People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Nathan Franko stood behind the yellow tape and watched. He was no stranger to the house swarming with crime scene technicians, patrol officers and Homicide detectives. The two Internal Affairs detectives were known to him as well. That shouldn't be a surprise. He, himself, was a cop. Twelve years on the force and a detective himself, for Narcotics. The house belonged to an older cop. A Lieutenant in the Vice division named Rex Timpkins, they called him T-Rex in the department and on the streets. He'd been Nathan's trainer. Nathan owed the man everything, he'd saved his life more than once on the streets.

Many people were sad whenever a cop died. Even more so in the line of duty. Suicide though, brought out the most raw emotions. Usually guilt and fear. If such an old and street-toughed cop could be driven to that, how could any of them keep it together and do the job? Suddenly there was more activity. Both the IAD men threw down their cigarettes in anger and went inside. One of the patrolmen had come out and looked more than disappointed. Nathan kept quiet as the officer stood beside another, in hearing range.

"Man. Now we know why. T-rex had about two kilos in the house. Almost half was packaged up for distribution." The Patrolman shook his head in disgust.

The second shook his head. "No way man. Not T-Rex. He hated dope. All his busts were clean."

"Maybe they were a little 'too clean'. IAD said they had gotten some rumbles about him. They were getting ready to open an investigation." The first replied. "As far as they're concerned. This is open and shut. He was dirty and figured out they were coming and off'ed himself."

In shock Nathan moved back slowly, distancing himself. When the first call for people to leave went out, he complied.

"No way. Rex wouldn't do it. Something's going on. Guess I need to do the digging myself." Nathan said as he got into his car.

Two weeks later, he stormed out of the Captain's office, having to leave his service pistol and shield on his desk, a statement of unpaid suspension crumpled in his fist. He went down and slammed his car door shut after getting in then pulled out his phone and was about to dial, but froze.

"DAMN IT!" Nathan swore then put his phone away.

His phone had to have been hacked. His apartment and car were probably bugged too. He needed a lawyer. A good one, but not one of the Union lawyers. Sure, a union lawyer would be free for him, but they weren't always more loyal to the cop needing them. No, he needed somebody on the outside, but not so far out they wouldn't understand the workings. He also needed one that had no ties to crime. Nobody that represented actual criminals. He needed one that specialized in real innocent people. He pulled in at a taco stand he saw and went in. After ordering he asked the woman behind the counter if he could use her phone and set three dollars on the counter. With a shrug it was set on the counter and his money taken.

After dialing the County Clerk of Court's office he asked for someone and was connected.

"Nathan? Haven't heard from you in a while." A woman's voice greeted him.

Nathan sighed. "Yeah. Sorry Jana. I need some advice. Actually I need a referral."

"Referral?" Jana asked.

Nathan affirmed. "Yeah. Somebody I know is in trouble. They didn't do anything, wrong place/time and caught in the middle now. Who's a good attorney for them?"

"You want a courtroom crusader; get Brenda Ellory. Be sure whoever they are is clean, Brenda won't defend a crook." Jana advised.

Nathan had written the name down on a napkin. "Thanks Jana. Much appreciated."

He hung up as his order tray was set down. Nathan handed the phone back and took his food over to an empty table to eat. The lawyer's name rang a bell, vaguely. After eating, he asked for a phonebook and looked her up and added the address to the napkin then left. Two blocks after pulling out, he noticed the tail car and wanted to swear. Still suspecting his car was bugged he decided to take them on a tour. For over an hour he drove around aimlessly. They followed diligently and parked at the curb when he pulled in at a building and walked inside. Three minutes later, they were shocked when he knocked on the window.

"Nice day for a drive?" Nathan asked then punched the driver.

It wasn't a real punch; enough to leave redness, but no bruise. He definitely got their attention. He also saw the display for a tracker. It was his car.

"We can have your ass for that!" The Driver snarled.

Nathan snapped his fingers and held out his hand. "See the warrants, let's go. Or I call State, and you can show it to them."

The warrants were handed over. A tracker, cell phone and hardline taps. A hardline tap meant that his computer was monitored as well. It was legal though. Obtained through channels. He had a way around those though and took out his phone to dial his Captain. It was put through immediately.

