Yeah, I know Faith wouldn't draw her gun on another officer unless she felt she had to. But what can I say? O'Shea is as stubborn as they come.

More technical stuff in this one. Bear with me, okay? We'll get through it.

"We shouldn't have left him by himself."

Bosco rolled his eyes. "Come on, Yokas. There wasn't anything we could have done to stop him. You heard him, anyway. He wants nothing to do with us, so why bother? It's just wasting our time."

"I still don't feel right letting him alone. He's going to get into more trouble. Even Sully thinks so."

"And that proves what? That he doesn't know when to stop?"

Faith chuckled humourlessly. "That's rich, coming from you."

"What? I can't have an opinion because I'm just as bad as he is?"

"I didn't say that."

"But it's what you meant."

"So now you're reading my mind? Okay, Bosco, have it your way. You want to be a jerk, that's fine with me. Could you be so kind as to let me out at the next corner? I feel like taking a walk."

Bosco stared at her in disbelief. "What's gotten into you? First you pull your gun on O'Shea, then you jump all over me for a simple question. I don't get it. What's your problem, anyway?"

"My problem? Bosco, there is a badly injured cop walking around looking for trouble because we couldn't convince him to get medical attention. Okay? That's the problem."

Her partner shook his head adamantly. "Uh-uh. No way. There was no 'we' involved in that. That was all you. I'd let him do what he wants. It's his life, not mine."

Faith smiled bitterly. "Yeah, okay. This from the guy, who helped save O'Shea from a bullet between the eyes. Yeah, there really isn't a 'we' anywhere there."

"There isn't. That back there, that was part of the job. It's not written anywhere that I have to give a damn about the cop whose ass I'm saving."

"Is that how you felt about Luke, too? Now I get it. You did squat for him because you didn't care."

"What? Whoa, wait, hold on. That was different – "

"Different? Bosco, it was a man-down situation and you just stood there!"

"Great, now you're starting to sound like O'Shea."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should listen to what he says, sometimes."

Bosco gritted his teeth and stomped on the brakes. "You want to take a walk? Fine. Be my guest. Sidewalk's over there, be careful crossing the street."

"We're in the middle of the road!"

"Do you think, that I care?"

The two partners glared at each other while the horns blared from the line of traffic piling up behind them. "Fine. There are better things to do with my time than waste it talking at a rock." Faith snapped as she flung open the passenger door. "Give it a rest!" She shouted at the drivers honking their horns in irritation. The guy in the first car made a gesture with his hand and she put her right hand on the butt of her gun, slamming shut the cruiser door. The driver took note of this and decided to behave himself. Bosco pulled the RMP forward without looking back. Faith jogged out of the road, wishing she'd kept her temper. It was happening too often to too many of them. Malloy's death had pushed them all to the edge. And some of us over it. She remembered the confused emotions on O'Shea's face as he stared down the barrel of her gun. He was going to snap if something didn't happen to relieve at least some of the pressure. The only problem was it was up to them to make that something happen.

"Dammit." Faith muttered, wearily tramping toward 110th Street. O'Shea couldn't have gotten too far from there, not as badly as he was hurt. If anyone needed someone to back them up, he did.

Stacks of papers teetered dangerously on the edge of the desk, threatening to scatter all over the floor with the slightest breeze from a passing detective or visitor. Asheby was barely visible behind the mess, hunched over a collection of pictures as he was. His partner was across the room, studiously recording the names of the five thugs Sullivan and Davis had brought in. News of the beating those five had given O'Shea had already spread through the station house like juicy gossip. The poor guy kept winding up on the wrong end of things. Maybe it wouldn't go quite so hard for him if he didn't actively pick fights. Asheby set aside the photographs and closed his eyes, wincing at the rough sandpaper feeling of his eyelids. How long had it been since he'd slept in his own bed? What, was it a day or two now? Too long. He needed to get home and feed the cat. Poor feline was probably starving. His stomach grumbled and he remembered the last meal he'd had was the Chinese take-out Wickes had brought in earlier that morning. That had done a number on his digestive tract. Note to self: avoid Chinese take-out.

"Got anything?"

