This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Chapter Twenty-Five

"Rally? Are you awake?"

She was, but the very last thing she felt like doing right now was opening her eyes. Rally groaned and turned over, her hospital bed creaking. Sleep? She felt like she hadn't slept in five days. Unless she took a sedative, every time she drifted off her dreams were filled with sirens, screams and flames. Who would want to sleep under those circumstances? Not to mention the nurses who liked to hold loud conversations right outside her room at three in the morning.

"All right, you are awake." May snapped the light on and came into the room. "Hey! Checking out tomorrow?"

"That's the theory." Rally sighed again, knuckled her eyes and sat up. "Oh, God. Not more candy!"

May put a stack of large red and gilt boxes on the foot of the bed. "They asked me to take it in here so they could move around in the nursing station. Should I haul it down to the homeless shelter again?"

"Absolutely. Let 'em eat raspberry mocha truffles. Just give me the cards." She shuffled through the tiny envelopes that May handed her and dumped them into the brimming shoeboxful on her nightstand. Next to it crowded bowls of fruit and a pyramid of oranges studded with joss sticks.

"Getting a little tired of the attention, oh valiant rescuer?"

"The Sams have been wonderful to me, May. I haven't eaten one bite of hospital food the whole six days—it's all been delicious restaurant meals and snacks and desserts and everything, hand-delivered piping hot." She gestured at the tray of open take-out boxes on her rolling bed table. "They're sweet people, and of course they're grateful to me on Larry's account. But this whole hero-worship thing gets old fast! Do I have to gain ten pounds on chocolate and wontons before I can get the hell out of here? I'm as antsy as a cat on hot bricks!"

"If you're venting, you must feel better! You look good." May reached out and touched Rally's cheek. "The peeling's pretty much stopped, and your voice sounds better than yesterday."

"Yeah, the acupuncturist came in again...I'm amazed." Rally felt her throat. "Those little needles actually seem to do something."

"Of course they do! Oh, here's that lotion I promised you." She took a small package out of her purse. "I've been shopping up a storm—I can't wait to show you my stash! And I've got a surprise visitor for you!"

"You do?" Rally sat up straighter and adjusted her brand new embroidered silk pajamas. For an instant she hoped—knowing it was impossible—that the visitor was Bean. May came to the hospital every day and sometimes stayed for hours. The Sams and their vast circle of friends showered her with gifts and effusive praise. Smith and Wojohowicz had dropped in several times, officially for debriefing but mostly to slap her on the back and tell war stories. She did not lack for company and conversation in the least: rather the reverse. But the one person she truly longed to talk to had not once set a size-fifteen boot in the door of her hospital room.

"Come on in—she's decent!" May called out the open door. She heard a squeaking noise, and a left foot entered, propped up on an extended wheelchair rest. Then the rest of Roy rolled in pushed by an orderly, smiling, but with dressings covering his nose and the side of his neck. A fiberglass cast held his wounded leg out straight. His scorched hair had been buzzed short, and he was clean-shaven under the bandages.

"Roy!" Rally leaped out of bed and ran over to hug him. The orderly parked the chair and left. "Gosh, you look so different without your beard! You sexy beast! Fifteen years younger, I swear!"

Roy laughed and fingered his chin. "Sure, sure. Pour on the flattery—it's better than antibiotics. But I think I'm going to grow the fuzz back just to keep you girls from making Mrs. Coleman jealous."

"When's she flying in to take you home? How's your leg? Does it hurt? May said they put a pin in the bone! You got discharged already? You took a much worse beating than I did!"

"Not quite. I've been transferred over here...just in time to see you walk out the door, I guess. You're looking great, kid—I've been getting all the updates from Minnie-May. But I need microsurgery to take out some stuff that the blast embedded in my skin, and the specialist is at this hospital."

"Oh, Roy." Rally sat down and took his hand. "We were so lucky to come out of this alive..."

"Don't I know it." They were silent for a moment, and Roy went on. "You know that Patrolman White you were worried about, with the spinal injury? He's up and walking—he was on my ward. I gave him your best."

"Thanks, Roy. That's wonderful." Bean had caused the crash that had almost paralyzed Patrolman White. Just because the FBI acknowledged a debt to him in saving the life of an agent didn't clear his name with the SFPD. Frankly, for the average cop that probably made it worse. For a long time to come San Francisco streets would stay red-hot for Bean Bandit.

"Some more packages came for you, miss!" The duty nurse walked through the door with a double handful of shopping bags.

"Oh, MAN!" Rally buried her face in her hands and drummed her feet. "This is so embarrassing! I know they mean well, but..."

"It's OK, Ral." May took the bags from the nurse and peered inside. "I'll take them to the hotel and you can check them out later. Hey, that one looks kinda—"

"No! Don't tell me! I don't want anyone to give me another present as long as I live! I'm swimming in new clothes and jade jewelry and little porcelain knickknacks. I gave a bunch away to the nurses, but I swear, I could open a thrift store and get rich off this stuff! How am I supposed to schlep it all home?"

Roy chuckled. "You should see how many neckties and pairs of cufflinks I've scored. Larry Sam came to see me yesterday, by the way...for once, without six or eight family members along for the ride."

"Oh, he came to see me too when he was discharged. Couldn't get a word in edgewise around Vanessa, though! What did he want to say?"

"Among other things, the most auspicious date for the banquet has been fixed. You should be getting your invite tomorrow."

Rally fell back on the bed and made a face at the ceiling. "Oh, yeah. The banquet."

"If you think you're embarrassed by the gifts and encomiums now..."

"I'll have to have a few stiff drinks to get through a whole evening in a room packed with well-wishers!" She sat up. "Are you going to make it, Roy? You can give me moral support!"

"I don't know, kid." He grinned. "Maybe, if I feel up to it. My wife's coming tomorrow. As soon as the docs give the OK, I'm on a plane home."

"You lucky dog. I have to stay until the wing-ding—there's no way I can blow this off, can I? They are such nice people..."

"I'll be there, Ral." May finished packing up the gifts and candy. "Don't worry, you won't have to face the hordes alone."

"Thank you! How about Ken?"

"Well, he's got a job in Los Angeles—he scared up a special effects gig for a war movie. He's leaving this afternoon. He's got to make every buck he can with Junior on the way! So...I'm planning to stick with you until the banquet, and then I'm heading south to stay with Ken until the job's finished. Maybe for a month or two."

