Daryl drove his truck up to the motel and parked in amongst the various police cruisers. He got out, and putting the chain for his badge over his head walked over to the taped off area.

The officer working that section of the tape was unknown to him, so Daryl held his badge up as he approached saying "Homicide", and the officer lifted the tape for him so Daryl could enter the scene.

Daryl was actually too tired to snap at anyone tonight about possibly contaminating the scene. He saw Martinez was working again and went up to him, nodding.

Martinez bobbed his head back at Daryl and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Dixon. Got another body for you."

Daryl just sighed as he headed into room 6a telling Martinez to give him the pertinent info.

Snapping on his gloves, Daryl walked the small room, trying to not get in the way of the forensic photographers. The techs had already started their work, bagging the vic's hands. A large knife was sticking out of the man's eye.

Right off the bat though Daryl got a little shiver of excitement. This scene was just a tiny bit different. He wasn't going to allow himself to say specifically to himself yet, in order to keep his mind open, but something just felt different about this one.

"Do we have an i.d. yet?"

Martinez looked at his notepad. "Yeah, found his wallet on the bedside table. Name's Shawn Greene."

The name didn't mean anything yet to Daryl, and he continued to survey the area around the bed, where the vic was laid out. Daryl looked closely at him. His shoes were off, shirt was untucked and the first half of the buttons were undone. He had a belt on that had been unbuckled. Though the bed under him was made, it was rumpled like someone had been moving around on it.

"Has anyone gone through the trash yet?"

Daryl looked around and a tech caught his eye and shook his head, saying "No sir" to Daryl.

Daryl looked at the tech, telling him to make sure it was bagged and labeled, as well as any other trash cans. He then grabbed the photographer and told him to get close-ups on the belt buckle.

Martinez was watching him and snagged him. "Whatcha thinkin' jefe?"

Daryl stood back and just looked around. There was a briefcase on the little chair off to the side being bagged and tagged.

"I think I finally have something a bit different to go on."

When Martinez just raised his eyebrow at him, Daryl continued.

"Vics 1-4 were the same as this guy, nicely dressed, white, darker hair. But, this guy, this guy has parts of his clothes undone, and he's in a motel room. There's no luggage, just a briefcase."

Martinez nodded, then said "Perhaps his luggage is still in the car?"

Daryl looked at him, but then said "Have we identified a car yet?" Martinez shook his head.

Daryl went over to the evidence bag containing the wallet, opening it up and looking at the man's drivers license.

"He has a local address on his DL. So why would someone who lives in Atlanta come to a motel with no luggage, undo his shirt and belt, and lay down?

Martinez started nodding, "no luggage, local, he was here for a rendezvous. Possibly an affair. Although judging by his state of dress, he didn't get much, if any action before being stuck with the knife."

This was why Daryl wanted the trash cans bagged. He spotted the tech again.

"Go through the cans that have been bagged, look for any condoms, used or otherwise."

The tech grimaced at his "good" luck of getting to pick through looking for a used condom, but set to work.

The prints tech had arrived and had started dusting. Daryl told him to dust the buckle on the belt first, then the rest. It was a nice solid brass buckle, maybe he'd get lucky.

The tech dusted and pulled off only some partial prints. He told Daryl he'd run them, but wasn't hopeful as they looked smeared.

Daryl went over to where the briefcase was and tried to open it, but noticed it was one of those ones that had the little lock thingys on it. Daryl quickly weighed the idea of waiting for forensics to try and open it, or for him to just use his pocket knife to jimmy the lock. Since he was not exactly known for his patience, Daryl decided to jimmy it and pulled out his knife, sliding it into the seam to try and pry it open. After a few minutes and putting a nick in his blade, he finally got the thing open.

He carefully began to sort through the contents of the case. It looked like a typical businessman's briefcase. Pens, a small calculator, a pad of post-it notes, etc. The papers looked financial, but it was just a guess for Daryl. Honestly it could've been written in Greek for all he knew. A couple of packets of paper had cover sheets with "PROPRIETARY INFORMATION" written across it. He flipped through them but had no idea what he was looking at. He'd leave it for forensics to sort through. Sighing in defeat, he closed it up, then had a tech wrapped some crime scene tape around it to keep it closed since he had busted the locks on it, and re-bagged it.

