Dave extricated his hand from Matt's and waved the boys over. They moved closer, but stayed about twenty feet away. "Can't put anything over on you, Timothy."

Timothy scowled. "That's Super-T, man. I ain't in freshman history no more."

Dave just smiled. "I'm old, guy. I can't remember new names real well. These guys have a couple questions about something went on last week."

"I ain't been nowhere last week." Super-T began backing out, his friends flanking him.

"We're not looking at you, Timothy. Detective Ellison, maybe you can say what's going on?" Dave gave Jim a look that Blair could only interpret as "butch it up, please." The boys stopped moving.

Jim frowned but nodded. "Super-T, I'm going to get right down to it. Last week, a friend of mine was killed in an alley off Stonewall Street. We found Terror King colors right there."

"It ain't us, DeTECtive. We ain't killed nobody." Despite his words, he and his friends began to try to move again.

"You or someone in your gang robbed someone late last Monday night, and left him bleeding in an alleyway. You *can't* fool us about that."

The three boys looked at each other. "Hey! Mr. Michaelson, you tell'em. We don't hang round the fags at night. It's kinda the deal."

"Deal?" Jim looked at Dave.

Matt was the one who answered. "You got a deal, Super-T? Who'd you make the deal with?" His voice was quiet. As he turned to face the boys, Blair noticed something odd behind his sunglasses.

"No deal! There was no deal."

"Sure there was. The daytime, the place is yours, right? You get to sell your drugs and harass the fags for fun, and then you go back to your home territories at night, because someone else works Fagtown at night, right?" Blair controlled a shiver.

"What you know about that? Who are you?"

Matt took off his sunglasses. Blair held back a gasp. His left eye was swollen nearly shut. "I'm Matt Green. Detective Green. Let's just say I *know*. And a couple of your boys violated the deal, didn't they? They stayed out past their bed time."

"I don't have to talk to you, man. Right, Mr. Michaelson?"

"No, you don't." Dave grinned.

"I ain't under arrest or nothin'. I know my rights."

Jim smiled, too. "You *don't* have to talk, Super-T, but we *will* catch who killed that guy. It's only a matter of time. If we do it now, and with your help, maybe we'll let them off, seeing as it was really just a mugging gone wrong. If I catch them, they will be charged with negligent homicide. If you help us at all, I can make things go easier." He gave his head an aborted toss.

'James, you are *so* out of practice...' Blair hid his grin.

The kids noticed this action and looked at each other. "Are you a fag, or are you a cop?"

"Oh, I'm a cop. I'm the best. With my partner here, we solve practically *every* case we get. And we will solve this one. Now, you three going to help us?" Jim stared right at them.

The boys looked at each other. The one on Timothy's right bit his lips. "It wasn't them. They didn't mean nothing by it! Now they all scared!"

"RD, you don't say nothing!" The third boy tried to grab him but RD broke loose and ran to Dave.

"Mr. Michaelson, you gotta know, before this guy gets my brother. Don't let him get my brother, man." RD was practically shaking.

"It's all right, Richie. Which brother? Kwame or LeShaun?" Dave reached out his hand. "We'll take care of them."

"You gotta. LeShaun, man. The baby. He and Jamal - Jamal his homie - they joining up. Need some money. Them homos, they all rich. LeShaun figure it easy money - old homo can't fight back, neither. And the...the cops don't give a damn. We got a deal, but this ain't part of the deal."

"LeShaun is twelve. Jamal is...eleven, right?"

"Twelve next week. They had them a knife and a baseball bat, and..."

"And it wasn't worth it, was it?" Dave put his hand on RD's shoulder.

"Naw! Old fruit had maybe twenty on him. And they hit him hard, but they didn't kill him. Mr. Michaelson, they just kids. My moms...she *kill* me cause they in the gang." RD looked at him, pleading.

"I'll see what I can do, RD. We'll talk to juvie, maybe we can get counseling or something. But...the man died. LeShaun and Jamal will have to face that."

"You talk to 'em. Okay? That okay, Super-T?"

"You takin' care of 'em, Mr. Michaelson?" Timothy looked every year of eighteen at those words.

"You trust me to do it right?"

"Don't trust *nobody* else." The boy looked pointedly at the other three men, and then turned back to Dave. "Take care of my cousins, okay?"

"I will. I promise. Where are they now?"

"Hiding. Both of them. They mamas' worried to *death*. I know where they is."

