Derek really did plan to listen to Casey and behave himself – honestly…he did. But what exactly is a semi-single guy supposed to do when his (in)significant other is away visiting family and there aren't any hockey re-runs on the TV?

He wrestled with his conscience for a while that night. He saw how upset she was over the whole "dying" thing and he really didn't want her to go through that again. But he needed something to do.

Derek, these days, wasn't idle. Funny huh? The guy who had previously had idleness (off the ice) down to a fine art, was now a workaholic. It had less to do with him caring about his job and more about him not wanting the time to think…about what he had left behind…about who he had left behind.

By the time he got off the phone with Casey he had wasted an evening nicely…but it still left the following morning – scratch that- the whole day.

Derek had been a cop too long to let a Casey-free day go to waste.

"I thought you were on vacation?" Graham – Duty Sergeant- said as Derek/Mikey signed in the following day; day two of Casey's absence.

The latter mumbled something about "Stir crazy" and Graham laughed.

"You're insane. If I had a chick as hot as that waiting for me at home, the last fucking place I'd be is the office."

Mikey rolled his eyes and stated. "I don't live with a "chick" I live with Casey. It's like living with Mother Theresa only slightly less fun. Besides she's visiting her parents."

"Oh…" said Graham spotting the slight upturn of Mikey's mouth when he said Casey's name. "Oh…it all becomes clear." He was smirking.

"You're an ass-hole." Mikey stated, shaking his head at the smirk. "Is lane four free?"

As well as a pussy-whipped wimp, Mikey had clearly become OCD. Lane four of the basement shooting range was now his preferred lane.

"Yup. You spend much more time there and I'm gonna labelled it "Essen End"."

"Didn't know you were into bondage." Mikey quipped and when the joke fell flat, "Nevermind."

The way "Mikey" saw it, he wasn't exactly disobeying Casey. She had told him not to go into work…and he hadn't…exactly. Instead he had decided to take a turn in the shooting range, improving his aim. Just him and his side arm in the relative quiet of the sound-proof gallery.

Except…step a foot inside the office building and…

"Hi Mikey!" Jazz had waited until Mikey laid his gun on the counter to change the paper target before tapping him on the shoulder.

"Hey Jazz!" Mikey removed the ear-defenders and sounded pleased to see his friend because for a moment he deluded himself that the grapevine hadn't worked and the chain of command upstairs hadn't caught wind of Mikey's presence downstairs.

"I thought you were on vacation?" Jazz asked. He knew exactly why Mikey was here. He knew that Casey had gone away and that Mikey was at a loose end. It appeared that the only thing Jazz still didn't know about his friend was Mikey's real name.

"Boredom." Mikey replied.

"Where's Casey?" Jazz said, as expected.

"Seeing the folks." Mikey replied. "What are you doing down here? I thought quiet days were your days for hanging around public parks chatting up sun-worshipping goddesses."

"In April? That's only fun in the bikini season. Besides, I'm no good at the chase with a gammy leg."
"Sympathy vote?"

Jazz laughed. "Not a chance. Anyway, I'm in the office clearing the backlog left by your absent ass."

"Hey! I'm due time off. Don't blame me for taking it."

Mikey knew his friend was joking. But he caught an edge to Jazz's answering grin.

"What is it?" He asked suddenly serious.

"What's what?" Jazz hedged.

"The reason why you're down here and suddenly looking as guilty as hell."

Jazz sighed. "You're paranoid."
"No. Just realistic – and a good reader of personalities. You, my friend are hiding something. Either you spit it out or I'm going back to peppering ol' paper Pete here." Mikey turned back to the firearm and checked its chambers.

"Has Spike spoken to you?" Jazz asked his friend's back.

Mikey turned around again abruptly.

"About what?"

Jazz looked uneasy. "I probably shouldn't say anything."

Mikey put down the gun and gave him his full attention.

"But…?"

