A/N: Thanks for the reviews again!

Guest: Thanks much!

Smithy: You're lucky in that way then.

Chapter 5: What We Meet on the Road

Bahorel is used to every kind of unpleasant scene, but he has never seen anything like the outright massacre in front of the courthouse. Everything here is blood and ash, with the dead and wounded sprawled amid the rubble from the courthouse's facade as well as nearby shops and establishments. The air is still thick with smoke from the smouldering wreckage of the car bomb, and it makes Bahorel's eyes sting as he jogs up the sidewalk. He shakes his head when he sees a team of paramedics cease doing CPR on a man caught within the blast zone. 'If there is really a hell, then there is no circle deep enough for whoever did this,' he decides.

An officer steps forward to block Bahorel as he approaches the police line. "This is a crime scene, sir. I advise you stay away," he says gruffly.

Bahorel pulls his ID out of his pocket. "Special Investigator Remy Bahorel. Let me through."

The officer sneezes and wipes his nose with his sleeve. "What's the human rights commission have got to do with this?"

"The victims are known to us," Bahorel replies before bringing out a camera to begin taking pictures of the scene.

Suddenly he hears his phone ring, and he stops to take the call from Feuilly. "Hey dude, where are you?" he asks his friend concernedly. "Hope you're not anywhere near where I'm standing."

"I'm at the office, taking calls. Bossuet has gone to the Immigration Bureau to coordinate with them about contacting the victims' families. Courf and Enjolras are meeting up at Saint-Michel," Feuilly says in a harried tone. "Has the scene been cleared?"

"Not quite; there are still paramedics," Bahorel replies. He nods to a blonde woman clad in the uniform of a crime scene investigator, signalling to him. "Gilles, I've got to speak with the SOCO team here, so I'll get back to you and the Chief as soon as I can. In the meantime please call up de Chagny and ask if anyone's been moving any high-grade explosive."

Feuilly whistles. "You think he'd know?"

"He'd know someone who knows," Bahorel replies. This is not the first time he's thankful to have a good friend on the less shady side of the munitions industry. As soon as his friend ends the call, he pockets the phone, brushes some dust off his shirt and walks up to the woman now taking notes. "I'm Bahorel, from the human rights commission. Special Investigator. Anything I can help you with?" he greets, holding out his hand.

"I'm Karen Hooper," the woman says, looking up quickly from her notepad. Her nose crinkles even as her hazel eyes survey him carefully. "You trained with a cousin of mine."

It takes Bahorel a moment to recall the names and faces that these words bring to mind. "Molly. Is she still with-"

Karen makes a face. "I never know what's with her and Holmes." She chews on her lip as she looks around. "So these people were witnesses, victims, or what-?"

"Survivors," Bahorel replies. It's just as well that Karen is easy on the eyes, what with the way her regulation black jacket hangs so nicely on her, since he now can't look around this scene without feeling his stomach twist with revulsion. "Have you found anything?"

Karen nods. "This fits the modus operandi of a group for hire that's been operating in this city. Big truck parked right in front of the place, only this time they blew it up instead of filling it with contraband and driving off."

'A last job before hitting the road, or a move on to higher power?' Bahorel wonders. Either way he and his friends now have their work cut out for them. "What are they called?"

"The Difunto gang," Karen says with a shrug. Her smile would be coy if not for the seriousness of this scenario. "It doesn't ring a bell? I think you're less interested in pyrotechnics, and more about who'd hire these goons."

Bahorel grins approvingly. "Ah, we're on the same wavelength then."

"I know your type. Big picture people and high crimes."

"I'm a weapons specialist. That's a lot of getting up close."

Karen laughs but her expression turns serious once more as she looks to where one of her teammates is about to board a car. "I have to go. We'll forward a copy of the crime scene report to the commission's office as soon as we can," she tells him.

"We should talk more about this, Karen," Bahorel says. "Compare notes, maybe over coffee..."

She crosses her arms. "Is your chief going to approve of that?"

"We're team players in the commission nowadays," he replies. "Always could use some help, especially on the ground."

She smiles again before she writes down a number on her notepad and tears the sheet out. "After office hours. I'm more into tea by the way," she whispers as she presses the paper into his palm. "See you around, Bahorel"

Bahorel is nothing short of elated as he quickly saves Karen's number into his phone's directory and sends her a text message. "Like hell I'm going to wait for that report," he mutters as he goes to talk to some of the other personnel on the scene. He doesn't unearth much more than what he already has from his own photography; there are no eyewitnesses or video footage to give any clues as to who triggered the explosion. 'Obviously by remote,' he decides as he heads now for Saint-Michel Hospital, where the few survivors have now been brought.

He arrives just in time to see Enjolras and Courfeyrac exiting the lobby. "Looks like I'm a little late," Bahorel greets them loudly.

"On the contrary you're right on time; there's nothing more we can do here until the patients are out of danger," Enjolras says as he grips Bahorel's shoulder. "We'll touch base with the doctors later, after our meeting with the Immigration Bureau."

Bahorel nods as he follows his friends to Courfeyrac's car. "Have you guys heard of the Difunto gang?" he asks as he slides into the backseat.

Courfeyrac scoffs as he turns the key in the ignition. "Now and then they come up in the police blotters. Mostly runners and hustlers."

"They operate downtown, near the halfway house," Enjolras chimes in from the front passenger seat. "You're better off asking Eponine about that after she scrubs out later."

"You let her do operations in her condition?" Bahorel sputters.

"She's pregnant, not incapacitated. Musichetta checked her over this morning and everything is okay," Enjolras points out. His eyes are harsh and yet pensive as he looks out the window for a few moments. "So the Difunto group is now tagged in the bombing?"

"Hired for it," Bahorel replies. "That's the motive the local police are working with, according to the SOCO operative I met with."

"It must have taken a heck of an incentive to get them to step up from the small time," Courfeyrac says, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath as he stops the car at a red light. "Have you read the medico-legal reports of the rescue?"

"Later," Bahorel says. He's not sure he's ready for that just yet, especially when he knows that today's report will be even grimmer. "How many of our witnesses are still alive?" he asks at length.

"Eight. Three of them are touch and go." Enjolras answers. He grabs his phone as it beeps with an incoming message. He takes one look at the screen and grits his teeth. "That was Combeferre. We're down to seven."

"Damn them all to hell," Bahorel mutters as he clenches his fist, longing now for the satisfying smack of knuckles against flesh. Yet he hears something crinkle in his pocket and he reaches down to find the paper with Karen's number. His fingers curl around the scrap like they would around a talisman, only that this one is something he is almost sure of.