A/N Part One: To that guy or gal "Ro" that keeps it up with the reviews, I see you, buddy. Thanks for hanging in there! Glad you're enjoying it!

Days turned into weeks, turned into months. I ran the clinic, finished up, and worked for Dutch, nickel and dime gigs mostly, but it kept food on the table, and I always felt a thrill stepping onto the well-worn deck of the old PT boat.

I treated Balalaika's men when they came in, gunshots, knife wounds, broken bones; they called me by my first name and invited me out for drinks. Things had become almost routine, comfortable; Eda and I hung out every so often, keeping our distance around others, too close, and there'd be questions I couldn't answer. Life was easy; my nightmares slowed down; I only woke up screaming every other night.

Progress.

Balalaika hadn't made an appearance since that day at the dock, busy woman that she was. One day as I made breakfast, I found myself wondering how she was.

Icy as shit, no doubt.

But tonight was the night.

Bao had finally gotten the Flag rebuilt, and it was all manner of on. I was meeting Dutch and them there in an hour, and I was going to drink my face off.

I'd finished up with my latest patient a few hours ago, a ten-year-old boy who was getting over pneumonia, six months ago, he'd have had a fifty-fifty shot, now, after some broad-spectrum antibiotics, he'd be good to go in a few more days.

I waved his mother off when she tried to pay me.

Now I was sitting on my bed after a shower, Dave had finally texted with some good news, the crisis in Niger was starting to wind down, JSOC was hammering the assholes wherever they appeared, and AFRICOM was shuttling aid in faster than the refugees could use it.

Bottom line up front? The Doc's were on the way; they'd be here by tomorrow night. A multi-disciplinary team, everything from a pulmonologist to a trauma surgeon.

I'd finally be able to relax.

I was smiling as I pulled on jeans and a shirt, making sure my Glock was tucked; I even whistled a little as I walked down the stairs.

Only to have the door almost come off the hinges, a blood-spattered Alexei stared at me with haunted eyes.

"We need you now."

That was all I needed; I spun on a heel, grabbing my aid bag off my desk and running back to Alexei, who stepped aside to let me by, following close behind as we sprinted to the car, I slid into the passenger seat, and we shot off the line before I had the door closed.

"What happened?"

"There was an incident, we lost three men, two are dead, the third is missing, and we have one badly wounded… Misha."

It felt like someone had punched me in the chest; Mikhail was a great guy, now he was fighting for his life.

I'm comin' buddy.

We blew through red lights on our way to Bougainvillea, the guards outside waving us through. Alexei screeched to a stop, and I hit the ground at a run, the guard held the door as Alexei, and I blew past him.

"Where are they?"

Alexei didn't respond, taking the lead down a flight of stairs at the main hall's end. I could already hear people talking loudly, not quite yelling in Russian, and a frightened voice in Thai responding.

My feet hit the concrete a half-second behind the big Russian, and a nightmare greeted me.

Blood covered the floor, spattered in small pools leading to a table where something that barely resembled a man lay, twitching softly. Boris stood off to the side; Balalaika was there too, holding a man in scrubs by the collar, whispering low and deadly things into his face in accented Thai.

"My man is dying. Can you do nothing but stand there?"

"I-I'm sorry ma'am, his wounds…"

I ignored them, heading for Misha and starting my sweep, pulling on gloves and a mask. It looked like someone had taken a meat cleaver to him; deep cuts scored every inch of exposed, deathly pale, flesh, blood gently pattered to the floor. His eyes were open and terrified, but pain or fear kept him from moving. He met my gaze and grabbed weakly for my hand.

"Hey buddy, lookin' real good, let's get you fixed up, huh?" I whispered, smiling behind my mask.

I had minutes at most, even then…

"Doc," I called out in Thai, "What medication has this man been given?"

He didn't dare look away from Balalaika's murderous gaze when he answered.

"Nothing."

My blood fired with something like rage, "You have a trauma patient, and he's been given nothing for the pain?"

"His wounds are too extensive…I.."

I switched to Russian, "Balalaika, I need him to assist."

