"Charles," Larry greeted as he entered his colleague's office. "I'd heard through the furiously churning rumor mill that you had rejoined our fine campus. Am I to take it that Don's recovery is going well?"

"Yeah," the younger man grinned. "So well that Dad suggested we might be spending too much time together. We decided it was back to work I go and Don and I will keep practicing his speech in the evenings."

"That sounds like another wise decision issued by the admirable Alan Eppes."

"Admirable Alan…" Charlie laughed and shook his head. "Please don't ever say that to him – Don and I would never hear the end of it."

Larry smiled as he settled into Charlie's empty desk chair. "An excellent source for blackmail," he mused as he watched his friend write on the blackboard. "I am certainly glad that you've come back to work, but I couldn't help but observe that Amita taught your morning class today. May I assume it has something to do with…" Larry gestured to the chalkboard, "…this?"

"You may," Charlie told him. "I got a call from Lieutenant Walker last night, practically begging me to-"

"Begging?"

"Okay, politely demanding that I start working on the gang case again. Seems the YK Gang managed to move a couple of large shipments of drugs during my time off the case and he's anticipating an even larger shipment in the near future."

"YK?" Larry asked.

"Young Killers. Predominantly African-American members whose main racket is the drug trade. They're suspected of involvement in at least twelve gang- or drug-related murders this year."

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance?"

"Sure," Charlie replied. "I'm working on a decision tree to determine the probable location for the next shipment, how many gang members may be there, etcetera. Based on the data so far, I think Walker is right – they're due for a big shipment."

"How can I help?"

"Read through those files," Charlie said, pointing to a tall stack of folders on his desk. "Look at the specifics of the past two shipments and give me all of the data for the categories I have listed on the board."

Larry silently read through the files as the younger professor scribbled on the blackboard. He picked up a pen and spare notebook from Charlie's desk and began compiling a list of the data to go on the board – date, time, and location of last shipment, how many members were thought to be involved, suspected size of shipment, other crimes reported in the area the same day, the day before or the day after. He stood and, picking up a piece of chalk, began to write on the board in his own frenzied scrawl. Once he'd completed his task he stepped back and studied all of the data on the board.

"This should certainly yield a credible result," he remarked.

"Yes," Charlie agreed. "But in this case it's accuracy that we want. Although I don't think that's going to be a problem." As he finished talking, Charlie diagrammed the decision tree, circling a particular entry. He tapped his chalk on top of the data. "That's it. It's the most probable decision and it makes perfect sense."

Larry nodded. "Am I correct in my observation that they have never lost a shipment when delivering to that location?"

"You sure are." Charlie pulled a photo out of a stack and showed it to Larry. "1200 Riverside Commercial Lane. They've used that warehouse and port six times over the past four years. Only for big shipments and only after they've successfully moved prior shipments without any sign of law enforcement being on to them."

"However," Larry countered. "The warehouse was used after at least five successful shipments in the past. There have only been two so far, so why do you suspect that location so strongly?"

"The gang has never lost so much of their drug shipments in such a short time before my involvement. I think they're hurting financially and they're going to leap at this opportunity."

"And the date and the time correspond to prior drug deliveries at this warehouse," Larry observed.

"Right. The big shipments are delivered via cargo ship and they have to be able to enter the port at night to be undetected. They like Friday nights because the port police have their hands full with drunks and weekend boating traffic."

"So… this Friday? That gives the police a two-day notice to set up their operation."

"I just hope it's enough," Charlie sighed as he pulled out his cell. "I've got to give Lieutenant Walker a heads up."

"I'll leave you to that," the older man said as he headed for the door. "I wouldn't mind hearing the outcome, though."

"Don't worry," Charlie told him. "I'll keep you in the loop."

--

Alan came down the stairs just before lunchtime and found his oldest son sitting on the couch watching the local news. "Looking for another interview with your brother?" he jokingly inquired.

Don rolled his eyes and gave his father a 'yeah, right' look.

"I didn't think so," the older man chuckled as he plopped onto the couch next to his son. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Nothing important." Don shook his head. "Nothing…" he waved his hand at his father.

"Nothing special?" Alan tried to clarify.

Don nodded. "Special, yes."

"I need to go to the grocery store," the older man said. "Interested in tagging along?"

"Public like no this," Don quickly replied, vehemently shaking his head.

"I'll be with you," Alan promised him. "You wouldn't have to speak to anyone, and I bet it would be good to get out and hear people conversing with each other."

