CHAPTER 7

Lassiter returned from the men's room where he had tried in vain to clean away some of the night. He'd splashed water on his face and had combed through his hair with his fingers, but he had to admit that he looked like roadkill. He definitely felt like he'd been flattened and ground into the dirt. He was grimy, and his clothes were stiff and sticking in places from where he'd been sweating. He had an overwhelming desire for a shower and sleep. There was also an ache in his chest which had spiked when Juliet and the two goofballs had gone off to do the job he should be doing, and the squeezed feeling wasn't letting up as he waited. It was getting worse. He heard the bartender yell last call and remembered that Buzz would be driving. He found enough money remaining in his wallet, so he ordered a beer. He'd almost ordered more whiskey, but he wanted to be able to see the mug shots when he got to the station.

He stood at the bar, taking a couple slugs of beer, and tried to occupy his mind with what Juliet would be doing now. He envisioned the plan of action at the bus terminal, where to position backup units and how to search inside for Riley. She would probably send Shawn and Gus into the station to scout out its occupancy, since they were the last people who would ever look like cops, and since Spencer had his "talents." He was pretty sure her photo had been in at least one of the papers that day, file photos of the detectives involved in the shooting, so she would stay in her car staked out near the entrance.

Tired and discouraged, he shuffled back to his booth, taking another long swig from the bottle, but just as he was lowering himself into the seat, his phone rang. He almost dropped the bottle as it slipped through his fingers and bounced on the table before he could grab it. He fumbled for the phone, pulled it out of his pocket and answered, forgetting to look at who was calling. Somehow, he knew.

"Hello," he said, feeling his heart speeding up again in the tight confines of his chest.

"Hey, um, detective," said Braden, voice full of uncertainty.

"Braden, where are you?"

"I'm just, at this place," he said, fumbling for words. "It's, uh, like a pool hall. And I'm here, y'know, alone now."

"Look," said Lassiter, trying to organize his thoughts. He was suddenly aware of how muzzy his brain had gotten, from the drinks or the recent ordeals or both, and he wanted to be careful with his words. "You did the right thing, tonight, Braden. I really think things are going to get better, now."

Braden made a sound like a scoff or a sob. "Nothing will ever be better."

"No, kid, it will. Believe me. It can't get any worse," he said, stopping himself before he devolved into a rant. He took a deep breath. "But there's one more thing you should do. You need to turn yourself in, too."

There was silence on the other end, and Lassiter's heart skipped a beat as he braced for the phone to go dead. He scolded himself for pushing too hard and rubbed at his forehead with his free hand.

"I just want my mom," said Braden quietly, and something about his voice made Lassiter think he was crying. "My mom's..." His voice trailed away but the sound of rough breaths came through the line.

"Hey, absolutely. She's in town. Just come in and we'll let you see her as soon as we can," said Lassiter.

There was another pause and a strange muffling noise on the line, as if Braden was holding his hand over the phone. Then he spoke again, voice only slightly more steady, "Will you come and get me?"

Lassiter blinked and watched as a drop of condensation slid down the side of the beer bottle in front of him. "Of course," he said, feeling an odd sense of floating. Then he shook his head and tried to clear the muzziness. "Someone is coming to pick me up, a uniformed officer. We'll come and get you."

"No!" gasped Braden, suddenly on the verge of panic. "Please, just you?"

"Braden..."

"Look, man, I'm going crazy right now. I don't want...it's too much...I can't handle this..."

"Braden, calm down. It's okay."

"No. No cop cars. Just, like, call a cab or something? Please? Jesus, just help me," he said with another sobbing sound.

Lassiter's heart skipped again as he felt the shock of Braden's panic. It seemed extreme, but how could he judge after everything the kid had gone through over the past couple of days? "Okay, okay, relax! I'll come alone and we can call a cab. That's fine," said Lassiter, realizing almost after the fact what he'd just committed himself to. Juliet was going to kill him. "Where are you?"

"Olive Street," said Braden, sniffing and drawing in ragged breaths. "Up the block from that alley."