She shoved the idiot in my direction, and he took position next to me, shaking.

"Did you check his vitals at least?" I snapped in Thai.

"I did, blood pressure is low, pulse is weak, lung sounds are strong, there were no punctures. But you should know, I'm not a trauma surgeon; I'm an orthopedist."

"Well, you just changed specialties. Did you type him?"

He shook his head, and I growled a little, pulling a rapid blood type kit out of my bag.

"That's your first job; I've got one bag of each, do it quick."

He nodded, moving to the other side, and pulling a sample.

The smell of cigar smoke and hints of floral perfume filled my nostrils, "Can you save him?"

I didn't look at her as I spiked a bag of saline, hanging it on an IV pole; Misha whimpered pitifully as the needle went in; a small vial of Ketamine was next; I eyeballed him and drew out a dose, sliding the needle into the junction. His eyelids fluttered before he mercifully went under.

"Don't know. Can't talk." I snapped a little.

If my tone offended her, she didn't comment; she simply watched me work as I used trauma shears to split Misha's clothes, his bloodied suit falling to the floor in shreds. The full extent of his wounds was shocking; a large slash across his chest was the worst, starting at his right shoulder and laying him open to his left hip, the yellow-white of exposed ribs intermingled with blood that poured to the table.

"O Negative."

I reached down without thinking, checking to make sure I had the right bag before tossing it to the frightened Doc; tubing and a needle followed.

"Wait until I get these wounds closed; otherwise, we'll be wasting blood."

I gently pressed on his chest, feeling for broken ribs, finding none; I pulled out hemostatic gauze and started packing his chest wound as fast as I could; the blood loss was our worst enemy right now, if he had an open artery somewhere under this mess, he was dead already. I didn't let my mind go there, just packed and packed until the blood slowed. He was missing two fingers on his right hand, so I moved there next; bandages and gauze went over the clean cuts.

Faster, or we're going to lose him.

I was moving like lightning now, packing wounds and scanning for active bleeds; my eyes flicked up to his chest; the bleeding was slowing.

I finished packing the thigh wound and dropped to a knee, pulling out a portable EKG and an O2 monitor from my bag, clipping the small monitor on his remaining index finger and tearing the bag that held the leads open with my teeth, wiring it up and tossing one to the Doc. We placed them, and the machine beeped as it came to life. His BP was coming up; his heart rate was improving.

"Get that line rolling, Doc."

The line went in, and the Doc held it high, squeezing the bag gently. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"I think we're-"

The EKG suddenly went wild, his heart rate shooting all over the place before flatlining, his BP dropped like a stone as his sedated body convulsed.

"Fuck!" I shouted… he was crashing right in front of me.

I grabbed an AED out of my bag, slapping the leads on his chest and firing the small device up.

"Charging…" came the robotic voice.

"C'mon, you piece of shit!"

"Charging….Stand clear."

"CLEAR!" I yelled, smashing the button. Misha's body jerked, the EKG jumped up and flatlined.

"Charging…."

"C'mon, C'mon!"

"Stand clear."

"CLEAR!"

His body jumped as the lifesaving device did all it could…

The EKG rang a steady tone as the flatline stuck and held.

A hand settled on my shoulder, "Zack…" Boris's voice was gentle.

I shrugged his hand off, "No, fuck that! CLEAR!"

I hit him one final time; the EKG jumped…held….and flatlined. The steady tone hitting me like a freight train.

He was gone.

I couldn't save him.

I threw the AED across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

"FUCK!"

I flipped the instrument tray, scattering my meager supplies all over the concrete, backing away from the table, and pulling off my bloody gloves and mask. Shaking hands fumbled for a cigarette as I paced; my lighter snapped open as I got my breathing under control. I inhaled the smoke, and it did nothing to steady my heart rate.

Balalaika was watching me intently; behind her, someone sniffled, Pyotr was holding on to another Hotel Moscow soldier as he cried softly. I remembered that Misha had been his friend since they were kids, and my heart broke a little more.

I ran a hand through my hair, talking more to myself than anyone else in the room.

