Cascade General, Late

L.T. Rafe broke every speed law imaginable and ran two stoplights on his drive to the hospital. Any number of scenarios played out in his head, ranging from him waking up from a terrible nightmare to David being dead when he finally arrived. He had the vague dream sensation of driving in slow motion, even when his speedometer read sixty. Rafe double-parked his car in the front of the parking lot and raced into the emergency room.

His first target was the nurse's station. A burly brunette was writing on a chart when Rafe marched up to her.

"David Dawson, please," he said. "An ambulance brought him in a little while ago."

The nurse finished what she was writing, then looked at him, her annoyed expression softening when she saw his frantic state. She searched the pile of charts nearby.

"I don't have his chart, so he must still be in the exam room," she said. "If you'll have a seat, the doctor will come out to see you when he's done."

Rafe nodded, expecting as much. He turned around. To his immediate left he saw a small huddle of college students sitting in the waiting room. Rafe marched over to them, picking Lewis out of the center of the bunch.

"Lewis?" Rafe asked, reaching out to grab the younger man's coat collar and yank him to his feet. "What in God's name happened? Has the doctor talked to you?"

Lewis's eyes widened in terror, his words choking in his throat. Rafe realized how he must look and released his hold on Lewis's coat.

"I don't know what happened," Lewis finally said, his voice shaking. "I saw him and Lucy go upstairs--"

"Who's Lucy?" Rafe demanded.

"A friend of ours," he continued. "Donovan spilled his drink on David earlier, because we're both pledges and he wanted to exert his authority or whatever, and then Donovan walked away and Lucy came over to talk and--"

"Lewis, calm down," Rafe said, "you're rambling."

Lewis paused and sucked in a deep breath. A girl sitting nearby patted his hand comfortingly. Lewis offered her a small smile, then turned back to Rafe.

"I saw them go upstairs," Lewis repeated. "About half an hour later someone came running down and said to call an ambulance. When I went up both of them were shaking like they were being electrocuted and David was coughing up blood. I about shit myself I was so scared, man."

Rafe let the information sink in, but nothing was processing. David was too smart to take drugs, but it sounded like both he and Lucy had overdosed on something. He shook his head, trying desperately to clear out the mental cobwebs.

"Lewis, were there drugs at this party?" Rafe asked.

Lewis hesitated. "I dunno, man. The Lambda's are famous for having, uh, extras at their parties, but I didn't see anything if they had it. I swear."

"Did any of you see the drugs?" Rafe asked the group of students.

The concerned group shook their heads in practiced unison.

"Rafe?" Henri's voice shouted.

Rafe spun around in time to see Henri, Blair and Joel stride into the ER. The doors slid shut behind them, then opened to allow Jim and Simon to enter. His friends gathered around him, all wearing identical expressions of concern and worry.

"Something's wrong with David," Rafe explained, trying to keep his voice steady. "He collapsed at the damn party tonight and nobody knows...." He trailed off, his gaze landing on Jim Ellison. "Jim?"

Ellison nodded and looked past them all, intently focused on the exam rooms. A silence settled over the collected police officers. Rafe watched him, grateful now more than ever for Jim's unique gifts. He just needed to know David was all right.

"Doctor's coming," Jim finally announced.

The doors to the nearest exam room burst open and Dr. Randall walked out, making notations on the chart in his hand. He looked up, blinking at the mix of college students and cops in the waiting room.

"For David Dawson?" he asked hesitantly.

Rafe stepped away from the crowd and met the doctor halfway. "I'm his brother, Detective Rafe. Is he okay?"

Dr. Randall looked squarely at Rafe, his expression giving away nothing. "He's stable."

Rafe expelled a deep breath, remembering to breathe again. "Thank God."

"Tox screens are pending, but from what we can deduce, he overdosed on a controlled substance we haven't been able to identify yet," Dr. Randall continued. "It sent David into an epileptic seizure and burst a blood vessel in his nose. He was unconscious when he was brought in."

Rafe felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. A comforting hand squeezed his shoulder, but Rafe didn't look to see who it was. "Will he be okay?"