"Oh." Rally looked down. "I'll drive you down to L.A., of course. But I guess I am going to have to get home and open up the store before I go bankrupt. I'll miss you..."

"I'll miss you too, honey." They embraced. Roy cleared his throat.

"I have to get back to my room in a little while, kids. They're prepping me in an hour. Minnie, will you give me a moment with Rally?"

May looked slightly startled. "Uh...OK. I guess I'm going anyway. Bye! I'll be back after Ken goes to the airport." She gathered up the shopping bags, gave Roy a kiss on the cheek and departed.

Roy slowly turned his wheelchair to face Rally, his face looking strained under the dressings and his healing burns.

"Roy, really...how are you? You've got to be pretty uncomfortable."

"Yeah." He took his hands off the wheels and folded his arms. "The burns are mostly good—they weren't deep. This leg is not real happy, and they haven't finished fixing it up yet. I'm looking at six or eight months away from my desk."

"Oh, my gosh. Will your disability pay cover everything or not?"

"Most of it. I was injured on the job. Only problem is the out-of-state medical provider and the flight home. My insurance doesn't spring for things like that. I'm probably going to owe fifteen grand out of pocket."

"Oh, Roy! I'll take up a collection for you."

He shook his head. "From what I hear, the guys who really need a hand are the ones who were closer to the blast, and a couple of the cops who survived their gunshot wounds. The people who died almost had it easy."

Rally grimaced and covered her mouth.

"We're talking second and third-degree burns over seventy percent of the body. Blast injuries and amputated limbs and massive skin grafts." Roy held out one hand and turned it palm up to examine its lines. "I'll walk after a few weeks of rehab. Some of them may never get out of bed again."

"That's horrible."

"I'm not even mentioning the widows and orphans. 426 left his mark on this city, all right. But since the last of the Dragon hierarchy is either dead or out of the country, and their American assets were liquidated, there's nothing to make a claim against."

"Their assets? But the treasure from the boat...?"

"Oh, a good lawyer might be able to pry some of the seizures out of the FBI. Once they've legally established that it was all owned by the Eight Dragon Triad or its members and associates, once they've established it was obtained with drug money, once it's been catalogued and valued and auctioned off. Two, three years, maybe, and it will be split a lot of ways. The local police and firefighter's foundations are going to have to empty out their coffers in the mean time. There's going to be nothing left for anyone else."

"Jesus! What about Brown? Can't they track the bastard down and find him liable for something?"

"That might fit the bill, if anyone could find the slightest trace of him. Wherever he vanished to, he seems to have taken a lot of his money along." Roy gave her a stony look. "However, we do know who already got his hands on twelve million dollars plus of cold hard Dragon cash."

"Yes, I suppose we do." Rally looked down at her intertwined fingers. Roy let the statement settle for a minute, apparently waiting for her to speak, then let out a sigh.

"Well, like I said, Larry came to see me alone. We talked a good long time. He's a well-set-up young man."

"I know. Smart. And tougher than I gave him credit for. That cute face isn't the whole story." Rally smiled faintly and put her arms around her knees.

"His family helps reinforce him, I think, but a lot of it is plain old personal strength. He absorbed a lot of punishment and came out all right. I was impressed."

"OK..." She knew what was coming, something she dreaded having to deal with. Couldn't she just avoid the question entirely? But perhaps it was better to talk about it now, before anything slipped out in front of Larry's family and friends. The last thing she wanted to do was break someone's heart...

"As I said before, I'm not your dad. You've got a dad, even if he's not around. But I guess I was the available substitute as far as young Mr. Sam was concerned."

"Are you saying he asked your consent?"

"Something like that. Or for a recommendation, if I cared to give it. He does know his own advantages, but he's not the kind to flaunt them. Rally, I don't think any woman could do better than Larry Sam. Even if he didn't feel the way he does about you—"

"Oh, God. Please." She yanked the sheet over her face for a moment. "He told you that?"

"In a polite and reticent Chinese fashion, yes. He also asked me if I thought there was anything in the way. Anything he could reassure you about, or help you with. I admit I kind of choked on that one."

Rally hung her head and stared at the floor. For several moments Roy remained silent, frowning.

"I gather that's still in the way, then. A damn big obstacle, too—about six foot seven inches high, if I don't miss my guess. What I want to know is, is he putting himself in the way, or have you put him there yourself?"

"I don't know where he stands, Roy. I haven't had any contact with him since the rescue. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't call him. They found his cell phone in Buff's driver's seat."

Roy's expression lightened slightly. "All right."

"Look, he's paid off his debts with interest. He's proved he's not just a mercenary hood." She spoke hurriedly to override Roy's obvious desire to object. "At the very least, he's got qualities I never suspected until recently. Will you give him that, at least?"

"Fine, he's packing grapefruits, and he's willing to do some pretty crazy things for you. I misjudged him at one point...because he operates well outside the law. He's not worthless, and he's not...an evil man. But for God's sake, Irene. How in hell can you set Bean Bandit up against a guy like Larry Sam?"

Roy didn't often call her Irene. Her father used her real name sometimes, though he had taken to addressing her as Rally to convey his admiration for her chosen profession. Rally bit her lips. "I can't, Roy. It wouldn't make any sense. Sometimes these things don't have much to do with common sense."

"OK. I won't badger you. I haven't got the endurance right now, anyway. I thought you ought to think about it, that's all. Don't dismiss him out of hand or think of him as some green civilian. He could handle what you do for a living and maybe even give you backup."

"Backup? Larry? Roy, he runs a restaurant!"

"Yeah, but he's also signed up at a shooting range. Smith gave him a character reference to help him apply for a concealed carry permit." Roy smiled to one side. "I think he's developing a healthy interest in self-defense."

"And no wonder. Don't worry, I won't just blow him off. After all, he IS pretty cute!" She gave Roy a playful smile.

After Roy left, Rally turned out the light and tossed and turned. Too many things on her mind...all right, MEN on her mind. The nurses were gossiping right outside her door again. Maybe she should watch some TV and forget about trying to rest no matter how tired she felt. No, she should ask for a sleeping pill so the noisy kaffeeklatsch would break up! Didn't those girls have some work to do? She rolled her eyes and reached for the call button.