"Had to have been shock, or an embolism from one of those wounds…He was fucking stabilizing… goddamnit."

A hand on my shoulder stopped me; I turned, expecting Boris but finding Balalaika staring at me, her blue eyes holding back a terrible sadness.

"It wasn't your fault. I stood there and watched you do all you could."

She raised her voice, addressing everyone in Russian as they crowded around us.

"Misha was a good man and a loyal friend; we will honor him, Sakharov and Mensov as well, by finding the ones responsible and showing them the same mercy they showed our comrades. Ivanov is still out there, and we owe him our last full measure to find him and bring him home."

Thunderous assent echoed off the walls, raising goosebumps on my arms.

Hotel Moscow was out for blood.

Balalaika's hand never left my shoulder as she regarded her men, "Stand by for orders, be ready.Zack? Follow me, please."

I nodded, "On you, ma'am."

Hands squeezed my shoulders, and a few of the guys slapped me on the back, nodding when we made eye contact. It went a long way at that moment, you always wonder what you could've done differently, and you never stopped blaming yourself. Their small quiet gestures of support meant the world.

Boris fell in behind us as we started up the stairs.

My hands were still shaking a little as we reached the top, heading for the elevator to Balalaika's office; a short ride later and she pushed the door open, glancing at Boris, "Sergeant, wait outside for a moment?"

He nodded and stood by the door as I followed her inside. As soon as the door closed, she lit a cigar and sighed, staring out the window.

"Zack, I have a very important question to ask you."

"Anything you need, Balalaika,"

Her reflection smiled, sadness lingering around the edges.

"There may be a war coming, someone killed my men, savaged them, and they have Ivanov. This has all the markings of someone attempting to upset the balance or even try and wrest control of the city for themselves. If that is the case…Will you help us, not just as a clinician, but with the fight to come…will you stand by my side?"

And just like that, she floored me, "Are you asking me to join Hotel Moscow?"

"I am. You've cared for my men, they trust you with their lives, and you've proven to be capable in a fight. Normally, an outsider joining us would be unthinkable, but you've seen war, felt its fire, you're a kindred spirit to all of us; I saw it tonight, which is exactly why I'm comfortable making this offer. I know you're not a criminal; hell, you might be one of the only truly good men in this city. So answer freely; there will be no consequences for walking away from the table."

I lit another cigarette; she was right; I wasn't a criminal, but I was a fighter, and these men had become friends, Balalaika too, after a fashion, and my parents drilled it into me from the time I was young.

You didn't turn your back on your friends.

What would they say about those friends being Russian Mob?

Mom…She taught me how to treat a lady, hold doors, and take care of those who couldn't take care of themselves…

She was also a Sicilian who did what it took when things got tough, legal or otherwise.

Dad… He taught me to shake hands, look people in the eye, work hard, and never give up.

He'd also seen and done things in his life that weren't strictly legal, almost busted when he was young for running guns to the IRA, escaping prison by covering his tracks like a ghost.

Nobody's perfect.

And I knew what they'd say if they were here.

Take care of your friends, watch your back, don't forget who you are.

I might not have been a criminal, but I learned from the best.

I looked at her, really looked; blonde hair flowed behind her, wild and free, her blue eyes shone against her pale skin, only broken by the dark scar tissue. The air of command surrounded her, determination, and defiance. And for a brief moment, I didn't see the mob boss; I saw the war hero, the woman of honor.

"I'd be honored to back you up with everything I have. You gave me a place in Roanapur, let me do what I do best, only threatened to wipe me out a few times," Balalaika chuckled as she turned to face me, I met her gaze and held it, " I won't let you down Balalaika."

She smiled, and it reached her eyes, "I know you won't. Now," She walked to her desk and pulled a drawer open withdrawing a bottle of deep amber liquid and two glasses, "have a drink with me."

The whiskey swirled into the tumblers, and she held one out to me, "To Misha, Sakharov, and Mensov. May they find peace on the other side.

I took the glass, her fingers brushing mine, just a flash of warmth before we knocked our glasses together.

