Once again, I have moved everything to the mid-90's, simply because I can.

Time to call upon the services of some old friends. I don't own the play or the players, I just bring them out and play with them when I get bored.

Original characters are all mine. I have lots of invisible friends.

This one's got everything: murder, mayhem, chick flicks, psychotic villains and knights in slightly tarnished armor.

If you are offended by firearms, go read another story. This one has guns.

Had to throw in some gratuitous sex scenes. They're not that graphic. Put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

Some harsh language. Some violence. You can't have crime drama without either.

Quoting my hero, Steven Moffatt: Even the slash fiction, that's a great way to learn to work. No one really does three-act structure, but just trying to put words that make somebody else turned on, that's going to teach you more about writing than any writing college you can go to."

Now that I think I've got the basics down, it's time to move on.

Read, review, enjoy.

Blessed Be!

O-O-O-O-O

Newspapers were hard to come by in the maximum security wing of Oahu State Prison. Sure, the papers eventually made it down to the small room that served as both library and chapel, but that was only after the guards and everyone else had read them. That's why the paper currently being held in the greasy mitts of Charles Arthur Rhodes was over a month old and nearly read to tatters.

Rhodes glared at the color photo featured on the Honolulu Courier's society pages. There was a full page spread about some sort of reception at the Capital Building, hosted by the governor and his wife. There were pictures of Hawaii's elite along with their significant others, all dressed to the nines in black tie and designer dresses, the women dripping with expensive jewels, all of them looking at ease and excessively pleased with themselves.

That's why the one picture caught his eye. The man was tall and in very good shape for his age. He was wearing a tux and had the aura of a man who was comfortable in his own skin and walked through life like a tiger through the jungle; confident, aware, and dangerous. He glared at the photo, consigning the subject to the depths of hell. What irked him the most, and there were a lot of things about that photo that did, was the way the tall man was looking at the small women he was escorting.

In the photograph she appeared to be so small she didn't even come up to the shoulder of the tall man. She had silver hair woven into a coronet of French braids, wire framed glasses, and was wearing an Army Mess Blue uniform, complete with all the medals, ribbons, badges, and patches that went with it. There were sergeants chevron's on her sleeves and a combat patch on her right shoulder, as well as a name tag he couldn't read. She was pretty in a professional sort of way, and was curved in all the right places. The caption under the photo wasn't much help, referring to her only as a 'mysterious WAC." Whoever she was, it was obvious she wasn't use to being in the limelight. She held the arm of the tall man in the tux like he was an anchor in a storm.

He asked the guard for the blunt nosed school scissors, the only scissors allowed in the maximum security wing, and used them to cut out the picture. That same afternoon he put in a request to see his minister.

Two days later he was waiting in the visitors area when the Right Reverend Simon Leeds made his appearance. Leeds wasn't his real name. He had worn many names and identities over the years, and this one suited his current needs. He was a con man who'd found a new game and whole new flock ready to be fleeced.

Leeds neither liked nor trusted the fat man sitting across from him, but religion, like politics, often made for some very strange bedfellows.

After a brief prayer, the two men got down to business. Rhodes passed the photograph across the table to Leeds.

"Do you know who this is?" he asked.

"No," Leeds said. "Should I?"

"You should. You must. You need to remember this man. This is the enemy. This is the man who sent me here to rot in jail while he goes dancing at the governor's. This is McGarrett. He runs Five-O. He doesn't make deals. You can't bribe him, and so far, no one's managed to kill him. He's got more lives than a cat."

"What's that got to do with us? We're a church group. Sanctioned by none other than Sheriff Augustus Murphy himself. He shouldn't be a problem."

"You haven't been on this Rock long enough. You don't know McGarrett. Unlike our friend the sheriff, he's smart and so are the cops working for him. He only hires the best. I know him all too well. He listens to only God and the Governor, and only when they agree with him. Once you're in his sights, there's no stopping him. He doesn't quit. Only this time, he's going to, because I'm going to have insurance." Rhodes tapped the woman in the photograph. "See the way he's looking at her? You know what that means? It means Mr. Tough Cop has a soft spot. A weakness, if you will. Find out who she is and where she lives. I want to know everything there is to know about her. Mysterious WAC's should be easy to track down. Start at Fort Shafter and Scoffield Barracks."

"What'll I do with the info when I get it? You want something to happen to her? If you do, I don't want to know about it."

"Why, no, Reverend Leeds, that would be most un-Christian like. We must pray for that little lady. She has to stay healthy. For now. I have plans for her, oh yes indeed. Wonderful plans. I suspect that when you bring in the new literature I requested for our Bible study group next month, you'll have the very thing I need included."

Leeds wasn't stupid. He knew Rhodes had just given him a deadline. "Quick is going to be expensive."

"I don't care. Get someone on it. That son of a bitch owes me. You will find out who she is, where she lives, and how to find her if you know what's good for you. You got it?"

"Loud and clear."

A month later he had his answer. He knew her name, where she worked, what kind of car she drove, and who her best friend was.

He knew where she lived. More importantly, he knew who she lived with.

That angered him even more.

This time McGarrett would pay, and pay dearly. Or his name wasn't Big Chicken.