Dr. Randall sighed. "David shows signs of waking. However, we still won't know the extent of the drugs effects until after the tests come back and he regains consciousness."

"What about Lucy?" Lewis asked from behind Rafe.

The doctor considered it for a moment. "From what I understand, she probably overdosed on the same drug as David. Right now, she's in a coma."

"Jesus," Lewis muttered. He sunk into a chair and wrapped his arms around the girl next to him, who began to cry.

"Can I see David?" Rafe asked.

"He's being moved up to a semi-private room on the fourth floor," Dr. Randall said. "Once he's settled, you can see him."

Rafe nodded and watched the doctor walk away. He stared blindly at the scuffed linoleum floor, his eyes tracing a jagged crack the length of his forearm. Rafe stood his ground silently, waiting for the nurse to say it was okay to go up.

Cascade General, Early Morning

Rafe shifted his weight in the plastic chair, his eyes trailing over the maze of tubes and wires protruding from David's prone body. David looked so pale, his skin almost transparent; dark smudges under each eye were the only real signs of color. His chest rose and fell in the rhythmic pattern of deep sleep. The doctor said he would probably sleep through the night and, so far, he had. Rafe checked his watch -- almost four a.m.

"Mr. Rafe?"

He turned his head towards the door. Lewis was hovering in the doorway. Rafe waved him in.

"How's he doing?" Lewis asked, walking up tentatively.

"The same," Rafe replied.

"I asked about Lucy," he said. "Nurse said she still wasn't responding. Her parents are flying in tomorrow from Michigan."

"Have you slept?" Rafe asked, noting the fatigue on the young man's face. "You've got classes tomorrow."

Lewis snorted. "Screw class, man. I'm the one who insisted Davey go to that party. I kinda feel like it's my fault."

Rafe shook his head. "You didn't do this to him, Lewis. But I'm damn sure going to find out who did."

"I need to tell you something I just heard," Lewis said softly. He looked at David, as if afraid to meet Rafe's eyes.

"What?"

Lewis cleared his throat. "I was talking to a friend of mine a few minutes ago, you know, trying to investigate. Anyway, she said Donovan Gray might know what they overdosed on. She heard him say something to someone about a new ride they had to try."

They could be talking about an amusement park ride, Rafe wanted to retort. But it was a solid lead and one he meant to follow up on.

Rafe heard a soft grunt and looked down. David's eyelids were fluttering, his head swaying on the pillow as if he was in the throes of a dream. Rafe grabbed his hand and rubbed it gently.

"David?" he called softly. "David, can you hear me?"

"I'll get the doctor," Lewis said as he bolted out the door.

"David?" Rafe asked again, a bit louder. His eyes never left David's face but his earlier hope faded as David fell silent once more.

Lewis and the doctor on-call, Dr. Younger, strode in. Dr. Younger looked about as old as David and was probably a first-year resident. That didn't raise Rafe's confidence any as Younger approached the bed and checked David's vitals.

"He sounded like he was waking up," Rafe explained.

The doctor nodded, noting something on David's chart. "It's a good sign, but the sedative they administered down in ER hasn't worn off yet. I wouldn't expect anything for another hour or two, at least."

"Do you know what did this yet?" Rafe asked impatiently.

Dr. Younger looked at the chart, coloring a bit. "The toxicology came back almost an hour ago. No one told you?"

Rafe glared, hoping his stormy expression was answer enough. Apparently it was.

"We found traces of a new drug in his blood stream, street name Brain Candy," Dr. Younger said. "It affects--"

"I know what it does," Rafe snapped. But why in the world would David take an illegal drug? And to overdose on it, to boot? It didn't make any sense.

"It could have been spiked," Rafe muttered.

"Beg pardon?" Dr. Younger asked.

Rafe looked at him. "Never mind. I need to use your phone."

Phi Kappa Lambda House, Thirty Minutes Later

Donovan awoke to the mixed scents of beer and stale potato chips. He rubbed his hands across crusty eyes, trying to figure out where he was and what he'd been doing. When he opened his eyes to a world full of empty cups and spilled pretzels, the evening came back in a rush strong enough to produce an immediate headache.

