Chapter 7

Sloan's Bar was one of three in the same block where Smith was staying. No church on every corner in this part of town, Hassejian thought to himself as he entered the busy tavern with his boss, but no shortage of booze and broads.

"Let's head toward the back," Mike ordered as the smell of whiskey and cheap perfurme permeated the air.

Walking to the back, Haseejian noticed the salt and pepper haired man speaking to Carol Dobson, an old acquaintance. Carol's eyes widened as she saw Norm approaching.

"Hey, sugar" she greeted the balding detective. She immediately backed away from her current companion.

Mike recognized Smith immediately and pulled him aside. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You need to be by that phone, not picking up some whore." He shot a quick glance over to Carol.

Carol nuzzled up to Norm. "You know, seeing this guy talking to Mike, he sure reminds me of someone - only this guy is much older."

"Yeah," Norm thought about responding but then silently conceded that Steve had enough to worry about without the undercover vice officer realizing that she nearly bagged Keller's father for solicitation. "He looks familiar; I just don't know from where."

Finishing their conversation, Mike wanted to get back to the hotel. "Say 'goodnight', Carol," he said as he led Smith away from the woman.

"Goodnight, Carol" she joked. "And goodnight, Norm," she added with a flirty wink. Norm smiled back.

Thinking they were heading to the front, Smith felt a tug to his elbow. "We're going out the back," Mike advised Smith. "I know a shortcut."

Norm raised his eyebrows as he knew that the shortcut would be more of a detour. He opted to instead stay a few steps back.

Once outside, Mike slammed Smith into the back wall of the bar. "If you leave that phone one more time, I'll make sure it's the last time you go anywhere. You do realize that you could have been busted for solicitation back there."

"What? I was just talking to the chick," Smith pleaded.

It had been a long and stressful day, and Mike had heard enough. He reared back his right arm and drove his fist into Clark Smith's jaw like a catapult.

Smith raised his arms, ostensibly to protect himself from another hit. He anticipated Mike's move incorrectly and received a punch in the gut as consequence for his error.

The wind knocked out of him, Smith bent over and had a hard time catching his breath. "Okay, okay," he pleaded, but then spitefully added, "Like I can do anything about this. Knock it off!"

One more slug hit Smith square in the face as he attempted to straighten. Blood flowed from his nose and lip.

"You've had this coming, Smith," Mike hissed.

"Okay, stop! I'm sorry I went out. I was just going stir crazy up there."

"You think I care about whether you have cabin fever when your own flesh and blood is being held captive? The reason we're all here is to get Steve back," Mike added as he grabbed the collar of Steve's father one more time. "I don't get you, Smith, what gives? I'd think you'd feel responsible for what's happened to your son."

"Is that it? You think I'm to blame? I was willing to work out a deal, but all they want is cash on the barrelhead. It's not my fault they aren't reasonable."

Not a responsible bone in his body, Norm thought as he watched Mike's fists form for a second time from the back door.

"You listen to me and you listen good. You've caused Steve enough trouble as it is. You are going back to your room and you will stay there until we send you to make the money drop."

"You got the money?" Smith said with a sense of relief, wiping the blood dripping from his mouth.

"You just do as we say." Mike grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. "Let's go!"

Hearing heavy footsteps in the hallway, Rudy stuck his head out the door of the rented room and caught a glimpse of the Smith's bruised and bloodied face.

"Mike, what the hell?" he whispered sharply to his lead detective.

"He tripped," Mike explained unconvincingly.

Rudy rolled his eyes. "Haseejian, you tend to Mr. Smith here. Mike, you come with me," the Captain said as he led Mike back to the room they had been using for surveillance.

Mike knew he was in trouble, but also knew that Rudy understood his anger with Smith. Still, he was not prepared for his superior's orders.

"You're off the case, Mike. You're too close. I'm sorry," Rudy announced uncomfortably as he ran his hand through his thinning white hair.

"What do you mean 'off the case'? I'm Steve's best chance of coming back."

"Mike, I know you care and you will do your best, but you're too close to the situation," Rudy read the look of horror on his man's face. "I'm taking over and I will keep you posted. But I need to keep you away from Smith before you two get into another fight and he bails out on us."

"You think he'd do that, don't you?" Mike asked quietly.

"I think the man has got some issues and I don't trust that he'll do the right thing by Steve. I don't understand it, Mike, but my observation is that he's just as dangerous as the goons from the casino."

An hour later, Mike was retired to his bedroom to catch some sleep. He stepped out of line tonight and he knew it. Rudy was right to take the case over, but damn it, that bastard deserved everything I gave him. Mike grimaced as he sat on the edge of the bed. He said another silent prayer for his partner. It was about the hundredth time he prayed in the past two days.

He turned off the bedside lamp and lay down. It took several minutes of restless tossing and turning before fatigue took over, and Mike fell asleep.

"You get one call, kid," Deputy Perkins instructed as Steve took a seat next to the officer's desk.

Daylight was breaking through. After his initial arrest, Perkins drove Steve to the nearest medical center. The ER staff made quick work of x-raying, diagnosing and casting his broken wrist. They also treated the bruising on his face and determined that while his nose was swollen, it was not broken. Lucky me, Steve thought to himself at the time.

While he knew deep down that Mike and the SFPD would convince the Mono Lake lawmen to drop the charges, he still felt uneasy about his predicament. The prisoner grey colors he now wore made him feel no better.

"You hear me, kid? It's time to make your call." Perkins began thumbing through papers in his inbox.

Checking the clock on the wall, he figured that while six am was an early time to call anyone, it wasn't unheard of. Besides, he knew his safety was Mike's chief concern and anyone he spoke to back home would be elated he called. Still, it was with some trepidation that he began dialing the number. After two rings, a craggy voice on the other end of the line answered.

"Stone," Mike was momentarily disoriented from his uneasy slumber.

"Mike, it's me," came the quiet response.

A cold splash of water could not have done more to jolt Mike awake. "Buddy boy, where are you? Are you still with those men?"

"No, I got away. I'm okay. I'm just…well, I'm in jail. Mike, can you talk to the deputy here?"

"Sure, of course," Mike couldn't hide the relief in his voice. "Whatever you need, Buddy boy."

Steve handed the phone over to Deputy Perkins who had only then noticed the APB on Steve that sat in his inbox.