Johnny Zacchara was browsing the first-aid aisle of a pharmacy when his cell phone rang. He reached in his pocket and retrieved it, wincing as his dark jeans rubbed the pale bandage on his forearm.

"Yeah."

"Johnny, it's Claudia."

"Hello sis, to what do I owe-"

"What the fuck are you doing, Johnny?"

Johnny winced again- this time at his older sister's furious tone. "Just doing some shopping."

"Shopping? For what a flame-thrower? Trevor talked to me, Johnny. You want to tell me why you attacked him, why you blew up his garage?"

"Claudia, they were running drugs out of there. They spit on our father's name- they took his money to keep that garage open, then they used it for a drug operation!"

"Why the hell is that your business? That garage was making a lot of money for our family!"

Johnny's grip tightened on the phone as the pharmacy seemed to shift and waver around him. He choked and tasted blood. He realized he had bitten his tongue. The pain focused his shattered thoughts.

"You knew?"

"Johnny, Daddy is bedridden. Most days he doesn't recognize anyone, or even know his own name. Someone has to protect his business."

"You trying to tell me that Dad knew?"

"For Christ's sake, get your head out of your ass and stop being so naive! How do you think Daddy built his empire? Construction? Sanitation?" The voice on the phone held nothing but angry scorn."You think nickle and dime crap put you through private school or gave Daddy the connections to call in a favor from a New York state Judge when you were facing charges?"

"I've had to hear this kind of shit my whole life," Johnny replied angrily, "but never from family! You're lying, Claudia!"

"I'm lying? So you attacked our family's operation over some sudden righteous indignation over drugs? It didn't have anything to do with protecting that nutcase that you adopted- the one that shot up Trevor's boys?"

Johnny growled. "You fucking leave him out of this!"

The angry screaming from the phone was garbled and unintelligible for several seconds. Johnny held it away from his ear until the shrieking dropped in decibels.

"...a goddamn joke! This is not wrecking Daddy's car, John! This is serious! Since his aneurysm Daddy's partners have been taking more and more control of things. These are serious people that will not be fucked with! If your boy or you cause any more trouble, then I can't be held responsible. I might be able to make a deal, to get a pass for what's happened, but it's going to cost me more than you know.

If anything else happens, your boy is done. And he might take the rest of us with him." Fear entered the woman's voice for the first time. "If we become a liability to these people, there's no one left to protect us. Johnny, I'm your sister... for god's sake..."

Johnny ran his free hand up through his hair, tangling his fingers and then pulling tightly. "I gotta go. I gotta think. I can't believe you. I can't believe this shit!"

"Johnny... John... you listening to me? Pull yourself together. Grow up and get this crazy friend of yours under control, get yourself under control or there will be hell to pay."

"He's not crazy," Johnny said through gritted teeth, but the connection was dead.

.

.

Johnny Zacchara was walking out of the pharmacy with a bag in his arms wondering how his day could possibly get any worse when the answer materialized in front of him.

"Hello John, you remember me?" Dante Falconeri asked as he thrust his badge under Johnny's nose. Johnny grimaced and looked past Dante at a thin young man who also had 'cop' written all over him.

"You already know this guy?" Lucas asked

"Yeah, we've met in an official capacity," Dante answered. "My partner busted him a couple of years ago in New York for..." Dante snapped his fingers and made a show of trying to recall something. "Help me out, John. What was it again?"

Johnny smiled, baring his teeth. "Assault. And possession of narcotics."

"Right!" Dante smiled back and stepped to one side, allowing his partner to step in closer. Together they crowded Johnny, forcing him back against the building. "But of course, just like with a lot of things when it comes to the Zaccharas, or bad undercooked pasta, the charges didn't stick."

Lucas scowled as he looked Johnny up and down. "Let me guess. Did your daddy get you out of that one, John?"

Johnny's smile looked even more forced. He didn't bother to answer.

"Of course he did!" Dante stated. "If I remember right, the charges were pled down and he was sent to counseling or some horse shit."

"It's great to see you again..." Johnny trailed off.

"Detective Falconeri," Dante supplied. He nodded toward his partner. "This is Detective Spencer."

"Terrific," Johnny said, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "Now if we're done with the trip down memory-fucking-lane, I've got places to-"

"What's in the bag, John?" Lucas snatched the bag from Johnny without waiting for an answer.

Johnny ground his teeth. "You guys got no right."

"Settle down, we have a few questions for you," Dante said. "Co-operate or you'll be answering them at the station."

"Let's see... bandages, ointment, a lot of aloe vera, aspirin." Lucas shoved the bag back into Johnny's chest. "You been playing with fire, John?"

"Yeaaahhh, check it out I can see bandages on your arms sticking out of your shirt here, and John, I gotta say your eyebrows aren't looking as full as they used to." Dante smirked. "You're looking a little on the well done side. What happened?"

