"I think I got something, Mike."

He knew well enough that his partner would return in a less than pleasant mood, heck, the whole bullpen could figure that out by now.

As such, Steve waited until a set of determined steps made their way through the office before turning around, using his most sincere smile to pry a reaction out of the agitated Lieutenant.

Despite his heated argument with Olsen, Mike worked hard to suppress his anger, and met his partner's optimism with a slight cock of the head.

"Tell me you've got a name. I need something to brighten my day."

"Not a name but a lead.", Steve explained and followed his partner to the inner office, "A guy by the name of Rick the Raccoon Guy. Is said to have been hanging around with our Reverend Joe a lot over the past few years."

Stopping halfway to his desk, Mike turned around, a deep frown clouding his features.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No, it's true. I verified it. Guy calls himself Rick the Racoon Guy. Seems to be one of those…esoteric characters in the Mission and Van Ness corridor, right by the abandoned buildings near the subway station…"

Absent-mindedly staring at his injured left hand for a moment and wiggling the fingers sticking out from underneath the bandage, Mike contemplated the newest lead for a few brief moments, as if to wager going against Olsen's direct order once again and hitting up the streets.

When he glanced back up, a sparkle had returned to his weary blue eyes.

"I guess let's go and meet this Rick and his raccoon."

# # #

For a guy who was said to be spending his days at the Van Ness corridor, it took them half the afternoon to hunt down the eccentric man, eventually finding him panhandling near the Wharf.

And while it shouldn't have been a surprise at all, Mike was still taken aback by the good-sized raccoon sitting beside his raggedly-clothed master, its busy hands scanning the ground in the immediate vicinity for anything to eat or play with.

Grateful to see a leash holding the vermin at bay; the Lieutenant exited the Galaxie, waiting for his partner to jog around the hood, then crossed the two lanes toward the crowded sidewalk along Beach Street.

With Steve flanking him on the left, Mike casually worked his way past the even flow of tourists streaming along the well-known boulevard, before stopping in front of Rick, sizing up the middle-aged man sitting on the ground with a raccoon on one side, and a half-eaten sandwich on the other.

Wearing a dark set of sunglasses and staring straight ahead, he wasn't sure if the man was blind or too drunk to notice them approach.

Mike shared a brief glance with his partner before crouching down in front of a small donation plate that had a couple bucks in change on it, his trained nose picking up the scent of cheap bourbon.

"Seems to me you must be Rick the Raccoon Guy."

His softly spoken words coaxed a faint smile out of the other man's unreadable features and he reached over to pat his raccoon's head affectionately.

"At your service, Officer, Detective, Inspector or whatever you are."

"Lieutenant Mike Stone.", he introduced himself, before gesturing toward Steve, catching himself halfway through considering the man seemed to be blind indeed, "This is my partner, Inspector Stephen Keller."

"You just cleaned your revolver. I can still smell the oil…", the man muttered and leaned against the concrete wall behind him, "So what do Linus and I owe the pleasure of your visit today, gentlemen?"

Sharing another puzzled glance with his partner, Mike stood back up to give his knees a break, never taking his eyes off the raccoon that seemed to have found an interest in his leather dress shoes.

"We believe you might know a man by the name of Reverend Joe.", Steve began and knelt down to pet the raccoon, earning himself a stern glance from his superior despite the amicable chitchat coming from the vermin, "My contact says you guys used to hang out together."

"That's quite a contact you have there, young man.", Rick answered and fell quiet for many long moments, his head moving from one side to the next as if to take in every scent around him, "He may or may not be correct."

"Let's quit the games here for a minute, shall we Sunny?", Mike interrupted when the raccoon began to play with the laces of his shoes, "We have reason to believe that Reverend Joe has been murdered. We want to find out about his last whereabout and anybody who could have had a reason to kill him."

"Murdered?"

Muttering the word in utter shock, Rick reached for his raccoon, pulling the animal closer to his hip as if it would provide comfort.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"It had to have been about nine months ago, I believe. Time takes on a different meaning when you can't see, can't tell day from night, Monday from Tuesday. But I believe it was about nine months ago."

"What were you two doing together? And can you tell us a little bit more about him?"