"To the fallen, may they be remembered," I whispered, taking a long sip of the smooth well-aged liquor; the burn chased away the cold feeling of loss.

Balalaika set her glass down, "Well said. Sergeant!"

Boris opened the door, "Yes, Kapitan?"

"Mr. Briggs will be joining us, ensure that he is brought up to speed; I am making his acclimation your responsibility."

Boris smiled, "Yes, ma'am."

"That's all for now."

"Kapitan," He closed the door, leaving us alone again.

I took a long drag off my smoke, "So, what's next?"

She settled into her chair, "I will be calling a meeting, assessing the heads of the other organizations in the city. Boris will accompany me, and I would like you there as well, as far as the short term? Meet your doctors when they arrive, get them acclimated, and await my call."

I nodded, feeling something I couldn't quite place; it almost felt…right.

"I will, is there anything else, ma'am?"

"Zack, if you call me ma'am one more time…" Her voice took on a small edge of annoyance.

I held my hands up, "I assumed since you're my boss, maybe the rule changed. Is there anything further, Balalaika?"

It seemed to appease her; she traced the rim of her glass before responding, "Just one more thing, Misha liked you; he considered you a friend, you did not fail him tonight, and I know he was happy knowing you were there for him at the end."

I nodded, swallowing thickly, "He was a good man…fucking goofy bastard…" I chuckled sadly, "He ever tell you about-?"

"His wife and the cockatoo? Ad Nauseam." She smiled, pouring another drink, pushing the glass across the desk, "Brilliant idea though, faking his own death to join us here."

I snorted, wiping away tears, "Yeah, it was." I slugged the whiskey and stood. "I'll wait for your call, Balalaika."

I saw the lightbulb above her head, "Before I forget, here," She reached inside her jacket and pulled out a roll of bills, pushing them towards me. "Buy some decent clothes; I won't have an employee of mine walking around dressed like a college dropout."

I looked down at my clothes, mildly offended," I like this shirt…"

"Taste, I'm afraid, has eluded you."

Ouch.

I snatched the cash up off the desk, "Well, boss's orders, I suppose."

"Remember it. That's all for tonight; stay safe."

"I will, you too." I crossed the room and opened the door; Boris looked me up and down as I let it shut behind me.

"Are you alright, my friend?"

I nodded, "I will be, rough few hours, I'm sorry about Misha."

Boris shook his head, "You did everything you could; he was beyond saving…" He held out his hand, "I am honored to have you with us."

I shook it, feeling my fingers creak under the big Russian's iron grip, "The honor is mine, my friend."

He jerked his head towards the elevator, "Come, let's get you back to the clinic."

I nodded and followed him out.

Twenty minutes later, I walked in the front door of the clinic, digging for my phone.

Missed calls from Dutch flashed up at me.

I punched in his number, lighting a smoke as it rang.

"Zack? Figured you were dead."

"Nah, man, something came up, Hotel Moscow business."

"Bad?"

"Yeah, listen, I'm not gonna make it tonight; I just need to get some rest."

"Right on, brother, be safe, okay?"

"You too, bud."

I killed the call and headed upstairs, suddenly exhausted. Misha's face as he lay there, begging me with his eyes to save him, flashed every time I closed my eyes until I remembered Balalaika's words…

He was there as I fell asleep, but it was alright.

I woke up not quite sure how to feel, Misha was gone, and I'd joined the goddamn Russian Mafia, beholden to the most feared woman in Roanapur. I shook it off and went about my day, keeping an eye on the clock; I had to meet the team on the docks at five, which gave me time to rent a car with the cash Balalaika had slipped me. I took it out of gear around two, sitting behind the reception desk after pulling inventory and making sure everything was squeaky clean.

A knock brought me out of the book I was re-reading for the fifth time, "Coming!" I called out.

Alexei was on the other side, smiling as he swept me up into a bear hug. "Hello, my friend, I heard the good news!"

He set me back on my feet, and I thanked God for air, "She asked, and I couldn't refuse."