"Well Captain, since IAD is all over me I'll be direct. I've parked my car as it is bugged and being tracked. The car will be parked at the location it is now until this issue is resolved. Also, I will not be returning to my apartment. When I disconnect, I'll remove the battery from my phone and it will stay out for the duration as well. Have a nice FUCKING day." Nathan disconnected and removed the battery then walked over to the corner and hopped a tram.

At the next stop he got off, blending in with the crowd and slipped away, knowing the trail team would continue to follow the tram. Nathan walked several blocks then caught a taxi. The team thought he was heading West, but he was actually now heading North as intended. After being let off two blocks away, he strolled casually, using every trick he knew to make sure he wasn't followed then circled back and went inside the office of Brenda Ellory, Attorney at Law.

"Brenda. There's a Detective Franko out here asking to see you." The secretary told her.

Brenda looked confused, the name wasn't familiar to her and answered. "Send him in."

The door opened and Nathan Franko almost replaced it then walked in.

"Detective. How can I help you?" Brenda asked and gestured to the chair fronting her desk.

Nathan didn't waste time. "I need to hire a lawyer. I'm under investigation by IAD. I've caused a problem by investigating a case they don't want me to. A Lieutenant in another division is dead, they ruled it suicide. I believe it was staged. Drugs were also found at his house, I believe they were planted. He was my training partner. He was a good cop then, he wouldn't change."

"That's quite a statement, Detective." Brenda remarked.

"Hey I won't lie and say the man was a saint. He wasn't; divorced twice, but not messy. He kept both kids out of the fights and set the support higher than they asked and had no problem paying it. He did some side-jobs, but they were straight. Security for places during events. He put his kids above everything, he wouldn't go dirty. He wouldn't do anything to shame them." Nathan stated intently.

Brenda took all that in. It sounded right, but others had appeared that way before and were just as dirty as any other.

"So what happened?" Brenda asked.

Nathan sighed. "I'm in Narc, Rex was in Vice. I'm not allowed to work the case, and even if I was in Homicide, I still wouldn't be allowed since he was my trainer. I can understand that, but nobody wants to look into it. They want it white-washed and to go away. Look, I'm still young enough that I can go private. Rex is dead. He can't fight anymore, not even for his kids. I can. If it costs me my badge, so be it, I want no part of a dirty department. Rex's kids meant everything to him though. I need to clear his name for them."

"Costs you your badge? Wait. You said they were investigating you now? That's a bit much for a fishy suicide." Brenda stated.

Nathan frowned. "They found drugs in his house. They were planted by whoever killed him and staged it to look like a suicide. They just want it all to go away. I can't let that happen. Rex was a GOOD cop!"

"Ok. Let's say that's true. What exactly do you want to happen?" Brenda asked.

"Rex's name be cleared. Full honors at his funeral and his kids get his benefits. That's all I want. They deserve that much. He earned it." Nathan answered.

Brenda nodded then gave him a hard look. "And what if he was? Don't say impossible. It is and you know it. What if he was everything claimed he was?"

Nathan wanted to protest, even yell at her, but he couldn't. Cops went bad all the time and he knew it. Just about everybody had a number in their head. Say the number, the penny drops and you own them.

"I don't know. I can't picture it. It goes against everything he taught and told me. He was a good cop." Nathan said, shaking his head.

Brenda sighed. "Just so you know. If I get into this, it won't be cheap."

"Yeah. I'm not married, so I have money saved. When I leave here, I have to get a burn phone. They got a warrant for my cell and hardline. Tracker on my car too, so I'm using alternate transportation. By now they probably got a warrant to bug my apartment too." Nathan informed her.

Brenda sat back. "They're certainly going to quite a bit of trouble."

"If he really was dirty, they wouldn't bother. They'd let me do all the work for them and say 'we told you so' afterward." Nathan said pointedly.

"Fair point. I need a deposit to put me on retainer." Brenda said then began printing up pages.

Five minutes later, the contract for legal services were signed and she accepted a personal check. Luckily it was the same bank she used, so it would clear immediately. Brenda gave him the name of a hotel to check into and had her secretary get him checked in while she went to the bank. Her favorite manager let her know the exact contents of the amount and any deposits that weren't from the City. There were some that were cash, but only 6 in the past four years and all under two hundred dollars.