"Oh, did you see him too?" a nurse said out in the hallway. "God knows what he's up to."

"He's a pervert," said another nurse. "He's one of those parking-lot rapists. Make sure you get a security guard to walk you to your car. They posted something in the staff room."

Rally listened carefully, her heartbeat quickening. Someone staking out the hospital? A last remnant of the Dragon thug squad?

"Has he tried anything yet?" said a third voice. "He's been around for four or five nights now, hasn't he? I haven't heard that anyone got attacked."

Brown was still a factor, and Brown could certainly want her dead or maimed. Could he have decided to put in his oar at last? An FBI security detail checked all her visitors in and out, but that might not make a lot of difference to a pro hitman. Rally gritted her teeth. She should have asked May to smuggle in another weapon, because all she had with her was her mini .22. She reached under her pillow to retrieve the small gun and checked the load for comfort, lying on her side and drawing up her knees to hide what she was doing in case anyone actually answered that call button.

"I don't know. You'd think you'd hear about it if he did. Where is he hanging out, anyway?"

"I spotted him behind the dumpsters at the back of the surgical wing. But Maria says he was sitting in a car way out at the end of the parking lot when she went for her break." Lower, confidential in tone. "He keeps changing his M.O., but it has to be the same guy—that monster jawbone isn't something you see every day."

Rally jerked upright in bed.

"No kidding! And built like a gorilla! He looked totally scary—no wonder he has to lurk in parking lots to get women!" A burst of nervous laughter.

"So why aren't they doing anything? Can't security arrest him or something?"

"Well, they went to try to check him out a couple of times and they've called 911, but he always drives away before anyone gets too near. Somebody said his car was a 'Vette. Something really expensive. He must have stolen it. So watch out for an old Corvette."

Rally's stomach roiled. She put the gun away and lay down again, holding her middle.

"You bet I will! Man, I hope they catch him! What a creep, huh?"

"Total creep. This is giving me the shivers, you know?"

"Same here, girlfriend."

Despite the two sleeping pills she took Rally stared at the ceiling all afternoon, wide awake.


Rally couldn't recall ever getting a standing ovation, much less a standing ovation from a room full of FBI agents. May giggled and hugged her around the waist while everyone lined up to shake her hand, still applauding. "Congratulations!"

"Uh...thanks, guys. I appreciate it." Rally sank into a chair and grabbed for a cup of coffee when Wojohowicz handed it to her. "But really..." The applause finally stopped and she gulped the coffee. "How's Agent Bui?"

Smith sat down next to her, and all the agents pulled out chairs around the conference table. "Bui's recuperating at home. He'll be fine—don't worry about him. Looking good, Miss Rally. All fixed up?"

"Sure, sure. Maybe I'm not up for street duty yet, but I'm OK." She sighed and slumped down in her chair, then held up her cup for a refill.

"Glad to hear it. Can you handle some news?"

Rally sat up straight. "What? Another one of the victims died?"

"No, nothing like that, thank Christ." He gave an odd smile, half amused and half ashamed. "The girls are gone."

May's mouth dropped open. "Girls? The Brown girls?"

"You got it. Flew the coop at two o'clock this morning. Let's just say the FBI had its mind on other matters." Smith rolled his eyes. Wojohowicz passed the coffee with a studiously straight face. "Nobody thought to pull their passports. They slipped out of the hotel and took a cab to the airport. They're en route to Zurich as we speak."

"They just hopped on a plane? Can't you have them intercepted when they land?"

"On what grounds? Since the only thing Mrs. Brown might be held liable for is her hubby's little tax evasion problem, the Swiss won't cough them up. We've seen the last of those little ladies. So have you girls deduced how this escape was planned?" Smith smiled puckishly. "I'm surprised you haven't interrupted me yet with a complete rundown."

Rally and May looked at each other and shrieked. "That phone call the other night! Brown got through to Tiffany and her mother!"

Smith pointed a finger at her. "Bingo. Setting it up, obviously. He made it to Europe, and there's going to be a family reunion. But there's a bright side to that."

"You're going to try to find Brown through his family."

"Yep. His wife doesn't know it, but she's leading us straight to his hidey-hole. Interpol will keep tabs on her whereabouts, and the State Department is getting in on the search. The Director is coordinating with Central Intelligence, and that's saying something. We'll nail Brown to the wall. Even the Swiss will let us extradite him for drug trafficking and murder!"

Rally smiled and rubbed her hands, and then the penny dropped. "Wait a minute. His wife couldn't have wanted to go back to him!"

"Hey, he snuck a fortune out of the country. Why wouldn't she stick with the bastard?"

"No way." She looked at Wojohowicz for support. "Brown was abusing her. She knows better than anyone else that he's a scumbag! Even if she hadn't already given birth to another man's child, no woman could be that dumb!"

"You'd hope not," said May, looking a little pale. "What if he found out whose daughter she really was?"

Wojohowicz shrugged. "But if she does point us to Brown it would be the first real break we've had in the search. We're going through the phone tapes to find the conversation. Should prove it one way or another when we do, if it wasn't in a personal code."

"Got it." An agent stuck his head in the door of the conference room.

"Brown's call? Thanks, that was fast work." The agents got up and collected their pads and laptops.

"Yeah, come and give it a listen. But you're not going to believe this, sir."

"Why wouldn't I?" said Smith with a furrowed brow.


"I don't believe this," said Smith. He took off his headphones and tossed them on a table. "Get Manny in here."

Rally scratched her chin to cover up a smile. "Makes sense though, doesn't it?"

"I knew it all along," said May with a superior air. "Who else? After all, the only call that wasn't accounted for came from this building!"

"That sly bastard. I'm going to pestiferate him." The door opened and Manichetti shambled in, accompanied by two agents. "Yes, you, you son of a bitch." Smith stood up and leaned forward; Manichetti flinched.

"What's the matter, boss? What'd I do?"

May grinned and propped her face on her hands. "Oh, nothing much. We just found out who called Tiffany and used his funny voice."

He flushed to the jowls. "Uh...funny voice?"

"You did, of course. You called Mrs. Brown's hotel room and set up the trip to Switzerland. Then she put Tiffany on the line and you talked to her. With the 'funny voice'. Right?"