Next to him, Steve had retrieved the notebook of out his gray dress coat, ignoring the cool and humid breeze blowing his sandy hair all over the place.

"Joe was a giver…a saint even. He cared so much about his fellow brethren. He gave freely and helped whenever he could."

"Which Parish did he belong to?"

"The Parish of humanity…the kind that can't be built by brick and mortar. The kind that needs no pews, nor books or songs."

Sighing quietly, Mike gestured for his partner to let him continue the conversation for now, hoping to skillfully work his way around the eloquent roadblocks Rick was using to avoid direct questions.

"So you are saying he belonged to no church?"

"That depends on how you define church.", the man answered matter-of-factly and scratched his raccoon's head once again, "What is your religion, Lieutenant Stone? What motivates you to do right instead of wrong? Is it written anywhere? Does it require you to visit a building to instill?"

"We're not here to discuss my religion. We're here to solve your friend's murder. Let's start with his last name. What was it?"

"I don't know. As a matter of fact, I don't even know if Joe was his real first name. I met him fleetingly a few times, traveling through the shelters. He was like a warm wind, lifting people up whenever they needed help. People didn't see him often, but he was always there, lending a hand, feeding the hungry."

Feeling his stomach churn at the church lead gone cold, Mike frowned.

"He had to have talked to you. Did he ever mention anything about himself? Where he came from? Where he was headed? What motivated him to commit all these selfless acts?"

"Asking Reverend Joe why he did what he did would be like asking Jesus why he was trying to save mankind, don't you think, Lieutenant? And perhaps that is exactly who visited our shelter, disguised as a lonesome man helping out those down on their luck."

With an impatient grunt, Steve put his notebook away for the time being.

"So you're saying Reverend Joe was Jesus returning back to earth?"

The young Inspector's voice was drowned out when frantic shouting could be heard nearby. Both he and Mike turned toward the source of the commotion, finding a cloud of smoke billowing from a neighboring building half a block down.

Running against the steady stream of people fleeing the fire to see if they could help, the Lieutenant coughed when the toxic fumes entered his injured lungs once again, his back aching incessantly each time he collided with a careless pedestrian.

As they approached the small hole-in-the-wall bistro, the smoke had become so thick he could barely make out the front entrance.

Steve was several feet ahead of him by now, his gray dress coat blending in frighteningly well with the billowing clouds greeting them.

Suddenly, just before he could reach the glass double doors, a wall of flames erupted, encompassing the entire area, the roaring of the powerful fire drowning out the squealing of tires from nearby motorists coming to a frantic halt.

With squinted eyes, Mike followed the bright red and yellow mass moving from the bistro onto the street, where it grew in size once more, before the flames died down, revealing a charred blue cloth beneath.

Torn between the terror of the situation and his engrained need to reinstate control and peace, Mike caught up with his partner, grasping Steve's elbow tightly to keep him close, not caring if he hurt him so long that he didn't lose him.

Dragging the young Inspector along, he followed the remainders of the smoke into the building, where a distressed store owner was busy opening up windows.

"Is everything alright?", the Lieutenant yelled and coughed, only to see the other man wave him of.

"It is. It is. Sorry about that. One of the candles fell over and set the table cloth and some of my decorations on fire. It's under control."

With a final glance around the perimeter where the thick smoke was slowly dissipating, he nodded, then let go of Steve's elbow, never noticing the young Inspector's worried eyes on him.

As Mike headed back outside, his partner wordlessly following along, he steered toward the sidewalk where a bystander stomped out what was left of the flames dancing along the edges of the tablecloth.

"It's blue…", Mike noted somberly, waiting until Steve slowed down next to him and made the connection.

"It's a tablecloth.", the young Inspector countered evenly, hoping to diffuse a situation that seemed no more than an ordinary faux-pas.

"It could be a message from Osorro."

"Or it could just be a weird coincidence. Come on, let's head back to Rick."

"I hope you're right…", Mike grumbled, eyes glued to what was left of the tablecloth, hoping and praying that these strange coincidences would slow down sooner or later.

When his eyes travelled back to the small store where their person of interest had been spending the afternoon with his pet raccoon, he sighed woefully, realizing that Rick was long gone.