A/N So obviously this story is different. Still I'm happy some of you decided to stick around for a second chapter. If you decided to stick around for a third or fourth chapter etc etc...You won't be disappointed. Hopefully I've earned a line of credit from some of you XD I know this won't garner MW attention, but I'll try to make it just as good if not better.

Ok so this an AU, a twist on the world we know and love. So I've got to lay down some of that ole "world creation" so bear with me, as I lay down some foundation in the first three chapters.

There is a statue of my father at the top of the stairs leading to the double doors of the Go City Police Department. The statue was built in his honor after he retired, and it showcases him pointing out towards the heavens. There was an inscription at the base of him quoting Socrates. Something he did after capturing his biggest arch nemesis the infamous Slant Top for the very first time.

"Nothing is to be preferred before justice."

Where were the public vandals when you needed them?

Admittedly the statue perfectly captures his long bony jaw, and his chin jutting a v under a much too cheerful smile. It also captured his relatively thin eyebrows hovering over his almost beak-ish nose. He wore what he had on everyday for the last decade of his career as an officer, a fedora, a dark suit, a white shirt, and a necktie. He stood there before the department, surveying his city. He watched with all seeing, all knowing eyes. In those eyes I saw truly that I was a better detective, I was a better boxer, I was a better shot, I was smarter, I was more dedicated, I believed and I was on all accounts the better man.

"For he so feared the world, he left his only begotten son. To shed his blood, show that pain is love."

The source of the voice was the only reason I was standing here. So I turned around and a woman sauntered up to me wearing a dark blue two-piece wool sharkskin pants suit.

"Poetic, only problem is my father is still alive, unless you're referring to his retirement."

"I was" she said. "What a coincidence to find you here Will, I was going to call you today---"

I glanced down at her heels before cutting her off. "Agent Hobble, I am still wondering how you can chase anyone down while wearing that."

"Chase?" she said. "They barely let me get five steps away my desk; I may be the best marksman in the department but I hardly get any good looks at the field."

Unfortunately general consensus was that the jury was still out on female officers. G.P.D members of the opposite sex were mostly desk jockeys that were relegated to relaying sad news to friends and families of victims. There probably wouldn't even be any female officers if Elizabeth Director hadn't paved the way. Her induction into the D.O.I, the force in general, had been fiercely endorsed by my father when he was still on the job. Probably the second best thing he ever did in his life, me being the first.

Even with the internal hard-line attitude towards women in the department Betty scrapped her up the ladder, she was currently the head investigator of the D.O.I and making things slightly easier for all the other dames in the profession. Which was fine with me, if I was still on the force and I had to take in a partner, either Betty or Hobble would be higher up on my lists of potentials than any of the other regular male fixtures in that building.

"It's been a long time William; I wonder have you been sick? Suffering from a bout of "I"-strain."

In hindsight however Ms. Hobble's impeccable wit would probably lead to a tragic case of friendly fire.

"How is the original Officer Hobble?"

"You know father, since his retirement he does nothing but complain about one thing or another. Cigarettes going up a quarter have him depressed."

"End of western civilization, as we know it."

"Hey look at this." With a rather poor attempt at sleight of hand she pulled a pen from her suit pocket. She twirled it in her finger before letting it go. The pen drifted loosely in front of my face.

"Neat huh? It's anti-grav technology."

I batted the pen from my space. "Nice to see the alien technology is being put to good use. Does it even work?"

"I used it for a week and then it dried up" she admitted. "But I've got better news."

She smiled. Diana Hobble had a subtle smile, one that drew a person in. In the right situation it might be a source of contentment. She, Diana 'Sparkle' Hobble also had the remarkable ability to seemingly stare down at a person from above whether she was taller than them or not. Some might say her aura of intimidation was her charm, in addition to her lean figure. Now unlike the common knuckle dragger one could usually find in law enforcement I wasn't so insecure in my masculinity that I needed to demean the women in the workforce for the simple crime of gaining economic and political power." With that being said, rationally speaking, with a room for subjectivity, Diana was very….well with the use of common vernacular, "well put together." Her eyes were soft gray-blue and she had fine bones in her face. Diana had a very pretty mouth, firm, and at the same time full. Respectfully speaking she was the second most attractive woman on the force, but a very attractive woman nonetheless.

