DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN

A/N: THIS IS A PAST CHAP. SOMETHING MY CRAZY MUSE WON'T LET GO OF. THE SHOOTING THAT TAKES PLACE IN THIS CHAP (NO, NOT FLACK'S, SORRY) IS BASED ON AN ACTUAL FAILED CAR JACKING THAT OCCURRED NEARBY MY HOMETOWN. THE SIMILARITIES END AT THE SHOOTING AND EVERYTHING ELSE IS SOLELY FROM MY LOVELY IMAGINATION.

Death Becomes Them

"There is no joy for me
Christmas is black for me
No hope no cheer
Christmas is black every year
Everyone dies on Christmas
Loneliest time of the year
Everyone cries on Christmas
Oh Christmas,
Just fills me with fear
Deck the halls with boughs of Black
Your sister's dead from dealing crack
Was years ago, you were just eighteen
You weren't there but you can hear her scream
Your family waits by the Christmas tree
Just wondering where you might be
Where'd we go wrong, what can we do?
These charming strangers who don't know you."
-Black Christmas, MDC

Flack stood on the curb in front of Lucky Day Bodega on East 178th in the Bronx, ankle deep in snow, the collar of his heavy wool winter coat pulled up to keep the biting wind off of the back of his neck. Snow fell steadily the black velvet sky as he jotted extensive notes down in his memo book as he eyed the luxury SUV parked in front of him. Both passenger and driver's side door open and the over head light shining brightly. Vehicle still running with the keys dangling in the ignition and two very dead bodies and blood pools and spatters all over the leather interior.

Flack brought his forearm up to cover his mouth and nose and coughed and sniffled noisily. He felt like shit. Too many hours and too little sleep combined with not bundling up well enough with the below freezing temperatures that had clung to the city in the past two weeks. He only had himself to blame. Not covering his ears and forgetting to wear even a scarf or clothes half the time. The cold had quickly spread through the lab and at home. Sam had been nearly bed ridden for three days the week before, and Kieran had developed a croupy cough that had them either throwing the window open or turning the shower on and sitting in the steamy bathroom with him when an attack hit.

The first night had been scary as all hell. Flack had woken from a dead sleep to what sounded like a dog barking in the next room. Followed by a startled Sam, also torn out of a sleep, bounding out of bed and scurrying to the room next to them. Within seconds she was screaming for him, saying that something was wrong with the baby. He wouldn't stop coughing and was trying to cry at the same time and was starting to turn blue. He'd hurried in and found her near hysterics with Kieran clutched to her chest, the child struggling to draw a breath. Flack had froze. The sight of his son like that was terrifying and he felt frozen to his spot. Utterly and totally helpless.

It was Sam's begging and pleading to do something that had snapped him out of his daze. He raced for the phone and called up Hawkes. Who listened over the phone to Kieran's coughing and suggested the steam from a hot shower or the crisp night air. Flack had scooped the baby out of his panicking wife's arms and wrapped a blanket around him and carried him out onto the balcony. Within minutes the hacking, chest rattling cough had subsided, leaving his son bawling and terrified and clinging desperately to him.

They'd bundled Kieran up and headed for the Trinity General. Three hours waiting in the ER followed by another two in a waiting room trying to hold oxygen over a baby's mouth and nose. In the end, after the on call pediatrician listened to Kieran's lungs, they'd been sent home with prescriptions for two inhalers and orders to purchase a special inhaler that fit like an oxygen mask and made it easier to accurately give the dose of steroids that would either prevent an attack before it happened, or would open up the air passages if the baby was hit by one.

Elevating the head of the crib mattress and adding a drop of eucalyptus oil to the humidifier in the nursery had helped to. The barking cough was gone, but the child was still cranky and miserable and had since developed the sniffles and a slight ear infection that required drops and a suggestion from an ENT that Kieran go under the knife and have tubes inserted into his Eustachian tubes. He was prone to nasty ear infections, and stubborn fluid that plugged everything up and prevented him from hearing properly and his speech from developing.

It was relatively minor surgery, but Flack wasn't too keen on the idea of his almost eleven month old son having an operation of any sort. They'd come to a decision that they'd give it a couple of months, and if an audiology appointment still showed Kieran was having trouble hearing, then they would go ahead with the procedure.

There was nine days before Christmas. And what had initially started out as the most wonderful time of the year, brimming with excitement for his son's first holiday, was turning into one of the worst for Flack. And the chances of spending the majority of his two days off for Christmas Day and Boxing Day curled up in bed fighting off the flu were growing greater and greater by the minute.

He coughed once again. Than found once he started he couldn't stop.

"That's why your wife wants you to quit smoking, Flack," Angell commented, as she ducked under the crime scene tape and joined him on the curb. "You sound like you're going to cough up a lung."

"I'm sick," he informed the other detective. "Sam passed it around."

"Times like that, you sleep on the couch," Angell told him. "I guess there goes your plans for heading to AC for New Years Eve. Because that doesn't sound like it's going away any time soon."