"Right," whispered Manichetti.

"And just why did you do that, Manny?" Rally tapped her fingers together.

"Mr. Brown never called her once," said Manichetti, his head low. "Not once from Thailand or Frisco or Chicago or anywhere he went. So I would call her, see? I'd say it was Daddy and disguise my voice so she wouldn't catch on."

"But you were doing Sly's bidding, right?" Smith turned purple. "He's relaying messages through you! You've been in contact with him, God knows how—"

Manichetti slowly shook his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I AM her real daddy, remember? I don't need no instructions to get my girls safe."

"What? You mean they're not going to meet up with Brown in Switzerland?"

He shook his head again, a grim expression on his heavy features.

Smith let out a growl and sat down. "Well, thanks for sending us on a wild goose chase. Looks like we are back to square one as far as Brown's whereabouts go."

"Of course," said Rally with a bright smile, "there's always the possibility of beating it out of Manny."

Smith sprang from his chair, rounded the table, grabbed Manichetti by the front of his shirt and jerked him upright so that they stood nose to nose. For a long moment Smith stared at him, his steel-blue gaze locked to Manichetti's rapidly blinking brown eyes.

"Where is he, Manny?" He spoke in a soft and dangerous tone. "We are going to get to the bottom of this no matter how deep it goes, understand? You might as well tell us now—you are already due for a nice term in federal prison, and I can always recommend that your parole dates be put off until you're eighty." He shoved Manichetti into a chair and stood over him. "So think about it. Where is Sly Brown?"

"Where is he?" Manichetti repeated.

"Where did you take him?" Rally felt nearly as much impatience as Smith showed. "Where's he hiding, and why hasn't he contacted anyone? Why can't the FBI find a trace of him? Has he gone that deep underground?" She and Smith loomed over Manichetti, who shrank down in his chair.

"No...look, let me just tell you how it went, huh?" He gave a weak shrug. "You ain't gonna understand unless I do that. From the beginning, OK?"

"If you must." Rally propped a hip on the corner of the table. "Not from the moment of birth, though, please."

"Nah. Just kinda, from when you came into it."

"Perfect." She held up a hand and grimaced.

Manichetti creased his brow and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "OK. We all went to Chicago, and we were sweatin' bullets, because we knew 426 was after Mr. Brown's ass. Well, not exactly—"

"Yes, I know 426 was gay. But he didn't like Brown at all, did he?"

"Hated his frickin' guts. 426 said once that he was incontinent—did I pronounce that right? I looked it up."

"That's a good word," said Rally. "Kind of covers it all. 426 was a judge of character, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess he was. I ain't congratulated you yet on you toastin' his ass for him, miss." Manichetti grinned and put out a hand.

"Thanks," said Rally, not moving to shake it. "Brown?"

"Well...yeah. Getting back to Sly Brown—the flamin' asshole."

"That's how he treated the people around him?"

Manichetti showed his teeth and looked up at the ceiling. "You notice, me and Tom were the only ones who stuck with him all through? Tom was wanted in Ireland and lots of places in the US. Not just the old Provo stuff. Had this habit of doin' bad things to women, everywhere he went. Mr. Brown would bail him out and pay off who had to get paid off. Tom was nuts about him, too. He'd get drunk and tell me what he wanted to do with the boss—really made me sick."

"So Brown must have had a hold on you, too. Not the same one he had on O'Toole, but just as strong." said May.

"Yeah. Me, I got in dutch with the Gambinos. I, uh, I got caught with my capo's daughter—she was twenty already and she never got let out of the house, and I was a driver for her daddy, always coming around, and she hit on me." Manichetti rubbed his neck and rolled his eyes. "Her mama saw us. Like, in flagrant delicto, whatever. I ran, and Mr. Brown scooped me up. Paid a bunch of money to the family and held that over my head for six years, every chance he got. He'd curse me out and call me an ugly bastard, and he did the same to everyone he could get away with doing it to. Like his wife." Manichetti's lips compressed; Rally saw more emotion in his face than he'd betrayed before. "I'd hear him in the bedroom, callin' her a homely bitch, and that she couldn't do anything, and she'd be out on the streets without him."

"Which is why you got to father a kid on her." Rally blew out her cheeks. "With a husband like that..."

"But his daughter—well, your daughter, whatever—he does love her, right?" prompted May. "He didn't treat Tiffany like crap, did he?"

"No, she was Daddy's girl all right..." Manichetti twisted his fingers together and looked a little pale. "But let me tell it in order. So you know how it went."

"Go ahead," said Smith.

"OK...uh, Chicago. Chicago didn't work out too good. Mr. Brown blew it bad with Bandit. We knew—me and Tom did—as soon as he got back from the drive to New York. I saw his face, and he was still trying, and Bandit was not having any of it. We were sunk, I knew. We'd put the shipment through, but that was peanuts. It was Bandit they wanted."

"Oh, Bean's a hot commodity, all right!" May giggled and kicked Rally's chair.

"Mr. Brown had been real confident about nabbing the big guy. He'd got Tom with no trouble, and me too, and other guys who left a lot sooner than we did. Real good at getting people to hire on—it was keeping them he had trouble with."

"He should have found something to hold over Bean's head, I guess..." Rally trailed off, examining her dark reflection in the conference room's windows.

"We got out of Chicago fast, and when we heard that Bandit was on our trail, I just about soaked my shorts. We knew he'd find us, so we set up the meeting at the warehouse with Tom in the rafters. Thought that would do it, because Tom don't miss in a case like that. You barged in and kinda messed things up."

"Yeah, I did." Rally smiled and Smith rolled his eyes.

"But we got out, thanks to Tom, and we beat it north soon as we could. Mr. Brown called Agent Smith to get the dope on you."

"Is that right, Pete?" Rally batted her eyelashes at him. "You ratted me out to a nasty ol' drug dealer?"

Smith shrugged. "If you want to put it that way, yes, I did. I called the Chicago office and got some background. Seems they like you all right over there."

"Aw, that's nice to hear. So Brown realized right off that I was a factor? Pretty sharp of him. What did he decide to do about me, Manny?"

"He figured he should work on you, because you could not be nearly the hardcase Bandit was, and go from there. You know this part, I guess, except that he was planning to run to Europe the whole time. He wouldn't have testified."