The party had ended at eleven-thirty -- hours before it normally would have -- after those two kids had overdosed upstairs. Students had been evicted in droves as soon as the ambulance arrived. Only the fraternity members remained, deciding to leave clean-up for the morning. They didn't have any intention of going to their first day of classes, anyhow. He didn't remember crashing on the living room floor.

Donovan sat up slowly, feeling rather light-headed after puking into the toilet for five minutes last night. If he ever found out who spiked his drink....

He held onto the couch and pulled himself to his feet, every muscle in his back protesting. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Donovan stumbled into the hallway and grabbed a half- full cup from a nearby knickknack table. He put the cup to his lips and stopped, eyes riveted on the table. A tiny yellow pill was melting into one of the two liquid rings left behind by cups now long gone.

What the....

Donovan looked up and saw on the shelf, an aspirin bottle lying tipped on its side. He'd given the bottle to Ted Lowe early in the evening and promptly forgotten about it until this very moment. Now, its open mouth hung just over the edge of the shelf, right above where those two missing cups would have been. Nausea welled up in Donovan's stomach. He grabbed the bottle with the remaining pills and dashed for the downstairs bathroom, even as he heard the first police sirens outside.

Donovan burst into the bathroom and slammed the door. In his haste, the bottle slid from his sweaty hands, spilling its contents all over the floor. The police sirens grew louder and he heard car doors opening and shutting. Donovan dropped to his knees and scrambled around for the tiny yellow pills. He scooped them up as fast as he could and dropped them into the toilet bowl.

"Cascade Police!" a deep voice yelled out in the hall.

He snatched up one more pill and pulled the handle on the toilet. It began to flush the instant a large, black man burst into the room and pointed a gun at him.

"Don't move," the cop ordered.

Donovan's hands shot up in the air, his insides turning to jelly. What was his father going to say now?

Major Crime, Five a.m.

From his office, Simon Banks shouldered his telephone and watched Brown escort Donovan Gray down the hallway to an interrogation room. Ellison and Sandburg wandered into the bullpen -- moving mechanically from lack of sleeep -- and headed straight for the captain's office. As they approached, a voice brought Simon's attention back to the phone.

"This is Rafe," the detective said, his voice hollow.

Simon frowned. "It's Captain Banks. They just brought in Donovan Gray."

A sharp knock proceeded Ellison and Sandburg's entrance. Simon motioned for the two detectives to remain quiet, concentrating on the telephone call. There was silence on the other line.

"Rafe?" Simon asked. "What's wrong? Is David all right?"

Rafe breathed in sharply. "He can't see."

Simon blinked. "What?"

"He can't see, Captain," Rafe replied, sounding on the verge of tears. "The drugs did something to his eyes and he can't see a damn thing."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Is it permanent?"

"The doctors don't know. They won't know anything for a couple of days." Rafe cleared his throat. "I'm coming to the station. Megan is here, she said she'd stay while I was gone."

"Rafe, I don't think--"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

The connection ended as Rafe hung up. Simon stared at the receiver for a few seconds, then gently put it down in the cradle. David Dawson was only a year older than Daryl was. It was frightening to think what that poor boy must be going through.

"What's going on?" Sandburg asked, reminding Simon that other people were in the room.

Simon looked over at Jim and Blair, his expression a dark mix of anger and sorrow. He met each man's eyes for a split second, then said, "David's blind."

Cascade General, That Same Hour

David shut his eyes, his mind reeling with the notion of seeing and not seeing. When his eyes were open, he could swear he saw dark swirls of green and purple intermixing with the nothingness. They were the same colors that had invaded his vision before the seizures began. Closed he saw nothing but darkness, the same darkness that anyone else would see. David almost preferred total blindness to the odd mosaic of non-colors he was "seeing" now. He felt better in the darkness.