Lassiter stood up and headed for the door of the bar with the phone still to his ear. As he exited he looked up and down the street, half-expecting Buzz's squad car to be approaching, but it wasn't there, and he felt a strange pang of regret as if Buzz's arrival could've gotten him out of the deal he'd made with the kid. He berated himself then. You want to do something tonight other than wallow in your self-pity, then here's what you can do. Bring the kid in, help your partner identify the thugs. Do your job. He knew going off to pick up the kid alone wasn't the smartest idea, and he figured his decisions were being impaired by drink and stress, but he just couldn't bring himself to worry about it too much. He felt in his core that he could trust the kid, and he felt like bringing him in would somehow put one of the tumbled bricks of his life back in its proper place.

"Same side of the street?" he asked Braden as he started to walk briskly in the direction of Olive Street.

"Yeah," said Braden somberly. "It's just a little pool hall. There's, um..." He cleared his throat. "There's a guy here keeping it open for me, until you get here." His voice was trembling.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," said Lassiter.

"Okay," said Braden, voice desolate. "Bye." The line went dead.

Lassiter took a deep breath as he walked, feeling the crisp night air clearing some of the cobwebs in his brain. This was a bad idea, he thought. He held the hand holding his phone against his belly where Juliet had punched him. It'll be okay. I'll get the kid and we'll go in. Juliet will get Riley, and it'll all be over. He grimaced at the thoughts, unable to totally convince himself. Optimism wasn't his best skill. But he kept walking, driven to do something, pushing away the doubts. One thing he knew for certain, though, he had to call Juliet. He couldn't go off alone, again, without at least filling her in this time. He took another deep breath and punched in her number. The phone rang several times and he wondered with a surge of hope if she was already apprehending Riley.

"Carlton?" she answered.

"O'Hara, how's it going?" he asked hopefully.

"We're still getting backup units in position," she said. "Shawn and Gus have gone inside to scout the place out. What are you doing? Did Buzz pick you up?"

"Not yet," he said.

His voice must've held something. "Carlton? What's going on?" she asked with apprehension, a promise of anger in her tone.

"Braden called again. He wants me to go with him, to turn himself in."

"And you're going to let Buzz pick you up before you go get him, right?"

He paused.

"Carlton! What is wrong with you? Do not go alone!"

"Juliet, please," he said, wincing. "He's just a scared kid. He wants this to be over. It'll be fine."

"NO! Dammit, listen to me! Do. Not. Go. Alone."

Lassiter felt a spark of anger flare up unexpectedly. His own doubts and anxieties had been whispering the same thing at him, but his stubborn streak kicked in with a vengeance. "O'Hara!" he barked.

He heard a growl of frustration. "What would you say if our positions were reversed?" she asked with exasperation.

He sighed. "I'd say the same things you are," he admitted. "But I don't want this kid to slip through the cracks. He begged me to come without a uniform. Look, I'll call Buzz and tell him where I'm going, okay? He can hang back and keep an eye on me."

"Oh, for god's sake," she hissed. "There's something happening here. I have to go. Dammit, Carlton, I am not going to stick up for you with the chief on this one. This is a boneheaded move. I am not happy about this at all."

He winced at her admonishment, feeling a stab of guilt and shame at the harsh reprimand from his partner. At the same time, his stubborn defensiveness ratcheted up a notch and made his anger flare again. He bit back a sharp retort, though, guilt winning out over his sense of being offended. "I understand, O'Hara. I'm sorry. Trust me, though. I'm right about this kid."

"Call Buzz, right now. I have to go. I'm going to call him after I take care of this, though, to make sure."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, feeling suddenly like a little kid being sent to time-out. "I got it," he said sharply.

He heard her release another growl of frustration before she ended the call. He gripped the phone in a tight fist, wondering for a moment if he could crush it with his hand. At that moment, he felt like he could. He walked for another half block as he waited for his anger to subside. After a few more minutes, his emotions settled down and he realized the call had gone about as well as he should've expected. He shook his head and called McNab's number. As it rang, he saw that he was only a couple of streets away from Olive.

"Hello, Detective Lassiter? Where are you? I'm at the bar on Carson Street."

"McNab, there's been a change of plans," said Lassiter, trying to iron out the irritation from his voice. "I'm heading to Olive Street. I'm going to escort Braden North back to the station. He doesn't want to travel in a squad car, so we're going to call a cab. Just come over to the area and hang back. Got that?"

"Um, does Detective O'Hara know about this?" asked Buzz apprehensively.

"Yes, I just spoke with her," clipped Lassiter. "Olive Street. Hang back. Follow our cab to the station."

"Sir, where are you meeting him on Olive Street?"

