Bobby Goren was cold. He pulled his fatigue jacket tighter around him as he stumbled down the street. He looked every bit the junkie he was portraying. He was very good at playing roles, stepping into the skin of someone he wasn't. He'd been doing that for most of his thirty-six years and had it damn near down to a science. But for all his appearances, he wasn't stoned. His mind was sharp as a tack and he was aware of everything around him. He found a nice, sheltered corner beside a dumpster in the shadows of a blind alley. It was a nicer spot than he'd found last night. At least he was out of the wind.

He settled back, pretending to pass out, but he was aware of everything around him. And, with his cap pulled down to hide the fact that he was alert and aware, he watched. Bobby liked to watch. That was something else he'd been doing all his life, something else he was damn good at...watching and reading people. Most people used their vision to see; he used his to observe. Take that guy across the street. Nice business suit...hurrying down the sidewalk, like he was late for a business dinner. Well, he might be late for dinner, but his business was already done. He was still fixing his tie as he hurried along, and there were no business-class restaurants back along the way he was hurrying from. His hair was disheveled and he wore a worried look...rushing home to a cold dinner and probably a colder wife who won't believe him when he tells her he missed his train or had to finish some file at the office for some important client. Yep, there he goes, right toward the subway stairs around the corner on the next block. Home to that nice, angry, suburban wife, in their nice, tidy, suburban home with two-point-four kids and a dog.

He swallowed down his bitterness. He would never understand how a man could have so much and still want more. There were lots of things Bobby was good at, but maintaining relationships was not one of them. Invariably, his girlfriends left, unable to handle his intensity, unable to accept his remoteness. No matter how good he was in bed, no matter how charming he could be, he seemed destined to a life of one night stands and short term relationships. He kept the core of who he was buried deep and well-protected, unwilling to open himself to anyone. He was a very deep and complicated man, but to the outside world, looking in, there wasn't much to see. He was afraid to love and even more afraid to be loved. So he hid behind an unbreachable wall and refused to come out for anyone.

It wasn't much different on the job. If he could find a damn partner who could stick with him for more than a few months, he'd be happy, and so would the captain. Like right now...he was between partners, and if the captain knew he was out here again, with no back-up, he'd suspend him. Unless...if he could bring in this dealer with a solid case against him and another conviction...then he'd just get a talking-to. 'Don't do it again, Goren. You're giving me a damn ulcer, kid.'

But the fact that every single one of his arrests had led to a conviction was nothing to sneeze at. Bobby Goren was a good cop, a very good cop. He did good solid police work. Maybe his methods were unconventional, but he got results, and his confessions stuck. He didn't have a family, so his work was his life, and he put everything into it. Take the job out of the equation, and he'd have nothing...just like his junkie alter-ego. Nothing.

He was shaken from his reverie by a sound...high heels on the pavement. He waited and watched. He saw the legs and a sweet little ass barely hidden by her skirt. Her shirt didn't cover much more. Shit. She must be freezing. He couldn't imagine that fur thing across her shoulders gave her much warmth. She was a tiny little thing. She stopped and turned, looking up and down the street. Young, too, and nervous. Not much more than a kid. The closer he looked, the more convinced he was...she wasn't more than sixteen. Damn...she was just a baby. What the hell was she doing on the street? How bad could life at home have been compared to this? He felt his gut clench when he remembered there was a prostitute killer working this area of town. This little girl had no idea the danger she was placing herself in. It's not like she went home to watch the evening news or read the papers. It was headline news, and he wondered if she even took the time to glance at the headlines of the Ledger in a paperbox or on a newsstand. Probably not. She was probably too busy wondering where her next meal was coming from after turning over any earnings to her pimp at the end of the night. Now there was someone he'd like to spend five unmonitored minutes alone in a room with. Anyone who could put a child out on the street, selling her innocence for a turn in the sack and a chunk of change she'd never get to spend herself...

"Hey, baby," came a voice from the street out of his sight.

