Notes: I'm still playing fast and loose with the Flack's and their lives. Come on CSI:NY, prove me wrong this season by giving us more about Flack! Hope those of you that are reading this story are enjoying it. I don't want to beg, but feedback, good or bad will help make me better. I know I'm not perfect, my students remind me of that daily, so come on people, let me know.

"Where the hell is my son!"

Mac had braced for a verbal barrage. Flack Sr. was the type of man that expected answers. "Right now we don't know Sir," Mac made sure to acknowledge the man's previous position. "The detectives and my lab are running down our leads. If you would like to step into my office I'd like to go over them with you." He motioned towards the glass doors of his office.

Flack Sr. turned towards Mrs. Flack, who had been standing slightly behind her husband. He stepped back to allow her to enter first. Mrs. Flack was whom her son favored. Tall, with dark hair that was intertwined with strands of white, she moved with the grace of a dancer. Her brown eyes were concerned, but Mac could see the fine lines that bespoke of laughter and smiles. Don Flack may have followed his father's career path and learned his biting wit and sarcasm, but Mac would bet that Mrs. Flack was a bigger influence on Flack as a person.

Following them into his office, Mac began to outline what facts were known. The Flacks were stoic, only Mrs. Flack's eyes giving any insight into the emotions she was experiencing. After outlining the information and what was being done, Mac waited for the questions. Knowing already what the Flacks would want to know.

"Where the hell was Donny's back up?" Flack Sr. demanded.

"The other detective was injured and not able to pursue. Don continued the foot pursuit."

"Are you implying that Donny is somehow at fault in this?" The protective father was coming out.

"No Sir, just that the decision was made and now we have an officer missing." Mac tried to keep the tension from rising.

"What is the likelihood that Don is still alive?" Mrs. Flack's voice was soft but firm. Her eyes locked with Mac's, willing him to be truthful.

"At this time I'm optimistic. There would be no reason to kill and remove a body when our suspect knows he was identified. I think Don was taken and is going to be used as a bargaining chip. If our suspect thinks he can reduce his sentence by producing Don, he'll hold onto him until it is to his advantage to let him go." Mac watched the theory sink in, Mrs. Flack nodding slightly. He continued, "The best thing we can do at this point is wait for results and investigations to pay off. I'd suggest going home, but since I know that is unlikely, I'd like to offer you use of our break room to wait in." Mac called for his secretary to show them the way. The secretary greeted them and turned towards the lounge, the Flacks following behind.

In the lab Danny and Stella were busy working on the evidence. The prints and DNA were being run. The blood was Flack's type, but positive identification would take time. Time that Danny hoped his friend had.

He felt terrible. Sitting up had seemed like such a good idea when his face was pressed into the dirty street. Now with his back against the wall, his head was pounding and his stomach was threatening to up heave its contents. Blinking rapidly, his vision seemed to clear slightly, but everything still felt fuzzy. His hand strayed to the back of his head, the source of most of his pain. Feeling gingerly he discovered a large bump that must have bleed, because his hair was matted with dried blood. Feeling like he needed more air he loosened the tie that was around his neck and pulled it off, tucking into the coat pocket. It seemed to help. Looking down he noticed his dark jacket was torn and splattered with blood, but he didn't think it was his own. Possibly from the guy, 'was it a friend?', laying on the ground.

Knowing he couldn't just sit there waiting for help, he decided he would need to stand up. Rolling onto his hands and knees he discovered another pain, his shoulder was tender. Forcing himself up, he reached out to the wall for support. Leaning drunkenly, he looked at the body again. With difficulty he shrugged out of his jacket and covered the man's face, shielding anyone who approached from the gruesome sight.

Keeping close to whatever he could, he made his way slowly up the alley. Reaching the end he turned to the right and continued on. Suddenly his stomach clenched and he found himself vomiting beside the closed storefront.

"Must have been a good drunk. Staggering and puking and its only 5:30." A female voice sounded behind him.

He tried to answer, but another wave of nausea brought up the remainder of his stomach's contents. The vomit splattered against the sidewalk, splashing onto his pants and shoes. He wobbled backwards, trying to distance himself from the mess.

"Damn, you are going to stink, you better hope they haven't maxed out the shower list. Hey, are you new around here?" The voice inquired.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turning he found the owner of the voice and appraised what he saw. A young girl, woman, long hair that looked slightly disheveled, a dirty "I Love Rudy" t-shirt, blue jeans frayed and a weather-beaten backpack. "New?" He was confused.

"Yeah, I haven't seen you around the Mission before. I've been coming here for the last 6 months and you get to know the faces. I definitely haven't seen you before. I'd remember." She rambled on, "Clothes look nice enough. What are you? Some kind of broker from uptown out slumming after a bender?"

"Uptown?" He wasn't sure. Was he? That didn't explain the guy in the alley. "I don't, I mean," he hesitated his brow knitting in concentration, trying to remember. "I'm not really sure."

"Oh, I know blackouts. Al had those all the time. Wouldn't remember his own name, would look at you like he'd never seen you before. He ended up robbing that little Korean place on Madison and doing time. I heard he didn't even remember doing it. I guess that could be your problem." She picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "Looks like you better get yourself back to your Beemer and get on home."

Suddenly finding his tongue he grabbed onto her arm. "I need your help. There's a dead man in the alley back there."

The girl shrugged her arm out of his grip and eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I woke up and he was there dead. I've got to get him some help."

Laughing, the girl examined the ebony haired man, "If he's dead there isn't anyone that can be helping him. Did you kill him?"

Again he thought hard, no memories coming to him "I don't know?"

"Friend, in this city the police don't usually listen to a drunk. Believe me, I spend enough of my time trashed and I should know. Plus, "I don't know" isn't a real good alibi. Hey, you don't look so good buddy. Tell you what, let's get over to the Mission and grab a bite to eat, get you sobered up and cleaned up and we'll figure out what you should do. Ok?" She looked at him expectantly.

It had been hard to follow everything she had said, but she seemed concerned and it was likely that she would be able to help him. "Sure," his agreement was punctuated by a sway that threatened to take him off his feet.

"Great. Let's go, it's just another block from here. By the way, my name is Ashley Marie; my mom must have thought it sounded like a future prom queen or something. But everyone out here just calls me Ash. What's your name?" She moved close to him, letting him lean on her.

Nothing came to mind, but it seemed that it was on the tip of his tongue. Suddenly it was there, it came so clearly it had to be his name. "I'm Danny."