A/N: Inconsiderate me, I forgot to thank everyone for all their mighty fine reviews. Left over Halloween candy for everyone! Don't worry, it's the good stuff.

Ch. 7

" This is some pretty solid stuff they got on you Cal," Evans said, shaking his head and setting the two sheets he'd been holding back into the brown folder. " Separately they might have put you away for one or two years. But together you're lookin' at a hell of a lot longer."

Joe Evans could be classified as a throw-back from the forties, even though he'd only been a kid during that era. He was a few years older than Cal, with dark silver hair that he kept neatly swept back, and was dressed in a dark gray suit. When he first came to the door yesterday, he'd been wearing a tan over coat and a brown fedora hat that brought to Calvin's mind the flick The Sting.

They were sitting in the dining room at the dark oak table of the kind rarely eaten on except at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course, what with Cal's wife passed away and Danny not able to visit as much as he would like, not even then.

The grandfather clock situated in the living room adjacent to the dining room resonated out its sonorous music twelve times – lunch time, but Cal wasn't hungry. The papers he was looking at now were dredging up too many regrets. He always knew that everything he did would one day come back and bite him in the A--. This wasn't the first time he'd been served, but it was the first time where prison had become a harsh reality.

Then there was Danny. Having a dad in prison didn't exactly help a guy's career, but better that than being dead.

" Listen Joe," Cal said, " I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that jail is a possibility. If the best you can do is get my sentence reduced, I'm game. It's where I end up that's the issue. You know that already. I go to the Federal pen, then Falonze is getting my hide on a silver platter. You need to make sure I end up somewhere else."

Joe sat back in the chair and grinned. " Cal, I already told you, that's in the bag. Prison requests aren't a big deal, especially since you've got a reason to be picky."

Cal shook his head. " Don't get too confident, Joe. You ever hear of a guy named Fred Wellington?"

Joe squinted as he recollected. " Wellington. Rings a bell. Wasn't he tried for a bunch of murders?"

" He was rumored to be a hit man, but it was never proved to be fact. Truth was, he wasn't a hit man, just did business with one; money exchange. That was all Fred had to do, pay the guy who made the hits. You know how I know? Because he worked for an uncle of mine. He took the fall, but his prison request was denied, and the first day he arrived, he was dead within an hour. Better one man dead than the rest going down because he might slip and talk."

Joe stiffened in alarm. " What're you sayin'? That you don't trust your own family?"

Cal shrugged nonchalantly. " I do. But when it comes down to the whole bunch being at risk 'cause one man might talk to save his own skin, then no, I don't trust them, not during those times. And going to prison would bring about those times. I get put in with Falonze then there's a good chance that I might do some talking about certain members of my family just so I can last one more day. I honestly think that's that Stevenson guy's plan. That guy doesn't give a rat's A-- about me. Hell, he cares even less about what happens to my kid. Danny doesn't need this, you know? Worrying about me getting killed, worrying about himself getting killed. He's a good kid... No, a great kid who made a lot of right choices. He shouldn't be paying for the bad choices that I made."

Joe's features softened into a sympathetic expression. " You really are more worried about your kid than yourself."

Cal looked hard at Joe. " Wouldn't you be?"

" Yeah, that's why I get it. I've got four kids of my own, and seven grandkids. I'd go to hell and back for 'em."

Cal looked down at the table, absent-mindedly fiddling with a pen. " My... 'associates' – family included – don't care for Danny that much. I know they wouldn't ever do anything to him, it's mostly what they won't do to help him. But... Sometimes... I don't trust them in that aspect either. Sometimes I feel, if they get desperate enough, they might use Danny as a bargaining chip to keep me quiet. If that ever happened, Joe, I'd just let Falonze have me, I'm tellin' you now."

Joe did a slight wince. " Crap, Messer, you need to relax. Look, I know the boys just as well as you, and they wouldn't do that, not to you. Mickey, Rick – they've yet to have a bad thing to say about you, and I've hardly heard them mention your boy. If they do, it's neither good or bad, here or there, mostly just 'yeah, Cal has a kid; Danny' and that's it. They wouldn't do that to you, Messer, no way."

Cal gathered the pen into his clenched fist. " Could you swear that to me?" he asked. " Stack of Bibles, a relatives grave, your life... Your kids' lives? Could you swear it, absolutely, that Mick or the rest wouldn't do something to Danny to make sure I stayed quiet if the pressure was on?"

Joe didn't reply, and his face became a mask devoid of discernible emotion. Cal had him there.

" Thought so." Nothing about the Messers was a certainty, especially once one of them ended up behind bars. Cal suspected that much of Ricky's aid in the matter was partly due to the possibility of Calvin opening up so as not to be killed by Falonze and his cronies.

" Sorry Cal," Joe said, and Cal knew by the lawyer's use of his first name that he was being sincere.

Cal sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb, then gestured vaguely toward the kitchen off to the right. " Hey, listen, you hungry? I can whip somethin' up real quick. Some sandwiches or somethin'..." Cal's appetite was still absent, but he needed a private moment to do some thinking.

