"I don't like this."

"Don't like what?"

Don looked up to find a fellow detective, Kate Sanders, holding out a cup of coffee and a paper bag.

"You look like you could use this."

Don pulled out a sandwich, ham and swiss on rye. "Thanks." He popped open the chips and dumped them out on the sandwich wrapper, eating while he looked over the notes.

"So what don't you like?"

"Just got the report on the body from last night."

"So what's up with Hoffa?"

"One. He's a kid."

"I hate when it's a kid."

"Me too. And this one was running with a nasty crowd. Execution style hit on a guy Hammerback says couldn't have been more than 20. And the guy that tips us off had the ink from a known mob gang."

"I heard about that." Sanders swiped a chip. "Tanglewood Boys out of Pelham. Head punk is the nephew of a known mob enforcer. Supposedly smacked a kid to death last year for posing as a member to pick up girls."

"Sonny Sassone. Real piece of work."

"Hey Flack."

"Yeah, Tram."

"There's a guy here asking for Mac Taylor." The rookie pointed to an older gentleman standing in the doorway. "Says he has information about the newspaper photo."

Don stood, pulling on his jacket.

"Thanks for the food, Kate."

"Anytime." Sanders grabbed another chip. "If you need any help, just shout. I'm all caught up with nothing to do at the moment."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Don walked across the room, taking note of the man's uncomfortable posture.

"I'm Detective Flack." He said as warmly as he could. "I understand you have some information about the article in the paper."

"The boy in the photograph," The man cringed. "He's my son."

"Let's go somewhere more private." As Don led the man down the hall a thought entered his mind. The worst thing about cases with kids, they have families. And families make even the cleanest cases messy.