(Chapter 23.  Spring Street Courthouse and other locations in LA.  March 28)

As the crowd milled about in the lobby of the courthouse, Emily worked her way over to Leigh Ann.  The woman was on the phone and she seemed to be deeply involved in a tense conversation.

"That's right," she said.  "The Spring Street Courthouse . . . Yes, Moretti is here . . . I suppose she is, but I haven't seen her . . . I don't know, maybe the Chief is hiding her.  After all, he and her mother are lovers . . . "

Emmy could only imagine the rumors that had been going around since her mom had arrived in LA.  She knew some of the history between her mom and Chief Sloan, and she had guessed at the rest.  Her parents were not the type to heed spiteful gossip, but she didn't know about the Chief and his wife.  She hoped they were handling things ok. 

"As a matter of fact," Leigh Ann continued, "Dr. Stephens has been staying at the Chief's house while he's been off work for his ulcers.  And her husband's been working with the taskforce, and his wife's been working double shifts at Community General . . . I agree, there's simply no telling what's been going on out in Malibu," Leigh Ann said with a spiteful laugh, "It's shameful."

It was all Emmy could do not to strangle the woman on the spot.

"Ok, guys," Moretti said, "I am about ta take a gun outta my jacket.  I don't intend ta use it, so please don't shoot me.  It's Em's, an' she couldn't take it into the courtroom, so she left it wit' me."

"Em's in the courtroom?"  Keith asked, surprised.

"Yep."

"How long?"  Ron asked.

"Oh, about . . . " Then Moretti gave him a spiteful sneer.  "Do ya think I'm an idiot?  If I tell ya that all ya have ta do is look at the security tapes from the lobby an' ya can narrow it down ta one or two people."

"Look, Moretti, we're not gonna hurt her," Steve tried to reassure him.

"Maybe not on purpose, but ya messed things up enough already.  I don't blame her for not trustin' ya."

Steve sighed, not conceding the point, but not denying it either.

"How did you get in here?"  Judge Greer wanted to know.

"If I tell ya that an' somethin' goes wrong," Moretti said, "Em an' I have lost our way out.  Sorry, can't do it."  Then he looked at Keith, he recognized him from Em's description.  "Mr. Stephens, Em is a good kid.  She didn't just save my life; she changed it.  She got me ta take care of myself.  For the first time I can remember, I eat right an' exercise every day.  I can't fix the things I've done wrong, but she's got me believin' I can try to do things right now, ta make up for some of it.  I'm gonna start by backin' her up.  She is here an' she's safe, an' she'll identify herself when she's ready."

"Ok, Moretti.  Thanks for letting me know she's ok."

Moretti nodded.

"All right, gentlemen," Judge Greer said, "are we ready to go back to it?"

Receiving nods all around he said, "Well, then, get out of my chambers and back to the courtroom."

"Court will reconvene in five minutes," the bailiff called out into the lobby outside Judge Greer's courtroom.

"Look," Leigh Ann insisted, "the story is here.  I'll tell you more when I find out, but get here.  Now."

"Keith," Steve said as they re-entered the courtroom, "I've got a favor to ask."

"Go sit with Leigh Ann and keep and eye on her?"

"Yep."

"Will do."  Keith walked immediately to the back of the courtroom, limping slightly.  He was still angry with Steve, but as far as he was concerned, the world could stop until Emily was safe.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

Leigh Ann looked up surprised. 

"Why, no, not at all."

"Thanks," Keith smiled woodenly and hoped she'd write it off to his worry.  "I just can't sit with your boss anymore.  He's too tense.  All those lights on the back of his hand keep blinking red and yellow like a damned Christmas tree.  It's driving me nuts."

Leigh Ann smiled.  "He gets that way sometimes, and it was bad enough before the lights.  That's why I'm not sitting with him now.  He's very worried about your daughter.  He likes her a lot."

Something in the smile, and in the way she said 'your daughter' gave Keith a chill and made his legs ache.

At 10:20, the trial resumed.  Ron was now in the security room, and Cheryl and Al Cioffi were in the courtroom.  While Steve trusted Ron implicitly, Even though he's a Fed, he felt much more at ease to have two of his own people in the room with him, and as a result, most of the lights on the glove were green.  Al was sitting in the back with Leigh Ann and Keith, and Cheryl was with Liv and Steven.  Fortunately, Moretti's testimony wasn't as mind-numbingly dull as Ron's had been, Steve realized with a relieved smile, and he didn't need one of his colleagues to help him stay awake.

Moretti's story wasn't anything dramatic, either, much to Steve's surprise.  He just explained events in a chronological order, telling how he had first met Vincent Gaudino over forty years ago, how he had gotten involved in the organization, and how he had become a part of the protection racket and money laundering schemes.  Then he told how he had gotten access to both sets of Gaudino's financial records, and when and how he had decided to approach Agent Wagner.

Steve was relieved that Moretti hadn't mentioned his son and grandson's being cops as part of his motivation to turn state's evidence.  Not only would the press take that story and run with it, creating a scandal where there was none, but also, he was afraid if the whole truth came out now, Cioffi and his son might be unwilling to help protect the aging mobster.

When the prosecution brought forth the documents Moretti had in the briefcase explaining the organizational structure of Gaudino's syndicate and Gaudino's financial dealings, the judge interrupted.

Looking at the defense attorney, he said, "Mr. Casale, I assume you are going to object."

"Most strenuously, Your Honor."

Judge Greer looked to the prosecution, "And you will offer a rebuttal, Mr. Downs?"

"Several, Your Honor, if need be."

Greer nodded and said, "Bailiff, please remove the jury from the courtroom."

Emily was enjoying watching Judge Greer work.  She thought she could really like the man if she ever got the chance to know him.  He was professionalism personified.  She was particularly impressed with the way he anticipated what was to come and forestalled any discussion or displays of evidence that could later be claimed to have inappropriately influenced the jury.  She had done some reading on him, and had found that he had a reputation for conducting a fast, fair trial, and few appeals of the cases he heard were ever successful.  Now she knew why.  The man knew how to run a courtroom.

When the jury was gone and the door was closed, Judge Greer looked to the defense and said simply, "Mr. Casale?"

"Your Honor," Casale began, "as you well know, the law requires that all evidence the prosecution plans to present must be made available to the defense before the trial in ample time to allow said defense to prepare to dispute said evidence, if possible.  As this is the first time this defense has ever laid eyes on these documents . . . "

"Mr. Casale," the judge interrupted, "do not think to school me on the law, which, I am sure you know, demands 'sufficient' time, not 'ample'."  He leveled the younger man with narrowed eyes and a gaze of laser intensity.  In a voice that could have cut steel, he then said, "Just make your objection and stop talking."

Emily smiled inwardly.  It seemed Greer also had little patience for foolishness and grandstanding.

Crestfallen, the young lawyer replied, "The defense has never seen these documents.  We have not been allowed time to prepare a response."

The judge looked to the DA.  His expression was stern, but not as forbidding as it had been with the defense attorney.  He liked Mr. Downs.  The young man knew how to get to the point.