Brenda left the bank and visited her main info-broker. The search only took an hour and turned up nothing that shouldn't be. Another search revealed the same about the dead Vice cop. No offshore accounts in his or any family members' names at all. In fact, the only thing of interest was that the deceased Vice Lieutenant's tax return was slightly off, to the tune of two dollars and forty-three cents in his favor. A check for that amount was pending issuance. No information to the contrary could be found digitally, that left analog.

Brenda met with an old client. He had been a gang member at one time, but had since changed and went legit. That didn't mean he would not hear talk on the street. In fact, his new line of work gave him unprecedented access. He had went to barber school and opened a shop.

"Teyvon." Brenda greeted, standing in the door.

Teyvon waved her in. "Hi Brenda. Looking to sport a new Do?"

Brenda arched an eyebrow at the young man. He was giving an older man a classic shave, with a traditional straight-razor. At least that's what it looked like until she got closer. The razor was actually a safety model.

"Maybe a shampoo and set, unless you lost the pink rollers." Brenda quipped.

Teyvon rolled his eyes and chuckled between strokes. "Walked right into that one. Stop laughing Lamar."

Brenda sat down and waited for him to finish. More than one second-glance was given to her. It wasn't often a woman visited an actual barber-shop. Especially a woman that looked well-to-do. Teyvon finished the shave, wiped away any residue from the shave cream and even applied an aftershave then pulled the cloth and gave it a quick snap. The customer paid him then went out, smiling. Teyvon nodded for her to follow, led Brenda to the back, poured himself a coffee and offered her one as well.

"What's up Brenda?" Teyvon asked.

Brenda leaned against a counter. "Vice cop, named Rex."

Teyvon sipped and nodded. "Already heard. It's shit."

"Oh?" Brenda asked.

"T-Rex was straight-up. If you was young and he caught you high; he'd try to get you in one of the free rehabs on a first. He catch you again, he'd run you in. Working girls, same. First time; he'd take to Sanctuary. After that, downtown. Pimps, dealers; always downtown. He'd try to get kids clean, didn't work most of the time. He kept trying though. If one kid cleaned up, it made it worth it." Teyvon informed her.

Brenda took that in and asked. "Why make him look dirty though?"

Teyvon shrugged. "Probably the same reason to make anybody look dirty that isn't; he found out something he shouldn't. Saw or heard something he wasn't supposed to."

"Anybody in particular?" Brenda asked.

Teyvon laughed. "Girl, if I knew that; I'd sell it to the news and never be seen again!"

Brenda had to chuckle. He was right. If he did know something like that, he'd also have proof that could be sold to the media and escape to somewhere very far away.

"What I do know is; whatever got him checked out was from his own and they want it gone." Teyvon said. "Brenda, you watch your ass. They won't play."

"Thanks." Brenda understood the warning for what it was and left.

Dirty cops were involved and they would have no problem going after her as well. She called up her private investigator. He told her he would discreetly look into things.

Nathan sat in the hotel room and mostly watched television. It was a small place, more like a Bed and Breakfast than an actual hotel, but there were twenty rooms. He went to the back lawn for fresh air. There was a small collection of books and he began reading from it. That was something he'd never really gotten into, but now seemed like a good time.

Brenda hung up the phone and silently cursed herself. Her investigator hit the Blue Wall and barely managed to stay beneath notice. She grabbed her purse and headed out. Fifteen minutes later she walked through the door.

Daryl looked up from the Boys' BMX bike he was working on and frowned. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"Corrupt cops, staged suicide, frame up and a believer." Brenda replied.

Daryl pulled on the back wheel to tension the chain then tightened the lugs. "So, fix it."

"My investigator hit the Blue Wall. They closed ranks. No way to ferret the truth out." Brenda replied.

The chain was lubricated then Daryl turned the crank to check it over. Satisfied; he took the bike off the stand, walked it over to the ready line then pulled off the gloves and laid them on the counter.

"So you think I'm the solution to the problem." Dara's voice asked.