"Not yet. Let me run 'em through the system first." Wickes replied, plopping into his chair. "The guy O'Shea was originally looking for, Adam Seavey, was released from Riker's nine days ago. Either he's right back to his old tricks, or it's his ingrained reaction to run from the cops."

"I'm gonna bet he's back in the game. Not much changes people for the better at Riker's."

"Such optimism and faith in our correctional system. Wish I knew how to get the lab guys to work faster. Even with the top priority tag on everything to do with the Malloy case, it's taking for ever to get results and reports back."

"Well, it does take a little bit of time to run the tests."

Wickes rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Professor."

"What are we supposed to do while we wait, anyway? There's not much that I hate more than sitting around with my thumb up my ass, waiting for other people to do their jobs." Asheby grumbled.

"Your patience is admirable."

"I try." The taller detective shuffled through a bundle of crime scene reports, searching for something to occupy himself. "I just had that report from the ME, where'd it go?"

"You mean this?" Wickes tugged a paper from the stack on his desk. The stack teetered for several long seconds, and Asheby, his eyes going wide, lunged forward in an attempt to save the pile and banged his shin on the metal corner of the desk. Papers and photographs fluttered everywhere as the detective wrapped both hands around his shin bone.

"Son-of-a-bitch, that hurts! Damn it all to hell. This day is one endless series of screw-ups!" Asheby exclaimed. "Oh what the f– "

"Mind your language, Mark. There are civilians in the building." Wickes interrupted, a little surprised by his partner's uncharacteristic profanity.

"Shut up." His partner growled, rising unsteadily from his chair to retrieve the scattered reports. Wickes only shrugged. The battered printer on the table next to the next churned to life, spitting out two sheets of paper before wheezing back to its less-stressful standby mode.

"Here's something for you, O Potty-Mouthed One. Jerome Kimball, long-time dealer, frequent visitor at Riker's Island. He was released on bail pending trial on an assault charge."

"Great. Does he own any guns?"

"That would be a good thing to know. How about you get right on that and find out?"

"And what will you be doing in the meantime?"

"Ordering Chinese."

Asheby made a face. "Again? How about you check to see if this guy owns any guns, and I order something that won't give me heartburn?"

"As long as it's not from that Italian place you like so much."

"Nah. There's a Greek place down the street that just opened up. Lieutenant Bishop says it's pretty good."

"And you listen to a guy who's not even in our precinct. There's logic for you."

"What? Sergeant Jones has no sense of taste. He's useless."

"I heard that!" The sergeant called out from his office. Asheby grinned and made a break for the door. His partner shook his head in resignation. Might as well get started on that records check.

"You know O'Shea?"

"Not well, no. He's been on The Job longer than me."

Davis snorted a laugh. "Longer than you? I didn't know that was possible."

"Funny, Davis. He was one of the guys us rookies looked up to, him and Malloy, even though the two of them were really still rookies themselves. They already had a reputation for being scrappy. And man, were they ever!" Sully grinned and shook his head. "Those two could be found wherever there was a brawl. But they knew their job and did it well."

"I don't get it. Why's he even working this shift? He's a day-shifter, I thought."

"Losing your best friend will do that to a guy. Andy and Luke were partners for twelve years before Andy had his accident. They got split up by some idiot higher up when Andy's medical leave lasted more than six months. Luke was paired with a rookie and that was the end of the Irish duo."

"Accident?"

"Your dad never told you about that? Man, that was a bad day for everybody. Real big structure fire down on 96th and 3rd. We had guys in the building searching for people before the fire department showed up. Andy and Luke were in a stairwell between the first and second floors when something on the first floor blew up. Luke got lucky; he dove up the stairs and used them for cover. Poor Andy, though. The blast of air ripped part of a steam pipe loose from the wall and it knocked him right through the window." Sully shook his head. "He landed right on top of an RMP. Broke his back. But he was so tough he got up and staggered over to the nearest bus. He was out of work for a year and a half. That's when Luke got assigned a new partner. Wasn't worth waiting for Andy to come back, or so somebody decided. That was December, 1987."

"And they've never been partnered up again? That was… fifteen years ago."

Sully shrugged. "Andy got stuck with light duty for a couple of years after he came back, then he was bumped up to vehicle patrol. He spent, oh, eight years doing that before going back to the foot beat. He's been there since."