"Your Honor," Downs said as he leafed through his notes, "on . . . June 14, 2032, Giancarlo Moretti approached FBI Agent Ron Wagner with photocopies of the documents we plan to present.  In exchange for producing the original documents from which these copies were made and answering all of the prosecutions' questions in this trial and other pending matters, he asked to be placed in the witness protection program and requested immunity from prosecution for all crimes he may have committed prior to his testimony in this trial.  Based on the information in Mr. Moretti's photocopies, I agreed to his terms.  Until today, I had not seen the original documents myself, but a second set of copies was provided for the defense the day the warrants were issued and the charges filed."

"I see," the judge said.  "Mr. Casale?"

"Your Honor," Casale began pompously, "while I am sure the prosecution is eagerly willing to trust their star witness . . . "

"The point, Mr. Casale," Judge Greer interrupted.

A few chuckles were heard throughout the courtroom, but they were quickly silenced by a glare from the judge.  Emmy concentrated hard on frowning, after all, she had made herself up to look like a friend of the defendant, and she should not be pleased by Casale's difficulties.

Casale sighed and frowned.  "The defense is not satisfied that the originals about to be presented are actually the originals of the documents we were provided.  We have not had time to verify that they contain the same information."

"I see.  Very well.  Mr. Casale, bring me your copies, and Mr. Downs, bring me yours."

Both attorneys did as instructed, and they stood at the bench for several moments while the judge flipped through all three sets of documents.  Then Judge Greer motioned the lawyers away.

Turning to the witness for the prosecution, he said, "Mr. Moretti, when did you copy these ledgers and organizational charts for Agent Wagner?"

"Two days before I met with him, sir."

"So if you met with him on . . . "

The judge looked to the prosecuting attorney who supplied, "June 14th."

"Thank you, June 14th, then you copied the ledgers on June 12th, correct?"

"Yes, sir.  Mr. Gaudino had gone ta Las Vegas for the weekend, so I was able ta get into the office without bein' seen."

"I see.  And then you returned the ledgers to their proper places until you were certain the district attorney would agree to immunity and protection, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir.  I got an answer right away, but it was another month before I could get into the office ta take the books, sometime in July.  Mr. Gaudino had gone ta Vegas for the weekend again.  The office always shuts down when he goes away for the weekend."

Emmy was pleased to hear Moretti refer to the defendant as 'Mr. Gaudino'.  By showing the defendant respect, it made Moretti more sympathetic.  Even though the jury wasn't here to see it, they would sense it from the audience when they returned.  Gaudino was a powerful man, and Moretti looked like just a guy trying to do the right thing

"I see.  Thank you."  Addressing the court, Judge Greer gave his ruling.  "I am satisfied that these documents are the same as the copies used by both the defense and the prosecution, the only difference being the additional entries made in the month that lapsed between Mr. Moretti's first meeting with Agent Wagner and the day he acquired the journals. . ."

"But, Your Honor . . ."

"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Casale!"

The Mob lawyer hushed and Judge Greer went on.

"Before we resume, I will make copies of the new entries for both the defense and the prosecution," he said, "but as they only represent business as usual, I can't see how they will make any significant difference in either prosecution or defense strategies."

Casale was fuming, and his body language revealed his agitation.  Judge Greer looked at him and asked archly, "You have something to add?"

Emily had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.  The Judge was finally revealing some genuine irritation with the defense attorney, and his tone had been that of a schoolteacher dealing with an unruly child.

"Yes, Your Honor," Casale barked, "we will have no idea how this new evidence will alter our strategy until we have had a chance to review it.  I would like to request a continuance until we have had time to examine the documents in question."

"Denied," the judge said in an offhand manner.  "If I am wrong, then you will have grounds for an appeal, something that doesn't happen often in this courtroom.  If I am right, which is usually the case, then you have no need for a continuance.  Either way, this case will proceed today." 

Greer's absolute confidence in his ruling heartened Emily.  The man was completely committed to the law and justice, and like a rock, he was immovable.  If she didn't know better, she might have suspected he'd been here before the courthouse and they had built the courtroom around him.

He shifted his gaze to include the DA in his next statement and said, "Gentlemen, if you will come with me, we can copy the new pages now and move on."  Turning to the witness, he said, "Mr. Moretti, you may step down for a few minutes, but when we return, you will be back on the stand and you will still be under oath, do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

Having no one but Emily there to chat with, Moretti elected to stay where he was while the judge and lawyers were out of the room.  He looked to Emily, and had to admit, if he hadn't seen her in her costume earlier, he'd never have recognized her now, except for the eyes.  He couldn't understand how anyone could miss those gold and green eyes. 

The kid looked miserable.  He could tell she was in physical pain, and, with it getting close to eleven thirty, he figured her painkillers were probably wearing off.  She also looked incredibly sad, and he could only imagine how hard it must be for her to sit there, just feet from her parents, and not be able to reach out to them for support and comfort.  He admired her strength and appreciated her determination to see him through this ordeal, but he wished she would just give in and go to her family so he could stop feeling so guilty for her misery.

His gaze drifted to Vinnie Gaudino, who gave him an oily smile and pointed at him, his hand in the shape of a gun.  He could have argued to anyone who accused him of threatening a witness that it was just a greeting to an old friend who was, unfortunately, being forced by circumstances beyond his control to testify against his will, but when Gaudino jerked his hand in imitation of the recoil from firing a bullet, Moretti got the message loud and clear.

Next, he looked to Em's mother.  She was easy to spot, a miniature version of her daughter.  The woman sat quietly, wringing her hands and rocking slightly, staring ahead.  He could tell her last, frayed nerve was being plucked, and she wouldn't be able to cope with much more.  He wouldn't be surprised to see her sedated and removed in restraints before the day was out.  He hoped she didn't bear him any ill will, because he thought she could be quite formidable when motivated by concern for her daughter.

The man beside her had to be Deputy Chief Sloan's son.  The kid was about Emmy's age, but he looked younger and a hell of a lot more innocent.  Suddenly he wondered how much Emmy had aged while she'd been with him.  She hadn't been as fresh-faced and open as Sloan's kid when she'd kidnapped him, but he knew the past few weeks had made her even more cynical.

He recognized Commander Banks from the ambush at the first safe house, and was glad she had recovered from her injury.  He hadn't had much experience of her, but Emmy had trusted her.  He wondered if she had any other connection to Emmy's parents.

He saw his son, Al, sitting toward the back with Emmy's father.  To Al, this was clearly just another job.  Moretti was glad of that.  He didn't want to worry his own child the way Em's parents were worried about her.  For a moment, he was slightly bitter, realizing he had no one to worry about him, then he felt sad, wondering if his own son actually would worry about him if he knew their relationship.  Then with a sigh, he reminded himself that he had created the situation himself.  If he lived to see tomorrow, there would be plenty of time to resolve it, but right now, he had a job to do.

Al was trying hard to engage Emmy's father in conversation, but the other man seemed reluctant to respond.  To Moretti, he looked worried, pissed off, and in pain.  Al chattered on beside him, undeterred by the monosyllabic responses he received.  A woman in her late thirties who sat to Keith Stephens' left fidgeted uneasily for a moment then got up and left the courtroom, opening a cell phone as she went. 

A few minutes later, the young woman returned.  Then Judge Greer and the lawyers came in.  The jury was shown back to the jury box, and the trial resumed.

As the DA brought out the business ledgers, the defense attorney came to his feet.

"Your Honor, I must object.  It is unfair to allow the prosecution to use these documents without giving the defense time to peruse them."

