Author's note: Not sure of Stella's badge number, so it's made up! Also the cell phone's features are modeled after my own, which continue to baffle me in numerous ways.

Now on with the show

Stella was angry; angry at herself, angry at the suspect, angry at the damn wrapper that caused her fall and even angry at Flack for negotiating his way without falling. Dusting herself off, she stood and instantly felt pain shooting through her ankle. She took the weight off of it and pulled out her cell phone. Punching speed dial she waited for Mac Taylor to pick up.

'Voice mail! Damn it Mac pick up.' Stella though. "Hey Mac, it's Stella. I've sprained my ankle and I'll need some back up. Flack is getting Walker, he ran. Call me as soon as you get this."

Stella hobbled to the entry way and out onto the sidewalk. As she made her way to the car she had expected to see Flack returning with their suspect. 'Good thing I drove', she thought as she pulled the keys from her coat pocket. Flack always hounded her about letting him drive, claiming they never got to eat when she was behind the wheel. How he managed to stay so fit with all the food he ate was a mystery to her. Stella opened the passenger door and lowered herself onto the seat. Her ankle throbbed; it was going to be a dandy of a sprain. She glanced at her watch quickly and frowned. Flack should have been back already. Pulling her cell phone out again, she tried Mac for a second time; still no answer. She then hit Flack's number. After six rings it went to voice mail and she snapped the phone closed in irritation, only to open it again and dial dispatch.

"This is Detective Bonasera, badge number 8398. I'm calling to request PD back up. I have a detective in foot pursuit of a suspect in the area of 2200 and McKenzie. He has been out of contact for over 10 minutes." Stella listened to the confirmation, "Thanks." Looking down the deserted street she tried Mac again.

Paul Walker was catching his breath. He hadn't expected the detective to follow him. Hell, most cops would have chased him for a block, maybe two. But no, fucking wonder cop had to play hero. Well, look where it got him. Walker wasn't sure why the cops had knocked on his door, but he was involved in plenty of activities that could result in him doing some serious jail time. Having spent 5 years there before, he was going to do anything he could to avoid returning. Luckily he was familiar with this area, not only living here, but also working in the neighborhood. One of his more lucrative jobs was helping move methamphetamine for a mid level player who was connected with one of the older families. These warehouses were owned by the Delmonico family and were kept vacant for a reason. The Delmonico's used this warehouse for a drug drop. Drugs were delivered to here and Paul and other employees would then distribute them to the various "contractors". The unsavory neighborhood kept unwanted attention to certain activities to a minimum; no one cared what was going on. Suddenly an awful realization hit Walker. He had led a cop to a family own property and by doing so someone would start snooping around and asking questions.

Walker pulled out his phone. He'd have to call his boss, Little Frankie, and find out how to proceed. He had learned from experience that Frankie was more likely to forgive a fuck-up if told about it right away. Walker looked at the cop sprawled on the grimy floor. 'This is seriously fucking up my day!' He aimed another savage kick to the prone form.

Francesco Scalero was a real up and comer in the Delmonico family. His father Francesco Scalero Sr. had been content with staying on the outer fringes; running numbers and the occasional shakedown for protection. Little Frankie, as he was known, aspired to the better things in life. He liked the tailored suits, Lincoln Navigator, willing women and the mixture of fear and respect he could see in the eyes of his people. His poppa had been content with being a small fish, but not him. His dedication and his ability to get the job done had not gone unnoticed and he was finding himself being given more responsibilities. Yes, life was good.

The tone from his shirt pocket alerted Frankie to an incoming call. Glancing at the name he frowned slightly. A new shipment wasn't coming in until next week, so realistically Paul Walker shouldn't be calling. Frankie considered Paul more brawn than brain, but still smart enough to be an asset. Business had changed with the times. The old boys may have used knuckle dragging apes, but today called for more finesse.

"Paul, what can I do for you?" Frankie's eyes hardened and his jaw tightened as he listened. Slamming his fist down on his office desk he exploded. "You god damned fucking idiot. How fucking stupid can you be, leading a cop to us? What? Hell no, don't leave him there."

Frankie ran a hand through his carefully styled hair. He took a deep breath and gathered his composure. "Get him as far away from there and dump him. Call Maurice and have him help. And for god's sake if he's not dead don't kill him. The fucking last thing we need is a murder investigation fucking up our operation. Make sure there's no evidence that can lead them back to us. No more fuck-ups Paul!"

Flipping his phone closed, Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache that was starting behind his eyes to disappear. So much for this being a good day.

Walker quickly dialed another number and waited for someone to pick up. "Maurice? Yeah, it's Paul. Hey, I need you to help me out. Meet me at the East warehouse. I'll fill you in when you get here, but put a move on it, o.k.? Use the fourth dock door."

Putting his cell phone back in his jeans pocket, he crossed over to Flack and bent down to check on him. A steady pulse beat beneath his fingers as Walker breathed a sigh of relief. No murder rap on this. But he had to get him out of here and get rid of anything that would tie this to Frankie or the family. He roughly rolled Flack onto his back and felt around to find Flack's badge and wallet. Looking through he fingered the identification card and spoke aloud, "Detective Flack. Well detective, let's see what you got."

The wallet yielded thirty-five dollars. Walker quickly stuffed it into his jeans "Thanks for the donation buddy." He put the badge and wallet into Flack's coat pocket and picked up the gun that had fallen nearby. "Nice piece, I guess you don't mind if I hang on to it do you?"

Mac Taylor walked away from the scene, slipping his jacket back on. What a panicky rookie cop had called in as a multiple homicide at a department store had turned out to be one dead body surrounded by five fully dressed manikins. Cause of death, probably heart attack.

The precinct Lieutenant had shown up and was currently chewing out the red faced young cop. Mac chuckled to himself, 'rookie mistakes were easier to take that those made by the guys who had been on long enough to know better.' His inner dialogue was interrupted by a vibration from his pocket. A slight frown crossed his features. His new phone had a mute function that was too easy to engage and the vibration was signaling he had a call or a message. Glancing at the display he saw that he had missed three calls. The frown deepened as he saw they were all from Stella. He punch the number and on the second ring he heard Stella's rapid answer, "Mac, we've got trouble."