Joe shrugged indifferently. " Why not."

Cal stood and headed into the kitchen with its red Spanish tiled floor and the stainless steel fridge he had gotten for his wife long before she had even fallen ill.

" Drink?" he called back.

" I took a cab, so... got a beer, some scotch?"

Cal opened the fridge. " Beer. Don't ask about the scotch. That's long gone," he replied with a derisive chuckle. He was reaching for the beers when his phone chirped. Muttering a curse, he yanked it from his pocket and flipped it open. Useful as they were, he still couldn't find acceptance for cell phones. It was like having someone around constantly trying to butt into his business. But as times changed, so did necessities. He recalled when having a cell phone was more of a novelty for people knee deep into being hi-tech.

" Messer here," he said.

" Calvin Messer?"

" Yeah?"

" Hey, listen, I'm a friend of Danny's and thought I should let you know that he hasn't been feelin' too great lately."

Calvin gripped the phone tight, clearing his throat to keep out the waver of trepidation. " How so?"

" Yeah, the guy's been pukin' all over the place. I don't know, must have been something he ate. Just thought I would let you know..."

" Who is this!"

" Bye."

" Hey!" Calvin barked, but the person on the other end was already gone.

Calvin pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it like a friend who had just stabbed him in the back.

" Hey," Joe called. " Everything all right, Messer? Thought I heard you snappin' at someone."

Cal blinked and jerked his head. " Uh, yeah, every thing's fine."

Like hell it is. There was no reason to ask himself what that call had been about. No time either. He pulled up Danny's number and placed the phone back to his ear, waiting with a hammering heart for an answer.

CSINY

Danny took a long, deep breath – as deep as he could go – then let it out slowly.

" Again," Dr. Nielson said, moving the stethoscope to the other side of Danny's back.

Danny glanced over his shoulder at the MD. The man was in his late forties, tall, lanky, with brown hair that was going a little gray along the sides. As far as doctors went, he was tolerable, mostly because he didn't beat around the bush and try to sugar coat everything. He told it like it was without sacrificing a good bed-side manner. It was as though the Doc had taken one look at Danny and knew that this wasn't a young man to verbally trifle with.

He was also Brooklyn born and raised, which might have explained it.

" You know," Danny said. " You can breath on those scopes all you want, doesn't make 'em any warmer."

Dr. Nielson smirked. " That's the whole point. Put cold metal to the skin, people suck in air with a lot more effort. Take another breath."

Danny did so, expanding his lungs until the ribs of his right side tried to cramp up again and the deteriorated muscles twitched spasmodically.

" Kind of hard, Doc," Danny said hoarsely, holding in the air. He then let it out with an audible rush.

Dr. Nielson replaced the bandages around Danny's chest with one hand. " It's going to be." Then lowered Danny's under-shirt back into place. " But like I said, give it time. You're still healing." He then moved around to the front, draping the stethoscope around his neck. " In fact, except for the problems that were already existent, you're as healthy as you can be under your circumstances. Your lungs are clean, your heart's good, no fever, no new infections. Even the bruising on your side is starting to show signs of clearing up. You're fine Danny. I think you're right, it must have been something you ate. I'd go through all your food, see what looks or smells bad. Or, hell, just throw it all out. I would. Listen, Danny, you may be on the mend but you still need to be careful. That first infection took a lot out of you and the second practically kicked your butt right up to death's door."

Danny nodded solemnly. Like I forgot. Being unable to breath and having every breath and cough send agony ripping through him wasn't something he would be able to forget, ever. It had made him feel like a kid, small and lost, much like when that cabby had been beating the snot out of him in the freezing rain.

" I am being careful doc," Danny said. " I can't control what my food's trying to do to me."

" Toss it out and you can. You're lucky, though. Sometimes food poisoning does worse to a guy. The fact that your stomach reacted so fast spared you more grief than you probably realize."

Danny almost laughed, but instead ran his hand through his hair, then down the back of his neck. " Doc, right now, me and grief seem to be on tight terms."

Nielson scribbled something down on his clipboard. " Life does have a way of kickin' you when you're down. But you know what? We all get back up again. This may sound a little cheesy, but it came from my mom so don't say anything; It doesn't rain forever."

Danny grinned, still massaging his stiff neck. " Actually, you can't really argue with that kind of logic."

Dr. Nielson finished scribbling, then looked up at Danny. " This may have been an early appointment, but I still need you to come in next week for X-rays. The stitches may need to stay in for a little longer."

Danny gingerly touched his side, feeling the rough stitches and uneven skin through his shirt and bandage. " I think I'm getting used to 'em."

The doctor handed Danny his shirt, and helped Danny maneuver into it, then place his sling back on. After a few more questions concerning Danny's arm and side, Dr. Nielson deemed the checkup complete and let Danny go. Danny headed from the room, slipping his good arm into the sleeve of his coat and draping the other side over his shoulder. He then began the arduous process of buttoning the coat up with one hand.