Brenda sighed. "Everything I got says the man was clean as they come, but the officials are hammering that he was dirty."

Dara stared intently at Brenda then finally said. "Tell your client to be at The Museum of Art this evening. He'll be met in the Impressionists' collection."

Brenda nodded, set a single page on the counter and left.

Nathan stood in front of a scenic painting, he didn't really get art. Old paintings of people, places or events that may or may not have even existed didn't mean anything to him. He wandered around then stopped in front of a very realistic looking painting and stared at it.

"Gustave Caillebotte." A male voice with a Latin accent said. "Of all the Impressionists, his pieces looked the most like actual photographs."

"That's pretty much what I was thinking. How old is it?" Nathan asked.

The man replied. "He finished this piece in Eighteen-eighty-three. Unfortunately, Senor Caillebotte died eleven years later at the age of forty-five. A great loss. You would be familiar with great losses, Senor."

"Not exactly a low-key place to meet." Nathan commented.

The gentleman chuckled. "Precisely why it is the perfect place to meet, Senor."

"So what do I call you?" Nathan asked.

"César Echagüe. You are Nathan Franko, Detective with la unidad de narcóticos. You wish to tell me about your Mentor. I will listen, Senor Franko." Cesar said.

Nathan sighed. "Rex. Everybody called him T-Rex. I met him when I made Detective. He was my training partner. He led and I followed. He never told me to leave his side. In fact, he told me to stick like glue. Even on the weekends he had his kids, I was told to be there. He wanted me to see that even though the marriage fell apart, he would still be there for his kids. Not just a father, but a Dad too. On the job; he was tough. The streets will gut a cop. Not him though. He was tough, but never forgot he was dealing with people."

"Si. People always change things." Cesar remarked.

Nathan nodded and put his back to the wall. "That's just it. He constantly hammered in that not all were real criminals. Some did what they did out of pure survival. No choice. Some simply made a mistake and others were hanging on for their lives. Not saying there weren't career criminals, or those aspiring to be, just that some were only taking the only option they could see. Sometimes the addict needs rehab, sometimes they need jail. He taught me that being a cop was more than just putting the cuffs on somebody. Sometimes being a good cop is just listening to somebody that needs to talk it out. We serve, it's on cars and badges. Protect and Serve. It's what a real cop does and he said it everyday."

"Noble sentiment, Senor. I would guess that it was not shared by others, si?" Cesar asked.

"Yeah. I'm not saying he didn't have enemies, he was a cop, it comes with the job. Pimps he busted, dealers, hustlers; they'd have been glad to not see him around. That's expected. But this is all wrong. Rex wouldn't turn and he wouldn't check-out. He loved his kids more than anything else, he'd never do anything to shame them. To see them be ashamed of him, that would kill him. He wouldn't do that to them." Nathan said firmly.

Cesar mulled that over then asked. "What is it, exactly, you wish?"

Nathan shook his head. "I'm not a dirty cop. All I want, is Rex's name cleared. That's all I ask, please. My own investigation got shut down and nobody else will pick it up. That's all I want, the truth to be known."

Cesar sighed then nodded. "Very well Senor Franko. Know this, the truth you find may not be the one you seek. I will find this truth and will not spare thought to whether you like it or no. You may be a public servant Senor, but I am not. I will show some kindness. I will do as you ask, but I ask for eighteen thousand dollars. It must of course, be paid in a timely manner. Today is Monday. It must be electronically sent to this account by next Tuesday and you never speak of me to anyone. Tenemos un acuerdo? You agree to this?"

Nathan took the card and shook Cesar's hand as he said the words that could not be taken back. "Yes, I do agree."

"Buenas noches, Senor." Cesar replied and focused his attention on the painting he was standing in front of.

Nathan made his way out, understanding the meeting was now over. Cesar appeared to be only looking at the painting, but was actually looking at the monitor on his wrist that looked like a digital watch. Franko left and was not being followed by anyone. Cesar slipped out a side door and down a long alley to exit onto the sidewalk at the end of the block and blended in with the foot-traffic. An hour and a half later, the disguise of Cesar was shed and Dara sat down at her computer station. As she typed the access codes, she softly sang along to the song playing.

