A/N: once again, me and my partner thank you for your kind reviews. Question: is anyone having trouble with their e-mail notifications or is it just me?

Chapter 3

"This the place?" Mac asked Flack.

"Yup. Don't know if Artie will be here or not but she usually pops up here," Flack said. They were standing in front of a community center building, the center where Flack met with his kids.

Artie's tip had proven to be golden and had led them to capturing a killer with a vendetta against his ex-wife who had been a former stripper. Why the prostitutes? It had turned out that all the victims had known each other, and more specifically, the ex-wife. They had been attempting to hide her from the killer, who had been physically abusive towards her. The symbol on the wall and the body positioning had been a lousy attempt on his part to confuse the cops and make them think that there was a cult killer around.

Also, it had turned out that the ex-wife had begun to follow the Goddess religion and had once gone to Emanuel's antique store on the advice of a friend, trying to learn more about the Goddess. Emanuel had turned out to be an elderly gentleman who not only specialized in antiques but also history, especially religious history and had kindly helped the woman.

Unfortunately for the killer, Artie's tip had led them straight to Emanuel, who had also spoken to the killer about the female symbol and seen the man lurking around, watching the woman. Emanuel had not only recognized the man but was also able to give them another golden tip; the killer had bought a particular knife called an athame, which was a double-edged dagger used for ceremonial purposes in rituals and the handle had been decorated with the Triple Moon Goddess emblem on the hilt. They had found the athame at the killer's place and, sure enough, blood was on it, blood that matched the latest victim.

Busted.

Now Mac wanted to thank Artie for her tip, which was why he and Flack were at the center on their day off.

"Hey, Jo-Jo, you seen Artie around?" Flack called to one of the boys as they entered the center. Jo-Jo was a gangly black boy, about thirteen, who was apparently studying at one of the many tables scattered through out the center.

"Yeah sure. She's over at the court," Jo-Jo called back. "She just whupped Davey's ass all around the court." He grinned.

"Again?" Flack asked, a grin on his face. "When will that boy ever give up?"

"He says he ain't gonna give up until he finally whups her ass," Jo-Jo replied, still grinning.

They headed for the basketball court and sure enough, Artie was there, doing some lay-ups and wearing ordinary but loose shorts and shirt.

"Hey Artie!" Flack called.

"Yo!" she called back.

"Get your butt over here, kiddo," Flack said.

"What'd I do this time?" she shot back easily as she joined them.

"Not a damn thing," Flack replied.

"Except that your info was solid and good," Mac said, spotting a nasty looking bruise on the side of her face, one he was sure wasn't there before. "Thanks to you, we busted the guy."

"Glad to hear that," Artie replied.

"How come I've never heard of Emanuel before?" Flack asked.

"Because you know-it-all 5-O's aren't so know-it-alls after all. This city's got its fair share of nooks and crannies and kids like me, we find 'em all the time. We just don't bother telling you about 'em," Artie sassed.

"That's a nasty bruise you've got there," Mac commented.

Artie shrugged. "I'll live."

"Who hit you?"

"Nobody special. Besides, if you think this is bad, you should see the other guy."

"The same guy who gave you that scar on your shoulder?" Flack asked, indicating what he thought was a nasty-looking but well-healed scar slashing across her left shoulder.

She looked at it, shrugged, and said, "Zigged when I should've zagged." When neither men looked quite convinced, she said, "Look, guys, you know yourself the streets can be rough. Shit happens. Leave it alone."

Mac nodded, still not convinced but deciding to back off for now.

"In the mean time, you up to a little one-on-one?" she asked, tossing the ball.

"I think I'll opt out this time," Flack said. She raised an eyebrow at Mac.

He grinned. "If you think you can handle an old cop like me."

She snorted. "Buddy, I'm gonna kick your ass all around the court and not even break a sweat." She grinned. "Tell you what. Two points a shot, whoever hits twenty first is buying drinks."

"You're on."

And what followed was the hardest, roughest game of basketball Mac had ever played. He thought he was in reasonably good shape but Artie, she ran circles around him. She was also incredibly strong, fast, and very agile. Not only that, but she constantly taunted him, grinning the whole time, which took the sting out of the insults she threw at him.

"What, that the best you got? I've seen a sloth move faster than you!"

"What do you call that move? The Jumpin' Jimmy Cricket leap?"

"You better get a move on, old man, 'cause I'm wiping the floor with you!"

"I see it's true after all; white men can't jump!"

"Where'd you learn that move? Kindergarten?"

"Do you need glasses or do they need to make the hoop bigger?"

It was less than a quarter of the way through the game that Mac decided to stop playing nice and start playing rough. Flack, on the other hand, was busting a gut laughing.

About halfway through the game, he noticed they were drawing quite a crowd who was cheering them on. He ignored them, too busy trying to concentrate on the game and get around Artie, who had to be one of the meanest basketball players he'd ever come across. She played fair but rough and she was good.

After fifteen minutes, Artie won the game by an embarrassing twenty to six. Somehow, by the grace of God, Mac managed to drag himself over to the court bench and plop himself down next to Flack, who kindly handed him a cup of cold water. He was breathing hard and sweating just as hard. Artie plopped down beside him, grinning at him.

"Hate to say this, Stubby, boy, but…" she said.

"Name your poison."

"Bottle of strawberry-flavored Dasani," she said.

Mac dug out his wallet and handed Flack a bill. "Her request and the biggest bottle of water available. I am too damn tired to move."

Flack grinned and said, "I'll be right back. Nice game by the way."

Mac grunted tiredly and Artie grinned even wider. Then something clued in to him. "Hey Artie?"

"Yo?"

"Why'd you call me Stubby? It's not my name."

"My name's not Artie, but I get called that anyway. Besides, consider it a compliment. Sergeant Stubby was a highly decorated World War One veteran. Look him up. You might find you have something in common with him," she said sweetly.

"What is your name if it isn't Artie?"

"Right, like I'm gonna tell you."

A few days later, Mac remembered the Sergeant Stubby comment and asked Sheldon about it. Sheldon, who was a wealth of trivia, instantly knew whom he was talking about.

"Sergeant Stubby was indeed a highly decorated war veteran of World War One. He entered the military service in 1917 and was originally at Yale before he got shipped out. He earned a lot of medals during his service and was a very popular fellow during the war," Sheldon said. "At the end of the war, Stubby went home and attended Georgetown University from 1922 to 1923 and died in March of 1926. His actions during the war earned him a brick in the Walk of Honor at Liberty Memorial in Kansas City on November 11 of last year."

"Well, what was so special about him?" Mac asked.

Sheldon grinned. "Stubby was a pitbull, a wardog."

Mac blinked a few times, processing the knowledge. Then suddenly he clued in to something.

Flack was walking by, taking a mouthful of coffee, when he suddenly heard Mac bellow indignantly, causing him to choke with laughter.

"She compared me to a dog!"