Gibbs was less angry than he'd expected to be. The slow ride into Baltimore at the actual posted speed limit had slowed his thoughts and tamed his hostility towards the detective seated next to him.

Mostly.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone pulled a prank on him like that. Not even a prank, really. He didn't just get pulled over, he actually got a damn ticket.

"Turn right here and park where you can; it's just up the street."

Following DiNozzo's directions, Gibbs guided the car into an empty parking spot and the two men got out and hiked the block and a half to Bowser's, its purple neon sign easily spotted in the early dark of winter.

When they passed through the heavy glass doors, Gibbs was mildly surprised at the ambience of the place. Given Tony's earlier description, he'd expected a semi-frantic arcade scenario and the smell of teenage sweat. But this place smelled like orange wood polish and chocolate and pizza. The perimeter was filled with generously-sized booths done in dark blue, and the interior with smaller but sturdy dark wood tables. The floors were wood as well, and each table had a rag rug underneath.

There were definitely games – bookshelves surrounding the hostess area held everything from Jenga to Trivial Pursuit. An area off to the side had been set up with several TVs, couches and big plush armchairs where video game boxes lay strewn about as a trio of teenage boys good-naturedly hassled each other over a racing game they were playing. Looked like they belonged to the two older couples relaxing at a nearby booth.

Some pairs of diners were scattered around inside, and a study group had taken over the largest corner booth, but in general the place was surprisingly empty.

"It's in between busy times, it'll get crazy in an hour or so," Tony explained without being asked. He moved forward to intercept the hostess as she hurried back to greet them. He flashed a standard DiNozzo smile and his badge simultaneously and the young woman's professional mien softened a bit as she gave him a more personal smile in response.

Gibbs watched with a mixture of disgust and respect as the detective leaned over the girl, lowered and deepened his voice, and proceeded to unnecessarily sweet talk his way into the restaurant.

"Hi…I'm Tony, and you are?"

"Amanda. Would you like a table?" Her eyes were riveted to Dinozzo's. She tried to grab menus from a nearby side table without looking, but missed by quite a bit.

Another smile, another inch closer to her. "Amanda, I'm with the police, and we're searching for anyone who might have seen a guy who ate here last night." DiNozzo pulled out Collins' picture. "Does he look familiar?"

She looked at the photo, but not for long – apparently DiNozzo's face was more interesting. "No, but I didn't work last night. Do you want to ask some of the waitstaff?"

A bigger smile, and yet another inch closer. "Amanda, I'd really appreciate that."

Gibbs trailed behind, bemused, as he watched the detective interact with the rest of the staff. DiNozzo had a solid first read on people; knew when to step back, when to lean in; when to make the conversation more professional or more intimate based on how the person would best respond. Perhaps the most interesting part was as Tony slipped from easygoing guy to ridiculously smoldering Casanova to studious, earnest detective, none of the people grouped around him seemed to notice he was tweaking his persona just for them.

Gibbs had his own version of this character chameleonism, though he didn't play as many roles, and preferred not to do it at all among so many people. But the more bodies Tony got in the middle of, the more dynamic he became.

DiNozzo approached him. "No one remembers seeing Collins, but a hostess and a waitress that worked last night are coming in for the next shift. They should be here within an hour."

The two stared at each other.

Gibbs gave in to the silent question, but only because he hadn't eaten anything since the muffin that morning. "Fine, we can eat here while we wait."

"Hey, that's a great idea!" Gibbs rolled his eyes as Tony beckoned Amanda back over and secured them a table and menus.

DiNozzo scanned through the menu but appeared to be just confirming that what he wanted was still listed. Gibbs took a more careful look, wishing the lighting was stronger. It was hard to see the tiny print in such dim surroundings.

Deciding a burger was always a safe bet, he set the menu aside. Once both menus were down on the table, a frazzled waitress appeared instantly to take their order, then efficiently disappeared.

DiNozzo's eyes were searching the room, restless. Gibbs tapped one finger on the table top to get his attention. "Tony. What were you looking for in that case file?"

Instead of a shuttered shut down or chatty deflection, the full weight of the detective's curious gaze finally settled upon him, openly assessing. Gibbs accepted the inspection, and took the opportunity to return it.

DiNozzo looked tired when he slowed down. Not just lack of sleep for one night tired, but chronic tired. A little wary. Like someone who had been running for a long time.

But that didn't make sense. The last place you'd try to work if you were truly on the run would be a major metro police station.

"Your captain doesn't think very highly of you. That doesn't upset you?"

"No; I don't think very highly of him."

"Why don't you have a partner?"

"Captain has a new theory. Baltimore doesn't have enough cops to cover all the crime, so he's decided pairing detectives off is just a waste of resources. There's a few guys who still work as partners, but most of us go solo now, or have a uniform as backup instead of another detective."