Judge Greer stared at the man for fully fifteen seconds, clearly trying to reign in his temper before he replied.  Moretti admired him for that.  As the judge, he didn't have to mind his tongue, but he was a professional and had enough respect for the law and court proceedings to comport himself appropriately despite the fact that he was the one person in the room free to speak and act just as he pleased. 

"Mr. Casale," he finally said, voice tight with restrained fury.  "Your objection has been duly noted and overruled again." 

He turned to the jury and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I want you to be aware that while you were out, I heard arguments regarding the validity of the evidence about to be presented."  He explained the arguments regarding the paperwork and his ruling on them to the jury. 

"Both sides have had equal access to all the evidence in this case, and Mr. Casale is well aware of that."  Looking to the defense attorney, he concluded, "He is also well aware of the fact that he is dangerously close to facing contempt charges if he again interrupts these proceedings with an objection on which I have already issued a ruling."

Taking the hint, Casale nodded and sat, shoulders slumped, beside his client.

For the next hour, Moretti explained the two sets of books and how Gaudino would launder his money through a number of different schemes.  Some of it, a few million a month, even went through a fixed high stakes roulette table at one of his colleague's casinos in Vegas.  In an organization the size of Gaudino's, that few million was really small change, but getting the indictment on that charge had made the DA salivate, because it meant they would have the chance to prove that Vinnie Gaudino himself had handled the dirty money.

Moretti explained how prefixes on the various numeric transaction codes in the ledgers indicated which overseas accounts or illegal businesses the money had been sent to, and then he matched up a few of the false deposits with the deposits in the real ledger to demonstrate how the system worked.  The five transactions that he demonstrated added up to several hundred million dollars.

"So, Mr. Moretti," the prosecutor asked, "how much money would you estimate Mr. Gaudino has hidden away over the years?"

"Objection!"  Casale shouted.  "The witness is not an accountant, he has no way of knowing."

"Your Honor, the witness has just demonstrated that he does have a way of knowing.  He understands the accounting system the defendant has been using for the past thirty years."

"Overruled, Mr. Casale," the judge said blandly, "the witness may answer the question."

Moretti shook his head.  "Over the years?  I couldn't begin ta guess . . . "

Casale looked pleased for a moment, as if Moretti had just proven his point, but he was seriously disappointed as Moretti continued.

". . . but I know there were days when he did over a billion dollars worth of business."

"You mean one or two days over the course of thirty years?" the DA asked.

Moretti shook his head and made a thoughtful face.

"No, I'd say every month or so there'd be a big day.  It didn't start addin' up ta billions until about ten years ago, but once it started, it was a pretty regular thing.  Even before he was handlin' that much in one day, he had billions in the bank  . . . After the quake in '05, when the final damage estimates came out, we figured he could have paid for all the reconstruction, but he didn't want ta have ta hurt the governor when he started missin' payments."

"Those estimates were for hundreds of billions of dollars, weren't they?"

"Yeah.  Two, three hundred billion, somethin' like that."

"I see, and were you serious in what you said?  Is that really the scale of his business?"

"It was thirty years ago," Moretti explained.  "We were serious about the money, but jokin' about the governor.  There was no way Vinnie Gaudino would lend his money out ta help rebuild LA from the goodness of his heart, there isn't any there.  He'd want a piece of the action, a little bit of everythin', and he knew he wouldn't get it if he worked through the state."

"Objection, Your Honor," Casale put in.  "The witness has no way of knowing what was in my client's heart."

As the judge said, "Sustained," Moretti said, "The witness has no way of knowin' if your client has a heart."

"Your Honor!"

This time Judge Greer spoke over Casale's objections.

"Mr. Moretti, you will confine your remarks to answering the questions posed to you or you will be found in contempt of court, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Moretti said, "I apologize, sir."

By the time Moretti had finished explaining the organizational structure of Gaudino's syndicate and had described how the money was funneled in from all over the Western United States, it was 12:30.  Judge Greer ordered him to step down, and the DA indicated a vacant seat in the crowd next to Deputy Chief Sloan.  As he sat, Moretti noticed the man was wearing a clear plastic device the covered the back of his right hand and seemed to go up his arm under the shirtsleeve.  It had a small electronic panel on the back of his hand with red, yellow, and green lights, and Moretti figured it was some kind of high-tech communications gear.  Greer then called a two-hour lunch break and said the Defense could begin its cross examination when court reconvened.

"Gentlemen," he addressed both lawyers as he stood to leave, "if you will contact my clerk when you decide where you are going for lunch, she will send you both complete copies of the documents Mr. Moretti delivered today for your perusal during this long lunch.  If you fail to do so, it will be the determination of this court that you are stipulating to the fact that the documents are the same as those you have already seen, and you have chosen to forgo this opportunity I have created for you to review them.  Is that clear?"

The DA's shoulders slumped, then, for the first time in the trial. 

"Yes, sir," he said.  "I will be going back to my office for lunch, sir, but I'll wait here for the documents."

"As will I, Your Honor," Defense Attorney Casale said.

Judge Greer smiled and said, "Very well, gentlemen.  Glad to hear it."

Moretti sat beside Chief Sloan for a few moments, not sure what he was supposed to do.  He figured someone had already made plans for him for lunch, but he didn't want to sound like he was expecting to receive any special favors, so he didn't ask.  Soon, Commander Banks and Captain Cioffi, my son, Moretti couldn't help thinking, came to join the Chief, then Sloan turned to him and spoke.

"Mr. Moretti," he began, "at Agent Wagner's request, we will be having a meal brought in.  I am part owner of BBQ Bob's, and my goddaughter, Lauren, will be preparing our meals, so we can be sure the food is safe.  What would you like for lunch?"

After a little thought, Moretti said, "Do you do chicken?"

The Deputy Chief nodded.

"Ok, how about a marinated skinless chicken breast, grilled, with a baked potato, non-fat sour cream, and a chef's salad with light Italian dressing?"

At Sloan's questioning look, Moretti smiled weakly and said, "Emily . . . I mean, Lieutenant Stephens . . . well . . . she put me on a diet.  That is, she figured if I were in better shape, it would be easier for her to keep me alive, so she put me on a diet and got me started working out.  I feel better now that I did twenty years ago, and I figure if I can stick with it through the trial, I'll be able to keep it up for good."

Moretti left the courtroom surrounded by cops and feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the idea that here were more good people, like Em, willing to risk their lives for his safety.  There was a difference, though, and he knew it.  Em actually cared about him now, and these people only wanted his testimony.

Leigh Ann had managed to sneak a look at the inventory of stuff that had been taken from Mr. Gorini's place, and as she had suspected, one tape was missing.  She smiled to herself, knowing what she would do with that later.  Right now, though, she just wanted to make a few suggestions.

As Lenny Murdoch approached, she glanced around furtively, as if seeking somewhere to hide.  Taking him by the arm, she ducked around the corner, and said dramatically, "What are you trying to do, get me fired, or killed?"

"Huh?  Oh, sorry.  I didn't realize it was all that serious."

Which is why you're still freelance.

"Yeah, well it is.  One of the tapes has gone missing.  I think I know who took it, and I'll see if I can get it for you."

"Ok.  Do you have any idea what's on it?"