"I plan on going home after shift, taking enough medicine to knock out a horse, catching some sleep and making sure this goes away as quickly as possible. Get anything from possible witnesses?" he nodded down at the log book in Angell's hand.

"No one saw a damn thing. Which isn't uncommon in this city, but strange considering it's a Friday night, barely midnight and every bar and dive joint around here is packed to the gills and traffic is not what I call sparse. I find it hard to believe that there was no one around when someone walked up to this car and did that," Angell pointed her pen at the SUV. "Kind of damage."

"Anyone at least hear anything?" Flack asked.

"I have six people all saying the same thing. They heard at least a dozen gunshots, than a vehicle peeling away and the constant blaring of a car horn. Which we know was caused by our driver there, slumped over dead on the steering wheel. I just have to say that I am thankful Fire got that damn thing turned off. My ears are still ringing."

Flack glanced over his shoulder and up at the buildings behind them. Most were stores with apartments over top of them. The businesses were long closed for the night, but lights burned in many of the dwellings and several curious on lookers were peering out from behind curtains.

He looked across the street. Uniforms and two other detectives were busy chatting up bar patrons and simple pedestrians on the sidewalk. Traffic had been cordoned off a block in each direction to keep and even more lookie-loos were gathered behind the barricades hoping to get a closer look at what had transpired.

"Get someone into these apartment buildings," Flack instructed Angell. "I find it hard to believe that no one say anything. What I find even harder to believe, is why in the hell someone driving a ninety thousand dollar SUV was driving around in this neighbourhood to begin with. See the clothes and the jewellery these guys are wearin'? They are way out of their element in the Bronx."

"Wrong turn maybe?" Angell suggested.

"Something tells me it's a little more scandalous than that," Flack said. "Take a couple unis and start some indoor canvassing. And get the tapes from the red lights cameras at each of the intersections within a two blocks radius in either direction."

"Got it," Angell said, jotting everything down. "You thinking botched car jacking?"

"At this point in time," Flack sighed heavily and stepped further back onto the curb to better survey the extent of carnage in front of him. "There's about a half dozen different scenarios running through my head, and honestly, none make since when I look at what we got."

"How you mean?" Angell asked.

"If witnesses say they heard the gunshots and than a car peeling away, than that blows my car jacking theory all to hell. Why carjack someone when you have your own car? Unless you've got a buddy with you driving his own vehicle and you're lookin' to boost something high end. You know, like that movie with Nicholas Cage. Gone in Sixty Seconds."

"Auto theft ring. Stripping them down for parts or even shipping them out of the city. It's probable," Angell said with a nod. "But…I know you were going to toss a but in at the end there…"

"But…I don't know. That just doesn't seem to fly with me. People scout cars like this. And no one is expecting a SUV like that, in a neighbourhood like this. And if you're boosting for profit or even glory and awesome street cred, you're going to be checking out the more elite areas of the city. Not here."

"How about the shipping them out? The stinking rich paying the poor for scoring them cars? Using thieves as personal shoppers so to speak."

Flack thought about it. Eyes scouring the vehicle and its occupants as his mind worked over every possible angle and scenario. "I don't know," he said at last. "I mean, this is an expensive vehicle. Sam and I looked at a Lexus SUV a little while back and nearly shit when we saw how expensive that was. And this is a BMW. But they're not that hard to come buy or off the charts for the kind of people that pay thieves, slash personal shoppers, as you called them, to get. They're looking to score Maserati's and Ferrari's and Lotus'. A BMW is just a little pebble in the grand scheme of things."

Angell couldn't hide a smirk. "You been watching Colombo again, Flack? Because you're brain is in fine form tonight."

"Got my thinking cap on tonight," he said with a grin.

"Must be a special occasion for you to dig that out," Carmen commented, as she, Mac and Sam ducked under the crime scene tape, kits in hand. "Sam managed to stitch up the huge hole in the top?"

"You're a laugh riot, Devine," Flack said. He fixed his eyes on his wife. "What ya doing here, Thumbelina?"

"Mac called me because half the lab is off sick," Sam explained.

"Whose with Kieran?" he asked.

"I left him alone in his crib with a bottle of milk. He can fend for himself."

Flack frowned.

"Relax, would you? I called your mom and woke her up from a dead sleep and Mrs Krantz from 306 is staying with him until grandma gets there. That woman never sleeps I swear."

"Doesn't sleep when her husband is on nights at the docks," Flack told her. "Now that's a devoted woman."

"Well if you ask me, she's a nut case," Sam said as she stepped off the curb and peered into the SUV. "Whoa…hello…" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the mess. "Need a shovel and a bucket to clean this up."

Angell sized up the three CSIs. All in matching, heavy navy blue winter jackets with CSI:NY emblazoned in big white letters on the back. Despite the hoods pulled over their heads, both Carmen and Mac were shivering in the frigid night air. Sam however, seemed toasty warm thanks to the wool hat, black snowboarding pants and boots she had on.

"Good to see at least Sam has brains out of all of us," Angell commented.