"A pool hall. I don't have a name. I'm almost there now, so just watch for the cab," he said, then he hung up.

The irritation he felt at his conversation with Juliet was persisting. He knew she was right, and the voice of reason in his head was making the same arguments, but he felt trapped by the situation. He couldn't let the kid slip away. He'd promised to help him. So he continued on. Juliet had been really angry though, and worse, disappointed. He was ashamed and berated himself for adding even more grief to her night. He felt lower than low. If he could just get the kid and get back to the station, things would get better. He'd endure the chief's reprimands, but he could take it if he'd set things right. He had felt in his core earlier that he had hit rock bottom, and he'd been almost relieved by that, thinking that meant things were going to improve. But so far, he felt like he was just scraping along on the bottom instead of moving up. A dark scowl twisted his face as he approached Olive Street. Things would get better, he told himself unconvincingly.

When he reached the street he looked up and down for any activity, but it was even more deserted now. No cars and not even the homeless guy were around. He was on the other side of the street again and gazed at the store fronts. He didn't see anything that looked like a pool hall. His heart started to beat faster, and he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. As his eyes swept across the store fronts again he noticed something. There was a door standing open at the edge of one building. He crossed the road and started to walk towards the building with the open door. It was about half a block from the alley mouth. The building had frosted front windows that only showed a faint glow from the other side, but he could see light streaming out of the doorway onto the sidewalk. He felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine as he approached. A fleeting thought urged him to wait for Buzz. He didn't have to coddle the kid like this. He could just say to hell with the kid's panic and go in with Buzz. He didn't have to keep his word. He paused a few feet from the door and swallowed thickly. He didn't want to force the kid. And in any case, he still had his guns. If something did go sour, he could take care of himself. He took a deep breath and walked to the open door.

oOoOoOoO

Juliet couldn't remember feeling more angry in her life. And her anger had the added fuel of fear and grief to stoke it to a white-hot fury. She would've continued cursing out loud after she had hung up on Lassiter except that the backup officers were trying to get direction from her on the radio and she had to deal with them. She spent several minutes getting the other units in position. Then she saw Shawn and Gus coming back out of the terminal with disappointed expressions. So Riley wasn't in there, yet. She sighed and shook her head while she punched in Buzz's number on her phone.

"Hi, Detective O'Hara," he said with a note of apprehension.

"Buzz, did Lassiter call you?"

"Yes, he did. I'm driving to Olive Street now to monitor his movements."

She remembered the name of the street as the one where he'd found Braden. "So you still haven't seen him yourself yet?"

"Well, um, no, detective. I came to the bar, and then he called to say he was going to Olive Street. He said to hang back and follow the cab he's going to take with Braden North."

Juliet sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Tell me everything he said."

"He said he's meeting the kid at a pool hall on Olive Street."

"Buzz, if you don't see him there, or if you don't see a cab show up within fifteen minutes, you call me. Got that?"

"Yes sir! I mean, yes detective."

Juliet hung up and sighed. She pursed her lips and wondered at her partner. He'd been acting so unlike himself over the past two days, but this stunt took the cake. She wanted to trust his instincts, was used to doing so, but her own were screaming the opposite messages as his. They didn't usually clash this badly, and it disturbed her. She just hoped after everything was finally settled with this nightmare of a case, things would get back to normal again.

Shawn and Gus were almost to the car. She saw headlights in the rear view as they jogged across the road. She was parked on the opposite side and down a half block from the bus terminal building where she could keep her eye on the entrance. When the two friends got out of the approaching car's way, they suddenly engaged in some kind of shoving match as they tried to make their way to the passenger-side doors. She watched them with a grimace, no tolerance at all left for their antics. The approaching car passed by and she only peripherally noted that it was some kind of older, junky looking vehicle. Gus apparently won whatever odd battle they'd been having and jumped into the front passenger seat while Shawn climbed into the back.

"Dude, just because your Pumas are faster than my Roos doesn't make them cooler," said Shawn as he shut his door.

"I beg to differ," said Gus. "I am in the shotgun seat, hence I am cooler, hence my Pumas, which got me here, are cooler. It's basic logic, Shawn. If A equals B and B equals C, then A equals C."

Shawn was about to continue the banter when he and Gus seemed to realize at the same time that Juliet's face was flushed with fury as she glared at them.