The doctors had been coming and going all evening, rambling on about arteries and nerves and swellings -- gobbledygook that David didn't understand in the slightest. All he knew was he couldn't see beyond the dark spectrum of swirls in front of him and it was damn frightening.

Footsteps padded across the linoleum to his right, the sharp click of a heel followed by the soft thump of a sole. David was amazed at how much stronger his hearing was when he couldn't see.

"L.T.?" he asked, his head swiveling towards the approaching person.

"Yeah, I'm back," Rafe replied.

David heard Rafe's coat rustling as he sat in the chair nearby. His voice sounded ragged and strained.

"They brought Donovan Gray in," Rafe said.

"Then what in hell are you doing here?" David asked, his voice rising a notch. Part of him wanted his brother to stay, but another part of him wanted Rafe in there during questioning -- hell, he wanted to be there.

"I'm going," Rafe said softly. David felt a warm hand touch his arm. "Megan Connor is going to stay for a while, if that's okay."

David nodded slowly, looking where he guessed Rafe's face was. "Okay."

"I'll be back soon," Rafe said, his coat swishing again. He patted David's arm, and then the shoe heels began to click. When he spoke, his voice was farther away. "Behave."

David offered a mock salute. "Yessir!"

Rafe laughed. David also heard Megan's higher-pitched chuckle. Sharper heels clicked across the linoleum, advancing towards the bed.

"Hey, you," she said in the lilting accent David loved to listen to. "Do you need anything?"

David could smell her perfume, a flowery scent he equated to tropical flowers. "No, I just want to get some rest. You don't have to stay. Go get some breakfast or something."

She was silent for a few seconds. "All right, but I'll be back to check on you in a little while."

He conjured up a winning smile, hoping he at least appeared to be looking at her. In fact, he wished he was looking at her -- she was beautiful.

What if I never see her again? Or anyone else for that matter?

"Get some rest," Megan said. Her heels began to recede.

When he was sure she was gone, David turned onto his left side, hoping he was now facing a wall. Alone at last, his control evaporated and David began to shake. His throat constricted and his breath came in short gasps.

I will not panic. I will not panic. I will not... God, what did I do? What did I do to deserve this? Am I being punished for wanting to join the fraternity? Was that a selfish thing to want? What did I do?

"What did I do?" he asked no one, his voice shaking as hard as his body.

No answer sought him out and a wave of despair washed over him in a torrent. A thick sob escaped his throat. Tears stung his eyes. David let go and lost himself in his sorrow for the short time it took sleep to catch up with him.

Interrogation Observation Room, Four Hours Later

"You have got to be kidding me!" Rafe roared, way beyond caring how loud he was. Right now he was past pissed and tracking towards absolute fury, and no one was going to calm him down.

"We don't have a choice," Banks said, sounding almost as angry as Rafe felt. "The Chief is going along with this, so we do too. Whether we like it or not."

Rafe smacked the palm of his hand against the two-way mirror, watching it wobble slightly. His eyes landed on Donovan Gray, slumped deeply into his seat at the table in the interrogation room. Next to him Donovan's lawyer, a balding man in a business suit and bed-hair, was talking softly. If the lawyer was all pompous arrogance and hot air, then Donovan was quite the opposite. In fact, the kid looked downright terrified.

Not that he had much reason to be now. Even with the drugs Brown had found on the end table and the bathroom floor, Donovan was going to get off. Mr. Arnold Gray, Donovan's father, of Chicago had "important friends" in the Cascade Elite. Gray had already worked his charms to borrow favors from several judges to insure his son received a slap on the wrist. Rafe was more than willing to provide that slap -- with a billy club -- but now Donovan was trading probation for information.

"This is bullshit, Captain," Rafe said. "It's politics, pure and simple."

"You're damn right it is," Banks said. "But if that boy can help us cut off the pipeline of Brain Candy to Cascade, then that saves a lot of other kids from what David is going through. We can't pass this up."

Rafe knew that, but it didn't make the facts any easier to swallow. If he'd had his druthers, Donovan Gray would be rotting away in Starkeville for the rest of his life. But finding the supplier, the man Donovan called Cypher, was more important in the long run.