Dave looked at the others. "I'll take care of this. You go after the *real* killers, okay?" The three boys looked confused but the men nodded. "Okay, guys, we'll take my van. Yeah, yeah, I know. Uncool." The boys all mugged at each other, and pretended to dawdle, but they got to the van fast enough to tussle for shotgun. Jim gave Blair a smirk, but Blair barely noticed. He was focussed on Matt, who was staring at Dave as he cajoled the boys into using their seat belts before driving off.

He walked up to him and touched him on the shoulder. Matt jumped. "Sorry, man. Just wanted to look at that eye of yours."

"It's nothing. Just useful for some...drama is all." Matt backed away.

Jim frowned and moved closer. "Let me see that, darling."

"No, no, it's all right. You don't have to...please, Jim...ow!"

"This is *nasty*. I'm surprised you can *see*." Jim probed the bruised flesh. "This looks hours old...why didn't you put some ice on it?"

Matt tore himself away. "It's just *fine*. I can see just *fine*. It's not worthy bothering about. I'm not..."

Blair blocked his way to his car. "Matt, man, this is not something we can ignore. Who did that to you?"

Matt shrugged stiffly. "I walked into a cabinet last night. It...it didn't hurt so I just went right to sleep. It's...it was just an accident, Blair. Really."

Blair looked at Jim, who shook his head slightly, but shrugged. "Sure, sure, man. Gotta watch out for those cabinets. Look, go home, put some ice on it and try to bring the swelling down. And if...that cabinet shows up again, tell us, okay?"

"Not going to run from any pieces of furniture, Sandburg."

Before they could say anything more, he tore himself away from Jim, walked past Blair to his Saturn and drove off.

"What do you think about that, James?" Blair watched the small white car drive off.

"I think that I'd run from any cabinet with a real fist. I could *feel* the marks."

"Yeah...bruising was too big, too. It had to happen...when? You said hours."

Jim was silent for a long time. "Yeah. The swelling felt like it was starting to go down. I'd put it at a good seven or eight hours."

"That's about when he left the party last night."

Jim closed his eyes. "I was *wondering* when you were going to talk to me about *that*, Chief."

Blair frowned. "There was nothing to say." Jim looked at him.

"James...oh, God. Look, let's find some place for brunch, okay? I need some caffeine like...now."

"We *are* going to talk, darling." Jim led the way to the truck.

******************

Jim fluttered his eyes at the waitress. "I'd like the pancake breakfast, sweetheart. Scramble the eggs, cook the bacon crisp and I want simply tons of butter for the pancakes. And, *please* tell me you have real syrup."

"Well...Mrs. Butterworth..." She blinked in confusion.

"So long as it's *not* boysenberry. I simply *loathe* boysenberry."

"Uh...sure. And you, sir?" She focussed on Blair.

"Get me a spinach and feta cheese omelet - make that an egg white omelet, okay? Whole wheat toast, butter and jam on the side. And a big glass of OJ. And *coffee*."

"You want the home fries?"

"Oh, yeah. And get *him* some orange juice, too."

The waitress looked from one to the other, shook her head and left.

"You gotta stop doing this, James."

"Doing *what*?" Jim grinned as he took a gulp of water.

"Confusing people."

"Who, me?" Jim fluttered his eyes again.

Blair just grinned. The waitress showed up again with a tray of coffee cups and glasses of juice. She set them down, goggling as Jim stuck out his pinky as he sipped. She gave them one last odd look before she went to fill more coffee cups.

"Okay, Jim. What's wrong? You're paying more attention to Ms. Tightpants then you are to me."

"Maybe if you wore tighter pants yourself..." Jim smirked at him.

"That is *so* not funny, James. Talk."

"Just a touch of jealousy, darling?" He took a sip of his juice, and grimaced. "Concentrated."

"Drink it anyway. As *if* I'd be jealous of *her*...you're jealous. Jim, tell me you're not jealous, please?"

Jim said nothing. He just downed his juice fast.

"Oh, my God. You *are* jealous." Blair shook his head. "What brought this on?"

"What brought this on?" Jim put down his glass. "We go to a party last night and you spend half the night talking to that Green guy. That Green guy whom you'd just *met* that afternoon *and* whom you drag along to our meet today. What *should* I think?"

"I do *not* believe you. Matt is in *Vice*, you know? He went to Freddie's funeral, he's the only one there on *our* side, and you *know* he took a beating for that last night. I thought he might be useful today, and he *was*."

"He's very pretty, with those brown eyes and long eyelashes. And he's young. Younger than me."

"Hell, Jim, he's younger than me, too. What difference does *that* make? He's *not* you. He's a kid with a lot of problems. Look...I was as surprised to see him at the party. *He* knew about those things...which is *more* than *I* did, and *I* thought I was a part of the whole thing." He looked at Jim.