"Hey, Jules," said Shawn, abashed. "Riley's not in there yet. Gus even checked the Ladie's room."

"Shawn!"

Juliet turned her glare out the windshield and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Jules?" said Shawn.

"Are you okay, Juliet?" asked Gus simultaneously.

"No," she said.

Gus turned to exchange a look with Shawn. "Okaaaay," said Shawn.

"If Riley doesn't show up in fifteen minutes," she said. "We are going to get Lassiter and take him to the station ourselves."

"What? Why?" asked Shawn.

"Because he's done it again. And I'm seriously considering arresting him this time," she growled.

"He did what again?" asked Gus, then his eyebrows raised. "Did he run off again?"

"No way!" exclaimed Shawn with a hint of admiration in his tone. "That's so awesomely wrong."

"Guys, I'm going to ask you to shut up now," said Juliet through gritted teeth.

Shawn and Gus traded another look and nodded, silently agreeing to do so, both of them sensing that Juliet was in a mood to pull her weapon on them. They all stared out the windshield, willing Riley North to show up and walk into the bus terminal so the nightmare would end.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter stepped up to the open door of the building and looked inside. He saw pool tables and felt a small flash of relief. This had to be the pool hall Braden was talking about, though it looked more like some kind of small club house instead of a public pool parlor. The impression was supported by the solid metal door that held no name or other markings. He looked into the room and saw two pool tables on the right side and a small, very small, bar on the left side with a man standing behind it. The man was leaning on the bar and writing something in a book or ledger. Braden had mentioned that a guy was letting him wait there. He looked further and saw that beyond the pool tables were a few smaller tables. A figure was sitting at one of them, head bowed. It looked like Braden, but his hood was up again and he couldn't see his face. He glanced around the room one more time from the outside. Beyond the smaller tables where Braden was sitting he saw a door that was mostly reflective glass inside a wooden frame. It reminded him of a one-way mirror for some reason. Apparently there was a back room to the place.

He cleared his throat and saw Braden jerk in surprise, whipping his head up. Lassiter could see that his face look anxious in the shadows of his hood. The guy behind the bar glanced up at him and nodded, then looked back at whatever he was working on. Lassiter's brow furrowed as the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up. He took a step into the room.

"Are you closing for the night?" he asked the guy, not caring about the answer but wanting to engage the stranger in conversation, try to take his measure. Something about the man seemed familiar, but the feeling was extremely vague.

"Oh, yeah, been closed, but the kid there needed help so I said sure," said the guy amiably enough.

Lassiter nodded and looked over at Braden again. "Are you ready to go?"

Braden was leaned over in his chair, arms on his knees and legs bouncing with anxiety. His hands were clasped and he was staring down at them, not looking at Lassiter.

"Did you call a cab yet?" asked Lassiter as he took a few steps into the room, feeling reluctant to move too far from the door.

Braden just shook his head. Lassiter's eyes narrowed and he looked at the other guy again as he took a few more steps towards Braden. The guy yawned and scribbled something in the book. Lassiter turned back to Braden, but he started to move into the room in a way that was allowing him to view Braden and the guy at the bar at the same time, walking backwards towards the back wall of the room.

"Braden, look at me," ordered Lassiter.

Braden stiffened and stopped bouncing his legs. He glanced up from under his hood in the direction of the other guy, first. Lassiter looked over again, but the guy was just leaning against the bar now, one elbow on it with his head resting on his hand. His other hand was still scribbling. Lassiter was about to say something else when Braden looked up at him finally. His face was a mess. He had a fresh bruise on his jaw and a split lip.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked Lassiter aghast.

"Nothing," said Braden softly as he ducked his head again. He was trembling.

Lassiter looked at the other guy once more and saw that he was reaching under the bar for something. He resisted a sudden urge to draw his weapons, but he kept his eye on the guy for another moment to see what he was doing. He heard Braden move and could see peripherally that he was standing up. The other guy pulled something up into view and Lassiter realized it was a baseball hat. He felt a spring-tight knot of tension release between his shoulder blades and blinked with relief, turning his gaze to Braden only to feel his breath freeze in his chest like he'd swallowed dry ice. Braden was holding a gun on him.

