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SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:16 A.M.
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, house left.

Logan spun out of the passage to a side exit he'd remembered seeing, a doorway out midway along the audience area. So he'd not have to head all the way back behind the stage and lose time, he was relieved to find it–and he managed, after several bashes with his shoulder, to free the door's rusty hinges and batter it wide open.

But the exit took Logan outside the tall metal fence surrounding the audience's perimeter, the fence itself a wire affair with slats of metal interwoven through the openings and effectively cutting off not only his entry, but his view inside. Hoping wildly to find a breach in the barrier, he surged ahead across the grass, following the gently sloping descent along the wire fence pacing the rows of seats, searching for a way to see inside as he looked for a way in, manically hoping for post-Pulse decay to have struck here, too...

...when he saw a small opening, a place where the fence had come loose from the metal post holding it. Stopping to grab at the loose end, and knowing he couldn't get much power behind his grasp, not having full abdominal strength to get behind the pull or leg muscles to brace his attempt, he instead tried forcing the gap upward, shoulder under the metal slats as he used his abs and arm to help push up with his shoulder, his opposite hand maneuvering his chair forward into the gap.

And at the sound of a single gunshot from inside the arena, he surged through the opening he'd managed to start, ignoring the bite of loose metal on his face and hands...

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:19 A.M.
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, center stage.

"Get down!" At the sound of the gunshot, Tony was already barking orders and dropping to the stage floor, reflexes honed by too many such moments. He stretched a protective arm out toward Max, but she had moved even more quickly than he had, and Tony dropped with her across Parks, already prone on the floor. Time seemed to lengthen as he looked to see that Max was alright, making eye contact with her. She met his gaze, appearing to do an assessment of her own before quickly shifting to move across the several feet to where Bling lay, covering him and speaking to him, low, as she scanned out toward the audience.

Sensing the midshipman had not been hit, Tony also moved to Bling–he'd seen the impact and feared it was the chest, hoped it was the shoulder. He was relieved to see that the man was moving, grimacing; he was speaking to Max as Tony neared. An entry wound was visible through the man's jacket, staining dark red across his shoulder and chest, widening at a slow rate, leading Tony to figure he'd escaped lung, heart or artery involvement...

"Here, Bling..." Max pulled off her jacket quickly, yanking off the thick t-shirt she wore under it to leave her with a thin camisole in the February chill. Handing the shirt to him, she was saying, "Use this to put pressure on it–I know it will hurt like hell, but you know this stuff better than I do. We'll get you outa here in just a minute..." She pulled her jacket back on and zipped it up, all business now. Focused on the audience again to see what she could, she had not noticed Tony's sudden pause...

Because, despite all the chaos of the moment, it was not until then that Tony froze, registering what he had just thought he had seen as Max pulled off her shirt, her hair pulled aside only a moment...

...it would explain so much...

Swallowing hard, and shaking himself back to more immediate concerns, Tony left Bling to Max and turned outward. Pulling up to a crouch, he scuttled downstage toward the proscenium arch at his right. From behind the wall at the side of the stage, Tony could straighten and peer out toward the seats, where the shot had been fired...moving carefully to lean out a bit further, Tony suddenly spotted the huddled form, lurching across the aisle and keening drunkenly, as if she'd been the one who'd been shot. And suddenly, the face of the widow he knew had been hiding something turned up toward him...

"Gayle!" He shouted, focusing on the woman with the gun, drawing his weapon to have ready if she raised hers again, feeling frustration as she ducked behind the row of seats, at this distance probably enough to deflect a shot from making its target. "Drop your gun! Your boy's up here–you wanna hit him again?" As he yelled, he became aware of two more things: his cousin had appeared in open range of the shooter, behind her, another sitting duck for this lunatic family, and above him, soundlessly, a black jacketed form had run to the stage's edge on the overhead catwalk.

Given what he'd just seen, he suspected he knew what Max planned to do next...

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:19 A.M.
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, house left.