"No." Don met his father's gaze with a stubborn one of his own.

"Okay," he relented. "If you don't think you're ready for that, I won't push. How about you make out the list for me?"

"No write," Don reminded his father. "No good."

"Practice, Donny. It'll be good for you to practice." Alan handed him a piece of paper and a pen. "Give it a try."

Don eyed the objects as if they were the deadliest weapons he'd ever seen. "Alan…"

"Try it," his father repeated, his tone having grown firm and uncompromising. "I'm going to clean some stuff out of the refrigerator while you make out the list." He rose and looked down at his son. "And expect there to be something on that paper when I get back, got it?"

Alan affectionately patted Don's shoulder and left him alone to work on the list. He cleaned out the fridge, and cleaned some dishes left over from the previous night's dinner. Checking his watch, he decided that Don should have had plenty of time to write something down. He calmly joined Don in the living room and resumed his position on the couch. "How'd it go?" he asked, though he already knew the answer just by the look on Don's face.

"Bad." Don nervously showed his father the list, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Know what write, but not do."

"That's okay, son. It's part of the aphasia – that's why you need to keep practicing." Alan took the piece of paper and scanned over the items. "At least I can read your writing," he joked. "That's a first."

Don gave him a weak grin and nodded at his father's attempt at levity. "Help… make better?"

"Correct the list?" Alan asked. "Of course I will. This first item says red cow. Knowing you as I do, you want steak again, right?"

Don's tension eased a bit as he nodded.

"Okay," Alan said as he placed the paper on the coffee table in front of them. "Watch what I write." He slowly printed the word, one letter at a time, and had Don copy him. "Good job, Don! Now, next item… hot black. Hmm," Alan rubbed his bottom lip as he thought.

Don mimed drinking.

"Coffee! That one should have been obvious, too. Sorry, the old man seems to be a bit slow today."

"Okay," Don told him with a smile. "Not problem."

"I appreciate your patience with me," his father said sincerely. "Third item… baked suds?"

Don nodded and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

"I need a little help with that one. Any other words to describe it?"

"Tart white… butter…" Don frowned in concentration. "Hot mash up."

"Potato?" Alan asked, smiling as Don nodded in excitement. "Steak and baked potato. There is more to life, Don."

"Good life."

"So, this fourth item – bottle. I can guess that one, but the answer is no while you're still taking pain killers."

"Not," Don told him. "No hurt bad. Good well better."

"Alright," Alan sighed. "I'll buy you some beer. But if I even think you need a pain pill, I'm pouring the bottles out."

"Mean," Don pouted.

"No, I just care about you." Alan patted his knee. "I know it seems like a bit much to you at times, but I love you, Donny. And dads get to hover – it's in the parenting handbook."

"Funny," Don said sarcastically.

"Right," his father chuckled. "That was all you put on the list?"

"Hard. Took think a lot."

"Took a lot of thought."

"Thought," Don repeated. "Took… a lot… thought."

"I know it did, son." Alan leaned over and gave Don a gentle hug. "And it means a lot to me that you worked that hard." He released his son and tucked the list into his shirt pocket. "Sure you don't want to go?" At Don's annoyed look, he shrugged apologetically. "Okay, I understand. I'll see you after a while."

--

"We got an ID."

Megan looked up from the file on her desk and smiled at Colby. "That's great! Who?"

"Since the gym perv mentioned Raiders jackets and black clothes, I figured we might be dealing with the Young Killers gang. So I cross referenced suspected members against any hits on the DMV search of the SUV and partial license plate. I got a hit on a kid by the name of Randy Wilcox," Colby looked down at his notes. "He runs the south LA chapter of the YKs. Been arrested twice in the past year for suspected trafficking and once for attempted murder but no convictions. Witness disappearing or winding up dead – that sort of thing."

"Has Don crossed paths with the YKs?" Megan frowned. "I don't think any of us have worked a gang angle since the Russian mob case."

Colby shook his head. "That's just it – Don has never been involved in an investigation involving the gang."

"Maybe he was working on a non-gang case that hit a little too close to home for Wilcox? Or some other member that Wilcox is close to?"

"Could be," Colby nodded. "David and I will be sure to ask him when we pay him a visit this afternoon."

"Take two more agents with you as back up," she warned him. "The YKs don't mess around."

"We will."

"Good. Keep me updated, okay?"

"Always," he grinned mischievously.

TBC