Martinez walked over and asked, "Anything of interest in there?"

Daryl cracked his neck. "Naw, 'nother fucking dead end."

The crime scene techs and forensics unit finished up and the coroner's aide bagged up the body and hauled him down to the morgue to join the other four.

Daryl checked his watch, it was just after 9. He was supposed to call the Commissioner, and wondered if it was too late. He only had the office number, so he figured he'd call and just leave a message, and then in the morning his secretary could pass it on.

Dialing the number he waited and was surprised when on the second ring someone picked up. A tired sounding voice answered.

"Commissioner Grimes..."

Daryl started a bit, not sure what to say. Honestly he didn't think anyone, let alone the Commissioner himself, would not only be working at this hour, but answer the phone himself.

"Uh Rick, I mean Commissioner, sir, it's Detective Dixon, uh I was told to call you?"

Daryl heard a slight chuckle. "Daryl, please, I thought we were friends. Don't give me that 'Commissioner' b.s."

Daryl relaxed then, slightly. "How are ya Rick? Haven't heard from you in a while. What can I do for ya? "

Ricked sighed a little into the phone. "Listen, I wanted to meet up tomorrow if possible. Maybe we could meet for lunch or something?"

Daryl didn't answer right away. Something was up with Rick. He hadn't talked to the man in a year and suddenly he calls wanting to have a lunch date?

"Rick what's going on man? Am I in trouble or something about this damn case?"

Before Daryl could work himself into a rant, Rick cut him off.

"No, no, nothing like that. But I can't...don't...want to discuss it over the phone. You have a nice out of the way place to meet?"

Daryl could only think of the bar, and as he went to answer Rick cut in again.

"You know what, don't tell me over the phone. I'm gonna give you my cell number, text me the address and we can meet around , and, uh, do me a favor, see if Merle can join you?"

Daryl said ok, and they ended the call. Daryl was wondering what the fuck was going on. It was the second case of "WTF" he'd had tonight, first Lori going all batshit crazy on him, now Rick acting all weird. Daryl's phone beeped, telling him a text had come in. It was Rick's cell, so he replied with the address to the Crest.

Daryl finally made his way home and pulled his truck up into the driveway next to Merle's bike. His own bike was in the garage.

He walked in, tossing his keys onto the table and then removing his jacket and shoulder harness with his 9mm in it and throwing it next to the keys. He stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do first. He needed something to eat, aspirin and a shower. Probably in that order.

He walked into the kitchen and saw his brother in there, sitting at their little table with a half-empty mug of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other and newspaper on the table in front of him.

"Hey baby brother, late night eh?" Merle asked, not looking up from his paper. Daryl just grunted in response, looking over Merle's shoulder to see what he was reading. Pfft, he should'a known, it was the comics section. Nothing too intellectual for his big brother.

Daryl opened the fridge hoping maybe the food fairy had been by. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw a box of fried chicken in there. Merle must've stopped off on his way home. He grabbed the box, then tried to decide between a beer or coke. Eh, calories was calories he thought, and went for the beer.

He sat down next to Merle and grabbed a piece of the chicken out of the box and started eating. Merle suddenly slapped him upside the back of his head.

Mouth full of chicken Daryl spat out "The fuck Merle?!"

Merle just looked at him, getting up and grabbing a plate from the cupboard and putting it in front of Daryl.

"Seriously brother, whatcha brought up in a barn? Use a fucking plate."

Daryl knocked him in the head. "Fuckin' Martha Stewart now? Asshole."

Merle chuckled and went back to his paper. Daryl put his chicken on the plate.

Daryl glared at his brother. He kept eating and drinking his beer. When he'd polished off three pieces he wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, on purpose, and sat back in his chair.

"So, uh, I talked to Rick today."