Davis took a bite of the hot dog the vendor handed him. "He got any kids?"

"Yeah, three."

"And that's it? No wife, girlfriend, or something like that?"

Sully's face clouded over and he squirted mustard onto his own hot dog before replying. "He did have a wife. Rebecca, I think her name was. Pretty woman, and the biggest hearted person I've ever met. She used to come by the station house every Wednesday in the middle of shift with something for us, usually a box of fresh cookies or something. Andy isn't the touchy-feely type, but whenever she came to the house, he was right there with a hug and a kiss for her. We always teased him about it, but only because we were all jealous. It wasn't hard to see how much he loved her." His eyes became wistful. "We should all be as lucky as he was. She was one of the few women back then who understood what it meant to be a cop. Should've been one herself, too. Guess she could be just as hard-headed as Andy. But it helped get them both through the months of his therapy. We helped out as much as we could, but it was all them, the whole way. Man, they were two peas in a pod. Shame what happened to her."

"What? She leave him?"

Another silence took over before the older officer spoke again. "No, not the way you think. They were too close for that. Inseparable. Like he and Luke were when they were on the beat together." Sully walked slowly back over to the RMP. "It was that day. From what Andy said years back, she'd gotten a job as a secretary for some businessman or something. She was there when it happened. Poor Andy. He barrelled right in to get to her floor and get her out." He shook his head sadly. "He wasn't much of a drinker before then, but he hit the bottle hard after that shift. Only Luke was able to talk to him, for all the good it did. Andy damn near killed himself trying to find her up there, and he came awful close to losing his job later on. Only his kids, I think, brought him out of it."

"Man. And now Malloy's gone too."

"Yeah. There's nobody left to keep him in check. He's acting just like he did when he was a rookie, except he's way too old to be crossing swords with guys half his age. He's gonna get himself killed, and I really don't think he cares."

Davis looked at his partner. "So what do we do? Yokas and Bosco probably aren't with him anymore and it's almost impossible to track down a guy on foot beat."

"We'll check over at Angel of Mercy. As tough as that old Irishman is, he got thumped on pretty good. He might turn up there."

"Christmas is early this year." Wickes called out in a sing-song voice as he breezed into the station house, a thick folder in his hand.

"That sounds good."

"It is. The lab boys put a rush on the cartridge casing we sent over from where O'Shea got the crap beaten out of him and compared it to the casings found near Malloy's body. Perfect match. We got our murder weapon."

Asheby smiled. "Great. What else?"

"I ran Jerome Kimball through the database. There is one gun registered in his name, a 9mm Beretta. The one he was carrying when Sullivan, Davis, and Company picked him up. Right now he's looking real good as the shooter."

"And?"

"And. Adam Seavey's prints were pulled off the Beretta that was used to take out Benny and Carver. I just had a warrant signed for his arrest for that. That gun is registered to a Joey Miles, but he's up at Sing-Sing doing twenty-five to life for murder."

"Very good news. Now let's hear the bad news."

Wickes shook his head. "Nothing more on the hit list Don sent over. I'm willing to bet that Seavey was one of the two who jumped Staples. Until we track him down, we won't know who the other guy was."

"That's all?"

"Not quite. Technically, Seavey is still a juvenile. We need to find a parent or guardian and get permission to talk to him when we catch him."

"Are you serious? He's only a kid?"

"Sixteen years old and wanted for four murders. Doesn't get much better than that."

"I guess not." Asheby whistled. "And I thought I was a troublemaker when I was sixteen. Putting chalk dust in the teacher's coffee is nothing compared to what kids do these days."

"What can I say? It's a different world."

"Man. Sixteen."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But a murderer's a murderer, no matter how old or young he is."

"That logic sucks, I don't like it. He's just a kid!"

Wickes shrugged. "A kid who stuck a knife into a guy's back and then took off."

"So he got scared."

"Are you making excuses for what he did?"

"No, I'm just sayin' what probably happened."

"You wanna know what happened? Take another look at the crime scene pictures. Staples didn't have a chance once they got behind him. Heat of the moment and all that crap aside, these two knew full well what they were doing. There's no excusing that."

"Whatever." Asheby gave up. "Can we tie Seavey directly to that scene or not?"

"The prints on the drug packets aren't enough to say for sure."