Dara knew better than to try hacking into IAD's files. That division was deliberately left vulnerable to penetration, so that any attempts could be easily traced. No, instead of that, she went after the Medical Examiner's system. She needed two things to be found there. The case file and exact time of death. After gaining both, she backed out and went into the city's evidence inventory. There she found the location of the container of evidence logged and who had entered it. The badge number belonged to an IAD detective, no surprise. Dara began getting ready to go exploring.

Daryl slowly eased into the narcotics holding area. It hadn't been easy, but the cameras were on a loop now, but only for the next twenty minutes. It took him over twelve to find the box he was looking for and opened it. The box held what he needed to find the most. Two kilos of cocaine. He read the inventory sheet first. It was there; two kilograms of cocaine, rated eighty-five percent pure. The sheet also had the chemical analysis and that gave the most critical information. How the cocaine was 'cut' and any branding to it. There was, but they were contradictory. It had been cut with Sucrose and Manitol, a mix used by the local extension of a Mexican syndicate. The packaging though held the brand of rivals based out of Bolivia. That was what he needed to know. Carefully he left and pulled the looping feed.

Late the next evening Daryl rode down the street, coasting. He was on the street behind the dead detective's house. He slowed down and stopped to dismount. The batteries on the headlight had died. Daryl casually changed the batteries and checked the tires' air pressure then remounted and rode on. Back at home he took a small black box from the underseat bag and connected to his computer system. It was a WiFi reader. He had stopped in front of the dead detective's house and changed the batteries in his tail light. The time it took to change the batteries was used to gain the identifiers for any open WiFi modules.

Daryl used those identifiers to hack in and read all contacts. The detective had a locked signal, but two houses across the street were open. The house directly behind was also open. That one was where he hit pay dirt. Six phones not belonging to occupants had registered on the WiFi. Three burn phones and three registered phones.

Phone One was registered to a Narcotics Sergeant Detective named Eugene Parsons. Phone Two belonged to Lieutenant Drew Kyncade, of Internal Affairs. Phone Three made Daryl sit back and facepalm in disgust. Assistant District Attorney Michael Bellazar. All those phones passed through the time frame for the detective's death.

"Shit just got real." Dara said aloud.

It was now obvious as to who was involved. The problem now was proving it in a way that could not be discounted or discredited. That wasn't the only problem. The involvement of an ADA meant there would be serious repercussions. Each and every single case he had prosecuted would be reviewed and retried, some were likely to be thrown out. Guilty people could be set free, innocent people could be held over regardless. Then was still the obvious. Franko. No matter what, he would go down. More than likely, murdered in retaliation. Not even Witness Protection would be able to help. A message was sent to Brenda then Dara went to nap.

Brenda rode the Greenway. She was trying to maintain a steady Twenty-two miles per hour. Suddenly, a blonde girl on a white, pink and purple road racer wearing coordinating apparel turned onto the pavement beside her and matched speed easily. Like a falcon catching a pigeon in mid-air.

"JESUS!" Brenda yelped.

The girl shook her head. "Not even close."

Brenda tried to focus on the path. "What's going on Dara?"

"Big problems. This isn't just some dirty cops. It's a Brotherhood. No way is your guy gonna get what he wants and survive. I need to meet with him again." Dara said.

Brenda felt her stomach flip. This was very bad. Nathan had uncovered something that would cut deep into the legal infrastructure. Something very much worth being killed over. "Oh God, Dara, am I going to have to run? Disappear?"

"No. You tell him to be at the corner of Twelveth and Ironwood at One this afternoon, empty-handed. He has to send the payment to the account by ten today. His entire account. Everything he has, down to the last penny." Dara stated then broke off onto the next ramp and was gone.

Brenda rode to the next ramp then stopped as the waves of fear went over her. Nathan had to escape, leaving everything behind and never come back or he would be killed. The urge to throw-up hit and she succumbed, emptying her breakfast onto the grass. With shaking legs, she rode home.

Nathan leaned against the wall of the building at the location he was told. At exactly noon, he saw Cesar approaching. A subtle nod indicated he was to join him.

"What's going on?" Nathan asked softly.