He grinned, "The Captain has a way about her; I'm glad to have you with us."

"Glad to be; what brings you by?" I leaned against the desk, gesturing for him to come in and lighting a smoke.

"The Sergeant wanted me to drop off something for you." He held out his hand, jingling a set of keys.

She didn't. Did she?

"Apparently, the Captain heard you still didn't have a car, "shameful," I believe, is what she said. Come see."

I followed him out the door, and my jaw hit the sidewalk; parked on the curb was a damn near new BMW, sleek, jet black, and low-slung.

"Holy shit."

Alexei grinned and slapped me on the back, "The Captain takes care of her men."

He tossed me the keys, heading for another car parked behind mine, "All yours comrade, I've gotta get back, we're still looking for those fucks…" his face darkened, "They will not die quickly."

I was still in shock, but I nodded as he waved, slipping into the passenger seat of the blacked-out SUV and pulling away.

Well, that happened. Perks of joining the fucking Russian Mafia.

But I hadn't, I'd joined Balalaika, and I got the feeling the two were separate entities. She was a soldier, a warrior; they were just criminals.

It sounded good in my head.

"Hey, trouble!"

I snapped around to see Eda swinging her way toward me, smiling.

"You're timing is impeccable, Blackwater. You busy today?"

She cocked her head, "No, why?"

"Because I need a drink, maybe we go find a watering hole?"

"You asking me out, Briggs?"

I chuckled, "Not today, Blackwater."

A grin washed across her face, "Well shit, a girl can dream."

I hit the fob, and the car chirped, "Get in."

She whistled, "Where'd you get the new ride?"

"Get in; I'll explain once we get where we're going."

Finding a nearby bar off the beaten path hadn't been difficult; I'd tipped the hostess to give us some privacy, and now we sat in the back corner of the smoky establishment, waiting on our drinks.

I'd been waffling over telling her about Balalaika, but I kept coming back to the fact that I trusted her with my life; I hadn't lied to her; she really was my best friend.

Time to go for it.

"Eda?"

She'd been watching the street, now she watched me, "Hmm?"

"I'm puzzling over something; I could use your advice."

"Everything okay?"

I smiled the concern in her voice, "Yeah, I just…Balalaika made me an offer last night, and I accepted"

Her eyes narrowed, "What'd the crispy bitch want?"

"She…asked me to join Hotel Moscow."

Her jaw dropped, shock coloring her face, "She what?" She faltered like she was groping for the words before grinning, throwing me a little.

"Zack… this is an amazing opportunity."

"Huh?"

"We've never had anyone inside Hotel Moscow, just assets on the periphery." I could see her mind working; flirty Eda was gone, Edith Blackwater, the Case Officer, had taken her place. I didn't like where this was going.

The waitress showed with our drinks, and I just stared at Eda as she happily thanked her in Thai; once the girl walked off, I leaned forward, my drink forgotten.

"Eda, what's this "we" stuff? I don't work for the company; that's all in the rearview."

She stirred her drink with a finger, "But you were good at what you did, and we could use that inroad." She took a sip and regarded me for a second before leaning close, her voice dropping. "This whole place functions as it does because of the illusion these shitbags have, the illusion that no one is watching, and they're free to do as they please. It's bullshit, of course; River House owns a few of the pirate outfits, The Aquarium fucks with Balalaika's operations regularly, and Shadow Factory watches everyone and everything. We make things happen, shape, and re-shape as needed."

I translated the spook-speak in my head, River House was MI6, the Aquarium was the GRU headquarters, Russian Military Intelligence, I'd had an inkling about the Russians, but "Shadow Factory" caught my attention, The NSA was watching Roanapur?

"What's The Fort doing here?"

She shook her head, "Classified big time, the point is, Roanapur makes a lot of people very nervous, we keep an order, keep things contained. If these organizations ever aligned, became homogeneous, they could do a lot of damage, just Hotel Moscow alone is a force to be reckoned with."

"So they feel like they're running the show, keeps them from getting too ambitious?"

"Nailed it in one."

I slugged my rum and coke, wincing at the shitty mix.

