Chapter Twelve: They're Clubhauling!
"Well?"
A soft curse. "Scarface got him out."
The overhead light gleamed off the shaven head and small silver earrings as the man turned around, landing one of his newest recruits with a demanding stare.
His target – a young brunet – fidgeted under his new boss's regard. "Shoulda known, really. Scarface wouldn't take over even after Elias… The cop disappeared after that fire."
Hassler's expression shifted towards a frown. "The one where Castor died?" His tone was inquiring, yet there was a hard, angry edge to the words.
Will Scarlet nodded. "Yeah. Two months and Scarface kept sayin' the Boss was comin' back. Couple of the chiefs finally got fed up and jumped 'im – just in time for the Boss and his first crew to catch 'em in the act." He spat on the floor. "Cops, the lot of 'em! Your guy's brother – he tried to tell us and we just laughed at 'im!" He dropped his chin and shook his head, muttering, "Stupid," under his breath.
Dietrich stretched out a hand, grasping Will's shoulder as he turned sympathetic. "You thought you knew him. You trusted him – you didn't know." The hand released, spreading out. "I will never betray you or your crew like he did."
The young man looked up, faith and loyalty shining bright. "Yes, sir."
The mobster smiled, a feral, vicious curve of his lips. "You said there's a safe house? One they're still using?"
Sharp, vigorous nodding.
The smile spread. "Take your crew. Scout it out. If he's there, report back immediately."
"Who died?" Scarface demanded as soon as Ed hung up his cell phone.
The sniper Sergeant grimaced, but it really wasn't much of a secret. Plus it was actually good news for Scarface – clearing Greg had just gotten a whole lot harder for them. Glancing towards his team leader, Ed replied, "Niebaum's dead. Gossip so far says it was a sniper – rounds hit center mass."
"Is Revan okay?" Lou asked from the side.
Ed nodded. "He's fine. Called for EMS – figure it took Niebaum a minute or two to bleed out; Revan wouldn't've known the shots were fatal." A breath. "Once he gives his statement and gets back to the SRU, he should call you."
The less-lethal specialist nodded, following the train of thought. "I'm less of a target." At the odd looks from their criminal counterparts, he added, "No sniper training on my record."
"Not beyond the basics," Wordy agreed.
As SRU, all of them needed to know how to handle a rifle in case their usual snipers weren't available; while that meant every member of the SRU was a suspect, being certified as a sniper required additional training and quarterly quals. Neither Lou nor Spike had been expected to certify – as the team's bomb and computer experts, they had their own area of specialization.
"Center mass," Sam mused. "Sounds like our subject's not the best shot."
Jules shook her head. "We'll need a weather report from the location before we can say that, Sam. If the winds were just right, center mass might've been our subject's best target."
"Plus Niebaum wasn't holding anyone hostage," Ed put in. "If the only priority's the kill, then center shot is as good as a head shot."
"More reliable," the blond agreed. "Need that weather report." Glancing at Lou, he added, "Find out if Revan saw the shooter."
"Copy," the less lethal specialist acknowledged. Reaching forward to his laptop, he brought up a new screen. Fingers tapped for a minute, then, "Anything else?"
The three snipers on the team locked gazes, Jules tipping points off on her fingers. "Weather report, Revan's statement…"
"Shooting angle?" Sam offered.
"Sniper's gotta to be from above if Niebaum's on ground level," Ed mused.
"But where?" Wordy put in. "Even if Niebaum got shot in a park, there's at least three different rooftops a sniper could use."
"Does it matter?" All eyes swung to Spike – he fidgeted, but lifted sightless light brown eyes towards his Sergeant. "How are we helpin' Sarge by investigating who shot Niebaum? Not like anything we dig up on our own is admissible."
Reflexively, Ed grimaced and saw his constables do the same. They were cops – it was their nature to investigate. To get to the bottom of what happened and why. To pick up all the clues they could – any detail might be the one thread that untangled an entire hot call. But Spike was right; their goal was to clear Greg. Not go chasing after whoever had shot a dirty IA detective.
"What if Niebaum was taken out to make it easier to frame Sarge?" Jules countered. "He's going to be their prime suspect."
"And we're next on the list," Lane replied. He considered, nodding to himself. "Lou, keep track of whatever Revan can get to you, but Spike's right. Priority is that IA investigation Niebaum had going."
