"Clarence, my man. You're looking pretty good for a guy who was busted 48 hours ago."

Ignoring the stiff breeze that never let up from the previous night; Steve grinned broadly as he entered the backdoor to Mario's kitchen, where Clarence had worked as a line cook for the better part of ten years. With a slight headshake, he patted the stoolie on the shoulder, squeezing it for a moment, thoroughly enjoying the other man's nervousness of being seen with a cop.

"Yeah, well, it ain't gonna stick. They have no proof to show for."

Running a hand through his medium brown hair, Clarence ushered him away from the other workers and back out into the alley, then glanced to the left and right, as if to expect trouble at any moment. As he picked up the pace toward the adjacent road, he licked his lips in a near panic, busy fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his chef's apron.

"So, who busted you this time? Doyle? Santiago?"

"Santiago…of course.", the stoolie countered in slight annoyance, before shaking his head, "Thought they had me taking bets, but man, are they ever wrong. If my lawyer finds out about that…"

"Oh yeah? You've got a lawyer now? And who's that?"

Grunting at the smug remark, Clarence impatiently nudged him toward the waiting Galaxy, not wanting to waste any time.

"It doesn't matter, now does it? You want some info, and I want food. I hope you got me a breakfast burrito or something like that, pal."

"A breakfast burrito?", Steve retorted exasperatedly and shook his head, "How much money do you think I make? I'm a cop, remember? I got you a doughnut out of the cafeteria, that's all."

"Alright, I guess that'll have to do, but only because we're best pals…I can eat that on the way to Morley's."

Sliding back behind the wheel of the Galaxy, Steve glanced at the stoolie in obvious skepticism, hesitantly putting the key into the ignition.

"Morley's? That's the strip club over on Hayes? Aw, come on now. You're gonna drag me into a hole like that?"

"Easy Stevo, relax. It's all gonna be alright", Clarence returned nonchalantly and reached for the white paper bag on the floor, inspecting its contents with great curiosity, "You want answers, that's where you'll find them. Take off your revolver and cuffs and you'll look just like the rest of the creeps going in there. Trust me, my man."

Trust Clarance.

He wanted to.

Steve really wanted to trust Clarence and the five-year give and take relationship they shared. But as he glanced down at the freshly stitched up wound on his left arm, less than 48hrs old, a voice deep within warned him that things weren't exactly about to go to plan.