"Fix your eyes upon this Mister Du." She held up her arm. My eyes fell upon the two-way wrist radio, standard equipment for D.O.I detectives.

"You've earned your stripes. Yet you're still breaking in desks?"

"Some of us have to pay our dues; we don't all get to see the field in our first few months into the boy's club, even less get in the D.O.I as a rookie. Yeah, most of us don't have a great name behind us."

"I would find you're implication that my success came by birthright irksome, if I had not been overly qualified for the job before I even accepted the position."

"Ah yes how could I have forgotten Will, your superiority complex is only matched by your narcissism." Her grin was wide, of Cheshire quality. "Now how long have we known each other, William?"

I detested the name William, she knew that. However the simple answer to her question was "just about a lifetime." My father was an officer; her father was an officer, and they were both known to be department night owls. A few years into the job they learned that there was a need for some leisure in a good detective's life. Which is why they held a picnic in Go City Park every other Sunday, weather permitting. The picnic had an open invitation to any law enforcement officer in the area, if you had a badge in this city, you were welcome to drop by and unwind. During this Halcyon naive tinged era of my adolescence Diana and I exchanged tales of our respective father's bravery. For various reasons, I would usually end up with the last word on the matter. To save face Diana though she was younger than me would mount an attempt to either shove my face in the dirt or kiss me. Whatever punishment I got depended on her mood, as a small boy both options was equally as terrifying.

"We've know each other far longer than I'd like to think about."

"Then why is it, when I call you at home, you never answer it?"

"Don't take it as a personal slight against you; I don't pick up my home phone for anybody."

She placed a single finger upon her chin. "Yes your sister has mentioned that, which is why she has been urging me to get in touch with you. Somehow she has it in her head that we're good friends."

"Ah a misinterpretation on her part."

She nodded. "Clearly."

"We're acquaintances at best." I added.

Diana was one of the very few "brothers in arms" currently in the D.O.I who didn't bad mouth me to the papers during the "incident. " She was one of the few who pointed to my stellar record when asked about my competency. I was anything but ungrateful for that, but I figured what she did was out of a deep rooted respect she had always carried for my father. Two thirds of the Go City police force under the age of thirty would likely confirm they had been inspired by father. They were all sheep, though Diana was good at keeping her ovine tendencies to herself.

"Perhaps even less William."

"What does my sister want?" I blurted out.

"Well at tomorrow night's gala event at city hall. Kim Possible will be awarded with another humanitarian award by the city legislature."

If I was gambling man I would have bet money the award was brought into existence just to be handed to her. They might as well have named it after her. Kim Possible to receive first ever Kim Possible award. The very thought of it was too deliciously absurd not to bring a smile to my face.

"Your father is going to present the award."

She paused, I don't know whether it was for dramatic effect or if she had some preconceived notion of what my reaction would be. I gave her nothing but stone faced nonchalance.

"Your sister will be there, and she very much wants to see you. She missed you, and so does your dad."

I held no ill will towards my younger sister; I do care greatly for her. However at the moment I found myself questioning her sanity.

"I'm going to decline the invitation."

"I thought so" she nodded sadly to herself. "So what can I do for you William?"

"Maybe Diana you can enlighten me on the proper etiquette of asking an acquaintance for a favor."

"Come again?"

I sighed. "I need your help."

"Of course you do, that's the only time I ever see you."

She paused and I could see projected right there on forehead, the clockwork like gears of her mind rotating and revolving.

"Follow me" she gestured her head towards the station.

I must have hesitated because she began eying me curiously. "Are you afraid of going in?"

I was searching for an excuse when a frown snaked its way across her face. Diana was a compulsive frowner. More than once I commented that frowning did not add any aesthetic value to her face, but she never accepted my friendly critique.

Abruptly Diana turned on her heels. "She has the day off" she called out to me while stomping down towards the station. By then I had regained control of my legs and I followed, hating myself along the way for that show of weakness. I recalled the words of Jacques Benigne Bossuel who said "the greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak."

