Barnes and Jess' visit with one of Brock's loyal patients, a middle-aged woman prematurely aged by injuries and her drug addiction, yielded a vital clue. Brock had his Newburgh clinic, but he also had another clinic in Pennsylvania. Getting the warrant took time, and it was not until mid-morning the next day that the team was able to raid Brock's second clinic in Milford, not far across the state line.

The clinic was open for business when the raid began, which made everything 10 times more complicated. The agents had to search for Brock and deal with lots of people in the way at the same time. The Pennsylvania clinic seemed much the same as the New York one: walls plastered with pictures of Brock and his awards. Clearing the exam rooms, moving from door to door at Clinton's side, was a series of practiced movements by now, even with all the distractions around them.

"There is no Doctor Brock here," Kateri heard a nurse protest, as agents kept pouring into the clinic, "This is Doctor Alan Ashworth's clinic."

Considering all the pictures plastered over the walls, those were two names for the same person, one legal and one probably fake.

"He's a back specialist," the nurse's voice came again, drifting down the hall.

The two finished clearing the hall, found all the rooms to be clear, and returned to their teammates, holstering their guns as they moved.

Hana was in the middle of an explanation of something. "A Pennsylvania medical license was issued to a Doctor Alan Ashworth two years ago."

Kenny appeared from the back, returning from outside, "Brock's car is out back. Engine's cold." He turned to the harried nurse. "He keep another car here?"

"An Audi," the nurse's voice shook.

"Color?" Kenny pressed roughly, in too big a hurry to be patient or nice.

"Silver."

"I'll get a BOLO out," Kenny said, looking over at Jess, and then moving out of the way to make the call.

Kateri felt a little sorry for the nurse. She seemed to be much less in the know-how even then Ms. Augustin back in New York, who seemed to be more of the 'I see nothing. I hear nothing' variety. Kateri stood tensely at her partner's side. The adrenaline was still thrumming in her veins, and the fingers of her left hand drummed restlessly on the grip of her holstered Glock 19.

Jess and Barnes had moved into the doorway of a waiting room, full of very uneasy looking patients. Kateri moved up to join them, watch their backs, while her partner stayed by the desk.

Everyone's day just got upended, and nervous people do stupid things, and that's not even talking about nervous people who are also druggies.

"Brock's patients are going to be mighty disappointed," Barnes said in a low tone as an aside to Jess. "There's so many of them."

And there were a lot, and Kateri could only see a small fraction of the people over the shoulders of Jess and Barnes. Young and old. Male and female. White, Hispanic, African American.

Drugs are a vice that do not discriminate on who they drag down into the abyss.

"Enough to fill two clinics," Jess noted. "Where does he find all these people?"

"If you've got the right connections, you know where to look …" Kateri replied, lowering her voice so only her two teammates would hear. She had seen similar things in her time undercover in the past. There were so many types of drugs—even ones, like pain pills, that could really help people at first—and once they got their hooks in you, you were in trouble before you fully comprehended what a hole you were in.

That there were so many people in the clinic on a Sunday of all days was slightly more surprising.

I'd usually be going to mass about now.

Jess had a look on his face that indicated he was about to do a very Jess thing, and so it happened. He stepped forward into the waiting room and approached one of the waiting 'patients.' Barnes took a couple steps forward, shadowing him from a distance, and Kateri moved into the doorway, glancing back to look for her partner, who moved up to join her.

Kateri was torn between her unease about the situation—what is Jess doing?—and her slight concern about being in a roomful of people that might have a connection, probably slight, to the Forsaken Sons, who from what Billy had said … and not said … did not get along with the Crew on the rare occasions they interacted in some way. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time in gang territory or being seen with the wrong people or a combination of both had gotten Kateri in trouble on more than one occasion. Once that had ended up with her nearly getting offed by a rival gang.[1] The previous year that had resulted in her getting arrested by the NYPD.[2]

And that was loads of fun—insert dripping sarcasm—but I got to see Clinton in lawyer mode for my troubles, and that was actually fun—insert Cheshire cat smile.

All that being said, as much as Kateri was appreciative of cases with gang connections so that she could be of more use to the team, she also had to be a bit more wary of who saw her face and in what context. Even in FBI garb, her nondescript looks usually worked in her favor, but it's better to be safe than sorry … or dead.