"Son of a bitch," said Smith. "He danced with us for months! Just keeping plenty of irons in the fire?"

"That's right, boss. He just wanted to use Miss Vincent to gum up the works enough that you guys couldn't nab him. Then...he got a good look at her."

"What? Me?" Rally pointed to herself.

"He thought you were...a nice piece." Manichetti shrugged apologetically. "He saw Bandit liked you and he never saw something another guy wanted that he wouldn't steal out from under his nose. So he moved in on you. He was going to dump me and Tom. He figured he'd passed off his family to the FBI and if the Dragons killed them he'd blame the government and that would be a reason they wouldn't go after him."

"And you say he loved that kid?" asked Rally, appalled.

"As much as he could love anybody, I guess." Again Manichetti looked pale and preoccupied. "He was still treatin' her like his little baby doll."

"What do you mean, still?" Smith's eyes narrowed.

Manichetti didn't speak for a minute or two, his mouth working. Something huge was weighing on him, Rally realized; she could form only dim guesses of its nature as yet. Something to do with Tiffany, obviously. Her welfare was the only thing that could stir his sluggish nature to action.

"I...I didn't have a choice about working for him, so I made the best of it. I helped him all I could...until..."

"Six years of abuse and ol' Manny finally cracks?" Smith laughed.

"Don't matter what happens to me. I'd'a stayed with him and took all the insults he wanted to throw my way. Rest of my life if I had to. I'd give her my life, you know." Manichetti closed his eyes. "My baby girl."

Rally blinked in confusion and Smith tapped his fingers on the table. May sat up straighter.

"I took care of 'em, more than Brown ever did. He left it all to me. Even when he was in the country he was out at night doing his coke deals. I was like, the man of the household." Manichetti appealed to May. "I did everything that the man would do. Fix the squeak in the door and unstop the toilet and wake up in the middle of the night and get the kid a glass of water. I took the girls to the malls and the beach and Disneyland. I hired the tutor for Tiffany and I got some kids to come play with her because Mr. Brown wouldn't hear of her going to school."

"I hope he regrets it someday," remarked May.

"I dunno about that," said Manichetti. "But anyway, when he couldn't get Miss Vincent to do what he wanted, he went with another plan. He always had six or eight ways of dealing with anything, to confuse the opposition. Decided to fake his death and let you take the blame." He gestured to Rally.

"What? How? Does this have something to do with—oh, God. The bullets! My bullets in his leg!"

"You figured that one out, miss? He'd put a body in the bay, someone like him, all burned and with a slug of yours in the head and frame you for his murder. He thought, since it was summer, it'd come to the surface in a couple weeks or less. We didn't exactly get around to that, but that's how it was gonna go."

Smith shook his head. "Nah. DNA testing would have blown that."

"His DNA isn't on file anywhere. He didn't leave any personal stuff around the house, so they couldn't get it from that. Tom thought the whole pier would burn to the waterline and wreck anything like bloodstains. And anyhow, the idea was to give him some breathing space and get Miss Vincent in deep crap for a while. Didn't matter if it didn't hold up forever."

"I WAS in deep crap for a while! Nice to know it was in a good cause." Rally threw up her hands.

"Wouldn't he have worried about a blood sample from Tiffany?" said May. "He didn't know she wasn't his."

"I suppose he didn't think they'd find her. Either she'd be in Switzerland...or the Dragons would get her."

"Such a nice guy," said Smith. "So let's get to the point. Where did you take him? To Los Angeles? Where is he now?"

"Where is he?" said Manichetti in a low voice. "Not in California, no. Not even in the United States."

Rally let out an angry breath. "You mean he's sitting pretty in a lounge chair on the Riviera with a tan and a mixed drink. Boy, he must love the shopping opportunities."

"No, he ain't in Europe."

"Then where?"

Manichetti paused for a long moment. "I went out into the bay."

"The bay?" Smith jerked a thumb in the general direction of San Francisco Bay. "Thought you went out the Golden Gate with that cruiser."

"The Monterey Bay, I mean. Down south, eighty miles or so. I headed down the coast and got out to sea. I couldn't see the land any more."

"Out of sight of land," repeated Smith. "Do you mean...a ship? Did he get picked up by a ship? Taken to China or Taiwan?"

"No, no ship. No vessels in sight. I made sure of that."

"Oh...holy...shit..." Smith started to look sick. May went as pale as sea foam. Rally gripped the armrests of her chair.

Manichetti raised his head and looked to the west, his expression dark and abstract. "I went out past where the shelf drops off, to the deep water, and where the currents don't go onshore. There's this big fricking undersea canyon right off the coast. They say anything falls in that hole, it goes all the way down to the bed of the ocean—right into the international waters, and it stays there. I looked it up."

"Did you?" Rally whispered.

"I don't know whose laws apply out there. That wasn't the point. I just didn't want him to be found." His face twitched and he looked down. "He'll be safe out there. No country, no people. No one will ever find him now."

"Did you just take him out there and push him overboard?" Smith slowly rose from his chair.

"God, no. Let him struggle and drown and all?" Manichetti looked deeply offended. "I ain't no goddamn sadist. Shot him through the heart first."

"Holy crap." Smith sat down with a thump.

Manichetti went on, his eyes still distant. "I cut the engine and I woke up Mr. Brown and took him out on deck and I said we had gotten to where we were going. He looked sort of surprised when he didn't see any lights on the horizon. It was really dark, nothing but stars, but I had a light on in the cabin.

"I didn't give him warning, because I didn't want him talking to me, maybe talking me out of it. It had to get done. I took out my Beretta and I put two rounds clean through his chest, bam bam. I was holding him up 'cause he couldn't walk with the slugs in his leg. He sorta sagged with my arm around him and he gave me this look, like his feelings were sort of hurt, and then he fell on his face and he died.

"But you know, he said 'Tiffany' first, and I busted out crying for some damn reason." Manichetti's beefy face worked and tears crawled down his cheeks. "He said her name and he died quick. He didn't suffer. I emptied out his pockets and put a couple diving belts around his waist so he'd sink fast. I picked him up in my arms and I was crying like a fool and I slipped him overboard and watched him vanish in the dark. I said a rosary for him and I started up the engine again. I steered back inshore and I tied up in Santa Cruz in the morning."