"Ed, if we can track down the other escapees, that might help too," Wordy suggested. "Maybe that buys Sarge some brownie points."
Scarface grunted, unhappy with anything that might benefit the SRU officers, but reluctantly added, "They're Castor Troy's."
"All of them?" Spike pressed.
"All of them," Sam put in before their mobster allies could do anything more than bristle. "Sarge being a cop ticked off the guys inside."
Sightless brown widened and a soft 'Oh' escaped the bomb tech. He frowned. "So, we take 'em down, we take down a bunch of guys who've got a grudge against Sarge?"
"Right on the money," Lou agreed even as a brow arched in Wordy's direction. "Thought we were gonna let Elias's people handle our friendly escapees."
The brunet shrugged. "That was before Spike came in and shot down Niebaum's Commissioner Loeb theory." A hand reached out and clapped the startled raven on the back. "Good work knocking us back on track, Scarlatti."
Sam crossed his arms, surveying his teammates. "So if we're not investigating Niebaum's shooting or taking down our escapees, where's that leave us?" The blond head tilted. "Not like they're gonna let us take a look at Niebaum's IA files."
"No, they won't," Ed conceded, eyes already shifting towards Scarface and Bennet. "But how 'bout Greg's files from when he was under?"
Scarface sneered. "Oh, now you wanna deal?"
Lou stood up before his Sergeant could answer, hand sweeping low in a 'I got this' gesture. Dark eyes focused on the mobsters, resting more on Bennet than Scarface. "Look," he said. "We get it. You don't want to lose him, same as us. He goes back to being a cop and you lose him again." He let that hang a moment. "You think if he's got an arrest warrant out, then he doesn't have a choice; he's gotta stay under. With you." The less-lethal specialist took a single step forward. "You know what he wants, but you don't care. Just as long as you can keep him."
Scarface bristled, but Bennet fidgeted uneasily. Before either could speak, Lou slashed his hand across, cutting them off.
"But what about his kids?"
Bennet froze. "Boss has got kids?"
Blue widened as Lou nodded and Ed figured out what his less-lethal specialist was doing. And it was so obvious and yet so brilliant – why hadn't he thought of that?
"Three," Lou replied, dismissing the fuming Scarface to hone in on Bennet. "His son is the oldest, by a couple months. The other two, they're his niece and nephew – moved here five years ago after their parents were murdered." A breath. "In a fire."
Reaching down, he dug out his phone and thumbed it on. Fingers danced for several seconds before he turned the device, holding it out to show the mobsters. Although Ed couldn't see which picture his constable had picked out, his mind's eye shone with an image of his best friend's favorite desk photo – Greg and Dean on one side of the frame with his nipotes crowding in from the other side, all four of them grinning like loons at the camera. Or maybe Lou had picked the team's favorite – Greg in the middle with his hands on 'Lanna's shoulders and the boys bracketing him on either side, arms crossed in a 'police pose' as they leaned back against their guardian, half-glaring, half-grinning at the camera.
Regardless of which photo it was, it did the trick – Bennet took the phone, eyes widening at the evidence that mob boss Carl Elias's alter ego had three kids. "Scarface…did you know?"
"They can stay with us," Scarface countered. "With the Boss – no one'll touch 'em."
"Maybe none of you will touch them," Lou cut in. "But what about all the other gangs?" He shifted, facing more towards Scarface. "You and your people, you don't touch families – believe me, we respect that – but not every gang out there is willing to leave family out of the business." He drew in a deep breath. "And if you think you're going to drag Sarge's kids undercover along with him, I'd think again. He lied to all of us and went undercover for them. To protect them from Castor Troy. You drag his kids into this and he goes from friend to enemy – you don't touch his kids. Not if you wanna live."
"You put 'em there first."
"No, I just let your buddy here know what you're trying to take away from him," Lou hissed. "You have any idea how long he spent hoping and praying he'd get a second chance with his son?"
"Ten years," Wordy tacked on, stepping up to join his teammate. "Even after Sarge's niece and nephew came here – he got better, but he wasn't whole till his son came back." His shoulders bunched. "You have no right to take Sarge's family away from him."
"We're not," Scarface blurted.
"But you are," Sam countered. "By keeping Sarge undercover and refusing to help us clear him, you're robbing him of the life he chose. The family who needs him." He crossed his arms, glaring hard. "With friends like you two, who needs enemies?"