Cesar didn't bother with pleasantries. "You have no idea what you have started Senor Franko. It can only end with your death. You must choose whether it is to be on your terms, or theirs."

"Mine. How bad is it?" Nathan asked.

Cesar wore a face etched in stone. "Years of recovery. Senor Bellazar is involved. I will clear your friend's name. I can do it. Many will fall. You will become a sacrifice or a martyr. The choice is yours."

"If I become a martyr, will it help?" Nathan asked.

Cesar nodded. "It will make all the difference for the better. My instructions must be followed to the letter."

Nathan sighed. "Tell me what to do."

"Give me all your personal effects. At the end of this street, a red van will stop. Get inside and hide. You will be taken out of the city. When you get to your destination, you will be given that which will get you out of the country. Never come back Senor Franko. Your other option is to go back to your car and try to go to the State Attorney." Cesar instructed.

Nathan didn't need to hear the part about how if he chose the second option, it would be fatal and more importantly, futile. He handed over everything in his pockets and walked down the street, never to be seen again, as Cesar turned down a side street and went in a different direction.

Daryl spent the rest of the day moving information around. It hadn't been easy, but he did manage to swap DNA records with a John Doe in the morgue then appropriated the body, while stealing all hard copy at the same time. There was an inch of difference, but such was negligible. The next night, Daryl put on one of Franko's suits and a life-like mask to give him the identity. A pair of shoes with hidden lifts gave him the needed height. He made his way across town using blind spots of coverage and acquired Franko's car. A tracking device was found easily, but ignored. In fact, that made things even easier. Now it was time for a cop to die.

The fake Franko raced down several streets with high camera saturation then down a street with none. No one noticed the car stop for several minutes then drive on. By then two cars were following it. After two consecutive right turns, Franko suddenly made a break for it. Like a Robber fleeing a bank, he ripped down several streets with high camera saturation. It drew attention and lots of it. Two very well planned moves and the car was into another blind spot then found in a parking lot. Chase cars stopped as the car upside-down and ablaze. Marks on the street appeared to look like the car had lost control during a turn, over-corrected and lost again, hitting a curb at the worst possible angle. The car had evidently flipped into the parking lot and rolled at least twice. Fire extinguishers were useless against the blazing inferno. Even the fire department just stood back and let it burn down for an hour before using foam to put it out the last of it.

Daryl had pulled off the mask and listened to a small hand held scanner the whole time. The John Doe had been dressed in the suit and made to appear driving. Thermite had done the rest. The fire was finally dying down when they made the announcement he'd waited for.

"All units, all units. Officer; down."

Daryl turned and walked deeper into the alley, favoring his right leg slightly. He would have to wait a day or two before the next step of the plan could be started. The reports on the car would have to be revealed. A thermite bomb was why it exploded, cut brake lines were why it had been out of control. The whole run had been carefully staged. The street he had stopped on had been the only one without cameras it was possible. It was currently being cleaned of the sand and gravel 'accidentally' dumped on it earlier. The street was also sloped and Daryl had entered at the bottom, gravity and friction enabled the rest. The hardest part had been the timer for the bomb. It was the most critical component.

Assistant District Attorney Michael Bellazar happily when about business as usual after the announcement that Nathan Franko had burned to death following a high speed crash five days before. He laid low for a day and waited for reports to hit, then went back to work. He was completely surprised when two men walked in and flashed State Police Detective credentials, even more so when they cuffed and mirandized him.

"Counsel, you're under arrest for the murder of Detective Rex Timpkins." One Detective stated.

Bellazar was now confused. "Wait! What?"

As he was taken out the front of the District Attorney's office, gathered media glared at him and barraged questions, one stood out more than any other.

"Counselor Bellazar! Is it true that you've killed several police officers and ordered the deaths of more that were investigating corruption within the police department and the District Attorney's office?"

The reaction was purely instinctual; he flinched and tried to shy away, but the two Detectives held him firmly. Bellazar was on display for all to see. He was getting the 'Perp-walk'.