Merle looked up. "Grimes? What's he want?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, Walsh came storming out and told me he had called and wanted to talk to me. Got called out on another body, and so called him about an hour ago. Says he wants to meet up for lunch tomorrow. Wants to talk. Was all secretive an' shit, wouldn't tell me why over the phone. Told me to text him the fuckin' address, not say it out loud. Oh, and he told me to ask you to tag along."

Merle raised his eyebrows. "Me? What's he want me there for?"

Daryl just snorted and started in on his thumb again. "Hell if I know. Been one fuck of a day."

Daryl caught Merle up on the hellish day he'd had, then went upstairs to grab a shower. He was bone tired but needed to scrub off some of the grime. He may have been a born and bred redneck, but even he had his stink limits.

Daryl stood in the shower and just let the hot water run over him. He barely had the energy to actually soap up. He braced his arms on the wall and let the heat of the water hit his back. Some days he just felt emotionally tired. He started to think about Carol. God he missed her. When he had days like this he could be sullen and snarly and she'd just give him that little half smile and pat the couch next to her, telling him to sit. And when he did she'd rub his shoulders or back or something, and he'd end up spilling what it was that had made his day hell, and when he was done she'd hug him and give him a kiss and tell him she loved him. And he'd feel so much lighter, like he had unburdened himself. She always knew how to deal with him. He'd give anything to hold her again.

"I hope you're up there in heaven Carol, watching over me."

Daryl stepped out and dried off, brushed his teeth and had just enough energy left to put a pair of pajama bottoms on and fall into his bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

He dreamed of his cases, surreal and abstract. The victims were swimming through the air, doing acrobatics and shit. At some point a donkey flew by. Cell phones danced and played tunes using their ringtones, then would pop out of the picture one by one.

When Daryl woke up the next morning, barely rested, he thought back over his dreams. They were fucking weird he thought. He was starting to wonder if that chicken had been off.

Daryl strode into the office and snarled at a grunt who had the audacity to be chipper in front of him.

Finley was at his desk, earbuds in and playing drums on the edge of his desk with a couple of pens. Periodically he'd sing out loud the lyrics to whatever is what he was listening to. Daryl tried to ignore him and get to work. He started to update his murder board, adding the details from last night's scene. It felt like every couple of minutes he'd look at his watch to see if it was time to meet Rick. He mentally smacked himself, hell, he had a few hours before he had to leave. But it was distracting him, wondering what was going on with him, and why the secret meet-up. He missed Rick. When his old man had retired as Commissioner and Rick had replaced him, Daryl was happy for him. But it had meant, for some reason, a lapse in their friendship. Honestly, it had started to lapse right after Lori had hooked up with Shane. Maybe Rick had been thinking that since Shane was Daryl's boss, Daryl would be closer to Shane now. Nevermind the fact that Rick was all of their bosses. Daryl mentally shrugged. He didn't know what was going on, but maybe he'd find out soon enough.

Daryl jumped, startled when Finely suddenly jumped up, belting out the lines to "We Will Rock You" and using his desktop as a bass drum. Daryl growled and threw his stapler at him, hitting him in the chest.

"Shut the fuck up you moron!" Daryl growled.

Finley had managed to catch the stapler in one hand and pulled his ear buds out with the other hand.

"Woah bossman, what was that for?" Finley wiggled his hips at Daryl. "Dontcha like my singin'?"

Daryl just glared at him. He really didn't have the patience for Finley's antics today. Between not sleeping all that well and the anxiety over this upcoming meeting, Daryl felt ready to rip heads off.

Before he could come up with any kind of retort, an admin hurried up to Daryl and handed him a packet, saying the message on the envelope had just come in. It was the various reports from last night's case. Tox report wasn't in there, but he didn't expect it to be back this soon, those always took a while. Trash cans turned up nothing. No used condoms, not even a tissue. The prints from the belt buckle belonged to the vic. Preliminary autopsy showed cause of death, surprise-surprise, to be due to a knife in the eye. Daryl went back to the envelope. There was a post-it note on the outside of the envelope. It just said "Dixon, when you get a chance come see me in the morgue - E. J.".

