"What?!" Olsen erupted, leaning forward across the desk, his narrowed eyes boring into the calm blue ones of the lieutenant.

Beside him, Mike felt Steve stiffen and turn sharply in his direction.

"What the hell do you mean you're gonna be in there with him?" the captain continued, trying to keep the growing irritation out of his voice.

Mike smiled disarmingly. "I mean exactly that, I'm gonna be in the bar with him." He watched as Olsen's eyes flicked towards Steve and returned; he sat back slowly, glancing at the young man who was staring at him under a furrowed brow.

"Listen, we know nothing about how these guys operate right now. All we know from what we've been able to glean from the autopsies is that these are... were able-bodied men whose ages range somewhere between early twenties to late fifties. So, I think we have to… expand our menu so to speak, give them a choice between a healthy and strong young guy who's trying to start his life over for some reason," he glanced once more in Steve's direction, "or a reasonably fit middle-aged guy who's fed up with life and just wants to get away from it all at the bottom of a bottle."

Olsen inclined his head. "You…" he stated softly and the lieutenant smiled slightly.

"Yeah, me."

The captain sighed, continuing to stare, as if trying to find some reason to put the kibosh on this seemingly insane idea. "You do know you're not going to be able to fake it, right? You're going to have to do some serious drinking."

Mike nodded slowly. "I know. And it's gonna have to be hard liquor too, I know that. From the research I did, the laudanum was usually disguised in whiskey, so I guess that'll have to be my drink of choice."

"Mike…" Steve said quietly, knowing his partner was not a consumer of hard liquor, preferring beer and wine when he did indulge.

The older man turned to him with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll get it on the rocks," he chuckled then looked back at their captain.

Exhaling loudly, Olsen sighed, "I guess I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this…" he began and Mike shook his head, smiling, "so," he continued, pushing the file across the desk, "I'll let you get on with it."

Laughing slightly, Mike stood, reaching for the file. Steve got to his feet slowly, his worried eyes still locked onto his partner as Mike picked up the folder and turned towards the door.

"Thanks, Rudy," Mike called over his shoulder as he opened the office door and began to exit.

"Keep me in the loop!" the captain called after them as Steve closed the door and took a couple of quick steps to catch up to his partner as they crossed through the outer office and turned into the corridor.

"Why didn't you tell me you're going to use yourself as bait too?" he asked almost angrily as he fell into step beside the taller man.

Mike glanced over at him and smiled. "Because I didn't think of it until we were in the middle of our pitch to Rudy." He chuckled slightly and the younger man's frown deepened even more. "Besides, why should you have all the fun?"

"Mike!" Steve growled, grabbing the older man's arm and pulling him to a stop in the middle of the corridor. He looked quickly up and down the hallway, hoping they weren't attracting undue attention, but it was proving difficult to find the right words.

Mike waited, a patient smile on his face as he watched his young friend struggle, then he gently pulled his arm free. "Come on," he said amiably, cocking his head down the corridor in the direction they'd been going. "We've got an appointment with Mark Miranda in Bunco. He's gonna come up with the fake paperwork we're both gonna need."

His smile getting a little wider, Mike started off again; Steve hesitated a few seconds before following, his unease continuing to grow.

# # # # #

"Okay, so I'll get you both a full set of I.D.'s – driver's license, credit card, that kinda thing. You won't need too much, I wouldn't think."

Mike shook his head. Miranda glanced from the smiling lieutenant to the scowling inspector. He didn't know Steve Keller all that well but he could tell that the younger man was definitely out of sorts.

They were in the middle of the Bunco squadroom, Mike sitting on the end of an unoccupied desk. The phone in the glass-walled inner office began to ring and Miranda glanced towards it. "Sorry," he said to the two homicide detectives, "I've gotta get that. Allan's not in today. Be right back."

As the documents expert moved away, Mike looked up at his sullen partner. "Come on, out with it," he said flatly, losing the smile. "What is it about me wanting to go undercover that's bugging you so much?"

Steve exhaled loudly, his eyes snapping towards his partner's. He opened his mouth to say something then seemed to think better of it.

"What?" Mike persisted, reaching out to slap the younger man lightly on the arm. "You don't think I can do it?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably, looking down and away. "It's not that…" he said softly.

"Then what?"

Knowing Mike was not going to let the matter drop, he hung his head and inhaled deeply. "Look, what if they go after you –?"

"Well, that's what we want, isn't it?" Mike cut him off with a chuckle. "We want them to go after one of us, and the odds are, Steve, it's gonna be you. But what if they do come after me? We're gonna have guys all over that place – at least one inside and more out. They might be able to incapacitate us but they won't be able to get us out of the building. And if we give them two possible… recruits…" he chuckled, "chances are they'll pick one of us. That is what we want, right?"

When Steve didn't say anything, Mike slapped him lightly again. "Come on, throw an old dog a bone once in a while, will ya?" His laugh was infectious.

Very slowly a smile began to appear on the younger man's face and he started to nod. With an artificially loud sigh, he finally met the older man's sparkling eyes. "All right, but you gotta promise me you'll stay out of trouble. I don't want to have to worry about you the entire time you're in there."

Miranda had hung up the phone and was making his way back towards them. Mike's grin got even wider. "You just worry about yourself, buddy boy," he chuckled, pleased when he was rewarded with a warm laugh from his young partner, and grateful beyond words for the concern.

"Say, fellas, ah, I'm kinda tied up for the rest of the day so I'm not gonna be able to start on this stuff until tomorrow morning. So I have an idea." He took them both in with a wide smile. "Now I know both of you are going be working on the back-stories for your new, ah, personas, so I tell you what. I want each of you to pick the pseudonym for the other."

"What?" Mike asked, his features contorting in confusion.