"Rafe?" Sandburg said from across the small room. "It's the right thing. David will understand."

"The fraternity is likely to be kicked off campus for this," Banks said. "Besides the Brain Candy, Rainier can revoke their charter for serving alcohol to underage students."

"Yeah," Rafe replied, once again staring at Donovan. He found no pity in his heart for the young man in front of him, only hate in its purest form.

David was standing in a bank lobby, surrounded by people of all ages bustling about their business. He looked down and was not all at surprised to see he was wearing a policeman's uniform. Instead of silver, his badge was fashioned out of tiny yellow pills that smelled like beer. He wasn't wearing shoes, only paper hospital slippers.

"Give me your money!" a man yelled.

David turned around. Megan was standing stiffly behind the money counter, stuffing wads of money into a paper bag. Donovan was pointing a gun at her. She looked at David, her eyes begging for help as she handed Donovan the sack. David reached down and pulled a gun from his belt holster.

"Freeze! Police!" he said, pointing the gun at Donovan.

Donovan looked at him, then began to laugh. "You can't see me, copper. You can't see anything anymore. Blind cops get shot. Blind cops get shot."

Everyone in the bank stared at David and chanted, "Blind cops get shot."

"I'm not blind!" David screamed.

He looked to Megan for help, but she had transformed into his father. Now Carl Dawson sneered at him from behind the counter.

"Look what you went and did!" Carl shouted. "You can't beat me. Now you done shot me, because you can't see!"

David looked down at the smoking barrel of his gun -- when had he fired? He looked back up, but Carl was gone. Instead, Megan was there with a dark red stain blossoming on her chest.

"No!" David screamed, trying to run to her, but finding he couldn't move. "Nooo!"

Cascade General, Almost Noon

"David, wake up!" Megan said, shaking the boy's shoulders. "It's a dream."

David sat up like a shot his unseeing eyes wide open. "Blind cops get shot, blind cops get shot," he mumbled, frantically reaching for something that wasn't there.

Megan sat next to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, David. It's Megan. You're fine."

His head tilted towards her voice. David's skin was pale as snow, but two dark roses of color tinted each cheek. He began to tremble in her embrace and she held him closer. He clutched her arms tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked, her voice soft and tender.

He didn't reply for a moment, just sat in her arms. "I'm never going to see again, am I? I'll never be a detective like L.T."

"You'll see again," Megan said fiercely, holding him tighter.

They sat that way for a while, until David's trembling subsided and he fell into a deep sleep.

Major Crime, Evening

Blair finished off his coffee and sat the mug back on the brown ring forming on the long table in Simon's office. Next to him, Jim cracked his knuckles, eliciting a glare from Simon. The captain drummed his fingertips on the table. They waited.

But only for two more minutes. A sharp knock on the office door startled the trio out of their sleep-deprived stupor.

"Come in," Banks bellowed.

The door opened and Officer Willem O'Dell stepped inside. Four years out of the Academy and O'Dell still looked eighteen. A thick shock of strawberry-blonde hair fell in waves over pale skin and bright eyes. Blair had met the young officer once before and had instantly liked his calm smile and self-deprecating humor.

"You wanted to see me, Captain Banks?" O'Dell asked.

Simon nodded. "Have a seat," he replied, pointing to an empty chair at the head of the table.

O'Dell sat down confidently, appearing even younger seated between Jim and Simon.

"Do you know Detectives Ellison and Sandburg?" Banks asked.

"We've met, yes, sir," O'Dell replied. He offered a friendly grin to the older men.

Blair returned the smile and said, "Did the desk sergeant tell you why you were reassigned to us?"

"Something to do with my youthful good looks," O'Dell said wryly.

"Something like that," Jim said. "We're trying to draw out a drug dealer who sells mostly to college kids. We want you to pose as a Rainier student and contact him."

"I take it we know something about this guy?" O'Dell asked.

"We know some," Simon replied and launched into an explanation of their case thus far.

