Part One The Informant

Nicky Jackson thought he finally had it made. Ramon Trillo had finally called for him. He thought he was a big deal double agent, a regular 007, when in fact he was nothing more than a small time stoolie. His main job was running interference for Ramon Trillo, a once smalltime racketeer who's business was rapidly growing. He was also an occasional informant for the NYPD; hence his self-proclaimed moniker (known only to himself) as the new "secret agent man".

Ramon Trillo was head of a few organized crime operations headquartered in the back room of a deli on E. 142nd St. His dealings included extortion, gambling, and of course, narcotics, with the occasional murder thrown in. He was now one of the most powerful men in the city.

So, as Nicky waited for Trillo to show up, he was slightly apprehensive. He'd been told to get his ass over here quick, that Ramon Trillo had an important job for him. This was the first time that Ramon had actively sought him out, and Nicky was both excited and a little scared. Now Nicky waited, growing more and more nervous by the minute. In his mind, he went over everything, to make sure there wasn't anything he could have done to piss Trillo off. He could think of nothing, he was absolutely loyal—well, except for that one time. And he was sure Ramon Trillo knew nothing of that. Or did he?

Finally, Ramon appeared, accompanied by his number one and number two men, who coincidentally served as his bodyguards. Ramon looked at Jackson like he was a useless piece of crap who needed to be put out of his misery. He stared at Nicky intently, making him squirm uneasily. Then, matter of factly, Ramon announced, "Nicky, I think maybe you've been two-timing me".

"What? No, Ramon!" Nicky protested. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Now you're lying to me." Ramon looked at one of his henchmen, who immediately put a gun to Nicky's head.

"Ramon, please! I been nothing but loyal to you! I swear!"

Ramon considered him, and let him sweat for a while. Now he had Nicky just where he wanted him, and maybe, just maybe, he could use him after all. "Yeah? Loyal, huh? Well let's just see how loyal you really are."

"Anything, Ramon! Anything!" But he wasn't prepared for what Ramon Trillo would request: the murder of some hot-shot detective on his tail; some smart-ass who was closing in rapidly and threatening to shut down Ramon's lucrative businesses the hard way.

"I want you to take down some scumbag cop." Ramon said it like it was nothing.

Nicky was shocked. He had never killed anyone before; as tough as he thought he was, murder had never entered his mind. He might know of others who had done it, but never him. He wasn't a killer. He was even more shocked when he heard the name; he knew this guy, had once given him some information for a case. The man he had orders to kill was Bobby Goren.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bobby Goren sat on a turned-around chair in his office, staring at the wall of crime scene pictures. Bobby, officially Detective First Grade Robert Goren, was lead detective for the Major Case Squad in New York City. Bobby was a brilliant, extremely intuitive profiler who had an uncanny knack of getting into the criminal mind and wringing a confession out of a perp. Bobby was one of, if not the, best detective the NYPD ever had.

This was an exceptionally tough case, but Bobby and his partner, Alexandra Eames, were making good progress. But not as fast as their captain, Deakins, wanted. Deakins was really taking heat on this case. And he, in turn, was giving it back to his detectives.

As Bobby continued to examine the pictures, his partner, Alex, poked her head in.

"Hungry?" she asked.

Bobby finally took his eyes off the photos to look at his partner, then at his watch. It was almost 3 p.m., and neither one of them had eaten all day. Bobby suddenly realized he was ravenous.

"You running?"

Alex nodded. "The usual?" she asked rhetorically.

The "usual" for Bobby was a large Italian hoagie with hot peppers, a coke, and anything else Alex chose to throw in.

Alex returned about 15 minutes later to find Bobby on the phone. She only heard the last bit, "Just hang in there, I'm on my way! Fifteen minutes—at most!" She started to hand him his sandwich, but Bobby held his arm out, palm first, to indicate "no".

"Put it in the fridge for me, okay?" At Alex's puzzled expression, he explained, as he hurried out the door: "Informant. Think he's wanting to back out!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bobby stepped into the dingy bar where the meeting with the informant was supposed to take place. He scanned the room as inconspicuously as possible, so he would not draw any attention to him or his informant. But like in most murky barrooms, it was dull and smoky, making it difficult to see. His weapon, a Glock, was holstered where he could get to it quickly, if need be.