"That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard."

Tony shrugged. "You don't work with a partner."

"I have a team."

Honest laughter echoed from across the table. "You don't trust them. Have they ever even been in the field with you?"

"They were at the crime scene last night."

"Yeah, a roped off crime scene crawling with cops. I mean in the real field, where you can't predict what's going to happen next."

"Didn't predict you."

"Touché."

Their conversation paused as the waitress brought Gibbs' requested coffee and Tony's lemonade. "Your food will be out in a few minutes, guys. My shift's over, but Gretchen will be with you in a minute – she's the server who was on duty last night." With a round of nods, she departed.

Tony resumed. "Is that normal NCIS structure – to work in teams?"

Gibbs shrugged with one shoulder. "No one set way." He sipped his steaming coffee, then tried another route to get back to his original question. "Why were you at the Collins' scene?"

DiNozzo leaned back, a considering look on his face. He no longer seemed unwilling to answer the question, just cautious. Hell, maybe the kid wasn't used to answering questions directly. "Maybe we should play a little game."

"Why the hell would we do that?"

"Just curious if you have any people skills."

"I have damned people skills. Just don't see the need to Rico Suave every female that passes."

Tony's eyes lit up as he leaned forward again. "Now there's an interesting competition. We could cruise the place, see how many phone numbers each of us can get. If you get more than me, I'll tell you about the case file."

"What kind of dumb shit is that?"

"If you don't think you can do it…"

"I won't do it."

"Too immoral for the great Gibbs? It's just phone numbers, not one-night stands."

"Don't want to embarrass you."

"Embarrass me?"

"Seems like you might have a fragile ego about that kinda thing."

DiNozzo's eyes narrowed a bit. "You got anything to back up those words?"

"Jesus, kid, you don't have to challenge me every single step of the way." Sighing, Gibbs noticed their new redheaded waitress approaching the table with the food.

"Here you go, gentlemen. Amanda said you wanted to talk to me about some guy last night?"

Gibbs pulled his own copy of Collins' picture out and flashed it at her. "Do you remember this guy coming in last night?"

She plucked the photo out of his hand and studied it. "Yeah, he was one of my tables. Early dinner. Quiet, well-mannered. Steak, medium. Ate with another guy, flatbread pizza."

"Any arguments, heated discussions?"

"No, seemed like they knew each other well. No tension that I saw. Left happy enough."

"Do you remember what time?"

"Sorry, not exactly. I can try to pull their ticket from last night."

"We'd appreciate that. Do you remember what the other man looked like, which one of them paid?"

"They went Dutch, both paid in cash, though. Other guy was a little older, maybe mid or late thirties. Neat, wearing clothes like he just came from the office. Skinny tie, little wire-framed glasses. Brown hair." She paused, then looked at both of them with apology written across her face. "Sorry, that's all I can remember."

"That's real helpful," Gibbs reassured, digging a card out of his pocket. "If you remember anything after we leave, you just call that number, okay?"

She glanced at the card, then nodded and looked back at him.

Wincing internally at what he was about to do, Gibbs caught her eye and stared.

And stared.

When he felt she was locked in, he tilted his head to the side a little; she mimicked his action.

He added that special something to the stare that he couldn't easily put into words, then let the side of his mouth crook up just the tiniest bit.

Flustered, she searched her half-apron for something with both hands while still holding his eyes.

Gibbs smiled fully.

The waitress flushed.

She finally glanced down, having found the pad and pen she was searching for, and scribbled furiously. Ripping off the page and handing it to him, she said, "Just in case…you need to get in touch with me. For anything." Then abruptly turned and left.

Gibbs let the piece of paper with the phone number lie on the table for a minute.

"Man, you didn't even say anything," Tony muttered, a little awe showing in his face. Then he gave into it – or masked it with buffoonery, hard to tell which. He raised both arms and lowered them again, "I bow to your skills. I have much to learn from you, master."

"Always had a way with redheads."

"So you didn't want to endure a little friendly competition because your talents only work on redheads?"

"No, I told you, I didn't want to embarrass you."

"Now Gibbs, you may have some moves, but that doesn't mean you'd win that particular bet."

"You didn't think it through enough."

"Excuse me?"

"No rules."

"Well, gentlemanly behavior seemed implied…"

"All I had to do was flash my badge and say I needed their number for an investigation."

Tony's face fell. "Well, shit. That's cheating!"

"You didn't specify."

DiNozzo crammed grilled cheese into his mouth, chewing furiously. "Cheater."

Gibbs sat back and bit into a fry. He was suddenly tired himself. "Couldn't do it any other way."

"Why not?"

Scowling and pushing the food around his plate, Gibbs finally admitted, "Still technically married. Not right to go catting around."