"Something about the Chief and Lieutenant Stephens, from the rumors I heard.  Maybe they were in cahoots about Moretti all along."

"But Moretti got here safely."

"Doesn't mean he'll stay safe," Leigh Ann pointed out, thinking fast.  "Maybe they'll let him testify against Gaudino and then due to a tragic breach of security, he'll die on his way to the safe house before exposing them."

"Exposing them for what?"

Do I have to come up with everything"I don't know!"  She snapped.  "You're the investigative reporter.  Investigate!"

"Yeah," Lenny agreed, "yeah, I will, but do me a favor."

At her, 'Well what do you want,' look he continued.

"Promise when you get that tape, you'll give it to no one but me."

"If I think I am in danger, I will give it to the first reporter I see, because whatever they're up to, it has to be exposed.  After the scandals three years ago, I thought my boss was as honest as the clear blue sky, and now that I know differently, I feel as if I have been betrayed.  I have to do what I can to stop him.  If I think I can safely wait, I will give it to you."

Lenny thought a moment.  "Ok, fair enough."

Something about the Chief and me?  On tape?  Emily thought from where she was lurking around the corner.  That has got to be interesting.

At one thirty, Moretti sat in the FBI offices, still picking at his grilled chicken, baked potato, and salad.  The meal was excellent, and he would have been enjoying it, too, if he hadn't felt so much like an outsider.  It was clear that these people had been together for a while.  He knew Sloan and Commander Banks had been together since the old days, before the quake, and, if the half finished sentences and inside jokes were any indication, Agent Wagner seemed to have a close relationship with them, too.  From information Agent Wagner had given him on his son's service record, Al, had served under Sloan's supervision for his entire career, and as far as Moretti could tell, that was a very good thing.

Even Em's mother who seemed hardly the type to hang out with a bunch of hard-boiled cops, was part of this tight circle, but then, she also seemed the type of person who was welcome anywhere.  She hadn't spoken to him yet, but he could tell she was very kind and pleasant.  Em's father, on the other hand, looked like a sky about to storm.  He was directing a lot of hostility toward his wife, which Moretti found particularly annoying.  Every time Keith Stephens snapped at the worried mother, Moretti wanted to deck him.  He was also glaring at Sloan a lot, and Moretti figured it was a matter of pride.  Emmy hadn't told him much, but he knew her mother and the Deputy Chief had been a couple for a while years ago.

After a while, Sloan's son and three other young men joined them.  Well, one man, and a couple of kids, really.  The oldest wore a captain's insignia on his uniform, and shook hands heartily with the others round the table as he sat.

"The Lakers' play tonight against the Celtics," he said.  "What are their odds?"

"Zero," Sloan said.  "Dion, they haven't got a chance now that Bird the Third is off the bench."

"You really think so, Pops?"  Sloan's kid asked.

"I do, son.  You should have seen his granddad in '84.  It took them seven games, but with Bird at forward, the Celtics beat the Lakers in the NBA Championship."

"Oh, I remember that," Agent Wagner said with enthusiasm, "Those were some classic games between Bird and Magic Johnson.  They really put the game on the map, took it to a whole new level, and paved the way for Jordan, Shaq, and Rodman."

Dion laughed and shook his head, "Guys, quit living in the past.  Even Jordan, Shaq, and Rodman haven't played in thirty years.  What makes you think the great games of yesteryear will have any bearing on tonight's game."

The chief and Agent Wagner looked at each other and shrugged.  "We're not saying it does," Agent Wagner said.  "Bird is good in his own right, just as his dad and granddad were.  We're just saying there's a lot of history there."

"Uh-huh," Sloan junior said, grinning wickedly, "and at your age it's easier to remember a basketball game from forty or fifty years ago than it is to remember what you had for breakfast, right?"

Most of the people in the room laughed, but Chief Sloan and Agent Wagner just looked at him, stone faced, and turned away.  The two kids who had come in with Captain Dion and the younger Sloan just looked nervous, Moretti noticed.  Probably tryin' ta decide whether it's safe ta laugh at their chief.

"Ya know, kid, it actually has more ta do with tonight's game than ya might think," Moretti said.

Everyone turned to look at him as it was the first time he'd spoken since they'd come up to the FBI offices.  It made Moretti feel distinctly uncomfortable.  Dion coolly extended his hand and said, "Captain Dion Bentley-Wagner, Mr. Moretti."

Shaking the proffered hand, Moretti said, "Agent Wagner's son."

"Yes.  And this is Steven Sloan, Chief Sloan's son.  What makes you think their nostalgia has anything to do with the game tonight?"

"Bird the Third was on the DL with a bad back, right?"

"Yeah."

"Same thing happened ta Little Larry in 2013 and Larry Sr. in 1992.  Look for him ta be a little slow tonight."

"You really think so?"  Steven Sloan asked.

"Bet on it."

The elder Sloan looked at him, then, and asked, "Did you ever do much betting, Moretti?  Maybe you ran numbers as a kid or managed one of Gaudino's betting parlors?"

Not sure if the man was trying to antagonize him or not, Moretti studied his hands as he answered.

"If I did any of that, it was the least of my crimes."  Deciding to face the cop who had finally questioned him like the crook he was, he looked up and continued earnestly, "Fact is, I'm ashamed of the things I've done in the past, but they're in the past.  I know sayin' that won't put right everythin' I've done wrong, but I gotta start somewhere, and here is as good a place as any.  I'm sorry decent people like you and Emmy," he included the rest of the cops, "all of ya, have had ta risk your lives ta get me here so I could testify against a slime like Vinnie Gaudino, but I'm also grateful ta have the chance.  I don't expect any of ya ta believe me, but, the time I have left, I plan ta spend it doin' the right thing for a change."

Moretti stopped talking, and the room lapsed into uncomfortable silence.  For several minutes, the only sounds were the noise of utensils against plates, chewing, and swallowing.  Moretti noticed that all of Sloan's little lights were red now, and he wondered what that meant and why he didn't seem worried about it.  Then, a strange thing happened.  Emmy's mother put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently.  When Moretti looked up at her, she smiled, and the tension eased.

"Y'know, Dad," one of the younger officers started to speak, but when captain Cioffi cleared his throat, he stuttered, stammered, and started again.  "Uh, I mean Captain Cioffi, sir."

Getting a smile, the kid grinned and went on, "There seem to be quite a few reporters out there."

"Really?"  Captain Cioffi said, "I hadn't noticed."

The kid shrugged.  "Maybe they weren't here earlier, but they seem to be onto a story.  Has anything especially interesting happened here today?"

The elder Cioffi rolled his eyes and seemed to consider.  "Other than Gaudino's trial, Moretti dropping in through a heating vent in Judge Greer's chambers, and Lieutenant Stephens sneaking about in some get-up the facial recognition program can't screen through, no, nothing special."

The younger cop grinned and said, "So, just another day at the office, huh?"

Moretti grinned, too.  That's my grandson.  Good lookin' kid.  Now, who's the redhead?

As if he had read Moretti's mind, Sloan introduced the two young men.

"Mr. Moretti, this is Officer Alfredo Cioffi," he pointed to the young man who had spoken, "and this is Officer Charles Donovan," he indicated the redhead.  The two young men were too far away to easily shake hands, but each nodded politely as Sloan continued to speak. 