"The governor of Rich's prison has been in touch. Apparently, Rich wants to see you."

Mikey leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.

"Does he now?" he murmured cautiously.
"Yeah. He has information to share, so Spike asked me to make you an appointment for Monday."

"What's wrong with now?" Mikey wasn't sure he wanted to wait. An offer of information from Rich after he'd plea-bargained was strange. If it was major intelligence, why wait until after it had the ability to affect his sentence…unless it was only important to one person…Mikey.

"You're on leave." Jazz protested.

"We're cops, Jazz. We're never on leave. Come on. I'll drive."

"We were expecting you on Monday." The Governor said, standing as Mikey and Jazz entered the room.

"Yeah…well you got us today." Jazz replied shortly. Mikey rolled his eyes at his friend's bluntness.

"What's this about?" He asked the prison official genially before shaking the guy's proffered hand and sitting down in the indicated chair.

The governor shrugged. "We were hoping you could tell us. He's refusing point blank to talk to anyone else and he is requesting all sorts of breaks with convention and rules for the meeting."
"Rules such as?" Mikey prompted.

"He wants the monitoring equipment switched off, the room swept for bugs and he wants to see you on his own…no guards."
Jazz snorted. "He's insane! As if we'd allow that. He'd probably shank Mikey in the blink of an eye."

Mikey said nothing. His mind was working hard.

The governor shook his head. "Richard isn't showing any signs of animosity towards Mr Essen. And he isn't objecting to the use of the Perspex screen and telephone. It appears he just doesn't want a witness to what he is going to say to you."
There was a pause whilst Mikey took in what the Governor was saying to him. The details weren't bizarre exactly just…well they led Mikey to only one conclusion.

"Okay." He said. "Provided it is behind a screen I agree to his terms."

"Mikey…" Jazz objected.

His friend turned to him. "He's harmless, Jazz. The worst he can do is through his words and he is the one specifying that he doesn't want anyone to overhear us. There's no risk."
"But…"
"I'll do it." Mikey turned to the senior warden in front of him. "Now. I'm not hanging around."
"What about Spike?" Jazz asked.

"What about Spike? It's me Rich has asked to see. Not Spike." Mikey nodded to the Governor. "I'm doing this, Jazz. You can come with me if you like but I'm going to meet him."

The Governor picked up the phone and began to relay the appropriate series of instructions.

It had been only a couple of months since Mikey had last seen Rich. Since he had plea-bargained there had been no need for a prolonged trial, just a short sentencing hearing a month after his arrest. Then he had been in a tailored suit sitting beside his attorney.

The man the other side of the Perspex screen bore no relation to the guy Mikey had shared conversations about ice hockey with over bad coffee. He was broken, weary and looked more than twenty years older than his actual age.

Mikey drew a breath, pulled his shoulders back and walked to the plastic chair he was expected to sit on.

Visitors to this particular room had few choices about the procedures. They were required to sit on the seat, look at the screen and enter into a discussion with the inmate on the other side. Neither could touch the other, and Mikey noted that "seeing" Rich wasn't exactly easy. The Perspex was more translucent than transparent; pitted and cloudy where heavy objects and closed fists had been thrown against it. It was a bizarre concept – inmate anger- when you looked at the figure on the opposite side.

One choice Mikey did have as a visitor to this room with its bleak décor was the option to listen to Rich through the telephone handset provided, or to flick the switch which enabled him to relay the shared speech to the entire room. Since the room was empty apart from Mikey and Jazz, and the former had no desire to become intimately acquainted with the un hygienic mouthpiece of the "phone", he flicked the switch. Rich did the same.

"Mikey." Rich began, nodding. Mikey nodded back.

"Why am I here?" Mikey asked eager to have his concerns dismissed so that he could return to his vacation.

Rich glanced over at Jazz.

"I said only you, Mikey." He pointed out. "There was no invitation to bring spectators."

