Author's note: I do not own Pokemon or related trademarks.

My apologies in advance for how bad this chapter probably is. I've been fighting the dual fiends Writer's Block and Influenza. So this is pretty bad in my eyes. Maybe you think differently. Next chapter, though, should be better, and I'll sweeten it by adding in at least one lemon.

And next time I feel inclined to write two stories at once, I'm gonna knee myself in the face until everything goes black for a few minutes. By doing so, I hope to knock some sense into my head, or, more likely, I'll concuss myself.

Language warning:

"You're kidding me, right?" Frank asked Victoria as they approached the yellow tape near the apartment .

"Yeah, you'd have to be pretty pissed to waste your time trying to attack a Ghost-type." The shiny Gardevoir chuckled. "Wish I knew why Stuart hates Jessie so much."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. My bet is that he's gonna try to figure out how to pin this on her as well."

"Playing devil's advocate for a minute, suppose he's right?"

"He's not, Victoria. End of discussion."

"Is this instinct talking or are you being protective? Because if she IS responsible, your protecting her is not going to look good or end well."

The only response she got was a glare as he ducked under the tape.

On the pavement in front of the apartment building, a white sheet covered up the dead body that once was Stevie Ray. Frank took one look under the sheet and shook his head. "Well, third time wasn't the charm after all."

There was a snort. "Yeah, she finally got him this time."

One glance was all it took to confirm who the voice was. "Don't fucking start with me, Stuart-"

"Admit it, Frank, I'm right."

"Find me evidence and witnesses to prove you are. Otherwise, fuck you."

"Frank, she-"

"He's right, Stuart," interrupted Hopfmar as he walked over. "We have nothing here to prove that Jessie had anything to do with this murder or either of the other two. Let's not be jumping to conclusions like that."

All the captain received in reply was a glare.

In the weeks after their dinner, Frank continued to appear at Giovanni's private poker sessions. But in those weeks, he began to notice that the Rocket boss was becoming increasingly colder. And the detective knew why.

Goddamnit. I've probably cost us our best chance to nail him.

Maybe I'll need to be persistent….

"So," he began one night, "about that business venture you brought up. I never did follow up with you on that."

"It's off the table," Giovanni replied curtly.

"Really? What a shame. I hadn't meant to turn you down entirely, I just felt there was better time and place for such-"

"Snooze, you lose, O'Leary. There is no venture."

"You're making a mistake in my book."

"You don't get to tell me about mistakes when you blew an opportunity."

"Boy, some terrible businessman YOU are."

Giovanni bristled at that. "Just play the damn game."

"I win this hand, you think you'll change your mind?"

"I win this hand, I never see you again. Ever. Got it?"

And now Frank realized he'd suddenly painted himself into a corner. Giovanni had been annoyed to the point where he would make sure the detective was screwed. "Deal."

Giovanni glanced at the dealer, and she nodded. Frank could almost detect a trace of a smile on her lips as she gave both men their cards.

Twos in both clubs and diamonds, he noted as he checked his cards and the dealer flopped the king of spades, queen of clubs, and the two of hearts.

"No witnesses. None. At all." Tristan shook his head.

"Like I suspected," Hopfmar muttered. "The real problem is trying to get Stuart to realize that."

"Why's he so obsessed with proving that Jessie is our killer, anyway? Did she pour ink in his coffee during an interrogation or something?"

"It's a fairly long story. Suffice to say it's as personal for him to put her behind bars as it is for Frank to keep her out."

Almost as if on cue, Frank himself walked over. "Do we have anything?"

"Nothing," his boss replied.

"How much does Stuart have?"

"Frank, don't-"

"No, I mean it. How much does he fucking have?!"

All was silence.

Silence save for the sound of a card being lifted off a deck and placed on the table.

The king of clubs.

That gives me a full house, deuces high.

"Frank, there's no need for this-"

"You know goddamned well that he's trying to send an innocent woman to jail-"

"Like HELL she is."

And without warning and before Hopfmar or anyone else could stop him, Frank spun around and sent his right fist colliding into Stuart's jaw.

One more card.

There was, at least to Frank's eye, a sort of sinister serenity on Giovanni's face, and for good reason. Despite the detective's best efforts, it was not possible to prevent the dealer from using the rigged deck to her and her boss' advantage, meaning that even the most favorable of hands would turn sour with just one turn of the card. Many a player had been busted that way, and Frank considered it a minor miracle that he had lasted this long.

So it was with no small amount of concern that he waited for the last card. The smirk that Giovanni had was growing at an alarming rate, and it took all the detective had to maintain his compo-

TWO OF SPADES. THERE IS A GOD.

The punch sent Stuart reeling back momentarily, and then he turned too late to see a similar punch come from the left hand. OK, that's gonna be around Johny Hendricks-level hitting, he thought wryly before his left leg came up to strike Frank on the side of the head.

Only Frank ducked and Stuart spun partly around in a wild fashion before stumbling, and that was all it took for the far more pissed off detective to throw a head kick of his own, sending Stuart crashing the rest of the way to the floor.

And then came a gunshot.

Giovanni could not contain his glee as he revealed his hand. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, Mr. O'Leary," he said. "Full house, kings over deuces."

Idly, Frank noticed that the odd card in his hand was the five of spades before he quietly turned over his diamond two.

"Well, well, only a three of a kind," the Rocket boss gloated. "I thought you were a better-"

Then he noticed that the other card was still facedown.

Frank inhaled deeply, then looked up.

"The two of clubs isn't the weakest card," he remarked, almost like lecturing a small child as he turned over the card of discussion. "You just need to know how to use it."

There was silence for several moments.

And then the dealer started frantically flipping through the rest of the deck. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know how this could have happened!" she blurted.

And much to Frank's surprise, the smirk was still on Giovanni's face.

"Well, Mr. O'Leary, I am a man of my word," he said. "I must admit, you are a fine poker player. And you were able to defeat me, so I believe we have some business to discuss."

Frank leaned back and folded his hands near his face. "Do tell."

"You say you are a 'supplier.' What, exactly, can you supply?"

"What do you want? I can get you anything. You want C4? I can get that. You want a turkey sandwich? I can get you that. You want electronic parts? I can get you that too. You want a five-gallon bucket of used firecrackers? I can get you that. You want guns? I can get you guns. You want-"

Giovanni's eyebrow rose slightly. "Wait, I'm not quite sure I heard you correctly. Guns, you said?"

"I might have."

"AK-47s?"

"Perhaps."

"How many can you get me?"

"How much can you afford?"

"Money is no object."

Frank's head tilted slightly. "I have a supplier, but I should warn you, he is a very temperamental one. I can't guarantee that he won't go postal if-"

"No need to worry," the Rocket boss interrupted, waving his hand at him. "I have tact, my good man."

And then he turned to the redheaded woman next to him. "Katja, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. O'Leary to his home? I want him to get some rest before we get down to business. Mr. O'Leary, please let me know at the Game Corner when your source is ready to deal."

A smile slowly crept across the detective's face. "I will do that."

Jessie made her way around the table and past the still shocked dealer as she took Frank by the arm. "My car is in the garage. Unlike my boss, I am far gentler when transporting guests." She smiled at him as they heard a throat-clearing sound. "Shall we?"