"I'm a wimp when it comes to the cold," she explained. "I lived in Arizona way too long. Only problem is these pants make my ass look huge."

Flack sighed and turned to smirk at Mac, who, usually not the one for small chit chat at crime scenes, had a rather amused look on his face. Sam seemed to have that effect on people. Even someone as unfeeling and cold as Mac Taylor sometimes seemed.

"And you wonder why I expressed concern when you started hiring so many women, Mac," Flack said. "This is exactly the reason. Listening to them talk about clothes and comparing each others asses."

Mac laughed lightly. Than became all business. "What we got Flack?"

"Here's the thing, I'm not entirely sure at this second. Angell and I have been running through some ideas and our initial thought was car jacking gone bad. Things don't add up. But for now, that's what we're running with. At eleven sixteen this evening, a call came into nine one one reporting the sound of multiple gunshots outside of the bodega here."

"Who called it in?" Mac asked, pulling a pair of latex gloves from one of his pockets and snapping them on.

"Bodega owner," Flack looked down at his notes. "Rupinder Dali'wal. He was in the back getting some stock to put out when he heard the shots. Said he heard about eight. Seven other calls to nine one one also reported a shooting in this area. Angell talked to some other neighbours who all told her they heard between eight to twelve shots all together. Than a car hauling ass out of here, followed by the horn of this vehicle going off."

"Who turned off the horn?" asked Mac.

"Fire department. The officer first on the scene, called them when said officer noticed the bodies inside. One of their guys checked for vitals and than shut the horn off. They said they touched nothing else. And that they wore gloves."

"A lot of people out tonight," Mac commented, surveying the neighbourhood. "All these eyes and no one saw anything?"

"It's an epidemic," Flack said. "You know, temporary blindness."

"What else do you know?" Mac inquired.

"Just the basics. Two male vics. Obviously deceased. I didn't go scouring around for ID or anything, but my best estimation puts them between eighteen and twenty five years of age. Anyone wanna take a stab at COD? Just for shits and giggles?"

"Oh…me, me!" Sam waved her hand over her head as she rocked back and forth on her heels alongside of the car. Anxious to get to work. "Multiple GSWs?"

"You win the trip to Hawaii," Flack said.

"Trip for two?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely."

"Sounds good to me. Let's get the hell out of here before Mac actually expects me to do any work. And speaking of work…" she turned questioning eyes to her boss.

"I've got Angell and some uniforms starting a canvas of some of these apartments," Flack told the older man beside him.

Mac nodded, plotting out his course of action. "Carmen," he said at last. "You go with Angell and help with the canvassing. Samantha, you and I will work on the scene."

"Can I….?"

"You can have the victims," Mac said, answering the question before she got get it out of her mouth.

"You are one sick, twisted little girl," Flack told his wife, as she bent down to snap open her kit.

"It's the only excitement I get spending my life with you," she teased, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before climbing into the bloody SUV.

"Why do I put up with this, Mac?" Flack inquired. "All the wise ass comments and hurtful put downs?"

"Because you love her," Mac reasoned. "And you'd be lonely and miserable without her."

"Well I don't know about miserable," Flack said jokingly. "But you nailed the other two parts. Want me to call the ME's office?"

Mac nodded. "And call the garage and arrange for this SUV to be towed back. It's too cold out here to be working. And half the evidence is probably frozen."

"I found some wallets!" Sam called from the front seat of the vehicle.

Mac and Flack moved to the driver's side door, where Sam was leaning across the deceased male behind the wheel, searching the pockets of his blood stained jacket.

"It's a lot of blood, Mac," she commented, dropping the wallets into Flack's waiting hands. "I can't move without getting it all over me. But I can tell you, at first blush, that each vic was shot approximately five times. All rounds hit above the waist and below the neck, except for one," she tilted the driver's head done to show the gaping wound in the back of his head. "The shot entered here, exited through the forehead and embedded in the windshield. It's the same on the passenger."

"Those are kill shots," Flack said. "Execution style."

"Probably done last," Sam added. "And from up close and personal."

"Only place those shots could have come from to have the bullet in the windshield is the back seat," Mac said, sidestepping to the rear door and popping it open to glance inside.

"There was more than one shooter for sure," Sam spoke up. "The rest of the wounds were made from a slightly farther distance and from outside of the car. And some are through and throughs. I spied a few bullets lodged in the doors and floorboards."

"And some in the backseat," Mac told her, fingering a hole in the leather of the seat behind the driver. He climbed back out and shut the door. "What can you tell me about the wounds?" he asked.

"I can tell you that they weren't made by the same weapon. Size variance of the entrance wounds indicate they were made by two, maybe even three different guns."

"God I love when she goes all ballistic Queen on us," Flack said. "Makes me go all tingly inside. By day, house wife taking care of the baby and doing chores and making dinner, by night, all hard core Rambo."

"Calibre?" Mac asked.