"You have information? I need Jazz to hear it." Mikey said. "He's my partner."

Rich leaned back in his chair.

"And you trust him?" The tone of his voice was an amused one. "Ha! I'm surprised any of you trust anyone in that charade of a department."

"I trust him." Mikey confirmed.

Over the past three months Mikey had realised it would be a cold day in hell before he believed Jazz guilty of any wrong-doing.

"You trusted me too." Rich hadn't lost his amusement, but it made no difference.

Mikey hardened his look. "I've changed my criteria since then." He stated.

"I'll bet you have!" Rich chuckled.

"It's my decision." Mikey said. "Not yours."
Rich shrugged. "Sure…although I thought you of all people would want to restrict access to the information I'm prepared to share."

A shiver ran down Mikey's spine, and all the buried concern and many many questions rose to his tongue.

"Why? What's so special about this information?" He asked and Jazz heard a wavering note to Mikey's voice. It was uncharacteristic. Mikey was a consummate interrogator. He never lost his cool in the briefing room.

"Why me?" Mikey asked. "Why not Spike or Jazz?"
Rich snorted. "Oh come on Derek! Don't make idiots of the both of us!"

Derek's eyes widened. Jazz looked confused.

Before either of them could say anything, Rich had leaned forward to Derek and jerked his head in Jazz's direction.

"Still want to have this conversation in front of him?"

Over the many years, Derek had become Mikey. He got used to hearing the latter name and reacting to it quite quickly. After a couple of months of his new name, it was second nature. He found that with the departure of his birth name he managed to shed aspects of himself of which he wasn't too fond. Nearly dying of a gun-shot wound to the head and "losing" his family had added a gravitas to his character that hadn't been there before.

Of course he had lost far more than just his carefree nature, and it had been like pulling on a nicely worn pair of jeans when he picked up his Derek Venturi identity again on Casey's re-appearance in his life. He had begun to enjoy the sound of his real name from someone else's lips – usually it sounded like "Der-ek!"

He wasn't sure he liked the sound his name made coming from the lips of the guy opposite.

It scared the shit out of him.

Derek stared at Rich.

"I asked if you still wanted to have this conversation in front of him." Rich pointed out.

"I know. I heard you." Derek answered. With a deep breath, he turned and looked at Jazz.

Jazz stared back at him.

Derek couldn't blame his friend for the look of confusion in his eyes. He knew how he would feel if someone he trusted with his life – owed his life to – suddenly started to show signs of hiding something. Derek wouldn't like it and he knew that Jazz, despite his apparently calm exterior was probably warring with himself inside. Derek blew out a deep breath. Jazz was the closest thing (aside from Casey) that he had to a friend. If he didn't trust Jazz who would he trust?

More importantly, he wanted Jazz to trust him.

"Jazz stays." Derek announced. "Now quit pissing about and get on with it."

If Rich was offended by the blunt answer to his question he never showed it. Nor did he show any degree of surprise. Instead, he drew back from the screen and rested his body once again on the back of the chair. His posture relaxed as if he knew he had their full attention.

"About a year ago, Papillion took a business trip to Toronto to meet up with a past acquaintance. He was full of the trip because he hoped it would open up new trade routes for him. The guy concerned was into some high profit dealings - running across to Detroit- and Papillion was keen to tap into some of his action."

Derek's face was impassive as Rich paused.

"Anyway, he took me with him. We stayed a while in some swanky hotel holding meeting after drunken meeting with this guy, Sal – who I will tell you now is a crazy mother…"

"Go on." Derek interrupted.

"Cut a very long story short, the meetings didn't go well. Papillion wasn't of the right "calibre" to join with Sal's operation. Sal runs a tight ship and Papillion was basically too stupid to add anything to the mix. Even I could see that. We came home and Papillion muttered about growing his own empire so big that he could swallow Sal's whole." Rich shook his head in disbelief. "…like he had a chance in hell!"

