A/N: It's time for some more. There is some language in this post, but nothing too shocking (at least not to my European POV anyway). Enjoy.

oOo

It took considerably longer to remove the dead man from the street. Though covered with a white cloth, that got stained fairly quickly, the presence of death was ineluctable.

'What's the unsub's name?', Jack asked as he lifted the cloth a little to look at the man's face.

'Unsub?', Rashawn repeated.

'Unidentified Subject, it's a Bureau habit to use acronyms, although it can sometimes be idiosyncratic', Myles explained. 'Right, I don't know his name, I even don't know the full names of the victims', said Rashawn. 'Southeast is a big hood.'

Myles looked at one of the officers standing by. 'Anyone know the full name of the victims? Radio dispatch...'

'Latifah Browne', said one of the officers after contacting the dispatcher.

'And the unsub?'

'Trying to find out, the 911 report has only one name: Darryll, no last name. Her ex-friend. Haven't had the chance to find out more, yet.'

'Maybe the neighbors know', said Rashawn, 'keep me informed when you got anything.'

He looked at Jack, Bobby and Myles. 'Don't suppose I can persuade you to help us out?'

'Sorry, as far as the Bureau is concerned this is a hands-off', said Jack. 'We want the big fish.'

Rashawn shrugged, a little defeated. 'Sure...Can't blame a man for trying.' He stepped over the body, towards the house. 'Let's take a look inside.'

Bobby raised his eyebrows a little when he saw the indifference Rashawn displayed as he stepped over the dead man. He hadn't even looked down.

'Not really his day', he commented. The others didn't smile.

oOo

Inside, it was a mess. The already worn-out furniture was smashed, tables had toppled over. A mirror in the bathroom was smashed, kitchen cabinets were opened and the content was spilled over the floor. Everything marked the scars of a madman at work, searching frantically for a fix, fighting everything and anyone that stood in his way.

'It's a war zone', Bobby commented as he looked around.

'Outside or inside?', was Rashawn's bitter comment.

They looked round, absorbing the disconsolateness. It seemed all so inevitable, so unstoppable. The poverty, the crimes, the violence.

It was as if Rashawn knew what they were thinking when he said: 'It makes you wonder, will it ever get better?' He shoved his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker. 'I hope it will, and we can make a difference. If you don't have hope, you'll lose your mind.' He was commenting to no one in particular.

'Rough week?'

'Let's just say I've seen the worst the District can throw at ya, and I don't mean the politics.'

He shook his head and headed back towards the front door. They followed him out.

oOo

Outside, the body of Darryll was being removed. SWAT was gone, and behind the yellow lines stood the crowd of spectators. They were being questioned by uniformed officers and plain-clothes detectives, but as usual, nobody was very willing to help the investigation. To Rashawn and his men, it was nothing new.

He turned round.

'If there's anything called common sense left, this is something that ought to teach something. A kid's going to die, for what? A fucked-up dopehead desperate for a fix.' He pointed at the people standing behind the yellow tape. 'Look at them, just look at them', he nearly spat out the words, suddenly furious. 'To them, this whole thing doesn't mean shit. Like it is normal for a two year old kid to get shot. It ain't normal to get fucking shot. Never.'

'You're upset', commented Myles.

'Thank god I am.

'I'm upset too. That means we, unlike them, are still capable to care. We're still capable to recognize the absurdity of this. It's weary, but it's there', said Myles. The detective nodded.

'You got kids?'

Myles shook his head. 'Well, I have two. I grew up in Southeast. But when I got the chance, I moved as fast as I could. This isn't a place for kids to grow up. For no one, in fact. This is something that is a disgrace. If you stepped three hundred yards down this road onto Pennsylvania, you can see the Capitol. Symbol of the greatest nation on earth, the richest, the strongest. It's Washington, sure. Quintessential DC, the Washington of Politics.'

He gestured at the house they had just left and the blood-stained concrete in front of the door.

'This rat-hole is Washington the City. Where it is normal for a two year old to get shot. Where your dad sniffs his brains out, and your mother's away. And vice versa. Where we have a curfew for kids under seventeen after ten PM. Where we have the highest murder rate, crime rate. Where anyone that only has the most minute chance of getting away, gets out overnight.' He paused and lit up a cigarette.

'Nobody gives a damn about the city. Only a couple of miles down the road you see a different town. Postcard Washington DC.' He laughed a bitter laugh. 'Be sure to swerve round the potholes in the road when you're heading towards that.'