"It's really hard to tell with the amount of blood and damage done," she replied, backing out of the SUV. "But my best, educated guess is medium. I know it's not much to go on. Sorry…"

"It's fine," Mac assured her. "You'll be able to get a better look at things once the ME cleans the bodies and autopsies them and removes the bullets. It's cramped quarters in there."

"She's the size of a ten year old, Mac," Flack said as he searched through the vics' wallets. "She can fit in most peoples' pockets."

"Hey, Don," Sam called sweetly.

He glanced at her.

She made sure Mac wasn't looking and mouthed FUCK YOU.

"That would be my pleasure," he said and winked at her.

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Driver is David Arruda," Flack said, checking the licence in his hand. "Twenty-one from Staten Island. According to his other ID, he was a student at Chelsea University. His most unfortunate driving companion is," he referred to the other wallet. "Lukas Tait. Also twenty-one and from Staten Island and also a student at Chelsea University."

"Take down that information and get a hold of next of kin," Mac instructed, crouching down to snag a clear plastic evidence bag from his kit. "You call the ME and the garage?"

Flack nodded as he jotted down the victims' information in his log book. "They're on their way," he responded. "I'm going to get right on to calling these kids' folks."

"Thanks, Flack," Mac said, holding the evidence bag out so Flack could easily deposit the wallets inside. "Ask if anyone in the family knew why these kids would be in a neighbourhood like this. And if they knew their last whereabouts."

"No problem," Flack said, snapping his log book closed. "You guys call if you get anywhere with that SUV."

"We will," Mac assured him, sealing the bag in his hands as the homicide detective ducked under the crime scene tape and headed off.

"Do you want me to start processing the vehicle, Mac?" Sam asked.

"We're going to have it towed to the garage. We'll do it there. You can come on out now."

She slipped her slender form from the vehicle and shut the door. Securing both it and the rear door with bright orange evidence stickers she grabbed from her kit.

Mac did the same on the driver's side.

Sam packed up her kit and joined him on curb. Snow softly trickling down around them, the stiff, biting wind stinging their cheeks. They stood in silence for quite some time, Mac's eyes taking in the entire scene around him, Sam's solely focused on the bodies in the vehicle before her.

"It's sad, isn't it, Mac," she suddenly said.

He turned his head to the side and looked down at her. "What is?" he asked.

"That things like this have to happen. Especially at this time of the year. That even at what is suppose to be such a peaceful, wonderful time, human beings are capable of doing such awful things to each other."

"We make our living off of death and sadness and suffering," Mac reminded her.

"I know…I just…" she sighed. "Sometimes it makes me feel really sad. That's all. It makes me feel awful to think that these boys' families will be getting the worst phone calls of their lives soon. Right at Christmas. I feel terrible about that."

He smiled down at her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Me, too," he said.

"So Angell and I got nowhere on the canvassing," Carmen announced, tying her auburn hair back as she breezed into the garage where Sam, decked out in coveralls and work boots, was patiently waiting for her to help with processing of the BMW.

"Ditto with autopsy," Sam said, flipping her cell phone closed. "They're backed up. It's going to be a while until they get to my guys and get me those bullets."

"Calling home?" Carmen asked, zipping up her own coveralls.

Sam nodded and slipped her phone into her pocket. "Kieran's still sick and he woke up screaming about half an hour and ago and crying for daddy. And Don's mom says she's handling all his whining and ear pulling and crying okay, but…."

"You're still afraid he's going to drive her mental," Carmen concluded.

The tiny brunette nodded. "Goddamn ear infections," she muttered.

"Maybe that operation for the tubes is the way to go," Carmen said.

"Try convincing Don of that. He's the one holding out. I don't know what the huge deal is. It's a ten minute procedure."

"It's his baby," Carmen reasoned.

"Yeah? Well it's my baby, too," Sam pointed out. "So I figured this will go a lot quicker if there's two of us," she said, abruptly changing the subject to avoid getting too emotional. "You want the back or the front?"

"I'll take the front," Carmen said, putting on some gloves and popping open the driver's side door.

"I always have been a back door kinda girl," Sam commented, snapping on her own gloves before opening the back door of the SUV.

"Please spare me any details of yours and Flack's sex life," Carmen said.

"Like you and Tim haven't at least tried it," Sam moved her kit closer.

"I wouldn't tell you if we had."

"You know, it doesn't hurt like people are always going on about," Sam continued, grabbing her ALS light and switching it on.

"Samantha, please…I do not want to hear this."

She sighed as she set to work. "I am just saying…."

The two women worked quietly, quickly and efficiently.

"Someones been naughty," Sam commented. "I have biological trace, and lots of it, in the back seat."

She took several different swabs and sealed them tightly in their cardboard containers. Using a black magic marker to jot down the date, time and her initials on the side before dropping them samples into her kit to be sent to DNA.

"Got a present for you," Carmen announced, her head appearing above the front seat, a bullet clasped tightly in a pair of tweezers.

Sam looked up and smiled brightly. "Merry fucking Christmas!" she cried, and held out her hand, palm up and open.

Carmen dropped the bullet into her friend's hand. "Took it out of the passenger's seat."