Cascade General, That Same Hour

The elevator opened on the fourth floor and Rafe stepped out. He made a left past the nurse's station and headed straight for David's room. He had to tell him about Donovan's bargain sometime, so he preferred to get it over with. Rafe sucked in a deep breath and stepped into David's room. He stopped mid-step.

David was sleeping on his right side, facing the door and snoring softly. In the bedside chair, Megan Connor was also asleep with her head resting on the bed. One of her hands was lightly holding David's wrist.

Rafe stepped back, not wanting to disturb them, and hit his elbow on the doorjamb. He grunted softly, and Megan stirred. She lifted her head and rubbed her neck with one hand, then looked over at him.

"Sorry I woke you," Rafe whispered.

Megan smiled and stood up. She tiptoed across the linoleum and followed Rafe out into the hallway.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Megan said, rubbing her eyes.

"How's he doing?" Rafe asked.

"No change," she replied. "He had a terrible nightmare this afternoon. Woke up screaming bloody murder. 'Blind cops get shot,' he kept saying."

Rafe's heart sank. David's dream was to enter the Police Academy after he graduated college. What if he never fully regained his sight?

"Rafe, what's wrong?" Megan asked.

"Megan?" David's voice called.

The pair turned as one and walked back into the hospital room. David was sitting up, blank eyes staring in their general direction.

"She's here," Rafe said, approaching the bed.

"L.T.?" David asked, his eyes following Rafe's voice.

"Yeah, I'm back." Rafe reached out and brushed his hand over David's bed-rumpled hair. "Your hair is sticking up funny."

David snorted softly. "Latest style."

"It's very becoming," Megan said.

David smiled, then turned his face towards Rafe. "Your voice sounds funny. What's wrong?"

Rafe sighed. "Donovan threw us a bone we couldn't resist."

The smile disappeared. "What bone?"

Major Crime, Mid-Morning

Jim's gaze shifted sporadically from Simon to O'Dell to the cellphone in the middle of the conference table. Filling out the rest of the quintet gathered in Simon's office were Sandburg and Rafe. They had been there since seven o'clock that morning, sipping coffee and making small talk. The details of the plan had been scrutinized carefully the night before, so all they had left to do was wait.

Following Donovan Gray's instructions, O'Dell had placed a "Help Wanted" poster on a telephone pole on the corner of Birch and 5th. The only other thing printed on the paper was the number for O'Dell's new cell phone. If Cypher checked out the number, he would find it belonged to Todd Logan, junior Behavioral Science major at Rainier University. The bait was out, now they just needed a nibble.

The phone chirped.

O'Dell picked up the phone and waited until the middle of the second ring to press "receive." He cleared his throat and put the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?" O'Dell asked. In seconds, O'Dell turned bright red. "It's not that kind of job, ma'am," he said hurriedly and cut the connection.

"Wrong number?" Jim deadpanned.

"Slightly."

Minutes passed in silence.

"Are you sure we can trust Donovan?" Rafe piped up, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "It's been over two hours since we put up the flyer and he said--"

The telephone cut off Rafe's arguments and O'Dell snatched it up.

"Yeah?" he asked.

O'Dell waved his hands at the group: it was Cypher. Jim focused into the conversation.

"...Get my name?" Cypher asked.

"A guy I party with at Rainier said he got some righteous stuff from you," O'Dell replied casually. "Thought we could do some business for my bash next weekend."

"You in a frat, college boy?"

"Nope, I got a house off-campus. More freedom in that."

Cypher laughed deep in his throat. "My kind of man, Mr. Logan. But my candy is pricey."

Now O'Dell laughed. "And my old man's got Swiss bank accounts. I think I can afford you."

Jim found himself smiling. Damn, but Willem O'Dell was a good actor.

"Meet me in the FoodWay parking lot in one hour, the one out on Denmark Street. Park under the center lamp light."

A click and the connection ended.

"One hour at the Denmark Street FoodWay," O'Dell reported.

The five men shot to their feet, gathering coats and car keys, and filed out of the office.