"I gather we are talking about the cabin cruiser that is sitting in my warehouse at this very moment," said Smith, his face gray. "The boat that Bean Bandit left in front of the Federal Building, full of Dragon treasure."

"Yeah. I let 426 know where it was and they took it back to Frisco."

"I walked over that deck a dozen times while we were unloading it." He rounded on Manichetti. "Didn't shake you any when the scene of the crime turned up on a trailer, did it? You cold-blooded bastard."

"I ain't denying nothing." Manichetti slumped backwards, a peculiar smile spreading over his face. It looked like relief, but it was mixed with both guilt and triumph. "I sluiced the deck with a lot of seawater on the way in, but I guess the bloodstains'll show up if it gets tested. I don't care anyhow."

"But WHY?" Rally gestured in frustration. "Just because Brown was a bastard and you were her real father? Tiffany worshipped him. Were you that jealous of her affection?"

"Wouldn't put it quite that way, miss."

May spoke quietly, examining her fingernails. "Did you know that Brown went to child brothels in Thailand?"

Smith and Rally stared at her.

"I had my suspicions. Didn't know for sure until 426 said so." He looked up at them with an expression that gave Rally a shiver.

May met his gaze. "You were afraid that his...incontinence...would extend to her."

"No." Manichetti slowly shook his head. "I was positive it would. Dead cert. I knew he wasn't, not yet, but I knew he was going to when he decided to." His teeth clicked together and he stared into space, his jaw trembling. "I couldn't let that happen to her. But she's safe now, my little gal..."

"Your little gal." said Rally after a very long silence. "You did it for your daughter."

"Yep," replied Manichetti, closing his eyes with a weary nod and a smile. "My baby girl, and her mama."

May and Rally looked at each other.

"She wouldn't get no abortion, because she loves me. Ol' Sly never thought twice about it anyway. Never would have occurred to him, no sir. Not his ugly-ass driver, who he always left in charge while he was outta town. Guess I showed him, hey?" He laughed with a ghoulish edge. "It don't matter any more." Looking up at Smith, he held out his wrists, palms upward and his fingers doubled under. "You going to do the honors, Agent?"

"Giambattista Manichetti, you are under arrest," said Smith in a dead, flat tone, "for the murder of Sylvester Gaius Brown. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you may say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to representation from a lawyer..."

"Giambattista?" muttered Rally.

"Yeah, that's Italian for John the Baptist." Smith finished Mirandizing him, took out his cuffs and locked them around Manichetti's wrists with a snap. "Why the fuck do ya think everybody calls me 'Manny'? My mama called me Johnny."

"State of California's got jurisdiction on the murder rap," said Smith, not looking pleased. "But we'll hang on to you as long as we can. Come on, wise guy." He turned to the door, taking Manichetti's elbow.

"John the Baptist?" May looked confused. "Wasn't he in some movie?"

"He went around throwing water on people. Then he got his head cut off because of a woman."

"I'm going to go barf in the ladies's toilet," said May, getting up with a hand on her belly. "Then I want to go back to the hotel and take a shower."


"So can we go see Roy today?" Rally looked up from her seat on May's bed when the bathroom door opened. "He's going to want to hear about Brown straight from us."

"I guess he would. He's got his wife for company now, but we can probably get hold of him." May wrapped a towel around her wet hair and picked up her room phone. "Hey, tiger! How are you feeling? Oh, really? Sure—I have your suitcase in my room. Should I bring it to the hospital? Hey, that would be great! We'll treat you to lunch!" She hung up and turned to Rally. "Roy's on outpatient status now. We can have him for the afternoon."

"Yeah, that would be nice." Rally lay down on May's bedspread and looked up at the light fixture. "Say, when we changed rooms..."

"Yes?"

"You had it hidden under a ceiling panel. What did you do with it?"

"With what? Oh—that!" May giggled. "I was wondering when you'd decide to take a peek in there! Curiosity finally get the better of you?"

"I don't think the FBI is going to nail us for swiping it now. Anyway...I want to go through it with Roy."

"Brown's folder on Bean? Why?"

"Well...just to fill in the blanks. I think Roy needs to know more about Bean. So do I—"

"Of course he wants to know more about Bean—he's a cop! You want to help the Chicago PD arrest him?" May stood with arms akimbo and a startled look on her face.

"Uh...well, what if I told Roy this was just a personal thing? That the info ought to stay in this room? It wouldn't be fair to use this against Bean. It's just to answer a few questions."

"You think he'd go for that?"

"I don't know. If the alternative was not looking at the folder at all, maybe he would..."

Rally wondered if she should apply that logic to herself. Would this information—hard facts, black on white—reduce Bean to something less than he seemed? Make him definable, controllable, explicable? Something like the fugitive information sheet she had helped the FBI put together. Brown's information might lie at the root of Brown's outlook: that people were only tools and a means to an end. Machines with an instruction manual, something you could use as you pleased, wear out and discard. She recalled that Bean had once said something like that to her; she was far from immune.

"...Sometimes I wonder if we ought to just burn it. It wasn't honestly obtained, or for a good purpose."

"Well...I guess the cops have their street rules too. There's admissible evidence, and then there's things you know but don't act on." May still looked skeptical. "If you do show it to Roy, be careful. You shouldn't shove all this juicy stuff under his nose and then beg him to keep it a secret. He's not going to appreciate a guilt trip from you."

"I don't even know if it's juicy."

"Then let's find out. Or burn it if you like, but that seems like a lot of trouble for nothing." May returned to the bathroom and climbed up on the toilet seat. In a minute she returned with the folder still in the zipperlock bag. A thin cloud of dust puffed up from it when she tossed it on the bed next to Rally. "There you go."

Rally didn't move to pick it up. It lay on the bedspread beside her, thick and black and mysterious. Maybe mystery had its advantages. She rolled over and got up. May sat at the table and sorted a stack of developed pictures she had picked up at a drugstore that morning. When she found a shot she liked, she inserted it into a slot in an album she had bought. Rally came over to help and to look at the pictures May had taken while she was in the hospital.

"Man, these ones are all out of order!" May held up a fan of amusement-park shots. "Have you been looking at them?"

"Yeah, but I didn't mess them up—oh, it must have been Bean."