He tensed. He didn't like the sound of this. The voice he heard was drunk, maybe high, definitely unpredictable. He moved his left arm slowly, touching the butt of his piece, judging distance and angle in this position, returning his arm to its previous position. No one ever paid attention to passed-out junkies in the alleys. That gave him the advantage.

She looked at the man who was still out of his range of vision. He could tell she wasn't long on the streets; she was scared. She was shivering, though not entirely from the cold, like he was. But she was trying to be smooth. "Hey there," she purred, trying to sound confident.

Bobby watched the man's legs come into view as he approached the baby hooker. He couldn't help but think of her as a baby; his gut clenched with repulsion. He had no problem with men seeking hookers, aside from the legal issues involved, but when children hit the streets, and creeps like this went after them...that he had a problem with.

The man reached out toward her but she stepped back smoothly with an innocent laugh. "No touching the merchandise," she cooed. He could hear the nervous tremor in her voice, though he doubted this creep would, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. "Not until it's paid for."

The man laughed, but it was nothing like the child-hooker's innocent giggle. It was a hard, cold sound. "All right, then, honey. How much?"

"A c-note for the first hour, double if you want anything extra."

"Are you that good?"

"It'll cost you to find out."

The man thrust his hand into his pocket. Bobby was torn. If he pulled this baby off the street, he'd blow his cover. But how could he just sit here and ignore it, when so many crimes on so many levels were being committed just fifteen feet in front of him? His mind raced, trying to figure out a way to do what he'd decided he had to without blowing his cover and losing his job, or his life.

The guy pulled out a roll of bills, peeling off two hundred dollar bills. He stuffed them down the child's shirt, into her bra, and he owned her now, for the next hour anyway. Sighing to himself, Bobby lurched to his feet as the guy in front of him put his arm around the child and turned to bring her back the way he'd come. In one smooth movement, he lurched forward, slamming his body clumsily into the guy, taking him down and slamming on top of him with the force of his body weight and as much momentum as he could gather on the way to the ground. It had been dumb luck on his part that the girl hadn't tumbled to the ground with them.

He rolled off the guy, glancing toward the child-hooker, who was pressed against the wall of the building, looking terrified. He felt badly about that but he had no way to reassure her.

Recovering his wind, the stranger rolled onto his knees and glared at the junkie who'd knocked him over. From out of nowhere, a knife appeared in his hand. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he growled angrily.

Shit. This was quickly going from bad to worse. He looked at the knife, tipping his head to the left as if he didn't recognize what it was or the danger it presented to him. "Nice blade," he slurred.

The guy stared at him, confused. "What?"

"You ever use that for fishing?"

Totally confused, he stared at the man on the ground in front of him, who was looking at him through half-closed eyes. This idiot was obviously stoned out of his mind, and he presented no threat, and certainly no competition for the sweet little hooker he'd just picked up.

He got to his feet, holding the knife toward the street bum with uncertainty. He wasn't sure what to make of this junkie. He'd come from out of nowhere. There were footsteps behind him, and he turned to see another hooker strolling toward them. He grinned. Maybe this was his night.

Bobby glanced at the second woman. Dressed much like the child-hooker, she was older, maybe twenty-five or thirty. He watched her for a minute as she drew closer, intrigued. There was something about her...but then he remembered the man in front of him with the knife...and now there was a second hooker to protect...what had he gotten himself into?

"Vickie?" The second hooker looked toward the still frightened child cowering against the building. "Are you ok?"

The girl nodded. Bobby took advantage of the distraction to shift his body, and, making it seem a part of his repositioning, he slammed his boot into the other guy's knee, bringing him down again. The guy landed with a grunt, but rolled toward him and lunged at him with the knife. He barely missed. Before the cop had a chance to react to the lunge, though, the knife went flying and the guy was knocked onto his back, a gun leveled in his face.

"You're under arrest, pal." The second hooker stood above him, her face cold and hard. She spoke into a hidden mike. "I've got a situation around the corner, guys. One john in custody. Come get 'im."

