- Still Yesterday -

Someone attacked Finch!
He doesn't need a Power Point presentation to explain the details…the bruises, the stained clothing, the lack of watch, wallet...

Oh yes, he's already gone through Harold's coat pockets: empty but for a receipt listing recently purchased items that are nowhere to be found. He also knows exactly the route his boss had taken, the stores he patronized…even without the information on the sales slip. He'd followed Finch enough times to know the geeks shopping habits by now.

Somewhere along that route Harold was mugged, thrown to the ground while robbed of his purchases and whatever money or processions of value he may have had with him. And whoever did this is now a dead man walking…dead men walking if there was more than one!

Reese finds his boss still sitting in the same place, staring into space, or rather into the shadowy corners of the library. He offers the ice pack folded in a towel and gently places it against the older man's forehead.

"Here, hold it so. And you may want to lie down; it'll be easier to keep in place."

"I'm not sick Mr. Reese! And not that injured. A few days and these cuts and bruises will be gone." Finch replies with some irritability, quite obviously castigating himself for what happened. The expression on his face reveals that - like the start of a 50's song - his mind is chiming over and over: 'dumb, dumb, dumb'…

"Your wallet's gone too. And your watch. And whatever you went out for." The ex-op retorts. "So who jumped you?"
He tries for a conversational tone , much like one may ask "So who do you like for the Series?"

Finch stares at him, and evidently reaching the conclusion that there was no sense in trying to dissemble. "Well, there was nothing in the wallet of value other than a little cash…all $24. And the drive and phones can be easily replaced." And because a casual demeanor is seemingly a dead giveaway for his intent, the reclusive geek adds, "And no, John, I'm not going to tell you anymore because I know what you'll attempt to do."

"I won't allow this to stand, Harold. I'll find out, whether you tell me or not."

And whatever shows on his face seems to make Finch very nervous indeed.

…

- Today -

"Help you understand, Carter? Fine..." Reese exhales. "Finch was attacked yesterday. On 29th, near the construction site."

Carter draws a sudden breath, while Fusco feels his stomach clench. Because jeez…this is worse than he'd thought! This young idiot hadn't attacked some random stranger or even Wonder Boy himself; he'd gone after Finch! And the result's not going to be just a thorough thrashing…the stupid punk is history!

Because there are simply certain truisms in life: never try to stiff the IRS…never throw a punch in a clinch...never spit into the wind…and never, ever, mess with Finch!

Not if you want to keep living! Because as he and Carter both know from past experience, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fearsome will protect the Professor with his life if need be and mete out swift retribution against any and all that threaten the genius geek.

Carter turns to him, the concern showing clearly on her face quickly transforming into alarm. Fusco nods his head just once. "Mugged…" he offers as though finding it necessary to verify what they had both heard.

She turns back to the lethal killer in front of her, "Is Finch alright? Is he hurt?"

"He's ok, but roughed up…" Reese shakes the hapless human in his hold like a dog would a rag doll. "But this one will never do that again. I'll make sure of it." The rag-doll whimpers pitifully, once more clawing at the vise around his neck.

Fusco wonders how long this stage show will continue to drag on. Reese is still in a murderous mood, this conversation just an intermission until the start of the last act. And he knows Carter is not going to allow the tall man to turn this drama into a tragedy, just as he's already made that decision for himself.

But how to go about convincing an urban wolf to give up his prey…without bloodshed.

…

Carter tries again. "So what's plan here, John? We just stand back and watch you work over this…this person? And then walk away while you hide his body in some dumpster?"

At that the young man goes deathly still. The light finally dawns over Marblehead, his muddy brown eyes going so wide they look like headlights on a Harley. Sweat beads form on his forehead as he realizes…perhaps for the first time since the NYPD showed up…that this is no replay from Grand Theft Auto, but a real life threatening scene. Life threatening to him! He starts to whimper again, earning him another rag-doll shake from his captor.

"Sounds good to me," Reese replies calmly.

