With Jaffer at his side – since no one had the guts to tell him the dog wasn't allowed in there – Jack walked into the private examining room with Officer Reyes. Bob Danson was sitting on an examination table, the leg of his jeans cut open and his leg propped up onto the table while a doctor was probing it gently with his fingers and the police Sergeant looked on. Jack noticed that Danson's wrist was handcuffed to the railing of the bed he was on. Jack approved.

"Sergeant?" Reyes said when they walked in. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you, please."

The Sergeant looked at Reyes suspiciously, but the other cop just smiled slightly.

"Don't worry about the prisoner – I mean… suspect. Colonel O'Neill here said he'd watch him for us while we talked."

The Sergeant looked at Jack, who tilted his head slightly, giving him a bland look. The sergeant nodded.

"That's very accommodating of him, isn't it?"

"I thought so."

"I wouldn't want anything to happen to my prisoner, Reyes."

"Don't worry, Sir. Colonel O'Neill's dog is a government attack dog. Nothing can get by him. He'll be here when we get back."

"Okay. Let's go talk. Doctor? Could you come with us? I'd like to know how my… suspect is doing…"

The three men left the room, leaving Jack standing beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched them walk out. Then the Colonel turned his attention to the man on the table, and without a word he reached over and closed the door. And Bob Danson flinched at the sound of the lock clicking shut. Then turned defensive immediately to hide that fear.

"You can't do anything to me…"

Jack walked over to the table, looking down at the man.

"You really got worked over, didn't you?"

"I was in an-"

"Accident…"

"Yeah."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"Were you driving the-"

"I don't have to answer anything. You're not even a cop!"

"Jaffer…"

The black lab hopped up onto the foot of the table, his eyes on Bob and his expression just as intense as Jack's own. Bob paled, but he couldn't move because of the leg and the cuff on his wrist.

"Don't let him-"

"What?" Jack asked innocently. "He's harmless. But he hates liars, Bob… almost as much as I do…"

"I'm not-"

Jack had had enough. He didn't know how much time Reyes was going to give him, and he didn't want to waste any more of what he had. Besides, his temper was at the limits, and he had no reason to hold back. His hand shot out and before Danson realized what was happening, Jack had him by the throat in a vice-like grip, just this side of choking him. He gasped at the suddenness of the attack, and tried to squirm away, but he couldn't move.

"Let me tell you a few things, Bob," Jack said, his voice cold and his expression hard. "I know you had something to do with what happened. What I don't know is if you're the one that shot Ian or not." The hand tightened enough at that thought that it caused Danson to wheeze in distress, and his eyes widened with fear. Jack didn't notice. "That boy's like a son to me, and if I find out you're the one who shot him, you're not going to need a lawyer, or a trial. You're going to need a priest."

There was no mistaking the meaning in that statement, and no disguising the hatred in O'Neill's brown eyes, and Bob shook his head as violently as he could. Jack eased up on his grip just a bit.

"It wasn't me!" He gagged out. "We were just going to rough him up a bit – because he was such a bastard to Zeke and he wanted-"

"Zeke?"

Bob nodded.

"He's the one that shot the kid – not me. I didn't even get a hand on him. He-"

"I don't believe you, Bob," Jack said, bringing his free hand down hard on the broken knee while at the same time tightening his grip on his throat to strangle off the scream of pain before it could call anyone into the room. Tears welled up in Danson's eyes and he looked ready to throw up. Jack waited until the original scream died in his throat, and then loosened his grip a little once more, leaving his other hand on the injured leg, and Bob whimpered.

"It wasn't me… I swear… it was Zeke who shot him… I just… I was just there… please…"

"Where do I find this guy?"

"I can't-"

The hand moved, striking the knee again, and again Jack choked off the cry of pain before it could draw attention to the room. Again he waited until the loudest of the moans died, and then loosened his grip.

"I'll ask you really slow, in case you don't understand the question. Where do I find this guy?"

"He's hiding! At his Aunt's garage… 554 Rainer Ave! Oh God, please let me go… didn't shoot him, I swear…"

Tears were coursing down the man's cheeks and snot was running out of his nose, but Jack ignored all that. He wasn't quite finished. There was more than just this guy and the other guy involved, and he wanted the story.

"Tell me what happened. Exactly what happened – and use little words, okay? If I think you're lying to me, I'll turn my dog loose on you, and if you think you're hurting now, wait until he's done with you…"

Danson whimpered, turning to look at Jaffer, who was standing on the bed, his ears and head flat, and his teeth plainly visible since his lips were drawn back in a decisively threatening posture. He didn't like this guy at all, and he would love it if Jack gave him the signal to attack. It was obvious to Jack – who knew him so well – but it was just as obvious to Bob, who didn't doubt it for a moment. His throat raspy and sore, his eyes wide with fright and his knee throbbing so badly it was probably going to fall off any minute, he started talking.

"We were driving down the road… just coming back… from a party, when Zeke saw the kid-"

"His name's Ian, you sonofabitch, and he's more a man than you'll ever be – don't you ever forget that, Bob. Ever."

Nodding fearfully, Danson agreed, and continued talking…