Despite the noise he made, Logan saw that the figure hadn't turned, so either didn't know–or didn't care–that he was there. Hurrying to free his sleeve and pant leg from the raw ends of metal twisting away from him, he could now hear a woman's voice shrilly calling toward the others, weaving oddly along one of the rows two or three back from the stage and dropping behind the chairs in front of her as a shield. Knowing he needed to get closer for a clear shot–and knowing he had no cover, once she turned on him, he took a deep breath to push off toward the side aisle and the long, terraced steps that dropped eight inches or so every ten feet...

He popped back on his back wheels to drop down the first riser, landing hard but his balance not bad. Two more would bring him near enough to dash across to the center aisle, where he could have a clear shot. He refused to think about what was happening beyond the woman in the arena; he'd heard Tony yell once since the shot, but no one else, and not even Tony again. He came the next ten feet and made the second drop, landing harder this time and nearly spilling from the chair. Growling his resolve, he came one more length, chair crashing down on the right wheel harder than the left and suddenly far harder to push, wheel rim clearly suffering from the abuse. The figure turned to him, wavering; he paused, hand nearing his gun. But Tony's voice came again and she turned...

As quickly as he could, Logan came across the audience to move behind the shooter, where she crouched... he still couldn't see any of them on the stage, and prayed no one had been hit. He couldn't make out what the woman was saying but clearly they had to remain flat on the stage or they'd be an easy target for her–and she again raised her gun. In any other situation he might have called out, told her to drop it, given her a chance. But not with those three people in her sights. Not for even one of them, and certainly not all three...

He leveled; he fired, and the bullet went wide. As if in slow motion he saw her start to turn his way and he carefully aimed another shot at her torso, the largest part of the target before him. She was hit; she crumpled to her knees, sideways, but did not fall. Logan kept his eyes and his gun on her but wavered; he heard Tony's yell to him to hold and almost before the words were out, saw the flash of black that was Max as she bound down from above the stage, to the audience, to the woman's side. He watched, craning to see, to assure himself that Max was as unharmed as she seemed...she came at the woman sideways and knocked the gun far from her hand, pulled her back to lean her up against the seats, the woman almost facing Logan now. As she ripped at the woman's loose cloak to tear off a couple strips of fabric, Max turned to look up toward the man watching her, and called, "Logan? You're alright?"

He nodded, relief for her beginning to warm him as he saw and heard Max being...Max. Working quickly, she bound the woman's hands to a seat leg behind her, and turned to run up the steps toward him.

"Max," he breathed, anxious still about the others. "How are they–Bling? Tony? Was anyone hurt?"

"Bling was hit..." She said evenly, as she came close. " Logan–he'll be fine..." she assured him, speaking over his widening eyes and drawn breath. "In the shoulder or in a little ways, but he's been awake the whole time and there isn't abnormal blood loss. No sign of internal bleeding. I heard Tony calling Matt just now, and they're on their way. They're sending an ambulance..."

"An ambulance will take forever. Max, you go–take him to Metro Medical. Matt will understand, and you don't need to be in the middle of any investigation, anyway..." His green eyes begged, for several reasons. "Just go...take my car..." He started digging out his keys.

"No, I'll take Bling's–I know where it is and you and Tony will have yours to get back..." She wavered just the extra moment to give him a hopeful look. "He'll be okay, Logan; he's gonna be fine, and it's over..."

He finally nodded and managed a wan smile back. "I know–thanks, Max...you'd better get going..."

With a quick nod she turned and, in a heartbeat, had disappeared up onto the stage. Logan looked back to the woman tied several rows away, seeing her glare back up at him, now disarmed and completely understanding from what Max had told her that her captor would have no problem shooting her again if she tried to leave before the police came. He shivered a little, realizing Max was right, it really was over. If Bling was conscious, talking, not bleeding too much and not showing signs of organ involvement, those were all good signs...still, he felt some relief that it was Max who would shepherd him to Metro Medical and to Sam, where they would take care of one of their own...

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:23 A.M.
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, center stage.

Max crossed the stage to where Bling half sat, half leaned against the pallets, not far from where Tony waited with Parks. "Logan's fine," she reported to them both. "He's got Park's mother covered...she has an abdominal wound, and will need attention soon–she's tied to the seats; not too well but Logan's watching her, and she doesn't have too much fight in her at the moment. Bling, I'm taking you to Metro Medical–let's get your keys..."

