Nobody moved for several long seconds as the implications sunk in. Healey finally turned and stared at Chief Ryan, who knew immediately what the look meant.

"The DA and I have a good relationship. He took me seriously. We should be getting a call any minute… I hope." His voice had trickled down to an optimistic whisper.

Devitt dropped his head into his hands and ran them through his hair. He looked up at Mike, who hadn't moved for a long time. "What are you thinking?"

The injured lieutenant turned his head toward his colleague, meeting his eyes. Devitt's head went back slightly and he smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. "I just realized I can see your right eye now," he said quietly with a soft chuckle and the others looked at Mike as well.

It was true; the facial swelling was subsiding enough that the blue iris of his right eye could be seen through the still purple bruise. Mike silently acknowledged their smiles of relief and encouragement then turned his attention back to Devitt. "I'm thinking Dan and Norm are right… that this is a lot bigger than just three missing kids and a random attack on Steve and me. But they're all related. We have to find out how and why, and we have to do it soon if we want to get Steve back… alive." His voice cracked slightly but he continued, "And we're going to have to move fast when we put this altogether."

The chief and the sheriff were nodding. "I agree entirely," Ryan said with a confirming nod at the bedridden San Francisco cop. "I've already told my lieutenants and sergeants that we're going to have to use some of our guys as back-up in case we need to stage a raid in or near Crocker. And I've been in touch with the CSP, because I have a feeling we're going to need the State Police in order to do whatever we need to do without the permission of the Crocker Police Department."

Almost everyone in the room snickered. "Yeah," Haseejian growled sarcastically, "he's gonna be a big help."

"The state troopers can lend a hand, but they don't have jurisdiction in Crocker either. We're gonna be on our own, essentially," Manley added, shaking his head.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but at this point I don't care whose jurisdiction it is. If we find out Steve and the other young fellas are being held somewhere in or around Crocker, nobody's gonna stop me from trying to find them." Healey's declaration silenced the room; the sergeant's gaze travelled slowly towards the bed. Mike's eyes were bright and he nodded with a soft smile, a furrowed brow and a trembling chin.

A soft knock on the door interrupted the suddenly tense moment. Manley, who was closest, got up and pulled it open. "Excuse me," said a nurse on the other side, "there's a phone call for the Chief."

Ryan shot to his feet and grabbed the edge of the door, pulling it open quickly and pushing past Manley. "Great, thanks. I'll be right back." He disappeared down the corridor.

Manley let the door close and turned back to the room. "I think I have all my fingers and toes crossed, gentlemen."

# # # # #

Healey glanced at his watch. 8:41. He and Haseejian had scarfed down club sandwiches in the hospital cafeteria after the meeting in Mike's room and now they were waiting for Chief Ryan and the Humboldt County ADA to negotiate the terms of Porter's immunity. The DA had fast-tracked Ryan's request and Porter had declined the offer of a lawyer, so things were starting to move at an almost breakneck pace.

Healey glanced at his partner and blew out a deep breath. Despite his years of experience, for some reason he was more nervous than he'd been in a long, long time, probably since he was a rookie in Homicide years before. There was a lot riding on what they were hoping to learn in the next few minutes and hours, and there was a promise he was determined to keep.

The ICU waiting room was almost empty; Haseejian was trying to concentrate on an old issue of Time but finally tossed it on the chair beside him in frustration. Nerves were fraying.

Chief Ryan suddenly appeared in the ICU doorway and beckoned them in. Both detectives shot to their feet and began to follow.

"Paperwork's all done," Ryan filled them in as they crossed to Porter's cubicle. A white four-panel room divider had been set up outside the open doorway to allow for privacy and it was pulled aside slightly to allow them to enter the small space. At the far side of the bed, tucked into the corner, a court reporter was sitting on one of the hard metal hospital chairs, a stenograph machine on a small table before her.

ADA Alan Ricketts was standing in the near corner, his briefcase at his feet; he looked up and smiled slightly with a nod as the police chief and detectives entered the tiny room. Tilting his head towards the bed and its occupant, Ricketts sat in a chair against the wall and crossed his legs. "He's all yours."

Just as they had done earlier in the day, Healey stayed where he was and Haseejian crossed to the far side of the bed so they had Porter pinned between them. The injured biker's eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling.

Healey inhaled deeply and glanced at his partner. "All right, Robert, you've got what you want- "

"Mongo."

Healey stopped with his mouth open. "What?"

"Call me Mongo," the biker repeated in a monotone.

Healey's eyes snapped to Haseejian, who was swallowing an irritated grin and shaking his head. Not rising to the bait, Healey chuckled. "All right… Mongo…" He cleared his throat pointedly. "As I was saying, you've got what you wanted, so now you tell us what we want to know."