Rational profound words….that did nothing to soothe the fire of my embarrassment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Division of Investigation was founded by my father as a special task force of detectives specializing in dealing with the worst criminal offenders and handling the major crimes in the city. Officially it was a special branch of the G.P.D; unofficially it grew into its own organization. They had a separate budget from the rest of the police force, and the state even allowed officer to adopt the moniker of "Agent" which stemmed from one of the hackneyed catch phrases by father used to spew at criminals. "Surrender I am an agent of the law" or something along those lines.

All D.O.I members are detectives second or third grade, which is the top rank for an investigator. In division stations around the nation they'd supervise other detectives. However with the precedent my father set, an "agent" wasn't just a normal law enforcement officer. An agent had to be ready to adapt to any situation, whether it was negotiating for hostages, establishing a rapport with witnesses from all points on the spectrum of society, going under cover, disarming bombs, shooting it out with bank robbers, chasing down suspects, and dealing with the occasional mad scientist or any other joker who decided to put on a suit and set fire to office buildings. A D.O.I member, an agent, had to be everything at all times. In theory he was above all a genuine America hero, truth, justice and all that.

In theory.

Diana left me in her closet sized office after instructing me in the friendliest tone she could muster to not touch anything. Once she was out of eye sight I began combing through files messily strewn across her desk. Organization held a place beside tact as words that didn't have a place in Diana's vocabulary. I was still skimming through her notes when I heard her start a conversation just outside the door. The topic was well under way by the time I was able to pick out three distinct voices. Two strong and confident voices that belonged to Diana and possibly another agent, the third strained voice I assumed to be a civilian.

"…..I don't mind if you call me Cyrus."

"That's all well and good, there's no reason we all can't be friendly. However I'm going to ask you again are you a former villain Dr. Bortal?" I heard Diana ask firmly.

"What?" Cyrus' voice got another notch higher on the octave scale. "What do you mean?"

The other agent officer chimed in. "If you are a former villain who has complied with the ordinances described under the Reformation Act you would be registered to have "class four" scientific equipment in your home or "lair" instead of in an government authorized laboratory. So again are you a former villain?"

"Um…no."

Diana again. "Dr. Bortal, are you aware that civilians are not allowed to have potential doomsday devices in their home?"

"It wasn't a doomsday device……I uh….used it to heat the house!"

"You're looking at five to ten for the possession of banned high technology."

Bortal squealed. "But that's what I've been telling you guys. I no longer have it. Someone stole it a few months ago!"

"And you're now reporting it?"

"Well it's just that, I've been thinking about it...and well....the decimatrix has the potential to be dangerous if uh it fell into the wrong hands. I couldn't in all good conscious let it float around out there."

"You call the device the decimatrix?" The second agent remarked.

"It's a tentative title……but that's not important, what's important is that I was accosted in my home and it was stolen from my grasp."

"Did you get a look at who the perpetrator was?

"He had a mask on so I didn't see his face. I assume it is a "him" by the lack of uh feminine attributes that would be present due to the rather closeness of the clothing to the burglar's body. He was dressed in black though and did have a strange laugh."

"Laugh?"

"It was rather villainous"

Diana sighed loudly. "Anyway Agent Olsen, take down Dr Bortal's statements. Oh you might as well get a street file ready in advance I've got a feeling top brass will send this one in for consultation work."

Every time I heard the phrase "consultation work" it made me want to laugh. A case being processed for consultation meant that the D.O.I would unofficially pass the street file along to Wade Load. The street file was a summarized account of the case. In it is compiled all the data gathered during an investigation. The really detailed ones had day to day chronology of the investigation. When the street file got to Mr. Load it was a Team Possible affair and no one from the D.O.I would ever get another sniff of it. I had yet to figure out the exact requirements that deemed a case worthy of consultation. But if the case was unusual enough, or if a victim specifically asked for Kim Possible, then there was a good chance it would head their way.

Diana walked back into the room and offered onto me her friendliest glare. I held up her case notes.

"Difficult case?"

She snatched the notes out of my hand and took her place on the other side of the desk.