"That means our fakes names," Steve offered facetiously.

Mike's face fell and he looked at his partner in annoyance. "I know what it means, smartass." Both Steve and Miranda laughed.

"Mike," the documents expert said, trying not to sound condescending, "what I mean is, you two know each other so well, I'm giving you a little homework assignment. I want you to come up with Steve's fake name and he gets to come up with yours."

Steve's smile, which was big to begin with, got even wider. "Ooooh, I am liking this… I am liking this a lot," he said with an evil chuckle.

Mike looked at him without expression, then the Cheshire cat grin began to slowly appear. "Yeah… yeah, I like that too. I really do." He turned to the third man as Steve's smile began to waver. "Thanks, Mark, we'll do that. So, what? We just call you in the morning?"

Beaming, his wide eyes bouncing from one homicide detective to the other, he shook his head enthusiastically. "No, I'm guessing you both want to change your look, right?" They nodded. "Well, I'm gonna need photos then too, for the driver's license and maybe a business card for you, Mike, when you decide what your doppelganger does for a living. So why don't you both meet me here tomorrow morning at, say, 9 and you can make your… presentations."

The partners stared at each other, both of them smiling, both of them nodding… and both of their minds racing.

# # # # #

Sitting in the guest chair next to Mark Miranda's desk, Steve stroked the beard that had grown in nicely and glanced at his watch once more. 8:58. His anticipatory stare returned to the door just in time to see it open and his partner stride into the room. With a deep, slow chuckle, grinning, he got to his feet. "Well, well, well, look at you," he said through the laugh as Mike stopped just inside the door and held his arms out, presenting himself.

"Well, what do you think?" Heads around the office turned in his direction and there was a spattering of laughter.

Steve slowly circled the older man, taking in the slightly ill-fitting light grey suit, white shirt and brown shoes, the black and red striped tie, and the gold-rimmed glasses under hair that had been combed forward over his forehead. He held a beige raincoat over one arm and a black leather briefcase in the other hand.

"Well, well, well…" Steve said languidly, his eyes continuing to survey the apparition before him, nodding his approval. "If, ah, if you're going for uncomfortable-in-his-own-skin bureaucrat, I think you nailed it."

"Why thank you, buddy boy. I was going for accountant but… close enough!" Mike chuckled, bobbing his head, staring with delight at his shaggy partner. "So, ah, what are you? Disillusioned former hippie? Biker without a gang? Rebel looking for a cause?"

Steve stopped circling and looked down at himself, holding his arms away from his body. He was wearing jeans with a black leather metal-studded belt, cowboy boots, a mustard yellow corduroy shirt under a very well broken-in black leather jacket, a dirty blue-and-white bandana tied around his neck and a leather thong around his right wrist. With a genial chuckle, he held up a key dangling from a short silver chain.

"I rented a Hog this morning."

Mike stared at him from under a lowered brow. "You're kidding. You really did?"

With a closed-mouth smile, Steve nodded. Mike frowned briefly. "I like the idea, but do you think a guy with a Harley would be a good choice to, ah… disappear? They'd have to get rid of the bike."

"I need the money… I want to sell it and get outa town, in a hurry."

With a facial shrug, Mike nodded slowly, mulling it over. "I like it… yeah, that might just work."

"So, ah, what about you? What's your story?"

"Me? Oh, ah, a dead-end accounting job, which I lost last month, and then my wife kicked me out. My kids don't talk to me anymore… I'm staying in a flea-bag motel off Divisadero…" He sighed heavily and turned his puppy-dog eyes on his grinning partner.

Mark Miranda had joined them and was nodding his approval. "Good lord, you two really took my little challenge to heart."

"If you're gonna do something, do it right," Mike laughed with a nod, turning to show his outfit to the documents expert.

"So, ah, what names did you pick for each other?" Miranda asked with a chuckle, his eyes snapping back and forth between the two.

Steve gestured towards his partner. "Age before…" he began with an evil chortle, taking no apparent notice of Mike's heavy sigh.

"Ignoring that," Mike said pleasantly as he faced the Bunco detective, "I believe that it's the boy's turn to go first for a change. And as rank hath its privileges," he turned to Steve and opened his arms, "please, I want to hear your… contribution first."

With a snort and a quick shake of his head, Steve looked at Miranda. "All right. Mark, I would like you to meet Archibald Richardson." He looked at Mike with expectantly raised eyebrows. "Archie, meet Mark."

Mike's face fell. "Archibald Richardson? Are you kidding me?"

"What, you have a problem with it, Archie?"

"Well, it's a little long, isn't it?"

"I have enough letters," Miranda offered glibly, trying to hide his grin as his eyes bounced from one partner to the other.

"What's wrong with it?" Steve asked archly.

"Oh, ah, nothing, nothing," Mike muttered, "but you really should get that Watergate obsession under control."

Miranda frowned as he stared at the lieutenant.

Cocking his head, Mike explained, "Archibald Cox and Elliot Richardson – two of his heroes from that whole Nixon thing…" He gestured at Steve and shrugged.

Chuckling, Miranda shook his head and looked at the young inspector. "I think it's a great choice. So, Archie," he turned to Mike and nodded towards Steve, "what name do I put on his driver's license?"

Mike looked at his partner with a smug smile. "Mitchell Sharpe, with an e."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Okay…" he said, drawing the word out and cocking his head. "Mitchell from …?"

"John Mitchell, of course - the man you love to hate." Mike's grin couldn't get any broader; he knew instantly that he had made the right choice.

Slowly nodding, Steve continued, "Okay… and Sharpe?"

Mike's smile disappeared and a look of genuine concern transformed his features. "Because that's what I want you to stay during all this, buddy boy – sharp."