"Eda, I can't. Never mind the fact that I have enough of my own shit going on with running the clinic, Balalaika would skin me alive if she ever caught wind. Plus, she isn't like that, she's not a thug; I saw it in the Middle East all the time, guys we wrote off as warlords who were solid soldiers and leaders just trying to survive."

She reached across the table and gently grabbed my hand, "Zack, I'm not asking for the world, just keep me apprised of anything significant. It'd be a big help in the grand scheme."

I stared out the window for a long moment, trying to wrap my head around everything, finally heaving a sigh.

"Face to face or dead drops, nothing on the wire. We meet when I say and not before. Anything big, and I'll let you know. But I won't undermine Balalaika, period."

She squeezed my hand, "That's my boy. It'll be a two-way street then; if we can fuck with the Russkies through her, all the better. Just remember, what's up here, okay?"

I nodded. Eda's words echoed for a second, and I realized she was right; I was hers, wasn't I? I might not have felt about her the way she felt about me. But I'd been her boy for years all the same. My heart belonged to a dead woman, my body belonged to Balalaika and Hotel Moscow, but my soul belonged to Eda and the Company.

I felt the pull then, not even a year here, and something was tugging at me, trying to drag me down with it; maybe it was the city of Roanapur itself.

Maybe it was my guilt crushing me.

Either way, I didn't know how long I'd have the strength to resist.

Eventually, Eda and I parted ways, she caught a cab back to the church, and I drove back to the clinic, pulling out my cell; Dave answered after a beat.

"Hey, kid.

"Hey brother, how's Africa?"

"Hot, shit's happening fast here. How're you holding up?"

I sighed, "I dunno, man, fucking place is bad for my health, hang on." I walked into the clinic, locking the door behind me and heading for my office. I settled into the plush chair, lighting a smoke.

"Brother, I'm on edge here; our benefactor offered me a job, and…" I paused, but Dave was another person I could trust, "OGA is back in the mix."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"No, all true, bud. This shit has been complicated from the jump; now it's just a fucking mess."

Dave sighed at the other end of the line, "Working for the Russian mob? Christ…That's a new one; all I can say from five-thousand miles away is be fucking careful, man."

I ground my cigarette out and lit another, "Yeah, head on a swivel, right?"

"Fuckin' A, as far as everything else? I know you'll make the right calls; I wouldn't have asked you to head there if I didn't have faith in you, kid."

That dragged a smile out of me, and I yawned, suddenly aware of just how exhausted I was, "Thanks, man, listen, I'll keep you in the loop."

"Sure thing, kid, be safe, okay?"

"You too, brother. Later."

I killed the call and stared out the window, I couldn't see it's face from here, but I knew the huge Buddha statue in the bay was laughing at me and all my plans.

Eda had been right, the world had never stopped beating me down, and I kept myself going for one reason, to be the man my family thought I was.

I was keeping faith with ghosts; it was all I had left.

But nobody ever said that I couldn't adapt.

I glanced up at the clock, time to go meet the medical outfit.

I pulled onto the docks just as the boat docked, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as passengers disembarked. I spotted them a mile away, all Dockers and too much sunscreen, two men and a woman, looking around nervously. I popped the door and waved, catching one's eye, and they started my way.

"Are you Briggs?" The older man asked when he got close.

"That's the rumor," I shook his hand.

"Doctor Fredericks, this is Doctor Casey," The younger guy nodded, shaking my hand, "And Doctor Austin." The woman smiled and nodded but kept her hands to herself.

"A pleasure, Doctors," I waved my hand around a bit, "welcome to Roanapur, bags in the trunk, hop in before the heatstroke gets us."

Polite chuckles all around as they loaded up.

I pulled back onto Phahurat, leaving the port behind us.

"How was your trip?" I asked Fredericks.

"Comfortable, thanks. So you've been on the ground here for how long?"

"Seven months so far, nice place if you don't mind the occasional gun battle."

Casey piped up, "After Africa, I'm sure it's paradise."