"Why do you care?"

"Tell me about it."

With obvious reluctance she started to spill. "The Angel Club…..is a very elaborate gambling establishment in a formerly abandoned warehouse at the wharf. They are very unlicensed in everything they do. They've got unsanctioned robot rumble matches every weekend, when people are not betting on the matches, they're playing cards and roulette. At least we have information that they do. Last week some of our guys surrounded the place and beat at the thick wooden doors; two minutes later someone steps out and invites the boys in. We found dozens of people just milling round chatting. We're assuming they're using light weight tables with breakaway legs, but it seems impossible that they could stash them and the robots in less than two minutes.

"Quite the conundrum."

She nodded. "So enough about me troubles, what do you want?"

I ran my hands together. "I'm thinking of writing a mystery yarn, send in a story to a magazine like Dark Mask, you know that one right? Anyway I was inspired by the Fiske angle and I think I might do a piece on it."

We stared at each other, I smiled, and she smiled. I didn't want to smile, she didn't want to smile

But there we were.

"Monkey Fist?"

"Should make for a good story, it's got a good angle. The unsolved mystery of a former criminal, people eat stuff like that up."

"The Department is still working that case."

"Which is why I'm here, I'm trying to check my facts."

"See I can't help you much, this particular case is being lead by Fritz and Bo. They're running this ship, and it's a tight ship."

I conjured up the faces that went with the names. Agent Fritz Ellroy was a cagey veteran. The most he's read of any book was the title, but he was clever, cunning, tough, and he had very honed instincts due to years of experience. He was the kind of officer the department would always love. As for Agent Bo Vyne when he said "hello" he was telling you everything he knew. He was muscle in every sense of the word. Though he wouldn't give you any deep thoughts, he'd follow orders like a dog. Guys like him were also valuable to the department, they'd never be handed the reins but they were great backup.

I was beginning to say something when Diana cut me off. "And they're working directly for the DA, you remember Mr. Nelson right? He's taken a special interest in this case."

The DA? I didn't know why he was involved. But it wasn't very unusual for detectives to be given special assignments from the DA's office. This did shed a little light on the tight seal that was around this case.

"I know you're not directly involved in the case Diana, but an ambitions officer like you surely would have taken some interest in a case of magnitude."

"You know regulations. I'm not supposed to talk so freely to civilians."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Completely off the record, you have my word."

Her knuckles tapping against her desk, she thought about it for a long while.

"OK, tell me what you know, and I'll fill in a few blanks if I can with the little I know."

I spilled what I learned from the newspapers. She listened as she stared up at the ceiling. When I finished she glanced down back at me with a grunt. "Well at least I know you've been reading the papers."

"The papers don't really say anything. That's why I'm here."

"This is trouble William. They'll have my scalp."

I persisted. "It's just a story. Can't you tell me anything?"

Diana hesitated. "I don't know much about the creative process but there are a few things you might be able to imagine. Like there being multiple bruises on his body."

"Alright I imagine that would be the result of a fight."

"An epic fight worthy of the pictures. Imagine a scenario where a part of the house was trashed, where it looked like someone took him to the woodshed."

"What do you think such a scenario would mean to the reader."

"That the act was personal."

"That's an interesting interpretation." I said.

"That would be my interpretation if the scenario played out with the killer possibly being someone Fiske knew, was expecting, or didn't consider a threat. For example if there was no visible sign of forced entry. If the perpetrator did beat the straw out of Fiske, and then "coup de graced" him with a laser blast; that would seem personal to me."

"I appreciate the sensitive approach you have to this."

"You know how it is."

I did actually know how it was. An overly sympathetic detective is not a rational detective. Brilliant, rational detectives are able to see things amid the insignificant details and the noise that normal people can't tune out. Distancing yourself from a crime helped in seeing things objectively.

"Finger prints…foot prints…someone's tooth knocked out?"

"Only agents working the crime scene would know anything about that."

I thought about it. What she said about it being personal was a bit of a stretch but not that big of one. It would have helped if I wasn't getting the information third hand. I reflected on this for a moment and decided to continue.