"I was out for a walk the other night when I noticed there was an orphanage on fire." Johnny grinned, but his fists were clenched. "I ran in to save some sad little kids."

Lucas looked Johnny in the eye, and then shifted his stance to keep eye contact when Johnny looked away. "I must of missed that on the news, but I did hear about a garage that burned to the ground a few nights ago."

"Trevor's," Dante added helpfully.

"Right, and coincidentally your father, one Anthony Zacchara, had a lot of money invested in the place," Lucas continued. "The fire looks just like arson, but surprise, surprise- no one's talking. Are you running insurance fraud jobs for daddy now?"

"You guys know exactly..." Johnny held up one hand, making a circle with his thumb and index finger, "...nothing. Zero. My father is a businessman who has done more for the community than you guys will in your whole careers of issuing traffic tickets. To do business in New York you have to know people, and deal with some people that you'd rather not have to. That doesn't make you part of the Mob."

Dante snorted incredulous laughter and glanced at his partner. "You believe this guy?" He turned his full attention back to Johnny. " Is this zero?" Dante pulled a photo out of his jacket and held it up in front of Johnny's face.

Johnny paled as he took in the photo in a glance- a young man with brown hair and green eyes wearing a dark hoodie. "Who's that supposed to be?" He swallowed hard.

Dante's smile widened. "Let's call him Mister Zero. We were hoping you could tell us who he is."

"We've been told he bears a striking resemblance to your roommate, Damian Spinelli," Lucas stated.

"It's a shitty picture. I can't be sure who that is." Johnny tried to keep any excitement out of his voice. "Where'd you take it?"

"At the Cemetery," Lucas answered. "There was a funeral for a drug dealer named Franco Moretti who was killed in a shootout a week ago. This Franco, he also worked part-time as a mechanic. Can you guess where? I bet you can if you think about it."

"Not Trevor's Garage?" asked Dante with exaggerated surprise.

"The same!" Lucas placed his hands on his hips, pushing his jacket back so that the butt of his service pistol could be seen. "Sadly, he succumbed to a nine-mil slug."

Dante frowned. "Ouch, seems like there's a lot of cases of lead poisoning going around these days. Hey, according to records, there's a nine-millimeter registered under your name, isn't there John? Seems our cup over-floweth with coincidences here."

"Yeah where is that piece right now, John?" Lucas asked.

"It was stolen a few months back. I'm sure I reported it. Unless it slipped my mind."

"Of course," Dante said. "And Damian Spinelli? Where can we find him?"

"I haven't seen him for a few days. I'm not his secretary. He goes where he wants, and it's none of my business as long as he pays his share of the rent." Johnny tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face, but his thoughts were racing. If these Detectives were asking for Damian, it meant that they hadn't gotten to him yet. The picture was at least proof that Damian was still alive and well, which filled Johnny with relief. "Why do you want him?"

Lucas stared grimly at Johnny. "Let's say he's a 'person of interest' in a homicide."

"Both of you are in this somehow, aren't you John?" Dante scrutinized Johnny for a reaction, or a sign of weakness. "We're going to put the pieces together. It's what we do. And this time your father's not going to be able to make any calls on your behalf, is he?"

Johnny looked down and did his best to swallow his anger. "I've been clean for almost two years, and I've got my anger management issues under control. I don't know where Damian is, but I can tell you that we were hanging out together almost every night last week, and there's no way he was involved in any shooting."

Lucas spat on the sidewalk. "Like you weren't involved in any fire?"

"You got any more questions, you better call my lawyer. I'm not saying any more unless she's present."

Dante stepped in closer to Johnny. He took a business card from his wallet and put it in the bag Johnny was holding. "I think we're going to be arranging that real soon, John. The pieces are falling into place. If you talk to your roommate, be a good friend to him and tell him to call us."

"Things will go easier for him if he comes to us voluntarily," Lucas said. "If our Mister Zero is your roommate, he gave us the slip around Ninth and Main. If we have to go kicking in doors to find him, things could get ugly. Go get him and convince him to come talk to us. We just want the truth. If he's in trouble, we can help him before things get worse."

"And make no mistake, John," Dante added ominously, "things are gonna get worse."

.

.

Johnny slumped against the wall after the two Detectives left him alone. He was trying to calm the surging emotions that threatened to overwhelm his control, to concentrate on remembering all of the places near Ninth and Main. Suddenly he slammed the pharmacy bag against the concrete violently. He grunted as his fist caromed off the wall, then he began to laugh. "Shit, D! I don't know whether to piss blood or dance the macarena! We're up to our ears in shit, but you're alive..." Johnny blew out a breath and suddenly he was struggling not to break down. "You're alive..." he breathed, and the words held all the solemn reverence of a prayer.