"They helped form the plans we will be using for your protection, and their job is to get you out of here in case of trouble.  So, if anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, you just do what they tell you.  They'll keep you safe."

Moretti sized up the two young men, shining proudly like two freshly polished brass buttons, and nodded.  He knew Sloan's record, and didn't think the man would give such praise to a couple of rookies if it weren't fully due them.

For about the next hour or so, the conversation bounced around among the two Sloans, Banks, Wagner and his son, and Al Cioffi.  As the two generations of law enforcement chatted about cars, politics, grandchildren or the lack thereof, and the Lakers' chances against the Celtics, Moretti watched the people in the room some more.

Sloan senior's little lights were green again, and when he saw the younger Sloan glance at them and smile, Moretti suddenly realized they weren't for communication at all.  He wasn't sure what they were for, but it had something to do with Sloan himself, he was sure of that, and since Sloan junior was a doctor, they probably monitored his health.

Wagner and son clearly enjoyed sharing one another's company, along with that of their friends, and Moretti found himself aching for that kind of feeling with his own son.  Sadly he realized that, not only was his son three feet away from him and didn't know it, but Moretti had no friends left whose company he and his kid could enjoy.  Hell, he had no friends, period.  People had respected and feared him in his day, and now people were protecting him, but even Emmy, who seemed to like him wasn't really his friend.  She just found him inoffensive.

Determined to stop feeling sorry for himself, Moretti watched the others in the room with more intensity.  His grandson and the redhead seemed delighted just to be in the same room as the other cops, and, though Sloan and company seemed oblivious to it, Moretti could see the hero worship in their eyes as they simply sat and listened.  He wished he was the kind of man his grandson could admire like that, but he knew there was slim chance of anyone ever having such deep veneration for him.

Commander Banks had an easy relationship with Sloan and Captain Bentley-Wagner, but she was a little more guarded with Agent Wagner.  Probably doesn't know him as well.  She gave as good as she got when they joked back and forth and stood her ground on any serious issues they discussed, no matter how hard the guys hammered at her arguments.  It was clear that she and Sloan shared a deep and long-standing affection for one another, and Moretti remembered well the image of them, standing together on that car, facing down a mob of thousands, a few friends at their side, and a hundred cops behind them. 

There had been a moment on that video clip, before Sloan addressed the crowd, which had touched even Moretti's hardened heart.  Sloan had looked at her and she had nodded slightly.  He smiled faintly, and faced the mob.  Moretti had known in that moment, without a word passing between them, that they had agreed to live or die together on that spot.  Now, thirty years later, he found himself longing for just one friend like that.

Giving himself a mental shake, he turned away from the cops to watch Emily's parents.  Her mother had finished her meal and sat nervously twisting her paper napkin until it tore in half.  Then she started on one of the halves.  Eventually, it was just a pile of tatters on the table in front of her.  With nothing left to occupy her hands, she turned to cleaning up.  First, she gathered up all the little handy-wipes that had come with the ribs and barbecue and stuck the packets in her purse.

Moretti chuckled to himself.  Habits like that had probably driven Emmy nuts when she was a child.  Her mother had probably been just as irritated every time Emmy had thrown something away that might be useful later.  Every family has a pack rat and a thrower outer.  Moretti wondered how he could know that.  He'd never had a family.

He sighed deeply, surprised at how hard it was to avoid self-pity.  As Dr. Stephens continued clearing the table, he looked to Emmy's father and felt cheered.  The man was still sulking and looking daggers from his wife to Sloan.  Every now and then, he said a few snappish words, but mostly he just glowered.  Though the others ignored his foul mood, probably writing it off to nerves and worry for his child, Moretti was pissed with the man for being so utterly useless to his distraught wife, and that banished his gloominess.  Maybe later, he'd mention it, but now didn't seem the time.

Watching Keith Stephens and imagining telling him off made the time pass quickly, and before Moretti knew it, it was time to go back to the courtroom.  Agent Wagner left first, for the security office.  Then Em's parents and Steven Sloan headed down.  Finally, the cops formed a wall around Moretti, and they moved to the FBI's secure elevator together.

"Look, I'm working on it," Leigh Ann whispered harshly.  "Cioffi and Donovan were the last ones with access to the evidence.  I think I can get the tape from one of them.  Just give me some time."

"Court will reconvene in ten minutes."

"I have to go before we are seen together.  I'll be in touch."

Emmy turned toward the phone as Leigh Ann walked by.  When she had entered the courtroom, Em turned to the reporter Leigh Ann had been talking to and said in a deep, accented voice, "Do not trust her.  That one is treacherous."

"Huh?"

"If she were honest, she would tell the world, not lurk about in corners spreading rumors."

"She is afraid for her life," Lenny Murdoch defended his source.

"Or her wallet."

"Huh?"

"How much would the LA Times pay for the tape she has promised you?"

Leigh Ann smiled secretly as she took her seat in the back of the courtroom.  With that buffoon Lenny Murdoch clumsily 'researching' the relationship between Chief Sloan and Lieutenant Stephens, half the reporters in LA would be here by the end of the trial.  After the verdict, Sloan would be dead, she would turn over the tape, and his family would be devastated by rumors of incest.  On second thought, she would turn over the tape before the jury began deliberations.  That would draw more reporters, and there would be more photographers with them to take more pictures of his body being hauled away.

Idly she wondered if she could plead self-defense.  Sure, no one would be directly threatening her, but she was in possession of a tape that could destroy one of the oldest and most respected crime-fighting families in LA.  With Sloan being so high in the department, surely she had every right to be afraid of him.  There was no telling how many cops would kill for him.  He was a revered leader.

As Keith took his seat beside Leigh Ann again, his legs began to ache.  There was something disquieting in the woman's eyes.  It reminded him a little of Ted Baer when schizophrenia started stealing his mind years ago.  Not long after that, he became fixated on Olivia and had tried several times to take her by force, willing to kill anyone who got in the way.  So, who is this woman obsessed with?  Who is she willing to destroy?

Moretti shifted uneasily in his seat, getting ready for a rough ride.  He knew the defense would try to tear him apart.  The judge reminded him he was under oath, and the questions began.

"Mr. Moretti," Casale began, "would you please remind us of how you and Mr. Gaudino met?"

"I was a big, strong kid, not too good in school, and my uncle introduced me ta Mr. Gaudino, hopin' I could get a job as a bouncer at one of his clubs."

"I see, and what did you do before then?"

"I was…a bill collector."

"Yes, for a Mr. Gianni DiBona, is that right?"

"Yes."

"He was a well-known loan shark wasn't he?"

"Yes, 'til somebody capped him."

"Capped as in killed?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who killed him?"

"No."

"Are you sure?  Mr. Moretti, you are under oath."

The oily voice made Moretti want to bust Casale's face.

"I think I know, but I could never prove it."

"Well, Mr. Moretti, why didn't you tell the police?  They might have been able to find Mr. DiBona's killer."

"Your Honor," DA Downs stood up, "I object.  What bearing does a forty-year-old murder have on today's proceedings?"

"Goes to credibility, Your Honor.  This witness has a history of being…reluctant…to cooperate with law enforcement.  I want to establish his motives for providing this testimony now."

Before the judge could rule, Moretti spoke up.

"Your honor, I think I could save the court some time."