"I recall Fiske being a martial artist…a very good one. To borrow a popular term, not any old "square" can waltz into Fiske's personal space and take him down.

"That is a reasonable assessment."

"Anything else I might need to imagine?"

Diana sighed. "There might be some minor valuables missing according to DNAmy."

"What about her mutants, maybe they saw something?"

"It's public knowledge that DNAmy's only allowed one live-in mutant."

"Witnesses?"

"No witnesses, not even an elderly neighbor who heard a shot in the night."

"Suspects?"

"Tons probably."

"Anyone connected to a thievery ring?"

"What thievery ring angle?"

"Don't know or won't tell?"

"Either way I've got nothing to say about it."

"That angle scare you guys off? Is that why there's been nothing in the papers but rumors? If I were running a discreet operation, I wouldn't want the bad guys to know I was completely on to them."

Diana stood up. "Sorry, that's all I know if you want you can to talk Ellroy or……maybe Captain Director?"

"Never mind… I'm tired of being fed through eye drops anyway" I rose and headed for the exit.

I stepped out of the door. The station didn't look like much at first glance. The brown carpeting was atrocious and did nothing to compliment the rest of the room. A room that was surprisingly large when one took the time to look around. It had rows of desks running from wall to wall; said walls were covered with crime reports, wanted posters and all types of memorabilia. A map of Go City covered most of the windows on one side of the room and three large file cabinets spilled folders out onto the ground in the opposite corner of the room. There were about a dozen people roaming about, and they tragically were all male. Almost everyone was wearing a formal dark blue suit, white shirt, conservative tie, and shoes buffed to the gleam. All of them were copying the precedent set by my father. And in his memory they had all lined up to thrust a knife in my back. Yes I had taken charge of the case, yes I did try everything in my power to work it solo, but I followed procedure, I gave detailed reports of all my actions. They agreed and supported all my theories. But when the time came somehow no one knew what I was up to, I was a prima donna. I was using my father's name to work cases without my fellow coworker's approval.

Blatant lies all of it.

I stepped into the room and all heads snapped towards me. There were various looks ranging from curiosity to disapproval coming my way. Standing there caught in their cross hairs, I couldn't be sure what they were all thinking, but there was a current of negativity in the air. Whatever they thought about me personally I was sure about one thing. A few years had gone by, but everyone here knew deep down, that I was still the best detective in this city.

Approaching me from the side was an ex teammate who went by the name of Aaron Bouy. Not long before I left the department, it was revealed to me that Mr. Bouy had seen me as a rival. I did not hold any such thoughts about Buoy; my sights had temporarily shifted from my father to America's red headed sweetheart. That being said, as far as I knew he wasn't crooked so he had something going for him there.

"Well" I greeted causally. "Nice to see you again Aaron."

He gave me the eyes, typical law enforcement grilling. Intimidation technique that was an old move back when Hannibal crossed the Alps, but every man who swore on a badge still used it like he just came up with it on the spot.

"I'm Aaron to my friends and other Agents." He smiled a clean boyish smile "To you I'm Agent Bouy."

This display of alpha male aggression would have been farcical if it wasn't so droll. His shoulders were stiff, emphasizing his solid build. He had a few inches on me in height and in the length of his two front teeth. His light blue eyes were topped with stiff eyebrows. A mop of raven colored hair sat on his head and it made him look older than he was.

"I understand Agent Buoy, it is easier to hate then to admire and respect."

He sneered. "Gumshoeing must have clouded your memory Mr. Du. Civilians don't belong here. If you have a problem I can get an officer to help you file a report downstairs. If not I'll have to take you in for obstructing official detective work."

I would have loved to see him try. "Here's a friendly suggestion for you Agent Bouy, try and think twice before you speak once."

He blinked stupidly at me. Then his fist clenched and he tensed up. I'd seen Agent Buoy use his fists in the line of duty before. He favored right hooks and head butts. Typical brawler, I would have given him five moves before I broke his nose.

"Alright boys, you can whip them out and measure them on your own time." Diana said as she casually passed between us. "Aaron, I let Will in, he was filing a complaint about his landlord and I was doing him a favor, he's on his way home now."