He gaped, mouth open in search of words to articulate his shock, or at the very least in search of air to force into his suddenly paralyzed lungs. I did it again. I got it all wrong. How did I get it so wrong? He moved his uncomprehending stare from the hard reality of the gun up to Braden. The kid's face was twisted in anguish, tears streaming as he shook almost uncontrollably.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lassiter heard himself say.

"I'm sorry," hissed Braden through clenched teeth as he continued to tremble, gun wavering in his grip.

Lassiter shook his head and suddenly remembered the other guy. He turned and saw the man closing the metal door, pushing home a heavy bolt lock. The guy turned to face them, and Lassiter saw the baseball hat he'd put on. It had a snake logo. The world seemed to shift under his feet as he remembered the hat from the night of the shooting.

"Riley North," said Lassiter, hearing his own voice as if it was detached from his body.

"Detective Lassiter," said Riley with a smug grin. He looked very much like Braden, Lassiter realized now, too late, except that he was a couple of inches shorter, and his face had a sharper, more feral edge to it. "Thanks for coming. I thought it'd be harder to get you here, but my kid's sappy tears were enough, I guess. You must be a real softie at heart."

Lassiter tried to think of something to say to that, but the only thought in his head, strangely, was that at least things were finally going to be settled. He swallowed and looked at Braden. The kid was obviously struggling. His dad was forcing him, somehow, to do this. His eyes narrowed. A white-hot fire ignited in his chest, burning off the ice and making his heart race.

"Put that gun down," said Lassiter softly, flashing disconcertingly back to the shooting.

"I can't," hissed Braden.

"Yes, you can. Put it down. Now." He glanced at Riley again, noting that he was slowly walking towards them with the ghost of a sneer on his face. Lassiter wanted to smash his fist into that face to erase the expression.

"You don't understand," said Braden.

Lassiter didn't like how Riley was approaching, and he didn't think Braden was going to be talked down very easily, so he decided to try a different tack. He reached around and pulled the guns out from under the back of his coat. He aimed one at Braden and one at Riley who pulled up with a faint look of shock.

"Put the gun down, now," he repeated. Then he looked at Riley. "And you stay right there."

Riley grinned. "They said you were fast on the draw, but it's hard to believe until you see it. Very impressive, detective," he said. "But you're missing a big part of the scene here."

"What the hell does that mean?" gritted Lassiter, keeping his focus on Riley. Braden was much less of a threat, he was sure, even though he was holding a gun. Lassiter could tell that Riley was the real danger.

Riley looked at Lassiter with a hungry glint in his eyes. He kept the grin, but Lassiter could tell that he was full of a seething black hatred that was directed solely at him. It was unnerving, and even though he had two guns and was confident of being able to take out both men if he had to, he felt suddenly like a mouse caught by a cat. He decided to try and take the offensive and swiveled around to aim both of his guns at Riley, leaving the trembling Braden in his peripheral view. Riley's smile faded away. Lassiter felt a flash of triumph and determined to follow-up by simply walking out of the situation, like he had with the thugs earlier.

"Back off," he said to Riley, who was now standing between him and the door.

Riley just tilted his head at him, then he looked at Braden expectantly.

"Stop, detective," pleaded Braden.

Lassiter shifted slightly so he could see Braden a little better. "Braden if you fire that weapon I will kill your father. You are shaking too badly to get an accurate shot, so chances are I will at the very least have time to put a bullet in his brain before I fall."

Riley's eyebrows went up, but his smug grin was returning, which disturbed Lassiter. What the hell does this guy have up his sleeve?

"Please, stop, or they'll kill her," said Braden.

Lassiter felt the cold wash through him again as a stab of fear pierced his heart. "Kill who?"

Riley grinned and nodded past Lassiter to the glass door behind him. Lassiter turned, still keeping one gun on Riley, and watched with dread as the door opened. The tattooed thug sneered as he returned to the side of the woman sitting in a chair in the middle of the back room. She was bound to the chair, hand and foot, with duct tape, and gagged with it as well. Gina North. She had a bruise on her cheek and tears streaming down her face. Her eyes met his, pleading desperately. He glanced over at Braden and saw the same look. Lassiter felt his leverage melt away as a hollow feeling of defeat made his limbs feel suddenly weak.

"Now it's my turn," said Riley darkly as he began approaching again. "Put the guns down."

Lassiter turned to him and a snarl twisted his face. "What kind of sick bastard are you, hurting your own family like this? For what? Revenge?"