I glanced in the rearview, "Paradise is about the last word I'd use to describe this place, but it has its charms."

We pulled to a stop at a red light. Genevieve, the French hooker I'd bought dinner for once upon a time, came swaying up to the open window, leaning on the car, dangerous amounts of cleavage spilling out of her low cut dress, I'd treated her and a few of her friends, refusing their…creative… offers of payment arrangements, ever since then she went out of her way to say hello.

" 'Allo Zack, 'ow are we today?"

I smiled, "Doing well mon Coeur, et toi?"

She giggled cutely, I could see Casey staring at her rack through the window, and it made me chuckle in kind; I passed her a hundred from Balalaika's roll as surreptitiously as I could.

"On me tonight, okay?

"And as always, you are too good to me, Cherie; maybe I will see you soon, hmm?"

"As long as you stay healthy, not a chance."

She giggled again, the little motions doing interesting things to her body; as the light turned green, she leaned in and kissed my cheek. She knew the game.

"Au revoir," She waved over her shoulder, swinging her hips a little too much as she headed back to the curb, and we pulled away.

"Are those the "charms" you mentioned?" Austin said with a laugh, reaching over to close Casey's mouth for him.

"Genevieve is a great girl; like most people in Roanapur, a lot had to go wrong for them to wind up here, but they're good people for the most part. To answer your question more directly, Doctor, no, I have not availed myself of their services, despite the offers."

We pulled up to the clinic, Casey kept looking back the way we came, and I knew Genevieve had found herself a new customer. She was clean as a whistle and fine as hell, a rare find in Roanapur; poor guy was in for a ride if the rumors were true. We left the bags, and I waved them in, giving them the grand tour before heading back for the desk.

"As you can see, we're fully stocked and set up for invasive procedures if need be; I take it your organization set you up with accommodations?"

Fredericks nodded, answering for the other two, "Yes, it's all been arranged, transportation from here as well. I must say, with almost no support and on your own, you've done an amazing job here; I was thumbing through your case files, everything from the cold to multiple GSW's and you managed it all."

I smiled at the praise, "Thanks Doc, it was rough, but I figured it out. On an informal note, have you been brought up to speed on who owns this building?"

He nodded again, "The Russian Mafia, right? We operate at their leisure?"

"Yeah, it's complicated in Roanapur; we got lucky here."

"I'd say so; you've worked pretty closely with them, right?" Casey added.

"I have; they're decent enough folks, we just treat their people and the people of Roanapur, no rival outfits, it's the price of operating here."

Nods all around.

"Good, as long as we understand that, Balalaika only has a few rules."

Casey raised an eyebrow, "Balalaika?"

I nodded, "The nickname of the local boss, Ex Russian Army Airborne, she's not one you want to cross, but she lets us work." I shrugged, "That's about as good as we're gonna get."

My phone vibrated in my pocket; I dug it out, holding up a finger, letting the Doc's know I'd be right back.

Boris was calling.

"Hey, bud."

"Meet me at Bougainvillea at eight. Dress appropriately."

"Will do. See you then."

I killed the call and walked back into the lobby, "Well, Doctors, I have a prior engagement; I trust you'll be able to handle yourselves from here?"

A chorus of assent answered me.

"We have cabs on the way," Fredericks added.

"Brilliant, oh, one other thing, are any of you armed?"

Nobody blinked for a moment.

I sighed, "Yeah, okay, that's probably a good idea; this city isn't safe or stable. There's a local gunsmith called Praiyachat; he'll square you away. Whatever objection you might have, shelve it. I lost a patient the other night; someone hacked him up with machetes; just carry one, please."

They weren't dopes; I got resolute nods all around.

"Outstanding, now if you'll excuse me."

I left them and headed out, hoping I could find a decent suit in the next two hours.

Who knew the criminal underworld had a fucking dress code?

A/N Part Two, Electric Boogaloo: Holy shit, the absolute mad lad, this can't possibly go wrong, can it? Our boy is looking for something to fill a void; he's compromised now. Will it work out?

As always, I welcome comments and criticisms; let me know what you think!

Until next time!