"What about the knife?"

Wickes' eyes widened. "The knife. Of course. The knife. How could I have forgotten to check on that?"

"Seems that you're doing a lot of that lately." Asheby quipped.

"Okay, um, I'm gonna run back down to the lab. Why don't you, hmm, why don't you check on our good friend O'Shea and see how he's doing? I'll be right back." Wickes said, even as he hustled for the door again. Asheby rolled his eyes at his partner's bad memory and picked up the phone.

"Are you going to ignore me all night?"

Bosco said nothing as he buttoned up his shirt, keeping his eyes on the badge pinned to the uniform in his locker.

"Bosco, come on. We're partners, remember?"

"I would never have guessed."

Faith sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. It's been a rough day. What else do you want me to say?"

"You want to follow O'Shea around and make sure he behaves himself, you go right ahead. I don't mind working alone."

"Bosco."

"See you tomorrow."

"Bosco." She grabbed his arm as he tried to brush past her. "Come on. We're all shook up because Malloy was killed. The only way we're going to get catch the bastards who are behind this is by working together."

Her partner's expression was unforgiving. "I tried that. You'd rather chase after some hard-headed Mick who lost his partner. Too bad for him. I even tried to be nice to him, and he gave me the third degree for it. What's the point in trying to help him? He doesn't want it. We'd be better off just leaving him alone and letting him do his thing."

"And what happens when he gets himself killed? Then what? I've already let down one cop. His funeral is in three days. I'm not about to let down another. No way."

"Do what you have to do. Just, just leave me out of it. I don't care." Bosco pulled his arm out of her grip.

"Bosco, wait – "

"I don't care. Whatever."

The locker room door closed behind him with a click. Faith slammed her locker shut in frustration. Was it simply impossible for anything to go right anymore?

The slide of his service weapon clicked back and locked under the pressure of his fingers, spitting out the live bullet held in the chamber. He watched it spin end over end, first upward then down toward the floor. Without even thinking about it, he caught the falling bullet and pressed down on the tab that released the gun's magazine. It slid out of the weapon and he grabbed it. The ceiling lights glinted off the brass casing of the bullet at the top of the clip, reflecting a distorted image of his thumb as he forced the spring at the bottom of the magazine down so the loose bullet could be slid into place. He placed the unloaded gun on the top shelf of his locker and tucked the magazine back into its case on his gunbelt. Another shift over, and nothing new from the detectives.

His worn leather jacket proved a trial to slip on. It hurt to stretch his arms too far in any direction. It hurt to move much at all. That Morales woman at the hospital had jabbed at his ribs as though he had been lying to her when he said they might have been broken. He hated doctors, and that was one of the reasons why. They never believed what he told them. After making him wait on that hard examination table, she had come back with the X-rays and said that all he had were a couple badly bruised ribs. It wasn't serious enough to warrant an over-night stay, which he would have refused anyway, but she prescribed some medication for the pain. Right. It would just sit on the shelf in the bathroom next to the fifteen year-old medication he had been given for his back. Pain medication was for sissies.

He picked up his wallet and keys from the shelf and carefully tucked them into his pocket. Jamie would throw a fit if he was too late getting home. The boy hated babysitting for more than a few hours. Hopefully his truck would start tonight. One of the day-shift officers had replaced the battery for him. Everyone was doing their best to help him out, which he appreciated, but Malloy's family needed support the most.

"Hey, Andy." Sullivan trotted across the parking lot to intercept the other officer. "Want to grab a bite to eat or something?"

O'Shea shook his head. "No. Gotta get home to the kids. They're probably still up and tearin' apart the house."

"Yeah." Sullivan grinned slightly, but the expression slid from his face quickly. "Look, about today – "

"What happened today is nothing more than we know can happen," O'Shea cut in. "It's one of the risks we take. You should know that by now, Sullivan. I ain't gonna do anything that I haven't been doin' for years."

"Andy, you're not twenty-three anymore. You can't take a beating like the one you got today as well as you would have back then. You're too old – we're all too old for that crap. Leave the rough stuff to the young pups and just roll on to retirement."

O'Shea curled his lip. "I won't step back one bit. I never have, and I sure ain't gonna start now. There's a good man and fine officer lying in state in some God-forsaken morgue because I wasn't on me guard. Hell will freeze over before I let the scum who murdered him get away."

