Don't go away, love," I stop the waitress before she can run off on me.  "Here."  I rummage around for my card and place it into the book, which she immediately carries away.  Both Brian and Roger are occupied, now I can text Julia my whereabouts and maybe even learn about Rick's, if she'll tell me. 

But before I can, a hand grips my shoulder.  "Mr. John Deacon?"

The low, rumbling voice makes me jump.

I look up to see this towering redwood of a man standing behind me- and in spite of myself, my voice shivers a bit when I reply.  "Y-yes?"

The big man doesn't immediately answer me.  His gaze is transfixed on the table where Brian and Roger are standing.  At least, it seems to be; I can't exactly say for certain, the sunglasses hide his eyes too well. 

"Do I know you?" I ask.

The man looks down at me.  "We've met," he says quietly. 

"We have?"

"It was many years ago, I doubt you'd remember."

"How many?"

The man thinks it over a moment.  "Oh, fifty."

I study the moderately youthful face above me and sort of chuckle.  "You don't look like you've even lived that many years, old man."

"Nevertheless- we have met."

I sigh.  "Fine, then.  We've met.  What is it you want?"

"I'll tell you as soon as the server brings your check back."

"No."  I put my hands on my hips.  "I don't care if you are twice my size, you will tell me now."

My defiance makes no impact; it seems the big man is in no mood to stall any longer anyway.  "I'm your ticket out of here," he says.

I squint.  "What?"

"Now, look.  I need you to listen very carefully-"

"Hang on a moment.  I don't even know your name, or where you come from-"

"One word, Mr. Deacon," he cuts me off in a hushed tone. "Julia."

I'm startled- yet not entirely convinced.  "Julia who?"

"Julia Samuels, of Monroe, New Jersey, counselor at Princeton University and mother of your godson, Daniel.  Now do you trust me?"

My throat dries up.  "How- how do you- know all this?"

"I know a lot of things.  Now, listen up.  it's very important that we get you to Jersey as soon as we can, before it's too late."

"Too late?"  My heart flutters.  "What, till they send Rick back?"

"Not so loud, they'll hear you," he hisses.  "Not quite."

"Then what?"

The man removes his sunglasses, looks me straight in the eye.  "Something huge is about to happen in a matter of minutes.  If you are here- with them-" he nods toward Brian's and Roger's backs- "when it happens, then you will have lost all chance to protect not only yourself, but the Samuels - as well as one Richard Dubroc."

"What are you saying?  What's going to happen?"

The man looked solemn.  "The world is going to go utterly crazy, even more than it already has.  That's what.  Now!  Are you with me, or would you prefer to keep waiting around for some other golden opportunity to come along?"

The waitress finally returns with my receipt.  I don't answer him until I've signed it, and filled out a nice, hefty tip for the lovely lady who had to put up with the three of us tonight.

Which apparently is too long.  For then the man asks again, much more impatiently, "Well?"

My lips part, about to consent to one of the biggest leaps of faith I've ever taken, when suddenly Stuart casually looks our way- and the perpetually upturned curve fades from his mouth. For some reason now the big man looks extremely nervous. 

"Hey," Stuart exclaims, "it's that guy again!"

Brian whirls.  "What guy?"

Before anyone can explain anything, before I've even given my answer, the big man grabs my hand.  "Come on, John!  Let's go!"

What in bloody hell is happening to me?  I ask myself in dumbfounded silence while I'm letting myself be utterly dragged out of the restaurant and into the bitter cold streets of New York.  The man takes a small remote in hand, presses a button- and presently a beautiful yellow sports car rolls up to the curb, the passenger door lifting as we approach.  I don't know if the others are following us, since my escort and I are piled into the car and inching our way through Jersey-bound New York traffic well before any familiar faces show up in the rear view mirror.

'You all right?" my new friend asks.

I draw a heavy, confused sigh.  "Yes, I think s-"  I cut myself off, eyes widening in horror.  Too late I remember.  "Oh no!  My bags!  My luggage, I left that at the r-"

"It's okay, John," he says in that unflappable low voice, "your things are in the back seat."

I twist my neck to look behind me, and there they are, my roller suit case and small overnight bag.  I've always been a light traveler.

"Those are your things, aren't they?" he asks.

"Why- yes," I whisper.  "Good Lord.  How'd you do that?"

"Simple.  I sneaked up behind your chair when you weren't looking, swiped them, and put them in the car."

"Shifty chap."

He only shrugs.  "It's part of the job."

"What?  Stealing luggage?"

The man shakes his head.  "Being prepared."

I frown, not sure where he's going with a statement like that, so I let it slide.  "Sorry, I don't believe you've introduced yourself yet."

"Oh, yes, sorry."  The big man offers me a broad, smooth palm.  "Call me Rudy."

"Rudy?"  I say again.

'That's right.  Rudolph C. Barnes is the name- but I'll answer to Charles, too, if you'd rather call me that."

"Not at all.  Rudy will do very nicely."

The man says nothing, simply nods while he turns on the music.  "Do you like BJ Thomas?"

I shrug.  "Not particularly."

"Fair enough.  Just thought I'd ask.  I have lots of music stored in here, let's see now..."

To my quiet delight, the music he does end up playing is the Beatles- from the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album, to be even more specific.  I settle back in my seat, marveling at how relaxed I feel now that I'm apart from that lot again. I don't sing along with the music, of course, because I can't.  Rudy's doing a nice enough job on his own- and it doesn't hurt that his singing voice nearly matches that of Ringo anyway:

"What would you think if I sang out a tune?
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mm, get high with a little help from my friends,
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends..."

"Do you need any-bo-dy?" Rudy sings.

And without even realizing it, almost like a reflex, I sing the response: "I need some-body to love." 

Immediately I cringe at the sound of my own voice.  Suffice it to say, I'm no Freddie.  Then again, no one is.  Only Freddie can be Freddie- and only Freddie possessed that voice, and that charisma, of a sort that completely set him apart from everyone else.  No one could match him,  no one could hold a candle to him.  Rick might be Freddie's double in every way, right down to the teeth- but if there's no aura, no innate magic, then he's nothing more than a freak doppelganger with a very clever publicity agent.

Only once I meet Rick for myself, and I felt the aura he did or did not emanate, would I know for certain and remove all doubt. 

Now is as good a time as any to tell Julia that I'm heading for her neighborhood, and see if her friend Rick is still hanging around. Once I've sent the text, before stashing my phone away, I cast one more furtive glance over my shoulder.

"John, relax," Rudy assures me. "You're safe. We got out right in the nick of time."

"I'm not worried," I mutter- which is a bald-faced lie. "I rather- that was almost fun, actually."

Rudy chuckles a little. "If you think that was fun," he replies, "then you are going to love what's coming."

That's nice, at least I've got something else to look forward to,  I say to myself before turning on the heated seats and laying my hands directly over the ventilators.  God, it's cold tonight. 

And I could be wrong, but I think I just saw a snowflake land on the windscreen.