He nodded, thin-lipped; and reached toward his pocket on his good side. "Here, I can help..." Max came close and frowned a bit, seeing him grimace a bit more and feeling him shivering. She looked up. "Tony, I think he's getting shocky." She stood, starting to pull off her jacket. "Bling, I'll be right back with the car..." Jacket in hand, she started to drape it on him when Tony stepped close, and she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"No, come on, Max, " Tony stopped her just as she'd started to lean over Bling , and pulled off his own coat, his manner, as always, smiling, comfortable. "No way can that little jacket warm up a big guy like Bling." He opened the down parka to lay it, like a blanket, across the shivering man. "Besides, you need to get going..." Straightening, he took her jacket from her and with a pleasant smile, held it up for her to slip on, chivalrously, as if these events were daily fare.

Well, they are, for him, Max thought, briefly returning the smile and turning to shrug into her jacket. As he stood slightly to her side, she slipped her arms in and, as Tony had hoped, she lifted her hair to clear the collar–and his eyes fell exactly to the place they needed to be to confirm the earlier, momentary flash of the tatoo-like bands of black running vertically up her neck...

It was as if she suddenly remembered herself–or remembered who he was–and Max quickly turned with a sharp inhale, her dark eyes searching his, apprehension clear. But all she saw was the patented DiNozzo smile, full of open eyed charm, and she shook it off. You're slipping, Max, she chided herself. Even with all this...you can't ever get so comfortable to slip...

In the next moment she was down in the tunnels, racing to bring Bling's car as close as she could, hearing the sirens getting nearer. Putting on even a bit more speed, she thought she'd managed to dodge the close call with Tony, and prodded herself to remember what another such slip might mean.

But as Tony turned back to the handcuffed prisoner, keeping an eye on Bling too, he wasn't really seeing the two men on the stage. He was seeing the past and present he imagined for Max...what she must have been through...what she must face, even now...wondering just how she hooked up with his cousin...and never once doubting his cousin was very, very aware of just how ...special...his adored Max really was...

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 12:11 P.M.
SEATTLE POLICE DEPARTMENT, CENTRAL DIVISION

Tony stood at the desk near the window, talking on his phone as he stared out the window, his words and demeanor telling Matt he was engaging in an age-old cop ritual–reporting in to the Old Man. Matt smirked. Even specialty Feds like NCIS have to line up for inspection, he noted. Figures Logan would have a cop in the family, he mused, chuckling yet again how much the cousins resembled each other–and how much they didn't. Or maybe they did in more ways than either suspected... and he crossed over to the elder cousin as Tony disconnected the call.

"Hey, Matt," Tony began, before Sung had a chance to speak. "Look, your guys have been great with all this. I really appreciate your organizing everything–between the DA's office, the marshals, my people calling–I know you guys don't need us Feds under your nose."

Matt chuckled. "So you were city before you were NCIS?"

"Peoria, then Baltimore. " Tony grinned, "And that close to the District, damn if the Feds weren't up our butts seven days a week." At Matt's chuckle, Tony came to a decision about the man, and said, "Your guys have all the transfer paperwork wrapped up for me, Parks is waiting for counsel and Mama's in recovery, resting as comfortably as can be expected. Logan's at the hospital, checking on Bling," he straightened and stuck his phone in his pocket, "and I could use some decent coffee. Seattle still's about the best place for that, isn't it?"

Matt nodded, eyebrows flicking up a notch, curious. "So all the visiting Feds tell me."

Tony laughed. "C'mon, then–let me buy you a cup," he grinned, easily, "and let me assuage my feelings of guilt for leaving Baltimore for the Feds."

"You're on." Matt grinned. "Let me check the board."

Tony nodded and watched the detective walk to the sign-out board in front of the squad room and mark himself off grounds. His smile faded a little as he thought ahead to how he would do this. He'd appeal to the 'brothers in blue' connection, see if he could lead Matt to answer some questions without realizing he did so...