"A deal's a deal," Porter growled. "Ask away."

"All right," the Irish detective said slowly, "why don't we start with Tuesday night, the night you and Elvin Laird –"

"Paunchy."

"Right, Paunchy," Healey shot another annoyed glare at his partner who closed his eyes and smiled slightly, a signal to just accept the insolence, keep his temper, and carry on. Clearing his throat again, Healey continued, "What set you all off? Why did… Paunchy stab the lieutenant and someone else hit the inspector with the pool cue?"

There was a dry snort from the bed. "Hell, I don't know about the…. inspector…? I never saw anybody hit that other guy, and that's a fact. I was a little busy, ah… you know, backing up my partner."

"Paunchy?"

"Yeah. He, ah, he has a short fuse…" Porter stopped himself. Still looking at the ceiling, he blinked quickly a couple of times but his expression never changed. "He had a short fuse sometimes. And people using our pool table could really set him off."

"So what you're saying is you had no idea that they were a couple of cops… they were just two guys who had the temerity to play pool on his table?" Healey was trying to keep the anger and incredulity out of his tone.

"That's exactly what happened," Porter stated flatly, and the detectives looked at each other. Haseejian bit his bottom lip; the knuckles of his hands, which were wrapped around the top bar on the side of the bed, turned white.

"Were you trying to kill them?" Healey asked quietly.

Porter shook his head slightly. "Naw, we just wanted to teach 'em a lesson, that's all."

"You do that a lot?" Haseejian asked. "Teach someone a lesson?"

"Once in a while."

"And you never got in trouble for it, never got arrested?"

The biker snorted derisively. "In Crocker? You're kidding, right?"

The detectives shared a look. It was an opening that they wanted to pursue but it was too soon; they wanted, and needed, other information first.

"What happened to the inspector, the cop hit by the pool cue?"

For the first time Porter turned his head and looked into Healey's eyes. "You really have no idea what's going on in Crocker, do you?"

Healey stared back. "Tell us."

Porter smiled slightly. "Sit down… this could take awhile."

# # # # #

Devitt was leaning forward in the overstuffed armchair, his elbows on his thighs. He ran his hands down his face then rested his chin on his fists and looked towards the bed.

It was half-raised and its occupant was lying back against the pillows, his left hand across his stomach and his eyes closed. But Devitt knew he wasn't sleeping.

As if feeling his colleague's stare, Mike opened his eyes and slowly turned his head. They stared at each other for several long silent seconds, each knowing what the other was thinking, then Mike closed his eyes again and turned away.

# # # # #

"I'll stand, if that's okay with you, so you can start anytime. What's so special about Crocker?"

Porter stared at the dark-haired detective then his eyes flicked quickly to Ricketts sitting in the corner. The ADA nodded subtly. The biker's dark eyes returned to the cop. "Crocker shoulda been a ghost town years ago, like Colville and all the other burgs around here… but it's still alive… No one ever try to figure out why?" His eyes slid to Chief Ryan standing near the entrance and back again. "It sure ain't lumber."

"Then what is it?" Haseejian growled, starting to lose patience.

Porter glanced at the Armenian sergeant but chose not to answer him right away. His stare fixated once more on the ceiling. "What do you know about the Crockers?"

Healey glanced at Haseejian. "The family? We know there's a lot of them, and that they own most of the businesses in the town. Why?"

The biker snorted again. "They own more than just the businesses in Crocker, man… they own the whole damn town." He turned his head slowly and his eyes met Healey's. "Hell, they even own us."

"What do you mean us? You mean the bikers?"

"I mean the bikers, the bars, the restaurants, the newspaper, the motels, the shops… the police department."

Healey froze and he could sense the others doing the same; only the sound of the stenograph machine could be heard, steady and even.

"You mean…?"

"I mean good ol' Sheriff Lassiter is in the family's back pocket, that's what I mean!" Porter snapped angrily. He inhaled deeply. "It was the sheriff run us off the road."

"You know or you think?"

"I know," Porter said simply and coldly. "I saw him. He hit Paunchy before he hit me."

"Why did he do it?"

"Because Paunchy was a wild hair. He went after your cops without permission."

"Permission?"

"We don't do anything the family doesn't… approve. It was, ah… it was the wrong thing to do at the wrong time. It was too close to the meet…"

"Too close to what meet?" Healey could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

"Where do you think the family gets the money to run that town?" Porter smiled coldly again. "They're the pipeline for all of the heroin in this part of the country. It's smuggled in every six months from Southeast Asia… and the Crockers are the ones that control everything… who lives, who dies… who deals, who uses… and who disappears..."