"Good morning," said Jess, approaching a nicely-dressed middle-aged woman with brownish skin who was sitting near the waiting room door, "Did you bring money for your appointment today?"

She nodded warily.

"Can I see it, please?" Jess asked, adding when the woman looked hesitant and even more wary, "Don't worry: you're not in any trouble."

Yes, the patients had probably made some mistakes that had led them into this dark world, but once caught in the drug spiral, it was a hard pit to get yourself out of.

Kateri glanced around again at the wide array of people, waiting for the drugs Brock provided. He needs to be keelhauled for facilitating this.

The woman pulled a thin stack of neatly folded bills from her pocket and handed them to Jess, who started to flip through them.

"50-dollar bills," said Barnes. "Lower profile than Benjamins."

Clinton stepped further into the room, moving counterclockwise around the outside. Keeping one eye on Jess and Barnes, Kateri automatically moved to follow him, continuously scanning faces, watching body-language. Her hand was not on her resting on the grip of her gun like Clinton was, but her hand was d***ed close, and she could draw in a split-second if she needed to.

"Alright folks, listen up," Jess said, moving to address the whole crowd. "We're not here to cause any trouble for you, but someone's been taking advantage of your circumstances. You're good people, who can help us do our job, and you'll be on your way."

Kenny returned from putting out the BOLO and drifted into the room, and Kateri took a half-step back to let him pass.

"Now, 300 dollars in fifty-dollar bills," Jess continued. "Is that what everybody has?"

After a moment's hesitation, everyone nodded, except for one guy off at the far end of the room. He looked cagey. He looked like trouble. Kateri began automatically cataloguing his features and every movement that his hands made. She drifted a step closer to her partner, just close enough to casually brush his arm like she had bumped him accidentally on-purpose. Clinton knew the drill by know—Kateri had done the same thing multiple times before—and casually followed her gaze around the room until it landed on Mr. Likely Source of Trouble.

"Excellent, thank you. Now, who gave you this money and sent you here to see the doctor?"

The response from the patients was not so helpful this time. Lots of downcast eyes and a few shrugs.

"Any takers?"

Still no visible response from the patients.

Then Kateri noticed that Jess' attention had already fixed on Mr. Likely Source of Trouble in the corner. Jess moved across the room toward Mr. LST, with the others shadowing him, wary eyes fixed on them both.

Don't get so close, boss. Kateri groaned, when Jess (un)intentionally kicked Trouble's boot with his own as he stepped across legs casually outstretched into the aisle. She knew her boss' habits too well by now, and he still sometimes made her nervous for his safety.

"I couldn't help but notice that some of the ladies were looking at you," said Jess, starring down at Trouble, who looked like the type of guy Kateri would peg as a likely gang thug.

"Maybe cause I'm good lookin'?" Trouble replied.

Yeeeaaaahhhh, suuuurrrreeee. Kateri drawled in her head. Trouble was about as far from 'good lookin' as it was possible to be.

Jess snorted, his feelings on that comment clear even though his back was to Kateri. Why must you keep blocking our sight-lines of the target, boss? "You're not that good lookin'. How'd you get here this morning?"

"I drove my pickup," Trouble replied, his tone casual.

Kateri drifted another step to the left, careful not to get so close to Kenny that he didn't have room to move or draw, considering he was right-handed and she left-handed. She wanted a better angle on Trouble's face for any clues she could draw of what he might be about to do.

"You left your hog at home?" asked Jess.

Wait what?

There was a long beat of silence where Jess and Trouble just stared down each other, before Jess finished his Holmesian deduction, "The scuff marks on your boots are from a Harley gear-shifter…"

The tension in the room was starting to amp up. If life were a TV show, there'd probably be stirring dramatic music right about now.

"What's that ink on your arm?" asked Jess, reaching down and grabbing Trouble's left wrist.

The music would have reached a crescendo. Trouble's right hand, which had been in his lap, moved toward his pocket, and Kateri saw a flash of metal appear from within.

"Knife," Kateri yelled, drawing her gun, at the same moment that Trouble lunged up from his chair, knife flashing toward Jess.