After barely twenty hours with his cousin, Tony was flat-out worried about what Logan had gotten himself into. He was crazy with worry that the "journalist" was doing something illegal, but couldn't make himself believe it; he feared learning something about Logan he'd feel duty-bound to report, but feared even more letting it go to have something happen he could have prevented. He ran the risk with Matt of tipping the detective to something Logan was doing, but knew the two had some sort of working relationship which Tony prayed meant Logan was legit. He hoped that Matt was as honest a cop as he seemed, and not just in on whatever it was. But probably more than anything–Tony was just plain crazy with a cop's curiosity when his radar was pinging, this time about his baby cousin. If he had to kick Logan's ass to straighten him out, he would–and would worry about his professional "duty" later...

Matt returned and suggested a coffee shop in the next block, and the men set out to walk the short distance. Tony told Matt more about the case; Matt told Tony about the local federal prosecutor. Each complained about judges they had to satisfy for warrants, and shared a couple war stories about finding enough to make them happy, agreeing that some judges interpreted "probable cause" to be nothing short of a sign on the perp's chest saying "I did it."

And by the time they were in the shop, coffee in hand, and seated at an isolated booth, they were talking quite comfortably...ten minutes later, Tony had broached the subject, as much honesty infused in his question as he could manage. ..

"Matt, look...I'll confess my obvious ulterior motive, for the coffee..." Tony's apologetic look was heartfelt, even though he could not be completely candid with Matt. He knew the detective would understand... "You have to know I'm worried about Logan. I haven't even been here a day and I've seen him tearing around after a serial killer, being shot at, demanding detention orders–and apparently getting them..." Tony wasn't trying to remind Matt of the extent of his authority, not really...but if Matt remembered that a Federal Agent might have something to say about a civilian directing the misuse of police powers...he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he needed to keep it friendly... "I would have worried about it, before. But now..." He swallowed, the moment taken with the memory of Logan captive in his own home, waiting for Max to see that his chair had been moved out of reach... "No matter how much he wants to deny it, a civilian paraplegic without training is a statistic waiting to happen." Tony found he'd been staring into his coffee with the thoughts, and now looked up to Sung's eyes. "Logan means a lot to me–and all this makes me shared shitless for him. And the thought that he might be into something he shouldn't..." He laid it all on the table now, no good way to get what he wanted from Matt otherwise... "I'll kick his ass, if I have to; I'll pack him off to DC where I can watch him...whatever it takes, Matt. But I'm scared to death to ask him what he's into. So I'm asking you, since, clearly, you two work together..." Again, a reminder of his reach, so this wouldn't lead to any repercussions for his cousin? "Is he into something he shouldn't be?"

The look on Matt's face let Tony feel nearly immediate relief, that his instincts had been right about trusting the detective. "No. He may be the only one in the city who is doing what he should be–what any man of conscience should be doing." Matt's mouth twisted into a knowing smile. "Sometimes he can be pretty naive...he has this rich kid's sense of righteous indignation for the poor and the disenfranchised–or that's how I saw it when I met him, what, five years ago? I thought he'd burn that off, quickly, but...he hasn't. Not in all the time I've known him. Not even after getting shot, trying to help protect a witness..." Matt shook his head. "He really is an innocent in some ways, demanding that the world be just and fair and decent. And damn me, but it's kind of inspiring to have someone around who can be so stubborn as to still believe in humanity." Matt took a long sip from his coffee, and paused to laugh, ruefully, "if anything gets him in trouble, it's that–his drive to step in and make the world right, even single-handedly."

"As a journalist?" Tony dared to wade in a bit.

Matt's eyes flickered, a slight wariness in them. "That...and...just...jumping in, when the story leads take him places beyond the story, wrongs to right, orphans to save...whistles to blow."

Tony read the wariness as Matt's being protective of his cousin–and, hoping he was right, pressed, "But damn it, Matt, he's a civilian–and one who should have learned his lesson, getting shot up last year! What is he up to, playing cops and robbers?" He suddenly hoped that's all it was, that his cousin was just a wealthy, well-equipped, talented version of what all cops run across some time or another– a civilian wannabe...

"Not really." Matt looked away, and Tony immediately sensed the man was avoiding eye contact. "He's..." Matt paused, then brought his eyes back to Tony's. "He is into investigation... he just gets more involved, I guess, that sense of 'doing the right thing' and feeling as if in this climate, the police can't be everywhere ... and..." Matt sighed as he admitted, "can't always be trusted."

Tony frowned. "Your department?"