Well, damn! She was a vice cop. And he never made her. He watched her from under his grubby ballcap as more cops appeared from nowhere. This wasn't his night. His mark was never going to show up here. Not now. Good choice of a spot, Goren. He was done for the night, at least here in this area. He'd either have to pack it in for the night or stumble off someplace else and hope for another place like this one, out of the December wind.

Even though his conscious mind was elsewhere, he hadn't missed a thing that was transpiring in front of him. It was a skill he'd honed over the years...his mind was eternally busy, but he had a great autopilot that registered every movement around him. He knew when things were heading south, a bust gone bad. He'd saved a couple of partners that way...only to have them go packing soon after, inevitably blaming him for their near-death experiences. They were on their way out, anyway, he'd convinced himself. He wasn't an easy cop to work with; he wasn't much of a team player. He did things his way and walked much closer to the edge than most cops did. Bobby had no fear. Not fear for his life, anyway. Some thought he was suicidal, but that wasn't the case at all--his psych reports showed that clearly. He just...wasn't afraid to die. So he'd push harder, delve deeper than any of his partners were willing to. But he wasn't reckless. No. He was very careful...at least with his partners he was. He was least comfortable with those partners who had families. He refused to be responsible in any way for someone's dad not coming home. He had to be extra careful when he had a family man as a partner.

The other guy was being hauled to his feet by two beefy cops and shoved into the back of an unmarked car for the trip to booking. But he'd post bail and be back on the streets looking for another child to bang in no time. How much time would he get? Six months? A year? And for every one of him, there were ten more to take his place. Yeah, working vice was an endless frustration. At least the scrubs he busted went up for real time. Yeah, there were plenty of others to take their places...but...but what? Was he spinning his wheels, too? Probably. But he loved his job. Yeah...he really did.

Time to move on. The excitement was over, and he doubted any of them would be concerned with him. After all, he was just another junkie, down and out and looking for another fix. Everyone had dispersed, for the most part, and his child-hooker was sobbing in the arms of her guardian angel, who was talking softly to her as they moved away from the alley. He sighed. All too soon, the vice cop would be off to make another bust and...well, he had no idea what would happen to the child. He had to trust her angel to take care of her. He got to his feet, turned to stumble off in the other direction, and he almost tripped over someone. Keeping with his stoned junkie persona, he tumbled back to the ground with a groan. Crap...he hadn't noticed anyone in his path. He looked up, pretending to have trouble focusing...but he had no problems with his eyes, and he was looking up into the beautiful face of the vice cop who had rescued the child hooker...and enabled him to keep his cover intact. He struggled not to smile, not to make direct eye contact. She just stood over him, studying him, with the child standing behind her, watching him with large eyes. He shook himself from his reverie two seconds before she got suspicious and attempted to stand. Sloppily, he got to his feet after two unsuccessful tries. "Watch where you're going there, girl," he slurred.

"Hey, you fell over me."

Before he was even aware it had happened, he met her eyes. "Did I? Well, watch where I'm going, then."

She continued her scrutiny of him as he swayed in front of her. He knew that look on her face. It wasn't repulsion. It was curiosity. Fuck...she was on the verge of making him. He wanted to tell her to be careful, to watch out for the prostitute killer who was out there, but that was probably the case she was working. Even so, it wasn't his place to say anything to her. He had no more business penetrating her cover than she had looking past his. He tore his eyes from hers and made a move to stumble past her. She moved half a step away and waited until he was right next to her before she stepped into his side and spoke into his ear. "You're no junkie."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "What makes you say that?" he said, taking care to stumble over the words.

"Your eyes. They're too clear. Either you step fully into the role, officer, and take the drugs you're pretending to be under the influence of, or you don't stare into the eyes of the people you're trying to fool."

He looked at her. She was smart. Really smart. "I usually don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look into anyone's eyes."

"Well, good. That'll keep you from getting your ass shot...or worse." She kept her eyes on his face a few seconds longer. "Thanks, though, for what you did."

"I didn't do anything."

She moved even closer, and he could smell the perfume drifting from her. "You could have blown your cover protecting her," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. Her fingers lightly touched his hand. "Thank you for taking that risk."