Sam poked at the slightly damaged projectile with the tip of her index finger. "There's hardly a nick on it," she observed. "Damn near pristine. Thank God for cushy leather interior. It actually protected the bullet. It's an eight millimeter. Unique striations, too. See the spiralling on it?" she held it up to the light.

"Barely. But ballistics is your baby, Sammie. Not mine. Why would there be spiralling on it?"

"Couple things," she answered with childlike exuberance. "One could be that it was fired from a gun that was too small to accurately fire the bullet, or there would have been a slight modification to the barrel of the weapon. Like a homemade silencer or something like that I've seen this thing a few times in Phoenix. One time, Zack arrested this guy and…"

She stopped suddenly. A dark expression covering her face when she realized the name she had just spoken for the first time in over a year. That was a painful chapter in her life that she hated to revisit, and felt guilty that thoughts of the bastard would creep into her mind a time she was the most happiest. A beautiful baby, a great husband. Plans for more children.

"You know," Carmen said gently. "It's not a crime to say that name."

"I know," Sam said. "It's just that….it doesn't matter. I've just seen this type of thing before. I'll be able to take a closer look at it once we finish processing and I can get it upstairs."

She dropped the bullet into a small evidence bag and sat it in her kit. "There was more than one shooter I am sure of it," she talked out loud as she continued processing the back seat. "Different sizes of entrance wounds….different splatter patterns…someone firing from the back seat….definitely more than one person."

Carmen ducked back down into the front and continued to work, grinning as her best friend continued to carry on a running converstion with herself.

"Whoa…." Sam suddenly said, in a tone that Carmen knew indicated the brunette was now talking to her as well. "Hold up for a second…."

"What'cha got?" Carmen asked, popping her head up once again.

Sam held up a strappy scarlet red high heel shoe with obvious snow and blood damage and a matching red evening purse. "Well hello mystery woman," she said.

"There was a backseat passenger?" Carmen asked. "But there was only two bodies…."

"Guess she got out," Sam responded. "I doubt she was injured too bad. I have small gravitational blood drops back here but nothing that would suggest a shooting took place. And there's a void in the spatter where she was sitting. And lookie here," she plucked something from the middle head rest. "Long blond hair! Whaddup!!"

"But where would she go, Sammie?" Carmen asked, grabbing an evidence bag from her own kit for the hair. "And why would she just take off and not call for help?"

"Scared, maybe? In shock by what she just witnessed?" Sam dropped the strand of hair into the bag.

"Taken by the perp," Carmen offered.

Both women shuddered at the thought.

"Quite possible she's our backseat shooter and took off with the others afterwards," Sam added. "All I know, is that if she witnessed what happened and whoever did this knows she can identify them, we better find her before they do."

"If they haven't already," Carmen sighed.

"Hows it going?" Flack's bellowing voice suddenly appeared at the side of the vehicle.

"Look what we just found!" Sam exclaimed, and slid backwards out of the SUV. Only when she went to stand up, she didn't leave enough room for head clearance, and caught the back of her head off the door frame. "Motherfucker!" she roared, and nearly went down on her knees. Seeing stars.

"And she wonders why we have a swear jar at home," Flack said to Carmen, as the auburn haired CSI got out of the SUV as well. "You okay?" he asked his wife, concern in his eyes and in his voice as he laid a hand on the back of her head.

It was as far as the displays of affection while at work went. It was a bitch staying professional some days. Most days, actually.

"No!" she cried, near tears. "Can I go home now? Take sick pay? Sue the department for a massive concussion?"

He touched her hair. Fingertips tenderly massaging the rapidly expanding bump on her skull.

"I'll go and get some ice," Carmen offered.

"Thanks, Devine," Flack said.

"Take the moments wherever you can get them," Carmen told him. "That's my motto."

"I'll remember that when I'm looking to get lucky and the first available janitor's closet in which do it in," Flack laughed, as the pretty, auburn haired woman hurried off.

"That hurt," Sam declared, reaching up to touch the injured spot, her hand resting on top of her husband's.

"I think you'll live," Flack said and held up his other hand, sticking three fingers in the air. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"You're favourite number of fingers," he said with a sly smile.

"You're dirty," Sam informed him.

"You wouldn't want me any other way," he said, and removing his hand, took the brazen move -brazen for them at work at least- and pressed a soft kiss to the bump on her head. "What were you going to tell me?" he asked.

"Couple things," Sam replied, turning towards the SUV. "First, Carmen managed to extract one of the bullets. It's an eight millimeter with a unique striation. I'll know more when I can get things up to the lab."

"What about the bodies? Anything from them?"

"Sid's backed up. Half his department is out sick and he's swamped."

"Making out with the ME's again, huh? Passing around your damn virus."

"Very funny," Sam said. "And we have established that there was a backseat passenger."

"Get outta town."

"I do not lie, Detective Flack. There was someone in the backseat. Voids in the blood pattern.." Sam pointed out the area in the backseat. "..tell me that she was sitting in the middle."

"She?" he asked.