Stammering profusely Aaron watched Diana pass by. I took the opportunity to brush past him. I was four or five steps in stride before I heard Aaron's voice once again.

"You know the difference between you and your father!"

A juvenile ploy.

As if some superficial comparison between me and my father would be enough to garner any sort of internal reaction…. The problem with his theory was that no matter what he could say I knew I was a better agent than my father. The difficulty lay in presenting this as a genuine fact to the rest of the world.

"Your dad was ruthless to crime and criminals but he was likable to everyone else….Your father was hard as nails, he had better instincts than anyone who has ever worn a badge, and he had respect for the job. It's open for debate about you on most of those things but you damn sure aren't likable. You don't give respect and you sure don't deserve it."

With blatant disregard for sanitary etiquette he spat on the floor, turned his back on me and walked away. I had underestimated his flair for dramatics as I had overestimated the thickness of my skin. Most if not all he said was utter nonsense, either a complete falsehood or faulty perception. First of all likability should have little to no merit in the discussion of skill. Yet here I was emotionally stung. A mighty lion hindered by the yap of a desert coyote. I was contemplating my inward reaction when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned towards Diana,

"You all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine." I answered.

She smiled. "Good then it's time for you to leave."

Diana then roughly guided me towards the door.

Right before she pushed me through them, she asked. "Do you regret leaving the force?"

It was by all accounts an abrupt question. Yet there was an earnest look upon her face and a rare softness in the tone of her voice.

"Regret? I made a decision. Regret is mental suicide Diana. My philosophy is so, if things turn out good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, you call it experience."

"How very profound." She said right before shoving me into a dimly lit speckled black and white linoleum hallway and shutting the door in my face.

It occurred to me how rotten this place was inside and out. The building was shoddily constructed. The floors sagged. The plumbing leaked, and paint peeled in almost all the rooms. I contemplated my time there as I stared at the letters of D.O.I embolden on the double doors.

Fortunately I was accustomed to tense atmospheres and ill will towards myself. I've been accused of hubris, and also on occasion, that I've 'deluded myself' into thinking I was heaven blessed to be a detective. This is frivolous thinking at best. As much as I would love to brag about it, truthfully I am not naturally gifted in all things I do. I am thankful for having an efficient memory, pronounced capacity for learning, and a talented eye for observation. But much of my "talents" did not stem from genetics or divine inspiration. Before I had even officially decided my path to walk on, I was already living as a law enforcement agent vicariously through the Elder Du. As a child I consciously tried to absorb any piece of my father's life as an officer that he brought back to the family. In my teens I struggled through law books, my father's case files, and any other case files I could get my hand on with a dictionary and thesaurus by my side, I read police procedurals to bed...Instead of throwing a baseball around in the park I practiced marksmanship. Between my tutoring sessions for my normal academic life, I took up chess, track, swimming, boxing, crossword puzzles, basic martial arts, and even drag racing, not one of them did I do solely for the sake of enjoyment. I did it all to train my mind….my reflexes…my body. Relationships lasted the lifespan of a fruit fly and were spurned on mostly from primal necessity. True moments of leisure were far and few in between, acquaintances hardly ever graduated to friends because a) there was little to be gained from the numerous interactions b) they were fawning dolts for me father. For various reasons family was kept at arm's length as much as possible. I made sure I learned to run before I even crawled.

I figured in the end I have a right to believe I'm the best, I paid the cost to do so.

Turning away from the doors, I made my way straight to the exit. My thoughts were that I should leave before someone else decided I needed a dressing down.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

All great detectives have an external source that helps brace their nerves or settle their proficient yet troubled minds. Sherlock Holmes had his love of the violin and occasional drug usage; Philip Marlowe has a taste for whiskey in large qualities. If someone inquired about my modus agendi I quickly replied that it would be with the compositional pieces of European music of the Late Romantic Era. However if pressed for the truth I would have to admit that a number of my moments of clarity occurred in the presence of a middle aged, stoop shouldered, white haired doorman who stood watch before my building. I initially took interest in the man when I noticed that he appeared to take much pride in his tattered doorman attire. Pride in such a menial task….it was in a way endearing in its absurdity. What impact could such a job have upon the world?