Daryl watched the breaking news story and gave the screen a look of contempt. It had been tough over the past week. The first thing he'd done was breaking into the IAD Detective's house and stole the kitchen timer. He also took a pair of boxers from the hamper as well as the razor in the trash can that had a drop of blood on the blades. From those, DNA could be transferred easily. He also took fingerprints from appliance handles in the kitchen. Using all those things had enabled Daryl to produce a thermite bomb made by the corrupt detective and also 'rig' the brakes. In truth, Daryl had drained the brake fluid from the booster, refill with new and pour the old on the pavement to seem like a brake line had been cut. During the unobserved stop was when the brake line was actually cut.

Nobody had been more surprised when two State Police Detectives and four uniformed Troopers quietly entered the IAD office and surrounded him than Drew Kyncade.

"Drew Kyncade; you are under arrest for the murder of Detective Nathan Franko." One of the Detectives stated then motioned one of the uniformed Troopers to take him into custody.

He had been so shocked that he didn't think to protest until they were walking him down the hall. That had only called more attention to him as he gave out too much, by including Franko's name in the shouted denials. The technician processing the bomb residue had panicked and contacted the State Police when he got a hit on a fingerprint. There was also blood on sharp electrical contacts. The State Police was able to get a search warrant secretly and execute it. Supplies to make several thermite bombs were found in the home office. Daryl had even managed to settle dust on the table top and supplies then move things around to make voids of activity and leave more fingerprints. The clincher was a fully assembled bomb that was almost clean of prints.

That wasn't all they found. Drugs, cash and computer files of his own corrupt activities as well as others. Including audio/video of meetings with the Assistant District Attorney taking part of crimes. The most damning had been the murder of Rex Timpkin and the ordering of action against Nathan Franko. Bellazar himself had pulled the trigger after gloating about fabricating evidence against Timpkins. Search Warrants and Arrest Warrants were quickly filed and carried out on thirty other various members of the police department, even the crime lab. By the time the media got wind of the massive move, they had enough time to catch the arrest of the Assistant District Attorney.

Brenda watched the news, stunned. With so many arrests of corrupt police there was no way they could be jailed locally. The State determined they would be held in two county jails on the other side of the state. None would be allowed bail; due to being a risk to witnesses, escape or permanently silenced by any that had been able to avoid discovery. The State Attorney did make the public statement exonerating Detective Rex Timpkins and lamenting the loss of him as well as Nathan Franko.

Brenda stood in the doorway the next morning. "Did you catch the news this morning?"

"Nope. Busy." Daryl replied. "Things piled up around here for some reason."

Brenda walked in. "It seems that there were several suicide attempts during the night. None were successful."

Daryl made a soft grunt of acknowledgement, or exertion, as he was trying to loosen the lugs of the rear wheel on a hybrid bike with a courier logo.

"Will he be ok?" Brenda asked.

Daryl finally cracked the lugs loose and spun them off. "Dunno who you're talking about."

Brenda looked down and sighed. Daryl would not say the man's name or anything else about him again. The true fate of Nathan Franko would never be known by anyone except The Puppeteer. It was another of the many secrets that would be taken to the grave. She knew nothing more would be said on the subject and left.

Daryl knew she hadn't seen the small laptop under the counter. On its screen was the log of two transactions. Twenty-seven thousand dollars had been deposited into the account days ago, followed by the same amount going to a newly opened account at Santander Bank in Cancun the next day. The account was for Neil Forrest and had been opened that day.

Looking at the screen and sighing, Dara said softly. "Sorry I made you think I took all your money, but I had to make it look like they did before I could send it to you. That jerk, Kyncade, had enough cash in his house that I was able to get double my fee and still be plenty for him to get nailed with."

Dara slowly walked to the front window and looked out as she sang softly. "Everybody knows. Everybody, knows."

Down in Cancun, Chief of Police Enrique Cordona shook hands with the man coming into his office. "Welcome Senor Forrest, come in."

"Thank you." Neil replied and sat down in the chair indicated.

Enrique sat on the edge of his desk and smiled. "I'm very glad I am able to repay the favor I owed to our mutual friend and get an added bonus. I know you were told you could be an officer here, but I really need a Captain. You have more training and experience than most of my department combined, I must make the most of this good fortune. Please say 'yes', Capitan Forrest? A man of your integrity; I'd be a fool to let slip away!"