For a moment, all was chaos, as Jess and Trouble struggled for control of the blade. All the agents had their guns drawn, but the two were much too close to even consider taking a shot. They were too close for even Clinton to try, and he was probably the best shot in the room even with a pistol and not his favored rifle.

After a short struggle, Trouble was knocked to the ground, and Kenny, who had lunged forward to help physically, was … a little too enthusiastic in ensuring that Trouble went down and stayed down, getting in several punches before Jess was able to call him off.

Trouble was roughly manhandled over, hands pulled behind his back. Clinton leaned down to retrieve the dropped knife, while Kateri, gun still drawn, covered him. The ink on Trouble's arm, the ink that had caused him to go off over, was a Forsaken Sons tattoo.

Why am I not surprised?

"Forsaken Sons," said Jess to himself, adding then to Kenny, "Don't let him move."

Jess rose from a crouch and looked across at Kateri. He made a gesture, and they stepped away from Trouble, "The intruder who shot Brock's wife, what bike gang did he belong to?"

"Forsaken Sons," Kateri replied.

The pieces had finally and totally fallen into place. Now there was confirmation for what Kateri had been wondering since yesterday. Brock and the Forsaken Sons were in business together, and it was the bike gang which was recruiting people to get pills from the local pill-mill. The good news, from that, is that the team could more clearly see the way forward now.

After a few words to Barnes, Jess stated the bad news quite succinctly, "With partners like that, he's got the means and the muscle to avoid capture."

Working on tracking down the Forsaken Sons led the team from Milford, Pennsylvania (where Brock's second clinic was) two hours north to Windsor, New York. Thankfully, after having mechanical problems during the previous case, the one with the ICE Agent Gillman, the bus was thankfully now in good order, because what it contained provided invaluable help. The tricked-out, high-tech bus that bore a vague resemblance to a mobile home was equal parts office, tech room, interrogation room, kitchen, and sleeping quarters, depending on the need of the moment. Having the bus again meant that the entire team could work during the drive because someone else was driving the bus and someone else was bringing their cars up, too.

By early-afternoon, the team was settled outside Windsor in a convenient large parking lot (large enough for the bus, other FBI personnel, and a whole lot of cops) on the outskirts of the city. By late afternoon, progress had been made.

When Billy had said that the Forsaken Sons main territory was nowhere near New York City and the Underground Crew, he had not been exaggerating. Windsor was several hours from New York, and it was more than a little disconcerting that the Crew's web of know-how reached this far. Kateri was not so naive to think that Billy had gotten his intel only from those bringing the new cache of drugs into New York City like he had insinuated.

However much help he is to me somedays, the sooner someone can take him down the better.

Billy was always extremely careful that no one in his gang (himself included) ever said or did anything in front of her that could incriminate the Crew. Incriminate another gang, sure, have at it. Incriminate the Crew, nuh-uh, not if you liked living. Because of that, Kateri did not have enough to help the FBI or the NYPD bring down the Crew.

Windsor had apparently been having quite a lot of trouble with the Forsaken Sons, and the local PD as well as the state police was more than happy to help.

"Gill Rickman and the Forsaken Sons like to wrap themselves in the flag and ride in veterans' parades. It's just a cover for gun running, drugs, prostitution, but this connection with Dr. Brock, that's a new one on us," noted Lt. Ruddick, a scarily competent lady from the state police, as she laid out pictures of those people at said parades.

Kateri, who had settled at the lone table on the opposite end of the van from the conference room, turned in her chair to see what was going on. The state and local cops had provided her with every shred of evidence about the Forsaken Sons that might be useful, and she had been studying it almost constantly for the past several hours, only paying half-an-ear to what the others were saying.

"As near as we can tell," Barnes began to explain, "the gang recruited addicts to get a script for oxy from Brock, and then they'd walk the patient to a pharmacy to fill it. They'd give the patient a tip and sell the rest of the pills on the street."

Clinton took up the narrative at that point. "Brock and his gang were clearing around 800 dollars' worth of prescriptions 70 times a day for the last four years." As evil as it is, you've got to admire their planning and organization to keep this going on for so long with no one finding out. "Brock was making 28 grand per day."