Matt nodded. "We're about 50-50 these days, half good, solid, dependable cops you know will be who they need to be...and the other half...not. Some on the take, some leaning on citizens, some just lazy asses in a uniform, some dangerous. But it's getting better–the really bad ones are out, and we're slowly working our way back to being more respectable. Logan knows that, and...as his investigative skills have been a help to us, he sometimes feeds us information...or...gets involved himself."

"How safe is that?"

"Not too. How safe was it today?" Matt challenged. "And how much did you fight with him to let you take care of it before you just gave up?" At DiNozzo's look of guilt, Matt chuckled. "Far easier said than done." He drained his coffee and set the cup down. "How many figures in literature have done the same–the Scarlet Pimpernel? Don Quixote? Batman? Rich boys, out to make a difference... How bad is that? And why do you think they're literary classics?"

"But this one isn't a character–he's my cousin..." Tony shook his head in frustration. "In a wheelchair. No Batmobile, just a beat up, unwashed Aztek. With hand-controls, for God's sake." He sighed. "Do you really know what he's up to? Can you tell me he's not black market–or worse?"

"Yeah," Matt actually grinned a little, to himself. "Another bit of naivete–Logan and I have worked together for over five years, behind the scenes...I've seen what he can do, what he knows...even got carted off with him once by a wack-job trading in young girls to those with the right amount of cash..." Matt's smile widened a bit, privately, "he knows I'm a detective and I think he feels as if I'm not half bad at it. Yet in all this time, he thinks I'm not on to him..." Matt laughed now, warmly, enjoying his secret. "Yeah, Tony, I know exactly what he's up to, even though he doesn't realize it, and I can tell you straight up–you need to be proud of Logan Cale..."

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 12:50 P.M.
METRO MEDICAL

"Logan!"

Cale looked up to see the worry in Max's eyes as she hurried to him, seeing the need she felt to be sure he was alright. Unable to find any words, he looked back to her and nodded, hoping it was enough, for the moment. He didn't trust his voice.

Logan had dropped Tony off at the station to meet Matt and the officers who had Parks and his mother in custody, and came directly to Metro Medical. By the time he'd arrived and had gotten inside, Bling already had been taken to surgery; it took some doing but he finally found someone who could give him a report on Bling's condition. Logan was somewhat relieved to know that Sam was in with him, assisting; while this was more in the expertise of an orthopedic surgeon rather than a neurosurgeon, Sam was a friend of both his and Bling's, and he would keep a close eye on things in surgery. If nerve damage was discovered, he could lend a hand as needed. Logan had trusted Sam with his own life more than once, having come on to his caseload strictly by the luck of the moment–and knew Bling was in the best of hands. Still... it didn't make his friend's injury any less real...and while probably not life-threatening, it could easily impact his work... Logan vowed at that moment that he didn't care what happened, that Bling would have a job with him as long as either of them drew breath, as long as Bling cared to stay...

Max was gone by the time Logan arrived, off to check in with work. A note hastily scribbled and left for him at the surgery desk had found its way to him, once he went to the waiting area there. But she'd come back– and as he looked up to her now, he saw her worry shift to alarm. "Logan, you're hurt!" She came close to let her fingers trace his upper arm along the widened band of blood still occasionally seeping through his torn jacket sleeve, probably made active again each time he pushed from place to place. "How did she...were you hit, too?" she tried to figure.

"No," he reddened. "I was in a hurry, and the shortcut I found had some obstacles..." he minimized. "It's not bad..."

"Not just your shoulder, huh?" She looked now at his face, moving her gentle touch to the scrapes she saw along his cheekbone, some discoloration showing now as well among the abrasions. "You okay?"

He knew she meant more than only the scratches, and he shrugged, looking away, staring at the floor ahead of him, seeing nothing. "I will be, when they tell me Bling will be."

"I know." She eased down in to a nearly chair, her concern almost greater for Logan than for Bling, knowing which of the two was getting attention at the moment for what ailed him. "Well, maybe since you'll be here anyway, waiting to see how he's doing, they could check you out– you know, clean up the scrapes...maybe you need a couple stitches."

"I'm fine." He muttered, stubbornly.

He heard a sigh, and, after a pause, her words, now small and quiet. "Yeah, I know..."