There was a long, harsh silence. Then Bennet nodded to himself and handed Lou's phone back. "I know where the Boss kept his files. I'll show 'em to you."
Ed joined his constables, ignoring Scarface's furious expression and the way his rival's shoulders were quivering – right on the edge of desperation. "Okay, sounds good." He flicked a glance at Sam. "Stay with Spike."
"Copy, Boss." The blond moved to Spike's side, pausing to reach out and tap the screen lock on Lou's laptop.
Wordy let out a low whistle at the lopsided stacks of cardboard boxes, all of them labeled with a black Sharpie. SRU, Homicide, Internal Affairs, Academy… Boxes for every single department he'd ever heard of and one or two that rang a bell, but not enough to immediately peg. There were four boxes just for the Unis and two last boxes marked 'Retired'; Sarge definitely hadn't settled for half measures in the Castor Troy investigation.
"This is just for dirty cops?" he asked, turning towards Bennet.
The mobster fidgeted and shook his head. "Once the Boss started lookin' at you cops, he had us grabbing all the intel we could." He waved at the boxes. "Ra Kacharz got us a lotta that and Boss had another source, too. Not sure who."
"Holleran," Ed put in, already working to uncover the SRU box. "Once they set up that dead drop, it went both ways."
"Right," Wordy mused. "Holleran could get stuff Sarge couldn't. Not when he was supposed to be in rehab." He eyed the SRU box a moment, then shifted towards the Internal Affairs cardboard box. "Boss? Don't we want that one?"
"You guys start with that one," the Sergeant replied. "Get that down to Sam and Spike, see if you can find what the Boss dug up on Niebaum." He glanced up. "And call my brother; his contacts might be able to find out how Niebaum managed to skate on those charges."
"Copy," the team leader acknowledged, though he frowned. "You trying to ID our sniper?"
"Mostly," Ed admitted. "But if we got another rat, I'd like a heads-up."
The SRU constables stiffened, all of them well aware that their Sergeant wasn't referring to an IA snitch, but to the Team Four bomb tech who'd helped Moffet frame them for two prison breakouts and their Auror liaison's attempted murder.
"Ed, should Sam and I help you?" Jules asked.
The lean sniper shook his head. "Priority is Niebaum and clearing the Boss." He lifted the lid off the SRU box. "Have Lou come up once Revan calls in. I'll focus on our fishing expedition."
Twin soft beeps drew an automatic glance, frown, and wince. Ed Lane lifted his opposite hand, rubbing at his bald dome as he took in the time on his watch. 7 PM – part of him was surprised his teammates hadn't turned up to roust him out of his investigation for something to eat. His stomach rumbled and a hawk cocked its head to the side in the back of his mind, giving a soft creel for food. Rubbing at his eyes, Ed surveyed the table he'd commandeered, gaze settling on the four files laid out on it – one for each team in the SRU.
A hot flare of indignation shot through his veins when his eyes rested on the first folder – Team One. After everything they'd gone through, how dare Greg investigate them? Their team – they would never betray him or his kids. Then the sniper closed his eyes, jaw clenching at the memory of the Imperius. The blank bliss that had engulfed his world, turning him against everything he believed in. Turning him into a mindless automaton, a scut who fired on a bomb less than a meter from two of his own constables.
Sorrowful blue opened again, regarding the folder. No half-measures; Greg hadn't been able to risk it. He'd had to explore any possible angle, every potential threat to himself, his family, and his team. Even if that meant investigating the people closest to him. Those he loved – and trusted – best.
Ed knew that if he'd been in Greg's place, he would've done the same. He would've hated himself for it and he would've been absurdly grateful when nothing turned up, but he still would've done it. Heck, if it had been him, he might've even investigated Sophie, despite knowing, with every ounce of his soul, that she would never do that. Not to him, Clark, Izzy – their family.
He sighed, gaze drifting to the other three folders. They were all thicker than the Team One folder – evidence that his best friend had looked much harder at the other teams than his own. Faint consolation that although Greg hadn't been able to take the chance of not investigating their team, he'd moved on as soon as he could.
There hadn't been much, though. Notes on the specialties of each team member, a rough history of their careers before joining the SRU. A universal, blanket statement in each folder that they'd joined the force after Castor Troy's original trial. Not a surprise – Greg and Holleran were probably the only members of the SRU who even remembered Castor Troy's reign of terror. And Greg had been a rookie, hardly a month out of the Academy.