He was heading down the corridor with its odors of rubbing alcohol and disinfectants. A voice over the intercom echoed flatly, alerting some doctor to meet some patient in room number whatever. Danny was almost to the front desk when his phone chirped loudly, eliciting a narrow-eyed glare from the nurse at the station.

" I'm takin' it outside, relax," Danny murmured. Then chuckled. " If looks could freakin' kill..." He put the phone to his ear, stepping out into the moist, heavy cold of another overcast day. " Messer."

" Danny!" and urgent voice shouted.

Danny winced. " Dad?"

" Danny, you all right kid?"

Danny moved up the sidewalk and away from the doors in case the nurse was still glaring at him. " Yeah, dad, I'm fine. Just a little food poisoning." Then Danny stopped, his heart speeding up a few beats. " Wait, how did you know somethin' was wrong?"

" Crap, Danny, someone just called me sayin' they were a friend of yours and that you were pukin' all over the place."

Danny's heart picked up another couple of beats. " What?"

" Danny, listen to me. Throw your food out. Don't eat anything that's in your house, you hear me? Toss it all."

" Yeah." Danny's body felt suddenly numb all over. " Yeah, I was going to do that. The doc – told me to. Dad, did they do something? Is this the Quinns? Were they in my house, is that what this is about, them poisoning me!"

" Danny, calm down, kid. It's not that bad..."

Danny nearly dropped his phone when his hand began shaking. " Not that bad! Dad, they're freakin' poisoning me!"

" Danny! Relax, listen to me. It's just a warning, that's all. They delivered their message, I got it loud and clear, so they'll back off now."

Danny's breath was coming fast and thick. " You sure about that? It's the freakin' Quinns dad!"

" They will back off, Danny!" Calvin almost shouted. His frantic tone was a dead give away that he was not as certain as he wanted to be.

Danny's heart was beating hard enough to pulverize itself. But the worst thing he could do now was to lose control and give way to panic. It was hard, Danny was scared, because in terms of being in control of the situation he had no control. The Quinns were the ones calling all the shots.

The only weapon Danny had were his wits, and if he lost those then he was screwed.

Danny closed his eyes and took a deep, careful breath. " What do I do, dad?"

" Dump your food."

" I know that. I mean after."

Danny was met with silence, and it spooked Danny. " Dad?"

" I don't know, kid. Look, let me handle this, talk to some people. You just watch your back, Danny. The Quinns shouldn't try anything too bad with what's at stake, but... you need to be careful kid. You hear me?"

Danny swallowed back bile. " Yeah, dad. Careful."

" Listen, I gotta go, I'm talkin' to my lawyer. If anything happens, you call me, got it? Even if you just feel suspicious or uncomfortable about something."

" Sure."

" Danny, it's gonna be okay. This won't go on forever."

" I guess," was Danny's monotone reply.

They both hung up, since anything else they had to say would just be an empty back and forth mantra of fear and comfort.

Danny hurried home, taking the subway that wasn't so packed in the afternoon. Once he got to his place, he proceeded with the doctor's – and his father's – instructions, and began tossing stuff into a trash bag. Fruit, cheese, some lettuce that was starting to wilt, a tomato, ketchup, some left over Chinese takeout, juice, tomato paste, eggs, meat, mustard, mayonnaise... everything. Soon there was nothing left and his fridge was completely empty. He then went for the cupboards, his bread and boxed food. Even sealed stuff he couldn't trust since some poisons might leak through or had been smeared on the surface to get it all over Danny's hands. Anger made Danny's blood burn and run fast, heating his face and neck. He rammed stuff into the garbage bag, throwing it so that the stuff already tossed cracked or smashed. Every item he threw away added to his fury until he finally kicked the bag away and dropped into the front chair of the kitchen table.

This is freakin' bull! He was seething, breathing hard, and shaking with the urge to throw something. Instead, he settled on a little vindication by trying to save what he could. He stood, dragging the bag to the sink, then began pulling out cans and washing them with soap in the sink. He did it with stuff wrapped in plastic as well that hadn't been opened, and jars that still had their lids sealed, but everything else was a lost cause.

After he finished washing the canned foods, he set them aside to transport to his closet and hide them with the rest of the junk cluttered in there. It felt like the pathetic action of a paranoid, but he was a paranoid with a reason to be paranoid.

Danny turned back to the garbage bag, and realization suddenly struck. If he was being poisoned, then proof of it was in that bag, about to be tossed. He removed the meat and mustard, putting both into a large Ziploc bag and setting them sealed and harmless on the counter. He would take them to the lab tomorrow, run a few simple tests to see what was on them, and hopefully not get caught in the process. Use of the lab normally involved a lot of signing in, singing out, and an inventory of what was used.

Danny shuddered. He might have to lie again. But he needed to know what the Quinns were doing to him. There could be evidence leading back to the Quinns; then his use of lab equipment would be justified and he wouldn't have to lie.

Danny sagged back into the chair, his anger draining him, trailing despair. If it were that simple, then the Quinns would have been caught a long time ago.

Still, he wouldn't throw the trash bag with its tainted food out, not yet.

CSINY

TBC – well, obviously;)