"And what good will getting yourself killed do for Luke? What good will it do for your kids? For God's sake, Andy, think about them! How well do you think they'll handle losing the only parent they have left? Your youngest is what, seven?"

"What business is my family of yours!" O'Shea burst out. "They're strong, each of them. Just like their mother. You want to know something, Sullivan? Until you get a family of your own, and friends you can trust not just with your life, but your family's as well, you will never know what it's like to lose either one. Never. Malloy's dead because I let him down. It's, it's my duty to see to it that those blackguards who took away my best mate pay for it. Nobody will get away with shooting a police officer dead on the sidewalk. I'm going to find those bastards, and they're gonna wish they'd never seen either one of us. I don't care who gets in the way."

Sullivan's face reflected his own pain. "But that's what gets you into trouble! You go at every skel and dealer out there with everything you've got, even when they haven't done anything. Sure, that worked back when we started, but that method doesn't work anymore. Don't you get it?"

"The times have changed, Sullivan. That doesn't mean that I have to." O'Shea said, stepping around Sullivan and walking the short distance to his truck. It was all well and good for him to say that. He'd gotten soft as the years passed. He wasn't like him, Malloy, and others anymore. Sullivan had been just like them in the beginning, but these days he just let the world roll on by. Maybe it was time for that kind of cop to move on to other things.

His midsection was throbbing mercilessly by the time he reached the top of the stairs. He had to rest against the wall before slipping the key into the lock. Man, he was really out of shape. The interior of the apartment was strangely quiet despite the lights being left on. Books and toys were strewn all over the floor. O'Shea picked his way carefully across the living room to the tiny kitchen. Dirty dishes were left piled in the sink, and there was dried spaghetti sauce caked on the stove. Jamie didn't like cleaning up after himself either. He opened the refrigerator and winced at the stab of pain in his side. At least there was still milk left. Hopefully enough for the kids' breakfast in the morning. He switched off the lights in the kitchen and living room, after picking up the mess on the floor. The kids were probably in bed. Thank God for small miracles.

O'Shea eased open the door to the kids' bedroom. Jamie was sprawled on his bed, facedown, the covers tangled at the end of the mattress. His father stepped softly across the floor, tugged the sheet and blanket out from under the teenager's legs, and drew them up over his sleeping form before turning his attention to the pair of beds on the other side of the room. Heather was curled up in a ball in the middle of her bed. The thin blanket she favoured so much was clenched tightly in her fists. O'Shea tucked the sheet and blanket closer over her shoulders and bent down slowly to kiss her round, freckled cheek. Her sister lay on her back, a well-worn teddy bear half-crushed under her. He tugged the stuffed animal free and tucked it under her arm, then bent down to kiss her cheek as well. Bless their little hearts. They looked so precious when they were asleep.

The officer moved quietly from the room and padded down the hall. It felt good to sit down on the edge of his bed and kick off his shoes. Everything hurt and he was tired. But the constant pain in his side wasn't going to let him sleep. Closing his eyes only made it seem worse. He sighed and got back to his feet. Maybe some ice water would help. Ice water and one or two of pills Morales had given him. He must be getting soft too, but he wanted sleep more than he wanted to tough it out. Man, that cold water felt good going down. He padded back to his room, carefully slipping his jacket off as he went. It felt even better to collapse onto the mattress.

He thought his eyes had only just closed when he felt something heavy crawl across the bed. Must be one of the girls. "Hey you. Woke you up, huh?"

"No."

"Bad dream?"

"I miss Mommy." Sarah cuddled up against his side, her stuffed bear squashed between them. Thankfully, the unexpected pressure didn't hurt nearly as much. Maybe there was some worth to those pills after all. O'Shea drew in a steadying breath and stroked the little girl's dark curls.

"I do too." He drew his daughter up closer to his shoulder so he could kiss her forehead. "I do too. Just go to sleep and you can see her in your dreams."

"Really?"

"Yeah. That's where I see her sometimes."

"I'll say hello to her for you Daddy."

The heavy weight of sadness and regret settled over him. He smiled gravely in the darkness and wrapped his arm around the little girl curled up next to him. "Thank you."