Still I could not deny there was an aura of polished nobility around the man, but after striking a conversation with him I realized he was incurably dull. But there was a hypnotic effect in his monotone delivery of everyday news. It had the effectiveness of, for reasons unknown to me, the sound of the surf lapping against the beach.

"These kids today…..I don't know…every day they seem more impossible. I saw a fella the other day with what they call a duck tail hair cut. I'm saying it makes it impossible to stay groomed with hair like that. Next thing you know, boys will be wearing their hair as long as the girls."

As he blathered on, my mind began to wander freely.

The Amy Hall situation was as they say "gnawing at my gut." It was easy enough to conclude that I felt a measure of sympathy for Ms. Hall. She was a walking cliché; a woman who may have loved and trusted a little too much. But hitching along with my conscience, was the more powerful and nagging feeling that if I didn't help I would not be living up to my own billing as a great detective. There was a Chinese proverb that stated 'The Gods cannot help those who do not seize opportunities." I had woken with this feeling and it hadn't gone away, in fact it had given way to the sense of inevitability that I usually had when I started a new case. It was a feeling that I was there…here in this position for a reason.

Slipping away from the doorman's lecture concerning the evils of the hula hoop, I ducked back into the building. I rushed into my place and dialed up Diana.

A thought had occurred to me about something I had learned today, and I was now a salmon swimming upstream.

Diana picked up the phone on the second ring.

"I think I might be able to make it to the party after all." I told her.

"Speaking twice in a single day? We sure are making up for lost time aren't we?"

I ignored her statement. "Tell my sister I'll be there."

"Why, the change of heart?"

I quoted Blaise Pascal. "The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing."

There was a long pause before I heard her sigh heavily. "Truer words have never come from your mouth William; however it doesn't correspond with your usual motif."

"We can discuss my complex idiosyncrasies and nuances, or we can discuss the fact that since I left the department this afternoon I've been giving your case a little thought…The Angel Club situation….." I let my words trail off.

"And?"

"The people, it's easier to move people than it is to move the robots or the gambling equipment."

"What?"

"Check the architectural plans for the warehouse. When they were constructed, the mayor of the city at the time commissioned that they be built with bomb shelters. You know in case of nuclear fallout and all that."

Another pause. "I didn't know that."

"Most people don't….but most don't figure it pays to keep tabs on the history of the city you're working in. I do. If you check the blueprints, you'll probably find an underground shelter and that's where they're holding the fights. When we come knocking they move everyone back to the top."

Diana swore to herself…..loudly.

"Tell me again why you're not married?"

"Because I'm dedicated to my work" she snapped. "I've got to call…"

"Go straight to Bet…..the Captain" I instructed. "Don't tell anyone else about it until you tell her face to face. "

"Why not?"

I started to say something but stopped myself short. Now was not the time. "You can trust her."

"Why---?"

I interjected. "You trust me don't you?"

"Irrationally so…"

"Good then take my advice. Besides you do want to get to the field right, bypass everyone and take your theory to the boss. It's the only logical way to get ahead."

"It's not my theory…."

"Yes it is…or else I'm going to have to charge you a consultation fee…..By the way if you ever run across the street file for the Fiske case, how about you make a copy and mail it to me."

"Why would I do that?" She asked.

"Out of the goodness of your heart."

I hung up before she could reply, then I returned to the door man. Apparently our colloquium was now concerning the recent weather. The summer heat was gone and the traditional hard biting cold weather of the city had not arrived. The air was fresh and the night seemed unnaturally clear for this part of the city.

"October in the city is the best" he crowed. "It's beautiful, but it's also sad."

I agreed the fall was indeed the most beautiful time of the year but I inquired where the sadness stemmed from.

"It's very sad" he shrugged. "Because you know winter is coming."

A/N Hey you read it cool, now tell me what you think. Hopefully you liked it. Kim and Ron make their first appearance in the next chapter. If you've got any questions concerning the story, send them my way, as long as they're not plot points I'll be happy to answer it. Oh don't worry I haven't forgotten about my other stories. LOL