"I found these," Sam turned to him, holding up the shoe and the evening bag.

"Nice," Flack commented with an appreciative nod. "So where'd our lady in red disappear to?"

"That is up to you to find out my dear," Sam said, reaching up to tighten and straighten his tie. "You are a detective. You get paid the big bucks to find these things out."

"Big bucks…sure…" Flack opened the clasp on the purse. "Bad news, though. No ID."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Danny called in his dead perfect Fat Albert impersonation as he came sauntering into the garage. Wearing coveralls as well. A red velvet Santa hat with a furry white pom-pom dangling from it perched on his head.

"Shouldn't it be ho, ho, ho?" Flack asked, frowning at the sight of that hat on his best friend's hat. "Jesus Christ you're a loser, Messer."

"Bah humbug," Danny responded. "Get in the spirit, Flack. Ya got a little one at home. It's the most magical time of the year. I am showing up at your place bright and early Christmas morning dressed as Jolly Old Saint Nick. Just for little K. And wait until you guys see what I got him," Danny rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"As long as it's not a car or a pony," Flack said.

"No and no," Danny told his best friend. "And all I'm gonna tell ya is that I've had it since beginning of October and you guys are gonna shit bricks when ya see it. So? What's the good word?"

"The word for today is motherfucker," Sam said, touching the bump on her head.

"Clocked herself coming out of the SUV," Flack explained to Danny.

"Nice purse and shoes," Danny said, nodding at the detective's hands. "Red's your colour."

"They go with your hat," Sam told him. "I found those in the backseat. Void in the blood pattern says there was a passenger back there."

"Interesting," Danny said, peering into the vehicle. "What a damn mess," he commented.

"What are you doing down here?" Carmen asked, as she returned with an ice pack that she held to the top of Sam's head.

"Mac called me in 'cause Hawkes and Speed are off sick," he replied. "Told me to come down here, give you two lovely ladies a helping hand. So? What's going on? Any news other than this fabulous bag and shoes?"

"So far one eight millimetre bullet recovered," Sam said.

"I went and talked to the next of kin for both gentlemen," Flack tossed in. "Needless to say, neither was a pleasant experience. I did however, find out from one of the vic's brothers where our two DBs were last night."

"Before they were deceased or after?" asked Danny.

"You're in rare form today, Messer," Flack commented. "You get lots of sleep last night or something?"

Danny sighed happily. "Or something," he said.

"Forget I even asked," Flack grimaced. "So our two vics were out clubbing. Adam checked one of their wallets and found a receipt from the ATM at Neon Green, some new club over on Broadway and Sixteenth street. Time on the transaction showed there was money withdrawn an hour before the call to nine one one went through."

"And it's about a half hour drive to that location in the Bronx," Danny said. "How much was the withdraw?"

"Get a load of this. It was for five grand," Flack told them all.

Danny whistled. "My daily limit is a grand. And five g's enough money to score a decent haul of drugs."

"Deal gone bad?" Sam wondered aloud. "Did Adam find the money?"

"Between the two of them, they only had forty bucks and change between them. And there was no drugs or drug paraphernalia on either one according to Sid. But he assured me he's sending blood to tox."

"So what the hell?" Danny asked, turning to the SUV, his hands on his hips as he tried to piece everything together. "You take out five grand and drive to the Bronx to score some drugs. You get all shot up to hell but there's no sign of the money or narcotics. What gives?"

"Maybe we're not looking hard enough," Carmen sighed.

"That's up to you guys," Flack said. "I'm gonna head over to the club and see if any of the bouncers or bartenders can give me more info on our vics. Maybe they even know our mystery lady, They're open until three apparently. Maybe I should call ahead to get on the VIP list. Who wants to come with?"

"Go ahead, Sam," Carmen said. "You've had enough exictement in the backseat."

"Whose the lucky guy?" Danny asked playfully. "Or are you and Flack resorting to sex in the garage on company time 'cause you can't get any with the rug rat in the house?"

"We take it where we can get it, Messer," Sam said, and reached for the zipper on her overalls.

Danny raised both eyebrows. "Outta sheer curiosity Brooklyn, what'cha got on under there?"

She pulled out the neck of the jumpsuit and peered down it. "Bubblegum pink seamless bra with black lace trim and matching thong underwear," she responded. "From Victoria Secret."

Danny clasped a hand over his heart and grabbed Flack by the shoulder. "You're a lucky bastard," he informed his best friend. "Gonna give me a sneaky peeky, Brooklyn?"

"Hmmm, let me see," she said, ever so slowly pulling down the zipper on her coveralls, her eyes never leaving Danny's. She smirked. "I think not," she told him, and yanked the zipper down the rest of the way to reveal a deep purple chenille sweater and a pair of black dress pants.

She pulled the coveralls off, yanking them over her boots. "I just have to hit my locker and grab my coat," she told Flack. "Ready?"

"Willing and able," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Men," she grumbled. "See ya, later guys. Call us if you find anything."