She stepped away and saw him look over her shoulder at the girl behind her. His face softened and his eyes were warm. Vickie was still terrified. She had not been doing this for long; she wasn't yet inoculated to life on the streets. His eyes returned to the vice cop, who said, "I'll take care of her. Don't worry."

He let his face ease into a smile which he quickly suppressed once she'd seen it. He let his eyes stray over her body before he met her eyes one last time. "Be careful out there, ok?"

He pulled his cap down over his eyes and resumed his role of a stumbling, strung-out junkie.

---------------------------------------------

She watched him as he staggered away. He really did play the role well, and if he had not stopped and looked into her eyes, she would never have made him. She had been watching out for Vickie, trying to insulate her from the streets until she had a chance to get her off them. But she'd lost track of her a little while ago, finding her in time to see the john stuff his money down the front of her halter top. Then she had seen the junkie stumble from the alleyway and into the john who'd been after the child.

She saw the guy pull his knife and she just knew this was not going to end well for the addict. She didn't hear what he'd said to the john, but he'd obviously confused him. Her approach had further defused the situation, until that junkie had knocked the guy down again. He'd damn near taken that knife in the ribs for his effort, but it had enabled her to disarm and arrest the other man with ease.

She was busy reassuring Vickie when he had fallen over her. The clumsy oaf. Looking up at her from the ground, he had that confused, unfocused countenance of a guy stoned off his ass. She watched, mildly amused and irritated at the same time, as he struggled to his feet. Then, he'd met her eyes. It was a mistake, not something he'd intended to do, but at that moment, she knew he was not what he seemed. This was no strung-out junkie. This guy was a cop. His eyes were clear as day...bloodshot, yeah, but definitely not from drugs. She'd seen stoned and strung-out eyes enough times to know this guy was clean. And he had really nice eyes.

She was impressed by his concern for Vickie, and she realized that he had intentionally taken the risk of blowing his cover to try to save the child. For an undercover narcotics cop, that was a very big risk. Vickie touched her arm. "Where is he going?" she asked. "Aren't you going to arrest him, too?"

"Arrest him? Why would I do that?"

"So he can sleep in a warm bed and have a decent meal."

She smiled. This child had a good heart. "No, Vickie. I'm not going to arrest him." She looked at the girl. "That man just risked his life in a very big way to help you."

Vickie looked confused. "All he did was fall over that john."

They started walking in the opposite direction from where he had gone. "He's an undercover cop. The streets have eyes and ears, Vickie, and if he blew his cover saving you, he probably won't make it back to his squad alive tonight."

"Do you think he's going to be ok?"

"I don't know." She hoped that his cover was still intact and he would be ok. "But, Vickie, do you really want to be out on the streets now? It's dangerous out here, in this world, and that man risked his life for a reason: to save yours. There's nothing glamorous about being a prostitute."

"So why do you do it?"

"I'm not a prostitute. I'm a cop. I'm doing my job here, and I know what I'm doing. You're fifteen years old. You don't need to be out here. The streets will kill you. Come back with me to my squad room and we'll talk about it."

"Can you find out who he was?"

She shook her head. "No. But I'll keep my eyes out for him, and if I ever see him again, I can let you know."

She looked back down the street, where he had turned the corner out of her sight and out of her life. When he had looked her over that last time, she'd felt none of the discomfort she usually felt when other guys looked her over. There had been no lust in his eyes...just...curiosity? And then he'd told her to be careful. She got the impression it was a genuine expression of concern, as though he really did care...but how could he? He didn't even know her.

She sighed as she led Vickie around the corner toward the car where her partner was waiting for her, thinking about the big narcotics cop. He'd continue his role until he caught whoever it was he was after, unless the streets caught up with him first. Then he'd go home to wash away the dirt and grime of this filthy underworld and immerse himself in the role of his real life, making love to a pretty wife and playing with his kids around the Christmas tree. And her? She'd go home to her cold, empty bed and tomorrow visit the grave of the man who had once warmed it with her. Life was cruel. But there was one thing about tonight she would never forget...she would never forget his eyes.