Daryl figured it was as good a time as any, so he grabbed his keys and jacket and told Finely he was going to head over to the morgue. Finley just nodded at him and gave him that stupid cluck-cluck finger gun salute that he was so fond of.

He'd brought his bike today and he jumped on and revved up the engine, then peeled out into traffic and headed down to where they kept dead folk.

It took him about 15 minutes to dodge in and out of traffic before he pulled up to the out-dated building. Walking in he flashed his badge and told the bored-looking receptionist reading a Stephen King novel that he was there to see the senior Coroner. After signing in and passing through security, he headed down into the bowels of the building. He didn't see anyone around, so he poked his head through one of the push doors to an autopsy suite and saw the coroner cleaning up, looked like he had just finished working on a body. He turned and saw Daryl.

"Dixon! Wow I didn't expect to see you down here this quickly. Come on in!"

Daryl walked in, trying to cover his nose from the smell a little by chewing on his thumb.

"Hey Dr. Jenner, gotcha note. What's up?"

Ed Jenner washed his hands and chuckled at Daryl. "Man you can deal with murders and dead bodies, but you always cringe at the smell in here. What's up with that?"

They finally walked back out into the hallway and Daryl gave his thumb a break. "Yeah man, dunno. That's a whole different smell in there. Like, hospital smell. I fucking hate hospitals."

They walked back into Jenner's office and sat, and Jenner took out his report on Shawn Greene. "I wasn't sure if this was important or not, so hopefully I'm not getting your hopes up or anything. But the other victims in this case had nothing remarkable in their stomach contents. Mostly alcohol, some fairly digested food remnants. Digested enough to tell me it had been some time since they had eaten.

Mr. Greene on the other hand had just eaten, and eaten well, when he died. Alcohol, in the form of champagne, steak, veggies, potato. And a healthy helping of dessert, creme brule by the smell of it."

Daryl cringed at that. The fuck, why would he even try to smell some dead man's stomach contents. That was just wrong.

"And the Rohypnol. So we have a little bit of a difference here in that Mr. Greene ate well and died shortly thereafter. The alcohol content was much higher as well, it hadn't been digest much, unlike the others."

Daryl took in this new information. It could definitely mean something, especially in conjunction with this vic being found in a motel room partially dressed.

Jenner handed him a photocopy of the paper he'd read from, and Daryl thanked the man. He was finally starting to feel like he was getting somewhere in this. This had to mean something.

Daryl hightailed it out of the morgue and got back onto his bike to head back to the precinct. When he arrived he pinned down Finley.

"Finley, did we ever determine if last night's vic had a car left behind in the parking lot of that motel?"

Finely shook his head. "Nope, we ran his DMV info and found he owns an Audi, Mercedes and a little Porsche Boxter. None of those were found at the motel. I'm heading over to the old lady's for a follow-up and will see if all of the cars are accounted for at their residence."

Daryl nodded to him. OK so Mr. Greene had nice wheels. Expensive wheels. So did whoever killed him take his car? Or did he get a ride from his killer?

Daryl relayed his newfound information that he got from the coroner to Finely. Finley was raising his eyebrows a little, and finally started to look like he was taking things a bit more seriously. Of course until he opened his mouth again, Daryl thought.

"So loverboy was wined, dined, and dead. Man that sucks. But at least he got dinner before being fucked up." Finley then laughed at himself like he was the next Robin Williams. Daryl just shook his head.

He glanced at his watch and decided he should head over for the meetup. He called Merle and asked if he needed a ride, but Merle said he'd be there a few minutes late and had his bike. Hanging up, Daryl stood and grabbed his keys and jacket again.

Looking over at Finley, he said "I'm heading out for a bit. Not sure when I'll be back."

Daryl made his way over to the exit and couldn't help but notice Lori Walsh staring at him from Shane's office. Did that woman have nothing better to do than hang around here every day?

AN: Please send me a review, even a quick one, I really appreciate them!