"That goes both ways," Carmen called to her, as she and Danny stood watching as Sam and Flack headed across the garage.

Flack had his hand on the small of his wife's back, smiling softly down at her as she touched the top of her head and recapped her ordeal. Neither CSI could hear what Flack had said, but Sam gasped dramatically, laughed and pushed her husband away. Flack chuckled as well, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She beamed up at him. All her emotions and feelings laid bare in her eyes.

"Talk about Mutt and Jeff, huh," Danny commented, after his two friends disappeared from the garage.

"They're different, alright," Carmen agreed. "But something tells me, out of all of us, even though they're the odd couple, Sam and Flack will be the ones to out last every one of us."

Danny nodded. "That would not surprise me." He turned around and studied the SUV, hands on his hips. "So," he said, looking at Carmen. "How about me and you tear this bitch apart?"

Neon Green was located at the corner of Broadway and Sixteenth. It was once an old textile factory and had since housed failed department stores and a funeral home and most recently, midtown Manhattan's largest and most fabled four story sex store, The Hidden Pearl. Now the outside was painted midnight black and had the club's name painted on the side of it in monstrous neon green letters.

Green lights were strung along the edge of the roof and over the black canopy that stretched from the front door to the sidewalk. Bouncers in black turtlenecks three sizes too tight, their massive physiques meant to warn patrons of the punishment they'd face if they got out of control and to no doubt make up for lack of brains and reasons the musclemen suffered from.

Patrons hoping for entrance into the club were lined up for a block. Shivering in the frigid temperatures and blowing snow for overpriced drinks and horrible music that boomed out onto the street every time the front door opened. Young women in too short skirts and tank tops that barely covered their assets, or lack of, and young men that didn't stand a chance in hell of scoring with any of them trying their best to make a good impression by flashing their money or expensive cellphones.

"Please tell me you were not like this in university," Flack commented, his hand firmly gripping Sam's hand as he pushed his way through the crowd, making his way to the front door.

"Give me some sort of credit," Sam said. "I was mini skirts and thigh high boots and backless tops. Not Jimmy Choo ripoffs and fake Louis Vuittons. And besides, I was more at home in the local pub that served Guinness and two dollar shooters."

"That's my girl," Flack praised, bringing her around to the front of them as they reached the entrance.

The beefcake of a bouncer allowed Sam to pass through, than stepped in Flack's path.

"Hot ladies cut to the front and get in free," the bouncer said. "Guys pay a ten dollar cover and wait at the back of the line."

"He's with me," Sam told the young man.

"Sorry, honey, that's house rules."

"Yeah?" Flack asked and pulled his badge from the waist of his pants and shoved it in the cocky bouncer's face. "Well this trumps the house."

The bouncer blinked at the sight of the badge and than stepped back and allowed Flack to enter.

"You know what worries me?" Flack asked his wife, shouting over the music as he put his badge back. "That you were into guys like that when you were younger!"

"Stop underestimating my intelligence!" she shouted back. "Where do we go first?"

"To the bar. We'll talk to the bouncer and I'll get a hold of the manager and get that tape from the ATM and from their security cameras. I noticed two alone at the front entrance!"

Sam had to plug her ears with her fingers. The electronic music threatening to shatter her eardrums as Flack guided her through the sea of people with a firm, protective hand on the back of her neck.

"What can I get for you two?" the bartender - tall and slender with spiky black hair and more mascara and eyeliner than most of the women in the club- asked over the noisy throng.

"The manager would be good," Flack told him, slapping his badge down on the bar.

The bartender simply nodded and retreated to a phone at the far end of his domain.

"Aren't you so glad we were both past the clubbing stage when we were dating?" Sam asked her husband. "Could you honestly see yourself taking me to a place like this?"

"No. But on the other hand," he nodded in the direction of a busty young woman in a strapless dress gyrating against her female friend. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a dress like that. Doing things like that."

"In your wildest and wettest, Don," she said.

"Manager's on his way," the bartender told him as they returned. "Can I get you guys anything while you wait?"

"No, thanks," Flack responded.

"Actually," Sam said, reaching into Flack's suit jacket to pull out the photos of their two victims. Enhanced pictures of their drivers' licenses. "Some information would be nice."

"About?"

"You serve these two tonight?" Sam asked, placing the photos on the bar and sliding them across.

"I served a lot of people tonight," the young man told her.

"That's nice," she said. "But it's not what I asked you. I asked you if you served these two."

He sighed heavily and looked down at the pictures. "Can't say I did."

"Well maybe you remember their companion," Sam told him. "They were with a young woman with long blond hair, red dress, red shoes and a little red evening purse."

"Natasha," the bartender said.

"Who?" Flack asked, getting out his log book and a pen.

"Natasha," he repeated. "Natasha Cormier."

"And how do you know this Natasha?" Sam asked.

"She's a regular here. She does cage dancing for us."

"That's classy," Flack commented. "You have an address for this Natasha? Phone number or anything like that?"

"You can ask my manager," the bartender suggested, waving at a tall, stocky man with shocking red, curly hair at the end of the bar.