Looking at the witness as if he had just dropped out of the sky, Judge Greer asked, "How is that, Mr. Moretti?"

Moretti looked to Casale and said, "By tellin' him everythin' he wants ta hear without all the dancin' around."

Perplexed, Judge Greer looked to Casale first.  "Mr. Casale, any objections?"

"None, Your Honor, as long as I still get to cross examine him when he's finished."

"You will," turning to the DA, Greer said, "Mr. Downs?"

"No objection, Your Honor, so long as I may still redirect after the cross."

"You may."  Turning to Moretti, he said, "The witness may proceed."

Moretti grew thoughtful.  He took a deep breath, and looked to Emmy.  She nodded slightly.

"I've been a criminal since I was old enough ta know the difference between right and wrong," he began.  "When I was four years old, I stole some money from my mother's purse.  She was passed out drunk at the time, and never knew . . ."

Casale was on his feet again.  "Mr. Moretti, we are not interested in your tragic childhood.  We want to know why you are testifying here today.  Could you please. . . " 

"Mr. Casale," Judge Greer interrupted.  "You agreed to let the witness testify.  Let him speak."

"But, Your Honor . . ."

"Sit down, Mr. Casale!  And be quiet!  You may cross examine when he is finished, but do not interrupt again."

Casale sat and sulked.

"Continue, Mr. Moretti," the judge said.

Moretti nodded and licked his lips nervously.  "From there, I moved on ta shopliftin', petty theft, simple assault, aggravated assault, armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon," he looked reluctantly at the jury, "and a lot of other things I should go ta hell for."

Moretti studied his nails a moment, then continued.

"I have a kid who doesn't know me.  His mother knew I was trouble, and ran away when she found out she was pregnant.  I didn't go lookin' for her, though, because I didn't want that kinda responsibility.  I guess she loved me, because she kept the baby.  I've met him before, and my grand kid, too, but they don't know it.  They're good men, no thanks to me."

Moretti turned to look at the jury.

"Mr. Casale wants me to say I am here today because the Feds have offered me immunity from prosecution on all the crimes I have committed in the past."  He shrugged.  "That's true, in a way.  I wouldn't be here if I didn't have that guarantee and their protection, but there's more to it."

The courtroom remained silent as he gathered his thoughts.

"The past month or so, I've realized that I have very little ta be proud of.  I've lost thirty pounds or so in the past few weeks, and I've built up my endurance ta the point where I can run ta the top of a hill in Santa Monica.  Other than that, my life has been a waste.  I don't even have the right ta be proud of my own kid, 'cause I had nothin' ta do with bringin' him up, unless you count stayin' outta the way."

He took a long moment and met the gaze of every cop in the room.  Sloan was intense, Banks, sympathetic.  Captain Bentley-Wagner was curious.  His son seemed a little disdainful.  His grandson and the redheaded kid were eagerly taking everything in.  Clearly, this was their first big assignment, and they wanted to store everything up in their memory.  And Em?  If Moretti didn't know better, he would swear she looked proud of him.  He took another deep breath before continuing.

"Last night, I went ta confession for the first time in over forty years, and told the priest what I was plannin' ta do today.  He asked me why, and I gave him a lot of reasons.  Now I realize all of them were pretty weak.  Five minutes ago, I'd have told you I wanted this testimony ta be somethin' I could be proud of, me, alone, on the stand, aware of the danger, and doin' the right thing anyway.  But no decent man would be proud of knowin' what I know, and he sure as hell wouldn't be proud that good people were riskin' their lives ta keep him safe until he could blab about crimes he had no business bein' a part of."

Moretti looked at the defense attorney again, and finished his speech.

"So, Mr. Casale, I guess the only reason I am here is that Vincent Gaudino is an evil man.  I have information that can put him in jail, and yes, in exchange for my testimony, I got a deal that keeps me out of prison."

Moretti was done testifying by 3:45.  Casale's cross-examination went quickly because most of his questions were meant to undermine Moretti's credibility, and every time he asked one, DA Downs objected.  When Casale argued that it went to credibility of the witness, Greer overruled him, once even saying, "He's already admitted he's a lying, thieving, violent criminal, who struck a deal to get off scot-free.  What more do you need?"

In a surprise move, the DA's office stipulated to every statement and piece of evidence the defense had scheduled to present, effectively shutting them down. Since Gaudino could accomplish nothing by taking the stand in his own defense, the judge moved to closing arguments by four.

Moretti almost felt sorry for Dominic Casale.  The kid was a good lawyer, but having Gaudino's original books made the case open and shut.  The best the young man could hope for was an easy sentence due to his client's advancing age, and a day's head start before Gaudino put a hit out on him.  By 4:30, the jury had left to deliberate the case.

As they waited in the FBI offices, drinking endless cups of bad coffee, Moretti moved to sit beside Em's mother.  She looked at him, smiled weakly, and nodded.

"Dr. Stephens . . . "

"Please, call me Olivia, or Liv."

"Ok.  Olivia.  Emmy's ok.  She was in the courtroom again after lunch, and she's all right.  She misses ya, but she's fine now."

Liv smiled.  "She must like you.  She hates being called Emmy."

"Really?"  Moretti was surprised.  "I didn't know that."

"Oh.  Maybe it's just me, then."

The woman had been on the verge of tears since the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and now, finally, on teardrop escaped.  She caught it in her tissue, took a deep breath, rolled her eyes, and nodded, apparently deciding then and there that she would shed no more tears.

Moretti covered her hand with is own and squeezed gently.

"She loves ya very much, Liv, and she knows she was not an easy child, and she knows ya did your best, and she forgives ya for your mistakes.  Ya did a good job with her.  I'm livin' proof."

Finally, the dam broke, and the tears let go.  Olivia drew up her legs and hid her face against her knees and sobbed.  As he sat there, rubbing her back softly and watching her husband glare at him from across the room, he couldn't help but wonder why the man was being such an ass and wouldn't come comfort his wife at a time like this.

"Stop the presses!"  Lenny Murdoch shouted as he walked into the offices of the LA Times.  People laughed at him, more than they usually did when he came through the door with a story, but this time, he'd show them.  He walked straight into Genevieve Reynolds' office and told the editor-in-chief, "I have a scoop that will blow you away."  Tossing the tape and the hard copy of his story on her desk, he said, "The tape's a copy, but I can provide the original on demand."

Genevieve read the lead, slipped the tape into her player, and a minute later, called the pressroom.  "Howie," she said, surprising herself, "Stop the presses.  We have a new front page.  Here's the headline:  'Sloan Dirty:  Covered for Love Child When Federal Witness Kidnapped'."

Emmy couldn't figure out what was going on, and it really had her pissed.  Whatever Leigh Ann was up to, it was drawing more and more media coverage to the courthouse.  Word was out that the LA Times had stopped their presses for a story that was expected to break here, and now, television crews were setting up on the street.  She had a very bad feeling about this.

"Yes, sir.  ASAP, sir.  I will, sir."  Ron clicked his cell phone shut.

"What was that about?"  Steve asked.

"It was nothing.  Nothing that matters now, anyway."

The phone rang again.

"Agent Wagner . . .ok . . . We're on our way."  He closed his phone and looked around.  "Jury's back."