Frozen mid-bite, Tony repeated, "Married?"

"Almost divorced. Few more days."

"I'm sorry," DiNozzo said, looking sincere for once. "You won't lose the house, will you?"

"No. Had that house a long time. It survived the first two divorces. Should survive this one, too."

Eyes widening, the detective started to say something, but apparently decided not to and filled his mouth with tomato basil soup instead.

After eating in silence for a minute, Tony suddenly straightened his posture and very properly patted his mouth with his napkin, slowly replacing it on his lap. He rearranged his silverware on the table to the appropriate positions, and laid his knife across the back of his plate.

Interesting. Gibbs wouldn't even have known what the kid was doing if it hadn't been for his damned third wife insisting he use proper table etiquette at their rehearsal dinner.

"I think there's a serial killer in Baltimore."

Gibbs had assumed the detective was headed somewhere in that direction with all his strange interest in the case and secret files, and had already decided to proceed cautiously if the other man ever decided to confide in him. He nodded slowly. "Serial killers aren't all that common, despite how the media may make it seem."

Waving this off in annoyance, DiNozzo agreed. "I know. Even I thought I was nuts at first, just putting pieces together to suit a Hollywood storyline. But it's too many now."

"Too many what?"

"Crushed body parts."

"Explain."

"I worked a case about three months back, Michael Martin, seemed like a hit-and-run. But the autopsy showed that the guy had been killed before the car got him – strangled, actually, then run over. Weird, but not that weird in our line of work, right?"

"Right…"

"So I treated it like a normal murder. It really bugged me though, and I never could find anyone I liked for it. No motives, no suspects, no murder weapon. So when another case came across my desk where the vic had been killed by blunt force trauma to the head and only after that had his foot crushed in some kind of clamp, it made for weird connections in my head."

Gibbs nodded; if nothing else, his attention was engaged.

"But no real connections. Couldn't find any ties between the two guys, two different murder styles, two different postmortem injuries. A week later a nineteen year old girl showed up in the river. Drowned, then her ribcage was crushed postmortem. Wasn't my case. Official result was that she was a suicide and had gotten bashed around by a boat in the harbor before she was found."

"But you don't think so."

"Maybe. Some of them are probably not connected. But I've been going through all the homicide files starting with the most recent and working my way back. In the last two and a half years, there are 26 files I found where the victim was killed suddenly, no witnesses, generally at night and downtown. 13 strangulations, nine blunt force traumas, two drownings and two ODs on tranquilizers. All with some part of their body crushed after death."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow – that was a startling set of figures – but kept quiet, waiting to hear whatever else DiNozzo had to say.

"I'm betting there's more. A lot of bodies move through Baltimore. Whether or not a crushed hand or skull happened before or right after death wouldn't always get noted. If there are more bodies in the water, we might not even have found them. He could've buried or hidden some, too, though none of those I do know about have ever been particularly difficult to find."

DiNozzo's expression intensified. "I don't have any ties between any of the victims. I don't have a common murder weapon. I've just got a feeling."

"You talked to Mallace about your theory?"

"I did. It didn't go so well."

"Meaning?"

"He put me on a mandatory one week leave and made me sit in on sessions with the department shrink."

Assuming there was more, Gibbs prompted again, "And?"

Grimacing, the detective allowed, "And…he told the entire department that I was delusional. Didn't do as much damage as he'd hoped, I think, he doesn't have such a sterling reputation among the ranks himself. But still."

Still, indeed. Bringing a possible pattern of criminal activity to a superior should never result in public mocking. Gibbs' opinion of Mallace sank even lower.

"Collins fits your profile."

"Yes. In theory." With a disgusted sigh, Tony ran his hand through his hair and yanked on the ends. "But even if there is a pattern, any of these cases could be unrelated. A body in the harbor could have banged up against a boat or pier. A body in the street can get run over." He shrugged.

"I'd like to see the files."

DiNozzo's shoulders jerked up like someone pulled his strings tight. "You're not dismissing the idea?"

"Nope. How many of those 26 cases are marked as unsolved?"

"Twelve. That's a high percentage, even for our overworked department."

"And the other 14?"

"Both the drownings and one strangulation listed as probable suicides. The tranq vics as accidental ODs. The rest have arrests, none with confessions."

Toying with his napkin, Tony muttered darkly, "That bothers me as much as the murders. Nine people sitting in jail, with no idea why. Enough evidence to bring them to trial, but no confessions, no one piece of evidence strong enough to really lock in a sure conviction. What if they're all innocent, Gibbs?"

Gibbs had no answer. He repeated the only thing he could think to say. "I'd like to see the files."

With a raw and painful glimmer of hope in his eyes, Tony nodded. "I have copies of everything in my desk."

"Well then, why the hell are we sitting around here yapping?"