Jim shrugged. The waitress came by with the food.

"Is everything all right here, guys?"

"Uhh...sure...no, the omelet's mine." She nodded and put the pancakes in front of Jim.

"Just try to hold it down a little, okay?"

"Sorry, darling."

She shot Jim another look and walked away.

Blair deliberately held his voice down, knowing Jim could hear it anyway. "Am I getting through to you, James?"

"You still spent most of last night with *him*."

Jim began to slather butter over his pancakes.

Blair sighed at all that fat. One day Jim would pay the price...and he didn't want to think about that right now. "I did not. I spent maybe twenty minutes. He *needed* to talk, anyway."

"About what?"

Blair cut into his omelet, trying to delay. "I...damn, look, he's having problems - with himself, not the other cops. And he didn't ask me not to talk about them, but I don't feel comfortable right now. Just trust me a *little*, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Blair. We old ladies worry when their boyfriends start hanging out with sweet young things, you know? I would absolutely *die* if you left me."

Blair shook his head and speared a forkful of butter and syrup drenched pancake off Jim's plate. "I'm not going anywhere, James. I love *you*." He chewed his prize. Why did fat and sugar have to taste so good? "Are you going to be jealous of all my friends?"

"Just the pretty young guys. And the pretty young girls. And the sexy older men. And the sexy older ladies."

"I can only have ugly friends?" Blair blinked as Jim took a bite of his omelet and made a face at the spinach and feta..

"This is not *fair*. You eat *half* my breakfast, but yours is so nasty I can't manage a taste."

Blair grinned. "Why do you think I ordered it?" He became serious. "James..."

"I'll try, Chief, okay? But tell them to keep their hands to themselves."

"I'll try, too, but it's so *hard*...all that *temptation...*"

Jim just smirked at him, and the conversation moved to plans for the rest of a sunny Saturday.

Those plans would remain just talk, because as soon as they'd signaled the waitress for their check, Jim's cellphone rang.

"Dave? Yeah. You got them? Juvenile? Want us to get Green? Yeah, no problem. No, he never said what happened. Okay. See you in about twenty minutes."

"Dave has the kids already?"

Jim nodded. "He's really fabulous. Why don't you pay the bill while I try to get Green?"

Blair tossed the tip on the table. "You're just afraid I'll make a date with Matt behind your back." He grinned and took the check to the cashier.

By the time he came back, Jim had closed up his phone and they were ready to go. "Matt'll meet us at Juvie."

**************************

"My God. They really *are* just kids." Blair could not keep his eyes off the two boys sitting on the other side of the mirror. "*They* got poor Freddie?"

Dave nodded. His eyes looked red, as if he'd been rubbing them. "They had weapons and the element of surprise."

"And they had *help*. They had a whole *precinct* full of help, and I'm damned if those two *babies* are going to carry that *whole* thing alone. God, Freddie loved kids. If they'd asked, she'd have given them the *shirt* off her *back*. Dave, what the *hell* is going on?"

Jim couldn't stand still. He paced nervously around the observation room.

"I wish I knew. Then I could stop it. And then I could start sleeping at night. I toss and turn so much my wife threatens to get us separate beds."

Matt, who was standing between Blair and Dave, turned sharply at those words. "You're married?"

"Going on eight years and three kids."

"Oh." Matt managed to pack volumes into that single syllable, but Blair couldn't read any of it. He was too distracted by the little boys, who were now talking to a woman and wolfing down hamburgers.

"Did they actually confess to you, Dave?"

"What they *did* was come out of their little hidey hole saying they didn't mean to do it. None of it...the robbery or the homicide. Manslaughter, I guess."

"So why were they carrying around a baseball bat at midnight so far out of their territory? And where are their mothers?" Blair couldn't imagine being left to wander the streets at that age.

"Juvie called their mothers, but both ladies work. And the jobs they work, you don't work, you don't get paid, and you get real hungry."

"Were they working that night?"

"It's possible. Waitressing, or being a nurse's aid or security...they all can happen at night. Notice you're not asking about fathers."

Blair shrugged. "You know, my mom raised me all by herself. I never had a dad, not a real, permanent one. And she worked, sometimes strange jobs, jobs she couldn't even tell me about. But she always knew where I was, and I always knew where she was."

Dave looked at him. "You were damn lucky, Sandburg."

Blair thought about it for moment and nodded. "I guess so." He turned back to the kids. They were gesturing now.

Go to Part Seven.