Most of Greg's intel had focused on potential links between the SRU teams and Castor Troy. Confirmation of Lane's private suspicion that looking for dirty cops in general hadn't been his boss's priority. Not that Greg didn't care – just that if he'd started a campaign against every single dirty cop in the Toronto Police Department, he'd still be undercover. And he probably wouldn't have been welcome to come back to any other department if he had. Most cops, Ed included, tended to be suspicious of IA snitches. Going after Castor Troy's thugs – that was different. Troy was a cop killer – a psychopath who slaughtered entire families; any cop helping him deserved exactly what they got.
Unfortunately, since Greg's intel was limited to possible Castor Troy connections, it wasn't giving Ed as many leads as he'd hoped for. Rubbing at his chin – and ignoring the evening stubble – the sniper inspected his notes. Revan had come through with that weather report and details on the shooting. Wind had been fairly calm at the subject location, shots had come from above. Too far above for the subject to be spotted, although Revan's attention had been focused solely on the victim. The center mass shots had been deliberate cruelty, forcing Niebaum to choke on his own blood and slowly gasp himself to death.
According to Winnie, Teams Two and Four had been on-duty. Both out on patrol, both had reported in within seconds when she'd demanded a rolling update, right after the shooting. That left Team Three, but they'd known Revan was tailing Niebaum. Going after the IA detective would've been pure stupidity on their part. If he'd had to pick the mostly likely team to go after Niebaum, he would've picked his own team. And then Team Two – Roenick didn't like Greg and made no secret of the fact that he was jealous of the lieutenant, but that was an intra-SRU issue. Faced with a threat from outside their unit, Roenick's team had closed ranks with their fellow SRU officers. Plus, Team Two was the only team that hadn't known about Niebaum's ex-Unspeakable shadow.
"Ed?"
The Sergeant turned his head, unsurprised to see Wordy hovering in the doorway to Greg's private intel stash. "Dinner?"
"Yeah and Susan's finally letting us in to see Sarge."
Ed straightened, pinning his team leader with a demanding stare, hope glinting in the depths of hawk blue.
Wordy mustered a wan grin. "He's awake. Still kinda shaky, but he knows where he is and who everyone is."
He slumped down, relief weakening the stoic façade. "Thank gawd."
"You said it, Boss."
Kinda shaky was generous. Greg's skin had an unhealthy flush, he was shivering like a leaf even as sweat rolled down his forehead, and hazel irises were still mixed with scarlet. Worse, although he recognized all of them, he was too sick to sit up or speak more than a few words; only the strength of his grip reassured his anxious teammates that his mind was intact.
Ed didn't mention any of the complications that they were facing – his friend needed to focus on getting better, not fret over Niebaum's murder, the prison escape, or the trial still hanging over his head. Particularly since Susan hadn't been able to fully heal the infection in one go; the Sergeant dreaded the full rundown on Parker's physical state, but knew he'd have to get it. Holleran would need all the ammunition they could provide before Homicide came sniffing around, even if the commander would have to tread carefully with that information.
The sound of little footsteps drew all of them around, but Jane was through the door and up on Greg's bed before anyone could intercept her. The little girl pressed herself against Parker, clinging to him with all the strength her small arms could muster. Weary scarlet-tinged hazel lowered and the lieutenant hugged back gently, eyes bright with the fever still raging through his blood.
Fanny Bennet approached, reaching for her daughter, but the stocky man shook his head. "Let her," he croaked. A wan, weary smile. "Ribs are better."
"Maybe they are, but you need rest," Ed chided. He flicked his eyes at Bennet and Fanny. "Jane can come back and visit tomorrow."
The small blonde's parents nodded agreement and Fanny scooped up Jane, quietly hushing her protests as she carried the child out of the room. Greg didn't protest, though a shade of fear flashed through his eyes. Not, Ed suspected, fear of being hurt or fear that Jane would be hurt, but…
He stepped closer, resting a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Spike is gonna stay with you, Boss."
The bomb tech nodded fiercely, grinning as if they'd planned it all out beforehand. "Lou'll grab me and you some dinner, Sarge; won't be too crowded in here with just three of us."
Parker sank down a bit on the bed. "Just you, Spike. Not hungry."