"I will do just that," Flack said. "You gonna be okay here asking him some more questions?" he asked Sam. "I'll go and have a talk with the manager and get that info and access to those tapes."

"I'll be fine," she assured him, giving him a smile as he squeezed her arm softly before heading for the end of the bar. "Are there any friends of Natasha's working tonight?" she asked the bartender.

"No. But I can get you names and numbers of a couple. My brother's girl is her roommate and another girl here works out with her."

"You mind getting those right now for me?" Sam asked sweetly.

"No problem," he assured her, and walked off.

Sam sighed and shrugged out of her coat and placed it on an empty stool beside her. Clasping her hands on top of the bar , she waited for the bartender to return with her information. Keeping one eye on Flack as he talked with the manager at the end of the bar, showing the man the pictures of the victims and gesturing towards the ATM machine by the front door. Her other eye firmly set on the obviously intoxicated young man in a Sean John polo shirt and Tommy Jeans making his way down the bar towards her.

Just what I fucking need, she thought. Her cellphone, clipped to her pocket, vibrated against her and she unclipped it and checked the caller ID. A text message coming in. From Danny. Letting her know that autopsies were complete and the bullets were waiting for her in ballistics with her name on it.

Oh happy day, she thought and put her phone back. Groaning inwardly as the young man now sidled up to her.

"W'sup," he slurred, giving her a wink and a nod.

Sam smirked and shook her head to show her disinterest.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"No," she replied simply.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want one," Sam told him.

"Let a decent guy buy you a drink."

"Look, buddy, I'm about ten years older than you. And I'm married and have a baby. So thanks but no thanks."

"Just one drink?" he asked, holding up a finger.

"No drinks," she insisted. "I'm here on business."

"What kind of business?"

Sam sighed. "Police business," she replied, gesturing to her badge.

He squinted as he looked down at it, then a broad grin spread across his face as she caught sight of her holster and gun and the handcuffs attached at the back of her pants. "Those real?" he asked. "'Cause if they aren't, I'd love to play whatever sick, twisted, dirty little games you're into."

She just shook her head and took a few steps sideways to get away.

"You're really cute you know that?" he asked, following her and laying a hand on her hip.

She looked down at the offensive object touching her, than up at the drunk, obnoxious face. "I'd move that if I were you," she warned.

"Or?" he asked.

"Or I'll move it for you."

"And how are you going to do that, little Miss Thing?" he challenged, sliping his hand around to her ass.

She smirked, took a step back and grabbed the young man's hand and twisted it painfully until she heard and felt it crack, all the while bending his thumb back until the tip of it touched the back of his hand. He roared in pain and dropped to his knees.

"Is that sick, twisted and dirty enough for you?" Sam asked, released his hand and shoved him back onto his ass in the middle of the crowded bar.

"Fucking bitch!" he roared, and attempted to struggle to his feet and go after her, until Flack, seeing the exchange as he made his way back through the sea of people, snagged the younger, much smaller man by the shoulders of his shirt and yanked him to his feet.

"Going somewhere kid?" Flack asked. "'Cause you even take two steps towards her and I'll be sending ya downtown for the night and you can sober up and cool your heels in a holding cell? You hear me?"

He nodded.

"Now get the hell out of here," Flack said, shoving the kid away. "Peacefully," he added, when the intoxicated young man went to hurl off an insult. He waited until the kid stumbled through the crowd and disappeared before turning to Sam. "You alright?" he asked.

"Detective Flack," she said with a smile. "You're my hero."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. He's probably got a busted thumb and sprained wrist, but I am just peachy. How'd it go with the manager?"

"He wrote down Natasha's home number and address. He's also arranging to have one of our tech's come in and take apart the ATM to get the camera and is sending the security tapes to the lab as we speak. Via his personal valet."

Sam snorted. "Nice. I just got a text from Danny. Autopsy results are in on both vics. And my bullets are waiting for me. Can we head back to the lab?"

"Not yet," Flack told her, shaking his head.

She frowned. "Why?" she smiled at the bartender as he finally returned and handed her a small folded piece of paper.

"Because I just got a text message myself. From Angell. Seems a woman who can't remember her name or what she was going tonight, wandered into Angel of Mercy ER about forty minutes ago. And guess what she was wearing."

Sam's eyes lit up. "A red dress?"

"Red cocktail dress and her feet were bare. And she has blond hair. Guess she stumbled in there all roughed up and her clothing torn. Claiming she doesn't know how she ended up in that state. You know what that means, right?"

"I won't be getting back to the lab anytime soon?" she guessed, as Flack helped her into her coat.

"Well that too," he told her, gently pulling her hair out of the back of her coat and laying a hand on her hip to guide her through the crowded nightclub.

"It's going to be a long day?" she tried again.

He leaned in and snuck a kiss to her cheek.

"It's your turn to buy breakfast," he said.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!! And to all you lurkers out there, please drop a line? Pretty please? With a cherry on top? It would be nice to hear from you all!!

Thanks to my reviewers:

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