As Ron fought through the crowd in the lobby, he remembered to be eternally grateful that the building had a secure elevator and a private entrance for important witnesses and officers of the court.  There was no way Steve and his people would have been able to keep Moretti safe in this mass of humanity.

He wondered why all the reporters were here, though.  True, he had been busy tracking Em and Moretti, but he couldn't believe he'd missed something so big it would have the press overrunning the courthouse.  The Gaudino trial was only a big thing for the FBI.  Most of America didn't know Vinnie Gaudino from Adam and couldn't care less what he did with his money or how he got it.  So, what was the story?  He stopped a reporter and asked.

"Dunno," the young man said, "but the LA Times stopped the presses and sent three of its best here, so the rest of us figure it must be big.  After all, the evening edition is supposed to hit the stands in forty minutes, and they gotta have one hell of a story if they are willing to risk being late."

Ron made a quick check of the security office to be sure all the equipment was working and that the paramedics had their gear ready just in case.  He wished the high rises weren't so close around the courthouse that they prevented a helicopter landing.  In fact, times like these, he wised every federal building in the country had a helipad.  Finally, he fought his way back to the courtroom.  He wanted to be there for the verdict.  Then, he would go back to the office and the team would move Moretti and Em.

"The jury has reached a verdict," a voice called over the commotion.  "Court will reconvene in five minutes."

Emily sighed with relief.  It was over.  She made her way excitedly to the courtroom, determined to speak to her parents before the jury came in.

"Mama!  Daddy!" she called as she entered the room.

She saw her mother look around and her heart sank when she looked right past her.  Remembering her disguise, she said, "Right here, Mama!"

She rushed toward her parents tearing her wig off and undoing her braid as she went, and when she reached them, she let them wrap her an a hug.

"Oh, Emmy!  Oh, thank God.  Oh, thank God, you're safe."  Liv was crying in earnest now, tears of joy and relief.

Ron waved a couple of his undercover men over but had them stand back for a minute, letting Em and her parents have this moment.

Stepping back from the hug, tears in her own eyes, Emmy grinned and said, "Thank Moretti, too, Mama, he could have made it a lot harder than it was, but he followed directions and cooperated.  If he hadn't, I wouldn't be here.  Do you have something I could use to wipe away this make-up?"

Nodding, Liv reached into her purse and handed her several wet naps with the BBQ Bob's logo on them.  Charles Donovan and 'Fredo Cioffi, and several dozen strangers who had been astounded when the prim Italian woman had started calling for Mama and Daddy and tearing her hair off to reveal voluminous red curls were now dumbstruck to see the wrinkles, age spots, and facial hair go with a few swipes of a disposable wash cloth.  The pretty, smiling, freckled face still showed signs of the recent strain, but the expression was overwhelmingly happy.

Steven Sloan wrapped an arm around her waist as she finished cleaning herself up and he pressed a kiss to her temple.  He whispered something in her ear, and she giggled.  Steven was even better than his dad at guarding his feelings most of the time, but now, he was clearly a man in love and glad to have his lover back with him.  For her part, Em was thrilled to be among family and friends again.

Ron hated himself for what he was about to do.  Motioning his men forward, he stepped into the middle of the happy group.  Emmy smiled at him proudly, expecting official praise, but her grin faded as he hung his head and sighed.

Looking her in the eye, he said, "I'm so sorry, this is out of my hands.  Director Friedman called me about twenty minutes ago.  I'm only following orders."  Taking a deep breath, he began his official ritual, "Emily Morgan Stephanie Theodora Stephens, I am placing you under arrest for the kidnapping of Giancarlo Moretti, for tampering with a federal witness, for endangering a federal witness . . . "

"What the hell?"  Steve was aghast.

"You bastard!"  Keith snapped.

"Son of a bitch," Moretti called him.

"Uncle Ron?"  Steven queried.

"No!"  Olivia cried out as the litany of charges continued.  When Ron did not stop, she stepped between him and Emmy and tried to push him away.  When she couldn't move him, she began punching and thumping his chest.  "Leave her alone, dammit!  Leave her alone!"  When she kicked him in the shin, Ron grunted, but stepped back a bit.

One of the other agents moved to pull Liv off Ron, and Emily lashed out faster than the eye could follow, leaving the young man moaning in pain.

". . . assaulting a federal agent . . ." Ron continued.

"You touch my mama again," Emmy told the agent, "and I will tear your arm off and beat you to death with it."

". . . threatening a federal agent . . . " Ron said.

"Will you shut up?"  Emily snapped, and Ron did.  She turned to her mother, then, and said gently, "It's ok, Mama.  He has no choice.  Remember Judge Braun?  He swore he would get me.  I'm sure he arranged this.  He and FBI Director Friedman are good friends."

"But Emmy, you got Moretti here alive."

"I know, but I broke the law to do so.  I have to answer for that.  It will be ok.  Just get me a lawyer, Mama."

Olivia nodded, and Emmy turned back to Ron, holding out her hands for the cuffs.  As he reluctantly fastened them loosely around her wrists, she asked, "May I stay to hear the verdict?"

He nodded.  "I owe you that much.  I really am sorry about this."

"I know, and I know you have orders.  Finish the charges."

"Stealing cell phones . . . "

"That's a Federal offense?"  Steven asked.

Emmy nodded as Ron continued listing the charges.  "FCC regs."

At Steven's look, she elaborated, "Federal Communications Commission."

"Oh."

"Look," Emmy told Ron as he was still droning on, "I know my rights, and I promise I won't confess to anything until I see my lawyer.  Can we please sit down?  My back is killing me, and the judge is about to come back."

Ron had to smile at her sense of humor, and he nodded and showed her to a seat.  The others moved back to their seats with the exception of Al Cioffi.  Keith still sat beside Leigh Ann, but, in preparation for moving Moretti and Emmy out after the verdict, Al had come to sit with Liv and Steven a few rows behind the prosecution.

When she found herself sitting beside the Chief, she tapped the back of his right hand and asked, "One of Mama's contraptions, sir?"  All the diodes on the glove were red.

Steve nodded.

"A biofeedback device, right, sir?"

"Yes."

"And it says you need to calm down.  Your friend was only doing his job, sir."

Steve nodded, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

"Mister Foreman," the judge said, "has the Jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

"What say you?"

"In the matter of the United States vs. Vincent Armando Gaudino on charges of money laundering, racketeering, and income tax evasion, we find the defendant guilty on all counts of all charges."

The end of the trial was anticlimactic, disappointing the swarm of reporters who had gathered.  As Vinnie Gaudino was taken into custody to await sentencing, the members of the prosecution quietly congratulated each other, and the defense counsel came over and shook hands.  Ron went back to the security office, and the wall of cops surrounded Emily and Moretti. 

As planned, Steve walked at the head of the small knot of officers.  Cheryl and Donovan came right behind him, escorting Em, and Al and 'Fredo took Moretti.  Because Emily was now a federal prisoner, two FBI agents followed the group.

For Keith, for the rest of his life, the next few seconds would always be remembered in slow motion.  He was still sitting beside Leigh Ann when his daughter was led off in handcuffs, and he was trying to divide his attention between watching Leigh Ann and gauging Emily's reaction to being a prisoner again.  Suddenly he glanced at Leigh Ann and wondered why she was getting her feminine hygiene case out in the courtroom.  When the small carrying case folded out into a gun shape with a rudimentary trigger mechanism, he knew disaster was imminent.  He looked to Em and saw her eyes widen minutely.

