A chill travelled down the spines of everyone in the room; even the stenographer glanced up from her machine.

Trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice, Healey swallowed heavily before he asked, "What do you mean disappear?"

Porter turned to him slowly and a languid, scornful smile twisted his features. "I know exactly what you want from me… you want to know where your… your boy is…" His words, quiet but exacting, hit their mark.

Healey stared back, unblinking. No one in the room moved; even the stenograph machine fell silent.

Haseejian watched Healey's stone face and heaving chest, knowing his partner was attempting with every muscle and sinew in his body to control his growing rage. Eventually Healey blinked and swallowed. "Do you know where he is?"

The biker's rictus smile grew wider and he snorted contemptuously. "What do you think?" His dark eyes slid insolently from one detective to the other and back. "There's still a lot to tell… you want to hear it or not?"

Healey inhaled deeply, staring coldly at the bedridden man before him. Slowly releasing his breath, he nodded.

Porter laughed callously then coughed. He looked at Haseejian. "Water…" he croaked.

With a scowl and a pointed look at his partner, the Armenian cop picked up the glass with the bendable straw from the table at his elbow and held it out. The sergeants stared at each other as the biker struggled to put his lips around the straw.

Finished, Porter let his head drop back against the pillow, trying not to wince; Haseejian put the glass back down with a deliberate thud.

Porter sighed. "Ah, where were we?" He was obviously relishing what little power he wielded at the moment.

Healey set his jaw. "You said the Crockers were a pipeline for the heroin coming in."

The biker smiled broadly again. "Oh yeah, that's right." He looked up at Haseejian, eyebrows raised. "You want to know about that?"

The sergeant stared back, resisting the urge to reach out and smack the slimy smirk off Porter's smug face. "Yes, we do."

"Cool!" he crowed then, inexplicably, the smile disappeared. "Just so you know, I'm not a user… never have been. I hate the stuff." His voice had become soft and far away. "My cousin died of an overdose a few months ago. He broke the code… he was a dealer that started to use…" He took a deep unsteady breath and his voice assumed a hard edge. "They found him with the needle still in his arm…"

The others waited. They knew the fury that was suddenly so evident was directed at the people who had facilitated this tragedy; they hoped it would fuel his desire to bring everything to an end.

"How do they bring the heroin in?" Healey prompted quietly. They needed this information, he knew, but they also knew they were up against some unknown timetable that could prove disastrous if they were hours or, daresay, minutes late.

As if reading his mind, Porter's eyes slid in Healey's direction. The slight smile was no longer gloatingly superior; it was almost sympathetic. "Don't worry," he said simply, "you still have enough time."

Frowning slightly, Healey cocked his head. "Enough time before what?"

Ignoring him, Porter stared at the ceiling. "Like I said, the heroin comes in from Southeast Asia… Thailand I think but don't quote me on that." A cold smile briefly flickered across his face. "About every six months a ship comes into the coast just north of here, up between McKinleyville and Trinidad. They know just when the Coast Guard patrols that area of the coast, which isn't too damn often…" He shrugged.

"The Crockers bring a couple a big boats up there. The ship gets as close as they can and the boats go out to it and unload the heroin. They put it into a bunch of cars and pick-ups instead of big trucks, so's not to call attention to themselves, and bring it all back to the ranch." Porter chuckled mirthlessly. "Piece a cake."

There were so many questions fighting for priority in the cops' minds that they didn't know where to start. Haseejian leaned over the bed. "Where, precisely, along the coast?"

Porter shook his head. "I don't know. I never went… I, ah, I'm a distributor of the final product, I guess you could say," he offered with a dry chuckle.

"They use the same place all the time?"

"I don't know… I think so."

"You said the Crocker ranch," Healey said. "Where's that?"

"Southeast, about two miles from the town limits. Everybody in town knows where it is; it's not hard to find."

"That's where they keep the heroin?"

