Six Feet Under

Logan threw his whole body into the punch, and the big man staggered back, catching himself on the edge of the bar. He wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. Then he knocked a table over to get it out of his way. He was seeing red, drunk on whiskey, sober from anger, and desperate to get his message across.

Logan landed another one just as Goren grabbed hold of his shirt. The bigger man held him still with his right and buried one deep into his jaw with his left. Logan fell, and Goren stalked toward the door, shaking out his left hand.

Just as he reached the handle of the door, a wiry body grabbed him in a bear hug and flipped him. They both landed on the floor in a heap.

"That's enough!" The owner yelled, holding a .22 shotgun and waving it between the two of them. "Get out! Get out now! Both of you!"

Outside, they glared at each other and walked separate ways.

"Determined little bastard," Bobby was saying as he adjusted the ice on the fingers of his left hand.

"He's a cop. We made him last week. He probably knows you, what you're up to."

"That would explain why he didn't give up."

"If it happens again, Oscar, you'll have to kill him. He's too close, he knows too much."

Bobby, now known as Oscar, narrowed his eyes and drank the beer that was sitting in front of him. "Son of a bitch." They thought they understood what he meant, but they were wrong. Bobby's mind started spinning, trying to think of another way to get a message to Logan without getting himself killed in the process. Maybe the punch was enough, maybe not. He had to keep trying.

All undercover jobs were dangerous, but this one seemed to be spiraling out of control. Logan was supposed to be in the group with him, but instead, they'd suspected him right away and shut him out. So Bobby was alone in this group, without backup. They were a nasty bunch, too.

Not only were they responsible for the two killings that prompted the undercover job, they were running guns to terrorists. He closed his eyes as he took another drink, thinking he should figure out how to get word to the Feds, too.

"Let me see that," Devin said. Bobby slipped the bag of ice off his hand. Devin winced at the sight of it. "You're left-handed, too. Not too smart."

Bobby scowled at the man and put his ice pack back into place. "The whiskey… did my thinking," Bobby explained.

"He what?!"

"Knocked out one of Logan's teeth. He's at the dentist right now."

"Fuck."

"Captain, Bobby wouldn't have done it if he didn't have to… convince them."

Ross squeezed his lips shut. "You're saying they made Logan."

"It's the only thing that explains it," Alex said.

Ross took a deep breath and sighed. "I need to speak with Logan. I'm not willing to pull him unless we're sure."

"Sir, if they made Logan, Bobby's in danger, too."

Logan was lying in the recovery room of the oral surgeon's office, his face swollen the size of a basketball and groggy from the drugs.

"Mike," Ross said. For appearances, he'd changed into street clothes and said he was Mike's next door neighbor, come to take him home.

Logan tried to shake away the fog. Before he could speak, Ross said, "Mike, it's me, Dan."

"Dan," Mike said, his mouth thick and sluggish.

"I got my car outside," Ross said. "I can take you home when they're through with you here."

Mike nodded. He struggled to sit up. Ross grabbed his arm to keep him from falling off the bed.

"Hey, no rush, buddy. You can wait if you have to," Ross said.

Mike answered by taking a deep breath and sliding himself off the table to land unsteadily on his feet. Ross supported him.

"Fanks, Dan," Logan mumbled as he leaned hard on the Captain. They walked slowly out, pausing only to make arrangements for the bill.

Once Logan was in the car, an old ford taken from impound, he groaned.

"Goren did this?" Ross asked.

"Had to," Logan said. "I got him good, too." It was hard to understand what he said.

"Eames thinks they made you, or Goren wouldn't have pounded you so hard."

"Uh, he was… uh… drinking."

Ross let this information filter in. "Do you think they made you?"

Logan sighed, which sounded much more dramatic with the swelling in his face. "I don't know." If he said yes, he would be pulled. That would leave Bobby all alone in the field. If he said no, he and Bobby might both be in terrible danger.

"Give me a straight answer, Logan."

He shut his eyes and thought hard. "No," he finally said.

Ross pulled the car over in front of Logan's temporary undercover address. "Steer clear of fistfights with Goren," he ordered.

"Yessir," Logan mumbled. "Thanks for the ride." He got out and stumbled to his makeshift apartment.

Eames was worried. In her mind, there was no way Bobby would have used full force on Logan unless he was trying to tell him something. Apparently, Logan didn't think so, but Alex knew Bobby. She knew Bobby better than anyone.

She picked up the phone and called an old friend in vice.

Goren heated up a bowl of soup in the microwave. He sat on the old futon with the bowl propped on his knee and tried to eat it with his right hand. The jury was still out on his left. It was certainly sprained, possibly broken. He gulped down the soup, then sprawled across the futon, and tried to ignore the throbbing of his hand and go to sleep.