"Bean? Oh, right—when you kept him in your room! And he swept you off your feet before he came to rescue me and Tiffany like a knight in shining—"

"Not exactly off my feet! He kissed me precisely one time." She rose from her chair, feeling restless. "That's all it was, OK? I didn't see him again until he rolled up to the pier."

"Woohoohoo..." May cackled and kept sorting photos. "Hey, where's that one of you?"

"Which one of me?"

"The one I was going to have enlarged? With your hair blowing in the wind?" May looked on the table. "No, these are all the roll before that. It ought to be in this stack." Her brows went up. "Bean was looking at these, huh? I guess he liked that one too!"

"What?"

"It's gone, Ral." She glanced up with a grin. "He snagged the best picture of you."

"This is SO embarrassing!" shrieked Rally, collapsing flat on the bed and hiding her head with her hands. "Now he's stealing your snapshots!"

"Oh, I've still got the negative! I can get more copies." May laughed. "You think he'd like one of the enlargements?"

Rally pounded her feet and fists against the mattress. "Oooohh!"

"You sure get ticked off by compliments these days. What's really eating you?"

"Why wouldn't I be embarrassed? Getting all the credit—and the piles of presents—for rescuing Larry and Bui, when...when..."

"When half of that credit ought to go to someone else?"

Closing her eyes, Rally let out a shaky breath that veered halfway to a sob.

"Ral, I don't think Bean WANTS credit. That's not what he's in business for. I doubt his feelings are hurt."

"But he WAS hurt." Rally rolled over and put her face in her palms. "He looked terrible—he was burned just as much as I was if not more, and he must have breathed a lot of smoke, and you saw what happened to his car! That operation cost him a hell of a lot..."

"Hurt?" May put her album down with a thump. "You think he might not be...all right?"

"No, he's OK."

"How do you know? Oh man—he finally called you?" May's face lit up.

"I haven't heard a word. But he was hanging around the hospital parking lot after dark most of last week. Some nurses were discussing a prowler, and it was Bean."

May came over and sat down beside Rally. "Bean watched the hospital while you were there? Five or six nights in a row?"

She nodded, still hiding her face against the bedspread.

"Well." May patted Rally's back. For once she didn't seem inclined to tease. "I guess he hadn't heard anything either."

"I want to talk to him. Just once would be fine! Why doesn't he call me? I...I need to explain."

"Explain what?" May's strong little fingers kneaded her tense neck muscles and worked down her spine. Rally slumped down to relax into the pillow.

"A-about Larry, and that I'm sorry about Buff, and I really appreciate how he dropped in to help...oh boy, does THAT sound inadequate. I don't know. Maybe a phone conversation just wouldn't cut the mustard. Once I see him face to face—if I see him—maybe then I'll know what I want to say."

"Maybe you will," said May, still massaging her back with a soothing touch.


"You STOLE THIS FROM THE FBI?" Roy screamed. His wheelchair rattled with his volume. "Are you INSANE!"

"Gosh, calm down!" May shook her head in reproof. "You're a long way from well!"

"Oh, I'm an invalid? And you toss this little time bomb straight into my lap?" Roy stabbed a finger at the thick black folder, which still lay on the bed.

"It's a big office! They'll assume someone's misplaced it, that's all."

"Oh, sure. Is that what you're going to tell the agent who arrests you?"

"Well, gee, you're not going to tell on us, are you?" May batted her eyelashes at him.

Roy grabbed his bandaged head with both hands and winced. "You kids..."

"Are we making life hard for you, Roy?" Rally patted his back and reached for the folder. "Don't worry—even if Smith figured out where it went, he'll write it off as fair compensation for my trouble. Maybe they photocopied it anyway."

May made a skeptical face. "There's a couple of hundred pages in there. Apparently they only had it for a few days, and Agent Wesson was hogging it. You know how he liked to keep secrets even from his boss. I bet it's the only one."

"Then we've got a real collector's item." Rally opened the folder, laid it flat on the table and flipped through it at random. "Boy, there's a lot of stuff. What I want to do first is confirm the things Brown told me."

"Oooh, like what?" May sat down with an eager air.

"Oh, some odds and ends about being abandoned and beaten up—he might have been talking through his hat. I think his point was to make me think Bean's a wild animal."

"And he's not?" growled Roy.

"Come on, Roy! Don't you even want to know the facts? This is a priceless opportunity."

"I do not want to go digging around in the filthy detritus of an immoral life." Roy took hold of the wheels of his chair and rolled it towards the door. "If it amuses you, go ahead, but I'm not taking part. See you in the coffee shop."

"I thought you were a detective. Twenty-eight years on the force! You must have seen everything there is to see."

"Sure I have. Too much. You mind opening the door for this old cripple?"

"If there's anything in there that ISN'T filthy," remarked May with a wink, "I think Roy doesn't want to know about it." She moved over to let Roy out.

"I'm getting that impression too. I don't see a table of contents—oh, look!" Rally held up a newspaper clipping in a page protector. "Here's something about when he was left in a parking lot! Brown told me about this!"

May let the door bang shut before Roy could exit, grabbed the clipping and held it up. "Oh my gosh! Listen to this!" She cleared her throat and began, "'Do You Know This Boy? Young Child Found Foraging At The Goreville Raceway! On Saturday, August 8, a small boy was found in the parking lot at the Goreville dirt track, south of Marion. Showing signs of starvation and severe beatings, he exhibited nearly feral behavior when approached by L. G. Coleman, an off-duty Chicago—'"

May choked on the words. Everyone froze.

Rally grabbed the clipping back from May, only to have Roy spin his chair around, rear up from his seat and grab it in turn. He sat back with a thump and stared at the yellowed strip of newsprint.

"'L. G. Coleman, an off-duty Chicago patrolman'," he echoed.

"Roy? Is that you?"

"Me?" His face went white, then flushed. "Nah. It couldn't be me. It's somebody else with the same last name. Twenty-six years ago, for crying out loud. It's a big department. It could be anybody."

"The same last name and the same initals? Your full name is Leroy George Coleman. You told me the George was for your grandfather."

"I don't remember anything like this." Roy tossed the clipping at Rally and turned his chair.

"You never found a little boy wandering in a racetrack parking lot? 1973—that would have been your second year on the force." Roy vehemently shook his head. Rally persisted. "But you always told me that for a cop, the first couple of years are what stick in your head."