Porter snorted again. "Keep it, cut it, distribute it… the whole megillah." He looked at Healey and shook his head slightly. "I bet you're wondering why no one's dropped a dime on them, right? How a whole town can keep their mouths shut about it?"

The Irish detective nodded slowly. "It had crossed my mind."

"That's 'cause you think the Crockers have the whole town under their thumb, right? Too scared of retaliation to do anything about it?" Both sergeants nodded. Porter shook his head. "You got that wrong. Nobody says anything about it because everybody is involved… and I mean everybody. You gotta give the Crockers credit, they, ah, they share the wealth, I guess you could call it. Nobody in town lacks for anything… the Crockers make sure of that. So I mean, why piss all over a good thing, right?"

"Then why are you doing this?" Haseejian asked quietly, gesturing vaguely towards the ADA and the stenographer.

Porter clenched his teeth; they could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Because when the Crockers turn on you, you're as good as dead." He inhaled deeply. "When Paunchy lost his cool the other day and went after your friend, he put the entire… operation in jeopardy."

"Why?"

"Like I said, because of the timing."

"You mean they're due for another heroin shipment?"

Porter nodded.

"When?" Haseejian demanded.

The biker looked up and met his eyes coldly and evenly. "Tomorrow night."

Startled, the two detectives looked at each other. Suddenly time was truly of the essence.

Trying to control his pounding heart, Healey nodded slowly. "All right…but what about those missing boys? What about our colleague? How do they figure into all this?"

Porter's eyes suddenly went dark and he sunk back against the pillow. The detectives exchanged worried looks.

"The one thing I haven't told you about is how the Crockers pay for all this heroin. Sure they make a fortune selling it, but they gotta pay for it too." He swallowed heavily, for the first time almost reluctant to elaborate further. "That, ah…" He stopped and exhaled slowly, as if trying to find the right words. "The big boss back in Thailand or wherever… seems he has very specific tastes when it comes to, ah…" He paused again and briefly closed his eyes. "Let's just say he gets paid with a big wad of American cash… and a young, handsome American boy…"

Healey felt the floor come up and hit him in the face. For a second he couldn't believe what he had heard and his eyes snapped to Haseejian. His partner was staring at Porter with an open mouth and wide eyes. The room was enveloped in a shocked and sickened silence. And he knew he had heard Porter correctly.

"You mean…?" he began slowly as he gained control of his voice.

"I mean exactly what I said," Porter almost snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at the appalled men looming over him.

"That's why a boy disappeared every six months…" Haseejian breathed from across the bed.

The biker nodded. "They weren't the only ones, believe me… this's been going on for almost four years. Just nobody caught on before now…"

They could tell that Porter was uncomfortable and they pressed him. "How do you know about all this?"

"Everybody knows," came the soft reply. "It's the cost of doing business, I guess."

"So that's why everybody at Patches told us that our lieutenant was in the bar alone?"

Porter nodded. "Like I said, the Crockers own the town lock, stock and barrel."

Healey suddenly shook his head. "I don't understand. If they already had the… the boy for this meet, why did they take Steve?"

The biker snorted slightly; it was the first time he had heard the missing cop's name. Then he shook his head. "I don't know… I really don't. Opportunity, I guess?"

Haseejian leaned closer and fixed Porter with an unyielding stare. "Do you think he's still alive?"

The biker turned informant stared back. "If he was alive when they dragged him from Patches, yeah, I think he would be. I mean, hell, it's just as easy to deliver two… packages to the ship as it is one, isn't it? Curry a little more favour with the boss back in Thailand? I mean, it can't hurt, can it? And no one's the wiser."

# # # # #

"I'll get a call in to the Coast Guard right away," Ryan said as they strode quickly down the corridor towards the stairwell. There was no time to use the stairs to get back to Mike's room. "I'll get in touch with the DA again and get warrants for search, seizure and arrest. And I'll call Manley, get him back here. Meet you up in the room when I finish."