At her tone of weary acceptance, Logan looked over to see her expression and finally registered it all–her concern, her presence...that look, in her eyes...and, for once, Logan Cale actually relented. "I guess...if I'm going to be here, anyway..."

He was rewarded with a faint, appreciative smile, and Max rose. "I'll let them know..." She turned to cross over to the nurses' desk. After a step or two, however, she turned back to come sit across from him again, a new worry appearing. "Logan...you know, if I could have called, to let you know..." She searched the green eyes for understanding, seeing the worry and strain taking their toll. "Once I found Bling, he made me choose– I could go with him if I didn't tell you..."

She saw a small glimmer of warmth amid the worry, and felt relief with his soft words and gentle smile. "I know, Max, it's what I'd've expected from Bling. And I'm glad you were there to get his back..."

"Tony got both of our backs–don't let me forget to tell you about it, once everything is straightened out here." She touched him gently yet again, her hand briefly covering his, before getting up to find someone who could look at his cuts and scrapes.

Logan watched her, events overwhelming him, as Max strode so easily down the hall, movement loose and languid... left alone again with his thoughts, Logan turned the past hours over and over, wondering if they could have avoided the harm done that morning...and finally acknowledged that they'd actually prevented matters being much, much worse...

His phone rang; he pulled it out, unthinking, and winced a bit at the snap of pain he felt across his bicep. "Yeah," he offered, curtly.

"Hey, it's Tony," came the again-familiar voice. "How's Bling?"

"They have him in surgery–it's not life threatening; he's a good surgical candidate–they just don't know how much damage was done, if nerves were involved, or how much muscle or tendon damage there will be..."

"That's good; better than it could be, right?" Tony urged.

"Yeah," Logan felt a smile begin at his cousin's continuing optimism. "So what about your end? Are you and Matt sorting things out?"

"Yeah–he recalled the APB on Bling as soon as we called him from the Quay, by the way."

"Good; tell him thanks for me." Logan had barely remembered the request; it seemed as if it had been days ago, not hours. "What about the case?" He looked up to see Max saunter back to his side, and as she again sat on the molded plastic chair nearby, he silently mouthed "Tony" to her. As she nodded and smiled for him, he realized how easily she could know that, without his help– and felt a warm appreciation that she'd probably waited for him to tell her.

"Well, Parks and I had quite a talk, " Tony was explaining, "and he had a few things to say before it dawned on him to ask for a lawyer. So...no more interviews 'til he sees counsel. I have Mama to see in a day or two."

Logan nodded, realizing that after four days of surreal tension and fear for his friend, life was suddenly starting to return to normal, and his cousin soon would be flying back home, a continent away. A stab of bitter sadness struck him, anticipating the loss, but he swallowed it back and would not let it show. "So... you'll probably be heading back, before long..." Nice job Logan, he prodded himself at his attempt. You sounded like an abandoned kid... He studiously avoided Max's eyes, not wanting to know how he sounded to her...

But if Tony noticed it, he admitted nothing. His voice, however, carried his continuing cheer. "Actually, the DA's office has been quite interested in getting first crack at charges out here, for the both of them, since they have actual eyewitnesses to events– and my people are executing search warrants in Bradenton and Annapolis as we speak. Once all the particulars are sent to Houston and Indianapolis, Parks is likely to have charges filed there, too, and if they can determine that Mama was involved they'll do the same for her" he explained. "This way they'll keep Parks in detention out here, locally, and put Mama in once she's recovered enough to be moved." He was speaking expansively, comfortably, and Logan's hopes lifted with his words. "I'm not sure how long the DA will need me here, but no matter how much we can get done this afternoon, I plan to stick around to talk with Mama, for when she's ready for an interview. Her doctor is suggesting that she won't be in much shape for that before Monday."

"Monday..." Logan echoed, trying to manage the four year old inside him, wanting to shout in triumph...

"...so I was kinda hoping you'd have some time for your old cousin this weekend, now that work is done..." Tony was saying. "If you still don't mind putting me up..."

Logan grinned in spite of himself as his head dropped in relief, eyes closing, shaking his head in some disbelief. "I think I can manage." His voice was husky, but this time, he didn't care who heard...

...to be Continued...