FoodWay Parking Lot, Fifty-five Minutes Later

Officer Willem O'Dell always wanted to be a police officer. It was a tradition that dated back to his great-grandfather, who had been a member of New York City's first Metropolitan Police Force. As the eldest son, it was Willem's dream to follow in his father's footsteps, much to his mother's dismay. Miles O'Dell had died when Willem was six, while attempting to stop a convenience store robbery. Instead of deterring Willem, as his mother had hoped, his father's death had driven him harder. At the age of twenty-four, Willem was now participating in his first "undercover" operation and loving every minute of it. The icing on the proverbial cake was working with Ellison and Sandburg, a pair with the best arrest record in the CPD.

The parking lot of the FoodWay had only seven cars, including his own. Captain Banks and Inspector Megan Connor were positioned inside the grocery store, peeking out from the maze of posters plastered in the front windows. Ellison and Sandburg waited in a car parked a few hundred feet away on Denmark Street. Detective's Rafe and Brown were dressed in rags and pretending to pick through a garbage dumpster on the west side of the parking lot. Willem sat in the front seat of a borrowed Porsche, completing his "rich boy" image.

Minutes ticked by, the deadline slowly approaching.

"Heads up, folks," Ellison said over the ear mikes. "Black Corsica coming west on Denmark. This could be our man."

"Copy that," Willem said, tensing slightly.

He adjusted his loose-fitting flannel shirt and zipped up his down jacket, its size covering the bulk of his bulletproof vest and wire. Willem watched the Corsica pull into the parking lot and crawl toward his Porsche.

"Getting out," Willem said. He removed the mike from his ear and tossed it under the car seat -- out of sight.

Willem opened his door and climbed out as the Corsica pulled into the empty space next to the Porsche. The engine cut off and the driver's door opened. A bald head emerged, then turned to face Willem. Black Ray Bans hid the man's eyes, but the smirking grin on his face was enough to give Willem the creeps.

"Mr. Logan, I presume?"

"You must be Cypher," Willem said.

"In the flesh." Cypher slammed his car door shut and walked around to the other side of the Corsica so he was facing Willem head-on.

The sunglasses hid anything Cypher's eyes may have told him about what Cypher was thinking. Willem watched him impassively, his pulse quickening.

"So what's your major, college boy?" Cypher asked, circling Willem like a vulture.

"What's yours?" Willem shot back.

Cypher chuckled. "I asked you first."

"Behavioral Science."

"What're you gonna do with that?"

Willem quirked an eyebrow. A fine sheen of perspiration broke across the bridge of his nose. "Am I applying for a job here?"

Cypher's smile never broke. "I just like to know who I'm doing business with."

"So we do have business?" Willem asked cockily. "I was beginning to wonder."

Cypher didn't reply. His attention seemed to be fixed over Willem's shoulder. Willem glanced behind him, dismayed that Cypher was focused on the two "bums" by the trash dumpster.

"What's the matter?" Willem asked, trying to regain the man's attention. "Do you find Cascade's brand of bums particularly interesting?"

Cypher's head turned, once again intent on Willem. A meaty hand came up and pulled the Ray Bans off, revealing eyes blazing with annoyance. "I don't think we have business after all," Cypher said.

Willem blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"I've got other business right now, kid," Cypher said.

He couldn't let Cypher get away, not when they were so close. "Dammit, you said you could fix me up," Willem said and took a step forward.

"Try down at Southtown," Cypher said. He walked around his car and climbed into the driver's seat. "I'm sure they've got what you want."

"Wait a minute." Willem darted around the car and blocked Cypher from closing his door. "Once word gets around that you tried to stiff a potential customer, you won't be able to sell shit in this town. You'll run back to Seattle with your tail between your legs."

A sharp light stole over Cypher's eyes. "I never said I was from Seattle," he snarled. "Cop."

Willem realized his blunder too late. Cypher's left hand dove into a jacket pocket and produced a .357 Magnum. Light reflected off its shiny metal surface. Willem felt himself rocketing backwards and crashing into cement. The echo of the discharge followed him into unconsciousness.