Spike bit his lip, but didn't argue. Best to let their injured, hurting boss set the pace. Ed caught his friend's eyes, slowly tilting his head in acceptance – Greg's instant relax and thankful return smile clinched the deal. He was just too drained to be interested in anything besides sleep.
A quick series of hand signals got nods from everyone save Spike and their two remaining mobsters. Then Ed glanced towards Susan and hiked a brow. She frowned, but nodded acquiescence.
Lou moved Spike over to Parker's bed and tugged a chair over; the blind man sat down and grabbed the hand closest to him. Greg let his head down on the pillow, squeezing Spike's hand back as gratitude shone in scarlet-hazel. Before leaving the pair, Lou pulled the bed covers up a bit higher and briefly rested a hand on their Sarge's shoulder.
"How is he?" Ed asked as soon as the group was safely out of the room with the door closed behind them.
The blonde's eyes darted to Scarface and Bennet before flicking onto Wordy, then Sam, Jules, and finally back to Ed. The broad-shouldered brunet hid a smirk – by glancing towards several different members of the team, Susan had obfuscated who Sarge's medical proxy was. Oh, Scarface could probably guess it was Ed – something that undoubtedly stuck in the mobster's craw – but Wordy had reached the point where he really didn't care what Elias's guys thought of Sarge's real family.
"Stable," Susan replied. Reaching down in the bag she'd brought from St. Mungo's, the Healer pulled out two scrolls of parchment. "I've documented everything I found in my diagnostics when I arrived, Sergeant Lane."
"Copy that," Ed replied. "Lou can pass it onto Holleran." The less-lethal specialist nodded, accepting the parchment rolls from the Healer.
"High points?" Jules asked.
The Healer-doctor siblings traded grim looks before Jesse took the question. "Multiple broken ribs – couple of them were so bad they shattered – fractured pelvis and his right collarbone was crushed. Got some deep bruising on his arms and legs, but no broken bones."
"According to my diagnostic, he already had internal injuries from the beating, but the broken ribs sure didn't help, either," Susan added, a touch of her usual acerbic temper creeping in. The blonde cast a glare at the two mobsters in the room. "Neither did hiding him here until he had one hell of an infection going!"
"Is that why his eyes are scarlet?" Lou asked.
The whole room stiffened when the Travises hesitated, Jesse looking up at his sister in unspoken plea. Her nose scrunched, followed by her jaw. After a few seconds she sighed, shook her head, and looked down, free hand trailing up and down the wood of her wand in its forearm holster.
"His torso took the worst of the beating," she explained. "Arms and legs took some damage, too, but for the most part, he was able to protect his head, even after he went down." The blonde Healer inhaled slowly. "I did find evidence of at least two kicks to the skull. Maybe three."
Wordy felt a chill run down his back. "But he's talking, he recognizes us and everything!"
"Yes," Susan agreed. "Lieutenant Parker was very lucky, Constable Wordsworth. Assuming there were three kicks, two of them were glancing blows. They rattled him, but it was surface level. In an ordinary course of events, he might've had a bad headache for a day or so."
"And the third?" Jules ventured, tone uncertain.
The Healer grimaced. "That one did damage," she reported flatly. "And given the fact that he is lucid, responding to stimuli, and aware of both past and current events, the kick did not damage any parts of the brain responsible for our everyday life. However…" For a long moment, Susan trailed off, gathering herself. "Lieutenant Parker informed me that he's been unable to consciously control his magic since the riot. It's clear his magic is active, but what it's doing…" She shrugged. "It's not hurting him, so I'm not inclined to tamper with it until we get him to St. Mungo's."
The officers stiffened, trading a rapid series of glances as the pieces came together. All the time they'd been searching, worrying and wondering why Sarge would hide from them – and he'd been too badly injured to turn the 'team sense' back on. Anything more would have to wait for Healer Queenscove's diagnosis, but the lingering doubts that had been swimming in the back of their minds faded away.
"What about the infection?" Lou asked, pushing past the fresh worry that their lieutenant had lost control of his magic – again.
Susan's shoulders slumped as she sighed, exhaustion peeking through. "Under control for now. With so many broken bones and internal injuries…" She grimaced.
"You hit the limit," Wordy filled in. "How long does it take for that to, um…"
"Taper off?" Travis finished. "St. Mungo's typically has us hold off on any additional healing for at least two days if a patient hits the limit." She shook her head, blonde locks flying. "If his fever stays down, I can wait, but if it climbs back into the danger zone, I'll have to heal him and hope for the best."