Kateri had gotten up once a little bit earlier to double check her partner's math for him, and she was still flabbergasted at the thought of making that much money A DAY!

"Lilian Brock knew Rickman from her work with veterans before she married Brock," added Hana. "she probably introduced them."

"Maybe she found out Rickman and her husband were up to?" Barnes mused. "She wasn't havin' it, and Brock had her killed."

Sounds like a plausible enough theory, Kateri thought to herself, as she reached up one hand to massage her forehead. A pounding headache had settled in right behind her eyes, and she was almost sick enough of it to take some medicine.

Jess countered, "His whole identity was wrapped up in this heroic image of a warrior-healer," he said, coming over to the other end of the bus. "His wife threatened that and sent his narcissism into a frenzy. I don't think he's going to do well without money and status. I think he's going to look for a way to keep his business with Rickman going."

Brock aside, Rickman's not going to want to lose such a sweet deal, not after four years enjoying the benefits. Kateri understood enough of how gang leaders thought to know that for sure.

"Brock prescribed over 3 million pills," Barnes began, her voice getting more emphatic as she went on. "You'd think someone would have noticed and picked up the phone, the drug company or a pharmacist…"

You'd think, but there's a jillion reasons why they wouldn't.

"Cha-ching," said Kenny, speaking for the first time in a while. Yep, money being the prime reason. "They all had reason to look the other way."

"And maybe keep lookin' the other way," added Jess, "if Brock is going to keep his business going, he'll need pills. We need a visit with the local sales rep."

Kateri swiveled back toward her laptop and tried to refocus on the pages upon pages upon pages of documents, witness reports, photos, etc., etc. Her head, however, was being less cooperative, and just staring at the screen was making her headache worse. She almost felt a little dizzy. Even tuning out the surrounding conversations was hard.

She pushed her laptop back a few inches, propped her elbows on the table, and buried her face in her hands, trying to massage away her headache.

A few minutes later, a hand gently touched her shoulder. Kateri looked up. Her partner had approached and was taking a seat on the other side of the table. I never heard him come over. He pushed a water bottle across to her.

"You okay?"

"It feels like there is a pickaxe in my skull, and these bloody files aren't helping."

"Did you eat the food we left in the fridge for you?" Clinton asked, his face concerned.

Kateri tried to rewind her recent memories and remember through the blur of files, files, and more files. Uhhhhhhh …. I don't remember. "What time is it?" she finally asked instead.

Her partner's look shifted to one of fond exasperation. "I'll take that as a no. Drink that." He replied, pushing the water closer and then getting back up.

Kateri obediently grabbed the water and took several sips while she waited. Considering the amount of coffee she had been drinking, some water wouldn't hurt anything. There was the sound of a few doors banging and a microwave running, and then Clinton returned a minute later carrying her lunch: a tuna sandwich from a local shop.

Now that I think about it, I do remember Hana asking for lunch orders a little bit ago.

"It's almost 4pm by the way," Clinton replied, handing her the sandwich and sitting back down across from her.

Oh.

Oops.

Not so little bit ago.

"And that would be why I have a headache," Kateri noted sheepishly. You forgot to eat. Periodically, she would get so totally absorbed in her work that she completely forgot to eat. Her partner usually fussed at her if he noticed that she hadn't eaten in a while, and it was a testament to how busy the team was that she had forgotten to eat and he had forgotten to check. "Oops."

Clinton shook his head, pulling her laptop away, as he stood, "The files can wait for now. Eat your lunch. Finish your water." The "then you can have your laptop back" went unstated.

"Yes, mother," Kateri replied around a mouthful of tuna, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

That smart-aleck response got her a stern glare that lost all weight when he couldn't keep the amusement out of his eyes. Clinton then headed back toward his own work station, still holding her laptop.

I love my team, but occasionally I want to strangle them at the same time.

Well, if you actually remembered to eat consistently, he wouldn't have to mother you.

The getting fussed at or fussed over could be embarrassing on one hand, but having some who actually cared enough to fuss was … nice.

[1] Explained in FBI: MW 1x03 – Caesar.

[2] Explained in Cops vs. Feds: Wrongfully Arrested.