A/N: My partner and I thank you for your kind reviews and assure you the coming chapters will be just as good.

Chapter 4

It had been a few weeks since Mac had gotten his butt kicked by Artie at the impromptu basketball game and he was still a bit indignant at having been compared to a dog, hero or not.

He was at one of his favorite coffee shops, grabbing his second wind when someone sat down beside him. He turned his head. It was Artie, dressed in ordinary street clothes and that black Marine Corps cap he'd seen her wear before, plus sunglasses.

"Artie," he said, acknowledging her. "I think Flack's around here somewhere."

"Yeah, he is. Just saw him huffing after a fatso of a bad boy. Real cute, except for the fact that he's gonna ruin that nice suit of his again and he gets real pissy when that happens," she quipped, not looking at him, even as she ordered a bottle of flavored water from the waitress.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because Fat Boy likes to play in the mud and he don't play nice," she said grinning evilly. The waitress brought her the water, she paid for it, and cracked the bottle open.

Mac groaned.

"By the way, Stubby boy, warning. I've been hearing rumors that there's something new coming down on the streets and word is it's bad."

"How bad?"

"If it's not plugged and sealed pretty damn fast, the city's going to have to build a bigger morgue." And with that cryptic warning, she saluted him with the bottle and was gone.

A week or so later:

Something was happening in the city, something bad. There was a rash of drug over-doses showing up throughout the city. While that was normally no cause for any major concern, this was different because the problem was the number of o.d's had practically skyrocketed. Two, sometimes three, bodies a day were being found. Toxicology levels were showing cocaine in their systems, which was no real surprise, but what was raising some major red flags was that this cocaine was showing to be of a much more lethal mix. Not only was the cocaine of a higher grade, there was also an additive to the usual mix making it lethal to drug users because only a smaller proportion was needed to get the same high. But due to not knowing this, the users were using the regular amount of the drug, causing an over-dose.

The DEA was struggling to put a lid on the new drug source but the problem was no one was talking about where the drugs were coming from. In fact, anyone who seemed to talk wound up dead, complicating matters.

So the DEA had several problems. They had a new drug on the street that was proving more lethal than ordinary cocaine, they had very few ideas as to the source or the supplier of the drug, no one was talking, and the bodies were rapidly pilling up.

It was just as Artie had predicted.

Mac had just gotten back from what was his third o.d. crime scene of the day and was heading to one of the labs when he spotted someone in his office in a navy suit sitting at a chair in front of his desk, muddy booted feet planted on the corner of his desk.

As a man of science, Mac was a bit set in his ways, especially in regard to neatness and order. He absolutely hated it when someone placed their shoes, especially muddy shoes, on his nice clean desk.

He entered his office and said, "Who are you and get your feet off my desk." Then he blinked in confusion as he saw who his guest was.

"Artie."

"Stubby, good to see you again," she said as she took her feet off his desk.

"How can I help you?" he asked, pointedly ignoring the nickname.

"Couldn't find Flackie at his desk, was told he was out, and I didn't feel like chasing his ass all over town, so I decided to pick on you instead," she said.

"I suppose I should be honored," he said, sitting on the corner of his desk and studying her. Along with the black boots, she was also wearing an open navy men's sport's jacket, light green dress shirt with the collar open, and navy pants. From the back she could be mistaken for being just another guy in a suit. "How'd you get here?"

She flapped her hands and said sarcastically, "How do you think? I flew like a little birdie?" He glared at her but she just smiled sweetly. "You 5-Os aren't the only one with methods. How's it going with the Godiva?"

"Sorry?" he asked, not recognizing the name.

"Street name for the shit that's out there. The usual stuff is good, but this stuff is better, like chocolate varieties, so they've been calling it Godiva. Stuff's freakin' expensive too, hence the nickname, not to mention more lethal, but I've noticed a lot of wackos omitting that little fact."

Mac made a note of that even as he answered her question. "The DEA hasn't had much luck putting a lid on it despite their best attempts. Nobody's talking."

"Let me guess; those who do wind up dead."

"Exactly."

"Thought so." She reached inside her jacket, pulled out what looked like a map of the city and handed it to him. "Try that area. From what I was able to gather, that's where the majority of the shit is coming from."

Mac studied the circle on the map. It covered several square blocks of a warehouse district, true, but it did help narrow down possible locations. As he was studying the map, she stood up and straightened her jacket.

"What do I owe you for this?" he asked.

A dark look came across her face. "Nail the bastard who's doing this shit. Better yet, kindly put a bullet between his eyes for me."

"This is personal, isn't it?" he realized.

"You're damn right it is. I've already got a friend in the morgue and two more are not that far behind, all because of that fraggin' shit."

"I'll do my best."

"And so will I."

"Hey Mac?" Stella called to him from the opposite door of his office.

He snapped his head around to acknowledge her. "Yeah?"

She waved a file at him and said, "Just got the latest tox report on our most recent victim. It's that new cocaine stuff all over again."

"Damn it." He turned to speak to Artie…. and found himself muttering, "I hate it when she does that."