He spotted the shift in Derek's body language and realised he wasn't cutting the story short enough.

"The meetings, and their lack of outcome have very little to do with why I called you here though."
Derek sighed. "Less of the dramatics, Dick! Just cut to the chase."

"During one of the drunken meetings, Sal told Papillion the story of how he trusted no fucker, and held all his high-level negotiations himself. He told us a story about how one of his operators nearly landed him in jail seven years ago through not being cautious enough."

Derek sat up straighter. It was three words that caught his attention. Seven years ago. He glanced at Jazz who looked confused.

"Seven years ago." Derek repeated.

Rich nodded. "He told a tale of a deal being overheard by some hot shot future hockey player who went to the cops."

Derek's breath caught.

"And?"

"And how they silenced the kid with a hit."

Rich watched the effect his words were having on Derek. The younger guy couldn't look at him anymore. He was staring at the wall as if lost and Rich knew he was reliving memories.

"For many years," The former mountie went on, "Sal thought that was the end of the risk from that quarter. Sure, the other parties involved and the cops knew about the attempted transaction but no one had enough evidence to take it to trial. He thought he had neutralised the problem. Then about eighteen months ago, out of the blue, one of his foot soldiers who had been around at the time of the hit called him, freaking out. He said he'd travelling to Europe on vacation and as the trip involved a lay over in New York he had landed at JFK."

Rich paused and the sudden silence broke into Derek's thoughts. He turned his head to face Rich who started talking again.

"He swore he saw a dead man walking."

Jazz frowned. "Did he?" He asked, as Derek turned away again, remembering the occasion of his visit to New York eighteen months ago. He hadn't been travelling as Derek Venturi or even as Mikey Essen. He had had another identity entirely – although for once, due to time pressures he had made no attempt to disguise his appearance. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

Rich's eyes were fixed on Derek.

"I'd say…" He began. "Given the details he told me that night…yeah, dead men can walk."

Derek came back to the land of the living. "What else did he tell you?"
"Not much. Just the dead guy's name."

"Which was?" Jazz asked, glancing between Rich and Derek.

"Derek Venturi." Rich replied.

Jazz's gaze settled on his partner. "Name mean anything to you?" He asked pointedly.

Derek smiled weakly. "Kind of." He leaned forward. "Anything else?"
Rich grinned. "Oh yeah! You see, when Sal told Papillion that he wouldn't give him an "in" on the high profit game, he qualified it. He told him the only way he would ever let Papillion in was if he found out the current whereabouts of Derek Venturi."

"This was a year ago?" Derek asked cutting across Jazz's attempt to understand what he was hearing.

"Yes."

"But, there was no photo or anything." Derek asked.

"No." Rich said.

"So how…?"

"Do I know the current whereabouts of Derek Venturi?" Rich asked. Derek nodded.

"Because that night in the cistern when we were transferring you and that pair of legs you were with into the pit, "legs" kept muttering."

"Casey was drugged."

Rich shrugged. "She still muttered. Kept moaning "Der-ek!" in her drowsy state. That and some crap about love and hate being two sides of the same coin.

When we got back to his office, it clicked where Papillion had heard the name before. He got Casey's full name from her driving licence and when he googled her – low and behold what do we find? Casey McDonald is the sister of none other than Derek Venturi."

Jazz's eyes widened. "Sister? But…"

Clearly he had moved on from confusion over Derek's identity. Now he appeared to be having a problem with the status of Derek's relationship with Casey.

Derek ignored him. He'd explain the four letters bit later.

"Okay. You know about Derek Venturi." Derek stated still reluctant to confirm what they all now knew – that Derek was in fact him. "What else?"

Rich folded his arms across his chest, leaned back and delivered the coup de grace.

"After you arrested me and Papillion made his escape I know for a fact he contacted Sal."

Derek's jaw dropped as Rich went on.

"Four months ago Sal knew that you were still alive AND your new identity."