Riley's face flushed red and he yelled, "Put the guns down!" He nodded past Lassiter and Gina screamed behind the gag.

Lassiter turned to see Tattoo drawing a knife along the top of Gina's forearm. Blood welled up. Tattoo put the knife to Gina's throat when he saw he had Lassiter's attention. He moved around behind her and leaned over to whisper something in her ear which made her squeeze her eyes shut and sob. Braden gasped at the sound of his mother's anguish and held the gun up to aim at Lassiter's chest.

"God, just do it," said Braden haltingly.

Lassiter took a shaky breath and realized that he'd started trembling as well. A brief, insane vision flashed through his mind of trying to shoot Riley and Tattoo at the same time, but he knew it was too risky. He'd have to be firing with arms out almost straight to each side. There was no way he could be accurate. And Tattoo was still leaning over Gina, so there was too much chance of hitting her instead.

Riley took another step closer and reached out to grasp a cue stick from one of the pool tables. "If I have to say it one more time..." he began.

Lassiter squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment and then lowered his guns. He looked at Riley with a cold, angry defiance.

"That's great. You're catching on now, detective," said Riley as he tossed the cue stick from hand to hand. "Just drop them on that table."

Lassiter turned to a table that was behind him and placed the guns on it. He saw Gina staring at him and gave her an apologetic look, then he met Braden's tortured gaze with a look of sad disappointment. Riley was stepping closer. "What now?" asked Lassiter as he turned finally to face him.

"Now, I get to avenge my good son's death."

"Good son," said Lassiter derisively, feeling the snarl return. "You mean the son you'd corrupted enough to be as dirty as you?"

Riley stopped walking, put the cue stick point down in front of him and leaned on it. Lassiter could see his eyes better now and was pretty sure he was high on something. "You think I'm dirty? You should see some of the cops I've met. Crooked as they come. Dirty is in the eye of the beholder, detective."

"You killed an innocent woman tonight, just because she came to my house. All I see is pure filth in front of me now," growled Lassiter. "And you failed, anyway, you know. You thought Justin was the son picking up your mantle but he was just a scared kid who wanted his mom back."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" said Riley.

"His last words were 'Tell mom I'm sorry we left.'"

Riley scowled and glanced at Braden and Gina, expression filled with utter contempt. "I think I'd like you to shut up now. Braden, shoot him."

Lassiter's eyes widened and he turned to look between Braden and Riley. Braden was grimacing and shaking his head, but he still had the gun aimed at Lassiter. "Is that was this is?" asked Lassiter. "You're going to force him to kill me."

"That's exactly what it is," said Riley grimly.

"And you think somehow that's going to turn him into a criminal? Into you?"

"I think it'll get him on the right track," said Riley. "It'll make him feel better too, and maybe he can stop being such a pussy. Right, Braden? You loved your little brother, didn't you? Shoot this asshole cop who killed him. Be a man."

"You're insane," said Lassiter.

"You're starting to annoy me. Didn't you ever hear the phrase 'Father knows best'? Now shut up and let me teach my son a valuable lesson."

Lassiter's throat was painfully dry. He looked around for some way to get out of the situation. Maybe Buzz would come to the door soon looking for him, but he remembered that the outside of the building didn't look anything like a pool hall. Buzz or anyone else searching the area would be hard-pressed to identify this building as the place. He shook his head in despair. He looked at Braden again and felt profoundly sorry for him, despite the fact that he was aiming a gun at him and being ordered to shoot it. He looked at Riley.

"You're just going to make him hate you," he said soberly.

Riley's face flushed again and his eyes glinted. "I said shut up!" he yelled as he lifted the cue stick and started to brandish it like a club.

Lassiter braced himself.

"What's the fucking problem, Braden?" yelled Riley. "He's just standing there. You can't miss from that distance. Fire the goddamn gun!"

Braden shook his head, gun wavering even more erratically.

"Maybe you need him to be lying down? Would that be easier?" asked Riley as he advanced on Lassiter with the cue stick. His eyes were wide and crazed. "Let's just do that."

He swung the cue stick down somewhat wildly at Lassiter's head. Lassiter jumped back and to the side to avoid the blow. Riley let out a feral growl and moved closer, pulling the stick back for another swing. As he swiveled to deliver the blow, Lassiter took a step towards him, blocking the stick to the side with his right arm as he swung a left jab as hard as he could into Riley's nose. He heard the crunch as blood spurted. Riley fell onto his back, hands to his face, screaming incoherently. Lassiter grabbed his right forearm which was throbbing with pain from blocking the cue stick. He saw that Braden was staring at his father's writhing form with a look of disbelief. He'd lowered the gun in his shock and had stopped shaking.