Emily performed her next several actions so fast, even when Ron replayed the security videos on slow motion, he could not tell which came first.  As the scene unfolded for him, he quietly cursed himself for not telling Director Friedman where he and his cronies could stick their vendetta.  When it was over, he kicked the hell out of the trashcan.

"GUN!"  Emily screamed as she kicked back, nailing Moretti in the groin and dropping him out of danger while she tore Charles Donovan's gun from its holster on her left and belted Commander Banks in the face with her right elbow.  Leaping forward with the same moves that made her a basketball star fifteen years ago, she gave a good old fashioned Punxsutawney Raider's War Cry, as she felt the bullets slam into her, four of them to her one, turned in mid air and hip checked Chief Sloan and knocked him out of the line of fire. 

She landed with a smile, knowing she had neutralized the threat, and then she knew no more.

Keith heard five shots.  The first slammed into Emmy's right shoulder, turning her in the air as she tried to knock Steve out of the line of fire.  The second hit her above the right breast, and her white blouse bloomed crimson even before the next shot was fired.  The third hit her breastbone, and she gave a war whoop from her high school basketball days.  As the fourth bullet tore through her lower left rib cage, she finally squeezed off a shot, and Keith heard Leigh Ann yell.

Steve had been so intent on getting Moretti and Em through the door safely he hadn't spotted Leigh Ann when she drew a bead on him.  He heard Emily yell, 'GUN' and give a blood curdling scream, and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his face sucking wind with a hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight on top of him. 

He smelled the metallic scent of blood and felt its warm, sticky wetness.  He wasn't hit.  Dead weight.  Oh, God, no.  Please, no, God.  A long, springy, red curl dropped down over his face as he looked at the shoes of the people seated in the bench beside him.  Why, God?  Why now?  Beyond the curl, he could see the glove.  The diodes blinked bright red twice then went out.

He craned his neck to look up just as Ron came bursting in.

Keith suddenly found himself next to the bottom of a dog pile.  Leigh Ann was beneath him, kicking and screaming, and the weight of the world was on top of him, keeping her from getting away.  One man at a time, the weight eased as officers climbed off the pile, and as he got room to maneuver, Keith wrapped his arms around her in a crushing bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides and trying to squash the air out of her.  When they finally got to him, he had an arm tight around her throat and her eyes were bulging.  It took four men to pull him off her, and two more to hold him back while she was cuffed and led away.

He limped painfully to the carnage in the center aisle and watched the chaos unfold.  Olivia and Steven were working frantically with the paramedics to hold on to Emily.  Donovan was saying, "Too many news vans, the ambulance can't get within a block."

"There's another way," Moretti said.

"Not now, Moretti."  Steve was unhurt, but covered in blood.  Emmy's blood.  Oh, God.

"I can get her out," Moretti insisted.

Steve turned on the man who was still looking sickly from Em's kick.  "We can't haul her through the ventilation system, dammit!"

With an animal roar, Keith grabbed Steve by the lapels of his coat and slammed him to the wall.  Banging him repeatedly against the wall, he shouted, "She got him in, he can get her out!  Listen to him!"

Steve looked to Moretti, and Moretti looked to Donovan, "Two blocks west, an' hang a left.  There's a classic blue Viper parked next to a manhole.  We'll meet you there."

"She's bleeding out fast, Dad," Steven said, "we have to get her to CG NOW!"

Steve and Keith looked to Moretti.

"The basement."

"Through the judge's chambers," Ron ordered, already on the move, with the paramedics, Steven, Steve, Liv, Keith, Al and 'Fredo Cioffi, Cheryl, and Moretti in tow.  "To the service elevator."  He got on the radio and said, "Have Harold meet us at the service elevator now."  Switching channels, he said, "Donovan, direct a couple black and whites around to where the ambulance is going, but do it discretely.  I don't want to be mobbed by the press again."

As soon as they saw the service elevator, it was obvious that they wouldn't all fit, and everyone save Liv and the paramedics headed for the nearest stairwell.  The doors opened in the basement to show one paramedic performing CPR while the other was charging the paddles to try to restart Emily's heart.  Liv was speaking softly to her daughter.

"Hold on, baby.  Please, Emmy, hold on," looking up, Liv prayed, "Please, God, don't take her yet."

"Clear!"

The paramedic shocked her, and the little green line resumed its somewhat irregular jumping.

"She's back," he said.

It was tricky work maneuvering Emmy through the overfull basement and to a door in a dark, dirty little corner.  Once they got there, Moretti tried the knob, and when it didn't turn, he said, "Break it down."

It gave to Ron's first kick, and there they stood staring down the tunnel.

"I can't believe it's been there all these years and we never knew about it," Agent Wagner said, still in shock as they rode in the squad car following the ambulance.  "Hell of a lot of good our security plans did us, huh?"

Moretti snorted and said disgustedly, "Fat lot of good it woulda done if ya had known about it.  You let that woman walk right in the front door."

"Don't remind me."

"Why not?  You screwed up, and that kid is gonna die."

Agent Wagner looked at him, his eyes full of sorrow and guilt, and said, "Don't underestimate her.  We've done that all along, and she's made fools of us all."

Moretti shook his head.  "She just let ya be yourselves."

There were more reporters at the hospital, but the ambulance pulled right up to the door scattering them like leaves before the wind.  Emily was moved quickly through the double doors, followed by her parents, Steven, Moretti, and Deputy Chief Sloan.  Steven had ridden in the ambulance and kept in constant contact with Jesse over his cell phone, so they didn't even need to take her in to the trauma room for assessment.  Questions came flying from the press as they spilled past the entrance, but none of Emily's loved ones heard any of them.

As Emily was whisked straight off to surgery amid the pop and flash of a dozen cameras, Liv rounded on Steve.

"Why did you let him charge her, Steve?  Why let him arrest her?"  Liv raged blindly.  More lights flashed.

"Come on, O," Keith said, trying to steer her away.

She brushed him off and continued to rail at Steve.  "Were you that angry that she embarrassed you?  She could have defended herself better if she hadn't been in cuffs.  Why didn't you stop Ron from arresting her?  Her blood is on your hands, Steve, because she took those bullets for you."

Finally, Steve had enough.

"Dammit, Liv!  Do you think I wanted this to happen?"  His voice got louder as he ranted on.  "Do you think I didn't want to stop him?  Do you think I don't know she's my daughter?" he finally shouted.

Looking back, Steve would always remember how quiet the ER lobby was at that moment.  It was as if the entire world, except for the cameras, had stopped to listen.  The cameras kept flashing.  Olivia drew in a breath, and her lips moved as if she were about to speak.  Then her right hand lashed out and landed a blistering slap to his left cheek.  She tried to speak again, but couldn't.  Then she turned her back on him and walked away.

A camera flashed, then another.

As the tapping of her heels faded, the normal, chaotic sounds of the ER filtered back into his consciousness.

"Liv, wait," he called and started after her as she rounded the corner, but Keith held him back.

"Let her go," he said quietly.  "We can discuss this later."

When Steve stopped trying to go after Olivia, Keith let go of his arm and limped over to the reception desk.

"My . . . daughter was just taken to emergency surgery.  Where is the waiting room?"