Carl Kolchak did not like the look on Rausch's face as he paced the room. The reporter was in a chair, his hands cuffed behind the back of the chair. It was most uncomfortable, and he knew it could only get worse from here.

"Now, Carl," Rausch said. "Let's not make this any more difficult than it already is. I want you to tell me everything you found out about these disappearances."

"You know what your problem is, Rausch?" Carl said, vowing not to cave in. "You don't do your job! Meanwhile, I'm busy with a thankless job! How did you ever get to be a captain, anyway?"

Rausch turned to him with an icy stare.

"I'm warning you, Carl; if you keep up with this insubordination, it's going to get even worse."

"What did you do?" Carl pressed on. "Bribe someone in a high place? Because you certainly wouldn't have secured this position on the basis of merit—"

SMACK.

Carl suppressed a curse as his face stung; Rausch had backhanded him.

"If we are through with personal insults, Carl—"

"Oh, we're far from through," the reporter said, a fire now kindling in his eyes. "I have nothing to tell you about the lake—nothing at all. But let's talk about my next article, shall we? How about an exposé of a certain captain—the story of how he managed to buy his way to his position, and the underhanded tactics he uses to stay there?"

SMACK.

"Ah, and a firsthand account of someone unfortunate to be a victim of said underhanded tactics," Carl said, both sides of his face stinging.

"Carl," Rausch said, his voice a quiet hiss. "The lake, Carl. What did you find out? If you're holding back information, that is a crime."

"You want to know what's a crime?" the reporter asked. "What you're doing right now."

Rausch now grabbed the reporter's chin and shoved him backwards; the chair tilted back, and stars filled Carl's vision as the back of his head hit the wall.

"You know, Rausch, knocking me senseless isn't going to help you in any way. Just throwing that out there…"

"Keep this up, Carl, and I swear…"

"The more you say and do, the longer my exposé will be," Carl said. He was not going to deliver any information to Rausch—not that he could if he wanted to; just as before, the details of the song and the face had rapidly left his conscious mind.

"I have Spencer and Sonntag waiting outside," Rausch said. "When I give the word, they'll be in here to… help with this interrogation."

"Oh, I can't wait," Carl said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I guess it'll make my article even better."

"Spencer! Sonntag!"

"Captain…" Spencer said, as he entered. "Captain, I think you ought to know—"

"Never mind that, Spencer!" Rausch said. "Mr. Kolchak doesn't find it necessary to divulge what he knows; it's up to us to convince him otherwise… Where is Sonntag?"

"He's in the lobby—trying to stall Mr. Vincenzo."

Both Carl's and Rausch's eyes widened at the news.

"What is he doing here?" Rausch demanded. "Who called him?"

"One of the sergeants at the desk," Spencer said. "She's seen Kolchak brought in so many times before, it's a knee-jerk reaction for her to call Vincenzo."

Rausch quickly let go of Carl, causing the chair to right itself again; the reporter winced, his head throbbing from having connected with the wall. He was barely aware of Tony's entrance.

"Mr. Vincenzo," Rausch greeted him. "I see you're as prompt as ever. We would appreciate it very much if you could convince your reporter not to wander into restricted areas; this is getting to be tiring for all of us involved."

But Tony wasn't listening; he glanced at Carl with first a searching expression, and then a scowl.

"What did you do to him?" the editor demanded, glaring at Rausch.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you, Mr. Vincenzo," Rausch said. "We didn't do a thing to your reporter—your most uncooperative reporter, I might add."

"Oh, yeah?" Tony asked. "Then why's his nose bleeding?"

Carl blinked, only now aware of it himself.

"Don't you know, Tony? It's the high altitude," he said, dryly. "Who knew that Chicago was so high above sea level?"

"Mr. Vincenzo," Rausch said, looking very discomfited. "Let me put your mind at ease; Carl was never in any danger. We were only trying to—"

"I can see what you were trying to do!" Tony bellowed. "It's very clear from where I'm standing! Here!"

He handed over the check to bail Carl out.

"Unlock him," the editor said.

"Mr. Vincenzo—"

"Unlock him!" Tony repeated. "And don't think that the police commissioner isn't going to hear about this, Rausch!"

"Aren't you blowing this a little bit out of proportion, Mr. Vincenzo?" Rausch asked. "Carl Kolchak is just a—"

"Carl Kolchak is still, for the moment, in my employ, and as long as he is, I'm not going to let someone like you get away with clobbering him senseless!" Tony now glared at Spencer. "You going to unlock him, or what?"

Spencer looked from Tony to Rausch, who looked absolutely blank.

"Very well, Spencer," Rausch said.

Spencer now unlocked the handcuffs around Carl's wrists.

"I don't suppose I could trouble you for a Kleenex?" the reporter asked, still wryly.

Spencer didn't say anything, prompting Carl to shrug and use his handkerchief to stop the bleeding.

"Let's get going," Tony said, guiding Carl out the door. "There's no reason to stay here any longer."

"Ah, and I'm only too eager to leave," the reporter said. He waited until they were out of the building before allowing a bit of humility to enter his voice. "Tony, your timing is almost impeccable."

"You alright, though?"

"I'll be fine; these bruises will be my battle scars while they last—proof of my stand against the tyrant who never actually does his own investigative work."

"We need to write an exposé on that guy," Tony said.