Carter sighs in exasperation. She stands with one hand on her hip, the other casually held behind her. Only Fusco can see that she has her phone in hand and is desperately trying to finger the key pad. Not easy when you can't see what you're doing! But he's gotten the message and moves in tightly behind her, taking the phone out of her hand.

While she continues to plead, beg, cajole the man in front of her, he swiftly ducks his head, hitting a speed dial number while still holding the device behind his partner. Within seconds his own phone starts to ring loudly and he takes himself out of the tableau, pantomiming the need to answer a call.

Turning his back on them both he slowly walks away, mimicking someone answering an important call, then swiftly taps in a number permanently burned into his brain. The phone rings several times, each unanswered buzz causing his anxiety to spike further. What if there's no answer?

Then, thank God…the connection is made. He explains in whispered shorthand the current situation, breathing a sigh of relief at the reply.

"Don't worry detective. I'll take it from here," is the calm response. "Just hand this phone to Mr. Reese, please."

He walks back to the two combatants and the human trophy squirming between them, earning a questioning look from Carter and a murderous one from Reese. Somehow he's not surprised that Wonder Boy knows what just occurred, but that doesn't change what he has to do. Carefully stepping just close enough so that the ex-op can reach his outstretched hand, he offers his phone to Reese.

"It's for you" he can't resist saying, unsuccessfully attempting to wipe the smirk off his face. And he will swear later, with every retelling of the event, that this urban wolf actually growled at him! Reese returns his Walther to the small of his back and still holding his catch in one arm, takes the proffered device.

"Hello, Finch. Looking for me?"

Fusco exchanges an incredulous look with his partner. Suddenly gone is the cold snarl, the thin lipped demeanor and whereas before the ex-op fairly vibrated with malicious intent, there is now a man relatively relaxed and…normal. Where is that lethal killer and what has Finch done with him?

He and Carter stand in place, unabashedly eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I don't know…about twenty. Maybe a shade under."
Pause.

"Doesn't matter, Harold. He was involved!"
Pause…pause.

"I know…"
Pause.

"Yes…but..."
Pause.

"Fine!"
Pause…pause.

"What flavor?"

The tall man nods once then tosses the phone back to Fusco. The cop holds his breath and expects Carter is probably doing the same as Reese, in one smooth motion, swings his captive around, placing both hands on the hapless young man's neck. The thug squeaks in fear, his eyes going from headlight wide to platter sized.

The ex-op leans in very close and in a soft even tone, enunciating clearly every word, tells the frightened male, "Listen very carefully. I don't have a lot of friends, so I keep a close eye on the ones I do have. And if I ever…ever…catch you near any of them, you will not get away. I will find you…I will kill you."

With that he shoves the shivering punk toward Carter and announces cheerfully, "All yours detective. I've got an errand to run…"

…

Reese is very aware of the three sets of eyes drilling into his back while he makes his way up the ramp. His temper cooled, he mentally reviews the events of the last twenty-four hours, analyzing not for other avenues or options that he could have taken, but to catalog his own reactions for future reference.

Harold had finally been forthcoming with an explanation of what happened in that alley, describing the actions of the two thugs that attacked him. And his benefactor was probably right: the younger thug was involved but likely just a follower, imitating the older man who had initiated and followed through on the physical assault. The fact that the young male hadn't touched Finch was the only thing that stood between him and a watery grave in Oyster Bay.

His path is clear. He will revisit the surveillance tapes and track down the other mugger. And this time he'll make sure the detective duo isn't around while he takes care of the…problem. The choice is his, and he willingly accepts the consequences. Because no one is allowed to mess with Finch!

But first, vanilla ice cream for Harold. And maybe some chocolate for himself…

…

John Reese smiles at the thought, unaware that even as he's mulls over a choice between Rocky Road and World Class Chocolate, the Machine is listing another Number for Admin - this one belonging to a thirty-two year old lifetime petty criminal, recently involved in an alley mugging…