Ryan continued down the corridor to the payphones while Healey and Haseejian entered the stairwell and headed up the steps at a jog. Reaching the fourth floor they started quickly down the corridor, each lost in his own thoughts.

Haseejian glanced at his partner. "How the hell are we gonna tell Mike?"

They stopped briefly outside the wooden door and exchanged almost heartbroken looks. "I have no idea," Healey breathed as he pushed the door open without bothering to knock.

The eyes of both lieutenants were on them before they could step through the door. Mike started pushing himself up into a sitting position as Devitt stood. "Well?" he said anxiously.

"We've got to make a move, and we've got to do it soon," Healey said quickly, taking them both in with a look that informed them that the interrogation had yielded results.

"He talked?" Mike asked, his blue eyes boring into his sergeants troubled faces.

"And then some," Haseejian nodded. "Ryan is getting in touch with Manley to get him and his deputy back here right now… and he's contacting the DA and the Coast Guard."

"The Coast Guard?" Devitt repeated. "Why?"

Healey glanced at his partner then looked back at the lieutenants. "Roy, you better have a seat. This is going to take awhile." The irony of his use of the phrase was not lost on either sergeant.

With a concerned glance at Mike, Devitt sat, leaning forward. Wincing slightly, Mike turned to face the sergeants, his brow furrowed in worried anticipation.

As quickly and accurately as they could, Healey and Haseejian relayed everything Porter had told them: about how the extended Crocker family not only ran but owned the town and everything in it; about how the attack on Mike and Steve had nothing to do with the Crocker family but was just the result of territoriality and a violent temper; about how the Crocker family business was the smuggling and trafficking of heroin shipped in from Southeast Asia and stored at their ranch just outside town; and about the impending heroin shipment arriving the following night.

When Haseejian finally paused in the narration, Mike fixed him with an anxious stare. "Did you find out what happened to Steve?"

The sergeants shared a quick, nervous glance then Healey softly cleared his throat as he took a half step closer to the bed. He inhaled as if to begin then closed his mouth again.

Mike lowered his chin. "Dan…" he prompted quietly, his eyebrows raised as he stared at his sergeant without blinking.

"We found out about the… about the young fellas." He took another deep breath, looking down. "The Crockers pay for the heroin in cash… and, ah… and –"

"No," Mike cut him off quietly, shaking his head slowly as he sat back a little, "no…"

Healey looked into Mike's widening eyes. "That's why one young man disappears every six months… just before the shipment comes in…"

"No…" Mike repeated again, still shaking his head.

Devitt, with a worried glance at Mike, asked quietly, "But if they already have someone, why -?"

"Porter said he thinks they took Steve… just because he was there… he fit the bill, so to speak… and a gift of two young men…" Healey cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying not to meet Mike's distraught stare.

Devitt took a step towards the bed but kept his eyes on the others. "Did Porter confirm he was still alive?" he asked quietly, putting into words the question Mike couldn't ask.

Haseejian glanced at Mike before looking at Devitt. "He said if Steve was alive when they took him from Patches, then he probably still is… but that he'll be put on the boat tomorrow night…"

Mike's gaze has fallen to the floor; he was immobile. Devitt stared at him for a few beats then looked back at his sergeants. "What's the plan?"

"Ryan is going to pull together as many men as we can get, and we're going to raid the ranch first thing in the morning, before sunrise, before they can get their shit together and start to head out to meet the ship on the coast."

Devitt nodded quickly. "Sounds good. Go. Go help him get it organized. I'll be with you as soon as I can."

With final worried glances at Mike, Healey and Haseejian left the room. When the door closed, Mike looked up at his colleague. There was a fear in his eyes that Devitt hadn't seen before. "Roy…" he said softly.

Their eyes remained locked for several long seconds. Then Devitt blinked. "I need you to promise me something, Mike," he said with quiet intensity. He crossed the short distance to the closet and opened it, pulling out the suitcase and setting it on the foot of the bed. "I need you to promise me you'll stay in the car."