Author's note: I own only the original characters.

Language and violence warning:

"Tell me, Mr. O'Leary, what do you consider your personal favorite card in a deck?"

The words once spoken by Giovanni during one of the games repeated themselves through Frank's head as he fed his two Fire-type pets, the Growlithe and the Vulpix, before preparing for work. At the same time, he could hear himself respond.

"Well, I kinda always liked the two of clubs myself."

He could remember the derisive laughter.

"Are you serious, my good man? The two of clubs is the weakest card in the deck. What card is the card that has to lead the game of Hearts because it is the lowest of all cards? What is considered the lowest suit of the four, and what is considered the lowest card of the suits?"

Frank could not recall what his answer was, only that that night, the game ended in yet another dead heat.

Since his first hand at Giovanni's mansion or compound or whatever, he had managed to avoid being robbed blind like the other players by constantly folding whenever the cards were unconditionally in the Team Rocket leader's favor. Rarely, very rarely, did the detective get any chance to play his hand out, and rarer still were the times that he won. It was just often enough, however, that he was able to keep himself in the game. And as far as he was concerned, if it meant bringing Team Rocket down again, all of the frustrations at cards and the frequent kidnapping-style transportations would be worth it.

Eventually, after about three months, Giovanni made an unusual request: instead of a game one night, he was extending a dinner invitation.


Partway around town, an alarm clock went off in a nondescript townhouse.

Officially, the name on the deed was Alicia McQueen. "Alicia," however, had done everything she could to keep her hair from extending behind her like a crest on some dinosaurs.

As Jessie silenced the alarm, she stared emptily towards the ceiling. Another lonely night in her empty bed had left her with a feeling of pained numbness. Added to that numbness was a deep anxiety over the past couple of days.

I know why he's doing this. He can't kill the boss, so he wants the rest of us to pay.

She rolled over and looked at the photo of her and a smiling redheaded man in some shopping mall photo booth. Frank, Michael, whoever you are, please be careful. It'd kill me if he got you too.


Outside an ordinary-looking apartment building further into town, a shabby gray LTD sat, its driver staring at the front door, twitching at the wheel.

A few moments later, a man in a messy ponytail and five-'o-clock shadow walked out.

And the man in the car shakily pulled out a gun.


Frank recalled to himself how surprised and intimidated he was when he saw the restaurant that Giovanni had brought him to. The woman referred to as "Katja" was with them.

"The grilled salmon here is quite exquisite," the Rocket leader informed him. "They import it all the way from Alaska."

"I've always preferred the salmon from Washington state, personally," the detective replied.

Giovanni raised an eyebrow, but before he could reply, the waitress showed up. "May I get you anything to drink?"

"May I see the wine list?" he replied.

"Certainly, sir," she said as she handed him what he asked for.

Giovanni glanced at the list momentarily, then handed it back with a smile. "I'll have the Madeira, my dear."

"That was horrible," came the flat remark from Frank's position.

"I'm sorry, I simply could not resist that opportunity."

The only answer he received was a glare.

"And you, sir?" the waitress asked the detective.

"1987 Sauvignon Blanc," he replied. "I've always found that to be a good year."

Now the waitress had her eyebrows raised. "Amazing. How could you pick that off the list without even looking?"

"Wishful thinking."

"And for the lady?" she asked, addressing Jessie.

The redhead thought a while, then looked up. "Sauvignon Blanc for me, too, please."

Frank stared at Giovanni for a few moments, trying to judge his reaction. There was nothing.


"You're sure there's nothing?"

Alex, the "techno-Gengar" of the Saffron City Police Department, wished he had hair to stand on end in irritation. "Yes, Stuart, I'm absolutely sure there's nothing!"

"That's not possible," the detective insisted. "She was at the scene of both murders-"

"'Both'? Really? It's only established that she was at the scene of the second one, and we have NOTHING to prove that she was at the mall! Seriously, man, I don't know WHAT your beef is with Jessie, but you need to get off it already!"

"Don't you DARE tell me what to do, Alex."

"You want to drag down someone who might be innocent, go ahead, but I won't have it on MY conscience. Keep me the hell out of your little vendetta against Jessie, got it?"

"She's a Rocket," snarled Stuart as he turned to leave. "She's not innocent."

"You don't care that you're turning into LoMarco, then?"


Where Giovanni had found the salmon exquisite, Frank had found his to be rather dry. Nothing worse than bungled grilled fish. He looked at Jessie, who had muttered about wanting the lasagna, and noticed that she was encountering difficulty with her fish as well.

"You know, Mr. O'Leary," the Rocket boss finally spoke as the detective was about ready to launch from his chair and choke out the entire kitchen over getting a woody piece of asparagus, "I've been looking at several business ventures recently."

"Oh," was the only reply.

"Well, being as you're a 'freelance supplier,' I thought you might be interested in a joint venture of sorts."

Frank drained what was left in his glass. "With all due respect, sir, I feel that this is not the most opportune time to be discussing business."

"Perhaps we could discuss this at the next game, then?"

"Same time, same place, same simulated mugging?"

Giovanni smiled. "Ah, but of course, my good man."


"What did you just say?"

"Jumping to conclusions all the time about Jessie, just like LoMarco always was jumping to conclusions about everyone else who was a Rocket, being so Goddamned bullheaded about her guilt even when we have no proof of guilt-"

"You shut up," Stuart hissed, advance towards the Gengar. "I am NOTHING like him."

"Well, you sure as hell act like it."

The human lunged, only for a light blue hand to grab him by the shirt front and yank him around in a semi-circle. "That's quite enough, gentlemen," Tristan quietly remarked, knowing Stuart would take the hint despite his inability to communicate with Psychic-types.

It was at this moment that Hopfmar walked in. "We've got a report of a shooting downtown, everybody. Let's go."

"Where's Frank?" asked Victoria, who had walked in on the fight at the same time her colleague/lover did.

"He's finishing a report in the commissioner's office, but I'm going to inform Steele that we need him now." Then he turned to Stuart. "You and I are going to have a talk when we get back."


Running. Yes, running is good.

Jessie finished adjusting the straps on her black sports bra, made sure her Lycra jogging shorts weren't getting stuck in a very sensitive spot in her crotch, and was about to step out the door when she heard sirens.