After a minute or so, the informant still didn't show. Something didn't seem right. Either the informant decided to take off anyway, or… The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his left hand reached for his Glock. Bobby never heard the roar of the gun, nor did he see the flash; all he felt was the impact as the first bullet hit him and he was slammed into the wall. Momentarily stunned, he recovered quickly and wasted no time going for the gun. To his surprise, his arm wouldn't move, and he suddenly felt a horrible pain in his arm and shoulder. And there was blood. Lots of blood.

Bobby tried to scramble for cover, but there was no time; another boom, and again Bobby was slammed violently into the wall.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back at One Police Plaza, Alex watched as their captain, Deakins, approached. He looked agitated, and she thought, "Oh, God, here it comes."

"Where's your partner?'' he asked.

"Informant", Alex answered. "What's up?"

"I just spoke to the Chief of Detectives. Who just spoke to the deputy mayor. And both of them want some answers. Maybe Bobby's informant can supply some… You know, a little—"

"Good news wouldn't hurt" Alex finished for him. They'd heard those words often enough.

Deakins stared at her for a few seconds then continued, "When he does get back, I want the two of you in my office—ASAP!"

Alex watched as he returned to his office. Just great. And where the hell was Bobby?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first shot hit Bobby in the shoulder, shattering the clavicle. The second shot struck him somewhere just below the chest, the bullet snaking through his body, like a white-hot knife, cutting, searing his insides.

Bobby was lying on the floor in the bar. For some reason, he couldn't get up. He couldn't move his left arm at all, but his right hand was what, holding his stomach? He was so surprised; it was warm and sticky.

Around Bobby there was all kinds of commotion, police, medics, but he was only vaguely aware of it. Nor did he care. He was in incredible pain-- his insides were on fire; he'd never felt such intense heat. And the pain in his shoulder was absolutely unbearable.

He wished all these people would just leave him alone. He was so tired, all he wanted was to sleep. But they were all yelling and continued to push him and prod him. Why couldn't they just let him sleep? Didn't they know they were making it hurt even more?

In and out of consciousness, Bobby saw faces looming in front of him, first one, then another-- God—is that Dad? Am I dead? Oh God it hurts! It's not supposed to hurt anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex was on the phone, checking out another possible lead. She could see Deakins on the phone, talking animatedly. He then hung up the phone, and stood there looking at it stupidly, like there was something wrong with it. Then he turned and walked quickly over to Alex. He was white as a ghost.

"I'll get back to you," Alex told the person on her line. She was suddenly very scared.

"What!" she asked Deakins as soon as he arrived. "It's Bobby, isn't it?"

Deakins could hardly speak. "Alex…Bobby…he's been shot."

Oh God, not again! Alex had gone through this once with her husband, who'd been killed in the line of duty. She couldn't go through this again, with Bobby.

"Is he …okay?" she whispered, barely daring to ask.

"I don't know, Alex," he said as they hurried to the elevator. "A guy from the one-six is there. Says it looks bad, he thinks they hit him twice".

The other police who had found Bobby joined Eames and Deakins in the hospital surgery ward. They gave an explanation of what they thought had happened; the general consensus was that he'd been hit bad, and offered words of sympathy and encouragement. "Hang in there…he's gonna make it…he's strong".

Alex nodded her assent, but was actually too numb inside to comprehend fully. She was scared to death of losing Bobby. Bobby could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. But he was her pain in the ass. They'd been together now for over 5 years; not romantic, but closer than husband and wife. Much closer than friends; they shared everything from lunch to middle of the night phone calls. Together they put their lives on the line everyday; either one would gladly take a bullet for the other. Simply put, they were partners. There was no way she could bear to lose Bobby. No way.

The long wait began. The receptionist, sensitive to their situation, promised them that the minute there was any news they'd have it immediately. Deakins got coffee for himself and Alex, and tried to engage her in some conversation. Finally Alex just broke down and cried, something she hadn't allowed herself to do since the death of her husband.

After a while, things got quiet, and everyone settled into their own space, awaiting the fate of their colleague, their friend, and their partner.

TBC