"Sometimes I tell you too damn much."

"Will you just look at it again?" Rally held the clipping in front of him. "There's a photo of the kid in the article."

For a long few moments Roy breathed hard, as if the air lacked oxygen. His eyes looked through the paper rather than at it, focused on something invisible except to him. His gaze shuttled back and forth as if he were trying to avoid the vision.

"Please, Roy."

"Wh-when I saw him...I thought he was an Indian. Or a Gypsy." Roy covered his eyes with one hand. "Skinny little thing with big feet and black hair. Barefoot and ragged. B-bruises and cuts all over him..."

Rally knelt beside the wheelchair and put a hand on Roy's arm. "What did you do?"

"I had a box of fried chicken and biscuits. Had just picked it up for lunch at the track. He spotted it, and I could tell he was a lot hungrier than I was. Tried to offer him a drumstick...he wouldn't let me get near enough to give it to him. Hiding behind the cars and running away from me. A woman stopped and she gave it a try. The kid didn't go for it. I knew..."

Roy's shoulders heaved. He sniffed hard through his nose and made an obvious effort to control the tremor in his voice. "I knew someone had been beating the living crap out of him. Treating him like a dog. That's why he wouldn't get within arm's reach of anyone. Just a little kid..."

"This is...so totally weird..." May's hand crept up to cover her mouth and she said no more.

"I put the box down on the ground and backed off. Kept talking to him, just nonsense stuff, baby babble. Asked him his name, where his mom and dad were. He didn't say a word. He got a little nearer and he kept eying the food. He was hungry, but he was still afraid. Well, I don't know—not afraid, exactly. He stared me straight in the face. He had the damndest look in his eyes, like he didn't trust a living soul, like the whole world had done him wrong and he wasn't going to let it happen again. That look, on a child's face...it broke my heart."

"He was three years old." Rally propped her cheek on the arm of Roy's chair. "How did you get him to eat something?"

"I...I sang him nursery rhymes. I couldn't think of anything else to do. Songs my mother used to sing to me." Roy lowered his head and looked almost embarrassed. "He kept looking at me. Then he came over and started eating like he hadn't seen food in a year. Somebody called for a unit and by the time it got there, the kid was sitting on my lap, we were both covered in grease and that box was empty. I carried him to the squad car and he wouldn't let go of me for a while..."

Roy's voice failed for a moment, but he cleared his throat and went doggedly on, as if he had to speak aloud to propitiate a ghost that haunted his memory. Rally realized he had thought about this incident many times over the intervening years; he was looking at it now in an entirely different light. And yet not so different. A lost child was a lost child, no matter what...

"I had to coax him some more before he would get in the back seat. He was still picking the crumbs off his dirty clothes and sticking them in his mouth. When they drove him away in the squad car, he got up and looked out the window at me. I stood there watching until the car was gone...and that was the last I saw of him."

May's eyes were wide, her expression haunted. "What did you think would happen to the kid?"

Roy made a harsh, unhappy sound. "I hoped...that he'd go to a good home or something. Overcome his past and turn out to be a productive citizen."

"Well, uh, you could certainly say he followed his dream!" Rally tried to laugh.

Roy raised his head and grimaced. "I was still a little naïve back then. I thought...that I could make all the bad stuff go away, if I just tried hard enough. That was what a cop was supposed to do. Fix what was wrong...and let innocent children grow up in a world where no one would ever hurt them again."

"But you did your best, Roy. You're the best cop I know."

"When some things are broken, I don't think anyone can fix them." He gestured to May to let him out of the room. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. See you later."

Rally and May sat quietly for some time after Roy left, slowly turning the pages of the folder. Rally checked off several facts that she recalled from Brown's conversation, but the typewritten lines of a long interview transcript blurred together into meaninglessness. Somehow all this information had lost its relevance. She moved her chair back from the table and folded her arms, lost in thought. May stole a glance at her, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. She nudged Rally and giggled at the sight of a new document.

"Here's his sixth-grade school counselor's notes! She thought he had potential, but needed a strong male role model...ha, ha!"

"Uh...I don't think we ought to be just, um, ransacking through this." Rally stacked the documents she had removed from the folder and put them back. May raised her brows. "I mean, it's kind of private."

"Private? This doesn't belong to Bean, you know." Comprehension began to dawn on May's face nevertheless and she tucked the counselor's report back into the folder. "Brown put it together, and it's all public records...well, except for the interviews and letters and notes and stuff...man, you have a point."

"Are you going to hate me if I say we should put it away after we confirm the things I've already been told? This isn't something that anyone would want other people smirking over. Especially not someone like Bean." She absently turned over a sheaf of documents in a clip and uncovered a photograph. "Ha...what's this?"

"I thought you were putting it away," said May. "Respecting Bean's privacy or something, which is such a weird idea, coming from you, that it kind of makes sense."

"No, look at this." Rally held the photograph in the light. It was a black and white eight-by-ten, slightly dog-eared. Obviously it had been taken in a cheap photographer's studio, but the faces were clear and crisply lit. A dark-haired woman, slender and pretty and thirtyish, dressed and made up in the style of the early 1970s, sat with a baby on her lap. He was obviously a boy, large-boned and husky, with a carefully trimmed cap of black hair.

The woman who held him wasn't looking at the camera. She had her eyes on her child, with a tender smile that for some reason made Rally's eyes film with tears. The baby's feet in little white shoes and perfectly rolled socks dangled from his mother's lap, one plump hand pulling at the front of her dress. The other hand was locked around a toy car.

His eyes were also not directed at the camera. The smile on the mother's face had provoked an answering smile from the baby boy, his mouth open and happy, showing a few teeth in front. She had rarely seen a picture that captured love, in its essence, so entirely. "Oh, my God."

She gave the photograph to May and fled to the bathroom to find a tissue. It was only then that she fully recalled that Brown had told her Bean's adoptive mother had died of cancer when her child was two and a half years old. If that was her, if that was HIM, if her happy, husky baby had lost that love so young...

A great, overwhelming emptiness grew in the pit of Rally's chest, and until May knocked on the door and called to tell her Roy was leaving the hotel with his wife, she stayed alone in the bathroom, sitting on the tub with her face buried in her hands.