"Oh, I already promised him I would," Carl said. "That's partly why I got an extra bruise or two…"

The editor grunted, visibly upset with Rausch as he headed for his car. He had received the phone call just as he had been locking up the INS office and had headed directly to the police station. Furious as he was at Rausch, he still had been preoccupied by his discovery of Carl's Chronicle job offer; seeing Carl again had reminded him of it all over again.

He looked back, seeing Carl just standing there, aimlessly.

"Where's your car?" Tony asked.

"Back at the lake," the reporter said, shrugging his shoulders.

Tony sighed, giving a resigned nod.

"Need a ride?"

Carl accepted, sighing as he relaxed in the passenger seat. The bleeding in his nose had finally stopped, and as he put the handkerchief away, he paused, recalling what Tony had said to Rausch only moments ago.

"Tony…?" he asked. "You told Rausch that I'm still in your employ 'for the moment'—what did you mean by that?"

Tony now froze; he had been so upset with Rausch that he had made that reference to the Chronicle offer.

"I gave Miss Emily your Julius Caesar assignment," the editor said. "I went through your desk to get the play so I could give it to her, and I found the business card you got from Wainwright at the Chronicle. A piece of paper with an impressive sum of money was in there, too; it didn't take too long to put two and two together."

Carl winced again.

"Naturally, I assumed you can't wait to get away from the INS, which is why that 'for the moment' slipped in there," Tony continued.

"Well…" Carl said, fully realizing the awkwardness of the situation. "Tony, I wasn't trying to hide this from you, if that's what you're wondering. I only got this job offer yesterday; I met one of Wainwright's staff at the lake yesterday, and he kept tabs on me reporting to him. I met with him yesterday, too."

"…How's the Chronicle? The building, I mean."

"New. Well, it sure looks new," Carl said. "Not like the mildew-y walls we've got. Oh, and the lighting is nice."

"I'll bet," Tony said, unable to hide the traces of disgust in his voice.

Carl wasn't sure exactly what Tony was disgusted about—the state of the INS building or the offer itself, perhaps even both— but decided to continue.

"Wainwright and I got to talking, and that's where the details about the job offer turned up. He took great interest in the stories that I wrote—the ones that you kept throwing out."

"How did he read them?" Tony asked, frowning. "I threw them all out!"

"Let's just say, Tony, that you might want to consider investing in a paper shredder."

"You mean Wainwright was dumpster-diving for your stories?" Tony asked.

"Well not him personally, but he had someone get my stories that way," Carl asked. "Apparently, he read my original article on the Pioneer Square murders, and when he later discovered that I was here in Chicago, he sought out the stories I wrote that you threw away. He even offered to buy this story I'm doing on the lake disappearances if you don't want to print it. But, by his choice, I'd be working for him, writing him stuff like this all the time. I was going to tell you about it, Tony, but it's not easy… I mean, what was I supposed to do—walk into your office and say, 'Sorry, Tony, but I have another editor in my life'?"

"So is that why you're still chasing that lake disappearance story?" Tony asked. "You're going to sell it to him?"

"Actually, that wasn't part of the plan; I'm trying to figure this out for myself. If there really are siren-mermaid hybrids in that lake, no man who goes out there will be safe."

"I don't know about the hybrids part, but it is strange that all the men who've disappeared are middle-aged," Tony said. "Sounds more like an organized vendetta than mermaids at work, if you ask me."

Carl blinked.

"Say that again."

"What? That it sounds more like an organized vendetta?"

"No, before that."

"All the men who've disappeared are middle-aged?"

"That's it," Carl said, sitting up. "That is it! Tony, you've just found the link between those fishermen and that yachter! That yachter—Quint—was in his mid-fifties! They're going after middle-aged men! And that also explains why I nearly fell for…"

The reporter trailed off, and Tony frowned, though he kept his eyes on the road.

"What are you talking about?" the editor asked.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Carl sighed.

"And Wainwright would?"

"Apparently, he would, if he knew what I was trying to uncover here," Carl said. "I haven't told him yet about anything I've found out. In fact, I haven't even told him if I'm taking the job he offered or not. All he knows is that I don't mind getting into trouble with Rausch, no matter what he threatens."

"Great; then when you take that job, he can be the one to bail you out time and again," Tony said.

Carl didn't reply; in fact, he stared blankly out the window for a moment.

"Well, I don't know if I will be taking it, Tony. That's what I told Wainwright," he said at last. "But I am considering it."

Tony responded with a nod, staring straight ahead at the road.

"Well," the editor said, sounding a little brusquer than he had intended. "Just give me your notice if you do decide to take that Chronicle job."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Carl said.

They both lapsed into silence until Tony realized that he didn't know where he was supposed to take Carl.

"Where are you headed?" he asked. "To the lake to pick up your own car?"

"There's no time for that, Tony; I have to solve this lake case before anyone else disappears!" Carl exclaimed, pulling the business card he had received from the antique shop the previous night. "I need to meet a Mr. Giovanni." He gave Tony the address.

"And who is he? Is he involved in these disappearances somehow?"

"I don't know, but I'm hoping I can get some answers today," Carl said. "It's very strange, Tony. Usually, when I'm on the trail of one of these stories, I'm all there, but… Well, today is the second time I spaced out while trying to get some evidence, just like yesterday."

"Carl, I don't know what to tell you," Tony said. "Other than this: be careful."

"I will," Carl promised, not sure how well he could keep that promise.

It hadn't escaped his mind that he was in the same age range as the siren-mermaids' victims. He knew all too well that he could be next.