(A/N) Hey guys. Thanks for all the support. I will definitely finish this story. If there is one thing I hate, is reading a story and then not being able to finish it. So don't worry, I wont leave you guys in suspense, I'll finish this story sooner or later.

Chris paced the office in his brother's club. Edge had left and Chris was there alone. He had a few hours to kill before he had to meet Mark at his house to settle the score with Cena and to rescue Shawn Michaels. Hopefully they wouldn't be too late and Michaels would still be alive. Chris sat down in his brother's chair and poured himself a hard drink. He downed it quick like, hoping it would settle his nerves, but it didn't. Chris was nervous as hell about the mission. Finally Chris couldn't take it anymore. He decided to leave early to Mark's house, so he opened the desk drawer and pulled out his 8mm. He checked the clip and the action for the tenth time that day, and when he was finally satisfied the gun wasn't going to stall on him tonight, he left the club.

Mark Calloway sat in his favorite recliner drinking a can of beer. He was always relaxed, and never showed any sign of nervousness or anxiety, even though he was drowning in it. "The Undertaker" really didn't fancy his odds on this one, but convinced himself he owed it to Rick's brother. In some ways, he saw Rick in Chris Jericho. They were both reliable, unpredictable, stubborn and even though Chris didn't show it, he knew that he was kind hearted. Mark knew that Chris was loyal. In other ways, they were poles apart. While Rick was more subdued, Chris was impatient and loud. While Rick was cool, calm and collective, Chris was brash. And while Rick was more of a thinking man, Chris always believed in shoot first, ask questions never, and this hot headedness of Chris was what was worrying Mark the most.

Just then, he heard a pounding on his door.

"Hey Mark, old buddy. It's me, Chris. Open up will yah." Came the distinctive voice form the other side.

Mark wondered what Chris was doing half an hour early. He opened the door none the less and let Chris into his house.

"Still haven't made the effort to tidy up a bit I can see." Chris said.

"What are you doing here? You are half an hour early." Mark replied, ignoring the smart ass comment.

"I'm never early, everyone else is just late. Anyway, have you found out where Cena is hiding?" Chris asked.

"I got two possible hits. His major club is in Queens, he might be there. Or otherwise his apartment is in Central Bronx, near Bronx Park." Mark confirmed.

"Ok. I say we hit his apartment first, since it's closer. We'll leave now so we have some time to scout it out first." Chris said.

"OK then. Let's go."

Mark went into his bed room, presumably to grab his weapon. He came back out, took his coat off the recliner and the two men walked out of the house.

Chris and Mark sat in Chris' Corolla outside of Cena's house. Chris was in the passenger seat though, as Mark insisted on driving. For some reason, he didn't trust Chris' driving. They had been sitting there for about ten minutes and Chris was getting restless.

"I don't think he's here. Let's hit his club." Jericho said impatiently.

"His god damn lights are on for Christ sake. Keep your pants on. He's here, I know it." Mark told him.

Chris continued to sit there, fidgeting around and tapping his fingers madly on the dashboard. Finally he saw the door open. Light from the house flooded the street as he saw Cena step out of the house.

"There he is. Let's roll." Chris said as he opened the door and got out of the car.

It was only at that moment that Mark realized they hadn't thought of a plan. Mark reached out to grab Chris' shirt and tried to stop him, but he was out of his reach. Mark swore under his breath as he shot a quick glance at his rear view mirror. Two men hopped out of the car behind him and were making a swift approach towards Chris.

Chris was walking with a purpose towards Cena. He then saw someone else emerge from Cena's house. Shawn Michaels all too casually strolled out of Cena's apartment and walked over to Cena and shook his hand. Chris who was flushed with anger, recalled nothing that happened after this point.

Mark who was struggling to get his seatbelt off looked out of the window. He saw Chris reach into his jacket pocket. Mark prayed that Chris wasn't about to do what he thought he was going to do. When Chris pulled his hand out of his jacket, Mark's worst fears were confirmed. Chris, walking steadily towards Cena and Shawn Michaels, aimed his pistol at them and fired. His shot rang off the lamp post. Cena and Shawn were now hoofing it down the street. Chris fired again and this shot hit the brick house, inches from Shawn's head. The two men who had got out of the car behind him were now on top of Chris and had him in handcuffs. Mark, who was now out of his seat belt, was about to jump out and help Chris when he saw Chris looking straight at him. Chris sent the message with his eyes, telling him to drive away. Chris was a hell of a lot like his brother…

"Who were you shooting at Chris?" Detective Marcy asked again.

"None of your damn business bitch!"

"Chris, we need your full co operation if you want us to catch your brother's killer."

Chris remained silent, staring straight ahead inside the interrogation room.

"Look Chris. I'm willing to make you a deal. You give us the name of the guy you were going after tonight, we will drop all the charges against you." The detective said.

"I aint telling you shit." Chris said stubbornly.

"Why not? You give us the name, you stay out of jail. We catch the guy and put him in jail for killing your brother. It's a win win situation."

"How can I be sure that you guys are going to catch him? You NYPD couldn't tell your ass from your fucking elbow." Chris taunted.

"Okay Chris. I didn't want to have to resort to this. But you forced me." Detective Marcy said as he walked over to the one way window. "Bring her in."

After a few seconds of silence, the door to the interrogation room opened and Chris' mom came bounding in.

"CHRIS! HOW COULD YOU! YOU SWORE TO ME!" Chris' mother yelled as she ran to hem and collapsed into his arms.

"Mom. Why did you come?"

"You swore to me Chris. You promised!" She continued to wail.

"Mom, just calm down, I can explain." Chris tried to soothe his mother.

"There is nothing to explain. All there is is you giving us the name, and us cutting you loose, that is all there is to…" Detective Marcy started, but was cut of by Chris.

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! My mother didn't need to be involved in this, she has been through enough. Real fucking noble of you to pick on a sick old lady! You make me sick you dirty, trailer trash scumbag."

"Chris, just listen. You don't give us the name, we are going to have to prosecute you. We have got about a dozen eye witnesses, that saw you. You will go to jail. Think about your mom." The detective continued.

"Don't you even…" Chris was about to shout at the detective again, but saw the reasoning in his argument. He could not go to jail. No one would look after his mother. Jericho stood there for what seemed like hours, just thinking, with his mother in his arms, sobbing on his shoulder.

"John Cena." Chris said under his breath.

"Sorry?"

"JOHN CENA! Now get us out of this shit hole." Chris said.

Detective Marcy opened the door to the interrogation room. Chris and his mother walked out of the room.

"Oh and Chris!" The detective said just before Chris was out of the precinct. "We will catch your brother's killer. I promise you."

"Whatever." Chris replied as he left the building.

Chris sat in the cab with his mother. He sat there thinking about his latest move. Should he have given Michaels' name as well? No. Chris wanted Michaels for himself. The son of a bitch probably pulled the trigger himself. Chris was going to get Shawn for betraying his brother, and he was going to make him pay.