"Hey, cop," said Tattoo.

Lassiter pursed his lips and turned to the thug.

"That was cute and all, but, y'know," he said, holding the knife to Gina's throat again. "Come in here."

Lassiter felt the adrenaline from the scuffle with Riley draining quickly away, replaced with a wave of utter hopelessness. He narrowed his eyes and started to walk towards the back room. Gina met his gaze for a moment, her eyes reflecting his despair. He could hear Riley still cursing behind him, but then there was a shuffling noise and a sound of wood tapping the concrete floor. He heard a step and almost felt the onrush of his charge like a barreling freight train. He tried to turn, to meet the attack, but too late. The cue stick clipped his skull and smashed across his back. He saw flashes of darkness and light sparking across his vision as he fell to his knees and barely managed to catch himself with his hands. He held himself up against the pain for a moment and tried to raise his head. He heard a muffled scream from Gina, and Braden yelled something. The second blow sent him into the abyss.

oOoOoOoO

"You gonna just finish it now, Rye?" asked Tattoo loudly as Riley pulled back for a third swing. Gina's eyes were squeezed shut and her face was red.

"Dad, stop it!" Braden yelled again. "You gotta stop it!"

Riley halted his swing and straightened, looking down at Lassiter's still form. They could all see that he was still breathing, but blood was already flowing freely from a gash the cue stick had opened on his head just behind his right ear. Riley tossed the cue stick down and stumbled to a chair, sitting heavily and holding his hands up to his face. His nose was bleeding profusely, the stain running down the whole front of his shirt.

"Fuck. Braden go get me some ice from upstairs, and a towel," he said as he pulled the bottom of his shirt up and held it against his nose as a bandage. Braden put the gun down on the table by Riley and wiped at his eyes. He looked relieved to be away from the weapon. He cast an agonized look at his mother as he walked past her through the back room to the stairway that led to an upstairs apartment.

"Bastard's feisty," said Tattoo, closing and pocketing the knife before coming out of the back room to stand by Riley. He pushed at Lassiter's side with his boot. "So what the hell are we doing now?"

Riley was trying to hold his head back so the blood would slow. "Let's see what Max says," he mumbled. "Shit, I feel like I need another hit."

Gina made a muffled sound of disgust. Riley sat up and glared at her. "Jesus I can't even shut you up with a gag." She returned his glare hotly.

"I think I hear Max," said Tattoo as he walked into the back room to open the rear door.

Baldy, otherwise known as Max, walked in. He stopped short when he saw Lassiter lying on the floor and Riley covered in blood. He barked out a laugh. "Looks like it went smooth," he said. "I told you he wouldn't go down easy."

"Just shut the fuck up, all of you," growled Riley.

Braden came back down the stairs with a towel and a bowl full of ice cubes. He dropped them on the table next to his dad and then moved into the room near his mother's chair, sitting with his back against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his crossed arms that rested on his knees.

"You get your moping out of the way now, Braden," said Riley as he assembled an ice pack and leaned back to hold it on his nose. "We're not done with this."

"The chick cop is at the terminal with two other guys. I don't know what they are. They don't look like cops. They have a couple squad cars around, but we can do it on the street and get away," said Max. "We gotta move though. They'll get restless quick."

"Search this fucker," said Riley, waving at Lassiter. "Make sure he doesn't wake up and pull a bazooka out on us or something."

Max and Tattoo pulled off Lassiter's suit coat and threw it aside and patted down his pockets. When they were done, Riley pointed to the other table. "Take his guns. I'll make sure he knows his own gun's going to be what kills his pretty partner."

Tattoo and Max walked over and each picked up a Glock.

"Okay, just gimme your knife, and drag him in there on your way out. Come back as soon as you're done. I'm thinking we're going to have a big mess to clean up here."

Tattoo tossed his knife onto the table next to Riley, then he and Max reached down, each hooking a hand under Lassiter's shoulders. They dragged him into the back room and dumped him in a heap along the wall. "Don't have too much fun now," yelled Tattoo as the two men left through the back door.