"Guess I'd be a fool if I did. A good Chief, nice house and a car. Ok Chief Cordona, I accept." Neil replied.

Enrique swore him in then handed him the badge. "You will not be sorry, Capitan. Here, I'll show you to your new office. Please be kind to your secretary, she is my wife's cousin and is saving up for college in the United States. She wants to go to Law School at Tulane. She will be the first to do so. Well, the first to complete college."

"Complete?" Neil asked.

Enrique led him into the office and closed the door. "I guess I should tell you how these things come to be. My son, God rest him, went off to college in the United States. He wanted to be a doctor. Unfortunately, he met with tragedy. Murdered, by some men stealing drugs from the hospital there. There I met someone, a woman. Well, not much more than a girl really. She had met my son and befriended him. He had become interested in bicycles, of all things. Racing bicycles. She knew much about that and took him under wing, as you say. I met her outside the morgue. She had been waiting for me, with an offer. She offered to avenge my son."

"Revenge. You met a Revenge-broker." Neil said, now understanding.

Enrique seemed to understand the term. "So it seems. She knew more than the police there. In fact, she knew everything. I had my doubts of course, but gave my blessing. Before the ink had dried on the papers releasing my son to be brought home, it was done. All ten of them, Capitan. Muerte, dead. Proof of their crimes at their feet. There was something strange. They all had black strings tied to their hands, feet and necks. Like marionetas, cut free and tossed aside."

"Marionetas? You mean marionettes, puppets?" Neil asked then his eyes flew wide. "The Puppeteer!"

Enrique looked intently. "You know this person well?"

Neil began to laugh and finally caught his breath. "The Puppeteer! Practically an urban legend. The most mysterious and secretive Revenge-broker in the city. Some say a woman, others say a man. Some even say it's a group of people working under one name. Nobody has actually been able to prove the existence, except for those damn strings showing up every now and then on a body."

Enrique pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle real bourbon and two glasses. He poured for them both and made the toast. "To our mutual friend; mysterious as she, or he, may be. Saludo!"

"Salute!" Neil chuckled and drank.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Both turned to see a beautiful young woman lean in.

"Tio, is this the new Capitan?" The young woman asked.

Enrique chuckled. "Si. Capitan Forrest; this is your secretary, my neice, Constanza Luna Villanueva."

"Very nice to meet you Senorita Villanueva. Please forgive all future mangling of Spanish by me. I took it in High School and barely passed the class." Neil admitted.

Constanza smiled. "Not to worry Capitan, I speak English very well and as I will go to law school in America, I should get accustomed to being called Connie, yes?"

"Sounds good to me, Connie. We'll get settled in tomorrow and start getting in gear." Neil said then poured another bourbon and offered it to her. "A quick celebration to a new beginning."

"A new beginning." Connie saluted, drank and gasped. "Ooh! I was not ready for that! I am better suited to wine."

Neil laughed. "Maybe so. Chief, Connie, allow me to take you both to lunch. Today we are new friends, tomorrow we will be colleagues."

They went out as Enrique smiled. "Neil, you are going to enjoy life here. I know this for certain."

Connie was smiling for a different reason. She would suggest the restaurant her best friend worked at. Neil was just the type of man Lucia would be interested in.

Back in Port Klasten, arraignments began. Many made deals in exchange for their sentences to be carried out in prisons out of state. Bellazar though had peculiar incidents. He escaped and was caught four times. The really strange part, was that he didn't seem to understand how it was happening. Especially as they kept finding him dazed and naked in malls. While Bellazar declared a guilty plea during his arraignment and agreed to the death sentence with no appeal, no one paid any attention to the blonde woman sitting in the last row of the Gallery with a stoney expression. Dara left with the crowd and meandered down the sidewalk humming to herself.

On the steps of the courthouse, Detective Raul Wheller lit a cigarette in disgust. He had been lucky, only he knew about his infractions. He hadn't been part of that idiotic group. All he cared about was catching that damned Revenge-broker. He wanted The Puppeteer. He knew that was who was behind the collapse of corruption in the department.

"I'll catch your ass, Puppeteer. One day, you'll fuck up and I'll nail your ass. That's a fucking promise!" The Homicide Detective growled.

To be continued....