"What about techie meds?" Jules probed. "There's a ton of over-the-counter stuff for fever." Her eyes flicked towards Jesse. "Or antibiotics – that could help, right?"
The general practitioner grimaced. "It's been ages since my residency, Constable, and we're working blind, without any blood tests or even Parker's medical records." He glanced towards his sister, then back at the officers. "We're not even sure if the infection is due to the internal injuries or the blow to the head." A helpless shrug. "We could try something over-the-counter, but I can't guarantee it won't make things worse."
The discouragement on his face was painful to see – a man who'd felt capable and confident in his profession. Right up until his magical sister had completely shown him up without ever intending to. Cut adrift and floundering in the wake of the miracles that magic could pull off, Jesse Travis was doubting every bit of his hard-won expertise.
"You need your medical records?" Sam asked.
"They can't be removed from my office," Jesse replied, cutting off the sniper's line of thought. "We could try a general antibiotic course, but it usually takes antibiotics a couple days to start really making a difference."
Wordy sighed. "And by that point, we're past the timeframe Susan has to worry about," he concluded, earning a glum nod from the doctor. "What about home remedies?"
Susan scowled. "Home remedies is how we got here, Constable Wordsworth."
He met her glare without flinching. "We don't need them to be the solution. We just need 'em to get us through till we're out of the danger zone." His eyes cut to Jesse. "Family medical practice – I bet there's lots of stuff you learned from your father that you never got taught in school."
The dark-blond's blue eyes brightened a hair and he nodded, glancing over at his sister. "Maybe some of Grandma's remedies?"
The elder Travis's scowl dropped down to a mere frown. "Have you ever used any of Grandma's old cures on a patient?"
"Not often and it's been awhile," Jesse admitted. "But you were telling me if we go past the limit, Parker's body could forget how to heal itself. Grandma's stuff is old-fashioned, but it won't do that."
Susan inspected her brother's hopeful expression, then flicked a glance towards Ed. "Just so you know, Sergeant Lane, Grandma used to swear by ice baths for treating fevers."
"Geez, sis, way to go for the throat," Jesse yelped. "Dad didn't do that and neither do I."
Wordy snickered at the sibling rivalry playing out right in front of them; behind a bland expression, he saw the amused glint in his Sergeant's eyes.
"And we're trusting the Boss with you two?" Scarface demanded.
"Yes we are," Ed broke in, staring down his rival. "Jesse's been our tech-side doc ever since we found out about magic and Susan's one of the go-to Healers for magical law enforcement." Turning back towards the siblings, he added, "Whatever you gotta do, do it. But I want at least one of us with the Boss at all times."
Susan bristled, but Jesse nodded immediately. When she turned her glare on him, he shook his head at her. Confusion peeked through the hostility, but she nodded back at her brother, trusting his judgment.
Scarface, however, did not. "What, you afraid we're gonna hurt him?"
"He just went through a riot," Jules reminded the mobster. "And he's been inside since the Monday after he helped you out." Shifting back to her Sergeant, she arched a brow. "Are we still going to have Spike keep an eye on Jane?"
"Yes, we are," the sniper Sergeant replied. "Figure out who stays with Greg if Spike has to take Jane somewhere else." He paused, thinking through their options. "If he asks, tell him we're handling Niebaum. Nothing else."
"Copy," Wordy acknowledged. "You gonna call Holleran?"
"Yeah, I'll do that right now." The Sergeant checked his watch, grimacing at the time. "Pack it in, team. Start fresh tomorrow. We got a long way to go if we're gonna prove Niebaum was dirty."
Author Note: Happy New Year to one and all! As ever, I hope you enjoyed today's installment - a few answers, some new setup... Things are gettin' ready to rumble!
My prayers absolutely go out to any of my readers who are dealing with a bitter, frigid winter in the areas hit by Hurricane Helene (and shamefully abandoned by FEMA) as well as any readers currently dealing with the horrible fires raging near Los Angeles. May the Lord and His Angels be with you, guiding and protecting all those affected by these awful events!
In other news, Dallas has decided to 'celebrate' the New Year by dumping a load of snow and ice on the roads - thankfully, by the time I have to go anywhere, it should all be melted.
And May the Lord Bless each and every one of you - and your families - on the other side of the screen.